#groggy and in need of nicotine

[hxllishchild]

Good morning….. it’s Thursday. 🍞

Reposted

[starmapz]

what you know - ch11: scars || 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. implied injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic attacks. mentions of difficulty eating. vomit. 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 ; 15.3k.

❦ a/n ; please note the tags have been updated. see you at the bottom!

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

Your eyes flutter open to the silence of your empty apartment. Your blankets envelop you in a deep and heavy cocoon as sunlight filters through the blinds. It should be warm, but your limbs are chilled with the remnants of your grief following the argument with Sukuna the night before.

Right.

Sighing, you move languidly to rub at your eyes, blinking them a few times to rid them of the groggy feeling that plagues you. Your limbs feel as though they’re being dragged down by weights as each movement proves to be an effort. As your vision clears and you find yourself staring at the ceiling, it occurs to you it’s too well-lit for you to have woken up before your alarm.

Pushing yourself up on your elbow, you sigh as your muscles protest against every movement. Flipping your phone up to face you, you find yourself blinking at the time, unable to process just how exactly you managed to sleep through the blaring of your alarm.

By three hours.

Clearly that had caught Kento’s attention as well, as he’d left a voicemail, called twice, and sent a number of texts. Even with all the turmoil in your life lately, you haven’t missed a class, so clearly a few alarm bells had gone off for your friend.

Plopping back down into the plush of your pillows, you groan and rub your eyes again.

It’s hard to tell exactly how long you lay there before grabbing your phone to check your messages. You don’t even have the energy to listen to the voicemail, heading straight to your text thread with him.

Friday 8:33 AM - Kento || Hi. It’s unlike you to be late. Is everything alright?

Friday 9:31 AM - Kento || Do you need a hand with anything?

Friday 9:58 AM - Kento || I’m getting concerned. Please reply to something to let me know you’re alright.

Friday 10:04 AM - Kento || Please answer my calls. Send me a text. Something to let me know you’re okay.

Friday 10:13 AM - Kento || That’s it. I’m on my way.

Oh, fuck.

Your eyes flicker up to the time. 10:28 AM. If he’s walking from campus, chances are he’ll be at your door at any second. You would think that would be the push you need to get out of bed, but you can’t physically bring yourself to do so. Somehow, sitting and staring at the ceiling feels like the better option here.

Well, no. It doesn’t. But no amount of willpower will move your body from the blankets that envelop you in a warm hug. They’re the closest thing you have to comfort when your eyes burn and your throat’s dry from the amount of tears cried the previous night.

That’s not even beginning to mention the onset of the headache beginning to hammer at your brain.

Unfortunately, the comfort doesn’t last long when there’s a knock at your door in time with the pounding of your head. Kento’s muffled but familiar voice calls your name, but all you can do is stare at the ceiling.

You want to be alone. You don’t particularly feel like listening to Kento or Shoko’s ‘I told you so’ speech, or how either of them are going to teach Sukuna a lesson. It won’t ease your melancholy and it certainly won’t ease your guilt. That’s not to say you don’t appreciate the thought, but your bed is more appealing right now than being dragged to campus or out for a meal.

Another rap at the door. Another call of your name.

Still, you blankly stare at the ceiling, one arm draped over your middle clutching your phone. You feel bad, guilty, for ignoring Kento after he walked all this way in the cold, but you can pay him back later.

For now, you just need a day to yourself.

Unfortunately, Kento doesn’t seem to agree with you.

Your phone vibrates in your hand as it rings, Kento’s name flashing across the screen. You groan again, rolling onto your side as you hit the green button.

“Hello?” Your voice is raw, cracking at the end of the one word you manage to utter out.

“Hi. Did you receive my texts? I was worried when you didn’t reply, but you don’t sound well.”

Dragging your hands roughly across your features, you contemplate telling him you’re sick, but it doesn’t sit well in your gut to lie to your friend after ignoring him. “I did, sorry. I slept through my alarm.”

“I see.” You can vaguely hear his voice outside your door still, but you can’t bring yourself to move. “Are you sick?”

Yes. Yes. Yes. “No.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line before Kento seems to make up his mind. “Let me in. I know you’re inside.”

“It’s fine, I’ll get ready and-”

The tone he uses as he says your name has you throwing your head back against the pillow. It’s the kind of tone that mimics one your mother might have used on you as a child, and if this were anyone aside from Kento, you might have had more to say. Unfortunately, he’s a very convincing (and often relentless) man.

“Fine. One moment.”

Flipping onto your back again, you stare at the ceiling for a second longer, which turns into a minute longer, which turns into more knocks at the door and Kento’s muffled voice asking you to open the door. With a final forlorn sigh, you manage to push yourself to your feet, find a hoodie to throw on over your fuzzy kitty cat shorts and tank top, and drag yourself over to the door.

Kento is standing just outside your apartment in beige slacks and a big forest green coat. His eyes scan your face, flickering down to the baggy hoodie that adorns your top, before he grimaces. It feels painfully like the equivalent of hearing ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’, without a word even being spoken.

Straightening, his expression goes neutral as he accepts your silent invitation to enter, immediately rooting around cupboards in your kitchen and pulling out two mugs. He continues his search, pulling out tea and setting your kettle to boil. When he’s satisfied with his work, he turns to lean his hip against the counter. The only hint you get of what’s going through his mind is a barely noticeable twitch of his brow as you’re glued in place to where he left you just inside the door.

“Um- you don’t have to do all that,” you make a meek attempt at stopping him, receiving only a raised brow in return.

“A little late for that, no?”

Your lips part as you evaluate the scene behind him, the kettle already beginning to boil, tea bags sitting in mugs. You chew on your lip, wincing at how raw it is under your teeth.

“So tell me,” he begins, arms crossed over his chest. “What has you sleeping through your alarm?”

The intonation behind his words briefly has you feeling like a child who’s been caught by their parents doing something bad. Sighing, you relent, languidly finding your way to the table shoved into the corner of the small apartment kitchen. Your face falls as you lean over the table, the photo definition of exhaustion.

“Sukuna and I got into a fight last night,” you admit.

Kento’s expression hardens, his jaw tightening as his sharp eyes narrow just enough to tell you he’s beyond mad. As the kettle whistles behind him, his movements are measured as he pours boiling water into each mug with a glance at his watch to allow them the perfect amount of time to steep.

“Milk and sugar?”

“Please,” you murmur, staring at the subtle shadow your fingers cast over the table as you tap them rhythmically across the wooden surface.

Kento moves evenly, his gaze drawn to the full mugs to ensure he doesn’t spill as he sets one in front of you, holding the other close to him as he pulls out a chair beside you for himself.

“I won’t force you to talk about the argument,” he begins in a measured tone, as though he needs a moment before addressing the subject to keep his frustrations at bay. “However, I would like to talk about how you’re feeling.” He swirls the small teaspoon in his mug, his eyes flickering up to meet yours.

The steam billowing from the mug in front of you draws your gaze, swirling and dissipating at your eye level.

“You’re too…” you search for a word, leaning on your hand, “perceptive,” you grumble, not particularly in the mood to talk about how you’re feeling either.

Kento’s lips twitch upwards just enough to let you know he heard you.

“I’m just tired, I think.”

Bringing his mug to his lips, Kento hums. He leaves the dialogue open for you to talk about what you want to, rather than pressing. He’s always been overly considerate in that way, even as kids.

Sliding your finger up the side of the mug and pulling it towards yourself, allowing the steam to soothe your pounding head, you sigh, finally relenting to Kento’s kindness.

“I’m just so frustrated. I put my all into our friendship, into helping him with everything and with the lawsuit, and he just-” you shake your head, waving a hand through the air. “He just turns everything into an argument, and he’s never willing to talk things through.” You drag a hand over your face, pressing your fingers hard into your temple in an attempt to will away your headache.

Despite the obvious tension riddling his muscles, Kento remains calm and steady. “No one can blame you for being frustrated with him,” he agrees, taking another sip of his tea in order to keep his less pleasant opinions on Sukuna to himself. “Not everyone grew up with my mother breathing down their neck, after all,” he chuckles mostly to himself, a memory popping into his mind of his psychiatrist of a mother scolding you for not telling Kento how you felt when he ate the last piece of your birthday cake one year.

Of course, you were both barely seven, and the argument was over cake, completely inconsequential. Yet, you’d still both learned a very valuable lesson. Not necessarily from the single incident, but his mother had a certain way of scolding both of you and Yu, that had the three of you growing up extremely in tune with your own emotions and your capability of discussing them.

“Your mom’s an angel,” you mumble with a small smile.

Humming in agreement, Kento nods. “She is. My perspective, however, is that Sukuna didn’t have the privilege of growing up with someone like her.” For someone so blatantly angry with Sukuna’s treatment of you, he’s shockingly reasonable as you discuss your frustrations. “I may not know much about him, but I would be willing to wager a guess that he finds it difficult to discuss how he’s feeling.”

“I could have told you that.”

Kento cocks a brow at your sassy reply. “My point,” he continues, “is that some people are not worth your time. It may be worth thinking about whether he is.”

There’s his anger.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” you shrug, blowing on your tea.

“The argument was that serious?”

You drum your fingers over the side of the mug. “I told him he wasted his last chance with me.”

“I see,” he pauses, considering his words carefully. “I’m glad you stood up for yourself,” he speaks in a very genuine tone, “but you don’t seem happy about the outcome.”

You let the silence hang over you both for a moment, finally taking a sip of your tea. You would have put more milk, but it’s still nice.

You mull over Nanami’s words. No, you’re not happy. You’re not happy that you cried through the night, or that you’re upset over Sukuna’s cutting words. But worst of all, you’re not happy that he chose to waste his last chance with you.

He’d been so certain it wouldn’t happen again, yet things are never so simple with him, are they? There’s always a way he can dig himself further underground, to drown in his own sorrows.

So why are you harboring guilt so wholeheartedly alongside the hurt? Why are you allowing him the satisfaction of hurting you and feeling the culpability of your own actions when you tried to fix things on the spot?

Why do you still feel the urge to go back and check on him?

Why are you crying again?

Your eyes are hot with tears as you find yourself using the back of your hand to wipe your cheeks.

Kento offers a reassuring hand on your upper arm, giving it a gentle rub with his thumb. “You can lean on me, if you need.”

“I’m okay,” you manage, sniffling once as you force what may be the least convincing smile your blonde friend has ever seen.

“I’d beg to differ,” he frowns, giving your arm a light squeeze as he sighs. “It’s okay to be down,” he reminds you with a genuine look of sympathy as his anger towards Sukuna dissipating in place of his concern for you.

Your lip quirks up slightly at his words. You’d only just spoken that exact sentiment to Choso not that long ago, now it was being used against you like cruel irony. You suppose it makes sense the phrase would have come from Nanami, or more specifically his mom.

“You’re right, I know,” you relent, leaning forward on your palm with your elbow bent against the table. You can’t deny your own words, you know you should talk to Kento, even if it isn’t easy to do so. Your eyes flicker to the woven bracelets that slide down your wrist that you don’t have the heart to cut off as you contemplate what you want to say.

Your mouth opens and closes a number of times before you compose yourself, sitting upright and facing your friend. His aloof expression remains intact as you open and close your mouth a number of times before finally managing to spit something out.

“Can I tell you something?”

He nods.

“We kissed. Right before finals, last semester,” you begin, chewing on your raw lip with a subtle wince at the hot pain that shoots through it. Nanami nods in acknowledgement, refraining from passing judgement. “Then, at Satoru’s party, the one that you missed when you headed back home, he rejected me… I guess.” Saying it aloud feels somehow surreal, as though considering the kiss (if it could even be called just a kiss) nothing more than a passing craving is a criminal offence.

But at the end of the day, he called it a mistake. He backtracked and picked up the pieces and made it clear that he wants you in his life, but not like that.

Wanted you in his life.

Wanted.

Rubbing your hands harshly over your features in an effort to quell the tears that seem to relentlessly trail down the soft skin of your cheeks, you suck in a sharp breath and continue. “And that’s fine, I was okay with just being his friend,” you whisper, your voice betraying your anguish. “But even though he rejected me and I knew nothing would happen, I still fell in love with him.”

The floodgates absolutely shatter in that moment, a mess of salty tears and barely contained sobs falling from you. The admission carries so much weight, yet voicing it doesn’t lift the burden from your heart. Rather, the air around you seems heavy in comparison to only a moment ago.

Kento frowns, sliding his chair closer to you to allow him to draw you into his side. He’s always been particularly good at comfort, for someone so stoic. “I know,” he sighs, a gentle hand rubbing your shoulder. “I think everyone at our table knows apart from you and him.”

“Don’t tell me that,” you sniffle, “that just makes this all more embarrassing,” you mumble with a sad chuckle.

Kento hums, a tinge of humor surrounding the sound. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You can’t help who you fall for.” He pats your shoulder reassuringly, pulling back to sit in his own seat as he shoots you an earnest look. “Why don’t you spend the weekend relaxing? You can return to your studies on Monday,” he suggests, changing the subject as you wipe the remnants of tears from your eyes. “I can drop some dinner off after class, if you’d like the company.”

It sounds nice, it really does.

But thinking about Sukuna has you realizing that you have a test in a few hours that you can’t afford to miss.

Life stops for no one.

Not even the heartbroken girl who’s entirely too sweet for her own good.

“That’s alright,” you shoot him a wry smile, “I need to get to my afternoon class. I have an exam.”

“Less than ideal timing,” Kento scowls. His expression mirrors one you’ve seen on his mother’s face before, back when you were children.

“Stop assessing me,” you scold him. “You aren’t even in Psych.”

Kento chuckles quietly, caught. “Sorry,” he apologizes, checking the time. “In that case, why don’t we head to campus together? We can grab something to eat on the way.”

“Sure, that sounds nice. Will you be okay to wait while I get ready?” You query with a small tilt of your head.

“I’m sure I can find something to do,” he assures you.

Your chair slides across the floor as you get to your feet, beginning your morning routine a few hours later than usual.

By the time you’ve managed to pull yourself together as best as your motivation will allow, you find yourself staring at the mirror, letting out a long sigh. You’ve done your best to cover up the remnants of the many hours of tears that were cried, but foundation and concealer only goes so far, and you can’t bring yourself to do any more makeup. Your limbs are simply too heavy to be bothered. Your outfit isn’t exactly doing you any favors to hide your mental state either, a pair of sweatpants adorning your lower half while a pale pink oversized hoodie hangs loosely over your shoulders.

It’ll have to do. 

It’s not until you arrive at the lunch hall that you realize that your appearance might seem a bit out of place to the rest of the table. Still, you assure them as many times as you can that you’re just tired. It’s true, but it’s hard to keep the facade up when even Toji is shooting you the occasional look as though ‘Sukuna broke my heart’ is tattooed across your forehead.

You even debate going to check at one point, but Kento assures you that everything is fine, offering to walk you to your class. He beckons Shoko along with him, who practically has an outburst as soon as you’re out in the chilly air on your way to the lecture hall.

“I’ll kick his ass. I’m gonna make him wish he never even met you. I’ll-”

“Stop! Stop. Please,” you plead with wide eyes. You appreciate her zealousness, but if you have to hear another threat to Sukuna’s balls from her, you think you may just need to rip your ears off. “Is it that obvious?” You pout, though the humor you try to lace into the expression gets lost along the way.

Shoko’s shoulders fall as she pulls you in for a hug. “I’m sorry,” she says softly, both as an apology for coming out the gates swinging and a show of sympathy. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll live,” you reply quietly with a tight-lipped smile, though she can’t see it as she holds you.

“Why don’t you stay at mine this weekend?”

“That’s okay, Sho,” you hum, pulling back with a heavy sigh. “I think I need some time.”

Shoko doesn’t seem convinced, shooting Nanami an uncertain look, but she nods regardless. “If you say so.” Her brow curls in thought as she pulls back from you. “Girls’ night tonight?” She resigns from the idea of the full weekend, still pushing for something, knowing you otherwise would likely waste away alone under the covers of your bed.

“I’m not really-”

“Actually, not up for discussion!” She decides, pointing a finger at you. “Meet me outside the research building, my lecture ends at three.” She then turns to Kento. “We’ll grab you from class once we’re both out.”

His brow raises. “For what?”

“Girls’ night.”

With a deep sigh, he presses his thumb to the crease between his brows. “I was under the impression that getting my nails done was a one-time thing.”

Shoko shoots him an innocent smile. “Nope. You’re in it for life now.”

“I’m thrilled,” he grimaces, though there’s a nearly imperceptible hint of warmth that swirls in his tawny irises. He turns his attention back towards you, motioning with his chin towards the building a few steps away. “Go ace your exam.”

“Thanks, Kento. Both of you,” you turn your attention to Shoko, hugging her again.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she smiles, “because this conversation isn’t over.” It comes across as a warning, but you’re grateful to have such supportive friends to fall back on.

Turning to your class, you’re relieved they can’t see the frown that pulls your lips down immediately as you’re faced with thoughts that Sukuna likely doesn’t have anyone to lean on. Maybe Uraume, but they didn’t seem to know what had happened as far as you could tell at lunch.

You can only hope the fallout of the argument isn’t as dire on him as it has been on you. Unfortunately, that hope fizzles out when you enter the lecture hall and find the seat beside yours empty.

As the professor passes the exam out to the students around the hall, slowly making her way up to your seat, you find dread settling in the pit of your stomach. Sukuna’s failed. He’s not here, and you know he’s not coming. No matter what happened between you and no matter the fact that you know you need to let go, you can’t help but worry.

It’s just who you are.

You swallow hard at the sympathetic look your professor gives you as she hands your test to you.

You want to tell her you tried.

Yet somehow, it all feels fruitless. There’s no point. It doesn’t matter anymore.

You need to focus on your test.

–

Fiddling with the colored twine wrapped around your wrist, you stare out into the crowd in front of you. Your vision blurs at the edges, the bright colors of different clothes all seeming to blend as you stare mindlessly out at the sweaty bodies making rounds of Satoru’s frat house.

The bass of whatever party playlist your friend’s thrown on surrounds you, and yet you can hardly hear it over the ringing in your ears.

How many times had you nodded when Satoru asked if you wanted another drink? Six? Seven? More?

Your attention turns down to the red cup in your hands as you find yourself staring at the vodka and sprite fizzing as you swirl it in the cup.

It may have been a couple of weeks, but between your less-than-ideal exam score in Literature History and the lingering heartbreak, drinking away the pain had seemed like the best course of action for the night. The key word being had. Now, looking out into the crowd with more than a buzz and your mind filled with static, you’re starting to regret that decision.

You thought you would forget. Forget and party, maybe kiss some hot frat boy and pretend everything with Sukuna had all been a bad dream, but that wasn’t the case at all.

Instead, you’d embarrassed yourself in front of Suguru by spilling every single detail about your kiss with Sukuna, leaving the poor man shocked and concerned for you, only to excuse yourself to get another drink. Now, plopped down on the couch with a heart that aches, you contemplate just grabbing a cab and going home. You’re not even sure how late it is, or how long you’ve been here, but sitting alone on the couch in front of the dancefloor feels… well, pathetic.

Throwing your head back on the cushion, you head to the kitchen and dump your drink down the sink. Satoru can afford it, and your mind and heart sure as hell can’t.

You turn your blurry vision back to the crowd, chewing on your lip as you search for Shoko, Satoru, Suguru… Even Toji, Uraume, or Atsuya, who you had spotted earlier.

Anything to distract you from the horribly lonely thoughts.

Of all the things that the heartbreak of leaving Sukuna’s apartment that night had caused, you never imagined that loneliness would tug at you so strongly. You spent every moment of spare time with Sukuna, Yuji and Choso, and now… your spare time feels empty. Movies, music, books, TV, it’s all little more than a distraction.

Still, the time away from the man in question had allowed you an opportunity to pick up pieces of yourself you hadn’t even realized were spilled across the floor like dried paint. Impossible to fully pick up, but mostly wiped away. You’d needed to fill the pieces in with new ones. They didn’t fit quite right, they weren’t… Well, there’s no need to think about him. Even if the pieces aren’t moulded quite correctly and leave behind cracks, you’re healing.

It’s what you told yourself anyway. That your new friendships with Toji, Atsuya and Uraume could fill the gaps eventually if you allowed yourself to nurture them.

But at the end of the day, it all connects back to him. If it were a normal day, you would have been satisfied with those new friendships.

But you’re drunk. And everyone looks like Sukuna if you squint too hard.

“My bad, are you alright?” a familiar voice rings out in the air around you as the fridge door accidentally knocks into your side, pulling you from your thoughts. You stumble forward, catching yourself on the kitchen counter.

“Hiromi,” you blink in surprise at the sight of the law student, his attire a complete one-eighty from the last time you came across him with-

Fuck.

Shaking your head, you shoot him a smile. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.” You swallow hard, crossing your arms over your chest to push down stray thoughts of a certain salmon-haired man.

“How’ve you been?” He queries, leaning back against the stainless steel fridge once it shuts and he’s got a drink in his hand.

“Not too bad,” you lie steadily, your hands suddenly feeling empty without the comfort of a drink.

Maybe you should have kept the cup.

“How’re you?” You bounce the question back at him, surprised when your words come out slurred. Are you really that drunk?

“Good, good. Getting as ready as I can for midterms,” he smiles, his sunken eyes crinkling at the corners as he exchanges niceties with you. You can see how he’s friends with Kento, they share a certain sense of warmth and openness that you’re sure makes it easy for them to get along with anyone.

“Me too,” you nod. “But S’toru loves to drag us out to parties,” you chuckle wryly.

Hiromi nods in acknowledgment. “Sounds right from what I know of the guy. How’s Sukuna? Everything going alright with the, uh, lawsuit?”

Based on the way Hiromi blinks in confusion, you must blanche. Or maybe it’s the way you go silent. Or the way your face falls.

What does it matter?

Regardless, Hiromi stands up straight, running a hand through his disheveled hair. A stray strand falls over his forehead as he takes a step towards you. “Shit, I didn’t mean to, uh-” he pauses, glancing around uncertainly. “I didn’t know it was a touchy subject, I’m sorry.”

You swallow down your emotions, forcing a brave face and a tight-lipped smile. At least you aren’t crying. “It’s fine, you didn’ know.”

His lips part, but he doesn’t seem too sure of what to say.

“It was good t’ see you,” you offer him an out, but to your shock he doesn’t take it. He would be like Nanami in that way.

“I’m, uh, heading to sit with Kento if you wanted to join me,” he dismisses your offer, tilting his chin in the direction of the front door. “He’s by the stairs.”

“He’s here?”

Hiromi’s shoulders relax as he nods.

“That’d be great.”

Squeezing through the crowd of sweaty bodies that reek of alcohol and weed- though you probably do too- you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the stairs come into sight. Sure enough, your blonde friend’s familiar face turns to you and Hiromi. He’s still in his usual button-down with pale beige slacks, but the sleeves are rolled up past his elbows and he seems at ease.

At the sight of an approaching person, Kento’s attention shifts, flickering between Hiromi and you.

“Look who I found,” Hiromi smiles, plopping down on the stairs.

Your name slips past Kento’s lips as a greeting.

“Hey, Kento,” you put your best effort into the smile, taking a seat beside him on the stairs. He’s sitting next to a woman you don’t recognize, though based on how Hiromi immediately launches into conversation with her, you assume they’re friends. “‘M surprised you’re here.”

The blonde motions to his formal outfit, too dressed up for a party. “As am I,” he concurs. “Yu dragged me here, then disappeared.”

Although this isn’t his scene, Kento usually shows up to Satoru’s parties regardless, and keeps mostly to himself and your group. He’s made it clear he isn’t a fan, and he’s not particularly close to Satoru as far as your group goes, finding his boisterous personality mildly irritating, however he’s happy to look out for his friends while they’re drinking.

“At least y’ found Hiromi,” you point out, to which Kento nods.

“I still would prefer to be studying,” he sighs, bringing a hand up to scratch his chin. His eyes are still sharp, hardly dulled by the meager amount of alcohol in his system. Beer and coolers aren’t exactly his forté, and he’s not about to bring whiskey to a frat party. In fact, you wouldn’t be shocked if all he’d had to this point was a sip.

“May as well enjoy it now th’t you’re here,” you offer a smile, shrugging. “Satoru n’ Suguru were playing beer pong last time I saw ‘em, and Shoko n’ Uraume are in the back corner talking to some o’ their classmates.”

Kento hums, staring blankly at the beige wall ahead of the stairs. “And you?”

“What ‘bout me?”

“Why aren’t you with either of them?” He asks, turning to face you.

You blink a couple of times, before absently shrugging. “Jus’ needed some space, I guess.”

Kento examines your expression for a moment too long, and even in your haze of drunkenness, it sends a shiver down your spine. He grimaces finally, his brows pulled together in concern.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

He scowls harder.

“Drunk, and fine.”

Recognition of your half-lie flashes through his eyes.

Too drunk to remember you have makeup on, you rub at your eyes with your thumb and pointer finger, sighing. “I’m jus’ more drunk than I thought. But fine, really.”

