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plutotheplum · 3 months ago

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I Only Bleed For Him

dragon!sylus x fem!reader

summary: amidst the blooming flowers in tarus city, the dragon claims his beloved.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, a smidge of fluff, angst, kissing, loss of virginity, oral sex, p in v, possessive sex, blood, claiming bites, mating, knotting, soulmates, canon compliant death

wc: 4.5k

a/n: the way the myth cards just keep getting depressing :( there will be another chapter after this fic, but it'll be in the actual timeline! also not very confident in my angst writing abilities, but hopefully y'all enjoy!! <3

also on ao3!

“You know, Tarus City can have flowers bloom everywhere, as far as the eye can see. But only for one person.”

Sylus’ voice is a soft murmur, his hands caressing your waist as he holds you tighter against him. Your heart lurches uncomfortably, fingers brushing across his cheek and the hard, black scale that lays fused to his skin.

“What if we stayed here?” you whisper, peering into his crimson eyes.

“Would you be able to sate yourself?” Sylus asks in return, his claws brushing through your hair gently.

You avert your gaze, cheek pressing against his chest as you stare at the swaying carmine flowers in the soft breeze. Sylus’ heart is steady, the soothing sound of thrumming coupled with the motions of his claws nearly enough to lull you to sleep.

His question holds value. Revenge threatens to pull you apart at the seams, the desire for chaos rearing its ugly head. You want more, you always want more and Sylus gives it to you willingly. Your selfish desires will be the downfall of the Fiend, you think, hands tightening into fists.

Yet, there is so much more to do. So much to take from those that had taken from you. Resentment makes you tremble, the Sacred Judicator’s words ringing clear in your mind.

The Sorceress has been judged.

You could laugh at the thought if you weren’t so angry. Some sorceress you were, powerless and yet put before the Court of Justitia as a traitor for trying to protect the statue of a dragon.

Angry tears prick at your eyes, teeth gritting together only to be drawn out of your wrathful thoughts by the press of Sylus’ lips against your clenched fists, his claws unfurling your clenched fingers.

“Just like the day we met,” Sylus murmurs, his gaze trained on you, “such hatred and defiance.”

You swallow the lump in your throat when he kisses your palms.

“Beauty,” he whispers against your skin, “and resentment, little sorceress. They make you my precious, most finest treasure.”

“I don’t want to think about the Legion,” you reply, voice trembling, “I want them gone, Sylus.”

“Pluck them out one by one,” Sylus says, his hand caressing your cheek, “but another will replace those gone. Their roots run deep, weeds that refuse to die, marring the world around them.”

You sigh, eyes fluttering shut as you lean into the warmth of his hand, the rough scales scratching your skin gently.

“I shall burn Justitia to the ground,” you grit out, eyes burning with determination, “I will make them all regret and spite them into contrition, bring them to their knees and- and-”

Sylus laughs, his expression soft as he peers up at you. “You speak sharply, little sorceress. Your fire and spirit matches my own.”

“Because I am your other half,” you mumble, pouting slightly as you feel your anger subside the more Sylus caresses you.

“You are,” Sylus affirms, “bearer of my soul, my other half. Only you could be worthy enough.”

A light flush covers your cheeks before you hide again, nosing into his cheek. You can feel the warmth of his soul inside of you as your eyes shut, lungs expanding as you suck in a deep breath, the scent of the dragon clouding your senses.

Burnt embers and a soft sweetness make you whine, body squirming as you try and press yourself closer to him, your fingers caressing his horns.

“Careful,” Sylus grunts, his claws tightening around your waist when he feels the brush of your fingers against the base of his horns.

You can feel the slight jump of his hips, your gaze lifting to find his brows drawn together, eyes squeezed shut.

“Does it hurt?” you ask worriedly, fingers pausing.

“Hardly,” he replies, his eyes opening again, “I am simply… sensitive.”

You hum, head tilting to kiss his cheek as your fingers resume their stroking and caressing. Sylus makes a small noise and you relish in it, peppering kisses here and there, across his cheeks and over the large scales.

A delighted sound escapes you when you hear what you think is something akin to a purr. Sylus’ cheeks tint with a light pink and you smile against his cheek, ears straining to listen again when he rumbles gently, his head tilting as he pushes up into the caress of your hand.

“Like a mountain cat,” you tease, tracing the slope of his nose when he purrs again, feeling his claws twitch against your hips.

“Do not use my gifts against me,” Sylus grouses, despite the pleased rumble of his chest.

“I enjoyed them,” you reply, fingers running through his hair leisurely, “if only we could go back.”

“We will,” Sylus promises, his eyes flickering open, “I shall make sure of it.”

You smile wistfully. Going back to the cavern held more challenges than worth risking. Bitterness makes your smile waver, but you brush the thought away, content to at least be given this moment of reprieve.

“We will,” you repeat after him.

Neither of you mention the emptiness of the promise. The damp coldness of the chapel latches onto you and Sylus is the only one able to make it dissipate, his claws tracing over the curve of your cheek.

You cling to him, nose brushing against his gently.

“I love you.”

Sylus’ chest rumbles in response, his head tilting as he presses his lips to yours. The curl of his tail around you holds you to him, his hands kneading at your hips as you kiss him. It’s slow and syrupy, both of your souls intertwining and interlocking in the sweet musk of the flower fields.

You can feel the pull of your soul towards him, how your body yearns for more of him, the tendrils of your very being try to claw through gaps of your ribs and pierce his chest. You’d let him hold you in the glowing stone embedded in his chest if it were possible.

“So this is what it means to love,” Sylus murmurs, his lips brushing over yours with every word he speaks, “perhaps mortals are wiser than I thought.”

You laugh, arms wrapping around his neck when he rolls you both over, your back pressing into the soft grass.

“Only some mortals,” you correct, smiling when his teeth bite onto the tips of your gloves, pulling them free from your hands, rings and all.

Sylus’ skin is warm when you touch him again, truly for the first time. His eyes flutter shut, savouring the sensation of your skin against his before he lowers his head, kissing you again.

“I wish to claim you, my beloved,” he breathes out, trailing hot kisses down your neck, “will you let me?”

“Yes,” you sigh, your own eyes slipping shut, “yes, Sylus.”

Sylus’ tail sways behind him, the pointed tip brushing across the skin of your leg before his claws join the midst, dragging down your thighs gently. You gasp, the unfamiliar sensation making you squirm as he begins to undo your dress.

You help him, sitting up as he pulls it over your head, his claws ripping through the delicate fabric despite his tentativeness. You don’t pay it any mind, cupping his cheeks to pull him down into a slow kiss, feeling his body hover over you, his tail wrapping around your waist.

The sharp spikes dig into your skin, making your body seize with discomfort until the repeated brush of Sylus’ lips over yours soothes away the nervousness.

Your panties are ripped away too, the fabric laying in tatters in Sylus’ palm. He frowns when he stares at his claws, and you reach for his hand, lips pressing against his knuckles gently.

“It doesn’t bother me,” you whisper.

“It should,” Sylus murmurs, his gaze dipping as he stares at you laying bare before him.

He can see the mark of his fangs in your neck, the subtle scent of your blood setting his senses alight. You belong here, Sylus thinks, his eyes darkening as he sees the rise and fall of your chest, the pebbling of your nipples in the cooling breeze.

An undying flame blooming amidst a field of lesser flowers.

If only he could keep you here.

The flicker of emotion in Sylus’ eyes makes you uncomfortable and you kiss his knuckles again, lips pressing against the hard scales firmly. He sighs, his hand flexing in your grip, his tail drawing you closer as he kisses your forehead.

You can hear his breath hitch when you fumble with his trousers, undoing the various buckles to have him bare before you as you are before him.

“Greedy mortal,” he murmurs, gripping your chin to plant a kiss to your lips.

“You already knew that,” you smile faintly, nipping his lower lip playfully.

Sylus rumbles, his body shifting to remove his clothing. You swallow when you see the heavy hang of his thick cock. The tip glistens and you squeeze your thighs shut, trying to quell the dull ache that has settled inside of you.

“It- it is different from mortal men,” you mumble, head tilting curiously as you stare at the base of his cock.

“I am a dragon,” Sylus supplies drily, his hand wrapping around his cock.

You watch, mesmerised as he pumps his cock with his clawed hand, brows furrowing when you see the slight swell at the base of his cock, above his heavy balls.

“A knot,” he explains, moving his cock to show you the swell of it a little better, a low hiss leaving him when you reach out to touch it hesitantly. “It- hah- it is useful for mating.”

It gives a little under your prodding, wetness pooling between your thighs at the sight of it. You try to wrap your fingers around it, but the tips of your fingers hardly touch, Sylus letting out a growl at the sight.

“I want it,” you whisper, blinking up at him, “I- I want you to mate me, and- and I want that.” You point to his knot.

Sylus lets out a hoarse laugh, his clawed hand coming up to caress your cheek.

“And you shall have it when I claim you. Although…” he pauses for a moment, his expression becoming slightly flustered, “I have never claimed anyone before.”

“Oh,” you flush with him, averting your gaze. “I have never been claimed before.”

Sylus sucks in a sharp breath, his nose nudging against yours gently as he plants a soft kiss to your lips. “My first and my last.”

You have to blink away the tears that begin to brim in your eyes, your arms wrapping around his neck tightly. Sylus kisses the side of your head, his body descending further down your body.

Soft noises leave you as he places reverent kisses along the length of your body, his tongue flicking at your nipple experimentally, carmine eyes peering up to watch your reaction carefully. When you gasp, Sylus hums, his mouth opening wider to envelop your breast with his mouth.

Your fingers delve into his soft hair, back arching as you push your breast further into his mouth, his hot saliva making your skin shine. The flowers around you sway, unbothered by the act of intimacy, Sylus’ clawed fingers pinching at your nipple lightly.

He groans when you jerk under him, mouthing at the sides of your breast, pressing wet kisses here and there, tongue swirling over your areolas before granting each nipple a soft kiss.

“You respond well, beloved,” Sylus whispers, beginning to lave over one of your areolas again, seemingly taken with the way you twitch whenever his teeth graze your nipples.

“It- it feels good,” you whine, your thighs sticky with slick.

“Then perhaps I ought to do the same here,” he murmurs thoughtfully, pulling back to pry apart your thighs.

Translucent strings of slick cling to your thighs and the folds of your pussy, Sylus’ head lowering to get a better look.

“So delicate, little sorceress,” he whispers, his claws pulling apart your puffy folds to find your glistening pussy. “A bud,” Sylus continues, the flat of his scaled finger brushing your swollen clit tentatively, “like a flower.”

A needy whimper escapes you, hips bucking up under his exploratory touch. It’s nothing like when you used to touch yourself in the privacy of your small room within the walls of Justitia. Sylus’ touch is rough, textured, heightening the feeling that makes your clit pulse with want.

“Please,” you beg breathily, fingers reaching out to grasp his horns, “please, I- I need more.”

“But I am not yet done,” Sylus replies, peering up at you to watch the expression on your face when he rubs your clit more firmly.

“Sylus!” you whine, “the ache is too much!”

The dragon between your thighs huffs out an amused breath, the hot air making you shiver.

“So demanding,” he sighs, leaning forward to kiss your clit. “Although I do enjoy seeing you so… uninhibited, beloved.”

You push his head towards your cunt, growing impatient, although being careful not to jostle his horns too much. Sylus groans when he tastes you for the first time, his rough tongue gliding through your wet folds.

A gasp leaves you when he flicks his tongue against your clit, a tremor settling through your bones as you writhe atop the grass. Sylus holds you in place, a pleased purr sounding as he nuzzles deeper into the wetness of your cunt, his tongue lapping and laving over the velvety flesh of your pussy.

“Oh,” you breathe out, eyes squeezing shut when you feel the dig of his claws into your flesh, coupled with his mouth on your pussy, “S- Sylus, oh yes.”

Sylus hums into your cunt, his tongue swirling around your clit, collecting your slick into his mouth, drinking it down as if it were the very essence of your soul.

“You taste sweet, my little love,” Sylus rasps, his claws pulling apart your folds so he can prod at your aching hole, feeling the needy clench of it around his tongue when he presses it in. “Sweeter than any wine I have ever tasted.”

“You- nghh- you exaggerate,” you mewl, tugging at his hair gently, your fingers stroking the base of his horns.

Sylus shudders, his head tipping forward into your touch. “I do not,” he growls, nipping at your thigh in a show of disagreement. “I would keep you on my mouth every night if you allowed me and drive you mad with pleasure.”

You smile hazily when you hear his words, hips rolling up to meet his mouth when he sucks your clit into his mouth, his tongue stroking across the swollen bud lazily.

“Are we not already mad?”

“Perhaps we are,” Sylus responds, his hips grinding into the clothes beneath him. “But I should be glad to be mad with you.”

A soft, content sigh leaves you as you lose yourself in the sensation of his tongue. It swirls through your folds, presses into your cunt every so often whenever Sylus loses interest in your clit for a brief moment.

He never strays far however, his chest rumbling with his own contentedness as he buries his face deeper into your cunt, breathing in your scent. Sylus sucks at your clit with renewed fervor when he feels the tensing of your thighs against his claws.

“I can feel you, little love,” Sylus rasps, his voice low and rumbling. “Come undone on my tongue.” He presses an affectionate kiss to your clit before latching his mouth onto it more firmly.

“Sy- Sylus,” you whimper, legs beginning to jerk as the pleasure grows.

He growls into your pussy, his mouth working faster, tongue swirling and slurping until you have no choice but to cum. You cry out, his name leaving you in disjointed syllables, heavy pants breaking your cries.

Your thighs squeeze around his head, until his tail wraps around one of your legs, pulling you open so he can drink from you until sated. Overstimulation makes you sensitive, whimpers and whines leaving you as you pull at his horns.

“It is too much,” you mewl, “I- I cannot-”

“You can,” Sylus murmurs, spreading you open wider, exposing you completely, “you will for me.”

The dragon devours you again, his fangs sinking deep into the flesh of your thigh. Your blood and slick mixes together and Sylus feels as though he is being torn apart from within, your taste heating his own blood until he can no longer hold back.

You cum again on his tongue, back arching before you writhe violently, fingers grasping for anything and everything, uprooting the flowers nearby as you attempt to gain some semblance of stability.

Sylus gives you some reprieve, his tongue lapping over your puffy pussy gently, his lips pressing against your clit and the mark his teeth have left on your inner thigh.

He rises up to find you limp, unable to stop the shudders that jerk through your body from the immense pleasure.

“Little love?” he murmurs, a claw tapping against your cheek.

A pout makes your lips jut out when you blink up at him blearily, brows furrowing into a glare. Sylus smiles, his head dipping to brush a sweet kiss to your cheek.

“You are beautiful,” Sylus says, his hand stroking over your hair soothingly, claws running through your hair.

“I want to do the same,” you whisper, your hand reaching down between your bodies to find his cock. “I want you in my mouth.”

It’s harder than before, pre-cum smeared across the tip, warm globs dripping onto your stomach. You wrap your hand around him, squirming around in an attempt to get onto your knees.

“Another time,” Sylus murmurs, stopping you from getting closer to his cock, his tongue licking into your mouth.

“Now,” you demand, blinking up at him, still a little dazed. “Now, Sylus.”

“Another time,” Sylus repeats firmly, his lips descending upon yours again.

“There- there will be no other time!” you protest, peering up at him desperately, your lower lip trembling.

You only speak the truth, and it angers you. The cruelty of fate has begun to wrap its remorseless fingers around your heart, squeezing and squeezing until you feel your heart give, clenching painfully.

“Never say that!” Sylus snaps suddenly, his hands cupping your cheeks. He presses himself against you, forehead touching yours. “There will-” there’s a tremor in his voice, “there will be another time. Always.”

How many more lies will you both tell yourselves?

You bite back the sob building in your throat, crushing the sense of helplessness by pulling Sylus closer and pressing your lips against his feverishly.

The dragon grips you harder, his tail winding around you tightly, holding you to him as he returns your kisses.

“Take me,” you beg when he lays you down again, “Sylus, claim me, please.”

“I will,” he hushes your cries with a kiss, “I will, little love. You will be by my side till the end of time.”

Sylus grasps his cock, breathing heavily, your panting breaths mixing together. He notches his cock against your drenched cunt, pushing in slowly. You both share a moan, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. The scales dig into your skin, his claws digging into your hips deeper, pain flaring across your skin.

It’s enough to distract you from the rampant thoughts of loss however, your mind clouding with every inch of Sylus’ cock that sinks into you.

“So- so tight,” he grunts out, his hips moving slowly.

You can feel his knot, slipping in and out of you, tugging on the edges of your cunt every now and again with how swollen it’s become. His cock splits you open, your soft moans sounding into the vast flower field as you reach up, hugging him to you.

Sylus thinks you sound as sweet as the scent of the blooming flowers.

He lowers his body, his weight almost crushing you but you need this, need him as close as possible to convince yourself that this is happening.

“More,” you whimper, pressing sloppy kisses to his jaw, “ruin me, take me apart.”

“You- hah-” Sylus’ eyes squeeze shut when he feels the tight clench of your cunt around his cock, “you mustn’t say such things.”

“And yet,” you whimper, dazed eyes finding his, “and yet, oh- I desire- ngh- it desperately.”

“If that is what you wish,” he whispers, kissing your forehead gently.

You moan loudly, the wanton sounds mixing with his low groans and growls when he swirls his hips, cock pressing into you deeper. His heavy balls slap against your ass, both of you uncaring of the lewd sounds as he thrusts his hips in and out of you, cock driving in deep.

Sylus’ knot sinks into place with each deep, rolling thrust he gives you, popping out whenever he draws his hips back. You’re slurring, hardly able to see him properly, clinging to him, legs wrapping around his waist.

He grunts, shifting your legs higher, away from the sharp, spiked scales that line his tails.

They say the dragon is dangerous, the epitome of sin and yet he cares for you dearly, his lips trailing across your skin with such reverence that makes your body ache.

“You are mine,” Sylus growls, his carmine eyes glowing as he peers down at you. “Every inch of you, half of your soul, it is all mine.”

“Yours!” you hiccup, the pleasure making you feel numb, “always yours!”

Sylus moans deeply, and your hazy eyes catch the frantic sway of his tail behind him, his hips snapping harder and faster, your pussy struggling to accommodate and keep up with the ever-swelling knot at the base of his cock.

The sheer feral nature that seems to take over your dragon has you whining, a sharp scream leaving you when you feel his fangs bite into the still healing wound on your neck.

Blood flows freely from the bite and Sylus growls at the taste, losing his grip before tightening again. His claws prick at your thighs and hips, drawing more blood until it’s smeared across your skin. Your skin is just as red as the flowers in the field.

Your nails rake down his back, feeling driven wild by pain and ecstasy. Your own teeth sink into his shoulder, a soft whimper escaping you.

“Bite,” Sylus rasps, his hand on the back of your head, urging your teeth to sink in deeper, “harder, little love, harder.”

And you do bite. You mewl as you sink your teeth into the flesh of his shoulder, his blood wetting your tongue and lips and the taste is intoxicating. Your mind swirls as you feel the harsh thrust of his cock bullying inside of you over and over again, tongue lapping at the marks your teeth have left on his shoulder.

You can taste his blood and you can feel the searing pain and you- this- this is real.

This is real. This is real. This is real.

Your mind chants the affirmation as you tell it to yourself firmly, biting harder into him as your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Take it, beloved,” Sylus whispers hoarsely, pressing his face back into the crook of your neck, “take my cock and my knot. Let me claim you.”

“W- wait,” you begin to gasp, eyes widening with panic when Sylus manages to bully his cock into your pussy enough, the knot catching finally.

You squeak, unable to comprehend the feeling of being plugged up so full. It’s entirely too swollen to pop free, your poor pussy fluttering around the thickness of it. Sylus isn’t faring much better, his hips jerking and halting when he feels the clench of your cunt, and how his knot has practically held you both in place.

“Yes,” he snarls, low and throaty, his hips swaying a little to grind his cock into you. “Mine, finally mine, little love.”

The press of his scaled claw against your clit has you screaming again, his name leaving you hoarsely as you cum on his knot. Your orgasm is violent, the tight coil in your lower stomach snapping sharply as you come apart, thighs twitching and body shaking.

Sylus sinks his fangs into your neck again and you cry out, softer this time, holding him to your neck and letting him lap at your blood.

He shudders, the taste of your blood coupled with the feel of your fluttering walls around his knot making his cock jerk and balls clench. Sylus cums with a throaty roar, his claws landing on either side of you as he hunches over.

Pleasure racks through his body whilst hot, thick cum floods your pussy unable to leak out and instead held in place by his throbbing knot. You whimper, mind feeling syrupy when Sylus rumbles and purrs, nuzzling into your breasts and then your cheeks, another hot load of cum spilling into you when his cock kicks at the squeeze of your cunt.

You kiss him clumsily, motions clouded by the haze of intimacy. Sylus sighs into your mouth, stroking your hair gently. You both lay there, surrounded by flowers, panting and unwinding.

His knot deflates after several minutes, softening cock pulling free. His cum spills out of you and Sylus watches with a frown, wishing his cum would stay stuffed inside of you.

Sylus rolls off of you when you tap his shoulder, his tail curling around you to bring to lay atop him. You don’t say anything, face pressing into the crook of his neck.

“Your desires are cruel,” you whisper, feeling his arms tighten around you.

“As are yours, little love,” Sylus says softly.

You sniffle, pressing a kiss to the steady beat of his pulse just under his jaw before shifting to kiss the glowing stone embedded in his chest.

Sylus shudders, his claws flexing around your skin. You kiss the stone again, beginning to cry when the stone’s glow begins to dim.

There’s a strange chill that makes your skin crawl, the familiar scent of the chapel invading your lungs.

“No,” you sob, peering up at Sylus, “not yet, please, please!”

Sylus smiles down at you, his expression forlorn. “I love you,” he says quietly, brushing a kiss to your forehead, sitting up to pull you onto his lap.

“I need more time,” you whisper, kissing him despite the growing coldness in the air. “We need more time.”

Hope had made you both fools. Sylus had claimed you in a withering graveyard.

You’re weeping when you ask him the question.

“Will you make the flowers bloom for me, Sylus?”

Your dragon kisses you fiercely.

“Always.”

Sylus’ emboldened oath is the only memory your fingers can latch onto when the dank atmosphere of the chapel awakens you.

The bell of the chapel rings loudly and you sob, scrabbling at his shoulders, trying to pull Sylus closer. You scream when the Sacred Judicator tears you from Sylus, the pull of his soul tugging violently at your chest.

A week later, the dragon’s curse rings true.

You no longer feel the warmth of his soul, for your beloved is dead.

#sylus smut #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace #love and deespace sylus #lnd sylus #lnd smut #sylus qin #sylus angst

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dyaz-stories · 6 months ago

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JUJUTSU BOYS + POST SHIBUYA HURT/COMFORT

following Shibuya, the Jujutsu boys are in dire need of some comfort

featuring: nanami, yuuji, megumi, maki, inumaki, yuta, gojo

word count: 4.7k (600-700 words per character)

cw: canon divergence for nanami and gojo, season 2 spoilers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, descriptions of injuries, everyone needs a hug, some fluff ig, established relationships, not proofread

NANAMI

“He woke up,” Shoko informs you, closing the room to Kento’s door behind her. She doesn’t bother with small talk, gives only the necessary information since Shibuya. You don’t blame her. You understand why she would choose to keep her energy for what she thinks is essential. So when she approaches you, hands buried in her pockets, you know there is something she believes is that important to tell you.

“Is he— Has he said anything?”

“He thanked me — you know how he is. But, um— he’s lost an eye, and he’s badly burned. There’s nothing I can do about that. I’m sorry.”

She sounds genuinely dejected, but you shake your head.

“It doesn’t matter. Without you, he wouldn’t be alive. Can I—”

She gives you a faint smile.

“Sure. You can go in.”

