whelmed.

Robin is the name, bi af, they/them- welcome to my hyper fixations and fic recs 18+.

[bisexualjoong]

BIG BOSS happy birthday beloved @noctilucentminki <333

[thirstkanaphan]

Two years since “Okay, Captain, kick that shit let’s go!” and the greatest performance of Guerrilla they’ve ever done

[fake-married-my-dead-fiance]

and that is very sexy of you

[crumbledcastle28]

Din Djarin: Beautiful

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: translating for a Tusken Raider leaves Mando with no other option than to be vulnerable.

Warnings: Din gets shy and flustered, softness in a shared tent (there’s only one…dun dun dun), kind of a feelings confession, a touch of angst, and that’s about it. I really hope I got the Tusken culture correct please let me know if I need to make changes!

A/N: this is inspired by the incredible BOBF episode 2!! If you have not given that a watch, I highly recommend that you do so! It’s so well done. And thank you all so much for over 600 followers. That is absolutely unreal.

My requests and asks are open! If you’d like to make a request or just start a conversation, I’d love to hear from you!

If you’d like to leave a like, comment, reblog, or ask, it would be greatly appreciated <3

Din Masterlist

(Gif gotten from Pinterest)

“Go on,” Din mumbled sweetly. “You can drink it. It’s safe.”

The gurgling black drink in your hands said otherwise.

The apprehension was clear in your body language, but you tried your best to be respectful towards the Tuskens.

“It’s ok,” he said one more time. His deep, calming voice was ever so present under the modulator, and you pressed the warm liquid to your lips.

The taste hit your mouth much faster than you had expected. It was somehow bitter and savory all at once, and the thick texture completely coated the inside of your mouth.

If your stomach wasn’t so empty, and you didn’t have four armed Tusken Raiders staring at you from around the campfire, you may have made a face. But the drink was all you had, and the last thing you wanted to do was disrespect these people.

They had allowed you and Din to pass over their land, provided you with the drink, and even offered a tent for you to spend the night. The mission the two of you were on was one of the most demanding yet, and the safety of a cool tent for some much needed sleep was so kind it brought tears to your eyes.

You thanked the maker that Din could communicate with them. He had been translating for you all night.

It was yet another endearing and powerful aspect of the once intimidating man that you now admired, and held close to your heart.

You pulled the cup away and swallowed the thick juice, before smiling at the chieftain sitting across from you. The deep black of the night sky mixed with the vibrant reds of the fire made him more intimidating than ever, but also more commanding.

“How do I say ‘thank you’?” you asked Din over the crackling of the fire.

He pressed his palms together, and let them fall towards his lap.

“Like that,” he said. “Slowly.”

You set the cup down next to you and repeated the motion he made with your own hands.

The chieftain became somehow more tense, and bowed his head to you. He then placed his staff down in the sand, and made more motions with his hands, never removing his eyesight from you.

“He is saying ‘you’re welcome,” Din said. Your heart became louder in your ears.

“He said that the drink they offered is hard to come by, and he appreciates your respect towards their hospitality.”

You nodded to the chief, nice and slow, and he nodded back. A breath of relief released from your nose.

The chief Tusken then turned his body towards Din, and the two of them started another conversation.

You picked the cup back up and took a few more sips, getting used to the odd taste and enjoying the feeling of a full belly. You watched Din expertly converse with the chief, and you were completely in awe of him.

He made it look so natural. So easy. You wondered if he learned the language overtime, or in his Mandalorian training when he was a boy. Had he always been so open to the Tuskens, or had he mistaken them for an enemy and learned of their ruthless skills the hard way.

Either way, seeing him in such a domestic and natural state was rare for you, and all you wanted to do was watch him. Only him.

You were slowly realizing that the longer you worked with the Mandalorian, the easier it was to just get lost in his elegance.

His gleaming beskar was the perfect source to reflect light, and it made the burning glow of the fire paint a range of colors on his armor. It stretched over his entire body, giving it an orange-ish glow. Every inch of him was breathtaking, especially his intricately carved helmet.

You knew you weren’t supposed to think about it, you knew you weren’t supposed to imagine it, and you definitely knew you weren’t supposed to daydream about it…

…but you wondered just how breathtaking he was underneath it all.

You continued to sit and watch, just thinking and observing your Mandalorian, before the chieftain looked at you once more. You saw him in your peripheral vision, and so you turned your head to look back at him.

You smiled at him as delicately as you could, not showing any teeth, and the chief straightened up again. His shoulders puffed, as well as his chest, and he continued to look at you for some time. You could feel his eyes raking over your body, and you tried your best to stay as neutral as possible.

These people were kind and respectful, especially the chief, and the gratitude in your eyes was the only gift you could give them in return. You wished you could give them more.

Finally, the chief made eye contact with Din again, and signed something longer than before.

The Mandalorian looked rather taken aback once the Tusken finished his statement, and your eyebrows wrinkled in curiosity at his reaction.

“Mando,” you said, not wanting to reveal his true name, “everything ok?”

Din continued to look at the chief, holding his hands out in front of him awkwardly as if he was lost for words, before he turned his visor to face you.

“He said…he said that you’re beautiful.”

Your mouth instantly went dry.

Beautiful.

You didn’t know if you’d ever been called that before.

“Oh…” you said, trying to look anywhere but the two men.

“He said that your smile is like the twin-sunset, and… and your kindness is a treasure,” Din continued. “They currently have very few women, but the men of this tribe would make sure that a woman like you would find this place very comfortable. They would make it your home.”

You were dumbfounded. Completely speechless.

A home. They were offering you a home.

You had grown up traveling from place to place, never once having the opportunity to grow roots or feel as if you belonged. You spent your teenage years embracing that freedom and independence, and they were what got you into bounty hunting in the first place.

You had convinced yourself that a home would never exist for you. Your life was the chase and the reward, and you were willing to bet it would stay like that until your final heartbeat.

But when you looked back up at Din, watching the smoke dance around his broad frame and the deep breaths he took underneath all that armor, you knew the truth.

Your home was never meant to be a place. It was always meant to be a person.

“Tell him thank you,” you replied to Din. “But I’ve already found a home.”

The invisible mask that Din protected himself with cracked for only a few seconds, and he let his emotions overtake him. He released a shaky breath of relief. You saw his shoulders shake and his hands ball into fists, before he straightened up and put the mask back on.

This reaction to your words was so quick that you barely caught it, but you were so glad you did.

You knew he understood. He always found a way to understand.

You swallowed thickly and let your eyes flutter shut, trying your best to recollect yourself.

Din communicated your statement to the chief, and you swore you saw his shoulders sink in defeat. The chief made his final response, and stood up with his staff in hand. The men around him stood up as well, and they slowly made their way towards their own tents.

“Come on,” Din said, pulling his body weight up. “We both need sleep.”

He reached out his arm to help you up, and you gladly took it.

He led you to a small beige tent near the edge of the camp, and he held the material open so you could crawl in first.

“I apologize if it’s a bit cramped,” he said sweetly. “This was all they had.”

“It’s perfect Din,” you said. You missed the familiar feeling of his name on your tongue. “Thank you.”

He nodded, and you took a seat on the warm, soft ground. He remained standing.

“These people are…very kind,” Din said.

“Yes. Very,” you responded.

“I’m surprised you didn’t want to stay with the chief. An offer like that is quite rare.”

Want to stay?

“What?” you asked him softly. “Why would I want to stay?”

“The life we have, it’s never been safe. These people can protect you. Probably better than I can—"

“Din—"

“—they don’t have to worry about credits, or jobs or, even where their next meal will come from. They know the sand. They provide for themselves. You could live a quiet life, not one in constant danger.”

He paused, letting his eyes fall over your form.

“It seems…it seems like it’s obvious. You should stay.”

You looked at him, a light mist beginning to form in your eyes, and you licked your lips. Preparing yourself for what you were about to say.

“Din,” you began. “Why would I go anywhere that wasn’t with you?”

You stared into his ever-piercing visor as you spoke, watching his shallow breaths and emotionless stance.

This silent, brooding Din had once scared you more than anything.

It felt like his eyes were peeling back your skin, seeing every secret and mistake you desperately tried to hide. You could never read him, no matter how hard you tried. And it scared you shitless.

But now, you knew what you were staring at. You were staring at a man who had given you his name, his identity, his child. You knew he trusted you, and you trusted him.

So if he wanted to rake his eyes over every nook and cranny of you, then fine. There wasn’t much he didn’t know already.

“I meant what I said by the fire,” you continued. “I don’t want to leave. I never want to leave.”

What you couldn’t see was Din’s clenched jaw, and his stomach was dropping to his feet. He couldn’t physically take his eyes off of you. Even if he tried.

“This,” you said, gesturing to the fabric around you, “is not what a home is. Home is a feeling.”

Here goes nothing.

“And you give me that feeling.”

The words were spoken, suspended in the air, and there was no turning back.

You exhaled, relieved to finally get that off your chest, before standing up as confidently as you could.

“My place is by your side. Do you understand?”

Din’s helmet bobbed up and down, and an even longer, harsher wave of relief washed over you.

“Good,” you said, and turned around to prepare your bed for the night.

The blankets the Tuskens had provided you were soft and thick. They would surely keep you warm as you slept, and your need for sleep was only getting worse.

You laid down the first blanket, and then covered yourself with the other. You laid down on your side, facing the still frozen Mandalorian.

“We both need sleep,” you said, repeating Din’s earlier statement, and closed your eyes.

Your body sunk into the sand, but your mind was more awake than ever.

You wanted him to say something. Anything. You had stripped yourself bare for him, being more honest than you ever had before, and he just stood there. You understood his difficulty with words, but at least a “thank you” would have been nice.

It was only a few moments of silence before you heard him walk towards his own blankets, and he began to take off his armor.

You heard the familiar clicks and snaps of each piece being taken off, and he set them delicately on the ground, trying to be as quiet as possible. You had watched him do this many times before, and so the routine had become cemented in your brain. The boots were first, then the chest, then the arms, then the legs.

You had never heard the helmet drop, though. Never.

And so when you heard a foreign puff of air escape, and one last piece of metal was dropped on to the sand, your sleep deprived brain started putting the pieces together.

The helmet was off. In your presence. For the first time ever.

You tried your best to keep up your act of fake sleeping. You felt sweat start to drip down your back and your heart begin to race. Your lungs clamored and begged for more air.

But you held on.

You then felt Din’s body move back towards you, and he laid his own blanket next to yours. Small grunts escaped his mouth as he settled in to the makeshift bed, and tiny pieces of sand flew in the air when he pulled his second blanket over his torso.

He laid his head down, and you had to force yourself to keep your eyes closed. The heat from his breath was so close to your lips, and the scent of his skin made your brain feel loopy.

He had to have thought you were asleep. If he knew you were awake, he would never have done what he did next.

He lifted his right arm and stroked his knuckles over your cheek. His touch was so light against your burning skin that you barely felt any pressure, but your stomach coiled and your cheekbones tingled.

“I lied to you today,” he whispered. “These people can never protect you the way I can.”

Your heartbeat was so loud you could barely hear. Shots of electricity slithered down your thighs.

“And I promise you, Y/N, I will do it for the rest of my life. If you’ll have me.”

He traced your cheek with his knuckles once more, and the breaths from his mouth were getting closer and closer to your lips. The puffs of air from your own nose were beginning to mix with his.

“You really are beautiful,” he said, and pulled his hand away. He tucked it underneath his blanket, and you resisted the urge to beg him to touch you again. It took every ounce of strength from your body.

Silence filled the tent for some time, and you finally started to relax. You couldn’t hold back sleep any longer.

As the last drops of consciousness were beginning to leave you, Din’s body moved closer to yours, and a scratch of facial hair rubbed against your forehead.

“You’re my home too,” he breathed.

The vulnerability and truth behind his words were the final kick to send your brain off to sleep, and the smell and feel of him stayed wrapped around you as you dreamt.

You had finally made it home.

Tag list: (please let me know if you’d like to be added to the Din or general tag lists! I’d be happy to add you!) (I apologize if your tag isn’t working!)

@leahkenobi @burned-dorito @tiredbuthappy @em---r @just-a-sewer-goblin @punkiwiki @martinsmomo @leisureaurora @letaliabane @cathenan @big-ol-boat @jezebel1945 @niiight-dreamerr @caffeinatedfestivalsheep @call-me-doll-face @yelyahcardella @letskeepthislo-ki @misspearly1 @petals-opento-the-moon @homespun-desperation @cheesecakeinthecorridor @writerlyhabits @lovesbiggerthanpride

[court-jobi]

Trustfall

(gif from Pinterest)

Pairing: Din Djarin x biker!Reader

Words: 8,865

Rating: Teen & Up, (mature themes, but not graphic)

Warnings: canon-typical violence, chase scene action, catcalling, skeevey sleemos, brief descrip of injuries/roadburn, consensual touching, injury care, FEELINGS, fluff to intimacy, first kiss #thehelmetcomesoff ((fem reader, mild descriptions of features, hair etc.))

Summary: Most jobs' occupational hazards may include some warnings for heavy machinery: not 3rd degree roadburn and blaster shots to the face. Just your luck, that's what happens in your line of work.... While your partner-in-not-quite-crime Din Djarin has quite a bit of on-the-job experience with patching himself up after his skirmishes, tending to yourself after a shitshow like this is new territory. Some things are just too tender to see from behind the helmet-- and need the naked eye.

Sounds like he really needs to trust you if he's going to give you help with this one...

"I'm not going without you- -and you're not going alone" -P!nk, 2023

AN: thank you from the bottom of my heart, internet strangers, for the love for my little stories... this is a long one! here's to the countdown to season 3 finale, and a dose of feminine rage, badassery, and fluff to soften the landing~

For my Star Wars | Mandalorian Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on AO3

Anywhere in the galaxy you turn, there's a place you can navigate like the back of your hand: simply find where the drinks are flowing. Every watering hole may have its tricky language and even trickier problems, but the money's always good, and no questions are asked of you. 

At a cantina, you rely on this. Here, you know you can easily fall back to old habits in an instant. Safety first, of course. 

The rundown: where's the doors, where's the bouncers, where’s the barkeep and where's the biggest guy in the room. You've trained yourself to  look for gaps, low traffic areas where you could make a quick dash out if things are looking sideways. Do all those things as fast as you can, too, because everything can change in a second. Tables can flip over like a credit chip– tempers, all the more quick to the draw. Oh, and don't be suspicious. Give a little smile if you can chance it– unassuming glances always make folks feel better.

But it's a bit different now. You don't bother to look up when you cross the threshold of a new place. You don't dissect all these fine details. After all, you've got a green baby that's twisting in his sling across your hips that has your attention split, and he comes first. 

That's a full time job on its own… and whenever he comes along for the day, you don't forget the best part of the arrangement you find yourself in. 

You've got a bounty hunter in stride. Worry is the furthest thing from your mind. He’s got you. 

Upon first entry, the Mandalorian you've been hyperspace hopping with comes in like he'd likely done hundreds of times before. He's no stranger to reading a room, either. Though this time, with you and the little one tucked away in your crossbody, the company he keeps is completely different. This dynamic is far from your norm, but there’s so many things you love about it– and as it turns out, the feeling is mutual. He tells you so, that you don’t have to worry when he’s with you. 

You buckled in the kiddo yourself– a break for Mando's still-tender shoulder. The scuffle you'd just come from not twelve hours ago was still fresh in both your minds– not that your sabacc face showed it. He appreciated your offering to keep tabs and hold him today. Still gotta fix his pod after the 'swimming incident' last week… after this payday, maybe you two could swing it after your winnings arrive. 

Heading towards his unofficial corner of this planet's best underground lounge, Mando picked up through his peripherals the bits of chatter– no… -hunger- coming from some of the smaller pods of wranglers. Their attention wasn't due to the shinier beskar plates he wore. No, it was all aimed at his newfound companion. 

They're all looking at you… not that you notice.

One in particular caught Mando’s honed attention as you neared, passing him to the bartop while he waited. The man wasn't the biggest in size, but Mando knew this type; that smarmy smile told him he’s thinking himself roguishly handsome, but made of complete slime and bantha-shit.

“Bike’s out back~” you paused by the bar to pick up the drink you’d nodded for, and made a convincing-looking fake sip while sticking close to his side. “-unregistered. Pokka dropped it off this morning for a nearby delivery run. It’s not the prettiest thing, but it’ll do in a pinch for a two-seater.” 

Just after that line left your lips, something in the schmuck’s eye and his low murmur to his buddy. A near growl about the ‘not the only thing I'd pinch– pretty thing, coming right up’ made your partner turn with micro-precision in the direction of the smugglers–

–and catch your hand with a fierceness. Right in front of their table.

You're surprised by the sudden gesture. 

When he did let go around the back of the row of booths, the Mandalorian more or less guided you by the small of your back instead. If anyone were invested enough past their drink's contents to be watching, they’d find you in a half embrace. This move allowed Mando the space to tuck you into his side with a corralling arm. You'd honestly not registered what he’d witnessed until he fell back to your pace with a gentle ‘this way’. A pod of spacers were gawking– at the shiny guy loaded to the gils with blasters, you thought. 

Now closer, you had less room, but still managed enough to swing the munchkin to your front. The ‘bag’ made a little noise- an indignant question at your description of the ride you’d secured.

“Sorry, excuuuse me- three seater! Two and a half more like, with your size...”

Situating yourself with some disappointed looks your way, you took the near end of the bench Mando directed you to. Didn’t take much to know not to keep eye contact too long with any of these unsavory characters around you, so you kept to yourself. Once Mando slid in from the opposite side, you asked him, 

"Quite the crowd huh?--oof–"-

Rather than allow the space for the little guy in between you, Mando slid in right beside you: an arm behind you and a small thud of his heavy fist on the table. The tracer clacked as it landed in front of him.

Someone's got him acting testy. You eyed your hunter as he brooded; a small twinkle flitted behind your eyes, 

“See someone you know?" you asked.

"No." the Mandalorian spat out, curtly.

"Then what's wrong?"

His helmet turned to you, then ahead again.

"I didn't like how they were looking at you."

You bristled, really checking the room for the first time, managing the kid in your lap with a little glance. From the moment you took stock of the table nearest you, their quick darts in your direction told you just how rusty you were. They’re all locked onto you. 

The whole point of your taking the kiddo for Mando was to seem less out of place, not a target.

“You don’t– think folks all the way out here are gonna go after him?” Nervousness flared in your voice, though for the sake of appearances, you didn't dare let it show on your face, “Who even reads the Imp notices anymore? This whole town’s a glorified farming dustball-”

Mando corrected you, “Not him.” 

He murmured that into your shoulder like it was obvious.

A stunted breath tripped up your budding confusion. 

"Well, if it's not the sight of a baby in a bar making them creep, what then?”

“You.”

Not for the first time, you checked the look of yourself. It’s what you faced from the reflection of the beskar cheek looking back at you when you addressed him– never his face, but yours. Then, to the room. Sure, you weren’t so rough-and-tough looking from the outside, but–

"..Hold on." Flatly, you turned towards him; a quarter turn from your cozy spot. "You're saying I'm the distraction here."

All you got  in response was a little quirk of the helmet. 

You bristled, “I’m not the only-”

“I know you’re not,” he hushed you again, still scanning his sights across the venue like a sentry camera, “but these bantha-breaths are all the same when it comes to- distractions.” 

Your eyes fluttered in a muted roll. “And you think that’s new?”

“New to me.”

“Cmon. All this? You’ve gotten plenty of looks before.”

“Not the way they were watching you. The kid had nothing to do with it.”

You never take having such protective company for granted, but Mando's insinuation that you're bringing unwanted attention was surprising– and irritating.

“Please. You flatter me, I hardly think I’m the biggest draw in the room, hon.” you settled in. Harmless, but indignant, “You want me to really up the appeal? Then we should have planned ahead, and set up a rotation for me in the dance schedule.”

His gloves crackled at the creases– their grip unmistakable, “That’s an invitation for trouble.”

“No, messing with you is an invitation for trouble. I’m not trouble.”

“May not mean to, but you might cause us some.”

In truth, this observation wasn't unfounded; of the scarred, sweaty hunters and mechanics that filled this bar, you'd likely look out of place somewhere half this packed… and there’s no mistaking with the way you’re dressed that you are no fair-eyed performer like the real beauties in here. Sure your face under the visor shield might tell a different story when you appear more intimidating on the road, but here on this world, you passed over the need for even a 

This was your job, and not your first time in this line of work. You wore the kit, you didn't strut or flaunt your stuff around, and you certainly never drank on the job either. Just looked and played the part you needed to. If he didn’t want you to come meet the contact, then why ask you to join him? The whole point of this plan was to be seen very publicly as a united front, so you wouldn't be suspected of funny business; even if that was going to be your specialty after you start phase two: divide and conquer, as you always do.

Plans change, sure– but only when things turn sideways… not when he’s got some alpha male jealous streak going on behind that bucket of his. That hand grab earlier proved it.

Mando just took centering deep breaths while you ran out of accommodating alternatives. 

“Well, then, what do you want me to do?” the short candor that came out of your mouth wasn’t in your nature– but this was getting annoying, how short he’s acting. He’s not normally this snippy with you… “What, ‘wait by the tram’ till you come out, so I don't tinge that reputation of yours?”

The helm regarded you, then shook off– like he was redacting on the spot.

“I- didn't mean-”

And the backpedaling,

“-Fine.” 

No use fighting for a place you shouldn't be in the first place, because it would only make his job more difficult. Feelings or not, you weren’t out to throw a wrench in the operation just for the sake of your involvement. 

And even if your reason hadn’t won out, you sure weren't up for a soapbox moment either– despite its occupancy in your chest. 

You unstrapped the kid from yourself and placed him in your spot, 

“See ya in a bit, bud,” you laced a kindness into your voice- a sweetness just for him, “Maybe your dad will get his job done better without 'arm candy' throwing off his mojo."

Beelining it to the backdoor, you carried on steaming. You didn't bother looking back, which also meant you missed the Mandalorian’s lock on you the whole way across the rounded bar. Not that you had any doubts that he would be watching you; in fact, you counted on it. But you knew with even more certainty that he wouldn’t stop you. Not when there’s a job to do. You’re just going to set out on yours early. 

Though you may not always see alike, there’s yet to be a final say that makes you not trust him so far. You’ll change the plan, call ‘plot twist’ and go right along with him.

Maybe one of these days he’ll begin to trust you at your word… do Mandalorians even do that with folks who aren’t their kind?

It's a job. A job you can do damn well. So, back to old habits it is. Keep the bike warm and ready for go-time.

In your retreat, you caught a comm from him. Just a blip and slight vibration that caught your attention on your wrist: 

/be careful/

– and just like that, all the temper heating your neck and chest: shocked by a bucket of cold, graciously vigilant water.

Your Mandalorian couldn't resist.. and you really couldn't fault him for it. 

You stopped at the door, slowing as the two words staring back at you made you come to a standstill. Checking back and finding that the man's brilliantly shiny helmet had indeed stayed tracked on you the whole time sent that pang in you alive and burning. A little breath huffed from your nose, but you didn't scowl at him. 

It's just in his nature, he can't turn that off. 

You looked back and nodded.

'I will'. 

“Fancy seeing a livin' breathin' angel who knows her way around a rig~” 

Outside, the smarmy man you'd missed noticing before made good on his interest in you and racked up his courage to act on it. He swaggered over to you by the open air skybike model you’d secured. 

As aloof as he could seem, with that peacocking chest on full display…. He’d even set one of his holsters off to the side, a clear invitation for you to notice another package. Ugh. 

