#fitted sheet organic

[tangelosuk]

Shop Classic Organic Percale Fitted Sheets at Tangelos UK. Made from premium organic cotton for a soft, breathable sleep experience. Perfect for your bedroom

[artkaninchenbau]

Egghead chibs lesgooo ✌️✨ [Shop]

[dandyshucks]

the dollar store did not have much for felt or fabric but i managed to scrounge everything i needed except for guz.ma's skin colour :(

i CAN make the janitor since they had a peach colour but I'll have to look around the house again to see if i can find anything that might work for guz's skin tone

[buybabyclothes]

Being a parent who has tested so many crib sheets for a baby, I stand to say that the Baby Organic Fitted Crib Sheet is fantastic for both your baby and the parent. Coming across the best product for your little one can make all the difference for both the mother and child, and this product is perfect whether you’re creating a nursery for a brand-new baby or seeking toddler bed sheets.

[tnebedsheets]

breathable-nursery-organic-cotton-fitted-crib-sheet

[hempsheetstudios1]

Hemp Sheet Sets

The hemp sheet set is the final option to finalize your bedding collection. Each mattress includes a flat sheet and a selection of tire, all that crafted from noble hemp fibers. A feeling as lovely as it is priceless and long-lasting that excels commercially makes them feel much better.

[sweet-star-cookie]

yeah

[felidthing]

for someone whos good at drawing and more or less aware of composition in illustrations i sure do struggle with commission sheets

[housingconcierge]

Mastering the Art: Taming the Annoying Fitted Sheet

Taming the fitted sheet frustration! Conquer the challenge with these steps: Identify corners, tuck them smartly, flatten, align, and fold into thirds. turning annoyance into accomplishment! 🛏️✨ #HomeOrganization

For many, folding a fitted sheet is a puzzle that induces frustration. The elastic corners seem to have a mind of their own, leading to a tangled mess in the linen closet. In this guide, we’ll unravel the mystery and empower you with the skills to conquer the annoying fitted sheet. Step 1: Embrace the Challenge The first step to mastering the art of folding a fitted sheet is to approach it with…

[lacyblades]

౨ৎ bully!sukuna and bully!gojo were the devils, you were sure. everything they said, everything they did would only attribute to your claim. in the grand scheme of things, they did all they could, just to make your bad days just a little worse.

a seemingly accidental bump, a well-timed shove, and suddenly, the carefully organized stack of papers you were carrying would drop onto the grimy floor.

your face would burn with humiliation as you scrambled to gather the scattered sheets, the sound of their mocking laughter echoing around you.

"oh, my bad! didn't see you there," gojo would snicker, his voice dripping with false sincerity.

sukuna snorts, leaning against a nearby locker with an air of bored superiority, would chime in, his voice a deep, gravelly drawl that sent shivers down your spine, "looks like someone's having a fuckin' rough day, huh?" so condescending. so cruel.

as you bent to retrieve the papers, the already precarious hem of your tiny school uniform skirt would ride up, revealing a flash of baby pink panties that clung to the curve of your ass.

they'd had pulled strings, whispered to someone, to ensure your skirt was always a size too small, a constant source of discomfort and vulnerability.

and, you? well, you were never the wiser. innocent and naïve, you struggled to comprehend the depth of their malice.

but, the hallway incidents were just the opening act. their cruelty extended beyond casual torment.

you always retreated to the quiet solitude of the outdoors, hoping to escape their suffocating presence. yet, like relentless shadows, they would follow, their laughter and taunts cutting through the peaceful ambiance.

one particularly sweltering afternoon, as you sat alone beneath the shade of an oak, a sudden splash of cold water cascaded down your back. you gasped, your white button-up shirt instantly clinging to your skin, the flimsy material offering little resistance to the revealing dampness.

even with no one else around to witness your mortification, the shame felt even worse with just them. the thin fabric clung to your chest, showing off your perky tits. the sudden chill caused your nipples to harden visibly through the wet cloth.

"fuck, that's a sight," sukuna's voice, low and husky, cut through the air.

lost in your embarrassment, you didn't even register the faint click of a phone camera, the subtle exchange of knowing glances between them, hidden behind their loud, booming laughter. they reveled in your discomfort, their eyes lingering on your exposed form with a predatory gleam.

the question that kept nagging at you was just why? why you? you'd never messed with them, never even tried to get their attention. you'd gone out of your way to avoid them, trying to disappear. and still, they were always there, making your life hell at every turn.

a question that nagged at you especially so, when you were bent over an empty classroom's desk, choking on sukuna's thick cock, while gojo's rammed into your aching pussy.

why you? you didn't have the prettiest face, with round, chunky glasses that didn't fit quite right. you didn't have a perfect hourglass, with full hips and big boobs. your hair was always at least a little frizzy, no matter how much you tried to tame it. didn't even have a alluring personality, instead blurring into the background, like any wallflower. you weren't a head-turner, not really.

you'd been taught, growing up, to avoid confrontation, and to stay out of trouble. but, if trouble was adamant on finding you, the best you could do was tough it out, right? the faster you succumbed, the faster it'd be over with... right?

you clench around gojo, his fat tip kissing your cervix. every thrust felt like it was pushing you closer and closer to the edge, not one you'd be able to return from. your small, fluttering hole did it's best to accommodate to his size, but fuck — it was too much.

"mm, so, so tight — virgin lil' pussy," gojo groans, pinching your clit.

you cry, though it's horridly muffled, "p- please..." you're unsure what you're begging for.

sukuna ignores you, shoving his length further down your throat, "shit, takes it real well from here, too. what a good fuckin' girl."

they go over and over again, ignoring your sobbing (whether from pain or pleasure, you didn't know), instead repeatedly switching spots. you cum for the nth time, the gushing squirt betraying you. you've lost count, actually, how many times they've made you come undone. all you know; it's more than you've ever made yourself.

bully!sukuna and bully!gojo may have been the devils, but as you looked up at them, teary eyes blurring your vision, they were heavenly. especially when they were filling up all your holes like that.

[coffee-and-geto]

JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY - SATORU GOJO

“Bet you can’t even handle it,” he dares to murmur so close to your mouth. “I can play the game,” you accept, wrapping your hand around his wrist to free your frowned-face, eyes gleaming with a burning desire to smash his cocky face.

pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader

summary: he wasn’t supposed to be here. not a the soirée organized by your friends at their home. he was busy — as always, and wasn’t it the right reason you broke up with him months ago? so what the hell is he doing here after months of break up?

warnings: +18 MDNI, nsfw, smut, exes to lovers, suguru, shoko and nanami make an appearance, sex pollen, aphrodisiac chocolates, sex (p in v), fingering (f! receiving), nipple playing, deepthroat, rough sex, swearing, oral (m! + f! receiving), a lot of tension and teasing, doggy-style, fanart by @/knr_Illust on X.

wc: 4,335

“You will lose.”

“I don’t think so, sweetie,” he whispers back, blowing words on your lips as a tempting move to make you lose.

What you were doing was so wrong.

But how not to take the bet up?

All of this wasn’t supposed to happen.

