#Benefits of Quitting Cigarettes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ceilidho · 4 months ago

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hound dog

prompt: You pick up Ghost from a bar for a one night stand. Too bad Ghost isn't interested in a casual hook up. (nsfw, 6.7k) [based on this old post] [on ao3 here]

Rare is the day when a stupid girl doesn’t do stupid things.

This is just one of many such occurrences. Stepping into the dimly lit dive bar—the one miles from your place, reeking of tobacco and leather and motor oil, the noxious perfume of week old sweat and weed stinking up the joint, pardon the pun—with too much eyeliner and mascara on, and a skirt too short for you—and would you just stop fiddling with it? But you can’t because that would mean admitting that it barely fits over your ass, that putting on a skirt so short was a choice, an invite, a teasing little taunt to the men in the bar saying, what are you waiting for? I’m asking for it, aren’t I—

What’s that saying again?

Ah, yes. Choices made in anger cannot be undone.

It’s why you’re planted at the bat some six weeks after being dumped, two weeks after being ghosted for the third time in a row, a smile on your face despite your crumbling self-esteem. Pride hanging in tatters. Grimacing when you find the bartop sticky with congealed liquor, the residue sticking to your skin when you quickly lift your elbows off. But there’s a time for self-pity and a time for getting it the fuck togther. This just happens to be one of the latter times.

“What’m I gettin’ you?” the bartender in front of you asks, barely impressed with your get-up. Not even attempting to conceal his distaste when he eyes you up and down, lingering on the way your tits are practically spilling out of your top.

“Do you have any cocktails?” you ask. Wrong question. The eye roll isn’t even suppressed for your benefit when he makes it clear to you, in no uncertain terms, that it’s whatever he can pour straight from a bottle or the fancy bar for cityfolk down the road. He says it like that, the word practically sneered out. Cityfolk.

Nerves shaken, you sip at your red wine after he leaves you to your own devices, your glass poured straight from the box. It could function passably as lighter fluid if the circumstances called for it. Still, you swallow it with a positive attitude, emboldened by the knowledge that you’re here for one thing and one thing only:

to get fucked within an inch of your life by one of the greasy-haired, cut-wearing, cigarette-smoking men lining the bar.

Even the thought sends a thrill down your spine.

It’s an age old question, isn’t it? What’s a girl to do (when her love life’s falling apart / when her credit score just bottomed out because her ex-boyfriend ran up her credit cards behind her back / when her job’s steadily becoming unbearable but quitting would mean scrambling to find a job that’ll pay anywhere near to what this one’s paying her) to get a drink around here?

Evidently, the answer isn’t to use a dating app; you can say that confidently after waiting around in fancier bars than this for several no-show dates.

You’re feeling appropriately over the whole thing. Ready to call it quits. Uninstall all of the apps on your phone and hire a matchmaker or ask a friend to set you up with a coworker of theirs. But that’ll be later, down the line when you aren’t dealing with the issue at hand.

The issue being that—

you’re really fucking horny.

Embarrassingly so. Enough that you were willing to travel miles away from home to avoid accidentally hooking up with anyone you might run into later on while out getting groceries or on a morning run.

It’s just better to play things close to your chest. Keep your romantic life and your sexual exploits far apart (not that you’d know much about keeping things separate; you’ve never had much of a sex life to keep hidden) lest you get mired in a stickier situation than you’re comfortable being in.

Despite the rough start, the bar you chose seems promising. There’s a man at the other side of the bar that keeps drawing your eye. It’s the hulking size of him at first, then the grime clinging to the folds of his skin, worn in from years of hard labor. He looks like a man fresh off a fourteen-hour shift or a fortnight spent on an oil rig in the middle of the Baltic sea, freshly washed ashore, kelp and barnacles still fused to his skin, not yet pried off.

Rough is the only word you’d use to describe him. A face covered in nicks and old scars, his upper lip slightly puckered and scarred from cleft lip surgery. When he turns his head to say something to the bartender, you catch a glimpse of a cauliflower ear, the cartilage of his tragus and antihelix swollen and deformed.

He’s exactly what you’ve been looking for. If you’d given it more thought, you think you could’ve conjured up an image of the man across the bar all by yourself. It’s like someone plucked him straight out of your head. Big and brawny, broad shoulders that you can imagine dangling your ankles off, and well-muscled arms that you can imagine digging your nails into. It would take both of your hands and extra to wrap around his bicep. The thought makes you shiver.

You try to catch his attention subtly. Looking over at him from under your lashes, quick, smoldering glances meant to draw his attention to you, so that he approaches you first. You keep waiting for the moment when he’ll notice your stare and hold your gaze, a question being asked and answered between your eyes before reeling him in with a coy little smile.

But when a half hour goes by without a single glance your way, your hope begins to wane.

He doesn’t look up no matter how many times you glance over at him. It’s frustrating; you know he feels the weight of your stare. His disregard is purposeful, deliberate; like he knows your attention is fixed on him but he can’t be bothered to so much as return your stare. You wonder if that means he’s got a lady at home, a little bird cooped up in his house that he’s more eager to get back to after he’s had a drink to take off the edge than flirt with some trussed up floozy at the bar.

That makes you squirm, self-consciousness rearing its ugly head again. Maybe you made a mistake coming here.

It’s not as though you’re being completely ignored, it’s just that the caliber of men that have approached you so far haven’t really inspired much, carnally speaking. You’ve sent the few braver ones away, a half-hearted thanks but no thanks when they offer to buy you a drink. Most leave without a word, though a few mutter obscenities under their breath before shoving their hands in their pockets and stalking away. Bitch. Dumb cunt.

Calling it a night feels like a natural next step. With the attitude you keep getting from the bartender and the way the only man you’re remotely attracted to refuses to so much as glance your way, it doesn’t feel right to stay out any longer. Embarrassment heats you like a low grade fever, warm in your belly. Wine sloshes around in your stomach when you slip off the stool, hunger now another pressing concern.

You’ll ask him on your way back from the bathroom. If he turns you down after that, you’ll slink off into the night with your tail tucked between your legs. There’ll always be next weekend to try again. You promise yourself that because the alternative is acknowledging how defeated this entire experience has left you, no less disappointing than going on the same boring first date with a guy from Tinder.

In the bathroom, you dab your face with water and stare at your reflection in the dirty mirror. It looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in years; finger smudges and white strains streaked across the glass. You wonder how many strangers have fucked in this bathroom over the years. The thought makes you grimace even more when you notice that the floor is slightly sticky, the ground sounding tacky beneath your shoes.

When you come out, the man from across the bar is waiting by the door, so close that you flinch, eyes widening. The narrow hallway means that he’s barely three feet from you when you stand in the doorframe.

“We leavin’ or what?” he growls, voice as deep as you thought it might be, gruff and husky.

He’s just as imposing in front of you as he was from across the bar. Maybe more so. You’re forced to crane your neck to look up at him this close, lips parting on an inaudible exhale. There’s something about a brutish man that’s always taken your breath away; everything from the blunt chin to the pronounced brow. His face is flecked with pale, keloidal skin; rubbery nodules from old injuries.

Dumbstruck, you can only nod, following behind him when he turns away from you, headed towards the parking lot out back where his truck is parked.

You’re really doing this. You’re really doing this. That’s the only thought in your head when he unlocks his truck and pops the door open for you, waiting until you’re buckled in before slamming the door shut.

He’s quiet on the car ride back to his place, unconcerned with getting to know you or defusing the tension in the truck. You can’t say you blame him. There’s a reason you chose a bar so far from home as a hunting ground. If you wanted to get to know someone, you would’ve met someone at a coffee shop.

When you ask his name, he grunts it out like it’s an inconvenience. Simon. He doesn’t give you more than that, even when you awkwardly ask him what he does for work. Blatantly ignores your questions. The rebuff smarts for some reason, makes you frown and duck your chin to your chest, shoulders hunched.

His demeanor is so off-putting that halfway through the drive, you wonder if you misunderstood him somehow, if he means to drive you home instead of taking you back to his place (but that can’t be right, otherwise wouldn’t he have asked for your address?). It’s just hard to reconcile his churlish attitude towards you with his ostensible invitation to fuck.

Maybe he doesn’t intend to fuck you at all. Maybe you managed to pick up the one serial killer in a twenty mile radius and stupidly followed him back to his truck without telling anyone who you planned to go home with. Your blood curdles at the thought, hackles raised when you imagine him sizing you up from across the bar, all prettied up and doe-eyed, easy prey.

Your breathing picks up. “I, um…actually, c-could you…could you just drop me off at my place?”

Simon rolls his eyes so hard that it’s almost audible. “Not gonna kill ya, bird.”

That doesn’t go a long way towards reassuring you, but you don’t dig your heels in and demand he take you home either.

“Do you live nearby?” you ask, suddenly chatty. Why, oh why.

Simon looks over at you, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift. He drives a manual, you notice. A few too many seconds go by in silence. You wish somebody would just staple your mouth shut already.

“Yeah,” he says finally, turning back to watch the road, taking a left turn up ahead without using his signal. So it’s that kind of drive.

You keep your mouth shut for the rest of it lest he decide you’re too much of a hassle and turn back. You’re poised right on the edge of something new and exciting, and the thought of that slipping through your fingers makes you feel a bit crazy. So many men before have shown you that same snap dislike. Like you’re tolerable over text or as a dimensionless photo, but not as a flesh and blood person, the real mechanics of you all wrong. It’s an intolerable thought—that people can only like you when you smile and keep your mouth shut.

Still, you’ll do it now, for a price.

Part of you expects him to pull you into his lap when he pulls into his driveway and puts the truck in park. It’s what you’ve seen in movies. The rest of the night plays out in your head in piecemeal flashes; ravenous passion, hands tearing clothes off each other’s bodies, a shoe left on the porch in your hurry to get inside. Hungry, devouring; slick mouths parting for barely long enough to breathe.

Then Simon cuts the engine and gets out of the truck without so much as a glance your way, like you aren’t even there.

He still comes around to open the door for you. You frown at him through the window, affronted. Baffled at his continued nonchalance. Like even keeping your mouth shut isn’t enough to keep a man’s interest. Where you expected passion and fervor, you’re met with cool indifference.

Simon pops the door open. “Get out.”

The house itself is nothing special. A two-story cookie-cutter house built in the seventies; weathered, beige-coloured vinyl siding and a neatly trimmed lawn, with a few patches of overgrown grass and weeds. There’s a trailer parked in front of the closed garage, a few planks of wood strapped down in the bed. When you follow him up the walkway, you notice how quiet the neighborhood is, and for some reason that makes you even more jittery.

You stop in the doorway, frustration breaking your timidity like snapping an ampoule. “Do you even want to—” fuck me, goes unsaid. Too humiliating to even ask. But you ask anyway, the question itself implicit even in so few words.

Dark eyes stare down at you, impenetrable. You’re struck by the sense of something primordial slithering under his skin. His expression is hard, his face carved from granite; when his expression shifts, it’s like watching tectonic plates create mountains, plates pushed upward by mantle plumes.

He fits a big paw under your chin, fingers pressing into the fat of your cheeks hard enough to make your lips purse. Your heart skips a beat when he angles your head from side to side, looking you over like a pet he’s considering bringing home. You almost go cross-eyed when he bends down, his forehead nearly brushing yours, so close that you can smell the scent of cigarettes clinging to his clothes, see the grease smudged on his face and the folds around his eyes.

A grin flickers across his lips, gone as it came. “Yeah. I do.”

And doesn’t that tie your stomach in a knot? Your nerves in a pretty bow?

Inside, his house is just as unremarkable. You’d know in a single glance that a single man lived here; a functional, no-frills living space. Nothing more than a worn couch, a TV, and a few pieces of obvious hand-me-down furniture. It’s hard to glean anything from the minimal decoration around his place, but he doesn’t give you much of a chance to look around. That’s not the point of why you’re in his house.

“Eat anything yet, bird?” Simon asks from the kitchen, opening the fridge without purpose. It looks like more of a reflex than anything, the first thing he does the second he gets home for the night and the last thing he does before going to bed. From the size of him, it makes sense; his body is muscle on muscle, covered by a healthy layer of fat, just a surface layer over the bulk beneath.

You shake your head. “No.”

“Have a bite, then.”

“I’m not, uh, hungry though,” you deflect rather than saying the obvious, which is, I came to your house to have sex, not make sandwiches at the kitchen counter together.

He shuts the fridge door, pinning you with his stare. “Your call. Could’ve used the energy though.”

You swallow.

The first thing you do after he herds you into the bedroom is try to pull him into a kiss, cupping his cheeks and standing up on your tiptoes. Before your eyelids flutter shut, you catch a glimpse of a cocked brow. Then you press your lips to a slack mouth that doesn’t move no matter how much passion you infuse in your kiss and feel embarrassment flare up in your guts.

Bastard. You should’ve expected that he wouldn’t kiss you back.

“Sorry,” you mutter, breaking the facsimile of a kiss and dropping back down onto your heels.

You flinch when he grabs you by the back of the neck and reels you back in, forcing you back onto your tiptoes, “Don’t be,” grunted against your mouth before fusing your lips together. A pathetic keen climbs up your throat, eyelids slipping shut.

His greed leaks from him like tar, his kiss so messy and violent that you’re almost too jarred to do anything apart from hang on. Teeth clack against yours, a horrid sensation, the lust in your belly abating long enough for the real world to slink back in and you get flashes of it: hands winding around a thick neck, a scratchy cheek against your lip when he twists his head to angle your noses better, a tongue shoving into your mouth unceremoniously, no finesse at all. Straight to the main point.

A shudder wracks you from head to toe when you try to break the kiss only to find the hand on your neck firm, holding you in place. The subtle reminder that he can do whatever he wants with you, that you willingly went home with a man big and strong enough to pin you down and fuck you however rough he wants.

“Simon,” you whine, squirming against him, gasping a breath and his name again when he wrestles you back into the kiss. “No—Simon—”

“Stay fuckin’ still,” he snarls against your lips, and you freeze, knees going weak when his fingers dig into your jaw to hold you in place.

The endorphin rush nearly makes your vision white out. A sudden winter storm, the blood rushing to your cheeks and the tip of your nose, your breath coming out quick and choppy. Lungs barely filling up with each inhale.

“Get this off,” Simon growls, tugging on your skirt when you don’t move fast enough. He doesn’t wait for you to catch up, content to wrench your skirt off himself instead, your panties along with it.

It takes your breath away, how fast you go from clothed to partially nude. Trying to match his fervor is a losing game, so you just try to keep up. Your hands tug at his belt, desperately trying to undo it, and he chuckles when he notices; big hands paw at your ass while you shakily pop the buckle out of the first loop.

He takes over after that, popping the button on his jeans one-handed.

“Wanna handle the rest?” he prompts, an eyebrow jutting up, expectant. Lazy with his arrogance; oozing rugged masculinity. It’d infuriate you if it didn’t get you so hot.

Your fingers are numb by the time you pull his jeans down, kneeling at his feet and gazing up at him with wide eyed devotion as he kicks off his boots and shakes the pants off his legs, nothing under his jeans. His pale white thighs are dusted in fine blond hairs, mottled with burns and scars and old, faded cigarette marks, like someone used his legs as an ashtray. The thought makes your throat close up.

He shucks off his shirt while you stare at the shaft heavy with blood hanging between his legs, drooping with its own weight. Flushed red at the head and streaked with dark veins, leaking a steady drip of precum. The hair at the base of his dick is of a darker shade, gold like straw.

Your stomach swoops at the sight, dropping to the pits of you. You swallow. Maybe you’ve bit off a little more than you can chew. A lot more.

As if sensing your unease, a wide hand is suddenly firm on the back of your head, urging you closer. “Gonna give it a kiss?”

It’s not a question. You know that and you know that you’re way out of your league; that if you panic now you’ll flounder. So instead of fighting it, you lean forward and press a shy kiss to the weeping head of his dick.

You lick your lips instinctively when you draw back, lapping up the precum smeared across them. The taste makes you wrinkle your nose. It’s salty; bitter. Not altogether pleasant.

Simon wraps a hand around his dick and holds it to your lips. “Open your mouth, bird. Get me nice ‘n wet.”

A shudder rolls through you, but there’s little else you can do except part your lips and squeeze your eyes shut. It’s a struggle to fit more than just the head in your mouth, his dick too wide to take more than that. Your eyes water at the stretch, the musky taste of his cum overwhelming.

Any experience you’ve had before this pales in comparison. It’s like the first time all over again. His cock is heavy on your tongue, instantly making your eyes water. The grip he still has on the base of his cock tells you that he doesn’t expect you to swallow the whole length (an impossible task; you go cold with dread at even the thought), but Simon doesn’t hesitate to grip your head firmer when he feels you falter, forcing you to take as much as you can.

When you gag, he shushes you. “Keep at it—you’re fine.”

You wonder if he thinks by saying it, it makes it true. You’re very much not fine, struggling to breathe through your nose and suck him off without scraping his cock with your teeth.

Your exhale when he pulls you off his cock by your hair is full of both relief and trepidation. Your lips feel swollen and tender when you touch them with your fingers.

“Can we please have sex now?” you ask, dazed enough to be bold.

Simon cracks a smile at that, endeared somehow. “Gotta get up for that, bird.”

You have to brace your hands against his chest when you get to your feet, the blood that rushes to your head making you wobbly. Even on your feet, he’s so much taller than you, a behemoth. Men like him have always been your type, but Simon is really in a league of his own.

Glancing up at him from under your lashes, you bite your lip. You’ve seen that in movies before, starlettes bringing men to their knees with just a look. Coquette; demure. It’s harder to replicate than you thought, but you’ve never rehearsed this before. This is a one-time, live performance. The culmination of everything you’ve ever read or watched or studied.

You keep up the ruse of being sexy by crawling onto his bed on your hands and knees, dropping down onto your elbows once situated in the middle of the mattress. The debauchery of wiggling your ass back at the man who took you home from the bar would overwhelm you if you weren’t playing a part right now. Role playing. This isn’t who you usually are, but if it’s only for one night, you can force out the self-scrutiny and timidity.

Silence hangs in the air like a bubble, waiting to be burst. You fight the urge to look over your shoulder at him.

Then Simon exhales, breaking the silence. Goosebumps ripple down your arms.

The mattress dips under his weight when he settles behind you, hands immediately sinking into the flesh of your ass and pulling your cheeks apart. No preamble. You open your mouth to say something, but thick, coarse fingers are already dipping between your thighs and playing with your hole, sinking a finger in up to the first knuckle.

You breathe out shakily, shoulders tensing. The sheets reek of him, musky and ripe; you concentrate on that instead of the fingers penetrating you, getting you ready for his dick. Your walls squeeze tight around his fingers when he forces another one in.

When he finally feeds his cock into you, the stretch is nearly unbearable. The sharp stab of pain that accompanies it almost makes you flinch away, but Simon drags you back by your hips.

“You’re not going anywhere, bird,” he rumbles. “Relax. It’s going in.”

What can you say to something like that?

His whole frame presses you into the mattress, the breath forced from your lungs. Bigger now that he’s got you on your belly. Suddenly making two hundred pounds seem less abstract, more real. He bullies as much of his cock into you as he can, paying no mind to the way you squeal and kick your legs.

“Real tight cunt,” Simon grunts, humming with his pleasure when his hips punch forward and your pussy squelches around his length. So lewd.

His knees on either side of you keep you trapped in place, nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. All you can do is lie under him and let him rut between your thighs, gasping for breath with every thrust. The sweat is slick down your back, half yours and half his.

“Ya let other men fuck this cunt, bird?” he asks. It sounds hypothetical, like it’s said half to rile himself up, and though it prickles at your nerves, you don’t complain too much because he fucks you rougher after the words slip out of his mouth.

When you don’t answer him though, concentrating more on filling your lungs and not biting your tongue off, he grabs your face and twists your head until you’re looking over your shoulder at him, neck aching with the strain.

“Answer me,” he demands, sounding almost pissed off.

“N-no—”

“Good,” he grunts. Satisfied.

His words should piss you off. How dare he ask you about fucking other men as if he were your husband or boyfriend. You have half a mind to cuss him out, but then he pumps his hips forward and your face goes numb from pleasure. Electric impulses zip up and down your skin, sizzling your nerves.

Besides, maybe it’s hot that he’s acting like you belong to him. Like you’re his; his girl that he picked up from the bar after a long shift, eager to go home and lay her out on the bed so he could fuck his pretty girl into a tongue-tied stupor. It certainly does it for you, a thin filigree of pleasure winding its way down your spine.

It’s an intoxicating fantasy—being wanted by a man in a real, visceral way. It’s one you’ve never gotten close to before, never even grazed with the tips of your fingers, no matter how far you stretched out your arms. You don’t know what men see when they look at you, but it can’t be anything worth keeping.

He fucks you like he wants to pry you open and leave a piece of him inside. A big hand fits around your neck and tightens; a collar, a manacle.

Hard to feel anything but grateful though. It’s everything you wanted but never thought you’d get out of this experience. You expected to feel like a body on a butcher’s block, hacked limb from limb. Marble ribbing on the inside. Brought to a high only to be left out in the cold after.

You never expected apotheosis. You never expected the filth murmured into your ear, the lurid, coarse diatribe in surround sound, all perfect fuckin’ pussy, can’t wait to shove my tongue inside, gonna make you suck my cock while I eat that perfect cunt out—

All—

Perfect fuckin’ girl; you don’t give this to anyone else, do ya? Knew you were gaggin’ for it back in the bar, but wanted to wait ‘n see; turned the rest of ‘em down, didn’t ya? Not a fuckin’ slut. Jus’ for me—only hungry for my cock—

It’s too rough, too much. Overpowering. Musk and body heat and raw strength, his forearms planted on the mattress on either side of your head. The scent of him suffocating, smothering. Heady. In your pores, on the back of your tongue, in your belly. He’s everywhere.

If only you could put it into words. The fire in your belly growing so wild, so out of control, that it threatens to incinerate you. Thinking dangerous thoughts—that you could be his, that he wants you so bad he can’t stand the idea of anyone having you before him, that he’ll kill anyone that touched you before, rip them apart with his bare hands, cut out their hearts and slice it ‘em up real thin so he could feed you the strips with his hands—

“Fuck—” Simon pants in your ear, pulling his cock out of your cunt. You whine, clenching down on nothing, suddenly empty, until he turns you roughly over onto your back and grabs one of your flailing ankles, hooking it over a burly shoulder. “Cunt this good oughta be locked down. Should just chain your leg to the bed so I can wake up to this pussy every day. Would’ya like that, bird?”

Like it? You think wildly—

Keep me, keep me, keep me, pleasepleaseplease.

The leg not hooked over Simon’s shoulder gets pulled around his hip, spreading your legs wider to accommodate the width of him between them. The scour of his voice threatens to erode you, smash you to pieces. There won’t be anything left after he’s done with you.

He’s just so big. Built like an ox, broad and solid. When he braces his forearms on either side of you, his biceps bulge, skin pulling taut over the muscle. The dark hair of his pits is stark against pale flesh.

Blood roars in your ears and over you, he moves like a wave, filling you up again and again. You’re swimming in uncharted waters now; gazing out into an unfamiliar and dangerous sea. A swell this big might take you right under.

Too bad for you, the hazy adumbration of danger in his words is pitted against the maw in your soul, the deep, cavernous hole that yawns wider with each passing year.

For years now, you’ve had the same dream: overlooking a sea of evergreen peaks illuminated by a silky moonlight hue, winding a long, narrow road darkened on both sides by tightly clustered trees, your arms wrapped around your chest. Cold layered like a skin, sinking deep into your bones, cold wet like a damp hate; trees clustered around your wandering soul, spurned into wandering like a little undead ghost with teeth clattering in Morse code, saying: so many wrongs done, it is almost incomprehensible.

Is it too much to ask to be wanted?

You need it like air.

The issue is that—

more than horny, you’re really, really fucking lonely.

For years now, you’ve had the same dream: a dream of being a lighthouse keeper, skin saltwater slick, seafoam on the backs of your knuckles, slathering over frozen fingers clutching at the gallery railing. Beckoning something to you.

What it is, you do not know.

“Look at tha’,” Simon says wonderingly, grabbing your face and yanking it towards him, forcing you to meet his eyes again. “Just needed to get turned out on a fat cock, didn’t ya?”

“Yeah,” you gasp. “So good, Simon, ohmygod—”

“Only this needy for me, right?” The glint in his eye is terrifying.

“Only you, only you—”

“That’s right,” he growls, bearing all of his weight down on you, forehead to forehead. His sweat-slick chest slides against yours, cock buried so deep that you can taste him at the back of your throat. Dark eyes stare down at you with an intensity that steals the breath from you, glossy like he’s rapidly losing the ability to be consciously present, but ever attentive to the pleasure rippling across your face.

When his cock grinds into the soft plug of your womb, his eyes narrow when yours bulge, and he batters that spot until you seize up and spasm around him. His buzz cut gives you nothing to hold onto, so you dig your nails into the bulky planes of his back instead.

“Fuck—hold on, Christ, fuck; here it comes,” he spits, the veins in his neck protruding when he grits his teeth.

Your blood goes red hot when he rams deep into you, each thrust deliberate. Hips losing their rhythm. You don’t notice the first spurt of cum, too preoccupied with the smell and weight of him blanketing you, infiltrating every crevice of your body, but the second is hot. Scorching. You ignore the screaming alarm at the back of your head, barely coherent enough to parse out its meaning. All you can focus on is the warmth spreading inside you and your own walls pulsing around his cock, milking his release out of him.

Time blurs. You lose some of it.

You don’t come back until Simon rolls over onto his back, taking you with him. His cock is still buried inside of you, his cum running out in rivulets, pooling at the base of his dick lodged at your entrance. You’re going to be messy when he finally pulls out.

Despite the ache already setting in, you feel reborn. Renewed. The old, dead skin flayed off. You can’t imagine how you’ll feel when you’ve got your energy back, when even tracing your eyes across the other side of his room doesn’t take tremendous effort. The traces of him littered around the room make you curious. A half empty glass. Steel-toed boots sticking out of a half-opened closet. A damp towel crumpled into a ball on the floor.

You squeeze your eyes shut. There’s no use trying to fill the gaps in. Whoever Simon is won’t matter in the light of day. You repeat this to yourself until it sticks.

When you try to get up, planting both hands on his chest, he pulls you back down, forcing your head onto the pillow of his chest. “Simon, the sheets are wet—”

“I’ll deal with it later,” Simon says, eyes already shut, on the verge of falling asleep. “Now shut up. You’re ruining the fucking afterglow.”

You wake up the next morning covered in bruises and bite marks and dried cum between your thighs and on your belly, so sore that even twitching your finger hurts.

It takes awhile for everything to come back to you. When it finally does, consciousness snaps back into you, discomfort giving way to quiet self-satisfaction. You managed to do it. Your first one-night stand. A real milestone. The tacky sheets beneath you are proof enough of your accomplishment.

The sadness slithers in when you realize that it’s over. One and done. In a half hour or so, the man plastered against your back and breathing heavily on the crown of your head will wake up, groggy and bleary eyed, and side-eye you until you put back on your clothes from the night before and slink out, tail tucked between your legs. A few hours delayed from when you were planning to throw in the towel at the bar, but still. In the end, it always comes around.

A gruff voice at your side tells you to quiet, bird—s'too early for your bitchin’ before manhandling you onto your stomach and shoving his raw cock into your cunt and it’s only now that it dawns on you that you were too horny last night to remember to ask him to use protection.

The thought is wiped from your head when he bucks his hips forward, impaling you on his swollen length. You lose track of time after that.

Breakfast is an informal affair. Cereal from a box and a bit too much milk, and a cup of instant coffee. You wince when you sit down across from Simon at the kitchen table, your inner thighs still tender and pussy sore from the battering it just took. If it strokes his ego to see how gingerly you sit down, he doesn’t show it.

It’s weird sitting across the table from him after last night. Hard to just leave it unaddressed, the truth simmering in the air. The red marks across his back make you wince, cheeks heating. Thin crescent marks and scored nails. It’s hard to reconcile yourself with the girl from last night.

He eats in silence for the most part though, ravenous after the night before. Doesn’t comment on the state of his shoulders or the way you shift on your chair. Not even bothering to make eye contact with you. Your appetite takes a bit of a hit watching him shovel food into his mouth, hardly even pausing long enough to breathe, but you’ve seen plenty of hungry men eat before.

Still though, silence has always had a way of getting under your skin. You’re not comfortable around it, prone to chattering. So you can’t help the way your mouth opens and the words come out involuntarily.

“Do you do this a lot?”

“I don’t shit where I eat,” Simon grunts dismissively.

The expression makes you grimace. “So do you usually pick up girls elsewhere or—”

The look he gives you could melt the flesh off your bones. You realize your misstep, interrogating the man you just fucked about his other hookups. Best not to ask questions. It’s not like you’ll see him again after this.

These last few moments are bittersweet. There won’t be many opportunities like this in the future, mainly because you don’t think you’re cut out for one-night stands. Last night proved that. As good as it was—and for as many times as you came, another time in the wee hours of the morning when Simon rolled over on top of you and shoved your legs apart to eat you out (a midnight snack)—in the light of day, you feel world weary. Like something monumental happened and passed you by.

You almost want to thank him for making it special, but the anxiety around finally pissing him off is more than you can bear. You want to leave on a good note. It’s better this way. You’ll never have confirmation about whether he’d eventually grow tired of you like everyone else. Never know if he’d one day manage to lose interest in the real you, not the made up sex kitten from the bar.

It’s better this way.

You tell yourself that when you push your chair out and stand up, hands fisting in the oversized shirt Simon made you wear before leaving the bedroom. “I should get going.”

He stops eating, staring up at you. His eyes are inscrutable, and the longer he stares, the less you understand his look.

You shift from foot to foot. “Thanks for… I had a good time.”

Simon doesn’t say anything, but when he drops his spoon into the bowl, the metal clang makes you flinch.

His silence leaves you off balance, like you’ve overstepped somehow. All motion stills under his scrutiny.

“Got somewhere ya need to be?” he asks, a vague, almost menacing undercurrent in his voice. It’s said like a warning. There shouldn’t be anywhere else you need to be.

“I…—don’t you want me to leave?”

He looks distinctly unimpressed. “You gonna walk home like that?” His words make you tug at his shirt, pulling it down to cover your thighs.

Your whole life has been made up of misunderstandings. Missed opportunities. Men who you thought loved you vanishing into thin air. You’re a poem often lost in translation. A long game of hide and seek; people run towards you then feign right, leaving you in the dust.

Whatever this is, you don’t recognize it.

You swallow on a dry throat. “…No?”

Simon searches your expression for something before he nods, satisfied. “Then sit the fuck back down. Finish your damn breakfast.”

You sit back down (wincing when you do) because the alternative is admitting that you don’t know what’s next. That you’re out of step again, but this time without that sinking feeling in your belly. A wild fluttering instead. That thought again that maybe you’ve bit off more than you can chew.

What’s that saying again?

Ah, yes. Choices made in anger cannot be undone.

#ceil writing #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you

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theangelbabies · 4 months ago

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𝑪𝑰𝑮𝑨𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑺 𝑨𝑭𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑬𝑿.

♡𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒕 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕

- summary : Theo shares with you his love language while ‘after care’.

