#and i don’t even really know how it changes ??

[starmapz]

what you know - ch19: crash || 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. self-loathing. mentions of difficulty eating. legal drama (likely with inaccuracies). medical content. minor descriptions of wounds. 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 ; 25k.

❦ a/n ; tags have been updated. see you at the bottom :)

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter - coming soon

After awakening with a jolt to an alarm clock that felt as though it was going off far too early (only to realize you’d actually gone to sleep far too late), your morning passes with little fanfare. For you, at least.

Sukuna wakes up to the sound of your alarm as well, but his eyes only flutter open to the sound of your footsteps. The usual lethargy of waking up after passing out mid-workout doesn’t constrict his muscles or muddle his mind. He feels oddly refreshed, having gotten a half-decent sleep for the first time in…

He doesn’t really know how long.

Peeking one eye open, he watches as you slowly creak his door open, trying to keep quiet as best as you can to give your friend the opportunity to sleep.

“I’m awake,” he informs you huskily, his voice sending a tingle straight up your spine.

When you come into view with a soft ‘sorry if I woke you!’, Sukuna just can’t help it. Your legs are bare, and his extremely oversized T-shirt hangs down over your form to just above your knees.

It’s undeniably hot, and it makes you look like you’re his to hold at night.

Shit.

Your hold on your change of clothes tightens as you scamper to the washroom, his eyes never once leaving you. They trail on the door, even as his cock twitches in his pants. He shuts his eyes, draping his arm over his face and taking a deep breath as he’s forced to adjust his sweats.

He ends up settling for a thick and inconspicuous (he hopes, despite the warmer weather) blanket to keep attention away from his issue and settles on a cold shower the moment you’re out of the washroom.

As he climbs into the shower in a surprising hurry, you rush out the front door half-past seven and make your way to class with ten minutes to spare, and a chance to text Shoko.

The verdict? Everything Sukuna’s been doing as of late can’t mean nothing, and Shoko had been more than positive before your falling out that Sukuna had been into you, but now she’s equally as wary as you in potentially starting something. Her med school (and psychology) instincts kicked in as she told you that even if you simply tried to engage with him at the wrong time, it could set him off with how things have been lately.

Unfortunately for you, that means more waiting. Waiting it out, and seeing what Sukuna could be thinking under all of those layers of grumpiness.

Which puts you back at square one.

How convenient.

You contemplate asking Uraume their thoughts, but you don’t get the opportunity to track them down before work. In fact, you don’t even manage to get to work without a flood of messages that you don’t have time to read while driving, or on your way to work after class. As messages continue to flood in, you catch a glance of Sukuna’s contact, but you figure you’ll see him momentarily.

Your heels clack across the floor as you make your way past the open desks and cubicles until you reach Sukuna’s office tucked into the corner opposite yours and Yuki’s. Poking your head into the room, you blink at the realization that he isn’t there. You scan the office, but you can’t tell whether he’s been in at all today.

Pulling your phone back out, you begin reading through them as more pour in.

10:17 AM Kuna || she played dirty and she won

10:17 AM Kuna || she fucking won

10:18 AM Kuna || what the fuck

10:18 AM Kuna || what the fuck am i supposed to do

10:19 AM Kuna || so fucking pissed

The smallest of breaks between messages, and then-

10:21 AM Kuna || she didnt watn them

10:21 AM Kuna || she left

10:21 AM Kuna || she cheated on my dad

10:22 AM Kuna || i wouldnt have stopped her if she took them back then

10:23 AM Kuna || would have thought she loved them

10:23 AM Kuna || all she cares about is money

10:24 AM Kuna || i guhess she fucking has it now

10:25 AM Kuna || alll of it

10:27 AM Kuna || mine too

You suck in a sharp breath, fiddling with the hem of the dress you changed into after wearing Sukuna’s hoodie all morning. You’re not positive where this outburst is coming from, but you can definitely make an assumption based on the fact that he had a meeting with his lawyer this morning right after you left and he’s not here yet.

10:34 AM Kuna || she can go to hell

His next message arrives as you start typing, followed by another one before you can get a word in edgewise.

10:35 AM Kuna || legal bullshit

10:36 AM Kuna || dont fucking get it

At the realization that his messages just keep coming, you opt to just call him. He picks up on the first ring, launching immediately into whatever thought crosses his mind.

“‘M so fucking done with all the legal bullshit, just gonna go to that tech event thing myself and grab them!” he barks into the phone without so much as a hello, picking up right where his texts left off. Wind whips in the background of wherever he is, the ambient sound of an engine muffling some of his words.

Your brow raises and you hold the phone slightly away from your poor ear. “Slow down Ryo, what’s going on?” You do your best to stay level-headed though you get the feeling you know what’s wrong already.

“That fuckin’ devil is still playing me,” he growls out his explanation in the loosest of terms.

“Okay…” your brow furrows as you shut his office door so that no one overhears your conversation. The last thing you need is a gossip-heavy office talking behind your back.

“This whole thing, it doesn’t matter what I fuckin’ do-”

“Sukuna,” you state his name with enough authority to get his attention. “What happened?”

He huffs with enough exasperation that you can practically feel the flames of his anger licking your skin through the phone. “Kaori-” his voice cracks, his poor throat giving in under the weight of his emotions as of late. You hear him suck in a breath, balancing on a precipice of fury and anxiety. “She tried to pay off my lawyer. Ms. Harte said she didn’t take the bribe, but she also doesn’t think an appeal will go through no matter what, n’ I dunno what to believe anymore,” he rambles. “There’s nothing I can do, there’s no fuckin’ point in any of this.”

Sukuna’s not exactly one to ramble, so you can only assume the words are just falling from his lips like a current. Taken by the tide, and washing ashore in a mess of thoughts.

“I can’t get past the first fucking step because I’m broke and all she had to do was sleep with some rich bastard to win.” You can practically hear his teeth grinding through the receiver. “The lawyer even thinks if we could get this to court and get a fair trial that we could win with the new evidence, but how the fuck am I meant to get that far? The court’s in Kaori’s fucking pocket!”

Your jaw hangs ajar as you listen to his panicked explanation, the anxiety sinking in and settling within the marrow of your very bones. Clutching your stomach, you take cautious steps forward in Sukuna’s office, taking a seat on his desk. It’s hard to find an answer and comfort him when your own outlook is beginning to fizzle out as everything becomes more hopeless, little by little.

“And that’s if I can even trust my lawyer at this point.” There’s a tremble to the cadence of his voice as he grows more and more manic by the second. “I can’t afford another fucking lawyer, I can’t even afford this one, I- I don’t-” His voice breaks, along with your heart as his life doesn’t just fall apart yet again, it crumbles into pieces that you aren’t sure can be picked up.

Searching for anything that might pull him back to earth, you let out a shaky breath and do what you can to keep yourself even for him. “We can talk to Hiromi again, maybe-”

“It doesn’t fucking matter!” Sukuna barks on the other line. You blink in surprise, though he can’t see your expression. You can understand his frustrations, you know better than to take his outburst personally. “She won! She fucking won!”

“You can’t give up,” is all you can think to mumble, but you know it’s of no help to either of you.

“Princess,” he sighs, teeth audibly gritted. He holds his tongue to keep from saying something he’ll regret. “It’s over. There’s nothing I can do. There’s no higher family court to appeal to, there’s nothing else to accuse her of.” There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again. “I’m done.”

“Well, wait, what about if she cheated on your dad?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he grumbles, defeated. “Doesn’t fucking matter anymore. It’s all family court, and she owns them.”

“Could you file in a different city, maybe get around the courts here? She can’t have paid off everyone.”

“Look-” he swallows hard, trying to keep his voice at a reasonable level. “I tried, okay? That’s not how shit works.” Even as he actively focuses on keeping his voice even, it breaks.

You quietly sniffle, wiping carefully under your eye in an effort to avoid smudging your makeup at the realization that hot tears are silently streaming down your face. “I just don’t want…” You think better of saying you wish things didn’t turn out this way, that you miss the kids like they’re your family. The last thing he needs is to hear your disappointment at the failure.

“I know,” he mutters shakily. “You think I wanted to lose them?” He hisses, which only causes your tears to stream faster. “Think I just-” He chokes on his words. “I need some air.”

Two monotone beeps let you know that the line has cut out. You pull the phone back from your ear, staring at the screen that says ‘call ended’. Your thumb trembles as you attempt to call him back, scrolling to his contact, but it only rings twice. He must be declining your calls.

Burying your face in your palms, you can’t even be bothered to worry about your makeup anymore. It’s smudged as-is. For once, you let yourself cry. Really cry. It’s been a long time since you’ve indulged in a moment to yourself, and you’re grateful you’re alone in Sukuna’s office, away from your colleagues. Sure, you’ll need to face them eventually, but for now this moment is yours.

Tears trail your cheeks, getting caught in the divots of your fingers. The excess of salty liquid drips down your wrists and chin, dotting the fabric of your dress as your throat and chest constrict. You can’t possibly help that you grew so close to Sukuna’s little brothers when you were around them for so long. Your heart tries so desperately to cling to whatever ounce of hope there might be as ideas swirl in your mind.

Is it really hopeless?

Are his options only to pull an illegal stunt that won’t last or to drown himself in debt?

You drag your hands down your face, staring at your hands in your lap with a sniffle. The purple and red bracelets around your wrist are still tied tightly, hanging like a badge of honor that feels more like a loss now. That badge has warped into something unrecognizable, like a monster with roots tied so tightly around your heart, you're not sure you’ll ever really let go of that pain.

You sniffle again, wiping under your eyes once more as you begin to settle. Weariness plagues your bones, as if the three and a half hours of sleep from the previous night wasn’t enough, now you’ve worn yourself dry.

With nothing left to give, you hop from Sukuna’s desk with heavy feet and a heavier heart. Keeping your head down, you clutch your belongings tightly, heading for the washroom as your new reality settles in.

–

By the time you finish what’s frankly a half-assed attempt to fix your makeup, you tiredly make your way back to your desk, brushing Yuki off under the guise of having a long day. She doesn’t buy it, but she gives you the silence you clearly want. Your attention is elsewhere all morning, your head in the clouds and mind on the two little boys who you fear you’ll see across social media for the rest of their lives.

Every sigh and glance at your phone has Yuki staring uncertainly across her desk at you, tapping her neatly manicured nails on the desk. By the fourth time you’ve flipped your phone to check it in less than five minutes, she shuts her laptop and clasps her hands, leaning forward.

“Girl, talk to me. You’re not just tired,” she pointedly juts her chin out at your phone as you flip it back over.

Carefully rubbing the corner of your eye in an attempt to keep your makeup from smudging, you brush her off again. “It’s fine, Yuki. I’m alright, just worried about someone.”

Yuki is rarely this serious, prone to nonchalance and boredom, so her stare bores into you. Averting your gaze, you pick up a pen and fiddle with it, clicking it a number of times as if it might protect you from the way her gaze threatens to pick you apart.

“Fine,” she relents with a sigh. “But go take a walk, or something. I hate to see you like this,” she frowns genuinely, leaning her chin on her knuckles. “Actually here,” she reaches into her bag and pulls out a bill. “Take this, coffee’s on me.”

You hesitate. “Are you sure?”

“‘Course!” She beams, straightening in her chair. “I’ll text you my order.”

You shoot her a tight-lipped smile and push out of your chair, stopping just outside of your office to quickly check your phone.

Just once more.

Maybe he’ll have responded this time.

You’ll give it a break after.

Sighing at the sight of your unread (and unanswered) texts, you push that thought aside and shove your phone in your pocket.

“Hey, intern!”

You spin on your heel, turning to face- unfortunately- Reggie. He’s pulled his long blonde hair up into a bun, a sly grin plastered across his face.

“Hey,” you greet him with as much enthusiasm as you can muster. Unfortunately for him, that’s pretty much none right now. It’s been a long day, and you don’t need him adding to your misfortune.

“I hear you’re headed on a coffee run.”

You can see where this is going from a mile away. Sighing, you give in. It’s not worth it to fight with him right now. “Yeah. What do you want?”

“Well, I was thinking, why don’t you get the whole office coffee?”

That turns a few heads and you frown. “Are you paying?”

Reggie chuckles. “C’mon. It’s just a few coffees.”

Maybe he’s just trying to get a rise out of you, you can’t be sure, but god damn it, it’s working. “There’s like twenty of you here. I can’t afford that.”

“You’re getting paid, aren’t you?” He sneers, leaning in slightly to block you from leaving the office until he gets what he wants.

You take a step back to keep your distance from him, standing your ground with a grimace. “I work two half-days a week, Reggie,” you point out in an effort to de-escalate the situation before you need to take it to Maya. The last thing you need is to cause a scene in an internship you hope to turn full-time.

Especially given the state of your scholarship.

Which also got you this job.

What a shitshow.

“That’s enough to spend a little extra on coffee, no?” He takes another step forward, prodding your arm.

Your expression hardens as irritation courses through your veins. You know better than to let him step on you. “No. I have other things to deal with. You can give me money to get you coffee, or get it yourself.”

“Leave her alone, Reg!” Yuki calls from over your shoulder within her office, turning more heads towards the commotion at the front. You shrink at the realization that all eyes are on you, holding your phone tightly to your chest.

“Tell ya what,” he offers, crossing his arms over his chest with a condescending grin and narrowed eyes. He looks entirely too pleased with himself. “The rest of the office can pay for their own, but I’ll pay you back with some training.” He shrugs, sliding his hand smoothly up your arm to rest a bit too close to your neck for your comfort. “How’s that sound?”

A shiver runs up your spine as you shrug his hand off. Your grip on the device in your hands tightens as you keep your head up, inhaling deeply and standing your ground out of principle, now. “No. Get your own-”

“Thought we decided you weren’t gonna make a habit of not listening to her,” Sukuna interrupts. He’s got a light coat on and must have just walked in and heard the last few seconds of your conversation. He places a firm hand on Reggie’s shoulder, eyes ablaze as his fingers dig into the pleated suit the sleazy man dons.

You purse your lips, the confrontation with Reggie completely forgotten as a flurry of questions for Sukuna arise, but you don’t get the chance to ask.

“C’mon, man. I’m just trying to get a coffee. That’s the whole point of an intern, right?”

Sukuna leans in, placing pressure down on Reggie’s shoulder. The blonde’s eyes flicker down to the hand on his shoulder, and back up to the pair of crimson eyes searing his cheek. “She said no, but I can get that through your thick skull with my fist if you want.”

It’s hard to forget just how big of a guy Sukuna is, but when he’s standing menacingly over Reggie’s shoulder with eyes alight with rage, it really puts it into perspective. Reggie isn’t small either, but Sukuna makes him look like he is.

“Sukuna, it’s fine. We were just finishing up our conversation,” you murmur with a pleading look. Any other day, this altercation would dissolve here and now, but you can see it in his eyes. He wants a fight. He’s a man who thinks he’s hit rock-bottom, with nothing to lose and no fear of consequences. He wants Reggie to make a wrong move.

Reggie stands off silently with Sukuna, before your friend thankfully decides to back down, every muscle visibly taut beneath his deep red dress shirt. He gives a small shove to Reggie’s shoulder as he pulls his hand down, eyeing him furiously as he aims to brush past you and head to his office for some peace and quiet.

“Who shoved a stick up his ass?” Reggie mutters loud enough that the poor receptionist turns with widened eyes to hiss his name as he flattens his shirt.

Sukuna’s head whips around equally as quickly. The fires of Hell burn ferociously behind his eyes as he’s provoked by your shitty coworker, and you watch in horror as he trudges heavily up to the blonde man. “You don’t wanna know,” Sukuna hisses, jaw set with a rage so primal, you’ve never seen him quite like this.

Frozen in horror at the exchange over something that you could have handled, you can only watch, dazed, as Sukuna’s fist grips the front of Reggie’s beige dress shirt.

“Oh my god,” the receptionist squeaks as she slips out of her seat and towards you, attempting to pull you away. Her presence thaws you, and you leap at Sukuna, grabbing his raised arm in horror before it collides with Reggie’s face.

“Sukuna, please,” you gasp. His irises flick to the side, eyeing you through his peripherals. His body is physically shaking, his chest rising and falling quickly with each breath as he examines your expression. “I had it handled. I promise,” you assure him.

It takes a moment, but he huffs. He shoves Reggie back with enough force that he collides with the edge of the reception desk, just barely catching himself before he slides to the floor. His eyes are wide with genuine fear as Sukuna turns on his heel again.

“She’s not your assistant,” are his last words before he storms off into his office, slamming the door behind him. Every pair of eyes in the office is on you and Reggie, no one daring to say a word before Yuki leaps from her chair to jump into action.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” She places one hand on either of your biceps, looking you up and down.

You nod, casting a glance back at Sukuna’s office. “I’m fine,” you dismiss her worries, peering past her at the blonde man. “He’s going through a lot right now, sorry Reggie.” You apologize on your friend’s behalf, but honestly? You wouldn’t be that opposed to seeing him get some sense knocked into him. Still, work isn’t the place, and you need this situation to simmer down, lest you both lose your jobs.

Reggie’s brows are knit tightly together as he smooths his shirt back down. “Fucking HR violation,” he grumbles, pushing past you and Yuki with a shove to your shoulder.

“Shit,” you mumble as he heads straight for Maya’s office.

“Sorry, Yuki,” you excuse yourself with a grateful smile, avoiding the continued stares of the rest of the office as you jog on your heels to Sukuna’s office. You rap your knuckles against the door, chancing a glance towards Maya’s office.

You can really only pray that Sukuna isn’t outright fired at this point. Hell, this might even be bad for you.

“Let me in, Ryo,” you plead loud enough for him to hear you through the door as you jiggle the locked handle. He relents after a moment, cracking the door open just enough for you to slip in and shut it behind you.

Sukuna’s mind is blurry with smoke, and what parts aren’t are shrouded with the fire that caused it. There’s no clarity to his movements as he paces back and forth in frustration, his eyes flickering wildly around the nooks and crannies of his office.

“That fucking asshole,” Sukuna hisses the moment the door is shut. The room within is suffocating, the smoke of his rage filling the room, and in turn your lungs. You frown, opening your mouth to say something, but you’re interrupted by his mindless rambles of frustration. “Thinks he’s all that just because his salary has a few extra zeros in it, must be fuckin’ nice.”

Sighing, you take a step towards your friend. Your gaze trails after him as he continues back and forth across the worn laminate floor. His shoes squeak with each turn, his hands balled into fists at his side.

“He’s not worth it,” you shake your head, grimacing. “He’s just an asshole because he knows he can be.”

“Wish I had that sort of job security,” he grumbles.

You flash him a wry smile, moving on. “Can we talk about this morning?” You try, hoping to get to the root of what caused this outburst in the first place.

He stops dead in his tracks, turning to face you with an equally defeated and frustrated expression. “What’s there to talk about?” He shrugs at you, exasperated.

“Well, there’s gotta be more options-”

“There aren’t!” He barks, inhaling sharply as he lowers his voice. “There aren’t.” He swallows hard, guilt wrapping its painfully steady hands around his throat and twisting as he sees you frown. He averts his gaze, as the floor suddenly becomes tenfold more interesting.

It’s painful to watch any signs of life drain from his eyes, leaving behind a husk as he avoids your eyes. You know he didn’t mean to snap, you don’t hold that against him. It’s not directed at you.

Chewing on your lip, you swallow down the lump in your throat, doing what you can to keep any more tears from falling. Sucking in a deep breath, you move past him and hop up on his desk. “Can you at least make a new case for visitation?”

He shrugs, shaking his head. Dull crimson irises fix you with a stare, though there’s no emotion behind them. “Went over that. Kaori fucked my chances of seeing ‘em.”

“But Yuji’s five,” you point out, accidentally salting his wound. “That’s twelve years before…” You can’t even finish the sentence, trailing off.

He winces at the reminder. “I know. That’s if he even cares by the time he’s eighteen,” he scoffs, shaking his head again. The little boy barely understands a lick of what’s going on, how’s he supposed to understand that Sukuna didn’t abandon him?

“Are you sure you went over everything?”

He shuts his eyes, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he takes a breath in order to keep his frustrations at bay. “Yes.” He knows you just want him to elaborate, but he doesn’t fucking want to. “My lawyer thinks Kaori’s paid off everyone in the family courts in town. Nothing will get past them, whether it’s an appeal, or a new lawsuit. I can’t submit out of town since that’s not how shit works, I can’t submit anything to the law society because they sponsor Kamo events, so they’re with him too, there’s fucking nothing.” He pushes his hands back through his hair, balling his fists and gritting his teeth. “It’s over,” he growls, turning away from you.

You can barely withhold your own tears, your lip trembling in the grip of your teeth as your vision blurs. Sukuna turns back towards you, examining your expression, but you can’t bear to let him see that this is breaking you, too. Staring down at your lap, you shudder as you fight off the betrayal of your body. A tear slips down your cheek and you quickly wipe it.

If Sukuna felt hollow upon seeing your frown, the shell keeping him from breaking down cracks upon seeing a tear fall from your chin. He physically aches to reach out and pull you tightly to him, to reassure you that everything will be okay, but he can’t bring himself to. He’s the cause of this. He pulled you in, he kept you close, and he let you down. He’ll blame himself for a lifetime, and it’s easier to handle his own guilt if he keeps you at a distance.

Right?

He bites down on the inside of his cheek as his thoughts race. Why does it feel as though he’s constantly fighting himself when it comes to you?

He takes a step back, peering back at his door as he hears the clack of heels. He already knows he’s probably fired, but he can’t bring himself to care. He can make things work at the auto shop, no one is relying on him to put food on the table anymore but himself.

He lowers his head, every emotion flooding the cavity of his chest as fear, melancholy, guilt, and overwhelming disappointment bloom. Each motion takes root in his veins, thorny tendrils all gripping at a different piece of him. Like a blow to the chest, he stumbles forward to face the door, opening it before Maya can knock.

With a hollow expression, he faces his boss. Tight-lipped, her brow twitches as she scrutinizes Sukuna, before speaking. “My office, please.”

He nods. “Can I have a moment?”

“You may,” she agrees. The telltale clack of her heels, authoritative even in gait, disappear behind the door. Slowly, he turns back to you, and despite how good things had been for just a few days before this, it’s as though that piece of him has already been buried. His movements are languid as he leans back against the door, facing you.

He’s not sure what words there even are to say to you at this point. Sorry he fucked up? Sorry he fucked up and yelled at you and made you cry? Sorry that he lost his brothers and made all three of the people he truly loves all lose faith in him?

He chokes on air at the mere thought, coughing into his elbow. Feelings are one thing, sure, but does he love you? The thought came so easily, like second nature.

“Are you okay?” You ask as you wipe any remnants of tears from beneath your lash line, brows knit tightly together with concern.

He lifts a hand, catching his breath between coughs. As they die down, he clears his throat, though his words still come out as a croak. “I’m fine.”

What a sickening realization to come to after losing his brothers while on the precipice of being fired.

You wait for his breathing to clear before fixing him with your concerned and fearful gaze again. “I know you don’t wanna talk about it right now, but are you sure you’ve thought of everything?”

He shuts his eyes, letting out another small cough. He doesn’t want to deal with these questions right now. He doesn’t want to think about the anger boiling in his gut, or that he hasn’t had time to process the fact that his fight is over. He doesn’t want to fall apart at work, no matter the fact that he’s about to lose his job.

He just wants to keep that last shred of dignity.

He takes in a breath, but even so, the simmering in his stomach threatens to boil over. “Yes,” he replies, somewhere between neutral and a growl.

Your shoulders fall, another tear trailing down your cheek. It’s not your fight, but you’re not ready to give up. You’re not sure you’ll ever be.

“Look,” he sighs, averting his gaze as a gleam of salty liquid shines in a line down your cheek. “You can stay here as long as you want, okay? I’ve gotta…” He points back over his shoulder with his thumb in the direction of Maya’s office. With a sluggish turn, he’s halfway facing the door when he pauses and says, “dunno if I ever mentioned it before, but… thanks. For getting me this job. I liked it.”

Liked.

You frown as he shuts the door. Liked. He thinks he’s getting fired too. You lean back on your palms against his desk, staring at the ceiling as the hope that had made last night feel so familiar and freeing is sucked away without even really allowing either of you the chance to breathe. It’s just one thing after another, beating him down until there’s nothing left. All at once, the life you’d seen reinvigorating him, it’s nothing but gone.

And in all honesty, you really enjoyed working with him.

Your head whips down to the door and you wipe at your puffy cheeks to clear up the evidence of your tears as it occurs to you that he’s in this mess because of you. You never asked him to jump in and violence is not the answer, but with the day he’s having and Reggie pushing his buttons, you understand what brought him to that point. He’s made it clear that you’re dear to him, and while that’s another subject entirely, it also adds clarity to why he might go so far as to cause a fight in the middle of his office.

For you.

You blink at the door that he disappeared from only a couple of minutes prior.

Shit.

Pushing up from the desk, your shoes hit the laminate floors in a flurry as you jog to Maya’s office, rapping your knuckles on the door hurriedly.

“It’ll need to wait,” she calls through the door.

“It’s about your meeting!” You call back, your brow knit together with concern. Sukuna’s damn near lost everything over the last couple of weeks, how could you possibly sit there and let him lose his job too when he was only trying to protect you from harassment?

There’s shuffling behind the door for a moment before Maya peeks her head out with a serious expression. “What is it?”

“He was just looking out for me,” you blurt, hushed to keep the rest of the office from listening in. You can feel their eyes boring into you. Your boss frowns, but before she can get any sort of reply in, words are already falling from your lips again. “I know he went about things the wrong way, but it’s been a really tough few weeks, and he could really use a break and he told me he actually really likes this job, and-”

Maya interrupts your rambling with a tight smile as she says your name. “He’s lucky to have someone like you looking out for him.”

Your chest warms with pride and you open your mouth to reply, but Maya continues.

“I’m not firing him,” she sighs, “he’s good at his job and he’s really good with everyone except Reggie.” She takes a full step out of her office, shutting the door behind her and leaving Sukuna isolated within. She points to Reggie’s office, where from the entrance you can just make out the silhouette of the man packing up his belongings with a little bit more force than necessary. “He thinks he’s untouchable just because we’re related, but he’s not. I won’t tolerate harassment here.”

You bring a hand up to your neck where he’d cradled it in relief, feeling a sick sense of satisfaction at the idea of no longer needing to work alongside the man.

“There’s a camera at reception,” she explains. “I heard everything he said. I was meaning to call you to my office next. Are you okay? Do you need to speak with anyone?”

Your lips purse as you stare up at her. “No, I’m fine. Thank you.”

She nods, a grateful gleam in her eyes. “Don’t be afraid to come to me if someone ever treats you like that.”

“Thanks, Maya.”

“Anytime. Let me know if you need anything.”

Nodding, you watch as she disappears behind the door once more, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. You return to your office, slumping back into your chair and sliding Yuki’s cash back across her desk. “Do you mind if I take a rain check on coffee?”

Shooting you a sympathetic look, she shakes her head. “Next week we’ll go together,” she agrees.

Your chest rises and falls as you let out a breath, staring up at the ceiling as you contemplate the mess that intertwines you and the once-mysterious brute.

–

The sun is just barely casting light over the grass and leaves that decorate the trees outside when Sukuna stretches his arms over his head. He yawns, pausing the music in his headphones to stare out his office window. He spins in his seat to watch the passing people below with ice cream in-hand and a dog trailing behind. They’re followed after by two kids excitedly holding their treats in the air like prizes.

Averting his eyes, he’s quick to reach for his music, looking for anything to stop the thoughts from creeping in.

He’s managed to avoid them thus far and he isn’t about to stop now. He just needs to keep focusing on his work. Anything to keep himself preoccupied.

Spinning back in his chair, he glances at the clock.

Seven o’clock. Two hours since you came to check on him after he left Maya’s office, counting his blessings he got to keep his job. He supposes he should give three cheers for the office’s collective dislike of Reggie, which probably got him off the hook for a more serious HR violation, but he doesn’t have much elation to put into it.

In truth, he’s not really sure how the plan was never to fire him. Did Reggie deserve to be fired? And then some. But should Sukuna have also been? Probably. Yet he was let off with a written warning and a metaphorical slap on the wrist. Well, that and a ‘thank god you didn’t actually hit him’, so as it turns out, he owes the fact that still has this job to you.

He owes a lot to you.

But he can’t dwell on that too long, lest his mind be given the room to wander.

Burying himself in work, he finds himself hardly noticing the passing of days, even as the weekend hits. What time isn’t spent working at the publishing house, he sticks around the auto shop, finding ways to keep his mind occupied, even once the shop closes up. It’s never looked better in there, and although Sukuna isn’t enjoying the work by any means, it’s better than nothing.

At least he has control.

He works until he’s ready to pass out, gets home and lifts weights until he does pass out in the early morning hours. He wakes up in a pool of sweat on Saturday morning, a sickening feeling in his stomach that he blames on the lack of sustenance in his body.

Squinting his eyes as he sits up, he can’t remember the last time he ate something beyond a protein drink. Figuring that’s probably it, he grunts as he pushes himself out of bed, grabbing his coveralls and tossing them over his shoulder, along with a pair of boxers, a folded shirt, and a pair of shorts from his dresser.

His stomach churns again uncomfortably. He groans, suppressing a cough as he readies the shower, waiting for the water to warm to a comfortable temperature before hopping in.

His shower is short-lived and filled with enough heavy metal music to have his neighbors surely place a complaint with his landlord, but he can’t bring himself to care. It’s that, or tight-chested heaving and gasping for a breath, so… yeah. Sukuna will take the complaint.

Pulling on a clean pair of boxers, he tilts his head when he hears a knocking sound. He’s not expecting anyone, so he figures it’s a neighbor rightfully pissed about his music and shuts it off. His hair's gotten so long that pushing it from his face just ends up with stray strands falling in his line of sight anyway, but fuck if he doesn’t find it annoying. He ought to just get a haircut at this rate, but he doesn’t exactly have the cash to spare given the latest invoice from his lawyer. He supposes it’ll have to wait, if the call of the kitchen scissors doesn’t tempt him first.

Another knock sounds outside, pulling his attention to his living room. Slipping on the shirt, shorts, and coveralls, he makes his way to the door, peering out the peephole. To his surprise, he’s met with the familiar face of Uraume. He pauses to cough again before pulling the door open.

“You’re alive.”

He scratches the back of his head. “Somethin’ like that,” he grumbles, turning on his tail to head back into the apartment and grab something to eat as his stomach roils once again. Downing a protein drink, he turns back to face Uraume. “I gotta leave for my shift in five,” he warns, glancing at the clock.

“Five minutes?” They ask, perplexed. “You texted me after you got home at midnight last night. That can’t be legal.”

“My shift ended at nine,” he shrugs, setting the bottle in his hand back on the counter in a row with another seven empty ones.

“And you only got home… at midnight?”

“Had some errands,” he shrugs dismissively.

Uraume stares for a moment, jaw tightening as they contemplate his well-being. Their sharp eyes survey the dark circles beneath his eyes and gaunt appearance of his skin. They suck in a breath, done with his dismissive antics. “You’re working yourself to death.”

Sukuna doesn’t move, casting a glance at the clock on the stove faintly glowing in the early morning hour. “Four minutes.”

“Sukuna. Can you take this seriously?” Uraume grimaces, a flicker of genuine frustration within their eyes that admittedly does make him a bit guilty. He knows he’s being a prick when even they’re annoyed with him.

“Yeah, alright,” he huffs, pressing the pad of his thumb to the crease between his brows. “Look, it just helps,” he sighs, coughing again into the ditch of his elbow. He frowns at the scratchy feeling of his throat, turning to the fridge again to grab some water.

“You’re clearly making yourself sick,” they press on, propping their hands up on their hips. “You’re not helping yourself. You need rest.”

Sukuna pauses as he considers whether he maybe has a cold, figuring he can just take some ibuprofen and pump his body with Vitamin C and he’ll be fine. He casts another glance up at the clock, shutting the fridge and downing half a bottle of water before tucking it into the pocket of his coveralls. “I gotta go.”

Uraume mutters a curse under their breath, reaching for Sukuna’s wrist and holding him in place. It wouldn’t take much for him to tear away from their grip, but they can see the troubled look swirling in the depths of his eyes that pins him in place as he chooses to listen.

“You need rest. You look like you’ve seen a ghost and missed your last week’s worth of meals.”

He blinks.

He has seen a ghost, to some extent.

In the delirium of his lack of sleep, he sees his little brothers running to their door in his peripherals when he walks past. Each time, he’s met with a shut door and utter silence that leaves him so lost and full of hatred for Kaori and for himself that he bolts away to busy himself and not be able to linger for a moment too long on the thoughts.

“Have you even had time to grieve?” Uraume queries when Sukuna remains silent and unmoving.

They’re met with more silence and a subtle twitch of his fingers.

“Sukuna,” they sigh, pressing a thumb to the crease between their brows. “You’re only prolonging things by ignoring your body and mind.”

He grits his teeth, considering their words. “I’m fine,” he mutters.

“You’re not,” Uraume shrugs. “I know you. If you were fine, I would have been tossed out the door four minutes ago and you would have said something snarky and rolled your eyes.”

His brow twitches as he contemplates his own reactions. Would he have done that? Is his differing reaction now just a side effect of trying to better himself for you, for his friends, and for his brothers? Or is it a product of the misery guiding him through a life where he can’t remember what day it is and doesn’t know what to make of his own damn self? He can’t be sure.

“Call in sick. Take a break. I’ll make you some food, fuck-” they shrug, staring at him expectantly.

He wrenches his wrist away finally, dragging a hand through his hair as he straightens. “Can’t. Got shit to do at work.”

“Do you? Or are you just afraid of facing your problems?”

“I’m not afraid,” he hisses.

Uraume crosses their arms. “At least there’s still a piece of you somewhere in there,” they sigh. “Take the day off.”

“No.”

“You’re sick.”

“I’m not.”

“For fuck’s sake, Sukuna,” they groan into their hands, rubbing at their eyes.

“I’m leaving,” he grumbles decidedly, grabbing some of Yuji’s Flintstones vitamins and popping a couple into his mouth. He ignores Uraume’s ‘you’ve gotta be kidding me,’ and pockets a bottle of Ibuprofen, grabbing his keys and putting on his work boots. He swings the door open despite Uraume’s protests, his gaze hardening as he shows them the door.

With a furious frown, they stand their ground, unmoving.

“Fine, stay then,” Sukuna shrugs, “but I’m locking the damn door and I expect it to stay locked,” he grumbles, indignantly narrowing his eyes when Uraume slides past him with a disapproving frown, like a parent disappointed with their child. Regardless, it gets them out the door, which is all he can bring himself to care about right now as he locks it behind him and purposefully walks away.

“She’d be sad, too, you know. If she knew you were doing this to yourself.”

That puts a kink in his pace as his movement falters and he nearly trips over his boot. He pauses for a moment before a bit of his fire returns as he stares back over his shoulder. “Don’t bring her into this,” he hisses.

“If I don’t, you won’t listen to me,” they deadpan, shrugging their shoulders. “You won’t listen to anyone.”

