masterlist. ask. you lose all your memories of your relationship with satoru and although he's devastated, he does everything he can to make you fall in love with him. and you can't help but fall for his antics all over again
not proofread! ngl...this was the longest fic i've ever written
everything felt...wrong. your head hurt a lot more that usual. your eyelids heavy and you could barely move your body at all. just what the hell was going on?
your eyelids fluttered open only to be hit by bright, white lights and the smell of antiseptic and medicine. you groaned trying to sit up when you suddenly heard a frantic gasp, followed by shuffling on your right side. your eyes still needed some time to adjust and when you could finally see, you saw your roommate, satoru by your side, holding your hand, worry and relief etched onto his face at the same time.
"i'm so glad you're okay", he kissed the back of your hand which took you by surprise. you quickly yanked your hand away from him, your heart rate spiking. satoru looked at you confused. "what's wrong, baby?"
baby?...what the fuck was going on?!?!
"what did you just call me?"
"i called you, baby. are you still not feeling alright? should i get a nurse?"
"why did you call me...that? we're roommates, remember?"
"what? we started dating two weeks ago. have you forgotten?". your eyes widen. there was no way this was real. he was fucking with you like he always did. although you never found his jokes funny, this especially wasn't.
"i'm not up for your jokes gojo. this is serious. also, why am I in the hopital?", just then a nurse came in and smiled at the both of you. she checked your vitals and everything and later satoru was called out by the doctor. all while you sat alone in your thoughts trying to remember how the hell you ended up in the hospital. some time later, satoru came back in. he sat down by the edge of the bed and tried holding your hand away but you pulled away, again.
"the doctor said you'll have to stay here for another week before you can come back home. i was so worried about you"
"how did i end up here? and how long was i out for?"
"i found you lying at the bottom of the stairs when i came back home a week ago and quickly rushed you to the hospital when you weren't responding. you've been in a coma for 6 days"
"huh?!?!", you let out getting even more confused. just what happened until you lost your balance and slipped all the way down the stairs. you were happy to have still been alive, but how could you be so clumsy.
"i was hoping you would wake up sometime soon. i sat and slept right there and never left your side. i was so scared, baby", he caressed your cheek, your cheeks warming and absolutely bewildered.
how did you even come about dating your hot roommate. you've had a crush on him for as long as you could remember, did he really feel that way and how come you don't remember either of you confessing.
"i still need some time to think about...us dating. it's just too much informationg at the moment". satoru nodded, keeping his hands to himself. you laid back down on the bed, back facing him trying to calm down your beating heart.
throughout the week, the doctors performed multiple tests to check up on your health. satoru came to visit you everyday without fail, bringing you your favourite food and spilling all the things you'd missed out on. he stayed with you almost all day and some days, slept right on the couch no matter how many times you insisted that he shouldn't. but he ignored you like he always did. "is it such a crime to sleep in the same room as my girlfriend?"
again with the girlfriend thing. no matter how many times you thought about it, it just didn't make sense. why the hell would he choose you over the hundreds of girls who threw themselves at him on the daily. did you confess? did he confess? were the both of you forced into some kind of situation? or was it...a bet?
satoru was a nice guy and he would never lead on someone he's not interested in. but that still was a possibility. yeah...he was probably pushed into this situation and that made you feel like shit.
a week had finally passed, meaning you could finally go back home and sleep in your own bed. satoru helped pack your belongings as you changed into a dress that he brought for you. you don't remember buying it, at all.
you walked back into the room just as satoru finished packing. when his eyes rested on your figure, his eyes softened and a smile appeared on his face.
"you look so beautiful", he engulfed you in hug, your face planted right against his chest, his scent invading your brain. you wanted to wrap your arms around him but you couldn't. your arms stayed awkwardly at your side and he finally pulled away. "let's get you home."
sat in the passenger seat, you thought long and hard whether you should confront him. if it's a bet you needed to let him know that he can't disrespect you like that. you pursed your lips aware at the fact that he had his eye on you.
"everything good? you look uneasy", he placed his hands on your thigh, his thumb rubbing small circles on your skin. you shoved his hand away and stared at him.
"is this some kind of bet?"
"what?"
"don't act stupid, gojo. did you lose a bet or something? or is this some kind of sick dare? i know we're not dating"
"yes we are dating, (name). why would you even think that?"
"it just doesn't make sense. you can have anyone you want and you choose me? and conveniently, you re eal to me that we're dating mere minutes after i woke up from a fucking coma at my most vulnerable. you really think i wouldn't think about that?"
"i have no idea where you're getting all these crazy ideas from but we can discuss this properly at home"
"no! i wanna talk about this now! don't try to ignore me, gojo! i need answers"
"first of all, it's 'toru to you. secondly, i would never so much as lie to you about that because i actually love you"
"bullshit!". satoru let out a heavy sigh. the smile that once graced his handsome features long gone, replaced by something you can't really define. the rest of the ride was quiet. you were angry. you had been put in a situation that you didn't understand, under circumstances you don't even remember. before long, gojo pulled into the dorm parking lot and you quickly got out.
satoru grabbed your bag and you both went up the elevator to your dorm room. once inside, you sat down at the counter waiting for him to settle down. he came into the kitchen and poured a glass of water then handing it to you.
"make it make sense to me. how exactly did we start dating?". you stare was intense. satoru shifted awkwardly in his seat and cleared his throat.
"about four weeks ago, i came back from a party late and found you waiting for me on the couch. i was a little tipsy and i just couldn't help but find you so cute when you berating me and i just kissed you...you didn't pull back, but you didn't return the kiss either and then i told you that i love you. i poured my heart out to you, (name)"
"you said we started dating three weeks ago"
"you didn't answer me that same night. you said you needed time to process and came back to me a week later and that's when we became official"
you remained quiet, still trying to process this all. satoru reached for hand and stared into your eyes lovingly. "i would never lie to you like that. i just hope you can believe believe me and accept me as your boyfriend again".
now you felt like shit.
"i'm sorry for attacking you like that. i should have trusted you more."
"there's no need to apologize, cutie. i totally understand. atleast i have my girlfriend now, safe and sound right where she sould be"
the next weeks roll by. you were still trying to adjust to the whole dating satoru thing. it still felt kind of weird when he would run up to you, pick you up and spin you around. but in a way, it still felt nice.
the knowledge of having eneded up with your crush was pretty sweet. satoru refrained from kissing you and touching you all the time although it was killing him. he had finally made you his and he had to do the work all over again, but it was going to be worth it.
he took you out on cute dates, bought you cute gifts whenever he had the chance and always walked or drove you wherever you needed to go to. he chatted up an thunderstorm, making sure that you always knew he was present and will forever be by your side.
you grew more fond of him and became more drawn to him. he was a really sweet guy, incredibly, stupidly handsome and he only had eyes for you. he was everything you could ever want in a boyfriend. and you needed him to know exactly how you felt, again.
three months after your coma, he took you out to the finest restaurant in the city. your hands became clammy as the night neared it's end and it didn't help that he was being overly sweet too. pouring you a glass of wine, offering you his food, listening to you talk. you almost chickened out but you didn't want to lose him.
you finally got back home and right before he unlocked the front door, you grabbed his wrist.
"is there something wrong, baby", he asked in a low voice, his brows furrowed making him look worried. you stared to the side, your cheeks getting warmer, your legs stiff but feeling jelly like at the same time and you felt so overwhelmed as you heartbeat quickened.
you took in a deep breathe and looked him in the eye. "i've been thinking a lot and...i...i love you satoru". you shut your eyes, waiting. a part of you waited for the rejection, the humiliation anything just so you could be done with this.
time seemed to pass by so quickly, and no answer came out of him. you slowly opened your eyes only to see him teary eyed as his hand covered his mouth. he embraced you in a tight hug and this time you hugged him back. his face against your neck as he sniffles.
satoru pulled back, the biggest smile you've ever seen on his face as his cheeks flushed pink.
"i love you too, (name)...so so much", he picked you up and spun you around before pressing his lips onto yours in a passionate kiss. his hand rested on your hips while your arms wrapped around his neck, a tear now streaming down your face. he pulled back, now resting his forehead on yours.
"no matter how long it would have taken, i will always wait for you to come back to me"
a/n: btw, i was listening to "wanna be yours" while writing this bc it felt right
Megumi sat beside you as you cried. It wasn't the pretty, romanticized crying from movies, but ugly crying with snot and never ending tears.
His fingers were gentle on your back, it made you feel like you really were worth this. Worth his love. His time..
Through your wheezing sobs, he held you, wordlessly. You turned your face to bury it in his chest, feeling the soft fabric of his sweatshirt against your face, dampening with your tears.
He didn't complain, his arms tightening around you, shielding you in his embrace. Your hands move as well, grasping at his back.
