(The best of this post and its reblogs, but with links that work)
Here is a website where you can scroll down to all the different levels of the ocean
Here is a website where you can see the future of the universe
Here is a website where you can press a ‘make everything okay’ button, over and over, until things really are okay
Here is a website that you can read if you feel like a burden
Here is a website where you can look at strobe illusions (TW strobe/flashing)
Here is a website where you can cut stuff up (TW blood/sh)
Here and here are websites where you can play with sand
Here is a website where you can draw with macaroni and other fun foods
Here is a website where you can paint someone’s nails
Here is a website where you can grow a garden with emojis
Here is a website with hundreds of videos of people hugging you (rightfully dubbed ‘the nicest place on the internet’ because it really is, y’all, it made me cry)
Here is a website that will take you to other useless websites
Here is a website where you can make a tiny cat play bongo drums (and other instruments!)
Here is a website to help give you gentle reminders <3
Here is a website where you can grow a tiny farm
Here is a website where you can take a bunch of scientific personality tests
The timing of this post is actually insane. Spent the day watching years of family issues explode in real time, getting a surprise front-row seat to a confrontation, and generally feeling like my brain got put in a blender. Add in questionable math scores too, an emergency 7/11 trip, and the kind of day that makes you want to stare at a wall and probably cry for a bit. Well i did cry, fuck my life
Not to vaguepost, but if you had told me this morning that I’d end the day exhausted from both family drama and math, then find a post full of cat links, virtual hugs, funny videos, and little things to do when life gets too loud, I would’ve believed you immediately.
Seeing this right now feels oddly comforting. Thanks, Tumblr.
König stammering and blushing when you confessed your attraction to him.
König couldn't get away fast enough the first time. He was so shocked that someone like you would ever want to be with someone like... someone like him.
He always catches himself staring at you, especially when you're not paying attention. Actually, it's almost always when you're not paying attention. You almost caught him once and he swore he would've collapsed right there on the spot.
When König built up the courage to go talk to you, it... well, let's just say rather than smoothly confess that he indeed liked you back, he just blurted it out. But hey, he scored a date with you as a result!
As the relationship progresses, König becomes more and more comfortable with you. You described him as a 'flower in bloom' once and he thought it was the most beautiful thing someone ever told him.
Of course, you love to shower him with compliments and pet names and he soaks it all up like a sponge.
You also never forgot the first time he called you Schatzi. He looked like a deer in headlights when you asked him what it meant. König will never forget the way your face lit up. mein Gott.
König is a little self-conscious of his size and strength. He doesn't want to hurt you, Schatzi. He never wants to hurt you. You assure him that he won't, that you're not afraid, and that he'll always be your gentle giant. You love his bear hugs.
König's cheeks are burning and he's doing his damndest to avoid looking at you. Why you ask? Because you blatantly, openly ogle him every chance you get. ESPECIALLY when he walks. You may or may not walk behind him to, uh... get a good look at the view. And damn what a view it is...
Your gentle giant also loves teaching you how to better defend yourself. You usually win whenever you two spar. It sounds impossible as hell but all it takes is a kiss on the cheek, a lecherous grin, or a knowing wink and König is down for the count. Just Kingly things, y'know?
The first time soap asks what your holiday plans are, you make a joke and successfully avoid the question.
The second time soap asks, you give some on the spot lie about going to a friend's house. It's a shitty lie at best, and a downright obvious one to an SAS soldier. Apparently sorting their papers haven't gifted you with the same skills they have.
The third time...soap doesn't ask. Instead, ha hands you a piece of paper with an address and date scrawled on it, and promises "if yer not here by six, ahm' finding you and taking you myself."
The house in front of you is unremarkable, and you look between the silver numbers on the mailbox and the scrap of paper in your hand. Yes, that's right. There's lights up outside, but beyond that there's no extra decorations.
"Ah, You made it, kid! Come in, stay out o' the kitchen." The door swings open, and captain price greets you. You stare at him for a long moment, shocked to see your boss when soap didn't mention anyone...actually, he didn't tell you anything.
You sigh and walk in, a bit confused.
The interior has much more decorations. Hand-made paper chains, garland, and little ornaments travel from one room to the other. Warm light, and the smell of cooking fill your senses. "The kid's here!" Price announces to the house, closing the door.
"About fuckin' time!" Comes a voice deeper in and...is that lieutenant riley? Sure enough, you follow the voice to the kitchen, and see ghost.
He's standing over the stove, every burner being used as he seamlessly switches between pans. He's wearing a frilly 'kiss the cook' apron, and you realize this is the first time you've seen him without the mask. Ghost looks up, expression blank except for the squint of his eyes "glad you could make it."
...huh? Before you can really ponder why anyone would be glad you made it, a hand grabs you by the shoulders and gaz comes into view.
"C'mon, tables set, we were waitin' for you." He grins, leading you to a dinner table filled with various dishes. This room, like all of them, is decorated.
Kyle sits you down next to soap, and you watch dumbly as ghost brings out more dishes to the table. The others find their seats, and that's when it hits you "...you...you're celebrating with me? Like...intentionally?"
Soap smiles warmly at you, already filling up his plate and yours when you don't move "yeah, kid. Yer family, aye?"
"...oh." you reply quietly, tears welling slightly. Everyone pretends to be too focused on the food to see how you wipe your eyes.
pairing: stalker!simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader
synopsis: you thought you were just being paranoid, looking over your shoulder every time you walk home from the café after the closing shift. a movement here, a shadow there—a stalker, you concluded. but when strange things started happening inside your house, you knew you were not dealing with just any stalker. [wc: 3.9k].
note: i saw this prompt by @andromacheofappalachia and immediately though of ghost because that man has high potential to become unhinged. this took longer to write than i thought because i couldn't decide whether to use ghost's or reader's POV, so after going back and forth, i did both! turns out, i'm capable of writing happy(?) endings after all.
tags: stalking; possessiveness; creepy behaviour; caring behaviour?; fluff?; coffee shop AU; break-in; mw3 spoilers; ex-military!ghost; unhinged!ghost; reader is a college student; age gap
masterlist
living in the big city—those words had always sounded enticing to you. but when you actually moved to go to college, you didn't expect city life to be this hectic. three months in and the glamour had worn off, revealing the ugliness beneath.
you lived in a dingy apartment near the local park, with a broken entrance door and flickering hallway light. yet you worked to the bone just to keep that roof over your head and put food on the table. still, it was home and you were determined to at least make it until graduation.
the coffee machine hissed angrily as you wiped sweat from your brow. your eyes were bloodshot because you were up late finishing an essay last night. three midterms were coming up, rent was due in two days and the morning rush had brought in a tsunami of caffeine-hungry customers.
your fingers trembled slightly as you packed another portafilter with mediocre coffee grounds. the double shift you took yesterday did a number on your muscles.
"large oat milk latte!" you called out, forcing a bit more brightness into your customer service voice. today was not your day and it was only getting started.
the sky was gloomy, as it usually was during the cold winter months. outside, the streets were wet from rain. shallow puddles on the ground splashed beneath people's shoes as they walked by. contrasting the cold hues, the café's warm lights shone from its windows, painting gold onto the damp pavement outside.
when the morning rush passed, you were finally able to breathe. you attempted to mend the broken vanilla syrup pump which was your colleague's doing when the door chime ringing caught your attention. another customer.
you fixed your messy hair and smoothed out the beige apron that you wore over your oversized sweater. a man walked inside the cosy café and you gave him a smile.
"hi, what can i get you?" you asked, keeping your voice warm despite the slight undertone of exhaustion.
you'd never seen this man before, he was definitely not one of the regulars. despite the large volume of customers and seeing new faces every day, there was just something very distinct about this one.
he was big—tall as he was buff. his head, mostly hidden under a grey beanie, showed tufts of blond hair that stuck out. though his face was mostly obscured beneath a black surgical mask, the man owned the most beautiful pair of deep-set brown eyes you'd ever seen. under the café lights, they almost looked like caramel candies.
and yet, they were also the most tired pair of eyes you'd seen all week, like he hadn't had a good night's sleep in days. there was just something about them that you likened to yourself, eliciting sympathy from you.
he mumbled his order, his voice rough and kinda hot, with a distinct manchester accent, "black coffee, one sugar. takeaway."
quick and simple.
"of course, coming right up."
you worked with swift hands, movements steady and habitual. your mind was too preoccupied with an internal debate—how can he look so attractive when i can't even see his face?—to notice that his gaze never strayed from you the entire time.
after making the coffee, you handed him his drink and threw in a free cookie. "on the house," you said calmly, before turning your attention to the next customer, who happened to be a regular. you greeted her warmly and soon got started on her usual.
why did i do that? you thought as you worked on making the next drink. you knew you were going to have to pay out of pocket for that, yet you still gave a random guy a free cookie.
perhaps it was those damn eyes or...
you didn't want to think too much about it, so you settled with a simple 'just because' and 'kindness begets kindness' to justify your spontaneous action.
the man paused for a second as he silently accepted the freebie, casting you a final, lingering glance before heading out the door.
the days blurred. your life was mostly made up of lectures, essays, some group projects, and of course, your job at the café. during off-peak hours, when your manager wasn't present, you would be hunched over at the table near the counter, studying in your free time. a packet of your favourite strawberry milk would always accompany you.
you noticed that the man from the other day had started showing up every now and then. a repeat customer was always great for business, so you gave yourself a pat on the back for giving him that cookie (which you assumed was the catalyst).
he always sat in the quiet corner by the window, alone. his order never varied either—black coffee, one sugar.
still, it was nothing out of the ordinary to you. the café gained and lost regulars all the time, and this man was no different. until two months later, when it was the third time this week that the man sat at the café, ordering nothing but his usual.
you moved towards his table. "can i get you anything else, sir?"
he met your gaze directly for the first time that day. "no, thank you."
nodding, you collected his empty cup with a smile.
