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starmapz · 3 days ago

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what you know - ch10: miscalculation || r. sukuna

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

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

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic attacks. 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 ; 12.5k.

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

The campus feels quieter than usual without Sukuna’s presence. It’s not as though he’s particularly loud or boisterous, he simply demands attention with his demeanor. Of course, you knew he wouldn’t be at lunch, but it doesn’t change the fact that you find yourself drifting away from the topic at hand quite frequently. Uraume, sitting in what’s usually Sukuna’s seat, finds themself nudging you every so often just so that your friends can hold your attention for a few moments.

But Shoko and Kento can only pull you aside so many times. It’s not like you’re unhappy, so they can’t be upset with you, but it doesn’t ease their concerns.

As the lunch hour ends and you snap a lid over your tupperware, you’re surprised when Toji drops a strong hand over the container, staring at you intently to stop you from getting up. Peering at him with a raised brow, you tilt your head.

“Got a minute?”

“Um- yeah,” you smile, peeking at the time on your phone. “I have a few minutes before class.”

“Great.” Toji pushes to his feet, letting you throw the container he’d held down into your bag before leading the way out into the frigid air. Your breath billows around you as you trail after Toji’s long strides. Finding a spot with an overhang, he takes a seat on a dry bench pressed against the brick of the lunch hall. It’s not warm, but at least it’s free from snow. You take a seat beside him, kicking at a pebble by your foot.

You’re thoroughly ready for winter to be over, sick of the chilly walks between classes and waiting for your car to warm up. Nothing sounds nicer right now than being able to go back to cute sundresses and shorts with a tank top, only needing to throw on a hoodie during cool mornings and nights.

Turning your attention to Toji on your right, you shoot him a curious smile. “What’s up, Toji?”

“Sorry ‘bout yesterday,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. As usual, it falls back into his face, clearly bothering him as he scowls at the feeling of raven strands tickling the bridge of his nose.

“It’s fine,” you mirror his sigh. “It’s not your fault. He’s like that,” you shrug.

Toji rolls his eyes. “Yeah, no fuckin’ kidding.” He shoves his hands in his pockets as he leans back against the brick wall. His unimpressed emerald eyes train on a dripping icicle clinging to the overhang above. “Who else knows ‘bout the kids?”

You hesitate, not really sure it’s your place to say, but you also get the feeling that Toji has no intention of backing down. Toji is the emphatic version of Sukuna, with all the attitude, but lacking in stoicism. He’s far more vocal with his disdain than Sukuna usually is.

“Uraume, Shoko, and Kento know.”

“Shoko and Kento?” He parrots in disbelief. “Oh yeah, let’s tell the whole fuckin’ peanut gallery, but not Toji.” He puffs out a breath of air, rolling his eyes. “Shit, I knew the fucker didn’t care ‘bout me, but he ain’t close to them either,” he huffs, pulling his hood up over his head. “Nothin’ against y’r friends. Sometimes I just feel so fuckin’ stupid when it comes to that dumbass.”

“I get it.” You kick your heel against the packed snow at your feet, staring at the indentation left behind. “I think he still cares about you,” you offer, though there’s not much else to be said in Toji’s favor about the situation. “He’s just…”

“An asshole,” he snorts, leaning forward on his knees.

With a tight-lipped smile, you lean back against the rough bricks behind you, understanding immediately why Toji isn’t leaning back anymore. It isn’t particularly comfortable. “Was he different when you guys were kids?”

“Mmm…” Toji hums in thought, tilting his head side to side as though to say ‘somewhat’. “He’s never been a saint, but Jin kept ‘im in line. We played a lot of basketball, his kid brother liked watchin’.” Toji smiles to himself, the scar on his lip stretching. “He was always a bit more into skatin’ and art than sports, though. He had every old court tagged somewhere.”

You tilt your head curiously, engrossed in learning more. “Tagged?”

Toji smirks, tilting his head to get a better look at you. “Graffiti.”

“Oh!” Your eyes widen, glimmering as you learn more about a younger Sukuna, before he became so jaded. “Was he always quiet?”

“Nah. Wouldn’t say he was chatty, but he wasn’t so tough to have a conversation with. He was always draggin’ me along to some new place he wanted t’ paint,” Toji gruffs, raising a hand to his chin to scratch at faint stubble. “Always thought it was weird he just stopped wantin’ to do anything. Guess I know why now,” he sighs, idly moving to pick at his nails, which are already fairly destroyed.

“I’m really sorry, Toji. It sounded like Jin meant a lot to you.”

With a long, deep inhale, Toji nods. “Yeah. Yeah, he did. Always will.” He swallows hard, harshly rubbing his eyes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was about to cry. He doesn’t seem like he’s the type to cry often, but if Jin was as much of a father to him as he’d made it sound, you can only imagine he’s more beat up than he’s letting on.

The raven-haired man lets his hair drape over his face as he leans on his knees, his gaze glued to the ground. You’re keen enough to notice that it seems like he’s attempting to mask how upset he truly is, but you don’t know him well enough to offer much more than words of sympathy.

“I always wondered what happened f’r him to change so much. God-” Toji shakes his head, rubbing his face against the back of his forearm. “He’s such a fuckin’ prick. I knew Jin got sick but I never thought-”

Whether his voice breaks or he cuts himself off, you aren’t sure. With your brow drawn together as you listen intently, all you can do is watch as he turns his head away.

Toji clears his throat, his gaze kept firmly on the ground. “Did you talk to ‘im after I left?”

“A bit. He told me you guys didn’t talk about that sort of stuff when I asked why he didn’t tell you.”

Toji shoots you a look of utter disbelief, his lip curling in frustration as he narrows his gaze. You see now that his eyes have a red sheen to them. “That was his excuse?”

With a tight-lipped smile, you shrug.

“Christ,” he groans. “What a dumbass. Guess Jin takin’ me in every time I got kicked out didn’t mean anything to ‘im.”

You chew on your lip, uncertain of how to answer that. Clearly things are a bit more gray than how Sukuna considered their friendship, but you can’t exactly say where you stand when it comes to being in the middle of them. Toji’s unequivocally in the right to be every bit frustrated with Sukuna, but you hardly know the man.

Sighing, Toji pulls his phone from his pocket, getting to his feet. “I gotta get to class. Thanks for this.”

“Sounds good!” You get to your feet as well, getting ready to make your way to class. “Oh-! Um, Toji?”

The raven-haired man doesn’t say anything, turning to face you with one hand on the strap of his backpack and a look of mild discontentment. You pull your bag strap up over your shoulder, clinging to it tightly.

“Please don’t give up on him. He needs the help.”

Toji’s sharp gaze flickers between yours, examining the curl of your brow as you hopefully fiddle with the fabric beneath your fingertips.

Blowing out a breath of air from his nose, he shoots you a half-hearted smirk before turning to walk towards his class with a wave.

You pray to whoever will listen that that’s Toji’s version of saying he’ll hear you out.

–

The past week after your chat with Toji has not been kind to you, and as you wait for Sukuna to open his door late in the evening, you find yourself just about ready to pass out. You want to lean your head on the door and let sleep take you right then and there, but at least you can get some rest soon- even if it will be strange falling asleep in a foreign environment- Sukuna’s apartment.

As Sukuna swings the door open, clad in his blue polo that looks painfully out of place on his bulky form, you can tell he’s as gassed as you are. His eyes travel the length of your body, something that makes you blush more than you maybe should, as you know he’s just evaluating that you’ve had as long of a day as he has, based on the business attire beneath your jacket.

Still, his eyes linger on the pencil skirt just long enough that you think you’re fooling yourself.

Swallowing, you smile as you push past him without a word, catching even Sukuna off-guard as your usual sunny disposition is replaced with a yawn and a drag of your feet. He shuts the door, trailing behind you and catching your gaze where your dark circles are just as apparent as his.

“If I’m askin’ too much of you-”

“I’m fine, Kuna,” you yawn, using your sleeve to cover it before shrugging the coat off. Setting it on the back of the couch, you tilt your head with a mild smile. “Just tired.”

“Mm.” Sukuna idly hums, raising the back of his hand to your forehead.

“Are you-? Stop it, I’m not sick.” You swat his hand away, sticking out your bottom lip dramatically.

Sukuna’s chest rumbles in a low chuckle. “Alright, alright. Just lookin’ out for ya.”

Hugging your arms around yourself, you plop down on the couch behind Yuji and Choso, who are sitting on the floor in front of your old GameCube as they contemplate what game to play for their last couple of hours before you have them get ready for bed. You frown at the sight of Choso, who seems to languidly agree with anything Yuji chooses.

Sukuna leans over the back of the couch by your shoulder, holding himself up on his forearms. “That Animal Crossing game you left here, it had a memory card in the case, they found your file.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” he snorts, “you called yourself ‘Flower’.”

Giggling, you tilt your head to better see him. “Really?”

“Mhm. You were dressed in all pink with little pigtails.”

“That… Sounds about right,” you grin, unable to help it as you continue giggling at the thought. “I stopped playing because one of the cat villagers made me cry. My mom took the game away and I didn’t find it again until I moved out.”

Sukuna’s lips purse as he stares at you. “A cat made you cry?”

“They were mean in that game!”

Sukuna’s eyes narrow, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Sure they were, flower.”

“I’m begging you not to call me that,” you whine.

“Dunno, it kinda fits,” he hums impishly, giving your shoulder a nudge. He’s so close that his breath tickles your neck.

You shove his bicep in return, catching him off-guard just enough to have him stumbling to keep himself upright. He chuckles to himself, standing straight and stretching his arms over his head. Your eyes trail down to the way the shirt rides up, revealing his toned abdomen and- oh god stop thinking about his salmon-toned happy trail. Tearing your gaze away, you stare at the pile of games on the floor.

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Sukuna relents with a chuckle, your wandering eyes going unnoticed. “Washed the sheets for ya, you know where everything else is.”

You hum, nodding your head along gratefully.

“Tired, princess?”

You nod again, yawning as you’re reminded of your drowsiness. “Yeah, I was shadowing all day. It’s stressful.”

“Yeah?” He asks as he shuffles around behind you, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge to toss into his work bag.

“Mhm. My co-worker was practically drilling me with questions all day.”

“I’m sure ya did good,” he grunts, taking a final look around the apartment. There’s something strange about leaving at nine at night rather than three or four, but the sight of you, with a tired, albeit content expression, curled into the corner of his couch in your work attire seems to light something within him.

His stomach churns uncomfortably, as though something is trying to break free from his gut. He brings a hand up to scratch beneath the polo, telling himself it’s just the material of the shirt, but he can’t deny the way he can’t seem to tear his gaze from you. Your attention is on Yuji and Choso, your arms wrapped around yourself and legs pulled up onto the couch in the comfiest fashion you can manage with a pencil skirt on.

He clears his throat, dragging a hand down his face. Christ, he’s tired too. It’ll be a long night.

Making his way to the door, he casts a glance at his brothers before fixing you with his stare. “I’ll see ya in the morning. Let me know if you need anything.”

You tilt your head briefly given that you’ve never been able to contact him at work, before your eyes light up with realization. “I can text you now!” You gasp excitedly.

“Don’t make a habit of it,” Sukuna grumbles as he closes and locks the door behind him.

Unfortunately for him, you would make a habit of it.

For now though, you turn your attention to the boys, stifling a yawn. “If you two choose something multiplayer, I’ll join you.”

Now at the center of the kids’ attention, you can see the way Yuji’s eyes light up instantly, while Choso’s reaction is far more subtle. His hands still, no longer occupied with a button on his deep purple plaid shirt sleeve. It’s hardly worth calling progress, but it’s a sign he finds comfort in your presence, and you’ll take that.

Yuji flips a couple of games over, separating any that allow three players before he’s left with Super Smash Bros. Melee, Mario Party 6, Ribbit King, and MarioKart.

“What’s this?” He asks, holding up the case for Ribbit King to you.

“That’s a golf game,” you explain, “with frogs instead of balls. Frog golf.”

“Frolf!” Yuji exclaims with a grin. You catch a glimmer of amusement in Choso’s expression as he shares a more subdued version of his brother’s sentiment.

Popping the disc into the system, you slide off the couch onto the ground, where both kids join you as you lean against the couch. Yuji immediately leans into you, holding the orange controller that’s become his favorite since you’d left the system at their house.

As the game boots up and you each choose your characters and frogs, it takes only a moment before the boys have a decent grasp on the mechanics. Falling into competitive banter with Yuji comes fairly easily, and to your delight, every so often even Choso chimes in.

Yuji pulls ahead fairly handily before you know it, leaving you and Choso to compete for second place. After a close competition, the middle brother manages to just barely pull ahead of you in points, leaving you in last place. As the podium pops onto the screen and your penguin character dips its head in defeat, Yuji bounds up excitedly before hopping into your lap.

With a brief oof at the force that Yuji uses to collapses against you, you find yourself giggling at the boy’s glee.

It doesn’t matter how tired you are, Yuji is a bundle of joy and his happiness is infectious. You pull Choso into the hug, praying the happiness is infectious to him as well. He may not display the same jovial expression that you or Yuji do, but he does hug you both back with enough force that tells you that if nothing else, he appreciates the effort to include him.

“Good job Yu, you make a good golfer,” you pat his back lightly.

He pulls back with a pointed stare. “Frolfer.”

Amused, you blow a puff of air through your nose. “Right. Frolfer.” Yuji pushes himself to his feet, plopping down in front of the stack of games again. His little hands flip each case as he examines them. “Did you want to play something else?” You query, watching Choso carefully as he slips back into his spot beside you with a distant expression.

“I wanna play what Cho wants to play!” Yuji insists, a hopeful expression crossing his face.

Your lips part at what would usually be a kind action from a little brother, but the context behind his words makes it feel more like pleading. A hopeful action to bring his older brother back, even if only for a moment.

Choso’s sullen gaze trails slowly from Yuji to the pile of games, lingering on the stack. When the moment draws on a second too long, the little boy deflates.

“Cho?” Yuji leans forward on his knees, staring down sadly at the pile of games. His thumbs smooth over the case in his hands, before he sets it aside and drags himself across the floor until he’s seated on his knees in front of his older brother.

With a frown that mirrors Yuji’s, you set a hand on Choso’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Do you wanna talk, Choso?” You try to encourage him, pulling him from whatever stupor he was trapped within. There may be fleeting moments of amusement or appreciation here and there, but the young boy rarely seems present.

Choso rubs his nose with the back of his hand, blinking at the stack of cases on the floor. “Um- whatever Yuji wants is-”

“I wanna play what you wanna play,” Yuji pouts, his tone now laced with desperation as he drags the stack of games towards his big brother. His lip wobbles as he holds up a Sonic game, to be met only with indifference. He blinks away tears, setting the case down, only to hold up a Mario game. Met with the same indifference, his whole body trembles.

You swear it all happens in the blink of an eye.

At the sight of the Yuji’s trembling hands and wide-eyed expression, Choso scrambles to keep his brother happy, stammering over words as he attempts to sate his brother’s sadness, but it’s too late. Yuji bursts into sobs, crying loudly about missing his brothers, which in turn causes Choso to pull his knees into himself, hiding the silent tears that fall down his face as well as guilt swirls in his eyes.

You scramble to pick up the pieces as quickly as possible, wrapping an arm around Yuji and pulling him into a tight hug. You attempt to do the same for Choso, but he stiffens to prevent you from doing so. Recognizing that he doesn’t want or need the same attention as Yuji, you opt for simply sitting beside him with Yuji in your lap.

You’ve noticed Choso tends to prefer talking things out, and in all honesty you think all three of the brothers could use a could talk. That’s a tough sell with Sukuna though, so you’ll settle for two out of three.

You soothingly hush Yuji, rubbing his back gently as he clings to you, no doubt staining your dress shirt in tears and snot. You’d likely need a trip to the laundromat for it, but it hardly matters when your heart squeezes at the melancholic sobs that fill the air.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay,” you coo softly, eyeing Choso to make sure he’s not getting any worse either. You suck in a deep breath to soothe your own nerves, giving Yuji a reassuring squeeze as his sobs slowly begin to die down.

Once the apartment is filled only with sniffles and not sobs, you gently place Yuji on the ground beside Choso, who looks up at you for reassurance. You force your best smile, patting his back softly before turning to Choso.

From what you can tell, his tears are dried and he’s simply staring blankly at his arms curled around his knees now.

“Yuji, have you told your brother how you feel?” You ask softly. Choso’s head raises slightly as he listens to you.

Yuji shakes his head through silent tears.

“It’s important to communicate how we’re feeling when something’s wrong,” you tell him with a small smile, motioning towards Choso. “Why don’t you tell Choso?”

Choso’s auburn gaze flickers between you and Yuji, waiting as his little brother’s face scrunches up into an expression fitting of a five-year-old deep in thought.

Once he’s decided on his words, he looks up at his brother with teary eyes, his little hands fiddling with the game case on the floor in front of him. “I miss you, Cho. You never wanna play with me anymore.” Yuji mumbles, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand.

Choso sniffles, raising his head. “I’m sorry, Yu.” He curls into himself further if that’s even possible, guilt pulling his face into a scowl reminiscent of Sukuna. It’s easy to forget those two are related until Choso mirrors one of Sukuna’s expressions so perfectly.

“Do you wanna tell your brother what’s going on, Choso?” You encourage him, setting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Um-” Choso buries his face into his arms, his brows pulled together so tightly you’re certain he’s giving himself a headache. “I don’t feel very good,” he admits, his words muffled against the sleeves of his shirt.

“You’re sick?” Yuji tilts his head in confusion.

Choso shakes his head. “I’m…” he pauses, glancing up at you. “Scared,” he admits.

“Why?” Yuji wastes no time in demanding answers, shuffling closer on his knees to Choso.

“I don’t wanna lose Kuna,” Choso admits, leaning his face into his shoulder to wipe a tear that rolls down his cheek.

“But we won’t,” Yuji pulls himself forward over the hardwood again, tugging at his brother’s arm lightly. “Kuna never loses. He’s the best.”

You can’t help but smile at Yuji’s confidence, which seems to encourage Choso, even if only a little bit. Choso lifts his head, blinking in thought at the pink-haired little boy. Even with a face covered in tears and snot, it’s hard not to believe every word the pink-haired kid says.

As Yuji continues tugging at Choso’s arm, the brunette finally relents, letting his brother tug him into a hug. When Choso pulls back, he slumps against the couch again, a hint of life breathed back into him.

“It’s okay to be sad, Choso, but it’s important to talk about your feelings to others like you do with me,” you encourage him with an understanding smile.

Choso swallows hard, nodding slowly. He blinks at the ground, doing somewhat of a mental reset, before he points at the stack of games with a sniffle. “Let’s play Mario Party.”

Yuji’s eyes light up as he sets up the game while Choso wipes the tears from his face.

“I’m proud of you, Choso. It takes courage to talk about your feelings.”

Choso shoots you a half-hearted smile with tired eyes, serving as a reminder of just how worn out you all are.

“One short game and then it’s bedtime, okay boys?”

“Okaaaaay,” Yuji agrees, though his expression mirrors the exhaustion across Choso’s. The crying had clearly tired them both out, and while normally you would have them go to bed right away, you’re pretty sure they need a fun game before bed.

While the boys play games, you get up to change into an oversized tee that’s free of tears and a pair of shorts, grabbing a tissue and wiping Yuji’s face, much to his dismay as he groans and complains the whole time.

Planting yourself back on the couch, you pull up Sukuna’s contact, and shoot him a text.

Thursday 9:42 PM - You || hey, not urgent but wanted to let you know what happened!

Thursday 9:43 PM - You || the boys had a bit of a meltdown because choso’s been so quiet, but i think everything’s okay now

You lock your phone and set it in your lap as you turn your attention to the screen. Choso’s still clearly down and not himself, but you can see the effort going into giving Yuji the sense of normalcy he’s desperate for. Although you can see Choso’s needing to force himself out of his shell, you’re reassured that this is good for him when for the first time in what feels like ages, he laughs.

Your lips quirk up into a genuine smile at the sight of Choso’s sleepy grin, just as your phone vibrates in your lap.

Thursday 9:59 PM - Kuna || okay. let me know if they give you more trouble

Thursday 9:59 PM - You || i can handle them, no worries! :)

With the game coming to a close and no meltdowns even as Yuji steals Choso’s stars in the game at the last second and pulls off a win, you urge them to get ready for bed. Neither boy had given you a hard time as Yuji tended to, far too worn out from the emotional day to protest.

With the boys in bed, you set your overnight bag down on the washroom counter and lean over the sink, fairly worn out yourself. You can see the effects of the day on your face, dark circles under your eyes and makeup in disarray, having been done well over fifteen hours ago.

So much for the twenty-four-hour long-lasting guarantee they promise. What a lie.

Dragging your hands over your face, you lean on the edge of the sink, letting the seconds tick by as you grapple with your own emotions.

You spend so much time treading carefully around the three boys in an attempt to help them as best as you’re able that sometimes you forget to check in with yourself mentally. Between Sukuna’s increasing snappiness and the two boys learning to handle their fear, grief, and concern, you’ve hardly had a moment to yourself. That’s not even beginning to mention classes, studying, and your internship.

You can only pray the bubble doesn’t pop. You need to keep up being strong until the court date, then you can relax.

Once that’s over, you’re certain things will be alright.

Giving yourself a moment to reset and take a breather, you slow down as you dig into your bag and handle your skincare and hair routines, taking a moment to indulge in the self care of it all. It’s refreshing and allows you a moment of peace, a moment to simply be and take care of yourself, something you can’t help but feel you’ve neglected to do as of late.

As you finish up your hair routine, you open the pocket where your toothbrush should be, only to come up short. Blinking, you dig through your bag in search of it, when you realize where it is.

On the counter.

At your own apartment.

Quietly groaning, you pull out your phone again.

Thursday 10:46 PM - You || hey kuna?

