#so the top ends right above scrape's head

[lovebugism]

A request for the Thunderbolts (if you're interested no pressure <3)! - being caught/interrupted having sex

ty for requesting! :D below you will find four separate blurbs for the thunderbolts (bucky, john, yelena, and bob), each with their own separate summaries and a whole lotta smut!! enjoy :D

BUCKY BARNES X READER — you and bucky try to have some alone time after a mission gone wrong but, like most things, it doesn't go as planned (0.9k words)

Bucky Barnes has been waiting for this all day.

The need within him borders on primal now. Adrenaline and yearning course through his blood like fire and ice water in his veins; a near-lethal concoction of anger and want and craving. It’s the job that makes him this way, Bucky always tells himself — if it wasn’t always so life or death, and if you weren’t always so willing to throw yourself into the line of fire, he figures he’d be as even-tempered as they come.

But this latest mission wasn’t nearly as easy as Valentina made it out to be. The six of you scattered for safety, and somewhere in the gunfire, Bucky lost sight of you. It took four hours for the dust to finally settle, and for you and John to stumble back to the rundown motel in the middle of nowhere that your boss mistakenly called a ‘safehouse.’ Neither of you sported anything more than couple scrapes and a bruised ego, but Bucky hugged you with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs, anyway.

“You’re okay…” he mumbled into your hair within a sigh of relief.

“I was,” you joked. “Until you started suffocating me.”

Bucky loosened his hold but never quite let you go, while John shifted uncomfortably behind you. “I’m okay, too, guys. Thanks for asking.”

Bucky channels all that stifled grief and rage into you now, in each of his rhythmic thrusts into your pulsing pussy. The thin motel bed creaks beneath your bodies with every roll of his hips. A lewd sort of symphony swells within the walls of the dark, dank motel room accordingly — a sinful orchestra of squeaking, panting, clapping, and moaning.

He feels the very beginnings of an orgasm tightening in the pit of his lean stomach. His hands ball the pillow into his fists on either side of your head, and you smile deliriously up at him.

“Close?” you pant, fighting back a moan when he slides into you just right, the coarse thatch of pubic hair above his cock rutting perfectly against your swollen clit. 

Bucky nods obediently, then ducks his heavy head to your shoulder. The ends of his hair tickle your jaw while he exhales quiet grunts into your neck, right over your racing pulse. 

“I know you are,” you coo through labored breaths, nails etching crescent shapes into shoulders. “I know you need it, Buck. C’mon— Cum for me.”

His hips stutter against yours. His rosy mouth parts to exhale a broken whine. He nearly lets himself go until a knock at the door brings him to — urgent, rapid, and unable to be ignored.

Yelena’s deep voice comes muffled from outside. “T-minus five minutes before the military shows up! Whoever’s not outside is getting left behind,” she announces far too casually, then strolls to knock on the next door. “So much for a safe house,” you hear her grumble as she goes.

Your legs lock around Bucky’s hips when he threatens to pull out of you. You meet his subtle look of shock with something stern and mischievous, an unstoppable force to an immovable object. 

“Did I say you could stop?” you ask him.

Bucky blinks like an owl, then shakes his head in response.

“Then cum for me.”

He buckles down over you again, resting the bulk of his weight on top of your pliable body, while his thrusts turn shallow and irregular. 

He cums inside of you much sooner than he would’ve liked, because he had every intention of dragging this out until daybreak — until the only words you could think of were his name and the pleas to let you orgasm. But you have far too much control over him for that, and he quickly turns into putty in your hands. 

Upon his release — quick, unshared, and premature, like a total teenager — neither of you shares a word while you hurry to get dressed. You help each other put on your tactical gear and rush out the door in time to find the rest of the team piling into the rusted van parked outside.

The tin can was supposed to be inconspicuous enough to carry a team of so-called New Avengers, but nothing could be discreet with Alexei behind the wheel.

“Just in time!” the older man shouts when you and Bucky pile into the back seat.

The door slams behind you, and Alexei peels out of the pitch black parking lot, old tires squealing. His wide smile makes his eyes squint at the edges when he peers at you through the rearview mirror. It makes you wonder if he’s slept.

You shift uncomfortably, sandwiched between a pair of broad shoulders, trying hard to ignore the sensitivity between your thighs. 

“We were about to leave you,” John deadpans from beside you, voice gruff with leftover sleep. 

You squint at him while he props his tired head against the window. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Walker.”

Yelena twists in the passenger seat, smirking at you over her shoulder. Her box-dyed locks are wild from the sleep she never got. “What were you two doing in there?” she lilts, Russian accent deep and gravelly.

“Sleeping,” Bucky monotones.

Ava scoffs from the row in front of you, though you can hardly see her from here. She takes up most of the room in the middle seat, resting her head on her backpack and her legs in Bob’s lap. “Yeah, I bet,” she laughs.

“We were!” you try to argue, though the break in your voice is hardly convincing.

Even Bob turns around with a suspicious squint in his kind eyes. “The walls were criminally thin, to be fair,” he mumbles, almost apologetically.

“Sorry…” you waver.

“Hey! Do not apologize!” Alexei shouts from the front seat, waving his pointer finger in the air. “There is nothing wrong with needing a little bit of release—”

The van fills with a chorus of annoyed groans before he can properly finish his sentence.

JOHN WALKER X READER — you and john try to have a quickie on a mission, but mistakenly forget to turn off your comms (1.1k words)

John Walker saw it coming.

He knew what he was in for the moment the idea fell from your mouth — the blueprint of an elaborate heist to return the smuggled vibranium back to Wakanda, for which each of the New Avengers had their role.

Alexei had been honored to be a distraction, to brush elbows with the wealthiest people in the world and get his fill of complimentary champagne. John, however, was slightly offended that his only part in the whole thing was to woo the woman running the gala long enough to catch her in a lie.

“That’s it?” he laughed from the opposite end of the long table. “You want me to… flirt with some woman I don’t even know?”

You nodded. “Yes. I want you to flirt and look pretty— That’s what you’re best at.”

Yelena fought back a laugh. John shifted uncomfortably in his seat, swallowing through a pang of mild embarrassment. “And it won’t make you jealous?” he wondered aloud.

“Why would I be jealous?” you scoffed.

“Well, what if she doesn’t give in right away?” the blonde man challenged, folding his strong arms over the table to lean in close. “What if she thinks I actually want to have sex with her—? What if she doesn’t want to tell me anything until I’ve had sex with her?”

You hesitated, for only a fleeting moment, then shrugged a lazy shoulder in response. “Whatever it takes.”

John nodded slowly and leaned back again, as though he were taking your words as some kind of dare.

Alexei, unable to read the room, then offered, “Well, if Walker’s too scared to do it, I would be happy to take one for the team and sleep with this strange woman—”

The plan went exactly as you thought it would.

Maybe a little too well.

John Walker plays his part to perfection, the only way he knows how. Turns out, you were right — he was best at flirting and looking pretty, it seems — because it takes very little work on his part to get what he wants.

He dials his charm to eleven, like he knows you’re watching over him; and the drunk woman, worth more money than Walker will ever see in his life, fawns over him with ease. He gets the intel and then some, sporting a smirk and a pink lip print on his cheek.

“Did ya get that, honey?” he asks into his comm, smiling at the nearest security camera because he knows you’re watching him from there.

“Don’t look so smug,” you grouse in his ear. “Meet me at the rendezvous point when you’re done gloating.”

John’s able to sneak his way into the basement, thanks in part to Alexei’s Russian drinking game that he’s roped a group of drunken elites into.

He finds you waiting for him in the security room, all dolled up to blend into the party you never actually attended. The thin, emerald silk of your dress drapes over your body like soft, summer rain.

John loses his breath at the sight of you, quickly forgetting that he came here to gloat, as the door clicks shut behind him.

“Where’s everybody else?” he asks, walking to stand behind you in front of the wall of security cameras. You can see the entire gala from here, every bustling body filmed in black-and-white static.

He stands close enough behind you for you to feel the warmth radiating from his body. He can smell the vanilla perfume in your hair the same way you can smell the oaky cologne on his neck.

“Ava and Bob are tracking down your new girlfriend,” you quip, pointing to the screen at the bottom left corner where the two of them rush down the hallway. “And Yelena and Bucky are jetting off to the super luxurious private island your girlfriend really wanted to take you to.”

“She still waiting for me in her room?” John wonders, eyes flitting across the screens ahead of him.

“Yep,” you nod without looking back at him. “You can probably still catch her before the others if you’re fast enough. You know, if you were serious about that good time you wanted to show her.”

John laughs. You feel the exhale of the warm breath against your shoulder, right before he leans in to press a kiss to your bare skin.

“You’re so jealous,” he croons lowly into your neck.

You fight a shiver when his scruff brushes against you there. “I’m not jealous,” you insist proudly, shrugging your shoulder and dipping away from his touch. 

You spin on your heel and brace yourself against the table to slide yourself on top of it. John migrates instinctively towards your parted thighs.

“No?” he presses sarcastically with his head tilted like a puppy.

“No. ‘Cause she’s about to go to prison,” you say, nodding towards the camera where Ava leads the confused woman, dressed in nothing but a silk robe, out of her hotel room. “And you’re about to fuck me.”

“Really?” John hums, despite settling in between your spread legs like he was made to do it. “That’s very presumptuous of you.”

You use his tie like a leash to pull him closer, smiling with a sadistic look in your eye. “Don’t keep me waiting, Walker.”

It’s a mess of scrambling limbs. John hurries to free his cock from the confines of his slacks while you lift the skirt of your dress to slide your panties to the side. 

You watch with lidded eyes, propped against the square screens behind you, while John works himself the rest of the way hard with his fist. You inhale the sweet scent of his cologne when he leans over you, and bite back a whimper when he slides slowly inside of you.

The quiet security room fills quickly with the sounds of heavy breaths and quiet moans — but before John can fuck you the way he wants, the door swings suddenly open.

Bob stumbles in, mouth already parted to say something, but his eyes widen in shock before he can.

“Jesus, Bob!” John shouts, jerking out of you and tucking his stiff cock back into his pants.

The curly-haired boy falters for a moment. He knows he should leave, but his brain isn’t working properly. He turns around to face the corner instead. “Sorry!” he squeaks. “I’m sorry!”

“What are you doing in here?” you pant.

“You said to meet at the rendezvous point!”

You and John share an anxious look. Both of you have forgotten about the in-ears and the live microphone inside them. “You’ve been hearing us on comms?” you waver, distantly fearful of the answer. “Like, this whole time?”

Bob nods. “Yeah…?”

“Why didn’t you say something?” John snaps.

Ava’s voice crackles suddenly through the microphone. “Well, we didn’t want to be rude—”

YELENA BELOVA X READER — walker almost catches you and yelena having a "late night snack" in the kitchen (1k words)

Yelena Belova can’t help herself.

It’s the whiskey running through her veins, maybe, or the way you look in the yellow refrigerator light. She forgets all about the movie paused upstairs and the late-night snack the two of you came searching for at three in the morning.

You bend at the waist, reaching for something deep in the fridge, and your t-shirt rises to reveal your underwear. Modest. Cotton. Pale pink and decorated with so many cream-colored stars.

It drives Yelena wild. 

You leave the carton of milk on the counter and stand on the tips of your toes, reaching for the boxes of cereal Walker always keeps on the highest shelf. You just barely manage to grab the Cinnamon Toast Crunch container when you feel Yelena press herself against your back, caging you between her body and the counter’s edge.

“Excuse me,” you giggle and struggle to spin in her hold.

You just barely manage to catch Yelena’s lazy smile before she leans in closer. “You’re excused,” she murmurs, voice low and smooth as honey.

She kisses you once, twice, and then a third time — longer and more languid than before — then begins to trail her lips down your jaw. 

You grin when she licks over your pulse point. Her fingers ball the hem of your shirt into her fists. “I really want to finish that movie, Lena…” you lilt knowingly.

“We will,” she hums, half-muffled against you. “Right after I make you feel good.”

She goes to sink to her knees in front of you. You hold tightly to the outsides of her elbows to stop her, eyes wide and glittering with panic. “Not here,” you scold with a shake of your head.

Yelena’s face scrunches in a stubborn, girlish pout — far too cute to be a world-class assassin. “Yes, here,” she argues.

“What if someone walks in?”

“No one will walk in. I promise.”

She smiles when your hardened gaze refuses to waver. She leans in close, trailing the tip of his nose over the bridge of yours. Her breath fans over your cupid’s bow. “It’s late, everyone’s sleeping. And I’ll be quick, okay?”

Her fingers dip beneath your shirt, curling over the hem of your panties. She doesn’t know how wet you are for her already. You don’t know how her mouth is watering for a taste of you now.

You huff and turn to the side, finding the blinking green numbers on the stovetop: 2:57 a.m. 

“Fine,” you cave. “But I’m only giving you three minutes.”

Yelena falls slowly to her knees. “I only need one,” she smirks, pressing a chaste kiss to your clothed stomach as she slides your pretty underwear to the side with an expert hand.

You scoff. “That’s very presumptuous of y—” She licks a fat stripe up the length of your pussy. You sigh a broken moan. “—Oh…”

Her hands carress the backs of your thighs, just beneath your ass, as she kisses your cunt the way she would your mouth.

Your knees threaten to buckle when her lips lock with your sensitive clit, sucking gently there until you keen. You feel her smiling against you when you brace yourself on the counter’s edge to keep from falling.

Yelena’s mouth is a merciless thing. She has every intention of making you cum in a minute, just like she promised she would. She focuses mostly on your swollen clit — licking, then sucking, then sucking and licking — to pull a swift and powerful orgasm from your body. 

You think she would’ve broken a record if Walker hadn’t walked in at the absolute worst time.

You tense when the hall light turns on. His steps are slow and heavy, like he’s barely lifting his feet off the ground. John turns the corner, dressed in sagging sweatpants and a tank top, and flinches at the sight of you there — leaning awkwardly against the counter. 

With the kitchen island in the way, he can’t see Yelena from where he’s standing — or how she’s sucking an orgasm most devilishly from your body.

You’re grateful when he stops short in the doorway. You’re less grateful when your girlfriend refuses to cease her merciless assault on your pussy.

“What are you doing up?” John asks, voice gravelly with sleep.

“Oh, you know, just—” You clear your throat when your voice wavers. “Just getting something to eat.”

He nods politely and takes another step.

Panic swells within you the same way your orgasm does.

“Did you need something?” you blurt, fighting back a whimper when Yelena's teeth scrape gently along your clit.

John’s brows furrow, but he makes no mention of how strange you’re being. “I was just getting some water—”

He takes another step. You reach for a rogue water bottle and chuck it across the room, perhaps more forcefully than you mean to.

“Here you go!” you shout with a wavering smile, feeling your orgasm tightening in the pit of your stomach.

John catches the plastic thing against his chest. He scoffs a tired laugh and shakes his head. “Thanks, weirdo…” he mumbles and walks away.

You don’t relax until the hall light has turned off and you’ve heard his bedroom door click shut again. Then you deflate against the kitchen counter — one hand propping yourself up and the other holding tight to the back of Yelena’s head.

You give the short, blonde tendrils an especially sharp tug and she moans into your pussy, heavy eyes fluttering shut.

Your thighs tremble on either side of her face when you cum. You bite your lip until it hurts in a feeble attempt to keep yourself quiet. The kitchen fills with the sound of your subdued whimpering as Yelena sucks the remnants of your orgasm from your weeping cunt.

She doesn’t stop until you’re pushing her away.

Yelena leans back, wiping her glistening mouth with the back of her hand. She smiles while you catch your breath. “How was it?” she quips.

“I’m so getting you back for that,” you pant. “Just so you know.”

“Oh…” she croons sarcastically, rising to full height again. “Are you now?”

You nod once, lidded eyes glinting with something stern and mischievous.

Yelena tries not to cower at the way you look at her, like you’re some kinda succubus who can’t wait to swallow her whole.

“The entire tower is going to hear you screaming before I’m done with you, Belova.”

ROBERT REYNOLDS X READER — the one where alexei finally learns to knock before entering your bedroom (1k words)

Bob Reynolds is having the most amazing dream.

It’s of you and him, all tangled in an unmade bed, and bathing in the morning glow of a golden sunrise. You’re pressed against the side of him, heavy and warm, with your arm tucked under the blanket. You rub his half-hard cock over his boxers and press chaste kisses up and down the length of jaw. Bob’s mouth tugs upward in a lazy smile as he exhales slowly through his nose.

His eyes flutter open on their own accord. 

He finds his bedroom soaked in the same orange glow he was dreaming about. He blinks the haze of sleep from his eyes, and only then registers your body pressed against his — and the way you knead his stiff, clothed cock with a gentle hand. 

Bob wakes from one dream only to enter the next. His sigh of contentment leaves in a grumbled moan in his throat.

He feels your smile curl against his jaw. “Good morning,” you hum against his skin.

Bob nods until the words catch up to him, chestnut curls in a frizzy halo around his head. “Yes, it is…” he jokes, words weighed down with sleep.

Your body trembles with a quiet laugh from where you’re lying along his side. “Well, you were poking me in the back to be fair,” you say, punctuating your murmurs with another kiss to his neck. “So this is kinda your fault, if you think about it.”

Bob might’ve argued if he wasn’t already so close to his orgasm. Your hand dips beneath the hem of his boxers, using his pearly pre-cum as lubricate while you glide your fist up and down his cock.

His stomach tenses — there’s a knot at the pit of it he feels tightening, bound to snap at any moment.

His mouth parts to speak, but a pathetic whine escapes instead.

“You don’t care, do you, Bobby?” you coo to him, mouth brushing the shell of his ear. “You just wanna cum, don’t you?”

He nods wordlessly, eyes squeezed shut.

“Use your words.”

“Yes,” Bob squeaks obediently, right before he sighs. “Yes, please…”

With his eyes still shut, he feels the mattress dip beside him as you crawl on top of his body. The blankets shift to accommodate you as you settle between his legs.

“Where do you wanna cum, then?” you ask, too innocently for how demoniacal you're being just now. “In my hand or in my mouth?”

“Your mouth,” Bob answers instantly, voice breaking as cock jerks in your fist. “In your mouth, please— In your mouth.”

You nod, even though he can’t see you, and smile wide at the broken look on his face. “Good boy,” you hum, just to make his cock drool, before you dip beneath the covers. 

You tuck the hem of his boxers beneath his balls, keeping the base of his cock in your fist as you lick gently at the tip. You savor the salty tang of his pre-cum when you suckle at his sensitive head with no warning. Bob tenses immediately beneath you. A moan escapes from his parted mouth, filling the quiet bedroom.  

“Sorry!” he squeaks when he realizes how loud he’s being, exhaling a trembling breath and squeezing his hands into fists. He yearns to touch you, but not without permission. “I’m sorry, baby…”

If you’re angry with him, you don’t show it.

You just take is cock down your throat and until he keens. You work at him swiftly and mercilessly — knowing that, at any moment, it’ll be seven in the morning, and the rest of the tower will be up and recruiting for the latest mission.

You need Bob to cum before then.

So you swallow around the length of his cock and cup his sensitive balls in your hand. It’s a near-lethal combination that you only use during your quickies — or when you’re especially trying to torture him. 

“Can I cum?” Bob pants when he feels the knot tightening in his stomach. “Please, can I cum?”

You don’t answer him with words. You can’t with your nose buried in his pubic hair and his cock stuffed down your throat. You hum affirmatively around him instead, “Mhm.” 

The added stimulation makes him burst. Two salty ropes of warm cum pool in your mouth.

“Oh— shit!” 

His moans turn into something more urgent, fearful even, as your bedroom door clicks suddenly open.

Both of you jerk into upright positions — you on your knees, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, and Bob cupping his palms over his still twitching cock.

You find Alexei standing in the doorway, with a steaming breakfast burrito clutched in his fist. He blinks hard, like he’s trying to discern exactly what it is he’s looking at.

He swallows down his mouthful and fights back a sudden wave of nausea. 

“Team meeting downstairs in five,” is all he says, half-detached and strangely robotic, before turning back the way he came.

“Shut the door!” you call to his disappearing figure.

He doesn't seem to hear you.

“Lenaaaa!” he shouts over you, Russian voice booming throughout the quiet tower. “Never make me do that again!”

You and Bob are only slightly late to the team meeting in question.

The room is deafeningly silent, heavy with a nameless tension. Neither of the team seems to look at you with anything other than sleep in their eyes — other than Alexei, of course, who sits slouched at the head of the table.

Yelena pets unenthusiastically at his shoulder, begrudgingly comforting the pouting man.

You take your designated seats at the long table without a word — you at the opposite end, and Bob sitting most adjacent to you.

Alexei’s eyes harden into a pitiful glare. “Is there anything you two want to say to me?” he wonders dramatically, accent sounding deep in his throat. “An ‘I’m sorry,’ perhaps?”

Bob shifts uncomfortably, gaze averted. “Sorry—”

“Learn how to knock,” you deadpan, then flash a cynical smile that makes the man cower. “Or I’ll show you something a lot worse than what you saw this morning.”

[lheesluv]

greedy for you (l.hs)

not even 5 minutes since he got back from performing, heeseung was already inches deep in you

PAIRINGS - idol bf!heeseung x fem!reader

GENRE - smut (mdni), established relationship

WARNINGS - p in v, unprotected sex, riding, switch heeseung and reader, whiny heeseung, creampie, dirty talk, needy reader

WC — 1.1k

A/N — HI GUYS it’s been a bit LOL. i have 2 other drafts but i just HAD to do a post one on coachella red hair heeseung 😣

© All rights reserved Iheesluv do not copy, repost, or translate.

The door hadn’t even clicked shut behind him.

Heeseung barely had time to exhale, dropping his bag to the floor, when you were already on him—grabbing his collar, lips crashing into his like you’d been starved. And maybe you had been. All night watching him on that stage, dripping with sweat, voice like sin, teasing the crowd with those half-lidded eyes and smirks meant for thousands—but you pretended they were just for you.

“Fuck—” he barely gets the word out before you push him back, walking him toward the edge of the bed.

“You took too long,” you mutter against his jaw, yanking his shirt up, nails scraping down his abs. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this. About you.”

Heeseung grins—surprised, amused, but so damn turned on. “Damn, baby… barely got through the door.”

“You don’t need the door,” you growl, shoving him down onto the mattress. “You just need me.”

You’re on top of him before he can respond, tugging his sweat-damp pants down just enough, grinding against him like it’s the only thing keeping you sane. His breath hitches, hands gripping your hips, but you swat them away.

“Hands to yourself,” you command, eyes dark and daring. “Let me have you.”

That flicker of surprise in his eyes quickly melts into hunger. He lets you take the lead—lets you ride the high you’ve been simmering in all night.

“What’s gotten into you—”

“You’re the problem. Acting all sexy like that on stage,” you cut him off as you tear off your clothing. Heeseung chuckles, but is quick to purse his lips when you’re naked, back on his lap.

And when you sink down on him, he groans so loud it echoes off the walls.

“Shit—Y/N—”

You don’t give him time to recover. Your pace is unrelenting, rough, desperate. Heeseung watches you above him, lip caught between his teeth, chest heaving.

“You look so fucking good like this,” he pants, finally grabbing your waist, helping you move faster, harder. “So greedy for me. You want it that bad, huh?”

You don’t answer with words—just a smirk, a roll of your hips that makes his eyes roll back. Because tonight, you’re not the one begging.

He is.

“Answer me. You want it that bad?”

Heeseung's voice is breathless, but cocky. Testing you. You glare down at him, hair a mess, sweat already forming at your temple.

“I need it,” you hiss, dragging your nails down his chest hard enough to leave faint red marks. “I’ve been soaked since the second your set started. Sitting there watching you touch yourself, bite your lip—like you didn’t know what the fuck you were doing.”

He groans—low and wrecked—and tries to lift his hips into yours, but you plant a hand on his chest and slam yourself down all the way, hard and deep. His mouth falls open, a raw moan spilling from it.

“Fuck, Y/N.”

You ride him without mercy, hips snapping with precision, your thighs burning but your lust burning hotter. You grind in tight circles at the end of each thrust, making sure he feels every clench, every pulse. His eyes flutter shut, fingers digging into the sheets because he knows if he touches you now, it’s over—he’ll lose all control.

“Look at you,” you taunt, dragging your hands up your own body, tugging your bra down so your chest bounces with every thrust. “Mr. Stage God, begging under me. You gonna cum already, baby? Gonna fill me up like you always said you would?”

“Shit, shit—don’t say that,” he grits, hips jerking. “You’re driving me insane.”

You lean down, hands on either side of his head, your pace unrelenting. Lips brushing his, you whisper,

“Then lose your mind.”

And he does.

The groan he lets out is primal, body tensing beneath you as he finally grabs your ass and thrusts up to meet you, chasing his high.

The warmth of his cum fills you to the brim. You ride him through it, pushing him past the edge until he's whimpering your name like a prayer.

As you were about to move your hips again to chase your orgasm, he grips on your waist tightly.

Heeseung takes a hand to cup the back of your neck and leans up, lips brushing your ear, voice rough and dark.

“You didn’t come, did you?”

You don’t answer.

Your silence is all the confirmation he needs.

“Oh, no, no,” he murmurs, flipping you over in one swift motion. Now you’re the one beneath him, legs spread, body still trembling, but he’s already lining himself up again, still rock hard, cock slick from being inside you. “That’s not gonna fucking cut it.”

“Hee—”

“You take what you want from me, and you think I’m just gonna leave you like this?” he growls, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. “Baby. I’m gonna ruin you.”

He thrusts back into you in one smooth stroke, deep and punishing. Your back arches off the bed as you cry out, overstimulated and desperate. His pace is different now—controlled, relentless, his abs flexing with each thrust. He's laser-focused on you, on every gasp, every moan, every twitch of your body beneath his.

His free hand slips between your bodies, thumb circling your clit in rough, tight strokes that make your thighs shake instantly.

“There she is,” he breathes, watching your face twist in pleasure. “You gonna come for me now? Gonna soak my cock like a good girl?”

“Yes— please, Hee, don’t stop—”

“Oh, I’m not stopping till I feel you drip around me.”

Heeseung leans down, lips dragging over your jaw, his thrusts growing faster, harder. The bed rocks with the force of it, headboard slamming the wall in a rhythm that could wake the whole damn hotel floor. You’re a mess under him now, body shaking, legs wrapped around his waist, his name falling from your lips over and over again.

And then it hits—your orgasm crashing into you like a tidal wave, legs spasming, mouth open in a silent scream as you clench around him so tight he nearly loses it all over again.

“Fuck—just like that,” he groans, hips stuttering, finally burying himself to the hilt as he spills into you one more time, the heat of him only making your high last longer.

For a long moment, all you can hear is heavy breathing, the faint creak of the bed, and your racing heartbeat.

Heeseung collapses beside you, one arm still holding your thigh possessively. “Next time,” he murmurs against your neck, “you wait for me.”

You laugh, dazed. “You love when I don’t.”

“…Yeah. I fucking do.”

[deebris]

From annoying to beloved

Homelander x fem!Reader

Synopsis: The new member of the Seven annoys Captain Patria with their habit of doodling in the corners all the time, but he didn't expect to end up liking it.

During the fourth season, it can be read as both romantic and platonic.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of murder, the reader has the power to control plasma, fluffy.

The reader is also kind of anxious.

Word count: 2.9k

"You gotta be fucking kidding with me." Homelander interrupted abruptly upon hearing snores in the room. "Is Noir sleeping?"

"Mmhmm," Firecracker murmured in agreement, but the masked superhero jolted awake when The Deep kicked his chair.

"Oh, shit! Sorry, guys." Black Noir straightened up, while the Captain shook his head in disbelief, unable to fathom what he had just witnessed.

"Ah, what the fuck." The blonde furrowed his brows, eyes darting around the room quickly, then fixing on a specific point when something else caught his attention. He had noticed you earlier with a notebook and pencil, but now you're not writing but drawing. The irritating sound of the graphite scraping against the paper had been bothering him for some time, but he had tried to ignore it, assuming as a newcomer you were taking notes.

He wouldn't lie. Though he found taking notes utterly stupid, he liked to think someone was that focused on what he said. Not that he needed it, just opening his lips and everyone would be watching him. But as if that weren't enough, he finally realized you were dressed in regular civilian clothes.

"Radiance, where's your suit?" He asked slowly, but angrily. "Can't anyone do anything right around here?"

You finally tore your attention from the paper, meeting Homelander gaze directly. It's not that you weren't paying attention—in fact, you were, maybe more than anyone else there. It was easier to absorb things while doodling, a way to calm your nerves. Well, that or rubbing your sweaty fingers together until they hurt.

No one ever understood. Even back in school, your parents used to receive complaints about you drawing during class, no matter how high your grades were or the fact that you were the top student.

This was your first meeting with the Seven, and the last thing you wanted was to give the impression of being careless or not caring about being there. It could be said that one of the best days of your life was yesterday when Vought sent you a notice, letting you know that the greatest superhero of all had personally chosen you to join the team. After so many "retarded" - in his words - he had been forced to accept into the Seven, Homelander saw in you, above all, the opportunity to make up for Firecracker's ridiculous weakness.

When Ashley began talking about your powers, he had no doubt the last spot was yours. It was simply brilliant. Who the hell would have imagined someone would have powers to control a state of matter? You could maneuver fire, generate electrical discharges, disrupt magnetic fields, and damn it, you could split atoms as if slicing butter.

Vought's scientists said they didn't know if it was possible, but you could destroy the damn out of a star one day. Homelander wasn't a science guy, but in one of his moments of boredom, he got curious and did some research. He didn't even know that plasma crap was all that, he thought it was a cell thing or whatever.

He always thought someone with a power as peculiar as yours, and at your age, would be arrogant or just plain dumb. But you were actually the complete opposite. You didn't speak unnecessarily, and while you seemed very aware of your own actions, you had no clue how powerful you were, or perhaps ignored that fact. The blonde thought you were an idiot for it, but he appreciated the inferiority you submitted to, especially in relation to himself.

"I don't have one, sir," you replied to his question, feeling small with everyone looking.

"What the hell?" He continued, focusing on you with incredulous voice, he couldn't believe it. How did someone end up here without even having a superhero suit?

The truth was, you had never been part of any team before, nor had you received any sponsorship during your life, or even attended Godolkin University. The only thing you had were your powers, which were indeed impressive. You never chased after any position, nor were you ever obsessed with being a famous superheroine, but lately you thought it would be a good adventure to radicalize your life. That's when you applied to join the Seven.

"How do you have a name and not have a fucking suit?" He asked, boiling with anger, fists clenching tightly behind his back.

"They gave me a name when I filled out the application," you answered honestly. That day, after they chose to call you Radiance, a random and easily commercial name, you couldn't complain much and didn't want to bother, so you left it at that.

"You'll be introduced as an official member of the Seven tomorrow, how do you not have a suit?" He took his hands off his back, moving them as he spoke to express his confusion, and for a few moments you followed it movement like a child who can't keep their attention on anything for long. "Who's handling your marketing?"

You couldn't answer, so you stayed silent and no one else dared to say a word either. You had no idea who was handling your marketing, not knowing you should even have that. You glanced quickly around the table, perhaps seeking some kind of help for the situation, but everyone looked down when they realized you were staring at them. They were enjoying themselves, and that made you exhale through your nose in embarrassment.

"You know what? Fuck it, doesn't matter." Homelander brought his fingers to his furrowed forehead, letting out a loud sigh as he calmed down. "Just... don't show up like this in public until someone gives you a suit."

"Yes, sir," you replied tensely, relieved that he had resolved the matter.

Sister Sage widened her eyes in relief when she finally saw the superhero sitting beside her. She opened her mouth to begin speaking, as she had intended from the beginning, but when some sound was about to come out of her mouth, Homelander spoke to you again, this time pointing an accusatory finger at you:

"And stop drawing, damn it," he ordered, causing you to slowly drop the pencil on the table, as if caught doing something wrong with the weapon of the crime in hand. You stared at your lap throughout the entire meeting, embarrassed for messing everything up on your first day.

When the meeting ended, you followed most people out of the room, but stopped nearby in one of the hallways. You slid down the wall, crouching in a hidden corner, and lightly tapped the sketchbook against your forehead in annoyance.

"Stupid," you murmured softly to yourself. It was so ridiculous, yet it embarrassed you so much. Maybe this first day wasn't so bad after all. You would have plenty of time to prove your worth to everyone, no need to dwell on this situation. Even though you had been corrected in front of some of the most iconic supers by Homelander himself, this situation could be overcome. It was thinking about it that kept you from letting the burning tears fall.

"I can hear you whining," Homelander voice made you jump to your feet, startled to be caught once again doing something you shouldn't. He didn't seem happy, and his expression was so intimidating that you felt like Mariah Carey performing for a crowd of Eminem fans.

He approached you in slow steps and you held the sketchtebook protectively to your chest, as if that could protect you from something. He glanced down to briefly see the object in your hands and looked at you with disgust.

"If you don't straighten up, I'll kick you out. Got it?" Everything about him exuded threat. Maybe if he weren't so imposing and powerful, that sentence would have sounded a bit like the janitor from your old school scolding you for spending too much time in the bathroom during class.

You were paralyzed standing there and all you could do was a nod. But your gesture made him more aggressive.

"Answer with your mouth. Are you mute or something?" And there he was, hands behind his back again. He seemed to enjoy that pose.

"I won't mess up, sir," you said, swallowing your saliva.

"And get rid of that. Or burn it, do whatever, just get rid of it. And I better not see you with that again," he said referring to your notebook, walking away faster than before. "These kids..." you heard him mutter distantly.

After that happened, you didn't destroy the sketchtebook, but you were afraid of being caught and kept it safely tucked away in the back of a drawer in your room. What the eyes don't see, the heart doesn't feel, right? You mentally made a promise to yourself not to use it anywhere else but here, to avoid causing more trouble.