You don’t wait for her to have finished her sentence to open the door. Kento looks up at you, and you take him in for a second. An eye patch covers his left eye, and that whole side of his body is burnt, badly, with fresh bandages covering it. It doesn’t stop you from launching himself into his arms, and he catches you without missing a beat.

“You’re alive,” is all you can say, repeating it like a mantra.

“I am,” he answers. “I apologize for worrying you.”

So very like him, apologizing while he’s lying on a hospital bed after suffering from horrific injuries.

“Thank you for coming back to me,” you whisper into his neck, tears rolling freely from your cheeks. “I don’t— I don’t—” I don’t know how I would have kept living without you.

His eye is filled with fondness and love, when he looks at you.

“Does it hurt a lot?” you ask, gesturing at his left side.

“It does not,” he answers. “Shoko’s abilities are quite remarkable for that. I am healed. The bandages are mostly to stop the skin from becoming too dry — due to the size of the area, she couldn’t do it all herself.”

“Then… can I kiss you?”

He swallows around the lump in his throat. If he is honest, when Shoko talked to him after he woke up, one of his greatest fears was that you would be disgusted by him. He knows you find him handsome — found him handsome, at least. He knows that this was thinking far too little of you, and yet relief washes over him at your question.

“You can always kiss me.”

You’re cautious when you do, don’t want to risk hurting him, despite what he’s just told you. Your lips feel like coming home, and he loses himself in you, if only for a moment. All too soon, he feels the need to pull away for air. Even with Shoko’s miracle work, he feels weak, a sensation he finds himself hating with his entire being. He likes being strong, likes being your rock, likes supporting you in any situation. He despises the fact that that has been taken away from him.

“I think it would be for the best if I spent the night here,” he tells you. “The chair isn’t very comfortable, so if you wish to go home, I wouldn’t—”

You shake your head immediately.

“I’m not leaving you anytime soon. I’m spending the night here. I’m sure I can find a pillow and a blanket somewhere, and I will be just fine with that.”

Aren’t you just adorable when you’ve made up your mind?

“If that is okay with you, that’s fine with me,” he nods. “But, first…” He opens his arm on the right side. “Would you join me?”

There isn’t much space in the bed for the two of you, but you make it fit, leaning against the wall so he can have his head against your chest. Even though he wants nothing more than to revel in the moment, he feels his eyes closing, lulled by the beating of your heart and your fingers carding through his hair.

He loves taking care of you but he supposes that, for the time being, it won’t be too bad if he’s the one being taken care of.

YUUJI

Finding Yuuji following the Shibuya Incident requires you to venture into the belly of Tokyo, making your way through curse after curse, stepping over the bodies of sorcerers and humans alike, never taking the time to stop. At least Megumi had warned you that he was likely to keep moving, so you hadn’t given up hope yet, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t afraid for him. Not physically, no, you didn’t think there was anything left here that could actually hurt him, but, based on what Megumi had told you, his head hung low, you can only imagine how devastated he must be.

You spot him when he finishes off a curse, on a rooftop near you. It isn’t long before you land there yourself, and there he is.

“Yuuji!”

He freezes when you call out his name, and turns towards you oh so slowly. When he looks at you, you could almost cry with relief. There he is, your Yuuji. A little worse for wear, but alright. You take a step towards him, ready to run into his arms, when he takes a step back.

A tall man wearing a kimono, his hair tied into two buns, lands in front of him, between the two of you.

“Who is that?” he asks Yuuji. “Do you want me to take care of it?”

There is quiet resolution in his voice. He doesn’t sound like he wants to kill you, but you don’t think he would hesitate to do it.

“N-no,” Yuji says, his voice hoarse. “No, it’s alright, Choso. Would you mind…?”

The man nods, still not showing any emotions.

“Of course. I’ll give the two of you some space.”

He throws you a threatening glance — as if you could ever be a threat to Yuuji — before jumping off the building.

You take another step forward. This time, Yuuji doesn’t move, but he refuses to meet your eyes.

“Don’t,” he says. He sounds weak.

Another step.

“Why not?”

He closes his eyes.

“I’ve killed—” A deep, shuddering breath. “—so many people.”

Step.

“That wasn’t you.”

You say it softly, gently, but you’re not sure that he can hear you, as he is now.

“It’s still my fault.”

His voice is no stronger than a whisper.

“It was Sukuna’s doing.” Step. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Step.

You’re close to him now, close enough to see his hands balled up into fists, his lower lip trembling, how he scrunches his face so he doesn’t cry.

“Yuji,” you call, and in your mouth, his name sounds like a term of endearment. “It’s not your fault.”

He shakes his head, but doesn’t have anything more to say. He wants so, so badly to believe you, but his heart, his mind, and Sukuna’s voice in the back of his head are all whispering that you’re lying. When you reach him, your hands go up to his face, cradle it like it’s a precious porcelain. You trace the scar on his forehead, stroke the one on his lip with your thumb, and then you press your lips against it with great care.

And he falls apart.

Your arms are around him as he lets himself fall to the ground, and you let him bury his head in the crook of your neck as he sobs, let him hold on to you like a drowning man to a lifeline. You stroke the back of his head gently. The motion is soothing. Soft. Loving.

“I’m a monster,” he chokes, and tears fill your eyes.

“You’re not,” you promise, voice breaking. “You’re not. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He gasps like he’s breathing for the first time in days, and you keep him there, in your arms. He’s not okay yet — won’t be for a long time. But he’s alive. He’s breathing. He’s moving forward, one small step at a time.

You will be here to support him until he can stand on his own again.

No matter how long it takes.

MEGUMI

Megumi has always been the quiet type. He keeps his feelings close to his chest, lets people in on his thoughts only in spare, carefully chosen sentences. He turns away if emotions overwhelm in, deals with the worst of it privately, would never let anything spill out if he could help him. Emotions are his problems, and he cannot bear the thought of them hurting someone other than him.

Still, you’ve always been able to read him. The softness in his eyes when he looks at Yuuji and Nobara, the smile he doesn’t quite allow to make its way to his lips when Gojo decides to spoil him, the way he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest so he can hide his face in your neck, even if you can spot his ears turning red. The way the corner of his lips turn down, too, when his mind drifts towards Tsumiki, the twitch in his jaw when someone brings up his father, the clench of his fists when he feels hopeless.

You can read him like a book.

He is even quieter when he comes back from Shibuya, and his emotions are expressed even more minutely, blink and you’ll miss it.

You can only watch from the audience in one of the numerous meetings that follow his return. Him and a number of other sorcerers testify, and you have to hear him recounting the same details over and over. You’re here to see, helpless, how he lowers his gaze when several sorcerers recommend Yuuji’s execution, and how his eyes dull when his sentencing is pronounced.

But he never comes to you. At first, you assume he can’t — there are a number of physicals for him to clear. You reason that he must be exhausted, must want his space for now, and resolve to give it to him. It’s on the day of the last council, when he averts his eyes to avoid meeting yours, that you realize what was happening.

He’s been avoiding you.

It’s a half-hearted attempt, one that comes to an end when you knock against the open door to his room. He doesn’t look up at you when he answers.

“Come in.”

His room is almost bare, but you know he keeps pictures from the two of you in his drawers.

You sit on the bed next to him, let your knee brush against his. He doesn’t move away.

“I haven’t seen you since you came back,” you say. You know better than to broach the subject directly, wouldn’t want to spook him.

“I know,” he sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be. I just came to check in on you.”

He’s quiet for longer than he should be.

“…I have to go back out there. I have to talk to Itadori.”

You read between the lines. You know that he would give you more than that if he felt he could, understand that he is trying to make this as painless for you as he can.

You reach for his hands and squeeze it.

“Okay.”

There’s a pause.

“…you sure?”

You know that’s not the question he’s asking. You know he wants you to feel able to yell at him, protest, scream until there’s nothing left of the two of you, all so that you will feel better, even if he leaves unloved and a little more shattered than he was when he arrived.

“I’m sure.”

The sigh of relief he lets out sounds more like a sob. Next thing you know, he’s letting his head drop onto your shoulder, black hair tickling your neck.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m sorry. Can I— Can I just stay like this a little longer? Please?”

You keep yourself still, reach up to cup his cheek, stroke it softly.

“As long as you need.”

He moves his head so he can press a kiss to your cheek, lets his lips linger there longer than he needs to. When he turns around, you see he’s turned crimson.

The outside world might have turned into hell, but this room hasn’t yet.

In here, the two of you can hope that simpler, happier times will come again some day.

MAKI

Maki supposes that there are worse ways to wake up than with her head in your lap. By the time she comes to, Reverse Cursed Technique has done its job — mostly. If she could muster it, she would be glad that she wasn’t awake to feel it processing. It’s always felt foreign to her, and she hates feeling it on her body.

What she hates more, though, is the tingling of the burns on her face and body.

“Isn’t there anything to be done about that?” you’re asking Shoko when her eyes flutter open. You’re mindlessly running your fingers over the scarred skin, and it feels fresh and soothing.

“I’m sorry,” Shoko says, sounding exhausted but always taking the time to answer students’ concerns. “RCT can’t fix burns. Non-sorcerers have done some progress in that domain, I think. Maybe she’ll want to look into it.”

“I hope she won’t care,” you mumble.

“Why,” Maki asks, and you look down at her in shock, “is it that bad?”

She pushes herself up, looking around for her glasses, but stops when she realizes both you and Shoko are staring at her, mouth gaping.

“You’re something else,” Shoko finally comments, a tired grin forming on her lips. “Thought you’d be asleep for at least another day. Well, if you need anything, I’ll be in the next room, alright?”

She leaves with a wave of her hand, some of the weight of the past week taken off her shoulders, now that she’s done her work.

When Maki turns to look back at you, you already have her glasses in your hand. You’re careful when you pass the branches over her ears to put them on her, and she lets you do it, studying your expression. Your eyes are red from crying, and you look tired, too, but at least she cannot see any injuries on you.

“So?” she raises an eyebrow at you, and her skin stretches uncomfortably. “Do I really look that terrible?”

You shake your head and smile at her, reaching up to cup her cheek.

“You’re as stunning as always. I’d just hate it if you thought otherwise.”

She leans into your touch, closing her eyes. Her whole body aches. She cannot pinpoint any real physical pain, but there is an overall soreness that she wants to stretch out. She would, if she could bear the thought of losing your touch, if only for a second.

“What about my hair?” she asks, trying to add a playful inflexion to her tone. “Don’t tell me you let them do whatever they wanted with it.”

You shake your head, mirroring her expression.

“It’s like you don’t even know me,” you say with a fake eyeroll. “I’ll have you know it looks super stylish.”

She nods, then turns her head to kiss the inside of your palm. She likes the way it flusters you, how you bite your lip and glance away to hide it from her.

“Do you— do you want to hear about what else has happened?”

Her smile dims, and she shakes her head.

“Can I get a minute of this first?” Her voice comes out hoarser than she would like. “Y-you can tell me afterwards. I just— I just need a minute.”

“Of course,” you reply, softly.

When you open your arms, she doesn’t hesitate a second to plunge in. She rests her cheek against your chest, and you wrap her in a tight hug that she returns without missing a beat. You’re warm and soft, as you always are.

She’ll get back to fighting, to throwing her whole body in the line of fire soon enough, that is a promise. She’ll mourn the dead, she’ll shed tears.

But first, she gets a minute of respite, in the arms of the only person that can give it to her.

INUMAKI

You rush through the emergency room, unbridled fear in your veins. The place is a morgue. There are more dead than living in here, and you’d be horrified if your mind wasn’t focused on one person and one person only — one that you cannot find. Cursed energy is no use right now, not with the place being such a mess.

“Ieiri!” you finally call when you see her passing by, pale as a corpse, not examining a body for more than handful of seconds before moving on to the next. “Where— Where is Toge?”

She looks straight through you. The dark circles under her eyes are even deeper than usual.

“Alive. That way.”

She point vaguely in a direction and then she’s gone, but it’s all you need. You find yourself running, unceremoniously opening and closing doors in your desperate search for him. When you find him, you could almost cry in relief.

“Toge,” you call, and you’re afraid your legs will give in underneath you.

He looks at you with wide eyes — eyes that you love so much, because they always say everything his lips can’t. Despite everything that’s happened tonight, they’re full of life, and that is the sight you’d been hoping for the most.

It’s only after looking inside that you realize what’s happened to his arm.

You walk over to him, sit on the chair next to his bed. He holds his hand out for you to take, and when you do, he squeezes it between his fingers, three times. His own, silent way of saying ‘I love you’. You lean forward, resting your elbows on the bed and hanging your head low.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you whisper. “I was so scared.”

You feel his lips on the top of your head, and you cannot help but smile. It feels selfish, smiling in such circumstances, when so many people have lost their lives and their loved ones. But you’re reunited with him, and it is the only reaction that feels appropriate. You look up at him. Without his usual clothes, the seal on his mouth is on full display.

“Do you want a scarf?” you ask, gesturing at your bag. You always carry one, as well as cough syrup, just in case.

Fondness flashes in his eyes, but he shakes his head. Reluctantly, he lets go of your hand to tap on his phone. The movements are clumsy, and a knot forms in your throat, watching him do it, but you can’t think of anything to do to help him.

‘No need,’ the phone reads when he turns it back towards you. And then, after a line break ‘Sukuna attacked.’

You’d hear about that. You… had just hoped it wasn’t true.

“So, Itadori…?”

“Bonito flakes,” he answers, shaking his head. Silence falls on the room.

You usually like silence with him. It feels comfortable, like an old friend you’re happy to welcome. Tonight, though, you feel the need to blurt out “I’m so happy you’re okay.”

His lips turn downward, and he gestures at his arm dejectedly, but you shake your head, and you stand up so you can sit on the bed, by his legs. You grab his hand in both of yours.

“I would take anything as long as it means you’re back here with me. I know— I know it’s selfish, but I just— You’re everything.”

Toge presses his forehead against yours when you start crying. Gently, he frees his hand so he can wipe the tears running down your cheeks. He doesn’t get to express his emotions freely, so you do it for the two of you, that’s how it’s always been between you. That doesn’t stop him from tilting your chin so he can press his lips against yours. The kiss is soft and gentle.

“I love you,” you say for the both of you.

He wishes he could tell you that he hasn’t felt like he’d truly made it back from Shibuya until he saw you walking through the door.

When he kisses you again, he thinks you’re aware of it.

YUTA

“They agreed to entrust me with Itadori’s execution,” Yuta tells you when he finds you, anxiously waiting for him to come out of his meeting with the higher-ups. “I had to take a binding vow, but that won’t be a problem.”

He says it so casually, and you can’t help but sigh. Immediately, his eyes fill with worry.

“Is something wrong?”

You can feel his eyes scanning you, looking for an injury, and that brings a faint smile out of you. As if anything could hurt you here, in one of the last jujutsu strong place in Japan.

“I just wish you wouldn’t have to do that,” you admit with a shrug. “I wish there was another solution.” I wish you didn’t think the weight of the world is yours to take now that Gojo isn’t here to bear it.

“Oh!” He lights up, and you hate that he feels relief, because to him, it is inconsequential as long as it’s happening to him. “That’s okay. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Well, someone has to, since he won’t do it himself. You reach for his hand, fiddling with his fingers, and you can’t help but smile when you feel him freeze. You can’t believe he still reacts to your touch that way, no matter how many times you do it.

“Breathe,” you say, glancing up at him.

He flushes when he realizes he was, indeed, holding his breath.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. He doesn’t have to apologize, but he always does.

“Then I’ll go and keep an eye on Toge and Maki,” you decide. “I heard Maki’s recovering well, but I’ll see if there’s anything more they need. Maybe I’ll help Toge get back to his family.”

Yuta hesitates.

“You don’t— You don’t have to do that for me, you know?”

Ha. Guilty as charged. You’re just trying to take some of the weight off his shoulders so he won’t have to carry it all alone. You wrap your arms around his neck, smile when he turns even redder. He doesn’t move away from you though, and, after hesitating, he even closes his hands on your waist. The touch is feather-light, and you think he’d take them off if you breathed a little too hard. But it’s there, and he’s come a long way, truly.

“I know. I just want to.”

He’s crimson, but his eyes still soften at your words. With a sigh, he leans his forehead against yours.

“What have I done to get this lucky?” he marvels, and he sounds so loving you think you might just melt in your spot.

“You deserve the world,” you answer truthfully.

He lets out an embarrassed laugh that you interrupt with a kiss. His lips are soft and cautious against yours, and he is nothing but tender. You know he’s doing his best to restrain himself, both because you’re in a public space where someone could walk by and because it takes a lot more to get him out of his shell.

“Wh-what was that for?” he asks when you pull away, a pout in his voice.

“For luck,” you hum in reply. “You better come back to me.”

His fingers tighten on your waist. He doesn’t want to let go. If he could shut the whole world out and live only in your arms, he thinks he would do it in a heartbeat. But there are people out there who need saving, and you know even you can’t stop him from going to help them.

“I’ll keep your friends safe until then, okay?”

No matter what you tell him, he still doesn’t think he’s done anything to deserve you. That means he should let go of you, be on his way and wish you well on yours. Instead, in an impulsive move, he wraps his arms tighter around your waist to pull you flush against his chest in a tight hug.

You laugh in surprise and hug him back, and in that moment, he is absolutely certain that there is nothing that could stop him from coming back to you.

GOJO

“Guess who’s back!” Satoru calls when he walks into your home as if nothing’s happened, as if you haven’t spent hours on the phone with various sorcerers, trying to understand what on earth was happening and if he was even still alive.

You turn to look at him with daggers in your eyes, and you want to scream, but you don’t find the words when you take in the sight of him. There’s blood on his face that he hasn’t bothered to wipe off, his clothes are torn, the blindfold he’s holding in his hand is in an even sorrier state, and despite the smile on his face, you don’t think there is a muscle to his body that isn’t in a state a tension.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

He shrugs, walks across the room to grab a towel that he vigorously rubs against his face.

“I’m always okay.”

The sentence sounds empty, and you’re about to go up to him when he drops the towel to move towards the bathroom with a groan.

“It’s not coming off,” he says before splashing his face with water.

You follow him and watch as he repeatedly rinses his face. The blood has long come off, but he doesn’t seem satisfied with it. He pours generous amounts of soap on his hands, but there is nothing more to take off there. You wait a few seconds more before joining him. You still his hand with a pressure of his wrist, clean off the remaining soap, and cut off the water. He lets you do it, just as he lets you guide him back to the bed to sit down.

“What happened?” you urge him, keeping his hands in yours. He feels so far away, even if he’s sitting inches from you, and you’re desperate to bring him back to you.

Long seconds go by before he answers you.

“I made a mistake,” he finally says, words pulled out like teeth. “That’s what happened.”

You would tell him that everyone makes mistakes, but you know what’s prompting this. He isn’t everyone. He doesn’t make mistakes. He is Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer, the one in charge of preserving the balance of the world after he’s irremediably altered it simply from being born.

Your hands come up to his face, and you trace his jaw with careful fingers. He closes his eyes. Lets you ground him. He can’t think of anything else he needs more right now.

“You’ve done so much,” you whisper. “I’ve been talking to Shoko — she says that without you, human losses would be much worse.”

He lets out a humorless chuckle.

“That is always true.”

Coming from someone else, it would sound like bragging, but you know that Satoru is only stating a fact. He always saves the day, which makes this so, so much worse. You climb on the bed behind him, start massaging his shoulders. Despite himself, he can’t help but relax into your touch. He doesn’t feel like he deserves that, deserves the comfort you’re bringing to him, and yet, as always, he’s powerless against you.

“But wasn’t the point always that your students would be able to take over?” you ask, softly. “And they did. They saved you. Sounds to me like you did well, Satoru.”

Did he? Sure doesn’t feel like it.

“Hm, I guess Yuji and Megumi did real well tonight,” he admits, and he lets himself lean back into your arms fully. “Just wish… Just wish it hadn’t turned out like that.”

You press a kiss to his temple, and he sighs. He doesn’t think he will be okay again tonight. Probably not tomorrow, either — maybe not before a long time.

“Do you want me to run you a bath?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “That’d be nice.”

His eyes follow as you walk back into the bathroom.

“You’ll join me?”

A smile flashes on your face.

“Sure.”

He won’t be okay any time soon, but with you by his side, he thinks he can at least try to get there again someday.

thank you for reading! as a note, gojo's piece is written under the hypothesis that he was unsealed but unsealed before the end of the night. I hope you enjoyed these pieces, please consider reblogging and/or letting me know your thoughts in a comment, interactions are the best way of supporting me and of keeping me writing ^-^

more jujutsu kaisen x reader here (primarily gojo x reader)

2K notes · View notes

starmapz · 27 days ago

Text

what you know - ch9: (ex) friends || r. sukuna

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

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

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

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

❦ words ; 12.2k.

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

With a soft click, the Career Services Office door shuts behind you. Dropping your bag on the bench just outside the door, you pull Shoko’s attention from her phone.

“So? How did it go?”

Slipping paperwork carefully into your bag, you nod. “Good! I only need to make a couple of changes to my resume and cover letter and they gave me some good suggestions for options,” you explain.

As a part of your final couple of semesters in your final year, your Copy Editing and Proofreading class has an internship requirement. On one hand it’s stressful, especially given that you’ll need to adjust your life to the schedule of having an internship on Tuesdays and Thursdays on top of classes throughout the week, but you’re also excited.

And then there’s the case of Sukuna.

Although you wouldn’t exactly call the last time you saw him a pleasant encounter given Sukuna had broken down, not to mention his abrupt departure, his emails had been a bit more reassuring.

[email protected] - Friday, 6:02 PM home?

[email protected] - Friday, 6:24 PM Home! Thanks for checking in, Kuna :)

[email protected] - Friday, 6:29 PM yeah. thanks for earlier. makes it easier to be around the kids

You had smiled to yourself as it seemed he was finally admitting to the fact that maybe help wasn’t so bad. Maybe he didn’t have to handle everything alone.

More encouraging still, was his follow up email.

[email protected] - Friday, 6:32 PM can you watch them more? i’ll find a way to pay you back after the trial

You hadn’t exactly considered the repercussions that looking after Sukuna’s little brothers would have on your schedule on top of the fact that you’re required to get an internship to graduate.

But if Sukuna can handle it, then you’re more than willing to bear some of his burden if it means he’ll accept your help. Maybe you can lessen the dark circles that seem burnt into his skin like a brand, even if it means you take on a burden of your own.

It’s worth it. He’s worth it.

Shoko groans, pulling your thoughts back to the present. “God, I hope my resume only needs a couple of tweaks. I don’t think it’s very good,” she mutters, pulling it out of her bag.

Peeking over the top of the paper, you shrug. “If it’s any consolation, it’s pretty.”

“Did you just call my resume dumb but pretty? I feel like you did,” she chides.

You laugh in unison with her, shaking your head. “I haven’t even read it! It’s probably more impressive than mine is.”

As her laughter dies down, Shoko rolls her resume up in her hand, batting your shoulder with the paper. “Nice save,” she snorts. Giggling, you step aside as she stands up to head into the Career Services Office next. “I’ll catch you later,” she waves as she steps inside.

Slinging your backpack over your shoulder, you make your way to the car and return home. As if projects and studying weren't enough, to think that you now also need to apply to publishing houses while competing with every other student in your program is… a lot.

With a sigh, you stretch your arms over your head as you take a seat at your desk and begin the long application process of applying to nearly every publishing house in town.

–

Rocking back and forth on the ball of your heels, adorned in cute knee-high boots that match your beige knit sweater, you await one of the three brothers at the door. Over the past couple of weeks, your tattooed counterpart has slowly allowed you to help him.

And thank god for that.

After the intensely emotional moment you’d shared with him outside his apartment after meeting with Hiromi, Choso and Sukuna’s behaviour had grown increasingly worrying. Yuji’s boisterous personality remained somewhat dulled with an underlying sadness, but every so often he would relax under your care and his giggles would light up the apartment.