"you're here a lot," you said, the words slipping out before professionalism could catch it. a warmth crept up your face. "sorry, that was—"
"i am," the man agreed, cutting off your embarrassment. "good place to think."
you nodded, clutching his empty cup and silently hoping you didn't offend him. "well, we appreciate the business."
later that day, your manager scolded you, something about the ice machine not working. you tried so hard to hold back words that might cost you this miserable job.
you were determined not to let a bad day at work ruin the rest of your evening, so you bought a small tub of ice cream on your way home. in your mind, you could already hear your mother's voice scolding you for eating ice cream in the middle of winter, but you didn't care. a sweet treat is a sweet treat.
tugging your hood lower, you picked up your pace as you walked towards your apartment building. it was late and the streets were quiet. luckily there were a handful of other pedestrians in the vicinity to ease your nerves. you were never the biggest fan of walking alone in the dark.
eventually, you couldn't shake the feeling that someone was staring at the back of your head. a glance over your shoulder showed nothing but shadows. how strange.
your hand dug into your pocket and grabbed your keys readily. as you passed the alley near the old laundromat, you could've sworn you saw movement for a split second. tall, broad—there and then gone again.
your building loomed ahead, the familiar cracked steps promising safety. the entrance door was still broken, so you were quickly able to bypass that. but that also meant that whoever was following you could too.
nearly running, you fumbled with the keys when you reached your front door, your fingers stiff and clumsy from the cold. paranoia crawled into your mind and the feeling that someone was out there became impossible to ignore.
finally your lock turned and you darted inside, slamming the door shut behind you before promptly locking it. your heart was racing in your chest and you tried your best to get rid of that uneasiness in your stomach.
silently, you pressed your ear against the door, trying to discern if there was actually someone that followed you home. no footsteps followed. no knock, nor voice. your peephole showed only an empty hallway.
with a sigh, you slowly backed away before taking off your jacket. everything was okay.
what you weren't aware of was the dark figure lingering at the end of the hallway outside your door, eyes fixed on where you had just disappeared into your apartment.
a few days later, it began.
you were still half-asleep with the taste of toothpaste clinging to your tongue, before freezing the second you saw a paper bag on your counter. you didn't remember putting it there and you definitely remembered locking your door last night.
apprehensive, you took a peek inside. there was a loaf of bread, fresh strawberries and the expensive tea you only let yourself buy on payday. there was no receipt and no explanation.
maybe i left it there, you tried to reason with yourself. maybe you bought it and you just forgot. stranger still, when you opened your fridge, you swore there were more things inside than yesterday.
the next week, it happened again. this time, the package was in your bathroom, arranged carefully beside the sink. it was an entire stock of your favourite skincare products that you so frugally used to make them last as long as possible.
that night you slept poorly, waking up every hour with the feeling that your apartment wasn't entirely yours anymore.
by the third time, you stopped trying to make excuses. you came home to find a cardboard box on your bed. inside was a soft blanket, a six-pack of your favourite strawberry milk and a book you'd mentioned wanting in passing to a customer at the café weeks ago.
suddenly, the air in your apartment felt different. every shadow in the corners seemed darker, like it was hiding something, someone. you found yourself checking behind the shower curtain, under the bed, inside the wardrobe.
absolutely nothing. it made you feel like you were slowly going crazy. when you turned off the light that night, the smell of cigarette smoke lingered faintly in the air.
within the same week, you had asked your landlord to change the lock of your apartment, but he didn't grant you permission, so you settled with installing a chain lock to your door.
it had been another long day. your wrists ached from scrubbing tables and your back was sore from standing on your feet for way too long.
rent was late again. you could go on and on about the disproportionate increase of living costs vs. minimum wage, but that wouldn't help the headache you were starting to feel.
by the time you stepped into your apartment, you allowed your mind and body to decompress. you tossed your bag onto the couch, letting out a long, tired sigh.
that's when you saw another brown paper bag sat neatly on your kitchen counter.
you hadn't gone shopping in a while, yet there it was. two fresh persimmons, a carton of eggs, even a loaf of sourdough from the bakery down the road (the one you couldn't afford anymore) and of course, your favourite strawberry milk drink.
the first and second time this had happened, you freaked out. now… you didn't know what to feel. you had reported it to the police the moment it became suspicious, but you were told that "without substantial evidence" they "aren't able to take any action", so you dropped it. cops were unreliable anyways.
in the beginning, you were unsettled and paranoid, as you should be.
but after months of feeling invisible, worn down by bills and loneliness, the thought of someone caring enough to notice what you liked and needed… it was warm and comforting.
besides, with money tight, the gestures seemed almost luxurious considering that you could barely afford most of these things anymore.
so you didn't tell anyone and kept quiet about the situation.
lieutenant simon riley thought he was fucked up in the head from the torture he went through all those years ago. but after the shit that happened with makarov and losing his best friend, he reached new lows.
unable to function properly in the military and therefore becoming 'useless' to the higher-ups, john price recommended an early retirement for him. it took a lot of convincing (and a physical altercation between him and the captain), but simon finally agreed to leave the military for his own good.
then it started with a singular cup of coffee. it was supposed to be a nothing day. just a quick trip to the nearest café for some bean water.
for some reason, simon had chosen to take the long way, with no real destination in mind. the streets were quiet and wet from rain under the pale winter sky. shallow puddles on the ground splashed beneath his boots as he walked.
his civilian life still felt… foreign. there was no hum of comms in his ear, no target to watch, nor the persistent feeling that his life was in imminent danger. this was new, but he was starting to get used to it.
the café he randomly picked was small, wedged between a laundromat and a shop with a flickering neon sign. warm light shone from its windows, bleeding onto the wet pavement. he stepped inside with no reason other than to escape the rain and grab a quick cup of caffeine.
you were stood behind the counter, hair a little messy, wearing a beige apron. there were dark circles under your tired eyes and simon guessed it was from long nights and too many shifts. typical city dweller—you wouldn't be the first overworked person he'd met that day.
yet when you caught his gaze, you smiled. a genuine smile, like you meant it. not the fake, dead-eyed customer service smile he grew accustomed to.
"hi, what can i get you?" you asked. he heard the fatigue in your voice, but still you tried to sound friendly.
"black coffee, one sugar. takeaway," simon muttered without much courtesy.
"of course, coming right up."
his eyes were glued on you as you worked.
after he paid and you handed him his drink, you suddenly added a cookie to his order. "on the house," you said, before another customer stepped forward to the counter.
simon was caught off-guard. people didn't just… give like that. not to strangers, let alone to intimidating men his size with a demeanour that screamed leave me the fuck alone. you just slid the cup across the counter along with the packaged cookie, your fingers brushing his.
something shifted in him. simon told himself it was nothing, that he'd forget you the second he stepped outside.
but that night, lying in bed, he kept replaying the sound of your laugh when you greeted the next customer and the way you'd added the cookie to his order for whatever reason.
in his world, it was rare to be looked at without suspicion or fear. it was rarer still for someone to see him and offer kindness anyway.
the next day, he found himself walking the same route. just in case. by the end of the week, he knew your schedule and near the end of the month, he stopped denying it.
you'd given him a cookie once and now he wanted everything.
it's been over a month and simon had become a regular at the café.
he watched from his corner table, steam rising from the untouched black coffee before him. his eyes tracked your movements through the reflection in the window, a habit from years of surveillance work that civilian life couldn't erase.
the dark circles under your eyes had deepened since yesterday, he noticed. your posture communicated exhaustion, but the smile you put on your face remained genuine, like you were intent on pushing through another day with a grin.
he'd been keeping an eye on you for a while now. first out of curiosity for the person who gave him a free snack. but eventually, he noticed the quiet determination that radiated from your hunched form as you studied textbooks during off-peak hours.
fascinating, he though to himself. he hadn't seen this kind of buoyancy in a person since johnny's passing since the military. something about that stubborn resilience had triggered his attention.
and attention, for simon, had always been a dangerous thing to give.
his fingers tapped a silent rhythm against the wooden tabletop, counting the time as you moved between tables. twenty-seven seconds since you last greeted a customer, nineteen since you took a breather when the manager wasn't looking.
he knew your schedule by heart now: monday and wednesday classes until 14:00, work until 20:30, tuesdays and thursdays in class until 17:00, friday double shifts at the café, weekends varied.
simon also knew you lived in the apartment near the local park, the one with a broken entrance door. he often stared at the window that faced the alley, curtains too thin to hide your silhouette studying late into the night.
he sipped on his now-lukewarm coffee, watching as your manager chewed you out (again) for something out of your control (again). your face remained blank, but simon caught the slight tremor in your hands and the way your jaw clenched in irritation.
"pathetic," he muttered under his breath, though whether that was directed at you, the manager or himself remained unclear. simon was a former special forces lieutenant who served for almost twenty years, yet here he sat, obsessing over a college student like some lovesick teenager.
but they aren't just any student, he tried to justify. they're... different.
simon followed you home that night, keeping to the shadows as you trudged through the downpour of rain. you didn't see him, you never did. even as you looked over your shoulder, sensing a disturbance.
he watched you fumble with three different keys before finally finding the right one and disappearing into the your apartment. the urge to follow you inside had been almost overwhelming. he wanted to see the private spaces where you existed when no one was watching, where you kept your socks, what your nightly routines were.
but the time was not right yet.
soon, he promised himself.
simon had observed you for neaarly two months now and frankly, the urge to break into your apartment was impossible to resist at this point. he'd spent nearly every night watching you through your bedroom window, imagining what your private space looked like.
after weeks of deliberation, he finally made a move.
the front door lock was laughable. one turn of his pick set and it gave with a soft click. simon slipped inside, shutting the door behind him quietly. this felt like the countless infiltration missions he went on in the past.
your apartment was small, nothing fancy. wallpaper peeled in the corners of your walls and the radiator pipes made little rattling noises. but it felt homey—cosy furniture and decoration, along with the overwhelming scent of you.
he stood there for a moment, taking it all in. he'd imagined this space a hundred times from the outside and now he could see it all.
simon moved carefully, eyes scanning over the living room. a second-hand couch stood in front of a small TV and on the coffee table was an unfinished cup of tea next to a stack of textbooks with sticky notes jutting from the edges.
in the kitchen, he checked the cupboards and noticed that there was barely enough food to last the week. a small crease formed between his eyebrows. i knew they weren't eating properly, he thought. that won't do.
he drifted into your bedroom last. the bed was unmade, your sweater was tossed over a chair and the faintest hint of your perfume clung to it.
without thinking, simon's touched the fabric and held it up to his face to take a long whiff. your scent stirred something deep inside him.
he didn't touch anything else. at least, not yet. tonight was about learning and mapping the space, much like the recon missions he used to go on.
before he left, he set a small paper bag on the kitchen counter, containing a loaf of fresh bread, strawberries and some nice tea.
simon locked the door behind him—you would never know he'd ever been there. but now that he crossed the threshold once, he knew it wouldn't be the last time.
after he first broke into your apartment, simon had been keeping an extra keen eye on you, trying to discern your reactions.
at first, he noticed how skittish you seemed, looking over your shoulder every now and then, as if you were waiting for something. he almost felt bad.
he knew that you contacted the police, but he also counted on the fact that law enforcement would not put investigating a supposed break-in incident on a random college student on their priority list.
at one point, you put a chain lock on your door, but of course, that didn't deter him from sending his packages. if he could pick locks and hack into complex security systems, a simple chain was definitely not stopping him.
no matter what you tried, you weren't going to get rid of simon that easily. he was a man on a mission, determined to take care of you.
a part of him said he was just trying to do something nice for the person he was interested in, but he couldn't exactly deny that the thrill of it all felt intoxicating. it became almost impossible for him not to break into your apartment at least once a week so he could watch you sleep in the dead hours of the night. he'd just stand there, looming over your bed, staring at your peaceful, slumbering face.
not creepy at all.
you knew you had a stalker at that point, though you weren't privy to the identity of said person. simon knew that you knew, and he knew that you weren't aware it was him. he still went to the café almost daily and nothing changed in the way you interacted with him, luckily.
then one day, as if you gave up, the prevention efforts stopped. it was quite bizarre how quickly you adapted.
that wasn't too difficult when you realised how much more comfortable life became. your fridge was never empty anymore and you rarely had to worry about doing the groceries.
you stopped double-checking whether you locked the door before bed and sometimes you even left the balcony door unlocked on purpose. i'm just too lazy, you found excuses for yourself. though, the guilty part of you knew exactly why you stopped being so vigilant.
the mysterious packages were no longer surprises. they became a part of your routine. hell, at times you'd even catch yourself tidying the apartment before you left for classes or work, arranging your living space so it looked welcoming.
simon noticed it too; breaking in barely took any effort now and your apartment felt a little cosier than when he first trespassed. he almost felt proud of himself, for being able to stalk you to this extent without getting into any legal trouble.
then one night, as he entered your home while you were asleep, he found a tupperware of homemade brownies on the kitchen counter. the post-it note attached to it read "thank you :)". this made simon raise an eyebrow in slight surprise.
it was as if you were thanking your fucking stalker for dropping off care packages at your apartment. the twisted thought nearly made him smile.
that was when he noticed a vacuum flask next to the plastic container, as well as another note:
summary: You and Ghost are married and has a daughter. Ghost telling bedtime stories to her.