- warnings : maaaaybe slight smut??

You and Theodore Nott had been hooking up for a while now and you may or may not had been hiding some feelings from him for a quite while now. You have never really thought about having something more with him until the late night meetings had become more frequent. You had been falling into him more and more every time you had sex.

You never really thought about Theo seeing you as something more than a friend with benefit because surely he had more girls on his dick, so you started to push your feelings aside not wanting to not get your hopes up. It came to a point that it became so hard that you wanted to stop seeing him.

Little did you know Theo had been sharing a mutual feelings about your relationship…

After, what you were supposed to call ‘your last fuck’, you were both laying in his bed panting.

You sat up, wanting to reach for your undergarments to not make it any longer when suddenly you felt Theo’s soft voice.

“Can you stay for tonight, please?”

You turned to him, looking into his pleasing eyes that you just could not resist. Nodding while smiling softly, you lay back down next to him.

Theo pulled you into an embrace suddenly. Having the occasion, you snuggled up into his arms, feeling the boy’s fingers twirl a piece of your hair between them, reaching for a cigarette and a lighter with his other hand.

“What’s your love language?” - Asking barely whispering, you looked up at Theo hoping he would take the hint about your feelings because you knew neither of you wanted to end what you had.

Theo looked down at you, smirking while taking a long puff from the cig before passing it to you.

“Hmm. Pretty sure sharing and physical touch..”

You gave back him the cigarette after taking a couple of puffs and hummed.

Feeling your eyes slowly closing, the realisation hit you. :)

˚✧₊⁎･:*+.\╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

a/n : THIS IS A LITTLE BAD BECAUSE IM LITERALLY WRITING IT FOR THE SECOND TIME BC WHEN I WAS DONE AT THE FIRST MY TUMBLR CRASHED AND DELETED EVERYTHING ☹️☹️ so im sorry that it’s probably bad but i still hoped u liked it!! if u want anything like that more or have any fic ideas pls let me knowwww<333 love yall :**

#harry potter imagine #harry potter #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x slytherin!reader #fluff #theo nott #theo nott x you #theo nott x y/n #theo fluff

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starmapz · 11 days ago

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what you know - ch7: yuletide || r. sukuna

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

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

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. anxiety. tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 11.2k.

❦ a/n ; happy holidays to those who celebrate! this was originally intended to be a little bonus chapter but as you can see, it kinda got away from me LOL. so i hope you enjoy <3

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter - coming soon

“Kunaaaaaaaa!”

Walking back from Choso’s friend’s house, Sukuna inhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m right here, quit yelling, brat.”

“You’re not listening though!” Yuji pouts, tugging at his arm until he kneels down.

And god, Sukuna’s head pounds the moment he’s lowered himself down to his little brother’s height. His mind is practically screaming at him, begging him to lay down in the dark and sleep just a little bit longer.

With a sigh, Sukuna rubs at his temple. “What, Yu?”

“Cho’s friend said they’re having a big, big Christmas dinner with turkey and stuffing and veggies and- and- potatoes, and they have a big tree and decorations and they have family traveling to see them-”

Sukuna lowers his hand from his head slowly, eyes narrowed in an attempt to fend off the effects of his hangover following his night of drinking, partying, and chicken fingers as he listens to Yuji go on about the holidays.

Christmas.

Aside from saving a bit of extra money to get gifts, Sukuna hasn’t exactly had the luxury of stopping to think much about it. He supposes he could have, and probably should have focused on that yesterday rather than going to Gojo’s party, but he needed a night to himself more than ever before with the lawsuit weighing down heavily on his shoulders.

He’s not thrilled that in his drunken stupor he dragged you into the fray of his issues with his step-mother, if Sukuna even dared grace her with such a name, but somehow it doesn’t seem quite as dire with you on his side.

“Seeeeeeee!” Yuji groans, catching Sukuna lost in thought. “You’re not listeningggg!”

His jaw tightens. “I’m listening,” he grumbles, gritting his teeth as he drags his palm over his face.

He casts a glance at Choso, who’s blankly staring at the exchange between his older and younger brothers, and Sukuna wonders if the twelve-year-old is worrying about him right now. He wonders if this is one of those moments that his own kid brother is contemplating his well-being.

With a pang in his heart, he grimaces and gives Yuji his full attention. “You wanna have a big Christmas?”

Yuji nods eagerly. Swallowing hard, Sukuna prays he can provide that and not dull the light behind his eyes. The reality is that no matter what he does, there won’t be a big extended family, or a turkey, or even a big tree. The most he can manage is a small tree, a couple of friends, and some decorations from the dollar store.

Yuji isn’t old enough to remember the holidays with their dad, and his mom was gone so soon after he was born that Sukuna doubts he remembers her at all, let alone a holiday with her. Choso surely remembers both, though during their first holiday as just the three of them, Sukuna destroyed the illusion of holiday merriment and the joys of waking up on Christmas morning to gifts from Santa.

It wasn’t on purpose, but he had no clue what he was doing. He wasn’t in a good place mentally, nor did he have the money for much more than a hoodie Choso had wanted. The closest thing they’d had to a Christmas that year was Uraume surprising them by coming over and cooking dinner. Since then, it’s become tradition. Uraume never expects a gift in return for cooking a full Christmas dinner and even leaving the leftovers, but Sukuna makes an effort regardless to return the favor.

With a huff, Sukuna stands at his full height, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he gives in to his little brother’s request. That’s how he finds himself pushing a cart through the dollar store with his brothers in tow and a mean hangover that seems to have no intention of relenting anytime soon as the sterile white lighting beats down on him.

“What about these?” Choso holds up a stack of Christmas plates and napkins.

With a glance at the price, Sukuna mutters a ‘sure’, only because nodding makes his head absolutely ache.

Leaning over the cart, Sukuna watches Choso grab reasonable items, while Yuji shovels anything and everything he can into the cart.

“No,” Sukuna mutters each time a plush, massive wreath, or Christmas themed cookies make their way into the cart.

“Kuna, can we pleeeaaase at least get these?” He begs, holding up a pair of light-up antlers. He clicks a button on the ears, causing the lights to flash.

“No, Yu. Put ‘em back.”

Yuji pouts, staring down at them in his hands as he fiddles with the fabric of the ears. The little boy glances back up at Sukuna with wide, glassy eyes and sure enough, his resolve crumbles.

“Fine. Grab a pair for Cho, too.”

Yuji parades around the cart with a series of ‘yay’s and ‘thank you’s, and even Choso’s eyes light up as Sukuna leans further over the cart until the wheels are squeaking in an effort to support his weight.

The aisle is a blur of pink hair as Yuji bounces around the decorations, lips pursing into a big ‘o’ as he points at a small Christmas tree with lights strung around it. With a yawn, Sukuna mildly watches as Choso tries to talk the pink-haired child down from the tree that’s on the more expensive side for the dollar store, but even his eyes go wide with wonder as Sukuna reaches over them and sets it in the cart.

Remember when everything at the dollar store used to actually cost a dollar? Sukuna certainly does.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Sukuna sighs, leading the way towards the exit as Yuji talks his ear off about how he wants to watch Christmas movies. As he goes on about how he’s never seen Home Alone, Sukuna watches the cashier scan their items, his brow furrowing as he sees Choso pull a Santa hat out from the pile in the cart. “No,” he scolds, holding his hand out to his brother expectantly.

Usually the reasonable of the two kids, Sukuna simply raises a brow when Choso continues his motions, placing a second Santa hat on the counter. The poor employee has paused with an uncertain expression, taking note of the debate going on between the two siblings.

“Choso,” Sukuna growls, holding his hand out more expectantly.

The boy grabs a third Santa hat, placing it on the counter as well.

“Choso,” Sukuna hisses, reaching forward to grab the hats off the counter but the little boy snatches them away first.

“Please, Kuna.”

“No. Antlers or hats, not both.”

Yuji grabs his brother’s hand in solidarity, pouting up at Sukuna.

“No, brat. That won’t work twice.” Losing patience, Sukuna pulls out his card, silently threatening to pay and leave if they don’t choose.

“Kuna, please. I won’t ask for anything else,” Choso pleads.

He falters, his thumb running over the chip on his card as he shoots the dark-haired Itadori a glance from his peripherals. Why the hell does he want these hats so bad? He’s not sure he understands, but the extra few dollars won’t kill him, and if he’s being honest, there’s another reason behind his sudden leniency with the two kids.

There’s a small nagging thought in the back of his mind that this might be his last holiday with the brothers. It’s not something he wants to consider, not when he thinks his guardianship for the last three years over the two of them should count for something in court, but he can’t deny the feeling of unease that has him giving in to another request.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, using his spare hand to massage between his brows in an effort to dull his headache. “Fine.”

Yuji cheers happily as all three hats flop onto the counter. The cashier shoots an uncertain glance at Sukuna, who scowls down at the hats at the realization that there’s three of them, which means one’s for him, but he keeps his mouth shut as they scan the last of the items.

With a tap of his card, he tucks it back into his wallet, handing each of his brothers some small, lighter bags, while he grabs the tree.

The walk back to the apartment is grueling between the excited ramblings of Yuji, the overcast sun assaulting Sukuna’s hungover senses and the melting snow that’s giving way to a particularly icy sidewalk. How convenient.

Finally reaching their apartment, Sukuna lobs the tree down on the ground and unceremoniously tosses himself over the couch. At his height, his legs dangle over the edge of the couch, but it’s such a relief to lay down that it feels comfier than ever. He drapes his arm over his eyes to shield himself from the natural light flooding in through the windows as his brothers take it upon themselves to decorate the apartment.

He must have drifted off, because the feeling of Yuji tugging on his hoodie jolts him awake very suddenly. Dazed, he drags his hands over his face harshly before cracking his eyes open. His headache has dulled enough that he can function without the sharp pain of a pounding head, but he could definitely have used some more sleep.

“Will Rume be here this year?” Yuji asks as he tugs at Sukuna’s hood.

“Christ, brat, you’re gonna choke me,” Sukuna gruffs, pulling the collar of his hoodie back down. “Yeah, they’ll be here,” he confirms, carding a hand through his hair. Much like Sukuna, Yuji hasn’t quite gotten Uraume’s name down, but they’ve never seemed to mind.

Yuji bounds off with tinsel in-hand, tossing the glittery strands of foil over a kitchen chair. With a yawn, Sukuna sits up and takes a look around. “Oh, fuck me,” he mutters under his breath as he realizes that the apartment is no longer just overrun with beaded lizards, but there’s now tinsel strung up on every surface that the two boys could reach. The apartment practically looks like a craft store threw up in it.

A muscle in his jaw ticks as he stares at the absolute fire hazard that the stove is looking like right now and he sighs, pushing himself to his feet to get his laptop. The two kids go barreling past him in a fit of laughter, nearly bowling him over if he weren’t so steady on his feet.

“Hey. Hey! No tinsel on the stove, you two know better!” Sukuna barks. They don’t even cast him so much as a glance, but Sukuna can’t be bothered to deal with the issue himself right now. Flopping down on his bed, he leans against his headboard and opens his email.

He scarcely remembers letting you know he got home last night as you’d requested, having passed out shortly after sending the email, but he’s somewhat surprised to find that the timestamp from your email is from late last night as well. You must have stayed awake until he emailed to make sure he was safe. Something stirs in his stomach at the thought, but he quickly pushes it aside.

[email protected] - Saturday, 2:42 AM

Good to hear, Kuna! Get some sleep, thanks for the ice cream!! :)

He lets out a breath of relief at seeing you type his nickname, thanking any god that will listen that you aren’t upset with him anymore. Especially with how much he’d fumbled his shitty apology, completely ill-prepared and inebriated. Even sober, he doesn’t think he would have been prepared, but drunk and high? It’s a miracle he pulled it off at all.

“Kuna?”

Sukuna peers over his laptop to the doorway, his usual disinterested stare falling on a head of messy pink hair. He doesn’t respond, but Yuji knows he has his brother’s attention as crimson eyes look over his hopeful expression.

“The stove is clean.”

“Good.”

“Sorry,” Yuji fiddles guiltily with the hem of his Sonic the Hedgehog shirt.

Sukuna hums in acknowledgement.

Yuji continues to fiddle with his shirt before hopefully asking if Sukuna is inviting you to Christmas dinner. His eyes are wide and full of optimism as he takes a step towards Sukuna.

“She’s probably spendin’ Christmas with her family,” he replies mildly, reaching up to scratch his jaw.

“But we do dinner on Christmas Eve anyway,” he points out, a tradition started to make sure they could include Uraume.

Sukuna sighs, clicking on the reply button to your email as he mutters out a “fine.” Yuji jogs over to him and leaps up onto Sukuna’s bed, crawling to his side to watch as he types out an email to you. Sukuna huffs, grimacing at his little brother before typing out a message to you.

[email protected] - Saturday, 1:08 PM

got christmas plans?

“That’s it?”

Sukuna’s brow furrows. “What’s wrong with that?” He grumbles, the full pain of his headache beginning to return at the judgment from the five-year-old.

“Ask her to come over!” Yuji insists.

Frowning, Sukuna playfully shoves Yuji’s face away from his screen. “Go finish decorating with your brother,” he huffs, watching the giggly kid hop off the bed with a bright expression. “If, and I mean if she’s free, I’ll ask. Got it?”

Yuji nods, running towards the door excitedly before pausing. “Oh! Can we also invite-”

Sukuna sighs as he begins rattling off a couple of Choso’s friends, as well as his own from Kindergarten.

He’s definitely in over his head this year.

–

With one final piece of tape, you secure a red ribbon over a small green box, setting it alongside two bigger, more slender boxes. One for Sukuna, and one for each of the boys.

Piling the gifts into a bag, you set them at the door and finish getting ready.

Your holiday plans had gone very quickly from a video call with your family and a cozy movie night alone with your laptop to a brunch with Suguru’s family, a dinner with Satoru’s, and dinner with Sukuna and the boys. Of course you appreciate Satoru and Suguru for making an effort to include you, but there’s something deeper to the idea of having Christmas dinner with Sukuna that you can’t deny.

Over the past week, you had helped pick up the kids from school a couple of times, so Sukuna had presented this as a way of ‘paying you back’, but your conversations with his little brothers had you thinking there was more to this than just paying you back. Yuji talked non-stop about Christmas movies and a big dinner and how he was beyond excited for the big day. Sukuna seemed tired at the mere concept, but Yuji was adamant that you had to be a part of it, and there’s no world where you’re willing to let down the sweet little boy.

Picking the kids up from school had also given you the opportunity to scheme with Choso about Sukuna’s gift and you’re pretty sure you nailed it.

With a final once-over of your outfit, you nod to yourself in the mirror. A cute red wool Christmas sweater hangs over your frame decorated in stitches that form the shape of reindeer and snowflakes, with a pair of black leggings adorning your legs. You make your way to the door and pull on a pair of knee-high heeled boots to complete the look, pleased with the cute and festive outfit.

When you arrive at Sukuna’s door with some fresh-baked Christmas cookies (those cute Snowman ones from Pillsbury that are to die for), and the gifts for all three brothers tucked into a bag hanging around your arm, you hit the button for their intercom and wait for a response. After a few rings, the buzzer seems to die and the door doesn’t budge. Blinking a few times, you pull out your phone to check you have the right date and time.

December 24th, 3:00 PM.

With a furrowed brow, you juggle the cookies and gifts to hit the buzzer again. Maybe they just didn’t hear it. It rings once, twice, three, four times, and you’re sure it’s about to die when static sounds over the speaker and excited screams can be heard. Not unusual, but it sounds much more chaotic than usual.

“Hello?” Choso’s voice finally sounds in the brisk afternoon winter air.

“Hey Cho, it’s me!”

He doesn’t reply, but the door buzzes as it unlocks for you to make your way up. Before you can knock, Choso pulls the door open for you with a toothy smile, his cheeks rosy.

“Hey, Cho!” You grin and take your boots off as he closes the door behind you and adjusts his absolutely adorable reindeer antlers with sparkling red and green LEDs.

You’ve hardly taken a step into the apartment when the madness of the apartment hits you, quite literally.

Yuji barrels into your leg in a hug, matching antlers to Choso’s adorning his head as he giggles and grins at you. “Merry Christmas!” He cheers, tugging you further into the apartment as you set down your gifts and cookies at the door.

Tinsel is spread across every surface below waist-level, which makes you think the boys did most of the decorating, while a small tree sits on the floor near the TV, lit with sparkling red and green lights. Garland is spread across light fixtures and the warm glow of colorful fairy lights illuminates the dining room. You hadn’t taken Sukuna as the type to decorate to the nines, but it’s heartwarming to see just how much cheer and spirit is spread throughout the otherwise fairly dark apartment.

The real shock as you’re pulled into the living space, is the sheer amount of people all crammed into the living room. Mostly kids between Yuji and Choso’s ages, and one other person who seems to be around the same age as you with snowy white hair, while Sukuna sits on the floor. Displeasure twists his every feature as his youngest brother runs back up to him and a girl around his age with short brown hair. The little boy takes a string of red garland from the girl, clambering over the tattooed man as he strings it up around his broad shoulders. A couple of boys chuckle at the sight of Sukuna decorated like a Christmas tree from where they sit playing MarioKart.

Sukuna grinds his teeth, his jaw clenched as he just barely manages to tolerate his little brother’s antics. You giggle at the sight, pulling out your phone to snap a photo of the sweet interaction, catching Sukuna’s attention finally.

“Don’t,” he hisses at you, fists clenching at his sides.

Biting your lip to conceal your smile, you hold your phone up to him, snapping a photo just in time before Sukuna’s pushing off the ground suddenly. The action of his chest and shoulders rising pulls the garland taut before it splits under the tension, falling from his frame to the dismay of the kids.

Holding your phone tight to your chest, you gasp playfully at the realization that Sukuna’s darting towards you, intent on deleting the photo. You duck quickly away from him, unable to hide your smile as you slide into the dining room where Choso and a couple of friends seem to be playing with Pokemon cards.

“Delete it,” Sukuna growls as he closes the distance between you in a few short strides. An unceremonious squeak parts your lips as he catches up to you and slips a strong arm around your middle, using his other hand to reach for your phone and hold it up to you. You push against him, but he’s not budging even an inch. The feeling of his chiseled abs pressing against your back is dizzying, and you almost forget why he has you tucked into his warmth, until he hisses out another “delete it, brat.”

“It’s so cute!” You protest, wriggling against him in an attempt to slip from his grasp.

Sukuna falters for a split second, swallowing hard as your endeavors to escape from him has your ass brushing against him just right and he prays you don’t feel his body involuntarily reacting to you as his cock twitches in his jeans. Blinking, he scrambles to think about something unpleasant to counteract the thoughts beginning to race through his mind. You twist in his grasp, and he’s reminded of what he’s doing in the first place, pulled back to the present. “It’s not fucking cute. Delete it.”

“It’ll be a good memory for Yuji and Choso!” You insist, putting your full weight against Sukuna’s arm that has you caged against him. He doesn’t move a muscle, not needing to so much as tense to keep you up, he’s just that strong.

His brow furrows as he considers your words, finally huffing as he releases you. With your full weight being supported by him just seconds ago, you barely manage to catch yourself before you go tumbling to the floor, grinning triumphantly when you find your footing.

“If that sees the light of day, I ain’t joining you for lunch anymore,” Sukuna grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

Standing up straight once more, you tilt your head innocently up at him. “It won’t,” you promise, tucking your phone into a pocket on the side of your leggings.

With a frown, Sukuna rounds the couch and takes a seat beside his friend with white hair cut into a bob. You follow after him, plopping down on his other side. He states your name, casting a glance between you and them. “This is Uraume,” he tells you.

Your eyes light up with recognition, grinning as you wave politely.

They return your wave with a kind smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” they comment with a knowing look to Sukuna that he shoots down with a scornful frown. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too!” You grin, happy to finally be able to meet one of Sukuna’s friends. He’s slowly allowing you further into his little world, giving you a piece of him that very few get to see. Though, looking back at the door where your bag of gifts resides, it occurs to you that you had no idea there would be seven kids and three adults here, and you haven’t brought nearly enough for everyone. “Had I known you would be here, I would have brought you something for the holidays,” you comment sheepishly.

“Did Yuji not tell you?” Sukuna arches a brow questioningly as he leans back into the couch.

You shake your head. “No, was he supposed to?” You cast a glance at the little boy wrapping the torn garland around his friend, the two giggling up a storm.

Sukuna sighs. “I figured he would have, the kid wouldn’t shut up about today and Uraume’s been a part of our holidays for a few years now.”

“It’s fine, anyway!” They pipe in, shaking their head. “I don’t need a gift and I certainly wasn’t expecting one.”

“And don’t worry about the kids. They’re all headin’ out for their own dinners soon, but Yu wanted a big Christmas this year, so…” Sukuna trails off, his gaze flitting between both brothers. You know what’s going through his mind, you can see the hollow distance resurfacing in his eyes as his mind grapples with the idea of this being their last Christmas together.

But you aren’t about to let him give up without a fight, so you snap him back to the present with a prod to his shoulder. “So, what are you cooking?”

“I’m not,” Sukuna replies, casting a glance at Uraume, who explains that every year their gift to Sukuna and the boys is a full Christmas dinner, though they replace the turkey with chicken given that they’re in college and that’s one pricey bird.

The afternoon carries on with excited laughter from the kids while you and Uraume learn about one another, while also poking fun at Sukuna, who’s relatively quiet as usual. The kids’ parents slowly begin to pick them up over the course of the evening, and Uraume occupies themself with cooking as the sun sets over the horizon. A merry glow casts over the apartment as fairy and holiday lights shine over the tinsel and shimmer along the walls.

Though not exactly Christmassy, you can also see what Sukuna meant at Gojo’s party when he mentioned his house was overrun with bead lizards. They seem to be strewn across nearly every surface as well, with tinsel tied to them like a second tail.

As the last of the kids file out, Yuji and Choso turn to the Gamecube that Sukuna has long forgotten is yours. You prefer it this way anyway, for it to get some use from the kids than to rot in your storage.

“Have you spoken to, uh, Kento?” Sukuna asks curiously over the sounds of clanking pots and utensils and video game music.

You nod. “He’s willing to help. He has something for me from my parents anyway, so he said we can meet at a cafe when he gets back and he’ll have his friend tag along.”

Sukuna raises a brow. “Does he know he’s doing me a favor, not you?”

“He does!”

“I’m sure he was thrilled to hear it,” Sukuna grumbles, slumping into the couch with his arms crossed over his chest as he stares blankly at the little tree on the floor. His gifts to the kids sit on the floor, nearly blocking the tree itself given its small stature.

“He’ll come around,” you assure him. “He hasn’t really had a chance to get to know you.”

Sukuna hums, his gaze remaining trained on the little Christmas tree. “He’s from your hometown?”

You nod. “Him and Haibara.”

“Mm.” Sukuna drums his fingers over his bicep. “Why didn’t you go home with them?”

With a tight-lipped smile, you join him in staring at the Christmas tree, suddenly finding its intrigue. “I couldn’t afford to.”

Crimson irises tear away from the tree to take in your bittersweet expression. He knows that feeling all-too-well, but it’s never occurred to him that it could be a sentiment you would share. He’s never made any assumptions that you’re rich, and although he has no clue how much or little it costs for you to get home, he did assume that wouldn’t stop you from spending Christmas with your family.

“Mm.” He supposes maybe you aren’t as different as he once thought. Perhaps you aren’t from different worlds, but rather two sides of the same coin. “‘M sorry.”

You turn your attention to him, your usual cheerful expression taking over again. Always looking on the bright side, like a ray of sunshine that seems to find its way through Sukuna’s darkness to light up his life.

He’s only known you for a couple of months, but he wonders when you became such a staple in his life, one that brings warmth to an otherwise cold and hardened man.

“It’s fine,” you assure him. “There’s always next year.” Your eyes crinkle at the corners as you regard the two boys playing Mario Party. “It’s nice to be here, anyway.”

Sukuna follows your gaze, his eyes befalling a game of Mario Party nearing the end that he fears will also end in tears if he knows anything about that game. He blinks a couple of times, taking in the thought that this is the first time in a while that his house has been so filled with life.

One year after another his holidays had diminished in size, beginning with the kids’ mother moving for a job, followed shortly by his father passing away. Along with the passing of his father, Sukuna’s mental health had followed, and what resulted was a Christmas so hollow that he struggles to remember that year, hidden deep within the carefully guarded recesses of his mind.

Yet when he needed them most, Uraume had made their way into his life and bit by bit, they had helped him pick up the pieces and find his footing. Just when he needed you most, you found your way into his life as well, though you were little more than the source of his disdain at first. He considers himself lucky that you’re so resilient when it comes to his snide demeanor, because for the first time in a long time, something occurs to Sukuna.

You and Uraume may not fill the same roles that having parents would have, but you’re both important figures in the kids’ lives and they need the positivity that you bring that Sukuna doesn’t provide. He’s aware he isn’t the best influence for two impressionable young kids, something that he wrestles with daily, but one reassurance remains a beacon when he finds himself doubting his abilities.

Your declaration that he’s their hero.

He’d never considered it before, but he sees it in the way Choso worries for him and understands, even at such a young age, that Sukuna is struggling. He sees it in the way Yuji runs to him to show him the latest basketball trick he’s learned.

So he’s gotta be doing something right.

After an extended silence, Sukuna finally finds the footing to reply to you. “We’re glad to have ya, princess.”

Uraume begins setting out dishes, requesting help as they work on the dinner’s finishing touches. The three of you work together to set the table, complete with a little candle in the center as the smell of chicken floods the apartment.

You narrowly avoid a meltdown by the looks of it as Choso is winning Mario Party by a landslide when Sukuna calls them over, asking them to shut off the TV for the night. Bounding to the table, you let the kids pile their plates high with chicken, stuffing, and potatoes, both completely avoiding anything that so much as touched vegetables. With a scowl, Sukuna reaches over to scoop some veggies onto their plates, met with a guilty frown from Choso and a groan from Yuji.

Once their plates are full, Sukuna insists that you and Uraume go first before he loads up his own plate with enough food to feed a whole family. You can only imagine what the grocery bill looks like for two growing boys and the wall of muscle that is Sukuna.

“This is all amazing, Uraume.”

They grin at your compliment, a warm blush dusting their cheeks. “Thank you.”

“Where’d you learn to cook? I know you’re in the history program with Sukuna, but I’d believe you if you said you were in the culinary program,” you continue, reveling in the flavor of the potatoes.

The shade of their reddened cheeks darkens and they chuckle lightly. “I appreciate that, but I’ll leave the culinary degree to Choso,” they smile, casting a glance at the little boy whose eyes sparkle at the mention of a culinary degree. You suppose that explains why he loves to follow you around in the kitchen so much. “I’m self-taught. I learned during our first year when I got sick of ramen and eating out.”

“I wish I had that same dedication,” you giggle, shaking your head as you go on to mention that the amount of times you’ve had eggs this week should be criminal.

Sukuna shoves his face full of food as he quietly listens to you and Uraume chat, while Yuji chimes in every so often. He can’t remember the last time he had a meal that wasn’t takeout or something he cooked mainly for the boys, who could be a bit picky, which often meant he was having the same few meals with a protein smoothie to tide him over. Apart from the leftover mac and cheese you cooked a little while ago, he thinks the last time might have been a full year ago to the day.

He doesn’t even notice that he’s smiling until you nudge him. “Doing alright, Kuna?”

He raises a brow questioningly, his mouth full of potatoes.

You smile, shaking your head. “Don’t worry about it. How’s your dinner?” You decide not to push him, your heart full when his expression eases as he sits up, leaning back in a relaxed manner.

“Fuckin’ great,” he mumbles through a bite of chicken, going back in for more immediately.

“How many times have I told you to stop swearing in front of your brothers?” Uraume scolds, a playful air to their words.

Sukuna huffs, rolling his eyes. “If I start countin’ how many times you tell me not to swear or smoke, we’ll be here all day.”

“They have a point,” you poke fun at him with a shrug.

“It’s Christmas, get off my case,” he grumbles, leaning over the table.

“Quitting smoking would be a suitable Christmas gift for me, you know,” Uraume points out with a mischievous grin.

“Your gift,” Sukuna growls, no real bite to his words as he points his fork at them, “is learnin’ how to drive. Take it or leave it.” He shoves the piece of chicken into his mouth with a scowl in their direction, grunting when Uraume laughs.

“I suppose I’ll take the driving lessons,” they sigh humorously as though they’re settling.

Sukuna’s narrowed eyes are met with laughter from the table as conversation flows naturally throughout dinner. By the end of the meal, Yuji is practically vibrating with excitement as he casts glances towards the tree where a few wrapped gifts are sitting. Even Choso seems a bit restless, shifting constantly between sitting cross-legged on his chair and kicking his feet.

The moment Sukuna’s second plate of food is clean, Yuji pipes in. “Can we open presents?”

“Let me clean up, Yu,” Sukuna sighs, pushing his hair back from his forehead. It seems a moment’s rest is too much to ask for with two eager kids awaiting presents. Splaying his hands on the table, Sukuna pushes himself to his feet, piling all of the plates onto one to carry to the kitchen.

You gather empty glasses and follow after Sukuna, setting the dishes on the counter.

“Go sit,” Sukuna mumbles without casting you a glance as he rinses off plates and loads them into the dishwasher.

“I don’t mind, really!” You insist, bounding back to the table to grab the leftover potatoes. When you spin around, you’re met with Sukuna’s chest, startling at his close proximity. He pulls the bowl of potatoes from your hand, smirking as you purse your lips.

“Sit.” With his spare hand, he presses down on your shoulder until you’re back in your seat.

Uraume stifles a laugh, exchanging a glance with you as your cheeks warm. “Every year, I cook and he cleans up afterwards,” they explain. Clearly, he intends to keep it that way, giving you a chance to get to know Uraume better.

“How long have you known each other?” You ask as Sukuna continues to clean up, gathering the leftover food into tupperware to keep in the fridge while the two kids talk amongst themselves.

They tilt their head in thought. “Around four years now, I sat beside him on the first day of History 109.” They lean back in their chair, resting their hands in their lap with a chuckle. “He drank my coffee.”

“I thought it was mine,” Sukuna groans from the kitchen.

Uraume smiles wider. “I’m not sure how you thought that. You were drinking black coffee and mine had cream and sugar.”

“I thought classes started at ten, not eight,” he huffs as he pulls more dishes from the table “I was tired.”

“I suppose you needed the caffeine more than I did,” Uraume laughs, their eyes crinkling gleefully at the corners. “But it did mean that he owed me a coffee,” they continue their explanation. “Our friends got along well, and here we are.”

“God knows Toji needed someone to keep him in line,” Sukuna mutters.

“Toji… you mentioned he got you kicked out of Gojo’s once?” You question with a tilt of your head as Sukuna clears the last of the dishes from the table.

Uraume hums. “Sounds like the right Toji. He can be a handful. We can introduce you when classes are back in.”

“I’d like tha-”

“Kunaaaa, can we open presents nowwww?” Yuji interrupts, doing his very best to remain patient.

You giggle at the poor kid, who’s just about bouncing off the walls like a ping pong ball at the rate he’s vibrating in his seat.

Sukuna sighs, shutting the last tupperware lid over the remaining vegetables. “Go wait in the living room.”

