#misses his bed… misses his pillow… even though he can’t sleep

[calebslittleapple]

feels like home: red lace

After finding a lacy surprise in his washing machine, Caleb checks the security footage from his apartment in Skyhaven, only to see that he’s missed out on much more than he realized. Rushing from his home to hers, Caleb quickly realizes that his Pip-squeak is more cunning than he thought, and as the night goes on and their desires are heightened, they’ll finally stop holding back. AKA: turbo virgins CalebMc finally get to doin’ it after some LIGHT panty-sniffy and frustration-inspired exhibitionism/voyeurism HAHA.

Pairing: LaDS Caleb x MC (she/her)

Genre: Smut (with feelings)

CW: Codependency; Pip-squeak as an endearment; Panty Sniffing; masturbation; light exhibitionism; Light Voyeurism; Cunnilingus; Penis In Vagina Sex; Loss of Virginity; inappropriate use of Caleb's Evol; MC is named Emme Sea; Caleb and MC POV

Also on AO3

Where are you? I thought you were supposed to be home by now

Caleb glances at his phone while half-listening to the meeting he’s sitting in on—his third of the day. He is supposed to be spending the evening with his girl, but one thing leads to another, and now she’s sitting in his apartment in Skyhaven all alone.

Meeting running late. Sorry, Pip-squeak. I’ll grab takeout on the way home? ☹️ Do you count as takeout? Come home, Caleb. I’m lonely, and I miss you

His heart twists at that, while other parts of his anatomy tighten… Caleb shakes his head and takes a deep, audible breath. All eyes turn to him.

“Colonel?”

Caleb clears his throat. “We need to wrap this up in the next ten minutes.”

Backs straighten as gazes lock onto the clearly unimpressed colonel. “Right, well. I was going to do an open question period, but that can be handled via e-mail…”

It takes him an hour to get home from work. He’s picked up ramen from a nearby restaurant, but when he steps into his home, all the lights in the living room are off.

She must have gone to bed.

Emme had one hell of a week at work and was fortunate to have a day off. Naturally, she wanted to spend it with him. Of course, Caleb’s time isn’t as free at the moment, but he’d walk on nails if it meant he could free up space in his schedule for her.

After sticking the ramen in the fridge, he pads through the hallways of his apartment, searching for the one person in the world he always wants to see. He checks her room—his old space—but she’s not there.

A soft light spills from within his bedroom, and he spies Emme laying there, half covered by the blankets, and wrapped up around the soft sleeping shirt he’d been wearing last night. Torn between his desire to let her sleep, and his need to see, hear, feel, taste her, Caleb stands there and stares down at her. His Pip-squeak. His first and only love.

Things have been changing between them, though he can’t quite abandon the role that he’d long since been cast in—caretaker, comforter, her Caleb. But sometimes, the walls come down, and she’ll end up in his lap, his arms wrapped tight around her as they tease and flirt and reminisce, sharing heat and space as the borders of their relationship expand.

Sometimes, it’s just like the old days, where they watch a movie, drive each other nuts, and end up falling asleep on his big sofa.

And sometimes… he’ll find himself on his knees in the shower, his Evol holding her tight against the wall, as he sucks and finger fucks her to completion as the sound of water smothers some of her cries while washing away the day, reservations, and everything else.

Being kept from her by work put him in a foul mood. She’d probably tease him for it if she was awake. Stepping close to his bed, Caleb ducks and reaches down, skimming his fingers through her hair as she softly snores on his pillow.

The love he has for her is so potent that it’s hard to think around. Tonight, his desire to keep her safe and comfortable wins out over his desire to hear her moan his name. After showering, Caleb dresses in some pajamas and crawls into bed beside her. His long arms curl around her and tug her close. She softly breathes out his name, presses back into his chest, and goes right back to quietly snoring.

Caleb leans in, breathes in deep, and lets her sweet, apple-tinged scent wash over him. Every moment spent with her is one he cherishes, and with her curled up in his arms, Caleb actually manages to sleep soundly and without nightmares. She’s his good luck charm and chases away the dark with only her presence.

The next morning, they get up together and he makes breakfast for her, while she makes the coffee. Same as always. And when she’s just about ready to head back to Linkon City, she gets up onto her tip toes and kisses him so thoroughly that he has a really hard time letting her go.

“Come visit me in a few days,” she says between breathless kisses.

“Mmm,” he replies, knowing that he has a shitton of work to do, but also knowing that he’ll blow off food, sleep, and anything else he needs to make time for her. A few days pass, and Caleb is spending the evening doing some laundry—his and hers because she always manages to leave something behind.

Which he doesn’t mind. He loves it when she invades his space. Hell, he wishes she’d move in with him, but half hates the idea because he doesn’t want her pulled into the mess of living in Skyhaven. But still… if he could have her all the time, Caleb knows he’d be able to keep her safe.

Keep her for him, and him alone.

It’s these dark, possessive thoughts that consume him when she’s been away from him for more than a few days. Having her clothes nearby is a nice reminder that he’ll see her soon and helps to keep him sane.

Taking a breath, he tries to calm down, and it almost works, at least, until he notices something strange in his washer. Something red is hanging on the inside. Caleb scoops out the fabric, thinking that maybe he forgot to switch a sock over into the dryer, but immediately freezes when he pulls it closer.

It’s not a sock.

They’re red lace panties.

Caleb swallows. When the hell had she worn this? His mind immediately flashes back to her text—he’d almost felt her pouting through the messages. Was this why? Had she dressed up for him?

Fuck.

Closing his eyes, he’s about to throw the panties back into the washer, but maybe they’re clean? He should probably check. And really, shouldn’t something this fragile be washed by hand, anyway? Caleb talks himself into circles before finally gritting his teeth and pulling the flimsy scrap of clothing close to his nose and… and…

Fuuuuck.

They’re uhh… not clean. And they smell… so fucking good, like a sweet blend of her apple-scented soap and her body’s natural fragrance. His cock is immediately and viciously hard in his pants. Like Pavlov’s fucking bell, but for perverts.

But if he’s the pervert for smelling her clothes, what does that make her, considering it seems they were left for him to find? He feels nearly fuckin’ feral with his need for her, and before he can talk himself out of it, he’s popping the button on his jeans, dragging the zipper down, and curling his length out from inside his boxers.

With her panties still wrapped around his warm hand, he grips himself, tugging once, twice, thrice before coming on his hand. It’s quick, too quick, and not nearly enough. He looks down at his hand, still gently wrapped around his dick, and stares at the cum staining her panties.

He’s gonna have to wash them now. So, he takes them into the shower and uses the panties to lather himself up with his body wash. When he’s done, they’re gonna smell like him. And when he gives them back, he’s gonna make damn sure that she smells like him, too.

But he comes down from his high quickly enough, and rational thoughts start to creep in. What if it was a mistake, and his dick was tricking him? What if she didn’t mean for him to find the panties? He towel dries the panties, dresses in his pajamas and all but throws himself onto his sofa, wrestling with his desires and insecurities until he’s a wreck.

He flicks the red scrap of clothing around his finger for a moment before he opens the HUD on his phone and remembers that he can check his security footage. He scans the footage from the last few days and finally stops when he sees her standing in his place. She makes a call—to him, likely—and tosses her phone onto the sofa in a fit of pique before dumping herself onto the plush fabric.

A few moments more, and she’s grabbing her phone, scanning through it before she grows bored and tosses it again. He skips a little, and when it comes back up, he’s utterly unprepared for what he’s about to see.

All the air leaves his lungs in a rush as he sees his girl, sitting in the exact spot as he’s sitting, topless, legs spread as her hand slips beneath the band of her lacy panties.

Caleb swallows and turns up the volume, only to be greeted with the sweet sound of her panting his fucking name.

Rubbing a hand over his mouth, he quickly rolls back to the start and finds her staring up at the camera, only to deftly tug the shirt—his oversized shirt, actually—over and off her body. No bra. A few moments more, and she’s standing, bending, shimmying for the camera as she pulls down her shorts and reveals the tiny red panties he’d found.

She slips back to the sofa. Taking her fingers into her mouth, she sucks for long moments, eyes still glued on the security camera as if she’s imagining he’s watching. Her free hand comes up and cups her breast, fingers teasing her nipples as she plucks and whimpers.

Then, she pulls her hand from her mouth, wet fingers trailing across her abdomen before descending lower… lower…

She’s slow with herself, even though she can tell she’s impatient. No, it’s not that. She’s needy. For him. And here, he’d been in a fuckin’ work meeting about expenses, when she’d been here… with half-naked and wanting.

Goddamnit.

He watches her touch herself, and at a few more points, she looks up at the camera, and it feels like she’s looking right at him. The frustration and need in her expression are painfully evident.

Where are you?

Why aren’t you here with me?

I need you, Caleb.

She does whimper his name more than a few times, sweet supplication spilling from her lips as her fingers dip and slide. And when she comes, again his name tumbles forth, sounding so needy for him that he wants to punch himself for being late that night.

But now, he’s free. Caleb checks Emme’s socials and itinerary, and she’s at home too.

Good.

He’s out the door, panties still in hand, and halfway to her place before he realizes what he’s doing. Thank God the train is running on time tonight. When he finally gets to her door, he stands there for a moment, hand in his pocket, and tightly clenched around her underwear as he fights to control his rapidly beating heart.

He doesn’t want to scare her, but his need for her is so overwhelming it’s making him feel insanely reckless. He takes a breath, and then, another. Long moments pass. Finally, he presses the doorbell to her apartment and waits.

When the door opens, and her beautiful face comes into view, his name falls from her lips. “Caleb?”

And before he can stop himself, he’s got her wrapped up in his arms, quickly urging her legs around his middle as he lifts her. His power closes the door to her apartment, after which he presses her up against it tight.

She kisses him back, confused but gamely keeping up. She’s fearless, his girl. His hand comes up and threads into the length of her hair, and only then does she realize what’s prompted this encounter—her panties are dangling from his fingers.

“Oh,” she breathes against his mouth. “Did I forget something at your place?”

His eyes roll back, forehead resting against hers as he breathes, “You’re lucky I didn’t check the security feed while at work.”

She catches his gaze and holds it, dead serious as she admits, “I wanted you to. It would have gotten you home faster.”

“God, Pip-squeak.”

Her hands slowly caress his chest, as if soothing the beast inside of him, but her words make him ache. “Caleb…”

“Mmm?”

“I want more,” she says, shimmying against his middle. It’s only then that he realizes that she’s wrapped up in a bathrobe… and nothing else.

“What do you need, baby?”

She catches her lip between her teeth before softly admitting, “You. Me. In bed.”

“And then?”

His body feels as tightly coiled as a spring, and what she says next nearly has him launching off the wall.

“You. In. Me.”

And here, he’d thought he was the feral one. As her soft mound presses into his stomach, nails scraping along the line of his shirt only to dip beneath and tease his sternum, Caleb realizes that maybe he was the one who’d fallen into her trap.

His answering grin is fierce and supremely satisfied. “Happy to oblige.”

____

Emme is not entirely surprised when Caleb shows up at her apartment. She’s been waiting for this moment. Waiting and hoping.

Maybe he’s here to check in on me… she thinks, but the moment she opens the door, she knows he’s found her ‘gift’ for him. It doesn’t take him long before he’s trudging them both through her small home, furiously kicking off his shoes as he tries to make his way deeper into her living space.

A few times along the way, he pauses to press her into the wall and kiss her senseless.

Ahh… maybe I’ve pushed him too far this time…

Still, she can’t help but tease. “Did you like the video?”

“I loved it,” he drawls between hungry kisses. “I wish I’d checked it sooner.”

“I thought you always checked in on me while at work?”

“I do, and I did. But I checked earlier that day. Before you called.”

She pouts. “Too bad. Could have turned that meeting into something really interesting.”

His demeanor shifts a bit, and the expression on his face is anything but amused. “Would’a been real inconvenient for me.”

“Oh?”

“Hidin’ all those bodies after they saw you like that…”

“Caleb!”

He chuckles softly, but she gets it because she feels the same. Hell, she’s found herself wanting to claw the eyes out of any onlooker as they covetously stare at her Caleb. Now, there’ll be no going back. They’ll possess each other so completely that neither will even consider the thought that they aren’t meant to be together.

Forever.

And Emme thinks her plan is going swimmingly, at least, until Caleb softly curses and lets her slip from his waist.

“Shit.”

“What?”

He shakes his head and frowns. “Thought I had this all planned out, but I forgot something.”

“What?”

“Condoms.”

Emme lets out a short laugh. “Missing the forest for the trees, eh, flyboy?”

Caleb rubs a hand over his face and is halfway through apologizing for… everything and this, but Emme interrupts him.

“You might not be prepared,” she murmurs while sliding his hand over her forearm. “But I am.”

With his fingers beneath hers, she presses so he can feel the subdermal implant.

“Wha..?”

Rolling her eyes, she explains, “Look, I know things can be kind of weird between us because of… well. You know. Everything. But I thought it would be better to be prepared.”

“You’ve been planning on having sex with me?” he says, sounding shocked even though he’d come over to her place with the intention of having sex with her if she wanted to.

“God, Caleb. Are you telling me you just watched me finger myself on your security camera and then were wondering whether I’ve been thinking about having sex with you? Seriously? How is that even a question right now?”

Her cheeks are burning, but her annoyance blocks out any embarrassment. Of course, she’d been thinking about Caleb and sex. He’s eaten her out literally every single time they’ve been together, never mind all the other things he does—and he expects so little in return.

And she… well, she’s been wanting more. Wanting to experience what the thick length of him inside of her would feel like. She’s greedy and needy, wanting to see the way his eyes linger on her body, the flush in his cheeks, and the way his ears get red when he’s embarrassed… and aroused.

She’s wanted him for a long time, if she’s being honest, but wanting and acting are two separate things. Then, she’d gone to visit him in Skyhaven, and been extra amorous given the time of her cycle it happened to be, and now… he is here, desperate and horny. So, it might not have been the best plan in the world, but it did work.

Still, she’s incredulous as he says, “I kind of thought that maybe you were just pitying me.”

“Good God, Caleb. We’ve done nearly everything except have sex, willingly and quite enthusiastically on both our parts, and you thought… Look, you think I’m naïve and don’t understand the depth of your feelings for me, but it goes both ways. I’m not… I’m not good at expressing my emotions.” He snorts, and she glares. “Anger and annoyance don’t count. And that’s not… those aren’t the kind of feelings I’m talking about.”

“Tell me, Pip-squeak.”

Emme nibbles her lips and huffs softly. “Look, Caleb. You know I love you. I’ve always loved you, but when I lost you, I… It hurt me so bad that I wasn’t sure if I could go on… you know, living. It was a lot. And now… You’re my Caleb, and I want you in every way that I can have you.”

“Do you know what you’re saying?”

“You came all the way here to have sex with me, and now you’re questioning my resolve?”

“Emme,” he growls softly. “This isn’t a game.”

“I know that, Caleb! So stop being a dummy and listen to me because I’m telling you that I love you, and I want to spend the rest of… whatever with you. A hundred years, a thousand—forever and a day, if we can manage it.”

Caleb takes a breath, nose flaring a little. His jaw clenches, hands curling into fists at his sides, and for a moment, Emme thinks he looks confused.

I thought he’d be happy about this…

But then, his power reaches out, and in one breathless moment to the next, she’s being lifted, legs wrapping of their own accord around his middle. Dipping his head, Caleb presses his face into the length of her hair and breathes deep. She holds him back, just as tight, fingers gently soothing as he takes a moment to really come to understand what she’s saying, and what she needs.

“Pip-squeak,” he says, voice breaking some as his lips skim against her skin. “I’ve wanted you for so long, I just…”

“Mmm, I’ve always been yours,” she murmurs. “Yours, and only yours. So, give me what we both need.”

Caleb lets out a shaky breath before carrying her over to the bed. He uses his Evol to pull the sheets back, and he’s so careful with her as he sets her on the mattress. But she doesn’t want careful. She wants him. Badly.

“Caleb,” she softly calls his name while sliding back into the pillows as his eyes roam. “You don’t have to hold back anymore…”

“Ahh,” he groans, “that’s such a dangerous thing to say to a man like me.”

Her eyelids flutter, legs parting to give him better access as she murmurs, “I know you’d never hurt me. So… let’s go further.”

“How far?”

He wants her to be clear, so she indulges him. “I want all of you inside of me. Don’t stop… until we both feel it.”

He looks down, and for a moment, he almost looks sheepish. “What if I suck at this?”

“Oh, Caleb,” she says while reaching out to him. “You’re good at anything you put your mind to. You can be good for me, right?”

He pulls a shaky breath between parted, rough lips, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. She wants to follow that motion with her tongue, to thread her fingers into his thick hair and hold tight as he grinds his length against her, dig her nails into the muscles of his back to mark him as her own.

Caleb is so wrapped up in his own self-loathing that he has a hard time seeing the truth—that she is just as crazy in love with him as he is with her.

“Tell me… if you need me to stop.”

“What I need is for you to come here. Be with me. C’mon. We’ll do this together.”

Caleb edges closer to the bed, and though she’s already comfy in the pillows, Emme pushes herself up and out, and slides over to the edge so that she can peel the sweatpants from his hips.

“Did you wear these for me?” she teases.

Caleb shakes his head. “I was only half-sentient when I slipped my clothes on.”

“Because of the panties?”

“The panties, the surveillance footage. You.”