Just an enjoyable soirée at your friends’ place. Drink a few glasses, chat and laugh until midnight, and sleep before returning to work.

But absolutely not straddling your ex on your friend’s couch in the dimly lit room while everyone is sleeping.

You weren’t expecting Satoru to come. Nanami and Suguru were here as expected, but Shoko didn’t mention your ex. So what a surprise when, in the middle of chatting with your friends and snacking on some appetizers, you hear someone knock at the door.

“Sorry, a lot of traffic, you know.”

You freeze in the middle of your conversation with Nanami, wring your neck at the doorstep, and widen your eyes until they almost pop out of their orbits.

What—

“Good evening, everyone,” the bastard grins, a cocky smile letting the start of his perfectly aligned teeth flash to everyone except you.

His ocean-blue eyes drop immediately on you — under his eternal blindfold — and unlike your staggered face, he smirks at you.

“Well, I see that you all started without me?”

So the whole evening consisted of ignoring him, opting for the strategy of avoidance so as not to have to look at your ex or hear him cackling with laughter with Shoko or Suguru from time to time — poor Nanami remaining the most polite with you by doing all the talking with you even when it was your turn to respond.

And that your eyes took the liberty of sneaking glances at Satoru and his cursed blindfold.

During dinner, you forced yourself to join in the general laughter, answering and going one further on a few points without ever addressing a single word to your ex.

Need the saltshaker near Satoru, you were going to disturb Suguru who was further away.

Water?

Shoko.

To clear away the dishes?

Nanami.

The whole evening’s been spent laughing at a ghost whose presence you’re blissfully unaware of.

Without once stopping to wonder who invited him.

Who dared spoil your evening to invite this little prick?

After much discussion, laughter and reminiscing about the nostalgic old days, as the hour grew late, Suguru suggested we all go to bed, indicating the guest rooms for each of us and the freedom to use the couch as everyone saw fit.

But from tossing and turning in your mattress with sheets freshly washed for you by your friend, the silence of the apartment is far too deafening for your brain.

Satoru.

Your ex.

Here.

In the next room, probably sleeping soundly while you ruminate on his presence in your bed, ruining not only your evening with friends by his presence, but also your sleep by daring to tell Suguru that he’s agreed to stay the night.

You should have refused your friend’s offer and gone home, you ponder, pouting as your turn on your side for the umpteenth time, staring at the wall in front of you in the indistinctness of the room plunged into darkness.

You grab your cushion and toss it across the room, letting it crash pathetically against the wall and then fall to the floor with a soft poof.

You sit up on your feet, taking a deep breath. If sleep doesn't come, you might as well induce it until you're exhausted.

Opening your bedroom door with the utmost slowness, discretion and care, you first poke your head out to scan the corridor and make sure no one's there. All doors are closed and no sound is emitted from anywhere.

At a leisurely pace, you slip into the kitchen, closing the door without pushing it all the way open, then allowing yourself to huff and puff and turn on the light.

Perhaps a midnight snack?

Suguru’s always in the habit of having some in his cupboards.

So you don’t feel ashamed to rummage through his closets, pushing through the many unopened bottles of soda and alcohol, to see if he hasn’t got a packet of sweets or whatever already open, just waiting to be opened and gobbled up by your stomach still rumbling from the meagre dinner you gave him — appetite suppressed by the arrival of your ex, of course.

At the very back of one of the cupboards overflowing with snacks as sweet as they are salty, and even bitter, you stand on tiptoe and reach for the intriguing black box with its gold metal embellishments.

Once in your hands, you turn it over between your fingers, noting that it’s brand new.

...Will Suguru mind?

You shrug, opening the box from its black packaging to discover squares of chocolates as simple as cheap ones.

“Hmph...”

You frown your lips, slightly disappointed by the content of the beautiful packaging that made you dream about a better late-snack than poor squares of chocolate.

However, the box gives off a curious, intoxicating scent, now that you put your nose closer to it. Indeed, it's almost as if it's not calling out to you to—

“Chocolates? And you're not even thinking of offering me some?”

A low, warm voice, like drizzled molasses muttered right in your ear, makes you jump high enough to send the chocolate box flying further away.

You refrain yourself from screaming and rather drop at your feet, cringing yourself to contain your hammering heart against your ribs and threaten them to break.

“Fuck you,” you spit out harshly.

“I take the offer, sweetie,” Satoru responds with a grin in his voice — the bastard proud of what he had done.

After a few calming breaths, you straighten up, ignoring the wild strands of hair hanging in front of your nose.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

He shrugs, playing with the box of chocolates he caught in the air during your jumpscare. “Heard noises in the kitchen and saw your door half-open.” He pauses, treading a finger under his blindfold to tug it down and freeing his cerulean eyes to lower on your form. “Missed me?”

You scoff. “Not even in your dreams.”

“What a shame.”

He turns the box upside down without taking his eyes off you.

“You wan’ it back?” He smirks.

You squint. “I won’t earn it.”

He smiles drops. “You’re not funny, jeez.”

And instead of giving up and returning to his bedroom, he steps forward, shortening the distance between you two before taking a square of chocolate under your nose.

“Smell it? It’s an aphrodisiac,” he mouths, his breath grazing your flushed cheek.

You take a step back? “A-And? Can’t I eat whatever I want? Or will you impose yourself again?”

“Aw, you didn’t know it was an aphrodisiac?” he coos, this time trapping you against the wall behind you with the chocolate between his fingers as he puts away the box. He rips open the plastic wrapping, snapping it in half. “As much as you didn't know I was coming?” His index finger lifts your chin to look straight into your defiant, wary eyes.

The aroma of the aphrodisiac chocolate swirls between the two of you, enveloping you as closely as it can so that you give in to the tension. Every breath is a soft arousing stroke on each other's skin, like the devil whispering sins in your ear.

“Bet you can’t even handle it,” he dares to murmur so close to your mouth.

“I can play the game,” you accept, wrapping your hand around his wrist to free your frowned-face, eyes gleaming with a burning desire to smash his cocky face.

“That’s my girl.”

The words hit you like an electric current, sliding from your chest to your stomach to end up in your core, which is just warming up despite the little pyjama shorts you're wearing. No, you won't let it happen.

So, with slow, deliberate, provocative movements, Satoru breaks the chocolate square in half and takes the first half to your mouth. Without flinching, you part your lips and sink your teeth into the square before folding your lips around the rest of it — a piece of Satoru’s thumb in the process, causing him to swallow so hard that his Adam's apple wobbles.

The chocolate in your mouth melts almost immediately: a velvety sweetness of bittersweet cocoa with a hint of sugar invades your palate, almost making you roll your eyes — but you hold back with all your might. As it flows down your gullet, the heat rises in the opposite direction. For now, the taste is good and you’re warm.

In turn, your heart beating slightly faster, you take the other half of the chocolate square and hold it out to Satoru’s half-open mouth.

He bites into the chocolate unhurriedly, leaving enough time for his lips to wrap around it — enough to suck on the tip of your index finger in the process. When the whole morsel disappears into his mouth, he swallows as quickly as you do.

Finally, he pulls his face away from yours, impassive, and holds out his hand.

