#why did i feel the need to finally vomit this

[abbotsanatomy]

(Desperately) begging for a fic where reader is experiencing Whitaker-levels of a bad day including a stubborn argument with Jack and she just crashes out on the rooftop and he’s just like comforting her 🙏

⨳ REALLY VERY BAD DAY

pairing: jack abbot x chief resident!reader warnings: gross fluids (blood, vomit, etc.), minor injury, severe second hand embarrassment, injections, suicidal ideation, but not rlly. this isn't beta'd. author's note: this man is canonically sooo bad at comfort, so this gets a lil silly!

Your entire shift is exactly 12 hours. Somehow, you managed to have six different catastrophes happen to you in that limited time. That's an average of one every two hours. The odds have got to be completely stacked against you.

You should've known, when the first hour of your shift ended with a kid, who'd come in with a stomachache, throwing up all over your scrubs. It happens all the time, so you weren't too pessimistic about how the rest of the night would go by that point.

Little did you know, that was a sign from the universe. You should've taken it and clocked out instead of using your first scrub credit of the night.

By 11:00, you were slowly losing your optimism. You'd been taking out a patient's IV cannula when you apparently pricked yourself through your gloves. You only realized much later, when the antiseptic sanitizer you were using stung a little too much.

The moment you noticed, you checked the patient's medical record for any blood-borne diseases that might spread to you. And lo and behold, he had HBV.

You found Jack at the nurse's station, picking up some labs for a patient.

“I'm gonna need you to give me an HBV PEP injection. Please,” you'd whispered, as close to him as possible.

“Why would you need that?” he asked casually.

“I have a needle-stick injury.”

He looked over at you, finally. There's a silent disappointment in his eyes. Jack's one of the most composed people you know, but you also know he's a worrier. He won't let it show now, but he'll definitely be all over you the moment you're both back home.

The night shift's charge nurse walked into the station you're both standing at. She let Jack know his patient needed emergency surgery, and would be admitted to general surgery in a few minutes. When he told her he'd be right there, he turned to you again.

“You can't give it to yourself?” you know he isn't asking out of reluctance to do it, just curiosity.

“I need... some comfort.”

It wasn't a complete lie. The night'd already been getting difficult. You just wanted his hands on you for a minute. It'd make you feel better. You're afraid you haven't gotten to that point in the relationship where you could admit all of that out loud, though. But he seems to have gotten it.

“Alright. Go wait in there,” he pointed to a curtained corner of the ER, and then turned to walk away.

The words made you almost kiss him on the mouth. Instead, you walked to sit on the recliner and prepared the shot.

It took three minutes of waiting, before he's walked in and pulled the curtain half closed behind him. You swung your legs, staring down at your feet the entire time he's prepping to get this done.

“You have to be more careful,” he whispered, uncovering the syringe.

His voice was a little tense. You know he doesn't like reprimanding you. It puts you both in an awkward situation, but as your superior, he has to do it. You appreciate the criticism, but Jack happens to think it adds an uncomfortable impersonality to your relationship.

You could only offer a nod back. He let you hold onto his arm the whole time. You pulled his hand onto yours, as he used a plaster to cover the injection site. He pressed a kiss right above it before covering your arm with your sleeve again. The whole affair only took about five minutes, but it was the best part of your night.

When he was done, Jack stepped in front of you, his hand still holding onto yours. He leaned in, the proximity meaning you couldn't possibly look anywhere but his eyes.

“You'll be more careful?” he asked. He wanted you to repeat it.

“Yeah, I'll take care,” you affirmed. There was a thinly veiled promise in the affirmation. You were telling him you won't make any more of these mistakes that are completely beneath you. It was more for his peace of mind than anything else.

He pulled your conjoined hands up to his lips, lowering his lips to the back of yours.

The dull pain in your shoulder from the injection made it infinitely harder to hold your patient's jugular closed with your fingers.

It isn't very common for a patient to come in with a knife to his throat. Needless to say, you've never had to pull a carving knife out of someone's jugular, and then use your fingers to keep it closed.

The blood everywhere is a given, considering the severity of the injury, but the crimson droplets streaking your face and scrub top are all thanks to your unsteady grip.

You were hyperaware of the fact that this guy had been dead. He was dead long before he came into the ER. He'd only still been alive on a technicality. One that was long gone by this point.

He'd lost too much blood on the way to the PTMC, and there's no amount of available blood bags that could replenish it all. You couldn't stop holding onto him, though. Not when the steady stream stopped. Not when his pulse faded into nothing.

Not until Jack slipped behind you and pulled your hands away with a firm grip. He'd whispered meaningless encouragements into your ear, telling you to go take a minute for yourself. He might've offered to help, but you were too out of it to remember exactly what was said.

You were barely there the whole time. Washing the blood out of your hair, and changing your scrubs in the ER bathroom. It all didn't feel real. It took you a good hour to get back to normal. As normal as ‘normal’ gets after whatever the fuck that was.

You were glad when tripped over some spilt saline fluid and fell face-first on the ER's cold floor. Your chin was busted, but you actually felt something. It'd been hours of walking around stitching wounds up, looking over x-rays and blood work results, and feeling like a ghost who floats around the floor with no purpose.

Thankfully, when you looked in the mirror, it appeared like there were no broken bones. Just a scratch on your forehead, and a bleeding chin. No one wants a doctor who looks like they just got beat up, so your number one priority was disinfecting your mess of a face and covering up all of the nastiness.

When you reached for some normal, adult plaster, though, it was all gone. The storage locker wouldn't be open for another few hours, either. You let out the biggest sigh known to mankind when you spotted the children's bandaids.

Looking back into the mirror, you saw how ridiculous it looked to have farm animals plastered on your forehead, and a family of brightly colored elephants on your chin.

You couldn't seem to find it in yourself to care. You do almost snap at Chen when he tries to crack a joke at your expense, though.

The lock on the blood bank refrigerator had been broken for months.

You keep filing complaint after complaint, for the higher-ups to send someone to fix it. You and everyone in the department, in fact. But to no avail. It took you five minutes longer than it should to finally grab a fresh bag of donated blood out of the shelf.

So, you rushed back to Ellis. It's stupid, considering you'd just fell an hour ago. The patient's more important than logic.

The moment you crashed into an intern standing in the middle of the ER played in slow motion. You watched the bag drop to the floor, saw the plastic snap, felt the blood seep into your black work sneakers.

The ‘O-’ label on the bag stared back up at you, as you stood there in shock for a moment. Every muscle in your body started aching. It was suddenly painful to even breathe. You were barely holding yourself together, and this relatively small inconvenience was your very last straw.

“Fuck,” you whispered, not even registering the intern's profuse apologies, aimed at you.

You let out one long sigh, and your shoulders started shaking. Your chin came into contact with your chest, as you felt something painful stir within you. The feeling of helpless disappointment had been gnawing at you for hours. Now, it engulfed you completely. You'd had no idea how long you stood there, your eyes screwed tight, as the rest of the ER kept buzzing around you.

Familiar hands gripping your shoulders and pulling you away is the first thing you felt. Looking down at your feet as they lead you wherever you were being guided was a fatal mistake. You saw the bloodied shoe prints you left behind and felt even worse, if that was possible. So, you let your eyes flutter shut again.

When you were finally sat down on the edge somewhere, your face felt undeniably cold. That's when you realized you'd been shedding tears the entire time. The familiar feeling of embarrassment that bubbled up in your throat when you were vulnerable around big groups of people never arrived. Just a steady numbness.

The heavy breeze on the PTMC's roof made the salty tears on your face feel like tiny pinpricks of despair. You hoped it could also make you fly very far away from this building, never to return again. Alas, not all dreams come true.

“I did so, so badly today,” you confessed, your voice sounding thick and foreign to your own ears.

Jack frowned at you, his eyes scanning your entire face. You noticed his frown deepen almost imperceptibly when he landed on the bandaids covering your face. You were sure he'd make fun of them if today hadn't gone so badly.

He looked like he was calculating his next words very carefully, “That's alright. We have tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that.”

Oh boy, that wasn't making you feel any better. In fact, it might've made you want to jump off of the very same roof you sat on right now. You stared off into the distance, calculating the height of the jump.

Apparently, Jack didn't get the memo.

“You'll always have chances to do better. You're still young. The worst day of your life can never define your entire being,” he rambled on. It was starting to seem like he was just trying to find it along the way.

Your eyes screwed shut in an attempt to tune your very sweet, but very misguided, boyfriend out. When it didn't work, you resorted to just blurting out the words on your mind.

Unfortunately, it had come out meaner than intended, “Shut up. Just stop talking, please.”

Jack was just about to talk again when you interrupted him with a plea, “I'll pay you.”

His eyes were sad. You knew he was trying, it just wasn't what you needed at all. You swung your legs, trying to play off the shame you felt at the way you spoke to him earlier. You couldn't apologize just yet though, lest he go on another tangent.

His voice was raw, but not hurt, “Do you need me to leave?”

You shook your head frantically. Just the thought of it hurt your brain.

“No. No. Just stay right here,” you whispered, and pulled his arm close.

You let your head fall onto his shoulder, the scent of his drug-store shampoo filling your nose. It worked wonders for your nerves.

“Just no more talking, please,” you begged, voice growing heavy with exhaustion.

Jack laughed. In that moment, it was like hearing the angels sing. You could listen to the sound for hours.

You could feel him nod against your head, and then press his lips into your hair.

“Alright, honey. Whatever you need.”

You were fully hugging his arm, now. Shamelessly letting yourself snuggle against his body heat. You knew you had to go downstairs and clock out to get home.

But right here, with the first rays of dawn slowly making their way onto your face, and Jack's free hand coming up to stroke your hair, it felt like you were already home.

A thousand horrible motivational speeches couldn't change that.

[nexus-nebulae]

me as a kid: i have all these problems

every adult around me: you're not old enough to know what's wrong with you, you're fine

me as an adult: i still have all these problems

my doctors after i finally got the opportunity to choose them myself: oh my fucking god why have you never gotten help for all these problems. you should have seen me 10 years ago

[ace-with--a-mace]

i hate peer reviews so much

[foldingfittedsheets]

I think something a lot of other people can relate to is the way that you get so conditioned to discomfort that you stop registering it.

I remember sitting at the table with my family, eating dinner as a child. I’d try to eat, because of course I was hungry. But sometimes the flavor or texture was so repugnant that it moved into a category of Not Food.

“Two more bites before you can leave the table.”

“I can’t,” I’d say, trying to explain the impossibility.

But because I was a child they heard, “I won’t,” and made me sit at the table. I’d sit in dull agonized silence, bored and hungry for hours until bedtime when they’d give up. I’d hate myself for not eating and my parents for forcing me to sit there. The few forcefeeding moments ended in vomit.

They’d say, “If you don’t eat this you can’t eat a snack later,” and I moved past trying to communicate my discomfort into accepting that I’d just be hungry.

That state of affairs didn’t last, because my parents realized nothing could force me to eat so they catered to my palate, worrying they’d starve me. But the message stuck. If you can’t do anything about a situation, just accept the suffering.

A few years later my mother called me off the playground to ask, “Are you limping?”

I shrugged. My feet had hurt for a long time, but that was just the way things were now. My mom pulled my socks and shoes off and gasped. The soles of my feet were covered in huge painful planters warts.

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” She demanded but I could only shrug at her. I’d learned a long time ago that saying things about my discomfort didn’t matter, so now I had no words. Sometimes things hurt and sometimes they don’t. I simply accepted and did my best.

Now as an adult trying to learn to improve my own conditions can be hard. If I make food that I can’t eat I’ll force myself to sit at the counter still, full of guilt and self loathing, trying to will myself to eat it.

At first I needed my betrothed to gently take it away to present me with something I could eat. Now on my own I can usually admit that it’s not happening before too long and get something else, but I still feel guilty.

Laying in bed at night waiting for my betrothed to finish getting ready I let out a huge sigh of relief when they turned the lights off.

“Why didn’t you turn them off if they bothered you?” they asked the first time it happened.

“I didn’t even know it was bothering me until it was gone.”

Assessing my physical state now to see if I can improve it is something I’m still relearning but I’m relieved to finally have the space and support to do it.

[crepezinhos]

The Lion and The Fox

POV: Sunday has always had high expectations of you, his dear secretary, and his lovesick obsession for you has only made his trust on you increase uncontrollably. But now, he felt like his world was crumbling right in front of him when he learned that you were pregnant, and the father was the man he most despised, that he wish he could deport from Penacony, Aventurine.

⚠️ WARNINGS:

— This is a Yandere and Suggestive SFW Oneshot

— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns

— Contains: A lot of dirty-talking and racially-motivated talking, accidental pregnancy, bloody fighting, attempted murder, violent language and obsessive/possessive behavior.

— Yandere!Boss!Sunday x Pregnant!Reader x Yandere!Aventurine

— AU is: In-Game

“Ah, Y/N. You’re here.” Sunday turned his gaze away from the windowed wall of his office with a little grin growing in the edges of his lips to look at you, who was entering the room with embarrassment already taking you over.

“Hi… Mr. Oak.” You didn’t even dare ignoring his greet as you pushed the door back to its place from behind, especially considering how much he personally respected you.

But you immediately sighed in defeat as you realized how obviously awkward your tone accidentally came out of your throat, which you knew would alarm his attentive ears in a blink.

“Is everything okay?” And his speed to figure someone’s head out, or at least yours in particular, made you even less confident to keeping making eye contact at those mesmerizing amber eyes of his. “You seem very disturbed, dear.”

“Mr. Oak, I—” At the same you desperately wanted to vomit those words out of your chest, your logical thinking warned you that the conversation you were about to have with him right now would not be easy work, perhaps even heartbreaking.

Sunday begun silently walking away from his spot and going towards you, as if he was trying to avoid any explosive reaction out of you or comfort you. But unfortunately, his elegant apparent d and tall figure completely triggered the opposite out of you.

“I need to take a break.” You threw your head to the left as you confessed your intentions to him without any further context, paralyzing the Halovian. “Like… a few days or a whole week…”

“A whole week?” Sunday’s tone did not change, though, and after a few seconds waiting for a response, he finally figured you were too uncomfortable to speak any more without his leadership. “May I ask why?” He continued walking, a little more faster this time, cornering you against the wall even if his hands remained behind his back as usual.

“I’m not feeling quite well, Mr. Oak—”

“Please, address me as Sunday, dear.” You suddenly felt something wooly reach your left cheek and begin to caress it gently, figuring it was Sunday’s fingers after successfully cornering you against the door. “My apologies… I won’t interrupt you again.”

“I’m just feeling sick. That’s all…” You awkwardly finished yourself while trying to ignore his intimate demonstration of care.

“And you need a whole week to recover from it?” His tone shifted to a more serious one while that hand of his spread itself around your whole jaw and slightly pulled it upwards, forcing you to look at him again, and your silence made it obvious to him that you were either lying or hiding something from him. “Let’s sit down, dear.” His hypnotizing grin almost made you vomit the truth right there out of guilt.

Sunday released you and begun stepping towards where his office desk and fancy chair were, without acknowledging how quickly he had convinced you to speak the truth to him. That distressing nod in your throat was already unbearable on its own, but that you were being forced to tell such disappointing news to such a sweet and caring boss like Sunday, that truly admires you and trusts you deeply, just couldn’t be postponed anymore.

“I’m pregnant!” As soon as the distance between you and him was comfortable to you, when Sunday’s hand was about to reach his chair’s arm support, you let the beast out of its cage. “I am feeling sick indeed, but it’s because I’m pregnant and I have no idea what to do about it yet!” Your voice cracked a few times as you bowed your head down, tears barely glistening your eyes, but you did your best to hold them back and not stress Sunday, who had fully paralyzed in his spot.

…

…

…

“I beg your pardon?” Sunday slowly turned his head to you, the rest of his body immobile in its place.

“You heard me, Mr. O—… Sunday… I’m pregnant.” You crossed your arms and legs, leaning against the wall vulnerably.

And once again, Sunday didn’t say anything again some awkward seconds, causing your heart to beat even faster than it already was.

…

…

“P-Pregnant..?” This was one of the first times you’ve ever heard Sunday’s voice crack and stutter.

“Yes, sir.” You quickly nodded.

…

…

…

“Like… pregnant pregnant?” Sunday repeated himself again, a little more desperate.

“Yes, sir.” And you nodded to him again, a little more desperate too.

“When did you…” He didn’t know what to ask you due to the unprocessed shock. “For how long have you known this?” Sunday sounded a little madder as you expected, but at the same time you could feel some worry and anxiety coming from him as you saw him move a hand to his collar and start fidgeting his own tie.

“I took the test a few days ago, Mr. Oak.” Although you noticed how you referred to him in the wrong manner, Sunday didn’t seem to notice it, or at least preferred to not scold you again.

“How many people know about it yet?” Sunday finally turned his full body to you. After all, that question mattered a lot.

“None of my friends know about it yet, only the father and you, sir.” At this moment, it felt like all of your friendship with Sunday never existed in the first place, considering how incredibly negative his reaction was.

“Ah, yes… the father.” Sunday spat the word like a curse, scoffing at it right afterwards before pausing for a moment. “Who is the lucky man, Y/N?” Sunday decided to speak in a warmer tone, hoping it would help appeasing the suspense between you two, but it wasn’t quite useful to you.

“Sunday, I… I don’t think I should—”

“I have to know who the father is, Y/N.” He immediately shut you off with a shaky, anxious voice before you could fully reject him. “I don’t think it would be beneficial for us if the people of Penacony were to learn that the secretary of the Head of the Family… my secretary… is pregnant of someone of bad influence, especially if I was not aware of it or consenting to it. Don’t you agree?” Sunday’s voice cracked a few more times with his growing anger as his fingers became more aggressive with his tie.

You weakly nodded, feeling more tears rise up to your eyes. You were expecting Sunday to have a negative reaction indeed, but you did not expect him to be this bold. It even made you question your non-professional friendship with him. Was he not as attached to you like you thought? Was his kindness to you just a souvenir for your hard work? Have you two ever developed a friendship in the first place? If not, were you really just a secretary to him? If yes, how intimate are you two?

“This seriously endangers your job, Y/N, so if you don’t wish me to take extreme measures with you, tell me, dear, who is the father..?!” Despite his self-control, you noticed a pattern of how he was simply unable to hold all his anger when he mentioned the ‘father’.

You breathed in and out, preparing yourself for the bomb you were about to drop on him. After all, losing your job to this did not seem to be the smartest choice to be done, although the answer itself could still make you lose your job anyway.

“I believe the father is Aventurine, sir.” You closed your eyes as you told your version of the story, trying to make it more broad by stating as a theory rather than a fact, but you were certain that the baby was Aventurine’s.

…

…

…

Sunday scoffed.

…

…

…

“Aventurine?” Sunday’s tone deepened, almost falling into pure madness. “The Sigonian from the IPC?”

“…Yes, sir.” You weakly nodded again, finally finding some courage to open your eyes and look up to him.

“You’ve been going out with him?” Sunday’s tie wasn’t tucked under his white tuxedo anymore, and he was barely blinking his widened eyes.

“I believe you’re crossing a line of privacy, sir. I won’t be answering that.” You felt blood rush to your cheeks as you remembered your last date with the gambler, specifically when the baby was being made, speaking a little bit more annoyed.

“Why? He didn’t assault you or anything of the sort, did he, dear?” Sunday’s hands crossed around each other.

“No, sir.” Your tone went back to its previous shy one.

Sunday’s eyes finally dropped and stopped violently staring at you, looking around in confusion as he breathed in and out harshly. It did help you and your body to calm down, though.

“You know you can always trust me if there’s any danger going on in your life, right?” Sunday looked at you again with curiosity, which made your body stiffen again.

“Absolutely, sir.” You nodded more confidently. That statement reassured you about your previous thoughts about Sunday.

He really isn’t that bold. He never was. Today was just a minimal and reasonable exception.

“Good.” Sunday’s eyes got distracted again as he thought about all the facts that have been told, and you decided to contribute with your own silence.

…

…

…

…

…

“You know what? I must apologize to you, dear. What kind of man treats a pregnant lady like this? Only some uneducated punk… It was very childish of me, Y/N, I’m truly sorry.” Sunday suddenly relaxed in a blink, his hands going behind his back as usual while a cute grin took over his lips again as if he hadn’t almost gone mad in front of you.

After all, self-control is a really important aspect in this sort of job.

“No, it’s ok… I understand. I would be very worried too if I found out my secretary suddenly got pregnant.” Sunday hummed a giggle at your comment as you shrugged your shoulders.

“Go home, dear.” Sunday walked to you again, his hands landing on both your shoulders. “Go take a good rest. I’ve made you work enough this week.” His thumbs gently brushed your skin like wet porcelain, even raising them a few times to push some strands of your hair behind your ear.

“You’re… you’re not mad?” Deep down, you found his sudden change of behavior weird, and you weren’t exactly comfortable with it.

“Mad? Why would I be mad at you, dear? I trust you to make a smart choice about this.” And now that you were closely staring at his fine face, that smile, no matter how warm it was, it seemed to be betraying whatever was going through his mind. “Make sure to keep your commitment with the Family in mind, ok?” Sunday suddenly leaned his face to the right side of your face, his mouth hanging inches away from your ear as his voice suddenly turned serious.

“Of course, boss.” You nodded to Sunday, who patted your head in appreciation for a few seconds before finally letting you go.

.

SLAM!

All the human bodies in the casino were attracted by the loud bang of the double doors being against the walls as they were brutally pushed open, whispers beginning to accumulate onto each other as they realized it was Sunday Oak who walked in.

“Is that Sunday Oak?”

“I thought he condemned gambling…”

“What is he doing here?”

“Sunday Oak?”

“Should I ask for an autograph?”

“Isn’t he Robin’s older brother?”

Sunday couldn’t care less about any of those comments or the glances landing on him as he walked inside the flashy halls of the casino. He was entirely interested and focused on his hunt, and his hunt only.

After all, it didn’t take him more than 5 seconds to identify what he was searching for.

Aventurine.

The slim, blonde man sitting down lazily on a chair with spread legs and a pack of cards in his hands, accompanied by two other men playing with him, sitting in the opposite corners of the table, all of them shaping the form of a triangle where Aventurine was directly facing Sunday. The table was full of cards and chips thrown around it, even a few real credits too, showing that they weren’t just playing casually, and three cups of alcohol being the only objects standing still.

“Ah, the Head of the Family himself, Sunday Oak! What an honor it is to have you in my casino! What brings you here tonight?” The gambler put his cards facing down in the table to open his arms to Sunday in a warm greeting.

His purple eyes still managed to shine through the dark pair of sunglasses he was wearing and the whole dark ambient around them.

But Sunday’s murderous face didn’t appease a bit with his warm greeting.

“Leave.” He glanced down at the two other gamblers, who simply shared confused looks with each other and Aventurine when they heard his order. “NOW!” Both men immediately flinched upwards hearing his scream, fleeing from their seats as if they were fleeing for their lives.

After all, who would be insane enough to challenge the Head of the Family?

As soon as the steps of the coward men started to become faint murmurs in the ambient, Aventurine finally started taking advantage of their privacy to speak again.

“See… when I say that you’re always welcome in here, Mr. Oak, that doesn’t necessarily mean you have the right to interrupt any of the games—”

“You got Y/N pregnant..?!” Aventurine’s smirk grew as he realized what was Sunday’s objective in his casino and how angry he was due to it, even if he had been interrupted.

“Ah… so you’ve heard the news…” Aventurine proceeded to grab the glass of liquor sitting closest to him and took a sip of it. “It is also an honor to have being the first person to congratulate me…”

“Congratulate you..?” Sunday’s eyes widened in audacity at his words. “Congratulate you?! For what? For making such an absurdly irresponsible decision?!” Sunday finally dragged one of the empty chairs closer to him and sat himself down at on it, both his hands slamming the table while Aventurine simply mired down at the liquor in the glass. “You’re a gambler, and you’re completely addicted to it! What is wrong with you?! What kind of man sustains his family by gambling?!” Aventurine couldn’t help but scoff at his words as his eyes finally looked up to meet his again, starting a war of eye contact.

“Oh, please, we both know that you’re not mad at the fact that I’m a gambler about to become a father.” The gambler finally placed the glass back to the table, his arms crossing as he leaned against the chair.

Sunday refused to answer him although both men had a lot of privacy to discuss such an intimate topic.

“You’re mad that it’s not going to be a beautiful and cute Halovian baby growing inside her with cute little wings on his head and a shiny golden halo that will grow to be the Family’s next prodigy..! And instead, it’s going to be a little Sigonian trash with cursed fortune.” Aventurine used his hands to point at Sunday’s features and his owns, but it didn’t trigger Sunday to answer him, despite his boiling annoyance. “Not that? No? Then it might be that… you’re mad at the fact that it wasn’t you who made the path inside her womb first?” Aventurine uncrossed him arms and set them on table while leaning his body a little closer to his to challenge him, finally causing Sunday to slightly snap.

After all, an obsessed man like him could not handle the imagination of his perfect pure darling being bred by the man who directly competes with him for her, all twirled around his figure and showing him your nudity.

“You little shit…” Sunday fisted his own hands as his eyebrows to frown in the table’s cloth as he tried avoiding those sinful thoughts.

“Me?” Aventurine’s eyes widened with Sunday’s hypocrisy. “Imagine you’re constantly trying to hang out with this marvelous, jaw-dropping and inspiring woman, but she’s always rejecting you because she was either working in a Saturday night, or too exhausted from it on Sunday, hum? You feeling me now?” Aventurine tried waiting for an answer, but Sunday refused to let himself downgrade to the gambler’s level and backed down again. “I think I should actually thank you for making her exhausted and home-alone during her precious weekends. You’ve surely left that woman touch-starved, and I certainly took advantage of that whenever I insisted in visiting her in her home… She’s actually extra tight when she’s stressed.” Aventurine winked at him, intentionally ignoring Sunday’s unblinking, widening eyes. “Just to think about my cock suffocating inside that tiiight pussy of hers while she begs for me to keep ravishing it nonstop makes me so hard…” Aventurine was rubbing his legs together under the table to avoid his slight erection to grow any further under his pants while his cheeks slightly reddened.

“You hell-sent maniac…” That was all Sunday could mumble without exploding. “Do you even listen to yourself? Is this the poor vocabulary that poor kid would learn from their father? You have absolutely no conditions of being a father. I know it, you know it, Y/N knows it. Do you have any idea how worried she was when she was talking to me about this mess? Do you think she’d be that worried about it if I was the father of her child, hum? Do you think she’s happy to be pregnant of you?” Sunday finally decided to take some dominance in the conversation and leaned closer to Aventurine.

“Do you think she’d be any happier to pregnant of you, Mr. Oak? Her manipulative boss that takes advantage of her every free second to keep her revolving around you, yet, refuses to take a single step forward with your relationship with her and keeps edging her pleasure in you?” Aventurine sounded a little angrier as he described Y/N’s work ambient.

“You know nothing about me and Y/N…” Sunday hissed at him. Deep down he knew he had a fair point and that he had to change his relationship with her if he wanted to conquer her heart.

“Well, I certainly know all of this would’ve probably been avoided if you weren’t the coward that you are, and asked her out before I did. Now, even if you did manage to make her fall in love with you and make her your wife, you’d never be able to get rid of the shape of her insides, forever prepared to receive me inside her instead of you because she knows who introduced her the magic of paradisiacal pleasure.” Aventurine twirled his fingers together and set his chin on top of them, his face proudly hanging on it.

“You do realize Y/N is most likely going to abort that cursed baby, right?” Sunday finally found an opportunity to counter Aventurine, smirking in victory after all those sexual comments of you Aventurine has been doing to frustrate him.

“Good for her.” Aventurine shrugged his shoulders, dumbfounding Sunday, who allowed his smirk to die for a moment.

Sunday didn’t understand. Wasn’t he cheerful about her pregnancy? Wasn’t he happy about claiming her womb first and making her a mother before him? Wasn’t he initially arguing with Sunday about being a father?

“You’re just bluffing. I know you’re disappointed.” Sunday brought his grin back before Aventurine could take dominance again, trying to convince him to let that guilt out of his mind.

“I don’t think you’ve understood it yet, Mr. Oak… I don’t intend to be a father. Never intended to be.” Aventurine spoke with a straight face, very relaxed as he confessed his feelings, unlike Sunday.

“I beg your pardon?” Finally, Sunday felt challenged again, so his smirk died again and never rose again.

“Sure, it would be disappointing if she did decide to abort the baby. After all, the idea of repopulating my clan back to this world sounds good to me… but I got her pregnant simply because I want to get her away from you, and that pregnancy is going to force her to take a break from you, and maybe eternally. I already heard you did let her go home today, so it’s already working! Thank you, Mr. Oak!” Sunday was entirely speechless at Aventurine’s confession, not a single full phrase managing to form in his head as the gambler paused again to take another sip of his liquor.

And Sunday knew he had more to add onto that confession, seeing how he swallowed the liquor quickly.

“It surprised me how all it takes to impregnate a woman is a single little puncture in a condom… Make sure to double-check your condoms before sex, Sunday! Protection isn’t a joke!” Sunday couldn’t believe all he had to add to his confession was a joke.

“You..! You did it on purpose?!” Sunday hissed as if he wanted to squeeze the gambler’s head until it crushed into a gory mess.

“Congratulations, Mr. Oak! We can finally have a man-to-man conversation!” Aventurine threw his hands in the air cheerfully as if he was celebrating his birthday.

“Do you have shit in your head instead of a functional brain?! Do you realize you’re putting the life of a child on stake and even her trust on you?! You’re a monster! You had no right to fool Y/N like that!” Sunday was finally finding out how little power of you he had on his hands, his anger finally spilling from its chamber.

“Oh? But you have the right to keep overworking her with the stupidest tasks ever? Making her bring you breakfast and lunch from the cafe with the stupidest exigences ever?! Like ‘No veggies, only keep the onions’, ‘Diet raspberry juice’ and ‘Strawberry cupcakes for desert with no sprinkles or extra frosting’? To make her rearrange your whole calendar for the month because you suddenly have a doctor’s appointment in the middle of month? Knowing she’s not intelligent or bossy enough to tell you’re just taking advantage of her position and her trust on you? That you’re a very busy man and genuinely can’t deal with fucking calendars on your own?” Aventurine also dropped his smirk, speaking in a more angered one as well.

“It’s her job, and I’m her boss. And don’t you worry about it because Y/N gets some good money for all her hard work and she loves me for it.” Sunday defended himself a little proudly. It was a good reason to keep her busy with him.

“And I’m just a great fucking friend! See? We’re both playing dirty here…” Aventurine giggled at his own pun, which made Sunday’s wings to twitch.

“Don’t imagine it… Don’t picture it…” Sunday thought to himself, and Aventurine took advantage of his silence.

“And, think about it, what is the worth in all the money you apparently give her if she can’t find herself some time to spend it because her boss can’t let her enjoy her weekends, hum?” Aventurine crossed his arms, settling them on the table to keep himself still leaning close to Sunday’s face.

“As soon as I get you out of my way, I’ll make sure she’ll have a lot of time to enjoy her life with me as her company.” Sunday threatened him with a mean smirk in his face, finding joy in Aventurine’s struggle.

“I don’t think you’ve realized it yet, Sunday. Y/N is already mine. All, all mine. She’s been mine for a long time now and will always be mine. Your little tricks to imprison her with you are clever, but you know how gambling with me works. I’ll always find my way out of risk and become the winner. And if Y/N is clever enough to remember this little fact, you might face a serious danger of her deciding to keep the baby.” Aventurine’s irises were trembling with excitement and hatred for Sunday as he talked about his possession over you.

“We both know she won’t.” Sunday hissed, still keeping his smirk, although he was doing a great effort to not punch the gambler’s face.

“How do you know, hum? Y/N is the kindest soul in this planet! I don’t think she’d opt to interrupt that growing life inside her so easily like you think. Maybe she’ll start sympathizing with it and decide to accept the duty of raising it with me as the father and provider. And if that happens, what are you going to do, huh? Shove your hand inside her womb and abort the baby yourself? You can’t do anything!” Aventurine cackled at the thought of Sunday trying to get rid of the baby inside you or convincing you to do it and pathetically being defeated.

“Maybe I’ll fire her. I can’t afford to have a secretary who’s going to birth a disgusting Avgin nor can she afford her life without the salary I give her… It’s a fair trade!” Sunday threatened enthusiastically, although in his mind he knew he’d never do that to you.