Kento sighs, abandoning his drink with Hiromi as he pushes to his feet. “Come on,” he urges you, pulling you to your feet alongside him. The amount you rely on him to pull you up surprises even you as he keeps you steady while he searches for Shoko. He threads through the dancefloor, leading your unsteady gait past the beer pong tables as Suguru sinks a ball in your journalism classmate’s cup, met with the cheers of the surrounding crowd. In your haze, you barely notice the kitchen and living room all coming into sight, until Kento brings you to a halt behind the beer pong tables at the back of the living room.

With lidded eyes, you survey your surroundings. Discarded bottles of beer and coolers lay across the floor and the back of the couch, which Toji is lounging in. He yawns, taking another sip of his beer as his emerald eyes flicker up to you. His lips twitch up into a smirk as he catches your eye.

“You a lil’ tipsy?” He queries.

You only manage a nod before Kento is gently setting you down between Toji and Uraume. You can scarcely hear the blonde over the pumping bass of the pop music blaring through the speakers, but at the sound of your name, you tune in.

“I’m taking her out- would you like to join?”

Shoko shakes her head, her attention trained on a brunette with a scar over the side of her face.

“Shit, are you goin’ for food?”

Kento’s brow raises as he turns to Toji and nods. “That was my plan.”

“Fuck, count me in. Satoru’s got this place stocked like he’s never made a fuckin’ dime.”

“Ouch?” The man in question feigns a shot to the heart dramatically as he steps through the crowd, shooting Toji a look.

“Don’t act like a fuckin’ Snickers bar wasn’t your dinner,” Toji scoffs, the scar at the corner of his lip pulled taut.

“It was a good dinner,” he shrugs.

“This is why ya can’t handle your alcohol.”

Before you know it, the four of you are all piling into Kento’s tiny silver Honda Civic, possibly the strangest group of four all piled into a car. A business major, football player, frat boy, and literature major, two of whom you’re certain annoy Kento, but parties may just bother him more.

“Shouldn’t you be looking after your own party, Gojo?” Kento shoots him a glare through the rearview mirror as the white-haired man lets out a loud belch.

“Nah, the frat’s got it covered,” he dismisses his friend before grimacing in your direction. “And my bedroom door is locked, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

The meaning behind his words passes completely over your head as you stare out the window, ignoring the two men in the back.

“Where’re you takin’ us, anyway?” Toji asks, leaning so far into his chair that his knees continually hit the back of your seat.

“Denny’s.”

“Fuck yeah.”

Satoru and Toji make steady conversation in the back of the car until you pull into the parking lot of the nearest Denny’s. Kento makes his way around the car to help you, sighing as you brush him off and trail very slowly after him, staring up at the dimly-lit diner sign as though you’ve never seen it before.

Your group follows the waitress to a table, where you stare at the menu, but it’s all a blur. Your eyes are trained on a photo of a waffle covered in chocolate syrup and it’s at this point that you realize that it’s not just the menu, but most of the night that’s a blur.

In fact, you know you just got here, and you hardly remember a thing.

Shouldn’t you be happy? You’re a happy drunk.

Instead, it feels as though you’re wading through your own misery, hardly keeping afloat.

“Do you know what you want?” Kento nudges you as the waitress makes her way over to you.

You shake your head no, wobbling slightly.

His brow furrows as he examines you. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you dismiss him again, but now even Toji and Satoru are staring your way.

“Lemme guess,” Toji starts, leaning forward over the table on his forearms. “Sukuna.”

You’d managed to keep the fight with Sukuna under wraps for the last couple of weeks, only by studying during lunch and excusing yourself before anyone could ask about him, but now it seemed there was no escaping it.

“Not the time, Toji,” Kento warns with a sharp glare, before asking the waitress for water for the table and a few more minutes to look at the menu.

“It’s fine,” you shrug. “Yeah, it’s Sukuna,” you tell the raven-haired football player.

“Shit, ‘course it is,” Toji snorts, though he’s not shocked. “I’ll kick his ass for you.”

“You really don’t-”

“I knew he’d pull some shit,” Satoru interrupts, waving a hand dramatically through the air. “Toji and I’ll-”

“No no nonono-” you wave your hands in front of the table to get their attention. “Just- leave ‘im be. We both made mistakes. I’ll be fine.”

“You’ve been saying that word a lot lately. Fine. Yet you don’t seem it,” Kento points out, and you’re surprised even he’s jumping on the train to kick Sukuna’s ass, in his own subtle way.

“Yeah, well-” you pause, watching as the waitress sets water before each of you. With a haphazard swirl of the glass in front of you, you shrug. “I thought the alcohol would help.”

“Alcohol is a depressant,” Kento points out in typical fashion, earning deadpan glares from not only you, but Toji, and Satoru as well.

“Lighten up, Nanamin, let the girl drink.” Satoru gives your glass a tap from across the table with a drunken grin, taking a sip as though it isn’t water. Kento grimaces at your side, but remains quiet. “You don’t need that asshole,” Satoru continues, swinging his hand through the air again as though he might just hit Sukuna. “You’ve got us, and we’re gonna haaaaaave-” He pauses, his finger skimming across the laminated menu in his hand. “Cinnamon roll pancakes à la carte.”

“Maybe you are,” Toji snorts, shaking his head. He opens his mouth to voice his order, but Satoru’s already pulling the menus from all of your hands as the waitress approaches again.

“Nah, listen. The secret to getting over some asshole issss-” He waits for the waitress to return, shooting her a kind smile. “Four cookies n’ cream milkshakes, and four stacks of cinnamon bun pancakes. À la carte. Please,” he grins, using that sultry sweet smile he’s perfected that has you giggling at the disdain on both Kento and Toji’s faces.

To your surprise, it turns out the cure to heartbreak is a stack of cinnamon bun pancakes tall enough to make you puke. Or maybe that feeling is from the alcohol you had entirely too much of. Either way, you find yourself forgetting about him and focusing on now. The people who show up when you’re down, even if Satoru and Toji are only here at the mention of food.

But as you find yourself laughing and really, truly, enjoying yourself, your heart feels warm and the cracks left behind by Sukuna begin to heal. They’ll leave behind jagged scars in the form of him and his little brothers, a point in your life that you’re still fond of, and you think you always will be. You don’t regret what you did for any of them, the proof of that still tied around your wrist, but you do wish you could at least have apologized properly for hurting him.

The worst part of all may be that you’re not sure if those scars will ever fade. The love you felt- feel- for him, is beyond what you’ve ever felt before. The way he showed his care may have been unconventional, but it worked for you. Maybe it was the knowledge that no one got to understand Sukuna quite like you, that he let himself be vulnerable around you and taught you about yourself, your kindness, and your mind like no one else could. It brought out a part of you that you’re proud to continue to nurture, even if that means the scars remain.

Still, even if only for a night, the hurt fades as you laugh along with what might be the strangest group of four you could make up out of your friends.

Maybe locking yourself up and watching sad movies had been a bigger mistake than you thought.

–

With wide, bright eyes, you make your way into the office on the first Tuesday of March. The office may as well be on fire given the state you find it in, paperwork scattered across every desk in sight and half of the staff seem to be running around like chickens with their heads cut off.

“What…?”

Before you have time to question the chaos of the office, the editor who you’d been shadowing stops at the sight of you. Her blonde hair nearly reaches her waist, her tall stance hunched and tired as though she’s been spread thin all day.

“Yuki, what’s going on?” You query, your brow pulled together.

“Ayana disappeared,” she explains with a sigh. You tilt your head, certain the company’s graphic designer is just sick, or- “And no one’s been able to get a hold of her for over a week now. We’ve got seven novels without covers all from one company, and if we can’t provide soon, we’ll lose our biggest client-”

“Why don’t we just outsource?” You shake your head, interrupting her rambling.

“Girl, I wish. I’ve suggested it like- seven times. I guess we ‘can’t’.” Her use of finger quotations around the word ‘can’t’ has you pursing your lips in confusion.

“And why ‘can’t’ we, exactly?” You mirror her actions.

She groans dramatically, throwing her head back. “It’s a company policy or some shit, I don’t know.”

“I mean, we have a design course at the university, I’m sure I could-”

“Oh my god, please. We need someone hired like yesterday, and the boss is seriously dragging her feet. If you could get someone here who can start right away, you’d be a life-saver.” She grabs you by the shoulders, giving you a small shake to get her point across.

“Yeah, I can try to pull some strings tomorrow,” you grin.

As it would turn out, two of the seven novels were ones you shadowed Yuki on, and one was the first novel you worked on by yourself. Which is to say, you would have nothing to show for your entire internship if things fell through with this client.

So basically, you had until Thursday to get someone in, because the client was getting impatient of the excuses being thrown their way.

You’d asked your friends at lunch if they knew anyone and even skipped class on Wednesday afternoon in an effort to talk to as many of the professors that even slightly suited the industry as you could, building up a small page of potential student and graduate contacts.

Three didn’t reply. Four were too busy to take on seven covers in the span of a couple of days. Nine couldn’t start for two weeks and even then, they would need to weigh their options.

There’s one other person who occurs to you, but that can’t be your last option, right?

Sitting and staring at your laptop, you dial Shoko’s number.

“Don’t kill me,” you start when she picks up, tapping your fingers on your desk as you put your phone on speaker.

“Should I want to?” She asks, and you can practically hear her raised brow.

“So, you know how our graphic designer left?”

“Yeah, the girl who cooks bacon in the break room,” her voice comes across the line filled with static, but you’re still able to make out her words.

“Yeah, that’s the one. So, I guess she disappeared last week and we’re behind on seven covers.”

“Right, so outsource.”

Ugh. “That’s what I said! I guess it’s against policy, we have a strict rule of everything being done locally.”

“Okayyyy… So outsource locally.”

You groan, leaning over your desk. The seconds tick by in silence before you finally raise your head again. “Did you happen to meet any artists in the last five hours?”

“Can’t say I did,” she laughs. “Sorry.”

The line goes silent as you contemplate telling her your thoughts, but she beats you to it.

“So, why am I killing you anyway?”

“I know an artist,” you tell her.

“Well shit, why didn’t you just start with them?”

You tap your fingers across your desk rhythmically. So loudly in fact, that you’re almost certain that she can hear the motion.

Her tone drops to a more serious one and you can see the warnings written across her face, even over the phone.

“No. Fuck, no. You just got over him.”

“Do I have a choice, Sho?” You lean on your elbow, continuing to tap mindlessly on the desk.

“What do you-? Yes, he doesn’t deserve the chance.”

“Maybe not, but what else am I supposed to do?”

“Shit, I don’t know, find someone on Fiverr?” She suggests.

You groan into the sleeve of your hoodie. “I tried.”

“You’re cooked if you already tried that,” she sighs. “Can’t you just let these covers fall through? What’s the big deal?”

You explain the situation, to which Shoko only manages a meager ‘oh’, and is forced to listen to you groaning over her phone’s speaker again.

“So, would you kill me?”

“No, but Kento will.”

“I knowww,” you grumble, but what choice are you left with? Unless someone else pulled through, you’re out of options. Silence hangs between you, although you know Shoko’s still there when you hear shuffling. “I don’t believe in fate, but if I did,” you hold up your pinky as though your best friend can see it. “Sukuna and I are tied together.”

“I don’t like that analogy,” she chuckles dryly. “It’s more like he’s a fly you can’t get to go away.”

“That’s just mean,” you grumble.

She chuckles dryly. “Don’t defend him.”

“It wasn’t just his fault this time,” you remind her.

“Maybe. But he had enough chances. This is just for work, yeah?” Though she’s inquiring, there’s an air of assurance to her words, as though she’s trying to get you to agree. Because that’s exactly what she’s doing.

“Just for work.”

Well, fuck.

Now you need to contact Sukuna.

–

There’s no emotion on Sukuna’s face as he watches his youngest brother take the most neon purple washable (hopefully) marker and color in between the tattoos he’s drawn on in black ink. He can’t blame the kid for getting bored, it’s too cold to play basketball and Sukuna’s hardly had time to draw something for him to color.

At least, that’s what he tells himself. It’s easier to admit than to say he’s spent too much time wallowing in self-pity to draw for his little brothers. He could only work a handful of times throughout the week, nearly full-time at the auto shop during school hours for his brothers, then evenings would be spent going over homework and projects, cooking, cleaning, entertaining the kids, getting them ready for bed… it’s an exhausting list, the more he thinks about it.

To think, you did it all without ever expecting anything in return. Just friendship. Those last words you spoke to him and the look on your teary-eyed face burned into the recesses of his brain.

It’s been so long since he’s seen you, and yet his days are so full that it feels like just yesterday.

Or maybe that’s just because the days seem to blend together for him. He can’t even recall the last time he was able to do something for himself. Art had taken a backburner, his diet bent to the will of two picky young kids, and his showers were scarcely as long as a commercial to cut back on water.

He supposes he’s been keeping up with his workout routine, but at this point he’s pretty sure if he stops, he’ll end up laid out on the bathroom floor again. His nightly workouts are the only thing keeping his sleep schedule in any semblance of working order, quite literally burning every last ounce of energy until he passes out.

You and Toji have gone radio-silent. Which makes sense, he didn’t expect anything less. Atsuya was never overly chatty with Sukuna one way or another and Uraume checks in and offers to watch his brothers, but like the grumpy brute that he is, he can’t bring himself to accept. He’s not sure whether that’s out of guilt or fear. Guilt towards how he treated you, and a fear that he may do the same to Uraume.

“Kunaaaaaa! You never listen!”

He blinks at the grating sound of Yuji practically in his ear, swatting at the boy with a grimace.

“Fuckin’ stop, I heard you,” he snarls, holding a hand over his ear at the close proximity of Yuji’s shrill cry.

“If you heard me, then what’d I say?”

Oh. So Sukuna didn’t hear him.

He lets out a long sigh. “Sorry, brat. What’d you say?”

“I said I’m not sleeping tonight.”

Sukuna’s brow raises. “What?”

“Becauuuuse the new Mario game comes out tonight!! At midnight!” Yuji happily proclaims.

Sukuna shoots a glance at Choso, who’s busy at the kitchen table typing away on Sukuna’s laptop for one of his classes. “So?” He asks as he turns his attention back to the endless supply of energy that is his brother. It’s not like they have any current gaming systems.

“So I need to stay up so I can watch it on YouTube!”

“Absolutely not,” Sukuna shuts down the idea, much to Yuji’s dismay as he whines, tugging on the burly man’s hoodie sleeve.

“PLEAAAAAAAASE!” Yuji pleads, tugging against Sukuna with as much of his body weight as the five-year-old can put into it. “Pleasepleasepleaseplease-”

“Enough!” Sukuna barks, shutting down Yuji’s pleas. “As soon as your brother finishes his homework, you’re both goin’ to bed.”

Yuji shoots Choso a pointed look, but the middle brother’s hardly paying attention, the act of working on his homework little more than mechanical. Sukuna knows that, because he thinks he fucked up.

Again.

His first meeting with the top lawyer Hiromi had recommended had taken place at the apartment the other day, at Sukuna’s request, for ease of looking after his brothers. Luckily she was sympathetic to his situation and agreed, discussing what would take place at the proceedings and what she needed from Sukuna aside from the documents he’d already provided. Sukuna had left out the portion where he’d gotten advice from a student, of course.

With the discussion, however, came the realization that Choso was hardly a room away during the discussion of the possibility of social workers conducting a house study. It wouldn’t be Sukuna’s first time having social workers in the house, but that’s exactly why he fears the way Choso’s personality has dulled again.

He’d gotten better. Sukuna isn’t sure exactly what you did, but life had flowed back into his brother’s world. It was gradual, just little moments of genuine happiness at first, before he caught Choso smiling at a bird on the walk home from school. Asking for help on assignments. Defending Yuji when Sukuna got a little too frustrated with the five-year-old.

And it all came crumbling down at once. He knew it had to do with the meeting with the lawyer, but it didn’t make it any easier. Yuji had noticed it too. Even now, as he stares at Choso, hoping the older Itadori will defend him, Choso hasn’t bothered to look up from his work. Whether he’s completely oblivious to his brothers watching him or simply can’t be bothered to care, Sukuna isn’t certain.

Most of the legal consultation would have flown over any kid’s head, even Choso’s, but social workers? That was a term Choso knew all too well. And if he had to pinpoint something that might have shut the dark-haired kid down, he figured that had to be it.

It didn’t matter how many years passed, Sukuna will never forget the way he failed Choso the day of their house study following the passing of their father. He relives it in his nightmares from time to time, serving as a constant reminder of his fuck-ups.

Sunlight filters through the frosted window behind the shower as Sukuna pushes his hair back from his forehead, slick with sweat. He holds himself up over the sink, washing his mouth out as best as he can and brushing his teeth.

The dark circles under his eyes may as well be shadows given how much weight he’d lost. He can’t keep food down long enough to gain any of his muscle mass back, he’d become little more than a shadow of his former self.

Balling his hand into a fist, he grits his teeth and pushes to his full height, staring at someone he doesn’t recognize. The man, barely more than a child himself, looking back at him wasn’t suited to look after kids. Yet he’d been forced to put in a petition to take guardianship when his father’s will had listed no one to look after the kids and their mother was absent.

Sukuna wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, swallowing hard and sucking in a deep breath. Yuji will wake up any second now. Choso will want breakfast. Sukuna will be forced to bend over backwards to satiate their needs, to take care of the two people who look the most like his late father and absent step-mother.

It’s a haunting feeling, to see those that are gone in people you care about.

It’s a feeling that Sukuna can’t escape, that grips him by the throat as he struggles to differentiate the people he loves from the people he’s lost.

Does that make him a sorry excuse for a guardian? Maybe. Does it make him a sorry excuse for a brother? Definitely.

He coughs into his elbow, wiping perspiration from his neck and washing his hands once more. It seems no matter how many times he washes them, he can’t escape the feeling that he’s a shitty brother. A shitty brother who can hardly bear to look at his brothers, as though everything that’s happened is their fault.

He resents himself for it, every minute of every day.

He’d give anything to bring their father back. He’d know what to do. He always did.

Sukuna lets out a breath as he pushes through the washroom door after throwing a plain black V-neck on over his head and a pair of beige joggers. He makes his way to the kitchen, pulling open the fridge door and staring blankly at the ingredients sitting within. Leftovers from- what? A week ago? Yogurt, eggs, a half-empty can of tuna that’s been there long enough that his nose is wrinkling just from opening the fridge and-

A bang from the other side of the house- a house filled with memories turned dreary, too big for the three current inhabitants- catches Sukuna’s attention. He shuts the fridge door with more force than intended, scowling as he languidly trudges across his father’s house. Pushing open the door, the Sukuna finds Choso in the kid’s bedroom, with the vacuum in pieces across the floor, the main compartment imploded in a cloud of dust that now litters the carpet.

It takes every ounce of self-control that Sukuna has left to keep his voice (mostly) even as he mutters “what’re you doing?”

Choso guiltily shuffles in place, avoiding Sukuna’s sharp crimson stare. “Trying to help,” he whispers, fiddling with his fingers.

Sukuna lets out a huff. “Well, don’t,” he grumbles, getting ready to turn away.

“But- the social workers-”

The- oh. Oh, fuck.

Clearing his throat, Sukuna turns back towards his little brother, a pained expression on his exhausted face. “Is that today?”

Choso nods.

Fuck. FUCK.

There’s no food in the house. The kitchen is a downright mess, Yuji could wake up in a mess of sobs that Sukuna hardly knows how to handle at any moment, the living room is piled high with laundry that Sukuna had the energy to wash but not fold, and now… Sukuna rubs his hands harshly down his face, peeking through his fingers only to stare at the dust.

What time are they coming? Did he even write it down? He can’t remember.

“When, uh-”

“Ten.”

Sukuna pulls his phone from his pocket. Nine.

Fuck.

“I cleaned Yuji and I’s rooms and shut dad’s-” Choso begins, getting down on his knees to start brushing up the dust from the collapsed vacuum as best as he can with his hands.

“Stop- stop,” Sukuna instructs, pulling his brother away from the pile of dust. “Go wash up.” He instructs, watching the little boy guiltily nod. How old is he? Nine? Sukuna doesn’t remember, but as the little boy jogs out of his room to wash his hands leaving Sukuna alone, another wave of nausea washes over him.

He could wretch at the mere mention of their father. He coughs, his throat raw and dry as he stares at the pile of dust.

His nine year old brother cleaned the damn house because Sukuna couldn’t. Sukuna couldn’t get his shit together enough to get the house in order for the social worker.

The pace that his chest rises and falls grows irregular as he stares at the dust, wasting time as the minutes pass by. He needs to do the laundry, the dishes-

He looks down at himself, at the V-neck that he’s pretty sure Yuji spit on. He doesn’t remember anymore. Did he wash this shirt? Was that another one that Yuji spit on? What’s the stain on his shoulder?

Stumbling out of Choso’s room, Sukuna heads to the kitchen in a manic blur, staring at all the dishes piling up in the sink and across the counter and table.

Maybe the laundry will be less daunting.

He makes his way to the living room, only to find that Choso has taken care of that too, everything is folded about as well as a nine-year-old can manage, an uneven stack of shirts sitting alongside Sukuna’s pants, though it looks like Choso and Yuji’s clothes have already been put away.

His chest tightens, like an anvil pressing its full weight on his ribs. He can’t breathe.

The door clicks as his brother leaves the washroom and Sukuna waits with shaking hands for his brother to leave. He can’t see Sukuna like this. Sukuna’s supposed to take care of him, why is it Choso that’s taking care of him? The kid’s hardly spoken a word to him since Jin’s passing, and yet he’s keeping track of the house study and making cereal for himself just so that Sukuna doesn’t have to. 

A nine-year-old shouldn’t have to step up. Especially not one who's just lost both parents. Hell, he may as well have lost his brother too, because Sukuna’s not sure he’s still the same man. One could hardly call Sukuna’s routine as of late ‘living’. Sukuna’s heard the kid crying long into the night, sobs muffled by his pillow and two walls, but he doesn’t know what to do anymore.

They cried together so long in the hospital that the shock of Choso’s mom not replying hit Sukuna in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

Sukuna’s hand trembles as he tries to shut the washroom door without alerting Choso. He collapses in front of the toilet, keeling over the bowl weakly. His hair sticks to his forehead again as he leans over, but there’s nothing left in his stomach to throw up.

He heaves and coughs, groaning as his throat stings with the effort. Leaning back, he stares at the ceiling. What had he become? How had things gotten to this point?

Sukuna had goals, he had hopes and dreams, and now they’d been crushed in favor of keeping two kids alive.

Could he even hope to make them happy when he was struggling just to keep them fed?

Hell, he’s struggling to keep himself fed lately.

He was nearly out of money already after the cost of lawyers and the funeral, he needed to get a job. But how was he meant to do that if he couldn’t even put laundry away?

He pulls his phone out, his thumb swiping through apps as if on auto-pilot, clicking on contacts, swiping through letters until he reaches ‘J’. His thumb clicks on instinct and he holds it up to his ear. It rings once, twice, three times. On the fifth, he reaches an answering machine.

“Hey, it’s Jin! Thanks for giving me a call, I’m not around right now but please leave a message!” Followed shortly by a mechanical “this user’s mailbox is full”. The call cuts out and the salmon-haired man pauses for a moment before he leans forward on his knees.

How is he meant to do this? Was this really what his dad wanted for him? No, he can’t think like that. Sukuna grits his teeth, his cheeks hot with tears. He’d left so many messages that will forever go unanswered. With one hand gripping his phone with white knuckles and another buried in his sweat-laden hair, he sits there for longer than he can afford, waiting for his body to relax enough to catch his breath. That time never comes, his chest remaining tight, but he can’t afford to sit here any longer.

Nine thirty.

He pushes himself up off the floor, flipping his head back to keep his hair from his face, and pushes out of the washroom once more this morning. The door slams on its hinges as he rushes into the kitchen, shaky hands moving clean dishes from the dishwasher and into cabinets. Every movement is on instinct, nothing done deliberately as he struggles to keep himself in the right mind for a house study.

How the fuck is he supposed to pass?

“Kuna? I- I found a broom, I’m gonna-”

Choso jumps as Sukuna’s thrown off by his brother’s voice, a plate colliding with the counter and shattering across the ground.

“Fuck!” Sukuna barks, staring down at his hands. A shard of ceramic is embedded into the heel of his left palm, blood seeping out around it. He stares down at the mess at his feet, gripping the counter with his right hand to steady himself.

“Kuna? Are you okay?” Choso asks weakly, his voice hoarse from a lack of use.

“Yeah, uh-” Sukuna can’t bear to look at his brother, his gaze glued to the blood that pools in his palm. “The broom. Can you bring it here? Just- just stay away from the glass.”

The sound of light footsteps gradually fades and Sukuna carefully maneuvers around the mess to the sink, shakily dislodging the ceramic from his skin. Flipping the sink on, he watches the crimson pour into the sink as he runs his hand under warm water, reaching blindly to the drawer that should have bandages. He pulls them out, fumbling with the packaging and settling the bandage over his palm.

Carefully moving away from the glass, he slips on shoes and waits for his brother to drag the broom over. Choso watches as he sweeps up the remaining pieces of the plate, before the boy busies himself with moving the piles of clothing on the couch into Sukuna’s room now that he knows his brother is awake. Spotting movement out of the corner of his eye, Sukuna’s head whips around to Choso.