“Vision a’ beauty in a dark, little corner like this, too…" he layered on the sugar,"Must be my lucky day, I tell ya!”

You weren’t having this pathetic attempt. 

“Does this actually work on women…” You leveled your face.

Felt good, giving him a stare down before going back to your solid watch of the back door. 

“C’mon now, pretty thing,” more swaggered steps towards you had your insides cringing– and had you moving ‘round the speeder to the mount side, “Couldn’t keep my eyes off’a ya in there– yer a stunner!”

And you don’t take a hint. “Not interested– I’m working.” Kept talking, too, like your words had just been a sneeze. 

“Thought you was that bounty hunter’s girl, but ah-” he comically searched the perimeter of the garage, “--don't see ‘im nowhere.”

You scrolled through your wristcom, “If you did, I’d be sweating if I were you.”

“Got the hots for him, do ya? ‘R are you just friendly is all?”

It took every ounce within you not to react. Don’t give him fodder, just watch the door and keep a  level head. Like he does. 

You cursed yourself. Mando really did have the eyes of a hawk-bat inside. Meanwhile, you were getting rusty– or just far too comfortable. 

Still, this moron was clearly set on poking the still-tender temper inside of you.

“Thinkin,” he made every move to sidle up to you, “I don’t have yer name, sweet’art- whaddthey call ya?”

“Look– I’m not here for my health. Buzz off.” You won’t be getting it.

And another step, to come lean on the front dash- “Right then– I get to guess. Sweetie, it is~”

Some sanity passed through your head, and you figured… the more you talk to this joker, the more he’ll try his luck. A hand on the palmbar, you revved the bike to full power; making your ‘Leech’ jump back, immediately floundering–

“Hey, hey, hey!!” and his sights roved over you, and in an instant, you equally revved his engines, “Ah, bit of fire in ya, huh? Like that in a bitch… Sure you know how to ride this beauty? or I can show you the ropes~”

You finally let your disgust show.

-and thank the Maker for the comm beep to save you. Your partner’s speech-to-text came through on your wrist tab,

//Making an exit//

//Which bay did you clear//

All too grateful, you typed back the number plastered on the overhead air systems installed above you. 

It took a bite of your tongue to keep from writing back a fuller response:

/Listen to the sound of this skug-bag’s jaw hitting the floor- that’s where I’ll be/

but instead you mounted after a quick couple letter keys.

“Well, it’s been a not-so-lovely chat here,” you upturned your own helmet with a flourish, “But after the loss of these braincells I can never get back, I gotta run and make my pickup now.”

The man made a last attempt to lean in over your from the front handlebars, 

“Nah, c’mon, gorgeous, I’ll make it worth your time real good. What’s the hurry? Sure there’s no harm in a bit a’ hooky?”

You laughed high in the back of your throat, giving gushy-sweetness back, with a side of ice–

“Not on your life, sleemo. Door to Hell is open, I hear.”

Then with the pop of your helmet on, you floored a fast reverse and drove off to leave him in the dust.

It almost occurred to you when you paused again to see what became of him, but you were shocked that he was in fact coming after you– with a gang of about four other men. Not that you could make out clearly what they were joshing about in the metallic hangar, but the slang they used about what features were hidden by your clothes was obvious…

The door you parked by remained silent when you rolled up; meaning you’d probably met Mando too soon. He likely wasn’t ‘a few moments away’ after all. And the gang who’s laughing so boisterous was nearing the exit ramp that would take them straight to you.

You tapped the wrist comm again, speaking directly. 

“Got company out here too, Mando,” you firmed up, “Bit of nasty company if that makes a difference!”

In a blink’s time, the audio came back, blaster fire sparkling through the speaker, 

“Same shits from the bar?”

You chortled, then answered clearly,

“Yup. Bold guys, up close.”

“I’ve got their buddies inside too.”

“Well kriffin’– do you need backup in there then?” Your slow reverse and frantic scooting along the floor looking for someplace inconspicuous -and quick- to hide your ride flew through your mind as you came up with plan ‘B’. “I’ll stash this, and lay lower inside.”

“No time– Take a lap– don’t stay where you are–” the Mandalorian blurted out.

You heard the rev of the gang’s engines as they idled around the exit ramp, “Or could you just put a rush on it? I’m already right here–”

“I’ll find you,” he stressed. “DO NOT engage them–”

But before you could snap back with–

“Guess you’re in need of a new boyfriend after all, Sweetie Pie!”

The crass voices appeared from above. While you’d slowed and chatted, they’d hopped the roof and made to bear down on you. The newcomers to the group, a couple Trandoshans and another Kel Door with a new retrofitted mask roved over you like you were a batch of Quarren hot-pot.

Oh, that blaster at your side was tempting… but you revved into top gear, and changed the route again. 

Keep away it is. Just ‘till the boys show up. 

In the end, you lose your seedy admirers after your third pass around. Touch and go driving proved in your favor, messing with their sloppy sense of acceleration with each lap around the back parking area. That was perhaps your saving grace– letting their inebriated states affect their pursuit instead of performing on the offensive– but it was short lived. 

Your first chatty Leech gets a corner up on you and forces your trek on the inner wall, where the backdoors line the complex. At this stretch of buildings, there weren’t any more service ladders like where Mando was going to meet you. 

Coincidentally, there were garbage units separating where that former landing zone was to where you are now. So when you skidded to a perfect stop, Leech rammed into the back and managed to jam his front end into the back of your second-seat attachment. Lovely. A flare of alarm chilled your back– feeling him far too close for comfort. 

The blaster you carry is holsted between you- he’d see if you turned to grab it. You’ll have to slip down for your vibroblade if he tries to grab you.

And of course now is when he comes out of the far backdoor– 

The Mandalorian burst from the firefight in the back door and -0ki whipped around the railing looking for you. The munchkin spots you first, and with your visor’s magnification, you see his smile- and subsequent squeal- which drags the Mandalorian’s attention to you.

From clear across the divide, his blaster raised and you leveled down with your handlebars: like he showed you.

“Hey now, friend! I was just returnin’ yer lovely thing to you!” the man’s voice flipped up several octaves in defense. 

The maglock between your bikes activated, and he dragged you in reverse ever so slowly, 

“Been runnin’ me and my crew like wild around the place. Been a fun chase- yeh must have yer hands full of this girl-”

Mando shot the man’s acceleration chamber till it hissed– stopping him in his tracks.

“You stay.”

You bashed the man’s face with a harsh elbow while his sights are down.

“YOU CRA-”, he recoiled with a bear swipe while you dismounted to try and fling him off– “--AH!”

But another shot grazed the man’s foot, making him slump onto his speeder.

He’s buying you time. 

Running through your mental catalog, you risked the man’s pain-induced split focus to detach your bikes from his panel’s shortcuts– but didn’t miss the Mandalorian’s next shout,

“Touch her and you lose your head next.”

You smirked under your visor. He’s gonna take him out anyway, you just know it. Swinging your ride back around to where you can remount never felt so good. 

Now, you really did try to avoid close calls like this as much as you can manage. But if nothing else, this run-in proved you could always learn a bit more, should spare reading up on grav separation, and maybe outrig yours a bit better when you get the chance…

A spared nod to the Mandalorian while you backed up– and his nod back– gave you the confirmation from the high ground that you needed. 

From your angle down low, your helm didn’t have the scope for it. But Mando’s does; you’re cleared to run the gap.

Against the exasperated Leech’s expectations, you jumped it. Sure enough, when you landed, no more jeers followed. Only yells of surprise from the guy’s crew, who were screaming around his form laid flat on the ground, some to call for a extinguisher droid for the speeder fire, another calling out for a medic…

Under the railing where Mando stands, blaster shots chink off his backplate again, signaling him to get out of there. A perfect land later, Mando mounted behind you and wedged his foundling between the both of you. 

“I take it you got it?” you asked, your modulated voice still perking up the Child’s ears.

He answered with arm wrapped tight your waist, “Got it. Drive.”

With the Mandalorian and the kid’s padded sling strapped tight to him, the three of you dipped off the ledge of the garage, leaving the bad vibes- and big paycheck -secured. 

–However, there's a gap in the antigrav you don’t account for. Turning sharp back to the main road, you slip off a level, and wipe out. Happens so fast, you don’t even breathe– just feel a punch to the gut where the front end of the bike lurches back against you when you curl forward around it as it spins against the momentum.

 The acceleration drones when it falls off kilter, the compressors go creepily silent, the metal plates grind against your eardrums, scrapes and crashes, and so do you.

The Child’s fine; if just a little dizzy when Mando curls away from his landed position behind you. Made of straight beskar steel everywhere it counts, he’s perfectly fine too. 

You? Not so lucky… You can count on one hand the amount of times over the age of fifteen where you’ve had a messy landing– and this makes the top ten. 

Crashing feking hurts. But you can still feel your legs; that’s good.

You rolled onto your back at Mando’s yell for you. He’s calling for you by name– louder and longer each time it leaves his vocoder– before you can reorganize your rattled brains enough to make any noise. A test of tilting your head proved you had range of motion. An adrenaline-high hand simply gave a thumbs up to him, even though your cheek burned. 

White hot sting radiated across your face even when you chucked your helmet off with gasps of breath, as fiery steam and dribbles of blood were dangerously seeping close to your eyeline. From your good eye squinting to the side, you caught the remnants of your smoking, stolen ride spun out amongst some employee’s stash of speeders. So much for returning that poor two-and-a-half speeder back in one piece…

The Mandalorian led you out of the hangar with a steady hand on your back- for support, this time. 

Even through the leather, you felt the pressure he gave as a buffer between you and any lingering watchers. Out in the bustle of a crowd should have provided a comforting white noise to be moving along in, fading into their routine existence through the foot traffic. But not this time; not with your ear still ringing and ears popping every time you swallow. Instead you were still shaking off the chills that creep sent when he was starting to block you in.

That hand on your back slid onto your waist, tucking you closer to him as you walked and merged with the crowd. Then, while your attentions moved to the booths, he slowed a bit and moved up to your arm.

"Are you alright?"

You lifted up, that soft tone a sharp contrast to what you’d just witnessed: as he made his threats and his kills like the hunter he was. It hadn't bothered you, in fact the protective nature of him made you feel slightly good. 

You smiled and fell into his side. You didn't realized how tightly you'd crossed your arms over your fractured helmet. His touch alone- brief as it was- encouraged you to release the tension.

"Yeah... Thanks for that." You sunk a bit. With every breath, the adrenaline ebbed more and more from you, and your cheek stung.

You both could bicker about how you had it covered another time. When there was some distance between this incident, maybe, but thanks was due here. There was no game of ‘I told you so’ between you; it was unspoken- but the care won out over any personal beef.  

Your ego is plenty bruised over having a wipeout in front of him. And yet, even as he'd brought you to your helmet, the first comment he made wasn't about how reckless you'd rounded that corner, or how you got yourself into a chase scene picking a petty fight… 

Mando was by your side the instant your hand fell limp after your cheery hand signal, and said something about how this helmet saved your life. In the moment, you were just sad its visor shattered. 

"Spent a lot of credits on the tint job…" you groaned. 

"You're bleeding. From the head."

"Fine, fine," you waved him off, "I'll spring for substance and not style next time."

"Thank Ashla her humor's intact," Mando bemoaned to the Child. "C'mon, let's get you up and out of here."

"Ow, shit– that's gonna bruise…  all down here, too.." 

"I've got you."

He looked ahead and motioned with a little nod to the corner of the side street. Once under a pavilion cover he loosened his hold on completely in favor of facing you.

"I'm.. I'm sorry that happened."

"Yeah," you sighed back, "Wasn't the finest show of my skills. Even stellar  have bad days too, see?"

"N-. Not that," he shook his head a little, "When I found you, out back."

You stood confused. "What, that a creep wanted to get in my pants? It's not the first time, and probably not the last." 

What started as a quip in your voice turned more genuine as you admitted the truth, 

"You uh… had that part right at the bar. How they're all the same, y'know."

He bristled, the turn of his helmet evident.

"That's happened to you before?"

You shrugged it off, a little surprised that he hadn't been privvy to that kind of scene.

"Just read the stats. It happens more often than folks care to admit, honey,” that sick feeling returned, the one that made even your toes lurch.The sourness of your memories made your broken helmet decidedly more interesting to look at,  “Dregs say whatever they want in these parts, really anywhere from Mid-Rim out. Don't like being told 'no' for the most part either… It just depends on how far they'll go to try and ‘convince you’." 

He really must be all business in establishments like that to never see those locales from another's perspective… But you grin back up at him while he stared speechless. 

"...I haven't ever had someone come to my rescue before.." you admitted. "That was– welcome. Appreciated."

As expressionless as the helmet made him, the slight tip of the head spoke wonders for you. Mando's hand rose to catch your top wrist and rubbed his thumb against it– solidifying those feelings he didn't dare speak in public. Without any facial features to go on, you relied on these touches and read into every little thing: chipping up your chin is an encouragement, a pat on the shoulder is a quick ‘atta girl’ or ‘stay put’ depending on the situation. And this little hold on your wrist spoke equal wonders, a hidden language of care:

 I’d do it again in a heartbeat, cyar’ika. Simply say the word, and it’s done.

Your pause was a quick one, and with no more words shared, he simply took claim of your hand, adjusted your fingers to work together, and led you back to the shipyard. 

The Child would peek his head out now that the action was over. He’d crane and lean up at you both as much as his sling could afford him– though he was most interested in what sight was in front of him: your hands now fitting together like they belonged. 

His buir was currently holding your hand, like he’s reached out to hold his own three fingered claw when they first met. He hoped this meant you'd stay, too. With his green-skinned hand, he could almost reach yours and add it to the pile.

......................................................................................................

The Mandalorian was quiet that night. The quiet itself was not unusual, no not that– setting a course and spending his time in the cockpit making the adjustments he wanted was a completely normal task for him. He always knew where to go, which route to plug into the navicomputer to coast comfortably in this hyperspace lane for the next few hours so he didn’t have to stay up there and babysit it. You left him to it; this brand of silence was nothing really out of the ordinary for him.

You thanked his strictly-taught discipline tonight. While he stayed busy, you were able to clean yourself up without an audience. 

After an indulgent sonic shower by his insistence, you fiddled around in the small kitchenette. The domesticity, the residential feel you’d fostered on the ship piece by piece was a sharp contrast to how the bar made you feel. The security of this place; you fall back into the feeling of ‘home’ here everytime you come up the ramp. So far tonight, that’s meant heating up a few bean rolls, monitoring the data cells you’d comped from your intel, and watching the kiddo roll around that little knob he was always sneaking off with. The minute after you’d realize the twist top of the gearshift throttle in the cockpit was missing, you’d smile. What thievery, at such a young age… at least your pilot didn’t have need of it yet.

You shook your head and laughed when the Mandalorian sighed behind you– clearly finding it, too.

"What am I gonna do with you, pal..." He wrestled with himself more than anything- begging the odd baby for reason, and picked him off the floor.

After setting him on the crate, the Mandalorian came up to the side of the sink. You didn't move much from what you were doing, but looked up when he just stood there quietly for too long.

"--What's up?"

“Really need to clean that.”

At the nod, you knew what he meant– the split brow and cheekbone.

Your instincts flared- hedge away. 

You fanned your face,  “I was just getting him settled first. It’s clean, I was just letting it cool down a minute.”

Your name left his lips. Firm as steady morning rain, and in a similar hush. You didn't need to see what color they were to know they were set on you and only you.

“Look, it’s only this much, see?--AH! Oof, nevermind..”

At your cheek’s lift, the fire came back. The move brought a tear to sting your eye. 

In a second, the Mandalorian came to your aid, a bracing hand on your waist as his hand cupped your chin to see the damage himself. He asked you to take another step towards the light, so you did. It seemed like he was tilting about a bit, even as he tested the touch around the roadburn. You winced at it each time- from both the poking and the bulb of the overhead glaring into your eyes. 

“It’s pretty bad, huh.” you mumbled out.

Guilt came through the sigh as a little exhale. You barely caught it, but it struck you in the stomach. The night, its quiet, and the privacy of hyperspace allowed you to bring your favorite secret to your lips–

“How bad is it –Din?”

“I can’t see it too well.” Mando -by his true name- told you, a skosh gentler. “My scanner doesn’t always allow me to see the debris from the clotting clearly. Hard to tell,” he weakly let go of your chin. 

“Damn,” you sniffed and looked about for the tabletop lantern back by the kiddo, “Do I need to get the handheld?”

Then, with a little look back to the hull where he sat occupying himself sleepily by the towel pile, your Mandalorian took maybe his largest risk ever:

“-I need you to close your eyes for me.”

“Huh?” 

“I need to see it better. Need– you to close your eyes for me to do that.”

Realization punched you again. Made your ears prick– and gooseflesh chill you.

You can't let him do this... You know he would. 

“We can get a medscanner, Din. It's not too late to stop somew-.”

“No,” he caught you again, “I can do it; need to do it. I just– I need to trust that you’re hearing me.”

It's less of an order and more of a curated ask, one that begged for assurance. This man would always do his best to help you– but you never imagined he'd go this far… what he's willing to do for you. 

It's the most vulnerable request he'd ever made of you; a Mandalorian's trustfall. 

Now? You took back every doubt you had in the bar about him. You looked him straight in the visor –while you still could.

“...I hear you, hon.”

It nodded back to you; just one, solemn motion.

“Okay. Come sit here.”

You obeyed and locked onto the sight of the child while the Mandalorian fell to a knee in front of you, then propped himself up on both to match. With prepped gauze and tools to extract the pebbley shards, you winced at the canister of bacta being shaken up in his palm. A gloved palm came to caress your thigh. It’s meant to soothe.

“It’s ok. Gonna get you taken care of.”

“Yeah,” you feigned a brave face. 

But every nerve ending fluttered at its tips when you felt it: his now bare hand brushing your good cheek,

“Do not open them, please.” you heard him whisper in the helmet. 

The already low-lit vision of the cabin fell dark at your will. And you nodded– any reaction of his, unseen.

With the latch release and depressurization, you knew the helmet was off. And without meaning to, your ears prickled at every breath, every swallow, every ounce of sound that man was making – now naked to the hallway of this ship.

“Okay,” a gentle baritone spoke in the air between you. It’s new, like a stranger.  “Hm– looks like we’re out of the stim solution, I don’t have any numbing cartridges. But I have the wipe kind. Gonna do that first.”

You hummed your agreement, then immediately whimpered at the first dab.

The Mandalorian froze and detached.

“It’s just a wipe…”

“Tell my face that.” You cringed. “Sorry, juss' stings.”

“I know,” he soothed, “T’sgonna be alright. I’ll make it as quick as I can. There. Gonna get these pieces out now.”

He did work pretty quickly now that he’s out from the helmet. You barely felt the edge of his tweezers as they scooped the wedges of asphalt from that high point of your cheek where the visor of your headgear had shattered. Before you could hedge away from one particularly deep poke, you heard him speak again, 

"I've been thinking about what you said earlier,” Mando peeped up from his quiet, “About... men who've said those things to you before."

You softened. Was he still thinking about it? That was hours ago.

"And.. I know I've said things like that. I just wanted you to know, I can't stomach the thought of you feeling that way. And I apologize if I have ever done so, even if you'd never said a word about it. If you want me to stop, I will."

Kriff, this man. You’d sooner lay across an electrode-fencing rig than ever make him stop. You sighed, and not simply from relief as you heard him switch tools.

He’s a man of few words, but not meaningless ones. The first compliment he ever paid you was about your fire- your heart, your will, and how strong you were and how you believed. Later when you had to doll up for that ridiculous undercover function, he finally spoke his mind in the moment and said you looked ‘stunning’. He calls you 'pretty thing' often; mostly when he's giving you a hard time. Truthfully he'd called you all sorts of things, both in Basic and not– which likely gave him this pang of guilt all the more.

But those endearments were just that: things that gave you joy, a peace and comfort with him. A sweet word here or there? It's born out of familiarity- the ease of tongue that comes with living in close quarters. The draw between you two is perfectly synchronous– it is an unexpected bond through bizarre shared experiences in an infinite galaxy that inevitably brought two rough-and-ready folks together and practically conjoined at the hip. To   

Your Mandalorian is not a man without faults, but he'd never once made you feel filthy.

"Oh stars above, you sweet man.." you chuckled a little, wrenching your palms from your shirt hem and blindly batted up in the air to find his arm. "You've never made me feel like that. It's different when it comes from you. You know that, right?"

He huffed out of his nose. Relieved, if his trigger fingers were any indication as they tilted your cheek again, 

"I didn't want to assume. You're always so collected. Talented, confident.. But you're– painfully polite."

You giggled at that. All of his touches that root you to the spot when you least expect them are anything but unwanted. Of course you were polite when he jumps the gun on grabbing you while out in traffic, or whipping a hand in front of you at a hard stop– but you've never once taken offense to that. 

With a tentative reach, his fingers brushed the line of fine little curls by your ear, relishing in your smile at the touch.

"I don't just want you in safe places. I can’t always promise our adventures will grant us ideal jobs," In the dark, you envisioned his solid, pitch black visor giving a barely there shake… "But I want you to feel safe when you're with me."

You turned your head and kissed the palm of it. 

"I do feel safe with you. You'd be the first to know if I wasn’t–NNGH!"

"Be still."

"Shit… m'working on it… this whole thing's new to me, y'know?" Your mouth wandered like your frantic mind, blitzed with stinging pain. "My visor's never shattered like that before," You clenched your fists against the picks made at your browline, "I just fill in the scuffs with some epoxy usually, but it's never broken like that. Frikkin’ hurt."

Mando hummed in sympathy and merely added, "Gotta fit you with some beskar one of these days."

"Oh, sure, for half my year's portion of – nehNGH!"

“Shh, I know. Last bit’s over. Just gonna clean it up before the spray.”

With a water’s dip and wrench out, Mando made a little cleansing exhale before dabbing over the whole area. Didn’t hurt as much of your face other than the center of the wound because of the sedative, but it certainly made your eyes squeeze shut. No worries of opening your eyes for a peek when it stung so badly.

Your gentle angel in beskar whispered a quiet ‘m’sorry’ for the repeated flare of pain. His nervousness was palpable, regardless of how confident he was at this job. A jostle of your leg at calf-height told you he was checking around for dry gauze. 

“Almost done,” he cooed, “You want a break?”

You hummed and gave your pitiful nod to agree. The barest turn of your head caused little pops in it from craning so much. The pressure would take a while to dissipate and you know that when you open your eyes, they’ll be bloodshot. But the pain would be over soon.

Pleased enough to give you a minute, Mando released your chin in favor of brushing another bit of hair back. Due to taking your own helmet on and off so much, the wisps of curls were bouncier than normal like this, with just enough length to give you some fun bangs. You smirked with a tight-lipped smile, as you did not want to bother and pull your cheeks too much. 

It’s kinda beautiful, this. Having this closeness, sharing in a horrible task but in the best of conditions imaginable– being cared for by the one you adored most. Who wouldn’t crave that when it’s what the heart screams for? 

And with this new secret shared between you, this loophole in Din Djarin’s creed… this isn’t a moment you took lightly at all. 

With a little shaky exhale of your own, you searched for his hand again in your bubble of darkness. Now, it met you fully–and linked your fingers together. 

And then, what shocked you the most: steady fingers supported your jaw again, and a slight breeze to cool down your enflamed cheek rushed across your face. 

Din is here. Kneeling before you and blowing on it– just for your comfort. 