“Oh, really? And make her hate you forever? What a stupid way to give me the opportunity to finally imprison her with me, Sunday! Maybe she’ll learn how great it is to have me as her sugar daddy…” Aventurine threw himself in the chair and I’m his arms in the arm as if he was receiving a gift from Sunday.

“Or maybe I’ll take the matter to my own hands and marry her with me before you. And trust me, gambler, I’ll make sure you have the lowest share of custody, or maybe even none. I’m the head of the Family Oak. I own this whole planet in the palm of my hand.” Sunday also rose his hands in the air and inflated his chest, trying to demonstrate the size of the power he owns.

“Yet, you can’t stop the woman you love from fucking with other men.” Aventurine hummed some giggles while Sunday had to stop himself again to impede his brain from picturing that scenario. “I would rather die than let a baby of my blood to be raised by you. To be raised like a mere annoyance in the house… forever incapable of making his daddy proud of him because he’s not his real son… destined to be overshadowed by his future siblings… Both Y/N and the baby would be happier to have me taking care of them instead of you.” Aventurine’s tone deepened again, his arms lowering sown to his knees and gripping them to control himself.

“I will not lose Y/N to you, gambler. I don’t care if that baby would not be the happiest one in the world. I refuse to let you have her for another single minute of your life with those dirty hands of yours.” Sunday spat his prejudice for the gambler with no remorse.

“Oh-ho? Are you afraid I’m a better womanizer than you, Mr. Head of the Family? That my ‘dirty hands’ are capable to make Y/N moan my name in a volume you’ll never be able to get out of her?” Aventurine stared at the deepest corners of Sunday’s eyes.

“Quiet.” Sunday hissed barely above a whisper.

“That my fingers will penetrate that wet pussy of hers while I devour her throbbing clit with my dirty Avgin mouth? Oh, yeah, I’ve already done that!” Aventurine brought a hand closer to Sunday, only to thrust the air with his ring-finger and middle-finger a few times, pretending it was your pussy.

“Shut. Your. Mouth.” Sunday made sure to pronounce every syllable of his order slowly, exciting Aventurine to keep teasing him even further.

Sunday’s cheeks were reddening with arousal as he couldn’t hold back the few pictures his brain illustrated for him of Y/N’s naked body being touched by Aventurine, meanwhile the gambler moved his hands to his body and started brushing his own body in a suggestive way.

“Ohh~… Aventurine..! You feel sooo good around me~… Oh, right there..! Fuck me right there, Aven..!” Sunday’s fingers gripped on the table’s cloth as if that was the only thing keeping him from having a boner on his own, trying to force himself to focus on the gambler’s threat rather than his pathetic teasing. “Ah, yes~! Touch me, Aventurine! Touch me!” Aventurine put his own palms on his own breasts and gently fondled them, which made Sunday feel so disgusted he slightly backed away from the pervert in front of him.

“Do you seriously think acting like this is going to annoy me?” Sunday bluffed, betraying his own mindset. “I must thank you for the spoilers, though.” He shrugged his shoulders, pretending there wasn’t a noticeable tent growing in his pants.

“See? Even you recognize you’ll never be her first in anything because I’ve been there first!” Aventurine dropped his act, jumping back to the table, leaning over to challenge Sunday with a creepy expression and a proud smile. “Every Saturday night, when you decided to send her a ‘Goodnight’ message and ask how she was doing, I was already pining her down on her own bed and taming her pussy.” Sunday’s mind was unfortunately too attracted to that scenario, forcing himself to think about it.

Thinking about your insides being stretched by the gambler, your breasts fondled by the gambler, your pretty moans being listened by the gambler, your mouth kissing the gambler, your clothes being taken off by the gambler…

All by that stupid gambler, and not him.

“Focus, Sunday. Focus. Focus on the gambler.” Sunday thought to himself.

“Sometimes I even answered you for her, y’know? Sending you a ‘Goodnight’ with cute a heart sticker, pretending to be your dear woman while the real one was gagging on my cock.” Sunday’s eyes widened as he heard that disgusting confession.

Every time you talked to him at nighttime, Sunday would think about what were you possibly doing while texting him. Maybe you were changing yourself into your pijamas, specifically a beautiful nightgown of his favorite kind. Maybe you were kicking your feet and your cheeks were red because you were talking so intimately with your sweet and handsome boss.

How did you even save his contact as? Most likely ‘Mr. Oak’ or maybe ‘Mr. Sunday’ because of your professional relationship with him, but maybe it is something more friendly like ‘Sunday’ or ‘Sunday ❤️’.

But now all those fantasies that made fall in love with you even harder, were crushed by the gambler’s words, and he was really hoping the man was just bluffing to annoy him.

“You disgusting piece of crap..! You had no right to do that!” He hissed as his mind pictured more and more dirty illustrations.

“Seeing you smirk at me every time I passed her to you, thinking you were in charge of her and that I was losing precious time with her, made me want to laugh. Poor you..! You had absolutely no idea! You could’ve died without knowing!” Aventurine started cackling as he saw Sunday’s destroyed ego.

Sunday couldn’t believe it either. The gambler was right, and he did not plan on ever admitting it. To think that he has been interpreting you so wrongly all along and that that Aventurine was taking advantage of his foolishness was making him ache in need for revenge.

It was embarrassing to see a man of his level of money, power and intelligence to commit such a rookie mistake, of letting your weekends free of his obsessiveness and stalking, and find himself in the edge of losing to someone so weaker than him.

But Aventurine didn’t notice Sunday’s breathing becoming louder and louder.

“That’s why I had to show you the truth. To show you who is truly in the lead.” Aventurine unexpectedly leaned closer to Sunday until he was a few centimeters away from his right ear, invading his personal space. “That’s why I made a little hole in my condom before going to her home and ejaculated a lot of sperm inside that pussy when we were having sex. Thousands of my little spermatozoids… finding a way out of that rubber barrier and swimming their way inside her womb, claiming ‘your’ territory…” Sunday shit his eyes, trying to control his painfully quick heartbeats while Aventurine kept enjoying the mental torture. “And trust me, Sunday, despite her not knowing what I had planned for her, she was the one that kept begging for me to keep fucking her and to cum inside her again. Not a single cell of her body wants you—” Sunday unexpectedly unchained himself from the chair, violently grabbing Aventurine’s collar by his green uniform and fisting his knuckles across his cheek.

Sunday just couldn’t deal with his own imaginations anymore.

It hurt him to imagine you not desiring for him to touch you that way. The same way you’ve allowing the gambler to do. It couldn’t be true. He knew he could make you feel as good as the gambler did. All that he was missing was courage to ask you out. To think of Aventurine having the privilege to watch you during sex, giggling about Sunday’s obnoxiousness. To think of the gambler fucking you right in front of him, conquering your heart, and you enjoying it rather than asking him to stop and to saves by Sunday.

Even if it was just a dark fantasy. A horror one. One that would never come to be true, if it depended on you at least, he smacked Aventurine’s face as if he wanted to avoid that possibility as much as he could. He did not want that scum making someone like you fall in love with it anymore.

Although the punch itself wasn’t hard enough to make Aventurine drop his smirk, it was surely made him roll down from the table and vulnerably land on the floor along with a few cards, chips and one of the wine glasses, that broke as soon as it touched the ground, and Sunday throwing himself on top of him.

“YOU WRETCHED DOG!” Sunday kept attempting to spank Aventurine, who allowed himself to receive every single punch like a masochist while laughing at how Sunday snapped. “YOU HAD NO RIGHTS TO DO THAT TO Y/N!” Everyone in the casino already had their bodies turned to both men, some had even stood up to have a better view of the scene going on, all the whispers accumulating onto each other again.

“What’s going on?!”

“Are they fighting?!”

“Why are they fighting?!”

“Did Sunday Oak lose a bet?!”

“Who is Y/N?”

“They know each other?!”

“Punching me… won’t undo what has been done, Sunday! She’s pregnant! 100% pregnant!” Finally, Aventurine got bored of Sunday’s amateur boxing and rose his hands from the floor, clutched them around Sunday’s cranial wings, squeezing them hard to almost break its bones, and launched his forehead against Sunday’s.

“Who is pregnant?”

“This Y/N person is pregnant?”

“For God’s sake, who’s Y/N?!”

Sunday moaned loud in pain, accidentally weakening his weight on top of Aventurine, who quickly pushed him away from the top and reverted the positions.

“She’s mine… all mine!” Despite the few blood drops running down his nostrils and red marks in his cheeks, Aventurine kept smirking as if he was having the biggest thrill of his life. “And I’ll make sure to keep impregnating her every time I need to remember you who is in the lead! Over and over again!” Aventurine made sure to whisper his words about you and guarantee that nobody would gossip about their conflict, or at least gossip it with all the context behind it.

Aventurine’s punches were way more painful compared to Sunday’s, which was causing him to become so pained and desperate that he couldn’t even react to it, nor hold the gambler back. He doesn’t really tell people that he’s quite stronger than he looks. Although his slim body and smaller height sell the contrary image, all the years he spent being a slave strengthened his muscles forever, unlike Sunday, who has never quite invested in giving himself a buffer body. And the many rings hanging in his fingers, made of multiple gems, were making it only worse.

Sunday started to panic. So many people were witnessing the worst side of him, the Head of the Family, the representative of their planet, being in a casino and initiating a fight on it, one that he was also pathetically losing. After he’s given so many speeches about the importance of peace and the abolishment of violence, he was the first one to opt for violence when the stakes of a fight got too high? Even if he found a way to avoid the situation to escape everyone’s mouth, it still wouldn’t hide the multiple bruises in his face, and that would immediately denounce that he got involved in a fight, whether being who started it or not. Injuries like hematomas and cuts can take weeks to fully heal depending on their depth. How would he hide that from his public? His dear little sister? Gopher? Or… you?

“Oh, fuck.” Sunday thought.

Had he just made a bad decision? Had he embraced his instincts rather than his critical thinking?

He couldn’t let himself lose his reputation or influence so easily. He’d be willing to beg for Aventurine’s mercy as long as his face remained intact. So, that’s why he did his best to turn his face to the side while his arms and cranial wings crossed on top of it to create a barrier between him and Aventurine.

“What is it, birdie? Are you scared?! Come on, punch me again, I dare you!” Aventurine teased as he started digging his hands under his protection and undo it.

But Sunday was way more focused on the miracle laying in the floor by his side. The cup that had previously fallen in the floor and was ignored by them had broken into many big shards of glass, all beautifully laying down by his side and going unnoticed by the gambler.

How fun would it be to stab the foul gambler?

One of Sunday’s arms slowly reached out to the glass, but it wasn’t long enough to grab it, his fingers slightly touching the pointy tip of the glass. And unfortunately, a single arm on its own wasn’t enough to impede Aventurine from breaking through his barrier and curl his both hands around his neck.

“Bye-bye, Mr. Oak…” Aventurine’s eyes only widened in pure joy the more he suffocated Sunday’s throat.

Sunday grunted and gasped, trying to salvage the remaining oxygen in his body while his single hand kept helplessly trying to fight him back and pull at least one of Aventurine’s arms away of his neck.

Aventurine was so invested in his own sadism, watching Sunday’s face contort and crumble, that he still didn’t realize what was his other arm doing, slowly pulling the glass closer to his palm bit by bit.

And when Sunday’s fingers were finally able to pull that piece of glass close enough to him, with a swift movement, Sunday was finally able to—

“ENOUGH!” Aventurine was suddenly pushed away from Sunday by a security guard, immediately making Sunday’s lungs fill themselves with the oxygen he had lost while the glass stabbed nothing but the air.

And with the assistance of incoming men, Aventurine was quickly struck on the floor with his belly turned down and his hand locked together behind his back.

“Smart move, birdie! But, don’t you see..? You don’t stand a chance against my luck!” Aventurine cackled while he was momentarily being cuffed while Sunday was still recovering from the murder attempt.

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU!” Sunday couldn’t stand seeing that smirky face of his anymore and quickly stood up again, getting up on his feet again just to launch himself on the gambler again, the shard of glass already prepared to stab him.

But Sunday was immediately held back by even more guards that arrived in the scene, every muscle of his arms being held back while his legs desperately kicked the air.

“N-No!” He grunted in agony while one of the guards that cuffed Aventurine begun moving to Sunday and undoing his grip on the shard, pulling it away from him after a few seconds.

Aventurine kept cackling at the scene he watching, loving to see Sunday losing all his power and dignity in front of so many people.

“I PROMISE YOU I’M GONNA KILL YOU WITH MY OWN HANDS ONE DAY, YOU MANIAC!” Sunday spat his violent threat while still trying to launch himself towards Aventurine.

“Lets settle the bet, then! Whoever kills each other first gets to keep Y/N forever! Fair trade, ain’t it?” The gambler rose his head to talk to Sunday more confidently.

“AND I’LL MAKE SURE YOUR DIRTY CLAN WILL BE ERASED FROM HISTORY!” Slowly, both men were dragged afar away from each other, Aventurine being set in a sofa while Sunday was kicked out of the casino, rolling down a few staircases before finally finding himself wormed on the floor.

“Oh, wanna raise the stakes?! If I’m the one who kills you, then… your little sister will be punished too~…” Sunday fumed in anger as he thought of the murder of his little sister.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE PUT ROBIN INTO THIS, YOU LITTLE SHIT!” Aventurine rolled his eyes in boredom with Sunday denying to raise the stakes of their bet.

“Get him out of my sight.” Aventurine looked at the guards and spoke more seriously, a smirk still displayed in his lips.

Sunday gasped when he begun being pulled away from his prey.

“YOU’RE DEAD, GAMBLER! DEAD!” Sunday made sure to state his final words before he was thrown in the streets.

Sunday rolled a few stairs down, ruining the perfect white color of his suit, but unfortunately he couldn’t stop to relax, ease the pain and fix himself because of the people that could be around him. So, he quickly got up from the floor and fled to a narrow corner between two tall buildings, surrounded by dark and trash and isolated him from anyone’s sight.

Meanwhile he fixed his suit, hair and face, while calling a cab to pick him up, Sunday kept insulting the gambler and even himself.

Sunday knew he should’ve asked you out long before all this situation, but he didn’t believe he had to do it since he didn’t think Aventurine’s competition was that dangerous. So, he preferred to wait until he believed you and him had developed a better friendship, and possibly sparked you to like him more than as a friend, a colleague or a boss.

But now, the race for your hand in marriage has started and Sunday is ready to cheat to win.

It doesn’t matter if he suffocates you with work.

It doesn’t matter if he has to kill Aventurine or the baby.

It doesn’t matter if he’ll not raise the baby without a lot of love and care.

It doesn’t even mattter if you don’t want to marry him in the first place.

He’ll win this bet.

Taglist: @komelliko @gaboplaydespacito

Don’t forget to like and comment if you liked it! <3

[rowarn]

PLEASE, LOVE ME. PT2

simon riley / reader

FIND PART ONE || read the full thing on ao3

tags: childhood friends, friends2lovers, virgin!reader, soft!simon, protective!simon, afab!reader, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, MDNI

cw: reader is over 20, pining, masturbation (reader), loss of virginity, explicit workplace sexual harassment/assault, so much crying, one-sided love, not-really-unrequited love, vomiting, panic attacks, depression, crying, sex related shame, PTSD (reader), codependency but cute, self-deprecating thoughts, slut shaming, wet dream, dry humping, simon fucks up tho, reference to suicide & suicidal ideation, really nasty argument, reader hits simon sorry, apologizes tho!!!, reader struggles to orgasm, drinking, fooling around while drunk (no sex), breast play, fingering, orgasm denial, simon's a tease, p-in-v, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, creampie, mating press, missionary, simon's dirty mouth, dirty talk, wet&messy, big cock, uncut simon bc i said so, reassurance & encouragement, some pain upon penetration, clit spanking, post-coital crying!!!!!!, aftercare, briefly edited so apologies for any lingering mistakes

note: this is part two and contains the gratuitous smut portion ur all looking forward to &lt;3

you've loved him since you were children. after a confession when you were 14 went rejected, you vowed to never let your feelings be known again. but after an incident that left you hurt and fragile, you find it hard to keep that promise.

PART 2: 17.9k total: 35.8k

Things seem to get much better between you. Your anger and resentment towards Simon diminishes significantly and you can finally say you feel comfortable around him again. You wouldn’t say you’ve forgotten everything that happened, you fear that the entire ordeal has left its scar on you. 

But you finally feel ready to truly begin to work on yourself and get to a better place mentally. 

You’re humming to yourself as you dust the surfaces in your living room, cringing in disgust when you see how dusty a particular shelf was. 

Just as you go to give it another swipe, your front door opens and Simon stumbles in, huffing from effort as he carries two armfuls of groceries. 

“Simon!” you cry out, watching with wide eyes from the stepstool you stood on as he ungracefully dropped them on the floor, “Why did you bring them all up here like that?”

“Didn’t wanna make another trip,” he explained lamely, flexing his hands as he looked over all the bags.

“Okay, I guess,” you chuckle softly. 

Simon finally looks up at you, “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning,” you shrug, waving the duster at him, “I haven’t felt like doing it until now so might as well get it done when I feel like it!”

He’s quiet for a moment before he steps over the bags of groceries.His boots thunk heavily on the floor as he approaches you. Suddenly, he wraps an arm around your middle. You squeak in surprise when he very carefully and gently pulls you off of the stool and places you back onto your feet. 

Then he walks away like nothing happened, snatching up a couple groceries up from the floor to take to the kitchen. 

You decide not to comment on his behavior and simply choose to grab a couple of bags and help him out. When you get inside the kitchen, he’s already stuffing things into the refrigerator. You place the bags down and go back to pick some more up, transferring all the bags of groceries near him so he can easily put them away. 

You notice one of the bags has some piping, lightbulbs, wires, and other things you can’t identify. 

“What’s all this?” you ask, holding the bag out to him when he turns to look.

He grunts, closing the fridge, “Gonna fix some shit around here.”

“Why?” you ask, scrunching your nose up as you place the bag on the counter.

“Shithole needs it,” he mumbles, moving to start opening the cabinets, “Since you refuse to let me move you out of this place, I’m gonna make sure it at least functions.”

You hum and nod your head. Simon had attempted to convince you to move out and into an apartment of his own choosing but you flat out refused. He was already paying the rent on this place, you weren’t going to let him spend more money for a different place – because you know Simon would choose somewhere that would cost a lot more than your current flat. 

But you couldn’t deny, the idea of Simon doing a little manual labor around the apartment made your heart flutter in your chest. The way he took care of you and was willing to get his hands dirty just to make sure you were comfortable. The little domestic tasks you could imagine him doing. 

It almost felt like something a husband would do. 

You felt your cheeks flush immediately at the train of thought. How embarrassing and juvenile to think something like that

“I can cook dinner!” you mumble after clearing your throat. 

Simon actually has the audacity to laugh. You frown as he shakes his head, closing the cabinet before turning to you. 

“Absolutely not,” he says.

Your jaw drops, “Why?!”

“Because,” he steps closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before breezing past you, “You’re a terrible cook, love.”

You open your mouth to retort but can only huff. Because he’s right. The last time you tried to make dinner for the two of you, you had confused cayenne with cinnamon and made the most diabolical stew known to man. He vowed to never let you cook anything that required more than boiling water since. 

You pout your way back to the living room, mumbling a petulant, “Fine…” as you went.

You didn’t catch the broad grin on Simon’s face as he watched you sulk away. He was just happy to see your vibrance returning before his very eyes.

True to his word, however, he began to do some random odd jobs around the apartment. He changed that damn leaky faucet in the kitchen first. He would never admit it but it was beginning to drive him completely mad. He swore he could hear it dripping into the metal sink basin in his dreams.

Then he fixed the piping in the bathroom so they would stop all that god-awful clanking that practically woke up the entire complex. But after that, he figured he might as well fix the piping under the sinks as well.

That’s when you saw him. On his back, big body sprawled out as he worked underneath the cabinet, wrench in hand and soft grunts of effort coming from him. His t-shirt rose up just a bit, exposing a small stretch of tummy and his happy trail. Every once in a while, you could see his muscles flex and it made your mouth go completely dry. 

You felt like a Victorian man seeing his first ankle on a woman. Ridiculous. 

Sure, you’d seen Simon shirtless countless times – hell, you walked in on him completely naked once or twice. But there was something particularly…delicious about him like this. Unaware, casual, just doing work. 

It made a swell of heat settle in your abdomen. You squeezed your thighs together as you watched him. His biceps flexed and bulged, making the sleeve of his t-shirt grow taut around his skin. His muscles moved underneath the tattoos inked into his skin. 

You dragged your eyes down his body, past his pecs, past the sliver of tummy. You imagined yourself crawling between those thick thighs and unbuckling his belt, tugging at the button of his jeans. You imagined getting to see his cock chub up inside his boxers before you would pull it out and wrap your lips around the leaking tip. 

Salty, you imagine. You’ve always heard that men’s cum and pre-cum would be salty. Would Simon’s taste as bad as some of your friends had told you back in highschool? You hoped not. You couldn’t imagine not enjoying every part of him – even his cum.

You wanted him to shoot in your mouth, let you taste it. You wanted to milk it out of him, give him no choice but to cum down your throat.

“Are you just going to stand there or do you need something?” his voice startled you out of your thoughts.

Wide eyed, you looked to meet his gaze but you found he wasn’t even looking at you, still staring at the piped overhead.

“Um,” you cleared your throat, floundering for an excuse as to why you were ogling him like a piece of meat, “I didn’t want to interrupt you. I-I was just wanting to make sure the shower was okay to use?”

He grunts, letting out a soft sigh  before pushing himself out from under the sink, closing the cabinet before wiping his brow with the back of his hand, “Yeah, go ahead and shower, love.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile, casting one last glance to see that his t-shirt had fallen back into place. Disappointing. 

You trudge out of the kitchen and into the bathroom. Softly, you close the door and turn on the shower. The pipes don’t clang when the water shoots through them. It brings a smile to your face.

Once you’re stripped and standing under the warm spray, you let your hands wander your body. First, you cup your breasts, watching your nipples harden under your own touch before you slide one hand between your thighs. There’s a slickness between your folds that's distinctly different from the water, it’s slippery and sticky. But it makes your touch against your clit easy. 

You bite your lips to keep quiet, scared to death that Simon could hear you from under the sound of the water. You make quick, tight little circles against your clit. The bud is hard and twitches under your fingers. It makes the breath stutter out of your chest. 

You need more room, you realize, hiking your foot up onto a shelf. It spreads you open just a little more, gives you a little more access for your fingers to play. You sigh, head tipping forward to watch as you circle your own clit. 

But the more you touch yourself, the faster that tingling, warm sensation dissipates. You huff through your clenched teeth, frustrated. 

Usually, you could at least feel the beginning of that peak forming but this time…not even close. So you shamefully close your legs and go about your shower as if nothing happened, taking care to wash the slick from between your thighs especially.

As you lay in bed that night, Simon breathing deeply beside you as he slept, you were lost in thought. 

Surely, you were in the wrong for thinking about Simon like that – for getting wet at the sight of him. And then sleeping soundly next to him as if you weren’t some kind of pervert. Maybe you should just confess and apologize to him. 

No. You quickly admonish that thought, glancing over at his prone form. You couldn’t bear to see him be disgusted by you. He’d already rejected you years ago, finalized it and put the nail in the coffin so you would never be dumb enough to do it again. 

What would he do if he found out about your…attraction to him? He practically lived with you now, after everything happened. He was in your flat more than he was on base now. It was only a matter of time before he caught you with your hands dancing in your pants. 

Your cheeks flushed at the idea. Part of you thought it hot – for him to find you needy like that, desperately playing with your clit as you try to make yourself cum. 

But on the other hand, you could see the wrinkle of disgust in his brow and sneer on his face as he walked away. That outcome was not worth it, you decided. 

With a sigh, you rolled over so your back faced Simon and closed your eyes for the night. 

You both should have known better that the fragile peacefulness between the two of you was just that – fragile, balancing on a delicate precipice that could shatter at any moment. 

The ring of his phone was the break. 

“Answer that for me, love!” he called from the kitchen where he was busy preparing dinner. 

You leaned forward to check the number. It wasn’t in his contacts but Simon never got calls from people unless he knew them. So you slowly slid the button over and accepted the call. 

“Hello?” you mumbled into the phone.

There was a beat of silence before a woman’s voice responded in kind, “Hello?”

“Um…” you swallowed down the apprehension that settled in your chest, casting a glance towards Simon’s back as he stood over the stove, “Who may I ask is calling?”

“I’m looking for Simon,” she said, sounding much more coy than a second ago. She knew his real name and that irked you. People from work always referred to him as Ghost, only those he considered trustworthy or friends were privy to calling him Simon. 

“Um, he’s busy at the moment, can I take a message?” you ask, loud enough for Simon to hear in the kitchen if he was interested in intervening. But he didn’t move. 

“Sure!” she giggled, “Tell him that Victoria really wants to see him again and to call me so we can!”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat, “Y-Yeah, sure. I’ll let him know…”

“Thank you,” she cooed in a sultry tone, “Oh! And tell him I really had a great time last time we were together and that I’m looking forward to a repeat performance.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that,” you assured, hoping you didn’t sound as tense as you felt. 

She giggled before the call disconnected and you were left glaring at his stupid stock phone wallpaper.

“Who was it?” Simon comes to the archway of the kitchen, leaning against the wall. You can’t hear anything cooking anymore so you assume he’s finished dinner.

“Victoria,” you spit the name out like it’s poisonous, “Says she wants to see you again and she had a fantastic time with you last time.”

Simon shifts where he stands, looking down at his feet before looking back up to you, “Alright. I’ll call her back later.”

That sends knives straight through your heart. It aches so badly that you want to bite your own tongue off to make it stop. 

Jealousy, you realize. You’re fucking jealous. Some girl calls and asks for his dick and he just says okay? 

He’s not yours, you tell yourself. He can fuck whoever he wants. 

But that does nothing to quell the inferno raging inside you. 

There’s other feelings brewing inside you; rejection, fear, loss.

You feel bitter that you’re right there and he would still never choose you. He’ll always choose someone else because he doesn’t see you like that. It feels like he’s throwing it in your face, just spitting at you to show you that he doesn’t love you like you love him. He never has and he never will. You’ll never be an option to him because he doesn’t want you.

Then you’re scared he’s going to leave you. He’s going to go to this Victoria chick and leave you all alone so he can get his dick wet again. Just like last time. Maybe he’ll like it so much he wants to stay with her. Maybe he’s going to leave you behind so he can start a new, happy life without having to worry about the dead weight that’s been dragging him down since he was 8. You. His responsibility. His problem. 

You’re so scared that he’s going to be ripped from your grasp. That you’re going to lose him to someone else and it’s going to be you and your pathetic one-sided love for the rest of your life. Fuck, you’ve loved him since you were 4. You’ve loved him for so long that it makes you nauseous to think about. How many people loved one person for this long? 

Please, you wanted to cry to him, please love me. 

Please, just love me back.

“So you’re gonna go then?’ you finally find your voice, bitterness and resentment thick in your tone, “You’re gonna leave me to go to a booty call again?”

He stands up straight at that. Arms cross over his chest, he watches that way you glare at him, heated and teary-eyed. Hurt. 

He knew you still weren’t over the way he left you that time – when you needed him the most. You’d been ignoring the residual hurt that lingered, intent on pretending that everything was fine. He had been doing his best to make up for it but it always felt like one step forward and two steps back with you. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures softly, “I’ll call her back to tell her that it won’t happen.”

He tries his best to remain level-headed and soft, to be reassuring like he knows you need. But your expression doesn’t change. You continue to glare at him with that furious, hurt look in your eyes. 

Suddenly, you stand. 

“I don’t believe you,” you hiss, turning your back to him, storming down the hallway. 

He almost winces when he hears how hard you slam the bedroom door. He thinks about going back there to talk to you but decides against it. You need some space to calm yourself down. 

He eats the dinner he made for both of you alone, putting your half in the fridge for later. He goes about the apartment, locking the door and turning out all the lights. Then he gets to the bedroom door and goes to turn the knob and it doesn’t budge. 

Despite himself, he laughs. He jiggles the knob, jerks the door a little harder like it’ll open with a bit of force. And it might, it’s a flimsy ass door if he’s being honest – he’s forced bigger and heavier doors open before. 

He snaps your name, humor gone from his voice. You don’t answer. 

“Open the damn door,” he snaps, trying the knob again. He gets silence in return so he slams his fist against the surface. The sound is loud enough that it makes his own ears ring, “I said open the door. I’m not playin’ this game with you, sweetheart.”

“Sleep on the couch, Simon!” he hears your wobbly voice call back. Of course you’re in there crying, he thinks.

“I’m not sleepin’ on the fuckin’ couch,” he hisses, leaning his forearm against the door, resting his head against it with a sigh, “Open the door and let’s talk.”

“Don’t wanna talk to you,” you whine, bratty as all hell. He would have laughed if he wasn’t so damn pissed, “Why don’t you go sleep with Victoria since you like her so much.”

You don’t know why you say that last part. You don’t want him to go to her, you don’t want him to go anywhere. The thought of it brings more tears to your eyes. 

Simon is silent on the other side of the door for a long while. You almost think he walked away and succumbed to the couch. You wouldn’t actually let him sleep on that awful thing, of course. You just…you don’t know what the end goal here is, if you’re honest.

“Fine,” he finally spits, “If that’s what you want, I’ll fuck off and find Victoria.”

You hear the floorboards creak under his weight as he walks away. You sit up straight in bed at that, eyes wide as you listen to him stalk through the house. You swear you hear the jingle of his keys and that’s what has you lurching out of bed in a panic.

You almost trip over the sheets as they tangle around your legs but you manage to free yourself and wrench the door open.

“Simon!” you practically shriek, rounding the corner of the hallway to find him standing with his back to you, facing the door.

He’s got his hoodie and mask on, boots firmly on his feet and keys in hand. He stands still, back straight as his shoulders rise and fall with his breathing. But he waits.

“Don’t go,” you find yourself whimpering, “‘M sorry. Come to bed, okay?”

He doesn’t move and that makes your heart pound in your chest. You know he’s pissed, can see it in the way his fists stay clenched at his sides. His fingers twitch and he makes a move for the doorknob and you surge forward, wrapping yourself around his other arm, yanking him away from the door as hard as you can. 

He lets your weight knock him off balance, lets you drag him away from the door. He lets you tug him down the hallway, sniffling and crying as you do. 

“J-Just…” you find yourself frantically tugging his mask off, tossing it away before you rip the hem of his hoodie up. He doesn’t help you or fight you as you try to take it off of him. He just stares blankly at you, like he’s assessing you. You hate it. “G-Get ready for bed, okay? Just…we can go to sleep.”

“Why do you make this so fuckin’ hard for me?” he finally breaks his silence, the question cold and calculating. Like he’s tired. Exhausted, “I keep tryin’ to make it up to you. But every time something goes wrong, you throw everything back in my face and you act like you hate me again. I can’t keep…” he trails off, shaking his head before he sits at the foot of the bed, hands clasped together and head hanging between his shoulders.

“I love you,” you blurt out, a sob breaking out of your lips as you do. Simon doesn’t move. Your hands cover your eyes, as if being blind to his reaction will make the rejection hurt less, “I love you and i-it just keeps messing me up inside. I’m sorry.”

“You love me?” he asks, still no emotion in his voice. 

When you peek at him, he’s in the same position as before, hands clasped, elbows on his knees, head bowed. You have no idea what expression he’s wearing and you’re scared to find out.

“Yes,” you hiccup, sniffling softly, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” he asks softly, almost solemnly.

“I promised,” you cry, another choked sob escaping you. 

“Promised..?” he doesn’t sound cold anymore, just confused, “The fuck’re you talkin’ about?”

“W-When I was 14,” you whimper, shame filling you as you recall your now-broken promise, “I-I told you I liked you and you said you didn’t feel the same. You told me to never bring it up again and I promised I wouldn’t. B-But…” you sobbed again, stopping yourself from finishing the sentence.

“Fuckin’ hell…” he breathes, bringing his hands to his face, scrubbing them up and down vigorously in a way that looks like it hurts. Then he laughs. 

He fucking laughs. 