He opens his mouth to protest, fire in the pit of his stomach growing with each passing moment as he regards his close friend. His words form a lump in his throat at the realization that he’s pushing Uraume away. Pushing everyone and everything away once again. He knows the signs, he knows he’s fucking doing it again, but if he stops to face it, he’ll be forced to face not just that, but everything. Swallowing the lump down and dampening the fire with his cowardice, he turns away. “I don’t have time for this,” he mutters, leaving Uraume standing at his door.

The last thing he hears as he races down the rickety old stairs of his apartment building is the sigh of one of his closest confidantes.

–

Sukuna’s morning and afternoon are draining. Every movement feels like an effort, his body is covered in a layer of unrelenting sweat and it drips down the valleys of his back muscles. The day drains him, but it’s enough to make sure he’s not forced to remember. To confront the thoughts he’s running from.

Lifting an engine, changing tires, doing an oil change. He runs on autopilot, tightening bolts and changing air filters. He’s never been one for customer service but today is a particularly bad day, even his boss chooses to effectively ‘shelve’ him, leaving the customer service work to the rest of the shop. He blames it on inattentiveness, but anyone can see there’s more to it than that.

The pressure in his head mounts as the sun crosses the sky and he finds himself pressing his thumbs into his temples, praying for a break from the incessant ache.

“Go home. I don’t mind paying you overtime, kid, but-”

“Don’t call me that,” Sukuna grumbles.

“- not when you’re like this. You sick? You look worse than you usually do.”

“Thanks,” Sukuna grumbles, suppressing a cough. “Just haven’t been sleeping well, not a big deal.” His voice is barely audible as he sits atop the rubber of a tire he just changed, throwing back half a bottle of water.

His boss, an older man with graying hair, reaches up to scratch his jaw, deep in thought as he watches his youngest employee’s slightly labored breathing. “Fine,” he agrees with a shake of his head, “but I’m dragging you out of here once you hit eight hours, you got that?”

The tattooed man is too busy pressing his oil-slicked thumb into the crease between his brows to hear what he said, so he just grunts.

No matter where he is, everything feels like it’s out to get him. His body is working against him, his mind is a battlefield he’s not willing to let himself weather and now every little clink and buzz in the shop is setting his nerves to a searing blaze. He can hardly bear to listen to the noise anymore, quickly getting to his feet and slipping under one of the half-open garage doors.

Taking a breath of the warm air, he stares up at the sky, grateful for the peace it allows him, if only for a moment. He slips his hand into his pocket, pulling out whatever cheap pack of cigarettes he’d been able to get his hands on and slipping one between his lips. He lights it and inhales sharply, but the nicotine does him no favors. His nerves are frayed and his energy is at a new low, even for him.

Thinking back to when you first met his brothers, that might have been one of his most exhausting ‘normal’ days, but even then he’d had the energy to handle life. It doesn’t even begin to match up to how he feels now.

Taking a long drag, he exhales into the air, pushing his hair out of his face and wiping the sheen of sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. Shutting his eyes, he attempts to shake the weariness from his marrow, but it seems to plague his soul.

“Shit,” he mutters, unzipping the top of his coveralls to let it rest over his hips, but he can’t seem to shake the pulsing sensation of overheating.

“Full service in bay one, Ryomen,” one of his coworkers calls out. Letting out a breath, he coughs as it catches in his throat, his cigarette sputtering to the ground. With a frustrated shake of his head, he stomps the ember out of the cylinder and pulls his coveralls up over his shoulders once more.

“Got it,” he mutters, barely lucid enough to understand what’s being asked of him. He rolls his shoulders, letting the older man handle the customer portion and call out instructions to him. He runs through it on autopilot, the only thing getting him through the day without passing out, and descends down into the grease pit to check for leaks beneath the undercarriage of the Honda before he clears it for an oil change.

Narrowing his eyes, he manages to make out a large rusted hole in the base of the car, so much so that there’s almost surely a carbon monoxide leak in the vehicle.

“Exhaust leak!” He calls out from beneath the car, staying put in case he gets put on that duty.

His vision blurs as he stares blankly at the greasy wall beside him, the yellow paint chipped with years’ worth of wear. The longer he stands unmoving, the worse all the feelings closing in on him become. He coughs into his sleeve, the force of the movement causing a sharp pain in his head. Leaning against the wall, he clutches his forehead, spreading grease through his pink hair.

“Fuck,” he sputters out, nausea extending to his limbs. Forced to sit down, a lump forms in his throat, but before he can face the possibility that he might throw up in the damn grease pit, his colleague calls out to him.

“They’re gonna leave the car for an hour. Can you replace the rusted portion of the exhaust?”

Sukuna groans, pushing up again and clutching his stomach. “Yeah,” he gruffs, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it.

He makes his way back up to the bay, standing for a moment too long to assess the selection of pipes that he could cut to the size he needs before grabbing the angle grinder. He sets everything up, safety glasses and gloves on, before it all seems to happen in a flash.

The sparks, the jarring pop and screech, the clang of the pipe and the bang of the tool hitting the floor.

His chest heaves and he blinks as something warm trickles down his brow. Backing away from the workbench, he tosses his safety goggles aside, staring in complete and utter shock at what could have been a hell of a lot worse. The angle grinder disc is lodged straight through the left side of the glasses, the disc having snapped in half and sent the other side straight into the wooden table. He should consider himself lucky.

The loud noise draws the attention of the rest of the shop as his colleagues all come barreling towards him. Through labored breaths, he runs on autopilot and adrenaline, fueling his body as he runs to the shop washroom, locking it behind him as he stares in the mirror.

The frenzied man looking back at him is foreign. Pale in a sickly manor, his eyes swimming with surprise and a hint of fear. Grease coats the right portion of his hair where he’d been running his hand in order to keep it out of his face, and a portion of his muscle has even faded. He’s not even positive how that could happen, when all he does is work and exercise, though he supposes he could do with a better meal plan.

This isn’t like before. This isn’t a case of not recognizing himself. This isn’t Sukuna.

He takes a breath, his eyes trailing to the thin slit in his brow where the angle grinder just barely nicked him. It’s nothing serious he’s certain, just enough for blood to seep out, but it shouldn’t have happened in the first place.

Sukuna is a meticulous man. Detail-oriented and on top of things, mistakes like these don’t happen for him. He’s an emotional mistake waiting to happen, but tools? Art? Labor? That’s what he’s best at. He can’t read people, but machines are predictable.

What the fuck went wrong?

He mentally goes over the steps of what he did to prepare the angle grinder in his head, only for it to disappear as he realizes he can hardly remember even grabbing the pipe in the first place. Everything was on autopilot.

Grabbing a paper towel, he winces as he wipes the blood from his forehead. His skin is clammy, sticky to the touch and hot.

Shit. He hates to admit it, but maybe Uraume was right.

So why is he so cold all of a sudden?

He leans heavily on the sink as the adrenaline wears out of his system, his breathing now rapid and shallow. His boss knocks on the door and calls his name, but it barely registers as anything more than white noise.

He shuts his eyes, his knuckles going white as he clings to the sink and breathes in and out as evenly as he can manage. His hair is so long that it nearly hangs in a curtain around his head, the pink strands matted with oil.

“Shit,” he breathes, clutching the sink harder as the bile in his throat seems to turn more sour. The nausea increases too, just as his boss warns him that he’s about to unlock the door.

In an effort to maintain his appearance, Sukuna throws his head back, shaking his hair from his face and swallowing down the lump in his throat. He sucks in a breath, pulling the door open and facing his boss with the best hardened expression he can manage.

The older man’s eyes widen at the state of his employee.

“My office. Now.”

Stifling a cough that nearly causes Sukuna to throw up his shitty protein drink from earlier that morning, he nods. Keeping his head down, he shields himself from onlookers as he follows after his boss. Just barely holding himself together, he crosses the threshold into the only office in the small garage, with a single desk and a rickety fan on the ceiling. An old brick of a monitor sits on the desk with a filing cabinet off to the side that holds up a very dead bamboo plant.

His boss reaches across the desk with a paper towel, making a motion to his brow. Sukuna takes a hold of it, pressing it to his wound.

“Look, Ryomen. Whatever’s going on, you can’t be here in this state.” He explains, taking a seat behind the desk and waving a hand for Sukuna to follow suit in the shitty plastic chair opposite him. “I’m putting you on medical leave until you can show me you’re feeling alright. You’re a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

It’s like a shot to the heart. Or maybe the head. Nausea hits him like a gavel striking a podium, hard, fast and loud. His ears ring and his stomach churns. He leans forward, his vision growing white at the edges.

“Kid? You need me to call someone?”

“Don’t call me that,” he croaks like clockwork.

His boss sighs heavily. “Am I calling someone or not?”

He runs his non-dominant hand through his hair in an effort to keep his wound from getting infected. “I need the money, I can’t-”

“I’ll give you two weeks of paid leave. But I don’t want to see your ass back here until you’re feeling better.” His tone is stern, his hands clasped before him on the desk.

Sukuna’s leg bounces, unable to meet his gaze as he struggles to find a way to argue that this is all that’s keeping him from the one thing he’s not sure he can handle right now. He can’t even be shocked or grateful for the paid time off, preoccupied with other thoughts.

Only six days remaining until he can’t appeal any longer.

His leg bounces faster, his breaths growing shallow again.

“That’s it, I’m calling someone,” his boss mutters at the state of his youngest, but one of his best and most reliable, employees. He pushes up from his chair, keeping a watchful eye over Sukuna as he sifts through his files in the cabinet at the back corner.

Shit. You’re his emergency contact.

“No,” he mutters, unwilling to pull you from your studies yet again for something stupid and trivial. “I’ll call someone,” he insists breathlessly.

The graying man lets out an exasperated sigh as he turns and leans against the cool filing cabinet. “Fine. But I’m not letting you leave until someone is here. No buses. Understand?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t move, devoid of emotion as he hangs his head. The feeling of his matted hair against his cheek and forehead makes his skin crawl. He’s in desperate need of a shower.

His boss leaves the room to give him space as he pulls out his phone, keeping one hand pressed to his brow with the paper towel.

You’ve texted to check on him, sweet as ever.

1:34 PM Princess || Hey :) how are things??

He finds himself reading it three times over as his thumb hovers over the keyboard. You’re usually the one person he doesn’t struggle to talk to, but in his delirium, that doesn’t prove to be the case.

Leaning forward on his knee, his eyes glaze over as he contemplates his words, before finally landing on something and typing it out with one hand.

2:12 PM Sukuna || good. working

2:12 PM Sukuna || you studying?

Neither of you have ever really needed much small talk, but it’s all he can really manage.

With a dejected sigh, he pulls up his contacts and clicks on Uraume’s name. It takes two rings for them to answer.

“Hello?”

Sukuna’s mouth opens but his words die in his throat. How humiliating it is to need to make this call in the first place. He wants to say he’s fine enough to take the bus, but the overwhelming heat his body’s producing along with a pounding headache and tight chest prove him wrong.

That, and the crimson seeping through the paper towel to the tips of his fingers. It stings, and he’s fairly sure the only reason it doesn’t hurt more is because his body is still processing the shock of the event.

“... Hello? Sukuna?”

Pulling his phone away from his ear, he presses his eyes shut, holding the device to his forehead. Sucking in a breath, he tightens his grip on his phone as he speaks. “You were right.”

It takes Uraume a moment to reply. “About what?”

Any other day, he might call them out for being an ass about it. They know exactly what they’re right about, they just want him to say it.

Sighing, he holds his phone back to his ear. “I’m sick.”

The silence that follows is staggering. He can practically hear Uraume nodding knowingly, somehow making the whole situation feel that much dumber on Sukuna’s part. Every action and reaction from this morning was nothing more than robotic. A tired man with rusted hinges acting on his biological written code as if it’s all he knows. But he’s no robot.

Just a dumbass.

“Need a ride?”

Uraume’s form of care has always been tough love. No words to sugarcoat his situation, no offering of niceties when reality makes more sense, even if it’s harder to stomach. They make him admit to his own issues and offer no comfort in return, but at the end of the day they’re there for him. They find solutions. They make shit work.

“Yeah.”

“Be there in fifteen.”

“Right.” He pulls the phone from his ear, pausing over the end call button before muttering, “thanks.”

He hangs his head low, curling his lip at the smell of whatever grease, oil, and gas all coats his fingers, alongside the metallic scent of blood. He doesn’t want to hear it. The ‘I told you so’, the ‘take better care of yourself’.

He’s sick and tired of it. He doesn’t want to hear it. Not from Uraume, not from his boss, not from you.

Let him be pissed. Let him be a fucking mess.

He’s over this, he’s over everything.

Pushing up from the chair, his entire body protests, aching in places he didn’t even know could ache. His head pounds and the wound in his brow stings, screaming at him to take a seat as nausea rocks his stomach. Groaning, he presses on, avoiding the concerned questions from his coworkers as he passes them and ducks under the door outside, discarding the paper towel on the way.

His boss leaves him be as Uraume pulls up and rolls their window down.

“Hey, how- Your eye, what happened?” They gasp, their expression shifting from one of exasperation and knowing to genuine concern.

“Made a mistake,” he gruffs, hoarse.

“Jesus, Sukuna-” they cut themself off as Sukuna slams the car door shut. He turns his head just enough to buckle himself in, his wound visible to his friend. “You’re still bleeding, maybe I should take you to-”

“Drive me home before I throw up in your fucking car,” Sukuna growls harshly as he leans his head against the cool glass of the passenger window. He shuts his eyes, taking deep breaths in order to prevent exactly that as the car lurches into motion. Clutching his stomach for a majority of the ride, he remains zeroed in on his breathing in an effort not to throw up in his friend’s car.

He’s not sure he’d ever emotionally recover from it if he did.

The silence is welcome, though he can feel Uraume’s concerned glances burning into him, particularly as the vehicle halts at his place and he’s out in a hurry, practically bolting up to his place to clutch the toilet in complete and utter nausea before forcing himself into the shower.

Uraume unhurriedly makes their way up to the apartment with him, completely unphased and unsurprised by the development, aside from the injury. They could see it coming a mile away this morning. Sukuna rarely got sick in the years they’d known one another, but with the petri dish that is Yuji Itadori, it was bound to happen every so often, and it hits him hard every time.

This is no exception.

Uraume waits patiently for Sukuna’s body to stabilize, leaning against the counter with a sigh. In Sukuna’s haste this morning, they hadn’t had an opportunity to really notice the state of his apartment, but it would seem as though even since they were here last week, Sukuna’s been letting responsibilities and chores slip to the wayside. Grimacing at the thought, they tap their fingers along their arm, contemplating how to help him.

The grief of losing his father and uncertainty with how to handle his little brothers as a guardian was one thing, and they could handle that. They could handle the mornings where he didn’t ask for help, but they could hear Yuji crying somewhere behind Sukuna over the phone. They could handle the long nights where he struggled to sleep and the late mornings where he struggled to get out of bed.

This was a new low.

His shoulders are slumped as he trudges from the washroom and casts a glance in their direction. A chill runs up their spine as they approach slowly, getting a better view of the damage done to his brow. A shallow cut runs down his cheek, the water of the shower leaving it as little more than a scratch, but they’re not sure they’d say the same for the slice through his brow.

“Shit, Sukuna,” they breathe.

Avoidant of their gaze, he backs away. “Just let me get some fucking sleep,” he grumbles.

“What if you need stitches?”

“I don’t.”

“You’re still bleeding,” they argue, watching as he lifts a hand to test whether that’s the truth.

Fresh crimson coats the tips of his fingers. “Nothing a bandage can’t fix,” he mutters, lazily heading to grab one as Uraume gawks at the state he’s fallen into.

When did he get so comfortable in the grave he seems to think he dug for himself? Even if he dug the hole, it was Kaori who thrust the shovel into his hands and life itself that forced him to dig. He seems comfortable convincing himself that rock bottom is where he belongs, resigned to accepting that happiness isn’t meant for him. It’s not a good look on the most prideful and resilient person that Uraume knows.

Looking at him now, you wouldn’t know this is that same person. The one who faltered through grief and parenthood just to pick himself back up and make a show of being able to handle himself.

By the time he returns with a bandage wrapped over his brow and eye, Uraume isn’t exactly convinced that he should be alone. Blood already seeps through the white gauze fabric and it’s undeniable just how shaky his entire figure is, still wracked with shock.

“I’m going to bed, you can show yourself out,” he mutters, pausing. “Thanks.”

And what more can they do than to stand there?

The two of them may not seem particularly close from the outside, both of them coming across fairly disconnected and often cold, but that’s not the case at all. Sure, they can go days, sometimes even weeks at a time without talking, but that’s never been a sign of what their friendship is or isn’t. When Uraume needs a helping hand and the evidence slips through the cracks, it’s Sukuna who shows up with Yuji on his hip and Choso trailing behind to help them through it. At first, they thought it was just to repay debt, but it became obvious through inside jokes and shared trauma that that wasn’t the case.

Sukuna cares. He cares more than most would admit, but he can’t seem to fathom that others might care for him, choosing instead to bury himself in misery and loneliness.

On one hand, Uraume wants to tear Sukuna’s bedroom door off its damn hinges and shake some sense into the man. On the other hand, they can’t bring themself to do anything more than stare at his shut door. He coughs, muffled behind the wooden barrier, and Uraume can only blink. 

This isn’t like any other time they’ve managed to pull Sukuna through the mud, no matter how battered and bruised he came out. It’s as though he’s actively working against them. He wants to wallow, wants to give up. Like the Sukuna that Uraume’s come to know has been held underwater so long that his lungs are filled with water and any attempt at gasping for air causes unfathomable pain.

In truth, they’re not sure what to do.

Force him to go to the hospital? Let him rest and risk leaving him alone?

They’re at a loss. All they can think to do is to reach out and get your thoughts and let him get some rest.

–

News that Sukuna’s sick didn’t come as a shock to you. After the incident with Reggie, he’d been nearly unreachable. That’s not uncharacteristic of him, but he was harder to reach than usual. Every time he would answer you after a long wait, he’d excuse his tardy reply with the excuse that he’s working.

You hate that he wouldn’t admit to being ill, that you had to hear it from Uraume, only to find him pretending he hadn’t woken up to the sound of you buzzing his door. With the door open only a crack, he eyes you from within his apartment.

His voice has the rasp of nails on a chalkboard. “What?”

Grumpy.

“Uraume mentioned you’re-”

“‘Course they did.”

You shoot him a look for interrupting when he’s clearly in need of a little TLC. “I brought, um-” you rustle through the bag hung around your wrist. “- Acetaminophen, Ibuprofen, some Lozenges, some anti-Nausea meds, and soup.”

He gives you a thirty-yard stare like he didn’t hear a word you said, too worn out from a lack of sleep and being unable to keep any food down. “Uh-” he clears his throat when he chokes on bile. “Just drop it out there.”

“Let me make you the soup,” you insist with a sweet smile. Under the dim lights of the hallway, you still manage to look angelic with the glow acting as an incandescent halo, even as Sukuna attempts to shoo you away. Always offering up whatever help you can, all for a sliver of his friendship, or maybe his affection? You brought him the entire drug store when all he really needed was some sleep, he can’t think of another person quite as thoughtful.

Still, he doesn’t move, too caught up in his thoughts, or lack thereof. He blinks, staring straight at you from where he stands with the door blocking a majority of his figure.

“... Ryo?”

He blinks again, huffing out a dramatic “fine,” and moving aside. He turns on his heel, collapsing on the couch into the pile of blankets and pillows he’d dragged out when he’d been hit hard by chills in the middle of the night. He sniffles, burying his face in the blankets as he coughs. “You should go home before I get you sick,” he rasps.

“That’s alright!” You cheerily smile, somehow managing to light the room with a simple gesture.

Your expression contorts as he swivels his head enough for you to see his extremely swollen and bruised brow, with whatever is causing it narrowly covered with a bandage. With a gasp, any thought of keeping your distance is gone as you’re at his side, leaning down to get a better view of his injury.

“Oh my god, what happened?”

“Fuck off before you get sick,” he grumbles, swatting his hand through the air in dismissal.

With a soft shake of your head, you take another step forward. The golden rays of early evening cast an orange hue over his skin, allowing you to see the weariness you’ve come to expect from him. Purple and blue decorate the right side of his face down to his cheek and his eye is swollen enough that it makes him look even grumpier, if that’s possible.

Blinking out of your stupor, you take a look at the pile of blankets he’s plopped himself into, folding the fabric over him to make room for yourself at his side.

“Fuck’s sake,” he grumbles, inching away from you. “Don’t blame me when you catch this.”

You slide closer, unphased by his watered down threats. You can’t exactly afford to get sick, but given the state of your friend’s life and Uraume’s concern, you think he could use the support. Besides, you didn’t get sick when Yuji was last year. You’re willing to risk it again if it means helping him.

That’s not to mention that all concern over your scholarship was practically thrown out the window upon the realization that you have little control over it as is.

“What happened?” You repeat, leaning closer to him.

“Can you fucking listen?” He hisses, standing up to face you now as he puts some distance between you. His head protests the sudden movement with a pounding sensation, causing him to wince. “Just-” He reaches up to where the bandage is plastered to his skin, shutting his bruised eye as he waits for the pain to dissuade. “I can make the soup myself.”

Frowning, you stand to meet his gaze. “Stop that. Stop trying to do everything by yourself.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but you cut him off.

“No, listen to me,” you plead with him, taking another step forward.

His mouth snaps shut as he’s suddenly hit with the image of you walking out of his apartment in tears as his mind replays that moment in painful detail. He’s not about to watch you walk out of his life again because he’s a dumbass. No matter how shitty he feels and how foggy his mind is, he’s not stupid enough to fuck things up. Not again.

His shoulders slump as he fixes you with his attention.

“Look, I get it. I know you’re just trying to look out for me, but you don’t get to make decisions about us for me.” You straighten as you face him. “I don’t care if I get sick, I just wan-”

“Us?” He sputters it out before he can think about it.

Your muscles freeze as you choke on your words. His brow is about as furrowed as he can manage with how swollen it is, his lidded eyes flickering around your face and intermittently landing on your lips. It’s hard to pretend you don’t notice it, don’t notice the little things at this point when it all feels like it’s pointing towards one thing.

“I-” You stammer, equally confused as you stare back at him. It would be so easy to tell him, but between the injury that you still have no explanation for and the fact that he looks a bit like a big wet cat who got into a bar fight, now doesn’t feel like the right time. “Yeah,” you manage a thin-lipped smile. “Our friendship.”

“Right.”

“Right.” You chew on your lip for a moment, unable to gleam anything from his reaction as he stares blankly at you. The moment hangs in the air a second too long and you race to fill the space. “I just thought we were past these stupid arguments about letting others help.”

“We are.”

Your cheek twitches as you eye him. He doesn’t usually relent so easily with such little fanfare. You can blame it on his cold, but… Huh.

“Right. Okay,” you nod, averting your eyes to stare at your twiddling thumbs for a split-second. “So, what happened?” You blurt again to fill the strange silence.

His gaze slowly lifts from your lips as you try to pretend you haven’t noticed again. The sickness must have him delirious or something, you’re sure of it. As your words register, he huffs out a sigh. “Accident at work with an angle grinder,” he explains vaguely with a shrug. He doesn’t particularly want to go into more detail, staring at his pile of blankets with a frown.

“Oh god,” you breathe, taking another step towards him. He stifles a cough, looking away from you. “Did you need stitches?”

Probably. “No.”

You nod slowly as your eyes trace the bandage and deep black and blue that decorates his eye. You reach up slowly, using a finger to delicately push his hair back away from the bandage. “Ryo…” you murmur softly. He’s too caught up on the way you say his name with so much care and genuine worry that it has his delusional mind running through a million scenarios where he leans down and captures you in a kiss. As it stands, he finds himself struggling not to lean into your touch.

Though, in all the scenarios in his head, he’s not sick, and he’s a well-put-together man. It’s not even him in the scenarios. It’s who he used to be, or maybe who he wishes he could be. It’s not the hollow man who stands before you.

He frowns, pulling back from your soft touch as his brow pulls together in contempt for himself. Maybe in another world he’d be deserving of someone like you, but he can’t fathom what it means to be loved in such a way.

“I’m fine,” he mutters guardedly, sitting back down in his blankets. He already feels tenfold better than the previous day, no longer nauseous and his coughing dying down. He’d just needed some rest to allow his body the chance to fight.

“Do you want some ibuprofen? It should help with your cold and the pain,” you offer, turning back towards the bag you’d left on the couch.

“Sure, princess.”

He takes it without protest, and even lets you warm up a can of soup for him. It may come out of a can but he swears it tastes different than he’s used to.

Maybe it’s just the bitter aftertaste of self-loathing.

As you grin at him when he gives you a nod of approval, you take a quick glance at your phone. “I should get back to studying,” you hum more to yourself than him. He wants to reach out and stop you, but knows better. “I should head out,” you direct your attention back to him. “Do you need anything else?”

You. “Nah.”

Sympathy crosses your face in the form of a smile as you gather your belongings and set out the medication you brought over for him on the coffee table. “Feel better soon. Text me if you need anything,” you tell him softly before slipping away out the door.

His gaze trails after you, locked to the spot where you disappeared behind the door for god knows how long.

Something in his chest tightens as you walk away.

“I’m so fucked,” he mutters emptily to himself.

–

Monday morning is the best he’s felt in a long time, but it still hits him hard. He wakes up in a cold sweat, eyes flying open as he sits up on his elbows. Sweat pools at his lower back, too shaken to bother getting up and going to shower, even if his body is begging him to do so. He falls to his back, staring at the ceiling.

It’s how every morning has started lately.

Well, not the cold sweat, but staring at the ceiling as he contemplates what put him in such a miserable position to begin with. He thinks over virtually every thing he’s fucked up, he goes through every ‘what if’, as though he might find some alternate universe where the kids are two rooms over and he can slip through the cracks to reside in that world instead.

No matter how hard he searches, he can’t find a solution to his problems. And when that thought begins to creep up on him, that’s when he finally pushes out of bed to get ready and occupy his mind with something.

The cold sweat has to do with the dreams that have been haunting him lately. He wants to call them fever-induced, but he doesn’t feel sick anymore. He still opts to call in from work just to be safe as he’s still somewhat shaken from the incident on Friday, but he feels fine otherwise.

The dreams vary in subject matter but one thing remains the same across each one; you.

A soccer game with Sukuna and Choso on the sidelines. Yuji is running as fast as he can straight for the ball. He effortlessly kicks it straight into the goal like it comes naturally to him, turning to grin at his two older brothers. Sukuna smiles lazily as Choso cheers his little brother on. It feels easy. Free. But when he turns his head, you’re there to lift the little boy into your arms excitedly and he feels his smile falter as his heart hammers.

He remembers one where Choso sets the table, and proudly places down the first steak he’s ever tried to cook. Seared with care on the stove and basted in garlic butter with fresh thyme, he clenches his fists at his sides as he waits for his brothers to try it. Sukuna cuts into it, eyeing the inside. Medium rare, perfectly cooked. He smirks as the savory taste hits his tongue, but before he can praise the meal, you chime in about its perfection. His head whips towards you, lips forming an ‘O’.

In another one, he’d managed to save enough to take his brothers to a theme park. Not a big fancy one, but keeping them in order is a hassle regardless. It isn’t too difficult keeping Choso nearby, but Yuji is a flurry of excitement and limbs. As Sukuna grows increasingly frustrated with the little runaway, you manage to pull him to you and lift him onto your shoulders without any issue. He straightens at the sight, blinking.

The single constant across each and every one is that you seem to appear out of nowhere, bringing out the best in his little family. Encouraging all three of them, keeping them in order, and helping without a second thought.

It’s domestic. It’s warm and fuzzy and makes his limbs feel weak at the very thought.

It irks him, as he stares at the mirror, because the man staring back at him isn’t the same one in the dreams. He grits his teeth as he grips the counter. Maybe if he could find that version of himself, he might consider himself worthy of confessing.

He harshly rubs the temple that isn’t swollen, attempting to rid himself of the thoughts. No use in crying over spilled milk. He cracks his neck on either side, taking off his bandage and assessing the damage. It’s no longer bleeding, scabbed over and ugly, and some deeply loathful part of him genuinely thinks that maybe it’s what he deserves.

He washes it carefully, not bothering with a new bandage as he evaluates what he assumes will be a permanent accessory to his appearance.

He’s lucky it didn’t do any more damage, but he should have gotten stitches.

He spends the day finding little ways to keep himself busy as thoughts of his shortcomings with the trial continue to creep up on him, grateful that over the past couple of days his mind was too muddled to be plagued by them, but there’s one thing he can’t seem to escape.

You.

His body and mind are screaming in unison at him that he’s being a dumbass, that there’s more to your friendship than he thinks. That you choosing to say ‘us’ the other day means something, that the gentleness with which you treat him is reserved solely for him. That maybe Uraume was right. Every little moment with you is replayed in his head over and over, even as he mindlessly sorts through emails or makes himself dinner.

Taking a seat at the couch and shoving the pile of blankets aside, he takes a bite of his sad sandwich, as he hasn’t been grocery shopping in longer than anyone should care to admit. He reaches for the remote, knocking over a bottle of Acetaminophen and pausing. In yet another moment for his mind to replay like a movie, he finds himself lost in thought staring at the bottle.

You had taken the time out of your day, swamped with studies, to not only bring him way more medication than he could have ever needed, but also make sure he ate. You had stood up to him when he was being a dick and a dumbass and still stuck by him and treated him with kindness. You had referred to the both of you as ‘us’. And even if you’d brushed it off, he’d noticed the way you faltered and the little nervous aversion of your gaze.

He saw it all.

He was too spent to think much of it then, but now it’s the reason his leg bounces and his food is forgotten on the coffee table as he finds himself booking an Uber. He doesn’t have the cash, nor does he care.

He just needs to feel in control of his life for once, and he’s set his mind on something he’s capable of doing. Grasping at whatever hope he can that maybe you still have feelings for him, he changes into a pair of jeans, throwing his leather jacket over a plain white T-shirt and uses some hair gel to make himself look somewhat presentable. His eyes slide towards his injury in the mirror, but he doesn’t have time to think about it as he jogs down to the waiting car.

The ride to your apartment feels suffocating under the weight of just how many things could go wrong in one moment. The fear of losing you claws at his lungs, causing enough of a tremor in his voice that he almost cancels the whole idea, but the idea of drowning in his emotions with you at a distance is equally as stifling as doing so without you at all.

If he can hold onto the hope you provide for long enough, maybe he can find something before his time is up and figure out how to appeal. Maybe if he just forces himself through this, no matter how asphyxiating it is, then he can figure out how to take control of his life.

He clutches the door as he steps out, setting his eyes towards your apartment when he spots two figures at the door, both familiar.

You, with a pink hoodie hanging off of your shoulders, a pair of leggings clinging to your thighs, and one of your closest friends, Kento Nanami.

Hugging.

Sukuna knows he should brush it off, it shouldn’t be a big deal.

When you release him and the blonde’s hands find your shoulders, his expression warm and worried as his thumbs rub circles into your arms, Sukuna feels his chest contract.

It’s as though an anvil’s worth of weight has been dropped on his chest, stopping his heart and crushing his lungs on impact. He exists only as a ghost, watching his life play out from the sidelines of his own body.

All he can do is watch as it’s Kento’s thumbs that rub small circles into your arms in reassurance and not his, frozen in place by his own guilt and jealousy. It’s pathetic, really. His lip twitches in disdain for how he’s let his life pass him by, but he can’t seem to break free and crack through the glass.

His mind is all smoke and mirrors. A maze of emotions with no direct path out. Every mirror is jagged, jumping out to knick piece after piece of him until there’s nothing left. He sucks in a breath, though his lungs still feel empty. Had he misread every signal? Are you simply being kind?

Sukuna had been so caught up on the fact that confessing might give him a modicum of control over his life that he hadn’t considered that someone could have beat him to it. Even if you’d said no, you’re both adults, you could have worked through the rejection like you had when Sukuna was stupid enough to reject you, but this? He hadn’t exactly considered this to be an option.

He feels his heart pang when you grin up at the blonde, and turns on his heels to get back into the car before he can see something that’s sure to make him lose whatever dignity he has left.

“Sir?”

“Sorry. Take me to the bar on Third.”

It takes five minutes to get there, but it feels like a blink of an eye. His legs carry him inside without a second thought, desperately looking to envelop himself in a cushion, something to soften the blow of his existence.

He knows better, but convinces the angel on his shoulder that he wasn’t in his right mind when he ended up here.

That feeling numb is easier than being in pieces. Easier than drowning. Easier than burning alive.

He runs his hand down the glass he’s been handed, causing a rift in the condensation dotting the drinkware. He taps it twice, before tipping his head back to down his first shot of the night. It burns as it slides down his throat, reminding him of just how stupid he’s being, but the pain doesn’t match up to the sensation of what it really means to hit rock bottom.

His grip on the glass tightens as he clenches his jaw. He wants so desperately to take a deep breath and take control of things, but it’s as though his own body won’t listen. He’s still stuck on the outside, watching the devil on his shoulder order a second shot and tip his chin for him. If he’s gonna make bad decisions, the least he can do is hope that the second shot will provide some sort of cushioning for him.

It doesn’t. Nor does the third.

Without you, Toji, Uraume, or even Satoru to distract him, the comfortable numbness never quite comes either. Instead, he’s sent into turmoil, spiraling uncontrollably down a lonely path of misery where he can’t bear to face his own issues. The idea of coming to terms with the loss of his brothers and his shot with you going down the drain causes his throat to tighten and his breath to shorten, which is a bad mix with the depressant flowing in his veins.

With parted lips, he holds the uninjured side of his head in his hands. Gripping at his hair, he clenches his jaw as he fights the growing anxiety closing in on him on all sides. Inhaling a shaky breath, he slides his glass towards the bartender. “Hit me,” he mutters.

The bartender pauses her motions, the rag she was holding to a glass coming to a halt. She considers her words carefully, speaking firmly. “Can I offer you some water instead? We can arrange a ride home for you as well.”

He pushes his hair back from his forehead.

“Depends. Does it come with ‘nother shot?” He asks lowly, his words slurred together.

“No, sir. I’m cutting you off.”

“‘Ve only had three shots.”

She grimaces. “Of Everclear.”

“Jus’ one more.”

“No. I’m calling a cab for you. Can you give me an address?”

Stubbornly, Sukuna stares blankly at the empty glass in front of him. He tilts it to either side, listening to the sound of the ice clinking against the glass. It’s cool to the touch, his body otherwise warm.

“Can you give me an emergency contact? A partner or parent?” She pushes, remaining polite as she hooks her finger over the edge of the glass, pulling his attention to her.

Partner or parent, huh?

He taps his fingers on the bar counter, a dry chuckle parting his lips. “Nah. Got neither.”

The uncomfortable silence is deafening. Sukuna’s harsh reality, the very beast he began drinking to avoid, claws at the ground beneath him. It scrapes and drags itself across the ground, its gaping maw opening up to swallow him whole.

He reaches up to scratch at his chest as his body responds to the despairing sensation. Heat comes over him in a wave, stealing the breath from his lungs.

“Do you need a hotel?”