You welcomed the cooling flow; your brows showed it. Every ounce of tension left you while dragging heartache into its warm spot. Emotion flooded every corner of the body. It nearly hurt: how it compressed your chest into submission and brought loving tears behind your eyelids.

You didn’t deserve him.

“We’re almost there, sweetheart. Finish line,” he squeezed your hand before lifting it to his lips. He spoke gently to the fingers, "Keep those eyes closed for me."

"Promise." You squeezed them again, bracing yourself for the final burn.

And there it was– freezing and sealing all at once. A white, blinding sensation like what you’d feel from a lightsource turning on overhead, but all over your skin. Each pore was touched by the bacta’s strange magic without warning- and perhaps it was better that way to get it over with. Your breathing raced in that short time until the spray set, but you made sure to mute any noise with angry focus. Fighting the aftertaste, only a small moan eeked from you while the medicine reacted after your nurse had done his job covering the area. Darling thing, he even shielded the mist from getting directly into your eyes. 

Mando's hands left you only to set its things down. This, only in favor, of cupping your face evenly to hold you still when they returned. They warmed what once felt so cold. His forehead met yours in a tender touch as your tears spilled over from the edge of your eyes. Not to worry, for his thumb wiped them up straight away. 

Hair caught in every which way brushed along your slightly damp brow- his. Matched yours, in a way. 

"All done.” his words danced just over your nose, “You can smack me away now, if you want." 

You gave a wet little laugh as you settled into him. Slapping him is unthinkable to you. “Never.”

No, this was a perfect feeling that you’d never wish an end to. His caresses surpassed that of strict medicinal care and turned intimate, rendering your insides limp and on their way to healing already..

The urge to finally cry hit when you parted… when you felt his lips meet your unharmed cheek in a plush, hot kiss.

You whispered in reverence: Din. Desperation for ‘more, please Starborn, more’, an equal measure of shock had you squeezing his wrist, pinning him to you, 

"Should– heh- sh-should you be doing that?"

He kissed you again. Again. Like he’s addicted to the touch, like it’s his favorite vice to pass the time; soft, loose, sighing up to your temple. You know he must be taking in this sight of you now, before the analytics of heat sensors block him from vivid color and dynamic shadows once the helmet returns. 

"Probably not,” he admitted without true remorse– his voice turned soft and delicious, "But I've always wanted to. And right now, I can–" he pulled away at your forehead, "--Should I stop?"

"Oh, please don't stop–"

Your urgency, his delight. Mando chuckled, and kissed your forehead next: with such love from him, you could never doubt it. Enjoy this, honey. Take it all in.

The moment could have lasted forever. You'd about blindfold yourself for the rest of your life, for all you cared. If he just kept kissing you; lower, lower, lower–

–your lips fit against his, and you burst like a case of firewhiskey spirits poured on a flame. It engulfed you both, and he latched on– to burn right there with you. 

Your hands flew to keep him close, fingers finding a hold through the whisps of his hair he kept short that curled in choppy, sweat-licked parts. He sighed so heavenly when you touched him skin to skin. And easy to please, it seems, since he matched you move for move– threading through your feather-soft waves like it was second nature for him to hold you so close. 

Oxygen and a too-full heart demanded you part for a breath, your pulse going rapid fire in your throat. 

“Thank you.”

“Thank me? Thank– I should be thanking you,”  For caring, for the space to exist at his side, to have his loyalty in your back pocket and in your very soul, “For… everything today.”

“Nothing special about that. You thanked me already.” he said so with such frankness. “We have each other’s backs. We’re on each other’s sides. No, this–” 

His shield dropped from your browline, replaced by his whisper over the lid of your eye–

“–this means everything, mesh’la.”

The honesty of this man wrecked you. 

You found yourself pressing your forehead into the space by his neck to hide. Your Mando petted through your hair like a lovestruck man- desperate and wanting and content with every intention to keep you there for the rest of Time. By how this killer matched your breathy giggles, you had a clue that he wouldn't mind that idea. 

"So," you broke the quiet with a small question, "is that what I can expect every time I get a punch to the face?"

Din huffed. 

"You start poking around for trouble, we're going to have an entirely different problem on our hands,” he mumbled back hoarsely, “Don't you dare get any ideas." 

“Even if they get me kisses?”

“Nothing’s worth you getting hurt, cyar’ika,” those indulgent lips pressed to your hairline before he reached down- to get his helmet. 

At the lean, you panicked a second, and flung back again with a rush for him to wait. 

At your word, he stilled for you to speak your peace. Happy lines greeted your fingertips as you caught the edge of his smile with a blind-man’s reach.

You fought through your elated headspace and begged, "One more?"

Praying to every heaven out there, you were blessed when Din graced your mouth again without any teasing. Kiss after kiss, you melted into each other in this place where nothing hurt– though who did the falling first, you genuinely didn't know. 

Must have been a hell of a numbing wipe. 

After breathless kisses later, stolen tokens as they were, you both felt and heard the Mandalorian shudder and he moan back,

"Gotta stop.." he flipped up the helm with expert precision. It found its home again with only another blip of static when the seal reanimated. "You can open your eyes now."

"Stop…" you managed your beating heart and blinked open your gaze, straight up to the reflected 'T'-shaped gap of his visor. The pupils that looked back at you were straight dilated. You asked out of the haze of your bliss, "Why ‘stop’?"

Still ungloved and with sleeves rolled up, the Mandalorian’s head lolled in a little shake. 

"If I didn't stop right then," Mando caressed your good cheek, "Don't know if I ever would…"

"Would that be the worst?" You hoped for the chance again.

Mando sweetly answered, 

"No.."

It was the kind answer he knew you wanted, to wish for more kisses from you. But he wasn't completely convinced. Not with that lilt in his voice that left a question to be answered. 

He slipped a hand around your waist,

"No, I think.. if I never saw your eyes again, that would be the loss I'd suffer the most.”

Lucidity came back by the moment, your sense of confusion officially returned.

“See me? But you just did, for the first time, right?”

“Couldn’t see those pretty eyes though.”

“Well, tough.” you sassed, “Now you know how I feel.”

You tried to make it sound bossy, but the dig left your mouth too sleepily for him to take it. Behind the metal, his rough rush of static resounded his chuckle.

To further prove the point, you mimic the motion you do for your eye contact removal with a bright, goofy smile,

"It's just retinas, you know,” you shrugged, “Mine don't even work."

"Your loss is my gain, all the same." Mando fell back to only one knee again, to get comfortable at your level. "I'm almost glad we didn’t pass a med droid in town, or else…” he curled an arm around you again, “--this might not have happened any other way. I count your poor excuse for headgear as my blessing this time."

You glanced at what was left of your helmet, but fell into good humor with his warmth bringing you close again.

“You’ll be all too glad to see me walking around a beskar cyclehelm, won’t you? Gonna take a while to find that much to make one, if you’re serious.”

“Oh, I’m serious,” the helmet nodded, chipping your chin for a moment, “But we’ll manage until we source it. Always do.”

You’re still reeling over this; over what this means, him offering you the most prized form of protection. To give you comfort by shedding down to his most vulnerable state. The complete faith he has in you by doing so... It gave your nervous anxieties ballasts on all sides. 

You’d keep your wits about you better next go round, so this doesn’t happen again… but you knew the word ‘partnership’ had a different meaning between you, from this night onward.

Din continued past your mind’s lovely spiral, 

“You won’t need to worry about finding a better replacement before we head to Bespin with this package; we'll just let you heal. No sense pushing it.”

"Probably for the best, yeah," you nuzzled back, "I clearly have issues keeping a helmet on my head as it is."

The helmet giving you a kiss of its own shook side to side. That gesture all but begged ‘what am I going to do with you’.

"So we stick in our lanes for now?” you whispered your hope, “...Try my luck and steal chances whenever I can?"

Instead of a quick nod, the man who’d just kissed you senseless gave you a promise again,

"We can work something out."

[irnbruandmanu]

He Who Haunts Ghosts Pt. 4

Ghoap x reader AU but make it paranormal…idk dramedy?

Masterlist here

One thing I did want to mention in case it may turn anyone away is that reader is a woman and is missing a finger!

________________________________________________________________

Simon’s mask is slipping. 

Not his physical mask. That one’s remained as untouched as the beer on the table next to him, but the metaphorical one. The facade of control and intimidation he’s desperately trying to maintain. 

His finger tap-tap-taps on the deep cherry colored table, and he notes how it has you squirming in your seat, like a student facing down her headmaster.

Knowing he makes you uncomfortable is a small solace that he takes refuge in. He still has some modicum of power over you. Needs it, too. Doesn’t like to think about how you’d act if you knew how much you’re throwing him off kilter.

Because you are. Throwing him off, that is. There’s something about you that Simon finds incredibly off-putting in general. Your eyes dart about, deep-set, dark hollows beneath them like you haven’t had a proper sleep in months, if not years. Muttering words and shushes to yourself when you think he isn’t paying attention, the same way he found you in the snicket by the restaurant 20 minutes ago. And god, how stubborn you are. That’s the most annoying thing he’s discovered about you yet. The way you resist-resist-RESIST him in a way people usually aren’t stupid enough to do. Whether by rank or pure intimidation, Simon’s not used to people refusing him, but you seem to concede only when it’s on your terms.

Case in point, getting you to the pub had been a bit of a bitch. Not that Simon blames you for being upset, pissed off, really. He’d found you bent over in the mouth of the alley, head practically between your knees, talking to yourself like a madwoman before you noticed him. 

________________________________________________________________

Head snapping his direction, icy glare paired with an “Oh fuck off.”

“Listen-“

“No, seriously fuck off before I start screaming.” You warned, picking up your things off the dirty ground and shouldering past Simon onto the street, a little wobbly. Your eyes are shiny, glassy with unshed tears, and yeah, alright, maybe he feels a little guilty. 

“Look ‘m sorry ‘bout what ‘appened in there-“ He concedes, catching up to you in a few long strides as you stomp off into the rain, not even bothering to put your coat on.

“You’re sorry?”

“-But none of that woulda happened if you’d just-“

Abruptly swinging around to face him, Simon is acutely aware that people on the street are staring at the pair of you. You don’t seem to care though, and your face is practically steaming with anger despite the cold. 

“Uh-uh, no. You don’t get to paint this like it’s my fault and you're the reasonable one. Following me to work? Are you some kinda psychopath? Do I need triple-9 on speed dial?”

Simon wonders if you’re just good at putting on a brave face or if you truly have no qualms about going toe to toe with him in the middle of downtown. The way your lip twists up in an angry pout makes him think it might be the latter.

“I jus wanna know ‘ow you know...“ But he can’t even say it. The name catches in his throat, painful, raw and burning still, all this time later. His heart thuds in his chest, skips every couple beats.

You stare at him, expectantly, before your eyes dart away to the left, fists clenching nervously, eyebrows pinching.

“Johnny?” 

He pauses, nods, kind of wants to kill you for even saying his name. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘ow you know ‘im.” 

You glance to the left again and sigh heavily. “Look I- don’t really know him, okay? I’m sorry for all of this, but can you please, just-“

“Why did you say that shit the other day?”

“It’s…” Your gaze slides surreptitiously once more to the left, and Simon wonders if someone is behind him. Shifting your weight from foot to foot, you settle for: “It’s complicated.”

He sighs heavily through his nose. It does little to warm his face against the fabric of his neck gaiter, which has already started absorbing raindrops even with his hood up. 

You, on the other hand, are approaching full saturation, holding your coat in your arms like an idiot while the rain drenches you. 

Fine. You can keep trying your little avoidance maneuvers. He’s adaptable. 

“You wan’ a drink?”

It catches you off guard. It was meant to.

Pausing, you wait a few seconds until, flummoxed, you say, “No! No I don't want to get a drink! It's like 11:30 in the morning and you just got me fired!"

He shrugs, “Not like you got anywhere else to be.”

Plus, if there were ever reasons not to imbibe, the time of day wouldn’t even scratch Simon’s top ten list.

There’s another long pause on your end where you stare at him like he's grown a second head. He may as well have, he supposes, for what it's worth to you.

He can see you rearing up to fight him again when he wishes you’d just give in like everyone else is smart enough to. Your eyes don’t meet his; instead, they dance around as you clench and unclench your jaw. He braces for the fight.

Suddenly, the tension is broken when a small huff of laughter escapes you. 

He’s not sure what’s made you change your tune, but it’s like something’s come over you all at once. PoseShoulders relaxing, tongue in cheek, you nod your head and concede with, “Least you could fucking do, I guess.” before trudging past him, coat still stubbornly in hand, setting a marked pace down the street. 

_________________________________

You’ve come to a horrible realization that you can’t seem to fight, no matter how hard you try. 

Johnny is…charming. 

Irritatingly so. 

As annoying as it is having him intrude in your life so sporadically like this, there’s a lightness about him, a witty kind of charm, that makes him impossible to stay mad at. You think he knows it, too. 

Is probably laying it on extra thick, in fact, because he wants something from you. There’s a nasty little worm in your head whispering that the only reason he’s being kind to you, the only reason he’s become latched on like this, is because of your…“ability.” 

Still, his quiet comforts in the alley helped you stave off a complete and total mental breakdown. You’re still unsure if you believe his beseeching about Simon being a good, good man, but Johnny’s apologies and promises of making it right had filled the cavernous pit in your stomach carved out by anxiety. He’d said it with such conviction that you had no choice but to believe him. Whispers that you’re smart and quick as a whip, too pretty not to find a new job. If you just help him out, he knows he can help you, too. 

Later, his ghostly visage flies circles around Simon, gives you the most damning puppy dog eyes, pretends to pick his partner’s nose to break the tension when it looks like you’re going to turn tail. 

Sweet, funny, bit of an ass, wrapped up in that thick brogue, it all adds up to Johnny, who, unfortunately, is doing a damn good job of killing that cautionary worm in your brain.   

You’ve decided to take Simon to a pub near your bus stop. You’ve been there once before, and it’s public, well-lit, et cetera. All the things you look for when meeting with a potential stalker. It’s also conveniently devoid of too many ghosts, from what you remember. You’d seen one or two floating amongst the living customers, waiting for a last drink that would never come, but they were the quiet sort at least.

And you’re about to add one more to their number. Johnny spent the walk over spilling “thank you’s” and making one-sided conversation, certainly the most jovial dead person you’ve ever encountered. 

‘It’s an act.’ you remind yourself. ‘He’s only this nice because he wants to use you.’ The thought makes you feel strangely sad, perhaps already getting too accustomed to positive attention from someone, anyone, even a dead guy, apparently (and just how pathetic is that?). 

Even you can admit to yourself that it’s pitiable beyond the pale, and so a new thought settles somewhat uncomfortably in your chest: it’s time to get this over with. Send this wacky behemoth and his dead boyfriend back out into the world and away from you. 

During the short walk, you’d debated internally between being honest or coming up with a placative lie, something about good feelings and well wishes, all that typical psychic horseshit. It’d be kinder, you think, less damaging than to know a loved one’s soul literally can’t be at peace. The thought of lying about Johnny while technically right in front of him, though, kind of makes you feel like an asshole. 

On the flip side, you think, maybe, forcing yourself through one awkward but truthful conversation could bring some comfort, some closure, to this dead man and his boyfriend. You are in need of some good karma…

Despite it being his idea, Simon gives you a look when you order two old fashioneds at the bar and then ask if he wants anything, too. Pussy. 

Johnny, however, laughs. “Braw wee thing, you know tha’?” 

The bartender, one you don't recognize from last time, laughs too, says “Sorry, I'm really only supposed to serve you one at a time.” 

“That’s fine, we’ll just become real well acquainted.” You reply, nodding approvingly as he puts a capital T on Two ounces of bourbon. Has to use sugar instead of syrup, but you smile when he puts it down in front of you, force it down your throat with a wince as the bartender pours Simon a pint of Carling, (“Pure piss.” Johnny mutters) and by the time he’s done with that, an empty cup sits on the bar, while you chew contentedly at a maraschino cherry. It’s a drink meant for sipping, absolutely not chugging, but you find yourself not caring. It’s your favorite, and all you want in this moment is a modicum of comfort. And if you're not paying for it, you're definitely taking advantage. By your side, Johnny laughs. 

At the end of the bar, a dead man in a leather jacket slumps his shiny, see-through head in his hands. Him you do recognize. From the 70's maybe, or the 60's. You've never been the best at estimating.  

“Not even noon yet, love.” The bartender chuckles as he grabs your glass and sets about making you another. 

“Yeah, well, I’m not even employed.” You say good-naturedly, but there’s a bit of an edge to it that Simon catches, and you hear him sigh heavily.

You have a refreshed drink in hand and are walking towards a table far in the back, away from prying eyes, before Simon comments on it. 

“Tried to talk to your boss.” He says as he sits. The pure size of him is emphasized now that he’s squeezed into a booth, the expanse of his shoulders, the thick of his middle,  massive hands that make your stomach do flips when you see them compared to his pint glass. 

“Oh yeah? Thanks for that, real knight in shining armor. Hey, maybe you could swing by my apartment later and get me evicted.”

Alright maybe you shouldn’t have taken a whole cocktail to the dome before lunch, but you think you get a pass on some of the snark, considering this man just lost you a job. A shit job, but still. You need the warm soothing tendrils of alcohol to numb the anger trying to bubble up inside you.

You’ve scooched to the far side of the table without thinking, and try to hide a cringe when you realize it was only to make room for Johnny, which makes no sense to the outside world. But the man in question simply grins and eagerly sits down next to you. You’re not actually sure if he’s sitting, really. Ghost physics are… fun.

Simon’s eyes squint above his stupid face-mask-covering-thing, and his finger taps once, twice, three times against the table, but other than that, he doesn’t react to your barbs. 

Great, now he’s mad. An amazing kick off to a conversation that was supposed to bring this man some peace. 

You can’t seem to help it though, caustic comebacks roll off your tongue without thought in an effort to put up some kind of defense between yourself and this man who scares the shit out of you. Johnny's teasing has perhaps taken the edge off of your fear of him, but Simon still intimidates without even trying. 

Your hands begin to rub at your scarred pinkie below the table, a nervous tick bubbling to the surface. You force them into submission when you notice, making yourself take a drink instead, briefly wondering if Johnny’s seen already but has been too polite to say anything. 

Simon’s silence is unnerving, and you resist the urge to pound the rest of your Old Fashioned in the same manner as the first. Already almost one and a half deep while his beer is still foamy. And maybe it’s precisely because you’re one and a half deep, but you don’t feel as embarrassed as you should. In fact, as the alcohol swirls in your otherwise empty belly, it begins to do its job of leaving you more emboldened and less nervous. Why should you be embarrassed? He’s the psycho who got you fired. He should be embarrassed! As far as the psycho part goes…well. 

Public, well-lit, et cetera. 

Johnny seems to sense the verbal stalemate coming on between you and Simon, both apparently too stubborn to start things, and he sighs, rubbing a partially see-through palm down his face, creating a fun little illusion like glass on glass. “Think you’ll ‘ave to get us goin’.” He concedes.

Seems like he’s right, too. Simon remains a living statue, unmoving save for his finger that taps against the wood. 

You clear your throat. “So…” 

It’s as good a segue as any, and you’re hoping Simon takes the bait, starts talking. But instead, he just cocks his head, repeats “So…” in that Mancunian accent. Asshole.

You roll your eyes and move some wet hair out of your face, then go to stir your drink with its dinky little straw. Anything to keep your hand busy. 

You try to push any alcohol-fueled emotions (or comments) down your throat and back into the pit of your stomach as you introduce yourself officially. You know his name, you suppose it’d be fair to give him yours, if he hasn’t already found it somehow.

“I know.” He says, unmoving.

His curtness leaves you bristling. “Okay, well, sorry for trying to be polite. Not my fault you’ve been-“

“It’s on your shirt.” 

Looking down, you see he’s right. Your stupid little name tag from Mancello’s is still pinned to your front. 

Head thudding back against the padded booth, you sigh in defeat and annoyance both. Off to a second bad start. You’ve never been good at this. Connecting, making small talk with people. Always saying something too off-putting, or too sad, or too angry. You are too much for people.

A rush of insecurity bubbles up, along with the blood that prickles behind your cheeks, both likely amplified by the booze. Conversation already going off the rails, your brain short circuits from the flood of anxiety and you do what your instincts always beg you to do: lie to protect yourself, lie to escape.

“Look if this is about…what I said. On Tuesday.” You swallow, “I didn’t mean to freak you out. Sometimes I…get…these feelings, or I-I sense these things, I guess. And I just got this feeling that I needed to talk to you. That’s all it was. I’m sorry if it…upset you.”

It’s not great, but it’s not horrible either. It’s not even technically a lie. You hope it’s enough to placate the man in front of you.

“Ach blow it out yer arse, do this look like a feeling to ye?” Johnny snaps, flipping one very impolite finger your way.

You’re usually pretty good at ignoring the antics of the undead, but there WAS a capital T on those Two ounces of bourbon, and the giggle slips out before you can help it.

“Think this is funny?” Simon snaps, finger no longer tapping on the table but gripped into a fist. 

“NO, god, Jesus, no. Sorry, it’s-“ You stutter to a stop, unsure how to finish but deeply embarrassed at how the conversation’s going so far. You wish you could stomp on Johnnys foot for that. If you were in Simon’s shoes, you probably would’ve reacted worse.

The thing is, you hate telling the truth, saying the words “I can see ghosts.” It sounds laughably absurd at best, committable at worst, and the few times you have admitted it plainly to people, it’s never ended well. 

You're feeling a bit backed into a corner, though. 

Earlier, in the alleyway, Johnny had begged you to tell Simon the truth, said he could handle it, pleaded for you to help the pair of them, and now it seems time to decide what you’re going to do about it. 

Option 1: help a charming ghost and his creepy boyfriend, and, in turn, reveal the darkest most intimate part of who you are to two complete strangers, one of whom is an asshole, or…

Option 2: try to get out of this with a lie and a smile, revealing as little as possible, potentially gaining a stalker along the way if he’s not placated with your answers.

There are genuine pros and cons to each, and you’re seriously weighing to two when Johnny leans towards you.

“Come on, hen, tell ‘im.” He prompts in your ear like a little shared secret. “You know I’ll bother ye till ye do.” You huff, grabbing your glass to take a sip. You’re actually savoring this one the way you’re supposed to and it’s not half bad. 

Simon makes you nervous, but something about Johnny puts you at ease, even though he’s the dead one. Makes you want to help him.

Your eyes shift back to the ghost at the end of the bar, lost, forlorn, staring into a void of an unimaginable eternity, and you imagine it’s Johnny. Forever trapped between planes of existence, unable to cross over, unable to move on. 

Alright, fuck it. 

“Um…okay.” The ice in your glass swirls as you fidget with it. Simon’s eyes are black holes above his mask. “What I just said was kind of bullshit.” Those black holes squint at your confession. /Just spit it out./ “I mean it was also kind of true but….I don’t really get feelings. I…can see ghosts. And your boyfriend or whatever hasn’t stopped bothering me since I saw him at Sainsbury’s. He wanted me to pass along that message, and I did, but now he seems determined to- I don’t know, bother me, and I’d love to just-“ you falter, gesturing in the air with your good hand while searching through your drunken buzz for the right words. “-get everything out there so you can leave me ALONE, and I can get on with my life.” Then, because you can’t help but let a little resentment slip through, you mumble, “I’d like to go about my days not looking over my shoulder or getting fired because of you two.”

“Tha’ last bit didnae seem necessary.” Johnny says at your side, but you can tell it’s good-natured. It’s getting harder to resist looking at him, your inhibitions lowered. Silence falls heavily upon the table following your rambling confession. Simon still stares at you, but even his finger has ceased its tapping. 