Choso was a different story. You wondered often if he had heard the discussions between the four adults chatting about legal papers. His already extremely reserved personality had faded into a monotonous and ghostly presence of what was once a very bright and lively child. If ever someone had seemed to be running on auto-pilot, this was it.

Your concern had only grown when you’d stood beside Sukuna just outside of your Literature History class as he received a phone call from Choso’s teacher, concerned for his mental health and well-being.

How Sukuna is meant to explain his child brother refusing to speak not only to classmates, but even his teacher, neither of you truly knew. The pride Sukuna carries on his back that strains and weighs down his already heavy shoulders prevented him from telling the truth. He’s not the picturesque guardian that the school expects him to be at the end of the day, but to admit that he’s about to fight to keep his brothers in his custody feels like defeat to a man like Sukuna.

The battle hasn’t even begun and he’s already losing.

Sukuna remained nestled carefully within your heart, lighting a fire deep within that urged you to help him fight. Like a firefly, it seemed to buzz within, guiding you towards the man you’d come to know as surprisingly warm and thoughtful, in spite of his rougher edges.

Yet it seemed that man was buried under so many layers of stress that you hadn’t caught wind of that warmth in weeks. Sukuna had become somewhat of a shell of his former self too, more on edge and growing wearier by the day. You may see him every couple of days as you look after his brothers or he manages to make it to class or lunch, but between his quick departure and the bone-tired state he returns in after his shift, you don’t get many opportunities to speak.

The only positive you can find across the whole situation is that he’s accepting your help. He’s trying with what meager energy he can find.

In the midst of your troubles with the three brothers, your schedule had briefly become a scattered mess as well. Between running to interviews, classes in which Sukuna struggled to arrive in a timely manner, and looking after the boys, you had been spread thin as well.

At least your schedule would become more predictable, beginning today.

The door creaks open just far enough for Choso to peek up at you. His eyes are devoid of anything beyond recognition as he steps back to let you in. It tugs at your heartstrings to see him so withdrawn.

“Hey sweetie,” you greet him softly, gently ruffling his dark hair. He blinks as his hair, which has grown quite long now, falls into his face, obscuring his vision, though he doesn’t otherwise react.

With two months until the court date, you pray he comes out of his shell again. Two months of reserved silence doesn’t bode well for his mental health, especially when you’re certain Sukuna will win the case regardless.

Sure, his odds aren’t amazing, but those kids love him and in spite of the fatigue that plagues his mind and body, you catch glimpses of the fire lit within to win the court case.

“Where are your brothers?” You query with a small tilt of your head.

Choso’s gaze drifts to the hall where the bedrooms are. You shoot him a tight-lipped smile, sighing as you reach the hall. The bathroom door is shut, the sounds of running water penetrating the barrier. Brushing past the room, you poke your head into the open door to Yuji’s room. The most lively of the bunch, his feet are kicking as he sits at his desk, crayons scrawling across paper.

Stepping inside, you greet him with a smile.

His response isn’t as enthusiastic as you hoped, but he still calls your name out as his eyes brighten at the sight of you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you ruffle his hair as you step up behind him to peer at his coloring page. To your surprise, it isn’t the Avengers book that he’s been coloring over the course of the past few weeks (Spider-Man is his favorite), but a page with a familiar blue hedgehog on it. You blink once as you recognize the pose, it looks like it’s straight from the cover of the GameCube game you’d left here a while ago. More notably, you notice that the lineart doesn’t gleam in the same way the printed pages usually do under the lamplight.

It’s drawn in marker.

Faint traces of erased lines remain at the edge of Sonic’s eyes (are they eyes? Is it one eye? How does that work?) and now that you’re standing over the desk more, you can see the faint outline of another character at his side. Shadow.

You smile to yourself, somewhat bittersweet, at the sweet sight of Yuji leaving the sketch blank and staying in the lines to the best of his ability. He likely hopes that at some point he’ll be able to complete his joint artistic effort with his brother.

The sound of a door opening grabs your attention and you excitedly make your way over to Sukuna, who’s clad in a blue polo and khakis. Clearly he’d be stocking shelves for the evening. Running a hand through long salmon locks, his eyes slide over to you as you appear from the doorway of his brothers’ room.

The dark circles under his eyes don’t look so bad today, though his expression remains stoic. There’s no cracks to his practiced facade of control, his crimson eyes set on your face as he examines the way you actually bound towards him, clearly excited. He raises an eyebrow as he casts his gaze down to your hands, fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt.

“Something happen?” He brings a hand up to casually scratch beneath the collar of his shirt, the polo material irritating against his skin.

“You remember how I needed to get an internship this semester?”

“Mhm.”

“Aaaaand you remember how I was really hoping to get a position in that printing house on the main bus route to save some money on gas?”

His lip quirks upwards at the corner as he takes a step towards you. One strong arm wraps around you in something between a headlock and a hug, causing you to giggle. “‘Course you got it. Atta girl,” though his tone lacks the usual timbre he reserves for you and his brothers, you can see the way something within him shifts, something akin to pride resonating through him.

With your face practically shoved into Sukuna’s way too bulky chest, your cheeks quickly warm. You’re more than positive that he can feel it when you stumble back as he releases you after a moment, a glimmer of mischief buried deep beneath the haze of exhaustion.

“Thanks Kuna,” you can’t help the way your eyes crinkle at the corners as your heart pounds in your chest.

Loving him from afar isn’t easy, but it’s better than not loving him at all.

Sukuna makes a motion that he’s headed for the kitchen. You trail after him, watching as he reaches into the fridge for leftovers and a water bottle.

Choso sits silently at the table towards the back of the apartment, leaning on his palm as he stares outside. With tupperware in one hand and a large metal bottle in the other, Sukuna pauses to stare at him. Something akin to guilt flashes through his eyes, but he quickly steels himself.

You briefly wonder if he believes he can win, something you’ve been doing your best to reassure all three brothers of. Something you genuinely believe.

“When do you start?” Sukuna gruffs, turning his attention back to you.

“Tuesday next week.”

“Excited?”

“I’m a bit nervous, but… yeah,” you smile, grateful he’s entertaining the conversation given how clipped chats with him have been over the last couple of weeks. During lunch or classes on campus, you can usually goad him into a conversation about your professor’s strange obsession with conspiracies (which turned out to be true, much to your dismay), but that’s the extent of his chatty mood usually. You don’t blame him, though. You know he’s worn thin.

The only sign that the Sukuna you know is still there are the minute breaks, the moments where he silently seeks your company, falling into step with you and letting his arm brush against yours. The days when he spreads his legs while he sits at the lunch table and you would give him a hard time for manspreading when his thigh leans against yours, but he only does it to you, so you second-guess teasing him.

“You’ll be fine,” he assures, taking a seat on the couch as he stuffs his dinner into his backpack. “You’re a hard worker.” He smirks, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Compared to you, I seem like I sleep on the job.”

Your smile falters as Sukuna forces a laugh. “Hmph. Maybe.”

Sukuna’s capacity for conversation has grown infinitely thinner as the days pass and his sleep lessens. Where that leaves his anger and frustration simmering beneath the surface, he does what he can to keep it at bay, especially when it comes to you and his brothers. Unfortunately, it comes at the cost of his conversational skills.

The air grows quiet, interrupted only by the gentle creak of the chair that Choso shuffles quietly on and distant cars in the January cold.

“I can’t believe this is our last year,” you comment mostly for the sake of creating conversation. You know Sukuna doesn’t have much gas in the tank for it, but you find yourself wondering if talking at him helps ease his worries and distract him from the thoughts that plague his restless mind.

“Mm. You lookin’ forward to working?”

“I think so! What about you?

His gaze flashes towards you, narrowing slightly as he straightens, pulling a pair of keys from the bottom of his bag. “No.”

Heat creeps up the back of your neck. “You have time! Especially if you decide to change your major-”

“Why would I do that?” He snaps, lip curling into a snarl. Crimson irises flit between your wide eyes, your brow knit together by a crease.

Shit.

That carefully composed facade Sukuna’s been sporting the last week cracks, his simmering frustration crashing through the walls he’s erected to protect those around him from his own gripes.

Biting your lip in uncertainty, you stammer as you attempt to backtrack under his harsh stare. “I- I just thought-”

“Thought what? Thought I’d be better off doing something more useful? Something that makes more money?”

“What?” You blink as you process his cold tone. “No, I-” your words die in your throat as you examine his set jaw and the way he’s gripping his backpack with white knuckles. What really strikes you is the way something akin to offense gleams in his eyes. You’re accustomed to accidentally prodding where he doesn’t want you, but his edge isn’t usually so cold when you dig a little too deep into his psyche. “It just seemed like you were considering something else.” You want to tack on a mention of an art degree, but Sukuna scoffs before you can continue.

“Is history not good enough now, princess?”

You visibly recoil at the cold way his nickname for you slips off his tongue like venom. What nerve had you struck? “No, what-? No. I’m sorry, Sukuna. I just got the wrong idea, I guess.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have prodded into something that can be a touchy subject for him, but you thought you’d moved past this, and he asked first. Then again, this isn’t the Sukuna you’ve come to know after all these months. The man staring back at you is a product of a world that’s tearing him apart, his emotions awry.

But it still hurts when he takes it out on you.

With a sigh, he checks his watch. “I gotta fucking go,” he mutters, zipping up his bag and grabbing his coat from the rack near the door. Tossing them both on, he slips his hand into his pocket, surely shuffling through it in search of a cigarette, before the door shuts behind him with a slam.

You can only watch in confusion and dispiritedness as the lock flicks shut and the sounds of his footsteps fade outside.

One step forward… two steps back.

You sigh, shutting your eyes for a moment as you stare where he last was. Dragging your hands over your face, you push to your feet, deciding for once to forgo studying in favor of finding something to do with the kids. Maybe it’s time you litter the apartment in bead frogs to go with all the lizards that are still haphazardly strewn everywhere.

To your dismay as you turn towards the hall, you find Choso staring at you from the table. Fuck. You’d forgotten he was there. His expression is unreadable and your chest tightens.

With the most convincing smile you can muster, you usher him from his chair and lead him towards Yuji. “Did you two ever figure out how to make bead frogs?”

Choso’s deep brown eyes examine you as he stares straight up at you. “Are you okay?”

It chokes you up to hear the little boy worry about you. You don’t dare look at him, lest he see the way your eyes burn with salty warmth. So you just smile, nodding. “Of course! Let’s go find your brother.”

Hopefully your tone was more convincing than your expression.

–

The door opens thirty minutes later than usual. Both boys are already asleep (you hope), and have been for a while now, which is unusual for Sukuna’s evening shifts.

He pauses at the door with his keys, a habit you’ve noticed he picked up since the day he found Choso asleep on your lap and had nearly awoken him with the clattering of his keys on the table. When his eyes meet yours, he drops the keys onto the table and locks the door behind him without a word.

His backpack slides from his shoulder with a thud and a muffled clattering of utensils. “You can go.”

You purse your lips at his blatant dismissal of whatever the hell happened earlier. Had you really upset him that much?

“Sukuna, can’t we talk about-?”

He firmly says your name, his eyes steely as you stand and take a step towards him in an effort to reach out. “Not right now.”

Your heart drops into the pit of your stomach. It’s almost embarrassing; to stand there and so blatantly have him deny your request to talk things through after you’ve looked after his brothers for over nine hours. After he’s finally accepting your help and allowing himself to be vulnerable in your presence. “Please, Sukuna-”

Your name rolls off his tongue again, unyielding. “Go home.”

It’s always like this with him. Where that hole in your heart that Sukuna’s nestled so comfortably within eats away at its own chasm. It punctures you, twisting along with the way you still feel for him, knowing that his cold demeanor is the product of a world that threatens to crush him.

But the rational part of you is reminded of Kento and Shoko pulling you aside to warn you not to let him step on you.

Picking up your jacket and bag, you pull your boots on without shooting him another glance. “Asshole.” It slips past your lips before you can really think twice about it, but you’re too caught up in your emotions to care.

You’re gone before Sukuna’s frustration can flare and he’s standing alone in his apartment. The air is still, sound for the heavy air that suffocates him. The TV is still on, you were quietly watching Holes. He supposes there aren’t many non-horror options that you likely haven’t seen with the kids at this point given that he doesn’t have cable or any subscriptions of any kind.

His hair is sticking to his forehead, his skin sweat-slicked between his shoulder blades as he sits down on the couch, dragging his hands roughly over his face. The kids don’t usually pick this movie. He doesn’t remember it.

“You’re mean.”

Carefully guarded, Sukuna raises a brow. “Why’re you awake, brat? You got school tomorrow.” Choso doesn’t reply. With a sigh, the oldest brother scratches the back of his head. “She’ll come around, Choso. Go to bed.”

Choso stands his ground, not moving.

God, the first words he hears from his brother in days and it’s that he’s mean?

Is he really?

He examines Choso’s face, his eyes trailing up to the two bundles of his long hair gathered at the back of his head. Had you put his hair up? Surely the kid hadn’t done it himself. It suits him, and frankly Sukuna’s just glad his hair is out of his face.

He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue as he has a stare-off with his little brother.

This isn’t that big of a deal. He just didn’t want to hear you point out his inadequacies. He knows his major is useless. He knows he shouldn’t smoke. He doesn’t want to hear it. Surely he hadn’t been enough of a dick that he was wasting what had been laid out clearly as his last chance with you. Right?

You don’t curse often, but even you had called him an asshole.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, pushing up from the couch and pulling on his shoes without a second thought. He’s down in the parking lot as fast as his legs can carry him, searching for your car. To his relief, you’re waiting for the engine to warm up in a guest parking spot.

He jogs over, knocking on the window. You bristle, practically jumping out of your skin at the sight of the burly man at your side.

“Sukuna, you scared me,” you gasp.

“Sorry.”

You frown, avoiding his gaze as you set your phone down. “It’s fine,” you mumble quietly. “What do you want?”

“To talk. About how I was an asshole.”

You stare blankly at him, quietly examining his face. “I told you that you had one chance-”

“Then don’t let it get that far. I’m not wastin’ my chance, I’m fixing things before it gets to that point.”

“It’s not fair that you get to decide when we do or don’t talk about things.”

Sukuna leans his forearms in your car, sighing as he hangs his head within the heat. Your car dips somewhat under his weight. “I know, princess.” He lifts his head, his crimson eyes gleaming in the glow of your dash lights.

You figured he would keep talking but when he just stares blankly at you, you find yourself sighing. “I thought you were letting me in. Letting me help.”

“You are helping me,” he points out.

“I’m helping the kids.”

“That helps me.”

Groaning, you frustratedly run a hand through your hair. “That’s not what I mean,” you grumble, shooting him a glare. “You keep pushing me away.” His fingers flex into fists as he leans into the warmth of your car further.

“It’s better this way.”

“You’re so frustrating,” you groan, slumping back into your seat. “It’s not better! I’m trying to be your friend, I’m trying to be here for you, but I can’t if you won’t let me in.”

Sukuna’s jaw clenches as he merely listens.

“Honestly, tell me what you would have done if I’d left like you asked me to when you had a panic attack.” You look at him expectantly, watching the way that the lights on your dash suddenly seem very interesting to him. He swallows hard, crossing his arms as he continues to lean into the car, perched on his elbows.

Your heat is working overtime to keep you warm as the air that slips past Sukuna clings to your skin, raising it in its wake. Sukuna seems unaffected by the cold, focused anywhere but you. His mind is racing, searching for an answer in the white noise of the car, as though the check engine light will provide the answers he’s searching for.

“You should check your engine.”

You want to groan, roll your eyes, and scream in frustration all at once, yet all you can manage is to stare, stunned to your core that those are the words he chose. Your hand finds the gear shift to put the car in reverse and finally he gives in.

“Fuck, wait.” He huffs, reaching way too close across your body with his long arm to stop your hand from moving the gear shift. His fingers are chilly as he pulls your hand back, proceeding with the familiar act of fiddling with your fingers.

Sensing that this won’t be a short conversation, you flick the key in the ignition once, shutting off the engine, but keeping the heat on. As the engine rumbles to a halt, the distant sounds of cars down the road and faint chatter fill the air. The bulb that illuminates the entry of Sukuna’s apartment continues to flicker, the occasional darkness casting a serious air over his sharp features.

“The first time I ever had one was the day after my dad died,” Sukuna admits with a strained voice. His thumb slides along your knuckles. “It didn’t matter how sick he was. He never wanted me to have to take care of my brothers more than for a few hours.” His face contorts into something between sadness and anger. “I didn’t know how to change a diaper. Didn’t know what Yuji liked eatin’ ‘sides chicken fingers and shit. I think he really believed she’d come back n’ take care of us, or at least them.”

Your lips part as you sympathetically squeeze his fingers, but you don’t dare interrupt.

“Had to look it up on YouTube. How to change a diaper, I mean.” He scoffs, bitter resentment painted across sunken eyes. “Yuji wouldn’t stop cryin’. It was all fuckin’ day, all the time. Must’ve been five in the morning when I finally got both kids asleep at the same time.” His tongue runs along the seam of his lips. “Dunno if you’ve had one before,” he casts a glance at you as he references a panic attack, as though he’s unwilling to admit what it is. You nod. “But I just remember layin’ on the floor of the washroom, staring at the ceiling. Couldn’t tell ya how long I laid there.”

It never seems to matter how upset you are with Sukuna, his situation always manages to twist your heartstrings. He can play you like a violin and he doesn’t even seem to have any clue of the kind of influence he has over you.

“So, if you wanna know what I woulda done,” he shrugs half-heartedly. “That, probably.”

Undoubtedly, this is his best effort of letting you in. Showing you he’s listening. Fixing things before they’re blown out of proportion because he got short with you.

You offer him a sad smile. “I’m glad it didn’t come to that.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Me too.”

“Next time, can we just talk before things get this far, Kuna?”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding as the familiar nickname slips so easily off your tongue. “There won’t be a next time.”

Your lips quirk upwards, brow raising as you challenge his statement. “With you? There will be. Next time though, just start by telling me you aren’t in the mood to talk about something, okay?”

His lips press into a thin line at your lack of faith in him. He knows it’s founded, but it hurts regardless. Still, you somehow seem to find the space in your heart to be patient with him when he needs it most and for that he’s grateful.

“You got it, princess.” He pauses, tapping the side of the car as he drops your fingers into your lap. “Listen, I think I gotta start taking more shifts.”

“More?”

The concern etched into your brow is cute. “Yeah. I need to almost double how much I usually make. So, double the shifts.”

“You already missed class yesterday,” you point out.

He shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time. I get by.”

“You’re lucky you’re the type of guy who barely needs to study to pass,” you grumble with narrowed eyes.

He snorts, amused. “Yeah, maybe.” He sighs. “I know you got your internship startin’ up next week, but…” he trails off, as if he’s debating whether he should even ask you.

“You need help?”

He sighs. “I gotta take some night shifts.”

Dread churns in your stomach. “You’re never gonna get any sleep.”

“I’ll find time.”

“Where? Your schedule is full.”

“What other option do I have?” He grunts, exasperated. “An extra months’ rent ain’t gonna appear outta thin air.”

“You could always ask Toj-”

“No.”

You should have expected that. Red irises stare you down firmly, pupils mere pinpricks.

“You can take my bed if you stay,” he doubles down, scratching his chin.

Heat travels up your neck, finding a place on your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Something about staying in his room, in his bed, makes your heart take off. Yet he can mention it so casually, like it’s not a big deal.

“Um- right. Sure,” your words come out more mousey than intended, and you can only pray that the dim light that barely illuminates you is hiding the nerves that would otherwise show in the way you avert your gaze and chew on your lip.

To your dismay, that doesn’t seem to be the case.

Sukuna blows air out through his nose in a faint laugh as he slides a bit closer to you. The heat of his breath is warm, hotter than anything the car can manage as it tickles your neck. “Cat got your tongue?”

The battle between warm and cold air suddenly seems suffocating. The distant chatter seems to scream, and the motors of passing cars feel as though they could shake the ground you walk on.

“No!” You exclaim, a little bit too quickly as you find yourself wincing. “I’m fine. Just cold,” you lie, shrinking as you hug yourself.

His chest rumbles in laughter as he stands, slapping a hand down on the roof of your car. “I’ll email you my shifts. Go home.” This time when he says it, his tone is mild. “Didn’t waste my last chance?” He asks, turning his attention back to you with a conviction in his eyes that has you smiling sympathetically.

“Not yet.”

“Good. Let me know when you’re home.” With that, he turns on his heel and heads back into the warmth of his apartment building.

Your eyes trail after him as he pushes through both sets of doors, leaving you alone in the quiet of the night. Shutting the window, heat wraps around you, enveloping you once again within its embrace. Yet for some reason as you stare at the spot where you last saw the tattooed man, a shiver wracks your body.

–

Smoothing your pencil skirt, you push through the doors of a warmly-lit restaurant. The little local spot has an air of familiarity to it, decorated mostly with photos of dishes served nightly and the occasional photo of the owner’s family. Tucked away in the corner is a table with a spare seat reserved for you.

With a sigh of relief, you take a seat beside Suguru, your eyes trailing the length of the table to see who was able to make it. You notice two things at a glance. One, you’re severely overdressed, though you knew that would be the case after coming from your internship. Two… Why is Toji sitting across from you? No, the real question is how are Toji and Satoru sitting beside one another?

The question must be written across your face in bold lettering, because Toji nudges Satoru with a chuckle as everyone greets you happily. Satoru’s mischievous grin matches Toji’s smirk as he spots your confusion.

“They have more in common than I think anyone expected,” Suguru comments with an amused smile.

“Aw, that’s sweet,” you grin, taking a moment to attempt to rub the tiredness from your sunken eyes without smudging your makeup. “I’m glad everyone’s getting along.”

Suguru leans forward to get a better look at you, eyes narrowed as he examines your expression. “Can you look at me for a moment?”

Confused, you tilt your head as you turn to face the raven-haired man. Leaning back in his chair, you watch his expression subtly downturn.

“Have you been sleeping?”

“Of course!” You jump to your own defense quickly, straightening in your seat as you brush imaginary crumbs from your lap. “I’m fine, Suguru. I just had early class today, then my internship, and now dinner.”

“I see,” he hums, moving on. “How’s the internship?”

“Ooh, I wanna know too!” Shoko leans forward over the table to better see you. You can practically envision her kicking her feet under the table in search of details (and gossip).

At this point, even Kento’s attention is now drawn to you from the end of the table and you feel yourself shrink as the table begins to turn their collective attention to you. Everyone here may be your friends, but it’s still a lot of pairs of eyes.

“Um-” You chuckle, running a hand through your hair. “It’s going well! Everyone’s been really nice. Well, mostly everyone- but they have me doing coffee runs and shadowing the other editors right now,” you explain.

“Sounds like you’re well on your way to your career,” Suguru smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Suguru, you gotta ask the hard-hitting questions,” Shoko scolds playfully with a light smack to his bicep. His brow raises as she practically tries to lean over him to get to you. “What do you mean ‘almost everyone’?” She asks, her interest piqued.

Chuckling, you shake your head. “It’s really not that exciting,” you insist. “There’s this one Literary Agent, I think he’s the boss’ nephew or something, that’s just a bit much. I can’t really tell if he’s hitting on me or insulting me half of the time.”

Shoko’s nose wrinkles in disgust as Nanami recoils with a roll of his shoulders.

“And our graphic designer is just weird. She cooks bacon in the breakroom on one of those plug-in hot plates.”

“That is odd,” Suguru agrees.

“I think I get six coffees per day for her alone. Oh- and the other day I spent my whole break listening to her talk about this book she read over the weekend. I swear I could tell you the whole plot.”

“Sounds riveting,” Suguru chuckles, a glimmer of light passing through his gaze. “I’m sure the rest of your colleagues are fans as well.”

“Our publicist was telling me they have a drinking game during Christmas parties where they send the graphic designer to talk to the boss and every time he yawns or checks his watch, they drink.”

“Sounds like my kinda people,” Shoko snorts, grinning at you as the table returns to individual conversations.