“Stop. I can handle it.”

Choso pauses, examining Sukuna silently. “I can help-”

“No!” Sukuna growls, dumping the dust pan of shards into the trash before flipping to face Choso. “I can handle it. It’s- It’s not your job.”

Choso’s lips purse as he evaluates Sukuna’s words. He doesn’t believe his older brother.

Is that really the world Sukuna lives in? That his younger brother feels the need to take care of him?

Is he that much of a mess?

Sukuna wipes perspiration from his forehead with the back of his arm, turning back to the dishes and moving quickly to feign being alright.

He just has to make it through the day.

Yuji’s cries blare very suddenly through the house, piercing Sukuna’s ears and he grits his teeth.

He just has to make it through the day.

Setting down a clean plate, he’s in Yuji’s nursery before he can even process what’s happening. He stares blankly for a moment at the crying baby, sharply inhaling. The spitting image of his father. Reaching out, he pulls the child carefully into his arms.

“Stop crying, Yu,” Sukuna mutters softly, staring blankly at the crib and patting the child’s back. It’s his best attempt at comfort in his current state. “Please stop crying,” he begs, feeling his eyes burn himself.

He probably needs food, right? Sukuna can manage that, he thinks. There’s still eggs. He knows Yuji likes scrambled eggs.

The child continues to cry even as Sukuna bounces a little more dramatically as he walks to try to soothe the child. He swallows down any semblance of uncertainty as he makes his way back to the kitchen.

Even as Yuji cries, Sukuna’s gait stutters at the entry to the kitchen, where Choso has snuck back in to continue cleaning the dishes. The oldest brother’s jaw trembles as he inhales slowly, his mind blank. Has Choso been taking care of chores this often? Has he not even noticed?

His eyes are hot and he averts his gaze. He doesn’t have time to fight with Choso.

Setting the baby in his high-chair, Sukuna moves quickly to open the fridge and pull out the eggs.

Egg.

There’s one egg.

He shoots a glance at Choso, who’s shutting the dishwasher beside him.

Choso can have something else, right?

Yeah, cereal. Right.

He pulls out milk alongside the egg, his jaw going slack as he reads the date. It expired today. Surely it’s still alright, right?

Unscrewing the cap, he holds the carton up to his nose and it wrinkles, his lip curling in disgust.

Okay. That’s fine.

He dumps out the rest in the sink.

Yogurt. He can have… yogurt.

What a sorry excuse for a meal. What a sorry excuse for a guardian.

Sukuna stands silently for a moment, contemplating his decisions. Maybe the kids would be better off without him. Maybe they would be better off in the foster system with a pair of adults who can take care of them. Someone equipped for this.

But what if they got separated? What if-

“I can have, um, chicken fingers,” Choso mumbles as he comes up behind Sukuna.

Sukuna swipes his tongue over his lips, opening the freezer. It’s more full than the fridge. That’s an alright option. He pulls them out, beginning to prepare food for both kids as Yuji continues bawling in his chair.

“Give your brother some yogurt while I cook,” Sukuna mumbles, passing the container off to Choso, who nods.

To Sukuna’s relief, the child sniffles and stops crying as Choso quietly spoons yogurt straight from the container. Facing the frying pan with the egg in it, Sukuna shuts his eyes in relief at the silence, a semblance of control returning, even if only for a second.

He casts a glance at the stove. Nine fifty seven. Three minutes.

Finishing up cooking and slipping the chicken into the oven, he sets a small plate on the table, sitting alongside Yuji and blowing on the scrambled eggs to ensure they aren’t too hot. He spoons it into the bumbling child’s mouth, only to sigh when there’s a knock at the door.

Sukuna is so grossly underprepared for this house study. He knows it’s standard procedure in cases like this, just court-ordered motions, but in truth, Sukuna doesn’t think he deserves to be a guardian to either of the kids.

The question of whether he wants this has been rattling around in his head so frequently that he feels a constant guilt. Because he doesn’t. He loves his brothers, of course he does, there’s no question in that. But he doesn’t want this. He’s never wanted this.

Standing in front of the door, he sucks in a breath and puts on his best attempt at a mild expression, leaving a hand over his shoulder to cover the stain that he’s fairly sure is spit from Yuji. Or worse. He doesn’t want to think about it.

A man with short salt-and-pepper graying hair stands outside the door in a nice, long black coat. He wears a pair of deep blue slacks and a white button-up beneath. His pale blue eyes slide along the length of Sukuna’s jaw, silently evaluating his face tattoos.

Is that strike one before he’s even said hello?

Still, the man extends his hand with a carefully mediated smile. He introduces himself as the social worker for Sukuna’s case, goes over the purpose of the visit, and requests access to the home for his evaluation. Sukuna swallows hard and moves aside, letting the man in.

He’s quick to run his evaluating gaze around the front entryway. It’s a bit of a mess, but surely that’s not a big deal.

Surely.

Sukuna clears his throat, mumbling out a “come on in,” as he makes his way into the house. It’s clean enough, there’s no hazards that could put the kids in danger, and Yuji is eating as Choso scoops eggs into his mouth. The social worker evaluates the scene and nods, clearly satisfied that there’s food on the table.

“Mind if I take a look around?”

Sukuna nods in acceptance before trailing a short distance behind the man. He does a walkthrough of the kitchen first, his watchful gaze darting over the counter, to the sink that Sukuna notes he should have cleaned up the scraps sitting in it, and eventually grabs the fridge door handle.

Sukuna winces as he pulls it open and frowns.

“We’re going shopping, uh, today,” Sukuna offers, clearing his throat. “The kids are picky,” he gruffs, scratching at the back of his neck.

That’s definitely a strike, regardless.

Shutting the door, he proceeds to look through the pantry before evaluating the living room, which has gone relatively untouched since Jin got sick, leaving it under a layer of dust, but otherwise clean. The social worker doesn’t appear to think much of it, moving on as he points towards the other side of the house.

“Can you show me to the kids’ rooms?”

Sukuna nods, blazing past his dad’s old room as fast as he can without coming across as suspicious, though he simply can’t bear to look at it. The pink-haired man shuffles on his feet as he waves his hand at the nursery and Choso’s room. He takes a couple of minutes in the nursery, which is likely the cleanest room in the house, re-emerging to take a look at Choso’s room.

“How old is the older of the two?”

Sukuna swallows. Is this a test? “Nine.” He’s nine, right?

The man hums, looking around at the Pokemon plushies and the giant Avocado Squishmallow on the bed. His eyes land on the remnants of the dust pile from the exploded vacuum, and Sukuna stumbles over his words to explain the stain.

“My vacuum broke, just before you got here,” Sukuna explains, clearing his throat. “Uh, it’s on the grocery list.”

The man hums. Is that another strike? How many is Sukuna allowed?

Should he even be hoping he passes this? Is this what’s best for his brothers?

Sukuna lets out a shaky breath, idly scratching at his chest as though the weight crushing his lungs might go away if he does.

The social worker continues on his way, peeking at a closet with cleaning supplies, evaluating the fairly empty backyard, and casting a glance into the washroom. Once he’s done evaluating those, he makes his way back to the open-concept living and dining room.

“Do you mind if I ask a few questions?”

Sukuna nods, taking a seat on the couch in tandem with the worker. Sukuna sits as straight as he can manage, his bouncing leg going unnoticed by the tattooed man. The social worker casts his leg a glance, but says nothing as he pulls out a notepad.

“What’s your relationship to the children?”

“Brother. Uh- step-brother.”

He jots down Sukuna’s reply. “What’s your financial situation like?”

“I need to get a job, but we’re living off the estate of my father.”

The social worker nods, prattling off more questions about the needs of the kids, medical care, questions about Sukuna himself and his background, as well as his experience with kids. Sukuna’s fairly certain he barely skirts by with his responses, but his mind goes blank with the next question.

“How will you handle the emotional needs of your brothers?”

Sukuna stays silent for a moment too long, before choking out “... emotional needs?”

The social worker sits forward. “You’ll be with them throughout all, if not most, of their developmental stages. You need to ensure they’re cared for emotionally and feel secure. Emotional stability is extremely important for young children,” he explains.

Sukuna swallows hard.

Is this already a strike? What the fuck is he supposed to say? He’s too depressed, too manic himself, to even begin thinking about the emotional needs of his brothers and how he, of all people, is supposed to provide that. As it stands, he’s pretty sure he’s already neglected Choso’s emotional needs.

“I, uh-” Sukuna stammers, casting a glance at the bandage on his palm. That was- what-? Thirty minutes ago? Why does it feel like ages ago? Why can’t he think straight?

Sukuna’s jaw trembles and he swallows. Fuck, he can’t breathe again. Bile gathers at the back of his throat. He wants to vomit. 

“Kuna loves us,” Choso chimes in suddenly, the little boy’s quiet voice interrupting Sukuna’s spiralling thoughts. “He’s the best big brother, he makes me happy.”

Sukuna damn near chokes. His eyes are hot with tears and he rubs furiously at them to prevent any from falling down his cheeks as Choso speaks up, practically saving his ass. Sukuna’s throat tightens as he leans forward on his knees. Does Choso really feel that way? Or is he feigning happiness for the social worker?

Sukuna chances a glance backwards to his little brother, examining the look on his face. Choso’s eyes are sunken, he’s tired. He’s become a shadow of his former self, much like Sukuna, and the oldest knows that he’s contributed to the anguish Choso feels. Yet still, the little boy has leapt to his defense. He’s kept the house in order, fed himself, and helped to take care of Yuji.

Now he’s taking care of Sukuna, too. Sukuna isn’t sure whether he’s more pissed that his nine-year-old brother is looking after him, lost because a child is handling things better than him, or shocked that Choso’s coming to his defense at all given how shitty Sukuna’s been. He’s failed Choso at every turn, yet the boy never seems to hold it against him and that kills Sukuna.

Regardless, the social worker seems pleased with that response. “Seems you already have things in order. Do you mind if I have a chat with your little brother?”

“Go for it,” Sukuna barely manages to whisper, lost in his thoughts.

“Great. We’ll review the documents after.”

How long Sukuna sits there staring at Choso as he types up his homework, he couldn’t tell you. The only reason he’s snapped back to the present and pulled from his thoughts is from the hoarse “I’m done,” that Choso manages as he hands Sukuna his laptop to take a look at his writing.

Sukuna stares blankly at Choso, holding his laptop in one hand. Did Sukuna ever deserve to look after these kids?

Is Sukuna at that stage again? Has he gotten as bad as he was when he first started looking after his brothers?

It’s been so long since the ordeal with the social workers, since Sukuna spent most of his time laid out on the bathroom floor or curled up in bed with freezing hands and a burning throat, and yet… Has he changed at all? Is he any better?

You may have reassured him that the kids love him, that he’s a good guardian, and yet… he’s still not so sure. Not after he failed you, Yuji and Choso.

God. Poor Choso.

Whatever piece of Sukuna died back when Jin passed away, Sukuna could feel it beating and thriving once more with your arrival in his life. Now, though, it’s gone again. Its departure went hand-in-hand with that same light in Choso’s life.

And in the aftermath of his own self-destruction, he’d pushed away Toji too. Again. He’d never really let him back in, but as Sukuna sits frozen in place staring at his brother, he sees the sum of his mistakes staring back at him. A child who Sukuna hasn’t been able to provide for in terms of emotional needs.

You had. You were so, so good with Choso and Yuji. You were an angel.

Sukuna can’t help but wonder what the fuck is wrong with him as he realizes that in his frozen state, his brothers are both staring at him with worried brows. Great, now the five-year-old is concerned for him too.

Snapping out of it, Sukuna clears his throat and pulls the laptop onto his legs, reading through Choso’s evaluation on some iceberg in the Antarctic ocean. He makes a couple of grammatical fixes, before handing it back. Not a single word sticks with Sukuna, but he nods. “Looks good,” he tells Choso, running a hand through his pink locks.

Choso takes the laptop back and sends the document to his teacher before handing it back to Sukuna. The oldest brother idly stands by as the two kids get ready for bed, and it’s not until they’re tucked in that Sukuna’s mind really starts running again.

He stares down at his hands, running his thumb over the small scar he’d gotten on the day the social worker arrived. It’s barely noticeable, but it serves as a reminder of that day, of the smashed plate, and of Choso’s words. A nine-year old stepped up, because the adult couldn’t.

Sukuna can’t help the thought that for all the pride and ego he tries so hard to protect, for wanting to prove himself as a guardian, on his own, he’d failed on every account. At every turn, he’s only ever met with endless failures.

Failures that he dragged you into.

It’s not that he didn’t expect your departure to hurt- after all, he’s failed you once already- but it only seemed to jumble his mind further. At least with Choso and Yuji, he understands his frustrations. At least he knows what he’s feeling and has an outlet in his art and workouts to work through those emotions.

You, though- you’re a variable he hadn’t anticipated. Your loss weighs heavy on him, on his heart, and he doesn’t know how to unpack that. Losing you had been the final nail in the coffin that solidified two things with Sukuna.

The first- wherever it is (was) that you stand with Sukuna, that feeling can’t be replaced. Not by workouts, or distractions, or anything else he can muster to stop his mind from spiralling. You hold a place within him, within his heart, that he can see now and if he weren’t so stupid, he might not have lost you. You hurt him, sure, but he doesn’t think he cares anymore. He doesn’t even mind that he doesn’t understand what exactly the place that you hold within him is, he just knows that you’re there.

And the second- Sukuna is a coward. He’s a downright coward and a dumbass who can’t bring himself to fix his mistakes because he can’t bear the idea of dragging you back into his problems.

Sukuna was wrong.

The worst part is that his brothers ask constantly about you. Hell, he’s had to email a fake address just to placate them, and formulate your answers on his own. The amount of times he’s read through your emails to replicate your tone only serves as further harm to his mental state, weighing heavy on his heart. Both his lies towards his brothers and his mistakes with you cut at his emotions.

He was foolish to think he could manage everything on his own. Foolish to think he could manage without Uraume’s help, without the kind old woman across the hall’s help, but especially without your help.

You didn’t just watch the kids. You made them better people, you taught them valuable lessons, you were there for them emotionally. You were there for him, and he took you for granted.

You were the first person since Jin passed that made Sukuna feel human again.

Balling his hands into fists, he huffs and picks up a weight. He’ll work out until he passes out, airpods in if it only means that he can keep his mind off the things that make his chest tighten. It’s his only release from the stress of each day.

He’s about an hour into working out when his phone lights up with a call. A call that he has half a mind to think he’s hallucinating with the state of mind he’s found himself in.

His hand hovers over the green button as though it might disappear when he blinks, because there’s no world where you give him another chance. Hell, he doesn’t deserve it and he’s willing to admit that now.

Pressing down on the button, he remains silent for a moment before pulling the phone up to his ear. His breath is coming in puffs and pants due to his workout as he barely manages to squeeze out your name.

“Hey, Sukuna.”

Sukuna. He thinks he hates when you call him that. He’s grown so used to your nickname for him that he prefers it.

“Hey,” he grunts, how brow furrowed. His eyes trail the length of his room until they land on his drawing table. Strewn across the top are his sketches of you, before he managed to draw the one he was happy with, the one he gave you. He’s not even sure what spurred him to do that for you, it just felt right.

It feels like years have passed since then.

“So, um, listen,” you start, an air of nervousness to your voice, still so saccharine sweet. “One of my colleagues disappeared last week, and she left behind this whole pile of work-” you hesitate again, leaving Sukuna only to listen with his brows knit together. “- sorry, uh- she was our graphic designer and now we’re behind and we’re gonna lose a client if we don’t find a replacement like yesterday,” you groan, and he can practically hear the way you’re chewing on your lip. “I thought that, you know, with your art and all, that maybe you might…” You trail off, awaiting Sukuna’s response.

Sukuna’s brain takes a moment to catch up, still stuck on the fact that you’re reaching out.

“Sukuna?”

“Yeah, sorry,” he gruffs, sighing as he tries to make sense of what’s going on. “Why’re you offering this to me?” It doesn’t make sense, why would you come back after everything?

“Every book I’ve edited so far is missing a cover. If we don’t get a graphic designer to submit covers before Friday, we lose the client, and all of my work,” you explain.

Right. That… makes sense. You have no other reason to reach out to him and he owes you a favor. Bounds of them, actually.

“Sure.”

And he thinks he can live with being just a favor, if it’s to you. It brings him comfort to know that you’re not entirely out of reach anymore. He thinks he even feels his chest loosen just a bit.

“Really? Oh my god thank you, you have no idea how much of a huge favor this is, um-” you begin prattling off details of the job, but Sukuna’s hardly listening, too caught up on the sound of your voice. When did he get like this? Has he always been like this with you?

When did you carve yourself into his heart quite like this? A place meant only for you, one that no one else could replace. He can’t pinpoint a moment, but he hadn’t realized just how much he needed you. You’re his best friend. That has to be why he longs for your presence so badly, it’s the only explanation that makes sense.

Can he fix things?

“Can you meet up tomorrow morning?” You ask.

Sukuna grunts out a yes, giving you a time and place. The cafe he originally apologized at.

“And Sukuna?”

He pauses, waiting for you to continue.

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

Sukuna’s throat tightens again. “Right,” he mutters. “See ya tomorrow.”

“See you.”

He stares at his screen for a long moment, swallowing hard. You don’t forgive him. He doesn’t blame you, but he has to try to get you to. For the kids’ sake.

He swipes his tongue over his dry lips, shaking his head.

No, he selfishly needs you to forgive him for his own sake.

–

You fiddle nervously in the early morning with the sleeves of your coat. You’re twenty minutes early to your meeting with Sukuna to go over details, but it couldn’t be helped. You can’t say you slept well with the stress of knowing your entire past month’s work relies on the same person you’re so nervous to see.

The cafe is quiet this early in the morning, having just opened. Only one employee has arrived, a woman around your age with a blonde bob in a pale brown apron. Her movements are deliberate as she moves syrup bottles and whipped cream around the counter into optimal places to keep the shop in a good working order.

The ringing of a bell catches your attention, and you think your heart may actually stop for a moment at the sight of Sukuna.

He’s still tall as ever, in his coveralls for work with a heavy black coat over them, but he looks leagues different from when you last saw him. You’ve never seen dark circles quite like what Sukuna’s got going on, his chin is dotted in stubble, and his hair is longer than you’ve ever seen it. Based on the way he shakes his head to get stray strands out of his vision, you can conclude that it’s bothering him, too.

You don’t need to know that he only shook his head in an effort to get himself to focus as all the air left his body upon simply seeing you.

He stops in front of the table, casting a glance at the shop’s counter. “Need a coffee. Want somethin’?”

You nod gingerly. “Yeah, um, just tea, please.”

Whatever words you had planned for this meeting seem to disappear into thin air as you watch him trudge over to the counter. After a short wait, he returns with your tea and his black coffee.

“So,” you begin, deciding to skip pleasantries in favor of keeping any emotions out of this. Strictly business. “I don’t know what the pay is, but my boss said you would be compensated extra for the first seven covers, since we’ll need them on a rush basis. Um-” You pause, pulling out your phone to show him examples of the style of covers you’ll need. They’re children’s books, similar to things he read in school as a child along the lines of The Magic Treehouse or Goosebumps. Coincidentally, Sukuna’s pretty good at that, he has experience.

Sukuna hums, not daring to interrupt despite the words dying to spill from his lips.

“They expect you to be in-office five days a week, but the hours are flexible and if you’re sick, then you technically can work from home,” you explain, staring at the ceiling as you go over any other minute details you can think of. After prattling off a few more details that Sukuna can’t possibly imagine actually matter, you realize you’re rambling and pause. “Oh, bring a portfolio and um- it’s business casual. So, um-”

Again, you pause. Sukuna sees it in your eyes, you’re debating whether you want to tell him what to wear. You’re afraid he’ll think you’re telling him what to do.

“Wear something nice, got it.”

You blink once before nodding, satisfied. “I’m there from eleven-thirty to five, so just, um- come anytime? Ask for me at reception. My boss knows you’re coming.”

Sukuna nods. “Be there after I pick up the kids.” He’s pretty sure Uraume shouldn’t be busy tonight based on the few texts they’ve exchanged, so he’s sure he can manage to get someone to watch his brothers.

Silence hangs heavy in the air, thick with unspoken thoughts. It’s clear that a conversation needs to happen between you if you’re planning on working together, but Sukuna’s had no time to go over the things he wants to say, having convinced himself he’d never get another chance with you.

“Well, um-”

“I’m sorr-”

Sukuna bites his tongue as he accidentally speaks at the same time as you. Your hand is splayed on the table like you’re ready to push yourself up and leave already and Sukuna sighs.

“Sorry. I’ll see you later,” he resigns to let you leave, leaning back in his chair. He figures if he can catch you a little more willing to chat and not so nervous later in the day, he might stand a better chance of appealing to you.

You swallow hard as you stare at him, tapping a finger on the table. “This is just business, okay, Sukuna? Consider this my repayment for all the favors.”

Sukuna’s throat is dry as he swallows hard, nodding. “Right. Repayment.”

Before you can be the subject of any more of the strange stares he’s giving you, you push up to your feet and excuse yourself without looking back.

Your heart is practically beating out of your chest as you leave the coffee shop, clutching your backpack’s strap tightly.

What the hell was that!? Why did he spend the whole time staring at you like- like that? You’d expected huffs and sighs and thinly veiled anger. You’d expected him to be furious with you, still. You’d thought that you were in a better headspace, ready to face him and not think twice about it, but now you’ve got a one hundred horse power heart pounding like it’s about to race the damn Monaco Grand Prix and your thoughts are beyond jumbled.

You thought you were over him enough that this wouldn’t affect you, that you could be professional and strict. Instead, you’d stumbled and rambled through so many words that you could hardly make sense of what you managed to get out and what you didn’t.

Regardless of your nerves, the real question is Sukuna.

Why was he so… uncharacteristically not Sukuna? What happened to the boastful man who demanded attention with his mere presence? It was as though he’d been reduced to little more than a background character in his own life, simply going through the motions.

Not to mention that stare…?

A pang of concern floods through you as you recall what he said about how he would have handled his mental health without you. You know it’s not your place to worry anymore, as decided by Sukuna himself, but you’re too kind not to. Maybe it’s naive of you, you’re sure Kento and Shoko would tell you so. Still, it’s in your nature to worry about those you care about.

And one thing can be said for certain- you still care about Sukuna.

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❦ a/n ; in case you missed it, i did some art for the series and i'd love if you checked it out here <33 hiiiii sorry this took so long 😩 health problems were the bane of my existence last week and i just couldn't sit at the computer wrong enough to write. but!! thank you all so much for all the well wishes, i'm doing much better now and it's back to business as usual. that flashback scene HURTTTT ngl. they were all so young :(( they still are. i love this lil family sm tbh ANYWAY sorry i'm really yapping down here ig but i just wanted to say thank you thank you so much for all the love. i know i've been gone for a bit, but all the kind words and constant love and excitement for the series always has me kickin my feet n smiling <33 i seriously love you all and you guys keep me motivated to keep up my writing. lots of love and sorry for the angst 🥲

❦ 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 @rinachains @aiicpansion @fushitoru @gojoscumslut

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

[nexreturnsfromthedead]

Something Stupid

Summary: when Sevika finds herself unable to sleep, she can count on you to ease her mind; What starts off as a relaxing massage for an exhausted woman turns into something gentle and loving, forcing her to acknowledge the growing feelings she's desperately been trying to avoid.

Warnings: oral (Sevika receiving), strap-on (reader wearing), attachment issues (the porn part is short, I'm sorry :') ), generally really soft

Notes: this is the first fic I have ever finished and actually published, lol. I fear it's too repetitive at some points and kind of rushed..? Pls pls pls, tell me what you think (as long as you're being kind). If there are any more warnings I should be aware of (probably not), feel free to tell me :) I hate writing dialogs. The painting on the right was done by Tony Belobrajdic :]

Word Count: 6.9k

@venomvalley specifically posted this for you, any criticism is appreciated :D (I lowkey stole your way of... presenting (?) the story, with the colors, pictures and dividers and such, I thought it was really pretty <:3)

Anyways, I hope you enjoy :D

It was well into the night, maybe shortly past midnight, when she made her way onto the small balcony of her rundown apartment, eyes tired and heavy, yet not willing to stay closed. Immediately, she was met by the cold air, a stinging slap to her face. It nips at her skin, looking to break through and seep into her muscles, veins and lastly, her very bones. She didn't mind the harshness prickling against her nerves. She needed the distraction tonight.

A heavy sigh rips from the depths of her lungs, fingers reaching out to fumble for a cigarillo lying on the small, creaking metal table shoved against the railing. It was only there for that exact purpose: holding the packages of her cigars and cigarettes, an ashtray, and perhaps even a drink or two if she's feeling fancy. There was no reason for her to be on the balcony other than to have a calming smoke; no beautiful view waiting for her, no fresh air to catch either, not in the deepness of Zaun.