“I’ll jus’ go,” he croaks, sliding from the barstool, even as the bartender attempts to get him to turn back and accept her help. He trudges through the doors, letting the cool night air hit his face. He can’t say for sure what time it is when he starts towards his apartment, nor can recount how he even found his way back. He wanders aimlessly through alleys, stumbling on uneven concrete and gravel.

Narrowly catching himself as he trips on the curb in front of his apartment, he shuffles his feet across the sidewalk, shoving his hand into his pocket in search of his keys, but the cool metal never finds his fingers in either his pants or jacket pockets.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his throat so tight that it comes out in an embarrassingly high pitch as his voice breaks. Weakly, his fist hits the glass door as he slides down and his knees hit the ground, head in his hands.

Every mistake he’s ever made plays back in his mind.

The time he accidentally tripped Toji on the bus when they were kids by lounging his legs out too far and his friend had a nasty bruise for a week.

The time he forged a signature from his father after completely bombing a test, only to have the teacher reach out for confirmation.

The time he’d fought with the doctor over not being able to fix his father’s illness.

The time he yelled at Choso for knocking his coffee over on a particularly long morning where Yuji wouldn’t sleep.

The time he’d left Yuji to cry for longer than any good guardian would because he couldn’t get out of bed.

Failure, after failure, after failure.

Nothing is heavier than the dead body of someone you once loved. Couple that with two terrified kids, now alone god-knows-where and the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen at risk of failing her scholarship and all of her dreams, and Sukuna wants nothing more than to stop all of the thoughts.

His head hangs in his hands.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop.

His breathing staggers, catching as it all comes up to choke him.

He can’t run any longer. So fucking close to the Everclear stashed in his locked drawer. Anything to forget.

Fucking anything.

With ragged breaths, he desperately searches his pockets again, taking note of a jingling noise when he shuffles. He slides his hand over the leather of his jacket, slipping it into the front chest pocket. Finally pulling his keys out, he pulls himself to his feet on the door handle and makes his way up to his apartment.

Discarding his keys, he stumbles to his room and pulls the drawer open. He grits his teeth as another shot, undiluted by any kind of soda, burns his throat. He catches a glimpse at the clock, unable to bring himself to care that it’s painfully close to his alarm going off for the shift he promised to attend.

Finally, fucking finally, things begin to fade. The world grows softer at the edges, as does his consciousness. His stomach wants so badly to violently reject everything he’s put into it, any sustenance or water still sitting discarded on his coffee table, but he swallows down any nausea. Anything, fucking anything to keep this haze going.

Thoughts don’t bog him down, his throat doesn’t tighten and his heart doesn’t flip with each unwelcome notion.

He’s numb.

–

Stress is your closest friend as of late. You’re grateful for the support of your friends, particularly Kento, who’s been a huge help in catching up on your studies. He’d also managed to introduce you to someone who was in attendance of the presentation you had missed in your Public Relations and Marketing class, who was able to share notes. How he’d managed that, you can’t be sure, but you’re not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Shoko’s been equally supportive in her own way, always finding dumb things to text you about to make sure you still feel included while you’re busy working and studying. A photo of Yu stuck in a trash can, Satoru looking grumpy while studying, Suguru passed out against the wall of a school hall while Satoru is flaked out on the floor beside him. It’s nice to know they have your back.

It’s equally nice to feel somewhat in control of your life. On top of work, nearly caught up on studying, and thank god for that since finals are just over a month away. Still, your heart is heavy as you find yourself spending your spare time looking for evidence against Kaori.

You have to be able to find something, right? Still, the deadline for an appeal before Sukuna would need to start the entire process over is in two days, and things look grim.

It’s not that there isn’t evidence, you can pull together a fair bit of proof suggesting Kaori isn’t a fit guardian given the new revelations, the real issue is that the court is in her pocket.

Any mention of extra cash and most people are willing to fold, it would seem. Regardless of the importance of their position.

It’s not in you to give up, not when you’ve seen how it’s affecting Sukuna, let alone the hurt you house for the loss of the two little boys, but even you’re starting to lose hope.

You let out a breath as you hop off the bus and make your way down the block to the Publishing House. You’re hoping Sukuna’s feeling better and you’ll see him, but on the other hand, you worry he’ll continue overworking himself all over again.

The sun warms your skin, taking with it a modicum of your worries as it seems to lift the air. Birds sing and chirp overhead, the world once again filled with life as spring blooms around you. Blossoms are perched in the trees around you, caressing you with their sweet and floral scent. The fresh air is a respite from all of your worries and you shut your eyes to enjoy it for a moment longer before making your way up to your familiar office.

You make a mental note that Sukuna may be in, given that his door is closed, before shooting a friendly wave in the direction of the receptionist.

The air in the office is different today, hanging low and uncertain, and you’re more than aware of the passing glances you receive on your way into Yuki’s office. Thankfully, she’s ripe as rain.

“Heyyy!” She greets you with a grin. “How was your weekend?”

“Not too bad,” you greet her in return with a small wave of your hand. “How’d your date go?”

“Girl, I have stories, oh my god,” she laughs, immediately launching into a classically long story in order to avoid working.

“So, no second date?” You chuckle as she finishes her horror story where she nearly snuck out of the date when he would only talk about himself (and his strange diet and workout routine).

“God no,” she groans. “I blocked him already.”

“Good,” you giggle. “He sounds like a nightmare.”

She groans aloud, rolling her eyes at the thought. “What a waste of a Friday night.” Shutting the novel she had open on her desk, she sighs. “Anyway, how’s your man been since the whole…” she waves her hands through the air, making a vague punching motion.

“Not my man,” you correct her, though deep down some part of you aches to not need the correction. “But he’s been having a tough time,” you shake your head. “He was sick all weekend.”

“That’s why he wasn’t here yesterday,” she remarks, fiddling with a pen.

You nod. “Is he here today?”

“Think so,” she taps her pen on her chin. “I thought I heard him drop something in his office when I walked by.”

You nod in relief. “That’s good to hear,” you mumble to yourself. “By the way, is it just me, or is it weird in here?”

“Oh, it’s weird,” she laughs. “It was fine Friday, but I guess yesterday while I was in a meeting, Reggie showed up to try to beg for his job back.”

“Great.”

“Mhm. I don’t really know what happened, but the vibes have been off since then.”

“Did Maya give him the job back?” You inquire with a tilt of your head.

She shrugs. “Doubt it. I’m kinda vying for his position now, though,” she grins, leaning in excitedly. “His old office is so nice. I’d just need to fix the hole.”

“The hole?” You raise a brow.

She laughs. “You don’t know about the hole?”

“What hole?” You ask again, growing increasingly curious and confused. Your eyes narrow as you try to decipher what she means.

“His office has a hole in the ground,” she laughs. “I guess one of the offices below was doing some renovations and tried to fix a stain on the ceiling and messed up and now there’s a hole.”

You blink in disbelief. “You want that office?”

“Hell yeah!” She grins. “It’s still big, it’s worth it. I’ll put my DIY skills into it.”

“Yuki,” you start, suppressing a giggle. “You told me you get your DIY tips from Pinterest.”

“Yeah, and?”

“This isn’t a mirror or a shelf!” You laugh. “It’s the actual floor!”

“I can figure it out!” She insists as your office devolves into giggles and eventually you fall into a good working rhythm. Yuki goes over some corrections to your work, which you make mental notes of going forward, before you work together on another edit for a short novel.

She prints the document to allow you both to see it better rather than crowding around her screen, sending you to get the printed pages.

Your heels hit the floor with a satisfying clack as you make your way towards the back of the office. The printer is already going when you arrive, and to your surprise, Sukuna is hunched over it, gripping the table like his life depends on it.

You tilt your head curiously at the strange behaviour. “Hey, are you alright?” You query.

He hums affirmatively, a deep and drowsy grovel to the noise.

Your brow furrows, watching as he pulls each individual page that he’s printed one by one and stacks them on the table he’s gripping, completely out of order as he stacks them right way up.

“Okay…” you trail off at the odd behavior, brushing it off as just weariness. It still strikes you as strange though, Sukuna runs well under pressure and tired, he always has. He’s on top of things and he rarely lets that put-together persona slip around others, particularly at work.

The silence hangs over you, neither uncomfortable or awkward, just… strange.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Mhm.”

Okay, clearly he isn’t in the mood to chat.

Waiting for his document to finish printing, you wrap your arms around yourself, simply taking in the sights of the open office. Whatever Sukuna is printing seems to be long, and you contemplate heading back to let Yuki know, when finally the printer makes a noise as though it’s moving on to the next document.

Peering over at it, you catch a glimpse of what file it’s starting and nod to yourself, only to watch Sukuna… stay in place and begin grabbing your pages and setting them in his pile.

“Ryo?” You set your hand on the pile, putting a pause to his motions.

He tilts his head slightly. “What?”

“That’s mine.”

“Oh. My bad.” His eyes slide back to the pile as he lets you take the top couple of pages, before he proceeds to… one-by-one take each page from his pile and put it back in order.

The sound of the printer behind you feels like the soundtrack to your confusion right now. Your lips part as you watch, bewildered, while he slowly moves the pages back into order. It also occurs to you that you’re not really sure why he’s printing a full short novel, when he’s a graphic designer.

“What are you doing?” You ask in a slow drawl.

“Putting ‘em in order. Printed outta order.”

Your brow raises as you stare at him. “What?” You ask dryly.

He turns towards you, pointing at the pile as he continues to clutch the table with his other hand. “Puttin’ ‘em in order.”

You raise your gaze from where he’s pointing to his face, completely dead serious, and totally flushed with glassy eyes. You stifle your gasp, grabbing his wrist and pulling him to his office, shutting the door behind you.

“Are you drunk?” You whisper-yell in disbelief.

“Nah, I drank las’ night.”

“You’re still drunk, Sukuna,” you whisper in disbelief. “Oh my god,” you take a step back, evaluating the state he’s in. He’s completely disheveled, in a T-shirt at the office. He should consider himself lucky that Maya didn’t notice. “Oh my god, I’m taking you home,” you breathe, turning towards the door. “Just- stay here.”

You shut the door to Sukuna’s office behind you, inconspicuously jogging to Maya’s office. Your knock is answered immediately and you poke your head through the door.

“Hey, I meant to come check in on you. How have you been?” She greets you, her face softening.

“Oh- um, yeah. I’m fine, thank you. I heard Reggie asked for his job back…?”

She sighs, pulling her reading glasses down off her face and rubbing her eyes. “Yeah. He’s not coming back.”

“Oh- I…” What do you say to that? ‘Thank you for firing your relative?’ “Um- Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, he made his bed. Why don’t you come in, and we can chat?”

“Oh, actually um-” You stammer over your words, mentally facepalming as you center yourself. “Sukuna’s still pretty sick, I was gonna take him home, if that’s alright. I’ll finish my work tonight and have it sent to Yuki.”

“Oh, is he alright?”

“Yeah, just sick to his stomach,” you lie, though you figure it’ll only be a lie for a few hours before however much alcohol he’s downed doesn’t agree with his stomach. It’s a half-lie, really.

“Yeah, of course. Let him know that I hope he feels better soon,” she agrees, dismissing you with a smile.

“Will do, thanks Maya!”

You slip back over to your office and grab your bag, explaining the situation to Yuki, then head to his office where he’s back to organizing his pile of paper that he surely doesn’t need.

“C’mon, let’s get you home,” you whisper, praying no one else has noticed how wasted he obviously is.

“‘M fine,” he grumbles, his brow twitching in disdain as you try to tug on his arm.

“Sukuna,” you plead, chewing on your lip. “Please.”

His heart pangs as your thumb brushes his wrist so sweetly, and his mind conjures images of Kento in his place. It stings, almost as much as his brow when he scowls. Even so, he doesn’t have it in him to deny you. He’s too far gone to say no, and stumbles towards you.

“Oh god,” you breathe, unsure how you’re gonna get him out of here inconspicuously. “Just, here-” You grab his forearm, holding him flush to you and practically dragging him out the front door towards the bus stop. Your mind reels with questions, but before you can even get one question out, he stumbles out of your grip into the brick wall beside you, barely catching himself before he slides down the wall.

His head hangs, staring blankly at his lap.

“I-” you suck in a breath, pushing your hand through your hair in exasperation as you stare back at the office. “What were you thinking?”

He rolls his head back against the wall, his lidded expression staring straight through you. “Wasn’t,” he replies simply. “Didn’ wanna think.”

“God, Sukuna…” you breathe, shifting on your feet as your exasperation shifts to horror. You knew things were bad, but he’d held himself together for so long that you didn’t assume it was this bad. You figured if he needed help, he would reach out after your conversation on Sunday. He’d been fine, albeit sick, only a couple of days ago, what brought him to this point?

He’s cauterizing his wounds with alcohol, chasing the sensation of being numb, but from the look in his eyes, you doubt it lasted long. Distance and inebriation paint his eyes, but a dozen emotions swim beneath that, begging to surface. Anger, loneliness, loss, and anxiety all swim among them, familiar on him, but not something you like to see all colliding at once.

His disgust for himself used to be locked so deeply that it was hard to find, surfacing only in the moments where his reflection would stare back at him, but always fleeting. Now, he doesn’t seem to think he’s worth the effort, or the time it takes to allow himself to heal.

He doesn’t blame himself for his father’s passing anymore, having finally made peace with that sensation although the grief still pokes and prods at him, sharp. What he does blame himself for is what the kids went through as a result of his grief. What they continue to go through.

Or maybe it’s just that he wanted to protect them both from going through what he did, and now he feels that instead of preventing it, he’s causing it. He’s not sure at what point he went from not recognizing himself in the mirror to not liking the person looking back at him. His tattoos feel sharper now, no longer accents, but daggers that paint him with blood and dye his eyes crimson.

Sighing, you kneel down. “Did something happen?”

It’s a stupid question, really. Everything happened. You’ve been there to witness it all, but you wonder if something tipped him over the ledge he’s been teetering on for so long.

He stares hard at you for a long moment, as though he’s committing you to memory. “Nah.”

“Then what…?” You shake your head, searching for an answer. He continues to stare, a soft sadness reflected in his eyes that’s unfamiliar and eerie on him. You can’t leave him here, you need to get him water and food. Strengthening your resolve, you shake off your uncertainty and try to pull him up, but he won’t budge. “Come on, let’s head to the bus stop.”

He doesn’t move as you tug on him, and he’s far too heavy for you to lift.

Placing your hands on your hips, you toss him an exasperated frown. “Seriously, we need to go.” Met with no response, you throw your hands up in the air. “Fine, I’m calling Uraume to help, then,” you mutter. He doesn’t protest, so you pull their name up in your contacts. It rings six times before going to voicemail. Staring at your screen with a frown, you pull up Toji’s contact instead.

He answers in only one ring. “Hey,” Toji greets you in a drawl. You can practically hear the easy smile on his face. “What’s up?”

“Hey, Toji. I really need a favor,” you breathe, glancing down at Sukuna as you face towards the road.

“Yeah?”

“Can you come pick Sukuna and I up? We’re at the Publishing House.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” You can hear him shuffling on the other end of the line, followed by crackling as he covers the mic, though you can still make out the sounds of him talking to someone, albeit muffled. “Yeah, grab the- no, the other fuckin’ keys. Nah, those’re my fuckass cousin’s. Fine, just- yeah, whatever man.” Your brow furrows, but you don’t question it. “Be there soon.”

“Thanks. Can you bring a water bottle?”

“Hm? Yeah, sure.” And with that, he hangs up.

The silence is sharp as you await Toji. Sukuna’s stuck somewhere between not wanting to talk and being so drunk that he’s not all there, and you can’t hold a conversation with him for the life of you. The longer you sit at his side and try to pull details of what happened out of him, the worse for wear he begins to look. You assume that gradually the alcohol is working through his system, slowly pulling both the sickness and anxiety out of him at once and causing a horrible concoction any person would hate to experience.

Thankfully, before you can contemplate it, Toji rolls up and pulls over.

Pushing up from the pavement, you dust your pants off and come up to his window, leaning down. “Hey, I-” You blink at the pair of eyes gleaming at you from the passenger’s seat. “You brought Satoru?”

“Damn. Hi to you, too.” Satoru’s tone is dry, but teasing. He’s surely already caught a glimpse of Sukuna behind you.

“Sorry, Satoru. It’s just… It’s complicated with-” you point your thumb back towards Sukuna.

Satoru laughs easily. “Nah, I know. Toj’ and I were already hanging out. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you wave it off. “He can deal.”

“Speaking of ‘he’,” Toji begins, leaning forward to peer past you. “The fuck happened?”

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “He came to work drunk, I can’t get him up, let alone on a bus.”

Toji sighs, pushing his raven hair back as he puts the car in park. “Christ,” he mutters as he gets out, staring down at Sukuna with a frown. “C’mon buddy,” he mutters, doing what he can to lift the man up, but he’s dead weight in Toji’s arms. Grunting, he turns back towards you and Satoru at the car. “See, knew he’d be good for somethin’. Satoru! Need a hand.”

You open the back door as they sloppily toss him in the back, met with very little protest aside from a single “stop fuckin’ touchin’ me.”

“Kinda feels like a kidnapping,” Satoru comments a bit too cheerily. You crack a half-hearted smile as Toji shuts the door. Satoru rounds to the other side, giving you a moment to chat with Sukuna’s oldest friend.

“Has this ever happened?” You ask, keeping your voice down.

“Uh…” Toji scratches the back of his head, lazily shrugging. “Tough to say. He didn’t talk ‘bout shit with me.”

“Did you guys drink much?”

The man grunts, staring up at the birds overhead as he considers it. He squints as sunlight beats down on his cheeks, gleaming on the taut skin of his scarred lip. “Not more than anyone else,” he shrugs. “Dunno, the fucker ghosted me ‘til second year. Uraume brought ‘im back to our circle.”

Chewing on your lip, you nod in thought. The alcohol must be a recent thing, though you wonder if maybe Toji might have some insight on his slipping mental health. “So, nothing else worrying?”

“Mm,” he stretches his arms out over his head. “Hard to say. Uraume mentioned some shit ‘bout him havin’ a tough time in first year but I was still pretty bitter back then, so I dunno, really.” He shrugs. “Try askin’ them, maybe.”

You frown at the thought of bringing more people into Sukuna’s personal affairs, but at the same time, this feels like grounds for an intervention. “Right, thanks Toji.”

“‘Course. We goin’ back to his or yours?”

“His place, please.”

He nods, blowing some hair haphazardly from his eyes as it falls over his forehead. “The fuck happened to his eye, by the way?”

“He said there was an accident at work.”

“Shit. Well, hey,” he pulls your attention back. “It’ll be alright,” he assures you with a steady hand on your shoulder.

Forcing a smile, you nod. “Thanks.”

He hums, getting in the driver’s seat as you slide into the back beside Sukuna. His head is leaning against the window, eyes shut, but the moment the car lurches forward, they fly open. “‘M gonna be sick,” he grumbles.

“No the fuck you’re not,” Toji hisses, glaring at him in the rearview mirror.

“Stop th’ fuckin’ car, then,” Sukuna murmurs.

Muttering curses under his breath, Toji pulls over just in time for Sukuna to open the door and throw up. Satoru, ever the dramatic, buries his face in his hands like he can’t bear to look, let alone hear it.

Sukuna doesn’t seem privy to much around him at all, his features completely sunken when he shuts the door again. He ignores or just simply doesn’t process any attempt to talk to him, including you asking him if he’s alright.

Stupid question, obviously.

Sukuna’s stomach settles enough for the remaining portion of the drive as Toji hands him a bottle of water, his eyes shutting as he slumps back against the window. For the better part of the drive, you listen to Toji and Satoru’s banter as they decide what movie they’re going to see on Friday, settling finally on an action movie, although Satoru had been eyeing some new comedy.

“What about you?” Toji eyes you through the mirror.

“Study, probably.”

“C’mon,” Satoru pleads, pouting back at you as he punctuates his words with your name. “That’s all you do lately. We’re inviting everyone else too, you should join. Sugu and Sho already said yes.”

“I don’t know,” you hum, casting a glance at Sukuna.

“You can’t just babysit ‘im all the time,” Toji points out as the car comes to a stop at a light.

“I know, but I can’t leave him like this, either.”

The football player hums from the front seat, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he stares out the front window for a moment. “You're sweet,” he comments offhandedly. “I get why the guy likes ya.” Before you can process just how easily the words slip past the gruff man, Satoru interrupts.

“You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped,” your white-haired friend murmurs, twisting in his seat to look at you. Startlingly good advice from the king of not reading the room. He pushes his sunglasses up, letting them rest atop his head as they muss his hair. It sticks out in every direction as he casts a glance at Sukuna.

“You don’t think showing up to work drunk is a cry for help?” You counter.

Satoru shrugs. “He smacked me when we picked him up.”

“I think he just doesn’t like you,” you murmur, wincing as you break the news to Satoru, though he already knows. He may act the part of the goofy frat brother who’s happy to be at the expense of a joke, but the truth behind those big blue eyes is that he’s incredibly smart, albeit dense. He may not be able to read the room, but there’s more to him than just a pretty face. He deserves the credit for it.

He cracks a smile at you. “Neither did Toji. I grow on people.”

“Like a parasite,” the man in question mutters from the driver’s seat.

You giggle as Satoru rolls his eyes dramatically. “Laugh it up,” he shakes his head, though he’s always happy to be at the center of a joke if it makes someone smile. “Point is, just don’t lose yourself for him.”

You nod, grateful for the advice. “I appreciate it. I’m not giving up on him, though. I think he wants help.”

“We’re here to help too, then,” he grins, patting his chest. “But you should really come to the movie on Friday.”

“I’ll think about it.”

It’s not long before the car pulls up to Sukuna’s apartment building, and you’re forced to shake his shoulder to awaken him. He doesn’t offer much insight into how he’s feeling, nor does he seem present. You encourage him to drink some water before Toji and Satoru help him up to his apartment. You’re able to grab his keys from his coat pocket to let you all in before leading them to his room to dump him on the bed.

They give you space to encourage your friend to down more water, and you’re grateful he listens, able to convince him to drink two full bottles before he brushes you off.

With a forlorn sigh, you pull his blankets up over his shoulders as he passes out in his day clothes. Straightening, you’re able to get a good look at his room. It’s worse than when you stayed over by a longshot. There’s very little clothing in his closet as most of it is strewn across the floor or tossed in a pile over the back of his desk chair. Every surface is covered in clothing, receipts, paper, empty cigarette boxes and pencils.

The state of his room, let alone your friend himself, is worrying, but on your way out, something catches your eye.

The only surface that isn’t littered with trash and clothing is his drawing table, which is still mostly clear apart from the usual suspects; paper, charcoal, and pencils, along with a ruler. It doesn’t seem as though he’s taken much time to himself lately, given that you think you’ve seen all of the art before. Landscapes, portraits and anatomy studies, and whatever characters his brothers were requesting all decorate the pages, though sticking out between them appears to be a printed letter. The typeface is professional, but the content makes your heart drop to the pit of your stomach.

Second Notice of Overdue Rent.

The letter details dates by which rent needs to be sent, all of which have passed except for one date, coming up in only a couple of weeks. At the bottom of the page are a number of calculations, many of which have been crossed out. Chewing on your lip, you slide the page aside to take a look at what’s behind it.

Invoices from his lawyer, also engulfed in calculations.

Your eyes scan the rest of the table, landing on a familiar envelope with ‘URGENT’ written across the front in bold red letters.

Shit. This has been going on for a while, then.

Guilt bubbles in the pit of your stomach for snooping, but it’s nothing compared to the dread that Sukuna’s sunken back into his old ways, unwilling to ask for help and trying to manage on his own, all while he’s already drowning. Swallowing your guilt, you carefully shut the door behind you and move to the kitchen in search of the pile of mail you’d arranged a month ago, wondering if it’s still there.

Both men who helped you get your friend here are awkwardly standing around in the kitchen, keeping their voices low as they chat about Toji’s game last night.

“Hey, he good?” Toji inquires as you blaze past him, searching the counters before moving to the table. Your blood roars in your ears as you move aside two jackets and a bag of takeout, pulling out a pile of mail.

Satoru makes his way towards you, tilting his head when you don’t answer. “Are you okay?”

You brush him off as well, your focus poured into your own thoughts. Flipping through the mail in your hands, you pull out the original envelope you’d seen with red font decorating the front, using your nail to tear it open.

First Notice of Overdue Rent.

“Isn’t that illegal?” Toji asks, raising a brow in question.

“Only as illegal as graffiti.”

“Touché,” he snorts, smirking. “What’s up, though?”

Setting the letter aside, you sort through the rest of the mail, though nothing else is entirely remarkable aside from the fact that he’s torn through almost all of the coupons from the supplement store a block away. An equally worrying amount of coupons from the shitty waffle house down the street are also missing.

You tap your fingers along the surface below as you stare at the mess splayed across the veneer table. Glancing around the room, your eyes lock on the coffee table. An uneaten sandwich sits atop it, along with all of the medication you left for him, as well as an empty party bottle of Everclear. Alongside all the supplies you brought over for when he was sick lies exactly what you’re searching for.

“Looking for something,” you murmur in reply to Toji, who watches with his usual disinterested expression. Scattered along the back of the coffee table with a couple of papers fallen to the floor, you find the taped-together pieces that make up the original paperwork Sukuna was served last year by Kaori, along with the evidence you’d pieced together when you went through Sukuna’s documents.

You gather it all up, unsure if there’s much you can do, but you need to try.

Seeing the man you love dive headfirst into mania hurts more than being rejected ever did. Every second spent wondering what to do has your heart racing, beating at the cage of your chest as it threatens to escape.

“What’re you doin’?”

You turn towards Toji, searching for a good reason to go snooping through Sukuna’s things. You stare out the window for a moment, steeling your resolve as you make up your mind. “There’s gotta be something we’re missing about this case,” you murmur, holding the paperwork tighter between the tips of your fingers.

“If there isn’t?” He asks grimly.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Then I guess we figure out how to get him back on his feet.”

Toji scratches the back of his head. “Shit.”

The air in the apartment is stifling between the smell of the uneaten sandwich, the overall stuffy feeling of the small home and the uneasiness sitting between all of you. You suck in a breath, but it does little to soothe your nerves.

“What do ya need from me, then?” Toji offers his help, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“Can you keep an eye on him? Just until I get back? I need to call in a favor.”

Toji shrugs. “Alright. I’m raidin’ his fridge, though.”

You brush him off and head for the door, pulling up your contacts and dialing before you can think twice. “Kento? I need a favor.”

–

The scenery that surrounds you is familiar as you greet Kento and Hiromi in the same cafe as the last time you had this very same discussion. The little coffee shop has changed their decor to suit spring more with an abundance of green and pink flowers and some updates to their menu and uniforms. It’s a refreshing change of scenery and surprisingly uplifting as you find yourself holding onto the fraying thread of hope you’ve been clinging to for so long.

“I’m assuming things didn’t go well,” Hiromi hums as he takes a seat with coffee. A friendly smile curves his lips upwards, though his eyes tell a story of someone who holds sympathy for you. He’s just putting on an expression to keep you at ease, like any good lawyer.

“No,” you sigh. “She won.”

“No joint custody?” He raises a brow, met with a shake of your head. “Tough. I knew it would be in her favor if she could afford such a good lawyer, but that seems odd given the circumstances,” he thinks aloud.

“That’s actually why I’m here.” Sliding the torn and taped paperwork across the table, along with additional evidence towards Hiromi, you pull the article with Kaori and the kids up on your phone. “She’s denying his visitation too. She’s using them, and she’s using his money,” you explain, setting your phone down to face Hiromi with the photo of Kaori, Noritoshi, and the two kids.

“Huh. No kidding.” He scratches his chin, brows raised.

“I think they paid the court out. I swear it was in Sukuna’s favor until then. They even tried paying out his lawyer,” you explain, pulling a page from the stack before him with the information for Ms. Harte.

Hiromi scrolls through the article as Kento peeks over his shoulder. “She said no, right?” He asks, keeping his gaze on your phone as he multitasks.

“That’s what she told us.”

“Figured. She’s good,” he adds, off-hand. “So, I’d take it you haven’t appealed yet?”

“No. She advised us not to,” you begin, launching into a more detailed explanation. As it comes to an end, you search for a reason as to why you’re back at square one, asking Hiromi to take a look again. “He’s only got two days left and he’s not doing great…”

Hiromi smiles up at you as he leans on his fist. Though his eyes are sunken with his own tiredness, there’s a reassuring feel to his smile, that it’s not just a facade to keep you at ease, but genuine. “You’re a good friend,” he offers, skimming the pages in front of him. “Give me a bit to jog my memory.”

You fall into conversation with Kento about your studies and the movie on Friday, which he has no plans to tag along for, lest he get dragged there. You laugh over the fact that he probably will be dragged to it, though he truthfully doesn’t mind, even if it isn’t his first choice. Unlike Sukuna’s unwillingness to tag along for events, Kento’s is more of indifference. He would rather see the movie in the comfort of his own space and to spend more meaningful time with his friends than two hours of silence.

You keep your conversation low in order to allow Hiromi to concentrate, working his way through his coffee before deciding to grab another.

Returning with another black coffee, he addresses you. “So, I’ll be honest, I’m running into the same issue as Ms. Harte,” he speaks grimly. “I think if the courts are in her pocket, there isn’t much you can do to avoid rejection,” he explains, flipping through the pages laid out in front of him as he leans his temple against his knuckles. He pauses on the copy of Yuji’s birth certificate that Kaori submitted along with the lawsuit, flipping to Choso’s and shaking his head. “If Choso was a year older, I don’t think you could lose,” he sighs, shaking his head offhandedly. “You could probably hire a child’s counsel and have him testify if he was ten, but I’m sure Ms. Harte went over that already. It’s not worth the extra cash if they won’t take his words into account for a lack of maturity.”

You nod slowly in agreement, before getting hung up on what he said. “Ten?” You mimic his words.

His pupils roll up to examine your reaction, though he doesn’t move. “Yeah, unless my math’s wrong,” he shrugs, casting a glance at the finance major beside him.

“His birth certificate states he’s ten,” Kento agrees.

“What?” You tilt your head to stare at the date, holding up fingers as you do mental math. Huh. That is what it says, but… “He’s twelve.”

Hiromi’s brow furrows as he stares between you and the birth certificate. “You’re sure?”

“I mean, yeah. Unless he’s got his own age wrong.”

Hiromi straightens, pulling the document aside as he looks it over. “Shit,” he chuckles, breathless as he runs a hand through his mussed hair. “She must have known she’d lose if Choso could speak at the trial, so-”

“She forged the document,” you gasp, eyes wide as hope surges through you. For once, there’s a chance. “None of us questioned it because his age never came up and I don’t think Sukuna thought to double-check his birth certificate.”

“Bingo,” Hiromi agrees. “Has he got the original?”

“I think I saw it the other day.”

“Perfect. Here’s what you need to do, then.” He clasps his hands together on the table. “Get the lawyer on the phone, get the appeal filed with the courts as soon as possible. Get any form of media you can to sit down with Sukuna and get it published asap. Noritoshi’s a big name, he won’t want any negative headlines, so he’ll probably pay to have them taken down, but social media will do the rest of the work for you.”

“Won’t that just put Sukuna and the kids more in the spotlight?” You worry. “And what about slander?”

“Sukuna will be in the spotlight, yeah,” he agrees with a haphazard shrug. “But the kids are already in the middle of it. At least they’ll be with him if this works, right?”

“Right. The slander?”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that. Civil court’s a different beast from family court. If they’re smart, they won’t pursue that. You have too much evidence.”

You eagerly nod, letting him continue.

“Perjury’s a big claim. Between the media and getting another level of the court involved, they won’t be able to deny the appeal. It’s too public, and Sukuna could lay a lot of other charges with the spotlight on him. They don’t need to know his financial situation,” Hiromi explains, clicking his pen as he writes a number of media outlets off the top of his head onto one of the pages for you. “Go get her,” he encourages, offering a lop-sided grin as he slides the paperwork back towards you.

–

The world spins on its axis as Sukuna’s eyes flicker open. His mind is still muddled, and his last twenty four hours are a blur as he struggles to remember what led him to this point. He doesn’t have much time to mull it over as his stomach protests the small adjustment he makes and he’s making his way to the washroom.

He recalls thinking a couple of weeks ago that the feeling of being numb wasn’t worth his stomach upheaving its contents for several hours straight, but at least Uraume isn’t here to scold him this time around.

He leans back against the tub, eyes heavy-lidded as he stares at the spinning ceiling. Shit, is he still a bit drunk? What time is it? How much did he even have?

He has no answer for any of the questions spinning in his mind as he groans at the nausea rocking his stomach. His eyes lazily scan the room around him, sliding down to the wall and mirror until he dials in on the cups of toothbrushes he hasn’t bothered to deal with. One cup with his and yours, one with Yuji and Choso’s. He’d told them not to bring them because they’d be back soon, that Kaori could buy new ones.

God knows she can afford it.

The sight sets his stomach on fire and his head pounds, all while his chest tightens. He harshly shuts his eyes, clenching his jaw. The muscle jumps with the strength with which he puts behind the actions, but it’s not enough to prevent his stomach from betraying him.

Pulling himself up to wash his face, he puts most of his weight on his forearms as water drips from his chin and nose. He stares down at his hands, shaky with the effort of keeping himself up. “Fuck,” he mutters to himself. “This is worse than last time.”

He can’t say for sure how much alcohol he put through his system, unable to remember much of anything. As he tries to recall anything at all, it hits him like a truck. The sight of you with another guy. Kento. He always knew you were close, but he’d assumed…

His head hangs lower as the pressure behind his eyes increases, all the while his brow still stings. He doesn’t remember much past you and Kento. Arriving at the bar is a given, but he must have slept up until now, whenever and however the hell he managed to get home. He groans, pressing a thumb to his temple. He can’t keep putting himself through hell just to avoid his own situation, but his growing anxiety is enough to make him instinctively want to reach for something to take the edge off the pain.

Anything to calm his frayed nerves.

Desperate for something to stop the nausea, he pushes himself up and wipes his face with a hand towel, dragging himself to the door and out to the living room where he left the medication you brought over. He freezes at the sight of two men sitting on either side of his couch, a heated game of Smash Bros. Melee keeping their attention away from the six foot eleven man staring wide-eyed at them.

“The hell are you doing here?” He grunts, unable to put the heat behind his words that he intends to, too worn out to bother with a fight.

Toji pauses the game, leaning back on the couch. “Picked up your dumb ass off the side of the road, was waitin’ for you to wake up.” Toji explains, his lips pulling downward as he looks his friend up and down. “You feel any better than you look?”

His brow furrows, causing his headache to pound harder behind his head. He reaches up, rubbing at the crease between his brows. “How bad do I look?”

Toji laughs dryly. “Fuckin’ bad, man.”

“Then no,” Sukuna grumbles. “Pass me the damn Gravol.”

Toji tosses it towards Sukuna, who fumbles, but manages to catch it. “How long have you been here?” He asks lowly, narrowing his eyes somewhat at Satoru, who remains quiet.

Toji turns to glance at the clock on the stove. “Four hours, dunno.”

Sukuna glances at the clock as he lugs himself to the kitchen to grab water. It’s almost four, what the hell? “How fuckin’ long was I at the bar?” He mutters more to himself than the raven-haired man on his couch.