Both boys’ chairs scrape the floor as they dash into the living room, excitedly yelling about who gets to open their gifts first.

The tattooed brother watches them with mild interest, returning to the table where he leans over the edge on his hands. “Can you entertain them for a minute?” He glances between you and Uraume. You nod in unison and watch as Sukuna pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Sliding one from the pack, he balances it between his lips and opens a drawer in the kitchen, pulling out a box of matches and striking one.

His cigarette burns like a lone star in the night sky against the backdrop of the twinkling apartment. He inhales as he whips the match through the air to put it out, tossing it in the sink to cool as he waits until he’s on the balcony to exhale smoke.

Before he shuts the door, he frustratedly murmurs something about having lost his dad’s lighter. The door closes with a thud, and he leans over the balcony, his back visibly rising and falling as he sighs.

With the kids excitedly seated in front of the tree seemingly entertaining themselves, Uraume uses the opportunity to turn towards you with a more serious expression, though they remain smiling.

“I appreciate everything you’ve been doing for him. I know he won’t ask for help, but he needs it. He doesn’t seem as burnt out lately.”

You return their kind smile, nodding. “He doesn’t make it easy, but I’m trying.”

They roll their eyes, chuckling. “He certainly doesn’t, does he?” As their laughter dies down, they cast a glance at the kids. “I’m surprised he told you about his brothers though.”

Shaking your head, you blow air from your nose in a wry laugh. “He didn’t. I ran into him after he didn’t show up to work on our project.”

“Oh? In that case, I’m surprised he’s let you in at all.”

“You and me both,” you scoff, shaking your head. “I think most of our friendship has hinged on the fact that he thinks he owes me.”

“Sounds familiar,” Uraume quips, getting to their feet as Sukuna makes the motions of putting out his cigarette outside. He rolls his shoulders backwards in an effort to stretch his muscles before stepping back inside. You follow after Uraume, quickly making a motion to grab the gifts, as well as your forgotten cookies.

“Oh! I- um- brought some cookies,” you hold out the tupperware as you make your way into the living room, setting the container down on the coffee table with the bag of gifts at your feet.

“That’s so kind of you!” Uraume delights, opening the box.

“They’re nothing compared to your cooking, but they were always a tradition back home for me,” you smile to yourself, heat rising to your cheeks.

Finishing the cookie in only a couple of bites, they shake their head. “They’re delicious, and it’s still very kind of you.”

You find yourself grinning, glancing at Sukuna who hums in agreement as he takes one as well. The brothers are close behind as they practically scarf the treats down, their eyes shining.

“Alright you brats, there’s one for each of ya from me, and one to share.”

“Wait!” Choso cries out, scrambling to his feet as he runs down the hall. You watch curiously as he rounds the corner with three santa hats. Adjusting his antlers, he holds them out to you, Uraume, and his older brother, met with two ‘thank you’s, and an adamant ‘no’.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out which of the three of you is scowling down at the hat held in his hands.

You nudge his bicep with your elbow, a gleeful smile donning your lips. “C’mon, Kuna. Just wear it for an hour. Look how excited they are.”

Sukuna follows your gaze, deep red irises flicking between the two kids before resting on the hopeful look his middle brother wears. With a sigh, he gives in to both your and his brother’s wishes, pulling the hat on over his tousled pink hair. Even with his familiar grumpy scowl, he looks surprisingly cute in the Christmas spirit.

Though you’re sure if he realized that, the hat would disappear in an instant, so you keep that secret to yourself.

“One at a time. Youngest goes first.”

Yuji scrambles excitedly with the first of his gifts, tearing at wrapping paper around a gift box that’s practically his size. Tossing the paper aside, he flips the box towards him, eyes wide at the five-year-old sized basketball. He gasps in excitement, holding it up triumphantly. “A new basketball!” He proclaims, immediately trying to tear it from the cardboard.

“Slow down, Yu. There’s one more thing in there.”

Yuji curiously peers down at his lap, now noticing the black and red material he’d missed previously. He holds it up, gaping at the realization that Sukuna’s gotten him a custom jersey with his last name scrawled in big red text across the back with his favorite team’s logo on the front.

“No WAY!” He cries out excitedly, standing up and immediately pulling it on over his t-shirt. It’s a bit big on him, but Sukuna figured it made the most sense to get him a bigger size given how fast he’d been growing. “Thank you thank you thankyouthankyou!” Yuji cries, hopping up and down excitedly.

Sukuna’s chest swells at the sight of what he hopes is a Christmas living up to his brother’s dreams while you and Uraume grin at his sides. Even by his own standards, he thinks he could enjoy Christmas if it’s like this every year.

Like a shot to his chest, his mind suddenly reminds him of the impending lawsuit, but he pushes the thought aside, subconsciously pressing his knee against yours.

You cast him a glance at the feeling of his leg knocking against yours, but you can’t make out whether he’s aware of how close you are. Your cheeks warm as you search for a meaning behind the action, but Sukuna’s mirthful expression gives nothing away about his lingering doubts. Likely thinking too much into the action, you let it go.

“Your turn, Cho.”

Sukuna points to a smaller gift wrapped as neatly as Sukuna could manage (which is to say not neatly at all) in snowflake-covered light blue wrapping paper.

Choso grabs the gift, much more timidly opening it. He pulls out a set of kid-sized knives along with a pan sized appropriately for him. “Thank you, Kuna!” He grins, testing out the weight of the pan in his hand.

“Be careful with those things,” his elder brother mutters as Choso examines the knife set. “One more thing in there for you too, Cho.”

Deep brown eyes widen and he peers down so suddenly his antlers nearly fall from his head. Sure enough, beneath some tissue paper at the bottom of the box is a black apron, also a bit big for him, with his name embroidered across the front in deep purple.

In a much more subtle show of gratefulness than his little brother, Choso holds it up with a look of wonder, running his thumb over his name. In disbelief, he too gets to his feet and throws it on over his head, tying it at the back.

Choso’s grin widens and he runs up to Sukuna, practically hopping over the coffee table in an attempt to get to him. “Thank you, Kuna,” he repeats himself again as he clings to his brother’s sweatshirt.

“Mm.” Sukuna ruffles his hair with a small smile. “Go open your last gift with your brother,” he urges. “And you two better share.”

Choso hops back towards his little brother as the two excitedly unwrap their last gift from Sukuna. Within a small box sits a copy of Sonic Advance for their Gameboy.

“No way!” Yuji proclaims excitedly, turning back to Sukuna. “You’re the best, thank you!” He cries, scrambling to his feet to hug his brother. Choso follows suit, each kid finding a place on either side of the tattooed man.

He blows a breath out through his nose, smirking as he pulls them in. In a rare moment of genuine happiness, he hugs them close. You cast a glance at Uraume, who seems just as happy to be a part of this moment with Sukuna’s little family. They may not be perfect, but they care a great deal for one another, that much is clear.

Uraume leans forward and hands the boys a card. “This is for both of you.”

“You didn’t have to get them anything,” Sukuna mumbles to his friend. “The dinner is more than enough.”

“I didn’t have to,” they agree, “but I wanted to.”

Choso tears the envelope open, reading the card out to his brother before peering down at the three papers that fall from the envelope. “Sonic the Hedgehog 3 movie tickets?” He gasps with wide eyes, looking up at Sukuna.

“Tell me the third ticket is for you,” he grumbles to Uraume as Yuji hops to his feet to hug them.

“Nope! I checked with both of your work schedules, you can make it,” they grin at him, bursting into laughter at the grimace that pulls Sukuna’s lips into a frown.

As the cheers and laughter dies down and the brothers make their way back over to the tree after hugging Uraume, you pull out two long, slender boxes and hand one to each kid.

Sukuna sighs, his brow knit tightly together as he avoids your gaze. “You didn’t have to do all this either. You do more than enough for them too.”

“It’s Christmas, Kuna. I wanted to.” You shrug. “Open them at the same time,” you instruct, watching Choso gingerly rip the paper off as Yuji is already eagerly tossing it aside. With wide eyes and gasps, they both hold up Nerf guns, a purple one for Choso and a red one for Yuji.

Sukuna groans as the two boys exchange an excited look, showing their gifts off to one another. “You’re gonna give me a damn headache, woman,” he grumbles, leaning forward on his palm with his elbow resting on his knee.

Yuji bounces to his feet, running to give you a hug as he thanks you over and over, followed shortly by Choso. You wrap your arms around them both, rubbing both of their backs softly. Adjusting your hat so it doesn’t fall off of your head as they pull back, you’re about to grab your gift for Sukuna when Choso gingerly shuffles in place in front of you.

“We- um- have something for you guys too,” he proclaims in a voice barely above a mumble. With a shy smile, he runs off to grab what you can only assume is the gift, leaving the three of you in an air of confusion.

Yuji returns first, followed shortly by Choso. Hidden in their fists are three woven friendship bracelets each. Your lips part, forming an ‘o’ as you gasp at the sight. The two boys are positively too cute.

Holding out your wrist, you watch with tear-filled eyes as Yuji’s tongue sticks out while he ties a red and white striped bracelet around your wrist. It’s the type of bracelet that isn’t coming off anytime soon, but you don’t mind one bit. You’ll treasure it for as long as it’ll stay on your wrist.

Yuji moves on to Sukuna with a red and black checkered bracelet while Choso ties a purple and blue striped bracelet around Uraume’s wrist, his face scrunched in concentration. Unbeknownst to him, Sukuna’s knee presses harder into yours, a somber look crossing his eyes for a split second as he stares down at the checkered bracelet soundly wrapped around his wrist. He swallows hard, twisting his wrist to better see the woven jewelry.

With a glance to either side, he watches with a barely-contained frown as Choso ties a purple and black checkered bracelet just below Yuji’s on his wrist, moving along to add a purple and white striped one to yours.

Both you and Uraume grin, while you obviously fight tears of joy at the simple, yet meaningful gift. Sukuna's stomach seems to twist and he forces down the bile that threatens to come up, chewing on his lower lip.

The idea that this could be the last gift he ever receives from his brothers is fresh in his mind, plaguing his thoughts like an endless nightmare. His muscles tense as he returns his gaze to the two checkered bracelets around his wrist, one much cleaner looking than the other, but that’s not what matters to him.

With a tight-lipped smile that barely masks his underlying anxieties, he’s just about to open his mouth to thank the kids when you speak up first.

“This is so sweet, you two are so talented!” You beam, eyes glassy as you continue to fight tears.

Your knee gently brushes his, a silent acknowledgment that you recognize the paralyzing distance crossing over his eyes. Your quiet offering of support doesn’t go unnoticed and Sukuna uses the opportunity to compose himself. With a sharp intake of breath, he forces a smile that reads more real than the tight-lipped one he previously wore.

“Thanks, kiddos.”

“They look wonderful,” Uraume agrees.

Returning to their gifts, the two kids distract themselves by tearing into whatever cardboard they can get their hands on in an effort to free the basketball and Nerf dart guns. As they busy themselves with their new gifts, you pull out one more box for Sukuna with a cute little bow wrapped around the gift box.

He peers down at the gift as you hold it out to him, shaking his head.

“I don’t need anything,” he grumbles, his mind still somewhat fuzzy as he grapples with the stress of the lawsuit.

“Just take it, Kuna.” You hold it out expectantly to him.

He sighs, taking the box into his hands with a glance up at your timid expression. Pulling at the ribbon, he unwraps it and slowly opens the box, his lips twitching into a frown as he picks his Type O Negative shirt up from inside the giftbox.

“My own shirt,” he comments with a sarcastic edge to his tone at what he’s sure is a joke gift, though he’s actually somewhat relieved you didn’t get him anything.

You giggle at his disdainful expression. “You’re just as bad as your brothers. Unwrap the shirt.”

His brows knit together as he slowly unwraps the shirt. Hidden between the layers of fabric is none other than his dad’s lighter, with the cap back in place, shining like the day Sukuna pulled it from his father’s belongings as though it’s been freshly polished.

His jaw subtly falls open as he drops his shirt into his lap, flipping the cap of the lighter open and watching as he turns it and the flame comes to life. He blinks a few times, his throat tightening as he turns the lighter, the ‘Itadori’ engraving no longer dull and barely visible, but full of life and a stark contrast to the rest of the metal.

Shutting the cap, he runs his tongue over his lower lip once before biting down a bit too harshly on the plush skin, a metallic tang penetrating his taste buds. He pays it no mind, finally looking up at you.

His expression is unreadable and your stomach flutters with nerves as his words seem to fail him when he opens his mouth, fiddling with the lighter.

“You fixed it?”

You nod. “I mean, a professional did, but yeah. I hope- I thought you might appreciate it after the whole lighting yourself on fire thing.” Your voice is quiet, wavering slightly. You catch a questioning gaze from Uraume, but they don’t dare interrupt the moment.

Sukuna stares down at the lighter for another moment, flipping it again. Your stomach does a flip when he rubs his face harshly and you can’t tell whether he’s frustrated with you or thankful.

He’s so damn near tears that it takes him a moment to compose himself before he lowers his hand back down the lighter. “Shit, princess,” he mutters, his throat raw with emotions that he can’t identify.

Unable to tell if that’s a good or bad reaction, you wrap your arms around yourself, tilting your head. “I hope it’s- um-” you stammer, trying to find words, but it’s not like you can undo what’s been done to the lighter, having taken a leap of faith to begin with, even if the gift was Choso-approved. “Sorry, I-”

“Shut up.” Sukuna’s tone isn’t nearly as assertive as usual as he shakes his head at the lighter, unable to meet your gaze out of fear that his eyes might be red again, though this time not from weed. “I appreciate it.”

Your brow raises and a smile finds your lips as relief washes over you. “Yeah?”

He blows a humorous breath out through his nose, nodding. “It means a lot.”

Your smile stretches to a grin that you exchange with Uraume, who seems to know the meaning behind your gift just as well as you do.

“For the record, Uraume’s still right, you should quit,” you point out, earning a sharp stare. Giggling, you nudge his shoulder playfully. “But I know what that means to you, so I thought- you know,” you shrug, thankful you got the right impression from the fact that he continued to use the lighter long after it had broken.

“You two are pains in my ass,” Sukuna huffs, shoving the lighter into his pocket as he finally finds himself back in the moment as the source of your teasing. Reaching up to scratch his chest, he leans back against the couch again. “When did you nab my lighter anyway? It disappeared on a night when I don’t think I saw ya.”

You shoot a smirk at his middle brother, who’s carefully loading foam darts into his toy gun, completely oblivious to the conversation going on between the adults.

“I see,” he hums. Your accomplice glances up as he feels three pairs of eyes on him, tilting his head curiously until Yuji grabs his attention and his impending question is long forgotten. Swallowing, Sukuna gets to his feet. “I have somethin’ for you too.”

He disappears around the corner towards his bedroom, and you’re left exchanging a glance with Uraume, who shrugs. You hadn’t expected anything from him, simply grateful to have company in the absence of your family over the holidays.

You glance back in the direction of the hall when his door clicks shut and he re-emerges, a single piece of paper held carefully in front of him. He sits between you and Uraume once more, turning to face you with a furrowed brow. “Here.”

Gingerly taking the page from him, your jaw drops at the sight. In his traditional graphite and charcoal style, an artistic rendition of you smiling at something off to the side of the page’s line of sight is scrawled across the paper. A clear amount of care has gone into capturing each of your features, deliberate shading and lines framing your complexion.

Bringing a hand up to cover your gaping mouth, you barely manage to whisper, “you… drew me?”

Sukuna’s somewhat glad you haven’t looked up at him yet, his face burning red hot as he brings a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “You loved the project piece so much, I figured…” he trails off, staring down at the piece in your hand when he catches a glimpse of your trembling hand holding the paper.

You chew on your lip as tears prick in your eyes, butterflies threatening to burst at the seams in your stomach as your heart practically rolls over itself in your chest. Whether he returns your feelings or not, one thing is beyond clear.

Sukuna cares a great deal about you, to have poured so much time and effort into something like this, but one more thought lingers in the back of your mind. A thought that has you teetering dangerously close to spiraling into thoughts of uncertainty.

Sukuna thinks you’re beautiful. The proof is in the care that went into each stroke of his pencil and smudge of charcoal to portray you just as he sees you.

“Shit, are you…?” Sukuna mutters when he hears you sniffle, taken aback when you set the art aside and leap forward to hug him. His arms stiffen in the air as he stares blankly at the wall, uncertainty clouding his actions.

“Thank you, Kuna,” you mumble meekly, tears stinging at the edge of your tone as you do what you can to hold them back.

Silence hangs between you, interrupted only by the sounds of clicking plastic as the boys figure out their Nerf guns. Uraume smiles from behind Sukuna at the sight of their friend struggling to wrap his mind around you hugging him. It takes a moment, but gradually his muscles relax and he wraps his arms around you in return.

“Mhm.”

Your eyes flicker open, catching Uraume’s warm smile as you pull back from Sukuna, whose gaze trails to the art. Following his line of sight, you pick the piece back up and hold it gently in your lap.

“It’s gorgeous, thank you.”

He opens his mouth to reply, when a stray foam dart hits him square in the jaw and tumbles down to the ground at his feet.

“Watch it, brat,” Sukuna glowers at Yuji, whose toy gun is pointed a little too precisely at his forehead for his liking.

Unfortunately for the tattooed man, this doesn’t deter his little brother one bit.

With a plastic click, another foam dart is sent careening through the air, colliding with the man’s forearm as he lifts it to block the attack. “Brat!” He barks, getting to his feet and stepping over you. A giggle and pattering of small feet against the hardwood can be heard as Yuji skitters around the corner and out of sight.

With a sharp glare and intent to chase his brother, Sukuna stops, turning to you and bending down to your seated height. He points an accusatory finger at you, his face close enough to make your mouth go dry.

“This is your fucking fault,” he hisses, sans any malice. Despite the fire behind his glare and the accusation dripping from his tone, you spot the telltale sign that Sukuna’s having fun. His lip quirks just the tiniest bit at the corner, giving him away as he straightens and grabs the wall to send himself flying around the corner after his brother. “C’mere you little shit!” He calls.

“No swearing!” Uraume reminds him, but their reminder is met only with cacophonous laughter and the sound of foam darts hitting the wall at a near alarming pace. Yuji comes sliding around the corner, one hand tightly gripping his antlers in an effort to keep them on his head. He scrambles away from the foam darts that bounce harmlessly off the ground behind him before diving towards the couch.

You set the art in your lap on the coffee table before the youngest Itadori can clamber into your lap for protection.

The plastic sound of a gun cocking rings in the air as Sukuna points it squarely at you. He sports his usual scowl, but amusement swirls in his eyes.

“She ain’t gonna protect you, brat,” Sukuna threatens.

“You wouldn’t dare shoot us, would you?” You stick out your lower lip pleadingly, pouting as you play along.

Without missing a beat, a dart collides with your cheek.

“Ow!” You gasp in disbelief, although the dart didn’t truly hurt you at all. “Okay, so maybe you would,” you grumble, rubbing at your cheek. “Choso! Shoot him!” You point at the oldest brother.

Choso, who had previously only been watching, hesitates for a moment as he glances between you and the oldest sibling, before firing a shot at Sukuna’s arm. Sukuna’s attention is pulled to Choso, his teeth grit as he fires back a shot at the boy’s shoulder.

“Run, Yu!” You whisper to the little boy, who bounds down off the couch and into the kitchen in a fit of giggles.

Choso gets to his feet and runs into the hallway as the three brothers engage in a Nerf war, bringing a smile to both your and Uraume’s faces.

“I can’t help but feel as though you should have gotten one for Sukuna as well,” they laugh.

You settle into the center of the couch where Sukuna had been seated, laughing alongside them. “Seems like it.” Turning your attention towards them, you shake your head. “I’ll be honest, I thought Nerf guns would annoy him.”

“Oh, they will. I give it a week,” Uraume pointedly nods and you find yourself laughing alongside them again.

“A week is too generous.”

“A day, perhaps?” They laugh.

As the air between you settles, warmth washes over you. You’ve seen small moments like this in the apartment, ones where the three brothers are all smiles and laughter, even Sukuna, but this one seems different somehow. Less fleeting, as though the burden and weight of Sukuna’s responsibilities aren’t bearing down quite as hard on him right now, even if it’s only for a night.

You don’t believe in miracles, and certainly not Christmas miracles, but if they existed, you think this is what it would look like.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this before.”

You turn your head towards Uraume, tilting your head. “Never?”

They take a moment to contemplate it before shaking their head, their lips pressing into a thin line. “He’s been playing the role of parent so long that I think he sometimes forgets he’s their brother.”

A pang of sadness floods you as a stray dart flies across the kitchen, clanking as it hits a glass that didn’t fit in the dishwasher before it falls to the floor. You’ve seen glimpses here and there of the version of Sukuna that gets to be just a brother and student, it’s hard to believe it’s a side of him that Uraume’s never seen.

“You know,” they comment, setting their elbow along the back of the couch as they lean on their palm, “he seems a lot more relaxed these days. Is that your doing?”

“I guess, maybe,” you shrug. “I’ve been helping take care of his brothers here and there.”

They smile. “I’m glad he has another reliable person to lean on.”

Heat crawls up to your cheeks, but before you can reply, Sukuna trudges into the living room and slumps into the couch with a huff.

“You know, suddenly the Sonic movie doesn’t seem so bad,” he grumbles with a sly look in your direction.

You roll your eyes playfully, nudging his knee with your own. “Oh, don’t act like you aren’t having fun.”

He doesn’t reply, reaching up to pull his Santa hat off and set it aside, running a hand through his hair. He lets out a breath, leaning his head back on the couch. There’s a sense of calm to the silence held between the three of you that Sukuna’s grateful for. A certain understanding that even if only for a moment, he needs this escape.

“Thanks. Both of you.” In an uncharacteristically serious tone, he folds his arms over his chest, relaxing into the couch as he spreads his legs in typical man fashion. “I think Yuji got what he wanted.”

There’s an undertone to his words that you catch, one that gives away what he’s thinking, but before he can slip into a distant world of worries, you set a comforting hand on his bicep. His eyes flicker down to your hand, his expression unreadable.

“Merry Christmas, Sukuna. You too, Uraume.”

He blows air through his nose in a wry laugh, his expression relaxed as your hand drops back to your side. Carefully moving the art of you aside, he kicks his feet up on the coffee table.

“Merry Christmas.”

With a content sigh, Uraume gets to their feet. “I think it’s time I head out. I have an early breakfast tomorrow.”

“Oh! So do I,” you follow suit, beginning to gather your things. “Do you need a ride?” You ask, having taken note of the fact that Sukuna’s gift to them was driving lessons.

“That would be great,” they reply with a smile as you both begin gathering your things. Sukuna calls the kids over to say goodbye before you leave as you pull your coat over your Christmas sweater.

Yuji thanks you both, adorably referring to Uraume as ‘Rume’ as he hugs them, before hugging you. Choso follows suit, both pairs of auburn eyes shining brilliantly as they stand at Sukuna’s feet.

“Thank you for the bracelets,” you grin, kneeling down to Yuji and Choso’s level. They both have three matching woven bracelets on each of their wrists in true friendship bracelet fashion, and quite honestly you could cry at how sweet that is.

Yuji leans in to hug you again, pulling back with a bounce to his step as he cries out “Merry Christmas!”

Choso repeats the merriment more quietly, waving at you both.

“Don’t forget your cookies,” Sukuna hands you the tupperware, but you shake your head.

“If I eat nineteen cookies on my own, I’ll be sick,” you giggle. “Let these two have them.”

Yuji excitedly rocks forwards and backwards on his feet at the prospect of having nineteen cookies that his oldest brother is almost guaranteed to not want.

Sukuna sighs, grimacing as his hand falls back to his side when you refuse the cookies, but he keeps his mouth shut.

It’s Christmas, he supposes his brothers can have some cookies, so he relents.

“Got your gift?”

You nod, unable to help the shy grin on your lips as you hold up the bag that the art is safely sitting at the bottom of.

“Good. Lemme know when you’re both home.”

“I’ll email you,” you confirm.

“Get a phone, Sukuna,” Uraume scolds, only to be met with a sneer as Sukuna’s lip curls in irritation.

“Bite me,” is all he replies, unwilling to admit that he needs to save for a lawyer before he can save for a phone.

He can worry about a phone once this is all over. For now, it’s Christmas, and he wants to put whatever focus he can into granting Yuji the only thing he actually asked for this year.

A big Christmas.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter - coming soon

❦ a/n ; i know i'm a bit late for the holidays and i'm sure many people will be reading this outside of that time period anyway, but i could nawwwt resist giving them a warm and cozy lil holiday together <3 not sure what happened but when it hit 10k words i figured i'd just make this a full chapter. aaaanyways i hope you all enjoyed the sweet fluffy glimpse into their family christmas because i have some angsty plans coming up 😶 forgive me!! as always, thank you for the love and support <33

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atlazonbooks · 2 years ago

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Quit Smoking Today

LINK BOOK

It is not easy to quit smoking. After all, there are countless smokers around the world who have tried and failed to quit this habit at least once. Once you have taken your first puff, there is no turning back. Some are addicted to the nicotine in the cigarettes while others have taken to the mechanical motions of lifting and putting the cancer stick into their mouths. If you are a smoker, you will understand how lifeless you feel when you haven’t been able to satisfy your craving for a cigarette, but do you know the exact reason why this happens?

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enchantedflameandflower · 3 months ago

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billy teaching his girl how to smoke a cig would be so attractive

I feel like maybe they would go out to a bar or something and in like a tipsy confession she says “i’ve never smoked” or something like that ”idk how to smoke properly im always coughing its so embarrassing blah blah blah”

Need my man to guide me through it

Billy x you! Nsfw 18+ only for smoking, smut, piv, creampie, hint of exhibitionism

Thank you SO MUCH for this ask anon! Once I got the idea for the vibe it just took off. Hope you all enjoy!

It’s late, almost midnight, and you’re sitting up on the roof of your apartment building with Butcher and a cold bottle of beer each. The air is a little chilly but not bad and no one else seems to ever come up here so it’s nice. You’d met Butcher at the bar but it had been crowded and annoying so you’d invited him back to your place.

The building seems to be mostly made up of elderly people but you love it. They’re kind and quiet and you love being able to help them when they need. The random baked goods you receive from time to time don’t hurt either. There’s one old lady specifically that Billy has charmed completely. He’s definitely got her wrapped around his little finger, that one.

And you enjoy the quiet at night. You’re sitting cross-legged on a sort of concrete platform on top of the roof that’s at the perfect height. Billy is sitting next to you, his big booted feet planted on the ground of the roof.

You can’t help glancing over at him, and you know affection is shining in your eyes but you can’t help it and you don’t care. You’d started this sort of friends with benefits casual thing a couple months ago but you were falling for him hard and you knew it. Yeah, he was rough around the edges, really rough, but there was so much more to him and you had never cared what anyone else thought.

And damn if he wasn’t the sexiest thing you’d ever seen. Tall, dark and brooding as fuck.

“I thought you quit,” you murmur, nodding toward the cigarette he’s puffing lazily next to you.

He smirks. “I did. Don’t know what ‘cher talkin’ ‘bout.” He takes another drag then holds it out toward you.

You pause for a second but then you take it between your fingers. “I always feel like I’m not doing it right…” you half joke. “And then I just cough.”

Billy looks at you. “All this time on planet ‘earf and ya don’t know how to smoke proper? It ain’t that hard, love…” He grins mischievously. “Just wrap those pretty lips ‘round and suck. But slowly, not too much. An’ let it out slow like, too.”

You nod, pursing your lips around the cigarette but Billy scoots closer immediately.

“Not so tight, love, relax. Little more slack…ya know, like how ya move your lips when me cock’s slidin’ in.”

You’re immediately pulling the cigarette out of your mouth as your cheeks flush. “Butcher!”

He just grins and inches back on the platform before he tugs on your wrist, pulling you to sit in his lap and guiding your hand back up. “Try again.”

You try not to think about how good his hard thighs feel beneath you and put the end of the cigarette up to your lips but let it rest there between the two instead of gripping it. You take a slow inhale in, and then slowly blow it out again, watching as the swirl of white smoke drifts gently away.

Butcher squeezes your hip. “There ya are, doll, see?” he grins, his dimple showing and you know he’s thinking his metaphor is what made all the difference.

“You’re a menace,” you murmur, handing the cigarette back to him.

Butcher takes a long drag, then after a moment lets go. The thick smoke curls out from his full lips and between the both of you as he exhales. There’s something so fucking sexy about the way he does it and the glimmer in his eyes as he catches you looking at him. He continues to exhale, the smoke kissing your mouth. You breathe it in, swearing you can taste him on it.

Holding the cigarette up to your mouth again, Butcher watches as you pull lightly and his dark hazel eyes go even darker with heat.

The look makes you squirm in his lap and his big hand clenches your waist. “Ya keep that up and I’m gonna end up takin’ ya right here on this concrete,” he threatens - promises? - a low husk to his voice now.

Yeah…the thought of that and his gruff tone make you wet for him immediately. It’s been a couple weeks since the last time you slept together and suddenly now you need him so much it hurts.

He must be able to tell by the look on your face because the corner of his mouth lifts in a wicked smirk. “Ya like that idea, dontcha doll?”

“Maybe…” you murmur and he tsks at you. He gives you the cigarette and you hold it up to your mouth again as his hand slips down between your thighs. Your leggings and your thin underwear do next to nothing to shield your already throbbing clit from his rough fingers.

He presses in firmly, rubbing his fingertips in a little circle, and his smile widens. “I can already tell, hot and slick for me, aren’t ya.”

Two can play this game, you think. Leaning forward, you bite his full lower lip and he growls, sliding his hand in your hair and tugging you close to capture your mouth fully with his. He tastes like cigarettes and beer and something uniquely him, masculine and rich.

His tongue slides over yours, hot and possessive and it turns your insides to jelly, somehow making you want him even more when you thought you were already at the max. You moan into his kiss as his tongue strokes into your mouth. The sensation makes you shiver, your center throbbing for him, clenching around nothing. How you wish he was already buried inside you. Butcher holds you closer against him and only breaks the kiss when you push at his chest, gasping softly for air.

His eyes are dark with need and his gaze is intense. His eyes flick to your lips and you know they must be swollen and pink from his kiss. Your breath is still coming in little pants but you panic a little under his steady stare.

“What?” you ask, a little scared of the answer, but the look in his eyes is making you think crazy stupid things that couldn’t possibly be real, you had to be dreaming…

“Ya don’t even know how bloody gorgeous you are, do ya?” he husks.

“I - ” you swallow, your muddled brain trying to make sense of what he was saying. Fuck. His hand is still pressed between your thighs and you groan as he shifts you closer. The motion presses his thick knuckle right against your cunt.

“Fuck Billy…need you, please…” you gasp, wriggling against his hand, your eyes fluttering closed.

You don’t want to wait to go back downstairs, you don’t want to wait another second, you want him right here, right now out in the open air, all of his teasing way too much to bear. You’ll beg for it if you have to.

But you don’t.

Billy is moving the instant you stop speaking. He lets go of you to strip his battered old coat off and you squeak, throwing your arms around his neck, the cigarette still between your fingers, to keep from getting dumped right off his lap.

He tosses his coat on the cement next to you then reaches down to pull your shoes off, before standing and flipping you over to lay you down across his coat.