Whether he’s on his break or just has his phone on him, you’re not sure, but he answers quickly.

Thursday 10:48 PM - Kuna || what now

Thursday 10:48 PM - You || i forgot my toothbrush :( do you have an extra?

Thursday 10:49 PM - Kuna || no

Thursday 10:49 PM - Kuna || dont fucking touch mine

Thursday 10:49 PM - You || rude

Thursday 10:50 PM - Kuna || use your finger

Thursday 10:50 PM - You || :(

Frowning at your options, you tap your fingers on the washroom counter in thought.

Thursday 10:51 PM - You || do you have mouthwash?

Thursday 10:53 PM - Kuna || you know im working right

Thursday 10:53 PM - Kuna || under the sink

Thursday 10:53 PM - You || thank you!!

Opening the cupboard beneath the sink, your eyes scan the mess of shampoos, aftershave, replacement razor heads and various other hygiene products. Off to one side, you spot some mouthwash and a bag from a dentist with a toothbrush concealed within, brand new.

And it’s pink. Cute!

Thursday 10:55 PM - You || i found a toothbrush under the sink, can i use it? i’ll pay you back!

Thursday 10:55 PM - Kuna || whatever

Under the assumption that means he doesn’t really care one way or the other, you crack open the packaging, relieved that you won’t need to quickly run to your apartment in the morning before class. There is no way in hell you could go without a toothbrush for that long.

Dumping your belongings back into your bag, you push into Sukuna’s room, taking a look around. It’s not like you haven’t been here before, but it has a different feel now that you’ll be sleeping here. Taking a step into the room, you stare at the papers strewn across his drawing table.

Anatomy practice makes up most of what litters the table, alongside pencils and a tin of charcoal, but what really catches your eye are sketches of random characters, mostly from video games you recognize. Your lips quirk into a small smile as you spot a small glimpse of color and can just barely make out a red shoe. It must be the drawing that Yuji colored the other day, and Sukuna is still working on the second half of it. It warms your heart that in his spare time, he still finds little ways to take care of his brothers.

For all his complaining, he loves them very dearly.

Pulling your gaze from the drawings, you take slow steps to the edge of his bed, taking a seat on the mattress. You’ve never really considered the comfort of his bed until this moment, but it’s fairly plush and his sheets are cozy as you run your hands beneath the covers. It’s also massive, but you can’t imagine your double bed would fit someone of his height.

Not that you should be thinking about that.

You know he welcomed you to sleep in his room, insisted on it, but a part of you can’t help but feel like you’re invading his space. Yet somehow, as you settle under the covers and stare at the ceiling, it doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as you thought it might. There’s some part of you, deep down, that feels like this is what you want. Some selfish part of you that wants to feel like you belong here.

But it’s not your place to feel that way, and that feeling tugs at your lips, pulling them into a frown.

It’s a strange feeling to sleep in a bed that isn’t yours, owned by someone you can’t give your heart to. It leaves you with a sensation like static settling into your chest as you aren’t quite sure what to do with your thoughts.

Turning to your side, you pick up your phone, plug it into Sukuna’s charger, and send him one last message.

Thursday 11:12 PM - You || night, kuna!

You aren’t sure whether you send it in an attempt to comfort yourself, or if maybe it’s a sad attempt to find affection where there is none.

Regardless, all you can do is set your phone back down on the table and try to ignore the way the whole room smells painfully like him.

Thursday 11:58 PM - Kuna || night princess

–

Your alarm blares in your ear at the crack of dawn. You shoot your hand out to grab it before it can accidentally wake the kids, squinting at the time.

You may have set the alarm with your first class at eight thirty in the morning in mind, but seven still feels too early. Yawning, you scroll through your social media in an attempt to find any semblance of wakefulness before finally making your way out of Sukuna’s room. You’re about to make your way to the washroom, when the sound of a video-game-y groan in the living room catches your attention.

Padding quietly back down the hall, you peek around the corner, spotting Sukuna lounged at his full length across the couch, his legs hanging over the edge. He’s in his work khakis, but his shirt is laid on the back of the couch, a GameCube controller in hand as he plays Super Smash Bros. Melee.

Oh, it is too fucking early for this.

Your mouth goes dry as you try painfully hard to keep your attention on Sukuna’s face, and not his sculpted and tattooed abs.

“Morning,” you greet him with a groggy smile.

He pauses the game, equally drowsy eyes darting up to you. Unlike you, Sukuna is exhausted, has been awake for over twenty four hours at this point, and you’re startlingly hot in casual clothing. He’s used to seeing you in short skirts and tights, a cozy sweater adorning your top half, but it’s not like he hasn’t seen you in casual clothes before.

But Sukuna is too sleep-deprived to come up with a time he’s seen you in casual clothes.

A baggy shirt hangs down your frame, stopping barely in time for Sukuna to see that you’re wearing a pair of shorts. He swears his brain fizzles out as he steals a glance at your legs, and he has to tear his gaze away to meet your eyes again.

“Hm?”

Your lips part, cheeks hot as you watch his eyes trail down the length of you. He’s probably just judging the oversized shirt with Kiki’s Delivery Service on it, but his sharp gaze never fails to warm your cheeks.

“I just said ‘morning’,” you quietly repeat with a small smile.

He hums, peeling his eyes from you and unpausing the game. “Morning.”

“How was your shift?”

“Other than you annoying me, it was fine,” he grumbles, shooting you a sideways glance to gauge your reaction. He smirks when he finds you pouting.

“Well, your bed’s all yours-”

“All good, princess. I’m takin’ the kids to school at eight and got class at nine.”

Your brow raises. “You haven’t slept,” you point out.

He shrugs, his character tossing the enemy Bowser off a platform as he continues playing games. “I’ll live.”

You frown, but you know him well enough to know he won’t budge once he’s made his mind up.

“What happened last night?” He queries, his eyes still glued to the screen. You don’t need to know the video game is the only thing keeping his attention away from your bare thighs.

With a sigh, you round the couch, sitting on the edge of the cushion opposite his head. With his feet dangling off the edge of the couch, your back presses just barely against his calves and he finds himself stealing a glance at you, your expression forlorn.

“Yuji asked Choso what he wanted to play, but Cho’s been pretty out of it lately and didn’t really care-” you pause, putting a bit more weight against Sukuna’s legs as you lean back slightly when you look at him. Sighing, you shake your head. “Yuji got pretty upset that Choso hasn’t been himself lately and hasn’t wanted to play,” you continue, “whiiiiich lead to tears, sobs, the whole nine yards.”

Sukuna pauses his game, draping his arm over his eyes with a quiet groan. “‘Course it did,” he grumbles, yawning. “How’d that go?”

“I got them to talk it out, I think everything’s alright. They were laughing and playing games when you texted back.”

Sukuna hums, rubbing his face against the back of his forearm. “Figured that would happen eventually,” he manages between another yawn, lifting his arm to push a hand through his disheveled hair. A few strands fall over his forehead, so long now that they nearly block his vision.

“Yeah,” you agree with him, your voice barely above a whisper. “Honestly, Yuji’s been pretty patient with Choso, I’m surprised it took this long.”

“He’s a good kid.” Sukuna barely shrugs, his groggy gaze finally fixing on you. He can’t say for sure what’s come over him and if he was in his right mind, he’s sure he’d brush it off as exhaustion normally, but he finds himself admiring the way your hair falls naturally to frame your face.

In fact, he’s not sure he’s ever seen you without makeup, but you seem almost radiant, and that thought alone has him spiraling into territory that’s beyond unknown to him.

He bristles at his own thoughts, an unfamiliar feeling creeping up his spine. As though fighting a battle against himself, he pulls his feet from behind you and sits up, leaning forward on his knees. Clearing his throat, he gives you a dismissive wave of his hand.

“You should go get ready.”

“Hm? Oh, right!” Hopping to your feet, you bound off to the washroom to take a shower, leaving Sukuna to grapple with his thoughts alone.

You’re forced to leave your hair to air-dry without a blow dryer or any styling products, but at least you have a toothbrush. Opening the door once you’ve finished getting ready, Yuji makes his way past you towards the kitchen with a grin and his basketball in hand. His oldest brother is trailing after him sluggishly with a hoodie that he’s attempting to get over the little boy’s head.

The five-year-old happily dribbles the ball a couple of times as he eludes Sukuna’s grasp on his way to the kitchen.

“Yuji, it’s too early for that. Our neighbors’ll have my head if you make noise,” Sukuna scolds as he uses his wide gait to step in front of his little brother and grab the ball in one big hand.

Yuji jumps at his leg as though the little amount of height his jump covers is what he needs to get his basketball back, whining at the tall man to give it back.

“No. Oatmeal’s on the table. Go eat,” he guides the little boy towards the kitchen, scratching at his jaw as he catches a glance at you.

You’re back in your usual attire, a tight tank top hugging your top with a long cardigan draped over your shoulders and light jeans adorning your lower half. You’re hardly dressed up, yet Sukuna still feels underdressed in a red hoodie and baggy black sweatpants, with a beanie covering his obviously disheveled hair.

You look cute.

Whether he’s too tired to fight that thought, or he’s simply grown accustomed to it, he doesn’t mind thinking of you in such a way.

“Need a hand?” You ask cheerily, glancing at your phone before dropping it into your pathetic excuse for a jean pocket. “I have a few minutes before I need to go.”

“Nah, I got it,” he gruffs, tilting his chin towards the kitchen. “I, uh, made you some breakfast.”

Your eyes widen as you curiously bound towards the kitchen counter, where there’s a bowl with oats, fruit, and yogurt sitting on the counter. Your eyes light up as you grab it and turn back to Sukuna.

“This is for me?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s so sweet, thanks Kuna!”

He hums, a hint of a smirk giving away his satisfaction. Choso makes his way slowly to the table to eat his dinosaur oatmeal, his usual void stare plastered across his face. After last night, you had honestly hoped maybe he would bounce back, but progress is often slow. Maybe he’ll come around.

Sukuna trails over to the kitchen counter alongside you, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back against the vinyl countertop. You follow suit as you spoon some yogurt into your mouth, your elbow brushing Sukuna’s arm as he watches over the three of you.

There’s something strangely domestic about the whole situation that seems to tighten your throat as you force another spoonful of yogurt down. It tastes great, but the thought of a life like this with Sukuna is bitter on your tongue. This moment, to you, feels like a glimpse at something real, something substantial, while it’s likely nothing more than a fleeting thought to Sukuna.

Spooning another mouthful of yogurt into your mouth, you tilt your head to catch a glance at his expression. You shouldn’t be surprised to find he’s drifting off, eyes glazed. His eyelids are heavy with exhaustion, but there’s no room for a nap, so he’ll just deal with it.

Turning to the sink to rinse your bowl once you’ve finished, you check the time and bid the kids a farewell, nudging Sukuna to make sure he’s awake. “I’ll see you at lunch?”

He nods, only managing a yawn as you make your way out the door.

–

Really, it shouldn’t surprise you that Sukuna slept through lunch. And your Literature History class, for that matter.

But your professor is clearly less than pleased when her grimace lands on him in the middle of the lecture. You nudge Sukuna awake, who blearily lifts his head, pushing his hood up to see why you’re bothering him. The sight of a frustrated professor doesn’t mean much to someone running on an hour of sleep (on tables, mind you), so he simply drops his chin back down onto his arms, pushes his hood back down, and shuts his eyes again.

Well, that was the wrong move.

You nudge Sukuna awake for the second time when the lecture ends, only for the professor to call both of your names in a stern tone. With a frustrated huff, he trudges down the steps and stands before her desk. You shuffle from side to side on your feet, glancing between him and the professor with an anxious frown.

The last thing you need is to be on bad terms with a professor given your scholarship.

“Mr. Sukuna. Glad you could join us after being absent for nine days,” the professor begins in an unimpressed tone. She takes a seat at her desk, motioning to both of you to grab a couple of chairs from the side of the room. Sukuna is too busy scowling at the woman to listen, so you gently tug him down into one of the chairs you drag over.

“Some of us got shit to handle,” he explains in the broadest terms possible.

“I understand that, and while attendance is not expected, I would advise with your grades sitting where they are that you do attend.”

Sukuna grinds his jaw at your side and you swear you can hear the enamel of his teeth wearing down with the force of the pressure.

“That’s not to mention that when you do show up, you sleep through the lecture,” she grimly continues, clasping her hands as she leans over the desk. Her graying blonde hair falls over her shoulders as she frowns.

“I can’t make that shit happen right-”

“Language, Mr. Sukuna.”

Sukuna shuts his eyes in a futile attempt to contain his anger. “I can’t make that happen right now,” he huffs, sharp eyes locking onto the professor. “I show up for tests and turn in papers. What more do ya want?”

This isn’t the first time he’s been pulled aside by a professor, but this is the first time in a long time that he’s been doing poorly in a class. He knows his last paper was half-assed. He knows his last test results barely skirted by.

“You need to apply yourself.” When Sukuna doesn’t reply, smoke practically blowing from his ears at the professor’s words, she continues, turning her attention to address you. “I’d like you to tutor Ryomen. You will receive extra credit,” she tells you, turning back to him, “and so long as I see an improvement in your grades, I won’t say a word about your attendance.”

The offer works well in your favor, why wouldn’t you want extra credit? Plus, you already see Sukuna enough that it wouldn’t change too much about your schedule.

Sukuna, on the other hand, is beyond pissed.

On a good day, he would have rolled his eyes at the suggestion and brushed it off, but on one hour of sleep, the history major isn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of being put in his place. Especially not in front of you, someone he holds a great deal of care for.

“I’m managing just fine, I don’t need to be tutored,” he hisses, narrowing his eyes, reddened from a lack of sleep.

The professor grimaces, her gaze flickering between you both. “You’re hardly passing,” she states plainly. “I’m not going to sugar coat things, Ryomen. You’re on your last legs in this class, and I will fail you if you don’t pass the test next Friday.”

“I’ll pass. I don’t need a tutor,” he growls, clutching at the arm of the chair with white knuckles.

“It’s not a huge deal, Sukuna, I can-”

“No,” he shoots you a pointed glare, pinning you to the seat. You bite the inside of your cheek, falling back into uncomfortable silence.

Unimpressed, the professor sits up a bit straighter as if to assert her authority over the situation. “This isn’t up for discussion, Mr. Suku-”

“Like hell it isn’t!” He snarls. “I’ll pass, you fuckin’ got that?” He stands abruptly, his chair screeching as it’s pushed back suddenly. With narrowed eyes, his fiery irises seem to consume him, his pupils mere pinpricks. The professor grimaces, unphased by his defiance, but her lack of reply only serves to piss Sukuna off further as he scoffs in frustration and barges out the door without another word, hands shoved in his pockets in search of his cigarettes.

The sound of the door slamming on its hinges echoes across the lecture hall as you shut your eyes, pressing your lips into a thin line.

The professor sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry to get you involved,” she apologizes with a wry smile. “I thought you two were close, and that maybe he wouldn’t be opposed to a tutoring session with you.”

“We are close,” you chuckle half-heartedly, staring down at your lap. “He- um- he’s going through a bit of a tough time, I don’t think he meant anything personally.”

The professor fixes you with her deep brown gaze, leaning back in her chair. “I see. Has he spoken to the faculty about this? He could get some assistance-”

You laugh nervously at the mere mention of help. “Believe me, if it were that simple, I would have suggested it by now.”

The professor taps her fingers along her forearm in thought, finally nodding. “I see. Well, if you’re able to step in, I would appreciate that. If not, I’m not sure what other options I have.” She shrugs. “There’s nothing I can do at the rate his grades are plummeting.”

“Is it just this class?” You ask meekly, brow drawn into a tight knit as you dread her answer.

“I can’t say,” she tells you, sympathy laced into her tone. “He’s a bright student, but it’s become clear over the past couple of weeks that he’s not here to learn.”

“Right,” you whisper, staring down at your manicured nails, a chip in the polish catching your attention. “I’ll do what I can.”

“I appreciate that,” she says with a sense of finality, grabbing a pen to begin grading some papers. You take that as your dismissal, gathering your belongings to make your way out the door. “Oh-” the professor calls your name before you push outside. “Please remind Mr. Sukuna that this class is a requirement for his major, and if he fails this next test, he will be retaking my class next semester.”

Your heart drops into your stomach.

–

Had you known that was the last you would hear of your hot-headed friend until the afternoon before the test, you would have tried harder to get a hold of him.

Which is saying a lot, given that you emailed, and texted, and called incessantly.

Your only sense of reassurance was Uraume letting you know that they had run into him clad in his coveralls while Uraume was headed to campus one morning. They’d mentioned that he was taking shifts throughout the mornings to make sure he didn’t need to rely on anyone but himself. He would simply work only while his brothers were in school.

For every step forward, Sukuna takes two backwards. And this time, it seemed he was drowning in the guilt of just how much he owed you, not even bothering to respond to your texts either.

Unfortunately, along with the news that Uraume had relayed to you, came the news that he hadn’t been to a single class since the not-so-friendly run-in with the professor.

Which, as it would turn out, was the first of many impromptu meetings that you would have with her. The Wednesday before the test, you’d practically jumped out of your skin as she stopped you before you could make it out the door.

The look on her face didn’t ease your nerves as she waited for the students to file out of the lecture hall.

“Will you please remind Ryomen that if he doesn’t show up to the test on Friday, I’m failing him?” She speaks gravely, an air of deathly sincerity surrounding her.

You had swallowed hard, assuring her that you would make sure he knew, slipping away with a shiver up your spine.

While you knew she’d be talking to you about your friend, you couldn’t help but feel like she would have had some sort of comment about your messy notes, your distracted gaze, or the inattentive tapping of your nails over the keyboard.

But then again, she couldn’t see your notes, so she didn’t know that your mind had been fixated on your concern for your friend all week. Your notes were the proof of it, words hardly making a lick of sense, and you knew it would come back to bite you in the ass. Still, every trail of thoughts leads back to the delinquent student.

You know Sukuna is likely only upset with life in general, but that shouldn’t make it fair for him to ignore you.

Or maybe you’re too in love with someone too incapable of reciprocating, and nothing feels fair to your fragile heart.

That series of events all lead to you standing at his door now, your fist raised to knock on the door. If he wouldn’t reply to your texts about the test tomorrow, you wanted to make sure he knew this was a death sentence for his semester should he choose to not show up.

That, and you want to make sure he’s okay.

Still, you hesitate as your heart pounds. One of his neighbors had let you into the building, so you hadn’t needed to buzz up to the apartment, and he had no clue you were showing up.

Swallowing your nerves, you rap your knuckles against the door, patiently waiting for him and praying he’s home at all. To your relief, it only takes a couple of moments before you find yourself face to face with the source of your racing heart.

With a bottle clutched in one hand, he opens the door with a mild expression, tilting his head down to look at you as he leans against the doorframe. A muscle shirt adorns his top, his broad shoulders and bulky arms on full display, along with what might be the sluttiest cut hand-cut armholes you’ve ever seen on a shirt, dipping down to his waist. His abs peek out from the way the material of the shirt curls inwards at the bottom and his hair hangs loosely over his forehead, long enough that a stray strand nearly reaches his eyes.

“Hey, princess,” he gruffs, heavily lidded eyes doing a languid once-over of your outfit, your usual business attire since you’d come straight from your internship. Heat creeps up your neck as it always does under his intense gaze. “How was work?”

“Hey, um- it was good,” you smooth your skirt down, chewing on your lip as you look up at him through your lashes. Your brow is knit with concern, but Sukuna is so fixated on the pretty way you chew on your lip that he doesn’t notice your concern. “Is everything okay? You stopped answering me.”

His expression hardens at your question, his gaze now fixated on the woven bracelets still tightly tied around his wrist. He stares hard at the red and black checkered bracelet that’s tied around his wrist alongside a matching black and purple one. He can just barely make out the pair of bracelets still secured around your own wrist as well.

“Yeah,” he forces out a reply to your question, his mind moving slower than he’d like. He continues his little staring contest with your coat sleeve, his brow furrowed deeply as he searches for an answer to why he stopped responding, but all he finds are failures.

It seems as though that’s a trend with him lately, as though letting people down is his thing.

“Didn’t wanna bother you,” he finally spits out, a meager excuse for his shortcomings that clearly confuses you as you tilt your head.

“You know you could never bother me,” you point out. “So what’s this really about?”

Sukuna sighs, bringing the bottle in his hand up to his lips. Your eyes scan the bottle, blinking as you realize the bottle he’s holding is a cheap bottle of beer, although he doesn’t seem drunk. If anything, he’s maybe a bit out of it.

“I’m handlin’ things on my own.” He grips the bottle in his hand harder, his knuckles white. His eyes raise finally from your sleeve to meet your gaze, pupils blown and scleras reddened. Your lips purse, and you straighten at the realization that he’s high too.

“Are you high?”

“Yeah. Want a gummy, princess?”

Your brow furrows as you adamantly shake your head. “No. Sukuna, don’t you think that’s a bit reckless? I mean, with the kids and all?”

Offense passes through his glazed eyes, almost as though he’s taken aback. Your question takes a moment to settle within the recesses of his inebriated mind, but once it does, he bites back. “The fuck are you suggestin’?”

“What if the kids got into the weed or alcohol- or- or needed help while you’re-?” You clarify with a wave of your hand at his current state, disbelief and concern laced into your tone.

“You can’t be fuckin’ serious right now.”

“What about this isn’t serious?” You attempt to peer past him to see the kids, the sounds of the TV in the background telling you they can’t be far, but Sukuna’s completely blocked your view with his broad frame.

Sukuna laughs dryly, a cold smirk pulling at his lips. He swipes his tongue over the front of his teeth, shaking his head as he stares distantly behind you. “Do you really think I’m that stupid?” Although he’s addressing you, you get the feeling it’s a rhetorical question, something he’s asking himself.

You purse your lips, startled by the whole situation.