It's been a week since you've been with the Seven, and several strange things have happened. You quickly realized that Homelander wasn't the pristine and merciful hero everyone believed him to be. But the truth was that deep down you already expected that. Everything about heroes always seemed too perfect and pure, there had to be a catch. Despite everything, you still remained yourself, never intentionally hurting anyone or getting involved in murders and conspiracies.

You were comfortable helping out with some minor crimes that Vought sent you to solve, but by now you suspected that sooner or later Homelander would ask you to do some of his atrocities. It was still hard to think about how to feel about it, but you weren't naive, you were already mentally preparing to submit to it or else be killed.

During that time, as you adjusted and interacted with the team, it didn't go unnoticed by Homelander that you were drawing on your own hand, or on napkins and on random sheets you found lying around, even though you hadn't shown up with your sketchtebook again. This was starting to wear on his last nerve, but he tried to ignore it. As long stayed as you were, without asking too many questions and obedient, he made an effort to continue overlooking your makeshift drawings.

"Meeting's over," the blond suddenly declared, interrupting another of the Seven's weekly gatherings while cutting off The Deep's rambling about his ideas.

"But I haven't even talked about the flying shark yet," he tried to defend himself.

"Shut up," Homelander's voice rang out sternly in the room, issuing a warning that the man promptly obeyed.

"Right. Meeting's over." Ashley nervously moved to gather the portfolios on the new soda advertisement she had come to present, but as soon as she touched the first folder, specifically the A-Train one, the superhero exploded in rage:

"Ashley! Get out!" She immediately dropped the folder in place and hurried out in her heels, unable to run in them. "All of you! Get out of here."

Everyone got up from their chairs, even you, and filed out through the front door, leaving the folders on the table. Sister Sage hesitated, thinking she might be an exception, but when his scowl deepened, she understood she should leave too.

With the room empty, Captain Patria took a few minutes to admire the view from the tower. He enjoyed staring at it sometimes, even when bored.

"Bunch of idiots," he muttered to himself, shaking his head in denial, indignant. If he had to spend one more minute with these morons, he would have a heart attack, even though that was technically impossible for him.

He threw his cape back as he turned to leave, looking down and not focusing on anything in particular. But his eyes caught something different from the other folders. It was obviously yours, with a huge drawing covering the text and images printed on it.

That was the first time he actually saw something you had scribbled. And damn, it was perfect. It was a drawing of everyone in the room, with him in the center looking angry. Just as he was. His ego flared up as he noticed that his figure was more detailed than the others'. You must have started drawing him first, hence had more time to detail him. The idea of you making him the main focus of this particular drawing made his pupils dilate. He used his super hearing to check if anyone else was around and secretly took that sheet for himself.

The next time he saw you drawing in the Seven's room, he couldn't help but wonder if you were drawing him again. As soon as he noticed you sneakily reaching for a pen that belonged to Ashley, he looked in your direction. The noise that used to annoy him now sparked curiosity. And after staring at you for so long, it didn't take long for you to look back at him too. The blond thought you would be embarrassed, like most people, but you just grinned as if you were used to being caught looking. And indeed, you were.

You began drawing Homelander more frequently when you realized he never caught you watching him. It was easier and avoided awkward situations with other people. After two whole weeks of drawing him continuously while taking advantage of this freedom, you felt capable of drawing his face without even needing to see a photo, having memorized most of his distinctive features.

Well, it seems he's finally noticed you.

Sometimes, when alone in your room, you took out your sketchbook and started practicing the memory of his facial features you had developed. Just like every other time, you became absorbed in the drawing, focusing only on the voices around you to understand what was being said. This was also a way to keep yourself engaged during conversations, so you wouldn't get restless from being still while being a mere spectator of everything. After all, you never participated much or gave opinions; Deep already did enough for two.

The meeting had already ended, but you stayed in your chair, even as everyone else left, to finish just a part of the hair. You thought no one would mind, and then you would leave as usual, but a voice caught you by surprise:

"Can I take a look?" Homelander asked, for the first time, using a gentle voice beside you. His expression was enigmatic, somewhat relaxed, and shy at the same time.

You turned the stack of post-it notes, also taken from Ashley, for him to see what you had drawn, fearing what he would say. You weren't ashamed of drawing people, much less of them catching you doing it. You feared because he found your habit annoying.

He observed the drawing, seeing his posture from the side, upright and imposing. He wondered if you drew him exactly as you saw him, or if it was just another caricature of reality, like those Photoshopped pictures spread around. He looked much better than he imagined, though he had that superiority complex that made him see himself as a god.

For a moment, he was offended to see his image stamped on such despicable things as scraps of paper and these damn post-it notes. Your fingerprints were also visible stains, and the paper was slightly wrinkled from his sweat. He had noticed that sometimes you drew calmly, as if you had all the time in the world, and other times it was like drawing on a boat in a storm. Today seemed to be the latter situation.

"Do you like drawing me?" He glanced at you.

"I do," you shrugged. That was the simplest and most truthful answer you could give. "Sorry, I won't do it anymore," you said, thinking he was bothered by it.

"Why?" He ignored your apology.

"You're drawable... I guess," you stared at the table, not understanding the flow of the conversation.

"And what the fuck does that mean?" He asked in a louder voice, turning to face you, obviously confused. "Is this some artistic shit?"

"It's just that you're easy to draw because you have unusual characteristics. It's a good thing," was your answer, and it inflated his chest with narcissistic pride. Unusual, that's what you said, but to him, it was like being called extraordinary.

"Next time you draw me, try using a sketchbook," he said sternly, pretending to reject your work, but deep down, he just didn't want to show that he really liked it. That statement was his way of encouraging you to continue, but at the same time, it was so ironic, considering he got mad at you just when you were drawing him in the sketchtebook that day.

"But you asked me to get rid of mine," you said simply, your voice dwindling with each word of the sentence, not wanting him to find out that you had never thrown it away.

"I'll get you a new one," he said dismissively, taking the entire stack of post-it notes with him, including the drawing, as if you wouldn't notice.

[starmapz]

what you know - ch12: too sweet || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. minor injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic attacks. mentions of difficulty eating. 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 ; 19.2k.

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

With a resounding slam, the hood of a newly-serviced Nissan latches shut. Stepping over a dirty rag and a wrench, Sukuna wipes his forehead with the back of his arm and makes his way across the shop to his boss. With a flick of his thumb to point back to the little silver hatchback, he mutters an “it’s good,” before trudging back across the shop and ducking under a half-open garage door.

His breath billows out in front of him, the chill of the air frigid on his sweat-laden skin. Fumbling in his pocket, he pulls out his lighter, rubbing his thumb over the engraved last name across the metal. It’s only his father’s last name carved into the silver, yet he swears yours is written across it too, in the way that the former scrapes and scratches once littering the surface are now gone.

Blinking out of the trance he’s found himself in, he reaches back into his pocket for a cigarette, flipping the cardstock top open, only to be met with an empty box. With a sigh, he grinds the back of his wrist into his temple, attempting to keep grease and oil away from his face by using his wrist, only to look down at his wrist and see it, too, is covered in oil.

Shutting his eyes, he leans back against the smooth concrete of the building, letting his head fall back on the wall. Letting out a breath, he blinks and watches the warmth swirl into the air, not unlike smoke. He has half a mind to try to placebo himself into believing there’s nicotine running through his system, calming his rampant thoughts.

Letting the empty box hang at his side, he stares at the overcast sky. You had been so uncharacteristically cold this morning that he finds himself going over the barely-ten-minute coffee meeting as though it’s a script reading and he forgot every single one of his own lines. Swallowing hard, he contemplates what he could have said or done differently, but at the end of the day, one thing is painfully clear to him.

You have no trust in him.

He can’t be upset with you for that.

He wasn’t in a good place when you’d gotten into an argument, but a few weeks of hovering over your contact every time his chest tightened gave him a lot of time to consider things.

It took him too long to come to the conclusion that if he’d just shut his damn mouth, maybe you would have come to him first for this job. He wonders how many people you contacted before coming to him for something that’s right up his alley. Something that he might even like.

He watches his breath billow above him again with another long exhale.

He’d tried to blame it on the alcohol, on the weed, on his stress, on the hurt you’d caused that had caught him off-guard and pierced him when you’d accused him of being inebriated in front of the kids. He’d looked to blame anything or anyone but himself. No matter how many times he tried to find blame in something else, at the end of the tunnel, it was always him, a decision he’d consciously made.

If he’s about to let you down, then he’ll dig that grave himself. He won’t let you put him there at the cost of what’s left of his dignity.

He remembers the thought running through his head. He’d been so caught up in his own anger, pain, and hurt, that he’d actively made the decision to double-down. He’d gone too far.

It’s not like Sukuna wasn’t accustomed to looking after his brothers on his own, but he’d grown so used to having you around that he hadn’t realized just how much you did for him. It was never just about the kids, or studying, or classes. It went beyond that. You went beyond that.

You made him feel sane.

“Ryomen, the Ford’s ready.”

Crimson irises slowly slide towards his co-worker, a head of raven hair peeking out from under the half-open garage door. “Be there in a moment,” Sukuna grumbles, pushing off of the wall and tossing the empty cigarette box into the trash at the corner of the building before hunching to fit under the garage door. Setting his gaze on a red F-150, he sighs as he falls into familiar motions of servicing the truck.

The next few hours pass by in what feels like a slog of sweat and unwelcome stray thoughts, but before he knows it, he’s opening the door for Uraume back at his apartment. He’s not sure he remembers the last time he saw them, a scowl drawn across his brows as they slip into his home.

“Rume!” Yuji excitedly calls, running straight into Uraume’s outstretched arms.

“I owe you,” Sukuna sighs, running a hand through his wet hair.

Uraume takes a moment to evaluate Sukuna, a frown pulling at their lips. “You don’t,” they shake their head as they always do, pulling Yuji easily into their arms. “I’m happy to help.”

Sukuna swallows hard, nodding. “Right. Thanks.”

Satisfied with his reply, Uraume nods, taking a step towards Sukuna. Little Yuji clings to their shoulders, playing with the collar of Uraume’s shirt. “So, do you want to tell me what this is all about? All of this?” The motion they make with their chin towards- well, all of him- has Sukuna’s scowl deepening.

His gaze lowers to Yuji, before flickering towards Choso fiddling with his GameBoy on the couch. It doesn’t look like the system is even on from what he can tell. He’s listening in, Sukuna’s almost sure of it.

Choosing to leave out the details surrounding the argument he’d had with you, dropping out of school, and anything else that could concern his little brother, he runs a hand down his face. “Got an interview,” he sighs, explaining that it’s at your publishing house.

Uraume’s brow lifts, as though they’re surprised. He wonders if you mentioned the argument to them, but he doesn’t have the time to ask.

“I gotta shave,” he mutters to excuse himself, his footsteps heavy with the weight of responsibility and exhaustion as he makes his way to the washroom to clean up.

Once he’s satisfied with his gelled hair and shaved face, he tucks the black button-up dress shirt clinging to his biceps into his slacks. He doesn’t exactly have the luxury of buying a shirt that doesn’t look like it’s about to burst at the seams, so it’ll have to do. Maybe it’ll work to his advantage, as egotistical as it is to think. With one last onceover of his appearance, he flicks off the lights and makes his way back out to the kitchen.

Yuji and Choso are watching Uraume intensely as they teach the two boys how to fold paper shurikens. His eye involuntarily twitches as he envisions himself getting hit by a stray flying star when he gets home tonight. Yet another way for the boys to pester him.

“I’m headin’ out,” he grumbles, grabbing his keys and throwing his coat and boots on. Before he can slip out the door, Uraume grabs the back of his jacket, stopping him in his tracks.

Sukuna turns on his heel to face Uraume with frustration flickering in his gaze, but they interrupt before he can snarl whatever meaningless words were about to spill in his irritation. Their voice is low enough to keep out of earshot of his brothers as Uraume sternly tells Sukuna they won’t leave until he’s told them what’s going on, really. “You look like shit,” they add. “And not in the usual way.”

“Ouch,” he mumbles, but there’s truth behind their words that he can’t deny. He simply nods and pulls from their grip with a hostile tug, shutting the door behind him.

He remembers you being grateful that your office is on a bus route, and now he’s grateful for it too, given that it’s not exactly within walking distance and he’d prefer not to take a cab to work every day if he gets the job. As the bus comes into sight, he boards it, popping some change into the box at the front before taking a seat with his portfolio in hand.

He winces as the bus hits a pothole, the sudden realization of an oncoming headache spreading a grimace across his lips. With everything and nothing on his mind all at once, he supposes it only makes sense.

Taking a step off the bus into the brisk air, he follows the route on his phone down a block and a half before finding a small unmarked office building. Standing at three stories tall, the building sports a faded ivy green roof that doesn’t fit this decade, or even the last one, for that matter. The windows are all covered in a layer of mud and snow, while the walls of the building themselves are weathered from the elements quite harshly.

His eyes scan the blank sign at the entrance, before falling to a buzzer. A wavy paper with smeared ink is taped to the edge of the box with the names of eight businesses and the numbers to dial to reach them spread across it.

Dialing the number of the publishing house, Sukuna buries his hands in his pockets. There’s no noise as he waits and he finds himself nearly punching in the number again when a cheery voice picks up, inquiring how they can help.

“Here for an interview,” Sukuna states simply, his eyes sliding to the door as the lock pops. Following the signage, he makes his way up a set of stairs to the second floor, pushing his way through the corresponding door.

Within the office, everyone seems to be in somewhat of a mad dash. He’s sure there’s lots of work to be done, but it has an air to it of being amiss. He supposes that’s likely the impending loss of a client you’d mention hanging over the heads of the employees.

The publishing house isn’t particularly big, focusing primarily on local authors and young readers’ books. Despite the run-down appearance of the outside of the building, there’s a homely feel to the office itself. It’s well-lit with a bright oak floor sprawling beneath his feet into a combination of desks strewn across the floor, printers, stacks of paper and filing cabinets, and a few offices along the walls away from prying eyes. Plants line many of the desks and the far wall is covered in a mural of art from books that Sukuna can only assume the business has published. He’s pretty sure he even recognizes a character or two from books Yuji’s brought home from the school library.

Taking a step towards the reception desk, Sukuna shrugs his coat off in an effort to make a good impression with his outfit.

A woman with curly black hair looks up at him with a grin, using what could only be described as a customer service voice as she tells him to take a seat and she’ll inform Maya of his arrival. He can only assume Maya’s your boss, so he quickly shakes his head, asking for you, instead.

The receptionist eyes him curiously before rolling her chair back a few feet to poke her head into an office.

“Someone’s here to see you.”

The look on your face as you peek out at him in your usual pencil skirt and white blouse nearly kills him. Your eyes don’t light up as they once had, your face neutral for the split-second you actually meet his gaze, only to look away as though you can’t bear to keep eye contact, turning back into your office for a moment.

Swallowing feels like an effort with the way his throat tightens.

He hears a chair rolling and chatter from within the office you’d disappeared back into before the clack of your black heels across the floor makes its way to him. Getting to his feet, he’s forced to wonder what’s going through your mind as your eyes scan him, but apart from the obvious discomfort on your face as you continue to avoid eye contact, he can’t get a read on you. His heart sinks as you greet him in a tone that speaks strictly of business.

“You look nice,” Sukuna attempts to break the ice, but the twitch of your brow as you glance back at him doesn’t instill confidence.

“Thanks…” You whisper, beginning to lead the way towards the back of the office. You thread around a number of desks, greeting a few colleagues on the way before finally turning towards him in front of a door labelled Maya.

“So listen,” you begin with a sharp inhale, turning to face him and steeling yourself. “My boss values experience above everything else, which I know you don’t have in the industry, so put your focus on your portfolio, okay?”

Sukuna nods, opening his mouth to thank you, but you’ve already turned away to lead the way into the office. Fuck, if you’d just give him one goddamn moment. He follows after you, his eyes scanning the office for anything to help him with the interview itself.

Light shines onto the desk in the center of the room through the large window in the back, while books with colorful spines line the shelves pressed against the walls. An old typewriter sits on one of the higher shelves, a few plants dotted here and there for some added flair.

What really catches his attention is the photo of your boss kneeling down in front of a lake with two kids with bright smiles. They look about the same age as Yuji and Choso, and Sukuna has to tear his gaze away, blinking as he’s reminded of the life and experiences his brothers never got.

Running his tongue over his lower lip, he sets his attention on your boss. She’s older, with long, straight black hair and curtain bangs. A pair of glasses sits along the bridge of her nose, while a sleek gray suit-jacket is fitted perfectly to her form. She sits at the desk with an air of perfect control in spite of the underlying issue that Sukuna knows plagues the office.

As he approaches with a dossier filled with his portfolio and resume tucked under one arm and extends his other in greeting, he watches the judgment pass over her features. Sukuna’s come to expect it these days, the way eyes will roam his tattoos, silently coming to conclusions about him.

“This is Sukuna,” you introduce him as Maya takes his hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Sukuna.” She takes a seat, motioning to the chair opposite her, while you sit at his side. There’s something comforting in knowing you’re there with him, even if the feeling is fleeting as you straighten, a smile that doesn’t meet your eyes plastered to your face.

The interview is fairly standard, though Sukuna clearly doesn’t have the experience that your boss is looking for. Still, he sets the dossier on her desk in hopes that she’ll reconsider. If he’s lucky, between his portfolio and the possible loss of a client, she’ll give him a shot at the job anyway.

Maya pulls the folder towards her, flipping it open and pulling out a mix of anatomy pages, sketches of characters his brothers like, inked cleanly in fineline, and the real standouts, the fully realized characters within worlds. The first page has Alice in Wonderland characters, while the tail of the Cheshire Cat curls neatly around the image as though it belongs on a book cover. The second has the Hungry, Hungry Caterpillar in a more crafty style crawling up a tree. He’d pulled the drawings together late last night in an effort to impress her.

Your boss’ brows raise, clearly more impressed by Sukuna’s actual work than either his standard interview answers, or his underwhelming resume. Her reaction, although minute, makes the extra few hours he’d spent awake working on those spreads worth it.

“These are great,” she compliments, leafing back through the pages until her finger catches on a page, separating two pages that had stuck together. Sukuna’s eyes widen slightly as he realizes the Sonic drawing that Yuji had colored with the half-finished Shadow had somehow made its way into his portfolio.

“That’s, uh, not meant to be in there,” he gruffs, his brow furrowing.

But it’s caught your boss’ attention in a way the rest of the art doesn’t. The scrappy way that Sonic is colored in comparison to the rest of his sketches that use primarily charcoal and graphite, tells of only one thing- a kid. Her whole demeanor shifts as she evaluates the way the cheap marker bleeds through the paper.

“Do you have kids?” She asks genuinely, backtracking quickly as she realizes that’s not exactly the kind of question you ask during an interview. “Sorry, don’t feel obligated to answer that.”

Sukuna sucks in a breath. “No, but I look after my brothers.”

Something softens in her eyes, as though memories of her own children- the ones in the photo Sukuna spotted- are running through her mind.

“May I ask how old they are?”

“Five and twelve.”

Sukuna wonders if you know that none of his employers knew about the kids until he had to get the letters from them for the case. He wonders if you know that by divulging his part of his life to your boss, to someone who doesn’t know him, he’s trying to show you that he’s changed. He’s trying to put in more effort, trying to give more of himself to you.

Maya simply smiles, a warmth held within her features that Sukuna’s not generally regarded with. “Do you have any experience working digitally?”

No. “Yes.”

Maya nods. “Did she fill you in on the deadline for the first seven projects?” She queries, shooting you a quick glance.

“She did.”

“Do you think it’s a possibility to have them done by tomorrow?”

Sukuna’s gaze slides over to you briefly, admiring the way the sun seems to make your skin glow. Swiping his tongue briefly over his lower lip, he nods. He’ll have to work through the night, but it’s not like he hasn’t done that before. 

In his periphery, your shoulders sag in relief, grateful that all of your hard work won’t be for nothing. He knows he’s lost your trust, but even so, seeing your relief makes this all worth it.

Maya excuses you to discuss details of the arrangement with Sukuna, so you slip away with a nod. Shutting the door behind you, you let out a breath, making your way back to your office. Well, if it can even be called that.

The room is decorated to the nines with Yuki’s favorite books and photos of her and her partner at pretty much every huge travel destination you can imagine. It’s hard to believe she’s not even that much older than you, yet she’s got so many more life experiences. At least, ones worth hanging photos of.

A table that acts as your desk is pushed up to the front of hers, with an extension cable running up onto the table to plug in your monitor and the laptop the company had provided you. It’s nothing fancy, but you prefer it to being at one of the open desks littering the center of the office space. It gives you a semblance of privacy and some silence to work in, apart from Yuki’s occasional humming.

The blonde’s head raises as she spots you, a hopeful glimmer in her eyes. “Puh-lease tell me it went well.”

“I think so,” you sigh, plopping down in your chair and letting it roll back a bit as you stare at the ceiling.

“Thank god, I swear Ayana just didn’t work on our books on purpose,” she groans dramatically, following suit as she pushes away from her desk, her chair rolling back until it hits the wall. “So who is he, anyway? Doesn’t seem like you know him well,” she comments, pointing the tip of a pen in your direction.

Momentarily forgetting about your makeup, you shake your head before pausing, staring down at your fingers that now glimmer with the makeup you’ve smudged. Doing your best to salvage it without being able to see your appearance, you wipe your pointer delicately around your eyes with a long sigh. “He used to be a friend,” you explain, deciding to leave it at that. It’s easier than over-analyzing the way he looked at you as you led him to your boss’ office.

For all your time spent keeping a straight face around him, you feel like you need an entire month-long vacation just to recover. And that hardly added up to twenty minutes. You know it’s for the best, but it’s hard not to give in when your heart still aches for him, even if your mind holds onto his misgivings still.

“Oh? Ohhh?” Your colleague pushes herself towards her desk, leaning over it and clasping her hands together eagerly. “Girl, spill.”

In hindsight, you probably shouldn’t have mentioned that you knew him.

“It’s not a big deal, we just had some disagreements and grew apart,” you shrug, feigning an air of nonchalance that clearly disappoints Yuki, but at least she believes you. You’re not sure you can bear the thought of picking at your wounds that had only just begun to scab over and heal. Especially not with Sukuna only a couple of offices away.

It’s not a case of being civil, you’re more than capable of being mature, and you’re sure Sukuna is, as well. That doesn’t mean you forgive him though. After all, you need to protect yourself first and foremost.

Yuki pouts, staring in disappointment at the colorful arrangement of books on one of her many shelves. “I was hoping your story would be at least a ten minute distraction from work,” she grumbles.

Shaking your head with a smile, you chuckle at your colleague. “Come on, your projects aren’t even that bad.”

In a fit to prove you wrong, Yuki is quick to pick up a stack of paper, wiggling it in the air. “Do you want this pile of knock-off Baby Shark books?”

Your eyes scan the name when she quits waving the paper around. Little Whale. Huh. With a shake of your head, you point to your own pile. “I’m good,” you chuckle, about to comment on some of the strange publications sitting in your own to-do list when someone clears their throat at the door to your office.

A painfully familiar ex-friend is leaning against the doorframe to your office, an iPad and laptop in one hand, with a pile of paperwork in the other. You assume that’s a good sign.

Good for your work, anyway.

And, if you’re being honest with yourself, there’s a part of you that hopes he enjoys the job, given that he’ll have the opportunity to do something he may actually enjoy for a living. No matter how much pain the thought of all your arguments brings you, you don’t think there’s a world where you don’t care for him, so you force a tight-lipped smile as you face him.

“Looks like it went well. Congratulations, Sukuna.”

His brow twitches, but he nods. “Appreciate you thinkin’ of me.”

You can only nod. “Um, yeah… Let me know if you need a hand with anything.”

Sukuna opens his mouth to say something before deciding against it and nodding. He pokes his tongue into the side of his mouth, pushing off the doorframe. “Have a good day, prin-” He catches himself, feigning a cough to cover up his slip. If it can even be considered that. He repeats himself, this time finishing his sentence with your name.

“Yeah, you too, Sukuna,” you wave him off quietly, turning back to your desk and burying your face in your hands.

Yuki fiddles with her pen, simply staring as she waits for the sound of the front door closing. “Soooooo… Are you that awkward with every person you just grow apart from?” She pushes, nosy as ever.

“It wasn’t that awkward,” you grumble, rolling your shoulders as you sit up and attempt to ward away the fact that Yuki is painfully right, and it’s probably for the best that things stay that way.

“Girl, everything about that was painful.”

With a sigh, you let your head hang.

You’re in for an interesting ride at work from here on out.

–

Sukuna shoves his front door open with his foot, his hands otherwise full. Shutting the door with his shoulder, he kicks his shoes off and dumps the laptop and iPad onto the table, alongside the printed client instructions for the covers and the paperwork he would need to formally fill out- all before going in tomorrow. His eyes slide across the apartment to Uraume scowling in concentration at the TV as they lose brutally to Sukuna’s brothers in MarioKart.

“Kuna!” Yuji cheers excitedly, shooting him a glance despite the fact that he’s effortlessly destroying Uraume.

“Winning, Yu?” Sukuna asks in a mild tone, though Choso isn’t too far behind Yuji. Even so, Choso doesn’t seem all that interested in playing. But lately, when does anything interest him?

Still, he’s also still beating Uraume, who can’t even spare a single word towards Sukuna, lest they get beaten by more computer players.

Which is saying something, given that they’re in sixth place in the race.

Out of eight.

“Loser,” Sukuna snorts, completely breaking their concentration as Uraume falters going over a jump and lands themself in last place as they fall off the stage.

“You’re a menace, Sukuna,” they huff as the podium comes up on-screen, entirely devoid of Uraume’s character.

“I don’t think that was my fault,” he comments with a sly smirk, though his eyes are clouded with stress. It’s strange how hardly an hour with you has him completely and utterly exhausted, where once he used to find comfort. Now, he’s stepping on eggshells around you, trying to find an opening where you might give him a chance.

Ignoring him, Uraume gets up from the couch to take a look at the iPad and laptop on the table. “You got the position?” They ask, smiling as they face him. “Congratulations, this looks right up your alley.”

“Yeah, they were pretty desperate,” he hums, running a hand through his hair. “Got a long night ahead of me, though. Seven covers due tomorrow morning, then I gotta head to the auto shop.”

Uraume’s brows draw together in concern. “Please tell me you plan on quitting a couple of those jobs.”

“I already sent a text to the supermarket, I got one more shift. Gonna talk to the shop tomorrow about changin’ my hours.”

Uraume frowns, though. “Don’t you think that’s still a bit much?”

“Need the money,” he shrugs simply, casting a glance at his brothers.

Uraume sighs, relenting to Sukuna’s stubbornness as they follow his gaze. “Can I have a word with you?”

Sukuna hums in acknowledgment. “Cho, homework. Yu, brush your teeth and get in your pajamas.”

“But it isn’t even late!” Yuji whines, whipping around from his place on the couch like this is the ultimate betrayal.

“I’m not asking ya to go to sleep, just get ready.”

Yuji groans dramatically, throwing his head back as he trails after Choso.

“What’s up?” Sukuna asks, turning back to his friend.

“You look like shit. What’s going on?” Uraume finally has the opportunity to confront him.

Way to sugarcoat it. Sukuna lets out a long sigh, running his hand through his hair as he plops down on the couch. A few stray pink strands fall down into his eyes, his hair having grown painfully long. The couch dips as Uraume takes a seat beside him, sitting with their hands on their lap. They push their snowy hair behind their ear, patiently awaiting Sukuna’s response.

“It’s nothin’. Just having a tough time with the brats lately,” he brushes them off, eager to bury his racing thoughts in the seven novel covers he had to put together.

“And the fight?”

Sukuna huffs, pressing the ball of his palm to the bridge of his nose. “Did she tell you?”

“No,” Uraume shakes their head. “But it’s pretty obvious.”

Dragging his hand down his face, Sukuna mumbles, “great.” He leans against his fist, his elbow propped up on the arm of the couch as his gaze shifts towards his friend.

“Will I need to keep pushing, or are you planning on telling me what happened?” They ask, their tone hardening.

“It’s not a big deal, I’m fixing it.”

Uraume lets out a prolonged sigh, crossing their arms in exasperation. “I’m not leaving until you stop bottling everything up. The last thing either of us needs is a repeat of when we first met. I can’t be here to peel you out of bed every time you need it.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightens. “Shit’s not that bad,” he gruffs, keeping his gaze fixed on the coffee table. He reclines into the couch, continuing to lean on his bent elbow as he kicks his feet up onto the table.

“Maybe not now,” Uraume shrugs, “but that doesn’t mean it never will be again.” Shuffling closer to him, Uraume’s voice softens. “Mental health isn’t a straight line, Sukuna. You can’t expect to always be fine just because you are now.” This garners Sukuna’s attention as his gaze shifts to examine his friend, frustration glimmering in the crimson of his irises. “And for the record,” they add, shrugging. “You still look like shit. So I don’t believe you, anyway.”

He grits his teeth, irritation flashing in his eyes, but he knows better than to push Uraume away, keeping his frustrations contained as best as he can. The last thing he needs is to lose the last person who doesn’t resent him.

“Yeah, fine. Fine.” He drags his hand down his face, sinking further into the cushions and crossing his arms as he explains the fight he had with you. He remembers it all too well. Remember the words that cling to the outer edges of his mind, taking root like the prettiest of flowers that he could never bear to pluck.

Uraume listens with an increasing frown, blinking a few times as Sukuna recounts the events of the last month, still choosing to leave out the details of the lawsuit. He doesn’t need Uraume, Toji, or anyone treating the kids with pity. At least, he convinces himself that’s the reason he won’t tell anyone.

Withholding what may be their tenth sigh in simply the last few minutes, Uraume rubs at their temples. “I understand that you were hurt, Sukuna, but she didn’t deserve that.”

“Don’t tell me shit I already know,” Sukuna hisses, having slumped back so far into the couch that he’s staring at the ceiling.

“If you know that already,” Uraume continues, unphased by his frustration. “Then why didn’t you reach out to her?”

With a drawn out inhale, he rolls his eyes. “Broke her trust. That was my last chance,” he mutters, his words dripping with irritation. Between this conversation, his own actions from a month ago, and his growing frustration with his current day, he’s becoming more and more desperate for a cigarette. He should have stopped to grab a box on his way home.

“You’re dense.”

God, he really needs that cigarette. He lifts his head from the cushion, scowling at his friend. “What?”

They sigh again. “Sukuna, you know I have a great deal of respect for you. I don’t want to downplay just how far you’ve come from when we first met and just how much you do for your brothers. So with that out of the way,” their face drops as they deadpan, “you’re an idiot.”

Sukuna huffs, diverting his gaze from Uraume. He already knows he’s about to be pissed off.

“She said you weren’t being yourself, correct? That she likes the ‘you’ that she got to know?”

“Yeah, and?” Sukuna pushes, irritation now pumping through his veins as he careens towards flat-out anger.

“It isn’t my place to air out someone else’s business, but I want you to think about that, Sukuna,” Uraume speaks with an air of earnestness that Sukuna isn’t accustomed to. They may have a more formal way of speaking than Sukuna, but they tend to keep their tone fairly lighthearted and casual most of the time, especially with him.

“Think about what?” Sukuna’s brow furrows in vexation.

Uraume’s already on their feet, tossing their coat over their arm. They cast a glance at him, briefly shaking their head. “Think about what she meant when she said that.”

He shakes his head, his mind racing to catch up to the meaning behind Uraume’s words as they head for the door. “The fuck do you mean? Uraume-” Sukuna pushes to his feet, catching up and reaching over them to keep the door shut. Their brow raises as they crane their neck to look up at him. “What the fuck do you mean?” The air of desperation in the usually low and disinterested timbre of his voice is unbefitting of him, causing Uraume to raise a brow.

“You know exactly what I mean, Sukuna.” They can only watch as Sukuna straightens, searching their face for any sign of a lie. When he doesn’t find anything, he scowls at the floor in thought. “Go get your work done.” They turn back towards the door, shoving his hand aside and slipping out without another word.

With his jaw hanging slightly ajar, he feels his heart accelerating.

I’ve seen the real Sukuna, and I like him, I- I like you.

That’s what you said. There’s no way he’s misremembering that. It’s replayed in his mind too many times to be wrong.

He blinks, staring at the door. Absently reaching into his pocket for a cigarette, he shuts his eyes at the realization he hasn’t magically come up with a box in the last five minutes.

With a sharp inhale, he walks slowly to the back of the apartment, pushing his hand across the paperwork he’d set down earlier. The papers slide across the smooth wood of the table, everything within his portfolio, alongside instructions and HR paperwork for the position now spread across the table in no particular order.

His heart pounds in his ears as he picks up the page he was searching for, something his gaze had ghosted over only for a moment while he’d gone through the paperwork with Maya after you left. Towards the bottom of the page is a category with a box titled ‘referral’, alongside your signature. His tongue runs over his bottom lip as he’s left unable to do anything but stare.

You like him. He knows that. You’d been close for a while, able to bounce off of one another as though you’d known each other for an eternity. You’d stuck by his side through his worst days, calming him down and picking him up when he needed it.

You were his closest friend. Maybe even closer than he’d ever been to Uraume or even Toji back in the day. Of course you like him. Is he dense for assuming that’s all you meant? He wants to believe the answer is no, but Uraume is rarely wrong, as much as he hates to admit it.

Bringing a hand up to scratch at his chest, he tears his thoughts from their spiral as something moves in his peripherals. Yuji runs over to tug at Sukuna’s dress shirt sleeve, putting the full force of his tiny frame into pulling at Sukuna.

“Kuna, come look at our shu- um-” he pauses, though his attempt to tug Sukuna along doesn’t cease. “Our sh- our shu… our ninja stars!” He finally settles on a word.