Toji and Satoru exchange a glance, before even Satoru twists from where he sits on the couch, his controller discarded at his side. Toji runs his tongue over his lower lip, scrutinizing his old friend. “You weren’t. Your girl called us to pick you up at work.”

Sukuna rubs at his temple, a sickening chill ripping through his body at the term used for you. “I couldn’t have been at work,” he mumbles. He was blackout drunk, how the hell would he have gotten there? He pulls a bottle of water from the fridge and cracks it open, downing it along with the nausea medicine.

“You were outside the publishing house with ‘er. She said you showed up to work like that,” he shrugs.

“Shit,” Sukuna mutters. Had he really been that out of his mind? “Where is she?”

His friend shrugs. “She called Kento before she left.”

Shame churns in his stomach like a damn punishment for being so stupid when it comes to you. He slips down into a chair at the kitchen table, grunting as the movement nearly has him throwing up again. “‘Course she did,” he mumbles, dropping his head into his hands. “Fuck, I feel like shit.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Toji snorts. “You seen your fridge? How’re you livin’ like that?”

“Protein shakes.”

“Jesus.” Toji pushes up off the couch, opening the fridge to a mostly barren display of food and a sickening mixture of protein shakes and energy drinks. “I’ll order somethin’, you should eat anyway. No wonder the hangover’s hittin’ ya so hard.”

Sukuna barely glances up. “I’m fine. Just pass me the cheese.”

Toji twists back towards the salmon-haired man, one hand still on the fridge door. His nose is wrinkled in disgust. “You want the block of cheese?”

“Yeah.”

With a sigh, he tosses the cheese on the table and cracks an energy drink for himself. He lifts the can slightly in his friend’s direction. “Consider this payment for babysitting duty.”

Sukuna glares at Toji as he tears the plastic open on the block of cheese and bites straight into it, much to the dismay of both Satoru and Toji, who exchange bewildered looks. “You can leave,” Sukuna mutters. “I’m fine.”

“You look it,” Toji sarcastically quips, dropping himself down onto a chair across from Sukuna. He runs his finger along the top of the table, lifting a brow as dust coats his fingers. He brushes them together, flicking his hand once to rid himself of the dust. “What happened?”

What didn’t?

Sukuna sighs, cracking his neck to either side as the nausea medication keeps his stomach from doing a flip and emptying its contents. “Just… had a shitty weekend,” he settles on as an explanation.

Tapping his fingers on the table, Toji motions for him to continue.

“Had too much time to think, I guess,” he mutters, continuing his string of being painfully vague and keeping Toji out of his business. It’s not entirely intentional, it’s more of a case where Sukuna just doesn’t want to talk at all. Everything is a jumbled mess and his words are worse for wear, he just wants to keel over in bed and wait for his hangover to pass.

Toji leans back in his chair, motioning for Sukuna to start talking. “I got all day.”

Sukuna grumbles under his breath. “Don’t really wanna talk about it.”

“Don’t really care,” Toji counters. “You went to the bar last night, yeah? Why?”

Huffing, Sukuna pushes a hand through his hair, careful to avoid his wound. “Think I fucked up, Toj’.” He finally admits after a short silence, allowing a shred of vulnerability to slip between the cracks as he forgets Satoru is still sitting a few feet away.

“I coulda told you that.”

Ignoring the burly man’s remark, Sukuna pushes forward. “I was sick all weekend,” he explains, tacking on that he nearly fucked his eye up at work and you showed up to cook him some soup, bring him some meds, and made sure he ate.

“She’s a sweetheart,” he agrees offhandedly.

Something of a warning flashes in Sukuna’s eyes as his sharp gaze snaps to meet the football player’s, but he disarms himself when he realizes Toji meant no harm by it. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Couldn’t get her out of my head, so I headed to her place. I just…” He shakes his head slowly, searching for words. “I wanted to tell her, I guess.”

Toji sits upright, emerald eyes widening. “You were gonna ask ‘er out?”

“I guess,” Sukuna admits, having not really had a plan. “Figured I already rejected her once, we’d still be close if she rejected me now. At least I’d shoot my shot, right?”

“So, she said no, n’ you found the bottom of the barrel?” Toji quips, frowning.

“No.”

Tension permeates the apartment as both Toji and Satoru lean in. Like a vice grip, it takes a hold of everyone in the room, pinning them in place as Sukuna swallows hard and forces the words out.

“She was with Kento. They were hugging and laughing and shit, looked closer than I thought. I didn’t stay to see anything else.”

Toji’s eyes narrow. He leans back, running his thumb over his lip as he contemplates Sukuna’s revelation. He pauses suddenly, shaking his head in disbelief. “Wait, you rejected her?”

“It was a long time ago,” he grumbles.

“Wait, hold on-” Satoru interrupts, raising a hand.

“What the fuck are you still doing here anyway?” Sukuna barks out, clutching his stomach as it churns.

Satoru raises his hands in surrender. “Toji’s my ride.” Sukuna’s about to make a snappy retort about Uber, but Satoru interrupts. “Listen, I’m sorry about the shit I said at the bar, okay?”

The ex-history major’s jaw shuts as he lets Satoru continue, pinned in place by Sukuna’s deathly glare. He’d never been Satoru’s biggest fan, though in truth the strange back-and-forth banter they’d always had wasn’t hated on either side. They’re two sides of a coin, one hot-headed and sharp, while the other is fast-thinking and cunning. Similar, but never quite in agreement with one another. Still, neither of them would describe their thoughts of the other as hatred. It was disdain at worst.

At least, until Satoru made things personal.

“I didn’t know. Didn’t mean it. I was just trying to get under your skin,” he explains, flicking his head to move a stray strand of unruly hair from his line of vision. “I’ve been meaning to apologize, but you’re never around.”

Sukuna frowns, remaining silent. Satoru’s caught him in a painfully bad mood and some petty part of him doesn’t want to accept the apology, though he’s known from the start that the frat boy never meant any real harm. “Whatever,” Sukuna brushes him off, lazily turning his attention back to Toji.

“Okay hold on, though,” Satoru continues with a bit more confidence, dangling the upper portion of his body over the back of the couch as he faces the table. “You saw her with Nanamin?”

Sukuna lifts a brow.

“Kento?” Satoru corrects himself when neither man reacts.

“Yeah.”

Satoru laughs, like it comes easily to him, which only irks Sukuna more. Everything seems to be a breeze and light-hearted when you’re Satoru Gojo. “Those two have been friends forever,” Satoru explains with a grin. “Like, I’m pretty sure she spent more time at his place growing up than her own. I guess her parents were always working or something,” he shrugs. “That’s why she spent Christmas with Sugu and I.”

How Satoru can laugh when he’s only explaining Sukuna’s exact fears, only causes the fire to burn brighter behind his irises.

Sensing an incoming outburst, Toji pipes up. “Get to the point, Satoru.”

“Yeah- Kento’s always looked out for her. They’ve always been close, but not like that.” He props his elbow up on the back of the couch, leaning on the folded limb. “They’re more like family-” he pauses, bright blue eyes shifting towards a plush that he figures belongs to whatever kids Sukuna has or takes care of. “Like siblings,” he corrects himself. “I think you’ve got the wrong idea.”

Sukuna’s brow furrows, any signs of anger dissipating as his chest reacts with a burst of fluttering and uncertainty. Could he have misread everything all over again?

“Besides,” Satoru adds in usual fashion, unable to stop once he starts. “She’s so obviously into you. I feel like you’re the only one who hasn’t figured it out, it’s almost annoying.”

Too stunned to snarl out a warning at the mouthy man, Sukuna stares straight through him.

Even Toji finds amusement in that, snorting. “She’s ‘bout as subtle as a brick. Both of you are.”

Hunching over the table, Sukuna leans his head in his hands. “Fuck,” he mutters, shame washing over him at how tactless and ignorant he’d been when it came to you. You had never stopped caring for him, even when he’d been the one to drive you out. You wear his brothers’ friendship bracelets to this day, you got him a job, you literally picked him up from the pit he’d dug and plopped him on its edge, giving him another chance, and he really thought you were in love with another man. “I’m so stupid,” he mutters.

“No shit,” Toji agrees with a shit-eating grin.

“What’s she doing with Kento now, then?” Sukuna queries, lifting his head to glance between Satoru and Toji.

“I’m not sure,” Satoru shrugs, offering a wave of his hand. “She grabbed some papers from the table back there,” he points to the coffee table behind him, “and left.”

Sukuna pushes slowly to his feet. The chair scrapes the wooden floor beneath its legs as Sukuna’s mass displaces it. He makes his way closer to Satoru, blinking at the coffee table, though he can’t recall what was there in the haze of his mind.

“She asked Kento for a favor,” Toji offers, though he doesn’t think it’s much insight.

Still, that sparks something in Sukuna. Hiromi? Did you take the legal documents? Something in him melts at your kindness, always searching for ways to help him, even at his worst.

You’re always such an angel to him. He blinks himself from his trance, but it only makes him dizzy as his stomach flips for a new reason. His heart pounds like he’s just been given a dose of adrenaline straight to his heart. On another occasion, he might use that to go find you, but right now? His body isn’t in agreement.

“Be right back,” he groans, making his way to the washroom.

Satoru and Toji watch as Sukuna retreats, a victim of his own bad decisions and the swirling emotions within his chest. As the two men find a steady rhythm of conversation, you burst back through the door, setting Sukuna’s keys in the bowl and skidding to a stop between the two men. “Where is he?”

Toji raises a brow. “Puking, probably.”

You nod, jogging to his storage room without a care in the world as you carefully pull down heavy box after heavy box, lifting each lid as you search for something in particular. When you finally find a familiar one, you sort through the documents until you pull out Choso’s birth certificate.

“They’re different,” you breathe, turning out of the storage room just as a beaten-looking Sukuna leaves the washroom.

He turns at the sound of steps, straightening slightly as a foreign expression twists his face. You don’t have time to decipher it, too caught up on your revelation. “Sukuna!” You gasp, finding his side and holding out the evidence Kaori submitted, alongside the copy of Choso’s birth certificate that Sukuna’s in possession of. “She committed perjury!”

Unable to process his own emotions as they heighten and he takes the paper with shaky hands, the air is practically pulled from his lungs as he compares the documents.

How had he been so stupid? He never bothered to compare the documents? No- why would he? Choso’s his little brother, not his actual kid. He knows the day of his birthday, but the year? He’d never thought to question it. Even when it came to Choso’s teacher, he can’t recall ever hearing any mention of what grade he was in, and why would Sukuna question it? He’d been in her class for four years. Kaori had perfectly constructed everything so that his age would never come up, playing her cards in such a way that no lawyer would question the forged document. She’d likely preyed on the fact that she knew Sukuna wouldn’t double-check, all to make sure the court would have every reason not to listen to Choso’s wishes, under the guise that he’d be too young and naive to know what’s best for him.

He’d been played.

His blood roars so loudly in his ears that life itself seems to ring within them. He almost doesn’t hear your voice, only pulled back to earth by your touch as you gently squeeze his bicep.

“You can win.”

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter - coming soon

❦ a/n ; sorry for the absolute rollercoaster that is this chapter, i hope it was worth the wait <33

i've been super motivated lately to keep writing and i hope i can keep that momentum up for when i return from my next trip (which starts tomorrow! i'll still be around to answer comments/asks/etc, but won't have my laptop to write on, so no new chapter for a bit again), but i'm really looking forward to sharing the next one!! i've had most of the scenes in ch20 thought out since like ch5 and i'm SO excited to finally get to write them 🤭

thank you as always for all the sweet messages and comments and all the amazing support <33 it means the world and makes my day <33 i hope you all have a lovely day/night 🫶

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

@yenayaps @kunascutie @aiicpansion @fushitoru @gojoscumslut

@hellish4ever @cuntyji @theonlyhonoredone @catobsessedlady @timetoletmyimaginationfly

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

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

[bxnfire]

Stereo Love

Synopsis: You’re determined to get over Suguru, and Suguru’s determined to never let you. Amongst annual vacations, unresolved tension, and one hell of a view, what could go wrong? Come to Mykonos and find out!

Content/Warnings: MDNI! Smut, p in v, fingering, cunnilingus, blowjob, handjobs, public nudity, m! masturbation, edging, teasing, friends-to-lovers, yearning, soo much tension, mutual pining, fluff, slight angst, vacation, Shoko and Gojo betting on your future.

Wc: 9k

A/N: The images are from pinterest. I can’t take credit for them. Divider creds go to @bronzewasp. Check out other amazing works and the place that inspired me to make this fic here at @lily-bisque’s summer bash collab!

Suguru is many things. A tattoo artist, a music lover, a sweet talker, a witty man, a softie at heart, and for the longest time, perhaps since he drew your favorite flower after your crush rejected you to lift your spirits up back in high school, or was it in middle school when he got your favorite snack after you completely bombed a test? You’ve had the stupidest crush on him. You've loved him for so long, all the memories have become a blur, you can no longer remember when he did what, but what you do remember is that even at the ripe age of 13 Suguru has known how to sweep you off your feet.

Maybe that’s why no one else has ever stood a chance.

You’ve tried. God, have you tried. But every relationship since him has been doomed before it began. They all paled in comparison: too soft, too cocky, too dull. Too not Suguru. And maybe they knew it. Maybe they all saw the look in your eyes when his name popped up on your phone or heard the way your voice changed when you talked about him.

You’ve told yourself you’d get over him. You meant it, too. But then he sends you one of those effortless selfies, or calls you just to hear your voice, or keeps his promise to go on vacation with you every year. And suddenly, all that resolve evaporates like mist off the ocean.

What you don’t realize is that Suguru’s just as far gone as you, maybe worse.

It's stupid really, he has no clue as to why you haven't realized that he has so many memory cards for his digital camera purely because he cannot bring himself to delete anything where you're in. There's so many photos and videos of you just being silly, one of you sleeping on his couch, another of you running away from Satoru after he realized you stole his mochi, even one of you petting a cat on the street.

Unbeknownst to you, you inspire the tattoos he's become so known for, which is quite funny because Suguru fears one day you'll have the bright idea of visiting his shop, he wouldn't know what to do if you noticed your favorite flower on different styles on the walls, your birthday on roman numerals, samples of fonts which say your name, middle name, and/or last name, and in a hidden crook of his studio, your eyes.

It sucks having to miss you so much, since you only see each other once a year, but on the bright side, you also don't get to see the fool you've made of him.

Since college, you knew you'd be apart from each other most of your time, as Suguru pursued his dream of owning his own shop in Tokyo whereas your aspirations took you somewhere else. You both have always been very supportive of each other, but at the same time, you're so stuck on each other that you made a pact to go on vacation for 2 weeks every year, taking turns on choosing the spot, and this year it was Suguru's turn to choose.

📩 Suguuu <3: have you checked your email yet songbird?

📩 my muse: SUGURU SHUT THE FUCK UP

📩 my muse: YOU DID NOT

📩 my muse: MYKONOS?

📩 Suguuu <3: surprise surprise

He marks the days like a countdown, two weeks where he gets to have you close, but never close enough. Where he watches you fall in love with the world and aches knowing you’ll never look at him the same way. It’s his favorite part of the year, and also the hardest. Because no matter how far you go together, he always ends up right where he started: still loving you, still silent, and still too much of a coward to ruin what you've built for so long.

You step off the plane, the salty Mykonos breeze kissing your cheeks, and it hits you: this is going to be dangerous. Not because of the cliffs or the scooters or the cocktails you’ve already mentally committed to drinking by the dozen—but because Suguru looks like that in a white button-up and linen pants. He pushes his sunglasses up his nose and smiles at you with that same familiar softness that’s been ruining your dating life since you were 13.

“This place is already ten times better with you in it,” he says casually, grabbing your suitcase like it’s second nature.

You don’t respond. You can’t. Your brain has momentarily stopped functioning.

Choosing to just giggle as a response to avoid any awkward, mumbled response, you pick up your phone to double-check the address of the hotel you had chosen. It took a while, but you reached an agreement with Suguru: if he paid for the tickets, you would pay for the stay.

Since he had gone all out with the location as was, you decided to level the playing field by choosing a suite with a private pool, big ass beds, and the most beautiful view of the beach.

“Songbird, you sure this is our room?” Suguru asks, curious, but also excited?

“‘Course Sugu, why wouldn’t it be?” You ask oblivious to what he was looking at, too busy contemplating at the pool.

“Well, there’s just one bed, it’s huge, but one bed nonetheless,” he says, his lips curving in a dangerous smile.

“Oh.”

“Oh sounds right.” He chuckled, looking at your mortified expression.

“No wonder the lady who checked us in kept treating us like a couple, and you didn’t even correct her!” You realize, jokingly putting the blame on him.

“Would you have wanted me to?” He asks, his purple hues locking your own.

You didn’t have it in you to respond directly, and the loud beating of your heart wouldn’t have let your mind come up with a good answer anyway, so you just opted for saying, “I could sleep in the hammock?”

“Fuck no.”

“So then?”

“If anyone’s sleeping on a hammock it’s me,” he says in a tone that suggests he won’t be swayed otherwise. “But I was thinking of just sharing the bed instead? It’s big enough, you’d probably need an Uber to get to the other side anyway.”

“Okay dummie,” you giggle, “pillow fort it is.”

“Don’t think you could stay away from me in your sleep? You flatter me,” he teased.

“I really couldn’t, you’re just so humble and handsome,” you play along, trying your damned best to ignore the heat in your cheeks.

“If only you truly meant that,” he mumbled.

“What’d you say?” You ask, not having heard him right.

“That you better not snore, songbird.”

“YOU better not snore,” you replied giggling.

“And if I do?” He asks.

“Then I’d have to do this,” you say, and he stands there clueless as to why you’re moving around in silence. Poor Suguru only remembered you were having this conversation by the pool after you had pushed him in, clothes and all.

As he resurged from the water, he just looks at you and smirks, his snake-bites shining in the bright afternoon. You knew he was up to no good, but you sort of felt guilty for pushing him in, so when he extends his hand towards you, you don’t hesitate to take it. Should’ve known you’d be drenched the next second.

As you swim back to the surface, you’re startled to find Suguru so close to you. It should’ve been obvious; he pulled you in, so of course you’d be close. You’ve been pining for this man for years on end, and every year you tell yourself it’s going to be the last, but when he pulls shit like this it’s easy to forget your top new year’s resolution for the past 12 years: to get over Suguru. But he doesn’t help! It’s not easy to get over your best friend if he’s your dream man incarnated, specially when he looks so fucking good with wet hair and a look of mischief in his eyes, with his lips merely an inch away from yours.

He noticed you staring, and it was driving him insane. It took every bit of his (very strong mind you) resolve to not kiss you right there and then and potentially ruin a friendship of over a decade. So, to stop it from going further he just splashed water at your face and started a water fight. He had hoped he’d be able to contain his feelings until the right time, but seeing as he gets worked up so easily even if you’re not trying to seduce him lets him know it’ll be harder than he thought.

About 2 hours later you both finally stopped trying to get back at each other and decided to go out for dinner. You took an awful long shower, which gave Suguru time to rent a bike for your stay, as he remembered how much you loved to ride it with him back when you were in college.

“Songbird! You done in there or are you trying to pluck all your feathers?” He called out teasingly, he knew how much you hated to be rushed, and he had a dirty little liking for working you up.

“Gentle reminder that I’m not a man and can’t serve without proper preparation,” you yelled back, going back to retouching your makeup.

“I’m not even going to comment on that,” he responds, realizing that you truly didn’t know how beautiful he found you, no makeup or prep at all. He’d love to argue with you about it, but admitting to stroking his fat cock for 2 hours straight after he’d seen you with the tiniest shorts and a sweatshirt (one you stole from him by the way) ready to go to bed a year ago wasn’t probably the best argument. But you couldn’t blame him right? After walking around Berlin he was physically and mentally exhausted, so he couldn’t really think better than to just imagine how nice it would be to get to see you like that every time as you walked to your shared bed before he could rearrange your guts goodnight, it’d make you both sleep better!

He was ready to go down that rabbit hole of a memory, but you snapped him away from his thoughts as you finally walked out of the bathroom with the prettiest dress he’s ever seen. Maybe that’s a vague description of your clothes, but you made everything look fucking great, he started to think you’d even look good with a trash bag.

“Staring much?” You ask, basking in his attention and quiet praise.

“I have every right to have a staring problem too you know,” he replies, referring to your little mishap at the pool.

“Oh shut up.”

He chuckles, and for the pure sake of annoying you, he texts you what he was going to say.

📩 Suguuu <3: come outside

“You do realize I’m right next to you right?”

📩 Suguuu <3: you told me to shut up

📩 Suguuu <3: who am i to say no to you?

“You’re so dumb,” you say as you hurry outside, trying your best to hide your blush from him.

You hear him laugh behind you, and you’re about to keep fighting him when you see a red Kawasaki Ninja, and all of your college memories flooded. You couldn’t conceal your smile as it all came back to you, and he takes this chance to speak up.

“You liking our sweet ride for these next 2 weeks?”

“This is fucking amazing Suguru, thank you,” you say as you look at him with the sweetest smile, and you’ve made him melt once again for this evening.

“Let’s get going then, Mykonos awaits!” And with that, you two go into the night looking for trouble, which in itself was scary to think about because it surely felt dangerous to be on this ride with Suguru, and not because he likes to speed, but because being this close to him, getting to wrap your arms around him and press your head on his shoulder, trying your damned best not to succumb to the intoxicating smell of his, made you wish you were riding him instead.

Unluckily for him, you've failed to notice the raging hard-on he sports every night you've gone out for a ride, he chalks it up to his ability to choose bottoms that make it easier to hide, but it really is just the mere fact that you both end up so flustered after those that you don't look at each other much past stolen glances the first couple of minutes, which gives Suguru the perfect chance to run straight to the bathroom to... decompress!

It’s been 1 week in Mykonos and you’ve both fucking loved it. Apart from all those times you’ve come awfully close to kissing or confessing, and ignoring all the damn tension, it’s been great. You spend your days strolling through markets or landmarks, then come back to the suite to hop in the pool and the end the day by clubbing somewhere, it is Mykonos's whole thing for a reason.

Today was a little different though. You were feeling the impulsivity that could only come from days being away from your reality, being with Suguru, the man that made anything and everything seem possible, and of course, the unspoken agreement of vacation, and even if the saying names Vegas, you're in Mykonos aren't ya?

“We should go to a nude beach today,” you say as you bite your koulouri.

Suguru nearly chokes on his yogurt. “A w-what?” He asks, looking at you with wide eyes.

“A nude beach! Wouldn't it be so liberating? And you know I've always wanted to,” you say with the sweetest smile you can muster, acting as if you wouldn't also be a mess if you saw him naked.

“Well, if there's nothing else you'd rather do,” he gives in, trying to think of what the fuck he'd do if he gets hard, it's already bad always making sure he's up before you to hide his morning wood, but a nude beach? God knows he couldn't even cover it up with both of his hands if he tried.

“Not at all,” you smile as you watch him get up to get ready, “I looove you.”

“Seems like you're trying to kill me,” he says with an honesty you weren't expecting at all.

“How so?” You ask innocently.

“You're gonna be the death of me, remember that.”

Shit, you remember other things too. The other night you two had a little too much wine, and while Suguru is usually suave and calculated when he's sober, when he's drunk you really get to see why him and Satoru are such good friends, it makes you see that they're both fairly unhinged, to put it some way.

Sure, in different ways, but unhinged all the same. At least, that's the best word you could find to describe what it was like to hear from your best friend's pretty lips that he’d eat you alive if you let him.

He said it so casually, so slurred and sweet, like it wasn’t the kind of thing that would replay in your mind every time he looked at you a second too long. Like it wasn’t going to haunt you now, while you’re both about to strip down in public like it’s just another Thursday.

You don’t think he remembers. He laughed right after, laid his head on your lap and started telling you how the stars in Mykonos looked fake, like they were too pretty to be real, just like you. But you remember. You remember everything.

Now, as you stand on a rocky path down to the beach, your sundress fluttering in the breeze and Suguru beside you, trying to act nonchalant while adjusting the strap of his backpack for the fifth time, you feel the tension tighten. Not in a dramatic, movie-scene way—no, it’s worse than that. It’s subtle. Controlled. His silence is louder than any confession.

“I googled it,” you say suddenly, trying to fill the silence. “The beach. Apparently it’s, like, super secluded.”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Secluded is good. We like secluded.”

You hum in response. “Means no one will see if I trip and fall flat on my ass.”

He chuckles. “But I would see though, that’s more than enough.”

A few minutes later, you reach the sand—white, soft, hot beneath your feet. Suguru sets down your things and stretches, his shirt lifting just enough to expose a sliver of skin and the bottom edge of a tattoo you don’t recognize. Your eyes catch on it a second too long.

“What’s that one?” you ask, pointing to it before you can stop yourself.

He freezes. Then glances down. “Ah. That one’s… new.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Of what?”

He shrugs. “Something that reminds me of you.”

And before you can press further, he takes his shirt of fully and it takes you a moment to register what the fuck you're looking at. As if it wasn't already hard not to stare at his muscular back, slutty waist, and broad shoulders, now you have to deal with looking at all of that and your favorite flower on his lower back.

Yeah, right where your hands are when he lays his head on your lap and wants you to comfort him. And you do so by just hearing him out and caressing his lower back, good to know. Good to know what the tattoo was.

Almost as if he could hear your thoughts, right before that part of his body could be covered up by the water he glanced back at you with a smirk, locking eyes for a second too long. Enough to put you in a trance that didn't even let you realize you had been staring at that damn direction for too fucking long.

“So you dragged me here to just sit by the shore with your clothes on?” He yelled, as he was fairly deep in the water.

“You didn't put up too much of a fight anyway,” you replied.

“Because I thought it would be even humiliation but you're sitting there like a princess while I'm completely naked.”

Before you could even process what you were doing, you took your shirt off, and put up a fucking show for him, it was only fair right? If he had you blushing every other sentence, you could fluster him by letting him see what he's allegedly been wanting to eat.

And fuck, you just made him hungrier after that.

You managed to swim and put the tension behind a barrier, even if it was fragile, and you two found a cove not too far from where your things were at.

The cove is half-shaded, half-glowing with the soft shimmer of the Aegean sun. The rocks cradle the space like it was made just for two idiots in denial, and the water here is calmer, like it knows something’s about to happen.

You float lazily beside him, your arms brushing every so often under the surface. If you didn’t know better, you’d think the ocean was trying to make you touch him on purpose.

“You're quiet,” Suguru says, voice low and a little breathless from the swim.

You shrug. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“That tattoo,” you say without looking at him, even though you can feel him looking at you.

He hums. “Knew you’d notice.”

You flick water at him. “You put it where my hands always are. Kind of hard not to.”

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that fills your lungs heavier than the sea.

“I put it there because that’s where you always are,” he says, so casually you almost miss it.

You blink, heart stuttering. “What?”

But he doesn’t answer. He swims a little closer, hands finding the edge of the rock behind you, his body suddenly close enough to cage you in without touching.

“Can I tell you something?” he murmurs, voice low, unreadable.

You nod.

“I lied the other night. When I said you were gonna be the death of me.”

Your breath hitches. “Oh?”

“I meant to say you already are.”

You can’t decide what happens first, your pulse skyrocketing, your stomach dropping, or the burning desire to kiss him so hard you forget every reason you told yourself you couldn’t.

But his lips are right there, and you’re both naked, half-drenched, and you’re fully ruined for anyone else—and you’re starting to think he might be too.

You swallow hard, not from nerves, but because it’s suddenly too quiet. The air shifts, the world narrows. His hands are still braced behind you, his body close enough that you feel the heat of him through the water, your knees occasionally brushing under the surface, sending jolts straight to your core.

“You can’t just say shit like that,” you whisper, trying to sound unaffected and missing the mark completely.

“Why not?” he murmurs, his eyes searching yours like he’s looking for the line between brave and stupid, safe and honest.

“Because,” you say, voice a little shaky now. “Because I don’t know what you mean.”

He lets out a soft laugh. “Yeah, you do.”

You try to look away, but his voice drags your gaze back.

“I meant it, y’know,” he says. “The tattoo. The flower.”

“Suguru—”

He leans in just slightly, not close enough to touch, but close enough that your heart forgets how to beat properly.

“Every time you touch me there, it grounds me,” he admits, quieter now. “Even when I’m barely holding it together. Even when I want things I shouldn’t.”

Your breath catches. “Things like?”

He doesn’t say it. Instead, he lets the moment stretch.

The sun catches on the water between you. He looks devastating like this—dripping, golden, pupils blown just a little too wide to blame on the sunlight.

But then, as if he senses you need an escape route, he gives you a smirk, tipping his head back and letting the tension almost break.

“You still owe me for dragging me out here alone,” he says, voice back to playful, but his eyes? Still fixed, still dark, still hungry.

“Oh?” you manage, breathless. “And what exactly do I owe you?”

He shrugs, but it’s mocking. “Dunno yet. But I’m sure I’ll think of something by tonight.”

And with that, he pushes off the rock and swims a few feet away, leaving you stewing in the heat he left behind, mouth slightly parted, heart absolutely wrecked.

Coming back to the suite was something else. Sure, it was already bad having to share a bed with the man you've loved for so long, but today was just rough. Your glances seemed to last a little longer, if you walk past each other you're so awfully aware of your skin touching, so much so it feels electric.

For his “get back” he ended up taking you to a club, but this time he had laid out an outfit for you to put on: a cute little purple dress along with some silver heels.

“Suguru what the hell are you planning on doing?” You ask, trying to suppress your giddiness.

“Clubbing,” he says walking into your shared room with his fit on, and to your surprise he was wearing a button-down shirt matching your dress, alongside silver accessories to match your shoes.

He loves watching you dance, you look so happy and carefree, but he'd also be lying if he said that was all there was to it. He loved seeing you flaunt your curves without a care in the world, and even if he knows better than that, he likes to imagine that you're putting up a show just for him. So, why not let the Greeks think that you were his and only his?

“And is there a reason to be matching?” You ask.

“Yeah, it'll be easier to find each other if we're wearing the same color,” he says just to instantly realize how stupid that sounded.

“Like we're on a summer camp?” You giggle.

“Yeah. A summer camp, but now we won't have to give up or phones or try to hide the booze,” he chuckles.

So, you're off to the club. It's not the first time you're clubbing in this trip, but tonight is just different. After learning about his tattoo earlier and being the closest you've ever been to actually kissing him the tension is through the roof, and you'd think a club would be stimulating enough to let your mind focus somewhere else, but something about those colored flashing lights, his easy smile and his luscious hair going everywhere along his moves gave you goosebumps. It surely didn't help that now he was using every excuse to flaunt the tattoo he'd done an amazing job of hiding up until earlier.

The club is alive. Bass thrumming through your chest, lights flashing pink and violet like they’re syncing with your heartbeat. You’ve danced before, plenty of times. But never like this. Never with his eyes on you like this.

You weren’t expecting them to play it — the familiar swirl of ikaeotiotiko rising like smoke through the haze of the night. The DJ must’ve been Greek. Or brave. Either way, the mood shifts, the crowd parting slightly as people start forming loose circles, clapping into the rhythm, shoes sliding against the floor with practiced ease.

You’re mid-laugh when Suguru’s hand slides around your waist.

“Thought you didn’t dance,” you tease, breathless.

“I don’t,” he says, but he doesn’t let go.

The circle opens around you, and somehow you’re pulled in, your hands brushing against others, your body keeping time with the rising tempo. You spin once, then again, feet moving instinctively. The music builds. Quick.

You feel him again before you see him. Suguru at your back, steady and grounded while the world moves in rhythm around you. He doesn't grab you outright, but his hand returns to your waist like muscle memory.

When someone reaches out to join hands with you again, he steps closer.

“She’s with me,” Suguru says. Casual. Almost bored.

But you know better. His voice is strained honey, the smoothness so fake you know it's just trying to feign calm. His fingers tighten at your side, not enough to hurt, but enough to speak volumes.

You move faster. The music demands it. The steps get looser, sweat slicking your skin, your dress hitching a little higher with every spin. You’re glowing with it, the dance, the music, the heat — and you lean back into him, letting your hips graze his.

Suguru doesn’t back away. If anything, he braces you.

“You’re playing with fire,” he murmurs into your ear, the beat thrumming through your chests as one. His mouth is so close to your skin, it feels like a kiss.

You smile without looking at him. “Maybe I like the burn.”

The music’s lifting now — that final run, that fast-breath, foot-stomping energy unique to ikaeotiotiko — and you let go. Let your body trust the rhythm. Let yourself press flush against him as the circle breaks into wild joy. But Suguru? He stays still behind you, like stone, like an anchor, his hand sliding lower now.

“Careful,” he breathes, “If you keep dancing like that, I’ll forget where we are.”

“Then maybe you should.”

That pause, thick with want, thick with years of unsaid things, lingers between you longer than the last note of the song. Even as the music fades and the next track bleeds in, he stays molded to your back. Possessive. Unmoving. Burned in.

You turn your head just enough to glance at him. “Possessive much?”

“Can you blame me?” he says, and it’s so honest, so fast, it makes your pulse skip.

The DJ switches to something darker, deeper. The kind of song that slows the room down and pulls bodies closer. Your hands find his shoulders, his settle on your hips. It’s instinct now.

You shouldn’t be doing this. But you also should’ve stopped a long time ago.

Your noses nearly brush as he leans in like he’s going to say something. But he doesn’t. His gaze flicks down to your lips, then back up.

You can’t breathe.

“Say something,” you whisper, voice almost drowned out by the music.

He swallows hard. “I’m trying really fucking hard not to ruin everything right now.”

The way he says it, so raw and vulnerable, sends your heart crashing into your ribs. You want to ask why not ruin it? what if it’s already ruined? what if we’ve been lying to ourselves this whole damn time? But you’re trying to see if he'll cave in, but unfortunately your patience is dangerously close to boiling over.

So you smile instead. Force a little laugh. “You think dancing with me is going to ruin everything?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “Wanting more will.”

At this point you're fucking fed up, the tattoo, the side comments, and now to top it off the fucking possessiveness. Your heart couldn't handle that much.

“Stop playing with me. You keep talking so sweetly to me and I know you're a sweet person but this has gotten so out of hand. You keep saying I'm the death of you, that I calm you in ways no one does, and you just rile me up so fucking much. It hurts Suguru, to have wanted to for so long and to keep wanting you and all you do is play around. Honestly I've kept quiet for the sake of our friendship, but it costs me too fucking much, and I can't take it anymore,” you confess, tears threatening to spill over.

Before you could think logically, you let your pride take over and ran out into the rain because it seemed like a better option than to let the man who's controlled your feelings for so long watch you cry over him.

Your inner turmoil doesn't let you realize that he was chasing you the whole way.

“Y/n wait! Fuck, come here,” he says out of breath.

“Haven't you had enough this past decade? What else do you want from me?!” You ask, looking at him through your tears.

“You didn't let me reply,” he says so easily, as if he wasn't holding you as you broke down, as if you both weren't getting completely drenched by the rain. “I have always loved you. Insanely so. You've always plagued my every thought, been the muse to all the art I've made, the force behind every one of my efforts, my partner in crime, my favorite voice to wake up to, the last person I want to see before I fall asleep.”

