Defiance | King!sukuna X Servant!reader

Church Grim | Chapter 2

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader werewolf au

Content: angst, mention of death, suicidal ideation, hurt/comfort, werewolf Simon. No use of y/n.

Words: 4,161

Black Eyed Dog series masterlist

You dream of the howling, the wolves running through your property, they hunt, and stalk. They stalk you, following, chasing, tearing you apart, but it's not you, you're only watching them. Then, they're gone, and it's just you on your property, walking around aimlessly. It feels eerie, but somehow right, like you're meant to be in this cemetery. 

A fog rolling in to consume you whole.

All night long you dream of dying, the paranoia affecting the hippocampus. You dream of saying goodbye to loved ones, preparing yourself for it all. It's restless sleep, keeps you up the majority of the night. You have dreams like this often.

The morning comes too soon, and too cold. You try to huddle more under your blankets, try to forget about the cold, but it lingers all around you, seeping into your bones and reminding you of every way you've ever hurt your knees before.

It bites like it has the right.

Pushing the blankets off of you you're met with more of the cold of the early morning flooding over you, making a shiver surge through you, gooseflesh bubbling up on your skin with prickles of pain.

Opening one of your boxes you pull out a sweatshirt, putting it on over your pajama shirt, you slip some socks onto your feet before folding your arms and shuffling your way down the stairs to the thermostat, you could have sworn you made sure to adjust it before going to bed, but maybe you never turned it on.

Checking it over, the temperature should be in the mid sixties. But there was no way your house was that warm, turning the old dial you brought it closer to seventy, waiting and listening for the furnace to kick on. Nothing happened, nothing changed.

Folding your arms you cupped the sides of your chest, trying to heat your hands up as you made your way to the utilities closet, trying to ignore how the cold hardwood seeped in through your socks like they weren't even there, creeping into your very bones.

You were so sick of being cold all the time.

Opening the closet door you pulled the string to the light bulb, inspecting the furnace for an on switch or obvious issue, but you couldn't see any issues, not that you'd know what you were looking for either way. You knew nothing about furnaces.

Sighing, you turned off the light and made your way to your kitchen, putting the kettle on the gas stove, grabbing out a mug to make some tea.

You'd probably have to call someone, but that would be expensive, and you hadn't budgeted something like that out, you could dip more into your savings but you really preferred not to do that.

They were wearing thin from paying the movers as is, and you didn't like to dip below a certain amount, you needed ample savings in case you had a medical emergency, or really just anything medical related. Why did healthcare have to be so damn expensive? 

It was cheaper to die than it was to live.

You had a fireplace in the living room, you'd use that to heat the house until you figured something out, maybe there was a youtube video or something that could help you fix it. You had tools, maybe you could figure it out yourself.

It would really only be a problem at night and in the early morning, but you could just layer more blankets on your bed, see if you could find a space heater in town.

As you waited for the kettle to whistle you went upstairs to get dressed, wearing something warm, something to keep the bitter wisps of autumn at bay. 

You made it back down stairs, coming back right in time to pour your tea, the whistle of the kettle screaming in the kitchen.

After breakfast you made yourself busy, working more on unpacking and setting up the internet, setting up your curtains. It warmed you up moving and working hard. Despite everything in your life, all the pain you felt in your body, you did like to work hard, you liked to use your body and prove to yourself that you could do hard things. It felt good to exert yourself. Until it didn't.

The house warmed up more too, the morning chill dissipating into afternoon warmth, the sunlight bleeding in through the windows and making the stained glass above the doorways glow, beautiful patterns being reflected onto the walls and your belongings, the multitude of things you still needed to sort out, it made the mess almost into a work of art.

You forgot to eat lunch, too focused on unpacking. It made you dizzy by the time dinner rolled around, the hunger setting in all at once, eating away at you like you were about to drop dead. Still you pushed through, scrounging something up from the groceries you'd picked up the night before, you'd go back into town tomorrow for more things.

The sun was setting now, a chill coming in with the change from day to night.

Stepping outside you walked around to the side of the house, pulling some wood from a pile left by the previous owners, picking out the driest logs you could you hauled them back inside, their rough weight pinching and bruising your forearms through your sweatshirt, but at least you wouldn't freeze.

Lighting fires always came naturally, whether it was with wood or words, you were good at lighting that spark, stoking the embers. You struggled to admit fault, a large character flaw you tried not to let show. Sarcasm meant to cut, words meant to bite.

There was so much unkindness in your life you had regret for.

Relationships you have severed with your willingness to let things burn.

You hated it. Hated how you'd add fuel instead of trying to calm things down. Though there was only so much trying you could do before you had to let some bridges burn. Some paths weren't worth going down again, even still you had guilt over the hurt you've caused.

Maybe you'd receive forgiveness when your obituary arrives in the mail for them.

Maybe they'd stop holding it all against you then.

Blowing on the sparks you gave them oxygen to feed on the kindling, catching and spreading over the old logs, the heat washing over you, heating your face and hands.

Sitting back on your couch you watched the fire, listening to the crackles as it burned, letting its light fill your living room. You'd done enough for the day, you could sit and rest here a while. It would be okay to just take a minute.

You knew you couldn't have the fire all night, so you would have it until your house got decently warmed up.

Getting up you closed all the curtains in the house, taking all measures to preserve the warmth inside, closing your curtains at night was a good habit anyways, even when you didn't have immediate neighbors.

There was just something about looking out into the dark of the night that set you off, never sure of what might be staring back. What might be seeing you as you look out, unable to see it. Somehow the thought of nothing being able to see you as you looked out was just as perturbing.

You'd heard stories about why you should shut your curtains at night, your grandma ever one for folklore and superstitions.

Though truthfully you typically kept most of your curtains closed anyways, day or night, unless you were in a more cheery mood or if it was what you would consider a beautiful day outside they'd stay shut, at least the one in your room, you tried to open the one in the living room every day.

Sometimes you felt your grandma passed down more supernatural stories than stories about her own life, her own experiences. You knew her from tales of things that most people didn't believe in, and you'd see her in them for the rest of your life, unable to find her in anything else.

You should have asked more questions, learned who she was outside of all her spooky stories and warnings. Now you'll never know more about her. Who gave her the necklace, where she's worked, all the places she's lived, how she knows so much folklore from every part of the world, and why she wanted to pass the knowledge down to you. 

There was so much you'd never know.

If only the dead could talk, you'd never leave her grave.

Once everything was locked up and all the curtains were shut for the night you went upstairs to get changed into some pajamas, the ones you wore last night would probably be too cold tonight.

Sorting through your boxes of clothes you searched for something that would work, pulling out a white nightgown you'd gotten from your grandma's things after her death, it was thicker, two layers in the body, though one was probably more so like a slip, it had long sleeves, and buttons that brought the neckline up to your collarbone, not necessarily made for the cold but it would help trap your body heat around you like another blanket. That's all you needed.

You paired it with some fleece lined leggings that matched your skin tone as close as cloth could, you typically wore them in the winter, under skirts or dresses, paired them with tights a lot, just another layer of warmth. Tonight they were serving as pajama pants to keep you from freezing to death.

Tomorrow you'd have to sort through more boxes and try to find your winter pajama pants, but you weren't in the mood for a wild goose chase tonight.

Coming back downstairs you settled back by the fire, adding another log.

You felt a little other worldly sitting here, like a ghost. Haunting your own home, a home that had so many people live in it before you, filling it with love and laughter, lives that were hopefully filled with more joy than sorrows. These walls knew love, you knew that from the way the house had settled. The swing on the porch. 

You hadn't thought you'd be the ghost here. The one still out of place.

You've always haunted every place you've been, you weren't someone who lit up a room, more like an eerie dark corner. It felt like anywhere you went whisperings followed you, pitied looks, oftentimes though you were ignored entirely. Like you didn't even exist.

You missed your grandma, she had always listened to you. She would come and pick you up from your childhood home anytime you'd asked to spend the night, you practically lived with her when you were young. Anything to avoid home.

Tugging on the silver chain around your neck you looked down at the locket, running your thumb over the dream catcher, feeling the grooves of the silver with your skin. You used to crawl up onto her lap just to play with her necklace, sit with her and look at it for hours.

You should have gone before her. Then you wouldn't have to be sitting here without her.

You should have died before a lot of things happened in your life. Maybe it would have been better for you if you hadn't lived at all.

Life was tiring, exhausting. It had a way of beating you down, one thing after another. It was always one thing after another.

Taking a deep breath you leaned back more into the couch, closing your eyes.

Sometimes, when things were quiet, peaceful, you could relax like this, feel almost like you were floating, you could just let yourself drift for a while, shut off your brain. Be nothing for a moment. Feel like you weren't here, living in your body of years.

You liked the idea of being nothing, laying down and decomposing back into the earth, leaving your body behind, really becoming a ghost, wandering around with a sunken face. You'd make a better ghost than a person anyways.

You saw beauty in death few others did. Your relationship with it was enough to drive some away.

You were being left behind by living, breathing people for a fascination you couldn't shake out of you.

It wasn't a good way to live, but it's not like you were living anyways, you were just waiting.

Sitting up you poked at the dying coals, putting out the fire before making your way up to bed, it got much colder with each step you took away from the living room, your own bedroom was untouched by the warmth the fire had.

Climbing in under your pile of blankets you laid yourself down to sleep.

You weren't sure how long you'd laid there, feeling the cold slowly seeping into you, robbing you of the warmth you'd gained. You weren't even sure if you'd fallen asleep at all before you heard it.

It was the howling again. The calling. Right outside.

Getting up from your bed you pulled back the curtains, looking out the window down at your front yard, the light from the almost full moon lighting it up enough to see things, your warm breath was fogging up the glass, almost canceling out the usefulness of the moon, but what you saw was unmistakable, a giant black dog stared back up at you, it's tapetum lucidum reflecting up at you.

It wasn't a dog though, it was much too big, too big to be a wolf either.

Staring down at the creature your mind searched for a reason it'd be here, calling to you, like a guide.

A guide.

You remembered a piece of folklore and history your grandmother had told you about, church grims, black dogs in graveyards meant to stay and lead the others buried there to the other side.

Maybe you'd died in your sleep, frozen to death. Maybe that's why you were still so unbelievably cold, you'd heard ghosts were cold. Chilled without their hearts pumping in them, or the blanket of skin over their bones, muscle and fat like a comforter.

Had you really died in your sleep? Or were you just seeing what was to be in your future? Why did you feel peace with this? Weren't you supposed to be scared? Staring down at the call to the other side.

Stepping away from the window you felt compelled, compelled to meet the dog closer. To follow it, to be with it.

It was to be your guide.

Something that knew your name, something that would remember your name as it took you.

You were in a daze, slipping on your socks and boots, though you supposed a ghost wouldn't have much use for them, even still it was a habit.

Opening the door you stepped out, your boots meeting the wood of the porch, the dog watched you, its eyes so dark they looked black, inky voids taking you in, taking in your every move, its head lowering as it watched you. 

You took slow steps to the end of your porch, resting your hand on the post, standing on the edge before the steps. Still the dog watched you, no more reflections in it's eyes to shine back at you, even with the moonlight overhead you saw nothing in them.

There was a breeze in the air, bringing the chill of autumn into you, pushing your nightgown, swirling it around your legs. "Lead me?" Your voice is soft, you're not even sure what you're asking. 

Asking a church grim to take you.

Dogs have been mankind's best friends for centuries, the church grim were made from man's fear of being without comfort and companionship, giving the job to a beloved animal, one who would stand their loyal post and help along all those who needed it.

You needed it. Desperately. 

You carefully stepped down the two steps, standing before the dog, it was bigger than it looked from upstairs, level with your shoulders.

It turned away from you, slowly walking, letting you keep pace with it, your hand gently went to its soft fur, resting on its back to keep from falling behind. It was warm, very warm. A juxtaposition to the cold night air sinking into the rest of you.

You were able to keep an easy pace with the dog, its head would turn to look back at you every once in a while, checking up on you.

It was leading you through your property, taking you towards the cemetery. You were getting colder, leaning into the dog more you sought their warmth. 

Were church grims supposed to be warm? It would make sense, warmth was often associated with comfort, a hot meal, soup, cider, tea, fresh baked cookies. The arms of a loved one. This was meant to be a final comfort before moving on, something welcoming.

"Was it you I heard last night?" You'd never been shepherded like this, never had something nice to follow. Something you've really wanted to follow.

The dog glanced at you, seeming to decide on a spot it wanted you they stopped, blocking your way with its body.

You stood with the dog, eventually sitting down in the overgrown grass, sitting among the tombstones, the dog sat beside you, watching over the rest of the cemetery. You took the opportunity to look over the dog, your cold hands petting his warm fur.

Leaning into the dog you sought more of his heat, soaking up his excesses, he looked down at you as you snuggled into him, taking in your actions, he made no actions to move away.

"I've always liked cemeteries, my hometown had a nice one, it was old. There was a statue in it, a woman weeping. I would go drive through just to see her, there was no name on the statue, no story to the grave. I've always wondered about her, why she's weeping." You weren't sure why you were talking about this, you weren't sure the grim could even understand you, but this was nice. The most mellow comfort you've felt in a long time.

"When I die I want a statue, something people would take interest in, maybe something people can see themselves in, let my grave become something people can connect to. It doesn't have to have my name on it, but maybe I'd like it to, I want someone to be able to know me even after all is said and done. I want to be seen. I don't care if they ever met me, I want someone to know me." You looked up at the moon, it was at the end of the waxing gibbous phase, the full moon would land over the weekend.

Looking over to the dog you took in his face, his ears, his eyes, they were such a dark brown they looked black, black pools you could fall into, drift into oblivion. Maybe they were black, otherworldly. 

Scooting in front of him you knelt before him, gently cupping the dog's face, bringing it closer to you, rubbing your thumbs over his soft fur, his eyes never leaving yours. "What's it like to be buried? Are you there? With your body? Does your soul stay with it? Experience each bit of dirt falling over you, solidifying your eternal resting place. Is it peaceful?" 

You resist the urge to bring your forehead to his, to connect them. To hold him like a dear friend. He wasn't yours, you were just here with him, sharing this moment. 

Leaning back you sat back on the ground, releasing him. "I suppose it doesn't really matter either way, we all end up dead and deposited somewhere, no matter how your remains are dealt with." Absentmindedly you pull on the chain around your neck, holding your locket in your hand, rubbing your cold thumb over the warm silver, heated from your body, your core. 

The grim looked down at your necklace, staring at it, ears back as his eyes narrowed at it. studying the glinting metal in your hand. Seemingly curious about it.

Moving back beside him you leaned into him, still holding the silver locket. It was becoming a habit to hold it, to feel it. Almost a compulsion. A need. It gave your hands something to do, something to feel. 

The dog still watched your hands, watching you, looking down at you as you leaned into him. You were shivering by now, body tensing as it soaked in the cold. Your hands and feet took the worst of it, though your nose and ears weren't fairing much better.

You've always hated feeling cold, but a part of you also liked it, the serene, quiet misery. 

The grim pushed at your head with his snout, pushing at you until you were laying down, moving in beside you, partially on you. A heated blanket over you. 

Dropping your necklace you let it fall back onto your chest, using your hands to instead pet him, running your hand over his head, smoothing it over his forehead and down his neck. You'd never pet a dog so soft, so pleasant. 

You'd only had one other animal accept you this quickly once in your life, you missed that dog every time you thought of them. 

You couldn't imagine how loved this church grim was in life, how much he must have meant to his people, to everyone else in his life. You didn't know how long he's been here, what kind of dog or breed he was before he came back as this, this huge black wolf. 

You wondered how playful and loving he must have been in his youth. He must have died old, he had that wise and gentle attitude old dogs had. 

"I hope you've been loved. Your whole life, I hope you never had to question whether you were or not. I hope you were treated with kindness, I hope you had good things in your life." You let out a deep shaky breath, relaxing in the cold overgrown grass. 

The wildflowers were going dormant, giving up on keeping their flowers, dying back for the colder weather all around you, around the graves. The dead and dying at peace with one another.

The cold didn't sink into you as badly with him on you like this, his head on your abdomen, your hands in his thick coat, his soft eyes looking up at you. 

This was what peace was, this was all you needed, something to keep the all consuming cold at bay and a quiet company. It was all you've ever asked for, begged for. Company. 

You didn't want to be alone all the time anymore, you didn't want to have to make do, fill in your touch deficit with an added blanket on your bed, replacing what you needed from a person with a little more weight on top of you. A pillow beside you that you could throw your leg over, sleep between your two pillows, pretend you were sleeping on the arm of someone you love.

But you had no one to love. So you tried to love yourself, love your solitude. And in many ways you did, but now without any form of support, whenever you'd start to sink, start to slip, you'd sink alone. 

Drown under a ragged sea, one you didn't volunteer to be sailing. One you'd seemingly never find land on. Misery until the end. Could true peace be found in the same place as misery? Could you have both happiness and joy at the same time as misery? Or were you made of what you felt most? 

Were you as miserable to be around as you were miserable in your life? Is that why when the diagnosis comes around everyone around you stops coming too?

You were drifting, eyes slowly closing, but tonight, right now, you weren't sinking alone. You had something with you. 

If this was all real you'd be dead in the morning, if you haven't already frozen to death you would with the morning frost, it would cover your body, stick to your skin, freeze your hair, stopping your tired heart. 

Fitting you'd die in the cold. Something that's always surrounded you, even with all the warm hospital blankets, heating packs, warm air, it's always lingered. Always slipped in. 

You don't remember what came next, but in the morning you woke up in your bed, still cold. A comfort missing from your heart, as if all that happened last night was a dream. 

Reaching for the chain around your neck you didn't find it there, in a surge of panic you looked all around you, patting your sheets, letting out a sigh of relief when you found it on your nightstand, a cloth underneath it. You don't remember taking it off, but you must have. 

None of last night must have been real. A vivid dream, like the night before.

You had no comfort in the night, no guide. Nothing was going to lead you to peace. Only in dreams would you ever catch glimpses of that.

who’s your (baby) daddy. [4] 

╰┈➤ After being dumped by your boyfriend of 3 years, you decide to switch things up and go on your own version of a “hot girl summer”—subsequently finding yourself with a surprise that would arrive in 9 months time. The catch? You have absolutely no idea which of the men you slept with is your baby’s daddy.

𖨆♡𖨆 nanami x reader, gojou x reader, toji x reader, sukuna x reader

# tattoo artist sukuna, talks of pregnancy, semi-public sex, mentions of blood, reader gets a tattoo, mentions of food, fem!reader, pregnant!reader, ieiri is a girlboss, gojo is actually sweet in this, soft!sukuna

‗ ❍ masterlist  

If you thought your already wacky life could not get anymore crazier, that was nothing compared to the shitshow that waited for you one fine Monday.

Nothing was out of the blue; it had been two weeks since that altercation in the OBGYN room and you decided that even if Gojo would walk out, at least you still had your job and burgeoning career to support you.

… or not. 

“You’re fired.”

For the longest second, you did not speak, swivelling your head to the side to check if there were cameras spotlighting you; whether there was a man in a chicken suit standing in the corner waiting to jump out and yell you’ve been pranked!

But, there were no cameras—not even a goofy dude in a chicken suit—just the strict-faced new HR and Mia’s pinched expression. 

You gazed at her in aghast, crying, “Huh? You can’t just fire me for being pregnant!” 