Throughout the dinner, you’re quick to notice the way Toji seems to meld to the group seamlessly, offering snide remarks that have you wondering at times if you have a second, more gruff Satoru. It’s almost like he’s a strange blend between Satoru and Sukuna in a sense, and you can definitely see how Toji and Sukuna would be friends.

It’s heartwarming to see him blend in so seamlessly, because if Satoru can get along with Toji, he can get along with Sukuna as well, if they can both quit being haters for ten seconds.

Despite how worn out you are from the long day, the dinner with friends was much needed (even at the cost of two drinks for Satoru and one for Suguru), given that you’ve had to skip out on lunches with them every Tuesday and Thursday and even the occasional other weekdays as well in favor of your harsh schedule. Once you’ve paid, you get to your feet and pull your coat over your shoulders, brushing yourself off and grabbing your keys when you’re tugged aside harshly.

Yelping, you blink as you’re standing in front of Kento and Shoko.

“C’mon, we’re going for dessert,” Shoko insisted, tugging you along.

“What? I’m not hungry.”

“Doesn’t matter, dessert goes in your second stomach,” Shoko dismisses you.

“My second what?”

Before you know it, you’re whisked away to a small bakery down the street that you’re beyond certain is Kento’s choice. As much as he gives Satoru a hard time for sweets, the man has a fairly big sweet tooth himself- as long as the sweets include pastries. A good strawberry mille-feuille would have the man starry-eyed with his wallet on the counter.

Shoko, on the other hand, opts for a single macaron, which you second. Who can say no to a macaron shaped as a little kitty after all?

Holding the treat delicately in your hands as you smile at the sweet orange decorated kitty, you cross your legs and take a look around the bakery. Loaves of bread likely line the walls during the day, the displays usually vibrant with the reds and blues of fresh fruit pies. It’s fairly barren now, but the smell of bread and warmth of the oven still carries with it a sense of peace that puts you at ease.

“This is nice,” you comment, taking a bite of the macaron.

Kento nods. “It’s been a while since it’s been just the three of us.”

With a scoff, Shoko points her brown macaron straight at you, a bite taken out of it. “Yeah and whose fault would that be?”

Pouting, you nibble at the shell of your dessert. “There’s just been a lot going on,” you insist, leaning back in your chair. “Sukuna’s been-” you pause, lifting your head at the realization that Shoko doesn’t know about the lawsuit. Your eyes trail to Kento, whose gaze flashes with understanding.

“Sukuna’s been what?” Shoko pushes. “I swear I’ll shove his balls so far up his-”

“WOAH, woah! Okay Shoko,” your eyes widen and you find yourself nearly dropping your treat at the mere mention of whatever the hell she was gonna say. “As i was saying,” you flash her a glance, willing away the heat creeping up the back of your neck. “He’s been taking more shifts than usual, so I’ve just been balancing that with the internship and classes.”

“And sleep, and studying, and projects,” Kento points out, crossing his arms as he finishes his blueberry mochi cake. “When was the last time you read a book, or watched a movie?”

Hesitating, you find your gaze drifting to the wall. “... I watched Ice Age.”

“No, you watched Yuji watch Ice Age,” Shoko accuses, a brow raised. Finishing her macaron, she dusts her hands off on her pants and sighs. “Listen, we know you like him a lot and it’s great that you’re helping him- and thank god Kento knows so I can talk to him-”

“You’re such a gossip,” you mutter under your breath.

She just shoots you a sweet smile, continuing. “But seriously, you need to put yourself first. I’m glad he’s treating you better-” she pauses, staring expectantly at you.

Your gaze flickers between your two friends. “He’s treating me fine, stop worrying.”

“Great. The point is, he needs to go easy on you. I know he’s got a lot of shit going on, but so do you.” Shoko taps her fingers on the table, leaving the ball in your court.

“Sho, I swear I can handle it,” you roll your eyes, “but if it’s too much, I’ll talk to him. Promise.”

“Pinky swear, girl. You’re way too sweet to that man and I know you’d put him before yourself.”

Wrapping your pinky around hers, you roll your eyes, though you’re unable to help your smile.

“You owe me a girls’ night for bailing the other day by the way.”

“I’m sorry, Sho,” you pout.

“I’ll get over it. Ken here got to be my girls’ night buddy. I couldn’t convince him to get a color but he did get his nails done.” Shoko pulls his hand out from where it was crossed over his chest. You can faintly make out the gleam of clear polish on his nicely manicured nails.

“I have no need for colored nails,” he neutrally declares, shooting Shoko a mildly distasteful look as she holds his hand out to you.

Leaning back, you squint at him. “I think blue’s your color.”

Kento frowns. “Did you mishear me or are you choosing to ignore me?”

Shoko hums. “No, I see it. Like a darker blue.”

“Girls. Please,” he sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose at your antics.

“Don’t act like you’re above this, Kento. I bet you still have a bottle of black nail polish back home somewhere,” you tease.

“That was a long time ago-”

Shoko leans in, resting her cheek against her fist. “Oh yeah, you had an emo phase, didn’t you?”

Laughing as Kento blushes profusely, rose dusting his cheeks, you lean back in your seat, relaxing in the warmth of your friends’ care. Your bed may be calling you, but Kento had a point when he asked when the last time you’d read a book or watched a movie was. But it wasn’t a book or movie that you were really missing, it was a girls’ night (featuring Kento).

You stay at the cafe much longer than intended, finding yourself curled up in thick blankets well into the night, but with a content smile on your face.

–

After the fourth day that you don’t see Sukuna at lunch, Uraume had approached you to bring him some worksheets, not to mention he has a paper due literally tomorrow that he doesn’t know about and you won’t see him until the weekend.

His schedule had been rough on you, but it had been downright cruel to him.

When he did manage to make it to a lunch or class, he would pass out within seconds, softly snoring on whatever surface he found himself on. It seemed he had to be physically moving in order to stay awake, otherwise he was dragged into the clutches of the sandman with no fight left to give.

The worst sign of his fading will was when you had gotten a call from Choso and Yuji’s school that Sukuna hadn’t arrived to pick them up. There was a surprising amount to unpack with that call between the fact that Sukuna had missed their pickup time and the fact that you had now been marked down as their emergency contact.

The latter… That was something you would unpack later.

As for the former, when you arrived at his apartment with both boys and rang the buzzer not once, not twice, but thrice, he was little more than a zombie, barely managing to stay on his feet. You swear you saw his drowsiness pop like a bubble over his head at the sight of you with his brothers, downright shocked.

Swears had poured from his mouth like floodgates had opened and all you could do was watch as he dragged his hands over his face in frustration, thanking you before shutting the door, claiming he would be getting some real sleep, lest this happen again.

Making your way up to his door now, you hope the man who greets you has a little more life in him than that day, but it’s not usually a good sign when you haven’t seen him for a bit.

Squinting as you approach the buzzer, you raise your brow at none other than Toji Zenin, sliding his finger along the metal box hanging on the wall in search of the number to dial for Sukuna. Stopping beside him, you stick your finger out to point at the number, which happens to be unmarked.

Toji flips to face you, face relaxing from his squint.

“Fancy findin’ you here,” he grins, the scar at the corner of his lips stretching.

“Hey, Toji!” You greet, returning his smile. The sight of another of Sukuna’s friends at his door is relieving given just how drawn thin he’s been lately. “Visiting Sukuna?”

“Mhm. Got somethin’ for him.” He wiggles a small box in his hand as he dials up to Sukuna’s apartment. “Fuckin’ asshole didn’t even tell me he moved, had to steal his address from Uraume,” he grumbles, more to himself than you.

You blink at him. Huh. Well that’s… Considerably less reassuring than Sukuna reaching out to Toji. Especially if Toji isn’t aware that Sukuna’s dad passed away, he’d have no clue about-

There’s a small click and the sounds of shuffling, before Choso answers with a disheartened “hello?”

“Choso?” Toji’s brow furrows in confusion. “That you, kid?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Toji?”

Your brow raises as Choso recognizes Toji’s voice. You’re aware Toji’s known Sukuna for a while, but you honestly weren’t expecting him to know Choso if he didn’t know about Jin’s passing.

“You visitin’ your big bro?” Toji queries.

“... I live here.”

Toji scowls deeply, casting you a confused glance. When you don’t mirror his confusion, he clicks his tongue.

“Hey, Cho! Can you let us in?” You call out, attempting to warm your fingers in your pockets as Toji doesn’t budge.

Shuffling resumes on the other line, followed shortly by the telltale buzz that the door’s unlocked.

“I’m missin’ somethin’ here, ain’t I?” The raven-haired man asks, a gruffness to his tone that’s familiar in the way Sukuna also speaks. They’re so similar in some ways, though Toji is far more outgoing than Sukuna. You suppose it’s probably the fact that he’s the Football team’s resident kicker. Still, they share a resemblance in their attitudes.

With a tight-lipped smile, all you can do is nod in reply.

“Shit,” he mutters, following you into the building as you lead the way up to Sukuna’s apartment.

You knock politely, clutching the folder of papers you have for Sukuna to your chest.

“- and add the potatoes when the water starts boiling. Use your fork to test- what are you doing here?” Sukuna turns his attention to his friends at the door mid-sentence, slipping outside and shutting the door behind him abruptly. You step aside, casting a glance between the two ridiculously tall and muscular men as Sukuna glares at Toji.

Sukuna looks… well, better than you were honestly expecting. He doesn’t look like he’s on the verge of passing out or being sick, a The Misfits black hoodie hanging loosely over his shoulders while a pair of dark gray joggers cling to his hips. His hair isn’t styled, stray strands of pale pink sticking out in different directions while some hang over his forehead.

“Got somethin’ for ya. And since your stubborn ass never shows up to lunch and you won’t answer my damn emails, I know ya need it.” Toji holds a visibly calloused hand out, the unmarked box you’d previously noticed now held expectantly for Sukuna to take.

Sukuna’s sharp glare flickers between Toji and the box. With a huff, he lifts the box from Toji’s hands, opening the tabs and peering inside. An old Samsung with a crack through the side of the screen sits at the bottom of the box. Sukuna’s head whips up to face Toji, his eyes blazing. “I don’t fucking need this.”

“My ass. Your phone��s been broken for months,” Toji scoffs, completely unphased by Sukuna’s irritation. “It’s just my old one anyway, but it’s better than nothin’.

Sukuna straightens and you spot a familiar flicker in those crimson eyes. Offense. “If I needed a fuckin’ phone, I woulda bought one,” he grits, shoving the box against Toji’s chest.

As he straightens, it strikes you just how tall and imposing Sukuna is. You can’t imagine it’s easy to make Toji look small when he’s nothing to scoff at either, but Sukuna manages it without fail.

“Don’t gimme that bullshit. I’m not fuckin’ stupid, Ryo. I know somethin’s up and you need a hand.” Toji rolls his eyes, shockingly relaxed for someone under Sukuna’s fire. You know they’ve been friends for a while, but you can’t say for sure how much time they ever spent together. Yet, Toji stands up to him like he knows nothing will come of his anger, as though it’s a facade.

“I’m managing just fine,” Sukuna hisses.

“Are you?” Toji quips, a brow rising behind the black strands of his bangs. “‘Cause I know Jin wouldn’t dump Choso on your ass outta nowhere, so what the fuck is goin’ on?”

Sukuna’s seething at this point, taking a step towards the football player. That may work on others, but Toji isn’t so easily intimidated.

“That’s none of your fuckin’ business,” Sukuna grits.

“Stop bein’ such a fuckin’ prick!” Toji finally snaps, his free hand flying through the air in exasperation. “You used to be my best friend, asshole! You were my fuckin’ family and you fucked off like it was nothin’!”

Sukuna doesn’t respond, brow furrowed and jaw set. His teeth grind from the pressure of his clenched jaw, sending the tension straight to his head as a headache begins to set in.

Left in silence, Toji continues. “Don’t look at me like that. I tried to get you out to the basketball courts with me, to see a movie, anything’. Somehow, you became more of a colossal asshole than I am,” Toji hisses.

As you realize this isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, your eyes flit to the door, wanting to slip inside and escape the uncomfortable situation you’ve found yourself in the middle of. Unfortunately for you, Sukuna’s blocking the door and you don’t exactly feel like interrupting is the best course of action here, leaving you to simply watch.

You’re accustomed to Sukuna being quiet, he’s never been all that chatty, but during arguments is when he tends to run his mouth. Now, standing in front of Toji, the silence of his simmering anger is off-putting. Toji seems to realize this too, shifting on the balls of his feet.

But words evade Sukuna. His mind races with rage-induced insults, anything to drive Toji away, get the man out of his business.

Yet his tongue is tied because Toji is painfully right.

Toji has always had an attitude that rivaled Sukuna’s and never backs down from a fight. His sharp and witty tongue would tell off Sukuna whenever he needed some perspective and the two were fiercely protective of one another. Toji was like a brother to Sukuna back then.

But he was also an asshole. Still is. He was raised by a family notoriously well-known for being as equally wealthy as they are terrible and Toji had always been on the receiving end of it. He’d grown rebellious and indifferent at a young age and acted out at every turn, eventually settling as he got older into brutish and cocky indifference, though most just branded him as an asshole.

Yet Sukuna made him look like a saint as of late.

“Christ, Ryomen. You really got nothin’ to say ‘bout all of this?” Toji runs a hand through his hair in exasperation, the black strands slipping down over his forehead once more. “Maybe I should just ask your fuckin’ brother, I swear sometimes it’s like Jin didn’t even raise yo-”

Sukuna’s anger flares once more, pulled from his thoughts of the past. “He’s fucking dead, Toji.” Venom drips from Sukuna’s words, silencing not only his friend, but the world around you seems to hold its breath too. Nothing about the tense situation is comfortable but you don’t dare move, biting your lip to keep from making any noise.

Toji blinks once, twice, three times. The words take a moment to process as he stands straight, before his brow furrows deeply. His mouth opens and closes a number of times as he searches for something to say, his spare hand scratching at his chest before hanging there for a moment, clutching at his shirt.

“When?” To your shock, Toji’s eyes are glazed with tears, and all you can do is shuffle from foot to foot, feeling nothing but sympathy for the poor man. From what you know of Jin, he was patient and kind and if Toji was Sukuna’s best friend, you can imagine he likely shared that kindness with Toji.

Sukuna’s expression takes a somber turn, the tension in his jaw dissipating somewhat. “Been a bit over three years.”

Toji blinks, a warm trail running down his cheek which he quickly wipes on his sleeve, burying his unprocessed grief beneath a layer of anger as something occurs to him.

“You didn’t think I’d wanna know?” It’s more of a rhetorical question, they both know the underlying issue of their problems all stem from Sukuna’s stubbornness. “You didn’t think to fuckin’ tell me?” This time, there’s more bite to his words. He may be glossy-eyed with sorrow, but he’s equally pissed now.

“It’s not your fucking business!” Sukuna barks, gripping the door frame with a white knuckled hand as he grits his teeth again. You peer past him at the door, searching for an escape, but Sukuna’s still soundly in your way.

“Like hell! He was more of a father to me than my parents ever were and you know that!” Toji takes a step back, turning to pace in a circle as he drags a hand down his face in disbelief. “Y’r such a fuckin’ prick, Ryomen. You always were, but shit.”

Someone clearing their throat down the hall turns your attention towards them. A kind-looking older woman with gray hair and soft eyes is just barely leaning out her door. “Sukuna, dear. Can I ask you to take this elsewhere?”

Turns out she’s your guardian angel.

To your relief, Sukuna simply points at the elevator, making a point of staring down Toji. The football player sighs deeply, rolling his eyes as he leads the way in silence. Sukuna casts you a glance, which then flickers towards the door in a silent question.

You nod, relieved, and slip into his apartment, finding Choso standing in the kitchen alone staring at the floor. He looks startlingly like a puppy with its tail between its legs.

Of course he would have heard everything.

As the door clicks shut behind you and you shuffle to slip your boots and jacket off, his gaze rises to you. A deep crease knits his brow, his eyes searching yours for something he doesn’t seem to find. Kneeling down, you wrap your arms around him in reassurance.

“Hey, sweetie.” You keep your voice soft and kind as Choso’s arms gingerly wrap around you. “Your apron looks great.”

He doesn’t reply, clinging tightly to you.

“Have you checked the potatoes?” A nod. “Are they ready yet?” A shake of his head. Frowning at his silence, you nod. “Do you wanna sit down?”

Choso nods again, pulling back and plopping down right in the middle of the kitchen.

“Oh, I meant-” Choso looks up at you with those sad puppy-dog eyes and you plop down beside him. “Nevermind.” Sitting cross-legged, you glance around, but you don’t hear or see Yuji. “Where’s your brother?”

“At a friend’s.”

That’s a relief. You nod, ruffling Choso’s hair. At least you’ve gotten a couple of words out of the reserved little boy.

“What are you making?” You ask curiously, trying to peer up at the counter. From where you’re sitting, all you can make out is the top of the pot that you assume the potatoes Sukuna was giving instructions about earlier are boiling in.

Choso fiddles with the bottom of his apron. “Pie.”

“Pie? Shepherd’s pie?”

Choso nods.

“That sounds great,” you grin in an effort to lighten the mood, but Choso isn’t receptive to your efforts. You shuffle to sit closer to him, wrapping your arms around your knees. You’re not built for the floor like the kid is. “Do you wanna talk, Cho?” You query, quietly observing the way that his little hands, fiddling with his apron, slow to a halt before dropping into his lap.

“Why’s Kuna mad at Toji?”

You sigh. “It’s complicated.”

“I like Toji. He’s nice. Mostly.”

You blow a breath out through your nose in a semblance of a laugh, a faint smile drawing your lips upwards. “Mostly?”

Choso doesn’t share your amusement outwardly, but he entertains your question. “He was like another older brother,” he shrugs.

“With all the good and bad of a big brother. I get it,” you chuckle, shifting to lean back on your arms as you struggle to find a comfortable way to sit on the kitchen tile. “Did you spend a lot of time with Toji?”

Choso nods. “They ditched me at the theater once.”

Your brow raises. “At the theater?” Your question is laced in disbelief.

Choso nods.

“Why?”

“They wanted to see a scary movie.”

“Wow, they were mean older brothers,” you agree, absolutely planning on giving Sukuna a hard time for that.

“Dad grounded Kuna for a month.”

“He deserved it,” you smile, rubbing the kid’s back gently. Looking for any excuse to get up off the floor, you point up at the pot on the stove where the water continues to boil. “Let’s check the potatoes again.”

Choso nods, getting to his feet and stepping up onto a small stool.

“Careful not to burn yourself,” you urge, standing behind him as he takes a fork and stabs a potato. When it comes up on the fork easily, Choso turns off the stove, shooting a glance at you in a silent question of whether that’s what to do. You nod, helping him dump out the water and potatoes into a strainer and teaching him to mash them.

As he jabs the masher into the bowl of starch, he sticks his tongue out in concentration as you add salt and milk to the mixture for him.

Out of nowhere, Choso slows to a halt, his head whipping to face the window. Tilting your head, you follow his gaze when you realize that the two men who walked outside to continue their argument have raised their voices and they must be right below the window as you can faintly make out their words.

“Why wouldn’t you ask for help?”

“I don’t need help!”

Turning to Choso, you smile. “Keep mashing, okay?”

His eyes trail after you as you grab your boots and slide the balcony door open, stepping out into the cold. Hugging your arms around yourself in an attempt to keep warm, you peek over the railing at the two men below.

“If you weren’t my friend, I swear I woulda socked ya in the jaw by now, you-”

“Hey!” You call down, catching their attention as they both look up at you. “You’re upsetting Choso.”

Sukuna inhales a long breath, sighing loudly. “Look-” Sukuna begins, his voice strained in an effort to keep it down for Choso’s sake. “I don’t need any help-”

“Don’t need any help or don’t need my help?” Toji interjects, casting a glance at you. Your eyes widen slightly, heat rushing up your neck. Yeah, you could understand Toji being a bit hurt at the idea that Sukuna let you in while he pushed away his best friend.

Sukuna’s fingers curl at his sides into fists. “I don’t need your help,” he snarls.

“Fine.” Toji finally gives in, sick of not getting anywhere with the brash and stubborn history major. He shoves the box against Sukuna’s chest, turning on his heel to walk away. “My number’s on the note in the box. Call me if ya decide to stop bein’ a prick.”

Sukuna seethes as he watches Toji get in a beat up old Honda and drive off. If it were any colder, you swear you would be able to see steam coming from his ears. When the car’s out of sight, Sukuna’s sharp gaze rises to you, his expression unreadable besides his obvious anger. “Go inside. You’ll catch somethin’,” Sukuna calls.

“I will. You come inside too, you don’t have a jacket,” you point out.

Sukuna hardly even noticed, in truth, but regardless he makes his way inside just as you do. Shivering as warmth envelops you once more, you run your hands up and down your arms a few times in an attempt to generate heat while you pull your boots off.

Choso’s standing by his potatoes, unevenly chopping carrots and putting them in a smaller pot alongside some corn. He’s shockingly good in the kitchen, making his Christmas gifts and his eagerness to follow you as you cook make more sense.

Returning to Choso’s side, you help him fill the pot with water, setting it on the stove as you wait for the veggies to boil.

“Why are Kuna and Toji mean to each other?”

You ponder his question for a moment, dreading the idea of the former walking through the door anytime now. “They’re not very good at talking about their feelings,” you land on as an explanation.

“Why?”

Frowning, you contemplate his query.

You’re glad Choso’s speaking more, but his questions are giving you a run for your money.

“Not everyone is as good at understanding their feelings as you and I are,” you explain. “Your brother isn’t very good at it.”

“At what?” He gruffs, pushing through the door.

Fuuuuuu-

“Don’t worry about it.”

Luckily for you, Sukuna isn’t in the mood to argue with you. “Need a minute to cool off,” he grumbles, trudging to his room and shutting the door with an unintentional slam.

Sighing, you return to the vegetables as they steadily come to a boil.

Choso stares hard at the boiling pot above his line of sight, his brow knit into a deep scowl.

“What’s up, honey?” You ask with a tilt of your head, leaning down a bit to his height. He shakes his head in an effort to get his long hair out of his face, deep in thought. When it doesn’t work, he pushes it from his face, but it just falls back into his eyes. “Can I help?”

He nods, watching your movements as you quickly jog to the washroom to grab a couple of hair ties that you’d left behind the last time you’d helped him put his hair up. It only takes a moment before you’ve tied two messy buns up at the back of his head.

Now able to see, Choso’s thoughtful expression returns. “What’s up, honey?” You try again.

“Will you talk to Kuna? He listens to you.”

You chuckle quietly. “I don’t know about that.” Still, he does listen to you… a portion of the time, which is more than can be said for most. “What do you want me to talk to him about?”

“Being friends with Toji.”

Your heart twists at the meaning behind Choso’s words. Whether he misses Toji or simply wants Sukuna to be happier, you can’t say for sure, but it’s endearing nonetheless.

Gently rubbing his back, you nod. “Sure. When you can stab the carrots with a fork, turn the stove off, okay? Be super careful.”

Choso nods.

Making your way over to Sukuna’s door, you cautiously knock.

“Come in.”

Twisting the knob, you push inside slowly. His room is a bit messier than the last time you were in here, the memory making your heart race as you recall your heated kiss. Light floods in from the window, better illuminating the art and posters on his walls, as well as what you’re sure is a pile of lightly used hoodies that seems to have taken over his desk chair. His weights are scattered carelessly in front of his dresser, his work polo discarded atop the wooden furniture.

Sukuna eyes you from where he leans against his headboard, his gaze still filled with mild irritation, though he is holding the phone that Toji handed him. You suppose that’s an overall positive.

“Whaddya want?” Sukuna grumbles, though the frustration within his sharp gaze doesn’t carry over to his voice.

“Well,” you begin softly, making your way over to his bed to take a seat beside him. “I originally came to drop off some stuff and let you know you have a paper due tomorrow-”

“Fuck that,” he groans, slumping down as he goes through the new phone setup screen.