His hands cup your face like you might slip away if he doesn’t hold on tight enough, but his touch is gentle. Careful. Like he knows how badly you’ve been hurting and hates himself for being part of it.

“I never said anything because I didn’t want to lose you. Not to distance, not to time, not to something I said too early or too late. I’ve had so many chances, and I ruined every one of them by keeping my mouth shut.”

You’re crying harder now, but you’re not backing away. You're just there, in his hands, trying to catch your breath as his confession keeps unraveling.

“I wanted to say something a hundred times on this trip. I almost kissed you on the bike, when you leaned into me and I forgot how to think. And again on the beach. And at the cove. And right now, I am so close to doing it I can’t even breathe.”

You blink up at him through the rain. “Then do it.”

Suguru pauses just long enough to make sure you mean it, his thumbs brushing your cheeks.

“Please,” you whisper.

And he kisses you like he’s been waiting to. Not careful anymore, not calculated. Just full of every second, every day, every year he’s spent loving you in silence. You melt into him, fingers curling in his shirt, finally holding him like you’ve dreamed of doing a thousand times.

When you part, both of you breathless, soaked, and shaking with adrenaline, he rests his forehead against yours.

“No more waiting,” he murmurs. “I’m yours, okay? I’ve always been yours. I've even got a mark of it.”

You laugh softly. “About time, idiot.”

He grins. “I’ll take that.”

Needless to say, you don't take too long to get on going to the suite. It should've been a quicker trip, but with Suguru slamming you into walls every 5 minutes and kissing you like a man starved it made a 10min walk into a 40min one, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't play into every bit of it.

By the time you make it into your room, your skin is on fire, not even the droplets of water clinging to it can do anything to calm the burning sensation down. It makes you act as though coming in contact with his skin with every inch of yours might ease it, but it only makes it worse.

Suguru’s not holding up any better. Years of longing are pouring out through his lips, tongue, hands, cock, everywhere. He’s all over you, kissing your neck as struggles not to whimper, hands busy trying to take your drenched clothes off as he doesn’t let you an inch away from him while he guides you towards the bed.

“So have you thought about it?” He asks, his lips one inch away from yours as he holds both of your arms above you with just one hand.

“Suguru I haven’t thought of anything that wasn’t you since we got off the plane,” you reply breathlessly.

“I’m talking about my offer, or should I say request?”

“And what would that be?” You reply smiling, kissing his neck, feeling it vibrate as he chuckles.

“That I’d eat you if you’d let me,” he says, eyes now fully locked on yours.

“YOU REMEMBER THAT?” You ask startled, fully convinced you were the only one who kept that night alive through your memory.

“I remember everything songbird, so well that I don’t recall there being an answer.” He pauses just to look at you, and as he inches close enough where you can feel his breath on your lips he speaks up again. “So, can I?”

You don’t feel like replying verbally, so you opted for smashing your lips into his. Kissing him felt so right, far above the feeling you got from anyone else even fucking you. This kiss alone made you wish he took all of your firsts, and with how nervous he’s making you, it almost feels like you’re a virgin again. Close enough right?

He understood perfectly. His hands started going south, roaming through your abdomen and navel, getting a feel of all the skin he’s only ever allowed himself to look at. As he tries to stop his mind from going overdrive so he can please you the way he’s always dreamed of, he places wet kisses from your neck to your collarbone, sneaking in some bites and hickeys to pave down his newfound territory.

“F-fuck Suguru,” you moan, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“That’s it songbird, don’t hold back. You’ve starved me long enough,” he says as he finally reaches your breasts. He takes one into his mouth, outlining your sensitive nub, as he moves one of his hands towards your other breast, taking your nipple between his thumb and index finger, rotating it back and forth, the pressure and friction taking your soul out your body.

You feel yourself grinding into him, and he’s so big. So damn big, it’s obscene to even look at the tent in his pants, and you’re insatiable. You’re grinding on his drenched boxers, whether there was more moisture from your own dripping cunt or the pouring rain you didn’t know, but it doesn’t matter because either way it makes the fabric cling to him so deliciously, and it made your back and forth motion so much better.

Every roll of your hips sends a jolt through him, his grip tightening on your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. You hear his breath catch, low and sharp, just before he mutters something guttural against your skin — something you can’t even catch, but it makes your thighs tremble.

Somehow, he gets harder, and you feel his cock pulsate through the thin layer of cloth between you. You whimper loud, and he takes that as encouragement to keep roaming further. His hand finds its way to your wet cunt and starts taping it, quick enough to make you ache for him but not hard enough to ease your want.

“Are you really fucking teasing me after making me wait years for this moment?” You manage to get out, so overwhelmed by your physical state and emotions.

“If anything you kept me waiting this long, and for that fact alone I should be given a reward don’t you think? I want it to last forever,” he breathed out before circling your entrance, toying with your dripping pussy as you arched your back for him.

“S-sugu,” you moaned, desperate for more.

Your plea — that broken little whisper of his name — makes something primal flash in his eyes. Suguru’s jaw flexes, and his breath stutters against your neck as he finally presses two fingers against your folds, sliding them through the mess you’ve made of yourself. He’s slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring every second of having you this way: spread out, soaking, and absolutely wrecked just from the friction and his mouth.

“You’ve got no idea how many times I’ve thought about this,” he growls, voice ragged. “You, desperate like this… begging me. Needing me.”

You can’t think. Can’t speak. Every nerve ending in your body is screaming for more, but he’s still just barely touching you, the pads of his fingers brushing your entrance, teasing you open but never pushing in. He knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s cruel.

“Then stop thinking,” you gasp, hips rocking up into his hand. “Just do it.”

He chuckles, low and dangerous. “So bossy when you’re this fucked out.”

And just when you’re about to snap — right on the verge of clawing at his shoulders and dragging him under you — he finally slides his fingers inside, slow and deep. It steals the air from your lungs, and your body tightens around him like he belongs there, like you’ve been waiting your whole life for this.

“I told you I’d make it worth the wait,” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear as he curls his fingers just right. “Now be a good girl and take it.”

Even if it's just 2 fingers it takes you to a whole other world. Suguru has always had a sixth sense for what you need and desire, and it doesn't surprise you that it translated over to bed. It takes him less than 30 seconds to find your sweet spot, and once he realized it he abuses it so deliciously.

"K-keep going Suguru," you breathe.

"That's my girl," he says as he keeps working you up. He loves to be in control, and he does it almost well enough that he's rutting into the bed, trying to find the friction you were giving him earlier in the mattress, and he thinks you wouldn't notice... but you did.

You don't know where you find the strength, but you manage to flip you guys over so you're on top of him now, and you're feeling like returning the favor. So before he can even guess what you're about to do, you take the hand he was just fingering you with and suck your slick off his fingers, then you take your tongue out and start dragging it from his chest all the way down to his waist without taking your eyes away from his, as he watches you hungrily through lidded eyes.

You waste no time in putting your hands to work, so fucking slowly. You drag your fingertips down his torso like you’re tracing a path you already know by heart — over the hard planes of his stomach, the twitch of his hips when you get too close, then back up just to hear the frustration in his breath.

“You’re really gonna tease me now?” he mutters.

You don’t answer, just smirk, letting your lips follow the trail your tongue blazed moments ago. Every inch of him tastes like salt and rain and something only he could ever smell like, so familiar and addictive.

When you finally reach the waistband of his boxers, you pause. Just enough to make him twitch. Just enough to watch the way his jaw tightens.

You glance up at him through your lashes. “If I kept you waiting all this time, don’t you think I should take my time making it up to you?”

He lets out a strangled groan, and his hand flies up like he’s going to grab something, but then he stops himself. Lets you stay in control.

That alone makes you ache.

You press a kiss right below his navel, slow and intentional. Then you hook your fingers into the waistband and drag it down, inch by agonizing inch, until he’s fully exposed and twitching against his stomach.

“Fuck,” he hisses, voice cracking as you wrap your fingers around the base of him, your thumb brushing the bead of precum at the tip.

You lean in, mouth barely grazing him, breath hot and teasing. “I want to see how much you can take before you lose it.”

"You're signing up for a long night then Songbird," he says, not even bothering trying to conceal how worked up he is.

Your adrenaline is going overdrive, and even as you’re trying your damned best to get it together to put on one hell of a show, your resolve is crumbling quicker than you’d like it to. You’re toying with his cock so painfully, licking his tip as you stroke him with one hand and cup his balls with the other, allowing yourself to revel on how hot, moist his dick is, and above all, how delicious his veins feel on your palm alone. If it was intoxicating here how bad was it going to be when he was actually inside you?

“S-shit,” he pants, giving in to the pleasure.

You wanted to keep him waiting, but his honeyed voice sounded so pretty breaking down for you, you decided you’d give him a reward! Instead of continuing to tease him, you actually took him in your mouth, and it was a delight to both of you. Feeling him twitch and keep leaking in your mouth made your cunt impossibly wetter, but you tried not to pay that much mind to focus on your task.

Having one hand free now, you opted for using it to caress your favorite flower inked on his back, the gesture making him buck violently into your mouth. You gagged, but that only made him more eager to take you. It truly didn’t take you much to turn your “reward” into further torture, the funniest part is that you didn’t realize it at all.

“This is g-gonna be so f-fucking embarrassing for me if I l-let you keep going,” he moans out. “Let me t-taste you instead.”

You intended on continuing sucking him off, but he pulled that same stunt you did, so you found yourself on your back once again at his mercy, and the glint in his purple hues told you you were going to get ruined for everyone else, now in a whole different area.

He dove right in your pussy as if you were the only oasis in the desert he had walked on for days. He was nothing short of calculated and intentional, but only Suguru could be those things while at the same time being desperate and so fucking hungry. He was lapping at your cunt as his nose pressed on your clit, the pressure making you cry out in pleasure.

“Suguru! F-fuck, don’t stop,” you moan.

He chuckles and the vibrations go straight to your core.

“Since you’re being so good for me, and taste so fucking delicious, I’ll give you a little gift,” he says, taking his tongue out your cunt just to softly blow on it, making you shiver, then put it around your clit and get his fingers back in it again.

To say you’re moaning would be quite offensive. You were screaming at this point, certain that everyone on the hill could hear Suguru’s name being yelled at the top of your lungs. Even taking all of this into account you were holding it up quite well, his skilled tongue along with his fingers at the same time is no fucking joke, adding on to the fact that your body’s been waiting for this for years.

And in just a moment you start feeling it, that pressure begging to be released pooling inside of you, and he feels it too, he knows he’s driving you to the edge.

“You want to cum pretty?” He asks mockingly, as if it wasn’t tearing him apart as much as it did you.

You nod frantically, unable to form a coherent sentence in the state he’s put you in.

“Shit baby, I can’t hear you. Guess you can wait a little hmm? You’ll get another chance to cum, don’t worry.” The fucker smiled as he said that repositioning himself so that he was centered right at your entrance.

Testing your patience, he started dragging his hard length through your folds back and forth, driving you both insane by feeling your cunt up with just his leaky, pretty red tip, overstimulated beyond belief with such brief touches.

“Always knew you were quite the tease but didn’t know you were a masochist Sugu,” you said impatiently, wondering just what you’d have to do to get him to put it in already.

“You really don’t know me at all, but don’t worry, you will soon enough,” he says, and before you can answer he goes balls deep in only one thrust, making you scream out his name once again at the sudden (but not unwelcome) intrusion.

“You feel so fucking good,” he says breathlessly, locking eyes with you as he locks you in a mating press.

You feel him hit all of your sweet spots without fail, as if he had mapped you out long before he even got to this point, all his thrusts erratic but never unintentional, he was determined to make sure you lost your mind just as much as him.

You can’t breathe, can’t think, the stretch of him inside you is overwhelming — thick, deep, perfect — and all you can do is hold on as he fucks you like he’s trying to brand himself into your cervix.

Your legs are folded tight to your chest, and he’s so deep it feels like he’s rearranging you. Every slam of his hips makes you cry out, makes your body arch against him, and when his fingers find your clit, rubbing tight and fast, and your vision blurs.

“S-Sugu, f-fuck! I-I,” you don’t even know what you’re trying to say. You can’t get it out.

“I know, baby. I know,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours, his pace somehow rougher and sweeter all at once. “Let go for me.”

And it’s all you need.

You shatter.

The orgasm tears through you like lightning, loud and blinding, your whole body trembling as you clutch at his shoulders like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. And he doesn’t stop; he keeps moving through it, keeps dragging every last drop of pleasure out of you until you’re gasping for air and moaning into his mouth.

“Fuck— you’re squeezing me so tight,” he chokes, hips stuttering now, losing rhythm, chasing his own end.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down into a kiss, sloppy and desperate, as he finally lets go, burying himself deep with a guttural moan and spilling inside you in thick, pulsing waves.

For a moment, everything’s still. Just the sound of your uneven breaths, the weight of him on you, the rain still faintly tapping against the window outside.

Then he exhales a laugh, soft and wrecked, nuzzling into your neck.

“Guess we made up for lost time, huh?”

You smile, still dazed. “You think that was making up for it?”

His eyes flicker open, dark and gleaming.

“Right. Round two, then.”

And with that, it is safe to say you did not get any sleep that night.

The rays of the sun woke you up, and as your eyes adjusted to the lighting, you took a look at your surroundings, delighted to find you and Sugu’s body tangled up to the point where you couldn’t tell when your body ended and his started. You felt him flutter awake too, looking up at you with the most lovesick smile you’ve seen in all your life.

“You sleep good Songbird?” He asks in his raspy morning voice, sounding so fucking sexy.

“Best sleep I’ve had in years. You?”

“I think I’m doomed,” he confesses, as he grabs a strand of your hair to play with it.

“What do you mean?” You ask, growing concerned.

“I doubt that after tonight there is a way I’ll be able to get any sleep without you by my side,” he declares, so easily, as if he wasn’t accelerating your heartbeat with merely some words.

“You’re so silly,” you giggle, relaxing at his cheesy confession.

“I’m just being honest,” he says, caressing your face. “Can you promise me something?”

“Anything,” you say, feeling how much you mean it.

“Can we please keep this going outside of Mykonos? I know I may have rushed it, but believe me when I say I meant every word I said out in the rain. I don’t want us to be a hook up, just a vacation thing. I genuinely want to wake up like this every day, getting to see your beautiful face and hearing your voice first thing in the morning. It would kill me to have done this and to go back and pretend like you’re not the love of my life and like I haven’t realized it yet,” he says without missing a single beat.

You reach up and place your hand over his, the one still cradling your cheek with such gentleness you know he means every word he just said.

“I don’t want to pretend either,” you whisper, voice barely steady. “I want this… all of it. You.”

The smile that spreads across his face is slow and devastating, the kind of smile that says finally.

“Good,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Then it’s settled. Mykonos was just the start.”

You nod, melting into his chest as he pulls you in tighter, the warmth of his body grounding you even as your heart soars.

And as the Aegean sunlight filters through the curtains and the sea murmurs softly outside, you fall asleep once again wrapped in his arms — no longer wondering what comes next, but knowing that whatever it is, you’ll be in it together.

Meanwhile, somewhere in Tokyo there are two close friends of yours arguing, which isn't surprising, but to think that it was about the two of you made it hilarious.

“Shoko I'm telling you, I know Suguru better than anyone, that fucker will keep pining after her like a lovesick ghost. You said the same thing about their trip to Berlin last year, why do you think this one would be any different?” Satoru asks, getting into yet another bet he fully expects to win.

“Because I just feel it, nothing screams more romance than a getaway at Mykonos of all places. Besides, this is the first trip where they've only had one bed to sleep in,” she explains, believing more and more in her conclusions as she gets the words out.

“Not buying it. It would take a life or death situation for him to cave in,” he says stubbornly. “But since you're so certain, it wouldn't hurt to bet on it, right?”

“You have no problem in reminding how little you care about your money huh?” She says, more than willing to give in once again, her pride taking over her better judgement.

“Just recognizing an opportunity when I see it,” he shrugs.

“Fine, ¥14,450 they'll come back a couple.”

“You're so on Shoko,” he says, grinning as they shake hands.

Needless to say, after you two came back and had diner with those two to update them on all, Satoru not only lost his ¥14,450, but also his pride, especially when Suguru kissed you right in front of them like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Shoko sipped her drink smugly. “Told you. Mykonos equals love.”

Satoru groaned dramatically, slumping back in his chair. “Unbelievable. All it took was Mediterranean air and a single bed? You folded faster than Go Fish.”

Suguru just smirked, arm lazily draped around your shoulders. “You won't understand me until you're in my spot, Satoru.”

“You shut your traitor mouth,” Satoru muttered, pushing his plate away like the betrayal had ruined his appetite.

“You’re just mad because you lost,” you grinned.

“I’m mad because now I owe her money and I know she'll spend it on some wine she won't even share,” he said, gesturing to Shoko, who just raised her glass in victory.

“Correct,” she said. “And it’ll be imported.”

The night ended with Satoru dramatically Venmoing Shoko under the transaction label “This won't happen again.”

And you? You leaned against Suguru’s shoulder, already planning the next trip — two tickets, one bed, and no intentions of ever holding back.

[jaylaxies]

OUT OF SIGHT

pairing: enhypen x fem!reader

content warning: 18+ content, minors dni! touching you in public, smut, public sex, slight exhibitionist tendencies, fingering, unprotected sex.

wc: 1177 words

a/n: hihi loves <3 this was requested by anonnie :3 all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated <3

LEE HEESEUNG

⤷ Best friends to secret fwbs. 

You’d been just friends for years—until one night came and changed everything. Now, every time you’re out in public, Heeseung can’t stop touching you, testing how far he can go without getting caught. Even at the grocery store, he pressed his hand between your thighs and chuckled when your knees buckled in front of the freezer aisle. “Don’t act shy now,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your clit through your soiled panties. “You didn’t mind when I practically devoured your pretty cunt last night, hm?” He loved pushing your limits, making you sit right beside him at group dinners, whispering what he did to you in your sleep the night before as he dragged his fingers along the hem of your skirt. “You’re mine, you know that, right?” he’d groan under his breath. And the second you got alone again? He’d pull your panties down as if he hates them (he does) and fucks you against the nearest surface, punishing you for how wet you were all day.

PARK JONGSEONG 

⤷ The obsessive ex. 

Jay wasn’t over you by any means and every fucking one knew it, however, it wasn’t until you ran into him at that upscale restaurant that he actually proved it, with his fingers wrapping around your throat in the women’s restroom, body pressed to yours, lips brushing the curve of your ear, “you wore my favourite shade of lipstick just to drive me crazy, didn’t you?” he groaned, the other hand already between your thighs, pushing up your dress up as you gasped, a shiver going down your spine at the touch you wish you hadn’t missed so much. He spit on his fingers, rubbing your clit, and shoved two fingers into you while you arched your back against the marble, “you’re gonna cum for me in here like my little good girl, hm? Still mine, always mine.” he growled, and you did—moaning out his name, with your thighs spread wide and the sound of your breath reverberated off of the walls. When you could barely stand, he kissed your cheek and whispered, “you’re mine, yeah? Now go out there and act like nothing happened, I’ll come to you later tonight.”

SIM JAEYUN 

⤷ The flirty roommate. 

Jake wasn’t the type to cross lines, not unnecessarily at least. You’d been living together comfortably for months, always teasing, always playful with his sweet accent and smirks, however, the way he looked at you was serious, and tonight, at your shared friend’s sleepover, something shifted. You were wearing one of his oversized button ups—purely out of comfort, of course, but when you leaned across the table to grab a drink, he leaned in close behind you and whispered, “you’re really gonna wear that and expect me not to break all the rules, huh?” You turned to him, eyes wide. His hand was already on the small of your back, warm and possessive as his eyes met yours. “I see the way you squirm when I sit this close, baby,” he whispered with a smile, his thigh pressing lightly against yours beneath the table. His fingers never wandered at first—they just rested innocently, brushing yours, skimming your bare knee like a silly little joke. But the second no one was paying attention, your breath hitched from the tension alone as his hand slipped slightly higher, just enough to make your thighs tense. “Still acting like you don’t want me to?” he asked. And that’s when the game changed, when you finally gave in and let his fingers stay, higher than intended, making you cum as he chuckled at something his friend said in the background. 

PARK SUNGHOON

⤷ The rival turned fuckbuddy 

You and Sunghoon argued constantly, at work, at parties, and gosh, even in passing. But underneath all that tension was one constant thing, he wanted you, and he wanted you submissive. He’d corner you at events, fingers curling around your jaw, voice low. “Still running that smart little mouth, huh kitten?” he’d grunt, while slipping his hand up your skirt and playing with your clit right there in a dark corner. Tonight wasn’t any different, you were mid argument outside the party when he suddenly gripped your waist and shoved you against the wall, jaw clenched, “you fucking lil’ brat,” he seethed, thigh pressed between yours, grinding just enough to make your breath hitch. “Go on, kitten, keep acting like you don’t want it,” he said, his hand sliding under your skirt, fingers unrelenting as your hips moved against him, hate still flashing in your eyes, you couldn’t stand each other—but nothing got you off faster than the feeling of his mouth bruising yours mid fight, fingers deep with the promise that you’d regret it in the morning, only for you to do it all over again next week.

KIM SUNOO

⤷ Fake dating. 

Sunoo was the sweetest guy you’d met, too perfect to be real, which is why you chose him to fake date you, only to spite your ex, which was working beautifully in your favour, but now? Sunoo’s hand hadn’t left your waist all night, gripping tighter every time someone looked at you too long at the party, especially the ex, “he’s watching,” Sunoo murmured, lips brushing your ear, but his hand slid lower, and down under your dress, somewhere no one could see but him. You sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers found your barely covered cunt, slick gathering at the touch. Did you do this for me?” he whispered, thumb pressing right where you needed him, “or are you just that desperate to be fucked in front of him?” His fingers dragged the fabric aside without waiting for an answer, slipping in deep enough to make your knees go weak, “guess we’re not faking anything anymore, huh?” he breathed against your cheek, curling his fingers so perfectly you could barely stay standing, let alone pretend this was just an act.

YANG JUNGWON

⤷ The secret boyfriend. 

You were hanging out with your group of friends, all unaware of the fact that you were dating your best friend’s little brother, who often joined the friend circle too. You told Jungwon you were going to the bathroom, but he grabbed your wrist in the hallway and dragged you into the stairwell without a word, “missed you, miss touching you, fuck—just give me five minutes, baby,” he muttered, already spinning you around, already pulling your panties to the side and lining his cock up behind you, and then with no time wasted, he was inside—rough, and so fucking deep, one hand over your mouth as the other held your waist still. The sound of footsteps passed by just outside, your name being called, but all you could do was moan into his palm as he fucked you against the cold wall like he hadn’t seen you in weeks. “Keep quiet,” he whispered, breath shaky, “shhh, or they’ll know you’re getting filled while they wait for you.” He whispered, groaning near your ear, each thrust harder than the last. 

perm taglist: @jaeminvore @macaroonff @ajayke-reads @en-myworld @lunalovesstories @jayzdaze @deobitifull @celeste-hoon @mari-oclock @kpoprhia @ikeuizm @woniebae @lalalalawon @blessedcursd @skzenhalove @heesuncore @seuomo @kyurizeu @haechan-nahceah @tobiosbbyghorl @jezzebear @jaehoonii @itsgivingitalian @bunhoons @hyacandoit @luvswonyoung @ma-riiii @addictedtohobi @heeliopheelia @haanigurl @dopedels @kaykay11sworld @glitterjay @skzooluvr @yongbokified @prkhaven @kristynaaah @tinycatharsis @filmnings @mwahvvis @hoonprksung @mintchocoddeonut @lezleeferguson-120 @s0shroe @onlyticket-home @meowieshibal @highway-143

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[onlyforsebastianstan]

Lessons

Summary:

You and Bucky Barnes have always been close — the kind of best friends who share inside jokes, midnight snacks, and quiet truths. He sees you as someone to protect. Nothing more.

But after a night out with friends, where the conversation turned toward sex. Something you’ve never experienced, a curiosity sparked in you. Nervous and innocent, you turned to the one person you trusted most

“What does sex feel like?”

At first, Bucky laughed it off. Then he grew quiet. Your questions didn’t stop and after days of soft, awkward tension, Bucky gave in.

Genre:

NSFW | Smut | Soft Emotional Tension | (eventual smut, pregnancy themes, emotional intensity) | Friends-to-Lovers

Rating: 18+ MINORS DNI!!!

You and Bucky had been best friends for years, your bond built on late-night talks, shared pizza, and an unspoken trust that ran deeper than words. To Bucky, you were family—someone he’d protect with his life, no hint of romance in his steady blue gaze. He was your safe haven, the one person you could ask anything without judgment, and you were his reminder that the world could still be soft.

It all started at a meetup with your friends. The conversation had turned to sex, their stories spilling out with knowing laughs and vivid details. You stayed quiet, cheeks burning, as their words painted a world you’d never touched. A virgin, you’d never felt the urgency to change that, but their stories stirred something—curiosity, sharp and persistent. What did it feel like? The heat, the closeness, the intensity they described—what was it really?

Later that night, sprawled on your couch with Bucky, a half-eaten pizza box between you, the question gnawed at you. The TV droned on, but your mind was elsewhere. You fidgeted, twisting the hem of your sweater, heart pounding as you tried to find the words. Finally, you mumbled, barely audible, “Bucky… what’s it like? Sex, I mean.”

He froze, soda can halfway to his lips, his eyes flicking to yours. “What?”

You cringed, wishing you could sink into the couch. “I—I heard my friends talking, and I’ve never… I just want to know what it’s like. Sorry, it’s stupid.”

He set the can down, rubbing the back of his neck, a faint flush creeping up his face. “It’s not stupid. It’s… hard to describe. It’s intense, I guess. Physical. Different for everyone.” His voice was gruff, and he quickly changed the subject, tossing you a playful jab about your terrible taste in pizza toppings.

But the question didn’t fade. Over the next few days, your curiosity grew, and you couldn’t stop yourself from asking again.

At first, it was small—innocent questions about what made it special, how it felt to be that vulnerable, even what “cumming” meant, though you were too shy to say the word outright.

Bucky answered awkwardly, his responses short, his discomfort obvious. He’d deflect with a joke or a quick subject change, but your persistence wore him down, your naivety disarming in a way he couldn’t ignore.

One night, at his place, you were both sitting on his bed, a scattered deck of cards from a lazy game between you. You’d been pressing him with questions again, your voice softer each time, your shyness making the air heavy.

Finally, you couldn’t hold it back anymore. Staring at your hands, you whispered, “Bucky… would you… show me? Like, do it with me? Just so I know what it’s like?”

His head snapped up, eyes wide with shock. “What? You’re serious?”

You nodded, face burning, unable to meet his gaze. “I trust you. You’re my best friend. I just… I want to understand, and I don’t want it to be with anyone else. Please?”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Doll, that’s… a big ask. You sure you’ve thought this through? We’re friends. This could make things weird.”

“I know,” you said, voice small but firm. “But I trust you more than anyone. I don’t want it to mean anything… romantic. Just… help me understand.”

He studied you for a long moment, his jaw tight, the protective part of him warring with your request. Finally, he sighed, his voice low. “Okay. But only if you’re absolutely sure. And we stop the second you’re not okay with it. Promise.”

“I promise,” you said, heart racing, a mix of nerves and excitement swirling in your chest.

He shifted closer, his movements slow, deliberate, giving you every chance to back out. “Alright,” he murmured, his flesh hand reaching out to rest lightly on your shoulder. “We’ll go slow. You tell me what you’re feeling, okay?”

You nodded, scooting closer, your knee brushing his. The air felt heavier, charged with something new but still grounded in the trust between you.

He guided you to lie back, his weight braced on his elbows as he hovered over you, his expression serious but kind.

“It’s about feeling close,” he said softly, his hand sliding to your arm, the warmth of his touch grounding you. “Letting someone in, physically. It’s a lot, but I’ve got you.”

You swallowed, nodding, your pulse hammering as his hands moved carefully, lifting the hem of your shirt. You shivered at the contrast of his flesh hand, warm and steady, and the cool brush of his metal fingers. He paused, checking your face. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, voice shaky but certain.

He continued, slow and deliberate, shedding your clothes and his own with a clinical sort of care, keeping it as unromantic as possible. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but his presence was a steady anchor. When you were both bare, he guided your hands to his shoulders, letting you feel the solidity of him.

“Touch helps,” he said, voice low. “Makes it real. You ready for more?”

You nodded, and he shifted, positioning himself carefully. His hands found your hips, steadying you as he explained each step, his voice a quiet rumble. “It might feel strange at first. Just breathe, okay?”

When he entered you, the sensation was overwhelming—full, intense, a stretch that made you gasp. He froze, eyes searching yours. “You okay? Need me to stop?”

“No,” you breathed, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Just… go slow.”

He did, moving with a careful rhythm, watching your every reaction. With a muffled groan “Fuck… you’re so tight.”

The initial discomfort faded, replaced by a warmth that built with each movement, a connection that was physical but still tethered to the trust between you. His hands stayed on your hips, guiding you, teaching you how to move with him. The sensation grew, a slow burn that spread through you, making you cling to him tighter.

It was strange, new, but not unpleasant—a heat that coiled tighter with every thrust, every shift of his body against yours.

You felt something building, a pressure you didn’t understand, your breaths coming faster, your body tensing. “Bucky,” you gasped, voice trembling with confusion, “w-wait… I feel something coming out”

He slowed slightly, his eyes softening as he recognized your innocence. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice steady, reassuring. “You’re feeling it build. It’s okay. Just let go, doll. Let your body do what it wants.”

“Let go?” you repeated, uncertain, your fingers tightening on his shoulders as the sensation grew sharper, almost overwhelming.

“Yeah,” he said, his metal hand sliding to your lower back, cool against your flushed skin. “Don’t fight it. Just let it happen. I’ve got you.”

You nodded, trusting him completely, and focused on the feeling—the way his movements sent sparks through you, the way the pressure coiled tighter, like a spring ready to snap. His rhythm stayed steady, deliberate, his flesh hand gripping your hip as he guided you, his breaths ragged but controlled. The heat of his skin against yours, the slight roughness of his calloused fingers, the way his muscles flexed under your touch—it all blended into a haze of sensation, pulling you under.

When it hit, it was like nothing you’d ever felt—a rush that made your whole body tremble, a gasp tearing from your throat as you arched against him. “Bucky,” you whimpered, clinging to him, overwhelmed by the intensity.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice low, encouraging. “You’re doing great. Just ride it out.”

He kept moving, slower now, letting you feel every wave, every pulse, until the sensation ebbed, leaving you breathless.

“F-fuck..” he followed, a low groan escaping him as he stilled, his forehead resting against your shoulder for a brief moment. Neither of you spoke, the air heavy with the weight of what had just happened.

He pulled back, grabbing a blanket to drape over you both, his movements quick, almost guilty. “Shit,” he muttered, sitting up, his eyes wide with realization. “We didn’t… I didn’t use anything. Protection.”

You froze, the implications hitting you. “Oh,” you said, voice small. “I… didn’t think about that.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, panic flickering in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I should’ve thought—should’ve been more careful. You’re my best friend, I wasn’t supposed to let it go this far.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it. “It’s okay. I’ll figure it out.”

He looked at you, his expression torn between guilt and the same protective instinct that always defined him. “It’s not okay. I’m supposed to look out for you, not… complicate things.”

“It’s not complicated,” you said, though your voice wavered. But as you sat there, wrapped in the blanket, his hand still in yours, you felt it—a subtle shift, something unspoken that neither of you could name. You were still friends, still tethered by that unshakable bond, but the air between you felt different, heavier, like you’d crossed a line you couldn’t uncross.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said finally, his voice steady again. “Whatever happens, I’ve got your back. Always.”

And as you leaned against him, his arm settling around you in that familiar, protective way, you knew he meant it. Whatever this was, whatever it meant, you’d face it together.

A week later, you were back at Bucky’s place, sitting on his couch, the memory of that night tucked away like a secret neither of you acknowledged. But your curiosity hadn’t faded—if anything, it had grown, the experience leaving you with more questions than answers. You fidgeted, picking at a loose thread on your jeans, your heart pounding as you gathered the courage to speak.

“Bucky,” you started, voice barely above a whisper, “could we… do it again? Another lesson, I mean.”

He froze, his coffee mug halfway to his lips, his eyes snapping to yours. “You’re serious?” His voice was laced with disbelief, his brows furrowing. “After last time? You sure about this?”

You nodded, cheeks burning, your shyness making it hard to meet his gaze. “I just… I want to learn more. I trust you, and I don’t want it to be with just anyone. Please, Buck. Can we just… keep it like it was? No strings, no changing anything between us?”

He set the mug down, running a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. “Doll, this… it’s risky. We got lucky last time, but we can’t mess up like that again. And what if it does change things? You’re my best friend. I don’t want to screw that up.”

“It won’t,” you said, voice firm despite your nerves. “I promise. It’s just… learning. Like before. We’ll keep it separate, like it never happened. Deal?”

He studied you for a long moment, his protective instincts warring with your earnest plea. Finally, he sighed, nodding reluctantly. “Alright. Deal. But we’re being careful this time. No mistakes. And you say stop, we stop. Got it?”

“Got it,” you said, relief flooding you.

He stood, disappearing into his bedroom and returning with a small foil packet, holding it up with a pointed look. “No repeats of last time. We’re doing this right.”

You nodded, heart racing as you followed him to the bedroom. The air was different this time—still grounded in trust, but with a mutual understanding that this was just a lesson, nothing more. He was careful, deliberate, slipping on the condom before guiding you to the bed. This time, he suggested a new position—lying on your side, one leg draped over his hip, his hands guiding you into place.

“It’s about angles,” he said, voice low, clinical, like he was teaching you a skill. “Changes how it feels. Just relax, okay?”

You did, letting him guide you, the sensation different but just as intense. His movements were slow, controlled, his hands steady on your hips as he taught you how to move with him. The lesson was practical, focused, his demeanor that of a friend helping you learn, nothing more. When that pressure built again, you recognized it this time, and he noticed your tension.

“Just let go,” he said, his voice steady, encouraging but detached. “You’ve got this.”

You did, trembling as the wave hit, and he followed shortly after, keeping the moment brief, functional. Afterward, you both got dressed, slipped back into your usual banter—joking about his terrible coffee, arguing over what to watch next—like nothing had happened. It was your agreement: no strings, no complications, just lessons.

It became a weekly ritual, always at his place, always with the same rules. Each time, he taught you something new—a different position, a different way to move. One week, it was you on top, his hands guiding your hips as he showed you how to set the pace, his voice calm and instructional. Another, it was against the wall, his strength holding you steady as he explained the mechanics, his tone practical. Each lesson was clinical in intent, grounded in your trust, with protection always used after that first scare. Afterward, you’d both act like it never happened—back to pizza nights, bad TV, and inside jokes, your friendship unchanged, the lessons tucked away like a separate compartment.

Through it all, Bucky remained your best friend—protective, steady, never letting the lessons bleed into your bond. You laughed together, shared secrets, leaned on each other, just as you always had. The moments in his bedroom were just that—moments, sealed off from the rest of your lives.