It’s like your worst fears come to light. He’s laughing at you, at your confession. At your feelings. A fresh wave of tears fill your eyes and fall down your cheeks. You bite your lips to keep from making your sobs audible anymore. You didn’t want him to laugh at that too. You hang your head, wringing your hands together behind your back anxiously as Simon quiets down. 

“Shit,” he breathes, getting to his feet. He stands before you, cupping your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. He frowns when he sees the utter despair on your face, the heartbreak in your eyes, “No, baby. No, no. I wasn’t laughin’ at you.”

Baby. You catch onto it. He’s never called you that before. 

You dash the spark of hope that it causes. 

He rubs his thumbs under your eyes, wiping the tears away. 

Then, he leans forward and slots his lips against yours. 

It’s like fireworks explode in your chest. Your heart races so fast that you feel lightheaded. You can’t even respond to the kiss in time before he pulls away, your mind is moving too fast for you to process any meaningful thought. But he kissed you. 

Simon kissed you.

“What?” you finally manage to whisper, looking up with wide, shocked eyes, “Why did you..?”

He looks confused for a second, still cupping your cheeks as he looks into your watery eyes, “You really have no idea?” Your brows furrow immediately and you shake your head, “How I feel about you?”

“You feel..?” you dumbly repeat. 

He smiles softly, thumb rubbing softly over your cheekbone, “You really think I don’t feel the same?”

“B-But when…when we were kids I…” you stumble over your words, the truth you’ve believed this entire time seemingly false, “You s-said you didn’t feel the same.”

“Jesus, love,” he huffs softly in disbelief, “You were fourteen. I was seventeen. You were way too fuckin’ young for me, it wouldn’t have been right.”

“B-But then…” you stutter, reaching up to wipe your cheek, “When did you..?”

He shrugs, “Not sure exactly. Suppose sometime after you turned 20 was when I realized I felt somethin’ for you.”

“So you really…” you whisper, snagging your hands into his hoodie to pull him close, “You really…I mean…”

“Love you?” he smiles softly, “Of course I do.”

You lean forward and press your lips to his. He hums, wrapping one strong arm around your middle to pull you even closer. His lips work magically over yours, taking control of the kiss with ease. You easily melt into it, following his lead. It’s not as easy as you thought it would be and you hope Simon doesn’t notice. 

But he does, of course he does. 

He pulls away and smooths the palm of his hand down your cheek before it comes to rest on your jaw. His thumb slides over your bottom lip and he hums.

“You ever kissed before?” he asks, voice calm and level with no teasing to it at all.

Still, heat explodes all over your face. Embarrassment overrides the euphoria of your requited feelings. You try to pull away but Simon’s much stronger and he won’t let go unless he wants to. 

“Hey, don’t run,” he coos softly, turning your face to look back up at him, “I was just askin’.”

“No,” you mumble, still burning with embarrassment, “I-I’ve only ever liked you so…”

“Fuckin’ hell…” he whispers, letting you step back just a bit so he can look over you, “Is that right?”

“You should know that,” you mumble, feeling small under his scrutiny, “You know everything about me.”

“Didn’t think datin’ history was somethin’ you felt like sharin’,” he shrugged off.

“Well, now you know,” you mutter, your gaze glued to the floor.

“That I do,” he hums in agreement, reaching out to brush a hand down the length of your arm. 

A soft, quietness falls over the two of you. You’re not sure what to do and it seems he’s content where he is. He’s watching you, tracking every little shift and fidget you make until he finally seems to take pity on you.

“Let’s get to bed,” he says softly, giving you a soft nudge towards the bed. 

You take the opportunity to dive into bed, yanking the blanket over you as Simon strips himself out of his boots and hoodie. You go to look away as he yanks his belt free with practiced hands but you can’t seem to. He slips the belt out of the loops and drops it on the dresser before unbuttoning his jeans and slipping them off. 

Your mouth waters at the sight of him in a tight pair of navy boxer-briefs slung low on his hips. You can make out the shape of his–

“Enjoyin’ the view?” he mumbles half-heartedly as he turns to root through the dresser to find some sweatpants. 

“Sorry…” you mutter shamefully at being caught. 

He chuckles under his breath, pulling the sweats on before he rounds to his side of the bed and drops onto the mattress, “Nothin’ to be sorry about.”

He leans over you and turns out the tableside lamp. Then he settles into his pillow with a soft sigh.

“Si..?” you whisper.

“Yeah?” you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Are we um…” you clear your throat, “I mean like…are we…together now..?”

You feel him roll over and toss his arms around you. You squeak when he tugs you towards him roughly, securing you against his chest before he kisses the top of your head.

“Do you want to be together?” he asks, muffled by his lips pressed against you. 

“Yes,” you whisper quickly, wrapping yourself around him almost possessively.

He tilts your head up and carefully slots his mouth over yours again. You sigh happily at the feeling. 

You notice that he keeps it a lot slower than he had before, moving his lips carefully against yours. Like he’s trying to make it easier for you to keep up. It makes your cheeks flush again but you sink into the pillow and let him kiss all he wants as you do your best to match his movements. 

His body shifts, torso hovering over you as he rests his weight on his elbows on either side of your head. Your hands rest against his shoulders and simply get lost in the kiss. 

After a moment, he deepens the kiss, sinking into you with his chest pressed against yours. You whimper and wrap your arms around his neck, carding your fingers through his cropped hair. 

One of his hands moves, coming to grip your waist, fingers sliding up the hem of your shirt. It’s like a dream come true. Literally. 

All those nights you spent with your hand between your thighs, thinking of him. Thinking of him touching you like this – with his hand sliding your shirt up a little further every second. You even feel that familiar wetness soaking your panties.

Then why was your heart racing from anxiety instead of excitement? Why did you feel a fearful tremble setting in your thighs, as if your knees would be knocking together if you were standing. Why were you scared?

Before you can stop yourself, you’re shoving your hands against his chest with a weak, “No!”

Simon is off of you in seconds but you can feel his gaze on you in the darkness. You struggle to catch your breath as you lay there, heart pounding in your ears. Your head hurts, you realize with a wince.

“Um…” you find yourself attempting to appease him, “I-I don’t…I’m sorry, I…”

“It’s alright,” he whispers sincerely, settling down into bed with a content hum, “Nothin’ to worry about, love.”

You scoot closer to him and hesitantly place your head on his chest. Simon’s arm wraps around your back and tucks you even more snug against him. You close your eyes and will yourself to relax and sleep as you feel Simon’s comforting hand rubbing your back. 

Neither of you talk about it in the morning. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. You don’t bring it up, even though you want to, and Simon doesn’t try touching you like that again. Part of you wants him to, you’ve been dreaming about his touch for years but once you finally get it, you freak out?

You can’t stop beating yourself up over it. 

But then you think about the anxiety that it had caused. The apprehension. How uncomfortable it felt – how you wanted his hands off of you. 

You sighed, flopping onto your side on the couch where you sat. Your mind was buzzing annoyingly from your thoughts. 

Regardless of your problems, you were happier than ever with him. He was finally yours. Wholly and truly yours. It was bliss. 

“Got a call,” Simon says, snapping you out of your daze, “Gotta leave.”

That makes you sit up, “Leave?”

You finally notice that he’s got his bag packed – the one he only takes when he’s getting deployed. You’re on your feet in seconds, following him to the door. He’s wearing his skull balaclava so all you can see are his eyes – sad, apologetic.

“H-How long?” you ask, unable to ignore the ache in your chest as you watch him.

“Few weeks, probably,” he mutters, placing the bag down so he can tuck his feet into his boots.

He straightens up with a grunt before turning to you. He sighs, gloved hands cupping your cheeks when he sees how sad you look – like a kicked puppy. You wish you could feel his bare hands on you but can’t find it in you to ask. 

“I don’t want you to go,” you find yourself mumbling.

It’s selfish and even a bit cruel of you to voice that desire. Simon’s thumb strokes your cheek in that sweet way he always does and you melt into him. He lets you thump your head against his chest as you suppress your cries, biting your lip so you can keep your tears at bay. 

“I know,” he softly whispers, stroking your back as you cling to him, “I know, but I have to.”

“I know,” you mumble, finally looking up at him. You know your eyes are glassy and you make sure to blink back the tears so they never overflow, “Just be safe and come home, okay?”

He lifts his mask up just enough to expose his lips before he leans down to kiss you. It’s a whole body experience this time. He clutches you against him like his life depends on it, gloved hands fiercely gripping the back of your t-shirt. His lips move smoothly against yours, hand coming up to cup your jaw so he can tilt your head and pull you even deeper into his kiss. He pulls away when he needs to breathe, smiling when he sees the dazed, lovesick expression on your face. He tugs his mask down and lets you go but you stay as close to him as possible. 

“Make sure you stay warm,” he coos, “Gonna start gettin’ real cold in a couple days.”

“I will, Si,” you assure him.

“Left some cash for you to do your shoppin’,” he adds, “I know you’re a shit cook but I left a list of some easy recipes. Don’t burn the flat down.”

You snort and playfully smack his shoulder, “I’ll just buy some cup noodles in that case.”

He rolls his eyes, pinching your side to make you gasp from the ticklish feeling, “Don’t even think about it.”

Your grin falters when his phone makes that obnoxious beeping noise that lets you know it’s something urgent. He sighs, the tranquil happiness between you two broken immediately. He kisses your forehead through his mask and pulls the front door open.

“Keep this locked,” he mutters, stepping past the threshold, “I’ll be home soon.”

He closes the door and you’re left with an emptiness that overcomes you. You’ve always been scared for him when he has to go off on missions – you know that his job is extremely dangerous and he could lose his life at any moment. That thought alone makes a nauseous pit settle in your stomach. You push down the feeling of bile rising in the back of your throat and click the lock on the door with a sigh before you go about your day, trying your best to keep your mind off of him and where he might be in the world. 

True to his word, however, the temperature drops bitterly cold within 2 days after he leaves. There had already been a chill in the air that drove you to turn the heating on just a bit but now it was full blast. But now, it was dipping to freezing and you were anticipating the arrival of snow soon enough as well. 

You wake up one morning, however, and your apartment is bitterly cold. You sit up, confused before climbing out of bed. Your feet are immediately freezing as you step onto the floor. You hiss, wrapping your arms around yourself as you stumble over to the radiator in your room. You touch it and find absolutely no heat emanating from it. 

All the radiators are the same. Absolutely no heat. 

You curse, realizing you have no idea what you’re supposed to do. You curl up on the couch under a heavy throw blanket as you type with bitterly cold fingers into Google, looking for anything that can help you. But it’s to no avail. You can’t understand a thing. 

Your next thought is to call the building manager but you know that’s pointless. The useless man never actually helps with any work for his tenants. 

There’s no way in hell that you can afford to call someone to come and fix the problem. You have money for groceries but if you spent that you wouldn’t have anything to eat. You sigh, resolving yourself to bundling up and trying to stay as warm as you can. 

You pile all the blankets you have into bed and pick out only your thickest, warmest sweaters. 

This is going to be miserable, you think. 

The snow comes just a short week later and it feels even colder. You venture out of your flat to go to the grocery store, picking up ingredients for the dishes Simon wrote down for you and also some cans of soup that you can cook to stay warm. You also throw some boxes of tea and some hot chocolate in with it, figuring why not. Warm drinks will help. 

It’s almost 3 weeks of living like that. It’s miserable and makes your bones ache from how stiff the cold makes you feel. You make sure to eat nice, hot food to keep yourself warm and make frequent cups of warm drinks so you can keep your hands warm for as long as you can. You do your best. 

The worst is showers, though. When you’re standing under the blisteringly hot spray, it’s bliss. But the second you step out and your wet body is hit with the freezing air, you couldn’t have felt more miserable. 

The night Simon walks through the door, he finds you bundled up on the couch sipping a cup of hot chocolate. 

“Simon!” you gasp excitedly, tossing the blankets off to take a running leap at him. 

He huffs contentedly when he catches you in his arms, letting you embrace him for as long as you need. He strips his mask off and brings you in for a delicate kiss.

“Let me wash up,” he mumbles, stalking through the apartment.

“Um, before you do, Si,” you catch him at the entrance to the hallway. He turns to you and looks at you with a brow raised, “The um…heating is broken so…just letting you know when you come out of the shower it’s gonna suck.”

“Ain’t nothin’ I haven’t dealt with before,” he mutters and pauses, “The fuck you mean it’s broken?”

“Heating cut off a few weeks ago…” you shrug, wrapping your arms around yourself as you start to feel the cold creep in again.

“A few weeks ago?” he hisses, running a stressed hand through his hair, “Fuckin’ hell. You didn’t call someone to fix it?”

You pout as he raises his voice, clearly frustrated, “I couldn’t afford it, Si! I had the money you gave me for food but I wasn’t gonna spend that to get the heating fixed. You know the building manager is a piece of shit, not like he was gonna call someone.”

He sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, seemingly thinking something over. Then he turns on his heel and storms into the bathroom, slamming the door.

“I’m sorry, Simon!” you call through the door, “I didn’t know what else to do! Please, don’t be mad.”

The shower turns on and all you can do is look up and sigh in exasperation. The second he’s home and he’s already pissed at you. 

You sulk over to the couch and flop down, tossing your blankets over you as you grab your mug. The hot chocolate is still warm but not as hot as it was. It’ll have to do.

Simon comes out of the shower, gets dressed warmly, and joins you in the living room. He doesn’t even look at you as he makes a move for his bag that he left by the door. You almost think he’s going to scoop the bag up and storm out the door. You sit up, ready to stop him but instead, he stoops down and zips it open. He pulls out his wallet and approaches you. 

“What are you doing?” you mumble, watching him flip the thing open.

It’s old and worn, a simple black leather wallet. He’s had it for as long as you could remember and you’ve put the poor thing through the washer and dryer so many times that you’re shocked it's still intact. 

He pulls out a bank card and promptly hands it to you. Your brain stutters to a stop as you look at it.

“Take it, fuck sake,” he mutters. He sounds annoyed but the way he looks away and his ears turn pink you can tell he’s…shy. 

Simon Riley is fucking shy right now.

You take the bank card out of his hand and look at it, flipping over in your hands, “Why are you giving this to me?”

“So you can use it,” he mumbles, slamming his wallet shut and tossing it onto the table, “That way, in case anything happens you can withdraw from my account for what you need. If an emergency happens and I’m not around, use it.”

“Simon…” you mumble, looking up at him, “Are you sure..?”

“Course I’m sure,” he scoffs, taking a seat beside you before softly rattling off four digits.

“Huh?” you dumbly ask.

“It’s my pin,” he responds, grabbing one of the blankets you have piled on the couch and tossing it on his lap.

“That’s my birthday…” you say softly as you repeat the numbers over and over in your head, “Your bank pin is my birthday?”

He snatches the remote up from the table and turns the TV on without another word. But you can see how pink the tips of his ears are. It makes you beam and before you know it, you’re curling snugly into his side. 

“Love you, Si,” you whisper, earning a kiss to the top of your head in response.

Simon calls the next morning to have someone come by and fix the damn heating. You listen to the man rattle off some information to Simon about what the problem was but it makes virtually no sense to you so you resolve yourself to sitting on the couch and waiting until it’s warm again. 

But even when it’s nice and toasty inside, you still plaster yourself to Simon’s side, snuggling as close to him as you possibly can.

“I want you to meet my team,” Simon says one morning while he’s making some eggs. 

You’re standing by the toaster, waiting for it to pop up but his words make you turn to him, “You mean 141?”

“Who else?” he huffs, flipping one of the eggs. It sizzles loudly in the pan, “They wanted me to go out with them tonight. Thought you could join us.”

“Really?” you realize how incredulous you sound and then try again, “I mean really? That’s okay with you?”

He nods, plating the eggs, “I think it’s time they met you.”

“I-I’d love to,” you say, unable to hide the excitement you feel. 

You catch a slip of a smile on Simon’s face before the toast pops up and distracts you. 

You have to dig into your closet that evening, after a shower, to find something nice to wear. You figure an occasion like this calls for something a little nicer than just jeans and a t-shirt like you usually wear. But you can’t find much of anything. 

“What’re you huffin’ about in  here?” Simon asks when he walks in, towel wrapped around his waist. He’s still dripping wet from the shower and you can feel the way your mouth fills with saliva at the sight. 

“I uh…don’t know what to wear…” you respond, turning your back to him just as he slips the towel off. Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire, imagining Simon completely naked behind you.

“Wear those nice jeans you got,” he mumbles, grunting as he gets himself dressed, “And that little blue top you got.”

“The cropped one?” you ask incredulously, a brow raised as you turn to him. He’s got some jeans on now and he’s meticulously unfolding a black t-shirt so he can put it on, “I haven’t worn that in a while, how’d you even remember it?”

He shrugs, the muscles in his back rippling with his movement before he tosses the shirt over his head and pulls it down, covering his skin once again, “It’s cute. We’re just goin’ to the pub, love.”

“Okay,” you mumble, reaching into the back of your closet to pull the little shirt out, “If you’re sure this will be okay.”

“I’m sure,” he chuckles softly, grabbing his balaclava off the dresser. But he doesn’t put it on yet. Instead, he sits on the bed and watches you change.

You’re acutely aware of his eyes on you as you strip your shirt off. You keep your back to him, trying to ignore your racing heart. You don’t feel uncomfortable at all, instead you feel…excited. 

Your mind runs wild, imagining him stepping up behind you, kissing your neck and cupping your bare breasts in his big hands. They’re a little rough from his line of work and you wonder what they’d feel like against the sensitive skin of your tits, thumbing your nipples and pinching them a little meanly. 

“C-Can you hand me a bra?” you find yourself asking.

He grunts in acknowledgement and the bed creaks when his weight moves off it. He opens one of the drawers and is behind you in a second. His body heat permeates through his shirt as he presses his chest against your back. 

He slings your bra over your shoulder, holding it with one finger by the strap. You can’t help but tilt your head back to look up at him. He’s towering over you, pretty, brown eyes looking down his nose at you. 

You realize in this position, he could clearly see your breasts but he keeps his eyes on yours. You take the bra from him and he lets you, simply staring into your eyes with that stern silence he has about him.

“T-Thanks…” you find yourself whispering, mouth feeling particularly dry.

He grunts, lips quirked up just a bit before he turns his back and walks back to the bed. You let out a quiet, slow breath, willing your heart rate to go back to normal.

Simon was so exhilarating. Just being around him sets your heart racing and fingers trembling. 

You put your bra on and slip your top over your head, ignoring the sticky feeling in your panties as you do. 

“I don’t know, Si,” you mutter, turning to face him, “I-It’s a little tight on me now.”

The fabric once hugged you nicely but now it was snug. It molded around your breasts, even showing the lines of your bra. The neckline was low, giving a good show of cleavage – it didn’t help that Simon picked one of your more well padded bras. 

Simon looks up, his eyes immediately falling to your breasts. He sucks in a quick breath and looks away, licking his lips.

“Looks fine,” he mutters, standing to pull one of the drawers open again. He searches for a second, brows furrowed until he pulls out the jeans he was talking about. The ‘nice jeans’ as he called them, were just some low rise jeans you’d only worn about 4 times.

You look dumbly at them as he drops them into your hands.

“These?” you scoff, “Simon, I can’t–”

He quiets you with a kiss to your forehead, “Trust me, love.”

He steps out of the room after that, leaving you to your own devices. You’re thankful that you can change your panties without him seeing how saturated and sticky they’ve become because of him. You bury them in the laundry basket and remind yourself that you should do the laundry before he does because you’d be mortified if he found them. 

You don’t even look at yourself in the mirror, afraid you’ll feel too self-conscious if you see what you look like. But you trust Simon’s judgment on what he thinks would look good on you – and you can’t deny that dressing up how he likes feels nice. 

You step into the living room, intent on pulling your shoes on when Simon catches you with an arm around your waist. You gasp as he turns you to face him.

“You look lovely,” he whispers, smoothing his hands up your sides, thumbs slipping under the hem of your shirt to stroke your skin.

You swallow thickly as your heart starts racing in your chest again. He leans down and pecks your lips but pulls back before you have the chance to kiss back. 

“Let’s go,” is all he adds before walking away, leaving you no choice but to follow like the lovesick puppy you are. 

Walking into the bar, your heart pounds painfully in your chest from pure anxiety. Your hand is clasped tightly in Simon’s as he easily moves through the crowd. You suppose his height makes it easy to see over people. 

“You alright?” he asks, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“Haven’t been in a bar since I worked at…” you trail off, giving him a half-hearted shrug.

“If you wanna leave, just say the word,” he mutters, giving your hand a squeeze.

“N-No,” you shake your head, shooting him a wobbly smile,”I wanna meet your team at least.”

He smiles reassuringly and gives your hand a tug to encourage you to follow him. He leads you right to a table situated in a corner, three men laughing and drinking. 

“There he is!” the one with the mohawk cheeks, holding up his pint in celebration.

“Shut up, Soap,” Simon grumbles petulantly as he pulls out a chair for you.

Soap, you note to yourself. You know them by name but you’ve never actually seen the faces to put to them. Soap looks like you imagined, a broad grin and pretty, bright eyes – you imagined them green but they’re blue. 

“And who is this lovely companion of yours, Simon?” an older man with a hat and mutton chops asks with a kind smile, eyes on you.

Simon says your name before he sits down with a grunt beside you.

“Price,” your boyfriend supplies when you look curiously at him.

The man in question holds out a hand which you take and softly shake, “Nice to meet you.”

“Had no idea Lt. had someone waitin’ for him at home,” Soap says, a teasing lilt in his voice. 

So you’ve met Soap, Price, and that leaves; your eyes land on the quiet guy sitting back in his chair, a cool smile on his lips. He meets your gaze and his smile broadens – not teasing like Soap’s but purely kind.

“You can call me Kyle,” he gives you a polite nod.

“Gaz, then?” you question, tilting your head to the side. Kyle looks surprised, eyes flicking to Simon who shifts uncomfortably in his chair, “He’s talked about all of you before. I only know your call signs though.”

“John will do fine if you’d like,” Price says, tipping his beer back to take a chug.

“Simon calls me Johnny,” Soap adds, “You’re welcome to as well. Anyone important to the Lieutenant is important to us.”

Out of the corner of your eye you see Simon roll his eyes. It makes you smile. He leans over, nudging you with his knee, “You want anything to drink? I need one.”

“No thank you, Si,” you reply, intent on having a clear head for the night. You’ve never been much of a drinker anyway. 

When Simon’s gone from the table, you suddenly feel incredibly out of place. Price and Kyle have the decency to not stare you down but Soap seems keen on keeping his baby blue’s right on you and a goofy little smile on his face.

“Um…” you shift uncomfortably as you look back at him.

“We’ve never gotten to meet anyone from Ghost’s private life before,” Soap says, saving you from having to think of what to say, “Just shocked s’all.” 

“You’re gonna start giving the poor thing the creeps with your ugly mug,” Kyle chuckles which also makes Soap laugh.

“Sorry about that,” Soap lifts his glass and cheers to you before tipping it back. 

He grimaces slightly as it goes down before slamming his glass back on the table.

“It’s alright,” you respond, “Si’s not really the open book kind. So I understand.”

“How long have the two of you known each other?” Kyle asks.

You find yourself wondering where the hell Simon even is but answer regardless, “Since we were kids. Um, we lived next door. His mom and mine were friends, I guess.”

Soap nods his head, elbows on the table as he gives you his full attention, “You guess?”

You hum, “I’m 3 years younger than Simon. The way it was told to me by my mom is that…his mom came over and,” you couldn’t fight back the smile as you recalled the story.

“Oh this has got to be good,” Soap nudged Kyle excitedly at your grin.

“Told my mom that Simon didn’t have any friends and that he was a…soft-hearted boy and she wanted him to have some friends,” you giggle, holding a hand in front of your face to hide your laughter, “So she wanted to set up playdates with me even though I was still a baby. My mom didn’t have the heart to tell her no.”

Soap tosses his head back and laughs, “No fuckin’ way.”

“I’m shocked to say it but that actually makes him sound cute,” Kyle adds, unable to hide the laughter in his voice either.

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Price says, but there’s a smile on his face, “Simon’ll knock you out cold on this table.”

“So you and Simon have been together since?” Kyle asks, glass cupped in both hands.

You nod, “Only time we’ve been apart is when he enlisted and had to go off for a few years to train.”

Soap opens his mouth to say something but a large figure finally drops down into the seat next to you. Simon has a glass of bourbon and a glass that he slides over to Soap who catches it with ease.

“Thanks, Lt,” he nods, taking a sip before making that disgusted face again.

“What are you lot talkin’ about?” Simon asks, drumming his fingers against his glass.

“We were discussin’ all your dirty secrets,” Kyle teases with a charming grin.

“Nothin’ too damning I hope,” Simon huffs before he takes a large gulp of his drink. 

The other three men all hide their grins behind their glasses. 

The anxiety you had felt at the beginning of the night is long gone. The task force is full of jokes and laughs and even Simon seems like a different person. 

With you, he’s kind and even soft. He’s by no means gentle or patient. 

But this side of Simon is so jovial and comfortable that it warms your heart to see. He drinks a few glasses and by the end of the night, he’s got a relaxed, lidded look in his eyes that lets you know he’s got a bit of a buzz going on. 

“It was lovely to meet you,” Price says when you all walk out of the bar.

“I really enjoyed meeting all of you as well,” you smile, letting Simon tuck you into his side with an arm wrapped around your waist.

“Get him home safe,” Soap teases, your smile only widening when you hear Simon huff in annoyance. 

You bid goodbye to the three of them and make your way to the car with Simon, plucking his keys out of his hand and forcing him into the passenger seat despite his grumbled protests of how ‘he’s not that drunk’.

When the two of you finally get into your apartment, you let him lock up and turn out the lights while you go to the bedroom and get ready for bed. 

“You looked really nice tonight,” Simon mutters when he finally walks in as you crawl into bed, “I’m glad you liked them.”

“I’m glad they liked me,” you huff, leaning back into the pillows, “They were all really nice guys.”

“Yeah,” Simon hums, tugging his shirt off of his head, taking his mask with it, “They’re good people.”

You nod your head and tuck your knees to your chest while he gets undressed. He slips on a plaid pair of pajama pants and shoves the drawer closed with his hip before yanking the blanket back to make room for his large body. 

You bounce a little on the bed when he drops his weight onto it. He smacks his pillow a couple times before he lays back and sighs. It’s clear he’s still a little buzzed from the way he fights to keep his eyes open.

“Simon?” you ask, turning to face him. 

That makes his eyes open back up before he looks at you, “What?”

“Can I kiss you?” you ask. 

He snorts and it makes you smile. He reaches out and wraps his hand around the back of your head. You let him tug you down, pressing your hands against his firm chest as you kiss him. 

His hand travels down your back as he sighs into your mouth. You pull away briefly to look into his eyes before you kiss him again, this time deepening it as much as you’re able. Simon sighs contentedly, his other hand coming up to caress your arm. 

“I like kissin’ you…” you find yourself whispering against his lips.

He groans at that, the sound going straight to your core. You feel yourself clench around nothing, already starting to leak into your panties. 

“Yeah?” he coos, cupping your cheek, thumbing over your lips, “You can kiss me all you want, love.”

You whimper, surging down to kiss him again. His hands grip your waist, intermittently squeezing you, like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. 

Suddenly, you feel the warm, slick slide of his tongue against your lips. You whimper and pull back, brows furrowed.

“Shh, love,” he coos, pulling you close again, “Jus’ relax and let me…”

You huff, struggling to catch your breath as he urges you to meet his lips again. You feel his tongue again and eagerly open your mouth, letting him taste the inside of your mouth. You shyly meet his tongue with yours and feel his grip on your waist tighten as he groans in his throat. 

You’re sure you’ve soaked well through your panties by now. There’s an ache in your clit that you long to reach down and relieve – or better yet, have Simon relieve. 

You bet his fingers would feel so damn good against you. You find yourself whimpering into the kiss at the thought alone. Simon lets out a husky laugh into your mouth before pulling away. 

A string of spit connects your lips before it breaks and vanishes. 

With a surge of confidence, you toss your leg over his waist. He grunts when your weight settles on his hips, on his cock. It’s chubbed up against his thigh from kissing you and he knows you can feel it. 

“What’re you doin’, baby?” he huffs, unable to stop his hands from traveling up the front of your body. 

You grab his wrist and boldly slide it under the hem of your shirt. He bites his lip to keep from moaning when he feels your bare breast fill his palm. You see the way his eyes start to roll back before he looks at you again. It makes you throb in your panties and you can’t resist grinding against him a little before he grabs your waist and stops you.

“Si…” you whimper, pressing your hands against his chest, “‘S wrong?”

“Can’t,” he clears his throat and sinks into the bed, “Can’t do this, love.”

“Why not?” you ask, feeling a pit of disappointment in your gut, “You don’t want to? I just thought…”

You feel your face burn with humiliation as you slide off of his lap. Simon lets you, simply laying there on his back, eyes closed and a knit between his brows, as he evens his breathing out. You fight back tears as you sit there, biting the inside of your lip anxiously. 

“Not…not tonight, sweetheart,” he finally says, reaching over to pet your hair, “Been drinkin’ ‘nd I want to be sober for it, yeah?”

It would have been a solid excuse if it didn’t sound so flimsy coming from his lips. Like he doesn’t even believe it himself. 

“Yeah…” you offer, giving him a wobbly smile before turning out the light. 

You’re too embarrassed to cuddle into him that night. 

“Can I ask you something?” you find yourself muttering as you relax on the couch with him, watching some old movie he picked out, “As long as you promise not to get mad.”

He snorts, taking a sip of his tea, “Won’t get mad.”

“I just want to know…” you clear your throat and sit up straight a little more, going over the question in your head, “Why did you leave that night…leave like that, just to have sex?”

He tenses up immediately, you can feel it. He shifts where he sits, spreading his legs just a little wider so he can sink deeper into the couch, “We already talked about this.”

You wince at his clipped tone, knowing you’re stepping into dangerous territory, “I know but…I want to know the real reason.”

He catches his bottom lip between his teeth and sighs, keeping his eyes trained on the TV, “You think I was lyin’ to you?”

Now he sounds mad. You quickly shake your head, “No, Si. I-I’m not trying to start a fight, I swear. I don’t think you were lying. I just think you…weren’t telling me everything.”

He sighs. You can see the way his jaw ticks when he clenches it, “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, scooting a little closer to him, placing your hands on his chest, smoothing his shirt down a bit, “It was just…out of character for you, Si. I was really upset and you knew that. It wasn’t like you to just…leave. Just to get laid.”

He finally looks at you, just out of the corner of his eye. You meet the look, offering him an encouraging smile to show that you’re not upset or anything. 

“All night,” he finally mutters, “You’d been kickin’ in your sleep. Kept wakin’ me up.”

You nodded, a look of confusion on your face. You had no idea where this was going.

“You started sayin’ my name,'' he continued, “Moanin’ my name. Fuck, it was drivin’ me crazy.”

Your face flushes hot when you hear that. It all suddenly comes rushing back to you – what you’d been dreaming about. 

“You threw your leg over mine and I could–” he cuts himself off, his throat moving with how hard he swallows.

“Could what?” your voice comes out shockingly breathy. 

He catches it, looking at you. You can see the way his pupils widen immediately when he meets your gaze. It’s like he can see right through you, see the fact you’re dripping into your panties again. Just from this conversation alone. 

“I could feel how fuckin’ wet you were,” he brings a shaky hand up and runs it through his hair before he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “Couldn’t fuckin’ deal with it. I had to…let it out somehow.”

“So you knew that I wanted you…like that?” you find yourself asking.

He scoffs and shakes his head, “Didn’t think about it like that. Figured it was just a dream and that’s all it was.”

“Wasn’t just a dream,” you assure, scooting closer to him.

Simon’s breath catches in his throat when you lean over him, resting your hand on the arm rest on his other side, letting it support your weight. You stand on your knees, making you just a little taller than him before you lean down and kiss him. 

He remains completely still, like he’s processing. His hands flounder in the air for a second before he’s carefully pushing you to sit back down. You slump against your heels and look at him, perturbed.

“Why..?”

“I need to make dinner,” he says lamely. 

“Simon…” you admonish, knowing he’s lying. 

He gets up, knees cracking as he does. He winces a little bit before he bends down to pick up the blanket that fell to the floor when he stood. You kept your eyes on him, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. You almost let him go but before you can stop him, you grab his arm. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Simon,” you mutter, “I keep trying to make things go further with you but I just keep making a fool of myself and I–”

“‘S not you,” he assures softly, taking your hand in his, “‘S all me, baby.”