“Shurikens,” Sukuna corrects him with his usual mild expression plastered on his face. He humors his brother, finally allowing the little boy to pull him into the kids’ room. Choso is blankly working on math problems at the desk, but before Sukuna’s given the chance to make a comment about the origami stars, Yuji lets go of his sleeve, picks up a shuriken, and whips it at his oldest brother with the full force of a five-year-old. 

Sukuna scowls as the paper hits him square in the abdomen, causing little more than a wrinkle in his shirt, but the older brother snarls regardless. “Cut that out, brat.”

Yuji’s eyes light up at the sight that’s so startlingly normal for their house, that you’d almost forget about the lawsuit, or Choso and Sukuna’s plummeting mental health. Hell, for a moment, even Sukuna briefly forgets as he gives chase to his brother, who slips between his legs back into the living room where he can run around the couch.

The little boy doesn’t anticipate Sukuna simply running over the couch to get to him, shrieking with wide eyes and thrilled giggles as his brother scoops him up off the ground, holding him like a limp sack of potatoes.

“Nice try, brat,” Sukuna huffs, his voice surrounded by amusement that thrills Yuji. The boy laughs in delight as he wriggles around in an attempt to free himself, though it’s completely fruitless against Sukuna’s bulk.

Heading back to the boys’ room, Sukuna tosses Yuji onto his mattress, watching as the boy laughs in delight. Choso doesn’t share the same amusement, but something familiar flashes through his eyes as a hint of a smile pulls at his lips.

In an attempt to capitalize on the moment, Yuji tries to hop off of his bed to make way for another ninja star, when Sukuna lifts his foot to block the kid. “Later, Yu. Your brother’s gotta focus. Can you read a book or somethin’?”

Yuji pouts, staring back at the bookshelf that separates the boys’ beds. “But I’ve read them all.”

“I gotta get some important work done, can you read Dragonology again or somethin’? I’ll get you a new book soon if you can do that for me.”

Yuji glances back at the large red spine with gold sparkling text across it at the bottom of the book shelf, weighing his options. A new book must appeal to him, as he seems to decide it’s worth it, much to Sukuna’s relief.

As the boys quiet down, Sukuna lets out a sigh, changing into a hoodie and returning to his own work. Momentarily forgetting his previous train of thought and conversation with Uraume, he packs all the paper together, tapping the stack on the table to straighten it out before he grabs the laptop and iPad, heading for his bedroom. He leaves the door open a crack for his brothers as he begins leafing through the client requests.

The first one is for a children’s horror novel with animatronics, which he can certainly work with. Sliding a paperclip off the first request, he boots up the iPad, getting himself set up for the first design. The first animatronic is a bear with a hat, which Sukuna realizes is strikingly similar to a character he’s seen from Choso watching YouTube.

Scowling, he takes a look at the second request. A group of kids solving mysteries with a cat in a big van. Huh.

Another flip of a page to the third request. A series about a girl who tames dragons. Tames, not trains. Otherwise, that would be copyrighted. Sukuna chuckles at the realization that everything seems to be a knock-off. He wonders if his brothers would like this sort of shit. Maybe someday his brothers would be able to bring home something he illustrated.

Legally Nondescript Monsterology. It’s not catchy, but he thinks he can make it work.

Regardless, Sukuna works hard putting together the covers in a timely manner, while trying to retain quality. They may be knock-offs, but he still wants to give it his all given that he just quit one of his jobs. Not to mention, you recommended him, and he can’t let you down. Not again.

It’s then that his thoughts come racing back to him suddenly. You like him. He scowls down at the screen of the iPad, staring at the first cover with a glower that isn’t meant for the mildly creepy animatronic bear peeking around a corner in a small diner.

As if on autopilot, he digs through his pockets to pull his phone out and snaps a photo of the nearly-finished cover on the iPad he’d barely figured out to send to you. His fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment, before sending the photo with the caption ‘do you think your boss will approve’.

He can’t think of a time, even over email, that he ever waited much longer than a few minutes for you to reply, though he doesn’t get that luxury this time around. Do you reserve that for friends? Or was that a side of you that only he was privy to?

Is he so dense, even now, that he’s unwilling to admit the fact that you might have had feelings for him?

Setting his phone down on the drawing table, his leg bounces relentlessly as he leans back in his chair.

Had he unknowingly led you on when he kissed you? He couldn’t have. You’d gone for chicken strips at a little diner after talking through that, you were both just horny and confused, he was sure of it.

Strip Joint. The diner you visited that night. The background of the art for the first novel is a carbon copy of it, he realizes. A complete accident, but it’s exactly what he pictured when thinking of a diner. He blinks at the drawing, so caught up in wondering how he hadn’t realized what he was doing that he nearly misses the vibration of his phone.

7:49 PM Princess || She’ll like it! Looks good.

His head falls forward against his phone with a sigh. You’re using periods at the end of your texts with him. Great.

Looking through your message history with him, he scrolls until he finds the night you stayed at his place, in his bed. Your texts were so bubbly, so full of life. Did you like him, then?

Did you have feelings for him?

Why does that knowledge make Sukuna’s arm hair stand on end?

Setting down his phone, he runs his hands through his hair in exasperation. He’s in for a long night, but the light at the end of the tunnel is the knowledge of how much he’s getting paid. Not just as a salary, but upfront for the overnight covers. Enough to cover whatever fees he was worried about with the lawyer, and whatever book Yuji decided on, as well as something for Choso. Maybe even a dinner at a restaurant.

And maybe, if he’s lucky, an ounce of your trust back.

–

The text you receive from Yuki the morning following Sukuna’s interview has you reeling in relief, thankful that Sukuna pulled through, and not only that, but your books are being pushed through the rest of the publishing process, and Sukuna is onboard full-time.

Well, that last part may not be something to be relieved over, but at least your hard work wasn’t for nothing.

Besides, there’s no way everything with Sukuna will be completely and utterly weird, right?

Your first Tuesday working with him, he was only able to make it for half of the day, so your paths only crossed a handful of times. Still, every time you came across one another seemed to have you both walking on eggshells. It’s not like you can’t both be civil and professional, sharing a wave or smile here and there and discussing business when necessary, but you can’t help but feel like he shouldn’t be coming to the intern when his iPad won’t connect to the company’s file cloud.

“Can’t you ask Felix?” You ask as Sukuna pokes his head into your office for the second time just since you arrived.

Although he remains stoic at your response, something flashes in his eyes. “He’s not at his desk.”

“He’s out this week,” Yuki comments with a yawn, giving you the bare minimum of her attention as she works on another Baby Shark knock-off book.

“Right,” you mutter under your breath, shooting Sukuna a tight-lipped smile as you get to your feet. “Let me see,” you hold your hand out expectantly, pulling up the cloud service’s settings on the iPad to see if you can find the issue.

After tapping through it a few times, you chew on your lip. “Did you try… turning it off and on again?” You’re met with silence from Sukuna, and when you tilt your head to look up at him, you find him staring at you with raised brows and a look that says that he absolutely already did that. “Sorry,” you murmur, going back to tapping at the screen somewhat aimlessly. You hum in thought as you click through the settings, tapping your manicured nails rhythmically along the back of the iPad as you hold it. “Hold on.”

Leading the way out to the admin computer, you login and search through permissions, before finding that Sukuna’s account simply hasn’t been added to the cloud function yet. He’d likely only submitted through Maya so far.

“That should fix it.” You offer the device back to him with a neutral smile.

He types in his password and nods. “Yeah, I owe-” He pauses, examining your expression with an intensity that has your hair standing on end. “Thanks.”

You nod, turning to head back to your office when Sukuna hesitantly spits out an “I’m sorry”.

Blinking, you pull your lower lip between your teeth once more, only halfway facing him as you wait for him to elaborate.

“For-” He pauses, shutting his eyes, before shaking his head. “For bothering you.”

And with that, he just walks away. You stare after him for a long moment, but the feeling of your heart slowing to a normal rate in your chest is a relief as he gets further away. The feeling that replaces the pounding in your chest is equally unpleasant though, as something akin to yearning wraps its claws around you.

You can try all you want to convince yourself that it’s just because he looks painfully attractive with a black button-up and sleeves rolled up to his elbow in the sluttiest way imaginable, or the way that it hugs his biceps so tightly that you can practically see every vein in his arm, but you’re not ignorant to your own emotions.

No, it’s not the damn shirt, or the slacks that hang low on his hips. It’s not the fact that he cleans up well when he needs to, or the way he’s got his hair pushed back with gel to keep it in place. It’s not even the way he seems to put you on a pedestal, as though no one in this office is capable of anything but you.

It’s the fact that something is clearly different now, and you’re not oblivious to the fact that he’s trying to show you that. He’s still as stoic and mild as ever, but he’s sharing more of himself. Even little things, tiny corrections, little changes in the way he talks not just to you, but to everyone, none of it is going unnoticed.

Does it really make a difference, though? Can you even forgive him after everything?

As he sits down in Ayana’s old office, now his, you shake that thought from your head. That’s not the question you need to be asking yourself. It’s whether you should forgive him.

At the end of the day, you need to make yourself your priority, and you’re not sure if that includes him.

–

The office is fairly quiet as you slip past reception after your morning lecture on Thursday. Yuki isn’t at her desk as you drop your bag alongside the table that’s pushed against her desk for you. Getting yourself set up for work for the day, you pause at the sight of a warm drink at the corner of your desk.

Smiling to yourself, you get to work, pulling the cup towards you.

“Hey, girl,” Yuki greets you, making her way around the room to her chair.

“Hey, thanks for the drink!” You beam at her.

She shakes her head. “Wasn’t me. I just got back from a meeting.”

Turning the cup towards you in search of a name, you come up blank, finally taking a sip of it.

Your exact order.

“Huh, I wonder who it was,” you shrug, feigning nonchalance as though a certain tattooed man isn’t the only thing occupying your mind, causing your heart to somersault in its cage.

“Ooh, do you have a secret admirer?” She leans in with a curious grin, tapping her acrylic nails on her desk. “I bet I could do some digging-”

“I’ll ask around at lunch,” you interrupt, taking another sip of the drink in an effort to dissuade her. The last thing you need is the queen of office gossip herself digging into your business with Sukuna. Yuki’s a sweetheart and you love her for that, but there’s nothing that she loves more than gossip, and as the intern, the last thing you need is to be at the center of it.

She groans dramatically. “You’re no fun.”

Playfully rolling your eyes, you point at her stack of paperwork. “Go back to Adolescent Shark or whatever you’re editing.”

She wrinkles her nose in mock offense. “I’ll have you know it’s Baby Whale.”

The small office is filled with your collective laughter as you fall into the familiar routine of work. You hardly get much of a chance to really begin digging into work before Yuki’s dragging you along to the break room for lunch, though.

The break room is fairly gray compared to the rest of the office, the only real hints of color being the plants that line the top of the wooden cabinets that hang along the far wall. A stainless steel fridge and microwave sit at the far end of the cabinets and counter, housing most of the staff’s meals.

“What’d you bring?” She asks curiously, peering over your shoulder to the tupperware you’re putting in the microwave.

“Just stir fry,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand. “Nothing fancy.”

She hums as she takes a seat, beginning to recount how her meeting this morning went. You take a seat shortly after with your food warmed, looking up to find Sukuna across the room, a few tables away.

He’s gripping a matching paper cup to the one sitting on your desk barely an hour ago, his gaze trained on it. Faint stubble dots his chin and his hair hasn’t been styled, but otherwise you’re reminded that he still cleans up fairly nicely, a new-looking red collared shirt hanging over his frame that fits him better than the black one from Tuesday. It’s still pleated across the sides, as though he didn’t iron it, though you don’t exactly take him for the kind of guy to do that.

As if sensing you looking at him, his eyes flicker upwards, meeting yours with an expression you don’t recognize. He blinks a couple of times, examining you before tearing his gaze away as he evaluates the room full of your co-workers. Casting you one last glance, he silently returns to staring at his coffee cup.

You shut your eyes for a moment as your heart twists at the sight of a very obviously dejected Sukuna, who, as usual, has no lunch. Staring down at your stir fry that’s beginning to look less and less appealing, you find yourself prodding at a pepper. Why do you so badly want to give him your lunch? How is it that your mind is telling you over and over how bad of an idea it is to let him back in, while your heart hollows itself out for him again, reopening old wounds?

You continue to prod at your lunch while Yuki fills you in on her day, eventually leaving for a meeting, alongside everyone else until the room is silent and near-empty.

Near-empty.

Sukuna fixes you with an intense gaze, that same unreadable expression drawn across his features.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you spit out in an effort to fill the air, rife with tension.

“Anytime.”

The silence hangs heavily between you both, weighing down on the man who can’t even seem to bear to look at you. The weight of the settled quiet, once filled with so much comfort, presses down around you suffocatingly as Sukuna finally meets your gaze with a scowl. It doesn’t carry anger or irritation as it usually does, but something else. Something different.

“I’m sorry,” Sukuna gruffs, his voice raw with emotion.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, fixing him with a look of uncertainty. The distance between your tables feels so painfully real, wedged between you like a chasm, unable to cross it.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he continues, his eyes flitting desperately across the table as though he’s searching for words he’d rehearsed, only to watch them scatter across the surface.

If he’s being honest with himself, that’s exactly what’s happening. He’s watching uncertainty and hurt spread across your features and everything he’s spent the weekend putting together for this moment is falling to pieces in front of him. Every rehearsed and well-thought-out phrase falling to pieces. He swallows hard in an effort to stop his throat from tightening, anything to keep his voice steady.

He grips his empty cup harder, the frail paper bending beneath his fingers as he grows frustrated with himself.

“Fuck,” he hisses, mostly to himself as he scowls down at the empty cup. His grip tightens again and the lid pops off, rolling across the table and down onto the floor, drawing your attention to it as it collides with the leg of a chair near yours, tumbling to a halt. “Had all this shit I wanted to say, and it’s all fuckin’ gone,” he grumbles, huffing in exasperation.

Taking in his words, you nod slowly. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too.” Your voice is mousey as you fiddle with your fork.

The tattooed man scowls deeply at you, shaking his head. “Why?”

You sigh, attempting to gather your thoughts as everything within you races. Your mind, your heart, your nerves. You’re not sure which one’s winning, but you’re damn-near desperate for your mind to slow down, if nothing else. You can live with your heart pounding in your ears and the slight tremor in your hands, but it would be nice to at least think straight.

“I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I shouldn’t have accused you of… Of being drunk and high around your brothers.”

And damn it, Sukuna’s envious that your words come across so eloquently, even as you chew on your lip and avoid his gaze.

“I don’t care,” he mutters in a barely masked huff of frustration.

Straightening your posture, you tilt your head in confusion. That isn’t exactly the reaction you were assuming you would get to an apology, at least not with the way he’s been seeking you out at every turn.

Finally catching on to your confusion, his eyes widen. “No, fuck, I don’t mean it like that.” He pushes to his feet, leaving his cup behind as he shuffles past the chairs haphazardly tucked under the tables between you, until he can find a spot across from you at your table. “I just meant- I mean- it doesn’t matter.” He scowls at the table. “What you said that night. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care anymore.”

Your eyes narrow as you try to make sense of the man who, for as long as you’ve known him, has never been good with words. “You forgive me?”

“Shit, yeah. That’s what I mean.” The burly man scratches the back of his head. “Look, it hurt n’ all, but I’m over it.”

You set your fork down in your stir fry with a sigh, absently chewing on your nail. The sleeve of your blouse falls down your arm to the elbow with the movement. “Still, I never meant-”

“You kept them.” Sukuna interrupts, stopped dead in his tracks by the sight of two woven bracelets around your wrist. His brow, raised in shock, slowly twitches into a furrow.

Humming, you follow his gaze to the bracelets tied to your wrist. “Oh,” you whisper, fiddling with the frayed end of a red piece of twine on your wrist. “Yeah, I didn’t have the heart to cut them off.”

Sukuna swears it takes the breath straight from his lungs.

Shit.

He always knew you loved his brothers, but it’s been a month now since you’ve seen them. A month of lies telling his brothers you’re busy, a month of expecting never to see you again. A month of thinking any care you once had not only for him, but also for his brothers is gone.

Now, every single one of his thoughts and expectations are muddled all because you didn’t have the heart to take off a couple of bracelets. Maybe to anyone else, it would be an act of clinging to something that isn’t there, but to Sukuna, he wonders if maybe, just maybe, if he plays his cards right, he can fix what he broke.

If only he wasn’t so shit with his words.

“Why?” He gruffs.

Why?

It’s almost as though he’s outside of his own body, watching some idiot fumble with words.

“Oh, um- I don’t know,” you mumble. “I guess it just felt too final, and your brothers are so sweet.”

Felt too final? Did you not want things to end?

“They miss you.”

Oh, great. And now the same dumbass is using his brothers to guilt-trip you.

Your lips twitch into a frown. You’re not sure what you’re meant to do with that information when he knows you still care for them now, just as well as he clearly knows that you’ve been avoiding him.

“Listen, I’m fucking sorry,” he begins, balling his hand into a fist  in his lapp as he repeats himself again. “I was drunk, and high, and hurt, and I took that out on you. It was a mistake. I never meant any of it, I was…” he leans on the table, rubbing his eyes with the balls of his palms. “I was just tryin’ to hurt you back.”

You take in his words, nodding slowly as you try to understand where he’s coming from. “Why?”

Sukuna shakes his head, not quite sure himself. He raises his hand in a loose shrug, letting it fall onto the table with a thud. “Fuck if I know. Guess I just thought that if I was gonna waste my last chance with you, then…” he trails off, realizing just how stupid he sounds. “I dunno, princess.”

Your heart slams itself at full force into your rib cage, giving you whiplash as his nickname for you hits you like a truck. In truth, there’s a part of you that had expected him to move on like nothing had happened. Sukuna may be a more vulnerable person than he lets on to most, but you were there when he fought with Toji. How many years were they friends? So, why did your four months with him make his reaction so different?

At a loss for words, all you can do is blink at him, your jaw ajar.

Clearing his throat, Sukuna lets out a frustrated huff. “Guess I just thought that if I was going down, I was bringin’ you down with me.”

Rubbing your hands down your face, you narrowly avoid smudging your makeup. “That’s… dumb, Sukuna,” you mumble, your voice muffled behind your palms.

He waves his hand through the air again in some form of a frustrated shrug, letting it fall hard against the table. “Yeah, well.” His leg bounces beneath the table as he examines the wall. “You know I’m a dick.”

You exhale through your nose in something akin to a wry laugh. It’s a start, and Sukuna will count that as something of a win.

Silence settles between you both again, and Sukuna doesn’t know how to get his point across. He doesn’t know how to fix things because that’s not what he does. He leaves a path of destruction wherever he goes and lets down everyone he knows.

“Let me make shit up to you,” he offers, wincing when you visibly hesitate.

Your heart pounds in your ears, practically begging you to give in, and you’re thankful for your mind finally catching up to feed you reasonable doubt. “I don’t know, Sukuna. If that’s how you act the moment something goes wrong, how am I supposed to trust you?”

He nods, his leg bouncing impossibly faster beneath the table as his blunt nails dig into his palm. Scratching harshly at his chest with his other hand as though it might dull the ache, he considers leaving you be, but Uraume’s words hang above his head, pinning him to his seat.

Did you really have feelings for him? Do you still?

“Gimme another chance,” he pleads, tone laced with desperation. He wipes the back of his arm across his forehead, the room feeling a good ten degrees too warm as he considers what he can do, if anything, to get you to forgive him.

Your lips press into a thin line as you stare down at your uneaten lunch. “Sukuna, I…” you trail off, inhaling a long, deep breath. “You can’t ask me for that, you know that was your last chance. It’s not fair to me.”

Sukuna leans his full weight onto the table, sick to his stomach. Bile rises in his throat and he’s forced to swallow hard in an effort to keep himself in check, but it only makes him want to throw up more.

“Shit,” is all he can mutter, harshly rubbing his eyes. Maybe he should have done this after the trial, waited until he could really get his thoughts in order. Would it change anything? He’s not sure, but he supposes there’s no real point in filling his mind with ‘what ifs’ that make him feel worse.

His stomach churns as he watches you hesitantly begin to stand.

“Just… Let me prove myself,” he begs, standing up as well.

“Sukuna…” You sigh as he unknowingly tugs at your heart strings. You care about him a great deal still, but you can’t abandon a month’s worth of rationale just because you’re clearly not over him.

“I’m not askin’ for things to go back to normal, just… stop avoiding me.” He swallows hard, coughing into his elbow as his throat dries at the mere concept of you saying no. “Please, princess. I’m beggin’ you, here.”

Glancing past him at the office that you need to get back to in order to get some work done, you find yourself sighing. “I can do that,” you agree with a forced tight-lipped smile.

Sukuna lets out a breath of relief, shutting his eyes. “You won’t regret it,” he breathes out, running a hand through his locks to push stray strands of pink from his sweat-laden forehead.

You can only shoot him a wary look as you put your fork in the sink along the wall of cabinets. Returning briefly to your seat, you push it in and contemplate something, before sliding your tupperware across to him.

“Please eat something,” you murmur, slipping past him as quickly and quietly as you can manage.

He knows he won’t be able to eat anything, but as he stares down at the stir fry you’d clearly made for yourself, he finds his heart rate accelerating further, only it’s not from stress. No matter how small, some part of you still cares about him.

–

Your first week working with Sukuna had been… a lot. A lot to handle, emotionally, and a lot to process, and your second week only left you further confused. Although there were no emotionally charged discussions about your falling-out, he seemed to be trying anything that might get him an ounce of trust.

A warm drink sat at the corner of your desk once again when you arrived on Tuesday, still warm, still your exact order. You forgot your charger? Take his. It’s not overbearing, by any means, he gives you space and respects your privacy, but he jumps at any opportunity to help. It’s startlingly kind, maybe even sweet, and you’re not quite sure what to make of that. 

It’s not as though his personality has changed, he’s still stoic and mild as ever, he’s just… listening. Paying attention.

And maybe it makes you a sucker, or naive, but it warms your heart.

Still, you remind yourself this is just one day. Things could change when he grows tired of putting in effort.

Thursday rolls around to the same series of events, although you remember your charger. The difference this time is that a pastry accompanies your drink.

Blinking once, you realize you’ve been staring at your monitor in thought for longer than you’d care to admit, letting time get away from you. With a small shake of your head in an effort to regain your focus, you manage to get in a solid hour of work and complete the short young adult novel you’re working on.

Hitting print, you push up from your desk, your heels clacking across the wooden floors as you make your way to the printer, standing in line behind one of the senior editors waiting for his work to print. He pulls up a stack of paper, moving aside as he checks the pages over. Picking up the first page in the printer, you eye the number in the corner.

“Oh, um, I think you might have my first couple of pages,” you smile kindly as you turn towards him. Dressed to the nines in a full three piece suit (a bit much, really), he raises a brow at you, flipping to the last couple of pages.

“Looks like I do,” he agrees, though his eyes rove the page rather than handing it back. His brow twitches, a hint of a smirk pulling at his lips as he continues reading through your work. “I’m seeing a couple of errors here, intern. Tell you what, you go get me a coffee, and I’ll work through your mistakes.” He tilts his head, a strand of long blonde hair slipping from his loose bun.

“Thank you, Reggie, but that’s Yuki’s job, we can manage just fine,” you dismiss him, outstretching your hand expectantly.

His smirk grows, his eyes trailing the length of your body. “I think it would be valuable to learn from a more senior editor than Yuki, don’t you think?”

Keeping your composure, you shoot him a kind smile. “I’ll let Maya decide that.”

“Don’t you wanna learn from the best?” He takes a step forward to nudge you, your first two pages held firmly within the stack of paper he’s keeping in his hand opposite you in an attempt to purposefully rile you up. “C’mon, I’ll do you a favor, and you can do me one. Just go grab me a coffee,” he insists.

Putting some distance between you, you stand your ground. “That’s not my job, Reggie.”

“You’re an intern, aren’t you? ‘Course it’s your job,” he grins, bringing a hand up to scratch at the unkempt facial hair on his chin.

Heavy footsteps fall in quick succession across the floor in your direction, just as you’re about to give up on dealing with Reggie and simply reprint the first couple of pages of your document.

“Is coffee outside of your skillset?” Sukuna gruffs, his sharpened gaze set on the printer as he waits for something as well.

Reggie grins in agreement. “Ooh, can the intern not figure out the machine?” He chides, chuckling to himself.

Straightening, Sukuna turns to face him, towering over the blonde in both height and stature. “Wasn’t talkin’ to her,” he grunts, crossing his arms over his chest. This shirt may not look like it’s about to burst at the seams as he makes a display of showing off his muscles, but it still does him a lot of favors.

Reggie’s brow twitches into a scowl, his attention flickering between you and Sukuna. He scoffs, rolling his eyes as though he can’t possibly believe that someone like Sukuna would be siding with you. “Whatever, man. I can make my own coffee,” he grumbles, turning away.

“I need those pages, Reggie,” you remind him before he can get far. He pauses, fighting with himself for a moment before shoving them into your awaiting open palm and turning on his heel to walk away.

With an exasperated sigh, you turn back to the printer to grab the remaining stack of paper. “Thanks, Sukuna. He thinks he’s better than everyone just because his job title has ‘senior’ in it.”

Sukuna grunts, shooting a glare at the back of the blonde’s head as he disappears into an office. “Fuckin’ prick,” Sukuna grumbles under his breath, turning back to the printer. “Just needed to print somethin’ anyway. Not a big deal.”

As the printer doesn’t seem to have anything queued, you check the bottom of your stack, pulling out the one page that doesn’t belong and raising your brow in a challenge. “You needed to print the cloud storage login?”

Sukuna’s cheeks dust in a faint red as he jerks his hand forward to pull the paper from your grasp. “That was an accident,” he grumbles quietly, staring at the page like it’s betrayed him. “I meant to print a different tab.”

You can’t help the way your lips quirk upwards into a hint of a smile at his obvious white lie. “Right. Well, thanks anyway.”

“Mhm.”

You shoot him a thankful polite smile, stepping backwards a couple of times before turning back to your office with your paperwork clutched to your chest.

His chest rises and falls slowly as he takes in the scene, considering a polite smile another win. At least he had some sort of highlight to his week before his meeting with his lawyer tomorrow.

–

Thankful for Friday’s arrival, you, Shoko, Uraume, and a couple of classmates you’re less familiar with all decide to spend one final night relaxing before you would need to focus on studying for midterms. One last night of relaxing and self-care before the onslaught of exhaustion and cramming began.

Popping a piece of popcorn into their mouth, Uraume sighs. “I took way too many classes this semester,” they groan, seated cross-legged on the floor between you and a close friend of Shoko, Iori Utahime. From what you can tell, she’s friends with Uraume as well, and they share a handful of classes.

“How many did you take?” Iori asks, leaning back against her palm on the floor of Shoko’s place. She uses her spare hand to toss her long brown hair over her shoulder, keeping it out of her face as she takes a long drag of a blunt, passing it to Uraume.

“Six,” Uraume chuckles to themself as they take the blunt while Iori gapes in disbelief.

“I thought four was a lot,” you comment with a shake of your head.

“I just wanted to be done this year,” Uraume sighs. “Toji, Atsuya, and I wanted to graduate at the same time.”

You’re sure Sukuna was included in that group once, but Uraume’s refrained from mentioning him since the argument. Although you never spoke to them about it, you’re fairly sure they’re aware of it. They are Sukuna’s closest confidante, after all.

“How’ve you been managing?” You ask, dunking your hand into the popcorn bowl sat between the three of you. Uraume offers you the blunt, but you shake your head as you toss more popcorn into your mouth, dragging the bowl a bit closer.

Uraume pauses for a moment, in thought. “Let’s just say that if I could go back in time, I would definitely give myself a lecture for thinking this was a reasonable amount of courses,” they chuckle, shaking their head.

“At least we can study for a few of them together,” Iori offers, met with a cheery nod.

As they discuss something to do with a science course, you glance down at your phone as it vibrates, expecting a message from Kento, or maybe Satoru or Suguru.

You tilt your head at a text from Sukuna, simply saying ‘hey’. Deciding to focus on the here and now, you shut off your screen and tune back into the conversation, even if it’s a bit beyond what you ever learned in any science course.

Your phone vibrates again as you nod along to something Uraume is saying, barely a moment passing by before it’s vibrating once more.

Your brows pull together as you glance down at the preview for the texts. ‘could you do me a…’ and ‘please’ are the previews for the following two texts. There’s a strange sense of uncertainty held within the idea that Sukuna’s pleading with you over text that makes your stomach churn. Finally unlocking your phone, all three messages come into view.

9:43 PM Kuna || hey

9:44 PM Kuna || could you do me a favor

9:44 PM Kuna || please

Tilting your head at the message, you glance up at your surroundings. Shoko is sitting cross-legged a couple of feet away chatting with a couple of her classmates as she pours herself a shot of vodka while Uraume and Iori continue to pass a blunt. You’ve been hogging the popcorn for a bit and your mind is lightly buzzed from the shots you’d shared with Shoko. Surely whatever Sukuna needs can wait, given that you aren’t exactly fit for doing anyone any favors.

Not to mention, although you’d agreed not to avoid him, this feels as though it’s crossing the barrier of proving himself into territory you’re not ready for.

But then again, maybe he just needs a hand with something work-related when you have a moment.

Shaking your head to keep yourself from overthinking, you shoot back a message.

9:47 PM You || I’m busy right now, can it wait until tomorrow?

His response is immediate.

9:47 PM Kuna || ya no provlem

9:47 PM Kuna || sorry

Shrugging, you lock your phone and toss a kernel of popcorn at Shoko to get her attention. “Pour me one too?”

She grins, pouring you both shots. You clink the glasses together and tip your heads back, enjoying the familiar sensation of the burn of alcohol running down your throat. It simmers in your veins, your buzz becoming more comfortable as the world around you dulls. Shuffling closer to Uraume and Iori, you join their conversation as it shifts from physics to gossip surrounding one of Toji’s teammates. Toji had been filling Uraume in on every little detail, enthralled in the drama himself.

It can’t even be twenty minutes later when your phone is vibrating in your lap again. Mindlessly unlocking your phone without looking at the message previews or who sent it, you read the new texts.

9:59 PM Kuna || im sorry

9:59 PM Kuna || i lied

9:59 PM Kuna || it cant waut

10:00 PM Kuna || please cab u just text back when u see this

Your brow furrows again as you read through the texts that carry a strange sense of urgency. Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you contemplate what to say.

“Everything alright?” Uraume queries, nudging you. Your scowl dissipates as you stare up at them questioningly, having missed their question. They tilt their chin at your phone. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh,” you glance down at the screen, shaking your head as you shrug. “I don’t know, maybe.”

“Is it Satoru?” Iori chimes in. “I swear every time he texts me, he makes it sound like it’s the end of the world,” she groans, throwing her head back.

Chuckling, you shake your head. “He’s like that,” you agree, “but no, it’s not him.”

“It’s Sukuna,” Uraume states matter-of-factly. You wonder for a moment if they saw your screen, but the grimace they sport as they continue tells you otherwise. “Isn’t it?”

“Yeah… How’d you know?”

Uraume shrugs. “You get this look when it comes to him.”

Your jaw drops. “What look?”

“Like-” Uraume tries to mirror your worried scowl, covering their lips in laughter when you shoot them an irritated look.

“I do not!”

Uraume puts their hands up in surrender. “Don’t blame me. Toji pointed it out.”

Groaning, you drag your hand down your face. “I’m gonna kill him next time I see him,” you grumble, your attention returning to the lit screen in your hand when Uraume’s laughter dies down. You read back over the messages, sending the most direct response you can, although you get the sensation you know the response already.

10:03 PM You || Is something wrong?

It’s mere seconds before his reply comes across.

10:03 PM Kuna || no

10:03 PM Kuna || yes

Scowling at your phone in confusion again, Uraume spots your expression and shuffles closer to you. “Is everything okay with him?” They ask, keeping their voice down.

“I’m not sure. He’s acting a bit weird,” you whisper back to them.

Uraume frowns, their earlier teasing tone now turned to completely serious concern for their friend. “Truth be told, he hasn’t been doing very well. He seemed off the last few times I saw him.”

“Distant?” You question.

Uraume tilts their head in thought. “Yeah, distant. Not all there.”

Tapping your thumb along the side of your phone, you stare at the date. The court date is quickly approaching, and as much as he likes to think he can handle things on his own, you know better. Even Choso knows better.

And Choso is twelve.

10:04 PM You || What’s wrong?

10:04 PM Kuna || i need help

Staring at your phone in bewilderment, genuine concern settles in. The world must be ending for Sukuna to be asking for help. Not a favor, not something he’ll find a way to pay you back for. Help.

10:05 PM You || What’s going on? What’s wrong?

You attempt to repeat your question, hoping he’ll give you some sort of explanation.

10:05 PM Kuna || call me

Your heart begins picking up its pace as you push to your feet and move to the back of the room in an effort to keep the call private. Hitting the phone icon, you’re connected to Sukuna almost instantly, but you don’t hear anything over the line.

“Hello? Sukuna?” You cover your other ear with your palm, wondering if maybe your connection is weak.

“Hey. Can you talk?” He croaks out. Each word is pushed out as though it’s a hurdle, his breath coming in pants and wheezes.

“Sukuna, are you having a-”

“Yeah,” he interrupts before you can finish your sentence.

Your entire demeanor softens, unable to be upset with him.

“I know you’re pissed at me,” he struggles through his words, inhaling sharply. “But I didn’t know who else to ask.” He exhales shakily.