“Let’s get comfortable, shall we?”

~~~~

If you’d known that listening to Satoru’s offer to get comfortable on the sofa in the semi-darkness of the living room would lead you to straddle him in spite of your principles, you’d have held back.

After a few words of polite exchange, occasionally spikes and provocations, your body heat having increased in the process, the tension allowed you to find yourself sitting on Satoru’s lap — more specifically on his crotch, where his growing bulge is crashed under your throbbing core.

Is this how an aphrodisiac is supposed to work?

Your breaths are heavy, measured, begging to be let go.

Satoru sits just as comfortably as you on his knees — back pressed against the sofa, legs spread a little to make room for you and let his bulge rub against you.

You’re slightly above him — much to your delight.

Under your pyjama top, you’re not wearing any underwear, and Satoru is determined to make you notice.

“Not wearing underwear? I can feel how wet you are, how your nipples are red and perking — you’re going to lose, sweetheart,” he breathes in your neck, hands digging into your waist and hips until bruising and rubbing the tip of his nose on your torso as much as he can. He takes his time to inhale your intoxicating and arousing scent — or was it the aphrodisiac? He exhales heavily, closing his eyes when the bridge of his nose gently pushes under the swell of your breast through the fabric of your tank top.

He can feel how the movement made you tighten your arms around his shoulders, nails scratching his perfect, snowy undercut. How every heartbeat inside of your chest pounds against his face.

He is going insane, at his rate.

“I won’t lose, Toru,” you sigh, closing your eyes a sec too. “I’m just enjoying myself.”

And God, he could cum in his pants right now only with you uttering his name. “You do? Because I can make it better, you know?” He looks up at you, fluttering his eyes open to meet yours, his face pressed between your breasts. “Remember how I used to eat you out, hmm?” He cocks his head. “Used to play with those beautiful tits? Shut you up with my dick?” And then he allows his big hands to run along your sides, sliding from your hips to your waist to your breasts and then slowly back down again.

You clench your teeth, ignoring how hard your walls are clenching around nothing and only pulsing against Satoru’s bulge to make your break — and it doesn’t get any better when he himself twitches against you, hardening even more.

“Like when I used to suck you off?” you whisper back, lowering your mouth to let him feel your burning breath. “Ride you like no tomorrow? Of course I remember, Toru. How you used to fill me up so full of your cum until it was spurting out of me,” you purr in his ear, rubbing his cheek against yours and as hot.

And he believes he will burst now, having you trapping him in this arousing cage of your body.

He’s about to give up, because how good will it feel to fuck you? To claim you and shut down that attitude of yours?

“Foreplay isn’t in the bet, is it?” he mouths, parting his lips to wrap them so lightly around your perking, sensitive nipple through the fabric that you’re almost whimpering in his ear. “Is it?”

Foreplay didn’t kill anyone, did it?

“N-No, I think it’s safe—” And Satoru doesn’t even pay any attention about what you can say more, because he’s already tugging hard, sucking at your nipple with fabric like a mad man.

“Fuck, you’re so sensitive,” he groans, his hands roaming on your body to find the hem of your tank top. When he finds it, he lifts it above your chest, letting him freely play with you. 

His warm, soft and big hands mold your breasts, squeezing and tugging them roughly before wrapping each of them in his hands, only letting your nipples free so he can lick them, gently nibbling the sensitive buds times to times until you’re gasping for air, mumbling his name because moaning it would wake up your friends.

“S-Satoru—”

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he mutters, squeezing your mounds before sucking your buds one last time, not caring if there’s a thread of saliva connecting his lips with your chest.

Down here, it’s even worse. Your shorts, damp with your wetness of arousal were the only thing separating his cock of his fingers from making you cum. And how much you need to…

Shaking slightly from the adrenaline, you kneel between Satoru’s legs and undo his belt, the clicking sound threatening to wake your friends. So Satoru lends you a hand and removes his clothes more quietly, letting his aching cock spring free.

The girth is gorgeous and has not changed since last time, you think, hypnotized by all the veins coursing up his lengths until the reddish tip leaking with pre. It was only waiting for you to take care of.

And without losing any time, you chastely kiss his tip, Satoru wincing and hissing in pleasure as you wrap your pretty red lips around the sensitive tip. You spit a bit of saliva, wetting him enough to suck him until his aching balls will spill every drop of their seed.

Satoru threads his fingers into your hair, fiery cheeks coloring his pale skin. He is dumbfounded on how fast you need him as bad as he does.

You part your lips wider, eager to take more of his lengthy cock until the tip kisses the back of your throat. You stroke what you can’t take and bob slowly your head back and forth. You hum with a small smile; his taste hasn’t changed since last time. Satoru is salty — not oversalted, nor tasteless. Just the perfect taste to make you want to swallow all his semen.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he moans lowly, fluttering his eyes closed as you sucked more of his dick. “I won’t last like this…”

And you nod with his girth still deep down your throat, hollowing your cheek to make him cum faster. You slowly pull him out of your mouth and toy with his balls, enjoying how they react to your touch.

“Cum for me, pretty boy?” you chirp, a bright smile flowering at your lips when you stroke his length from the base to the tip. And he nods wordlessly, tightening his grip around your hair that he’s wrapping around his fist.

You put the tip back around your lips, spitting more saliva on his already soaked cock — as soaked as your pussy, feeling a drop trickling down between your thighs. You repeat the motion, taking him deeper, sucking harder as you run your tongue along the underside of his cock, feeling him twitch in your mouth.

And when he’s about to cum — him throbbing in your hands — you take him back deep in your throat, hollowing your cheeks once more as he explodes, filling up your mouth. Satoru bites down his lower lip, suppressing a loud groan that could wake up everyone.

You swallow slowly, sticking out your tongue to show him that you have drunk everything he has given you.

“That’s my girl,” he sighs, releasing your hair as you get up from your knees.

You take off your shirt and shorts, tossing them on the floor with a rustling sound. All naked and pretty for him, Satoru waits for you to come closer so he can lift you in his arms and lay you down on the couch, settling between your legs when you spread your legs for him.

“Good girl,” he mumbles, bringing two fingers in his mouth that he covers with his own saliva before parting your drench folds. “So pretty for me and all wet.” He looks up at your flushed and embarrassed face. “Does sucking me off still arouse you, sweetheart?” And he can only chuckle when you wrap your thighs around his neck to suffocate him, but it makes him do worse.

He brings his face closer and presses a firm hiss on your puffy, hardened clit. He hums, closing his eyes again and darts out his tongue to lick a long strip between your folds and feel your fleshy core.

“Taste sweeter than ever,” he comments, sinking his two fingers into you as you cover your mouth with your palm to muffle your sweet sounds. “C’mon,” Satoru teases. “Let them hear how good your ex is gonna fuck you.” A low chuckle shakes his chest when your eyes widen.

“And the b-bet?” you gasp with his fingers finger-fucking you open and deliciously.