When you don’t reply, Sukuna continues. “You don’t seriously think I would do this in front of them, do you?” His voice raises, mind moving slower than the words pouring from his mouth. “Do you seriously think that lowly of me?” He takes a step back into the apartment, slamming the door open on its hinges with a wooden creak to make a point as he motions into the apartment. “They ain’t fuckin’ here!” He barks, turning on his heel once his point’s been made to set his beer on the counter.

You follow him into the familiar apartment and shut the door gently, turning to the TV where you can now see that he’s got Monty Python and the Holy Grail playing, his laptop hooked into the screen. Swallowing your pride, you grimace as you attempt to backpedal before things get out of hand.

“I’m sorry, Sukuna, I didn’t realize. I just got worried because they’re always with you.”

Facing the counter, he rubs his fingers over his eyes. “Whatever,” he grumbles, punctuating his sentence with your name. “Why’re you here?”

You swallow hard. “You haven’t been in class for a week, and-”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy,” he interrupts in a flippant tone, turning to face you. He crosses his arms over his chest as he examines the way you’re visibly grappling with his attitude. “It’s the only way I can make this shit work.”

“You know I’m here to help. You know I want to help. You’re gonna fail if you don’t show up tomorrow.” You take a step towards him, feeling small under his harsh glare, but praying you can get through to him.

Sukuna watches you take a step towards him, his eyes dry as he feels the urge to rub at them again. He blinks a couple of times as his mind slowly processes your words. Wetting his lips with his tongue, he shakes his head. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s better this way.”

“What are you talking about? You’re so close to graduating. Just let me-”

“Let you what?” He interrupts your relentless insistence to help him. “Let you fuckin’ tutor me? Come in and turn my life around?” He pauses abruptly, his jaw tensing as realization flashes through his glazed eyes. “That’s what this is, isn’t it?”

“What?” The question comes out more milquetoast than you would have liked, but you’re left in genuine confusion at his query.

He laughs, a bitter smile burning straight through you as he shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s what this has always been, isn’t it? God, I’m so fuckin’ stupid.”

“What do you mean, Kuna?”

“Don’t call me that,” he hisses suddenly. “Don’t pretend you’ve ever cared. Don’t fucking pretend. I don’t wanna hear it.”

Completely taken aback, you stumble one step backwards, failing to understand where he’s coming from.

“You’ve been nit-pickin’ me non-stop since we got back from Christmas break, every single little thing I do is wrong. Did you talk to that prof about tutoring me too, add another box to check on your list? Play it off like she suggested it?”

Fuck. Of course the talk with the professor had this much of a negative effect on him. Of course one stupid little moment fucked up everything you’d worked so hard to build up.

“You don’t seriously believe that.”

“What the hell else am I supposed to believe? That I’m worth losing sleep over for someone like you? That I’m worth the time you’ve spent chasing me?” His chest heaves as he glares at you, his voice raised. “I’ve always been some little project to you!”

Caught somewhere between frustration, disbelief and hurt, you shake your head. “I’ve never- ever-” you pause for emphasis, “- seen you as a project.” You chew on your lip as your gaze flickers between his eyes, clouded with anger, but painfully distant. Whether that’s from the weed, alcohol, or stress, you can’t say for sure. “You’re my friend, Sukuna. That’s what friends do, they show up!” You wave a hand through the air as if to say that’s what you’re doing now. Even if it hardly feels that way at the moment.

“Yeah, maybe they do. When you’re little miss perfect.”

His words strike you, sharp and icy, threatening to draw blood. Fury courses through you at his blatant disregard not only for you, but also Toji and Uraume, even Atsuya and Kento. “Your friends do show up! We’ve all been showing up!” Your hand waves through the air again as you raise your voice to match his. “What do you call Toji and Uraume, if not your friends? What do you think of me?” You pause, shaking your head as you stand up for not just yourself but his friends. Your friends. “You just push us all away because you’re afraid!”

“I ain’t afraid of shit, I’m not here to be some charity case for you or any of ‘em!” His eyes blaze as he abruptly turns away, pacing a couple of steps towards the fridge as he rakes a hand through his hair.

“You never were! Oh my god, you’re unbelievable.” You cross your arms over your chest, staring out the window at the steady snowfall. “I’m so sick of you being such a dick just because you’re insecure.”

Sukuna scoffs, still facing the fridge as if he can’t even bear to look at you. In truth, he knows these emotions have been brewing within for a while now and it’s all come to a head with yet another mistake piling into the seemingly endless list of things he’s done wrong. He could let your gripes with smoking slide, your insistence about his major he was willing to talk through and the offer to tutor he could deal with at the end of the day.

But the way he’d never felt dumber in his life than when you seemed to think he’d get inebriated in front of the kids was the final straw that caused the pile to crumble.

And now he’s insecure and scared, too? He’s not sure he wants to admit, to you, or himself, just how much that all hurts. Sukuna doesn’t have the luxury of admitting that he’s hurt. He doesn’t have the luxury of being anything less than fine, because that’s what he needs to be for his brothers.

If he’s about to let you down, then he’ll dig that grave himself. He won’t let you put him there at the cost of what’s left of his dignity.

“Everything’s gotta be wrong with me when it comes to you, huh? It’s always somethin’. I’m never good enough,” he snarls, taking a step towards you as he finally turns to face you.

“That’s not-”

“The smoking, my major, my grades, this,” he points to a six pack of beer and a bag of weed gummies sitting open on the coffee table behind you. “Now I’m insecure too, right? Keep going, princess, find more shit to fix about me.”

His words hit hard, blood steadily seeping from an invisible wound in your chest, a gaping hole in your heart that Sukuna has no clue exists in the shape of him. You swallow hard, inhaling sharply to prevent the hot tears welling in your eyes from falling. “I’ve never been trying to fix you.” With another steady breath, you barely manage to push out another sentence. “I’ve only ever been trying to help because I see you struggling and I care about you.”

“But it always comes back to this, doesn’t it? We piss one another off and it’s always me who goes crawling back to you,” he points out, taking another step forward. He’s barely a foot away now, towering over you as you struggle to keep yourself from falling apart.

God, why do arguments always make you want to cry?

“I’m always the fuck-up, and you’re the perfect little prom queen. You can do no wrong.”

You bring a hand up to your cheek as you stare at the hardwood under your feet. You can only pray Sukuna doesn’t see the way a tear trails down your skin, warm and salty. “Don’t call me that.”

“Hit a nerve, prom queen?”

You swallow hard, wiping another tear as you refuse to look up at him. “You’re being an ass.”

“Yeah, maybe. But at least I’m not a fix-me-up for the school’s little scholarship princess.”

“That’s not fair, Sukuna.”

He crosses his arms, fire raging wildly behind his sharp glare. Everything about this feels foreign, from the complete and utter genuine rage that burns within him, the flames licking and simmering against your skin, to the way he seems genuinely hurt. “But it’s fair for me to sit here while you work on me, right?”

“I didn’t know you felt that way!” You raise your voice in your defense, taking a step back. Being so close to his personal space is nauseating and you want nothing more than to leave right now. “I never meant to make you feel like that, I was only ever trying to help,” you insist, gaze pleading through the tears that now freely fall down your face.

Guilt swirls alongside the downright humiliation you feel as you cry in the middle of an argument, one that leaves you standing in a metaphorical pool of your own blood as each of his words grate further into you while he steels himself.

“I told you from the start I didn’t need help.”

“You called me for help!” You point out, chewing hard on your lip, the skin raw at this point as iron tinges your tongue.

“That was a favor. I paid it back.”

“That doesn’t matter, Sukuna! I was only ever trying to be a good friend,” you wipe at your tears again, certain your makeup has streaked down your cheeks and you look like a complete mess.

“If I’m nothing but problems to you, why try?” He hisses, gritting his teeth as he takes another step forward.

You stumble back until your foot hits the couch, desperate for space from him. “Because this-” you pause, motioning at him. “This isn’t you! I’ve seen the real Sukuna, and I like him, I- I like you.”

If ever there was a way to feel your heart break physically, you think this might be it. It shatters as Sukuna only scoffs, completely oblivious to the fact that you’ve confessed something so personal to you. Something so deeply ingrained within your being from spending so much time with him that saying it aloud to him and seeing nothing but disdain in return might be the cruelest punishment of all.

Is it fair to think Sukuna might understand what you mean? Maybe not. Maybe he’s too dense, too guarded to understand the true meaning behind your words. Maybe he’s too jaded to think that anyone could possibly have feelings for him. ‘Like’ is just another synonym to him.

But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?

“What, I’m fake now, too?”

“God, you’re such a dick!” You groan, leaning against the back of the couch as you face him. “That’s not what I meant.” You inhale sharply in an effort to keep your tears at bay.

“Then what the hell did you mean?” He barks, though he doesn’t wait for your response. His voice lowers suddenly, dripping with venom. “I didn’t ask for this fuckin’ life, you know that? I never wanted to work two jobs or take care of my brothers!” His hand flies through the air in exasperation, his jaw clenched so tightly that the veins in his forehead are practically bulging. “But guess what? I didn’t have a choice in the matter.” He huffs, irritation coming off of him in waves. “And I definitely didn’t fucking ask for you to come in and tell me everything I’m doing wrong.”

“I was never doing that, Sukuna-”

“Then what the fuck is going on right now?” He hisses, motioning back towards the six pack and bag of gummies that sit atop the coffee table again, doubling down on your earlier accusation.

“I only showed up to try to help with classes!” You insist, parting your lips to continue but in his blaze of fury, he’s already growling out a reply again.

“Oh right,” he scoffs with a dry chuckle. “How could I forget that my grades aren’t good enough?”

“Oh my god, stop! Can you listen to me for one second? You’re gonna fail if you don’t show up tomorrow!”

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” he shouts, punctuating the sentence with your name. “It doesn’t… fucking matter anymore.” There’s an air of defeat around his words. Even angry with the man, it’s unbefitting of him, of someone so driven and prideful.

Shaking your head, you stare up at him with a furrowed brow. “I thought your degree mattered to you.”

“It does,” he gruffs, pressing a thumb to his temple as his head pounds. “It did.”

“Then why quit when you’re so close?”

“Close?” There’s no humor in the chuckle he lets out, shaking his head. “I’ve never been further! Their fuckin’ mother made sure of that when she slapped me with a lawsuit!” He barks, dragging a hand over his face, dropping it to his side with a thump as his hand collides with the fabric of his sweatpants. “No matter who wins the lawsuit, she’s still comin’ out on top because I can’t afford any of this shit and she knows that.” He shakes his head, disdain twisting his features into a deep frown. “So what I want doesn’t matter, as long as Yu and Cho get to have a better life. That’s all that matters now.”

You know there’s an obvious solution here, one in which Sukuna takes his foot out of his ass and stops being a stubborn prick and asks for help, but that’s not who he is. He’s set in ways so deeply ingrained in him that no amount of convincing will get through to him, and as much as you hate to admit it, you think you need to accept that.

It’s not like this argument is doing your friendship any good, anyway. Sukuna knows his last chance shattered the moment he snapped, but beneath the surface it’s clear that on both sides there were unspoken frustrations that had been brewing for longer than either of you had cared to admit. They were bound to come to a startling explosion eventually, but this just feels like a slog for an inebriated Sukuna.

Every word piles onto his troubles, a mess of misunderstood words and confusing intentions that he can’t seem to grasp in his high state. A glimpse of your teary face has him scowling at the ground, wondering if this could have been prevented, wondering why there’s a weight in his chest practically begging him to find a middle ground with you, but it’s far too late for that and he knows it.

The whole situation has his head pounding as emotions swirl in his chest, leaving a deep discomfort that he wants nothing more than to drown in liquor. He grasps at his head, pressing the ball of his palm hard against his temple as he takes a step towards the table at the back of the apartment, leaning over it on splayed palms.

Bile rises in his throat, but he’s not nearly drunk enough for it to be caused by alcohol. One beer wouldn’t do that to a man of Sukuna’s stature, leaving him wondering if it’s you causing the bitter taste to surface at the back of his throat. He swallows hard, his chest heaving.

No, this isn’t from alcohol. He recognizes this feeling all too well. But this time, he has no one to rely on as his chest and throat tighten. He inhales sharply, pushing himself up to face you again. He steels himself to the best of his ability, masking any and all signs of the anxiety stirring deep within his chest.

You’re not oblivious to the way he’s visibly shaking and struggling to breathe, you recognize all-too-well the signs of his pain, but he won’t let you help. You know that. You know what’s coming and the worst part is that you still want to help. Your heart still aches for something you won’t find within the hardened and cold man.

It’s who you are. You’re the type to help, no matter what. Even if it leaves you hurting.

But Sukuna is incompatible with that mindset.

Worse still, is the guilt that boils deep within your stomach. Sukuna’s made a handful of mistakes, ones that he worked hard to make up for, but you’d been so deeply engrossed in helping that you didn’t realize it sometimes came across as fixing. You’d never intended to hurt him, you never wanted to add to his burdens.

But it seemed for once you’d hurt one another, both too bogged down by the world that somewhere along the way you’d both harboured too much pain and lashed out.

It wasn’t just Sukuna at fault this time, but he would be the one to end things where he stood.

“Get out.”

Your lip trembles at the finality of the situation, zipping your coat up as you head for the door, keeping your gaze drawn to the floor in an effort to keep Sukuna from seeing how destroyed you are.

Pausing at the door, you briefly turn back, your lips parting as you contemplate saying what’s on your mind. “I didn’t ask for a lot, Sukuna. I’ve never cared if you paid me back, or returned any favors.” You swallow hard to keep yourself from audibly sobbing. “You, Choso, and Yuji were always worth the extra effort just by being yourselves.” Before you can see his reaction, you swing the door open and shut it behind you.

It’s not until you’re in your car that you finally let yourself fall apart, sobbing against the steering wheel.

Countless sleepless nights spent worrying over the brothers had blinded you to the way you had been hurting Sukuna, even if you’d never intended it. It wasn’t even just a case of his pride or ego getting in the way for once, you’d made a genuine mistake and stung to know you’d caused him pain.

You can’t be upset that he reacted the way he did when you accused him of drinking around the kids, but it doesn’t give him the right to step on you. You know Kento and Shoko would be happy to know you stood up for yourself, but there’s no satisfaction in that fact. You hadn’t wanted to stand up for yourself, because this isn’t what you wanted for the friendship you treasured so genuinely.

For all the closeness you shared with the burly man, one mistake was all it took for it to fall apart.

But really, was it ever only one mistake? The smoking, his major, his grades, although all little things, they all added up. It doesn’t give Sukuna the right to say the things he did, to hurt you and dig so deeply until he crushed the very core of your soul, but for once you know this isn’t one-sided.

This isn’t like your other arguments, bogged down by Sukuna’s deeply jaded views of the world and distrust for those around him. You made a mistake, sure, but he took it too far, leaving you both in equal parts in the wrong.

The only difference is that where you would have talked things out, Sukuna stomped out any remaining flame of connection, burying the hatchet with cruel words.

Leaning over the steering wheel, you contemplate where you went wrong. Where along the winding road of what was once a very deep connection one of you found a bump and turned it into a pothole.

Sukuna would contemplate the same himself, but not until a gruelling morning hangover found him the following morning.

Tonight, his sufferings would leave him in a painfully familiar position on the washroom floor, drowning in his anxiety.

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❦ a/n ; forgive me 😭 i do hope you all enjoyed the chapter regardless though <33 it makes me beyond happy how much you all enjoy this story and the support for it never fails to make me smile. i promise i'll make up for the angst!! in the meantime, thank you as always for all the love, it makes my day <33

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writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune

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pathologicalreid · 2 days ago

Text

spring into summer | s.r.

in which Spencer pursues a relationship with you. you try to resist every advance - for your own protection.

[previously]

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angsty content warnings: blowing smoke part tew, at a bar but it's not specified whether or not reader drinks alcohol, kissing, if you have a problem with my bar music keep it to yourself, maeve as a plot device, love confessions, not edited word count: 2.25k a/n: y'all i wasn't gonna do this, but listening to this song... yeah i had to.

“Spencer’s here!” Penelope exclaimed from her bar stool, her heels clicking on her way to the front of the bar, hoping to lead Spencer through the crowd to where the team had decided to set up shop.

Your head snapped up in alarm, tilting your head to the side and trying to get JJ’s attention, “I didn’t think Spencer was coming out tonight.”

She frowned slightly, placing her glass on the bar and shrugging, “It was an open invite.”

An open invite that you extended to the guy you’re seeing. You huffed, pulling the strap of your dress back over your shoulder and flagging down the bartender, hoping to get a drink before you need to play defense against Spencer.

“Hey,” Ethan said from behind you, a cute guy from counterterrorism that Penelope had introduced you to. His hand sat comfortably on your waist as you got the bartender’s attention again, letting him know that you’d actually need two drinks.

You smiled back at him, panicking slightly when he leaned in to kiss you. Evading his kiss, you let his lips land on your cheek, turning your head so that you were facing Spencer.

The two of you had as little contact as you could manage in the past two months, ever since Spencer’s attempt to ask you out had gone completely awry. Of course, ceasing all contact was unavoidable, between work and Spencer’s continued pursuance, you continuously found yourself under his net.

Ethan squeezed your waist gently, taking the glass that the bartender had placed in front of him and grabbing a straw for yours. You thanked him, crushing the straw wrapper against the bar and taking a sip.

Admittedly, you weren’t interested in the guy in the slightest. The second time you went out together, he’d gotten your name wrong, but he was friends with Penelope’s crush, so you were trying to be a good sport.

It felt like the world was playing a cruel joke on you, pairing you with someone who couldn’t be bothered to remember your name while you were trying to shut out a guy who remembered your favorite flower from a conversation three years ago. Yesterday, you’d found a bouquet on your desk for the third Thursday in a row.

Every time you read the card that he sends with the arrangement, you almost forget yourself. It would be a waste for you to get rid of them, which is the only reason you’ve kept them on your desk.

Or so you keep telling yourself.

“You look nice,” Spencer whispered to you, reaching between you and JJ so he could grab his drink from the bar. He looked good, you noticed him against your better judgment, even the embroidery on his tie managed to catch your attention.

Before you could collect yourself enough to respond to him, Morgan had already pulled him back to a booth, putting an arm around his shoulders and pointing out different girls in the bar while Savannah rolled her eyes. His hair was growing out from the undercut that he’d debuted in the fall, falling in front of his eyes until he inevitably flicked the stray hairs away.

Peeling your eyes off of him, you looked back at Ethan, who’d already made his way through half his drink. His eyes were glued to the baseball game being displayed above the bar. If your date had noticed you ogling your coworker, he didn’t show it.

Tentatively, you tapped his stool gently with your toe, “Hey,” you tried to get his attention, batting your eyelashes. “Do you wanna go over to the jukebox with me? We can pick a song together,” you offered.

He frowned and shook his head, “Nah, the Nationals game is on.” He nodded his head up to the TV, refraining from sparing you a glance.

You looked up at the screen, they were at the bottom of the second inning, and you were in for an exhausting night. “Right,” you said flatly, “I’ll be right back.”

Sharing a look with Penelope, who shot you a supportive thumbs up from the other side of the bar, you got off your stool and adjusted your purse over your shoulder. You liked that this bar still had a real jukebox, as opposed to the updated touchscreens commonly found in bars nowadays. You dug through your purse for a quarter, half paying attention to your rummaging and using the rest of your brain power to study the available songs.

A few things caught your eye, most of the available tracks were classics—Journey, Queen, and a Meatloaf track that was suspiciously out of order. Probably because the song was over eight minutes long. “Here,” the familiar voice—that you’d been trying to avoid—spoke.

Spencer held a quarter out for you, leaving the coin displayed in his palm until you graciously accepted it. “Thanks,” you said, “Do you have any suggestions?” You expertly dodged his attempt at eye contact, sliding the quarter into its slot and reading through the titles again. Pressing your lips in a thin line while you ignored the way he was leaning over the jukebox.

“Why did you ask him to come out?” He asked, pointing at one of the songs and chuckling when you shook your head. He should’ve known better than to actually make a request. After all, you were just being polite.

You squinted at a title, worn with time, and you distracted yourself with the task of reading it. “I didn’t know you were coming with us,” you muttered, refusing to let your curiosity get the better of you and resisting the urge to just select the worn button. “You don’t usually like this bar,” you reminded him. You couldn’t remember the last time Spencer went out to a bar that wasn’t O’Keefe’s.

He hummed next to you, standing so close that you could feel his body heat intermingling with your own. “So,” he started, “You wouldn’t have asked him to go out if you had known I was going to be here.”

“I didn’t say that,” you told him, your eyes flickering to the side. Not enough to see his face, but enough to notice that he’d taken off his suit jacket, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

“You might as well have,” he returned, watching as you finally chose a Fleetwood Mac song, concluding that you’d either have to choose a song you didn’t want or waste Spencer’s quarter.

You peeked around him, your date still preoccupied with the sporting event. Even so, you tried to make your way around Spencer, but he grabbed your elbow and held you back.

There was nothing forceful in his action. If you wanted to snatch your arm away and stalk away from him, he wasn’t going to stop you, but you found yourself interested in staying with him. It would be worth your while to stay with someone who was begging for your attention rather than return to the bar to beg for someone else’s.

Spencer looked around, mindful of the members of your team who were still in earshot while he led you away from the crowds. He tucked you away, resting your back against a shiplap wall in a corner, perfectly concealed from curious profilers. “I want to talk to you,” he whispered, leaning against the wall.

You crossed your arms in front of your chest in preemptive defense, making sure he stayed at least a foot away from you. “I’ve said everything there is to say to you,” you made no effort to avert his gaze, no attempt to duck away from the conversation.

“I haven’t,” he responded immediately, his voice steady despite the noticeable pounding of his carotid. It was almost as if he’d practiced this speech before, going through every permutation of the conversation in his mirror before meeting you out.

Raising your eyebrows, you looked up at him; the sun was setting, the orange light reflecting in his brown irises while he studied you like it was the last time he’d ever see you. “Spence,” you breathed, waiting expectantly for him to continue.