The team gathering was loud, filled with laughter and clinking glasses, but everything seemed to mute the moment Bucky walked in with Lia. She was new to the team, her smile bright and her charm effortless, drawing eyes like a magnet. Bucky’s arm was slung casually around her shoulders, his grin easy as he introduced her to the group. “This is Lia,” he said, his voice warm, almost proud. “New recruit, and she’s already kicking ass.”

You stood near the bar, your drink forgotten in your hand, the sight of them together hitting like a punch to the gut. Lia laughed at something Bucky whispered, her hand resting lightly on his chest, and your heart twisted. You forced a smile when Bucky’s eyes met yours, giving a small nod as if everything was fine. But it wasn’t.

Later that week, you were at Bucky’s apartment, sprawled on his couch like always, expecting another lesson. The lessons had started months ago, a practical arrangement to help you navigate your inexperience with sex. Bucky had been patient, guiding you with a mix of gentle instruction and intense focus, teaching you not just about touch but about trust, about feeling safe in your own skin. Those moments had shifted something in you, blurring the line between friendship and something deeper, though you’d never dared name it.

He sat across from you now, his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. The air felt heavy, wrong. He cleared his throat, avoiding your gaze. “We need to stop the lessons,” he said, his voice low, steady, but laced with something you couldn’t place. “I’m with Lia now. It’s… not right to keep this up.”

The words landed like a blade, sharp and sudden. You froze, your breath catching, a dull ache blooming in your chest. “Oh,” you managed, forcing your voice to stay even. “Yeah, okay. That makes sense.”

He finally looked at you, his blue eyes unreadable, searching your face for something. “You’re still my friend. That doesn’t change.”

You swallowed hard, nodding, keeping the hurt from spilling over. “Right. Still us.”

But it wasn’t. The lessons stopped, and Bucky’s world filled with Lia—dinners, missions, quiet moments that used to be yours. You’d catch glimpses of them: Lia’s hand in his, the way he’d lean into her, his laugh softer than it ever was with you. The distance carved a quiet pain in you, one you couldn’t shake. The lessons had changed you, not just in how you understood your body, but in how you wanted to be loved—touched with care, trusted completely, the way Bucky had shown you. Now, seeing him with Lia, you felt the loss of that closeness like a missing limb, a longing you hadn’t expected.

Determined to move forward, you turned to Steve. He’d always been a steady presence, his warm smile and quiet strength a comfort. You started spending more time with him—training in the gym, grabbing coffee, talking late into the night about art, old movies, and the world before everything got so complicated.

Steve was a gentleman in every sense, his kindness unwavering, and you felt a spark of something more, a possibility of a partner. But every time you laughed with him, every time his hand brushed yours, your mind drifted to Bucky—the way his hands had felt, steady and sure, the way he’d guided you with patience, the way he’d made you feel safe.

You wanted that physical connection again, that raw intimacy, but Steve was too respectful, too proper. Asking him for something so vulnerable felt wrong, like it would fracture the gentle bond you were building. So you buried the desire, focusing on the friendship blossoming with Steve.

What you didn’t see was how it was affecting Bucky. He’d watch you and Steve in the training room, your laughter echoing as you dodged a punch, and something dark would flicker in his eyes. He’d clench his jaw when Steve’s hand lingered on your shoulder, a possessiveness he hadn’t expected simmering beneath the surface.

He told himself it was nothing, that he’d made the right choice. But the sight of you with Steve gnawed at him, a quiet storm building in his chest.

One night, after a long mission debrief, the compound’s common room was empty except for you and Bucky. The others had left, their voices fading down the hall, leaving a heavy silence in their wake.

You were gathering your things, ready to head out, when you noticed Bucky standing across the room, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on you. The air crackled with unspoken tension, weeks of distance piling up between you.

“You and Steve seem close,” he said, his voice low, an edge to it you didn’t recognize.

You paused, glancing at him, trying to keep it light. “He’s a good friend. Like you.”

His jaw tightened, and he took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “Like me?”

The question hit like a spark, catching you off guard. You frowned, setting your bag down. “What’s that supposed to mean, Buck?”

He flinched, but didn’t back down, his voice sharper now. “The lessons you had with a friend like me, you do it with him too?”

The words stung, igniting a mix of anger and hurt in your chest. You stood, stepping toward him, your voice rising. “What the hell, Bucky?”

He closed the distance, his eyes dark, intense, his voice dropping to a growl. “You think Steve can make you feel the way I did? The way I made you shake, the way you clung to me when you let go?”

Your breath caught, his words slicing through you, stirring memories of his hands, his voice, the way he’d unraveled you. He was close now, too close, his presence overwhelming, his scent familiar and dizzying.

“You think you’re the only one who can fuck me?”

That was all it took. His hands found your waist, pulling you against him, his touch possessive, almost desperate. “You don’t get it,” he murmured, his voice rough, his lips brushing your ear. “I trained your body to respond to me. No one else can break you the way I do”

“Bucky,” you whispered, your hands gripping his shirt, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. “Lia—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing your jaw. “Just… don’t.”

His lips crashed into yours, urgent, hungry, like he was trying to reclaim something he’d lost. You melted into him, the months of distance dissolving in the heat of his touch.

Clothes were shed in a rush, no thought, no plan, just need. Your shirt hit the floor, his followed, and soon you were pressed against the couch, his body over yours, his hands everywhere. He tugged your pants down, his fingers deft, and you gasped as his touch found your skin, sparking heat that made your head spin.

“Bucky,” you breathed, your hands roaming his back, feeling the hard lines of muscle beneath his skin. “We shouldn’t—”

“Tell me to stop,” he growled, his lips grazing your neck, his hands gripping your hips. “Tell me, and I will.”

You couldn’t. You didn’t want to. Instead, you pulled him closer, your nails digging into his shoulders. He groaned, low and rough, and when he entered you, it was raw, unprotected, a reckless breaking of every boundary you’d set.

The sensation was overwhelming, sharper without the barrier, every movement sending shocks of pleasure through you. His pace was urgent, possessive, his hips driving against yours with a rhythm that left you breathless. His hands gripped your hips, lifting you slightly, angling deeper, and you gasped, your body arching against him.

“God,” he muttered, his voice rough against your ear, his breath hot. “You feel so good. So damn perfect.”

You clung to him, your body trembling as the pressure built, every thrust pulling you closer to the edge. His hands roamed, one sliding up to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over sensitive skin, the other gripping your thigh, holding you open for him. “Tell me,” he growled, his voice low, almost desperate. “Does Steve do this to you? Does he make you feel this?”

“No,” you gasped, your head thrown back, your body shaking as the pleasure coiled tighter. “Only you. Only you, Bucky.”

His name on your lips seemed to snap something in him. His pace quickened, his movements rougher, more intense, like he was claiming you, marking you. The couch creaked beneath you, the room filled with the sounds of your gasps, his low groans, the raw urgency of it all.

Your hands found his hair, tugging him closer, needing him, needing this. The pressure built, overwhelming, and when it hit, it was like a tidal wave, your body arching, a cry escaping as you let go, trembling beneath him. He followed moments later, a low groan rumbling through him as he stilled, his body tense, the weight of the moment crashing over you both.

For a heartbeat, you stayed there, tangled, breathless, your heart pounding against his. His forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged, his hands still gripping you like he couldn’t let go. But then reality seeped in, cold and sharp. He pulled back, his expression closing off, his eyes shadowed.

“This was a mistake,” he said, his voice hollow, barely above a whisper. “I can’t… I can’t do this. Lia, you… it’s not fair.”

“Bucky, wait—” you started, reaching for him, your voice breaking, but he was already standing, pulling on his clothes with quick, jerky movements, his back to you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, not looking at you, his voice tight.

You sat up, pulling a blanket over yourself, the ache in your chest sharper now, a mix of longing and regret. “Bucky, please, just talk to me.”

He paused at the door, his hand on the frame, his shoulders tense. “I can’t,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Not now.”

And then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him, leaving you alone on the couch, the weight of what just happened settling like a stone in your chest.

Read >>>Part 2<<<

[pixiexdusts-world]

Found not lost

Hwang Jun-ho x reader

Summary: Jun-ho raises a baby left from the Games and finds unexpected love and healing with you.

Word count: 2,984

You first see him on a rainy Wednesday.

The wind’s mean, biting through your coat as you walk home from your shift at the community clinic. You nearly miss him at first—just a figure tucked under the overhang outside your apartment complex, hood pulled low, body curled around something wrapped in a strawberry blanket. You slow when the bundle shifts and lets out a soft whimper.

A baby. That’s a baby.

You stop walking.

He notices you watching and tenses. His hand instinctively moves toward the blanket, shielding the infant with his body. Not aggressively—but protectively, like someone who’s already decided he’d take the fall if anything went wrong.

You should walk away. You know better. But the baby starts crying, and your feet betray you.

“Is she okay?” you ask, voice soft.

He looks up. His face is pale, gaunt, and his eyes flick over you like he’s measuring every possible threat. He doesn’t answer.

You crouch. “I’m not going to take her from you. I just want to help.”

Another pause. Then, reluctantly, he shifts enough for you to see her—round cheeks, tiny fists waving, tears running silently. Her skin is clammy.

“She’s burning up,” you say. “I work at the clinic down the street. Let me help. Please.”

He looks down at the baby, jaw tight. Then back at you. Finally, he nods.

You don’t ask questions that night. You give him your kettle, a space heater, and some leftover soup. He won’t go to the hospital—makes that clear right away—but he lets you clean her up, bring her fever down, and hold her when she cries.

He doesn’t tell you their names.

But when he falls asleep sitting upright on your couch, the baby tucked against his chest, you notice something strange.

There’s a police badge tucked in his back pocket.

You don’t see him for five days.

Then, on the sixth morning, he knocks on your door.

“I’m sorry,” he says. His voice is rough, but sincere. “I panicked. She’s okay now, but she… cries less when you’re around.”

You open the door wider. “Then you should both come in.”

He hesitates. “Just for a few minutes.”

It becomes a pattern.

He never stays long—just long enough to warm the bottle, rest his eyes for ten minutes, let you check her over. He still hasn’t told you his name. You still haven’t asked. You don’t want to scare him off.

But the baby’s smile is brighter now. Her little body stronger. And he’s starting to look less like a man on the verge of collapse and more like someone learning how to breathe again.

One night, after she falls asleep in your arms, he finally speaks.

“I didn’t know her mother. Not really. She was… part of something. Something I thought I could stop.”

You glance up at him. His hands are clenched. His jaw, set.

“I couldn’t. Everyone died. Except the baby.”

You swallow. “So you took her.”

He nods. “Someone left her for me. Along with the money.”

“What money?”

He hesitates, then says, “Prize money. It doesn’t matter.”

“Sure it does.”

He shakes his head. “She didn’t ask for any of this. But if I walk away, she’ll have no one. And I don’t think I could live with that.”

You look at him—really look. He’s not just tired. He’s devastated. Grieving something too big to carry alone.

So you say, “You’re not walking away. You’re here. And that matters.”

He nods once, quietly.

And when you reach out to cover his hand with yours, he doesn’t pull away.

Weeks pass.

You learn his name is Jun-ho.

You learn the baby’s name is Hana. He gave it to her.

“She needed something good,” he says one morning, gently bouncing her in your living room. “So I gave her a name that means flower. Even if the rest of the world is ash.”

You don’t ask more questions about the Games, the money, the people he lost. Not yet. Not unless he brings it up.

But you notice the scar one afternoon while he’s changing his shirt—right at the curve of his shoulder. It’s jagged and raised, unmistakably a bullet wound. He moves quickly, tugging the fabric back over it before you can say anything, brushing off your worried look with a half-muttered, “Old injury.”

You don’t press. But your heart sinks all the same.

Instead, you focus on how far he’s come. You watch the way he holds Hana now—without hesitation. He starts humming to her when she fusses. He learns how to swaddle, how to sterilize bottles, how to make her giggle.

He still won’t sleep unless you’re close. On the nights you offer your bed, he stays on the couch—but closer and closer to your room. Until, one night, you wake to find him curled in the armchair beside you, Hana asleep in his lap, your name whispered in his sleep.

One evening, while she naps, he finally talks.

“People think heroes look like me,” he says quietly. “Gun, badge, silent stare. But they never see the part where you lose people. Where you fail.”

You don’t interrupt.

“I thought I was doing the right thing. I tried to stop it. But all I did was expose something no one wants to believe exists. Now there’s no trial, no justice. Just silence. And her.”

You take his hand. “Maybe she’s the justice.”

He looks at you then, something raw in his eyes.

And then he kisses you.

It’s tentative—more question than declaration. When he pulls back, you chase his mouth with yours.

You don’t rush things. But from that night on, your home becomes the home.

For all three of you.

Hana says your name before she says “appa.” Jun-ho pretends not to be offended.

But when she falls and cries, she runs to him first.

“She’s a traitor,” you joke.

“She knows who keeps her fed.”

He kisses your temple when he says it. And your stomach flips like it always does now.

One day, a man in a dark coat shows up outside your building. Doesn’t come in, doesn’t say anything. Just watches.

You spot him first.

Jun-ho sees the fear in your eyes before you even speak.

He doesn’t panic—but he acts. Pulls you inside. Locks the door. Checks the windows.

You realize then that he’s never stopped running. That maybe he never will.

He holds you that night like it could be the last time.

But morning comes, and the man is gone. No note. No message.

Just a reminder: the world doesn’t forget.

You ask him if he wants to leave.

“No,” he says. “Not unless you come with me.”

You do.

You move out of the city. A small place by the water.

Jun-ho plants flowers outside, even though he’s never gardened before. He tells Hana they’re all named after people he’s lost. That way, something beautiful can grow from the pain.

You get a job at a local clinic. He works construction under a different name, but still carries the badge—kept safe in a box beside Hana’s baby shoes.

You’re never rich. You’re never totally safe.

But you’re loved.

Hana grows up calling you both home.

And sometimes, when Jun-ho thinks you’re asleep, he whispers, “Thank you for saving us.”

You never tell him you’re awake. You just pull him closer and whisper, “You saved me first.”

[4linos]

even if it’s a secret 2.

bang chan x manager!reader

synopsis: you’re the group’s manager. he’s a member. and falling for each other wasn’t part of the job description, but it happened anyway.

warnings: angst, emotional tension, forbidden romance, mutual pining, fluff.

wc: 4787

[even if it’s a secret 1]

“I think we should break up.”

It was like you had slapped him.

The air shifted instantly. You saw the words hit him in real-time, his eyes widened, his face blanked, and then… something behind them shut down. Fast.

“What?”

His voice came out hoarse. Disbelieving.

You looked down, trying not to cry, not yet.

“I think it’s time.”

“No,” he said, almost too fast. “No, what happened? What—did I do something?”

“No,” you said quickly. “It’s not you, it’s not that.”

He stepped toward you, hands half-raised like he wanted to grab you, shake the truth out of you.

“Then why? Why are you doing this?”

You couldn’t tell him what Minho told you. You couldn’t tell him how your every move felt monitored, how the risk was thick in the air, how the secret was burning a hole in your chest. If you told him that, he’d do what he always did, he’d try to fix it.

You didn’t want fixing. You wanted protection.

“I’ve just… I’ve been thinking about it,” you said instead, trying to steady your voice. “And it’s too risky now. We’ve already pushed our luck.”

He stared at you like he didn’t recognize you.

“So that’s it?” His tone cracked sharp, but laced with disbelief. “You’re just going to give up?”

“I’m not giving up,” you said, more firmly now. “I’m being smart. Practical.”

He scoffed, taking a step back. “Smart? Practical? You’re the one who told me we could make this work. You told me we’d be careful, that it’d be okay.”

You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Things changed—”

He cut in, voice louder now. “No, you changed. You didn’t even try to talk to me about this. You just made this decision and dropped it on me like—like it’s nothing.”

“That’s not fair—”

“If you loved me,” he said, stepping forward, “you wouldn’t be doing this.”

Your chest caved. That sentence hit harder than you expected.

“I do love you,” you said, almost a whisper. “I love you so much it hurts.”

He looked at you, eyes blazing. “Then why are you throwing us away?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. The words were too tangled.

He pressed his hands to his temples, pacing. “You’re not making any sense. We’ve been fine. No one’s even suspicious—”

“Yes, they are,” you snapped. “They are watching. They know something’s up, Chan.”

He froze.

You immediately regretted saying it.

His voice dropped. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly. “It’s not—”

“What do you mean they know something’s up?”

“Just let it go,” you said, louder. “Please.”

He stepped forward. “No. Who said something? What happened?”

“I’m telling you, just drop it—”

“No, you drop it,” he snapped, his tone full of frustration. “Why do you get to decide for both of us? You’re acting like we’re caught, like it’s over, and it’s not.”

“It is if we don’t stop now!” you shouted.

Silence.

“Fine,” he said quietly. “Then let’s go to the company. Let’s talk to them. Maybe—maybe it won’t be as bad as you think.”

You felt your heart splinter at that. Because even now, after everything, he still wanted to fight for you.

But you couldn’t do it.

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “Just give it up.”

And then it happened.

The words flew from your mouth before you could catch them, unfiltered, raw with emotion you didn’t really mean:

“This relationship was a mistake. Being with you was a huge mistake from the beginning.”

He froze.

The pain on his face was immediate, visceral.

His jaw clenched, eyes wide and wet, but not with tears. With anger. With betrayal.

You opened your mouth to take it back, but he held up a hand.

“No,” he said, voice hard and trembling. “Don’t.”

You shook your head, stepping toward him. “Chan, I didn’t mean—”

He backed away, shaking his head.

“You think being with me was a mistake,” he repeated, like he was trying to believe it. “Alright.”

“Chan, wait—”

“If you want to break up, then fine,” he said. “So be it. Good luck keeping things ‘safe.’ I hope that helps you sleep at night.”

And before you could say another word, he turned and walked out.

The door slammed behind him, harder than it ever had before.

You stood there, breathless, feeling the silence echo through the apartment like an aftershock.

The words you said, mistake, hung in the air like smoke. And you couldn’t un-say them.
You couldn't pull them back.
You could only hope, somehow, that they didn’t burn everything down forever.

The apartment was painfully quiet after he left.

You stood in the center of your living room, your heart racing as if the fight was still happening like the sound of his voice still echoed off the walls. You hadn’t even changed out of your work clothes. Your bag was still slung over your shoulder. The door still vibrated slightly from the way he’d slammed it shut.

The word mistake wouldn’t stop repeating in your head.

You said it. You meant something else. But it had come out like poison, like the only defense you had left.

You didn't cry. Not right away.

First, you sat on the couch, hands still shaking. Your mind replayed everything: the way he looked at you when you said those words. The way he shut down. The door slamming.

Your stomach twisted.

He wasn’t just upset. He was hurt. And you had done that.

You didn’t sleep that night. Or the next one.

You didn’t answer his calls, not because he was calling, but because he wasn’t. He hadn’t texted, hadn’t tried to reach out, hadn’t even opened your last message. It felt like something you’d gotten used to calling him every night, checking in, laughing for a few minutes even on the hardest days. Now, that quiet was all you had.

Work was the worst kind of unbearable.

He didn’t look at you.

Not in passing. Not in meetings. Not when you helped hand out water bottles or go over schedules. If the other members noticed, they didn’t say anything, not even Minho or Jisung, though they looked at you differently. Like they knew.

Like they knew something had broken.

Chan was different, too. Colder. Not to the members, he still smiled at them, still offered help, still stayed behind at the studio. But his smile didn’t reach his eyes, and he barely said more than a polite thank-you to any staff member.

To you, he said nothing.

He had always looked out for you, even when you weren’t near him. His glances, the subtle touches when no one was looking, the texts asking if you got home okay. They were gone now. He didn’t check. He didn’t ask. And part of you hated yourself for wanting him to, even after what you said.

You thought, maybe, with time, things would soften.

But a week passed. Then another. And the silence only got louder.

Until you were walking past the hallway near the main studio room when you heard his voice low, tired, but unmistakably his.

“Minho, just drop it.”

You paused, back pressed against the wall before your name caught your ears.

“She’s miserable,” Minho said. “You think she wanted it to end like that?”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Chan replied, flat and tight:

“She said it was a mistake. I’m just giving her what she wanted.”

Your lungs stilled.

Minho sighed. “You know she didn’t mean that.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Chan muttered. “She still said it.”

You didn’t hear the rest.

You couldn’t.

You backed away, your breath catching in your throat. You couldn’t face him, not like this, not when he still believed that you thought being with him was a mistake.

The truth was…

You never thought that. Not once.

It wasn’t a mistake to love him. It was the most terrifying, most beautiful thing you’d ever let yourself do.

The mistake was letting fear speak louder than love.

And now, that fear had left you with nothing but silence.

You didn’t expect anyone, not really.

Part of you, the part still clinging to the shred of hope you hadn’t yet managed to smother wanted it to be him. Maybe Chan would finally show up like he used to, with that nervous energy, the way he always looked like he couldn’t stand to be away from you for too long. Maybe this would be the moment he’d say he couldn’t take the distance anymore. That he was done pretending he could stay mad.

But another part of you, the rational part that had been screaming at you for days knew better.

So when the knock came, you hesitated.

You crossed your living room slowly, hands wiping anxiously on your sweater, bracing yourself for either relief or disappointment. You opened the door and blinked in surprise.

“Hey!” Jisung chirped brightly, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, grin wide like this was completely normal.

You froze. “Jisung…?”

He stepped in without waiting for a full invitation, his eyes scanning the space before nodding in approval. “Damn, it is nice in here. Why didn’t I get invited over sooner?”

You closed the door behind him, but didn’t move from your spot as you stared at him with wary confusion. “What… are you doing here?”

He looked at you, then around your apartment again, and then sighed dramatically before collapsing onto your couch like he’d been carrying the weight of the whole group. “Chan’s miserable,” he said simply. “Like, really miserable.”

Your heart did a little painful twitch in your chest.

Jisung turned his head toward you, eyes softer now. “And so are you. Figured I’d come be your free therapist or something.”

You couldn’t help it, a tiny laugh escaped you, worn out and tired. “You’re gonna play couples counselor now?”

He nodded, all mock-serious. “Yup. Unlicensed, unqualified, but extremely nosey. I’m the best kind.”

You folded your arms loosely and gave him a half-smile. “You can’t counsel a couple that doesn’t exist anymore.”

His face fell immediately. “Wait, what?”

You lowered your gaze to the floor and nodded once. “He didn’t tell you? We broke up.”

The words came out too fast, too plain. Like you’d trained yourself to say them without letting them burn on the way out.

Jisung sat up straighter, his eyes wide. “I thought you two were just fighting,” he said. “You’ve fought before. I mean — yeah, it was bad this time, but you—”

“It’s different now,” you cut in softly, walking past him to sit on the edge of the armchair across from the couch. You wrapped your arms around your knees and rested your chin there, suddenly feeling very small. “We said a lot of things we didn’t mean. Or maybe we did. I don’t even know anymore.”

He frowned, watching you quietly. “What happened?”

You were quiet for a moment. Then, voice soft and unsteady, you said: “The company… I think they’re catching on.”

Jisung blinked. “Catching on to what, exactly?”

“To us,” you said. “Minho overheard something. He warned me. I’ve been more careful, but… I felt like someone was always watching me. Like I couldn’t even breathe right without it getting reported back to someone higher.”

Jisung’s brows furrowed in concern.

“I didn’t tell Chan. I didn’t want him to do anything reckless. You know him, he always does something. He’d talk to the company, or throw himself in front of me if it meant protecting me. I couldn’t let him do that.”

“So you broke up with him instead,” Jisung said quietly, the words landing like they made sense now.

“I told him it was a mistake. That being with him was a mistake.” You choked on the confession. “And I didn’t mean it. I didn’t. I just… I panicked. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Jisung rubbed the back of his neck and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “You know… I don’t think he meant to walk away either. I think he just didn’t know how to fight for you when it felt like you didn’t want to be fought for.”

You looked up at him, eyes stinging.

“He loves you,” Jisung said plainly. “Even now. Even if he’s pissed, or hurting, or stubborn. I see it. He doesn’t even bother hiding it anymore, not from me, not from Minho. Not even from himself.”

You smiled sadly. “It doesn’t change the fact that we’re a secret that could ruin both of us.”

“No offense, but you’ve been a secret for ten months and somehow managed not to burn the company down.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “But it’s getting harder. It’s not just hiding it from the company, it’s hiding it from ourselves. Hiding the fact that we can’t even act like we know each other outside of work. Hiding how much it kills me to pretend he’s just another artist I manage.”

Jisung’s eyes were soft. “So why did you tell me all this now?”

“I didn’t expect you,” you admitted. “But I think I needed someone to tell me I wasn’t crazy.”

“You’re not,” he said simply. “You’re just in love.”

You wiped a hand under your eye quickly, brushing away a tear that threatened to spill. “And scared.”

He smiled at that. “Well, yeah. Love’s terrifying.”

You let out a shaky breath and leaned back into the chair. “So what now? You giving me advice or something?”

He grinned. “Only if you want it.”

You looked at him. “Hit me.”

“Talk to him.”

You groaned and dropped your head back dramatically.

“No, seriously,” he said, suddenly more serious. “Talk to him. Not in passing. Not when someone else could pull him away. Talk to him. You guys built something real even if it’s quiet and messy and a little terrifying. Don’t let fear make all of this mean nothing.”

You were quiet, thoughtful.

Jisung stood and stretched. “Anyway. That’s enough emotional labor for me for one night. I’m gonna go binge something brainless and forget I just cried on your couch.”

“You didn’t cry,” you said.

“Not yet,” he quipped, pointing at you before heading to the door.

But before he left, he turned back around. “He’s waiting, you know.”

“Chan?”

He nodded. “Even if he acts like he’s not. Even if he tells you there’s nothing to talk about. He’s waiting.”

And with that, Jisung left you alone again, but this time, with a little less fear and a little more clarity.

You didn't sleep that night.

Even after Jisung left and your apartment returned to its usual, suffocating silence, your thoughts stayed loud.

Everything he said repeated in your head like a looping track. “He’s waiting.” “Don’t let fear make all of this mean nothing.” You turned those words over and over until they felt bruised.

You knew you couldn’t ignore it anymore. Couldn’t pretend it didn’t matter.

You had to talk to Chan.
Even if he didn’t want to talk to you.

You waited until the next afternoon, not because you were avoiding him, but because you needed to find the right moment. Or maybe you just needed to find enough courage.

He was tucked in the corner of the studio hallway, leaning over his phone outside a conference room door. His cap was low on his head, a mask pulled up over half his face, but you knew him. You knew his posture. His energy. You could feel it before you even made a sound.

He looked up when he saw you approaching.

And just like that, everything inside you twisted.

He looked tired. And not just in the usual idol-who-never-sleeps kind of way. He looked emotionally exhausted. Like something in him had been unsettled since that night you told him everything was a mistake.

You stopped a few steps away.

“Can we talk?” Your voice came out softer than you intended.

Chan blinked. His eyes were unreadable. “About what?”

You felt your chest tighten. “About us.”

He looked down again, jaw tense. “There is no us.”

“Chan—”

“I told you,” he cut in, “there’s nothing to talk about.”

His tone wasn’t cold, it was guarded. But that only hurt more. Because this wasn’t some stranger trying to push you away. This was the same person who used to text you late at night just to say he missed your voice. Who would send you a voice memo of some unfinished melody and say, “It’s missing something, probably you.”

You took a step closer. “Can you just… not shut me out yet?”

He didn’t look at you, but his hands clenched at his sides. “Why? So you can tell me again how it was all a mistake?”

You flinched.

“I didn’t mean that,” you said quickly. “You know I didn’t.”

“Do I?” His voice was tight. Bitter. “Because it sure sounded like you did.”

You hated this, hated the way his voice trembled under the anger like it was barely holding itself together. Hated how all of this was your fault.

You stepped in front of him, forcing him to either look at you or move. “I panicked, Chan. I was scared. I’ve been scared. Of everything. Of being caught. Of losing my job. Of ruining your name. Of ruining you.”

He didn’t say anything.

You swallowed hard. “I didn’t tell you about what Minho said because I knew you’d try to fix it. And I didn’t want you to get hurt. That’s all I’ve been trying to do this whole time, protect you.”

“Then why didn’t you trust me to protect you back?” he snapped suddenly.

You froze.

His eyes finally met yours. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you talk to me before deciding to throw everything away?”

Your lip trembled. “Because I didn’t know how. I was so worried I couldn’t think straight, and I thought—” You paused, voice cracking. “I thought if I cut it off first, it would hurt less. For both of us.”

Chan let out a breath a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah? How’s that working out for you?”

You winced.

He looked away again, arms crossed now, as if trying to hold himself together. “You don’t get it. You think I don’t know the risks? You think I don’t think about them every day? I do. But every time I think about what I might lose, the only thing I keep coming back to is you.”

Your eyes blurred, throat tight. “Chan…”

“I was willing to risk it because you’re worth the risk,” he said, quieter now. “But if you don’t believe the same, if you think being with me was a mistake then what’s left for me to fight for?”

There it was. Raw. Bare. Unguarded.

And it hurt.

Because the only thing worse than losing Chan was knowing you were the reason he started to believe he wasn’t worth fighting for.

You closed the space between you before he could move away. “It wasn’t a mistake,” you said, voice shaking. “Being with you has been the best thing that’s happened to me. I just let fear win. I let it control me, and it made me say things I didn’t mean because I thought it was the only way to keep you safe.”

His eyes searched yours now, the fury in them starting to crack.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Minho. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you to handle it with me. I’m sorry I hurt you, because I know I did.”

Chan didn’t respond right away.

But you could see his breathing shift. Slower. Deeper.

Then finally, softly: “Do you… still want to be with me?”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “More than anything.”

He studied your face. “Even if it’s not easy?”

You nodded. “Even if it’s terrifying.”

Chan didn’t say anything for a long second. But then you saw it that slight tilt in his lips, the smallest movement of his shoulders relaxing.

He let out a shaky sigh. “I missed you.”

You stepped closer and rested your forehead against his chest. “I missed you too.”

Chan hesitated for just a breath and then his arms wrapped around you. Tight. Secure. Warm.

“I’m still mad at you,” he murmured into your hair.

“I deserve that.”

“But I’m not going anywhere.”

You closed your eyes, holding on to him as tightly as he held you.

You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. Maybe the company really was watching. Maybe the next move had to be even more cautious. Or maybe there would come a day where you had to make the hardest choice all over again.

But for now, in this moment, he wasn’t leaving.

And neither were you.

The tension hung between you and Chan as you stood there, his arms were still wrapped around you but now, it felt different. Less about the reassurance of the moment, and more about the unspoken agreement that this wasn’t going to be easy.

Chan’s fingers gently traced circles on your back as you leaned against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart, trying to hold onto the warmth of the present. But even in this brief silence, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that the world around you was closing in. You wanted this, you needed this, but you didn’t know how much longer you could keep the secret. How much longer you could keep pretending everything was fine when you felt like you were constantly being watched.

Finally, it was Chan who broke the silence, his voice soft but laced with that familiar concern. “I know you’re scared, but you can’t shut me out. Not when we’re in this together.”

You felt the lump rise in your throat again. Together. That was all you wanted. But your job, your reputation, everything you’d worked for felt like it was hanging by a thread. Every glance, every question, every moment where you had to answer something vague… it made your stomach churn.

“I’m scared,” you whispered, almost too softly. “I’m scared that if they find out… everything’s over. For both of us.”

Chan’s grip on you tightened, and you could feel his warmth, his presence trying to anchor you. “I get it. Believe me, I do. But you can’t go through this alone. Not anymore.”

You pulled back a little, enough to meet his gaze. There was still that vulnerability in his eyes, and it made your chest ache. You hated this. You hated how afraid you were, how you couldn’t just let yourself be with him without the constant fear of what might happen if anyone found out.

“I know,” you said, voice breaking slightly. “But when Minho told me… they’re watching us. I felt it, Chan. It’s not just a feeling anymore. They’re asking more questions about what I’m doing every day, where I go, what I’m spending my time on. I can’t lie anymore, and I’m scared I’m gonna slip up. I don’t know what happens if I do.”

Chan’s face softened, but there was something behind his eyes that showed how much the realization hurt him, too. You could see it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his brows furrowed. But he didn’t pull away from you. Instead, he placed his hands on your shoulders, gently but firmly, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Tell me everything,” he said softly, his tone demanding nothing but the truth. “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on. I want to be there for you, but I need to know everything, even if it’s hard.”

You swallowed, the weight of it pressing down on your chest. He wanted to help, but how could he, when the situation was so out of both your control? How could he when the very nature of your relationship, your job, the company… all of it felt like a ticking time bomb?

Taking a shaky breath, you began, your voice trembling with every word. “It’s not just what Minho told me. I’ve been feeling it for weeks now. They’ve been asking me so many questions about my routine, what I’m doing after work, what I’m spending my time on, who I’m spending my time with… And it’s not just the staff. The higher-ups are starting to watch too. They’re waiting for me to slip, and I’m afraid that when I do, it’ll be too late.”

Chan’s expression grew more serious as you spoke, his hands never leaving your shoulders. He was quiet, digesting what you were saying, before his voice came out with an edge of frustration. “I know you’re scared, and I know you feel like you’re walking on eggshells. But you have to trust me, we can figure this out together. I can’t be there if you keep hiding this from me. I know it’s hard, but I need you to be honest with me about how you’re feeling. We don’t get anywhere if we keep pretending everything’s okay.”

“I’m not pretending,” you murmured, feeling your chest tighten again. “But I’m trying to protect you. You’ve already given up so much for me. I’m afraid that if the company finds out, if they see what we’ve been doing… that’ll be the end of everything. My career, your career… I can’t risk that.”

Chan’s eyes softened, the lines of frustration slowly easing from his face. He took a deep breath, his hands gently lifting yours to hold. “I get it. I do. But you don’t need to protect me. You don’t need to do this on your own. I didn’t start this relationship with you because of what it could cost me. I did it because I wanted to be with you, because of you. So if the company finds out, if it all falls apart… I’m not leaving you. I’ll fight for this. For us.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you looked at him. “But it’s not just about us anymore, Chan. It’s about everything we’ve worked for. It’s about everything the company could take from us.”

“I know,” he said softly. “But we can’t let the company control our happiness. We can’t let fear dictate what we have. If we’ve made it this far without getting caught, we can make it longer. We just have to be smarter. And we have to do it together.”

Your throat tightened as you nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that you could figure this out, that there was still a way forward even if the walls around you were closing in.

But how much longer could you really keep it hidden? How much longer could you both keep playing this dangerous game?

Chan seemed to sense your doubt, and his hand gently cupped your cheek, urging you to meet his eyes. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, but I need you to trust me. We can’t keep running away from this, pretending we don’t have something real. If we’re careful, we can make this work. If we don’t let the company or anyone else tell us what we can or can’t do…”

You closed your eyes, taking a shaky breath. “I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“And you won’t,” he said with a certainty that made your heart flutter, even amidst the fear. “We’re in this together, okay? But we have to be careful. We can’t just ignore everything that’s happening. If we’re going to keep going like this, we need a plan.”