Flipping open the tin box, metal clattering against the table's surface, her fingers scoop in to lift one of her stress relievers out of its containment. Bringing it up to her lips, her hand reaches for a lighter, needing several tries to ignite a spark and correspondingly, her thin cigar. That simple action carries her mind back to you. You, who usually stumbled over their own feet to light it for her. 'Pretty women don't light their own cigarettes', you always said when she raised a questioning brow, that stupid, stupid grin adorning your lips whenever you did. You, who is currently warming her bed while she's out here, forcing stinging puffs of burning tobacco inside her lungs, only to gently blow them out with long exhales.

The smoke wafts past her lips, its tendrils twirling and swirling high into the sky, wanting to never be seen again as it becomes one with the fissures' polluted air. She felt the nightly tranquility weigh heavy on her shoulders, running thoughts nagging in the back of her mind. She should appreciate the quiet calm instead of bothering herself with these infuriating thoughts, yet her mind grants her no peace. The grip of her prosthetic grows tighter against the railing as she huffs, her lip scrunching up in frustration, quickly taking another drag of her cigar.

She stalls, holding the smoke deeply in her chest when she feels warm arms wrap around her waist, a face nestling between the hard planes of her shoulder blades.

Ba-dump.

Once she gets over the initial shock of your unexpected touch, she blows the smoke out slowly, watching as its wifts get carried through the winds.

"You should be in bed", she hums, feeling the nicotine take its course through her system. Her response was only to mask her own feelings, hoping to distract you from your initial mission. Always trying to divert the focus from herself.

"So should you...", you retort, your voice carrying the groggy roughness of leftover sleep, ".. You okay..?"

She huffs, puffing on her cigar.

"Never better", she mumbles sarcastically. It had always been easy for you to peek through her defenses, finding the smallest of cracks and managing to scratch them open with the very tips of your fingers; even if they did bleed in the end. Yet, every time you were close to reaching treasure, she seals the crumbling gaps with thicker concrete. She didn't understand why you kept on trying, kept on bothering to put up with her.

"A penny for your thoughts?", you murmur, nuzzling your nose against the crevice of her spine; a silent reassurance, urging her to open up.

"I'm fine", she sighs, flicking off the built up ashes. Her eyes trail down their path, seeing them disappear against the dirty cobblestone beneath her feet, beneath the balcony; they weren't worth a second glance. Couldn't even tell they had been there in the first place.

"You sure? Taking a lonely smoke in the middle of night doesn't exactly scream 'fine', you know..?", there's an empathetic smile on your face, trying to lighten the mood. She can hear it in the way you talk.

"Too much on your mind?"

"You could say that", she trails off thoughtfully, "It's not worth your time, no need to worry about it", there's a tiredness in her voice, a hint of self deprecation one could only catch if they really listened. Which you always did. Unfortunately for her.

"I worry about you"

Ba-dump

Protest laces your tone as you speak, ".. And if something's bothering you, then it must be important... Atleast to some degree.."

"It's not. Trust me, doll. I can handle a few stupid thoughts", you hear the way her voice changes subtly, forcing herself to sound less vulnerable, trying to once again build the wall higher around her heart; a prison for the lonely.

"But I do.. Because you're important to me.. And I care..", you reassure, trailing off. The unspoken; words she feared ever coming from your lips were left unsaid, but she knew they were there. Sitting on the tip of your tongue, itching to slip past the seal and bury deep inside her heart like barbed wire.

Your sigh is warm against her back when you realize she won't budge; she can feel it through the fabric of her shirt. She desperately fights off the crawling shiver threatening to run down her spine.

"You don't have to tell me.. But please just.. Remember that I'm here for you.. And whenever you need me, I'll happily lend an ear", your arms tighten around her waist, pulling her closer in comfort; wether it was for her's or your own, she's not quite sure. Regardless, she melts into your embrace, her muscles relaxing the tiniest bit. She's silent, no doubt contemplating your words. Cigarillo back at her lips, she closes her eyes, a heavy, smoky breath escaping her nostrils.

"I'm just.. Worrying over nothing, is all. Nothing severe", she murmurs, her metallic hand clanking against the railing when she let's go, instead bringing it to hold the cigar. The other one, her own, moves to rest over yours. She always prefered feeling you, your soft skin beneath hers. When in reality, she shouldn't. Shouldn't let you hold her so tenderly. Shouldn't reciprocate. It'll only be harder in the end. Companionship and romance aren't things that lasted in the dark pit that is the Underground. They wither, get stomped out and burned until the only thing that's left is the dismembered corpse of what could have been. That's how life was in this hell she called her home. She accepted it. Had to learn how to from an early age. Yet despite that, she couldn't help but hold her hand into the flame.

".. How about a massage?", she barely catches the sound of your voice, yet it still cuts through her racing mind.

"What?", she turns her head, looking down at you over her shoulder. You can't help but admire her from this angle, the faint, neon lights from the distance reflecting across her profile, her blue scars glowing. Greens, reds and purples catch against her skin, colors that all looked magnificient, in perfect contrast with the essence of her very being.

"I can massage you... Help you relax.. Get your mind off of things", you repeat, your hands travelling towards her hips, gently squeezing.

A small snort echoes through the night.

"Oh yeah? Pampering me now, are you?", she hums, taking one last drag of her cigar before stumping it out in the ashtray. She made it a habit ever since she noticed you picking up her thrown butts scattered across the floor one too many times. The same way she made it a habit of smoking on the balcony once she realized you couldn't breathe properly when she did it inside.

".. But I won't say no to that if you're offering".

She watches as that small smile forms on your face, standing on your toes to press a soft kiss against her cheek. You didn't have to, but knew it boosted her ego just a bit.

Ba-dump.

"Go make yourself comfortable in bed, I'll start heating up the oil", you pat her shoulders before the both of you part ways, her going back to bed while you grab the massaging oil from the bathroom. Filling a pot with water, you bring it to a soft boil before putting the container in to warm up.

Once you re-enter the bedroom, you find Sevika comfortably lying on her back, boxers the only thing adorning her scarred skin. Her right arm is tucked underneath her head, her prosthetic lying on the bedside table for easy access should she need it. Due to her lying position, her thighs appear even bigger than usual, excess flesh squished to the sides. They're spread the tiniest bit, enough to make your mind spiral as it immediately conjures the lewdest images of your head between them, squished to death as you lap at her cunt.

If you could paint realistically, you would capture the beauty of this moment in it's entirety; the way she lies before you making for the perfect muse. The way the low light of the bedside lamp casts breathtaking shadows across her muscles, contouring her in the best of ways. You have to actively stop yourself from drooling.

"Are you done oggling me?", there it is, that shit eating smirk you've grown to love so much, no matter how infuriating it can be at times. Your eyes roll on instinct, a grin of your own forming on your face.

"Oh hush. I can't be blamed when you're looking like that", a smile graces your lips, one entirely too intimate for her but her heart skips a beat anyways. You crawl onto the bed, one finger wedging between her thigh and the leg of her boxers. Pulling softly, you let the fabric snap back against her skin. Her eyebrow raises in response, challenging you to go further, watching as you position yourself over her.

She can see the mirth twinkling in your irises, no doubt conjuring plans on how to make her suffer.

Ba-dump

It only makes her heart beat quicker, rapidly hammering against the cage of her chest, wanting to be set free like a bird gazing at the ever growing horizon. She doesn't stop you when your head dips down to plant your first kiss against her collarbone. Breathing grows harder when your lips trail gently up her neck. She could feel their softness, the carefulness in your touch as if she was something fragile, something made to be broken. She wasn't. She was anything but that. Yet she enjoys it when your lips stream higher and higher, following along the reddened rivulet hidden underneath her skin until you reach the shell of her ear, lips threatening to fall off the cliff that is her jaw and she hopes you'll cling onto it.

She holds her breath when your lips wander along, tiptoeing against the line, never once losing your balance. But she fears. Fears you'll fall. Fears you'll drag her with you into the deep end, with no point of return. Once your lips finally meet hers, she realizes it is already far too late. She's drowning, air ripped from her lungs as her very being succumbes to your deadly touch; drowning in a sea that is entirely made of you. Your touch. Your smell. Your voice. Your taste. It's all you. And she fears it. Fears getting close to you. Fears that this will change. Fears this won't last.

She's afraid.

And she doesn't know how to swim back up to the surface as you drag her deeper and deeper into the dark abyss. But she's not complaining, quite the contrary. She's feeding into it, letting her body grow heavy as she let's you pull her under. She reaches out for you, pulling you closer as she craves more, addicted to the feeling of utter breathlessness and freedom, despite knowing she'll lock herself away the moment the touch of your lips passes. So she clings on, forcing you against her as your lips join and overlap like clashing waves.

She chases you once you pull away, like you're her only source of oxygen but when she grasps your lips are gone, she breathes in deeply. Eyes fluttering open, she finds your own already staring back at her, that stupid, stupid smile back on your face, taunting her with feelings she'd rather keep buried underneath harsh words and a tough exterior.

Ba-dump

She knew that there was something lingering between you two for quite some time now, something she didn't want to acknowledge, too afraid to do so. After all, she did invite you over to her apartment for the better quarter of a year now, to the point that you've basically movied in with her; your clothes strewn across chairs and the run down sofa she's been wanting to replace for a while now; replacing half of her wardrobe's contents with you; a second toothbrush occupying the small little cup on her bathroom's sink; her fridge filled with various kinds of fresh vegetables, fruits and self-made jams -the same way her stomach is filled to the brim with home cooked meals rather than random take-out.

She snaps out of her thoughts when your fingers tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, gently, warmly and she curses herself for leaning into the touch.

One last, chaste kiss against her lips and you pull away. She almost panics, but your hand gently pushes over her heart, keeping her still. If it weren't for your reassuring smile and devoted eyes staring down at her, she'd feel embarrassed with how rapidly her heart drums against your palm, wanting to nestle into the warmth of your skin.

"How about you turn around, hm? So I can start the massage", she blinks once, twice before your words finally register in her muddled brain and with a single nod of her head, she flips herself onto her stomach, needing a few tries until her chest lies comfortably against the mattress. Her eyes stare blankly onto the prosthetic to her left, lying abandoned on the bedside table as her cheek rests on her arm, impatiently waiting to finally feel your hands upon her skin.

Instead, she senses the way your eyes burn into it, mapping out each and every crevice of her body. She doesn't know wether to feel shy, small, cocky or ashamed. Maybe an unhealthy mix of all four.

"Thought you were gonna massage me, not drool all over", her voice is quiet, barely audible as she murmurs her words in a flimsy attempt of keeping her pride, dignity and a semblance of her usual bravado. Though it's only a mask; she feels anything but. Your giggle makes her want to bury her face in the pillow and pull you in for another kiss, simply to drown out the addictive sound.

"I'm sorry, honey, but you're absolutely stunning"

Ba-dump

She scoffs, frowning into space with.. Is that a pout?

It deepens when you seemingly laugh at her misery, but before she can react, you hook a leg over her hips to straddle her, your buttocks against hers. An involuntary sigh flows out of her nostrils. Having you close was always so calming, but so, so nerve-wracking all at once.

You open the container for the oil, the glass warm against your palms like a hot cup of coffee. Inside Sevika's head, the sound of the lid opening echoes as anticipation builds higher and higher. Dipping the tips of your fingers inside, you spread the slickness in the palms of your hands.

"Ready?", an affirmative hum is your only cue before you place your hands down on her.

As soon as they make contact with her back, her whole body melts into the mattress, her eyelids fluttering shut as she let's her trepidations and stress wash away. They glide firmly over her muscles, rubbing the oil deeply into her skin. You watch as her shoulders rise with every even breath, falling in slow exhales, and you can't help but note how etheral she looks like this. So at peace, in absolute bliss. It was a rare sight and you understood why, her life was in no way an easy one, but you wished you'd be able to see it more often. You promise yourself you'll make it better.

With wandering hands and eyes, you heed the details of her body before you, carving each and every one into the mental statue molded inside the depths of your mind. From the occasional moles scattered across her olive skin, up to her blueish-purple scars that reach all the way from her shoulder to her cheek. They glisten under the warm, dull light of the bedside lamp, twinkling like a night sky full of stars; an entire galaxy mapped out on her body.

Taking the opportunity, your eyes trace over her features: her beautiful grey eyes that always tell you exactly what she's thinking, giving you a window to look through her soul no matter how many curtains she uses to hide. They're closed, but the way her eyelashes are curled against her cheeks is equally breathtaking. Her dark lips, so perfectly kissable, adorned with those tiny splits of healed cuts from prior fights. Those lovely lips that hide the most adorable smile you've ever seen, with the cutest tooth gap enhancing her charm. Without realizing, your hands slow their movements before coming to a full stop against her shoulder blades.

Pure and utter adoration lies down to rest on your face, softening your features as you lean forward, pressing a tender peck against the apple of her cheek.

Ba-dump

Heat rises, travelling from her face down her neck. Her eyes peek open, flicking over her shoulder to look at you and she hates the sight before her.

Hates the way you gaze down at her in the most tender way she's ever experienced. Hates the way your smile makes her heart race to the point she's overwhelmed by breathless dizziness. Hates the way your hands feel against her skin, forcing these gooey, weak emotions inside her to rouse from their century long slumber. Hates the way she craves more despite knowing better.

Of course she's aware that your hands are slowing, coming to a stop as you're stuck in mesmerization; how could she not when their movement felt so heavenly against her sore spots and deep knots? Though she's unsure wether she should vocalise her discontent; after all, you have done so much for her already and in no way does she want to come across as ungrateful. But you did promise her a soothing massage. And this was in no way enough.

So without uttering any comands, she simply pushes her muscles back against your hands, urging you to keep going. With snorted laughter and a teasing quip her way, your hands continue their trip to bringing her pleasure.

"Anything for my sweet woman~", your voice sings, your words deepening that soft redness on her cheeks.

Ba-dump

She wasn't necessarily the possessive type, but sentences like these had a way of playing her heart strings like they hadn't been in years. She hated it. She absolutely despised it. It made her weak. It made you a liability. Yet she couldn't help but crave more, her greed knowing no bounds even in this.

Only that she couldn't win this fight; the fight she put up against her own heart whenever it starts skipping two beats around you. The fight she puts up whenever she catches her own breath hitching at the sight of you cooking behind her stove, waiting for her to come home as you cook a filling meal for her after a grueling day of work. The fight she puts up whenever she realizes she was growing softer, more vulnerable around you. She knew that. Knew she couldn't win. So for now, she figures indulging in it was for the best. Only that her heart is pounding so horribly against her ribcage, it was hard to ignore. So was the low burn starting to ignite in her abdomen when she let her thoughts drift. It was only a matter of time until they did, with how well you tend to her every need, every single time, every hour of the day, no matter how often she pushes you away.

The longer your fingers glide across her skin, the more loose her lips become; small sighs and hums and things that sound suspiciously like whimpers vibrating through her throat. Of course, you notice. Just as you notice the way her body grows restless beneath you; back arching against your touch, ass, with you on top, lifting up and back down with each movement of her thighs, no doubt rubbing them together, arm tensing against her pillow and pulling it closer to her flushed face.

The control you have over her, despite her refusal to admit to anything of the matter, leaves you grinning giddily, light-hearted perversion running through every vein of your body at the knowledge of having her fully wrapped around your pinky finger, desperate for the simplest of touches. She'd do anything for you without so much of a blink, just like you would do anything for her. You'd burn the whole world down if she asked you to.

Though these touches might not be as innocent as they had started off anymore.

So without much of a thought, you slip off your position on top of her, moving between her thighs, sitting on your haunches.

You focus on her lower back, thumbs pressing into those two, cute little dimples of venus. Fitting name, she looked like a sculpted god.

Occasionally, those exact thumbs catch underneath the waistband of her underwear, on accident, of course, and you revel in the way her breath stops momentarily before picking back up slightly more labored each time.

"stop teasing", her voice would sound warning if it weren't for the shudder accompanied by it, or the hoarse rasp coating each word.

"whatever do you mean?"

Despite your words, you never really seem to be able to tease her for long, caving at each little command like you were born to follow obediently. Maybe it was the constant stress you've been put under about being 'the perfect little kid' that had molded you into exactly that; someone with the constant need for instructions, searching for the simplest forms of validation. But you don't mind; you have long accepted the fact that you wanted to be obedient, just for her.

The tips of your fingers dip below her waistband, agonizingly slow when tugging the offending fabric down, down and down until they're thrown off to the side; out of sight, out of mind.

You bite your lip at the sight before you, fingers splaying out across the fat of her ass, squeezing and prodding and digging and squeezing until her shoulders were tense, thighs squeezed tightly and her face hidden in the pillow.

She was cute like this, all flustered. It was a sight you've got to see more and more often these past few weeks the longer you stayed close by her side. And you loved it, loved whenever she averted her gaze or burrowed her face in your neck in a futile attempt of hiding her bashfulness.

"stop", she scoffs, loving hating the way butterflies swirled in her stomach like she's some teenage girl. But you knew she didn't mean it; she was pressing her flesh against your hands. She was pressing her hips higher in hopes you'll catch the hint, burying your face where she needs it the most.

You did, of course, catch the hint, but played dumb for just a little while longer.

"what do you need, honey? I'm not a mind reader, you know...", she can hear the condescending lilt in your voice, feel the barely perceptible brush of your thumb over her humiliatingly wet folds and she almost gives herself whiplash with how quickly her head twists over her shoulder to shoot you a glare.

Her mouth opens to curse you out, tell you to 'fucking touch her' before she takes matters into her own hands, but her words quickly die on her tongue, replaced by the loudest moan she's ever let slip as your tongue dives forward, running from her thrumming clit up to her leaking hole.

Her face burns, quickly pushed back against her pillow, entirely too embarrassed at the almost pornographic noise escaping her lips.

Really, it wasn't that loud. It was moderate, but usually, she was more on the quieter side, the most she'd let slip were groans and grunts, maybe the occasional, quiet whimper. So a full blown moan was something new, something that exposed her in ways she didn't want to be.

So she hid her face against the sheets, each kiss and lick and suck of your lips across her cunt luring more noises to slip past her own, only partially muted by her self-made gag. Surely, you'd love to hear them to their full extent, but you also knew she needed this, needed something to ground herself with, to keep herself from getting too overwhelmed, so you accepted it.

Your movements were languid, tongue dragging and basking in the salty taste of her arousal, nose pressed against her until every other sense was drowned out. You could stay like this, between her thighs, all day, all night, 24/7; feeling her gush on your tongue, arousal dripping as it flowed freely from her hole. The exact place you're shoving your tongue into, wanting to taste more, and she whimpers at your desperation.

Her voice is a tad bit higher than usual, raspy with need as the noises stream past her lips like a river across its bank.

Wet muscle slithering back up through her folds, her hips move on their own accord, jumping when your lips wrapped around that sweet, sweet bundle of nerves, sucking harshly and shaking your head from side to side.

It doesn't take long until she's gasping, hand shooting out behind her to press your face further into her cunt, hips grinding, chasing a high so close she could taste it on her lips. Your neck and cheeks were growing clammy, arousal and spit smeared across your chin and nose. You couldn't move even if you wanted to, and it got you hooked almost immediately.

Your own abdomen throbbed with heat as she just used you, dragging herself against your face until her own desire was sated, thighs riddled with small tremors as her body convulsed, clenching around nothing as her orgasm crashed over her in shocking waves.

You gently lick up the added slick, sucking her clean until you finally depart yourself with a wet 'pop'.

She catches her breath, eyes closed and body relaxed. You tug on her shoulder, forcing her to turn onto her back.

Your kisses are sweet when you pepper them across her face, trying to get her back to earth. When her breathing has somewhat gone back to acceptable standards, you spoke up.

"can I wear the strap tonight?", your voice is gentle, tender, like you're speaking to a wounded animal, knowing she'll need a second before registering your words. But already, she knows she hates your tone of voice. Despises how much her heart desires it.

There's a short pause as she contemplates what to respond. Did she even want to let you take complete control tonight? Give herself to you in such an open, vulnerable way? Let you take the lead as she, what, laid back and did nothing? Janna, yes she did.

A huff.

"Do whatever you want..", a grumble, a begrudging attunement without having to distinctly voice it, without the added exposure of telling you exactly what she wants.

Your hands squeeze firmly just underneath the cheeks of her sculpted bottom, your nose wandering along her jaw.

"You know I won't take that as an answer, honey. You want me to or you don't. Either is fine, but you gotta let me know, otherwise I'm not doin' nothin'!", your grin against her cheek is burning, leaving a trail of reddened marks to travel over the bridge of her nose and down the side of her neck.

"You're insufferable..", she whispers, refusing to meet your gaze like her life depended on it, "... Put it on.."

There's that same mirth flashing through your eyes, teeth flashing mischievously through tautly pulled lips and for a second, she thinks she might regret her decision. That is until you actually fasten the harness around your hips, not without undressing yourself first. Her eyes are laser focused on the way the straps dig into your skin, your flesh bulging over them.

At this moment, she realizes she's never appreciated anything more than you, exactly like this, before. The way you look above her, honey-skinned in the golden glow of the bedside lamp, naked as the day you were born. The way her strap fits so snugly around your hips, the dildo resting neatly over her pubic mound -and she might think you look even better than her wearing it. The way you've been taking care of her all evening; from the dinner you made for her when she got home, to your fingers carding through her hair as you washed it thoroughly, because you knew she was too exhausted to lift her arm, and finally, your ever soft hands against her skin, in more ways than one.

And you'll continue taking care of her going onward from this moment.

All she has to do is sit back.. Let go.. And simply pass the reigns to you.

The day has left her drained already, the leaching work and onslaught of haunting thoughts enough to bring her guard down, enough to lean back and simply bask in the moment.

She'll manage. It should be easy. And if she gets overwhelmed, she can always just roll you over- not that she'll get overwhelmed, that's idiotic, she can handle it. She's Silco's right hand woman, dammit, she handles fights and meetings and bribes and errands with ease, so she can handle a bit of vulnerability, she will.

Her expression portrays her confliction, corner of her lip twitching upward in what seems to be disgust, though her eyes show the insecurity lying beneath.

She snaps out of her mental prison when your voice calls her name, smile compassionate, sweet, lov- don't you dare finish that thought.

"we don't have to. I can just.. Take it off and we'll call it a day", she wants this. She wants this. 'So open your damned mouth and say it-'

"Don't..", her voice is a meek murmur, lips formed in an almost huffy pout. Her expression is one you would expect a dishonored person to wear, someone who's got their whole pride and dignity stripped from them, eyes not hitting their target.

"tell me to continue and I will. Tell me to stop and I won't hesitate. This is all about you, honey. Just look at me and talk, yeah?", she fights against the grip of your hand against her jaw, but decides to give up and look at you none the less.

Why do you have to be so damn convincing?

"Just get on with it, will you? Unless you're getting cold feet?", her tone is mocking, challenging, desperately trying to keep up the confident, unbothered front.

With a roll of your eyes and a knowing grin, you grind -in this very moment your- strap against her folds, coating it's underside in her arousal. Her breath hitches. She's almost embarrassed at how wet she is. She blames it on the lingering of your spit. Yet she can't disguise the stumbling of her breath.

"You like that, huh?"

With no response, you simply thrust your hips once more, tip of the silicone catching against her clit in just the right ways. In response, her eyes flutter shut for just a moment before immediately locking with yours.

She's almost mesmerized by the sight of you, so beautifully woven into her life, and Janna, she shouldn't be so excited to let you fuck her.

But she is, so she watches with bated breath as you spit against your dick, smearing it across with your hand firmly wrapped around, the exact way you've done when she was the one wearing it.

You're infuriatingly careful when ligning yourself up, almost like you're scared of hurting her. How.. Pathetic..

Ba-dump

She watches carefully as your elbows place next to her head, your face breathtakingly close to hers as you push in. Her eyes flutter closed instinctively, head relaxing further into the pillows as she clenches tightly around the intrusion, and you swear you can feel it.

It's all a blur, really. Pleasure so good it has her arching into your touch until her chest is squished against yours. Your hand finds hers, fingers interlacing, squeezing her hand with a kind of possession that makes her heart soar. Her throat is dry, you can hear it in the way she swallows, your nose nudging along her cheek, her scars. Eyes closed, she gives herself fully to you, lips parted with ragged breaths as she meets every one of your thrusts with a grind of her own.

So really, it's no wonder that the words slip past your lips, barely audible if they hadn't been whispered right beside her ear.

Immediately, her body freezes, eyes shooting open as she stares off beside your head. She looks positively terrified, and it tucks at your heartstrings, hips stopping as soon as you feel her stiffening, trying to lock herself back up.

Her head turns to the side, eyes filling with unwanted tears, burning as she stops them from cascading down her cheeks. Your hands reach out for them instead.

"hey, hey... It's okay.. I shouldn't have dropped that on you..", you refuse to say you're sorry. After all, it was true and you didn't want her to think otherwise. You were sorry for dropping the l-bomb so suddenly, so intimately, without any trenches near for her to hide in, to save herself from the inevitable first blow. But you weren't at all sorry for loving her. Why would you be? Ever since she has taken you in, invited you to invade her private life, you have been so much happier than you have ever been before. She could be kind if she wanted to, showing that she cared in the simplest of ways without having to voice it. You couldn't help but dig deeper into that hole you've called affection, infatuation growing the longer you've decided to hold onto her, everything she was willing to give you, you ate it up like someone starved.