The woman with slicked-red lips pouted those obviously fake plumpers at you in an attempt to seem sympathetic yet righteous at the same time. “It’s not because you’re pregnant, Y/N. That whistleblower piece put us in hot water and we have to cut our losses.”

Turning your gaze to your boss, you gesture wildly for her to butt in. “Mia—!” 

“Y/N is one of the best and she’s right—she’s pregnant. What would other companies say when they hear how badly we treated someone who has been with us from the very start?” Despite your boss’ furrowed brow and solid argument, Miss I-Have-A-Stick-Up-My-Ass did not seem too pleased.

“I understand that Y/N has been with us for a long time, but trouble is trouble and she is plenty of it.” 

Knowing that not even your boss could fight off regional HR if they chose to take action, you stood up, albeit with some difficulty with your four-month baby bump. Sure, you may not have been the model employee; you often stole sachets of coffee from the pantry, occasionally threw up in your waste paper basket because you were too tired to walk to the toilet and even once used Mia’s face spray liberally to cool down your neck in a flash of maternal hormones, but you were an asset.

You were an asset to this company. 

Or at least, that was what you had deluded yourself into thinking. Hands cradling your palms, you fixed her with a determined glare. “Look whatever-your-name is—”

“It’s Kuragi-san.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you muttered dismissively. “If being a mother has taught me one thing, it’s that integrity and the truth is very, very important.” You swallowed at the thought of your future now that you were jobless, but the anger forced you to spill out the words you might not otherwise have had the courage to say. 

“And if I were to be working for an organisation that does not value the truth—as painful and dangerous as it can be sometimes—then you can keep destroying this once grand company with your narrow-minded, and frankly, cowardly ways.”

You spun on your heel, passing Mia who gave you a high-five. The clacks of your low heels resounded through the halls, and you almost missed how the other staff—from the junior reporters to even the office girls—drew their heads back into the cubicles, chagrined at having been found eavesdropping on your bombastic statement.

But after the high of standing up to Kuwagari or whatever-the-fuck her name was subsided, you found yourself on the roadside curb next to your car, pregnant, jobless and carrying a small box filled with the sparse office mementos you had collected from your decade at Tokyo Today. The building loomed over you, its shadow keeping you cool from the striking sun and you allowed yourself to exhale—to truly absorb the fact that you had done it now. 

Did I make a mistake? 

There was nothing for you to do but to accept and acknowledge that it was your own doing that led you here today. You palmed your rotund belly, whispering to it softly. “I’m so sorry, baby girl. I thought I could make it better for you but I went and messed it up.”

Okay, new goal in life: no matter what, you were still going to provide for your baby by any means necessary. You still had some savings in your bank and if all else failed, you supposed your parents would rather you home (albeit pregnant and unemployed), than if you were off searching for fast money in clubs and bars to feed your daughter. 

The thought alone scared you and for the first time in your life, you came to terms with just how small of a speck of your life was in the great fabric of things. In some ways, you were still that little girl looking both ways before she crossed the street; always ready for the first sign of danger so she could run away and hide. 

No. Nope. This was not happening. You would rather trade your left kidney than to be caught crying in front of a company that booted you out heartlessly. Mia had already texted you and left you some numbers that you could call; connections that were searching for a business writer, but you had left her on read to lick your wounds in peace. 

Perhaps you would return her messages tomorrow. With any luck, maybe you would sleep past the morning so you would not have to wake up for breakfast—one meal of the day saved from your sheer laziness. 

You staggered into your old car and locked the doors, starting the engine and sinking back into the worn leather seats. 

This was it. It was time to say goodbye. You glanced up at the place you had paved your career for a good ten years and sighed. Since your pride was already in shambles and you had no one to share your sudden sadness with, you dialled the first number that came to mind. 

“Hey, mama,” Gojo’s voice chirped from the other end and you never expected that simple greeting to lift your spirits. 

“Hey,” you muttered, tapping your steering wheel with one finger. “Something happened.”

“Damn. Are you going into labour already?”

You scoffed, biting down the urge to grin widely. “Really funny, Satoru.”

“What can I say—I strive to be the best at everything, including cheering you up. So, what’s up?”

Trying hard not to burst into tears, you cursed your raging hormones when wetness trickled down your cheeks, expelling a quick laugh and swiping at your eyes. “I just got fired.”

There was a crackle of silence over the line. “Fired? Why?” 

“Apparently we’re getting sued… and I was the cause of it.” 

You could imagine cerulean blue eyes lowering and perhaps, his peachy lips would be turned down into a frown. Part of you expected him to mutter some form of half-assed condolences, and not say: 

“Stay put, okay?” 

“Satoru—”

“I’m coming for you. You’re still at the building?” 

You gripped the phone tighter, unable to believe the extent of his kindness. “Mhm hmm.”

“Okay, be there in a flash.”

He stayed true to his word. Gojo arrived in all his glory; a sleek white Aston Martin, neatly pressed suit and shades lowered to hide the twinkle in his eye. He took your keys and tossed it to a familiar woman who smiled at you in greeting. 

“Utahime-san, please take Y/N’s car and drive it back to her residence. I’ll take her from here.”

“Yes, sir.” 

There was no room for you to gawk at the grandness of the car before Satoru was ushering you in, taking care to brace his palm on your head so you wouldn’t accidentally collide with the low beam. 

“This is… wow.” Your murmurs caught his attention and you glanced at him to find a smirk on his face. 

“I couldn’t just leave my baby mama all alone now, could I?”

“You’re too nice, Gojo.” 

The despondency in your tone was apparent enough for him to detect. He switched gears and the car tore down the street, towards the highway. Gojo had even made sure you wore a seatbelt and despite his hellish speed, he was surprisingly good on the road. 

“Say, what about we take a day off? Let’s go to this place I know and get ice cream.”

You perked up at that suggestion—or rather, your cravings did and you nodded enthusiastically. 

“That sounds perfect.”

He made small talk with you while he drove you to this little parlour in Odaiba, the Rainbow Bridge never looking this bright until you were sat next to Satoru who made you laugh at every little thing he said because he was too damn charismatic for his own good. Slowly, the dark mood you had on from your sudden change lifted and you followed him, arm-in-arm, into a tiny, spotless café where the owner called out to him in a friendly greeting.

Apparently, the wealthy and famous CEO of Gojo Holdings was a regular in this humble little shop, and the owner didn’t even hesitate to remark on how beautiful the two of you looked as a couple—a statement that Satoru did not deny. 

Buying your favourite flavour of that sweet treat, he sat down next to you with his own bowl—chocolate and macadamia nuts with a healthy drizzle of cherry sauce. It was a good choice and he was kind enough to let you sneak a few spoons, sensing it was your cravings that caused this lapse of manners and not your usual shy self. 

“So, what’re you gonna do now?” Satoru had this habit of licking his spoon between every mouthful of ice cream and you had to stop yourself from chortling at how that habit reminded you of a little boy. Unbidden, you wondered if your baby girl would inherit his love for sweets as well—if she was truly his flesh and blood. 

“I guess I'll live off my savings for a bit. Mia is talking to some publishing companies to see if they would have me. Let’s hope they love sloppy seconds.”

“Mmm, I like sloppy seconds.”

The innuendo hit you a second too late and you pretended to be cross with him. “You’re gross.”

He didn’t find any offence in your quick retort and hummed. “Was I the first one you slept with?” 

You hesitated and dropped your gaze to the sundae cup. There was a part of you that had already buried the idea that it could be Nanami’s baby—your ovulation had not begun when you slept with him for the last time… but Gojo did not need to know the full details.

“Yes.”

“So, she must be mine.”

You fought back a smile and busied yourself with another spoon full of ice cream before speaking. “Y’know, you’re taking this very well for someone who just found out your baby mama slept with two other guys.” 

“Ah. Crazier things have happened.” 

That admission got your eyes widening and you giggled. “Really? Tell me.”

He divulged you with every mind-boggling tale he had in his arsenal—from a psychotic ex-girlfriend who once spiked his drink with Viagra, to his parents’ divorce, the messy custody battle for him, his father’s new girlfriend that was Japan’s first Playboy bunny and his mother’s penchant at sneaking disses at her ex-husband whenever she was interviewed by a lifestyle magazine for her interior designing prowess—Gojo was giving you a front row seat to the mess behind the class.

“Damn. Are you sure you’re not living in a K-drama?” 

He gestured to your belly with a wide grin. “At this point—can we say we’re not?” 

Satoru definitely had a point. “Touché.” 

After dessert, he took you for a walk in Odaiba, pointing out a few cafes that he loved to frequent and even making plans for the both of you to try it whenever he could find a sliver of free time like today. You were coming to discover that Satoru was an impulsive man and had the filter of a seven year old boy who could not control his tongue. That was evident when he hung his long limbs over the metal railing that overlooked the sea, the warm tones of sunset drenching his handsome features and lighting up the blue in his eyes when he grinned at you. 

“I like you, Y/N. If you need anything, just let me know, kay? I know this is hard for you and I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

Whether from the hormones or the stress of the day, you found your eyes smarting and you dropped your gaze to the gently crashing waves under the floorboards of the bridge, nodding. 

“Thank you, Satoru. I’m glad you’re here.”

“No worries.” To your mortification, he got down onto one knee and pressed his face into your belly—in the middle of broad daylight without caring that passers-by glanced at this six-foot-three man making kissy noises into your stomach.

“Satoru,” you giggled, and attempted to bat his face away. “Tickles!” 

“There’s that pretty smile,” Gojo said and straightened to touch your swollen belly with his larger palm. “Let’s get you and the pretty baby home, okay? Mama definitely needs her rest after a long day.” 

In her life as an OBGYN practitioner, Ieiri had thought she’d seen everything. 

From women who were ecstatic at the idea of being mothers, to those who were shocked at the idea of conceiving a life into this world when they weren’t ready, and everything else in between. She had seen fathers who had been there every step of the way for the love of their lives, and sadly, mothers who had to pave the way for their family all alone.

But, she had never seen a case like yours in all her years of experience. 

There were some days when the other staff members in the OB GYN department would inquire about the deeper circles under her eyes, the longer smoke breaks, but she couldn’t break patient confidentiality with you and disclose the details of your pregnancy. 

Besides, she was also your friend to boot and did not want to betray your trust in any way that was deemed inappropriate.

However, that became hard to do when she felt the presence of someone approaching her. She looked up from her haze of smoke and nearly choked on those nicotine wafts when she recognized who it was. 

“Kento?”

Before her, stoic and tall, was your ex-boyfriend. The young doctor lowered her cigarette and forced herself to smile—though with how taken aback she was at the sight of Nanami himself in the flesh, she was pretty sure it came across as a grimace instead. 

“Shoko. I’m so sorry to have snuck up on you like this but I’ve been trying to call Y/N and I haven’t heard back from her. She called me about a few months ago but hung up. Is she okay?”

You hadn’t divulged any of this with her and Ieiri was not sure how to respond. She chose a neutral route and diverged the topic back to him. 

“Hmm. Aren’t you supposed to be in Malaysia by now?” 

It was to her immense surprise when she heard his next words. 

“I cancelled it.” 

Shoko stared at him, the cigarette in her hand forgotten. Though she had never been close to Nanami Kento, your best friend could not deny that it was the happiest she had ever seen you when you were dating someone. Ieiri had even once jokingly called you a scumbag magnet—if there was a bum within a five mile radius, it was almost a given that you would’ve fallen head over heels for him. 

But, Kento was different. He was stoic, aloof and according to you—a genuinely good man who you could envision marrying. That was until he chose his career over you. 

Why would he turn down this opportunity of a lifetime? Shoko was familiar with how the Masamichi group was  expanding into Southeast Asia because of a bigger demographic and a plethora of opportunities; it would be a chance for Kento to purchase his house on the beach and retire early from the success of this expansion. 

So, why was he still here? 

Ieiri got her answer not even a second later. 

“I’m worried about Y/N. I… I don’t suppose you’ve seen her?”

The guilt she felt on your behalf pervaded through her chest and Ieiri coughed lightly, finally putting out her cigarette. Your life was already a mess with the potential of three baby daddies and the new issue of you losing your job. You didn’t need Kento coming back in the fray to give you more stress.

So, Ieiri decided that it was her duty as your friend and a decent doctor to break the news to him. 

“Nanami, there’s something you should know about Y/N…” 

He had straightened, broad shoulders going rigid. “Is she hurt?”

Far from it. Ieiri decided it was better to rip the band aid off than dance around the issue forever and she took a deep breath. 

“Y/N’s pregnant.” 

For a long minute, the blonde man did not speak. The hard expression he wore fractured at the edges as he absorbed this information. But, he was first and foremost a logical man—emotions would come later, and he had to uncover if this was the reason why you were avoiding him—with the possibility that you were carrying his child being the biggest cause of your radio silence.

“And I’m the father?”  

A flash of something like pity flitted across Ieiri’s pretty features. 

“I should let you know… she kind of had a wild few weeks and…”

Kento interjected before she could finish. “Is she fine?” 

“Yes. Well—no.” Ieiri took another deep inhale. “Y/N is pregnant and we don’t know who the father is because… she slept with three other men after your breakup.”

The breeze picked up, carding through her brown locks and his lighter ones. For a few minutes, Nanami did not speak. 

“Kento?” 

As if a spell had been broken, he snapped awake from his trance and jerkily bobbed his head. 

“It’s getting late and I’ve taken up too much of your break.”

“Kento—”

He spun around, all sharp edges and muffled emotions scattered across his angular and striking features. 

“Give Y/N my best.”

She stopped him before he could leave, needing to know what was his current headspace. Ieiri would be a huge liar if she did not admit that the reason for her curiosity was because she wanted to assuage the guilt at being the bearer of bad news. 

“What’ll you do now? Are you going to talk to her?” 

But he did not answer, ducking his head down so she could not see his reaction. Eclipsing his weary thoughts for his own morose rumination. 

“Goodbye, Ieiri.”

[A few months ago]

Once you had gotten over the sting of being creamed by your fling’s bitter ex, you came to the realisation that if life wanted to fuck you over, you may as well have fun with it. 

“A tattoo?” Ieiri was in disbelief the moment that request flew past your lips. 

Grinning, you nodded. “Yup! One on my hip.”

Beside her, Getou who was sipping on his matcha latte quietly gave a snort. “You almost cried when you had your cartilage pierced; are you sure you can handle a tattoo?”

You levelled him with a look. Dressed in his designer polo shirt and crisp pants, one would think that Suguru Getou was not the type for something as improper as tattoos. But, the dragon design around his neck begged to differ and even if you had wanted to dismiss his words, he had a ton of experience when it came to needles—more than you, obviously. 

“I think I could.”

The silence that spanned across the coffee table where all three of you had met for an impromptu brunch was riddled with disbelief. 

“Are you sure it’s professional?” Ieiri broached the topic, knowing how corporates, especially publishing ones, could be particular with the sight of ink on their employees skin. It was up there with dyed hair—who could take a business reporter seriously if they had hot pink locks? 

You pouted and it didn’t take long for your best friend to sense that there was nothing she could say to change your mind. “I’m not getting a big ass one on my face like those rappers,” you mumbled defensively. “It’s just a tiny one on my hip.”

That was apparently enough of a reason for Suguru to grab both you and Ieiri downtown to his favourite tattoo parlour. The smell of lavender and antiseptic reminded you of a hospital if it existed in another dimension. All around you, inked men and women waltzed around the premise, calling out a greeting to the tall Getou heir, friendliness in their words reminding you how you this was his turf and you were in safe hands. 

Well, almost. From across the room, you caught the eye of a sullen looking, pink-haired man. Recoiling slightly, you held a macabre fascination for the tribal-like swirls around his face, and neck. As if sensing your stare, he lifted his brown eyes, and stunned you into silence. Fuck—he’s hot. 

A hand on your back made you startle and Getou’s crescent-eyed smile carved itself into your periphery. “Sukuna—hey! Long time no see.” 

Like a switch had been flipped, the scary looking man trailed his intimidating stare from you to your friend, easing up with a genial smile. “Yo, Sugu. Been a long time. How’s that new one healing up?”

Much to your consternation, Getou lifted the hem of his black t-shirt, giving the entire shop a peek of his washboard abs and deep ‘V’, along with the tiger tattoo scrawled across his hip bone. “Perfectly, man. You knocked it out the board, as usual.” Chuckling amicably, he gestured towards you. “But, that’s not why I’m here—my friend is getting her first tattoo.”

You tried hard not to shrink back when Sukuna’s gaze met you again. This time, a teasing smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Oh, she’s your friend? Thought she was lost for a bit.” 

Before you could open your mouth to sarcastically retort that you weren’t, Sukuna gestured to an unattended room down the hallway. “My schedule is pretty free today—I’ll take her on.” 

Getou nodded enthusiastically. “Alright! You’ll be fine, Y/N. Sukuna here is the best at what he does. You’ll love your tattoo.” Like a proud father handing his reluctant toddler off at a daycare, the raven-haired man nudged you towards the tattoo artist, beaming brightly. “Ieiri and I will be next door having a massage. You call me once you’re done, okay?” 

You tried not to whine through gritted teeth for Getou to follow you into the room, watching helplessly as he spun around on his heel and left you alone, Shoko following behind and giving you a big thumbs up. 

Traitors, you thought murderously. They were supposed to be here for you, possibly even holding your hand in the tattoo room as you cussed your heart out, but they had left you on your own to fend for yourself. And your growing anxiety around the statuesque tattoo artist. There was a twitch in your left eye which was exacerbated the moment Sukuna scoffed.

“You're gonna stand around all day? Come on.”

You mirrored his scoff, crossing your arms in front of you.

“Are you always this rude to your clients? I could write a really bad review and affect your business.” 

For a second, your audacity sent him into a disquiet, and then, Sukuna chuckled. “Sure. I can play nice for a bit.” Cocking his head closer, he assumed an air of playful sobriety that was seriously off-putting with the ink on his face. “I apologise for my behaviour, miss. Please follow along with the sterilisation process.”

You opened your mouth to retort, wanting to ruthlessly mouth off until the smug smile from his face was gone when he ambled down the hallway. While getting a tattoo has always been what you wanted, could you bear getting it from such a rude man that brought out the inner Karen in you? 

Suguru did say this place was the best around Tokyo and he is paying for my tattoo… 

Ugh. Fine. You made up your mind and trailed behind the behemoth of a man, careful to set your purse down and sit daintily on the bench as you adjusted the hem of your knee-length skirt.

“It’s good you came prepared in a skirt,” Sukuna commented, shaking you from your reverie and tossing you a disarming grin. “Gives me easier access to work on you.” 

Your face felt way too warm for such a casual remark and you dropped your gaze from his piercing one, twisting your fingers together. “Just don’t fuck it up, okay? Or else I will literally bring my lawyer on your ass.”

That was a lie—you didn’t have a lawyer. But, what this smug asshole didn’t know would not hurt him. Sukuna lifted a brow and remained mum. He nodded towards a tray of tools. “I’m going to sterilise this first. You can go ahead and remove your blouse and hang it up there.” He gestured towards the coat rack. 

While the idea of stripping in front of an attractive man scared you, it was nothing in comparison to the idea that he would be evading your personal space. Literally touching your skin with his black-gloved hands. Feeling you tremble underneath him.

Fucking Toji. It was because of him you were still like a bitch in heat, ready to latch onto any available cock in sight. 