“Daddy, can you tell the story about mommy again?”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
Simon looks down at his daughter, the most precious person in the world, the one he will ditch all things to protect.
Her blonde hair shines under the light, slightly long hair scatters across the pillow as she looks up at him with expecting eyes, eyes just like yours.
“She is the prettiest woman in the world, when you’re still in her tummy, she eats a lot of nutrients even though they taste like hell because she wants our baby to grow healthy.” His eyes narrow, mind wandering back to the days you took a deep breath before drinking those medicines and rambling about how bad the flavors are while shoving a handful of chocolate into your mouth.
“She was bad at crochet, but she insisted on making your toys by herself. She untied the wool many times, and finally made this for you.” Simon points at the teddy bear squeezed between his daughter and him, which is being hugged more tightly by her, and he huffs out a laugh at the cute move.
“She practiced baking cookies twice a week, so she could bake them for you when you’re old enough to go to school.”
“Did mommy tell you how to make the cookies I bring every day?”
“yeah, honey.”
Simon watches your daughter let out a big yawn, so he pulls the comforter over to cover her properly.
“Time to sleep, baby. It's late and there’s school tomorrow” He coos.
“but you haven’t said how you met mommy yet!”
“Let’s say that tomorrow, yeah?”
“okay......” She snuggles closer to him “Goodnight, papa.”
“Goodnight, love.” He presses a kiss to her forehead, and he returns a smile when she kisses his cheek too.
Simon watches her close her eyes, and a short while after the little snores tell him that she is already asleep.
Moving softly in case he wakes her up, he changes into a position so she can sleep more comfortably in his arms.
Reaching his arms to lower the light, he looks at the picture framed and placing under the lamp, the photo he secretly took when you were busy baking the cookies in the kitchen.
He still remembers your cheer when you first time baked a good plate of cookies, the expectance on your beautiful face when you told him to give them a bite, and the warmth you hugged him when he said it was not bad.
The soreness in his heart is indescribable. He has so many things he wants to do with you and your daughter, he wants to take you two to a picnic, become your cookie tester again, wants to show his friends he finally got the life he has craved for years.
and his gaze travels back to his daughter again, the gem of you two, the treasure you left before you said goodbye to him forever.
She sleeps soundly against his chest, hands holding the teddy bear whilst she mumbles some nonsense words during her dreams.
He knows you will be glad that your daughter is becoming a considerate kid just like you hope, he imagines you praising her and telling him how you’re proud of them.
Can you see me, my love? I miss you, I miss you more than anything.
You own a cat café, TF141 and König are your cats, and they can shift into human form.
Here are hcs about what they will do at your café in the morning and at your home when it's night.
You only have one double bed, so they need to take turn to sleep with you in human form, others need to sleep in cat form if they want to sleep on the bed too.
cat café AU 2 cat reader hcs
Price
1. at the café
• the chill type
• likes to sit in the highest place of the room, observing anything happens down there
• knows everything happening in the café, and comes down from the highest spot if some incidents happen
• everyday morning, he will stay in human form and drink the tea you make for him, enjoy the quiet morning and watch you prepare in the kitchenette, and shift back to cat form before opening hours
2. at home
• will help you cook dinner
• if he stays in cat form, he doesn’t have a regular sleeping spot, sometimes he sleeps on you, sometimes he sleeps in the cat bed, or he doesn’t sleep and sleeps in the morning
• if it’s the day he can sleep with you in human form, he will take the opportunity to touch you as much as he can, always stick a hand on your body or palms at your flesh
Soap
1. at the café
• the energetic type
• runs around in the café, keeps meowing at every customer, meows a lot and loudly
• will steal customers’ food ( or keep looking at them until they give up) so you need to scold him
2. at home
• the first one to yell and meow about food, keeps scratching at your bedroom door until you open it
• when he stays in cat form, he likes to sleep at your crotch because it's warm there
• when he is in human form, requires a lot of kisses, please expect a lot of licking and biting during them
• if it’s the day he can sleep with you in human form, his sleeping habit is VERY BAD and will suffocate you under his weight
• you need to tell him to wear clothes if you don’t want to see him walking around the house naked, he’s just not used to wearing clothes
Gaz
1. at the café
• the hospitable type
• the only one who can sit still for a long time and allow customers to put clothes and apparel on him
• every time you come out of the kitchenette to hand food and drink to customers, he will walk to your side and rub his body on your leg
• he has the most pictures on your café’s Instagram because he is able to sit and let you take thousands of pictures and won’t run away like Soap or hate cameras like Ghost and König
• if you’re busy today, he will go to the back room, shift to human form, and come out to help you (but he might declare to others that he is your bf)
2. at home
• shifts to human form the second he steps into the flat, the couch is his second favorite place (first is your bedroom), watches TV shows with you
• if it’s the day he can sleep with you in human form, he will ask for goodnight kisses before falling asleep quickly
• if he stays in cat form, he sleeps anywhere as long as he can snuggle his body with yours
Ghost
1. at the café
• the “Don’t touch me” type
• death stare at any customer who tries to touch him, hiding at higher or darker places and scrutinizing them
• if he’s in a good mood, he might walk around the café, it's the only chance for customers to see his full figure
• if someone is a regular of your café and they are quiet/tender type, he might allow them to pet him
• do not try to dress him in clothes if you don’t want to die
2. at home
• brood on your chair/pillow/laptop etc, death stare at you if you try to tell him to get down
• you can see him stays with Soap sometimes
• if he jumps to a higher place and accidentally breaks a glass, he will let you pet him as an apology
• if he’s in cat form, sleeps in the cat bed beside your bed because your bed is too crowded, sleeps with his head facing inside the cat bed, but unaware of his ass sticking out of the bed (he forgets he’s a large cat too)
• if it’s the day he can sleep with you in human form, he definitely big spoons you and refuses to leave bed in the morning
König
1. at the café
• the shy but overall friendly type
• prefers to stay inside the kitchenette with you, or hide inside cat beds
• if customers slowly approach him, show him that they are harmless, maybe even show him some snacks, he will poke his head around the bed and eats
• the biggest cat of all, very huge and furry, like a walking cloud, so everyone likes to pet him (if they get trusted and have a chance)
2. at home
• purrs VERY LOUD, like a motor, you can feel him rumble when you are lying on your bed and he’s sitting on your chest
• if he stays in cat form, he likes to sleep near your head, tucks his head at the crook of your neck
• if it’s the day he can sleep with you in human form, time to enjoy his warm body and stay close against yours, but he’s a little excited so you need to coo him into sleep
• steals your clothes or slippers or other things to make into a pile as a bed, and sleeps in there too
König x Clumsy Reader – “You’re Pregnant, Stop Tripping”
Summary:
You’re König’s clumsy wife, acting strange and avoiding him. He notices immediately and tries to figure out what you’re hiding, leading to a sweet, funny, fluffy moment between you both.
⸻
You hadn’t meant to avoid König.
Really, you hadn’t.
But the moment your stomach felt weird, your chest fluttered, and your brain decided that every emotion ever was happening at once, panic took over. You didn’t want to tell him until you were sure. Because König worried about everything: when you sneezed too loud, when you tripped over air, when you didn’t eat a full meal. He’d probably build a cage around you if you sneezed three times in a row.
And now… you might be pregnant.
So, naturally, you hid.
Like a really bad secret agent who trips over their own feet constantly.
You ducked behind walls. You pretended to tie your shoes four times in ten minutes. You crawled under tables. And you definitely ran away the second you heard his voice.
Which… did not work.
Because König is massive. And he is everywhere. Like some huge, terrifying, adorable shadow. The first time he found you indulging in your bizarre craving—pretzels dipped in strawberry yogurt—he just froze, staring like the world had ended.
“Liebling… you hate strawberry yogurt,” he said, genuinely shocked.
“I… I don’t today,” you said, shoving the spoon behind your back.
His eyebrows went up so high you were worried they’d touch his hairline.
And that’s when the questions started.
“Are you sick?”
“Are you hurt?”
“Did someone insult my best girl?”
“Why did you run away when I said hello? Did something happen to your shoes?”
Every time, you pushed him away.
“König, stop fussing.”
“I’m fine.”
“It’s… nothing.”
And then… of course… you tripped.
Over literal air.
He lunged and caught you mid-fall, holding you like you were a fragile little feather. But this time, instead of just putting you down, he froze.
“That is it,” he said, voice deep and trembling like he just watched you fall into a volcano. “Something is very wrong with you.”
You swallowed hard. Your cheeks burned. Your heart was beating so fast it could have lifted you off the ground—if König hadn’t already done it for you.
He turned you slowly to face him, bending like a gentle giant over a delicate bird.
“Please,” he whispered, voice soft and rumbling, “do not hide from me. Tell me.”
Your hands flew to your mouth. Your knees nearly buckled.
“König… I—I’m pregnant.”
Immediately, you slapped your hands over your face and bent your head down like a child caught in the cookie jar. “Don’t look at me! I feel ridiculous!”
König blinked. And then, somehow, the corners of his eyes crinkled behind his mask. He gently, gently took your hands and lowered them.
“Liebling,” he said, voice melting like chocolate,
“I already knew.”
You whipped your head up. “WHAT?! How??”
He held up his fingers, counting dramatically:
“You glow. Your cheeks are pink. You hide from me like a guilty little bunny. You eat weird food combinations like… like someone who’s invented snacks just to confuse me. And, oh yes, you tripped over literally nothing three times today.”
You blinked. “…That’s not how pregnancy works.”
“Maybe not,” he said, laughing softly, chest rumbling. “But I know you. And I know when something precious is happening to you.”
You opened your mouth, but he scooped you into his arms before you could say anything else.
“K-König! Put me down!”