“So why…” you frown, “I want you.”

He shakes his head, “Night you told me how you felt. You sounded scared.” 

You remember, the way his touch had made anxiety fill you. You had wanted him, of course, but for some reason it had just been so damn awful at the same time. You hadn’t really dwelled on why that was. 

“It wasn’t ‘cause of you, Si,” you assured, shifting so your feet were on the floor rather than under you, “I promise. I-I was just nervous, I think. That’s all.”

“I don’t want…” he licks his lips, seemingly thinking over his next words carefully before he says them slowly, “I don’t to hear you sound like that with me again. ‘S why I’ve been avoidin’ it. ‘Cause I don’t want you to get scared again.”

You shake your head, rising to your feet, stepping in front of him. You take his hands in yours and squeeze them, “I don’t want to make a fool of myself with you, Simon.”

He frowns, “You know I would never think poorly of you.”

You smile and shrug, “I know that. I think…that time was just…too soon. After that night at the bar and everything that happened. And then the fact I’m so inexperienced that it’s laughable. I think…I just wasn’t ready for it. I needed to go at my own pace and I have been.”

“I don’t want you to push yourself,” he hums, “I know that night at the bar was terrifying,” he brings a hand up to brush over your cheek, “I understand if you’re not goin’ to be ready for a long time. It’s normal to not be ready after what happened to you.”

You huff, “I’ve been trying to show you that I’ve been ready for a while now, Si. I was anxious at first, yes. But now it’s…like a good kind of nervous.”

“A good kind of nervous?” he mutters, hands moving to your hips to pull you closer. Your breath hitches in your throat and you nod dumbly, “Tell me all about it.”

“L-Like my heart races,” you breathe, “And I feel scared that I’m gonna do something silly and embarrassing but like I want to learn and…and I want to do good for you.”

“Fuck,” Simon groans, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder, “Can’t say shit like that to a man like me, love.”

“Why not?” you whimper, feeling your knees tremble in excitement when you feel his hands start to wander.

“‘Cause…” he whispers, running his hands up your sides, “Makes me think some nasty shit, sweetheart.”

You swallow thickly at the promise in his voice, “Simon…” 

You sound so wrecked already and it makes him moan softly in your ear, “Tell me about it, baby.”

Just like that, you’re spilling your guts to him, “Get so wet for you, Si, all the time. I want you so bad that it hurts.”

“Yeah?” he breathes, finally pulling his head from where he was hiding in your shoulder, tilting your chin up, “Where’s it hurt, baby? Hm? Right in that needy little cunt?”

You whimper immediately, looking up at him with wide, hazy eyes and nod, “T-Tried to touch myself. Thinkin’ about you made it hurt so I couldn’t help myself. Thought about you when I did.”

He hums as you babble to him but his mind latches onto one particular word, “Tried, baby? What do you mean "tried?”

Your cheeks burn hot at the slip up. Would he think you were silly for it?

“C-Can’t do it right,” you confess softly, hoping he doesn’t see how embarrassed you are, “Try so hard but n-nothin’ ever happens.”

Simon moans at that. Loud and unbridled, “What’re you sayin’, baby? That you can’t make yourself cum, s’that it?” You shake your head bashfully, “Fuckin’ hell. That’s adorable.”

“D-Don’t tease me, Si,” you whimper but the seat of your panties is so fucking wet that it’s sticking to you. 

He hums, a predatory smile spreads across his face, “Am I bein’ mean, love?” You nod your head, tearfully staring up at him. It only makes his smile widen, canines popping out, “‘M sorry. Can’t help myself when you tell me ‘bout how you touch your pretty little pussy and just can’t make yourself cum like you need. Think I can do it for you, hm? Want me to try and make you cum?”

You vigorously nod your head, uncaring how fucking needy you look to him. He’s offering to give you what you’ve wanted for years – to give you a real, honest to God orgasm. And you weren’t going to let this chance slip away. 

“Want you on the bed,” he suddenly whispers, “On your back, lose the pants but keep everything else on.”

With a jerk of his head in the direction of the bedroom, you take off. You hear him chuckle behind you at your excitement. He makes sure the door is locked before he heads back to the bedroom. 

You’re there just like he asked, pants pooled on the floor, leaving you in nothing but an old t-shirt of his and a pair of the cutest little lilac colored panties he’s seen. You’ve got your knees pinned together, clenching your thighs but laying perfectly still in waiting for him. 

“So fuckin’ good for me,” he praises, grinning when you whimper and tremble at his words, “Oh, sweet thing likes to be praised, huh?”

You nod your head, “Wanna be good for you, Si.”

“That’s sweet, baby,” he coos, reaching to the back of his collar so he can tug his shirt off of his head. 

Your heart hammers away in your chest when he crawls onto the bed, hands on either side of your head. He looks so big like this, on top of you, completely blocking any view you had of your ceiling and instead filling your viewline with just him. He leans down and kisses you, humming contentedly when you eagerly kiss back. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders as he uses one hand to tug your legs open so he can slot himself between them. 

You cry out when he presses himself against your core. He’s wearing nothing but his jeans but you can feel the heat radiating through the thick material. 

“Shit, look at that,” he whispers, leaning back on his heels to admire the nice little wet patch that has stained your panties, “You already this wet, baby?”

“Kissin’ you always makes me this wet, Si,” you sweetly confess and oh, you are just so precious. 

His hands slide up your stomach, moving your t-shirt up and up until it sits crumpled under your chin. Your tits are bare and move with every gasping breath that you take. 

Simon’s hands are just as rough and warm as you’d expect them to be. His thumbs come up and glide over your nipples until they harden into stiff little peaks for him. 

Then his mouth is wrapping around one, swirling his tongue around it before pulling off with a lewd pop. His hand pinches the other nipple, rolling it between his fingers as he listens to you whimper and sigh. 

“Please, Si,” you whine, “I-It hurts, please.”

“It hurts?” he hums, leaving a fleeting kiss against the nipple his tongue was torturing just a moment ago, “Where? Hm?”

His hand travels down your body, cupping your cunt through your panties. You gasp, arching your hips just a bit to grind against his palm. He lets you, before he meanly pins your hips down with his other hand. 

“Where, love?” he smooths the pad of his thumb over the seam of your cunt through your panties. The fabric is saturated with your slick, letting him see every part of you through shape alone. His thumb finds your clit, the little bud poking out through the fabric from how hard and swollen it's become, “Here? ‘S it your pretty clit that hurts, love?”

You nod, eyes rolling back in your head when he presses his thumb against the bud, trapping it under his finger so he can roll mean little circles over it. You’d be mindlessly rutting your hips by now if he didn’t have his other arm slung over your hips to keep you pinned nice and still like he wants. 

It already feels so different than when you touched yourself. Maybe because it’s him or maybe because he’s so experienced. 

That thought makes you equal parts jealous and equal parts turned on. He’d slept with plenty of people but now he was using that expertise to make you feel good. 

“Can you take them off, please?” you whine, pitchy and sweet from arousal. 

“Asked so sweetly for me,” he coos, hitching his thumbs into the band of your panties before giving them a firm tug. 

You quickly lift your hips, letting him tug them down and off of your feet. You expect him to toss them away but instead he holds them up, thumbing over the slickness in the crotch. You watch him with wide eyes as he analyzes it. Your  breath hitches when he suddenly brings them towards his face and licks a wide stripe of the fabric, moaning when he gets a good laste of your syrupy sweet slick.

“Simon!” you gasp – admonish, leaning up to snatch them out of his grasp. 

His eyes open, he hadn’t even realized he’d closed them, to look at you. He licks his lips like a dog licking its chops when it tastes something real delicious. 

He doesn’t even comment on what he just did or the pure embarrassment that is written all over your face. Instead, he grips underneath your knees and yanks you down the bed towards him so your hips are situated in his lap. 

“Jus’ let me touch you, love,” he whispers, “I’ll work a nice little orgasm out of you in no time, yeah?”

You nod your head because you trust him. You know he’s going to be able to give you what you need so badly. You don’t even question it – especially when you feel how good it feels when he uses his thumbs to spread your folds open for him. He groans when he sees the sticky strings of slick that display just how turned on you are. 

Pretty little hole clenching sporadically around nothing, dribbling more creamy arousal that makes his tongue feel like lead in his mouth. A pretty clit that twitches and throbs under his scrutinizing gaze. But you make no move to cover yourself and hide from his gaze. 

He finally touches the bud directly and it’s like electricity strikes through you. You lose control of your body as your back arches and your thighs violently twitch. Your cheeks burn when you hear him chuckle softly at your reaction.

“Sensitive,” he huffs, a crooked little grin on his face as he brushes his thumb over your clit again, garnering the same reaction as before from you, “Fuck, can’t believe you’re this sensitive and can’t make yourself cum.”

“‘S cause it’s you, Si,” you sweetly confess.

And it’s true. Having him touch you like this directly – feeling his callused skin over the most sensitive little part of you is euphoric. It doesn’t feel anything like when you touch yourself at all. It feels magnified, you feel like a live wire and everything feels like too much. But you don’t do anything to impede him because you trust him more than anything – especially like this, with your body. 

He replaced his thumb with his middle finger, prodding at your entrance. You almost think he’s going to press inside you but he doesn’t – instead, he gathers your slick up on his finger and drags it up to your clit. He softly circles the bud, cock kicking against his thigh when you sigh and croon so sweetly for him. 

Your cunt makes sticky noises as he continues doing this, gathering your arousal and lathering your precious bud up with it so he can so softly play with it. His touches aren’t enough to actually work you to the edge, it’s much too slow and soft but it feels good. He waits for you to relax against the bed, lashes fluttering as you whimper and twitch on the bed for him.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he whispers, leaning forward to press a kiss against your trembling thigh, “Relax f’me. Want you nice and soft for me so I can get my fingers in this tight little cunt.”

You gasp at that, partly in excitement and also in apprehension. You’ve never actually put anything inside yourself before – except once, you put your finger in and it burned so you never tried it again. 

“D-Dont…” you find yourself muttering, making him freeze. He thinks you’ve changed your mind, anxiety getting the better of you and he’s fully prepared to propel himself away from you at a moment's notice, “Be gentle, okay?”

His gaze softens when he looks at you, “Won’t hurt you, love. I promise.”

You remain relaxed for him when he carefully prods you with his middle finger. He keeps his thumb pressed against your clit, not rubbing it or anything, just keeping a nice pressure that keeps you sagged against the pillows. 

It doesn’t feel anything like when you tried that one time with yourself. Everything is so much wetter and more pliant. It’s like your walls just suck the digit in, even though it’s so much bigger than your own finger. 

You sigh softly when you finally have something to clench around. Simon gives you a sweet kiss to the spot right underneath your belly button in silent praise. He keeps his lidded, brown eyes on your face, watching every little expression you make with rapt attention. 

He slowly and carefully fucks his middle finger into you, feeling the way you slowly relax around him, soaking his skin with your arousal. He smooths his free hand up the length of your body, abandoning your clit to wrap his palm around your breast. You place your own hand over his, encouraging him to squeeze harder. 

“How’s that feel, love?” he asks, still sliding his finger in and out of you.

“Okay…” you reply, keeping your hand over his on your chest, “But it…um…”

“What?” he urges, “Tell me what you feel.”

“I-It feels nice but…” you trail off and he hums, nodding his head.

“Doesn’t feel good?” he finishes for you. You nod your head and he laughs softly, “I know, baby. Jus’ tryin’ to get you used to the feeling and then I’ll make it feel real good, alright?”

“Okay,” you whisper but he can tell you’re not too convinced that it’s going to feel much better.

You’re worried that the same thing is going to happen – it’ll feel really good and then you’re never going to be able to climb over that wall. You hate to imagine disappointing him, failing to get off. You’d hate for him to put all this work in and you just can’t cum in the end. 

“Hey,” he coos, “Get out of your head, pretty. Don’t worry about a thing, alright?”

You take a deep breath and slowly let it out, allowing yourself to relax against the bed again. Simon waits for you to be nice and pliant around his finger before he starts to fit his ring finger alongside it. He catches sight of the furrow in your brow when he stretches you around two of his fingers. It burns but when Simon brings his thumb back to your clit, tapping against the bud, it vanishes. Your thighs twitch and you whimper, walls clenching in time with the little taps until the burning vanishes completely.

“There we are,” he praises, “Knew you could do it, sweetheart.”

“A-Are you gonna add another?” you find yourself asking.

“Later,” he responds, scissoring the two fingers he has snug inside your cunt, “‘M a big man, love. Gonna need you nice and stretched for me.”

You whimper at that, walls clenching around his fingers as he slowly begins to fuck them in and out of you. Your cheeks burn when you hear the loud, squishing noises your hole makes every time he stuffs them back inside. 

After a moment of just getting you used to being stretched on two of his thick digits, he suddenly crooks them up and hits something inside you that makes your back arch. It causes a tingling feeling that you’ve never experienced to heat your tummy every time he touches it.

“Simon!” you squeal, trying to clench your thighs closed but his broad shoulders keep them open, “Th-That feels-!”

“I know, baby,” he coos cockily, grinding his fingertips against that little spot that makes you so gooey and creamy around his fingers, “Feels real good right there, I know.”

Your back arches and your jaw drops. You can’t do anything but moan and cry out as he fucks against that spot. He’s urged on by your sounds of pure pleasure, eyes flicking between where he’s got your pretty cunt spread open and the euphoric expressions you can’t do anything to hide.

It’s so precious, seeing you so open and loud for him. You don’t do anything to hide your sounds of pleasure nor do you even think of faking any of them for his sake. Every little thing you’re feeling, you express, and you can’t help yourself because it’s all so new and so much.

That hot, tingling feeling in your core only intensifies with every experienced stroke of his fingers. Your eyes are rolling back every time he touches that magnificent spot inside you, abusing it with his fingers until your walls are soft and malleable for him again.

And then he brings his index finger into it. He’s even more slow and careful as he fits it in beside the other two fingers. It doesn’t burn like when he had given you his second finger but it’s a certain stretch that simply feels strange. 

He gets you stuffed open on his three fingers, up to the third knuckle. You’re spread so wide and squeeze his fingers so tight that it makes him moan when he thinks about what it will feel like around his cock. 

If you’re this tight around just his fingers then you’re going to feel positively euphoric around him. 

“Simon…” you coo, reaching down to card your fingers through his hair. 

He grunts in acknowledgement, but is unwilling to part his gaze from the sight of the creamy mess you’ve begun to leave on his fingers. Your pretty clit is twitching and so swollen, glistening from your juices and he suddenly has the inescapable desire to wrap his mouth around it. 

You’re not even looking when he decides to do it. It’s like he can’t stop himself. 

All you feel is something wet and hot wrap around the little bud. You practically wail at the feeling of his tongue sliding against it. Your feet kick aimlessly, hitting his back and shoulders as you flail beneath his body. 

You sob his name, yanking harshly on his hair in a way that hurts but he’s not going to stop you. He knows it’s mean to do this, not even warning you or easing you into the feeling before he’s suckling your clit. His tongue slips in circles around it, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. His ears practically ring from how loud you’re crying out for him. 

His three fingers remain buried inside you but he’s hardly able to move them from how tight you’re squeezing them. All he can do is grind his fingers against your g-spot but it only makes your pretty body more twitchy and makes you squirm even more beneath him. He has to hold you down so you can’t get away. 

He doesn’t want your precious pussy to be ripped away from him, your juices are making his taste buds tingle – you taste so damn good. 

That familiar heat begins to grow in your core – one you’ve experienced many times before by yourself. You cry and wail for him, sobbing his name and gripping his hair. 

“S-Si, don’t stop, please, please, please–” you choke on your own cries, slamming your head into the pillows as your back arches painfully hard. 

He grunts lowly, blonde lashes fluttering as he watches your body’s pure, unfiltered reactions to this pleasure. He knows you’re getting close, can feel you clenching around him and your clit pulsing on his tongue in time with your heartbeat. 

You feel yourself reaching that wall, the one you can never overcome. But it feels different this time, the pleasure isn’t slowing. It’s not fading like it always does when you’ve got your own fingers on your bud. 

It always seems to slip out of your grasp by this point.

This is it, you think. You’re going to cum. You’re finally going to fucking cum. 

Then everything stops.

His tongue is gone from your clit and his fingers are nowhere to be found. Simon’s shoulders rise and fall as he watches your face flicker through a range of emotions before your eyes fill with tears and you look at him – utterly pitiful and hopeless.

“Wh-Why…” you finally whisper, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. 

Your cunt pulses and throbs around nothing, the heat of your orgasm quickly dissipating, leaving that horribly empty and unsatisfying feeling in its wake. 

“Sorry, baby,” he coos, genuine and soft as he leans up to kiss your face, “That was mean, huh? ‘M sorry. Jus’ want you to have your first orgasm on a cock, love.”

That doesn’t do anything to quell your disappointment but you nod anyway, wiping away some stray tears that trickle from your eyes. 

“Please,” you breathlessly whisper, “Please, Simon. Want your cock, please. I-I was so close. It felt so good,” you start babbling, eyes falling to the hard outline of his cock in his jeans, “I wanna cum so bad, Si. Y-You promised. Please, just give me your cock. Please? Please? Simon!”

Simon’s mouth goes dry as he hears your babbled begging. Fuck, you’re absolutely aching for it. All you can think about is cumming. He never thought he’d get to hear you beg for him like this, so pathetically. You should be embarrassed, begging for cock like this when you’ve only just now gotten your first taste of being stretched open. Yet here you are fuckin’ crying for it.

His cock drools pre down his thigh, he can feel how wet his boxers have become from how much he’s leaking it. He’s aching in his jeans – he can’t pretend he doesn’t want it just as badly as you do.

“Shit, alright!” he snarls, wrapping a hand around your throat to force you to look at him. You gasp at the rough treatment, “Jus’ shut up and I’ll give it to you, yeah?”

You obediently nod your head, still staring up at him with those wide, teary eyes. He tries to act like his hands aren’t fucking trembling when he yanks his belt off. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this needy – this excited to get his cock inside a pussy. 

But it’s you. You’re special. 

He loves you. This isn’t like the one night stands and hookups he’s had in the past. This is different. 

He feels like a fumbling teenager the way he clumsily yanks his belt out of the loops and shoves his jeans down his thighs along with his underwear. His cock, big and heavy, hangs under its own weight – it never slaps up against his stomach. He wasn’t just chatting shit when he said he was a big guy. 

He wrapped his hand around himself, giving it a few, firm tugs. He feels your eyes on him, watching the way he touches himself and it sends heat through him. He scoots closer to you again, pulling back his foreskin to show the fat, leaky head that he meanly taps against your clit. 

You gasp a cute little ‘ah!’ when he does that brings a smile to his face. He can’t say he’s the best lay for a virgin because he’s so big and he’s a brute – it’s in his nature. But he’s trying his best for you. 

“Alright, baby,” he coos, leaning on one forearm above your head, draping his big body over yours. He easily manhandles you into position, caging your knees against your chest and wrapping himself around you, “Just relax for me, hm? Can you do that f’me?”

You nod your head and shakily put your hands on his shoulders, cupping his jaw to bring him down to kiss you. He sighs into your lips, using his free hang to grip the base of his cock, prodding against your hole. You’re so slippery that it slides out of you and slips up your clit. You whimper at the feeling, thighs twitching at the stimulation. 

When he finally starts to press inside, your nails bite into his shoulders. It stings – it hurts. He’s so big, making your poor little cunt burn the deeper he presses himself. The head pops in and your hips jump at the feeling, his cock slipping back out. 

He huffs, dropping his forehead against your shoulder, “Fuck, sit still.”

“S-Sorry!” you whimper, “I’m sorry!”

“Shh,” he sighs, kissing your cheek, “‘S okay, baby. Hurts, huh?”

“A little,” you whimper, trying to downplay it so he won’t stop.

He hums and presses a kiss against the corner of your mouth. He knows that working an orgasm out of you before making you take his cock would be the nice thing to do but he’s selfish. He wants to feel your orgasm around his cock – where you deserve to have it. 

It’s your very first orgasm after all. It needs to be good and he knows he can make it real good once he can get you speared on his cock. 

So he grips himself again, sitting up for just a moment to lewdly spit on your pussy. It hits your clit and trickles down where he catches it with the head of his cock. He leans over your body and starts to push in again. This time he tucks his arms under your shoulders and pins you impossibly against him, leaving you with nowhere to run when he starts to press into you. 

You whimper, feet kicking against his back when he pushes deeper than before – past the head. He knows it hurts, you’re stretched beyond your limit and he waits with bated breath for you to say the word and tell him to stop. 

But you don’t. 

You just grapple your arms around his waist and dig your nails in. His skin is sweaty by now and it makes getting any purchase on him difficult. You let out a watery little whimper that has him freezing. You’re speared on half his cock when he finally looks at you. 

Your eyes are teary and they slowly drip down your cheeks.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks, brushing some away with his thumb.

You immediately shake your head, no hesitation, “No! K-Keep goin’, Si.”

“Don’t cry, pretty,” he shushes, keeping his grip under your shoulders and his hips pinned firmly against yours so you can’t squirm when he starts pressing in again. Your mouth opens in a silent gasp, eyes fluttering from the ache that settles where he’s stretching you wide, “‘S okay, just take a deep breath. ‘M almost in, love, you’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me. Takin’ all of my cock so deep, just like you deserve. Hear me? This cock s’all yours now, yeah? Can have it whenever you need it.”

Your walls spasm around his cock as he talks, making him groan low in his chest. He’s almost there, can feel his balls starting to tap against you the deeper he gets until finally, his hips meet yours and you wail. 

He prods painfully against your cervix and he knows that it’s uncomfortable but he’s not willing to pull back just yet. He needs you to get used to being stretched and stuffed full of every inch of him. He takes care to do slow, gentle grinds, his pelvis catching your clit that eventually makes you relax. 

“That’s it,” he praises, “Just relax and let me make you feel good.”

He finally eases off of you, balancing his weight on his forearms on either side of your head, hovering over you. He slowly pulls his hips back, watching you slump against the bed when he finally stops pressing on your cervix. 

He finally starts fucking you, sliding his cock out just a bit before rolling his hips forward again. It's slow and soft, just testing the waters and getting you used to this new stimulation. 

It feels entirely different from his fingers. His cock is bigger, fills you so much more, touches deeper. 

His cock reaches spots deep inside you that his fingers didn’t even reach. But he’s permanently pressing against that spot his fingers were torturing. It feels so fucking good. 

Simon can see the way your eyes roll back as he carefully fucks you. Your first cock and you’re taking it so damn well. It makes him want to see how much more you can take but he knows he needs to ease you into it, he doesn't want to overwhelm you.

“Si…” you sigh softly, blinking as you struggle not to float off and become drunk with pleasure. 

“I know, pretty,” he coos, kissing your cheek before leaning back on his heels, fastening the thrusts of his hips. 

You can’t keep quiet now, mouth falling open to let out the most precious sounds of pure pleasure. You’re staring at him with wide eyes, like he’s hung the moon and stars in the sky just for you. His cock fucking throbs at the look of wonder that crosses your face. He knows you’re getting close, can feel how tight you’re clamping around him and he can see how much you’re creaming around him – making a mess at the base of his cock and in the thatch of curls there. 

“You gonna cum?” he coos, grinning when you shake your head, “Of course you are. I can fuckin’ feel it, baby. Know you got one for me, go ahead. Cum on my cock real nice, c’mon.”

“C-Can’t,” you whimper. It’s too much. You’re so wet. It’s fucking messy but you feel yourself at that damn wall, hanging on a thread and waiting for euphoria to come but it doesn’t, “Please! Simon! Please, I-I can’t! Please, please, please…”

“Fuck,” his hisses when he hears you begging to cum on his cock, “Come on then, baby. You can do it. Just let it go, let me fuck it outta you.”

You toss your head back into the pillows as a sob is ripped from your chest. As if he can sense how much you’re struggling, he brings his thumb down to press against your clit. Your eyes fucking roll, only the whites of them visible. You clench down around him like a vice and it only takes a couple little swipes of his thumb for you to tumble over the edge. 

It feels unlike anything you could have ever imagined. Pleasure soars through you and your hearing cuts out. It feels like you lose control of your body, unable to do anything but thrash and twitch as he fucks you through it. You’re not sure if you would prefer him to stop or keep going because it’s all so fucking much that it hurts. 

You’re gushing around him, drenching his cock in sticky, creamy cum that drips in thick strings down his balls. Holy fuck.

It feels like hours that you’re speared on his cock, cumming and cumming before it finally leaves you and you collapse against the bed. You’re still twitching, entire body shivering until he finally slows his thrusts to soft little rolls of his hips. He takes his thumb off of your clit and you’re thankful because it was starting to become unpleasant. 

You swallow despite how dry your mouth is, eyes finally focusing on him. His brows are furrowed and his bottom lip is tucked into his mouth. Pretty, brown eyes are locked on you and you suddenly feel shy. 

Had he been watching you the whole time? You hoped you didn’t make any ugly faces or embarrassing noises. 

“Fuck,” he coos, seemingly sensing your shame, “That was a fuckin’ orgasm, love.”

You’re panting, you realize. And you’re tired. You’ve never felt more relaxed in your life. 

All you can think is that you’ve been missing out on that your whole life? Now you’re not sure you’ll be able to even live without it ever again. 

Simon’s hands cup under your knees and pin them to your chest. You gasp as he bends you as he sees fit. You’re limp, so completely drunk on the pleasure you just experienced that you simply let him. 

But you realize he’s even deeper like this – and it doesn’t hurt like it did before. He’s pressing against your back wall and it actually feels good. You feel so sensitive inside, like you can feel every twitch of his cock. 

He’s still languidly dragging his cock in and out of you. It’s a fucking mess between your legs, you’ve cum so fucking much that it’s everywhere. He’s never been covered like this before and it’s fucking hot. 

Your cum sticks between the two of you in little strings that break and reform every time his hips meet and leave yours. Your little clit is puffy and swollen from your orgasm and he wants to press his thumb against it again but he knows the poor little thing is much too sensitive still. 

Your legs flop uselessly as he fucks you, eases you past overstimulation until you’re sweetly cooing for him again. He takes that chance to fuck you properly again, intent on finding his own orgasm deep in your cunt. 

His heavy balls slap against your ass. He wants to cum. He plans to make himself cum like this, just using your pretty pussy. But then he sees your eyes widen again and your lips part almost curiously and his eyes narrow.

“You feel it again, huh, sweetheart?” he goads, shifting his weight on his knees so his hips are pressed even closer to yours. 

“C-Can’t,” you whisper, the same thing you had before. But it’s different now, “W-Won’t be able to, Si.”

“S that a challenge, love?” he teases, a crooked little smile on his face. You sleepily shake your head, “Hmm, I think I can fuck another one out of you. One orgasm won’t be enough, two is a good number for now. Until I train this little cunt to cum for me all night long.”

You whimper, reaching out the claw at his forearms where he pins your knees to your chest. You’re held so uselessly open, cunt completely vulnerable to his fat cock stuffing you full. His pelvis hits your clit in a way that makes the little bud tingle and your cunt clenches pathetically around him with every thrust he gives you. 

Sweet little ‘ah, ah, ah’s’ are punched from your lungs every time he sinks completely inside. He’s gripping your knees harshly, squeezing where he has a grip as his own orgasm starts to creep up on him but he’s going to give you another orgasm. He has to make you cum again, to see you lost in pleasure like that once more. He knows that will push him over the edge, give him what he needs. He wants to cum with you, fill you up while you’re in the throes of pure pleasure that only he has ever given you. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasps, fighting the feeling of his own eyes rolling back in favor of watching you. 

He loves the way you wear everything you feel on your face. From the looks of wonder when it feels really good to the little rolls of your eyes when he makes it hurt just a bit. It’s so cute. 

Makes him want to play around with that little part of you – be a little mean to you. 

“Cum,” he growls, fighting his own orgasm down, “Fuckin’ cum right now.”

“I can’t!” you wail, kicking against his hold on your knees, pressing down to spread you open even further. 

His hips slam against yours, loud slaps and slick noises of your gooey cunt filling his ears, “You can. You will. Cum, sweetheart. You better fuckin’ cum.”

But you shake your head. It’s so close, you can feel it. It’s creeping up on you and you want it so bad. You want to feel that pleasure again. But you’re not even sure you’re going to be able to cum again, it feels so much more sensitive than before. It’s too much. 

Simon bares his teeth, letting go of one of your legs to drift between your thighs. Your eyes widen, you think he’s going to rub it again – it’s so sensitive that you’re not sure you’ll be able to take it. 

But instead, he does something else.

You hear it before you feel it, a soft little slap followed by the feeling of being electrocuted. Simon watches you with lidded eyes to see how you react. Just like he expected, you wail and your body gives a mean twitch at the impact. 

So he does it again. 

And again. 

And again.

Not too hard, just enough for it to hurt a little bit. A sting against a terribly sensitive little bud. It’s mean – he’s mean. But he can’t fucking help it. 

He needs you to cum for him again.

“Cum,” he snarls, giving your clit another slap.

As if on command, it sends you over the edge. Your legs kick out and he has to abandon your clit to hold you down, pinning you harshly to the bed as he uses all his weight to fuck down into your spasming little cunt. You’re cumming so hard around him that you stop breathing. He hears the hitch of breath and doesn’t hear the exhale. All you do is lay there, cry for him and cum.

He finds his end just as violently, tossing his head back to moan into the room as cum erupts from his cock. His thrusts grow sloppy as he milks the orgasm out of himself, voice breaking as he whimpers from how fucking good it feels. 

Like no orgasm he’s ever experienced. It’s like he can’t stop cumming, filling you up so much that it oozes out from around his cock. 

You’re trembling underneath him when he finally comes down, tearfully gazing up at him with your mouth agape, struggling to catch your breath.

“N-No more,” you pathetically whimper, legs twitching from the aftershocks, “C-Can’t take anymore, Si.”

“Shh,” he shushes, letting your legs go so you can relax comfortably as he pulls his cock from your pussy.

It’s twitching and clenching sporadically, still coming down from your orgasm. It makes his cum drip out of your cunt, a mess that spreads to the already messy sheets. Your cum and his mix together to make a sticky, gooey mess that makes his mouth water. He wants to eat it up, stuff his tongue into your tight little hole and swallow it all down. 

But he can’t. Maybe next time, he vows.

His cock gives a valiant kick at the thought of getting to do this again. He sits on his heels, gazing at his messy cock as if softens. He feels dazed, almost drunk. 

Then he hears the softest little sniffle from you and his eyes snap up to your face to find your crumpled expression and tears falling down your face. You cover your face with your hands and earnestly begin to cry.

“Hey, it’s alright, love,” he coos, laying beside you to tuck you into his chest.

“I-I don’t know why I’m crying,” you sob, wrapping your arms around his waist as you cry into him. 

“It happens,” he assures, “It was a lot and you’re just a little overwhelmed s’all. Just let it out, baby.”

And you do, weakly sobbing into his chest until it feels like you can’t cry anymore. He holds you through it all, rubbing your back and cooing sweet nothings in your ear until you grow silent. 

“Alright, love?” he asks.

“S-Sorry, Si,” you sniffle, finally pulling out of the spot in his arms you were hiding in, “I-I don’t want you to think I didn’t want it or that it was bad. I just…”

He gives you a soft smile, leaning forward to kiss you. It’s short and sweet, “I don’t think that. Like I said, it happens. Sometimes people just cry after sex, nothin’ to worry about.”

“Are you sure?” you sniffle, wiping your cheeks dry when the tears finally stop.

“Positive,” he sits up, “Let’s get cleaned up, alright? We need to change the damn sheets, fuckin’ hell.”

You giggle as you look down at the sheets where a very visible dark spot is sitting where you once laid. You don’t even have time to be embarrassed before he’s swooping you off of the bed and escorting you to the bathroom.

It’s too small for both of you to fit but you make it work. He wipes you down with a warm cloth before hopping into the shower to rinse and clean himself before he gets out and lets you do the same. While you do that, he changes the bedding completely and replaces it with new sheets and blankets for the two of you to sleep in together. 

When you finally stumble into the bedroom, he wraps his arms around you and urges you onto the bed. You giggle as you flop onto the bed before he crawls in after you and covers the both of you up, wrapping himself around you until you’re tucked securely against him. 