“You never actively pursued me, how was I meant to know you were interested?” His question made you want to scoff, but the earnest look in his eyes gave you pause. “Admittedly, social cues aren’t my strong suit, and I know you know that.”

Your shoulders relaxed, “So, because I never actively pursued you, it’s my fault that we never ended up together? Was I supposed to declare my intentions to you?”

He shook his head, sending strands of wavy brown hair tumbling in front of his forehead. In another life, you would’ve reached out to fix his hair. “No, I’m saying that while you never actively pursued me, I am actively pursuing you. I just want to make sure you know what page I’m on,” he told you, nervously picking at his nails.

“Spencer,” you sighed his name, “I already told you I couldn’t do it.” You’d cried it to him, actually. You expected this conversation to be more of the same, pleading with Spencer to understand your perspective on the situation while he relentlessly begged you to reconsider.

Reaching out, he touched your arm gently, nothing more than a graze of his fingertips across your bare skin, “And I want to prove to you that we can do this. I can be the guy that you want.”

You pressed your lips together, trying to push yourself further into the wall until you phased right through it, “I can’t take the back and forth.” You needed something stable, but what you needed would never be reflective of what you wanted. The most brutal truth of all was that you still wanted Spencer. You considered him your first love, and no one ever gets over their first love.

Just like he’d never get over his.

“There are just too many years between us, Spencer. It’s too complicated,” you told him, trying to keep your breathing steady. It would be exhausting to explain your tearful look to the rest of the team.

He waved your reasoning away, “It’s not. It’s not complicated. I love you and you love me. So, why can’t we be together?”

Your lips parted, staring up at him with wide eyes as your brain frantically tried to catch up with the situation at hand. Each beat of your heart was like a repetition of the word—love, love, love.

Spencer took your silence for rejection, “Maybe it’s just me then.”

“It’s not,” you croaked, fear and love and sorrow causing your throat to strangle your words. You looked up at him and wondered how long he’d been sitting on that confession. You wondered how long he’d known you loved him. You wondered if he still dreamed about Maeve. For whatever reason, that’s the only curiosity that you voiced, “Do you still dream about her?”

“I only dream about you these days,” he answered, his voice soft in the cacophony of the bar, keeping the conversation private despite your public stage.

“You can’t mean that,” you murmured, your face warming in response to his confession.

Your response only seemed to encourage him further, leaning his head down to allow himself contact. He pressed his lips to yours gently, and you found yourself leaning into him more than you’d like, each movement of his lips reminiscent of a chisel against the wall that you had constructed between the two of you.

Reaching your arms up, you propped one over his shoulder and used your free hand to weave your fingers in his hair—just as silky as you had always imagined it would be. His lips were soft against yours, and you knew you were fighting a battle that you could never win. You’d always run back to him.

Even when you pried yourself away from him, there wasn’t an ounce of regret in your bloodstream, but there was an outpour of sorrow. “Spence,” you breathed, blinking tears from your eyes while he pressed his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry,” he responded, “I shouldn’t have done that.” His tone didn’t reflect his words in the slightest, there was no remorse in his eyes when you met them for the first time in a new light.

You shook your head instantly, “It’s okay.” You understood why he had done it. Telling you he loved you. Kissing you. He hadn’t done either of those things with Maeve. Spencer was trying to make a statement with you; he wanted his actions to speak louder than words.

He frowned, “You’re crying. I’m so sorry.”

Your lips parted to respond, but you hesitated for a moment. Curiosity was rapping at your door, wanting to know if the last person he had kissed was Diane. “I’m not crying because I didn’t want you to kiss me,” you admitted, hoping that your candor would serve to bring him some comfort.

“Oh,” he breathed, “Oh.”

You nodded, confirming his suspicions, “But I meant it when I told you I can’t do this. I just… not right now.” You needed time to come to terms with the fact that the love you never expected was right around the corner, and you needed time so that Maeve wasn’t the first person you thought over after kissing him.

“Okay,” he said, taking a small step away from you, “But you… you’ll let me know?”

Your head bobbed, “I’ll let you know.”

"I love you and I always will and I am sorry. What a useless word." - Ernest Hemingway

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot

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tojisteddy · 3 days ago

Text

After Care with Toji.

cw: no use of ‘y/n’ I use ‘[+]’, depicting after care (obviously), sub space, softdom!toji, fluff, dom/sub dynamics, treading the line of dd/lg (anyone could digest this), pet names (baby, doll, mama, ma), it’s LONG (idk how many words, I know know it’s LONG), toji is the sweetest bf ever.

Toji knew your limits. He knew just how much he could push and pull, throw you around until you were delirious. And he knew when you were fucked out of your mind, when you couldn’t think properly, you who’d only knew how to moan and spew gibberish.

He’d had half of his manhood in you, slowly sliding out of your gushing cunt as he looked down at your ravished body. He had hickies and bite marks from the top of your neck to your toes, both of juices on your stomach down an absolute mess coming from both of your thighs. He adored the sight of it.

He gently lifted your chin to look at him, your eyes kept wandering around, “no, no, look at me mama, focus.” His voice was gentle but it was a command.

It sorta sounded like God was calling you, maybe the pearly gates were opening. You wouldn’t have minded.

“Where’s yer head at? Tell me.” He always asked when you were blissed out.

You couldn’t verbally answer though. You reached for the back of his knee and tapped. Once, twice, three times. Toji’d known from the first tap alone you were calling it quits, he sat you up on the pillows. Running to go get a damp towel or two to clean you off.

“Such a good girl f’ me today Doll. Did so well.”

You hiccuped, rubbing your face that was once full of tears. “Really?”

Fuck, you were so damn cute like this.

“Course mama,” he lifted your hand and kissing your knuckles and intertwined your fingers, “Loved bein with you. You love it too?”

“Course papa.” You replied, using his same sweet tone.

The ends of his lips curved up, leaving a quick kiss at your temple, “Yer so sweet baby.”

You hadn’t even realized when Togi finished cleaning you up and had sat you up, legs dangling off the bed. You felt his fingers going into your hair.

“I-I can take care ‘f myself Toji.”

“Sure you can ma, but not right now. Let me help you.”

Togi was consistent with after care. It was something he learned how to do after being with so many women, to look out for them. Help them clean up, get them properly conscious, relaxed.

It was different with you, though.

Not that he wasn’t a fan of it already, but after pushing you to your limit, manhandling you every which way known to man, forcing you to take everything he had— he loved taking care of you. To the point that even when his dick K.O’ed you into darkness, you’d wake up at 3 am, the moonlight slithering it’s way into the your shades bedroom through the curtains. You’d sit all the way up, rubbing your tired eyes to find yourself completely wiped down, in one of Toji’s sweatshirts that hung off him just right but gave you sweater paws, a pair of underwear and a scarf to protect your hair because he knew you’d be grumbling all morning if you woke up with out.

He didn’t mind because he loved you.

You, who never asked too much of him or pushed him too hard. You, who felt every need to be independent, and he had to teach you to rely on him. You, who had every wall built up as far as the eye can see, worse than him— it was Toji who broke every one of them down, breaking his own in the process.

Yes, you were his play thing in the bedroom, a messy girl, his slut— but everywhere else, you were his baby, his gorgeous girl, cute future mamma to his kids, his lover.

Oh how he absolutely adored you.

“What’ddya wanna do, huh? Take a drive, eat, a bath?” He had put your curls up with one of the silk scrunchies you left lying around, leaving peppering kisses on the back of your neck.

“A bath.” You mumbled.

“Yeah?” He carefully rubbed your hips, thankfully they didn’t bruise this time.

“Go on, take a shower first ‘nd I’ll meet you there. You know what to do.”

With a pat to your ass, you were off. Legs wobbly from so much action.

Toji took care of everything. From changing the sheets, lighting candles, playing whatever music you wanted to hear to wind down, running the overly hot bath water with bubbles, just how you liked it. Whatever you wanted at the moment, Toji would give it to you. He loved how reliant you were when you were blissed out.

He liked it when you were completely relaxed, completely trusting of him with not a care in the world. Your only focus was him and being with him. He also loved being needed by you, how you were like two peas in a pod— both of you needing each other.

You pressed your head on the cool tile of the shower, closing your eyes as the soap and water ran down your body. It felt soooo nice against your skin.

“Oi, if yer tired sit on the hinoki!”

He snapped you out of whatever trance you were in with the wall, but you closed your eyes again with a scuff, “fuck off… ‘m not tired… You’re fuckin tired.”

Toji chuckled, setting both of your pajamas on the bathroom counter and then joining you under the hot water.

“You talkin shit?” An amused look on his face, leaning down closer to see you. As if he wasn’t already following your every move, just to make sure you were safe on your own.

“You get in my face… talkin- talkin ‘bout me… you’rrre the one yellin. Yoouu must be tired.” You slurred out, a grin forming on your face.

“ ‘S that right?”

“ ‘M always righ—”

You yelped out, Tojis devious fingers immediately going to your tummy, your arm pits— anywhere he knew he could get a bustle of laughter out of you. At the best and worst times, Toji was a literal tickle monster. He could get anything out of you that way.

“That’s— haha- you’re cheating! Ah! Hehee- you cheater!”

“Come on! I know yer tired, I’ll stop if you sit.”

“Oh, come awn!”

Without another word, Toji had you trapped between his body and the tile wall of the shower, tickling you so much it hurt.

You groaned, still giggling up a storm, slapping his large arms that held you, “Damn it! I give! I give!”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his fingers were off of you body, taking your hand and guiding you to the hinoki.

“Doesn’t that feel better?”

“Whatever.”

It did feel better, your legs had been contorted in every in every way imaginable. Above his head, above your head, spread out from the Atlantic Ocean to the pacific. It felt good to take a rest.

Your eyes trailed up Toji’s body, skin riddled with scratch marks from his arms to his back, a few hickies on his neck, water cascading down his toned muscles, chiseled cheek bones—

“You starin mama?”

Toji hummed to himself, he loved when your eyes were on him. They were so pretty to him, especially when you were in the sun and he could really get a look at them. Like two Hershey kisses staring back at his green ones.

“Look so cute when you blush.”

“Shut up! You can’t even see it!”

He couldn’t, your brown skin didn’t let it peek through.

But it was in the way your eyes immediately went else where, unconsciously going to feel your heated cheeks or even trying to hide your face that had a small toothy smile— so fucking cute.

“Is the bath done?” Your eyes going to the tub a few feet away back to Toji who was washing his body with a wash cloth.

“Course, but you always fall asleep in there Doll ‘nd I told you I don’t like. It’s not safe.”

“I’ve never fallin asleep in there!”

His eyes met yours, eyebrow raised. Try it [+], I dare you.

“Maybe once.”

He shook his head, going back to washing his body. Unbelievable.

“More than once.” It came out more like a question even though you knew the answer to it.

Toji peered down at you, your eyes back at the tub. The steam was rising from the water, bubbles floating to and fro in the water. Slowly disappearing. Then your eyes went back to him. Big brown doe eyes, a tilt of your head and the cherry on top; a pout on your two tone lips. Not two big, not too small- just enough to push.

You were hell.

How could he say no when you were looking up at him like that.

“Fine- fuck baby, take your time!”

You slipped twice getting to the tub. Once because of how wet your foot was because of the water and another time because your legs felt exactly like the water under your foot. If it weren’t for the bath, you wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow. Now you would be able to, a little limp like you worked out (I mean you probably could consider what you did an hour ago a workout) but you’d be able to!

Toji was right there with you, towel in his lap just barely covering his manhood, sitting on the hinoki and washing his hair. Talking to you about anything from the lunch you packed him last week to the new sake he wanted to try. You loved it, Toji’s voice was like a melody, deep, scratchy because of all the cigarettes yet smooth— a shot of whiskey.

“Scoot.”

You moved forward so Toji could sit behind you, it was his spot whenever you took baths together. After care or not. He loved getting to hold you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder, leaving kisses at every place he left a hickey, maybe placing one or two new ones there.

Tonight was quiet, The Light In by Lana playing. You really were tired, unwilling to fight it but at peace— right where you needed to be. Toji was rubbing your arms, your thighs, your shoulders, just in the right places— he had some godly hands. Toji looked at you, who was completely slumped, your head resting against the tub, your long lashes slowly meeting each again and again.

“Ready for bed?”

“Mmm.”

You don’t know how, or when but by the time you’d realized— Toji had you in bed, teeth brushed, pajamas and scarf on and was rubbing the small of your back. Whispering how you did so well for him, how good you were, his adorable baby— a total sweetheart.

“Love you papa.” You mumbled, drifting off without a second thought.

Toji smiled, taking in your gorgeous face one more time before closing his eyes.

“Love you too mama.”

#tojisteddy presents #jjk x reader #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #toji fluff #x poc reader #x black reader #black reader #poc reader #toji x reader #toji zenin #toji x y/n #jjk x y/n #someone PLEASE LIKE THIS OMFG JDJDJDJD #toji drabble #idk if this is drabble it is what I say it is #toji oneshot #toji smut #toji x reader smut

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niccolites · 2 days ago

Text

febrile (or; input vs output)

He expects some kind of betrayal, for you to hiss and snap at him. Image of the NCPD, accepting your cyberware one week and raiding your clinic the other.

Instead you stand to the side and watch with him as the other officers dig through your stuff. They’re a bit too enthusiastic, your tray gets flipped over and your bench kicked over to check underneath and it isn’t righted again.

Simon watches you, uncaring that he should be watching his men. You tilt your head back and look up at him, you aren’t half his size but it’s a close thing. He thinks he likes that, watching the top of your spine disappear into your neck just to look at him, the arch of your throat. Traces his eyes over it, tendons and a vulnerable jugular, pushed out for him.

or: Simon is a member of the Night City Police Department and you're a ripper doc. It is his job to catch criminals, but even he can admit, he's taken a different approach for you. CYBERPUNK!AU

TAGS: Dubious Consent, Power Imbalance, Size Kink, Unhealthy Relationships

read here on ao3

Simon’s got a bug in his system that is turning his vision white at the edges when he finally visits you.

Not that he has much of a morality regarding visiting ripperdocs. Sure, they’re criminals and as a member of the NCPD, it is his job to arrest and charge criminal activity, but that was a rigid rule set decades ago. These days, the split between the NCPD and a common gang is that the rules the gang lives by aren’t written into the law. But, allowances are allowed on both sides.

Simon has never cared much to think about it. He sees some other officers have that blank look in their eye after they finish a shift, others who seem to revel in being able to do whatever it is that they want. Simon just does as he’s told. If he’s told to save the woman who survived a cyberpsycho attack then she is tossed over a shoulder and brought to the ambulance. If otherwise, a nod is all he needs to know that there are no witnesses. Finger, gun, trigger. The explosion in the palm of his hand, kicked back and caught. Delivered.

Maybe it has left a screw loose in his head. Not his job to analyse that.

Flouting the law as and when it suits the law is a part of the job. Not one that Simon has much indulged in, he must admit. Any murder, extortion, crime that is involved in the ‘etcetera’ part of his work, has been asked of him. His fellow officers flout the law as and when it suits them. Illegal weapons, killing a perp who gets too mouthy, maybe getting a bit too handsy with a victim. Simon hasn’t been much interested in the ‘benefits’ he can reap with his badge.

However, after a job where the NCPD took down a group of scavengers, Simon’s vision starts getting spotty. He’d had to jack into one of the victims to see if they were still alive. Horrible static, bad channel. They hadn’t been. And seemingly willing to haunt him from the afterlife, leaving a pesky virus in his system.

There are NCPD designated docs that he could go and visit, but the idea of letting one of their starched, freshly pressed hands go worming around in his cyberware makes his skin crawl. Years before his official service, he’d had all his kit installed by a ripperdoc, and he hadn’t had an issue he couldn’t fix himself since.

He spends a few days just trying to deal with it, still able to hit his shots using the noise that all criminals insist on making. He can still mostly see, even a few days in. Maybe not make out features, but people are blurry and morphed shapes that approach him and he puts them down with the same accuracy as before.

It’s not long before his captain pulls him up, though. Forces him to admit the bug, and issues a new command. Sort it out.

Standing in the doorway of your clinic, hidden in his civvies, here he is. Sorting it out.

You’re in the middle of muddling around with some of your equipment, humming to yourself before you must catch sight of him. The blur of your figure jumps, as your face comes into profile. You must be intimidated by the sight of him, something that he registers with a cool type of pleasure. Even not in his uniform and clearly strapped with all of his weapons, he blocks the light coming in from your doorway. You must see the metal of his left arm, nothing human left there. The gas mask that covers half of his face, black and stark against the pale of his skin.

“Hello. How can I help?” you ask, shifting something up your forehead. It distorts ths shape of your head and he realises that they must be massive goggles. Ridiculous, he imagines you must look like the image of the crazy scientist from old stories; you probably have a lab coat on. He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for your reputation, known as one of the best ripperdocs in Watson, even if you are as cheap as they say.

Ripperdocs are the gray area in Night City. Criminals, yes, but the hassle of actually taking down ripperdocs is more than it’s worth. Not that Simon tends to give a fuck about the politics, or the give and take of crime vs law. He is a bullet, pointed in a direction and shot out.

“I got a bug in my system,” he says, taking another step into your clinic.

You nod, gesture for him to take a seat on your bench. Something out of a dentist’s nightmare, he imagines, but he takes a seat nonetheless. Despite lying down, everything in him is as tense as a straight line. Gaze landed and caught on you, lazy as he watches you drift around your clinic. His vision is filtering your clinic as starkly white, the outline of your light grey. You both may as well be in void, he can only see the outline of objects as they get close to him.

You swing your chair around and pick up a wire. “You cool if I take a look?” you offer, gesturing with the wire. His forearm is already tense with the instinct to catch your hand before you can plug that into the side of his neck. His metal gasmask covers the slot anyway.

A beat, in which you look back at him. He considers making it awkward, telling you no or something. Settles on nodding and watches the way you flounder for a moment when you realise you can’t reach the slot. You’re paused, flatering in the space between the two of you.

“Can you take off your mask?” you ask. Your voice is deliberately light, but he can hear the catch of annoyance underlying your tone. It makes him want to grin, wonders how you look right now, if you’re frowning at him or trying to hide it with a smile.

“No,” he tells you. A beat. You don’t move or attempt to say anything else. Stalemate, when he can’t see how you look. “There’s a catch on the side, you unlatch that to reach the slot.”

You don’t say anything else, and he’s irritated by that. Relying on noise when the other individual doesn’t want to make any noise just leaves him listeless. You reach up, click open a section of his mask and plug in. You turn away, pull what must be a tray towards yourself. You must have plugged him into your laptop, your figure hunched towards it.

You cluck your tongue, goggles shifting across your brow as you gaze at your screen. “This is a nasty one, how’d you catch this?” He decides that’s not relevant and watches you instead. You give him a quick glance, head tilting his way, but decide to shrug off his strange silence. “I’ll just be a moment while I clear it. Seems to have caught onto a lot of your neural sensors, I’m surprised you can still walk.”

His chest doesn’t puff out with pride, but it’s a close thing. You tinker away at it, finally clearing it from his system. The whites that had clouded his vision clears, and he can see you in high definition finally. Can see the pores next to your nose, the frizz around the strap of your goggles as it disappears into your hair. You’re giving him an evaluating look, your eyes intent even as the rest of your body is deliberately loose. You don’t seem to have much chrome on you, thin lines of metal around your eyes, and a scanner on your right palm. He doubts you have much more.

“There we are, good as new,” you tell him, leaning back in your chair with a pleased huff. You give him another long look, but this time he can see the widen and pinprick of your retina. He wonders how he comes up in the scan that you must’ve pulled up the second he was in your doorway. Cop, ex-army, de-commissioned, KIA but here, in the (mostly) flesh. You don’t give any of it away, just shut your laptop and unplug him.

You hadn’t asked for payment upfront, and he imagines just walking out. Wonders if you would scowl at him, if you would expect it, maybe scowl for once. Drop that calm look on your face in exchange for something a bit uglier.

There is a long beat that he draws out to see what you will do, but you only sit patiently. You turn back to your laptop, tapping away on something else now. It’s not fun if you’re not biting, he sends you what he decides must be your standard fee, watches you tilt your head to the side at the chime of money exchanged.

He doesn’t thank you, just gets up and leaves. You didn’t close the latch on the side of his mask, and he considers marching back and making you do it, but decides to save it for another day. He closes it himself for now, and fancies that he can feel the finger print that you left behind on it, evidence.

The first warrant he comes back with is legitimate. Cyberpyschos are going mental over the bridge, and they have a faint enough lead that shows some of the cyberware tracing back to yourself. He knocks on your door and watches your face when he presents it to you.

He expects some kind of betrayal, for you to hiss and snap at him. Image of the NCPD, accepting your cyberware one week and raiding your clinic the other.

He imagines reaching over and holding his hand over the soft column of your throat. You’ve left it bare, you’d likely barely have any time to start flailing before he’d squeeze with intent and you’d drop, caught in the palm of his hand. If you can sense his thoughts, you don’t give it away, just watch him in return, blinking like a stray cat. Curious but wary.

“You know, Officer Riley, if you wanted to see me again, you didn’t have to bring the official signed document,” you say, gesturing with the hologram that was on the chip he presented to you. It’s slightly flirty, but cautious, like you’re padding around an interrogation room, but you don’t know what he’s done yet.

He doesn’t say anything. You smile back, as if he had responded, and let it lie. Your eyes are sharp, he imagined he could hear the whir as you scanned each of his men as they came in, but your smile and limbs are loose, like you are unaware of everything. Your teeth are blunt, but he imagines the cut of one against the metal of his forearm.

They don’t find anything, and one of his men huffs, giving you a dirty look. You’re asked what you work as and your smile doesn’t slip. “I help those with addiction, this is a place for them to speak, to be treated,” you answer.