And maybe it’s a bit twisted, but it makes her heart beat faster in her chest, and her body tingle when he admits that he’s watched her. Of course, they always keep tabs on each other, so it wasn’t like she didn’t know he’d find out.

She’d wanted him to see her like that. Wanted to push him just a little further than they’d already gone, in hopes that she’d be able to get him to come to her. All she ever had to do was call and ask, and he’d answer—on the second ring—and be ready to do whatever she wanted.

But this was different from before. She wanted him to want her. Not because he felt obliged to do what she wanted, but because he wanted it, too.

He’s hard beneath the soft fabric of his pants. Her eyes trail over the bulge. She knows what he looks like, knows the feel of him against her palm and her body—but taking him inside of her? That’ll be new. Emme rolls her eyes up, eyelashes fluttering as she hooks her thumbs in the waistband of his pants and works them over his hips.

His dick bobs as it slips free. She bites her lips. There are so many things she wants to do right now, but at the top of the list is ‘Sex with Caleb,’ so that comes first. Still, she can’t stop herself from reaching out and gently cupping his sac before trailing her fingers over his length. Caleb stutter-steps out of his pants, cheeks and ears flushing as she catches him off guard.

Leaning back, she lets the housecoat fall open and slide away. It was a good thing he caught her after a shower; she’s ready for him. His shirt comes off next, and even though it’s certainly not the first time she’s seen him like this, she can’t help but think how good he looks.

Hell, sometimes when he’s doing laundry, he’ll walk around in nothing but a towel, the necklace she gave him, and a smile. But the look of him nude combined with the sultry look on her face is making her body achy with need. Emme bites her lip and stares, eyes traveling from the top of his dark head to his neck, his chest, his abdomen… and lower…

Every part of him looks good enough to eat, and he stands there and lets her look her fill. Finally, she slides back on her arms and smiles up at him.

“Come here.”

He does, that big body of his inching up onto her bed and covering hers completely. For a moment, they just hold each other and just enjoy the soft comfort of being together. But then, her fingers start to twitch, and his lips start to trail, and soon enough, his dark head is between her thighs.

He’s gotten ohh sooo good at this. Between the sweet sucking of his lips and the luscious licks from his tongue, coupled with the gentle thrusting of his fingers, he’s got her rolling before she even knows what’s what. But she finds it’s easy to lose herself when she’s with him. Even his mere scent drives her crazy, and when that combines with touch and soft words and ohhh the sweet tingle of his power as he holds her exactly where he wants her, how can she resist?

Finally, when he’s got her to the point that she nearly has to push him off because she’s so sensitized, his head pops up and he looks at her, lips gleaming as he obviously waits to be told what to do next. As if she knows!

“We’re gonna have to figure this out together,” she murmurs.

Caleb rubs his cheek on the inside of her thigh, lips turning into the soft flesh there as he gently kisses the hickey he left behind.

“Do you think you’re ready?”

“Are you?”

Caleb chokes. “God. I dunno. I think I’m gonna go insane.”

Good, she thinks. Then he is ready. Because she wants him so badly, she can hardly think straight. But still, this is new and a little scary, but it’s Caleb, so she knows it’ll be okay.

“Go slow?”

“Whatever you need,” he says while shifting his body between hers.

His dick juts up between them, and she understands why he’s feeling a bit crazy. He’s hard as hell, and the tip is leaking… Reaching down, she softly thumbs the top, which earns her a groan.

“Let’s… do this.” It’s kind of a ridiculous thing to say, but Caleb only chuckles and reaches up to cup her cheek.

“As fast or as slow as you need, got it?”

“Got it.”

And then, he’s lining himself up at her entrance, and the thick press of his crown against her opening is strange and Mmmm… good. He slides a little more in, and inch by inch, her warmth welcomes him in. He’s not… Ohhh… He’s not small, but he’s patient, and gentle, even though she can tell the effort to keep himself from thrusting is killing him.

Ahh… Ahh…

But somehow, she knows he even likes that part. For her, there’s no pain. He’s spent so much time building up to this moment that she’s ready for him. The memories of moments shared between them heighten her desires as well, never mind having Caleb—gloriously nude, straining, lip caught tight between teeth as he inches, inches, inches inside of her.

The moment almost doesn’t feel real. She’s imagined what it would be like to be with him like this for so long that she almost feels out of her mind now that it’s actually happening. And Caleb… God, Caleb… It’s almost like he’s stuck somewhere between heaven and hell.

She reaches up and holds his cheeks in her hands, forces him to stare into her eyes, and he looks so lost—helpless, out of control, needful—that it makes her clench. Caleb groans, body twisting and cheeks pressing into her palms.

“Baby…” he moans.

Maybe it’s because she’s a bit reckless, or maybe it’s because she’s a bit demanding, it’s definitely because she’s a bit of a brat, but Emme slowly resonates with Caleb to maintain a measure of control, powers mingling as their bodies rock together. Those combined feelings have them reeling. Her legs clamp down around his middle, his arms tuck in beneath her, around her, holding tight as he grinds and grinds and grinds.

When he finally bottoms out inside of her, his eyes roll back, his lip caught so tight between his teeth that she’s worried it might bleed. And still, she can’t help but laugh some as she stares at him, in this moment.

He’s her Caleb, and this is… sex. And it’s weird, and good, and scary, and hot, and just so much that it’s a little hard to believe it’s real. Caleb must notice her freaking out because he manages to reach up and gently cup her cheek.

“You okay, Em?” She nods, but he’s insistent. “Tell me.”

“I’m good, I’m just… it’s a little overwhelming. You ‘n me. This. All of it.”

“Does it feel bad?”

“Oh, no.”

His lip curls, eyebrow raising as he asks. “Does it feel… good?”

“Caleb!” she whines. “Don’t tease me.”

“Pip-squeak,” he sweetly croons. “You clenched so nicely when I asked that. If you’re not gonna be honest, your body is. So, tell me. Tell me everything. Or… I can find all the sensitive spots on your body and get your secrets anyway. Your choice.”

She pouts, but when he gives her a teasing thrust, she knows he’s not joking. Finally, she admits, “It just feels like I’ve been waiting forever for this.”

“And now that forever is now?”

“It’s so good, Caleb. You are so good, I just…”

“What?”

“I want more, and I’m afraid of getting it.”

“Why?”

“What if I ruin everything?”

“Not possible.”

“How?”

Caleb softly presses his nose into the line of her throat before dipping his head, lips tracing over skin, before he softly sucks a pert nipple into his mouth. That has Emme squirming, fingers digging into his hair as his hips restlessly stir below.

“I’ve made it my life’s work to give you everything that you want. So, this will be no different. You can’t ruin anything because you’re already perfect—we’re already perfect. We were made for this moment. It just… took us a while to get here. And now…”

“And now…?” she softly gasps as he thrusts, this time a little harder.

“Now, we get to see what we’ve been missing out on. And God, baby, there’s so much I wanna do with you… and to you.”

Just like that, Caleb’s got her out of her head and into the moment. It’s Caleb. Her Caleb. Always has been, always will be. She takes a breath, relaxes, and luxuriates in the strangely sweet feel of him inside of her, before curling her legs around his while angling her hips.

“More?”

“Please.”

He’s never been able to resist any one of her requests before, and it’s no different now. Except now, she gets to enjoy the hot-hard feel of him inside and atop her. He’s so responsive to her, moves so patiently, so purposefully, that soon enough, her head is lolling against the sheets as he increases the pace.

Caleb’s so broad and beautiful atop her, body so giving, lips against hers, tongue seeking, swirling, sucking, as he kisses her until she’s breathlessly moaning into his mouth. But he’s not done with her, not even close.

Slowly, his power crawls along the line of her back, curving her just so. Caleb’s always made her feel like she can fly, and right now is no exception. He’s slow and patient as he fucks her, eyes darting over her face, the curve of her neck, the sweet swell of her breasts, watching, watching, watching as if he’s afraid that at any moment she’ll disappear from this bed.

She’s just as possessive of him as he is of her, and at this moment, she wants all of him—the hurt, the pain, the pleasure, the release, the insanity of everything that they mean to each other—all of it and all of him.

Her hand threads into his shaggy hair, fingers pulling just a touch as she softly whines, “Caleb… Harder.”

He chokes, body stuttering. His lips part, and he breathes out with a sound that’s more like a whimper than a moan.The look on his face makes her worry she’s broken him.

His face rubs against her wrist, words halting as he says, “Is that an order…?”

“Do I have the authority to command you?”

“Mmm… absolutely.”

“Then yes, it’s an order.”

Caleb lets out a soft laugh. That is all the warning she gets before his power swells, and Emme quickly finds herself on top with Caleb spread out beneath her. He looks like an offering to a heathen god, arms stretched high above his head, skin flushed, muscles flexed, and chest heaving.

Now, it’s her turn to whimper, not only from the sight before her but because of the thick, tight feel of him inside of her. She can go as fast or as slow, as hard or as soft as she wants. And Caleb… he can take it. For her, he’d do it. He’d do anything.

“Take what you need…” he purrs. “And I’ll match you from below.”

After taking a breath for courage, she shifts her hips and quickly finds that not only is this insanely pleasurable, but being in control heightens her desire. Her fingers curl against the tight muscles of his abdomen, body canting as she rocks.

Eventually, Caleb’s hands guide her hips upward, so she’s well and truly bouncing on him now. And as she falls… Ohhhh… his hips thrust, and he rises to meet her, pressing so deep, tight, and perfect that it feels like she’s gonna come apart just like this.

But when his warm fingers slide over her hip and down the inside of her thigh, quickly teasing between her soaked folds to find that sensitive bud within, then she well and truly loses herself. As Caleb watches, as his fingers roll between her legs, as he thrusts—fast and hard—from below, she nears her peak, and it’s… Oh, God! It’s…

“Caleb,” his name falls from her lips, begging, pleading for him to help her, to give her what she needs. And he does. He always gives her exactly what she needs.

Finally, her orgasm hits, completely inelegant and overwhelming. Waves of pleasure radiate from her core outwards, seductive tendrils flowing through her body, making her clench, grind, and moan. Caleb grunts softly, brow furrowing some as if he’s holding himself back.

He wants to watch her as she comes with him inside her. She knows he doesn’t want to miss a second, but she needs the same from him, and even before her body’s completely finished its release, she’s moving, grinding slow and hard, as she pushes him higher.

Caleb groans, hands slipping to her hips as he rucks up into her, chest heaving as he pants. He looks frantic, eyes darting everywhere—her eyes, the flushed tips of her breasts, between her legs where they’re joined so intimately.

She runs her nails over his chest, faint lines marking his pale chest as he whimpers. She thinks he must be close. He looks… almost lost, but his body is fire-hot, and he’s so hard and thick inside of her that he’s almost too much to take.

Caleb lets out a shaky breath, cool fingers trailing over her skin before pressing low on her stomach. She pouts prettily as he teases her, body shimmying as he finally asks, “Can I… inside you?”

Her eyelids flutter, her body twisting in response to his sweet erotic entreat, and she can’t help but tease him. “Can you what, inside me?”

Caleb groans, fingers digging into her hips as he pants. “Come. I need to come.”

“Inside me?” she whimpers, breathless with her anticipation.

“God, yes. Please.”

Her head rolls back. It shouldn’t turn her on so much to hear him beg, but it does… God, does it ever. To tease them both, Emme shimmies atop Caleb, pressing him so tight and deep that they groan in unison.

He gasps her name, throat tight as his head rolls back. She loves that.

“Caleb… use me.”

“Wh-at? How?” he asks, breathless, needy, and edging closer and closer to his release. And she’ll give it to him, but only if he gives her what she wants first.

“Use your Evol.”

“My Evol?” he sputters.

She gives him a look. “Don’t pretend like you’ve never thought about what it would be like. I’ve thought about what it would be like.”

Caleb swallows thickly. “I won’t last.”

“I don’t want you to. All I want is for you to give me what I want and take what you need.”

His eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, and almost haunted as he stares up at her, as thunderstruck as if he’s beholding a goddess. And then… his power softly swirls against her skin, as light as a feather before it wraps around her tight.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

He guides her, looking so beside himself that she almost feels bad, at least, until his wrist flicks and he drags her up until only the thick tip of him is pressing against her opening. One breath, one impossibly long pause, one needful moment stretches between them, until he lets her drop.

She groans as his length is quickly sheathed inside of her, her body canting forward before she can completely catch herself.

“Caleb,” she gasps his name.

He’s got her close again. So close that she can feel the pleasure tingling at the small of her back, in the tips of her nipples, in the sweet space between her thighs that he’s pressing up against—so hot, so hard, so tight.

With his cool hand possessively gripping the back of her neck, and her fingers curled into the tight muscles of his abdomen, Emme throws her head back, rolls her hips, and bounces hard on his length. In and out. In and out. In and out. She loses herself in a rhythm that’s just for the two of them.

It’s exactly what they want, and as she presses down hard, he rolls his hips to meet her, and it’s so much more than enough.

“Ahh… Caleb!”

“Baby…!”

Caleb moans and his hands clutch desperately at her as he pulls, holding her tight as he rolls his hips, grinding into her and enhancing the moment for them both. And with their bodies connected, and their powers blended, everything narrows to a point… before breathlessly expanding. Nothing remains but the wet-hot feel of their pleasure.

Finally, soft moans escape them in unison as the pleasure slowly subsides. Emme dips close, forehead pressing against his as they pant hard. His eyes are closed, brow furrowed. A tear escapes from behind his lashes, dripping along his cheek as she watches, half-dazed and entirely entranced.

“God.” His voice sounds choked, and Emme’s heart clenches, fingers softly brushing away his tears, even though he’s still half-hard inside of her.

“Are… you okay?” Maybe she hurt him? She did kind of lose herself at the end there…

Caleb chokes out a laugh. “I just… am having a hard time believing this is real, Pip-squeak.”

“Oh.”

Decades of knowing each other better than anyone else. Years and years of heartache, of wanting, of almosts and not quites. Now, they’re as close as two people can be and she feels… she feels… so weightless. So free. So right.

So, she tells him that. Tells him that she never wants to lose this—to lose him. Tells him everything she’s ever been too afraid to say, and then tells him how much she loves him, how painfully.

“It hurts, you know. To love someone this much. I think… I’ve always been afraid that I could lose you. And then, I did lose you.”

“Mmm,” he softly breathes. “I’m here now.”

“Forever?”

“No matter what happens, I’ll always find my way back to you.”

“Good,” she comments softly while resting her head on his chest. The sound of his still-frantic heartbeat fills her heart, soothing her as she continues, “You’re mine. You can only leave me if you have my say so, and you never will.”

She can feel Caleb’s shaky breath against her cheek. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

Caleb urges her head up and back so she’s staring him straight in the eye. “Are you mine?”

“Caleb,” she replies, voice chiding. “You’re still inside me.”

“And?”

“And, what? If this isn’t a big deal to you, maybe I should wonder about how many times you’ve done this with other girls. I guess, you didn’t always call me to play the girlfriend, after all?”

He frowns, and quick as a flash, he’s got her on her back. He presses in, body hardening in response to the movement or maybe the way he’s got her splayed, arms above her head, hair spilled across the sheets, hips subtly shifting beneath him.

“There’s no one else in the world that I’ve ever wanted. No one I’d ever want to do this with other than you.”

“Then you need to hear me say it?” she asks while arcing her back, body shimmying back into his soft thrust.

“So badly.”

So needy… she thinks, but she doesn’t mind. She’s just the same, but part of her heart will always want to tease him, just a little. He’s her Caleb. She doesn’t want things to change completely, she just wants more and more and more. Her greedy heart asking for everything and still expecting more.

His eyes flutter, body rocking as his length hardens anew. It would be so easy to get distracted, but she’s not gonna chicken out now.

“I’ve loved you since the first moment we met when were kids. You’ve always been mine, and I’ve always been yours. For me, it’s always been you. Always and forever.”

His eyes close and he grins. Emme thinks she’s never seen him look quite so happy before, nor so free.

“Good. I think… I couldn’t handle it if it were any other way.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry because we belong to each other now and… ahh…”Her words trail off as Caleb’s body shifts, distracting her as he stirs within.

“I missed my evening workout,” he drawls.

Emme twists her hips, back arching as she purrs, “Well, get to it, then. Can’t have you slacking off now.”

“That a challenge, Pip-squeak?”

“Of course.”

His lip curls into a smug smile. “Well, let’s see who laughin’ by the end of this.”

And Emme, well, she’s not laughing. Screaming, crying out his name, begging for more? Yeah, that’s pretty much exactly it. By the time they’re finished with each other, limbs entangled, bodies hot, slick with sweat and desire, she’s well and truly tired.

“Feels like every single muscle in my body is sore.”

“You askin’ for a massage?”

“Mmm, a shower. Then sleep.”

“And then…?”

“You’re not slacking off, are you, Caleb?”

A soft laugh rolls up from his chest. “You’re so greedy,” he murmurs, hand tracing a path down her neck, over the soft curve of her breast before pressing low on her abdomen. “Especially here.”

She whimpers softly, and it’s almost as if she can still feel him inside of her, the phantom press of his thick length as he possesses her completely.

“Stop complaining.”

He shakes his head, damp tendrils sticking against his brow as he murmurs, “We both know, I’ll always give you everything that you want. So, shower first, Pip-squeak.”

“And then?”

“Once I’ve got you cleaned up,” he says, fingers skimming along the slick line of her sex. “I’ll get you messy all over again.”

