Houndtooth [18]

you manage to make college!sukuna take yuuji trick or treating

college!sukuna masterlist

You barely put your foot inside the apartment when you hear sniffling coming from the kitchen.

“Please ‘Kuna, I can’t go alone,” Yuuji mumbles, moving a single piece of spaghetti around his plate.

Sukuna huffs, standing up from the table. "Can't you just go with that kid you invited over the other day? Meg... Meg something?"

"No! I already told you I can't, like 3 times!" Yuuji starts, getting progressively more frustrated.

"Don't throw a fucking tantrum, Yuuji, you know I hate that shit," the older grits out, cleaning his plate.

"But-"

"Hello...?" you say, peeking inside. Two sets of eyes fix on you, and silence engulfs the three of you for what feels like the longest three seconds ever. "Y'all are weird," you whisper, getting inside and going to the fridge. Yuuji waves at you, trying to be polite even if you can see he's on the brink of tears, before the two brothers in the room with you resume their conversation.

"Brat, I'm not coming. I have assignments," Sukuna sighs. He doesn't turn around, he knows Yuuji is pouting and he might or might not have lied. Well, not completely: he does have to turn in two different projects for his economics class, but he's almost finished. He did say he would take a double shift the night Yuuji is asking him about though. They're tight on money, but it's not like he wants to admit that to his little brother. Is this what guilt feels like?

The little pink haired boy sniffles, then nods. "It's okay," he slurs out, cleaning after himself in silence. For the next 5 minutes, you can hear a pin drop from how silent it is. Sukuna keeps on washing dishes, Yuuji keeps on cleaning the table.

You're still standing by the fridge, trying to mind your own business, but seeing the whole scene makes the hair on your nape stand up. The two siblings would have the same stoic and unmoving face if it wasn't for Yuuji's lip trembling imperceptibly from time to time.

"I'm going to my room. Sorry for having bothered you, 'Kuna," the little one says, opening the door to the kitchen softly, and closing it even softer. Sukuna inhales strongly, putting his hands on the counter in front of him and closing his eyes. You feel like if you breathe harder than what a mosquito does, he'll crash out.

He pats his pockets repeatedly, searching for something. He takes out a pack of cigarettes and turns around to reach for the lighter you keep in the first drawer, when your voice startles him. Seeing him startled startles you too. He's never startled. What is going on?

"I thought you quit."

"Mind your own fucking business," he snarls, snatching open the drawer.

"What's got your panties in a twist?" you reply, matching his rudeness.

"Can you shut the fuck up? Damn," he continues, glaring at you, taking one big drag of the pressed tobacco between his fingers.

"No, I'd like to eat a normal dinner with both of you today, so are you going to tell me what is going on or do I have to ask your crying nine year old little brother?" you hiss out, snatching the cigarette he just lit and tossing it in the sink, still wet from when he washed his dishes, effectively turning it off.

He's on you in a second. "Don't piss me off, woman," he says, trapping you between the sink and his body. He's towering over you, and he has to bend down to look at you properly. "Stay out of it," he says, menacingly. You gulp, but you're not finished. And most importantly, you know him. You've been living together for forever, or maybe it feels like it because you're always together, either for Yuuji or because... wait, why are you always together?

"I'll stop when I feel like it, Sukuna," you say, getting closer to his face. Your voice is clear, your nose an inch from his own. You look into each other's eyes so intensely that if you had the power to shoot lasers he'd be blind by now. You're about to speak up again, when he headbutts you. Hard.

"Ouch!" you yelp, punching him in the arm as hard as you can. He just traps your fist in his, squeezing until you wince, then lets go, smirking.

"Don't play with me, girl," he says while getting off of you. You pout, rubbing the spot he hit on your forehead.

"Asshole," you mumble.

"Mh? What'd you say?"

"Nothing, sir," you respond mockingly, assuming the position of a soldier. "You know what, I'm going to report you to the police for domestic violence," you continue, still pouting.

He throws you a single cube of ice. You raise an eyebrow.

"That's all we have, make it work. I ain't got the money for court," he shrugs.

Something clicks in your brain. You know he sees it. You see it from the way his eyes widen waiting for you. "Is this what this was about?"

He sighs, then sits on the floor across from your figure, which is still standing by the sink. You raise the ice cube on your forehead. This feels nice.

"Yuu asked me to accompany him trick or treating on Halloween."

You wait, but he's not looking at you anymore. He seems distant.

"Oookaaay, and...?" you push. He sighs again. His hand repeatedly passes through his pink locks.

"I picked up a double shift for Halloween like... last week. I can't lose the money right now, or I won't have enough for rent on the 1st," he grits out, keeping his head low. You hum. You throw the melted ice cube in the sink near the cigarette. The image makes you smile. It looks like you two.

You get down on the floor too, the tip of your sock clad feet grazing his.

"You could've asked me, you know," you say, trying to sound nonchalant. He scoffs.

"Baby, I know you're whipped, but I didn't think you wanted to be a sugar mommy at twentytwo," he says smirking. You try kicking him, but he just gets out of the way, snickering. "I'm not asking a girl for money, that's fucking humiliating."

"I'm serious, idiot. If you didn't want the money I could've taken Yuuji for you, it's not like it's the first time," you tell him, rolling your eyes. "He tried to be strong for you at the end, I know you know," you add, delicately this time, Tentatively. He stares at you and sighs for what feels like the hundredth time. He grabs your foot again and manspreads, just to position your calf on his thigh. This position feels incredibly intimate, and you try not to stiffen. You two have never been the cuddly type of roommates, but he looks like he could use a little bit of physical contact.

"It wouldn't be the same. He wants me there because all of the other kids are with their families, even if he doesn't want to tell me so. Satoru texted me about it this morning. He's taking the two brats he basically adopted too," he rambles. Sukuna is not one to open up, so you just let him talk, absorbing everything like a sponge.

"Couldn't you like... move the appointments up by a few hours?" you ask.

"I could, but I still have two fucking assignments for Halloween. If I don't turn them in I'm fucked, and I need the scholarship," he grits out. His thumb caresses your exposed ankle mindlessly. Shivers run up the entirety of your leg.

Suddenly, an idea pops into your mind.

"But what if you had an amazing roommate who oh so happened to love your brother so dearly that could turn said assignments in for you if it meant to see him happy?" you say, looking at him expectantly.

"I can't ask you that, come on," he rolls his eyes. You jump up, almost falling over him in the process. "I'm not doing that for free."

"I knew you were a bitch," he growls. You just whistle, going toward the door. He squeezes his eyes hard, before opening them, jumping up too and grabbing your wrist before you can exit the kitchen.

"What do you want?"

You grin.

That's how you find yourself holding a badly sponged muscled up Tarzan-Yuuji's little hand while going from door to door, your cute yellow Jane dress on.

"Might have given you a concussion the other day, doll," Sukuna, dressed as a monkey, grumbles next to you. You laugh, and he throws you a mean glare.

Yuuji leaves your side and runs up to his friends, screaming "Trick or treat!" with them, beaming. He looks back at you from time to time, smiling, offering you something every time the people he rings the doorbell of give him more than one candy.

You suddenly feel an arm drape over your shoulders roughly, before getting slammed into a hairy side.

"Thank you, y'know," Sukuna mumbles near your ear, pressing your head in a way where you're not able to see his expression. Then, he pushes you away. "Not for the fucking costume, that's for sure," he adds, disgusted, scratching his neck and arm at the same time. You just stand there, mouth gaping a little, in front of him.

"Cat got your tongue, sugar mama?" He tells you after a while, grinning.

You scowl, fake mad, before chuckling. "Who knew you were capable of saying thank you?"

"Don't get used to it."

The Red Lord (Chapter 2 of 2)

On the hills above your village stands a magnificent but supposedly cursed castle where the mysterious Red Lord lives. Lord Sukuna is a man of breathtaking beauty. Too beautiful. Rumors claim that there is something wrong with him. But what happens when an accident makes you end up in the care of that mysterious man? Will you uncover the truth about him?

Chapter 1

Pairing: Vampire!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: Vampire AU, gothic fairytale, smut, fluff Word Count: 8k Warnings: 18+, Sukuna is a vampire, blood, mentions of murder and death, mentions of past domestic violence and abuse (NOT from Sukuna! But Reader's father, brother, and the man she was promised to didn't treat her well), smut, virginity loss, fingering, oral, creampie. All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

As much as the evening in the rose garden and the tender kisses distracted you, you can't stop thinking about the villagers' accusations. Their words play over and over in your head.

Three men were killed.

But what do you know about what has happened down in the village? No one mentioned any names of the victims. For all you know, it could be anyone. There is no evidence that it is connected to you. So why should you presume that the victims were the three men that had wronged you? And why should you assume Lord Sukuna had anything to do with that?

The burn marks on his hand? A foolish mind could interpret them as proof that Lord Sukuna is a vampire. You remember how he didn't fully step into the sunlight but stopped in the doorway. Only his left hand must have come into direct touch with the sunlight. But isn't this a bit far-fetched?

Maybe Lord Sukuna just burned himself on candle wax. That's a far more likely explanation.

It would be convenient to wrap yourself in sweet ignorance and pretend everything is fine.

But you can't ignore the voice of reason screaming at you that all those coincidences are very suspicious indeed. The part about Sukuna being a vampire is still too wild for you to allow it. But what about those mysterious deaths that have occurred?

You have to acknowledge that there could be a connection to you.

Three men posed a threat to you. Three men were killed.

You catch yourself watching Lord Sukuna more closely. Wondering if those strong hands that are so carefully handing you a crystal glass filled to the brim with red wine could be the hands of a murderer. Wondering if those glittering diamond eyes and the confident and handsome smile are hiding his true monstrous nature beneath a beautiful mask.

Is the man who took you in a monster after all?

But the thing is, you find that you don't care either way. Because isn't it all a question of perspective? When is a monster an actual monster? Generally speaking, you don't condone murder, of course. But is it still murder if it was done out of the wish to protect someone? You don't think so.

So that leads to a conviction: Even if Lord Sukuna is the one who killed those men who you assume were your father, brother, and future husband, that doesn't make him a monster in your eyes. To everyone else in your village, he might be. But to you, he is the brave man who ensured that the men harming you would never lay a hand on you again. So you could say Lord Sukuna is your hero. Your knight who slayed the dragon.

You don't mind that he has some strange habits or that the way he speaks is a bit odd sometimes, old-fashioned. It is probably because he never really comes into contact with other people. Lord Sukuna lives here alone with only a loyal servant at his proposal.

He seems to be a lonely man in self-inflicted isolation. You tell yourself you would feel guilty at the thought of saying farewell to him, and so you decide you will stay a while longer even though all your injuries have long healed.

And wouldn't you miss him too? Wouldn't you miss the inspiring book discussions the two of you hold? Or the way Sukuna's face lights up when he laughs at a joke you made? When he looks so devastatingly beautiful in the candlelight, it almost makes you cry?

Wouldn't you miss the sweet kisses he shares with you? Stolen kisses in the rose garden at night. Gentle and sweet, but with an ever-growing passion on Lord Sukuna's and your part. The lingering touches when you pass him in the doorway. A brush of his hand against yours in passing by. A strong arm that sneaks around your waist to guide you down the stairs. A smile and an intense look out of those gorgeous eyes that make the fluttery feeling in your stomach and chest intensify.

You would miss all of those things.

And so you stay. Even after that incident in the village and Lord Sukuna's possible connection to it, you stay.

The doubt remains, though. As crazy as you tell yourself it is to believe in such foolish tales as vampires, there are so many weird things about this place and about Sukuna that it's hard to ignore them.

But one particular incident makes you spin out of control.

Lord Sukuna brings you roses all the time. He puts them on your dinner plate or hands them to you with a smile and a soft kiss pressed to your cheek. Those roses from his garden are magnificent, red, and flawless. They never have any thorns.

Lord Sukuna told you that he asked Uraume to cut off the thorns so you won't hurt yourself on them. You always assumed he was just caring and thoughtful.

But then, one night, a single little thorn is left on a rose, and you prick yourself on it.

"Ouch!"

You gasp and lift your hand, inspecting the small cut, where a big drop of blood already wells up.

Lord Sukuna makes a strangled sound next to you. His eyes seem even redder suddenly, glimmering in an unnatural bright scarlet red as they stare at the thick drop of blood on your fingertip.

Before you can do anything, he grabs your hand and brings it to his lips. You can only watch in astonishment, and dawning horror as Sukuna's soft tongue flicks over your finger, licking up that drop of blood.

Your gaze meets his, and you can see a hunger in it that you have never seen before. So intense that it looks almost feral.

Those bright red eyes widen suddenly, and Lord Sukuna drops your hand and hastily takes a step back. Before you can process what is happening, he has already fled the room, and the dark wooden door falls shut behind him with a loud bang.

It's that incident with the rose that keeps you up for hours this night.

You have never seen Lord Sukuna like this. He usually is so calm and in control. So it seems strange to see him so distraught. The way his eyes were burning with hunger. Glowing red like never before. The way he had licked the blood off your finger. His hurried escape afterward. As if he wanted to hide something from you. Or as if he was scared, he did something bad...or would do something bad if he stayed near you.

You sit up with a gasp. Your head is spinning. It is time, you realize. Time to acknowledge those thoughts that have been haunting you for weeks.

What if vampires exist after all? What if you are living with one at the moment?

Suddenly you're filled with an unbearable restlessness, driven by the need to finally discover the truth.

Is there any base for those suspicions? Or are you just getting carried away by crazy thoughts and fantasies? You know what you need. Cold hard facts! More knowledge about this topic!

Only one floor beneath you is the vastest collection of books you have ever seen. So if there is a likely place to find more information about vampires, it will be there!

You are out of bed in seconds, not even bothering to put on shoes or wrap a cape around your shoulders to keep you warm. You just grab a candle holder and leave your room barefooted, only dressed in your thin nightdress.

The luxurious plush carpets feel soft under your feet as you rush through the long corridors and down the flight of stairs. The heavy wooden door closes softly behind you after you enter the spacious library.

You should start your search in the mythological section and then continue to go through the science section and look for medical encyclopedias.

You are so focused on your mission to find a book that will contain the information you seek that you don't see him until his low velvety voice drifts through the dimly lit room.

"Can't sleep, sweetheart?"

You almost drop the candle, your heart jumping to your throat as your head whips around to stare at the big red armchair Lord Sukuna is sitting on.

"L...Lord Sukuna! I am sorry for disturbing you!"

A lazy smirk spreads over his beautiful face, red eyes sparkling in amusement as he cocks his head and watches you curiously,

"Don't worry, darling. You can come here at any time of the day or night. This is your castle too. And I, for one, understand the nightly craving for information and the fantastic world books can offer us. I come here almost every night to read. Can I help you? Are you looking for anything specific?"

His glittering gaze holds yours for a long moment before slowly traveling down your body. Suddenly you become aware of the way you are dressed. Only standing in front of him in your thin nightdress that slips off your shoulders, sitting low on your breasts. Delicate white silk that is too thin for walking around at night at this time of year. 

Your nipples are stiff peaks because of the chilly temperatures, clearly visible through the thin material of your nightdress. You are sure that the snug fit of the dress does nothing to hide your body from Lord Sukuna's gaze.

Your free hand self-consciously tugs on one of the lacy straps, trying to pull it up over your shoulder.

"I... no, I am not looking for anything in particular. I just... I just need something to calm me down, I think. So I can find rest afterward."

The smirk on Lord Sukuna's pretty face turns even bigger, even more dazzling in its beauty. There is something in his eyes and in his voice, a certain sparkle, a specific timbre, that seems almost hypnotic, making you slowly walk towards him when he says,

"Then I have something for you, my dear. Come to me."

You are breathing too fast when you stop in front of the red armchair where Lord Sukuna is lounging, still in the formal and luxurious clothes he has been wearing the whole day. He took off his fine red velvet frock coat and draped it over the backrest of the armchair, allowing you a good look at his muscular figure in the red silk vest and white dress shirt he's wearing beneath it. His thighs in his red silk pants are spread slightly.

He looks gorgeous. Majestic, like a King sitting on his throne. A beautiful and powerful King. A man of such beauty that it makes your head spin.

He smiles at you, mouth opening wide enough to reveal his straight white teeth with the canines that are slightly too long, slightly too pointed.

"Let me read to you, my love. I am sure it will help you feel better. Come, sit."

Your mouth feels dry as you follow the movement of his elegant hand as he pats his muscular thigh, indicating unmistakenly where you should sit.

It's a scandalous offer. Highly inappropriate. Your heart is beating so fast, and you gulp hard. A decent woman would decline politely. It's what has been drummed into you ever since you were a young girl.

But you have left this old life behind. It's not like you haven't done worse things than sit on a man's lap. After all, you have shared many kisses with Lord Sukuna during the last few weeks.

Since he is here, you can't follow through with your plan of doing research anyways. So it won't hurt to spend a little time with him. Wouldn't it be suspicious if you turned down his offer?

And he is so beautiful, so tempting. You have never felt desire stir in your core when interacting with a man before. But Lord Sukuna makes something deep inside you feel so hot.

Before you can think too much about it, you quickly walk over to him and slip onto his lap.

After all, who is here to judge you? Who is here to call you a whore for sitting on a man's lap who isn't your husband? It feels oddly freeing to do this. To let go of all the guilt and strict rules forced upon you, which made you feel like a prisoner in an invisible cage.

Lord Sukuna's strong arms encircle you instantly. He takes the candle holder from you and puts it on the table beside his chair, and then those firm hands land on your waist, always holding you so securely in his arms, always making you feel so taken care of, so safe.

But tonight you aren't wearing several layers of clothes. Tonight there is only a thin layer of silk between your skin and Lord Sukuna's fingers. You can feel their coldness seep through the flimsy fabric, making goosebumps appear on your naked arms.

"Good girl. You don't have to be afraid."

He whispers, his voice as seductive as a caress.

"I am not afraid."

It's true. You aren't scared of him. Even though you came down here to research the possibility of him not being human. But as strange as it seems, you feel safe with Lord Sukuna.

Instinctively you snuggle into his arms, leaning against his broad chest, breathing in the luxurious and tantalizing smell of his perfume. A shy smile spreads over your face as you lift your head to look at him, caught in his spell, mesmerized by his beauty and strength.

He smiles back at you, and his strong hands tighten their hold on you, long fingers sprawling over your waist, thumbs caressing your sides gently. And you catch yourself craving more of his caresses, more of his touch, his kisses, his affection.

Your left hand lands on his firm chest, feeling his muscles even through the layers of expensive clothing. If there is a heartbeat underneath those clothes, you cannot feel it. But you find that you don't care.

You don't care if there is something unusual about Lord Sukuna. You don't care if he might not be human. If being this close to him feels so good even though it is supposed to be wrong, you are very willing to do the supposedly bad thing.

You are willing to let him taint you. To let him steal your innocence. You don't need it anymore. You left all that behind when you left your future husband, your cruel father, and your brother. It feels like for the first time you are truly alive. Truly living for yourself. Truly allowed to be yourself. To feel and to want and to desire.

And you desire him.

You want Sukuna, want to feel more of his muscular body, his firm but gentle touch, his kisses that are so sweet and addictive as if you ran right into one of those absinthe taverns your chaperon always warned you about.

He picks up the book he had been reading when you entered the library, opening it to the page he was currently on. There's a soft smile on his face as he begins to read to you,

"No man knows till he has suffered from the night how sweet and dear to his heart and eye the morning can be." 

You feel comfortable in his arms, resting your head on his broad shoulder and letting his low sultry voice lull you into a state of blissful drowsiness.

His long fingers are still sprawled over your waist, caressing you lightly through your thin nightdress.

You sigh and open your eyes to watch him. To bask in the beauty of his handsome face, the angular jawline, the high cheekbones. His sparkling jewel eyes focused on the page before him, his full lips moving so gracefully as he reads to you with that seductive voice that makes your heart flutter.

It doesn't take long for you to become bold and cup his beautiful cheek, distracting him from reading, and his pretty glittering gaze lands on you, raising an elegant eyebrow curiously.

His lips lift in a smile right before you cover them with yours.

The book falls from his hand, tumbling down and landing on the thick plush carpet with a soft thud.

But neither you nor Sukuna cares about that. Instead, his hand grabs the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as his lips move against yours, mouth opening to deepen the kiss. You sigh softly when his tongue brushes against yours when he lets you explore his mouth, licking and kissing, groaning when the tip of your tongue comes in contact with the sharp point of one of his canines.

Your breath comes out in soft huffs when the lord's cold lips trail down your neck, teeth grazing over your sensitive skin, making your hips buck involuntarily when his mouth closes over your pulse point, and he starts sucking.

