#and he crawled right in and sat there for a while

[j3llyc4kes]

summary: your criminal boyfriend sukuna who absolutely rocks your world in the best way possible. now you’re in ur prison gf arc?

wc: uuhhh, 7k? i think..i yapped

cw: angsty, fluff, smut, mentions of guns, prison, drugs, etc. comfort at the end, pinky promise :3

you met ryomen sukuna through some mutuals. back when you were still smart. still cautious. some house party with peeling paint, shitty music. way too many bodies and way too many red solo cups.

you went with one of your girls yuki tsukumo—well, got dragged along. she was pointing people out, talking fast, already tipsy. you were half listening, half not giving a fuck.

then she leaned in, whispered over the rim of her drink,

“and that’s ryomen. don’t. he’s like crazy. like—jail time type shit.”

your ears perked up like a dog.

“jail time?” you asked. and then you saw him.

sitting on a shitty couch, red eyes. black tattoos on his face, crawling down the back of his neck, his arms, clearly all over. all ink and muscle and attitude. dragging a hand through a soft pink buzzcut, smoking a blunt. shirt half unbuttoned (thank fuck). tatted hands in his pockets like he could kill you or kiss you and you’d say thank you for both.

and to your surprise, he looked in your direction as you mindlessly walked to up him like you’d be shot by cupid. he smirked, looking you up and down—like he already knew you’d walk over.

“you lost?” his voice was low. rough. amused.

you shook your head. “nope.” sitting on his lap anyways.

and you swore it was just you being dumb. wanted a quick fuck, nothing more. you weren’t actually gonna fall for him.

after the first time you met him, it started slow. drinks, texts, late nights that blurred into mornings. you never asked what he did—not really. he never volunteered it. but the cash came easy. so what the hell right?

“you scared of me yet?” he asks you one night, voice low, fingers brushing your thigh while you sat in his lap, his gun cold against your lower back while it was tucked in his waist band.

you shake your head. “dunno, should i be?”

he grins. all teeth. “nah. i’d never hurt you.” and he meant it.

you always looked the other way when he left in the middle of the night. didn’t feel the need ask why he always checked the blinds twice. why he had two phones. why he flinched when a black SUV passed too slow.

because sukuna…he was surprisingly gentle. always held the door for you. always touched you like he meant it. he made you laugh when you didn’t want to, made you feel like the only girl in the world. took you out and never let you pay. took you home and made you feel safe, somehow, even with a gun or two on the nightstand.

you know he’s not a good man. you’re not stupid.

but he just looks so goddamn fine when he leans against the hood of his car, blunt between his lips, black hoodie clinging to his frame. the kind of man people cross the street to avoid.

i mean come on, he’s a criminal. a real one. not some fake ass who shoplifts and smokes mids. sukuna moves product, handles money, kills when he has to—cold, smart, ruthless.

but with you? he’s just so soft. always puts his gun on the counter before dinner. keeps his voice low when you’re tired. kisses the inside of your wrist and tugs you into his lap when you’re mad at him. carries you to bed when you fall asleep on the couch. rubs your feet without asking.

he kisses you so sweetly. calls you baby in that low voice like it’s a threat. you argue like you want to kill each other and fuck like you’re trying to bring each other back to life.

so when he comes home at night, blood on his clothes and that dead-calm look in his eye, and mutters, “need you to say i was with you tonight,”

you don’t ask. you just say: “yeah. course you were.”

(fuck it, we ball)

and some months later, he’s still in your bed. still eating all of your snacks, washing your dishes sometimes, kissing your neck with a kind of possessiveness that should be a red flag—but feels so green.

the thing is? he never lies to you. doesn’t even try to.

“i’m not clean,” he says one night, tracing tattoos along your thigh while the tv plays something neither of you are watching. “i do bad shit. and i’m not gonna stop.”

you probably should’ve left then. but instead, you kissed him.

and by the end of year one, you’re living in his apartment—scratch that, your apartment, because his name’s not on the lease. “can’t leave a paper trail, princess.” the place is cozy and yours. you got loud neighbors and a pitbull named akuma—big, gray, dumb as hell, and completely obsessed with sukuna.

“he’s gonna be a little menace to society,” you said when he brought the puppy home.

sukuna just smirked, kneeling down, scratching behind the dog’s ears. “takes after his dad.”

the three of you are like some fucked-up little family. your neighbors always side-eye you. your mom knows but chooses not to say anything anymore. and now your friends have stopped trying to talk you out of it.

and you stopped pretending you wanted out a loooong ass time ago.

fast forward to two years in: the fridge is covered in dumb polaroids. you brushing your teeth. him flipping off the camera. akuma in the middle, tongue out, wearing the stupid, gucci harness you swore was too expensive until sukuna said, “yeah, and?” and bought it anyway.

and now sukuna’s even got your name inked into the thick muscle of his forearm. right above those bold lines on his wrist.

“seriously? this isn’t like sharpie or something?” you’d asked when he came home from the tattoo shop that day.

he just smirked. “dead serious.”

when akuma jumps into bed and crushes your legs and sukuna tells him to get off but doesn’t mean it, when he presses his inked hand to your thigh while you’re watching a movie and says “gonna put a ring on it, you know that?”

you believe every word.

one day, you see the red and blue lights flash by in a blur out the window when he comes running inside the apartment—breathless—you don’t question him. idiot move but it’s because he always comes home. always throws his wallet and his keys on the counter and kisses your cheek like nothing happened. cooks dinner shirtless, muscles flexing while he flips the steak and washes his hands off in the sink.

you clean his knuckles. you patch his ribs. you kiss the crown of his head while he falls asleep on the couch with his arms around you and that’s all that matters.

but you notice how he’s been on edge. more late nights. tighter grip on your waist when you’re out. more checking the windows. more guns on the table.

“you trust me?” he asks later that night, voice low in the dark.

you’re in bed, curled against his side, tracing the black ink on his chest. akuma at your feet. his heart’s beating too fast.

you nod. “always, kuna.”

he exhales, fingers brushing over your spine.

“then no matter what happens—no matter who says what, or what you hear—you remember that. alright?”

you look up at him. search his face. “baby, what’s going on?”

he doesn’t answer. just kisses your forehead, holds you tighter.

a week goes by after that conversation. everything is almost perfect and then it’s not. it all happens so fast. it’s 2:26 a.m. quiet, maybe a little too quiet. then it’s not.

one minute you’re on the couch, hoodie on, legs tucked under you, sukuna’s head in your lap while a movie plays low in the background. he’s half-asleep, arm curled around your thigh, breathing slow like—for once—he’s letting himself rest.

then a crash. your front door kicked in. boots pounding down the hall. shouting—sharp, cold, barked like war commands.

“CLEAR.”

“LEFT SIDE.”

“MOVE MOVE MOVE—”

“HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!”

akuma is the first to react—your gray pittie, big and gentle and stupidly loyal—howling, barking like he’s ready to kill. but there are too many of them. someone yells to grab the dog. you scream his name, but they’ve already got him by the collar, dragging him back while he thrashes and whines. red and blue lights flash across the walls. guns drawn.

you’re frozen, shaking, the room is spinning.

you’re still processing—still trying to understand why there are rifles in your face. why they’re screaming your name. why they’re tearing through your drawers, your closet. why they’re grabbing sukuna’s burner phone, the rolled cash, the duffel bags, the box under the bed he told you never to touch.

sukuna’s already standing—calm. too calm. hands raised. jaw tight.

his gun’s on the coffee table. he doesn’t move. he just looks at you.

“listen to me. breathe. look at me. i told you—don’t forget, alright?”

you’re crying now. shaking. choking on air.

his eyes—sharp, red, unreadable—don’t move.

you lunge for him, but two officers grab you first and shove you against the wall. you’re screaming just trying to see him, but they’re in the way, shouting over you.

“wait—please, don’t hurt him!” you shake your head, blinking through tears, “he didn’t—he—what the fuck is going on?!”

“ryomen sukuna, you’re under arrest for organized crime, weapons trafficking, drug trafficking, assault with a deadly weapon—”

the words don’t sound real and it’s not like you didn’t know. you weren’t stupid. you just loved him too much to say it out loud.

as they read him his rights. he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t blink. he lets them cuff him—wrists behind his back, shoulders loose. they slam him into the wall and he still turns to find you.

and he’s smiling.

the cuffs are tight. your apartment’s destroyed. your dog is howling like he’s mourning a death.

but sukuna just smiles. like this is nothing. like he knew it was coming. which in hindsight, he tried to warn you something was coming.

his eyes stay on you, even through the flashlight beams, the chaos.

“it’s okay, baby,” he says, soft, just for you. “don’t cry.”

“sukuna—please, no—”

he keeps smiling. even as they start pulling him toward the door.

“i’ll be alright. i promise.”

and just before the hallway swallows him, just before the sirens drown it all out.

“baby,” he calls out again, louder this time. “look at me.”

you do, through the blur of tears, you do.

he’s got a split lip from how they man handled him, bleeding. his arms tensed behind his back. his face still calm.

“don’t worry, yeah?” voice steady. “they’re just doing their job. i’ll be fine.”

“b-but you promised—” your voice breaks. “you promised me—”

“i know.” he nods. and for the first time, the smile slips. just for a second. “i know, baby. i’m sorry.”

they drag him out towards the squad car. akuma’s losing it—thrashing against the grip on his collar, trying to follow him. you collapse to the floor, sobbing. akuma finally escapes from one of the officers and pushes his head into your side, whining like his heart’s breaking too.

as you look around, they’re bagging everything. phones. files. guns. bricks. a woman in a black blazer reads off inventory like she’s listing groceries. her voice is calm. efficient. it makes you want to scream.

while you’re left on the floor—sobbing, shaking, clutching your dog while your whole life gets zipped into evidence bags. and all you can hear is his voice, still yelling from outside:

“don’t fuckin’ touch my girl or my dog—you hear me?!”

you stare past the officer crouched in front of you, not even hearing him anymore—just watching sukuna get shoved into the back of a squad car.

and just before the door slams, he shouts, “i love you, y’know that? i’ll come back.”

the door closes.

all that was left was the mumbling of officers as they raided your apartment. after that, they take you down to the station. they question you for hours but they don’t have anything on you nor do they any info from you.

you were smart. loyal. quiet. just his girlfriend, just the love of his life. you didn’t know a damn thing. you were with him on this day. and that day. you gave them alibis for everything they tried to pin on him.

never flinched. never snitched. you held the line.

and when they finally let you go, hours later—bleary-eyed, fingers trembling, walking back into the wreckage of what used to be home—akuma’s waiting by the door. his tail thumping, eyes wide, like he doesn’t know how to stop looking for him.

and neither do you.

couple months down the line, it’s his court date. it’d been painfully long. phone calls, visits here and there but it was finally time for his sentencing.

you had gotten there early. standing in a corner, speaking with his defense attorney.

but as the time passed, the courtroom felt cold and quiet in that fake, choking way.

you’re sitting stiff in the second row, all black—tight dress, heavy coat, heels loud on the tile when you walked in. hands gripping the edge of the bench, white-knuckled as you waited.

your eyes lock on him the second he steps into the room.

sukuna walks in wearing shackles like they’re fucking jewelry. orange jumpsuit unzipped just enough to show the ink crawling up his chest. wrists cuffed, ankles too, chain connecting them down the middle.

he’s smirking like this is a joke. like he already knows how it ends. then his eyes land on you. his girl.

“hey, baby. you look good.”

“shut the fuck up,” one of the guards snaps, yanking the chain forward.

you don’t flinch. you don’t even speak. you just watch him walk to his seat like he owns the place.

he sits back like it’s a poker game. his leg bouncing, smiling. those red eyes scan the room once, like he’s bored.

then it begins. and soon enough, the judge starts reading the charges.

violent, serious shit. none of it exaggerated even a little bit.

organized crime. trafficking. assault. illegal weapons.

which again, you know what he did. you knew before the cops ever did. meanwhile everyone in the room looks at him like a monster but not you.

you don’t even blink when the jury says “guilty” after every charge and neither does he.

the judge ends the trial with his sentence, “twenty-five years. eligible for parole in seven.”

the courtroom breathes in like it just took a punch. and sukuna? sukuna just laughs. real fucking loud, ugly and real. he throws his head back like he’s in on some joke no one else gets.

the judge bangs the gavel. some man yells at him to shut up and stop laughing, the guards move fast.

he just grins through all of it then turns his head toward you, mouth split in that same damn smirk.

“still gonna write me, baby?” he calls, smug, voice booming off the walls.

you nod once—sharp. you could care less who sees.

the guards haul him up, start dragging him toward the side door. he doesn’t resist. just keeps smiling at you like he already knows you’ll be there tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. and he’s right.

the truth is, the charges could’ve been a hell of a lot worse. they had enough to bury him alive but you? you were a fucking godsend. every little lie was perfect. you lied through your goddamn teeth. all the fake alibis, timelines, pretending not to know what half the shit in your apartment was—had worked. even after they grilled you for hours. days. tried to shake you, to get you to break.

but you never gave them shit. you kept your voice steady, your story straight and your love for him ironclad.

and it worked. it could’ve been 40 years to life. it could’ve been no parole. it could’ve even been you, too. but here you are—still free. he’s not. but he’s still yours.

and seven years later? he’s still yours.

sure, he’s missed holidays. birthdays. every new year��s kiss. but every thursday at 3:00pm? you’re there.

you’re used to the routine now. first your ID, patdown, metal detector. pretty boring stuff.

at that point, you knew every guard by name.

you’ve done this a hundred times—plastic chairs, shitty vending machine coffee, body searches.

you don’t care because the second he walks into the visitation room everything else fades out.

he’s bigger now. broader. face leaner, eyes sharper—darker in a way that says time has passed, and prison doesn’t change people so much as refine them. orange jumpsuit rolled to the waist, white tank clinging to his chest, black ink crawling up the back of his neck like smoke.

and that grin—dangerous. crooked. just for you.

“fuck, baby,” he drawls, sliding into the seat across from you. “you get hotter every time i see you. is that a new lip gloss?”

you roll your eyes. “you gonna flirt or ask how i’ve been?”

he shrugs, smirking. “same thing.”

still cocky. still loud. still him but the edges are tighter now. more controlled like every second without you has been simmering under his skin.

there were times you’d talk. about nothing. about everything. he tells you about prison like it’s high school drama. you tell him about bills, work, new TV shows, keeping the bed warm for him. he listens like every word matters. like you’re the only real thing in his world.

“are you wearing that chain i sent you?” he asks.

you tug it out from under your hoodie—a little silver bar with his name engraved.

his grin widens. “of course you are, don’t know why i even asked.”

and sometimes, when the guards aren’t looking, he leans in close. voice low, filthy, just for you:

“you gonna let me fuck you in the conjugal trailer next month?”

“still think about that pretty little body when i fall asleep.”

“i’m gonna come home and ruin you. you know that, right?”

you squeeze your thighs together. he sees. smirks. and of course the smug bastard is proud of himself.

and sometimes it’s quiet. just the sound of your fingers tapping on the metal table. he stares at your hands like they mean something.

“seven years,” he mutters. “and you’re still here.”

you shrug. “you’d do it for me.”

he lifts a brow. “would i?”

you give him a look.

he laughs—low, warm and real. “yeah,” he says. “yeah, i fuckin’ would.”

there’s no kissing here. no touching past a handshake, a goodbye but the way he looks at you?

you feel it everywhere.

and one day, just as the guard calls time, just as he stands and stretches and leans in a little closer than he’s supposed to—

he murmurs, voice quiet, steady. “marry me when i get out.”

you blink. “what?”

but he’s already turning away, that same old grin tugging at his mouth, shouting something crass to another inmate, hands cuffed behind his back.

the door slams shut behind him.

and you’re left sitting there, heart pounding, chain warm between your fingers, replaying those words in your head.

the next time you see him, he walks in wearing that ugly-ass orange jumpsuit as usual, smile already stretching across his face the second he sees you.

“look at you,” he says, voice low and filthy despite the guards. “dressed all nice for your criminal boyfriend.”

you roll your eyes. “you asked me to.”

“yeah. and you listened. you always do” he leans in. “always such a good girl for me.”

the tension’s thick. his wrists are cuffed, but his eyes are on you like he’s already got his hands around your throat.

“heard the news?” he asks casually, voice like honey dipped in gasoline. “early release. next month.”

your breath catches. “wait, are you serious?”

“mmhm.” he leans back, tongue flicking over his teeth. “good behavior.” he grins. “just for you.”

he’s been cleaning up—no fights, no smuggling, no stabbings in the yard, even though he wants to. because he wants to see you again. wants his hands on you. his mouth. wants you under him, not across the table.

“been thinkin’ about what I’m gonna do to you first,” he says, voice lower now, eyes burning. “once i get out.”

you swallow and shift in your seat. “are you gonna behave?”

he laughs. full-bodied, dark. “fuck no. i’m gonna ruin you.”

he leans forward, chained wrists clinking on the table, eyes locked on yours.

“i’ve been locked up seven years, princess. do you know how much time i’ve spent thinking about that sweet little body under mine?”

you feel your cheeks heat, but you don’t look away.

“you better be ready,” he says, voice rough now. “’cause i’m gonna spend the first night out fucking you like i’m tryna get sent right back.”

so thankfully, he’s the kind of inmate that runs the damn yard but keeps his nose clean just enough to qualify for early release. he did beat someone’s ass in the showers last month for talking sideways about you—but still managed to earn “good behavior” by bribing the guards and running literacy programs like a deranged philanthropist.

next time you hear from him he calls you from the jail phone with that lazy, smug tone:

“two more weeks. then i’m home. you ready for that, princess?”

“depends. are you gonna kill anyone again?”

“no, baby. i’m a changed man, pinky promise.”

a pause. “unless they touch you.”

but life as a prisoner’s girlfriend had been interesting to say the least. some your favorite memories though?

the video call visits. the video calls hit different.

you answer from the bed, in his hoodie that thankfully still smelled like him, all soft lighting and skin and love in your eyes.

the screen flickers—and there he is.

inmate #966666. your man. arms crossed, face lit by the shitty fluorescent light in the visiting block. buzzed short on the sides, salmon pink thick on top. face tattoos sharp even in pixelation. smirking. cocky. starved.

“there’s my girl,” he rumbles, leaning in like he’s trying to reach through the screen. “lookin’ all cozy in our bed.”

you smile, soft. “missed you today.”

he leans back, legs spread, grinning. “yeah? say it again.”

you roll your eyes, giggling. “missed you.”

“mm,” he hums. “missed you more, baby. how’s our place lookin’? bought anything new for me to come home to?”

and you have—so you flip the camera around, showing off the new record shelf, the little framed photo of you two from before, and the rug you’ve been saving for.

“can’t wait for you to see it for real,” you say quietly. “can’t wait till you come home.”

his face softens—just barely. eyes half-lidded.

“me neither, princess. every night i picture it. you. the apartment. our bed. my hands all over you again.”

you bring the camera back to yourself, and akuma sits up on the floor beside your bed, tail thumping.

sukuna lights up like a kid on christma.

the dog perks up at his voice, sniffs the screen, tail going harder.

“yo, come here, big man,” he coos. “you takin’ care of my girl, huh? keepin’ her warm at night? …better not be sleepin’ on my fuckin’ pillow.”

you both laugh. but you already know when sukuna gets out, he’s picking that big soft baby up in his arms like it’s nothing, and probably crying into his fur when no one’s looking.

and the letters? worth framing.

he sends them folded perfectly, sprayed with just a hint of your favorite cologne. immaculate. front-and-back, always. tight, clean handwriting. detailed as hell—how he’s doing, what he’s thinking about. sweet shit like “wish i could hold you right now. need it bad.” and spicy shit like: “wanna fuck you face-down ass-up the minute I’m out.” “was dreamin’ about you last night. woke up hard. you owe me.”

one of his first letters had said:

hey baby, how are you? miss you real bad. i woke up thinkin’ about your laugh. that one that comes out when you’re tryin’ not to snort. i miss it. miss you. drawn your face from memory like four times now. don’t tell nobody, they’ll say i’m gettin’ soft. been missing your smell. you smell like home. that sweet vanilla shit you always put on. i look at your pictures every night. even got one under my pillow. even when they toss my cell, i hide it like it’s fuckin’ contraband. you’re my peace. can’t lose you princess.

then they’d switch, just like that.

you know, i thought about that one night. you dancing in the kitchen, making soup, wearing those little shorts. you remember the ones? yeah. me too. that’s why i wrote this with one hand. also last night i laid in this goddamn bunk and imagined the sound you make when you take your bra off after a long day. hard as a rock. you’re such a fuckin’ problem. do you still wear that lacey one i like? the one that barely holds anything? bet your titties are sittin’ real pretty in it right now. fuck me.

i miss how you say my name when you’re tired. i miss how you say it when you’re on top. i miss your thighs around my neck. i miss your mouth. i miss being inside you so deep you forget your own fuckin’ name.

but more than that? i miss watching you eat dinner across from me. i miss you bitchin’ about your coworkers. i miss your fingers in my hair when i can’t sleep. i don’t give a fuck how long it takes, you’re it for me.

and he always had a sketch tucked inside. sometimes it’s little things—your side profile, your body. or sharp, shaded tattoos—ones he designed for you. (something he did on the side when he was still a law abiding citizen). his name in kanji. a snake coiled around a katana surrounded by lilies.

this one’s for your spine. wanna see it when i fuck you from behind.

then, right under that like he didn’t just make you cry and wet at the same time:

…also. take it easy at work. remember to eat. and kiss akuma for me. shit, also, can you put some extra on my books? tryna get you something for your birthday. don’t ask what. it’s not a weapon, swear.

and you do—put money on his books, no hesitation. commissary’s got nothing on you. he’s got honey buns, decent ramen, and the best soap on his block. your man is moisturized and fed. period.

and at the end of a long, loving, slightly filthy letter, he always signed in that perfect script: “ryo. always yours.”

you kept every letter in a shoebox under your bed, every sketch on your corkboard. you read them on bad days. and good ones.

you always wrote back, too— keeping him updated with everything. little doodles, lipstick kisses on the envelope, spritz of perfume here and here. snuck in polaroids of you and akuma. even some spicy ones for his eyes only. always signed with “your/name, always & forever <3.”

oh and those conjugal visits? they most deeeefinitely take the cake.

you had waited weeks for them, marked off in red hearts on the calendar.

one of the first visits:

you walk into that little cold-ass private trailer with a bag packed—cute pajamas, your favorite lotion, that perfume he likes. he’s already there when you arrive, looking like sin in his real clothes. not that orange jumpsuit he’s usually in. eyes glued to you the second you step in.

then he softens. just a little.

you stand. don’t even say anything. just walk straight into his arms. he buries his face in your neck, breath catching like it’s the first inhale he’s had since they locked the door behind him.