"Don't go..." You sniffled
"I'm right here" He said, one hand moving up to cradle the back of your head.
His heart broke seeing you cry so bitterly, and he knew that right now, you needed his presence, needed him to hold the shattered bits of you together for a bit while you cried.
And he held you, and will hold you tomorrow and whenever life got too hard he'd be right there.
the evening was cold and gloomy perfectly reflecting your mood right now.
curled up with your boyfriend, megumi, in bed you were sniffling softly head tucked under his chin as he stroked your hair softly.
âheâs meanâ you pouted upset when gojo accidentally pushed you too far in training.
âi know baby i know, so meanâ megumi whispered into your hair.
âyou know what will make it better?â
âwhat sweet girl?â
âkuro and shiroâ you said looking up at him with a smile.
he sighed looking back at you âgojos going to get mad if i keep summoning them for non urgent reasonsâ he tried to argue but when you flashed him the puppy eyes he instantly folded.
âokay okayâ he said lifting his hands off you and bringing them together before whispering âdivine dogsâ
almost immediately they poofed in the big dogs running onto the bed into your lap licking and barking happily at you.
âoh kuro, shiro, i missed you guys too!â you giggled petting the black hairs fur.
âif you keep babying them theyâre going to get softâ megumi said reaching out to pet shiro who rolled over lazily in his lap for him.
âitâs fine theyâre too cute to ever be meanâ you cooed right in kuros face, âisnât that right my sweet boy?â
âthatâs my name but whateverâ megumi grumbled behind you.
falling asleep with all four of you piled in bed it was a massive cuddle puddle or warm bodies and the soft rise and fall of your breathing.
megumi stroked your hair before leaning down kissing it âsleep wellâŚâ
max yaps: THIS IS SO CUTE I CANT (stop glazing yourself max)
ËâŰśŕ§Ëâ OLD HABITS DIE HARD! âď¸
äźéťć â fluff/crack, clingy!megumi, childhood bsfs to lovers
âMegs, itâs time to go.â
âJust a bit longer..â
Gojo sighed, watching a tiny Megumi cling onto your arm like a koala. Why was he being so stubborn right now? He had always been difficult, but not this difficult.
He had never seen him so fond of another human being before. Megumi stared at strangers like they slaughtered his entire family right before his eyes, so seeing him sticking to you like glue was a rare sight.
Gojoâs one and only dream was for Megumi to interact with other human beings, especially considering how closed off he was for his young age.
He never expected someone like him being so attached to someone like you.
You were a sweet kid. You lost count of the amount of times Gojo retold the story of how you cried after Megumi âaccidentallyâ stepped on a baby worm, squishing itâs wriggly body and reducing it to a tiny pile of itâs guts and flesh.
He says âaccidentallyâ because Megumi actually did it on purpose, but you only lived to see the part where he was already stepping on the poor worm, not the part where he brutally stepped it to death.
He felt so bad that he sat by you for four hours, waiting until you calmed down. It proved to be a challenge because he only got you to stop was by hugging you, and the moment he let go youâd start crying all over again.
itâs not like he minded though. He enjoyed being in your presence, even if his oversized t-shirt was drenched in your tears right after.
He found himself naturally gravitating towards you, like the sun orbiting the earth. Wherever you were, heâd be standing in your shadow, breathing down your neck. It started to get awkward when people would flicker their gaze back and forth between you and him during conversations, cause heâd always stand impossibly close behind with a nasty glare.
Wherever you went, so did he. Heâd sit next to you at recess, walk by your side on the pavement after school, Gojo even found him talking to you from the other side of the door while you used the bathroom.
That little habit followed him into his teenage years. You were both older now, he was colder and more serious than before, but his fondness for you stayed the same, even more if possible.
How could he not? You were the sun to his moon. No one would look at you and think you killed for a living. It didnât help that inumaki would pop in every so often to ask you to make him treats. It was basically a routine for you to walk up and down jujutsu highâs halls, back and forth between classes holding a tiny pink bag, some sort of sugary treat usually sitting inside a box tied with a bow in it.
Yuji and Nobara started tallying the amount of times heâd huff, groan or sigh whenever he was assigned a mission with someone else other than you. Heâd beat their asses if he ever found out, but everyone started keeping track of how many hours heâd spend around you.
Refilling your bottle during training? He would be there with his own bottle. Lunch? Heâd sit beside you, eating the homemade meal you had prepped for him in the morning. Any other fucking time of the day? You would be hiding in the break room, his head peering over your shoulder to look at whatever you were doing on your phone.
Their calculations came to.. a daily average of 16 hours. On cold stormy days, heâd sleep in your room because you were âscaredâ of the thunder. Now that would come to around 23 hours, the one hour being times where youâd be forcefully separated.
Maybe the reason he was so attached because you were the first person to show him genuine care and affection. Sure, Gojo would coddle him until the ends of the earth, but Megumi always believed that care came from obligation. He was his father figure, of course he had to care about him.
You were different. You saw him and decided he was the one youâd take care of for the rest of your life.
He came back late from a mission one night, and you grabbed him by the wrist, dragging him back to your room to patch him up.
He was reluctant to let you do so. He didnât want to be a burden to you, especially since it was late at night, and you shouldâve been long asleep by then. He felt bad for making you wait up for him, but the moment you pouted at him he fully gave up.
You pressed the cotton ball to one of his cuts, stinging sensation running up his entire arm from the sudden change of temperature. âWhy are you always so reckless, canât you be more careful?â
You looked up at him, awaiting his answer, only to find him gazing at you with half-lidded eyes. He studied your worried expression and felt his heart go all fuzzy.
You furrowed your brows at him. âAre you gonna sit there and stare at me all night, or do I have to drag you back to your dorm myself?â
âCan I stay for the night?â He asked, voice quieter now. âI need to be near you for a while longer..â
Your gaze softened, wrapping your arms around the boyâs neck. Still sitting on your bed, he pulled you closer by curling his arms tight around your waist.
âOkay.â
Post-shibuya, when the culling games came around, he still didnât want to split up with you. You were fully capable of handling yourself, but maybe thatâs why he didnât want you to go off on your own.
He fought against splitting up from you and yuji. His excuse was that they would need you if Sukuna ever striked again. You suggested that Yuta stay with them, you being far more willing to fight without holding back in battles.
He didnât listen. He never did when it came to you. Heâd much rather you stay back and recruit more allies with him than run around fighting high-ranked sorcerers for points. You wouldâve been their best bet at getting enough points for his sister, if it wasnât for him.
He knew he was holding you back, but at least it would keep you safe. Thatâs all he ever wanted to do. Keep you safe.
Now, if only he was born somewhere far from here. Away from the jujutsu world. Away from curses. That reality would never happen. Megumi Fushiguro had never been destined to win in the first place. He was a major loser, and fate never did listen to him. Not even once.
Even when he was most desperate.
Now he sat alone in the clinic. The room of smelled of antiseptic and protective gloves, room white and too quiet for his liking.
He never wanted to throw up more in his life.
He sat by your body with his fists clenched tight in his lap, you unmoving and laid out on the table, bag pulled too high. You never stayed still in your sleep. Youâd toss and turn and kick his back as you wrapped your arms around his waist, mumbling something incoherent.
Heâd never get that ever again. The scars carved onto both sides of his face were a constant reminder of how you would just be a memory from then on.
A damn good one.
Shoko opened the door slightly, only peeking in from the crack of the door. She had done this a million times before, but this time, when she saw him she froze.
She stared at his back for a second, and suddenly she was a teen again, watching Gojo hunched over his desk, hiding whatever snacks he could sneak into class that day.
âFushiguro?â He pressed his lips into a thin line, knowing by the tone of her voice, he knew what she was going to say before she could open her mouth.
You were about to be cremated, trapped soul about to be set free through the flames.
You used to tell him that you werenât afraid of anything, but he say the way youâd flinch whenever anything hot would get too near. Heâd usually chuckle under his breath, telling you that everything would be alright.
âIeiri-San, I.. I need more time.â His voice cracked. The stone cold Megumi Fushiguro was faltering, all because the love of his life now
âPlease. Let me stay with her. Just⌠a little longer.â
divider by @uzmacchiato
Šlvrs4nxna - all rights reserved. Do not republish, translate, steal, or feed my work to Al.
megumiâs different when heâs sick, really different. but you canât say you mind.
your usually stoic, collected, unemotional boyfriend is suddenly all over you, clingy as a koala. itâs pathetically adorable.
your hand is flat against megumiâs forehead, checking for a temperature, and heâs blatantly leaning into your touch. a kiss pressed to your knuckles, another to your palm.
you get up to make soup and he pulls you back towards him with surprising strength, for someone whoâs sick. a surprised squeak leaves your mouth as youâre tugged into his warm arms, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck.