She's almost choking on her own tears and the sight breaks your heart.

"breathe, honey... I'm right here... And I'll stay here for as long as you want me to...", your voice carries that same careful and tender tone it always does, wiping the tears from the corner of her eyes before they can fall and she doesn't know wether to feel thankful or burst out sobbing, "We can stop, yeah? Wait, I'll.."

Before you can pull out of her, her ankle hooks around your waist, keeping you close.

With a warring mind and heavy heart, she held you there, needed you by her side, to soothe her pain the way you did to her wounds after careless fights. Yet she refused to look at you, still figuring out her own reaction.

Her heart soared at the admission all the while squeezing with an unimaginable pain, knowing all her efforts to prevent this have grown to be futile. But maybe, just maybe if she let you keep going, you'll stay. Like you said you would.. So she indulged in it, maybe one last time, and quietly, she whispers.

"Don't stop"

And you don't, hips slowly starting to move again, more carefully than before, eyes searching her expression for any sign of discomfort, any sign of her changing her mind. But she doesn't, refuses to if this might be her last chance of being intimate with you.

She was afraid. Afraid you wouldn't like what she's hidden beneath despite your reassurances trying to ease her over and over again. It was drilled into her very being ever since she was born. Weakness is a curse, took the people you cared about and sent them off to fight their own war, slaughtered by the cold hands of life. Vulnerability was weakness. Better not show it if you want to live. Best not feel it if you want to survive. Yet with every little bit of vulnerability she showed, you've never strayed; never berated her for feeling, never used it to make her pliable in your hands, never used it as a weapon against herself. You've encouraged it, kissed her messy thoughts better. So why was she still so afraid?

Her confliction was etched onto her face, carved into her complexion like an eternal inscription. So you speak up.

"Want me to tell you just what I love about you?", her breath catches, hitching in her throat at the sound of your panting, your hips picking up their pace, starting to move against hers a bit more desperately.

"I love your pretty nose, your for some reason always perfect-looking hair, your jaw, your tummy, your happy trail, your thighs..", you pause shortly as you notice the precarious expression gracing her features.

".. I love your crystal-grey eyes, because no matter how hard you try to hide behind that tough persona of yours, they always show me just what you're thinking, what you're feeling.. It really is true when people say eyes are the mirror into one's soul.. And yours are the prime example..

I love your full lips; they're so damn kissable.. The way they feel against me, in any way, makes me feel like they were made for that purpose only. No matter if it's my lips, my cheek, my forehead or somewhere else entirely, you make sure that I feel breathless wherever they trail"

Her doubt is settling on her chest, locking it closed and crushing her lungs as it slings its vines around her neck like a noose, tighter and tighter until her breath is cut short. The pressure weighs heavy, repressed tears flooding her eyes with each word muttered, spilling from your lips as a healing balm for her aching heart.

"I love your scars.. Every single one a testimony of the challenges you face everyday; the proof of your ambition, your willpower to fight and keep fighting for Zaun, your people -us. They glimmer like the stars hung above the sky. They're something to be proud of, something that makes you who you are. And I wouldn't have you any other way..

I love your faith in this city. How you give everything you have to do what's right. How you stay rooted to your beliefs.. And won't let anyone put you down. You're fighting for this.. Better and harder than anyone. 

I love how much you care, the way you show you care.. I love how despite everything life throws your way, you always find a way to keep going, you never give up..

I promise, you can be so proud of yourself, Sevika. I am so proud of you. Proud of calling you mine. It's an honor. And I love you"

With shaky breaths and a trembling hand, she grabs you by the back of your head, pulling you down to connect your lips in a soft kiss, filled with aversion and craving, reluctant surrender and reassurance, need and desperation; and for the very first time, she allows herself to admit it's love.

It's love when her legs hook around your waist, pulling you closer, flush against her so she's able to feel every press and rub and thrust to its fullest, indulging in what she's fought against for so long.

It's love when you focus solely on her, wiping the lonesome tears that slip from her eyes, replacing them with the residue of once-saliva-slicked lips.

It's love when you muffle her humiliatingly loud noises with breathtaking pecks, swallowing her sounds and saving them in the depths of your mind.

It's love when your hips speed up per request, when your thumb pushes against her clit because you know she's edging closer and closer.

It's love when she lets herself fall once more, body shuddering as she's blinded by her pleasure, though it might as well be the tears in her eyes.

It's love when you kiss her through it. When you praise her and tell her once more just how much she means to you.

It's love when you clean her up, letting her cuddle close when her mind has finally quieted down enough for her eyes to grow heavy.

And at the very end, she knows it's love when you whisper she'll be your wife one day.

[chounaifu]

❝ You wanna hear a story? It’s one of the only childhood memories I still have in tact in this fucked up brain I have. ❞ There’s a jab to his temple with one finger, the other hand holding a cigarette, ashing it on the ground. Leaned against the side of the convenience store, street lamp buzzing and flickering, Proton doesn’t make eye contact with the person lingering nearby.

❝ I was five, maybe, maybe six years old, spring time outside of Ecruteak. And I was walking outside early in the morning, all on my own. Spring time, y’know, is when Metapod evolves, all of the Butterfree emerge from their cocoons, ❞ he idly waves his hand some, as if illustrating the image with invisible paint on a non-existent canvas.

He sounds exhausted as he speaks, having been awake nearly 48 hours, burning the midnight oil.

❝ They all started to evolve at once, one by one, Butterfree flying everywhere, I’d never seen so many before, ❞ he clears his throat, it’s groggy from chain smoking, using the nicotine to stay awake.

❝ And then I saw one just, come out with no wings. It hit the ground, and it just— did nothing, it squirmed in the grass, it just laid there squirming and moving, and watching as the others flew off. Like it just kept trying to will itself to get up and fly, but, thing couldn’t, thing didn’t have any wings. I remember standing there, doing nothing, not really feeling a lot lot, ‘sides from— wondering what it’s like to watch all of the others take off into the sky, while you’re left behind to rot, because Mother Nature didn’t give you what you needed to thrive. ❞

The butcher takes a drag from his cigarette, and his eyes shift over to his audience of one. Protons arches a brow, the exhaustion leaving him— laughing some, his tired flee unsettling, and he flicks the cigarette to the ground, watching as the cherry red dies off

❝ . . . What, were you waiting for a metaphor? It’s just a story. ❞

Thus says the Butterfree whose wings were cleaved off by fate before he even knew they were meant to be attached to his back; some men are born with a predisposition to become serpents rather than butterflies.

[magic5ball]

Nature Trail to Hell Take II (Part 1, Chapter 3)

Chapter 3: Lord of the Bees

            The following four days could best be described as long. Or if you’re really feeling poetic, LOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGG. Long and bleak and miserable. Four days I lived a tedious nightmare of extensive hikes, crappy songs before meals, and stupid dick jokes at bed. And always, always there would be Ms. Hobag with a smile on her butt ugly face, handing out stickers for even the most mediocre accomplishment, as if those would magically evaporate our sorrows. Though if the way my fellow inmates wore the things was any indication, they were probably repurposed nicotine patches.

            And to rub salt in the wound, while I was slogging through the most inhumane torture on Earth, Hilda was out going on adventures with fantasy geese or whatever. Though I shouldn’t have been surprised. Ever since we’d turned ten, it seemed like she’d been doing her own thing a lot. Probably because she realized just how lame my life was. In fact, it wouldn’t be until night four we finally made a rendezvous.

            That night, I was curled up on my cot, trying to ignore the double whammy of bug bites and a full bladder, praying to whatever God might be out there to give me an answer, a sign that I might escape, though these prayers were probably lost amongst Howie Ronson’s late night penis jokes. In that moment I hated Howie, the cocky, unfunny turd, and how everyone thought he was the coolest guy in the universe just because he knew the f-word. I mean, I’d known about fudgenugget for ages, but you didn’t see me getting an award!

With every lame hose and sausage pun, uttered from his stupid mouth, he ignited a fledgling fire in my heart, a fire that, God willing, would grow into the blaze to burn the stupid camp to the ground! Or maybe my body was overheating under the covers. Whatever. It still beat the mosquito bites.

Around then is when Hilda showed up.

“I-Im really sorry.” She whispered from under my cot. “But we’re busy organizing a raid and-“

“Why can’t you just tell the truth?” I said between my teeth, just loud enough to get a snicker from the other guys.

“W-what do you mean?” She stuttered.

“I mean, why can’t you just say you’re goofing off in the woods or something, instead of making up stupid stories?!”

And at that moment, I swore I heard thunder outside as the cabin got just a little colder.

“Because I’m not!” She cried. “The Larp geese need my help to-!”

”I need your help! But lately, all you seem to do is wander off to do your own thing!” I whisper-screamed, tears running down my cheeks.  

“You say that like I want these stupid adventures! Maybe I want to go to school and make friends with other kids instead of playing errand boy for a bunch of talking birds!”

“Yeah right, like anyone would want my stupid life!”

“Your life has Joel, the coolest baby brother who ever lived! Do you know what I’d do for-!”

We did this for, I’d say two hours. Thankfully, the sudden surge of cool air had put everyone to sleep.

“Look Watt, I know you’re angry, but I want to make it up to you.”

“Well, unless you can turn me invisible, I don’t see how I’m leaving this camp.”

“No. I was thinking an escape plan.”

“A good one?”

She nodded. “The best.”

And under the covers, I doodled in my repurposed mad libs book late into the night.

.  .   .

Unfortunately, that meant I woke up real groggy the next day, which is not how you want to be when escaping the summer camp from hell. And for all our trouble, our plan wasn’t that complex, either: that day was our first waterboarding session, or as they called it- swim lessons.

Now, I know you probably don’t think much about swimming, but I was one of those kids whose Mom had to dye the bathwater brown and pretend it was cola just so her son would wash his dang hair already. Combined with the knowledge that Lord knows what had peed in the pool, I was not a happy camper.

            Our instructions were simple: form a line outside the pool while the instructor would take us in one at a time and dunk our heads for ten seconds. Instead I took a cue from the Old Testament and made my own personal Exodus.

I dashed across the concrete rim of the pool, pavement cooking my feet, a counselor and ten other kids hot on my tail. At first I thought I was out of luck, that they’d catch me before I even made it to the twelve foot area, when I saw it hung on the side of the supply shed: a life saver. A grin crept across my face. Dad and I once watched every single Rambo movie in a single night: now it was time for that father-son bonding moment to pay off. I picked that life preserver up by the rope and started swinging it like a ball and chain. Before anyone knew what was happening, four kids were knocked into the water.

“Watterson, what-“

BAM! Into the drip went the counselor! The remaining six campers kept their distance, trying to find an opening. I kept swinging, slowly backing toward the chain link fence. Right at that moment, the sun came out from behind a cloud, its’ glorious light shining on yours truly. But I wasn’t out of the woods just yet (metaphorically, of course: I needed to make my way into forest for my escape): I was still leaning on Hilda and her alleged goose friends to carve a hole in the chain link fence. But victory was so close I could taste it!

            And then a steady buzz cut the air. A sound I’d recognize anywhere.

.   .   .

The trouble started in 1st grade, on the best day of my life. Our class had just finished a field trip to the Academy of Natural Sciences, the best place on the planet, but just as I was nodding off on the bus ride home-

“OUCH!”

I felt the sharpest sting in my belly. First I shrugged it off as just a weird thing, but it came again. And again. I thought I was going crazy! I wailed, helpless to fight the invisible demon kicking my butt. It was only when a teacher told me to lift up my shirt, where the black and yellow culprit lay waiting.

And from that day forward, the sight of that little black and yellow bugger filled me a dread like nothing in the universe.

.   .   .

Which is my way of saying I screamed  

“BEEEEEEEE!”

Like a little weenie before plunging into the water.

But me being me, I had made just one teeny, tiny miscalculation: I was in the twelve foot end, couldn’t swim for my life, and the chlorine was setting my eyes on fire. But I’d escaped death by stinger, so at least I could die happy.

The last thing I saw before I lost consciousness was a ruby red ladybug drifting by on the wind as the sun ducked behind a cloud, because God is funny like that.

.   .   .

            I woke to the hum of the camp’s only air conditioner. Now, I’m not usually one for cryin’, but in that moment I wept buckets. It’d been so long since I’d felt the sweet kiss of artificial cooling I’d almost forgot it existed. The rest of the room looked kinda like the principal’s office at my school: filing cabinets in a corner, big desk topped with a computer dated even in ’06 and football player bobble heads- the whole shebang. Then I read the name plaque on the desk. I may have gotten a C- in english, but even I knew how to spell Ms. Helga Hobag in big gold letters. And just my luck, I could hear footsteps echoing down a hall outside. With what little juice left in me, I tried to make a break, only to find my arms were tied to the chair with lanyards, many of which I’d made myself during arts and crafts period. Above, a fan circled like a flock of vultures waiting for fresh meat.

Then SHE walked in, and the breath left my lungs.

“I’m very disappointed in you, Watterson J. Tostig.” She said.

I cringed. Only two types of people ever called me by my full name: my parents-

-and my worst enemies.

“I know ladybugs can be scary, especially for a boy your age, but your behavior was very inappropriate.”

“Taunt me all you want, woman.” I growled, deepening my voice far as it would go. Though mostly I wound up sounding like a grumpy Chihuahua.  “You’ll get nothing outta me.”

Ms. Hoebag looked at me like I was one of those weird paintings with the melting clocks.

“I wasn’t going to punish you, Watterson. I was just going to remind you to wear more bug spray next time.”

“So I am I off the hook?” For a second there, I swore I saw the bluebird of happiness flying by outside.

“Unfortunately, no. Because you forgot to take off your underpants while swimming, silly! That’s against the dress code!”

            Just like that, the metaphorical bluebird smacked itself on the window and died. But at least I now knew why my swim trunks felt weird that day! And to make matters worse, those tighty-whities were my only pair! (I was supposed to bring ten, but when Dad wasn’t looking I replaced them with my Mad Libs books.) But I distinctly recall that at that moment, my pants felt dry. To this day, I don’t know whose underpants I was wearing at the moment. Probably the only mystery of life I’m fine never knowing the answer to.

“It saddens me to say this Watterson, but you need a time out.”

The last words were a sledgehammer to the face. I could only sputter “But..butt…” as I was carried, still tied to the chair, down a long hall that stank of sawdust and despair. At the end of said hall was a door, and through that door…

The room was totally empty, save for a lightbulb hanging by a thread and a T.V. against the back wall.

“Now Watterson.” She began, the faux sunshine gone from her voice. “We need to talk about Hilda.”

[kingbdistributionkushkube]

What Are Sleep THC Gummies?

Sleep THC gummies are edible supplements infused with tetrahydrocannabinol (THC), the primary psychoactive compound in cannabis. These gummies are designed to promote relaxation, alleviate stress, and enhance sleep quality. Many products also incorporate cannabidiol (CBD), melatonin, or other natural sleep aids to create a synergistic effect that helps users fall asleep faster and stay asleep longer.

How Do THC Gummies Help with Sleep?

THC interacts with the endocannabinoid system (ECS), which plays a role in regulating various bodily functions, including sleep. By binding to cannabinoid receptors in the brain, THC can help:

Reduce Anxiety & Stress: Many people struggle with sleep due to racing thoughts and stress. THC has calming effects that can ease the mind and make it easier to drift off.

Enhance Deep Sleep: Studies suggest that THC may increase slow-wave sleep (SWS), the most restorative stage of sleep.

Relieve Pain & Discomfort: If pain or chronic discomfort keeps you awake, THC's analgesic properties may provide relief, allowing for a more comfortable night's rest.

Regulate Sleep Cycles: THC may help restore balance to disrupted sleep patterns, particularly for individuals with insomnia or irregular sleep schedules.

Choosing the Right Sleep THC Gummies

Not all THC gummies are the same, so it's important to choose a product that fits your needs. Here are some key factors to consider:

THC to CBD Ratio: Some gummies have a balanced THC:CBD ratio (e.g., 1:1) for a more relaxing experience, while others focus more on THC for stronger sedative effects.

Added Sleep Ingredients: Look for gummies with melatonin, chamomile, valerian root, or L-theanine for an extra sleep boost.

Dosage: Beginners should start with a low dose (2.5-5mg THC) and increase gradually to find their optimal level.

Full-Spectrum vs. Isolate: Full-spectrum products contain a variety of cannabinoids and terpenes that enhance the effects of THC, known as the entourage effect.

Third-Party Testing: Always choose gummies that are lab-tested for potency, purity, and safety.

How to Use Sleep THC Gummies for Best Results

To maximize their effectiveness, follow these guidelines:

Take Gummies 30-60 Minutes Before Bedtime – THC takes time to be absorbed, so plan accordingly.

Create a Relaxing Environment – Dim the lights, turn off screens, and engage in calming activities like reading or meditation.

Avoid Stimulants Before Bed – Caffeine, nicotine, and heavy meals can counteract the calming effects of THC.

Stay Consistent – Using THC gummies regularly can help establish a healthy sleep routine.

Potential Side Effects & Precautions

While THC can be highly effective for sleep, it may cause some side effects, including:

Grogginess – Some people may feel drowsy in the morning, especially with higher doses.

Dry Mouth – A common side effect of cannabis consumption.

Increased Tolerance – Regular use may lead to reduced effects over time, requiring higher doses.

Psychoactive Effects – High doses of THC can cause mild euphoria, dizziness, or paranoia in sensitive individuals.

If you have underlying health conditions or take medications, consult a healthcare provider before using THC gummies.

Final Thoughts

Sleep THC gummies are a natural, effective way to improve sleep quality without relying on pharmaceutical sleep aids. With the right dosage and formulation, they can help you achieve deeper, more restorative sleep while reducing stress and anxiety.

[charcha-equity]

Understanding Ideal Sleep Time: A Key to Optimal Health and Well-Being

In today’s fast-paced world, quality sleep often takes a backseat to work, socializing, and personal responsibilities. Yet, sleep is a fundamental part of maintaining good health. Beyond just getting the right amount of sleep, the timing of your sleep plays a crucial role in optimizing its restorative effects. So, what is the ideal sleep time, and why does it matter?

How Much Sleep Do You Really Need?

The amount of sleep required varies by age, lifestyle, and individual health needs. According to the National Sleep Foundation, these are the general sleep recommendations for different age groups:

Newborns (0-3 months): 14-17 hours

Infants (4-11 months): 12-15 hours

Toddlers (1-2 years): 11-14 hours

Preschoolers (3-5 years): 10-13 hours

School-age children (6-13 years): 9-11 hours

Teens (14-17 years): 8-10 hours

Adults (18-64 years): 7-9 hours

Older Adults (65+ years): 7-8 hours

While these are average guidelines, individual needs may vary. It's not just about the total sleep duration, but also the quality of sleep—ensuring that you progress through all stages of sleep, including deep and REM sleep, which are essential for physical recovery and mental rejuvenation.

The Importance of Sleep Timing

Our bodies operate on a natural 24-hour cycle known as the circadian rhythm, which influences when we feel sleepy and when we are alert. The circadian rhythm is regulated by environmental cues, particularly light, which helps signal to our body when it’s time to sleep and when it’s time to wake up. Timing your sleep in alignment with this internal clock is crucial for better sleep quality.

1. Consistent Sleep Schedule

Going to bed and waking up at the same time each day helps stabilize your circadian rhythm. Irregular sleep patterns, such as frequently staying up late or waking up at different times, can confuse your internal clock, leading to fatigue, irritability, and poor sleep quality.

2. Avoiding Late-Night Stimulants

Substances like caffeine, nicotine, and alcohol can all interfere with your ability to fall asleep and reduce the quality of your rest. To improve your sleep timing, it’s a good idea to avoid these stimulants, particularly in the hours leading up to bedtime.

3. Ideal Bedtime

For most people, the optimal sleep window falls between 10:00 PM and 6:00 AM. This timeframe aligns with the natural darkness of the evening, signaling your body that it’s time to wind down. However, this can vary based on personal schedules and lifestyle factors.

4. Sleep Cycles and Their Impact

Sleep doesn’t occur in one uninterrupted stretch—it’s divided into cycles, each lasting about 90 minutes. These cycles progress through different stages, including light sleep, deep sleep, and REM sleep. Waking up at the end of a sleep cycle, rather than in the middle of one, can help you feel more refreshed and less groggy. Planning your sleep in 90-minute intervals—such as 6, 7.5, or 9 hours—can help you wake up during a lighter sleep phase.

Why Ideal Sleep Timing Matters

Aligning your sleep timing with your natural circadian rhythm provides several benefits that go beyond simply feeling well-rested.

Boosts Cognitive Function: Sleep is essential for memory consolidation, learning, problem-solving, and critical thinking. Well-timed sleep helps your brain function at its best.

Physical Health Benefits: Quality sleep supports your immune system, helps repair cells and tissues, regulates hormones, and reduces inflammation. It plays a significant role in lowering the risk of chronic conditions, including heart disease and diabetes.

Mental Health Benefits: Getting enough sleep helps regulate mood, alleviate stress, and combat symptoms of anxiety and depression.

Improves Focus and Productivity: Adequate rest enhances concentration, creativity, and mental clarity, improving performance in both personal and professional life.

Strengthens Immune Function: Sleep plays a key role in maintaining a healthy immune system, helping your body fight infections and illnesses more effectively.

Factors That Affect Sleep Timing

Many factors can affect your ability to maintain ideal sleep timing:

Work or Social Schedules: Shift work, late-night meetings, or social events can disrupt your natural sleep patterns.

Stress or Anxiety: Mental stress can make it hard to relax before bed, leading to delayed sleep times.

Blue Light Exposure: Using screens before bed, such as phones, computers, or TV, emits blue light that can hinder melatonin production, making it harder to fall asleep.

Health Conditions: Disorders like insomnia, sleep apnea, or restless leg syndrome can interfere with the ability to get sufficient rest, pushing back bedtime or disturbing sleep throughout the night.

Tips for Achieving the Ideal Sleep Time

Establish a Relaxing Bedtime Routine: Engage in calming activities, such as reading, practicing meditation, or taking a warm bath, to signal to your body that it’s time to unwind.

Limit Screen Time: Reduce exposure to blue light by avoiding screens at least an hour before bed.

Create a Sleep-Friendly Environment: Ensure your bedroom is dark, quiet, and cool, and invest in a comfortable mattress and pillow.

Exercise Regularly: Physical activity during the day can help you sleep better at night. However, avoid vigorous exercise close to bedtime, as it might make falling asleep more difficult.

Monitor Sleep Quality: Consider using sleep trackers to monitor your sleep patterns or consult with a healthcare professional if you’re struggling to maintain ideal sleep timing.

Conclusion

The timing of your sleep is as important as the duration. Aligning your sleep schedule with your body's natural rhythms and making efforts to reduce distractions and stimulants can lead to better rest, improved physical health, and mental clarity. By paying attention to when and how you sleep, you can unlock the full benefits of sleep and enhance your overall well-being.

4o mini

[ragonfana]

hi! i am a clinicial support employee (scribe) that works directly with physicians and patients in a primary care setting. below is some advice the clinicians i work with often offer to patients who have sleep problems.

disclaimer: i am not a licensed medical professional and do not have formal medical training or education. i'm not a doctor and this is not medical advice, this info is provided for informational purposes only. insomnia and poor sleep quality could lead to life-threatening situations and lifelong health problems, and should be addressed by a licensed healthcare provider.

- putting it first: talk with your doctor about disorders that might interfere with sleep. sleep apnea is a common health problem that can occur at any age. It often goes unnoticed because you dont really notice it unless someone can watch you sleep, but can lead to lifelong health complications, as well as bad sleep quality.

- mental health conditions can also lead to poor sleep. for example, ADHD has been shown to sometimes have comorbid sleep cycle disturbances, making it hard to fall asleep at a normal time and leading to lower sleep quality. anxiety and depression can also lead to poor sleep quality.

- try to maintain a consistent sleep schedule. try to sleep within 1-2 hours of the same time every night, and wake up within a similar window. make sure you're not sleeping too little or too much. the amount of sleep a person needs per night can vary based on the individual and other life circumstances, like stress level. some people feel well with only 6 hours of sleep but others need up to 10 hours a night. try to figure out what works for you!

- appropriate sleep hygiene is a big first step! give yourself time to wind down at night before going to bed. try to develop a nighttime routine so you can develop associations that encourage your brain to start getting sleepy.

- avoid technology use prior to bedtime. the effect of blue light on our sleep habits is somewhat disputed, but doomscrolling on social media, playing games, and watching tv are all activities that engage our brains in ways that arent conducive with sleep. providers i work with recommend avoiding tech for 2 hours prior to bedtime.

- exercise and stretching prior to bed can help some people sleep, but for others it makes them more awake or makes them feel groggy the next day. consider exercising during the day instead.

- if you feel too awake to sleep, try taking a warm bath, listening to music, or reading a book/fic (nothing too engaging). you want to avoid activities that require a lot of concentration, attention, or cognitive power.

- evaluate your environment! are there things that may be waking you up at night? loud street noise, streetlights, pets, household members, too hot or cold? look into options for cancelling noise such as white noise machines (using earplugs can cause cerumen to be pushed against the ear drum, which can cause discomfort and infection. do this at your own risk), better ways to control your room's temperature, blackout curtains, etc.