“Treated?” one of his men pushes, giving Simon a look. It’s a terrible lie, so bad that Simon reckons they’ll have a hard time proving it’s not true. This is a shitty area, there’s likely 3 gonks in the alleyway outside lying in the gutter, high. You’re also liked enough that they could grab a random off the street and they’d lie for you easily enough.

“Simple brain dances, meditations,” you explain, rolling your head back to give Simon another look. The smile is gone, eyes gone guileless. He squints at it, suspicious and the corner of your mouth gives the faintest twitch. “Honestly, officers, whatever it is that you’re looking for, I’m sure I would not be of any help.”

One of his men steps forward as if to grab you by the arm but Simon barks at him to step back. You haven’t looked away, but you look analysing again, like you had looked at the virus in his system. “We’re done here,” Simon announces and steps back before you can say anything else. Leaves you with your trashed clinic and his warrant on the chip he gave you.

Simon falls asleep later and dreams of you with a scalpel in your hands, and when you cut into him, there is no blood.

Simon sees you again, but this time you’re outside. It bristles him, seeing you standing on an open street. Your sides are bare and before he can think about it too much, he’s cut his eyes around every alleyway around you. Making sure that there is no one on the rooftops. Traffic roars past and he grits his teeth. There's been a spike in drive-by shootings, gangs nipping at each other’s heels in a show of territory.

He’s over to you before he can stop himself, a hulking mass at your back, shielding you from the view of the road. He would tell himself that he is doing his duty as an officer, but he has always been a self-interested man, and never cared much to lie to himself.

You startle as his shadow swallows you up, turning around to blink up at him. You squint at the sight of him. “Officer,” you greet. He grunts in response, which makes you almost roll your eyes.

You turn back to the stall you were standing at, humming over some mods for sale.

The man at the stall is terrified at the introduction of Simon, pale and nodding mindlessly as you start to barter. Simon imagines if he flashes his holster then you would even get the mod for free, a thought which amuses him. You'd likely get even more annoyed, which he does want to see.

As if you can sense his thoughts, you wrap up the exchange quickly and step away, Simon following at your back. “There something you want from me, officer?” You ask, giving him a look over your shoulder. He stares back at you, unyielding.

He’s unsettled suddenly, imagining how often you must be outside of your clinic. He hadn’t thought of it, had only imagined you were constrained in those four walls. The door had shut behind him and he had left you there, a still picture until he would return eventually. Waiting, like a good girl, sat by the door.

“You going home?” he asks you. Tells you.

You give him another look. He wants the crack of your skull in his palms, like the clean split of a watermelon. Wants to parse through your thoughts, wants to have them before they even fully form on your own.

“Yeah, I got what I needed,” you reply. He grunts, follows you until you tilt towards the side streets that lead back to your clinic. Barely any safer, but at least it’s not the open street, and he has his orders to patrol here. He watches you as you disappear around a corner. His gums itch, his tongue flexes in his mouth. He is a wild dog held back with a tattered leash, but he respects it all the same, heads back to his post, but keeps his ear tilted in the direction you went in.

He comes back again, and the warrant isn’t even real. He stares you down, wants you to open it, wants the reaction to his baldfaced lie. You take the chip and step aside to let him in. There’s a cut across your brow, purple bruising around it and he can’t look away from it. White in his vision again, he’s starting to suspect you’ve put another virus in his system, infecting him. He blinks and it clears, but the distrust stays like a rotting in his core.

He wants to dig his teeth into the edge of the metal in your palms and peel it up, wants the imprint of his teeth somewhere on you that you couldn’t replace with technology. He thought about you while he fucked his fist in the shower, and you had been beneath him, teary-eyed as he broke you in on his cock. He wants to fuck you until you drop that questioning look in your eye and bare your throat for him again.

“Look at the warrant,” he tells you. You smile up at him, like he is someone charming. He’s not, and he wants the reaction that he has sought out of you.

“Won’t it just say what all of them say?” you point out, leaning back against your desk. “Something that may have something to do with me, and here you are.” He stays silent, stares you down. “Do you want me to be a criminal?”

“You are one,” Simon rebuttals. That’s why he’s here. You need to be, he needs to catch you. He dreamt of chasing you down a network, jumping between wires and static until he caught your hips in his hands and crushed them. His desire for you is entwined with the dichotomy of your identities. He isn’t much interested in forcing you to become a legal law-abiding citizen, as he is pushing the two of you further into the roles that you are in.

“You know what I mean,” you add, pushing off of your desk and stepping towards him. A step away and he reaches his metal hand out, clamps your jaw in his palm. You let him, like you always seem to do, and it’s like pure heroin, lights something up in him.

“Who did this?” he asks, your chin in his palm, his thumb on your eyebrow. Right on the cut. He thinks if it was him that put it there, he might dig in a little, but he wasn’t. It’s hidden from view like this, with the edge of your eyebrow, disappeared behind his ugly, metal thumb.

“Got jumped by some asshole who thought he was hot shit,” you say, easily. The way you say everything, no pit-stop between your brain and your mouth. He wants to dig his tongue into the back of your throat and catch the words there, drink them down.

“Who?” he asks. You shrug and he shakes your jaw like a bad dog. “Who?” he repeats, tone biting. There’s a twitch in your eye at being roughhoused but you don’t step back.

You give a name, raising an eyebrow at him. He vaguely recognises it, some asshole who’s been causing trouble in Watson. Some wannabe gangbanger. He butts his head against yours, too hard to be truly affectionate before he leaves. His gas mask bumps against your cheek, leaves a red mark on your jaw from where his metal fingers dug in.

He shoots the fucker who jumped you, and dumps his body in the river. He watches it float, knowing it’ll be found. When they see the NCPD bullet extracted from his brain, he’ll be dumped back out again. Simon thinks about allowances, thinks about ropes of wire and how they snap. Rubber ripped, coil exposed.

He comes to see you again, this time in the middle of the night, wanting to see what you look like when you’ve just woken up. He imagines you’ll be pliant, let him shift you around as he wishes, sleep in your eye and a dream still dragging on your limbs.

You open the door and rub your eyes. Your hair is a little ruffled from your bed, blinking up at him with thick-cottoned eyes. He smiles with teeth beneath his gas mask at how awareness flickers into your eyes before you force a yawn. You’re so quick, which is why it’s always so satisfying to catch you.

“Something I can help with, officer?” you ask, leaning against the doorframe.

“Let me in,” he tells you. Demands it of you. It would be so easy to force his way in, but he likes it when you do as he tells you to.

“You got a warrant for that?” you ask, scrubbing a hand over your jaw. Eye him like he’s your patient again, like you’re finding that virus in his system and cutting it out.

“No,” he replies. Watches your expression, the subtle tick of your brow at his bold-faced honesty.

He wonders if you’ll shut the door on him. Make him peel the metal back to get in anyway. He would, he’s saved up his allowances and he plans on cashing them out on you.

You give him another long look before you step to the side and let him in. The door slides shut with a wheeze and a soft thunk.

“Is there something that you would like to say, Officer Riley,” you say, as if it’s a question but your voice doesn’t lilt at the end. He wants to catalogue every one of your reactions and keep them to himself, squirrelled away, out of the sight of anyone else. That is something beyond liking you, beyond attraction. Simon feels possessive of everything about you, like he might cave someone’s skull in if they saw too much of you.

Simon’s never been too much of a talker, he steps forward and crowds you into the desk that has all of your equipment on it. You blink up at him, perfectly still in the way that prey animals are, when they know they’re caught. The rabbit-like flutter of your heart, caught in the palm of his hand as he cups your neck. Thumb against the soft give just beneath your chin. “Simon,” he tells you, although he knows you already must know. He never told you he was Officer Riley, knows that you must have pried your way into whatever confidential information that you could find on your scan of him.

“Well, that doesn’t feel appropriate, Officer Riley,” you point out. Your calm tone is undermined by the kick of your pulse. His fingers flex, held back with a trained restraint. He likes knowing you’re afraid of him, like that you talk back to him anyway. Like watching a kitten yowl at a beast. Cute.

“Simon,” he repeats, bending his head closer to you, A hunch in his shoulders, and his face still isn’t that close to yours.

A quiet beat. “Simon,” you repeat. Your voice is flat, as if you’re trying to take the enjoyment out of it for him. He huffs with something like amusement. He gets his rocks off here, having his way in your clinic, the feel of your skin against the scar tissue of his human hand. You could be scowling or smiling, and he’d like either once he’s got his fingers in your mouth.

He reaches his other hand up and undoes his gas mask, lets it drop off and sets it on the desk next to your hip. Hoists you up, catches the kick of your leg, steps into the cradle of your thighs. “There we go,” he tells you. Your eyes have taken in the exposed section of his face. Ripped skin, some replaced by chrome, most of it left to heal as is. He knows that he is an ugly sight, a hulking, horrible man, hunched over you. He doesn’t care much what you have to say about it.

He ducks his head and looks you in the eye, even playing ground. You glare back at him and he grins with teeth. He hopes that you bite him, seals his mouth over yours. Your tongue is wet and he tilts your head back, wanting to get into your throat. You bite his tongue and he groans, his other hand pushing your hips into his. He grinds into you, huffing into your mouth. He memorises each point of your teeth, sucks your tongue into his mouth and blinks at you with half-closed eyes.

He pulls back with a wet smack, which leaves your cheeks flushed. “Show me your tits,” he tells you, hands flat on your desk, framing your hips. You don’t move, glaring up at him again. He gives you a lazy look, like you’re boring him now. If anything, the hateful look in your eye has made him even harder, if it were possible. “Now.”

“Such a dick,” you mutter to yourself, reaching for the buttons of your pyjama shirt and slipping it off. There’s a fine tremble in your hands before you still them with a calming breath. He was right on his first impression of you - that you barely have any chrome on you. Your skin is soft looking, no harsh metal on your torso. Restricted to the framing of metal around your eyes, your right palm.

He smooths his metal hand up your side, watches gooseflesh and vellus hair raise in its wake. Cups one of your breasts in his cold metal palm. Almost coos at the sight of your nipple pebbling as his thumb swipes over it. Restrains himself at the last second, but gives into the urge to give you a mean pinch as retribution for your filthy mouth. You jump, a hitch in your breath. He smirks at you, hopes you can see the chip in his canine. “Behave,” he tells you, reaching for the waistband of your bottoms. Maybe once he’s drunk his fill, he can indulge the bite of your mouth, but his skin feels stretched thin over chrome and bone, and he wants what’s his and he wants it readily.

There’s a jump in your abdomen as his hand dwarves your hip, tugging your pyjama bottoms off and tosses them behind him. He spreads your thighs, peaks at the curls the cover your sex. All of the dolls in Night City are clean shaven. He likes this better, likes that you hadn’t been expecting him, and here he is anyway. He makes a mental reminder to bin all of your razors if he gets a chance.

He parts your sex with two fingers, huffing at the sight. So sweet, even with your strange looks and your filthy mouth. Sweet as sugar down here, your hole fluttering, your clit hidden under its hood like it’s shy. His hands are a cage around the span of your waist, squeezes in warning before he thuds to his knees and flattens his tongue against you. You whimper at the contact, manage to strangle the noise just barely. When he seals his mouth over your clit and sucks, you yowl, thighs kicking out. He squeezes them in place over his shoulders, barely jostled.

He brings one hand down from your waist, lifts his head, a string of saliva connecting him to your clit. It’s out now, throbbing and awake. He spits on it, watches you flinch with it. Spittle drips down, sits on the slick that has gathered at your hole. He feeds you one finger, groans as he watches your flesh part for him, and feels how hot you are inside. You're tight, he can feel muscle clamp down around his index, clinging to him. “Need to relax, sweetheart, or my cock’s gonna break you,” he tells you. It almost feels like a struggle to even feed you one finger, something that leaves a strangled feeling in his chest.

“Do one,” you reply, eloquently. But you don’t kick him off you or anything, so he just gives you another look. He’s being too indulgent with you, he knows. But, it’s better to let a puppy misbehave so they know what’s not tolerated. Training for another day, he lowers his head and licks at the stretch of your pussy around his finger.

He slides his finger in and out of you, gives you another when your panting starts to hitch up, rubbing his thumb over your clit when you whine at the stretch. You start whining out swears, hips jolting forward and then back again as if you want to come, but don’t want him to give it to you.

His third finger is pushing it, he knows because you start clawing at his scalp, sharp little nails. He groans hot onto your clit, which has you shaking. You’re wet with sweat, he can see the shine of it on the curve of your belly, on the strip of skin between your tits.

He slows the pump of his fingers, idly toying your clit with his tongue. He debates if you should be allowed to come. He doesn’t want you knowing that he finds your pissy words amusing, doesn’t want to overly encourage it. However, you haven’t tried to run, or punch him or anything of that ilk. He knows that you can’t help the kick of your hind legs. He pinned you down with teeth at your throat, and he knows that you’re trying so hard to behave. Besides, sinking his cock into you is already going to be a struggle, nevermind if you aren’t loose and pliant for him.

He curls his fingers, sucks your clit, chasing your orgasm like it’s his last meal. A test in his restraint. He thinks that he wants this more than you do. Your lungs stutter, shaking as your hands cradle his head. You’re muttering to yourself, ‘please’ spilling out of you, again and again. Another mean suck and your shriek, back bowing and he feels the clench of your cunt around his fingers.

He fingers you through it, until you are almost sobbing, trying to crawl away from him, but held in place with his metal hand that has slipped to the small of your back. He gives your clit a kiss, mean and hard just to watch it throb before he gets up off his knees with a groan. He;s getting too old to be kneeling on tile like that. He’ll fuck you in a bed next time, if you’re good.

He slides his fingers out of you, unbuttons his trousers. You stare at him, vaguely out of it as you try to catch your breath. Awareness seems to slam back into you as he fishes his cock out. He’s big, he knows this, but the way your eyes widen like he’s pulled a gun on you has him chuckling to himself. “That’s not going to fit,” you tell him, tone dead.

“Enough flirting,” he tells you, catching your legs over his forearms and dragging you to the edge of your counter.

“You’re deranged,” you snark. He’s amused, watching the anger tugging at your scowl, naked beneath him, and your slick caught in the curls between your legs.

He gives the side of your thigh a firm smack, catching the jump of your body. “Watch that mouth, or I’ll put it to use,” he warns you. You glare up at him, but don’t say anything else. A shame, but he does have to have a firm hand with you.

He takes his cock and grinds it against you, parting your curls to get to the hot, wet flesh beneath. He catches the head of his cock against your clit, slicks himself up, knowing that he’ll need it if the greedy suck of your cunt around his fingers is any indication. He pulls back and lines himself up. He understands what you’re saying, the mushroom shaped head dwarves the small hole that flutters as he presses against it lightly. It’s hard to imagine fitting in there, even given that he has tried to prepare you.

You don’t seem to understand how bullheaded Simon is, though. He hasn’t chased anything that he hasn’t caught yet. A tense of his wide bicep and he starts to push into you, metal hand on the base of his cock, the other lightly rubbing your clit in circles to get you to give way.

There’s a moment where he thinks it might not happen, you’re starting to flush, face shining with sweat. Then there’s a shudder and your cunt parts, splits, sweet fruit halving and the head slips inside. You both groan, his head dropping onto your collar as he pushes further into you. You’re slick, he can feel your cunt sucking at him.

You start to whimper as he pushes further into you. His thumb rubs up and down on your clit, insistent even as if you try to cringe away from him. Shallowly thrusts, keeps pushing until you start to give way. You thump your fist against his chest, the impact bouncing off of chrome. He barely acknowledges it, and continues grinding into you.

He bottoms out, groans into your collarbone. “There we go, there we are, sweet girl,” he tells you. The muscles in your back loosen at the praise, feels tense flesh give out into his metal hand.

He pulls fully out and slams into you, and you whine, hands on his shoulders and clinging. “Simon -” you start, but he shifts both his hands onto the back of your knees and pushes them up to your shoulders. He can see the stretch of your cunt around him like this, the spread of your legs for the monstrous size of him. He feels dizzy with it, can’t stop himself from pulling almost all of the way out of you before slamming inside. His eyes almost roll back into his head, and you sob, nails digging into the flesh that he has on his back.

Your knees over his forearms, he braces his hands on your hips and he starts thrusting into you, pleasure zipping up his spine. Breathy sounds are punched out of you each time his thighs slap into yours. There’s a heat rising in him, catching and flaming.

He lifts his torso up, looks down on you. It’s like he thought, the prick of tears in the corner of your eyes, the swollen spread of your pussy around him. He drops one of your legs in favour of flattening his palm against your throat. Your pulse is fat in his palm. He catches it there, feels the ricochet into the meat of his hand.

You clench down on him and he groans, bares his teeth at you. “You like that, huh?” he asks you, flexing his fingers over the tendons of your neck. Your mouth is open, he can see the pink flash of it in your mouth. You try to shake your head but another hard thrust just sends it rocking back instead, another moan gritting through your teeth again.

He digs into you, flexes the metal in his legs to thrust into you hard and fast. Exertion is an old friend, and he takes it into his stride. He is only starting to pant a little, but you’re running hot and have been for a while.

Pleasure is molten hot at his pelvis, and each time his hips meet yours, cock kissing your cervix, his vision whites out at the sides. The virus that you must have planted in him is deteriorating in his system, leaving him almost mindless. He’s chasing you, still, even with you caught between his body and your desk. Breath like steam pouring out of his mouth, saliva pooling under his tongue as he realises that you’re within reach.

You stare up at him, eyes wide. The vision of your head held up by his hand is enough to finish him off. He slams into you a few more times, groaning deep in his chest while you squeak, spills hotly in you, grinds to draw out the spark that glares in his vision until he stills.

A moment of quiet, air thick with sex and sweat. He drops his head against yours with a thunk as your skulls collide. Feels the buzz of your grunt in your throat with his hand still nestled there.

“You got a bed back there?” he asks, temple against yours.

“Not telling you,” you mutter, sounding wrung-out and gutted. He snorts, scoops you up in his arms, stepping back from your desk, holding you up. Still have a smart mouth. But, he has the patience to get that out of you. Not all of it though, but he won’t tell you that.

A week later, a missing report for a ripperdoc in Watson hits Simon’s desk. He shreds it, and it sounds like the chime of an allowance, cashed in.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #cod #call of duty x reader #call of duty #nic writes #cyberpunk au #cw dubcon #hes sooooo nasty i need him terribly #he's my pookie (exact thought that lands this reader in immediate trouble)#anyway i have tagged this as dubcon #but its more on the lighter side than my usual #at least i think so. will welcome thoughts on that lol

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ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat · 3 days ago

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because i liked a boy - spencer reid x fem!reader

somehow a reporter finds out about reader's relationship with none other than her coworker, dr spencer reid and shames her for it during a press conference

genre: flangst wc: 1355 warnings: medialiaison!reader established relationship, slut-shaming, feminism talk, upset spencer, morgan mention, mentioned case involving children

"This is a rough composite sketch of the UnSub. If anyone sees him, please call us using the number on the screen. Any questions?" you speak clearly, eyebrows raised and back straight.

It's a tough case this time, not that any are easy. The ones involving children–like this one–are the worst. You know that. It’s yet to hit you this hard, though. You're used to being in front of a camera all fake smiles and airbrushed to look porcelain but you're struggling to hold it together today. It’s never been easy to see grieving parents begging for their kid’s life on national television.

It also doesn't help that you haven't seen Spencer much these past two days. Ever since HR found out about you two, he’s been trying to keep his distance for professionalism’s sake. You appreciate it, of course, but you wish everything could be normal again. You miss working alongside him, sneaking tiny waist pinches every little while. Maybe you’re codependent.

One of the male reporters holding a microphone asks plainly, like it isn’t rude, “how do you expect this case to go to trial with your ongoing relationship within your team? Isn’t that some sort of conflict of interest?”

Now, how did they find out about that?

Luckily, Hotch steps in before you need to form a response. You’re left flushed and out of sorts, needing some water or something. It’s not like you’ve never had a bad press experience but nothing that came after you specifically. Why do they even care in the first place? Are you really that interesting? Is your love life really that interesting? His mustn’t be.

To Hotch, he spits, “it’s a valid question, Agent, you can’t expect no one to comment on one of your unit’s members sleeping her way to the top or… sleeping her way to getting a case dismissed.”

You want to stay, fight, cry, maybe even guilt him into apologizing, but, to your dismay, you’re pulled away by Morgan who looks just as upset as you do. If there weren’t a room full of people stopping him, you’re sure he would’ve hurt the guy. You don’t want to be dragged away by the action figure that is Derek Morgan so you try to pour your feelings into words. “The conference– the case–!”

Morgan stares at you in a way that very clearly says are you done? And, yes, you guess you are. You sigh, nodding reluctantly.

“Hotch will figure it out,” he assures softly but firmly.

You’re escorted to the break room where you watch the television only to see that very same reporter, spewing his nonsense again. Low and behold, he’s still stuck on the topic of you.

“An anonymous source discloses the identities of two FBI agents with the Behavioural Analysis Unit that are in a relationship of hidden rendezvous.”

The pitter-patter of your heart is louder than usual as he reads out your names along with the loving message, “I guess this proves that women really can’t be trained. What a shame, she’s certainly got–”

With that, you shut off the disgusting noises coming from someone claiming to be a man. You’ve never been good at taking insults but this was something else entirely. Your chest burns. You’re being perceived as a person you’re not. Everything you’ve tried so hard to build could all come crashing down at this very moment if you let it.

All because you liked a boy?

It feels ridiculous, like a step in the wrong direction for all womankind. That’s dramatic, you’re sure, but this is so twenty years ago. What happened to feminism, for fuck’s sakes? You wouldn’t give Spencer up for anything less than solving world hunger, but you wish this whole ordeal could’ve never happened. What if you lose your job? What if you lose this case because you’re too sensitive to male attention for your own good? Unfortunate circumstances led here and you wish it could be simple. It’s a tall order, but you wish UnSubs and all the people who enjoy pinning others down would simply cease to exist. You wish Spencer was here.