âdonât go,â megumi mumbles, pouting.
you laugh quietly, hand threading through his hair. âiâll be back in a minute, baby. just gonna make you something warm so you feel better.â
he huffs, tightening his hold on you. âyou can do that later. âs cold without you.â
âiâll give you more blankets?â
âitâs not the same,â he grumbles. then he sniffles, a quiet, sickly sound. it tugs at your heartstrings, and you wonder whether he was faking it just for the attention.Â
you exhale, amused yet unrelenting. âiâm sorry, gumi. i have to, okay?â somehow, some way, you untangle yourself from his tight embrace and stand up.Â
megumi whines, reaching for you, and you fight back a smile.Â
âiâll be really quick, baby. promise.â you press a peck to his warm forehead, tucking him more properly into the blankets before slipping out of the bedroom.
not even a minute goes by before you feel megumiâs presence in the kitchen. you smile softly as his arms come around your waist, chin resting heavily on your shoulder.
âyou should be in bed, baby.â
âi know,â he mumbles almost guiltily, breath warm on your neck. he watches you cut the vegetables, spiky hair tickling your skin. âit was just really cold without you. horrible.â
âhorrible indeed,â you humour him, reaching back to scratch his scalp. he exhales, eyes droopy as he melts into you. âi told you iâd be back soon, no?â
âbut you were taking forever,â megumi groans earnestly, eyes opening to peek at you.
âi was away for one minute.â
âa minute too long.â he says, sniffling and shutting his eyes again. âi almost died.â
you giggle, pouring the finished soup into a bowl. âiâm really sorry,â you say as you lead him back into the bedroom, pulling him behind you like a sad puppy. âwonât happen again.â
âgood,â megumi huffs, satisfied.Â
his eyes trail over you as you get him settled in, cocooning him in blankets and pressing the bowl into his hands. you know exactly whatâs coming next.
megumi locks his gaze on yours. âis it cuddle time now?â he asks hopefully, eyes wide and shiny, lips downturned as though he might burst into tears if you refused.Â
the sight of him like this is so unexpected, so precious. you almost give in. almost.
ânope,â you say, trying to sound as firm as you can muster. you press the soup bowl further into his hands as his bottom lip quivers. âdrink first, then cuddles.â
âand- and you wonât even feed me?â megumi warbles, sniffling sadly. âiâm dying, you know.â
âyouâre not dying,â you sigh, sitting down next to him. âbut fine, iâll feed you. only cosâ youâre sick.â
the biggest smile breaks onto his face, eyes clearing up immediately as he hands you the soup bowl. your megumi wouldnât smile like this in a million years, and you try to savour it.
heâs almost giddy with affection as he presses the soup bowl into your hands, cozying up to you and pressing his face into your chest. âyouâre the best,â he mumbles happily.
you canât wait to tell your boyfriend about this when heâs well again.
when megumi told his friends he was dating you, the first reaction was pretty much the same for everyone â a mix of 'no way' and 'i don't believe you'. the worst part? he couldn't even blame them.
megumi would describe himself as introverted and probably pretty anti social. so when you walked up to him one day and started talking to him like you knew him for years? yeah he knew he was a goner. but honestly he never understood it â you were so beautiful, pink and glittery. him, on the other side, looked like he didn't know any other colors other than black and blue.
and somehow, he still fell inlove with you. he realised it soon when he missed the splash of vivid colors in his dorm or the sweet strawberry vanilla scent you left anywhere you went.
imagine his shock when you, yes you, confessed to him first â your eyes glassy like you were actually scared he might not feel the same way. and yet, the only thing he noticed in that moment was how cute your lips looked with the pinkish gloss.
when you started dating, no one really noticed the change â you always used to kiss his cheek even as friends, and he didn't go around to brag â not because he was ashamed, but because he always was one to admire you quietly. he never hid the relationship, he just didn't announce it shouting like yuji would.
so, when one day, when you joined megumi at training, which doesn't happen often, chaos unfolded. you strut down to watch him train in the sun, your pink customized uniform (curtesy of gojo) shining in the sun. megumi didn't see you immediatly, too focused on fighting off maki.
after the sparring match (which he lost) he finally saw you â sitting on the bench with some kind of iced drink. taking a break, he walked over to you, a small smile on his face at your obnoxious waving. "what are you doing here? i thought you went shopping." he takes the drink you're silently offering him, taking a sip from the sugary liquid. definetly your taste.
"hey babe! i was, but after i bought three bags my arms started to hurt so i came back. i found these really cute purple heels that match that skirt i bought last week, do you remember which one? oh and i also found these new gloss that tastes like strawberry..." he's listening to you rambling off about whatever you bought today, following your every word with quiet acknowledgment.
"do you have the new gloss on right now?" his question throws you off, making you halt your story telling. "yes how did you know? wanna try it? i have it in my bag!" while your searching your bag â which was filled with sweets, lipgloss and perfume, megumi's eyes don't leave you. he doesn't even realise maki is yelling at him to come train until yuji shouts like a gorilla making him jump.
"can i try the gloss?" the question would be weird for anyone else but you always make him put on some to 'taste test' it. "i'm not finding it right now ugh and you have to goâ" he cuts you off with a direct kiss on your lips. right there in front of everyone â you swear you hear nobara gasp.
either way, you kiss him back, the gloss transfering onto your boyfriends mouth. it's a rather quick kiss, not wanting to put on a show infront of everyone. when he pulls back his forehead against yours, his breath stutters. "it tastes nice."
you don't have time to answer â he walks back to the training ground, ignoring the way everyone is looking at him. guess they finally know you're really dating.
bestfriend!yuji who thinks that he has no chance with you (he definitely does)
fluff
it was getting entirely out of hand, to the point where megumiâs left eye had developed a microscopic, rhythmic twitch whenever all of you were in the same room.
there was a distinct difference between being a good friend and whatever it was that yuji was doing. yuji wasnât operating on normal human frequencies anymore; he was a highly concentrated wave of devotion that required him to subconsciously monitor your exact coordinates, comfort levels, and nutritional needs at all times. the truly agonizing part of this whole situation was that yuji honestly, genuinely believed he was pining from a tragic, unrequited distance.
âman,â yuji sighed, his chin resting heavily on his arms as he slumped over the small wooden table in the break room. he looked like a golden retriever that had been left out in the rain, despite the fact that he was perfectly dry and had eaten three bowls of rice an hour ago. âi just... i donât know how guys like gojo-sensei do it. how do you even get someone like that to notice you? sheâs so cool. fushiguro, be honest, do you think she likes guys who can cook? i could learn how to bake those fancy little french pastries. the ones with the layers. do you think sheâd like that?â
megumi didnât look up from his book. he simply turned the page, his knuckles whitening slightly against the paper. âitadori. you made her bento this morning. it was shaped like a bear.â
âthat was just a nutritional baseline!â yuji defended instantly, sitting up with a look of pure, desperate longing in his eyes. âa person needs a balanced breakfast! that doesnât mean she wants to hold my hand during a movie! iâm practically invisible to her, man. iâm just the guy who hangs around and breathes her oxygen. if i asked her out, sheâd probably laugh and think i was pulling a prank. my heart would literally disintegrate into ash. like a cursed spirit, fushiguro. gone.â
megumi finally closed his book with a soft, ominous thud. he stared at his friend, trying to calculate how much brain damage yuji had sustained in his life to arrive at this specific level of dense. âyesterday, she said she was slightly warm, and you constructed a makeshift fan out of cardboard within four seconds. you didnât even use cursed energy. you just moved your hands really fast.â
âthatâs just basic manners!â
âyou carried her up three flights of stairs because her shoelaces were untied and you didnât want her to trip,â megumi countered, his voice dangerously level.
âthe stairs were slippery!â yuji wailed, burying his face in his hands. âyou donât get it. sheâs like... a masterpiece. and iâm just a guy who knows how to do a kickflip. i have no chance. zero. negative numbers.â
before megumi could commit a felony, the sliding door opened, and you walked in alongside nobara. the second your shoes crossed the threshold, yujiâs entire posture changed. it was an instantaneous shift; his spine straightened, his ears practically perked up, and his eyes locked onto you with a degree of focus usually reserved for high-stakes exorcisms.
âhey,â you said, offering a small, tired smile as you dropped into the empty chair next to yuji. âthe training grounds are freezing today. i think the wind is coming straight from the mountains.â
yuji didnât say a word. he didnât even look at his own hands as they moved with the practiced efficiency of a surgeon. within three seconds, he had took off his oversized, fleece-lined red hoodie, shrugged it off himself, and gently helped you put it on. he tucked the soft fabric around you, his fingers lingering for just a fraction of a second against your collarbone to make sure the chill was sealed out, before pulling his hands back and shoving them into his uniform pockets.