“Such a gentleman,” you tease, smiling up at him from your prone position. The cement is still cold and hard beneath you and his coat, but you don’t care and you know you’ll appreciate the lack of cement burn in the morning.

“Oi, when am I not?” he grins devilishly and before you can answer he’s pulling your leggings down your long legs, and everything else with them, stripping you bare from the waist down.

He catches your gaze, then his big hand slides from your hip to your side, pushing your shirt up. He bends down to nip and bite at your stomach then drags his mouth over your skin, beard tickling and rubbing, until he reaches your breasts. You wiggle and arch to help him push your shirt and bra up the rest of the way under your arms until you’re naked from your tits down, spread out for him on the cement platform in the night air.

“You’re a fuckin’ sight, ain’t ya,” he rumbles, his eyes taking their fill of you as his rough hands smooth over your body and the chilled air licks at all your naked skin. “Think anyone can see?” He glances up to the right of you, at a taller building next to this one that clearly has lights in some of the windows.

You whimper, squirming and closing your eyes. “Oh god…” you breathe.

“Splayed out naked, out in the open here and practically beggin’ for me,” he hums.

“Billy,” you gasp. You aren’t sure if you want to just hurry up and get it over with or if you’re actually going to explode with pent up lust but either way you need him to fuck you now.

Billy seems to acquiesce and he palms your breast, tugging at your tight nipple with one hand while the other undoes his buckle and the button of his jeans.

He takes the cigarette out of your hand and puts it back in his mouth, holding it with his teeth and taking another long puff as he unzips his jeans, pushing them just low enough on his hips so his thick cock can spring free. He flicks the cigarette aside on the cement then uses both hands to tug on your hips, pulling you to the edge.

“Fuck…Billy,” you groan as he slots his swollen length against your slick cunt and presses your thighs further part then starts to push in.

“Don’t need to tell me twice…” he rumbles.

You stretch for him as he slides inside you, but he’s so big and you have to take a breath to relax enough to take him all the way.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he groans in a gruff voice, and he shifts to slip his thumb over your clit to help ease his way inside.

The moment the tip of his thumb circles the slick, tight bud, pleasure bursts inside of you and he thrusts all the way in, filling you up.

It’s so good. You cry out loud, then quickly lift your hand to cover your mouth and muffle the sound but Billy grabs your wrist, pulling your arm away. “N‘uh…need to hear ya, love. Need to know how much you need my cock…”

“Everyone will…hear…” you whimper as he thrusts inside you again.

“Won’t know it’s you, doll. Let them listen. Let them hear how good my cock makes you feel…”

All you can do is moan as he thrusts again and then again, his fingers teasing at your stiff nipple and then your clit again, driving you mad, always knowing where to go next. But you need more, you need all of him.

“Harder…please…Billy…” you moan, clenching around his cock as he buries it deep, gripping the edges of his coat with your fingers.

“Tha’s my good girl,” Butcher growls, thrusting harder and picking up his speed, hitting that perfect spot inside of you over and over.

You’re crying out with each deep thrust now and you don’t care who hears. When you wrap your legs around his hips, he leans down and presses against you, catching your shoulders and holding on as he groans against the curve of your neck. You can feel the vibration from his chest just as he thrusts, hitting every nerve ending on the way. It makes you cry out loud again, desperate and wanton. The sound echoes off the brick walls, making you blush harder as the pleasure of it zings straight to your clit. Fuck why does it turn you on even more…and it’s so annoying how quiet he can be even when he’s making you crazy.

After another moment though, all thought leaves your mind and all you know is how fucking good Billy feels as you balance on the knife edge of bliss. The base of his cock pushes right against your clit as he gives one last hard thrust and then starts to pulse deep inside of you. It’s more than enough to make you come too. You’re crying out his name before you can stop yourself in choked moans and gasps that can definitely be heard in the next building as your body shudders in overwhelming pleasure.

Butcher slumps against you as he finishes emptying himself in your body and you curl your arms around his neck, your cunt still fluttering around him as the waves of pleasure from your climax only slowly start to abate.

The cigarette lays forgotten going cold beside you as he finally pushes himself up and tucks his cock away. You can still feel his come leaking out of you, mixed with yours, warm and sticky on your thighs but you can’t even find the energy to cover yourself.

When he starts to slide your clothes back on for you, you make a little noise, tiredly protesting at the mess still between your legs, but he hums and shakes his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in that smirk he has with a glint in his hazel eyes. “Have to wait ‘til we get back down to your flat, love. You like it, dontcha? Feelin’ what ya made me do?” he adds, his voice still gruff and low with sex.

You make a sound of resignation but it is kind of hot, his small possessive way of marking and claiming you. You’re his.

When he has your bottom half dressed again, he grabs your hand and tugs you up, helping you pull your bra and shirt back in to place. You feel completely boneless and blissed out, and you quirk your lips in a half smile as you look up at him. “Fuck Billy…” you whisper.

He chuckles softly and pulls you close against his broad chest in a hug, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get ya back inside and practice some more with that pretty mouth o’ yours, love, eh? Need ya too much.”

~*~*~ Thanks again anon, hope you like! Also thanks to @butchersdarkbird for letting me chat about it, @shirley-girly for giving me the perfect idea for a line for Billy on her reblog of a previous post and @dwinchesterspie1967 for the idea of including extra of his devilish smirk ❤️

@jynx15 @kus-babygirl @weallhaveadestiny @karlurbanism

@dustie-faerie @violent-darkness @bohemianblasphemy

karl urban masterlist

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celestie0 · 3 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony drabble no1. new neighbor

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ drabble summary. you visit your new next-door-neighbor's house to welcome him to the neighborhood only to find issue with the fact that's he's insanely hot (note to any potential new readers: you can read this before starting the main storyline if you'd like!)

ᰔ main storyline summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ words. 2.4k

a/n. hiiiiii welcome to this first ihm drabble!! i just had an idea of writing a small scene of when ihm gojo & reader first met so :0 cracked this out in an hour. hope you enjoyy!!

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 (pending)

There were a great deal of possibilities you had expected to see when you rang the doorbell to your new next-door-neighbors house, but none of them were quite what you had ended up seeing at the front door when it had swung open.

Perhaps it could’ve been a newlywed couple, looking stressed beyond belief with thin lines under their eyes over the agony that comes with moving into a new home with a partner. It could’ve been a teenager, possibly a broody one, because your parents moving the family out to some random town right in the middle of your high school years would’ve made any kid emo. Or it could’ve been an old wrinkly man, grumpy and a little sore to the eyes and entirely too irritated by someone ringing his doorbell because it fucked up the frequency transmitter on his hearing aids.

Instead, when the door flew open, your neck craned up to meet the eye contact of the most stupidly hot and handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life. Well, at least certainly in all of this smalltown in Dayton county. They don’t build men like that here. With stunning blue eyes that stare deep into yours, hair that’s boyishly shaggy yet looks so soft at the same time, tall, muscular, broad shoulders. And the soft cotton of his pajama long-sleeve shirt with the matching plaid pants clinging to the curves of strong biceps and thighs has you full-fledged staring at this—…dare-you-say, incredibly husband-material of a man.

You almost forget you have a boyfriend for a second. And, for the record, your boyfriend is a sexy piece of ass too (Choso if you’re reading this please know that I love you very much and Gojo would have to fight a feral bear to steal me away from you). But, god, was it a crime to find another man attractive occasionally?

He blinks at you, eyes wide like he was equally as shocked to take in the appearance of you. You’re also sure the last thing he expected was a visitor right now at 2:33pm on a Tuesday, but you had finally seen all the UHAUL trucks pulled up in his driveway and the men moving furniture into his house leave the neighborhood, so you felt now would be a good time to introduce yourself.

“Hi,” he finally says to you, rubbing the back of his neck like it’s sore, “uhh…can I help you?”

You’re momentarily speechless. “Oh! I’m—” you take a pause to breathe because words are suddenly unspeakable without at least a gallon of air in your lungs, “I’m y/n, I live next door.” You point to your house. “I just saw you moving in and so I…wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood!” You hold out the paper plate wrapped in tin foil that you were holding. “I made some pumpkin bread for you.”

The corner of his mouth curls up slightly, eyebrows raising pleasantly. “Oh, that’s really sweet, thanks,” he says with a tone that suggests he’s surprised by the hospitality and you briefly wonder where he’s moved here from. He takes the plate from you and balances it on his palm.

An awkward silence.

“Uh, did you wanna—” he points his thumb over his shoulder to behind himself, “did you wanna come inside?”

You blink at him.

“I mean, the place is kind of a mess right now, but—”

“Yes,” you cut him off.

He smiles at you, relaxed now compared to that hesitance from before, and he uses his back to push the door open more while stepping aside for you to walk inside, and walk inside is exactly what you do.

The house is a little cold, with no heater running, and incredibly empty. It’s pretty much the exact copy layout of your house, as all houses in the neighborhood are, except the color tones within this one are much brighter. The foyer is crowded with stacked cardboard boxes, some open and some not, with styrofoam sprawled all across carpet and hardwood, and you take a moment to admire the seafoam green loveseat pressed flush up against one of the walls.

“Got it on Facebook Marketplace,” he tells you, and you glance over at him to see him watching you assess his furniture, “lots of surprisingly good finds on there.”

You smile at him and stand up straight.

“I’m Satoru, by the way,” he says, leaning his shoulder against the door now before crossing his arms, “sorry, I don’t think I introduced myself to you earlier.”

“Ohh, no worries. You’re probably tired from moving in?” you ask, trying not to feel awkward in this essentially-a-stranger’s house.

“Very,” he laughs.

“What made you move here?”

“Oh, just, uh, my job. My family’s out here too, so figured it’d be nice being a little closer to them. But I was in a bit of a rush to close on something out here, so I just bought the first place I could find.” He peers in towards the house, eyes darting across his empty dining room. You notice slabs of deconstructed wood are leaned up against the wall. “But it’s nice. Neighborhood’s nice too.”

“Oh yesss we have wonderful people maintaining it!” you tell him.

He flashes you one of those smiles again. “You’ve lived here a while?”

“Yes! I was born and raised here, actually,” you say and then point a finger in the direction of your house, “that’s actually the only house I’ve ever lived in.”

His eyes widened. “Wow, that’s rare.”

“Yuppp. Just my mom and I now.”

“Oh, is your mom the one that was out gardening yesterday?” he asks. “Pulling out weeds on the edges of the driveway?”

You sigh. “Yes. That’s her. Er, at least I’m pretty sure it is, because I always tell her not to garden anymore, but she never listens to me.”

He lets out a well-meaning scoff, and you wonder if he’ll ask you more questions about it, but he lets the conversation settle into a silence instead. You discretely steal a glance at his left hand when he untucks it from his crossed arms to scratch at his jaw, and you notice there’s no wedding ring on his finger.

“Do you want some coffee?” he asks.

You blink at him. “Oh, I—…sure.”

He leads you into the kitchen, which you notice is mostly set up with all the appliances out on the counters and glass cabinets filled with ceramic sets of mugs and plates. He has an espresso machine set up in the corner of the stover counter, and you follow him right up to it.

“Woooow an espresso machine, I’ve always wanted one of these.”

He flits his gaze to you with a smile on his face before he grabs the handle of the portafilter, twisting it to release it from the machine, and then he presses some button that pushes steam out of it. “It’s worth it if you’re a daily coffee drinker.”

You sigh, leaning your elbow on the counter as you watch him. “Oh, I survive off of coffee, please. I work as a night shift nurse at the ED over on Main Street, so I need all the caffeine I can get.”

“You’re a nurse? That’s good to know,” he says, measuring out beans on a small digital scale. You turn to face him a little more, entirely intrigued by the process now. “If I’m ever in a life or death situation, can I give you a call?”

“If you’re still able to give me a call, then you’re not in a life or death situation.”

He gives you another one of those smiles, a little cheekily lopsided this time, like he’s really enjoying this conversation with you. It’s probably something that’s pleasantly mentally stimulating to his exhausted mind as he’s likely spent the last three days or so talking to no one except the UHAUL truck people and the melancholic memorabilia within his boxes of stuff. It was as easy as any small talk could be, this conversation, and it’s coming a little too naturally for your own liking as well.

He puts the beans in the grinder, and you hear a whirring sound as they are ground into fine particles that release a rich aroma of bitter into the air.

“This seems awfully tedious. I take back my desire of wanting an espresso machine,” you comment, pushing your knuckles into your cheek now as you perch yourself up by an elbow on the counter.

He laughs as he sifts the grounds into the portafilter, breaking up any clumps, and then he twists it onto the espresso machine before placing a mug underneath it. “Yeah, there’s a steep learning curve with it, but once you perfect it, it’s pretty easy. A lot can go wrong that can affect the quality of the shot though, for sure.”

“Like what?” you ask, a little too interested.

“Uhh, you can over extract, which leaves kind of a bitter taste, or under extract, which makes it taste sour. Usually depends on the ground size or the tamping. Plus, when you switch beans, you’ve gotta experiment on the settings all over again.”

You hear the whirring of the machine plus the delicate steady drip of the espresso into the mug. “I have a headache just listening to that. Why bother at all?”

He nods his head slowly, glancing at the watch on his wrist, and after a set amount of seconds has passed, he turns the machine off then peers into the mug. “Well, taste it and see if it’s worth it,” he says, handing the mug to you.

You take it from him, the fragrance of coffee immediately making your mouth water. And you take a delicate sip of the coffee, a slight bitterness hitting your tongue followed immediately by sweetness from the crema that has your eyes widening.

“Oh. Oh wow. Incredibly worth it,” you say.

He laughs. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Gosh no, I’ll just have it like this, please.”

You both chat a little bit more as he makes himself a cup too. You notice that he has his coffee black, as essentially an Americano, which he pours over ice in a shiny glass even in the cool of autumn.

Apparently he’s a real estate agent, selling properties a little out further than the county line, in more posh areas than here. Like all those cliff-side homes you see when you’re driving further out of town and always sigh to yourself wondering if you’ll ever get to live in a pretty house like that someday.

His parents live nearby as well as his younger sister’s family and he has a niece who’s four years old. And you want to ask so badly if he has a family of his own as well, but if he did, wouldn’t they be here with him?

“Holy shit this is amazing,” he says through a muffled mouthful of the pumpkin bread you brought for him, “you made this from scratch?”

No. You used a pre-made mix. “Oh gosh, yes, I’m something of a little baker, if you will.”

He nods, letting out an indulgent sigh as he chews, eyes shutting close tightly in satisfaction of the taste and you find it amusing. He has a physical build that you could only assume requires an immense amount of discipline, but it’s kind of cute to see he’s somewhat weak for sweets.

You glance at the time on your phone. “Ah, I have to get going. I need to take my mom somewhere, but um, it was really nice meeting you! Hopefully I’ll see you around in the neighborhood?”

He nods his head, “oh, yeah, definitely.”

Your cheeks warm a little.

He walks you to the front entrance, and you briefly glance out the window into his driveway. “Oh. There’s a boat.”

He walks up right next to you, his arm pressed against your shoulder as he stands close, and you note that he smells so nice, like shampoo and clean laundry. The softness of his pajamas brushes against your skin and it makes you borderline dizzy.

Choso would be pissed off to the nines if he knew you were feeling things for your next-door-neighbor. Cut it out already, you think to yourself.

“Oh they finally brought my boat in,” he comments, “sweet.”

“That’s yours?” you ask, turning to face him in surprise, “it’s huge!”

“Yup, just bought it,” he says, shoving his hands in his pants pockets as he walks up to the window to peer out the blinds. “A beauty, she is.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not a she, it’s an it.”

“To you, maybe. But to me?…she’s so much more than that,” he says, but there’s some self-regarding hint of satire in his voice.

“Uh-huh,” you say, slipping your shoes back on at the door. “It’s kind of…lengthy though. Where are you going to park it?”

He shrugs. “Probably right out there. Where it is right now.”

Where it is right now?!?! The hull is dangerously close to the entry of your driveway. There’s no way that would be agreeable with you. How are you supposed to pull your car in?

“Um. I’m pretty sure I’d have difficulties pulling my car in if you parked it there,” you tell him politely as he opens the door for you and you step out onto the concrete step of his front entrance.

You turn around to face him and see him squinting his eyes at his boat with inspection of your concern. Sorry for sounding repetitive, but it's seriously shocking. The way he looks. The way that small little expression—his eyes narrowing, brows furrowing, bottom lip slightly jutting out, all paired with the haphazard way his hair falls over his eyes—makes you stare at him like he’s some Grecian sculpture. It was a little concerning.

But, at the end of the day, attraction is merely cognitive, is it not? A social construct, if you will. Something that can go away just as easily as it comes, and then arrive once more as easily as it went away.

A pattern you’ll eventually realize a lot with your new next-door-neighbor, Gojo Satoru.

“Nah,” he says, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

[end of drabble]

a/n. alternate universe where they fuck on the marble countertop of his kitchen island on first encounter pls

🏷️ @tremendousbouquetflower @semra4 @noctuaism @gojonegs @reinam00n

@bloopsstuff @bbyxxm @yungbloode @elloredef @spriteshawtyy

@joemama-2 @luniunia @4y3sh4 @ironhottubstranger @lushafterglow

@hermizery @manyno @idiot-juice-enthusiast @fairyflorasworld @teramisuyhin

@mmeerraa @bnha-free-writing @xenop0p @spaghettinewt @pngjpn

@anniegojo @rirk-ke @chiyokoemilia @higurumapet @pickuptruck01

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@sxnkuna @billiondollarworth @fallintothechasm @mavvsmm @satorubluu

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long-live-astronerd-ghost-king · 1 year ago

Text

DPXDC prompt ~Dead on main~Someone is walking over my grave

Jason sits on his tombstone and thinks about..something.

He lazily washes off the dirt that has been stuck on his army boots after the rain. It covers the year of his death perfectly. Grinning, he puts out a cigarette by using the mentioned stone. The cigarette butt throws between ugly funeral wreaths.

Danny: Hey, asshole, stop it!

Jason turns around. A very angry twink is rushing at him. The notorious crime lord does not have time to react when a fist hits him. Red Hood falls into a puddle. Shit! His favorite leather jacket!

Jason: What the hell are you doing?

Danny: No. What the hell are you doing?! Just because a man is dead doesn’t mean you must not respect him. You’re in a cemetery. Behave yourself, shithead. Or I’ll teach you manners.

Jason: You’re not from around here. Right?

Danny: So what? I doubt it’s normal to wipe your feet using a tombstone. Even in Gotham.

A malicious gremlin folds his arms on a chest.

Jason sits in a puddle more comfortably and pulls another cigarette out of his pocket. Damn, it’s wet.

Jason: If you were gothamite, I wouldn’t have to explain. It’s my grave, idiot. I do what I want with it.

Jason throws useless source of nicotine at his photo with black ribbon. The person who convicted him takes a couple of seconds to compare the vandal to the buried one.

Danny: Aw, shit, man. My bad, I didn’t mean to interrupt your break.

Jason’s eyebrow rises in surprise. From the outsider he expected more screaming and running. Not…apologies.

Jason: Yeah? Tell that to my favorite leather jacket. Now you can bury it next to me.

Bad Jason, bad. That’s not how normal people talk.

Danny: I’ll make amends. Tomorrow, okay? It’s my first working day. I’ve decided not to take my wallet. Need to find a safe route.

Jason: First day?

Danny: Yes, new cemetery guard here in the flesh. But I have not had time to meet all of inhabitants. Mistook you for a bad boy in a story. Well, it is your fault too! I understand you’re upset about death or maybe about the color of wreaths but please just put all the shit in the trash. I’m Danny, by the way.

Jason: Ha, I was wondering why there was no regular dude at work. Probably my neighbors drove him to a breakdown. He was an asshole, so no regrets.

Danny: Do you think so? Mrs Dent didn’t seem restless to me, she was quite nice.

The guy didn’t seem to catch the joke. Or was crazy. Why are all the hot people in Gotham are? Doesn’t matter. Why not try, right?

Jason: Don’t worry about the money. You can repay me with something else.

Danny: So you regenerates the suit? Cool. What do you want?

Jason: Um, I don’t get it, but… as compensation, I’m wanna have your number and one date.

Danny: Sure, why not.

Danny looks at the headstone.

Danny:Can you go outside the cemetery...Jason? The place is romantic, I agree, but where I grew up, it’s not customary to bring a mate at the place of rest until you meet parents.

Jason: Seriously? Cheesy horror movies didn’t teach you not to mess with zombies?

Danny: Well, I’ve never had a partner who was attracted to my brilliant brain. It must be pretty nice. And I don’t mind a couple of love bites, zombie boy.

Danny’s playfully batting his eyelashes. Jason can’t help laughing.

Danny: The less fair opinion among my friends is that I’m just brain-dead idiot. But I think they just don’t understand the benefits of adrenaline addiction, miserable humans. *pretends to wipe off a tear*

Jason *pretends to sniff*: Aw, hell, you really are a brainless doll, aren’t you?

Danny: Even so, it just means I’m perfectly safe.

Jason: Don’t think so. I want a piece of you.

Danny: Then don’t be afraid that the feeling is mutual. My teeth are also quite sharp. And when I’m haunting, it’s not easy to get rid of me.

The cheeky smile has given way to a serious look.

Danny: If we don’t get along, tell me right away, I’m not good at reading other people’s emotions.

~~~~~

Red Hood may be the son of the greatest detective but blinded by love Jason realizes that his boyfriend is quite dead only after a couple of months. He used to think Danny was a little…weird. Well, who in Gotham isn’t? It wasn't a problem. But during a funny fight about ignoring Danny in favor of a conversation with Tim , Fenton goes through him to grab his phone and then shouts that 'ghosting him is racist'.

Jason was delighted that he was able to hide his surprise. His boyfriend was too sweet, but sometimes insecure. Jay didn’t want Danny to start being cautious. Evidently, Honey thought from the first day that Jason knows. Let him keep it that way. Nothing has changed.

But now Danny’s promises to haunt Joker for the rest of his life if Jason wants it stopped being just super-hot flirt. So Jason need to make sure he doesn’t sic his darling poltergeist or whoever Danny is on someone. Even if it sounds good.

~~~~~Family dinner~~~~~

Dick: How did you two meet?

Jason: That’s a great story. My brave man beat the vandal who was messing with my grave.

Bruce: What? Who dared?

Danny: Jason, stop. It’s embarrassing.

Jason: No~ My family needs to know that chivalry is dead. My hero. Jason can’t resist a kiss on the cheek.

Danny: Taking this opportunity, I want to thank you all. It means a lot that you accepted Jason even not fully alive.

Alfred: Nonsense. Of course we..He’s family, no matter what.

Danny: Until the death separates us. Even at a wedding, love is promised only for a while. In parenthood, they do not take any oath about it. You’d be surprised how little past relationships can mean to people and how easy it is to hate what we are.

Danny: Damn, I ruined the mood, didn’t I? Sorry.

~~~~~

Jason: B, with all due respect, back off. You should ask Constantine how to help Danny if his family becomes a problem. Don’t mark my babe as a problem.

Bruce: I asked. And he laughed at me and said that you are the one who need protection. not him. Your Fenton is dangerous. Ghosts of such power only emerge in cataclysms after a large burst of energy or reach this level after centuries of battles or cannibalism and battles.

Jason: Seriously, old man? My boyfriend’s not gonna eat me. I’m not Red riding hood and he’s clearly not pretending to be my grandmother.

~~~~~~

Danny: Hi, honey. what’s new?

Jason noted with satisfaction that Danny had eaten all the supplies he had prepared for him.

Jason: Nothing, but now I have an idea for great Halloween costumes for us. They are gonna drive the old man crazy.

Danny: Did you fight again? What is it this time?

Jason: Guess what, now B’s worried you want to bite off my dick or something.

Danny: First, eew, disgusting. Don’t talk about our intimate life with fucking Batman. Why would he think that? I like you whole.

Jason: Whore?

Danny: Idiot.They don’t even sound alike.

Jason: Just admit that I am an eye candy and kiss me already. I need a break from the madness of my family.

~~~~~

Later Danny blackmails Constantine for information about the interrogation from Batman.

Then he sends a short message to the group chat : Tell the future father-in-law that while Jason can cook, he is safe from me.

The chat explodes from questions of Batclan to Bruce. Jay has great brothers and sisters. Danny knew their chaotic energy could be relied upon.

~~~~~

In the morning Jason yells at Tim. Why the hell did Replacement put "Friends For Dinner" from The Land Before Time as his alarm melody?

~~~~~

Bruce *is suspicious of the ghosts at the wedding*.

GhostWriter: Do not think that we like it. The boy is involved in his own version of Twilight. Oh Ancients, I hope the Ancients don't know about it.

Clockwork aka one of Ancients: Come on, that’s sweet. And story will have a happy ending. I guarantee.

~~~~~

Jason's in a date simulator with no chance of losing when everyone thinks he’s in a horror game. Is Danny dangerous? Yeah. Did he hunt when they first met? Who knows. The main thing in the middle of the conversation Danny realised he found a creature with a similar sense of humor. So that made Jason 10 out of 10 aka soulmate and he would kill for him.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dpxdc prompts #dpxdc crossover #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp #dp x dc #ghost hunger au #dead on main #danny phantom x jason todd #danny fenton x jason todd #dirty talk #??? idk

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blackberries45 · 4 months ago

Text

Time to Pay Your Dues (Beetlejuice Drabble)

Beetlejuice x reader

Notes: Mentions of bra/underwear/boobs but no gender mentioned.

Spelling and Grammar ain’t my thing, chicken wing.

No Smut but implied heading that way

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time you really did catch him off guard. He was too busy staring to be able to stop you before you said his name thrice. Now he was just biding his time. You hadn’t caught on yet, but you weren't faster than him in the least. He was just letting you play this little game. He knew it had to be benefiting you in some way and it most certainly was benefiting him. A dead guy can only take being teased for so long though.

******

For weeks you've been playing a nasty little game with Beetlejuice. The first time you pulled it after a mischievous thought had popped in your head stepping out of the shower. Just as you were wrapping yourself with the towel, you called out his name. He was so caught up in the moment of seeing you starting to drop the towel that you banished him as quickly as you had summoned him. You cackled all the way to your bedroom and the game began.

You had managed to do it three or four times more. Each time either in a compromising position, like leaning over to grab something off the floor and your butt in the air or were in the middle of changing. You even managed to ask him once while putting on a dress if he thought it was pretty before sending him off again. You knew it couldn't last long but it lasted a lot longer than you thought possible. This time had to be the last. You could only imagine what he’d do if he stopped you from saying his name and sending him back.

*****

The matching underwear set was hot and you knew it. You had never bought yourself anything that looked quite like this before and currently had no one to share it with. Truthfully you bought it just to pull this last tease, if you were being honest with yourself. This would be it. The grand finale. It was perfect. He would lose his ever loving stupid little dead mind and you couldn't wait to watch his face. You positioned your hair and pulled your boobs up in the bra cups. Next you adjusted the panty straps just perfectly on your hips, approving of the view in the mirror. It was clear by now that Mr Beej didn't care about your stretch marks or your weight, he devoured you visually just the same each time. God you'd be thinking about this forever. Was this little game starting to turn you on? Before you lost your nerve and talked yourself out of it, three times that ghoul’s name left your lips.

Usually Beetlejuice's preferred method was to startle you or at least appear somewhere unexpected. This time, he was right in the doorway where you had hoped he would be. He was leaning against the casing perfectly, with one boot resting against the bottom of the door frame and his other leg slightly forward to push his weight back. Removing the cigarette from between his lips, he ever so slightly started to turn his head. If the light hadn't been just right to catch the glint of his blue eyes, you wouldn't have noticed that he was drinking you from the bottom to the top. Nothing about him moved besides his eyes and a slight flick to his cigarette. He took another drag and let it out, staring at you now. The gulp you made was audible and you were starting to lose your nerve.

“Do you, uh, do you like it? I got it on sale. I've never bought myself a matching set like this before but I figured it deserved to be seen by someone else who would appreciate it” The nerve came back and the smugness dripped off of you as your head slightly tilted to the side. The corner of your mouth started to go up in a slight sneer. You knew in half a second what you were going to do but truthfully you were expecting a little more reaction from him. This was taking away from the game. Was he disappointed? As the excited smile started to fade, the words started forming in your mouth but he already knew what was coming and was prepared.

Instantly what felt like a shoelace tied your lips together. You put your fingers up to your mouth in pure surprise, eyes wide as you started to panic. Beetlejuice turned away from you, taking another puff of his cigarette and letting you mumble under your restraint.

“I think I've had enough of your little game there, babes” He flicked the cigarette somewhere unseen and started walking towards you. You couldn’t help but feel some tingle of turn on even as your protesting noises became louder.

Pulling at your lips you found an end that you could start to pull. You looked down at your fingers as you started to yank on the string. Before you could continue however, in one snap of his pale long fingers, you heard the bedroom door bang and suddenly you were slammed into it. His hands were on your ass as he pinned you up against the door. You couldn't help but brace yourself on his shoulders and your face bent down to his. Still wide-eyed but mouth no longer sewn shut, you gulped again.

“I don't like being repeatedly teased without a payoff. So honey, it's time to pay your dues.” He leaned into your neck, kissing it lightly once and enjoying feeling you shiver. “Good thing you bought this on sale” he snapped your underwear band with a lazy finger against your ass “because it won’t even be worth free when I get done ripping it off you”

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice drabble #beetlejuice x reader #keatlejuice #keatlejuice x reader

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simp-ly-writes · 2 months ago

Text

Gentle-Fellow's

─────── · · A Smosh Fanfic

Pairing: Spencer Agnew x gn!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You, Spencer and your fellow cast mates Angela and Shayne all star in yet another Don't Win Mario Party, Gentlemen addition!

─ · · TAGS: gender-neutral pronouns, part social media au, use of dated terms as comedy, swearing, smoking, fluff, attempt at humour, cute.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 1,463

─ · · A/N: thank you so much for the ask, anon! sorry it took so long, had to brainstorm some jokes and scenarios but it was a load of fun! 😄

─────── · ·

"Oi! 'ello Chaps, I'm here with my fellow gentle-lads and t'day we'll be playing some good old fashion mario party, just how I like my liquor-" you began to intro to the camera before Spencer was slapping you gently on the shoulder, his body acting out more impact than you actually received but you still fell off the couch for comedic benefit as he put his shoes up on your supposed 'corpse' in good taste.

"Well enough with what that fellow was going on about, I must say we shall play. This game is better suited for a trio rather than a quartet- the same philosophy can also be said for working in the navy. Was much better to night-watch with a trio-"

"Ah yes, I do believe three-and-some is an adequate amount. I have yet to try four but it sounds you would not recommend?" Shayne leans forwards on the couch to fully face Spencer who adjusts his tophat while looking down at you, silently asking if you were okay while laying down off camera. You shot him a smile upwards, rolling over and returning back to the couch.

"Yes, I would not recommend such activities. Too many men with not enough places to go and scope out. Much better to have three, did you not serve to learn this?" Spencer asks with a tilt to his head, his top hat already falling off again as you hold back a chuckle to his playful glare in your direction.

"I in fact did serve! I was a leader, and I good one at that too. Took my whole group to one of the colonies, we had to strip ourselves of layers from how humid the climate was," Shayne clarified, pretending to light his cigar as Spencer lit his own, passing his lighter towards you.