If she wasn’t so damn tired, she’d have hoped right back on him and gotten him just as messy, but he’d loved her so completely, that Emme wasn’t certain she’d be able to walk, let alone ride him. But later… later… she’d have him. And he’d have her.

And he’d fill the needy spaces of her heart, just as she’d fill his, and together, they’d become whole—again and again, as many times as needed, for a hundred years, a thousand… forever and a day.

Author’s Notes:

HAHAHA I want to be clear that I got the idea before this BEFORE I saw Caleb’s new card, but now I’m smug about it because it’s actually IC for him to have security footage of her lmao. ANYWAY. This is loosely based son some great fan art I saw that has caleb mcfuckin loosing it at the laundry mat when he finds some sexy red panties. God bless fan artists, fr fr. Also, I am very certain I’m not the first nor I hope the last to write ‘Caleb is a panty sniffer’ fic but LMAO. I couldn’t stop myself. I MEAN THAT LITERALLY fingers just go go go of their own accord.

This is paraphrased from some in-game dialogue:

His face rubs against her wrist, words halting as he says, “Is that an order…?”

“Do I have the authority to command you?”

“Mmm… absolutely.”

“Then yes, it’s an order.”

This kind of skips around, not that I’m writing rationally here (literally just writing what I feel like I need to write to keep myself from going insane haha), but I still have some more planned for these two. Things are probably gonna get a lot busier, but I’ll see what I can fit in. Thanks so much for all of your support and for being so kind. Any mistakes are there because I need to keep humble lol.

Banner courtesy of cafekitsune!

[paunchsalazar]

they were sleeping together at this point

[lovelyghst]

poor simon settling for just the tip with his pretty girl late at night, having just gotten home from work and finding her sleeping soundly in their bed. he gently coaxes you awake, going against every nerve in his worn out body to let you rest, and he asks you so, so nicely.

begs, more like it, and you simply can’t refuse.

with your sweet permission, he slicks up his cockhead and eases it into your little hole with some effort from the both of you, his eyes fluttering shut as he fights to maintain his promise. just the tip.

and he shows such good restraint for you! moaning through his clenched jaw as he slowly fucks the tip of his cock in and out of your pretty pussy, whining when the exposed length of his dick pulses from neglect. he’s sat back on his knees and heels with your hips pulled into his lap, not trusting his tired muscles enough for missionary. still, he can’t keep his hands off of you.

he may be desperate, but he couldn’t bring himself to hurt or force anything onto his princess. that would be the true death of simon riley. he even runs a gentle thumb over your swollen clit to make you melt into the pillows, urge those lovely little noises from your lips, the same ones he’s been hearing in his daydreams while he’s at work.

they make his dick throb, the seasoned soldier’s hand trembling as it soothes over your lower tummy. gosh, he missed you so much.

and you read it all on his face; how much he respects your wishes, but also how badly he needs relief. the slackened jaw, panting chest, droopy eyes heavy beneath furrowed brows. it makes you frown.

“simon,” you whine out softly, and his eyes snap up to meet yours. the look on your face makes him stifle a choked moan. “c’mere…”

you reach up as he leans forward for you and, to his surprise, you tug him in by his neck for a needy kiss. you wrap your legs around his lower back as best you can, locking them tight in the divot of pure muscle, and you reel him in closer.

consequently, the rest of his cock fully sheathes inside you and the sudden stretch makes you whimper out, him groaning loudly like a whore as he buries his heated face in your collar. christ, he fucking came just from one stroke of tight, wet warmth. and it feels so good, too good for him. he works hard, you think, he deserves it.

you giggle as you hold your baby close, let him catch his breath and grasp his settings before he rolls over, you held clasped in his arms.

he falls asleep in the matter of seconds, with his face in your chest and his dick in your cunt, like a good soldier. probably mutters some strained apology in between, even though you couldn’t be happier.

[maskedbyghost]

“you are on the couch tonight, riley!” you shout, pointing a finger toward the living room. simon stands there, his jaw clenched, hands clenched at his sides, clearly unhappy but resigned.

there’s a flicker of hurt in his eyes, masked quickly with his usual steely glare. he just nods, not saying a word, as he grabs a blanket from the closet and settles down on the couch without another look your way.

the apartment feels colder without him by your side, and the silence that follows is louder than any argument. you lie in bed, your head turned to the wall, arms crossed tightly as if that could keep out the ache creeping in.

you feel miserable, thinking over the fight, wondering if you were too harsh, if maybe he wasn’t entirely in the wrong. but you bury it, refusing to let yourself soften too quickly. this isn’t the first time you two have fought; being with simon means loving him as he is, stubbornness and all.

but tonight, it feels different. minutes stretch into hours, and you find yourself glancing at the empty side of the bed, missing his warmth, the steady rise and fall of his breathing. you turn over again, clutching the pillow tighter, but it doesn’t help.

meanwhile, simon’s on the couch, one arm draped over his eyes, a sigh slipping out into the darkened room. his mind replays the fight in quiet fragments, the words that had been said, your voice still ringing in his ears.

he knows he messed up, though he’d never admit it to anyone but himself. he misses you too, even if pride keeps him rooted to the couch, where the cushions dig into his back, and sleep refuses to come.

after another endless stretch, you finally can’t take it anymore. you get up, padding softly into the living room. simon’s form is a dark silhouette against the dim light from the window, his breathing shallow, not quite asleep. he hears you but doesn’t move, as if afraid to let hope show too early.

“simon…” your voice is quiet. you see his shoulders tense before he slowly drops his arm from his eyes, looking up at you. his gaze is guarded, but there’s an unmistakable softness there, a glint of something like regret.

“can’t sleep either, huh?” he mutters, breaking the silence, his voice rough from the hours of silence.

you shake your head, and without another word, he shifts to make space. you sit beside him and lean against him, letting your head rest on his shoulder, and after a beat, his arm wraps around you, pulling you closer.

“i’m sorry baby,” he says finally, voice barely above a whisper.

“me too,” you murmur, feeling the tension melt away as he holds you tighter.

neither of you says anything more. words don’t matter as much now, not when the warmth of his arm around you feels like coming home.

------------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic

[nereidprinc3ss]

you know the killer doesn't understand

in which spencer is so terrified he's going to hurt you after he gets out of prison that he can barely touch you. an argument ensues.

angst (+ comfort) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, mentions of violent intrusive thoughts (non-specific), arguing, yelling, use of the word rape, nightmares, happyish ending, mention of showering together, it's a bad time but it's also a good time for us woo i love angsty angst a/n: i miss posting for real so bad i dug up this draft which was mostly finished and polished it up. i think i really like this one and it was based on a request but i lost it:( i hope u guys enjoy this, pls lmk<3

Spencer is by no means happy with his sudden fear of touching you—it makes everything in his life significantly harder and less convenient and he hates that he’s constantly afraid he’s going to break you. He hates watching you hold back from attacking him with a hug when he enters a room like you used to, and he feels terrible every time you ball up on the opposite side of the couch as he reads, waiting for an invitation into his lap but too scared to ask for one (he’ll always hold out his arm for you, though—he’s not cruel.)

You’re adorable in the way you stand at the foot of the bed in your pajamas, arms behind your back like it’s not your bed too, but it makes him feel terrible. This isn’t at all what he wanted for you, and in all honestly he’s thought about ending the relationship because he knows he’s being an absolutely awful partner—but he just can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gestures for you to get into bed, and you curl up under the covers close to him but not against him, and he’ll play with your hair and read for a while because he can’t sleep very well. Eventually he’ll assume the position of sleep, but some sick part of him doesn’t know what to do with the sounds of the city and the fan instead of the sounds of a hundred men rolling and sniffing and shuffling around their echoey cells. He doesn’t understand warmth anymore, or softness, or nice pajamas or fluffy pillows. He’s starting to think he doesn’t understand you. And that’s the worst thought of all. 

So he essentially dozes for the first week, on and off, always exhausted in the mornings but what’s new. When he can’t sleep, he turns his head to watch you breathe—some beautiful, sweet creature dreaming in his bed, unwaveringly loyal to him even though he can hardly stand to touch you for fuck’s sake. You’re beautiful, and it makes him feel better to watch you, even if he can’t touch you. Not now that he knows what he is capable of doing to another person. What if he has some sort of PTSD—PTSS, thank you, Luke Alvez—induced dream and does something terrible to you in his sleep? It’s not like you’re tiny, but he’s stronger, he knows he is, and lately every time you get too close he remembers exactly what it feels like to exert the full force of that strength, and what it feels like when someone else unleashes their own onto him. 

They’re just intrusive thoughts, and in them he doesn’t hurt you intentionally, but he always feels a little bit sick now. He is so, so sick. A bull in a China shop. Spencer knows exactly how breakable humans are—it’s his job to know. If he left so much as one red mark on you by accident, he’s quite sure he’d drill down to a previously unknown rock bottom. And if he reaches that point, he doesn’t know if he’d ever deserve to come back. 

Every day it seems to become clearer that the only humane thing to do is break up with you. But for now he’ll watch you sleep—the delicate rising and falling of your chest, the way you curl in on yourself because you can’t curl into him. In sleep you look so peaceful and content. You never look that way awake, anymore. Not when he’s around, which is pretty much always. At least he can’t disappoint you while you’re asleep. 

Or so he’d like to think. 

Until one night, about a week and a half after he gets home; you whimper in your sleep. It’s so quiet he could’ve missed it, but he doesn’t, and then he watches your smooth brow furrow with worry and he knows you’re having a nightmare immediately. 

Spencer panics—before, he would have woken you up and held you and comforted you until you fell back asleep and it would have been so simple. Now he’s frozen, afraid to touch you but not sure if he can just lie there watching you so afraid and not do a thing about it. 

In the end, you choose for him—and it only takes a few moments. You’re close enough to him that it’s easy for you to close the few inches even in sleep, and maybe you’re slightly conscious but not enough to remember you’re not supposed to touch him. 

He stops breathing as you fold yourself against him, muttering worried nonsense—he catches his name, once—nestling against his chest, one searching arm gently draping over his waist. Every muscle in his body is rigid, and his thoughts—his mind goes… completely fucking blank. 

Suddenly, all he’s known, all he’s ever known, is the smell of your hair, the warmth of you seeping through layers of clothing, and the weight of your arm over him. Everything he ever was ceases to exist, and he’s just this, right now. The person you’d turned to unconsciously for comfort, so sure, so trusting that he would keep you safe. He can feel your breath for the first time in months. Slowly every tense muscle unspools. For the first time in a long time he doesn’t feel dangerous. He doesn’t feel like his entire body is spring loaded and ready to attack at the slightest provocation. Spencer allows himself to hold you, and part of it feels like betrayal because he knows how badly you need this from him while you’re awake but mostly he feels like he could cry. His thumb rubs circles into the middle of your back and your head tucks so perfectly under his chin while he studies the rumpled sheets where you’d been lying a moment ago. He almost feels like sticking his tongue out to gloat at your half of the mattress—haha, look who gets to hold her now—but instead he sighs, shakily, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

You don’t make another sound for hours. 

He’s reluctant to let you go when you begin to stir around six AM, but forcibly holding onto you is so far from what he wants to do that he manages. You roll back over to your own side of the bed, and he continues admiring you from afar until he falls asleep. It’s the best three hours of sleep he’s had in a very long time. 

Of course, you don’t remember it. When you wake up your sadness resumes, and so does the pretending like you’re not sad, but you’re a very good sport—and it helps that he’s feeling much better this morning than he has since he got back. 

“Good morning,” you whisper faintly, still blinking as you watch him longingly from your spot. 

Spencer pushes himself up onto an elbow, and you watch with big eyes as he leans over you, stroking your cheek with his free hand. 

“Good morning. You sleep okay?”

Your brow flickers, and he realizes it’s not a question he asks every morning, and you’re probably distracted by this overt display of affection, but you answer it obediently anyway. 

“I think so. I had weird dreams.”

He hums. 

“About what?”

It’s quiet for a moment as he takes in the exact spattering of microscopically fractured pigment over your irises. Your voice is small when you finally speak. 

“Do I have to tell you?”

That hurts. 

“No. But it might help.”

Coming from him? Ironic doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

You acknowledge him with a small hum of your own, studying him with soft, mistrustful eyes. 

He can’t help it anymore—Spencer leans down and gently kisses you, so tenderly, so chastely, it makes his own head spin. He hasn’t kissed you like that since you picked him up from Milburn. It’s long overdue. 

Which is why he’s not expecting you to start crying. He pulls back immediately, not far, just enough to assess your expression. 

“What’s this? What’s wrong, angel?” He frowns. Your lip quivers in a way that feels like a blow to the chest. 

“That’s not… you’re…”

“What? What is it?”

A fat tear finally traces a path down your cheek and when you speak your voice breaks in the most fragile, devastating way. 

“You’re not being fair.”

He has no neat question to summarize all the bafflement your accusation inspires in his lately cloudy head, but the wildly confused look on his face must be prompt enough.

“I’m trying really hard to respect your space and boundaries and not upset you but my feelings are hurt, Spencer, I don’t know how they couldn’t be. I feel like you don’t even like me anymore. I’m embarrassed around you because I feel like I care about you so much more than you care about me. And then you—and then you wake up one morning and you think it’s okay to act like you love me again but I can’t—I c—” you stop, obviously frustrated—now crying in earnest and lacking the words. “You can’t be mean to me. I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m sorry but you can’t treat me like that. I’m a person, too.”

His chest aches and he swallows down barbed wire.

“I’m not acting like I love you. I do love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in my life. That’s not an act.”

It’s not an adequate response, but your words are still spinning in his head until he can’t keep up with them. He’s not used to this, anymore. The language you two had developed is so foreign now. 

Maybe he just doesn’t know how to talk to you. 

Resignation—a too-calm recognition softens the stormy look that has brewed on your face. As soon as it’s gone, and you’re looking at him placidly, he realizes he’s afraid. 

“Well, that’s not enough,” you whisper. 

Spencer feels like he’s been shot as you push the covers aside and slip out of bed. And he knows what that feels like. 

“Where are you going?” And then louder, when you don’t hear him because you’ve already left the room, “Where are you going?”

He follows you through the apartment as you march purposefully for the door, slipping shoes on and grabbing your keys and coat. 

You barely look over your shoulder as you leave, slamming the front door behind you. Things shake from the impact. A mini earthquake. 

Spencer is too stunned to follow you. 

It’s not until a few minutes later when he goes to call you that he realizes your phone is still sitting on your bedside table. He stares at it, tasting metal, because he has absolutely no way to reach you or guarantee your safety. There’s no way for you to call him, or anyone, if you get in trouble—and he fears that you’ll retaliate against him by doing something stupid and dangerous. 

He only just manages to stop himself from calling the police and asking them to start looking for you. Only just recognizes it to be an overreaction. 

Besides, he’s not feeling particularly fond of the criminal justice institution these days. If it came down to it, he’d trust himself and his team over the cops any day.

The team. They’re always a resource. If worst comes to worst, he thinks, robotically making coffee as he tries to talk himself down, and she doesn’t come home before dark, I’ll call all of her closest friends. If she doesn’t come home before the morning—the thought makes him feel sick—I’ll deploy every fucking resource at my disposal. 

Maybe that’s an overreaction, too, but he has to find a way to self-soothe somehow. Planning makes him feel better. Being prepared for the things you never see coming makes him feel better. It’s impossible, of course—but the illusion of control is stubborn and so seductive. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. 

At around 2 PM, he receives a couple of texts from Garcia that are a massive relief. 

Penelope: She’s at my apartment

Penelope: BE NICER TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!

The series of emojis that follow (including an octopus?), he doesn’t even try to decipher. He simply drops his phone and sighs deeply into his hands, releasing an extreme amount of paranoid tension that had been tying him into knots. Lately, he’s had this sense that everything is fleeting—that the things he takes for granted are painfully, violently impermanent. It doesn’t take anyone with a degree to figure out why he’s been feeling that way, but it’s so all-consuming he’s not sure how to cope with it. Just a few days ago, he’d been wondering how to break up with you. Now he’s asking himself how the fuck he thought he’d be able to do that when he’s barely functioning after a few hours without you.

It’s a question he still hasn’t answered by the time the front door opens at 10 PM. It’s clear by the deer-in-headlights look on your face that you hadn’t been expecting him like this—leaning over the counter, half-empty mug by his hand, staring at nothing in particular and waiting for you to come home. Neither of you have changed clothing since this morning—not that you could—but you look apprehensive as you close it behind you, never facing away from him. The whole thing is like a teenager being caught sneaking back in by a weary parent. 

For a moment the silent confrontation stretches into the horizon, a non-specific point as neither of you seem inclined to be the first to talk. You just watch him watching you—leaning against the door rigidly as if you can’t get far enough away. But he’s too tired for this. Too worn out. 

“How’d you get home?”

You swallow. 

“Penelope.”

Spencer nods slowly, rolling his bottom lip between teeth and finally looking away. 

“You really should have brought your phone.”

You scoff, peeling yourself from the door. 

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about.”

It’s the same situation as this morning, but in reverse—him following after you down the hall as you storm toward the bedroom. 

“Wh—should I not have been? You scared me—” he says your name, barely catching the door before it can slam in his face. “I was worried about you.”

“Why?” you face him, laughing bewilderedly as if the situation were at all funny. A kind of manic energy crackles from the surface of your skin and in your eyes that renders him unable to think of a reply. “Because you thought I would get raped and murdered and then you’d be sad?”

“Yes!” Spencer yells, eyes widening as he fails to contain his frustration any longer. “That is fucking exactly why I was scared!”