“Absolutely not,” he said, grinning behind the mask. “You trip over air. I am now your personal human safety net.”
You groaned. “You sound like a dad already.”
“I am a dad already,” he said proudly, hugging you tighter. “And I will protect you and this tiny human inside you. From all danger. From all pretzels. And especially from stairs.”
Your cheeks went hot. You tried not to laugh at him, but he was too big, too serious, and way too adorable.
He pressed his forehead to yours. “Liebling… I love you. And I love this little baby already.”
You snorted, muffled against his chest. “You’re cheesy.”
“Cheesy?” he gasped, mock offense rumbling like thunder. “I am the pinnacle of romance and fatherhood.”
You laughed, crying a little, all at once.
“And I wouldn’t want anyone else holding me when I trip over air,” you admitted softly.
“I will carry you through all the trips, all the cravings, and all the nonsense,” he said, pulling you impossibly close. “Forever.”
You melted into his arms, warm, safe, loved—and just a little dizzy from laughing too hard.
Because König was huge, gentle, protective… and completely, utterly yours.
You had been terrified your entire pregnancy. Not of being a mother. Not of König. No— you were terrified of the size of the baby.
Because your husband was a mountain of a man.
Nearly seven feet tall, broad enough to block the entire doorway, hands so huge they made coffee mugs look childish. König looked like the kind of man built to father massive babies with bowling-ball heads and shoulders wide enough to ruin your life on delivery day.
The closer you got to your due date, the more emotional you became about it.
“König..” you whispered one night, staring at his chest while he held you against him, “what if your baby comes out built like a full-grown toddler?”
He nearly choked trying not to laugh.
“Our baby is not coming out with a beard, Schatz.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It is a little funny.”
You’d smacked his chest weakly while he kissed your forehead, though the poor man did try comforting you afterward. He promised he’d stay beside you the whole time, promised your body was made for this, promised doctors existed for a reason.
Still, you expected pain.
Expected terror.
Expected to hear nurses gasp in horror at the giant infant you’d somehow created with this massive Austrian soldier.
Instead—
Your baby arrived…..tiny.
Absolutely, unbelievably tiny.
A little thing wrapped in hospital blankets, blinking up at the world with huge blue shiny eyes and the faintest dusting of strawberry-blonde hair across their soft head.
The nurse placed the baby into König’s arms and the sight almost made you cry harder than labor itself.
Because König looked gigantic.
His enormous scarred hands cradled the baby so carefully, so delicately, like he was terrified even breathing too hard would hurt it. His shoulders shook beneath quiet laughter, stunned and disbelieving.
“So small..” he whispered.
Your baby’s hand curled around one of his fingers— and couldn’t even hold all of it. König stared like his heart had been ripped straight from his chest. Meanwhile you were still emotional for an entirely different reason.
“That’s it?” you croaked from the hospital bed. “That’s what I was scared of?!”
König outright laughed then, deep and breathless behind his mask before he leaned down to kiss your forehead repeatedly.
“You were very brave for surviving our terrifyingly tiny child.”
꒰ Adorable König Habits & Routines Outside the Military — as promised my pookies :3 ꒱
Early Bird Energy: König wakes up ridiculously early, even on days off. He tries to stay quiet, but he still ends up making tea, pacing the apartment, or doing light stretches—his huge frame moving around while you’re still dead asleep.
Overgrown Houseplant Dad: He has a weirdly soft spot for houseplants. He waters them with too much care, occasionally talks to them “You’re growing well, ja? Keep it up.” and panics if a leaf turns yellow.
Notebook Hoarder: He owns way too many notebooks, some filled with tactical notes, some with random doodles, and some… just empty because he likes having them. Don't let me mention the silly patterns for notebooks he owns.
Clumsy Giant Moments: For someone so skilled in the field, König is shockingly clumsy at home. He constantly bumps into doorframes, accidentally knocks things over with his elbows, and hits his head on hanging lights. Later he tries to explain why your favorite decoration is fixed with glue magically.
Candle Enthusiast: He secretly loves scented candles. If you ever mention liking a particular scent, you will find a new candle of that scent appearing in the apartment. He would insist lighting one if you two are having a movie night — it spikes up the atmosphere
Protective Blanket Tucking: If you fall asleep on the couch, König has to tuck you in properly. He carefully drapes a blanket over you, making sure you're warm. If you shift even slightly, he freezes, afraid he woke you.
Big Spoon 90% of the Time: Even if you start off cuddling face-to-face, König will unconsciously pull you against his chest in his sleep, wrapping himself around you like a human weighted blanket. Gentle
Alarm Clock (For You, Not Him): Since you’re not a morning person, he wakes you up in the softest ways possible — rubbing your back, whispering to you, or placing little kisses on your forehead until you stir.
Absolutely Awkward with PDA: König wants to be affectionate in public, but he’s so tall and intimidating that he overthinks it. He’ll lightly brush his fingers against yours instead of holding your hand—unless you grab his first. Then he melts.
Buys You Snacks Without Asking: If he notices you like a certain snack, you’ll always find it in the kitchen. He never asks, he just stocks up on it like some silent provider instinct kicks in.
Waits for You to Get Home Like a Loyal Dog: If you come home late, König is either waiting by the door or lying on the couch, pretending he wasn’t waiting for you. Expect the long cuddling session if you were away for too long.
Secretly Loves When You Play With His Hair: If you ever tug on his hood and ruffle his hair, he groans dramatically, but he never stops you. If you start braiding it? He’s suffering but lets you do it anyway.
Terrible at Saying No to You: You want to steal his hoodie? Done. You want him to cook something random at midnight? Fine. If you give him the right look, he just sighs and does whatever you ask.
Summary: You're in love with Ghost who loves someone else. And König falls for you but Ghost becomes too late.
Author’s Note: I need some more angst fics of Ghost. Also, this fic has been in my drafts for so long, it has cobwebs if you look hard enough.
Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her
Warnings: unrequited love, angst, mentions of smut in the end
Do not repost this anywhere!
It felt heartbreakingly painful to watch him stare at her the way you wanted to be stared at by him. The loving look behind the mask eyes seemed to go unnoticed by everyone but you. And it pained you so much to watch him love her as much as you wanted to be loved by him.
"You're staring again," Soap mentions as he walked next to you. You look over at him with a confused look.
"What are you talking about?" You asked.
"That look on your face. You're not fooling anyone," Soap said.
"It doesn't matter. He seems to like her more," you tell him.
"You know you're a catch, kid."
"Don't use that nickname on me. I think that's making it worse," you tell him.
You were a little younger than the rest of the team but you were good at your job. Price wouldn't have brought you to the team if he didn't think you couldn't handle it. You proved yourself worthy to be on the team. But you also wanted to be worthy of Ghost's heart.
"You know there can be other guys," Johnny mentioned.
"Soap, is this your official way of asking me to be yours?" You joked with a smile.
"Be mine, Byte! I promise I'll make you the happiest of all," Johnny dramatically says as he reached his hand out to you.
"But Soap, there's one problem," you dramatically tell him.
"What's that?"
"I am in love with another! And you have a love at home," you tell him before laughing a little.
"Don't worry. I won't tell," Soap tells you with a wink.
"Which one? Us or Ghost?" You asked.
"Ghost. He's a fool for not loving you back."
"Thanks, Soap."
The next day, Price called for a team meeting for the next mission. You sat next to Soap while Ghost sat across from you. You watched as another team walk in and take their seats around the table.
"Team, this is the KorTac team. We'll be teaming up on this mission together," Price said. You looked around until your eyes landed on another masked man.
"And I thought our LT was the only one who wore a mask," you joked. Ghost gave you a light glare over at you but for once, you didn't look at him. Normally, Ghost would catch your eye but not this time. Instead, your eyes were focused on the taller man with the mask.
After the debriefing, Ghost expected for you to walk with him and Soap over to the training room but instead, noticed you walking over to the tall masked man.
"Hi! I'm Byte!" You introduced yourself to him.
"König."
"Nice to meet you, König."
"Aye, LT, maybe we should leave them be?" Soap suggested.
"Yeah. Sure," Ghost said before taking one last look at you before walking out.
Normally, you'd go to Gaz or Ghost for training but instead, you went with König. You seemed to have been getting better from the looks of Ghost. He couldn't understand why the sudden interest with König.
"You can cut the shit, Byte," Ghost told you when you both were finally alone.
"What are you talking about?" You asked.
"Your shit with König. I know you're just making me jealous."
"Me making you jealous?"
"You're not as discreet as you think you are, Byte," Ghost told you.
"I'm not making you jealous, Ghost. I've actually grown to like König. And besides, why do you care? You have someone else don't you?" You asked him before walking away.
-
Ghost isn't going to admit that he's been jealous since the KorTac team has been joining them on missions. More than he would wanted.
And the more the 141 saw KorTac, the closer you were getting to König. Something that Ghost was beginning to hate.
You were always by his side. Always talking to him even though he wouldn't say much. Always doing the most to get his attention.
But now, you were doing that to him.
"Aye lass. You just done training?" Johnny asked as he and Ghost were walking towards the gym.
You were in your workout clothes, drinking some water to hydrate yourself.
"Yeah. I just finished a training with König."
"Again? You know Gaz thinks you're cheating on him with the lack of training," Johnny joked.
"I told Gaz next training session will be us. I'm going to show him the new moves König showed me," you tell Johnny.
"New moves eh? Gonna teach us as well?" Johnny asked.
"We'll see," you shrugged. "I gotta go. I told König that we should get food at that restaurant I like and he said he'd be down to go."
Ghost knows that restaurant. You had showed it to him when you both had time off. But he wasn't interested then.
You didn't even bother looking at Ghost before leaving the two to go shower.
And for once, Ghost looked back to look at you. The same way you used to look back at him when you in love with him.
-
After the successful mission, Ghost stared across the room as you sat on a stool while König stood in front of you as the two of you talked at the bar the teams decided to go to in honor of their success. You smiled up at the colonel as he talked to you about his hometown.
"You good, LT?" Soap asked him as he handed him a whiskey.
"Fine."
"Jealous all of a sudden?" Johnny teased a little.
"Not at all."
"Just know that, she did love you first. But you were in love with someone else," Soap mentioned before going over to Gaz.
A few drinks later, Ghost watched as you and König begin to head out.
"Y/n!" Ghost called out as he followed the two of you.
"Give me one minute," you giggled to König. He gave you a nod before taking a few steps forward so Ghost could talk to you.
"What is it, Ghost? I'm literally about to get some if you know what I mean," you slurred a little with a smile.
"Don't go with him."
You felt your smile fall as you stared at Ghost.
"Why?"
"Because..."
"Because what? Come on, Ghost. I find a guy who likes me back and you're ruining it. I liked it better when I used to be a weak kid where I just stared at you. At least I got my heart broken from just watching instead of you breaking my heart face to face," you confessed.
"Y/n, I do like you."
"To be honest, Ghost. You're a little too late," you tell him before turning around back to König. You held his hand as you both got into your car before driving off.