"Thank you, gentleman," you responded, lighting your two cigarettes, wearing them like vampire fangs that had Angela near tears at the end of the couch. "I do remember being down to my undergarments at multiple points with my men, I'll have you know we were all in position within the ama-zone. Quite the discoveries we made there, so uncivilized."

"AYE!" Angela corrected, pointing a finger, her moustache slipping down her face, "I'll have you know my third mistress is from those parts, and she is the best. You mustn't make such hastily claims gentlemen, it is unbecoming of you!"

You nod your head, "yes, yes, very unbecoming. What are we? Boys like our sons? I can't remember the last time I had ashes in my lungs with that child's work," you continue as Angela agrees with a huff, the game seemingly long forgotten as you all carry through conversation, trying your darnedest not to break character.

"Ah yes, I think I have a son or two, I can't quite remember. I think to name them all William, a strong English name," Shanye comments once you all get... gently reminded to play the game you intro-ed over half an hour ago, you hoped that the editors would be able to find something distinguishable in these files.

─────── · ·

"I do believe it is your turn, gentleman," Spencer comments, casting you a wink. "My, I have seen to misplaced that powered-device. Does anyone see it?" Everyone starts to feel around the dips in the couch, Spencer was the first to stand, walking closer to the cameras from where you rolled to during the introduction bit and comes back with your controller, dipping it towards you with a bow.

"Thank you, my, you must be quite the bachelor, charming a fellow like me, oh my," you add with heated cheeks as Spencer returns to your side, his leg nocking against your own as you shout out in disbelief to obtaining a star you DID NOT want. "This is outrageous, I demand a re-play of my turn! I did not intend-"

"We must play by the rules," Shayne cuts you off, tilting his hat down as you stick out your tongue. Angela is focused on not winning the next mini game as you and Shayne continue your staring contest in the following two rounds before you claim victory. "Haha! I have trained with only the best, you can read a lot about another man through his eyes. Have you been hunting before? I love that wild look." Spencer jumps to respond.

"Yes, I must say, you really can tell a lot..." and in that moment you both look at one another. Shayne and Angela are both screaming over something on the screen but you both sound it out, lost in this little moment before realizing your both won... or well lost.

"It appear we have lost," Spencer says, emitting a sigh. "No, I would say we have won," you tease loving the way his cheeks heat up to his ears before you both return to the game more driven then ever to not win.

─────── · ·

Jokes have you all toppling the couch at some point from your rambunctious laughter, Angela is struggling to breathe through her sentence much similar to you over just how funny Spencer manages to be wearing sweatpants and a cheap half tux.

Spencer immediately went to protect your head with his arm as you all fell backwards with a large crash, the crew all gasped out in shock before your laughter only grew more boisterous. "I think I hear a little man again," Shayne comments, forcing himself upright to look over the couch as stars begun to be distributed.

Like snipers at position you all kneeled, your eyes only visible from the turned over couch. Top hats giving away your cover and you had placed second, falling back to the ground in fake shock and relief. Spencer teased mouth to mouth that had you pressing a hand to his mouth and narrowed your eyes at his large ones filled with glee and adoration.

─────── · ·

Angela had lost in the end in first place. you second place. Shayne in third and Spencer being the ultimate winner in fourth.

"FUCK!" and the video ended abruptly to quickly cute to her wearing a dog cone while trying to light a cigarette, only for them to keep collecting down by her neck.

"Thank you all for viewing our game time today, I have had the most splendid time today with you chaps, as I hope you all have ventured the same?" Shayne asks the now upright couch and cast.

"Yes, I was quite filled with delight," you replied, nodding your head and tipping your hat to everyone on the sofa.

"I do agree with my fellow gentleman, here" Spencer replies, clapping you on the wrist this time, very much close to holding your hand, your fingers interlacing while watching Angelas 'winning' speech.

"I hate you all-"

"Why that id not very gentlemanly of you, do you wish to handle these matters outside in more space for our thoughts?" Shayne rebuttles.

"Yes, I rather have a few thoughts to show you," Angela challenged, brow raised as she begins to roll up her sleeves, Shayne doing the same. Alex closes the video by panning upwards and the screen fades to black.

─────── · ·

🔔 Smosh Games just posted! watch now?

─────── · ·

Gentleman's Rules: Don't Win Mario Party (Again!)

Smosh Games ✓ [Subscribed] 👍 67k | 👎 7.78M subscribers 300k views 1 week ago only the politest of games... click to read more

1,110 Comments

username01 (name) and Spencer out here being the cutest even while cosplaying as colonizers, iconic behaviour you two!

username88 09:45 "Ah yes, I do believe three-and-some is an adequate amount" - Shayne Topp 2024

↳ username70 OMG why did I not catch this earlier LMAO 🤣 ↳ username91 or what about 20:01 " What are we? Boys like our sons? I can't remember the last time I had ashes in my lungs with that child's work..." - (name) was UNREAL for sayin' this XD ↳ username70 OMG YES! 🙌😂

username22 I don't know about you but I'm feeling like I'm ready for a whole series of just this cast and just this game. I have had this video and repeat since it's come out! Please. Make. More. 🙏

username14 Literally so in love with how gentle Spencer was being with (name), dropping the persona to held them find their controller and even making sure they didn't fall hard?? 😭

↳ username91 and did anyone notice those little winks? UGH 😩

username40 this is not good material to be eating to, almost choked from laughing so hard, would not recommend.

userame66 That little exchange about seeing into one another's eyes was so poetic, like that bit did not need to go that hard 💗

─────── · ·

─ · · SPENCER AGNEW TAGLIST: @lisiliely @missflufffanfics @little-stitious-studios @thejourneyneverendsx @sibsteria @lizzylynch1 @babble2 @delaneyburghardt @thevintagefangirl @uniquely-haunting @maricarorp

#fanfic #fanfiction #simp-ly #simp-ly-writes #x reader #fluff #spencer agnew fanfiction #spencer agnew imagine #spencer x reader #spencer agnew x reader #spencer agnew #smosh x reader #smosh #smosh games

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 9 months ago

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thinkin about ex-husband keegan p russ.

thinkin about how there's no way he doesn't show up at your front door within hours of the first ODIN attacks.

keegan fucking russ standing at your door at three in the morning without so much as a cursory greeting. makes you pack a suitcase with whatever bare essentials you can't live without. there's a lot of arguing involved but not a lot of conversation, as usual. you talk, sure, and he listens, nods, and then looks at his watch and says you need to move your ass or he's gonna move it for you.

next thing you know, you're in his passenger seat and he's driving you to his military base six hours away.

he doesn't bother to explain anything, but he does bother to ask you what happened to that fiance of yours.

you give him a heated look, one that says you're ready to square up. defensive, aren't you. that tells him what he wants to know and he scoffs, adjusting his one-handed grip on the steering wheel. good riddance.

you're one of the few civilians on base. you try to be civil with keegan, but falling into old habits is too fucking easy. you and keegan married young--it was a boot camp wedding for the benefits--and the marriage itself wasn't good. well--parts of it, certain parts, were good. really good.

none of it was healthy, mind you. just this cycle of arguing all day and then settling the argument in bed all night. sometimes well into the next day. you couldn't go twelve hours without picking a fight, and he couldn't let it go. not without putting you on your back and railing you until you forgot whatever the hell you were mad about.

something about keegan just makes you aggressive. just makes you want to bare your teeth and go for his throat. something about how impassive he is, how hard he is to rattle, makes you want to push him until he reacts.

you're in the perfect situation to piss him off on base by sleeping with some other dude.

or at least that's what you think.

keegan makes sure the other soldiers know you are one hundred percent off-limits. keegan's ex-wife? yeah, none of the other soldiers are gonna touch that with a ten-foot pole.

one or two joke around about how dumb he was to let a bombshell like you divorce his ass, but keegan shuts it down real fucking quick.

then he starts showing up at your door just to give you the chance to pick a stupid fight.

he finds himself pushing you farther and farther, finds himself craving that satisfaction he gets when you turn that heated look of pure loathing on him. he wants you to throw your barbs his way. not just the lighthearted teasing you toss out to his teammates--he wants you to lash out at him. give him everything you've got. make it hurt.

if you're glaring at him, belittling him, insulting him, you're not out there flirting with someone else. your attention is his.

he always seems to show up at your door when you're moody and listless. pent up with tension. your method of dealing with it involves this, mm, push and pull he enjoys. sometimes his squadmates send him to your door when they catch attitude from you.

"heard you got on everyone's nerves today," he tells you. "you gonna be a handful?"

you swing the door closed, wanting it to slam in his face, but you find it bangs into his boot instead. he bullies him way inside easily and shuts the door behind him.you skip past asking him what he wants and instead tell him to fuck off. straight to business. he's always liked that about you.

"keep talkin' like that and i'll really start enjoying myself," he tells you.

you retreat just to grab your cigarettes and light one up. he swipes your lighter faster than you can snatch it away.

you quit smoking after the two of you broke up. so did he. and here you both are.

"just came to check on you," he tells you. you both know that's a lie. you both know why he's here, and you both know why you aren't trying any harder to send him away. "you could use some friendly company."

you tell him in no uncertain terms that he's not friendly company.

he flips open a carton of cigarettes--your carton, you realize with a start. you didn't see him take it. he pulls out a cigarette and lights it up, but pockets the carton, a wry little smirk on his face.

"don't act like you hated it last night."

you snatch the cigarette out of his mouth and tell him he'd better not say a goddamn word about last night.

"sure, baby," he tells you, he watches your lips intently as you take a drag of his cigarette. "you know I can keep a secret."

...

this is on you @keegansshark

more Keegan / masterlist tag

#ex husband keegan #mine #cod #cod x reader #call of duty #call of duty x reader #cod ghosts #keegan #cod keegan #keegan p russ #keegan russ x reader #keegan russ x you #keegan p russ x reader #keegan p russ x you #snippet #keegansshark

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siriuslovebot · 1 year ago

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˖ ࣪⭑˖ ࣪𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒌𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘 ➸ 𝒋𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓˖ ࣪⭑ ˖ ࣪

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 𝑨𝑵𝑶𝑵𝒀𝑴𝑶𝑼𝑺 𝑨𝑺𝑲𝑬𝑫: hiya i was wondering if you could do a rough smut with james potter where reader gets turned on by him blowing cig smoke into her mouth at a party or something, and he’s all like cocky about it??? thank you for considering this.

𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺: smut (18+, minors dni!), smoking, mentions of alcohol, oral (f!receiving), slight oral fixation, unprotected sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, cocky!james, some condescending dialogue, teasing, dirty talk.

𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀: the reader is infatuated with her boyfriend, james potter. she can’t help but get distracted when admiring him at a party.

𝑨/𝑵: hi, anon! thank you for your request! i hope i’ve done it justice here. i don’t have a ton of experience writing rough smut, but i tried my best here. james is such a big softie to me but it was fun writing him a little differently. this is unedited so apologies for any mistakes, and i hope you enjoy!

𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑻: 3.4k 𓂃♡₊⭑

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺

james potter is going to be the death of you.

he’s been bad enough these last few weeks since you’ve become “official,” strutting around bragging about how he’s somehow snagged the fittest girl around. the disgusted looks on remus and sirius’s faces are enough to send a flush blooming across your features, not to mention the endless teasing from sirius as he does his dramatic impression of james fawning over you. worse, though, is the fact that you’re equally as obsessed with him. you had a bumbling crush on him throughout all of your years at hogwarts; his confidence and extroverted personality always attracted you to him, and despite his vaguely arrogant air, he was quite kind to you.

thus, when he asked you on a date after running into you at the leaky cauldron on order business, you reluctantly said yes. the result was quickly turning into the marauder’s worst nightmare: remus and sirius were getting fed up with your constant pda, baby-talking each other when you’re sure you won’t be overheard and snogging at the most inconvenient of times. it wasn’t uncommon to get an exasperated comment from sirius along the lines of, “we’re at war for merlin’s sake, can’t you two give it a rest for five minutes?” to which you would flush and james would make an obscene gesture.

currently, you’re curled up on a couch in lily’s flat, listening half-heartedly as she recounts the story of an awful date she recently went on. there’s a drink clasped in your hand, all but forgotten as you divide your attention between lily and the distracting sight of your boyfriend standing with frank and remus in the kitchen. he’s got a cigarette perched between his lips, soft smile decorating his features as he listens attentively to the story that remus is telling. your mouth goes dry as you watch him take a long drag of the cigarette, smoke puffing through his pillowy lips as he exhales. he’s got something of an oral fixation, you’ve discovered; he’s always got something occupying that pretty mouth, whether it be words, a cigarette, chewing gum, your fingers, your mouth... he keeps himself entertained, and you get the added benefits of admiring him as he does just that.

on nights like these, however, it can be a real inconvenience. you shift in your seat, legs pressing together as you force yourself to wrench your needy gaze away from the sight of him. you can’t help the want warming your lower body, your stomach fluttering at the thought of getting him alone to let him indulge his fixation.

“....so i told him i’d rather drink bubotuber pus than go on another bleeding date with him, and now he’s run around telling everyone how horrible i am.” you catch the tail-end of lily’s rant, laughing along with alice and marlene. you take a sip of your drink, still unable to control your wandering eyes.

sirius slinks back into the kitchen, returning from the washroom to grab himself another drink. he noticed you staring at james like a puppy in heat as he returned, feeling a smidge squeamish at the look in your eyes. he nudges james as he settles back into the conversation, a fresh drink in his hand.

“bit oblivious, are you, mate?” sirius wonders, making a questioning face. he nods towards you on the couch, where you swallow the lump in your throat as you force yourself to look back at lily. “your girl’s staring a fuckin’ hole through you.”

james turns, his tall frame blocking some of the light spilling in from the kitchen. he notices the hot-and-bothered look on your face as you force yourself to listen to lily. you shift, hips moving of their own accord as you attempt to get comfortable and ignore the aching between your legs. your features are flushed with color. you push the hair off of your neck, suddenly feeling as if you need to get some air before you burn up.

you finish your drink, and absentmindedly place the glass on the coffee table in front of you. you manage a response to lily’s question, before your eyes are flicking back over to the kitchen. you blink as you realize james is now returning the attention, and your stomach drops. there’s a questioning glint in his eyes and he nods towards the balcony just behind you through the door in the sitting room.

you stand, legs feeling insecure.

“excuse me,” you mutter, brushing a hand down over your dress. “gonna have a smoke with james.”

“didn’t know you smoked,” alice’s soft voice trails as you exit the room.

you take a deep breath as you step outside. the cool evening air does wonders in calming your heart rate, although the heat between your legs is only worsening as you wait for james to join you. there’s a sickening moment where you wonder if you’d misread his intentions, before the glass door opens and he’s standing before you.

“hi, baby,” he says simply, voice soft as the door shuts behind him. you take him in, finally free to stare unabashedly. his dark curls are mussed, warm eyes obscured by smudged glasses, his lips chapped from puffing on his cigarette.

“hi,” you manage, a bit breathless. now that you’ve got him out here, all to yourself, you feel a bit in-over-your-head. he’s got a way of making you nervous, especially when he’s got this familiar smug look plastered on his handsome face.

“you okay?” he’s lighting another cigarette. his hand cups around the flame of his lighter, long fingers shielding it from the light breeze. you chew on your bottom lip, your mind conjuring up the image of his hands exactly where you’d like them. making you squirm and writhe and cry for him. you’re distracted still, the sight of his fingers bringing the cigarette to his lips. his mouth curling around it, sucking in the smoke.

“y/n, baby,” he breathes out, his head dipping down as his free hand reaches for you. his fingers cup your chin, lifting your eyes to his. his thumb ghosts over the corner of your lips. you meet his gaze, your eyes glassy as you daydream about him touching you all over. it’s almost frightening, this love-drunk effect he causes. even his grasp on your face is not enough to pull you away from your little fantasy.

“hmmm?” you hum, unable to find your words.

his narrows his eyes at you, tilting your face to either side as he examines you. “have you had too much to drink?” he wonders.

“no,” you shake your head, conscious enough to offer the one syllable response. he follows your gaze to the cigarette, flicking ash off of the end.

“y’want a smoke?” he offers it to you.

“want you,” you breathe. you lift your hand, grasping him around the wrist that’s holding your face in place. the desperation you feel is more extreme than it ever has been in the past; something about the clueless look on his face, the smoke, his wild hair haloed around his head, the atmosphere of the party. his presence is torturing you.

he laughs softly, taking another drag of the cigarette. there’s a fluttering sensation between your legs as his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“kiss me,” you request, nuzzling into his hand. there’s a satisfied smile on his face as he leans down into you, slotting your mouths together. he tastes like cigarette smoke and an undertone of cinnamon gum. you latch onto him, fingers twisting into the tight curls at the nape of his neck. he breathes the smoke out into your mouth, the nicotine buzz worsening the dizziness from having his hands on you.

he flicks the cigarette nub away. now freed, his arm encircles your waist, his palm sliding down to your lower back. his grip tightens, holding you against his body as he tucks his knee between your legs. you whine at the contact, the fabric of his trousers grazing your thinly clothed center. this sends your core throbbing, though it does little to distract you from his tongue licking into your mouth.

an obscene noise breaks the quiet air as he pulls away from you. your lips are swollen, glistening with saliva as you stare up at him with your biggest eyes. he looks more than smug, he looks cockier than you’ve ever seen him. even after his quidditch victories back in school, he never had the proud gleam in his eyes that you’re witnessing now.

“poor baby,” he says, the almost-mocking tone to his voice sending a renewed throb down to your center. “so eager just for my mouth on you, aren’t you?”

you whine, hands fisting the fabric of his sleeves as you hold onto him. you’re too turned on to be embarrassed, even as he coos at you in his condescending tone. “jamie…”

“so needy you couldn’t keep your eyes off me. poor pads had to watch you eye-fucking me from across the room.” his head dips down, nose grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. he drags his lips against the skin softly, tongue darting out periodically to taste your skin. he breathes you in, relishing in the smell of your perfume and the tang of your sweat.

“stop teasing,” you complain. he just barely presses his thigh closer to you, notched between your legs. a hiss tumbles from your lips.

“why would i stop when you’re enjoying it so much?” he wonders. you feel the smirk against your neck, and you curse him in your mind. “so wet you’re soaking me through my trousers. you’d like me to take you right here, wouldn’t you, sweets?”

“yes,” you breathe. you’re practically clawing at him, rolling your hips for the slightest bit of friction on your clit. you think you could likely come just from the sight of him kneeling in front of you, not even touching you.

“oh, but we mustn’t…” he continues. “see, you’ve already been rude to lily all night, ignoring her whilst you’re thinking of my mouth doing dirty things to you. it’d be criminal to defile her balcony, don’t you agree?”

“i–” you gasp at the feeling of his thigh flexing, the toned muscle rutting into your clit as he uses his hands to drag you along his leg. “i–fuck, james, i don’t care.”

he chuckles darkly at this, then stops for a second to suck a dark mark into your skin. your head is thrown back, your eyes catching sight of the stars floating in the sky. they’re swimming, your gaze glassy with need for your boyfriend. it’s a wonder no one’s spotted you through the door. luckily it’s very dark outside, and the light spilling out onto the balcony from inside is too faint to illuminate the vulgar sight of you grinding against james.

“come,” he directs you away from the door, pressing you against a shadowed wall on the other end of the balcony. you never realize just how tall he is until he has you cornered, his body holding yours in place. his fingers play with the ends of your hair as he looks down at you, admiring your hazy expression. “gonna be good f’me, right, baby?”

“yes,” you nod eagerly. “anything y’want, jamie.”

“good,” he brushes the back of his hand over your cheek. then he’s dragging the fabric of your dress up your hips, hooking his fingers through the waistline of your panties. “gotta be quiet, hmmm? don’t want anyone hearing, do we?”

you nod in agreement. your lip is tucked between your teeth, your eyes frenzied as you anticipate his next movements. james wastes no time, dropping to his knees. he’s eye-level with your dripping cunt, using one hand to spread your lips apart as the other comes up to touch you.

a mewl spills from your mouth, one of your hands falling down to card through his curls. he smirks, placing a sweet kiss against your inner thigh. he spreads your slick around with two fingers, the dirty squelching noise like music to his ears.

“what did i say?” he asks you, peering up at you through thick lashes. he massages your clit softly, waiting for an answer.

“gotta be quiet,” you respond. your voice is choked up at the sight of him looking so devilishly handsome between your legs.

“that’s right,” there’s a split second of lost contact before his hand comes back with a sharp slap against your clit. it’s unexpected, and you bite down on your tongue as a muffled squeal leaves your mouth. “don’t want me to have to use a silencing charm on you, baby.”

“‘m sorry, james,” you say. you bring a hand to your mouth, hoping to use it to muffle your noises. “please, i’ll be quiet.”

without warning, he plunges two of his fingers into your sopping hole. your entire body tenses, your back lifting away from the brick wall as you arch into his touch. his teeth drag up your thigh, nipping softly before he turns his full attention to your pussy. he flattens his tongue and drags it from just above his fingers to your clit, swirling around the sensitive nub.

tears prick your eyes, the feeling overwhelming after not being touched all night. you bite onto your fist, swallowing down the vulgar noises that desperately need to escape your body. you have a tight grip in his curls, pulling the hairs more aggressively than intended. this eggs him on, soliciting a powerful curl of his fingers inside of you. they rut into your g-spot, exacerbating the pressure that builds in your lower stomach.

you want to scream, need to scream so bad that you’re crying over him. silent tears roll down your cheeks, ruining your makeup as james continues his merciless attack on your cunt. his full lips are attached to your clit, sucking and licking and humming against the bud. you tremble, the muscles in your abdomen and thighs clenching from the effort of holding yourself up while trying not to cum too fast.

a miniscule cry manages to break through despite your best efforts. james’s mouth releases from your clit with a slick pop, and he eyes you carefully. his warm eyes are considerably darker, clouded with lust. “thought you were gonna come like this, did you?” he says, his voice almost mean. you’ve never had him like this, teasing and condescending and demanding. it’s driving you crazy, this new, rougher side of him.

“please, james,” you whisper, trying your hardest not to make another noise. “i–i’m sorry i made noise. just want your mouth, please…”

he grins, his parted lips finding your clit again. his teeth graze the nub, and a jolt of electricity goes through your entire body. “like this?” he muses, nibbling gently on the collection of nerves. it takes everything inside of you not to scream like a banshee, the new sensation sending fluids dripping down over his hand and wrist.

“gonna come, then?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. his lips are no longer attached to your clit, but his fingers thrust roughly into your weeping hole. “can you come like this? come just for my fingers, baby?”

“james i–please, i can’t,” you whine, eyes rolling back in your head.

“oh, but you’re feeling so good for me,” he says, dragging his fingers along your walls deliciously. the pressure is building, slower inside your stomach. but you need his mouth on you, need him sucking your clit in order to come. you need the fireworks that his experienced tongue coaxes out of your body. you need the full body, cloud nine sensation of him eating you out.

“fuck can you just eat me out, please?” you plead, voice more demanding this time.

this takes him off guard, the rhythm of his fingers stuttering for half a second before he’s drilling them into you with more aggression. he gives you no warning before his mouth is on you again, devouring you with every ounce of energy he has. your vision begins to blank, mouth hanging open in a silent scream as he wrecks your pussy with his fingers and tongue. you can’t make a single sound, can’t even think of anything except the overwhelming bliss between your legs. he eats you through your orgasm, overstimulating your clit as he removes his fingers from inside of you.

“james–”

“shut up,” he hisses, standing once the waves of your orgasm have diminished. he grabs you by the hips, spinning you around so you’re pressed against the wall. the brick digs into your skin slightly, your hands splayed on the wall as he pushes you into it. his hands fall from your hips to between your legs, spreading you for his access.

“‘m sorry, i–i didn’t mean to–”

but he’s not listening. you feel the tip of his cock prod your hole for half a second before he’s buried to the hilt in your slick. there’s a split second where he’s still inside of you, fumbling with his wand as he easily cast an imperturbable charm on the glass door leading inside.

“‘m gonna make you scream,” he promises, grasping your hips and hitching them back towards him. the position deepens the angle of his cock inside of you, and you cry out as he begins pistoning in and out of you.

still sensitive from your previous orgasm, your mind goes foggy from the feeling of him abusing your cunt. his pace is relentless, the head of his cock barreling into your g-spot with enough force that you’re struggling to even hold yourself up. his fingertips dig into the flesh of your hips, bruising the soft skin. there are tiny crescent moon fingernail marks, possibly a prick of blood from the harsh grip he has on you.

“fuck, it hurts so good,” you cry, lacing your fingers with his and holding on for dear life.

“you like when i hurt your little pussy, huh baby? like my cock tearing you apart?” he presses his lips to the soft spot where your shoulder and your neck meet. he’s panting in your ear, groaning as your walls clench tight around him. you’re getting close to your second orgasm already, your thighs quivering and arousal soaking down your legs.

“i love it, love you inside of me,” you respond, unable to think. your voice is barely audible over the wet slapping noises of his hips slamming into your bare ass. the sound of skin on skin coupled with his throaty noises is driving you closer to the edge.

this new, rougher side of james has your insides fluttering around him. you squeal in delight as one of his hands brings your wrists together behind you, holding you in place. the brick wall bites into the skin of your cheek, but you hardly notice as his other hand aims a sharp slap against your ass. he grunts at the sight of his handprint appearing on your skin, making his cock throb inside of you. another slap rings through the air, and you cry out. you tighten around him, closer and closer to orgasming by the second.

“james–” you breath, chest heaving, “‘m gonna come. i can’t hold it any longer.”

“come on, baby,” he encourages, maintaining his pace inside of you. “cry for me while you come, baby. wan’ the whole world to know i’m fucking you.”

you do just that, your entire body collapsing between him and the wall as your second orgasm washes over you. you’re mewling his name into the night, begging him not to stop. you hear his cocky chuckle over your shoulder, followed by a low groan from his chest. his hips slow, hot spurts of release spraying your insides as he reaches his own orgasm.

“fuck, y/n,” he breathes, feeling you clench around him as he fills you up. “m’good girl, aren’t you?” he praises. he rocks into you a few final times, fucking his cum deeper as he sweeps your hair off of your neck.

you sigh as he pulls out of you, helping you back into your panties. you hope they’re enough to keep the cum contained inside of you until you’re able to clean up. james helps you straighten your dress out, pecking you on the lips. with a wave of his wand, the smeared makeup all over your face is put right, and there’s very little evidence of your relations.

“thank you,” you breathe, leaning into him as you try and catch your bearings. “i love you,” you mutter, closing your eyes.

“i love you, sweets,” he kisses your temple, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as he leads you back inside, having lifted his imperturbable charm.

your return goes virtually unnoticed, as lily and marlene are refilling drinks in the kitchen while sirius recounts a story from his childhood. you return to the sitting room, sinking onto the sofa beside alice. she eyes you for a second, then says, “smoked the whole pack, did you?”

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter smut #james potter fic #james potter x reader smut #marauders era #marauders fic #marauders fanfiction #marauders smut #marauders era fic #smut #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #slb.works #from the queue

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gothcsz · 7 months ago

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Dangerous Woman | Javier Peña x Fem!Reader | ~9k wc | Part 2 of the Fantasize series | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Javier does something that warrants a second visit.

Tags: stalking, lots of dirty talk, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (we're taking it raw), some plot snuck into the porn (sorry not sorry), spanking, light slapping, slight breeding kink..., some physical descriptions but overall it's pretty vague, no use of Y/N, reader is a photojournalist, reader speaks spanish, we're altering canon timeline just a bit, other shit i’m probably forgetting.

A/N: primas (gn), we're back to being delusional! thanks so so so much for all the lovin the boy is mine got like i'm on my knees for each and every one of u fr 🧎🏽‍♀️ hehe i do plan on posting a final part to wrap this up btw. love the dynamic between these two 🖤 did javi match your freak?! did he match your nasty?!

DIVIDERS CREDIT: saradika

You quit going to his apartment entirely. He expects you to meet him there again, and while the urge to return and take things all the way is enticing as hell; you keep yourself from doing so.

Well, technically, you did go by one time and that visit was the reason why you swore the rest of them off.

You watched from the front seat of your car, further down on the other side of the street, as he rested his forearms against the railing; a lit cigarette between his lips while he stared off into the distance.

Your handsome man who somehow looked sexier under distress. Even from how far away you were you could see those defined, prominent wrinkles between his brows.

He was waiting for you. Looking out into the city and wishing that you were prancing your way back to him.

You wondered then if that was a new ritual of his. If he stood out on his balcony every night in hopes of seeing you again. It made your heart soar and goosebumps to erupt along your skin.

But you want to drive him crazy with your absence, to have him question if what happened that night in his bedroom was as real as it felt. Gaslighting himself into believing it was all just a dream, something his conscience had made up to relieve him temporarily of the hardships of his job.

Part of the sick enjoyment you get comes from your cat and mouse game, with you being the gamemaster. The one who sets the rules and decides when plays are allowed to be made.

You want him to be vigilant, to shine a light against every shadow that crosses his path in hopes that it’s you, the sexy little thing that’s been preying on him for longer than he knows.

You want to edge him with the anticipation of your next move.

This move won’t happen until further down the line. Things have been tense in the circumstances that overlap both of your careers. Government distrust grows more and more by the day, the drug traffickers get richer by the second.

You just haven’t had the time to follow him as thoroughly as you have been.

Which is why you sunk your claws into someone in his inner circle, a Neil Stoddard that works directly beneath your agent. It had taken you a few tries, causally bumping into him at the market or during a morning jog, until enough rapport was built and you finally convinced him to feed you information on DEA operations.

He was hesitant at first, but you’ve been told that you can be very persuasive; always knowing exactly what to say, which cadence to use and how to shift your body language to match the conversation. Showcasing your skill, you manage to get just about every little detail that you can from the younger agent before anyone else.

It benefits you both in your career and in your efforts to keep tabs on him.

You wonder if he thinks about you in the same way you do him. Does he constantly replay that rainy night in his head? Does he fuck his fist and close his eyes to think of you, the mysterious woman who broke into his apartment just to get on her knees for him? Swallowed his soul in its entirety and then disappeared off into the night?

Fuck, you hope so, because with each day that passes–– you fall deeper in love with Javier Peña.

You’re walking home from work one day, an extra pep in your step at the good news that one of your projects from graduate school is being looked at by some big name publishers back stateside. The excitement of getting your work published by a well known and reputable paper further inflates your ego and the passion that you have for your career.

So you decide to buy something nice for yourself, a materialized pat on the back for being so good at what you do. You enter a quaint antique store that’s nestled in the small plaza a few blocks from your apartment building, eyeing some of the merchandise they have on display.

You’re contemplating whether you want to purchase a set of stained glass table lamps when a distinct glint catches your attention from the corner of your eye.

You turn to see a beautiful engagement ring on display behind the glass counter, its shimmer immediately drawing you to it. You set the lamps down carefully, walking over to the counter to get a better look at the piece of jewelry.

The ring’s silver band is elegantly slender. Intricate filigree work adorns the outer surface with delicate patterns of vines and tiny flowers that spiral gracefully around it.

At the center sits a stunning marquise cut diamond, its facets catching the light in a soft, romantic sparkle.