You cast a glance at Uraume, who’s watching you intently. Though you know they helped Sukuna a few years ago to work through his mental health, they don’t strike you as a particularly gentle person. A good friend, but maybe not the person you’d call while struggling with anxiety.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” you soothe, tucking your phone between your ear and your shoulder in an attempt to make a motion resembling a steering wheel convey a silent message to Uraume. They tilt their head, so you point at the phone and mouth the word ‘Uber’ to them. Their brow raises as the same urgency in your eyes transfers to theirs. They’re on their phone in an instant, ordering an Uber for you. “Breathe in and hold, I’m grabbing my jacket and I’m on my way.”

Slipping over to Uraume, you whisper a ‘thank you’, and walk past them and Iori on the floor, headed in a rush towards the door. “Breathe out.”

“Do you need me to come with you?” Uraume asks urgently, following after you, but you shake your head, making a motion that you’ll text them. They nod solemnly, leaning over to Shoko to fill her in on your sudden departure as well.

“Breathe in and hold again,” you instruct softly but firmly, wrapping your arms around yourself as you wait for the Uber. Pulling your phone away from your ear, you check the text Uraume sent you with the Uber’s license plate, sharing your location with them just in case.

“Breathe out,” you murmur over the phone, “I’m on my way.”

You hear his shaky exhale, and the hoarse croak of his voice as you crawl into the Uber.

“Just need you to talk, I know you’re busy-”

“Just let me help, Sukuna,” you insist, interrupting him. He doesn’t reply, relenting as you continue to walk him through his breathing. “Can you get to the door to unlock it?”

He grunts, and you hear shuffling on his end for a moment, continuing your breathing instructions until the shuffling comes to a stop. “It’s open.”

“Keep breathing for me, okay? We’re just pulling up.”

Thanking the Uber driver, you keep the line open as you dial up to his apartment. You hear the buzzer ring for a split second on his end, before the door clicks. Making your way up to his apartment, you jog through the door quietly and carefully, shutting it behind you and dropping your boots and coat off in a pile at the door.

The apartment hasn’t changed much since you were here, though there’s paper all across the house and it seems the boys have been dabbling in origami based on the paper ninja stars and what you can only imagine is meant to be a crane sitting on the coffee table.

Padding quietly through the living room, you hold the phone up to your ear. “Are you in your room?”

“Washroom,” he grunts before hanging up.

Shoving your phone in your pocket, you carefully open the washroom door, shutting it quietly behind you. The fluorescent overhead lights are on, illuminating Sukuna leaning against the wall near the bathtub at the back of the room. His knees are bent to his chest, his elbows propped up on them, his hands burrowed in his tangled hair. The landline phone used to let you in with the buzzer is discarded on the floor to his right.

The sound of the door quietly clicking behind you catches his attention as he peers past his wrist at you. His skin is gaunt, his appearance unkempt and jaw rife with tension. He looks downright exhausted, and you can only guess how long he’s been sitting in this position alone, debating whether he should reach out at all.

You may not know it, and there’s a high likelihood that Sukuna will never tell you, but he’s been in this position before. On the floor, in a washroom that no longer feels like home with a crushing weight pressing down on him. The difference this time around is that when he calls the one number that may numb his pain, he’s not met with a voicemail.

While that voicemail may be dear to him for reasons he can’t bear to think about, the gentle reply of your voice on the other line brings relief that the voicemail never could.

His dad would be proud of him for reaching out.

No matter how upset with him you still are.

“Hey,” you softly greet him, kneeling down until you’re perched on your knees. Your breathing instructions must have helped a bit, because he’s not as bad as he sounded earlier. His chest rises and falls a bit too quickly still, his skin clammy with sweat, but he’s more present than the day outside his building.

Gingerly, you reach up to move his hands from his hair. He doesn’t protest, his jaw slightly ajar as though the air is physically seeping from his lungs.

“Keep breathing deeply,” you murmur, letting him hold one of your hands as you use the other to move his sweat-drenched hair from his forehead. “You’re burning up, give me a moment, okay?”

Running your thumb gently over the back of his hand a couple of times, you push to your feet and slip into the hall, grabbing a hand towel from the linen closet. Slipping quietly back into the washroom and shutting the door behind you, you turn on the tap, running the towel under cold water and wringing it out.

Sukuna blinks his eyes open, desperation and guilt swirling within the crimson as he watches the way you wipe his forehead. Moving the hood of his black hoodie away, you rest the towel around his shoulders, pressing it against the back of his neck.

His eyes raise to stare at the ceiling as you plop down onto your knees in front of him and shoot him a reassuring smile. “Keep breathing for me,” you encourage him, taking a hold of his hand again and rubbing soothing circles into his knuckles. “In… and out.” You continue to encourage him, keeping as calm as you can despite your own concern and uncertainty.

Your gut twists in pain at the sight of him so vulnerable, so genuinely hurt that he’s willing to ask for help. You care too much to deny him when he’s clearly in pain, even as you struggle with thoughts of the complicated relationship you have with this man. No matter how upset you are with him, you can’t bear the thought of him suffering alone.

Sukuna’s head falls forward, his eyes on his knees as his breathing finally begins evening out, the room no longer feeling claustrophobic.

Giving him a moment to catch his breath, you remain silent as you rub his knuckles. Once he seems more present, his gaze flickering around the room and taking in his surroundings, you finally speak. “What happened?”

“Had a meeting with the lawyer,” he rasps, shaking his head as he flips it back in an effort to keep his hair off his forehead.

“It didn’t go well?”

Sukuna inhales sharply, holding his breath for a moment. “Went fine. Just need to see if I can get a letter from Maya, have her sign off on my salary n’ shit.”

“That’s good,” you nod along. “What happened after that?” You push him for details, hoping he’ll get whatever’s on his mind out into the open.

He slides his hand out of yours, running it through his hair with a sigh. “The kids overheard me askin’ if I would have any more time with them if I lost.”

Your brows tie together in sympathy. “Choso…?”

Sukuna shakes his head, throwing his hand through the air in an exasperated shrug. “He shut down. I dunno how to help him, I-” he pauses, dragging his hand through his hair again. A stray strand of salmon falls down over his forehead and into his vision. He likely hasn’t had a chance to get his hair cut in a while, and it seems it’s bothering him as much as Choso’s is, though you can’t imagine Sukuna will let you put his hair up like his little brother does. “You’re so much better with them than I am.”

You blink, your lips parting at his confession. “You’re good with them, Sukuna.” Before you can continue, he interjects with a snarl.

“Keepin’ a roof over their heads isn’t being good to them!” He growls, teeth gritted in frustration. At the sight of your dejection, he backpedals quickly. “Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t-” He throws his head back in frustration, hitting his head on the wall hard enough to wince. “Shit-” He mutters, rubbing the back of his head.

“Sukuna,” you get his attention with a soft smile, pulling him from his spiraling frustration.

He fixes you with a scowl, his eyes flitting around your face. His shoulders fall as he relaxes, leaning his head against the wall gently this time. “Sorry, princess.”

“It’s okay. Just talk to me,” you encourage him, watching as he reaches out to fiddle with your fingers. Biting your lip, you will your heart to relax, grateful he can’t feel your pulse as it skyrockets from his touch.

You’re not as over him as you thought, but you suppose you knew that already.

“Cho locked himself in the brats’ room and Yuji wouldn’t stop crying. Don’t think he knew what was goin’ on.” Sukuna sighs, rubbing his free hand harshly over his face. “Cried until he fell asleep. Choso’s probably still awake, but I can’t get into his room without pickin’ the lock,” he mutters, scratching at his chest as the familiar weight of guilt and stress begin to press down on him again, his breathing growing somewhat erratic.

“Where’s Yuji asleep?” You whisper softly.

“Moved him to my room.”

God, no wonder he was struggling. “How long has this been going on?”

Sukuna’s thumb runs over your nails, focusing on the glossy finish of your manicure. “The lawyer left at six.”

You blink at him, your lips parting. “And Choso locked himself in his room right away?”

Sukuna nods, the tension in his shoulders rising again. “Couldn’t get Yuji to stop crying, couldn’t get Cho to open the door.” He scratches at his chest, stress settling deep within him once more as the room begins to close in on him. He lets his head hang, his hair falling down over his forehead once again. “I dunno how you got Cho to open up a bit, but I fucked shit up again.”

You press your lips into a thin line, comfortingly squeezing the tips of his fingers before pulling your hand from his. His eyes dart towards you, watching intently as you grab the towel from the back of his neck, heading back to the sink. Wetting the towel with more fresh, cool, water, you wring out the excess and kneel back down in front of him.

He doesn’t protest as you run the towel over his forehead, replacing it over the back of his neck. He rolls his shoulder as water rolls down his spine, but the sensation is somewhat welcome as a distraction from the tightening in his chest.

“You know,” you begin, adjusting the towel in an attempt to keep the water from running down his chest too. “You may not realize it, but you are good with them.” Sitting back on your heels, you evaluate your work before meeting his eyes, which are watching you intently. “You know their favorite foods, what they need when they’re sick, what they like to play and watch.”

“That’s surface-level shit,” he grumbles.

Reaching out softly, you let him fiddle with your fingers again. He doesn’t even seem to notice he’s doing it.

“You might think so,” you shrug, “but I bet those things mean a lot to them. You’re encouraging Yuji’s love of sports, and Cho’s passion for cooking. You can’t tell me the gifts you got them for Christmas didn’t mean anything to them, or you.”

Sukuna blinks, glaring at the bathtub to his left like it’s personally offended him.

“Do you know how carefully Yuji colored that Sonic you drew? Or how excited they got when you played Nerf with them?”

He doesn’t reply, his jaw tightening as he recalls the Christmas eve spent with you and Uraume. Slowly, his hand moves to engulf your much smaller one, squeezing. Your heart is in your throat at the feeling of his thumb smoothing over your skin. There’s no world where this is good for your progress in getting over him, but it doesn’t matter, so long as he isn’t struggling on his own.

“I know you’re trying to be their parent, but that’s not what you are, Kuna.” He jerks his head towards you, his stomach fluttering as the nickname he’s grown more fond of than he’d previously realized slips so effortlessly from your lips. “I know you have the responsibility of a parent, and they realize that too, they’re smart, but they also need their brother.”

His tongue slides across his lower lip as he listens intently.

“They need the Sukuna who can turn off ‘parent mode’ and toss a basketball around with them, or beat them in MarioKart because that Sukuna can’t bear to lose to a five-year-old.”

Sukuna rolls his eyes dramatically as though you aren’t right.

“They love you, Sukuna.”

He inhales sharply, clinging to the deep breath like a lifeline. He knows his brothers care, but it’s hard to feel that it should be him taking care of them when he can’t even get his little brother to stop crying.

It stands as a cruel reminder of the question he couldn’t answer all those years ago from the social worker.

How the hell was he supposed to provide emotionally for his little brothers when he can’t even handle his own emotions? He’d had to call someone in a desperate attempt to escape the pain.

Not just anyone, but you, who he’s already feels an immense amount of guilt towards.

Sukuna leans his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Is that enough?” He mumbles, more as a rhetorical question than something he expects you to respond to. Yet in your infinite wisdom and kindness, you have an answer for that, too.

“You don’t have to be the only person they can turn to. It’s okay to need help, Sukuna.”

Tired pupils with dark circles weighing them down fall to his knees. He reaches up to scratch his chest with his spare hand, inhaling deeply. “I can’t just call you every time Choso’s acting off,” he mumbles, pulling his hand back to rest on his knees as he withdraws into himself at the idea of calling on the one person who doesn’t want to hear from him.

Well, one of the two. He can’t imagine Toji is his biggest fan either.

Pulling your hands back into your lap, you stare at your manicured nails, as though they might hold the answer. “Maybe not,” you agree, “but you don’t have to try to figure it out alone every time.”

He glances at you through his peripherals, dragging his fingers through his sweat-slicked hair. His lip curls in disgust at the feeling.

“Why’d you come in the first place?”

“Here?” You query, tilting your head.

Something flutters in Sukuna’s stomach, threatening to eat him from the inside out, leaving a taste on his tongue that’s so sickly sweet he thinks his body is tricking him into thinking he’s about to upheave the contents of his stomach. Yet, there’s no bile at the back of his throat, this is something different entirely. And that thought makes his chest tighten again.

Clutching at his chest, he nods in response, fighting to keep his breathing even.

“Just because I haven’t forgiven you doesn’t mean I want you to go through this alone.”

Somehow, that makes this hurt even more for Sukuna. He can’t help but feel as though he’s manipulating your overwhelming kindness, although that’s not the case. You’re too sweet for him, too sweet for the world he comes from and lives in.

Clutching the edge of the bathtub, he feels his heart accelerating, his breathing following shortly behind.

Catching a glance at the way his chest is rising and falling faster, you step in to stop his panic before it gets unbearable. “Talk to me, walk me through your thoughts,” you speak gently, running your palm back and forth along the length of his forearm.

Staring at the ceiling with a lidded, exhausted gaze, he shakes his head. “Just tryin’ to catch my breath,” he croaks, unwilling to admit that he has half a mind to kick you out if it only means he won’t be fucking up the strange agreement that’s settled between you both like a rickety bridge, as though your hand isn’t already outstretched to him on one end of it.

But Sukuna’s nothing if not dense.

“I think some fresh air would do you good,” you suggest, pushing yourself up off your knees. You extend your hand, but he doesn’t take it, opting to use the leverage from pushing his hand against the edge of the tub to get to his feet. He throws the towel in the sink on the way out.

The tattooed man trudges after you as you lead the way to the balcony, peering outside at the snow covering it. Jogging to the front door, you grab your boots and coat and Sukuna’s, offering them to him as you throw your jacket on. He slips his feet into the shoes in a half-assed fashion, leaving the coat unzipped as he keeps his focus on breathing evenly.

Heading out first, you use your boots to shove some of the snow aside. Sukuna follows after you, leaning over the railing. As he does that, you grab a couple of chairs from the kitchen, placing them facing one another on the balcony, before shutting the door.

The cool air on his skin is refreshing, the bite of the faint breeze seeming to lessen the weight on his chest, just a little bit.

Tugging on his jacket sleeve, you point to the chair behind him. “Take a seat.”

Grunting, he slides down in the chair, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat.

“Any better?”

He nods, staring up at the sky as he slumps back in the chair. It’s faint from the city’s light pollution, but a few stars twinkle at him in the distance. You follow suit, sliding down in the chair to rest the back of your head against it, staring up at the few visible stars. Your foot brushes against the tip of his boot, nudging it a few times as you shuffle in your chair to get comfy, zipping your coat up.

“Can you believe those are all stars?”

Sukuna clears his throat, his breathing evening the longer he spends out in the frigid night air. It’s warmed up enough over the past week that it’s bearable, though he does run warm. He hums in agreement, letting out a long, and surprisingly steady breath.

“How far away do you think that one is?” You point at the brightest one in the sky. Sukuna cranes his neck to see what you’re pointing at, serving as a great distraction from his thoughts.

His voice is still hoarse as he replies. “I think that’s Jupiter. Maybe Venus.”

You raise your head to look at him, curious. “It’s a planet?” As you watch his eyes dart around the night sky, you’re grateful to find that he seems more at ease. His features are only illuminated by the dull glow of the light from the entrance of the apartment that you’d flicked on upon arrival and whatever lights decorate the street. The dull yellow glow makes the darkened circles beneath his eyes painfully obvious, though you notice they actually seem a bit better than when you’d met him at the coffee shop last week. Maybe the new job is doing him good.

“I think so. It’s been a few years since I took Astronomy,” he shrugs in his seat, nudging your foot. “The ones that don’t flicker are planets.”

“Huh, I never knew.”

Sukuna hums, pulling his hands out of his pockets to fold them over his chest. As your eyes return to the sky, he lifts his head. You haven’t changed much in the time since he last saw you, though you don’t look as worn thin as you had been when you were helping him. He wonders if maybe your life is better with him sidelined, where you can focus on yourself.

Yet, he knows that it’s that mindset that landed him in this position, staring at a crater that separates you both where once he could reach for you freely. He’s not enough of a fool to let himself think that again. Uraume’s words still ring in the back of his mind, serving as a constant reminder that he might not know you as well as he once thought.

He remembers thinking once that you were a sun, while he was little more than a star about to burn out. Maybe he had run his course already with you, and if that was the case, he supposes that’s fine, but if a planet that produces no light can shine brighter in the night sky than the stars themselves, maybe he does stand a chance at standing alongside you again.

He’s not really sure what he means or wants by that, either. He just knows he longs for your presence. Longs for this, whatever it is. This sense of tranquility with you.

As the silence stretches on with Sukuna quietly observing you while untangling his thoughts, your eyes fall from the sky to meet his, a small smile gracing your lips. You tilt your head questioningly, a familiar feeling of warmth flooding through Sukuna. Cute.

“You didn’t deserve all the shit I said.” It comes out in a flurry, before Sukuna has a chance to mediate his own words.

You avert your eyes, your smile dissipating. You know this conversation is a long time coming, and the one in the break room was only the beginning, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

“I… Appreciate that,” you tread carefully. Sukuna can see your walls coming up, carefully guarding your heart where once there were none. Walls erected to guard you from him.

“I know you didn’t see me as a project, or whatever the hell else I said,” he adds, staring down at his forearms. He takes in a long breath, watching it billow out in front of him. “I shouldn’t have used your scholarship, or all that Prom Queen shit against you. You work fuckin’ hard, I was just trying to hit where it hurt.”

“Because I hurt you?”

He shrugs. “Guess so. It’s a shit excuse, though.”

You examine his expression, taking a moment to take in his words. There’s a level of maturity held within his tone that you don’t recognize, though it suits him. He’s still the same Sukuna, with serrated edges and bared teeth, ready to leap at the opportunity to jump into a fight, but he’s quick to reel himself back and approach things just a bit more level-headed.

Scratching at the stubble that dots his jaw, giving him a five o’clock shadow, he sighs. “I know I said it the other day or whatever, but I’m sorry. I was an asshole.”

You nod a bit, taking in his apology. “I’m sorry for making you feel like I was trying to fix you. I shouldn’t have been so hard on you about little things, and I shouldn’t have accused you of endangering the kids. I was out of line.”

Sukuna just shrugs. “I know you meant well. Don’t think there’s a mean bone in your body.”

You crack a hint of a smile. “Well, it wasn’t very nice of me.”

Sukuna shrugs again, looking back up at the sky. “You’re fine, princess. Don’t worry about it.”

Your heart betrays you, flipping in your chest as he calls you princess again. Chewing on your lip, you stare at his sharp, stubbled-dotted chin. Disheveled beyond belief after his long and shitty day, he still looks handsome as hell. You can’t deny just how attractive he’s always been.

“What do I need to do?” Sukuna gruffs, clearing his throat as it tightens with the fear that you could shoot him down in only a couple of words. Less, if you wanted.

“What do you mean?”

“To get things to go back to normal.” His gaze shifts to a car pulling into the parking lot below the balcony.

You take pause, considering for a moment what’s good for you. The man sitting before you, though still stoic and rough around the edges, has clearly come a long way. Whether that earns him a second last chance, you’re not sure. You don’t expect things to go back to how they were right away, but forgiving him feels like a step in the right direction. Maybe that’s the final step you need to allow yourself to heal.

Even as you think that, your pounding heart betrays those thoughts.

Maybe it’s just what your longing heart wants you to think.

But if you want it so bad, can it be so wrong? Could you be thinking about things the wrong way? Maybe you don’t need to get over him to heal. Maybe he can be a part of the process.

“I don’t know,” you admit, wrestling with your own thoughts. “I can’t say for sure if things will ever be the same, but it means a lot to hear you apologize.”

He hums, shaking a stray strand of hair from his eyes. “Do you forgive me?”

“I…” you trail off in thought, chewing uncertainly on your lip.

“Do I need to get down on my knees and beg?” He raises an eyebrow in challenge.

A smile pulls at the edges of your lips. “Now that I’d love to see,” you chuckle wryly, shaking your head as you shuffle in the dining chair.

“Tough luck,” he scoffs, a hint of a smile playing on his lips for what feels like the first time in ages.

Shrugging, you tuck your hands under your thighs, staring down at the parking lot as a white rabbit darts out from snow-covered brush to erratically hop across the lot under the cover of a truck. “A girl can dream,” you mimic his lighthearted tone.

Sukuna observes you for a long moment, crimson gaze darting across each of your features. He caught your impish tone, but something in your eyes, a glaze of underlying sadness, tells him there’s a level of sincerity to your request.

At least, he thinks.

With a huff, Sukuna slides down off his chair onto his knees before you.

“Oh my god, what are you-?”

“You wanted me on my knees, or whatever,” he grumbles like it’s normal, though his tone is earnest.

A giggle bubbles in your throat that you attempt to stifle, sitting up. “I was joking, get up,” you plead.

“Does saying I’m sorry from down here make it more serious?”

“Sukuna please, oh my god, this is embarrassing-” You bite down on your lip, taking in your surroundings as though someone might see you.

“For who? I’m the one on my fuckin’ knees-” he points out with a brow raised, mild irritation crossing his frown and interrupting your rambling.

“Your knees are gonna get all wet, please get up,” you beg, unable to hold in your laughter any longer as you tug at his bicep, getting to your feet to attempt to pull him up.

Sukuna can’t help his smirk, any irritation dissipating at the sight of your laughter. It brings a sense of peace to his life that he hasn’t felt in a long time. Even in the midst of all the issues plaguing his life, you still brighten it so much that he doesn’t mind being on his knees. Even if he’s giving up some dignity to appease you.

“Kuna, cut it out!” You giggle, tugging on both of his forearms with as much strength as you can muster.

His eyes crinkle a bit at the corners at your use of his nickname, but he stays put, insistent on earning your forgiveness in any way he can. When he doesn’t budge, you cover your face, though your muffled laughter still rings out in the open winter air. “Please get up, oh my god,” you giggle, peeking through your fingers.

“Alright, alright,” he relents finally, pushing up to his feet with a grunt.

“Your knees are soaked,” you murmur, brushing his sweatpants off for him, though his knees have two darker gray patches decorating them.

“My knees will live,” he gruffs, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

You raise a hand up to your lips, stifling your giggles as you turn back towards the parking lot. Sukuna joins you, brushing the snow off the railing so that his forearms don’t suffer the same fate as his knees.

Silence settles over you as you follow suit, leaning against the railing beside him. The rabbit you’d caught sight of earlier darts out from under the vehicle it had chosen, leaping up onto the sidewalk, camouflaged in snow. The light breeze rustles your hair, blowing strands of Sukuna’s salmon hair into his eyes. He shakes his head, his locks falling out of his vision.

The city is mostly silent at this time of night in the middle of winter. There’s no one out wandering at this time, even close to the college, with the cold. The distant sounds of cars driving across packed snow and thin layers of ice serve as little more than white noise.

“I forgive you.” You murmur, penetrating the comfortable silence.

Sukuna’s head whips towards you, as though in disbelief. He doesn’t say anything, blinking down at the rabbit sitting directly below the two of you. He’s never exactly been great with words as it stands.

“’Cause I got down on my knees, huh?” He settles on a teasing reply.

“God… no,” you giggle, craning your neck to look up at him. “Please don’t do that again.”

He huffs in amusement, nudging your shoulder.

“That doesn’t mean things are back to normal,” you warn more seriously, but he’ll take what he can get. He already knows he lost your trust and he doesn’t expect to get it back in what was just a desperate plea for help to pull him from the hole of doubt he’d dug himself into. After over an hour of working himself up and struggling to breathe, he’d felt out of options.

“I can live with that,” he mumbles, the breeze cutting through to his knees as it becomes increasingly clear that there’s wet patches where he’d been kneeling. The back of his neck is fairly chilly too from the towel. “Come inside,” he grunts, turning away from the railing to slide the door open.

Slipping your boots off, you attempt to shake some of the snow off onto the balcony before carrying them to the mat at the front door. Pulling your phone out, you glance at the message previews from Uraume checking in, shooting them a quick text to let them know everything is okay.

Sukuna drags both chairs back inside and casts a glance at the two room doors that are shut in the hall before meeting you at the front entrance with his own boots.

“What are you gonna do?”

Letting out a breath, Sukuna shakes his head. “Dunno. Sleep on the couch ‘til Yuji wakes up, try to get him to stop crying.” He shrugs. “I don’t think the kid’s gonna unlock the door.”

“Do you need a hand?”

Sukuna reaches up to scratch his jaw. “Nah, I’ll figure it out.”

Shoving his chest lightly, you fix him with a scowl. His head whips around to meet your gaze with equal disdain.

“The fuck was that for, brat?”

“How many times do I need to tell you to ask for help?” You groan, narrowing your eyes as you point at his chest.

Smacking your pointed finger aside with relative mercy, he rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t fuckin’ shove me.”

“Sukuna. Focus.”

With a half-hearted sneer, he grumbles out a “fine,” giving in with little dramatism.

But it is Sukuna, so he does have to make a bit of a show of it.

“I’ll text ya when Yuji wakes up if shit’s bad, alright?”

Nodding, you cast a glance towards the back hall. “Uraume wants to help, too. Just… ask, when you need it.”

He regards you with his usual stoic expression. “Mm,” is his only reply, a silence settling between you that doesn’t quite feel as comfortable as you’d grown accustomed to with Sukuna so long ago. It isn’t even the same comfortable silence that you’ve felt with him tonight. There’s something unspoken, something hanging in the air, settling on the tips of your tongues that remains a talking point, but before Sukuna can voice his question, you glance at your phone.

“I should call an Uber.”

He hums once more, shoving his hands in his pockets as the opportunity passes. “Drink some water.”

You tilt your head questioningly, and fuck, Sukuna has no right to find it so sweet, so… attractive?

Clearing his throat, Sukuna scowls as his surroundings become increasingly more interesting. “I can smell vodka.”

“Oh. Right, I was with Uraume and Shoko,” you explain simply, hitting a couple of buttons on your phone to call for an Uber. Satisfied, you nod to yourself. “They’re a minute away, I’m gonna head downstairs.”

Sukuna hums again, his usual guarded personality having completely returned now that he’s neither having a panic attack, nor physically begging for your forgiveness.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Probably, yeah.”

Shooting him a polite smile, you put your boots back on and turn towards the door. Only moments before it shuts does Sukuna find his voice again.

“I owe you.”

“Just say thank you, Sukuna.”

“Thanks, princess. Text me when you’re home.”

With a more genuine smile and a small wave, you head out the door, letting out a breath as you consider the weird limbo you’re in with Sukuna now. Forgiven, able to jest and connect on some level that never quite disappeared, but it’s as though there’s a thin, near-invisible barrier that still separates you. Something unspoken, hanging over your heads like a condition of sorts.

Yet you can’t quite place the uncertainty. It’s as though you’re both holding back, holding onto something that the other can’t place.

Crawling into the back seat of the Uber, you stare out the window at the passing lights, all blurring into one another as you lose yourself in thought.

You want to tell yourself you’re letting him back in as nothing more than a friend, that you’ll keep your walls up and let him in bit by bit as he earns his place within your life again, but that would disregard everything that took place tonight. Try as you might to keep him at arms’ length, he has a way of slipping through your defenses and tugging at your heart strings.

You want to give him the benefit of the doubt that this time will be better, though. Maybe it’s naive to expect that the Sukuna that you’ve seen over these past couple of weeks is here to stay, but you can’t deny that there’s been a shift.

You can only hope things stay this way, and if you’re lucky, maybe the distance between you that you can’t quite place will begin to crumble.

You can’t say for sure if it’s what you need, but your erratic heart has a funny way of telling you that it’s what you want.

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❦ a/n ; in case you missed it, my best friend did some absolutely gorgeous and adorable art for the series here! can you tell i was listening to hozier when i wrote this LMAO anyway hiiii my loves, thank you sm for reading as always <33 i really hope you enjoyed it, that last scene has been on my mind for a couple of chapters and i couldn't possibly end the chapter without it, so uh 19.2k words it was LOL i expect the next chapter to most likely be longer as well, and it may take me a bit more time going forward since i have some research to do on legal proceedings and whatnot (you know what that means 🤭) so bear with me on that, i want to make sure i do everything justice. i also just want to mention that i do really appreciate each and every like, comment, reblog, and ask, it genuinely means the world to me and i read each and every one and love chatting with y'all <33 aaaanyway i'm yapping again so i'll stop LOL but thanks for sticking with me for my fave extremely slow burn couple 🫶

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[kwilquib]

Unscripted Desire

Part 1

Part 2

Bae Suzy x Reader

Switching POV

Word Count: 8.9k+

A/N: had go split into two because of block limit.

The hotel bar exuded quiet luxury, its polished mahogany counters gleaming under the soft glow of crystal chandeliers. The scent of aged whiskey mingled with hints of expensive cologne, a far cry from the smoke-filled dives she usually avoided. Suzy sat at the counter, her manicured nails idly tracing the rim of her crystal tumbler, the ice inside melting slowly. The amber liquid glided down her throat—smooth, refined—but it did little to quell the fire simmering in her chest.

She didn’t need to look at the screen to know what was playing. She had heard the gasps, the whispered murmurs, the way the bartender had hesitated before refilling her glass.

But still, she turned.

“Top actress Suzy caught in scandal—exclusive photos leaked!”

The news anchor’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard. The massive screen above the bar displayed a montage of her face—smiling on red carpets, caught in the glare of paparazzi cameras. Then, the latest ones—blurry but damning. Her, exiting a luxury hotel. A man’s silhouette beside her. A rumor spun into a wildfire.

Her grip tightened around the glass. Bastards.

The sound of ice clinking in glasses and the occasional hum of jazz music no longer masked the shift in atmosphere. A low murmur spread through the bar like an infection.

"Is that really her?"

"No way, it’s Suzy, right?"

"Damn, she’s even hotter in person—"

She exhaled sharply, tilting her head down as she adjusted the brim of her cap. But it was too late. She could feel the stares now—some subtle, some bold. A group of men at the far end of the bar were whispering, one of them already raising his phone.

Shit.

Suzy threw back the rest of her drink and slammed a bill onto the counter, not bothering to wait for change.

“Leaving so soon?” the bartender asked, wary.

She flashed a practiced smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah. Not really in the mood for company.”

She could feel it now—the shift. It always happened right before someone got brave enough to approach. Right before someone tried to talk to her, or worse, tried to touch.

Sliding off the barstool, she pulled her coat tighter around her body and moved toward the exit, ignoring the hushed conversations behind her.

Outside, the cold air hit her like a slap. She took a deep breath, her fingers trembling slightly as she pulled out her phone. The screen was flooded with missed calls—her manager, her agency, even her mother. The scandal was spreading like poison.

And she had nowhere to go.

Her apartment? No chance. The press would be swarming the entrance.

Hotels? Cameras everywhere.

She started walking, head low, ignoring the flash of a camera from across the street. She needed to disappear—just for a night.

Lost in thought, she didn’t notice the dark figure leaning casually against the alley wall up ahead.

Not until it was too late.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You drag your feet along the dimly lit street, shoulders heavy from another grueling day at the accounting firm. The subway entrance is just two blocks away when you hear it—a sharp intake of breath, followed by hushed, urgent voices spilling from the alley ahead.

You slow your steps, instincts prickling.

The sounds come first—muffled struggles, the scrape of boots against the pavement, a low chuckle laced with something vile. Then, a woman’s voice, sharp with defiance but tinged with the tremor of fear.

"Let me go."

Your gaze sharpens.

A slim figure is pressed against the cold brick wall, three men surrounding her. One grips her wrist. Another blocks her escape. The third, holding a camera, sneers.

"Come on, sweetheart. You’re already all over the news—what’s one more little scandal?"

"We know what kind of girl you are."

"Bet you’re just playing hard to get."

Your fingers twitch. You take them in—calculating.

The man gripping her wrist leans in, voice dripping with amusement. The second stands close, predatory. The third lingers just outside the fray, the lens of his camera gleaming.

And then there’s her.

Dark hair in wild disarray, lips parted, chest rising and falling too fast. Her dress is bunched at her thighs where they must have grabbed at her. But her stance is defiant—legs set, shoulders squared. She’s fighting. But she won’t win.

You step forward. Slowly. Deliberate. The scrape of your shoes against the pavement finally catches their attention.

The one holding her tenses first, his head snapping toward you. "The fuck do you want?"

You don’t answer. Your eyes flick between them, then to her. She sees you. Measures you the same way you did her.

"You lost, buddy?" the second sneers.

You pull out your phone, raising it just enough for them to see the screen. "Police or tabloids first? Either way, your faces are going viral."

A beat of hesitation.

"Fuck, let’s go, man. It’s not worth it," the one with the camera mutters.

That does it.

The grip on her wrist loosens. The men exchange glances before slinking into the shadows, muttering curses under their breath.

Silence.

You exhale, already turning to leave. But she’s still there, still pressed against the wall, watching you. Really watching you.

Chest still rising too fast. Adrenaline still humming beneath her skin. But now there’s something else in her gaze. Something keen.

"You okay?" Your voice is quieter now, but firm.

Her lips part—then curl. A slow, deliberate movement, the ghost of a smirk.

She trails her fingers down her arm, smoothing over her own skin as if only now remembering it belongs to her. "That was... brave of you."

Something in the way she says it makes your pulse thrum.

Her dress is still askew, one strap slipping off her shoulder, the curve of her collarbone gleaming under the dim light. When she exhales, it’s slower now—measured. A performance.

For you.

She shifts, subtly, her thigh brushing against yours as she steadies herself. "You didn’t have to help me."

"You wanted me to?"

A pause. Then, a soft laugh. "I wanted someone to."

Your fingers twitch.

She tilts her chin up, her mouth so very close now, her scent—something faintly sweet, something warm—curling around you.

And then, barely above a whisper: "Are you going to take your reward?"

"Don't care." The words come out before you can stop them, exhaustion stripping any patience you might have had. "What the hell were you thinking, walking alone in an alley at night? Are you trying to get hurt?"

She blinks, caught off guard. "Do you... not know who I am?"