You step forward, getting in his space. It jars him, momentarily—he wants to get away from you. Being angry and so close to you is terrifying. What if he lashes out? What if he hurts you? He’s seen crimes of passion. His blood is freezing in his veins. 

“Of course you didn’t give one single fuck that I left you. You didn’t think for one fucking second that I might be tired of this. That wasn’t what you were scared of at all.” For every inch you near, he backs away. Another scorned, bitter laugh from you that feels like poison coursing through his entire circulatory system. You notice everything, eyeing him up and down as he cowers from you. “What is this, Spencer? If you hate being near me that much, just fucking break up with me.”

You’re close enough that he can see the tears welling in your eyes, but he’d know they were there even if he couldn’t observe them. He would hear it in your voice. He would feel it. But he can’t do anything about it. Right now, he’s paralyzed. 

“If the only thing holding you back is wanting to spare my feelings, just fucking do it. This isn’t better. I don’t give a fuck if it’s hard for you. It’s hard for me, too, but I’m not just going to ignore it anymore.”

There’s no more room. The wall is at is back. 

“Honey, please back up,” Spencer breathes. Last time his back was to a wall, he’d been gagged and beaten. Don’t lash out. She never hurt you. It wasn’t her. 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” you shout, as tears begin to spill over your cheeks. “Either break up with me or stop telling me to go away!”

At that moment, as you break down and your words become muddled with sobs, you raise your fist. 

Spencer watches it approach his shoulder as if in slow-motion. 

On instinct, he catches your wrist.

There’s a lull as he waits for something to explode, for something to go terribly, deeply wrong—

But it doesn’t. 

He realizes his grip is gentle. He realizes you’d never actually hurt him like that. He realizes how little resistance he’d found when he stopped what was sure to be nothing more than a petulant, petty bump against his shoulder—a maneuver that wouldn’t have hurt in the slightest. It was nothing more than a desolate, childlike display of feelings bigger than you know what to do with. 

In the second that it takes him to realize all of this, to realize he is not endangering you in the slightest, nor you him, you’ve begun to truly sob. Standing just inches from him, head angled down as he holds your wrist carefully, you are the picture of a girl who has been running on empty for a very long time and has nothing left to give. Spencer twines his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin and slowly rubbing your back like he’d never forgotten how to hold you. It stuns you, and the tears pause for just a second—before you’re wrapping desperate, weakened arms around him and sobbing even harder, albeit silently, into his shirt. 

“I don’t want to break up,” he whispers, his own voice shaky with understated emotion. “I’m sorry. Please don’t say that. I don’t want that.”

“What’s wrong with you?” You cry, a desperate plead caught between sobs that wrack your body against his against the wall. And he knows it’s not an accusation. It’s not an insult. It’s a question borne of confusion and fear. It’s what a child might ask a sick dog while tears stream down feverish cheeks. And it’s completely appropriate, considering he never tells you anything anymore and he’s only just realizing how scary that must be. Spencer is back from prison but you may as well still be living alone for all that you know about him. He tangles a hand in your hair and holds you against his chest, breathing you like nitrous oxide. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. The room beyond blurs as he stares at nothing, focused only on the tingly euphoria of feeling you under his hands clashing with the ever-present and crushing shame that he couldn't do it sooner. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you—to be sorry.” Shuddering breaths and gasps still cleave your sentences in half, and Spencer listens so intently he thinks there might be harmonics hidden in the layers of your voice. He clings to every syllable like you’re wielding the word of god in a five-foot-something body. “I just miss you so m—much. I want you to—to love me.”

“I do,” he promises immediately, lips pressing to your ear. “I do love you. So much. So much.”

When you don’t respond, he’s not exactly surprised. He almost asks what he can do, what you need—but is quite sure that’s not the right move. Instead he doesn’t say a thing. Only holds you.

Later, you’ll pull back and he’ll swim in your teary gaze, and then kiss you. He’ll trace silent apologies into every inch of your skin under the torrent of the shower, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make you understand. But for now, for the first time in months, you’re holding each other, and that’s all either of you need.  

[luveline]

hii can you please write about Hotch adoring the reader at night as she's sleep talking sweet things please please?? love you!

The first thing he does when he gets home that night is pop his head into Jack’s room. He wants to go in and kiss his forehead, or maybe hold his hand, but he’s worried he’ll wake him and it’s nearing three in the morning, so he whispers, “Love you,” and heads to the master bedroom. 

You’re sleeping not dissimilar to Jack, on your back, the sheets pulled up to your turned head. Aaron moves away from you reluctantly to get undressed and change into soft sleep clothes. He cleans his face and brushes his teeth, and when he returns to you, you’ve curled your arm over where he should be as though you’d sensed his homecoming. 

He shuffles to you in the dark. Pulls back the sheets, and slides under your arm. He finds your hand to hold and brings it slowly to his lips, letting your hand rest over his mouth indulgently. 

He closes his eyes.

After a short case like this one, he isn’t tired enough to forget how much he misses you. If it had been a week away, Aaron would’ve come home and collapsed knowing he’s back with you, and that you’re going to look after him, but it’s only been two days. All he needs now is a kiss.

“Miss you.” 

He clasps his hand over yours, takes your hand to his chest to see you without obstacle. “I missed you, too,” he whispers, though he squints at you after. You aren’t facing him. “Honey?” 

“Aaron…” 

“Yeah, it’s me. You okay?” 

You rub your nose into your pillow and make a nonsense sound. 

Oh, he thinks to himself. Is she…

“D’you– did you have dinner?” 

“Are you awake or not?” he asks. 

No answer. You can’t be awake, then. You’re talking in your sleep, silly disjointed murmurings, your voice like velvet despite the late hour. 

Aaron hasn’t woken you with his questions, so he assumes you’re sleeping deeply. He shuffles further into the bed, onto his side, and wraps an arm around you. Careful in the dark, his nose comes to rest against your cheek.

“Well, we can try again tomorrow.”

“Shh,” he says softly, “shh, honey.” 

“‘Cos of the time,” you mumble.

He breathes in your skin. This is nice, he supposes, sitting and listening to your voice. You don’t even have to wake up. Aaron must spend half an hour listening to you talk yourself, or whoever it is that’s opposite you in the dream. It’s okay, we can fix it. I don’t know what colour that is. It’s Jack’s book. The book. And then your dog will come home. 

He’s nearly sleeping when it runs back to him. “My hubs,” you mumble, hand suddenly alive where it twists under his arm to return his hug. “Miss my hubs.” 

Aaron laughs in earnest. He’s never heard you call him such a thing. “Missed my wife,” he says, giving your cheek a quick kiss. “Love you.” 

“Miss him… want him to rub my back.” 

Your whining is adorable. Aaron pulls you bodily onto his chest and begins to rub your back, smiling, happy to indulge your sleepy nonsense with whatever it is you’re craving. “How’s that?” he murmurs. 

You don’t talk again for a while, but when you do, you say, “He needs to feed the fish,” and Aaron’s left wondering what exactly it is that you and Jack have been up to this weekend. 

[angelyuji]

yandere stanley and stanford pines somno thoughts :)

18+!!!

tw // somnophilia, noncon, dubcon, drugging, pls lmk if i missed any tags

sorry there’s a read more link, this one is a little intense so… mind the tws and tags pls🥰🥰

stan is not sneaky or quiet going into your room. he thinks he’s being quiet, but he’s not. after a couple times, he stops bothering. like it clicked for him that it doesn’t matter if you do wake up cuz either way you’re in his home and there’s no way out. no amount of screaming will save you either, like the shack is out in the woods.

the first time wasn’t on purpose, it was a heatwave and stan woke up around 2 am not being able to go back go sleep in the heat. sooo he goes to ur room to check on you, yk to see if you’ve fallen asleep yet or if ur awake like him. he’d go into your room and see the 4 different standing fans he bought for you turned on, and also see that you’re only sleeping in your underwear. the heat was killing you, so obviously you had to strip. immediately stan’s next to your bed, hand slowly messaging your naked chest. you moan a little in your sleep and stan takes that as a sign that you’re literally begging for him. like moaning??? in your sleep??? ok SLUT. same thing next evening, except stan goes farther. and like he’s been out of the game for so long yk so he’s just curious. and like it’s not his fault you were tempting him, he’s an old man. he takes a couple risks: kissing you, pushing a couple fingers into your mouth or hole to see how much of him you could take. by day 3, he’ll see that your body is being conditioned to respond to his touch and he’s actually gonna lose it.

your eyes flutter open, a moan falling from your lips, as you feel something press against your heat. “hey there, dollface.” stan grins at you and you jolt awake, trying to move away.

“stan, don’t! get-”

stan grabs your waist and pulls you back, cutting you off, “no point in trying to run, baby.” he flips you over, pushing your face into the pillow. he gets to his knees and pushes into you, stopping to feel the melting heat.

“s-stan p-please” you moan, muffled by the pillow.

“please what, sugar.” stan grins as you try to move your hips. he grabs a fistful of your hair, making you arch to look at him.

“please, please keep going”

ford is the sorta the opposite of stan like he couldve been doing this to you for months and you wouldve never known. like he definitely crushes up some sleeping pills into your food when you’re not looking. he knows what he’s doing is wrong and knows he should stop, but he can’t help it, you’re just so beautiful.

i feel like first time it happened, it was probably when you fell asleep in his lab. you had stayed with him to do some research and when you fell asleep, he decided to carry you to bed. the warmth of your body against his was enough to get him flustered, but when he laid you down, he took the opportunity to press a kiss to your mouth. and dude… he was immediately devastatingly horny like one kiss almost took him out. he definitely booked it out of your room out of embarrassment (even though you weren’t conscious to see) after this, he didn’t make eye contact with you or talk to you for a couple days. you end up confronting him about it and instead of telling you his feelings, he decided that he should just drug you to keep using you without having to vulnerable.

i feel like every time he does this, even if you’re not awake, he’s apologizing to you and making sure that you cum too. like he feels sooo bad for doing this to you, but like the guilts not gonna stop him. the only reason you ever realized is cuz he fucked up on the pills and you woke up to him pounding into you like a rabbit.

“f-ford, get off me.” you could feel every inch of him as he held you close. you try to push him off you, but instead he folds you in half, legs hooking his shoulders.

in this position, you could hardly think or breathe, he went deep and hard into you. as he gets quicker, he starts to mumble into your ear, “i can’t stop, i-i’m sorry, i’m s-so sorry.” he bites into your shoulder and you moan. “you just feel so good.”

for both ford and stan, once you wake up to them using you and you end up not telling anyone what happened, they’ll take that as a green light to keep doing this to you. and then it evolves from at night while you’re sleeping to the afternoon in a public mall bathroom.

(i kinda want to write about that now… but also… tutor!ford x reader… stan x babysitter!reader… im thinking thoughts…)

[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 - coming soon

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 her.

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 🥲

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[pullupinarari]

As if it was the first time [LH]

author's note: oh boy, guess whaaaat: 🥁🥁🥁 another shitty smut from me 🥲 btw i used this one to manifest for a lewis win in brazil this weekend - we know that he is driving the flintstones' car, but it doesn't hurt to dream 😭 i'm sorry if this is shit and to the anon that requested it: i'm so, so sorry if this isn't what you had in mind

warnings: this is soft and emotional, but it’s still smut, so MINORS DON’T INTERACT ‼️ unprotected sex, multiple rounds, oral sex (f receiving), some praising, a little mention of sir kink and breeding kink. Let me know if I'm missing something!

• masterlist

wc: 4453 - English is not my first language! Feedback is always appreciated

United States, Mexico, Brazil - the triple header that you wanted so much to accompany your husband but, due to work duties, you couldn’t manage to travel back and forth every weekend. 

You haven’t seen Lewis since the four week break ended before the race at COTA, and even though you two facetime every day, you call and text during every possible hour of the day, it’s just not enough. You miss him, his body, his touch - and no screen can provide you the feelings that you have been yearning for him to give you.

On the other side of the line, Lewis is also eager to finally get home, to you. He really can’t wait for the moment your bodies get to connect with each other again, so he can feel the way your touch always makes his skin erupt in a million goosebumps - to delight himself when his lips travel through your entire figure, showing you how much he loves you, worshiping his wife.

He can feel the anxiety to meet you running through his blood, by the way he keeps bouncing his leg from time to time, how his hands feel shaky when he is trying to take the keys to your shared house from his pocket - his grip feeling like butter, not even capable of holding the set of keys, letting them fall to the ground. 

He hopes that you’re still awake, hoping he can still have a moment with you before you are nestled on his chest - ready to fall asleep next to him. Lewis checks the clock - it’s past 2 am already, and he curses himself for always arriving in the middle of the night, resulting in always finding you fast asleep each time. 

The truth is, you are too excited to see your husband as well, and knowing that he can be home anytime soon, is enough to make it impossible for you to sleep. You are currently lying in bed, the soft sheets are covering your body while you are wearing just one of your favorite t-shirts that you stole from Lewis’ side of the closet and a pair of lacy panties. Your head is peacefully lying on your husband’s pillow, keeping his side of the bed warm as you face the view from your window, into the quiet and silent city that fell asleep a while ago when the moon settled in the sky. 

Once you hear the front door of your house opening, it’s like you can feel your toes curling, a shot of happiness traveling through your body, anxious to see your man after weeks without him. 

Lewis runs upstairs, trying to be as silent as possible in case you might be already asleep - but when he reaches your bedroom, he slowly walks inside, and he sees your back turned to the door. A second later, you turn your head to look at the door, your eyes finally meeting your husband’s. 

The smiles growing on both your faces speaks for all the words that could possibly leave your mouths right now. Lewis climbs on the bed, feeling impatient now, not wanting to waste one more second without feeling his body close to yours. 

His hand carefully holds your face while you two share one last look, before Lewis attaches his lips to yours, in an intense, long kiss - one that tells you how much you missed each other, how you were anxious to finally be in the other’s arms again. 

The warmth of your mouth was enough to drive him insane already, but the way your arms wrap around his body, while you bring one of your hands to hold his head, bringing him closer to you so you can deepen the kiss, makes his legs feel weak. 

Your tongues slowly explore one another, while Lewis’ hands softly snake under the bedsheets, gluing themselves to your figure almost immediately. His fingers roam your waist while your mouths are still taking their time in showing how needy you both feel.

“I missed you so much” - you say once you break the kiss, gasping for some air while your husband gently bites your bottom lip, sucking on it for a moment. 

“Let me show you how much I have missed you, my love” - he whispers in your ear, his lips leaving a trail of kisses down your neck while one of his hands massages your boob through the thin fabric of your shirt. 

Your skin feels hot, and he can notice it when his touch merges into your body, making you melt under his presence. Lewis takes his shirt off, slowly pulling it above his head in one swift movement, and he can’t help but give your eyes a moment to delve into his perfectly shaped figure, smirking to himself when he notices your flustered expression - while your eyes show your man that you are hungry for him, growing wet already at the sight of him.

While your nails gently scratch their way down his toned abs, he reaches for the hem of your t-shirt, uncovering your body for him - desperate to see you in your plenitude, to note each goosebump that adorns your skin while he touches you, so his brain can remember the effect that he has on you. 

In a matter of seconds, his mouth is wrapped around one of your hardened nipples, his tongue circling it before his lips close around the tip, forcefully sucking on it until your fingers are wrapping around his braids, pulling on them as your soft moans entice him to continue to work on your body, to make pleasure erupt in your veins, to take care of you like you desperately need - to make up for the dreadful weeks that he has been away. 

His hand moves to pull down your panties, his brain divided between taking his time with you and the anxiety to have you that he doesn’t seem to be able to control. Lewis’ mouth keeps spreading his kisses through your chest, his face coming up to meet your lips in another heated makeout session. 

Your husband’s hand caresses your thigh while your tongues intertwine slowly - you’re not fighting for dominance, you’re enjoying each other’s body, without a rush. His fingers make their way to your core, finally touching you where you need him the most, after what felt like a lifetime of you having to touch yourself to an image on your screen. 

His middle finger slowly swipes along your pussy lips, quietly moaning in your mouth while he feels how turned on you are already, how you need him so badly. 

“Baby” - he groans into your mouth. “You’re so wet for me, fuck- I missed you so much” - Lewis tells you while collecting all your wetness in his fingertips, using your juices to massage your clit lightly, teasing you for some seconds.

“Lew, please- I need you, it’s been too long” - you whine, licking his bottom lip as he takes a moment to focus on your features - eyebrows furrowed slightly, mouth agape while you pant softly at the sensation of his fingers touching you.

He nods at your words, his nose gently rubbing against yours before he gets to action. “I will take care of you, baby girl. I just want to please you, to be here for you” - he confesses while diving on the bed, his body lowering until his face reaches in between your legs.

His lips kiss their way up the insides of your thighs, while his eyes never leave yours, wanting to feel as connected to you as possible. He lands some open mouth kisses on your pussy, making you shiver while your nails caress his scalp. The aura surrounding your bodies feels intense, yet slow and passionate, like the world has stopped just for the two of you now. You arch your back slightly once your husband’s tongue delves into your folds, tasting you, reminding his brain of his favorite taste of all time, one that he missed having lingering in his mouth. 

His beard gently scratches the insides of your legs, as he dives right in, not being able to hold himself any longer. He misses you, he wants to have you all to himself, so he picks up his speed while his tongue works on you, devouring you like he means it. 