“fuck,” he mutters. “you smell good. gonna feel even better.”

his hands are everywhere. rough palms on your waist, your thighs, your ass. lips dragging over your skin like he’s starved—and he is.

he grabs your waist fast, pulls you in for a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth, rough like he’s been starving for you.

“got something to show you,” you whisper, breathless already.

you turn around, pull your dress up, and tug the side of your thong down just enough to show him—

small script. his name. right cheek. close to the curve of your hip.

he goes still. his hand on your ass, thumb dragging right over it. then he finally speaks.

“nah, what the fuck,” he laughs, eyes wide, voice shaking. “you got my name tatted on you?”

you look back over your shoulder, smiling.

“been had it. waited to show you in person.”

his hands are now rubbing all over you, gripping that ass with both hands like it’s his last meal. but then, he’s got you onto the bed so fast the mattress groans. pulls your dress over your head and yanks your panties down. he stares like he’s looking at something holy.

“missed this mouth,” he groans, spreading your legs, licking up your slick with a filthy moan. “missed how fuckin’ sweet you are when you’re beggin’.”

you gasp, already squirming.

he fully buries face between your thighs, hands gripping your waist like he’s starving and hasn’t had a real meal since he got locked up. moaning into your cunt, licking like it’s his last day alive.

“taste like fuckin’ heaven,” he groans. “missed this fuckin’ pussy so bad. missed how you sound when i’m inside you.”

after a two or three orgasms from his tongue and fingers, he finally fucks you. it’s deep, rough, desperate. your legs around his waist, your back arching off the mattress while he pounds into you like he’s making up for lost time. his tip hitting that sweet spot repeatedly in your pussy that makes your body take a fucking screenshot. teeth on your neck, fingers digging into your hips right below where his name is inked into your skin.

he just mutters filthy shit in your ear:

“you got my name on you, and now you’re gonna take all of me.”

“this ass? mine.”

“gonna fuck you so good you dream about it ‘til the next visit.”

then he flips you both, makes you ride him, sucking your tits while they bounce, eyes half-lidded.

“shiiiit, sweetheart—gonna fuck a baby into you in this nasty little room if you’re not careful,” he grits.

and you just moan louder, hands in his hair, riding the edge of pure bliss.

“missed you,” you whisper, staring up at him, cradling his face.

he kisses you. hard. filthy. then soft.

he pulls away breathless. jaw slack, panting like a dog in heat.

“fuck, baby—come on. gimme that shit. come all over my dick. show me how much you missed it.”

you do. messy. loud. milking him for all he’s got.

and he follows right after, hands gripping your ass so hard they’re sure to leave bruises as he cums deep and desperate.

and when he’s done, he kisses your neck, arms wrapped around you.

“gonna marry you when i get out,” he whispers. “i swear.”

you both lie on the tiny mattress after some much needed TLC. tangled up, his head between your tits, your fingers in his hair. he traces your tattoo with his fingers.

“gonna take care of you right, when i get out,” he murmurs, voice rough. “no more bullshit.”

you kiss his jaw. whisper back. “i know.”

and when you left that day, sore and glowing, your man watched you walk away as the guards put the cuffs back on him, mouth curled into a grin, voice low like a promise:

“keep my side of the bed warm, baby. i’m comin’ home. promise.”

and the day he gets out, you’re already there.

you’re standing by the gate before the sun’s even up. his hoodie on, necklace with his name around your neck. you’re trying to play it cool, but your hands won’t stop shaking.

and when that gate finally opened, when ryomen sukuna steps out, a free man, tattoos gleaming in the morning light, black tee hugging his chest, hair grown out just a little, grin already forming.

you don’t even get a word out before he grabs you, spins you around like a goddamn princess. his hands firm on your waist, lifting you like you weigh nothing, face buried in your neck.

“fuck, baby,” he breathes. “missed you so fuckin’ bad.”

you’re laughing. crying a little. arms wrapped around his shoulders so tight it hurts.

he sets you down, but barely. just enough to kiss your cheeks, your jaw, your nose, and then he pulls back, still holding your face like it’s precious.

“you ready?”

you blink. “for what?”

he grins. big. so sure.

“courthouse. thirty minutes away. judge’s on lunch break. said he’ll squeeze us in.”

you blink again. “wait, the fuck? are you—you’re serious?”

“sweetheart,” he says, already dragging you toward the car, “i’ve been locked up seven fuckin’ years. i’m so serious.”

cut to an hour later: courthouse.

fluorescent lights. ugly tile. fake bouquet from the clerk’s desk in your hand. cheap rings in a little box you picked up from the nearest pawn shop on the way there. you didn’t even have time to change. he didn’t care. not even a little.

“you look perfect,” he mutters, adjusting your hoodie like it’s designer couture. “i’m gonna wife you up in my hoodie. that’s so hard.”

you roll your eyes. “you’re such a dumbass.”

“your dumbass now,” he grins emphasizing the your. “permanently.”

you say your vows that came straight from the heart in a cheap government office, between a sleepy officiant and a laminated “no food or drink” sign.

but he looks at you like you’re in a white dress on a mountaintop.

he kisses your hand when he slides the ring on.

says “’bout fuckin’ time,” loud enough that the clerk snorts.

and when they say “you may now kiss—”

he doesn’t wait. he pulls you in, kisses you like he’s trying to breathe through you. it’s deep and messy and a little bit desperate.

you giggle against his mouth.

he presses his forehead to yours, still grinning.

“mrs. ryomen fuckin’ sukuna,” he says proudly. “finally.”

you walk out as husband and wife.

he pulls you in by the hips and kisses you again in the parking lot, hands low, grin wide.

“made good on that promise, yeah?”

you decide not to do anything fancy. no champagne. no five-star dinner.

you celebrate the only way you know how—greasy as hell.

just burgers and fries at that little place you used to talk about in letters and phone calls—the one with the neon sign and checkered floors. sukuna orders double everything, and he’s across from you in sweats and an ankle monitor, eating like a man who forgot what real food tastes like.

he steals your fries when you’re not looking. you slap his hand.

he smirks. “married now, baby. my fries too.”

you share a milkshake. vanilla. extra whipped cream. two straws.

he stares at you across the table like he still doesn’t believe you’re real.

“you know i dreamed about this?” he says, voice rough from grease and emotion. “used to lay there and think about you, right across from me, doing this exact same shit.”

you smile. press your foot against his under the table.

“dream about the milkshake or me?”

he snorts. “both. obviously.”

he takes your hand and kisses your ring finger, red eyes locked on yours and filled with so much love.

and when you finally drive home—real home—his leg’s bouncing the whole way. you both get off the car and head up the steps and you unlock the front door.

“you sure he’s not gonna bite me?”

you snort. “you’re the one who taught him to go for the ankles.”

the apartment is quiet when you pull up. it’s familiar to him, but different. newer furniture. he’s seen it all in video calls but it’s different in person now. his shoes aren’t by the door anymore, but everything else—everything you—is still here. still home.

he hesitates at the threshold. just for a second. like he’s afraid it’ll vanish if he walks in. but then—

“AKUMA!” you call out, voice soft but firm.

and there’s the sound of scrambling paws, claws on the hardwood, and then akuma’s there—gray, stocky, a little older, but still full of love and joy.

the pitbull barrels into the room like he’s about to tear through the walls, skids to a stop, and freezes when he sees him.

sukuna kneels down, slow, whispering. “…yo.”

akuma just stares at first—like he’s short-circuiting. akuma sniffs the air. tail wags once. then again. and then he launches.

sukuna catches all 70 pounds of him like it’s nothing, falling back onto his ass with a grunt as akuma licks at his face like he’s trying to put seven years of love into one minute.

“fuck—okay, okay—goddamn—” sukuna’s laughing, arms tight around the dog’s back, fingers gripping his fur like he’s afraid he’ll disappear again.

akuma’s whining, tail a blur of chaos, body wriggling like he can’t get close enough.

and sukuna—your big, bad, tatted-up, ex-convict husband?

he fucking cries. silent at first. then not. (expected)

his shoulders were shaking, arms wrapped tight around the dog, forehead pressed to his fur.

you just watch from the doorway. hands over your mouth. heart splitting. he looks up at you, eyes wet.

“fuck, baby,” he says, voice cracking. “i didn’t think—i didn’t know if—”

you kneel beside him. touch his back. “he never stopped waiting,” you whisper. “neither did i.”

he pulls you both in—you and akuma—his whole world in his arms now. big, calloused hands around your waist. akuma draped across your laps like a living blanket.

you sit beside him. curl against his side.

“god, y/n, you—fuck—i…,” he whispers into akuma’s fur. “didn’t think i’d get to see you again.”

and for the first time in seven years, sukuna lets himself feel safe.

after you both settle in, it’s quiet now. real quiet. not prison quiet.

no locks clanking. no cell doors slamming. no count. no cold tile or shitty mattress. home quiet.

you’re both clean—fresh from a hot shower, towel-dried hair, his hands all over you the entire time like he couldn’t believe you were real. when he brushed his teeth, he kept making jokes about “first night as a free man, i’m getting minty for my wife.”

his wife.

he’s got everything he dreamed about for the last seven years. sheets that smell like you. a real bed. a dim lamp in the corner next to a photo of you, him & akuma.

and you—standing in the doorway, wearing nothing but one of his old shirts and a look that says finally.

the ring glints on your finger in the dark. he exhales like he’s never really breathed before. he sits on the edge of the bed for a while. just stares at the wall.

you don’t rush him. you know what’s going on in that handsome head of his. this is the place he got arrested in. the same room they tore apart. same windows, same shadows.

“seven years,” he murmurs. “first night back in my bed.”

you walk over. slow. crawl into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck.

“our bed,” you whisper.

he swallows. hard. hands settling on your hips.

eyes drinking you in like he can’t believe you’re real. like maybe he’s still dreaming in some concrete box.

“you’re my wife,” he says, voice thick. “fuckin’ wife.”

you smile against his lips. “so make me feel like it.”and that’s all it takes.

he kisses you hard—mouth desperate, like he’s catching up for all the years he couldn’t. he pulls your shirt over your head, kisses the top of your chest first, then lower. his hands are everywhere. reverent. hungry. he grabs your thighs, flips you onto your back, crawls down between your legs like he’s starving.

and he is.

he pulls your panties off with his teeth. kisses your inner thighs like he’s praying. then licks into you, slow and deep, groaning when your fingers tangle in his hair.

“sweetest fuckin’ thing,” he murmurs against your pussy. “missed this taste every night. used to jerk off thinkin’ about this right here.”

he eats like he’s got time to worship. not rough. not rushed. just…grateful. long licks, fingers curling inside, nose pressed to your clit until your thighs are shaking and your hips are grinding into his face.

“go ahead, baby. be a good girl and come on my face. it’s your first night as my wife. i got shit to prove.”

you come hard. breathless. crying out his name.

and he doesn’t stop. not until your thighs are twitching. not until he’s satisfied.

then he crawls back up, drags your mouth to his, lets you taste yourself on his lips.

“sit on it,” he rasps, voice wrecked. “wanna watch you ride me. wanna feel all of it.”

you straddle him, slow, sinking down onto his cock until you’re full—so fucking full it steals your breath.

he moans, head tipping back, gripping your hips, watching every inch disappear.

“my fuckin’ wife,” he breathes. “look at you.” you move slow at first, hands on his chest, grinding your hips like you’ve got nowhere else to be for the rest of your life.

and he loves it.

he’s got his hands all over you. one on your waist, the other cupping your breast, thumb brushing your nipple.

he fucks up into you, matching your pace, mouth dragging across your throat.

“seven fuckin’ years,” he pants. “you know how many times i dreamed of this?”

you’re shaking now. gasping.

“show me,” you whisper. “show me how bad you wanted it.”

he flips you fast—so fast—lays you down on his bed for the first time in seven years, and fucks you deep, slow, deliberate. the room filled with the most obscene sounds. bed creaking, the sweet, wet squelch of your pussy and his balls slapping against your ass.

he kisses your fingers. your mouth. your ring.

“mine,” he whispers into your neck. “forever. mine.”

you come again. this time with his name in your mouth and his hand locked with yours.

he follows right after—groaning low, buried deep inside you, face pressed to your chest. (definitely pregnant after that)

you collapse on top of him. he wraps you up. presses kisses to your hair. just lays there, breathing with you, forehead to yours, thumb brushing your cheek.

“thank you,” he whispers. “for waiting. for staying. for not giving up on me.”

no more grainy phone calls. no more visits. no more letters. just the two of you home with nothing between you but peace.

he rubs his hand over your back, voice soft.

“we’re good now, yeah?”

you nod, half-asleep. “mhm.”

“told you i’d come back.” he whispers.

after that, it gets quiet again. except akuma’s snoring in the corner like a damn freight train. the door’s locked. the city’s asleep.

and you’re in bed, legs tangled with your husband’s, skin warm from hours of sex and laughter and most of all—relief.

sukuna’s on his back, one arm around your waist, the other tucked behind his head.

he’s watching the ceiling like it owes him something, blinking slow, chest still rising a little too fast. like he can’t quite believe any of this is real.

you lean over him, kiss the ink on his collarbone.

he smiles—lazy and smug—as usual.

“what?” you murmur, tracing a line down his stomach.

he glances at you, eyes half-lidded. “just thinking.”

“oof, that’s dangerous.” you tease.

he huffs a laugh. “yeah.”

you wait and then he says it—quiet, almost like a joke.

“remember the party?”

you blink. “the one where we met. over some shitty, warm beer that toji picked up at the corner store?”

“mmhm.” he smirks, but softer now. “the one where yuki told you not to talk to me.”

you laugh. full and real. “‘don’t. he’s crazy, jail-time type shit.’”

“and you came and sat on my lap anyway.”

“i meeean, you were hot.” you shrug.

“and you’re an idiot.”

you smile, curl into his side, cheek resting on his shoulder.

he presses a kiss to your forehead, knuckles brushing your bare spine.

“guess i should thank your dumbass friend,” he mutters, voice low, already fading into sleep. “she’s the reason i met my wife. my ride or die.”

you smile and don’t say anything. you just hold him tighter, like you’re afraid he’ll disappear all over again.

two years in, then seven apart.

crime. then courtrooms. then shitty vending machine coffee. hundreds of letters and visits.

and now he’s here, tucked against your side, finally. fully.

yours in a way no one ever thought he should be.

you whisper, barely a breath. “guess you’re not so crazy after all, huh?”

he stirs—doesn’t open his eyes—but he hears you and with a rough, half-asleep laugh, he mutters.

“still fuckin’ crazy.”

then he kisses your shoulder, presses closer, and falls back asleep with his hand curled around your wedding ring.

you’re just starting to drift off—his breathing slow against your skin, your fingers still tangled in his hair—when the mattress shifts with a heavy thud.

then a groan.

“no. absolutely the fuck not—” sukuna mumbles, voice hoarse.

akuma, in all his 70-pound glory, launched himself onto the bed. sprawling across both of you like he’s claiming his spot. head wedged on your stomach, paws kicking into sukuna’s ribs.

you laugh, half-asleep. “aw, kuuuna. baby, he missed you.”

sukuna sighs, glaring at the ceiling.

“seven years in prison, and i come home to my traitorous cockblockin’ dog.”

akuma lets out a loud sigh and promptly starts snoring. loud and obnoxious.

you kiss his little boxy head and then sukuna’s temple, still grinning.

sukuna grumbles something under his breath—but his arm curls tighter around both of you.

and you’re pretty sure you heard him mutter the words, “thanks…whoever’s out there.”

© j3llyc4kes

:3 please check out my other works! here’s the master list! <3

a/n: this was pretty long! been sitting on this for about a month now, hopefully you all enjoyed it! let me know if i should continue this or leave it as is! t

[carnalcrows]

SAY PLEASE

pairing: abby saja x top male reader

synopsis: Abby’s been throwing hints left and right—flirty touches, cocky smirks, lingering glances that scream take the damn bait already. But his manager just keeps smiling at him like nothing’s going on. Sweet. Harmless. So when Abby finally snaps after a brutal night and drags him into a supply closet, desperate to blow off steam, he figures he knows how this ends. A quick hookup. A little control. Easy.

He doesn’t expect the guy he’s been teasing for weeks to turn around and beg for something filthier. Something softer. Something that leaves Abby shaking by the end of it.

And the worst part? He kind of loves it.

content warnings: 18+, smut, brat Abby, top male reader, power dynamics, closet scene, manager x idol, begging, dom/sub elements, praise kink (good boy, prince), manhandling, ass eating, overstimulation, [smut], post-scenario emotional softness, mild internalized shame, possessive behavior, freaky obsession (hidden under a sweet exterior)

word count: 1.2k

"You gonna help me or not?" Abby asked, breath short, jaw tight.

You blinked up at him from where he dropped you. “...What kind of help are we talking about?”

He exhaled like he was about to throw something. “Are you serious right now?”

"I mean—" You sat up slowly. "You’ve been kinda vague."

Abby crouched in front of you, both hands planted on either side of your thighs. His eyes were glassy with frustration. "I dragged you into a closet. What do you think I want?"

You tilted your head, all soft lashes and fake innocence. “Hug?”

His face twitched. “You are such a fucking menace.”

"Then why do you keep flirting with me?"

“I—what—?” He paused, short-circuited.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” you asked, voice dropping a little, just enough to make his breath catch. “You think I haven’t been waiting for you to finally do something about it?”

His mouth opened, but no sound came out. You were already rising to your knees, closing the space between you, until you could hear the way his breath stuttered when you leaned in.

Abby blinked, startled. “Wait—so you knew?”

“Oh, baby,” you breathed, brushing your fingers under his chin, “I’ve been starving for you.”

His whole body tensed, heat crawling up his neck.

You smiled. “So. How do you want me?”

Abby licked his lips, fast. “I thought you’d maybe wanna… I dunno. Suck me off. Or let me—”

“Nope.”

You kissed the corner of his jaw. “Wanna eat you out.”

He jerked back like you slapped him. “You what?”

“I said—”

“No, no, I heard you. I just. What the fuck.”

You shrugged. “You dragged me in here. You said you were stressed. Let me help.”

“That’s not—Guys don’t usually—I’m not—” He looked like he was glitching out. “You’re fucking with me, right?”

You gave him that look. Soft. Puppyish. Lips parted, a little pouty. Not even putting it on.

“Please?” you whispered. “Want you so bad, Abby. Been thinking about it forever.”

His throat bobbed.

"You're not gonna tell anyone, right?"

"Course not."

You kissed him.

That shut him up fast.

Abby stiffened, caught off guard, but he didn’t pull away. His hands twitched at your sides like he couldn’t decide whether to push you off or pull you in. And then—slowly—he kissed you back. Tentative at first. Almost shy, like the fire he’d come in with was starting to burn inward now.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, cheeks flushed, breath catching like he’d just realized what he was agreeing to.

“I can’t believe I’m letting you do this,” he muttered.

You tilted your head, smiling gently. “You don’t have to.”

He hesitated. Really hesitated this time. You could see it—pride and desire wrestling under his skin, chewing at the edge of his mouth. His fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt like he needed to hold something while he decided.

Then finally, he let out a breath and nodded.

“Okay,” he said softly. “But if I tell you to stop, you have to stop. No matter what.”

You beamed up at him, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw. “Deal,” you agreed easily. “Now turn around and brace yourself against the wall.”

Abby did as you asked, hands splaying against the shelves as you positioned yourself behind him—before pushing his pants down, along with his boxers. You could see the way his body trembled with anticipation, hear the shaky inhale of his breath.

"Tell me if you need me to slow down or stop," you reminded him gently, hands coming to rest on his hips. "I'll check in with you throughout."

With that, you leaned forward and dragged the flat of your tongue over his entrance. Abby jerked, a gasp leaving his lips at the sudden contact. You hummed encouragingly, licking again before sealing your mouth around him and sucking lightly.

"Oh fuck," Abby breathed, fingers scrabbling at the shelves. "That feels... holy shit."

You just continued your ministrations, varying your technique to figure out what he liked best. It didn't take long before he was pushing back against your face, breath coming in short pants as you worked him open with lips and tongue.

"Please," he whined after a few minutes, hips rolling desperately against the wall. "I need more. Need your fingers or something."

You pulled back just long enough to slick up two fingers before pressing them inside him, curling them just so to hit his prostate. Abby cried out, back arching as he struggled to take the new stretch.

"Right there," he gasped, head thrashing from side to side. "Fuck yes, just like that. Don't stop."