As if you were a bloodhound, you tried to keep calm when the scent of his rich, aquatic cologne hit you, your shoulders tensing when he sat on the metal stool next to the bench and tapped on the headrest. “Lie back down for me?” 

Doing your best to comply, you twisted your torso slightly, the makeshift blanket almost falling down to reveal the rise of your cotton-clad breasts. Sukuna must’ve been unaffected by your near nudity because he didn’t even react when your bare waist came into view. Probably used to seeing tits in his face all the time. 

Those rubbery palms touched your hip, smoothing a cool liquid over your skin that stung slightly. “Okay, I’m starting the needle.”

There was a whir in the background and you flinched when his palm tensed around your hip bone, nearly bolting out of the chair when the point of the needle touched your skin. 

Sukuna jerked and stopped the machine pen, shooting you a glare. “Hey, quit it. You gotta relax for me, okay? I could’ve tore through your skin with the—”

“I hate needles.” 

The admission fell between both of you like a pin dropping sharply from the edge of a table. Pinging and fracturing around with incredulous silence.

Sukuna gave you a look. “Then what the fuck are you doing in a tattoo shop?” 

Unbidden, tears glossed in your eyes, and Sukuna set down the metallic tool, sighing. “Let me take a wild guess—your ex-boyfriend dumped you so you want to get inked as a sign of your freedom when in fact, you’re still grieving over the relationship, right?” The corners of his lips twitched. “You’re not exactly hard to read.” 

You sniffled pathetically, never imagining in a hundred of years that you would be close to bursting to tears in the middle of a tattoo parlour. 

Evidently, Sukuna may seem like he had a grasp on the situation, but he was just as clueless as you were and had rightfully offended you.

The air was thick with tension, uncuttable and gooey with some unnamed emotion. 

Sukuna decided not to say anything else and pass you a tissue, switching off the running machine with a soft sigh. “If you’re not paying me for a tattoo, at least make it worth my time by entertaining me.” Sitting back, he crossed his arms across his very broad, very sexy chest, and lifted a brow, a ghost of a smirk ready to tug up in the corners of his lips. 

“Go on, tell me your sob story. Might even throw in a complimentary spa voucher if you move me real good.” 

That’s it. You snapped your mouth shut and hopped down from the bench, throwing off the blanket with a sharp swish of your wrist. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.” There was a familiar steel in your tone which you often used on errant reporters and underlings that had the power to make anyone cower. 

But, for Sukuna, all you succeeded in doing was making him confused. 

“So, you don’t want my listening ear?” 

You could no longer hold back the vitriol ready to spill from the tip of your tongue. 

“Look here, mister. Yeah, sure, you may be the best tattoo artist in this district and a good friend of Suguru, but I won’t tolerate your rudeness, especially when it comes to commenting on my life.”

The flinty edge in your gaze shocked him. “So, you can keep all your wisecrack jokes to yourself and I will see myself out. If you want me to bill you for the consulting fee, you know who to ask.” 

As you were about to tug on your shirt, you heard him click his tongue. 

“Hey—I’m sorry.” 

You froze, about to jam one arm into a sleeve when his rueful apology reached your ears. 

A heavy sigh resounded, and you turned around to face him, blouse still askew over your head. “Well, you’re not forgiven.” 

Sukuna’s lips twitched again, and he helped you tug down your shirt. 

Unbidden, the tips of his fingers grazed your exposed abdomen, and you couldn’t hide a shiver at his calloused touch. 

Face still stuffed halfway into your shirt, you were helpless to stop Sukuna from trailing his touch down to your stomach which was now exploding into a million butterflies. 

“Sukuna—”

“Do you ever shut up?” He murmured, and as quick as his touch came, it disappeared from your body. The tattooist showed you a fleck of stray ink staining his index finger. “Accidentally spilled some on ya. Sorry about that.”

He nodded towards the exit. “You can wait for Suguru to be done outside in the lobby. I won’t charge you for anything today.”

His sudden niceness threw you off, and you narrowed your eyes. 

“You’re strange.” 

The corners of his lips twitched, his amusement contagious. “Rich coming from someone afraid of needles in a tattoo shop.” 

Sukuna rubbed his hands, huffing. “Well. Get out of here. I have another customer.” 

But, the masochist in you pinned you down to the leather seat, stubbornly warring with yourself to get this through. 

“Do it.” 

Sukuna cocked a brow. “What?” 

“I’m ready to be tattooed.” 

In answer, he sank back down, pulling out his gun—whether emboldened or amused by your sudden resolution, you had no idea.

“Okay. Take off your shirt. We’re doing this, and—”

He gave you a look, one which froze you in place.

“—no backing out of this. Or, I’ll take your entire your deposit. Deal?” 

After what seemed like hours, your fresh tattoo was ready. 

Your clawed grip on the leather couch had left indents, and you were positive your molars were grinded into a pulp from how hard you had clenched your teeth.

“There,” Sukuna hummed, wiping away the dots of blood with a sterilised cloth, his smile small and a little proud. 

“You did so well for me. I’m proud of you.” 

Unbidden, his words cracked something in your mind, and the tears overflowed. It was mortifying to be like this—crying your heart out in front of an incredibly attractive man who had no idea how to handle your switching emotions. 

Embarrassed, you tried to play off your sudden outburst with a nervous giggle.

You expected him to kick you out—weirded by your reactions—not sigh and sit down next to you, his gloves in hand.

“Do you wanna talk about your relationship?” 

Mutely, you shook your head. 

“Do you want a drink?”

The mention of alcohol made you perk up and you nodded.

Sukuna exited through the curtains and returned a minute later with bottles of beer—one for him and one for you. You both clinked in morose cheers and drank in silence; the alcohol taking away the edge of pain from both your throbbing tattoo and your broken heart. 

“You’re better off without him,” your tattooist said after a moment. “The dude, I mean. Fuck him. You’re pretty—you’ll find someone good soon.”

Cracking a watery smile, you chuckled. “You think?” 

“I know.” His smile was confident and his charm irresistible. “A good girl like you will make a great one for any guy.” 

Good girl. 

Oh. 

Heat slicked down your spine, curdling somewhere in between your thighs. Sukuna watched the effects of his words play across your face—calculating the exact point when you were weak enough for him to make his move.

It was when your mouth fell slightly open, eyes darting over his face tattoos to fully drink in his own vermillion eyes, did he lean forward and kiss you.

You drank him in, no longer shy or subdued—turned flirty and lethal from the coasting hormones the pain elicited and the strong beer. His kisses rained like warm dew drops down your neck, your shoulders, and in between your exposed cleavage.

Sukuna hitched you up higher on the seat, knocking the beer bottles over. They shattered to the floor, and someone yelped in the room next door.

“Sorry,” he grunted, frantically groping under your skirt to pull your panties off. “Kicked something over.” 

He slapped his other palm over your mouth, pushing two fingers into your slick hole. Sukuna finger-fucked you fast and hard, the muted squelching of your pussy creaming all around his black gloved fingers effortlessly.

You whined and squirmed, eyes rolling back into your skull. Unable to take the searing pleasure.

Sukuna didn’t let up. He was ruthless—making you cum quietly in the back of his shop. Those warm and slightly chapped lips latched onto your pulse point, kissing down your shoulders as you convulsed and twitched in his arms.

Not giving you a moment to catch a breath, Sukuna unsheathed his cock from behind his acid wash jeans. You whined softly, impatiently pushing up his shirt to expose his washboard abs. 

Sukuna took the hint, ripping off his shirt and yours.

The air between both your lips tasted like ripe honey, and you lapped at his lower lip, swallowing his scratchy moan.

His voice alone could turn you on—and knowing the effect he had on you, Sukuna cooed, like an owner speaking down to his pet as he propped you onto your hands and knees. 

“Hold the chair tightly,” his whisper was hot against the sensitive shell of ear. “And don’t make a sound, you understand? One single moan and I will stop everything.”

As he spoke, he rutted the tip of his cock in between your thighs, and you were glad you wore a simple skirt today. It made it easier for him to pull down the crotch of your panties to the side. 

Sukuna slipped his entire prick inside of you without much prep, and your entire body tensed—your previous release helping to ease him all the way to the hilt. 

His hands were clawed on your hips, using them as an anchor to jackhammer your willing cunt.

Too fast—this is too much.

“Too much,” you murmured, wincing when he pried his entire length from your creamy depths only to sink back into you unceremoniously. “‘Kuna—”

“You can do it.”

The sensation of a rubber covered finger tapping and rubbing on your clit added another layer of debauchery to this unexpected tryst. A mewl ripped past your clenched teeth, and true to his word, Sukuna stopped all movement.

“‘Kuna,” you mumbled, peeking over your shoulder with wide, teary eyes.

“Don’t give me that look.” 

The tips of his pink hair were slick with sweat; falling right into his face, giving him a shadowy intrigue which shot straight into your neglected pussy. 

“I told you I would stop.” Without waiting for your reply, Sukuna sank his teeth into the tip of his gloved middle finger, yanking off the rubber in one smooth move. He repeated the motion with the other hand while you were spread legged and dripping onto his chair, waiting for him to move. “And you didn’t listen.”

Clinically, almost cruelly, he buried two fingers into your gaping hole, curving them upward. This time, he took a moment to inspect your folds and squeezing cunt, his face almost close to your ass.

“Hmm.” 

It was dehumanising to have a stranger do this to you, but you couldn’t stop him. You didn’t want to stop him. 

“A pretty pussy,” he mumbled, and withdrew his fingers, leaving you aching and empty again. 

Sukuna leaned forward, the heat of his body seeping into your bare thighs. “One more time, darling. And this time, be good for me, okay?” 

Nodding, you arched your back and he laughed at your eagerness. At how you presented yourself to him like an offering on a silver platter. 

“Slut,” he rasped, taking control of your body once again and bullying his cock into your tight heat. “Such a fucking eager little fuckdoll.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth to keep from moaning. There was only a curtain to separate both of you; anyone could walk in and see your tattoo artist balls deep into your creaming pussy.

Sukuna’s free hand had reached under your shirt, expertly tugging your bra cups down to pinch and roll your nipples.

The fact you were both still halfway dressed made you burn with both embarrassment and lust. Nothing else was heard around the room except for the soft squelches of your pussy taking his cock and his heavy breathing growing even denser.

Sukuna’s hips stuttered, and you could tell he was close. He bucked and undulated against you, a choked moan that almost sounded like pain caressing your neck.

“‘Kuna—” your whine was cut short by his rough hand tugging your face to his, lips crashing onto yours.

A dark sort of emotion overtook you, and for one split second, you were no longer the heartbroken girl trying to find meaning in life. Sukuna’s touches made you feel alive; brimming with vitality and hope.

Warm spurts filled you up and you gasped into his mouth, feeling him filling you up like it was the most natural thing in the world to do. 

When you both could finally speak, Sukuna gently withdrew himself and gave you a soft kiss on the forehead.

You closed your eyes, leaning back into him, exhausted to the bone.

“Keep the deposit,” he rasped in his low, deep voice; chest rumbling underneath your cheek. “The tattoo’s on me.”

After the disastrous week that was the result of your unfair dismissal at work and the revelation that Gojo Satoru wanted to be in your life not just as your baby’s daddy, but as a friend, things seemed to look up. 

Granted, your bank account was slowly dwindling by the day, and the food in your fridge was becoming just as sparse as your finances; you didn’t have anything much to do in the day but read up on business news and take baths—but all the hardships made you work even harder, determined to make a better life for your baby. 

Shoko had heard of your predicament and called you up for a wine night—or in your pitiful case—a sparkling wine night and teasingly asked you, “Why don’t you get Gojo to pay your bills?” 

“I’m not a sugar baby, Ieiri,” you had grumbled and she snorted, looking resplendent in her floral summer dress while you felt like a whale beside her. 

Stupid pregnancy belly. Your clothes were becoming too tight around your hips, and squeezing into your jeans made you feel like your thighs had turned into pieces of meat being squished into a sausage skin. 

Whoever said that women were the most attractive during their pregnancy obviously missed the mark by about a whole mile. 

“Money is money, Y/N. Besides, you can always use the excuse that you need it for the baby.” 

You had shot her a look over your sadly non-alcoholic glass of despair and frowned. “Are you teaching me how to swindle money from a CEO?”

“I’m teaching you how to be in your bag, Y/N,” she corrected with a smirk.

That was a few nights ago, and the idea still replayed in your mind. However, you recalled Gojo’s happy smiles and how he was genuinely ecstatic to be having a child and you reasoned her suggestion did not seem so farfetched. 

Winter was steadily approaching as seen from the snatches of cold air circulating around the apartment, and with it, Gojo’s increasing busyness. You had not heard from the white-haired CEO for almost a whole week and you were growing antsy. Your phone was resolutely silent as well, your messages to Toji and Sukuna going unread since that disastrous day in the OBGYN room. Trying hard not to let the winter blues and the chill of those two men get to you, you decided to take yourself out on a date. 

Bulging belly apparent under your sweater, you winced at the tenderness of your breasts and massaged them gently while you tried to bend over and lace your boots. Deciding that you did a good job, you huffed, dragging your puffy coat over your frame. Appraising yourself in the mirror, you had to bite down on a laugh at how much you looked like an inflated Michelin man. A part of you was saddened that you could no longer dress up in babydoll dresses and sleek winter coats; since becoming a mom, practicality had very much taken over fashion. 

The streets were bustling and you stayed closer to the walls, people giving you way once they noticed your swollen stomach and reddened face. How did all these Hallmark movies make pregnancy seem almost effortless? All those actresses had dewy skin, perfectly rotund bellies and a doting husband near them at all times—none of which you had with you right now. 

The cafe you wanted to visit was too crowded and you huffed, taking out your phone and deciding to move to a different location. But before you could waddle away in disappointment, a harsh wind picked up and snatched your loosely tied scarf, the red material shimmering from your grasp as you exhaled out an exasperated, “Ugh—seriously?”

Moving as fast as your swollen legs could carry you, you rushed to grab the evasive material, nearly twisting on a patch of ice and tangling in your undone boot laces. For one split second, gravity seemed to elude you and you cried out, terrified beyond belief, the one warning flashing in your mind: my baby!

But before you could careen down to the ground, a strong arm caught you. 

“Y/N!” 

You gasped and held onto the defined bicep for your dear life, the blood rushing through your ears loud enough to stifle the presence next to you. 

“You’re alright—you’re alright, love.” 

That voice…

Glancing up with teary eyes, you were stunned by who had caught you. 

“S-Sukuna?” 

He was dressed warmly in a cashmere sweater and a woolly black scarf, tribal tattoos on his face and neck standing out like a stain on his tanned skin; incredibly handsome under the slate-grey skies. The wind ruffled his rosy hair and you noticed he had a greasy box in one hand, the other still wound around your waist. 

Cognizant that he was still holding onto you, he reluctantly let you go. There was no mirth in his light brown eyes when he appraised you, apparently exasperated at your disposition. “Be more careful next time,” he clicked his tongue and took in your dishevelled state. “Jesus, who dressed you? A toddler?”  

Before you could protest, he set the box down on a shop’s window ledge and got onto one knee, lacing your boots tightly, straightening your collar and even adjusting some buttons of your coat that were askew. His brisk assistance left you with a light dusting of pink on your cheeks and you ducked your gaze down when he tried to meet your eye. 

A layer of awkwardness hovered between both of you and Sukuna eventually cleared his throat, picking up the box once more. 

“I heard about how you got fired. I was about to head over to your apartment. Um, I got you some pizza.”

He mumbled everything under his breath, as if he were embarrassed of admitting something simple as helping someone who was not himself. 

You blinked—once, twice—before finding your voice. “Oh. Thank you.” 

Sukuna shifted from one foot to the other, still unable to meet your eyes. “Um—do you wanna head back? I think it might get cold.” 

“Sure.” 

It was a short walk back to your apartment and even when you felt fine, you were surprised when he roughly tugged his scarf from his neck to sloppily wrap it around your bare neck. The smell of his musk and rich cologne pricked your nostrils and you hid your blushing cheeks in the folds of the soft material. 

He cleared his throat, attempting to make conversation. “Are you okay?” 

“I’ve been better.” In a quieter voice, you asked, “How did you know I was fired?” 

“Gojo told me. Fucking hell—that HR was ruthless. You sure you don’t want to sue her? Firing a pregnant woman is a discrimination.” 

Somehow, hearing Sukuna getting angry on your behalf made the warmth on your cheeks deepen. Hiding your quiet pleasure at how nice he was being for a change, you tittered. “I’m done with that line. I might just open a flower shop.”

“A flower shop? That’s so girly.”

Your apartment appeared and he helped you to unlock the front door, careful to usher you in first. Catching your breath, you responded to his jab a few seconds too late, your lagging pregnancy brain striking again. 

“Ooh, look at me, I’m a big, muscular, tattooed man who hates flowers. Real charming, Sukuna.”

Biting down a smile at how indignant you sounded, Sukuna settled himself on your couch, taking a gander at your space. You sat down next to him with two plates and two cups of Coke, sending him a mock glare. 

“No, no. I meant that as a compliment.” 

The pizza smelled heavenly and you indulged in two slices, the grease easing the disappointment of losing your favourite scarf. If he noticed the empty room you were slowly cleaning out to make space for your baby’s nursery, he didn’t say anything. 

You were coming to discover that Sukuna was more of an action-based person; preferring to speak with his carefully crafted gestures compared to flowery words. In that sense, he was different from Gojo, and you welcomed the change. 

For instance, Sukuna’s hesitation was apparent when he placed his palm on your belly, the warmth permeating through the thick material of your sweater. It was quiet except for both of your in-sync breathing. Outside, the wind was picking up, rattling the windows and exacerbating the silence within the walls. You didn’t break the heady solitude apart, content to bask in his affections and attention when those dark brown eyes flashed in wonder, cradling your bump with his larger hands. 

You shifted your feet into a lotus sitting position and winced. Sukuna noticed your lapsing gesture and gave you a quizzical look. 

“My knees are swollen.”

You didn’t expect what he did next. Gently grasping your ankles, he unfurled your legs and set them on his lap, removing your socks and massaging your feet. An unrestrained groan of relief slipped from your mouth and he chuckled in low tones. 

“Shit—that feels good.”

He hummed, not wanting to break that blissful look on your face so he stayed quiet, pressing his knuckles into the arch of first your right foot then left foot to ease the tension . 

Completely lost in the pleasurable relief, you almost didn’t feel the wetness seep through your panties, the quick twist of your womb. It was only when your abdomen started clenching harder that your eyes flew wide open and you squeaked. 

“Sukuna—um, I think—oh shit.”

He stopped his ministries instantly, tribal tattoos crinkling as he frowned. “What’s the matter?” 

In answer, you whimpered, and pointed to your soiled jeans. 

His dark eyes widened. “Did you piss yourself?” 

Your glare was marred with pain when you shook your head, resisting the urge to sock him right in his handsome face. “No, you dumbass—”

Breaking off, you clenched your teeth, doubling over with a gasp.

His reaction was immediate. “Oh. No. Are you—?”

Sukuna’s first instinct was to wrap his arms around you, hustling you out of the apartment and into the cold.

You nearly screamed at him to get you back into your warm apartment, but from his pinpricked pupils and heavy breathing, Sukuna wasn't exactly thinking straight.

Frantic vermillion eyes darted around the snow-flooded street. Shops were closing and many people were hiding from the flurry of snow falling from the sky. 