Your fingers find Sukuna's soft reddish-pink hair, running through it, marveling at the way it feels like silk. You cannot get enough of the tingling sensation of his lips on your skin. A gasp fills the dimly lit library when Lord Sukuna's mouth travels further down your neck, leaving soft kisses on your exposed shoulders.

You let your head fall back, giving him better access, leaning back in his strong arms that hold you so safely.

His mouth travels to the low neckline of your silky nightdress, making you shudder in anticipation when Sukuna's kisses caress the curves of your breasts.

You press your chest against his mouth, eager for more. The thought of his lips on your body sends a surge of longing through you. You want more of him, want to give yourself to him in any way he wants.

And then Sukuna pulls the neckline of your nightdress down, freeing your breasts, and making them spill out against his beautiful face.

You whimper needily when his soft lips close around one of your stiff peaks, kissing it lovingly and gently pulling it into his silky mouth. He is suckling on it and flicking his velvety tongue over it in tender caresses that make your whole body tremble with desire.

You never thought this was how it feels to be with a man. All those tales about how it is a disgusting thing that no woman enjoys and only has to do for her husband to please him made you believe it would be bad. But what Lord Sukuna is doing to your body feels so good. Better than anything you ever could imagine in your wildest dreams.

Heat is throbbing between your legs, and you spread them unconsciously, opening them only to feel a wetness between them that you have never felt there before. So slick and hot, throbbing with such intense craving, it makes you gasp and squirm against Lord Sukuna's muscular thigh.

He laughs softly, where his face is buried between your breasts, loving them with soft kisses and licks. And then he pulls away only to capture your lips with his a moment later, meeting you again in a deep passionate kiss.

You kiss him back feverishly, naked breasts pressing against his chest, moaning at the feeling of his silk vest brushing over your sensitive flesh.

One of Lord Sukuna's large, firm hands slips under your nightdress, caressing your knee and slowly traveling upwards. He is so cold, like marble. But his hand stays on your thigh long enough to warm up against your skin until it feels like a human hand should feel.

Your pulse is racing, your head spinning as you let yourself get lost in Sukuna's sweet passionate kiss and the feeling of his strong body against you. You can feel a hardness press against your thigh where you are sitting on his lap, making you feel dizzy with need at the thought of what that means. He is affected by this too. He desires you just as you desire him. It's exhilarating.

And then Sukuna's now warm hand slips further under your nightdress, long fingers caressing your inner thighs, making more wetness coat your womanhood as your thighs begin to tremble.

You gasp loudly when that strong but gentle hand finally reaches your hot wet cunt. 

Your initial reaction is shame. Not because you don't desire his touch but because you are ashamed of how wet you are down there.

You don't know much about the act of sexual intercourse. But what you know so far made you believe firmly that men don't want to touch women down there. That they only use your cunt to bring pleasure to themselves, to sink their manhood deep into it and take what they need.

You try to close your legs, pushing Lord Sukuna's hand away as your face feels hot with shame. 

Sukuna stops, his hand lingering gently between your thighs, fingertips only a breath away from your throbbing heat. You feel his lips on your neck again, showering it with more tender kisses, and then his low voice murmurs soothingly against your skin,

"Don't be shy, my love. Please let me touch you. I want to make you feel good, want to spoil you, my pretty little dove."

"B... but isn't this dirty? You don't have to do this..."

He laughs softly against your skin, the vibrations of his laughter sending shock waves through your body, making pleasure pool even more between your legs.

"I want to touch you, darling. It's the biggest blessing you could grant me to let me touch you like this. May I?"

And you let out a shaky breath and nod, whispering,

"Y...yes, please touch me."

A sob escapes your mouth when his fingers slip back between your thighs, brushing gently over your wet folds, and then your hips buck as those loving fingers rub over a very sensitive part.

He is tender as his fingers travel lovingly over your cunt, gently spreading your lips down there and gathering your creamy wetness on his long fingers, rubbing it all over your folds while soft moans fall from your lips.

His fingers find that place again that makes you cry out in pleasure. He caresses slow loving circles around your swollen nub, making you moan and spread your legs for him, abandoning all earlier shame.

Suddenly you are bold. You want to do more. You want him to do everything a husband is supposed to do to you on your wedding night. You want him to claim you, to make you his, and push his manhood deep into your waiting cunt. No one else but Lord Sukuna should be gifted with your virginity.

"Please take me, Sukuna. I want to be yours, all yours."

There's a fire in his eyes, and his voice sounds rough, full of need as he flicks his thumb over your nub again, making you moan his name as he answers you,

"Then I'll make you mine, sweetheart."

He lifts you as if you are a mere feather. Carrying you over to his large wooden desk and carefully sets you back on your feet, letting you lean against the desk, your back to him. You are breathing heavily, your body brimming with pleasure and nervousness.

Before your nerves get the better of you, Sukuna's strong hands grab the thin fabric of your night dress, his fingers twisting in it, and then he rips the dress off your body in one powerful motion.

The dress slips to the floor, leaving you completely naked in front of The Red Lord. You gulp hard, knowing that his hungry gaze must be traveling over your bare skin right now.

"You are so beautiful, my love. And all mine."

A gentle kiss is pressed to the back of your neck, making you shudder with need, and then you hear the rustling of clothes.

You can't stop yourself from looking over your shoulder, wanting to see him. He is already naked.

He looks like an angel, so glorious and breathtakingly beautiful. Firm defined muscles everywhere, strong arms, and a broad chest. And even down there, he is gorgeous. His cock is thick and long, already erect, resting heavily against the defined muscles of his abdomen.

A dazzling smile blooms on his handsome face when he catches you looking at him. And then he is with you again, stepping behind you, so close that his tall body brushes against your back.

You tremble lightly as his strong hands land on your hips, holding you as he begins to kiss your neck once again. You sigh, relaxing against him, feeling your cunt pulse with arousal, craving him so much that you fear you will pass out.

But Sukuna is there to take care of you, strong and firm behind you, one hand on your hip, the other cupping one of your breasts, massaging it gently, playing with your stiff nipple. And he presses his body against you, his thick cock pushing between your thighs.

He rubs his stiff hard length against you, letting it glide through your wet folds by rolling his hips in a tender slow rhythm. Letting you feel all of him, coating his long, girthy cock with your cream, making it slippery and warm the longer he stays between your legs. You cry out shakily when his gorgeous cock does what his fingers did earlier, massaging your swollen bud.

You are panting loudly by now, your body brimming with pleasure and your face feeling hot as you lean back against Lord Sukuna's broad chest and let him spoil you with his lips and his hands, and his cock.

You're trembling helplessly in his strong arms when the pleasure heightens, and suddenly you get drowned by it, crying out loudly as his cockhead kisses your swollen wet pearl in a way that makes pleasure explode in the little bud. You cling desperately to Sukuna's muscular arms as your body convulses and your cunt twitches and pulses hotly over his thick length.

You have never felt something like this before. It must be what the women in those steamy novels were experiencing with their lovers. And finally, you understand the fascination, the craving to want to feel this again and again.

Lord Sukuna's voice comes out in a low groan when he kisses your neck, and his strong hands caress your breasts with gentle touches. Allowing you to experience that high until the last wave ebbs off.

You turn around in his strong embrace, wrapping your arms around him and kissing him deeply, unashamed now that you feel this bliss. 

You press your naked body against him, whimpering with need when Lord Sukuna pushes your back against the desk, and then he lifts you with a fast, fluid motion, making you sit on the desk with your legs spread for him. You can feel your slick coating the wooden desk beneath you, spreading your heat and arousal over it. But you don't care.

Lord Sukuna's gorgeous cock is back between your folds, caressing you again down there, renewing your arousal. But this time, he leaves your bud after a few strokes and instead settles his thick cockhead at your wet entrance. You tremble for a moment in a mix of arousal and fear. Will it hurt when he takes you? He is so big. 

His cockhead is kissing your tight heat gently, stretching you open around his thick tip for the first time. Your first man, your first lover.

You gasp loudly when Sukuna pushes deeper into your virgin cunt, truly claiming you now. Taking your virginity with a gentle but powerful snap of his hips.

You hiss as a stinging pain makes your legs jerk, but Lord Sukuna stops immediately, long elegant fingers caressing your sides soothingly, and he murmurs against your neck,

"The pain will be over quickly, my love. I will be careful. I'll take good care of you, my sweet girl. You feel so good around me. So warm and wet."

His fingers grab your chin, tilt your face up to him, and he kisses you sweetly as his other hand wanders between your legs to caress those sweet slow circles around your nub again, making your cunt tighten around him as new pleasure surges through you. 

He rocks his hips again, pushing his thick girth into your slick cunt, and your initial pain lessens and gets replaced by a wonderful feeling of being full.

You wrap your arms around him, caressing his muscular back and lifting your hips to welcome him, to let him know you crave him, let him know that he can take you. And he does.

Sukuna groans loudly. His long eyelashes flutter prettily as he moves his hips, thrusting his manhood deep into you and finding a delicious pace that makes you gasp anytime he rams his thick girth back into you, filling you completely.

You discover there is a specific spot deep inside you that makes your body jerk and your hips stutter anytime Lord Sukuna's manhood kisses it. It only takes a short while until your nails dig into Sukuna's back, and you writhe in pleasure against him, feeling hot tears run down your cheeks as the bliss you feel gets more intense with every thrust of his gorgeous thick cock.

But you aren't the only one who gets increasingly lost in the pleasure your lovemaking causes. Loud moans fall from Sukuna's lips, whispered endearments and needy grunts, and then his teeth graze over your neck, and he growls. A sound that sends a shiver down your spine. But not in fear but in excitement.

You cling to him desperately, meeting his powerful deep thrusts, and you catch yourself whimpering,

"Please, take anything you need from me. I want to be yours."

Your mind is hazy with lust, but at the same time, you know full well what you are trying to say. What you are offering to him.

This man in your arms might not be human, and you are fine with it. You want him to show his true self. Need him to do it now that you are as close to him as you can be. Now that you are one with him, filled by his thick cock, your cunt twitching needily around him.

His low voice sounds strained, as if it takes all his strength to hold back.

"You don't know what you're asking for, sweetheart. I can't..."

"I know it, Sukuna. Please...just claim me in every way. I need you to..."

The rest of your words get drowned out by the feral-sounding growl coming from Sukuna. His hands tighten on your waist, and the next thing you know, a sharp pain explodes on your neck.

He did it! He really bit you!

His sharp canines are buried in your neck, drawing blood.

You cry out, but at the same time, intense pleasure washes over you, making your body jerk and your cunt clench needily around Sukuna's manhood.

The pain is gone in a second. Instead, pleasure engulfs you.

You whimper needily, feeling your lover's fangs buried in your flesh. He is sucking at the wound, making your blood spill out, which he drinks hungrily.

You gasp his name, full of longing, and feel something warm trickle down your chest and between your breasts which bounce with every powerful snap of Sukuna's hips.

His mouth leaves your neck to follow that warmth. You realize it is a small rivulet of blood that Sukuna licks up thoroughly, red eyes burning into yours as he looks up at you, tongue flicking over your breasts, licking them clean, moaning at the taste of your life essence in his mouth.

"So sweet, my love. You taste so sweet."

He takes you with even more vigor now, hard deep thrusts that make both of you gasp and moan loudly. A frantic mating, like two animals in heat.

You cry his name when the pressure in your core snaps, and you feel this heavenly bliss wash over you again. The only thing you can do is cling to Sukuna's tall, muscular body sobbing from pleasure while you are coming undone on his gorgeous cock.

His thrusts become faster and harder, making you gasp loudly at the sheer strength he possesses. And then his gorgeous eyes fall shut, and his lips open in a low moan, showing his teeth with the canines that are much longer than usual, looking like a feral beast's fangs, long and sharp with some blood still sticking to them.

You cannot stop looking at him. Sukuna is always stunning, of course, but especially now, at the peak of his pleasure. When his cock is buried to the hilt in your wet cunt as he cums deep inside you. Pulsing his seed into you while your blood is still on his teeth.

You are truly his in every way now.

You are breathing heavily when Sukuna's gaze meets yours, and he captures your lips in a tender kiss before pulling away.

You can't help but look down between your legs, watching in curious fascination as Sukuna pulls out of you. His long thick cock slowly slips out of your stretched cunt, glistening with wetness, coated in your creamy arousal and the evidence of your virginity that he took tonight. Traces of blood paint a filigree pattern on his gorgeous length.

Sukuna moans loudly at the sight, a sound that sends more arousal through you. You want to slip down from the desk, but Sukuna stops you with his hands on your hips. He shakes his head, and before you can ask what he wants, he already sinks to his knees between your legs, strong hands pushing your thighs further apart, exposing all of you to him. His beautiful face disappears between your thighs.

His mouth is soft and tender on your leaking wet heat. He licks and kisses it so gently and lovingly that it makes you cry as your fingers run through his silky hair, lost in the pleasure he gives you.

Sukuna is moaning against your heat as if it brings him just as much joy as it brings you. It's only then that you realize what he is doing. Licking all your virgin blood out of you, tasting the sweetest treat you could offer him.

He kisses a third high out of you, making you whimper weakly as your body shudders and your hips buck as your desire peaks and your cunt twitches against his beautiful face and soft mouth. And Sukuna drinks your pleasure eagerly. Licks your essence out of you as if it is his favorite food.

When he pulls away, you see a faint red stain on his lips. But Sukuna's tongue darts out immediately to lick it up, and his eyes close in pleasure when he gets more of your taste.

As grotesque as it looks, it somehow sends a spark of pride through you. This gorgeous man claimed you in every way. He took your virginity and drank your blood. He made you his like no other man ever could.

A decent maiden shouldn't find this appealing. But you are far from decent nowadays and also not a maiden anymore. The proof of it is still lingering there on Lord Sukuna's tongue.

You don't need to find books about the topic of vampires anymore. You are pretty sure now. All the evidence leads to one assumption: The lord of this castle, the man who kissed you, caressed you and made you his, is a vampire.

And yet you don't leave. You don't even consider it. Because as strange as it may sound, you are happy here in this castle and with The Red Lord.

With Sukuna. Your lover.

He is sweet. He is alluring. He makes you crave him every day. Crave his kiss and his touch and the comfort of his strength and protectiveness.

Love was something you never thought would be possible in your life. A life that had been planned by other people.

Your chaperone had advised you to stop daydreaming about foolish notions like romance. She told you love is something for books or theater plays, but it has no place in everyday life. A woman is supposed to marry a man who her family sees as beneficial, not someone she picks herself and who she loves. She had constantly lectured you that marriage wasn't about love. It was about obedience, learning how to serve your husband, and make his life more comfortable. The sooner you understood this, the sooner you'd be happy.

But that thought never made you happy. The opposite was the case. It made you despair.

But now you feel your chest fill with warmth anytime you think about Sukuna. Your heart beats faster when he is near you. You feel happiness fill you when he smiles at you.

Lord Sukuna is different from how everyone told you a man would be.

He is gentle and respectful. A passionate lover in the bedroom who always makes sure that you find completion and enjoy what he is doing to you. Oh, and how you enjoy it. His kisses and touches are addictive, making you tumble into a hazy blissfulness that sends your head spinning.

But it's not just that carnal aspect that draws you so much to Sukuna. It's the way he treats you in every other aspect too. The respectfulness, the care, the humor. It's the shared interests the two of you have. It's the tenderness that this powerful man allows you to see.

He asks you to keep him company in his library. Invites you to read to him, and in turn, he reads to you. He recites love poems and dark gothic tales in his velvety low voice while his strong arms wrap around you in a loving embrace.

He lets you help him pick new roses for his garden, names them after you, and watches you with pride in those beautiful glittering jewel eyes when you tell him you want to water them yourself from now on.

He plays the piano for you, making tears well up in your eyes at how beautiful and delicate the sounds of his music are. How tragic and heart-wrenching those songs sound. The melodies carry a tale of centuries of loneliness to your ears.

When you ask him with a choked-up voice who composed those pieces since you have never heard them before, he smiles and tells you he is the one who did.

"I had a lot of time to do those things, my angel. But I didn't make music for a long time since it didn't bring me joy to perform for an empty room. I'm truly blessed I can play for you now, darling."

He visits you in your room almost every night. Comes to your bed and wraps you in his strong embrace. His body is so solid and heavy on top of you, but his touch is loving and tender, and he always takes the utmost care of you. He makes love to your whole body, kisses you, and caresses you in all the right places, sets your senses on fire as you gasp his name and come undone on his gorgeous manhood over and over again.

He feels cold to the touch, but his skin grows warmer when he lies with you. That may be why he likes to stay for hours in your bed. And after a few weeks, he doesn't bother getting up again but stays the whole night, wrapping his tall, muscular body around you and holding you to his firm chest.

You have never slept that peacefully before.

You have long accepted that your lover must be a vampire. And yet, Sukuna never admits it. He apologized to you after that passionate night in the library. Apologized for losing control and biting you. Claimed that it was a stupid accident and he never meant to actually drink your blood.

"I am deeply sorry, my love. It was in the heat of pleasure, and I wanted to claim you as mine, give you a little bite mark. But I misjudged my strength. It won't happen again."

You try to reassure him, try to make him see that it is fine. But Sukuna changes the topic anytime you try to confront him. He smiles his most charming smile and ignores your attempts to discuss the matter, distracting you with a new book or a new idea for the rose garden, or, if nothing else works, he just kisses you until you shut up.

You try to come to terms with the fact that you might never be able to get him to confess the truth. But it bugs you. You stare at the beautiful man in your arms, wanting to know everything about him and wanting him to see that you love him the way he is and that he doesn't have to hide from you. 

But how can you achieve that?

And then fate offers you a chance you didn't expect. One of your excursions through the castle leads you to a dusty room in the highest tower, and you stumble upon an old battered box that contains things from a former inhabitant, apparently. Some necklaces and old letters, lacey handkerchiefs, and a pearl ring. But you only have eyes for one thing:

A golden hand mirror.

Your heart is hammering in your chest when you hear the door of your bedroom open and the soft footsteps of the man you love as he makes his way over to where you are sitting with your back to him at your desk.

With shaky hands, you lift the small hand mirror and angle it in a way that lets you see yourself and the room behind you.

Your breath catches in your throat. You see your own face very clearly, but where the reflection of Sukuna should be is nothing.

You turn around in your chair, staring at him with wide eyes. His gaze meets yours. A shadow flickers over his beautiful face, and there is a deep sadness in his gorgeous red jewel eyes.

"So you found out after all."

He sounds defeated. His usually so sultry voice is full of regret as he continues softly,

"You can leave anytime you want, my love. I will arrange everything for safe travel and ensure you find a good place to live and never have to worry about money."

You blink at him, tears gathering in your eyes. It breaks your heart to see him like this, to see the sadness in his eyes.

You drop the mirror, and before Sukuna can utter another word, you get up from your desk so fast that you knock your chair over and send the mirror flying.

But you don't care about the chair or the mirror. You fling yourself at Sukuna. Wrapping your arms around him and hugging him tightly, pressing your body against his and burying your face in his firm chest as you cling tightly to him.

"No! I don't want to go! I want to stay with you!"

You lift your head to look at him, seeing the surprise flash over his flawless features, the way his pretty eyes widen, and he blinks as if he can't understand what is happening. A tentative cold hand cups the back of your head and gently pets your hair.

"But... aren't you scared of me now, darling?"

He says it as if he can't believe you are still here. That he can't believe you are touching him, holding him, when he expected you to scream and run.

You smile softly at him and shake your head.

"No, I am not scared. What difference does it make what you are, Sukuna? That was what I was trying to make you see. That's why I was so adamant about finding out the truth. I know many people call your kind monsters, but I haven't encountered a single monster since I came to this castle. I only met a very kind man who took me in when I was injured and who took care of me and protected me from the people who wanted to bring harm to me. You aren't a monster to me, Sukuna. The only monsters I have met so far have all been human."

The sadness in his eyes gets replaced by a tenderness that makes your heart clench. Lord Sukuna's hand tightens in your hair, bringing you closer to him. He leans down to press a gentle kiss on your forehead.

His low velvety voice is full of wonder when he says,

"You never cease to amaze me, my love."

You laugh softly as you tighten your arms around him, feeling relief wash over you.

"I love you, Sukuna. Can I please stay with you?"

You can see the warmth in his eyes and the wonderous joy on his handsome features as he smiles at you and laughs softly.

"Of course, you can stay. I will be delighted if you stay forever. I love you too, darling."

The months pass, but here in the castle, time doesn't seem to exist. Not when every day spent with Sukuna is so full of joy. And now that he doesn't have to hide his true self anymore, you are blessed with learning about the life of an immortal.