You stare at it in awe, imagining it around your finger after he slips it on, still on one knee, while those captivating brown eyes of his stare up at you in nothing but pure love and adoration.

His fiancée. His wife.

Calling the attendant over, she happily lets you try it on incase it needs to be resized.

It doesn’t. It fits just right, making your hand look very lovely. You wriggle your fingers, giggling as it catches the light.

You purchase it, obviously, having her place it in a small, velvety box that you slide into your bag as you thank her for her help; leaving the shop just to walk a few stores down to where they sell lingerie.

There, you buy a new outfit–– this one much more risque than the leather dress that’s neatly tucked away in your closet.

With a small dent in your account, your career on the path of blossoming, and your delusions for him reaching another peak; you go home and plan your next move.

Stoddard tells you about the raid planned to capture Miguel Rodríguez and the fake out involved, since the last time they had targeted him–– bureaucratic bullshit had gotten in the way and prevented the arrest. Something involving the man hiding in the walls and a DEA agent using a sledgehammer to get him out.

Apparently there’s a mole within the Colombian government that’s making it hard to bring the narcos to justice. What’s new? Amidst all this, he mentions how the boss is going to stay behind while everyone else in the department travels to Cali.

This bit of information piques your interest but you keep your reaction neutral. The velvet box in your bag is burning a hole through the leather, reminding you of its existence. You haven’t worn the ring since you tried it on, saving it for the perfect moment.

Like the one that’s just manifested itself.

You get the details of this operation, specifically paying attention to the times so you know at what pace you’ll have to work with.

If your calculations are correct, he’d be all alone in the office well into the night.

You’re an adrenaline junky, clearly, since the idea of sneaking into a government building just to seek pleasure from the DEA attaché has your entire body crackling with electricity.

You thank him as you go your separate ways. The raid is in two days, which will give you more than enough time to get prepared.

Getting ready mellows you out entirely, the only nerves you feel are those of excitement at the prospect of seeing your agent tonight. You’re currently in the bath, your favorite candle lit and on your second glass of wine.

It’d be a massive win for him if they’re able to follow through with the plan. Two of the head honchos in cuffs and behind bars, even if it was the lax walls of a Colombian prison.

Surely it warrants some kind of reward. You did tell him that he’d see you again whenever he did something that was worth your presence. Worth your body.

It could have come sooner, but between the disappearance of Guillermo Pallomari, Christina Jurado’s kidnapping and then Franklin Jurado’s death; fate had other plans.

He just couldn’t catch a break. For his sake, you hope they’re able to get that motherfucker tonight.

Finishing up in the bath, your skin is smooth like the delicate petals of a flower and you smell like a candy shop, all hydrated and plump and ready to be ravaged.

You go through the motions of doing your hair and makeup, this time aiming for a bolder look.

Sharp cat eye liner, classic red lip, thick lashes. You want to mimic the sultry models you see in the high-end magazines.

Dolling yourself up for him is part of your foreplay. You enjoy watching your own transformation, going from a steadfast journalist to a seductive minx at the wave of a makeup brush.

Would he find you attractive? Not your feline alter ego but the real you. The one that camps out in her car more often than not to stalk him, fast food wrappers littering the seats. The woman who broke into his apartment and masturbated using his pillows. The woman using his subordinate to get information about him and his highly classified work operations.

Would the illusion break after so many encounters? Would the allure of your salacious activities dim until that fire is completely smothered with the reality of what you’ve been doing?

Would he even want you if he knew the truth?

You stare at your reflection in the vanity mirror, not even realizing your eyes have glazed over with tears at these thoughts. Your heart aches at the nonexistent rejection.

No, snap out of it. Now is not the time to be thinking of this shit.

Shaking your head, you swiftly get your act together and change into your outfit for the night.

The lingerie set is the epitome of classic elegance with a sexy edge. It consists of a bra, panties, and a garter belt, each piece meticulously designed to celebrate your natural curves and skin tone.

The bra is a balconette style, the cups a luxurious black lace with intricate floral patterns, sheer enough to tease yet opaque enough to leave some things to the imagination. The underwire provides a gentle lift, enhancing the shape of your breasts, while the straps, adorned with tiny satin bows, add a touch of femininity.

The matching panties are a cheeky bikini cut. The front panel is made from the same black lace as the bra, with a subtle scalloped edge that sits gently against your hips. The back is a sheer mesh, offering a tantalizing glimpse of skin with a small satin bow at the waistband. Your ass looks so good.

The garter belt is the pièce de résistance, tying the entire set together. It sits high on your waist, cinching in to create an hourglass silhouette. Four straps extend down, each finished with satin ribbon accents to hold up your thigh-high stockings securely.

You add the accessories: diamond earrings gifted to you by your grandmother, your simple black stilettos and finally–– the ring you purchased at the antique store.

Now in front of a full length mirror, you can’t help but run your hands all over your body. Fuck looking like the high end models from Vogue–– you resemble a god damn Playboy star; sexy enough to warrant your very own centerfold in the magazine.

Maybe you should invest in some bunny ears. Try and be a conejita for one night.

This is what you’d wear on your wedding night, you think, eyes not leaving your reflection as the ring twinkles beneath your bedroom lights. You wouldn’t even wear it in white, the black lace an homage to the erotic start of your relationship with the DEA agent. Your husband.

Your cat mask sits on the bed, right next to your polaroid camera. After you finish eye fucking yourself, you crawl onto the matress and slip it on; obscuring your face in the sexiest way possible.

With all the fuckery he’s had to deal with as of late, you decided you were going to leave some souvenirs behind. A few visuals for him to look at during lonely nights instead of lolling around on his balcony like a neglected puppy.

You begin taking the photos, contorting your body into different erotic positions, getting the best angles. It all comes to you naturally, you’re good behind and in front of the camera.

After a dozen or so snaps of your tits, your ass, your thighs and some cheeky ones of your pretty cunt, you let them develop and take the mask off, putting on a basic satin slip dress to hide your lingerie.

You were going to be out in a more public space, you didn’t want to risk something happening and for that to leave you basically naked in the streets of Bogotá.

Tossing your belongings into your bag, you drive to the embassy, parking around the back to keep your vehicle hidden from any prying eyes. How ironic.

The familiar trench coat sits on your shoulders, tied close to keep your naughty outfit out of sight. Your bag hangs from the curve of the inside of your elbow, the kitten mask nestled at the bottom, just waiting for you to don it once more.

In this moment, you feel like one of those cliché romance tropes: surprising your husband at work with skimpy clothes under a fucking coat.

You snort at the realization, but you’re kind of loving this.

When you push open the door to the building, you notice how quiet and empty it is. At the large front desk, an older officer straightens his posture at your entrance.

“Identificación, por favor.”

You bite your lip, praying to god that this works, and dig into your bag to pull out your press lanyard. It has your name on it, what paper you work for along with a photograph that was taken your first day on the job.

You hand it over and he eyes it then you suspiciously, taking in your done up appearance.

“I’ve got some photographs developing in the lab here. Lost track of time at the office which is why I’m stopping by so late. I’ll just be in and out, no worries.” You explain in English with a gentle lilt, hoping that your status as an American will sway him into letting you up.

He hands you back your lanyard. “I’m not supposed to let anyone who isn't employed here in after a certain time. Lo siento, señorita. Regresa mañana.”

Your eye twitches in annoyance at the denial, your skin prickling with frustration.

You have to see him tonight. No matter what. This senile idiot isn’t going to stop you.

“I didn’t want to do this…” You begin with a sigh, leaning forward against the desk and your coat opens up just enough for him to get a good look down your cleavage, “But I’m also here to visit my fiancé, mi prometido.” You bring your left hand up for him to see the ring that adorns your finger, “He’s been having some tough days and I wanted to surprise him. I’m sure you know him. Javier Peña.”

Now this gets his attention, snapping his gaze from ogling your cleavage to meet your eyes.

“Ah, si, Javier Peña. El jefe de la DEA.”

You nod, seeing his resolve dissipating, and he lazily waves his hand, signaling that you’re good to go up.

“Muchas gracias señor, que tenga buena noche.”

Fuck. Yes. Your nerves morph into excitement as you step into the elevator, hitting the button that goes to his floor.

Pretending to be his to a complete stranger has put you further into a mood, feeling your pulse quickening at the idea of doing it again. Of deceiving the world, warping reality to play into your delusions of being happily engaged to a man who doesn’t even know what you look like.

The elevator comes to a stop, the silver doors opening up to a narrow hallway with various rooms and offices on either side. If you recall correctly, his is further down the hall which is perfect because you need to set your belongings down before making your grand entrance.

You find a place for your things behind the stairwell door, knowing that’s how you’re going to make your escape tonight. You didn’t want to walk past the security guard again and you didn’t want to give him enough time to chase you down into the elevator.

You strip the satin dress, stuffing it into your bag and leaving you just in your undergarments. The polaroids you took are nestled into an envelope and put into the pocket of your trench coat once you have it back on, pulling out your mask and gently bringing it over your face. You apply one final stroke of red lipstick and slip the mesh gloves over your fingers before sneaking your way down the hall.

You press your back against the wall, the tap of your heels muted due to the carpeted floor. Fluttering your eyes close, you force your brain to focus on sound— trying to discern if he is here alone or if he has company.

After a few minutes of listening, you come to the conclusion that he is alone so you just barely poke your head around the corner, eyes scanning the dark room.

It looks like a typical office. Desks sprawled about, a bigger one at the front which you assume to be the secretary’s. The usual fluorescents are dimmed, bathing the room in a transparent darkness.

Across the space is his personal office. It looks like a giant fishbowl at the end of the room, giant windows lining every wall. The blinds are open, giving you a good view of him sitting at the edge of his desk, the phone pressed up to his ear while his large hand nurses a glass of his favorite amber liquor, the familiar cigarette hanging from pointer and middle finger.

You hum diligently. How is he always so fucking handsome?

With catlike suaveness, you move across the room and closer to his office, noticing that the door is ajar, giving you the opportunity to listen in on the call.

Your eyes flit up to the analog clock that hangs on the opposite wall. They’re about to move in on Miguel.

The tension of this moment, the pure suspense does nothing but aid you and your sexual desires. Whatever news he gets, whether it’s good or bad, you’ll be here to console him… with open arms, and open legs, and an open mouth.

Now that you’re closer, you get a better look at him in his typical work outfit. Rolled up white button up, midnight blue slacks and a loose tie. You wonder if he took off the jacket recently or if he’s been walking around like this for a few hours.

Small details like that matter to you.

You can’t make out the garbling coming from the phone, but you do see the way he exhales and how his shoulders drop. He closes his eyes letting his wispy lashes fan across his skin. Tension rolls off his body in pure relief as he hears that Miguel Rodríguez has finally been arrested and Salcedo was able to get his family safe.

He returns the phone to the receiver after a few moments, his thick fingers dragging along the plastic and the simple action has a puddle gathering in your panties.

Standing, he makes his way to the large window that overlooks the downtown area of the capitol, the bustling nightlife illuminating the black night sky.

His back is to you, much like the first time you did this dance, smoke from his cigarette curling around him as he takes lengthy drags in self reflection.

You just watch him, once more under his spell while you remain crouched in the shadows.

He’s been through so much, you know this. All the shit with Escobar, getting into bed with drug dealers and murderers just to catch him, only to be taken off right at the end then returning to finish off Cali.

God that must have been so… depressing. You wish you would have known him then, before the job molded him into more of a cynic.

You just want to comfort and hold him. To love him with every molecule of your existence.

Don’t worry, mi amor, I’m right here.

With that, you make your appearance, slowly standing and opening the door further.

The shift in the air at your presence has the hairs on the back of his neck standing and he turns his head to the side, catching your silhouette from his peripheral.

“Hola, gatita.”

His voice is smooth and it drips straight to your clit.

“Hey handsome.”

You close the door behind you, leaning against it as he fully faces you. His brown eyes scan you from head to toe before he moves to sit in the large chair behind his desk, stubbing out his cigarette against the overfilled ashtray.

“You know…” He grunts out, resting his forearm atop of his head lazily as he leans back, “I prayed tonight’s operation would play out as planned. Not because of the metaphorical nail in Cali’s coffin, but in hopes that the win would lure you out.”

“Is that so?” Your heart is racing at his words and his evident craving for you. You try not falter as you slowly make your way around his office, shutting the blinds as you go.

There’s six windows. You’ve got five more to go.

“Mhm,” he hums, glossy eyes following you around the small space, “I just got confirmation that Miguel is in cuffs. On his way to Bogotá. And not even a few minutes later… well, here you are.”

“Here I am…” you flirt, moving on to the next window.

Then the fourth… third…

“How did you know?”

Only two more until you’re secluded in a little bubble of privacy.

“Call it a woman's intuition.”

His jaw ticks, not liking the answer but also not making a fuss out of it. Yet. He wants to enjoy you tonight, to become the keeper of time so he can drag out the hours and devote himself wholly to you.

He’s missed you entirely too much. It’s a different feeling, this yearning that nips at him. Hardly ever does he think twice about the women he sleeps with.

But there’s something about you and how you popped up in his life so suddenly. How you turned his world on its head.

A kitten size hole has been left in his heart since you left him on his bedroom floor like a toy you weren’t interested in playing with anymore.

You finish shutting the blinds, turning to face him as he manspreads himself out on his leather chair, rubbing his palm along his clothed thigh. It makes you want to pounce on it, to rub your wet pussy all over him in the same way you had gotten yourself off on his pillow.

You can practically feel his muscles contracting, the slight flex snapping a sharp orgasm out of you.

“How are you going to thank me tonight, gatita?” His demeanor is vastly different than last time; he’s exuberating some of that dominance you know he possesses.

You remain silent, your gloved hand digging in the pocket of your coat as you pull out the envelope with your pictures in it, bringing it up to teasingly wave around.

His name is neatly written in cursive against the paper and his brows raise in surprise. He hadn’t expected an actual, tangible token of appreciation.

“This is for all your troubles. I know how hard it’s been in your world recently.”

He doesn’t know what to make of that. Granted, anyone can observe that his job is fucking difficult without knowing the specifics.

But it’s the way you said it, as if you know more than what you should.

You place the envelope in between your teeth, some of your red lipstick smudging against it as your gaze remains locked on his. Your hands make work of the belt that’s kept your trench coat closed, tugging at it until it’s undone.

The air is charged in pure lustful electricity as the fabric falls from your shoulders and pools around your feet.

“Congratulations on your arrest, agente.”

The grip on his whiskey glass tightens, golden eyes turning an onyx color as he drinks in your scandalous appearance like a man who’s been denied the basic necessity of water his entire life.

“You’re killing me here, bebita.”

You giggle, scrunching your nose beneath the mask and the sound of your flirty laugh has his lips pulling up into a small smile.

“Come closer. Let me get a better look at you.”

You comply obediently, placing one foot in front of the other before he abruptly stops you.

“Gatea como lo hiciste la última vez.”

Oh shit, your legs turn into jello at the command and immediately you fall to your knees, feeling the scratchy carpet through your stockings.

“Good girl. Me encanta cuando haces caso.” He praises and you moan softly, crawling towards him on your hands and knees, the envelope still between your teeth.

He takes a sip of his drink, still lounging and keeping a cool demeanor, yet not relenting with the heavy stare he’s laying on you.

His eyes make out every curve of your body, how the shimmer from your lotion makes you glimmer like a shooting star. If he could close his eyes and make a wish right now, he’d wish to know who you really are.

You stop once you’re in between his legs and he stares at you for a good long minute before leaning forward, finishing off whatever was left of his whiskey and setting the empty glass aside.

His thumb and index fingers pinch your chin, moving your jaw to tilt upward so he can look down into your lovely eyes. The pair he sees every time he closes his own.

“Let’s see what you’ve brought me.”

He pulls the envelope from your mouth, your saliva leaving it damp but he doesn’t give a damn.

He opens it up, eyebrows quirking at the sight of the polaroid photos as he carefully analyzes each and every single one.

You’re hanging on to every reaction he gives, the way his eyes map every inch of your figure and how you photographed yourself for him.

It’s there, in the pictures, that he sees it. The ring. His brows pull together in confusion, his gaze flickering down to your hands that are resting on your thighs.

“Let me see your left hand, baby.”

The statement has a warmth blossoming in your stomach. You’re certain he can see your heartbeat pounding against your chest.

Tentatively you bring your hand up, resting it on his knee.

He sets the photos on his desk then delicately removes the glove, calloused fingers taking your hand in his as he eyes the beautiful ring.

“This wasn’t here last time… ¿te comprometiste, gatita? Been giving that dirty mouth and pussy to someone else, hmm?” He places a kiss on the diamond, his dark eyes now boring into you.

Your thighs clench together at the intensity of the moment and you shake your head earnestly, wanting to dispel those thoughts from his mind entirely.

There is no one else. Just you.

“No. It’s all for you Javi. I just—” Your words get jumbled up, lost on your tongue as the sexy facade slips for a moment while you try and find the right words to explain your possessive, matrimonial fantasy to him.

“All for me, huh?” He’s getting a kick out of your nervous state, dropping your hand and motioning for you to give him the other as he takes the glove off of it too.

“All for you. I’m yours.” You say in a shaky breath, “This ring… it’s my way of pretending that it’s all real… that you’re mine too.” That you want me the same way I want you.

Silence cloaks the both of you, his face set in an unreadable expression.

“You don’t have to pretend, gatita. It can be real. Just let me see you.” He goes to unmask you again but you turn your head to the side to keep him from doing so.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It won’t be fun anymore.” Translation: I’m fucking scared that you’re not going to want the real me.

“So? We could have so much more fun without all this.” His pointer finger traces the lacey cat ears, “Not that I mind this. It’s sexy as hell.”

You look at him again, seeing the sincerity in his stare but you just can’t bring yourself to do it.

“No,” you repeat, a little harsher, “And if you try to take it off again I will disappear and you will never see me again.”

You rise from the floor, trying to regain some of the control that’s slipped from your grasp. His jaw sets, hands coming up to grip your waist, pulling your body to him until his curved nose runs along your belly.

You gasp softly.

“Tan mala mi gatita bella. Luckily for you I like to work for it.”

He begins to place open mouthed kisses all over your midriff, biting the garter belt and pulling on it so it snaps back onto your skin with a delicious sting.

Your head falls onto your shoulder, enjoying the feeling of his lips. You bring your fingers down to run through his hair, enjoying how silken it is.

His strong hands move from your waist around to your ass, digging his nails into the supple skin while he kneads it, groaning at how soft you are.

“Didn’t get to touch on this pretty body last time. M’not gonna make that mistake again. Bend over the desk, muñequita. Ahora.” He slaps your ass harshly and you squeal, feeling a fresh wave of wetness soaking your folds.

He relinquishes his hold on you, rolling his chair back to give you room to situate yourself in the position he wants to see you in.

You bend at the waist, your heels making the posture look extra sensual as your breasts press against the wooden surface.

You hold your breath, anticipating what he does next.

He gets up from the chair, his touch light as a feather as he traces from the top of your spine down to where the arch in your back is. His hands then go to grip your wrists, moving them so they’re pinned at your lower back.

“Gonna have to keep those pretty pictures on me at all times, gatita. Can’t risk someone else seeing what’s mine. I’d have to kill them.”

His possessiveness further turns you on, and now you want for those pictures to fall in the wrong hands. Just to see how he’d react.

He leans over you, placing kisses on the back of your shoulders, moving your hair to the side to expose more of your flushed skin to him. You turn your head, resting your cheek against the desk as you briefly make eye contact with him.

“That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” You reply and he smirks, kissing the corner of your mouth.

His lips trail down the same path he just traced, working his way down until he’s kneeled behind you, his breath fanning over your sopping pussy.

Your hips twitch instinctively, the pressure between your legs becoming unbearable. You need to feel him on you, whether it’s that sinful mouth of his or those deliciously thick fingers. Something, anything.

As if reading your mind, he brings his hand up to grope your backside enticingly, running his fingers beneath the band of your stockings, your skin feeling like melting butter beneath his touch.

“Been thinking about this since you left me last time. I should have kept you from leaving, should have buried myself in between your pretty legs instead.”

You lick your lips, “Then stop talking and do it.”

He wastes no time in landing a harsh slap against your ass, the skin rippling beneath the touch and you yelp out in both surprise and excitement.

“Eres una gatita tan traviesa. Voy a tener que domesticarté nena.”

Another harsh slap, then another, then another. With each sting you feel yourself getting closer and closer to your orgasm which is a bit pathetic since he hasn’t even touched you like that and you’re already a buzzing, dripping fucking mess.

Each mewl that falls from your lips urges him to continue until he’s satisfied with the flush on each of your cheeks.

His fingers then move to fist the flimsy material of your panties, harshly tugging it until the thin fabric disappears in between your folds and the slight burn from it digging into your sensitive flesh does wonders for the throbbing at your core.

“Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy, bebita, just like I knew it’d be. Look at her, all wet for me. You like getting spanked, don’t you?”

You moan loudly, completely at a loss for words as you nod your head, cheek still pressed to the desk.

“Use your words, sweetheart. Had so much to say last time.” His palm connects with your ass again, coaxing a verbal reply from you.

“Yes Javi, fuck I love being spanked. Love feeling your hands all over me.”

He hums in content, slowly pulling down the ruined underwear off your legs until you’re fully exposed to him. “Since you won’t let me see your gorgeous face, I want you to show off this sweet cunt of yours. Spread her open for me, gatita.”

Exhaling shakily, you move your hands from your lower back until you've got a good grip on your own body, spreading your pussy open so he can see all of you.

For a split second you feel self conscious, not being able to see his reaction as you lay open and vulnerable to him.

That dissipates quickly, however, when you hear his satisfied keen then feel his nose skimming against the plush skin of the back of your thighs, kissing your wrist.

“Now I’m going to taste you.” He repeats your own words back to you, his voice low and deep and fuck are you in love with this man.

His hot, wet tongue licks the length of your slit and you can’t control the noise that you make, sighing his name out. Your skin erupts in chills when he does it again, the coarse hairs of his mustache prickling against your swollen cunt.

“Tan dulce. Dunno how you’re going to pull me off of her.”

And with that, he fully immerses himself in your pussy. He’s desperate, licking every inch of you that he can, savoring the tangy taste of your sex. He sucks onto your folds before hardening his tongue and rapidly flicking the tip against your clit. This has you struggling to keep yourself spread open for him, writhing at his ministrations.

“Oh my fucking god Javier your tongue, holy shit…” You babble, absolutely blissed out as his strong nose nuzzles against your entrance, the tip of it inside of you.

He groans, absolutely pussy drunk, rendering him a scrambled mess as he further buries his face into you, his big strong hands working your thighs, this time actually ripping your stockings.

Making out with your pussy passionately, your arousal drips from his mouth and down his jaw. He pulls back, a stringy glob of your fluids following like a cut open aloe vera plant. His thumb brushes against your clit as he spits onto your cunt, smearing his saliva all over before he slips two fingers inside you.

You clench immediately, crying out his name as his digits stretch you open. “So fucking tight gatita. You gonna squeeze my dick like this?”

Your knees just about give out at the promise of feeling his impressive girth inside of you. You hadn’t planned to actually fuck him tonight, not wanting to spoil the erotic nature of your visits by just giving him your pussy.

But now, as he’s ravishing and fingering you with such vigor and your vision beginning to blur as a sign of your incoming orgasm, you’re back tracking on that decision entirely.

You need him to fuck you. You might just die if he doesn’t.

He curls his fingers at your lack of response, the tips of them brushing up against that spot that makes you jolt, your chest rising from the desk while your thighs tighten.

“Stay put and answer the fucking question,” His free hand moves to roughly push you back down, his mouth joining his fingers on your pussy.

“Fuck yes baby. Gonna squeeze you til I milk every single drop out of that fat fucking cock.” You whimper like you’re in an X rated film, rocking your hips back against him as your stomach tightens. You’re so close.

Content with your answer, he slips in a third finger and harshly sucks your sensitive clit into his mouth, moving his head side to side. That’s enough to have you spill all over him, your body trembling while a mixture of moans and sobs and cries of his name echo out of you like a cock-obsessed woman that needs to be sedated.

Your acrylics dig into the skin of your ass, leaving crescent shaped marks on the flesh.

He continues his relentless assault on your cunt, eating you out through your orgasm. The blood rushing in your ears keeps you from hearing all the filthy things he’s chanting against your skin.

The ring looks so beautiful next to your spent pussy, querida. All mine.

Pulling his fingers from you once you’ve come down from your high, he places a final, more gentle kiss against your clit and you twitch from the oversensitivity.

“Did so good muñeca.” He rises from his kneeled position, the soft sounds of his joints popping having you blink away some of the haziness from your eyes, your body completely limp against his desk.

His hands run along the length of your body before he’s tenderly flipping you over so you’re on your back, the edge of the desk uncomfortably digging into your waist.

Noticing this, he clears some space to make room then lifts you until you’re fully sprawled out on his desk looking absolutely wrecked.

His mustache is damp with your release, lips swollen from him losing himself in the taste of you and drinking all that you have to offer him. Brown eyes remain dark, gaze swimming with longing.

“So handsome…” you mutter dreamily as he hovers over you, his thumb gently caressing the part of your cheek that isn’t covered by the mask.

“I wish you would let me get a good look at you, gatita.” He leans in, kissing your chin then your jaw until he’s trailing down onto the soft skin of your neck.

“Javi…” you sigh out, not only because his lips feel fucking divine but also because you don’t want to have this conversation again.

“I know, I know. You’ll disappear and I’ll never see you again. I got it the first time.”

He cups your breasts in his hands, gently kneading them as he licks down your sternum. He snakes a hand behind you and you arch your back, letting him expertly undo your bra.

The straps are delicately pulled down your shoulder until the garment is completely off, your nipples pebbling as the cool air of his office nips at them.

He wastes no time in wrapping his pouty lips around the sensitive peak and suckling softly. His tongue traces around your areola, grazing his teeth against your nipple which causes you to whine and bring your fingers to entangle in his hair, pressing your chest deeper onto his face.

Repeating the action on the other, he lavishes your breasts with attention from his skilled muscle. His facial hair is an added stimulant to your pleasure and your clit pulsates, body ready to have him inside of you.

You roll your hips, feeling his erection brush up against your naked pussy and your breath hitches in your throat.

It’s then that you realize that he’s still fully clothed while you’re practically naked. The only things that adorn your body are your ripped stockings and the garter belt along with your heels.

Tugging him away from your tits, you bring his face up to yours, noses brushing against each other. You can smell your sex on his lips, so you lean in to kiss him, tasting yourself and moaning.

“I need you to fuck me, agent.” Your lips brush against his as you speak, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer to you.

His chest rumbles at your request, hands antsy as he caresses and gropes; memorizing all your curves and the feel of your body.

“S’that what my gatita wants? For me to fuck her sweet little pussy?”

Your answer comes in the form of another passionate kiss with a nod, your tongue intertwining with his then sucking on it softly. He’s such a good fucking kisser, you could make out with him until your lungs burn from the lack of oxygen.

He pulls back, quickly beginning to unbutton his shirt in which you assist him, your french tipped nails taking over while he makes work of getting his pants undone and off.

Sliding his shirt off his broad shoulders, you pull him back down to you, lips quickly kissing all over the freshly exposed skin, savoring the warmth radiating off him.

You feel his naked cock pressing against your wet slit and your head cants back, a breathless whimper pushing past your lips while he lets out a deep groan.

“You make such pretty noises, muñeca. Wanna hear them all the time.”

He rubs his plush head against the length of your sopping pussy, collecting the wetness of your arousal.

“Gonna let me fuck this pussy raw, gatita? For all I know you’ve been spreading your legs for half the fuckin’ city.”

Your head spins, body overstimulated by his touch and the words that leave him.

“Need to feel all of you, Javi. I think about it all the time. No one else. Just you.” You whisper out, once more clenching your thighs around his hips and rolling your own to entice him into slipping inside your tight and needy heat.

He curses, his teasing finally getting to him as he slowly sinks his thick, hard cock inside of you.

You both sigh out in pleasure in unison, your fleshy walls contracting around his length and swallowing him in, almost in the same manner in which your throat had all those nights ago.

Every part of your body is eager to feel him somehow, your obsession and insatiable craving convoluting your being into nothing more than just something to bring him pleasure.

“Goddamn nena te sientes tan rica. Este cuerpecito está hecho para mí.”

He still hasn’t bottomed out and you feel so incredibly full. Your wet dreams have nothing against the real thing.

“Javiiii, I need you to move. To fuck me hard and fast.” While you know having him rock into you slowly and sensually would feel better than winning the fucking lottery, you need to drop your own self respect and have him take you like the whores he’s so fond of.

He bares his teeth, straightening his posture so he’s no longer hovering over you. He readjusts your legs to sit higher on his waist.

“Was goin’ slow to give you the chance to get used to me baby pero la gatita quiere mas and I can’t help but spoil you, hermosa.”

Without warning, he snaps his hips into yours and you gasp loudly, the burn of him stretching you out adds vicious heat to your already hot cunt.

“Oh just like that Javi please…” you sob as he begins to fuck you just as you asked. Hard and fast.

“Pobrecita. Can’t even take what she’s asking for.” He fucking pouts, mocking you and you’re certain that you’ve died and gone straight to horny heaven.

The desk moves with every thrust; pens, papers and other items hitting the floor.

He roughly takes ahold of your bouncing tits, using them as leverage to keep splitting you open on his cock, your arousal leaving a creamy ring against his flesh and the sight has him going feral.

“Fuck this is the best pussy I’ve ever fucked, querida. So tight and fucking perfect. Bet you’ve never been fucked like this before, huh? S’probably why you came to me. Knew I would take good care of you.”

Your hands grip the edge of the desk, knuckles flushed, to keep you from falling off. The scratchy hairs on the base of his cock brush against your sensitive clit, having you shut your eyes out of pure ecstasy.

You never want this to end.

“Abre esos ojos gatita, you’re already denying me so much by not letting me see your lovely face. At least let me look into those beautiful eyes while I fuck you.” One of his hands leaves your breast, lightly slapping you to get your attention back on him.

As if it ever wavered.

Your eyes blink open, the slight sting across your cheek only bringing you closer to your orgasm.

“D-Do that again.” You plead with a small smirk, squeezing your walls around him and he grunts, slapping your face again.

You moan and he matches your smirk, basking in your reaction.

“Ay nena, eres mi dream girl. Where the fuck have you been all my life?”

His praise paired with the harsh snap of his hips driving his cock deeper is enough to have stars blinding your eyesight as your pussy tightens and your orgasm begins to shoot up your spine.

“Aqui, Javi. I’m right here baby.” Your words slur, absolutely cock drunk.

His torso looks perfectly fucking sculpted, like a god walking amongst men. Different muscles tense and jolt at his movements; you want to bite into his triceps and lick all over his prominent collarbone.

He shifts again, this time throwing your legs over his shoulders and the change in angle has you moaning out like a seasoned pornstar. He places gentle kisses against the inside of your knee, trailing his tongue against the nylon of your stockings before doing the same on the other leg.

This has your pussy feeling tighter and you watch as his own orgasm begins to overtake him.

It’s the hottest thing in the world.

Your left hand trails down the length of your torso until it’s at your pulsating clit, the tips of your fingers beginning to rub small circles against the pearl.