“To hell with the bet.” He rolls his eyes, wrapping your clit with his pink lips to suck it teasingly and make you squirm under him. “Focus on how good it feels, now,” he mutters, his breath hot against your own warm flesh. “I know you miss me as much as I do.”

His digits hit your sweet spot as fast as he finishes his sentence and you can only clench around him, walls throbbing as they never do in months; even with your fingers when you were in your bed for your alone time. Each stroke swollen your walls, making you close to cum around his fingers.

Knuckles deep, you dig your nails into Satoru’s forearm, babbling how close you are and how good it feels. “F-Feels good,” you pant, biting your fist to contain your moans, “missed that…”

“Did you, pretty girl? Now cum on my fingers, would ya?” he chuckles, thrusting faster his digits into you in a pace that will make you scream — noticing how he missed you in this state — messy hair, swollen lips and rosy cheeks striated with dried up thread of tears.

The moment after, you are cumming hard on his fingers, walls clenching hard and sucking at everything they can grip.

With kitten-licks, Satoru kisses one last time your clit before caressing your trembling inner thigh, drawing soothing circles as you come down from your high.

“That’s it baby,” he purrs. You cover your face with both hands and inhale and exhale slowly. “Breath for me, okay?”

Once he is assured he can safely pull out his fingers, he chuckles for himself and tastes your juices on his tongue. And fuck, your sweetness was enough to make him hard again.

Pulling off both his shirt and blindfold around his neck, Satoru settles this time with his cock aligned between your legs, tapping gently the tip of his thick length against your cute still-twitching clit.

“Want me how?” he asks as if he was preparing a herbal tea and needed to know if you prefer it with or without sugar.

You take a long breath in and sit up. “Fast and rough. Doggy.”

He raises a playful eyebrow. “Eh? Ma���am doesn’t want it gentle anymore?” he chuckles. “I think I can do that.”

He towers you, hands gripping both sides of your hips before flipping you over like you were a pillow. 

You have forgotten how strong he is…

With a real pillow this time, you take one between your arms that you hug and bury your face in, in case you would be too loud.

Back on your hips, Satoru’s hands dig into your skin enough to leave bruises and marks as he is always used to do on you.

Claiming you.

One of his hands snakes up on your soft, supple skin before stopping right on one of your ass-cheeks. He can’t resist smacking it — too loud that you’re gasping.

“They’ll hear us!” you whisper like a scold.

He shrugs, rubbing the sore skin before parting your cheeks to reveal your swollen lips — clenching around nothing and only waiting for him to fill up and leave no room in your sweet, tight pussy.

“Let ‘em hear. They know you’re mine, right?” He presses himself against your entrance, and does it with his broad chest against your back. “You’re mine, right?” he blows in your ear, sending a strong shiver running down your spine.

You nod obediently, pushing back your hips so his tip is pressed against your entrance and screams to be sucked by your cunt.

“Eager, are we?” he laughs softly, pushing his hips too and letting his mushroom tip drag a hiss out of him. “F-Fuck, you’re still tight, sweetheart. We’re gonna make a mess.”

“Just fuck me already,” you pout, slightly annoyed by his too much talk habits.

“I’m going to, princess, don’t worry,” he grins in your ear again, nibbling your earlobe. “Be patient, I want to take my time with you. We missed each other, didn't we?” He thrusts his hips deeper, but not fully, savoring your muffled whimpers as you nod. “Then take this cock, okay? Like a good girl.”

The praise sends a string of arousal straight down your core, tightening your walls around Satoru’s cock while he’s pushing deeper and deeper until he splits your open, and you pant his name like a mantra.

“Too big, Toru, s’big,” you cry, biting the pillow when his tip kisses your cervix.

“Too big, you’re sayin’? Oh, it’s been a while you haven’t been fucked by my big cock, that’s why,” he coos softly in your ear, kissing your burning cheeks. He can hear the squelching sounds of your wet pussy sucking his dick even though it was too much for you, yet.

“But I’m gonna making it fit again, and mold it so it can only take my dick,” he snorts as you babble words he can understand and not at the same time, before you sob and he grabs both your wrists and straightens up to thrust his hips into you with a hard, raw, steady rhythm. 

With one hand, he cuffs your wrists behind your back to pin you down enough so that you can only scream into the cushion as his cock pounds into you.

“Ah, Toru, please,” you cry out, face buried in the pillow as he continues to rut his hips hard and fast into you, each stroke punctuating with the sounds of his clapping full-balls against your sensitive clit.

“Please?” he chuckles, “c’mon, tell me how close you already are.” His free hand grabs your hips and slides up to your ass-cheeks and smacks it loudly. You whine in response, tightening around his thick dick. “That’s it, cum baby.” He smacks the other cheek and thrusts his hips at a frenetic pace.

This time his cock throbs into you, ready to cum with you.

“Cu-Cummin’, Toru,” you whine, clenching hard again around him with the same earlier sensation of a pit in your stomach exploding in you with a delicious release.

“Cummin’ too,” he urges, thrusting harder and faster until he moans loudly with no shame of waking up his friends who are still sleeping. He bursts in your pussy and spurt all the cum that were held in his balls — filling you up like he always used to do.

He breathes out heavily, wiping with the back of his hands the beads of sweat pearling around his face.

“Phew.” He lowers his ocean-blue eyes to your trembling form and doesn’t pull back immediately, leaving you to recover a little after this intense session.

At least the aphrodisiac is working.

“Is everything okay?” he whispers from behind, his long arms wrapping around your torso in a spoon hug. He rests his burning cheek on your clammy back to sooth your trembling.

“M’ good,” you mutter back, inhaling deeply before pulling away your face from the pillow and turning your head to the side, eyes fluttering closed. “Jus’ tired now…”

“You sure you don’t want to finish at my place?” he offers softly, his hands drawing slow patterns on your back. “I have some aphrodisiacs too, you know.”

“You still have Cinnamoroll on your bed?” you ask, opening your eyes suddenly.

His chest shakes through his laugh. “Never touched it. It’s still yours, pretty girl.” His lips stretch in a rascally smile at your interest only for the plushie. “You’ve missed it and not me? So my jealousy was meant for nothing?” He draws a small heart on your shoulder.

“Jealousy?”

“You’ve talked almost all night with Nanami,” he pouts, clinging his face to your face to bug you now. “I was jealous.”

“Aww, poor man,” you snicker, and Satoru’s hurt flutters at the sound of your laugh.

Satoru presses a kiss on your cheek. “C’mon. Come back home.”

You’re about to say yes when a voice low, groggy and sleepy voice coming from the doorstep of the living-room asks:

“What the fuck are you guys doing on my couch?”

a/n: hello dear readers! 😚 it’s been weeks since i haven’t post anything i’m sorry! i was busy with studies and life, but now i can finally chill out haha. i wrote this when i felt a peak of ovulating so yeah… basically i needed to write this hehe. hope you guys enjoyed it and see you soon <333

tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @drippymcdrippison @koshhin @v31v3t @wawuwe @catrizzz @sanemistar @monokaix

[skeltnwrites]

Break the Bed In— ⋆₊˚⌂

The first morning in your new home is slow and soft, spent tangled up in bed with Steve.

mdni 18+ fem/afab reader, p in v sex, oral (f receiving), switch!steve/reader, the fluffiest sweetest smut you'll ever read | 4k