You didn't, doubling down on your efforts until he was babbling incoherently, thighs shaking with the force of his pleasure. Only then did you pull your fingers free, sealing your lips back around him and sucking hard as you pushed three fingers inside this time.

"Shit," Abby panted, eyes rolling back as he struggled to take the new stretch. "So fucking full. Can't... can't take much more."

You just stayed there behind him, gaze locked on every twitch, every shiver, working him over with your mouth and hands like you were starving for it. Abby’s fingers scrabbled against the wall of the closet, breath hitching. His head dropped forward with a soft, choked sound—he couldn’t see you, but he didn’t need to. Every nerve in his body was screaming for you.

"Gonna come," he warned shakily, hips starting to stutter. "Fuck, I'm gonna come."

You just hummed around him, continuing to work on his prostate until he was screaming your name, spilling a hot and sticky mess from his cock, that dribbled down to his hole and across your tongue. You swallowed it down greedily, continuing to work him through his orgasm with lips and tongue until he was spent and shaking.

Only then did you pull away, licking your lips clean as you rose to your feet. Abby looked up at you with glassy, satisfied eyes, a dopey grin on his face— reaching up to pull you down for a proper kiss. You went willingly, letting him taste himself on your tongue as he clung to you.

You were both still on the floor ten minutes later.

Well. You were on the floor. Abby was draped across your chest like a dramatic little prince, sweat cooling along his collarbone, your jacket half-tucked beneath him like a makeshift pillow.

He hadn’t spoken in a while. Just kept exhaling soft and shaky, like he didn’t quite know how to be alive again yet.

Finally, he muttered, “...Fuck.”

You laughed quietly, one hand stroking up his back.

“Never speak of this again,” he said.

You hummed. “You said that already.”

“I mean it.”

You kissed the top of his head. “Sure, baby.”

He didn’t argue. Just curled in closer, fingers fisting the fabric of your shirt.

"...You were really good,” he mumbled, voice too quiet for how bratty he usually was. “Like. Stupid good.”

You smiled. “I know.”

"Ugh." He shoved at your chest half-heartedly. "Don’t get cocky."

"Too late. Got you crying in a closet."

He groaned into your neck. “I hate you.”

You laughed. “You will. Until the next time you’re stressed.”

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

Taglist: @belovedengie @jrxkar @yippee-yippee8 @faggotboulevard @bleedingbl0ssom @green-turtle3 @mazettns @laynnetteii1 (comment to be added)

[y2kuromi]

⟢ ┈ ❛ 𝗧𝗢𝗢 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗚 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗡𝗢𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗚𝗜𝗔 呪術廻戦

synopsis. your last summer together is buried in memories and spent grieving spring days you’re too young to be nostalgic for.

contents. sfw! fluff, with a smidge of angst. poly stsg x fem! reader. est rel ⇢ they’re dating. canon compliant. premature death arc. reader gets called pretty girl, wifey, sweets, baby & angel. melancholy slice of life. i’m not normal about them </3

the sky was a numbing bright blue tinted with the orange hues of the sun's rays. it was hot, sickeningly so, and the common room was stuffy despite the windows being open. you could barely move your limbs without being suffocated by the sticky heat.

the clock’s handles seemed to crawl lethargically across its dial. you were reclined on the tatami floor, head propped up against satoru's legs as you sighed loudly for what felt like the hundredth time in the last hour.

the blue eyed boy sat cross-legged in front of the only working fan, running a hand languidly through his soft white hair as he tapped absentmindedly at his phone's screen. his cheeks were flushed a light pink from the sun's warmth and beads of sweat clung to his skin.

he'd shrugged off his navy blue uniform jacket and discarded it somewhere on the common room’s couch. under the onslaught of the blistering heat sweat bled through the fabric of his white school shirt, highlighting the planes of his shoulders and abs.

his hair fell softly, framing his face and you swore his irises were glowing behind his sunglasses when you inevitably got lost in those pretty blues of his.

you were positive he was oblivious to your staring until the corner of his lips quirked upwards in a small smirk. “take a picture it’ll last longer”

“i wasn't even looking at you” you huffed, too sweltered to be embarrassed by the teasing grin that was plastered across his features as he directed his attention solely to you

“that's right sweets, you were staring” he chuckled, “i can’t say i blame you, i mean look at me, i'm drop dead gorgeous”

“i should've gone down to the konbini with shoko” you groaned, propping yourself up on your elbows in order to shoot him a well meaning glare. “or followed sugu and nanami on their mission this morning, anything’s better than being stuck here with you”

“aww don't say that, they wouldn't have wanted you to miss out on this view” the sunlight filtering in through the window cast a golden hue over his eyes. it took everything in your power not to melt under the intensity of his gaze.

“whatever helps you sleep at night” you sighed loftily, subsequently rolling your eyes. “it’s too hot for your nonsense, do you ever shut up?”

“nope! no can do” he said, sticking his tongue out childishly — the action only served to deepen the dimples carved in the apples of his cheeks. “if i did you'd be bored out of your mind”

“i am bored out of my mind” you sighed exasperatedly. you were beyond stultified, unable to do as little as focus on the book you'd been reading. the fan tousled its pages aimlessly while you stared up at your boyfriend the ceiling

“let’s do something fun then” satoru proposed. your brows furrowed as he pinched your cheek softly, rolling your flesh between his thumb and index finger.

“like what?” you narrowed your eyes at him. he couldn’t be up to any good, he never was. you wondered what the twisted idea whirring in his mind was now.

“skinny dipping” he grinned, you weren't opposed to going for a swim. it would be fun and relaxing. the thought of cool crystal clear water washing over your skin was very enticing but satoru was a handful. and you were too hot to deal with his antics.

“i’ll pass on that” you hummed, swatting his hands away from your face to no avail. he continued to trace shapes on the canvas of you skin

“and here i thought you’d jump at the opportunity to spend some time with me” he pouted.

it was suddenly a little harder to look him in the eyes without remembering how cold and lifeless they’d once been. a dull grey, unlike the familiar bright blue you’d fallen in love with

it was suddenly a little harder to breathe as you wiped beads of sweat off your forehead. this wasn’t your usual banter, his blue eyes were hazy as if a storm layed in wait in them. a storm that had been brewing, slowly, since his untimely awakening

“i am spending time with you silly” your voice was soft, like spun sugar, like the embroidered cushions lining suguru’s bed, like your gentle fingers carding through his unruly hair at night, “i’ve missed you. a lot”

satoru frowns. he was so much busier than he’d wished to be with the nonstop solo missions the higher ups threw at him. he’d barely seen you this summer. and he’d seen suguru even less. resentment, slow and bitter had begun to stir towards his newfound strength, and the responsibilities that came subsequently with it.

he’d missed so, so much this summer. it was still his favourite season. it would always be

he would never grow sick of the sun’s rays beating down on his skin. of picking pretty flowers to thread through suguru’s hair. of the late night konbini runs you went when yaga-sensei was fast asleep

but he resented his absence.

as strong as he was, as quickly as he dealt with each curse on his missions, he couldn’t be there for you, for suguru, no matter how much he wanted to be

“i know, i’m here now” he murmured, you held satoru’s gaze for a moment as he pressed a honeyed peck to your cheek with an over-exaggerated mwah

and you tried to mirror the smile splayed on his lips even though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was hard to bask in his warm presence when you’d never felt so alone.

( change was lonely, painfully so )

satoru was busy being the strongest. shoko spent her days toiling away in the infirmary with her dummies, she practically lived there. suguru had shrunken into a shell of himself — his olive skin had become milky and so, undeniably pale. his violet eyes were sunken and the dark bags hanging beneath them made your heart ache.

( change was heartbreaking to witness )

suguru seemed worse off after haibara’s funeral. he’d been holed up in his dorm more often than not. and when he could be bothered to come out his loose fitting uniform was creased. and he was quiet. quieter than he’d ever been.

he felt like a doppelgänger to you, a zombie

his trademark scent of coffee and jasmine pommade was long gone. his obsidian hair was unstyled and greasy. he was no longer the first to wake up and trail to the kitchen to make breakfast for everyone. he no longer reprimanded satoru for eating too much sugar, no longer scolded you for staying up too late.

but he was still your suguru, you still loved him

you missed him just as much as you missed your blue spring. you chewed on the inside of your cheek for a moment. it didn’t take a genius to tell something was bothering you, it was written all over your face.

“you okay?” satoru asked, brows furrowed in a way that made him look like the pouty teenager he once was, “i can practically hear you thinking”

“‘m thinking about suguru again” you confessed quietly, leaning into his touch and closing your eyes, “i know he’s fine but, i’m worried”

you weren’t entirely sure what yaga was thinking when he’d sent suguru and nanami to exorcize a second grade in kyoto.

it had been a year since the incident with the star plasma vessel and the furthest suguru had traveled for a mission was shinjuku, sending him to a completely different prefecture was throwing him in the deep end

“sugu’s a tough guy baby, he can hold his own” satoru said softly, brushing stray curls away from your forehead. you weren’t sure he actually believed that

his leg bounced subconsciously beneath your figure, and his bottom lip was caught beneath his pearly teeth. he sat quietly for a moment, considering what to make of the far away look on your face

“wanna speak to him? will that make you feel better?” he asks, dangling his phone mere inches away from your face. the matching phone charm you’d bought for the three of you reflects the suns rays beautifully

you nodded. satoru cracked his signature smile as he handed his phone to you. you knew his password by heart — it’s a combination of all your birthdays and he uses it for everything. your thumbs dart across his keyboard and his screen lights up with the photo shoko took at the beach last spring

you were grinning, sandwiched between your boyfriends and there was glitter-like sand dusting your cheeks. suguru’s eyes had so much more light in them and satoru looked like he was dreaming

( it’s so much better than his old screenie of that gravure idol )

his phone rang shrilly and you waited with bated breath for suguru to answer. relief washed over you when the line connected with a click and a familiar voice sent tremors of something akin to love rippling through your chest

“satoru?” you can hear the faint ruffling of his sleeve against the receiver as he holds his phone up to his ear

“close, it’s me ” your voice is soft, a mere whisper. talking to suguru often felt like taking timid steps towards a stray cat. making no sudden movements incase he’d bolt. “but he’s here too”

“hey angel, is everything okay?”

you knew suguru was grieving the loss of something. something you didn’t think you’d ever understand, but he never failed to think about your own wellbeing first. it made you sad, but it also made you love him even more

“yeah, i’m fine” you smiled, “i just wanted to know how your mission was going”

he chuckled lowly, amused by the shy timbre of your words. “that’s sweet of you, nanami and i are on the train now. we’ll be back before you know it”

“told you he could hold his own” satoru said quietly before growing smug, “suguru, how long does is it take to deal with a second grade? you’ve been gone all morning”

it’s a little rude, and vibrant shades of condescending, but you all know he’s only kidding. you all know he’s worried too.

“hello to you too ‘toru,” you could almost hear the smile tugging at suguru’s lips, “do you want anything? i saw some takoyaki and thought of you”

the blue eyed boy is deep in thought for a moment, before he speaks up again “nahh, i don't want anything just come back safe so we can get thai food for dinner tonight”

your mouth began to water and your stomach growled, clamouring at the mention of the savoury dishes you often got from the thai joint in town. the cereal you’d had for breakfast was a distant memory

“speaking of food, have both of you had lunch yet?”

you and satoru exchanged guilty looks. you hadn’t. you were waiting for suguru. you always were

“i’ll take your silence as a no” he tutted, “please don’t bother waiting for me again, i don’t have much of an appetite today”

satoru hummed noncommittally, shifting you off him ever so slightly, so that he could stand up. you groaned quietly as he cupped your head in the divot of his palm and placed a pillow beneath it

( it was nowhere near as soft as him )

you raised a curious brow at him, and he mouthed the word ‘water’ to you before padding towards the kitchen. you didn’t need to ask him to bring you a glass too, you knew he would

“you’ve barely eaten anything this week, and shoko said you didn’t have any breakfast before you left” you sighed — a gloomy exhale that made something in him constrict. it made his heart burn with the desperate yearning to protect you

( from everything. from how fucked up the jujutsu world was. from the dangerous curses lurking in shadows. from him.)

“we’re still getting take-out tonight angel” suguru’s voice is comforting, and laced with unadulterated affection. he really does love you, “and i’ll eat it all, i promise”

he wants to apologize to you. to promise that he’ll try — to eat, to take a little more care of himself, to be less apathetic, to talk about amanai and haibara and unpack the feelings he’d buried in the back of his mind

( to be easier to love. )

but he’s afraid his heart might give out if he unveils himself to you.

“thank you” you beamed, and he knows you mean it. he knows you’re truly grateful. for him, for everything. and he hopes you know the feeling is mutual. he feels a little less melancholy when the line clicks

( he feels a little less melancholy because you’re so, so good to him )

satoru returns with a full glass of water. your glass has cute tiny strawberries dotting its rim. he’d found it nestled behind snow globes and old ceramic vases at an old thrift store. he sets it down carefully on the coffee table

you remained unmoving on the tatami mats, legs spread akimbo in a way that made satoru think of starfish. of running barefoot on the beach and building castles in the sand

you reminded him of summer, you always had.

“c’mon, up you get lazy” he coaxed, leaning down to scoop you up effortlessly in his arms. you let out a whine as he carried you towards the couch.

he trailed a soft kiss from your cheek to the top of your head, and pulled away ever so slightly, resting his forehead against yours

he’s a little too pretty like this, framed by the golden sunlight flitting through the windows. hazy, like a midsummer night’s dream. a little too unguarded

a little too human to be a god

a blissful sigh fell from your lips. satoru had always been clingy. but — on the rare occasions he was free from his tedious missions — he’d been moreso lately. his fingers brushed over your skin meticulously, meaningfully as if he wished to commit every inch of your skin to his memory.

he waited patiently as you sipped on your water. blue eyes crinkling, as teasing as ever. you could tell he was itching to make fun of you for being so sluggish. but he doesn’t

he leans in to kiss the tip of your nose gently, and you’re drunk on the way his love seeps through his touch. it bleeds through infinity, his skin, everything and it always reaches you

it’s a heavy, cloying type of love. sometimes too much to bear, like draping a heavy blanket over your glistening skin. but satoru made it feel so light. so natural. his arms are snug around your waist and you fit into him like a puzzle piece. you’re so impossibly close to him you can feel the beat of his heart against you.

“pretty girl” he grins, and all you can manage is an airy murmur of mm. one that has him pressing yet another kiss to your skin. ivory tendrils tickle your neck and you can’t help but squirm

in his affection driven haze, satoru ignores your weak protests about him ‘slobbering all over you’ . instead, pressing more short, sticky kisses to the crook of your neck that temporarily soothed the sun’s bruises.

you’re so lost in him, in his love, that you don’t even hear shoko drifting through the open door until her footsteps came to a halt, and she took in the unfolding scene with a scowl

“get a room please” shoko groaned as she trudged into the common room. “better yet, go to one of yours. this has to be a form of public indecency”

you giggled wryly. it was hard to see her past your besotted boyfriend, but you managed. there was a disgruntled look clouding her dark brown eyes. the practiced, unamused look she reserved for satoru’s shameless public displays of affection.

her shoulder-length brown hair is scraped into two loose ponytails. beads of sweat dot her forehead, glistening beneath the mellow kitchen lights and making her skin appear to sparkle. she'd shed the jacket of her uniform and rolled her sleeves up to her elbows

you turned your face into the crook of satoru’s neck, grinning ruefully against his skin. “you could’ve stayed at the konbini longer.”

“and left you two to defile the common room? i don’t think so” she scoffed, dropping her grocery bags on the kitchen counter “i had to buy more posicles and ice cream by the way, considering someone finished all of them and didn’t think to say anything”

satoru whistled inconspicuously as he perked up beside you, “i wonder who that could’ve been”

you rolled your eyes and nudged your elbow into his ribs gently, “you, eight eyes.”

he gasped, pressing a hand dramatically to his heart. “sweets c’mon, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“i genuinely have no idea how you managed to pull two of the hottest people i know,” shoko muttered, yanking open the freezer and shoving the cold treats inside. “you’re such a loser”

“it’s the charm, i’m simply irresistible”

“you’re insufferable actually,” she snapped, grabbing herself a popsicle and biting into it with a small crunch. she sighed as she sat herself down on one of the stools. “god it’s so hot today.”

you groaned in agreement, popping the top two open in surrender. “i feel like i’m melting”

satoru peered down at you and grinned. “oh? just a few more buttons sweets—”

“pervert!” you said, glaring at him accusingly. “what is wrong with you?” your palms flattened against his chest as you shoved hard. he didn’t budge

“that’s not very nice” satoru sniffed, feigning ignorance as he tilted his head “i’m just appreciating the view! am i not allowed to find my girlfriend attractive?”

“you’re cursed,” you shoved at his chest again to no avail. it was like trying to move a brick wall. a brick wall with annoying sparkly blue eyes.

“you’re so mean to me,” he whined, dropping his arms and drowning you in his weight. all long limbs and lazy affection, blinking at you slowly, like a cat basking in the sun.

“get off me” you shrieked, writhing beneath him in outrage. he only laughed, the sound bright and boyish as it rumbled in his chest. “i’m all sticky”

“i like you sticky” he mumbled into your skin, pressing a kiss to your temple as you tried and failed to squirm away

there was something about summers that made satoru and suguru hang off you more than they ought to. you thumped his shoulder until he finally relented with a groan. he pouted as if you were somehow inconveniencing him by not letting him squish the life out of you.

“so violent,” he teased, sitting up and pulling you towards him by your waist effortlessly. you let out a squeal as he hoisted you up into his arms.

“put me down!” you squirmed as he carried you towards the kitchen, legs kicking in the air as he held you firmly over his shoulder.

“nope,” he grinned, “not ‘til you say sorry”

“for calling you a pervert? you are one.” you rolled your eyes, trying and failing to fight the small laugh that escaped your lips, muffled against his collarbone.

“i hate both of you” shoko scowled, “you make me sick to my stomach, especially you satoru”

“hurtful,” he sniffled dramatically, tightening his grip around your waist. “wifey, tell shoko to stop being mean to me.”

“shoko stop being mean to him” you said absentmindedly as he deposited you on the counter with care, making sure you didn’t hit your head on the overhead cabinet. his fingers were gentle as he adjusted your legs so they dangled comfortably over the edge.

“i make no promises” she drawled, taking another bite of her popsicle, unmoved. “we should hit the beach one of these day, before summer ends”

you perked up slightly at that, swinging your legs where they dangled over the edge of the counter. “only if we go when toru doesn’t have a mission,”

“unlikely, i always have missions,” he muttered, still lingering by your side

“that’s true,” you said, voice softer now. “we barely see you these days. if it’s not a mission, it’s some meeting with the higher-ups or—”

“i’m here now, aren’t i?” he poked your thigh gently. looking at you with his pretty blues. they were soft in a way they rarely were these days. like summer fading into fall. “i’ll always make time for you, baby.”

shoko gagged, not missing a beat, “cut it out please, i beg of you.”

before satoru could retaliate, his phone buzzed in his pocket. he picked it up, face lighting up at the name on the screen. “sugu’s asking what you want from the thai place in town” he says, “d’you want your usual or do you want to try something new?"

“mm i want my mango sticky rice" you said, after careful consideration. the rice drizzled with sweet fresh slices of mango and coconut milk was perfect on humid days like this.

“i knew it,” satoru grinned, “you’re so predictable.”

“shut up,” you mumbled, flicking his arm. “you get pad thai every single time.”

“it’s the superior option,” he shrugged “besides, i always give you some.”

“that’s because your portions are huge.”

“and because i love you,” he said softly, reaching up to cup your cheek. you let him, because his touch was familiar and warm, because he was always anchoring himself to you in any way possible

“are you going to ask for my order too?” shoko asked impatiently, “or are you going to keep flirting with my best friend”

“if you must know i’m multi-tasking” he sighed, turning his attention towards her briefly, “i can be a good boyfriend and remember that you want . . .”

“kanom jeeb and fried tofu” she narrowed her eyes at him as he texted her order to suguru

“happy now?” he said, rolling his eyes. shoko didn’t bother gracing him with a response. she tossed her popsicle stick into the bin with a lazy flick of her wrist, already completely tuned out of the conversation

instead of probing her any further — for once — satoru ambled towards the fridge. his uniform shirt was sticking to his back in soft creases from the heat. he crouched, muttering something under his breath about the strawberry ones disappearing first, rifling through the boxes to dig out popsicles for both of you

there was a pause as he stood back up, nudging the door shut with his foot and turning toward you with a small, triumphant grin. he held out a strawberry popsicle in one hand and the mystery flavor in the other. you took yours without complaint

“thank you ‘toru” you smiled, the corners of your lips curling as you leaned ever so slightly into him, the strawberry popsicle already beginning to drip down your wrist in the summer heat.

“any time, pretty girl,” he murmured, looking very pleased with himself, “y’know i live to serve you.”

“you live to be annoying” shoko quipped flatly from across the kitchen, where she was rummaging through the rest of her groceries. she cracked open a can of cola and took a long sip before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand

“are you and suguru down to smoke later?” she asked you casually, “i wanna talk to you without your shadow lurking”

“you mean satoru?” you asked, trying to suppress the smile tugging at your lips

“i’m right here” he scowled around a mouthful of popsicle, brows furrowed as he processed the betrayal, “and you shouldn’t be smoking anyway, it’s bad for you”

“so is eating enough sugar to kill a family of five but i don’t see you quitting any time soon” shoko shot back, arms folded across her chest

“semantics” satoru said breezily, waving her off with his free hand, “the three of you smoke like you’re getting paid to, at this rate i’m gonna end up outliving all of you”

you paused, the cold sweetness of your popsicle dull on your tongue as your gaze flickered up to him. shoko didn’t respond right away either. she just looked at him, like she wasn’t sure if he meant it as a harmless joke or if he even realized how that sounded out loud.