You love the long evenings you and Sukuna spend cuddling together on the large red settee in the library, naked under a warm blanket, letting your hands and lips explore Sukuna's gorgeous body while he tells you tales about his life. About all the different cultures and traditions he encountered in all the centuries he spent on this earth.

There is no heartbeat thrumming under your palms when you press them against your lover's chiseled chest. There is no pulse when you brush heated kisses over his neck. But there is so much warmth inside you when you are this close to him. And a matching warmth is in his gorgeous eyes when he cups your face and smiles at you.

"One day, I will show you all of this. We can go anywhere you like, my love. People get suspicious if I stay in one place too long. So we will have to keep moving. But you can pick our next destination."

You smile at the implications of Sukuna's words. 

Three days ago, he got on one knee in front of you in the middle of the rose garden, holding out a beautiful gold ring with a ruby as red as his eyes in its center. Now that ring sparkles on your finger.

It's a promise. A promise that you will be Sukuna's companion through countless lifetimes. His beloved bride, who he will turn into one of his kind so the two of you can be together for eternity.

Lovers until the end of time itself.

Thank you so much for reading part two of my Sukuna vampire story! I am happy but, at the same time, a bit sad to leave Lord Sukuna and his gothic castle behind now. It was so comforting to disappear into this world. I hope this story could offer you comfort too!

Thank you so much for all the love I received for this short series! It means a lot to me to see that you enjoyed it! Please let me know what you think about the second part. Comments and reblogs make me happy!

The book Sukuna reads to Reader in his library is "Dracula" by Bram Stoker, a new novel that had just been released, and of course, Sukuna had to get his hands on it to check how Mr. Stoker portrayed someone of Sukuna's kind :) 

who’s your (baby) daddy. [4] 

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

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

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

‗ ❍ masterlist  

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

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

… or not. 

“You’re fired.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were an asset to this company. 

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

“It’s Kuragi-san.”

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

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

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

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

Did I make a mistake? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn. Are you going into labour already?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stay put, okay?” 

“Satoru—”

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

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

“Okay, be there in a flash.”

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

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

“Yes, sir.” 

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

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

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

“You’re too nice, Gojo.” 

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

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

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

“That sounds perfect.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmm, I like sloppy seconds.”

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“So, she must be mine.”

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

“Ah. Crazier things have happened.” 

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

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

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

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

Satoru definitely had a point. “Touché.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kento?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I cancelled it.” 

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

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

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

So, why was he still here? 

Ieiri got her answer not even a second later. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N’s pregnant.” 

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

“And I’m the father?”  

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

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

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

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

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

“Kento?” 

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

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

“Kento—”

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

“Give Y/N my best.”

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

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

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

“Goodbye, Ieiri.”

[A few months ago]

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

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

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

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

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

“I think I could.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hate needles.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey—I’m sorry.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Sukuna—”

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

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

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

“You’re strange.” 

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

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

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

“Do it.” 

Sukuna cocked a brow. “What?” 

“I’m ready to be tattooed.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you wanna talk about your relationship?” 

Mutely, you shook your head. 

“Do you want a drink?”

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

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

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

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

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

Good girl. 

Oh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too fast—this is too much.

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

“You can do it.”

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

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

“Don’t give me that look.” 

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

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

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

“Hmm.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N!” 

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

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

That voice…

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

“S-Sukuna?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“A flower shop? That’s so girly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My knees are swollen.”

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

“Shit—that feels good.”

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

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

“Sukuna—um, I think—oh shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, someone answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you need a lift?”

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

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

“K-Kento?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence is better together IV

Chapter tags/warnings/ themes: AU!pirate hunter!Simon, fem!reader, mythological symbolism, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional whiplash, slight argument, bittersweet moments, Simon’s non-canon backstory, mentions of violence, mentions of 141, character death (Soap) grief, loss, trauma, flashbacks, survivor’s guilt, past abuse, soft!Simon, protective!Simon, tenderness & affection, confessions, pet names, fluff, slow burn is not slow buring anymore

Word count: 6,4k

A/N: Thank you so much for reading my story! I truly appreciate your support and for staying with me until the end of this series. And yes, I have to announce that this is the final part of Silence is better together. At first, this was supposed to be just a one-part thing, but I got carried away and ended up writing more. That’s why some scenes, especially the ending, might feel a bit rushed. I simply ran out of inspiration and didn’t want to drag this series to nowhere. Yet, I’m planning to write a few extra scenes that I didn’t get the chance to explore. Once again, thank you for being part of this journey.

Previous part

“When were you planning to tell me about this? If you were ever planning to do so. I feel like a fool,” you say, trying your hardest not to shout at him.

“I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want to expose you to what I did or what happened in my past.”

“Expose me to what you did? Are you one of them? One of those who brought destruction to my village?”

“No. Don’t associate me with them. Never!” Simon exclaims, emphasizing each word.

“I don’t know what you did or who you truly are, but I was a fool to blindly trust you. At first, I wanted to take some time to assure myself that I could trust you, but then I allowed myself to believe you were different. You showed no signs that I should fear you. Yet, I am disappointed in myself. I regret meeting-”

“Don’t even think about saying that when you know damn well that is not true. It was my fault; I should have told you sooner.”

“No, it's mine. I should have pushed you to tell me more about your past when I met you, but I was so focused on other things…”

“You were focused on taking care of my arse. You made damn sure I kept breathing,” he completes your sentence, his voice low, mind filled with the moments you spent ensuring he stayed alive.

“Yes, I did that. I promised myself I would keep you alive. I couldn't bear the thought of letting you die, especially after witnessing my people die, powerless to stop it. I did not want to see another soul disappear too soon from this world. I did not want to lose someone again,” you continue the sentence in your mind.

“Listen, I need to make things right for the trouble I’ve caused you. I have a long story to share, and now feels like the right time to do it,” Simon says, his tone filled with remorse as he tries his best to redeem himself in your eyes. It’s not just about the two of you needing to cooperate to survive the colder season; it’s also about the strong connection you built together over the past few weeks - one he would be damned if he lost.

“Simon, if that’s your real name, you don’t owe me anything. I did everything expecting nothing in return. You don’t have to prove anything to me anymore. That’s enough,” you reply, your voice heavy with defeat.

“I never lied to you. I thought sheltering you from the harsh realities of the world outside was a good idea, but it wasn't. You need to understand the other side of the story.”

“What do you mean by that? Is there more to know?” you respond, your tone laced with a strange curiosity.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

You take a deep breath, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “This time, don’t omit any important details. I need to know the truth.”

"After everything you've been through, you deserve to hear the truth. It's time to confront what’s real."

He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath as memories from his past flood his mind. When he opens them, a hint of melancholy lingers, and hesitantly - with an unfamiliar emotion - he begins to share his history with you

Simon's story was devastating, full of tragedy, loss, and profound pain. He begins to paint a portrait of his childhood - a troubled one. His mind wanders back to his early years, a time marked by anxiety and fear, rather than the warmth of innocence, hope, and nurturing growth that many children his age experienced. His very being was molded by the tumultuous feelings of his past. Although he promised to share his full story, he felt the need to spare you the haunting memories of his violent father. He revealed only fragments of that turbulent time, driven by a desire to justify himself to you - to see him as he is, his true self.

Now, you understand why he struggles to express his emotions freely and articulate what he truly thinks. His complicated family situation formed him in this way; he lacked the privilege of growing up in an environment that nurtured this side of him. As a result, he often found himself isolated and quiet. Despite his mother's efforts to mend the harm caused by his heartless father's actions, the misery had already settled deep within his soul. His father's mistakes made him the man he is today. He vowed to himself never to become like his old man, and he has kept that promise to this day.

He believed that after his father left, his mother and brother's life would improve - he was wrong. When he joined the Privateer Unit, a group organized to hunt and capture the pirates that plagued the seas, he returned home for a short time, only to find his mother in debt and his brother struggling with addiction. His new mission was to help his family. After a long period of recovery, he had to come back to his work. Not long after he left, the Red Wave attacked his town, destroying it much like they had done to your village. However, at that time, they were just beginning their criminal path and were not as bloodthirsty as they would become when they destroyed your island. His family survived: his mother, brother, his brother’s wife, and his little nephew.

Yet, they were hurt, especially Tommy, his brother, who did his best to protect their family from these thieves. Their town was ravaged; they took everything they could carry. If his family had been lucky enough to escape this misery, it did not mean that the other families were also fortunate. Many people suffered at the hands of those cruel individuals. One of them was Henry, who faced a brutal death after trying to help his mother. Simon grew up with him; he was his only childhood friend. He remembered running away from home to escape his father's violence, wandering the streets for hours, even when it was cold or dark outside. Henry’s mother would often ask him to come inside to warm up. Hesitantly, he would want to decline, but the cold and his hungry stomach forced him to accept every time. They would pull out a chair at the table and welcome him with open arms, feeding him fresh food - even sweets afterward. Simon’s mother was an excellent cook, but he avoided sitting at the table with his family because his father always found a reason to raise his voice at him. He would quickly grab a piece of bread and leave, unable to bear the tension at the table. Henry’s father never raised his voice at his wife or son, and Simon felt a pang of jealousy at that. However, he pushed the feeling of envy to the back of his mind and pretended, if only for a moment, that this was his life.

He was grateful to Henry’s family for everything they had done for him. He felt an even deeper appreciation for Henry, who had been his only friend during a time when he felt all alone. Although he spent time with his brother, Tommy, he sometimes struggled to understand why their father seemed to favor him. This led him to distance himself from Tommy, even though he knew it wasn’t his brother's fault. He believed it was his own fault for being who he was. Over time, he learned to accept these feelings and focus on other aspects of his life. Deep within his soul, it still hurt, but he had grown accustomed to it by now.

He explains that he had decided to move his family to a place far from the ocean - somewhere safe and out of sight of the pirates. He wanted to prevent any future attacks. However, he knew he couldn't just wait and hope for the best; he had to take action. His mother was particularly stubborn, refusing to leave her home. It took a long time to convince her that it was for the best.

Since that moment, his life mission had been to hunt down those who wounded the most precious people he held close to his heart. He wanted to prevent their expansion into other areas as much as possible. His aim was to put an end to the suffering caused by their wicked actions, but doing all the work on his own proved to be a difficult task. Although he possessed ambition equal to ten men, he was also a man who acknowledged his limits.

He struggled to find allies he could rely on; most were only interested in fighting for money, not for the cause. This was understandable, yet the few men he had hired - initially eager for revenge - soon became clouded by their desire for more. They took the gold and goods stolen by the pirates, filling their own pockets instead of trying to give back to those who had suffered. While their desire for wealth was comprehensible, their greed was not. Now, they were no better than the pirates of the Red Wave.

Simon thought he would have to come back to the days of fighting alone, but fate had other plans. A man with an authoritative presence appeared out of nowhere, demanding that he join his team - he commanded, not asked. Simon was taken aback by such boldness, initially thinking the man was out of his mind. Yet, the man's speech was too good to ignore. In that moment, Simon found himself reevaluating his sanity as he made the decision to join the team, feeling trapped by circumstance. This is how he became part of Team 141, led by the rugged and determined Captain John Price, whose powerful moral compass guided their every move. Alongside him was Kyle Garrick, known as Gaz - a man with a sharp tongue and a fierce dedication, always ready for action. Then there was the unpredictable man that introduced himself as Soap, whose infectious humor, brilliant mind, and strong loyalty often caught Simon off guard. Within this new team, Simon discovered something he hadn’t felt in a long time: a sense of belonging.

Strangely, he felt at home in this team formed by three men who had once been nobody to him. It could be the sense of camaraderie he felt being with them, or perhaps it was the mutual reason they were fighting for. Maybe it was the feeling that he was an important piece of something greater; a piece that was undeniably needed. He felt seen and, oddly enough, understood by these men who did not know the full extent of his troubled past. They didn’t need to know his entire story to understand that somehow, they all shared the same cruel fate in life.

Soon, 141 became the first opponent of the Red Wave. No matter how hard the Red Wave tried to recruit the fiercest mercenaries, they consistently faced defeat. Battle after battle, they suffered significant losses in resources, personnel, and ships. The pirates were nearly brought to their end - until one day. On that day, 141 was struck by an unforeseen challenge: two or more pirate groups formed an alliance with the Red Wave. Historically, the Red Wave had operated alone, preferring to hire mercenaries rather than collaborate with other pirate factions. However, they had to set aside their pride and resort to drastic measures. Now, every pirate was in danger as 141's power grew with each passing year, and many began to forge alliances with them.

The upcoming battles grew increasingly brutal. Both sides fought with fervor, desperate to suppress their adversaries, and the struggle was palpable. For over six months, the conflict raged on, claiming countless lives and sending ships to the depths of the ocean. While vessels could be rebuilt, the profound loss of life weighed heavily on the hearts of those who remained. Just when Team 141 believed they were on the edge of victory, the unthinkable struck again. Fate seemed to laugh in their faces as they suffered the devastating loss of Johnny MacTavish - Soap. He was a man celebrated for his unwavering bravery, strategic mind, and bright personality. His absence left a void in the very spirit of the group as they faced an uncertain future.

The loss of his comrade, friend, and brother made Simon unpredictable. He felt a whirlwind of emotions: disbelief, shock, grief, guilt, and anger. Deep down, he knew it was a bad idea to join them. He was aware that he would grow attached to his teammates, who had become his second family. Now, he reminisces about the good times spent with Soap: laughter, silly jokes, and drunken ramblings about the past and future. Simon chuckles as he recalls moments during battles; always, one of them had to crack an idiotic joke to lighten the mood. They had a knack for telling jokes in the most unusual situations. But nowadays, he finds himself haunted by the horrible memories, particularly the moment Johnny passed away. He relives that instant every time he closes his eyes, vividly remembering the light that had once shone in Soap's eyes, now extinguished.

Simon confessed that he could no longer focus on their mission, constantly distracted by his racing thoughts. He felt like a coward for opting for the easy way out, yet he knew his poor mental state could compromise the entire team. This struggle ultimately led to his separation from 141.

“I always say the people you know can hurt you the most, either by betraying you or by losing them,” Simon explains, his gaze clouded as he looks at you.

You struggle to maintain eye contact; your mind is consumed by guilt. You feel ashamed for making assumptions about him when he had lived through similar experiences. You now understand his reactions, mannerisms, and the way he speaks - everything has a reason. He was hurt so deeply in the past that he still relies on these coping mechanisms to this day. He has gone through hell and has come back alive each time, but he carries the consequences of that suffering. He endured the separation from his family and chose to act as if he was dead to protect them from his enemies. He has had to live with the losses of so many people, including Johnny; especially him.

“I am so sorry, Simon. I shouldn't have made those accusations. I’m truly sorry -” you say, voice trembling and tears welling in your eyes.

“Don’t cry, love. It was just a silly miscommunication that led to this,” he reassures you, gently extending his hand to wipe away your tears.

"You didn’t deserve to suffer all of this. You deserve more good things to happen to you, Simon," you say as you clasp his hand, the one that cradles your face.

He knows he doesn't deserve your compassion, he doesn't consider himself a good man, even though he knows that the cause he was fought for was a good one. He committed unspeakable acts in pursuit of what he called victory. The same hands that cradled your face in comfort during the night when you were distressed were the ones that had killed man after man. The hands that were stained with your tears were the same hands that, in the past, bore the blood of his enemies. Those gentle hands that had brought you so much peace and consolation belonged to a man who was not proud of his past actions, but felt he did what was necessary. At the same time, Simon believed he had somehow protected you indirectly by ensuring that none of those men would again come close to you. Yet, he knew that from the moment he met you, he had tainted your soul with his very presence. He recognized that it might sound selfish to think this way, yet, he felt an overwhelming sense of contentment because he had met you. For the first time in his life, he believed he could offer more to someone who cared so deeply for him, even when he struggled to see himself as worthy of your affection. For once, he felt truly alive, not merely existing or surviving a cruel fate. He wanted to live a life worth living, and you showed him what that could be. The way you showed him how to appreciate the little things: the feeling of the sun on his face, the cold morning breeze embracing his body, the smell of the ocean, the songs of the birds, the pleasant taste of warm tea on a cold day, the laughter at silly things, and so much more. Unbeknownst to him, he began to pick up on traits from your behavior. Often, he found himself gazing at certain things with sparkles in his eyes and a genuine smile on his lips. However, he couldn't help but notice that his heart was filled with warmth when his gaze was upon you. He once more pledged to shield you from all harm, vowing to himself that he will not let anything or anyone to hurt you again.

As you read his mind, your expression shifted from comfort to worry in an instant. A disturbing thought consumes your mind.

“What happened, love? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Simon says with a hint of his typical humor.

“What if they come back to seek revenge?” you voice your concern.

“That is not possible, dear. There's no need to worry about them anymore,” he reassures you.

“How can you be so sure? You said there were many more of them. What will happen then?”

“There's no need to worry; everything is going to be just fine. The people who followed me were the last survivors of the Red Wave. You can set aside those concerns. Trust me, we are safe.”

“How can you be so sure that there aren’t more of them?” you ask, panic rising in your voice.

“Because I took every measure that was necessary. I handled it all, and no one was left standing,” Simon changes his tone from soothing to serious. His mind drifts for a moment to the time after he left 141 and decided to work alone once again. He made sure to follow every ship that flew the Red Wave flag and sank them to the bottom of the ocean. Even though there were times when he failed miserably, he remained unstoppable. Soon, he became known as the Ghost of the Ocean. No one knew when he would appear, and when he did, he left no traces - just like a ghost.

“They are not returning, not now or ever. I am here to ensure that no one will ever harm you, love. Do you understand?” he continues.

“Yes, I understand now. I just panicked, sorry…” you confess with embarrassment in your voice.

“It’s going to be alright, darling. And it’s the time we admit we both need to rest after all this madness.”

“I have to confess, I could really use an entire day to recover after everything…” you say, a question haunting your mind. “Would it be alright if I lay next  to you tonight?” you ask, knowing that you need a moment of quietness, but most importantly, you need his presence.

“You don’t even have to ask. Let’s go now, dear,” Simon chuckles as he guides towards the bed.

You fall asleep reflecting on the events that just unfolded. Simon's vivid recollections of his experiences, thoughts, and emotions still linger in your mind, refusing to fade away. You try to approach his stories with caution, hesitant to accept everything he shared. It puzzles you why, despite his repeated demonstrations of loyalty and truthfulness, a wall of distrust still looms within you. You grapple with your own insecurities, determined to put an end to your doubts. Yet, your paranoia, like a restless spirit, continues to claw at the confines of the cage you have built to function normally. Deep within your soul, you feel a sharp sensation, like a knife twisting into a wound. It is the pain that accompanies the realization that he is telling the truth, and you don’t want to accept it. You struggle to believe that someone could suffer so profoundly throughout their entire life, especially during their childhood, and at the hands of the Red Wave. You also find it difficult to accept that someone had to choose violence and endure such brutality to stop the horrors inflicted by others. He had to embrace violence to put an end to someone else's. You must admit that you admire his burning devotion to eradicate the wrongdoings of others. His intention was to avenge those who can no longer fight for justice and to protect others from suffering the same fate that both he and you have endured. This is simply who he is; this dedication is deeply etched into the fabric of his being.

Simon was a man with a tumultuous past, marked by blood, tears, and agony, yet he treated you with such gentleness that it was hard to believe anyone could ever show you such kindness. He always made sure to make you feel seen and understood, even when he couldn’t provide any answers. He would look at you and nod, paying close attention to everything you had to say. As you revealed your past, he held your hand tightly, knowing how difficult it was for you to speak about that part of your history. He grasped your hand in consolation and support, recognizing that it was up to him to help keep you together as pieces of you began to crumble before his eyes. In moments like this, he was the sturdy marble column that held your unstable ruins in place. His rough, scarred hands seemed to find their way to the soft skin of your cheek, gently wiping away the tears that escaped from your eyes. In your most vulnerable moments, he was there - never asking for or demanding anything in return. He anchored you in the present, never letting go. He was the support you needed to keep you grounded and sane. Simon was the presence you needed badly in order to begin the healing process after experiencing that terrible incident. Curing a wound that has been open for a long time will be difficult, but you won’t be alone anymore. He is there for you, just as you are there for him. And in the morning when you wake, you will find him still next to you, just as he is now, sleeping peacefully, his chest rising and falling with each breath he takes - he is real and alive.

As you gaze over his face one last time before drifting off to the land of dreams, a sharp sensation pierces your heart abruptly. You are struck by the shocking realization that you have developed strong feelings for Simon - feelings that go beyond friendship. It feels as if you have been profoundly hit by Cupid’s arrow. Instead of bleeding red, you bleed the golden hue of a summer sunset on a beautiful, warm day. Golden like honey being poured into a fresh cup of tea. Golden like the precious thread that ties your fates together. Golden like his eyes in the candlelight.