Tags/Warnings: Multiple 141 x POC!Fem Reader; MDNI; ANGST; Heartbreak; Insecurities; Sabotage; Emotional Cheating; The guys just suck; not proofread
You couldn’t believe it. If this is a dream, you never want to wake up. In the matter of hours, not long after the end of this beautiful rehearsal dinner, you’ll be married to the man of your dreams. You grab your fiance’s arm and lay your head against his shoulder. He peers down and kisses the top of your head. You never want this moment to end.
Clink, clink, clink
“I would like to make a toast.”
Kyle “Gaz” Garrick
“Save it for tomorrow!” Kyle hollers.
Standing up, Johnny waves away your fiance’s suggestion and grabs a mic. “Has to be tonight. I’ll be too busy getting to know the bride’s cousins tomorrow.” He throws a wolfish grin to the crowd which is received with groans and cheers. You and Kyle laugh, amused by the sergeant’s antics. Kyle, with a smile on his face, concedes.
The room falls silent as everyone eagerly waits to hear what one of the groom’s co-workers has to say about the happy couple.
Which in the beginning isn’t anything that different from what’s been said so far. However, after singing both your and Kyle’s praises, Johnny’s speech takes a sudden turn.
“And you all want to know something,” Johnny starts, his words slightly slurred, “Kyle here has never once thanked me for making this happen.” He ushers to the two of you. You feel Kyle tense which only piques your interest. “If Kyle hadn’t lost that bet, he would have never gone out with our beautiful bride here.” The once quiet room erupts with whispers and murmurs. You stand up straight, confused by the Scotsman’s words.
John grabs at Johnny to sit down, but the babbling Scotsman pulls away. With a mic in hand and a beer in the other, Johnny walks towards you and Kyle and continues, “Oh yeah, lover boy here thought that our beautiful bride was anything but that, so after losing a bet, his punishment was to go on a date here with…” Johnny stops to think. He snaps his fingers and calls to Kyle. “What’s the nickname you had for her?”
Your fiance stands up and commands Johnny to stop. Your skin starts to prickle as you feel all your friends and family’s eyes fall on you.
Johnny stands in thought for a few more seconds when hollering, “Got it!” Your ears ring as the sergeant recites a nickname that hits on your biggest insecurity. Gasps and choked laughs accompany the ringing. Your fiance completely freezes, eyes wide in shock.
Without realizing what he’s done, Johnny continues, “and Kyle was mad, going on and on about how he’d rather die than be seen out in public with our bird here.” He mindlessly laughs as he recalls what he considers to be a fun memory.
You turn towards your fiance as memories of your first date come back to you. You recall Kyle’s quietness and stand-offishness, which for the longest time, you took as nerves, but now you can’t help but read them as distaste… or even disgust. Really, when you look back at your entire relationship, you come to the daunting realization that most of your dates with Kyle had either been inside his or your apartment, or somewhere incredibly private, something that you never questioned as you thought Kyle just respected your hermit-like tendencies. However, now you wonder whether he did that more for himself.
Thankfully, before Johnny can say anything else, Simon rushes the sergeant and rips the mic away from him. But unfortunately the damage has been done. You rise from your seat, ignoring the sudden uproar in the room, and turn towards your fiance. Kyle opens his mouth in an attempt to say something but is silenced when your hand slides across his face.
“Fuck you,” you hiss before leaving what was the happiest night of your life.
Simon “Ghost” Riley
Simon rolls his eyes but ultimately allows Johnny to give this impromptu speech. He rests his chin on the top of your head and murmurs against your skin, “better today than tomorrow.” You can’t help but laugh at your fiancé’s words.
The crowd cheers and eggs Johnny to speak as the mic falls into his hands. With a wave of his hands, the Scotsman asks all of your friends and family to quiet down. “Tonight there’s no question that these two don’t belong with each other. I mean look at them, two peas in a pod… disgusting,” he jokes. You, Simon, and everyone in the room laughs.
“But, really what I want to do tonight is start from the beginning, which might surprise you all,” Johnny announces. You tilt your head as you aren’t sure where the sergeant is going. You turn towards Simon who’s still with his eyes locked on his best man.
Now with all the attention focused on him, Johnny commands the room. “You see, Simon despised our lassie here when she first joined the team. Never knew how much hatred L.T was capable of till she joined.” The room is completely silent with a few awkward coughs here and there. Oblivious to the tension in the room, Johnny continues, “I mean it was bad. He’d beg our cap’n here,” Price ducks as Johnny motions to him, “to drop her, even threatened to leave her behind if he didn't, which he probably would have if Kyle and I didn’t step in. I mean there was one time--”
“That’s enough, Johnny.” Simon barks. His fists press against the table, slightly trembling, as his eyes burn with rage.
Unfortunately, Johnny is oblivious to the groom-to-be’s anger. “I’m getting to the best part.” With a smile on his face, the best man turns your entire world upside down. “One time, I even caught L.T here trying to mess with our girl’s radio before a mission. Thankfully, I caught him before it was too late. But hey at least it wasn’t a parachute,” Johnny howls in laughter. He’s the only one.
At least it wasn’t a parachute.
“Love,” Simon calls out to you, panic clearly in his voice. You remain still, eyes still glued on your family’s terrified faces as Johnny’s words repeat in your head. It wasn’t a parachute.
A parachute.
A parachute had taken you out of commission. A parachute left you no choice but to take that admin job. A parachute had forced you and Simon, who kept you never connected to in the beginning, to get closer. A parachute was what led you to this moment.
“Sweetheart,” Simon cries out. You finally face him and nearly pass out as guilt swirled in those beautiful brown eyes. “When I realized what I had done…”
You get up. You can’t bear to hear this. However, before you can leave, Simon grabs your wrist and begs you to stay. “Please, I love you now.”
You pull your hand away and cradle it as if it was burned. You stare Simon down and with the last ounce of strength you have, you whisper, “and I never hated you.”
John Price
“You don’t have to,” John assures the clearly stressed out lieutenant. However, Simon is adamant on speaking. After going back and forth for a bit, John surrenders.
With a slight tremble in his hand, Simon raises the mic to his mouth and speaks, “Hi, I’m Simon and I’ve known John for a really long time.” You look at John who stares at his right-hand man with pride. “And in all those years, I’ve never seen John look so happy then I do now.” People cheer for you and John. Overwhelmed by everyone’s love, you lean over and kiss John on the cheek which only gets the people to cheer louder. John looks at you and cradles your face in his hands.
Infected by the good vibes in the room, Simon continues, “and I’ll be honest, I never thought I’d see John happy again after Emma left.” The energy in the room shifts as everyone tries to figure out who ‘Emma’ is. You, unfortunately, know who.
Emma. Your former intelligence supervisor. She was a strong woman that had little patience for incompetence. You remember following her around like a lost puppy on the 141 base, just hoping that by being near her, you’ll catch just an ounce of her aura. Her and John had a great relationship, filled with quips and mutual respect. But after some late night intelligence briefing between her and John, she left, citing professional differences. You were caught off guard by her departure but didn’t stress too much about it as you were promoted to head intelligence officer which allowed you to get closer to your John. Heck, you even stayed in contact with your mentor and invited her to your wedding.
You look out at the crowd and see Emma’s burning red face staring right at you. You look over at John for reassurance but gasp as you see his eyes locked on her. She’s not looking at you, but at John.
Oh.
You get up from the table which breaks John from his impromptu staring contest. He tries to follow you out but you wave him away with a trembling hand.
“Don’t.”
John “Soap” MacTavish
“Let’s go Kyle!” Johnny cheers. Your fiance pulls you in for a kiss as Kyle grabs a mic. A couple more guys, specifically your fiance’s co-workers, cheer as the sergeant clears his throat.
“Let’s give it to the beautiful couple!” The crowd cheers you to which only eggs Johnny to pull you in for another kiss. You can’t help but laugh against his lips. You couldn’t believe he was yours.
After reeling the crowd back in, Kyle chuckles in the mic before continuing. “Truly what a beautiful couple. We have our beautiful, radiant girl who’s smile could make any soldier fight harder just to come home to her and Johnny.” The room laughs. “I mean really, why Johnny?” Kyle turns to you. Everyone laughs at Kyle’s faux confusion.
Kyle, enamored by the attention, keeps going. “Honestly I’m surprised you two worked out cause if I’m honest here, you’re nothing like Johnny’s type.” Johnny stills and signals Kyle to stop. He doesn’t.
Now failing the crowd, Kyle describes Johnny’s type, which is the complete opposite of you. “I mean the minute anything remotely close to that walked in the room, Johnny followed it like a dog with a streak. So imagine our surprise when Soap brought her along for drinks one night.”
The room goes quiet. You try to laugh to break the awkwardness but it’s way too tense in the room. You look over at Johnny for back up but his head is down and his shoulders are hunched over.
Why isn’t he looking at you? You can’t help but assume the worst. Is he getting cold feet? Did he just realize how incredibly average you are compared to his exes? Sure, you might not win a beauty contest but you didn’t think you were that bad?
“Johnny?” You reach for his arm but he immediately jerks it away the moment you touch it. He freezes as he realizes what he’s done
“Wait, mo ghàidh.” You don’t bother to hear him out. You shake your head and leave the table, leaving both the dinner and relationship behind.
Word Count: 1877
Thanks for reading! — Folded’s Page Guide + Masterlist
Author's Note: My bad. Don't know where this came from.
sukuna had always found his bitchy student council president hot, especially when you're pointing fingers at him. he convinces himself that you'll be the perfect brat when beneath him— but what happens when he finds out that you're all bark and no bite? the esteemed president, actually an inexperienced princess.
♡ ₊˚‧ sweetheart. this was commissioned by anonymous <3
"And then she blocked me!"
"Eh. Deserved."
"Excuse me? Who could ever say no to these baby blues?"
"Blue eyes on a rat don't change a thing now does it?"
Rolling his eyes to the air vents, Sukuna shut his locker in a rattle of metal. Shuffling his duffel bag over his shoulder, he side-stepped to thump the whining, white-haired nuisance beside him with a broad shoulder.
"Kunnnaaa, he's being mean to me," pouted Satoru, throwing an arm over his shoulders and squeezing on his bicep in that not-so-subtle way.
"Well for one, maybe stop sharing your love life with Fushiguro of all people." Sukuna reached a hand out, snatching his friend by the back of his pearly white tresses and wrenching him off. "And secondly, off."
"Don't you love me anymore? Is there someone else? Am I— gasp—" trembling his hands, Satoru raised them to his mouth. Exaggerating his eyes in what he probably thought was cute. "Am I the other woman?"
"More like a skank." Toji grinned, immediately side-stepping a hit that came his way.
Sukuna sighed, deep from his soul that had grown weary dealing with the dumb-and-dumber duo he called his friend group. Unfortunately these knuckleheads were also apart of his team. Guess this was fate.