“very tactful” she muttered finally, voice lower than it was before, “that’s one hell of a thing to say satoru”

he blinked slowly, like the weight of his own words had only just reached him. but he didn’t take them back. he just chuckled hollowly. “i mean, think about it. i am the strongest. kinda comes with the label, doesn’t it?”

there was a pause. you looked at him, really looked at him, the way you had a hundred times since the star plasma incident. his face was flushed with heat and sugar. his mouth was curled like he was still joking, but his eyes had gone a little glassy

you knew that look all too well, you’d seen it too often in the quiet moments after missions, when he came home with bloodstains dotting his collar and heavy silence. you'd seen it when he held amanai’s body too tightly the day she died. you’d seen it when he stood next to suguru at haibara’s grave. you could see it now, beneath the kitchen lights and between melting popsicles. you felt something twist deep in your stomach.

“toru,” you murmured, your voice barely above the hum of the fridge. he blinked, once, twice, “stop talking like that”

“like what?” he cocked his head, expression unreadable behind his sunglasses

“like you’re going to end up all alone” you frowned. he sighed, eyes lowering again. he fiddled with the now empty popsicle in his hand

“‘m just being realistic” he grinned limply, “someone’s gotta be” your fingers brushed against his gently, in an almost imperceptible way that made him flinch. not away from you, but towards you. like he needed it. like he needed your touch to anchor him, to pull him back from wherever his mind had started to spiral.

he shifted a little closer, knuckles grazing your thigh where you sat on the counter, soft and quiet. in case the smallest movement would scare the moment away.

“you don’t have to be the one holding the world together” you said softly. his jaw tensed, he was still grinning but his lips twitched weakly

“who else is gonna do it?” he asked casually, “nanami’s too serious, utahime’s too weak—”

“gojo” shoko interrupted coolly, arms folded over her chest again. she watched him closely as she shook her head, the expression on her face was a mix of concern and mild irritation beneath her soft bangs.

“my bad” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he offered her a half-hearted smile, “didn��t mean to get all doom and gloom on you guys, it’s way too hot outside for conversations like this”

you hummed, unconvinced but you didn’t push it. as the silence settled back into something lighter, you heard footsteps echo down the hall.

“conversations like what?” suguru’s voice filtered into the kitchen, gentle and low, warming your heart in a way only he could manage to.

“suguru” your body moved before your mind could register, sliding off the counter and padding across the linoleum to close the distance between you. you threw your arms around him the second he stepped into view, pressing your face into the crook of his neck before he could fully set the takeaway bags down.

he stiffened slightly, but you felt him soften just as quickly. “hey,” he said, voice low and a little hoarse as he adjusted his grip on the food to avoid dropping it, “i’m all sweaty”

“when has that ever mattered?” you mumbled against his skin, breathing him in. his scent was fainter now, mixed with heat and exhaustion, but he still smelled like himself. like coffee and jasmine. he was still your suguru.

“double standards” behind you, satoru spluttered. “when it was me last week you told me to get off you. and you told me to get off you multiple times today”

“because you were literally covered in blood and you’re clingy at the most inconvenient times” you rolled your eyes as suguru placed a tender kiss on your the crown of your head. like he was reassuring you in ways he couldn’t quite accomplish with words. “how was your mission sugu?”

“so you hate me and you want me to die?” you didn’t even have to look at satoru to know his face was twisted into the most betrayed expression imaginable, hand clutching at his chest like you’d run him through with a blade.

“he’s so dramatic,” you murmured, softening into the crook of suguru’s shoulder

“he always has been” suguru said fondly, “it’s one of his more charming flaws”

“flaws?” satoru gasped again, voice cracking as if the word alone had physically hurt him, “you’re turning on me too?”

suguru sighed through a small, fond smile. like he’d seen this exact performance a hundred times, and would happily watch it a hundred more. “no one’s turning on you, ‘toru. you’re just. . .exhausting.”

“exhausting?” he sounded scandalized now, staggering a step backward toward the counter like he needed the support. “i give and give and this is what i get in return? slander? betrayal?”

“you give us migraines,” shoko muttered, rubbing her temple tiredly like the sound of satoru’s voice was more than enough to trigger another one. “how was your mission suguru?”

“mm” suguru hummed, setting down the takeaway bags carefully on the counter. “not too bad, just another haunted house”

“where’s nanami?” you asked, leaning against the counter as suguru loosened the ties of the plastic bags with his lithe fingers. his dark hair was still a little damp at the ends, curled slightly where it brushed the nape of his neck. you could see how the sleeves of his uniform clung to the faint sheen of sweat along his arms.

“he said he was going to take a shower,” he said, finishing unpacking the takeaway with practiced movements. mango sticky rice for you, pad thai for satoru, kanom jeeb for shoko, khao soi for nanami, and som tam for himself. all neatly boxed in clear plastic and lined neatly on the counter . “i’m going to freshen up as well, you can start eating without me”

“like hell we will” satoru scoffed indignantly, as if the mere idea of eating dinner without suguru was a personal affront, “we’re coming with you”

“that isn’t necessary, i’m only going to take a shower.”

he had that look in his violet eyes again, something akin to exhaustion and untouchable softness.before the star plasma vessel, before amanai, before toji, he would’ve teased satoru for being too clingy. but now?

now, he was quieter. slower to smile. still warm, still him. but dull, defeated

( now, an ache permanently rested on his shoulders and he was always a little too far away. like you could reach out and touch him, but never truly hold him )

satoru, naturally, took offense to suguru’s refusal, “how rude,” he huffed, “i said we were tagging along why are you acting like i asked to watch you shower?”

“i wouldn’t put it past you.” shoko interjected, “freak”

you snorted behind your hand, watching suguru’s violet eyes flicker with the faintest trace of amusement. the kind of amusement they were lit with naturally before everything broke

“we’re coming” satoru insisted again, already walking toward the hallway. his footsteps unyielding as he glared at shoko over his shoulder “best believe i’ll deal with you later shoko”

shoko didn’t flinch, she didn’t do as little as batting an eye. “shiver me timbers” she deadpanned

your fingers slipped into suguru’s. his hand was warm and a little rough, it tightened gently around yours instinctively. muscle memory. something he couldn’t unlearn no matter how hard he tried to.

he glanced at you briefly, your eyes held something that he couldn’t quite place a finger on. it softened his resolve to be alone, it softened his resolve to leave. “alright”

you didn’t say anything, just tugged at his hand to guide him toward the hallway. toward the stillness of his room. your steps were slow and unhurried, and suguru was grateful for it. grateful for you

the door creaked as he pushed it open. his room hadn’t changed much over the course of the last three years. it still smelled the same, like jasmine, sandalwood, and a hint of sweet citrus. the main lights were off and the sun hadn’t fully set yet. golden rays filtered in streaks through the curtains.

you stepped in after suguru and let the door click shut behind you. satoru was already sprawled out on his bed like he owned the place

suguru’s room was messy in an intentional way. his walls were adorned with paintings and photographs. some were in proper frames while some were hung up with tape. his desk was littered with sketches of curses he’d absorbed, and studies of you and your found family. there was one of nanami reading by the windowsill. one of shoko smoking. and a half-finished sketch of amanai at the beach.

his dragon shaped record player sat near his desk, a neat stack of worn vinyls beside it. his dresser was cluttered with glass bottles of cologne, hair products, and his childhood jewelry box that was stuffed with silver rings and tangled necklaces. suguru’s room was a sanctuary. it was the only place he still felt like himself. he always had a candle burning, its scent wafting through the air like sweet incense. it clung to his sheets, to his throw pillows, to his clothes

his pet lizard was dozing off in its vivarium, blinking lazily at you. the lava lamp on the bedside table gurgled and shifted, casting soft ripples of orange light across satoru’s face

“i’m in love with your room” you murmured with a smile, eyes flicking toward the small mountain of lego sets lined up by the window. “when we finally graduate and move in together, you’re definitely going to be in charge of decorating our apartment”

suguru stilled slightly at the sound of your words. “assuming i would say yes to living with you two”

“of course you would” satoru said, “who else would do the dishes and laundry and all the other boring stuff”

“if you’re gonna be lazy then you can’t move in with us” you said matter-of-factly.

“i happen to be very helpful when i want to be”

“so never?” you quipped, sitting down slowly on the edge of suguru’s bed, “we’ll get a place somewhere in the city, not too far from the school so we can still commute easily, but far enough that we don’t run into yaga-sensei on the weekends”

“we need a big kitchen for late night snacks” satoru added, looking expectantly at suguru.

suguru was silent for a moment. every time you and satoru brought up the future and talked about building a life outside missions and curses, his heart twisted in his chest. he wanted to want it. but no matter how much he daydreamed, he knew deep down he wouldn’t be with you when the time came. for now he could pretend to believe in your fantasies

“and a little balcony with enough room for me to grow plants and smoke until ‘toru threatens to throw me over it” he said drily

“you just had to bring up the s word” satoru sighed, shaking his head softly

suguru unbuttoned his shirt with tired fingers as he headed for the bathroom “i won’t be long” he said over his shoulder. when he disappeared into the steam and scent of his green apple shampoo, the quiet settled in again.

satoru shifted a little beside you, watching the way your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your skirt, watching the way your bottom lip was caught beneath your teeth, watching the worried crease that clouded your visage. “why’re you making that face, sweets?”

“what face?”

“you know what i’m talking about” he tilted his head slightly, white curls falling across his forehead as he scrutinized “c’mon spit it out”

you hesitated, fingers threading together. “i’m just worried about him and i know you said he could hold his own. . .” you paused, pressing your lips firmly together, “. .but he’s not himself lately.”

“he’s grieving” he sighed, “we all are” his tone wasn’t dismissive. it was bitter. not at you, or suguru. but the truth of it all. and the fact that grief had settled over all of you like a storm cloud, dimming everything. suguru’s laughter, his brightness, your peace. and there wasn’t a cursed technique in the world, not even his, that could exorcize the kind of grief haunting the summer

“i feel like it’s more than that” you persisted, “it’s like he’s fading away both literally and figuratively, he used to talk about his missions more, his feelings, he used to be more. . . himself, and now he keeps everything bottled up and it’s scaring me”

“ i mean. . .he’s always been a little emo.”

“satoru.” you said through gritted teeth. you knew he was trying to keep things light, trying to make you laugh, or maybe, at the very least, trying to keep himself from spiraling alongside you. that only made the ache worse

“okay, okay,” he lifted his hands in surrender. “i just— i . . don’t worry your pretty little head too much, yeah? he’ll talk when he’s ready.”

you sighed, hugging a throw pillow close to your chest, it smelled faintly of suguru’s cologne and you buried your face in it for a moment. as if that could quiet the dull ache in your ribcage. “i miss him”

satoru was quiet for a beat too long.“i know,” he murmured eventually, voice solemn and low,“me too, but he’s still here”

your breath hitched as you choked back a sob, and that alone made him sit up, you felt the bed dip as he shifted closer to you. placing a warm, steadily hand on your lower back

“don’t do that, sweets,” satoru murmured, voice soft in a way only you and suguru ever got to hear, “please don’t cry, y’know i’m bad with tears”

you shook your head, pressing your face harder into the pillow, trying to swallow the emotions clawing their way up your throat. they spilled through a shallow gasp, a broken little sound that made satoru’s heart constrict in his chest.

he didn’t say anything else. he just pulled you closer. his arm curled around your shoulders, tucking you into his side. he didn’t mind the way your tears bled through his shirt, just rubbed soothing circles against your arm

“we’ll figure it out, i promise” he said, “he’s not going anywhere. not really.”

you wanted to believe him. you wanted to believe that this heavy silence hanging over all of you would eventually lift. that there was still time.but you didn’t. you knew better

satoru hummed thoughtfully when you didn’t respond, then turned to look at the lizard in its vivarium. “suguru gecko do you know anything? has suguru talked to you about his feelings? did he tell you about his plans to leave?”

you swatted at him lightly with a laugh, though it came out a little watery. “he’s not gonna talk ‘toru, he’s a lizard” he caught your wrist mid-air, pressing a small kiss to your knuckles, then the soft flesh on your wrist where your pulse fluttered

“worth a shot,” he grinned. the bathroom door opened then, and suguru stepped out in a loose fitting black t-shirt, hair dripping on the towel draped around his neck, the strands darker and heavier from the water

his violet eyes swept across the room, softening as they landed on you two curled up on his bed, “sorry to keep you waiting”

“can i help you with your hair?” you asked, already sitting up straighter as your glassy eyes met his.

“of course you can, angel,” he said, moving without protest when you patted the space between your knees, settling on the floor in front of you with a quiet sigh.

you reached for the hair dryer on his bedside table, plugging it in and adjusting the heat settings. you ran the dryer gently over his head, fingers working carefully through the damp strands. his breathing hitched slightly when your fingertips brushed against his scalp but he didn’t pull away. his shoulders sagged in relief and his eyelids fluttered as he relaxed into your touch.

“thank you,” he murmured. you leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. you took your sweet time drying his hair. and he was grateful because he needed that. you both did

when his hair was dry enough you reached for the comb resting on the bedside table, gently gathered his hair in your fingers, and ran a it through his hair slowly until the black strands were smooth in your hands. the green apple shampoo he always used lingered in the air, light and nostalgic.

“do you mind if i braid it?” you asked. he tilted his head to look at you over his shoulder. there was something so tender in his violet gaze it made your throat feel tight

“i trust you” he said plainly

you could feel the rhythm of his breathing even out as you worked silently. your fingers wove strands to his scalp, the three part pattern forming quickly. you completed one braid, then the other, securing the ends with small rubber bands.

you leaned back, admiring your handiwork with a small smile. you got up and kneeled in front of him, reaching out and cupping his face between your hands, thumbs brushing against the faint shadow below his eyes, “you’re so pretty, sugu” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead

his gaze found yours through his lashes and he leaned into your touch instinctively. his hands came up to cover yours, holding them in place for a second. “thank you” he whispered again, and it wasn’t just for the compliment, or the dutch braids. he was thanking you for everything. for understanding, for taking care of him, for loving him.

the moment slipped into something more casual as satoru, never one for being ‘left out’, rolled over onto his stomach with an exaggerated groan, “here i am, forgotten, ignored by the people i love”

you tilted your head, still cupping suguru’s cheeks, “we should go eat before our food gets cold”

“don’t change the subject” satoru pointed at you accusingly, “you have a favorite”

“i do not” you said, lips twitching

“oh really?” he sat up quickly, “then how come you never compliment me? how come you never kiss me?”

“you are such a pathological liar” you gasped, “i’m literally always kissing you, and i do compliment you. i just don’t do it often because your ego is huge enough”

“don’t indulge him” suguru murmured, his hands were still curled around yours, “he just wants attention”

“i do want attention!” he agreed, “i want to be doted on, is that too much to ask for?”

“you are doted on, constantly” suguru argued, “you’re just greedy”

“greedy . .?” he echoed, “greedy? me?”

you sighed, a soft exhale that came with loving someone as difficult as satoru. “please can we eat before we have this tired conversation again? i can’t deal with your nonsense on an empty stomach”

you rose to your feet, pulling suguru up with you. your fingers laced through his. when you looked back, satoru was still pouting on the bed. with a fond sigh you stretched out your free hand to him

“oh so now you remember me?” he sniffed, taking your hand shamelessly, grip tight around yours like he never wanted to let go

the three of you left suguru’s room together. satoru on your right, suguru on your left. the hallway was dim and quiet save for the soft patter of your footsteps. the sun had dipped a little lower now, but it still felt too hot. you wished you’d changed out of your uniform into something lighter and made a mental note to do exactly that after dinner

you rounded the corner into the kitchen, you could hear shoko’s voice floating as she spoke into her phone’s receiver. she was probably talking to utahime again. the air was heavy with the scents of thai food, garlic, basil, lemongrass, rich and warm. the table was cluttered in a domestic way that tugged at your heart strings

take-out containers sat half unpacked, disposable chopsticks stacked neatly in pairs. shoko had a cigarette slotted between her lips, curling smoke into the evening air. someone had cracked open a window, probably nanami, and breeze filtered in softly

shoko had an elbow resting on the table as she laughed at something utahime was saying. her container of kanom jeeb was nearly empty. “finally” she said, snuffing out her cigarette in an ashtray, “you took too long, i started eating without you”

“i can’t blame you” you slid into the seat beside her, suguru sat to your left, while satoru sat across the counter. nanami was the last to re-enter the kitchen, dressed in a crisp t-shirt and sweatpants. he offered a short nod and reached for a bottle of water before quietly taking his seat

it was a slow dinner, full of idle chatter and old jokes. shoko complained about how hot it was once again, satoru talked about digimon, nanami and suguru were silent. your boyfriend picked at his food methodically, alternating between bites of his salad and sips of water.

“you’re not eating enough” satoru muttered, earning a glare from both you and shoko

“i’m eating fine” suguru said, giving him a pointed look

“you ordered rabbit food” he frowned, offering suguru a portion of his stir fried noodles, “here, you’re gonna waste away at this rate”

“you’re eating enough for all of us satoru” you said, your words resulted in satoru dropping his chopsticks and clutching his heart

“i can’t believe you would say that to me”

“you ordered six portions of pad thai” shoko scoffed, “not two, not four, but six”

“that’s because i’m growing” he said proudly.

a laugh bubbled out of you, the kind of laugh that reminded you of the summers before everything changed. suguru leaned forward slightly, elbow brushing against yours as he accepted satoru’s offer

when your stomachs were full, the dishes were washed, and the leftovers had been stashed in the fridge for later, you stretched with a groan and declared you needed a shower or you’d melt for real this time. nanami excused himself to his room and satoru trailed after you sluggishly, leaving suguru and shoko alone in the kitchen to smoke together

by the time you’d showered and changed into a soft t-shirt and shorts, suguru was already sprawled across one of the couches in the common room, flipping through movie options leisurely.

you padded over quietly and curled up beside him without a word. he shifted instinctively, opening his arms to you. your cheek found his chest, and your legs slid between his, fitting into the space he made for you.you sighed as he pressed a soft kiss to your hairline.

satoru came in after shortly after you, wearing a graphic tee and grey sweats. his hair was slightly damp and his skin was flushed pink. he sat beside you on the couch, slouching against you

you found yourself sandwiched between them. suguru’s arms were wrapped around you in a tender hold that radiated warmth, his fingers lazily traced patterns on your hip. his other hand found repose in satoru's snowy curls.

his fingers began to comb gently through the tangled strands, nails scratching at satoru’s scalp in soothing circles. the blue eyed boy hummed in contentment at the feel of suguru’s fingertips moving against his scalp. satoru murmured i love yous in the crook of you neck, his voice low but laced with a tenderness only reserved for your ears.

“no horror movies” he said firmly, “not tonight”

“scaredy cat” you teased, shooting him a taunting look

“i’m not scared” he said, dragging a pillow onto his lap, “i just don’t think we need that negative energy right before bed”

“if you say so” you hummed, “in that case, we should watch howl’s moving castle again” satoru raised a brow.

“we’ve watched that a billion times” he sighed, “and you thirst over howl too much, it hurts my feelings wifey”

“he’s an animated character satoru” suguru chuckled

“well you act like he’s real” he frowned, blue eyes half-lidded as he glared at you “do you think he’s prettier than me?”

“shut up and watch the movie” you giggled as suguru pressed the play button. the screen flooded with warm watercolor landscapes. satoru’s head found your lap and you smoothed your fingers through his soft white curls. suguru’s hands rubbed lazy circles against your hipbone and for a moment you felt like everything could be a whole again

until you tilted your head slightly, just enough to look at suguru. his violet eyes were glued to the screen, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere. it made your heart ache again. the concern you’d voiced earlier was still there, nestled between your ribs. but you were tired of worrying, of wondering if he would ever tell you how he was feeling

you would keep it nestled between your ribs for tonight. because you still had the heavy press of satoru’s head in your lap and the slow rise and fall of suguru’s chest behind you. you still had the warmth of this moment

the summer night stretched on, still heavy and hot, but you had adjusted to the heat. maybe it was easier to bear because of the way suguru pressed his nose into your shoulder and breathed you in like he needed you to live, and the way satoru pressed sleepy kisses to your thigh.

maybe it was easier because you were in love. and maybe tonight, nothing mattered. not the ghosts haunting suguru’s heart, not the worries nestled in yours. right now you had everything. both chaos and calm. and you weren’t quite sure how you’d survive without either of them

© Y2KUROMI 2025. please do not plagiarise, repost, or translate any of my works on here or any other websites.

[foreid]

◜﹢﹒ ・ — ❝ 𝑼𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐋 ! ❞

⊹． summary: you were his weakness. any time you said his name or clung onto him, it tugged at his heart strings. with time, temptation only grew stronger.

what lies ahead: obsessed!namgyu x clueless!reader, mentions of drugs, death, blood, dry-humping, fingering, softdom!namgyu, little plot, fem!reader, pet names, teasing

wrds: 2.3k

a/n: hi guys! hehehe !!!! was i missed? i surely missed you all so much TvT i’m backkk! well not rlly but i am. this took me so long to get into but it’s finished :3 i love this man so much hes actually the love of my life. enjoy!! >_< — of course!! not proofread

you weren’t quite sure who to confide in. definitely not in a situation like this— thanos had basically forced you into his posse, something along the lines of:

“we will protect you, miss.”

only to earn a grimace from you.

he didn’t do much to protect you, nam-gyu seemed to appreciate your presence more than he did. actually seeing you as human.

when thanos’ death had been announced, you shuffled around the quarters looking for him. feeling puzzled and queasy.

finding nam-gyu sitting on thanos’ bed, back glued to the wall as if he’d been there all night. staring at that stupid cross necklace.

you crawled onto the mattress, deciding to keep a short distance as you sat.