Despite your desire to wake up first and welcome him to a new day, Simon beat you at this game once again. He wakes from sleep with a warm feeling beside him. When he looks over to your side of the bed, he is surprised not to see your back as he usually does. Instead, you are facing him, nuzzling your face into his arm. One of your hands is entwined with his, while the other is lazily draped over his chest. As much as he would have liked to greet you this morning with a fresh cup of tea, as he often did, he lets you rest. He can’t deny that he enjoys your closeness; it is pleasurable to wake up beside a soft, warm presence on a cold morning like this. He is so accustomed to waking up in a cold, empty bed in various locations and under different circumstances that this intimate greeting feels unfamiliar to him. He forgot what it is like to live in a house and how to feel at home - somewhere where he is seen, wanted, and where he belongs.

Carefully, so as not to wake you, he turns his face to admire your sleeping form. You look so peaceful in your slumber, wrapped in an enchanting and mystical allure. He can’t comprehend how you can radiate such energy after enduring so many horrific experiences. You are not defined by your past traumas, nor is he, but those experiences can profoundly affect your present, shaping the aura you emit. Yet this isn’t you. You envelop yourself in a transcendent glow, as if you have broken free from the realm of the gods he has read about. Then, he remembers - the myth.

He recalls the legend that began to take shape after the Red Wave destroyed your village. The lighthouse, which had always shone to guide the navigation of ships at night and during foggy weather, stopped shining. Many sailors chose to avoid that area afterward to prevent accidents caused by the unlit path on the ocean. After that, people began to spread tales of how the land of your village was haunted by the spirits of those who had fallen, seeking revenge.

As time passed, people began using this tale to scare their misbehaving children. But that wasn't all - someone, a man, added fuel to the story by claiming there was a sole survivor from the village. This man was one of the few survivors of the Red Wave imprisonment. Nobody believed him; they thought he had gone crazy after spending so much time as a prisoner. Somehow, Simon overheard the man discussing the story with curious children. He recounted tales of a woman, also a prisoner, who had once lived in a beautiful village situated on the cliffs of Crescent Island. This woman, who sadly passed away, had spoken to him about a beautiful and strong girl who survived it all. Soon after, the children began to create enchanting songs about the lonely girl who lived at the very end of the world, weaving tales of her solitude and dreams into melodic verses. However, their parents forbade them from singing or even thinking about the tale any longer, as some children were determined to rescue her, while others remained saddened by the thought of her loneliness. With that, they all forgot about her - until he crossed paths with you. The story the man told turned out to be true.

Now, Simon looks at you, your face slightly obscured by your hair. He reaches out and gently tucks your hair behind your ear. You haven't woken up; you are still deep in your sleep. He slowly begins to caress your face with feather-like touches, thinking about how he would burn the world to protect you from all the harm that exists. Each touch is filled with a fierce promise; the soft movements of his hand against your skin serve as a reminder that he is always there for you. Each promise is sealed by an insistent desire to make you happy and ensure that you will never again know pain. He doesn't question this reaction towards you; he thinks it is natural, spontaneous in an unusual kind of way. He wants to protect those who need protection, but with you, it is different. He hadn't questioned himself until this moment - he finds himself smiling as he caresses your face. Is this normal? He feels a strange sensation in his chest, like his heart is hurting, but there is no pain at all. It is more of a phantom sensation than a physical one, but it is there. He feels this way when he looks at you or when you make eye contact with him - paying attention to him, listening to him, and being there for him.

He realizes he often feels this way around you, yet he never questions it. He begins to reminisce about the times when you made his heart tighten in his chest; it was as if you held his heart in a firm grasp and never let it go. You made him feel this way when you smiled at him, appreciated the little things he did, held his face before you drew his portrait, or simply looked at him with those mesmerizing eyes. His mind is in a constant battle trying to decipher his own emotions, yet it is clear - he has fallen for you.

Simon continues to absentmindedly touch your features, tracing the beautiful contours of your face with his fingertips. He is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't notice you are awake, gazing at him with a shy smile.

“Good morning, Simon,” you say with a drowsy voice.

He yanks his hand back from your face, pinching the spot between his eyebrows as if that might somehow hide the fact that he’s been caught off guard; embarrassment is visible across his features. “Morning, love. How did you sleep?” he asks in a hoarse tone. It’s a question that has become his signature line, one he utters first thing each morning, reflecting his deep care for your well-being.

“I slept well. How about you?” you respond, wanting to stretch your arms in the air but surprised to realize that your hands are tangled around Simon’s body. Slowly, you begin to untangle your arms from him, avoiding eye contact as much as possible, too ashamed to meet his gaze.

“Surprisingly, very well,” he replies, gazing at you with amusement as you struggle to maintain your composure.

“Wonderful. May I have the honor of preparing you a cup of tea?” you ask with a silly grin, eager to distract yourself from the awkwardness of the moment. Fate seems to smile upon you as an affirmative hum escapes Simon’s throat.

You distract your mind for a short period as you prepare the tea, adding a few dried flowers and strongly scented leaves to infuse in the hot water. You start gathering ingredients for a freshly made breakfast, perfect for this cold weather. Behind you, Simon busies himself with putting firewood into the wood-burning stove. Your hands are moving, but your mind is still frozen in that morning moment - Simon’s warm body next to yours, your arms embracing him as you wake to the gentle caress of his hand on your face. If you could, you would stop time at that moment, never wanting it to end. It felt so addictive - in a good way. You never thought you would miss affection so much. It was so healing, a gentle reminder that you were not alone anymore. As you recall the feeling of his fingertips kissing the skin of your cheeks in a tender way, the newfound memory stirs in you a desire to cry - and you do. The weight of this feeling makes you silently sob, your body trembling slightly as you grip the edge of the table for support.

Simon quickly notices that something was wrong with you. “Dear, what is it? Are you hurt?”

You struggle to form a coherent response, but only shaky breaths escape your lips as you inhale deeply and exhale. Simon stands frozen beside you, unsure of what to do next, waiting for your reply. You wrestle with the decision of whether to tell him the truth, fearing his reaction. You don’t want him to see you as weak, especially since you already believe he perceives you as fragile and vulnerable. You don’t want him to feel responsible for your emotions, yet it seems he has taken that role upon himself. At the same time, you make a silent vow to be honest with him from now on, recognizing that he has already tried to be open with you. Taking another deep breath, you finally share the real reason behind your emotional state. You begin by expressing how long it has been since you felt the caring touch of another person - one that feels as if they are pouring their heart into that tender caress - warm, affectionate, and sincere.

“Oh, love…so that was the reason for your tears” he says in a sweet voice, while the worries wash away from his body.

“Yes, a silly motive, I know…” you look away, embarrassed.

“Listen, dear, it’s not a silly thing. What you’re feeling matters,” he says, placing his hands on your cheeks and wiping away the tears from your eyes with his thumbs. He gazes intensely into your red-stained eyes, his heart breaking at the sight of you like this. After that, he opens up his arms and says: “Come on, love.”

“I don’t -” you pause for a moment, but your concern fades in an instant as you throw yourself into his arms. One of his strong arms envelops your body while the other finds its way behind the back of your head, fingers softly tangling in your hair. His face nestles into your hair, breathing in your sweet, intoxicating scent. You hide your face in the crook of his neck, enjoying the mixed scents on his body: his natural one, the floral notes of your homemade soap, and a hint of tea. It’s an unusual combination, but it creates a comforting blend of essences, accompanied by the warmth radiating from him. One of your hands mimics his, tangled in his longer strands of hair at the back, while the other is tightly pressed against his back, your nails almost digging into his covered skin.

The harmonious entanglements of two souls intertwine, becoming one. The golden thread of fate weaves their destinies together - heart to heart, their beats synchronized. Two become one.

He is Simon Riley. Riley, his father’s name, weighs heavily on him, a burden of his father’s terrible wrongdoings. He is the Ghost of the Ocean - terrifying, vengeful, merciless. Once, he was a troubled, forgotten, suffering child. But for you, who is he? He is simply Simon - thoughtful, gentle, kind-hearted, wise, bright-minded, protective, amusing, loving - your Simon. If you had asked him whether he ever thought he would become like this, he would have laughed in your face. But things are different now. His stone walls have begun to crumble, piece by piece, since he met you. His ice-covered heart melted at the sight of your happy smile.

From a curious girl who picked and crafted beautiful pieces from seashells to offer as gifts to your loved ones, you evolved into the nameless mystical presence, one that survived the horrific attack of the Red Wave - a story told by survivors and sung about in children’s songs. But for him, who are you? You are selfless, soft-hearted, doting, sharp-witted, eloquent, loving - his darling. Since he came into your life, your broken soul began to fuse together, one shard at a time.

You had been praying for this moment to last forever, frozen in time, just the two of you. Yet, the realization that this can't happen to be true hit you as the boiling water shattered your unity. Quickly, Simon takes the pot from the stove, placing it on a spot so as not to get hurt by accident. He turns his body to face you, slowly closing the space between you.

“Better now, dear?” he asks with a light expression covering his features.

He is waiting for your response, which was slow to arrive. Your impulses get the best of you; you grasp his face, and soon, your lips are pressed together. A kiss that begins with you soon becomes guided by Simon, as you find yourself unsure of what to do next. What started as awkward pecks evolved into a more intense kiss, filled with passion, longing, and emotion. Hands caressing each other's faces, memorizing every contour with closed eyes, as if trying to preserve the moment in memory forever. From a gentle kiss, it transforms into a desperate one, consumed by the flames of the deep affection you held for each other. Each kiss, move, and touch was a declaration of love, marked by the promise of a happier and better future.

After a few moments, your lips finally part, both of you breathing heavily, your eyes shimmering with sparkles of hope and unspoken emotions. You cradle each other’s faces with such affection, looking into each other’s eyes and pleading for this to be true. It felt as if one wrong move could make everything vanish - your presence would become mist, evaporating into thin air. It was too good to be true, yet this was real and tangible. You could feel his facial muscles move under your touch - he was smiling, and so were you. Both of you let out a chuckle of disbelief, especially you, as you never thought you would be this bold.

“Yes… everything is better now,” you break the silence, still holding his face and running your thumbs over the smile lines etched into his skin. You crave to always see him this happy and, at the same time, want to be the reason he is.

“I can clearly see that. You are daring, love. I’ve got to say, I quite like it,” Simon responds with adoration in his voice, tucking some loose strands of hair behind your ear to get a better look at your face.

All it took was a moment of vulnerability, trust, and profound tenderness for you both to truly realize that your souls belong together, intricately intertwined forever - a bond secured by the unbreakable chain of fate. With him hugging you from behind, his arms wrapped around your waist and his face nestled in the crook of your neck as you stand on the veranda, enjoying a warm cup of tea and gazing at the beautiful view as the sun's rays break through the thick veil of clouds. You think: “Silence is better together.”

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bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty-one —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 4.8k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. SA and implication of child SA (very subtle). summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: if anything regarding the abuse or suffering of children, or SA, triggers you do not read. I wanted to tell you so there are no surprises.

The world sharpens as your senses return, zeroing in on the empty, crumpled sheet where Blue had lain beside you. She’s gone. Your deadened limbs failed her. Guilt rises, choking your dry throat. When your hands can move, you grab the pillow, pressing it to your face. A few hot tears escape. It smells like her hair.

They took her. 

She's gone— 

A gentle voice speaks, and a hand settles on your shoulder. Only then do you notice your body trembling. You lift your face from the pillow, staring up at Nereida. Her lips move, but her words don’t reach you. Something stirs inside you, deep in your chest, clawing its way toward your mouth. When the door creaks open and Salome steps in with a tray of dinner, it finally bursts free—a roar of pure rage.

“I’ll fucking kill you if you don’t tell me where she is.”

Salome startles, nearly dropping the tray as you fling yourself at the bars.

“I-I understand you’re upset, and I’m sorry we had to subdue you again, but it was only—”

“I don’t give a fuck! Answer me! Where is she?”

Her knuckles whiten around the tray, eyes darting away. “The child has... her own job, as we all do.”

Your lip curls. “Are you brain-dead under that stupid veil? Why take her? She’s a child! Why not one of us?” You lean closer, voice breaking. “If you want me pregnant so badly, fine! Do it now! Just bring her back—bring her back!”

Salome blinks, unnerved, her composure slipping.

“If you’ve killed her,” you hiss, heat flooding your face, “I swear to God, I’ll kill myself—”

“No!” she interjects, stepping forward, wide-eyed. “Don’t speak like that, I beg you. She... She’s alive. For now.” Her voice drops, reverent. “But Maman has plans for her. You must understand—Maman knows the Lord’s will. It is not our—" her throat bobs with a swallow,"Our place to question her decisions.”

“Alive for now ?” you snap. “What plans does that bitch have for her?”

Salome hesitates. For the first time, she looks uncertain.

She opens her mouth, then closes it. “I can’t... I mustn’t say. In time, you’ll understand.” She lowers the tray onto the floor and nudges it closer, staying out of your reach. “Please. You must eat. It’s only food this time, I promise. And the tea is for your bodies—to prepare you. Maman insists you drink it all.”

“You really think we’re stupid enough to eat or drink anything you give us?”

Her voice dips into a whisper. “I fear I... I must insist. If you refuse... I’ll have to tell Maman. She’s chosen to keep the males you came with because they are healthy and strong. But if she hears of your disobedience...” Her voice falters, and she tucks her hands into her sleeves. “There needn’t be any unnecessary deaths.”

Unnecessary deaths. 

The door clicks shut behind her when she leaves. You sink to your heels, spine against the bars, as Nereida reaches for the tray. Closing her eyes, a single tear escapes before she rubs her chest and exhales. With no choice, you both eat the braised beef and roasted carrots, though you bitterly imagine it tastes like the unseasoned squirrel meat you're used to.

The tea smells herbal and bitter. On your tongue, the taste makes you recoil.

"I think it's turmeric and parsley," Nereida says softly, taking another sip. "It's good for... regulating our cycles."

You stare into the mug, swirling the warm liquid inside. The urge to dump it on the floor flickers, but the risk of someone noticing holds you back. Instead, you take another sip, chasing it with food to mask the taste. Your thumb brushes the rim, finding a sharp chip in the ceramic. Pressing it deeper, the sting hums as a bead of blood wells up. You suck on it, brows furrowed, a half-formed plan taking shape. Without hesitation, you finish the tea and smash the mug on the floor, startling Nereida.

"Why did you—"

You gather the two biggest shards. "We have weapons now. Break yours when you're done."

"So what’s the plan? Stab her with it?" She shakes her head, frustration clear in her voice. "She’s dumb, but not dumb enough to get close enough for that—not after you just said you want to kill her."

"Well, it's something." Your lips tighten along with your hand on the sharp edges. "At least I’m trying to think of an idea instead of just—just praying my military husband comes to save me."

Her eyes flash with hurt. "I'm trying to think realistically instead of acting rash." She gestures to the broken pieces. "She just threatened to kill them if we do anything to upset this Maman person, and you go breaking the cup. You think they'll be happy about that?"

"I'll say it was an accident. I'm a clumsy female who just couldn't help myself."

"You're not thinking clearly, Twix. I know you're upset about Blue—"

“And you’re not?” you hiss. “We failed her. She’s just a kid, and we failed her. Who knows what they’re doing to her right now. We don’t have time to sit around waiting for Price. He’s not coming! Even if they don’t kill him now, you really think they won’t at some point? These people are insane.” Your voice drops lower. “They’re going to rape us, Nereida. Don’t you see that? They’ll wait for us to ovulate, then breed us like livestock to feed into their delusions. What happens when they find out you can’t have kids? You think they’ll keep you around? You think they’ll still ‘covet’ you?”

Moisture wells in her eyes, and she blinks. "I don't—I don't know. But what can we do? We can't reach her, and they won't open the cell without drugging us again. Even if we could get out, we can't handle everyone out there with just pieces of a broken mug." The tears spill quietly, and she stuffs her face in her hands. "You're right. I've always relied on him. I don’t know how to survive any other way."

Your face softens a little, and you breathe deeply to regain some composure. "I shouldn’t have said that. We’re both scared."

She whispers through the gaps in her shaking fingers. "I was never supposed to live like this."

You reach for her hands, holding them tight. "You were, or you wouldn’t still be here."

The words offer fragile solace despite how steady you force your voice to be.

The rest of the meal is in silence.

The helplessness in the room is suffocating, reminiscent of the week you spent alone in the woods, sleeping in trees and dreading the break of dawn. No—it’s worse than that. It feels more like when Ghost broke your bow and left you for dead, chewing on pine needles to soothe your empty stomach. Funny how this time there’s a delicious meal in front of you, and you’re swallowing it down only because you’re forced. You even have a real bed to slip into, a yielding pillow to rest your head on, yet the helplessness remains, unwavering.

"I'm sorry, Blue. I'm trying," you whisper, clutching the shards of ceramic and slipping them under the pillow.

You replay everything in your head: the lack of items in the room, the bolted cell door, and what Salome said— Maman has plans for her. The moon rises, and you remain awake, even as Nereida succumbs to fatigue. You force your eyes to keep scanning the dark surroundings, despite the lingering effects of the drugs threatening to pull you into sleep. There has to be something you're missing—maybe not in the room, but in Salome's words. What else did she say? You were so angry, you can hardly remember.

It feels like well past midnight when you hear a male voice outside the door and the shift of footsteps.

"Trois minutes, Hugo."

A low chuckle. "Trois minutes, c'est tout ce dont j'aurai besoin."

"N'oubliez pas de ne pas toucher. Et ne vous en vantez pas auprès des autres. La nouvelle se répandra et Maman ou Alexandre l'entendront."

The air shifts when the door parts. You launch up, inhaling sharply when a shadowy figure enters along with the faint scraping of boots. Salome? But broad shoulders give way to an unfamiliar man that steps into the sliver of moonlight, and panic sets in quickly.

Breathless, you rip the sheet from your body.

Nereida stirs. "Twix—?"

You rise to your bare feet, standing a meter from the bars as you take him in. A light smile plays at his lips, which might’ve seemed friendly if you weren't poorly covered by the barely-there slip dress. Unlike Salome, his face is exposed beneath the hood of his grey cloak. You make out a strong nose, ashen brows, and blonde hair. He looks to be in his thirties, much shorter than Ghost. He murmurs something in French beneath his breath that makes your hands clench, then reaches into a pocket in his cloak.

He retrieves three metal chains. 

In his upheld hand, the dog tags quietly collide.

Your breath hitches as his eyes flick to yours, and the moonlight catches on the engraved names.

"I'm a friend of your friends," he greets coyly in a hushed, strong accent.

"John," Nereida whispers, ripping herself up from the bed. 

The man nods, the subtle smirk tugging at the edges of his lips, but it fails to reach his eyes. They remain cold. "Yes. We've all grown rather acquainted."

"You've hurt them," you snap, grabbing Nereida's wrist and pulling her closer. "Cut the bullshit."

He wraps the chains tightly around his wrist before tucking them away, then looks at you in a way that leaves your mouth tasting like the dinner you just ate. "A female who bites. I will look forward to making you submit as a God-fearing woman should."

You clutch at the hem of the gown, terror whispering in the back of your mind from his words. Something feels wrong.

"Why are you here?" you ask measuredly. "I thought... it isn't the right time for us to... to get pregnant. I thought only women are allowed to see us right now."

"I've heard whispers of the new beautiful women God has gifted us," he says, his English choppy. "I wanted to see for myself. I've been... working hard to please the Lord, you see. Your friends are not so easily broken. Surely, in His eyes, I've earned just a glimpse."

Nereida tenses beside you. 

You rear a snarl at him. "Where are they?"

He holds up a finger. "Ah, ah, pretty face. You will have to let me see more if you would like to know. I have just three minutes with you. Two now that we've been wasting time."

Cold sweat coats your palms as his request sinks in, and you glance at Nereida. "I'll do it," you whisper. "You can just... just look away."

"No," his growl interjects. "Both of you, or nothing."

Even in the dark, her face pales. But when he pulls the chains back out and waves them around harshly, her hands dart to the hem of the dress and she peels it up without the chance to rethink it. You follow in stride, teeth gritted, as you scoot a step away from her and do the same, feeling the chilled air brush sickeningly against your bare skin. You've done this before, yet this time you are wholly naked under the stranger's gaze, and your hair is not long enough to conceal your breasts. 

When you hear him unbuckle his belt, you remove yourself from your body, mentally retreating to a far corner of the room to block out the horror.