"Should I?" You rub your temples, already regretting stepping in. "Look, get a cab or something. It’s not safe here."

You turn to leave, already thinking about your bed, your alarm clock, the miserable morning ahead.

"Wait—" she calls after you, indignation flaring in her tone.

But you don’t stop. Whatever mess she’s in, it’s not your problem.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Desperation makes people do crazy things. That's what Suzy tells herself as she trails the stranger through the dimly lit streets, keeping just far enough behind that he doesn't notice. Her heels click softly against the pavement—a sound that would normally make her self-conscious, but right now she's beyond caring.

She watches him climb the stairs of a weathered apartment building. Third floor. The kind of place she wouldn't have looked twice at before tonight. But right now? It might as well be salvation.

Her phone buzzes again. Another message from her manager: "Where are you? The press is everywhere. Your house is surrounded."

Decision made.

She catches the door before it locks, following his path up the worn stairs. The carpet is threadbare, the walls a dingy shade of beige. She finds him just as he's unlocking his door—303.

"Hey!"

He startles, turning to face her with wide eyes. "What the—"

She doesn't give him time to finish. The moment the door cracks open, she pushes past him into the apartment.

It’s small– painfully small. A one-bedroom unit with an open living space, a kitchen tucked neatly to the side, and a couch that looks well-worn but comfortable. The floor-to-ceiling windows should make it feel spacious, yet to her, the walls seem too close, the ceiling too low.

But it's private. Anonymous.

And right now, that's all that matters.

Perfect.

"You can't be here," he says, voice tight with disbelief. "How did you even—"

"I followed you." She drops onto his couch, letting her body sink into the worn cushions. They smell faintly of laundry detergent. "I need a place to stay."

"This is not a hotel." His jaw clenches. "Get out."

She reaches for the remote on his coffee table, flipping on the small TV mounted to the wall. As if on cue, her face appears on the screen—the scandal still breaking news. She gestures at it dramatically. "See that? That's why I can't leave. You saved me back there. That makes you responsible."

"That's... that's not how this works." But she can see the fight draining from him, replaced by pure exhaustion.

She pulls her legs up onto the couch, making herself comfortable. "One night. That's all I'm asking. By tomorrow, my agency will have handled everything." She hopes.

He stares at her for a long moment, and she holds her breath. This is crazy. She knows it's crazy. But she's out of options.

Finally, his shoulders slump. "Fine. One night. Then you leave."

Relief floods through her, though she keeps her expression neutral. "Deal."

He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like "I must be losing my mind" as he disappears into what she assumes is the bathroom.

Suzy lets out a long breath, sinking deeper into the couch. Around her, the tiny apartment feels like a fortress—the first safe space she's found since this nightmare began.

Her phone buzzes again. She turns it off without looking.

Just one night, she thinks. One night to breathe. One night to figure out her next move.

One night in this stranger's apartment, where nobody would think to look for Korea's biggest star.

She closes her eyes, listening to the sound of running water from the bathroom. For the first time since the scandal broke, she feels her muscles begin to relax.

Maybe desperate choices aren't always the worst ones.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sat at your desk, eyes flicking to the clock, counting down the minutes until the workday ended. Each second dragged like molasses, the fluorescent lights overhead doing little to keep your exhaustion at bay.

Then—your phone buzzed.

"When are you going home?!?"

You sighed, barely sparing the message a glance before turning back to your screen. You weren’t in the mood. Home wasn’t any better than work, anyway.

Another buzz.

"I’m bored. I’ll be waiting outside your office."

Your fingers paused over the keyboard. A bluff. Typical Suzy, always demanding, always expecting. As if the world revolved around her whims. You dismissed the message and refocused on your task.

Then, another buzz—this time, a photo.

Annoyed but curious, you unlocked your phone.

It was a selfie. But it wasn’t her face that made your stomach drop—it was the background. The ground floor of your office. The reception desk, crystal clear behind her.

She wasn’t bluffing.

"Unbelievable," you muttered under your breath, shoving your chair back.

You shot up from your seat, raking a hand through your hair.

"Sir?" you called out, barely masking the irritation in your tone. "I know it's a little early, but can I clock out?"

Your senior barely looked up but caught the urgency in your face. He sighed, waving you off. "Go ahead."

Not wasting another second, you grabbed your things and rushed to the elevator, pressing the button impatiently.

The moment the doors slid open, you strode into the lobby—and there she was. Suzy.

Leaning against the reception desk, chatting with the receptionist like she had all the time in the world. Carefree. As if she hadn’t just disrupted your entire evening for no reason other than her own boredom.

Despite her attempt at going incognito—oversized hoodie, cap pulled low, and dark sunglasses—there was no mistaking her. The way she carried herself, the subtle air of confidence, the effortless way she drew attention even when trying to avoid it.

As you got closer, her voice drifted to you.

"Can you call someone for me? It's urgent."

"I can look up their name for you," the receptionist offered with a polite smile.

"His name is—”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A sudden grip on her wrist. Firm. Quick.

Suzy blinked, momentarily startled, before a slow smirk curled her lips.

Ah. There he was.

She turned her head lazily, meeting his sharp, irritated gaze. Annoyance simmered just beneath the surface—he was trying to keep his cool, but oh, she could see it. The frustration, the barely restrained anger.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, voice tight, forced into some semblance of calm.

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. "I told you, I was bored. You shouldn’t have ignored me."

She watched him grit his teeth, his fingers twitching against her wrist before he let go. How amusing. He always acted like she was some kind of nuisance, an inconvenience in his neatly arranged life. But despite all that? He was here. Right where she wanted him.

Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she pressed her car keys into his palm, ignoring the exasperation and tightening his expression.

She pressed her car keys into his palm, watching his expression shift from exasperation to disbelief. "I’m hungry. Let’s eat."

"You could’ve just ordered something. Or gone through a drive-thru," he said, voice sharp.

She ignored him.

Because despite all his resistance, all his frustration, she knew.

He was going to follow her.

And that—more than anything—made her smile.

The drive was tense.

The low hum of the engine and the occasional sound of turn signals were the only things filling the silence between them. He gripped the steering wheel a little too tight, jaw locked as he focused on the road ahead.

Suzy, on the other hand, sat comfortably in the passenger seat, one leg crossed over the other, tapping her fingers idly against her knee. She was entirely unbothered by the thick cloud of irritation radiating off of him.

"You know," she finally broke the silence, her voice laced with amusement, "I'm paying, so you can relax."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers flexing around the wheel. "That’s not the problem, Suzy."

"I just wanted takeout anyway," she continued as if he hadn’t spoken, "so we can eat at home."

His eyes flicked toward her, disbelief flashing across his face. "Home?" he repeated. "Whose home?"

"Yours, obviously," she said easily, stretching her arms behind her head.

And just like that, he had enough.

"You’re unbelievable," he snapped, his patience finally cracking. "You act like you own me, like you can just decide things for me. What part of this makes sense to you, Suzy? You show up uninvited, you drag me out of work, and now you expect me to do something you could've done alone?"

"You’re being ridiculous," she muttered under her breath, but he caught it.

He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Oh, I’m ridiculous? That’s rich coming from you."

Her head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. "I don’t see what the big deal is. I just wanted to eat with you. Why are you acting like I did something horrible?"

"Because you don’t ask—you just decide things for me," he shot back. "You don’t care what I want, Suzy. It’s always about you."

Suzy scowled. "That’s not true."

"Really? Then tell me—when have you ever considered what I wanted?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face. She hated that. Hated how he always had something to throw back at her.

"Well, I want to be with you," she declared, as if that alone should settle it.

He clenched his jaw. "And that’s exactly the problem. You act like I don’t have a choice in the matter."

She scoffed. "You’re just making excuses. What, are you scared of me or something?"

"Scared of you?" He laughed, shaking his head. "No, Suzy. I just don’t want to deal with your entitled attitude."

That struck a nerve.

She turned fully to face him, brows furrowing. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he said, exasperation bleeding into his tone. "You walk around like the world owes you something—like I owe you something."

Her fingers tightened around her arms. "I owe you something?" she echoed, tone sharper now. "I don’t see you complaining when other people throw themselves at me. But when it’s you, suddenly it’s a problem?"

"Because I’m not one of your fans, Suzy."

That shut her up for a second.

But only for a second.

"You’re acting like I’m forcing you at gunpoint," she snapped. "All I’m doing is giving you my time. Do you know how many people would kill for that?"

"There it is again," he muttered, gripping the wheel. "Your time. Your attention. It’s always about you."

She huffed, rolling her eyes. "If you hate it so much, then why are we still here?"

"Because you won’t leave me alone!"

His voice rose, frustration boiling over. Suzy flinched slightly at the sharpness of it. But instead of backing down, she doubled down.

"God, you’re so dramatic," she muttered. "I thought you were different."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Yeah? Well, I thought you would change after your hiatus, but here we are."

The moment the words left his mouth, he knew he’d gone too far.

The car went deathly silent.

Suzy's expression froze, the usual fire in her eyes flickering out for just a second. Her fingers clenched against her arms, nails pressing into her skin.

He could feel it—the shift. He hit a nerve. A deep one.

She swallowed, staring ahead, jaw tight. "Pull over."

"Suzy—"

"Pull over."

He exhaled through his nose but did as she asked, guiding the car to the side of the road. The moment it stopped, she pushed the door open, stepping out without another word.

He closed his eyes, running a hand down his face. "Shit."

After a moment, he unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out, finding her standing by the side of the car, arms crossed.

"Look," he started, sighing, "I shouldn’t have said that."

She didn’t look at him. "No, you shouldn’t have."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I’m sorry."

Suzy let out a long breath, finally meeting his gaze. She studied him for a moment before nodding. "Apology accepted."

A beat of silence.

"But I still stand by what I said," he added.

Suzy’s lips twitched, somewhere between a smirk and a scowl. "So do I."

Of course she did.

And somehow, despite everything, despite the argument, despite the tension still lingering between them—he knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you pull into the parking spot outside your apartment, Suzy is already moving. Before you can even turn off the engine, she’s out of the car, slipping into the night like she’s done this a hundred times before.

You curse under your breath, grabbing the takeout bags and hurrying after her, but she’s fast—too fast for someone who claims to have nowhere else to be.

By the time you catch up, she’s crouched by your doorstep, fingers deftly adjusting the potted plant where you keep your spare key. She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t fumble.

Just lifts it, plucks the key from its usual spot, and unlocks the door with the ease of someone who belongs here.

Like she’s done it countless times before.

She steps inside without looking back, already shrugging off her jacket, already shedding the pieces of her disguise, leaving a trail of familiarity in her wake.

And for a second, you just stand there.

Watching her move through your space like it’s hers. Like she’s always been here.

You tiptoe around her mess, careful not to disturb the chaos that has overtaken your once-pristine apartment. The space you kept meticulously tidy—your sanctuary—now feels like occupied territory, claimed by the nation’s so-called first love. She lounges on your couch, lazily flipping through TV channels as if she belongs there.

“When are you leaving?” you ask, setting your takeout on the table with a little more force than necessary.

She sighs, not even looking at you. “Again?” Her voice carries the weight of someone more exhausted by the question than by her own intrusion.

“You said one night. That was the deal,” you remind her, trying to catch her gaze, but she refuses to meet your eyes.

Instead, "I'm going to shower!" she announced, a touch too brightly, seemingly ignoring your last comment.  She stretched languidly from the couch, her shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of her stomach.

Her eyes met yours briefly, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths.  She moved with a deliberate slowness, her already short shorts riding even higher with each step.  As she walked past you, she stretched again, exaggerating the movement, highlighting her petite frame. The stretch pulled her shirt further up her back, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of skin, while her shorts dipped precariously low, almost to the edge of her hips.  It was a performance, a subtle display designed for your eyes only.

Reaching the bathroom door, she paused, holding your gaze captive. You watched, unsure of what she was planning next.  Suddenly, she moved again, as if initiating another stretch. But this time, the movement was different, more deliberate. She fully lifted her shirt, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud. Then, she reached for the waistband of her shorts, slowly pulling them down, deliberately showcasing the curve of her backside.  Beneath the shorts, she wore lacy underwear, the delicate fabric barely concealing her form.  The striptease continued as she slowly raised each knee in turn, carefully removing her panties, teasingly obscuring your view of her most intimate area.

Finally, she stood nude, her back to you.  As if sensing your captivated gaze, she turned her head just enough for you to see the edge of a grin playing on her lips.  It was a look of both triumph and something else… something you couldn't quite place.

With a final, lingering glance, she slipped into the bathroom and closed the door, leaving you in a state of heightened anticipation.

The bathroom door clicks shut, and you finally let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

This wasn’t new. Not really. Ever since she decided your apartment was hers too, Suzy had been toying with you—testing boundaries, pushing limits. The casual touches, the way she’d stretch just enough to let her shirt ride up, the way she’d pretend innocence after every single deliberate move.

But tonight? Tonight was different. Tonight was bolder.

You drag a hand down your face, exhaling sharply. The image of her peeling off her clothes, that teasing glance before she disappeared into the bathroom—it lingers, searing itself into your mind against your will.

You should be used to this.

You aren’t.

Shaking off the heat curling in your stomach, you turn to the mess she’s left behind, grasping onto the one thing you can control—order.

Her jacket is draped over the armrest like she owns the place. A scarf is tangled with her purse on the floor, one of her shoes discarded near the door while the other is kicked under the coffee table. And her clothes—why the hell were they everywhere? A hoodie thrown onto your chair, a sweater half-off the couch, socks abandoned completely.

You crouch, grabbing her shirt and folding it with a little too much force, jaw tight as you work.

She’s done this before—left her mark, made herself comfortable, like she’s waiting for you to snap, waiting for you to do something about it.

You never do.

Not in the way she wants.

But tonight… tonight is testing you.

The sound of the shower running is background noise, but your mind betrays you, conjuring up images you shouldn’t entertain. You shake your head, focusing on picking up the wreckage of her presence instead.

Because this? This is her entertainment, tormenting you, a game.