You nodded, finally feeling like you weren’t completely alone in this. “A plan,” you repeated softly, the weight of everything still pressing down on you, but the presence of Chan beside you made the pressure feel a little more bearable. “We’ll have to be extra careful. No more mistakes. No more slip-ups. We can’t let anyone get suspicious.”

Chan smiled gently, his thumb brushing across your cheek. “Exactly. We take it one step at a time. But as long as we’re both in this, we’ll make it work.”

You nodded, the tightness in your chest loosening just a fraction. For the first time in a while, you could breathe a little easier, knowing that the weight of everything wasn’t yours to carry alone anymore.

But the road ahead would still be difficult. It would take patience, precision, and constant vigilance. The balance between secrecy and the need for closeness would always be a tightrope walk.

But with Chan by your side, you knew it was a step you were both willing to take.

//

masterlist.

a/n: open ending. ❤️‍🩹

[official taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms @captainchrisstan @anastasiiiiaaaaa @emilyywhyy @ready2readnwrite @nyxaluna @tricky-ritz @tsunderelino @wickedbutlovely @delulumel @shinygubbins @hhwangsmoon lmk if you’d like to be added/removed 😙 ..]

[kdh-tally]

If it's not too much to ask can you write something about Zoey and Baby being absolute bestfriends? Whether it's a fic or headcanons it's a-okay I just need more content of my cuties

Baby and Zoey Against the World

Prompt : Zoey and Baby as best friends

Author's Note : Literally one of my favourite duo's to write for. Slowly working through all of my requests you guys!! sorry they're taking a while lol. Enjoy!!!!!!

Baby sought out to be Zoey’s friend to spite Mystery, but also just cause he thought she was kinda cool.

After Huntrix beat Gwi-ma and the boys resurrected as humans, Baby decided that maybe it would be alright to get attached to some people

Those people being the huntrix girls and no one else. 

Not sure if I mentioned it anywhere but they definitely treat him like their baby brother.

So now Baby has 4 annoying older ‘brothers’ and two older ‘sisters’ and Zoey.

Zoey is like that one sibling that was born right after you and everyone treats you both like twins.

That's how he views Zoey

His annoying younger twin sister who’s actually older than him.

Anyways!

Zoey didn’t necessarily care about befriending Baby

She still holds a grudge against him for side-eyeing her during the meet and greet.

That changed when she was sneaking around the group's shared kitchen at like 2 in the morning. 

Baby was already at the fridge, eating the remainder of Rumi’s saved leftovers that Jinu would definitely kill him for having.

He freezes once he sees Zoey’s shadow, fully ready to disappear back into his room when she just grabs a fork and finishes it with him.

“Major respect dude.” she’d mumble between bites.

They finished the food together and their new friendship blossomed.

They’re always on the same wavelength.

Especially when it comes to testing stupid ideas.

Abby looked around the room, it was unusually quiet. Too quiet. “Where are Zoey and Baby?”

“They said they were going to test the fire resistance of demon skin.” Mira responded, opening a text she had just received from Zoey.

“What does that even mean?”

“They’re lighting Baby’s skin on fire Abby.”

Zoey is the mastermind behind half of their plans. Baby is her enabler.

Zoey would get ideas like renting out an amusement park for a day so both groups could like parkour through them with their powers.

Baby commits 110%. 

Even though he’s fully aware Jinu could probably book it through the company, he chooses to use his demon powers to hypnotize all the workers into allowing them in.

I swear they’re twins bro.

Maybe they were born 2 weeks apart or something, I don't know but they must be twins.

They defend each other like wild animals.

They were once doing promo for their groups, being on some variety show as the maknae duo.

One of the hosts tried to throw shade at Zoey, suggesting she was just a pretty face with no real talent.

Baby interrupted

“I didn’t know this was a comedy show. You got any other jokes or was that your best shot?”

Zoey later repaid the favour when an anti-fan tried to claim that Baby wasn’t ambitious enough to be a Saja Boy member.

She reposted Baby’s solo performance on her story with the caption

You wish you had HALF of his talent

They have multiple matching keychains.

I feel like Zoey would be a HUGE spider man fan and would force BAby to watch all the movies with her.

She’d have a cute spiderman keychain and would force him to wear a venom one. 

Mystery is so jealous but Zoey has so many matching things with him. 

Matching clothes, bracelets, necklaces, hair accessories, tattoo…

Baby pretends he doesn’t like the key chain but he carries it everywhere.

Fans notice it and only fawn over their friendship even more.

They have a podcast no one asked for. It’s called “Don’t Quote Us.”

It’s really just them on live giving bad advice, talking conspiracy theories, and rating snacks from their favourite convenience stores.

A/N!! (Read my headcannons of Baby x reader [they're a convenience store owner]) Shameless promo 💀

“Why do people listen to this?” Romance mumbles, watching them from behind the camera. 

“It’s weirdly addictive,” Jinu responds.

They definitely go thrifting together.

Zoey would make him friendship bracelets with cursed looking beads she finds.

Similarly to the keychains, he wears them religiously.

Baby draws her as a stick figure in the margins of Mystery’s notebook during meetings. It always says something like. “The uglier twin”

He acknowledges his sibling-like attachment to her but refuses to admit that he’s actually fond of her.

Baby seems like he’d know sign language

This being something he’d learnt from Mystery.

Mystery might have learnt sign language just so he’d have an excuse to not talk to people. 

He and Baby would communicate that way a lot.

When Zoey and Mystery start going out, she also learns sign language.

So now Zoey, Mystery and Baby know sign language.

They, as in Zoey and Baby, use it like some secret code

Whenever one of them gets bored when in a large group, they look at the other and sign

Does Jinu always stare at Rumi during these meetings?

Bro I don’t know

You’re literally his band member???

I don’t even like him like that. *Sends Zoey a frowny face for emphasis*

No one knows what they’re doing, except Mystery, but even he is lost because of the speed at which they’re signing.

They’re very difficult to handle when together.

Rumi and Jinu have definitely put them on time out from each other but it never lasts long.

Their friendship is unshakable.

They fight like siblings, tease each other like besties.

Mystery has begged Jinu to stop leaving Baby around her because he’s convinced he’ll turn Zoey into a demon.

But the best thing about having a best friend is being able to sit with them when things don’t make sense.

No need for words. Just shared earbuds, snacks and food.

[shadowlord420sgf]

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ Abandoned & Aching

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ xxXShadowl0rd420Xxx | Skips x reader ୭ ˚.

⌗ summary: You left Skips waiting, aching—now that you’re back, he won’t let you go until he’s felt all of you again. word count is 1.6k

⌗ warnings!: female reader, fingering, p in v, missionary, creampie, established relationship, porn with feelings, everyone & everything is desperate, skips is kinda emotionally deranged, fucking on the floor (sorry florence!), i think: hurt + angst with comfort

⌗ author’s note: (you can also read this on my ao3!)back with everyone’s favorite sad emo boy ☹️ thanks for all the support I’ve received on my fics it actually means a lot to me and i love everyone!! like and reblog if you would peg skips 💕 also my irl friend: @funnygirlwriter104 gave me the idea for this fic, check out her dirk one!

It had been some time since you’d last paid Skips a visit. You two had left off on a high note, he asked how you slept and told you about his efforts of keeping the silverfish away. Cute. However, you couldn’t help the excitement you got from speaking with other objects around the house. The dateviators just made you so curious that you didn't notice how you strayed away from the person, or shadow, who loved you the most...

Your ignorance wasn’t on purpose though, so many objects were really so entertaining! You especially liked helping Maggie solve cases, or going on extreme adventures with the Hanks. But none of that changed how you felt about Skips. If only he knew that, instead of assuming that you’d left him for good.

So, when you focus your dateviators on the shadow of Gaia one morning, what you find is a bit unexpected. It’s your beloved Skips, obviously, but something seems to be off with him.

“Hey you.” He greeted, looking a bit surprised that you were in front of him. “I was wondering when you’d come back to see me.”

You winced internally. It couldn’t have been that long since you spoke to him, right? Either way, you felt terrible for being the reason his voice sounded unsure, and a little hoarse like he hadn’t used it in a while.

“I—I know, I’m sorry,” you said gently, stepping closer to him. “I didn’t mean to be gone for so long. I just got caught up with everything—”

“It’s okay,” Skips interrupted quickly. A little too quickly. “You don’t have to explain. I mean, you’re here now, right? That’s all I wanted.” He gave a shaky smile, eyes flickering across your face like he was trying to burn it into his retinas.

He gazed at you like that for a moment before speaking, barely loud enough for you to hear, “I just… I thought maybe you didn’t wanna come back. Like Benji and the others, you know?”

Oh my god, you’ve fucked up this time. You’d left him alone for so long that he compared you to his old friends from way back in his Thiscord roleplaying days. You knew how important those memories were to him, and how hurt he felt as his companions drifted away. You never wanted him to feel like that again.

You stepped even closer, and he didn’t move away. He never would.

“Skips…” you started, finding the words to apologize, but you didn’t get far. He surged forward and wrapped his arms around you like he couldn’t stop himself, pressing your warm body against his cool one. He buried his face deeply into your neck, breathing in. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this. You missed being in the comfortable darkness and silence around Skips. Everything was just so natural with him.

You hugged him impossibly tight, and it still wasn’t as hard as he clung to your body. Your hands tangled into his hair and he made a let out a noise that you swear was a sob. Oh Skips… His voice was muffled against you, “I really fucking missed you. I kept thinking maybe I did something wrong, or maybe you found someone better. Or maybe you just—”

He cut himself off with a shaky breath. “But you’re here. You came back. You came back for me.”

His words made your heart shatter inside. You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “There’s nobody like you, Skips. No one.” You whispered, not a hint of dishonesty in your voice. “Of course I’d come back for you, I love you.”

He paused hearing those last three words. You’ve said them to him before, and always meant it of course, but it changed something in him at this moment. There was a beat of silence, and then his lips brushed your jaw. Then your cheek. Then—finally—your mouth.

It wasn’t a careful kiss. It was desperate, uncoordinated, messy. Like he was scared you’d vanish again if he didn’t taste you right now. His hands were everywhere—your neck, your waist, clutching tight, tugging you closer like there still wasn’t enough of you against him.

You groaned at finally feeling his lips on yours again, after so long. “I need you,” he gasped between kisses, eyes half-lidded, voice wrecked. “I’ve been needing you every single night and—I didn’t think I’d ever get to touch you again—please…” Skips was practically whining for you.

You nodded, touching and kissing him all over just like how he was doing to you. “Ah…Need you too, Skips.” He groaned again hearing your sweet voice that he missed so much.

“I need you,” he rasped again, grinding his hips against yours with a frustrated moan. Oh how he wishes your clothes weren’t in the way. “I need to feel you. Now. Please—just—let me have you.”

“You always have me…” you mumbled against his lips. “I’m yours—fuck—I promise.” You both needed each other more than it was possible. It would never be enough.

“O—Okay, can you uh…get on the floor for me?” Skips panted, barely getting the words out. You obeyed him with a smile, pulling off your shirt in the process. Shit, everything you did drove him crazy. Skips did the same before slotting himself in between your thighs, where both of his hands gripped. You felt like melting under his gaze… His dark eyes were actually staring into your soul.

Skips moved his hand higher and higher up your thigh, until his fingertips met with your clothed core. Your back arched up a little at how the small touch sent heat throughout your entire body. Skips chuckled, “So wet already, huh? Knew you missed this as much as I did.” Moving your underwear to the side, he pushed a finger into your wet cunt, and groaned as you did.

“Missed touching you like this,” he started pumping his fingers in and out of you, and you cried out his name. “Missed the way you whine for me when I touch you just like this—fuck.” He always knew exactly what to say.

“M—Missed it too—” You couldn’t bother to answer him properly, not when he was so close to making you come all over his fingers and make a mess. “Ah.. Skips, I’m—I’m close,” you managed to blurt out, hips squirming under him.

Just then, he pulled his fingers out of you. “I know, Penumbra… I always know,” he was right, “And you know I’ll make you finish— But it has to be when I’m inside you. There’s nothing I missed more than that.”

His words alone could’ve made you come undone. They made you forget how close you’d just been, made you wetter than you already were. “Yes—Yes, please I need you… need to feel you, Skips.” You mewled, hands reaching for him on instinct & dragging him down into another kiss that was all tongue and teeth and desperation. He kisses you back with more force than you gave him. He’d never ever let go of you.

Skips was quick to slide off his pants along with his boxers in one impatient motion, allowing his hard length to spring up. You couldn’t help but moan a little at how perfect he was. He gave himself a few quick strokes before positioning himself between you again. “Are you ready, my Penumbra? I sure am…” You nodded, voice too broken to say anything except a “Please…”

With that, he pushed into you, agonizingly slow. You both gasped at the feeling, the familiar stretch of his cock and the wet warmness that enveloped it. You two stayed like this for a bit before you whimpered, “Skips… y-you can move, please I need you.”

“Right. S-Sorry, I just missed this—missed you— so much.” Before you could answer in agreement, he crashed his mouth against yours again, hips rocking into you as he began to move—deep and slow at first, like he was savoring the feeling of being inside you again after so long.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, digging your heels into his lower back as he hit that perfect spot in you again and again. You were already so close, pleasure building fast, curling deep in your belly like it had been waiting for him this whole time.

Your moans turned into soft sobs, overwhelmed. “Skips—fuck, I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he gasped, voice cracking, hips stuttering, “Me too—just… come with me, please. I need it. I need you.”

Before you knew it, your orgasm ripped through you like a wave crashing, sharp and hot and all-consuming. You cried out his name, clinging to him like your life depended on it as your walls clenched around him, pulsing hard.

Skips let out a broken, guttural sound—his body trembling as he followed right behind you, spilling inside you with a low groan pressed against your neck. His thrusts slowed but didn’t stop, like he couldn’t bear to pull away just yet, even as the continued thrusts made you both twitch and whimper.

“Don’t leave me like that again. Please don’t.” Skips begged, still panting. You kissed him yet again, breath heavy. “Never—I’ll never leave you Skips.”

Later, Skips had you tell him what objects you were hanging out with, giving his own input on them. He scoffed when you mentioned that you had to talk to Scandalabra, who Skips refused to interact with. Something about the light contrasting with darkness? It didn’t matter.

There was really no one like your Skips.

[formulafanfics13]

Oscar and reader are both inexperienced at boarding school. They both express the want of each other touches as they have made out and done under the shirt touching. They want to go further and Oscar teaches reader to give him a bj, same with the other way around and then they have sex together for the first time in his boarding school room. Please and thank you

What feels right - OP81 🔥

Masterlist

Summary: In the soft quiet of Oscar's dorm room, you both take the final step — nervous, tender, and full of care. First times are clumsy, gentle, and unforgettable.

Warnings: Smut (first time), oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering, protected sex, emotional vulnerability, soft and tender tone, college setting, mutual consent, light praise kink, implied aftercare.

It started like it always did. On his bed, door locked, the world forgotten.

The dorm room smelled like clean laundry and boy, deodorant, paperbacks, faint shampoo. The lights were off except for the desk lamp. Rain tapped at the window. You were lying on your side, half on top of Oscar, your leg draped over his, your palm pressed to his chest. His heartbeat was steady under your hand. Too steady. He was trying not to let you feel how nervous he was.

You kissed him anyway.

Soft. Familiar. The kind of kiss that said I missed you even though it had only been two days since the last time. His hands found your waist like they always did. Gripping gently. Pulling you closer. Your lips moved together like muscle memory.

It would have stayed like that. But your fingers slipped under his shirt. He tensed for a second, then melted.

You had both done this before. Kissed until you were out of breath. Slipped hands under clothes. Touched and gasped and whispered things in the dark you couldn’t say in daylight. But you hadn’t gone all the way. Not yet.

You broke the kiss slowly and looked at him. “Oscar,” you said.

His eyes fluttered open. “Yeah?”

You traced his collarbone with your thumb. “I want to.”

His brow furrowed, just slightly. “Want to what?”

You smiled. “More.”

He swallowed. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Are you?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you for a long time like he was memorising your face. Then he nodded.

“I want to feel you,” he said softly. “I think about it all the time. When you’re not here.”

Your cheeks flushed. “Me too.”

He hesitated. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“Me either.”

He smiled. “Okay.”

You shifted, moving down slowly, until you were kneeling between his legs on the bed. His face changed. Flushed and uncertain and hopeful. He looked almost shy.

“You don’t have to,” he said quietly.

“I want to.”

Your hands went to the waistband of his sweatpants. He helped, lifting his hips, letting you pull them down. His boxers followed. His cock was already hard. Flushed and curved slightly to the left. Your breath caught.

Oscar’s eyes fluttered shut for a second. Then he looked at you again. “It’s okay if you don’t like it.”

“I like it,” you whispered.

You kissed his thigh first. Then your hand wrapped gently around him. He moaned, just a little. Like the sound slipped out before he could stop it. You leaned forward and licked, gentle and curious, watching his face the whole time.

His eyes rolled back. You smiled.

Then you took him into your mouth.

Slowly. Carefully. You tried to remember everything he liked when you touched him before. The base. The head. The spot just underneath. His hand came up to rest on your hair, not pulling, just anchoring himself.

“Feels so good,” he whispered, hips twitching.

You kept going. Let him guide you with soft sounds. He gasped when your tongue circled him. Moaned when you sucked a little harder. His thighs trembled. He gripped the sheets.

“Wait,” he said suddenly. “Wait, or I’m gonna come.”

You pulled back slowly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “You can.”

He shook his head, breathless. “I want to do you too.”

Your heart clenched.

You let him pull you gently onto your back, his fingers fumbling with your shorts. He kissed your stomach. Your thighs. Then he looked up at you, flushed and unsure.

“Just tell me what to do,” he said.

You smiled. “Start slow.”

He did. His mouth was soft, almost reverent. He kissed you first. Then licked. Then found your clit with the tip of his tongue and made you whimper. You grabbed the pillow behind your head. His hands slid under your thighs, holding you still.

You guided him. Gasped out little instructions. “There. Yeah, just like that. Oh my god-”

It hit fast. A wave rolling through you. You came with a cry, thighs clenching around his face. He didn’t stop until your legs shook.

When he finally moved up your body, you were still shaking.

“I want you inside me,” you whispered.

His whole body stiffened. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I’ve never been more sure.”

He kissed you gently. Got a condom from the drawer. You both fumbled, nervous and laughing quietly. Then he was back on top of you, between your legs, forehead pressed to yours.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “Please, Oscar.”

He pushed in slowly. Carefully. You both gasped.

It hurt, a little. A stretch. A sting. But then it settled. Then it felt right. He moved gently, kissing your jaw, whispering how good you felt, how much he loved being inside you.

He didn’t last long. You didn’t care.

When he came, he moaned your name against your neck and held you like he might fall apart.

After, you lay tangled together under the blanket, your legs over his, your head on his chest. “Was that okay?” he asked softly.

You kissed his collarbone. “That was perfect.”

He smiled. Closed his eyes. Outside the window, the rain kept falling. Inside, you felt more real than you ever had before.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Sanemi losing his shit after realizing you were dragged into the Infinity Castle

Pairing: Sanemi x fiancé!reader

Word Count: 1,6k

Synopsis: You promised to stay behind. He promised he’d come back to you alive. But when you’re suddenly pulled into the heart of the Infinity Castle, everyhting's turned upside down.

Warnings: ohhh I LOVED that teaser y'all, did you see how Obanai literally sprinted to be on Mitsuri's side? That's exactly what I imagined here hehehehe, go have a lil fluff with your soon-to-be husband <3

His instructions were too clear to ignore.

„Stay right where you are, got it? If I catch you out there, I’ll beat the shit out of you. Promise it, jerk.”

“Fine, I promise. Even though I know you’d never beat me.”

“Don’t count on it.”

And even though you couldn’t help but pout at his rough tone, you did exactly what he told you and waited for him at your estate. After all, he told you it will be over after this night, that he won’t be a demon slayer when he returns.

You believed him. How could you not, given the fact that your fiancé is none other than the wind hashira, Sanemi Shinazugawa? The man you always despised but ended up loving instead. The man who seems as cold as ice on the outside but treats you like a princess when no one’s watching. Never in your life, you imagined quitting your work as a demon slayer to become a housewife. Not in a million years, not for a single person on this planet, you would’ve gave up your independence.

Until that jerk came around.

“Don’t worry, (y/n). I’ll kill enough of them fucking creatures for both of us.”

And you believed him. God, you believed every single word that white-haired maniac said. But somehow, you ended up breaking your own promise.

You went from changing into your sleepwear to finding yourself free-falling without ground in sight within the blink of an eye.

Out of instinct, you hold onto the little knife you always keep on your body for dear life, eyes scanning around the area with no real aim. You’ve never seen a place like this, never felt a more overwhelming aura. After years of slaying demons, the stinging smell in the air alone is enough to send a shiver down your spine.  

“What on earth is that place?”

Like you have to ask that question. Your stomach drops below your knees, you can’t help but swallow hard against that tension that builds up deep in your throat. That’s exactly what Sanemi was talking about earlier on, the final battle. And you’re falling straight in the middle of it.

It‘s been years since the last time you’ve held a sword, years since you’ve actually found peace with leaving this part of your life in your past, years since that overwhelming sickness haunted after you. And yet, you have no other choice.

The air is thick with screams, smoke and the stench of blood. Just before you have time to realize it, your body slams into the ground harder than expected, your ankle twisting beneath the impact with a merciless snap. You cry out, barely having time to gather your bearings before a monstrous shriek rips through the darkness.

A demon charges at you with teeth like pointy blades and eyes burning with starvation.

Your fingers fly to your waist, ready to meet the handle of your tiny knife that’s still better than nothing.

Gone.

Your knife, your only defense, is missing.

Panic swells in your chest as you scramble backward, dirt caking your hands, adrenaline drowning your thoughts. The demon lunges. You squeeze your eyes shut. No, this can’t be happening. You can’t just die out here, not like this. Did you really lose your knife like a lousy beginner? What would Sanemi think if he saw you here like this? Would he be sad, disappointed even? Both of you met during your times within the corps, he learned to love that wild and reckless side of yours. What would he say, seeing you standing here with your glossy eyes squeezed shut, desperately grabbing onto the air where your knife would have been?

“I’m sorry, Sanemi…”

You wait for it. The stinging pain of teeth digging deep into your flesh, the lights in your head slowly but surely getting dimmer.

But it never reaches you.

THWACK.

Instead, a gust of wind explodes past you, slicing the demon’s head clean off. Its body crashes beside you with a wet thud. Did you just…dream that? But you didn’t do anything, you didn’t see anyone earlier. There’s no way someone was able to reach you that fast.

And then you hear it - his voice.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?!”

You crack your eyes open. Sanemi’s standing over you, blade in hand, face redder than the blood soaking the ground while he stares down at you. His white hair is wild, his veins bulging, his lavender eyes glow with a fury that chills you more than the demon ever could. Suddenly, your near-death experience fading into the background.

“I told you to stay put! I told you!” he roars, grabbing your arm and yanking you to your feet, almost lifting you off the ground.

“I didn’t-!” you start, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“You promised, (y/n)! What the hell were you thinking?! This isn’t some damn training exercise. This is war!”

His voice cracks slightly and with it, so does your heart.

“You could’ve been killed!”

You’re about to snap back, because yes, he’s right, but his tone still stings and it’s absolutely not your fault you ended up here - until you see the way his hand trembles on your arm. He’s not just angry. He’s terrified. What does all of this look like from his view? Like you decided to go against your promise, like you don’t give a damn about his worries?

“I don’t even know how I got here,” you reply quietly, hand clutching his wrist in order to stop yourself from shooting back at him.

“I changed into my sleepwear, and the next thing I knew, I was falling. I think someone sent me here.”

Sanemi’s eyes narrow, his eyes dart around the area. The fallen slayers, the chaos as far as the eye can see. Those aren’t the demon slayers who agreed on accompanying the hashira on their mission. No, some of them aren’t even able to lift up their sword correctly, get whipped from this earth without even putting up a real fight. You can see the moment it clicks, the moment he slowly but surely starts to realize what’s going on.

"...No," he whispers.

"What?"

“It’s not just you.”

His voice is lower now. Dead serious.

“Everyone’s here. Even slayers who already quit, the rookies who fight like trash... Some of them shouldn’t even be able to fight anymore.”

You swallow thickly.

“You mean…?”

“They dropped every last one of us into this hellhole. They want a final purge.”

Sanemi releases your arm and runs a hand through his hair. He’s trying to stay calm, to think like the hashira he is. But when his eyes meet yours again, that cool command vanishes - replaced by raw fear. This is not a place for his fiancé. Didn’t he promise you that he’ll get home save, that the two of you will live a peaceful life after tonight? What if…what if something happens to you? What if he won’t be able to save you?

No. He can’t let that happen. There’s no way in hell that he’ll let a demon even touch you.

“I’m gonna say this once, and you're gonna listen for real this time.”

He steps closer, resting both hands on your shoulders, firm but shaking. You can’t help but rest your hands against his chest. Usually, his steady heartbeat is what lures you to sleep at night. But his heart is racing, your nerves are tingling and you know there’s only one way to make it out alive.

“You don’t leave my side. Not for a second. Got it?”

You nod, but his eyes blaze harder.

“No. Say it.”

“I won’t leave your side.”

“Again.”

“I won’t leave your side, Sanemi.”

He pulls you into his chest so suddenly you gasp. His arms wrap around you like armor, almost too tight and yet not tight enough. Out of instinct, you wrap your arms around him, crawl your fingers into his back in a desperate attempt to steady yourself. When he cups your chin and presses his lips against yours, you fail to exist for a moment. He brushes over you like he tries to memorize you like a map, like you might vanish into thin air if he doesn’t keep you close. Over and over, his mouth clashes against yours despite the ringing of destruction somewhere far away in your ears, holds you so close to him that you can feel his heartbeat vibrate right through you.

“You don’t get to die here,” he growls into your parted lips. “I gave up everything so you could live, damn it. I’ll carve a thousand demons apart if I have to, but you’re getting out of this with me. You understand me?”

Your fingers curl into the back of his haori. You can feel his heart slamming against your cheek while you press yourself even harder against him.

“Then you don’t get to die either,” you mutter into the fabric.

Sanemi’s silence is heavy until a low chuckle escapes his lips.

“…I won’t. Not if you're watching. After all, dying in front of my fiancé sounds like trash.”

Another demon scream erupts in the distance. Sanemi grabs your hand and though your knife is lost, he places one of his spare blades into your palm.

“Let’s go, princess,” he mutters, trying to mask the shake in his voice.

“Time to survive this nightmare.”

Together.

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @vrystalius @sanemifucker @blunderland

[prythianpages]

First Fight | Eris x Reader

Eris x Reader | your first fight/argument with Eris.

a/n: I was in the mood to write a fight scene. I couldn't really figure out what to write a fight about it but this came out of that lol. This was meant to be a short drabble but it seems that I can never write a drabble as this is longer than one. Still short though, it's 1,478 words and for some reason I have the habit of writing for this series late at night. Anyway, this takes place shortly after you and Eris agree to be friends with benefits.

warnings: angst, eris and reader being slightly delulu in their growing feelings for one another

“You’re sending my brother away?”

Eris didn’t even glance up from his desk. The quill in his hand continued to scratch deliberately across parchment as if the anger in your voice hadn’t just pierced through his study. He always knew when you were near and he had sensed your approaching presence before your footsteps crossed the threshold.

He kept his eyes down as he used his magic to gently shut the door behind you. He didn’t want anyone to see you here as it wouldn’t be good for you. It would only stir up more rumors and rouse up unwanted curiosity. 

 “Good day to you too,” he murmured, lips twitching faintly in amusement.

You didn’t respond. Your silence was heavier than words and he could feel it. The way you stood there. Stiff and arms crossed, eyes boring into him. It drew a sigh from his chest. 

Slowly, Eris lifted his head, amber eyes finally meeting yours. “Your brother surely doesn’t think of it that way.”

You scoffed. “Of course he doesn’t. He’s too dense to realize when he’s being played and my father is too blinded by titles and coin to question anything.”

Eris arched a brow, leaning back in his chair. “Then perhaps I deserve a thank you.”

“You want gratitude for manipulating my family like chess pieces?”

As the only son in your family, your brother had chosen the path of a scholar, content to bury himself in the history of Autumn rather than take part in it as a soldier. Occasionally, he was invited to sit in on your father's meetings with Beron. Sometimes, as an observer. Other times, as a participant. Becoming an emissary had never been part of his plan. Not that he had much of a plan at all.

But when the High Lord’s son personally offered him a post in another court, complete with a generous salary far above what most emissaries earned… 

Well, only a fool would have turned it down. 

Eris did not answer. Instead, he sat back and contemplated your reaction. He didn’t know what he was expecting but anger certainly was not it. 

“Why did you do it?”

His gaze darkened as the truth warred on his tongue.

Why did he do it?

Because he didn’t want your brother’s boredom to bleed into your life. He lacked a sense of purpose and instead of searching for one, he had begun to focus on your purpose within your family. Which was the same as in any noble family—alliances and marriage. 

“Would you have rather married Lord Stevenson?” Eris asked, voice low.

You stiffened, anger simmering down.

Lord Stevenson was a lecherous old bastard with a gaze that lingered too long on any female. It made his blood boil to think of you being sold off to and paraded by someone unworthy. 

“That was your brother’s plan,” he continued. “He was already drafting the papers. Do you know how many wives Stevenson has buried? How many complaints have been silenced?”

Still, there was a defiant look in your eyes. “I can fight my own battles.”

Eris met that look in your eyes. “That doesn’t mean I want you to.”

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved, frozen by the words that hung between you two. Eris was also taken aback, surprised the words had slipped.

Then, your expression changed–just slightly. Something broke through the anger. It was unreadable yet unnerving.

“You don’t get to want things for me,” you said, voice quiet now. “That’s not what this is. That’s not what we agreed on.”

You turned to leave and Eris called your name but you didn’t look back. The door shut behind you and he was left staring at the space you’d once filled, a frown tugging at his brow.

What had he done wrong? And why had your anger, the way you looked at him unsettled him so deeply?

There was a tight and unfamiliar weight in his chest now. Regret? Hurt? He couldn’t name it nor did he want to. 

But it lingered all the same.

**

It had been a little over a week since he’d last seen you. Not long to some but for Eris, it was. He was used to seeing you at least once a week and it didn’t help that the last time he saw you, you were upset.

He told himself he’d wait for you to come to him. Until whatever anger you had harbored subsided. But on the tenth day, he found himself sneaking around the Forest house and heading toward your room.

His heart fluttered as he rounded a corner. Though you were on the other side and about to bump into him, he did nothing to stop it. He let you slam chest-first into his body, ignoring the fire he felt ignited in his veins at the contact.

 Your breath caught, body tensing. Eris reached out, arms gripping your shoulders as he steadied you and it was only then that your body eased, realizing it was him.

"Eris," you breathed, eyes wide as you looked up at him. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?” He deflected your question back to you. As if he hadn’t been walking down this hallway for the same reason you were. 

You stared at each other for a heartbeat. And then, without a word, Eris grabbed your wrist and tugged you down the hall. You didn’t protest. The nearest door creaked open, and Eris all but shoved you inside before closing it behind you.

You looked around the tiled space, blinking at the soft pumpkin and vanilla scent and the neatly stacked towels by the sink. The two of you were in a bathroom. You didn’t have to speak for Eris to know what you were thinking when you looked back at him.

“It was the closest door,” he said with a slight shrug. “Would you rather I dragged you into a broom closet?”

You crossed your arms. “I was hoping for something slightly more dignified.”

There was no bite to your words. No trace of the anger or hurt he had not only seen but heard in your voice last. What he could hear, though, was the way your heart was pounding. 

Eris took a slow breath, hands curling at his sides. “I’m sorry,” he said suddenly.

That seemed to startle you more than running into him did. Your cheeks flushed. “No,” you said, shaking your head slightly. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

You leaned against the bathroom counter behind you, expression softening. “These past few weeks have been… overwhelming. Every male around me seems to think my future is theirs to shape. And when I found out you offered my brother that position, I—Well, I didn’t stop to consider why you’d done it and took out my frustrations on you instead…”

Eris’s brow furrowed but he didn’t interrupt.

“I know now that you were trying to protect me,” you continued. “And I am very relieved that the proposal did not go through. So… thank you.”

The tension in Eris’s shoulders eased. “Good. Because for a moment, I feared you were actually heartbroken over the failed proposal.”

You scrunched your nose. “Cauldron, no.”

You laughed then and Eris hadn’t realized how much he missed that sound until it was gone.  Something inside him threatened to untangle but he shook the feeling off. You and him were…

Well, he didn’t know what exactly to call it. You were lovers but friends? He wasn’t so sure if you thought of him that way. Or if you thought much of him at all, beyond your physical needs.

“I want you to have the option to choose,” he then said quietly.

His thoughts drifted to his past… to his arranged engagement. The lengths Morrigan had gone to end it and the consequences that followed. He shuddered at the thought of you being cornered like that, of you being a victim to a similar fate.

You met his gaze slowly. “Ladies like me don’t have that luxury.”

“Well,” he said, stepping closer to you.  “I’d like you to.”

You studied him carefully. Too carefully. Like you were intent on peeling back every layer he’d worked so hard to hide behind. It made something twist in his chest.

“Do you care for me, Eris?”

Eris blinked, taken aback by your question. His mouth opened but no sound came. He wanted to say no. He needed to say no. Instead, a smirk ghosted across his lips.

“It depends,” he said, thinking back to the words you said last to him. How he didn’t get to want things for you as it was not what you had agreed on. “If I’m allowed to.”

“You’re allowed.”

The way you looked at him now was softer. Less calculating and more unguarded. 

Even the air between you had softened, warmed by all the things neither of you were brave enough to say aloud like a flame not yet ready to burn.

a/n: I'm still trying to figure out how to write the end to this so the next updates might be flashbacks/scenes that happened in the past. Might write a scene of Eris & reader seeing each other again after UTM (might have smut but idk yet bc it's been a hot min since I wrote smut)

series taglist: @kodafics , @shinyghosteclipse, @marrass, @posierosie, @solanaaaaaaa

@tele86, @bubybubsters, @k-homosapien, @mariaxliliana, @kathren1sky-blog

@anainkandpaper, @icey--stars, @moonlovefairy, @hellohauntedturnstudent, @lucia-valentinaa,

@wrenisrad, @smol-grandpa, @sleepylunarwolf, @63angel, @anuttellaa

@anon1227 @paleidiot @thatacotargirl, @queenoffeysand , @slut4acotar @awkardnerd

@blueroseava , @lovetia , @historygeekqueen , @idk1027 ,@naturakaashi

@blightyblinders , @wolvesnravens , @galaxystern08 , @faeofthemoonandstars , @antisocial-architect

@elisha-chloe, @cwallace02sblog, @randomramblesfanfiction, @moonlitlavenders, @booksnwriting

@sunny1616, @holb32, @gamaranci

[parkerslatte]

Not So Private

Bang Chan Ver.

Bang Chan x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1k

SS Count: 3

Warnings: 9th member au. minor hate comments. implied sex. fluff.

Summary: After getting engaged, Y/N and Chan share the news with the world.