"Tell us where they are," you press.

He chortles, breath catching when he grabs himself. "This land belonged to Maman's husband. It is a farm. New men we keep in the old slaughter house, by the barn, like the swine they are."

"And what about the girl," you interrupt urgently, "The young child who was with us. Why would Maman want to take her? Where else would she be keeping her?"

He grunts low. "I never said I'd answer about the girl, but if you touch yourself, I will consider it."

Your jaw clenches, teeth grinding. Nereida breaks, folding into herself and whispering, "I can't. I can't."

"I will," you whisper, your hand already sliding down your stomach, your eyes locking on his. "If I touch myself, will you tell me?"

His eyes narrow to where your hand dips unthinkingly between your thighs. You keep it there, doing what he wants, putting on the show that will make him talk. His shoulders ripple at the sight and audible groans bounce off the walls.

He clears his throat, voice rough. "I haven't heard nothing yet about the girl. But Maman says God’s punishing us... the land’s... sick. The wheat grows less and less. Only way to fix it—feed God's enforcers." 

"His enforcers?" you question.

"The démons."

"The Greys," you whisper, confusion flickering before clarity dawns.

A flash of the vermin-filled chapel plays through your mind—the bites in the corpse—and your hand jerks away from your thighs. The horror clicks into place, slow and suffocating, until all the color drains from your face. Blue... Is she an offering? An offering to God, just like the one you saw. They think the Greys are His enforcers. They will feed her to them. The thought claws its way through your head, and you feel a fresh wave of cold horror crash over you.

"When?" you croak. "When would Maman— feed them?"

"God's wrath... started on the sixth day," he murmurs absently, eyes rolling back. "That’s when we seek His forgiveness."

With a final grunt, his body jerks, and the spill lands on the floor. Bile rises in your throat, but you can’t even register it as you watch him stuff himself back in his pants and smear the mess with the sole of his boot, muttering something under his breath. You snatch the dress from the floor and stuff it over your head, legs wobbly. Faintly, you hear him laugh quietly.

"I can only pray I'm deemed worthy come the next coupling season. And when that time comes, I will be sure to choose you." 

---

B

Warm water kisses the back of her neck, and gentle fingers scrub soap through her hair. The woman bathing her hums softly, matching the rhythmic pulse in Blue's arm. As Blue closes her eyes, she tries to separate reality from nightmare, pressing two fingers into the clothed wound as if the pain will help her understand. She remembers the Greys coalesced in the old building, the chains used to restrain them, and the terror-blurred walk back to the small commune. After that, everything becomes hazy. She slept a little, she thinks. Was made to eat again. Then somehow, she ended up here, submerged in a wooden tub of lukewarm water, while a young woman quietly encourages her to dip her hair back to rinse.

"There. Time to dry off now."

There is the shuffling around as she fetches a towel. Blue crosses her arms over herself as she accepts it numbly, the air prickling her wet skin. Her feet land on cold tile floor as she dries off, the woman lingering beside the bathroom door with her head bowed. Blue feels like someone has strings coiled tightly around her limbs, puppeteering her. 

"Put this on for now." A light smile is offered as the thin gown is placed in her palms. "Maman will have a much nicer dress for you to wear tomorrow."

A puppet string is tugged, making her nod. "Can you... can you look away please?"

The woman turns and stares at the back of the door while Blue drops the towel and changes. 

Then she is taken back to the room she came from. The one she first woke up in, where the old woman's knitting needles still rest on the table. Morning light caresses the paintings on the walls, all oiled landscapes of land that looks similar to the one outside. The woman, whose name Blue thinks she mentioned to be Eloise, shuffles around the room, tidying things, before collecting the tray from breakfast. But when she glances back at Blue on her way out the door, her lips part in concern.

"You're bleeding."

Blue looks at the bandage on her arm, where red blood oozes in a trail, a bead dripping onto the floor from the tip of her finger. She frowns, confused, when Eloise sets the tray down to tend to the cut—as if they aren't the ones who caused it. As if the blood smearing her skin when she unwraps the cloth isn't the same blood they used to draw out the two Greys they brought back to the commune and locked up in a small shed. 

"I know you're frightened," the young woman whispers, her voice carrying an understanding that feels deeper than anything Salome ever said. Behind the veil, her eyes flick up to meet Blue's. "I can only pray God's mercy makes it quick." She dabs Blue's arm gently and rewraps it with a fresh strip of cloth.

"You mean they are going to kill me, right?" Blue whispers distantly. "With the Greys from yesterday?"

A glint passes through the woman's eyes, and she lifts her hands. "Yes," she says quietly, then leaves the room. 

Blue stands in the silence, eyes fixed on the drop of blood. She presses her heel into it, smearing it across the floor. Then, she moves. The fear she's carried since the old woman led her into the trees claws at her chest, but she swallows it. Trembling hands sweep over the room—checking the window, the locked door. The bed, the table, the paintings. Beneath the bed, only cobwebs.

A helpless croak escapes her lips as she collapses onto the bed, teeth clenched against the tears. Her father would never accept her giving up. Tomorrow they will kill her. She sits up, palms pressed to her forehead, knees drawn tight, dry sobs wracking her body. Through her tears, she notices the smear of blood from her heel left on the white linen. She flips over her foot and traces the dried blood with her finger, then digs her nail into the broken skin where the gravel road tore into her feet, seeking more pain—urging fresh blood to rise from the indent she leaves behind.

---

G

The last time Ghost was chained, he hadn’t known about the little girl who shared his blood—someone who truly needed him. Tommy was still alive then, of course, but he had his own family. If Ghost had succumbed to Roba’s torture, his brother and mother would have mourned briefly, held a small funeral, then moved on. The world would have forgotten his name. Part of him would have been pleased with that—but somehow, Simon Riley’s more stubborn side had survived.

That stubborn part of him refuses to close his eyes, not even for a second, because this time, he is fully aware of the girl who needs him.

With no windows to mark the time, Ghost can only gauge it by the man who beats him. The man alternates between striking him with a metal bar and taunting him with food and water, tossing them just out of reach so the smell can ignite pangs of hunger. There was once he showed up with an old woman, who clinically poked and prodded at Ghost's arms and abdomen, as if in approval. The longest absences of visitation likely indicate the man’s sleep, meaning two nights have passed since Ghost woke up here. His increasing difficulty in keeping his eyes open confirms it. 

Even through swollen eyelids, visions invade the darkness—four faces merging, their screams echoing, sharp and pleading. First, his mother. Then Sara. As they turn to ash, the two other faces remain, their screams fading into buttery laughter. Water splashes his cheek as they play in a creek, then their lips fall silent, and their faces sink below the surface. He reaches for them but can only stare as their eyes drain of life. Still, they remain accusatory. Disappointed. 

A slam of the door shatters the images.

"I think you will be pleased to hear the news I bring, Brit."

It must be morning. Ghost's gaze drops to the floor in persistent defiance, refusing to acknowledge him. His muscles loosen in preparation for the bar's routine assault, but a vein in his jowl ticks when he detects a new sound; the quiet slither of a whip against the concrete. 

Without warning, it recoils and lashes out with a sharp crack. The sting spreads through every nerve-ending, and he feels a gush of hot blood from the newly opened wound. A quiet, strained grunt slips through his teeth, and his chin dips to his sternum as pain robs him of the ability to hold it up. 

Casually, like a friend, the man hums, only his boots visible in Ghost's vision. "I saw them. They are well-kept, you should know, and they are indeed beautiful. A gift from God." The tail-end of the whip caresses Ghost's shoulders then slips to the floor soundlessly. "The child, though, I am disappointed to say she wasn't there."

Ghost stiffens.

His nostrils flare.

"Why wasn't she there?" he forces out.

"Ah. The child is yours, yes? The... fierce one was concerned for her as well." He bends, rubbing his jaw callously. "So concerned, in fact, that she was willing to show me more than I had even come for. Quite eager, too. Let me tell you what I told her—I know nothing of the plans for the girl. I can only guess, as you can, that they will not be pleasant."

"I will... kill... you," Ghost manages, his low voice thick with fury, each word a strained rasp through clenched teeth.

When his fingers twitch, weakly forming fists, the man pats his shoulder with a light laugh. "I will say, I am sorry you do not have a son, instead. Maman says daughters are the purest, most God-abiding of us all. With all due respect to her, this is where we disagree." He tilts Ghost's head back, locking eyes with him, his breath brushing against Ghost's face."They’re whores, all of them. Waiting to be bred. That's why the fierce one was dripping wet when she touched herself—"

In one swift motion, Ghost sinks his teeth into the first piece of flesh he can reach, tearing through skin. Blood fills his mouth, spilling between his teeth. The man jerks back, part of his cheek torn away, his eyes flashing with pure rage as he clutches the bleeding wound with his hand.

"You fucking, lowly swine." He spits out a mouthful of blood, then retracts the whip with a savage snarl. Another strike lands on Ghost's back—harder this time. Another follows. The blows come faster, until blood pools beneath his boots, and his eyes finally close no matter how much strength he tries to muster to keep them open. 

---

T

The sixth day.

If the Sabbath is the seventh day, then the sixth day would be Friday. The outbreak began on a Friday; God's wrath.

You trace the wrinkles in the sheet, trying to count back to the last day you can remember—back when Blue still announced the dates from the calendar Ghost kept track of. You recall it was the 12th of April, weeks ago. But what day of the week was it? Frustration bubbles up as you tear at the sheet, the harsh reality sinking in: you don’t even know how many days have passed since then.

Morning breaks in washed-out hues, accompanied by the low call of a nearby dove.

Growing content with the regular feedings, your belly hums in anticipation against your will.

"Ask her what day it is when she comes for breakfast," you tell Nereida. "We need to find out when Friday is, and you... you're better at talking."

Luckily, Salome either doesn’t notice that one of the mugs is missing or is willing to keep the fragile peace by not mentioning it. Again, she lowers the tray at an unreachable distance and slides it over. She lingers for a few minutes this time as you nurse a bowl of fresh fruit and sour yogurt, more mindful of how it tastes. But you don't suspect they have a need to drug you this morning—not with Blue already taken.

Nereida manages a bit of small talk, flashing a friendly smile you envy her for. It's enough to get a few pieces of information from Salome—mostly useless. She's about six months along, Maman suspects. There are two other pregnant women, and three infants already born over the years. A few have died during harsher winters, including this past one. The land is sick, that man mentioned. With a flicker of sadness, Salome adds that she had a miscarriage, and for a moment, you almost feel sorry for her.

But when Nereida asks about the day, Salome tenses, wariness creeping into her eyes. "Well, I forget the name in English, but it is the fifth day following the Lord's day."

"Thursday, you mean?" you speak up for the first time since she walked in. "I mean, Saturday is the seventh day. So the fifth would be Thursday."

Salome nods. "Yes, Thursday. Jeudi."

Then tomorrow is Friday.

The weight threatens to crush you.

When she finally leaves, you fling the pillow off the bed and flip the mattress, screaming soundlessly into it.

"We have one fucking day, and I have no clue how to get out of here."

Survival hinges on not panicking. Panic makes you weak. But still, your fingers curl into your hair, tugging desperately, trying to silence the hysteria rising inside you. For a moment, a silent prayer takes hold in your mind, mimicking the ones you overheard from Nereida. You screw your eyes shut in a pathetic hope that maybe when you reopen them, Ghost will materialize with the key on the other side of the cell. When he doesn't, you grab the nearest shard from the mug you broke. Nereida tugs on your shoulder, trying to calm you down, but you furiously press it against your wrist.

It's the sight of blood, not the pain, that makes you freeze.

Suddenly, your panic smooths into a fresh memory.

"She panicked, didn't she?" you whisper, lifting the shard and gently thumbing the shallow cut you've created in its wake. "When I threatened to kill myself. Her eyes—they held fear. Fear for what?"

You turn to Nereida and swallow thickly.

"Fear of... fear of us dying," Nereida finishes slowly, a pinch in her forehead.

"Fear of what would happen to her if we died," you say. "She seemed... scared when she spoke of Maman. Of course she is. She's the one responsible for us right now. What would Maman do if she can't take care of the two new coveted women?"

You reach for the next largest piece and place it in Nereida's hand, tightly closing her fist over it. 

"It might not work," she whispers, eyes darting across your face.

"It's the only idea I've got."

Over the next few hours, you smooth over the details in whispered exchanges. These are the only cards you have to play: the value of your bodies here and the power Maman holds. Nereida is uneasy at first but eventually grows convinced. Speaking through the plan helps soothe your nerves, keeping the walls from fully closing in. You remember that Salome usually arrives before the sun sets to bring dinner. So, when the window casts amber shadows across the walls, you suck in a breath, dig the shard into your wrist, and watch as blood spills onto the white linen.

---

“Three minutes, Hugo.” “Three minutes is all I’ll need.” "Remember not to touch. And don't brag about it to others. Word will spread and Maman or Alexander will hear it."

I WANNA BE YOUR ENDGAME – Chapter 08

🏒❤️ A Hockey Romance feat. modern!Sukuna

Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, Hockey AU, fluff + smut Playlist: I wanna be your Endgame Word Count: 5k Warnings: 18+, smut, cigarettes, alcohol, hockey injuries. Fuckbuddies to lovers. Reader is a creative writing student. Sukuna is an ice hockey player + history student. This story will have approximately 12 chapters. Minors don't interact. Header by me. Divider @/benkeibear

MASTERLIST

You lie awake for hours. What happened between you and Sukuna during the private ice skating lesson? Didn't the whole thing in the hockey arena feel too romantic and too intimate for just fuckbuddies? Do friends with benefits really kiss each other like that?

You feel strangely smitten, almost shy, when you think about your evening with Sukuna. He was such a gentleman, making sure you didn't slip and fall on your ass, helping you exit the ice and make your way to the bench, where you could put on your shoes again. You left the arena, and Sukuna ruffled your hair and made a joking comment about how you had screeched when you set foot on the ice for the first time. And you playfully hit his biceps and told him to shut up. But your heart was racing, and your face felt too hot, and you are sure you giggled like some teenager with a big fat crush.

Sukuna walked you back to your dorm, and you teased each other the whole way. You asked Sukuna if he wanted to come in, and he agreed with his typical sexy smirk. You spent an hour in your bed, low groans and soft mewls and the rhythmical sound of your headboard banging against the wall filling your room.

And now, Sukuna is gone again, but your pillow still smells like him. And you stare at the ceiling, unable to get that kiss in the hockey arena out of your head. A kiss that felt too romantic, too tender.

You know your little private ice skating lesson wasn't a date, but why did it almost feel like one? If you are honest with yourself, the hour spent ice skating in Sukuna's arms felt nicer than any real date you had.

You wonder if Sukuna is lying awake, too? Does he ask himself the same questions you are asking yourself? You want to convince yourself he isn't aware of it. But there's a small voice in the back of your mind reminding you how good Sukuna is at analyzing things. You are sure he can see how close the two of you have become, too.

But does he care? Does he want more? Or is it just fun for him? You know Sukuna has that bad reputation that paints him as a fuckboy. But is he, though? The thing is that ever since the two of you started your little arrangement, Sukuna seems to only fuck one girl... and that girl is you. And then there are all those little things Yuuji says that sometimes sound like he is dropping hints about Sukuna possibly liking you as more than just a casual fuckbuddy.

"Oh shit."

You groan and pull your blanket over your face, hiding yourself even deeper in the comfort of your bed. The little hopeful spark and the butterflies in your stomach scare you. You know this feeling all too well, and you don't want it!

You told yourself you would get through college without the complications of romantic feelings. All love ever did was cause you heartbreak and pain. You swore off it after the disappointment that your ex-boyfriend was. You swore to yourself that you would just have fun when you go to college. Nothing serious. No relationship. No feelings. Just fun. And this fuckbuddies arrangement with Sukuna had seemed so perfect for what you wanted. But what now? What if you suddenly develop feelings for Sukuna?

You cannot let that happen. You have to fight it!

Get a fucking grip!

You see Sukuna the next day, and you manage to act normal around him, ignoring the fluttery feeling in your stomach when he smirks at you and lets his large hand slowly trail down your arm to steal your heavy stack of books out of your hands and carry it for you to your classic literature classroom. He makes a comment about you obviously being too weak to carry it on your own while giving you one of his devilish looks, and you roll your eyes and yank the books out of his arms even though Sukuna already carried them all the way to the classroom.

You agree to meet him for lunch, and by the time the two of you have finished your meals and bickered playfully over all kinds of things, you feel better. More in control again. You can do this. You can continue this fuckbuddies thing with Sukuna without making things awkward. Even if his boyish smirk and those pretty, maroon eyes and mouth-watering muscles make your pulse race. It's fine. Sukuna is your friend. Just that. Just a very hot guy-friend who fucks your brains out anytime you feel like it.

It's perfect the way it is. You wouldn't want to risk losing this.

Sukuna asks you to see him after hockey practice, and you spend an hour in his bed that evening, moaning into his pillow and laughing against his buff biceps afterward when he lies next to you and shows you a funny video on his phone.

You steal a drag from Sukuna's cigarette that he smokes by his window, and he grins at you and pulls you into a kiss with that sexy, teasing tongue flick at the end before he tells you to be a good girl and go home to study for your classic literature course so you can join him in the top-grades-getter-league.

It's Friday, and Nobara keeps bugging you about joining her for a night out at a popular club, claiming that you will get a bad case of FOMO if you don't come with her. You doubt her words, but you have to admit that maybe a girls' night with some dancing and some fancy drinks is exactly what you need to get your mind off a certain pink-haired hockey player, and so you laugh and tell her to help you pick an outfit.

Nobara was right about the club being amazing. You really have a lot of fun, sipping on some pastel-colored sweet cocktail and dancing and laughing with your dormmate, feeling as if this is the authentic college experience.

The club is a popular meeting spot for college students. You see so many familiar faces. And so, it should probably not come as a surprise when you see several hockey players. You try not to do it, but your gaze keeps wandering through the club, searching for one particular Tiger.

And you find him.

He is leaning casually against a pillar, laughing at something his brother is saying to him before Yuuji gets pulled onto the dancefloor by Todo. Sukuna stays where he is, lifting a bottle of some vodka mix drink to his lips and tilting his head back to gulp it down. His Adam's apple bops enticingly, making you involuntarily lick your lips.

You have stopped dancing, you realize. Too busy staring at Sukuna.

Damn, stop it!

You shake your head and laugh, grabbing Nobara's hand to spin her around, forcing yourself to get back into your little fun time with your friend. But even as you dance with her, your gaze keeps straying back to your fuckbuddy, who is still standing at the same spot.

Several hockey players gather around Sukuna, laughing, chatting, and drinking together. Tequila shots this time. It looks like the whole team is here tonight, maybe celebrating something. Sukuna hasn't spotted you yet, and you use that chance to let your eyes trail slowly over him.

He looks hot. He always does, of course. Tall, athletic, and handsome. The tight black t-shirt he is wearing shows off his well-defined muscles and sexy tattoos. The expression on his tattooed face is aloof and bored, making him probably look even more attractive to all the girls who are eyeing him. Sukuna is a challenge. The bad boy, who seems so hard to please. The tough guy who seems like he never smiles. But you have seen his smile and know how to get it out of him.

You are about to walk over to Sukuna to greet him, but you freeze up when you watch a pretty girl dance up to him, a seductive smile on her face. You feel your stomach clench anxiously. The girl gets on her tiptoes, a sugary smile on her beautiful face as she says something to Sukuna. Her hand sprawls over his pecs, her body leaning closer and closer to him.

But Sukuna shakes his head at her and plucks her hand off him with a cold sneer on his beautiful face. He points a long, tattooed finger at one of his teammates and steers the girl over to him.

And as fast as that strange feeling in your guts appeared, it is gone again, and instead, you catch yourself grinning from ear to ear.

And suddenly, that maroon gaze is on you. You draw in a sharp breath, staring back at Sukuna as the seconds tick by.

Sukuna's tattooed face lights up with a broad grin, and he pushes himself off the pillar he was leaning against. Your pulse is racing as you watch him walk over to you while Nobara is laughing. Sukuna stops in front of you, tall and sexy with that boyish smirk and looking so good in his tight black t-shirt and jeans.

"Hey, princess."

The words come out slightly slurred. You tilt your head to smile at him, noticing the somewhat unfocused look in his usually so sharp eyes. He is drunk, you realize. His grin turns into a lopsided smile, and somehow, it makes him look almost cute. Softer around the edges. He seemed so aloof a moment ago when he turned that girl down, but now he is all playful again when he reaches out to wrap his strong arms around your waist and pull you against him.

"Fuck, I'm glad you're here, too, princess. I was so fucking bored."