“Babe, God- it feels so good” - you pant, your belly rising up and down while he eats you out the way you love the most, moving his face from side to side so his lips can stroke your cunt while he teases your entrance with his tongue now. The tip of his nose is purposely hitting your clit every time he moves his head, and that’s enough to make you see stars by now. 

Lewis focuses on the sounds erupting in the room: the way he plays with your wetness, how you groan and moan at his actions, while his hands are safely wrapped around your hips, keeping you in place. 

You wrap your fingers around his braids, pulling on them as the pleasure builds up inside of you, almost feeling the bubble in your stomach starting to form. You want him to know how good he makes you feel, how he is the only one that can make your body burst out of pleasure, but you also need more - it’s been too long since you got to cum under his touch, desperation filling your veins now. 

“Lew, baby- fuck, your tongue feels amazing, Sir. Please give me more, I need you, I need all of you, Sir, please” - you beg, whining at the way his mouth is capable of making you feel like your entire body is on fire, desperate for Lewis to extinguish it. 

Your words are like gasoline to his mind, feeding his ego as he realizes that he has you wrapped around his finger now. He could keep on teasing you, he could stop his actions and edge you, but tonight is not about that. Tonight is about your pleasure, it’s about your man fulfilling your needs, so he complies to your request.

In a second, Lewis wraps his lips around your clit, sucking on it like his life depends on it, making your hips buckle up mindlessly, searching for more friction to get you off on his touch. He holds you down, threatening you with his tongue, making you lay back down so he can lap at your clit non-stop now - he can feel, by the way your moans are growing louder, how your grip on his hair gets tighter, how needy you are for a release, how your body needs to get rid of all the tension that's built up for the past few weeks that your fingers couldn’t alleviate. 

Lewis can’t help but moan into your pussy at the sight in front of him, looking up to see you rolling your eyes, moving your hips at the same rhythm of the motions that he keeps drawing on your pearl - he would love to stop for a second to praise you, to let you know how incredible you taste, how you are so good to him. But he doesn’t want to delay your release anymore, so he makes sure to speed up his tongue, circling your clit like there’s no tomorrow, his hands searching for yours so he can hold you tight, silently encouraging you to cum on his face. 

Your eyes are now closed, focused on every single motion and sensation that he provides you, chasing it until you finally feel the bubble in your stomach bursting, letting out the most erotic moan that your body could create. Lewis’ lips leave your body a few seconds after feeling your juices invading his mouth, dripping down his beard as he tries to collect them all with his tongue, letting out a hot groan at the sensation of drinking all his wife’s pleasure, endured on your body by him.

He puts one arm on each side of your body, using them to support his body on top of you, carefully scanning your face, noticing the way your chest rises up and down quickly, while you try to regulate your breathing. He can’t help but show you a kind smile once you open your eyes again, his thumb caressing your cheek before his mouth dives into yours again - letting you taste yourself. 

His nose and beard are still wet from your juices, and the way your faces dance in sync while sharing a heated kiss, makes him spread the wetness through your features as well. And your bodies are so close, his fingers gently caressing your sides while you pull him down, hugging his figure perfectly while your lips never leave each other. 

“You taste divine, darling. You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed about you during these last few weeks” - he tells you, his voice sounding sweet yet provocative at the same time, and you can see the fire glistening in his eyes. 

“Oh, is that right?” - you ask curiously, while your fingers work to unbutton his pants. You smile at him innocently while you see the look on Lewis’ face. His member feels incredibly hard in his boxers now, so he takes no time in freeing his own body from the rest of his clothes now. 

His hand instinctively wraps around his hard shaft, stroking it while he walks back to his place in bed, next to you. Lewis can’t contain a whine that gets stuck in his throat when he feels your own hand reaching to touch his cock, gently pumping it while your lips connect once again. “Why don’t you act like my good boy and show me all the dreams you had with me, handsome?” - your words are enough to tease him, making him groan before he is towering over you again. 

Your husband takes a moment to look at you again, admiring the way your legs are splattered just for him, giving him a show of your shiny pussy while you continue to watch him jerking his dick, quietly hissing at the way his touch makes him feel so needy already. Lewis loves the view, and he can’t deny that you are the only thing he can think about during every hour of every day - especially when you two are forced to be apart for so long.

The feeling of intimacy and comfort surrounding you two is unmatched, and he takes a deep breath before pushing himself into you, starting at a slow pace. He notices the way you hold your breath, how your eyes flutter shut, suppressing a groan - it definitely has been too long, and Lewis also notes that you feel tighter than usual, so he gives you a moment to adjust to his size all over again. 

His mouth leaves featherweight kisses on your collarbone, reaching your cheek and temple, trying to ease the feeling for you as much as he possibly can. When you kiss him back, he knows he is free to start thrusting into you. He decides to be gentle, he wants to feel you close, to fill you up nicely, to feel your touch all over his skin while he takes care of you. 

“Fuck, amor, you feel so tight wrapped around me like that” - he breathes out, using the portuguese pet name that he taught you a while ago, one of the things that he learned in Brazil over the years. 

His brain can’t help but focus on the way your pussy feels so warm for him, making him feel that he is drenching his cock in your slick juices with each motion. In no time, Lewis’ dick is completely inside of you, filling you up easily, making it hard for you to think properly. 

“Only you can fill me up like this, baby. God, you’re so good to me. I missed this feeling” - you moan, hands reaching for his neck, in need of having his face and body closer to you, silently begging him to glue his skin to yours, to give into you, to melt at your touch. 

And he does. Your bodies could merge into one now, by the way you are supporting Lewis as he keeps thrusting deep yet incredibly slow inside of you, taking his time with you. It feels like it’s the first time that you are together, touching each other’s bodies, making love to one another - it feels intense, a different type of intimate, pure, magical with your most intense emotions mixing with the physical pleasure.

Your fingers feel like silk when they come into contact with him, carefully traveling up and down his back, almost massaging his form in a sultry yet caring way, feeling unable to not touch him while he is making you feel so good.

He ducks his head on your neck, licking on your sweet spot for a minute, your moans meeting each other halfway, loving the way you can make each other feel. “You take me so well, darling. You are my dream, fuck. I can’t believe I have you” - he admits, his emotions starting to get the best of him as he is pretty convinced that he won’t be able to last long. The sensation of being inside of you, picking up his speed a bit to hit your g-spot with each thrust, mixed with his own emotions, is making him break in front of you - feeling slightly embarrassed by that. 

The sounds leaving your mouth grow louder while he keeps touching you everywhere you need, his dick reaching all your sweet spots, making you feel every inch of him pleasuring you, while his mouth adorns your body with soft kisses and love confessions - truly making you feel loved, he is devoted to you, to your figure, holding on to you like you’re the cure to his desperation, to the anxiety running in his veins. 

“I love you so much” - you moan as you hear the low clapping coming from his hips meeting yours, wrapping your legs around his waist tighter now. Lewis can’t help but look at you straight in the eyes, your foreheads touching as he makes love to you, his wife, feeling incredibly close to you, like nothing could tear your love apart. 

His fingers travel between your body to touch your clit now, silently letting you know that he won’t be able to hold it for much longer - the tension building in his muscles, mixed with the way your walls are suffocating his cock is being too much for his tired figure to take now.

“I love the way you wrap around me, love. You’re a goddess, the most gorgeous one there is. And you’re all mine” - he groans as he keeps praising you, worshiping your body, his tongue looking for yours again as he keeps hitting all your favorite spots with his cock, feeling how your juices are already dripping out of you. 

His thrusts get sloppier, and his fingers work faster on your pearl, trying everything in his power to hold his own release, not wanting to cum before you. But you can feel the bubble forming in your stomach again, so you encourage your husband to take care of himself first - you know he needs it. 

“Lew, baby, don’t hold back. Cum inside of me, please - I need to feel you, baby. Be a good boy and fill me up, please. I want to have your babies” - you tell him, touching the soft spot in his heart, making him hug your figure tighter now as he picks up his pace, thrusting faster inside of you until he finally reaches his climax. 

The tension being released from his body makes him feel light, and some tears make his vision go blurry as he breathes in the scent of your shampoo, kissing your neck as he keeps slowly thrusting inside of you, emptying himself while his fingers draw circles on your bundle of nerves. 

Your hands scratch his biceps now as your bubble bursts a couple of seconds later, freeing your orgasm from your body as well. You search for his lips, sealing your love with a passionate kiss, and you notice the tears in his eyes once he breaks the kiss. 

“I missed you so, so much, my baby. I wish I didn’t have to be away for so long, so much” - he whispers, letting his emotions show. “I want to have a family with you, darling. I want to have mini versions of us running around the house. I want it all with you. But I hate all the distance there is sometimes because of our jobs” - he admits, his voice choked up by his emotions. 

“We will have it all, my love. I hate the distance as well, but I’m not running away. Every time you have to be away from home, you know I’ll be here waiting for you to come back, waiting for your love” - you tell him, nestling his head on your chest now while your hand strokes his braids, caressing his scalp the way he loves so much. 

The way your words sound so confident makes his heart calm down a bit, taking in the scent of your perfume, the warmth erupting from your body into his. Lewis hasn’t pulled out of you, wanting to feel as close to you as possible, but the way your walls are still slightly throbbing around him, mixed with the way you’re moving your body to make yourself more comfortable, is enough for him to feel himself getting hard again.

“Think you can go again for me, love? Hm?” - he asks you, gently speaking in your ear as his fingers travel through your chest, down your stomach, teasing your folds again while you hum at the way he grows inside of you. You nod your head at him, and Lewis holds your figure as he turns your bodies around, so you’re on top now. 

You put your hands on his chest, holding yourself up as you slowly rock your lips up and down, getting adjusted to being full of him again. Lewis’ fingers gently wrap around your waist, helping you move on his shaft as he stares at you, his eyes shining as he notices every detail of your body: how your skin feels soft against his own, how his touch makes goosebumps appear, the moles on your body seem to form a set of constellations, enticing him to touch every inch of you. 

Sinking down on his cock makes you moan and groan, the new angle leaving you speechless - feeling incredibly turned on by the way Lewis’ hands keep exploring your body lovingly. One of his hands goes up and down your back, while the other pinches your nipple softly, and you see how he bites his own lip at your reactions. 

“You’re going so well, baby girl. Keep riding me slowly, I want you to feel every inch of me inside of you” - he rolls his eyes when you move your hips a bit faster before slowing down again, wanting to tease his body a little. 

Still, the environment surrounding you is filled with pure lust and protection, and Lewis just wants to live in this moment forever. He grabs your hands, placing them right above his heart: “Hold my heartbeat close to you, my love. Remember how it always beats for you” - he confirms, feeling softer and softer the more he gets to feel your touch on him. 

You try to process his words at the same time that he starts thrusting his hips up, meeting your movements, but you can only hold yourself to his touch now, your head falling to his shoulder as he keeps moving faster now. 

“You’re everything” - you manage to get the words out in between choked moans, and Lewis gives you a smile while he holds your hair gently, so he can take a look at your features before kissing you hard, passionately, like he never wants to let go of you. 

At this point, you’re both worn out, so it doesn’t take much until the two of you are feeling your orgasms approaching, speeding up your movements so you can chase your highs, desperate for your own releases again. 

“Lew, I-” - your words are muffled against his neck as you leave some kisses on his skin, and he hears how you keep groaning and panting by the way his dick keeps exploring your core. Your walls are constricting around him, signaling that you’re close. 

“I know, gorgeous, I’m close too” - he grunts, taking deep breaths as he feels his own body tensing while he drowns himself in your wetness, the sounds filling the room. 

Your bodies feel sweaty, hot, tired, and in one swift thrust, both of your bubbles burst at the same time, making your sounds match when you’re both moaning and panting, holding each other close, Lewis’ hands sliding up and down your back in a soothing way. 

“You did so good, my love” - he tells you, his lips kissing the tip of your nose as you lay your head on his chest now - your favorite place on earth. 

“I can’t believe you’re finally back” - you say, your hand caressing his beard lovingly while you look him in the eyes, realizing that it’s real, he’s right by your side like you have been dreaming for the past weeks. 

“I am, my love. I promise I’ll try not to stay away for so long again” - he cuddles your figure closer to him now, covering your bodies with the sheets while he bottoms out of you. 

You nod your head at his words. “How was Brazil?” - you ask, knowing that it’s always a special race for your husband, reminding yourself that he finished the triple header with a much deserved win, your heart tightening in your chest, feeling sorry that you weren’t able to attend it. 

He smiles, remembering the events that took place a few hours ago. “Brazil was so special, like always, you know… And I won it for you, my love” - he lets you know, and your eyes widen a bit at his affirmation. 

He lands a gentle kiss on your lips again, meaning each word that’s leaving his mouth. “Everything I do, it’s always for you” - he declares, and you can’t help but smile, realizing how lucky you got, for finding the right one. 

And that night, you go back to sleep with your limbs entangled with your husband’s body, feeling surrounded by love and peace - a feeling that you have missed so much, but that promised not to fail you again for that long.

[visionsofmagic]

day 13: clark kent [aftercare]

࿓ synopsis • after having a rough session with clark, you let him take care of your exhausted body.

―❦ nsfw, kissing, soft!clark, after a rough sex, f!reader, pet names, confessing, cleaning, washing, watching, fluff, i's all! • 0.6k • couldn't publish sooner, but, here we are at least. enjoy! [kinktober m.]

"agh -" you say, moaning lowly, in pain that comes from your sensitive clit as clark's fingers travel on it, cleaning you under the warm water.

“oh, baby,” he says, fingers stop for a moment, eyes scanning your face; furrowed brows, lips are getting a bite, hands hold him from the neck and chest as a source of cure and stability at the same time. “you okay? I can go slower if you want.”

he proposes as you sit on his lap, hugging him, and negatively shaking your head while one of his strong arms holds you from back so that you stay still, warm water waving from time to time as you move in sync.

sitting on the clean bathtub, you let clark take care of you after one of your roughest sex – you can see all the redness on your body which he left intentionally yet acting so innocent when he sees them, fingers caressing your soft skin gently as if he wasn’t the one who fucked you in different positions, earning a pathetic state out of you, nearly making you use the safe word because of how good he was fucking you and how much you wanted it to end even though your actions told otherwise.

fear of fainting, you stopped when he got your fourth orgasm, then, cumming all over you as he cries in pleasure, confessing how you make him so weak that he loses mind whenever he has you beside him, under him, above him – in every way he can, he loves it, he loves you.

so it’s not a surprising thing when he picked you up from the messy bed after preparing the bathtub for you to wash and get clean, got into it, taking you into his arms, making you feel smaller yet quite peaceful, letting him do whatever he wants to do to get you cleaned up, ready to rest on the bed you are sharing with him beside you.

he said sorry over and over again until you said it was okay – that you enjoyed every bit of it because you missed him as much as he missed you.

fingers gripping your chin, he makes you look at his shining blue eyes – your own reflection on them. he smiles widely, fingers moving to your hair, caressing it gently, still having that precious expression on his face, looking like a greek god yet feeling so human – one of his kind, always.

“you have no idea how much I missed you,” he says, now taking warm water on his palm, then, cleaning your naked body within it – he seems to have guilt because of what he has done to you; biting marks as he claimed you shine brightly, red marks on your waist is visible due to holding you tightly as he shoved his cock into you, the neck has pink colors because how he held it, pushing your face onto the pillow so that you could moan as much as you wanted while he had you from behind.

all because of him.

he would never hurt you, he didn’t either, yet, he seems a bit sorry. however, you know he also has prideful feelings, so, you smile softly, resting your head on his wide shoulders, saying, “they all will heal, don’t feel sorry – it was so good that I can’t wait to get better and do all those things again.”

he chuckles, kissing your forehead, and then, your whole face, “then get better soon because there are lots of things that I want to do to you, my prettiest girl.” with that, he kisses you one more time. he cleans you, drying you with the softest towel, changes the sheets, and puts you on the fresh bed, taking his side beside you – hugging you, he watches how peaceful your face looks, smiling down at you, and sleeping as he has you close enough to himself – he knows he should leave soon enough yet being with you seems as the right thing to do. he missed you so much after all – the world can wait a bit longer.

[xotaemintol]

Obsessive perverted Hyuck x reader//short/oneshot

WARNING: this contains obsessive behaviors, stealing, Somnophilia, unprotected sex, masturbation, oral sex, nipple play, and breeding. Please do not read if any of these thing trigger you, thank you so much. Minors DO NOT interact.

Sorry it’s short ☹︎ I low-key have writers block and its beating my asssss but I still wanna post, bc I missed all of October I'm using November to post anything spooky/dark so bare with me PLEASE! Also, I will be posting asks soon so if you've sent any then please look forward☺︎

wc: n/a

Hyuck being so overly touchy with you when he isn’t glued to his phone, sniffing you and asking if he can have your underwear. Its no wonder how you came to find out that he was obsessed with you.

Of course if you said yes, you knew what he would do with them and didn’t care. Just like you expected he takes them home and cums into them—using them as a rag from that point on. It didn’t take long for those to become completely ruined, immediately after he asked for another pair, but when you said no he just snuck into your room and stole a pair; the prettiest, softest pair he could find.

Even stealing one of your bras and a bottle of perfume so he can smell you when he jerks off. He becomes such a pervert that your perfume, underwear, and bras just aren’t enough. So he started taking pictures of you for him to jerk off to, asking if he can record when you give him head.

You knew he used them to jerk off. But you couldn’t imagine how far he was going, playing the videos while he humps the pillow he put your bra and underwear on, after spraying the room with your perfume. Staring at his wall that is decorated with the nudes you sent. Along with pictures that are more wholesome—like ones of you smiling, your outfit, date nights, and even pictures of you sleeping.