âthanks,â you mumbled, instantly buried in his warmth and the faint, comforting scent of laundry detergent and whatever body wash he used. you pulled the sleeves over your hands, sinking into the collar.
âyeah, of course,â yuji said, his voice dropping into a soft, casual register that completely contradicted the fact that his internal organs were currently performing backflips. âcanât have you catching a cold. youâve got that exam tomorrow, right? need your brain working at a hundred percent.â
nobara paused, her hand hovering over the back of a chair as she watched this sequence of events play out. she looked at yuji, then at you buried in his giant hoodie, then over at megumi, whose jaw was clenched so tightly he looked like a gargoyle.
âhey, yuji,â you said, reaching into your pocket and pulling out a slightly bruised mandarin orange youâd grabbed from the cafeteria. âdo you have a knife? the skin on this one is really thick.â
âi got it,â he said immediately.
he took the orange from your hand. yuji didnât use a knife. he used his thumbs, peeling the rind away in one seamless, removing the little white strings so you wouldnât have to deal with the mess. his fingers were steady, careful, and incredibly gentle as he split the fruit into perfect, individual segments. he laid them out neatly on a clean napkin heâd pulled from literally nowhere, pushing the finished product toward you with a small, encouraging nod.
âthere you go. the sweet ones are usually the smaller pieces,â he murmured, his eyes tracking your expression to ensure you were satisfied.
âyouâre a lifesaver,â you said, popping a segment into your mouth.
yujiâs face remained entirely neutral, but megumi could see the way the boyâs legs were practically vibrating under the table from the sheer rush of being praised. it was pathetic. it was magnificent. it was driving megumi to the brink of insanity.
âso,â nobara started, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms. her eyes narrowed as she watched yuji reach over, pick up your heavy leather canvas bag from the floor, and settle it comfortably over his own knee so it wouldnât get dirty. âitadori. can i ask you a question?â
âhmm?â yuji looked up, his hand still resting protectively near your side of the table. âwhatâs up, kugisaki?â
âwhat did you do an hour ago?â
âi went to the convenience store down the street,â he said, blinking innocently.
âand what did you buy?â
âoh! i got that specific chocolate drink with the milk and two pumps of vanilla. the one with the extra meringue sprinkled on top.â yuji reached down into his bag and pulled out the plastic cup, which was perfectly chilled, sweating slightly against his palm. he placed it right next to your napkin of oranges, straw already unwrapped and inserted. âhere. they finally had the good meringue back in stock.â
you blinked, looking up from your fruit. âwait, really? they told me yesterday they were out until next week.â
âi asked the guy to check the back crates,â yuji said, giving you a bright, close-eyed grin that could have easily powered a small metropolitan area. âtold him it was an emergency. he found a whole tin of it.â
megumi made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded like a dying bird.
nobara stared. she stared at the chocolate drink, then at the peeled oranges, then at the enormous red hoodie currently engulfing your torso. she looked at yujiâs face, which was full of nothing but pure, desperate desire to please you, completely devoid of any realization that he was acting like a husband of ten years.
slowly, with the deliberate precision of a predator stalking its prey, nobara walked around the table. she didnât say a word until she was standing directly behind yuji. then, with a sudden, violent burst of movement, she reached down, grabbed a fistful of his inner uniform collar, and yanked him backward out of his chair.
âwoah! kugisakiâchoking! choking!â yuji gasped, his hands flying to his throat as she dragged him a few feet away from the table.
âshut up,â nobara hissed, her voice a terrifying whisper as she pointed a manicured finger directly at you, who was currently taking a sip of the perfectly customized latte. âlook at that. look at her.â
âiâm looking!â yuji squeaked, his cheeks flushing a violent, immediate pink. âshe looks great! the hoodie suits her, right? do you think i should buy her one for her birthday? or is that too forward? maybe a scarf? a scarf is saferââ
âyuji,â nobara interrupted, her voice dropping into a range that promised physical violence. âwhat the hell? i thought you guys were dating?â
yuji froze. his entire body went rigid, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates as his brain completely stalled out, the gears grinding to a screeching halt. âw-what?â he whispered, the syllable popping out of him like a deflating balloon. âdating? us? no! no way! weâre notâi mean, i wish, but no! why would you say that? donât say that out loud, sheâll hear you and get weirded out and then iâll have to move to a different country!â
âare you sharing a single brain cell with the curses you fight?â nobara demanded, shaking him by his collar until his pink hair flew in every direction. âyou peeled her fruit! you gave her your clothes! you went into the back storage room of a convenience store for a specific topping because she mentioned it once days ago!â
âthatâs just being neighborly!â yuji yelled back in a panicked whisper, his hands flailing. âif fushiguro wanted an orange, iâd peel it for him too!â
âif you touch my food, i will sever your fingers,â megumi said from the table, not looking up.
âsee? fushiguroâs just picky!â yuji argued, turning back to nobara with a look of absolute, soul-crushing earnestness. âiâm not dating her, kugisaki. iâm just... trying really hard to be a good friend so she keeps letting me sit next to her. if i told her how i actually feel, sheâd realize iâm just a big dummy who follows her around like a stray dog.â
nobara let go of his collar so abruptly that yuji stumbled backward, hitting the wall with a soft *thud*. she stared at him, her expression a mix of profound disgust and deep, spiritual exhaustion. âyou.. are a medical marvel,â she muttered, rubbing the bridge of her nose. âi genuinely donât know how you survive on a daily basis.â
âhey, yuji?â your voice cut through the tension, clear and soft from across the room.
yuji was back at the table before nobara could even blink, his entire demeanor resetting into that attentive, hovering stance. âyeah! whatâs up? is the drink bad? is it too sweet? i can go backââ
âno, itâs perfect,â you said, looking up at him through your eyelashes, your fingers curling around the warm ceramic of your hands inside his large sleeves. a very real, very noticeable shy smile had crept itâs way to your pretty face. âi was just wondering... if you werenât busy tonight, maybe you could help me study? and... i donât know. we could get dinner after? just the two of us?â
yuji stopped. the entire world seemed to drop away around him. his heart gave a massive, violent thud against his ribs, his chest tightening in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with training or stamina. he looked at the shy smile on your face, the way your fingers were twisting the hem of his hoodie, and something in his chest completely melted into puddle of warm, gooey mush. he knew damn well he didnât know shit about math.
âyeah,â yuji said, his voice softer than usual, a genuine, completely unforced smile breaking across his face as he leaned down slightly, bringing himself to your eye level. âiâd love to. iâll make sure you pass that test, okay? whatever you want to eat, itâs on me.â
from the corner of the room, nobara let out a loud, dramatic groan, throwing her hands in the air as she turned toward the exit. âi canât do this anymore. fushiguro, weâre leaving before the sheer density of his skull creates a black hole and swallows the school.â
âagreed,â megumi said, already standing up and slipping his book into his pocket, passing yuji with a look that said you owe me your life.
as the door slid shut behind them, yuji didnât even notice. he was already pulling up another chair, drawing himself right next to you, his shoulder brushing against yours as he reached out to slide the rest of the oranges closer to your hand.
â perm. taglist , @sh0dor1
Š jumpjo â donât copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners !
âyâthink i havenât been losin sleep over you?â he continues, dragging his mouth along your jaw. âthink i didnât cum with your name in my mouth last night, after you begged so nice n pretty fâme to fuck yâsenseless?â
sober you is a lot less bold, but simon is a man of his word. 18+. insane amount of dirty talk, reader afab, PIV. smut smut smut smut. size kink.
ââââââ-
the headache you wake with is devastating.
biblically so.
and not in the sunday service, waterâintoâwine sort of way. this is oldâtestament vengeance. locusts and brimstone and a hammer slamming the earth between your temples. divine retribution for every godless thing you said, every blurred line you crossed - like some higher power watched you drink yourself stupid last night and said let there be suffering.
and fuck, suffering you are.
youâre barely coherent, hardly sentient, when you squint into the cold morning light and find the realization of what happened last night dawning in on you in fragments. out of order, scrambled like eggs - simonâs arm around your waist. you calling him big. militaryâissued. ruinâherâlifeâinâaâsingleânight kind of hands. been into you for ages. god yes. please. yâdonât know what youâre askin for, sweetâeart. the way he said youâre makin me hard like it physically pained him.
practically moaning into his motherfucking palm.
wait - practically? no. you did.
you spend majority of the morning with your head buried under blankets and pillows mourning the death of your past self because you know your soul must be charred. burnt like the edges of hell where your feet are now firmly planted.