“I take it you liked it?” he finally whispers.

You shyly nod, “I-It was um…fun.”

“Felt real good, huh?” he teases, grinning wolfishly when you whimper.

“Y-Yeah,” you whisper, “It felt really good. I already want to do it again.”

Simon groans, hugging you tightly before shaking his head, “You’re gonna be insatiable. Gonna give my cock a run for its money.”

You giggle, affectionately petting his hair before he looks at you with the softest expression you’ve ever seen. It’s like his eyes are sparkling in the low light of the bedroom. He leans forward and ever so softly kisses your forehead, then your nose, before he reaches your lips. He pecks them softly, pulling back for just a second before he kisses you again. 

“I love you,” he whispers, so soft that you almost miss it. 

And your heart begins to race. You almost struggle to find the words to reciprocate. But when you do, he smiles and tucks you against him again, big arms wrapped around you like a bear hug.

It’s almost surreal. You can’t believe you’re here after everything – with him. 

Like you’ve dreamed your whole life, he loves you just like you love him. 

PART ONE.

do not modify, translate, or repost

[vickytaa]

Wet dreams. C.S.

___________________☆___________________

I groaned loudly, grabbing the wet mattress. "What happened?" My roommate, Chris, asked. "I washed my mattress early in the morning, and it still hasn't dried up"

I knew it was a bad idea bringing my drunken friends to my shared room, but I did it anyway. They vomited on my bed, and I had to wash it. But where am I going to sleep tonight?

"And now I don't have where to sleep," I whined. "Oh, you can sleep with me." My eyes widened at his suggestion, my cheeks blushed. Chris and I have been roommates since last year. We aren't best friends, but we help each other if they need anything.

And sleeping with him wasn't that far from reality; we sleep in the same room, separated beds. So, why not? It's just a night.

"Are you sure?" I asked. He sat up from the gaming chair, "Yes. It's just for tonight" I nodded with a smile, but my stomach was full of butterflies. I mean, Chris is very attractive, funny, and mindful, how anyone could resist him?

The night came, and we both changed into our pyjama's, ready for bed. I laid down on the edge of the bed, my ass almost falling. I was trying to fall asleep as fast as I could, not wanting to do or say something stupid. I shut my eyes closed, my back looking at Chris.

Suddenly, I felt an arm wrapped around my waist, which moved me closer to Chris. "You were about to fall," He said, his eyes still closed. I giggled at his comment, trying to hide my nerves.

We both finally fell asleep, his grip on my waist tightening. I've always hugged my pillows or stuffed animals when I am asleep, so there was no surprise when I woke up in the middle of the night with one arm and a leg hugging Chris.

I was really embarrassed and didn't want to hug him again, so I turned around, my back now facing him, again.

Unexpectedly, I felt his grip tighten, pulling me incredibly closer to him. My back was now resting on his chest, and my ass... well, it was rubbing against his bulge, and fuck he was hard.

He was having a wet dream, really wet.

His hips started to rub against mine's. I couldn't help it but get wetter and wetter by the thought of fucking Chris. His low whimpers and moans were making me rub harder on him.

I knew this wasn't right. Probably, I wasn't even in his dream. But it was impossible not to fall on the tramp.

His moans became louder and louder. The arching heat between my legs started to burn like hell. I needed some friction. I was lowering my hand to my core when I froze. "Y/n- Fuck..." Chris moaned into my ear.

Was he having a wet dream about me?

I wanted him so bad for so long. I needed to do something. I wanted to surprise him.

So I did, I pulled down my shorts, along with my panties, and removed his pants and boxers. His hard dick hit his stomach. I simply watched as his tip was covered with precum.

I sat on his lap, now straddling him. I grabbed his cock and guided to my entrance, teasing my wet folds with his tip. Loud moans and groans left our lips when he found my hole, entering inch by inch.

I looked at his pleased face, his furrowed eyebrows, his "o" shaped mouth, his closed eyes, and his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat.

Once I was used to its size, I started to move. The room filled with raw nosies. "Chris! Fuck-" I moaned.

Out of nowhere, I feel his hands on my hips, helping me because I was getting tired of bouncing. "Fuck, you are so hot, Y/n" Chris said, his voice of just waking up.

"Chris- I... I'm mh" I couldn't even finish the sentence as I came all over his cock, he following soon after.

As we both relax from out high, I collapsed on top of him. "That... that was incredible" He said, still surprised of what just happened. I giggled, my plan has succeded. "All because of your wet dreams"

___________________☆___________________

[lovelybucky1]

Ok! I don't know if you can write about a wolverine who is obsessed with an older student at mansion x, what's the surprise? That she has a daddy kink with him because he has daddy issues-.

Professor!logan x student!fem!reader w daddy kink pleaaaaseee (Obviously reader is of legal age but there is Age gap between she and logan, and of course, smut!)

Cliché (Logan Howlett x Reader)

Logan isn’t a teacher by any means. He doesn’t have a lot of patience and prefers just to do rather than show people how it’s done. Xavier didn’t really give him a choice to be a teacher or not. He led Logan into a classroom full of students one day and told him to have at it. Logan wasn’t pleased with Charles, but he managed to improvise well enough. He’s been teaching since then, and while it is more bearable than he thought it would be, he still isn’t a fan. That is, until you showed up in class.

You caught his eye immediately. He could justify it to himself more if you were playing the part of the slutty student wearing short skirts and dropping your pencil so that you could give him a flash of your tits when you bent down. But you weren’t doing any of that. You were just a normal student, taking notes, listening intently, and raising your hand when you knew the answer. You weren’t trying to tempt him into anything, and Logan was a creep for wishing that you were. 

He pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind and for the most part, he was successful. He was able to compartmentalize well enough to be an effective teacher and not sport a half-chub in the middle of every class. He thought he had finally gotten over his stupid crush that he was way too old to be having, but then you had asked him for extra help.

Like the beginning of every student-teacher porno, you came to his “office hours”, which really meant you knocked on his bedroom door late one night. You were having trouble understanding whatever dull topic Logan was teaching that week, which was unusual for you because you study frequently. You asked him to explain and he did, walking you through it to the best of his ability. Logan was suspicious because the topic wasn’t difficult to understand, and you’re a smart girl. 

After fifteen minutes of you nodding along to his explanation and occasionally biting your lip, Logan called you out. 

“You don’t really need help understanding this, do you?”

You looked up at him, wide-eyed like you were just caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

“Yes I do,” you respond hurriedly. “I told you, I was a little confused by all of the information.”

Logan shook his head. “We’ve gone over topics much more difficult than this and you had no problem. Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”

Logan couldn’t help but wonder if his inappropriate fantasies were coming true. It had all the cliches: office hours, a smart girl playing dumb, a half-assed excuse to be close to him. He can hear your heart beating quickly, and when he sniffs the air, he can smell a musky tang of arousal.

He turns to face you, and suddenly you’re unable to meet his eyes. You’re looking down at where you’re fiddling with the hem of your shirt. Nervous, embarrassed. Gently, he places his hand under your chin and tilts your head up. You timidly look at him, eyes searching his for any signs of anger.

“What’re you doin’ here, dollface?” he asks.

He’s hoping, praying, that you don’t say what he so badly wants you to say. 

“I just… wanted to see you,” you respond. You know it makes you sound crazy, but you can’t think of any other explanation that isn’t entirely inappropriate. He doesn’t say anything, but you feel compelled to word-vomit. “I wanted your attention and this was the only way I knew how to get it and I’m so sorry, I know this is so inappropriate. Please just forget about this and I’ll drop your class-”

Logan shushes you. “You wanted my attention?” he asks. You nod hesitantly. “What for?”

You shrug, but Logan doesn’t take that for an answer. “I’m attracted to you.” 

You wince as you rip off the band-aid, and you’re so scared to see your professor’s reaction. He should yell at you, call you all sorts of names for your disgusting fantasies, kick you out of the room and have you expelled. But he doesn’t.

“That right?” Logan asks with a smirk. “You’re all worried just ‘cause you have a little crush?” Maybe it’s mean to tease you, especially when you’re looking at him like you’re about to cry, but he can’t help it. “You know I’m too old for you.”

You shake your head. “You’re not too old for me.”

Logan hums. “Then you’re too young for me.”

“I’m an adult,” you pout. “I’m not too young.”

“Sweetheart,” he sighs. “I’m your teacher. I’m old enough to be your father.” Logan takes note of how your eyes sparkle at that. “You like me because I’m old enough to be your father.”

You look away shyly, and that gives Logan all the confirmation he needs. 

“Y’know, ever since I met you, I’ve been trying not to think about how much I want to bend you over one of those desks. It made me feel so fuckin’ guilty for thinking about you like that, but this whole time, you’ve been sittin’ in my class, thinking about me being your daddy.”

Your eyes widen at his words. When you devised this little plan and walked in here, you thought you would chicken out, much less have it lead anywhere. 

“I have been thinking about that,” you say.

“I’d be real sweet to ya, baby. Give you everything you’ve been wanting.”

The two of you are crossing so many lines, but neither of you seem to care anymore. He’s wanted you for weeks and as morally upstanding as he tries to be, he is still just a man.

“I want it,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s hands are on your hips, grabbing at your skin possessively as he smashes his lips against yours. He dominates the kiss, but you don’t mind the pinch of your lips between his teeth. It’s messy and wet and everything you’ve been dreaming of while you watch him in class. 

Your back hits the door and Logan keeps you pinned against the surface. You’re helpless to do anything but take what he gives you; his large body covering you entirely. His hands find their way under your ass and he tells you to jump. He holds you up with ease as you wrap your legs around his waist. He grinds against you, your little scrap of lace panties rubbing the bulge in his jeans. He’s thankful that you decided to wear a dress because the idea of fumbling with more than one pair of pants right now pisses him off. 

He manages to get his pants undone and pushed low enough to free his cock. Your panties get pulled to the side and his fingers slot themselves inside of you to work you open. Your face is buried in Logan’s neck, where you muffle all of your whines and moans. You’re certain that anyone out in the hall would be able to hear you, but you can’t bring yourself to care. If anything, Logan would be the one to get in trouble for sleeping with a student. You’d just be an innocent victim.

“Daddy,” you moan when he rubs that spot deep inside of you. 

“Shh, baby, Daddy’s got you,” he coos.

He continues to open you up on his fingers until he deems you loose enough to take him. When he pulls out his fingers, he wipes them on his thigh before grabbing his cock and positioning it at your entrance. He pushes in slowly, allowing you to adjust to the stretch.

You both groan simultaneously as he bottoms out. You’ve never felt so full in your life, and your pussy feels like heaven around his aching cock. You’ve both been craving this taboo relationship for so long and now that it’s finally real, it’s making your head spin.

“So fuckin’ tight,” Logan growls against your neck as he begins to rut into you.

His gruff voice, casual display of strength, and the feeling of him inside you work together to light your body on fire. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip as you attempt to stifle your moans. 

“Logan,” you gasp after a particularly hard thrust.

“Keep sayin’ my name like that and this won’t last much longer,” he tells you.

The thought that you doing something so simple as moaning his name could bring him to the edge boggles your mind. The Wolverine coming undone for some girl, a student, no less. You find yourself on a bit of a power trip, knowing what you’re doing to him. It’s only fair because he’s been torturing you for weeks without even knowing it.

You reach down between your bodies to rub at your clit. It’s sensitive from neglect, but as soon as you make contact with it, that coil in your belly starts to tighten. Hot waves of pleasure roll over your body as Logan drives his cock into you. Each bump of your g-spot causes a moan to escape from your mouth and he responds with groans of his own. 

“Logan, Logan,” you pant. “Daddy! I’m close, I’m gonna cum.”

Logan’s teeth find your neck. He bites at the skin under your ear and in the back of your mind, you wonder if he’ll leave a mark.

“Cum for me, princess. Gush all over my dick,” he mumbles against your skin.

You do exactly that. A few moments later, you’re clenching around his length as you rub tight circles over your clit. A moan rips from your throat as your orgasm hits you like a ton of bricks- or a ton of feathers, they weigh the same.

Logan staves off his orgasm long enough for you to ride out yours. Once you come down, he pulls out of you and jerks himself off to completion. Hot, thick ropes of cum paint your stomach and you watch in awe as the muscles in his arm move with the action.

You both stand there, your back against the door, as you catch your breath. You look up at him with slightly glazed eyes; your mind hazy with the remnants of your pleasure.

“Thank you,” you breathe out.

“Nothin’ to thank me for, dollface,” he says.

Logan bends down to scoop you into his arms. He walks you the few feet over to his bed and lays you down gently before grabbing some tissues to clean you off. You tell him you could’ve walked, but he shushes you and replies “Let me take care of you.”

You do, and it feels like the closest to heaven you’ve ever been. The man of your dreams just fucked you stupid and is now coddling you in his bed. What could be better than this?

Logan rids himself of the rest of his clothes and joins you on the bed. He slings an arm over your waist and pulls your back flush to his chest so he can spoon you. He tucks your shoulder under his chin and presses a kiss to your neck, close to the spot he sunk his teeth into earlier. 

“Does this mean I get extra credit, professor?” you ask, giggling.

“Don’t push your luck, kid. You still gotta do your homework.”

[blushweddinggowns]

Eddie woke up with a pounding headache and an intense sense of dread. He groaned as he sat up, shutting his eyes to block out the searing light from the window.

He took a deep breath before opening them again, letting out a sigh of relief when he realized he was in his own room, safe in their apartment. But that wasn't stopping his pounding headache.

God, what the fuck happened last night? He remembered going to Gareth’s party, getting cross-faded. Then, just pure white-boy wasted as the night went on and someone brought out tequila shots. He remembered whining about missing Steve to some guy-

Oh god. The guy. It came screaming back to him, blurry and unfocused but there.

I can be your boyfriend for the night.

How the fuck had the line worked on him? Eddie didn't know, but he knew that it had. He remembered kissing him, whimpering into his mouth while moaning Steve’s name. How good it felt.

What the fuck had he done?

Pure panic was starting to set in. He cheated on Steve. He actually cheated on Steve. And for what? Because he hadn't seen him for a few weeks? It only took one vacation with Robin for him to destroy the trust they built? Was he that pathetic? That selfish? That idiotic?

He didn't even remember how far they'd gone. He didn't even know how he got home. Or if the guy came with him. The idea of him fucking someone else in their bed made him feel physically ill. Ill enough to have Eddie jumping out of bed, frantic as he looked around for any clues. But there was nothing. Just the evidence of the life he'd built with his boyfriend. The one that he had single handedly ruined.

Maybe he could just not tell him. Keep it secret for the rest of his fucking life. Track down anyone who did know and blackmail them to be quiet. That seemed more sane then coming clean. Sane enough to have Eddie stumbling out of his room in a hurry.

But before he could call Gareth to insanely demand the names of anyone who could have seen him, he smelled it. The scent of coffee brewing, plus the sound of a happy hum.

Steve was home. A whole day early.

Holy shit, Eddie was going to be sick. He was actually going to puke. The feeling bad enough to make his legs weak, so bad he crashed right into the wall.

Loud enough to have Steve calling after him, "Babe, is that you?"

Eddie opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

Not when Steve was rounding the corner, smiling at him like that. All soft and loving, "There you are. Rough night?"

Was that the last time he would look at him like that?

"Eddie?" Steve asked, frowning at his lack of answer, "Are you okay?"

Eddie wanted to die. He actually wanted to die. Why had he done this? But he couldn't lie to him. Not with the sweet, trusting way Steve was looking at him. He just couldn't.

"I need to tell you something," Eddie finally managed to choke out, his heart beating so fast he was scared Steve could hear it. Maybe he'd have a heart attack it he was lucky. Avoid this whole shit show through almost dying.

But he wasn't that lucky.

Steve cocked his head at him, "What's wrong?"

"I'm so sorry, Stevie," Eddie said, letting his first thought come out, "I'm so fucking sorry."

"What are you talking about?"

"I kissed someone," Eddie blurted out, his hands shaking as he started to word vomit, "Last night. A-At the party I told you about."

Steve just stared at him.

"I-I was drunk!" Eddie went on, his voice coming out wet, "It didnt mean anything, I don't even know why I did it."

Steve still wasn't saying anything. He was just looking at him, his expression unreadable. It just made Eddie feel more desperate.

"Please say something," Eddie begged, "I know this is bad. I do. But I dont even know who he is. I-I won't do it again!"

Steve still had his head cocked as he looked at him, something in his eyes that Eddie didn't understand, "Is that all?"

Fuck no that wasn't all. Not when Steve was looking at him like that. Eddie didn't even think about it as he sunk to his knees, fully fucking ready to beg at Steve’s feet.

"I love you," Eddie tried, the tears he was holding back finally starting to fall, "I fucked up. I know I fucked up but please don't leave me. Please. I can make up for this. I can. Please."

It was hard to see him through the tears in his eyes, hard to comprehend anything through how fucking bad Eddie felt, the sheer amount of self-loathing nearly drowning him completely. His vision was cloudy enough to almost make it look like Steve was... smiling at him?

Steve reached down, grabbing Eddie underneath the armpits to help lift him back onto his feet. Strong in a way that still made Eddie's heart skip a beat whenever he saw it in action. He led a still sniffling Eddie to the couch, grabbing for his hand when they sat down.

"Baby, how do you think you got home last night?" Steve asked.

Eddie frowned, "I-I don't know. I don't remember."

"Do you remember what the guy looked like?"

Eddie swallowed, so nervous he was still kind of afraid he was going to puke. And he highly doubted that puking on Steve would help his case for him to stay, "I don't remember fully."

"What do you remember?"

Eddie sighed, looking down into his lap, "I remember missing you. And then a point where I got drunk enough to say it to anyone who would listen. Then this guy showed up and he said-"

"I can be your boyfriend for the night?"

Eddie snapped his head up, staring at Steve with his mouth open. How the fuck did he know that?

"And then did he do this?" Steve asked as he brought his hand up, cupping Eddie's cheek. Looking at him like he was the most precious thing in the world before placing his thumb on Eddie's bottom lip, teasing it with a smile, "Before saying you were beautiful?"

"I-yes? But how-"

"Honey," Steve sighed, a touch exasperated but mostly fond, "I got back last night. Then went to go find you when I remembered about the party."

Oh god, did that mean Steve saw the whole thing? Was this the calm before he kicked Eddie out? Was he about to be dumped-

"I can see your brain working babe, but it's working in the wrong direction."

"Huh?" Eddie asked, completely lost on why Steve was smiling at him instead of cursing his name.

"Eddie, it was me," Steve said calmly, though his face said he was holding back a laugh, "You made out with me. Before I took us home and you failed at trying to give me road head on the way home. Twice."

"I-what?" Eddie asked, shellshocked.

"You cheated on me with me, babe," Steve laughed, his calm face finally breaking, "Then when we got home, you cried about missing me to me. You're adorable when you're wasted. Stupid, but adorable."

"Oh my fucking God," Eddie breathed out, the reality of the situation hitting him. He groaned, hiding his face in his hands while Steve cackled next to him. He had never felt like a bigger fucking moron, Jesus Christ, "I am never drinking tequila again."

"Good idea," Steve chuckled as he pried Eddie's hands away from his face. He brought one to his mouth, kissing his fingers as he grinned, "But I love the honesty, sweetheart. 10/10. And the begging? Kind of hot."

"I was terrified!" Eddie moaned, staring up at the ceiling as a blush climbed up his neck, "You scared the shit out of me."

"You scared yourself!" Steve laughed, grabbing for Eddie's chin to force his head back down to look at him. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to his forehead, "My favorite little drama queen."

"You're a bastard," Eddie grumbled, like he wasn't smiling when Steve leaned in to kiss him on the lips, "Evil."

"But wasn't I a good boyfriend for the night?" Steve asked, laughing even harder when Eddie pinched his side. Eddie leaned in to kiss him again, effectively shutting him up as the last of his anxiety drained away.

But one thing was for sure. Tequila would be his worst enemy until the day he died.

Purely inspired by this post by @hawkinsbnbg

[valentina-writes]

The Distance He Keeps - Part 3

Azriel x reader

summary: Rhys sends you on a mission to an illyrian camp with Azriel. Will this finally make him aknowledge your changed relationship?

warnings: allusions to sex, mentions of blood

words: 3.4k | part 1 | part 2 | masterlist

A/N: My darlings, my brain cooked up something delicious for you :D

For now, this is it! I really considered writing a fourth part and am still debating it. Would it be smutty? ... Probably ;) I'm unsure whether or not I'm comfortable writing smut, so I can't say for sure if I'll do it. For now, I hope you enjoy part 3, and that you'll return for whatever I'll write next. xx

"Y/N: mission for you. Control wing clipping ban. Meet at 9, House of Wind. R"

The note lay on my dresser when I got ready for work this morning. I had tossed and turned in my bed all night long. There had been no rest at all. Not when I knew that Azriel was my mate. Not when close before dawn the door to the bedroom next to mine creeked open and Az was sleeping only a few feet away from me. So, at the crack of dawn, I got up and baked.

Now, a cake sat on the windowsill of my room, waiting. An awfully delicious smelling cake I had spent hours baking. It had been almost impossible to decipher the faded handwriting of the recipe, and even harder still to not choke on the tears that escaped my eyes while baking. I had thought of the young boy Azriel had once been, kept in the dark cell in his father's house, only seldom let out to visit his mom. Where she would have this very cake waiting for him.

The only time I had met her, she had shoved the recipe into my hands, telling me I'd need it. I had never made it until this day. Now, I wouldn’t be able to give it to him. I hoped the House would keep it fresh for me, waiting for my return.

Rhys waited for me in the dining room. He was smiling softly when he saw me. "Are you okay?", he asked. I nodded slowly. "I'm sorry for entering your mind without your consent. I hope you forgive me". He was not usually a man of many excuses. He did what he did and expected everyone to be okay with it. This was a rare occurrence. "I do. It... wasn't entirely that bad after all. But it won't happen again". My voice was stern, unwavering.

"How did you feel last night?"

He didn’t need to elaborate. "I... don't know. I couldn't sleep. And I just don't understand why it didn't-"

But I could feel Azriel before I saw him, coming into the room in that very moment.

He stopped in his tracks when he noticed me. "We're doing this together, I figure", he said to nobody in particular and came closer. This could become interesting, I thought. My heart hammered against my ribs at the thought of spending the whole day with him.

"Oh, looks like I forgot to mention it. I must be getting old", Rhys purred as he grabbed both of us and winnowed us away.

I blinked into the blinding white sun of the illyrian mountains. It was a cold day for this time of the year. For illyrian soldier's standards it was already late morning. Many of the winged fae were bustling through the little huts and tents and in the distance, I could hear the grunts and clinks of swordfights.

I looked over at Azriel. His posture was tense, face expressionless. I didn't have to be a daemati to know that he hated these camps with a burning passion.

Softly, I tugged at his arm. "The sooner we start, the sooner it's over".

What followed was a long day of wing inspections. It was a surprise visit, so they weren't prepared. But that was exactly what Rhys had wanted. One by one they paraded the females past us, so we could protocol the state of their wings in detail. Most were intact, but there were exceptions. One young girl's wings were freshly clipped, blood still seeping through the bandages. The air was rich with the smell of it. Her face was ash-colored, grief stricken and I almost vomited at the camp commander's feet when I saw her state.

"What happened to her?", Azriel demanded, voice unforgiving. The commander scrambled for words, unable to give a coherent explanation beyond "She didn't do as she was told". Azriel looked like he was about to kill him. "There will be repercussions". I turned light-headed from the thought of her clipping. Without a word, I took a few steps to breathe in some fresh mountain air.

A strong hand met my shoulder and turned me around. "You can leave, if you want. Go for a walk, breathe. You don't have to watch this". Azriel’s face showed deep concern. But there was a long line of females waiting behind him and I wouldn't let him do this alone.

"I want to stay. I want to be there for them", I said. He nodded, understanding. “If you want to stop at any time, tell me. There’s no shame in feeling like this”. Azriel squeezed my hand, and we returned to work.

It took all day. The sun was setting as we inspected the last female. By the end, we were both exhausted. Azriel's wings almost dragged on the ground. The inspection of their training would have to wait for tomorrow. After a fast meal, we were ushered to a small, run-down hut at the outskirts of the camp.

I walked through the door and immediately stopped in my tracks. There was only one bed. A narrow one while we were at it. With the way it was positioned against the sloped roof, it would be a tight fit for Azriel and his wings. A quiet smile stole its way onto my lips. Rhysand, matchmaker and wingman of the century. His way of offering reparations for his meddling with my thoughts, I supposed.

Without looking back at Az, I started undoing the buckles of my tight leathers. When I had rid myself of my pants, only leaving my panties, a hand shot out from behind me and grabbed mine to keep me from undressing further. "I'll sleep on the floor" And get a wing full of splinters? I snorted, "No you won't. You act as if that's the first time we're sharing a bed. Don't be so prude"

His eyebrows lifted. "Prude, really?"

"Well, if you can't handle me in the same bed as you, I suppose I will sleep on the floor"

"Take the bed", he insisted, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Make me", was my only response. Azriel's jaw dropped and his expression, always so controlled, turned into something else entirely. Something primal, almost hungry. "Fine", he snapped. I continued to pull off my leathers, only leaving my underwear and the shirt I wore underneath the leathers. When I turned around again, he already lay down on the bed, his wings awkwardly crouched at his back. "Happy now?".

A witty comment about him luring me into bed lay on my tongue, but I couldn't bring myself to say it. “Yes”.

His face stayed indifferent when I blew out the candles and settled into bed next to him. "I know this isn't the right time or the right place, but we need to talk, Az"

He sighed. "Yes, I suppose we do"

"Will you ignore me again when we get back home?", I asked. He had been almost normal to me today. And I knew it would kill me if he'd start ignoring me again as soon as we came home.

"I don't know if I can". Azriel's honesty surprised me. Maybe the darkness made it easier on him, because he didn't have to look me in the eye. Still, his voice broke as he said: "I miss you".

My heart tightened inside my chest "Then come back to me".

"I wish I could". He turned towards the wall and ended our conversation.

Sunlight hit my face, waking me from my dreams. It was so warm and comfortable, I wanted to stay like this forever. This was the first time in weeks that I had slept through the night. Azriel's head lay on my chest, his strong arm snaked tightly around my waist and Gods, his left wing was lazily draped over my body. He was all around me, his scent engulfing me. This man would be the death of me. I also held him tightly, one hand buried in his hair, the other grasping at his shirt as if trying to keep him from escaping. A quiet smile stole its way onto my face. He must have cuddled up to me while asleep. I could get used to this.

His shadows were also asleep, I realized then, curled around my arms and shoulders in a protective embrace. My heart swelled in my chest. My mate, I thought. How lucky I was.

Without my doing, my fingers started playing with his hair. Almost immediately, he snuggled his face deeper into the fabric of my shirt. A deep blush crept over my face and my heart felt like it was about to burst out of my chest.

We stayed like this for a while. His shadows were the first indication of his waking up. They slowly started to stir, wandering from my arms to my head and down my body as if to check if I was alright.

Then, his whole body turned rigid. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-", he started, his face a deep crimson.

His hazel eyes met mine and my breath hitched in my chest. My body was aflame, an explosion of light and emotions. It was like how I imagined the creation of this world. First, there was nothing. Until there was everything. The "bond" I had been able to feel when I was inside Azriel's mind was nothing compared to this. A thick rope of light glowed inside me, and I felt him. Love flowed through the bond, an undying stream of it and I basked in its glow. But there was something darker still inside of him, a deep sadness, so similar to my own. My mate.

Without knowing what I was doing, I reached out across the bridge that bound us together. And tugged hard on the bond, willed him closer.

A deep groan sounded from Az, as he dropped face first back into my chest. I thought I could hear him murmur: "finally".

I held him close, basking in the glorious light of the bond. I never wanted to leave his side again.

"I'm so sorry it took me so long", I apologized. I didn't even want to begin to think about how torturous the last weeks must have been for him. How painful it must be to go against every instinct and not be around your mate.

His head shot up. "You knew?"

"I woke up last night and was sucked into your mind. I... I heard your talk with Rhys. Part of it, anyway". He pressed a kiss to my cheek, then to my nose. Azriel's face hovered above mine, our lips only a breath apart.

He whispered against my lips: "I'm sorry you learned it that way. I wanted to tell you. Every day, I thought about it. But I just couldn't".

My eyes fluttered close. "I understand you now. And I am not mad at you. Not at all"

His lips were on mine and I couldn't say who of us closed the distance. The soft touch of his lips soon turned demanding, claiming, as he parted my lips with his tongue. The kiss was rougher than the one we had once shared. It was hungry, all tongue and eager lips. I couldn't get enough of him. The bond sang in my chest. He kissed me like he had been starving for months. My hands buried deep into his hair, I moaned into him.

Azriel was touching me everywhere, his shadows swirling around me as well. But he was just too clothed.

Impatiently, I tugged at his shirt, eager to feel him. My hands roamed the strong muscular plains of his back. The bond was alight and I couldn't even begin to imagine how good it would feel to have him inside me.

"Not like this". Azriel pulled away and I actually whined in protest. He was breathless, eyes wild and his lips in a smile bigger than I had ever seen on him. "Not here. I want it to be special. Not in a rundown hut with a whole illyrian camp listening". The bond between us showed me pure love. I couldn't be offended.

"Scared the bed wouldn't survive?", I joked, equally breathless. Hunger, deep and primal was painted on his face. "It definitely would not"

A shudder went through my body as I imagined what he would do to me. "I wouldn't mind". He groaned again, nuzzling his face into my neck. "I'm not fucking you here, as much as I would love to".

"Then get off me, you're not making this any easier". With his body pressed so close to mine, I imagined how he would pin me down on the bed. How his mouth would roam over my body, downwards, before he would-

"Your thoughts also aren't", he argued. My thoughts mingled with his own and I saw how he would take me. Slow, deliberate, savoring every moment. And then rough.

"I'd say I was sorry, but that would be a lie", I gasped, “and yours are hardly better”. I couldn’t wait to get home and see how he would make his thoughts justice.

He pressed a kiss to my temple, smiling, and then started to peel himself off me.

When I opened the door of the little hut to start our tasks of the day, Rhys stood outside waiting for us. My eyes widened in surprise.

"How did the mission go?", he wanted to know.

Azriel cleared his throat. "Why are you here? Weren't we supposed to stay until noon?". His hand was protectively placed at my waist. To show the illyrian’s to keep away if they wanted to keep their arms, probably.

Rhysand's gaze wandered between us, a smug twinkle in his eyes. "Change of plan, I'll take over from here. So?"

"They have mostly accepted the wing-clipping ban, except for a few", I reported.

"Good to hear", he said nonchalantly. He stepped a few feet away from the door before stopping. "Oh, and you're welcome by the way"

Azriel blinked in confusion. "What?"

"Did you really think I needed two people for this?"

He gaped at Rhys, unable to form a response. I only giggled and lowered my mental barrier for a moment. You sly bastard, I thought at Rhys. In response, a quiet chuckle sounded in my thoughts.

"Are you coming, or what?". Rhys winnowed us back to the house of wind. Before returning to the camp, he said to Azriel: "You're on vacation now, by the way"

The corners of Azriel's lips twitched into small smile. "For how long?"

Rhys grinned. "Until you've stopped fucking each other's brains out all day". A blush crept over Azriel's face. Through the bond I felt anger arising at Rhys's words, but I grabbed his hands to keep him from throwing a punch.

A deep giggle sounded from behind me. Cassian, strong, brutal, buff Cassian was giggling. "You can thank us later".

Azriel POV

She led me through the House to her room, tugging at my arm even though I knew the way as well as she did. When we arrived, she shut the door, and I sat down on her bed.

She was before me in an instant. "Why didn't you say anything?".

"I couldn't", I said. What a lousy excuse.

Sorrow tinted the bond. "It killed me, Az. I thought you hated me. That I had done something wrong and now we'd never be friends again".

"I'm sorry I made you feel like this. But after starfall, I- the bond was hurting so much. It burned inside me, day and night and called me to you. But I just couldn't be around you and pretend everything was normal". I didn't say how I wished to be dead every day, thinking the Cauldron had set me up with a one-sided bond. I didn't say that the first week I didn't come to work not because I was sick, but because the only way I could numb the bond and the bottomless pit of pain inside me was getting drunk. I didn't say that I overworked myself to the point of collapsing in the training rink with Cassian, only to not have to feel the aching of the bond while being close to her. One day I'd tell her. But I wouldn't trouble her with that today. Right now, I wanted nothing more than to forget about everything that had happened during these past months. And for her to be happy.