You wait. You fidget. You take a sip of your drink.  

Finally, after what feels like forever, Simon inhales loudly through his nose, pauses as if searching for the right words. 

“I don’t believe you.” Is what he lands on as he exhales. 

“Tosser.” Johnny mutters. 

It makes you snort. No shit. Your own father never even believed you. This is why you lie to people. “Fine. You don’t have to believe me. In fact, I’d prefer you call me crazy, walk out of here, and leave me be. But I don’t think either one of you is gonna let that happen.”

“Either one of us.” It’s not a question so much as a statement. 

“Yeah.” His silence prompts you on, “You and Johnny.”

“Stop calling him that.”

“Well it’s what he introduced himself as, what do you want me to call him?” You chuckle, but it’s the wrong thing to say. Simon’s hand is heavy as marble but fast as a whip when it strikes, catching your left wrist in a grip so firm you fear he’ll break it right here, right now, public and well-lit be damned. 

“Oi!” Johnny’s up in an instant, standing in the middle of the table as if he could do anything to help you. Sweet, but useless. You’ve frozen up, worried that if you tried to run, you’d be leaving without your arm in its socket. Time seems to slow down, the din of the bar falling away as your brain focuses entirely on the predator before you.

“Stop…calling him that. You don’t call him that, you don’t speak about him.” Simon’s voice is like gravel, like it’s painful for him to even get the words out.

Your other hand has subconsciously grabbed onto Simon’s arm that’s holding you, clutching his jacket sleeve, leaving the two of you locked in an arm-gripping stand-off that you’re sure to lose. The choice to sit in the secluded end of the bar suddenly feels like a bad one.

He looks down before you even realize you’ve grabbed him back, and you know he sees it. The alcohol helps the blood rush to your face in an instant as you yank your right hand, all four and a half fingers worth, back under the table, thumb immediately starting to rub against the mangled end of your pinkie. 

Simon doesn’t say anything, but he does release your left arm, and that one, too, is withdrawn into your lap. 

All your cards are on the table today.

You don’t exactly go to great lengths to hide your missing finger, but you aren’t usually close to people for so long that they notice.

Johnny’s settled himself back by your side, but you can tell he’s aggravated, shaking his head and unclenching his fists. 

“‘M sorry love, he’s not usually like this, ah mean he-“ Johnny’s rattled, and there’s so much sadness in his voice, it damn near breaks your frozen little heart. 

He puts on a brave face, but ghosts tend to have a few things in common, none of them good. Grief, trauma, sadness, anger. It’s understandable, souls don’t get stuck in this spectral purgatory when they’re at peace, but you’ve got so much of your own shit going on, you try not to get wrapped up in other people’s, living or otherwise, no matter how sad it might make you to think about.

But Johnny’s just so…

“‘Ow do you really know ‘im?” Simon asks, breaking the short but terse silence that’s fallen over the table. “You a crazy ex-girlfriend or sum?”

That makes you scoff, rubbing at your arm like you can wipe away the embarrassment of what just happened. “Hell no. When he asked me to pass that message to you, I assumed he was, well…” You trade the end of that sentence in for a one-shouldered shrug. 

“Ey, I ‘appened tae do pretty well wi’ the ladies too, thank ye very much.” Johnny says, finding a smile again as he leans towards you conspiratorially. 

You fight a smile of your own by grabbing your drink instead, sipping the strong but slightly sweet amber liquid, poking at the already half-muddled cherry that sits at the bottom, all under Simon’s watchful gaze. You do your level best to keep your hands from shaking, not wanting to let on how much his grab had startled you. 

“You really expect me to believe this shit?” He says, leaning forward- /see, this is why you don’t tell people/- “You think this is a joke? I should take you round back an’-“

But Johnny, evidently, knows what to say and has finally decided to play his hand, or at least, give you all his aces.

“Your name is Simon Arnold Riley, you live on St. Matthew’s Road, you’ve eaten sausage and beans three days in a row, and last night you watched ‘Absolutely Fabulous’ reruns and-ew, dude!” You cut yourself off by smacking your glass on the table, shocked that Johnny would say that to you. Jesus Christ, you do not know them well enough for that.

Simon recoils as if you’ve slapped him; you can hear the breath leave his lungs in a mighty huff as his back hits the booth. It’s been difficult to tell until now, but even a mask can’t hide the horrified shock in those dark eyes.

That isn’t enough distance, apparently, because he stands so fast it makes the heavy wood table jerk and briefly tremble the glasses above. It’s awkward, his graceful slide into the booth not repeated in the slightest as his thighs strain against the table’s edge, but he gets out of the seat, turns to you. 

“Don’t move.” He says. There’s the hint of a waver in his voice, and you notice his left hand is shaking. It does nothing to shake the severity of his tone, though. It conveys without effort that it’d be unwise not to listen to him.

Then, he turns and walks out of the pub entirely. 

You blink.

“Um…should I be concerned about that?” You ask, turning slightly towards Johnny, mouth around your straw to disguise the fact that you’re talking to air. 

“Nah, he’ll come ‘round.” 

“I mean…this is some crazy shit we’re doing to his brain. Are you sure he’s alright by himself?”

“He’ll be fine, tough as nails that one is. ’S hard tae explain but he’s used t’ dealing with stress.”

“So you don’t think he’s gonna, like, go out in the road and jump into oncoming traffic because we’ve changed his perception of reality, right?” 

You say it half jokingly, alcohol warming your typically frigid veins, but when you don’t get a response, you turn even more and see Johnny pursing his lips and squinting. 

“Be righ’ back.” He mutters, floating out the door, leaving you blissfully alone. But before you can even think about running out the back, Johnny’s rejoining you. “See, he’s grand, just havin’ a smoke.”

For some reason, it doesn’t fill you with confidence.  

Simon must’ve actually smoked two or three, because by the time he returns, the scent of tobacco rolls off of him in waves. It makes your nose curl when he drops himself back into the booth and a plume of that stale acrid scent punches up your nose.

He’s got this thousand-yard stare going on that makes you kind of nervous. You desperately wish you could turn to Johnny for backup, but think that might break Simon’s brain right in half, so instead you twitch anxiously in your seat and try to think of what to say. 

‘Hey, you got me fired, I turned your entire universe upside down, I guess we’re even.’

‘Yeah, imagine dealing with this shit every day.’

‘Oh come on, it’s not so bad. At least he was hot.’ 

Everything falls exceptionally flat, even to your brain, so instead, you say nothing at all.

“So…” Simon mutters, after a beat. 

It almost makes you chuckle. “So…” you say, reversing the start of your conversation. 

“I must be losin’ my fuckin’ mind.” He sighs under his breath, elbow on the table and forehead cupped in his hand. 

Actually, you’re surprised he’s taking things so well. Reactions have varied from nervous laughter to threats of death; you think he falls well within the normal range. 

“Yeah, well, welcome to the club. We can make pins.” You say, shaking your drink to get at the golden liquid pooling beneath the ice. It makes Johnny laugh, which in turn makes you fight a smile. Then, because you’re a bit drunk and refuse to let things go, you add, “I’m still mad that you got me fired, by the way.”

For some reason, that makes Simon exhale amusedly. 

“Yeah, your boss was a real asshole.” He says.

“Wh- you're an asshole for provoking me at work!” You protest, and then immediately realize he was being sarcastic. Your brain is turning mushy. 

Then, you sigh, contending with “Yeah…yeah, he was kind of an asshole.” 

“You really think he’s…sending you messages or some shit?” Simon asks. 

The abrupt topic change gives you pause for only a moment. This is a stranger trying to wrap his mind around a universe-bending idea; some conversational niceties have been and will continue to be foregone. 

“I mean…sort of, yeah. Less ‘sending me messages’ and moreso annoying me until I did what he wanted.” 

“Mmh, does sound like ‘im.” 

“Hey!” Johnny protests.

Now it’s Simon who seems not to know what to do with his hands. He grips his still-full pint, flexes his thick fingers around it and stares at the bubbles fizzing to the surface. Black swirls of ink flash against his pale skin as the sleeve of his jacket draws slightly up, and your throat constricts harshly when you swallow.

“Tuesday,” He says, “tell me what you think ‘appened.”

So you do, recounting the day that feels so long ago now, in reality just earlier this week. Simon interjects here and there, asking for details, clarification on things that don’t seem important to you. It’s starting to feel more like an interrogation than a conversation, but you figure playing along will result in him leaving you alone sooner, so you oblige. Johnny, meanwhile, does his best to distract you, clued into your buzzed state of mind and seemingly determined to make you laugh or give him some sort of attention. 

At the end of it, all three of you have fallen silent. Johnny stares at Simon, Simon stares at you, and you stare at a glass of melting ice.

“You really think you can see…ghosts?” Simon asks.

“Yep.” You say, putting a little pop on the P. Then you add, “I know it’s crazy, okay? Trust me, I don’t exactly like broadcasting it to people.”

“Only crazy thing is I almost believe you.” He says. “‘Ow did he-“ Simon hesitates before continuing, “‘Ow did he look? When you- I mean, was he…”

“Umm, I mean, he’s fine? I guess? Not like, fine, um,” You clear your throat and shrug, hoping the feeling of warmth in your cheeks is a hallucination. “I don’t really have a frame of reference.” 

“Oh jus’ fine, am I?” Johnny says at your side. His arm blurs as he rests his head on his fist, and you wonder if it’s the alcohol. Shit, your second drink is already gone. 

“He did have a really stupid haircut, though.” You add for good measure. 

“Oi!” Johnny frowns, and that makes you snort. 

Simon’s looking at you funny though, so you reel it in, feeling guilty that you keep letting Johnny get the best of you. Glancing at an old wooden clock hung above the bar, you see it’s a little past 12:30. You’re pretty sure the next bus comes in less than an hour, and although you’re determined not to miss it, the idea of dropping a bomb on this guy’s life and then leaving immediately makes you feel like an ass. 

You should want to gut him for being such a menace in your life this week, and you do want to, but you also see his trembling hand, his red-rimmed eyes that seem to droop under the weight of loss, you smell alcohol and smoke on him in a way that harkens back to your childhood.

You don’t know much, but you do know what grief looks like, utter and devastating, vampiric and all-consuming when it latches onto a new victim. You see it every day when you look in the mirror, and you see it now in Simon. 

For what must be the billionth time, you silently curse yourself for an ability you have no control over. Life would be much simpler without it. 

“No, he um-“ you clear your throat, “He looked good. He was…just really excited to talk to you.” 

Simon’s eyes tighten up, veins in his hand protruding as he grips his glass.

Worrying that you’ve said something wrong again, you begin to chew on your bottom lip in the ensuing silence. You’re relieved, though, when the man across from you breaks the silence.

“Could…” Simon sighs like he’s embarrassed, or maybe can’t believe what he’s saying, “I mean, you can- could you see ‘im again?” 

Ah…well…

You could tell him outright that yes, you certainly CAN see Johnny again; it’s avoiding him that’s actually been the hard part. You’ve already revealed this much; trying to hide pieces of the truth now will only grow more difficult. 

“Oh goan lass, tell ‘im! Wanna see his face when you do.” Johnny’s voice is approaching whiny as he begs you to continually dismantle his partner’s psyche. 

Sighing, you quickly throw a glance his way and see him giving you the most baleful eyes a dead man can muster. 

‘You can’t even see his face.’ you think to yourself a bit peevishly, but you push past your better judgment.

“Um…yeah, I mean I could see him again.” You say to Simon, tilting your head to the side a bit. His eyes furrow in confusion, so you dart your eyes over to where Johnny sits with his leg bouncing. You do it again, nodding your head sideways and glancing over Johnny’s way, and Simon finally connects the dots.

“Wot like now?” 

You find yourself scoffing, “Did ya think I’d need a Ouija board?” Then, when you see him recoil, “Sorry, I’m sorry, that was mean. I’m not used to talking to people about this.” 

Now it’s Johnny’s turn to chuckle to himself. He seems to find Simon’s endless suffering amusing, and waggles his fingers at him.

“You’re tellin’ me…you think you can see ‘im. Right now.” 

“Mhmm, mohawk and everything.” You say, then for some reason hastily add “I mean not, like, everything.” The cringe comes next. Why did you say that? “But just in the sense that, you know…I’ve got eyes on him.” Why did you say that? Who is letting you keep talking? You try not to let your nerves bleed too much into your laughter. Meanwhile, your head starts swimming in the kiddie pool end of drunkenness. 

“Christ, you’re fuckin’ steamin.’” Johnny’s voice cuts in, and you have to resist the urge to snap at him. 

“And he told you to talk to me?” 

“Well, yeah. I get the impression that you’re kind of his main haunt.” 

“Oh yer hilarious.” Johnny mutters sarcastically.

There’s another pause while Simon fervently scans your face, before he begrudgingly admits, “You really don’t seem like you’re lying.”

“Not that you’d be able to tell, but I’m not.”

“I can tell.”

“Pfft.”

“And you don’t seem like a loony.”

“Again, I’m really not.” You say.

“You don’t have one o’ them mental disorders?”

“Johnny wants to know if you’ve pulled your head out your ass since Nov-Novosibirsk?”

“HEY.” That seems to light a fire under Simon’s ass, despite your stuttering, because he tenses and sits up straighter against the vinyl booth.

“Knew that’d get ‘im to shut it.” Johnny’s smug as he says it, crossing his arms.

“What even is that?” You inquire to Johnny, but it’s Simon who answers. 

“ ’S classified.”

“Oh it’s classified, is it?” You snort, “Yeah okay, who’s loony now?” You ask, a little condescendingly, because you don’t love being called a liar. 

When Simon doesn’t answer you, though, you get a little nervous again. He had to have been joking with the “classified” comment, but he’s not acting like anything’s funny. You notice you’re rubbing at your pinkie again, and you force yourself to stop. Body refusing to be denied an outlet for its anxiety, your teeth begin to gnaw at your bottom lip instead.

Nothing you say seems to be helping. This conversation was supposed to bring some clarity or comfort, but instead you’re just stuttering your way through a disastrous, nearly one-sided calamity, mostly because you were dying to get a drink in you after your somehow-even-more-disastrous morning. 

No. There is no need for introspection here. It’s not your fault that there are too many stupid conversational rules that society expects you to follow. Like everyone else got some kind of script that makes them come across normally, while you were too busy yelling “Hey does anyone see that dead guy in the corner?!?” to be assigned a part. It is Simon’s fault, Johnny’s fault, for dragging you into this.

As if the universe hears your despondent thoughts about human interaction, a new challenge appears in the form of a faint buzz emanating from your pocket. 

“Sorry, lemme-“ you dig it out clumsily and see a text notification. 

Strange, because people don’t usually text you. Stranger still, it’s from an unknown number. It takes you two tries to unlock your phone, and you realize you need some food in your stomach ASAP. Shit, one of those sausage roll things would be fucking amazing right now.  

‘This is Abi!!! I snuck in todds office and found ur phone number WTF just happened?? Did u get fired???’

Right. Your tenure at Mancello’s was so short that you hadn’t even exchanged numbers with anyone. Johnny leans over and tries to sneak a peek at your phone, and you tilt it away instinctively, but manage to resist sticking your tongue out at him childishly as you start typing out a response, touched that she’d go into that B.O. infested office just for your number.

Before your clumsy thumbs get too far though, your phone is unceremoniously snatched from your hand, and now it’s Simon’s fingers that are flying over the screen. Your immediate protestations are cut off by what can only be called a Death Glare, and Simon’s eyes are black like a shark when he fixes them to yours, your hand partly outstretched over the table to grab at your phone. You think it wise to retract it as Johnny snickers beside you. 

He’s calling himself, you realize quickly. A vibration emanates from Simon’s side of the table as he pulls his cell- ancient, probably like an iPhone 3 from the looks of it- from his pocket and answers your call. 

“There. Now I ‘ave your number.” 

“Could’ve just asked for it.” You grumble as you manage to snag your phone back (because he lets you). It’s a lie, of course. You both know you would have fought him tooth and nail if he’d asked for it like the normal person he decidedly isn’t. 

Johnny is at least lighthearted when he calls you out on it. “Aye, cus you’ve been sweet as a peach so far.”

“I’m nice when people are nice to me.” You protest instinctively, then see how Simon furrows his brows, and you quickly pivot. 

“Listen, this little get-together has been the cherry on top of a fantastic day, but I’ve got a bus to catch and jobs to search for, thanks to someone, so I should really get going.” 

Simon’s brow unfurls in favor of an eye roll. “Christ ‘ow long are you gonna complain about tha’?”

“At least through the weekend.” You say through only semi-gritted teeth as you shove your phone back in your bag, gathering your things to very obviously signal the conversation as over.

Johnny takes the hint and gets up, standing through the middle of the wooden tabletop unbothered as he stretches his nonexistent spine. His biceps do not flex outrageously through the tepid bar lights and slivers of sunshine. Or maybe they do. You wouldn’t know, because you definitely weren’t looking. 

Simon also mercifully accepts your cue and he stands too, and the three of you make it outside wordlessly. The rain patters down, big fat drops falling from a gray sky, splashing against a gray sidewalk. This time, you’re smart enough to put your coat on.  

“Don’t want a lift?” Simon asks, turning towards you. 

You bury the sarcastic titter that burns in your throat, settle for “No, I survived this secondary location, don’t think I’ll push my luck further, thanks.” Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you turn to walk away but make it only a few steps before you hear an “Oi!” From over your shoulder. 

Spinning back around, Simon and Johnny sseem larger than life standing in the middle of the walk, both a head taller than anyone else on the street, an enigma wrapped in black that you’re worried will haunt your nightmares contrasted with his partner, beautiful and light in both quality and appearance.

Simon juts his chin up at you quickly, through the noise of the city you hear him say “What was the follow-up? Earlier.”

Your let your face betray your confusion.

“At the restaurant. You said ‘where I come from-.’ What’s the follow up to tha’?”

A delirious laugh does escape you then, because really what WAS the follow up going to be to this walking, talking Stranger Danger PSA? “Probably something like ‘where I come from, this is a good way to get your ass kicked.’”

“Uh-huh. So then what were you gonna do?”

“I dunno, kick you ass, I guess.”

“Fockin Americans.” Johnny laughs while Simon squints at you, in irritation or amusement, you can’t say. Without further words exchanged though, he turns his back and walks back the way you two came. 

Johnny gives you a friendly little wave that you return as he goes too, floating silently behind Simon as the pair retreats into the hustle of Manchester.

The first thing you do is shove your headphones over your ears, let Santana bounce off the walls of your skull while you replay the last hour again and again. You draft three different text messages to Abi on the ride home, unsure how to even begin describing the day you’ve had. 

________________________________________________________________

Notes: Sorry for the wait, holy cow! I rewrote this chapter four times. This bodes well and surely means nothing.

Thank you all for reading!!

Tag list: @lilynotdilly @bluzare @echo9821 @little-mini-me-world

[cordiallyfuturedwight]

YUNHO ADRENALINE, 20260206

[satoruslovey]

Frat!sukuna x soft!reader

synopsis: Sukuna doesn’t fall for people,he wins them, then gets bored. Frat king, reckless, used to easy victories, he notices you because you’re different,too quiet, too soft, too unaware of how pretty you actually are. So he turns it into a game,slipping into your days, earning your trust, getting you comfortable… until getting you is easy. And when he finally does, he leaves like he always does.

Only this time,you don’t chase. You don’t fight. You just… disappear,And for the first time, Sukuna realizes—he’s not done with you.Even if you’re done with him.

so will he learn to live with it… or do whatever it takes to make it right?

Wc. : around 4k

Warnings: angst, emotional damage,harsh words, insecurity, confrontation, sukuna being INSUFFERABLE , regret arc starting, regret(but not redemption yet), sukuna has unknown feelings.

Chap 1 , 2

It didn’t hit him all at once, perhaps,that would’ve been easier.

Something sharp, something obvious ,something he could’ve named and dismissed just as quickly.

This wasn’t that.

It had a slow drag to it.

At first, it just felt like irritation.

The kind that settled under his skin without reason, without direction. Conversations dragged longer than they should have. Laughter sounded off-too loud, too hollow. The usual routine slipped back into place, but it didn’t fit the way it used to.

Something about it felt so wrong.

Sukuna ignored it. Of course he did.

He went back to the parties.

Back to the noise, the drinks, the bodies pressed too close, hands reaching for him like they always did. It should’ve been easy. It had always been easy.

It wasn’t.

A girl laughed against his shoulder one night, her hand sliding up his arm,like usual.

He didn’t react or lean in , didnt even pull her closer.

Because all he could think about was-you.

Its not like he wanted to, you were just there, at the back of his mind all the time…but slowly seeping in to consume it entirely.

The way you used to look at him.

The way your hands had held onto him like you meant it.

The way your voice softened when you spoke, like you were still deciding if you were allowed to.

It didn’t sit right.None of it did.

He pulled away, Abrupt enough that the girl noticed.

Annoyed enough that she said something, not that he heard it.

Because something else had already taken over.

Your face.

That moment.

The way your expression had changed-not all at once,but slowly, like something had dimmed behind your eyes before he even realized what he’d said.

“You’re not all that.”

The words came back clearer now. Everytime it came to his mind, it was like he’s reliving that moment.

Sukuna exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening.

It shouldn’t matter.

It didn’t matter.

So why—

He pushed the thought down immediately.

Didn’t let it finish.

Didn’t let it form into something he’d have to look at properly.

Because that wasn’t him.

He was not one to regret something or dwell on it, much less go back.

And yet

He found himself looking.

Not consciously ,at least not at first.

Just small things.

Walking into class and scanning the room before he even registered he was doing it. Pausing in the hallway a second too long. Taking a different route across campus without thinking, one that passed by places you used to be.

You weren’t there.

Not in class,in the library, nowhere.

It didn’t make sense.

You had been there every day.

Predictable.

Easy to find.

I’ll And now…Nothing.

Like you had just-left.

Something in his chest tightened,maybe not hurt, but something …like a pin pricking at his heart time to time.

Just enough to notice.

He didn’t like it.

The feeling lingered longer than it should have.Stayed where it wasn’t supposed to.

That night, he didn’t go to a party.

No reason,no excuse.He just… didn’t.

The next day, he showed up to class early.

That wasn’t normal.

He sat in his usual seat, posture loose, expression unchanged,but there was something off about it. Something restless beneath the surface.

His eyes moved to the door. Once. Then again.

You didn’t walk in.He told himself it didn’t matter.

It didn’t.

Still—he stayed until the lecture started.

And then until it ended…then longer than that.

Just in case.You didn’t show.

By the end of the week, it had stopped being subtle.

He wasn’t at parties.Wasn’t entertaining anyone.Wasn’t doing anything he usually did.

The frat noticed.

“Man, what’s with you?” Gojo asked one night, leaning against the doorway, watching him like this was something worth commenting on.

Sukuna didn’t look up.

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, you look like nothing,” Gojo snorted. “You’ve been off all week.”

From the other side, Geto hummed quietly.

“Let him be. He’ll figure it out eventually.”

Sukuna’s gaze flickered up at that. Sharp.

“Figure what out?”

Geto met his eyes, something knowing in the way he held the look.

“Exactly.”Silence.

Sukuna scoffed lightly, looking away again.

“Don’t start.”

But something about that stayed with him

Because for a second—it felt like they knew something he didn’t.

And that pissed him off more than anything else.

He thought about asking Shoko. Just once.

The thought came and went quickly.

Because the last time he’d seen her—

the way she’d looked at him

Cold.

Sharp.