- if you nap during the day, limit your naps to 30 minutes at a time or less. try to avoid naps in the afternoons and evenings.

- if you lay in bed for 15-20 minutes and cant fall asleep, get out of bed and try a quiet activity for a while before trying to fall asleep again. you want your bed to be associated with sleep in your brain, which should help with falling asleep.

- avoid caffeine after noon, or at least 8 hours prior to bedtime.

- avoid large meals for at least 2 hours prior to bedtime as this can lead to GERD (also known as reflux or heartburn). this can cause long-term GI issues as well as discomfort that can wake you up or reduce sleep quality.

- avoid the use of nicotine prior to bedtime as this can cause a sensation of increased energy and reduced fatigue, which will make sleeping more difficult and less restful.

- avoid alcohol 1-2 hours prior to bedtime. alcohol can produce a sedating effect which may help you fall asleep, but generally doesn't provide good sleep quality and can cause issues like increased anxiety in the short-term, compounding any sleep issues, as well as long-term health risks

As for supplements and over-the-counter medications... note: do not start a supplement without first talking to your healthcare provider, especially if you are taking any other medications. herbs can interact with medications in potentially deadly ways. naturopathic doctors may also know more about supplements and their interactions with prescription drugs.

- melatonin and valerian root are OTC (over-the-counter; non-prescription) sleep aids. melatonin is a chemical your brain already produces that regulates your body's sleep-wake cycle. melatonin should be taken at least 30 minutes prior to the time you lay down to sleep, preferably 1-2 hours. (one provider i worked with recommended taking it as early as sundown. ymmv.)

- valerian is an herbal supplement that produces a sedating and anxiolytic (anti-anxiety) effect. valerian root's mechanism of action is not fully understood but may be similar to that of benzodiazapines. you should take valerian root about 30 minutes prior to bedtime.

- avoid using Benadryl (diphenhydramine) or medications containing it for sleep on a regular basis. this medicine is considered safe for short-term use to manage insomnia, but research has come out recently raising concerns about long-term daily use and possible health risks

ive said it 10 times in this post and im getting preachy now, but: talk to a healthcare provider if you have concerns! (not directed specifically at OP here, but:) if you cant afford healthcare it's possible there are free or reduced cost public clinics in your area. i know they dont always provide the best medical care but something is usually better than nothing at all.

if you live in the US and dont have health insurance, check out healthcare.gov. if you make within 200% of the federal poverty limit you likely qualify for lowered-cost health plans and possibly financial assistance for your monthly premium, and if you make more you may still get some assistance. also check your state's medicaid, CHIP, and other health insurance programs.

how do you guys get good sleep. literally the only time i feel rested is if i have an entire bottle of wine before bed and well quite frankly that seems like a bad habit to start. what are better or worse ways to sleep well

[seoconsultant-1]

6 Things You Should Discover Life Insurance

That two word response was in order to colleague of mine; after she had so magnificently offered us a cigarette after our lunch time. Normally in this situation I would personally have pounced, feral instincts taking over as my brain realised there was free nicotine up for grabs. Today, well last Thursday regarding exact; I quit smoking - hence my completely irrational (for a "smoker" at least) answer.

"Please go back. It is usually quite risky out here," said a firefighter. Suchandan had already commenced suffocating. I threw final glance at the hell of an floor, and started descending the steps. Carefully escaping the hose pipes, wires and debris as we had done on our journey in the Nandaram building, we reached the salir. We were covered in soot, and were all groggy the family emerged from the the starting. After washing my face for just a hand pump across the building, I glanced for you to take a style at the firemen fighting the terminate.

Is offering not created to be flip, but sometimes you have to trim your losses. When cigarette Fume Infinity gets deeply enmeshed into the fabric of an ex-smokers favorite couch, end up being be nothing that will ever get against each other. Unless you enjoy reupholstering furniture, you could have to throw it away. Better yet, market it to a smoker.

Talk to your own loved ones, in order to garner their support in stopping smoking. Communicate your need for support, so as that they can understand their important roles, rather than becoming judgmental or suspect. Warn them close to fact that you might likely be grumpier than normal as start the way. You could be also a bit fuzzy-brained. It isn't easy to quit smoking, and should guaranteed you have your loved ones' support during this process.

Fill a tub with vinegar and also it on your platform in the leading seat, close the windows, open the floor vents and turn on the heat full blast. Allow car run in this state a great hour before removing the package. Another version of this remedy requires hot summer weather and allowing the bathtub sit on to the ground with the windows closed all day.

Foul Bathroom - Evaluate the bathroom in the tattoo shop you for you to go to in loan. Does it look and smell wash? The look of the bathroom will cover an regarding the involving cleanliness in the industry. If the employees take a nonchalant attitude to the bathrooms cleanliness they also are nonchalant their cleaning of there personal stations.

She made an excuse and left the bistro early, not too he is at there almost as much ast he was too busy outside chain smoking. Her mistake was sticking around too long and not going for the best dating site to secure a screen and background payment. The twin brother hold shown on.

Fire alarms and smoke detectors are also important shop alarms have got. Thieves and shoplifters aren't the only threat to all your business. Fire is exceedingly. Getting a good fire security alarm for your shop assist to alert you of the option of a fireplace that may damage your goods or your store. This way of a beginning warning device will help you save you a lot of of money by letting you know among the possibility of your fire before it gets too big to control and produced.

[vapehk1]

Melatonin Vape: Catching Z's Has Never Been This Cool

Sleep is one of those things we all crave but often find elusive, like that one missing sock after laundry. Enter the melatonin vape—a modern twist on the age-old quest for a good night’s sleep. If you're picturing someone puffing away in bed, you're not too far off. This trendy sleep aid is turning heads and promising sweet dreams with a hint of fun. Let's dive into the delightful world of melatonin vapes, where sleep meets chic. What Is a Melatonin Vape and How Does It Work? A melatonin vape is essentially a small device that allows you to inhale melatonin, the hormone your body naturally produces to regulate sleep. Instead of popping pills or chewing gummies, you can now vape your way to slumberland. Think of it as the e-cigarette's sleepy cousin, but without the nicotine and other nasties. When you take a puff from a melatonin vape, you inhale a vaporized form of melatonin, which quickly enters your bloodstream through your lungs. This means it can work faster than traditional supplements. Imagine skipping the long wait time and heading straight to dreamland—it's like fast-tracking your sleep ticket. And let’s be honest, who doesn't want a VIP pass to a good night's sleep? The Benefits of Using a Melatonin Vape Melatonin vapes offer several perks beyond their sleek, portable design. First and foremost, they provide a rapid onset of effects. This is a game-changer for those nights when counting sheep just doesn’t cut it. Instead of tossing and turning, you can enjoy a quick puff and drift off faster than you can say "goodnight." Another benefit is the customizable dosing. With a vape, you can control how much melatonin you’re inhaling, which is great for those who are sensitive to higher doses. No more overdoing it with tablets and waking up groggy. You’re the boss of your bedtime routine, tailoring it to your exact needs. Plus, the flavors can be a delightful bedtime treat. Vanilla, lavender, or mint—take your pick and add a touch of taste to your sleep regimen. Potential Drawbacks and Considerations While melatonin vapes sound like a dream come true, they aren’t without their quirks. For starters, the long-term effects of inhaling melatonin are still under research. Although it’s generally considered safe, we’re venturing into relatively uncharted territory. It’s always wise to consult with a healthcare professional before starting any new sleep aid, especially one that’s inhaled. Moreover, melatonin vapes can be a bit too convenient. With ease of use, there’s a risk of becoming overly reliant on them for sleep. While they’re great for occasional sleepless nights, developing a nightly habit might not be the best approach. Balance is key—think of melatonin vapes as a sleep supplement, not a sleep crutch. Who Should Consider Using a Melatonin Vape? Melatonin vapes can be particularly appealing to night owls and frequent travelers. If you’re someone who struggles to wind down after a long day or finds it hard to adjust to new time zones, a melatonin vape could be your new best friend. The quick absorption and ease of use make it a handy tool for resetting your internal clock. They’re also great for those who dislike traditional supplements. Let’s face it, not everyone enjoys swallowing pills or chewing on gummies. A melatonin vape offers a pleasant alternative, combining functionality with a dash of fun. It’s like the cool, hipster way to sleep better—minus the avocado toast. Conclusion The article humorously explores the trendy world of melatonin vapes, highlighting their modern appeal and effectiveness in promoting sleep. Melatonin vapes offer rapid onset and customizable dosing, making them an attractive option for those seeking a quick and tailored sleep aid. Despite their benefits, the article notes potential drawbacks, such as the lack of long-term research and the risk of over-reliance. Ideal for night owls, frequent travelers, and those who dislike traditional supplements, melatonin vapes provide a fun and convenient alternative for better sleep. Overall, the article paints a playful picture of how melatonin vapes could transform bedtime routines. FAQs 1. How do melatonin vapes work? Melatonin vapes work by allowing you to inhale melatonin, a hormone that helps regulate sleep. When you take a puff, the vaporized melatonin enters your bloodstream through your lungs, providing a faster effect compared to oral supplements. This rapid absorption can help you fall asleep more quickly and potentially improve sleep quality. 2. Are melatonin vapes safe to use? The safety of melatonin vapes is still under research. While melatonin itself is generally considered safe when used appropriately, the long-term effects of inhaling it are not well-studied. There are concerns about the potential risks associated with vaping, including lung irritation and the presence of harmful ingredients in some vape products. It's recommended to consult with a healthcare professional before using melatonin vapes. 3. Can you overdose on melatonin with a vape? While overdosing on melatonin is rare, it is possible to intake too much melatonin through vaping if not used correctly. Melatonin vapes can deliver the hormone more quickly, which might lead to higher levels in the bloodstream if used excessively. It's important to follow dosage guidelines and avoid overuse to prevent adverse effects such as grogginess or disrupted sleep cycles. 4. Who should consider using a melatonin vape? Melatonin vapes can be particularly useful for individuals who have difficulty falling asleep, frequent travelers experiencing jet lag, or those who need a quick-acting sleep aid. They might also appeal to people who prefer not to take oral supplements. However, anyone considering melatonin vapes should evaluate their overall health and consult with a healthcare provider, especially if they have respiratory issues or are on other medications. 5. What are the potential side effects of using melatonin vapes? The potential side effects of using melatonin vapes are similar to those of other melatonin supplements and can include daytime drowsiness, headaches, dizziness, and nausea. In some cases, more severe side effects like blurred vision, confusion, and allergic reactions could occur. Users should be aware of these risks and monitor their body's response to melatonin vapes. If any serious side effects occur, it's crucial to stop using the product and seek medical advice. Read the full article

[fitjourneydaily]

Discover the Power of Restorative Sleep with Herbal Extracts and Consistent Use

In our fast-paced, modern lives, quality sleep has become a rare treasure for many. The demands of work, social life, and technology often disrupt our sleep patterns, leading to a common complaint - lack of restorative sleep. However, by incorporating herbal extracts and consistent use into your routine, you can optimize your sleep cycle and experience the rejuvenating benefits of deep, restful slumber. In this article, we will delve into the importance of restorative sleep, explore how herbal extracts can aid in achieving it, and discuss the significance of consistent use in maintaining a healthy sleep cycle. 1. The Importance of Restorative Sleep: Quality sleep is crucial for our overall well-being and performance. It is during deep sleep that our bodies repair cells, consolidate memories, and rejuvenate both physically and mentally. Restorative sleep is the essential stage that allows us to wake up feeling refreshed and energized, ready to conquer the challenges of the day. On the other hand, a lack of restorative sleep can lead to grogginess, impairment of cognitive function, weakened immune system, and an increased risk of various health conditions. 2. Understanding Herbal Extracts for Sleep: Herbal extracts have long been used for their therapeutic properties, and they can play a significant role in promoting restorative sleep. When it comes to sleep support, certain herbs have proven to be particularly effective. Let's explore a few popular ones: a) Valerian Root: Valerian root is a well-known herb that has been used for centuries as a natural sleep aid. It helps to reduce anxiety, calm the mind, and promote a state of relaxation, making it easier to fall asleep and achieve deep, restorative rest. b) Chamomile: Chamomile is a gentle herb with soothing and calming properties. It can help reduce stress, anxiety, and even insomnia. A cup of chamomile tea before bedtime can prepare your body and mind for a peaceful sleep. c) Passionflower: Passionflower is a herb known for its sedative effects. It can help improve sleep quality and reduce nighttime awakenings, allowing for a more restorative sleep experience. d) Lavender: Lavender is renowned for its calming aroma. The scent of lavender has been shown to relax the body and mind, promoting a deeper and more restful sleep. 3. Consistent Use for Sleep Optimization: Incorporating herbal extracts into your sleep routine is just one piece of the puzzle. Maintaining consistent use is equally important for optimizing your sleep cycle. Here's how to establish a consistent routine: a) Set a Regular Sleep Schedule: Try to go to bed and wake up at the same time each day, even on weekends. This helps regulate your body's internal clock and enhances the quality of your sleep. b) Create a Relaxing Bedtime Routine: Develop a pre-bedtime routine to signal to your body that it's time to wind down. This can include activities like reading, taking a warm bath, or practicing relaxation techniques like deep breathing or meditation. c) Create a Sleep-Friendly Environment: Ensure your bedroom is cool, dark, and quiet. Use black-out curtains, earplugs, or white noise machines if needed. A comfortable mattress and pillows are also essential for promoting a restful sleep experience. d) Limit Stimulants: Avoid consuming caffeine, nicotine, and alcohol close to bedtime, as they can interfere with falling asleep and disrupt the quality of your sleep. 4. Optimizing Your Sleep Cycle: Apart from herbal extracts and consistent use, understanding and optimizing your sleep cycle can significantly impact the restorative power of your sleep. Our sleep cycles consist of multiple stages, including light sleep, deep sleep, and REM (rapid eye movement) sleep. Each stage plays a unique role in restoring and repairing different parts of our body and mind. To enhance your sleep cycle, consider these tips: a) Prioritize Sleep Duration: Aim for a minimum of 7-8 hours of sleep per night, allowing your body ample time to go through multiple sleep cycles. b) Wake Up Naturally: Where possible, wake up without an alarm to allow your body to complete its natural sleep cycle. This prevents abrupt disruptions and helps you wake up feeling refreshed. c) Avoid Electronics Before Bed: The blue light emitted by electronic devices can inhibit melatonin production, the hormone that regulates sleep. To optimize your sleep cycle, disconnect from screens at least an hour before bedtime. d) Regular Exercise: Engaging in regular physical activity can help regulate your sleep cycle and promote deeper sleep. Just be sure to exercise earlier in the day, as exercising too close to bedtime may have the opposite effect. Achieving restorative sleep is an essential aspect of maintaining optimal health and well-being. By incorporating herbal extracts known for their sleep-enhancing properties and adopting consistent sleep habits, you can significantly improve the quality of your sleep and reap the benefits of a rejuvenated mind and body. Remember, it's not just about the quantity of sleep but also the quality, and with the right approach, you can make restorative sleep a reality. 1. Restorative Sleep 2. Herbal Extracts for Sleep 3. Consistent Sleep Routine 4. Sleep Cycle Optimizatio Transform your weight loss journey with our advanced formula, meticulously developed with 10 Key Metabolic Boosters. Unveil the secret to effectively shedding unwanted weight and enhancing your metabolism. Our scientifically designed blend leverages the strength of natural, powerful ingredients acclaimed for their weight loss benefits. Perfect for those aiming to achieve a healthier body, maintain weight loss, or discover a natural approach to weight management, our product presents a comprehensive solution. Feel the power of nature's most effective, selectively chosen for their profound impact on weight loss. Enter a realm where achieving your desired weight is not just a dream, but a reality, and witness the change with each use. Start your path to a healthier, slimmer you today. Learn more about how these 10 Key Metabolic Boosters can revolutionize your weight loss regimen. Visit the Weight Loss Ritual Product Page. Transform your sleep patterns with our groundbreaking formula, expertly created with a Rare Herbal Blend. Discover the secret to effectively conquering insomnia and promoting restful sleep. Our scientifically crafted mixture utilizes the essence of a unique, potent herb known for its sleep-inducing properties. Ideal for those seeking a natural remedy to improve sleep quality, reduce nighttime wakefulness, or find an herbal solution to insomnia, our product offers a comprehensive sleep aid. Experience the soothing power of this rare herb, meticulously selected for its unparalleled effectiveness in enhancing sleep. Enter a world where deep, rejuvenating sleep is not just a wish, but a nightly reality, and notice the difference with each use. Begin your journey to uninterrupted, quality sleep today. Learn more about how this Rare Herbal Blend can revolutionize your sleep experience. Visit the Sleep Guard Plus Product Page. Revitalize your joint health with our breakthrough formula, infused with 10 Essential Joint-Relief Compounds. Uncover the solution to effectively alleviate and manage persistent joint pain. Our scientifically crafted blend taps into the potency of natural ingredients, recognized for their anti-inflammatory and pain-relieving properties. Perfect for individuals aiming to restore joint flexibility, reduce discomfort, or discover a natural approach to joint pain, our product provides an all-encompassing treatment. Feel the power of nature's most effective, carefully chosen to offer maximum relief from joint pain. Enter a world where improved joint mobility and pain-free living are attainable, and witness the change with each application. Embark on your path to enhanced joint health. Learn more about how these 10 Essential Joint-Relief Compounds can transform your approach to joint pain. Visit the Joint Pain Killer Product Page. Transform your approach to joint pain relief with our groundbreaking formula, developed by a Rogue Doctor using 10 Revolutionary Pain Relief Agents. Discover the key to effectively soothing and eradicating persistent joint pain. Our scientifically engineered blend harnesses the strength of unique, powerful ingredients, celebrated for their unparalleled pain-relief properties. Ideal for those seeking to rejuvenate joint health, halt pain recurrence, or explore a radical solution to joint discomfort, our product provides a complete therapeutic experience. Experience the potency of innovative elements, meticulously chosen for their supreme efficacy in combatting joint pain. Step into a world where lasting joint comfort is attainable, and feel the improvement with each use. Begin your journey to revitalized joint health. Learn more about how these 10 Revolutionary Pain Relief Agents can revolutionize your approach to joint pain. Visit the Bio Joint Plus Product Page. Enhance your nail and hair health with our innovative formula, specially formulated with 10 Essential Nutrients for Stronger Nails and Hair. Uncover the secret to effectively nourishing and strengthening your nails and hair. Our scientifically developed blend combines the power of natural, potent ingredients renowned for their nourishing properties. Ideal for those seeking to improve nail strength, enhance hair vitality, or find a natural solution for hair and nail care, our product offers a comprehensive approach. Experience the benefits of nature's finest ingredients, carefully selected for their effectiveness in promoting healthy nails and hair. Enter a world where vibrant hair and strong nails are a reality, and feel the improvement with each application. Start your journey to healthier nails and hair today. Learn more about how these 10 Essential Nutrients can revolutionize your nail and hair health. Visit the Keravita Pro Product Page. Read the full article

[ghosttownwherenoonegoes]

He just wants his dad // Eddie & Wayne

Summary: as the title says - Eddie just wants his dad. Comfort.💗

It's barely noon when Wayne, a heavy sleeper, is woken up. He only got back from his shift a few hours ago and he had immediately toed off his boots and collapsed into the pull out bed which Eddie had prepared for him before he had left for school that morning. The Munson men had a quiet way of loving each other, understated to all but those who understood.

There's a heavy pressure on Wayne's chest. Sound creeps into his awareness and he registers quiet sniffles, suppressed and muffled by lips pressed tightly together. Wayne shifts and the weight on his chest freezes, the sounds of crying stops and Wayne can only hear his own breathing in the room.

The crying isn't his and only one other person has a key to the trailer, which means...

Wayne's hand lifts and moves into Eddie's hair of its own accord; so strong is his instinct to protect his nephew. Nicotine stained fingers delve into dark, soft curls. Eddie jolts at the first touch, unable to see his uncle move with the way his face is pressed into the blue shirt underneath red and white plaid, but Wayne persists. Gentler at first, to soothe Eddie's scare, but then at the pace he prefers; smooth, steady, constant.

Through his threshold consciousness does he feel Eddie nuzzle his face across, and Wayne moves his hand so he can tilt Eddie's head up. Eddie follows the upward tug and Wayne cracks his eyes open, groggy blues taking in tear soaked cheeks and molten pools of chocolate.

"S'matter, kid?"

Eddie's bottom lip and chin tremble. He shakes his head, exhales roughly, looks down and plucks at Wayne's shirt. "Too much, man. I just - " more tears drip sore down Eddie's face and Wayne brushes them away easily, his body moving by itself. He's not thinking about how to comfort Eddie, it's just happening. It's always been easy to love Eddie. Anger burns hot in Wayne but he channels it into soothing his nephew, taking care of him the way he always has. "School got too much and I didn't even get to see you this morning before I took off and, fuck, I just - " Eddie shook his head as a sob ripped out of his throat. "Got in the van and before I knew it, was here. Saw you, d - " Eddie cuts himself off with a firm headshake, not letting himself say what he was going to.

Wayne watches Eddie try to make himself smaller and touches the back of Eddie's head, pushing down lightly. Eddie gets the hint and rests his head back on Wayne's chest, his ear over his uncle's beating heart. "Finish the sentence, kid," Wayne's voice is gruffer than usual in his sleepiness but his encouragement is warmly intended.

Eddie takes a deep breath, steeling himself to say something he usually doesn't allow him to unless it's in moments like this; when Eddie needs familial love. "Saw you lying here, dad, and I just - " Edie sighs, swipes a hand over his face, "I just wanted a hug. Didn't mean to wake you but it got to me, man."

Wayne hears everything Eddie says but what he listens to is, someone was really mean to me today and I missed you this morning so I came home for a hug.

And it warms him from the inside out.

Wayne smiles and begins to sit up on the bed, making Eddie move. Once Wayne is all the way sat up on the bed, Eddie is moving from the floor and sitting beside him, totally leaning into Wayne. Wayne opens his arms and Eddie falls into the fleshy cage offered to him, more tears soaking his uncle's shirt as he shakes and cries. Wayne sits there, quietly stewing in anger towards whomever or whatever caused his strong nephew to shatter like this, unable to hold himself together in such an intense way that he has come home in the middle of the day for a hug, but shows only love and care towards Eddie. The anger is channelled into love, because that's who Wayne wants to be for Eddie.

The one who always, always steps in and steps up.

"M'sorry, I - "

Wayne cuts Eddie off, "this wasn't you, son. You need a hug, you need anything, you come find me, just like you did today. You know that."

Eddie does know that, he does, and that's why he feels no shame or embarrassment when he squeezes his arms even tighter around Wayne and nuzzles himself home. His tears slow, slow, but Eddie remains where he is and Wayne lets him. He's tired, he wants to go back to sleep, but Eddie isn't done and Wayne's not working tonight, so his body's needs can wait. Anything for Eddie.

Anything.

Everything else fades away until it's just a broken-hearted son and his gentle natured but angry dad and a whole lotta' love. It's what the Munsons always get right.

Love.

eddie & wayne @hellfirebabe @eddiemunsonshoney @potatos-library @bakerstreethound @gemstone-roses @sweetpeapod @authorlovers @jslittlebirdie @heydreamchild @comfortcharactercraze @mywinterivy @corrodedcoffeen @ourstaturestouchtheskies @m00nlight101

[dreams-of-yunho]

du vin en hiver pt. II

yunho x female reader rating: m. genre: new series! smut with a trope twist you all will love! w.c.: 1.4k warnings: none for this chapter :) summary: y/n moves in with her best friend's older brother Yunho and can't help but falling for him. ______________________________________________________________

It was the first, genuinely good night sleep you had gotten in years but you were startled awake by the violent trill of your iPhone alarm, you know the sound. And fucking shit, you had work. Throwing on your uniform and popping a stick of gum in your mouth, you searched through dresser drawers looking for your nicotine patches. These small squares of precious magic that were now a necessity having moved into Yunho’s non-smoking building. 

They’re in the bathroom you thought. 

Grabbing your bag and scurrying down the hall, one shoe half on, belt missing loops, you reached for the bathroom door knob only for it to rebut your advances. A faint light seeped through a crack at the floor, a fine mist rising; someone was in the shower. 

You pounded aggressively on the door, “Jane,” your voice was muffled as you struggled to fasten your watch with your teeth. “I need my nicotine patches! I have to go to work!” The pipes creaked as the water was shut off. You heard the glass door open and the lock to the door turn. Yet, it was Yunho, not Jane, who stood soaking wet in the doorway. 

Blush shot to your cheeks. “Um, I'm just looking for my nicotine patches. I thought maybe I had left them in here.” Your eyes were super glued to the point where the living room flooring met the bathroom tile. 

His eyes were groggy and his plush lips puffy.  “Oh, yeah,” he moved to the side. “Go ahead.” You gave him a meek smile and walked past, into the humid bathroom. 

You rummaged through a few drawers but to no avail. Defeated, you walked past him again. 

As he was closing the door, he stopped and spoke: “y/n.”

You turned around. 