The entire world was shutting into itself to brace against a snowstorm and your baby had decided this was the perfect time to arrive.

You grunted in pain, fisting the front of his winter coat. "'Kuna, I wanna go back in. I—"

"You need a hospital," he urged, the panic in his voice unshakable.

The look on your face was brimming with pain, cheeks ruddy from the cold.

“My water broke,” you muttered, as if it wasn’t obvious what you were going through. “‘K-Kuna… help me.” 

Snapping back into action, Sukuna hopped up, holding onto you carefully as he made a few calls. But, with every single rejected dial tone, his panic was increasing.

“Shit,” he cursed, calling another hospital in a different district. 

Of all days when his potential baby mama had to pop, it would be when he didn’t have his bike with him. 

It was stuck in a workshop, the radiator frozen after these unprecedented winter nights. Sukuna was starting to grow desperate.

Another sharp gasp of pain from you rattled his chest, and he tried the ambulance one more time. 

Finally, someone answered.

“Hello?” He rushed without preamble. “My girlfriend is about to give birth. We need an ambulance down Kosai Street, stat.” 

“I’m sorry, sir,” the operator sounded regretful. “The snow is piling up and our ambulances were already deployed to other cases.”

He heard the meaning loud and clear: you’re not important enough to waste resources on. 

The tattoo artist sneered, teeth bared at the stupid woman’s simpering. 

“Fuck, no,” he snarled. “This is important, too! We have no mode of transportation and—”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she repeated again, this time more firmly. “We just received word of a huge accident down the Shibuya intersection and I’m afraid we have to respond immediately. Please allow us two hours to reach you and in the meantime, keep your girlfriend warm and out of the weather.”

The dial tone echoed down the line, and Sukuna thought he had hallucinated the whole conversation.

But, before he could go on a rant about how terrible and unfunded government hospitals are becoming in this country, you grabbed his arm, wincing in pain.

“Call Satoru,” you said in a strangled voice. “Call him and he’ll come. T-take my phone from my pocket.”

Sukuna did as you asked, putting his ego aside to call up the white-haired motherfucker. 

However, just as he was about to press the button, a soft voice interrupted the both of you.

“Do you need a lift?”

Haloed by his car lights, a tall, blonde man strode towards them, his hands in his pockets and a look of solemn worry on his face.

Sukuna didn’t know the guy, but evidently you did when he heard your soft and pained gasp.

“K-Kento?” 

“Yeah, it’s me.” He sounded formal, though the look in his eyes was steeped with regret. 

Something about how you said his name made the other man think this Kento guy was special to you.

But, he had no time to ask if this was the same ex who had landed you in this pickle with three other men; your legs had given out and you were sinking into the snow with an agonised cry.

Using all his strength, Sukuna hauled you into his arms, ignoring your shriek of surprise.

Looking this Kento stranger in the eye, he nodded towards the humming car. 

“Thanks. You came just in time. Y/N needs a hospital.”

Kento’s eyes never left your prone form in his arms, and Sukuna was starting to feel like he had unwittingly landed in the middle of something entirely too intimate.

The both of you were locked in a silent staring competition, and the tattoo artist had just about enough of this unspeakable tension.

“Oi,” he barked, loud enough to startle Kento’s attention back to him. 

“Are we just gonna fucking stare around? Y/N’s about to pop out her baby. We have to get to the hospital—now.”

— reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated !!

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy and repost, or claim as your own

Brooklyn Baby - G.S.

Synopsis. Everybody wanted to fuck Suguru Geto, lead bassist of Tokyo Special Grades. Said Suguru doesn’t want to fuck anyone else but you. He couldn’t give less of a fuck if anyone walked in right now. In fact, a small part of him wishes someone would.

Pairing. Geto Suguru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, rock star! AU, fwb-to-lovers, unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), fingering (female receiving), Suguru is sinfully sexy and in l*ve with you, Satoru is a menace, pet names (darling, my girl), Suguru has tattoos and piercings, swearing.

Word count. 3.2k (DAMN I got carried away)

A/N. Happy Valentine’s day! *throws somewhat-fluffy smut at you and leaves* 

Art by @_3aem on X.

Also, wild west! AU longfic with someone dropping on Sunday night (EST), keep your eyes peeled yeehaw.

Everybody wanted to fuck Suguru Geto, lead bassist of Tokyo Special Grades.

You did. Your fans did. Hell, you’ve even caught your overworked band manager sneaking a few too many glances. 

And, you conclude, the groupies currently batting their lashes at him definitely did. 

You watch as they swarm to him during open rehearsal, giggling at his pretty smiles. 

Whatever, part of the job anyway.

It’s not like you two were dating. Yeah, a few fucks here and there throughout the years - but what’s one to do when on the road and in such close proximity with a guy that’s practically walking sex? 

Trying not to scowl, you turn away from the commotion, continuing to tune the strings of your trusty Fender. You’ve had your fair share of die-hard fans, so lately why did it bother you so much when Suguru entertained their thinly-veiled advances? 

“Ohoho~ Quite a look on your face there, why don’t you go and caress his biceps too?~” you hear idiot brigade member #1, Gojo Satoru, cackle from beside you. 

If looks could kill, Satoru would’ve been 6 feet under and rotting already. “I thought you stopped writing band fanfiction, Satoru.” you raise a brow. 

“THAT WAS ONE TIME.” he whines dramatically, clinging onto you and shaking you back and forth as if to knock the memory of his Wattpad tendencies out of you. “WHY ATTACK ME JUST CUZ YOU’RE JEALOUS? C’MOOON ADMIT IT.”

You were not jealous. 

Suguru knew you were jealous.

Sneaking a glance, he had to fight the urge to coo at the adorable little furrow of your brows. How unprofessional would it be if he walked off mid-conversation to kiss that pout off your lips?

He knows it’s just sex for you. But - foolishly - every time he held you he could only hope that he ran through your mind as often as you did through his. It elated Suguru to know you were getting that worked up over him. 

That is until, out of the corner of his eye, he spots Satoru draping himself all over you, whispering god-knows-what into your ears. 

The rational part of Suguru knows Satoru is a very touchy person, but why was he so…close? And why weren’t you pushing him off?

Smile tightening into something a little more artificial, he turns to the girls fawning over him. “Well, ladies, I’m sorry to say I’ve gotta go practice before Shoko yells at me again. I’ll see you all in the front row, yeah?” he lies smoothly, disappointed whines following him as he makes a beeline for your figure.

“Well! What have we here, Satoru, are you done tuning?” Suguru pops a head between yours and Satoru’s overly close ones, interrupting whatever conversation you were heatedly whispering. What was so important that you two needed to be that close to talk anyway?

He narrows his eyes at Satoru’s surprised ones, an invisible conversation taking place between them before Satoru cracks a smug grin. “Alright alright. I’ll go tune my guitar.” he rolls his eyes, heading for his electric blue Gibson. 

Your confused gaze meets the twinkling eyes now boring down at you. “Done with the meet-n-greet already?” you question, eyes darting to the group now watching you two like hawks.

The smile on Suguru’s face grows, “Yeah, remembered I didn’t do my pre-concert rituals right.”

“Oh?”

“Wanna help me with it?”

He doesn’t give you time to answer. Quickly setting down your guitar, he drags you out into the corridor - hand tightly in yours and pointedly ignoring Satoru’s wolf-whistles. 

Hallway sex is overrated, Suguru believes - which is why he heads for the dressing room. 

“Pre-concert rituals” his ass, Suguru just thinks he might pass away if he doesn’t get his hands on you right now. Make you feel like his.

It’s not long before the door is locked and he has you bent over the vanity, knuckle-deep in your dripping cunt. 

“S-Sugu! Why now? The concert- Hah-” You gasp in pleasure as two long fingers probe inside of you, ruthlessly searching for the spot that Suguru knows would have your toes curling and eyes watering deliciously. 

“Fuck the concert, darling. Barely even started and already so wet f’me.” he drawls out over your whimpers. “Wanted you to come over y’know? And save me from those groupies trying to get in my pants.” 

In your lust-hazed mind, you find the words to respond to him, “You s-seemed to - hah - be enjoying that.”

“Of course not.” he leaves a trail of kisses down your back, “Wasn’t my favorite girl.” he whispers into your heated skin.

He’s being rougher than usual, he knows. In the back of his mind he wonders what it was that he was so pissed at. But all thoughts of that are thrown out the window once he presses into that plushy spot inside your wet core, drawing a sinful whine from your mouth. There.

Pulling back to tease your folds with your own slick, he plunges into your swollen pussy once more, easily hitting that spot over and over. 

“Hngh- Suguru, more!” you grind your hips to meet his merciless rhythm, clenching around his fingers. 

You feel as if you’re losing your sanity when he adds in another finger, walls burning as your cunt stretches around his thick rings. 

Suguru was definitely losing his sanity. 

Anyone could walk by. The concert was about to start any second now. But he couldn’t give less of a fuck, too focused on how his fingers were being sucked back in every time he pulls out, your pretty pussy dripping all over his numerous bracelets.

He has to hold back a moan at the way your ass jiggled every time your hips buck to meet his fingers. 

Leaning down over you, he hums lowly into your ear “So desperate for me, hm?”. Pressing the erection straining against his trousers against you, he huffs out “I’m the same, darling. You drive me absolutely mad.”

He feels the way you squirm in impatience at the large outline of his dick, raising your ass in an attempt to get more friction. Eyes crinkling in satisfaction, he pushes down on his girl’s slutty hips, cold rings digging into the small of your waist. 

“Now now…not yet.” he tuts mockingly. 

“Please, Suguru. Please let me cum.”

Increasing his pace, abusing your g-spot relentlessly, Suguru knew by your breathy moans of his name that you were getting close. 

His hand moves from your waist, leaving behind purple marks to remember him by. They wander the expanse of your body - groping your curves, and pinching your nipples through your thin top - delighting in your mewls.

God, you were perfect. He really needed to take his time with you later.

Suguru’s hands, nail polish chipped and fingers calloused from years of playing, finally rest on your face. He pushes your cheeks together, drool pooling at the corner of your mouth and forcing you to look at him through the vanity mirror in front of you. Your dazed eyes meet his darkened ones. 

Suguru was so feral. The man that was usually the personification of grace and poise was falling apart at the seams. His eyes wild and grin spread devilishly as his fingers abuse your cunt never-endingly.

“Look at me when you cum.” he murmurs raspily into your neck, teeth ghosting over your rapid pulse.

You don’t know what it is that sends you over the edge - maybe it was his lustful words, or the way his fingers quirked just right inside of you. All you know is you’re cumming all over Suguru’s fingers, hands clutching the vanity table and eyes locked with Suguru’s in the mirror, mouth dropping into a gasp.

“Fuck! Suguru- Suguru!” you whimper.

Suguru watches in wonder as you ride out your orgasm, using him. He couldn’t give less of a fuck if anyone walked in right now. In fact, a small part of him wishes someone would.

Let them see how beautifully you fall apart because of him.

Finally pulling out, Suguru inspects his fingers. “Now now. That won’t do.” he purrs. 

His tongue erotically licks up your juices covering his rings, still holding eye contact with you through the mirror. He catches the way your thighs press together at his lewd act. ‘Oh? Want some?“ he teases. 

Before you can retort, he’s bullying his fingers into your mouth, making you taste yourself. 

The way you moan around him sends blood rushing straight to his cock. Fuck, he has to steel himself from cumming in his pants right then and there - that wouldn’t be very “sex icon” of him. 

You have no idea what you do to him.

Not willing to wait any longer, he leisurely takes a seat on the spacious vanity sofa. You whine at the loss of contact before catching the predatory look in his eyes. Suguru was going to eat you alive. 

“Come on, darling. Show me how badly you want me.” he grins, legs spreading and prominent bulge on display. 

You take a second to admire the view. Tousled black hair falling enticingly along Suguru’s muscled shoulders, tattooed dragon peeking through where his shirt was messed up. His eyes lustful, and locked on you. 

He was devastatingly handsome. Your mouth waters at the chance to get what so many people would kill for.

Suguru chuckles as you struggle to unbuckle his belt - did rock stars have to always wear such complicated trousers? 

Finally, you pull them down along with his boxers to expose his creamy thighs. Suguru’s throbbing erection lays on his abs, flushed a delicate pale pink.

Your pussy quivers with excitement as you press wet kisses to Suguru’s leaking head, precum dripping down his length to where you’d gently grasped him. A strangled hiss leaves his mouth as you swirl your tongue around the slit. You find yourself lost in his heady taste - he tastes so good.

“Having fun, darling? C’mon now, use me the way you want.” he murmurs, need laced into his voice.

You’ve never gotten used to how big Suguru is. Soft groans leave his mouth as you flatten your tongue and take him in inch by inch, eyes locked with his blown-out ones.

Suguru’s back arches as the heat of your mouth envelops him, hands bunching your hair into a messy ponytail. His pornographic groans echo across the dressing room as you suck on his cock, tongue swirling in just the way you knew he liked.

He can’t even catch his breath with the way you bob your head so heavenly, sucking the soul out of him. It drives him wild to think about how he’s got his lead guitarist on her knees, choking on his cock as your fans wait outside. 

Suguru’s eyes roll to the back of his head as you pop off his cock to take his heavy balls into your mouth, moaning around them as you suck on both erotically.

Shit, he was really feeling it today. 

Through the bangs now sticking to his forehead, he makes out the way your thighs grind against each other for relief. 

You were, too.

If this keeps up he really will lose his sanity.

“As much as I’d love to paint your pretty face with my cum, I think we both prefer it inside, no?” he grits out, cock twitching at the strings of spit and precum connecting you to him as he pulls you off. 

“Need you inside me so badly.” you nod, brain foggy and filled with only Suguru.

He’s quick to lift you into his lap, resting your ass against his pulsing cock, sly grin spreading at the way you’re already so fucked out. 

Suguru feels like he could cum just from the sensation of your juices smearing all over his length, pussy dripping and aching for his throbbing cock. 

“Oh yeah? How bad?” he purrs, eyes half-lidded and already knowing the answer.

“Please. I want you to fuck me so badly, Suguru.” 

“Badly enough that you’d fuck me out there - where everyone is? Show ‘em who I belong to?”

“Yes.” 

At your whimper, Suguru thrusts fully inside you, a moan of relief leaving you both as you finally get what you’ve been craving for. 

“Shit, so tight. Always so good for me, darling.”

Once you start, it’s hard to stop, Suguru finds. 

It happened when he first fucked you in high school - in his car after your first show, running on adrenaline and teenage hormones. And, years later, it’s happening now as he sheathes himself in your wet cunt. 

He just can’t get enough.

He fucks you animalistically, cock ramming in and out of your hole in a way that makes it feel like you’re missing something without him. Nothing in the world other than your two connected bodies. He feels you clamping down on him deliciously, ego growing at you struggling to accommodate his size. 

“F-fuck, darling. Hah- It’s s’tight. Take it like my good girl.”

“Hngh- Suguru, faster!” you groan, fingers delicately playing with the nipple piercings peeking out of his barely-buttoned shirt, euphoric at his drawn-out moans. 

Unlike Satoru - who takes off his shirt every chance he gets onstage - Suguru was one to shy away from showing skin, slutty piercings and tattoos hidden to the world. It just makes it all the more satisfying as you lick a long stripe along the dragon on his shoulder. 

Feels like your little secret. You wanted to be the only one to see this ethereal sight.

“Ah- So good, darling.” Suguru leans back, allowing you more room to play with him as you please. Cock twitching - so close - as you bore into his eyes, sucking his flashy piercings. 

He ramps up his pace, bouncing you on his cock in a way that was carnal. It was so feral, the way his balls sting as they smack your ass, a ring of spit and precum forming around his base. 

His cock aches for release, but he wants to see you cum first. His pretty girl, cumming all over his throbbing cock.

You pull yourself off his swollen nipples and attach your mouth with his, tongues swirling sensually as he kisses you like he needed you to breathe. 

He’s almost as unforgiving with his mouth as he is with his cock. Almost.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“YOOO I don’t know if ‘pre-concert rituals’ was a code-word for something else but we’re on in twenty minutes.” the unmistakable voice of Suguru’s best friend - and occasional bane-of-his-existence - made you two jump apart. 

“The ultimate cockblock.” Suguru sighs out - his pace, however, does not slow down. Each harsh thrust makes it difficult to muffle your yelps of pleasure from Satoru, who was still calling for you two from outside.

Noticing your predicament, Suguru grins dangerously. “Oh? My poor girl finds it hard to stop her moans? Aww, better try harder unless you want dear Satoru finding out.” he mocks in your ear. 

Both humiliated and turned on by his words, your dripping pussy clenches around his cock. He lets out a choked-up groan, biting hard into the crook of your neck to stop it.

A satisfied smile spreads across your face, “Who should try harder now, Suguru?”

Ah, perfect. You were perfect, perfect for him.

As Satoru’s yells about “cutting a chunk out of Suguru’s pay” disappear across the hallway, both of you let out exhales of relief.

“Dangerous game you played there, mister.” you raise a brow, teasingly.

He chuckles out, before pulling you to him closer by the waist. Lips ghosting over your own, he whispers “Only with you, my darling.” 

Slightly more clear-headed but still dripping with lust, you meet the bounce of Suguru’s hips with your own. Eyes still locked with yours, he stuffs you with every inch - tip kissing your cervix so painfully good. 

The steady slapping of skin and synchronized moans fill the room, blocking out the cheering of the audience awaiting your band. 

Yet, the air crackled with something different this time. For the first time, it didn’t just feel like just mindless fucking.

Bite mark on your neck stinging, you could feel Sugurus heartbeat thundering under your touch - synchronized with your own.

In this moment it felt like just you two in this world. 

You wanted to be the only one in his world. Not his fangirls, not some manager, not anyone else. 

Maybe that was the reason for your courage, feeling like everything has finally come to a boiling point. 

“S-Suguru.” you breathe out as you feel yourself getting closer. 

“Mhm?” brows furrowed, he looks up at you with a tenderness in his eyes that does not translate to the merciless cadence of his hips. 

“Be mine.”

And that’s all Suguru ever wanted. 

With a final hard thrust of his cock, he pulls you into a searing kiss that sends you both over the edge. He cums in hot spurts, thick ropes of seed filling your quivering cunt. It was feral - and it made you feel like his. 

Suguru’s seed drips down the side of his length, forming a white ring at his base as he fucks it deeper into you, letting you ride out your highs together.

As your climaxes bate, he buries his face in your neck, kissing softly over the mark from before. “To be yours is everything I could ever want, darling.” he breathes out, hugging you closer as if to hide this vulnerable moment. But you feel the heat of his cheeks on your skin.

Embracing him, you gather his beautiful black locks in your hand, fingers deftly taking the hair tie around your wrist to tie his long hair into a messy ponytail. 

Pulling back, you admire Suguru’s angelic features. Face flushed, lips swollen, and dark eyes half-lidded as he stares up at you in surprise.

“Wanted to see your pretty face.” you huff out a low laugh.

The expression on Suguru’s face is indescribable, such pure adoration in his eyes. 

Voice low, he murmurs words meant only for you, “I…I’m in lov-” 

“HEYYY I’m serious, stop doing the devil’s tango and GET THE FUCK OUT.” Satoru’s voice bellows once again through the door, shattering the little bubble you and Suguru had found refuge in.