âyou, wakin up with my dog tags round your neck and nothin else.â
fuck sakes.
youâve known hangovers, youâve known embarrassment, but this - this is some divine hybrid of the two. a cocktail of humiliation and mortification laced with whatever residual high youâre still riding from him saying come say it tâme sober like a goddamn dare.
and of course it only gets worse when you finally make it to your feet - teeth brushed twice after two whole water bottles and a shower hot enough to burn the devil out of hell - and notice something silver glinting on the table by your door that most definitely wasnât there yesterday morning.
âohâŚgod.â your heart flips up into your throat.
his dog tags.
youâve known simon long enough to know what this is. he didnât forget them. he didnât misplace them. he left them there to tell you he heard every fuckin word you said and heâs not letting you off the hook for it. itâs a test. if you meant it - which you did - youâll bring them to him. youâll say it to him sober like he asked.
a man of morals. who knew war criminals had it in them.
you spend what has to be a full ten minutes just staring at them - like maybe youâre still drunk, maybe youâre seeing things and theyâll vanish if you focus hard enough. maybe you can unsay every devastatingly honest thing you said with sheer mental fortitude alone and theyâll magically fly back to him on their own.
spoiler alert: they donât move. because of course they donât. and it takes another ten before you finally stuff them into your pocket.
itâs probably best to just rip the bandaid off. bring them to him before you have to face him infront of the others in mess or briefing - damage control before the rest of the world finds out about the stunt you pulled. you donât even know what youâre going to say - sorry? thanks? letâs just pretend i never told you i fantasize about fucking you when i canât sleep?
fuck. it doesnât matter. you know you owe him the return. a peace offering, a penance, a silent white-flag kind of knock on his door.
and so you walk the hall like itâs the green mile. youâve never done a walk of shame but you imagine this has got to be as close as it comes. his door is shut when you reach it, and you stand in front of it like a coward for another unnecessary amount of time - complexion almost ill. ghostly. like you could float right through the fuckin wood if the wind blew hard enough.
finally, you knock.
itâs a moment, and then he answers, filling his doorframe with those thick shoulders stretching a tight black t-shirt, looking right as rain besides damp hair and bloodshot eyes.
you wonder, fleetingly, if he even slept. but then his gaze drops over the length of you and you busy yourself with fighting the urge to run for your fucking life.
you clear your throat. âcan i..uh. can we talk?â
he nods and pops the door open, gesturing for you to come in. you take a few steps into his room - dark, organized, rather sparse - and nearly jump out of your flesh when the door shuts behind you. the click of a cell door closing, announcing your sealed fate.
you spin to face him once his boots have stopped dragging across the tiles, and find him leaning back against his desk - ankles and arms crossed.
you swallow, and pull the tags from your pocket. âi um. i think you forgot these.â
his brow twitches, barely, as he takes a glance at your hand. a flash of something behind his eyes you canât name.
âdid i?â he doesnât move.
you shift your weight. the mortification could eat you alive. youâre certain it currently is.
âfigured iâd bring them back.â you add, quieter now, trying your fucking hardest to sound normal. like you didnât just spend the night saying all kinds of unholy things into the palm of his hand. âincaseâŚuh, you were looking for them.â
he still doesnât take them.
âstrange,â his lips tilt. the first sign heâs shown that he's enjoying this. âcoulda sworn i left emâ somewhere on purpose.â
your stomach flips. you try to laugh but itâs brittle. âright. sure.â
he shrugs. ânot the kinda thing i usually misplace.â
you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you think it might bleed, unsure how to respond to that. itâs hard to even breathe with the way heâs watching you - like heâs taking notes - reading everything youâre not saying in the line of your mouth, in the way your fingers tremble around the chain of his tags.
âshaky this mornin, yeah?â he says, just casually knocking the rest of the wind out of your chest.
âi-â
you falter, because what the fuck are you even supposed to say? no, iâm fine. iâm totally good, actually. i definitely didnât spend all morning curled fetal, praying to gods whoâve certainly damned me for a head injury so i can forget the mental car crash that was last nights events.
simon waits, eyes blazing like youâre a twitchy little experiment. trying to see which wire makes you spark the hardest.
you clear your throat. try again. âmâjust tired.â
âmm.â he hums with a lazy nod. âmusta been all that talkin you were doin.â
and there it is. here it comes.
âcanât really remember, but iâm sure itâs part of it.â you lie with a forced laugh. lie so awkwardly it hurts. âtequila. you know how it is.â
âdo i ever.â he replies, dragging a hand through his damp hair.
silence stretches thick, after that. itâs so thick it makes the walls feel closer, the floor feel further away. you avert your gaze, and realize almost immediately how big of a mistake that is because the motion pulls your eyes across his forearm - his bare, inked forearm, tendons flexing with the movement heâs making.
you remember that arm last night, wrapped tight around your waist. pulling you close before you moaned god yes and please beneath the big hand attached to it like fucking gospel.
when you flinch, he smirks. not even pretending like he didnât notice. âyâremember nothin from last night, then?â
your eyes snap up to his. you hate yourself for the fact that all of last nights confidence seems to be no where in fucking sight.
âbits.â he echos. nodding. âyeah. must be a shame.â
oh god.
âshame?â
âshame tâforget all that detail.â he lets the words sink in, watching your face as he leans a hand on the desk behind him. âpretty interestin things. real deep. could write a bloody novel, the way yâwere goin on.â
âoh.â you choke, again, and mentally slap yourself. get it together. âwell. thats-â
he hums again. âsuppose i could walk yâthrough it.â
âwalk me-â
earth tilts. he doesnât let you finish. âyâknow. help piece it together. fill in the gaps.â
âyou donât-you donât have to-â
he lifts a hand to gesture vaguely toward his bed. your pulse races to the moon.
âyour room, yâwere right there. lookin at me like i was gonna eat yâalive.â his voice lowers. you swallow and it tastes like sin. his finger shifts to the space before his bed. pointing at the edge. âand i was right there, tryinâ like hell tâbe a fuckin gentleman.â
you could laugh, maybe cry, or just absolutely combust right there on the floor because it all floods back in an instant. the way you moaned his name when he knelt over you to undo your boots. the way your thighs tensed as you told him you think about him. the way you stared at him while your brain short circuited and your mouth betrayed every secret you thought youâd die with.
part of you did die, you suppose. the part with your dignity. right there on the floor of your room, next to your boots he took off.
âlook, simon-â
he steps closer now. just a step. âyâsaid youâd been into me for ages.â
you blink, holding your breath.
âsaid yâthink bout me when yâcant sleep.â his voice is a rasp now, the muscle in his jaw ticks. âi asked yâa question, then. dâyou remember it?â
fucking hell.
âyes.â you exhale.
âwhat was it.â
your heart is a jackhammer, breaking through your sternum.
âyou-you asked if i think about you whenâŚâ you hesitate, and he cocks an eyebrow. ââŚwhen i touch myself.â
âyeah.â he says lowly. a breath, not a word. âthaâs right.â
your skin is burning and your limbs feel foreign, at this point. you feel nerve endings pulsing in place you didnât know you even had nerves.
âdâyou remember your answer?â he continues, taking another step toward you.
and itâs then that the anxiety takes over - you blink twice and bite down until you taste blood, shaking your head no. not because youâve forgotten - fucking hell you remember everything - but because saying it out loud feels like jumping out of a plane without a parachute.
he doesnât buy it.
âmm, sure yâdo.â he calls your bluff, says it so soft itâs almost a coo. âyâknow i know your tells - two blinks while bitin the inside of your cheek.â his eyes gleam as his lips twitch. âyâcanât lie tâme, princess.â
christ, you canât help but laugh at that. itâs exactly the reason why youâve been into him - heâs perceptive and cunning and cocky all at once.
this is the man youâve thought about fucking for months.
âyes.â you whisper in admittance. âi said yes.â
âgod yes.â he corrects with another step until heâs so close you have to kink your neck back to meet his eyes. his shoulders swallow the edges of your vision until all you see is him. ââŚstill true?â
you nod. a broken thing. âyes.â
âyeah?â his head tilts, the heat of him sweltering. âyâthink bout me when yâput hands on yourself?â
âsimon-â
he hushes you with a shake of his head, eyes dipping to your lips. âtell me.â
itâs then that you realize dragging this on is for nothing. whatever drunken confession you made last night clearly cracked open whatever restraint simonâs been exercising for months.
clearly whatever you feel, heâs feeling it too.
âyes.â you confess, as firm as you possibly can. nothing coy in it now. âyes, i think about you when im alone. when i touch myselfâŚdoesnât even feel right unless im picturing you. your hands. touching me.â
it all comes out of you in a rushed whisper, desperate and dripping sweet from your lips like itâs been saturating behind your teeth for too long. when he doesnât respond right away, you realize youâve stunned him, and pull on whatever courage you have left to press forward.