He jerks his chin at Nobara in a greeting, informing her with a smirk,

"I am stealing her for a while. Find someone else to dance with, Ginger. What about my brother? He is a good dancer. Get him before someone else does."

Nobara complains loudly, smacking Sukuna's biceps while telling him that hockey players suck in general and pink-haired ones in particular, but you can hear the smile in her voice, and she really half-walks, half-dances away from Sukuna and you, looking for another dance partner.

You chuckle softly as Sukuna pulls you to him, making you stumble into his firm body. You put your hands on Sukuna's abs to brace yourself, grinning up at him, your pulse fluttering at being so close to him. His body heat seeps through his shirt, and his firm abs move under your palms when he leans down to press a sloppy, wet kiss on your cheek,

"Come on, dance with me so Todo and the brat get off my dick and stop pestering me about dancing with them."

Sukuna pulls you with him to the middle of the dancefloor, where the rest of the hockey players are. You don't even have time to complain or feel embarrassed about your dancing skills because Sukuna's strong arms are wrapped so firmly around you that you can't really make any move on your own anyway. And the drinks you had make you tipsy enough to just go with it and laugh loudly as Sukuna grinds against you.

You find yourself relaxing, just having fun with Sukuna and his teammates, dancing dirty with Sukuna while singing along to the songs, and smiling when Sukuna grins at you. You wrap your hands around Sukuna's neck, letting him sway you from side to side, or press his tall, muscular body tightly against yours to grind against you slowly.

It seems only natural that the two of you kiss. Sloppy, drunk kisses that make you chuckle against Sukuna's lips, feeling a lot more intoxicated than you truly are. It feels exhilarating to dance and make out with him here in the middle of the club.

Sukuna's hands are all over you, running up and down your back and groping your ass. He slips his hands into the back pockets of your jeans and pulls you even closer to him, and you let your nails trail over his short undercut, smiling when it elicits a low growl from the back of Sukuna's throat.

He trails hot, wet kisses over your chin to your neck, and your breath hitches. It's new to be like this with Sukuna in public, but you can't deny how exciting it feels to have him all over you. Drunk Sukuna is clingy, you realize. He doesn't let you move away even a step. His large hands immediately squeeze your ass, pulling you to him again while his lips trail kisses over your neck and his sexy low voice murmurs in your ear,

"Need you, baby."

Your heart skips a beat. You know Sukuna is just drunk, and it means nothing, but you can't help but feel a fluttery tingle in your belly and chest at his words. You smile and grab Sukuna's chin, pulling him into another kiss to shut him up before he can say anything else that will make you spin out of control and that he might regret in the morning.

You weakly try to decline when Sukuna whispers in your ear that he wants you to go home with him. But he won't let go of you, clings to you, and kisses you all sweetly before he looks at you with a cute little pout that looks hilarious on his tattooed face. His voice is a bit thicker than usual, tongue heavy from the alcohol, making you wonder how many shots he had.

"Don't leave me alone, princess. Who knows what kind of trouble I will get into without my personal lucky charm by my side."

He keeps grinning at you and bugging you until you agree to leave with him, even if it is just to put him into bed. You let Sukuna put a muscular arm around your shoulders while his other arm pulls his twin brother to his side, and the three of you make your way outside while you hastily type a message to Nobara, telling her you are leaving with the twins.

You laugh when Sukuna throws his car keys to his brother, even in his drunk state, not forgetting about the beef he has with Yuuji over his beloved car,

"You drive, brat, but if you get even the tiniest scratch into my car, I will punch that stupid smile off your face."

You sit in the backseat with Sukuna while Yuuji drives. Or, more like, you lie in the backseat because Sukuna is on you the moment the car starts. You spend the whole drive with Sukuna lying half on top of you, kissing you deeply, with those intense deep tongue kisses that make you moan into his mouth and knead his firm ass through his tight jeans.

"So greedy, huh, princess? Don't worry, I'll fuck you until you scream my name." "Oh, shut up. You are drunk. I'll just tug you into bed and then leave." "Don't you dare leave me alone. I had some drinks, yeah, but I am perfectly fine. I can still fuck you better than any other could." He smirks at you with that challenging glint in his eyes, and your pussy throbs, your conviction wavering. Sukuna licks your neck slowly, teasingly, before he captures your lips in another deep kiss, successfully making you change your plans. Your hands slip under his shirt, caressing his hot, smooth skin, kneading his buff muscles, smiling when you hear him groan into the kiss. You go with Sukuna to his room and watch him take off his clothes, heart pounding in your chest as he turns around and beckons you over, his sexy muscles and tattoos unashamedly on display for you, and his gorgeous thick cock already half hard, waiting for you to stroke him to full hardness so you can have fun with him. Sukuna fucks you with sloppy, lazy strokes and those deep French kisses that make your pussy and your tummy flutter. You are gasping his name, wrapping your legs tightly around his narrow hips, mewling with every thrust, enjoying the drunk sex immensely. Sukuna fucks good, even when he had several drinks. The only thing that's different is that he is louder. And it's so sexy that it makes you clench around him, your eyes falling shut to bask in the sexy, loud moans falling from Sukuna's lips.

You really scream his name when you cum, and he moans yours when he follows you a few seconds later, hot thick cock throbbing inside you. Sukuna slumps on top of you afterward with a satisfied sigh, and you hum happily, caressing his neck and running your foot up and down his muscular calves and thighs.

You ask how late it is, but Sukuna doesn't answer.

"Sukuna?"

You push at Sukuna's broad shoulders only to hear a soft snore coming from him, realizing he fell asleep on top of you. You laugh and relax, letting a hand trail slowly up and down Sukuna's broad, muscular back, caressing him while he sleeps soundly on top of you.

Sukuna is heavy, but you let him sleep, grinning to yourself, feeling oddly happy, lying here under the hockey star. After a while, Sukuna rolls off you, mumbling softly in his sleep, but it's incoherent, and you can't make out any words. It makes you feel surprisingly soft for him.

You roll onto your side, too and press a soft kiss to Sukuna's tattooed shoulder, murmuring,

"Good night, Kuna. Sleep well."

You are about to get up to collect your clothes from Sukuna's bedroom floor to get dressed and then sneak out. But before you can get up, a large hand wraps around your arm, stopping you, pulling you back against Sukuna's warm, naked body.

"Stay."

Just a single word, mumbled in a hoarse, sleepy-sounding voice.

You tense up. Does Sukuna know what he is asking? He never before asked you to stay the night, and he also never stayed the whole night in your dorm. It feels like a line fuckbuddies shouldn't cross. On top of that, you don't think Sukuna is the type who lets someone sleep in his bed. You know he's already making a huge exception when it comes to you by taking you to his room and fucking you in his bed. Apparently, that's something Sukuna never did with his former hookups because he thought his room was none of their business. And now he wants you to sleep in his bed the whole night?

You know you are overthinking it, but you simply can't stop worrying that you are somehow taking advantage of Sukuna's drunk state. The sex wasn't the problem because your whole arrangement is based on having sex with each other. But this is something different. Sleeping in Sukuna's bed feels like a big fucking deal! If you sleep here, will he regret it in the morning? Will he be mad? You don't want to overstep a boundary.

"Sukuna..."

"Shhh, no talking. Just stay."

And as if he read your thoughts, he adds in that slightly slurred voice,

"I swear I won't regret it in the morning. Stay. I'll even make you breakfast."

You chuckle softly and close your mouth again, not trying to argue anymore, nor do you want to. You smile and snuggle back against Sukuna's tall, warm body, sighing when his strong arms tighten around you, and he buries his face in your neck, instantly starting to snore again, sounding so cute that it makes you grin from ear to ear. The bad boy star player all cuddly and tame.

Even after your night in Sukuna's bed and the morning after, when he made breakfast for you just like he promised, you tell yourself you can just stay friends with benefits with him.

Nobara tries to rile you up, teases you endlessly, and tries to get you to admit you have feelings for Sukuna. But you turn her down anytime, adamantly declaring you only want him as a friend. A friend who is very good in bed and who you can have sex with any time the two of you feel like it.

You think if you just say it often enough, it will be true. You will be able to convince yourself you have everything under control.

And then the accident happens.

You're in your usual spot in the stands, watching the hockey game, cheering and laughing. The mood in the arena is ecstatic because it looks like the Tigers overcame their loss two weeks ago.

You hold your breath in giddy anticipation as Sukuna steals the puck from a rival player and speeds across the ice, his gaze on the goal ahead. His playstyle is high-speed and brutal, as always. It's sexy to watch. Until two rival players throw themselves in Sukuna's way.

You gasp loudly as Sukuna crashes full speed into the two players. All three go down, slamming hard into the ice with a heavy thud and the loud clatter of their hockey sticks skittering across the ice.

You are on your feet before you even notice it, a hand pressed over your mouth, staring wide-eyed at the ice where Sukuna is lying in a pile with the players he crashed into. The whole arena is yelling in shock because their star player went down, but you only hear it as a far-away noise because the blood in your ears is rushing much too loudly as your heart races fearfully.

What is going on? Why is Sukuna not getting up? You see the other jersey with the Itadori name speeding towards the scene. Yuuji pulls one of the rival players off his brother while yelling something you can't hear. He instantly gets attacked by several other players, but Yuuji fights back angrily, punching them and pushing them away from Sukuna.

Sukuna, who is still lying facedown on the ice. He isn't moving. Panic threatens to drown you, and before you know what you're doing, you start running and pushing your way through the crowd. Nobara is yelling your name, but you don't stop to wait for her.

You feel sick to your stomach. Your heart is pounding fearfully in your chest as you stop in front of the plexiglass, pressing your hands against the cold glass. Your anxious breath fogs up the glass as you watch the whole team and the team medic rush to Sukuna, who is still knocked out.

Or worse.

Tears are gathering in your eyes, and you feel a sob finding its way out of your mouth.

Please let him be okay! Please let him be okay! I never even told him how much I like him!

That's when you see Sukuna make a slight movement, and you huff a shaky sigh of relief.

The team medic is saying something to him, and Sukuna nods softly. You press yourself anxiously against the plexiglass, watching as the doc carefully pulls Sukuna's helmet off.

Yuuji and Todo help lift Sukuna onto a stretcher under the anxious gazes of the whole arena, which is filled with fearful silence.

You are still pressed against the plexiglass, watching as they carry Sukuna off the ice. Sukuna's eyes meet your worried gaze as they carry him past you. He lifts his head slightly, looking at you with a dazed expression. A dreamy look crosses over his tattooed face, and to your surprise, he smiles at you even as his maroon eyes seem unfocused and caught in some daydream.

Sukuna smiles a dreamy little smile at you while his lips move. You can't hear what he says, but you think you can read his lips, and what they murmur is something like "angel".

You stare after him, stunned, even when the stretcher is already getting carried to the back of the arena, away from your gaze.

The game continues, but the Tigers are out of it. The shock of seeing their star player get knocked out seems to sit in their bones. The cheerful and excited mood in the arena has dimmed almost completely. You bite your nails nervously as you stand at the boards, watching the game but not really seeing anything, too lost in your thoughts and worrying about Sukuna.

He was so fast when he crashed into those two players, and he seemed so out of it when they carried him off the ice. You were relieved to see him conscious again, but the shock still makes a painful knot remain in your stomach.

You practically flee from the rink once the game is finally over. But you cannot even consider the idea of going back to your dorm. Nobara walks up to you, reaching out to pat your back.

"Hey, I'm sure he is alright. That thick head won't crack from a bit of ice."

You smile weakly at her, knowing this is her being nice and sympathetic, but you still tell her,

"I'll wait here. Maybe I can talk to Yuuji."

"Okay, you do that. Let me know if Kirby Boy is okay."

You loiter around the lobby, waiting impatiently for a sign of pink hair. When Yuuji finally walks toward you, you hurry over to him with a fearfully racing pulse.

"Is he okay?"

Yuuji smiles that sweet, reassuring sunshine smile at you and nods,

"Yeah. He scared me, too. But he just has a concussion."

"A concussion?"

You stare at Yuuji worriedly, but he laughs softly and rubs your arm,

"It's no big deal. I get one almost every season. Kuna will be fine, don't worry. He just needs to rest for a day, or our coach will kill him."

You huff, feeling like Yuuji is downplaying it, or maybe this is really the way the hockey guys are. But his reassurance makes you relax anyway.

Yuuji cocks his head,

"I'm heading to our dorm to get the car because they won't let Sukuna walk home. Do you want to come with me?"

You nod and quickly hurry after Sukuna's twin brother.

When you finally see Sukuna after his accident, you curse loudly.

He is sitting on an examination table in the first aid room in the back of the arena, in his sweatpants and Nikes and the black compression shirt he always wears under his hockey jersey. His pink hair is ruffled, and he still looks as dazed as when they carried him off the ice. A dark blue bruise is already forming around his right eye.

Your heart clenches at the sight, and you find yourself hurrying over to Sukuna and hugging him lightly before you can stop yourself.

"Oh god, are you okay?"

You pull away a bit to look at him with big, worried eyes while you caress his biceps gently, afraid to hurt him if you touch him more firmly. As if the big, broad hockey player is a fragile porcelain doll. But you can't think rationally at the moment. All you see is that Sukuna is injured, and it triggers something in you, making you feel all protective and worried over him. And scared. So scared to lose him.

But Sukuna laughs softly and smirks at you. It's a bit crooked and a bit slower than usual, but it manages to calm you down regardless. A large, tattooed hand comes up to rest on your back.

"I'm fine, princess."

But you see how Sukuna can't seem to focus his gaze on you and how he squints his eyes against the bright neon light in the small room. Even if Yuuji hadn't told you about Sukuna's concussion, you would have figured it out by now. He belongs in bed, in his dark room with the curtains closed and lots of rest.

Luckily, Yuuji is already by his brother's side, pulling him up.

"Come on, let's get you home."

You help Yuuji, the two of you taking Sukuna in your middle and leading him slowly to the car. He complains all the way about how he can walk on his own and that he doesn't want Yuuji to wreck his car. You roll your eyes, but at least Sukuna seems to be halfway okay if he can talk like that.

You sit with Sukuna in the back of the car again. Not making out this time, but instead holding his large hand in yours and watching him worriedly, checking if he is still okay.

Once you are in Sukuna's room, you help him take off his tight compression shirt and sweatpants before telling him to get into his bed. He is a good boy for once and does as you say, lying down and letting you pull his blanket over him.

Sukuna looks up at you with that same dazed smile he had in the arena when they carried him past you and he thought you were an angel. It's an expression that seems so foreign on his face that it instantly makes worry flare up in your chest again.

Your decision is made at that moment. You grab the hem of your sweater, pull it off, and slip out of your jeans, crawling into bed to join Sukuna under his blanket,

"I'm staying. I don't think you should be alone right now."

Sukuna laughs softly, but his muscular arm wraps around you immediately and pulls you against his side. You sigh and snuggle against Sukuna, placing a hand on his naked chest, feeling his warm skin and his heartbeat, which is strangely reassuring.

Sukuna's low voice sounds tired but nonetheless smug when he murmurs,

"You're really worried about me, huh, princess? That's so cute."

"You were knocked out. Of course, I am worried. If you had seen the expression on your face when they carried you off the ice, you would have been worried, too!"

"Shhh, it's okay, princess. I'm just teasing you."

Sukuna's large hand lands on yours, holding it in place right there on his chest, his thumb caressing the back of your hand as he adds in a low voice full of amusement,

"I should get injured more often. I quite like it when you get all scared for me and dote on me like that."

"Oh, stop it. You are such an idiot. And don't you dare get into trouble!"

But Sukuna just laughs that raspy low laugh as you add firmly,

"You should get some sleep now. The doc and your coach said you should rest."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm on it."

And Sukuna really drifts off to sleep just a few minutes later, his body and brain obviously exhausted and in dire need of rest. You, on the other hand, can't find sleep for a long time.

You lie awake in Sukuna's bed, your palm resting on his chest, fingers sprawled over his defined buff pecs, feeling his heartbeat and listening to his soft breathing. The earlier anxiety has left your body now that you know Sukuna will be okay. But something else is keeping your mind busy.

You fucked up. You have a big problem, you realize.

Because what Sukuna's little accident clearly showed you is that he means a lot more to you than you planned.

I AM SO WEAK FOR HIM!! 😭 Tipsy Sukuna made me smile so much while writing 😍 He is so clingy and cute. "Need you, baby." I would have MELTED!! Did you feel protective over injured Kuna, too? I wouldn't leave his side either 😭 Thank you so much for reading the new chapter! I am so glad that I finally had time to post it. I missed our fave hockey player so much. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet. In Chapter 09, we will see Reader accepting her feelings + there will be jealous!Reader and jealous!Sukuna. And we will finally also see Sukuna's POV ;)

PORN DIRECTOR KÖNIG

nsfw. 40s könig. come eating. pussy slapping. voyeurism. manhandling. degradation. squirting. sex work.

you never planned on doing porn.

you don't think anyone does, really. you had a whole different life mapped out— degree, stable job, retirement.

but college was bleeding you dry. bills stacked faster than you could pay them, textbooks cost more than your monthly groceries, and your financial aid office had the efficiency of a broken vending machine. part-time jobs barely kept the lights on. dinner was whatever was cheap and lasted the longest.

you worked, studied, scraped by, but it felt more like drowning in slow motion.

camming started as an experiment. a shot in the dark born from desperation.

you bought a cheap ring light from amazon, found a secondhand webcam on facebook marketplace, and set up your little filming space in the corner of your apartment. it was nothing fancy. the lighting was bad, the camera wasn’t great, and instead of a tripod you had a stack of books.

but it worked.

you slipped into the only matching lingerie set you owned— soft pink lace, delicate ribbons, tiny bows stitched in all the right places. sheer enough to tease, but still leaving just enough to the imagination. the bra straps slipped down your shoulders as you posed in front of the mirror, lips parted, fingers playing with the waistband of your panties.

picking the best ones, you captioned them with something playful then posted them to onlyfans, shut your laptop, and forgot about it. you weren’t expecting much. maybe a few subscribers, a little extra cash, nothing major.

then, your account blew up.

someone with a bit of reach had apparently found your photos and posted them to a a ddlg subreddit, and suddenly you were everywhere.

at first, you didn’t notice. but when you woke up to hundreds of new notifications, dms, and tips flooding in overnight, you started digging.

that’s when you saw it. a post on reddit. thousands of upvotes. hundreds of comments dissecting your photos in excruciating detail.

[r/ddlg] found this new onlyfans girl and i'm losing my mind. she’s so soft. look at her. look at her.

🔺14.3k upvotes 💬 793 comment

u/daddysfavorite456: this is the most perfect little babygirl i’ve ever seen wtf

🔺6.2k

u/sirspanksalot: the way she’s tugging her panties down just a little… i need a moment

🔺4.9k

u/subsugarplum: her little pout in the third pic is actually ruining my life

🔺3.3k

u/softdom_daddy: how do we make sure she never pays for anything again in her life?

🔺7.1k

your breath caught in your throat as you scrolled. every detail of your photos was being analyzed. obsessed over.

the way you tilted your head just slightly, eyes wide and doe-like. the way your fingers curled in the hem of your panties, like you were hesitating. like you needed permission. the little pout in the last photo, lower lip caught between your teeth, the faintest furrow in your brows.

suddenly, your subscriber count was doubling by the hour.

new subscribers flooded in overnight. your follower count jumped by thousands. dms piled up, requests, tips, compliments, outright begging.