“- five thousand words, by the way.”

“On what?” He sighs, the phone illuminating his features as he continues going through setup.

“Charles Dickens.”

“No. You’re fuckin’ with me.”

“I’m unfortunately dead serious.”

Crimson eyes finally part from the phone as Sukuna scowls at you, searching for any sign that you’re lying. When he doesn’t find one, he flips onto his stomach with a muffled groan into the pillow. His bicep brushes your thigh and you swallow hard, reminding yourself he doesn’t feel that way for you and it’s just an accident.

“I fuckin’ told you she’s a conspiracy theorist,” he gruffs from deep within the pillow, barely audible past the material.

You giggle, thankful for the somewhat lighthearted subject. “I still can’t believe you were right.”

“Wish I wasn’t.”

Silence falls over you as Sukuna remains buried in his pillow, finally raising his head with a prolonged sigh. He rests his chin on the pillow, staring tiredly at the gray material of his headboard. The fabric is worn where he usually sits, beginning to tear where his back slumps against it when he uses his laptop.

Not like he has the cash for a new one anyway.

“Is that all ya came in here for?” He asks finally, eyes still trained on the way threads are pulled taut in the fabric, barely held together as they wear thin.

“Uraume had me drop off a couple of things too. But-”

“Why’d you bring Toji?” Sukuna interrupts suddenly, lifting his gaze to scowl at you.

Blinking at his sudden change in demeanor, you shake your head. “He was here when I got here.”

“That prick,” he mutters under his breath, dropping his chin to stare at his headboard.

“You know, Choso sent me in here.”

“Great,” the salmon-haired man mumbles, “what does the brat want? I left the recipe for him.”

“Be nice to your brother. He’s going through a lot,” you scold.

“And I’m not?” He hisses, his head raising to look at you. When you return his scowl, he backs down, chin on his pillow again.

“Cho misses Toji. He wanted me to talk to you about being friends with him again.”

Your words silence Sukuna’s sharp tongue as all he can do is stare down at the black pillowcase beneath him. He shuffles slightly, his arm pressing into you.

He may be stubborn about Toji, but his brothers never fail to crack his tough exterior. As of late though, his demeanor doesn’t simply crack when it comes to his brothers, it crumbles. Sukuna flips onto his side, eyes downcast as he faces you now with one arm under the pillow and the other moving up to rest on your thigh.

Your breath catches in your throat at the feeling of his large hand squeezing the plush of your thigh.

Mirroring Sukuna’s frown, you set your hand over his softly. “What happened between you two anyway?”

Sukuna sighs. “Nothing, really. We just didn’t talk about heavy shit so I never told him what was goin’ on.”

Of course that’s all there is to it. Grimacing, you drum your fingers lightly over the back of his hand as you debate whether you want to say something. His eyes watch the movement intently, drawn to the way your fingers feel so soft on his skin.

“I’m gonna say something-” you pause, watching his eyes flicker up to meet yours, “- and you aren’t allowed to get upset with me.”

Sukuna’s brow twitches, curling into a scowl. “I don’t get mad over every little thing.”

If ever there was a time you gave Sukuna a look, this was it. “So last week, when you chased me down to my car-”

Flipping back to his stomach until his face is shoved back in his pillow, he mutters a “shut up” that barely makes it to your ears, thoroughly muffled. Regardless, you laugh, gently patting the hand that remains on your thigh.

“I know you’re letting me in, and that’s great, but Toji’s just trying to help too,” you point out.

Sukuna doesn’t move, the musculature of his back rising and falling steadily as he stubbornly keeps his face buried in his pillow.

“You never told me he used to be your best friend.”

“You never asked.” Again, you can barely make out his words.

Sighing, you rest a hand on his back. His muscles seize briefly beneath the tips of your fingers, before relaxing as you rub small circles between his shoulder blades. Sukuna lifts his head finally after a moment, turning his face to you as he remains on his stomach. He looks more at ease than he has in a long while, likely because he obviously skipped class to sleep, though you’re sure the gentle massaging of your hand is nice too.

“Why is it so bad to let him in?” You query, the tips of your fingers brushing against his spine. A shiver overtakes him, though he does his best to mask it.

“I took the damn phone,” he grumbles, as though there isn’t a bigger point to this whole situation.

Your lips press into a thin line as you stare at the stubborn man. Your fingers pause as you contemplate your next words. “The Zenins are pretty rich, aren’t they? Why don’t you ask for a hand with the lawyer-”

“I’m not a fucking charity case,” he hisses, every muscle pulled taut as he glares at you, an unspoken warning laced within his tone that you’re pushing his buttons.

You work your fingers across his muscles again, soothing him to release the tension in his shoulders. Slowly but surely, he relaxes in the silence, basking in the warmth of your hand.

“I never said you were. You could pay him back.”

“No.” He gruffs firmly.

It takes everything in you not to raise your head to the heavens and groan. Sukuna can be so ridiculously frustrating sometimes.

Stubborn as a mule, you have no other option but to give in. “Well… Just remember what Choso said.”

“I took the phone, isn’t that good enough for the brat?”

“It’s a hand-me-down phone, not a friendship bracelet,” you point out, unable to stifle the giggle that comes with your words.

Sukuna cracks an eye open, rolling it dramatically before flipping his face to stare at the wall. A comfortable silence hangs over you as Sukuna shuts his eyes after a moment, enjoying the feeling of your fingers smoothing across his muscles. The sun warms your skin through his window, goading a yawn from you as you find yourself leaning against his headboard. Your fingers slide along his shoulder blades as you find yourself shutting your eyes in the serene warmth of the afternoon sun.

Your hand slowly begins to still as fatigue overtakes both of you, and you bask in the cozy environment like a cat finding a patch of light.

It’s not until you hear a clank from the kitchen that you’re snapped out of your drowsiness and realize that Sukuna’s not the only one with a paper due tomorrow.

Glancing at the time, you pat Sukuna’s back gently. His head raises as he blearily looks you over, a questioning look on his face. It’s painfully sweet, the way he seems to be wondering why you stopped like a cat wondering why you’re no longer petting them.

Seems like you were a pair of happy cats for a moment.

“I need to go write that paper, and so should you.”

He hums in acknowledgement.

“I’ll help Choso get the food in the oven, sound good?”

Sukuna hums again, rubbing his eyes.

“Send me your number, by the way. I’ll see you in class tomorrow?”

“I have a morning shift after I drop the brats off,” he grumbles. “I’ll try to be there.”

“Just don’t forget about your paper!” You remind him, slipping off the bed towards the door.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Bonus points if you talk about Dickens’ death conspiracy theory!” You chant when you reach the doorway, a mischievous smile pulling at the corners of your lips.

He snorts, rolling his eyes as he pushes himself into a sitting position. “Where he died doesn’t fuckin’ change anything.”

With a grin, you just giggle along, heading out the door.

With his hands clutching the edge of the mattress, the burly man stares silently at the gray carpet beneath his feet. He can barely make out the sound of your voice, saccharine sweet and gentle, as you direct Choso while helping him put together the meal.

Lifting a hand, he subconsciously scratches at his spine between his shoulder blades, sending a shiver through his body.

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❦ a/n ; soooo this was originally meant to end on a different scene but by the time i hit 20k words i figured i should split it LOL sorry for the delay! had to take a small break for my mental health, but! the next chapter is already at 8k since i chose to split this, so i should be able to get it out soon <33 as always, thank you so much for all the love! i've gotten so many sweet comments, rbs, and asks and i absolutely love hearing everyone's thoughts on the chapter. ily all <33

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bunny-jpeg · 4 months ago

Text

kink-o-ween - day seven

lando norris - lingerie

cw: smut/pwp, body worship, dirty talk, missionary, established relationship

kink-o-ween: formula one edition - call of duty edition

you never thought that orange was your colour. in fairness maybe a softer orange or a burnt orange would suit your body better. but mclaren knew very little about nice colours, the glaring orange they use was great on the track. but terrible on your body.

after his most recent win, you wanted to impress your boyfriend of the last several months. he worked so hard to get where he was, so close to the championship that he could almost taste the champagne of victory! and it was your job to make sure that morale was high for him, so he could see his victory to the end.

and sometimes that meant wearing the garish mclaren orange.

you wore the lingerie all day on the track. you were thankful that the clothes you wore over top were made of a thick enough material to hide any showing of what was underneath. no one needed to see your orange panties. but, that did mean you were fanning yourself more often due to the heat.

damn if you do, damn if you don't.

however, you were the most happy about the fact that despite the colour. the set was rather comfortable. the bra had enough support that it didn't dig into your sides and the panties were made of a lacy material that didn't scratch at weird places. and most of all you were happy to see lando score his victory.

he was all smiles as you two headed back to the hotel room for the night. you were practically guiding him to your room. he was attached to you like barnacle. his arms wrapped around you, you were wearing his mclaren hat.

he was even getting a good feel of you which made you squirm a little as you tried to get the key into the door. once it was opened you managed to get enough distance from him to get your shoes off. he followed suit, he knew you wouldn't let him get his dirty runners into your shared bed. he was running off the high of the weekend. he wanted to dig his hands into his beautiful girlfriend and give her all the loving he could.

he was eager to get his black t-shirt off and strip down to nothing. but he got curious when you got closer to the bedroom and hadn't taken a single thing off (other than your shoes). and once you got into the bedroom, you sat on the bed while lando stood there partially undressed.

"is everything okay?" he asked.

you nodded, "oh yeah, of course! i just had a surprise for you. and i didn't want to ruin it in the living room." you giggled, "come sit and i'll show you."

lando, eager to please, sat down and got his belt out of the loops of his jeans. he watched you get up before you reached for the hem of your t-shirt. you paused for a moment and lando leaned forward.

"god, this is going to be embaressing. you better not think it's tacky."

lando chuckled, "babe, you could wear leopard print and tiger print at the same time and i wouldn't think it was tacky. c'mon, show me." his voice gave you enough confidence to fully get your t-shirt off. revealing the bright orange bra underneath. lando's eyes went wide and he said, "oh, wow!"

you dropped the shirt and crossed your arms, "ugh, this is stupid."

"no, no! i love it. is that my number right there." he leaned a little forward and pulled your arms away from your chest. as an added detail you put on it you sewed lando's number over the left cup of the bra. he beamed at you, "oh, this is beautiful." then took you by the arms and pulled you onto the bed.

he was soon over top of you, his hands on you as he kissed you passionately. he continued to give you praise for your undergarments. you were such a thoughtful girlfriend. you were perfect for him and he loved you so much. he soon got out of his clothes rather quickly, but admired the lingerie on you for a little while longer.

he touched your breasts, he grabbed hold and felt the fabric and you soft skin under his palms. his cock was hard as he admired your beauty. and you couldn't help but feel hot in the cheeks as you laid there under him.

"you look good in this colour."

"i don't know if you'd be saying that if you weren't driving for mclaren." you replied then lando leaned in a kissed you on the lips. you felt him start to undo your bra and you did your best to get the panties off. he wished that you couldn't left them on the entire time you had sex. but, the only think better than you in mclaren orange was you naked.

"as long as you had my number on you, i'd be happy. you could be in a potato sack with the number four, and i'd still make love to you." he chuckled as he got the bra off. then slowly got the panties off.

once you were naked, lando started to undress himself, your eyes lingered on his toned body and you leaned in to kiss him over the heart which made him shudder a little bit. you giggled against his heated skin.

"maybe next time i should make you wear something with my name on it." then kissed his collarbone.

he worked at his jeans and laughed a little, "i'll happily do that." before he kicked off his pants and eventually his boxers. now both naked you two were together in the bed.

you moaned into the kiss he placed on your lips and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. you rubbed yourself up against him. lando's hands roamed your body.

when he pulled away from the kiss and pressed his forehead against yours. he smiled at you, "you're beautiful. so beautiful. i can't believe you were wearing that all day today. i wished you showed me, i would've happily take it off at the track."

"oh my god, you perv." you giggled as you raked your fingers through his dark hair, "you'd happily have me over your car if given the chance."

he pulled away and beamed at you, "will you." and was met with a slap on the chest. he laughed, "i'm joking!" before he took you by the hips and brought you closer to him. he eyed your body for a moment and licked his lips, "plus, i'd hate for anyone else to see all this beautiful. call me selfish, but i want this all to myself." his cock twitched at the sight of you.

"good then, because you have it. every last inch, from top to bottom." and you watched lando smile before he leaned in once more for a heated kiss. you held onto his shoulders while he got a better hold of your hips.

when he pulled away, he got himself properly in between your legs. then slowly inched his cock into your pussy. you held onto the covers under you as he got himself into you. you made a soft moaning noise and he felt excitement run through him.

you were perfect, so perfect that you got lingerie for him. based off of his number and team colours. you looked amazing in it and he wished you'd wear it more. to know that you were wearing his colours. he leaned in for another kiss as he started to move against you. he pressed his chest up against yours. his lips found yours and held onto your soft hips.

"i love you." he said when he broke the kiss for a moment. he groaned a little before he went in for another kiss. he deepened it and he felt his heart rate increase.

you moaned against his lips, you said you loved him too in your mind as you soon held onto his shoulders. you felt lando move against you, and his hungry gaze on you as the two of you fucked on the bed.

you two made a good pair, most people would say that. especially when you greeted lando when he won and when he'd hold you so tightly after a race. you were his good luck charm and always pushed himself past his limits on the track when he knew you were watching. he didn't believe that was a 'number one fan' of his, but if there was, you'd have that title.

"i love you." he said again as he moved faster against you. he watched your breasts move with each of his movements. your hands were back on the covers and he could see you panting.

there was a bit of sweat on your bodies as the two of you moved together. you quickly found lando's pace and met it. which only made the two of you hotter. the added pleasure seeped into your brains as the bed creaked under you.

"you are the most beautiful woman in the world. when we're done i'm going to kiss every part of you. you need to know how beautiful you are. how you look under me. you drive me crazy every day, i can't do a day without seeing you or a photo of you. but no photo does it justice." he groaned as he pulled back and re positioned himself on his knees to get the perfect angle to fuck you.

"you're making me blush." you giggled as you tried to hide your face for a moment, but lando soon pressed your hands onto the bed and continued to thrust into you.

"don't hide from me. you're too beautiful to hide yourself. i want to see every inch of you." he panted a little heavier as he really moved against you. his thrusts were hard and made you see stars.

"lando!" you whined.

he looked at you as he really worked himself against you. his tanned and toned body really moved well against you. he could feel his brain full of lust as he started to lose his pace, pleasure fully taking over.

you held onto his hands tightly as you really felt the thrill of pleasure in your body. you held on tightly as you came around his cock, the pleasure washed over you like a wave and it left you panting like an animal. you could feel the sweat at your temples as it all came crashing down on you.

"lando."

"i got you, beautiful." he chuckled softly as he kissed the apple of your cheek before he continued to rut against you. the kisses continued once more and with a few more heavy thrusts, your boyfriend finished inside of you.

you whined against him and felt a shudder of want through his body. he continued to rut against you a few more times before he eventually slowed down to a stop.

he was panting heavily and so were you. he pulled out and laid next to you on the bed. he wrapped you up in his arms and kissed you on the mouth. he melted a little bit into a kiss as he felt the after waves of pleasure.

"can you put the lingerie back on? i want to see it on you again, maybe take some photos." he beamed at you lazily. you pinched his cheeks and kissed him once more.

you'd do it for him, after all you paid good morning for it! <3

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redr0sewrites · 8 months ago

Text

not possible - Viktor x reader

🥀A/n: this was originally a request but it strayed wayyy too far off course... the writing had a mind of its own and im not sorry. but i AM sorry for not posting in a while.... ive been super hyperfixated on DC sorry

🥀Cw: fluff, non-sexual nudity, bathing, exhaustion/overworking

🥀Word Count: 1.2k words

🥀Synopsis: Viktor is overworking yet again, yet upon your insistence, finally takes a break.

Viktor was well aware that the candle at his side had long since burnt out, yet he was unwilling to find a replacement. the moon was bright tonight, and, combined with the soft blue glow emitting from the hextech he was working on, Viktor could make out the tools in front of him without any assistance.

he knew that working in the dim light was not a good idea, considering how straining ones' eyes could lead to faulty vision, but he couldn't bring himself to care. the ache in his bones ran deep, and his fingers shook with each breath. of course Viktor knew he should turn in for the night, but he found himself stuck in his chair, mindlessly fiddling with his most recent hextech project.

he was so engrossed in his work, he barely noticed your approach until you were practically on top of him. familiar hands find purchase on his shoulders and he jumps, only to melt back into your touch.

"ah, it's you," Viktor murmurs, turning around to face you. "may i ask, what are you doing up so late?"

"collecting you," you murmur, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. "it's already two in the morning. you've been here long enough."

Viktor sighs, and allows you to press a few more kisses to his face. the bags beneath his eyes were heavy, he was stiff and sore, and above all, he was exhausted.

joining you back home was certainly enticing, and hextech could always wait until tomorrow. and yet, the troublesome, burning itch beneath his skin wouldn't dissipate. he needed to complete just one more ruin combination, just finish this one little task, and then he'd let himself rest. at least, that's what he'd been telling himself for the past three hours.

"i can tell your overworking yourself again," you whisper, and Viktor huffs indignantly.

"overworking is, eh, a strong word. i am perfectly capable-" you cut him off by cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

"Viktor, i am in no way denying your capabilities. however, you still need sleep. so, come back with me, and you can continue working tomorrow after a full nights rest. does that work?"

Viktor heaves another weary sigh, but agrees. you silently watch as he stands and steadies himself with his cane, not wanting to appear too overbearing but still concerned about his exhaustion. you wish you could alleviate some of the stress and burden that he carries, even though he relentlessly assured you that loving him was enough.

meanwhile, Viktor wordlessly packs up for the night. he knew you were trying to mask it for his own dignity, but the concern on your face was evident in the slightest furrow of your brow and pinch of your lips. he found it hopelessly endearing how you worried over him, and only wished that you would stop for your own sake.

after all, he was doing this for you. for the chance to live happily with you someday, after saving the lives of so many others. hextech consumed so much of his time, yet Viktor intended to make it up to you tenfold when you two would grow old together.

"you ready to head home?" your voice slices through his thoughts like a knife through warm butter, and he finds himself unable to do anything but nod. you did not hesitate to take his hand as you two walk back towards your shared abode, nor did you complain when he had to pause and catch his breath after some particularly bad pain in his leg. by the time you both arrived at your home, Viktor felt even more exhausted.

"i know it's late, but do you want to take a bath before going to bed?" your question lingers in the air for a few seconds before Viktor nods, and you begin setting up. you both know the warm water would only soothe his aching joints, and provide momentary relief from the pain he suffers from.

🥀

its not long before you and Viktor are curled against eachother in your large bathtub after washing off. he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder as he absentmindedly washed your back, and you let out a relaxed sigh. you were both night-owls, but Viktor was much more accustomed to fighting off exhaustion.

you bite down on your bottom lip as more worries begin to seep into your mind. you feel almost selfish for missing him when he works so hard, and yet you want nothing more than to take all of his stress away. Viktor is quick to notice as you slip deeper in thought, between your tense muscles and quickened breathing, he can read you like a book.

"what are you thinking about, darling?"

another weary sigh escapes you.

"its just... you've been so stressed lately, i just wish i could alleviate some of the burdens you carry.. i know what you do is important, but i still wish i could be around you more often and help you.. y'know?" you let out another sigh. "i just.. miss you sometimes. and i worry. you know i worry.." Viktor chuckles at your words before turning you around to face him, the warm water around you both sloshing gently against the edge of the bath.

"you do more than enough already. believe me, everything i do, i do for you. for us. i love you," he murmurs, and presses a kiss to your forehead, "and nothing will change that. i can't guarantee that i'll always be around... but i will try to stop staying in the lab so late." Viktor's lips crinkle into a soft smile, and you can't help but kiss him in response.

Viktor always feels as though he's floating when you kiss. your soft lips against his, the contrast of his nimble, calloused hands against your smooth skin, your scent, your taste, it was all gloriously intoxicating. you hum against his lips before slowly pulling away, lashes fluttering against his cheek from your proximity.

Viktor leans in to whisper in your ear, his lips just ghosting your temple.

"i think it's high time we went to bed, dear. the waters getting cold, and i wouldn't want my beautiful darling to be exhausted tomorrow, hm?" you sigh at his flattery, yet agree regardless. as Viktor leans against the tub to stand up, you suddenly remember something and grab his hand to get his attention.

"hm?"

"by the way, about what you said earlier.... i love you more."

"that is not possible, my dearest."

GRRR SO HAPPY THIS IS DONE LMAO- sorry i havent been super active ive been on a huge DC kick (specifically the batfam/dick grayson) and suffering from writers block BUT HERE I AM AGAIN!!!!!!!!! ANYWAYS HOPE U ENJOYEDDDD PLS FEEL FREE TO SEND IN REQUESTS (esp dc... HEHE)

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sai-int · 1 month ago

Note

i eat UP your writing. it's delicious.

could I ask for needy Simon who's incredibly sensitive and overstimulated. i love the idea of tears in his eyes, not from sadness, no. but from how amazing he feels.

thank you doll 🤍🤍🤍

cw: MDNI, afab!reader, overstimulation, sub!simon, needy! simon, grinding

Simon’s body is sprawled beneath yours, his massive frame sinking into the mattress as you straddle him, every inch of him writhing as if he's being burnt alive. You’ve never seen him like this before—so open, so vulnerable, so devastatingly human. his face is bare and it’s nothing short of breathtaking: flushed crimson, tears spilling freely from the corners of his tightly shut eyes, lips parted and slick from his tongue dragging across them in desperate, shaky attempts to ground himself.

His hands are uncharacteristically frantic. They can't decide whether to rest on your thighs, your hips, or your waist. Regardless, his fingers are digging and clawing hard enough to leave marks as he clings to you. You’ve got him pinned down, your weight pressing into his hips, keeping him locked in place while you grind your wet, hot cunt against his drooling cock, and the sounds coming from him—ragged pants, low groans, and soft, broken whimpers—are like nothing you’ve ever heard before.

Your inner thighs are coated, glistening where his lower abdomen presses against you, the mingled slickness painting a sinful sheen on both your bodies. Each roll of your hips sends a wet, obscene sound through the room, the rhythm punctuated by the faint jingle of his dog tags against his chest.

His breaths come in shallow, uneven gasps, his chest rising and falling beneath you like a man on the edge of breaking. Heat radiates off his skin, his muscles taut and trembling beneath your touch, caught in a maddening push and pull—an aching need to take everything you give and the fragile, instinctive urge to pull away before he unravels completely.

“Si, baby ,” you hum, your voice like a soothing balm as you lean down, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear. His entire body jerks at the sound of his name, his grip tightening as he lets out a soft, choked noise. “Look at me.”

He shakes his head, his face turning into the pillow as though he can hide from the intensity of the moment. “C-can’t,” he stutters, his voice raw and shaky with need. “Fuckin’ hell, I—too much, love, it’s—”

“You can,” you whisper, your tone gentle but firm as you lean over to cup his jaw and guide his face back to you. His lashes are wet with tears, his pupils blown wide, and his scarred lips quiver as he looks up at you, utterly shattered.

You grind your hips faster against him , and his hips buck involuntarily, a loud, ragged groan tearing from his throat. His head tips back, exposing the long line of his neck and prominent clavicles , and you don’t miss the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. His hands move to your ass, gently kneading, threatening to take control, but he doesn’t—he’s given you everything.

“Bloody fuckin’—” His words dissolve into a string of curses, his voice cracking as another tear slips down his cheek. He’s shaking now, his thighs trembling beneath you, his whole body wracked with stimulation. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

You lean down, brushing your lips over his damp cheek, catching the salt of his tears. “You’re doing so good, Si,” you murmur, your voice soft and sweet as honey. “You look so perfect like this. Just let go, come for me baby.”