a/n: this is dedicated to all my single ladies. happy valentine’s day you freaks! coincidentally i also moved houses yesterday so this feels extra fitting

── .✦

You wake well-rested; like every inch of you was unraveled and woven back together while you dreamt. Your wrist hangs off the side of the mattress, fingernails brushing the carpet. Your bed frame is a heap of wooden slats across the room, as is most of the furniture currently in your house. 

Steve’s arm is warm under your neck, his breath a steady string behind you. You flip over, your ear landing in the crease of his elbow. 

He’s softer in sleep. Cheek squished to his shoulder, lips pressed to a pout. He’s boyish in a lot of ways still, but growing less so the longer you know him. He’s got stubble and sun spots and smile lines. And you love each of those things, swearing he’s getting more and more handsome with them every day. Blame it on the lingering moving high but today the feeling triples. 

There’s a unique kind of joy in buying your first home together. It’s perpetual surprise, popping up in the most mundane of moments. It’s picking taupe over eggshell for the living room and it’s paying extra for matching key designs and it’s waking up beside your favorite person on a mattress on the floor. 

You stamp your lips into his skin in good morning, and again because it’s a satisfying warmth on your mouth. He smells sweet, like your new body wash since he couldn’t find his last night. You decide you like the scent on his skin better than yours. 

The quiet is strange but the farthest thing from unwelcome. No neighbors or roommates or parents to wake to. Just the soft hush of rain against the roof and the swish of your ankles underneath the blankets. 

Your fingers chase the hair from Steve’s eye socket, your thumb perching behind his ear. His pupils shift under his eyelids and he sighs the softest little sound you’ve ever heard. 

It’s cruel to wake him, certainly. He did most of the heavy lifting yesterday and was up organizing later than you were. But you’re feeling especially selfish this morning, tickling him awake with a swarm of several more arm kisses. 

There are worse things to wake up to, you reason with yourself as Steve hums, his fingers curling against the sheet. He’s quiet for a long beat and you decide maybe it's better to let him rest. 

But his lips part and he rasps out, “Mornin’.” 

“Mornin’,” you parrot. Your grin is immediate, spanning ear to ear with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. 

He smushes your face to his bare collar, the heel of his free hand climbing up his cheek. 

You turn to watch his eyes unstick themselves of sleep and continue to wonder how you got so lucky. You press another kiss to his chin. Another to the coarse thatch of hair on his chest. Another to his shoulder. You just can’t help yourself today. 

“It’s so quiet,” he murmurs, hand crawling under your shirt in a long splay up your spine. 

You beam, weaving a leg under his heavy one. “I know.” 

“We have a house.” 

“I know.” You sound as excited as you can be without yelling. 

He hums, the corners of his smile creeping wider, a hand steady on your back. 

Your finger twists a curl at his nape idly. “What’re you thinking?” 

Steve’s gaze flickers from the ceiling to you, eyes like old pennies under the clouds coloring your room a gloomy shade of gray. “Nothin’,” he whispers, lips skimming the corner crease of your eye. “Just happy.” 

You hum, one part agreement, two parts delight. “Can we get a dog now?” 

He huffs out a chuckle, vibrating the place where your chests kiss. “I can’t believe it took you this long to ask.” 

“‘Cause you always say no.” 

“‘Cause it didn’t make sense before.”

“So, we can?” 

He has a hard time pretending to hate the look you show him. Your jutted lip and raised brows show no mercy. He wants to say yes, of course he does, but he’s not as impulsive as he used to be. He’s a homeowner. His responsibilities extend beyond just himself now. 

“Can we unpack the house first? Then we’ll talk about it.”

You flick his collarbone. “Excuses. Excuses.” 

If there’s a fond way to roll your eyes at someone, he’s figured out how to do it. Steve knows you’re all drama. And he knows you’re over the moon with or without the promise of a dog. 

You bend out of his embrace and regret sitting the second you’re up. Your back aches twice its weight, muscles sore with yesterday's labor. 

But Steve relishes his view. You're in nothing but underwear and one of his shirts, the dip of your lower back exposed where the hem has scrunched up. He might buy you new pajamas if he thought you’d actually wear them or if he didn’t adore just how lovely his clothes look on you. 

And he doesn’t give you a chance to ask, his fingers automatically massaging a path up your aching shoulder. You squirm but you love it. You kiss his hand in thank you and carry it around your waist to play with. 

“Don’t get up,” he says. Pleads, practically.

You face him. “But we have sooo much to unpack.” 

“It can wait,” he argues. He steals your entwined hands for a persuasive set of kisses. One to each knuckle and then a flurry up your arm. And his hands are an equally convincing force, coercing you right back onto his chest. 

You’re putty, melting into his hot hands like candle wax. You throw a leg over his waist and settle down in a more comfortable straddle. The possibility of you falling back asleep jumps an alarming percentage. 

You bolster your chin on his sternum and meet his eyes. “But I really want that dog.” 

“More than me?” 

You hum debatably into his puckered lips.

He smiles hard and forgets about kissing you, pinching your side until you yelp. Your giggles spill through twin smiles, overlapping each other in layers. “Might have to put the house back on the market if you keep being so mean to me," he says.

“I’ll be nicer if we go look at the shelter today.” 

“Mm. Not letting this go are we?” 

You shake your head.

He pecks the corner of your mouth. “We’ll go–”

You see the shift in his expression before he even says anything. Your eyebrows jump in excitement. 

“If,” he tacks on quickly, “we finish downstairs today. Hmm?” 

“Mhmm. Easy.” 

“Easy,” he repeats. But not one lick of him believes you. It wasn’t easy carrying so many of your boxes yesterday and it certainly wasn’t easy getting you to pack everything up in the first place. 

But ultimately he’s amused. And he thinks you’re especially pretty when you’re confident. So Steve kisses you like he has something to prove. 

He gropes the swell of your ass mid-kiss and while it’s not unusual for him to do so playfully, you can’t perceive it in any way innocent when you’re pressed up against his morning wood. 

“Steve,” you scold lightly. 

He hums against your mouth, a faux sound of innocence. He knows exactly what he’s doing. 

You break apart with a wet smack. “Gotta unpack.”

“Have all day,” he says, words all smushed together so he can sew his lips right back to yours. 

“Mm-mmm.” You turn your cheek, but the hands on your waist don’t let you go far. “‘S, like, ten-thirty already.” 

He works a slow line past your jaw, spending extra time on the sensitive skin around your throat. Devious. 

“Steve.” 

“Hmm?” 

You push off his chest until you're sitting upright on his thighs.

His heart tick tick ticks under the flat of your palm. His pupils are wide, mouth kiss-bruised a bright shade of red. He’s so, so dreamy, all flushed and starry-eyed like this. He’s got you wrapped around his finger just as much as you’ve strung him with yours.  

You sigh. “Why do I let you win?” 

He smirks that stupid victorious smirk you love so much. “‘Cause you love me.”

“You’re so annoying.” 

“Me?” he laughs. 

“Mhmm. And a hypocrite.” 

The hand clasping your hip pressures you back down, the other cradling one side of your jaw. “A hypocrite?” he whispers. 

“Mhmm.” 

He fills the tiny space between you, half-lidded and heavy-handed in a fervent kiss. He’s not rough but he is eager. Open-mouthed and persistent like he’s trying to weld his face to yours. 