“You look very pretty today,” and he shut the bathroom door. 

Just kind of standing there, you didn’t know how to react. But you couldn’t help a smile from tugging at your lips. 

At work and classes, you couldn’t stop thinking about him: your best friend’s brother. How golden he looked that morning. The way water dripped from his ebony curls. The curve of his cupid’s bow. Fuck, you wanted to kiss those lips. 

A euphoric feeling, untying your shoes and peeling off your socks to feel your feet against the entryway’s carpet. 

“Hello?” Jane’s voice called.

“Hey,” you shoved off your coat and followed your nose to the smell of food in the kitchen. “What did you get?” you asked as Jane placed three plates on the counter.

“I don’t know.” She opened the boxes of food. “Some sort of tomato-ed pasta. Idk Yunho got it, don’t ask me.”

You unwrapped your scarf. “Jeez okay. I’ll be right back, just let me change and wash up.” 

Footsteps advanced. “It’s ravioli, Jane, not rocket science.” You turned to see Yunho standing there: flannel pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt that was just a tad too tight. unconsciously, you soaked up the definition of his arms and chest under the kitchen fluorescents. When you noticed yourself staring, you had to really, intentionally pull your gaze away from him and command your feet to move toward your room. “Sounds good,” you spoke unnaturally. 

Closing the bedroom door behind you, you heard a voice call after you. “Y/n, do you want water or Cola, or,” the bottles in the fridge door rattled as Jane opened it. “We have half a bottle of wine and I think this is orange juice?” 

Your dirtied work uniform was tossed hurriedly on the floor and across your rug. You pulled on a pair of pink lounging sweats and a crew neck with your university’s mascot printed on the front and mystery stain on the right boob. “Water is fine.” You shouted back, pulling the bobby pins out of your hair and scrubbing a makeup wipe over your face. Guiding your feet into your slippers, you opened the bedroom door and walked into the kitchen. 

Yunho and Jane were sitting in the living room on the couch, watching something on the TV. “Your plate is on the counter,” Jane motioned behind her with her fork to the prepared plate of Ravioli and sides. 

“Thanks,” you grabbed the food and went to join them on the couch. 

Sitting in between your two roommates, you crossed your legs, criss-cross-applesauce, to balance the plate on your lap. “What are we watching?” You raised the fork to your mouth. 

“It’s Friends, dumbass,” Jane laughed. 

You took a second look at the TV, recognizing the familiar sitcom. “Oh, yeah,” you agreed.

“Would you rather watch something else?” Yunho reached for the remote. 

You reached out to stop him, placing your hand on his. He stilled. “No, I like Friends.” 

If you had focused, you could’ve felt his pulse beat rapidly at your touch and if you had faced him, you would’ve seen the strawberry-blush grow across the apples of his cheeks. She’s just happy to watch a show with her best friend Yunho though, pulling his hand back to his lap. 

The evening continued like this: the munching of ravioli and your laughs accompanied by the canned ones of the 90’s sitcom. As it got later, Jane leaned into you and pulled a blanket across your legs, her eyelids growing heavy. 

Yawwwwnnnnn, Jane stretched her arms above her head and announced: “I’m going to bed.” 

“Okay,” you extended your plate to her. “Can you put this in the sink pretty please?” You gave her a sweet, eye-crinkling smile. 

“Fine,” she stood and took the plate, motioning for Yunho to hand her his too.

He did, thanking her. “We can watch something else,” Yunho suggested after Jane had gone to bed. 

“Really,” you sank deeper into the warm embrace of the couch. “I’m okay with this.” 

“Okay,” he was oddly silent, you noted. You wondered if he had had a difficult day at work but decided not to pry by asking. Come to think of it, you pondered deeper on the subject, you didn’t really know what he did.

“Yunho,” your voice carried to his ears and he hummed in response. “What kind of work do you do?”

You could hear a smile in his voice. “Data projection for a funds management firm,”

You blinked at him, his words not computing in your little brain. “Ah, and that would mean of course, in layman’s terms if you would?” 

He chuckled. “I look at numbers and then decide if the company will make enough money for what it’s spending.” 

“Yunho, I’m sorry, but that sounds terrible.”

He stretched his arms out in front of himself, cracking his fingers and stretching the muscles of his forearms. “It’s not too bad.” 

You turned to see him smiling at you and it was just one of those moments where you both decided to fuck it and kiss the other person. 

He leaned into your face, his arms supporting himself but careful not to touch you. Your heart pounded furiously in your ears as you closed your eyes and leaned to meet his lips. He exhaled from his nose, his hot breath meeting your cheeks, and every muscle in your body tensed. 

Tentatively, you reached a hand forward and touched his thigh. His hand met your waist in response. 

And then, suddenly, you were making out on the couch. 

Your tongues fought for dominance, his ultimately winning, brushing against your bottom teeth. His hand ran the length of your body and you gripped his thigh. The kiss became harder until he was falling back and you were on top of him. You straddle one of his elevated thighs and tucked your finger under his shirt, kneading the dense muscles of his sides. 

His hands were on your ass, not moving, but resting against the soft fabric of your pants. Your hips threatened to move against him and you could feel him growing against your stomach. And suddenly the situation didn’t feel right. 

Despite the overwhelming softness of his lips, you could taste that half a bottle of wine on his tongue and your heart sank a little. Was he just kissing you cause he was drunk? You pushed gently on his chest and he released your lips. Gazing down into his sparkling eyes, you forced yourself from the couch. “I don’t think we should be doing this.” You turned and ran to your room.

The door slamming behind you, you sank to the floor in the soft glow of the city lights. Your chest heaved as you unwrapped the reality of your situation. Your best friend's brother, your roommate, had drunk-kissed you on the couch. You heard footsteps approach and then veer as Yunho went into his bedroom. But his taste was still in your mouth, spread over your tongue. God, he tasted so good. 

[filthforfriends]

Satin, Lace, and Other Pretty Things

Past 3 is here!!

Thomas x fem reader

Word count: 7k

CW: Gratuitously detailed descriptions of fetish and sex acts.

It’s another night where you hold Thomas as he sleeps, stroking his hair and smelling the crown of his head. Fortunately, tonight it is for far different reasons. Your excitement is keeping you awake rather than worrying. Without intending to, he’d accidentally given you the world’s filthiest shopping list: toys and compatible lube, lingerie, pretty outfits, and all the supplies needed for pegging. Luckily, you’d already checked off the lingerie box and had a package arriving tomorrow. It would be impossible to research and acquire everything else in the next 24 hours. You couldn’t take a sick day to get sex supplies for you boyfriend, although it was temping.

The next morning, you get up before Thomas, a return to normalcy. You’re sipping tea and answering endless emails when he stumbles into the kitchen, bleary eyed. His dirty blond hair is going in every direction and his expression is an adorable mix of groggy and pouting. The comforter must have been too hot because he’s slightly sweaty and his cheeks are flushed.

“You weren’t there when I woke up,” he complains.

“Baby, it’s noon,” you answer, affectionately. Clingy Thomas was so precious that you stood up and wrapped him in a hug.

“Oh,” he croaks, letting out a sigh and giving you so much of his weight in the embrace that you nearly fall over. He freezes. “Shit, I have a fitting at one. Ugh –” He looks back and forth, trying to get his bearings.

“Your cigs are on the window sill,” you supply, knowing he couldn’t start the morning without some nicotine. He places a dramatic kiss on the top of your head, giving you a final squeeze before letting go. Watching Thomas smoke was a guilty pleasure of yours. The way he delicately held the cigarette in his elegant fingers highlighted how large his hands were. Thomas didn’t create a seal around the cigarette with lips puckered everytime he took a drag. He was effortlessly casual, mouth plush, blowing the smoke from the side of his mouth out the kitchen window.

When he reached up to close the window, you spotted the blue waistband of the underwear he’d borrowed before bed. It was cheap fabric, you couldn’t wait to supply him with panties of far better quality and fit. The risks of him wearing womens underwear to a fitting weren’t lost on you.

“Is it going to be the whole band and Nick?” You don’t want to validate Thomas’ feelings of shame, so you’re trying to remind him of his undergarments carefully.

“I think, yeah. All I know is some people from Gucci will be there.” Strangers that may have mutually beneficial relationships with paparazzi and tabloid journalists. There’s no way he wanted this to get out, he hadn’t even been able to tell you.

“Okay baby, you might want to change,” you wince. He looks at you incredulously.

“Yes, of course. I’ve still gotta shower from earlier.” Earlier?

“You showered last night.” Thomas finishes adding sugar to his coffee before speaking.

“Yeah, but I practiced this morning.” His expression is neutral, but you can see him holding back a smirk. The confusion is evident in your features, and he takes his first sip, amused. “You told me to practice yesterday, so I did.” Practice what? Oh my god. You’d told him to masturabate with his legs up, like he was getting fucked, so he’d get used to the position, and he’d actually done it. You mind references back to when Thomas first walked in the kitchen, sweaty and flushed. If that wasn’t sexy enough, he was also wearing your panties. Which means he was probably wearing the when…and that's why he needed to shower.

“You’re gonna be such a good bottom.” He tries to take a drink right as you speak, but ends up spitting the coffee back into the mug and coughing. “Next time, please let me watch.” You hope Thomas feels vindicated, because you feel deeply irritated that Brenda was bitching about the relationship between work ethic and flexible deadlines, while you could have been watching your boyfriend cum in your underwear with his knees to his tummy.

“You really want to watch me jerk off?” he marveled.

“Mhm,” you take a couple steps across the kitchen so you’re standing chest to chest. “And I have another homework assignment for you, since you did so well with this one.” Even though Thomas is nearly a foot taller than you, he seems small, holding his breath and waiting in rapture. “You’re gonna use our lube, and finger yourself.” Everything would be easier if penetration was familiar to Thomas, but your request didn’t land well. His face fell and his gaze turned downward. Immediately you knew you were missing something.

“What is it, baby?” Your hands ran up and down his arms, soothingly.

“I only like it when you do it,” he whispered, staring at the floor. This was immensely flattering, and so endearing, but you wondered.

“Is it that you don’t like it, or are you ashamed of it?” He doesn’t answer, and you don’t make him. Instead, you step into his personal space and roll up on the balls of your feet, rubbing your nose against his affectionately. You kiss all along his jaw and add an extra peck to his chin, then pull back and see that his expression isn’t so negative. The grating ringtone of his phone interrupts your moment.

“Sorry, I might have to answer this.” He cleared his throat, pulling his phone from his back pocket. It's their stylist Nick, so you nod before he even has to say the words.

“Hey, I know we meet at one.” Thomas does this thing you love, one out of a thousand, and wraps his hand around your waist, pulling you against his body. Whenever a phone call or a conversation interrupts an intimate moment, he’ll prioritize you physically. It's a reminder that you’re a priority, that he’s thinking of you even when he is discussing something else, that he loves being close to you. The first time, a Sony executive had interrupted you gushing over Thomas when he got off stage. Thomas had tucked you into his side and snuck a hand up the back of your shirt, running his fingertips along your bare skin. You’d nearly nearly climbed him like a tree in front of god and everybody.

“Okay, thanks. See you later today.” He ended the call with a sigh. “So they pushed the fitting to three, since somebody’s flight got delayed. Which means I’ll probably be home at midnight.” Well, that ruins all your plans tonight. You let out a guttural sigh with your head tilted back. ”I’m sorry cara mia, I know we were supposed to have dinner together.”

“It’s not your fault,” you groan, and throw yourself back into his embrace. A small knock sounds from the door and you perk up right away. The website did say 2-3 business days. How much can you fit in two hours and end with Thomas still mostly functional?

“What’s that?”

“Your present,” you sing, running down the hall.

“My present?” Thomas calls from the kitchen. The postal worker looks startled that you’ve opened the door so quickly, in your excitement. You give her a manic smile before snatching the box off the ground and closing the door behind you. It feels a little heavier than expected, which hopefully means luxurious packaging. You’d hoped to open it before Thomas, make sure everything was presented beautifully. However the prospect of not having to wait might be even better.

“What am I getting a gift for?”

“Oh, you’ll see!” You skip into the bedroom, listening for Thomas behind you. “Bring scissors to open the box.” You smooth out the comforter and sit in the middle of the bed with the package in front of you. There wasn’t anything too adventurous inside, you’d been careful of that. Everything was full coverage: lined, with no cutouts or open backs. Still, it might be too intimidating.

Thomas rounds the doorway, scissors in hand, looking apprehensive. You pat the space across from you enthusiastically. He crawls onto the bed, folding his limbs methodically to sit in front of you. The only gifts previously presented in the bedroom were lingerie sets that you wore for Thomas. Of course, recent conversations gave this present different implications, but he likely thought it was too soon for you to make any related purchase.

“Is it a new guitar strap?” He accentuated his questioning tone by drawing out the first syllable, trying to lighten up the moment for his own sake.

“Nope,” you chirped.

“Is it something vintage?” Second hand finds were some of your favorite gifts to exchange.

“Why don’t you open it,” you coaxed. He took a deep breath and cut through the tape. Inside, was a much nicer box, and you helped him take it out, throwing the cardboard on the floor. Thomas was searching for a label as he opened it, and you realized you should probably say something. You place a hand on his wrist to stop him from pulling back the tissue paper.

“If you don’t like it, I’ll just take it all back. I don’t mind and it’ll be fine,” you blurt. Seeing your nerves, Thomas’ anxiety spikes, and his hands are unsteady as he unwraps the gift. You thank however packaged for putting the least offensive item on top. Black satin bikini cut panties with subtle lace trim. Thomas unfolds them and oogles the cut in the front.

“I didn’t know they made them like this,” he marveled.

“I did a lot of research,” you state neutrally. The look on his face is very encouraging, pure wonder as he runs the fabric between his calloused fingers.

“But how –” Thomas’ brow furrows as he tries to piece together a timeline. “I didn’t think you could get overnight shipping on this kind of thing.” His eyes are tracing every seam as he turns the fabric over and over in his hands

“You can’t.” He looks up, holding the panties delicately in his hands. “I ordered them before I left for Ethan’s.” This doesn’t seem to compute for Thomas. His eyes are wide and clouded with confusion.

“When I researched this, I was immediately into it. Immediately, I wanted to participate and I wanted you to be comfortable so…” you trail off, bashfully. His expression is unreadable. “If it wasn’t the right thing to do, I totally understand. I shouldn’t have just assumed and inserted myself before you were ready.”

“I don’t feel that way at all,” he assures. Thomas reaches a hand out to hold yours, his thumb brushing along the outside. It’s the same gesture you used to comfort him two days ago, and your whole body feels warm, radiating from your chest.

“All I want is for you to be confident in my feelings for you,” you plead. “Cause I’m in this, with you,” you insist, emphatically.

“I feel that now,” he grins, and you can see the shift in his energy. Your heart feels light, and aches with adoration.

“Okay, good” you smile so hard your cheeks hurt, relieved. “And you don’t have to like –”

“Oh, but I do,” he interrupts. “In fact,” he stands up from the bed, “I’m gonna go put them on!” Thomas paces behind you, so your back is turned and you can’t see the process of him changing. You bite back the urge to whine at being deprived of such a glorious visual. He walks back into your line of sight, still wearing a t-shirt. The panties fit perfectly, which means the other pairs likely will as well. The waist is properly snug, and there's no excess fabric in the back. The pouch in the front leaves room for his manhood, and the fit of the leg holes also allocates for that. He lets you see all this by turning at different angles for your benefit.

“Dear god, so, so pretty. Like so pretty,” you emphasized. “Do you like them?” There was no need to ask, Thomas was glowing.

“Yeah, they fit so well,” he exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet. You’d never seen him examine himself in the mirror like this, rotating his hips to watch how the light hit the fabric.

“Come open the rest of your present.” He practically skipped back to the bed, sitting next to you this time. The next layer revealed the all lace pair, a vibrant magenta on what turned out to be nude colored mesh. They were sexy and fun, the kind of underwear you’d first wanted. Thomas’ eyes widened, and you worried they were too much.

“Sorry, those were supposed to be full coverage,” you apologized. He seemed to barely register what you were saying, as he shed the black panties and pulled on the new ones. It was nice to see how little adjustment went into wearing them.

“Those are comfortable, right babe?”

“Mhm,” he responded, traipsing in front of the mirror again. Thomas was so into himself, that he barely gave half a fuck what you thought. It was your new favorite thing to watch him this confident. The panties were high cut enough to cover part of his happy trail. Something about the sight of his body hair disappearing into lace, the contrast of feminine and masculine, drove you up a wall.

“The cut of those looks so sexy on you, baby girl.” Thomas took a break from admiring himself to blush at your words. You could shower him with compliments all day. “Look at how pretty your waist is too.” He pulled his shirt up around his ribcage, and traced his skin as it curved. It gave you half a dozen filthy ideas.

“Pretty girl,” you cooed, watching him get hard. You could see his cock through the lace and it was a gorgeous sight. “My perfect, pretty girl.” At this point you were just acting out of intuition. So far, the results have been excellent. Even though you didn’t know what you were doing, just that it felt good. This dynamic came naturally to the both of you. His earlier comment about wanting to be feminine was very confusing, but you weren’t about to ask Thomas questions about his gender that he didn’t have the answer to. Maybe it wasn’t even about gender. He’d tell you when he figured it out, no point in making him self-conscious.

“Come open your last present,” you impatiently request. This was the one you were most excited about. He took one final look at himself in the mirror and clambered back onto the bed. The tissue paper rustled as he lifted the last pair out. They were like the ones you’d caught him in, but more so. Ruched pink satin, with tons of white lace, and pink bows on the hips, just excessively girlie. His eyes went wide and he touched the fabric like it was going to vaporize any moment.

“You don’t have to –”

“These are my favorite,” he interrupts. You’d expect him to jump up, but he sits there fondling every inch of the fabric. He rubs the ribbon with his fingers and brushes the rouched borders.

“Feel how soft this is.��� Real satin is soft, you’ve known this for years. Rather than burst his bubble, you take the panties from him and agree. This allows you to confirm that yes, the quality was worth the price. Thomas seems suddenly jumpy, and you realize it's because he's anxious to get the underwear back in his own hands. There is so much joy in watching him love these gifts, even more than you anticipated.

He tenderly places the magenta lace panties back on the bed, next to the black ones, before refocusing. He’s half hard as he pulls the last pair on, but they fit anyways and this seems to excite Thomas on an entirely pure level. It makes sense. Years thinking there was something wrong with him because cutesy underwear were never made for his consumption, and now suddenly they are. He admires himself in the mirror and you can’t help but notice how perfectly the ruching accentuates his ass.

“Can you take off your shirt?” you blurt. You’d tried to match the creamy white of his skin and pretty pink of his nipples to his panties. He pulls it off, then folds his arms in front of him, vulnerable. You lose the ability to sit and watch without touching, getting off the bed and hugging him from behind. Thomas feels secure enough to drop his arms, and you both gaze at him in the mirror. Greedy, starving, your eyes rake up and down his body, noting the beautifully compatible color palettes.

“It’s even better than I imagined,” you confess, peppering his back with kisses. Thomas lets out a disbelieving huff, and you can’t fathom what flaw he could see in himself right now.

“You really don’t think I look ridiculous?”

“No,” you growl. He’s asking for assurance, but you feel a novel protectiveness over this side of Thomas and it compels you to crave dispelling doubt before it can form. He turns around in your arms, back to the mirror and his lips on your forehead.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and you know the words reach much further than today’s gifts.

“Always.” You kiss Thomas’ sternum, and his chest hair tickles your nose. Shamelessly, you take a deep breath, enjoying the smell of his body. You two stand there, embracing each other, swaying back and forth. His hands move to the hem of your shirt and pull. When you step back to remove your top, Thomas takes advantage of the space to lean in and kiss you, carefully molding his lips to yours. Thomas’ hand is in your hair, pulling gently to tilt your jaw up. Once he’s happy with expanses of your exposed neck, his grip becomes less gentle, keeping you in place. He starts small, grazing his teeth against your skin, and such careful attention to an erogenous zone throbs between your legs. You let out a sigh, leaning against him, as your vocalizations progressively turn into moans.

Thomas works his way up, nips soft then harsh, until he is leaving love bites on your neck. Each mark is accented with the assurance of his tongue, and at some point if his arm was secured around your waist, you would have collapsed. Your head has lulled completely to the side, happy for him to have his way with you, basking in the pleasure of his attention. The sensation of your bra being undone surprises you. How did his hands get there? You’re too lost in the feeling of his lips against your skin, the way they’re tracing up the column of your neck.

“Christ,” you moan, as he sucks on your earlobe.

“Jump,” his breath in your ear sends a shiver to the base of your spine. It takes your muddled brain a second to assign meaning to sounds, but once you’re cognizant, you jump off the ground. Thomas hauls you up his body, bra falling on the floor. Now you’re both topless, and your nipples harden where the brush against his chest. Only then do your eyes truly open, to find the reflection of your boyfriend wearing panties in the mirror. Suddenly, you're not just putty in Thomas' arms, now remembering the task at hand.

“Baby, there’s some prep work I want to do before we jump into any of that new stuff.” You tuck Thomas’ hair behind his ears, tenderly. When he doesn’t respond right away, you backtrack. “But we don’t have to do that today, and if you’ve changed your mind that’s totally fine too. I’m already plenty satisfied.”

“Like what?” He sits on the edge of the bed with you in his arms. You can feel the lace of his underwear brushing against your legs. It really should change something for you, but it doesn’t.

“I wanna get you a lot more comfortable with penetration. So you can relax more, learn how to let me in.” His hand started rapidly tapping on your thigh, a sign of nerves.

“Yeah, okay,” he sighed, finally taking a deep breath. “Are there usually problems when it comes to, um, pegging?” His eyes are so earnest and you wish you knew the perfect words to quell his nerves.

“Your body has to feel safe. I’m never gonna force something and risk hurting you.” You didn’t want Thomas angry at himself because he couldn’t take a strap-on.

“Okay, so I’ll – I’ll clean up, then.” He shifts you off of his lap, hands still fluttering with nerves. Thomas stands in front of you with nervous energy, like he’s not sure how to ask.

“Use the bathroom, then use gentle soap and warm water.” Getting him comfortable with talking about anal was a conquest for another day. “Don’t overdo it, you’ll be fine,” you assure. While Thomas cleans up you give your nails a cautionary filing down, and pull out the oil based lube. Latex gloves were ridiculously hard to get amidst a plague, never mind expensive. You’d gone bare-handed before and didn't mind. It would definitely bother Thomas more than you.

“Babe, you don’t need to make your body a sterile surface,” you call, grabbing a couple dark towels from the closet.

“Okay, out in a sec!” Thomas had changed into the black, understated panties when you’d stepped out of the room, and was now laying on the bed. You crawled towards him, checking the nightstand for all necessary items in your peripheral vision.

Making out was easy and familiar, the weight of his tongue in your mouth, cathartic. It allowed you to grind against him slightly, and after a few moments Thomas was completely hard. You didn’t want to rush him, but your enthusiasm was making that challenging. His bare chest allowed you to place kisses from chin to hem. Since his cock hadn’t escaped the confines of his underwear, you kissed the satin bulge to its root.

Nuzzling between Thomas’ legs was one of your favorite activities, because it allowed you to drink in the warm, heady scent of his groin. However, he’d been so thorough that his inner thighs simply tasted vaguely of soap. The pressure of your nose against his taint sometimes got a reaction if you managed to brush the right spot. This was one of those times, his legs clamping down around your head. Pulling the crotch of his panties to the side, you licked Thomas’ taint, with intention.

“Wha – what, what are you doing?” he stuttered.

“I want to eat you out baby girl. Can I?” His chest was heaving, eyes glassy. Holding his gaze, you kissed Thomas’ inner thigh, demonstrating your affection without crossing a boundary.

“I, um – huh uh” he devolved into a whine as your lips returned to his taint. Pulling on the underwear a little more, you captured a ball into your mouth, at which point his legs were nearly smothering you. He rocked his pelvis forward, against your face, seeking more stimulation. Unfortunately you could only give that to him with continued access to oxygen.

“Can I take off your panties?” you try. Thomas nods, looking downwards at you sitting back on your heels. With some effort, you pull the silken fabric down his legs. Immediately, you return your hands to his skin, rubbing up and down his thighs reassuringly, so he doesn’t feel too exposed.

“I’d like to prop your hips up. Remember, we’ve done that before.” Thomas had almost lost his mind at your suggestion to use a normal pillow during ass play, even with the cover of a towel. He’d gone to a sex shop and gotten everthing imaginable to make the process of receiving more sterile. Water-proof pillow cases, specialty anti-bacterial toy cleaner (despite having no anal toys), dental dams, gloves, a plastic sheet, antiseptic spray, plus harsh internal and external cleaning systems. None of these things had you used previously, in fact you worried about Thomas giving himself a chemical burn. At first, you suspected that Thomas may not want to do butt stuff at all until you saw his reaction.

He’d been on his hands and elbows, face pressed into a pillow, so you couldn’t see his expression. On almost every occasion, he elected to take this position. You didn’t need to see his face, however. His back arched into your hand, toes curling, dislodging the headboard in his grip. Thomas had broken out in a sweat, and his skin was feverish under your non-dominant hand. You thought he might lose consciousness for a moment.