“Ah- um-”

“You-”

Both of you stammer out at once, chuckling at how shy you were acting with one another even after all that had transpired in this room.

“We should probably go, before Satoru and Shoko pop a blood vessel.” Suguru jokes. You laugh out in agreement as he carries you tenderly to the washroom, his interrupted words weighing heavily on both your minds. It’s okay, you have time. 

Rapidly cleaned up and dressed, Suguru stops, a hand on the dressing room doorknob. “”Hey..” he starts almost-hesitantly, “After the concert, would you maybe want to-”

“Yes.” you interrupt, excitement lacing your voice. 

Chuckling in pure euphoria as you both exit, your smiles turn more sheepish as you’re faced with a bored-looking Shoko and an impatient Satoru tapping his foot. “You horny lil’ fuckers almost missed the show, think of my poor fans~” he exclaims, though the glee in his eyes at your intertwined hands was very evident.

“Hope the sex was good at least.” Shoko drones out, eyes flitting over your guilty flushed faces. 

‘Oh yeah, and Suguru - next time you dump your fangirls on me, I chop your balls off.“ she chirps out, pointing her drumsticks threateningly at his neck as you all head back.

Blinding lights. 

Deafening screams.

Hair pulled into a messy ponytail, he was fatally beautiful onstage.

Everybody wanted to fuck Suguru Geto, lead bassist of Tokyo Special Grades. 

But he only wanted to fuck you.

A/N. MMMMM long-haired men.

Plagiarism not authorized.

Uncle!Sukuna Part 6

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

masterlist

Uncle!Sukuna who puts his plan for a second date on temporary hold. The day after the incident with Yuji, you sat him and Sukuna down for that "talk" about why they shouldn't resort to violence, and what other methods they could use to get their emotions out. He hated every second of it. But he did enjoy watching you in your professional element. You were stern and serious, but still had a gentleness about you that showed you actually cared.

Uncle!Sukuna who was falling, real hard, real fast.

But he pushed that aside, instead offering to take Choso out for the day that weekend. He could tell the boy needed some cheering up, and your worry was only getting worse, so he offered to take Choso to some "kid-appropriate guy stuff", and asked you to help Yuji with the finishing touches on his project. Both boys were up for it, and when Saturday hit, you and Yuji waved Choso and him goodbye.

Uncle!Sukuna who couldn't deny that the car ride was a little awkward. He still wasn't very good with kids, and honestly, he was starting to wonder what he was thinking when he offered to do this. He liked the kid, sure, but he knew very little about him. One thing he did know was that Choso and himself were very bad with people, and general socialization wasn't really their thing. So from the house to the mall, the car was silent.

It wasn't until he parked, turning the car off, that Choso spoke.

"I know you like my mom."

Sukuna is silent, stunned by the sudden call-out. He stares out the windshield blankly before his eyes move to the rearview mirror, meeting Choso's. Th boy looks calm and sure.

"You don't have be friendly with me just to get on her good side. She already likes you too." Choso added after a short period of silence.

His words make Sukuna's brow furrow. He ignores the part about you liking him back, turning his head to glare straight at the boy.

"Listen, brat. You're here with me because I wanted you to be, not so I could get brownie points with your mom. Now say something like that again, and I'll throw you in the mall fountain." He quickly got out of the front, leaving Choso to blush at his words. He has a small smile on his face when he climbs out.

Nothing more was said as they walked into the mall. Sukuna took him to the comic store first, that being the whole reason they were there. He watched as the kids eyes lit up, looking around at all the images of his favorite superhero's . It made Sukuna smirk.

"Get what you want. If you see something you think Yuji would like too, let me know." He said before they split up. Choso went to look for his favorites, making sure to keep an eye out for Yuji's too.

Sukuna kept his eye on the kid as he browsed, not caring much about looking at the selection. But his eyes caught on one of the covers, making him pause as a memory surfaces from the pits of his brain.

A young Sukuna is approached by his twin, the younger of the two having his usual grin on his face, while his older brother had nothing but a scowl. Sukuna barely acknowledged his brother until he is standing in front of him, looking far to excited for no reason at all.

"What?"

"It's our birthday tomorrow!" Jin replied. Sukuna rolled his eyes.

"I know that, idiot. Like you said, it's our birthday."

"Well I wanted to give you your present early."

Sukuna looked at his younger twin, confused. They never got each other gifts.

He doesn't get a chance to ask before Jin pulls out a flat, wrapped gift from behind his back. He holds it out to Sukuna, his grin never wavering. Sukuna slowly takes it, holding it in his hand for a second with a skeptical look on his young face.

"Open it." Jin encouraged.

Sukuna listened, tearing off the wrapping paper slowly to reveal a comic book still preserved in the plastic. Sukuna examines the cover, recognizing it as one he's seen Jin read before, one that Sukuna had actually been interested in reading (though he never said that).

"I know you've wanted to read it, so i thought I'd get you a copy. That way, it's something we can enjoy together." Jin admits, practically bouncing up and down with his excitement for Sukuna's reaction.

The older twin is surprised by the thoughtfulness of the gift, and his twins desire to have something they can share. It makes his chest feel full, but he clears his throat in an attempt to appear unaffected. Even at 10, he preferred appearing reserved.

"Uh..thanks, loser." He says after a second, ignoring his brothers grin. Jin can see right through him. "I didn't get you anything." He adds.

"That's okay. Just make sure to tell me what you think once you've read it."

Jin leaves, and Sukuna is left looking down at the colorful cover.

That comic was one of the few things Sukuna ever shared with his brother. It was one of the few things they could talk about and enjoy, finally having a common ground. Sukuna would never had said it before, but he could admit, at least to himself, now that this one comic brought him and Jin a little bit closer.

Which is why he picks it up, not bothering to look at anything else when he moves toward Choso. The kid had already picked out a few comics, some for him, some for Yuji (though he couldn't read that well yet). The two checked out, before making their way through the rest of the mall.

They walked through a few stores, Sukuna buying whatever Choso wanted without complaint. The kid was grateful each time, not expecting Sukuna to do so. But eventually, Sukuna was tired of hearing "are you sure? thank you" over and over.

"Say thank you again and I'll take it all back." He threatened. Choso laughed, nodding in agreement. Sukuna wasn't as intimidating when you got to know him.

They finished their afternoon with some food in the food court, before leaving with plenty of bags and two full bellies.

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The care ride back was far less awkward, but the two still didn't talk much. They simply enjoyed the low music playing through the radio, and the easy ride home.

When they were close to the neighborhood, Choso spoke up.

"If you and my mom get married, would that make Yuji my brother?"

Sukuna blinked in surprise, glancing at the boy in the mirror. Choso had a curious look on his face, genuinely wondering.

"Yuji isn't my son." Sukuna answered after a moment, ignoring the feeling he gets at the idea of marrying you.

"So he'd be my..cousin?" Choso asked. That wasn't as cool as 'brother' but it wouldn't be too bad.

"I...I guess. Technically, yeah." Sukuna answered, trying to brush it off with a shrug. He didn't know why they were talking about this. "But your mom and I aren't even dating, so don't worry about shit like that."

"But you both want to date. Don't you?"

"Don't you have other things to worry about, brat? Since when are you so damn nosey?"

"Mom says it's good to be curious and ask questions."

"Yeah well, not about this. Just worry about your comics and your ma and I will worry about..all the other stuff."

Choso huffed, not happy with his question going unanswered, but figured it didn't make sense to push it. Not right now, at least.

"Well, I like you. And Yuji. So I hope, even if you don't date my mom, you both stick around." Choso admits. Sukuna looks back at him again.

"Yeah?" He sees Choso nod. "Well I...we like you too kid." He says, his voice a lot quieter and soft. His eyes return to the road, right as they turn down the street to your house.

Neither of them say anything more, but both feel a little bit lighter at the confession.

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Uncle!Sukuna who walked into your house a few minutes later, to the sound of upbeat music playing and two voices, very off tune, singing along. He shares a look with Choso, before they walk further in. They stop at the kitchen, seeing you and Yuji dancing around together while seemingly baking. There's a sheet of cookies already laid on the counter to cool, telling Sukuna you both have probably been at this for a bit. He smirks as the smell finally catches up with Choso, who rushes forwards towards the two of you. The sound of his steps catches your attention.

Once again, Sukuna is sure his heart stops when you give your son a large grin, hugging him tightly. It gets worse when you look up, giving Sukuna the exact same beautiful smile.

You turn down the music as he walks into the room fully, Yuji immediately running towards his uncle to be picked up. His bright grin is in place as he starts to ramble about the things the two of you did. He's talking so fast that Sukuna can't understand but a few words, but he doesn't bother interrupting the boy. He simply holds him with one arm, staring at him with a raised, unamused brow. He sees you and Choso talking out of the corner of his eye.

Once Yuji has calmed down a little, you turn to look at them with another smile, handing Choso a cookie while you do.

"Did you get me anything, Uncle Kuna?" Yuji asks, staring at the man expectedly. Sukuna scoffs, wanting to call the boy spoiled for thinking he got him something. But he couldn't, because Sukuna did in fact get his gremlin of a nephew stuff.

"Yeah, but don't expect me to every time. I'm not gonna let you get spoiled." He glares slightly. Yuji ignores that completely, clapping happily at his uncle's words. He wiggled, wanting to be put down to go play. "tch. can't ever stay still." Sukuna mumbled as he set Yuji down. The kid immediately took off, grabbing Choso's hand on his way and dragging the surprised boy to another room of the house.

"Don't know where he's going. The shit's still in the car." Sukuna says with a smirk. His words make you laugh, bringing his attention back to you. "How was he?"

"He was lovely. We finished the project, I think it will score good, and then he wanted to bake some. Said his mom used to make cookies all the time, so I thought it would be a nice treat and help cheer him up." You answered. Sukuna was a little surprised at the mention of his late sister-in-law. Yuji didn't really talk about his parents much. But he didn't think much of it.

"They smell good. Surprised you let him have any before dinner." Sukuna smirked, knowing how strict you usually are about desserts before supper. He moved closer, leaning on the counter as you took the last back of cookies out of the oven.

You huffed playfully, setting the cookies down to cool.

"Well I'm not a monster. Finishing the project was a little emotional for him, so I wasn't gonna be strict with him about something as little as this." You replied. Sukuna frowned slightly at that, but he could understand why. "Also, I don't think I've ever heard of a pair of twins who are so totally opposites, I honestly wouldn't have known you were both related in any other situation." You teased.

"Wait, how'd you know Jin was my twin?" Sukuna asked, thrown back by your knowing something that he definitely never told you. Sure, you saw pictures, but him and Jin looked nothing alike, so surely the twin thing wouldn't be easy to assess. It was your turn to be confused, and you gave him a look as though the answer was obvious.

"Yuji, of course. He mentioned it a while ago. Did you not think that would ever come up?"

"Yuji talks about his parents that often?"

"Of course he does. He talks about them all the time. His dad apparently told him a lot about you, so he talks about that too."

Sukuna was shocked. Yuji hardly ever talked about his parents to him. He thought the kid was just a silent griever, like him, but apparently that wasn't the case. Sukuna frowned as he tried to understand why Yuji wouldn't want to talk about them with his own uncle.

You see this, understanding immediately where his confusion was coming from.

"Does he...not talk about them with you?" You ask softly.

"..No. not really. I figured he just..didn't like talking about them. Figured it might be hard for him." Sukuna answers. His frown turns to a slight scowl at the feeling that he might be doing something wrong. If Yuji wasn't coming to him to talk, didn't that mean he wasn't doing what he needed to in order to show the kid he could be there for him?

His thoughts are interrupted by your hand on his arm, and his eyes snap to meet yours.

"I don't think Yuji is the one who has trouble with it." You said gently. He got what you meant. "If you want to know why he doesn't, I think you should ask him." You added, just as the boys ran back into the room.

Sukuna watched as they excitedly showed you something they drew, contemplating your words. He knew you were right, you always were. He just didn't know how the hell to go about it. Talking wasn't his forte, none of this was, but especially not that.

But he remembered he told himself he would be better, and wanted Yuji to be open with him, even if he struggled with that himself. So he knew he'd have to figure out a way to talk to the brat, sooner rather than later.

He decided to save that for later tonight, though, when you turned to him with another pretty smile, as Yuji runs towards him to shove his drawing into the mans face.

Uncle!Sukuna who gets offended when you offer to pay him back for everything he got Choso, simply walking away without dignifying you with a response. He basically pouted as he helped you make dinner, making it seem like you has actually insulted him. It made you laugh.

Uncle!Sukuna who isn't surprised when he finds Yuji and Choso passed out on the couch once more. In the short time after dinner, while Sukuna help you clean up, they had gone to watch some TV. He will never understand how they can go from so energetic to snoring and halfway falling off of the couch.

Uncle!Sukuna who smirks when Yuji actually does fall off of the couch. He still didn't wake up, making Sukuna shake his head in disbelief. He was pretty sure the kid could sleep through anything.

Uncle!Sukuna who approached your bed room, knocking on the door softly. He couldn't help but admire you when you opened the door, obviously getting ready to go to bed soon. You smiled again, opening the door to allow him inside.

"They're asleep aren't they?" You assumed with a chuckle. He smirked, nodding as he examined your room.

"Knocked out." He confirmed.

"Yuji can stay here tonight, if you don't want to carry him back to yours." You offered, looking at him through your mirror. His brow raised, smirk growing.

"What about me? Can't I stay too?" He teased, giving you a flirty smile. You flushed, breaking eye contact and shaking you head fondly.

"You can if you'd like." You replied after a moment, looking back at him. You see his smile drop in surprise, making you smirk. "Plenty of room on the couch for you." You added, teasing him.

His shoulders dropped, a scoff leaving him as he shook his head. His reaction made you chuckle. He moves closer and you turn to face him fully.

Sukuna remembers he had a plan, to ask you out on another date. And while this wasn't how he intended to do it, it feels like the perfect time.

"Tease," He grumbled. His hands settled on your waste, holding you just like he did when he kissed you. "What are you doing next weekend?" He asked.

You flushed, hands going to his chest because you weren't sure when else to put them. This was the closest you two has been since your date.

"Um, nothing specifically. Choso won't be here, so I was just gonna get some stuff done around the house. Why?" You replied. You could guess why he asked, but you wanted to be sure before getting your hopes up.

"How about we get to that second date?" He asked, doing his best to appear confident in his questioning. He hoped you were on the same page.

Your instant smile reassured him that you did.

"Oh yeah? I don't know, the house could really use a deep clean." You teased. He scoffed, glaring at you with no heat behind it.

"Don't be a brat." He replied, making your smile grow. His jaw clenched as he hesitated. "You..do wanna go on another one, right?" He forced himself to ask. He wanted to be clear with you, straightforward to the best of his ability.

Your smile softened.

"Yes, Sukuna. I'd love to go on another date with you." You said. The look of relief on his face made you want to tease him more, but you decided to give him a break.

He smirked softly, pulling you closer. He didn't say anything more, and neither did you. You ended the night with a soft, sweet kiss, before he left your bedroom. He took Choso and Yuji to bed in Choso's room, before actually laying on your couch. Both of you fell asleep with little smiles, feeling more secure in whatever it was between the two of you than before.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

let me know what you think! also, would ppl like to see a snippet that's about reader and Yuji's afternoon together while sukuna and choso aren't there? I realize sometimes i focus too much on one dynamic and might leave another out a bit. I assure you guys there will be plenty more about sukuna and reader in the next part! I just think it's important to build their relationships with Yuji and Choso.

I'm thankful for any constructive criticism! Thank you for reading, and all the support <3333

barely proofread

Family Tree (Chapter 33)

Simon x Y/n

Simon was never the romantic type of lad. Well..... before he met you. There were no such things like rose pedals and cheesy surprises. The surprise to ask you to marry him was more than enough. 

Still, he had bashfully - and maybe somewhat reluctantly - asked his teammates for their opinions on what you would like for a romantic proposal. Price and Kyle giving him warm smiles and state what they thought would be nice, while Johnny's eyes were so bright with happiness, it made the lieutenant grunt. 

"Bout fuckin time L.T.!" he exclaimed. 

"Shut it, Johnny."

The thing was... you hadn't really experienced what romance should look like. Sure, Simon's romance and love were shown in other ways - paying bills, fixing things in the house, taking care of you, and more. So you really weren't expecting him to do what he did one random evening after work. 

Picking you up as usual, he informed you that he wanted to take you out to dinner; a nice upscale restaurant that neither of you had been to before. While it wasn't something he did often - not for lack of trying, he just enjoyed being cooped up in the house with you - it didn't particularly come as a shock with his request. A flashing smile spread across your face, and it stayed there all the way until you made it home and sprinted up the stairs to get ready. His plan falling into place with a smirk on his lips. 

After you were ready, you skipped downstairs to a waiting boyfriend who grinned at you. You'd always be beautiful to him, as he voiced that quiet often, but he was in pure awe when you reached the bottom step. His hand pulled out of his pocket, where a soft ribbon was curled in the palm. Your eyebrows shot up in curiosity. 

"What's that?"

He walked to stand behind you, "Got a surprise for you," he lowly said, hands coming to your front before he placed the ribbon over your eyes and tied it at the back of your head. 

Your own hands raised to the spot where it covered them, "A surprise?" he hummed, "You hate surprises," you wittily pointed out, earning a deep chuckle from his throat. 

"Just make sure ya can't see yeah?" he teased. 

"I can't," you whispered, heart beating slightly faster in your chest. 

He guided you out of the house and into the truck before hopping in himself and turning it on. The semi-short ride was quiet and comfortable, but your heart hadn't stopped beating so fast, you thought he would hear it. When the truck rolled to a stop, you tried feeling for any sense if you knew where he brought you, but there were still so many places in town you hadn't been to before, so it was hard to tell. 

He got out, quickly walking over to your door and opened it, "Watch y'step," he instructed as he carefully helped you out of the truck. There were a few stairs you had to take before a door opened, making your breath hitch, "Almost there," he said, walking you inside.

You huffed, "Sure we are."

He chuckled, "Now," he brought you to a standstill, "Keep the blindfold on until you're told to take it off alright?" You nodded. 

Giving a sweet kiss on the cheek, Simon's hand slipped away from yours as his footsteps ventured further off to god knows where. It was.... quiet. Wherever you were. The hairs on your neck stood up slightly at how silent it was. 

"You better not be trying to surprise me with a fucking proposal Simon," you grunted, nervously fiddling with your fingers. 

"Can take the blindfold off," a voice made you jump. 

Price. 

Quickly doing as he said, you removed the ribbon from your eyes, glancing at him with wide eyes, "Price?" he nodded, "What-"

His hand gestured to the double doors in front of you that were closed. Your eyes flickered between him and it, pausing with an eyebrow raised before your hand carefully pushed open them. On the other side was Simon....... standing at the altar.

But he wasn't the only one in the small sanctuary... Johnny, Ella, and Kyle were standing near him (Ella was on one side while the boys were on the other). She had on a short evening dress, a bouquet of flowers in her hand. Kyle and Johnny had on bowties - a bit silly with their jeans and button-up tops.

Even your neighbor was there!

An official stood in the middle, a warm smile on his face and bible in hand, as they all glanced at you. 

This was his surprise? Holy sh-

Maybe it was a bad idea to curse in a church. 