Stray Kids Masterlist

The rain hitting the window was the only sound in the room. The couple layingin bed together, softly caressed one another’s skin. No words of affection needed to be said. The sheets covering their bare bodies was the only thing protecting them from the cool evening air. 

“So,” Y/N said, finally breaking the silence after a long time. “How do we get around this?”

Chan looked down at her as she admired the ring on her finger. It was simple but suited Y/N perfectly. The smile that tugged on Chan’s lips was nothing but affectionate. 

“The company has given us the go ahead to announce it in our own way,” Y/N continued. “But don’t you think that dropping news that we are engaged when no one even knew we were dating will cause a lot of drama.”

The worried crease between Y/N’s eyebrows deepened as she looked at her ring. Many thoughts swirled through her head– some positive, some negative. Right now, the negative comments were outweighing the positive. Y/N could already picture what some people would say. After all, being a member of a group that primarily consisted of boys other than herself– she was used to the comments some made about her. But what she didn’t want to do is make it seem like they were being proved right when they weren’t. 

Chan’s hand covered her own as he gently brought it to his lips. “I know what you’re thinking and just know that if anyone mentions anything like that, all of us are on your side and will defend you– me most importantly.”

“I know,” Y/N replied. “And I know that those types of comments have slowed down in the past few years but I don’t want them to resurface again. You saw how they affected me.”

“And I will shut them down the moment I see one,” Chan replied. “You won’t just be my girlfriend. Soon you will be my wife.”

A giddy smile pulled at his lips at the mention of the word ‘wife’. Y/N couldn’t help but smile too– cuddling further into his side. “You aren’t ever going to get tired of that, are you?”

“No,” Chan said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But in all seriousness, I will shut those stupid comments down– so will everyone else. You are one of the most important people in my life– if not the most important. I love you and I’m not going to stand by and watch people spread around false rumours.”

“I love you,” Y/N muttered as she pressed a soft kiss to Chan’s jaw. 

Chan held her tighter as he fiddled with the ring on her finger. It looked strange being there, Y/N thought. She wasn’t used to the cool material being on that finger yet. But as she looked at it more, the more happiness flooded her heart. 

“Somehow I’ve never had a dating rumour with you,” Y/N said, a hint of amusement in her tone as she broke the short silence. “I’ve seen some speculation but people never really picked up on anything.”

Chan smiled as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “I don’t know how. We haven’t exactly tried to hide it over the past year. We both spent Christmas with my family in Australia and we spent New Year's in your home country.”

Y/N laughed. “I saw people online saying how you were just being a great leader and supporting me.”

Chan’s laughter trailed off as he linked his fingers with Y/N’s. “I think the announcement should just be simple. We don’t need a grand gesture.”

Y/N hummed in agreement. “I think I want this post to be the only time we mention it. Obviously we won’t need to hide it anymore, we don’t need to be afraid to make eye contact in public or afraid of touching in any videos. But our relationship has been the only thing we have been able to keep to ourselves for the past few years, I don’t want that to change.”

“It won’t,” Chan said. “We’ve done well keeping our relationship separate from work. It’s not going to change because we announced it to the world. “

Y/N smiled and pressed a kiss to his chest before grabbing her phone. “We just want it to be a simple photo, right?”

Y/N climbed out of the bed, throwing Chan a t-shirt and grabbed one of her own before climbing back into bed. Chan’s arm wrapped around her shoulder as she relaxed back into his chest. 

“You take the photo,” Y/N said, handing him her phone. “You have longer arms than me.”

Chan playfully rolled his eyes and quickly took a photo, angling it perfectly to show Y/N’s engagement ring. 

“There’s no point in putting a caption right?” Y/N said, staring at the photo. “It speaks for itself.” 

The ring wasn’t even the main part of the photo but Y/N was sure the way her head rested on his chest spoke enough words to convey the message. As Chan handed her back her phone, Y/N smiled at it. Chan wasn’t even looking at the camera, he was looking directly at her, no other emotion but love and admiration in his eyes. 

As Y/N hit post she immediately locked her phone and threw it down on the side of the bed. She already knew that there would be an influx of comments and there would be extreme buzz on social media and many articles being written but Y/N didn’t care as she relaxed into Chan’s hold. 

“I love you,” Chan muttered as he tilted her head towards him. 

Y/N smiled as she leaned closer, her lips ghosting over his. “I love you too.”

Without wasting another moment, Chan pressed his lips to Y/N’s, both of them completely ignoring the storm they had caused outside of their small bubble. 

Note: This will be the first part of a small mini-series where Y/N and a skz member's relationship gets revealed to the fans. Each member has a different scenario and I already have the next two mostly written so they will hopefully be posted soon!

[mylovesstuffs]

How O13 would ask you out

Request: hello! hope you’re doing ok ♡ wanted to ask if you could do how each member would ask you out? thank you!

A/N: HELLO SWEETEST 🥹🫶🏼 I’m doing well! I hope you enjoy!!

A/N #2: Did this individual format after a long time, but tbh, this felt right for this one. Will keep on changing formats according to what I'm writing and what it needs ^^

Seungcheol: He keeps it simple and heartfelt since I think he'll invite you out for coffee ‘just to catch up,’ and halfway through he's like, "actually, I brought you here because I’ve been thinking about this a lot… and I really want to take care of you. If you’d let me." The man is sincere, mature, and would wait for your answer like it’s the most important one he’ll ever hear... because it is

Jeonghan: Tbh, he tricked you into dating him lol. You didn’t even know it was a date until he goes, “so are we officially a couple now or do I still have to pretend this was a coincidence?” He confesses with a smirk but eyes full of sincerity. He makes it seem like a game… but oh, he’s been really serious about you this whole time, so please don't let this fool you.

Joshua: He's a gentleman and can be really romantic but I low-key think rn that he might soft-launch. He starts with, "I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately." Gives you a diy beaded necklace, a flower, maybe even a lil handwritten note. Then says, “if it’s okay… I’d really like to take you out. Like, properly.” He respects your pace but makes it very clear how serious he is about you.

Jun: He’d flirt a lot beforehand, such as, teasing, lingering touches, inside jokes. Then one day, mid-convo, he drops it: "why don’t we stop pretending and just go out already?" But when/if you hesitate/s, he softens his tone, "I’m serious. I want this. I want you." He actually is very serious about you.

Hoshi: He overthinks it, and practices in front of mirrors. Forgets his own name when the time comes and ends up blurting, “I like you!! Go out with me?!” But his genuine, shaking but excited energy is so him that you can’t help but smile and say yes. I promise, he’ll jump around like he won a medal.

Wonwoo: He says it after walking you home, maybe late at night when the street is quiet, “I don’t say things unless I mean them. And I want to be with you. So… would that be okay?” He's quiet, and will be steady with you as you make your decision. He's very sincere sincere and he won’t rush you, but he means every word.

Woozi: Probably wrote you a whole damn song. He can’t say it out loud so he writes it. He accidentally and kinda in impulse out himself when he gives you a song demo or lyric sheet as usual and says, “I wrote this thinking about someone… you.” Then proceeds to stare at the floor like he might pass out, but when you smile and say yes, he finally looks up — and his expression is pure relief + joy.

Dokyeom: He asks you out like it’s the most exciting thing to ever happen to him. “Would you maybe want to go on a date with me?! Like a real one!! With food and movies and ME?!” The second you say yes, he hugs you so tight you can’t literally can not breathe!!! He’s glowing for the rest of the month. I just love it!

Mingyu: Best believe, he'll be a messy, flirty, adorable disaster! He tries to be slick but fumbles halfway, “hey, so like... if I took you out, like not as friends but as... more... would you be into that?” Then panics and says, “Wait—no—I mean—yes but—do you want pizza??” You kiss him just to shut him up and he 😵‍💫🫨😳🤯🫠

Minghao: In my humble opinion, he's kind of like those cool on the outside, soft on the inside dudes. He confesses with a lot of composure, but you can tell he’s nervous underneath. “I admire a lot of things about you. And lately… I’ve been wondering if you feel the same.” His tone might be steady, but his fingers fidget slightly. The moment you say yes, he smiles with his whole heart, and you can really see how much happy he is.

Seungkwan: I think he'll overthinks then blurts it. He will plan the moment for WEEKS, and then when he finally gets you alone, he panics, “I like you. A LOT. Like I-think-about-you-all-the-time kind of like you.” He covers his face in embarrassment, but when you laugh and say “me too,” he might actually cry.

Vernon: Okay, so, he'll be blunt but weirdly romantic about it. He’ll be sitting next to you, sipping something, casually say, “you know I like you, right?” And you’re like “Wait WHAT?” He shrugs, “yeah. I just thought you should know. Wanna go out sometime?” Then gives you that shy lil smile that makes your heart implode. Like idk how much my writing will imply but, the way he says all of these is just... somehow romantic. Like it sounds weirdly romantic and wonderful when he says it.

Dino: He rehearses it in his head so much but when it’s time, he forgets the lines. “Okay so like, I like you. A lot. And I think we’d be really good together. Would you, um, maybe wanna go out? With me?” He's nervously messing with his hands trying not to explode from the adrenaline rush. But when you say yes? That proud, giddy look is just UNMATCHED. He'll immediately pull you into a much needed hug!

[kkochigomi]

skz reacting to a member walking in on you guys

hyung line + HH | maknae line

warnings/tags; dubcon, gn!reader, sub!reader dom!member, exhibitionism, voyeurism, ass eating, roughhousing, riding, sweaty!Jeongin, sweat licking, bad descriptions of a basketball game, poorly edited

It started with you being a backup dancer for one comeback, then goofing around with the members while rehearsing, to you hanging out with them regularly. There are a lot of people in and out of there, all of the friends they've garnered over the years. You're also friends with other idols, so it never occurred to you. You know, you with them.

For the guys, it was an unspoken rule to not fuck their best friends. At least, not in a heat of the moment kind of way. Just in general, not doing impulsive shit will fare better for anyone in the long run.

However, sometimes shit happens. That shit happens to be your most recent backup dancing gig. Let's go through what happens when a certain member caves first.

⦊ Han Jisung ⦉

You don’t really see Jisung as an option for sex or romance. Why? Well. He’s a dork. All he does is laugh loudly and fall out of chairs and look around like it was someone else’s fault. Maybe people would notice his dorito build if he wasn’t always breaking out into song maliciously. And so loud. 

being walked in on

So it’s safe to say what happened was heat of the moment. It was a whirlwind. All you remember is that Jisung got quieter in your vicinity. Jisung can’t focus anymore when you’re in the room. All he thinks about is your ass in those shorts and that move where you spread your legs. If you read the previous part with hyung line, I feel like we’re acquainted enough by now. Jisung wants to bury his face in your ass. He wants to worship it. He wants a lap dance. He wants you to sit on his face. Thoughts like this are all that plagues his mind when he sees you. He doesn’t even need the video when masturbating like Chan, he can cum on the thought alone.

Not only have you noticed his change in demeanor, you’ve caught him staring at your ass. That’s when the thoughts of you with him started in your mind. You didn’t think it was possible but the thought isn’t that bad. His dorito build is suddenly very apparent. So you sit on his bed, taking in how he’s looking at you for eyed, and you let yourself cave. You kiss him, pleased by how hungrily he’s kissing back. He breaks the kiss to whisper a breathy “I need to taste you”.

And that’s how Jisung’s dreams come true. You’re surprised by how good he is, making you wonder how often he’s done it. Doesn’t matter right now, not with how good it feels. You moan into his comforter uncontrollably, the sensation feeling unbearably good.

All it takes is two syllables for the ecstasy to be replaced by fear and embarrassment.

“Someone—"

Jisung pops his mouth off your ass and falls to the ground as you collapse to the bed and fumble to cover your lower half. 

“— finally ate your ass,” Minho says smugly. As you sit there, annoyed as all get out, Jisung is staring blankly at Minho, surprised at how he’s still hard despite his shock and embarrassment at Minho’s presence.

walking in

Jisung likes to be dominated. Doesn’t matter who it is or what they identify as, he wants to be submissive. So hearing your pitiful moans being shoved out of you on his way to get some fruit was less arousing. Plus, he couldn’t even believe what he was hearing, let alone seeing. Nothing like seeing bare asses when you’re not meant to.

“Oh— Hooooly shit!” his hands instinctively fly to his head, his poor phone falling to its demise in the process. Minho looks at him with a fierce fire raging in his eyes after he and you frantically pull your bottoms up.

“Why are you just standing there?!”

Jisung didn't know why. It didn’t occur to him to ask why he was having sex in the kitchen. He was too mortified.

⦊ Felix Lee ⦉

Felix was— in a way— the endearing version of Jisung. Everything you found (playfully) annoying about Jisung, you found cute and funny about Felix. When things were quiet, there was this docile nature to Felix. It made you want to cuddle with him. Platonically, right?

being walked in on (this is long, I’m ovulating and just watched an edit with him lol)

So you asked him and his eyes lit up without him even knowing. Again, he’s just so cute. You guys would cuddle up on the couch mostly, wrapped tightly in a blanket you shared. Oh but do nOT be mistaken. It’s not soft and romantic like watching movies with Hyunjin. Not when Felix is biting your shoulder or putting you in a headlock or smacking your ass. Felix LOVED to wrestle and roughhouse. He had this jokingly short temper. One joke at his expense and he was shaking you by the shoulders.

But all this wrestling had to culminate in something. That something being the two of you on his bedroom floor, tired and heaving as he has your hands pinned above your head to keep you from retaliating. Hyunjin still technically caved first, but something shifted between you and Felix soon after. With you pinned under him and your shirt riding up, he couldn’t help himself. You two didn't kiss, but his hands slid from your wrists, down your chest, to your exposed waist. You grab his forearms, the intensity of the tension weighing on you. It was a pre-established something from the moment you started cuddling. That’s why his hands on you was so intense that night, you two developed a craving for each other’s touch. After that you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. You would make it a point to sit next to him and he would do the same. He would absentmindedly trace shapes on your skin or throw his arm around your shoulder.

The roughhousing started getting steamy quick. You would have to move to his or your bedroom, lest Seungmin catch you two kissing each other’s necks and eventually lips. It was intoxicating, kissing him. He tasted so good and you couldn’t get enough of feeling him against you. Maybe subconsciously you were imagining him on that stage. His imagination surely went wild when he saw the video. He immediately got a hard on and had to excuse himself. It was over at that point. He was pushing your shirt over your head and going to town on your nipples with his tongue and teeth. You were fiendish from the pleasure, bucking into him and moaning pathetically. His pants were just barely pushed down enough to free his semi-hard cock. He used his haphazard methods to get your sweatpants down as well, refusing to unlatch from your chest.

With your legs wrapped around his waist, he thrusts into you. Between slobbery kisses, you pant against each other’s skin. It isn’t long before he’s flipping you over, running his hands down the slope of your back as he slams into you from behind. The bed frame is smacking aggressively against the wall now, almost drowning out the feverish moans from you two.

A knock at the door has you shooting up and placing your hand against Felix’s stomach to stop his thrusting. Seungmin walks in without waiting for a reply.

“I’m trying to read,” he states simply, not shocked at all by what he’s seeing. Felix is utterly unaffected by Seungmin’s presence. In fact, he’s still thrusting. And you can feel that he’s harder now. 

“Cool. Go to a cafe,” he responds half heartedly.

walking(?) in 

It was a fun night. You, Seungmin, and Felix were watching The Suicide Squad and laughing your asses off. Eating popcorn, throwing popcorn, popping more because (mostly you and Felix) threw it all. And then to top it off, Felix got to take a nice little nap. Things were normal when he fell asleep, but when he woke up, he felt rigorous movement next to him. He opened his eyes to see a blob illuminated by the TV. Underneath a blanket was you seemingly riding Seungmin. You both were suppressing your moans pretty poorly.

More than anything, Felix was shocked by Seungmin’s arms resting on the back of the couch, watching you with his head craned back. Very lazy if you ask Felix.

“Smack her ass or something man.”

You flinch and nearly fall backward before Seungmin catches you. You both look over, lingering in an awkward silence.

“You’re being nosy and critical?” Seungmin says in disbelief, breaking the silence.

“I’m not nosy, you guys are fucking right next to me.”

⦊ Kim Seungmin ⦉

Seungmin has always had an air of authority to him. Despite being three years his junior, Seungmin’s authoritative side is more of a mainstay compared to Chan. Chan needs to be authoritative as a leader, but most of the time he’s just so sunny. Seungmin knows what he wants and he’s not afraid to say it. You're not ashamed to say it turned you on a little.

being walked(?) in on

You told him as much. It was under the guise of a joke, but Seungmin detected and accepted the underlying truth of it. But Seungmin was a tease, and he wasn’t in a hurry. Hence, the slow burn. Yes, Seungmin liked sex, but he wasn’t foaming at the mouth for it.

At least, not until the video. All he wanted was to order you around, and the fact that that turned you on had him adjusting the crotch of his pants. You were coming out of the bathroom when Seungmin pulled you into his room and shut the door. He shoved you against it and held you by your shoulders.

“Wanna be good?”

You nod emphatically, not even phased by the suddenness of it all. He feels his cock throb. He bites his lip as his grabs you by the chin.

“Open up,” He whispers and you drop your jaw open. He drop a ball of spit slowly into your mouth before closing it for you.

“Good. Then be patient.”

And then he just leaves. He even has the gall to ask Felix if he wants to watch a movie with you and him. Felix says yes and now you're on the couch sandwiched between the man who had you pinned to the ground last week and the one who just spit in your mouth. Naturally you try to subtly seduce Seungmin enough to make him give in and take you to his room, but he has the nerve to swat your hand away. Each advance is met with him moving away from you or removing your hands from him. 

So you were pissed. By the time Felix fell asleep, you had a grudge against Seungmin. Now he wants to lean over and squeeze your thigh. You give him the same treatment, swatting his hand away. He’s quick to wrap his hand around your throat and squeeze. If his had on your thigh wasn't enough to send heat to your groin, this surely was.

“What about ‘be patient’ is hard to understand?”

None of it, and neither are the subsequent demands. Stand in front of him, take your pants and underwear off, take his off, straddle him, ride him to get yourself off. Oh he was punishing you big time. No pleas to squeeze your nipples, choke you, slap you, or anything was entertained. You just had to bounce on his cock toward your climax. Before you could get there, Felix’s voice startled you, completely void of grogginess.

“Smack her ass or something man.”

If you weren’t so alarmed you’d fervently agree.

Yeah, when Seungmin replies he’s a little annoyed, but he doesn’t read as angry at all. You're surprised to see how unaffected he is.

He is still undoubtedly hard, by the way.

walking in

You and Felix aren't as quiet as you think you're being. Or maybe it's because Seungmin is reading and needs to focus. He could just go to his room where there will be another degree of separation...

But he's already knocking on the door. Felix hadn't even stopped moaning by the time Seungmin opened the door. Of course Felix isn't stopping, even after Seungmin speaks. He expected as much. Seungmin wonders if one day he'll just cave and ask Seungmin to join. He's begging for it.

⦊ Yang Jeongin ⦉

Jeongin was one of the members you were closest too, but the furthest away from anything sexual or romantic. You were close to Felix and Hyunjin, but the thought wasn't impossible with them. Jeongin is your right-hand-man. He is who you go to for advice and gossip. He's who you told about Hyunjin and Felix and he (rightfully) treats the saga like his Monday night soaps.

being walked in on (OOPS THIS IS LONG TOO I NEED DICK)

Jeongin held a lot of shame about how the video made him feel. Where should he start? With how much is at stake? How this would make you feel? How he would feel if any of the guys found out? If Chan was the most dedicated to keeping the status quo, Jeongin was the second most dedicated. But he didn't think like you. He was attracted to you the minute you danced backup for them. He valued you as a friend, though. What ensued was something between heat of the moment and a slow burn

You noticed a difference, it was slight enough that you convinced yourself you were being delusional. Took me long enough to mention it, but you didn't think anything of them seeing your fancam. Sure it was sexy and you felt sexy doing it, but you underestimated just how sexy you were. You thought they'd just comment on the choreography or your performance. You did find it weird that not ONE of them commented on it (in the universe where Jeongin caves first). You were a little sad, because even your best friend had nothing to say. Your most popular fancam and Jeongin is silent. You even probe for information but he tenses up. The signs are starting to build up...

Jeongin is responsible for your recent obsession with basketball, the two of you play whenever you're both free. You're both weirdly quiet this time, though, something weighing heavy on both your minds. The way he tensed up after you brought up the fancam made you watch it yourself. You were suddenly embarrassed for asking all of your friends to check it out. It is as sexual as you can get without tipping into literally miming sex on stage. But does that mean Jeongin...

He might be quiet but he's playing hard. He's wearing a muscle shirt, something he does often, but you're more aware of it now. The definition he's gaining on his muscles. How big his biceps are getting. The sweat dripping from his armpit down the side of his waist. These are things (other than the sweat) you'd compliment him on. You can't bring yourself to say it though. Not with all this tension. You both play a fierce game, not sparing each other on account of the tension.

During one tumultuous battle for the ball, you try to turn your back toward him and he cages you in. He wraps his arms around you, his large hands splayed over yours. The proximity sends your adrenaline skyrocketing. You try to struggle away from him, turn back around to shove him away and shoot before he has the chance to react, but your foot gets caught. Your other fails to compensate and you fall just as you manage to turn to face him. His chest thuds against yours shortly after your back hits the floor.

You can smell his sweat mixing with his cologne and it's worsening your head rush. With his chest against yours and his eyes staring so intensely at you, you need him off but you so need to touch him. You manage both, gripping his biceps, lingering a bit, before giving him a light push to snap him out of his daze.

You both had done it now. There's no going back. You came to visit Chan, surprised to see Jeongin on the couch. Stupid ass Minho told you he went out with Felix and Jake. You guys lock eyes and freeze. It'd be rude to just ignore your best friend, right? So you sit with him, watching tv. Inching closer. You keep replaying that moment on the floor of the basketball court. How much you wanted to lick the droplets of sweat from his neck. It didn't take much to set Jeongin off. You thought you could be sneaky about your hunger, but not when he was hungry as well. The minute your fingers reached for his, his hand was on your knee, then your upper thigh, then... he was pulling away to get the remote. You watch in confusion as he cranks the volume up. He drops the remote onto the coffee table before approaching you.

As soon as he tugs you up from the couch you let your hunger take over. Both of you let your hands roam each other's bodies as you kiss like you're starving. He lifts you up to wrap your legs around his hips, your groins grinding against each other. It's about here that Jeongin stops caring. His mind flips off and he wants your clothes off too. In the process, you both end up lying haphazardly on the couch as his painfully hard couch shoots into you. You grip the couch, strangled moans wrangled from your throat. You get what you want, craning your head forward to lick a long stripe up his neck. It's so perfect, you're somewhere else entirely. That is, until you see a figure out of the corner of your eye.

The sight is so terrifying you shoot up without thinking. You knock your forehead against Jeongin's but the pain doesn't phase either of you. Jeongin jumps up from the couch, desperately collecting a random article of clothes to cover his soft penis. Just like you, Jeongin is utterly mortified. Chan apologizes, but little does he know, him walking in made Jeongin prematurely grapple with the weight of his decisions.

walking in

Jeongin is used to hearing loud noises from Chan's room. He says it helps sometimes to produce with his speakers rather than his headphones. Chan's room is soundproofed pretty well so it doesn't bother Jeongin much. But this noise he's hearing is jarring. Is Chan aware something hard it smacking against the wall. Something might break at this rate.

In a mixture of frustration and concern, Jeongin rushes to Chan's room to alert him ASAP. ASAP meaning not knocking.

"Hyung, what the hell is that?" he says half to himself, half to the man being ridden by you in his computer chair. Oh. Oh yeah. You were here.

His heart stops as realization dawns on him, your naked body all he's zeroed in on.

"What the f- close the door!"

Chan's reddening face and furious eyes are what Jeongin focuses on next, but not for long. He scurries away, not even able to apologize in his state of shock.

[nekonaps0]

Deuce and reader that is shameless about being into him. Cue Deuce melting. Any gender is fine

How are you so cool about this?!

✦gn!reader

✦characters: Deuce

✦hehe~ I love writing flirty readers

You weren’t shy about your crush on Deuce.

In fact, everyone in the school knew about it except him. Which was impressive, considering you were constantly flirting with him… out loud, in public, and without the faintest bit of hesitation.

Deuce, meanwhile, was doing his best to not combust on the spot every single time.

Like today.

He was walking you back to Ramshackle after class, arms crossed and head down slightly, trying to focus on his breathing. You had complimented him for how handsome he looked at P.E earlier and told Ace you’d “sell your soul to kiss Deuce’s on a cheek.”

Out loud.

In class.

Now, walking beside you, he was doing that stiff little fast walk he always did when he was flustered and didn’t know how to handle it.

“You okay there, Deuce?” you teased, casually brushing your shoulder against his. “You’ve been quiet since PE. You thinking about my soul-selling offer?”

He made a tiny sputtering sound. “Wh-Why would you even say that!?”

“Because it’s true?” you said with a grin. “I mean, look at you. You’ve got those strong arms, you always help little old ladies carry groceries in town, and your face is stupidly kissable. Like. Rude, honestly.”

He stopped walking.

Just stopped. Like someone hit his off switch. “Rude—kiss—what!?”

“Should I be saying it behind your back instead?” you asked, innocently stepping closer. “Would that be better? Or worse?”

“I—y-you—you can’t just—” He looked like he was about to fold into himself and disappear.

“You okay, baby blue?” you asked, chin tilted up.

“D-Don’t call me that!” he cried, red-faced and panicked. “You’re just messing with me, right?! You can’t seriously—”

“Deuce,” you said, interrupting gently. “I’m really into you. Like. ‘Think about you during potion class and want to hold your hand during stupidity sweet dates’ into you.”

He went completely silent. Eyes wide. Ears bright red. Hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His jaw moved but no sound came out.

And then, barely audible “...Really?”

You took his hand, interlacing your fingers with his. “Yes. Really.”

His mouth parted like he was about to say something else… then changed his mind. Instead, he gently squeezed your hand and mumbled “You’re amazing. I don’t… I don’t even know what to say. But I really, really like you too.”

You grinned.

“Good. 'Cause I plan on kissing your cheeks later, oooor if I get a chance… maybe I stole a kiss from your lips as well.”

Deuce made a strangled squeak and tripped over a rock.

..............................................................................................................................

[callsign-rogueone]

bodyguards dain and xaden...

princess! reader (you can decide if you want to be a tauri or not. I didn't mention the three brothers at all, or anything about the king.) [request] 1.9k words 🏷: no spoilers or warnings. this is my dollhouse, and today, we’re ignoring the constraints of canon. imagine if you will that violet is a happy little scribe who will not ever meet xaden, and also the venin and wyvern just don’t exist. and also the whole xaden and cat engagement thing never happened either, because that’s the only way I could make this work the way I wanted 🥲

bodyguards dain and xaden…

who don’t really want to be here — and even find it a little insulting to be asked to babysit Navarre’s only princess.

“Babysitting,” Xaden says flatly. 

“Being the personal guard of the princess,” General Sorrengail corrects, as if that’s not the same thing. “His Majesty asked for two of my top graduates, and that’s the pair of you.”

Dain is a little more polite with his distaste. “Why us? The palace guard is always infantry. And taking us from the front with Poromiel…”

“Poromiel won’t be a concern much longer. And I did not make this decision thoughtlessly.”

Xaden changes tactics. “Is there a timeline on this?” 

“Two months. The King is expecting the pair of you tomorrow.”

Great.

who follow the king’s orders to the letter regardless, standing five feet behind you at all times and arguing quietly.

You whirl around on them, and they stop dead in their tracks. “For the love of Amari, could you two please just stop your bickering already? I get that you despise each other, I get that you don’t want to be here, that you feel it beneath you. I don’t want you to be here either. But if we must endure this, could we at least do it in silence?

who oblige, and give you a little more space after that, but still continue their duty. you still have two tall, muscled shadows following you everywhere as you go about your days. 

who see how kindly you speak to the palace staff, how you help them with their responsibilities. 

who raise eyebrows at each other when you come out of your room in plain clothes and tell them: “I’m going out. Come with me or don’t — but lose the uniforms if you do.”

You lead them to a more run-down part of town, and they’re sure you’re up to something terrible — on high alert in case you try to bolt, or if someone comes after you.

They certainly aren’t expecting you to stop at a soup kitchen, and be welcomed so warmly by the entire staff, greeted by name and given hugs instead of bows or handshakes. 

“And I brought help,” you add deviously, smiling back at the pair of them. 

“Friends from school?” 

“Something like that,” Xaden answers, giving you a terse nod of approval. Maybe you aren’t as prissy and frivolous as they thought. 

And these people have no idea who you really are. The regular patrons love you, of course, and you seem to know them well, asking after their families and their pets, cooing at the small children and slipping them extra desserts. But it isn’t a spectacle that you’re here, and in the plain clothes you’d found somehow, you look like any other girl from the city. 

You’re not here because you want to boost your image, but because you truly want to help. 

who are immediately concerned when you have another one of your dizzy spells.

“I’m okay,” you reassure them as you fumble your way into an armchair. “I just stood up too quickly. I’ll be fine in a minute.”

“Can I check your pulse?” Xaden asks softly.

You’ve never heard him sound… gentle before.

You nod, eyes still closed, and squeak in surprise as you feel two cold fingers press into the side of your neck — you were expecting him to take your wrist.

He shushes you softly, focusing on the feeling beneath his fingertips. “Your heartbeat is uneven.”

Well, him touching you like this definitely isn’t helping. Nor him kneeling in front of you, speaking to you in that soft but deep voice.

“I’ll be fine,” you manage. “It should go back to normal in a minute. It always does.”

“Always?” Dain echoes. “How often does this happen?”

“Once or twice a day, if I’m not careful,” you answer, burning with shame.

“Have you seen the Royal healers about it?”

You shake your head no. “Not in years. They’re content to pretend that nothing’s wrong. A frail princess would be seen as an embarrassment to the kingdom.”

“You are far from frail,” Dain corrects. “But this could be a serious problem. You need to get it looked at by a professional.”

“I’ll add that to the list of things to do next time I sneak out,” you reply, still catching your breath. 

who finally find out about your engagement to the heir to Poromiel’s throne, a man twice your age.

Dain is about to reply when there’s a hesitant knock on the doorframe that has all three of you looking up.

“The Viscount is here, milady.”

Xaden’s fingers are still pressed against your neck, and he feels your pulse jump at the words, watches you clasp your hands in your lap to keep them from shaking.

It’s Dain who puts it together first — why the leadership had been dismissive of their concerns about being needed on the front, why you’d been assigned extra protection all of a sudden… “You’re a peace offering.”

“I’m a person,” you correct sharply, turning your gaze to the window. “But yes. I am to be his bride — to take a place in line for the throne of a country that I have never visited, beside a man more than twice my age, who I have met exactly three times, if you include today, and bear him a litter of sons, in an attempt at creating peace for our continent.”

They’re both silent for a moment, letting you continue. 

“They brought you here to supervise me because I’ve tried to run before, unsuccessfully. I didn’t make it much farther than we went into town. But when the pair of you were assigned to me, I realized that we all have roles to play in this terrible act, and should I not play mine, thousands more young people from both sides of this continent, including yourselves, will be sent to war.”

Xaden produces a handkerchief from his pocket, a nearly folded square of soft fabric — black, of course. You accept it with a quiet thank you, blotting at your eyes carefully so as not to smudge your makeup and earn you a lecture from your ladies’ maid.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. And I know its a silly problem to have — I’d be safe and cared for, but…”

“A gilded cage is still a cage,” Dain finishes for you.

“We’ll come with you,” Xaden says quietly. “To see the Viscount.”

Your head tilts in confusion.

“We’re supposed to protect you from anything and anyone that could harm you,” Dain reminds.

Oh.

“How do I look?” you ask weakly.

“Beautiful,” Xaden praises, tilting your chin up with a gentle movement of his knuckle.

“Like a princess,” Dain adds.

You laugh softly. “I should hope so.”

“Alright. Up you get.”

who stand much closer than ten feet this time.

They’re right behind your chair on either side of you, Xaden on your left and Dain on your right, both watching Tecarus with cold interest, like they’re waiting for him to fuck this up. 

Their heads turn immediately when the door opens, eyes raking over the young man who walks in, assessing the level of threat he presents. “My apologies, your highness,” he adds with a too-charming grin. “I lost track of the time.”

Your lips part to speak, but the Viscount beats you to it. “May I introduce my nephew, Drake Cordella — your fiancé, rather.”

Oh.

Oh. 

Everyone can see the blood drain from your face, the way your head is spinning with the realization that it isn’t the viscount you’ll be chained to, but his nephew.

His nephew, who is an army captain, who has undoubtedly killed dozens of Navarrian soldiers — soldiers like the ones standing behind you, who have become the closest thing you have to friends. 

He gives you a softer smile, a more genuine one — apologetic, almost. “Might we take a walk of the grounds, and get to know each other better?”

“Of course,” you answer, but the two men behind you both know that the response is automatic, distant, unenthusiastic.

You stand too quickly again, wanting to get this over with. Cold shadows wrap around your knees and press against your back, keeping you upright as you find your balance, taking a measured step toward the door — and Dain and Xaden follow.

Drake frowns. “I didn't realize we’d have company.”

“Where she goes, we go,” Xaden says bluntly, not caring that he’s addressing the man third in line to the Poromish throne. “Surely you understand.”

You spare him a grateful glance as soon as Drake’s head is turned. 

To their credit, they give you a little more than five feet as you take your stroll around the gardens. You can’t keep looking back at them, but the sound of the gravel crunching under their boots is a comfort that they’re still with you. 

Drake has the decency or the intelligence not to bring up his line of work, focusing on you instead — asking about your studies and passion projects, listening attentively and offering the occasional charming comment that has both of the men behind you rolling their eyes.

It’s almost upsetting how not-upsetting the whole interaction is. He’s not sleazy or overly forward, doesn’t make any move to touch you or expect any affection, is perfectly polite… he’s even handsome, and not too much older than you.

You can’t find a good reason to hate him.

You’ll just have to make one up.

who go above and beyond their job description.

The moment you’re back in your apartments, you immediately start removing the ornaments you’ve been forced to wear— the earrings and bangles and heeled shoes. The incredibly impractical heeled shoes that you’d had to walk the gravel paths of the garden in, that have your feet aching, and that are way too hard to remove.

“Let me help,” Dain offers. 

“I can unbuckle my own shoes. I just need a second.”

“You’re certainly capable, but you’re already stressed right now, and if you put your head down, you’ll get dizzy again,” he reasons.

You sigh in defeat and lower yourself into the nearest chair, letting him kneel in front of you. He undoes the tiny buckles around your ankles with surprising ease, sliding the shoes off and setting them aside. 

His hands find your stockinged left foot, his thumbs pressing into the arch and rubbing gentle circles into the muscle before he tests the waters — his hand sliding up to your ankle and massaging gently.

Xaden occupies himself with your hair, gently removing the dozens of pins that were used to hold your updo and starting a pile of them on the coffee table.

Your shoulders drop, your posture loosening and eyes closing…

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his hand tangling into your hair, fingertips rubbing against your scalp in the exact spot that had been aching. “Just relax for us. Let us take care of you.”

This time, you don’t protest the princess treatment.