“all of this is mine now.” he murmured, running his thumb against the textured patterns on the cross.

you squinted, almost confused but you chose not to question it. you expected a much more distraught reaction or at least any hint of discomfort on his face.

nothing. he seemed almost relieved?

since then, he’s been almost dependent on you. not like he means to, you were just the next best thing.

it seemed toxic. unhealthy, even.

the one person he was beckoned by all the time was gone and now another weight was forced onto you.

you didn’t mind it though— it was nice company.

thanos had told you that nam-gyu seemed sweet about you. not that you took it seriously though, that tweaker was always on something.

 ╴⊹ꮺ˚

you stumbled up to the giant gumball machine, twisting the notch, earning a blue ball.

whatever the hell that meant.

you stood alongside the other people who had reached the same fate as you.

and when it was nam-gyu’s turn, his fate was opposite from yours.

a red ball fell into his palm and he boasted his way towards the other team, but your eyes never left him.

you were alone. utterly alone. surrounded by people who had already formed their own niche’s. leaving you to be a sore thumb.

the game had been explained to you all and you were beyond panicked.

one thing you were absolutely terrible at was hiding. despite always being able to fit into small places, you could never really think quick enough under that kind of pressure.

and you hated being chased.

every one was put into what seemed like a lobby area, you watched as people scrambled to switch vests.

“aw c’mon, get that look off your face, smart girl.” the familiar, teasing voice slurred from beside you and you jerked up, managing to hear just him outside of all the commotion.

before you could turn, he sauntered to stand in front of you, meeting your eyes with a grin.

you pursed your lips and clutched the blue vest tight in your hands. trying not to look absolutely terrified.

nam-gyu already had his vest on, the ‘gift’ box placed on the floor beside him.

“i can’t do this. if someone doesn’t kill me, i’ll die from the fear.” you whined, it wasn’t really possible, you knew that. but it felt right to say. and he looked very entertained.

he hummed, staring down at you while sliding his infamous cross necklace from underneath his shirt.

“i know a thing that could help ease your nerves.”

“absolutely not.” you immediately retorted.

earning a chuckle from him as he shook his head, popping a small, blue flat into his mouth.

“relax. you’re my smart girl. you’ll be fine.” he laughed again, bringing a hand up to pat your head.

your eyes were big, full of fear but somehow, his words managed to leave some faith in you.

the relationship between the two of you wasn’t much to question. you spoke about life once you guys were out of the games.

how he would fix himself up if you asked.

“just hide. wait. we’ll win this shit and once we’re out, ‘m going to take you on such a nice date,” he hummed, his hand grabbed the back of your head, bringing it in so he could kiss your head.

it was out of character, surprising, and you knew it was those fucking drugs.

half of those conversations, he was under all the influence of them.

but this felt different.

he left you there for a second, as if he was thinking of saying something else, but then an announcement for the blue team to enter the arena was made.

you stepped back, looked up at him through your lashes eyes as huge as ever and lips formed permanently into a frown.

he cocked his head to the side, smiling down at you— in a way that you couldn’t tell was menacing or promising.

you hugged yourself as you followed behind the others, hearing a cheer come from him as you walked.

something along the lines of ‘just wait for me’ and your name.

 ╴⊹ꮺ˚

sweat was beading down your forehead, hair sticking to your face as you ran.

the adrenaline was the only thing keeping you alive.

you stopped when you heard feet shuffling around the corner, the first red vest you’d encounter.

somewhere along the way you managed to grab all three keys from the dead bodies along the arena, despite almost throwing up in your mouth each time.

your hands trembled against the wall, chest heaving and breath coming out in patterned gasps.

until, you heard a familiar voice bickering with what seemed to see somebody else. or maybe just himself.

you swallowed dryly, blinking away a few tears before peeking past the corner.

the sight blew the wind out of your lungs.

nam-gyu was straddling a corpse, the blade of his dagger stained with blood to the base.

your eyes widened and you felt even dizzier than before, backing up against the wall as you stared.

myung-gi noticed you first. letting the idiot on the ground know you were watching. or that you were there.

it was almost as myung-gi knew to leave the two of you alone. because when you tried looking past namg-gyu, he was already walking away. shaking his head.

nam-gyu peered up from the ground as if he’d just seen an angel, dropping the blade onto the ground and bolting to you. making an excited noise as he grinned.

you couldn’t help your reflexes, forcing you to shift back as if there was an escape behind you. but there wasn’t.

“oohh, my beautiful, smart, smart girl. i told you you’d be okay.” he cooed, cupping your face with his bloody hands. the evidence of his murders splattered all over him.

you whimpered from beneath him, trying to move away but something kept you anchored to the moment.

something about the way he was staring at you; as if you were his most prized possession, holding your head up lazily as if taking in every aspect of your face.

“i’ve been … so scared. waiting for you.” you submitted, putting your hands on his wrists while looking up at him.

it wasn’t half true. bolting around this hell hole was like running in circles, and nam-gyu was nowhere near the first thing on your mind.

but now that he was in front of you, you felt protected.

safe, even.

he pushed his bottom lip out, mocking the expression on your face but ultimately smiling once he began to speak up.

“aw. such a sweet girl.” he was mocking you, no doubt about it. but you couldn’t help feeling as though there was something sweet about it.

despite how you felt, the entire time, nam-gyu could just think about you.

how playing over-kill would leave you all with less people, meaning more money. just the perfect amount to end this all.

end this all and take you wherever the hell he wanted. do whatever he wants to you.

since you’ve gotten here, your relationship had been weird.

every lights out, he was there, holding you beneath thin covers to make sure you were safe.

just so he could enjoy the feeling of being that close to you.

his hands were cold, only warm aspects being the fresh blood that stained them.

but somehow, you didn’t seem as uncomfortable as you thought you would be. someone else's blood was smeared against your cheeks and all you could think about was how pretty he was.

nam-gyu moved one hand to grab at the nape of your neck, bringing your face ultimately closer.

you weren’t expecting a kiss.

which was exactly what he gave.

it was a sloppy but desperate one, as if he’d been waiting up until this moment.

it was good, so good. but for some reason, your mind kept darting back to the dead body just a few feet away.

at first, you wanted to pull away, wanted to tell him to stop. that this wasn’t the place.

but you were all kinds of dizzy and heat was pooling between your legs just from kissing him.

nam-gyu, on the other hand, was on a mission. he was kissing you with fervor, cold hands now sliding underneath your jacket before he slid it off of your body, along with the vest.

when left in just a shirt, slim fingers were grasping beneath the material, grabbing your hips while absolutely demolishing your mouth.

you’d never been kissed like this before. as if you were the most delicious thing on the planet.

your hands moved to grab fulls of his hair, owning a sweet whine from his lips.

“don’t worry, sweet thing. i’ll make sure our first time is special, not somewhere like this.” nam-gyu whispered to you, as if he could read your mind.

his knee parted your legs, holding his thigh between them. knee nestled against your core.

his voice was low and in you ear, subtle words of praise. expressing how bad he’s wanted to have you like this.

it’d always been long stares, not knowing what the other person wanted. or just exactly what the two of you were to one another in somewhere like this.

thanos seemed to be an obstacle. but now that he is gone, all of his attention was for you.

when his lips began to latch onto your neck, he was grabbing your hips, forcing you to rut your center against him.

the friction made your back arch, chest flush with his as he bit against your neck. simultaneously moving his hips at a swift pattern with you.

nam-gyu whined against your neck, fingers digging into your skin and he grinded against practically nothing.

but hearing your noises and feeling you up was enough to drive him crazy.

he wouldn’t consider himself a womanizer, but having you like this; his name rolling off your tongue, eyes shut in bliss, he had no other way to feel. other than pure lust, wanting to do nothing but disrespectful things to you.

one of his hands made their way past the waistband of your pants, sliding past your underwear.

you gasped when he began to slowly circle around your clit, the pad of his finger fidgeting with the bud.

a croaky moan left your mouth but you quickly cut it off, biting against his clothed shoulder to silence yourself.

nam-gyu turned his head to bite the shell of your ear, murmuring into it while a finger slowly stretched inside of you.

“there you go, sweet girl. such a slutty pussy. g’nna make it feel so good.”

his words rung against your skull like a bell, making any thoughts of reason melt into a puddle.

your eyes shut tight, grasping at his back as you moaned against the cotton.

spit formed around the cloth in your mouth as you moaned, hips consciously riding his palm.

he tutted, running his tongue along your ear, earning a squeal from you.

“relax, baby. someone might hear you.” nam-gyu whispered, not meeting you halfway, since he was also sliding another digit within you while speaking.

the stretch made your eyes grow wide, your body betraying you as you arched your back.

the feeling was poisonous; he was knuckles deep, pumping in and out of you as if he was on a mission.

the pad of his thumb was slowly teasing your clit, making your vision blur into patches.

“n— feels t— too good..!” you tried to whisper it, but it came out a bit too loud, practically echoing through the hallway.

nam-gyu let out a breathless laugh from beside you, never betraying the pattern of his rhythm.

the more you moaned against his shirt, the quicker he became; abusing your cunt.

his fingers scissored inside of you, eventually plunging into a sweet spot.

the arch of your back and the moan, muffled by clothing, told him all he needed to know.

he didn’t stop, working to your release.

the harder he became, the better it felt. he was working you expertly, allowing you to grind against his palm again.

your head was spinning, eyes rolling into your skull as the pleasure hit every spot of your body.

you grew hot, grabbing at his vest for stability as his fingers fucked you.

it felt as if sparks were bubbling all around your skin, your knees bucking and stomach turning.

the pool of arousal within you was bound to burst and you started to rut your hips quicker.

he didn’t take this with a grain of salt.

he started to annihilate your clit, pressing harder against it and rubbing it at a rougher amount.

it punched a moan right out from your throat, making your hips stutter as you felt your orgasm creep up.

when it came. it hit you hard.

you grabbed at whatever you could, squeezing his back and biting against his shoulder as you practically screamed.

“there you go, that’s my good girl. so good. so so good.” he hummed as his fingers slowed down, slowly slipping from inside.

you whined at the emptiness, knees giving up on you as you slipped.

he caught onto you though, holding onto you for dear life.

“i told you you’d be fine. my smart, smart girl.”

[deimosphilic]

DEAR ARTHUR | ROBERT "BOB" REYNOLDS

SUMMARY ⋆ sequel to dear april. as much as bob found a makeshift family among new york’s newest heroes, he couldn’t help but remember the one person who had always been his hero.

PAIRING ⋆ bob reynolds x fem!reader

WARNINGS ⋆ mentions of previous substance abuse, bob being silly again, no use of y/n, lowercase intended, povs are switching

A/N ⋆ minors dni!! many a'folk (2 people) have asked for a part 2 so here we go, honouring rdr2 (i used one line)

TAGS ⋆ @moonz33 , @fightmeyoushits2 , @nervousstrangersandwich

WORD COUNT ⋆ 5.4k

'my dear arthur, you never showed up, and now, after looking at the newspapers i understand why'

it had been a year since bob left for southeast asia when you saw him again — wide-eyed and disoriented — tucked behind assassins and super-soldiers alike on the news.

you weren’t the type to keep up with the news anymore. not since you’d made the conscious decision to protect whatever fragile peace you’d managed to scrape together. the world was too heavy, too loud. you used to care; that was until a purple alien snapped half the population out of existence on a random tuesday afternoon. after that, silence became sacred.

you hadn’t even meant to land on that channel. you just wanted to unwind with a movie after a long day. but there he was, captured in motion, standing awkwardly among legends. and you couldn’t look away.

he looked good — clear-eyed, steady, healthy.

and somehow, that wrecked you more than anything else ever had.

sure, he’d been on the news before. you remembered that time all too well: florida man arrested after attacking civilian while wearing a chicken costume. you’d laughed when you first saw the ridiculous headline, right up until the phone rang and he was on the other end, crying, asking you to pick him up.

this time, he wasn’t high. he wasn’t rambling. he wasn’t alone. this time, he was standing beside heroes.

and not you.

you were happy for him, of course you were. or at least, that’s what you told yourself. but those people, the ones he stood beside now, didn’t look like they had known him long. they hadn’t sat through his lowest nights. they hadn’t held him through the shakes, or cleaned the blood from his knuckles, or stayed awake for 36 hours straight just to make sure he didn’t die in his sleep. and yet, he got better for them.

after all the years you spent trying to help him, carrying him when he couldn’t carry himself, he chose to get better for a group of people who kill for a living. it wasn’t fair, and you knew how childish that sounded, but fairness had stopped applying to your life a long time ago.

and now, all the feelings you’d buried deep — rage, heartbreak, betrayal — crawled back up from where you’d entombed them. feelings you’d forced down so far you forgot they still lived inside you.

when bob left, you didn’t know how to feel. at first, you grieved like someone had died. you cried until your ribs ached and your throat burnt, until it felt like your entire body had been skinned raw by the sorrow. and then came the stillness. that dull, dissociative fog. like you were floating just above your life, watching someone else wear your skin, going through the motions.

that lasted for weeks.

until one morning, you blinked, and you were back in your body again. but everything felt… quiet. hollow. not healed, definitely not. just numb.

you tried calling him for weeks, too. every time, it was the same — no ringing, just that cold, mechanical voice: “the number you have dialled is no longer in service.” then silence. you’d sit with it for a second, hopeful it might suddenly connect, before finally hanging up.

that hurt more than you dared to admit. like a blade slipping between your ribs, turning slow and cruel, just to see how long you’d bleed. leaving for the other side of the world was one thing. but changing his number? cutting off any way for you to reach him? that was something else entirely.

it was cruel, selfish.

his last words haunted you for months. i love you.

words the two of you never really said, at least not like that. not with the weight they carried when he said them. you lost sleep replaying it in your head, over and over, wondering if he meant it or if it was just another goodbye dressed as a confession.

because the love you had for bob wasn’t sweet or soft. it was desperate. ugly. it twisted inside you, knotted and fraying, built on years of chaos and heartbreak. you loved him even when you shouldn’t have. even when he left you to pick up the pieces he shattered.

maybe that’s why you stayed so long. maybe love made you blind to how unwell it all was — how often he dragged you under with him and never once tried to help you breathe.

you didn’t even realise you were crying until you tasted the familiarness of the salt on your lips. you blinked hard, hurriedly grabbing the remote and switching the tv off, as though that could somehow shut off the ache growing in your chest.

but it was too late. the image was burnt into your mind: bob, truly smiling as he stood beside his teammates, cheering them on from the sidelines. he looked like he belonged there. although he appeared out of place in his corduroy pants and boyish sweater, he seemed to have finally found solid ground to stand on.

there had been a time when you were the one on the sidelines for him. when you were the one giving him soft encouragement, waving from the doorway as he walked into the newest rehab you’d scraped together enough money for. you were the one he leaned on when he was too afraid to face himself.

now he was celebrating victories with strangers, and you were back in your crumbling apartment, crying alone.

there was a time when you allowed yourself to break like this — alone, vulnerable, curled up on your ratty couch or buried beneath your bedsheets, sobbing until your body gave out and sleep took you in its cold, unsatisfying grasp. but you’d since learnt better. or at least convinced yourself you had. the crying never helped. no matter how many tears were spilt, that pit in your gut remained. deep, persistent, and unmistakably carved out by heartbreak.

so you wiped your cheeks with the heel of your hand, dragging your palm down your face as if you could scrape the pain away. you reached for your phone, knowing you shouldn’t, but habit and impulse got the better of you. you opened twitter, searching for distraction, maybe even some validation in the chaos of public opinion surrounding the announcement.

john walker as an avenger?? the same guy who murdered an innocent man in the street?? gtfo

isn’t that black widow’s sister lmaooo

santa got sick and tired of the ungrateful kids byeee

who tf is that weirdo in the back.

you paused on that last one, hovering over the tweet before finally liking it. petty? absolutely. but after all the years, the damage, the letting go, you figured you were entitled to a little pettiness.

you couldn’t say exactly how long you’d been scrolling. all you knew was that when you finally looked up, the sun was setting outside your window, casting everything in that familiar golden haze. it didn’t surprise you. this was life now: wake up, go to work, come home, have a drink, and doomscroll until sleep claimed you.

you sighed, thinking about getting up from the couch but finding yourself rooted in place. your body moved on instinct more than anything. when you blinked, returning from a place you had no idea you visited, your finger hovered over a name.

robert reynolds.

what were you thinking? he probably hadn’t bothered to reconnect his old number. and even if he had, what were the chances he’d answer? doubts crept in quickly — not just doubts, but facts you’d long accepted. still, some small part of you sparked to life, fragile but persistent. it wasn’t much, but it was just enough to push you to tap the call button.

you heard ringing.

that sound alone felt like a miracle, something you hadn’t heard in what felt like forever. for a fleeting second, hope continued blooming in your chest. then a voice picked up on the other end.

“who is this?”

it wasn’t him.

you knew bob’s voice. you’d heard it in every version — high, low, broken, angry. this wasn’t it. and just like that, the hope drained from you completely.

“oh… i’m so sorry. i must’ve called the wrong number.”

you hung up before the stranger could say anything else.

you should’ve known better. hope like that was childish. he wouldn’t have kept that number, not after all this time. not after everything. he probably wouldn’t have wanted to talk to you anyway. too much of his past was tied up in you, the worst parts of it. now that he was better, you were just a reminder of everything he’d tried to leave behind.

that was all you were. a memory.

robert reynolds, 7 months later

it had been a month since that dreaded gala — the one where bob spent most of the night trapped in his own head. after the crowd cleared out, all his teammates had gathered in the common area, rehashing the evening, tearing apart the guests with true cruelty. but bob hadn’t felt part of it, not really. his mind was elsewhere, still haunted by the woman he’d stared at the entire night. the one he was so sure was you.

the guilt gnawed at him. after everything the two of you had been through, all those years tangled together, he couldn’t even recognise you in a crowd. couldn’t place the back he had watched walk away from him more times than he could count. he thought he knew you better than he knew himself. but maybe all those hazy highs had clouded his memory more than he realised.

he couldn’t recall many good moments with you anymore, just fragments. not of love or joy, but of the in-between. the times when he didn’t feel untouchable but didn’t feel like he was drowning either.

and during the time he’d lost control and torn through manhattan, he found himself strangely grateful. grateful that his mind hadn’t conjured your face for his new friends to see. yelena’s retelling had been humiliating enough, and the few flashes he remembered — especially that shame room of you — were more than enough for him. only he had seen that. and he wanted to keep it that way. because no matter how much better he was now, he didn’t want the people who’d accepted him to see just how terrible he had once been.

even a month later, bob found his thoughts drifting to you whenever they had the chance. any new idea, any idle moment somehow, you always surfaced. he didn’t blame you. you were probably still in florida, living your life, maybe even forgetting he ever existed. it was him who couldn’t let go. him who was still stuck in the past.

“earth to bob!”

a hand waved in front of his face, snapping him out of it. that thick russian accent unmistakable.

he blinked, turning toward yelena with a startled expression. “shit — sorry,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing away. embarrassment flushed through him. he hadn’t meant to ignore her; he just genuinely couldn’t stop thinking about you. and lately, it was starting to spiral.

“what’s going on with you?” yelena asked, tilting her head. “you’ve been… somewhere else.”

his first instinct was to lie. brush it off. “nothin’. i’m fine.” it came easily, automatic, there was no need for him to dump his baggage on her. especially not now, not when she was juggling enough since the avengers announcement. why burden her with old ghosts?

but he also knew her well enough by now to know she wouldn’t let it go. she cared. she always pushed, always made room for the people she cared about. because to her, sharing the weight didn’t mean weakness; it meant surviving.

so he took a breath, deep and slow, and nodded.

“i’ve just… been thinking about someone from before.”

she stayed quiet, waiting, giving him the space to open up.

“there was this girl,” he said, your name barely a whisper on his lips. his gaze dropped to the floor. “she stuck by me through everything. every fuck-up, every dark moment. she didn’t leave, even when i begged her to.”

he looked up again, meeting yelena’s eyes.

“thought i saw her at that stupid gala last month. got stuck on it the whole night.”

yelena’s brow furrowed slightly, but before she could say anything, bob added, “and before you start worrying — no, it wasn’t some fuckin' hallucination or anything. just some random woman who looked like her.”

she let out a quiet sigh of relief but didn’t interrupt.

“anyway,” he said, voice lower now, “i wanna reach out, apologise to her. i just… don’t know if she’ll listen.”

neither of them spoke for a while. the silence between them was thick, teetering on uncomfortable. bob knew the weight of it sat more heavily on his shoulders. yelena wasn’t the one struggling to open up; he was. especially when it came to you. because if he talked about you for too long, the rest would follow, the uglier parts. the truth of who he was when he was with you. and that wasn’t something he ever wanted yelena to see.

bob watched her scan the room thoughtfully, as if searching for the right words. it surprised him. she always seemed to know what to say, always sharp, always sure. seeing her hesitate made him want to pull it all back — tell her not to worry, apologise for even bringing you up. but then she spoke.

“i think you should at least try,” yelena said, cutting through his thoughts with quiet certainty.

he frowned, looking down at his hands, fingers nervously twisting against each other. he wanted to try. god, he did. but what if you didn’t answer? what if hearing from him just opened old wounds? what if you'd changed your number? he did.

he told himself that cutting you off would numb the guilt of abandoning you, that silence could somehow serve as redemption. but he was wrong. he thought if he let time pass, you'd fade, like ink left too long in the sun. instead, you haunted him. your face followed him through crowds, surfaced in strangers, lingered in dreams. you lived in every quiet.