As if reading you all the way from canvassing the neighborhood, he’s suddenly visible, walking towards the doorway with quick Converse-sounding steps, Morgan’s hand on his shoulder. He looks worried. What worries you, though, is that he looks guilty. That hurts.

Familiar arms wrap around you as he kneels on the floor in front of the couch. “Hey, I heard what happened. Are you okay?” Spencer whispers, lips pressed into the fabric covering your shoulder.

You ponder the question for a moment before nodding. You’re not quite sure how you feel, if you’re being completely truthful. Criticism was never something you’ve taken well. Not ever. Maybe you deserve it, though. After all, you are sleeping with a coworker. You’re an agent, it’s not appropriate of you in the least. You should’ve kept to yourself, been the good girl the world wanted you to be. Female agents in the big bad FBI are already seen a certain way. You just happened to worsen it with wide-eyed affection.

How he always does, he mutters an explanation, “people like that don’t have anything going for them, you know. They report on others because their own life is insignificant.”

It’s wildly the wrong time to laugh but you do, flushed cheeks plumping from a happy smile. He pulls away and your hands find his face like they always seem to do. “I know.”

He nods. He pushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

He’s so unbelievably pretty that it almost makes you want to cry. Those same somber eyes that you’re sure mirror yours stare deep.

“It just sucks… you know?” you say so very quietly.

Nodding, he chews on his lip. “I know.”

“It’s like… I thought slut-shaming was over,” you laugh bitterly.

You can tell he feels bad. It’s not like this is his fault. You know he believes it is, anyways.

“It should be. It’s ridiculous. This isn’t your fault. That useless guy should be spending the night in a cell for harassing an agent not on the ten o’clock news airing out our personal matters.”

It’s really not often you see him like this, upset and wielding pain-filled threats. It never fails to amuse you. You’re not sure why. Something about the juxtaposition of his usual sweet demeanor and this annoyed ranting one, you suppose.

“It’s kind of funny.”

“Funny?”

You smile and nod, your thumb tracing his lower lip. “A little. We’re the most enthralling news in all of small-town-Colorado.”

While Spencer doesn’t find it quite as giggle-inducing, he mimics the pull of your mouth’s corners and shows his reluctant agreement with a bob of his head. “That is… silly, I guess.”

“We’re basically stars,” you shrug.

In honest disbelief and certainly awe for your ability to brush off the event with humour, he shakes his head, curls falling out of place. Your fingers rush to correct it. The golden eyes you love stay stubbornly put on your own. Breaths mix together in the close proximity despite you not recalling how you got so close. It’s proven difficult to care when his plush lips find yours. Carefully and with love, he kisses you. With no intent, no desire other than to make you feel better. It breaks stickily, the shimmer that once was on your lips now ghosting around his mouth. You grin.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Spencer tenderly mutters.

Gently, you answer, “I’m sure. I mean, we didn’t do anything wrong.”

You believe yourself. You’d never doubt your relationship with Spencer. It just sucks that they had to poke holes in your safe place. That safe place being Spencer. Your home. You know because of your profiler-by-association background that he was right about the reporter being not fulfilled enough in his own life that he had to insert himself into yours. That didn’t make it drastically better, anyway. Perhaps your personal life should be kept away from work.

But it’s not your fault that work happens to include Dr. Spencer Reid.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #sabrina carpenter #criminal minds x reader

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girl-lostconnection · 1 day ago

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YOUR FRUIT BAT READER HAS MY WHOLE HEART 😩😭🫶🏻 any more thoughts to spare… no pressure tho i absolutely adore your writing <333

- @beloveds-embrace

For @beloveds-embrace. Some not the most appropriate thoughts about Price and Reader for you, friend

I’m thinking about fruit bat!Reader x Komodo Dragon!Price whom it takes some time to get to their core.

Price who’s uncharacteristically careful, feeling like a right twat after realising he doesn’t know much about their new addition to his team. New addition to his boys.

Price returns to your file and starts noting what can he do to do better. It’s not proper for a leader to know this little about their subordinate. It’s not proper for the leader of the pack not to welcome you like he should’ve.

Price who starts taking fruits during breakfast just to pawn them off to you a minute later, rumbling that he forgot he can’t eat this much.

(The man does it every bloody morning, does he think he’s actually sneaky with that?)

But no one says anything and he hums in satisfaction when you gobble down an orange or an apple he gives to you. Lizard part of his brain pleased to see you fed and happy with his offering.

Lizard part of his brain has already switched to proper courting without him catching up on it up until he finds himself massaging the nape of your neck.

Fingers digging into tense muscle, fingers sliding lower to the base of your wings, to the additional back muscles only you and Kyle have. He knows these are the places you can hardly reach yourself.

He knows that it’s usually reserved for pack to touch there — too vulnerable of a place, too easy for someone of his size to tear out the tender thin wing off your back.

But you don’t move away, deliberately not looking at him. Like if you pretend he’s not there you won’t need to explain why you are letting him this close.

Price hums massaging your back, warm palms sending shivers all over your body, your ears burning when he leans forward, beard tickling your neck.

He’s close enough to bite down. Close enough to close his jaws around inviting slope of your neck, to force you down.

But he doesn’t. There is no need for this.

You are not growling Simon, you are not cheeky stubborn Soap, you aren’t even Kyle with his habit to test waters until John pulls him under it.

You are you.

John presses small, soft kiss behind your ear, fingers tracing the skin of your wings, fingers melting you into nothing.

“Tha’ okay, love?”, he murmurs, pressing his cheek to your neck, his smile wide wicked thing full of teeth when you give him a shaky nod.

“Can’t hear you, sweetheart”, John is not used to this but he finds he rather likes to have a pretty bat like you being this good for him. Such a sweet little soldier, making his mind hazy with want to lick all over you.

Leaving saliva and his scent, marking you proper. Not right that you don’t smell like them yet.

John pulls you in, cradling in his hands, eyes warm and heavy. Komodo dragons fight to prove they are worthy of being at the top. Komodo dragons need to know that they deserve what they have.

John knows that for now he didn’t prove that he deserves you, your trust, your bond.

That’s alright. Just means he will need to put in some much needed hard work.

John presses his face to your neck and breathes in, smiling when your wings give him a small flutter. Sensitive little thing.

“Come on, love. Think I saw some mangoes dropped in with re-supply . Gonna have a feast today”, he grumbles, eyes crinkling with pleasure when your eyes light up.

Yeah, both of you will feast alright.

#call of duty #cod mw2 #girl.snippets #fruit bat au #task force x reader #task force 141 #john price x y/n #captain john price x you #john price x you #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price #price x reader #price cod #john price #captain price

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illubean · 2 days ago

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NSFW warning; reader discretion advised

imagine riding Nerdjo while on the phone with his best friend; the one and only lady killer Suguru

The three of you were pretty close friends, and you had slept with Suguru before, but poor virgin Satoru only recently just worked up the courage to confide in you about his problems

Despite being attractive enough to get any girl he wanted, Satoru often turned down the attention of any other women. He feared that his hobbies would scare them off sooner or later, and even if they didn't, he wanted to lose it to someone he trusted.

He knew that someone had to be you, but since you and Suguru were pretty consistant FWB, it felt slightly wrong to him.

you should only be sleeping with one person at a time, right?

So when he finally told you about his qualms, he didn't expect you to strip him, push his back onto his digimon bedsheets, and give him the ride of his life

No woman in her right mind would fuck a man who still had digimon bedsheets in his late 20s, but Satoru was just so cute asking you for help that you couldn't say no to him

Satoru whimpered and whined beneath you, your weepy pussy clenching around his length feeling better than his hand ever could. The poor guy couldn't keep his hands to himself, pawing and groping any and every inch of skin he could reach

You cooed at him while he babbled nonsense, before your phone went off and you picked it up from the bedside table. Suguru was facetiming you. Without as much as a second thought, you answered.

"Hey pretty. What are you up to?"

"Mm, not much. Just hanging out with 'Toru" you responded as if you weren't currently bouncing on the aforementioned man's cock. Satoru slapped a hand over his mouth, attempting to muffle his own pleasured cries while his skin flushed from his cheeks all the way down to his neck.

"I didn't know you guys were hanging out today. I just got off work, should I come over?"

"Sure! Y'know, he actually asked me-"

"Mnnooooo, don't tell himm!"

Your eyes widened at Satoru's whiny protest, looking at him past your phone to see a fucked out, embarrassed expression on his face. You let out a breathy laugh and smirked down at him, slowing your hips in order to grind your pelvis against his.

"Aww baby, why not? I'm sure he could help you too," you teased, turning your attention back to the blackette on your screen. "Why don't I just show him then?"

Before Satoru could protest, you flipped your camera around to show Suguru the position you currently had his best friend in. Satoru used the back of one hand to cover his face and the other to try and shield the camera from where the two of you connected. His entire body felt hot, head turning to the side while he felt tears prick at the corners of his blue eyes.

You swatted the hand he was using to block Suguru's view away before resting your own against his abdomen, caressing soothing circles against his skin.

"Isn't he just the cutest? Hurry Sugu, come join us!"

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ditzydoe444 · 2 days ago

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Okay okay, but Jason and Roy do one hell of a good cop bad cop routine. Mean!Jason all the way, Roy is a sucker and can't resist her puppy dog eyes. Especially during sex when Jason is hell bent on edging her the whole night, Roy will push him aside to make her cum and put her out of her misery. He'll cuddle her while she sobs and shakes, glaring at Jason for "being mean". I love this kind of combo, Jason sluts her out while Roy make sweet love

MDNI 18+

“m-mph need to come!” you whined as jason gripped your hips tightly as he fucked your cunt from behind, having you bent over the edge of the mattress.

you tried to move to match his thrusts to get some sort of release, but he shoved you back down on the mattress with his hand on the back of your head. “don’t even dare, you’ll come when i let ya,” he grunted as he fucked you like a toy.

jason has been edging you for the past few minutes, denying you of your orgasm, watching as your swollen folds take him in and beg for a release.

“let the poor girl come jay, you’ve done enough,” roy’s low voice cuts in as he sat on the edge of the bed, next to you as he fisted his cock.

“nah, she’s been bratty and demanding she’ll learn her fucking lesson,” jason grumbled as his thrusts picked up, your whines increasing as you sobbed onto the mattress.

“ it’s my turn, you’ve taken double already,” roy speaks as he shifted his position. jason groaned, the two would usually take turns, being polar opposites as jason would edge you until you broke whilst roy would kiss your tears away.

jason pulled out, watching the way your puffy folds clenched around nothing. he sat back on the edge of the bed where roy was and began fisting his cock, watching roy slide into your pussy.

“n-ngh so sore,” you mumbled as drool dribbled down your chin.

“i know baby, i know, ill take care of you yeah?” roy reassured softly as he gently brushed the hair covering your face before thrusting into you.

“uh-h,” you moaned as he hits all of your soft spots, the mattress creaking.

his thrusts weren’t harsh and punishing like jason but more determined to make you come after being edged.

“m-mph!” you whined as your hands gripped the sheets tugging it. “i’m gonna cum roy,” you mumbled as your body went limp on the mattress, roy’s thrusts getting harder.

“come sweetheart,” he whispered softly, gently squeezing your lower stomach coaxing your release. in a matter of seconds you came hard, coating his cock with your slick.

he pulled out, coming onto his hands as he pumped himself. “i’ll go clean you up yeah?” he gently tapped your ass as you laid bent over the mattress like before.

roy returned back to the room with a towel, gently wiping you down before throwing the towel away. “hey you there?” he whispered softly as he gently nudged to you coax you out of whatever headspace you were in.

“tried roy,” you mumbled as snuggled deeper into the mattress burying your face.

“i know, just let me carry you to bed properly ok? you’ll get sore bent like this.”

slowly, roy carried you in his arms before placing you down on the mattress cuddling you in his strong arms. you were a mess to say the least. the way you were shaking with tears welling up in your eyes displayed how overstimulated you were.

whilst you snuggled in his arms as he rubbed comforting circles on your back as you cried he glared at jason. roy was always softer, treating you like a princess in bed whilst jason was the total opposite.

#jason todd #ch: jason #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd smut #dc smut #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood smut #red hood x you #red hood x reader #red hood #dc jason todd smut #dc jason todd #dc roy harper #dc universe #dc characters #roy harper #roy harper smut

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heavysighing-dreamyeyes · 3 days ago

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Being In Love (and how to get you to love him back)

You're a vigilante in this one, but it's only semi-relevant to the plot (I think it classifies as a fluff piece) ~1.1k words

Jason has never liked things easy. Well, that's a lie, he's never had things easy. What is true is that Jason Todd likes a challenge. And that's something you certainly are.

He's never meant someone so stubbornly insistent on staying at his side, has never had someone so willing to throw themselves into danger right alongside him. He can tell you to hang back– demand, even, that you wait for his all-clear before storming the drug bust or robbery of the week, but you never listen. You always just follow him, stand by him, have his back.

You're always there for him, never pressing, but always present. So he really shouldn't be surprised that he falls head over heels for you.

It was slow, gradual, something that crept up on him before he even had a word for the feeling growing inside his chest. And then it crashed over him like a tidal wave. Flooded his senses and became so undeniable that he forgot how to breathe.

There was no grand moment, no pivotal event. You just smiled at him, and oh, he knew. He knew he was a goner, and nothing would ever be the same. No excuse could get him out of there fast enough, once he realized exactly how much of his heart you held.

With his face flushed, eyes wide and starry, and chest so tight it hurt, he ran. He's not proud of it, but he did. It took him days to figure himself out. To come to terms with the fact that you were it for him. And when he finally crawled his way back to your side, you were there. Waiting. Ever patient, ever smiling, ever willing to let him mess up again and again.

He thought it would be simple, once he accepted that love was the only way to describe the depths of his feelings for you. But you, despite how easy you seem to make everything else in his life, stubbornly (or obliviously) don't seem to notice how enamored he is with you.

Jason does every single thing he can think of to earn your attention, to deserve your affections. He gives you his jacket when it's cold. (You try to turn it down every time, but you always give in. You always smile that soft, gentle smile that makes tingles run from his spine to his toes– his entire world fixating on you)

He makes you food, buys you food, takes you out to eat, recommends recipes, shares his favorite meals with you. (The way to one's heart is through their stomach, right? But you return the favor every time, for every meal he buys, you treat him to one. For every dessert he bakes, you bake one of your own. It's almost frustrating, if your food wasn't so good. He just wants you to let him take care of you for once without needing to do anything in return)

He brings you flowers, trinkets, anything he can think of that would make you smile. (And you do smile, every time. But then you tell him he doesn't have to go out of his way like this for you. He wants to, so badly, if you would just let him)

He picks invisible lint of your shoulder, smoothes out the wrinkles in your shirt. (You just smile, the same sweet smile you always do, and he has to wonder if that's your way of letting him down easy, if you're not so oblivious as you seem)

He tangles his fingers in yours when the need for night vision arises on missions. (He knows your mask has it, knows you can traverse the dark without the need of his help, but he claims that the one in his mask is better every time. It's not, but you never call him out on it)

He shares every little detail of his life you ask for, and listens to everything you say, memorizing every word that falls from your lips for the future. (He tells you things he'd never tell anyone else, but you deserve to know– deserve to know him and all the reasons why you should and shouldn't love him back)

He checks in on you. He texts you on the days you don't see him, holds you back after patrol to check if you're doing all right. He pays attention to your moods, the set of your shoulders, and does everything he can to lift your spirits when you're down. (You do the same for him. He can't tell you how much that means. He wants to, he just doesn't have the words)

But despite everything he tries (everything but outright saying that he loves you) you don't offer him more than what a friend would. (A best friend, sure, a confidant like no other, but that's not what Jason wants)

He resigns himself to just this– to friendship and nothing more– for the rest of his life. (And that would be enough, just to linger in your space would be enough forever) Until a mission gone wrong, until an explosion that leaves his ears ringing and his head spinning and his only thought is the aching fear of not knowing if you made it out.

You do– did– you're standing in front of him and even if you're favoring one leg over the other you're alive and he can't hold himself back any more under the wave of relief that nearly sends him to his knees.

Jason rips the mask from his face and kisses you like it's the only chance he'll ever have. (It might be. He fully expects you to punch him in the face once he pulls away)

When he does pull back to catch his breath, his hands lingering over your cheeks like he's scared you'll disappear, he watches something flash over your face. Realization. A quiet 'oh' escapes your throat, and suddenly, you're kissing him with a passion he never dared hope for from you.

Your arms thrown around his neck, his fingers digging into the small of his back, the smell of smoke and ash clinging to your skin. It's nothing like he expected, but so, so perfect and you and everything clicks into place when you suck his bottom lip between your teeth and lean your weight into him, trusting him to hold you steady.

Jason has never had things easy, but this moment– kissing you, loving you– feels like the most natural thing in the world, and he wants that to last forever. Wants you– this– all of it, held in the palms of his hands for eternity. (And you want the same, you always have, because how could you do anything less than love him just as much as he loves you?)

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd/reader

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roosterforme · 3 days ago

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Aim for the Sky Part 35 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You're conflicted by your own words, unsure if you can stay away from your husband. There's only one person who can tell you the truth about Bradley, but she's the same one who seems to be on a quest to ruin your life.

Warnings: Angst, adult language, body image, DILF Roo, pregnancy, jealousy, mentions of cheating

Length: 3000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Tramp whimpered at your feet. The muffled sound of the Bronco's door closing sent you to the front window to look out onto the driveway. It was dark, but you could see Bradley's tear-streaked face lit up by the dome light as you choked on a sob. It took everything you had to stand there instead of running to him.

He was gripping the steering wheel of the blue Bronco, and you waited silently for the engine to start. But it didn't. He barely moved. And you barely moved. But you couldn't step away from the window even as the light inside the Bronco faded into the night. Everything was silent. Your pounding heartbeat was all you could hear as the baby squirmed around in your belly like she knew her father was too far away from her now. Minutes passed, and you sank down onto the couch, but Bradley never started the engine.

You wanted him to come back inside, but you just told him you wouldn't hesitate to take the kids and move back to Maryland with your parents. "What did you do?" you gasped as fresh tears filled your eyes. You couldn't tell if you were being strong or stupid or some combination of the two, but the longer you stared out the window, the more you realized Bradley wasn't leaving you even though you told him to.

Relief washed over you knowing he wasn't running off to Indigo. Maybe there was a way to salvage things. You couldn't take back what you said, and he couldn't take back anything he'd already done with her, but you didn't think you could stop loving him. You didn't think you could separate him from his daughters.

Your emotions were a mess as you eventually left the couch to get ready for bed. After you checked on Rose, finding her sound asleep in her crib without a care in the world, you peeked outside one more time. Bradley was still in the driveway, watching over the Craftsman and everything inside.

You took your broken heart to bed, trying your best to fall asleep through your tears.

-------------------------------

It was cold outside this late in October, but Bradley sucked it up. He was certain you knew he was still sitting in the driveway, and he didn't want to start the engine at three in the morning and startle you. Or make you think he was leaving. He wasn't going anywhere. So he let the cold surround him.

Maybe you didn't want him in the house with you and Rose at the moment, but it was his responsibility to protect his family. And he wanted to be as close as you'd let him. Between small spurts of sleep, his mind drifted to the idea of you and Rose packing up everything in the house and moving across the country to live with your parents. It left him on the verge of panic each time. He bought the house for you. He had a family because of you. He was living beyond his wildest dreams married to you.

There was no way to convince you he wasn't lying. There was nothing he could say at this point that wouldn't sound like he was trying to cover his own ass. You could talk to Mav or Nat or Jake until they were blue in the face, but if you didn't trust him, it would sound like everyone was covering for him. Because truthfully, only he and Lieutenant Jeffries knew for sure that Bradley had never touched her.

Everything with the Navy took time. Mav was a big help, but a report would need to be written up for formal action. And now Bradley would need to notify someone about the new message Indigo sent with the world's worst timing, but meanwhile he was supposed to carry on like everything was completely normal.

As soon as daylight broke, he rubbed his exhaustion away from his eyes. He wanted to get to base to shower and change into the clean flight suit he kept in his locker, but he had to make sure you knew he spent the whole night in the Bronco first. So Bradley waited until he saw movement inside. Just a quick flick of the living room curtain, but he was sure you saw him. Nevertheless, he sent a text.

I'm leaving for work. If you want to talk, come find me, and I'll clear my schedule. We'll figure this out. We have to, because I can't live without you. I love you.

He didn't expect you to respond right away. He stretched, his body positively aching from sitting in one spot for so long before he started the engine. His stomach growled as he drove, reminding him he didn't get to enjoy what you cooked for dinner last night. He'd been missing dinner too often. It was almost Halloween, and the two of you should have been planning a costume for Rose to wear. He should have been working on an anniversary getaway for November. He'd been fucking up a lot for someone who wasn't aware he was doing it, but he certainly wasn't an adulterer.

The locker room was empty as he changed out of his wrinkly uniform and slipped under the hot shower stream. Nothing was going to make him feel better if you didn't trust him. Once again, he thought about you throwing all your fancy kitchen gadgets in a box and leaving without a backward glance in his direction. Bradley's hands shook, and he didn't know how he'd make it through the day at this rate.

As he pulled on his flight suit, he thought about going up to your office to wait for you to arrive. But he'd end up on his knees again, begging you to stay with him, and that wasn't what you needed to hear right now. He was exhausted, but he tried to clear his mind and think of some way to convince you he would never do anything to hurt you. But if Indigo already made comments directly to you, it felt like all hope was lost.

The walk to his office was long, but not long enough for inspiration to strike. Maybe Nat could give him some advice. She'd been harping on about girl code the other day. As much as he hated to admit it, Jake might be a helpful ally right now. He was a big fan of yours, and always quick to remind Bradley he'd married way out of his league.