The hallway bustled with a stream of college stereotypes. The preps and their perfect palettes, prattling as they pranced around. The stoners who propped against lockers on the far end of the hallways, zoned out and scrolling. The nerds with their arrogant stares, standing upright as they beelined for their next class, somehow avoiding collision even with a textbook wedged in their hand. Everyone had their role in this academic ecosystem and moral wasteland.
Role. Stereotype. Stigmatism. Sukuna never quite understood it. How most people plopped themselves into a box with a poorly-scribbled label on the front and called it home.
By definition, he was a jock. Captain of the college's star rugby team. With mean eyes and rough hands. Where girls swooned, guys were scared.
No one expected the jock to be an engineering major. Guess that's the assumption when your enrolment in an institution relied on a sports scholarship.
"Engineering," he remembered how a pretty girl from finance batted her eyes at him in surprise. "Wouldn't have expected that from you."
Sukuna always rolled his eyes at that. And what would anyone expect of an engineering student? Someone more put-together, refined, with a pair of fogged-up glasses and maybe a tight fitting button-up?
He'd never understand it.
"Hey you three, quit loitering."
But he always understood that smooth voice.
He could already see it from his peripheral. Your creaseless blazer shining your badge proudly. The pencil skirt that was exactly three fingers above the knee. Your hair fixed appropriately without a strand straying. The school's code of conduct glinted in your eyes.
Another one who fit her role perfectly. The pretty student council president.
"Oh c'mon, prez. It's end semester." Satoru cooed, still finding the audacity to lean against one of the lockers despite the reprimand.
You stopped. Shoes placed exact centre on the grey tiles as you shot the delinquent a look. "The end of the semester is Friday. It's Monday."
Satoru grinned, pushing hand through his hair. "Always sooo dutiful. Lighten up a lil."
Sukuna heard it before you said it. Saw the trail of your eyes before you had even darted your gaze to their mess of uniforms. Satoru's blazer was tied around his waist. Toji was missing his entirely. Sukuna's belt hung low. Don't even get started on all three of their hairstyles that broke at least four regulations.
Yeah, delinquent was putting it lightly.
Sukuna was already mouthing your reprimand before it left your lips.
"Fix yourselves." Calm and controlled, coupled with that glare in your eye as you folded your arms. "Lest I file a complaint in the register."
"Over what? Looking good?" Toji teased.
You huffed. Snapping your sharp stare over to Sukuna who was all but waiting for it. Red eyes held yours in nonchalance. With a hint of something dangerously close to amusement. Admiration.
"You're the captain of the rugby team. Be an example to your teammates, Ryomen."
Oh, there's that tone he loved. That strict, smooth command that sent a shiver up his spine. He bit back a smirk.
Yeah, you all had your roles. And yours was maintaining order and, by the looks of it, eye-fucking him in the middle of the hallway.
"Yes Ma'am." He nodded, pushing himself from the locker to stand at his full height. Towering over you just to see if you'd flinch.
You didn't, of course. You never did. You held his stare with an arched brow and your chin never downturned. That's what he liked about you. A bold brat through and through.
"C'mon you two. One last class before practice." Sukuna nudged at Satoru's shoulder who was a little too preoccupied with the sliver of your thigh peeking out of your skirt. The sight clenched Sukuna's jaw, but he bit back comments in favour of wrangling dumb-and-dumber.
Halfway down the hallway, and yet, he could still feel your eyes. Pierced into his spine. He couldn't help but shoot you a glance over his shoulder. Meet that controlled stare that always rivalled his.
Guess it's the one time he let the stereotypes get to him. He wondered how much you'd keep up that bratty beauty if he had you under him.
The thought of you had grown from annoyance to arousal months ago. The perfect president with her commands as sharp as crystal and her glare prettier than them. Always proper. So poised.
He wondered what it'd take to break that little attitude.
Although, if he's being entirely honest. He was kinda into those mint manicured nails that always pointed at him. Not to mention that stare? How you tried to pretend that it never lingered on him?
He saw you again at practice. Even with the sun glaring his vision and his throat burning for water. Sweat dripping down his forehead as he chugged down a bottle.
You were impossible to miss. Even in his exhaustion. Strutting along the outer corridor. Probably on your way to file in reports while others called it a day.
He caught your stare, as he always did. Felt it creeping up his back and shoulders.
Just like in the hallway, he shot you a look. Locked eyes. Only this time, he cast you a little grin.
You turned away. Like the stubborn brat he was hopelessly attracted to.
Nothing beat the rush of a whistle whipping through the air and a successful try on the final second. 50 - 46. Another win by the skin of their teeth.
The cheers of the stadium, the flashing lights, the bruised and battered arms of teammates that tossed around each other as an excited roar ripped through haze. Yeah, nothing beat that.
Well, the celebration that came after was a close second.
Stars of the league once more, Sukuna's team was treated to relax. He'd say for once, but other than training, his band of misfits hardly did much. Slacking-off was their everyday. But at least they'd earned it this time.
The blaring cheers had blurred out into the blast of music. Rhythm and beat vibrating the college assembly hall cleared out just for them. Littered in bodies and alcohol. The coach saw to them well, organised everything with the student council beforehand since he never doubted the team once.
Flashing lights. Grinding bodies. More booze than a Shibuya pub. Sukuna migrated through, his sharp shoulders finally sagged. Spotting some of his teammate with either their tongues down throats or chugging down red solo cups still floating beer pongs.
Steering through the crowd and shrugging off a drunk Satoru who tried to harass him as per-usual, he searched for the drink table. He was far too sober for this celebration. Shitfaced and slurring was what he wanted to be by the end of the night. He deserved it for being able to wrangle the hooligans he called teammates all semester.
And then, he felt it. That stare creeping up his spine.
He glanced to the left and sure enough— there it was. Calm and collected. Calculated even out of that blazer pressed with pristine in every inch. A black dress hugged and complimented your features far better. Certainly more than three fingers above the knee. Not so dignified with a drink in your hand.
Not even your posture was refined— you leaned against the drink table. One arm still folded over you, shoulders still squared.
You stare still on him.
Oh, his night just got a whole lot better.
"How irresponsible, prez." Drawled Sukuna as he stepped up beside you. Snatching one of the cups into his large hand and propping himself next to you.
Deep maroons roved your figure. The curves and dips in all the right places. Damn, he was almost jealous of that dress.
His head quirked with the corner of his lips. "It's a good look on you."
"Don't start." You scoffed a chuckle, raising the red plastic to your lips. Was that lipstick? Red. He could get used to his favourite colour on you.
It was almost uncanny. Seeing you so relaxed. Drinking. Completely out of your element and yet still poised in every right. It thrummed something deep within him. Dark.
He watched your eyes rake over him in what he could only describe as shameless with the flashing shadows obscuring it. You asked, "shouldn't you be celebrating with your team, Ryomen?"
"Sukuna." He corrected, just to watch your eyes. Watch your shoulders that tensed all the more firmer. As if it would break conduct to call him by anything familiar.
His smirk curled higher, as he slumped back with a swig. "And nah. Not when there's a pretty girl all alone back here."
Gauging your reaction, Sukuna bit a grin into the plastic rim of his cup when he noticed you cleared your throat. Where's all that confidence now, huh?
". . .Could it be that the elusive rugby captain is flirting with me?" You mused.
Something ticked within him.
His hulking body slanted, angled towards you as he propped a forearm on the table. Watched as you turned to him, almost hesitantly.
"Could it be that the uptight princess president is entertaining me?" He returned.
Your nose curled, the lights flashed over your face just in time for him to catch the wrinkles. A smile trembled over your lips. "Princess, huh?"
"Got a problem with it?
"Watch it. I'm still your president."
"Dirty talking already?"
Sukuna watched as your breath hitched. Bickering with him often came with ease, but it was a whole different ballgame when he shifted the playing field from president and delinquent to a jock and a princess.
It was amusing, to say the least. Watching you struggle for a rebuttal. You bristled when you finally found something. Straightened your spine with that manicured finger of yours so ready to point at him as you always did—
Thump!
"What the hell!"
"Ah— sorry. Soorryyy."
Alcohol seeped into the front of your dress. Clinging to the dark fabric and permeating the shimmers. A drunken smile was your only apology.
Sukuna stood straight. Shot a glare at his wobbling teammate who'd just bumped into you and ruined that pretty dress of yours.
"For fucks sakes Fushiguro," he grunted, watching as Toji lifted his hands up in surrender and then staggered elsewhere before he could get a scolding.
Turning back to you, Sukuna watched as your jaw tightened and your hands balled at your sides. Was that a pout? Cute.
"Sorry about that," he caught himself apologising when you looked up to him with batting eyes. The light flashing over the both of you in what he could only describe as fluorescent fate.
The idea came quicker than a smother tackle.
"If you need a change of clothes. . . " he almost caught himself drawling. As he stepped forward. You didn't flinch. You never did.
But it looked like you wanted to.
"Maybe I can offer a shirt? Sure I can find one for you back in my dorm."
Your stares locked, as they always did. Rivalling, controlled. Two leaders fighting for dominance as always. Only this time, you were faltering.
He watched your shoulders sag. Your arms cross over your chest tighter. Your chin still lifted but your lips pressed in a thin line.
Sukuna would be lying if he said he wasn't surprised when you actually agreed.
You looked prettier under his cheap dorm light.
Standing in the middle of his room with your legs too pressed together and your arms folded too tight. Your stare still seeped into his shoulders as he dug through his wardrobe on the far right. Looking like a fish who willingly crawled onto land and forgot she only knew how to swim.
Sukuna's dorm wasn't anything grand. His scholarship paid for privacy, not for space. The bedroom bled into a small kitchen area on the left separated only by a small counter top. A cramped couch wedged against it. On the right was his cabinet with a door that led to the bathroom. The bed laid at the centre with a singular side-table beside it.
Small, but neat. Neater than anyone would expect some jock's room to be, he's sure.
Finally, he fished out a red shirt. He could have gone for the black, maybe the white, but that deep rouge on your lips was his favourite colour. And he wanted to see you in more of it.
"This fine?" He asked as he approached, dropping the shirt into your hands that scrambled to catch it.
You pressed your lips together. Held the clothing article up by the sleeves to observe it. Flickering your gaze between him and the red.
"It's. . . big," you murmured.
And oh, poor you. There weren't any eyes anymore to hinder him. No bubbling hallways. No delinquents and presidents.
Just a jock. And a princess.
"Well I'm a big guy, princess." His head crooked in a predatory curve as his hands shoved into his pockets. The name slipped from his tongue. Easy. As easy as it seemed to fluster you, by the looks of it.
He watched you bristle again. Chew your lip and glance at the drywall as you balled the red fabric against those once perfect manicured nails that were beginning to look like they trembled.
Cute.
"Well— yeah, that's true." You stood straight once more. Uttered something that sounded like a thank you before you shuffled to the side. Not quite putting space between the both of you. But not exactly approaching him, either.
You cast him a side eye. Brought the shirt closer like it was your new knight. Poor princess.
"Are you gonna, uh, give me a moment?"
"Not unless you want me to watch?"