"You didn't even look my way". The bond twitched inside me. Did it remember the weeks apart or were those her own feelings?

There were no excuses. But maybe I could make it a little better at least. "My shadows stayed close to you. I couldn't control them anymore. Wherever you went, a part of me went as well. They slept at your door for weeks", I admitted. As if to support my claim, they drifted towards her, lightly encircling her wrists.

She stayed silent for a while, grasping for words. But she wasn’t angry, I realized. She only wanted to understand. "I was in love with you for years", she confessed, "but I saw how in love you were with Mor and then Gwyn and I never thought you would love me back. So, I never said anything. But at starfall, I... I was so sick of it”.

I furrowed my brows. "That was a century ago". She couldn’t possibly have believed that I was still pining after Gwyn, who I hadn’t seen in decades. Or Mor, who was happily mated. How was it possible that she had been so blind all these years?

She looked down in what could only be embarrassment. "I never saw you with anybody else after, so I thought you were still in love with one of them"

I pulled her in closer. "Y/N, I haven't been with anybody in decades. You never saw me with anyone, because there was no one. Only you".

Her head flew up. "You're kidding me", she accused, eyes wide.

I pulled her between my legs. "You're not the only one who was in love for years before the bond". I thought of the many days and nights we had spent together, each one of us pining for the other without knowing. I shook my head. Those days were over.

She laid her hand on my shoulders. "Promise me one thing"

"Anything"

She breathed in deeply. "Never leave me alone like this, ever again. Promise me to talk to me when something happens, when you're hurting".

I had never made an easier promise. "I promise. I will never treat you like this again. I will never leave you. And I will always find you, no matter where. I promise". Thoughts about starfall flew into my head. There was no way I would ever let go of her. Wherever she would go, I would follow her. No matter where. Even in death, I swore myself.

"And I will find you". She kissed me, sweet and soft. With every kiss of hers I forgot a little about the pain as the bond sang brighter and brighter. I wanted to pull her down onto the bed with me, finally become one with her. But all too soon, Y/N left my embrace. I stared at here, confused. Was she not satisfied with my answers? Would she refuse the bond after all?

Anxiety grew in my chest. Before I could say anything, a wave of calm hit me through the bond. She walked over to the big window overlooking the mountains and drew a knife. A cake sat on the windowsill, I only now saw. She returned with a piece of it sitting on a small plate, a fork next to it. A cake I hadn't eaten in centuries. My throat closed up when she handed me the plate.

"Eat", she said softly, "you've more than earned it". I felt like the boy I once was again. Let out of his cage that had kept him in the dark, confining his wings and his will. Finally seeing the light of day. Daring to hope. My hand shook as I grabbed the fork and cut a piece off. "You need to tell me the story of how you got this recipe".

"I'm full of surprises". She sat down next to me and grabbed my left hand.

A smile stole its way onto my face. "Yes, you are", I said and started eating.

series taglist: @tele86 @francesababyd0ll @rcarbo1 @willowpains @i-am-infinite @paintedbyshadows @mellowmusings @ashduv @paleidiot @moonlwghts @acourtofbatboydreams @azriels-human @lucia-valentinaa @starshinegrl @ashblooddragons @jennigsonl @shylahstarzz @elisabethch82 @annthepenguin

[starmapz]

what you know - ch3: grade a(sshole) || r. sukuna

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

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

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. mutual pining. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic (attacks). mentions of difficulty eating. vomit. tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 12.1k.

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

The sounds of metal clanging and engines revving are somehow more grating than usual as Sukuna hangs the phone back on the wall. His head rests against the smooth surface beside the phone and he lets out a deep sigh, thankful you can’t see the frustration strewn across his face. Of fucking course Uraume’s in class right now and really, why had he ever expected his uncle to pick up? If he were good for anything, Sukuna wouldn’t be a parent to his siblings while in college.

“Ryomen! I need a hand!”

He rolls his shoulders in an effort to relieve the tension in his body from having no other choice but to call you, the source of all of his problems as of late, before pushing off the wall. He doesn’t say a word as he makes his way to his colleague, ignoring the man’s questioning. Just like everyone else in his life, his colleague doesn’t need to know anything about him.

The day drags on for Sukuna. He’s sluggish and worn out, covered in a sheen of sweat and grease and he can feel the oil he accidentally combed through his hair without thinking while speaking on the phone with you.

And then there’s you. Why the fuck won’t you leave his head? Why the fuck did he have to loosen and re-tighten the bolts on a set of tires because the thought of you had distracted him so much he’d tightened them a few too many times? Why had he done it on multiple tires?

As the day wraps up and he leaves the shop, the cool night air is welcome on his skin. He lets out a sigh as he begins to walk home, running a hand through his tousled hair once again. The feeling of oil coating his bare hand leaves him with a scowl and he wipes it on his coveralls, but they have enough grease on them that it hardly helps. His lip curls in disgust as he shoves his hands into his pockets, staring at the sidewalk as he makes his way back to his apartment.

The walk is too short to deliberate what the hell he’s even gonna say to you when he knows for a fact he owes you. Again. Yet that’s hardly the issue, when he knows he hurt you when he saw you last and now here he is asking for a favor. Fuck, how it pisses him off.

His hand pauses over his front door before he knows it, letting out a sigh as he unlocks the door and pushes through. He’s met immediately with the sight of you, dressed in a skirt and a beige knit sweater sitting on the couch. He goes to drop his keys on the table beside the door but pauses before they can clatter on the wood as he realizes Choso is sound asleep on top of you.

He sucks in a sharp breath, meeting your gaze. The world seems to hold its breath as you both stare at one another, completely silent.

“Hey,” your voice is smaller than you intended as you decide to break the tense silence. Sukuna’s piercing gaze flickers between you and Choso before he finally shuts the door behind him, his expression unreadable.

“They fell asleep?” He grunts.

Grimacing as he blatantly ignores your greeting, you nod. “Yeah. Choso wanted one more movie, but-” you pause, casting a glance at the young boy. “He didn’t make it long.”

Sukuna takes a step forward to look at the TV, quietly playing The Iron Giant. “That’s his favorite.”

You nod slowly, but your eyes never once leave Sukuna. He looks tired as ever again, like he hasn’t had a break in a long time, but you know better than to offer help now. That, and the way he hurt you still hangs over your head even if you aren’t upset with him.

“He really likes sad movies,” you comment in an effort to cut through the tension in the air, but it hardly helps, enveloping you in its grasp once more.

A puff of air leaves Sukuna’s nose in an acknowledging laugh. “You watched The Land Before Time didn’t ya?” There’s a hint of a smile on his face that you mirror back at him despite the lingering unease.

“And Pokemon.”

Sukuna’s brow raises as he nods. “Yeah. Dunno why, he’s always liked those three.”

In an attempt to lighten the mood, you offer a teasing smirk. “Maybe he takes after you. These are all your movies, aren’t they?”

Sukuna looks between the TV and you again, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. Staring down at his hand that he forgot was covered in oil, he huffs at the realization that it’s now on his face. “They were,” he mindlessly answers, turning back towards you. He gently sets his keys on the table, noting the fact that you have a little smirk and are very obviously staring where he just wiped his hand. Yeah, he has oil on his forehead. “D’ya mind staying while I shower? I’ll be ten minutes. I’ll carry Cho to his room after.”

“That’s fine, you could use a showe-”

“Shut- your mouth, Prom Queen,” he quietly hisses, his tone lacking the aggravation of someone truly frustrated.

You shoot him a small smile, laughing quietly as a semblance of normalcy finally returns. When he kicks off his shoes and pads quietly further into the apartment, disappearing into the washroom, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

It’s not like you weren’t expecting this to be uncomfortable, but you’d expected Sukuna to be as brash and vexing as usual, not whatever this is. The palpable tension, the somber silence and the complete and utter lack of frustration from Sukuna- it’s like you’re treading through a potential minefield, yet now you have no clue what could set him off this time. Do you even owe him that given how he snapped at you when you last saw him?

Throwing your head against the back of the couch, you sigh, deciding to give your attention back to the movie to force yourself not to get overwhelmed by your own overthinking. Choso shuffles in your arms, snoring softly as his hair falls over his face.

The sounds of doors opening and closing only a few minutes later makes your heart speed up when Sukuna emerges after a moment, dressed in a tight black tank top that hardly leaves anything to the imagination and gray sweatpants. You blink a few times as you make a conscious effort not to stare at his abs but god is it hard.

It’s almost like your mind forgets that you’re upset with him because he’s just that attractive, and that only makes your cheeks heat up because, come on. You’re better than this. Swallowing, you force yourself not to look at his bulging biceps or the veins in his forearms or the obvious six pack that the tank top doesn’t hide one bit. Why is it so tight anyway? Is he showing off?

But Sukuna hardly seems to notice your turmoil, his usual frown plastered on his face as he runs a hand through his hair, now oil-free. He closes the distance between you as he crosses the living room in two easy strides, standing tall in front of you.

“How’s Yuji?” He asks, clearing his throat.

“He’s been asleep most of the day but he didn’t throw up after I got here. He had a couple of spoonfuls of soup but he’s not hungry.”

He nods. “Good. I think.” Tense silence settles between you and you have to avert your gaze as you grow uncomfortable. “I’ll take Cho to his bed,” Sukuna mumbles, effortlessly lifting the young boy into his arms. Choso doesn’t so much as shuffle as Sukuna carries him to his and Yuji’s room. Fiddling with your neatly manicured nails, you stare in the direction Sukuna left. He’s back in only a few moments, looking relieved as ever that the day is over.

“Um, are you o-” you begin, realizing too late that both you and Sukuna have begun talking at the same time.

“You can go home.”

You stare at one another with wide eyes as you both speak over one another. Laughing uncomfortably, you chew on your lip. “You don’t want to talk about…?”

Sukuna’s brow furrows. There’s his irritation. Of course he would think the best thing to do is avoid the subject entirely.

“What do you want to talk about?” He asks in an impatient tone as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Your lips part as you search for words, treading carefully now that you have Sukuna’s attention. “You were a dick,” you offer as a starter, knowing that of all of the things you could say, this wouldn’t actually bother him that much.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Sukuna mutters with a roll of his eyes.

“You’re still being a dick.”

He pauses this time, narrowed eyes observing the way you’re fiddling with your nails and chewing on your lip. He sighs, shutting his eyes for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’m an asshole,” he agrees. “I-” he pauses, rubbing his fingers over his eyes in exasperation. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, somewhat muffled as he rubs his hand over his face.

Your eyes widen, blinking once, twice, three times at him. In your experience with him, he usually avoided apologies and thanks, as though they taste bitter on his tongue. Even now, he seems to be avoiding the subject as best as he can, muttering it behind his hand like the weight of the word is too much to bear.

“I didn’t get everything handed to me on a silver platter, you know.”

Sukuna stares out the window across the apartment. “Didn’t think ya did.”

“Then why did you say it?” You ask, tilting your head.

“‘Cause I was pissed, okay? I apologized already,” he grumbles, wanting to be done with this conversation. Everything about it makes his skin crawl between the way your brows are knit together and the hurt that glimmers in your eyes to the way you look so small and uncertain in front of him. God, the way his throat tightened when he saw his little brother asleep on top of you too, his hair stood on end in discomfort at the feeling.

He doesn’t know what to make of you and he hates that he pushed you away only to need you. To need your help. To embarrassingly need to call you three times and grovel for you to look after his brothers that only you know about because you just keep slithering your way into his life. He wants to blame it so badly on you being a pain in the ass, but you’re not. You’re kind. You’re kind and thoughtful and you’re only here because you’re a good person.

You’re still here even after he treated you as though you were replaceable, because you’re a better person than he could ever be.

Sukuna sighs loudly in exasperation, rubbing his temples. “Just… fuckin’ ignore me, okay? I was just taking shit out on you.”

“Like a dick.”

Sukuna lowers his hand from his face, staring at you with narrowed eyes. “Do you just really want me to say I was a dick?”

You tilt your head with a saccharine sweet smile. “Mhmm.”

“Does it really make that much of a fuckin’ difference?”

“I want to hear you say it.” Your tone has a teasing sort of charm to it that has him huffing and puffing in front of you.

“You gonna forgive me if I do?”

“I’ll think about it,” you grin back at him.

“Fuck, fine. Fine. I was a dick.”

You giggle as the burly man scowls at you, crossing his arms over his broad chest again. Once your laughter subsides, you offer a more sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry too, Sukuna. I shouldn’t have pushed you to begin with.”

His brow twitches as you apologize. He can’t in his right mind figure out why you think you would need to apologize for his outburst when really you weren’t all that pushy. The last thing he needs right now is to get stuck in this conversation that feels as though it’s physically bringing him pain for any longer than necessary, so he lets it go with a hum.

“Did the brats give you a hard time?”

You shake your head, relieved as the tension fades and Sukuna takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch, legs spread as he slumps into the cushions. “Yuji was crying when I got here, but he quieted down pretty quickly. Choso seemed a bit worried but he helped me cook and just wanted to watch movies,” you twist your body to face him as you speak.

He sighs, an elongated curse falling from his lips as he stares at the ceiling. “I owe ya. I already paid the sitter, but I’ll-”

“Don’t worry about it!”

He stares at you like you’ve grown another limb. “What? This shit took up your whole day.”

“I like spending time with them,” you insist with a shrug. “They remind me of simpler times.”

“What if you get sick?” At this point, Sukuna is reaching for something, anything, so that you’ll give in to him. But that’s just not who you are, is it? You’re selfless and kind, and you won’t accept anything he throws at you and that thought absolutely wrenches his gut. It twists in a type of discomfort that’s becoming entirely too familiar and he doesn’t know what to make of it.

“Then I get sick. Oh well,” you shrug again, shooting him that same sweet smile from earlier.

A muscle in his jaw tightens as he stares at you. “Are you always this much of a pain?”

You scoff humorously. “I don’t take your money and I’m a pain?” Your tone is teasing as you lean towards him.

“A pain,” Sukuna emphasizes the word as he stretches an arm along the sofa, his fingers draped along the back near your face. “That’s how shit like this is supposed to work. I pay you, you look after the brats.” He looks expectantly at you.

Your eyes soften as you realize just how different your views of the world are. Of course Sukuna wouldn’t expect someone to help them out of the goodness of their heart if it was just something he’d never experienced before. In his eyes, everything is transactional. You know he hates the idea of asking for help as well, so you can only assume that he would want to return the favor if it means it isn’t a plea for help. It’s an exchange of services. It makes it easier on his ego.

“Consider it a thank you for turning in the visual portion of our project on time,” you insist, trying to worm your way carefully between the thin line that separates this being help and this being an exchange.

“What?” He lifts a brow in disbelief, crimson irises narrowed as he observes you. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense. That’s my project, too.”

“Well-” you pause, staring down at your manicured nails. “I honestly just thought you hadn’t made it on time.”

His finger taps the back of the couch by your head. “What gave you the idea I just wouldn’t turn my own project in?”

“Well you didn’t show up to our second meeti-”

“Y’know what?” He flicks your forehead with a mischievous smirk, all thoughts of repaying you gone from his mind. “Forget I asked. Don’t answer that.”

You pout at him, bringing a hand up to rub your forehead although it didn’t hurt. “Dick.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whine about it,” he grumbles, but he’s smirking as he eyes you. You can’t help but giggle at his behavior, something about it comforting as Sukuna relaxes into the cushions. He mindlessly rolls his neck, leaning back as silence falls over you.

The sound of cars outside and the quiet dialogue from The Iron Giant is nothing but background noise as you bask in the comfortable air of the still apartment. Being around Sukuna feels almost nostalgic in a sense- sure you had only been apart for a week and a half, but after ‘getting over him,’ as Shoko put it, it almost feels like a warm hug.

It’s a shame it can never last as long as you’d like, as you catch a glimpse of the window and realize it’s dark. Afraid of intruding, you get to your feet and make your way to the door. “I should head out,” you tell him. His eyes follow you, though he gives no other indication of hearing your words. “Will I see you in class on Friday? We get our grade for the project.”

“Nah, not if the brat’s sick. Just email me our grade.”

Your lip twitches downward, and you can only pray Sukuna doesn’t notice. He gives no indication that he does, so you do your best to plaster a look of understanding on your face. “See you around?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t say anything more, still spread across the couch. He’s so tall and bulky that somehow the three-person couch looks too small for him, it may as well be a feat.

“Later, Kuna!” You trill in a sing-song voice as you make your way to the door.

“Night, Prom Queen,” he huffs, a humorous sneer to his tone.

–

Although he’s stuck at home with Yuji, Sukuna sends you a couple of emails updating you on him. The first one caught you off-guard but it warms your heart that he seems to want to talk to you beyond the project. Each email causes your chest to flutter a little more but you don’t entertain the thought that it’s anything more than physical attraction. There’s no point, really, when you can’t seem to go a single day without upsetting him in some manner.

Not that Shoko seems to agree with that sentiment.

“Hey!” She calls as you wait at your usual spot to make your way to the lunch hall.

“Hey, Sho!” You reply cheerily.

“So are we not best friends anymore, or…?” She asks, narrowing her eyes.

Incredulously, you blink at her. “What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t text me to tell me how last night went.”

“Oh, with Sukuna?”

With a deadpan stare, she sighs. “Girl, don’t act stupid.”

Harsh. “Sorry, it was pretty late when I got back, I would have otherwise!” You apologize with a wry smile. “It’s not all that interesting anyway. I just looked after the kids until he got back and then I went home.”

“You’re impossible. That’s obviously not what I’m asking about,” she groans, pushing you further as you beat around the bush of the situation. “You literally haven’t seen him in like a week and a half because he was such a prick, puh-lease tell me he apologized. You better not let him step on you.”

You sigh, giving in to her nosiness. “Yes, he apologized. I think it caused him physical pain,” you giggle to yourself.

“Good,” she snorts, “he deserves it for hurting you and he’s lucky I haven’t smacked him yet for breaking your heart.”

“He didn’t break my heart,” you roll your eyes as the two of you find your way to your usual table at the lunch hall.

Shoko takes her usual seat across from you. “No of course not, you were just sulking for fun.”

“I thought you were supposed to be my best friend?” You ask in an effort to derail the conversation as Haibara and Nanami take their seats beside you.

“That’s why I’m grilling you over that asshole in the first place,” she grins.

“That’s why you shouldn’t be giving me a hard time,” you counter but she just shoots you a sweet smile as Gojo and Geto arrive. Even she won’t subject you to their form of torture when it comes to teasing.

Nanami clearly catches on to what’s going on from where he sits beside you. Leaning over, he keeps his voice down as his observant mahogany eyes take in that you seem fairly bright today in comparison to the last few days.

“He apologized, yes?”

You nod.

“Good. Don’t be afraid to ask for my help, okay?”

“I’m fine, Ken, I promise,” you insist. Satisfied, he smiles and pulls out his lunch. You do the same, pulling out a container of fruit and a panini sandwich. For the first time in just under two weeks, you don’t feel a miserable wrench in your chest as you stare at the sandwich.

–

It’s no surprise when Friday rolls around and Sukuna doesn’t show up to class. Yuji is sick, and that’s his priority, as it should be. You feel a pang of disappointment but it’s heartwarming just how much he cares for his little brothers when he comes across as cold and indifferent a majority of the time. Even if he’s a bit rough around the edges, there’s a certain charm to the quiet and docile moments you’ve shared since working with him.

You can hardly sit still through the class as you await your grade, easily the most stressful part of projects worth this much. Your entire scholarship hinges on each of these massive projects and tests and you can’t risk the consequences of failing.

Ten minutes before the end of the lecture, just as the professor is about to go over the project, the door slowly inches open, and a tall and broad-shouldered student slips in with his hood up. The professor is used to it by now and doesn’t say a word. Rather than heading to his usual seat, the student quietly slips into the seat beside you, nudging you softly. He pulls down his hood and your eyes light up at the sight of your project partner.

“You made it!” You whisper, grinning up at him. Your stomach flutters as he smirks, setting his forearm on the back of your chair as he leans closer to you. Heat radiates from his body as his breath fans your neck, warming your skin despite the shiver that runs up your spine.

“You looked like a kicked puppy when I told ya I needed to stay home, so I pulled some strings.”

You tilt your head to look at him, feeling your breath hitch when you realize just how close he is to your ear. Your cheeks undeniably heat up as you force yourself to stare at the front of the class. “I didn’t look like a kicked puppy. I was just… hoping you could make it.”

“Yeah, well, can’t have the Prom Queen thinkin’ I don’t show up now, can I?”

Your cheeks are burning so hot you think your head might be spinning and it’s only when he finally leans back into his own chair that you realize you were holding your breath. Rubbing a hand over your face in an effort to cool your cheeks down, you cast a glance at Sukuna.

He’s manspreading right into your personal space, leaning back into his chair as he listens to the professor with a look of indifference. In a rare circumstance, he looks more well-rested than usual and seems fairly at ease. His leg isn’t subtly shaking and his eyes aren’t darting down to his watch as he debates when to leave for his next shift. For once, he isn’t Sukuna with two jobs, two dependants, and the world on his shoulders, he’s just a student.

Your heart aches at the realization that he’s so drained from the weight of the world that it’s only in rare moments like this one that you see more of the real Sukuna. A man who smirks and teases, who relaxes into his seat and simply lets life go on. He’s not always cold and tense, there’s a side to him that only those lucky enough to get close to him get to see and the worst part about this realization…

… is that you want to see more of it. Not out of the goodness of your heart and a want to do something nice for someone deserving, although that is a part of it, but for selfish reasons.

Fuck. Shoko is right. Shoko is right and you’re hopelessly crushing over the notoriously hot campus asshole.

You swallow hard, pulling your gaze forward as you realize you’ve been staring. Chewing on your lip, you hardly put together that the professor is passing out project grades until he stops in front of your seats. You blink a few times to reorient yourself.

“You two surprised me immensely as a pairing,” he begins. Although you weren’t paying attention, Sukuna is well aware of the fact that the professor had been dismissing other students as he passes out grades, opting to bring yours up last. He can only assume that means one thing and he’s already smirking. “Although I would prefer you keep the in-class chatter to a minimum-” he pauses to shoot a glance at Sukuna, who’s now huffing with a glance to the side as the smirk falls from his face, “-this is by far the best iteration of this project I’ve seen in all my years of teaching.”

Your jaw hangs ajar, eyes wide as you process his words. Sukuna’s smirking again, hardly seeming shocked.

“Your thesis is worded eloquently and explores the depths of the meanings of each painting, while your visual portion is stunning and displays an understanding of the importance behind each piece to the artist,” he explains. The cocky grin on Sukuna’s face doesn’t leave as he outstretches his arm onto your chair. “This is the first time I’ve ever given out a perfect score, and for that reason I’d like to have you both present your work in front of the class.”

You pale, shooting a fearful glance at Sukuna. He seems mildly irritated by the thought, but shrugs, returning your glance. “Whattaya say?” He asks, his calm facade faltering as he takes in your expression. Crimson irises flit between your eyes as you slowly shake your head.

“I don’t know,” you hesitate meekly, not loving the idea of standing before a lecture hall of students, under far too many pairs of watchful and judgmental eyes.

His gaze drops to the way you’re fidgeting with your fingers, just as you had when you were nervous a couple of nights ago as he puts together that this isn’t something you’re comfortable with. It’s not like that isn’t written across your face right now, but it’s abundantly clear to him through your actions that this isn’t just discomfort, you’re genuinely nervous.

“We’ll do it,” Sukuna says. Your head flips towards him, eyes wide in disbelief as he makes the decision for you.

Before you have a chance to protest, the professor claps his hands together. “Great. I’ll have you present at the end of class next Friday. You don’t have to prepare anything fancy but I will make sure you get extra credit for this.”

You have half a mind to wish he started by mentioning the extra credit portion, you certainly would have hesitated less, but it doesn’t change just how badly you don’t want to do this.

As the professor walks away, you whirl around to face Sukuna. “What the hell, Sukuna?” You whisper-yell, though there isn’t anyone in your vicinity.

He chuckles. “Pick your jaw up off the ground, you’ll be fine. I’ll be there the whole time with you, yeah? I can do as much of the talkin’ as you want.” He leans towards you, setting a hand on the table in front of you both. “‘Sides, you weren’t gonna say no to extra credit. We both know that.”

You chew on your lip, brows knit together as you stare down at your hands, mindlessly fiddling with your nails again. “I guess you’re right.”

The tattooed man lets the silence hang for a moment as he contemplates how shy you’ve suddenly become. You’re meek at times, but this is almost perplexing to him given how bold and saccharine you are towards him when he isn’t purposely pushing your buttons. “So let me get this straight, you were Prom Queen but you don’t like talkin’ in front of people?” Sukuna tilts his head in thought as he shifts to lean on his forearm, edging closer to you.

“That- That felt different,” you insist, leaning forward on your palm as if mirroring his actions. Your eyes trail away from him and Sukuna narrows his eyes.

“I don’t get how that shit’s any different. Aren’t there less people in this class?” He asks, bringing a hand up to scratch his chest. Your eyes flicker over to watch the movement, as though anything is more interesting than actually looking up at him.

“Well, yeah- but-” you pause, your leg now beginning to bounce. Clearly you’re bothered now, but Sukuna can’t wrap his head around what’s made you so shy suddenly- you who so boldly walked your way into his life. He knows people perceive him as scary at a glance, yet that never stopped you. Hell, you hang around Satoru Gojo of all people and Sukuna doesn’t get that either, finding his boisterous presence loud and irritating, but he’s fairly sure that makes you part of a group that would normally be considered popular.

So what in the hell are you so scared of? He doesn’t understand.

“But what?” He pushes, leaning closer to you.

You can feel his breath fanning your face again now that he’s leaning closer to you. It only serves as another distraction and you already can’t seem to find your words. “I- I don’t know, Sukuna!” You huff, pulling back a bit to cross your arms over your chest and put some distance between you.

Sukuna's face twists in confusion, frustration etching itself into his features. “C’mon, it’s easy extra credit. What’s got you so worked up?” He asks with a hint of a sneer as he grows impatient with your avoidance of the subject.

“You wouldn’t get it.” Your voice is firm and there’s a hint of ice forming at the edges of your words that surprises your project partner.

“Try me,” he grunts, leaning as far forward as he can without his chair tipping over.

Your hands move gradually from their position crossed over your chest to hug your frame as your expression turns from one of frustration to a more solemn one. “It’s because I was Prom Queen that I don’t like talking in front of people.”

“Hm?”

“It was a pretty big thing at my school, so some people were jealous, and others were pushy, it’s not like in the movies,” you shrug, as if that’s any sort of explanation in Sukuna’s eyes. Confusion dances across his narrowed red irises and you sigh, letting your guard down. “I don’t know, some girls got pretty jealous, and some people were a bit pushy trying to get my attention and it just ended up being an embarrassment. It was just a lot and I don’t love being in front of groups anymore,” you shrug.

Sukuna sits up straight, staring down at you with a scowl. “Aren’t they supposed to wanna be you or somethin’?” He asks with a frown.

“I mean, they did.”

He supposes you have a point, his observant stare taking in the way you shrink into yourself. “Well this ain’t high school and those assholes aren’t here. Don’t worry about it,” he shrugs in an attempt to reassure you. You finally meet his gaze again, a look of uncertainty painting your wide eyes. “No one is stupid enough to talk about ya like that with me beside you.”

A small smile pulls at your lips and Sukuna’s heart stumbles. He blinks a few times at the feeling in an effort to push it away, focusing instead on the way your eyes brighten. Fuck, that’s not helping him either. He coughs lightly into his elbow, rubbing a hand over his face as you smile shyly at him.

“Thanks, Sukuna. You’re kinda sweet sometimes, in your own way.”

He scowls. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles from deep within your chest at his scrunched nose and frown, but you don’t give him an answer, beginning to pack up your bags. Sukuna huffs when you begin to pack up, facing forward with his chin leaning on his palm.

“Hey, thanks for coming in to get our grade.”

He raises a brow. “I didn’t do it for you.”

You pause, gripping your textbook in your bag as you cast a glance at Sukuna. His usual aloof expression has returned, no indication of your prior teasing found on his face.

“What happened to emailing you our grade then?”

Sukuna’s eye twitches as he watches you, returning your stare. “It was a joke.”

Your lips quirk upwards. “Right, how could I forget? It was so funny,” you mock him, reveling in the way he’s on his feet the next moment, the chair scraping across the floor as he glares at you with all the irritation he can muster, that doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” He sneers, taking a step towards you. He towers over you, shoving his hands into his pockets as your cocky demeanor shifts, your eyes widening when he leans down until his face is mere inches from yours. Your breath hitches as he chuckles darkly when he gets the exact reaction he wants from you. “You were all talk two seconds ago, what happened?”

“I- um-” Getting your bearings, you shove his chest playfully. “You’re a dick,” you mumble.

Sukuna doesn’t move an inch when you shove him, a grin plastered across his face. “Thought we were done with callin’ me a dick,” he teases.

Rolling your eyes, you scoff. “Yeah, until you decided to be one again.”

Sukuna’s sharp pupils flicker between your eyes for a moment before he stands up straight. Your heart beats in your ears as you’re freed from the close proximity. “Yeah, whatever you say,” he chuckles, calmly smirking at you. He glances down at the watch on his wrist, letting out a breath of air. “I gotta get back home. Uraume only had an hour to watch the brats.”

Tilting your head, you blink up at him, a hand over your chest to slow your thundering heart. “How’s Yuji?”

Sukuna shrugs. “Better than Wednesday. He’s still got a fever, though.”

“I hope he feels better soon,” you say, hesitating as you take a chance. “Let me know if you need me to watch them.”

Sukuna’s expression is unreadable as he examines you, gears visibly turning in his mind. Without another word, he slings his backpack over his shoulder and throws his hood back up, pausing to look at you before he leaves.

Sighing, he pushes his hair from his forehead beneath his hood. “I swear this’ll be the last time. I got offered a shift Sunday.”

He doesn’t voice his question to watch the kids, it’s an unspoken question because he doesn’t want to ask. The question puts him in a position where he’s asking for help and he so badly wants that not to be what this is.

You smile softly. “I’m free on Sunday.”

Pulling his airpods from a case in his pocket and putting them in his ears, he grunts. “Come by mine Sunday at 8:30.”

You purse your lips. “At night, right?” You ask, your gaze following after the man as he casually descends the lecture hall to the door. “At night, right?” You ask, this time louder to get his attention over his music.

Sukuna heard you the first time, shooting you a sly smirk just before he leaves.

Well, fuck that.

–

With a backpack slung over your shoulder filled with textbooks and study materials, as well as your GameCube, you sigh as you click the buzzer button for Sukuna’s apartment. As you wait for one of the three siblings to let you in, you shiver at the chill air. It’s far too early for you to be awake on a Sunday and your body agrees as you find yourself yawning every few seconds.

Between the cool fall air and the early morning, you couldn’t be bothered to dress in your usual preppy style, opting for a cute deep red hoodie with hello kitty on it and a pair of leggings. It’s still cute, but it’s a contrast to your blouses, skirts and heels.

When the door loudly buzzes, you make your way inside with your hood up over your hair, yawning as you rub your tired eyes. Before you can even knock on the door, Sukuna opens it, leaving your fist stagnant in the air. You drop it by your side, staring up at him through your lashes.

Sukuna’s in his polo shirt that seems so out of place on him you would almost assume he was someone else. “Blue’s not your color,” you comment with a yawn. His amused smile at your tired expression twists in offense at your comment.

“Morning to you too, dick.”

You giggle at his teasing. “You got me up early, I’m allowed to be one.”

“Oh, my bad, you fuckin’ princess,” Sukuna scoffs, an air of playfulness surrounding his words that makes you giggle more. He opens the door to let you into the apartment, his gaze trailing your outfit. It’s not your usual attire but something about how different it is on you while still suiting you stirs something within him. The bigger hoodie draping over your body makes him wonder what his own clothes would-

What the fuck is he thinking? He shakes his head, shutting the door and glancing over to the hall where the pitter patter of small feet sounds. Yuji goes running up to Sukuna, a bundle of blankets wrapped around his tiny form. “Don’t go, big brother.” His voice is lower than usual, clearly still sick as he clings onto his brother’s leg.