âiâve wanted you for so long ive stopped tryin to figure out when it started.â you murmur, lost in his eyes. âand you?â
his breath catches. just the faintest hitch, like he wasnât prepared for the edge of your honesty to turn and face him instead. itâs delectable, the slight composure tilt, but it doesnât last long. because slowly - slowly, his mouth curls into something wrecked. something that says fuckin hell, itâs on.
his knuckles come up to graze your jaw, he lowers his head until his lips find your earâ
âyâaskin if i think bout you when iâve got my fist wrapped round my cock?â you inhale sharply, then choke on it when his mouth brushes your lobe. âcourse i fuckin do.â
your hands lift timidly to find his shirt, curling into it, dog tags still clinking between your fingers.
âyâthink i havenât been losin sleep over you?â he continues, dragging his mouth along your jaw. âthink i didnât cum with your name in my mouth last night, after you begged so nice n pretty fâme to fuck yâsenseless?â
your lashes flutter. his free hand slips around your waist. âfuck, simon-â
âi know, sweetâeart.â he murmurs it, almost gentle, like itâs something you share. âthaâs what yâneed, ainât it? fâme to admit youâre not the only one losin mind here.â
you nod, partly frantic and partly delirious, and he exhales something strained - something from somewhere deep, catching on the parts of him dying to stay patient.
âgood.â his hand slides up the back of your shirt, while the other finds the one of yours still holding his tags. âyâreally come here just to return these, then?â
âno.â it chokes out of you instantly, mouth tilting toward his. âyou wanted me to say it to you sober. made a promise bout what youâd do if i did?â
something feral flashes over his face, at that. translated through the grip he tightens on your waist, the exhale he washes over your jaw.
âyeah.â he says, tight. âi did.â
his mouth is barely a breath from yours.
âwell here i am. sober.â you whisper. âwanting you more than i did while drunk.â
he makes a sound youâve never heard before. not a groan, not a moan, something deep and feral punched straight out of his chest.
âfuckin hell.â
and then heâs kissing you.
no more waiting, no more games. simonâs a man of his word and it shows in the way his mouth crashes into yours - hungry and bruising and impatient - teeth knocking, one hand fisting in the back of your shirt and tearing it off you while the other pulls you in. he spins you both so your ass hits the edge of his desk, and then breaks away - trailing spit slick lips down your jaw and throat, thick fingers working to tease the band of your sweats.
âtell me where yâwant me, sweetâeart.â he growls into your pulse.
you blink, dazed. âi-what?â
his teeth graze just enough to make you whimper, before his mouth drags back up beside your ear - ruinous in the inflection.
âtell me how youâve imagined it,â his finger tips slide under your waistband, just teasing. âwhat youâve pictured when youâre thinkinâ of me like this. right âere.â
âoh god, simon.â you moan by his words alone, too wound to be embarrassed, fingers cinched tight in the fabric of his shirt. âyour-your fingers. your mouth. your cock-â
that sound again. deep and devastated. restraint being ripped out by the roots.
âfuck. filthy thing fâme, arenât you?â he says, as two fingers slide lower, slipping under heat soaked fabric and finding your slit, pressing in no further than they need to before circling back up - spreading the mess youâve made just to feel it. âyouâre fuckin soaked.â
you whimper as he teases your clit. his mouth finds your throat again, teeth grazing where your pulse stutters wild beneath flushed skin. you donât trust your legs to hold you upright under the weight of it all - his touch, his voice, the feral gleam in his eye when he looks at you like youâre some prophecy being fulfilled.
âsâthis what i do tâyou?â he murmurs. âjust from talkin tâyou like this?â
you nod, a frantic little thing. âyes-god, yes.â
he exhales hard like it's kicked out of him, tugging your sweats down until they slide off your ankles before he lifts you back onto his desk and parts your thighs with hands so big they nearly span the entire width of them.
you fucking moan at the sight.
and of course it only fuels him - braces you back on your elbows, spine arched, breath caught in your throat as he steps in close between your legs. his eyes drag down to where you glisten in the dim light - slick, flushed, waiting - and he lets out a curse before returning his fingers to your aching cunt.
he presses in one digit slow, then adds another. knuckle deep until your eyes roll, hips jerking at the stretch.
âoh, fuck-â
he hisses through his teeth. âtight little cunt. fuckin meltin fâme.â
his thumb catches your clit in the same motion - rubbing soft circles, pushing you closer, dragging you toward the edge with every brutal curl of his fingers inside you.
âthat feel good?â he growls against your jaw. âtouched yâself in bed thinkin bout me between your thighs like this?â
youâre panting now. shaking.
âi-â you gasp. âyes, simon-yes-â
âyeah?â his thumb speeds up, his fingers pump deeper, your head spins. âand did yâcum like this? like youâre about to fâme now?â
you donât answer fast enough. he bites at your jaw.
âtell me.â
âno-n-never like thisââ
he growls something vile under his breath. âpoor thing. sâokay. iâve got you.â
your walls flutter around him, your thighs shaking where they frame his hips, and he feels it - feels the beginning of the end stutter through you.
âsimon-â you whinge.
he cuts you off. âlook at me.â
you do. barely.
âthaâs it,â he breathes. âcum on my fuckin fingers. show me what iâve been missin.â
youâre starved for it, beyond saving, and its only a couple more deep pumps before you break.
it floods through you - white hot and searing. you cry out his name as you clamp around his digits, trembling apart on his desk while he watches you like youâre art - jaw clenched, pupils blown - his fingers still moving, dragging you through it until youâre sobbing into his shoulder.
âthere we go.â when it passes and youâre limp, blinking up at him stunned - he withdraws slowly. âattagirl. sâfuckin good.â
you swallow, watching wide eyed as he brings those same fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean.
âbeen dreamin bout that taste, knew itâd be sweet.â he purrs as he leans down, wiping his spit slick digits over your cheek. âgonna need it proper soon.â
you donât even have time to question or respond to that, because then heâs unbuckling his belt.
when you finally look back up, his eyes are wild.
âsâthis what yâwant?â he murmurs, tugging leather through loops before undoing the button at his waist. âwhen you came tâme this mornin, all flushed and pretendin tâbe innocent. was this it? wantinâ me to bend yâover and take what yâfuckin offered?â
you choke as he tugs himself free - thick, leaking at the tip and throbbing - bigger than anything youâve ever seen, nevermind taken.
the nod that follows is compulsive desperation. âholy fuck-yes-â
he smacks light at your thigh. âstand up. bend over fâme.â
you do as youâre told without hesitation - legs shaking as you stand spin and lean forward over the desk - breath still stuttering in your chest, heart going a mile a minute. your hands barely meet wood before heâs on you - no preamble. no breath between. grabs your hips like itâs instinct, like his hands were molded to hold you like this, and yanks you back against him with a roughness that steals whateverâs left in your lungs.
you shudder when he slides his cock against your slit once - twice - dragging the head through slick and stalls notched just shy of your entrance, breathing hard like itâs killing him to wait.
âyâremember what else yâsaid last night?â
you barely manage a nod. your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. he exhales something like a laugh.
ânot compliments. not the fantasies. not the whining.â he drags through your mess again, slower this time. deliberate. âyou saidââ his hips press forward just enough to make you gasp. ââyou wondered if itâd hurt.â
you whine, embarrassed, but god it shoots straight through you. he bends low now, chest flush to your back, mouth to your ear.
âtruth is, it might.â his lips curl into a smile. âso donât fuckin run now.â
and then - only then - he pushes in. you gasp so hard your chest deflates on impact, thick head stretching sopping walls wide and dragging deeper than youâve ever imagined - too much and not enough all at once.
âohfuck-simon-â your head drops toward the desk, eyes stinging.
âmm. thaâs it.â he groans, loud, burying himself halfway before pausing there. âtightest fuckinâbloody hell.â
he presses forward a little more - just enough to make your knees shake as he steadies you with one hand at your hip and grits his teeth. he pulls out just to feel you clench, then shoves back in - hard enough to jolt the desk and feed you all of him before you can even brace for it.
âffffuck-ohfuck-â you wail, knuckles bloodless where they clutch the desk. âyou-youâre-â
âdeep.â he bends over you, grabs a fistful of your hair, and drags your head back to his mouth, voice hot on your skin. âi fuckin know.â
he thrusts once. hard. then again. slower. deeper.