And you’re not going to let her win.

~~~

The last beads of water slide down her skin, slow and indulgent, tracing the shape of her body like tiny, obedient servants before vanishing between her thighs. The steam still clings to the air, swirling around her like a curtain before finally retreating, revealing glimpses of her reflection in the mirror.

Suzy grins. There it is. The spark of victory. The proof of her power.

Because she saw it. The way his jaw went tight, the way his fingers curled around his shirt, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. He thought she didn’t notice—thought he was still untouchable, still above her games. But tonight, oh tonight, he slipped.

He lingered.

And that? That was a win.

She hums to herself, a playful little tune as she watches her reflection, trailing a finger down the length of her arm like she’s congratulating herself. Because why not? She earned it.

That man had the nerve to dismiss her, to act like she was just a nuisance in his life. Like she wasn’t the most exciting thing to ever happen to his boring, colorless world. Like she wasn’t a gift, generously bestowing him with her presence.

Ungrateful.

And yet, despite all his protests, all his tired sighs and sharp words—he looked. He always looked.

Suzy giggles, the sound light, teasing, full of mischief.

"You can’t ignore me forever, you know."

She tilts her head, admiring herself from different angles, brushing her damp hair back over her shoulder.

Perfect. Every inch of her was designed to be admired, and after tonight? He’d have to admit that. He’d have to admit that he’d been wrong about her. About everything.

She bites her lip, not out of shyness—please—but because she loves the anticipation. The thrill of knowing she’s gotten under his skin, past his walls, into that stubborn little head of his.

Just a little more.

She reaches for her bathrobe, slipping it over her damp skin, the silk clinging in all the right places. She doesn’t bother tying it tight. No, no, no. That would ruin the fun. It stays just loose enough, just dangerous enough, like an invitation waiting to be answered.

Then, with a final wink at herself—because really, who deserves it more?—she steps toward the door.

Suzy’s joy immediately faltered as she stepped out of the bathroom, her grin freezing in place. There he was, diligently setting the table, his back to her, completely unbothered. No lingering glances, no tension in his shoulders—nothing. He wasn’t even waiting.

How dare he?

She had given him a show, hadn’t she? Deliberately undressing in front of him, her back turned just enough to tease, to tempt. She’d felt his eyes on her—or at least, she thought she had. The memory of it had fueled her confidence as she stepped into the shower, imagining him squirming, resisting, wanting. But now? Now he was just… setting the damn table.

“You’re out of shampoo,” she said, her voice sharp with annoyance, though it was mostly to mask the sting of his indifference.

He paused, his hands hovering over the plates for a moment before he straightened. “How?! I bought that four days ago—” His voice caught, as he glanced at Suzy, just barely, but it was enough. A tiny crack.

Suzy’s grin returned, slow and triumphant. She waited, her eyes narrowing as she braced for the rest of his sentence—some excuse, some flicker of emotion. But it never came. Instead, he simply turned back to the table, his movements calm and methodical, as if she hadn’t just emerged from his bathroom, damp and glowing and perfect.

Baffled. Confused. Frustrated. Annoyed. The emotions churned in her chest, each one sharper than the last.

Just when she thought she’d finally cracked him, just when she thought she’d seen the faintest hint of vulnerability, he’d reverted to his usual self—dismissive, unimpressed, utterly unappreciative of her grace and beauty.

“You’re going to eat like that?” he asked, his tone casual, as if nothing had happened. As if she weren’t standing there in his bathrobe, the silk clinging to her skin, her hair still damp and curling at the edges.

Suzy’s jaw tightened, but she forced herself to smile, her steps slow and deliberate as she approached the table. She didn’t take her eyes off him, searching for any sign of a crack in his nonchalance—a twitch of his lips, a flicker of his gaze, anything. But there was nothing. Just the same infuriating calm.

She sat down across from him, her movements deliberate, her robe slipping just enough to reveal the curve of her shoulder. He didn’t look up. He was already eating, his focus entirely on his meal, as if she were nothing more than a mildly inconvenient guest.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until Suzy couldn’t take it anymore.

“You’re not gay, are you?” The question slipped out before she could stop it, her voice saccharine-sweet, but her knuckles whitened around her fork. Pathetic, she scolded herself. But she needed an answer—any answer—to explain why he refused to look, to want, to break.

He paused, his fork hovering mid-air. For a heartbeat, she saw it—the faintest twitch in his jaw, the shadow of something raw flickering behind his eyes. Then it vanished. He set his fork down with deliberate calm and met her gaze. “I’m not playing your games. You should’ve realized that by now.”

The words were a slap. Suzy’s smile cracked, her chest tightening. Games? This wasn’t a game. This was survival. If he could resist her, what did that make her?

She stared at her plate, the food now repulsive in its mundanity. Why couldn’t he see her? The steam from the meal curled upward, mocking her, and suddenly the room felt suffocating.

Then it hit her—a jagged, desperate epiphany. He hadn’t thrown her out. He hadn’t called the cops, hadn’t sold her secrets to the ravenous press. For all his scowling and sighs, he’d let her stay. Let her linger.

Because he wants to, her pride hissed. Because he’s lying.

The last drops of water had barely cooled on her skin when she stepped out of the bathroom, her silk robe clinging to her damp body. Suzy knew exactly what she was doing. She always did.

“Are you really unaffected by me?” she purred, rising from her chair, letting the robe slip dangerously off one shoulder. She circled the table like a predator, her bare feet silent against the floor, her movements slow, deliberate.

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But something flickered behind his eyes—something dark, something warning.

She ignored it.

“You can pretend all you want,” she whispered, gripping his chin and tilting his face toward hers, forcing him to meet her gaze. Her thumb traced the hard line of his jaw, feeling the tension coiled beneath. “But you’re enjoying this. Admit it.”

“Suzy.” His voice was quiet. Too quiet. Like the silence before a storm.

Drunk on her own confidence, she pressed closer, her breath warm against his skin. “Admit I’m under your skin. Admit you think about me—”

His hand shot up, fingers wrapping around her wrist in an iron grip. The suddenness of it made her gasp, her practiced composure slipping for just a moment.

“You want to know what I think?” His voice was low, controlled, but laced with something that sent a shiver through her. “I think you’re pushing boundaries you don’t understand.”

She tried to hold onto her sultry smile, but it faltered when he stood, towering over her, his presence suffocating in the most intoxicating way.

“I—”

“No.” He cut her off, backing her against the wall with slow, deliberate steps. His other hand came up to her throat—not squeezing, just resting there, a silent reminder of control she no longer had. “You wanted my attention? Congratulations. You have it.”

Her breath hitched. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to be the one in control, the one making him unravel.

“What’s wrong, princess?” His thumb brushed against her racing pulse. “Isn’t this what you wanted? To break my control?” He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. “Or are you finally realizing you might have pushed too far?”

Her lips parted, but no sound came.

“You didn’t think,” he murmured, his voice darkening. “You never do. You just take and push and demand, thinking there won’t be consequences.”

Then he kissed her. Not sweetly, not like in her carefully crafted fantasies. This was raw, deliberate—punishment wrapped in pleasure. His grip tangled in her hair, holding her still as he devoured her, bruising and possessive.

She whimpered, hands fisting in his shirt, caught between pulling him closer and pushing him away. This wasn’t her game anymore. This was him showing her exactly what happened when she got what she asked for.

When he pulled back, her breath was ragged, her lips swollen. The smug confidence she wore like armor had cracked completely, leaving her wide-eyed, vulnerable.

“Still think I’m unaffected?” His gaze was dark with satisfaction. “Or should I show you exactly how affected I can be?”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her body betraying her even as her mind scrambled to reclaim control.

He didn’t give her the chance.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he tugged at the knot of her robe. The silk slipped from her shoulders, sliding down her body like a whisper, pooling at her feet.

She was bare before him, her skin flushed from heat and the chill of the air. A shiver ran through her as his hands found her shoulders, his touch light yet commanding.

He leaned in, lips grazing her neck, his breath warm against her skin. A small, involuntary whimper escaped her lips.

He pulled back, his gaze never leaving hers, then lowered his head—his breath now ghosting over her breast. Then, without warning, his lips closed around her nipple, his tongue flicking against the sensitive peak before sucking deeply.

“Ah… Hnng…” Her moan broke through the silence.

She tried to grasp onto her confidence, forcing a teasing smirk. “I should’ve known you were this hungry—”

The words died on her lips as he latched onto her again, silencing any attempt at control.

Her legs pressed together, squirming against the growing ache between them. Her hands hovered over his body, unsure where they belonged—her thoughts a haze, her senses overwhelmed. A strange sensation started at her toes, tingling, winding its way up until her head felt dizzy, like she was melting into him.

Then he stopped.

She barely registered the ragged sound of her own breathing, her gaze locked on him—not with desire, but with the dazed fixation of a predator realizing it’s become prey.

“You think I’m doing this to make you feel good?” His voice was low, almost clinical, as he pinned her wrists above her head with one hand.

“I’m n-not—” The lie fractured as his free hand slid down her ribcage, fingertips branding her skin. Her body tautened, betraying her, hips arching toward him before she could stop herself.

“You’re right,” he rasped, his breath hot against her ear. “This isn’t about me. It never was.” His palm closed over her breast, thumb circling her nipple with deliberate, agonizing slowness. “It’s about you learning what happens when you shove your way into someone’s life and demand they perform for you.”

She gasped, teeth sinking into her lower lip to stifle a whimper. Don’t. Don’t give him this. But her traitorous body strained against him, heat pooling low in her stomach.

“Keep your hands here,” he ordered, tightening his grip on her wrists. “Or I stop.”

“Stop then,” she hissed, the last shred of pride sharpening her voice. She shoved weakly against him, but her muscles felt liquid, useless.

He laughed—a dark, humorless sound—and nipped the curve of her neck. “You don’t want me to stop. You’ve never wanted anything real in your life, have you? Just applause. Just proof.” His fingers pinched her nipple hard enough to sting, and a broken noise escaped her throat. “Here’s your proof, Suzy. You’re ordinary here. Just flesh. Just need.”

She hated him. Hated how his words slithered under her skin, hated how her thighs trembled, hated the slick ache between them that throbbed in time with his touch. Most of all, she hated the part of her that craved this—the part that wanted him to dismantle her, piece by performative piece, until nothing was left but the raw, shameful truth:

She’d rather be ruined by him than ignored.

So she let herself break.

Her hands, once limp with shock, clawed at his shirt—buttons scattering, her nails scraping skin. She bit the inside of her cheek, hating how badly she craved the heat he’d denied her.

“You’re already wet,” he muttered, fingers skimming her thigh, blunt and deliberate.

Her breath hitched, but she forced a smirk, lifting her chin. “I—maybe. So?”

His lips curled, as if amused by the pathetic excuse for defiance. “So? Liar.”

A sharp gasp broke from her as he slid a finger into her, ruthless.

Her fingers trembled against his belt, but she yanked at the leather anyway, snapping it free. “You talk too much,” she muttered, pretending her voice wasn’t shaking.

“You begged for this,” he said, pressing another finger inside, harder this time, until she was pinned between him and the wall.

“Hnnng…Fuck…” The sound slipped before she could stop it. Humiliating.

His grin was immediate, infuriating. Heat crawled up her neck, but before he could throw another taunt, she grabbed his waistband and yanked—pants and boxers falling in one sharp pull.

His cock sprang free, thick and hot against her stomach as he leaned in, claiming her mouth. The kiss was different now. Deeper. More. And yet his hands never withdrew from between her legs, never let up, never let her breathe.

She was spiraling too fast, losing ground. No, no, no—she wasn’t supposed to be the one drowning.

The climax built, tight and unbearable, until—

He broke the kiss. Just like that.

Suzy chased his lips, her mouth grazing his chin, his jaw, anywhere—but he turned away, leaving her gasping at nothing.

“Contraceptives,” he muttered, already heading for the kitchen counter.

“Oh.” The word slipped out small and stupid. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, cheeks burning. Since when did she forget herself like this?

Her body ached with frustration, but she refused to stand there waiting like some desperate, abandoned thing. So she followed, her bare feet slapping against the floor. “Hurry,” she breathed, though she’d rather die than admit it was a plea.

He turned, a condom packet pinched between his fingers, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he hooked an arm under her knees and lifted her.

“Wait—!” Suzy yelped, arms flailing before instinct had them locking around his neck.

His heartbeat.

She could hear it, rapid and relentless against her ear. Or maybe it was hers. She couldn’t tell anymore. Their breaths, their heat, their hunger—blurring together.

He laid her down, shadow swallowing her whole as he climbed over her. But instead of moving, instead of tearing into her the way she swore she wanted, he just... stared. His gaze traced her face, slow and searching, like he was trying to memorize something she didn’t even know she was showing.

It made her skin prickle. “What?” she snapped.

“Nothing,” he murmured, voice softer than she’d ever heard it. “Just wondering how someone so loud can feel so small.”

Suzy’s throat tightened.

She wanted to scoff, roll her eyes—fire back with something smug and clever. But the words tangled, refusing to come.

Before she could untangle them, he kissed her again. Slow, deliberate. His hands cradled her face, gentle in a way that terrified her.

Here’s your refined scene, keeping Suzy’s teasing nature but also her struggle with honesty and vulnerability:

Because fragility was the one thing she couldn’t fake.

“Just—just do what you want already,” she stuttered, hating how weak she sounded.

He hovered over her, their faces so close she could feel his breath against her lips. Her nipples, tight and sensitive, pressed against the heat of his skin.

Instead of answering, he kissed her—just a tap, far gentler than before. Almost sweet.

“Aren’t you a little impatient, Suzy?” he murmured, the tease running straight through her, twisting low in her stomach.

It was the first time he’d said her name with a smile.

Her heart fluttered.

No. No, no, no. She refused to react to that.

Before she could come up with some snarky retort, he pulled back, dragging his lips down her body. His movements were slow, deliberate, each inch of space he put between their faces only making the anticipation coil tighter inside her.

Her breath hitched when he settled between her legs.

“W-what are you doing?” she asked, already knowing.

She knew exactly what he was about to do.

Yet she asked anyway, unprepared for the moment it would actually happen.

“W-wait, at least let me take a shower first,” she blurted, grasping at anything to stall, to breathe, to think.

A snicker rumbled from below. “Didn’t you just take a shower?”

Heat flooded her face. She wanted to disappear.

Before she could find another excuse—

“Haahn—!”

His tongue swept over her folds, slow and deliberate.

“Ahh! god—!”

A sharp jolt of pleasure shot up her spine as he played with her clit, teasing, circling, pressing.

“W-wait… I—ah! Ahhn! Hnghh!”

Then—

“Hiiic!”

She flinched, her entire body jolting as he sucked, her back arched upwards, the sound indecent, shameless.

Blinking down at him, her breath ragged, she found him already watching her. Smirking.

“You’re really sensitive, Suzy.”

His words lit a spark of defiance in her. He was teasing her, toying with her, and she wasn’t about to let him get away with it.

She sprang up, her body still trembling from his touch. “It’s your turn now.”

He raised a brow, amusement flickering in his eyes. “What?”

“I said—it’s your turn now.” She tapped his shoulder with her foot, her legs still parted, unintentionally exposing herself more than she realized.

His gaze darkened. “Oh?”

“Let’s see how patient you are,” she challenged, tilting her chin, her voice laced with quiet amusement.

A slow smirk spread across his lips, but he said nothing.

“What are you waiting for? Lie down.” She guided him onto his back, effortlessly shifting their positions. Now, she was on top.

Kneeling between his legs, her eyes flickered downward, and—

Oh.

His cock stood between them, thick and rigid, a sight she was no stranger to. And yet, something about him—about this—felt different.

Her fingers moved without hesitation, wrapping around him with practiced ease, stroking with a steady rhythm. He was warm, heavy in her grasp, the weight of him familiar yet somehow new.

She had done this before—many times. But never with him.

And now, with the heat of the moment slowed to her pace, she had the chance to take him in, to truly feel him.

Her fingers barely met around his girth.

Her breath hitched.

He was bigger than she expected, thicker than she was used to.

A challenge.

Her lips curled slightly as she leaned in, her breath ghosting over his length. Her strokes remained measured, deliberate, teasing. She knew exactly what she was doing—what effect she had on him.

With her free hand, she traced the tip, swirling a finger through the precum, watching the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch. A soft chuckle escaped her as she tucked her hair behind her ears, preparing to take him in.

Slowly, she let her tongue slip out, teasing him before finally making contact—

“Nggh…” A deep grunt rumbled from his chest, his cock twitching in response.

And then—

A sharp pulse, followed by a hot splash across her cheek.

She stilled, eyes flicking up to meet him. His breath was ragged, his fists clenched at his sides.

A wicked smirk tugged at her lips as she dragged a finger through the mess on her skin, bringing it to her mouth, letting her tongue flick out just enough to taste him.

“You’re really sensitive,” she murmured, her tone dripping with satisfaction.

His jaw tightened.

And just like that, she knew—she had him.

That moment of vulnerability, of losing control, it was hers to wield now. The tables had turned, just as she had wanted. Before, she had been overwhelmed by him, caught in his pace, his touch. But now—now, he was the one left breathless beneath her.

Her strokes slowed, teasing, deliberate. She leaned in, lips just barely grazing his length, reveling in the way his muscles tensed, in the sharp breath he sucked through his teeth.

Yes.

This was the power she had been after.

But just as quickly as she seized it—

The world flipped.

A gasp escaped her as he moved with speed she hadn’t anticipated, his hands gripping her waist, turning the entire game on its head. One moment she was on top, in control—

The next, her back was against the sheets, his weight caging her in.

His knee parted her legs effortlessly, pressing between her thighs as he loomed over her. That smug dominance had returned to his gaze, lips curling with something dark and knowing.

She shuddered, realizing—

She had only borrowed control for a moment.

He had merely let her think she had won.

“Suzy,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, eyes dark and impatient. “Did you enjoy your little game?”

Her breath hitched.

She could feel him—his cock resting heavy against her stomach, a silent promise of what was to come. It pulsed against her skin, a relentless reminder of the inevitable.

Heat coiled low in her belly.

She wanted him.

She needed him.

Her breath hitched as she watched him roll the condom on, the slow, practiced motion only fueling the fire already burning inside her.

Hesitation warred with longing, nerves tangled with impatience. But pride had no place here—not when every inch of her ached for him.

She was ready to surrender.

She parted her lips, ready to plead, to beg—

“Ready?”

His voice cut through the air, low, rough, edged with impatience.

It was the question that could have once been her escape. The opening she had looked for before.

But that moment had passed long ago.

Now, there was only him.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, a silent answer—a confirmation, a submission, an invitation.

It wasn’t him who had been in her grasp—

It had been the other way around all along.

With her silent permission, he wasted no time. Strong hands spread her open, parting her folds as the tip of his cock pressed against her entrance.

“Ngh… Fuuuck!”

He pushed inside, inch by inch, stretching her, filling her. A gasp tore from her lips as her walls clenched around him, adjusting to his size. His heat seeped into her, a sensation that was both overwhelming and intoxicating.

Her feet quivered. Her fingers curled into the sheets, while her other hand covered her mouth, muffling the cries threatening to spill free.

The sudden, intense pleasure blinded her. Her eyes clenched shut, darkness swallowing her vision, but she wasn’t alone—she could feel him.

Moving.

Slow at first, each thrust deliberate, controlled, but quickly gaining speed.

“Hnngg…” She bit down on her lip, her breath shaky, her body at his mercy as he drove into her over and over again.

Her world narrowed to the sounds around her—their ragged breaths, the rhythmic slap of skin against skin, the creak of the bed beneath them, the rustling sheets.

She could feel everything.

The firm grip of his hands on her thighs. The way her body shifted with every deep thrust. The friction of him inside her, stretching her, claiming spaces untouched before.

And then—

A jolt of pleasure shot through her as his thumb found her clit, circling it, pressing, teasing.

“Hnng… No, n-not there—”

Her eyes flew open, and she found him staring at her, gaze dark, unwavering, drinking in every tremor, every reaction.

Heat flooded her cheeks. His focused attention made her feel bare in an entirely new way.

But he didn’t stop.

If anything, her protest only encouraged him. His movements deepened, his thrusts grew stronger, reaching deeper than she thought possible.

“Hnng!!”

Flustered, she covered her face with both hands, as if shielding herself from his gaze—unwilling to let him see just how undone she was becoming.

His pace slowed—a brief respite.

A chance for him to catch his breath.

And for her to regain a shred of sanity.

Her hands trembled as they shielded her face, as if trying to ground herself, to control the heat creeping up her skin. But he didn’t let her. His hands, warm and firm, gently pried hers away, forcing her to meet his gaze.

Her breath hitched. His eyes, dark and unwavering, held her captive.

Slowly, he guided her hands to his lips, pressing soft, lingering kisses against her fingers, her palms. The sensation sent a shudder through her, and before she could stop it, a whimper slipped past her lips.

“Hnngh…!”

The attention she had craved so desperately now felt overwhelming—almost unbearable.

"Why… why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, voice unsteady, flustered.

A grin tugged at his lips, his intensity never faltering. “Because I want to see your beauty, Suzy.”

Hearing her name from his lips hit her harder than she expected. It wasn’t just the compliment—it was the way he said it. Soft, tender. A stark contrast to the raw dominance he had shown before.

She had heard her name spoken countless times, but with him, it felt different. More intimate. More real.

The simplicity of his words, the sincerity in his voice—it was exactly what she had longed for. And yet, now that she had it, she felt shaken, unprepared for how deeply it unraveled her.

“What?" she breathed, struggling to process it.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned in, his breath warm against her neck, sending a tremor through her body.

“W-wait—” Her protest barely left her lips before his mouth claimed hers.

His tongue slid past her parted lips, and instinctively, she met him, matching his rhythm as if it had always been this way. As if her body already knew how to respond to him.

His hands skimmed down her legs, shifting, lifting her hips with effortless control.

The brief pause between them shattered.

Their break was over.

His hips drove into her once again, a deep, deliberate thrust that stole her breath.

Her moans were swallowed by his mouth, his kiss consuming, demanding.

The force of him pushed her deeper into the bed, her body molding to his movements as he pressed her into the mattress. His pace was relentless, each thrust pushing her closer to an edge she wasn’t ready to face.

His lips left hers, trailing down her neck, sucking, biting—leaving his mark.

“Hnnng… I can’t… I—” Her plea was barely a whisper, drowned out by the rhythm of their bodies colliding.

His kisses turned into nibbles, teasing, devouring. Desperate to stop his assault, she tried to push his face away, only for him to seize her wrists, pinning them against the sheets.

Now her hands became his focus.

He kissed her fingertips, grazed his teeth along her knuckles, breathed in her scent as if memorizing it. Then he sucked gently, tongue flicking over her skin, his eyes never leaving hers.

“You look gorgeous like this, Suzy,” he murmured, admiring the wrecked state he had reduced her to.

His voice cut through the symphony of their skin slapping, the slick sounds of their bodies moving together, the ragged breaths and muffled moans.

Heat flared across her skin. She wanted to say something—anything—but before she could, her body jolted.

“Ah—!!” Her cry broke free, louder than before, almost a scream.

He had reached deep, pressing against a spot she hadn’t known existed.

Her vision blurred. Her thoughts fractured.

She was unraveling, pleasure crashing over her in waves so intense she could barely hold on.

“I’m… close…” His voice was rough, strained, barely comprehensible. But she didn’t need to hear it.

She could feel it.

His cock throbbed inside her, primed to explode.

And then—release.

Heat surged inside her as his climax tore through him, his body tensing before he spilled into the condom.

Her walls clenched around him, milking every last drop, her own ecstasy cresting in tandem.

Her mouth parted in a silent scream, her entire body seizing in pleasure so sharp it was almost unbearable.

For a moment, there was nothing. No thoughts, no words—only sensation.

Her consciousness floated, her body trembling, spent, utterly wrecked.

Then—his lips were on hers again.

Soft this time. Gentle. A stark contrast to the madness from moments ago.

With the last remnants of her energy, she kissed him back.

Slowly, the kiss melted into something tender, something lingering. A silent exchange of satisfaction, of fulfillment.

Her breathing slowed.

Her consciousness drifted.

And before she could fight it, sleep pulled her under.

Part 2 ---->

[edenspoem]

okay PLEASE, so chappell roan performed “the giver” on snl. all I could think about was cowgirl! ellie and abby. it’s literally THEEE stone top anthem! 👅

cowgirl ellie is the ultimate stone top: from sun up, 'till sun down, she is a pleasure-giving machine in all departments. ellie finds her schedule to be the least bit monotonous—rather, it's you who said so. startups at five in the morning, in the mucked-out lands, is a feat she wouldn't trade for the world. she finds it peaceful; the rough hours of sleep and the rough weight of a thousand chores; how sweet of a novelty is it, to be doing it all for you?

she is cruel-loving. she enforces her love. she is the girl that guides you back to bed if you stir from it simply too soon. she, with the good of all her heart, won't let you lift a finger. “shh—what are you doing up, babe? i know you gotta be tired.” the base of the pan—mottled in bits of scrambled eggs—would scrape against the stove as she set it. “go sleep a little longer, you mucked the paddock out all night.” she would then guide you right through the hall, pressing slow creaks in the wooden floor with her palms on your shoulders. the warmth of them is pleasant. humming with the heat of breakfast, pots and handles, the whole assortment of summer mornings in her romance-novel touch. she nudged you with love.

bedtime is a game of roulette—however. either, she is spooning with her obnoxious head filling the space on your shoulder, or she is filling the gap in your legs. once the sun is concealed and the romantic, golden light of lamps is washing over your limbs so delicate—often, to a point of delicateness, that she can't help herself.

“how many fingers baby?” the low thrum inside her rolled into your thigh, where her lips sit, patient and wet. the tone it rolled with made you want to compress your thighs shut; hide the reaction it gave you. but—those hands, illustrated straight from a novel and into your endless whim, press them down.

the room is quiet with the sound of her mouth, without your answer.

ellie props up. “can you say somethin, princess?” fingers brushing relentless circles around, above, but never on your cunt. it's not that she relies on direction; she relies on you being present, obedient, and most of all: confident. hearing you be open and honest about what you need, screams wife material to her; made you a keeper. the calloused pads of her fingers encourage along your stomach, spreading out with her thumb oh-so close to your clit, inching between your folds.

“ellie,” the name slipped from your lips so naturally. a whimper folded in without your trying.

she almost gave in because of it.

“t-three.”

“oh?” she cooed, soft and sweet. “bold choice, babe.” the comment, and the sensation of her thumb coming into light contact, jolted you. a bicep enclosed your thigh before it could shut.

she groans that signature curse when she enters you. so wetly, so easily.

“fuck babe.”

it held it there as long as her fingers were stuffed inside. shameful noises—the ones that escaped either end—spread throughout the room. she watched as she made you listen; dragging her fingers in hard, out slow—as you remember her hips doing. curling up into that spot that creates heaven inside and gets everything all over her fingers, to the base of her knuckles. swallowing her with incurable desperation. it felt like she was inside you, in each part of you; the thickness of three fingers fucking your pussy, as well as your mind, which thought thoughtless thoughts, and said thoughtless words. “f-fuck, ellie, i want fuckin' all of you,” you panted, clenching around the muscles and pumps of her fingers.

her smiling mouth said to you: “yeah?” with dimples that went deeper at the tip of her tone. she roped in a concise kiss, peppering your thigh that trembled against her cheek. she needed nothing more. nothing done, nothing said; your words riled her enough. the sounds of fabric brushed together as she slid up through your open legs, pulling up with her arms—which define with subtle veins and toning—pressing her crotch into you. she inhaled, and let your scent fill her. “you're so goddamn sweet. mhh, okay, i'll fuckin' give it to you.”

an: i haven't listened to the song too much, but i craved cowgirl!ellie either way and the domesticism she brings to the table 💙

[aeralux]

"After Midnight" - Jacaerys Velaryon

Boyfriend!Jacaerys x Girlfriend!Reader (modern!au) Because the 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 Calvin Klein ad still has me salivating Could be read as pt.2 to "Pretty When You Cry" or separately

Summary: You and Jace just relaxing before going to bed... in your underwear. He simply can't help but get turned on when admiring the view

Warnings: SMUT (18+); grinding; teasing (from both ends); oral (f!receiving); fingering; praising each other; the reader gets called slut twice (endearingly); both are switches (kinda?); fluffy; dry humping

Words: 4k

Notes: No description of the reader, except for having female parts and hair. I need this man biblically, I fear. If you do not like this content, do not read it.

𐔌 . ⋮ aera .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

It was a quiet evening, just like any other, really. You were straddling Jace's lap on the bed, scrolling Pinterest on your phone. It was late, and you were ready to go to bed, clad in your undies, a loose tee, and Jace in his boxers.

Suddenly you feel his cock twitching under you, getting harder just by you innocently sitting on his lap. What's the harm in teasing him a little?

You smirked, rolling your hips an experimental roll on top of his. When you heard a low groan coming from him, your phone was long forgotten. His sweet moans like music to your ears, and his beautiful face all twisted in pleasure. Any woman would go feral.

Beginning to grind against him, seeking friction against your now aching core. You could feel the head of his cock rubbing against your sensitive clit through the thin barrier of your underwear, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. Great. Now you'll need to change your underwear...

"Mmm, Jacaerys," you moaned softly, your brows furrowing in bliss as you continued to grind yourself against him. Doing all of this just to spur him on even more. You captured his lips in a heated kiss, your tongue delving into his mouth hungrily.

Jacaerys groaned into the kiss, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your movements as you ground yourself against him. He could feel your wetness through the thin fabric of your underwear, could feel the heat of your core as it pressed against his cock.

He broke the kiss, breathing heavily as he looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Fuck, baby," he breathed, his voice hoarse with want. "You feel so fucking good."

He reached down, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear, tugging it to the side.

He rubbed his thumb over your clit, the pad of his finger circling the sensitive bundle of nerves, slick pooling out of you. He could feel you tremble above him, could hear your breath hitch as he touched you.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard," he promised, his voice low and husky. "I'm going to make you scream my name until you're hoarse."

Oh, but he's got it all wrong. You are in charge right now (at least for a while).

You leaned back, a wicked smirk playing on my lips as you savoured the look of pure desire across Jacaerys' handsome features. Your hips continuing to grind against him, teasingly slow.

"Nuh-uh," you purred, your voice low and seductive. "You're gonna cum like this, pretty boy," you emphasised each word with a sensual roll of your hips. "You're gonna cum in your clean boxers from feeling my wet cunt rub against you like a good boy, yeah?"

You gazed down at him through hooded eyes, drinking in the sight of his face contorted in pleasure, the way his muscles tensed beneath you. The power you held over him at this moment sent pleasure straight to your core.

Your fingers trailed down his chest, nails lightly scraping against his skin as you kept up your torturous pace. You could feel his cock throbbing beneath the thin fabric of his boxers, the damp patch growing with each pass of your hips.

Jacaerys let out a low groan, his head falling back against the pillows as you teased him mercilessly. The feel of your wet heat against his cock was almost too much to bear, the friction driving him wild with need.

He could feel his release building, his balls tightening, his cock pulsing with the need to spill itself inside you.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust and adoration. "You're so fucking sexy," he breathed, his voice rough with desire. "I'm gonna cum," he warned, his voice strained.

Without a word, you raised your hips just as he was about to let go. Denying his sweet release.

Jacaerys let out a frustrated groan as you did that, his hips bucking up desperately, seeking the friction he so desperately craved. "Fuck," he growled, his voice strained with need. "Don't tease me like this."

He could feel his cock throbbing, aching for relief, the damp patch in his boxers growing bigger with each passing second. He was so close, so fucking close, and the denial was almost too much to bear.

You simply looked down at Jacaerys with a cruel smile, your hips gently bouncing on his in a slow, tantalising rhythm. The friction was minimal, barely enough to tease, and you knew it was driving him wild.

"You want more, don't you, pretty boy?" You purred, your voice low and seductive. "You want to feel me, all of me, wrapped around your hot, throbbing cock."

You ran your nails lightly down his chest, leaving faint red lines in their wake.

Jacaerys let out a low, pained moan, his hips bucking up into your teasing touches. He could feel every nerve ending in his body screaming for more, begging for release, but you kept him on the edge, denying him the pleasure he so desperately craved.

"Yes," he growled, his voice rough with need. "Fuck, I want you. I need you. Please, baby, let me feel you."

He reached up, his hands gripping your hips, trying to pull you down onto him, but you resisted, keeping your movements slow and torturous.

"Tease," he accused, his voice strained. His weak accusations making you grin.

But even as he complained, he couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips, the way his eyes darkened with desire. He loved the way you were taking control, the way you drove him wild with need.

"If you want me to beg," he challenged, his voice low and seductive, "then I will beg. Please, please let me feel your tight, wet pussy wrapped around my cock. Please let me fuck you until you're screaming my name."

A shiver runs down your spine as you hear his desperate pleas, almost giving in. His needy whimpers sending heat straight to your core. "Mmm, you sound so pretty when you beg for me," you purr, your voice thick with lust. "Such a good boy." Jace's eyes close in pleasure from the praise, letting out a low moan.

You grind your soaked folds along the length of his throbbing cock. The friction is delicious, the heat of him searing you even through the thin fabric of your underwear.

"Fuck, Jacaerys," you moan, your head falling back as you lose yourself in the sensation.

You grind your hips harder, faster, the friction borders on uncomfortable, but it feels so fucking good.

Jacaerys moans loudly as you grind against him. He can feel his cock throbbing, leaking pre-cum, the damp patch in his boxers growing with each pass of your hips.

"Yes," he hisses, his hands gripping your hips tightly, guiding your movements. "Fuck, just like that. Grind on my cock like a good girl."

He reaches up, his hands cupping your breasts, squeezing them roughly, thumbing your nipples through the thin fabric of your shirt. He leans up, capturing one in his mouth, sucking hard, grazing it with his teeth.

"I'm so fucking close," he pants against your skin, his hips bucking up into yours. "Gonna cum in my fucking boxers if you keep this up."

He releases your nipple, leaving a wet patch on your shirt. He looks up at you with hooded eyes, his face flushed with pleasure.

You lean back, giving him a wicked smirk as your hips grind against his with increasing desperation. "Mmm, my pretty boy," you say breathily.

You can feel his cock twitching beneath you, so hard and ready. You want to feel him soil himself, cum just from your touch, all pathetic and whiny, just for you. Making his mind blank from pleasure.

"That's it," you encourage, your voice low and breathy. "Cum in your fucking boxers like a good boy."

You can feel your own release building, your core clenching, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. But it’s not enough, though his release will be just as sweet nonetheless.

Jacaerys lets out a whiny, tortured moan as you tease and praise him. He can feel his release building, his cock throbbing, aching for relief, but he tries to hold back, wanting to prolong this moment for as long as possible.

"Fuck," he growls, his voice strained. "You're gonna make me cum like a fucking virgin..."

He looks up at you, his eyes dark and wild, his chest heaving with each laboured breath.

His hips buck up into yours, the friction beginning to get slightly uncomfortable, but still so incredibly pleasurable. He can feel his balls tightening, his cock pulsing, the pressure building to a breaking point.

"Please," he begs, his voice breaking on the word. "Please let me cum, please let me fill my fucking boxers with my seed."

He knows he's being pathetic, knows he sounds like a desperate, needy mess, but he doesn't care. All he cares about is his release.

You grind your wet, dripping pussy harder against Jacaerys' throbbing cock, feeling every inch of him through our barely-there layers. Your panties are thoroughly soaked, and there is a wet patch on the front of his boxers, right where his hard shaft is.

"Mmh, fuck," you breathe, losing yourself in the delicious friction. You guide his face to your chest, and he eagerly latches onto your nipple again through your top, his warm mouth sending sparks of pleasure through you.

Jacaerys whimpers against your nipple, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. He can feel his cock throbbing, aching for release, the pressure building to an unbearable level.

"Cum for me, Jace," you coo, your nails raking down his back and neck now. "Be pathetic, fill your boxers like a good boy..."

He sucks harder on your nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud. His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as he grinds up into you, seeking more friction, more heat.

You press your hips down harder, desperate for more. You want to feel him lose control, soak himself just from your touch. You're so fucking close, but you’ll deal with that later. Right now, all that matters is getting him to cum in his 'pants'.

He releases your nipple, panting heavily as he looks up at you, his eyes wild and desperate. "Fuck," he groans, his voice strained. "I'm so fucking close. Gonna cum like a pathetic little boy, just for you."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chants, his voice high and desperate. "Gonna cum, gonna fucking cum."

His cock pulses once, twice, three times, and then he's coming, spilling himself in his boxers, ruining his clean boxers. He moans loudly, his face buried in your chest, his hips jerking erratically as he rides out his release.

He collapses back onto the bed, his chest heaving, his skin slick with sweat. He looks up at you, his eyes glassy and unfocused, a satisfied and tired smile on his face.

"Holy shit," he pants, his voice hoarse.

"Look at the mess you made," you purr, teasing him as you glance down at the damp patch on Jacaerys' boxers. Your panties were sticky as well, with your juices and his hot seed.

With a smile, you hook your fingers under the bottom of your soaked panties, slowly pulling them to the side. The cool air hits your slick folds, making you shudder. You're aching for release, your pussy wet and messy with his sticky seed and your arousal.

"Clean me up, pretty boy," you coo, spreading your legs wider on top of him, leaning back and giving him a perfect view of your glistening sex.

Jacaerys swallows hard, his eyes locked onto your glistening folds. He can see his own release mixed with your juices, the sight making his cock twitch in his soiled boxers.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "So fucking messy."

Jace pushes you gently onto your back, quickly settling in between your thighs. With an urgency you've never seen before, he quickly tugs down your cute panties, groaning at the sight.

He wastes no time, leaning in and burying his face between your thighs, his tongue lapping at your folds, tasting the mix of your arousal and his own release. He moans at the taste, the sounds vibrating against your sensitive flesh, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through your body.

"Oh fuck!" you moan, your brows furrowing in pleasure. Your hands instinctively go to his hair, tugging him closer to your dripping cunny. You try to grind against his tongue, seeking more, but his iron grip on your ass holds you in place.

"All it took was someone to touch this messy little pussy, and you're back to being all docile," Jace smirks, his teasing words sending a shiver down your spine. He's right, and you both know it. The moment he touches you, and takes control, you turn submissive. It feels too good to have him take control and let him do whatever he wants to you.

You arch your back, pushing your hips forward, desperate for more. "Yes," you pant, your voice breathy and needy. "I just want to be a good girl for you, Jace."

Jacaerys' ego swells at your words, a smug grin spreading across his face. He loves how responsive you are to his touch, how easily he can reduce you to a needy, desperate mess with just a flick of his tongue.

He continues his oral assault on your pussy, his tongue delving deep, fucking you hard and fast, before circling your clit, teasing you mercilessly. He alternates between long, slow licks and quick flicks, paying attention to your reactions.

"Mmm, such a good girl," he purrs, the words muffled against your wet flesh. "Such an obedient little slut for me." Your eyes widen at his dirty words, a whimper escaping your lips. Only he could call you a 'slut' and make it feel like praise.

He slides two fingers into your tight heat, pumping them in and out, curling them just right, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. At the same time, he seals his lips around your clit, sucking hard, flicking the sensitive nub with his tongue.

"Fuuuck," you shriek, your hips stuttering as he repeatedly hits the soft spot inside your velvety walls, making you see white spots. But it doesn't last long. Jacaerys soon pulls up and flashes you a teasing smirk.

He blows cool air over your heated flesh, watching your tight hole contract, as you writhe beneath him. "You want to be a good girl for me?" he asks, his voice rough with lust. "What does a good girl do?"

You look at him with wide glossy eyes, clit pulsing with need. "I-I don't... what?" You ask him, mind blank from his assault on your sopping pussy.

Jacaerys chuckles darkly, amused by your dazed expression. He knows exactly what he's doing to you, how he's reducing you to a needy, desperate mess with just his mouth and fingers.

"A good girl begs for what she wants," he explains, his voice low and commanding. "A good girl tells her master exactly what she needs."

He leans in, his breath hot against your inner thigh. "So tell me, baby. Tell me what you want. Beg for it. Show me how much you need it."

He punctuates each word with a teasing flick of his tongue against your clit, the brief contact sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