Flushed. Again. Like a flustered little flower with your face blooming in heat. How odd. Where's that beautiful brat that pointed and paraded in the halls?
"What?" Sukuna drawled, taking another step forward. Towering over you as he always did. You didn't flinch. You never did.
But fuck, it might have looked cute if you did right now.
"Don't tell me that the esteemed president is actually considering it?"
His voice dripped with something other than booze. Something scarily sober. Something dangerously close to want.
Want. Yeah, he's always wanted the prestigious campus princess.
"That's— that's not what I said," you stuttered. Actually stuttered. You, the poised president with your commands as sharp as crystals and your glare prettier than them. Stuttering all because the delinquent you eagerly pointed fingers at finally got you alone.
He grinned, glinting more than the usual charm back at you. "Didn't have to, princess."
"What's with that name?"
"What?"
He was right in front of you now. Close enough to hear the stutter of your breath. Feel your nerves. The shivers. Not very perfect of you, was it?
Leaning down, Sukuna established the height difference once more. His broad shoulders casting a shadow over you as his grin loomed closer. Dangerously so.
He could smell your perfume. Cherry mixed with nervousness. Hear the stutter of your heart. Every clear of your throat as you scrambled to resurrect the status-quo. When you could stare him in the eye and shoot him a command without your knees trembling.
His murmur was low, inviting. "Seems you don't mind being my princess one bit, yeah?"
Finally, he let himself touch you. A calloused thumb stroking your cheekbone. Oddly tender. Promising something rougher.
Your eyes gaped. Wider than he'd ever seen them. Confidence drained into your wobbling knees and your hands that clung to the shirt.
He paused for the first time that night.
Watched your sorry excuse for a stare. The press of your lips. The tremor that felt foreign to your dignified strut down the college hallways. This was far from the brat he fantasised you would be when he got you alone.
Sukuna's head crooked. "What's with that look?"
"Sorry. . . . I just, uh." You chewed your inner cheek. Cute, but odd for someone like you. ". . . Haven't. Done anything like this before."
He blinked.
Spoke in that terribly stark way.
"You a virgin?"
"Must you be so blunt?"
A pink brow arched. He slowed another blink at you and watched your every move. Watched your throat bob and your shoulders sag as a shaky sigh passed your red lips. It didn't look so bold under his stare.
"Yeah— yeah I am. I don't really have time for this kind of. . . " you motioned to him and how close he was. To his hand that was now cupping your face. "Thing."
He's dealt with virgins before. Had many doe eyes and shaky hands under his belt. So why'd you go under his radar? How hadn't he noticed the signs before? He'd been so swept up by your smooth voice and controlled stare that he completely slipped the possibility that the uptight college princess was—
"Sorry if that's. Like a turn off, or something."
Your murmur cut his thoughts right off. He locked stares with you once again— or at least tried to. For once, you couldn't meet his eyes.
Sure, it wasn't what he was used to. Wasn't what he expected. But honestly?
The thought of the uptight student council president being awfully inexperienced stirred another fire within him. Something deeper. Darker.
Wouldn't it be fun to corrupt a princess?
"Hardly," he scoffed, his grin settling into an arrogant smirk as his free hand slipped down. Snatched you by the waist and dragged you against him in a rough pull.
You yelped. Dropped the shirt and scrambled your hands for the one on him instead. Damn, even the way you clung to him was pretty.
That crystal stare of yours had melted into soft edges as you batted your eyes up at him. Achingly adorable for the pain in his ass you had been for the entire semester.
Cupping your face firmer, he drew you closer. Pressing every perfect inch of you into his callouses.
His voice rumbled, "you ever kissed anyone?"
Your brows furrowed. Warmth spread through his chest at the familiar sight. There's his beautiful brat. Bristling as your fingers bunched tighter on him and you huffed.
"Obviously! I'm not that—"
His mouth shoved to yours. Rough lips sealing over your cherry ones as the hand on your waist squeezed. Feeling your softness against his jagged. Your innocence to his experience. The way you squirmed— whether trying to get closer or further, he wasn't sure. He didn't think you quite knew either.
It was funny, really. How snarky you were with that tongue of yours. Now? It trembled. Fumbled. Struggling to keep up with his kiss as he leaned into your space and flushed you into him.
Your hands slipped to the top of his shoulders. He felt your nails scratching into the skin there through his shirt. Manicure nervous where it once was confident.
The whimper was what forced him to part. Already missing your warmth as his hand on your face slipped to the back of your neck. Cupping, caressing.
"No, no. Not like that." He coaxed, dangerously soft as he peered at you through hanging lashes. His thumb traced over your pulse, reassuring. "Relax. I've got you."
He felt your body lock up against him— then ease. Felt the flutter of your heart against his and the gulp under his thumb.
No words. Just a silent stare. A small nod. Sukuna guided you back in. Still rough, but slower. His lips moulding over yours and easing you into the kiss. Giving you room to breathe. Room to feel.
The hand on your waist slipped. Arm hooking around the small of your back and hoisting you closer. Impossibly so. To feel that sigh of relief that eased out of you and the melting of your muscles.
"Atta girl," the words muffled against your lips before he could overthink them. As if it was natural to hold a pretty virgin in his hands and corrupt her with guidance. Maybe. Or maybe it was just you. The fact that he got to take control for once.
Hot kisses smeared from your mouth. Along your jaw. Down your throat. Both hands roved over your sides now. Feeling the dress that clung to you in all the right places. The body you hid under pristine uniform.
"Can't believe you were holding out on me, princess." He groaned, breath fanning your pulse. A shiver ran up his spine as your fingers delved into his messy hair. Scratching a bit on the undercut only to rake through the fluffy strands.
Your small sighs of bliss were everything to him. For once, you were quiet. No sharp reprimands. No cool commands. Just quiet. Just his. His pretty princess in his arms as his mouth poured fire into your veins.
Big hands smoothed over your hips. Venturing behind. Cupping your ass. Squeezing. Your little yelp rumbled a husked chuckle from the back of his throat.
His teeth dragged over your pulse. Nipped. "Can I?" His fingers flexed with his desire.
You nodded.
"Words." He firmed, with a small swat! to your ass just to feel you jolt again.
You squeaked. "Yes— yes."
Your thighs bundled in his hands. Fitting perfectly. Like you were made for him. With ease, he lifted you. Nudged your legs around his waist as his mouth found yours again. Hotter. Messier. Banking on your fumbling to spur the kiss into desperation as he carried you back.
Sukuna wanted to say he tossed you onto his bed. But he was gentle. Achingly gentle. Tipping you back into his sheets and roaming your shivering body with his eager hands.
He withdrew with saliva this time. Locked eyes with you to make sure you saw the sinful string. Grinned when you flushed again and tried to avert your stare.
"Eyes on me." He ushered, cupping your chin.
You struggled. You, the studious student council president, struggling to hold his eyes for once. But you managed.
He drawled. "Good girl."
Then pressed a chaste kiss to your smeared lipstick and ruined it all the way back down your neck. Tracing your shivers as his fingers slipped below your waist. Over your hips. Teasing your thighs. Until he hooked into the hem of your dress.
"Let's take care of this mess, yeah?" He muttered into the crook of your throat. Sliding the fabric up. Slow. Slower when he got to your hips. Your tummy. Your breasts— over your head. Until you were laid bare before him aside from your underwear.
Red, too.
Sukuna arched his brow. "That your favourite colour? Or is it just for me?" A hand traced down your side. Cupped it so that his thumb could trace over the corner of your bra. Right over your tit. His hands were big enough to encase them entirely.
He watched you through lidded-eyes. Watched as you tensed. As you shivered. Chewing your lip when you were unable to hurl back a rebuttal.
He could get used to this darling side of yours.
A kiss atop your breast. Then the other. He pulled one out of your bra to circle his thumb on the pebbled nipple. Only to replace it with a kiss when you grew too sensitive.
You squirmed. Whimpered. Sensitive. Guess you really were a virgin. The confirmation thrummed something dark within him. Ticked his smug smirk back to his lips that dragged further down. Over the valley of your breasts. To your tummy.
You twitched when he reached your thigh.
"Fingers or mouth?" He mumbled into the softness of your inner thigh. Long finger hooked into the waistband of your panties as he stared back up at you. "Pick your poison, princess."
"I— uhm. . ." Your breathing was shaky. Fluttered. Like a poor little bird as you squeezed your thighs together— he wedged them apart with a huff.
"Fingers. . . I think."
Such a soft croak. Nothing like the girl he knew you to be. Not a prestigious president when you were under him. Drunk on his kisses and trembling from his touches.
No, here? You were just his princess.
"Tell me what feels good," he whispered, eyes locked on yours even as you struggled to hold his stare now. Fingers slipping from the waistband to your centre. Featherlight as he stroked on your thigh. Nursed the shivers there together with his mouth in softer than expected kisses.
Before he reached your soft heat. Brushed over your clothed slit. Up, down. A small stroke of his thumb. Testing. Teasing.
The damp spot tugged his smirk wider. His thumb pressed into it. Just a little firmer. A little hotter. Stroking up to nestle under the crook of your finger. Circle just right—
You pitched a whine.
"There?" His murmur fanned your tummy. Your little nod squeezed something in his heart as he circled his thumb again. "Mmm. Y'know what that is, pretty?"
"I— Yeah. . . mnn. My clit—"
"That's right," he cooed. "Feels good when someone plays with it, huh?"
Filth dripped from every words. Sought to seep into your veins and corrupt your perfect little soul. Now wouldn't that be a sight? To taint the pinnacle of perfection you always were.
After massaging over your clothed cunt enough to soak through the fabric, he hooked two fingers into the corner of your panties. Dragged them to the side to finally— finally get a look at the other girl he'd been waiting for all semester.
Wet. Sopping. Dripping a cute little leak down your sensitive slit. All for him.
"Wet lil' thing for a virgin, aren't you?" The vibration of his voice seemed to spill more of your arousal, and he chuckled at the sight. Repeated the cycle until you squirming with a small, pitiful whine.
"I've gotcha, princess." His thumb swiped over your slick. Over your clit and slit in a slow, agonising stroke that wrecked your thighs into a squirm.
"Ryo—"
"Sukuna." His thumb trapped your clit. "I'm playing with your pussy right now. You call me Sukuna."
His free hand shot out. Ambushing your wriggles and holding you still against his mattress for his hand to work between your legs. Maroon eyes pouring heat into yours as he locked your stares. Forced you to maintain it.
"Su—" you croaked, stirring under his grip as his thumb became two fingers that stroked you oh so sinfully. "Kuna. . . mngh."
"There you go," he praised, soaking his fingers in your slick just a little more. Before he circled your slit with his index. Prodded. Tested. "If it hurts lemme know. Just. . . feel."
A kiss to your tummy. A distraction. As his thick finger slowly slipped inside. Breaching your gummy velvet that clamped around his knuckle immediately.
The sound that left you was pathetic. Nothing like the president he knew. Just his pitiful princess who squeezed her eyes shut and clambered at his broad shoulder.