He settled in behind his desk, unable to look away from the wedding photo for a few minutes. You looked perfect that day. You were perfect every day. There was no doubt you'd be perfect without him, but he didn't want you going anywhere unless you took him, too.

"Fuck," Bradley gasped, lungs burning with the effort to hold back his tears. His students would be sitting down to take a practicum exam shortly. He didn't necessarily need to be there, but it would look good if he was. But he'd also have to face Indigo in the classroom. Maverick was still up in Lemoore, and he was the only one who knew Bradley filed a formal complaint.

This was all exhausting. Nausea and fatigue waged war in his body as Bradley stumbled to his feet once again. He needed something to drink. Some cold water. He threw his office door open wide and walked back up the hallway to the small lounge where he grabbed a water bottle and downed it in one go. Panting, he took a second one before slowly heading back the way he came.

He didn't even feel better as he started sweating profusely. He wanted you. He wanted you to let him hold you. He wanted to kiss Rose.

His office door was just a few feet away when he heard her voice.

"Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw."

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, fingers wrapping around the bottle so aggressively, he was afraid it would explode in his hand. He'd been told to keep his distance for now, but clearly Indigo was none the wiser as she followed him right inside his office.

"Sir," she said, voice bold and unbothered. "I thought we could walk to the classroom together."

Bradley spun and looked at her. He really shouldn't be surprised at this point. He also shouldn't be talking to her alone in his office, but she was standing there expectantly, blinking those eyes up at him.

"Unless you're not ready to head over yet...."

Her words trailed off as she casually reached for the door, fingers grazing the wood.

"Do not close that door," Bradley barked, surprising himself with his angry tone. Indigo's hand dropped to her side, eyes wide, but she took a step closer as he backed up until he hit his desk. He managed to set the water bottle down, chest rising and falling rapidly. He shouldn't be talking to her, but he couldn't help himself as he shook his head. "What is your problem?"

She cocked her head slightly, a hesitant smile on her lips. "Sir?"

Bradley skirted along past his desk as she tracked him. "I don't understand why you're trying to ruin my life," he hissed.

Indigo froze before bursting into delighted laughter that set his teeth on edge. "Ruin your life? I can assure you, Sir, I would like nothing more than to have a very good time with you."

Any warmth remaining in Bradley's body vanished, leaving him sweaty and shivering. "That's not appropriate," he gasped. "You're reporting to me through Top Gun, and I'm married."

She rolled her eyes and muttered, "This was a lot easier last time."

"You've done this before?" Bradley asked, eyes darting to the door and empty hallway beyond, wishing he'd just gone to your office instead.

"I like older men," Indigo replied sweetly. "Ones with lots of pins on their uniforms. And they've always been agreeable before."

"Unbelievable," Bradley groaned, ready to throw away all of his insignia pins and run away. "Lieutenant Jeffries, I have never laid a finger on you. We've never been alone in here with the door closed, ever."

"But you wanted to. You can admit it," she whispered, reaching once more for the door.

"Are you out of your mind?" Bradley's voice shook, but it was loud enough that she froze again. "You think I would jeopardize my marriage for you? My family? The thought never crossed my mind!"

Indigo licked her lips. "I've seen your wife. She's pregnant again. And she's -"

"She's perfect," Bradley barked, eyes blazing as he glanced at the wedding photo. "Do not talk about her. Ever." He squeezed his eyes closed and squared his shoulders before glaring at Indigo. "Get the fuck out of my office."

He was afraid she wasn't going to listen, the way she stood there and stared at him in surprise. But Bradley had nothing left. His fingers were shaking, and he was sure he was going to vomit. She finally turned and marched from the room with her chin in the air, and Bradley turned to face his desk.

Panic like he never felt before filled his veins. He had no idea what he was supposed to do now as he gripped the edge of his desk and stared down at his boots. His body shook with silent sobs as he tried to catch his breath, but his brain couldn't seem to get past the fact that his life was in absolute ruins.

"Oh, God," he gasped, lifting his head in time to see his office door move a few inches. Before he could fully register what was happening, you popped out from behind it and carefully pushed it closed.

"Sweetheart?" he croaked, examining your tear-streaked cheeks before you stumbled closer to him.

Why were you in his office? You were crying, working your hands in front of your pregnant belly as you whispered, "I'm sorry, Bradley!"

When he held his arms open, you rushed into them, burying your face in his chest as you wailed. He had no idea why you were in his office, but if the end result was getting to hold you tight, he didn't need a reason. As soon as you touched him, he immediately felt better.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," you sobbed over and over, body shaking against him. "I was so scared, and I look so awful right now. And I'm just so sorry!"

"Shhh," he coaxed softly, kissing the top of your head before letting his chin rest there. "It's okay."

"No. It's not okay," came your immediate, muffled response, arms tightening around him. "I made you sleep outside. I told you I'd leave with the girls." You looked up at him, tears brimming from your eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

Bradley shook his head, bringing his hand up to rest on your cheek. "I'm sorry I put you through this shit. This is so fucked up."

He let you cry, wiping your tears with his thumb as they fell for the longest time. He already felt like he could figure out a way to fix everything as long as you still wanted him.

Bradley kissed your quivering lips as you started to calm down. "Please never leave me. I'm not going to stop being in love with you. Okay? I just want my girls." With one more kiss, he whispered, "And there's nothing wrong with the way you look. You're perfect."

The smallest smile found your lips. "That's what you told Indigo."

"Baby Girl, that's what I tell everybody," he promised, relieved beyond belief that you witness that miserable exchange. "What are you doing here anyway?" he whispered, keeping you snug against him as you looked up at his face. "Not that I'm complaining, but I wasn't expecting you to want to see me."

"I came to talk to you as soon as I dropped Rose off." You wiped your tears on his flight suit as you added, "When I got here, the door was wide open, so I came inside. Then I heard her voice in the hallway. I panicked and hid behind the door."

"And I couldn't be happier that you did," he whispered.

"She really wanted to close the door."

"She really did."

"I hate her."

"Me, too," he sighed, exhausted from thinking about Indigo. He let his breathing match yours, falling into a comfortable rhythm that he didn't want to let go of yet. "I have an idea. Let's go home."

"Home?"

"Yeah. Let's go get Rose from the nursery and ditch the rest of the day. I just want to go home."

Now you were the one running your hand along his scarred cheek. "You must be exhausted." When he nodded, you said, "Okay. Let's go home, and I'll take care of you."

When you tried to pull away, Bradley kept you close. "No. I'm going to take care of you. I clearly haven't been doing enough of that since I started this position. So that's going to change immediately."

"We can take care of each other," you replied easily, but you were smiling. "I just need to talk to Cat first."

Bradley groaned softly. He was already imagining the three of you at home. He would make lunch while you fed Rose, and then everyone could take a long nap. He just wanted everything to feel normal again.

"Why do you need Cat first?"

You laced your fingers with his and started to tug him toward the door. "To get the ball rolling on Indigo's spectacular downfall."

"What?" Bradley's eyebrows shot up. "I just inadvertently managed to clear my name, and you already formulated a plan?"

You waved your free hand in the air. "It's like half a plan at best, but it's coming together." You paused. "You know what? I'll just call Cat when we get home. I'm sure we can handle it from there. I really want to snuggle with you, and I'm starving."

Bradley made sure the door locked behind him. "I am in awe of you," he murmured, letting you lead him down the hallway.

"Nobody messes with my husband."

--------------------------------

You felt alive again for the first time in weeks. You were thriving. Bradley never let you out of his sight as he made lunch and burped Rose. He put her down in her crib, wrapped you in his arms, and led you toward the promise of an afternoon nap.

"Wait, Cat's calling me back," you whispered, watching his face fall as he tried to get you to the bedroom. "It'll just take a minute."

"I can barely keep my eyes open," he murmured, kissing your cheek before you backed away. "Just come in when you're done."

You watched him turn to the bedroom, pulling his undershirt over his head as he went. The temptation of his warm body wrapped around yours was almost too much to fight, but when you thought about Indigo, you wanted to punch a hole in the wall. Or her face.

"Hi."

"Where are you?" Cat asked. "I thought I saw you in the parking lot this morning, and now you're magically nowhere to be found."

"I'm at home," you told her quickly. "Hey, how close are you to finishing the new code for the Super Hornet updates?"

There was a beat of silence. "Not that close. We aren't rolling out the updates until the end of the year. It'll ground some of the pilots."

You smiled to yourself. "I want to start doing it sooner."

"Sooner?" she asked, confused. "How much sooner?"

"Tomorrow."

---------------------------------

Hearing that straight from Indigo had to make BG feel so much better! Is this me being nicer? Beginning to mend things? Stay tuned.

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subshine-thoughts · 23 hours ago

Text

"It'll be fun," he said. "A relaxing day by the lake, making sure we soak up the summer sun. I'll even pack us a picnic."

So you went, because why wouldn't you? He's your childhood best friend, after all. Of course you trust him. And spending a day away from civilization sounds like just the thing to relieve your stress.

So you go, spending the drive to the lake laughing and listening to the joint playlist you two have been building for years. You're having such a good time that it doesn't occur to you how far out in the middle of nowhere this lake is.

The morning is perfect. You both read under the sun, camped out on an oversized blanket. When your stomach growls, he reaches inside the picnic basket and pulls out your favorite type of sandwich and a bottle of water.

You think it's thoughtful. He even thought to open up the cap on the bottle so you wouldn't have to struggle with it.

Everything is going fine, and you're about to suggest doing this again before summer ends when a sudden wave of sleepiness hits you.

Must be from the sun, you think tiredly as you lay back down and close your eyes.

"Tired already?" your friend asks teasingly.

You can barely manage to nod in response. Just so tired.

You drift off to the odd sensation of breath against your ear and your friend whispering, "Don't worry. I'm gonna take care of you."

When you come to, still drugged and only half-conscious, almost all your clothes are off. You feel wet in between your legs, and your nipples feel sensitive, like they do after you've played with them for a long time.

Your best friend is dragging his lips down your thigh. You try to reach for him, but your hand is too heavy.

You drift off again.

This time, you wake to the sensation of being filled. You're a little more aware now, but still too sleepy to put together a coherent thought.

All you know is you're fully naked now, laying on your back with your legs spread, and your best friend is slowly sliding in and out of you.

When you moan, a sound of confusion mixed with pleasure, he smiles down at you.

"I'm sorry, princess. I just couldn't help myself."

His voice pulls you back to a more wakeful state, and you realize with horror what's happening. You try to struggle, but you're still so weak. He pins you down easily and picks up the pace of his thrusts.

"No, don't do that. I know you want this. Can't you feel how wet you are for me? How perfectly I fit inside you?"

To prove his point, he pushes deep inside you and holds himself there. You whimper and shake your head. All those years of trust, broken in a single afternoon.

"It's okay. You'll see it soon enough."

You should kick, or cry, or do anything to get him to stop. You should scream, even though there's no one around for miles.

But all you do is lay there while he continues thrusting inside you.

He leans down and kisses you, and despite your fear and your hurt, you kiss him back. You spread your legs open more for him so he has even better access to you.

They're automatic actions, your body responding to the stimulation.

At least, that's what you tell yourself as he comes inside you and then flips you onto your stomach for another round.

And when he nudges your legs open, you let him, lifting your ass into the air so he'll have an easier time violating you.

#I'm sorry ive just seen this gif so many times and this is all i can ever think of #cnc somno #cnc sub #cnc soft #soft cnc #cnc k!nk #cnc free use #cnc fr33use #cnc forced #subshinewritings

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covenofagatha · 2 days ago

Text

Four times Agatha fails at cockwarming (and one time she doesn't)

The second attempt

Part two of this ask

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: g!p Agatha, premature ejaculation, teasing, mommy kink, bratty reader, desperate!Agatha, fingering, underwear as a gag, cum-eating (kind of)

When you wake up the next day, you can already feel the dull ache of arousal in your cunt. You’re still remembering the way Agatha looked yesterday, the way she sounded, when she came before she could even get her cock inside you, and it turns you on way more than it should.

Why is there something so hot about your wife prematurely ejaculating? You’re not exactly sure, but having the power over her to make her fall apart so fucking easily and so fucking quickly really does something to you.

Agatha is still sleeping next to you, on her side facing you, and you smirk. The two of you have plans today — seeing a movie and then mini-golfing. It’s a nice way to stay connected and spend time together with how busy you both have been. But you still have a little bit before you have to leave for the movie, more than enough time to get her cock inside you.

She stirs when you start to pepper kisses along her cheek and then down her neck and she turns onto her back, eyes fluttering open to look at you. “Morning, honey,” she says groggily.

“Hi,” you whisper shyly, propping yourself up on an elbow to admire her. “How’d you sleep?”

Your wife thinks for a moment. “Pretty good. I was dreaming about you.” The heat in her eyes tells you that it was a hot dream and you take the initiative to sit up and slide on top to straddle her. You’re wearing her purple flannel and simple gray cotton panties, Agatha in an oversized T-shirt and boxers, and your cunt can still feel the heat radiating off her already semi-erect cock through the two layers of fabric. Her hands rest on your waist and she looks up at you adoringly.

“What was it about?” you ask, slowly rolling your hips over her length. She is always so pliable in the mornings and you feel her cock harden even more.

Her hands squeeze you. “You were under my desk, sucking me off while I graded papers. And then I laid you on top of my desk so I could eat you and made you drip all over those papers, and when I passed them back to my students, they still smelled like you and I had to make up an excuse as to what it was.”

The thought makes you throb and she’s almost to a full erection beneath you. “What did you say it was?”

There’s a teasing glint in her eyes. “You woke me up right before I could come up with one.”

You chuckle and grind down on her, both of you letting out a breathless moan. “Honey, we have to go soon,” she reminds you and you roll your eyes before reaching down between your bodies to spread your pussy lips open through your underwear so you can better drag your clit along her length. You whimper at how good it feels.

“We still have some time,” you say persuasively but she pats your hips with pursed lips and you know you’re not winning this battle. You flop off of her back onto your side of the bed with a groan. “You know, you only make it harder on yourself when you deny me like that.” She snorts at the innuendo and gets out of bed.

“Yeah, well, I’ll try to survive,” she retorts and grabs a change of clothes from her nightstand before going into the bathroom to get ready.

It’s tempting to slide your hand into your underwear and relieve yourself, but she would be absolutely furious and probably not touch you for at least a week, so you grumble and get out of bed. You put on a skirt, fully intending to tease Agatha even more today, and a long-sleeve blouse. Agatha steps out of the bathroom, wearing suit pants and a blue sweater, and pats your ass on the way out of the room.

She’s already making eggs when you come downstairs and breakfast is comfortably quiet before it’s time to go to the theater.

If she notices that you’re being on your best behavior, she doesn’t say anything, and it makes you desperately want to be a brat instead. At least that gets you some attention.

So when you get to the concession stand and you get a drink, you make eye contact with her as you deep-throat the straw before hollowing out your cheeks and sucking.

Agatha chokes on a piece of popcorn and you smirk before walking past her to the room for your movie, taking extra care to brush your wrist against her cock.

She settles into the chair next to you and you look around to make sure no one is near you before your hand sneaks into her lap and squeezes her cock. She keels and you feel her cock twitch in her pants. You rub your palm over her, stroking her back to full hardness, but then two more people walk into the theater and you go back to being her good girl.

The movie starts but the only thing you notice is that Agatha is antsy. Her leg is bouncing on the floor fast and her fingers are drumming on the cupholder and it’s distracting. You know she’s a little worked up and you fucking love it — but you want to be able to pay attention to the screen.

So you lay your hand flat on her thigh over her pants and she freezes. No more bouncing, no more drumming, just a sharp intake of breath. You don’t move your hand and you’re able to enjoy the movie for a few moments before you feel the fabric of her pants becoming tighter.

Without even having to look down, you know she’s getting harder than she already was and you can’t help but tease — your fingers curl and you drag your nails up and down her thigh ever so slightly, always stopping before they reach the tip of her cock. You don’t have a rhythm, sometimes pausing low for too long before her body jerks and you remember what you’re doing.

Agatha slightly slouches further into the seat in an attempt to get your hand to go higher, but you hover your fingers off as a warning, and she shifts back to sitting normally.

“Honey,” she whispers throatily and you have to bite back a smile. It’s unclear if she wants you to stop or keep going.

So you slide your hand up so that two fingers are resting against the tip of her cock and she chokes.

“Stop,” she says urgently, but it’s not an order, it’s a plea.

You skim your fingertips over her hard cock and feel it pulse under you and she clenches onto both armrests and you can see how white her knuckles are in the light from the movie.

Is she going to cum right here in the movie theater for you? In her pants like a fucking teenager? You think that might be even hotter than what happened yesterday and you can feel a pool of wetness collecting in your underwear

Agatha’s teeth are gritted so tightly and she presses a fist against her mouth, her hips rising almost indiscernibly.

Fuck.

But then her other hand grabs onto your wrist and pulls you off of her cock and you chuckle quietly before leaning over so your hot breath is on her ear. “Thought you were going to cum for me, mommy,” you mock and her cheek twitches before shaking her head, eyes staring bullets at the big screen.

Your tongue flicks out against her earlobe and then you settle back into your chair and your wife doesn’t move until the movie gets to a sex scene and she lets out a little gasp. You know it’s not from the actors but from thinking of you like that, because that’s exactly what you’re doing.

After she had cum prematurely yesterday, she had eaten you out until she’d gotten hard again and then lasted even longer than normal while fucking you. You had mentioned that maybe it was a good thing then and that she should cum quickly first every time, and she had growled and spanked you until you apologized for being a brat and then shoving three fingers inside you and making you orgasm again.

Now it’s your turn to shift in your seat, feeling even more arousal course through your veins.

Is that what she’s thinking about right now? A glance down at her cock confirms that she’s still just as hard as she was before and you wonder if she would agree to sneaking off for a bathroom quickie. You have no idea what’s happening in the movie, having missed critical exposition while teasing Agatha at the start, and you’d be fine with leaving right now if it meant you could get your wife’s cock in you sooner.

“Mommy,” you murmur, making your voice sound as desperate as possible, not that you have to try too hard. “Can we—”

She shushes you. “Quiet, honey. Mommy’s trying to watch the movie.” You roll your eyes and are tempted to start teasing her again, but you know that she definitely wouldn’t give in then.

And she will surely punish you if you do make her cum in her pants in a movie theater.

So you sit patiently in your chair, barely even squirming, until the movie is over before jumping up the second the lights turn on. Agatha raises an eyebrow at you.

“You…me…the bathroom?” you suggest and Agatha snorts. Your face falls.

Your wife stands up more calmly than you did and you dramatically pout. “The putt-putt course is right next to here. You were so excited to play when we planned this, so we’re going to go there and you’re going to behave and maybe when we get home, mommy will give you a reward.”

You want to make a cheap retort and ask if she thinks she can even make it until home, but you bite it back. No need to give her more reason to get fed up with you.

“Fine, but you might want to cover up your pants somehow,” you advise, eyes flicking back down to the very evident outline of her erection. And then you can’t resist. “Try not to touch yourself, though. It’ll be a lot harder to hide a cum stain than just your cock.”

Agatha grumbles something that sounds an awful like you fucking brat under her breath before taking off her blue sweater and tying it around her waist, leaving her in just a black tank top. Your mouth runs dry at the swell of her breasts, her pronounced collarbones, and the slight muscular curvature of her shoulders. She is so hot and your underwear just clings to you even more.

She’s watching you expectantly, so you swallow hard, refocus, and lead the way outside. Agatha gives you the keys for you to move the car to the parking lot next to the theater while she walks over to buy tickets for mini-golf.

You meet her by the station to get your equipment and almost laugh at how pained she looks. She’s standing at an awkward angle, like she’s actively trying not to collapse in on herself, and you know without a doubt that she’s still hard.

After you get your putters and golf balls, you make your way over to the first hole. It’s a straight-forward shot about fifteen yards away and Agatha lets you go first.

You line the ball up with the hole and get into position with the club, waggling your hips playfully because you can feel her eyes on your ass. You know that if you weren’t in public right now, she’d spank you for it.

Focusing, you swing the putter and the ball rolls to about a foot away from the hole.

“Not too bad,” Agatha says and you step out of the way so she can take her turn. When she leans over the club, you can see the tent her cock is making in her pants and it makes you snicker. It’s honestly impressive how little it takes to have her hard as a rock, and even more impressive of how long she can sustain the erection.

Her ball goes well past the hole and she groans in frustration.

“Got to get your head in the game, mommy,” you say with a wink, knowing that calling her that will only get her more worked up and her grip tightens on the putter. You’d make a comment about how easy she is, but you know that you don’t really have a leg to stand on with how wet you get just from the sight of her hands.

She gives you a warning look while you simper and lead her closer to the hole. You’re not a very good golfer, you don’t even really try when it comes to mini-golf, but for the sake of being a brat, you put your hands on the top of the putter and slowly and sensually drop to a squat, hands sliding down the shaft of the club.

Agatha exhales so loudly you can hear her and you shoot her a teasing smile before pretending to examine your ball’s position to the hole. “You know it’s my turn, don’t you?” she says.

You stand up, rolling your body against the club as you do like it’s a stripper pole. It’s taking a lot of effort not to laugh at the exasperated look on your wife’s face, but by the straining in her pants, your exaggerated stunts are still impacting her. “Haven’t you already come first enough recently?” you ask innocently.

“That doesn’t even make sense in this context,” she protests and you can’t stop from giggling. You make the putt and so does she.

Moving onto the next hole, you bend at the waist to set your ball down, giving Agatha a clear view of your soaked underwear, and you can hear her sharp intake of breath from where she’s standing behind you. You’re playing a dangerous game and you know it’s only a matter of time before she starts trying to regain the upper hand.

You get to the fifth hole before it happens. You’ve calmed down on the teasing because the score is so close and you’re determined not to let your wife beat you, and Agatha decides to try to throw you off.