Like she already knew.

Like if she said anything, it wouldn’t be something he wanted to hear.

So he didn’t.

Didn’t ask or look,or go back.

But it didn’t stop.Nothing stopped it.

Not the distance, distraction or time he thought would stop it.

Because every time he closed his eyes,

There you were.

Sukuna didn’t know what to do with something he couldn’t get rid of.

——

He hears your name before he realizes he’s listening.

Mentioned in a casual conversation,meant to be something in the passing.

“…she hasn’t been showing up, right?”

A shrug.

Yeah. Haven’t seen her all week.”

“Shoko said she might take a break or something.”

A break? He thinks

From what?

His grip tightens slightly around the cup in his hand, just enough for the plastic to bend under the pressure.

No one notices how restless it makes him in the moment to even get a hint of you.

The conversation moves on, but he doesn’t.

It shouldn’t matter.

People leave,disappear, change routines all the time.

You weren’t-

Just anyone.

Sukuna exhales sharply, setting the cup down harder than he needs to.

He doesn’t acknowledge anyone around him.

He’s just too….Annoyed? yeah,that’s what it is, Just annoyance.

That you’re not where you’re supposed to be.

That things don’t line up the way they did before.

That something changed but it didn’t change back.

He goes out that night,like he always does, its all the same, music,girls, party.

At first he lets it happen,

Someone hands him a cup before he even asks, and a girl presses up against him, saying something.He’s not bothered,Because his attention is somewhere else.

It irritates him.

The girl shifts closer, closer than she needs to be.

And suddenly it’s too much and he’s just…done.He pushes her away.

This…is not it.

…That’s new.

Everything else, he can drown out, but not this.

Then before he can stop it or bury it, it had already hit him,harshly.

It was her.

The realisation didn’t unfold, it just hit him, right in his chest.

No. He thinks. This is not how it’s supposed to be.

Everything he said that night,it comes back to him, ringing in his ears.And his words for the first time , sound wrong. Not clever or dismissive, just wrong.

He hates the feeling in his chest, because that tells him that this means something.

He exhales sharply, turning away, pushing through the crowd without another word, without another glance.

The noise follows him out.

But it doesn’t reach him.

Because now,

There’s only one thing left.

One realization.

One problem he can’t ignore anymore.

You’re gone.

And for the first time,

Sukuna wants to fix something he broke.

——

It happens on a day he isn’t looking for you.

He’s cutting across campus, steps slow, unfocused, no real direction behind them. It’s become a habit,moving without thinking, ending up places he doesn’t remember deciding to go.

Then he stops. Not consciously.

Just dead in his tracks.

Because you’re there across the hallway, half turned, Talking to someone.

He doesn’t notice that he’s not breathing.

Because something about you…is wrong.

It takes him a moment to figure it, you look the same, same face, same posture, same way of standing, hands losely gathered together, talking low enough that he can’t hear from the distance.

But somethings missing, and its easy to overlook, he would have , if he wasn’t paying attention to you before, but he did.

He knew the way your eyes used to hold light when you spoke. The way your expressions shifted too quickly sometimes, like you forgot to guard them in time. The way you looked at people- at him, like you were still deciding if you were allowed to.

That’s gone, not in a way that its hidden or replaced, its just gone.

Your face is calm.

Composed.

Careful…like always.

Even when you nod, even when your lips curve slightly in response to something the other person says,it doesn’t reach your eyes the way it used to.

It doesn’t soften you.

It just sits there.

Sukuna’s chest tightens, so hard that it feels heavy.

His breath catches,

and this time, he feels it.

Feels the way it stutters, the way his body reacts before his mind can catch up.

Because this isn’t what he expected.

He thought—

No.

He didn’t think.

That was the problem.

His jaw tightens, gaze fixed on you longer than it should be, longer than he allows himself to admit.

You don’t look around.Don’t scan the space.

You’re just… there.

Existing, without him.But not untouched.That’s what settles in.

You didn’t move on.

You changed.

And he knows,

He knows exactly when.

The memory hits without warning.

Your face.

That moment.

The way your expression had dimmed, quietly, almost politely, like you were trying not to let it show too much.

The words echo again.

But now,They sound different.

Not dismissive.

Final.

Sukuna exhales slowly, something tightening deeper in his chest, something unfamiliar and unwelcome settling where nothing used to stay.

This isn’t irritation or distraction,something he can walk away from and forget.

This is consequences.

And now he can see them, Standing right in front of him.

Quiet. Composed.Dimmed.

Because of him.

He doesn’t move forward or call out for you, because for the first time he hesitates, and this- hesitation feels worse than anything.

——

The first time he tries he doesn’t plan it. At least that’s what he tells himself.

He just moves without much thought, like if he gave it a thought he won’t do it at all.

You’re there. And it irritates him.

It irritates him that you can just be there, and exist as if nothing-

Or

Not nothing, but… like he doesn’t matter.

Sukuna stops a few feet away.

Close enough now for you to have noticed,

But you don’t

His jaw tightens.

“…You’re hard to find lately.”

Then you turn.

Your eyes meet his.

And for a second,

something in his chest shifts.

Because you’re looking at him finally.

But it doesn’t feel like before.There’s no hesitation,No softness,No quiet curiosity.

Just-

recognition.Flat.

“Wasn’t trying to be found.”

Your voice is even.Calm.

Like this conversation doesn’t matter.

Sukuna exhales slowly, something tightening under his ribs.

“Yeah,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. “I can tell.”

You want to go away, away from this situation, but you stay, facing him.

Sukuna shifts slightly, weight uneven for the first time in a long time.

“…you’ve been skipping class lately.”

You blink.

“I haven’t.”

“I didn’t see you.”

“I was there.”

Everything you say is short and direct.

No space for him to push further.

He does anyway.

“You changed seats.”

A small pause.

“It’s a free classroom.”

Again, you reply, just direct.

Like you’re not going to give him anything more than he asks for.

Like he has to earn even this much now.

That twists something in him.

“Why?”

The question slips out before he can stop it.

You tilt your head slightly.

“Why what?”

“Why’d you—” he cuts himself off, jaw tightening. “Why’d you move?”

There’s a beat.

You look at him properly this time.

“I didn’t think it mattered.”The words land softly.

Sukuna stills.

Because that’s…his line.

That’s what he said.That’s what he made it.

And now,it’s yours.

“That’s not—”

He stops before he says anything else,

Because he doesn’t know how to finish it.

Because whatever he says next won’t sound right.

You wait, in a way that says that youre not expectant.

that’s worse than if you had interrupted him.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says finally.

The words feel unfamiliar and heavy,

Like they don’t belong in his mouth.

You don’t react immediately.

Then you just nod. “Okay.”

With the same flat acceptance as if you don’t want to question him, as if it didn’t matter enough to ask.

He takes a step closer , its not aggressive, but instinctive.

“Don’t just say that.”

You don’t move.

“Say what?”

“Like that,” he mutters, frustration slipping through now. “Like it’s-like it’s nothing.”

You hold his gaze and it has something,

Something which is not soft, but heavy.

“You said it was nothing.”

It lands clean, with no emotion or accusations, but just as a fact.

And suddenly,he hears it properly.

Not from himself but from you.

Sukuna exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair again, slower this time, like he’s trying to ground himself.

“That’s not what I meant.”

You don’t argue, you just look at him.

And this time there’s a flicker in your eyes,not entirely of hurt but , of tiredness.

“Then what did you mean?”

The question is simple.

But it hits harder than anything else.

Because he doesn’t have an answer.

Because whatever this is,he hasn’t named it,doesn’t want to.

He knows naming it would mean something he’s not ready to admit.

“I don’t know,” he says finally.

that’s the first honest thing he’s said.

It sounds worse than everything else.

Your expression doesn’t change.

But something in your posture shifts.

Like that confirms something.

“Okay,” you say again , and then you step back , without stopping.

Sukuna watches you go, he doesn’t reach out or call after you, Because something in his chest feels heavy enough to hold him in place.

And that feels worse than losing you, because now he knows that it’s his fault.

———

The second time he catches you after this,

He doesn’t mean to wait.He just ends up there ,outside your class.Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, like it’s nothing.

Its not nothing.

His eyes keep flicking to the door.

Every time it opens.

Every time someone walks out.

It’s irritating.This isn’t him.

He doesn’t want to wait, and yet he does.

When you finally step out,he notices immediately.

“…Hey.”

It slips out quieter than usual.

You pause at his voice and turn.

All that he’s met with is recognition,nothing more.

Sukuna pushes off the wall.Closes the distance.

“You leaving already?”

“I have another class.”

Of course.

He doesn’t move.

“…Walk with me.”

You hesitate, Just for a second.

“…Okay.”

You walk with him, but there’s space between you now.

“…You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t.”

“You have.”

“I’ve just been busy” you say , calm and flat.

He exhales.

“Thats not what this is.”

You glance at him.

“What is it then?”

He doesn’t answer.

“…You’re acting different,” he says instead.

“Yeah.”

No explanation.That throws him off.

“…Why?”

you speak after a second.

“Because I listened to you.”

It lands quietly.

“You said it didn’t matter,” you add.

“So I stopped acting like it did.”

Something in his chest twists.

“That’s not what I meant.”

You nod.

“I know.”

Thats worse,Because you don’t ask for more, you just let it go.

He slows , but you dont.

“…Don’t do that,” he mutters.

You stop.

“Do what?”

“Act like it’s just—over.”

You look at him.

“What else is there to do?”

He has nothing to say.

“…It wasn’t nothing,” he says finally.

You hold his gaze.

“ That’s not what you said.”

That line again.That wall again.

You step back.

“I have class,” you say and you just leave.

He doesn’t follow you, but he feels it slipping, he knows its getting out of his control, he doesn’t know how to stop it, and maybe he’ll let it slip, for you.

——

The third time he’s not waiting, not watching from a distance or pretending that its accidental.

He finds you.

And when you try to walk past him—

he stops you.

“Wait.”

You don’t.

So he steps in front of you.

Close enough that you have to stop.

For a second,neither of you says anything.

Then,you look up at him.

And there’s something in your eyes now, and its sharp.

“What?” you ask ,No hesitation.No warmth.

Sukuna exhales, already off, already restless.

“Can you just—” he starts, then stops, jaw tightening. “Stop walking away from me.”

you let out a quiet breath.

“You didn’t have a problem walking away from me.”

It lands clean.

Sukuna steps closer.

“I didn’t—”

“You did.”

You cut him off immediately.

And this time,you don’t hold back.

“You got what you wanted,” you continue, voice steady but tighter now. “You got close, you made it easy for me to trust you, and then you left like it was nothing.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightens.

“That’s not—”

“You don’t get to say that.”

Your voice isn’t loud , But it cuts.

“You don’t get to come back now and act like it meant something when you were the one who decided it didn’t.”

He doesn’t have a response.

Because you’re right.

“You’re the same as everyone else,” you go on. “Actually—worse.”

His brows pull together.

“Worse?” he repeats.

“Yes.”

You step closer now.

Eyes locked on his.

“Because t least they don’t pretend.”

That goes straight to his chest.

“You knew exactly what you were doing,” you continue. “Showing up everywhere, making it feel like it was real,like I wasn’t just another girl to you.”

Your breath stutters,just slightly,but you don’t stop.

“And I believed you.”

There it is,the line that’s been following him.

But this time,it’s heavier.Angrier.

“Do you even realize how messed up that is?” you ask. “Or do you just go around doing this to people and not think about it?”

Sukuna doesn’t answer.

Because he can’t.

Because everything you’re saying,is exactly what he’s been trying not to look at.

“You walk around like nothing touches you,” you continue, quieter now. “Drinking, partying, girls all over you—like none of it means anything.”

Your eyes don’t leave his.

“Like people don’t mean anything “

The knot in his chest tightens.

“You don’t care about anything but yourself,” you say.

There’s no hesitation in your words, No softness.

Just truth.

“And the worst part is…” your voice drops slightly, “I still thought there was something real in you”

There it is, that’s what he’s been avoiding.

“I saw you,” you say. “Not whatever this is—you.”

“And you proved me wrong.”

The silence between you is thick.

Because there’s nothing left to defend.

Nothing left to deny.

For the first time,he has nowhere to stand.

“I know,” he says.

The words are rough and unsteady.

“I know.”

You don’t respond.

Because knowing doesn’t fix anything.

“And I—” he exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, something breaking through now, something unfiltered. “I didn’t think you’d-”

He stops.

Because that sounds worse out loud.

Your brows furrow.

“Didn’t think I’d what?”

Sukuna looks at you.Really looks.

He doesn’t dodge it.

“…Believe me,” he says.

Its odd and heavy coming from him,because that’s the truth,thats what he knew you would and he used it.

Your expression shifts into something quieter.

“Exactly,” you say.

Sukuna exhales, he can’t push the feeling in his chest anymore.

“I messed it up,” he says again.

There’s no control left in it.

“I know I did,” he continues, voice lower, rougher. “I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have—”

He stops.

Because now, he’s remembering it properly, not how he said it but how you heard it.

His breath falters.

“I shouldn’t have looked at you like that,” he adds, quieter.

That’s new.That’s real.

You don’t interrupt.

That makes it worse.

“Just—” he exhales, pacing slightly now, restless, like he can’t stay still inside this anymore. “Don’t act like it didn’t matter.”

You blink.

“It mattered,” you say softly. Like he’s been wanting to hear.

“That’s why I’m done.”

The words land gently.

But they hit harder than anything else.

He can’t do anything but just be still.

that’s not something he can push against.

Not something he can argue.

Not something he can fix with words.

“…Don’t,” he says, quieter now.

It’s not a command, it’s pleading.

You look at him.

And for a second,there’s something there.

Not forgiveness, not yet.

But not nothing either.

“You don’t get to come back just because you feel bad now,” you say.

You’re saying it, the things he didn’t want to accept.

“You didn’t care when it mattered,So don’t act like you do now.”

Sukuna swallows.

This is where he loses….or changes.

He doesn’t argue , Doesn’t deflect.

He just stands there,and takes it.

You look at him for a long moment.

Then you speak.

And its not rushed, Just… steady.

“You know what the worst part is?”

Sukuna listens quietly

Because your tone isn’t angry.

It’s calm.

Too calm.

“I knew,” you continue. “I knew you were like that.”

His brows pull together slightly.

“I knew you drank too much. I knew you didn’t take anything seriously. I knew the way people talked about you.” Each word lands slower than the last.

“And I still—” you pause, breath catching just slightly, “I still thought you were different with me.

His expression is scrunched , like he remembers clearly, how you looked that day when he said those things.

“I thought,” you go on, quieter now, “maybe you just don’t care about everyone… but you care about something.”

A pause.

“Or someone.”

The silence stretches.

“And that’s on me,” you add.

That throws him.

Because you’re not blaming him.Not completely.

“I let myself believe it,” you say. “I let myself get comfortable. I let myself trust you.”

just for a second your gaze flickers , before it steadies again.

“And you proved me right for a while.”

Sukuna exhales slowly.

Everything you’re saying feels worse than if you had just screamed at him, accused him, because it reminds him of how real this is.

“And then you said that,” you finish.

Simple.No dramatics. Just final.

“And I realized I was the only one who thought any of it meant something.”

Then there’s just silence, heavy and unavoidable.

———

With that you leave,

Your words stay with him,

Not what you said.

Not how you said it.

But maybe the fact that you don’t look back.

Sukuna stands there longer than he should.Long enough for the hallway to empty,for the noise around him to come back.

None of it gets to him, because your words stay exactly where you put them.

“You don’t care about anything but yourself.”

He exhales, It doesn’t come out steady,

For once he’s not trying to prove you wrong, but figure out if you’re right.

But what he’s sure of is,

This time,

it wasn’t about winning.It was about not losing you like that again.

note: OMG, this one took me a bit, i didn’t want to ruin the characters just to rush the angst , and to be fair he needed to SUFFER, he better fix what he did, let me know your thoughts so i know if you’re interested in a pt3 <3🤭🫪

[tonycries]

Right Round

Synopsis. He’s a 10 but you milk him dry?!

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, making him cúm dry, making him WHlMPER, p sIapping, spítting, chokíng, headIocks, challenges, DlLF!Toji (well he already is), Avatar AU (for Geto), Fire-bending master!Geto, use of powers, true form!Sukuna, Heian era, DP, Sukuna’s second mouth, overstím, squírting, slight dry-húmping, they’re GONE, GOJO’S POWERS, Shinjuku Showdown FR, ìnappropriate use of cursed techniques, unIimited void, he’s feraI, slight pIots, matíng presses, fuII neIsons, manhandIing, pussydrunk JJK men, sIight bóndage (Higuruma), creampìes, cúmpIay, slight cúmfIation, pet names, swéaring.

A/N. ALRIIIIIIIGHT I heard you babygirls ab Zuko okay?! And he just kept remindig me of Sugu so…

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 6 rounds.

Your neighbor Toji has been eyeing you for a while.

Of course—one could argue that that was simply due to the structure of this place. It was one of those shoebox apartments; deceptively smaller-looking on the outside, with a pitiful few sprigs of a garden and an elevator that never worked. The only thing the exterior got correct was just how…intimate you’d be with your next-door neighbor. 

And you knew all too well.

When you first moved, you’d walked the few steps it took to knock on your neighbor’s door - Fushiguro, the nameplate said - and you were met with…the most attractive man you’ve ever seen.

Off-color undershirt. Tall stature.

A body that could’ve been handcrafted by the gods themselves as he lifted a muscular arm up to grasp the door frame. “Tch. Whatever you’re selling, we’re not buying.”

But you weren’t put off - because you’ve been eyeing Toji, too.

And the moment you saw him, you’ve been wanting to ride that man dry.

But perhaps that was too much for an introduction to your next-door neighbor, no? That was probably more of a second meeting thing- hah. And so you’d hastened to explain that you were actually the new tenant, handing over the bundle of cookies that you’d baked for the residents you were close to.

And Toji had looked at the cookies, and at you….and at the cookies…and at you- before ultimately sticking his head outside and glancing down the hallway - as if to make sure that this really wasn’t some superior marketing tactic. 

And yes, he really had just gotten free cookies.

Finally, he raised a dark brow at you and smiled - or at least what you imagined was a semblance of a smile. Just the slightest quirk of his scarred lips. “Heh…we’ll get along. Nice to meetcha, I’m Fushiguro Toji.”

And just then, Fushiguro Megumi had made an entrance at the wafting smell of freshly-baked treats. Immediately tugging the bag out of the man’s hands and taking it for himself-

You promised Toji that you’d make another batch for him.

And so you did. And so you baked, you accompanied Toji shopping, you helped him move away from giving poor Megs instant ramen for dinner all the time—you even got to bake in their kitchen when your oven once broke down. 

Thus. After a few months, Saturday nights often looked like an amalgamation of both your previous routines; with you ignoring your manager’s overtime phone calls to put on your favorite show and indulge in some selfcare. Toji with his pen out and his eyes squinting at the latest jockey racing results- dammit, Haru Urara lost again. 

Down the hall, Megumi was fast asleep.

All in his apartment.

You can’t remember the last time you’d wound down in your own- but before you can consider what that meant…Toji’s throwing his pen down. He heaves himself up from the brightly-lit dining table to sit down beside you—gaze narrowing at the half-shitty soap opera you’d put on to pass the time. “What…the hell is that?”

“A show.” You retort.

“I get that- hah, you think m’stupid?” Toji rolls his sage green eyes. And before you can reply with something smart, he’s gesturing half-heartedly at the screen before him. “I mean- why the hell is there so much…crying and moaning.”

Your gaze snaps to the quickly-shifting scenes on-screen, “That is, uh…” In the few seconds you’d looked away to scour Toji’s library for a book that wasn’t a sports magazine or a Haru Urara fanbook, it seems the plotline on the TV had taken…a far more different route. “Sex.”

“You think I fucking don’t know what’s-” As you’re laughing your head off, Toji cuts himself off and pinches the top of his nosebridge. Surely to ward off his oncoming headache.

You always did do that to him. In the best way.

And after a deep breath, he gestures idly at the screen once more. Or more specifically: the way the love interest’s eyes widen in shock, mouth dropping as he looks between where they were connected. He’s saying something that makes you still, “Why is he talking about…cumming dry? There’s no way that’s fuckin’ real.”

“It is?” You’re peering at him in confusion. “It literally is?”

Toji crosses his beefy arms, “No way.”

“You’re going to argue with science, Toji?”

“M’just saying- it’s never happened to me.” He retorts.

And the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them- “…Is that a challenge?” You regret them as soon as they’re entering the tense air, making the older man stiffen beside you—

And you’re just about to apologize and bow yourself out of the awkwardness when-

“Oh you can fucking try.”

It’s how you find yourself being guided to Toji’s single bedroom - no matter how many times you’ve been in his apartment, you’ve strayed far from here - and sprawled out on his vast mattress. Legs straddling his hips. Hands braced on his pecs.

You’re grabbing a nice feeling of them and it makes the beefy man groan. He’s peering up at you through his jet-black bangs, only half-covering his smoldering gaze. “So…? I’m fucking hot, yeah, but you’re just gonna stand there ogling me or…”

“So humble, too.” You scoff.

And then you’re fiddling with the drawstrings of his sweatpants to take his thiiiiick, reddened tip in a single swoop - or at least try to. He grins, “Yeah. And don’t forget big.”

.

.

.

Toji Fushiguro fucks you - or it’s more like you’re on top n’ bouncing your hips down onto him - so that you won’t forget it.

So that you’re feeling the lil’ twinge of pressure between your legs once you’re walking out of this damn room, so that you’re feeling the remnants of his cum glued creamily to your pussy. It better feel empty without him in there - and Toji has one palm of his pressed up against your gaping mouth, so that you won’t wake Megumi.

And the other one of his was latched your left hip.

Gripping lovingly onto the flesh there and lurching your hips up and down—faster and faster. Moving. Manhandling. Because with just a few strokes of his sheer girth, you’re seemingly dickmatized.

And leaving it aaaaaall up to Toji to guide n’ prod.

To angle your hips in figure-eights so that he can feel his cum swirling inside. Stirring it with his glistening cock. “Atta girl.” Toji gruffs out at the feeling of being utterly slathered by your walls. “And what was that about cumming dry? Hah- because m’still rock-hard and the only one having trouble here is you—”

“You’re trouble.” You huff.

“Not what I said.” He snickers. Before his handsome face leans upwards and licks off a stray tear dangling from your cheek, “But you’re lucky you’re- hck! cute. And how many rounds was that, huh, doll?”

“Six.”

“Good. And how many rounds have I cum dry?”

“Zero…” Huffing at the smug look on his face- oh, how you wanted to wipe that off. Oh, how you wanted to make him eat his words—and perhaps without even realizing it, you’re jerking your hips stubbornly back and forth.

It wasn’t matching up to the controlled place that he was slammin’ away at the back of your cervix- but it sure was something.

Your velvety walls were utterly drenched in Toji’s hot cum by now - and that just made it so much easier for you to ground your feet into the mattress n’ take him. All of him. All of those crude, curved inches of him that opened you up perfectly—“B-but don’t think that you’re gonna get off that easily.”

“Oh yeah?” A moan hatches at the back of his throat- botched exhales. “And what’s different about this time, huh?”

“This time-” Fuck, Toji’s grin spreads in a feline way across his face. He was looking at you through half-lidded eyes, vision just a little blurred from pleasure, and there was an almost…wolfish hunger in them that makes you answer- “This time I don’t have enough space.”

And that makes one of his brows raise, “Hah?”