Crimson eyes flicker down to the little bundle of blankets. “I’ll be back soon, Yu. Play some MarioKart or whatever.”

Yuji’s curious eyes search the room at the sound of MarioKart. You pull down your hood and wave as he spots you. His eyes widen and he gasps, running up and hugging your legs now. You grin down at him, ruffling his unkempt hair.

Sukuna scoffs. “See? You won’t even know I’m gone.”

“Come play with us!” Yuji insists at the sound of his brother’s comment, still clutching your knee as he turns to plead with his brother.

Sukuna’s hardened indifference cracks, something akin to guilt or sadness flickering in his eyes for a split-second. It’s such a short moment that you wonder if you imagined it. He sighs, crouching down in front of Yuji. Even crouching, he’s still monstrously tall and dwarfs his little brother. You suppose that’s what happens when you’re almost seven feet tall and made of solid muscle.

“Maybe later, kid.” He ruffles his hair just as you did moments ago and gets back to his feet. “I owe ya one,” he sighs, brow furrowed as he stares off to the side with a tight jaw.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask-” you pause, a mix of emotions flooding you as you contemplate dropping the question, but ultimately decide it’s worth it. “I could use a hand studying for history.” You chew on your lip. “You know, just if you have time, no big deal if you don’t!” You smile sheepishly.

Sukuna’s eyes flicker between yours, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, sure.” He turns away, trudging to the door. “Be back at 5:30,” he mumbles before he’s gone. You sigh at the sight of the shut and locked door, turning your groggy attention to Yuji, who coughs into his bundle of blankets at your feet.

It’s a miracle you aren’t sick already, and you hope that miracle stays with you again today.

You’re able to study while the boys play games throughout most of the day once Choso wakes up. They’re easy to look after and they add a certain brightness to your day that only they can, reminding you of just how simple life is when you don’t have three projects due and finals on the horizon.

There’s a weight in your chest at the thought of managing that workload alongside two jobs and two kids, something you find yourself pondering often, but if Sukuna won’t accept your help, then what more can you do? Sure, you’re helping him now, but you know he won’t let this go without repayment, which you would happily take in the form of a study buddy. While that’s likely less stressful for him than cash, it’s still another sliver of his already limited time taken up.

“I’m hungry,” Choso mumbles, looking at you as if he didn’t scarf down the lunch you made only a couple of hours ago.

A lopsided smile dons your face as you contemplate making dinner or letting him know to wait for Sukuna, but if he’s hungry, who are you to say no?

“What would you like?”

“Cereal!” Yuji excitedly calls from where he sits on the floor, stifling a cough when his voice cracks.

“That’s not dinner…” Choso mumbles, brow furrowing in thought as he looks at his younger brother, who’s been so picky while he’s been sick that most of their meals have been the same few things that he can stomach. “What about mac and cheese?”

Yuji takes a moment to think, before he decides this is acceptable and nods excitedly.

“I’m sure I can make that happen,” you agree, getting to your feet to peruse the kitchen that you’re growing more accustomed to. Yuji stays in the living room, the sounds of a terrified Luigi echoing throughout the apartment as Choso follows closely behind you. You’ve noticed over your time with Sukuna and his brothers that Choso seems to have a penchant for cooking and loves to help. It’s too cute and your heart swells each time he finds a way to lend a hand while you cook.

Plus, you get a helper, which means less work. It’s a win-win situation, really.

As you work your way through the kitchen, boiling water and letting Choso salt and stir the noodles before pouring them into a casserole dish, you sprinkle cheese between and over the noodles as you wait for the oven to eat up, explaining each step along the way for Sukuna’s brother. Stirring the cheese into the noodles along with some herbs and spices, you tilt your head at the dish.

It’s almost ready for the oven, but not quite.

“Do you have breadcrumbs?”

Choso stares up at the pantry shelves. “Uhh…” He pushes around a few boxes before shaking his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Do you have bread?”

“Yeah, but it’s old.”

“Old like mouldy or old like stale?” You ask with a thoughtful expression.

“Stale.”

“Perfect!”

Choso wrinkles his nose as he hands the loaf of bread to you. It’s in moments like these that his resemblance to his older brother really becomes apparent.

“I’ll show you how to make breadcrumbs,” you grin. Choso doesn’t seem to have a grasp on what you need breadcrumbs for when mac and cheese’s ingredients are literally listed in the name, but he still watches with intrigue anyway. You cut up the slices of bread into tiny pieces, throwing them in the oven until they’ve dried out, and then tossing them over the mac and cheese and placing the extra crumbs aside.

“Trust the process, Cho.”

He tilts his head curiously as you place the mac and cheese on a rack in the oven. “Trust the process?”

“It means… it may not make sense to you in the moment, maybe it’s messy or confusing, but the end result will be more than worth it.”

“Oh. Okay. Trust the process,” he parrots, before making his way back to the living room just as his brother is sucking up a ghost with a vacuum in Luigi’s Mansion.

While the meal bakes, you grab your history textbook again and get some more studying in. It doesn’t take long for the timer to go off and Choso comes running up with wide eyes to stare at the prepared meal. Yuji follows slowly in his bundle of blankets, happily taking a bowl as you warn them both it’s hot.

“So?”

With a mouth full of macaroni, Choso smiles. “Trust the process,” comes his muffled happiness. The boys chow down on what you assume will be their dinner given that Sukuna should be home soon, and Choso returns to help you clean up.

He grabs a ziploc bag to place the extra breadcrumbs in, holding it open for you. Just as you’re pouring the food into the bag, the front door swings open and you jolt in surprise, causing bread crumbs to go flying.

Sukuna drops his keys on the table by the door, his eyes scanning the room as he spots Yuji before his aloof expression crumbles when he arches a brow at the absolute mess that his kitchen is. Your cheeks heat up as you and Choso stare at him with guilty expressions.

Really, you should be blaming Sukuna for scaring you.

“I’m not fuckin’ cleaning that,” he grumbles, walking slowly over the mess of cables in the living room as he pulls his shirt up over his head in the most ungodly slutty way you could possibly imagine and you can’t bring yourself to tear your eyes from the sight of his toned back.

Of course, you always knew Sukuna was muscular, but seeing it first hand makes it hard to shake the image from your mind. He could be hung on the wall of a museum, his muscles are so sculpted, rippling with every movement and decorated in tattoos that suit him so well he could be an actual god and you wouldn’t even bat an eye.

Choso pulls you from your thoughts as they border on inappropriate, by tugging at your sleeve.

“We should clean.”

“Right!” You squeak, shaking the image of shirtless Sukuna as best as you can from your mind as you stare at the scattered mess.

“Okay let’s… start with the counter.”

It doesn’t take too long to clean up the mess and there’s still enough bread crumbs left over for Sukuna to make something if he wanted, so it could have gone over worse.

Speak of the devil, he rounds the corner wearing a black muscle shirt with a metal band logo you don’t recognize scrawled across the front and sleeves cut so deep it hardly counts as a shirt, like he’s showing off or something. You don’t even want to begin to think about the fact that he’s wearing grey sweatpants as well like some sort of tease who probably just threw on the first thing he saw and it didn’t even cross his mind how stupidly hot he is.

You avert your eyes, attempting to keep your cheeks from heating up any more than they already have. Sukuna crosses the living room to the kitchen in a few long strides, peering at the floor in search of crumbs.

“The fuck even happened over here?”

“You scared me when you opened the door,” you mumble, leaning back against the kitchen counter where your textbook is resting.

“So you threw shit everywhere?”

Your brow furrows at his accusation. “I just fumbled a bit and spilled what was on the pan.”

“Mm.” Sukuna’s gaze scans the kitchen until he finds the macaroni and cheese casserole sitting just behind your textbook. With a hint of a smirk, he takes a step forward, so close to you that his body heat warms your skin, his abs and chest just barely brushing against the plush of your breasts as he dips his finger into the dish.

Pulling his arm back, he slyly locks eyes with you, not bothering to take a step back even as you press your spine into the counter. He slips his finger between his lips, sucking the cheese from it with a pop!

Your eyes are wide as you look up at him, caught between him and the hard countertop behind you like a deer in the headlights, frozen. If you move even an inch, he’ll be pressed up against you, and- don’t let your thoughts spiral again.

Sukuna smirks, lidded eyes smug as though he’s got you just where he wants you, amused to pull such a reaction from you. He’s become increasingly aware of the effect he has on you and everything he’s been doing has absolutely been on purpose, even if you don’t know it. He’s making a show out of his muscles, getting close to you, sucking on his finger, all to get a rise out of you.

He’s not sure he understands it himself, but he loves your little reactions. He loves the way your eyes widen, your breath hitches, and your muscles tense as though you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t. He’s sure it all boils down to lust, but he’ll make the most of it while he has you here.

He clicks his tongue after a thoughtful moment. “Not bad. The breadcrumbs are a nice touch.”

“T-Thanks,” you stammer quietly. Sukuna chuckles lowly as he finally gives you space, turning to open the fridge and grab a protein drink. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, bringing a hand up to slow your pounding heart.

“You stickin’ around to study?”

“I- um-” you pause, clearing your throat in an effort to calm your flustered state. “If you have time, that would be great. I mean, I’d appreciate it.”

“Sure. The brats are quiet while you’re around.” He brings the protein drink up to his lips, downing it in one go and tossing the bottle into a bucket in the corner of the room as though he’s done it a thousand times.

With the boys distracted by the GameCube, Sukuna sits down at the table in the back of his apartment with you and a bowl of macaroni and cheese. Scooting his chair closer to you, his eyes scan the page you’re on.

“Is this for History 209?” He asks, briefly flipping to the textbook cover.

You nod.

“Mm.”

Sukuna briefly scans the upcoming pages before diving into explanations of the textbook, from memory. He clearly has a fondness for history that seems to come naturally to him as he explains anything you ask questions on without needing to even glance at the textbook. It’s like second nature to him.

“What years did the cold war take place?” He quizzes without so much as glancing up at you as he flips through the textbook pages without reading at all as though it’s a picture book.

“Uh-” You stare up at the ceiling. “1952 to 89?”

“47 to 89. Tell me about the Cuban Missile Crisis.”

“Um- Cuba felt like the US was about to invade, so they asked the Soviet Union to install missiles in-”

“Who asked?”

“Cuba?”

Sukuna glances up at you, his expression unimpressed. “No shit. What leader?”

“Oh. Castro.”

Hours pass by and you hardly even notice until your eyes begin to grow heavy and your yawning sets in. Sukuna gradually begins leaning further on his knuckles over the table, launching question after question at you without even a lick of help from the textbook. It would almost be impressive, if you didn’t already know how smart Sukuna is.

“How did the modern revolution affect the environment?”

You chew on your lip, the last bit of energy you were working with fizzling out suddenly as you’re left staring blankly at the table, completely burnt out.

Sukuna’s been only half paying attention for the past few minutes, growing equally as worn out and unable to focus as you are, though he hasn’t noticed just how spent you are given his inattention. It’s not until you don’t respond that his attention snaps to you, staring off into space.

He glances over your features, eyes dropping to your oversized hoodie. His thoughts stray to places they shouldn’t be again, so he wills himself to look back at your eyes, but the way you’re chewing on your lip-

It’s then that he realizes how close you are. Over the course of the past couple of hours, Sukuna has leaned further forward in his chair and you’ve scooted closer in an effort to look at the pages of your textbook while he explains. It’s weird, the way the close proximity seems to draw him in, as though he belongs in your space, but he knows better. He knows you exist in different worlds.

Still, as you space out further, a piece of your hair falls out of place, blocking the blank and tired expression on your face, and Sukuna doesn’t even have a moment to process his actions before he moves. It’s almost delicate, the way he slowly moves the hand he isn’t leaning on to tenderly brush the strand of hair behind your ear.

His action draws your attention, and along with it a steady heat that rises to your cheeks, reaching your ears and down to your neck. Sukuna doesn’t even seem phased by what he’s done, as if it’s completely natural and something the two of you just do. As though he isn’t pushing the balance of your strange friendship, if it could even be called that.

You lick your lip as you will your thoughts to stop bouncing all over the place, trying not to read too much into his actions, but it’s hard not to when his pupils dart down to follow your tongue as it swipes your lower lip. His pupils grow suddenly, and you don’t know how not to read into that, and now your thoughts are spiraling, and you’re wondering if all of Sukuna’s actions today are premeditated or-

As if Sukuna’s only just become aware of what he’s doing, he clears his throat and sits back. His pupils shrink and he crosses his arms over his chest, placing distance between you.

“You should head home before it’s too dark.”

In the endless sea of your thoughts, all you can do is nod. Snapping yourself back to reality, you begin packing your bag and make your way out to the living room where the two boys are excitedly playing an old copy of the board game Operation after Sukuna had told them no more video games, much to their dismay.

You smile at the sight of poor bundled up little Yuji and his older brother, who clearly cares a great deal for the little salmon-haired boy. The three of them are a sweet little family. Sukuna has a funny way of showing it sometimes but he clearly adores the two boys, or he wouldn’t be doing everything that he is.

At the end of the day, he could have left them to their own devices, thrown them into the fostering system. He could have used legal means to shove them into a relative’s care. He could have done a lot of things, but you can see the way he adores them. The way he loves them so deeply and genuinely that he can’t bear the thought of seeing them thrown to the wolves like that. He’s put a great deal of his life on hold and put his health, both mental and physical, on the line to see the two boys thrive, and it fills your heart with joy.

“You know, I could just leave the GameCu-”

“No.” Sukuna gets to his feet, standing a few feet away.

Yuji and Choso’s heads simultaneously whip around as though they’ve heard the biggest betrayal of their entire lives.

At five and twelve, they very well may have.

“Awwww!”

“Pleaaase, Kuna!”

“No, that’s final.”

You shoot Sukuna an easy smile, giggling to yourself at the sight of his scowl and frustrated huff.

“Don’t get ideas into their heads,” he grumbles at you, brushing past you as you clean up the GameCube and stuff the games into your bag. He grabs some more medication for Yuji, who doesn’t complain as he swallows it with a miserable frown at the bitter taste.

You wait at the door with your bag packed as Sukuna moves around the apartment, putting the medication away before he joins you at the door.

“Thank you so much for your help with studying, Kuna,” you say as you twist the handle and make your way out the door, turning to face him just outside his apartment. He leans on the doorframe, shutting the door slightly behind him and blocking the boys’ vision of you to give you both some privacy. He’s grimacing at the nickname, but he doesn’t complain.

“It’s whatever. Just paying you back for lookin’ after the brats.”

Your lips quirk up into a smile. Of course that’s all it is. “Email me if you need me to look after them while Yuji’s still sick.”

A puff of air escapes Sukuna’s nose in a makeshift laugh. “This your excuse to have more time to study?”

You have to resist the urge  to roll your eyes at the way he so obviously is denying that he’s getting help from you. “Yeah. Yeah, it is,” you agree.

He smirks, nodding. “Tuesday at three.”

“Better be in the afternoon this time,” you tease.

“God forbid I take a night shift,” he scoffs, turning to shut the door. He pauses for a split second, turning back to you. You almost think he’s about to thank you, but either you read the situation wrong or he second-guesses himself because- “You better remember who Allen Dulles is on Tuesday.”

Your face contorts as he references the cold war and chuckles at your expression before closing the door.

Dick.

–

Friday comes sooner than you can possibly imagine as you find yourself spending late nights studying with Sukuna after looking after Yuji and Choso. Yuji returned to school on Thursday and Choso on Monday, so you’d gotten into the habit of picking up Choso from school and going back to watch them play games while you studied or worked on projects.

You couldn’t know whether Sukuna would still need help now that Yuji was feeling better, but that was the least of your concerns, because it’s Friday.

And you’ve been dreading this Friday in particular. Worse still, it felt like the world was against you all day too.

You woke up to the first snow of the season, opting to dress in a cute, white knit sweater that was fairly warm, as well as some beige leggings- not to mention all your winter gear.

And that was only the tip of the iceberg, you had to redo your eyeliner after somehow messing it up not once but twice, and then you managed to step in a puddle of mud and get your usual winter boots completely covered in dirt.

With your clean high heeled boots adorning your feet, you make your way to the school and quickly fall into step with Nanami who shares your first class of the day. He’s bundled up warmly in a long coat, a grey scarf accenting his coat. His sharp eyes turn to you as you join him, softening at the sight of you.

“Good morning,” he greets you, a kind smile pulling at his features.

You return his smile half-heartedly, giving him a brief wave. “Hey, Kento. How’re you feeling about finals?”

He hums thoughtfully. “Prepared,” he decides after a moment. “Though I don’t believe there’s such a thing as too much studying.”

“Yeah… I get that,” you agree, watching the snow condense beneath your feet with each step. Comfortable silence falls over you as the crunching of snow and the sounds of passing students fills the air. The warmth of your breath surrounds you as you mindlessly stare at the sparkling coat of flakes across the ground.

After a few moments, Nanami hums again, interrupting the silence and pulling your attention back to him. His gaze flickers between your face and your hands.

“Are you alright?”

“Hm? Yeah, why?”

Again, his watchful eyes flicker down to your hands. “You’ve been zipping up and unzipping your jacket since we began walking.”

You purse your lips, finally following his gaze down to your jacket which must have been making a grating zipping noise the whole time that you hadn’t even noticed with how caught up in your thoughts you were.

“Sorry Kento,” you sigh, shaking your head. “Just a bit nervous.”

His head tilts. “What are you nervous about?”

“I have to make a presentation in Art History at the end of the day. No one else in class is presenting.” With a sheepish smile, you proceed to subconsciously begin playing with your zipper again, too caught up in your thoughts to realize you’re doing it.

“I see. Is that what Sukuna was working on this morning?”

“You have a class with him?”

“Yes. He’s in my Accounting class early on Tuesdays and Fridays,” Nanami explains, subtly watching the way you’re messing with your zipper again, though he keeps his mouth shut.

“Oh. He was working on things this morning?”

“I believe so. It didn’t seem like he was paying attention,” Nanami shrugs. “I assumed he was working on something else.”

You let out a breath. “That’s kind of a relief, honestly.”

Arching a brow, Nanami hums questioningly.

“I still don’t like public speaking,” you quietly mumble, zipping your jacket up fully and burying your face into the fabric as your cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

“Hm. I see,” the blonde hums, having been there during your Prom alongside Haibara. He’s well aware of the fallout that came with being named Prom Queen. “Well, you’ll have Sukuna with you, and I highly doubt anyone would comment with Sukuna at your side.”

“Scary dog privilege,” you agree.

“Sorry?” Kento’s brow furrows in confusion, leaving you giggling.

“Don’t worry about it.”

With a shake of his head, Kento opens the door to your next lecture and puts his focus into his notes as usual. You do your best to follow suit, but if your bouncing leg is any indicator, your focus isn’t long for this world and Nanami knows he’s in for a long study session in the coming week.

–

You did debate just not showing up, but if Sukuna was working on the presentation at an early morning class, you don’t have the heart to not show up at least for him. Still, your nerves are frayed at the seams in downright unease at the thought of being the only group to present your project.

The concept of being one of the only two people at the center of everyone’s attention all for being named the ‘best’ at something brings back too many memories for you to care to admit. Taking a deep breath, you do your best to keep your eyes on the prize: the extra credit.

Sukuna was right when he said you wouldn’t turn down extra credit. You would definitely think about turning it down when it came at the cost of your dignity and sanity, but with Sukuna at your side, you think you just might be alright.

At the end of the day, you know you need to keep your grades up if you want to keep your scholarship, and more importantly your parents happy, so with a deep breath, you focus on the class to the best of your ability, pushing aside your mess of anxiety and worries.

That is, until you glance back at Sukuna’s usual seat, only to find it empty and your heart damn near stops. Your eyes widen and in the least subtle way possible, you whip your head around the class in search of him. He has to be here. He promised to handle all the talking, you aren’t prepared, you… You can’t do this alone. Surely the professor will understand that too, right?

“Before I dismiss you all, I’d like to have a couple of exemplary students come up to present the Meaning in Art project I had you all submit a couple of weeks back.”

Your heart is thundering, your breathing growing shallow as panic sets in.

“These students displayed an impeccable understanding of the art and artists they chose to study, demonstrating this understanding through both their written and visual pieces.”

Your mouth is dry, your throat tight. Where the fuck is he? He wouldn’t throw you to the wolves like this, would he? You didn’t prepare anything, you were relying on him.

“With that being said, I’d like to invite these students up to the front of the class to give a short breakdown of their project.” Your name follows this statement, along with Sukuna’s, and the class goes silent.

Your hands are trembling as you stare in dismay at the desk sitting at the front of the room where Sukuna’s art is sitting, alongside your written thesis. You swallow hard, forcing down your nerves as all eyes fall to you.

On shaky legs, you slowly make your way down to the front of the class, quietly making your way up to the professor. “I- um-” you take a breath in an effort to calm your nerves. “Can we present next week instead? Sukuna- um- isn’t here,” you quietly whisper.

“Finals are in two weeks. This is the last class for this semester.”

Fuck.

“Right. Sorry, yeah. That’s fine,” you whisper, chewing on your lip as you turn to face the class. Dozens of pairs of judgmental eyes stare back at you and if the ground opened up and swallowed you whole, never to be seen again, it would be a better fate than what you were about to do. Alone. 

“Um-” You mumble, clearing your throat as you pick up the printed thesis you wrote together with Sukuna. Surely he would walk through the door in just a few seconds, right? He would show up for you just like you did for him when Yuji was sick, right? This has to be a cruel prank.

“Speak up, please.” Your professor’s voice pulls you from the delusion that Sukuna was ever going to show up. The delusion that Sukuna ever cared.

Fuck, you just admitted to yourself that you like Sukuna.

You just came to terms with the fact that your attraction to him is more than just physical.

You’ve spent weeks defending him, even when he was a dick, but this really takes the cake.

Your chest tightens as you realize just how much he’s let you down. You want to cry, it’s a fight against your own body not to show just how nervous you are.

“For our-” You pause, staring down at the page with your name scrawled alongside Sukuna’s and a perfect score circled in red. “For my project,” you begin, taking a deep breath in an effort to push down the swirling anger, disappointment, and anxiety all threatening to suffocate you.

You launch into an explanation on the three pieces you and Sukuna had chosen, summarizing your thesis while fighting the tremble in your voice, putting every last ounce of effort you can into masking how nervous you are and avoiding the stares of your classmates.

Picking up the art Sukuna drew is when the last shreds of your dignity fall apart and tears prick in your eyes. Your voice wavers and you know everyone can tell. You can hear the whispers, the quiet giggles. You don’t know whether it’s directed at you or if they’re even paying attention to you at all, but each and every noise seems to drag you one inch closer to your own personal hell and you shrink into yourself as you attempt to explain Sukuna’s art.

Alone.

You can’t even say for sure if your words made sense towards the end of your presentation, the whole thing a blur behind tear-filled eyes and the ringing of anxiety in your ears. The only thing you do hear is your professor dismissing you. You don’t even grab your bag and you leave your project on the table, you just need out. You need air.

Your feet carry you out the door, your eyes trained on the ground as you do your best not to collide with anyone as you run for the doors. You don’t hear someone call your name in confusion and you don’t see them chase after you. So focused on fresh air, you forget how cold it is as the freezing air shocks your skin and chills your lungs.

Finding a spot beside the door outside, away from prying eyes and out of the way, you wrap your arms around yourself and wipe your tears, taking deep breaths to slow your racing heart.

“There you are. What happened?”

You blink a couple of times, trying to wipe any evidence of your tears as you lock eyes with familiar mahogany ones.

“Ken?” You barely manage to whisper his name, your breath stolen from your lungs by the anxiety rocking your body.

“What happened?” He pushes again, eyes traveling down to your trembling hands. He can’t tell whether that’s from the cold or your nerves, but like the gentleman he is, he pulls his coat off and throws it over your shoulders, zipping it up over your arms in an effort to keep you from freezing.

“He didn’t show up.”

Nanami’s lips press into a thin line, taking in your expression. You’re barely keeping it together, though the freezing air flooding your lungs is keeping your mind distracted.

With a sigh, Kento sets a hand on your shoulder. “Come back inside. Let’s get your coat.”

Slowly coming back down from your panicked state as his hand on your shoulder grounds you, you pause for a moment to take in the blonde in front of you. He’s in just a knit sweater and slacks, visibly shaking from the cold air now that you’re wrapped in his jacket.

“Shit, sorry Kento,” you mumble, letting him guide you back inside and to your lecture hall, where he takes his coat back and grabs your bags for you to avoid any prying eyes. Handing you your coat, followed by the bag he’s packed up for you, he sighs and leads the way to a secluded area of the History and Science building of the college. You don’t say a word as he sits you down on a bench.

“Are you alright?”

You nod.

“Are you lying?”

Your mouth opens to say no, but one glance at his sharp gaze tells you he sees right through you. “Were you outside my class?”

“Mhm. I wanted to make sure things went well.”

“That’s… Really kind, Nanamin. Thank you.”

He hums quietly, leaning back against the wall behind the bench. Someone walks past mumbling something to themself about failing a test, but it’s otherwise silent in the halls.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better. People were laughing.” You chew on your lip, rubbing your hands over your face.

“I’m certain they weren’t. Students laugh throughout class constantly, they likely weren’t paying attention,” he points out.

You know he has a point, but it doesn’t make the situation any less frustrating and disappointing.

“I don’t know what hurts more,” you say quietly, more to yourself than to Kento, “that he promised he’d be there with me and wasn’t, or having to relive that stupid moment in high school all over again.”

Your friend grimaces. “Yes, I can imagine that wasn’t pleasant. I’m sorry.” It’s about all he can offer in the moment, but mentally he’s thinking of mentioning what happened to Gojo and Geto and watching the drama that unfolds. The white haired frat boy would relish in the idea of having an actual reason to have beef with Sukuna.

“Why don’t we go grab something to eat?” Nanami suggests in an effort to get your mind off of your horrifying presentation and, more importantly, the man that’s managed to break your heart twice now.

“I’m okay. I think I just want to go home.”

“I would prefer if you weren’t alone,” Nanami protests.

“We just ate, though.”

“We can grab dessert, then. My treat,” he insists.

Silence follows as you look up at Nanami, finding comfort in the concern swirling in those deep mahogany irises. “Fine,” you sigh, relenting finally.

With a sympathetic smile, he gets to his feet and offers you his hand, helping you get to your feet as he leads the way back out into the cold with one goal in mind.

Keep your mind off of Sukuna.

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❦ a/n ; sorry for the delay on this one!! i had a work conference all last week but had a ton of fun writing this when i got back, so i hope you all enjoyed it <3 as always, likes, reblogs, and comments are super appreciated <3

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[hattiewritesalot]

Awake

Azriel x fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel is undeniably furious, especially considering the fact that Y/N has yet to wake up. But, when she does, what will become of their relationship?

Warnings: Vomiting, mentions of Az wanting to kill people for his bbg, very fluffy. Bit of hurt/comfort for both Azriel and Y/N

A/N: Here is part two of Poison (which, btw, thank u for all the support I've been getting on it 😭). feel free to send in requests for acotar bc I'm bored<3

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

Azriel doesn’t think he’s ever been angrier in his entire life.

He’s supposed to stay calm and collected, every inch the mysterious spymaster, but not even the strongest sedative could settle the rage brewing in his chest. His shadows curl menacingly around his limbs, the black essence seeming to share his fury.

Rhysand sighs, rubbing his temples. Feyre stands behind him, probably to offer some form of comfort. They both adore Y/N. They’ve practically adopted her with how much they coddle and coo at her, despite her loud laughter and complaints whenever they do.

Cauldron, what Azriel wouldn't do to hear that laugh right now. 

It’s been three days. Y/N is not awake. His mate is not awake.

Rhysand finally looks up at Azriel. “We’ve got answers, at least.” Before Azriel can interrupt, he keeps talking. “Beron has admitted to poisoning Y/N. He figured that if he targeted her, we’d crumble. Not because she’s the strongest, but because she’s the most… beloved, daresay. He didn’t think we’d hit back, and he thought he’d be able to crush us with this crack in our defences.”

Azriel’s scarred knuckles are alabaster from how hard he’s gripping the arms of his chair. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would he just admit it?” The High Lord of Night takes a deep breath.

“He found it funny.” The noise that tears from Azriel’s throat is completely inhumane, and completely unlike him. He storms to the door, but Cassian’s strong arms hold him back, urging him to stay calm, urging him to breathe. He can’t. He’s gone past being angry, and he’s gone past blaming it on the new mating bond.

Y/N is his best friend. He’d die and kill for her, he’d steal the moon and stars if it meant she’d be happy. The Mother’s bond can go and fuck itself, because the one he’s already got with Y/N will always be stronger.

“I’ve arranged a meeting with Eris Vanserra.” Rhys’ firm voice cuts through the haze of rage. “He says he has plans, and that this event has solidified his desires. I may be unable to tell you what comes of the meeting, but I guarantee that Beron will suffer for what he did to Y/N.”

Mate. Awake. He almost doesn’t realise what his shadows are whispering to him. Awake. Eyes open. Vomit. GO. He chokes, and desperately tries to break free of Cassian's grip. He needs to see her. He needs her to be okay. “Az, Rhys just said-”

“I know what he just said!” Azriel hates the way his voice is more of a sob. “She’s awake- she’s- please, let me go to her!”

A shadowsinger shouldn’t beg. He shouldn’t grovel. He should attack.

But he doesn’t, because he knows that Y/N is far more important than any conflict he could have with Cassian right now.

And, besides, Cassian lets him go. He’s never run so fast in his life. His feet are barely on the ground, legs and shadows and wings working in tandem to get him there as soon as possible. He thinks he might be the one vomiting in a minute.

Rhys groans. “I know they’re close, but he’s going to drive me insane before I even have this meeting.”

But Feyre, ever the observant High Lady, stares at his retreating form, hand squeezing Rhys’ shoulder. “Give him time. I’m sure he’ll cool off, when he knows she’s safe.” A small smile quirks up at the corners of her lips, knowing exactly why Azriel is so worked up.

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

His chest heaves as he pushes the door open, but then it’s filled with warmth. Alive. She’s alive, and upright, and very visibly pissed off but it’s okay because she’s alive.

“The one time I drink something that isn’t champagne-” she croaks out. “-and it turns out to be fucking poisoned. If that’s not my luck I don’t know what is.”

Azriel can’t control the desperate sob that bursts from his lips as he clambers onto the bed, pulling her into his chest. She’s sweaty, and feverish, and she’s just puked into the bucket next to the bed, but he’ll be damned if he cares. She’s alive. He buries his face in her hair, arms and wings squeezing her so tightly it makes her squeak.

“Alright big guy, I’ve just been sick, let’s not try and go for round two.” Her tone is teasing, joking, but the moment he pulls away, her face falls. “Az…” she murmurs, moving her fingers up to wipe his tears. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” he spits, sobbing again. “What’s wrong!? You were fucking poisoned! You’ve been puking and coughing and writhing and screaming ever since you got here, and you’ve been out for three days. Three whole days- where- I didn’t know if you were dead, I didn’t know if you-”

“Az.” her tone is a bit firmer now, thumbs pressing against his lips. “I’m okay. I’m gonna be okay. I’m here, I’m breathing, and I’m going to be fine. Breathe.” 

He heaves a deep breath, clutching her so tightly his fingers make indents on her skin. If she notices, she doesn’t care. “You’re… okay.”

“I’m okay.” She smiles. Her lips are cracked and slightly discoloured, but he’s missed her little smile so fucking much. “Come on, Az, you know me. Tough as nails.” She flexes her arms, and Azriel snorts.

“There’s nothing there. You should really stop skipping training.” “No! You’re always a dick to me in training!”

“Yes, because Cassian’s about as mean as a wet sponge, and it isn’t potty training, it’s battle tactics.” She scoffs. “Whatever, whatever.” And he grins, and hugs her again, trying to engrave the memory of her wrapped up in his arms into his brain, just to keep there forever. “Azriel?” He hums in response. “I- so, you know a couple days back? When... this... happened, and I was just about to fall asleep?” She swallows. “I think I felt something… snap.”

His heart pounds in his chest. “The bond? You felt it too?”

“Uh- yeah.” She looks up at him, big eyes blinking up at him like a doe, her face so sweet he wants to coo. “Are you disappointed? That it’s me?”