“and even if she doesn’t want to see you again, for whatever reason, i think she’d appreciate the effort,” yelena continued, her voice softer now. gentler.

bob looked at her, sceptical. “how do you know?”

she gave a small shrug. “you left for malaysia, right?” he nodded. “if she follows the news, she’s probably seen you. one minute, you're gone; the next, you're standing next to earth’s mightiest heroes. that has to raise some questions.”

he didn’t respond right away, but she had a point.

you probably were confused. the last time you saw him, he was barely functioning — frail, high, falling apart by the hour. and now? even he was shocked when he saw the news footage, watching himself looking healthier than he had in years. you must’ve been wondering what the fuck happened.

he nodded slowly. “yeah. yeah, you’re right.”

“always am,” yelena teased, her familiar smirk slipping into place.

she stood, giving his shoulder a small, reassuring squeeze as she passed him. at the door, she glanced back and added with a lightness that almost made him smile, “if you need help writing some grand declaration or heartfelt monologue, you know where to find me.”

bob let out a quiet chuckle as the door clicked shut behind her. and just like that, he was alone again.

the laughter faded quickly, swallowed by the silence that always followed when the noise around him died down. he leaned back into the couch, arms folded over his chest, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. his leg bounced unconsciously — a tell-tale sign he was thinking too much.

the room felt too quiet now, too big. his gaze flicked to the window across the room, where the early evening light spilt in golden and slow. a flicker of memory stirred, the way you used to close the blinds at that exact time of day, saying the light gave you a headache. he was surprised he remembered that at all. most of his time in your apartment had been spent teetering on the edge of consciousness.

he sighed.

what was he doing?

he stood up, paced a little, sat back down. tried distracting himself with his phone, scrolled without seeing anything. realised it wasn't working, and put it back down. your name kept crawling back into his thoughts like a song he couldn’t get out of his head.

he ran a hand through his hair and let out another breath, longer this time. then, before he could talk himself out of it, he reached for his phone once again. your number was still etched into his memory like a scar. he typed it in without hesitation and hit call before he could talk himself out of it.

the second he heard the first ring, dread clawed up his throat. this was a mistake. you were going to hate him. scream at him. call him every name he probably deserved. maybe you'd hang up the moment you heard his voice. and truthfully? you were entitled to.

all he had left was a prayer — one whispered to a god he was sure didn't exist, a desperate plea cast into the air that somehow, some way, you'd understand. that you’d hear him, really hear him, and know that this time… he was ready.

the line clicked. “hello?”

his heart stilled.

it was you. of course it was you. he’d know your voice anywhere: soft but edged with something sharper, something he once lived in and ran from all at once. his mouth opened, but nothing came. his thoughts scattered like startled birds.

oh, god. this was bad. worse than he’d imagined. he hadn’t planned what to say, hadn’t thought beyond the call itself. and now, with your voice echoing in his ear, he was paralysed.

“who is this?” you asked, your tone clipped, impatient. so achingly familiar that it almost made him smile.

he swallowed.

“erm… it’s, er, it’s robbie.”

then came the silence. thick. suffocating.

he could hear you breathing — shallow and quick, the rhythm uncannily matching his own. a mirrored panic, a shared ghost between two people who hadn’t spoken in what felt like lifetimes.

in that stillness, guilt pressed against his chest like an invasion. this was a mistake. he knew it. he shouldn’t have done this. shouldn’t have called. you had probably moved on. maybe not fully healed, maybe not whole, but at least moving forward. and here he was again. dragging you backward, back into the tide he had spent so long pulling you under.

he almost hung up. the urge was there, hot and bitter in the back of his throat. he wanted to spare you — wanted to say never mind, forget i called, go back to your peace. but he couldn’t, not again. not after all the other times he’d left things half-said, shattered, and bleeding on the floor between you.

so he waited.

waited for your voice like it was the only thing tethering him to this moment, to the man he was trying to become. if it took a lifetime for you to speak again, he’d sit in that silence. he owed you that much.

then, a soft clearing of your throat. and finally, your voice. “hi…”

just one word, but it carried so much weight. the sharpness he expected wasn’t there. what came instead was something gentler, cautious, like touching a bruise to see if it still hurt.

“hi…” he echoed, voice equally uncertain, both of you caught in the strange gravity of old ghosts.

he hadn’t thought this far ahead. he knew he wanted to apologise, but the words i'm sorry felt heavy, clumsy, unworthy of the damage they were meant to mend. did he ease into it? or tear the scab off in one go?

a pause. then you spoke again. this time stronger, but raw around the edges.

“why are you calling? i haven’t heard from you in two years.”

the words cut deep, but not as much as the ache behind them. even across the distance, he could feel your hurt, the sting of betrayal still clinging to you like smoke. and the guilt came back like a wave — not the gentle kind that laps at the shore, but the kind that crashes in the open sea, wild and unforgiving, built to drown.

there was always a different kind of guilt when it came to you. not the kind that passed with time or could be shrugged off. no, this was the kind that lived in his bones. the kind that turned in his chest like a storm. he couldn’t name it exactly, only that every time he made you cry, every time he disappointed you, it felt like the sky was falling, like something sacred had been broken. and now, he was on the line, trying to pick up the pieces without knowing if he even had the right.

"i miss you. so much." he whispered, already feeling the emotion crawling up on him, voice catching in the back of his throat, "and i — i wanna apologise properly."

he heard the quiet scoff slip from your mouth and winced, because he understood. of course he did. he had walked out of your life two years ago and only now decided it was time to apologise, through a phone call, no less. not in person, just his voice over static, like a poltergeist trying to make peace.

and maybe, in his mind, that had seemed reasonable. you were in another state — or at least, he assumed you were — and he was stationed in what used to be the avengers tower. still, he knew valentina had enough resources that getting on a plane wouldn’t have been an issue. he could’ve shown up, looked you in the eye, and owned what he did. but he hadn’t. because somewhere deep down, he was still a coward.

you didn’t say anything. the silence pressed, thick and unreadable. so he pushed forward. “it’s not gonna mean much, i know that,” he murmured, voice low and heavy. “but... m'sorry. i knew what i was doin' the whole time. and i still did it anyway.”

a pause.

then your voice, sharp and wounded: “that’s seriously all you have to say?”

on the other end of the line, you could hardly process what was happening.

seven months ago, you saw bob on the news and nearly fell apart. whatever progress you’d made, or tried to convince yourself you’d made, shattered in an instant. everything you’d built to survive without him crumbled like it was made of sand.

and so, you rebuilt. not through healing, but through denial. you buried everything you felt, shoved it so far down that you forgot what it was like to feel anything at all. you let your life shrink to the bare bones, just the dull rhythm of a nine-to-five that barely paid your bills, just enough to stay afloat while ignoring the hollow space where he used to be.

now here he was, once again threatening to unravel the frail life you’d pieced together without him. maybe he meant well — he said as much — but it was hard to believe that after seven months of silence, after aligning himself with them, now was the moment he chose to reach out.

you hoped he still remembered how you felt about the so-called heroes he now lived among. it was never about powers; you weren't prejudiced. you didn’t fear them for what they could do, but for what they believed they had the right to do. the god complex. the ease with which they levelled cities and called it salvation, the way they called themselves heroes with the blood of the innocent still on their boots.

and for bob to not just work with them but to live with them, to call them friends — it stung more than you wanted to admit.

"when i saw you on the news… you looked happy. healthy." you paused, swallowing hard, your voice already thinning. "and i know it shouldn’t have made me feel the way it did — because god, rob, i am so proud of you — but it... it still hurt."

you heard nothing on the other end. just the hush of his breath. it made the silence louder somehow.

"it’s selfish," you admitted, your voice cracking at the edge. "i know that. but after everything. after all the nights i stayed up, prayin' you'd make it through, after all that fuckin' money i spent on you, every time i tried to help you get clean. it just felt like none of that mattered. like it all meant nothin'."

you pulled your knees up to your chest, curling tighter around the ache building in your ribs.

"because now you’re better, but for them," you went on, more bitterly than you’d intended, "for a group of mercs you barely know. for people who don't know the worst parts of you like i do."

your voice dropped to almost a whisper.

"how do you think that makes me feel?"

and with that, the floodgates fully opened — not just in your words, but in your body, too. you hadn't meant to ramble. but years of grief, restraint, and unspoken heartbreak finally clawed their way out, heavy and breathless, collapsing between you like something sacred and ruined.

a heavy silence settled between the two of you, thick and unmoving, like fog that refused to lift. and now, in the stillness that followed, came the slow ache of guilt. the guilt of having finally laid yourself bare. you had never told him everything, never allowed yourself to unravel like this in front of him. you were always the one listening, never the one speaking.

you didn’t think you were allowed to. his pain had always taken up more space, louder, darker, and far more dangerous. that was never his fault. it wasn’t that he asked you to stay quiet. you just convinced yourself that your hurt didn’t matter as much.

not compared to his.

robert reynolds, age 19

you're surprised you didn't cry when you walked into your apartment and saw the destruction.

you had only recently moved out of your mother’s house and into the small one-bedroom apartment. it wasn’t much, but it was yours. yours, and sometimes bob's. it was the first place that felt remotely like safety, like something you’d built for yourself. and you were content, or at least as close to content as life would allow.

so when you opened the door and found every mirror in your home shattered, the air seemed to vanish from your lungs. it was like someone had taken a sledgehammer to the fragile sense of peace you’d tried so hard to build.

then you saw him.

bob was in your kitchen, pacing like a man possessed. his fists were raw and bloodied, lips moving rapidly as he muttered to himself, oblivious to the crimson smears on your walls, the glass crunching beneath his shoes.

“rob?” your voice came out softer than you'd intended, cautious. like approaching a wild animal. “is everything okay?”

he jumped at the sound of your voice, whipping around with wide, panicked eyes. he was hyperventilating, chest heaving.

“they’re watchin’ me!” he rasped. “the cops, the psychiatrist — they’re behind the mirrors. they’re just waitin’ for me to fuck up so they can haul me in!”

you swallowed hard, stepping forward with trembling hands.

in that moment, you weren’t sure how to help him, not really. this was the first time you’d seen him like this, lost in the thick fog of psychosis, and you weren’t a trained psychologist. you were just someone who loved him, standing in the wreckage of your apartment, trying to piece him back together with nothing but trembling hands and good intentions.

what were you even supposed to say? were you meant to challenge the delusions? agree with them? redirect? you didn’t know the rules. you only knew that whatever he was seeing, whatever he believed — it was real to him. but if there was one thing you were sure of, it was this: panic only fed the fire. so the first step, you figured, was to steady your own voice. quiet the fear clanging around in your chest and try to calm him, even if you had no idea what you were doing.

“no, robbie… they’re not watching you,” you said gently, nodding toward the shards littering the floor. “you broke them all. see?”

your plan to calm him down unravelled the moment you spoke. he clenched his fists and yelled. loud, frantic, accusing. he said you were lying. that they were watching him. that he was scared.

you stepped forward, slowly, careful not to make it worse. close enough that he could hear your breath if he listened, but not so close that he’d feel crowded. you tried to be still, to be something steady in the chaos. a calm presence he could mirror, if only for a moment.

but you weren’t calm. not even close. inside, you were spiralling, panicking in ways you never had before. you just hoped he wouldn’t notice the thin glass sheen in your eyes or the quiet tremble threading through your fingers. you hoped he wouldn’t see the fear sitting just beneath your skin, because if he did, he would just get worse. and that was something you weren't ready to see.

“if they were watching… they’d be behind the mirrors, right?” you asked gently, voice careful, unsure of how to reach him.

his eyes widened with panic. “why can’t you see?” he shouted, his voice sharp with desperation. in an instant, he closed the space between you, grabbing your arms with shaking hands, as if clutching you might force understanding into your bones. “they’re there, i swear! why won’t you believe me?”

you didn’t flinch, even as his grip tightened. you just looked at him — really looked. the fear etched into his face, the wildness in his eyes, the trembling in his body. and then, as if the fight drained from him all at once, he collapsed forward, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“please,” he choked out between sobs. “i’m not lyin'. i swear i’m not.”

you wrapped your arms around him instinctively, one hand gently moving up and down his back. you held him while his body shook against yours, offering the only comfort you could in a moment far too big for either of you. there were no right words, only presence. so you stayed.

and you let him cry because you didn't know what else to do.

robert reynolds, present day

he didn’t know how to begin. no words felt right, or strong enough, to bridge the space between what you believed and what he knew to be true.

what you were saying wasn’t right, not exactly. you couldn’t have known about the serum, about how it sculpted his good and bad days into something monstrous, about how it rewired him in a way that made getting high impossible. but how could he explain that to you now, over a phone line already strained with years of silence?

“no — no, that’s not what happened,” he said quickly, his voice laced with urgency, but it felt like trying to plug a leak with trembling hands. you wouldn’t believe him, not like this.

he closed his eyes. it wasn’t enough. none of this would be enough unless he saw you.

he’d panic; he was sure of it. he’d say the wrong thing, trip over his words, and make it worse. but even with that certainty curling in his stomach like a threat, he knew he needed to see you. face-to-face, no barriers, no excuses.

only then could he try to make things right.

"listen, i wanna make it right. i'm in new york, but i can fly out," he said quickly, desperation bleeding into every syllable. "you're still in florida, right?" he clung to the question like a lifeline, to the hope that maybe he could still fix something when all he’d ever known was how to break them.

there was a pause. then your voice came, soft and aching: "no... i'm sorry, robbie. i don’t think i can face you. not right now."

and just like that, something inside him caved in.

it’s strange, he thought, how the heart makes no sound when it shatters. not a crack, not a thud — just silence, sudden and swallowing.

[inkphoria21]

Shower Quickie ⋆.𐙚 ̊ - boyfriend!Toji x Reader

CONTENTS: shower sex; unprotected sex: praise kink; name calling

The knock wasn’t even a knock but more like a heavy thud against the door, followed by the distinct clatter of my doorknob being tested.

I didn’t hear it at first. The music was too loud, some old playlist bleeding through my speakers while I laid flat on my bed, phone in hand, zoning out and scrolling aimlessly.

By the time I caught the sound of the lock clicking, I was sitting upright, heart climbing my throat  because no one had a key to my place except…

Toji

He stepped inside like he owned the place, like it was just another one of his hideouts, and stood there in the soft glow of the hallway light, hair messy, black compression shirt stretched tight across his chest, and grey sweatpants slung low on his hips.

I scrambled to pause the music, breath caught half in shock.

“What the hell, Toji? It’s—” I checked my phone. “It’s past two in the morning.”

He just grinned, that familiar cocky tilt to his mouth, like he couldn’t see what the problem was.

“Missed you.” He shut the door behind him with a lazy kick of his heel. “Didn’t feel like waiting till morning.”

I stared at him, still catching my breath. “You couldn’t text first?”

He shrugged, shameless. “Wasn’t gonna risk you saying no.”

I sighed, flopping back onto the bed, my heart still racing but for a different reason now. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah?” he muttered, already making his way to the bed. “But you’re smiling.”

I wasn’t — but I was.

He didn’t wait for permission. He crawled onto the mattress with the same careless ease he always had, the bed dipping under his weight. He hovered over me, his hands planted on either side of my shoulders, eyes gleaming with something warm and wild.

“You gonna act mad,” he smirked, “or you gonna come shower with me?”

I raised a brow at him, but my voice was already softer. “Why do you need a shower right now?”

He leaned down, his nose brushing the side of my jaw, breath heavy.

“‘Cause I’ve been thinkin’ about you all fuckin’ night,” he muttered, voice low and filthy, “and now all I can think about is you wet, pressed up against me and moaning my name”

I swallowed, my body already betraying me, skin heating up under his words.

“You’re insane,” I whispered, but my hands still slid up to his shoulders, fingers curling against the muscle there.

“Little bit,” he admitted, flashing that grin again, “but you like it.”

His mouth grazed my ear, and I felt his smirk widen when I shivered.

“C’mon,” he coaxed, lips teasing along my neck. “We can stand under the water… I’ll press you up against the wall…” His hand slipped under the hem of my shirt, slow and warm. “You’ll make those sweet little sounds I like when you think I’m not listening.”

I exhaled shakily, my pulse hammering loud in my chest.

“Toji…”

“You sayin’ no?” he murmured, nipping at my neck just barely.

I hesitated just for the look of it. But I was already gone.

“Didn’t think so,” he chuckled darkly, pulling back just enough to look down at me, eyes flashing with that easy confidence that made it so hard to resist him.

“Up,” he ordered, voice playful but rough. “Shower. Now. Or I’ll just carry you in like this.”

I rolled my eyes but sat up, feeling the heat rush through me. “Fine.”

“‘Atta girl,” he muttered, slapping my thigh with a grin as I stood.

And before I could even take another step, his arms circled around my waist, pulling me back against him, mouth right by my ear.

“Don’t think I’m gonna let you out till you can’t stand straight,” he whispered.

The bathroom lights were low, hazy, almost golden when he pulled me in behind him, the door shutting with a thud that echoed in the quiet.

He didn’t waste time. Toji never did.

The shower was already running, steam curling through the space, fogging the mirror, and by the time I even thought to pull my shirt off, he was already on me.

His hands grabbed the hem of my top, yanking it up and over with that familiar impatience, his lips crashing onto mine before it even hit the floor. His kiss was messy, deep, his tongue sweeping into my mouth like he had something to prove like he’d been starving for this and I was the only thing that could fill him.

He backed me toward the glass, the heat of the water already misting my skin, and his mouth dragged from my lips to my neck, teeth grazing where he knew I was weakest.

“Been thinkin’ about this all day,” he muttered, breath hot and heavy. “Every fuckin’ second.”

His hands roamed, fingers rough and greedy palming my tits, squeezing, feeling like he wanted to memorize every inch of me again. „God, how I missed your tits. You know how much I love them, don’t you doll?“ I answered with a whimper as he pulled me further into the shower. 

My shorts were gone before I noticed his hands working them down, and then his palms were on my bare waist, sliding to my backside, pulling me against him.

“Feel that?” he whispered against my throat, his hips rolling just once, slow and hard. “That’s what you do to me.”

I gasped, hands curling into his damp shirt, still clinging to him even as I felt myself tremble.

“You’re still dressed,” I managed to say, breathless, half a challenge.

He chuckled darkly, pulling back just enough to tug the compression shirt over his head, tossing it aside. His sweatpants followed, leaving nothing between us but heat and the thrum of want that had been building all night.

The sight of him, body cut with muscle, scars that I knew by heart, it made me dizzy, weak in the knees.

Toji grinned like he knew exactly what he looked like, what he did to me.

“Eyes up, sweetheart,” he teased, tilting my chin up. “Not done yet.”

Then he pulled me into the shower, the water crashing down over both of us, hot and relentless.

His hands were everywhere sliding down my back, gripping my hips, pressing me against the slick tile wall. His mouth was on my shoulder, my collarbone, leaving bruises he didn’t bother to hide.

“You feel so good,” he muttered, voice rough, like he couldn’t believe I was real under his hands. “I could keep you here all night.”

“Toji—” I barely managed, my breath catching as he slid one hand lower, between my legs, fingers cupping my pussy and he worked me further. 

“Say my name like that again,” he growled against my ear, “and I’m gonna lose it.”

I did. I said it again softer, needier and it made him groan low in his throat, his body pressing harder against mine, his fingers curling in me until my legs were trembling.

He didn’t stop. He never stopped until I was cumming apart for him, my hands scrabbling for something to hold onto, his name spilling from my mouth like prayer and profanity all tangled up.

When he finally let me catch my breath, his mouth was on mine again, smiling against it, cocky and satisfied.

“Think you can stand now?” he smirked, brushing my hair back, water running down both of us in heavy streams.

I glared weakly at him, and he laughed low, pleased, hungry still.

“Good,” he muttered. “‘Cause I’m not done with you yet.”

And he wasn’t bluffing.

Toji pressed his body flush against mine, his skin burning hot even under the shower spray, his hands gripping my thighs like he was debating whether to lift me right there or drag it out just to hear me beg.

He tilted my chin up with two fingers, forcing my eyes on his. His grin was dangerous sharp, confident like he already knew how this would end but wanted to watch me fall apart every step of the way.

“Still with me, sweetheart?” he murmured, voice dripping with that cocky drawl. “You’re lookin’ a little fucked already.”

I could barely answer, my lips parting for air, but nothing came out.

He chuckled, low in his chest, clearly pleased with himself.

“Guess I’ll take that as a yes.”

Without warning, his hands slid under my thighs, lifting me clean off the ground with that easy strength of his. I gasped, hands shooting to his shoulders, nails sinking into damp skin.

“You should see your face,” he muttered, pinning me to the slick tile wall, water cascading over both of us. “All pretty and wrecked for me and I’ve barely even started.”

His hips rolled slow against me, the hard cock grinding just enough to make my breath hitch, to make me desperate for more.

“You want it, huh?” he whispered, mouth dragging along my jaw, my ear. “Want me to make a mess of you right here?”

I nodded, too breathless to speak, but he clicked his tongue.

“C’mon,” he pressed, voice rough. “I wanna hear it. Tell me.”

“I want you,” I managed, the words barely a whisper, but it was enough.

He groaned deep in his chest, the sound vibrating against my throat as he pressed his mouth there, sucking a bruise into my skin.

“That’s my girl.”

And then he was there pressing into me in one slow, deep stroke that made my whole body shudder against the tile.

I clung to him, legs tight around his waist, my head falling back with a gasp as he started moving, each thrust hard and steady, like he was staking a claim he’d already made a hundred times before.

“Fuck—” he muttered, his mouth hot on my neck. “You feel too good. Always fuckin’ perfect for me.”