His dark eyes fall onto your movements, his tongue running along his teeth slowly.

“Tan hermosa, nena. Look at how that ring looks against your pussy. Do you touch yourself pretending it’s me, tu esposo, gatita?”

You nod, no longer feeling shy about your perverse delusion of belonging to him in a matrimonial sense. “Si, all the time. Think about you coming home to our house and fucking me on our bed. Ay, Javi I’m about to cum.”

His balls clench, jaw ticking as he too begins to slip into this fantasy of yours. “I’d take such good care of you baby. Make sure all of your needs are, fucking christ,” his thrusts stutter, “met. I’d do anything for you.”

And just like that, your orgasm topples over and your back archs off the desk at the intensity of it. Your vision spots, ears ringing as you douse his cock with your cum.

He fucks you through it, muffled words of praise not reaching you since you’re trying to focus on not passing out from pure bliss.

His cock twitches inside of you, feeling you come undone pulling euphoria out of him too.

“Where do you want it, gatita. You better tell me before I cum in this pussy and make you a mamita.”

Oh fuck, while the offer sounds enticing as hell, you know you need to think with a somewhat clear head so you just say, “Cum all over my clit, please.”

You don’t need to tell him twice, he pulls out just enough for the hot ribbons of his spend to messily land on your exposed clit, some of it getting on your knuckles and ring as you lazily rub it in.

He’s cursing up a storm, a tight grip on your thigh as he empties his balls all over your flesh.

You both are left panting, his cum dripping down your fingers and pussy onto his desk. Blinking slowly, you meet his gaze and bring your digits up to your mouth, sucking them in and humming in content at the taste of your mixed release.

“Sucia,” he spits out before falling to his knees again, giving you no time to fucking react as he buries his face in your freshly used cunt.

“Javier!” You shout, literally shout, as he eats your cum and his out of your sweet pussy. Your fingers shoot down to tangle in his mussed hair, yanking on it without caring if it pains him or not.

You don’t even realize it but you’re actually crying. The tears falling from the corners of your eyes beneath the mask and onto your cheek.

You’ve never felt this good. Never had a man, or anyone else for that manner, make you feel as sexy and wanted as the agent that’s currently in between your legs.

When he finally stands, you’re left an incoherent mess and all he does is smirk.

“We taste good, muñeca.”

You whimper, not knowing how the fuck you’re going to recover from this and if you’ll even make it down the flight of stairs that awaits you for your departure.

Javier’s after care consists of placing soft kisses all over you, whispering sweet words to help bring you back to him. He caresses you again, this time being mindful of your over sensitivity.

He kisses along your thighs and tummy then moves up to each breast. His fingers graze along your skin and when he’s finally at your mouth, your lips meet in a kiss that surpasses any of the other ones you’ve shared with him.

Your mask makes it a little awkward at first but neither of you seem to care, too lost in the feeling of the other. It’s sensual and slow, all the unspoken things felt between the two of you being relayed during this interlock.

He pulls back, resting his forehead against the lace and plastic of your kitten mask. Your red lipstick is smeared all over his handsome face.

The lust in his brown eyes has now been replaced with something else that you can’t quite put your finger on, and that’s enough to snap you out of your trance and you gently push at his chest.

“I have to go.”

He scoffs, not moving from over you, “You don’t.”

“I do, Javi.” You say, a little more forcefully, which gets him to pull away.

Your panties and bra are on the other side of the room and you slide from the desk to retrieve them, wobbling as you go.

You’re going to be feeling him for days.

“How many more times are we going to do this? What’s the endgame here?”

You pull your underwear up your legs, cringing at how uncomfortable the damp material feels against your swollen core.

“There is no endgame. We’re just messing around.”

With your bra back on, you move to retrieve your trench coat which means you have to face him now.

He’s leaning against his desk like he had been when you first arrived, pants undone but up on his hips again.

“So that’s it? You’re just going to sneak in whenever you need a good fuck?”

You laugh dryly, crossing the room to get your coat but he grabs you by the forearm once you pass him; halting you in your spot.

“Javier,” You warn.

“You’re breaking my fucking heart, baby.”

You stare at him, wanting nothing more than to rip the mask off and confess to him how much he means to you despite this being anything but a conventional relationship.

As delusional as you’ve tended to be as of late, you know he’s way out of your league. He doesn’t go after girls like you.

Girls that are easy to dismiss and forget in the pouring rain.

“Same rules as last time: you’re not going to follow me out or stop me. Are we clear?”

He tightens his grip on your arm and you narrow your eyes.

“Are we clear?”

He’s silent but finally lets go and you don’t hesitate to grab and put on your coat.

You’re so eager to leave that you don’t notice your press lanyard has slipped out of your pocket as you’re making your way to the door.

He stands from his seated position and you brace yourself for yet another attempt at him trying to change your mind.

But it doesn’t happen. Instead, you hear the flick of a lighter and that’s enough to get you to turn the doorknob and leave without another word.

Javier smokes the entire cigarette to calm his racing heart before he lazily begins to clean up the mess you two made in his office.

He’s lost in his thoughts, all consisting of you, until he spots the lanyard in the corner.

Picking it up, he looks at it quizzically before flipping it over. His jaw tightens once he sees your face, the familiarity of your lips and eyes luring him in.

He’s got a clear view now and it strikes him entirely, heart fluttering as he takes in your appearance.

He reads your name, as if tasting it on his tongue, and the outlet you work for out loud. He recognizes you from somewhere but he just can’t remember where.

This is going to pick at him like an unhealed scab. But at least Javier knows who you are now.

Of course she’s a reporter. Things are starting to make more sense.

Translations:

Identificación, por favor - Identification please

Lo siento, señorita. Regresa mañana - I'm sorry ma’am. Come back tomorrow

El jefe de la DEA - The head of the DEA

Muchas gracias señor, que tenga buena noche - Thank you very much sir, have a good night

Gatea como lo hiciste la última vez - Crawl like you did last time

bebita - baby girl

agente - agent

muñeca - doll

Me encanta cuando haces caso.

¿te comprometiste, gatita? - Are you engaged, kitten?

Tan mala mi gatita bella. - My beautiful kitten is so bad

Eres una gatita tan traviesa. Voy a tener que domesticarté nena. - You are such a naughty kitten. I'm going to have to tame you baby.

Tan dulce. - So sweet

Goddamn nena te sientes tan rica. Este cuerpecito está hecho para mí. - Goddamn baby you feel so good. This little body is made for me.

pero la gatita quiere mas - but the kitten wants more

Abre esos ojos gatita - open those eyes

esposo - husband

sucia - dirty

#javier peña smut #javier pena smut #pedro pascal #javier peña x reader #pedro pascal smut #javier peña x you #javier pena fic #javier peña fic #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfic #javier pena fanfic #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña narcos #I’D GIVE THIS PUSSY TO YOU 9 TO 5 5 TO 9 🗣️

290 notes · View notes

starmapz · 2 months ago

Text

what you know - ch1: fallen angel || r. sukuna

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

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. mutual pining. smut. slow burn. anxiety. tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 12.1k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || next chapter

You make a point of not judging a book by its cover. So, when paired with the college’s resident bad boy for the literal most important project of the year, you just nod to yourself. Of course, you’re aware of his very poor attendance record among other things you’ve heard about him. At the end of the day, the rest is all hearsay, so you’ll treat him the same as you would any other group project partner.

Searching around the lecture hall until your gaze lands on him, you shoot him a kind smile. You don’t expect him to return it, he practically always sports a disinterested or aloof expression and now is one of those times, it would seem. He’s wearing his usual oversized but fairly stylish shirt, baggy cargo pants and a leather jacket, even though it’s quite warm inside. One airpod sits in his ear, only half paying attention.

The two of you are practically polar opposites. You, who shows up to class ten minutes early, jots down every note you possibly can, and turns in projects a week early, not to mention your fairly preppy style, makes the two of you about as different as it gets. On top of that, there were moments where Sukuna would dip into a room late and you would wonder why he bothers paying for college at all. Does he even want to be here?

Turning back to your laptop, you decide you’ll set up some documents for your project to get ahead of everything and stop worrying about someone else’s life. You’ll just have to make the most of the project. Besides, Sukuna could be the best project partner you’ll ever work with.

Upon dismissal, you wait a moment for the room to clear before slinging your pale pink bag over your shoulder, holding your books to your chest and making your way up the lecture hall to where Sukuna’s seated.

“Hey, nice to meet you, I’m-”

“I know who you are,” he sighs. “I’m Sukuna.”

Rude. “Right,” you swallow, blinking twice as you attempt to clear your mind of the less than ideal first impression. “So, I was thinking since we need to analyze three paintings, I can choose one, you can choose one and we can do the work separately and then work together on the last one-”

“Sure, whatever.”

You purse your lips. That was easy. Or does he just not care? Brushing off the thought, you nod slowly. “Okay. Great,” you mumble somewhat nervously, unsure if the reason your voice is wavering is out of fear that you’re doomed from the project, or the fact that Sukuna is hardly giving you the time of day and it’s somewhat imposing.

Finding the nerve to meet his gaze, you find that it seems he’s barely paying attention. His deep near-crimson eyes accented by tattoos are trained off to the side, one hand in his pocket and the other is fiddling with an unlit cigarette. You have half a mind to wonder if he’s heard a damn thing you’ve said given the airpod still hanging from his pierced lobe.

“Do you, um,” you worry your lip between your teeth as you mentally reset to stop yourself from stammering. “Do you want to go over anything before we do our parts?”

“Nah.”

Nah? Oh my god, you’re doomed.

“Okay. No problem. Um, why don’t we just meet after class next Friday?”

Sukuna balances the unlit cigarette between his lips, shuffling to pull out his phone and open his calendar. “Sure,” he agrees, his words muffled by the cigarette.

“Great! I think we’ll want to start working on the third piece next week so I’ll choose the first painting and get started on it and then we can choose the last painting next week,” you say, putting the date in your calendar as well. “Oh! And we should exchange numbers.”

He hums in agreement, not even giving you the time for words now but he does give you his number. Realizing you aren’t about to get anywhere else with him, you shoot him a wry smile and make your way out the door.

Oh Shoko is so gonna hear about this.

–

Before you know it, next Friday comes around and when you turn your gaze to where Sukuna usually sits, you realize he just isn’t there.

Well that’s… lovely.

Leaning forward on your elbows, you groan with your face in your hands. This project was sure to be a nightmare at this rate. You could already see yourself going to talk to the professor about how Sukuna hadn’t done an ounce of work and it was all done by you.

Opening your laptop, you stare at the document you’d put together for Persistence of Memory, which may be an obvious choice but you love the painting too much to choose a different one.

Maybe you should just choose the third one on your own.

Maybe you should just choose the second one on your own…

Fuck.

You sigh, glancing back at Sukuna’s empty seat once more, and to your surprise just as you begin to give up hope upon seeing his seat empty, he ambles through the door in an oversized hoodie and sweats as though the lecture didn’t end fifteen minutes ago.

His gaze meets yours and he tilts his chin upwards at you, a silent message for you to take a seat near him.

Gathering your belongings, you take your laptop over to him, setting it on the table beside him in the mostly-empty lecture hall.

“Hey,” you greet him, receiving a grunt in response. “I was starting to think you were gonna flake out on me,” you joke with a somewhat nervous laugh when you meet his striking gaze. His disinterested eyes bore into you as he examines your nervous expression, and it’s then that you notice that- “are you okay?”

He sighs, heavy with exasperation, running a hand over his sharp features. His hair is still damp, not spiked up as usual as it hangs over his forehead, he has dark circles that make him look like he hasn’t slept in years, and his leg is shaking up and down like he’s got somewhere else to be.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles, unimpressed that you’ve noticed how horribly disheveled he looks, but he brushes it off. “You got somethin’ to show me?”

“I, um-” you pause, casting him one last uncertain glance at the fact that oh my god, he looks sick? “Yeah, so I chose a Salvador Dalì piece,” you tell him, nudging your laptop towards him so that he can see your analysis.

He casts a glance at it, and it’s then that you realize that he doesn’t seem to have a laptop on him. Hm.

He seems to have noticed your confusion as he pulls out his phone, fiddling with it for a moment or two before setting it in front of you. “Had to do something before our meeting, so I don’t have my computer right now, but here’s what I’ve got so far.”

You flash him a curious glance before staring at his phone screen, reading through his notes quietly. The Fallen Angel painted by Alexandre Cabanel. You can’t say you’re shocked, but it’s a good choice. His analysis is short and needs more detail, but it’s a good start and fairly insightful. Sukuna lacks elegance with his words, but this is just the research phase anyway. Okay, not a bad start.

Maybe this won’t be so bad.

To your surprise, although he’s mostly quiet, he gives you some input on your analysis and hums in agreement when you ask him to write a bit more in certain areas to match your research. He doesn’t even seem that bothered by it, only mildly inconvenienced. You would almost argue that he was agreeable if you couldn’t feel the side-eye you were receiving from him.

When you finally settle on C. Allan Gilbert’s All is Vanity for your final piece, Sukuna excuses himself quite quickly and makes his way out, grunting in agreement when you ask him to meet you at the same time next week. You had hoped to get some research done with him but this would have to do, and hopefully you would have more time next week.

Only… when next week comes, he doesn’t show. You lean over the desk where Sukuna usually sits, figuring maybe he’s just late again, but as the clock rolls past the thirty minute mark, you begin to lose hope. Tapping your fingers rhythmically over the desk as you stare at the clock, you resign to texting him.

3:39 PM || You: hey! just wondering if youre on your way

Another twenty minutes of staring at the sent text does you no good and you can’t really get much done without Sukuna’s portion, so with a sigh, you push yourself up and call Shoko to go out with you. At least now you can make the most of your Friday night, even if it’s a bit earlier than intended.

–

“He just completely no-showed, huh?”

“Not even a text,” you confirm with a groan, keeping your attention on the road as you make your way to the bar by Shoko’s house. The afternoon sun glints on the windshield of your car, warming the interior of the vehicle rather comfortably for the early autumn day.

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Shoko hums at the thought.

“I really wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, I mean honestly his research wasn’t too bad,” you sigh, casting a glance at your best friend.

“Could still be salvageable. Maybe try asking him what works for him?” She suggests with a shrug, leaning back in her seat as she stares blankly out the windshield.

“I don’t know. I think if I leave things up to him, he just won’t do it.”

“Oh, because he’s been so good at showing up when you organize things?” She chides with a raised brow.

You suppose you can’t really argue with that, so you groan in response. “At least he has a good taste in art.”

“Yeah?”

“A little edgy, but yeah. He chose The Fallen Angel, you know the one that-” you pause, moving your arm over your face to mimic the famous painting while keeping your eyes on the road and one hand on the wheel.

“Oh yeah, I think I know the one,” she agrees with a chuckle at your description. “I think I’ve seen-” she pauses as your car comes to a slow halt at a stop light. You shoot her a questioning glance when she remains quiet. “Speak of the devil. Isn’t that him?”

“Sukuna?” You question, leaning forward to catch a glimpse of whatever Shoko’s looking at.

Sure enough, the pink-haired man in question is on the sidewalk along with two young kids. He seems frustrated, his hand flying in the air in obvious exasperation and you wonder what his relation to them is. Your first thought is that they could be his, but the older of the two kids is just a bit too old to make that assumption.

Still, you didn’t take Sukuna as someone enthusiastic at the thought of being a babysitter.

“Shit, that is him,” Shoko confirms for herself. When the light turns green, the car jolts forward as you pull through a lane abruptly to turn and grab street parking very suddenly. “Woah, what are you-? You can’t be serious.”

“I-” your words die in your throat. Are you serious? What are you doing? It’s not like you’re friends. Are you here to confront him about not showing up? No, you aren’t really even mad, just frustrated at most. Your mind flashes back to how he’d looked the week before, like he could pass out at any moment, and you wonder if you’re here out of concern. “I don’t know,” you mumble, parking your car and hopping out.

“You are serious,” she mutters more to herself than you as she watches you leave the car with a sigh, following a short distance behind you.

The day is relatively warm for the early fall, the sun shining high overhead and providing a comfortable escape from the brisk breeze. Leaves are losing their vibrant green colors overhead, replaced with beautiful hues of yellows, oranges, and reds, and the sound of them rustling in the breeze is refreshing.

From around the corner, you can just barely make out Sukuna’s words. You were right to assume he was frustrated.

“Give it back to your brother,” he instructs, his voice a near-growl, but as the younger of the two kids whines in complaint, you can tell neither kid seems all that intimidated even by the almost seven-foot-tall man made of pure muscle who towers over them.

“No!”

“C’mon brat, I don’t have time for this,” he hisses out, voice rife with irritation. As you round the corner, lightly jogging up to Sukuna, you watch his gaze slowly turn to land on you and Shoko, his eyes widening for a moment as his expression shifts to surprise. For a moment you even think you see horror flash through his eyes, but he masks it all with his usual disinterested expression before you have time to think much about it.

“Sukuna?”

“That’s me,” he grumbles, running a hand through his tousled hair in exasperation.

“Hi! I’m Yuji!” The younger of the two boys bounds up to you, blatantly ignoring Sukuna as he waves to Shoko behind you.

You grin at him, kneeling down to his height as you greet him with your name. His eyes are filled with delight and as you get back to your feet, you put the pieces together. These must be Sukuna’s little brothers. Although the older of the two doesn’t particularly look like him, the youngest is a near carbon copy of Sukuna, only lacking his tattoos, piercings, and his signature attitude.

“What a cutie,” you coo at the little boy, who can’t be any older than five. The older of the two boys doesn’t resemble Sukuna in the same way Yuji does, with sunken eyes and unkempt long brown hair, he looks to be about eleven… and he also looks like he’s about to burst into tears.

“Don’t feed his ego,” Sukuna huffs, watching you interact with Yuji with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Look! Look!” Yuji excitedly holds his hands out to you. You recognize an old GameBoy in his hands, something you’re sure you have hidden away somewhere in your own apartment from your childhood.

“I had one of those when I was young,” you tell him, glancing up at Sukuna whose left brow slowly raises.

“Really? Do you like Pokemon?”

“Yuji, that’s enough. Leave her alone and give it back to your brother,” Sukuna instructs, his frustration laced within his words.

“No! Choso’s playing it wrong,” he argues.

Sukuna looks like he’s about to burst. If he were a balloon, he’d be floating dangerously close to a pin, and it’s in that moment that you finally get a good look at him. If you thought he looked sickly last week, he looks like he’s about to collapse now.

His eyes are sunken, skin pale, and although he’s making an effort to mask it, his focus seems as though it’s drifting while he simply stands there. His hair is disheveled in a way that doesn’t look intentional and there’s a stain on the abdomen of his shirt. Which, to your surprise, is also a uniform for a local food distribution warehouse. He’s wearing cargo pants, steel-toed boots, and a blue polo shirt. It’s a strange look for him, but you’re more concerned about the fact that he seems to be swaying, he’s so tired.

“I wasn’t playing it wrong!” Choso argues back, leaping at his brother as they get into a scuffle, and it’s barely a split second before Yuji is in tears alongside Choso.

“Fucking-” Sukuna cuts himself off, taking a step forward.

Instinctively, you step in before Sukuna needs to. “Hey, hey!” You coo softly, leaning back down to them. “Why don’t you both play together?” Yuji’s sobs don’t stop at your suggestion, although Choso backs away from the younger boy, listening to what you have to say with a heartbreakingly sad expression over something so simple. Life was so much easier at their age.

“How?” Yuji asks through sobs.

“Why don’t you take turns? It’s Pokemon, right?” You ask, earning a nod from Yuji as he sniffles and wipes his face, his sleeve absolutely covered in tears and snot already. “Why don’t you pass it over between each battle?”

Yuji stares at you skeptically, as though the little boy cannot possibly fathom sharing. Choso quietly waits for his brother to come to a conclusion as his sniffles subside, all the while Sukuna just watches the entire scene unfold with a furrowed brow.

“Okay,” Yuji finally agrees in a small voice. “But I go first!”

To your surprise, Choso seems fine with this as they both crowd around the game.

When you stand back up, you’re happy to find that Sukuna looks absolutely relieved.

“Fuck, thought I’d never hear the end of that,” he mumbles, making you wonder if that’s his begrudging way of thanking you.

You chuckle quietly, crossing your arms over your chest with a small shrug. “I’m good with kids,” you tell him. He eyes you for a moment, humming, but doesn’t say anything. After a brief silence, you glance back up at him to find the tall man’s tired gaze still boring into you.

“Ask,” he instructs.

Your brow raises. “Ask?”

“You wanna ask where I was today, right?”

That obvious, huh? “I did wait for an hour.”

A hint of a smirk graces his lips as he snidely comments, “y’know, I’m sure I’ve had other women wait longer.” You aren’t sure how he expects you to react, but the way you raise a brow and don’t entertain his lewd implications clearly doesn’t encourage him to continue. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he clicks his tongue and turns his head away from you. “Had to pick up a shift at work. Was gonna text but the little brat broke my phone yesterday.”

“Sorry, Kuna,” Yuji’s voice is small as you realize he’s been listening the whole time now that Choso is holding the GameBoy. His cheeks are puffy and red still from crying, but god he sure is a mini Sukuna.

“Kunaaaa?” You coo teasingly at the absolutely adorable nickname.

“He can’t say my name,” Sukuna grumbles, suppressing his irritation as best as he can, given that you did save him from further arguments with his brothers and he did already test his limits with you anyway. Still, his nose wrinkles in distaste at the nickname as he stares at the ground with a huff.

“That’s so cute!” You practically squeal, eyes bright as you grin at the hulking mass of anger and maybe even embarrassment as his cheeks heat up before your eyes.

“Shut up,” he hisses, still avoiding your gaze.

“It’s alright, by the way. We can figure out another time to meet.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll text-” he cuts himself off, blinking at the realization that he has no phone. “I’ll email you or some shit.”

“Email. Right,” you sarcastically tease with a tilt of your head. A muscle in Sukuna’s jaw visibly twitches and he huffs.

“Take it or leave it.”

You raise your hands in the air defensively, unable to help your amused smile. As silence falls over the both of you, interrupted only by Choso’s quiet commentary to Yuji about their game, you let your expression morph to one of concern again. Your lips part to ask if Sukuna’s alright, but he beats you to it.

“I’m fine.” His voice is low and strained and you both know you don’t believe him.

“You look it,” you challenge him sarcastically.

Sukuna’s jaw tenses as he stares you down as if daring you to challenge him again. Luckily for him, you’re willing to let it go.

“Do you guys need a ride somewhere?” You ask, glancing back in the direction of your car. Shoko is probably itching to get to the bar, though surely she won’t mind your offer given that the man in front of you looks like he could melt into a puddle if it only meant he could sleep.

“No.”

“Yeah!”

Sukuna and Yuji stare at one another as they both respond at the same time.

“No. We’re fine,” Sukuna growls, narrowing his eyes at the young boy.

“I don’t wanna walk anymooooore,” Yuji complains, shooting Choso a pleading look. Catching on, Choso shoots Sukuna a pair of puppy dog eyes. God the two of them are just adorable.

“No, both of you. Cut it out. Now.” Sukuna’s voice drops an octave as he hisses the last word.

“I really don’t mind,” you say quietly, leaning closer to him in an attempt to keep your words between the two of you.

“I don’t need your help,” Sukuna protests, taking a step towards you with massive muscular arms folding over his chest as his polo shirt is pulled taut from the movement.

“So if I give you a little push, you won’t fall over and pass out?”

“No.” He scowls defensively as he stares back at his two brothers, not noticing the way you slowly reach your hand out before shoving him lightly. He sways backwards slightly, catching himself before he actually does fall over as he swats at your hand. “Fucking- What the fuck is wrong with you?” He grouses, voice dripping with irritation and anger, although it doesn’t reach his eyes. He just looks tired.

“Let me drive you where you need to go and I’ll stop,” you taunt, moving your hand forward to shove him again.

Now paying attention, he grabs your wrist before you can push him. “Christ, you’re almost as much of a brat as my brothers,” he huffs, fiery eyes hyper-focused on your cheerful demeanor in spite of the fact that he’s been nothing short of snappy with you since you first showed up. “You’ll stop because I said so, not because I’m agreeing, got that?”

You shrug, shooting him a smile that says you won. “Whatever you say, Sukuna.”

He drops your wrist with a dramatic sigh before ushering his brothers after you as you turn to make your way back to your car.

“Can’t say I know what just happened,” Shoko whispers in your ear as she walks alongside you to your car. “But I’m surprised he agreed.”

“I’m not. He’s barely awake,” you tell her as you both cast a glance back at him. He doesn’t seem to notice as he bickers with his brothers, telling them to keep up if they want a ride from you.

“Yeah, he looks like shit,” she chuckles with a shake of her head. Never one to beat around the bush, but she is right.

Unlocking your car, you open the back door as Sukuna lifts his youngest brother into the backseat, grumbling about the two boys needing to behave before he climbs in himself, completely blocking your view through your rearview mirror.

He huffs and puffs as he gives you his address, choosing not to say a word throughout the ride as he listens to you chat with Shoko, muttering only the occasional “cut it out” or “stop that, brat” to one of his brothers.

Rolling up to what you assume is his apartment, you put the car in park and turn your attention back to the boys, putting on your best radio voice.

“Thank you for riding, please exit to your left and have a greeeeeat day!” You earn a sweet laugh from Yuji and a calm smile from Choso for your antics. You can practically feel Sukuna’s exasperation as it comes off of him in waves, clearly done with the world for the day, but you don’t miss the silent relief gleaming in his eyes.

“What do you say?” Sukuna gruffs, nudging the youngest of his brothers who you’re obviously putting on the show for.

“Thank you, miss!” He grins brightly as Sukuna opens the door and lowers him to the ground. He hands Choso a pair of keys, nudging them along to the door of the run-down building. To your surprise, he shuts the door and comes around to your side, knocking on the window.

You tilt your head as you roll down the window.

“Thanks…” he trails off as though the word is sour on his tongue, shooting a glance at Shoko in a silent gesture of thank you to her as well.

“No problem. Go get some sleep,” you tell him softly. Frustration flashes through his eyes as you tell him what to do but he’s not about to lash out at the person responsible for his grade who also gave him a ride home. Even he’s not that much of an asshole.

He sets a hand on your hood, pausing for a moment before he runs a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up more than it already was. “Do me a favor and don’t mention this to anyone, yeah?”

You tilt your head, exchanging a glance with Shoko as he looks between the two of you. “Yeah. No problem.”

His hand slides off your car as he rounds the vehicle to follow after his brothers. He pauses to cast a glance at you, before pushing into the front lobby of his apartment building and out of sight.

Silence falls over both you and Shoko as you watch the tattooed man disappear into the building when Choso holds the door open for him.

“That was fucking weird,” Shoko comments.

“Hm?” You hum as you pull out of the apartment, unsure of what she means. Of course Sukuna would have a life Shoko had never thought about, it’s not like they were close, you aren’t sure what she was expecting.

“He wasn’t a complete dick.”

Shooting Shoko a confused glance, you purse your lips. “Is he known for that? I thought he was just a bit of a delinquent.”

“Yeah, that too, but he’s pretty well-known for being snappy with people and snarky to profs.”

“Oh,” you blink twice in thought, keeping your eyes on the road. “I don’t know. He’s pretty quiet in Art History, this project is the first time I’ve ever talked to him. I figured I’d give him the benefit of the doubt.”

“Huh,” Shoko shrugs, “guess you’re on his good side, then.” She sighs, leaning back in her seat once again. “Oh well, you have blackmail on him anyway, so there’s no way he’s bailing on you now,” she grins with a teasing smirk.

Your eyes widen and you move your elbow to nudge her. “Absolutely not, and don’t you think about it either!”

Shoko chuckles, though you know she wouldn’t anyway. Much like you, she’s too kind to spill Sukuna’s secrets to the school, regardless of her opinions or thoughts on him.

–

As you return home from the bar late that night with a comfortable buzz that had left you needing to keep your car at the bar overnight, you pour yourself a glass of water and open your laptop on your bed, letting it boot up while you change into an oversized cozy beige hoodie with little bows adorning the sleeves.

Pulling the sleeves of the hoodie down over your hands and throwing on a pair of shorts, you run a hand through your hair and log into your laptop, pulling it onto your lap to browse social media, when something catches your eye.

You don’t pay much attention to your email inbox most of the time. Maybe you should, after all the college sends you a fair amount of emails and you’ve missed some in the past, but what catches your eye is certainly not from the faculty.

It’s a response to the document you sent Sukuna via email last week.

Oh shit, he was serious about sending you an email.

Maybe it’s because you're drunk, or maybe it’s because the idea of the nearly seven foot tall tattooed man who you’d watched leave class once just to smoke sending you an email of all things is a truly funny thought, but you snicker to yourself as you open it.

[email protected] - Saturday, 1:17 AM hey. you around this weekend

Your snicker turns to a full laugh as you read the message. You can’t decide if the message feels like a sad attempt at a booty call, an old man attempting to text via email, or an embarrassing attempt to save his bruised ego since he can’t text you.

You’d learned from Shoko at the bar earlier that Sukuna has quite the reputation. Supposedly he’s known for bringing a woman home at every party, for being able to smooth talk his way into the bedroom in spite of his usually grumpy and ill-mannered demeanor, and for being able to always get what he wants even though he has a reputation for being an asshole. So it’s hard not to laugh when that same man is the one who just sent you the most awkward email. At one in the morning. On a Saturday.

Oh my god.

[email protected] - Saturday, 2:12 AM Hey Sukuna! I’m around tomorrow afternoon and all day Sunday. Did you have time to work on the project?

You hit send and shut your laptop, deciding to brush your teeth and begin getting ready to get some rest. Taking off your makeup and brushing your hair, you finish up your nighttime routine and decide on a whim to see if your project partner has responded to you.

Getting under the covers and leaning against the headboard of your bed, you open your laptop again. To your surprise, your inbox has gone up by one.

[email protected] - Saturday, 2:19 AM cool. come by mine tomorrow whenever

You snicker to yourself as you read the message again. He’s certainly not fighting either the sad booty call or old man texting via email allegations.

[email protected] - Saturday, 2:23 AM Had to leave my car at the bar, did you wanna come by my place?

To your surprise, it’s only a couple of minutes later when he replies.

[email protected] - Saturday, 2:25 AM uhhh i gotta watch over the brats

[email protected] - Saturday, 2:26 AM Bring them!! They’re so cute :)

You can practically feel his irritated grumbles through the screen when not even a minute later he responds.

[email protected] - Saturday, 2:26 AM fine. address and time

With a satisfied smile, you let him know to drop by at two in the afternoon and send him your address before shutting your laptop.

As you lay down in bed, you can’t help but wonder what a strange little world you’ve somehow managed to squeeze your way into. Sukuna’s world. Maybe it’s because he’s easy to tease, maybe it’s the undeniable fact that he’s a good looking guy, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s actually surprised you more than once now and you’re somewhat enjoying the project more than you initially thought you would, but you can’t help but find yourself fascinated by him.

Come to think of it, you wonder if maybe Shoko’s comment has something to do with it. You think back to the way that she mentioned that he was oddly agreeable and, well, not a dick, and you wonder if it’s a curiosity to get to know this side of Sukuna that no one seems to know that compels you to be laying in bed at two in the morning thinking about the situation.