That makes Azriel frown. How could he be disappointed? She’s everything and more, anyone can see that. Even if he pushes aside the fact that she’s drop-dead gorgeous, she’s got a brain to match it. She’s quick and clever and sassy in a way that rivals even his own spunk. If anything, she should be the disappointed one.

“No.” he says, brows furrowing. “Y/N, sweetheart, you mean the world to me. How could I be disappointed?” He wants to catch all of the butterflies in his stomach and lock them away forever, because they're making him woozy. “Are- are you?”

“Am I?” her tone is confused, almost shocked. “Az- Az, I’ve been into you for, like, forever. I’m not disappointed. I could never be disappointed, not with you.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, blinking, suddenly coming to terms with the fact that this bond has, for lack of better wording, startled them. They’ve always prioritised everyone else over them, always considered others' needs and benefits above their own, but they’ve never had the chance to fully acknowledge themselves. Maybe that’s what made them so alike. Maybe that’s why the Mother paired them together, knowing that amidst the sarcastic comments and teasing touches, the sturdy roots of their relationship came from their unwavering trust and care for one another.

Azriel’s hand moves to Y/N’s clammy forehead, softly pushing the hair away from her face. Despite everything that’s happened in the last few days, she’s still her, and he’s still him. Nothing is ever going to change that.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispers. She rolls her eyes. “I’ve got a raging fever, I’m drenched in my own sweat, I just threw up and you’re calling me beautiful?”

He laughs, oh, by the Cauldron, he laughs. “You could be a corpse and you’d still be the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“That’s necrophilia, Az. Pretty sure that’s illegal.”

“You’re hilarious, sweetheart.”

“Is that why you fell in love with me?”

“Okay, who’s saying I’m in love with you?”

“Me.” and she grins, nudging her nose against his. “Because I am not only hilarious, but also very observant.” He lets out a little hum in response, scarred fingers still twisting in her hair. Everything’s perfect, because they’re not. Their imperfections are intertwined, just like their souls, and the knowledge the other will always be there to love them is all they've ever wanted.

Azriel’s eyes flit down to her lips, and then he’s leaning in, and she’s doing the same, and-

She pulls away, wincing. “I puked about five minutes ago. I don’t think you want to kiss me right now.”

He rolls his eyes, tipping her chin up. “Y/N L/N, I have waited at least two centuries for the opportunity to kiss you. Don’t stop me now.” And he presses his lips to hers. It’s gentle, soft, sweet. Everything he feels around this girl.

“You’re gross.” She mumbles.

“That’s what love does to you.” 

“And you’re a sap.” She grins. “I suppose you’re lucky I love you, even if you are going soft for me.”

“Shut up, sweetheart.”

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

@topaz125 @starryhiraeth @nahminae @quiettuba @thecraziestcrayon @honeywithemoney @marvelsmylife @sunny1616 @lilah-asteria @emryb @i-am-infinite @st4r-girl-official

my loves ty for ur support! :)

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Its For the Mission

You had to go undercover for a mission. The mission? Seduce the target to get information out of them. Your target is incredibly weak to a pretty face and a little charm. A/N: The boys know why you're going undercover and what you have to do. [Requested by: 17kurodaayumu]

‼️TW‼️: sensitive topics; forced proximity w/ unwanted touching, hints of sexual harassment & assault

"It's for the mission. It's for the mission." You whispered to yourself with a nod. Here you were in the hotel room of who the Hunter's Association suspects may be the head of an organization that has been strategically causing dangerous outbreaks across the country. It didn't take much convincing for you to agree to being bait. However, you didn't expect to end up in your targets hotel room ..... alone.

They were more than willing to tell you everything while you laid on the charm thick, perhaps too thick. They constantly trailed their hand up and down your thigh inching closer and closer to your forbidden fruit. You'd slightly adjust your legs to keep their hand at bay, but it never lasted long. Their hands trailed all over your body leaving a slimy feeling on your skin. You choked back bile as they laid sloppy kisses on your neck.

They mumbled every detail to their plans as if drunk off your body. There it was, you had finally gotten all the information you needed out of them to make an airtight case. Before their hand could sweep up your thigh again you twisted their wrist, side stepping to slam them to the ground and called in your backup. Your team rushed in as you stumbled out of the room vomiting until you were dry heaving into a trashcan you snagged from the bathroom.

Zayne

Zayne waited outside the hotel to pick you up once you sent him a text that the job was done. "How did it go?" He asked, shrugging off his overcoat to drape over your shoulders. "It went....." Your voice trailed off as you recounted the events in your head. "Let's go."

The car ride was silent save for the low radio filling the space. You barely let Zayne put the car in park before you flung the door open and beelined straight for the bathroom. You practically ripped your clothes off leaving a trail from the front door to the bathroom.

Zayne leisurely trailed behind, locking the door, closing the blinds, and picking up your discarded clothes. He found you already in the shower, steam fogging up the glass door and mirror. He could see you viciously scrubbing your body as if you were trying to remove it all together.

Something was very wrong, Zayne opened the shower door to find you distraught and shaking. As you stood there with tears running down your face Zayne grabbed your wrist halting your movements. Your tearful gaze snapped up meeting his concerned eyes and furrowed brows. "Are you trying to hurt yourself?"

You shook your head as if trying to throw the memory out. "I have to get it off ... I need their touch off me ..." You'd rubbed your neck raw, a single drop of blood ran down your neck mixing with the water. "Let me help" Zayne whispered as he took the African net sponge from your hand and stepped into the shower still dressed in his button up and dress pants. "Zayne....your clothes...."

"This is not about me" You stood there silent as Zayne gently scrubbed your body working meticulously around your raw neck; that was going to need first aid. He held the shower-head to you body and rinsed the soap off while rubbing small circles with his thumb where the soap washed away.

Zayne stepped out first, leaving you under the cascade of warm water as he shed his wet clothes, quickly drying off and throwing a robe on and coming back to towel dry you off.

Securing the towel around your body he then scooped you up bridal style and sat you on the counter. The silence between you two was far from uncomfortable it was like a warm cup of tea on a rainy day.

Simply blissful.

Zayne dressed your wound and kissed your forehead. "Would you like me to leave now?" Your eyes bulged at his question and then you saw in his eyes how worried and unsure he was. "No stay. Please." He wasted no time changing into a pair of pajamas you kept for him and then dressing you. He laid down with, pulling you close and resting his chin on your head. “Do you still love me after what I had to do?”

“Without question”

Rafayel

Rafayel insisted on coming with you on your undercover mission. "I'll just be in the background you won't even know I'm there" You had no clue just how right he was. The night of your mission you couldn't spot him in the intimate club no matter how hard you tried. It was like he blended in with the air itself. So when you ended up back at the hotel you thought he’d abandoned you.

Once you were stumbling out of the room Rafayel was right there. He rubbed your back as you wretched into the trash can before wiping your mouth and lifting you up in his arms bridal style.

“Tell me what you want” He softly demanded as he gently folded you into the car. “A shower…..I feel disgusting” He nodded, closing the door and walking around to the drivers side. He played music and tried to engage you in some small talk, but you were having none of it. You gazed out the window with dead eyes rimmed with tears.

"It's okay I can walk" You told him when he offered to carry you on his back. Instead he walked with you, one hand on your lower back as he guided you to the bathroom. He placed a towel for you into a towel warmer and stepped out while you showered.

You opened the shower door to find him standing there, towel in hand. You told him everything that happened as he towel dried you off. He showered you in praises as he moved on to moisturizing your body. Nothing sexual just reminding you of how good a job you did and how brave you were to be the one to do such a risky job. "Im surprised you still even want to touch me" You mumbled as you stared at the wall. "I want my touch to be the only touch you remember"

Rafayel stayed by your side until you fell into a deep slumber. Once your breaths were steady and you didn't stir in your sleep when he stood from the bed; he slipped out into the night. Since you had all the information you needed your suspect could simply disappear right?

Xavier

Xavier was quick to get you far away from that hotel as quickly as possible. "Did they hurt you?" He spun you around as soon as you two were back in your apartment. He quickly scanned your body checking for any kind of bruises or wounds. "Not physically" You mumbled, staring off seemingly in a daze.

Xavier's shoulders deflated at your answer he knew exactly what you meant. He didn't push you for anymore answers since the entire mission was recorded and will be in the debriefing tomorrow. "Let's get you cleaned up" You nodded mechanically as he squatted down to carry you on his back.

He gently placed you on the bathroom counter and held your chin while he brushed your teeth for you. As soon as you spit he was tipping a cup of mouthwash into your mouth; while you swished that he wiped your makeup off. Xavier couldn't help but stare at you lovingly while you avoided eye contact ashamed of what you ended up doing.

Gripping your hips he pulled you from the counter setting you on your feet. You didn't fight him as he stripped you down and then himself. He showered with you in silence, gently scrubbing your body hoping his touch would help relax you.

It did.

You didn't look at him until he was pulling a pajama shirt over your head. His eyes lit up as you scanned his face "There she is" he whispered, cupping your face. You held onto his wrists as a few tears spilled from your eyes. "Am I still special to you?" Your voice cracked as you shook from the memory of what transpired just over an hour ago.

"You're everything to me"

Sylus

You needed to leave you slipped out amongst the chaos of your team coming in to collect the suspect. You rushed out of the hotel, your feet moving faster than your brain could keep up. You fumbled with your phone trying to call Sylus, but your hands were shaking too bad. Suddenly you heard a familiar sound coming from above you.

It was Mephisto! You looked up to see him circling above you before taking off north. You chased after him knowing he would be leading you straight to Sylus. You were running for what felt like forever, taking turn after turn always keeping Mephisto in sight.

Then you finally saw him. His tall frame at the end of the street. You sprinted as fast as you could throwing yourself in his arms. He swung you around holding you tightly to his body. "How'd it go?" his question was met with low sniffles and tears as you buried your face in his neck. "Main suspect is in custody. Can we go back to the N109 Zone now I don't want to be here anymore" You hug him tighter in hopes that the feel of him will dissolve the memory of the mission.

Once you got back to Sylus' home he didn't let your feet touch the ground until you were in his ensuite bathroom. He turned on the shower testing the water before turning to you. "Strip." was all he said and you listened. You shed each piece of clothing and placed them in his outstretched hand. "What are you going to do with them?"

"Dispose of them obviously" He held them with his evol as he held the shower door open for you. "Take your time and only change into that robe I'll have something for you fit for a queen." You didn't understand why he only wanted you in a robe. "I'm not really up for sex tonight Sy"

"I never said anything about sex Princess" His expression was soft as he nodded his head towards the shower. You stepped inside more than ready to wash away that strangers touch. You took your time even went as far to simply stand under the water and let the warmth engulf you.

You stepped out, following orders of not dressing and simply slipping into the plush robe that was left on the counter for you. Sylus wasn't in the bedroom when you came out leaving you confused. You turned to see Mephisto studying you before screeching a loud caw and flying out the door. You followed behind him and he led you to the other side of the house to a room that looked like an in-home spa.

There Sylus was sprinkling the last of a few rose petals into a large jacuzzi bathtub. "Why is this all the way on the other side of the house?" Your brows furrowed as Sylus circled around you, shutting the door and guiding you to the tub.

"This side of the house is quieter" He untied your robe and let it pool around your ankles. "I drew this bath so you could relax I could feel how tense your body was and still is" He held your hand as you climbed in and relaxed against the bath pillow. You instinctively closed your eyes and hummed as the jets massaged your body.

Your eyes snapped open when you heard something being set down and your arm being pulled from the bath. Sylus had pulled up a small stool to sit next to you. He'd rolled up his sleeves to his elbows and was now massaging your hand; making his way up your arm.

Sylus took his time massaging your entire body while you soaked in the tub. He hummed off-key with the softest smile on his face. "I don't deserve you" You whispered.

"You deserve the world, the sun, and the moon My Queen"

[propertyofwicked]

"it'll grow back" - LN

v short. just expressing my sadness for the loss of beard lando </3 it's been a rough day lads

tried a little bit of social media au stuff so lemme know if that works <3

“hey ba-”

“you are in so much trouble,” you announce as he picks up the phone, pacing around the airport waiting for your layover flight to join him in australia.

“wha-? why?” lando says, his voice wavering slightly in panic, trying to remember everything he’d done in the last 24 hours that could anger you.

“how could you? how could you shave before i got to say a proper goodbye?” you whine down the phone, exaggerating your sadness at the loss of his facial hair.

“im sorry ba-”

“no i dont wanna hear it. firstly - i had to find out through twitter! AND my flight lands in 5 hours - you couldn’t wait till then?”

“if i waited you would’ve talked me out of it!” he argues back in jest.

“precisely!” you argue, the phone line falling silent, asides from max laughing in the background, and lando clearly trying to stifle his own giggles.

“max you’re a traitor! you promised me you would stop him,” you say, knowing he can hear you. max says nothing in response, just continues to laugh until he’s wheezing.

the announcement of your flight boarding was probably well timed, alerting you that you need to leave before the argument get serious.

“get on your flight angel, ill be at the airport to pick you up when you land.”

“you better be, you owe me.”

-

when you finally spot him in the airport, your pace quickens to meet him and his embrace. he presses a kiss to the top of your head, his arms moving to rest on and behind your shoulders. your head rolls backwards slightly to look up at him, as sigh escaping your lips when you see the lack of facial hair in person.

“12 seconds!” max exclaims from behind him, holding up his phone timer, “it took you 12 seconds to make a remark about him shaving!”

“hey! i didn’t even say anything,” you argue back.

"debatable."

“it’s ok y/n - it’ll grow back,” lando says, grinning at you before looking down and kissing your lips. the lack of scruff touching your face is unfamiliar.

“but now it feels like i’m kissing a 13 year old boy.” max snorts at your response, lando just keeps smiling down at you.

“when did you last eat?” lando asks, moving the conversation along, as he grabs your suitcase and starts walking to the car, you and max stood either side of him.

“erm, on the first flight - so i don’t know but i am starving.”

“let’s go get you some dinner. i’ll pay, call it an apology.”

“lan, you’d insist on paying whether i was owed an apology or not,” you retort, moving to sit in the car.

“i’ll make it up to you tonight,” he says, smirking at you. you had almost forgotten max was there till he started making fake vomit noises at lando’s comment.

“i’d love to see you try.”

[auroracalisto]

opposites attract, or so they say

simon x gn!reader, 1.9k words summary: simon's got a crush on the sweet little thing down the street. a/n: I love him. I love kyle gallner. send help. tw: lots of cussing but it's mostly because I went with simon's pov and ran with it, simon is buzzed, brief mention of sexual content but like nothing other than the idea

Simon was a lot of things.

Angry. Vile. Crude. A badass punk rocker.

But there was something more to him than just that. There was something deep within him that screamed for release, that just wanted to be a part of his world just as much as the rest of him.

And that, which it's far more simple than you might think, was the need to be loved.

His family was shit. That was a given. Never once looked at him like they were proud of him, which for what it was worth, he couldn't give a shit.

His bandmates were fucking righteous, but what the fuck's that got to do with anything? Love from a bandmate? Right. Weird as fuck. This wasn't one of those half-assed teen romcoms where the drummer fell in love with the lead singer. He'd rather vomit in front of an entire set than have his drummer fall in "love" with him.

And then, there was you. That bitch down the block that made him question anything and everything. Just looking at you made him feel things that he wasn't used to, and it infuriated him.

Sure, maybe he wanted to be loved, but by you? Sweet, little Y/n who'd never had a bad thought in your life? For fucks sake, it was as if the universe was laughing at him!

The universe was always laughing at him.

But who cares? He was in a punk ass band, he always stuck it to the Man, and when it mattered most, his bandmates showed up when others didn't.

But you were always on his mind.

Shit.

He was down bad for you. There was no way around it.

Standing outside your doorstep, half-smoked cigarette hanging from his lips, he knocked rather loudly. If you didn't answer, he'd just leave. God, he hoped you didn't answer. The cherry wine coolers he'd had just moments before weren't doing much to settle his nerves.

Why the fuck was he even nervous?

It wasn't like it was the first time he'd been around you. Hell, he'd smoked a cigarette or three on your doorstep, complaining about anything and everything as you drank a soda, a coffee, or one of those cheap wine coolers he brought you.

It wasn't like he didn't know you.

There's a pause as he sucks in a deep breath of smoke, and the door opens to reveal you. In your pajamas like a good little samaritan, ready for bed at 10 in the evening.

Simon silently scolded himself. Of course you were ready for bed. A goody-two-shoes who most definitely wasn't waiting up for some kind of divine inspiration for a new song. Who wasn't waiting up for some kind of alcohol to finally kick in.

You blinked slowly at him. You knew him—not as well as you would like to, but you knew him. You had a history class together back in high school, and while you weren't that teenager from way back when, you still remember the inkling of a crush you had on him. You knew him way better then than you did, now.

Ethics be damned, am I right?

"Simon?"

Your voice was so soft, so sweet. He just wanted to turn around and walk away, to avoid you so he wouldn't taint you like he wanted to.

Dammit.

"Hey, Y/n," he said, dropping his cigarette and crushing it beneath his boots. "You, uh, got a minute?"

You blinked slowly but gave a small nod, stepping out onto the porch. You closed the door behind you to keep the cool air from going in. Your arms crossed over your chest and you watched Simon closely before he spoke. It wasn't the first time you had done this.

You stood barefoot in front of him, the cold concrete a not-so-welcome addition to the conversation.

"Look," he began. "I, uh, just wanted to—well, fuck, I don't know what I wanted to—"

He was a blabbering mess. What the fuck was this? He was confident, but around you, it was as if every little bit of his brazenness melted away.

"You, me, bar tomorrow night, yeah?" he blurted.

Simple. To the point. Far less embarrassing than what happened just moments prior.

Your eyes widened, and he can see the gears turning in your pretty mind. But you didn't seem adverse.

You smiled a bit. "What bar?"

He blinked slowly. "What bar? The fuck—uh," he looked over his shoulder, clearing his throat. "Sure. Why the fuck not? Bar on Main Street."

"Will I meet you there?"

He scrunched his nose. "Yeah. Meet me there."

"Cool. What time?"

He blinked slowly. "Time? Fucks sake, Y/n, you ask a hell of a lot of questions," he said, snorting softly. "Let's, uh, say nine? Or is that too late for you?" He eyed your warm pajamas.

"I'll be there," you said.

He perked up a bit before he looked you up and down one more time. "Fucking right," he said. "Be there." He took a step back, nearly faltering on the first step of your porch, but then he turned away and without another word, left you behind.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He wasn't stupid. He was smart in his own ways, sure, but what the actual fuck was that?

Girls threw themselves at his feet, especially when he was John Q. Guys did too, in their own ways—hell, he had one guy one time tell him he'd give him a blowjob if he looked at him for longer than five seconds.

He almost took him up on the offer. But that was nearly a year ago, and the way you looked at him tonight made his heart melt in the confines of his beaten chest.

Dammit all, what the fuck was he doing?

Love. What the hell would love give him that he couldn't get from some random fucker down the street?

What in the ever-loving hell was he doing?

Nine o'clock on the dot, he was there at the bar on Main.

Down bad. He knew it, too. Even canceled his band practice just to come and see you. His drummer had nearly cussed him out, but Simon didn't give a shit.

He went straight to the bar and ordered a beer, downing half of it in the first few seconds of having it.

When he felt a hand on his arm, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked down, seeing you standing there. You actually came. You weren't pulling his dick, you actually showed up.

His heart pounded nervously in his chest. Shit. When was the last time he was actually this nervous?

"Y/n," he said.

You smiled up at him. Did anyone ever tell you how pretty your smile was?

What. The. Fuck.

"You said nine, right?" you asked. "I'm avoiding my pajamas just for you."

Just for him. Fuuuck.

You were cute.

He shoots a cheeky grin, leaning against the bar counter. He could be suave. He could be confident and not seem as needy as he felt. The pyro was more than capable.

But for some reason, he didn't feel like lying to you. He didn't feel like joking around, or trying to show you something that simply wasn't true.

He'd loved you since that stupid class back in high school—the one with Mr. Fuck-face and that terrible toupee. You had been so nice to him, while everyone else had treated him like a parasite. Not that he blamed them. He knew what he was.

He cleared his throat and looked around the bar. Maybe it hadn't been the best place to ask you to, but the alcohol definitely would help at some point.

"Yeah. I said nine," he said.

You ordered a drink. He doesn't listen to what you say to the bartender. He's staring you down, eyeing you like a fine choice of meat. Fuck, you were, though. Every inch of you was like heaven to him.

Maybe it wasn't love he wanted. Maybe it was just lust that kept him in a chokehold.

Besides, he hardly knew you. Knew you briefly in high school, but the fuck's that matter? How long has it been since the two of you graduated?

Long enough.

Long enough for everything to change, except for him, apparently.

"How've you been?"

Your voice drew him out of his thoughts. He looked at you, blinking slowly, before he shrugged.

"Busy," he said.

"You still playing?"

He blinked slowly. "Huh?"

"In high school. You had a band. You still playing?"

You remembered that? Shit.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm still playing. We play a couple gigs here and there."

Your eyes widened. "Really? Where do you play?"

"Wherever we can get a spot. You, uh, should totally come out to hear it some time."

You smiled immediately. "I would love to," you said.

He stared you down. Either you were lying or you were one of the fuckers who he knew he'd never get enough of. It's looking like it would be the latter.

He looked away from you, taking a swig of his beer.

"You think that—"

He interrupted you, slamming his beer onto the counter. "Look," he said rather quickly. "I don't know what it is, but I need you to take me seriously for a second."

You blinked slowly. "Yeah. What's up?"

He clenched his jaw as he looked at you. He wasn't angry with you—nah, he was angry with himself. Not talking to you sooner, not kissing your pretty mouth, not—

"I think you're fucking tits," he said, taking hold of you by your shoulders. "I'm not about to sit here and tell you I love you, because I don't, but for fuck's sake, I want you more than I've wanted anything in my entire life."

Okay. Lie number one. Starting off strong. But how could you love someone if you didn't truly know who they were? Guess it wasn't really a lie. It just... was a half truth, if that.

Your eyes are wide as you stared up at him. "What?"

"I want—" he began, letting out a labored breath. "I want you. Okay? There. Fuck. I said it."

"You... you want me? How?"

He snorted softly at your question. "I want you in every fuckin' way imaginable, Y/n."

He said nothing more, leaving it up for your interpretation, but clearly, by the way he was looking at you, it was obvious.

"Simon—"

"Nah, don't," he said. "If you're gonna protest, I don't want to hear it."

"I'm not gonna protest—"

"—I've had enough people tell me they don't want me, and it pisses me off."

"But I—"

"—I'm serious, Y/n."

"Simon. I'm not protesting," you said defensively. "I—I feel the same way."

He blinked slowly at you, like he didn't just hear you correctly.

"What?" he asked.

"I like you," you said. "Have for a while now."

"You..."

"Yeah. I do," you said.

"Well shit," he breathed out, looking down at you. "Well that was easier than I thought it would be."

He pulled on a cheeky grin, and those pretty eyes of his bored into yours.

"You should kiss me," you said, smiling up at him.

"The fuck?" he let out a curt laugh, but he took you up on the offer. A hand moved to the back of your neck, and his lips pressed to yours almost instantaneously.

Fuuck, he'd wanted to do this shit for ages. Why the hell didn't he ask you sooner?

[marsmaximoff]

💔; crimson pain -a different kind of blood

content warning: gn!reader who plays as number 028. (dating) angst. mentions of death, financial struggles, vomit, blood and fainting.

word count: 1935. i got a bit too carried away 😬

author’s note: finally, here it is. i’ve had this idea for so long but the universe wasn’t on my side, it seems. i really wanted to post it sooner 🥲. as always, constructive criticism is welcomed, and i apologize for the mistakes (english is my third language). oh, and tysm for the support on the jun-ho headcanons post! what do you mean over 1000 likes? that is insane 🤧🤧. i hope you’ll enjoy this one too. 🩷🩷🩷🩷

the sugary umbrella lays on your shaky hand, under the excruciating yet unmasked gaze of the soldier. once the ‘pass’ is given, you stand up ready to get out of there. “you made it!” the voice of the one that has become the closest thing to a friend you could have in here relaxes you ever so slightly. “i almost didn’t. can’t believe i’m adding umbrellas to my traumas list.” having chosen the hardest doesn't surprise you much, not with unluckiness being a part of your life since you can remember. “well, im just happy you did. i thought the square was simple, but now i feel like we should have just chosen the triangle instead, you know? take a look at the survivors; most of them chose it and….” his words fade as an eerie feeling takes over your body, like something’s wrong. turning around, you’re met with one of them, staring right at you completely stiff, not even holding the weapon, merely some feet away.

“is he looking at us?” he can sense the uneasiness too, it seems. “let’s just go.” you can still feel his unfamiliar gaze on your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

the doors opening break the silence and the rare calmness of the room. “player 028?” your body freezes completely. a stomach drop follows, and your heart rate skyrockets. no. nonono. you’ve done nothing wrong. is it the dalgona? the figure was perfectly carved out; you made sure of it. are they gonna kill you? two soldiers stand by the entrance, waiting. with a final glance at your friend, who is most definitely thinking the same, you reach the pink guards. you don’t even know what to say, should you beg for mercy? try to stay as cooperative as possible? “be quick.” what? the other one grabs your arm and begins to lead you somewhere. “i-i don’t-” your hands are shaking. “please, i didn’t do anything wrong...” begging it is. “keep. walking.” the words are almost a whisper, tho demanding. a hint of desperation can be heard as well. “okay, okay, ok-” wait. why did those words- no. you’re going crazy. it’s just the anxiety, the fear. 

the stranger takes you to the bathrooms and quickly closes the door. you step back. again. and once more. what now? he wouldn’t shoot you here, right? and why the hell does he look so tense? his hands move to his mask and make it disappear, and with it, the remaining bit of sanity you had.

the nausea from a few seconds ago comes back stronger, maybe you will die today. “jun-ho…” your voice is almost unrecognizable, tho a miracle, given the struggle breathing has become. “what are you doing here?” “i could ask you the same thing.” he’s angry, of course he is, but the hurt in his eyes pains you the most. “no….you need to get out of here.” god. you can feel yourself spiraling. nothing makes sense. “i will. and im taking you with me.” “h-how- when did- i-“ cold sweat has completely taken over your palms. “wait….wait. was it you?…. this morning?” he nods. “i found the damn card they gave you at yours and my brother’s house” what? “in-ho…?” why does everything keep getting worse? “have you seen him?” surely you would remember something like that, “n-no. maybe before the first game…..” you heed your legs’ warning to give up and sit down. “why are you doing this? i dont understand.” it’s not like he could. “they let you out. and you didn’t seek me. you hid yourself. again. i had to learn what was going on from a random man at the station. not you!!” silence between you had never felt this suffocating before, nor the atmosphere so uncanny. “don’t you realize how dangerous this is? they are killing innocent people! haven’t you realized?! 79 have died today. just because of a stupid cookie? what do you think you are doing?! you could have gotten yourself killed! you have no idea how worried i’ve been.” you don’t look at him. this shouldn’t be happening, he wasn’t supposed to find out.

“please, honey. this is insane and you know it. let’s get out of this madness.” the change in his tone of voice is evident, bordering the plea. it’s obvious he’s making an effort to remain calm, to use less confrontational comments. “i can’t.” “yes, you can. we’ll leave the same way i got here, don’t worry. no one will see us.” but you really can’t. you know that well. he sighs, “why didnt you tell me? how could you hide something like this from me? i thought we trusted each other.” 

distress seems to have replaced the blood running through your veins. “i would have helped you, always. i can still do it. if you need money, i’ll give it to you, it’s not a problem.” he keeps going after your negative. “i will. we can find another way-” “there isn't.” “of course there is. i have my savings, we’ll use them. i can ask for a raise. mr kim owes me after all this time. and i could do more hours-”

“its not FUCKING ENOUGH!” the sharpness of your words cuts all over his face. pain flows out, dripping a bloody red. more silence. you could drown in it. well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“my parents’ house is gonna get seized.” a burning throat accompanies the confession. “i messed up like crazy.” the expected embarrassment doesn’t show up, instead, regret does. “it’s not your fault.” how can he say that? “it is. i got them into this, I'll get them out.” “and you think risking your life here is the only way to do it? thats not true. god, why didn’t you tell me?” you rub your temple. “that doesn’t matter now. you-you need to get out, all this is suspicious.” you are not only trying to avoid the question, the guards could notice at any moment. “i told them you were gonna throw up.” “vomit or not you’re still in the bathroom with a player.” for some seconds, the only noise that can be heard is the shatter of your heart. “honey, listen to me. your parents wouldn’t want this. they don’t even blame you, im sure. how could they ever wish for something at the expense of their daughter’s life?” but the guilt is too heavy, too imprinted on your mind. “it’s not about me. if it were my house, i wouldn’t care, but it’s theirs. i would never forgive myself for not doing anything.” “and there are so many things you could do that don’t need you participating in some psychopaths’ games! do you really not see how dangerous and demented this is? please leave with me.” “jun-ho. think about it. if i ended up here, even after they gave us a second chance, it’s because i want to. no one forced me, and i’m old enough to know what i’m doing.” your replies are getting colder, which you hate. but it’s the only way to make him understand. “besides, they’re all kids' games. they’re easy.” you can only hope he won’t sense your attempt at self-persuasion. “they are shooting people. you could be dead. and i would have never seen you again, or known what had happened.” the urge to cry gets stronger with every word, to dive into his arms and finally feel some sort of calmness, warmth, love.

“i’m sorry that i hurt you, that i made you worry and feel like i couldn’t trust you. but i won’t apologize for being here.” “i don’t want you to apologize. i only want you to get out of here and not die.” his desperation has increased so much it’s swallowed your own distress. “i’ve already won two, i can make it to the end.” you refute. but you read him easily, he is planning to get you out without your agreement, somehow.

“please.” now it’s you that pleads. “if you love me, let me stay.”

his eyes widen, you see them watering. his heartbreak drowns out yours. you are aware you’ve never said anything as painful before. it hurts. more than anything they could do to you here. perhaps you are already dead. “how can you ask me something like this?” maybe you’re desperate, or too blinded by the blame that’s rotting on your insides. or perhaps it’s love. “get out of here. stay safe. and don’t tell the police, jun-ho. don’t even think about stopping the games. i need this, don’t ruin it.” god you don’t recognize yourself anymore. how nice it would be to go back when things were easy. when remorse didn’t control yourself, and you were happy with him. “what do you expect me to do if you die?” “i won’t” “you can’t know that! how can i let the love of my life risk it all when i know i could do something?” understanding such perspective is effortless. if it were the other way around, you too would act like he is.

you approach him for the first time, god how you craved it. your hands cup his pained yet beautiful face and a tear drops. “i missed you.” he says quietly, unable to stay angry at you for long. “i missed you too.” you answer back, wiping the tear. “i missed your face, your voice, your touch. i miss your kisses.” things already ache enough like this, so you give in. the kiss is soft, so fragile, like a bit more intensity would make it disappear. “i love you.” he whispers resting his forehead on yours. “i love you too.”

a knock on the door destroys the illusion. shit. “lay on the floor.” “what?” “lay on the floor”, he repeats, walking towards the door while putting his mask back on, “and play along.” the door opens and the same voice from earlier speaks. “what do you think you’re doing in there?” may that unluckiness give you a rest for some minutes. “she passed out. she was taking too long and not answering back so i entered and found her unconscious.” footsteps grow louder. “player 028…. i don’t remember any health issues on the file… fuck.” you stay as still as possible, it sounds plausible, given the stress. “take care of it, i’ll let the boss know. and don’t take longer.” with that, he exits the room, and you thank his unwillingness to deal with sensitive issues.

sitting back up, jun-ho kneels to your level. “you look good for a faint.” a hint of a smile appears on your face. “are you mad at me?” “i was. mostly worried. i don’t like this at all.” you grab his gloved hands. “i’ll be okay, believe me.” he doesn’t. he can’t. “please, be careful. and think about it. if you change your mind, i’ll be waiting.” you won’t. you wouldn’t let yourself. but you nod. “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. i hope you’ll carry that with you. i love you so damn much.” his voice breaks, and you tell yourself it’s time to go back, this conversation can only get more and more devastating for you both. you offer the bleeding and broken pieces of your heart. not meaning to cut him this time. and he takes them. how could he not treasure them? you kiss again. it tastes different this time. like farewell. 

and when you get out of the room, you both know that was the last time you’ll see each other.