The wall became more of a shrine as time passed, he even tapped a loc of your hair—after collection a bunch of tiny strains; to the wall with underwear, napkins you’ve used to wipe away your lip gloss, and even pairs of your discarded lashes—now covered in his cum.

Eventually though, he had to move it to his unused guest room because you decide to go to his place for a change. And he hid it thinking that you haven’t noticed all of your missing things—of course you noticed. His secret obsession was never as secret as he thought, but poor, sick hyuck just can’t get caught being the sicko he truly is.

But he also can’t stop, which leads him to groping you as you lay beside him sleeping. Slipping his hand underneath your loose top and brushing his fingers over your harden nipple, trying his hardest to breath quietly as to not wake you up.

Eventually, he moves on to something more risky when you remain in your sleeping state and decides to push your shirt up so he can see your boobs. He quickly goes from just touching them to kissing them, sucking your nipples and only stopping when you begin to stir in your sleep.

His lack of self control might be the blame for the way he carefully slides your underwear off, practically moaning when he notices how wet you are. He can’t help but stop to sniff your underwear, wrapping them around his cock as he jerks off over your body.

He never imagined he’d do something so deprived and desperate, but he loves you so much and thinks you’re just too pretty.

It’s not until he sees you move again that he realizes what he’s doing. Feeling ashamed he starts to try putting your underwear back on him, but as he’s pushing them up your calf’s you stop him. Not revealing that you’d been awake the whole time, only asking him what he was doing.

In his humiliated state he tries to string together some sort of lie, anything to dig himself out of the hole he’s in—but he can’t, and he doesn’t have to. Instead of shaming him like he expected, you tell him to continue; making him eat you out while he desperately grinds against the bed.

He’s so in love with eating you out that he doesn’t even stop when you finish. Continuing to please your body to the point of overstimulation as he gets high on the sounds you make and the taste of you. Not even when you try pushing his head away or closing your legs does he think of pulling away, you have to pull him by his hair—yanking his head away in order to stop him.

By this point, he hadn’t cum himself. He was too busy eating you out to focus on his own release, but you couldn’t let it end there. Luckily for you though, you didn’t have to ask.

Before you could say anything he began begging to fuck you. Caressing your legs as he looked at you with hazy eyes, his face flushed and his cock throbbing—twitching and leaking between his legs. His longish curly hair, is messy and he’s sweating before you can even say yes. The second you do, he’s practically crying in pure joy and desperation.

Hyuck savors every second of entering you. Rubbing his cock against your folds, slapping it against your pussy and slowly rubbing it against your clit until he finally puts it in.

He breaks as soon as the tip goes in. A soft cry leaves his lips, his voice cracking as he whimpers out your name. He tries to start of slow but he’s so sensitive from anticipation alone that he just can’t wait anymore. Not even seconds after he’s inside of you and he’s already slamming into you, not as fast as he wanted—but hard enough to make his headboard hit the wall with every thrust.

Even then he’s still stuck admiring you, the way your breasts move and the way your eyes roll. He loves seeing how you grip the pillow under your head and the way you try your hardest not to be too loud. It turns him on so much. So much that he feels like he’ll melt.

The sounds of skin clashing, moans, and panting fill the air, a hint of your perfume and sweat tangling with his own. It makes him feel like he’s on cloud 9, like he’s dreaming. It doesn’t take long before he’s trying to warn you that he’s close. Proclaiming his love for you as he fucks you, calling you beautiful and slurring is words together as he possessively calls you his.

He knows he should pull out at that point, but the thought of you being his—baring his child, telling people that he’s your boyfriend, that he’s the one who got you pregnant. That thought is enough to make him risk it and keep going. He’s always wanted to be a father anyways—why not make the woman he finds the most beautiful the mother of his first born?

In his mind-numbed state he doubles over, kissing you as he cums inside of you. Against your lips he mumbles soft ‘I love you’s over and over again unto he’s finally finished.

After this is when you finally find the shrine, to your surprise; it’s much smaller and a lot more wholesome than you thought as after that night, he removed your underwear from it. But it was only because he made a separate on that he keeps in his basement.

[luvjunie]

— headcanons. miles morales (earth1610)

MILES who somehow managed to pick you up with that corny little shoulder touch his Uncle Aaron taught him. Not because it actually worked and left you smitten and head over heels for him—but because in that moment, the dorky boy who stood in front of you had made you laugh so hard you’d nearly peed yourself. There was no way that with a sense of humor like his, he wasn’t getting your number.

MILES who has never missed a good morning or a goodnight text. While often they may not always be at the most ideal times, it’s the fact that he remembered that means the most to you. Even if he’s running late to school, shoes untied, and shirt buttoned unevenly as he bundles out the door of his dorm, he insists he can text and run to class at the same time. And at night, even if his eyelids feel as if they weigh a ton the minute his back finally hits his mattress after webbing the villain of the week to a light pole for the cops, he refuses to fall asleep without telling you he loves you first— though the message may include a few sleepy typos. “Goodnihgt aby i lov youuu” “shitno i meant baby not aby”

MILES who hand draws a card for you when the monthly anniversary of your relationship rolls by. Each one of them is different and creative in their own way and you’re always excited to see what it’ll look like this time. He’ll swiftly swing by your fire escape on his way to patrol, drop a box of chocolates, your favorite candy, or a bouquet of flowers on the steel metal along with the card, then switch arms and thwip another web to the next building in the same breath.

MILES who loves to draw you, especially when the two of you haven’t been able to hang out in a while, just so he can reminisce and pretend like you’re there, in his room with him. His sketchbook is filled with pictures of you, hearts usually adorning whatever space is left blank on the paper. He sees you in such a different light than you view yourself in, and he’s able to capture certain aspects of your features that you hadn’t even noticed before. He was so embarrassed the first time you saw his sketchbook laid open on his bed and tried to hide them from you, nervous he’d make you uncomfortable in any way. But you were nothing short of flattered, and reassured him of such by smattering kisses onto the expanse his flushed face and telling him how much of a sweetheart he was.

MILES who falls asleep in the span of two seconds. Usually when you can’t come over, you settle for long facetime calls so you can tell each other about your days, or watch a movie together. But he’s just so comfortable around you, and your voice is so calming, like a lullaby, so much so that he can’t help it when he falls asleep halfway into your rundown of events. After five minutes of silence, which is unheard of for a kid like Miles who is always filled with endless quips and jokes, you’ll scoop your phone off your bed only to see his ivory-colored ceiling instead of his face.

“Milesss!” You whine, the sudden sound of shuffling from the other end of the line erupting through your speakers as he frantically scoops his phone back up from his pillow, his sleepy face shifting back into view.

“Huh?” He mumbles, clearing his throat as he blinks the sleep from his eyes.

“You fell asleep in the middle of my story again.” You accuse.

“Nuh uh! I’ve been awake this whole time. I’m just a really, really good listener, m-hm. I am a wonderful and completely-awake, professional listener.” He nods, gifting you his signature goofy smile that‘s always a reminder that you can never be mad at him for long.

MILES who loves taking you to the new places he’s able to go around the city now that he’s Spiderman.

When you found out your boyfriend was Spiderman, you were in such disbelief that you immediately asked for proof, for him to show you anything that proved he was spiderman other than a suit and a mask. And proof you got, if the powerful gusts of wind in your face as he swung the two of you with web after web over the skyline of the city were anything to go by.

You were terrified the first time, legs glued around his waist and arms clamped so tightly around his neck that there was no way you’d fall. He would never in a million years let you slip from his grasp anyways, but if you did, you were damn sure taking him with you. He kept one arm around your waist for support and laughed at how you hollered almost the entire way to the clock tower, and whether they were screams of excitement or terror, he didn’t know.

It was beyond exhilarating, seeing the city from above with him, standing on the roofs of buildings you never imagined you’d reach. It had your heart pumping faster than you thought it ever could and your trust in him solidifying even further, and soon you found yourself asking him take you again, and again. And Miles would take you anywhere you wanted to go; open to doing anything just to see a smile on your face and to have you holding onto him like that again.

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to any other platforms

likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated 💗

[sincerelyneo]

hiii can you repost hello angel? as a jaemin girl it was one of my favorite fics everrrr i read it everyday fr😭❤️

hey angel | n.jm

“i come alive when i hear your voice, it’s a beautiful sound”

💿now playing: hey angel by one direction

❯ summary: You're Jaemin's best friend - so of course he loves to call you up late at night and hear your voice. He's definitely not calling because the sound of your voice turns him on - yeah definitely not that.

❯ pairings: jaemin x fem!reader

❯ genre: friends to lovers, smut, fluff.

❯ words: 3.7k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, smut, phone sex, dirty talk, masturbation, slight possessiveness?, begging, praise, heavy use of nicknames, reader uses she/her pronouns, just pure filth tbh, jaemin has a voice kink??

It was late and you were already in bed, snuggled deep and cozy in the sea of your blankets, when your best friend Jaemin called. He’s your closest friend and the person you were more than a little bit in love with — but you’d never risk telling him for fear of it ruining your friendship.

So even though it was late, and you were sleepy, you answered his call. To be fair, he’d answered plenty of your late-night phone calls over the years.

“Hey angel,” Jaemin greets in an eager tone.

You can hear the alcohol in his voice — that and Jaemin only ever used that nickname for you when he’d been drinking. Still, it never fails to send warmth curling through your heart. It felt like it was his way of wrapping you up in his strong arms whilst he wasn’t with you. 

“Annngelll,” your best friend continues in singsong, making you giggle softly. 

Jaemin’s voice sounds rough and gravelly, like he’d been shouting over a crowded bar all night. Which wasn't a surprise since it was his friend Jeno’s birthday tonight. And you knew your charming and extroverted best friend would never pass up the chance of a good time. 

Before you could respond to his greetings, Jaemin’s tone suddenly turned serious. “I missed you tonight.”

“Na Jaemin,” you try to match his quick change of mood, attempting a serious tone. But it was a losing battle as you tried to fight against the smile threatening to let loose at his statement. “You’re drunk—I bet you barely noticed I wasn’t there tonight.”

He grumbles and you hear fabric rustle like he was flopping back on his bed. You can’t help but imagine what he currently looked like: his body probably sprawled out on top of his comforter, the strands of his hair falling into his face as his head propped up on his pillows. He probably had one hand behind his head, his bicep bulging while his other hand held the phone to his ear.

You know it’s wrong, but your mind wonders if he was still in his clothes from the night or if he’d stripped down—knowing the fact that your best friend liked to sleep in his boxers.

But you were also familiar with intoxicated Jaemin, he likely hadn’t changed out of his clothes yet, too drunk, and tired to care. Still, that didn’t stop you from thinking about your best friend laying in his bed shirtless while he talked to you. 

“I may have had a couple drinks,” he admits grudgingly. “But of course, I missed my angel. I swear—cross my heart and hope to die—I was a good boy tonight,” he says with enough conviction that you couldn’t help but giggle.

“You’re silly, Jaem.” There’s a warmth in your voice, and you have no hope of wiping the smile from your face even if you tried. 

Pulling the phone away from your ear to check the time, you felt bad and ask, “Why are you calling?”

A long, loud sigh came through the phone from your best friend. “I wanted to hear your voice,” he explains after a silent moment.

It was a cute sentiment, making you feel warm all over, and you wished you could talk to him longer. “Jaem,” you start, gentling your voice. “It’s late and you know I have to get up early. So, if that’s all, I’m going to hang up.”

“But I can’t sleep,” he whines, and you could hear the pout in his voice. Without even seeing his face, you knew he was deploying his puppy dog eyes. “Just talk to me for a few minutes, angel, please?”

“Fine,” you say with another sigh, folding instantly at the thought of imagining his gentle expression asking you. He’d learned long ago it was a sure way to make you give in. You’d fallen sucker to Jaemin’s big brown eyes, and he knew exactly how to use them. 

Resigning yourself to being tired at work the next day, you settled deeper into your pillows. Your voice gentle as you got comfortable. “But you can’t hold it against me if I fall asleep,” you warn.

“Deal.” His smugness at getting you to agree so easily was loud and clear through the phone even if you couldn’t see his self-satisfied smile. “How was your day, angel?” he asks as his bed sheets rustled again and you presumed he was settling in too.

Tired, but always happy to talk to your best friend, you told him about your day and complained about why you had to get up early the next morning. Your voice turns softer and sweeter as you get more and more tired. Jaemin’s does the same, getting even deeper and more husky as he told you about his day. Eventually, there was a lull in the conversation, and you were about to tell him good night when he said something that surprised you enough to drag you away from the edge of sleep.

“Have I ever told you how hard your sleepy little voice makes me?” he asks, making a sound like he was biting back a groan. “I love calling you before you fall asleep, but I always gotta rub one out after.”

“Jaemin,” you say, voice going for stern, but not quite hitting the mark since it was still laced with sleepiness. “That is not true.”

“It is!” he insists, sounding more awake by the minute—and you were right there with him. “I’m hard right now.” He makes a soft sound, like a grunt.

Before you could stop yourself, you imagined him— still sprawled out on his bed — but this time he had a bulge in his jeans. In your mind’s eye, Jaemin grips his hard length through his jeans, stroking himself roughly. The thought makes you gasp softly, and you clench your thighs together against a sudden pulse in your core.

Jaemin must’ve heard the sound because you could hear the grin in his voice when he speaks again. “Tell me, angel, are you wearing one of my shirts tonight?” he asks gruffly.

You swallow heavily, trying to buy yourself some time. It felt like crossing a line to admit that you were wearing one of his shirts, but when Jaemim didn’t take the question back, you realise you’d had to answer. 

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“Which one?” His voice is rough now, like sandpaper, but oh so eager.

“One of your varsity shirts from college—the one that says ‘Jaemin’ on the back,” you answer, unable to lie to your best friend even if you were a little shy to admit you still sleep in his shirts. You knew you didn’t need to be, since he clearly knew you slept in them. 

“I love it when you wear my shirts, angel,” Jaemin confesses. His tone now warm, like he was grinning and happy. It makes the last of your shyness disappear to hear him say that. 

“It lets everyone know you’re mine.”

“I’m not yours, Jaemin,” you protest half-heartedly. 

You weren’t, even if you desperately wanted to be his in every sense of the word.

“You’re my best friend,” he says, like there was no argument you could come up with to change his mind. “My best girl—that makes you mine.”

“Jaemin,” you exhale. 

You knew he was just talking about friendship, but you wished his words meant something different. You wished he felt the same way for you as you did for him.

“Fuck, say my name like that again,” he begs in a gruff voice. “Makin’ me so damn hard.”

You feel the blush rise to your cheeks and you go flustered, unsure what to do as Jaemin easily crosses lines you’d avoided delicately for years. But you didn’t want him to stop. The sound of his voice saying those things had wetness pooling between your thighs. So, you gave him what he wanted.

“Jaemin,” you repeat his name, voice breathier with your arousal, and he let out a happy hum.

“That’s my girl,” he says followed by a groan that is so low and husky, sending tingles racing through your entire body. “Fuck, I’m so hard,” he moans, a slight strain in his voice. “Do you mind, angel?”

It took a moment for your hazy mind to figure out what he was asking. Then, another to process that he was asking if you were okay with him stroking himself while he was on the phone with you. Your breath caught from a sudden surge of excitement. The voice that typically stops you from crossing the line with your best friend was conveniently quiet and all that was left was your need for him.

“I-I don’t mind, Jaem,” you answer softly, trying not to sound too eager.

The sound of him pulling down the zipper of his jeans was loud enough that you could hear it through the phone — and that alone sent a shiver down your spine. It was nothing, though, in comparison to the rough groan he makes as he grips his cock in his hand. 

“Fuck,” he curses.

You could feel yourself getting slicker from the sounds of him stroking himself. Distantly, you knew you were crossing a line by listening to him, by getting off on hearing your best friend pleasure himself, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Instead, you found yourself holding your breath as you strained to hear him.

“What else are you wearing besides my shirt, angel?” his voice octaves lower than normal. The sound of it makes you squirm, your thighs clenching together harder. 

Biting your lip, you debated for a second whether to answer truthfully. You didn’t want to lie to your best friend and, you rationalise, you’d already crossed the line, hadn’t you?

“Just panties,” you whisper. 

You trail your hand down your chest over his shirt to toy with the hem where it had ridden up around your hips. Your fingers were dangerously close to slipping under the waistband your best friend had become oh so curious about.

“Just panties? Fucking hell, angel. What colour are they, huh?” He questions in his deep, rough voice.

You swallow thickly, wondering if he could hear how hot and bothered he was making you. You wonder if he knew you were so close to playing with yourself by the way your breath was getting faster. But you couldn’t stop yourself from answering. 

“They’re pink,” you say softly. 

“Angel,” Jaemin groans, thickened with need. “Fuck, I wanna bury my head between your thighs and kiss every single inch of you until you’re writhing under me, begging me to tear those panties off you.”

It was your turn to groan, and when you say, “Jaemin,” on a sharp exhale, you sound even more needy than anything else. Your fingers brushing over the hem of your panties, teasing yourself with whether or not you should dip beneath the fabric and touch yourself.

“You like that idea, angel?” He asks, a grin in his voice. “Like thinking about my mouth so close to your pussy.”

At his words, you couldn’t help but picture the scene. His head navigating between your legs, his strong arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you open so he could follow through on his promise. It was all too easy to imagine the way he’d look at you, mischief sparkling in his brown eyes as he slowly, teasingly kissed your mound over your panties, tongue sneaking out to lick the pink material. The picture he painted had you squirming in your bed. 