You meet him with the same intensity. It’s instinctual. The push-pull of your bodies, like you’re more one entity than two. You’ve been dating Steve long enough to know what he likes and what he doesn’t. You’ve made out more times than you can count. And he’s a simple man. You’ve got him hard, properly hard, in a matter of minutes. 

His bottom lip is pinned between your teeth, your chests rising and falling in sync. You grind back on his crotch and his breath hitches. 

“Ahh,” he pants. “Can I…” 

You don’t know what he’s trying to ask but you nod anyway. It’s not hard to piece together, though; not when he’s fisting the fabric of your shirt like it’s causing him physical pain to see you wear it. 

You help him hitch it up your back and down your arms to be tossed out of the way. Steve quickly stops you from lying back down. His large palms spread wide against your tummy, thumbs kneading either side of your belly button. He roves up your ribs attentively, studying how your skin pulls and dips beneath his fingers. 

You swear you feel him down to the divots in his fingerprints, the slow speed of his hands tantalizing. 

His thumbs pause at your breastbone, sweeping up and around your nipples as if he’s never played with them before. They perk up easily, to Steve's obvious enjoyment. 

He’s told you a thousand times how pretty you are, naked and not. And he doesn’t have to say it now for you to know he’s thinking it. 

He stares at your chest, your tummy, the soft stretch of your thighs, each like they’ve been carved from marble, destined to end up behind a glass at some museum he’s never been to. 

You get shy eventually, needling past his hold to hide in the slope of his neck. Your mouth peppers lazy kisses where it can reach. Soft ones, not nearly as greedy as before. You work your way up, suckling long enough to leave a couple of red rings in your wake. 

Steve's hips shift under yours as you arrive back at his mouth. He’s getting antsy, the finger fidgeting with the hem of your panties no longer satisfied. So maybe you shouldn’t be as surprised as you are when he holds your hips down and bucks up into your clothed cunt. 

Your jaw slackens, a broken moan dampened against his mouth. 

“Can be loud ‘s you want now,” he assures. His hands roam, around your ass and back up your sides. Soothing, but so feather-light you shudder. 

“Still have neighbors.” 

He hums in half agreement. Yes, you have neighbors, but their bedroom wall isn’t attached to yours. He imagines you’d have to scream bloody murder for the neighbors to hear you here. 

You slink back up to sit and Steve’s fingers fall to your hips. Your pelvis rolls into his. Again when he shudders. 

“Shit,” he sighs. 

“Feel good?”

His eyes disappear behind his lashes, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. “Mhmm.” 

You continue to work him through his briefs, a slow back and forth forming a hot puddle between your own legs. With one hand propped against his sternum, you force your eyes over to the stacks upon stacks of moving boxes in the room. 

“Condoms… condoms.” 

Steve almost misses your mumbling– and to his credit, you’re talking more to yourself than him– but he blinks out of his daze and sighs vaguely at the nearest box. “Fuck. Bathroom, maybe.” 

Not ideal. 

“Think I have one in my purse,” you remember, swaying heavily to the side to scan the floor beside the mattress. 

Steve’s hands fly to your waist to balance you as he huffs. “You mean your bottomless pit?” 

“Don’t shame me. It comes in handy.” The bottomless pit in question is spotted, half buried under yesterday’s clothes across the room. “One sec’.”

Steve grumbles as you climb off of him. But his heart turns in his chest as you saunter off. His love for you is always there. It’s the shape of you as you crouch, how you tip your purse upside down and fan the contents out across the floor with a hum. 

“Aha.” You pop up, waving a glossy, square packet as you skip your way back. “My trusty bottomless pit saves the day.”

You clamber back on top of him clumsily, planting yourself in his lap like he’s no more fragile than the kitchen barstool. 

Steve groans under his breath. You’ve got him really wound up and his patience is thinning. 

Your hips roll into his again, the curve of his cock a strong silhouette through two sticky layers of fabric. You scoot back on his thighs and palm him with modest pressure. 

“Babe,” he shudders, thumbs pawing the sides of your underwear again. “Please.” 

“So impatient,” you tease. 

You watch him intently. How his nostrils flare the second you break the seal between his hot skin and the band of his underwear. How his eyebrows crinkle together as you push the cotton down his thighs. 

His cock bobs free before you take it gently by the base. Steve’s not just a pretty face, and he’s not cocky for no reason. He’s well-endowed, a dusty shade of pink blended tan into the dark curls at his hilt. 

“Fuck, baby.” 

He shifts his gaze past you because he’s certain if you make eye contact with him this’ll be the shortest sex of his life. And even the half-blurry blob of you in his peripherals is still too fucking enticing. He forces his eyes up at the popcorn ceiling and traces the shapes in his mind. 

You spread the pearl of precum down a vein on the side of his cock, using the slip to tug him a handful of times. The slick dissolves, and your hand catches twice before you’re getting ready to spit in it.  

But Steve whines, “Need to feel you.” 

Your hand stops but the pad of your pinky trails a sneaky line from tip to base. “My hands not enough for you, Stevie?” 

“Not gonna– mm– last.” 

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” 

You mean it rhetorically but he quickly shakes his head no. You forget how much you enjoy being in charge until you have Steve squirming under you. 

You stabilize yourself on his chest, hiking one leg up at a time until you’re underwear have been flung to the floor. The slick between your folds is more palpable as you sit back on his thighs, hot skin to hot skin. 

His eyelids flutter closed as you roll the condom on. He’s flushed up to his ears, breath nimble off his open mouth. 

“Ready?” 

He nods like you’ve asked something outrageously silly. 

You guide the head of his cock up to your folds, sinking down in one tedious stride. It’s a good kind of ache, scratching the deepest part of your tummy. 

His hips jerk involuntarily as you release your full weight onto them, his nails leaving crescents on your skin. “‘M not gonna last,” he warns again. 

“I’ll go slow.” 

It’s not much consolation. No matter what you do to him, he’s not gonna last. You’re too damn irresistible for your own good. 

You rock your hips forward and back in a continuous cycle. The pace is indulgent, just slow enough to make things last. Your eyes unfocus, your head tipping back. Every drag squeezes the coil in your stomach tighter. 

Steve’s eyes flick to yours, his voice wavering as he mumbles, “Tease me too much.”

“I do?”

“Mhmm.”

You smile softly at him and his eyes jump away. He’s drawing loopy patterns into the meat of your thigh to distract himself. And it doesn’t help when you cover his hand and sweep your thumb across every digit. He’s so focused on not blowing his load that he can’t even speak. 

You pause your rhythm and hum to yourself before continuing. “Know what I just realized.”

“Hmm?”

“Forgot the shower curtain.”

Steve exhales hard, words sticking to his teeth.“We’ll get a new one.” 

“I really liked that one.”

He can’t think straight long enough to tell if you’re purposely trying to distract him or not and he doesn’t care all that much either way. He just needs you to be the same level of fucked that he is. 

His hand trembles over to your pubic bone, thumb snaking right up to your clit. 

You nod as he presses. Right there. 

He rubs slow circles, a spark of pleasure each time he closes a loop. 

“Fuck,” you drawl simultaneously. 

You laugh, blissfully unaware as your muscles clamp around his cock. 

But Steve’s fingers pause on your clit, his other hand tense at your hip. “Don’t,” he shudders out. 