Massage is the best route in anal fingering, but he’d rocked back and forth like he craved thrusting. More so than anything, his pleasure was evidenced by his vocalizations. Thomas moaned like he’d never been touched before, like he was a virgin having their first orgasam. He cried out and whined, begging for more in English and Italian. It was such a passionate, raw response, that you touched yourself to the sound of his pleasure.

Thomas never asked, but when you offered ahead of time, he’d spend an hour in the bathroom in preparation and vibrate with excitement the whole day. On one occasion, you’d designated a couple hours before dinner, but Thomas kept giving you these looks in the morning before work, like he was about to explode. He was so keyed up that you bent him over the kitchen table, just to be humane. You’d ended up using olive oil as lube, because it was the best thing in reach. Once you’d started he pleaded with you pitifully not to stop, and you couldn't bring yourself to leave the room. Thomas came shaking, thanking you profusely as his spunk marked the tile. His voice cracked and chest heaved, like he was an inch away from outright crying. You wondered if he’d ever forgive himself for enjoying this, so he could take more than a single finger.

“I’ll just use the same one as last time, okay?” You pulled a contoured pillow you’d purchased just for this out from under the bed. Thomas had thought of everything besides his own comfort. He held his breath as he lifted his hips, watching as you situated it.

“Is that comfortable, baby girl?” Thomas nods, holding fistfuls of the bedding in a vice grip. He continues to look when you lean over to grab the lube, and settle back between his legs. Thomas actually jumps at the pop of the cap opening.

“Can you tell me before you…you, um –”

“I’m just touching you on the outside, right now,” you assure. His neck was strained as he watched every action. You hadn’t even started and already knew he was too tense for this to work.

“Tommy I’m gonna need you to be really honest throughout this, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” he quaked.

“So when I check in, please just tell me exactly how you’re feeling.” He nods obediently. Trying not to visibly sigh, you reassess the situation. Every scenario just ends up with him tensing, so you lube up one hand and try a different tactic. It's the same one that worked on you, kissing and warming up slowly.

You lay beside Thomas and leaned in to kiss him. He seemed surprised at that direction, but happily settled into something safe. Your tongue took its time running along the seam of his lips, before pushing inside, and his mouth fell open in response. Thomas’ head finally relaxed against the pillow, and you applied pressure to his taint. This was ordinary touch in your sex lives. Thomas’ prostate was very accessible externally and it was such good stimulation.

Trying not to build anticipation, your fingers further dipped further down to his rim and started gently massaging. There was no forceful pressure, the only way you ended up inside is if Thomas let you.

“Too fast,” he squealed into the kiss.

“Okay,” you chirp, encouragingly. You move your fingers back up to his taint, and search for his sweet spot. “Are you okay with this?”

“Mhm,” he nods, and you decide to follow up with positive reinforcement. Leaving his lips free to communicate, you move down to kissing his neck.

“What a good girl, listening so well,” you coo, licking the shell of his ear. “You told me so perfectly too.” Thomas tilts his head to allow you more room, and you can see him smile. You decide to lick each of his visible teeth, which results in you kissing his mouth again, this time more passionately. He bucks his hips when your fingers finally find the right place, and his arm wraps itself around your waist, pulling you close. The kiss devolves into him moaning into your mouth, milky clear pre-cum dripping from his cock.

His free hand reaches to yours, pushing further down. With Thomas' permission, you dip back down, trying to soften his entrance. Instead of remaining stationary, you rub back up to his p-spot, then back down over his anus, combining the new movement with something he already likes. Finally, you get a satisfied hum from Thomas, his eyes half closed. His body starts to give, just a little bit, and you refocus your attention to his rim.

Trying not to ruin the progress, you reach over for more lube, and situate yourself between his legs. Now that you can actually see what you’re doing, the process becomes easier. Tentatively, you take one of his legs and bring it up to your shoulder. With additional lube, everything becomes slippery, and thereby easier. Thomas starts rocking against your hand, all the sensitive nerve endings in that area waking up in response to your touch. His eyes are closed, and his mouth has started to relax. It's beautiful to watch him give into this.

“So beautiful already,” you compliment. He smiles again, and lets out a happy hum. The entrance to his body has become malleable, and you know he can take a finger if he lets himself psychologically.

“Kitten, can you touch yourself please?” He whines and arches dramatically into your hand, causing just the tip of your finger entering him. He wraps a hand around his cock and you let get into a rhythm.

“My pretty kitty is still doing such a good job listening.” Thomas starts mercilessly tugging at his cock in response, groaning pornographcally. “Don’t cum just yet kitten.” He grimaces but slows down obediently. “Such a good girl,” you sing, rubbing his thigh, then kissing his ankle for good measure. “So, so fucking perfect, and so ready too. How do you feel, baby girl?” He simply whines, his spare hand searching for you with his eyes closed. You guide it to your thigh to give him something to grab.

“Are you saying you feel good?”

“Yes, yes,” he murmurs, squeezing.

“Okay, just a little bit of pressure.” Thomas was so lost in pleasure that a little bit of anything didn’t matter. Until you pressed the first half of your finger inside, and he was left with a completely new sensation. You felt him tense, watched his eyes fly open.

“Does this hurt?” you immediately asked.

“No, but gloves. You’re not wearing gloves!”

“We’re out of gloves, and it's okay. Sometimes I don’t wear them,” you sooth. “Please just lay back and relax baby. We’ve made such good progress and I’m so proud of you.” He lets himself fall back into the bed, hands covering his face. “Check in?”

“I want to keep going, I just feel self-conscious.” he sighs.

“Anything else?”

“Like, insecure.” His voice catches a bit at the end.

“Baby, I’m washing my hands at the end of this no matter what.” He bites his lip, trying to fight a smile. “I literally spent the past half hour trying to get my finger inside you like –” his ribcage starts to shake in laughter and you can’t help but join. “Only one of us is concerned here,” you joke. “Can I please see your pretty face?” Thomas puts his hands down, and looks at you, eyes glassy. You can’t tell if he’s shed any tears or not.

“Check in?”

“Keep going,” he answers, timidly. You remove your finger, apply more lube, and try to push in half way, but he’s tensing again. Bringing his other leg up, Thomas shifts his hips to get more comfortable.

“You’re already part of the way there,” you encourage. “Can we just breathe together for a sec?” Thomas nods, and takes a deep breath in time with you. Each exhale, you softly say “relax.” In the new position, you apply light, consistent pressure so the intrusion is very gradual. Once his body has some give, you push your finger in all the way, and stay still while he acclimates. You can feel him squeeze, testing the sensation of penetration.

“Is that the whole finger?” he gasps.

“Yep, you did it kitten,” you beam. Next comes the part that makes this all worth it. You start rubbing the pad of your finger against his walls at an upward angle, searching for the prostate. It's much easier to find internally, and his hips are erratically bucking in no time. Thomas lets out a whine with his head thrown back, neck flushed, and fists tearing at the sheets. You know it feels good from his reaction, so you apply a little more force, and a larger area of movement.

“Uh, uh, fuck,” he moans, undualting his entire body to seek out the friction. “Fuck, god yes, plese yes, please…” Your middle finger comes to massage his rim as well. Which is something you’d attempted, but never succeeded at integrating. Fresh lube was added to your middle finger, and you applied the slightest amount of pleasure while massaging your way past his rim at a snail's pace.

“You can touch yourself baby girl,” you encourage, giving him some pleasure that was familiar and within his control. Thomas’ hand rose to his cock then faltered. He never had a problem with this when you took him from behind.

“Check in?”

“Keep going,” he grunted.

“Baby –”

“I feel the same.” Insecure and self-conscious. That wasn’t ideal. The change in position put his actions on display for you, giving a clearer view. He probably felt more vulnerable to rejection like this, and Thomas’ relationship with his sexuality left a lot of room for improvement.

“Do you need someone to give you permission to enjoy this? Because I give you permission to love this kind of touch, and I know you do.” Finally, you dip the tip of your second finger inside, testing the diameter stretch. Thomas’ face is crumpled, discomfort from feeling too many things at once.

“You’re allowed to want this baby.”

“I am?” he squeaks, in his smallest voice.

“Of course you are,” you gush. “You’re allowed to desire anal play, and ask for it. You’re allowed to touch yourself however you want, and it doesn’t make you wrong or strange.” With the second finger to the first knuckle, you twist your fingers back and forth, brushing the prostate while also making room. Thomas and squeezes your thigh instead of covering his face. You reach down and lace your fingers together, somehow this extra ounce of intimacy is what finally causes the tears to spill over. When he cries, his body actually relaxes, no longer trying to repress anything.

“I’m not sad,” he exclaims. “It’s just a lot and sometimes I wish I was, like, normal.” And there’s what he’s been holding back. He takes a shuddering breath in, and when he lets it out, you insert the second finger a little further, so both are halfway.

“I don’t wish you were vanilla. I just wish you’d give yourself permission.” Thomas gesticulates like he doesn’t know how to respond, then covers his face again. You don’t move, letting him acclimate some more, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Baby girl, I’m so satisfied with our intimate life,” you consoled. He nods and his breathing becomes less dramatic. “If you need reassurance, please just ask me next time.” Thomas wipes his eyes, and sniffles, muttering an apology, before looking at you.

“Check in?” He’s so dear that you want to scream.

“I’m great,” you answer, simply. “Can we keep going?”

“Yeah,” he whispers. His hands are twisted in the sheets again, and it prompts the realization that movement is how he physically works through anxiety.

“Baby girl, can you rock our hips a little, just however you want to.” Thomas looks confused, but he starts making clockwise circles with his pelvis. “Just focus on that,” you coach. His eyes turned upwards, towards the ceiling, and you applied more lube. He’s half soft, so maybe orgasam didn’t need to be the focus of today.

“Pressure,” you warned. Thomas closed his eyes, willing his body to relax, and with a little bit of force, you were able to sink to the last knuckle. When his eyes fluttered open, after you stilled, he saw your full smile, and the corners of his mouth turned up on the sides too.

“That's two?” He confirmed, excited.

“Mhm, you did great. kitten. I knew you could do it.” You kissed his shins and adjusted his legs on your shoulders.

“Is that half or?”

“That’s all the way,” you announce, wiggling your fingers inside as punctuation. Thomas’ breath catches in his throat, and you start making come hither motions. That gets a huge reaction from him. He cries out, hands flying to the bedding to the headboard. The rocking of his body changes direction, trying to find a rhythm with your hand, and you can see him break out in a sweat on his sternum. Thomas winces in pleasure, but as you speed up the gentle massaging of his prostate, his mouth falls open in pleasure, totally relaxed.

“Please, please, please,” he whimpers repeatedly. Each time the pitch gets high and more hysterical.

“What does my pretty kitten need?” you coo. Ruthlessly, your thumb finds his sweet spot externally, pinching his prostate between your fingers. Thomas literally kicks you in the face, without even noticing. He arches off the bed, moans turning into loud whimpers. The stimulation has his cock crimson read and leaking pre-cum. His thighs are trying to close around your hand to keep it where it is. Just like in orgasam, the sudden onset of stimulation makes his entire body cramp and lock down.

“Pretty kitty, don’t forget to rock your hips.” His mouth forms the words before he manages to vocalize them. He tries to speak but ends up moaning, his palm hitting the headboard in a state of overwhelm. You can’t make him cum if he breaks the bed. Dropping his hand, you guide his hips in motion.

“Rock your hips,” you command, this time without any diminutives. This gets his attention, and he obeys, hand sliding from the head board, taking some gasping breaths.

“Good girl.”

“More, y/n. Please more,” he pants.

“Are you–”

“Di piu, di piu,” he begs, switching to Italian. You can feel that in your cunt like an electrical shock.  When you don’t speed up immediately, he starts pushing at your hand, the tendons in his arm straining. Focusing, you do your best impersonation of a vibrator with your fingers, and he falls apart. Thomas hips snap forwards, while his ankles pound on your shoulders. If you hadn’t been two fingers deep the movement of his groin would have thrown your hand off. Having his body this reactive wasn’t anything short of fantastic, you’d just need to work with him.

“No, no don’t stop, di piu,” he moaned pitifully, sounding like he was nearly crying. There weren’t any tears on his cheeks, but he was flushed like a sunburn. You were going to explain that it's hard to rub the prostate of a moving target, but instead you pinned his hips down with your free hand.

“Non fermarti. God, please, please,” he was whining like a woman, absolutely frantic. In the early days, you would have assured him that you weren’t going to stop, don’t worry, but this was just an externalization of the build to orgasam. Thomas’ head was tossing side to side, pressing his body into your hand. His nails raked down your thigh, searching for the hand that was busy keeping him on the bed.

It was poetic. To see him crushed under so many layers of fear, afraid of his own body. Now this celebration of sensation, between his quivering thighs, dusted with dark hair. His body was reduced to a vessel for pleasure. That was its only function, just because he’d allowed himself to let go, let go in your hands. The reward for defeating self doubt had been bliss. It wasn’t anything less than exactly what Thomas deserved.

“Pretty kitten, I know you wanna cum,” you purred.

“Dio santo, please, please,” he babbled, and the tears fell. He was right on the edge, and likely didn’t have the coordination to help himself. Moving your hand up, you gave his cock a few strokes, his viscis pre-cum coating your palm. He came almost immediately, throbbing in your first. During his climax, it was all you could do to maintain pressure internally, as his entire body heaved with pleasure. It was so dramatic that spit had collected in the corners of his open mouth and his eyes rolled back in his head.

You reflected, while watching the spunk splash on his abdomen. It was a cherished experience, to build Thomas up to a peak and be there to catch him on the other side. You loved every part of guiding him through pleasure. Orchestrating the perfect orgasam for Thomas was rewarding in a way that nurtured the soul. That's what you thought about, as he returned to earth, as you wiped off your hand and his stomach, and you lay down on his chest. Sex should be an act of self love.

Notes: I'm sorry that I haven't posted a fic in over a week. Do you like this kind of stuff? Like details galore, slow paced, realistic or is it boring and you just want to get to the fucking already? Thanks for reading! Please tell me if tags are/aren't working.

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[the-wolf-who-kissed-the-moon]

• Lady Dimitrescu x female reader 💋

• Warnings ⚠️ : graphic depictions of violence, gore, blood, very strong horror elements, Stockholm Syndrome, mental anguish, character death.

glass angel, part XV.

Smoke took the shape of vile specters as it floated around your groggy head. Through its gray veil, brilliant yellow eyes peered at you with inhuman hunger whilst large drops of murky blood oozed from grinning mouths. Dark, tar-like lips would lean close, murmuring bone-chilling threats which you never truly deciphered. Your body felt sedated, heavy like lead, your voice muted as if you were trapped in a lucid nightmare.

To your distress, this wasn’t a dream.

Satin fingers caressed your navel lovingly, instantly drawing your attention to the woman of your heart's desire. Her features were so alluring in their wickedness, you’d fall for her again, had it not been for the palpable fear making your teeth chatter. You pushed your knees closed defiantly, struggling to free your arms from the daughters’ ruthless grips. Behind you, their sickening breaths of joy were like violent daggers, stabbing the back of your head, deafening and painful. You’ve heard those shrills late at night, in your dreams, even in the brightest hours of the day –

Play with us,

Come out, come out!

You managed to run and slip through their murderous fingers, only to end up caught in the web of their equally devilish mother.

“.. wh… why?...why-"

A quiet sob left you. Anguished tears threatened to spill from the corners of your eyes as you watched the graceful matriarch. Your heart shattered at the realization that she was the monster slithering behind the walls in the dark, moving beneath the bedsheets and stalking you from every haunted corner. She was the embodiment of your night terrors, and so very cruel for playing the part of a caring, gentle woman by day.

Alcina’s perfect countenance was void of emotion as she, almost tenderly, caressed the soft dips and curves of your chest. Her touch was agonizing as it neared your heart, strange and unfamiliar against your feverish skin. You could’ve sworn you caught a glimpse of regret in her beautiful eyes when she met your terrified look. The lady of the castle was a true enigma, one which you’ve never had the chance to unravel. Her cigarette died with a final inhale, and through the thick cloud of nicotine, her bewitching gaze flickered with carnivorous lust.

A smaller, vicious hand smacked over your lips, holding your head down when you begun to shake violently. Your throat swelled with involuntary screams as your legs were forced apart and pinned to the torture table, powerless. You tried to bite into the palm that muffled your panicked cries, yet your mouth filled with large, crawling bugs. Appalled, you struggled to spit the insects out and soothe your air-deprived lungs. A heavy taste of rot and blood melted the sweetness of your mouth, leaving you to choke on a deep feeling of disgust. Heavy swarms of buzzing flies suddenly flooded the ceiling, taking the lights out and throwing you in an endless pit of despair.

I don’t want to die… I don’t want to die…

You clenched your teeth painfully tight, convinced you’d drown either in foul water or those dreadful roaches. Large palms cupped the gentle curves of your nude body, a feeling that once made you arch in willing surrender. Now, the blinding thought of death occupied every corner of your mind, making you wail like a slaughtered lamb.

Massive jaws tore into your limbs deeply, canines scraping bone as they split your flesh apart. Blood flowed abundantly from the gaping wound, into the feral mouth latched onto your inner thigh. Small, crimson rivulets pooled beneath you on the table as Lady Dimitrescu suckled your raw flesh with greedy hunger, familiar tongue lapping at the gash almost sensually. The sound of warm meat crushing between teeth filled your throat with bitterness, bile ready to spill.

Delirious, you begun replaying moments of your life when you were happy, safe in the company of loved ones who would never do you harm – your life flashing before your eyes.

Somehow, in the midst of your horrid torture, bolts of euphoria rushed through your broken limbs, akin to the ones you’ve felt when your lady’s masterful tongue pleasured you. Was this your brain's laughable attempt to bring comfort in those harrowing moments? Alcina leered with unsated appetite whilst thick blood overflowed her flawless chin, pooling in between her large breasts.

The velvety feel of her smooth tongue was excruciating, blinding you with ripples of debilitating pain, only to forcefully draw sensual pleasure out of you the next moment. You suddenly climaxed, yet the orgasmic bliss was barely able to compensate for the agony of being eaten alive.

It was a never-ending dance of extremities which blurred the lines between good and evil, reality and dream. You floated in and out of consciousness as life was stolen from you, drained through vampiric indentations drilled into your still-living flesh. At times, you’d see swarms of darkness clouding the pristine ceiling and you were sure the daughters were feeding on you as well. But you soon realized they were only there to aid their mother in whatever unholy ritual she was subjecting you to. Scarlet lips savored your skin with sensual kisses, smearing your life essence from the throbbing injuries on your thighs to the vulnerable warmth in between. You fearfully anticipated another agonizing bite, yet it never came. Instead, pleasure pooled hotly in your core as she painted your flower red, brining you yet again to the heights of forbidden ecstasy.

“A Phoenix needs to be consumed by flames in order to be born anew.”

Alcina murmured sweetly, resting her large palm at the base of your throat, gentle thumb stroking your weak pulse. You wished you could’ve hated her for what she was doing, for what she’d done, yet only naive adoration filled your chest at the sight of her dazzling eyes. She pulled away from your burning flesh, swallowing deeply. Even freed, your limbs were useless as you watched her with unfocused, half-lidded eyes. Your senses were shutting down rapidly from the copious amount of blood loss, each strangled breath threatening to be your last.

The madam stood to her magnificent height, towering over you as she paced about the room and observed you closely. At times you swore you saw a concerned frown darkening her flawless features, and then she’d smile mischievously while threading long fingers through your hair, touching your cold forehead. When the door opened and her perfume dissipated, you finally let your heavy lids fall close.

Her daughters gathered around you in her absence, eager to lap each precious trace of blood off your weak body. Their mouths were large, grotesque slugs, their fingers crawling insect legs, picking at your tender wounds. Feeling awful, you groaned and shifted with the last bits of strength you could muster. A sudden weight crushed your chest, making you heave as if you were about to vomit all the pain, the distress, the horror of being there.

Grisly faces loomed over you whilst you were carefully laid upon the floor on a single white bedsheet. Then, in the blink of an eye, the three macabre figures exploded into restless insects, taking away the chamber's light. In the overwhelming gloom, you heard the sound of your own sternum breaking, bone shards making a home into your dry flesh. Strangely, you didn’t feel a thing, as if you were naught but a corpse on the autopsy table, your soul damned to linger in its decaying shell. Something moved within you, slithering between your ribs and feeding on your heart, your lungs.

Dim candles came to life, revealing the charming image of Lady Dimitrescu kneeling over you, as beautiful as the moment you first saw her. She took your lips in a sensual kiss, and with it, your last breath.

-          To be continued...

*part XVI.

[feelin-woozy]

Title: Beyond Forever

Word Count: 956

Pairing: Bo Sinclair x trans masc reader

Warnings: somnophilia

Warm waves begin to wash over you, slowly coaxing you towards the beginnings of wakefulness. Each time the tide recedes, gooseflesh threatens to rise as an unnatural heat crawls along your flesh. You don’t pay much mind to it, instead pressing your face into the soft down pillows. For one, it was summertime in Louisiana, and secondly, you truly couldn’t bring yourself to care. You fight vehemently against the looming threat of consciousness, the soft blackness that still cradles you within its arms, seemingly much more appealing than anything that being awake could offer should you open your eyes.

Fabric rustles, brushing along your legs. It soaks up and drags the beginning of sweat uncomfortably against your flesh. The world goes still once more, and you find yourself slowly floating back into the soft darkness. The world around you drifts further and further away with each breath you take till thoughts begin to go fuzzy around the edges, and you find yourself having more prolonged periods of emptiness between thoughts.

It may have only been a minute, maybe five or perhaps longer, you’re not sure, as the concept of time currently feels akin to astrophysics. But then you feel the waves return, slowly dragging you back into a state of wakefulness. There’s coiling within yourself as if caught within the warmth of an undercurrent. It sweeps through your body, saturating every nerve to the point you feel that you’re drowning.

A low noise tumbles past your lips, muted only by the way your chapped lips press into the pillow. Sleep begins to drift further from your grasp, grogginess taking its place. You shift lazily, feeling the way damp sheets cling to your body and the way calloused fingers dig into the soft parts of your flesh.

Another noise passes, this one forced out. As if something had reached within you to tear it out. You open your eyes, the world around you still enshrouded with darkness. Despite the grogginess that fills your mind, your vision swims with the remnants of sleep still. You blink a few times, futilely attempting to clear your vision, and ground yourself in reality and not a subliminal space between wakefulness and sleep.

“Shh, you’re so pretty when you’re sleepin’,” The words are soft despite the gruffness that makes the edges bristle. They fill you with warmth, turning your bones to jelly and allowing you to sink back into the mattress. Bo hums his approval, and you can’t help but smile against the pillow. “There we go.”

You feel it now, the slow, purposeful drag of his cock and the way his fingers curl and hold you steady under him. The wet squelch of lube hangs obscenely in the air around you, making itself known with each lazy thrust. A part of you wants to press your ass back against Bo to tempt him into tearing you apart in his usual way that drips with depravity. But there’s something about this softness, the way his hips roll with a careful calculation that you can’t get enough of. So you lay there, allowing yourself to be at his mercy and take whatever he bestows upon you.

Bo’s hands move, dragging from where they rest carefully on your hips down along your torso. They stop for a moment, lingering and dragging along the smooth scars along your pectorals. There’s something so tender about it that it almost makes your body quake with a sob. You bite your lip, teeth digging in to keep yourself at bay. A hand continues its venture, slowly traversing till it rests along the flushed column of your throat.

It’s closer to what you’ve come to associate with Bo, that filthiness that makes your toes curl and your muscles go taut. It starts a war within yourself, a bitter fight that has your mind crying for more of that. To be taken apart so brutally that you’re left sniveling and sore against the sheets, but the idea of being taken apart delicately is so foreign to you that your mouth nearly salivates at the thought.

Bo doesn’t squeeze; he just rests his hand there. Feeling the way your pulse flutters erratically under his fingers. The feeling of his fingers against your carotid artery is enough to make your thighs tense, the mere threat enough to rile you up.

“Wanna know something?” He presses his lips to your ear, the familiar scent of nicotine and whiskey filling your senses. You wonder briefly if he was drunk if that was the reasoning behind this sudden tenderness he displayed for you. You don’t have much time to think, though, as his hips roll against you once more, a little harder this time. It makes you whimper, involuntarily pressing back into him. “You took me so well, even asleep your body fuckin’ needs me. Didn’t even fight when I was pressin’ into your ass, just slid right in.”

You whine, fingers curling into the sheets below. Bo huffs out a laugh, warm air puffing out against your ear that makes you shiver. He presses a kiss to the side of your head, lingering for a moment before speaking, “Like knowing your body is mine? Ready for me whenever I want?”

“Yes, Bo.” The words are raw, catching in your throat in a tired rasp. You can’t bring yourself to say more; the formulation of words beyond a reaffirmation of the filth he spews is much too daunting. You’re confident that alone was making pride swell within his chest, and you loathe yourself for feeding into it.

“That’s my good boy.” You feel the way his lips pull into a smirk at the words, and you can’t help the shudder that rolls through your body.