You couldn’t take it anymore, your fingers finally sliding into your panties, finding your pussy wet and swollen and needy.

When you don’t respond except with a sharp gasp, Jaemin asks, “Are you touching yourself?” 

His voice turns seductive. “You have to tell me if you are, angel—best friends tell each other this sort of thing. I have to know when you’re fingering your needy little cunt.”

“Oh god, Jaemin,” you cry softly, your breaths coming harsher. But you don’t for a second consider hiding what you were doing from your best friend. “Yes, I’m t-touching myself.”

“Good girl,” he praises, making warm pride curl through your chest as more wetness flooded your core. “Touch that pretty pussy for me.”

“H-how would you know it’s pretty?” you ask on a gasp, forcing the question out between hitching breaths as you slowly trace a finger around your dripping hole, teasing yourself and making you wetter.

“Because everything about you is pretty, angel. The way you laugh at me when I’m drunk, the way you bite your lip when you’re unsure, the way you look at me… fuck, you’re so fucking pretty.”

Your finger pauses and you suck in a deep breath, thoughts running chaotically. Jaemin had never complimented you like this before, and you couldn’t help yourself from asking a question you desperately wanted an answer to. 

“How do I look at you, Jaemin?” you ask in a small voice, teeth sinking into your bottom lip in the expression he’d just mentioned.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” he teases. “You look up at me, giving me the dirtiest fuck me eyes possible. Fluttering your pretty eyelashes like you’re begging me to bend you over every surface and stuff you full of my cock.” 

“Jaemin,” you cry out in a little sob, emotions and arousal swirling through your body completely overwhelming you for a moment. 

“I know angel,” Jaemin’s voice is soothing and deep. “I know you give those eyes to me.” 

He paused for a moment and all you could hear was his deep, steady breathing. 

“Because you’re mine, yeah?” There was a thread of uncertainty in his question, and it made your heart thump in response.

“Yeah,” you agree without hesitation, without protest. “I’m yours, Jaemin.” 

“Good,” he declares. Without giving you time to fully process what had just transpired between the two of you, Jaemin continues speaking, his voice diving an octave lower and growing rough. “Now slide one of your fingers into that pretty pussy of yours.” 

It was so easy to listen to him, to give yourself over to his command. Letting his deep voice reverberate in your head, heat curling all through your body down to the tips of your toes, as you press one of your fingers into your wet hole. A soft moan tumbles from your lips and you knew Jaemin heard it from the way he sucks in a breath.

“That’s it, angel, being so good for me,” his breaths coming harsher down the phone line. “Tell me how it feels.”

You sink into the sensations and the sound of his voice, letting your eyes fall closed. You feel like you’re floating in the soft sea of your bed as you pull your finger out and thrust it back inside your pussy. 

“Feels so good,” you answer in another moan.

Jaemin responds with a groan of his own. “Bet you’re fucking tight,” he says, breath heavy and raw. “Bet you’re clenching down on your little finger, aren’t you?”

Like your body was trained to respond to his voice, your pussy clenches around your finger at his words and you let out a hitching moan. But Jaemin doesn’t stop talking. His deep, hoarse voice fills your ears and makes you hotter and hotter.

“Fuck, angel, keep going—keep fingering that wet pussy for me while I stroke my dick to those sweet little sounds you make,” he urges, as he bit back his groans. You moan and gasp in response to his filthy words. “Fuckin’ hell, I wish it was your warm cunt gripping me right now, clenching hard around my thick cock while I fuck you.”

“Please,” you beg, not sure what exactly you were asking for but knowing you didn’t want him to stop talking. You add another finger to your dripping hole, crying out at the slight stretch.

“Would you like that, angel?” he asks, managing to fill his tone with teasing even as his heavy breaths gave away how turned on, he was. “Tell me—fucking tell me,” he prompts when you don’t respond, too busy fucking yourself with your fingers to the sound of his voice.

A whine forces itself out of your lungs, the simple command sounding so filthy from your best friend’s mouth. “Yes, Jaem,” you whimper an answer between your gasping breaths. “Want you to fuck me.”

“Fuck—fuck,” he groans almost painful. “The next time I see you, that pussy is mine. Gonna bury my face between your thighs and make you come on my tongue,” he promises. “Then I’m gonna shove my cock deep in your cunt and fuck you stupid.”

“Jaemin,” you sob out his name, fucking yourself harder as you picture your best friend hovering over you while you lay in his bed. You imagine how his body would start fucking you into the mattress, his cock buried deep in your pussy, your arms and legs wrapped around him — anything to be close to him. 

Through the phone, you hear the soft sound of Jaemin fucking himself into his own fist, the strain in his voice every time he spoke. 

Imagining your best friend sprawled on his bed, jeans open just enough for him to have his cock out, gripping and pumping his length roughly with his eyes squeezed shut. Thinking about him like that makes you whimper.

“Fuck—I can’t stop thinking about how pretty you’d look while I fuck you, angel,” he murmurs. “Wanna see my cock stretch you while I pound into you, wanna see your pretty lips swollen from my kisses as you moan for me, wanna see your eyes go all hazy as you get stupid on my cock.”

As he speaks, your thumb circles your clit and you moan loudly into the phone. Your best friend’s filthy words make your pussy clench down hard on your fingers as you get closer and closer to your release. 

“Don’t stop, Jaem, please don’t stop,” you beg breathlessly. Jaemin lets loose a deep groan in response to your desperate plea, the sound making your thighs clamp down hard around your hand. You wish your legs were wrapped around his waist instead of your wrist.

“Fuck your pussy, angel, nice and hard.”

You cry out as you force a third finger, making yourself stretch to take the intrusion. 

“That’s it, that’s my good girl, fuck yourself stupid to the sound of my voice,” he encourages. 

Even with how far gone you are, you can hear the cocky grin in his tone, but your body just flushes and clenches tight in response. Desperately, you fuck yourself harder, hips rocking into your hand, mind drowning in lust as you gasp and moan into the phone. Knowing he can hear you only urges you not to hold back. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jaemin groans loudly, his breath coming in sharp pants. “Keep making those cute little sounds for me, my cock is aching for you—fuck!” The cockiness in his tone fades into desperation. 

“Jaemin,” his name tumbles past your lips. 

You’d said your best friend’s name countless times over the years, but never like this—never with your fingers buried deep in your cunt wishing it was his thick cock.

“Jaem, I need…” you trail off, not even knowing what you need, just knowing he was the only one who could give it to you.

“You need my cock, don’t you?” You can hear the way his grin curls at the edges of his mouth. “Need my cock just like I need your pussy.” He bit off the end of his sentence with a groan. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come,” he moans. “Gonna come so hard to your sweet little moans, angel.”

You gasp and your back arches off your bed when you rub your thumb roughly over your clit. You moan so shamelessly for your best friend. “So close.” 

“When I fuck you,” he starts, cutting himself off abruptly as he groans again. “When I fuck you, angel, I’m gonna make you come so hard on my cock,” he promises, voice rough and deep you swear you can feel the pleasure from the sound shooting from your ear directly to your clit. “And while you’re screaming my name and coming all over my dick, I’m gonna bury myself in that sweet pussy and pump you full of my load—you want my come, angel?”

“Yes, Jaemin, please come inside me, fill me up,” you babble, so close to your own release you barely know what you’re saying. 

“That’s it. That’s my slutty little angel, begging for my come.” He groans, stroking himself faster. “Come for me, come for your best friend,” he commands, pausing to moan lowly. “Tell me who you belong to.” 

“I’m yours, Jaemin, all yours,” you cry out. With one more deep thrust of your fingers, the heel of your hand grinding against your clit, you come apart. 

You moan loudly as waves of pleasure surged through you, consuming you. Your limbs shaking as you wrench every ounce of pleasure from your release, fucking yourself through it as you breathe fast and harsh.

“That’s my good girl. Coming so sweetly for me, so perfect.” He grunts. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! You made me come so fucking hard, angel,” he mumbles, a little breathless.

Since you hadn’t fully regained control over your body, you just hummed in delight. You were still riding the aftershocks of your orgasm, your lips turned in a smile while you listened to Jaemin catching his breath.

“Like hearing me come apart for you?” He teases the question. “Wish you were here to clean up the mess you made.” 

“Jaem,” you try to put some reproach into your voice but fail miserably as you giggle. 

“Don’t worry, you can help the next time I see you.”

The line goes quiet for a moment, the two of you gathering yourselves together. “You’re still my best girl, right?” he finally asks, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I’m your girl.”

“That’s good to hear,” he murmurs, sighing contentedly, and you can tell he was starting to drift off. “Because all of me is yours, angel. And I plan on showing you that when I’m back.”

[lovelyghst]

craving consensual somno with (slightly intoxicated) simon riley and his (extremely heavy sleeper) girl. take this as ur warnings.

just him coming home late at night as usual, the bourbon in his system keeping him loosened up and tranquil, yet ever so cognizant as he enters your shared bedroom. those familiar creepy-crawlies invading his stomach with boyish excitement to see you, and quickly turning towards his dick when he lays eyes on your pretty body.

it’s nearly a routine at this point; you purposely fall asleep in these skimpy, two-piece pajamas, usually some sort of small berries, cherries, or flowers adorning the thin, white fabric that leaves little to the imagination, knowing it’ll get him all worked up. the curtains are left pulled and the door cracked open, you kick the covers off and lay with a pillow hugged tightly in your arms beneath you to give him the best view; infinite signs telling him you want it just as bad as he does. it is routine, but it gets so him riled up, each and every time.

he trudges over, as quietly as the tipsy man can manage to the end of your bed, and with tunnel-vision on your exposed thighs. even his jaw fallen slack just a bit in hunger. desperate to get his hands on you after being apart for so long, and wanting to soothe that ache in his cock he hadn’t even realized he was palming through his jeans.

you barely stir when he kneels on the foot of the bed, and neither when he crawls above you and places a kiss right behind your ear.

he presses a cold palm to your shoulder, attempting to urge you onto your back to give him a visual of your features. to let him see your curves in the raw moonlight, how the dainty material of your pajamas becomes a tad bit see-through around your tits and incidentally rides up past your bellybutton, endless thoughts running through his dazed mind as he eventually manages to flip you over successfully.

though, your sleepy hum suddenly alerts him to a standstill, his worst nightmare being to wake you from your serene rest. not now, anyway.

“shhh, sweetheart,” he gently coaxes you, and he can’t help the grin spanning his lips when you mumble the first syllable of his name in that questioning, dreamy tone. he clears fallen hair from your face, slipping his pillow from your grasp as he mutters, “yeah, dovie, s’only me. you’re okay, you’re safe… jus’ go back to sleep for me, now.”

your unconscious mind obeys like clockwork, the smallest of smiles curling your lip corners in contentment, and it’s only a matter of seconds before he’s returning to his endeavors.

kissing all across your exposed collarbone, thoughtlessly slipping a finger or two beneath the strap of your little pajama shirt and carefully allowing it to glide down your shoulder as he repeats the process on the other side. peppering kisses to your soft skin, before rolling the fabric upward from the bottom so he can properly pay attention to the rest of your chest and tummy.

lips grazing your sternum with short, controlled breaths fanning your sensitive parts; aware of how easily ticklish you are and attempting not to light that fuse, equally straining himself in not turning too feverish as he takes your hardened nipple in his mouth and paws at the other in his hand.

he works his way down slowly but surely, until he’s pulling your shorts off with tender hands and unveiling your bare, soaked pussy, and he can’t even think to suppress the low groan pushed from his lungs at the sight in front of him. he inches forward with nearly crossed eyes, taking incisive ministrations in lifting your legs up and over his back.

your breathing hitches a bit in your slumber when he licks an almost reluctant yet long stripe from your hole to your clit, unable to give himself a moment to savor it before he’s diving back in for more.

“missed this pretty, little cunt on my tongue, baby… christ,” he chuckles lightly to himself, “good girl’s gonna be the death o’ me.”

he sloppily makes-out with your pussy, any and all devotions of rhythm and precision thrown far from his intentions. he only gets to be selfish when he has you like this, and he’d be damned if he doesn’t take advantage of the opportunity as it’s laid out on his bed. moaning at your wetness and taste, how your pussy drools for more and coats his chin with a slick he devours like a madman deprived.

the small whines you make in your sleep are nothing but precious to simon, burning them into his brain like any other occasion he’s pulled them from your lips. saving them for the later times like when he’s a thousand miles away, locked away in some office, and can’t possibly bring himself to bother you with a pestering, horny phone call.

you turn your head to the side with a hum, empty hands reaching for any semblance of comfort on your abdomen, which rather concerns him for a moment until he realizes just what you want.

he gives you one of his hands and you blindly accept it, wrapping your smaller fingers around his wrist and thumb to pull the appendage closer. resting just below your ribcage, satisfied and holding it close like you would a teddy bear.

“sweet thing… always loved this perfect pussy,” he mumbles right up against your warmth, quiet as to not disrupt your blissful obliviousness in your sleep. he’s utterly drunk on you and your taste, and the alcohol he had beforehand certainly contributes to his filthy, forward language.

“how easy y’get on my mouth, ‘nd yet how tight you are around my cock… fuckin’ hell—”

he watches intently as the tips of his fingers delve between your folds, gradually disappearing whilst your chest begins to heave a little heavier; a faint, broken noise of pleasure omitting straight from your throat. tightening around his digits as he pushes them further in, just as you do wrapped around his cock when you’re conscious.

he’s not thinking straight; he’s merely experimenting with you as he curls his fingers upward, prodding at that gummy spot in your cunt and greedily sucking on your clit to push you over. toying with you, rather, because the face you make when you’re first emerged from your slumber with a mind-shattering orgasm is truly priceless.

your eyes snap open as you come around his digits, squeezing his hands tight with your vision going blank. the high is strong but you don’t allow it to last very long when the dots in your brain are connecting, turning you all excited for the implications of it all.

erratically catching your breath with a huge grin on your face, matching his as he comes up to greet you. he’s stupid, shamelessly drunk on your taste, and it radiates from his expression as if he just witnessed a star being born right before his muddy eyes.

you haven’t a clue what just happened, but you fucking loved every sober second of it.

and before you know it, he’s coming back up to meet your lips with his own, which you graciously accept, taste of slick and alcohol and all. humming as he slips his greedy hands upward and behind your back, giggling when he impatiently flips over on his back and hauls you with him. til you’re curled up by his side, halfway on his chest whilst one leg slips between both of his bulky ones.

“i‘m glad you’re home…” nearly a pout, “really missed you, si.”

you’re the first one to speak, quietly, sincere as ever as you examine his pretty face. the faint bags beneath his lids, the wetness that sticks to his dirty-blond stubble. his rough and gruff exterior that hides behind it a boy who’s absolutely and utterly whipped for you.

“that right?” he taunts, eyes remaining shut. “and my tongue, i bet?”

you shy away with a laugh. he won’t remember these words in the morning, but you’ve always loved how cocky and brazen he gets with a couple of drinks running through his blood.

“i missed all of you...”

his eyes barely have to open for him to effectively, and lovingly, judge you with a mere glance. it’s one of his talents.

“some parts more than others, clearly.”

“that’s not true,” you contest, but the humorous hesitancy and sheepishness in your voice tells him otherwise.

“sure, baby, sure.” he takes a moment to breathe, overtly proud of himself. “y’missed my mouth, n’ my hands. even with how rough they are with ya sometimes, yeah?” you hide your flushed face in his neck with a groan, praying this embarrassment is short-lived though preparing for the worst as you feel his lips inch closer to your ear.

“prob’ly missed me fuckin’ my cock into that tight, little cunt—”

“okay, fine!” you finally admit and pull away defensively, slapping his chest but only earning a laugh from him. “but i definitely don’t miss that dirty brain of yours, you big dog.”

“you love me anyway,” he states, matter-of-factly.

you give a big smooch to his forehead, then the bridge of his nose, and then down to his lips, which he returns.

“i do. a lot,” you add and he hums, feeling fulfilled.

and, oh, he’s so fulfilled with you. you take care of him by allowing him to take care of you, and it’s a two-way street. you ground each other whilst never forcing one to tether themself to earth.

you sit up to fix your top, smoothing over the fabric and shrugging the straps back into place. shimmying back into your shorts when you catch a glimpse of the large man’s dark jeans contrasting your light sheets, belt buckle glimmering in the corner of your eye.

“simon, honey, you need to change before you—”

you look over and are suddenly forced to stifle a giggle when you discover that the poor man has fallen asleep, a droopy smile still ornamenting his slick-covered face. taking your hand and swiping the apple of his cheek with your thumb, you’re pleased when he doesn’t budge one bit. dragging it downwards past his muscled chest and abdomen, landing just beneath his leather belt.

your fingertips trace his hard-on over the jeans, knowing you can’t just leave him like this, all aching and pent up and too exhausted to do anything about it himself.

maybe you could do him a favor and return the sweet gesture? <3

[thecuriousbeauty]

Arguments and Cuddles-Harry Styles x reader

A/N:- Wanted to write this a few days ago, but I just couldn't get myself to write after all that has happened. Sending lots of hugs to everyone. Hope this acts a distraction to anyone who needs it right now.

Synopsis: Harry doesn't realize that you're sick when he starts an argument and takes care of you after. Some angst and fluff!