The sound of water, the slap of wet skin, the low, rough curses from his mouth it all blurred together until I couldn’t think of anything but him, his voice in my ear, his hands holding me like he’d never let go.

“Don’t fall asleep on me yet,” he teased, voice strained but playful. “We’re not done, remember?”

I could barely answer, my breath catching with every roll of his hips, every filthy word he let spill.

He bit down gently on my shoulder, just enough to make me gasp, and his pace picked up, relentless, greedy.

“You’re mine like this,” he muttered, groaning. “Only mine. Say it.”

I barely got the words out, shaky and breathless but I said them.

“Yours.”

He groaned again, deep and wrecked, his rhythm stuttering just enough to tell me how close he was.

“Yeah,” he rasped, mouth hot against my ear. “That’s fuckin’ right.”

And when we finally came together, breathless and spent, the water still raining down over us, he held me there still close, still inside me, his forehead pressed to mine, his grin lazy and satisfied.

“Better than sleepin’ alone,” he muttered, breath shaky but smug.

I just laughed weakly against his shoulder, too gone to argue because he was right.

[andy-15-07]

Imagine having a baby 👩‍🍼. Also, imagine it's a boy because there's way too many baby girl fics, and I'm honestly getting tired of it. Whether by marriage 👰‍♀ or accident, it dosen’t really matter because the father isn't in the picture. Also, your baby is mute. On top of that, you have known Pedro Pascal since childhood 👧, and for some strange reason, your baby adores Pedro. Like every time he comes for a visit, the baby starts crawling towards him, wanting his attention. Yes, I want this to be a oneshot, pretty please Andy 🙏.

The Language of Love

PAIRING: Pedro Pascalx reader

WORD COUNT: 829 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II |

Joel Miller Masterlist

You never imagined motherhood would be so quiet.

Not because your son, Mateo, was an unusually calm baby. No, it was because Mateo hadn’t spoken a single word,not yet. And though he was two years old, he still communicated in his own unique ways: expressive eyes, bright smiles, and countless gestures that only you seemed to fully understand.

That wasn’t to say you didn’t try everything. The doctors, the specialists, the speech therapists , you saw them all, each with their gentle reassurances and hopeful promises. “He’s absorbing everything,” one said. “His voice will come,” another assured you.

Yet some days, the silence stretched long, filling the space between you with a quiet worry.

But today was different.

Because today, Pedro was coming over.

Pedro Pascal.

Your childhood friend. The boy who grew up two houses down, who knew every secret hiding place, who shared scraped knees and dreams under the sun-drenched sky of your small town. Though life took you in different directions , Pedro off to chase his acting career, you to build a life on your own terms , he remained a constant, like a steady lighthouse in the fog.

And now, Mateo’s favorite person.

You heard the knock before you saw him.

“Y/N! I’m here!” Pedro’s familiar voice called, just like it always did, loud and full of warmth.

You hurried to the door, fumbling to pull it open, your heart lifting at the sight of him. He was taller now, leaner, with the same mischievous smile that had charmed so many, but your heart always reserved it just for you.

“Hey!” you greeted, stepping aside to let him in.

Mateo sat on the living room floor, surrounded by a fortress of colorful wooden blocks. His big brown eyes tracked Pedro’s every move.

“Hey, Mateo!” Pedro crouched down, arms wide open. “Come see your old friend!”

Almost instantly, Mateo’s face lit up. He dropped the block he was holding and began crawling toward Pedro, the speed surprising for a toddler.

You smiled through the lump forming in your throat. There was something magical in how Mateo responded to Pedro , a silent language only they shared.

Pedro reached out his hand, and Mateo grabbed it tightly, clinging like a lifeline.

Pedro’s voice softened. “Hey, little guy. What’s up? Missing me?”

Mateo babbled in his own way, pointing to the blocks as if issuing a challenge.

“Oh, you wanna build something?” Pedro grinned. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

You settled onto the couch, watching them build and laugh. Pedro’s exaggerated expressions and soft tone made Mateo giggle, and though the baby couldn’t speak yet, his eyes sparkled with joy.

After a while, Pedro looked at you, concern threading his voice. “Y/N, are you holding up okay? I know it’s hard sometimes.”

You sighed, nodding. “It’s… a lot. Some days I feel like I’m losing him to the silence. But then he looks at me like that , like he understands everything , and I remember it’s not about the words. It’s about love.”

Pedro reached out, squeezing your hand gently. “Mateo’s a smart kid. He’s got you. And he’s got me, too.”

You laughed softly. “You’re his favorite, you know that? Every time you come over, he crawls right to you.”

Pedro shrugged, grinning sheepishly. “Hey, who wouldn’t want that kind of welcome?”

Mateo suddenly stood up, wobbling, and took a few unsteady steps toward Pedro, arms outstretched.

Pedro’s face lit up. “Whoa, look at you! Taking steps for me? That’s huge!”

Mateo tried to speak , opening his mouth and closing it quickly , but no words came out.

Pedro knelt beside him. “Hey, it’s okay, bud. You don’t have to say anything for me to know you’re amazing.”

That evening, after a long day of play, you and Pedro settled on the floor with Mateo between you, surrounded by scattered toys and soft blankets. The little boy rested comfortably in your lap, eyes bright but tired.

Pedro looked down at Mateo, who was nestled comfortably in your lap. “You ever think about what you’d say if you could talk?” he asked gently.

Mateo reached out and touched Pedro’s cheek with a tiny hand.

You smiled, brushing your fingers through Mateo’s hair. “I think he’s telling you already , just in his own way.”

Pedro’s eyes glistened. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

Days turned into weeks, and Pedro’s visits became a ritual for all three of you. Mateo thrived in the warmth of his presence, and you found comfort in knowing you weren’t alone on this journey.

One afternoon, while Pedro was making funny faces to coax Mateo into laughing, you caught him looking at you with something deeper in his eyes.

“Y/N,” he said softly, “I’m here for you. Always. Whatever you need.”

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. “Thank you, Pedro. For everything.”

Mateo babbled happily, wrapping his tiny arms around Pedro’s neck.

And in that quiet, beautiful moment, words weren’t necessary.

[crushpunky]

caroline's epilogue

the highly, HIGHLY requested return of actress!reader’s OBX character, caroline <3 takes place at the end of OBX5 (which hasn’t come out yet so if something crazy happens—) warning: talks of having kids/pregnancy, previous addictions, nausea/sickness

The entire drive from Kildare to the mainland, Rafe was sure he was going to have to pull over and empty out the contents of his stomach. It had been 607 days since he’d seen her, since he’d touched her skin, heard her laugh… but not a single day had gone by when he hadn’t thought of her.

He’d been surprised to see Sarah at his door that morning, bright and early and with Baby James perched happily on her hip. She’d taken in a shaky breath, gnawing at her bottom lip as she looked up at her brother.

While the Pogues had finally gotten their happy ending, Rafe had not. Sure, he sat in his huge, Figure Eight home, sober for well over a year, and with a good relationship with his sisters, and anyone would have guessed that the eldest Cameron was happy… but he wasn’t. 

Sarah could see it in the way he’d zone off during hangouts with the Pogues or by the way he still flinched whenever he heard her favorite song. How her perfume still sat on his dresser, her hairbrush in his drawer. How he still kept his mother’s ring on the chain around his neck, his fingers brushing against it and his heart skipping when the cool metal brushed against his skin. 

So, Sarah finally decided it was time.

Before she’d left, Caroline had given her a note detailing where she’d gone and asking Sarah one thing: to look after her brother. To not let him fall back on bad habits and lose himself again, and when the time was right, to give him this message and find his way back to her.

Things hadn’t been easy after Caroline left, Rafe burying himself and his sorrows in drugs and alcohol, pushing himself to the edge until he finally came to the realization that, if he ever wanted to see Caroline again, he had to get his shit together. So, he did.

Rafe couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t mad that Sarah had kept this from him for so long, but he also understood. Understood her hesitation. Understood her fear to fulfill her promise to Caroline… but he didn’t dwell on it long.

Within minutes— no, seconds— he was in his car and driving to the address scribbled in Caroline’s familiar handwriting on the piece of paper in his hands. Anxiously counting down the seconds until he’d be on her doorstep and see her face again.

Rafe held the piece of paper in a trembling hand as he stood in front of the house. It was a small cottage, a soft, cream color partnered with green shutters and countless flowers crawling up its walls. It was beautiful and so perfectly her.

Rafe rolled his shoulders as he stepped up to Caroline’s doors, taking a long exhale before he finally lifted his hand and rapped his knuckles against the wood. Immediately, Rafe could hear bustling behind the door, his heart beating impossibly faster as he heard steps getting closer and closer until—

The door swung open, and there she was. Her eyes widened slightly, a small gasp coming out between her lips. It took everything in Rafe not to immediately kiss her again and again and again and never let her go.

“Rafe?” Caroline whispered, and Rafe swore he was going to pass out. His bottom lip trembled as a smile cracked his lips. The world around him fell quiet the moment his name passed her lips. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else but Caroline. Caroline standing in front of him.

“H– Hi.” Rafe choked out. Caroline’s hand fell from the door slowly before she took a step forward. Standing closer, she could see the warmth in Rafe’s cheeks, the muscles of his chest and back, and the glassiness in his eyes. Hesitantly, Caroline raised a hand to Rafe’s cheek. As soon as her skin touched his, Rafe collapsed.

Caroline’s arms shot out, catching Rafe as he fell into her, his arms wrapping around her. He let out a choked sob as he held her closer, taking in a shaky inhale as he burrowed himself into her skin. He swore she was even softer, every curve and inch of her body searing itself into his fingertips and brain. Caroline held the tall and intimidating man as he wept, brushing her nails along the nape of his neck as she cried.

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” Rafe cried, murmuring countless apologies into the skin of Caroline’s neck. The two of them cried in each other's arms, words unable to explain the feelings coursing through their veins. Eventually, they pulled apart, slowly and with sniffling noses.

“Caroline, I’m so, so sorry.” Rafe said, biting on his bottom lip.

“Rafe…” Caroline sighed, smoothing a hand down Rafe’s arm.

“No, no, I—” Rafe shook his head. “What I did… the people I hurt… god, Caroline, I did things to you that I’ll never forgive myself for. Never.”

A tear slowly fell down Caroline’s cheek as she looked back at the boy she’d fallen in love with so many years ago. Those piercing blue eyes that visited her even in her sleep and that tanned, freckled skin that reminded her of home. The boy haunted by pain and sorrow and addiction who had grown into the man in front of her… the man she always knew him to be.

“And I know that my apologies will never be enough,” Rafe stuttered, “and they won’t erase the pain and hurt and damage I’ve done but, Caroline… I love you. God, I never told you enough, but I do. I– I never stopped loving you and I don’t think I ever will.”

Caroline’s bottom lip trembled before the gentle smile that made Rafe’s heart skip spread across her face.

“Rafe, I–” Caroline started, but was cut off by a sudden noise from behind her. She spun around quickly, Rafe’s hands still resting lightly on her hips as he peeked over her shoulder to find the source of the noise sitting in the hall: a baby.

Caroline let in a sharp breath, stepping away from Rafe before crossing the space and scooping the baby up into her arms. The baby babbled, immediately grabbing onto Caroline as she turned to look back at Rafe. She stepped closer to him, the baby letting out a small gurgle as Caroline brought her into the doorway where Rafe stood. The baby blinked against the sunlights, thick eyelashes batting against chubby cheeks until she finally looked up at Rafe.

Rafe felt his stomach drop when he met a pair of icy blue eyes identical to his own. 

He swallowed harshly before he looked over at Caroline. She didn’t need to say a word, and he didn’t need to ask, he just knew. Rafe ran a hand over his buzzcut, taking a long, shaky exhale as the realization washed over him.

“This is Eloise.” Caroline murmured, sniffling as she bit on her bottom lip. Rafe’s eye twitched, his hand shaking as he moved to brush a hand through the baby’s— no, his daughter’s— curls. Eloise looked up at Rafe with a gummy smile, the corners of her chubby cheeks turning up at the exact same angle of Caroline’s.

“Hi Eloise.” Rafe whispered, the baby waving her hands happily at the sound of her name, causing a small smile to spread across Rafe’s face before his eyes flicked over to Caroline’s. Her bottom lip was trembling as she looked between Rafe and the baby.

“I’m sorry—” Caroline choked out. Her body curled in on itself as she let out a sob. Caroline shook her head as she cried, Rafe soothing his hand down her back gently. Without even realizing, his hands moved on instinct, taking Eloise out of her mother’s shaking hands and into his own.

“I should have told you sooner. I– I should have told you before I left—” Caroline sniffled as she looked up at Rafe. He looked down at her, a small smile on his face before he shook his head, letting out a small chuckle. Caroline’s brow furrowed.

“No, baby,” Rafe said, the old nickname rolling off his tongue with ease, “you… it wasn’t just about you or us anymore. It was about her and you did the right thing.”

Caroline let out a shaky exhale, the words soothing the doubts that have clouded her mind everyday since she left, her entire life in a suitcase and a pregnancy test in her pocket. The prospect of leaving everything she’d ever known behind, especially when only days ago she was so sure she was about to spend the future with the love of her life and the child growing inside her, had been so terrifying… but she knew she had to, because it wasn’t just about her anymore. It was about the little bundle of joy that rested in Rafe’s arms.

Rafe turned his head, looking down at Eloise as her hands grabbed up at him. He lifted her closer, allowing his daughter to grab onto the skin of his cheeks. As she did, she let out a giggle that made Rafe’s head spin faster than any high. Immediately, Caroline and Rafe began to laugh, Eloise’s eyes widening at the sound. Once their laughter finally died down, Caroline gazed up at Rafe, her cheek still pressed against his chest.

“Do you… want to know her, uh, full name?” Caroline whispered. Rafe looked down at her, a gentle blush along the freckles of his cheeks.

“Yes.” Rafe said quickly, his voice low.

“Eloise Blaire… Cameron.” Caroline said, the corner of her lips curling up. The smile on Rafe’s face softened, his lips parting as he let out a small gasp.

“Cameron?” Rafe asked, biting on his bottom lip as he glanced between Eloise and Caroline. His brow furrowed slightly with a sort of worry. Worry for the weight of the name, for the power and danger it held, and what that meant for the girl in his arms he’d already do anything for.

“I knew you’d be back,” Caroline said simply, “and I wanted her to be proud of her father. Of her family.”

“Proud?” Rafe scoffed at the thought, shaking his head as Eloise shifted in his arms.

“I knew you’d be back, Rafe.” Caroline said again. “I knew you’d get your shit figured out. I knew you’d find that boy I fell in love with all those years ago, that boy I wanted our daughter to be proud of… the boy I’m proud of.”

Rafe swallowed harshly, the words he’d always wanted to hear sinking in. Was it true? Was he really the type of person someone could be proud of? Let alone someone as good as Caroline? Someone as pure as Eloise? While Rafe wasn’t even sure he deserved it, something in their eyes told him that maybe he could be that person for them. For his family.

“Caroline,” Rafe said lowly, his ringed fingers brushing down Eloise’s leg soothingly almost on instinct, “I came here because I needed to apologize and I just had to see you again. I know it would be unfair of me to ask for anything more than that but… if you’d have me— if you’d both have me— I’d love to have a chance to be in your lives.”

A silence fell over them, Caroline mulling over the years of violence and hurt and drugs her and Rafe had shared… but also the countless memories of love and gentleness they’d shared. As she gazed at Rafe, Eloise resting gently against the crook of his elbow, her eyes identical to her fathers, Caroline couldn’t help but see no hints of that damaged boy and the fearful time in their lives. She saw a man who’d turned his life around for himself and for her. A man who’d do anything for her and the little girl in his arms

“Well,” Caroline said, the corner of her mouth turning up in a smirk, “I was just finishing up dinner, if you’d like to join? We can chat about… us and what our next steps are, yeah?”

“I would love that, that sounds perfect, yeah?” Rafe said, turning to Eloise to grin at her and bounce her slightly in his arms. Eloise let out another belly laugh, her laughter causing Rafe’s grin to grow impossibly wider and Caroline to chuckle.

Here, his girl by his side and their daughter in his arms, Rafe finally felt happy.

[sugarskies]

impatient

summary: bob entertains himself while john watches football. word count: 1,115 notes: includes mild sexual content. minors beware!

Bob didn’t know the first thing about football.

He knew there was a ball involved, and he heard a lot of yelling about touchdowns. He knew that in high school, John was a quarterback which was apparently important but wasn’t sure what it actually entailed. Sports weren’t Bob’s thing. During his two months in high school, the closest he got to a football was when he got high under the bleachers during practice.

Still, he liked watching football. Or rather, he liked to watch John watch football. He liked to sit on the opposite end of the couch and peek over the top of his book at John’s smile. He liked to rest his feet on John’s knees and tickle his belly while he was trying to focus. He liked to lay his head on John’s lap and shamelessly sleep through the second half of the game.

That night, Bob tried to read his book but something about John’s face kept distracting him. Maybe it was that he hadn’t shaved in a couple days, or that his hair wasn’t brushed, or that his biceps looked so fucking good crossed against his chest. Bob tossed his book on the table behind him and kicked his feet on John’s lap. John didn’t even look at him, just set a hand on his left ankle without a word.

Bob shifted his foot, grabbed the hem of John’s t-shirt between his first two toes. He slowly started to push the fabric up John’s stomach, only for John to press his foot back down. Bob twisted his other foot and managed to get John’s shirt up to his belly button before John wrapped his hands around both Bob’s ankles and tucked them back in his lap.

“You need something, babe?” asked John, his gaze never leaving the television.

“No,” Bob grumbled. He looked John up and down, from his lips to his chest to his thighs. “How much longer is this game?”

“About twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes was too long. Bob bent his left knee slightly, curled his toes between John’s legs. Finally, John turned to look at him, his brow raised as he lifted Bob’s foot and put it back where it was. Bob shrugged, crossed his own arms as he slowly moved his foot back. He could feel the difference when he curled his toes again, but John acted like he wasn’t fazed, his jaw clenched.

Bob rocked his foot back and forth and then John suddenly grabbed his calf and tossed it over the side of the couch. Though he easily could have swung it back up, Bob instead dramatically followed his leg on the floor. He caught himself on his elbows and knees, hesitated for just a minute before he sat up, crawled over to John, and wedged himself between his legs. John looked at him, expression blank, as Bob slid a hand along the inside of his thigh.

“What are you doing?” John wrapped his fingers around Bob’s wrist, stopped his hand before it reached its destination. Bob shrugged again, his eyes wide and needy as they met John’s. He snorted and shook his head. “Twenty minutes.”

“I won’t be in your way,” mumbled Bob. He leaned forward but John pushed him back. He pressed his cheek against John’s right thigh. “You can still watch the game.”

“You can be quiet while I watch the game.”

“You know what would stop me from talking?”

John rolled his eyes, his tone amused when he said, “You’re so fucking annoying.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Bob teased.

He really brought it on himself by leaving his lips parted, his tongue between his teeth. John slid his right fingers in Bob’s mouth, curled them around the back of his teeth. It didn’t take a full second for Bob’s instinct to kick in. He closed down gently around John’s fingers and sucked. John tasted like salt and cinnamon, residue from the pretzels on the table at his side.

There was something about having John in his mouth that satisfied Bob so intensely. It didn’t matter what part of him—his fingers, his chest, his ears, his cock—just that it was him. Bob had been shoving things in his mouth since he was a kid (which ultimately led him down the path to sucking on a pipe eighteen hours a day, whether it was filled or not), but none of them felt as gratifying or as safe as John’s warm skin.

“You’re really distracting, you know that?” John set his left hand on the back of Bob’s head, tugged lightly at his hair until their eyes met. Bob nodded and lightly pressed his teeth into John’s knuckles. “You really couldn’t wait twenty minutes?”

Bob shook his head, wrapped his hands around John’s wrist, and gently tugged his fingers out of his mouth. He licked John’s fingertips before he let his hand go and wiped his own chin with his sleeve. “You’re the one who stuck your fingers in my mouth.”

“Because you wouldn’t shut up.”

“I already told you there’s another solution to that,” Bob reminded him, his fingers trailing up the inside of John’s thighs. John inhaled slowly but didn’t push Bob away when he slipped his right hand between his legs, his left index finger tickling the edge of John’s waistband.

“You,” John started as his hand squeezed Bob’s hair more tightly, his gaze flickering between Bob’s eyes, lips, and the television, “are such a brat.”

Bob placed his hands on top of John’s legs, squeezed his thighs as he leaned forward and pressed two kisses to his happy trail. “You know that won’t make me stop.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to stop.” And that was all Bob needed to move his mouth back to John’s skin, to tug on his belly as his fingers hooked around the waistband of John’s pants and his boxers beneath. “But the Bulldogs are winning so you have to stay on your knees.”

“Mmhm. Is that our team?”

“Look at yourself.” Bob glanced down at his chest, at the Georgia Bulldogs sweatshirt he was wearing, stolen from John’s closet, and mumbled an ‘oh.’ “Did you even check which shirt you took?”

“Don’t care,” he muttered, tugging the fabric below John’s hips. “Just liked that it smelled like you.”

John slid a second hand behind Bob’s head, tangled his fingers in his hair as he leaned down and kissed the top of his head. He held Bob in place, made sure he didn’t speak another word for the rest of the game.

Apparently, that was a luxury reserved for John, who suddenly forgot how to be quiet himself.