âjesus christ,â he undoes your bra with his free hand, paws at your tits until it hurts. âwalked around this whole time with this cunt made fâme and didnât say a fuckin word.â
âfuck simon-â
âyeah.â he grits against your ear. âthaâs how you moaned it last night. just like that.â
itâs punishing, the pace he sets. each snap of his hips smacking against your ass drags stars down into your retinas - body rocking and cervix kissed with each thrust - his grip is bruising and his mouth works at your neck, forcing noises out of you loud enough to rattle the fucking walls.
it doesnât take long before your chest collapses onto slick wood, drool coated cheek pressed to the desk - vision bleeding white around the edges. heâs relentless - driven, brutal in rhythm, like heâs trying to fuck the memory of your voice out of his head, the memory of your thighs pressed together last night when he walked away instead of dropping to his knees and giving in.
he groans, open-mouthed, flushed everywhere. heâs not just fucking you. heâs wrecking you. dragging you across the edge by the throat and holding your broken pieces together with his own.
âmmf-fuck.â he snarls, burying his fist back in your hair. his palm cracks hard across your ass before snaking around your thigh to find your clit. devastating. âthis. this is what i thought of for months. you. fuckin boneless fâme.â
he pulls out slow with a shuttering exhale, just enough for you to whine before he roars back in - hard and fast, fingers never slowing.
you shriek, squirming with no where to go.
âyâgot no fuckin clue what yâdid to me last night.â heâs panting, fingernails burning your scalp. âsat there slurrin filth. darin me tâdo somethin bout it. tested every fuckin moral iâve got.â
your second orgasm is a charging tide - and god, you know he feels it. you know by the way he rolls his fingers faster to chase it, moans in your ear when your walls flutter around him, fucks you deeper and slower just to drag you over by your hair.
âcum fâme. give me another.â he grits. âlet me fuckin feel it sweetâeart.â
âff-fuck simon! yes-yes-â
you sob, and then it hits you - violent and wet and cataclysmic - like every single one of your fantasies brought to life, like every pathetic orgasm you gave yourself to the thought of him and his fuckin hands all combined to create this. itâs stratospheric depths of bliss, all the colours of the rainbow erupting behind your eyes as he fucks you through it, not stalling his fingers until youâre sobbing.
âmhm. messy little thing.â
he growls with it before pulling out just enough to slap his cock against your soaked cunt, watching the slick stretch, the way you whine and arch out of pure fuckin instinct.
âlook at this pretty cunt,â he rasps, teasing his tip over your clit. âdrippin. tremblin. fuckin cryin fâme.â
you try to say something, try to catch a breath, but that all falls void as he thrusts back in without warning - one brutal, complete thrust, pushing everything out of you. screams, his name, your fucking soul. he groans as his hand finds your jaw, forcing your head to turn just enough so he can see your face. cheeks flushed, tears caught in your lashes.
âshh. donât runâdonât fuckin run,â he growls against your mouth, arm cinched tight across your waist when your hips jerk away like itâs too much. âyâasked for this. said it tâme sober.â
âsi-simon. please.â itâs breathless, ruined, wrecked beyond meaning, your mouth falling open on another sob when his hips grind deeper, when the head of him kisses a spot that has your knees giving out entirely. âfuck. sâgood. sâm-much-â
âyeah?â he snarls. âsâgood, huh?â
you nod something pathetic, lost for words. broken around him.
âwant yâto think bout this when youâre alone.â his free hand drags down to your stomach, rests just high on your pelvis, feeling where heâs drilling. âhow deep mâburied in this tight little cunt. how good my name feels in your fuckin throat.â
another nod. another hiccuped moan dragged out of you. ây-yes-yes iâll think about it-mmff-â
âmhm,â he kisses you once. fleeting and viscous and hot. âgood. sâgood.â
a few more ragged thrusts and a sound gets torn from him, pulled from somewhere deep, feral and hoarse and ragged. his hips punch forward one final time, burying himself to the hilt, and thenâ
âfuckâfuck.â
he lets go.
he groans, voice breaking at the edges, forehead falling to the space between your shoulder blades. he pulses deep inside you, all of his pent up heat flooding you full until heâs spent, until heâs got nothing left to give and collapses against your back in one shuddering, boneless exhale.
and when itâs over, itâs just breathing - a long quiet moment full of everything neither of you know how to say before you register that heâs moving - leaning over you to grab at where his dog tags were discarded on the desk.
he slips them around your neck, and then pulls out.
âman of mâword, sweetâeart.â he whispers against your jaw. âthis isnât over.â
âyâwanna know what stupid looks like?â he mutters, head dropping down until his lips near your jaw. âyou, wakin up with my fuckin dog tags round your neck and nothin else.â
repost from my old deleted account tobeholyistobeempty - tispy simon riley x drunk reader. simon is a man of morals, even when you make it very very hard for him to exercise them. 18+. lots of detailed dirty talk.
ââââ-
itâs honestly not even your fault.
youâll blame it all on soap, if anyone asks - heâs the one who had a tab open, a devil on his shoulder, and kept pouring shots as if they were free. now youâre blackout-adjacent, stumbling through the hallway with simonâs arm wrapped around your waist in some makeshift tourniquet while everything spins like a goddamn carousel.
simon always gets stuck on clean-up crew. mostly because heâs the only one who can handle their fuckin liquor.
needless to say, heâs used to this by now. used to the way youâve been rambling on about nothing for the better part of five minutes - doesnât say much when you stop and get distracted by something stupid for the billionth time. doesnât complain when you grab his arm and lean a little too hard into his side, as if heâs a lifeline in the sea that is the floor beneath your feet.
heâs tipsy, sure, but somehow still annoyingly steady. classic simon.
âjesussiâyouâre big.â itâs slurred and breathless, broken by your own laughter as your head drops lazily onto his shoulder. âlike, industrial grade. military-issued big.â
the corner of his mouth tilts. if you were sober youâd see the smirk heâs biting back.
âtha right?â
âmmm. like a fuckin tank,â you hum, fingers kneading the muscle under your palm. itâs involuntary - just like itâs involuntary when he twitches. âor an armoured vehicle. yâshould come with airbags.â
simon bites his cheek. the devil in you is dancing in the waves of tension rolling off him.
maybe heâs not as used to this as he thought - because this isnât just drunk-banter. this is you, murmuring compliments with all that heat behind them. personal. stupidly involuntarily honest.
hes not used to compliments. not ones that sound like that.
âyouâre drunk,â he breathes.
you grin. âsoâre you.â
ânot even half as much as you.â
you let out a giddy little laugh that makes him glance down, at that. itâs quick and brief, the way his eyes flick over you, like heâs checking to make sure you havenât stripped mid-hallway. itâs just the bickering that gets you. makes you warm inside.
âmânot that drunk,â you lie through your teeth with all the drunken confidence you possess. âi meanâi am, but not likeâŚmemory loss drunk. iâm still gonna remember how wide your shoulders are tomorrow.â
itâs only seconds after that and your fingers are moving again, crawling down his arm to where leather edge meets skin.
â..and how insanely big your hands are,â you sigh in continuation, unable to help yourself. âlikeâbiblically destructive. ruin-her-life-in-a-single-night kind of hands. anyone ever tell yâthat?â
and that might just be precisely when it starts - the feeling in his gut. brought to life through the filth youâre beginning to feed.
âdonât.â he says, and itâs torn. ânot now.â
heâs all but begging you - and however miraculously, his pace doesnât break. still steady as ever even as you switch from squeezing to tracing his tattoos with your finger. the only response he gives is a devastating clench of his jaw as he keeps you moving - steering past flickering lights and sterile walls.
âyâever choke a girl out with them?â you press, unfettered. ânot like, unconscious, but like. in bed?â
he exhales. slow. almost a growl.
âjesus. stop talkinâ.â
âwhy?â you blink up at him, all wide eyes and flushed cheeks, far too innocent for someone whoâs very much not being innocent. âam i makinâ you nervouuus?â
his head tilts just slightly, just enough to peer down at you again.
âno,â he says, and even drunk you hear the grit in it. âyouâre makinâ me hard.â
he says it like he hates himself for it. like it slipped out - cut from the meat of some deep place the inebriation in his veins simply wonât let him keep inside.
and you?
you blink slow, lips parting in surprise.
âfuckinâ finally.â you exhale with a smile. slow and crooked and dangerous. âthought iâd have to be on my knees and naked for you to admit thatââ
he doesnât let you finish that thought.
âfuckâs sake, yâlittle minx.â heâs dragging you now, as if heâs realizing the dangers that are surfacing the more this conversation continues. by this point heâs half-carrying, half-hauling your giggling form down the hall like you weigh nothing. âyâneed to stop talkin.â
âyou like it,â you slur between unsteady steps. âyâlike me like this cause youâre a freakkkââ
his grip tightens. morals in tatters. control evaporating.
âiâd like you more if yâwere unconscious.â he huffs, hard. âor duct-taped.â
that makes you giggle more. worse, it eggs you on.