You close your mouth, a soft little apology grin that sends Steve’s stomach flipping. He’s so fucking in love it’s not even funny. 

“Sit on my face.”

You hum, so high on cloud nine you’re sure you’ve misheard him. 

“Let me taste you.”

Your breath stutters. He’s serious. 

“Come here,” he’s pushing you up and off him before you have much of a chance to process it. “Wanna make you feel good.” 

Your cheeks burn a hot shade of embarrassment, your tongue suddenly too heavy in your mouth. You wriggle up his body, guided by the relentless hands on the backs of your thighs. Steve’s eaten you out, but not like this. 

“Steve,” you manage. 

“What?” He knows you better than he’s known anyone in his life. He feels your shaking and he hears the rampant doubts coursing your mind. “I want to,” he promises, pressing a long, love-packed kiss to the soft flesh of your inner thigh. 

You’re unconvinced. You’re certain you’ll break his face the second you sit down. You’ll be so mortified you’ll have to break up with him if he doesn’t first. You’ll have to sell the house before you’ve even unpacked–

“Please?”

He’s not trying to be pushy or even funny as he bats his eyes. He just so genuinely craves to see you unravel in the same way you’ve spun him around. And yeah, he has a sweet set of brown eyes. Sue him. He loves you too much to look at you with any less adoration. 

You nod emphatically. 

It’s been a long time since you’ve been this nervous about sex with Steve, but you’ve learned just about everything there is to know about him since. You trust him in every capacity, especially in bed.   

He nips his way up your thigh, pulling you lower and lower until his breath is hot on your cunt. Steve licks a wide stripe up to your clit, sucking before swirling his tongue around the sensitive hood. And then his mouth starts lapping you like you’re his last meal. 

Your fist jerks, fingers knotted through the hair on his scalp, and he moans. You don’t hear it over the wet smacking as much as you feel it, the vibrations sending pleasure through you like a pulse. 

His tongue drives you to a mess. He’d push you completely over the edge if you didn’t stop him.

“Okay, okay,” you gasp, pushing up onto your knees. “We’re even.” 

He smirks and strokes down the backs of your calves. “Are we competing?” 

“You seem to think so.” 

He shimmies to a sit with an arm around your waist and bestows you with a fleeting kiss, lips washed with the taste of your juices. “Lay down.”

How the fuck could you say no to such a pretty face? 

You scooch down, face up on the sheets. Steve parts you by the ankles and crawls up your body, planting kisses like seeds. His teeth graze the inside of your wrist before he stretches it up and flat against the mattress above your head. 

Your fingers thread through his, his other hand steadying his cock at your entrance. He swipes the head up and down your wet folds before sliding in with a groan. There’s less resistance this time, a fluid in and out to his hips. 

His thrusts are languid. He indulges more closely in the taste of your mouth and the balmy feel of your waist. 

The winding in your tummy resumes, your fingers naturally finding your clit while Steve rocks into you. A heavier thrust and your lips detach, Steve’s rehoming to the skin beneath your jaw. He picks up his pace, puffing and panting into your neck in short bursts. 

Your legs wrap around his, the heel of your foot digging into his lower back. “Mm– Steve.”

“Yeah?” he huffs. 

“Mhmm.”

If the sounds you’re making are anything to go by, Steve thinks he’s doing a pretty good job. And you know he’s just as close to cumming. You know his little sounds and twisty little expressions like the back of your hand. How his stomach tenses and his breath catches. 

You burn the entirety of this to your brain, rubbing yourself faster, more in time with his movements. 

“‘M close,” he says, desperate and hopeful that you are too. 

You nod, focused on the high climbing higher each second. 

His hips stutter when you clench around him. The coil releases and you come undone simultaneously. 

“Fuck, ah– fuck,” he whines, sharp but breathy in your ear.  

Your fingers slow and his thrusts wane and the pleasure softens. Steve wobbles down onto you as gently as he can, taking your interlaced hand between your bodies. Your hearts kiss with each rise and fall of your chests. Steve mouths over the most accessible bit of skin under your ear, thumb sweeping the gentlest curves around your face. 

You exhale into his crown, raking a hand through the dark mop of curls damp at his nape. Your other eases down his back, savoring the contraction of his muscles as he breathes. You travel down the curve of his ass and give him a firm squeeze. “How’s your ass? Still sore?” 

He huffs at you, nose crushed to your neck. “I fall down one flight of stairs and I never hear the end of it.” 

“I told you to be careful.” 

“I was being– whatever.” His thumb continues to caress your jaw, his lips idle on your neck. 

This is Steve’s favorite part of sex. To hold and to be held, easing off a high that’s miles better than a good smoke. There’s nothing greater. 

“Should I check for bruises?” 

“If you kiss ‘em better.” 

Your chest aches with the sweet swell of laughter. Steve’s your person. You realize it time and time again. 

He peels himself off like you're double-sided tape. His hair’s still crazy despite your finger-combing and his eyes are just as heavy as they were when he woke up. He slides out of you with a hiss, sitting back to knot the condom and toss it toward a pile of bubble wrap. 

He looks back at you fondly. “Shower?” 

You shake your head. “Just lay with me.” 

“Downstairs isn’t gonna unpack itself, you know.”

“Shut up.” You palm his chest until he lays and you throw an arm across his middle. “This was your evil plan all along.” 

He chuckles, taking your hand to massage between both of his. “I’m just the worst aren’t I?” 

[beloveds-embrace]

Undesignated reader seeks the nest out on her own? Boys coming back to her curled up in it. My heart it weeps for her. Her parents need to be shot in the foot and forced to walk 10 miles. 🦶🏾

The nest is empty when you step inside, and for a long moment, you just stand there.

You’ve never been in it alone before.

You’re not sure why it feels so different now. It’s the same as it always is- warm, soft, an organized mess of blankets and pillows that should be chaotic but somehow just fits. You’ve spent countless nights in it, tangled up with them, pressed between their solid warmth. You know what it feels like to be here.

But this is the first time you’ve sought it out yourself.

It wasn’t intentional. You’d only been looking for somewhere to sit for a moment, to breathe. The mission had been long, the debrief exhausting, and your quarters had felt too empty, too quiet. Your feet had carried you here before you’d even realized it.

Your fingers curl in the blanket beneath you as you kneel at the edge, uncertain. You don’t have the instincts that should pull you here. You can’t smell their presence lingering in the sheets the way they must be able to. But still, there’s something comforting about it, something steady in the way it holds the shape of them even in their absence.

You don’t think about it too hard. You’re too tired to.

You lay down.

When they return, it takes them a second to realize what they’re looking at.

There’s a beat of stillness, the four of them pausing in the doorway, eyes drawn instantly to the bundle curled up in the middle of their nest.

You’re dead asleep.

It shouldn’t be surprising. It’s late, and the last few days have been rough, but still- you don’t usually do this. You only come here when they bring you, when one of them drags you into the warmth of their tangled limbs, murmuring something about how you belong here, even if you don’t feel the same invisible pull that they do.

But now, you’ve come here on your own.

John’s expression softens. Simon tilts his head slightly, unreadable behind his mask, and a few seconds later he sheds it. Johnny glances at Kyle, lips quirking, a silent, would you look at that?