"you're perfect. please let me take care of you." ($20 tip)

"you’re the softest little thing i’ve ever seen." ($50 tip)

"tell me you do custom videos. i’ll pay whatever." ($100 tip)

the sudden influx of attention was overwhelming. you barely had time to process it before people were demanding more.

demand skyrocketed. they were practically clawing at your metaphorical door, begging for more content, more variety— more, more, more.

for now, solo work was fine. it was safe. comfortable. easy to control. but you knew it wouldn’t be enough forever. you saw it in the comments, in the messages, in the ever-growing list of requests. they wanted more than just you and a camera. they wanted another presence. another body in the frame.

you debated your options. a studio would be the safest bet. you had the budget now— painstakingly built, every small tip, every renewal adding up until you finally had enough that you didn't need to comprise comfort.

but finding the right studio was another thing entirely.

you didn’t want the overproduced, garish lights and cheap theatrics of mainstream porn. you wanted subtlety. intimacy. something with taste. good lighting, soft edits, angles that captured the feeling rather than just the act.

something that matched the persona you had so carefully built.

you thought about it for weeks before finally bringing it up to valeria, a girl you often had collabs with.

she tilted her head when you mentioned it. "professional production..? you know there are a lot of seedy guys out there."

you nodded, worrying your lip between your teeth. you’d done enough research to know that most so-called "professional" setups were just glorified scams, with sleazy directors who treated performers like props.

valeria watched you for a second, then clicked her tongue. "but, if you ever actually follow through, i know a guy. a lot of the girls have worked with him before. big name in the business. respects his actors. good guy." she pulled out her phone. "i’ll send you his portfolio. put in a good word."

you meet könig a few weeks later, after countless back-and-forth emails, late-night calls hammering out details, discussions about setups, plot points, pricing. every conversation had been strictly professional so far and you appreciated the distinct lack of attempts to try and get in your pants.

you don’t expect to spot him the moment you step into the airbnb you rented for the shoot, but there he is, standing head and shoulders above the rest of the crew. and the first thing that strikes you isn’t his height (though jesus, he’s massive). it’s how out of place he looks.

he doesn’t carry himself like someone in the industry. doesn’t exude that easy sleaze, that over-familiar smirk you’ve come to expect from men in this business. no tight black tee straining over biceps, no carefully curated air of supremacy with just a hint of nicotine.

instead, he looks like someone’s dad who got lost on his way to a hardware store and somehow ended up in the adult industry instead.

his glasses are perched high on the bridge of his nose, pushed up with the absentminded shove of a knuckle. his sweater— soft, thick, comfortable— hangs loose on his frame, sleeves pushed up to reveal thick forearms dusted with silver hair. he’s dressed like he should be standing at a backyard grill, not directing an erotic film.

he’s older than you expected. forty, according to his portfolio, and he wears it well. silver threading through black, crow’s feet at the corners of sharp, washed-out blue eyes. his nose is crooked— like it had been broken once and never quite set right— makes his face look lived-in, a little rough around the edges. his stubble is light, a soft dusting of salt and pepper.

he looks warm.

he’s talking to someone. one of the crew, maybe, head dipped slightly, listening intently. but even hunched, even relaxed, his sheer size makes him loom.

and then the door clicks shut behind you, and he hears it. könig's head lifts, pale blue eyes settling on you in an instant.

he excuses himself with a quiet murmur. hands tucked into the front pocket of his pants, broad shoulders rolling slightly like he’s trying to make himself smaller, less imposing.

it doesn’t work.

“good to finally meet you,” he says, accent curling soft in his words.

oh, you think. you hadn’t expected that, either.

his voice is deep, just shy of being harsh. it's a far cry from the sharp tone you’d imagined after hearing him speak over the phone. there’s something smoother about it in person, a warmth undercutting the rough edges.

you shift the tray of coffee in your hands, balancing it carefully before setting it down on the small folding table near the entrance.

“brought coffee for everyone,” you say, wringing your hands because you refuse to brush them off on your dress.

he glances down at the cups, and for a second you think you see something soften in his expression.

“thoughtful,” he murmurs, and though his face remains unreadable, you can hear the approval in his voice.

you exhale, trying to shake off the nervous energy thrumming in your chest, and clear your throat. “figured caffeine would help. don’t wanna be the reason your crew collapses mid-shoot.”

könig huffs something close to a chuckle, tipping his head toward the set-up behind him. “they’ve worked under worse conditions.”

you’re not sure what that means, but before you can ask, he gestures for you to follow him further into the space.

the next few minutes are easy. professional. you go over the shot list, the angles he’s planning, how he likes to work— efficient and minimal retakes unless absolutely necessary. he asks about your preferences, what you don’t want, what you do.

it’s…comfortable. smoother than you expected. he’s patient, but direct. no wasted words, no unnecessary small talk, just the work. you like that.

and then your phone rings.

you pull it from your pocket without thinking, glancing at the name on the screen. simon riley. your co-star. you press accept, bringing the phone to your ear.

“hey, you on your way?” you ask, already stepping away from könig, mind half on the conversation you’d just been having.

but simon doesn’t answer right away. there’s a beat of silence. “can’t make it.”

your stomach drops. you stop short, pulse spiking. “what?”

“somethin’ came up. won’t be able to get there.”

you glance at könig, breath stalling in your throat. this cannot be happening.

“simon, i can’t reschedule,” you hiss, stepping further away, out of earshot. “i already paid for the location, the crew’s already here-”

“nothin’ i can do, sweetheart,” he interrupts, not unkind. “’m sorry.”

but sorry doesn’t fix this. sorry doesn’t change the fact that if you don’t shoot today, you’re out thousands. your grip tightens around your phone. “simon, please-”

the line clicks.

he’s gone.

panic creeps up your spine, cold sweat starting to form on your palms. you can’t not shoot today. you can’t afford it. the budget’s already stretched thin, and a reschedule isn’t just inconvenient— it’s impossible.

you drag a hand to wipe the sweat on your forehead.

könig’s eyes are on you and you can feel the heat of his gaze. when you turn, he asks, “problem?”

you open your mouth, hesitate. because what the fuck are you supposed to say? every option you can think of results in you losing a few hundred dollars at the minimum.

you figure the truth is the best option you've got. “simon's out.”

könig watches as your fingers tighten around your phone, knuckles turning white. you press your lips together, trembling just slightly before biting down.

he tilts his head, slow. "know anyone that can sub in?"

you shake your head immediately, too fast, too frantic. a sharp inhale makes your shoulders rise, lashes fluttering against the unshed tears that suddenly gloss your eyes.

fuck.

you’re going to cry.

könig shouldn’t be looking this closely.

shouldn’t be cataloging every shift of your body. shouldn’t be tracking how your throat works as you swallow, how the delicate line of your jaw tenses under pressure.

it’s detail that shouldn’t register. detail that has no purpose. no place. no right to send his thoughts careening somewhere they have no business going.

but there they go anyway.

because he's been watching you.

not in a way that's creepy— könig tells himself that, over and over. he was just a professional doing his research, getting a feel for his clients. it’s good business practice, staying informed, making sure he knows who he’s working with, what they bring to the table.

and if that research led him to your socials, to hours of footage in soft, honeyed lighting, to endless clips of you sprawled out on pristine white sheets as you mewled into the camera— well. that was just part of the job, wasn’t it?

nothing personal. certainly nothing unprofessional.

but the truth, the thing he never says out loud, not even to himself is that he’s spent far too many nights with his phone in one hand and his cock in the other, watching you through the screen.

watching you in those tiny lingerie sets. pink and white lace, frilly little bows, the kind of girlish softness that makes his teeth ache.

könig's watched every fucking video. every stream. every post. hours spent with his laptop open, pants shoved down around his hips, hand working his cock as you bat your lashes and moan so sweetly it makes his head spin.

‘am i a good girl?’ you breathe into the mic, like you’re talking right to him. like you know.

and god, does he know you.

he’s studied you. learned you. mapped out every twitch, every tell, every fleeting flicker of pleasure that crosses your pretty face. the way your brows pinch together when you’re getting desperate. the way your lips part right before you come, glossy and swollen, tongue darting out to wet them like you want something in your mouth, like you’re inviting someone to grab you by the jaw and fuck your throat until you can’t think.

he’s seen how your thighs start to tremble when you edge yourself too long. how your back arches off the sheets when you finally let go, hips rolling into your own hand, breath catching in your throat as you fall apart in a mess of shuddery gasps.

könig has jerked off to all of it.

not just once. not just twice.

so many times he’s lost count.

sometimes slow, drawing it out to hear that little whimper you make at the end— the one that sounds like you’ve been fucked dumb.

sometimes rough. desperate. chasing his own release with one hand fisted in the sheets and the other pumping his cock.

it drives him fucking crazy.

it’s worse up close. worse when you shift on your feet, looking up at him from beneath your lashes, trying to hold yourself together.

stop.

he clenches his fists. drags in a breath through his nose. he is not some fucking rookie. not some kid who can’t keep his head straight.

but then you make a sound that crawls under his skin and sinks deep. and suddenly his thoughts are careening somewhere they shouldn’t go—

places where that breathy little sound is choked out against his palm. where those fingers twisting at your sleeves are scrabbling at his belt instead, pulling, fumbling, desperate.

his cock twitches.

jesus christ.

it’s perverse. it’s wrong. twenty years between you. he shouldn't even be thinking about you like this. but then he thinks about how small your hands would look trying to wrap around his cock. how easily he could press you up against the nearest wall, let you feel how bad he wants you, let you know exactly what you do to him—

and yeah.

he’s fucked.

his grip tightens on the coffee cup, knuckles white, cardboard crumpling in his palm.

"we can reschedule." it’s the logical thing to say. the right thing.

but you stiffen immediately, shaking your head almost violently, like the mere suggestion hurts.

"i can’t." your voice wobbles. "i don’t have the budget for it. the airbnb, the crew- if we don’t shoot today, it’s done. i lose it."

he can hear the distraught in your voice, the panic creeping in, rising in your throat. and könig— könig has never been good at ignoring that kind of thing.

his jaw tightens. his fingers flex. his pulse pounds in his ears. and before he can think better of it—

"i can do it."

your head jerks up, eyes locking onto his. wide. startled.

"what?"

könig lifts a broad shoulder, deceptively casual, ignoring how his pulse is hammering in his throat. acting as if he didn’t just offer himself up like it was nothing.

"i can do it," he repeats. "you need a scene partner."

he pauses, just long enough to make sure you’re really listening before he adds, pointed: "i’ve done worse for less."

it’s true too. könig had started shooting for money, not for passion, not for art. there were years where he took any job that paid, no matter how grimy, no matter how degrading. no dignity in it, no careful framing, no thoughtful direction. just harsh lighting, rough hands, the sound of too many bodies shifting in too little space.

it’s not like that anymore.

now, he works for himself. he makes art, in his own way. he only takes projects that meet his standards, only shoots what he knows will look good.

and this, you, would look incredible.

"are you-" you swallow hard, throat working, voice tight. "you’re serious?"

könig lets out a short, amused breath, tilting his head. "wouldn’t offer if i wasn’t."

your gaze flickers down to his mouth, just for a second, before snapping back up.

he notices. of course he fucking notices.

you hesitate, worrying your lip between your teeth, and he wants— god, he wants.

he lifts his coffee, takes a slow sip. watches you.

"think it through," he says, letting the accent curl around the words. "do you trust me?"

you stare at him, breath coming in short, uneven pulls. your fingers tighten around your phone.

and then, even though you probably shouldn't, you nod.

this is insane, is all you can think as your hands smooth down the dress, fingertips catching on the fabric’s delicate weave. it sways when you move, hem teasing the tops of your thighs.

the crew picked it because it feels normal, something someone’s wife might wear on a lazy sunday, waiting for her husband to walk through the door. not lingerie, not tight or short or scandalous. innocent.

somehow, that makes it worse.

the set sprawls before you, carefully crafted to mimic home. the couch sits comfortably worn— or at least looks like it, upholstery creased just enough to suggest years of use. a blanket lies draped over the back, fringes brushed out to seem effortless.

the coffee table holds small artifacts of a life: a half-empty mug with a faint lipstick stain, a book splayed open, pages curled, a pair of keys glinting under the warm overhead glow. off to the side, a framed photo perches, two strangers caught in mid-laugh, frozen happiness you’re supposed to claim as yours.

the lighting bathes it all in amber. soft, forgiving. like sunset spilling through a window that doesn’t exist. everything is designed to feel. to pull the viewer into a scene that isn’t real but wants to be. warmth. comfort. longing.

your pulse trips. nerves coil tight under your. stepping out, you inhale–

and there he is.

könig stands beside the couch, posture loose, almost as if he’s holding himself back from something. the uniform strains against him, fabric pulled taut across broad shoulders and the solid line of his chest. it’s glaringly obvious that it wasn’t tailored for a man like him— you doubt anything ever is— but he wears it like it belongs to him anyway. the belt grips a tapered waist, dog tags resting cold against his sternum. they glint when he shifts, catching the warmth of the lights.

he’s big. that part you knew. everyone knows. but there’s something about seeing him like this, the bulk of him filling the space, boots planted, arms crossed, sleeves clinging to thick forearms, that makes your breath catch in your throat.

he looks like he could hold the world in his hands. break it if he wanted.

then he lifts his head. and his gaze finds you.

it hits like a physical weight, gravity pulling you closer.

his eyes track the line of your body. starting from your face, drifting down, and back up again. for a moment you assume he’s taking inventory, cataloguing details you didn’t know you were offering.

your skin prickles under the attention. heat pooling low, spreading outwards.

könig’s jaw shifts. a muscle ticks. his fingers flex where they rest against his bicep, knuckles pale for half a second before he eases them loose.

you swallow. "do i look okay?"

silence stretches. then: "you look perfect."

his voice sounds like it's been scraped raw from something you can’t name. and you know you shouldn’t take his words to heart. shouldn’t make something out of nothing. he was just being polite—

but god, he doesn’t stop looking.

you breathe out. "are we ready?"

that seems to snap him out. könig exhales, nostrils flaring. “yeah," he says, looking away.. "we’re ready."

you nod and he turns, clapping his hands together.

"quiet on set!" his voice cuts through the chatter. "lights- ready? camera?"

a muffled ‘rolling!’ comes from behind the equipment.

he glances back, stepping into place. "sound?"

"speed!"

he nods, shoulders shifting under the snug uniform. "all right. action on me. three... two..."

his gaze flickers forward, locks onto you. his hand lifts, a silent ‘ready?’

you nod.

"action!"

the front door creaks open.

you see him first— broad shoulders filling the doorway, boots heavy against the worn rug you picked out last fall. his bag drops with a dull thump, keys jangling, and for a beat, you just stand there, watching.

it doesn't feel real. something out of a dream. your husband looks older somehow. tired. lines carved a little deeper around his eyes, hair at his temples brushed with more gray than before.

it's longer now too, the ends curling where sweat and travel have left it mussed.

then his gaze lifts, blue catching yours. and that’s all it takes.

you move.

your feet carry you faster than you realize, dress fluttering against your legs as you throw yourself into him.

könig catches you with a small grunt, part effort, part relief, hardly moving from his spot. strong arms close around you as he lifts you off the floor with an ease that's almost unfair.

his hand finds the back of your thigh, fingers splayed wide. "easy, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice rough from disuse, deepened by exhaustion and age. there’s an edge to it, earned from years of barking orders and nicotine abuse. "still getting old, you know."

you huff a breath that’s almost a laugh. "you’re not that old."

"hm." könig presses his face into your hair. "tell that to my back."

your chest tightens. god, you missed him. missed the way he smells— soap, leather, that faint trace of cologne you’d tucked into his bag months ago, almost worn off, but still miraculously there. you press your nose to his neck, breathing him in, and whisper, "missed you."

"missed you more." when he pulls back, his gaze traces every line of your face, eyes crinkling at the corners. "lemme take a good look at you, baby."

heat blooms in your cheeks, but you let him. there’s something reverent about his gaze when you meet his eyes.

then, he kisses you.

and fuck.

it’s messy. warm. his mouth is rough against yours, stubble scraping your skin, tasting like coffee burned down to the dregs.

"god," you breathe, voice catching on a gasp. "i love you."

könig chuckles, pressing his forehead to yours. "love you too," he murmurs, using that voice he saves for early mornings when you’re tucked against him, trading lazy kisses and whispered secrets.

his hands slide down to your hips, pulling you close. the world tilts, narrows, until there’s nothing but him. his body, his breath, the scratch of his stubble when he tilts his head, brushing his nose against yours.

then his fingers slip under your dress. his breath hitches the moment he finds you bare, his touch grazing soft folds, sticky and warm with slick.

"no panties?" his voice dips somewhere between a laugh and a growl.

heat blooms in your stomach. you bite your lip, shrugging. "figured you'd appreciate it."

his gaze darkens, blue eclipsed by black. "oh, do i."

könig’s fingers slide between your folds, dragging through the slick mess you’ve already made. you flinch at the contact, hips twitching toward him before you can catch yourself.

he pushes it in, slow. the stretch punches a gasp out of you, walls fluttering around the intrusion. he pauses, ignores your whine, brows drawing together, finger knuckle-deep. "did you get tighter?"

his voice is soft, almost like he’s talking more to himself than you, words slipping out under his breath.

his finger curls, pressing snug against your walls, testing just how much resistance it meets.

you whimper, thighs twitching, nails digging into the fabric of his jacket. "m-maybe if you fucked me more, i wouldn’t be."

the words tumble out before you can think to stop them. your pulse skips as you process what you just said. heat floods your face.

könig’s head tilts. his eyes flick up, narrowing, — not angry, not exactly— but his stare steals the breath from your lungs all the same. your lips part, trying to fumble out an apology stuck at the back of your throat when—

slap.

he pulls his finger free and smacks your pussy.

you squeak, body jerking as the sting blooms quick and hot between your legs, warmth spreading through your skin, rushing up your spine. you’re caught between shock and the low, simmering heat that pools in your belly.

"careful," könig warns although his tone is deceptively light. his fingers tap against your clit in soft, featherlight pulses of teasing pressure that makes your thighs jump. "keep that attitude and i’ll slap this pretty little thing five times. make you count every single one. s’that what you want?"

your cunt clenches, slick dribbling down to coat his knuckles. he feels it, of course he does. feels how your body betrays you, responding before your mind can catch up.

chest heaving, you shake your head, breath shivering out of you. "no-"

"no?" he echoes a soft mockery, fingers dragging through the mess between your thighs, spreading it just to hear the wet sound it makes echo in the space between you. "then behave, sweetheart. don’t make me teach you."

your heart pounds, breath coming in little gasps as you offer him a jerky nod. könig only watches with lazy half-lidded eyes.

"now," he murmurs, finger filling you again. "gonna ask one more time. have you gotten tighter..." his thumb brushes your clit, just enough to make you twitch, "...or have i just left you empty for too long?"

heat surges through you. your hands clutch at his jacket, grounding yourself in the weight of him. your face burns.

"you were gone for so long," you whisper, voice small, shame curling in your stomach.

he sighs. something in his gaze softens, guilt threading through his voice. "i know, baby." his forehead presses against yours. “missed you too."

you sniffle, nuzzling into his shoulder. "y-you can’t go away that long again..." the words tremble, cracking at the edges.

he kisses your temple, breath warm against your skin. "i won’t," he lies, gentle. "let me stretch you out, yeah?"

könig guides you further into your home, coaxing you down on the couch. könig kneels between your legs, broad hands spreading you open and drinking in the sight of you laid out before him.

"look at you," he murmurs, thumb dragging through your folds, gathering your slick up to rub slow circles against your clit. "so wet for me already. miss having me inside, huh?"

your fingers clutch at the cushions as he begins to fill you, head tipping back. "yes-"

"you gotta watch, pretty," könig interrupts, fingers tilting your chin back down.

your gaze drops, breath catching when you see it— his thick fingers buried deep inside you, slick dribbling down his knuckles. the gold band around his finger shines beneath the mess you’ve made, drenched, the sight obscene and somehow more intimate than you’re prepared for. your walls flutter around him, clenching down like your body’s desperate to keep him there.

"look at that.” he grind. "look at your cute little cunny... makin’ a mess all over me."

your cheeks burn. you squirm, trying to close your thighs, but his other hand tightens on your hip, keeping you spread. "no hiding," he says. "told you to watch."

so you do.

you watch the slow drag of his fingers pulling out, coated in slick that strings between you. your cunt clenches around nothing, throbbing, and you let out a soft, desperate whimper. könig hums, pleased, pressing back in. "look how well you take me," he says, dragging against that spot inside that makes your vision blur.

you whimper, head spinning, hips grinding down onto his hand. "feels so good-"

"yeah?" he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. "gonna let me in now, sweetheart? let me fill you up nice and slow?"

you nod, frantic, words lost to the heat coiling low in your stomach. könig smiles, pulling his fingers free. you whine at the loss.

"shh," he soothes, wiping his slick-covered fingers against the head of his cock, spreading you over himself. "gonna take care of you. just lay back and be good for me, yeah?"

his hands grip your thighs, pressing them up toward your chest, folding you beneath him. your skin burns under the pressure, nerves sparking with every shift of his weight. the blunt head of his cock nudges against your entrance. he’s patient, achingly so— dragging it along your folds, gathering your slick, smearing it along his length until you’re soaked enough that he doesn’t have to rip you open.

könig’s gaze drops to where you’re spread open for him. "ready?"

you nod, breath catching in your throat, but it’s barely a sound, barely a thought when he starts to press in. he breaches you, the thick crown of his cock pushing past your entrance. your cunt clenches on instinct, trying to force him out, but könig presses on.

every inch feels like fire licking up your spine, burning through every nerve until you’re nothing but sensation.