âwas that supposed tâbe a threat?â you ask, lips glistening. âcause if so, itâs workingggg.â
he grunts - some deep, violent sound in his throat like that one hit a nerve. âbloody hell.â
by the time you make it to your door, heâs breathing heavy. less from exertion and more from sheer fucking restraint. it takes two seconds before he throws the hinges wide, kicks it shut with his boot, and all but drags you onto your bed.
and you hardly even realize youâve reached it until the cotton caresses the side of your cheek. but that feeling is quickly forgotten when simon, the gentleman that he is, leans over you - one knee braced on the mattress as his hands go to work on the laces of your boots.
your thighs tense. he notices.
âfuck, simon.â you canât stop yourself. not even god himself could, at this point. âiâve been into you for ages, yâknow.â
he pauses. boot in hand.
ââŚwhat?â
he says it low. like a warning - like a donât you fuckin start. but youâre too drunk to care - especially when all you smell is him and all you see are those shoulders, leaning over you while youâre flat on your back beneath him.
your lashes flutter.
âjus sayin- since, like. youâre in my room, on my bed above me like one of my codeine fever dreams.â you slur, brain sloshing. the room spins with it. âthought yâshould know.â
he looks at you like youâve hit him with a brick.
your head lolls. glassy eyes dragging up over the length of him. âused to think about itâyouâwhen i couldnât sleep.â
he swallows, and you watch his throat work with it. the grip heâs got on your ankle could shatter bone.
ââŚ.you tellin me yâthink bout me when yâtouch yourself?â he asks.
âgod yes.â you donât even realize youâve said it. âyou. your hands. bending me over the sinks. in the showers while muttering filth in my ear, tellin me to behaveââ
ââfuck.â it punches out of him like it hurts.
the silence falls heavy. he doesnât blink, breathe, or move for what feels like forty minutes, when in reality, itâs like forty seconds - just long enough for him clamp the leash back on whatever beast is tearing through him.
not fully, but enough.
you stretch like a cat, oblivious to it. arch your back. sigh. âdâyou think about it?â
he doesnât answer. not at first. thenâ
âonly when i breathe.â
your stomach lurches. your thighs twitch. âyou mean that?â
he looks at you, finally - eyes darker than the devils deal, filled with filth and heat from the fire you started without even trying.
he shakes his head, his jaw clenches with the effort of keeping the beast at bay. âi mean, if you donât stop talkin, mâgonna fuckinâ fold.â
the alcohol in your blood just roars, at that. fuel to the flaming fire inside you.
âtell me.â you murmur. âyou think about fucking me? what iâd sound like moaning yourââ
before you can finish that thought, his hand is over your mouth. it swallows your face, makes you twitch in all the wrong places â and he sees it.
âenough.â itâs barely a whisper. âchrist. fuck. youâre gonna make me do somethinâ stupid.â
you moan against his hand - it spills out of you, vibrates against his fingers. he curses.
âyâwanna know what stupid looks like?â he mutters, head dropping down until his lips near your jaw. âyou, wakin up with my fuckin dog tags round your neck and nothin else.â
his palm silences everything but your pulse, which is roaring, at this point.
your fingers come up, shift a few of his digits until your voice finds room to leak out. âplease.â
his eyes snap shut.
âyâdont know what youâre askin for, sweetâeart,â he mutters, grabbing the edge of the blanket with his free hand and yanking it over your hips. âainât gonna wake up with you hatin me.â
even drunk you realize heâs a man of morals.
âyou think iâd regret it?â you whisper. stars in your eyes. he doesnât respond. âsimon. i just told you iâve fantasized about fucking you. i wonder how big you are, if itâd hurtââ
his palm tightens over your lips again.
âone more fuckinâ word and iâll forget every goddamn reason why i shouldnât touch you right now.â he spits. âif yâeven remember this tomorrow, yâcome say it to me sober. promise on every grave iâve ever stood over iâll bend yâover on the spot and fuck the idea of regret right outta you.â
then he pulls back, moving slow like it hurts, and you smile.
âguess iâll see you tomorrow.â
âmhm.â he hums, take a step or two toward the door. âfuckin hope you will.â
Watching all the lightening strikes of the thunderstorm outside my window and thinking how Sunshine and Simon would be during a thunderstormâŚ
âSunshine,â Simon groaned, âCome back to bed.â
âYeah in a minute oh thereâs another one Si!â
You had been stood at the large window with the curtains open for the last hour since you woke up and said âI smell rain.â And Simon had confirmed that there was a thunderstorm rolling in. The pressure had been building all day and of course he had been tracking it with the lightening tracker app on his phone.
Then the first lightening flash had lit up the sky and you were out of bed and at the window in seconds, before the thunder arrives.
He hears you cross the floor. He hears the curtains being pulled back. He does not open his eyes.
The second strike comes and you make a sound that is somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, delighted and involuntary.
"Sunshine.â
"Yeah in a minute ooooo, there's another one, Si, did you see that one?"
He has not seen that one. He is lying on his back with one arm over his face in the dark of the bedroom while his wife stands at the window in her pyjamas conducting a private love affair with a thunderstorm.
"Come back to bed."
"In a minute."
He opens one eye.
You are standing at the large window with both hands on the glass, your face turned up to the sky, lit intermittently by the lightning in a way that makes you look angelic.
He opens the other eye.
"Si," you breathe, "look at that one."
He looks. Through the window the sky splits white and enormous, the whole landscape thrown into a second of stark relief â the garden, the lavender, the fields beyond the fence â and then the dark comes back and two seconds later the thunder arrives, a low rolling thing that moves through the glass and into the floor and into his chest.
You turn to look at him with a smile, eyes bright and glassy.
"Come look," you say.
He should say no. He should say âit's two in the morning, sunshine, come back to bed.â He should say a great number of sensible things and none of them are going to make any difference whatsoever.
He gets up.
He crosses the room and he stands behind you, settling back against his chest, his arms coming around you, your hands covering his on the windowsill now.
Outside, the lightning is coming in intervals now, the thunder close enough that you feel it as much as hear it. The rain arrives properly, sheeting against the window, and you make that sound again, the delighted involuntary one.
"There," you say softly, as another strike splits the sky. âItâs so pretty Si.â You sigh, a happy lilt in your voice.
olderbf!toji reassures you about your smaller chest ę°âĄ
"toji, are my boobs too small?" you ask quietly, laid in bed with your older boyfriend, finally popping the question that had been weighing on your mind.
before you came along, toji was no saint when it came to women. you were fully aware heâd been with women of all sizes, especially women with bigger breasts.
did he secretly wish yours were bigger? you couldnât help but overthink. although, in fairness to yourself, it was easy to overthink with a man like toji â heâs practically every womanâs wet dream.
toji shoots you a somewhat disgusted look, wondering why on earth youâd ask him such a question. he quickly began to wonder if this was his fault â if he hadnât been showing you enough love.
"yâknow i love your pretty tits, baby" he responds, voice softening, offering gentle reassurance.
you turn to look at him. "thatâs not what i asked. do you think theyâre too small? would you prefer if they were bigger?âŚ"
toji gathers you in his strong arms, laying you against his chest before pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. "donât care about size. i love emâ cause theyâre yours," he says, ruffling your hair.
you sigh, trying your hardest to believe him. "youâre just saying that because you have to, cus you donât wanna upset me."
"donât have to say anything. iâm beinâ honest. think iâm some teenage boy who cares how big your tits are?" toji adds, reaching down your shirt to cup one of your breasts.
he brushes his thumb over your nipple, feeling it harden under his touch. "love everything about you. wouldnât change a thing. you hear me?"
you begin to smile faintly, still feeling slightly insecure of yourself, but not half as much as before. toji still senses some doubt, knowing he has to give you a little more reassurance.
"cmere, princess," toji demands gently, sitting up and pulling you onto his lap so youâre straddling him. he lifts your shirt up and off your body, throwing it on the floor like itâs offensive.
he takes both of your breasts in his hands, squeezing them softly before leaning in to suck them into his mouth one after another. "fuckinâ perfect," he murmurs against your skin.
you giggle softly, bracing your hands on his broad shoulders. "you think so?"
toji hums lowly as he swirls his tongue around one of your nipples, releasing it with a wet pop. "i know so."
you smile again â more sincerely this time. "thank you. feel a little better," you say, kissing his forehead as he kneads the small mounds of flesh in his hands.
"a little?" he purrs, mouth worshipping your other breast now, "guess iâll have to keep emâ in my mouth until you believe me."
you chuckle softly again. "i guess you will."
a/n; iâve gotten this request a good handful of times so thought it was time i wrote it. listen, baddies!!! all boobs are hot. big, small, in between, droopy, perky, one bigger than the other (pretty much the case for all boobs btw) IT DOESNT MATTER <3
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