A ragged sob tears from his throat as his hands clutch at you, dragging up your back with a desperation that leaves him buzzing. He hauls you closer, chest to chest, his grip almost bruising, like letting go would shatter him entirely. His face buries against your shoulder, the heat of his breath searing your skin—uneven, broken, wild. His teeth scrape along your collarbone, a raw, animalistic need driving him—he bites down, not enough to hurt but enough to claim, to taste, to ground himself in the stark reality of you. Of this. Of the fact that you’re here, alive, and real.

Every touch, every movement sends him spiraling further, his body arching beneath you as he lets out a broken, almost pitiful whine. “Can’t—oh, fuck, I can’t—Baby, please,” his tears stream freely as hands press you against him, as if consuming you would stop him from drowning.

“You can do it, baby, come for me,” you soothe, your fingers threading into his damp, cropped hair, tugging gently to ground him. His eyes meet yours, glassy and unfocused. He looks at you like you're an angel that's fallen from the sky, just to bend him to your mercy. It makes your heart clench.

When he breaks, it’s devastating—his entire body seizing with a sob that rips through him, raw and uncontrollable. His muscles clench and release in unison as he spills hot, sticky ropes of cum across his abdomen, the heat of it smearing between your bodies. His head presses back into the pillow, neck arched and exposed, lips parted in a silent, desperate cry. His hands fall from your waist, clutching the sheets in a vice grip, his knuckles white as he rides out the intensity, every trembling gasp a testament to his complete surrender.

You stay with him, his release slicking the glide of your movements as you ride out the aftershocks together. Your hands trace gentle, soothing patterns over his chest, skimming along his jaw before tangling softly in his damp hair. His breathing is uneven, shallow gasps spilling from his parted lips, but the tension in his body slowly ebbs away. Beneath you, he feels utterly undone, his limbs heavy and boneless as he surrenders to the warmth of your touch and the quiet solace of your presence.

“God, love,” he rasps finally, his voice wrecked, his lips twitching into the faintest, most exhausted smile. “You’re gonna bloody kill me one day.”

You chuckle softly, leaning down to press a tender kiss to his forehead. “Not a chance, Si. I’ve got you.”

mlist | part two

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littlest-w01f · 5 months ago

Text

Bloody

Sylus x Reader

SYLUS MASTERLIST

LADS MASTERLIST

Summary: Even after being told against it time after time, you took a hit meant for Sylus

Cw: Blood, injury, angst, little suggestive at the end

The fight was a blur to you, all you remembered was that you and Sylus had been attacking your own Wanderers, as you finished off the Wanderer in front of you, you rushed for Sylus when you saw another about to take a strike at Sylus while his back was facing the creature.

With a cry of desperation, you lunged towards Sylus, throwing yourself between him and the looming threat of the Wanderer's weapon. Your body took the brunt of the impact, the alien's weapon slicing into your chest with brutal efficiency, the cut cauterised on impact. The pain was excruciating, but you barely registered it.

As you lay there, the gash burning your chest, your clothes slowly burning in, your vision blurring, you felt Sylus' strong arms wrap around you, cradling your injured form. His face was etched with concern, his eyes searching yours desperately.

"Stupid, aboslutely dumb little kitten!" Sylus growled, right eye pulsing red, his body nearly shaking in anger as he rushed home with you in his arms, being careful not to hurt you further, "Why? Why the fuck would you do that!?"

"You... You were gonna get hurt..." You gasped out as he set you on his bed, surrounded by pillows. "You always protect me... So I thought..."

"You don't take my hits!" Sylus growled, his hands hurting to remove your clothes so they didn't stick to your burnt skin, his words were harsh, yet they were laced with a desperate fear. "I step in front of you because I heal faster than you can blink. I will always step in to protect you, but you don't have to do that! Have you gone mad!?"

Sylus' intense gaze bore into yours, his chest still heaving with agitation. The dim light filtering through the curtains cast long shadows across his chiselled features, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and the furrowed brow above piercing crimson eyes. His broad shoulders seemed to tense even further beneath the leather jacket he hadn't removed yet. "If the blade was a little to the left YOU WOULD'VE BEEN DEAD!"

As he stepped back, giving you space, and himself too, his clenched fists hung at his sides, the knuckles white with restrained fury. The air around him crackled with barely contained rage, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, but you didn't flinch at how pissed he was, knowing he would never harm you.

Sylus paced back and forth across the room like a caged beast, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The anger radiating off him was palpable, making the air feel charged with tension. Every so often, his gaze would flicker over to you lying on the bed, his expression softening just slightly before hardening once more.

"I won't let anyone hurt you," He muttered, his voice low and rough. "But that doesn't mean you get to throw yourself in front of danger like some kind of martyr, sweetie!"

As Sylus tried to calm his breathing as if trying to lessen the power pulsing in him, his mind raced with thoughts of how close he came to losing you. The memory of seeing that Wanderer's blade pierce your chest made his stomach churn with nausea even if he had destroyed it, he hoped he could've tortured it more. He couldn't bear the idea of living without you, of watching your life slip away before his very eyes.

He stopped pacing abruptly, turning to face you with a look of determination etched onto his features. With swift movements, he shed his jacket and kicked off his boots, revealing his toned physique clad only in a black fitted top and pants.

"Sylus…" You whispered weakly, trying to sit up but wincing at the pain in your chest. He quickly moved to support you, helping you recline against the pillows.

"Just relax, sweetie," He murmured, his fingers gently tracing along the wound, applying pressure to stem the bleeding. His eyes blazing with intensity. "Look at you, all pale and shaky. You could've died, and for what? To prove some stupid point about how much you love me? I know you love me, you were crazy for what you did."

Sylus ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, his chest heaving with agitation. He knelt beside you, brushing away a stray lock of hair that clung to your forehead, his touch gentle despite his rough exterior.

"Damn it, y/n," Sylus muttered, frustration clear in his voice, "I can't lose you. I can't stop seeing you... On the ground... I..."

"Don't worry," You whispered, the words barely audible even to your own ears, "I'm fine."

Sylus growled lowly at your weak reassurance, his red eyes flashing dangerously. "Fine?" He scoffed, his large hands hovering over your exposed torso, hesitating to cause you any more pain.

His breath hitched at the sight of your tattered flesh, Sylus scoffed, unclasping and slipping off his leather belt, "Now this is going to hurt for you, kitten." You automatically opened your mouth for him to put the leather between your teeth to bite onto, having gone through him using his Evol to heal you before. He held you down, hands holding down your shoulders, he focused on your gashing wound, red and black tendrils formed around your injury, energy humming, stitching your skin back up as you struggled in pain.

Your breath hitched as Sylus' Evol surged through you, the sensation of your flesh knitting together was excruciating. Bitting onto his leather belt in pain, tears lining your eyes. For Sylus, he was used to healing, the pain was almost unrecognizable to him, but for you, it was torture.

Sylus kept his grip firm on your shoulders, anchoring you to the spot as he focused his energy on repairing your torn flesh. The sound of your pained whimpers and whines were like nails on a chalkboard, tearing at his heartstrings. He wanted nothing more than to take away your suffering, to make everything better.

As soon as the last tendril of energy dissipated, Sylus released his hold on your shoulders, allowing you to slump back against the pillows with a gasp of relief. His chest rose and fell rapidly, matching the frantic beat of his heart, yours slow, gaining speed back after you were healed, a faint line now replacing the gash.

"There," Sylus said, panting lightly. "It should heal nicely." Sylus' touch was tender, his fingers tracing along the newly healed skin, ensuring every stitch was done correctly, leaving no opening. His eyes never left your face, watching every flinch, every grimace that crossed your features.

Leaning in closer, Sylus pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, then to your eyes, making the tears fall, his lips brushing against your skin with a feather-light touch. "Never again," He spoke softly, his crimson eyes burning with an intensity that spoke volumes of his unwavering dedication to protecting you. "Never do that."

He was furious. Furious that you'd willingly taken a blow meant for him, furious that you'd endangered yourself for him, furious that he hadn't been quick enough to stop you, or protect you. Sylus's voice was low, almost a growl, "You're mine to protect, not the other way around, alright, my pretty kitten?"

A vulnerability, a hint of his underlying emotions that he tried so hard to keep hidden. He looked at you with an intensity that made your heart flutter. "You can't just throw yourself in harm's way like that, y/n," he said, his tone softer now, though no less firm.

You looked away from his burning eyes, still a little weak, "I just..."

"You just what?" Sylus demanded, his voice rising once more as he towered over you again, looming over you. "Couldn't bear the thought of me getting hurt? Thought you could play the hero?"

His words stung, but you refused to let him see how much they affected you. Instead, you met his gaze head-on, your own eyes blazing with determination. "I did what I had to do," You said firmly, your voice unwavering despite the pain still coursing through your body. "I won't apologize for not wanting to see you hurt."

For a moment, Sylus seemed taken aback by your defiance, his brows furrowing as he studied you intently. Then, with a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders sagging slightly. "You stubborn kitten," Sylus' nostrils flared, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. "You have no idea what you put me through," He muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "Seeing you lying there… It felt like my world was ending."

For a moment, his usual tough exterior crumbled, replaced by raw vulnerability. He took a step back, raking a hand through his hair, his crimson eyes filled with unshed tears.

"Oh, Sylus..." You whispered, voice a little shaky, reaching out to place a hand on his forearm, feeling the corded muscles beneath your touch, the other stroking his cheeks. "I'm ok... I'm ok because you healed me... I'm so much better already..."

Sylus sighed heavily, his gaze dropping to where your hand rested on his arm. For a moment, he remained silent, as if grappling with his own emotions. Then, with a resigned sigh, he pressed his face further into your now healed chest. "I can't lose you, y/n..."

As he nestled his face into your chest, you felt his warm breath ghost across your skin, each exhale a reminder of his closeness. He buried his face deeper, inhaling deeply, the scent of you filling his senses, pressing his ear against you to hear the beating of your heart.

"I don't know what I would do…" He murmured, his voice muffled against your breasts. After a moment, he pulled back, looking up at you with those intense crimson eyes. "But I swear, if you ever try to pull another stunt like that… I'll tie you to my damn bed forever."

"Mmm... Kinky..." You joke half-heartedly, stroking his silver hair.

A small, wry smile tugged at the corner of Sylus's lips at your teasing remark, though his eyes still held a serious glint. "Don't think that's funny, sweetie," He warned, his voice a low rumble. "I mean every word."

"You're such a handful, kitten," He grumbled, shaking his head slightly, yet his actions belied his words as he settled further into your embrace. "Always causing trouble, always testing my patience." Despite his stern warning, there was a playful spark in his eye that belied his earlier anger.

"I love you, Sylus..." You breathed softly, nails scratching his head gently.

Sylus groaned in pleasure above you from your antics, "I love you too, sweetie."

He leaned into your touch, letting himself be pampered by your gentle strokes, something about your touch soothing his agitated spirit, his hands reaching your hips, calming himself with the feeling of you as you did the same with him, hands tracing his back, grounding yourself.

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moonstruckme · 2 months ago

Note

*dries tears and ignores the stinging of my hand* hi mae! I have a holiday/winter themed emt!marauders prompt if it suits you!! I was wondering if we could see the boys and reader celebrating the holidays in a cozy little cabin that happens to have a wood burning stove? I was just tending to the fire at my mum's old house and burnt the shit out of my knuckles, and I think the boys would be (want them to be) soooo sorry on my behalf and coddle me senseless 🥹

Awwww, our poor Elle <//3 I hope your burn has fully healed by now my love

cw: mention of burn but no description

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 789 words

You gasp through your teeth when it happens, your body reacting before your brain can register either pain or embarrassment. Those come shortly after, one after the other, pain when you see the already reddening skin of your knuckles, embarrassment when Sirius comes to investigate what’s made that sound.

Your boyfriend looks you over quickly, a well worn habit. His brows pinch when his eyes land on your hand.

“Awe, baby.” He takes your wrist carefully. “What’d you do?”

“I burnt it on the stove,” you say, shocked. “On the door.”

Sirius coos. “Poor girl,” he murmurs, giving you a firm squeeze around the shoulders before starting to pull you towards the kitchen sink. “Come here.”

You gasp again as he turns the cool tap on your knuckles. Sirius shushes you, drawing circles into the inside of your wrist with his thumb. After a moment the water starts to feel nice, and you relax right as James and Remus wander in to find you.

James’ eyebrows raise when he sees you and Sirius at the sink. “You said you were making cocoa,” he says, half confounded and half already on the brink of laughter. “What’d you manage to do instead?”

“She’s burnt herself,” Sirius replies pityingly.

“Ohh.” James gives you his sad puppy look. Remus is frowning concernedly. “Angel, how?”

You shrug self-consciously. “I thought it was sort of cold in here, so I went to stoke the fire—”

James gives a little smile. “Obviously a mistake.”

“—and I burnt my fingers on the door as it was shutting.”

“Dove.” Remus’ sigh is a mix of exasperation and caring. He kisses the back of your head, trying to see your knuckles through the water. “How bad?” he asks Sirius.

“Mild,” Sirius says, though his thumb is still moving over your wrist, his touch heavy with sympathy. “Might still blister, though. Think they have a first aid kit here?”

“I’ll check.” Remus kisses your head again before he goes.

You appraise your hand, the stinging lessened under the flow of the tap. “I don’t think it’s really terrible,” you say.

“No” —Sirius wraps an arm around your waist, squeezing— “it isn’t, baby. Probably still hurts, though, yeah?”

You frown, and he coos, doting. His lips press warmly to your shoulder.

“Let’s see if we can get it warm in here like you wanted,” says James, bending in front of the large iron stove. He picks up the poker, opening the small door and prodding at the logs. As he does, he glances at the temperature gauge on the side. “Christ, lovie. It’s already at 400, how much hotter do you want it to be?”

“It is?” You squint, trying to read it from where you are. “Oh, that is a hot fire.”

“Is it now?” Remus asks as he comes back in with a roll of bandages and a bottle of clear gel. “You wouldn’t be referring to the fire you burnt yourself with, would you?”

Your face heats at the teasing in his voice. “I didn’t burn myself with the fire.”

“No, but the heat of the fire does actually affect the heat of the metal around it. Or so I’ve heard.”

“Be nice to her,” Sirius protests on your behalf. He scrubs his hand up and down your side comfortingly. “She’s hurt. And it could have happened to anyone, that thing is evil.”

“You only think that because you can’t use it either,” James taunts, referring to every time in the past few days Sirius has also narrowly avoided burning himself on the hot stove that heats your rented cabin. “You two are disasters in solidarity.”

Sirius’ mouth drops open. “What did he just call us?” he stage whispers near your ear.

When you chuckle, his lips quirk.

To their credit, James and Remus both revert to their usual sweetness as they spread aloe over your burn and wrap it with careful touches. Remus even places a kiss on the other side of your fingers, seemingly under the hope its healing powers will seep through. Sirius remains your most devout supporter, tutting and kissing whatever spare inch of you he can find anytime he so much as suspects something might hurt.

“Do you need to take some painkillers, babylove?” he asks once they’ve finished up.

You press your lips into a reassuring smile. “That’s okay,” you tell him fondly. “It’s not so bad.”

Sirius pouts. “Do you want some painkillers, though?” Your silence speaks for you, and he makes for the bathroom. Remus sighs, holding your head still to kiss your hair and mumbling something about one or the other of you being a terrible enabler before going to get you some water to take your painkillers with.

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hcneymooners · 2 months ago

Text

⋆ you used to be alive, now you're almost mythic.

warlord!ambessa x dragon rider!f!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: despite being arranged to marry your brother, ambessa chooses you as the next reigning consort of house medarda. in the wake of her assassination, you begin to unravel.

cw: dark content. please tread carefully. heavy angst, heavily inspired by house of the dragon but still understandable if you haven't watched it, warlord!ambessa, dragon rider!reader, consort!reader, arranged marriage, wife!ambessa, age difference, older woman/younger woman, non-graphic suicide, mental illness, grief, very morally grey characters including reader. notes: i'm in my luteal phase and began to rewatch hotd and this happened. you must suffer with me. i'm returning to my roots (grief and insane family/romantic dynamics). i wanted to explore the effects of ambessa's death on reader and what it means to love someone who is sometimes well-intentioned but almost always corrupted.

୨୧ you meet on a clouded day, you in your house's emerald silks that catch like seafoam in the bitter wind. ambessa towers over everyone else, battle-scarred and beautiful in ways that make your chest ache. she is supposed to wed your brother and you are meant to be afraid—this is the woman who burnt three kingdoms to ash, who feeds her enemies to her dragon.

୨୧ instead, you find yourself fascinated by her hands, how carefully they hold the marriage contract as she chooses you instead.

୨୧ the rumors spread quickly: the gentle noble daughter and the warlord, what a terrible match. they whisper that she must be cruel to you behind closed doors.

୨୧ they don't see how she braids your hair each morning, how she teaches you to wield a knife ("don't be stupid, [name]. you know who you've married. you are an easy target. you must not abide."), how she watches you with such careful control when you’re naked before her for the first time.

୨୧ her wedding gift to you is perfect. you and ithoa the dark are evenly matched—the dragon is massive and obsidian-scaled but gentle-hearted, prone to curling around you protectively during storms. ambessa jokes that you've made her soft.

୨୧ you remember your first flight together, how the wind tore the breath from your lungs and ambessa's hands steadied you, warm against your waist.

୨୧ the first time you saw her truly fight, it was like watching a dance. she moved like water, like shadow, like death itself. afterward, when her enemies lay bleeding into the earth, she looked at you with such fear in her eyes—fear that you would finally see the monster everyone claimed her to be. and she was one, you weren’t blind, but she’s yours.

୨୧ in some ways you are worse than she is.

୨୧ you help clean her of blood and kiss each of her knuckles. you learn fealty tastes of copper and salt.

୨୧ you wake sometimes to find her watching you in the dark, her fingers tracing patterns on your skin like she's memorizing you. "what are you thinking?" you ask, and she says, "that i never thought i could love something so much. it terrifies me."

୨୧ you understand—love like this is dangerous; it sent half your bloodline mad.

୨୧ there are nights when the nightmares come, when she thrashes and calls out names of the dead. you learn to weather these storms, to hold her until she remembers where she is. you whisper against her temple, “bessa, come back to me." and she does, she always does.

୨୧ "my advisors say i've grown weak," ambessa confesses one night, her head in your lap as you card fingers through her silver-streaked hair. "perhaps they are right."

୨୧ you think of how she still trains daily, how her enemies still fear her name, how she commands armies with an iron fist. but is she is weaker. she's learned to love too, to show mercy when warranted. you lie.

୨୧ you tell her, "you've only grown wise," and she kisses your palm like a benediction.

୨୧ the politics grow more heated. you notice how mel watches her mother with increasing worry, how the peace treaties remain unsigned. you find ambessa in her war room late at night, maps spread before her, and you know what's coming. you love her enough to pretend you don't.

୨୧ you know something is wrong when ithoa screams. it's a sound you've never heard before, something ancient and terrible that makes your bones vibrate. you're running before you can think, your feet carrying you through corridors that seem to stretch endlessly.

୨୧ you find her in the war room. there's a cup rolled beneath the table, a dark stain spreading across the maps she was studying. she looks peaceful, almost, except for the way her fingers are curled like claws against the floor. someone has closed her eyes. someone has touched her. someone has taken her from you.

୨୧ your knees crack against the stone as you fall. there's a sound coming from your throat that doesn't sound human, a keening wail that matches ithoa's grief. you gather her into your arms—she's still warm, still soft, still smells like herself.

୨୧ there is a constant ringing in your head.

୨୧ for one terrible moment, you look at mel standing in the doorway and your mouth forms around the word "dracarys." you feel the heat building in your chest, taste ash on your tongue. ithoa's answering roar shakes the castle foundations. it would be so easy—one word and everything burns.

୨୧ but your father taught you mercy, didn't he? or maybe your mother did. taught you when to hold and when to release.

୨୧ your mouth fills with blood from where you've bitten your tongue holding back that deadly word. mel's face is wet with tears as she falls to her knees beside you, reaching for her mother's other hand.

୨୧ "i'm sorry," she sobs, "i'm sorry, i'm sorry." you want to tell her that sorry isn't enough, that you want to murder her with your own hands—no poison. instead, you keep screaming, high and shrill until your voice breaks, until guards have to pry you away, until they force dreamwine down your throat to quiet you.

୨୧ the funeral is a blur of red and black, but you wear green still—your final act of defiance, of remaining true to yourself as she always wanted. ithoa's keening echoes across the kingdom, a sound of such profound grief that even the oldest dragons respond. she hasn't eaten since ambessa fell.

୨୧ when mel approaches, you see the cost written in the shadows under her eyes. she loved ambessa too, in her way, even as she plotted her death. "i understand," you tell her, voice hollow. "it had to be done. she wouldn’t see reason. she was ruining us.”

୨୧ you see how she flinches at your words, how desperately she wants absolution you cannot give.

୨୧ "you are still my daughter," you add softly, and watch her composure crack. she reaches for you but you step back, the space between you as vast as the void in your chest. “but my blood does not forgive.”

୨୧ you turn back to her before leaving. you say, "learn from your mother. do not apologize for the kill. if they see weakness they will eat you alive. stand on her bones. build on them."

୨୧ you start to forget to eat, to sleep. your ladies whisper concerns about your wandering the castle at night, how you speak to shadows in ambessa's voice. ithoa grows more restless, wilder—they say grief-maddened dragons are dangerous, but you understand her rage. you are two halves of the same coin.

୨୧ sometimes you wake thinking she's still there, reach for her warmth only to find cold sheets. you wear her old shirts to bed, press your face to the fabric searching for traces of her scent. sometimes you go back to the war room, press your face into the cold spot where her body had rotted, and try to find her.

୨୧ you only reach her in your dreams.

୨୧ you sleep in her chambers still, surrounded by her things. sometimes you wake to phantom touches—her hand in your hair, her lips against your shoulder. you find yourself talking to her, telling her about your day as if she's just stepped out for a moment. "you would have laughed," you say to the empty room, "you would have loved this."

୨୧ ithoa refuses to leave the castle grounds, her massive form curled around the tower where you sleep. her grief manifests in physical changes—her scales losing their luster, her eyes clouding over. her handlers whisper that she's dying of heartbreak. you understand—you're dying too, just more slowly.

୨୧ you find yourself holding her things to your chest—her favorite knife, still sharp enough to draw blood when you clutch it too tightly; her riding gloves, worn soft with use; her journal, filled with battle plans and, in the margins, little notes about you.

୨୧ “[name] wore green again today," she wrote once, “she is my only redeeming quality.”

୨୧ sometimes, in your last days, you remember that morning in the garden. how the sun caught in her hair, how she looked younger when she smiled. "if i die," she had said, practical even then, "don't follow me too quickly."

୨୧ you had kissed her quiet, tasting sunshine. "you can't ask that of me," you'd whispered against her mouth. "you've never asked impossible things of me before—don't start now."

୨୧ she had laughed, then grown serious. "you're the best of me," she said, touching your face with those deadly hands that were only ever gentle with you. "the only good thing i've ever done." you had wanted to argue—she was more than her reputation, more than her wars.

୨୧ but she kissed you again and you let it go.

୨୧ now, you think she would understand. after all, she never could deny you anything you truly wanted. and this—a reunion, a reclaiming, an ending that is really a beginning—this is all you want.

୨୧ "fresh air might do you good," your lady's maid suggests, and you smile distantly toward the misty bridge.

୨୧ "yes," you agree, fingering the vial in your sleeve. "i think i shall walk tomorrow, at dawn."

୨୧ you don't tell her you've already sent your letters—one to mel (forgiveness, finally, because you know now how duty weighs), one to your house (explanation, though they never understood), one to the maesters (instructions for ithoa's care, though you suspect she'll follow you as dragons sometimes do).

୨୧ dawn breaks cold and clear. you wear blue, the color of loss in your house, and ambessa's favorite ring. it is heavy and should keep you under the waves. ithoa waits by the bridge, her dark scales catching the first light.