But boy, were you shocked. Simon and you had never really talked about having a wedding. Sure, if it was something you absolutely wanted, then he would've made certain to grant your wishes for it. But you hadn't thought about it - not that you didn't want to marry him, but because the two of you would've been okay with going down to the courthouse. He had already stated his vows (sort of) one night after he was finally allowed to drink again. And he didn't hold back.... the words that spilled out of his mouth only made you fall deeper in love with him. 

But this? 

This was perfect. 

"Shall we?" Price asked as he held his arm out for you to take. Tears formed in your eyes as you nodded at the man. He would be walking you down the aisle, and it was more than you ever dreamed of. That captain had seen how much you had changed Simon for the better, watched you almost die, and now he was about to "give you away" to his best soldier.

He even felt like a proud father in that moment. 

When you made it to Simon, you could have sworn you saw his eyes light up as if you were walking down with a beautiful wedding dress on. And god were the tears falling from your eyes as if he was standing there in a tuxedo. Ella - the bestest best friend that she was - handed you a tissue right before the official began the ceremony. 

Now, Simon never really cried before. The tears that usually slipped from the corners of his eyes were due to pain out in the field or right after his family had died. But crying? It was almost a negative. 

So it was a bit surprising to see his eyes watering as you stated your unwritten vows to him. 

"Simon," you sniffed - embarrassed at how much your makeup was probably already ruined, "When I first met you, I was scared to get close to you. I-I didn't know if you would even like someone like me........... But then you started taking me to work every day... never missing unless I told you...... I still can't believe you asked me to marry you... You love me with my scars, my overwhelming nature at times.. all of me. I don't think I'll ever stop thanking you for all that you've done and coming into my life. But I'll continue to love you just as much as you love me.. to be there for you in every way... to never give up if times get rough. I'm yours."

It was subtle, but you could see the lone tear fall from the corner of his eye before disappearing behind the surgical mask. 

And then it was his turn. 

He let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding, "Y/n... sweetheart. Y'mean everything to me. The day I first met you and y'bumped into me, I felt drawn to y'somehow. It terrified me... And then, when Ella introduced us, it just made m'feel a lot of different things-" Your best friend whispering how amazing her matchmaking skills were, making everyone laugh "-I was scared to open up m'heart. I've always been guarded in some way, unsure if love was meant for me. But then y'came... and flipped m'world upside down. I promise to be your safe place, your friend, and your protector. Always. You've shown m'what true love looks like, and I'll forever be yours... mind, body, and soul."

Damn him. 

Ella had rubbed your back as you all but croaked out a sob at how fucking beautiful that man was. And he was your man.

When the official stated that your - now - husband could kiss his bride, Simon gently yanked you into his arms, pulling down his mask to properly kiss you as his wife. Not a dry tear was in that room, even from the stoic men of 141. 

Afterward, everyone ventured back to your place for champagne - the last piece of your husband's plan. You were so wrapped up in how magical the evening was that Ella had to remind you that you were now married when you said boyfriend as she pointed out the beautiful and simple ring on your left hand. It was gorgeous yet not overbearing, and it matched the silver ring on Simon's finger perfectly. A huge smile formed on your face as your eyes met the man that you would forever be tied to before he walked up to you, cupping your cheeks. 

"Mrs. Riley-" god he was going to be the death of you. And that name? It made your heart flutter so big.

"Mr. Riley," you giggled before he planted a sweet kiss on your lips, "I love you."

"Love you too sweetheart."

Johnny's loud and somewhat drunk voice echoed in the living room, "Ghost. Come tell Alice bout the time in Mexico!"

The two of you laughed before he kissed your forehead and went to entertain Johnny. You glanced around the room, looking at the joyous faces of 141, your husband, Ella, and Alice. It was something that made you feel completely at peace, happy, and everything in between.

For years, you never knew what it would be like to build a bond with individuals that would become so important in your life. The chaos you tried to run from so many times was finally behind you. Mary and Rick. But strangely, that didn't count with Charles. You would never know what he was like while he was alive. You'd never know if he would be proud of the choices you made in life... or if moving into his home was the right decision, but for some reason... in that moment... you felt his presence. Like he had been watching over you the entire time. 

And he would continue to watch over you and his son-in-law............

Even when you glanced down at the stick on the counter that read "Positive." Even when Simon came home to a "Congrats Daddy!" balloon in the kitchen. Even when he stood next to you, holding your hand as you delivered your first child.

Your father would always be there watching over you. 

Some say that blood is thicker than water; that your blood family is more important. 

But for you..... you had made your own Family Tree - with Simon, Ella, Kyle, Johnny, Price, Alice..... and your own son, Charlie Thomas Riley. 

The End.

Well.... that's the end of my Family Tree story. What do yall think?????

I'm planning to expand this universe a bit more with the other characters (Price, Johnny, and Gaz), but it won't come fast so please don't expect anything to be posted like tomorrow lol!!!

I'm going to be going on vacation in the next week so I may not be active as much this week and next week, but we'll see... sometimes my brain just goes into overdrive and I have to type up something lol!

I do have some other works I want to get back into like my "Too Deep" story. It's on my AO3, but I'm going to post it over here as well. I think that will be the posts I put out this week if I choose to do so.

I wanna give a shoutout to @jessicab1991 & @kalypsoox with Family Tree!!

I also want to thank everyone who has enjoyed reading this story and giving me all the love and feedback on it! You all make being here amazing and fill my heart with such joy when I see all the notifications!

If you want to be on my taglist no matter what I post, let me know... if not, just let me know when I post the next story :)

-Daydreamerwoah

Taglist:

@simp-4-masked-men @dayrin085 @romanceloverrrr @jessicab1991 @kylies-love-letter @kalypsoox @brownlee-22 @firefoxkairan @whatyouseeyoumightnotget @lelsforlino @canthavetoomuchchaos @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @sumlovesjude @camila2201 @that-nerd-tessa @imjustheretofightforlove @strawberrygato

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-one —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3.5k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: I'm sorry lmaooo nine months... hopefully we can finish this thing!

The last bed you laid in smelled like lemon mint detergent. It was the full bed in your sister's guest room. Everything was crisp and white. They rarely had guests besides you. Some of your clothes stayed in that closet, one of your toothbrushes stayed in the connected bathroom, waiting for your visits. You'd awaken that last morning not thinking you'd never sleep in bed for another five years. You left it unmade.

This bed smells like pine and warmth.

Ghost's room is small and dimly lit. The ceiling slants so that one end is not tall enough for him to fully stand. There's a dresser and a nightstand, leaving only a sliver of floorspace.

After the metal latch on the door clicks shut, Ghost lays the blanket down and grabs a pillow for himself. That leaves the bed to you. Springs creak beneath your weight as you silently slip under a heavy, rustic quilt. The years-embedded scent of him wraps around you like a drug-induced fog. You hesitate to move, frozen as he flicks off the light. You wonder if he always locks the door or did it for you, to make you feel safer.

Only when his moving about ceases do you allow yourself to get comfortable. You cocoon your body under the quilt and turn to your side, closing your eyes.

A thought reopens them minutes later. You roll onto your back and speak into the darkness. "Have you known about this Switzerland place?"

For a moment, you think he's already asleep. Then, from below the bed by your feet, he says, "Heard of it."

"That is what you guys talked about, isn't it?" you ask absentmindedly.

"Among other things."

You sit up so you can see him, but all that you can make out is a dark shadow. "Care to share?"

"Some things are on a need-to-know basis," is all he gives.

"And I don't need to know?"

"Precisely."

It stings; you don't know why. "Some team we make, huh? Or I guess we're only a team when you need me to do something for you."

You quickly realize how petulant you must sound. The shadow sits upright. "They asked me to go with them. I said no. Too far. Too many variables that are hard to predict, and she's not ready for them. Happy?"

Happy—no, but relief replaces the slight uncertainty in your gut since your conversation with Nereida. Joining them was shut down. You wouldn't tell her, but their idea sounds asinine, whether or not that commune exists. The trip will be risky at best, fatal at worst. You're tempted to ask him how many days he thinks they'll recoup here before continuing their journey, but opt for sleep instead. He seems done with the conversation, too, lying back down. Then, you have the best sleep you've had in years in his bed.

When the sun turns pink, you awaken to a room void of Ghost. He's gone. It should be expected, but you'd thought he might wake you up to train like normal. Though, the past twenty-four hours haven't been normal. You look around, the details of his room more visible now. On the nightstand, there is a stack of books and you scan the titled spines. Mostly classics. One Hemingway. All tattered and read frequently. Beside them lays a silver chain attached to a dog tag. You gently finger the engraved metal so as not to move it out of place: Simon Riley. 

Snooping through his things is more tempting than you're willing to admit. You slip out of bed, socked feet padding over to the dresser. There are mostly papers. His map with the marked circle around what you now realize is Switzerland, a notepad with scribbled half-cursive on it, and then a faded photo beneath it. You freeze, breath hitching, as if you've done something dangerous just by stumbling upon it. Curiosity is thick in your chest, difficult to ignore. Gentle fingers reach to shift it out, revealing a picture that you know right away is of Blue and her mom. Blue is a baby. Maybe one year old. A woman with light brown hair holds her up, sitting on a bench in front of a playground. She's pretty and young. There is a sadness when you wonder if this is the only picture he has of them—before her death. Then, there is another feeling. You swallow it. 

You quickly slip the photo back just the way you found it and leave the room. The living room is quiet, people still sleeping. Price and Kyle's blankets are empty, but Kyle is the only one you spot outside. He sits on a tree stump, using a knife and some soap to shave his beard. He looks at you the moment you step outside.

"Good morning." He splashes a scoop of water on his smoothed jaw. 

You tuck your hands in your pockets. "Morning."

Without the facial hair, he looks even younger. Maybe in his early thirties. He pushes to his feet and you are reminded of his above-average height, though he is not as monstrous as Ghost. His form is lean, all muscle, with much less ink on his exposed skin. It is now you notice a scar across his jaw. Thick but faded. It trails halfway down his neck.

"Do you know where Ghost went?" you ask.

"Working on that truck of his. With Price."

A glance over your shoulder confirms it; you spot some movement behind the cabin where you know his truck sits. Guess that means no training. You nod. "So, um, you were in the military together, right?"

He takes a moment to look at you before answering. "Yeah. Same unit. Price was our captain."

"I kind of figured. He is... captain-y."

"'Captain-y.' Good way of putting it."

You're ready to turn away when he asks, "I hate to pry, but I admit I'm curious how you ended up here with him."

You force a smile. "It's not a very interesting story, sorry."

"I'm not looking for entertainment."

"What are you looking for, then?" You sound more defensive than you mean to. 

He shrugs. "Just curious, is all. You're a bit young."

"I'm not fucking him if that's what you're getting at." His brows lift to his hairline, and you're almost embarrassed for assuming that is what he was thinking, but before he can speak you add, "And you're young, too. I can handle myself just as you can."

"Of course." He shakes his head, moving his hand over his chest in earnest. "I apologize if I insinuated otherwise. Though, I am older than you."

"How old?"

"Let's see. Thirty-one last November. Or maybe it's just thirty. Hard to keep track, innit?" His smile is more genuine than yours, flashing white teeth. Then, his face turns more serious and he sighs through his nose, head tilting. "Look, I understand."

"Understand what?"

"I don't know your story, but I'm sure it is a gruesome one, and you have every right to feel uncomfortable. We'll be out of your hair soon enough. I appreciate you having us, though."

You want to tell him it's not like you have a choice; you're not the host here. But he already knows that. He's trying to be nice. "Thank you," you tell him honestly. 

Kyle bends to pick up his knife, wiping it off on his shirt. "So what did you need Ghost for?"

"Oh, nothing really."

"Care to accompany me for some breakfast, then?"

You consider saying no, but you need to hunt, anyway. Besides, you don't think he'd try anything in broad daylight. In another life, you may have looked at him with a more appreciative eye. But as you wade in silence through the woods, bow cinched to your back, you study him like an opponent. He's more agile than Ghost, likely quicker. When he crests the hill, it's hard to match his strides. 

Small conversation picks up by the pond and you find yourself easing up. You learn he's from London, too.

"What part?"

"Islington. I shared an apartment with my girlfriend. The rent was shit but it was worth it. Top floor loft with a good view and this insane Turkish bakery just below us." His tone is so casual you forget where you are for a second, until he suddenly throws his knife. It pins a squirrel to one of the trees. He bends to dislodge it and carries the dead animal, blood on his fingers. 

You keep walking. "What happened to her?"

"I had to make a choice. Go to London and find her, or go with Price and get my nephew, niece, and sister-in-law."

The understanding hits with the force of a fallen tree, and you pale. 

He notices your expression and continues. "I don't regret my decision. I've come to terms with it. There was no chance of me finding her in London, not with how quickly the infection spread there and the phone lines went out. I didn't even know where to look for her. At work? Home? Up north, things weren't as bad yet. I got in contact with my sister-in-law, Ameena, and told her to meet us at the small college up there where Nereida worked."

You recall what Nereida said, about Ari's mom and sister dying, so you don't pry about them. "What about your brother? Ari's dad?"

"He died before shit happened. He was in the military, too. Different unit. Multiple gun wounds while in Afghanistan a few years back."

"I think your story is more gruesome than mine," you admit.

His lips twitch ruefully. "Not a competition. Gruesome world, gruesome stories."

A more comfortable quiet settles. He is not so different than you, you realize. Only difference is he still has his nephew to look after.

The sun is already high, enough to make a collar of sweat appear on your shirt. There is a small dirt ridge you have to climb and the effort reminds you of the still-healing bruises on your body. A skirt of movement catches your eye and this time, you act quick. You use your bow to kill a squirrel up on a branch. It falls to the ground.

"Damn." Kyle whistles, low and long, as you wriggle the arrow free. "Hell of an aim you got."

"I'm... alright."

"No need to be modest."

You straighten and wipe your bloodied hand on your shirt. The movement lifts it, and you hear him suck in a breath behind you. A hand touches your shoulder, gentle than firm, as he spins you around. You're confused, then follow his gaze to the sliver of exposed skin on your hip. It's a gross yellow. 

"Twix." His voice lowers, and his friendly eyes are confused. 

Shit. "It's not whatever you're thinking."

"I'm thinking someone has put their hands on you." He frowns and shifts closer. "I know you have no reason to tell me things, but I can tell you I am not okay with that shit, no matter who it is."

You inwardly cringe. "Ghost is not... hitting me. Well, he is—"

"Fucking hell—"

"No, no. I asked him to." The bewildered look on his face makes you palm your forehead. "Not like that. Jesus. We train together, okay?"

"Train together," he repeats, shoulders loosening. 

"Yeah, like to help me get stronger." The embarrassment remains on your cheeks. "It's silly, really."

Kyle shakes his head and grins, clearly amused now that he knows you're not being abused against your will. "Not silly. Thought you two were into some kinky shit for a second there." He continues walking over a patch of dryer land, stepping onto a small rock and chuffing a breath under his nose. "Wouldn't have been surprised."

Your fingers absentmindedly tighten around the squirrel's limp neck. Your feet are frozen for a moment as you shake off a deep blush, then call out behind him. "Did you miss the part where I said I'm not fucking him!"

He simply laughs. 

---

The rest of the day passes in languid warmth. 

It's weird having so many people here, but you try to continue your day like usual, skinning the kill and washing your clothes. You learn more about Nereida as you eat together. You haven't had a female friend in... a long time. Save Blue. She used to be an arts professor at a private school. Sculpting, mainly. That is how she came to meet John Price, when he attended one of her galleries, buying a piece from her for far more than the listing price. He was just looking for a way to take me out to dinner. The way she speaks of him is that of a doting wife, despite everything they've been through. She tells you they were engaged before the infection. A makeshift ceremony at their old camp was the best they could do. 

"No wedding ring, but we do both have this." She pulls up her sleeve to show you a small scar carved on her shoulder—a faint letter 'J'. Price has the 'N'.

You're not sure what Ghost needed to fix on his truck that morning, or why it was important to do it with Price, but when you returned with Kyle, something felt off. Ghost's tension was palpable. He usually seems in thought, but even more-so. When Ari takes Blue for a quick ride on the horse—apparently Cherry used to be owned by his parents on their family ranch in Newcastle—he watches for only a minute before disappearing somewhere with Price. You pretend to need something from the cabin. You sneak around the back way, finding them again by his truck, muttering in low voices. Only pieces reach your ears.

"...through the rural parts. Not a straight path..."

"...could take months..."

"Got quite a bit of those."

Then, he's showing Price something under the tuck bed's tarp where you catch sight of that kayak once again. 

"Find it?"

A low voice in your ear. You startle and turn around.

"Huh?"

Kyle raises a brow. "You said you needed something."

Your hand flattens against the side of the cabin. "Right. Um, I just—"

Boots scuffle behind you. You don't need to turn to know Ghost and Price have detected your presence, making their way over. Kyle's gaze flicks to them and you feel like a child who's been caught by her parents—embarrassment laced over your irritation. You wouldn't have been eavesdropping if they weren't so secretive.

"Everything alright?" Price's timbre is calm. Your neck prickles where you feel Ghost's stare.

You find yourself nodding. "Yes. Just fine. Sorry."

It gets cooler by nightfall. Your knee bounces slightly under the table during dinner. You listen to Blue explain the rules of battleship to Ari. You don't eat much more of the meat you caught with Kyle. With a mostly empty stomach, you enter Ghost's room after everyone else has gone to bed. His broad form hovers over his dresser. For a moment, you fear he's somehow noticed that you looked at his things earlier. But then you realize his eyes are glued to the map, and he's penciling some things on the margins.

He looks up when you close the door behind you. His brows are deeply knotted. 

"Figured you would be sleeping out there for tonight."

"What?"

"Seems like you feel just fine around them now." 

He looks away from you as if you're not even there. He places the map down and opens the top drawer. Without warning, he pulls out a clean shirt and changes, revealing his bare chest. His shoulders flex as he slips it over his head by the collar. Then, he moves toward you, eyes dully expectant.

"Being asleep near them is different than hanging out during the day," you finally respond. Mouth feeling dry, you swallow. "What's going on? I can tell that you... you've been thinking about something."

"You mean you've been listening." His brow lifts. He shakes his head before you can defend yourself. "I am always thinking about something."

"Would it kill you to not be cryptic for once? I thought that we were..."

"That we were what?"

"Being honest with each other now."

A dark, slightly amused breath leaves his nose. He contemplates your words for a moment. "It is my plan to go there," he then says. "I'm not stupid. I know she needs more than what I can offer her here. It has always been my plan. Just not now."

"Because she's not ready," you breathe.

"Because she's not ready," he repeats, chin tilting. His eyes darken, veering to the left. "Price seems to disagree."

Your nails curl in your palms. "And?"

He looks back at you. "And I am thinking of your camp. What happened to you. I can't grow complacent."

The mention unsettles your stomach. Of course, he needn't elaborate, not when the memory is more fresh than you'd like. "But going to Switzerland would take days, weeks. And they have no idea what they might run into out there. It's not like we have inside info on the state of France and—and wherever the hell else we'd have to cross through to get there. They could be worse than London."

"I'm aware."

"So what, then? You're considering it now? I thought you told them no," your hushed voice edges a bit harsher, and the pulse in your neck quickens.

You hate what you think he's saying, even if you understand it. He has his daughter's future to think of. Even if he were to try finding some safe community when she's older, the opportunity of traveling with two other military-experienced men would be gone, along with whatever weapons and supplies they bring to the table.