"gonna fill you up, sweetheart.” his voice is a low rumble that vibrates through your bones. "stretch you out every day i’m home-" he drives forward another inch, making your back arch, "-’til this pretty cunt just opens up for me."

you can’t speak. can’t think. everything narrows down to the drag of him inside you, veins and ridges catching on the soft walls of your cunt. your mind spins, vision blurring as your hips jerk, instinctively trying to escape the overwhelming fullness. his fingers bite into your thighs, holding you in place.

"uh-uh," he murmurs, dark amusement curling at the edges of his words. "don’t run, baby. you wanted this."

he braces himself, broad shoulders tense above you as he tries to sink deeper. but even with how wet you are, how pliant you’ve gone beneath him, your body refuses to give. his hips stutter, pushing, pushing— yet still, there’s that impossible last inches he can’t force past.

“p-please- need it, need you-” the words spill out as he pauses, pulling back an inch.

"i know, baby, i know," he pants, forehead pressing to yours, sweat slick between you, before rolling his hips back in, trying his damn best to bottom out, but your cunt clenches stubbornly. frustration twists across his face, the sight of you writhing beneath him, cunt stretched wide and still too tight to take him fully— it drives him insane.

"gonna have to fix that," he murmurs, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek.

you nod, dazed, tears slipping down your temples as you sob out a choked, "yes- yes, please-"

"shh," könig soothes, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. "you’re doin’ so good, baby. takin’ me so well. just need to open you up a little more, yeah?"

könig adjusts his grip, hands sliding beneath your knees, lifting you with ease. before you can even register the shift, he’s pulling you up against his chest, arms hooking beneath your legs, locking you back in a full nelson.

your breath stutters, eyes going wide as your body is left entirely at his mercy, weightless in his grip, spread open around him.

könig’s lips graze your ear. "gonna let gravity help us, yeah? lil bit of science. let’s see if this pretty little cunt can take all of me now."

your toes curl, breath hitching as he angles his hips, smearing your slick between you.

then he lets gravity do most of the work.

your breath leaves you in a shattered moan as your body sinks down, forced open as he drops you down on his cock. your walls flutter, clenching around him, stretched impossibly wide, struggling to take him, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let you squirm away.

"that’s it," könig groans, arms flexing as he holds you still, keeps you spread. "so fuckin’ good for me, baby. lettin’ me stretch you open- gonna make you take it all."

you whimper, drool slipping from the corner of your lips, eyes rolling back as the last stubborn inch finally, finally sinks in, his cock seated fully inside you for the first time.

"fuck," könig grits out. "that’s my girl. knew you could take it, baby. knew you just needed a little help."

könig doesn’t give you much of a chance to adjust. the moment he thinks you're ready, his arms tighten, muscles flexing as he hauls you up before slamming you back down.

you jolt, cunt forced to stretch and squeeze around him with every thrust. his strength controls everything— the pace, the depth, the way you bounce like a ragdoll, helpless to slow him down. he’s slamming himself inside, spearing you open over and over, forcing you to stretch wider than you ever have.

you can’t keep up. your limbs go slack, muscles useless, brain short-circuiting. your vision blurs, eyes rolling back, drool slipping from the corner of your lips as your mouth falls open in a silent scream.

könig chuckles, pleased, watching the way you’ve gone completely limp in his arms. "gonna stretch you out like this every single day. keep you full, fuck you dumb, make sure this little cunt remembers who it belongs to."

your body convulses, wracked with sensation too intense to hold in. könig keeps moving, fucking you onto his cock like he’s trying to break you in, to shape your cunt to his cock.

"n-no-" your voice barely comes out. a sob caught in your throat as your fingers claw weakly at his forearms. your legs shake, eyes welling up, tears spilling hot down your cheeks. "g-gonna pee," you whimper, body locking up.

"no, baby." he drags you down harder, grinding the thick head of his cock against that perfect spot inside you. "you’re gonna cum. gonna make a mess all over me, aren't you?"

your sob turns into a choked wail as you gush, squirting hard, the release almost violent, soaking könig's thighs, dripping down to form a puddle on the floor beneath you.

könig watches you fall apart with hooded eyes, holding you up as your body jerks and trembles in his arms. "good girl," he praises, sounding utterly enthralled by the mess you’ve made. "fuckin’ knew you’d soak me- knew you were just a little messy thing."

you slump against him, muscles useless. the aftershocks have you so dazed that you barely register the shift before you’re being turned, pressed down against the floor, cheek squished against the slick puddle you just made.

"könig-" you whimper, trying to lift yourself, but his broad hand presses between your shoulder blades, keeping you down, keeping you open.

he ignores you, fingers digging into your hips, adjusting your position, spreading you wider. he lines himself up and pushes in, stuffing you to the brim in one deep thrust. your fingers claw at the wet floor beneath you, the slick sound of him sinking into you obscene in the quiet.

"good fuckin’ girl," he drags his cock out before slamming back in, his thighs slapping against your ass. "just let me use you, yeah? just take it like my perfect little cumdump."

you sob into the mess beneath you. könig presses your face harder against it, his broad palm splayed between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned.

"lick it up," he orders, tone smooth, assured, the kind of voice that expects obedience.

your whole body burns, but the heat between your legs is hotter. könig feels the way you clench around him at the command, the way your body betrays you before your lips can even form a protest.

"kö-”

“don’t make me say it twice, sweetheart," he warns, hips pulling back, dragging his cock out until only the tip stretches you open.

"what’s the matter?" he mocks. "you were so eager to make this mess- now you’re going shy?"

your breath shudders out in a small whimper before you obey, lowering your head, tongue flicking out, just barely grazing the puddle beneath you.

könig clicks his tongue. "that’s not licking, that’s teasing."

his hips snap forward, knocking you further into the mess, forcing your mouth against it. your lips part with a gasp, and könig watches, eyes dark and hungry, as you taste yourself properly for the first time.

"there we go," he hums, smug satisfaction. "now clean up every drop."

your cheeks burn as you press your tongue flat to the floor, licking a slow, tentative stripe through the mess. the taste floods your mouth and your stomach twists— but the weight of könig’s cock inside you, the way he keeps you full and stretched and pinned beneath him, sends another rush of slick dripping down your thighs.

he notices. of course he notices.

"oh, sweetheart," he breathes. "you like this, don’t you?"

your body betrays you again, a little shiver running down your spine, your cunt fluttering around him.

"mm, you do." he chuckles, dragging his fingers through your hair, tightening his grip. "filthy little thing. you’re gettin’ off on this."

you squeeze your eyes shut, shame crawling up your throat.

"könig-"

"uh-uh," he interrupts, grip tightening, making you whimper. "keep licking, schatz. don’t stop ‘til it’s gone."

your tongue flicks out again, lapping up another mouthful, swallowing it down even as heat prickles behind your eyes.

könig groans at the sight, his free hand stroking down your spine, over the curve of your ass. "that’s it, baby," he breathes. "such a good little slut for me."

you whimper, thighs squeezing together, hips rocking subtly against him, desperate for friction, for anything.

he notices that, too. "oh, you poor thing," he coos, all false sympathy, fingers stroking your cheek where it’s damp with tears. "s’this gettin’ you all worked up?"

könig pulls back just a little, dragging his length through your overstretched walls. "you gonna come just from this?" he asks, rolling his hips. your body tenses, toes curling. "from licking your mess off the floor like a good little bitch?"

your face burns, whole body trembling. too full, too overwhelmed, too much— and yet, you nod, a choked little sob escaping your lips.

his pace stutters, burying himself to the hilt with a ragged groan, holding you still as he spills inside, his cock twitching, pumping thick ropes of cum into your swollen cunt. "fuck," he pants, chest heaving, his weight bearing down on you. "so good, baby. took me so fuckin’ well."

his cum is hot inside you, sticky, leaking, seeping out around his cock as he slowly pulls back, watching his spend start to slip from your overstretched hole. könig hums, almost thoughtful. he presses a broad palm against your pussy, scooping it up, pushing it back in with two thick fingers, shoving his spend as deep as it’ll go. "keep it in,” he says almost absentmindedly. he lifts his hand after a moment, tilting his head as he examines the way it drips from his fingers.

his free hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up. your lips part before he even has to tell you. "clean it up," he slides his ring finger past your lips.

your lashes flutter, heat prickling up your spine as you close your lips around him, sucking gently, swirling your tongue over the ridges of his finger, tasting yourself, tasting him.

könig groans, thumb stroking over your cheek, watching your lips stretch around the digit, tongue flicking against the band wrapped around his finger.

"good girl," he breathes, eyes hooded, cock twitching against your slick folds, already stirring again, already wanting more.

he presses his finger deeper, until it nudges against the back of your throat, until your breath stutters and your eyes go hazy, wet.

"so pretty like this.” his other hand slips between your legs again, rubbing slow circles over your swollen clit. "gonna keep you like this forever, wife. nice and full."

he pulls his finger from your mouth with a soft pop, watching the way your tongue flicks out after it, lips wet, eyes dazed. "gonna make you a mommy.” he grins. “fill you up every night until it takes.”

“-and cut!”

Butcher!Simon x gn!reader Part 11 I know it's been forever. I finished my exam and then fell into an energy coma and did not get anything done. Sorry if this chaper is kinda disappointing but I'm trying to find my flow again with this; I gave it my best shot. These two still make me go insane. As always if I messed up readers description please tell me. I am merely a self indulgend human who is prone to mistakes. Part 10 | COD Masterlist | (Part 12)

Simon’s pretty sure he’s beet red under his helmet. Now that he’s making his way through traffic with your arms wrapped around him the previous interaction is catching up to him and he can’t believe he had the audacity to touch you like that.

Then again, you hadn’t objected. Maybe you’d just been too polite to shove his hand off. But you had grabbed it, held it too, maybe that moment hadn’t been as one sided as he feared (who is he kidding, why would an angel like you willingly touch a sinner like him).

He tries to shake the thoughts off, just being thankful that he got those precious moments forever seared into his memory.

Suddenly your arms are gone from around him and he almost gets worried until he realizes that you merely spread them to the side, wriggling your fingers trying to feel the wind. Before he can stop himself one of his hands finds your thigh and he gently grabs onto you, making sure you’re still there. His heart is beating so loudly he can feel it echo through his body, surely you can feel it through the thick gloves and pants, drumming against your skin, spelling his devotion in Morse code.

The fact that you don’t seem bothered by it in the least tilts the picture he had of you in his mind sideways. You’re wary, shy and scared without your dog, but not uncomfortable with casual physical touch and he’s incredibly thankful for it.

Simon’s not sure since when he’s someone who wants to casually touch others (he doesn’t, he only wants to touch you, he wants you to touch him too, wants you to wrap your hands around his throat and make him yours) but he wants to touch you. Preferably all day, every day.

He can feel himself short-circuit when your arms wrap around him again and your hands slowly stroke up and down his chest and stomach. Hopefully you can’t feel the way his heart tries to squeeze its way through his ribs to fall into your perfect hands.

Once again his chest swells with a warm thick feeling and he wants to tear his ribs open, carve out his heart and make a home for you in its stead. He wants to chain you to him so he won’t have to spend another second without you (okay, fucking weirdo, he should really get a grip on his thoughts).

It’s the best ride of his life with you pressed close to him and every now and then spreading your arms. He can even pretend you’re wrapping your arms around him out of want and not necessity. Maybe he can remember the feeling the next time he wakes up alone from a nightmare.

He thinks of your mutt, who gets to wake up to you every morning. Simon would sleep in a dog bed too if it meant he could be close to you like that.

The ride is over far too soon when he parks a few streets away from the venue. Immediately he holds out his hand for you to get off and you take it, putting your other hand onto his shoulder to stabilize yourself while you get off with ease.

You take of the helmet and gear. Simon can’t help but appreciate the view of you stripping something off, even if it is only the outermost layer. Immediately he admonishes himself for the path his thoughts take but he really can’t help it when you wriggle out of the gear and hand it to him to put it back in the cases.

“Ready?”, he asks you and your excited grin is almost infectious. Now that you’re near the concert hall you’re all restless buzzing energy. Most of it excitement but he can sense an underlying nervousness too.

Simon is sure that Wraith could have calmed you down in seconds. For a moment he almost misses the mutt, if only for how comfortable he makes you. Then he shakes it off. He’s here and he’ll take better care of you than the mutt. He’ll show you that there’s nothing to fear with him at your side.

Slowly he places one of his hands on your shoulder and your body stills. His eyes zero in on the way it looks so fucking big against you and he swallows dryly. Your eyes find his and he tries to reassure you through his body language alone, squeezing your shoulder to ground you.

You take a few deep breaths and then your hand comes up, reaching for his. He nearly chokes on his own saliva when instead of brushing him off, you take his hand in yours and bring it down so you can comfortably hold it.

“So we don’t get separated.”, you say softly while slight pink dusts your cheeks.

Oh.

Simon is so utterly fucked.

It takes all his willpower to just gently squeeze your hand instead of sweeping you off your feet so he can kiss you breathless and slip his tongue between your perfect lips, taste if you’re as sweet as you look (oh god, he should stop fantasizing about kissing you or he’s going to lose his mind).

He nods, like a normal person and manages answer without stumbling over his words. “Of course.”

It’s a throwback to the way you strolled through the park, but this time you initiated the contact and Simon might be floating instead of walking.

As you approach the concert hall more and more people join your direction and your eyes widen as you take in the crowds. Now you’re looking around a lot, scanning those closest to you as if you expect danger any moment now. It reminds Simon of a little meerkat on the lookout and he probably should not find it as endearing as he does.

He takes a deep breath and when he exhales a bit of calmness settles over him. It’s almost like a mission, when he thinks about it. Get you safely into the building, let you enjoy yourself and safely get you back. Stuff like that he can handle. Stuff like that he’s done before. Stressful situations are where he –

You step closer to him, your other arm coming up as well and now you’re damn near hugging his arm. Simon almost stumbles over his own feet but he catches himself and looks at your overwhelmed expression.

He extracts his arm from your almost hug and instead puts it around you, effectively pulling you into his side. He holds his breath for a second, afraid that any unnecessary movement may spook you (breathing is unnecessary when it comes to your comfort).

Instead of pulling away you seem to slightly relax and he continues leading you into the hall. When you enter you crane your neck to look around and then your eyes settle on Simon.

“I’ve never been to an event this big!”, you shout over the deafening sound of thousands of people having their own private conversations.

“Get ready to have your mind blown. Been to one of their concerts before. They’re bloody brilliant, sweetheart.”, he shouts back and once again you giddily hop in place a bit. This time he gets to feel the movement against his side and he fights himself to not crush you against him in his intense need to hold you closer.

He looks around, satisfied that he managed to herd you to the front row directly before the stage. After all you deserve nothing but the best experience and any regret he could have had for the people behind him that might have a slightly obstructed view, dies the second you beam up at him.

“Thank you, Simon.” You nearly squeal and he knows his eyes crinkle with the way he smiles so wide.

“Welcome, sweetheart.”

His own excitement is growing, not just at your anticipation but because he can’t wait for the music to start. His gaze is embarrassingly soft as he looks down at you, next to him and he fights the need to place his hand on your hips and pull you closer.

At least he knows that the hall will get so crowded that more physical contact between you two is inevitable and Simon will soak that up like a sponge that’s been dry for years.

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-one —other parts

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

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

This bed smells like pine and warmth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Among other things."

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

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

"And I don't need to know?"

"Precisely."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm not looking for entertainment."

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

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

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

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

"How old?"

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

"Understand what?"

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

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

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

"Oh, nothing really."

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

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

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

"What part?"

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

You keep walking. "What happened to her?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm... alright."

"No need to be modest."

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

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

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

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

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

"Fucking hell—"

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

"Train together," he repeats, shoulders loosening. 

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

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

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

He simply laughs. 

---

The rest of the day passes in languid warmth. 

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

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

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

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

"...could take months..."

"Got quite a bit of those."

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

"Find it?"

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

"Huh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

"That we were what?"

"Being honest with each other now."

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

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

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

Your nails curl in your palms. "And?"

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

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

"I'm aware."

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

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

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

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

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

"I can do that."

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

"What the fuck are you—"

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

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

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

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

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

"You're a woman. Take it."

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

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

You should've just accepted the bed.

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

"Comfortable?" he says sarcastically above you.

"Fuck off."

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

Part Eight of Simon Riley x Single Mother, they're really doing this thing <3

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven

By the time Emma’s first birthday rolls around, Simon has a ring in a box that lives in his nightstand back at his apartment. He keeps it there, safe and sound, instead of slipping it on your finger like he really wants to.

It’s not because he’s still thinking about it — he knows exactly where that ring belongs. It’s because, all told, it hasn’t been all that long since you got together. And while he wants nothing more than to lock this down, to breathe a little easier with the help of a sturdy gold band looped around his ring finger, he doesn’t want to scare you off. Wants to give it time to make sure that you’re in the same place he is.

So he waits. And every day he wants it a little more.

What pushes him to act, to move past his fear of rejection, is a close call during a mission gone wrong.

It's strange, he thinks, because he'd definitely been in worse predicaments. He didn't even get hurt, just felt the whizzing of bullets flying past him, a little too close for comfort, and he can't get it out of his head. If he'd been a little less aware, even if the wind had been off, he could have died, and while that never bothered him before, it's unsettling now.

The thought of you on your own again, of Charlie and Emma wanting for anything, forgetting him ... it aches. It keeps him up at night, even when he's laying in your bed, your warm, solid weight resting against him.

He tries to sleep, but it's no use. It's his third day back after coming home, and he's exhausted, but he can't rest like this. He finds his fingers running lightly your arm, up and down and back again, and before long you're stirring, turning slowly to face him.

"Simon?" you ask, your eyes still closed. "Everything ok?"

On one hand, everything is ok -- more than ok. Everything is beautiful. He can hear a faint stream of white noise coming through the baby monitor by the bed, telling him that Emma and Charlie are fast asleep in their room. You're in his arms, too, and it's perfection.

But tonight, just like last night and the night before, it feels too fleeting.

He clenches his jaw, struggling to find the words, and at his silence you open your eyes, sleepy concern etched on your face. He lifts a finger to smooth out the crease in your forehead, then trails it down your temple and towards your jaw.

You're so delicate. Strong too, he knows that, but now ...

"Marry me."

It's not a question, but a plea. Your eyebrows shoot up, and he puts his hand on the back of your neck, keeping you close.

"I ... really?" you ask. "You're really asking me to marry you?"

"Begging, love," he admits quietly. "Please."

He got the ring months ago at this point, and in all that time, he'd never landed on just how he wanted to propose. He never imagined this specific scenario. You deserve better -- than this, than him -- but he's desperate.

"... You sure?"

"Got a ring back at mine," he tells you. "Got it ages ago, never been more sure of anything."

It's hard to put into words how much this means to him, so he keeps his gaze steady, hoping you can, in that special way you always do, see it in his eyes.

And you do.

In a flash, you're pressing yourself against him, kissing him deeply. He pulls you closer, indulging you, but still, he needs words.

"If this is a 'yes,' I need to hear it," he says.

"Yes, Simon, of course ... yes."

That night, he sleeps better than he had in recent memory, and in the quiet of the morning, he slips away, just long enough to retrieve the ring from his place before you and the kids start stirring. When he's back, he slips into bed beside you, gently takes your hand and slides the ring on your finger.

It's a weight off his shoulders. He can't imagine how good it will feel watching you sign the marriage certificate.

This time, you don't quite wake up, you just snuggle up against him. But before long, he starts hearing soft sounds playing through the baby monitor: Charlie muttering what he knows are good morning rambles to his little sister. There's some rustling, and soon he hears two sets of little footsteps coming through the hall, then your bedroom door opens and Charlie and Emma are there, hand in hand, ready to start the day.

"Come on then," you mutter, still nestled against Simon.

The two children scramble up into the bed quickly. Emma tucks herself against your side, still sleepy herself, but Charlie is characteristically alert and energetic, and he throws himself across you and Simon, burrowing himself in the middle.

It's the morning routine now. The four of you stay in bed, slowly (or in Charlie's case, with minimal patience) waking up together. After a few moments, you finally notice the ring newly placed on your finger, and you smile, holding your hand up to get a good look at it.

"What's that?" Charlie asks.

"A present from Simon," you answer.

"But it's not your birthday or Christmas or anything."

"Doesn't have to be a holiday to get a present," Simon points out, and Charlie swiftly turns to look at him.

"Do I get a present too?"

You laugh, warm and happy, and tell him, "In a way."

Simon wants to do it all, and he wants to do it right. Marry you, then work on adopting Charlie and Emma. Sort out everything for all three of you, make it so that you're safe and taken care of, while he's here and, if anything ever happens to him, when he's gone.

But for now, this sleepy Sunday morning will definitely do.