Regardless, you fall asleep with a calm little smile.

–

Glancing at the clock, you have half a mind to wonder if Sukuna will actually show up. Sure, he was the one who reached out, but maybe you should have just bussed to your car rather than waiting on Shoko to drive you to it and gone to his place on your own given that you can’t text him to ask where he is and it’s almost two thirty in the afternoon.

You could email him.

No… no. You aren’t about to email him.

You almost laugh to yourself at the thought.

Returning to your coffee, you keep at your work, refining your notes until you have something you think you can confidently write a full thesis about, when finally there’s a buzz at your door.

Speak of the devil. You buzz him up and there's a knock at your apartment door a few moments later.

“Cut that out,” Sukuna hisses practically the moment you open the door. You raise a brow at him and he sighs. “The brat, not you,” he clarifies, nudging Yuji.

You shoot him a sweet smile, suppressing a chuckle. Sukuna is dressed in a leather jacket, a plain white V-Neck and a pair of ripped jeans. In comparison to his usual baggy cargo pants and hoodie, he almost seems like he’s dressed up a bit and you can’t help but smile at the thought. More importantly though, the dark circles beneath his eyes are just a bit faded in comparison to when you had spotted him yesterday and you can tell he was able to get a bit of rest.

Yuji is excitedly looking up at you and attempting to tug on Sukuna’s hand while Choso stands behind his brother silently, his expression neutral.

“Hey guys, c’mon in.” You grin as you open the door for them, watching Yuji bound in ahead of his older brothers. He begins looking around with wide eyes, so full of wonder and excitement that you can’t help but smile.

“Such sweet kids,” you comment as Sukuna stands beside you, sighing as both brothers practically run to the sofa, looking around your little apartment excitedly.

“Yeah, whatever.”

You giggle at Sukuna, nudging him playfully. The glare he shoots you as he grunts seems to lack the usual malice his expressions hold and he runs a hand through his well-groomed hair, motioning for you to lead the way.

You show him to your little desk at the back of the apartment, pulling up a kitchen chair for yourself as you give him your office chair. He silently obliges, sitting down with his legs spread.

“One moment,” you mumble, heading into your room briefly before reappearing with none other than your old GameBoy, complete with a copy of Pokemon Ruby. Sukuna’s gaze is tethered to you and although his expression doesn’t change, you see surprise flash across his crimson irises as you walk up to the boys, kneeling in front of them.

“Choso, do you want to use my old GameBoy?” You ask the brown-haired young man, holding it out to him. His eyes are wide with surprise as Yuji’s jaw drops open. Choso nods, not saying a word as he flips the device and eyes the game. If it’s even possible, his eyes widen further and he smiles shyly.

“Are you sure?”

“More than sure. I bet there’s some neat Pokemon on that file,” you tell him.

The two boys exchange a grin and Choso thanks you profusely as he turns on the system.

“No problem. There’s a TV in my room, why don’t you two hang out in there and you don’t need to listen to your brother and I talk about boring art, hm?”

Yuji nods excitedly, bounding to his feet and grabbing your hand. Your heart swells at the action as you lead him and Choso to your room and hand them the remote. It takes all of a moment for both of them to begin bickering about what to watch, though you notice their arguments are fairly one-sided, with Choso being much quieter than his younger brother.

Leaving the two of them to their own devices, you make your way back out to Sukuna, who’s set his laptop on your desk and draped his jacket over the back of his chair. He’s wearing a white band tee with a deep V-neck for a metal band you aren’t familiar with, though the sleeves are torn off. With arms crossed over his chest and tattooed muscular arms on display, it’s undeniable just how attractive he is.

The real surprise is when he turns his head to look at you and his sharp eyes are, strangely, filled with… well you aren’t quite sure. Uncertainty? Confusion?

You subtly tilt your head when you take a seat on the kitchen chair beside him. His chair spins to face you as he examines you.

“Is something wrong?”

Sukuna’s adam's apple bobs as he swallows, before shaking his head. “Nah. Let’s just get this shit over with,” he grumbles, opening his laptop and turning his research document towards you. He’s clearly taken a look at yours, because his notes are in a similar format and he has about as much written as you, not to mention he’s put some work into research on the third painting you two had chosen.

Your brows raise as you read through it. “Wow, this is really good.”

He scoffs. “Don’t sound so shocked.”

You chuckle in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to come off that way, I just-” you pause, leaning back in your chair. Aside from the subtle sounds of Pokemon and the TV in the background, the only sound that breaks the silence as you pause is the squeaking of your chair. “I don’t know. When you were late and then you just didn’t show up, I…” you trail off, not wanting to accuse him of something that clearly isn’t true.

“You assumed the worst.”

Your mouth opens but any words you had in your defense die on your tongue, casting your glance to the side as you search for something, anything, to explain your thought process. No matter what way you try to word it, you’re definitely the bad guy here.

“It’s fine. Everyone does.”

Your brow furrows but before you can ask what he means, Choso is surprising you as he taps on your arm. You turn your attention to the young boy, who’s looking up at you with gleaming eyes.

“You have Rayquaza,” he states, arms outstretched to show you a serpentine creature on the GameBoy.

Your curiosity twists to easy mirth as you smile at him. “I guess I do, huh?”

Choso’s arms fall back down in front of him as he stares down at the Pokemon. His eyes flicker up to you briefly, then back down. “You have Groudon too.”

You can’t help your amused laugh. He’s such a sweet and shy little boy, but he talks just like Sukuna. Straight to the point, blunt, and rather short. He may not look like Sukuna like Yuji does, but his speech is just like his older brother’s.

“Leave her alone,” Sukuna mumbles gruffly from beside you. Choso smiles up at him before bounding back to your room. You can hear the two of them gearing up to play the games together from across the apartment, the game’s music heard in mismatched double as they both turn up the volume.

Turning back to Sukuna, your trail of thought is completely gone. “What was I saying?”

“You got any music? The brat’s game’s been drivin’ me crazy,” Sukuna mutters. “Yuji broke my laptop’s speakers,” he sighs.

“He’s on a hot streak for breaking things, huh?” You giggle.

“Don’t get me started.”

You turn in your seat, pointing towards the wall where a table sits with a fairly nice record player on it, and a shelf of records. They’re organized by artist and their sleeves range from new-looking to clearly well-loved.

Getting to his feet, Sukuna follows to where you point, curiously staring at the spines of the records. He’s not exactly shocked by most of the choices, but a few of them do stand out to him, and you’re thankful when you hear him sliding something off the shelf and putting it on the player.

You recognize the melody in the air instantly, and grin when Sukuna sits down beside you again. “The Eagles?”

Sukuna doesn’t move as his eyes slowly trail to you. He hums after a moment. “It’s a good album. You have… alright taste.”

In truth, he doesn’t mind your taste in music. Sure, he may not be fond of all of your choices, many in fact, but it would seem the two of you are making a habit out of surprising one another as he has his next album choice in mind already.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you chuckle at his dry attempt at being nice. The corner of Sukuna’s lips twitches up into a hint of a smile. It suits him.

As Hotel California blankets the air in warm strings and simple drum beats, the two of you are able to get a good amount of work done, putting your research together into one well-written and coherent thesis, one to be proud of.

Of course, you still need to put together an actual visual presentation to go with the thesis to be presented, but at least the bulk of the work is over with and you can feel confident in your project without concern anymore.

You have half a mind to get started on the visual portion now as well to get it all finished, but one glance at Sukuna tells you he’s tapped out, and either way you’ve gone through three records at this point as the final track on a Pink Floyd album comes to a close.

As silence falls over your project group, Sukuna lets out a sigh. It’s fairly dark in the room too as the sun sets, and when you check the clock to find it’s already six, you realize that’s likely why your stomach’s been making noises for the last twenty minutes.

“Why don’t you guys all stay for dinner?” You suggest, mostly out of politeness, but you can’t help but feel as though you’re drawn to him. You want to get to know him, know why he’s late so often, why he stays in school just to not show up for classes when it’s his money being blown. After all, it can’t just be his brothers or work, he likely only takes care of them while his parents are at work, surely.

Sukuna wearily glances between you and the door where his little brothers are, before shaking his head. “Nah, I can just make us somethin’ when we get back.”

“I insist,” you grin at him, watching the way a muscle twitches in jaw. “There are some great places nearby, we can just grab takeout while they play games, we’ll only be gone for a moment.”

He remains silent, arms crossed disdainfully over his chest before grimacing, giving in to your overly kind grin.

You settle on a curry restaurant just down the block and grab the boys’ orders, letting them know you’ll be right back. You’re sure you can trust Choso to look after his younger brother for twenty minutes.

As the chilly evening air hits your face, you let out a content hum, peering curiously back to see Sukuna falling into step with you. The two of you are a sight to behold, your appearance preppy and sweet decorated with autumnal colors fitting for the season, while he’s clad in leather and punk attire, the tones of his clothing purely grayscale.

He shoves his hands into his pockets, keeping his mild gaze locked in front of him.

“How old are they, your brothers?”

“Five and twelve,” Sukuna replies, fighting off a yawn and failing.

Amused, you smile up at him. “I’m glad you got some rest last night. I was worried about you.”

His brow twitches as he meets your kind smile. “Worried? About me?” He shoots you an incredulous look, scoffing. When you pout at him, he’s unable to hold back a smirk. It’s the first time you’ve seen him truly at ease and now that you’re alone with him, you notice that he actually seems to be somewhat relaxed.

“Yeah, maybe I was. Shoot me,” you shrug, playfully rolling your eyes.

He snorts, entertained, growing silent although the air that settles over you is comfortable now. Sukuna’s presence is surprisingly calming now that he isn’t constantly regarding you with disinterested gazes and irritated huffs. His expressions remain mild, but his brooding is more infrequent and the tension in his gruff voice has dulled. You would almost think he likes being around you.

As you come up to the curry restaurant, you lean into Sukuna with a point of your finger, silently telling him to enter the restaurant to your right. He pulls the door open for you, trailing closely behind. The atmosphere of the restaurant is busy, the employees behind the counter moving quickly to fulfill orders. Sukuna can only imagine how good the food must be given the line waiting to order, though you assure him it won’t take long.

He casts a glance up at the menu and frowns as he takes in the prices. He can afford to pay for himself, Yuji, and Choso, but not you. He has half a mind to say something, but his pride causes him to choke on the words. He inconspicuously pulls out his phone to take a look at his bank app to see if he can swing anything, but catches a glimpse of an employee not paying attention as he moves quickly towards you, all the while you’re not paying attention either, idly staring at the menu.

The employee about to barrel into you is holding a massive steel bucket and while Sukuna can’t see what’s inside, he doesn’t love the idea of you covered in water or worse.

With an annoyed click of his tongue, he lowers himself slightly, locking a strong arm around your middle and lifting you off the ground. You yelp in surprise, eyes wide as you latch onto his arm for purchase, head whipping around in confusion until you find the employee now walking past the exact spot you were in with boiling hot oil in a bucket.

Your lips purse, a shiver running from the base of your spine up to your nape just as Sukuna drops you to the ground unceremoniously in front of him. Your heels land with a clack on the ground as you catch your balance, your eyes still trailing after the employee that hadn’t been able to see you over the jug of hot oil they carried.

“Pay attention,” he scolds you with a frown.

“Oh my god,” you mutter mostly to yourself, your heart beating out of your chest as you finally look up at your savior. Your eyes flicker down to his arms. Even covered in leather, the way his muscles ripple beneath the fabric with each movement he makes doesn’t go unnoticed by you. “Thank you, S’kuna.”

He shoves his hands in his pocket, nodding. The way you abbreviate his name is painfully close to the nickname he avoids as much as he can, but he can’t bring himself to correct you and in all honesty, he’s not sure why. He lets it slide, clearing his throat as he clears his mind of the way the name seems to shake him.

“Don’t make a habit of it.”

His words feel like they should be scolding, but his tone doesn’t hold the same meaning. As he stares back up at the menu with a stitch in his horribly handsome brow, you can’t help but find yourself confused by the meaning of his words.

You don’t have much time to think about it as your turn to order comes and you find yourself at the counter, giving the employee your order before glancing back at Sukuna. His mouth parts and he hesitates.

“I- uh-”

You’ve never seen him dither in such a way and you tilt your head, blinking in confusion.

“I can’t-”

Frustration flashes through his eyes and you can see his jaw clench as he trips over his words. Flustered isn’t the right word, but his pride is certainly hurt as he finally manages to force out the explanation you need.

“I can’t afford to- uh-”

Again he pauses, his expression burning with irritation as his cheeks heat up, the admission coming at the cost of his ego.

Your face softens in understanding and your soft fingers wrap around his tattooed wrist, pulling him up to the counter.

“I’ve got it. I invited you to stay, it’s on me.” You hold your card out with a kind smile, but Sukuna doesn’t share your sentiment, anger flashing across the crimson of his eyes as he grits his teeth at you.

“I don’t need help,” he hisses, eyes narrowed as his walls go back up right before you.

“That’s not-” your eyes widen as you try to salvage the situation when Sukuna recoils suddenly. You hadn’t intended for him to take your words so personally, you’d just felt it was the right thing to do given that you had invited not only him, but both of his brothers over as well, and suggested the place to begin with. “You can get the next one,” you tell him in hopes of mending the bridge between you.

He examines your expression, finding no traces of malice or ill-will in your features. Frowning, he huffs as he turns to give his order to the poor employee who’d had the displeasure of witnessing Sukuna’s outburst. In his silence, you order for his little brothers as well.

With a dour sigh, the tattooed man moves along to the side to wait for the order, the fact that you paid leaving a sour taste in his mouth. You make your way over to him, leaving a small distance between you.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine.”

“Really, I- I-” you stumble over your words as he glares at you. You suppose Shoko had warned you that Sukuna was notoriously an ass, but you hadn’t witnessed it first hand until now. Still, you can’t help but feel like what you’re witnessing isn’t that. At the end of the day he isn’t lashing out for no reason, it’s clear you struck a nerve and you can’t blame him for being hurt by it, even if it’s not what you intended and you don’t fully understand where he’s coming from.

“Drop it,” Sukuna growls, though his anger has subsided somewhat, his gaze cast to the wall.

You blink up at him, hating the way the world seems to hold its breath around you.

You can’t deny that the man who towers over you, covered in tattoos and piercings is intimidating. Between his gruff voice, his mild mannerisms and his disinterested demeanor, he’s tough to read and you really can’t afford to let a rift come between you when you still have to work on your project.

Your lips part to say something but one striking glance from those crimson eyes has the words dying in your throat. Your mouth goes dry as you wrack your brain for anything to stay, but draw a blank.

Sukuna’s brow knits together at the sight of your anxious expression and he shuts his eyes for a moment, sighing.

It takes him a moment to fully cool off and collect his thoughts, but he can see in your eyes that you genuinely meant no harm and he supposes it’s the right thing to do to give you a break for that. You’re just naturally kind and he finds that he needs to remind himself of that.

“It’s… fine,” he murmurs in a strained voice, nudging you with his elbow. You crack a smile at him, thankful when his body language seems to relax somewhat again.

You don’t dare say anything as you wait for your food, fiddling with your phone in your hands as you contemplate his reaction. You obviously hurt his pride unintentionally by offering to pay, but between skipping school for work and the fact that this restaurant isn’t by any means expensive, you have a guess as to why he might have been so affected, one that makes Sukuna’s entire demeanor and his exhaustion click into place like a puzzle.

Before you have a chance to ask him, unsure if you even want to, your name is called and Sukuna is grabbing your order. You reach out to grab one of the bags but Sukuna swiftly holds it overhead with a smirk that doesn’t quite meet his eyes as you pout playfully. He continues to hold the food overhead as he leads the way outside. Watching you trail closely behind him, standing up on your tiptoes in an attempt to reach the bags, he raises a brow.

“Walk, brat.”

You shoot him a look, brow furrowed, before giving in and falling into step alongside him. He brings his arms down, holding the bags on his arms opposite you.

With your mind still preoccupied with thoughts of Sukuna’s earlier outburst, you bring your lower lip between your teeth, mindlessly chewing on it as you stare at the sidewalk beneath your feet.

Sukuna eyes you from his peripherals, taking note of the way you’re deep in thought. “Just fucking ask your question.”

Much like yesterday, Sukuna easily notices the way you glance at him uncertainly, the question on the tip of your tongue. It catches you off-guard how easily he reads you and you fall out of step with him, taking longer strides to catch up after you falter.

“I- um- do you-” you hesitate, casting a glance at his aloof expression. He seems at ease again and you don’t want to burn the bridge you’ve only just managed to mend, out of fear that another fire wouldn’t be put out so easily.

“Yeah.”

You stop in your tracks, blinking in surprise with pursed lips. Sukuna raises a brow at you, only a short distance ahead as he stops too, turning to face you. You can’t read his expression as it remains mild, his questioning brow the only sign that gives away any hint of his thoughts. In a few short strides, you’re back at his side.

“You’re… their guardian?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

Sukuna chews on his tongue piercing mindlessly as he watches the gears turn in your mind, putting together the pieces of the puzzle that had been laid out for you.

Of course Sukuna’s tired if he’s taking care of two young boys, going to college, working, cooking, cleaning, god the list can only go on. You wonder if the reason he seems so at ease right now, so quick to forgive you, is because he’s thankful for the break. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s had time to himself.

“That’s why you missed yesterday.”

He shrugs. “You knew that already.”

“I guess, yeah.” Your turn to shrug. “I just thought it was a temporary thing.”

Sukuna lets out a humorless laugh. “Well it’s not.”

You’re not really sure how to react, in all honesty. You don’t want him to think you pity him, you can’t offer sympathy, you certainly can’t offer help. In your uncertainty, you find yourself continuing to fiddle with your phone, avoiding his gaze.

Sukuna quite simply… turns to leave, deciding to spare you of your discomfort, and him of any more blows to his pride. You jog after him, falling into step again. There are questions left unanswered and sympathies you want to extend, but you can’t bear the thought of hurting him again, even if it’s unintentional, so you bite your tongue.

The sounds of the city surround you, filling the silence. Sirens blare in the distance, trees rustle above you, and casual chatter comes and goes as you pass other groups of people on the way to your apartment. It’s all a welcome distraction as you continue to fiddle with your phone, the air between you two neither tense nor comfortable. It lies somewhere in between and you don’t dare tip the scales out of fear of making your counterpart uncomfortable.

“You play a lot of Pokemon growin’ up?”

Your eyes light up as Sukuna starts a conversation, finally tipping the scales back towards being comfortable.

“My best friend growing up really liked it, we played a lot of Ruby and Sapphire.”

“Same as the brats.” He scoffs playfully.

“Are you gonna pretend that isn’t your old GameBoy?”

He tilts his head in your direction, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “And if it is?”

“Dunno, I might think you’re a bit of a nerd,” you tease, mindlessly chewing on your lip.

Sukuna’s eyes flicker down to your lips. He catches himself immediately, averting his gaze. “Tch.”

You giggle when he doesn’t refute your claim. He shoves his hands back into his pockets, your takeout bags dangling from his forearm.

As you arrive back at your apartment, Sukuna lets you unlock the door before grabbing and holding it open for you. His eyes trace your figure as you tread ahead of him with a skip in your step. When you turn back to him, realizing he hasn’t followed you yet, he blinks in surprise as he realizes exactly what he’s doing, shaking his head to clear it.

Why in the hell was he checking you out anyway? He doesn’t make a habit of hooking up with people who know him beyond face value. He mutters a ‘sorry’, relieved when you don’t seem to notice the way he’d so shamelessly checked you out.

Closing the door behind him, he sets the food on the table, tossing his jacket aside as you call his brothers, setting up a little dinner around your coffee table. Sukuna groans as he slips down onto the floor to eat, remaining quiet as he simply watches the way you cheerfully entertain both of his brothers’ antics.

Shoveling rice into his mouth, Sukuna stares down at his curry, contemplating the strange sense of warmth blooming in his chest. The feeling is so unfamiliar to him that he can’t place it. He has half a mind to drown the emotion in nicotine and the need to smoke grows quickly.

He’s so preoccupied in his thoughts, Sukuna doesn’t realize his little brothers have both run off back to your room, leaving the two of you alone.

“S’kuna?”

Striking pupils suddenly meet yours. He straightens from where he sits across from you on the couch, taking notice of the fact that you’ve already finished your dinner.

“Are you alright?”

Sukuna nods. “‘M fine.” Yet he can’t help but to drink in the sight of you, the way you look at him with so much care and he can’t understand why, the way your lips move so softly when you speak. The way your figure and curves would feel under his hands, the way you keep biting your lip… Sukuna shakes his head suddenly, getting to his feet as he chalks it up to lust. He’ll get over it at the next party he goes to. “Balcony?” He asks suddenly, pointing at the door at the back of your apartment.

You nod, watching in confusion as he rises suddenly and rushes out the door, pulling out a box of cigarettes. You hum to yourself, deciding to give him a moment. You’re not sure exactly what came over him, he seemed flustered even if only for a moment, but there was something else you noticed in his eyes, something darker you couldn’t identify.

Pushing that aside, you put the lid back over his food to keep it warm and check your phone to find Shoko’s been trying to reach you to go pick up your car. You let her know you’ll have to pick it up tomorrow since you’re with Sukuna as you wait for him to finish smoking.

After a few messages back and forth, you glance back outside at Sukuna. The way the muscles along his back ripple just from the act of breathing is eye-catching enough, but when he stubs out his cigarette and leans over the railing of your little balcony, your eyes trail to his shoulder blades protruding from the white material of his shirt.

Catching yourself holding your breath, you take a step forward and decide to check on him, closing the balcony door in your stead as you slip onto the small overlook behind him.

He doesn’t acknowledge you even as you lean beside him, his tired expression fixated on the street below. You rest a hand on his bicep as you tilt your head quizzically. “Are you sure everything’s alright?”

Ever aloof, you aren’t able to tell what he’s thinking as he turns to look at you. You, completely unaware that your touch has set his skin alight. Unbeknownst to him, his eyes have darkened a shade as his pupils dilate at your touch. Unsure what’s come over him, he simply hums affirmatively as an answer to your question.

Your brow knits together but you accept his response. He wonders if you know that you’re rubbing circles into the skin of his bicep and it’s driving him crazy. What the hell is it about you that’s got him horny like it’s his first year of college again? It frustrates him beyond belief, but maybe it’s just been too long since he’s slept with someone. That has to be it. It’s just lust. He swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing with the action when you finally bring your attention out to the road in front of you both, removing your hand from him.

“Hey, um, what do you do at the supermarket?” You ask in an effort to create conversation with him.

“Stock,” he replies shortly, his tone as stoic as his expression.

“That’s not too bad,” you murmur thoughtfully, giggling to yourself suddenly. Sukuna’s brow raises. “Sorry, I just can’t imagine you as, like, a cashier or something.”

“Why not?” He sneers, standing up straight and facing you, offended.

“Come on,” you giggle, “you’re not very talkative.”

“I can be,” he insists, taking a step towards you.

“Is that your way of proving it?” You provoke him with a grin.

He scoffs. “I just don’t have anythin’ to say,” he grumbles with a tense jaw, staring down at you. “‘Sides, I work with customers at my other job.”

Another job? You frown at his admission. How the hell is he managing this? How hasn’t he flunked out? “What other job?”

“Mechanic,” he states blandly.

“Really? Are you a big car guy?” You ask, genuinely curious.

Sukuna’s somewhat taken aback by the way you lean in, your full attention directed towards him. You seem to take such a genuine interest in him and he isn’t quite sure what to make of it.

A smirk pays at the corners of his lips as he decides to mess with you, loving the idea of keeping you on your toes and pushing your buttons. “Nah. ‘M just good with my hands,” he drawls as you present him the perfect opportunity to tease you back given how much of a hard time you’ve been giving him.

Your eyes widen at his euphemism, cheeks heating up as you grip the balcony railing harder. You avert your gaze in an attempt to save face, willing your heart to slow down to no avail.

You clear your throat. “I-I um, th-that makes sense,” you stammer, mentally facepalming at just how nervous your words come out. He has no right to be this hot.

“Not so talkative now, are ya?” He chuckles lowly, sliding from his position leaning on the railing beside you to rest his opposite hand on your other side, effectively trapping you.

You flip over to face him, leaning back against the railing with pursed lips. Sukuna grins at your mousey behavior, thrilling in the way you squirm trapped between him and the railing. “Sukuna?”

His heart pounds in his chest at the sound of his name coming from your lips and his smirk falters. Why the hell is his heart beating so fast? He forces his smirk again, moving his face down to your level in an effort to push away the strange feeling blooming in the pit of his stomach. “Yeah, woman?”

Focusing on anything other than the man in front of you, you can only manage to mumble out a few ‘um’s and ‘uh’s. Sukuna chuckles at just how flustered you are, freeing you from the cage of his arms as he rests against the railing beside you again.

You clear your throat, trying to ignore your spiraling thoughts. And boy are they ever spiraling as you stare out at the street beneath you, attempting to focus on the passing cars and not your pounding heart. “Why are you in Art History?”

Sukuna’s lit another cigarette in the time that you’ve used to recover your thoughts. He looks calmer once again as smoke spirals from the glowing embers. “Required class.”

“R-Right.” You swallow, moving past your stammer. “What do you want to do?”

He pauses for a moment, taking a languid drag from the cigarette. A puff of smoke leaves his lips before he replies. “Dunno. I’m a history major.”

You wouldn’t have imagined the college’s resident bad boy to be a history major, if you’re being honest with yourself, but you remind yourself not to judge a book by its cover.

He runs a hand through his hair as you contemplate the idea of Sukuna as a history major and what he might do with that major given that you can’t envision him as a historian or a museum curator, and certainly not as a teacher.

“I’m thinking of swapping majors,” he admits. You examine his expression as he taps the edge of the cigarette with a finger. He shrugs, shifting his gaze to stare at the sidewalk beneath the both of you. “Starting to think history doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, what do you want to do, Sukuna?”

He casts you a glance, examining your attentive face. You’re so wholly invested in his words that it causes a pang in his chest. He subconsciously brings a hand up to his chest, scratching at it as if to cast the strange feeling away.

Setting the feeling aside, he finds himself scowling in thought. When he was considerably younger he’d wanted to pursue graphic design but he hadn’t had the luxury of thinking about his future for a while now. In truth, he’s not even sure why he’s in history right now. It interests him enough to keep him attentive but the career options are… few and far between and he can’t exactly afford to fuck around and swap majors constantly.

His minor in business makes more sense, at least he can do something with it, but… in truth, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. It’s another page filed under ‘uncertainties’ in the book that is Sukuna.

You take his silence as an answer and shoot him a wry smile. “You don’t have to answer, I’m sorry to pry.”

“It’s fine,” he sighs. “I just dunno that either.”

Admitting to it feels shameful, almost, and frankly, Sukuna thinks he’s had enough of making a fool of himself in front of you today. Stubbing out his cigarette, he stands up and makes his way back inside. You follow after him, blinking as he begins packing up.

“I should go,” he mumbles, shutting his laptop and tossing it into his bag. He picks up his keys from your desk, shoving them in his pocket as he zips up his backpack. “Oh,” he stops his movements, hesitating for a moment. “I… Appreciate dinner.”

Your expression softens and you smile wholeheartedly. “No problem. You can take your leftovers, too. They’re still on the table,” you point over to the box you’d set the cover over. He nods, shutting it and tucking it in his bag as well.

With a tired sigh, he gathers his brothers, ushering them towards the doorway.

“Got anything to say?” Sukuna utters, staring down at both kids expectantly.

“Thank you!”

“Thank you, miss!”

You grin at both kids, kneeling down. “I hope you two had fun. You know, maybe you can convince your brother to come over again and I’ll pull out my old GameCube.”

With the expressions of jaw-dropping awe you’re getting right now, you would think you’d revealed to them the secret to happiness or something. Yuji leaps into your arms immediately, nearly toppling you over as he shoots a pleading stare at Sukuna.

Sukuna’s expression shifts to one of irritation as Yuji pleads with him, “Kuna! Pleeeease pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” that has you giggling at the way a vein in his forehead seems to pulse.

“Brat. Brat! Shut up, I’ll think about it, alright?”

Yuji nods cheerfully, counting straight to Sukuna’s leg to hug him, and the clear irritation on your classmate’s face immediately falters. Maybe he’s a bit of a softie after all.

Sukuna sighs heavily, reaching a long arm down to ruffle his brother’s hair. “Yeah, alright, kid. If she invites us.”

His voice is tired, albeit strangely soft. It’s almost like he’s a different person, and suddenly you can see why it is that he’s pulling such a terrible schedule. Despite the clear stress being a twenty two year old parent to two young kids is, he clearly loves them.

But this is Sukuna we’re talking about, so he doesn’t always know how to express that.

It’s sweet, really, and your heart melts at the sight.

“Go wait outside, you two.” Both kids run down the hall to the elevator as they excitedly ponder what games you might have, leaving you and Sukuna alone as he leans on the doorframe.

“You free next Saturday?” You ask once his attention returns to you.

“I can let you know. Depends on the auto shop’s schedule.”

“We can always do another day, whatever works best for you, Kuna.” Your voice holds a teasing lilt as you mimic Yuji’s entirely too adorable name for him.

“Don’t start with that,” he snarls, mumbling something about the name being annoying. Before turning to walk away, he decides to pay you back for all of your teasing with a jab of his own. “Don’t make a habit of getting oil dumped on you, yeah?”

What Sukuna isn’t expecting is for you to be able to match his teasing without a second thought. “What, I can’t email you for help?”

He snorts, smirking at the ground as he pushes himself off of the doorframe and begins to turn away. “See you around,” he says, raising a hand in farewell as he follows after his two brothers. Your eyes trail curiously after him until he’s out of sight, shutting and locking the door quietly.

In truth, you don’t expect to hear from him until maybe next Friday if you’re lucky, but to your surprise when you check your email later that night, your inbox has a new email from Sukuna. It’s still funny, to think that you’re communicating via email, but at least you aren’t giggling to yourself as you open this one.

[email protected] - Sunday, 12:04 AM brat stole your gameboy. meet at the fountain at noon monday

[email protected] - Sunday, 12:23 AM That’s alright!! He can keep it :)

[email protected] - Sunday, 12:27 AM no he needs to learn. noon at the fountain

With a sigh, you realize he isn’t about to relent and give in.

[email protected] - Sunday, 12:28 AM Okay I’ll see you then Kuna lol

And oh if you could see the way Sukuna is guffawing and huffing at his screen, slamming his laptop shut as you call him the nickname he doesn’t want anyone to know. Yet here you are, barging into his life on all fronts and learning more about him than he wants.

The way his heart stutters, it actually stutters when he sees his inbox go up by a notification because he just knows it’s you and fuck why is it actually cute when you use that nickname?

Sukuna rubs a hand over his face and pulls his comforter up over his shoulder, sinking into the plush of his mattress as he tries to get some rest before his shift the next morning. He’ll deal with his other issues later.

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❦ a/n ; hello!! thank you so much for reading i've been having an absolute blast with this. i've been working on this for a long time and it was initially intended to be about 25k, but after working on it for a month straight it hit that pretty quickly and i'm nowhere near done. aaaanyways, thanks for all the love and support and as always, likes, reblogs, and comments are super appreciated <3

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