“I said it.” To emphasize your point, you’re parting your thighs just a little—almost difficult with the way his sap had them glued together. The milky-white ribbons of Toji’s cum leakin’ out of your poor pussy, so much of it that it’s dripping down and making his black curls there glisten. “Look…”

Toji’s pants slightly quicken at the sinful sight.

“Next time, you better not cum so much again- or else s’not gonna fit.”

Scoffing, he runs a thumb freely between your pussylips- and pushes in a few of the escaping wads. “And what if I just…make it fit.” Along with the fat edge of his thumb. “Juuuust like this.”

You’re wracking with shivers at the sudden intrusion, “What- cock so sensitive you can’t stop cumming?” Though you really liked it - with how much he was flooding your cunt every time - and he knew it, too.

“Pussy so whiny she can’t handle one more?”

“You wish.” 

And that’s earning you a good spankin’ on top of your pussylips.

One. Two. Three.

Without pause. Soon, your cunt’s feeling utterly raw in the aftermath—and you’re clinging onto Toji’s firm deltoids for dear life. 

But that didn’t mean you were going to back down anytime soon.

No…instead, you’re using the sudden grip to steady your weakened hips. With your two knees squeezing either side of his obliques, and your back arched into a curvature that makes his mouth water - you’re meeting Toji’s sloppy pace. Pushing him back down by the shoulders and taking over the sloppy pace—

Toji’s tipping over onto the pillows now. You’re smack-smack-smacking your hips down onto his at a jackhammerin’ cadence - faster than even he was, perhaps…

And it’s that fact that makes him breathe, “O-oh, okay.” Toji’s unsure where to put his hands- so you’re swiftly taking them into yours and making him puuuuush down on your bloated stomach. The wads of his cum glisten down your thighs, catching the dim lighting of the bedroom. “This is new.” Never has anyone ever tried to take charge of him.

And there was something so hot about it.

Something so irresistible about that determined set of your brow. The way you’re ruined on his cock and attempting to desperately make him even more so. The way you’re squeezing your cunt so tightly around his length—dragging your walls down it. And up. And down.

Your hamstrings ache as you ride. Your pussy’s grabbin’ him all over from the veeeeery crowned top- and then down to his thickened hilt.

Milking him is the only expression he can use to describe the motion.

“New as in…” You’re feeling the smile stretch across your face, milking Toji’s cock was all he was worth. Your hips accelerate. “-going-to-make-you-cum-dry sort of new? Or?”

Another spank- this time, right on your clit. “D-don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Pushing him down from attempting to take control of the pace once more. You’re throwing your head back and riiiding out his erection the way you like it - “M’just saying…you just stuttered.” His breath hitches at your response- “So victory might be closer than I thought.”

“I…”

“Awww. Is the big, bad Toji Fushiguro speechless for once?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

But, truly, he could feel the pressurized build-up at the base of his cock. Starting off small. Starting right above where his balls were twitchin’ and aching - and then moving up, up, uuup every single inch to angrily throb at his tip.

Furious, furious.

It had barely even started yet, and somehow Toji already knew that it was something different from all those orgasms that came before it. And so he’s clenching his eyes shut and gritting his teeth as he feels it overcoming him—

“Fuh-fuck.” He’s out-of-breath just from the first wave. And desperately - pathetically - Toji’s hoping to anything that’d listen that it wasn’t a dry orgasm. He’s pleading. He’s mentally on his knees and begging-

And then…with a sudden buck of his hips Toji’s round, blushin’ cockhead strikes the bottom of your pussy. It’s then that he’s realizing that perhaps manifesting really doesn’t work for some old bastard like him- because he doesn’t even have to feel the contrasting wetness of your cervix to already know. 

To realize that though his bliss was searing through his body in waves-

His cock was dribbling out absolutely nothing.

Six rounds and he’d finally lost it.

The rush of his orgasm coursing through him, accompanied by the inexplicable emergence of nothing more. His achingly hot tip can do nothing more than stick deep into your pussy n’ swerve around the bundled-up wads of cum there. Not adding. Not taking.

Horny embarrassment mingles with his broken pride; and Toji clenches his jaw as he peers up at you—you and that damn accomplished smile.

You’re fluttering your lashes innocently down at him- “Yes, Toji? Got anything else to say about cumming dry?”

“No…” He reluctantly admits. Before spitting out -“What else does that TV show have?”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - 10 rounds.

You didn’t expect your husband to be anything but a gentleman.

Who would?

Nanami Kento was the epitome of everything one would want their partner to be; he was sweet, he was patient, he was intelligent in many ways—but most of all, emotionally. He loved you at your best and he loved you when you didn’t feel so - and thus, he was the man that stood before you at the altar. 

Donned in a dark hakama. Blond hair slicked back. 

Rose-gold ring glistening on one hand. 

Stating vows to love one another from here onwards and forevermore; and he’s never meant anything more. Nothing has been truer in his entire life.

The celebrations were uproarious- not from Nanami’s end, but rather from your elated friends. Your new husband sat beside you silently during the reception, making sure you were eating well and that the air conditioning at the venue wasn’t too cold—though when he did get a few beers in him, he kept whispering from a scandalously close proximity how beautiful those robes looked on you…how much better it might look off—

You remember during this time that Shoko had tottered by - held up by weary Utahime - and blessed the two of you ten times over. Ultimately clapping Nanami on the shoulders and telling him to take good care of you.

And to not disappoint you on your wedding night-

But that was around the time that Utahime had decided that your brown-haired friend had taken one too many vodka shots. No chasers. 

And she’d dragged her away whilst you and Nanami sat hot-under-the-collar in your seats. Avoiding much eye contact - because surely most could guess what was bound to happen at the end of the reception, the farewell. 

And so had come the wedding night.

.

.

.

The two of you had barely made two steps into your five-star wedding suite before the expensive wedding clothes were falling to the floor.

And Nanami’s gotten you pressed into the most delicious full nelson on top of the rose petal-covered mattress. Cock heavy and hard. Those crimson flowers forming a heart underneath your two tangled bodies, and Nanami’s cock echoing the most lewd slurps n’ squelches.

It’d only gotten louder throughout the night- as Nanami swabbed the droplets of his creamy white cum inside you. Just married and he was already stuffing you full—

Four hours and hours. Making you cum through each one. 

As a gentleman should, of course.

You think it’s around the tenth or so round when your head’s tipping stupidly backwards - resting against his firm collarbone - as Nanami’s burnished red cocktip rams into your g-spot again. Glued using a few webs of his seed, it’s a carnal sensation that sets your teeth on edge, and the blond-haired man crushes you close—

“Sh-shit…” You’re keening out, voice taking on a shrill pitch. “Kento- oh, ngh—” Barely able to speak through the loooong, thorough thrusts that he was planting inside you. “I n-never knew you could be so…”

Another hard slam! that leaves your ears ringing. And Nanami’s tone husked to almost nothingness as he asks, “Yes, my love—?”

“Rough.” Crying out.

Though they were cries of utter pleasure- of wanting him to continue. Because in the years that you’ve known him, Nanami Kento has never fucked you like this—has never fucked you the way he was hammerin’ mean strokes into you on your wedding night. Harsh plap! after plap! of skin-on-skin.

Of his stinging pink pelvis pushing into yours.

And your husband moves at a carnal pace - muddled brain unable to process anything more - once he feels your limp hips slippin’ out from above him. Covered in a thin layer of sweat and slick leaking like a waterfall between your glossy pussylips. “Sh-shit, Kento, m’gonna…”

“I’ve got you, my love.” Nanami wraps his bulky arms underneath both legs and hauls you upwards. 

“Oh…” Your jaw drops, “You’re just moving me so easily.”

He merely chuckles at your cuteness- were you cockdrunk already?

And once you’re in proper position, laid out on top of the toned line of Nanami’s abdomen, he gently removes his arms. You’re almost disappointed at the massage of his flexing muscles- but before you can miss him too much, your newly-wed husband has them latched onto you again.

This time, in a headlock. 

Left arm looped around your pretty throat.

Right arm slithered between your legs and squeezing your clit immediately.

You buck up at the sudden burst of pleasure- stars behind your eyes. Moans ready at the tip of your tongue—

“Shhhh shh shh, I wouldn’t want whoever’s next door to hear my- haaaah, beautiful wife’s sounds. I’m a protective man, darling.” He murmurs throatily behind you, “Unless it’s that new last name of yours.”

So gone by the way his round, throbbing tip was bulldozing into you until your toes curled- “N-new last name…?” It’s taking you a little while to register it.

But Nanami Kento always was a patient man, wasn’t he? And so he’s simply nodding, leaning down and spittin’ straight between your pretty lips to claim that mouth as his own- and his as yours. Of course. “Your last name.” He responds. “Mrs. Nanami.”

The mere sound of it is enough to make you shudder—“Oh.”

“Or…your last name is mine, too.” Nanami hums to himself- now so utterly gone on the idea of it all. Of marriage. Of the fact that you’re his wife - his wife. He tightens his headlock and kisses your temple gently, “It’s actually why m’a little more…rough, today, my love. You’ll have to forgive me.”

“I l-like it.” You’re replying, “And this is all because of- hngh, our wedding night, Kento?”

“Not quite.”

And you’re feeling cum glue to your cervix as you’re bucking downwards- but of course, your husband would never keep you waiting long. With a simple kiss to that wedding ring you were wearing, he raises your left hand up, up, upwards—to grip at his golden tresses. You’re going to need it.

Because in the next few seconds, Nanami then plants his feet further flatly on the mattress and drills his cock up into you. Tunneling. Mazing. Bashing his ruddied tip against every sweet spot.

He was fucking you like he hated you - and the creaking bedsprings would agree - but oh, how he loved you so.

The sheer amount of pleasure that courses through you was almost numbing.

And without further ado, you’re babbling out the sweetest whimpers n’ whines of his name. Nanami’s breath fanning your face hotly as he leans in and whispers—“It’s because you’re my wife.” 

Lightning strikes you to your very core.

You could feel your high imposing. 

Nanami’s honed canines nip at your earlobes, “It’s the same but not-” He continues, throat growing more n’ more ragged with grunts, the more the thrusted inside. “It’s what I’ve been dreaming for this entire time- fuck, but it’s…so…so much better.” Voice shattering at this very moment. “Darling, it’s like I can’t stop.”

And he fully meant it.

You’re clawing at the beefy expanse of his forearms as he accelerates, your high starting to shoot and crackle with no end-

“I’ve tried.” Nanami’s voice sounds hollow, echoing with something far more primal than you’ve ever heard of him. And hit thrusts- oh, his strikes were so toe-curling. “I’ve tried—but I just can’t seem to. I’ve told myself, I’ve made myself…” The most sinful squelch! wrenches from your pussy as he rolls over your clit and makes you cum once more, “But no matter how hard I try…I just can’t seem to stop wanting to cum inside my wife’s pussy.”

“K-Kento—” Your back arches- lights flashing behind your eyes. “Inside- please.”

“That’s exactly the problem.” He sounds like a man maddened. “I need to see this pussy drippin’ wet with my cum.” You’re shivering as he runs the flatness of his thumb between your cunt’s folds, just so sensitive that the barest graze leaves electricity zapping through your body. “Nine time- nine fucking times-” He rarely swore. “-and I still feel the urge to watch her try to gulp me up. To watch her overspill. To feel her soppin’ wet right down to the womb—”

Breathless with need. “Then do it, husband…”

“I can’t help myself.”

And then Nanami’s cumming.

Like he’d always planned to, of course. But the only problem was that this time - the tenth - he’s feeling nothing but the smallest trickle of cum. Just the faintest few ounces.

And then nothing more- although it feels like he’s still pouring out as much as it takes to flood you. 

It hits him instantly that he’s cumming dry.

And Nanami’s mouth drops, blond lashes fluttering just a bit as he takes in the situation. No matter how many times he was draaagging his vein-covered cock in and out of your channel, it only left him as dry and overstimulated as ever. 

Tears pricking behind his eyes, Nanami gasps. “This feels like a-a premonition…”

“Of?” You blink.

“The fact that this night’s not over yet.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - 8 rounds.

“Please- ngh—” The sound that leaves you is far too pitiful for your reputation. How could you have ever thought…“P-please, I beg of you-”

“Oh? You beg of me, hm?” Geto’s words were just dripping with amusement, and his smile presses up against your throat. Clammy. Pulse thundering. That beautiful long hair of his was completely untied and falling over the sides of your body, strands tickling down your arched back- it was like a cloak of night. And so was the firebending master.

You’re throwing your head back and keening—“More.”

“You beg more of your enemy?”

What treason. What treachery.

How did you even get here?

You could blame all the training; all the long nights and the countless days spent by the water, the feeling of power rippling through your body as you mastered it. It was no secret that the Fire Nation and the Water Nation were at war.

These were the days that would end up as history, after all.

But you just wondered whether this battle would…between one of the best of the Water Nation - you - and the Fire Prince himself. Geto Suguru. 

Announced as next-in-line to the throne. The man your age with a fear-striking reputation that ran far and deep. And treacherous. 

It was a siege planned by the group of rebels you were a part of, and it was simple: attack the Fire Nation’s Royal Palace and end their bloodline once and for all. And for that, you’d have to take care of the prince himself.

Little did you know that what had begun as a one-on-one fight between the two of you at highly close quarters would turn into something….else entirely. As you’d straddled him during combat and prepared to call upon your powers - chest heaving, eyes locked - you had no idea who leaned in first. You had no idea which one of you was the first traitor.

And so here you were…

Knees digging into the hard floor of the Fire Nation’s Imperial Dojo, mouth slobberin’ out lungfuls of moans. Your head throwing backwards and hitting the prominent collarbones of none other than your sworn enemy—Geto Suguru.

Who was fucking his hard, red-hot cock into you like he hated you.

And he probably did.

And yet…and yet- he can’t stop himself from lunging his needy hips forwards and slamming French kisses into the back of your cervix. Those nice, gooey depths that welcomed him with such fervour it almost made him laugh. But despite how bemusing it might be, Geto knows he should stop. He knows he needs to adhere to his duties…but here he was again.

And again and again.

Runnin’ on his seventh round, where he’s ruggedly pulling his vein-covered cock in and out of you. He fucked mean. And he was only getting meaner as he cranes his neck forwards, digging his pearly white canines into the crook of your neck.

Harder and harder.

“N-ngh…” It’s just barely-there. Sneakily, Geto muffles that broken noise emanating from the back of his throat - meanwhile, you’re left moaning once his hot sap starts to fill your cunt up once more.

Just the cutest few drops - drooling - before he immediately pulls out and sprays those satiny ribbons down your outer pussy. Coating a few milky-white layers on top, he then rubs his swollen n’ sap-glossed tip uuuuup and down your pussylips; a few times before plunging back in again. “M-more…”

It’s so quiet and pitchy that he barely hears it. But Geto Suguru wasn’t the nation’s fiercest warrior for nothing- “Pardon?” Those amethyst eyes of his widen at your request. It took a lot to surprise the Fire Prince, but now…he’s leisurely blowing the jet-black bangs out of his face to peer at you. “Repeat that.”

“Is that a command?” You bite.

And what you’re getting in response is a quick swat on your left ass cheek. Geto’s trained fingers were purposefully increasing their body temperature, leaving his imprint sizzling on your skin—“It is.” That chiselled body of his leans his weight even further down on you, massaging you with smooth, perspired abs. His long tendrils tickle your neck, “And what do you have to say to that, smallfry?”

“I say…” You’re whispering.

Leaning down even closer- practically pinning you beneath him. “Mhmmmm?”

“Fuh-fuck you.” 

You weren’t repeating a single thing.

Turning your head ‘round to spit at him. Right across his face.

Except; Geto Suguru anticipates this very moment to leave his unfairly pretty lips ajar and let you spit in his mouth. Straight into his mouth. You’re watching in slow-motion as the glittery wad enters past his maw, getting smeared as the firebender then crashes his lips onto yours.

Such a filthy, filthy kiss. 

You’re moaning deep into his mouth Geto roves his hips back n’ starts prodding even harder. Even harder. With the red, spherical tip of his cock—he enters your womb and lingers for a bit. “Now…” Another slap. “That isn’t a very nice thing to say, princess.”

You gasp. He knew. 

That lineage you’d fought to keep hidden, for years upon years as you trained and grew stronger, noticed so easily by the prince himself…

Two royals tangled in something you couldn’t discern from passion and a fight.

Geto’s smile spreads against your mouth, and his hands come pummeling down in a rapidfire smack-smack-smack on your ass cheek. Temperature raising at the tips of his fingers. It’s practically sizzling- “What? Cock got your tongue?”

Another smack on your cunt. “Shut up.”

“Tha’s alright- you don’t have to answer me.” He croons. Dragging out with the tip of his tongue- and his cock, the sheer sensitivity of your pussy means that now even the slightest hit at your g-spot makes you jump—

Only for Geto to drag you backwards with a single arm wrapped around your throat. His bulky forearm bulges as he traps you in a headlock; and you’re just starting to ogle his muscles as he rams and rams his trained hips into you. Accelerating. Dragging it down your walls even faster- “But there is just one question I need to find out the answer to.” And that hand of his comes spankin’ down even harder. Smoothing along your ass cheek, “Can the Water Princess squirt—?”

“Fuh-fuck.” He was ruthless. If you thought that Geto was fucking you mean earlier, then you weren’t ready for right now. Your hands claw at the flooring before you, “No sooner than the Fire Prince can cum dry.”

It was the eighth round now and the both of you were gone.

With his hips pinning you down to the dojo ground. His headlock tighter than ever- veiny and muscular. The plump head of his cock drills into you so rapidly that it was nearly nothing but a blur of pink—in and out. In and out. 

Geto’s making it a few more sharp thrusts before he feels pleasure coiling at the pit of his stomach. And he can’t have that - of course he can’t cum before who’s supposed to be his mortal enemy - so he squeezes his hand between your legs n’ rolls over that oversensitive nub with two fingers. Powerful fingers—his heat was sizzling, a carnal sensation that you couldn’t even begin to describe.

You yelp.

And though you couldn’t exactly call on your waterbending at the moment, you’re still able to jerk your hips back n’ meet Geto’s thrusts. 

Fucking him just as angrily as he was fucking you.

Again and again.

The dojo grounds around you two rumble as though the most passionate fight, before your head throws back and you’re feeling your orgasm hurtling into you. And without thinking twice, you’re reaching underneath your body and grazing Geto’s aching, pistoning cock- just the slightest wisp of your waterbending power…being used to make your fingertips cold.

Cold to the touch.

Cold to contrast against his furiously hot cock.

With a flinch- you’re both tumbling into your highs.

“Fuck- oh…fuck.” You—with your cunt soakin’ itself in the excess of your orgasm. Dopamine coursing through your veins and your eyes fluttering shut- your peripherals sprint to the back of your head. And your toes curl…“I can feel you cumming dry, Suguru.”

“Sh-shut up.”

And so he was—his cockhead was flinching like he’d been spurting out ribbony wires of cum, his balls were clenching…and yet there was nothing. It wasn’t like the previous rounds when you had your deepest depths splashed in a sudden warmth- Geto, this time, was simply emptying out nothing.

Still fucking you ravenously through it-

“Cumming dry.” Elongating his wave of bliss. Rammin’ into your g-spot like a button, just so you could feel the slightest bit of the overstimulation he was. Almost laughing to himself, “You really fucking made me cum dry-”

“Problem, Fire Prince?”

“Not at all, Water Princess.”

And once he’s finally feeling it bate - his shaft having pumped out nothing throughout its entire duration - Geto presses his face into the crook of your neck and moans.

“Best of three then?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - 3 rounds.

“Baby, I just…” Choso’s tone quivers, something deep and dark seeping into his words. They seemingly erupt from the back of his throat, against his own will, and hang in the air like a sudden spritz of perfume—

Wait…you swear you’re smelling actual perfume.

Brows furrowing. Turning your nose upwards, you take in the fleeting flowery scent; before looking over your shoulder at where your boyfriend was standing.

It was a slow, sleazy weekend: time for just the two of you. The honks of cars were winding down, and sunset dripped from Tokyo city’s roofs and foliage. The only time when Choso was allowed to refuse the missions that the higher-ups foisted upon him, and when you could decline your manager’s calls without feeling even the slightest bit of guilt.

Instead. He was supposed to help you bake cookies today, he was supposed to be padding into your shared kitchen n’ press a sweet, sweet kiss to your cheek - then insist he take over as he always does. He was supposed to be…not this. Whatever this was. 

Leaned against the dooframe. Head dropped. Hair loose. Breaths coming out in gusts. Choso had his Brother Bear t-shirt off and his bare chest flushed—damp with perspiration. It’s as though he’d been taken over by a sudden fever, ravaging through him, radiating heat through every single pore. Making his rosy cheeks flush even rosier as he jerks his dark, glazed eyes up to look at you.

And a sudden jolt goes through the both of you-

“Choso…?” You’re cautiously taking a step towards him- to which he’s surprising you by taking a step back. “Baby, what happened?”

“I-I just—” His voice hatches and cracks. Urgently clawing at himself. “Remember how I wasn’t feeling too well in the morning?”

You nod, taking another step closer.

He scratches behind his neck - movements torrid and heavy. Lethargic. “So I took a nap, and when I woke up it was just feeling…” Almost subconsciously, Choso’s hands snake down to the drawstrings of his sweatpants- fuck. And it’s just then that you’re registering the throbbing, aching bulge between his long legs. “-hot.”

Wordlessly, you’re looking at the calendar propped up on one end of the kitchen counter. Ah—the realization makes your lips part. Today’s date sticks out like a jagged nail, or - more accurately - like a…

Your gaze flickers back down to where Choso mindlessly paws at his erection. Breathless. Heating up.

“Cho, baby.” You’re catching his attention once more. Chocolate brown eyes glisten with tears- “I think you’re in heat.”

A shiver crawls through his body.

And his jaw drops, “Oh.”

Soon enough, you’re crossing the sizzling distance between you both and taking your agonized boyfriend by the hand. He flinches - just a little - as his skin touches yours- before you’re pulling him into a kiss and he simply melts—moans your name.

The two of you aren’t making two steps towards the bedroom before Choso hugs you from behind n’ crushes his red-hot, sensitive erection into your back. Breathing out a barely-audible plea. And then you’re both crashing onto the floor - the half-curse’s hands tugging on your panties, your hands flying to his cock.

He’s gotten you kneeled and arched into his scorching body temperature- before he reels backwards and funnels his cock in.

Just the very curve of it. Just the very tip—blushed red like a strawberry and twice as thick, he’s letting his eyes flutter shut as Choso cums instantly - instantly - at the feeling of your soaked pussy. The half-curse glues his hips to yours and starts spraying out satiny ropes of cum, “F-f-fuck…” His bottom lip quivers so cutely.

“Already, Cho?” Your purr.

It was just so cute. Because in the next few seconds he’s almost sobbing- “I…I can’t help myself.” Pretty face coming down to press in the junction of your throat, plastered with hot sweat and tears.

“Awwww.” You’re turning around to place a kiss on his cheek, “That heat’s made my poor boyfriend so sensitive, huh?”

And Choso simply nods and nods- “But m’not done yet.” Then you’re feeling the buzz of cursed energy- Choso’s cursed energy. You’re feeling your breath hitch as the technique of blood manipulation courses through his veins and renders his cock as hard as ever, flushed so hot you could feel him scorching between your swollen pussylips.