Kyle just grins, voice quiet so as not to disturb you. “Guess she finally figured it out.”

She hasn’t. Simon thinks, watching the slow rise and fall of your breathing, the way you’ve curled so cozy and content. He knows you, knows they are still a long way from convincing you, but-

But maybe that doesn’t matter.

They don’t speak as they step forward, careful not to wake you as they settle in around you. Johnny stretches out beside you, a lazy sprawl, his fingers ghosting over your wrist for just a moment before he stills. Kyle fits himself at your back, a comfortable weight, his breathing evening out almost immediately.

John takes his usual place near your feet, a steady presence, his hand resting just above your ankle and Simon sits by your head, close but not touching, his knee nearly brushing yours.

They don’t need to say anything.

They’ll tell you in the morning, when you wake up and realize where you are, when you blink blearily at them like you don’t quite understand how you got here. When you hesitate, unsure if you’re supposed to be here, and John just hums, stay as long as you like, love. When Kyle nudges your shoulder, when Soap grins, when Ghost just looks at you and doesn’t say anything at all- but doesn’t move away, either.

They’ll tell you then.

For now, they just sleep right beside you.

[amalapegnolo]

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[heich0e]

rintarou's sheets are scratchy.

they're new, and haven't yet gone through the wash enough times to properly soften. they haven't been slept on enough times to be fully broken in. you know he bought them because you always used to tease him about his old sheets: faded with some holes in them—a mismatched fitted sheet and top sheet in two different shades of blue, unbefitting of a grown man making grown man money.

so, he got new ones.

these new sheets are green, in the exact shade you like so much—the one you always point out when the two of you are walking in the park near your office on your lunch break. he sent you a picture of the package when he got them home, fishing for praise you refused to give him for doing the bare minimum. they're nice sheets, though. expensive, organic cotton with a high thread count.

but right now, they're scratchy.

and they're irritating you as you lay tangled up in them, the top sheet wrapped around your waist like a belt and twisted around one of your bare legs. you must have been tossing and turning a lot in your sleep, because when you properly rouse from your slumber to take inventory of your surroundings, the first thing you notice is that you're practically knotted into the stiff, new cotton.

you extract yourself from the blankets, stumbling a little towards the door in a fog, and make your way from rintarou's bedroom in the direction of the kitchen.

"oh," rintarou perks up once you appear around the corner, his eyes bright when they spot you. "you're up."

you shuffle around the kitchen counter towards him, your head heavy and pounding, your mouth dry. you feel nauseated, and without thinking, you slump against him with your forehead pressing into the valley between his shoulder blades. you're confused. you're hungover. but he's warm, and smells like laundry detergent. suddenly you feel a little less queasy.

"what's going on?" you grumble into his back. you peel yourself away from him, blinking slowly, and sweep your gaze around the room to get a better sense of things.

suna holds up a frying pan and a whisk. "i'm cooking!"

you blink again. "okay?"

it's not what you meant when you asked him your first question, but rintarou simply smiles. he has an almost puppy-like personality when he gets like this—you can almost picture ears atop his head and a tail wagging happily as he stares down at you.

"how'd i get here last night?"

rintarou freezes, but only for a moment. he quickly turns his back to you again to continue on whatever misguided culinary adventure he'd been attempting before you woke up. "you were pretty drunk."

"my seniors kept egging me on," you complain, rubbing your forehead as the hazy memory surfaces from the night before. it was a company dinner you couldn't get out of, and it had quickly spiralled out of hand. "i don't even remember leaving."

rintarou laughs a little. but he still won't look at you.

"suna."

he doesn't turn, whisking something you can't identify but that you're almost certain should not be whisked in a bowl in front of him on the counter.

"suna." you repeat yourself again.

suddenly, a wave of nausea overtakes you.

no.

no.

you pat yourself down in search of your phone, but the attempt is useless. you're dressed in one of rintarou's t-shirts and boxers, neither of which come equipped with any pockets, and your phone is nowhere to be found. you whip your head around in search of it, but don't spot it anywhere in the immediate vicinity.

"hey—" rintarou finally looks at you when he senses your alarm, and his tone mirrors your own panic. "don't—!"

you swipe his cellphone off the counter in front of him, using the passcode you'd managed to weasel out of him a few months ago to unlock the device and navigate to his call log. you take off running as you tap your way through the various screens on his phone, but he's quickly in pursuit of you—leaving whatever he'd had on the stove to burn like he world's saddest funeral pyre.

"stop, stop!" rintarou is faster than you are, and has longer legs, but even by the time he catches you, you've already found what you're looking for in his call history. he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you down onto his sofa with him in the living room, and the two of you land in a tangle of limbs against the cushions, your breathing laboured.

"i didn't make this call, did i?" you ask meekly, pointing at a brief call in the late hours of the night prior that sits at the top of his call history. it's from your number, but you're confident you hadn't been the one to dial.

rintarou pouts a little bit, avoiding your eyes. after a moment he shakes his head. you groan, rolling over on the sofa underneath him and hiding your face in your hands.

"i wasn't even there long, i promise," rintarou says, his voice impossibly close because of the way the two of you are sprawled across the sofa. his breath is warm against the column of your throat when he speaks.

you refuse to look at him.

"i didn't even say anything embarassing."

you still don't budge.

"i made sure to thank your coworkers for calling me to come get you and everything."

your hangover has been overtaken by your own mortification, a horrible heat creeping up your face to accompany the taste of bile in your throat. you've been so, so careful not to let your relationship and your career overlap thus far. so cautious about introducing rintarou into parts of your life that would make it even harder to face if or when the time came that he wasn't around anymore.

"are you embarrassed of me?"

his question makes your chest ache. the way he says it twists the knife.

you lift your face from your hands and peek at him over your shoulder. he's so close that your noses almost brush.

"no." you mean it.

the anxiety in rintarou's gaze eases. he presses closer.

"you sure?"

you narrow your eyes at him. "depends. were you wearing that awful yellow track suit?"

rintarou laughs, all breath, and then dips down to kiss you softly. you want to complain that you haven't even brushed your teeth yet, or that you kind of feel like you might be sick, or that whatever he was trying to cook is on the brink of burning down the building. but you don't. you just let him rest on top of you. you let yourself enjoy it.

when he finally pulls away, rintarou has a somewhat sly smile on his face.

"what, rin?" you ask him gently.

"just wondering if now that i've met your coworkers you're going to let me come visit you at lunch, or if you're still gonna make me hide in the park."

"i like the park," you pout.

because the park is green, the colour you like so much. like rintarou's scratchy bedsheets. and his eyes.

"okay, okay," he laughs, pressing his forehead against yours. "i like the park, too."