Before the words even register, you find yourself pleading with him, your best puppy-dog eyes trained on his face. "Please, Jace," you whimper, your voice cracking with desperation. "I missed you so much. Fuck."

"Come on, sweetheart," he coaxes, his voice gentle despite the filthy words. "I know you can do better than that. Beg for my tongue, beg for my fingers. Beg for me to make you cum like the desperate little slut you are."

You bite your lip, your cheeks flushing with heat as you admit, "Every time I touched myself at night, I thought of you. Your tongue, your fingers... your fat cock," you say, drawing out the last words in a sultry whine.

You squirm beneath him, your pussy contracting with need. "Please, I want to gush all over your tongue. I want to be a good girl for you, Jace."

You look at him through your lashes, your eyes wide and pleading. "Please. I need you. I need your mouth on me. I need to cum."

acaerys groans at your desperate pleas, his cock throbbing in his boxers. He loves seeing you like this, so needy and wanton, begging for his touch. It strokes his ego in the best ways.

"Fuck, you're so sexy when you beg," he praises, his voice low and rough. "So desperate for my cock, for my mouth. Such a good little slut for me."

He buries his face between your thighs once more, his tongue delving deep into your heat, fucking you hard and fast. He licks up your slit, circling your clit with the tip of his tongue, before sealing his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

He sucks hard, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, his lips creating a delicious suction. At the same time, he pumped his fingers into your tight channel. His tongue works your clit while his fingers fuck you hard and fast, the obscene wet sounds of his mouth on your pussy filling the room. Your coquettish high-pitched moans reaching the neighbours, surely.

"Fuck, I missed you so much. Thought about you and your sweet cunt all day and night," his dirt yet sweet words make your pussy clench around his digits, drawing a smirk from him.

"You...you did?" You breathe, your voice trembling. You tug at his hair, needing to feel him closer to ensure this is real.

You pull him to your pussy, needing his mouth on you, needing him close. "Show me," you urge him, your voice desperate. "Show me how much you missed me."

"Fuck, you taste so good," he groans, the words muffled against your flesh. "Missed this sweet little cunt. Missed the way you taste, the way you feel, the way you scream for me."

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, his eyes dark and intense. "Gonna make you cum so hard, baby. Gonna make you shake and scream and gush all over my face. Gonna make you forget everything except my name."

With that promise, he dives back in, his tongue and fingers working you over, pushing you closer and closer to that brink of pleasure.

"Ahh!" you shriek in ecstasy, your back arching off the bed as Jace's skilled tongue works you over. Each flick against your clit sends electrifying waves of pleasure through your body, your muscles tightening as you climb higher and higher towards your peak. You squeeze your eyes shut, lost in the intense sensations consuming you.

It feels so damn good, his mouth on you, devouring your most intimate places. The way he sucks and licks, the filthy noises he makes, it's all driving you wild. You can feel your orgasm building, your core clenching, the pressure growing.

"Oh god, Jace, yes!" You cry out, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him against you. You grind your hips against his face, desperate for more, chasing that delicious high.

You're so close, teetering on the edge, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Just a little more, a little harder. You can feel it, your body tensing, your toes curling, your whole world narrowing to the incredible pleasure radiating from your core.

"Please, please, please," you chant, your voice high and desperate.

Jacaerys feels you tensing, your body coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap. He can sense your impending orgasm, can feel it in the way your muscles quiver beneath him, can taste it in the flood of your arousal on his tongue.

He works his fingers at an almost punishing pace, your juices making it easy for him to slip them in and out of you.

"That's it, baby," he growls, the words vibrating against your sensitive flesh. "Cum for me. Cum all over my face. Let go, let go."

He seals his lips around your clit once more, sucking hard, flicking the sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue.

And with a final flick of his tongue, a final pump of his fingers, he sends you flying, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as your orgasm washes over you. A single, loud moan slips out, your voice breaking with the intensity of your pleasure. "Oh fuck!" You cry out, your head spinning, your vision blurring at the edges.

Your hands tremble as they pet Jace's hair, urging him on as he fingers you through the aftershocks, drawing out your pleasure.

Jacaerys moans as you cum on his tongue, your sweet nectar flooding his mouth, your body shaking and jerking beneath him. He continues to lap at your clit, to pump his fingers into your fluttering channel, prolonging your pleasure for as long as possible.

He slows his touches as you start to come down, his tongue licking soft and slow over your sensitive flesh, soothing you as your body twitches and flutters. He presses soft kisses to your inner thighs, to your mound, his slight stubble tickling your skin.

Finally, he pulls back, looking up at you with a satisfied smirk. He licks your essence from his lips, his eyes dark and hungry. "Fuck, you taste even better than I remembered," he says in a dark voice.

He crawls up your body, pressing soft kisses to your stomach, your ribs, your breasts, until he reaches your mouth. He kisses you deeply, sharing your taste with you, letting you feel the heat of your own arousal on his tongue.

"You're incredible," he murmurs against your lips, his hand cupping your cheek tenderly. "The hottest, sexiest woman I've ever met. And you're all mine."

"Wow," you giggle as you hear his words, pressing a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. "And I have the most handsome, the prettiest man," you whisper into his ear. "You know I'm bad with compliments, so enjoy this," you tease him with a soft smirk playing on your lips.

Jacaerys chuckles, nuzzling into your neck, his breath tickling your sensitive skin. "Well, you're just full of surprises, aren't you?" he teases back, his hand trailing down your side, over the curve of your hip, coming to rest on your ass.

He gives it a squeeze, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. "Pretty boy, huh? Guess I can't argue with that. Especially when you're staring at me with those pretty eyes of yours, all fuck-drunk and satisfied."

You whine softly as Jace's fingers dig into the soft flesh of your rear. But as his words reach your ears, a smile overtakes your features, pupils wide.

"And it's all because of you," you murmur, your voice low and breathy. "I'm all yours, any way you want me."

You gaze up at him, your eyes filled with tenderness, brushing your thumb gently over his lower lip.

Jacaerys captures your thumb between his teeth, giving it a playful nip before sucking it into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the digit. He looks down at you through his lashes, his eyes dark and hooded, still filled with lingering lust.

He releases your thumb with a wet pop, his lips curving into a wicked grin. "Mmm, mine," he says, his voice low and possessive. "All mine to touch, to taste, to fuck."

"And I intend to do all of those things, over and over again. Until you're sore and satisfied, mind blank and body limp."

He punctuates his words with a sharp nip to your bottom lip, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. His hand moves from your ass to your lower back, pulling you closer.

[aanxiousangel]

a piece of me | portgas d ace .MDNI. AANXIOUSANGEL ©

AANXIOUSANGEL © DO NOT FEED ANY OF MY WRITINGS TO AI PROGRAMS OF ANY SORTS; I DO NOT CONDONE THE USE OF AI. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: a request from my ao3 comments! i really hope this is enjoyable because i lowk hate it the more i reread it... so... i'll be rewriting this eventually (i really don't think i can ever top my asl bro fic lol). 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: character death (not Ace), blood, angst and fluff, kid!bully!Ace, teen!depressed!reader, violence/death depicted at the end 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 3.5k 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you're empty without your flame by your side. what will you do when he comes back for you?

Several years ago… ages 8 + 10

“Ace!” You called out, trying to keep up with the older boy.

Luffy was right behind you, panting, “Y/N/N! Wait for me!”

“Sorry, Lu,” you huff out, hands on your knees as you try to catch your breath.

Just a moment of you taking your eyes off of Ace and he was gone! You pout, kicking the dirt on the path. Surrounding you and Luffy were the woods you’d been around all your childhood. Off in the shade, you plop down against a tree with a huff. Why couldn’t you be fast like Ace or Sabo..?

“I’m hungry,” Luffy whined, sitting next to you.

You glance over at the younger boy, frowning slightly. He was always hungry. This was nothing new. You just still couldn’t understand how his stomach was basically a bottomless pit. Then again, you basically burned off everything you ate on a daily, running like this.

“Head back for lunch, Lu. I’ll try and find Ace, ‘kay?”

Luffy frowned but didn’t argue, mumbling out an ‘okay’ before getting up to trudge the whole way home to Curly Dadan and the others. Once the younger boy disappears from your sight, you break down. Pulling your knees to your chest, you sniffle. You tried so hard to keep up with him , but it never worked. He was too fast, too agile, too smart allowing him to disappear into the forestry.

You were all alone once again. Just like the day your parents left you here to set sail on an adventure, hearing about the infamous Gol D Roger’s treasure hidden somewhere in the world… At least you were fed, clothed, and housed here with Dadan.

Before you knew it, fat tears rolled down your cheeks, leaving streaks in the dirt ghosting your skin. You bury your face into your knees, trembling as you cry. You didn’t even know why you were crying. It just felt like your heart hurt, aching and sinking in your chest.

A branch snaps not too far from you, making you freeze up. Your head lifts just enough to peer over your knees, searching the deep greenery. You couldn’t see him, but…it felt like he was there. For some reason, you always felt his presence like it was a sixth sense. Maybe you had some kind of superpower.

“Hello?” You call out with a shaky voice, getting up.

Another snap has you looking all around, trying to find the source. You started to creep back, turning on your heel to get ready to run. Before you could take another step, you hear a sigh from above you.

“You’re no fun when you cry,” Ace’s voice startled you, letting you find him sitting in the branches of the tree you sat against.

“You’re so mean!” You retort, turning to walk home.

“I’m not mean!” He argues back.

You hear the sound of his shoes scraping bark before a thick thump hits the ground. He runs over to you, catching up easily. You don’t even dare to look at him. Dummy… Stupid, stupid dummy..!

“Take it back,” he pouts, poking your arm.

“No.” You snap, keeping your eyes trained ahead of you.

“I’m not mean! You keep following me like a lost puppy! And Luffy!” Ace attempts to explain his reasoning, but you don’t care. “You’re both crybabies..!”

Well, you try not to care. It still hurts your feelings.

“You never let me play with you,” you sniffle, roughly wiping the tears sliding down your cheeks.

“You’re too young! You cry too much.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t cry so much if you were nicer!”

He stops in his tracks, but you don’t. You continue on, following all the subtle markings imprinted in your mind to lead you home. Home where you’d be safe and acknowledged.

Ace doesn’t speak to you for the rest of the day, leaving you to pout even through dinner. And when the next day came, you didn’t run after him through the forest or even come out to play with Luffy. You stuck by Dadan’s side, asking to help with anything your short self could manage. Dishes, dusting, learning. Anything. Mostly, she had you read a lot, telling you it’d benefit you.

Though, she was worried. Why were you suddenly a recluse? Why did sticking your nose in a book entice you more than playing with the other village kids? Eventually, Dadan got tired of you wanting to ‘grow up too fast’ and sent you out to play with the other kids. You pretended to go play, but really… You hid in the forest with a book, hiding away from everyone.

“Y/N?” Ace’s voice startles you out of your own little world, crouched beside you. He peered over at your book, wide eyed and curious.

Your chest hurts. “What?”

He nearly flinches at the surprising harshness in your tone. “Can you come play now..?”

Some years later… ages 15 + 17

He wasn’t so bad… Actually, Ace was refreshing to be around. He made you laugh until your sides would hurt, wipe away your tears while simultaneously teasing you about being a crybaby, and even patch up your scrapes and cuts. Though, you knew he wouldn’t stick around forever. His need for freedom still stayed even in his aging.

Not to mention, he always spoke about it. About getting off this island and living a long life being the best pirate in the world. The king of pirates, he claimed. He’d swore he’d be even better than Gol D Roger himself. Something about that…you believed it. It was a feeling in your gut that told you Ace was meant to be something amazing in life.

So, you stole any ounce of his time that you could, not telling him your reasoning for being even more clingy.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Ace whispers.

The stars above twinkled, the full moon illuminating the shoreline. The waves rolled in and out, just barely kissing your bare feet planted on the ground. You didn’t flinch, didn’t dare move a muscle. Even as your vision blurred and your chest started to hurt, you didn’t move. Not even when he shifted, almost uncomfortable within the silence.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it..?” Your voice cracks, just barely speaking above a whisper.

Ace’s head turns to you, searching the side of your face for something. Anything… Anything to tell him you gave a shit that he would be gone. All he could see was the tears sliding down your temple with quivering lips. The pain that sat on your chest was unbearable.

“Y/N…”

“Just stay with me tonight,” you whisper, shutting your eyes. Begging, pleading, hoping that it was just a fucked up joke… But it wasn’t.

Ace moved closer, wrapping his arms around you. And you cried. You didn’t stop crying all night even as you lay in bed, clinging to your pillow to muffle your sobs. Not even the next morning when you could barely drag yourself out of bed. Not even as he left your side. Not even as he left with a piece of you he didn’t know he had.

You couldn’t breathe, broken and sobbing every hour of the day, every day of the week... Luffy swore he’d become the next pirate king and beat Ace up on your behalf. Even as he was being a crybaby at your side, hurt by his brother’s departure. Almost as if his brother betrayed him.

You swore you’d set sail one day when you had the courage. You promised yourself you would find him one day. You’d find Portgas D Ace and…you weren’t sure what would come after that. He couldn’t just leave you like this. Like a shell of your old self. Right? Right..?

Ace was better than that. Better than leaving you all alone in this world. He wasn’t like your parents who left you to fend for yourself. Or like Luffy’s parents who technically did the same to him. This was Ace we’re talking about here. Your favorite guy in existence…

Your entire reason for breathing.

Days passed, turning into weeks. Weeks where you sat in that same spot, hoping to see that familiar grin coming back to you. Months where you laid under the night sky, realizing he left you. He truly left you behind.

The five stages of grief took a toll on you. Denial had come and gone, leaving you with anger rotting your very bones on that shore. Bargaining had you screaming at the waves to bring him back, tears sliding down your face. It didn’t work. There was no sea god to listen to your pleas. Depression so terrible you couldn’t even look at the ocean. So terrible you couldn’t bring yourself to all your regular spots because it reminded you of him too much.

Finally, one day you accepted that he was gone, but so were you. The joy you once held onto so tightly disappeared, sinking you into this pit of hidden misery and masks to cope with the pain. Anyone who knew you… They could see the pain in your eyes, in the smiles that didn’t meet your eyes.

The pain lingered even as you and Luffy set sail years later, a sliver of hope moving through your veins that you’d see him again one day.

Present day. ages 18 + 20

“Luffy!” Zoro’s boots thudded on the deck, having dropped from the crow’s nest. “Ship incoming!”

Luffy swiveled around, looking out over the ship’s ledge. A ship, yes, but a tiny one at that. It wasn’t like the Going Merry that was made for a huge crew. No, this one made for maybe three people at most.

“What the hell..?” Luffy frowned, “Y/N!”

You were leaning on the starboard rail, looking over the ocean when Luffy called you over. You walk over, standing between the captain and swordsman to see what the fuss was about. Eventually, Nami and Usopp were standing beside the three of you, curious and alert.

“What is that..?” You ask, the ship growing closer and closer.

“No clue…” Luffy mutters, rolling his shoulders. “But get ready in case…”

He stopped. A tall figure stood at the back of the boat, flames controlling the water to direct the ship towards your crew. Black hair, red pearls, a familiar hat resting atop his head…

That smile…

You stepped back, immediately believing you were hallucinating, “Luffy…”

“ACE!” Luffy screams, waving his arms like a crazy person.

You flinch at the sudden outburst, blinking away the tears threatening to spill. It couldn’t be him. Not yet. You weren’t ready! This pirate life was still so new to you! You weren’t even sure you could kick his ass, make him regret ever leaving you in the first place. Honestly, you didn’t want to fight him.

In the midst of Luffy’s chaos and Zoro holding him back from falling into the water, you couldn’t control your hurricane of emotions. You step back a few feet, catching Nami’s attention quickly. You probably looked insane to her with tears in your eyes and disbelief written all over your face.

“Y/N?” Nami quickly catches you by the arm before you trip, searching your face. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

“Ace,” you choke out, wiping away the falling tears. “I-Is that him? Really him?”

“How do you know Fire Fist Ace?” Nami asks, sitting you down. Clearly, he had his own reputation.

“He…” You peer up at her, unsure how to describe him. “I… We…”

Ace wasn’t your brother like he was to Sabo and Luffy, no. He was your friend..? No, that felt too basic. Too restrained. What you felt for this man… This was like a flame, burning brighter than the sun. Passionate, energetic, confusing. He still held that piece of you…

“Y/N,” Ace’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

Oh, god. Oh, no, no, no! Your mouth hung open, staring up at him. Freckles dusted his face, his shoulders… Sunkissed and ripped, he stood before you in all his glory. He shook his hand off, flames dying out on his fingertips.

The devil fruit… He ate one?! Your confusion lay evident across your face, making him laugh. Ace held his hand out to you, helping you up with ease. You didn’t get a chance to say anything before he had you wrapped in his arms with a tight grip. He smelled like the sea and sweat.

“Ace…” you whisper, finally wrapping your arms around him.

“I’m here,” he whispered against the side of your head, squeezing you.

“I’m so confused right now…” Usopp nudged Nami’s side, brow raised as he watched the reunion.

“Honestly, me too. Luffy, do you guys know him?” Nami looks over at Luffy who was grinning brightly.

“That’s my big brother!” Luffy tells them, causing chaos among the crew so bad that even Sanji, Chopper, and Vivi came out from the galley.

While Luffy was busy being interrogated, you were still in disbelief that Ace stood right before you. He was real and alive and… here . You peer up at him, eyes starting to water.

“Still a crybaby?” Ace smiles, reaching to caress your cheek gently.

“Still an asshole?” You sniffle and your lips pout.

“Only for you.”

Eventually, the night overwhelmed the sky and dinner was served. You lingered near Ace for most of his stay, fearing that you’d never see him again. And then it happened. The two of you out on the deck, looking up at the stars. You were terrified he’d tell you this would be the last time you’d see him for a while if not forever.

“Y/N,” Ace took a deep breath.

“Hm?” Your eyes drift over to him, meeting his gaze.

“I want you to come with me,” he tells you quietly, shoulders tense.

Your eyes search his for a minute. “Come with you? Like…”

“Sail the world with me, pretty. Stay by my side.” Ace steps closer to you, his fingers brushing over your knuckles.

Your heart stops. “Why now?”

“Because I realized leaving you was the biggest mistake of my life.”

Ace leans in, his nose brushing against yours. For years, he held this regret deep in his soul. He’d been restless, hoping to find you once again. When word had spread about the Strawhat Pirates and Luffy gaining a hefty bounty, he’d needed to find you more than anything. He knew you’d be right alongside his kid brother.

He couldn’t just let you slip through his fingers again.

“Ace,” you breathe out, his breath tickling your lips.

“I’m here, Y/N. I can’t do this without you,” Ace’s hand moves to cup the back of your head, fingers tangled in your locks.

“I want to come with you…” You whisper, melting against him. “But what will Luffy say?”

“I don’t know. I’ll take you as a hostage if I have to,” he murmurs, attempting to make the situation lighter.

“I’ll do it. I’ll come with you, Ace.”

Hearing your words made his heart soar. Hell, he didn’t think he’d ever been happier than knowing you’d be right as his side.

Beneath your touch, Ace relaxes. He breathes out a sigh of relief, brushing his lips against yours. Ace pulls back slightly to look at you for a second, seeing your parted lips and glossy eyes. He sinks his mouth against yours desperately. You crumble, tears sliding down your cheeks. Just as your knees give out, he lifts you into his arms. Ace’s hands find their way to hold your thighs, keeping your legs wrapped around his waist.

You never expected your first kiss to be like this. Under the stars, listening to the ocean waves, clinging to the love of your life.

“It’s gonna be tough,” Ace tells you quietly after pulling away.

“I don’t care,” you watch him carefully, hoping he wouldn’t retract his offer.

And he didn’t. The next morning, you had a long talk with Luffy and your crew, but only Luffy could truly understand your hidden reason for leaving. You were nearly hollow the first time Ace left. What would the second do to you?

“Promise me something,” Luffy grabs your arm.

“Yeah?” Your brows furrow.

“Promise we won’t be enemies the next time we cross paths.” Luffy looks at you, his tone more serious than you’d ever heard him before.

“Oh, Lu…” You lock your pinky with his, smiling, “Never in a million years, Pirate King.”

Luffy returns the smile, a laugh escaping him, “See ya, Y/N/N.”

Nearly your entire crew fought off their tears with a final goodbye. And you? You let the tears roll freely, still smiling brightly. You’d never forget them and you’d never forget the life you were giving up.

Ace almost felt bad for whisking you away, but…he didn’t regret it. He would never regret finding the love of his life once more.

“You’ve always had a piece of my heart,” Ace tells you quietly once the Going Merry was no longer in your eyesight.

“You did too,” you smile at him, your chin resting on your palm.

“When I left…” Ace sighs, sitting across from you on the boat, “I thought Luffy needed you and Sabo to take care of him. Then, I heard about this strawhat pirate causing a ruckus all over the sea, I figured…”

You wait for him to continue, sensing he’d had some unresolved feelings from all those years ago, “You figured..?”

“I figured…he’d be okay with his crew. I needed you, Y/N. I wasn’t sure I could live with myself for leaving you behind. I wanted to be selfish.”

“You’re not selfish. I think Luffy knew that. He knew I needed…to feel whole again. To live. I didn’t feel that way without you. I couldn’t.”

Ace stays quiet for a while, thinking about your confession. He chews on his inner cheek, the cogs in his mind turning. He felt like half the man he was when you weren’t by his side. Now? His heart felt full just like it was back when you two were kids, playing pirates with his brothers.

“Let’s promise each other something.”

A soft laugh escapes from under your breath as you nod. Another promise.

“Promise we’ll be together forever. No matter what happens, we won’t leave each other’s side.”

Your smile falters, seeing the severity of the fear lingering in his eyes. Why was he so worried..? You wouldn’t dare leave his side. Ever .

“I promise,” you take out a dagger you kept hidden in your boots, slicing your palm.

Ace took the dagger, slicing his palm just to grab your hands to interlace the newly made blood pact. He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, squeezing your hand. In his mind, he vowed to never allow you to get hurt. Not while he was alive.

“Forever."

Content warning here: this ending is completely optional & is what I'd consider as "The Bad Ending." (Character death ahead.) Kind of like video games with multiple routes.

You promised forever, but…you couldn’t follow through. The memory hung in Ace’s mind, a war raging on around you. You were supposed to stay by his side forever…

But now? Your torso lay blown open, your blood soaking the pavement of the building. This was a mistake. You weren’t supposed to die. You weren’t supposed to take the blow meant for him.

“Y/N!” he choked out, grabbing your face that was far too pale. “Pretty, c’mon. You promised! You promised you’d stay with me! Please, Y/N, I can’t do this without you!”

You choke on the blood pouring from your mouth, attempting to take a breath, “You have to, Ace. Y-you have to keep going. For me. For us. ”

“No, no, no,” Ace clings to you, nauseous as he looks at the gaping wound in your torso, “Pretty, stay with me. Please.”

“I love you, Ace. I’ll love you forever,” you smile weakly, feeling awfully cold in his arms.

“I love you, Y/N. You promised. You can’t break a promise,” Ace peppered your face with kisses, attempting to keep you awake.

“Ace…”

Tears roll down your face, leaving streaks in the dirt that coated your face. It was just like when you were kids all over again, hurt and exhausted… He kissed your lips, tears falling from his own eyes. You were supposed to marry him. You were supposed to grow old together.

“I love you so much…”

Your breath escaped you, brushing his skin. With eyes glazed over, you were gone. It was impossible to fix the damage that was done, the smell of your flesh burning making him sick to his stomach. Why did you have to push him out of the way? Why did it have to be you?

You never imagined your last kiss to be like this, leaving blood stained on his face, leaving Ace all alone in the world once again.

extra author's note: masterlist! archiveofourown! please be patient with me as I continue updating and getting out of my writer's block! love ya!

[buckybabesonly]

Can An Old Man Do This?

Summary: Watching Twilight with Bucky leads to to sex. Sounds about right.

Pairing: Bucky x Female!reader

Warnings: Degradation kink, dirty talk, facials

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 2k

Watching the Twilight movies with your boyfriend was surely a rite of passage. 16 year old you would be squealing if she knew that one day, you’d be dating someone as broody and stoic as your favorite fictional vampire, Edward Cullen.

You had managed to convince Bucky to curl up and bed and watch the first movie with you, telling him it was essential for his ever-growing knowledge of pop culture.

“Okay, this is too weird,” Bucky concluded as Edward and Bella danced on-screen at her prom. “This whole movie is flawed. Why would a vampire family feel the need to go to high school?”

“To blend in,” you said simply. You were sat with your back against the headboard with Bucky lying with his head resting against your bare thighs - you hadn't even bothered to change out of your pajama tank top and shorts. He was in a pair of gray sweatpants and an unbuttoned shirt, the epitome of a lazy Sunday as his fingernails grazed softly against the flesh of your leg.

He tilted his head back to look at you, rolling his eyes. “And going to high school is the way to do that? They could be doing literally anything else.”

“Don’t think too hard about the logic behind it,” you said, your fingers toying with locks of his hair.

“And Edward is over 100 years old? Going after a 17 year old? Something’s not right with that.”

You snorted, amused by Bucky’s dissection of the movie.

“How old are you again?”

“It’s not the same,” Bucky shot back.

“C’mon,” you teased, “what’s an old man doing going after a much younger woman?”

Bucky sat up then, the muscles in his abdomen rippling and flexing. He hit pause on the movie and knocked the laptop aside, rolling on top of you so that his knees were between yours, easing your legs apart.

“What did you just call me?” He challenged, hands reaching for your hips and tugging down sharply so that you slid down onto your back with a gasp.

You knew exactly what direction this was heading in as Bucky’s lips moved to your neck, his teeth softly scraping against the surface like he wanted to bite. The smell of his cologne was intoxicating, and you moaned softly as his teeth nibbled on your skin.

"Bucky..."

"Say it again," he murmured, his hands sliding up beneath your shirt to cup your breast. Your nipple hardened as he played with it, and he chuckled. "You like being felt up by this old man, huh?"

"Nuh-uh," you spluttered unconvincingly as Bucky's other hand reached down to palm your crotch, applying pressure to your clit. Arousal was flooding through every nerve ending, and you resisted the urge to grind up into his hand for more.

"I think you do," Bucky disagreed. "I think you like being used by me. Being fucked senseless by me."

He sat back and you mewled involuntarily at the loss of his touch against your body, but was quickly silenced when Bucky shrugged off his shirt and tossed it aside. You reached forward to tug at his sweatpants, but his hands shot out to pin your arms above your head.

"Not so fast, sweetheart," he said, though you could see how hard he was already. He just loved to see you squirm.

"Please, Bucky," you said, knowing exactly what he liked to hear. "Don't you think I deserve your cock? Don't you want to fuck my mouth?"

Bucky groaned then, placing his fingers inside your mouth for you to lick hungrily.

"You really think you deserve to suck my dick?" He grunted, though he was already peeling off his sweatpants like his life depended on it. He lay back and easily maneuvered you like a doll so that you were on top, gesturing to his groin.

"Show me what that pretty mouth can do, my love."

You complied eagerly, easing down his boxer briefs and releasing his cock in all its glory. It sprang to attention, red and stiff and oh-so-thick, waiting to be plunged into your mouth.

Giving Bucky blowjobs was one of your favorite things in the world. You loved looking up at his expression as you delivered pleasure with your tongue - it was thrilling knowing that you were the one to elicit such noises from his mouth.

You licked the length of his shaft slowly, teasingly, massaging his balls with one hand as you reached the tip of his dick. You flicked the head of it with your tongue before taking as much of it as you could into your mouth. You loved how heavy it felt, the weight of his cock on your tongue. It made you unbelievably wet, and you could feel yourself soaking through your panties as Bucky threaded his hands through your hair, gently helping you bob up and down.

You pulled off long enough to quickly gasp, "Use me, Bucky." It was more of a plea than an order, and it made his expression darken with arousal.

His fingers tightened - not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you moan around his cock - as he pushed your head down so that you were forced to take it to the root, almost choking on it. He knew you loved it.

Bucky continued to pull you on and off his cock, throwing his head back with a guttural moan. If you continued on like this, he knew he could definitely cum without a problem. But right now, he needed to get inside you.

"I need your pussy," he grunted as you pulled his cock out of your mouth with a pop, gasping for air. Tears were coming out of the corners of your eyes, and he loved how disheveled you looked.

You were obedient, crawling up towards him and positioning yourself over his length. You could barely hold in your shivers of anticipation as he lined himself up with your entrance and moved his hands to your waist, guiding you as you slowly sank down onto him.

The moment the tip of his dick breached his entrance was one of your favorite feelings. There wasn't anything else quite like it. You loved how it felt when he stretched you open, making your mouth open into a silent scream.

He let you still for a moment as you settled down onto his cock, letting yourself get used to fullness of it. He studied your face carefully, eyes roving down to your breasts, your thighs.

"You okay, baby?" He asked gently, resisting the urge to thrust up inside you.

"I'm okay," you said breathlessly. You began to roll your hips, grinding on his cock whilst you watched Bucky's eyes practically roll back into their sockets.

"Oh fuck. Yes - that's it, you pretty little slut," he groaned. Those words were all it took to get you going, and you began bouncing on his cock like a bunny, wanting to drive him crazy.

"Oh God. You feel so good inside me," you moaned, somehow wanting Bucky to go deeper.

"You like it, hm? You're just my little cockslut, aren't you? Serving me so well, doing your duties," he grunted, his hands slapping your ass hard.

"Yes, yes, yes," you chanted, your brain unable to string together a coherent thought. "Bucky - be mean to me," you mewled, wanting him to be rougher, to make you scream.

"Be mean to you?" He repeated teasingly with a smirk on his lips. He pulled you off his cock, sitting up and motioning for you to get on your knees. He loved fucking you doggy-style, and you eagerly presented yourself to him as he knelt behind you.

You felt him slap his cock against your entrance a few times, covering himself with your slick.

"How hard do you want me to fuck your tight little cunt?" He asked.

"As hard as you can," you begged.

"Hmmm." He pretended to ponder, before suddenly sheathing himself inside you, making you grip the pillows hard with both your hands.

"Oh - Bucky!" Your voice was pitchy and weak as he thrust into you, his hand on the back of your neck to press you down. His other hand landed strike after strike on your ass cheeks, turning them red.

"Tell me, can an old man fuck you like this? Turn you into a trembling mess?"

"N-no," you spluttered as he moved his hands to your hips instead and began pulling you onto his cock, hard.

"God, you feel so good. Can't wait to cum inside you, mark you as mine," he grunted, throwing his head back at the pleasure of it.

"Want you - to cum - on my face," you gasped, your sentence faltering with each snap of Bucky's hips.

"Want me to cum on your face?" Bucky repeated mockingly, pulling out and ordering you to turn around to face him. You did so obediently, rolling over and barely able to prepare yourself before Bucky slid inside you again, eyes locked on yours.

"Are you sure you don't want me to cum inside your pussy? On your tits? In your ass?" He was toying with your frustrations, knowing how much you loved the feeling of him releasing on your face, the absolute debauchery of it.

"Please, Bucky. Want you on my face," you panted.

Bucky felt like he could go on fucking you for hours, but with the way you were behaving now, he knew he wouldn't last long. He latched onto your nipple with his mouth, sucking and flicking it with his tongue as you moaned at the over stimulation, his other hand reaching down to rub at your clit.

"I'm gonna cum, Bucky!" He knew exactly the right amount of pressure to apply as he continue to roll his thumb over the bundle of nerves. He released your breast to kiss your mouth inside, his tongue plunging into yours as he groaned.

"Cum for me, baby. Cum on my fat cock, you pretty little whore."

You felt yourself reach the climax all too suddenly, your body shuddering as it sparked through every inch of you like an electric shock, sending chills down your spine. You clamped a hand over your mouth to muffle your screams, Bucky continuing to thrust his cock inside you to carry you through the waves.

"Oh God - Bucky - too - too sensitive," you said, pushing his hand away from your pulsating clit as he continue to fuck you senselessly.

"Fuck, I'm going to cum," he grunted, gritting his teeth as he quickly pulled out of you. His hand stroked up and down his own cock as he knelt above you, sending thick ropes of his cum onto your face, into your open mouth. It was so warm and wet, splashing onto the pillow beneath your head and even onto the headboard.

He stroked his cock several more times, making sure to milk his dick of every last drop of cum, painting your skin with it. His knees eventually buckled and he fell on top of you, gasping.

"Oh God, that was fucking good," he said as he planted butterfly kissed all over your neck and collarbone. He looked at your face, covered in white ropes, making his softening cock twitch. "You look so pretty like that."

You were still trying to catch your breath even as Bucky gently rolled off you and quickly retrieved some tissues from the nightstand, wiping the evidence off your face as you blushed deeply. He was always so sweet after fucking you so roughly, looking after you and cleaning you up.

After you'd had a solid ten minutes to recover, he kissed your forehead sweetly, tendering stroking your cheek.

"Let's shower together, then I'll make you lunch?" He asked, making you pout.

“We haven’t finished the Twilight series yet,” you said.

“There’s more?”

“Four more.”

“I’m telling you, Nat. The Twilight movies are an aphrodisiac.”

[rcmclachlan]

tidbit tuesday

I was tagged by the illustrious @firehose118, who blessed us with a snippet of her latest wip and whew! It got hot in here real quick. Funnily enough, there's a scene in my current wip in which they also get horny in the yard, but I don't think I'm keeping it.

Instead, have a silly little excerpt that comes right before the scene I posted yesterday.

+

"This feels a little like when a mastiff thinks it's a shih tzu," Tommy muttered.

He shifted his hips a little, thighs tensing deliciously under Buck's ass as he got himself situated. Something popped quietly, although it was anyone's guess whether it was Tommy's spine or one of the logs being consumed in the fire pit. Beneath both of them, the Adirondack chair creaked out a warning that Buck was all too happy to ignore, because he was warm and comfortable exactly where he was: parked backwards in Tommy's lap so he could look up at the sky without straining his neck.

"This is the first time I've ever been with someone I'm not afraid I'm gonna accidentally crush to death," Buck said. To prove the point, he pressed the entirety of his bulk down and barked a laugh when all Tommy did was wheeze theatrically. If he'd ever tried that with one of his other exes, it probably would've ended with a trip to First Pres. "Let me enjoy it."

"This is the first time anyone's ever used me as lawn furniture, so it's a big night for both of us," Tommy teased, then punctuated it with a nip to Buck's ear that turned every muscle in Buck's body into kinetic sand. His hand, big as a catcher's mitt, stretched across Buck's belly with the kind of casual propriety that would've made anyone think they'd been together for years, not a few months.

Buck had been 6'1" since the seventh grade and had long-since grown used to navigating the world with a body that felt about as nimble as a Cadillac. Being held against Tommy like that—like he was being tethered, not trapped—he was treated to the extraordinary feeling of being small, and safe.

Exhaling shakily, Buck tilted his head back so he could rest his cheek on top of Tommy's head and admire the river of stars that flowed above Tommy's neat, postage stamp-sized yard. Under the sky, in Tommy's arms, he was microscopic. It was incredible.

"I can't believe how little light pollution you have here," Buck murmured.

Tommy turned his head and pressed a kiss to the bolt of Buck's jaw. "It was an unexpected perk. Never crossed my mind when I bought the house, but the first night I came out here to unwind with a beer and looked up? I almost shit. You a space case?"

"Always have been," Buck tilted his chin into the touch of that hot mouth, shivering a little at the scrape of Tommy's five o'clock shadow. That still felt novel. Beard burn was awful, and amazing. "I also think space is really cool."

+

No pressure tags: @dadvans, @screamlet, @setmeatopthepyre, @geddyqueer, @beanarie, @leashybebes, @epiphainie, @liminalmemories21, @alchemistc, @station18908

[kabr0ztrousers]

For Mermay~

Transmasc partying at a beach house to celebrate healing from top surgery gets lured away into the night by deep sea siren to be their unwilling egg carrier and mate.

Includes: Noncon, breeding, eggs, hypnosis, aphrodisiac venom, used like toy, excessive cum. Top half of siren doesn’t have to be entirely human looking but I am thinking ethereal carnivore of the deep

Kabr0z Writes episode 159: Mer-July?

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

Ao3!

CWs: Hypnosis; Thalassophobia Noncon; breeding; paralytic venom; aphrodisiac slime; intox; oviposition; egg laying; impregnation; kidnap;

A/N: The siren turned into an anglerfish somewhere between the prompt and the page... Hope that's not a deal breaker for anyone 😁

##########################################

It was the last Saturday of summer. The last party before you left your parent's Cornwall summer house to go to university. A few of your old friends were with you, swilling cheap vodka and supermarket brand orange soda. Suffice to say, between the lot of you, nobody would be trusted to drive, even if anyone else had a license.

You'd stepped onto the beach for a smoke, the sounds of drunken lads revelry behind you, the ink-black ocean ahead. If the lights went out, you knew you'd be able to see all the stars in the sky from here, but right now it was still a touch too bright for anything but the brightest constellations. You took a drag. You smirked a little, your dad would kill you if he found out.

Endless lectures about not smoking, how it'd destroy your skin and make your voice all raspy, not realising he was actually selling you on them. Maybe you'd come out to your folks once you were in a new city. Maybe not. You hadn't decided, even though most of your friends knew you as Cai now, and you'd stopped introducing yourself by your dead name years ago.

One last pull. You buried your dog end in the sand. You shouldn't, but everyone does. Who'd notice one more? Standing up, you turned for the back door.

Something flashed, out at sea.

You looked again at the dark water, visible only from its reflection. It's not impossible there's a boat out there, but you'd expect to see running lights. A shrug. It must've been your -

Another flash. From underwater. You inched forwards, hearing the pebble beach crunch under your trainers. Surely there's nothing under there? It's too shallow for a submarine or anything

Again

The water was ankle-deep. Then it was up to your knees, then your waist. You couldn't say why you were so compelled to wade out, only that you were.

Then it grabbed you.

Strong arms wrapped around your leg, pulling you under. It swam out with incredible speed. Saltwater flushed through your sinuses as you watched the safety of the shore slip further and further away, the light of the village replaced by the light of stars.

The breakneck pace dropped. You were floating, head above the water, clothing soaked, short hair slicked to your skull, plastered to your face at odd angles. The thing that grabbed you was staring at you.

Its eyes were huge. Great round dinner-plates staring at you. That same light glinted down paths on either side of the creature’s face, leaving light trails on your vision. The light continued below the waterline, revealing a long tail and dozens of long, thin feelers protruding from the creature's sides. You’d heard the local legends about the merfolk, but never believed it.

Then it dove.

You barely had time to take a breath before dark water overtook you. The iron grip on your ankle the only thing keeping you tethered as it dragged you deeper and deeper. Sharp rocks scraped your skin, cutting through your clothes. You couldn’t see anything, blackness and stinging salt the only things you could see. Your lungs burned. Then air greeted you once more. Cold, stinking of vegetal rot and tidal salt. Your eyes edged open to reveal a cave, the ceiling barely high enough to stand up, bioluminescent algae clinging to damp rock, a pile of seaweed in one corner the only comfort under the dripping stalactites lining the roof.

The merman dragged you up onto the rock. The pale greenish light cast it in crazy shadows, somehow making it look even less human. You scurried away as soon as you were on the solid surface, but the cave was small and it was remarkably nimble even out of water. He backed you into a corner.

You hadn’t seen him properly on the surface, only picking out the wide eyes and luminous strips. Here in the cave you could see more: shimmering greyish scales covered his whole body, his face lacked a nose, but made up for it in his sharp-toothed maw; thin, clear needles protruded upwards from his lipless mouth, covering the empty space where it would be. Webbed, clawed hands either side of you heaved his body, wiry and thin on top of you. He stank of fish and the ocean, though you couldn’t be sure if that wasn’t just the dank air of the hollow.

A single slash rent a gap in the gusset of your jeans and tore out the crotch of your shorts, exposing your crotch to the foul air of the room. His body ground against yours, slimy skin against your clothes, coating you with a layer of slick hagfish ooze. You couldn’t grab him to push him off, your hands covering with mucous as you slapped at him. An unmistakable appendage protruded from the base of his tail. You’d had plenty of guys trying to get into your pants, but none of them succeeded. This one, apparently, was about to

“No, God no, not like this”

It bit you. Teeth sinking deep into your shoulder. Every beat of your racing heart drove pins and needles through your arm. A moving front of cold numbness flooded through one arm, then back up again. You couldn’t curl your fingers, your hand flopping on the end of an increasingly weighty arm. The venom reached your heart. It spread like wildfire, shutting off your control. Your breath came shallow and quick, just enough to keep you alive, not enough that your vision didn’t tunnel. The numbness suffused your legs and other arm, before spreading through your mind.

Your thoughts slowed.