୨୧ the bridge stretches out before you like a body. ithoa's eyes follow your every movement, understanding in her ancient gaze.

୨୧ you uncork the vial with steady hands. you pray. the poison doesn't taste of anything at all. you think that's funny, somehow—that death should be so subtle when life with her was so vivid.

୨୧ as your vision starts to blur, you swear you see her standing at the other end of the bridge. she's wearing her armor, but her hair is up the way you always loved it. "little dove," she calls, holding out her hand, “you’re late, and i’ve missed you."

୨୧ they say a dragon's cry can be heard for leagues. they say ithoa's mourning shook the mountains themselves.

୨୧ they say that when they found you floating in the water, you were smiling and still beautiful, one hand stretched out as if reaching for someone just beyond sight. it almost looked as if you fell, that you’d leaned too far, if not for the vial. they place flowers in your mouth, in the bloated pockets of your waterlogged skin.

୨୧ mel won’t let them burn you. you sink into the earth, and your flesh becomes land. she puts your bones in her mother’s grave but keeps a tooth. it’s diamond, a replacement for one lost to illness, and it sits in the center of her diadem.

୨୧ your last thought, as the world grows soft around the edges, is of ambessa’s hands, how the scars hurt her the most there. the pain was chronic, aggravated by any extensive movement. still, she bent them to hold yours because you were always scared in the beginning.

୨୧ through the water, the sky seems so wide. you aren’t scared now. you're going home. you're going home. you're going home.

୨୧ maybe it is not a good place, where you’ll arrive, but it will not matter.

୨୧ the afterlife is white and quiet. it presses against you. you’re slick, weeping, and bare. there’s a birdsong in your head.

୨୧ you turn, crouched low like a dog, and she’s there.

⚚ special taglist: @sugrcookiiee @icespiceluva @16novvs @tnash-tammy @dyk3miffy @iwasholic @absandsevikasgirl @blackdykegirlblogger @fortluocha @neganwifey25-blog @rottngrl3 @fruitfulfashion @ambessaswifey

#ambessa x you #ambessa x reader #ambessa x y/n #arcane ambessa #ambessa medarda #ambessa league of legends #ambessa the chosen of the wolf #wlw #lesbian #sapphic #arcane fanfic #arcane x reader #fe #female!reader #fem!reader #angst #mine ; 🐎.

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evilgwrl · 5 months ago

Text

TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Eleven

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: Titty sucking (my #1 idc), face sitting (SIMON IS A MUNCH), PIV (no protection, pls use it irl), u use sex as an escape from your grief (can be seen as dub-con from this), insinuation to a threesome

Taglist: @echo9821 @beebeechaos @h3art3at3rr @johannxseb @cndy-l0v3 @nylluns @pomegranategum @tapioca-marzipan

Masterlist

The morning air was silent, barely a whistle stirring through the house from a gentle ghast of wind. It was cold, colder than usual. Heat smouldered in your chest like a disease, rotting away at your flesh as you lay there, eyes puffy, swollen with grief.

Simon’s chest was bare, flushed against you in a protective grasp, hands cascaded around your waist. You stirred, reluctant to move against him, almost feeling a sense of comfort despite the circumstances. Your brain was wracked with paralysing images, haunting you in both slumber and the present.

Sure, you had seen death before, you lived around it, but never like that. Pain burnt into your skin, prickling against the hairs as you rubbed at your eyes, static filling your blackened vision. You wanted the feeling to go away, and you found that having Simon around, or anyone, helped with it.

Your hand was soft as you grabbed at his, tugging it into your smaller palm with a squeeze as the man huffed out a shallow breath. His voice was gruff, thick with sleep as he pressed against you, “Y’ awake, dove?”

You squeezed his hand again before pulling it into your chest, snuggling against his muscular forearm, tiny huffs leaving cracked lips. Unbrushed teeth grazed away at the dead skin, nibbling it into the wetness of your tongue before turning around.

Simon was silent, eyes stained with unwashed solitude and a hint of guilt. His lips quirked slightly as you glazed over his face, lingering on the tickles of stubble that decorated his jaw to the scar that dug into the tender skin next to his lip.

“How’d you sleep?” He soothed, rubbing at the hair that laced across your forehead, tucking it behind the small of your cold ear.

“Didn’t.”

Your voice was small, the room suddenly deafening with an ongoing orchestra of familiar whining, Cecil’s whining. Simon’s frown was apologetic and kind, eyes dampening with recognition of how you felt. He understood death too well. He was surrounded by it. In a way, he believed it followed him, that he was plaguing you with an inevitable curse.

Your kiss was harsh, teeth knocking against one another as you smothered any air between the two of you. Ghost’s reply was fast, gripping at the back of your neck before tugging you away with a confused look.

Your whine was pained as you clenched your brows, “Please.”

His tongue wrapped through yours, pushing onto the pink muscle with force as he brought you closer to him, your body pulled onto the heat of his lap as you straddled his waist, boxers slipping lower down his toned stomach, a light trail of hair dancing under the fabric. Thickened hands worked up your shirt, groping at the fat of your tits as nipples hardened under his palm, pebbling quickly.

You were quick to pull away, tugging your shirt off as his eyes widened with awe, lapping in the sight of your bare chest. Simon was quick to tug you down, resting his tongue flat against a sensitive bud as you rocked against his abdomen, pussy clenched as you rode the tense surface.

Messy hair fell flat against your face as you sighed into the air, relishing in the pleasure that he drew from you as his teeth grazed against your tits, another hand tugging at the neglected nipple. Your panties nestled between your folds, catching on your clit as you jolted your hips back and forth, collecting moisture on both your underwear and his skin.

Your pants sounded breathless, fogging up the air with unworked steam as you sat further up on his chest, brown eyes watching you intently.

“Take your panties off,” Simon spoke, voice stern as he grabbed at your waist, jolting your movements. Your hips raised as you rolled to the side, tugging the flimsy material off with a quick pull, crawling back over to him as a hand raised to rub at the prominent bulge growing under his briefs.

Your grip was firm, holding the hardening shaft in your palm as you stroked the impressive length. The Lieutenant muttered out a groan, a wet patch slowly forming to the side of his cock.

“C’mere,” he whispered, tugging at your wrists, “sit on my face.”

You stilled for a moment, tilting your head with a shallow laugh, ready to object.

“I can take your weight and I can handle a hell of a lot more than a pretty woman sitting on my mouth.”

You were quick to position yourself over his mouth, hovering slightly with nerves before a stripe licked up your heat, your slick melting onto the warmth of his tongue as you yipped into the air, surprised. Simon was quick to pull you flush against him, immediately diving into your cunt with eagerness as he suckled at your puffy clit, groaning around you.

“Si-Simon, fuck-“

Ghost was fuelled on the sounds you made, lapping at you faster as you moved against him, riding his face with desperation as you mewled. His cock was painfully hard, resting against his boxers with a strain as he rutted into the air slightly in an attempt to release his growing tension.

You looked heavenly; your head rolled back as you lapped in the growing sensation that struck through you. You were distracted, too overworked with pleasure as you moaned, a permanent image of you canvased into the man’s mind.

His tongue worked towards your entrance, slurping around the hole obscenely, striving off the feminine taste of you. You could feel yourself growing hotter, the back of your neck wet with sweat, a light sheen of condensation glistening against your moving body.

Your thighs constricted around his head as you approached your release, bucking faster against him as he kept a firm hold on you. Your moan was thick, tight with pleasure as you came with a loud gasp, rocking the sight of you into the men’s brains, reminding them of your similar memories together.

Simon didn’t stop, continuing to lick and slurp at your slick as you writhed above him, crying out at the overstimulation before he released you with a loud breath, his mouth pulled back in a wet smirk. A tender grip pulled you down by the neck to meet his lips, the taste of you diving into your mouth as you moaned into the kiss, a wanton passion caressing you.

“Let me take care of you,” he breathed, pushing you down onto the sheets with a light force. You were quick to nod, spreading supple thighs with an eagerness you would have never imagined having. Sympathetic kisses ran up your thighs, leaving dewy stains of his lips around sheen skin.

He was quick to pull his boxers off after pressing a slight kiss to your swollen clit, wrapping a hand around the angry member with a quick tug, pearls of pre-cum swirling from the tip before it lubricated the shaft with a squelch.

Your thighs found their way around his hips, settling at his back with a tight grip as he leaned down, pressing at the entrance of your pussy as your mouth fell open, pain shooting through you from the stretch. A string of expletives ripped through your tongue as you bit down, hot metallic rushing into your senses as Simon cooed above you, wiping your forehead down.

You were so full, cunt worked open with his length as you choked on the fog of the air, windows stained with layers of moisture as you gripped onto the sheets below you.

“Doing so well, nearly there baby, you’re ok.”

Air struck from your lungs as he rocked himself in, nudging your cervix with a hiss as you tightened your legs around him. He stilled, letting you adjust as your eyes clouded with unshed tears, skin wrinkled with uncomfort as you breathed short breaths.

“P-Please move,” you whimpered, staring into his eyes with certainty as you brought his face down to kiss you. Your bodies mangled into one, his hands gripping your wrists as he held them above your head, fucking into you with a growing pace as you moved your mouths against one another, twisted into a world of just the two of you.

It was rare for Simon to be intimate with someone he doesn’t know, too caught up with his own thoughts to enjoy the warmth of another but he felt like he knew you. He had conjured up his thoughts and ideas on you before you even spoke to one another, another version of him in a different body.

Your sounds merged into one, endless streams of moans and cries exhibiting into the halls as limbs tangled against wet skin. You were tight, gripping him with an obscene strength as he melted your walls into putty, constricting to his dominating length. Your neck was struck as you lifted it back, too absorbed in the pleasure as he took the opportunity to pepper with the delicacy in front of him with marks.

Your noises were hypnotising, sucking him into your chest with an arrogant whine as he stared down at you, carob eyes melting into burnt honey, the scent of sex settling into his nose hairs as he breathed in.

“Right there,” you gasped, rocking your forehead against his with a bang as Simon growled, working his pace into deeper motions. In this moment, he felt he was made for this, to provide for you, to pleasure you.

“Fuck- so fucking tight. Pussy was made for me-“

Your orgasm was unexpected, sucking his cock in with a cut-off scream of pleasure as you clenched rapidly. Simon grunted, attempting to maintain his composure as his thrusts grew sloppy. He pulled out with a hiss, emptying onto your heaving stomach in a series of intervals, hand tugging his shaft.

Your body was wrecked, legs trembling with aftershock as you lay there breathless, a pool of come resting against your abdomen. Ghost was quick to stand, walking to the bathroom with a huff as he cleaned you up, placing a hand against your cheek with an amorous caress.

There was a subtle knock on the door, your body flush against Simon’s as he tugged you back up the bed into him. You recognised the warmth of Price’s eyes before you took in his figure, a bowl of fruit in his hardened grip.

“Morning, sweetheart. Brought you some fruit.”

Your smile was barely visible, only crinkling the skin around your mouth slightly as you looked at him. “Thank you,” you spoke, voice hoarse.

The Captain leaned down, pressing a kiss against your forehead as he left the fruit on the wood of the bedside table. Nimble fingers worked around his wrist, holding him in place as begging eyes stared at him.

“I want you both – please.”

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syoddeye · 1 month ago

Note

Price as Davy Jones from POTC. Comes back every ten years to track down reader no matter where they are

the timing of this ask is bananas, because i was just discussing a similar premise with friends. (except davy jones!ghost, purely to describe him prying a barnacle off of his face and eating it in front of reader.) but this works so well with price, too.

prefacing this by admitting I haven't watched any potc movies since they came out. so this is based on what i remember, and we're going to be forgiving lol. this spun out into 1.9k.

cw: implied/referenced noncon/rape, body horror, stabbing/shooting/violence in general, implied/referenced breeding, largely unedited all vibes no brakes.

Clinging to a scrap of what was once a passenger ship, choking on smoke and seawater, you whimper as bits of wreckage and bodies bob around you, lifeless limbs brushing against your legs.

The wreckage still burns, providing just enough light to keep the nightmare well within sight. You see too much: the ship’s carcass, curious dark shadows, a woman in the distance gradually being sucked beneath the surface, her dress pulling taut like an anchor.

You barely register the ship until you hear the whipping of its sails.

Its silhouette is monstrous. A ghastly thing, every bit of it disfigured by time and violence. Its lights blur in your salt-stung eyes, and you blink hard, certain it isn't real. It's a hallucination, a cruel trick of exhaustion.

Yet, it is instinct to call out, to raise your voice. A very human thing, the desire to survive.

Minutes pass, and you're sure that your voice is lost among the waves, but the slap of a dinghy hitting water jars you. Voices call out, searching. Hope stirs in your chest, but as the small boat nears, its crew shoving wreckage and bodies aside, you see the figure at its bow.

A man. Not a man.

A lantern swings in a fist. Light and shadow spill across the figure. Wet skin like pale wax, cloudy eyes set beneath a furrowed brow—and that is where his humanity ends.

Protruding from his beard, claws arc from his face, ridged and brown like a crab's shell, melding seamlessly into the flesh of his jaw and temples. His lips, blackened and peeling, purse together in a line. A line that slowly tips upward in its corners as your eyes grow wider and wider.

A scream works its way up your throat, but it sticks. The last thing you see is his hand, reaching, before the world spins, and darkness swallows you.

You come to, tucked in a bed, with a callused and damp hand holding your own, like a nurse would. Humming a quiet song.

It's him.

When you scream, he waits. When you cry, he says nothing. He watches you recoil, your breath catching and shuddering on your panic, and he permits it all. But when exhaustion drags you back to the pillows, he moves. A canteen pressed to your lips. A piece of bread on your tongue.

"Consider this is a second chance," He rasps, voice like the ship he plucked you from, charred and waterlogged, bubbling and burnt. "A survivor, but only alive because I decreed it so."

He names himself Captain Price. Gestures around you: this is his ship, his crew. You'll find no disloyalty here, no soft hearts. Then, with a flex of his claws—gleaming, articulated things jutting grotesquely from his skin—he acknowledges what you've already guessed.

"You've heard the stories, I'd wager."

You have. Cursed ships. Drowned men who don't stay dead. When you booked your passage, the name was muttered like a bad omen, then dismissed with soothing reassurances: That ship's just a tale to scare the children and womenfolk.

But the proof sits in front of you, chest heaving in watery breaths, clouded eyes watching your every move.

"I've invoked my privileges as captain," He informs you as you stare, dumbstruck. "You'll be under my protection. Mine alone."

The implication is clear, as sharp as the claws on his face. Companion. The word sticks in your throat. The roof of your mouth.

When the fear overwhelms you again, your body shaking with what he means, he doesn't let you cry or scream. His grip tightens into a vise until you gasp, a warning. His spare hand, an even more disfigured mangle of fingers and claws, drum against the bed frame.

"If that doesn't suit, you can bunk with the crew tonight. And come morning, I'll see you back to the sea."

It isn't much of a choice. Not one at all, really. You let the silence speak for you, and he releases your wrist. Rising to his full height, he tells you to finish the bread, drink, and sleep.

"Unfortunate thing like you, you'll need it."

The next day, you're allowed more time to rest, though don't dare sleep. You're terrified of the Captain. Of him reconsidering his so-called mercy. Worse still, when you do think of the crew, you almost wish he'd let them have you. At least it would afford you an end to this torture. Peace at the bottom of the sea.

The cabin door is locked at all times, of course. Still, you're surprised to find yourself free to roam its cramped confines. You rifle through maps and logbooks, though the latter might as well be written in a foreign language. The room offers little else: no paintings, no books, nothing of sentiment. A space for planning and sleeping, nothing else.

You listen instead. The voices above deck, the crash of waves. Through the porthole, you see no land, discern no direction. The hours crawl by, and it's only when the sun disappears that he returns.

He brings food. Your dress, dried. You take the meal reluctantly, your appetite thin but you do not think he'll allow you to starve. You don't question the food's origin. From what little you've gathered, he doesn't need it.

When you're finished, the Captain takes the plate and utensils without a word. Alone again.

And so it continues. Breakfast. Dinner. Hours of silence in between. Days pass, melting into one another. You lose yourself in the monotony and isolation. You're certain this is hell: locked in a cabin surrounded by monsters, the devil himself tending to you.

Eventually, the thought comes, sprung from the desperate prayers you whisper every night. Clear and unshakable. Kill the devil. Free yourself.

When the moment arrives at dinner, you do not hesitate. The dinner knife fits perfectly in your hand as you swing it, the blade aimed at his chest. You expect resistance, struggle—but there's none. The steel sinks in easily, the sound wet and horribly soft, and the grin on his face only deepens.

He laughs. Your blood turns cold.

"Was waitin' for this," he chuckles, grabbing and pressing his pistol into your hand. He adjusts your grip, tilts the barrel toward the vulnerable stretch of his throat where carapace gives way to flesh. His claws click against the weapon as he steadies it.

"C'mon, darling. See what happens."

The shot rattles your teeth, and then it's everywhere. Blood, bits of tissue, saltwater spraying out in a burst. It coats his chest, slick and shining, and splatters up your hands, your arms.

For a heartbeat, you think it worked. His head rests against the back of his chair.

But his skin, ceral and dripping, slowly knits. Wet threads reach for one another and tie themselves together, leaving a shallow ridge. It's as if you did nothing at all. His head tips back up, gaze heavy-lidded and glinting. He spits the ball of lead out, a dark sludge dripping from the corner of his lips, and his good hand finds the back of your skull. He reels you in for a kiss. Defeat tastes like salt and iron.

The routine changes.

An unholy wedding occurs. You know God averts his eyes.

The man leading you down the aisle wears a skull as a mask, its hollow sockets fixed forward, fluttering gills at his neck. It is the first taste of fresh air you've had in weeks. Gruesome creatures crowd the deck, clawed hands and tendrils reaching to tug at your makeshift veil of netting and lace. Their jeers fill the air, delighted and mocking.

You are wed.

But Price admits to you on your wedding night, his deformed clawed hand cradling your head, buried within you, that he knows you can't stay. There are places he must travel, places you cannot go.

You do not believe him until he finds you an island, which, unbeknownst to you, lies on the path of a trade route. It hits you as he lifts you from the dinghy and sets you down in the shallows. This must be the end of it. This is the last you will see of him and his crew, his cursed ship. You will starve, die, and rot in freedom.

Before you take a single step toward the beach, he seizes you by your dress, turning you back to him. His eyes scour your face as if trying to memorize it. Every feature, every detail.

He leans in close, whispering in the salt-sweet air, "I'll find you again. I can promise you that."

Time blurs into a haze of hunger and thirst before you're found. It's hailed as a miracle: you survived. The sentiment haunting as you limp your way back to what remains of your life.

Years pass and wear the edges of memory down, turning them almost bearable. Captain Price's promise fades into the background, like the echo of a bad dream.

You take a husband. You find a new home. You vow to never touch the sea, again.

Until the storm.

It comes howling, ripping through the harbor, swallowing ships whole, and splintering docks. The air is charged, furious. You cannot put words to it, but in your bones, it feels personal. You watch from your window, mesmerized, until you see it—a figure in the rain.

The lantern's light swings with his steps up the hill to your cottage. The whistle from his blackened cuts through the roaring wind, and your stomach knots with the memory it drags from the depths of your mind.

Your husband goes to ask if the stranger requires shelter from the storm. Frozen in fear, you cannot stop him as he greets his death with open arms.

Through the window, you see it unfold. The moment of recognition, him stiffening as he takes in what he sees. Then he screams, the sound ripped straight from his chest, raw and panicked, the same way you screamed all those years ago.

You try to hide, of course. Try to bar the door, arm yourself with whatever you can find. But it doesn't matter. The door groans, then gives. It crashes open, shoving back the table, and in he steps. Captain Price. Rainwater and the blood of your poor husband dripping from his hands.

"Who was that, love?"

His grip is cold and iron-tight as he pulls you from your corner. "Not this again," He chuckles, plucking the kitchen knife from your hand.

The Captain drags you to bed, chest heaving, eyes moving over you like he's deciding where to start. How to make up for lost time. He speaks softly, almost tender. Husbandly.

"Ten years is long for you, I know," He peels your clothes off, marveling. He studies the changes in your body with reverence, dragging his fingertips along every line and wrinkle. "I do not fault you for your loneliness. But…a husband?" His tone hardens, eyes locking to yours. "Did you forget you were already a wife?"

Your mouth opens, then closes, nothing coming out but shallow, desperate breaths, like a fish gasping on the deck.

"This time," he murmurs as he shrugs free of his coat, then his shirt, "I'll give you something to remember our vows by."

The Captain leaves with the storm. The town counts its losses, buries its dead, and you stand by your own pile of dirt behind your cottage, a hand pressed over your belly.

Dread already quickening.

Ten years isn't that long at all.

#price x reader #dark fic

381 notes · View notes

ennabear · 5 months ago

Text

− ⌗ CATALINA ISLAND ⊹∿

cw: catalina!abby/mamabear!abby/loser!abby/sub!abby, yara mention (i’m sorry… we miss u babygirl), slight themes of homophobia but nothing too heavy, post-pillars timeline so abby has short hair and no muscles, abby falls first but reader falls harder, tribbing eventually… 🙏 (not proofread)

wc: 6.0k

quite vividly does abby remember the first time she saw you. bright overhead lights stabbed through her vision, gloved fingers and cold metal tools poked and prodded at her extremely burnt, extremely sensitive skin. but not you, you were gentle with her. speaking in a hushed voice that comforted the dull ache crawling up her head, hands keeping their distance from her sore and aching body.

she felt at ease. for the first time in… months? years? decades? suddenly the weight of previous events didn’t seem so heavy. she felt lighter, calmer, unafraid. but maybe it was just the morphine making her feel this way, because she passed back out minutes after having this epiphany.

“abby…” the boy whispered. she didn’t hear it, too deep in her slumber to respond.

“abbyyyyyy, wake up.” he pleaded. nudging her sides and arms in an attempt to wake her. still, her rest was uninterrupted.

“ABBY!” he finally shouted, yanking her braid in despair.

“j’sus christ, lev, wha’ddyou want?” she yawned. one benefit of living out at sea was that there were never any threats out there. other than the occasional storm, they were completely safe, and abby could let her guard down for the first time in what felt like forever.

“come look at the stars with me.” he demanded, pointing to the front of the boat.

“are you serious?” abby asked, somewhat furious she got woken up for this, but could she blame him? his childlike wonder provided a refreshing new perspective. and as abby always said, lev used to live under a rock, so she was always happy to introduce him to new things, although his lack of general knowledge sometimes startled her.

“come on, please?” he added. “i’ve never seen them so bright before, pleaseee?”

abby huffed and got up, grabbing her blanket and taking it with her, already predicting lev would be shivering in an instant. and she was right. somehow, in the middle of the pacific ocean, the sun beating down on them for 12 hours a day, lev was always cold.

she took a seat on the deck next to him, wrapping the blanket around the two of them as they stared up into the sky. it was beautiful, she had to admit. it was hard to see the stars this clearly on land, and seeing the whole galaxy like this was such a treasure. it never stopped, no buildings or mountains concealing the sky, it was just pure space for miles.

they were silent for a while, lev looking up at the night sky with wide eyes, and abby still trying to shake the sleepiness from her mind.

“…abby?” lev asked after a while.

“yeah?” she responded.

“do you believe in a god?”

she debated this for a while. what a tricky question. did she want to believe? yes. 1,000%. but did she believe? … did she? does she? will she?

“i’m not sure.” she says. “no, i guess not.”

“i do. and i think that’s where yara is right now.”

oh. abby’s face falls, it’s always tough to think about lev’s sister. sure, she died a hero, but she shouldn’t have. she was so young, so strong, so determined, intelligent, kind, strategic, resilient. abby never knew her very well, but she replays the conversation she had with yara quite often. she wishes so badly she could’ve saved her, but at the end of the day it’s permanent. a script written in ink, a final decision.

if there is a god, i swear i’m gonna kill him she thinks.