The contemplation is vivid in his eyes as you study them. Ghost's head lowers, dipping down at the same time that he emits a harsh breath, and you realize how close the two of you have become in this quiet exchange, keeping your voices safe from any awakened ears. So close, in fact, that his exhalation hits the space between your neck and collarbones, where a small patch of skin tingles with alertness. 

His voice emerges low and thoughtful after a drawn moment. "I haven't fully decided."

You nod with deep breath to steady yourself, taking in his answer. "Will you tell me when you do?" 

"I can do that."

And that's all he offers—four words that give a minuscule amount of comfort, because now bitter uncertainty has snuck upon you once again. Your fate lays in his decision. You can't survive on your own, not even here, so if he leaves you have to go with him. The impending doom fogs your brain. You fail to notice his hand has moved, pinching the hem of your shirt between thumb and forefinger, and beginning to carefully lift it up. A breath hitches at the top of your throat and your eyes unfurl, only to find that he is pensively looking down at your exposed stomach.

"What the fuck are you—"

You're cut off when his bent knuckles gently brush over your mottled abdomen, sweeping down the sore midline, leaving you frozen. It's a thoughtful, slow touch—calloused skin against smooth softness. His thumb traces a particularly bad one by your hip, causing your muscles to flutter as a pleasant heat blossoms. For the second time today, your bruises are under scrutiny, and you curse yourself for not applying more of that paste on them.

"They're healing well," he murmurs, more to himself than to you, and lowers the shirt back down. He steps back. Eyes find yours. "Don't get too comfortable."

You blink dazedly, then stiffen. "Um, what?"

"Sleeping in my bed. My room isn't a hotel."

The change of topic gives you whiplash. "You're the one who made me sleep here," you remind him pointedly. "I'll just take the floor tonight, and you have the bed."

"You're a woman. Take it."

"As if you give a fuck about being a gentleman."

"You're right, I don't." A dismissive shoulder shrugs, then his back turns to you. He lays in the bed before you have the chance to even move, which leaves the blanket on the floor for you.

You should've just accepted the bed.

Once the room is shrouded in darkness, you bury your head in the pillow. 

"Comfortable?" he says sarcastically above you.

"Fuck off."

Then it's silent. You don't sleep nearly as well.

Soccer player Toji who is known for being cold and unnerving, becomes the talk of the town after being spotted at the local pharmacy still in his jersey top, clutching a box of sanitary pads and tampons for his mystery girl.

Soccer player Toji, who only ever occasionally indulges in a quick fuck and doesn’t spare a glance to the girls looming around him, spends an entire hour at the florist picking out the right flowers for you, his mystery girl.

Soccer player Toji who asks Shiu to turn the car around and bails out on the frat party at the very last minute because he checks the date on his phone.

“What’s so important that’s got THE Toji Zenin skipping out on free booze and a quick fuck.” Shiu laughs as he brings the car to a halt in front of his apartment.

“My girl’s got her period startin’ can’t leave the lady alone in pain.” He grins cheekily as he slips out of the car and the statement leaves Shiu so baffled that he sits in the driver’s seat, unable to move, watching Toji’s figure disappear into the building as the cars line up behind him.

Soccer player Toji who doesn’t even think twice before leaving his spare jersey in your room. He knows game day is just around the corner and the girls are gonna swarm him again, trying to convince him to let one of them wear his jersey (courtesy to Gojo who started the trend of choosing a random girl to give his jersey to for game day) and he’d rather die than see anyone but you wear his jersey.

Soccer player Toji who knows you want to keep you guy’s relationship private for the sake of your privacy and sanity, but he also knows how much it irks you to see girls shoot their shots at him so he gets your initials tattooed on his shoulder and the way whispers fill the gymnasium when he walks in wearing a tank top, showing off the tattoo fills him with pride knowing you’re somewhere in the crowd, smiling softly.

Soccer player Toji who is so insanely whipped for you, his mystery girl, that it becomes a common occurrence for people on the campus to see him at the florist every Saturday, walking out with carefully assorted flowers always wrapped in the same felt paper of your favourite colour.

Soccer player Toji who glances at bleachers everytime he scores a goal to make sure you see him winning.

Soccer player Toji who is literally head over heels for you.

Nine Lives

Simon Riley posts an ad for a stray cat he does not want, and you answer.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!reader

Tags: fluff, short n’sweet, eventual romance/smut

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | ao3 | mlist ✎ᝰ.ᐟ

Friday comes as planned, Simon’s week consumed by anticipation of seeing his girl and his cat.

But Churro doesn’t seem to have the same plans, doesn’t come to see her self-proclaimed father.

She doesn’t show, no aggravating meowing or grating scratching on his porch. All he’s met with is silence, a noise grown far too unfamiliar, leaves something in his core unsettled in its absence.

You show up on his doorstep anyway, don’t seem to realize Churro hasn’t made an appearance, smiling wide at him when he opens the door.

At least now he knows you’ll still smile so sweetly at him even if he doesn’t have a furry cat in his arms.

“Hi!”

“Hi, bird. Is Churro at home?”

Your brows pinch, confusion painting your expression, “No, I thought she was visiting you? Came to pick her up like always.”

“She’s not here,” He explains, “Didn’t show up earlier, that’s why I didn’t text you yet.”

The corner of your lips droop, “Well, she wasn’t at home. I figured she was with you even if I didn’t get a text.”

You fidget from heel to heel when he shakes his head in disagreement, shifting your eyes swiftly as worry etches into your irises, wringing your fingers together.

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon,” He reassures, attempting to dry the flood of emotions that are surely surfacing in your lungs before they burst out of control, ushering you in with a hand on your back, “We’ll lay out her favorite food, yeah? She came real quick that first time remember? Wait an hour tops before we start worrying too much, okay?”

You nod quietly, following his lead to his couch, but your face stays stiff, each curve contorted anxiously. Doesn’t smooth the entire time the two of you wait, reminiscent of the first time you met him, except this time you’re nerves aren’t alerting you to run from him, flee from the danger of a man he appears to be. Instead, you’re looking to him for comfort, darting your wide eyes to his every time he starts to speak like you’re clinging to every word in an attempt to distract you from the fact that Churro isn’t in either of your laps.

By the time forty-five minutes passes he’s sure you ripped the skin around your fingernails tender and bloody, burnt a hole in your shoe from the speed you're bouncing it. Maybe before he knew you, before he knew Churro, he would’ve thought you were being dramatic, caring for a bloody cat entirely too much, but you’ve grown on him. Maybe a little too much because the sight of you nervous, anxious, scared, upsets him, doesn’t want to spend another second watching you peel yourself apart.

Maybe he’s a little upset at Churro— don’t you know you’re worrying your mom, his girl, too much, pest?

It’s enough to make him stand, waiting does nothing to ease your nerves, so he prepares a search for a cat he used to cast away, a cat he used to wish got lost on the trail to his house. The two of you should’ve expected it to happen one of these days, it wasn’t necessarily a short distance between your homes, but Churro had seemed smarter than that, memorized her trek through town to find Simon.

You start on foot, separating in two to cover more ground, walking through Simon’s neighborhood calling for her at the top of your lungs. The search lasts for an hour, scavenging through every nook, bush, tree, and alleyway the two of you can find to no avail. Simon even goes to his neighbors, asks if they’ve seen the fawn-colored cat. Maybe the cat lady ended up taking her in by mistake, but they all deny, haven’t seen her.

When you don’t find her, your search widens, desperately exploring multiple blocks around his neighborhood until the sun starts to set, desperately searching with the flashlight from your phone in the dark. It takes some convincing and negotiation on his end to get you to return to his porch without Churro in your arms, argue that you won’t be able to sleep unless you know she’s safe. Still, he manages to wrangle you back to his house, promising that the two of you will search for her tomorrow, that she’ll make her way to his home in the night like she always does.

You agree begrudgingly, but when he finally gets you to his front door and looks down at you, your eyes are downcast, your bottom lip wobbling as you shift your eyes to his. You’re dewy-eyed and beady, fists balled at your side in an attempt to stop the inevitable dam from cracking.

It doesn’t work, of course, it doesn’t, not when the look in his eyes is sincere, slams the finishing wedge in your control with one look.

“Sweet girl.”

His voice is softer than he’s ever used before, more tender than he even realized he could use, foreign to his own gruff ears, but it doesn’t help your restraint from breaking on the spot. He reaches out, placing his hand on the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair before pressing you into his chest, snug under his chin.

The embrace punches the breath straight out of your lungs, inhaling a shattered wheeze before a sob wrecks from your core. Fisting the fabric of his shirt in your palms as you hiccup over your breaths and tears, staining his shirt wet.

The constricting in his chest is unfamiliar, burns strangely, painful, and bitter at the mere sounds you make, at the way you cling to him like he can absolve you of your pain, like you need to feel his touch to mend your weary heart. It congeals something protective in the back of his mind, large palms finding the backs of your thighs to hoist you in his arms. You don’t even pull away, just band your arms over his shoulders like it’s where you need to be.

He carries you to his kitchen, grabbing a water before maneuvering you to his bedroom because he’s not going to send you home crying and distressed when he can keep his girl comforted in his arms. You fall onto his bed willingly, sitting on the edge of the mattress as you watch him rummage through his drawers. He presents a pair of shorts, to which you nod teary-eyed, let him peel your jeans off, and replace them with his own clothing.

He climbs into bed with you, guides you under the sheets with him, and into his arms. Pulls you flush against his chest once again, smoothing his touch down your back and through your hair in his best attempt to soothe your nerves.

“Don’t worry,” He murmurs when you shift to look into his eyes, “Won’t do us any good looking for her when you’re all teary-eyed will it?”

You huff a laugh, not entirely amused as it should be, only making more tears well in your eyes, but he takes it, pressing a kiss against the crown of your forehead.

“We’ll look for her first thing tomorrow morning, yeah? Our pretty lady will come home to us.”

@lighthousebats @cococococ @sai-int @tessakate @starboykel @imrandomstuffsblog @your-internet-tenshi @glossy01 @orangegreensun @uriahs-barn @ye-olde-trash-panda @akkahelenaa @h0lydrag0ns @pukbadger @dawnnightshade666 @lizziesfirstwife @little-b33 @topaz125 @v1x3n @hadassery @afanofbeans @definitely-not-sammie

sibling situation

simon 'ghost' riley

cw: smut & plot, mactavish!reader, size kink/difference, missionary sex, unprotected sex, marriage & babies (at the end), romance, simon's found family

this rabbit runs on reblogs & comments! feed the rabbit!

simon knew that johnny had a sister. you had been brought up in conversation tons of times. after the death of your parents, you and johnny were really all each other had. but johnny left for the military right before turning eighteen and you struggled to put yourself through university. it wasn't the easiest life and simon could understand, he had his own scars of his childhood.

"so, why are you dragging me out here again, johnny?"

"get ya out of that shoe box flat. got a little more leg room where i am."

johnny had driven the car all the way to edinburgh with a promise that a little time away would do wonders for the other man. simon had his ear talked off about how london was just too big, and while edinburgh was a city. it would be a break from the intense metropolitan of london. if need be the two of them and you could go on a getaway to the countryside.

"this better be good, johnny."

"ah, don't worry! i promise, you'll have the time of your life!" johnny reached over and slapped his friend on the back, "plus, you have to meet my sister."

the flat that you shared with johnny was well kept. of course it was, your brother was out most of the year with an automatic deposit for rent and when he was home, it was so ingrained with the military that things were kept tidy. and you on the other hand enjoyed tidiness as well.

even if cleaning the place in his absence felt a bit much sometimes, you still at least picked up your socks off the floor, put the clean dishes in the cupboard and washed out the carafe of the coffee maker. but you had worked over time to make sure everything was perfect, not for your brother (he could clean himself), but rather the mysterious guest that he was bringing.

you didn't want his lieutenant to think you lived like animals!

when the knock on the front door came, you happily welcomed them. your gaze was captured away from your grinning brother and rather the larger man beside him. he wore a black medical face mark, but you could see the tiredness in his eyes. the mop of blond hair and a slight scar over his eyebrow.

"oh, kid, this simon. simon riley, my lt." johnny smiled, patting his fellow solider on the arm.

you shot him a glance, "i'm almost thirty, johnny. i'm far from a kid." you were a bite fiery, simon liked that.

johnny beamed back at you, "but you'll always be my little sister. gotten into trouble while i was gone?"

you let both men in and replied, "well except for yelling at those stupid kids from the secondary school about smoking in front of my window. nothing else really happened."

johnny dropped his bags on the hardwood floor and kicked off his boots. he put them correctly by the door before he stretched his arms over his head, "where's that guy you were seein'. teddy or somethin'?"

simon stood a little straighter. of course you had a boyfriend, look at you!

you waved your hand, "oh, he's long gone. i guess cousin nikki's words are true." you looked at your brother, "never date a man in finance. turns out he had more than one bonnie in his pocket."

johnny dropped his shoulders and remarked, "never liked the guy anyway. seemed a little uptight, would never survive a gathering of the mactavish's." he laughed.

simon felt odd in the space. seeing the siblings interacting. he thought of his own brother for a moment. instead he just followed suit and took off his heavy boots as well.

you looked at simon, "i hope it's okay that you take the couch. this place is only two bedrooms. the couch." you gestured to it, "does pull out so hopefully you'll have enough room. but, if you don't, tomorrow my lovely brother can give up his room."

"my room!" johnny replied loudly, "i've still got sand in my crack for the mission and you're givin' my room!"

you shot your brother a glance which johnny coward from. no words had to be said. johnny knew that it would be the right thing to do. after all, simon was his guest.

the afternoon went by slowly, and you and johnny moved through the small kitchen like a team. johnny was good at dicing and you were good at keeping an eye on the sauteeing vegetables.

"simon." you said which made simon look up from his spot at the small dining table. your eyes met and you pushed some hair out of your face, "two things. one, there should be a headband on the table it's soft and used for make-up. i need to get this hair out of my eyes. secondly, johnny never said that you had any dietary issues. is there anything i should avoid? i just sort of got our normal grocery order."

simon perked a little bit more, "oh i don't have any allergies or anything, ma'am." he gave a small nod, "i could eat anythin'."

you nodded, "okay, excellent!"

the blond found in endearing. it was almost hypnotic watching you put together the vegetables with the hearty pasta sauce. you worked a stove top like no other. the only problem was that your brother kept getting in the way of his sight of you.

been a while since a woman cooked him a meal.

simon got up quickly and gave you the headband. it was soft and pink colour with two sewn on cat ears made of the same material. you put it on and simon's heart skipped a beat. you were just so beautiful.

dinner of pasta, toasted buns and salad were served with a bottle of grocery store wine. the three of you drank, ate and chatted. you and johnny had most of the conversation while simon enjoyed listening.

he figured out that he could listen to you talk forever.

"well, i'm tired." johnny said as he rubbed his eyes. he finished the rest of his wine before he got up. he patted you on the top of the head, "i'll do the dishes in the mornin'. thanks for dinner, kid."

you rolled your eyes, pouring yourself another glass, "i'm not a kid."

johnny chuckled then looked to simon, "she'll get ya comfortable for the evenin'. i'll see ya tomorrow." before his tired steps headed towards the bedroom. soon the door closed and the sound of his body hitting the bed could be softly heard.

you leaned back in the kitchen chair, one leg draped over the other with your arms crossed. you admitted, "it must be hard to date. finding someone who understands your world."

simon stretched out a little more in his chair. he eyed the empty wine glass in front of him, "i try not to think about it so hard."

"i've heard stories about you. the terrifying ghost. there one moment, gone the next." you then reached across the table to drag a finger down the inside of simon's wrist, "i wonder if i had you in my bed tonight, if you'd be gone by morning."

your admission made simon's dark eyes grow a little wider. he said, "well, i have nowhere else to go."

you smiled a little, "must be lonely. i know it's lonely for me. to feel close to someone."

simon asked, "do you want to sleep with me miss mactavish?"

you chuckled lowly, as to not awake your brother in his room. you leaned back a little once more and gazed at him. you were definitely johnny's brother. the look in your eye said it all. you tilted your head a little to the side and asked, "is it that obvious, mister riley?"

the sound of wooden chairs against the floor as the two of you made your way to the bedroom. you took simon by his tattooed wrist and got him into your room. the door was shut a little louder than you hoped. you turned on the light and simon was already working the belt of his jeans.

you were quick to get your t-shirt off and you saw simon's hungry gaze on you as you became free of your clothes. his eyes raked the exposed skin and thought you looked like a dream.

"like what you see, simon?"

he nodded, "more beautiful than the photos, ma'am."

you covered your mouth while you giggled, "no need for the formalities. if my brother is underranked by you, then i'm sure as hell as a civilian."

simon got a hold of your waist, "you deserve a little more respect than your brother." then pulled you in for a soft kiss. even with his scars that you had seen over dinner. you thought he was beautiful.

it made you warm all over as you pulled the dark t-shirt on his shoulders. he helped you get out of it. and your hands pressed against his chest. you admired the scars, the tattoos, the overall beauty of him.

"i wish my brother had said his lt was hot prior. i would've tried to get with you sooner."

simon picked you up by the waist, your legs wrapped around his waist as he brought you to the bed and sat you down. he then started to work at the button of your jeans. once they were off, he cupped the bulge in his pants.

you slipped out of your simple purple panties and the white bra you wore. you then laid out on your bed with your hands behind your head and you giggled softly.

simon was absolutely smitten by you. he had come to the conclusion that when they were talking about the beauties in scotland. they meant you. and only you. once you were both naked, he got onto the bed.

the bed was a bit smaller than he had hoped, but you two could fit into it thankfully. he was worried that his large, bulkier frame would inch you off of the mattress. but it was a lot easier when he got between your legs. his achy erection, bright red at the tip, begged for attention.

you swallowed a little, "i wonder if it'll fit."

"then you tell me if it does. got it? you mactavish's have a habit of not showing pain." simon gave you a pointed gaze.

you covered your face for a minute, "okay. talk about my brother ends here. i don't want to hear about him while you're balls deep inside of me."

simon chuckled lightly and leaned in for another kiss. he said softly, close to your lips, "if it's anything, love. you're much more a looker than he is."

you held onto his blond locks and pulled him in for a hot kiss. you made a small noise when he shifted your hips up against him. to get a better angle of his cock inside of you.

"simon."

he said softly, his voice still gravely, "beautiful, beautiful girl. i don't know what that last boyfriend of yours was thinkin'. why want another when he could have you. but, i guess that means more for me."

your cheeks grew hot and simon pressed his cock up against you wet slit. you felt your heartbeat race at the anticipation of what was to come. you tensed up at the feeling of his cock being pushed into it.

"i got ya, i got ya. you feel so good there, love."

you nodded, "it's been a while. sorry if i'm too.. tight."

simon loomed over you like a comforting shadow. he gazed down at you, but there was a softness to his tired eyes. you didn't realize how pretty his eyes were. a deep dark brown, that lured you in while in the soft lighting of your bedroom.

he started to move against you and you let out a small moan. the bed squeaked a little bit. thankfully the frame didn't hit the wall. you two had to be somewhat quiet. even if your brother could be heard snoring in the room next to yours.

the sex between you two was quick, but not rough. the idea of bruising such a beauty made simon feel disgusted. you were meant to be cherished. he wanted to know everything about you.