You wanted to get away. To get to the entrance. To take your chances with the black cave and deep water. You couldn’t move. You couldn't think. Panic ebbed away, washed from your mind by the comforting numbness. You felt your head loll to one side, unable to summon the strength to stop it.

You didn’t mind

The prodding length between your legs was getting more insistent, a thrust away from becoming your first. The creature held itself up on its strong arms, tail thrashing between your limp legs. It hissed above you, oozing more of its foul-smelling slime from the gaps between every scale, before bucking its hips.

Your lips barely parted as it entered you. Your mind was so slow, almost unable to react to the stretching fullness as its well-lubricated rod buried itself inside you. Again and again, it thrust inside you, slicking more and more of the lubricating slime into you and over your legs. The slime burned as it entered you, a low, tingling heat. It penetrated the fog clouding your mind. All you could focus on was the spreading heat, and the growing desire it brought.

Your cunt tingled and trembled, compelled to grip around the slick cock fucking you even as it grew slicker and slimier, your fluids mingling with his. You drew to your peak, your throbbing clit the only thing you could think of as the cave went blurry and a drawn-out whine escaped you.

He hissed again, burying himself in you. Sharp claws left thin scratches along your arms as his cock throbbed and twitched, thousands of tiny eggs filled you. They were so small and soft, you felt them slipping into your womb, filling your fertile belly with new life. Over and over he pulsed into you, more and more eggs filling you, bulging your belly before starting to ooze out around him.

By the time he withdrew, you were thoroughly filled, limbs still heavy and stilled by his paralytic venom, lewdly splayed in his lair, covered in gelid mucous and dripping eggs. The perfect incubator

[lnfours]

forevermore | l.n

summary: the long awaited, highly requested part two to welcome home <3

warnings: fluff all around, lando is absolutely whipped, this fic isn’t helping my delusions.

masterlist | part one

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

the morning sun shone in through the bedroom window, which instantly made lando regret not taking your advice on hanging the curtain rod before you both went to sleep last night. now he was really kicking himself as he tried to cover his face with the pillow from under his head, desperate for darkness.

you both were exhausted from the move. you had spent all day and nearly all night unpacking boxes and it felt like you barely made a dent. you both conquered one room at a time, working through the downstairs of the house first, putting all the dishes in their respective spaces, moving things around to your liking. the exhaustion weighed out the happiness and giddiness that riddled your bodies, happy to finally have a place of your own.

the exhaustion didn’t hit till the both of you plopped down onto the mattress that was sitting on the hardwood floor of the bedroom, the bed frame sitting unbuilt against the wall, too tired to care.

after a few minutes, he accepted defeat. he wasn’t going back to sleep anytime soon. in a soft huff, he placed the pillow back under his curls and reached for his phone underneath the pillow, tapping the screen to display the time.

right above the picture of the two of you he had had taken on his camera one night in singapore, the clock read 7:45am. he sighed quietly to himself, not wanting to wake you up as he rolled over to face you.

his sleep filled eyes squinted as he looked over at you. your cheek smushed against your pillow, your hair fanned out behind you as you slept peacefully. he smiled softly, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your hairline, moving closer to you.

in your sleep, you shuffled, moving closer to him as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder. his other hand traced circles into the soft skin of your leg. he watched you for a minute, pondering about how someone like him ended up with someone like you.

the answer was simple, really. you shared the same soul, intertwined. he brought out the best version of you and you did the same with him. you were each others number one supporters, being there for each other on your worst days.

it made his head spin, suddenly thinking about what came next for the both of you. he had got the girl, finally asked her to move in with him, now all that was left was a diamond ring and white wedding dress. maybe even a dog and a few little ones that would run around and fill the house up with even more laughter and joy. the white picket fence dream, and he wanted it all with you.

your head was tucked under his chin as he reached for the tv remote on the floor beside him, grabbing it and finding something to occupy himself with as you slept on him. he paid no mind to the fact that the pins and needles were spreading throughout his arm, he just cared about how you were comfortable like this. and he’d be dammed if he moved to disturb you.

about a half hour into the episode of his show, he got bored. he pressed the pause button, slightly adjusting so you were sleeping on your back now. he moved to hover over you under the blankets, his hands softly bunching up the material of your shirt. he pressed soft kisses against the skin of your stomach, his stubble softly scraping at the skin.

this is what made your eyes flutter open, smiling down at the boy on top of you, green eyes meeting yours. you squinted in the morning sun, voice hoarse as you spoke, “hi,”

he smiled, chin resting on your tummy as he looked back up at you, “morning,”

you grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him up to your face. the same smile still sat on his lips as he tilted his head down to meet you in a kiss. you sighed contently after pulling away, hands rustling the mess of curls on his head.

“‘m starving,” he said, laying back down on top of you. you let out a soft hmph as he laid on your chest, his legs between yours and you giggled softly.

“wanna order some breakfast?”

he hummed into the crook of your neck, “inna minute.”

and the two of you stayed like that a little while longer, basking in the feeling of each other under the warm blankets. you were absentmindedly playing with his curls, zoning out as you stared up at the white ceiling above you.

you were home. not only physically, but mentally. he was your person, the same boy in line who had paid for your coffee one morning at the cafe you frequented. the same one who nervously asked for your number after the third day of running into you and making small conversation about your lives and interests.

the boy who you ran up to at the airport every time he came back home and who never really wanted to leave you whenever it was time to go race in another country again.

his movement pulled you out of your thoughts, his eyes meeting yours as he rested his chin on your chest. the stubble he had grown out poking through the thin cotton of the t-shirt you had stolen from him the night before. you smiled back down at him, mumbling a soft, “what?”

“nothing,” he smiled back, adjusting himself so he was hovering over you now, hands trapping your head against the pillow. he bent down, lips meeting yours in a kiss before spoke softly against them, “i love you.”

“i love you,” you echoed back.

his next words flew out of his mouth without his brain filtering it first, “marry me.”

you laughed softly, wrapping your arms around his neck, “what?”

“you heard me,” he said back, nose brushing against yours, “marry me.”

“lando,” you pulled back to meet his eyes, a small smile on your face, “are serious right now?”

“deadly.”

you sent him a questioning look, which showed him that you didn’t believe him. he huffed, getting up from the mattress and walking through the room to find his backpack.

“you know how i went to go visit my parents, right?”

you sat up, watching him dig through the backpack, “yeah..?”

“i was talking to my mom about you- about us, and she said she had something to give to me… fuck, where’d i put it?”

you chuckled softly to yourself before he turned around, a small velvet box in his hand before he kneeled back down onto the mattress with you, “and she said that if i were to propose to you, she wants you to have her ring.”

“lando, i,” your eyes were becoming glossy as he smiled at you, opening the box towards you to reveal the beautiful diamond ring you had complimented his mother on the first time you met her.

“she wants you to have it, i want you to have it,” he smiled, “i didn’t prepare a big speech or anything, but i love you. you’re it for me and i want to spend the rest of my life with you,”

he continued before saying the four words he’d been dreaming about saying you ever since he met you, “will you marry me?”

you hadn’t noticed the tears falling down your cheeks until they dropped onto the blankets under you, a smile on your face as you nodded, “yeah-” you laughed, “yes, a thousand times yes.”

he smiled and fished the ring out of the box, taking your left hand in his as he slid the ring onto your finger.

you pulled him forward, bringing him closer to you and sniffling softly before kissing him sweetly. his hand came up to cup your cheek, brushing away the tears that fell. your foreheads pressed together when he pulled away, bright smiles on both of your faces.

“i love you,” he mumbled, raising your left hand to his lips as he placed a gentle kiss over the ring that shone proudly on your finger.

“i love you more.”

[gogogodzilla]

✧ 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝟚𝟠: 𝑆𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑟 ✧

【 𝑆𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 𝑆𝑖𝑛 】

╰› 〖 𝑆𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠 〗: Going undercover at a strip club has its benefits, especially if Bigby is in the audience

╰› 〖 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 〗: nsfw 18+, dry humping, blow job, plot w/ porn, a bit of cock worship, red riding hood!reader, one (1) instance of dirty talk, teasing

✧ 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑡𝑜𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑚.𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ✧ 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑜3 ✧ 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑝𝑎𝑑 ✧

“How will I know it’s you?” he asked as you stood outside the club, watching as patrons entered. 

The bright neon pink sign buzzed above the two of you, and your high heels scraped against the pavement as you shifted on your feet. 

You tilt your head to look at him, “You’ll know.” 

He raised a brow, wondering what exactly you had up your sleeve tonight. “Just try not to make a scene,” he grunted, lighting a cigarette and bringing it to his lips. 

You scoffed, “That’s rich coming from you. I’ll see you on the inside.” 

He watched as you entered the club, duffle bag in hand. The plan was simple: get in, grab the right person’s attention, get some dirt on said person, and hightail it out of there. 

Simple. 

Bigby took his place at the bar and waited for you to make your appearance. He watched as the man you were after, a sleazebag named Harvey, sat at one of the private tables, far away from the bustle of the crowd but with a perfect view of the stage. His dark eyes surveyed the dance floor and he pulled a cigar out of his suit jacket.  Various girls came onto the stage, dancing to one song or the next. Bigby watched as Harvey motioned with his hand and some of the better, prettier dancers were led to his table. 

A low murmur of interest rippled throughout the crowd as the lights dimmed further, casting the stage in an almost otherworldly glow. The DJ announced something about a “special guest,” and Bigby felt his eyes drawn to the stage, his curiosity piqued by the sudden change of atmosphere. 

A slow, sultry song filtered through the speakers as a spotlight illuminated the curtains as they parted. The audience let out an eager murmur as the dancer stepped onto the stage, their heels clicking against the floor. The dancer was draped in a rich, velvety crimson cloak that cascaded over their form like a river of blood. It caught the light in waves, almost liquid in the way it moved with each graceful step. The edges were lines with subtle, intricate embroidery that Bigby hadn't seen in what felt like eons. He could almost feel the stitching under his fingertips and the velvet slipping through his grasp. 

He inhaled, and his heart skipped a beat in his chest. He’d know that scent anywhere. 

You pulled back your hood, revealing the lacy mask on your face, and his suspicions were confirmed. You walked with confidence, every movement controlled and calculated. There’s an edge to your posture as you near the edge of the stage— something playful, almost dangerous. You glanced his way — just a flash of your gaze but he caught it. 

You turn your back to the crowd and reach up, slowly undoing the ties on your cape. Whistles and cheers erupted from the crowd as your cape fell from your shoulders, revealing a fitted corset and short skirt, deep red against your skin.

Heat climbed into his chest and nestled between his ribs as you dragged your hand up the pole at the end of the stage. His eyes were fixed on you, watching every flick of your wrist and twirl of your form around the pole. A rumble of jealousy, hot and primal, crawled up his spine at the way the other patrons stared at you. 

A low growl built in his chest as you crawled near the edge of the stage and leaned down, your face close enough for your breath to brush against the patron in front of you. The patron’s eyes wandered everywhere but your face as he shoved a few dollars into the top of your corset. He swallowed hard, gripping the glass in his hand so hard he was surprised it didn’t shatter in his hand. 

You finished your dance with a graceful spin, a final teasing flash of red before you turned to exit the stage. Bigby watched as Harvey nodded his head to one of the bouncers, who then disappeared backstage to find you. 

You walked the floor with grace, and the crowd seemed to move as one as you cut your way through, following the bouncer to Harvey’s table. You held out your knuckles for him to kiss, and he did, his lips lingering for a second longer than necessary. 

You played your part to perfection, a coy smile gracing your features as you leaned in to whisper something against Harvey’s ear earning a chuckle from him. He looked too pleased with himself, oblivious to the way you were toying with him. You reached out, resting your hand gently on his arm, and he could tell by the tilt of your head and the innocent look in your eyes that you were digging for information. 

Harvey’s fingers trailed down your arm and rested on your thigh as he hooked a finger into the frilly garter around your thigh. Bigby pushed off of the bar, ready to intervene, but the nearly imperceptible shake of your head stopped him in his tracks. He shifted on his feet, breathing through his nose as he attempted to quell the rage that threatened to spill over. He settled for perching on one of the chairs near Harvey’s table, close enough to keep an eye on you but not too close that it’s suspicious. 

Finally, you rose from the table, slipping out of Harvey’s grasp, not quite fast enough to avoid Harvey smacking your ass as you walked away. Bigby’s nails dug into the armrest of the chair, his nails poking holes in the smooth leather. You circled the room, your hips swaying to the beat of the music as you made your way to Bigby's chair. 

Your fingers trailed across his shoulders as you rounded his chair. You leaned down, meeting his gaze for the first time that night. 

“Wolf,” you whispered, grinning, “care to go somewhere a bit more private?”

Bigby was acutely aware of the eyes lingering on the two of you, various patrons sneering at your choice. He nodded, and you took his hand in yours before leading him to a back hallway with various rooms with a chair and a heavy velvet curtain in front of them. 

You nudged him towards a chair before shutting the curtain behind you.  You slid into his lap as the music changed to a slow, sultry beat. You looped your arms around his neck, your fingers brushing lightly against his skin. Your scent was distracting enough, combined with your touch against his skin was a death sentence. 

“Could’ve warned me about the outfit,” he grunted, attempting to hide the strain in his voice. He could feel the warmth of your breath against his neck as you leaned close, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear. His resolve was crumbling with each second, and his cock twitched in his pants. 

“Didn’t want to ruin the surprise,” you replied, your voice soft. 

His hands settled on your waist, holding you steady as you swayed to the beat, keeping up the appearance of a private dance should anyone walk in on you. 

He leaned his head back to look up at you, “You sure he bought it?”

You smirked, “Hook, line, and sinker. Pretty sure he even offered me a job.” 

Bigby snorted, a reluctant smile forming on his lips. “You’d hate the hours.” 

You laughed, your eyes meeting his. For a moment, the job was long forgotten and all he cared about was his half-naked partner on his lap. It was just the two of you, locked in a silent battle of wills. 

Your fingers skimmed up to his collar, toying with it for a moment before you leaned down, your lips brushing his in a tentative kiss. That was all it took for any ounce of control he had to slip out of his grasp faster than he could contain it. 

He ran a hand over the bare skin of your thigh before moving to cup the curve of your ass. You grind your hips against him, the tent in his pants brushing against your clothed core earning a groan from both of you. 

Your hands wandered over his chest as your hips continued to roll over his, ensnaring his rigid cock between the plush of your thighs. He pulled away to lean his head back against the cool leather of the seat, his eyes fluttering shut as you attached your lips to the column of his neck. 

He groaned as you latched your lips onto his pulse point, your tongue running over the skin there. You reached down to fumble the buttons of his shirt, and each roll of your hips equaled another one of his buttons undone. He tangled his fingers in the hair at the nape of your neck, bringing you impossibly closer and inhaling your scent. 

You dragged your fingers over the flushed skin of his chest as you leaned back, taking in the sight before you. Bigby didn’t doubt that he looked like something to behold, hair messy and shirt half undone with blossoming hickies littering his neck. 

His chest heaved as he looked up at you like you hung all the stars in the sky. You’d be the death of him, but he’d die a happy man. 

You slid off of his lap, and the loss of your skin against his nearly brought a tear to his eye. One of your hands trailed down his chest and rested on his belt buckle. His hips jutted into the open air as you gave his buckle a slight tug before sinking to your knees in front of him. 

“What are you—”

He was cut off by your hands raking up his thighs. You dragged your fingertips over the straining tent in his pants, and he flushed at the wet spot that had begun to form. Slowly, agonizingly, you undid his belt buckle, and he tucked his bottom lip into his teeth, stifling a strangled groan. 

He was still as you popped the button on his pants, watching you with rapt attention. You tugged down his zipper and your fingers dipped under the waistband of his briefs. He hissed you freed his cock from its confines, and it bounced painfully hard against his abdomen. The cool air of the club did little to quell the heat simmering under his skin. 

You were otherworldly as you finally touched him, sultry and completely in control. He could’ve come from your gaze alone. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips and he instinctively bucked his hips. His cheeks flushed as you looked up at him with a devilish grin. 

You ran a thumb over the sensitive head of his cock, spreading the precum that had dripped out. He let out a shaky whine as he white-knuckled the arms of the chair. You stroked him faster, squeezing lightly and adding a twist of your wrist that had him arching against the chair. 

He couldn’t fight the drawn-out groan that left him as you peppered featherlight kisses against his length before fully taking him in your mouth. You swirled your tongue around the head of his cock and he nearly came there and then. 

“Ah— fuck, doll,” he whimpered, meeting your gaze. 

You let out a satisfied noise as you bobbed your head a few times, steadily taking more and more of him while your hands stroked what your mouth couldn’t reach. Bigby let out a strangled growl as his lengthened nails dug into the chair and even more hair littered his chest. 

He attempted to reign in any sliver of control he could manage, but your lips against his cock was making it increasingly harder and harder to concentrate on anything else. You hollowed your cheeks around him, taking him deeper than before. 

He rutted his hips against your mouth, meeting each bob of your head. He was hilted deeply inside you when he came, forcing his seed down your waiting throat. You greedily slurped everything he’d give to you, but, still, some dribbled down the sides of your mouth. 

You pulled off of his cock with a ‘pop,’ and you were left with tear-stained cheeks and traces of Bigby glistening over your mouth. He leaned down and trapped your lips in his. The ferocity of it nearly sent you tumbling over but his hand cradled the back of your head, keeping you firmly in place. 

He was never good with words, and he hoped his actions spoke louder than anything that could leave his lips. His raised canines dug into your lips, and you moaned against him. 

“Y’know,” you murmur, pulling away with a grin, “you’re technically not supposed to touch the dancers.” 

He grunted, “You started it, doll.” 

[lsunstreakerl]

2.2k of fmf! this is set in the future, with rico and mick :D lots of little max mentions throughout, and he pops up at the end briefly. rico POV.

this isn't technically spoilers for anything you guys don't already know, lol.

Rico grunts as his fingers dig into the cliff face, hauling himself up over the edge and collapsing. His harsh pants puff into the air above him as he rolls onto his side, finding Mick's wryly amused face.

"This,"

He takes another gasping breath, each inhale feeling like shards of ice scraping across his lungs.

"Explains a lot about Max."

Mick quirks an eyebrow at him, eyes glittering with amusement.

"Took you long enough."

Rico groans, sitting up as Mick's gloved hand extends in front of him, helping pull him to his feet.

"How the hell did you get up here so quick?"

Mick tips his head back to look up the rest of the cliff face, snow landing on his face as he shrugs.

"Practice."

Rico tries to imagine Max doing this— a smaller version of his husband scaling the cliff face, fingers stiff from the cold, blue eyes hard and determined. He can see it, as much as the image makes his heart clench.

"And we have to get to the top?"

Mick makes a so-so motion with his hand.

"Not necessarily— just high enough for the winreems to notice us."

He's grinning, but there's a predatory gleam in his eyes.

"That's when the hunt really starts."

Rico eyes the cliff face warily, trying to spot any of the creatures crawling high above them. He only has Max's previous descriptions to go off of— silvery creatures with scales thicker than armor, jaws that unhinge wide enough to snap a man in half.

He doesn't spot any.

"Why not draw them in now?"

Mick gestures at the snowy ledge they're resting on. It's not a very wide space.

"Do you want to fight here? The best chance is getting up top. There's more room. Also,"

He makes a face behind the scarf.

"There are weapons left behind there. It could be seen as honorable, giving the dead their final kill."

Rico swallows, glancing back down at the dizzying fall below them.

"Right."

------

His nose is tucked deep into his scarf, ice crystallizing on his lashes as he hauls himself up the cliff face behind Mick. The younger man makes it look effortless, no signs of hesitation as he climbs.

There's a deep ache starting to settle in his bones, burning low in his muscles as they finally clear the top. His fingers are numb inside of his fur lined gloves, but he feels another flash of determination each time he looks at the carefully woven leather bands decorating the wrists, or the claws sewn in above his knuckles.

They're a gift from Max, one he hadn't entirely understood at first— but he gets it now. Mick looks at him critically as they both stand.

"You sure you can handle this?"

Rico looks across the semi-flat plateau they've arrived at, eyes skipping over the lumps in the snow, glinting oddly in the light.

"Didn't you say there were weapons?"

Mick makes a face.

"Under the snow, if you're desperate enough— but the mountain doesn't care for memorials. You're probably walking on bones right now."

Rico's stomach churns as he looks at the snow beneath his boots, before looking back up at Mick. He can't see any judgment, but he knows that doesn't necessarily mean anything, especially not from Mick. He and Max are close, a strong bond Rico hadn't expected.

He's also mildly terrifying. When he'd come through the window and attacked Rico— He hasn't felt that kind of bone deep fear in years.

The fear of losing.

Mick claims now that he wouldn't actually have killed him, only that he was ensuring Rico was able to protect Max while he was incapacitated, but he's not entirely sure he believes it.

Either way, this is a test.

"I'm sure."

Rico isn't northern— doesn't have their deep customs and mentalities, and some days Max feels oceans away with how he thinks, following paths Rico doesn't understand.

That doesn't mean he's weak.

He's built his kingdom off the backs of men who have come after him, overseen the construction of villages and towns, personally handled more battles than he can count.

He wraps his fingers around the hilt of his sword, feeling his knuckles press against the bone of his gloves through the leather. This is for Max.

For their children.

Mick must see it in his eyes, nodding before he tugs his scarf down, hand coming to his mouth in a shrill whistle. The noise echoes a few seconds after he stops, piercing in the frozen air.

Rico startles when one of the lumps under the snow shifts, white powder falling in clumps as the rest of the lumps move as well.

The creature that cracks open a vivid orange eye at them sends chills down his spine. The color is almost an exact shade to the orange on Max's house crest— and he has a feeling he knows now where it comes from.

The snow falls off of it as it shakes, silvery scales glinting in the light. It has six legs, from what Rico can see— a long tail with a club at the end, and an elongated snout, jagged teeth snapping at the air as it howls at them.

Mick darts to the right, and Rico goes left. The winreem is fast, faster than he expects for a creature of its size, and he grits his teeth when the snout swings in his direction.

He'd used to wonder what kind of beast could leave the scar that Max has, ragged silver lines down his leg— but now he's wondering how that was the only injury his husband had gotten away with. The thought of Max fighting it, even younger than he'd been when Rico had first met him...

It's a bit late to be claiming revenge, but he'll give it his all anyways.

The winreem darts forward, moving with a rapid side to side pattern in a way that reminds him of sparring with Max, and it's habitual as he falls back into a feint, lunging in from the side to strike at one of its legs.

It's not a full power blow, but it's enough to easily knock a man in a suit of armor over, in Rico's experience.

It barely cuts into the winreem's scales.

He can briefly make out Mick, featherlight on his feet as he darts across the snow and slashes down at the tail.

The wind is whistling in his ears, but his blood is running hot as he feels the focus set in, senses hyperaware of everything around him.

He needs more power, he needs to get to the other leg, they need to slow it down, they need—

There.

He puts his full power into the next strike, feeling it cut deep into the scales and finally slice flesh. Steaming blood sprays out, boiling hot where it splatters against his face, melting the snow where it lands as the winreem screams, howl echoing off the mountaintop.

Mick brings his blades down in a spin that cuts deep into the tail, and the winreem thrashes, enraged.

Rico makes eye contact with Mick as they both dart back, circling slightly as the winreem snarls, eyes narrowed. It lunges at Mick next, and Rico takes the opportunity before he can think about it, leaping forward and gripping onto one of its spines, hauling himself onto its back.

The spine slices into his gloves, but it doesn't quite reach his hands, and he grabs the next one, climbing towards its head as it howls again, jaws snapping at him.

Mick distracts it with another attack at the legs, and Rico stumbles as the left side of the winreem buckles, almost losing his footing.

He can see it just in front of him, hidden from the front and the sides by the bone ridges of the skull— but the soft spot Max had mentioned is there. The scales are sparse, and the brain is just behind it, if Rico can get there.

Mick takes a hit to the side from the club of the tail, staggering with a gasp as he gains some ground backwards, and Rico takes the risk, letting go of the spines to lunge forwards, both hands bringing his sword directly into the unprotected hide.

His footing slips on the scales, and his shoulders jerk painfully as he drops off the side of the winreem, but he doesn't let go, and his blade pierces in, slicing past muscle and flesh.

The winreem staggers, unsteady footsteps to each side as Rico ducks his head, hot blood gushing down across his arms and splattering across his hood. He can feel the heat of it through the gloves, running in rivers down his arms. It doesn't manage to get between his skin and the leather, but he finally feels his feet brush against the ground as it collapses.

He squints his eyes open as he uncurls his fingers from his sword hilt. Mick has an odd expression on his face, eyes stuck on Rico's hands. The palms of his gloves are shredded, but his eyebrows furrow when he realizes the spine had come to a stop against a familiar silver hide.

He lifts his hands, inspecting the palms. The inner layer of the gloves, tucked between the fur lining and the leather— it's winreem hide.

Mick shakes his head disbelievingly.

"Did he tell you to climb the spines?"

Rico looks back at the winreem, and then down to his gloves again.

"No. He never mentioned that part at all."

There's a soft laugh from Mick as he steps closer, gesturing for Rico to pull his sword back out.

"That's because it's suicidal, usually. The only other person I've seen pull it off is Max, and he's been trained on winreem fighting since birth. Your evasions though..."

Rico yanks his blade out, carefully avoiding another hot rush of blood. Max has always been at his most dangerous when sparring footwork with him, but he's thinking about it now— the fast evasions, the quick strikes—

Max has been fighting him like a winreem. Max's entire style is the winreem, evasive and beautifully dangerous, disguised under soft blankets of snow and a slow, simmering patience.

He looks back at the gloves, and then at Mick.

"You think he knew? That I would go for the spines?"

Mick shrugs, still eyeing his palms incredulously.

"I have no idea, Verhoeven. I've never been able to keep up with him. But— for you both to do the same move... That was weird. I feel like I was thrown back in time."

Rico gives a wry grin and a shrug.

"Well, we should get back so I can figure out what part of his leathers he took this hide from— he needs it now more than ever."

He's frowning as he thinks about it. If he could hide Max behind a wall of winreem hide he would. They're not entirely sure, but he's been weaker lately, frequent bouts of nausea he thinks Rico doesn't know about.

He's got a solid enough suspicion that he's out here on a mountaintop, getting ready to lug a winreem corpse back into the village, in order for their children to be protected.

Max is going to kill him when he finds out that this is the diplomatic trip he was talking about, but Rico's been planning it quietly for ages, even before the transfiguration. Ever since Max had finally told him about the winreems, he'd understood that it was a challenge. A real one, to prove his commitment to his husband and his family.

He's slowly earned respect from the North, but this kill is his. His blade sunk into the skull, his leathers bloodstained and wet with melted snow. He feels practically feral up here, energy running through him.

The fight for survival here is unlike anywhere else he's ever been, intoxicating in its intensity.

Mick steps forward, lightly punching him in the shoulder. Already, Rico can see a difference in him, in the way he's being viewed. Mick is treating them like equals.

"Come on, winreem killer. We have to get this thing back down the mountain."

Rico makes a face as Mick laughs. He can't even imagine...

"How did you and Max do it? You must have been tiny."

Mick's mouth curls at the edges, mischievous glint in his eyes.

"We rolled it and then dropped it off of a cliff."

Rico eyes the cliff face, and then the winreem.

"Tempting."

------

"I am going to kill you—"

"Max, my love, I was with Mick the entire time, nothing was going to happen—"

Rico ducks as a leather boot goes flying over his head, and Max takes another step forward, second boot in hand.

"Oh, nothing? Just a casual little winreem hunt? Do you think I'm stupid?"

Rico winces as Max gets closer, eyes narrowed. It's not good for his health when Max yells at him— he gets too distracted by the blue of his eyes, the annoyed tilt to his mouth. Today is no different.

"I stayed back here because you had to be on your diplomatic trip, and you're telling me I could've been winreem hunting?"

Rico can't hide the amused twitch to his mouth fast enough, and Max gets his fingers curled in the front of his cloak, yanking him down so they're eye level.

"You're sleeping across the hall tonight."

"Max—"

[nimbusclan]

Moon 0

[Next]

After the dust settles, the silence that follows is deafening.

It presses against Moonpaw’s eardrums, suffocating her and sucking all the air from her lungs. The only other sound in the apprentice's den is the panting of her brother’s shallow, rapid inhales of breath, knocking hard against Moonpaw’s own ribcage. His body is warm against hers, his muscles taut and hard like the walls of rock that surround them. 

“Pitchstar?” Moonpaw mews into the dark. The blackness is so thick she can hardly see even with her pupils as wide as the boulder that’s blocking the entrance to their den. “Frostcrest?”

“The kits,” Fogpaw’s voice shakes in her ear. It’s utterly wrecked, twisted with fear. “Condorkit!” He screeches. “Whisperkit!”

There is no response. Only the deafening, crushing silence.

“Fogpaw, we have to find a way out of here,” Moonpaw mews. “We have to help them.” All of her fur is standing on end, fluffed out to twice her size. Despite the silence, the yowls of her clanmates echo in Moonpaw’s ears. The way their cries had cut off so abruptly– Moonpaw shivers. She can’t think about it. She can’t. 

Fogpaw leaps forward, claws scraping uselessly against the rock wedged into the entrance. All of NimbusClan’s dens are hollows that have been carved away by time within a cave set into the base of the mountain they call home. Home has always felt so safe to Moonpaw. Of course, she’s known the dangers of the mountain ever since she was a kit – older warriors and mentors would often warn that falling rocks are one of the deadliest threats to an unaware cat. The mountain is strong, protective, but can be deadly - just like any warrior. She could never have imagined it could harm the camp, despite the warnings she grew up with. Tucked away into its cozy little cave, this camp has lasted moons and moons, through many generations of cats. A tragedy of this magnitude is… it was impossible.

Moonpaw huddles in the middle of the den, shivering with terror as Fogpaw hisses in frustration and scrambles on top of the boulder, scraping at a few smaller rocks balanced atop it. Suddenly, moonlight streams in through a crack Fogpaw has managed to punch through the rocks, illuminating stripes of both cats’ pale fur.

“Keep going!” Moonpaw meows, leaping to her paws, but Fogpaw doesn’t need the encouragement. He’s already pawing with renewed vigor, scraping away at the rocks as they fall away and bounce against the floor of the den. Each clatter of stone on stone sends a stab of ice cold fear through Moonpaw’s heart. The cacophonous sound of rocks tumbling against each other as they filled the camp, shaking the ground and vibrating up through Moonpaw’s pelt as she was ripped from sleep, rushes back to her. She has to force down the bile that rises in her throat as the terror threatens to overwhelm her.

Soon, Fogpaw has cleared enough of the smaller rocks to squeeze his head and shoulders through, and he beckons Moonpaw with his tail. “Let’s go, let’s go– our clanmates– Moonpaw, hurry–”

Moonpaw scrambles up the rock after her brother, squeezing herself through the small opening after him. The sight that greets the two apprentices has Moonpaw’s blood freezing in her veins.

There’s not a single whisker-length of camp that isn’t covered in rubble. There’s barely any space left at the camp entrance, only a sliver between the arch of the cave wall above their heads and the boulders that crowd together beneath it that lets the light of the moon stream in.

“Locuststripe! Loudtalon!” Fogpaw yowls, leaping from boulder to boulder. The scent of blood is strong and sharp in Moonpaw’s nostrils. Grief constricts her throat. She can’t shout, can’t help, can’t move. “Pebblespore!”

“Stop–” Moonpaw chokes out, “Stop, Fogpaw– they’re– they’re gone. We have to– have to get out–”

Fogpaw is instantly at her side, his comforting scent wreathing around her as he curls his tail over her shoulders. “You’re right.” Even in the face of unspeakable horror, her brother remains strong. His voice is broken, and Moonpaw can tell he’s shaking from where he’s pressed up against her, but he stays strong for her. She draws strength from his and pulls herself up onto her paws. “We have to get out. We can’t– stay here. Not anymore. Let’s go, Moonpaw.”

His shoulders brush the ceiling of the cave as he squeezes his way out through the entrance, guiding Moonpaw with the touch of his tail against her back as they clamber over the uneven stones. They leap down from one of the boulders wedged into the entrance of their camp and turn to look at the devastation. Moonpaw wants to throw her head to the sky and wail, but her voice has disappeared. All she can do is stare in disbelief at the landslide of rocks and mud that has ruined her home.

“It’s all gone,” her voice cracks. “Our home, Fogpaw, it’s all gone.”

“It’s not,” he assures her. He presses his nose into her fur, voice muffled. “It’s not. We’re still here. You and me, Moonpaw. NimbusClan is still here.”

Moonpaw chokes back a sob and curls into her brother. They sit there for a while, in front of the remnants of their lost clan, underneath the gentle glow of Silverpelt. She feels shocked and filled to the brim with grief. There’s no room for anything other than despair within her.

“Come on,” Fogpaw nudges her eventually, coaxing her to her paws. Her legs feel stiff and cold from where they’ve been folded under her. “We can’t sit here forever. Why don’t we head to the border, see if our neighboring Clan will help us?”

With no other plan of action, Moonpaw nods. He’s right. They can’t stay here forever. She spares one last, longing glance at the mound of rubble that was once her home, and pushes down on her exhaustion and grief in order to follow behind Fogpaw.

[Next]

[thetxtdevil]

Autumn Sheep

Huening Kai x Hybrid!Reader

summary: Kai's sheep girl friend goes into an unexpected heat. thats it, nothing more to it

content: smut, hybrid au, smut, human bf pervy dom.kai, sheep fem.sub.reader, heat, breeding kink ofcofc, oral (f.rec), multiple orgasms, slight degrading if you squint, begging, slight size kink, marking

word count: 1.3k

author's note: this took way too long to write... and i had no idea where to go with this so the ending kinda sucks :/

Kai is your shepherd and you are his sheep. His cute little sheep hybrid that follows him everywhere. Kai loves your short curled horns, though they were unique, they felt heavy on you head so you tend to nod your head a lot especially when you're sleepy. Kai liked to pet the horns feeling the rigid texture only to have you bashfully headbutt him. His fingers find their way in your soft curly hair too. Tangling his digits in the loops making you turn a bright crimson.

When the clock strikes 00:00 on the first day of Autumn, Kai is waiting patiently. Autumn is the season of pumpkin flavor drinks, cooler weather, and sheep going into heat. Although Kai has never had a hybrid girlfriend or any connection to hybrids, he knew that females get heats and how desperate they turn. Kai blushes at his pervertedness, he loves his little sheep, he doesn't want her in pain, but god does he want to do nothing but fuck you all day everyday. Kai was starting to lose hope on your downfall, especially when he found out you take heat suppressants. Until one day your dumb sheep brain forgets to take them.

A warm shade of yellow cascades the bedroom, the window displayed trees and their many hues of changing colors. Your sleepy eyes squint at the light then looking over at your tall boyfriend laying on his side. Kai always looks handsome but right now your stomach ached for something, your body is yearning for him. His soft long hair so tempting to touch, his broad shoulders bulking out for a squeeze, his back facing you made you want to litter a bunch of kisses. You position yourself on top of him rubbing your head on his shoulder. Kai wakes up feeling your horns scrape with every nudge. His eyes widen once he feels you starting to grind your drenched crotch on his hip.

"hmmm so warm, feels nice," you say humping your boyfriend. Maybe you're just horny Kai thinks to himself until the next words that come out of your mouth makes him think otherwise. "Stuff me warm with your babies."

Kai quickly turns you on your back hitting the soft cushions of the bed. You whimper and squirm under him. Your hands wander everywhere on his body from brushing his hair to feeling his toned pecs down to his bulge. "y/n, did you forget to take your heat supplements?" Your eyes flutter trying to remember if your did or not. Your orbs widen tearing up looking back into Kai's eyes. Biting your lip from shame of forgetting to take them, but your heat was rushing through your core, your guilt flushes away staring at Kai above you.

Kai was awestruck by the way your emotions change drastically. He felt himself getting harder at the sight of your whining, body adorned by sheer sweat, as your hips buck up against his. "Let me take care of you then."

With many pleasepleaseplease flowing out of your mouth. Kai kisses you in between each article of clothing being taken off of your damp body. Kai was about to loose his mind when he got a look of your completely drench panties taking them off to reveal your very swollen pussy. Placing your panties on his nightstand for safe keeping, he couldn't resist but to lower his head in between your thighs. His warm tongue parts your folds lapping up your sweet slick.

"Oh shit- fuck," your thrown back into the pillow, horns close to tearing the fabric. Eyes squeezed shut trying hard not to combust after a few seconds of Kai's tongue flicking your clit. "S-so good," your praise does something to Kai all he wanted was to have your hormone drowned mind be happy for him. His groan of satisfaction vibrates your core making you cum on his tongue. "Kai I'm sorry that was so fas- ah." Kai has no need for your apologies and continues to fuck his muscle in your hole.

You grind on his face, your mind fighting between the addictive sensation but also not wanting to suffocate your boyfriend. It didn't matter because Kai's big hands where pushing your body closer to his face letting every curve of his face rub against your drench cunt. Soon another orgasm rushes through you. You watch as the man's face rises from between your legs, glistening like a diamond. "I'm glad my little dumb sheep forgot to take her suppressants" you whine feeling his clothed aching bulge rub against your needy cunt, "you know how long I've been waiting for this?"

The thought of him wanting this slips your mind, if he's been waiting why's he taking so damn long to do something, "Kai please." The man has to use every ounce of control not to fold when he hears your beg paired with the biggest teary eyes. Kai looks down seeing your small hands hooking around his waistband pulling his brief down. Kai throws his head back when you expertly jerk his hard cock. "S-shit, why would you take those suppressants?" Kai hovers over you kissing you deeply, "you look amazing like this, so desperate, wanting me to breed you."

"I-i didn't know," now you were the awestricken one, knowing Huening Kai was into the idea of a family but you didn't think he'd be into this.

"Well now you know, sheep." Kai pushes his tip into you, the stretch makes your mouth say all kinds of stuff. Your nails scraping into the soft skin of the man's back, fingertips feeling his muscles tense. You're drowning in pleasure, the sweet sensation of friction, tickling kisses on your neck making you want more. You listen to the many profanities from Kai that you have never heard the sweet angle say before.

Faster, oh yes right there, bite me. You command Kai to do while he pounds into you. Impressed by his stamina, your feral sheep mind was content on how well his tip brushes your cervix. "Kai m' gonna cum, please cum inside." you hiccup struggling to get the words out.

A gasp escapes your lips when Kai suddenly stretches of your legs over his shoulders allowing him to screw you in deeper. You reach for the man's face brushing his hair out of the way. He leans into your touch looking down at your fucked out face full of tears. "Pleassse need to have your babies." That was the last thing Kai needed to hear before he stuffs you with his seed. You cum on his cock feeling yourself full and you let out a soft giggle of satisfaction.

Kai tries to pull out only for you to puncture your nails into his back keeping him still. He realizes there's no escaping the heated sheep. Cock still stuffed, Kai repositions your legs and himself laying back on the warm bed. He smiles at your drowsy state, lifting his hand to your face, thumb grazing your horns, fingers brushing your hair. "Wan- lambs." A blush creeps on Kai's face hearing your incoherent thoughts. It wasn't too long until your heat built up again causing you to roll your hips. You moan in delight feeling your boyfriend's dick twitch and becoming hard again. Kai moves closer to you stuffing his face into your neck. Leaving more of his marks on you while you fuck yourself on him.

~~~

After a week long heat, you're finally back into your natural state. However, now you're covered in love bruises and your legs wobbled every time you walked. Both of you barely clothed in the comfort of your home, you watch Kai make breakfast.

A soft smile displayed on your face watching your sweet boyfriend. His bare back faces towards you and you couldn't help but feel prideful of the marks you made on his broad frame. The comfortable silence was broken by your intrusive thought.

"No but seriously," Kai looks over his shoulder to you, shivering by the raspiness of your voice, "wouldn't I look so good carrying our lambs in my belly?"

"Whatever you want, my little sheep," Kai huffs acting not phased but in reality his stomach had butterflies. You get closer to your boyfriend hugging him from behind. He once again looks at you seeing your sheeply grin before you headbutt him.

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

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