He just whimpers at the sensation. Blood manipulation always did leave him a little dizzy…

Then his hips are hammerin’ away into yours as though he was hungry to reach every pulsing spot and nerve inside. Every ounce of space. That spongy layer of your cervix felt like fucking heaven to him, and he didn’t know why but…but something was calling at him to keep on pushin’ his bundles of cum even deeper down there. To keep hitting it over and over.

To give you looooong, textured drags from his tip to his foamed hilt.

To let the most sensual grunts emanate from his throat every time he’s feeling your soaked walls attempt to clench around him. Chasing after the sensation of him stuffing you full.

In more or less of a doggy position, you’re steadying your hands on the lust-red carpet beneath you- and bucking your hips up. He was sizzling hot. 

Once.

It makes Choso’s doey eyes widen—and he’s staring at you with bated breath. “What are you…”

Twice.

The globes of your ass cheeks reach backwards and smack! his toned pelvis. That sugary scent in the air only seems to grow even stronger- “Fuh-fuck, baby, that’s dangerous. If you do that, m’gonna…”

Eyes glazing over twofold. A slick line of drool on the corner of his mouth. 

Your own twitches in amusement- you had him absolutely wrecked in nothing but a few bounces. In nothing but a few figure-eights making his pupils run to the back of his head. You’re bucking your hips back n’ forth to milk him even more—

“B-baby…”

And that seems to be the last straw for the heat-struck Choso Kamo: who’s lurching his needy body forwards. Pressing one large hand on the upper area of your spine, it doesn’t take much for him to lean his hefty weight down and make you collapse onto the floor- 

As you’re toppling - your boyfriend following closely behind as though stuck to you by superglue - he’s placing a forearm underneath your face. A soft cushion.

Making sure you don’t knock yourself on anything- it’s the last act of kindness you’re getting before Choso drills his hips down and pumps out hot, glutinous cum into you again. Head throwing back. Adam’s apple bobbing at the sharp electricity shooting through him—so much of it. And so soon, too.

It must be an effect of the heat, he’s thinking…or at least he would have had it not been for the state he was in.

Utterly ruined. Utterly pussydrunk.

Choso Kamo has his maw pressed in an open-mouthed kiss against the column of your throat, deep shivers wracking through his body as he whines n’ bucks. “B-baby, it just doesn’t seem to stop-” His slippery shaft sticks into your g-spot and you gasp- “I don’t know if it even can stop—”

Both in cumming- and in fucking you.

Without him even calling upon it, his blood manipulation rushes through his body n’ straight to his now-upright cock. Your poor, powerful boyfriend isn’t given a single split-second to let himself go flaccid before his cursed energy takes over again. 

He’s rutting and rutting his body forwards. Mouth gaped open at the sensation, and his wet pants synchronizing with the even wetter plaps! of skin-on-skin. They were getting even louder, even sloppier, by the second as Choso’s cum seeps out of your pussy n’ kept getting smeared between your legs. 

Hamstrings aching. His abs massaging your back-

Your eyes kept fluttering shut at the sheer pleasure- it was just about past the second round and you still haven’t gotten used to Choso’s sheer size. Only growing and plumpening himself out even bigger as he kept tunneling between your legs—and you swear that damn heat of his left you even more dickmatized than usual, too.

Letting out the prettiest music to his ears as his curved cock slams into your g-spot once more. “Maybe I don’t- hngh, want it to.” You babble out. “Maybe I need you to cum inside- oh, again.”

“Ohhhh, don’t say that.” Pelvis pressed up so harshly against your body that his happy trail scratches you in a way that was so carnal. And any time you’re shifting - Choso has his right hand wrapped around your throat and haaaaauling your weakened body backwards, “P-please don’t say that.” It all comes out in a rush. “If you do then…”

You’re shivering as his nose runs down your throat- drunk on your pheromones. “Then?”

“Then m’gonna cum again.” He whimpers, “And this time I don’t know if I can stop.”

And, truly, Choso could feel his next orgasm building and building at the pit of his stomach - and at the tip of his shaft. It was different than the two before—just a bit stronger, just a bit more electric- he was feeling zaps of electricity shooting to every point in his body; every blood vessel and axiom inside him. 

His mind was feeling foggier. His eyes were having a hard time keeping open just from the sheer pleasure of your velvety, wet pussy. Engulfing every inch of him. His hips were rammin’ sloppy strokes into you again and again and again until he-

“I-I—fuck.” 

Until he finally explodes into his high.

Tears streaming down his flushed face. Mouth glued to yours. 

One hand at your waist n’ swervin’ your hips around so that you can gobble up every ounce of seed he was streaming. Except…

Choso’s eyes shoot open once he realizes-

Except he wasn’t cumming at all.

“Baby, wait.” Because the half-curse surely felt like he was cumming, he surely knew that he’d reached the peak of his pleasure n’ was stretching out that dopamine every time he plunged into you. 

And he also knew that your wettened walls were squeezing out every drop like you knew, too, yet he just couldn’t feel a single thing dripping out. Not a single thing.

Choso grips the base of his cock with furrowed brows, “I think I’m…”

“Noooo, don’t pull out.” Needily, you’re reaching behind and clawing at his wrists as he attempts to. Only for Choso to shake his head and replace his engorged cock with a few fingers - it wasn’t as good as his entire length, but it was something.

And then he pumps and pumps his cock- if he couldn’t fuck deep into you then maybe he could coat your pretty pussylips with his glittering sap. But the only thing he’s able to let out is nothing. Cumming dry.

“Dry?” You’re looking behind in interest, and it’s just then that he’s realizing he must’ve said that out loud. Fuck, he’s so gone. “Three times was too many, huh-”

“No.” Choso interrupts, “No- no, baby. Don’t even think of that.” And he’s so tearful—he’s so apologetic at the fact that he couldn’t…

Cooing, “There’s nothing wrong with that, Cho-”

“I know, but…” And he hesitates, but the words disrupt from his throat anyways. “-something in me says I need to stuff you full of my cum until I can…hck- see your tummy bloat with it. Now.”

Your jaw drops at the sight of your innocent boyfriend uttering such words. Such dirty, dirty words.

And before you know it, you’re laid flatly on your back with Choso’s handsome face looming over you. The air between you two charges with cursed energy once more, and his red-hot cockhead sliiiides between your pussylips.

Blood manipulation leaving him harder than ever.

He hisses, “Th-this time, I promise to you m’gonna cum…”

“Whatever you say, baby.” Arms flinging around his broad shoulders.

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 21 rounds…?

You most definitely weren’t going to survive, you think.

The Sukuna Estate has been in an uproar; though this time it wasn’t by reason of an attack, a duel, or the King’s torrid temper. Surprisingly. This time, it was because Ryomen Sukuna had returned from a far-off journey - he’d heard some relative of the Kamo Clan was spouting nonsense about being able to match the four-armed sorcerer in terms of cursed energy, and had gone to put that to the test - and he was victorious.

Of course, he was victorious.

There was no time that he wasn’t. In the few years that you’d volunteered yourself as one of Sukuna’s concubines, you’ve never known the King to lose to an argument let alone a duel. 

And of course, it must be said that Sukuna had numerous - if not hundreds - of women and men housed in his Estate. None coerced; the accepted concubines were more residents for his reputation, than anything. Stories had spread far and wide that he accepted those searching for pay, food, or simply a place to stay—and no intimate relations were a prerequisite for anything that they wanted. You could come at any time, you could leave at any time.

He’d long since tired of mortal desires.

Except for the ones you stirred up, of course.

The stories of the Kamo sorcerer’s pitiful defeat had also spread far and wide- and it’d been the subject of much laughter in the concubine quarters lately. In addition to the fact that - in his woeful attempt at snagging a win and a name for himself - the opponent had called on the help of several different clans (the Abe, the Zenin, the Fujiwara traitors) to ambush and attack Sukuna. 

Though of course they were fallen. As were their men.

And according to the whispers, the death toll had reached the hundreds before Sukuna made his path back home. Back to you…if you were to be so presumptuous.

It wasn’t a secret that you were his favorite- and the ministers of the Estate are coming straight to you to personally announce that the King was nearing. You’re nodding sagely.

You knew what that meant - as it always did after a battle - that Ryomen Sukuna was hungry. The more struck-down opponents, the hungrier. Not for anything to consume or to refresh, but rather a starvation much more carnal and deeper within—the primal taste for flesh against flesh.

You were sitting in perfect poise and your smile hidden as the door to the master bedroom slams! open. The sliding door splinters on one end- and you shiver as you realize that this was going to be one of those nights…he was famished. The King removes his sokutai robes and lets them drop to the tatami floor with a heave, and then his deep footsteps pad over to you.

“Master.” You start to bow-

“You are aware I have a distaste for when you do that.”

Before you’re peeking up at him with a sly grin. “I’m aware. I just like how it riles you up so much, Kuna.”

His second mouth opens in guffaw.

And Sukuna raises one pink brow, “And I expect you are well-hydrated? For this night shall be long and merciless.”

You smile even wider.

.

.

.

One round.

Two.

Three.

Four—

It was just one round after the other. So many and so often; so many vicious slashes of Sukuna’s hips that already made you lose count- again and again. Your hands cascade down his thoroughly-built front to hold on for dear life. The windows were pulled shut, though you could feel the glowing of daylight behind it. The King was laid back against his oak headboard and helping you straddle his hips - your thighs crushed against the muscular, ridged area of his obliques as his cocks drilled into you twofold.

They were one after the other.

Thrust after thrust.

Stacked on top of one another—the upper length was slightly longer than the bottom one. Numerous inches long. Tufts of dark-pink hair. Getting your inner thighs wet with globs of sweet, sweet cum that dribble out every time he’s pulling out-

And then ramming deeply back in again. Ravenous.

He’s been cumming so many times this night—but he still wasn’t done. He was still throbbing at his heavy balls, no matter how many puddles of sap swashed inside of you. He was still rock-hard and running on his monstrous stamina. 

So many times that you’re swearing you feel your eyes sprinting to the back of your skull-

“Ah ah-” One of his four hands lifts up to cup your gorgeous face…or so you think. Instead, Sukuna’s straightening his hand out and swatting the side of your face- jolting you back to your senses.

You’re whining as you’re pulled back. Nose crinkling in irritation, you’re looking at him: and oh—was it a sight to behold. Sukuna’s incredible muscles were pumped up to be even bigger n’ bulkier as he manhandled you on top of him, sweat dripped from in-between his pink brows, and his second mouth stuck his tongue out and laps at his cursed lips with them. Before moving to yours…

Fervent moans crack at the back of your throat as Sukuna’s tastebuds glide-glide-gliiiiide along the sensitive inner parts of your thighs. Before spreading apart your pussylips and rolling over your clit.

As you’re shattering on top of him - your nth high coursing through you like a tidal wave - he chuckles. Both greedy mouths. “Not givin’ up so soon, are you, brat? Do not be like all those other humans-” He spits it out like acid, “-I’ve had to defeat today.”

“B-but…” Babbling out stupidly. Your tears stream down your cheeks, your bottom lip quivers as his hips accelerate. “But I am, human—”

“With a distinct difference.” He answers.

A few more merciless strokes and you’ve given up all hope of attempting to meet his pace. His plap-plapping cadence. His hips against yours, causing such a searing sting that makes your spine arch into his sweaty body.

Into his cursed mouth that wraps its unbelievable length around one of your thighs and uses it like a lasso- tugs you closer to him. Like a ragdoll.

The very tip of his tastebuds start ticklin’ at your clit once more, and you’re feeling your body droop limply into Sukuna’s toned front. Your chin rests between his plush pectorals; and he reaches two beefy arms behind you to guide your hips. To perk you up n’ down, up n’ down, up n’ down—

And with a third palm, the King shuts your drivelling maw- “Besides your…slobber, you are above the title of just any human.” Those mean lips of his dip down to whisper into your ear, “You’re my human. And I expect you to be my future Queen- the future mother of my children.”

A fourth and final one of his hands comes down to press on your cumflated tummy. Just the slightest pressure enough to make hot, white seed foam out of your pussy- 

“This royal pussy shall have to drink my cum up until we have an heir, yes?”

And you nod- you nod. You’ve spoken on the matter with the King of Curses before - a somewhat surprising occurrence - and both of you knew you wanted this.

Both of you were weakly pushin’ your hips firmly against his to milk out whatever ropey ounces of cum he was giving. He was flooding your insides. More and more; orgasms crashing into one another—Sukuna cums deeply inside you again with both cocks and it still wasn’t enough for him. “B-but how will we ever…oh, how will we know it’s even taken, Kuna?” Sobbing.

You’re looking down and it’s just an utter mess of creamy cum n’ the glossed-over tufts of his pink hair. Both bulbous tips twitching as they rammed inside you-

Sukuna smiles as he answers, “Oh…good question. Heh.” The inches of his tongue probe between your legs once again, though this time you’re feeling the ridges of his tastebuds enter your stuffed hole instead of merely grazing over your cunt. That prickly sensation glues to the back of your throat. “If my counting is correct, this is about the 21st- ah, round.” Looking down at his muscular stomach for confirmation, his cursed mouth squelches! outward and hums in confirmation. “How about…”

“N-ngh—” And you think if you’re about to cum, your body prevents you from it. Too pushed to its limits, you can only whimper and writhe on top of him-

And as you’re cumming with a mere few twitches, Sukuna’s cum seeps something hot and sticky in the back of your cunt. “Human, milk your King until he can’t cum anymore.”

Until he’s cumming dry?!

Your heart races as you wonder just how many more rounds that would take out of you-

Just how much more stamina does the strongest sorcerer of all time have? How much could he possibly—

It’s as though he was expecting a far stronger fight from his sorcerer counterparts, so any and all pressure was being placed on your cunt now. With Sukuna’s driveling tips so hot n’ ruby-red—plummeting and plummeting between your swollen pussylips in search of drenching your pretty cervix white. He empties out a few more beads of pearlescent white before snickering, “Don’t worry too much for your mortality, brat…”

Your eyes flutter open- and he’s pulling you into a deep kiss. Through that, his reverse cursed energy courses through your own faltering body. 

“I’ll be done in one more round…two…five…” He murmurs, “Perhaps another twenty-one.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - 3.5 rounds.

“N-no, I promise…” Ino’s hiccuping hitches were just so cute- they interrupted him mid-sentence and made him sound as though he was pleading. “I promise- this time- now-”

“Baby, you don’t have to force it.” You’re cooing gently.

And he all but sobs- “No- no, no no…I promise I’m not too- hck! overstimulated to cum.”

Though…you’re getting the sense that he really was.

Your proud, stubborn boyfriend was on his knees and begging—his chocolate-brown eyes wide, his brows furrowed, his bottom lip quivering in just the slightest way that was just the cherry on top. Ino gasps as he fists his cock even harder, dragging his palm down its left-leaning curve; again and again.

And you’re peering down at the man as he grows more and more frustrated with himself- at the fact that no matter how many times he’s jerkin’ his cock off…he still refused to cum.

Or, at least, he did cum - just without the creamy white mess that’d usually accompany it.

Three (and a half) rounds and Ino was cumming dry. Cumming nothing. With his body kneeled before you, with his mouth hoverin’ over your glistening wet pussy—he’d been making out sloppily with your pussy- all slathered in wads of his seed from rounds prior. Clenching and warm. And it was just the hottest thing he’s ever tasted.

So you really couldn’t blame the guy for pulling on his reddened cock as he did so…but that was precisely when disaster had struck.

When Ino had quirked the edge of his thumb underneath his sopping wet slit - just how you do it - and out came…absolutely nothing. Absolutely nothing and he was devastated—

“I-I don’t understand.” He’s babbling to himself. His gaze flickers between his angry cock and his even angrier hand- not smeared with cum. “I don’t understand, I always…”

Softly placing a hand on his slim shoulder, “Baby, I told you s’okay.”

“But it’s not okay…” Ino mutters, tone practically a pout. He averts his face from your gaze, “I never last the rounds and rounds they do in books. And lately I’ve been going to the gym n’ everything more to increase my stamina, too.”

“Is that why you’ve been buying dumbbells for the house, too?” You laugh, “And here I thought you were on some strange decorating spree.”

He juts his lower lip out, “Don’t make fun of me, sweetness…”

“I’m not, I’m not.” You’re insisting. And without further ado, you’re holding either side of Ino’s sunkissed shoulders and helping him get up, standing his lanky body before you. He’s dragged to your every whim and want; as you’re taking him by the hand and guiding him to the bed- before long you’re laying back in it with Ino hoverin’ above you.

Wrapping your feet around his small waist, you let his blushin’ cockhead kiss your pussylips. He shivers. “Oh, fuck.”

“That’s what I’m doing.” Slyly, you’re letting him ease inside you- your poor boyfriend’s seeing stars at the sudden stimulation. His hips coming down to hammer his cock into you—

But you’re stopping him with a leisurely hand at his hips, shaking your head with a smile as he stares down at you with teary eyes. A plea on his lips- “Now now…” You’re cutting that sweet noise of his off with a tut, spreading your thighs apart even further n’ letting his rotund cock maze its way inside - sloooowly. “Take it easy, Taku. Easy—don’t worry, we’re gonna make you cum this round, m’kay?”

He’s nodding jerkily- uncertainly. “Y-you can really do that, pretty?”

“Of course.” Raising one brow, “Don’t trust me?”

And he’s hastening to shake his head. Urgent and alarmed. “What- no.” And as though to prove this point, Ino leaves his hips at a complete standstill. Painfully so - for him. “No, no—I would n-never not trust you, sweetness. I was just-”

“Shhhh, I know, Taku.” Soothing him. You push away a tuft of chestnut-brown hair from his sweaty forehead, “I know…”

Sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, you’re both staring down at the place where you were connected. His throbbing cock. Your glistening wet pussy.

And then you’re breathing out in a tone that’s low and slow—practically hypnotizing him the more of his inches he’s sweepin’ inside. “Just need you to fuck me, baby.”

He’s shuddering as he bottoms out.

Deeeeeep; those inches are red-hot and vein-covered, massaging your walls as he’s sliding in. The crown of his cock is a circumference you could feel at your very throat- and Ino’s head throws back prettily as he’s hittin’ your cervix a few times. “Sh-shit—”

You’re holding back your giggle, “Everything alright, Taku?”

“No- yes.” And after a few more sloppy strokes, he whines. “No…”

Because how could he be? Less than a few minutes ago, he’d been ruttin’ against your calves and cumming dry into his fist. Right now, he was feeling as though the pearly gates of heaven had opened up wiiiiiide between your legs n’ was sucking his soul with every passing second- even the tiniest slurps of your pussy meant his brow was furrowing. 

The tips of his ears growing red, “I-it’s just…I feel like m’gonna cum again.” Ino babbles into your mouth- capturing it in a sinful kiss. “And I think m’gonna cum dry-”

“How’d you know if you haven’t done it yet, hm?” You ask, bouncing your hips up to meet his own. The smack-smack-smacking sounds between you two was all but deafening, “C’mon, baby. Cum inside- hah, fill me up again.”

“Shit- now m’really gonna cum soon…” He’s echoing out desperately. Pelvis rammin’ into yours- and it was already torturous enough for his aching shaft - pistoning deeper and deeper - without your body greedily pushing up into his.

And he feels his heart race as the grin stretches across your face, “Good.” Kissing the soft nape of his neck, it makes his tip ooze out just a little more milky drops of precum. They glue to the pulsating area of your g-spot. “Because I really, really—mmpf.”

And before you know it, your sorcerer boyfriend has reached behind you and clasped- at the discarded ski mask that he was usually known to make.

The soft, fluffy cotton of it glues your mouth shut. 

Muffling your lewd words to the back of your throat - you don’t have a chance to get out whatever it is you wanted to say. Whatever it is you knew would drive him over the edge. 

And yet, Ino Takuma was still completely and utterly ruined as he punctures his ravenous cock between your legs-

Over and over and over.

“Oh- ngh.” The cutest little whimper leaves his throat, and Ino turns his big, tearful eyes towards you. “O-ohhh, please…sweetness, m’really not joking. M’really gonna cum this time.”

“Mmmm—” Nodding fervently.

“I swear m’gonna do it.” Kissing your forehead in apology for the gag- though he could feel just how wet you were getting between your legs. The sheen of your slick soaks his pelvis, his v-line, and the upper parts of his own thighs. Burned slightly red with constant. “I s-swear m’gonna cum.”

“Do it-” You just barely manage out. Before getting cut off- with both the ski mask being pushed deeper into your mouth, and the squeeze of Ino’s slender fingers on your clit. 

Making you see stars-

Toes curling. Back arching. As though a feverish sensation is taking over your body, making your skin perspire and your head throw into the pillows.

And just as your orgasm rages through you, Ino’s does, too.

This time…he’s pumping and pumping his ruddied cock—dragging the luscious curve of it across every single sensitive spot and dip. Those bundles of nerves that he was mapping out. And it’s as if Ino was trying to milk himself - to drag out the wetness of his orgasm if it kills him.

And luckily for him, he doesn’t cum dry. 

Somewhat.

He’s beading out a single drop of seed that gets pushed right to the back of your womb- smeared by the rotund curve of his tip.

And then Ino looks at you with watery, content eyes. “I-I did it, sweetness.”

“That you did, Taku.”

“D’you think I can cum again?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - INFINITY.

“Honey, I’m home~”

Which would have been a completely ordinary greeting from your husband, of course. Which would never have made you think twice before you opened the door for him, of course.

Except…there was one little issue. 

The Gojo Satoru you’re married to was wide-eyed and crazed on your television screen; Mei Mei’s livestream of the Shinjuku Showdown was playing in 4K on your 115-inch TV. And from your standstill in front of the locked door, you could still see your husband’s black t-shirt starting to tear through once he increases his Hollow Purple to 200% and bursts it right in the direction of Ryomen Sukuna—or more like…the Ryomen Sukuna that was inhabiting the body of your honorary son.

But that was semantics. Or so you liked to think to keep yourself sane in here.

It had been Professor Yaga’s idea to keep you home whilst the battle raged on - there was no telling where the King of Curses would go or attack to gain an upper hand on his opponents. Evil never fought fair. And it was here - in the humble…but not-so-humble abode of your’s and Gojo’s penthouse apartment - that he’d cast the strongest veils.

Talismans and protective omens from far and wide. Around the world.

Over the years, Gojo had taken it upon himself to make your house the safest place in the world - a home for his home—you. He knew the burden that came with being loved by The Strongest, and this was the one thing he could do to alleviate it. 

And it was perfect.

But there’d be no home here without your husband. And your stomach twists as you watch the white-haired sorcerer break out in a grin when his compression shirt gets completely torn and his throat nearly slashed.

Sweat glimmers across his defined muscles, and you’re finding it so hard to look away. The battle was reaching a climax- you could tell by the wild look in Gojo’s eyes.

A blur of movements and another explosion of candescent purple- 

And then the door clicks! open.

This can’t be.

Surely, this can’t be.

Gojo was still on-screen.

Gojo was crouching over the King’s chosen vessel and watching as the marked tattoos disappear from what is now - and hopefully forevermore - just…Megumi’s face. He seems to be sleeping peacefully, and the victorious sorcerer on-screen presses two fingers to the poor boy’s pulse.

Brows furrowed in concentration- or concern?

Before a brilliant smile breaks out across Gojo’s face- and he nods to some of the others off-screen. Then you’re seeing the livestream falter on a sudden rush of white coats and stretches, a few of the paramedics reaching for your wounded husband as well—

Before you blink and he disappears. The only evidence of ever existing at the Shinjuku site being the bewildered faces of the doctors- and you.

And the fact that that very same Gojo Satoru was before you know.

Chest heaving. Those cloud-white tufts of his hair were messy - a far cry from his usual updo. 