"you are quite handsome, simon."

"thank you, love." he said softly as he held onto your thighs and moved against you. even in missionary you looked beautiful. the slight bounce of your breasts in time with his movements. he wanted to kiss all your soft parts throughout his visit in your sweet home.

he could get used to a warm meal and a warm cunt to bury himself into every night. maybe johnny was right, staying with you was better than being in london.

maybe he could get used to scotland.

he knew he could fit easily into the chaos of the mactavish family. if he could handle johnny, then he could handle you. at least he could fuck one of you quiet.

you felt your heart hammering at the feeling of it all. your noises were so sweet that it made simon need to bury himself deeper inside of you. he needed to feel all you could offer.

call him a sick puppy, but his brain was now wired to need you. you were a hit of a feeling that simon was so painfully unfamiliar with that it almost scared him. but as he admired the sight of you under him.

those soft lips partially opened, your eyes closed. you looked like an angel, and he swore he found heaven.

"beautiful." he said softly, his rugged voice made you feel like honey. gooey and warm, filling.

you came with your hands in his shaggy blond hair. your back arched as you felt the heat through you. you moaned a little louder than you hoped for as he continued to thrust up into you.

panting breaths between heavy thrusts as you laid spread out on the bed, letting simon move quicken his pace to reach his climax. he could feel it on the tip of his tongue. and with a few more heavy thrusts, he finished inside of you. his cheeks flushed and his mouth hung open in a heavy pant.

"fuck, simon."

"beautiful." he said absently. not able to think of much else besides your beauty. you were the kind of woman that simon was into.

he pulled out of you and rested down beside you on bed. you chuckled softly, your head still a little full of post orgasmic bliss. you got the covers on top of you and cuddled him naked.

clothed would be a worry in the morning.

when morning came, simon tried to slink back to the couch before johnny woke up. but when he exited your room and entered the main living space. he found johnny sitting there at the kitchen table. he was leaned back into his seat. simon caught sight of the pistol on the worn wooden table.

"so, si." johnny said, looking away from his paper to look at his fellow solider, "what are yer intentions with my sister?"

it had been a very long time since simon felt the stone of dread in his stomach. he tried not to show it across his scarred face. simon could instantly recall every military statistic that johnny had. there could be a million and one ways that the scottish solider could kill simon. and it wasn't like simon could do anything, he couldn't kill your brother.

there was a brief moment of silence between the two of them. neither made a motion or noise. simon wondered what was to come next. no amount of training could've prepared him for this.

but johnny broke the silence with laughter, "i'm just messin' with ya! the gun's not even loaded. just wanted to scare ya." he leaned forward in his seat. he looked at simon, "i don't care how my sister sees, but i have to be a little bit intimidating, don't ya think so, si?"

simon chuckled nervously.

johnny's suddenly expression dropped and he put down his paper in favour of the unloaded pistol. he pointed the front of it to simon, one eye closed as if he was going to shoot the blond in front of him. he said, "but if you break her heart there, simon. i won't be so forgiving."

the doorway to your bedroom opened with a loud creak and your voice rang through the apartment the three of you were in, "I swear to god! john michael mactavish! you better not be intimidating him!"

-

"you're seriously crying?" you asked your brother as you watched him gently take a hold of your newborn. your brother was a military man for christ's sake. he was weeping like a baby.

simon loomed over his colleague, protective over his newborn. his stern brown gaze read simply, "don't fuck it up, soap." he was ready to jump in if johnny fucked it up.

you were resting back in the hospital room, you just had your child with simon. you two had been married for a little over three years. it became habit for simon to come with johnny post-missions. the drive up to the city and you waiting for them.

a hug for your brother, a kiss for your lover.

now you were watching your brother cry at the sight of his nephew. the chubby little boy bundled up in a blanket. unaware of his weepy uncle. you looked at him with a slightyl stunned expression.

you probably cried less when you finally pushed him out. you didn't want to tell him the news because you thought he was going to cry more. while your son's first name was oliver, his middle name was john. after the crying mactavish in the hospital room.

"he really takes after us." john remarked when his cries died down.

you chuckled, "he sure does, johnny. now hand him over before you drop him." <3

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-seven —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3.2k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex!!! SEX. enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

It is difficult to tell who lifts the mask.

You think you start it, then he finishes it with a shove up to his nose. 

Your mouth claims his, ivy to stone.

His lips part for your tongue as your arms loop around his shoulders. His fingers dig in your scalp, sharp enough to draw a hiss, while his other arm yanks you closer by the waist, heat searing against your bare skin. It's not a kiss—too unruly for that. His tongue grazes your chin; you taste the edge of his nose. The world narrows to the harsh sound of your breathing, the scrape of your teeth, a tangible truth:

You want him, too. 

He pulls back with one great heave of breath just after the tear on your lip is reopened. A strand of pink-tinted saliva connects you. His eyes search your face, hesitation flickering in his gaze. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I clearly just did.”

His jaw tightens. “I need words. Tell me you understand what you—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, voice trembling with a mix of frustration and need. “Don’t act like I can’t make my own decisions. Like I can’t handle you.” Rising on your toes, you bite his lip, hard enough to draw a matching drop of blood. “I’ve handled you before—Simon."

A shudder wrenches his shoulders.

Your words rip a growl from his throat, snapping the last of his restraint.

His kiss devours you, raw and unforgiving, until everything else fades to red. Not blood, but something else, something you’ve kept hidden for longer than you care to admit. It burns in your chest—the terrifying realization that you might break if you don’t have him here and now.

His grip on your hair shifts to your thigh, lifting you with ease. Tree bark bites into your spine. You trail kisses down his jaw to the hollow below his ear. Your ankles lock around his waist, dragging up his shirt. The metal buckle of his belt presses where you ache, the friction drawing a sharp gasp. Even through the layers, he feels impossibly thick.

He forces your neck to the side, mouth sucking down your throat to your collarbone with urgent deliberation, as if he wants to memorize every inch but realizes neither of you possess the patience for it. He licks, then bites, the pain making your hips angle in upward seeking. Your reaction pulls a smirk from him. His teeth and tongue glide lower, and he hikes your damp bra up to expose your breasts.

"Fucking hell." A guttural exhale before hand and mouth devours them.

Thought evaporates.

Your chest turns sheen with spit.

You thrash against the tree, your nipple caught between his teeth. He teases it with a graze, then sinks in.

Heat punches the pit of your stomach with a ferocity that makes you cry out.

You claw at the back of his mask. "I need...I need—more."

He groans, low, staving the bite mark with his tongue. This time when he rolls the other nipple between teeth, it is in combination with two fingers slipping under your underwear. The muscles in your thigh jerk. A rough finger grinds circles into your clit, and another glides through the wet seam of you. It is impossible not to fight for more. Delirious with greed, you cant your hips down to slip his middle finger inside. 

He takes the hint and works a second finger into you. Your legs tighten around him in unending tremors that must make keeping his arm between your bodies uncomfortable, his wrist straining to reach you. Arousal leaks steadily onto his hand. You turn less vocal now that you're close, vision failing you, and he tongues at the shell of your ear with a growl.

"I'm not going to fuck you until you cum."

"I'm—"

Strong fingertips curl into the sensitive pad within you, coaxing an orgasm much stronger than the one you gave yourself. It beats through your blood in hot bursts, robbing you of the ability to keep your head up. You lean onto his shoulder, feeling it flex as he fucks his fingers once, twice, then three more times before drawing them out. Through the haze, you hear the drag of his tongue over them and then a soft wet release.

"You will give me more of that."

A flush consumes your face. Your lips part to speak; you can't—

"What happened to my mouthy girl?" he taunts in a murmur.

His tone snaps the world into focus. "She's here."

"I thought she could handle me."

You lift your head to narrow your gaze at his, despising the tick in his brow. "You are insufferable."

"Ah. There she is. I was worried I lost her."

The striking awareness that you are almost naked, while he is fully clothed head-to-toe, suddenly irritates you. You curl your fingers around the fabric bunched by his ear. "Take this off. I've already seen you. It's pointless now."

"You'll have to take it off yourself."

You’re about to move when he pins your wrist to the tree, then the other. A silent challenge. You squirm, but it only drags the belt across your sensitive cunt, making you hiss. You've been here before—restrained by him. But this time, his weakness is clear, a heavy, undeniable pressure pressing against you.

You nudge your nose against his and kiss the taste of yourself from his mouth with slow, ribbing strokes of your tongue. The change in pace makes him sigh into you. You give a swirl of your hips, grinding into him, staggering his breath. When he attempts to press again, seeking relief between the join of hip and thigh, you still your movements. He growls, squeezing your wrists. 

In his next try, you unlock your ankle and jab a knee into his ribs. 

He flinches, but doesn't loosen his grip, laughing softly. "A valiant attempt," he mutters.

"Shut up," you mumble, breath huffing out of you.

"Was that your entire plan?"

"I'm not fucking you until it's off, you know."

"Make more of an effort, then."

You drag your tongue over your lip, offering another flex of your hips that he meets with a twitch in his throat. You squeeze your thighs around his torso, anchoring yourself. "You are needy for this, too, Simon. Don't act like I am the only one." Your voice is hoarse; unrecognizable. You rock your hips steadily, latching your lips to the space above his collarbones. "I bet I could make you cum, just like this. You won't even need to be inside me."

With your panties bunched to the side, your arousal glides over him, staining his jeans. It is an experiment, really, but the thundering of his heart confirms your claim. He matches your movements with firm presses at the base of his clothed-cock. You taste the pulse in his vein beneath your tongue, swirling and nibbling, a smoldering heat blossoming in your stomach once more.

"I touched myself thinking about you," you whisper into his skin, ego swelling when his breath stills, then rushes out from his nose. "My fingers didn't feel nearly as good as yours." You purposely moan, almost a whine. Impossibly, he feels harder. Swelling towards release. His skin feels hotter. You nose the underside of his jaw. "You're going to cum soon, aren't you? I can tell. I haven't even taken off any of your clothes yet and you're going to cum. How does it feel to be weak for me?"

His jowls flex from your words and his hips buck with a mindlessness that makes you smile. The heat between you is obliterating. It almost crumbles your vengeance. But when he digs his nails into your wrists with a slight tremble, ashen lashes fluttering, you seize the moment just before he finishes. 

You bite the skin where his throat meets his jaw, just as you kick his ribs again. His eyes snap open, his hold faltering. He stumbles back, and you grapple his shoulders, forcing him to the ground. You fall on top of him, knees bracketing his hips, fingers moving swiftly to tear off the mask.

For a few seconds, you merely stare at each other, like a deer gazing at a hunter.

Face to face, truly, for the first time.

His face, flushed red, is even more handsome like this—rugged and scarred, bared at your mercy beneath you. It makes your heart falter over a beat. His hands drag down the notches of your spine, slow and deliberate, never breaking eye contact. Because you’re paying such close attention, you catch it—a sweeping glint in his gaze. Admiration, maybe. Or just lust.

You swallow thickly and give a tug to his shirt.

He rips it over his head.

A body mapped with scars that run deeper than your own.

You finish yanking the damp bra off.

Your underwear is next.

When you're both bare, exposed and raw, jeans bunched awkwardly at his ankles, the game ends. Neither of you are willing to play anymore. His fingers tighten around your hips as you grip his cock, heavy and slick with the evidence of the edge he was pulled from. You drag the fat head of him through your folds, just once, before lining him up with your hole and sinking down.

Pain flares. Either because it has been years since you've been stretched like this, or because he is just that thick. You hiss through your teeth and pause halfway down, scratching over the hard plane of his chest in search of relief. You feel him deep already, uncomfortably so, and his touch softens over your skin despite the veins sticking out in his neck.

"Take it slow."

"I can handle it."

"It's alright if you can't," his voice softens over the gravel in it.

"I can."

Stubbornly, you take another centimeter, then another, before slamming all the way down, the full length of him breaking through the last layer of resistance until you are fully seated. The press of his fingers into your ass is as rough as the exhale that follows. You feel him twitch within you, his balls heavy and tight, but he allows you the time to adjust, slowly rocking your hips until the discomfort teeters toward pleasure.

He is so big that the tip of him reaches a crevice between your inner wall and cervix. When your pace quickens, the pressure of his pubic bone on your clit makes your body quake with one fierce tremor. You fail to keep yourself upright, the jolt of it bringing your face to his neck. Strong arms flex around you, hands bracing your shoulder blades, to keep you anchored against his chest as his hips cant up to drive him—somehow—deeper. He is in you and around you. All at once. Every inch of grey rot living in you is replaced with damning hunger for him. You swirl and grind and bite his neck, breaking capillaries. 

"That's it, yeah." The raw grit in his voice makes your muscles clench around the base of him. "Take what you need." 

When his firm, neatly corded muscles begin to quiver, his movements lose their precision. He is trying to hold back from the ledge you left him on. His hand tangles in your hair, yanking you back from his neck, and his teeth sink into the tender skin below your ear as a distraction. His breaths come hot and quick, cooling the sweat slicking your skin.

You feel like a conglomerate of broken pieces about to be shattered, every carefully stitched seam straining, ready to snap. Your eyes roll back. Your toes flex and curl. You are so close—

Without warning, and all too soon, he lifts you off. 

"Fuck—"

His cock bobs between your bodies, liquid heat frothing over your stomach in pulses. His eyes are screwed shut, lips parted to let out a noisy rush of air, all of the hardened lines on his face unwoven in the wake of pleasure. You hover over him, blades of grass indented into your knees, watching with silent fascination despite the frustrated fizzle of your own approaching orgasm. When his eyes reopen, they are glazed and unfocused, yet somehow he had more wherewithal to remember pulling out than you did.

Then, he flips you over with a heaving push, cock still hard. You are neatly caged by the sprawl of his muscle, reminded that he easily could've overtaken you before if he wanted to.

"I can go again." It sounds as if he has to dig the words out with great effort, still breathless. 

You reach between your bodies to keep his slippery cock at bay near your thigh. "We can't. It wouldn't be safe after you just—just came."

His lashes flutter in resignation, a firm nod as he dips his head to your collarbones. He rests it there for a moment, likely ignoring the ache in his cock that vies for more attention, and you stare down at the flexing brawn of his back, at the firm swell of his ass. Then he kisses your sternum, over your heart, and sucks his way down the soft curve of your abdomen, gentle, chapped lips against faded bruises.  

When he reaches the raw flesh between your thighs, he lifts your legs and urges your feet on his back. His nose nudges your clit, inhaling deeply the scent of where you'd just been joined, and your breath hitches in anticipation. 

He kisses you here, a curious circle of his tongue around your clit that mimics his finger, before sliding through the slippery seam. When you fist his hair and dig your heels into his shoulders, his gentleness ceases. He closes his entire mouth on you, working furiously to reignite the heat from your spine, which arches off the ground in desperation, driving your puffy cunt harder against the pad of muscle. You grind your hips in combination with pulling on his hair, keeping his tongue right where you need it. It strokes your hole, pushing in and out.

"That's so good, Ghost. So good. I'm—"

You cum hard on his tongue, free hand fisting the grass. It is less of a precipice that you fall off of, and more a crashing wave, like the one you nearly drowned in, but this time you let it sweep you, searing white through the backs of your eyelids. He keeps his tongue there to catch the leakage with an obscenely wet sound you barely hear over the ringing in your ears. By the time it fades, you feel wrecked, spit out on the shore, your mind blank. The wave recedes. 

You hear a soft grunt and then his forehead drops on your sticky belly. The tremor in his shoulders indicates his own release, which he emptied in the grass.

You lay together like this for minutes.

Fingers mindless against his scalp.

Staring at the sky.

Awareness slowly seeps in as the sound of fluttering birds and the quiet ripples over the creak. 

The hum of life returns around you. You'd almost forgotten where you were or how you got here. How long has it been? Your fingers slacken in his hair as you gaze around, the silent trees your only witness, and the sun beginning to dip toward the horizon. The understanding sinks in that you are both absent, and returning together at dark would—

The thought is tucked away when strong arms lift you up, scooping under the crook of your knees.

He is able to walk steadily even when you aren't certain you could.

He carries the mess of your body to the water. The peaceful warmth of it converges over you, highlighting the soreness that you were able to ignore in the throes of it all. Wordlessly, and with a thoughtful crease between his brow, he holds you up with one arm while scrubbing your stomach with the other, rinsing off his essence. It is not an uncomfortable silence, just a thick one, only broken by little drips of water as he cleans you with more intent than you did the first time.

You try to piece together everything in your mind, but the thoughts slip through your fingers like the water. You don’t know what he’s thinking or feeling—a stark contrast to the clarity you found in the heat of him only minutes ago. His body has always been the more decipherable part of him, but now even the stiffness in his shoulders feels like a cipher you can’t crack.

When he leans down and presses a chaste kiss to your damp hair, it doesn’t feel affectionate, exactly. It’s not distant, either—just tender in a way you’re not sure how to interpret. The gnawing questions fill your brain: When was the last time he did this with someone? How many more times will you do it together? Not just once, he said. But what does that mean?

Why do you feel hesitant to ask, even though you were just brindled with confidence while riding his cock?

You try to wipe his own stomach but he brushes your fingers away and does it himself, nodding his chin toward your clothes. "Get dressed. You'll go first."

"Huh?"

"They think I am scouting up ahead right now. I'll be back later."

"Oh," you say, not able to conjure a meaningful response.

He raises an eyebrow at you but offers nothing else except a gentle thumbing over hair that sticks to your cheek. You follow his directions, returning to the grassy bank while the cool air prickles your wet skin. You feel his heavy stare as he watches you towel off, trying to ignore the obvious marks on your hips, stomach, ass, and collarbones. They taunt you with a blush to your cheeks. Luckily, when you slip on the oversized shirt, the majority of them are concealed, your hair finishing the job of covering your neck.

You've no idea what hour it could be when you return, feigning nonchalance, but the setting sun means Ghost won't be out there much longer. In his absence, you feel colder than the temperature truly is. The deep ache that ebbs and flows with each step proves him right. There is no going back after this. No—you will still be able to feel him, like a phantom, even when the soreness between your legs fades. What you are meant to do about that fact is something you can sort through later when you have the state of mind for it. 

Will you ever have the state of mind for it?

You push the voice away and keep your gaze lowered as you approach Nereida, returning the borrowed soaps. The others are gathered around the fire—Kyle eating, Blue and Ari laughing about something, while Price hunches over the map, finalizing tomorrow’s route.

"Was it relaxing?" she asks.

"Hm?"

You blink, bringing your gaze to her, and only now realizing that it is still rather droopy and blurred, the look in her eyes barely in focus as she tilts her head. "Your bath," she clarifies.

"Oh. Mhm." You nod, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, it was just what I needed. I'm actually, um, rather tired now. I think I will sleep early."

She drags her eyes over you, causing your weight to shift, before she returns the smile. "Sounds like a good idea. Long day tomorrow. You should eat first, though."

"Right," you concede, tongue to cheek.

Ghost returns in the midst of you shoveling beans into your mouth, knees tucked to your chest in front of the flames, and his silence as usual. He reports to Price about the clear motorway, his voice clinical, but you catch the subtle roughness beneath it—something no one else would notice, the only detectable trace of what you shared. What you told Nereida wasn't a lie, you feel robbed of energy, and can hardly muster the strength to tie your dried hair in two braids before tucking yourself in a sleeping bag, staring dazedly at the oncoming stars.