You’re about to take the putt when all of a sudden, she wraps her arms around you, hands resting on top of yours, as if she’s showing you how to hold the golf club if any passersby happen to see you.

But what she’s really doing is pressing her hard cock against your ass, pushing you forward slightly so your clit brushes against the putter.

“Mommy can’t wait to fuck you later,” she purrs and your mind goes blank, an indescribable heat growing inside you. It’s the combination of being worked up by her reaction to your teasing, feeling her cock, and the words she’s whispering into your ear that is driving you absolutely crazy and you whine. Her little displays of power are so fucking hot and it only makes you want to struggle for control even more. But Agatha isn’t done yet. “I love the feeling of your warm, wet cunt around me. It’s like you were made for mommy — for mommy’s cock. I love all your pretty sounds, I love the way you look with my cock in your mouth. Fuck, baby, you’re so hot, I need you so bad.”

Your breath is coming out raggedly and your head is absolutely spinning. You need to get a hold of yourself and you push your ass back into her cock. She hisses and it helps to clear your mind a little. “God, you’re just a pervert, aren’t you?” you taunt and she gasps and bucks forward. A thrill runs through you. “Getting me all worked up while we’re trying to play a nice little game of mini-golf. You just can’t help yourself, can you? You just need me too bad, right, mommy? If only you could get your cock inside me before cumming.”

Maybe it’s a little too far because she growls behind you and grabs you by the arm, pulling you back to the front.

“Agatha — wait, what —”

She whirls around and she looks mad. “We are going to go home,” she seethes, “and I’m going to teach you a fucking lesson about watching your tongue.” You can’t help but feel excited, and it only turns you on more when she barks at the employee who is taking too long to focus on you two so you can return your clubs.

And then she’s peeling out of the parking lot and going ten over the speed limit to get to your house as quickly as possible. You position yourself so that both your feet are up on the seat with a leg resting against the middle console and the other against the door, and you run two fingers up your clothed slit, making a muffled sound.

Agatha glances over at you, swears, and then quickly looks back to the road, her face heating up. You chuckle and then your head drops back against the seat when you rub at your clit. “What are you doing?” she asks hoarsely.

“What does it look like, mommy? I’m touching myself,” you state and her lips part with heavy breaths. “I’m so fucking wet for you.” Your panties are actually soaked and they’re no longer acting as a barrier for your cunt so you’re leaking out the sides of the fabric onto your skirt and upper, inner thighs.

The car accelerates even more and her hand reaches across to grip onto your knee like she just needs to feel your skin. It makes you clench and even more wetness gushes out of you. You don’t even know how you got to be this much of a mess, but your wife just has a way of making you crazy.

But you’re not the only one who’s going crazy — a quick peek over the console shows that her cock is straining so much against her pants that you think the fabric might be permanently stretched out. Her cheeks are flushed and her arms are so tightly gripped around the steering wheel that the veins running from her hands all the way up to her shoulders are taunt and blue. You want to lean over and trace them with your tongue.

A stifled moan slips out of your mouth and her fingernails dig into your thigh, leaving little indentations in your skin. “Mommy, fuck,” you say breathlessly, pressing harder on your clit. “I need you.”

Agatha fucking whimpers and swerves into the driveway, throws the car into park, and gets out of the car with record speed. You follow her into the foyer, expecting for her to head toward the stairs, but you don’t even make it past the kitchen before she spins around and grabs your cheeks to pull you in for a filthy, open-mouthed kiss. Her tongue tangles with yours and your moan is swallowed by her, but she pulls away too quickly after biting down on your bottom lip.

She shoves you against the island and her hand pushes you down onto it and you hiss at the coldness of the surface before she flips your skirt up over your ass and spanks both your buttcheeks hard.

You whine and jump, lurching forward and your clit throbs. “Mommy,” you cry and the pressure of her hand on your back is gone. You hear the sound of her unbuckling her belt and unzipping her pants and you prop yourself up by your elbows, arch your back to push your ass up even further, and look over your shoulder to watch.

Agatha takes out her cock, hard and red and already leaking everywhere, and you bite your lip at the sight of her pants still on and parted around her cock. “Fuck, honey, you’re so fucking wet,” she rasps in awe. “I’m gonna have to clean you up a little so you don’t ruin mommy’s good pants.”

She tugs your underwear over your ass, giving it another spank for good measure, and then slides them down your legs so you can step out of them. Agatha kicks your feet apart and you widen your stance so she can thoroughly wipe your wetness off your inner thighs and your cunt. An unrestrained groan slips through her lips and you watch with bated breath as her other hand firmly clasps the base of her cock in an attempt to stop what happened last time to happen again.

“Sweetheart, fuck,” she says, holding up your underwear to the light and you gasp. You have completely turned the once-light gray fabric dark and it looks like they were just dunked in a bucket of water. Her hips jerk into her hand involuntarily.

You’re almost entirely overwhelmed and you can feel how swollen and needy your pussy has become. “It’s not my fault, mommy,” you say pathetically.

She huffs out a laugh, giving her cock one quick stroke. “Oh, I suppose it’s mine?” she mocks. “Cause I was being a ‘pervert’?”

Humming, you nod in agreement, giving her doe-eyes to show her that you’re nothing more than the innocent victim here and her face contorts with pleasure as she ghosts the tip of her cock over your asscheek, getting your skin sticky with precum.

And then she raises your underwear to her nose and breathes in the scent of you deeply, and it’s like you’re watching in slow motion.

Her eyelids fly open in a panic, knowing that she just fucked up, and the hand around her cock tightens involuntarily before she makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a groan, frustrated and furious all the same.

“Fuck — no, fuck,” she curses and her hips shoot forward as she cums, a spurt erupting and pooling on your ass and lower back. She continues to rut back and forth against your asscrack, more cum being pumped out from her pulsing cock, and you gasp at how it feels on your skin. Agatha’s hands grasp onto your hips while she rides out her orgasm, looking very embarrassed, until she finally slows her movements.

Her spent cock twitches where it’s resting on your ass, one last strand of cum spitting out from the tip. You are in absolute disbelief that she didn’t even make it inside you again and you can feel how covered you are in her cum. It only makes the ache inside you get worse and you clench around nothing, a

An awkward silence settles over the kitchen before you clear your throat. “Well, you got further than last time,” you point out, not even sure if it’s the truth.

Agatha scoffs. “You need to learn how to shut your mouth.” Her eyes light up with an idea and she takes your sopping wet underwear, still clenched between her hand and your hip, and mops up the puddles of rapidly-cooling cum on your back. Your breathing gets heavier, the air seemingly getting thicker, and you think you know what she’s going to do.

She yanks you off your elbows by your hair and spins you around before balling up your panties and pressing them against your lips before you open wide and she shoves them into your mouth. “Clean them up for me, pretty girl.”

You let out a muffled moan at the overwhelming taste of your pussy and her cum and your eyes roll back into your head. She watches with rapt attention as you move them around as you suck on the wet fabric before she reaches down and slides three fingers into you.

The sudden fullness has you scrambling to grab onto the countertop behind you and she curls them up inside you deep and rough. You try to say something, maybe a beg, but it comes out garbled and neither of you understand it.

She sets a bruising pace and your head falls back. You’re so wet there’s a squelching noise with each thrust and her thumb barely gets any friction as it rubs against your clit. You’re reduced to begging with your eyes and incoherent noises but she gets the idea.

The taste of the two of you mixed together and her fingers filling you so deliciously is dizzying and pleasure is already heating up in your body. You’re not sure how much more of this you can take but the steel in Agatha’s eyes says that you’re going to take it all.

It’s like she’s overcompensating as she drives her fingers into your wet cunt over and over and it keeps pushing high-pitched keens out of your mouth. Her thumb presses against your clit and you clench tightly around her and Agatha’s rhythm stutters.

“You feel so good, baby,” she pants. “You’re so fucking hot, making me cum twice before I even get into you.” Your moans get more frantic, hips now bucking to meet her thrusts and get her deeper inside you. “Such a good slut for mommy.”

She leans closer to suck on your neck and then trails down to your chest, leaving marks in her wake.

It’s too much — you become overstimulated far too quickly and with a muffled cry, you cum all over her fingers when she twists them roughly inside you with a rough nip to your clavicle.

Her three fingers still move slowly in and out of you until you wince and she pulls out, leaving a hollow emptiness in your cunt. She fishes the panties out of your mouth before shoving her wet fingers inside and making you clean those off too. Agatha’s cock twitches and she pulls her fingers out of your mouth, smearing your saliva all over your cheeks.

“Fuck,” you say, very out of breath, and she hums in agreement. “I can’t believe you came from practically nothing again.”

Agatha’s cheeks redden and she rolls her eyes while trying to seem unbothered. “It’s not my fault I have such a hot slut for a wife.”

You smirk and kiss her mouth, slipping your tongue past her lips so she can taste the combination of both of you. “Well, you know what they say,” you tell her matter-of-factly. She raises an eyebrow. “Third time’s the charm.”

@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7 @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness smut #agatha smut #agatha harkness #agatha harkness fanfic

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thejujvtsupost · 1 day ago

Text

It’s Always Been You

🍎F!reader, pet names: (pip/squeak, my girl, sweetheart,) suggestive but not smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, brief miscommunication and lots of groveling but it works out.🍎

Notes: I struggle with editing. This is totally separate from canon bc I’m heartbroken. It’s also my first lads fic, I’ll ALWAYS be a Sylus girlie but Caleb broke my brain for a minute 😭

Caleb joining the DAA wasn’t the problem at hand…No, it was the fact that you were going to be separated. Spending his last night before he leaves wrapped around each other like you always did when things were tough was the best comfort you could get.

“I’m gonna miss you so much, do you really have to go?” This was going to be the longest you’ve ever been apart since you were kids, and even worse, he wasn’t allowed to have his phone.

This wasn’t any easier on him but he couldn’t just back out. “I’ll be home before you know it, don’t worry too much.” Caleb brushed the hair from your eyes and held you closer, “plus, you get to have six months free of my constant nagging.”

That was absolutely the wrong thing to say, the tears you were holding back finally fell. Your hands that were originally wrapped around his waist were now at his chest, between your bodies and fisted tightly in his shirt. “But I love you and your nagging!” You inhaled like you were suffocating. Perhaps you were, under the weight of his impending absence.

“Shh I know, I love you and being a pain in your ass.” That earned him a wet chuckle. “I swear, as soon as I’m home I’ll fulfill my promise and I won’t leave your side. You’ll never have to worry again, about anything.” A soft kiss to your temple solidified his vow.

It took you a few long moments before you were able to get in a proper breath and process what he said. “You made a promise?”

“Don’t remember? Hm that won’t do. Think back to when you were 18, and that boy you had a crush on rejected you and broke your heart.”

“I’d prefer not to remember that, actually.”

“But remember after? When you still hadn’t come home by dinner and I found you alone at the park?” Large hands ran down the length of your back to help soothe you while he spoke.

You’re still lost but it’s coming back to you. Confessing to your crush in the park was supposed to be perfect— except he not only rejected you, but he made fun of you. You could respect rejection, but the way he humiliated you and made a scene wasn’t something you wanted to think about. “That day was awful.”

“You were so upset. I wanted to beat him to a pulp but you didn’t want to be alone. Remember what I told you? The pinky promise we made? It’s only been four years you know, I’d hope your memory isn’t that bad yet.”

The moment flooded you then with a gasp, ‘You’ll never be alone as long as I live sweetheart, and when it’s time, when I finally graduate and become a pilot, I swear I’ll marry you myself to prove it.’ And at the time it made you giggle, because surely he was just joking to cheer you up, right? “You meant it?”

Caleb chuckled and lifted your chin to look at you directly, “of course I did, it’s always been you and me. Don’t you know that?”

A fresh wave of tears formed as you surged forward to meet his lips with yours- and stopped out of embarrassment before you could make contact. “Sorry, I didn’t- I think I’m just being emotional—”

But the space between you closed once again and before you could overthink it, Caleb was kissing you the way he’s wanted to for years. His lips were all consuming and tender. His palm cupped your face like it was glass and you couldn’t resist running your fingers through his hair. Kissing Caleb felt like home, like everything was right.

He tried to break away to bring you both air but you refused to let him, instead pulling him closer and closer until he was on top of you, spreading your legs to accommodate his size. “Slow- slow down, you still need oxygen.” You shook when he started dragging his kisses down your throat, letting out soft moans when gentle sucks were left behind.

“C-Caleb…”

He pulled back and grew tense as if he was afraid he scared you away, “what’s wrong, you tired?” He was trying to give you an out if you wanted it.

You were certain your cheeks were flushed, you shook your head. “I want… more…”

Caleb groaned and buried his face in your neck “you’re killing me, Pip.”

Had you said something wrong? “Sorry- I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable… I’ll just-” you loosened your arms from around him, thinking you somehow embarrassed yourself yet again.

He stopped you. “You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart. You’re killing me because you have no idea how badly I want you; how long I’ve wanted you.”

“Really?” Having someone like Caleb love you was the best feeling, but him being attracted to you left you wanting him even more.

Deciding to just show you, he ground his hips into yours. And god, it felt good against you. Just that little bit of contact felt better than anything you ever achieved on your own. “You’re-” hard went unsaid. He grunted when you spread your legs wider for him. “Yeah, I am. And if you want me, then you have me. But you can’t take it back, so if you’re not ready for that commitment…”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“This really isn’t the time for that—”

“Shut up, it’s important.” He sighed and let you continue. Your arms dropped from his neck to hold his face in your hands, brushing the stray hairs from his face. “That guy I had a crush on? I only liked him so much because he reminded me of you. So I’m yours, too. If you want me, then you can take me.”

Words were lost on him so actions took hold, “are you sure?” His kisses resumed their path after meeting your lips, the room grew hotter with each new brush against your skin.

“I trust you, Caleb,” you had no idea your neck was so sensitive, your gasps talking for you. “but I should let you know I’ve never done this before.”

“I’d kill anyone who ever touched you if you had”

“Isn’t that hypocritical? Should I hunt down your past lovers?” You worked his shirt over his head, the dog tag necklace you gave him mere hours ago dangled in front of your face.

He chuckled and discarded your top, your sleep shorts were next. “It’s funny how you think I’d ever want someone that isn’t you.” His revelation hit you full force: he loves you so deeply, there’s truly no doubt to have. “I’d never do this with anyone else.”

Two things happened that night: your bond was solidified, and unbeknownst to you, a life was created

The goodbye was brutal the next day, already missing him terribly before night fell again.

You managed to fall into a routine, though. You would go to work, occasionally spend time with friends— Tara spent the night with you at least once a week to keep your mind off of things; and the days she didn’t you laid in bed desperately wishing he would be by your side.

Your routine was solid, until a month into your separation when you were sick almost every single day. You were fed up by the time a week passed and the day after that you made your way to visit Zayne- who congratulated you because in his words, ‘he and his wife were expecting as well, perhaps they’ll be friends, too.’ Finding out you were pregnant without Caleb with you was difficult, there wasn’t a way to reach him and share the news.

But you weren’t alone anymore. You spent the time you felt lonely talking to your baby now, who definitely couldn’t hear you yet but that didn’t matter. You were kept company with a perfect blend of you and your Caleb.

According to the official statement released last week Caleb would be home any time today, any minute, any second.

The anticipation left butterflies in your tummy, your baby moving with your nerves. It didn’t occur to you that he might not be happy to be a father, that you might’ve been presumptuous that he’d be ready to care for another life so soon.

And when the door flew open, as much as you wanted to jump into his arms (carefully, of course,) you held your breath and waited for him to notice. And of course, because he was your Caleb, it was right away. His happiness and relief fell away to shock and— was that anger? You didn’t expect anger…

“Welcome home, I—”

“Who else has been here?”

“What? I mean Tara has been keeping me company a few times a week but that’s it.”

“What man has been in our home, pipsqueak.” He didn’t phrase it as a question, just a demand. He’s never been so terse with you…

His tone made you anxious, “No one, other than Zayne and his wife for dinner occasionally— Caleb what are you talking about?”

Caleb dropped his bag on the floor with a thud, still not moving from his spot. “I’m talking about the fact that I came home after six months and you didn’t seem to miss me at all, nothing like the way I missed you. How else would you be pregnant? So who is he? Someone from the Hunters Association?”

Oh… he thought… “Oh my god how could you think- I’d never cheat on you Caleb— EVER how could you even think—”

“Well, I certainly couldn’t have knocked you up in the time I’ve been away.”

A knife cut through you at his words, the accusation, the betrayal of thinking you’d ever be with anyone else. And how vulgar it was… Did your first time mean so little? Was it something he just wanted to get out of the way before he left? A sob escaped you, tears spilled over. “You’re an asshole, Caleb.”

His eyes went wide, “I’m the asshole here?”

“Yes! You’re a fucking asshole! I expected you to be shocked but accusing me of cheating on you? Thinking that night was nothing? That’s low. I can’t believe you!”

“That night means everything to me!”

“Ask me how far along I am! Go on, fucking ask!”

That stopped him short, “you mean?”

“SIX MONTHS!” Standing there while he dropped to his knees was barely satisfying. “God I can’t stand you right now! You must’ve lost your damn mind and all your common sense!”

His silence was angering you further, stomping off to the kitchen for a drink of water and trying to calm down was a better use of your time; crying from this much stress wasn’t good for you.

Once he gathered himself he followed you, “Sweetheart… you’re telling me that night…”

“Finally used your brain, did you?”

“I’m so, god I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” His hand reached out to bring you in for a hug but you denied him.

“Do. Not. Touch me.” His audacity made you seethe. No way were you going to give in so easily no matter how much you desired to be in his embrace and reassured.

“Sweetheart—”

“You’re sleeping on the couch. We can decide what to do later.”

His emotions began to overflow, the guilt crushing him; the ring in his pocket practically burning into his flesh. “Decide what?”

“Decide if I should even let you stay.” Your throat felt tight but you continued to hold your sobs back. “Your dinner is in the oven by the way, it’s your favorite so I suggest you don’t let it burn.”

A few hours rolled around before he couldn’t hold himself back anymore hearing your sniffles. You hadn’t eaten dinner, who knows if you had any water, and no matter how (rightfully) mad you were, you still needed to eat.

Grabbing a few of your favorite snacks with a glass of juice instead of the untouched dinner he put in the fridge was his safest option, unsure if seeing the meal would upset you further.

“Pip squeak? I know you’re awake.” Crouching by your side of the bed and setting the snacks on the nightstand, “please talk to me?”

“Go away.”

“You know I can’t do that, you have to eat something.”

You poked your head from the blanket, “oh so you care now that you know it’s yours?”

The jab was deserved but it still earned a wince. “I’d still care even if they weren’t.”

“How noble of you. Sticking around to raise a kid that’s not yours before I even have a ring.”

“Who said I didn’t have a ring?” This time you accepted the comfort of his hand brushing your hair behind your ear and gently cupping your cheek.

Curiosity was a bitch, but you weren’t ready to forgive him yet. “You were really mean.”

“I know, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. So sorry. I can’t imagine you being with anyone else but I didn’t expect to come home to a family either— and I’m beyond happy to be a dad. It’s not an excuse though, never okay to talk to you like that.”

A few leftover sniffles came before he pulled a tissue from the box on your nightstand, opting to dry your tears himself. “Blow,” He said, holding the tissue to help you blow your nose; then offering you the straw of the juice so you could hydrate.

“I missed you so much, I thought you’d still be happy to see me.”

“I’m over the moon, actually. But I hurt my girl, gotta make things right. Think you can forgive me? I’ll earn it forever.”

“Caleb if you ever, I mean ever, speak to me like that again I won’t hesitate to let you talk to the front door. You’ll be out.”

“I’ll cut my tongue out myself.”

“So dramatic as always.” You rolled your eyes, “you mentioned a ring?”

A smile lifted the corner of his mouth, “there’s my girl. You sure you still want it? Or should I earn it first?” He dug into his pants pocket to show you anyway.

“It wouldn’t hurt your efforts.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle fully before presenting the velvet box to you, “I’m pretty close to the ground but if you sit up for me I’ll get on one knee.”

Sitting up to stretch was good for your back anyway, “I think I’ve waited long enough.”

The velvet box opened and your jaw dropped, “picked it out in Skyhaven. Gideon and I helped the elderly owner of a small shop with some boxes he was struggling with in front of his door. Knew it was perfect right away, gorgeous and one of a kind like you.”

“You’re ridiculous, but I love it.” He slid it on your finger and sealed it with a kiss, and you fell into his arms like you’ve wanted to for the last six months.

Pulling away after many minutes of hugs, ‘I love you’s’ and kisses wasn’t welcomed by you. “Now, how ‘bout some dinner? I don’t think snacks are enough, they were backup. Gotta keep you healthy.”

“Did you like it?”

You were pulled to your feet and carried out of the room. “Didn’t eat without you, sweetheart. Having dinner without you and the baby felt empty.”

“Good. You can reheat it then.” You waited for the perfect moment to drop your bombshell, which happened to be when he was carrying a full glass pitcher of water for the table. “We’re having a daughter, by the way.”

The pitcher fell so fast his evol barely managed to catch it before glass hit the ground. It left you feeling smug.

You couldn’t help but cackle at his shocked spluttering, “A WHAT?”

I’m so flattered, I’ve never had so many people interested or had a taglist this long: @pixelcafe-network @kentochronicles @sashisuslover @lunia-likes-pomegranet @elli4ever @mysssticc @kaemaybae @kamisatoaiko @midiplier @jamseashell @llamabois @boba14 @crimsonspring @angrychinchillanoises @ali-shiii @kazbae95 @ifistoptherain @c-I-stinnett @nephelesthoughts @etherealzi @jjoppees @keithkoganeirl

All divider credits to me @thecutestgrotto

#caleb x reader #lads caleb x you #caleb x mc #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb smut #caleb fluff #lads x reader #lnds caleb #lads mc #love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic

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