[rafehoneymoon]

Impatient

bsf!rafe can’t sit still

powdery perfume whirled through motionless air, the silence - beside her soft humming, echoed loudly. 

everything was put on pause, when she was getting ready. throned onto her vanity chair, tackling the obstacle of doing her hair. 

where as her best friend rafe sat slouched into an armchair, which sat solemnly in the corner of the girls bedroom.

looking like he was threw into place.

her methodical humming was carelessly interrupted with a clicking of his tongue, practically a banner announcing his impatience. 

meeting his eyes in the mirror, she could just about make out the ring around them, ready to snap. the sight caused hers to glint, throwing him a teasing smile.

to see how long he’d last.

rafe abruptly stood up as if the chair was causing him physical pain, he hated sitting still. his mind looped, hands fidgeted, patience disintegrated- it made him feel useless.

he’d rather be threw with a task at hand, in fact everything in his hands. he was a proactive type of person.

“when d’you think you’ll be done with- that” waving his hands in the direction of her hair, irritation crawling freely from his voice. 

“soon, ok?” once again meeting his eyes, this time with a pleading look. 

the cameron boy nearly suffocating himself with all of the air he huffed out, making his way to his best friends bed, chucking himself onto it carelessly. 

“don’t mess up my bed” she demanded, focus still on her hair, but when she was with rafe she basically had eyes at the back of her head. 

he responded with an eye roll, sinking himself into the mattress further and hoping the comfort would be a pillow for his boredom. 

after sprawling out across the bed multiple times and crinkling the sheets, it was doing absolutely nothing. 

dramatically pulling himself up and out the girls bed, he walked over to the vanity and snatched her phone.

like a kid playing games on their parents phone when they were bored. 

it was nothing out of the ordinary for the pair, they knew each others passwords and would make themselves at home to each others mobiles. 

the girl just watched him out of the corner of her eye, shaking her head sarcastically, used to his childish tactics. 

he stuck himself to the wall, leaning against it with heavy force, practically leaving an outline. as he wandered through her phone, face lighting up as he reached for her camera roll.

ground he’d never uncovered before. 

scrolling through it carefully, not wanting to miss a thing. endless amounts of selfies flooded it fully, along with some fit checks, all of which he chose his favorites and sent them to himself. 

that peak of interest quickly came to an end, once he had investigated every photo. planting the phone back onto the surface of the girls vanity, while looking around her room for something else to spark his intrigue.

the white oak dresser stood tall, a gold, glowing lining painted by his mind. and he knew the top drawer would be his best bet. 

moving across her room once again, more purpose behind it this time. he looked over at his best friend, who was still distracted with that concentrated pout - which he always found cute. 

opening the drawer sneakily, a giddy feeling buzzed his mind, god he was pathetic. there sat her collection of panties, organized in color, all embedded with perfection. 

running his big hand through the girlish lace, a satisfied smirk found its way to the cameron boys face.

she had multiple pairs in his favorite color, he knew she wanted him just as bad.

then he plucked a pair, ridden from the unison line and stashed into the pocket of his khaki shorts. 

“what are you doing” she questioned, voice sharp with amusement. the girl stood up, hand on hip and the look of catching someone red-handed. 

“nothing- right, just chill out” he spoke calm, but his hands up defensively. 

heels voicing its pathway, as she walked over to the boy. out of now where she pushed him onto her bed, quick to straddle over his tall frame. 

skirt riding up with the motion, daring him while he drank up the picture.

rafes face stunned, yet that boyish smile still stayed put. grasping some control, he reached for her hips, holding them firm and into place.

also to check that the situation was real, not just another one of his imaginations. 

she lifted up slightly, a pull that was hard to do with his hands molding them into place. before pressing back down, directly onto the non-mistaken bulge she could feel through his shorts. 

the boy underneath released a grunt, courtesy of her action. 

“can you sit still for once?” the girl questioned tauntingly, pushing her weight down more and more as she got herself comfortable.

“yeah- fuck yeah” rafe breathed out, though it was strained as his teeth were gritted, a barrier to the uncontrollable sounds that were just flowing out freely.

“good” she hummed, flipping her hair and climbing off of rafe. 

yet he still remained, frightened to move, unable to breathe. but his boredom was now gone. 

[thanossssss]

Can u do regressor Nam-gyu and Thanos?

Regressors! Nam-gyu & Thanos w/o Caregiver

Summary: Nam-gyu and Thanos are home alone when they both end up regressing. Nam-gyu finds it absolutely hilarious to taunt Thanos by referring to him as “Su-bong” since it makes him mad.

Contains: Age regression, crying, stuffed animals, Nam-gyu’s mean to Thanos.

A/N: I assumed you meant you wanted both Nam-gyu and Thanos to be the regressors? If I misunderstood, please let me know and I can write something else!

Not proofread.

“Su-bong!” Nam-gyu exclaimed in a singsongy voice to Thanos, who was sulking. For the past twenty minutes now, Nam-gyu had been annoying Thanos by calling him by his actual name, Su-bong. Little Thanos hated being called by his name, he liked his rapper name a lot more, since he thought it was way cooler.

“Su-bong! Su-bong!” Nam-gyu giggled, shaking Thanos to get his attention, since he was trying to ignore him. “Stop it..” Thanos grumbled, pushing away Nam-gyu’s hands as he pouted. More giggling came from Nam-gyu as he leaned over and looked at Thanos’ face.

“You’re grumpy, Su-bong!” He teased while pointing at Thanos. “Think you need a nap.” Nam-gyu said, making Thanos huff. “Leave me alone!” He shouted at Nam-gyu, slapping his hand away from his face.

“No hitting, Su-bong!” Nam-gyu scolded. “I’m gonna tell on you when they get back!” He threatened. The “they” he referred to being Min-su, Se-mi, and Gyeong-su, who were all out together. They had no idea both Thanos and Nam-gyu were regressed right now, if they did, they definitely wouldn’t have left them alone.

“Then I’m gonna tell them that you’re being mean and calling me Su-bong!” Thanos yelled at him. Nam-gyu rolled his eyes. “It’s your name! I can call you your name!” Nam-gyu argued. Thanos shook his head. “No you can’t!!” He whined out, crossing his arms angrily.

“Su-bong!” Nam-gyu spoke loudly. “Su-bong! Su-bong! Su-bong!” He kept repeating, while the sound of Thanos’ whining was starting to indicate that he was about to cry. “See?? I can say your name!” Nam-gyu said with a mocking tone.

Thanos whimpered, turning his head and hiding the fact that he was about to cry since his eyes were getting teary. Nam-gyu crawled in front of him, looking at his facial expression, before proceeding to laugh.

“Are you crying?” He asked Thanos with a smirk. “No!!” Thanos quickly answered. “I’m not crying! Stop lying!!” Thanos whined, his voice cracking as he did so. “It’s okay, Su-bong! You’re younger than me so you can cry! That’s what babies do!” Nam-gyu teased him.

Thanos loudly whined, slamming his hands down, which startled Nam-gyu. “Stop it, Nam-gyu! You’re being mean, I don’t like it! It’s not funny!” Thanos shouted as he broke out into tears, standing up and quickly running away from Nam-gyu.

Nam-gyu’s smile dropped as he sat there for a moment, finally realizing that he took his teasing too far. He felt really bad about it now, so he got up and quickly went to the bedroom, knowing that’s where Thanos was at.

Nam-gyu slowly opened the door, peeking in where he could see Thanos sitting on their shared bed, crying into one of his stuffed animals. Nam-gyu frowned, before quietly walking into the room and going over to Thanos.

“Thanos?” Nam-gyu spoke softly. Thanos looked at him, before turning his head away. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you cry.” He said. “I don’t know why I was being mean but I’m really, really sorry.” Nam-gyu apologized. Thanos was quiet for a moment, before looking at him again.

“You mean it?” Nam-gyu nodded. “Yeah. I’m not gonna be mean anymore today. I promise!” He responded. “Okay..” Thanos muttered. “But if you’re mean again I’m gonna tell!” He warned, Nam-gyu quickly nodding, not wanting to be tattled on.

“I’m gonna be super nice all day! And not call you Su-bong anymore!” Nam-gyu told him. Thanos smiled a little, wiping his tears away. “And play what I wanna play all day.” Thanos added, to which Nam-gyu agreed to.

“Yeah! Play whatever you want!” He said, which got Thanos to fully smile. “Okay!” He spoke with excitement as he jumped off of the bed and grabbed Nam-gyu’s hand. “We’re gonna play outside and look for bugs!” Thanos said, making Nam-gyu’s eyes widened since he absolutely hated bugs.

Now, Nam-gyu was just hoping the other three would hurry home, before Thanos found a bug and made him hold it, since he knew they would stop it from happening. Though, deep down inside, Nam-gyu knew it was his karma for teasing Thanos to the point of tears. Next time, maybe he won’t take it that far. Maybe.

[teaandcheckmates]

“…Mm.”

It was a sound, but not a word. More breath than voice. It slipped from Percy’s throat like a stone rolling down a hill—inevitable, weightless, empty.

He wasn’t crying anymore. Not really. His face had run dry, and whatever was left in him had sunk below the surface, deep beneath the ribs. He sat there, not so much kneeling now as folding, like something had finally given out. Spine, resolve, resistance—whatever it was that had once held him upright.

The blood had stopped. The burn still throbbed.

He didn’t move when Charles spoke. Not much, anyway. Just sat there, cheek tilted vaguely toward the voice like a child caught in the act and awaiting judgment. But no judgment came. Just words.

Not okay. Never will be.

He nodded faintly.

“Right.”

That was all he said for a while. The silence that followed wasn’t tense. Just quiet. A kind of hush that came when you were too tired to make noise, too wrung out to be angry. He blinked slowly, lids stuttering over the swell of pain crawling up his temple, and let the stillness settle over his shoulders like a shroud.

The hallway was colder now. But not cruel.

And maybe that’s why, for once, Smokey didn’t hiss.

There was a sound—a soft, tentative plop of furred weight pressing against the ground. The cat, prideful beast that he was, had returned. Not to snarl or scold but to nestle beside them, like he too had grown tired of dramatics. Percy glanced down. Watched him loaf with only the vaguest flicker of interest.

“…He didn't like me.”

It wasn’t meant as anything, really. Just something to fill the space. But his voice was softer now. Smaller. Threadbare.

Still, his gaze didn’t leave the floor.

A beat.

Then another.

“…You were the only one who didn’t flinch.”

The thought came uninvited, crawling up from the same deep place where grief had gone to rot.

“When I used to stutter. When I couldn’t get a word out to save my life. The others—governesses, tutors, all of them—they’d tap their fingers, glance at the clock. But not you.”

He looked up finally, not quite at Charles, not quite away.

“You used to make tea and wait.”

A breath. This one less ragged. Just…tired.

“Why?”

Not how could you stand me, or what was wrong with me—but simply:

Why did you stay?

His hand drifted toward his wrist unconsciously, grazing the bandaged edge. But he didn’t press. Just rested his fingers there. Light. Almost tender.

A soft purr rumbled nearby.

“…Do you still drink your tea with lemon?” he asked, without thinking. “You used to. I remember. I asked you once why you didn’t use honey and you said it made the sugar stick to your gloves.”

Another blink.

It wasn’t a smile. Wasn’t even nostalgia. Just memory.

“Did you… always know?”

This time, he did look up.

“That I was like this, I mean. That I’d turn out…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t. The words stuck behind his teeth like ashes.

He let out a long exhale.

“…I used to think I could burn it all out of me.”

His fingers brushed his temple absently.

“The wanting. The softness. The voice that trembled when I said anything real.”

He let out a hollow little laugh, the kind you gave when a punchline landed too late.

“…Turns out it’s made of flint. Strike it once and it only glows brighter.”

He leaned his head gently against the wall again. His legs were beginning to ache.

“Do you think it’ll always be like this?”

Not can I fix it. Not will it hurt less. Just—

Is this it?

The purring grew louder. Smokey stretched, then pawed gently at the hem of Percy’s coat, curling up closer. Percy didn’t move away. He didn’t do anything at all, really. Just sat there.

Still bleeding. Still burned.

Still here.

“…You can stay, if you want,” he mumbled after a while. “I don’t want to be alone just yet.”

He turned his head a fraction toward Charles. The exhaustion in his eyes was not the kind you sleep off.

“Maybe just… talk. Tell me something I don’t know. Anything. I don’t care if it’s about the weather or your favorite book or why you never once flinched when I got things wrong.”

His fingers curled slightly against the floor.

“…I think I want to know who you are.”

And for the first time in a very long while, he meant it.

Bonsoiiiir! ♪

[Luca busted out right in front of Percival's doors when he least expected it, because why the hell not. His voice had been awfully joyful all morning, clearly, ranting to his father about "how much he's looking forward to his special visit".]

[Who could blame him? It is not every day that you get to bring around your new pet cat to your significant other and pleasantly surprise them with it!]

“Désolé, you said at my earliest convenience -I simply couldn't hold myself!” [The man spoke cheerfully, clasping his two palms together while his smile had almost caused him a cheek-ache on the way here.]

[After Percy allowed him to come forth, he gave him a tight, warm embrace. Completely forgetting the fact that the "surprise" in question was now suffocating between them.] -Meow!- [Smokey exclaimed.]

“Ah!” [His body immediately retreated backwards.] -Ahem- “I suppose it cannot wait any longer.. behold! The surprise that I mentioned in my letters! The newest addition to the Fauntleroy estate! Smokey!”

[Luca began to proudly show him off, picking him up out of his suit as if he was a magician pulling out a well-hidden dove.]

@way2rich4this

Percy startles so hard he nearly drops the book in his lap.

It had been a quiet morning—or at least, it had been until the unmistakable burst of “Bonsoiiiir!” ricocheted down the corridor like a cannonball made entirely of vowels and affection. The force of it makes his heart skip several highly concerning beats, and he turns toward the door with the sort of expression usually reserved for tax audits and lightning strikes.

And then he hears the voice.

Luca.

His posture unspools instantly—shoulders relaxing, breath easing, the corners of his mouth twitching upward despite himself. There’s an instinctive kind of warmth that floods his chest when Luca’s around, like stepping into sunlight after being buried in frost. Even if he is entering like an operatic thunderstorm.

Percy rises—awkwardly, stiffly, smoothing the front of his vest and blinking with a mixture of confusion and anticipation.

“I—ah, I wasn’t expecting—well, I suppose I was, but not quite this early—”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence before Luca is on him, arms winding around his frame in a hug that knocks the air straight from his lungs in a soundless little gasp. It takes him a second to register the warmth, the affection, the familiarity of it—so full, so solid—and he melts into it instinctively, breath catching faintly as he leans his forehead against Luca’s shoulder with a shaky exhale.

And then—

“Meow!”

There is something squirming between them.

Percy blinks, then flinches, arms awkwardly lifting as if trying not to crush a very delicate loaf of bread.

“Is that—?”

But Luca’s already pulling back, bright-eyed and glowing with pride. Percy blinks rapidly, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing—first the suit, then the limbs emerging from the suit, then—

“Oh,” he breathes, eyes widening, “Oh.”

Because there, in Luca’s hands, nestled like an irritable puff of charcoal and aristocratic indignation, is a cat. A very fluffy, very unimpressed-looking cat.

Percy stares.

Smokey stares back.

Silence.

“…He was in your jacket?” Percy asks faintly, voice several decibels softer than usual, the words half-lost to stunned awe. He inches forward, reverent. “You… you carried a cat in your—”

He breaks off with a strangled little sound that might be laughter. Or tears. Or possibly a blend of both. His hands lift and hover mid-air, unsure where to go—is it rude to pet someone else's cat? What if the cat bites? What if Luca bites??

“He’s gorgeous,” Percy finally manages, voice trembling somewhere between delight and disbelief. “Look at him—look at his little face, he’s like a very cross cloud—oh, Gods, does he like me? Is he going to—?”

He cuts himself off again when Smokey shifts slightly, giving a skeptical little flick of his tail. Percy freezes.

And then, ever so gently, he holds out a single, tentative finger.

“…Hello,” he murmurs, as if addressing royalty. “I, ah—I’m Percy. It’s an honor to make your acquaintance. I am told we may be cohabitating occasionally. I do hope that’s acceptable to you.”

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

Okay okay fine we get it you can hike up a mountain all by yourself in a blizzard or something weird flex but alright. I say while pretending like I'm not giggling.

[jeankirschteinsimp]

You and your husband Nanami Kento went to the beach today. The sun was shining and it was overall a beautiful atmosphere. You sat infront of Kento and stared at him.

„What are staring at, hun?“, he said when he turned his head to you with a light smirk.

You then proceeded to crawl over to him and say „ i love your freckles, ken.“

„Oh yeah?“, he told you while a light blush creeped upon his cheeks.

„I wanna kiss all of them“ you claimed as you slowly kissed all of his freckles. One under his right eye, on his nose tip and one at the corner of his left lip. When you pulled back from giving Nanami Kento little pecks - he suddenly grabbed you by the throat and kissed you passionately.

You pulled back breathing heavily and told him „ i didn’t knew you had freckles on your lips, ken.“

„Well i wasn’t quite sure but you can check again y/n“ he quickly replied while smashing his soft lips on yours again.

[mojifushiguro]

one thing sukuna always told himself, is that he'd never have kids.

they're a burden, and they're disrespectful. all they do is run around, eat, shit, and sleep all over the place, and who has time to clean their mess?

at least... thats what he said before you "up and decided" to have twins.

sukuna sat, legs crossed in the middle of the couch, a scowl across his face as he felt his hair being tugged at by one baby, and his face being poked at my another.

"t- teef!" one said, pulling at sukunas lip to see his teeth.

his hair had all kinds of bows and glittery rubber bands in it. one side of his face was covered in drool, from the teething baby biting at his cheek, and the other side had a tiny scratch on it, from his other baby pulling at his face.

sukuna felt his patience getting low as you sat there on the other couch, painting your toes.

"da-da pink!" the teething child slapped sukunas forehead with her tiny hand countless amounts of times, doing the same with the back of his head while she jumped up and down.

the other child tried her best to crawl on his shoulders, slipping back on the couch and giggling to herself as she clapped.

when you finally brought your attention to sukuna, you locked eyes with his squinted ones, making you burst out laughing.

"'kunaaa, whats wrong?" you looked at your toes before switching feet.

"woman, you know whats wrong. these children are insufferable, and you won't get them." sukuna grumbled, flinching a little as he was about to get slapped right in the eye.

"they just love their daddy." you waved him off, making him groan and lean back on the couch.

the children mimicked his actions, slumping back into the couch with a frown face.

sukuna narrowed his eyes at both of them before crossing his arms and making a "hmph." sound.

they mimicked him again, hugging themselves and starting to hum, over, and over again.

"hey! stop that!" sukuna yelled, standing up and starting to walk away. but thanks to one of their tiny car toys, you heard something roll away, followed by a thump.

suddenly, your children started uncontrollably laughing, getting off the couch and waddle-running over to their dad, who laid on the floor, face up.

"daddy fall! daddy fall!" they yelled in sync, clapping their hands as they laughed, falling out together on the floor.

you stood up, giggling and waking over to sukuna, as the kids started to crawl on his stomach and leg.

you couldn't help but laugh, wiping the corner of your eye and leaning down.

"are you okay, 'kuna?"

sukuna laid in a starfish position with a frown, looking up at you, then down at his children.

"no."

[tojisteddy]

It’s nap time in Sukuna’s palace.

Well, it is for you.

You had a quick lunch before the king called you over, as he usually does when you’re gone for too long in his eyes, he’d call you for such mundane things. Which you didn’t mind, as long as he was neutral towards you, you had no issue.

“Pet, get that book for me.”

“Pet, tell Uraume I won’t meet anyone else today.”

“Little one, come sit in my lap.”

“Get the bath ready, little human.”

“Pet, fetch us a snack and feed me.”

But today was so different. You’d been sitting with him on the engawa, the spring breeze hitting you both while the sun peeked through the leaves of the trees, gently kissing your skin in such a warm manner. The soft hum trees swaying and one of the other servant practicing music in the distance. You sat in seiza, ready to be there at his beck and call, but your eyes kept closing. You’d catch yourself every time you’d feel yourself drifting off. You rubbed both your eyes, letting out a small but disgustingly adorable yawn.

All of which, Sukuna watched as he leaned on the banister, undisclosed plans in hand. Such a pretty little thing he had in his presence. Who would have known humans would make such good pets to have. He’s sure it’s just you, the other servants and clans were full of bastards. He thought, a cute human that looks to him with those pretty brown doe eyes before acting upon anything. Always attentive.

Good pet.

Humans must sleep, no? They need a nap after eating. He’d read about it in passing, somewhere. Humans fell tired easily. Or was that about babies? Never the less, you were the same, right?

“Pet,” you immediately sat up, the sleep filled daze leaving your eyes and you stared up at the muscular God. You shifted a bit, feeling your legs falling asleep on you.

“Come take a nap for me.” He simply lifted his index finger, beckoning you over. You hesitated, eyes weary. He always called you for such interesting things. Things he’d never done for the other bed maids. “I must be ready for your call, my lord.”

He scuffed, one set of arms folding over his chest, “You do as I say, do you not?”

“I-I do my lord.”

“Don’t be a brat. Come.”

You internally sighed, crawling over because you couldn’t fully feel your legs. A ghost of a smirk danced on his lips, the yukata you had on giving him a glimpse of your beautiful breasts. He grunted when you sat in his lap, his arms immediately going around you to pull you closer. You instinctively curled into him, your head on his large chest. this was your one and true spot. With a cursed God, relaxing in his lap while he worked.

You hadn’t even realized your eyes had shut, muttering the last thoughts on your mind, “mm- p-please call me if you need anything my lord.”

Sukuna hummed, on hand patting your back while soothing you into a nap, what a good little pet.

“Of course, little one.”

a/n: Sukana and his little pet human🥺