He paused his hand. Waited. Feeling the pulse of your walls and the tight clamp around only one of his fingers. What a little thing you were.
"Princess," he cooed. Dragging his index out. Slow. Agonisingly slow— watching the stickiness glint on his finger before he pumped it back to the knuckle. Curled just right. "If you're clenching s'much round just one fingers how're you gonna take my dick?"
You whined. Pretty. Pathetic. Your hips trying to buck into his finger that eased into a languid pace. Steady as he worked you open. Got you used to the feeling.
So silky. So soft. Spilling all over and he hadn't even given you two yet. The sight of your pussy clenching around his knuckle grumbled a groan from deep within him.
"Pussy's so eager to get her cherry popped," he muttered, pressing another finger to your slit. Waiting, working you open. Just a little further, a little more—
Your head fell back as two of his beefy fingers slipped into you.
"S'kuna. . ." you croaked. Blinking those big eyes at his ceiling as your chest rose quick. Falling in stutters. Struggling to breathe. Your nails slipped from his shoulder to his elbow. Trying to hold him. Trembling.
"Sshhh, I've got you. Doing so good." The hand holding you down stroked up your thigh. To your side. Caressing so tenderly as his fingers pumped slow yet filthy. Stretching you out on just his middle and index. Leaking your stickiness all over his palm and wrist. Fuck.
"Messy girl." Another kiss pressed to your taut tummy. He pumped back into your squelching pussy a little harder. A little faster. When he gouged you could take it. When your moans told him you wanted more.
He observed you. The scrunch of your face. The knit of your brows and the way your lips parted. Whines mixing into whimpers mixing into moans. Thighs tense yet squirming. Into him. Away from him. Causing his fingers to bump and grind on several sensitive spots within you.
He curled. You croaked. Bucking your hips down into his palm in a display he could only describe as need. That neediness poor little virgins broke out into when they learnt what true pleasure was.
He grinned. Curled his fingers again. Searched for a spot— there.
"Fuck— there," you whined.
"Here princess? Righhttt here?" He drawled, fingers circling that gummy spot until your spine lifted off of the bed and he had to return to holding you down. "Oh, there it is." His fingers thrust. Once— twice— maddening. "That's the spot. The one that's gonna make you cum for me."
Spilling. Messily, helplessly. Your pussy soaked him with every pulse. Spasming when his thumb finally joined the mix. Flushed to your clit and stroked as his fingers found a fast pace. Pumping mercilessly and working you up to that first orgasm.
"I— 'm gonna. . . fuck, kuna—" you whimpered, teary. One hand fisting the sheets while another shot to his wrist, clinging to him feebly. "Gonna. . . I'm—"
"Gonna cum?" His grin smooched your tummy. Fingers worked faster. Stroking deadlier. Right into that spot as he swirled your clit. He watched your face. Watched you break.
"Yeah you are. Cum for me baby."
Your body bowed. Obeyed him. For once. Cunt clamping around his knuckles. Quivering into pronounced throbs as a sob crossed with a whine spilled from your lips.
Sukuna watched your body submit to the orgasm. Shaking in thralls of pleasure as your hips mindlessly ground into his hand that had long since stopped. Fingers curling and rubbing into that spot along with your pitiful grinds to ride you through your high.
His pretty president. Just a pathetic princess. Cumming all over his hand.
"There you go. That's it, just feel it. Lose yourself." He swirled your clit one more time for good measure. Just enough to feel it twitch weakly against his callous.
His fingers slipped out. Coated in your slick. He brought them to his mouth without a second thought. Watched you through the haze of your orgasm and how your eyes still tried to find his even when you were wrecked.
His tongue flicked out. Laved over your wetness as he held your stare. Made sure you watching him enjoy the mess that he had made you. The taste on his tongue. Fuck—
Sweet. So fucking sweet.
"Always knew you'd be so sweet." He huffed, breaths heaving as he took the moment to observe you. The far cry that he had broken you down into.
So pretty when you were ruined. Just as he thought you'd be.
But still speaking, it seemed.
"Sukuna. . ." you murmured, trying to look up despite your rattling thighs and your shaky breath. Your grip returned to his shoulders. Clinging to him.
"Want. . . wanna make you feel good too," your legs hooked around his waist. Squeezed. Oh fuck.
He shut his eyes. Reran your words in his hazed mind. How could he ever deny you?
"What an eager princess." His hands snatched you by the waist. Swung you over so that you squeaked at how easy it was for him to manhandle you.
Propped in his lap like a pretty thing like you should be. Slotted so perfectly and wedged against his burning bulge. Nudged just right into your messy cunt and dragging the slick all over his jeans. Seeping through and soaking into him.
His eyes fluttered. A grunt forced between his teeth as his hands splayed over your waist. Clamping down and grinding you into the rough rolls of his hips.
A large hand found your face again. Cradled it so gently while his body worked animalistically. "Yeah? Want me to feel good too? What're you gonna do for me?"
His lips fell back to yours. Smothering your answer into pretty little whines. His tongue ventured in this time. Dominating you in every way he could. Searing his mark into you. His princess. His.
"I— hngh. Kuna."
"You gonna whine like a brat? Huh?"
"Mngh."
His hand slipped behind you. Palmed your ass and squeezed it. Pressing you firm into him to spur the sparks between your crotches. Rubbing the heat into something feral until you were both bucking messily.
Hot kisses laved your neck. Over your throat. Your pulse. Sucking hickies in his wake as he caught your clit on the rift of his erection. Grinding just right until you whined his name in that prettily pathetic way again.
"Fuck," his huff fanned your jugular. "Gonna fuck that pretty pussy so good. Make her all mine."
Rough hands dwarfed yours. Encasing them as he dragged your fingers to his belt. Pressed them into the buckle with the demand clear in sight. The promise of what was to come. What he'd do to you.
Your hands froze.
So did he.
With a tender consideration so uncharacteristic of him, Sukuna pulled from your neck. Nudged you to face him. "Hey," his thumb pressed to your cheek. "You okay?"
Your eyes tried to avoid him. He saw it. Dragging your stare back to him at least three times before you finally held it again.
"I. . . I just. . . I don't know if I—"
His eyes softened.
"Nervous?" He murmured.
You stiffened. Unblinking. Before you cleared your throat and slowly, so achingly slowly, nodded your head.
Sukuna was no brute. No matter what the stereotypes said. So the little nod was all he needed before his hands slipped back to your waist and carefully pulled you off of him.
"That's okay," the assurance didn't even sound like his voice. Soft, for the elusive rugby captain everyone knew him as. "We don't have to do anything else. You did good."
A kiss to your temple. He felt you ease against him as he sat you on the edge of the bed and got up. Walked over to where you dropped the shirt he'd gotten you earlier and came back to pull it back over your head. Careful. Attentive.
The fabric fell over you. Hanging low like a dress. He couldn't help the quirk at the corner of his lips. Yeah, his colour looked good on you.
"We'll get you cleaned up in a bit. You're gonna need some water."
"I. . . thanks. Thank you."
"For being a decent human being?"
He scoffed at your big eyes. Long arms caging you in on the edge of the bed as he observed you. Your pouting lips and tear-streaked face.
Fuck. He could get used to this.
"Don't get to used to it," the tease fanned your lips. Just to hear that hitch in your breath again.
The pretty, prestigious president. His pitiful princess. All softness to his callouses and tender to his roughness.
His thumb and forefinger caught your chin. Nudged it up.
"Next time, I won't let you run away, yeah?"
A rough peck to your lips. It sounded like a threat, but when he pulled back, there was no denying it. The affection in his eyes.
The affection for you. His pretty pain in the ass.
꒰shrine꒱ sukuna lost the love of his life
꩜ cw: heavy angst. grief. major character death (reader)
What a fool the King of Curses had become.
Reduced to something he used to mock – a man ruled by emotion, unable to fight back against the way they spilled from his eyes and from the open wounds on his knuckles; a blind rage that had left bloodied dents on the walls.
The walls you had been so adamant on decorating. With ridiculous ideas of portraits and family pictures you'd one day take together. One day. A day that never came.
You humans were fragile things, he knew that.
He knew that.
But how could he have resisted you? When your smile made him believe he had a heart again? When your eyes alone made him want, crave, yearn for something he used to deem so unnecessary?
Sukuna loved you from the moment he first saw you.
And that would be the death of him.
Because you weren't here anymore.
No.
He was alone again.
Alone with the stupid walls in that colour he hated, but you had looked so happy when you chose it. Even more so when he lifted you up on his shoulders so you could reach the ceiling, dragging the colour all over with the large brush as he watched from below, mesmerized by your smile.
You had pouted when you saw the end result of your uneven streaks, but Sukuna told you it was perfect. Of course it was perfect – you had created it.
He still remembered the way you smiled, lifting yourself up on the tips of your toes to kiss his deformed cheek. No one else had ever been gentle with him like that. Why the fuck would they?
Another punch breaks through the wall, another punch bringing him back to this horrifying reality he can't accept. Was this what he deserved? Were the gods mocking him again?
Whatever crime he was paying for, whatever law of retribution he had triggered, it didn't change the fact you didn't deserve it. Sukuna would have chosen his own demise over yours any day; would have gladly left this world if it meant you could still be here, safe, smiling.
Putting up the pictures you dreamed of. Having the family you deserved.
Sukuna's knees give out before he can throw the next punch, falling to the floor with a loud thud, his vision hazy with so many tears he didn't even know he could shed.
Over the corner of his eye, something catches his attention though. It's in one of the moving boxes you hadn't finished unpacking, now lying half thrown on the ground with it's contents spilled.
But there, he saw it – the smile he loved. The face he needed to see more than anything.
Sukuna crawled to it like a man condemned, shoving everything else out of the way to pick up the picture on the floor. When had you framed this? He couldn't remember, but the memory of it was clear as day in his mind – a day in the park, a polaroid some stranger had taken without permission and dared ask money for. Sukuna already had a scowl on his face, but you convinced him to buy it. You said you loved it.
It showed the two of you in a moment where you thought no one was looking. Just a casual day, leaning on the bridge under the bright sun, his arm around your waist. Your face was turned to him with a beaming smile, and his lips also tugged upwards in a look he only ever shared with you.
Sukuna had thought the man's suggestion so offensive he had barely bothered to look at it. But he was glad you convinced him to buy it.
Sukuna loved it too.
His crimson eyes turned to the walls then, resolute, already looking for a hammer and nail he was sure would be lying around one of the moving boxes. His legs brought him up again, moving to the half destroyed wall with the picture in his hands.
You said you wanted pictures of your family on there.
He could do that for you.
He'd find every picture you ever took and nail it to the walls of the home you were never able to make.
Fuck it, he'd make a whole shrine.
Honour you in any way he could.
this is inspired by something @plaguecxlt told me so you can blame them for it (affectionately ♡) tysm for inspiring me and helping me get out very difficult emotions at the same time ily <3 anyway sorry about this one guys