Word Count: 2k

_________________________________________

“y/n..” Your tall, lanky boyfriend makes grabby hands at you from the bed, snug and comfortable under the blanket. He didn’t want to fall asleep without you. You felt bad for making him wait, you really did, but you couldn’t go to bed without finishing your assignment. University has been stressing you out these days, what with two projects every week, along with other papers, studying and you even have to start filling out internship forms. 

“Five more minutes, baby, I’m so sorry..”, you turn back from the desk to tell Harry who was pouting at you, hoping to win you over with cuteness, which he already has. 

“It’s okay, love. I don’t mind waiting but it’s you I’m worried about. If you’re not here in my arms sleeping in the next ten minutes, no kisses for you tomorrow.”, he threatens, and smirks when you gasp. “That’s unfair!”

“You better hurry up then.”, Harry says, picking up his phone and settling back with his head on the pillow. It took you exactly seven more minutes to complete the assignment. 

“I’m done! You can’t deny me kisses now.” You keep your laptop away before falling into Harry’s open arms. You sigh as your head hits the soft pillow, and you realize just how exhausted you are when you feel your heavy eyelids. 

“I don’t think I ever can.”, Harry hums, chuckling as you snuggle into his chest like a little kitten seeking comfort. His arms hold you snug to his chest as his face lowers to press soft kisses to your hair and your cheeks. “I missed you.”

You know he didn’t just mean today. It’s been almost two weeks since you’ve been in this hectic schedule and you haven’t been able to see Harry as often. You’re either too tired or have lots of work to do after you get home from uni, so you haven’t been spending much time with your boyfriend. 

You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, your thumb stroking over his soft skin. “I’m sorry, babe. I miss you too. I  just have so much to do and-”, you sigh.

“-Hey, I understand love, know you’re working hard.”, he rubs circles onto your lower back and you almost moan at how good it feels. “I’m just worried about you. You barely sleep, barely eat during the day, step out of the house only to go to uni…”

“I do eat and sleep.”, you tell him, pecking his pink lips. “It’s gonna be hectic only for another week, the projects should be over by then.”

He hummed. “Would you be free tomorrow night? It’s Friday. Mitch and Sarah have been wanting to meet you.”

Mitch and Sarah were two of his best friends, and you’ve wanted to meet them too. Like he said, it was Friday, so you’d have time to catch up on your studies on Saturday and Sunday. Harry was just asking you, but you could see he really wanted you to go. You haven’t had a night out in a while too, so you agree. 

“Okay, I’ll meet them.”

Harry cheers, making you giggle and kiss his cheek. “They’re so excited to meet you! I love you.”

________________________________________________

You weren’t expecting to fall sick when you got up that morning. You did feel a little less energetic, but that was normal by now, so you brushed it off. You attended your classes, and when it was around lunch time, your throat was parched even though you kept sipping on water and your eyes were getting watery. 

You didn’t feel like eating, so you skipped lunch, which led to a headache and you were just feeling horrible when you got back home that day. You were relieved to be back, and you fell into bed immediately, not bothering to change. God, you hated being sick. It makes you so weak and you can’t get anything done. You take a small nap, hoping to wake up feeling better. 

You had kept an alarm to wake up an hour and a half before the time Harry said he would come to pick you up for the night out, but you slept right through it. You didn’t wake up even when Harry stepped into your flat, using your other pair of keys and called out your name. 

He was ten minutes late himself, and he was surprised to see that you weren’t ready yet. 

“y/n?”, he says. “Babe why aren’t you ready, we should be there in twenty minutes!”

You rub your eyes, slowly coming out of sleep. “Oh…shit.”, you remember when you see Harry already standing in front of you. “I s-slept through the alarm.”

“It’s fine, I’ll tell them we’ll be a bit late. You should get ready.”, Harry said, already pulling out his phone. 

You sit up, groaning as your muscles ache. Your head was throbbing, and you felt like your body was on your fire. You knew you wouldn’t make it through the night even if you tried.

“Harry? I think you should go alone, I’ll meet them some other time..”, you say softly. 

Harry bites his lip. “Seriously? You’re telling me now? I asked you last night, y/n!”

“I know I’m sorry, I just-”

“-I try to be understanding but it’s not gonna work if I’m the only one putting in effort, y/n. I didn’t tell you anything, I didn’t complain about you not spending time with me, I just asked if you could go out with me for one night and you can’t.”, Harry scoffs, walking back and forth. 

Your eyes well up with tears from your sickness, and Harry’s words. You get up, even though you felt like you would crumble like a sack of potatoes if you did. 

“Harry, I’m sorry, I don’t-”

“-No. I don’t want to hear it, y/n. I talk to them about you all the time and they were so excited to meet you, you know? Now you want to cancel. I don’t get it, what’s going to happen if you go out for one night?” He stops to look at you.

That’s when your head spins. You feel like the whole world is turning upside down and you reach a hand out to grip something, but you only found air. 

Harry was fuming, but he only then noticed that you weren’t looking too good. Your skin was pale and prickly with sweat, you were unsteady on your feet and your voice was breaking as you whimpered his name for help, “H-Harry.”

“Fuck.”, he cursed, and rushed to you, strong arms holding you before your knees gave out. You grip his sleeve as he makes you sit back down on the bed. “y/n? Baby, are you okay?”

You manage a weak hum in response. Harry’s hand cups your forehead, pressing your head back against his arm. “Jesus, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you tell me you’re sick?”

If you had the energy, you could have punched him. “Y-You didn’t give me the chance.”

“I’m an asshole.”, Harry muttered, green eyes washing over you with worry as he settles you back into bed. 

“You are.”, you agree, shivering as his cold fingers brush against your forehead, stroking back some of your hair. “I really wanted to go out too, you know. I should’ve let you know earlier that I was sick but I thought I could pull through..” You winced, bringing a hand up to your head. You always get bad headaches when you’re sick.

“Shh..did you take any medicine? Should I take you to the doctor?”, Harry asks, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. 

“No..think I’ll be fine, just gonna sleep. You should go.”, you said softly. 

“Leaving you like this alone? No. I’m gonna take care of you. I’ll call Mitch and let him know we can’t make it. We’ll do it some other time.” 

“I really am sorry. I-I was just trying to finish everything during the week so I could spend the weekend with you. Didn’t mean to make you upset, Harry.”, you whisper, and Harry shakes his head, stroking away a small tear that runs down your cheek with your thumb. 

“Don’t apologize, love, you did nothing wrong. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. You’re working hard to get where you want to be, and I’ll always support you. I should’ve realized you’re gonna get yourself sick.” He tsked, taking your hand and kissing your fingertips. “Do you forgive me?”

You smiled and nodded, leaning into his side as he wrapped an arm around you. “My poor baby. Are you sure you’re okay? Not dizzy right?”

“Yeah, I’m not dizzy anymore, think I just got up too fast.”, you mumble into his shoulder.

“I’ll get you some medicine and make you some soup. Then we’ll cuddle in bed for the rest of the night.”, Harry says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Tomorrow, when you’re feeling a bit better, we’re gonna make a proper schedule together, okay? I can’t have you feeling so stressed out and falling ill again.”

“Okay.”, you smile. Harry got out of bed and tucked the blanket over you. You curled up and closed your eyes. “Come back soon..”

“Promise I will.”

He found you some medicine and made you take it, then brought a cold cloth to your forehead. You flinched at the cold, and he hushed you softly, “Shh, relax sweetheart, we’ve gotta get your temperature down.” He lays the cloth across your forehead. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” 

After the initial cold, it did feel relaxing. You sigh and hum in agreement. You were getting drowsy again. Harry smiles and kisses your nose. “I’ll be back with your soup by the time you take a little nap.”

Harry wakes you up with a bowl of steaming hot soup after some time, and he helps you sit up, placing pillows behind your back. He slides into bed next to you, holding the tray that had the bowl of soup. 

He blows on a spoonful before bringing it to your lips, other hand cupping under your chin to catch any excess that dribbles down. “I tried my best, it’s my mum’s recipe.”, he says, eyes hopeful as you swallow it down.

The hot liquid was soothing for your sore throat, and the flavors were actually very nice. He raises his eyebrows in question. 

“It’s really good, thank you.”, you smile, pinching his cheek gently. A grin takes over his face as he brings up another spoon. “I can eat by myself, you know.”

“I want to feed you.”

Harry feeds you the rest of the soup while he talks to you,  then goes back to the kitchen to clear everything before falling in bed with you. 

“Did you eat?”, you ask, placing your head on his chest and looking up at him. 

“I did, sweet girl. While making your soup.”, he says, pressing a kiss to your hair, his fingers starting to massage your scalp. He chuckles when you let out a soft groan. 

“How’s your head now? Are you feeling a little better?”, he checks, his other hand running up and down your back. 

“Uh huh, think your soup’s got the magic.”, you whisper, eyes already starting to flutter close. Harry laughs, nudging his nose against your cheek. “I put some magic in it, it’s called love.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm, and it’s special, only for you.”, he says, pressing feather soft kisses against the side of your face. “Gonna nurse my girl back to health in no time.”

“I love you.”, you say, your hand tucking under his side as he pulls you closer. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“No need to thank me, gonna do it for the rest of my life.”, he promises, pressing a kiss to your lips. “I love you so much, y/n.”

You gasped. “What?”, he asks, worrying if you were going to throw up or something.

“You kissed me, idiot! Now you’re gonna get sick too.”

Harry laughs, taking your chin and giving you another kiss, making you slap his chest, playfully. “I’m big and strong, I don’t get sick.”

“Sure. I remember how you were being a big whiny baby last month when you had the flu.”

“Hush.”, he chuckles as you giggle, touching his forehead to yours. “Go to sleep, my giggly girl.”

____________________________________________

Taglist: -@livypops12352568 @harrydeary, @harryswifee, @harrysbxtchh, @gracelovesethan, @kiwitsayedsugar, @angeldavis777,@madstyles3204, @youngpastafanmug, @fruity-harry, @wannaliveinparadise

[mcrdvcks]

had a thought about logan taking care of a drunk reader so here ya go

warnings/tags: no use of y/n, fem!reader, reader wears makeup, pet names (princess, sweetheart)

---

You, Jean, and Ororo stumbled back into the mansion after a night at the club. It usually wasn’t your thing—you preferred staying in bed and watching TV over going out—but you gave in to your friends' demands just this one night.

Laughing, Ororo kicked her shoes off in the hallway, collapsing onto the couch. "See? I told you it would be fun!" she teased, her eyes gleaming from the night’s excitement.

Jean nodded, leaning against the wall. “You’re gonna thank us tomorrow.”

"Maybe," you muttered, feeling the alcohol buzzing in your veins. You swayed slightly and caught yourself on the banister.

Before you could even take another step, Logan’s voice came from the end of the hallway. “What the hell did you get into, princess?”

You turned, squinting at him. “Logan!” you said, a little louder than you intended. A goofy smile tugged at your lips as you wobbled toward him, arms out like you were expecting a hug.

He crossed his arms, trying to suppress the smirk that was threatening to break through. “Jean, Ororo… thanks for getting her home in one piece.”

Ororo raised an eyebrow. “She’s your problem now,” she said, giving you a playful wink before heading up the stairs.

Jean just smiled and waved. “Good luck, Logan,” she said softly before disappearing after Ororo.

Logan took a few steps closer, catching you just as you stumbled again. “Whoa, easy there, sweetheart.”

You giggled, leaning into him, your head resting on his chest. “You’re so warm,” you mumbled, barely keeping your eyes open.

“Yeah, and you’re drunk,” he replied, his voice soft but teasing. He slid an arm around your waist, guiding you carefully toward the stairs. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

“Can’t I just sleep here?” you whined, pointing toward the couch.

“Nope. You’ll thank me for this tomorrow.” He began guiding you up the stairs, keeping a firm hold on you. “Come on, you can make it. Just a few more steps.”

You grumbled, “why are there so many stairs, Lo? Maybe Charles should get an elevator.”

Logan let out a quiet chuckle. “He already has one, princess. You’re just too drunk to notice.”

You rolled your eyes, nearly missing a step, but Logan's grip tightened, steadying you. “No way. You’re lying.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say,” he replied, guiding you toward your shared room. You finally reached the top of the stairs, and Logan nudged the door open with his foot.

You flopped onto the bed, face-first into the pillows. “See? I made it. Told ya I didn’t need help.”

Logan shook his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Yeah, sure, you’ve really got it all under control.” He knelt by the side of the bed, carefully untying your shoes.

You kicked your legs lazily. “I can do it myself,” you mumbled, though you made no effort to move.

“Uh-huh, I can see that,” he said, pulling off the last shoe and tossing it aside. “Now, let’s get you out of these clothes.”

Your eyes popped open, and you turned your head toward him with a teasing smirk. “Logan, if you wanted to get me naked, you just had to ask.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “As tempting as that sounds, sweetheart, I’m trying to keep you comfortable, not have you pass out in your club clothes.”

You pouted, but he ignored it, grabbing one of his old t-shirts from the dresser and tossing it to you. “Come on, get changed.”

With a dramatic sigh, you sat up, tugging your top over your head. Logan turned his back, giving you some privacy. “You’ve seen me naked before, y’know,” you teased.

“Not the point, princess,” he muttered, though you could tell he was biting back a smile.

After struggling to pull the shirt over your head, you collapsed back onto the bed. “Okay, done.”

Logan turned around and shook his head. “Close enough.” He walked to the bathroom with your pack of makeup wipes, pulling one out of the plastic, “c’mon, eyes closed. Atta girl.”

Logan gently wiped the makeup off your face, his touch surprisingly delicate for someone so rugged. You mumbled something incoherent, your eyes fluttering closed as he worked.

“Hold still, princess,” he said, shaking his head but smirking at how peaceful you looked now, compared to the chaotic night you’d had.

You hummed, your voice soft, “You’re too good to me, y’know?”

Logan let out a low chuckle. “You say that now, but wait 'til morning.”

Once he was done, he tossed the wipe in the trash and pulled the blankets up over you. “Alright, you're all set. Get some sleep.”

You grabbed his wrist before he could move away, tugging him toward the bed. “I want your shirt off,” you murmured.

Logan raised an eyebrow, glancing down at your grip on his wrist. “You sure that’s a good idea, princess?” he teased, though there was no real resistance in his voice.

You pouted up at him, eyes half-closed. “Logan… just come here.”

He sighed, shaking his head with a small smirk. “Alright, alright, fine.” He quickly tugged his shirt over his head, tossing it onto a nearby chair. His muscled chest was bathed in the dim light of the room, but he wasn’t making a show of it. “Happy now?”

You smiled sleepily, scooting over to give him room. “Yeah... now come lay with me.”

Logan hesitated for just a second, then slid into bed beside you. You immediately curled up against him, resting your head on his chest again. “You’re so warm,” you mumbled.

He chuckled softly, running a hand through your hair. “You already said that, sweetheart.”

“Mhm… still true.”

Logan's hand traced light circles on your back, his other arm tucked under his head. “You’re gonna regret this tomorrow, you know?”

You let out a quiet laugh, snuggling even closer. “No, I won’t… I have you to take care of me.” Your nails gently scratched along his chest, and his chest hair lightly tickled your face, but you didn’t care—it was comforting, familiar.

Logan’s hand continued its slow, soothing motions on your back. “Yeah, well, we’ll see about that,” he muttered, his voice soft. There was a warmth in it though, an affection he didn’t always show so easily.

You shifted slightly, finding an even cozier spot against him. “You smell good, too,” you mumbled sleepily.

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re full of compliments tonight, aren’t you?”

“Mhm, just telling the truth,” you replied, your voice muffled against his chest. You could already feel yourself drifting, the alcohol and his presence lulling you into a peaceful haze. “You’re the best, Lo.”

He huffed, but you could hear the faint smile in his voice. “You’re not gonna remember saying all this tomorrow, princess.”

“Will too…” you mumbled, your words slurring slightly as your exhaustion started to take over.

Logan shifted slightly beside you, pulling the blankets up a little higher over your shoulder. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered under his breath. “Just get some sleep.”

You hummed softly, already on the verge of sleep. “Lo?”

“Yeah?” Logan replied, his hand never stopping the gentle motions on your back.

You paused for a second, your eyes half-open now, barely processing your thoughts. “Can I have a kiss goodnight?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, looking down at you with an amused smirk. “You’re really pullin’ out all the stops tonight, huh, princess?”

You giggled, nudging his chest lightly. “Just one... please?”

He sighed, though there was no real resistance behind it. “Alright, one kiss. Then you’re sleepin', got it?”

You nodded eagerly, your eyes already closing again. Logan leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Nooo.” You whined softly, “want one here.” You sleepily tapped his bottom lip, eyes barely open, but that teasing smirk still on your face.

Logan sighed, shaking his head slightly, though his lips twitched with a hint of a smile. “You’re a handful tonight, princess.”

He leaned down, hovering just over your lips for a second, his breath warm against your skin. “One kiss,” he murmured before softly pressing his lips to yours, the kiss gentle and brief but enough to satisfy your sleepy demand.

When he pulled back, you let out a contented sigh, snuggling back into his chest. “Told you… the best,” you mumbled, already starting to drift off again.

Logan chuckled quietly, wrapping his arm around you a little tighter. “Yeah, yeah, go to sleep now.”

You didn’t respond this time, your breathing already slowing, your body relaxed and heavy against his. Logan watched you for a moment, his expression softening as he ran a hand through your hair again, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“Get some rest, sweetheart,” he whispered, pressing one last kiss to the top of your head. Then he settled back, keeping you close as you both finally drifted into sleep.