“do you see that star?” lev asks, pointing up to an extra luminescent star twinkling brighter than the rest of them. “i think that’s her.” he continues. “and she’s always with us.”

abby huffs a laugh and stands, returning back to bed. “i don’t believe in all that.”

lev has no choice but to chase after her if he wants the warmth of the blanket back, so he does. “maybe your dad is up there too.” he states truthfully, climbing into bed next to her. her arms wrap around him as she settles back into slumber. “maybe,” she says. “or maybe he’s just gone.”

“do you ever miss him?” lev asks.

“every day. more than anything.” and suddenly she’s asleep again.

“abby?”

“abby?” …..

“ABBY!” the voice asks again, and suddenly she’s wide awake. she’s not on the boat with lev anymore, instead she’s… in a hospital? or an office? somewhere too bright that smells too much of disinfectant.

“it was just a dream,” you soothe, shushing her pained whimpers and cries. “you can go back to sleep if you’d like.”

she looks over to you, one of the sweetest sights she’s ever seen. “i’ve seen you before.” she whispers.

you smile and pat her hands, abby is one of your favorite patients. being on narcotics for weeks makes for an easy client, all you really do is change her bandages and occasionally silence her night terrors. you’ve actually gotten to know her quite well from her… son? you still don’t know the full story on that, apparently she betrayed the entire washington liberation front to adopt him and his sister, and that she’s been a better caretaker to him than his biological mother ever has been. but you can see in her youthful features that she’s still young. too young to be a mother. and lev cringes at the thought of calling her mom.

“where am i?” she asks, voice gravelly from being asleep for so long.

“catalina island critical care unit.” you respond gently. “or, CICCU, but i don’t wanna confuse you with too many letters.”

“where’s lev?” she asks frantically, suddenly fully aware that she’s not in the same room as him right now.

“he’s okay. sleeping. it’s pretty late.”

“was i talking?” she asks, cringing at the thought of someone as perfect as you listening to her blabber in her sleep.

“no, not this time. but i always prefer your talking over your screaming.” you joke.

“what do i talk about?” she asks, although not sure she wants to hear the answer.

“lev mostly. sometimes others, usually ‘manny’ and ‘alice’.”

“oh.” she sighs. she feels so much better compared to the night she first saw you. was that when she arrived? whatever, she can’t remember anything other than you. her muscles aren’t sore anymore, her skin feels cooler and softer, finally.

“you should go back to sleep.” you say. “your body needs the rest, and i’m not really supposed to be talking to my patients anyways.”

she raises an eyebrow at this. “why’s that?”

“my social skills are no good, that’s why they put me on the night shift. i’m not sweet or gentle enough for daytime caretaking.”

blasphemy. you? not sweet or gentle? this is the first time in her whole life she’s felt truly comfortable, and it’s all because of you. she closes her eyes, willing herself to get more rest before she sees you again.

her daytime nurse fucking sucks. she’s an old lady with a scratchy voice, not deep and smooth like yours. and she’s mean. abby always catches her talking shit about other doctors at the hospital, and it’s not even normal stuff like gossip or personal experience and whatnot, she takes real jabs at the people in the community, coming for their looks and personalities. worst of all, the mean nurse hates you.

she always chatters on about how you can never do your job correctly, and apparently you’re wasting all of god’s honor by not being married yet. but it’s not until the mean nurse mentions “sleeping around with… females…” that she finally listens to what the mean nurse is saying, and she has a strong feeling she relates to you just fine.

abby sighs in relief when you walk in for your night shift. you catch this, giggling a little “what was that about?”

“i hate the other nurse.” she pouts, grimacing at the thought of seeing her again when dusk turns to dawn.

“who, dr. cosby?” you ask.

“yeah, if that’s her name.”

“i don’t like her either,” you admit. “but she’s the only one completely trained in full time caretaking.”

“do you have to work with her?” abby asks, growing slightly defensive over you. she’s gotten to know you over the past few days, too, and you’ve been able to fill in some of the gaps from the stories lev has told you.

“yeah, almost every day. she’s kinda like my boss since she’s training me, but she doesn’t pay me or anything… which kinda makes it worse. i feel like i deserve an extra paycheck for putting up with her.” you laugh.

abby still can’t get over your laugh, the sweet, deep giggles that seem to float out of you like bubbles. abby doesn’t realize this yet, but she has a huge crush on you.

“anyways, you’re supposed to be asleep, anderson.” you accuse, pointing a jokingly angry finger at her.

“yeah, yeah, i know.” she says, sighing deeply. “but i missed you, and i wanted to see you again after the mean nurse.”

“that’s sweet.” you start. “but if the mean nurse finds out you haven’t been sleeping because of me, i’m fired. and they’ll replace me with someone worse.”

abby laughs, pulling a pillow over her face to cover her giggles, and falls into another restful sleep after a few minutes.

she manages to survive a few more days with dr. cosby. or, the mean nurse, in the vocabulary the two of you share. the only thing that makes it bearable is knowing she’ll see you every night, and lev even visits her sometimes. tonight is different, though, because you don’t walk in at 9:00 pm when you’re regularly scheduled. dr. cosby does. abby groans audibly, she wishes she would’ve done it louder. well, she wishes she could scream in dr. cosby’s face, but she isn’t trying to get kicked out of the CICCU before she’s fully healed.

“usual nurse is out.” the mean nurse spits. ‘usual nurse’? so she can’t find the courtesy to learn your name?

“out where?” abby questions.

“on a… date.” she hisses.

oh shit, abby grins. a date with a woman i bet. dr. cosby isn’t happy about that.

and then it hits her.

oh shit… abby frowns. you’re on a date with someone else right now. you decided to spend the night with another woman, ditching your usual visits with abby. this hurts. her heart twists with jealousy, suddenly the room is spinning, and she has to turn and face the wall before dr. cosby can catch her weeping into her blanket like a little kid.

abby hasn’t seen you once since the night before your date. when the mean nurse comes back in the morning, she discharges abby and orders a soldier to escort her to the lodge she and lev are to share. so that’s it? she’s never gonna see you again? lev is out at school when she gets there, so abby has the whole place to herself until he gets back. she finds herself staring into the mirror for an unhealthy amount of time. christ, she looks different. her hair is short and choppy, although it’s gotten longer since she’s arrived. her muscles are almost completely gone. whatever the lack of training couldn’t remove, malnutrition withered away. she has scars all over her face and arms, her skin is still bumpy and blistered from the overexposure to the california sun. she looks… smaller? not tall and buff and scary anymore, but weak. fragile. she doesn’t look like abby. and that’s a terrifying thought.

she spends about an hour in the shower, scrubbing the hospital scent off of her skin and running her fingers through her short hair. she decides to spent the rest of the day orienting herself in this new space. she’s never lived in a real house before, and she feels like an alien trying to do so. lev finds her laying on the couch, studying the bumps and ridges in the ceiling.

“abby?” he calls from the doorway, slinging his backpack off of his shoulders. the poor kid almost cries when he sees her, out of excitement or fear, nobody knows. abby tries to pick him up as he throws himself at her body, but she can’t anymore. she doesn’t have the strength with how much she’s been weakening and how much lev has been growing. this crushes her even more, but she settles for a firm squeeze to the kid, and realizes how much her ribs do still hurt.

she doesn’t sleep well that night, it’s not the same without you. she misses your heavy voice lulling her to sleep and the euphoria she got from laughing with you. something deep and heavy settles in her stomach when she remembers you now spend your nights with someone else. she’s jealous. and she’s sad. overwhelmed from being in such a new place. and she misses you. and tonight when she sleeps, it’s dreamless and restless and leaves her even more exhausted.

you miss abby. you didn’t know the night you were gone would be the night she got discharged, and you wonder if this is a coincidence or if it’s some evil plan from dr. cosby. your date wasn’t even a date anyways. the girl you were meeting showed up to the diner, but left after a few minutes after saying she needed to freshen up. you saw her leave out of the back door. so you snacked on soggy fries and day-old fish until you got fed up and went home and cried into your pillow. was dr. cosby right? are you really not likable? to make matters worse, now that abby is gone you don’t have any more easy patients. you have to take care of a snappy old man who was in a boating accident. nobody can tell if he’s suffering from brain damage or if he’s just stupid, and it’s starting to drive you mad.

you miss abby. you miss watching her sleep, how her sweet face would contort into an expression of pure bliss as she finally had a peaceful dream, and how sometimes she would reach out and hold your hand for a few hours while she slept. she might be the only person on this whole island who likes you.

you two don't run into each other for about a month. the community you live in is small, but the whole island is divided into communities of about the same size. abby is sentenced to a desk job, something she'd never seen herself doing. she spends all day crunching numbers, scribbling things down on various documents and punching in even more symbols on her calculator. she's surprisingly good at it, her brain works efficiently and she's incredible at finding mistakes and working through them. lev teases her about becoming a nerd, but he's the one who voluntarily stays after school for tutoring, so she teases him right back.

you run into her right before one of your shifts, picking up a prescription from the pharmacy and dropping by her workplace to pick up some more documents. you freeze in your tracks when you see her, awkwardly blurting out an "abby! wow, uh... you look good."

and it's true. she looks better than good, she's glowing. her hair looks softer and fluffier now that it's not matted from the pillows, her skin is clearing up and restoring its natural color (which is a lot more peaceful than the burnt red it was), and she looks fuller. not nearly as big and muscular as she used to be, but she's started to gain some weight back and finally doesn't look tiny. abby notices you staring, taking in her new appearance. "thanks... so do you." she chuckles.

"i didn't know they cleared you to work." you stammer. actually, you didn't know anything about her ever since she was suddenly good to go, which you've decided is definitely dr. cosby's fault. so the two of you spend the rest of the night chatting and catching up with one another. she tells you about her job, her house, and how good lev is doing in school. you tell her about some of your newest patients, and when she asks about your date, you find pleasure in telling her that it was terrible. abby feels giddy after hearing this, not that she gets a kick out of your humiliation, but she's happy to know that you're single, and that you regret ditching her that night.

the time completely slips away from both of you, and before you know it you're an hour late for work. "shit!" you jump. "god, i'm sorry. i gotta go, i'm about to get fired!" you cry as you run down the hallway and out of the building. she laughs at this, tidying up her desk before clocking out and waking herself home. she sleeps very well that night, knowing that you're single and that you're willing to be late to work just to talk to her.

she greets you two days later with coffee outside of your office. "glad to see you didn't get fired." she jokes, you roll your eyes. "if i get written up one more time i'm done for." neither of your bosses are in today, so you finally have some peace to do your job without being yelled at. when you're not meeting with a patient, you let abby follow you around like a lost puppy, you notice how soft her hands have become when you grab them and tug her along next to you.

"thanks?" she mutters, cheeks sparkling with a pretty pink blush.

"oh, shit, i didn't mean to say that out loud." you cringe. "but it's true. they're very soft."

abby blushes impossibly more at this, so you like her hands? does that... mean anything? you're so forward with her it makes her a little dizzy, it's hard to keep up with your subtle flirtatious remarks when she can barely look at you without stuttering and tripping over herself. you're like a savior to her. you are her savior, if you didn't patch her up after her and lev had arrived, would she still be here? if she didn't get eaten alive by an infection she might've offed herself after the countless exhausting interactions with the mean nurse.

“how did you know how i take my coffee?” you ask suddenly. abby doesn’t know how to answer. well, she does, actually. but she’s too shy to say that sometimes she’d wake up and watch you while she was supposed to be sleeping. you’d place your coffee cup on her nightstand and flick on the lamp next to it, and then instantly stick your nose in a book. when she got done studying your face, she memorized the books you liked and the coffee you drank.

“if you’re stalking me, i won’t be upset.” you joke. abby laughs awkwardly, still calculating her answer in her mind.

“i dunno, i just know you, i guess.” she finally responds.

“fair, but now i feel bad because i don’t know how you take your coffee.” you frown. she chuckles, dismissing your concern.

“no, seriously. i feel like i barely know you, and i miss getting to know you ever since the mean nurse discharged you the night i was out.” you tell her. she can’t see where you’re going with this, so she just freezes and waits for you to make it obvious. “we should go out for coffee sometime. this weekend, maybe, if you’re free.”

are you asking her on a date? platonically or romantically? do you actually like her as much as she likes you? abby stares at the ground as she thinks about what to say again. “if you don’t want to, that’s okay.” you smile. “i won’t be offended.”

“i-” she starts, trying to speak deliberately as to not stumble over her words. “i do want to. that would be really great.”

you plant a kiss on her cheek as she turns to leave, heading to her own job instead of yours. she barely registers it, giggling and swatting you away before realizing that you kissed her. she halts her stroll when she finally processes it, reaching her fingers up to feel over the spot your lips pressed to. her cheeks turn beet red as she replays what happened, and fuck, she wants you to do it again. she debates running back into the hospital to beg for another kiss, but decides not to make a fool of herself. not today, at least.

her shift passes in what feels like forever. she wants to see you again, she wants it to be the weekend so badly. curse the calendar for deeming today a thursday, and curse your work schedule for not letting you go on a date with her now.

she clocks out excitedly as soon as her shift is over, practically jogging home to meet lev for dinner. they eat on the couch, watching some old dvd of a pre-breakout day cartoon. lev falls asleep as the show crawls on, so she has to face the disappointment of shaking him awake, wishing she still had the strength to pick him up. she watches as he waddles with all ten of his blankets to his bedroom, and then collects the dishes to scrub them off in the sink.

just as sleep is about to take her, she bolts awake with a great idea. shoving her shoes on, she jogs back out of the door, practically sprinting to the hospital to catch you before you clock in for the night. when you see her standing behind you, you jump backwards and yelp, almost knocking over a cart full of needles. “god, abby!” you curse. “you scared the shit outta me.”

“sorry…” she smiles sheepishly, a look you’ve grown to love.

“what are you doing here?” you question. “are you hurt?”

“no, i just wanted to see you. i couldn’t sleep, if that counts as an ailment.” she says, lying through her teeth. she was about to sleep soundly knowing your date was only in a few days.

“well, i’m glad to know you’re okay, but you really need to work on prioritizing your sleep.” you scold her, but you can’t help but melt at the dopey smile on her lips.

“yes, doctor.” she laughs, rolling her eyes. “are we still on for this weekend?”

“of course, if you’re not a zombie by the time we get to saturday.” you smile, nudging her with your elbow.

“alright, sorry,” she sighs theatrically. “i guess i’ll leave you alone now.”

“i’m sorry for kissing you on the cheek earlier.” you blurt out, although you probably should just let the moment be. “it was just… muscle memory i guess.”

“muscle memory?” she asks, dumbfounded.

“i dunno, sorry, it was definitely inappropriate. but you used to ask me for a small peck whenever i woke you up from your night terrors. i’d be surprised if you remember it, though. we had you on some pretty hefty meds.”

abby has always had trouble sleeping. as a kid, she’d have terrible nightmares that she couldn’t wake up from on her own. her dad would nudge her awake, and then soothe her back to sleep with a firm kiss on the cheek. it helped every time, and she slept like a baby knowing her dad would protect her. after he passed, the nightmares were more frequent, and there was no one to calm her down once she woke.

that must’ve been why she’d wake up screaming, eyes open yet unable to focus as you calmed her down to the best of your ability. you’d take her heart rate and blood pressure to make sure nothing was out of the ordinary, and then stroke her short hair while she fell back to sleep. she’d huff and kick for the first few minutes, and then reach out for your hand, guiding it to the apple of her cheek. you thought at first she wanted something cool against her burning skin, but once you moved your hand away, she demanded a kiss in a raspy and very delirious voice.

“no, it’s okay, really.” she assures you. “it’s a comfort thing i used to do with my dad. you don’t need to feel bad, i promise.”

“go to sleep, princess abby.” you demand again. “i’ll see you saturday.”

with a smirk, abby turns and walks back out the door she came in. she slips back through her front door as silently as she can, and falls asleep thinking about all the ways she’s embarrassed herself in front of you. how many more times can she do it? and how long until she cuts the shit and admits her feelings for you?

saturday comes quicker than abby would like. ever since that night, she couldn’t help but fret about your feelings toward her. did you really kiss her out of muscle memory, or did you genuinely want to? her heart warmed at the sweet gesture of you soothing her back to sleep on the nights her dreams were infiltrated with death and fear and abandonment, but did you do that with all of your patients?

she tried to ignore these thoughts as they came up, but it was nearly impossible to. she dressed herself in a beige sweater and a pair of jeans, tucking her hair behind her ears and accessorizing with a black hair clip. she looks gorgeous. it’s hard not to faint when you see her, the fluttering in your stomach keeping you on your feet.

the pair of you sit tucked away in a cafe booth, chatting away like time isn’t real. you’re surprised to learn that abby knows quite a bit about medicine, the knowledge coming from her father who was a doctor too. she tells you stories of her childhood, and you can see the resemblance between her and her dad, she treats lev just as well as her dad treated her. you don’t mention this, though, because you can tell she’s starting to tear up the more she talks about him.

when the conversation slows down, you decide to bite the bullet and ask her something that’s been on your mind. “abby? can i ask you something?”

“shoot.” she says.

“do you… like me?” you try. “i mean— i dunno. i’ve never really had friends before, not like you. i guess i just wanna know if you enjoy hanging out with me, or if you’re just doing this because i seem desperate.”

“of course i like you.” she affirms. “i’ve never met anyone as sweet or as gentle as you, and i’ve met a lot of people.”

“okay, cool. good. i like you too.” you say, reaching out to grab her hand that’s resting on the table. she smiles and squeezes your hand, looking deeply into your eyes.

“do you wanna get out of here?” you ask.

sand fills the holes in your shoes as the two of you stroll the beach hand in hand. abby still has that giddy feeling in her stomach, although she still can’t tell if you’re actually into her or if you just wanna be friends. you did mention just friends earlier, but you’re also holding her hand sweetly in yours.

you don’t know how to explain your feelings for abby. she’s such a sweet girl, and she’s a few years younger than you. you want her all to yourself, you want to take all of her pain and suffering away and start a family with her. you wanna run away with her and live in a small beach house together. but is that crazy? you’ve only known her for about four months at this point, how long is too long to wait? how long is too short? you don’t wanna overwhelm her, she just started a completely new life after escaping seattle where all of her friends and family were murdered in front of her. it’s obvious she’s still grieving, missing the family she created and the life she had.

when you reach the top of the hill, you sit and dangle your feet off of the mini cliff, looking out at the horizon painted in front of you. abby takes a seat next to you, wrapping both of her hands around yours. you smile at her, proud of how far she’s come ever since rolling in half-dead and practically fried. she looks human now, and she looks really… pretty.

“you flatter me too much.” she says with a shy smile.

you groan. jesus christ, you need to stop thinking out loud before it kills you.

“sorry, i didn’t mean to make things weird.” you cringe again.

“it’s not weird. i think you’re pretty too.”

your heart skips a beat at this. it’s too late, your habit of thinking out loud is about to kill you right now. because your lips are on abby’s and you’re kissing her with all of your might. her lips taste like honey and coffee, a sweet mix of flavors that you’ll crave for the rest of your life.

“is it weird that i just kissed my doctor?” she asks.

“i’m not your doctor. i’m the crazy person who’s job was to watch you sleep in case you had seizures or heart attacks.”

she giggles at this, leaning in to capture your lips in another sweet kiss. you both stay there until sunset, giggling and kissing and chatting like little kids in love.

to your dismay, you get up and leave as soon as the sunset fades, not wanting to be stranded at sea in pitch black darkness. abby walks you home, arm thrown over your shoulders. you frown when you reach your own cabin, not wanting to leave her. “can i see you tomorrow?” you ask, praying she’ll say yes.

“of course,” she says. “i’ll be here.”

it’s impossible for you to sleep after the incredible day you just had. you keep licking your lips in hope that the honey-coffee taste will still be lingering, but it’s not. tomorrow can’t come soon enough, and now you feel bad for teasing abby about her lack of sleep because you finally get it.

abby sleeps soundly tonight. all of her fears are dissolved floating away like ashes in the wind. she feels free. finally ready to start a new chapter of her life now that she’s escaped the tragedies from seattle and the torture from santa barbara.

you wake up bright and early the next morning, showering and cooking and cleaning and dressing yourself as efficiently as you can. the excitement of seeing her again fuels your motivation, but once your whole lodge is spotless, it’s hard to find something to do with your energy. you sigh in relief when abby knocks on your door ten minutes early, her brain must be in sync with yours.

as you open the door, you practically jump into her arms. she pulls you in for a big bear hug, seeming to have missed you just as much as you’ve missed her.

you have nothing planned, so you snack on a box of cookies while sitting in bed, staring out of the window that overlooks the ocean. it’s a gloomy day, but it’s nice to people watch and gossip about various things you’ve heard through the grapevine.

after a while you get tired, and abby lets you rest your head on her shoulder in case you wanna fall asleep. you don’t, though. no matter how heavy your eyelids get, you force yourself to enjoy every second that passes with her. well, there is something you wanna do with her, but you’re not too sure how she feels about it.

“abby? can i ask you another weird question?”

“always.” she laughs.

“do you wanna have sex with me?”

her heart thrums harder in her chest, and heat spreads from her cheeks to her ears.

“sorry, i shouldn’t ha—”

“yes.” she interrupts. “but, i— it’s been a while. i’m not very… i dunno…”

“if you don’t want to it’s fine.” you assure her. “it’s also fine if you wanna just lay there and let me do the work, i don’t mind.”

she nods at the second option, leaning back and throwing her shirt off while you do the same. her abdomen is less bloody and bruised than you remember, but you can still see her ribs and a few scars. she blushes when she catches you staring, leaning back timidly.

“don’t be nervous, abby. i’m a doctor, i’ve seen bodies. especially yours, and i think you’re beautiful.”

she blushes harder at this, but laughs and says “i thought you were a creepy nurse who watches people sleep, not a doctor.”

you giggle and shut her up with a kiss, reaching down to unbutton her jeans. “can i?” you ask.

“yes, please, fuck.”

as soon as you get her jeans down, you tug her boxers down too. sure you should wait, and it might be polite to engage in a little foreplay, but you’re craving her right now. her bush is curly in the center, right where is dripping wet, and she has a beautiful blonde happy trail that crawls all the way up to her belly button. she’s so hot you might need an oxygen tank.

“the quicker you stop staring and fuck me, the quicker we can get you that oxygen tank.” she laughs.

“oh god… i didn’t mean to say that. again.”

you tug your own underwear off and sit your cunt right on top of hers. abby intertwines her legs with yours, and the angle lets you slide across her perfectly. “jesus christ.” she moans, currently unable to control the noises she’s making.

she’s so sensitive it drives you mad. the last time she hooked up with anyone was more than a year ago, and ever since then she’s been prioritizing keeping herself alive over jacking off. whenever your clits bump, you feel a small, warm splash of her squirt against your cunt, and it makes you more aroused than you’ve ever been.

it gets very messy very quickly. your lips crash together in a heated and very wet kiss, and your cunts are creating a pile of slick that’s currently dripping down abby’s ass and making a puddle on the bed. you can’t tell if you’re dizzy because of your arousal, sleepiness, or love for her, but you feel like you’re on cloud nine.

abby cums after only a few minutes, and when she does she twitches and writhes and squeals so much you think you might have to sedate her. you keep grinding on her until you cum, which quickly overstimulates her even further until you’re almost positive she’s blacked out or something.

when you come down from your own high, you scoot yourself off of her. two clear strings of slick connect you to her, but eventually break and drip down onto the bed. she sighs when you lay next to her.

“was that good?” you ask.

“fuck. i think i need the oxygen mask more than you do.” she pants. you laugh and wrap your arms around her, ready to get a few minutes of cuddling in before you force your aftercare routine upon her.

she sighs. “thanks for taking care of me.”

“you know i’ll always take care of you, abby. right? just because i’m not your nurse anymore doesn’t mean i don’t love you anymore.”

“you love me?”

“ever since the day i met you.”

#abby oneshot WHO CHEERED????#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby the last of us #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson smut #abby tlou #the last of us

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