And his eyes…oh, his eyes were harrowed.

Empty. Unfocused. As though his mind was still in the midst of battle- though his body’s natural instinct was to come to you. And though power still radiated off of him in waves, it’s nothing of the calm river of coldness that normally layered his body. This was a torrential rain—drenching your living room, drenching the entire apartment. 

Pure uninhabited cursed energy; the dam had broken now. The very space he enters drops a few degrees in temperature. 

The very same man you’d kissed goodbye before his battle- now with a simple layer of debris and dust covering him. It left him almost ghost-pale, and you wanted to brush it off as though discarding such an omen - he’d won.

With nothing but a few cuts on his brows and his lip, some already healing across his arms, he’d won. And he was standing right before you.

Unsteady on his feet. 

He slowly raises his eyes to the livestream behind you and comments, “Ah- that’s a little delayed.” And then his gaze drops down to you - finally, finally drops down to you - and he breaks out into a smile.

Brighter than any sun.

Gojo had escaped the arms of death and run straight to you. 

.

.

.

“Mmmm-mmpfg—” The blindfold muffles your mouth perfectly - which should be ironic, considering that all Gojo was thinking about during that damn battle was hearing your voice. At least one last time.

One last time.

And perhaps then, he could pass…peacefully. 

But he hadn’t; for who could be stupid enough to underestimate Gojo Satoru? Especially not Gojo Satoru himself. And so here he was: with his hot blindfold gift-wrapping your mouth, and his cock drivelling into you like he was a machine—

In the lewdest doggy position possible; and you only wanted more.

Unable to vocalize, you’re fisting at the sheets- then behind at Gojo’s toned body. Clawing at those rippling obliques of his to try and draw him even further forwards. “M-more…mmmpfore.”

Forwards and forwards.

Even deeper in. 

The sudden change in angle makes Gojo’s puckered tip kiss up at your g-spot - even harder than before. And by now you’ve memorized the exact length n’ circumference of him—the exact measurements that were swabbin’ aside your wettened walls and tumbling into every spot you loved so much.

He knew every single one. Every single one.

And he was welcoming himself back- he was making sure you’d never forget him again and again and again—

Gojo’s long since lost track of time- and he doesn’t care. Hours could have passed, days could have passed - but the only thing that really mattered to him was finally having his hands on you—and his cock glued to the back of your pussy. 

It was almost concerning how many times he’d stuffed your greedy orifice full - and yet, still kept on cumming. Cumming so long and hot inside you. 

“Oh…mmm.” Moans muffled. Lashes flickering shut. And your hamstrings ache with fatigue he couldn’t feel because of his training - the man had just fought history’s strongest sorcerer, for heaven’s sake. 

And yet, Gojo wasn’t feeling the slightest bit of lethargy as he loops one forearm underneath your hips and scoops your droopin’ hips back up. Plastering them against his own. Sweat and slick sizzles between your clashing bodies—and Gojo’s voice cracks just a little as he asks. “More…?” Breathless. Higher than usual. Your husband’s eyes were wide and piercing- begging you for an answer.

His red-hot tip was just so ready to explode, and that syrupy white cum was already beginning to drivel out. To smear. To stuff inside. “T-tell me what you want, sweetheart.” He gusts his breath down your spine; absolutely scorching. “Is it more—?”

“It’s more- it’s more-” Sometimes, you wonder if he could read minds. And at the state that Gojo was in right now - you wouldn’t be surprised. Just barely, you’re managing to utter coherent words through those merciless restraints, and oh, how he loved watching you gagging on his blindfold.

Filthy.

Tears flooding your gorgeous eyes. Your spittle cascading down in two streams- either side of your mouth.

Hot cum spills between your legs, and you’re still begging for more.

Hah…Gojo can’t help but plant a loving peck on the side of your messy face. Humming, “Then m’gonna give you more.”

“Yes—” Nodding, you plant your hands on the patch of mattress before you. Attempting to haul yourself up just a lil’ so that you could at least try and match his ramming pace-

“Nuh uh, sweetheart.” Had this been anyone but Gojo, then you would’ve found that smug tone of his oh-so-irritating. Just then, Gojo’s leaning his hefty weight over and pinning you down even further onto the mattress—rubbin’ his blossomed cockhead across every inch of your cunt.

You’re getting cut off mid-gasp.

You’re fucking collapsing. And Gojo’s just colliding into you from behind.

Tangled up into such a mess; he’s drunkenly buckling on top of you and crashin’ and crashin’ his hips into you from above. Nose-deep into the crook of your neck. Mouth parted with constant sensual grooooans—“Wh-whatever my wife wants…” He’s easily massaging your g-spot back and forth a few times, and then pulling all the way out with a resounding pop! “-your husband- The Strongest is gonna get it for you.”

“Yes- yes, Toru…”

“M’serious.” He says in a jagged tone. “You wanted more?” The sudden confrontation of his words make you startle- and you’re giving him a quick nod. To which Gojo runs his buzzing fingertips between the sopping crevice of your folds, “Then m’gonna give you more. Hah, careful not to squeeze too tight.”

At that exact moment, you feel the air…stiffen around the two of you.

It was the same sort of tension you’d felt when Gojo had first entered the apartment: the presence of the world’s most powerful cursed energy. It coiled around your bodies and set your skin alight- before focusing on one particular spot—

Shockwaves run up your spine. And your husband reaches down to pat your stuffed pussy- “Unlimited void.”

You freeze. “M-mmpmf…?” You’ve already talked about such uses of Gojo’s powers with him before - you just didn’t expect it now—but you sure as hell weren’t complaining. 

It seems as though Gojo’s cursed energy was coursing through every axiom of him and supercharging it - he didn’t control it. You didn’t know if he could. It was seeping from his body into yours, and turning your slick channel into…that. Whatever it was. Something he could reel his hips back from and rut n’ rut and rut - without it ever getting stuffed too full.

Instantly - and because of the overuse of his powers - Gojo’s feeling his warm tip dribbles out a few more ropes of cum.

And it’s almost like a…challenge at this point: just to see whether he could properly fill that gaping hole of yours. Gojo’s catching his pretty rose-pink lip between his teeth when he gazes down between those tremblin’ legs, “Fuck- see?” Voice growing more ragged by the second, “See—?”

Nodding and nodding. 

“Th-this pussy wanted more, and n-now she’ll never get full. Now she’s flooded with me right down to the womb-” Pressing his second palm on top of your stomach. “-and she still wants more. Hungry girl. Now she can take so much more that- hngh.” Getting cut off with a ruinous moan himself - he’s pumping out pearlescent webs once more. Another orgasm. 

“That?” You’re choking out.

Breathed between clenched teeth, “That you’re gonna milk The Strongest dry, sweetheart.”

“O-oh…” A jolt of pleasure runs through your body at the notion- or maybe it was just Gojo’s slender fingers tightly grasping your clit. Those digits of his were coated in so much thrumming cursed energy that it drove you mad—“Is that even possible?” That expensive blindfold finally loosens its restraint ‘round your mouth, the constant jostling to and fro causing it to unravel. 

“Hmmmm?” Jackhammering hips. Interest piqued. Bolts of lightning shooting from the edges of his eyes as he smiles.

Again and again and again, his shaft scours your insides and stirs every sweet spot up. “I just mean-” Making you feel lightheaded. “How many rounds has it- oh, already been? Are we even sure you can cum dry, Toru?”

“Dunno.” He answers, and your jaw drops. 

Just then, you’re sure that he’s hit with another orgasm—and you are, too. 

Yours starts out in-between your legs with a sudden twitch- before suddenly the pleasure’s setting your body alight. Your heartbeat thrums in your ears, and Gojo’s humming softly to himself as he fucks you through it.

As he’s letting a few sloppy draaaags out before gritting his pearly-whites and dropping his head forwards. Deeper into the crook of your neck; Gojo lets out moan after moan as he dribbles out squelchin’ cum for the nth time tonight.

One after the other.

Loooong and luxurious. Those satiny ropes are emptied out into the deepest depths of your channel, and he was so thoroughly overstimulated by the charged euphoria that he sobs-

And a lightbulb bursts in the distance.

“M’not cumming dry yet.” Gojo’s heavy balls twitch once he’s plasterin’ them to the forefront of your pussylips. And you can feel them swelling and throbbing after every trickle- “But we have the whole night for that, don’t we?”

“Night? I think s’been days.” You retort, sneaking a glance at the daylight-shimmered curtains. 

“Ah, semantics~”

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - 5 rounds.

“I just don’t understand, angel.” Higuruma leans back in his faux leather-bound chair and sighs, his gold-tipped pen coming to tap between his eyebrows as though searching for some button hidden in there - one that would preferably jumpstart the rest of him into normalcy. He continues, “This Fujiwara case has just made me lose all my stamina.”

Because it’s always a long, hard day in the courtroom.

And Higuruma Hiromi knows that - he’s the best defense lawyer Tokyo ever did see. There’s a reason he graduated at the top of his batch, there’s a reason he started his own law firm at around half the age that most of his colleagues do. 

There’s a reason that Higuruma Hiromi, criminal defense attorney, makes the tension in courtrooms thicken until they’re almost stifling the second he walks through those polished pews.

But this case…

It was the usual- some poor sap blamed for a white-collar crime that he clearly didn’t do. And though Higuruma had half the brain to eye his bosses strangely, the nature of this case also meant that the prosecuting team was the best of the best—being that they knew how to twist their words.

And Higuruma was left haggard after a single session. Not that he didn’t think he stood a chance - he knows he does, he knows that guy’s getting out scot-free after this - but it’s just that…he had to do this for months.

He had to walk into the courtroom and feel his mind becoming more n’ more fossilized by the second- that damn prosecuting team was abhorrent. 

And so here he was.

11:41PM. Cooped up in his office room at home; Higuruma was slumped down at his desk, whilst you stood concerned beside him. As he lets out another prolonged sigh, you’re stepping behind the chair and starting to massaging his firm shoulders - surely knotted to hell and back. 

Higuruma shoots you a grateful smile, “It’s awful. I had to sit there and try not to throw my chair at those prosectors for-”

“Five hours.” You’re finishing his sentence.

He’s gazing up at you lovingly, “And even for lawyers they’re insufferable- and that’s coming from me.”

You’re furrowing your brows in humor, “Hey—you’re only half-insufferable.”

That makes him let out a laugh, “But I’m telling you, angel-” And almost as quickly as it came, it disappears. Higuruma’s pinching the bridge of his handsome nose for the nth time this night, “I’m not at that age just yet, but it seems I must work on my stamina. Today was absolute hell.”

“Five hours, huh?” Even saying it out loud made you feel weary, “Y’know how long that’s about?”

“Hm?” He looks at you, “How long?”

Leaning down to whisper in his ear, “That’s about as long as a…” And even before you’re saying the words, you’re sensing the goosebumps that skitter down Higuruma’s neck and even further down his collar. Just how far…you wonder. “-marathon that we have, hm, Hiromi?”

“Yes…” He breathes out. Long, dark lashes nearly shuttering.

He’s been so caught up with that damn case lately- so caught up, he hasn’t had enough time to spend with you. And just the mere mention of it…of being between those pretty legs n’ fucking you for hours and hours is enough to leave him a little heated.

And Higuruma’s meeting your eyes like two magnets that have finally met- first, his lips are on your neck. Then he’s tugging you onto his lap.

.

.

.

“Yes—” Higuruma hisses out- voice pitched into a tone so utterly unlike him. Something so botched in his words, something so ruined—

He’s been fucking your perfect cunt for hours now, and was showing no signs of stopping.

Your attorney husband has a steadfast hold on your hips; from the luxurious chair you’ve moved onto the edge of his desk. Pressed on your front over the mahogany table, hands clawing out haplessly in front of you, ass archin’ up into his vicious thrusts.

The skin ‘round Higuruma’s pelvis has turned red by this point, and he was hissing between his teeth every time his hips came in contact with yours—smack! 

So hard that you’re flinching just a little bit.

And that makes a few streams of cum dribble out from between your clenched pussylips- the pure-white sheen of it coating your thighs. Higuruma doesn’t let a single sweet ounce of it go to waste before he’s snaking a hand down and thumbin’ off just a few drops.

And then you’re finding it stuffed between your lips- “M-mmmm…” Your tears form a lacquer down your cheeks, “Hiromi, you’re so filthy.”

“You married me for it, didn’t you?” He grins. Head tipping back just a little once you’re clenching your sopping wet walls in confirmation, “F-fuck, ngh—keep doing that. Just a little tighter, sugar.” And if you were in any clearer of a state of mind, then you’d have noticed that his husky tone was cracking—voice breaking at the tail end of his sentence.

Higuruma was feeling his sanity drip away every time he entered your pussy- but so were you.

You moan, “Need more-” 

He pats at your pussy adoringly, feeling the wetness of your slick mixed with his clingy white cum. “More, huh? Sure you can handle it, angel?” Darting a look at the clock, “We’re already on…a few hours. Round five.”

Nodding and nodding. 

And you’re all but keening for more as you feel him edge his ravenous cock away - just a few inches. It honestly wasn’t even a movement that should impact the sheer carnal streeeeetch he was bestowing upon you.

But with your needy senses, you’re turning your head over your shoulder. About to mouth off to your husband about pulling away when you were hungry for him the most when-

When you’re seeing that he’d been reaching for that scrap of fabric thrown over his chair.

A stray discardment in the heat of the moment earlier.

His tie.

Your restraints now.

Because in a split-second, Higuruma loops the jet-black fabric around your dangling wrists. It doesn’t take him long to fasten it and tighten it—testing it just by giving it a little pull- he finds himself grinning as your body’s able to be lifted and moved ‘round just by this.

Perfect.

The semi-coarse cloth was strangely sensual against your skin- almost biting. 

Higuruma himself leans down to give a small nip at your right shoulder, before he’s leaning back and hauling you—inches off the table. Two hands clasped around your wrists, the cold hiss of his wedding ring matching yours, the red, rotund head of his cock swipin’ inwards and making your walls bulge with the size of him. “O-oh, fuuuuuck-”

His dribbling divot navigates straight to the bottom of your pussy. “Yeah- yeahhhhh, you’ve got this.” Higuruma whispers as your orgasm wracks through you - and his own fifth one was nearing ever-closer. “You can take it. You can take me-”

“Should I be concerned about the- ngh, amount of space I have left?” In unison, you’re snapping your head down at the area between your legs. Limp.

“Concerned?” 

Cum was seeping out of you in what looked like bucketloads- in all the physical stamina that Higuruma was determined to prove that he still has. And he sure does - or at least your thoroughly-stuffed pussy seemed to think so - but your husband was still pumping away even harder. 

Rougher.

Splatterin’ patterns of syrupy sap on your skin- where contact was being made constantly. Higuruma laps at the gentle leaking with his thumb once more, “Sugar, this pussy was made to take my cum.”

Manhandling you backwards using the restraint of his tie, and slammin’ a final French kiss into the back of your cervix. You feel him start to twitch—in the way that Higuruma always does before he’s about to coat your walls with a layer of cum. “I-inside…” You whine. “All of it- inside.”

“Mhmmm, your husband has you, angel.” And then he’s holding you close- 

Tip thickening at the very flared edge, the crown of it, he’s pouring out a few glittery ropes of…nothing. Absolutely nothing. Higuruma’s dark eyes shoot open as it sinks in: he was cumming in every way, shape, sensation, and form—except for the absence of cum. The absence of gooey white cum seeping out his shaft- and he’s feeling it. 

But he isn’t drenching your pussy in the way he’s expected to.

And Higuruma seethes- “Angel, I…” Lower lip trembling as he takes in the cum that’d frothed out of you and was now being pushed back, “I-I believe I didn’t-”

“Hiromi, did you cum dry—?” Wonderment seeps into your tone. “I didn’t even know you could do that-”

“I didn’t, either.” There was something akin to…disappointment in his tone. Something akin to sadness, something akin to determination- “I can’t believe I…angel, my stamina is fucked-”

“Baby, you just went five rounds without stopping-”

“And if I don’t cum on the sixth…” That ruby-red tip rubs up against your g-spot, ready to splurge out cum at least this time. 

“Mhmmm?”

“Then I’m not Tokyo’s best lawyer.”

A/N. Something something something milkshakes-

Plagiarism not authorized.

[atiny-for-life]

Ever wondered where the KQ stylists get most of Ateez's iconic outfits from? They were custom made by ZINCHOI. Now you know~

[voidsagent]

(If You) Need My Love - jack abbot x marine biologist!reader

Pairings: jack abbot x marine biologist!reader

Summary: you visit jack at work for the first time and end up face to face with two charges nurse who seem to have a lot to say; and a certain attending seeking you out for comfort.

Warnings: mentions of minor injuries, talks of ER/ED, explicit language, TONS of fluff, a little angst, age-gap, slow burn, pinning, mentions of widower jack, yearning/longing, probably some scientific & medical inaccuracies.

Word Count: 3k+

Author’s Note: part 3 is here !! i’m so excited to keep getting these two out to you !! i love jack & skipper so much !! i can’t stop writing them !! …i absolutely feel like i could’ve done more with this part but oh well…comment below if there’s anything you wanna see with them !! <3

As the days go by, you find yourself spending more and more time with Jack.

The early morning coffees before your shift and after his. The breakfast sandwiches. Walks in the park when you both have a free moment. Sometimes Cove tags along. He files each moment away in that spot of his brain reserved for you for safe keeping.

It’s still beyond new, still fresh, still getting to know each other. But each time his phone lights up while he’s at work if you’re working overtime with pictures of whatever animal you’re with flashing across his phone, makes his heart skip every time.

The sneaky selfies he sends you with that signature tiny corner of mouth smile of his when he gets a chance do the same to you. Surprise bouquets of flowers that showed up on your doorstep or slipped into the door handle of your car if he saw it in the parking lot before his shift. Always a hand written note slipped into with it.

It was like gravity has a hold on you, shifting and pulling you both towards each other by an invisible string. Not that either of you would complain in the slightest. No, you wanted to spend every waking moment you could together, getting to know each other in every way you could.

So when Jack’s phone buzzed one night as he stood at the hub during his shift, humming softly to himself—something he rarely ever did—he was already smiling before he pulled the device fully out of his pocket.

Skipper: So you can totally say no but…there’s a farmer’s market thing this weekend. Would you wanna go?

Jack Rabbit: Sounds perfect, sweetheart.

Skipper: Are you working tonight?

Jack Rabbit: I am. Everything ok?

Skipper: All good…go save lives Dr. Abbot. x

Dana clocked him immediately. Hands on her hips as she peered over the glasses sat low on her nose at him. A look on her face that said she knew everything but still wanted an explanation.

“Anything you’d like to share with the group?”, She asks.

Jack sighs like he’s on his last straw of the day despite hardly clocking in; “You’d love that wouldn’t you?”

“You’re humming…it’s cause for concern.”

“What? I wasn’t-“

“Silver Springs, Fleetwood Mac”, She says it flatly, like it’s obvious, like she knows something.

“How did you…?”

Dana shrugs; “You never hum…just taking an interest.”

“You’re too interested.”

“Some would say that’s called friendship”, Dana quips.

“My ass.”

Dana watches him leave, not missing the eye roll and smirk he sends her way as he disappears around the corner. It doesn’t take long for an unsuspecting Robby to walk into a newly opened trap.

“Robinavitch”, Dana calls out, making him stop in his tracks.

He looks like a kid who got caught with their hand in a cookie jar as he points to himself—knowing he’s in trouble for something by the use of his full last name—eyebrows raised and looking around him like she could possibly mean anyone else.

“Get over here.”

Hesitantly, he comes, setting the tablet in his hands down on the counter with so much ease it barely makes a noise, like he doesn’t want to disrupt the clearly already stirred up force.

“Yes Dana, light of my life? My favorite charge Nurse?”, Robby throws on all the flattery.

Dana laughs; “Compliments will get you nowhere.”

Robby sighs, leaning both elbows on the counter of the hub; “A guy can try…to what do I owe this pleasure?”

Dana steps closer to him, eyeing around the ED before speaking; “What’s up with Abbot?”

Robby inhales; “Meaning?”

“I don’t he’s all…”, She waves her hand around in the air; “Peppy and smiling at his phone like a teenager.”

Robby snorts; “Abbot and peppy in the same sentence sounds like a crime against this hospital.”

“He was humming”, Dana’s lips are flat, gears turning in her head.

“Oh? That’s….new”, Robby’s eyebrows dance along his hairline.

“I’m not saying it’s unwelcome”, Dana adds, “He keeps it up people are gonna start questioning the grumpy facade he’s got going on.”

Robby shrugs once, not saying anything in a last ditch effort and with a single glimmer of hope he can still get out of this. But Dana crashes that quickly.

“So who’s the girl?”, She asks, smirk back on her lips.

“What makes you think there’s a girl?”

“Oh there’s a girl.”

Robby blows his cheeks out, eyebrows high and in his hairline; “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dana elbows him; “Come on, Robinavitch, spill…I’ll give you ten bucks.”

“Oh wow, now I can quit my paper route!”

Dana resists the urge to smack him, instead she scoots closer, smile changing to something mischievous that Robby already knows he’s gonna regret.

“Ok big boy, how about this”, She makes sure he’s looking at her; “Spill or i’ll tell the missus you ‘forgot’ to wear your helmet this morning.”

Robby’s eye widen and his ears turn red, head tilted as he laughs; “You’re punchy and mean today, Evans.”

Dana pays him on the back once, laughing like it’s the most fun she’s had all day; “Mean and right between the eyes.”

She juts her fingers out and thrusts them at his face, stopping before she touches the crease in between his brows.

Robby sighs, defeated and honestly just wanting coffee now.

“Remember the patient that came in a few weeks ago for the jellyfish sting?”, He asks.

Dana nods; “The one you wouldn’t stop fighting over? I remember.”

Robby laughs with a shake of his head;

“Well she gave Jack two tickets for a tour at the aquarium. He took me and Nora with him, they’ve been talking back and forth ever since. Seen each other a few times.”

“And?”

Robby throws his hands up in surrender; “That’s it, that’s all I know.”

Dana narrows her eyes like she’s thinking; “So Jack and the aquarium girl, huh?”

“Seems like it.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

Dana shakes her head; “Nothing just…good for him.”

Robby picks up his iPad again, patting Dana on the shoulder once; “No betting and keep it to yourself…you also didn’t hear it from me.”

“Done deal, Robinavitch.”

Robby walks away like a fire’s been lit under his ass, wanting to be gone from whatever interrogation he walked into as fast as he could.

Dana spots Jack across the ER, shooting him a smile and a knowing nod when he looks up and meets her gaze, the look of confusion on his face more than enough to keep her entertained for a while.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

When you stepped out of work that night, you already had a plan; stop at the little cafe Jack showed you for a bagel sandwich, shower and put on your comfiest pjs, and curl up on the couch with Cove.

But as you stood in line, you found yourself ordering two sandwiches instead of one, and two cups of coffee; one regular and one decaf.

You knew Jack was working tonight, and you also knew he probably hadn’t eaten. He had a habit of doing that. You ordered on autopilot, and as you left the cafe a small hint of self doubt crept up your spine.

Was it too early to bring him something? Too early to visit him at work? It’s not like you were his girlfriend or officially dating. You’d only been on a few dates, but still you felt yourself pulled towards the hospital like a magnet. It felt…right.

When you entered through the ER and stepped up to the check in window—the nurse behind the glass looked you up and down—eyebrows raised when she noticed the bag and cups in your hands; clearly unusual for someone checking in as a patient. Still, she smiled.

“What can I do for you, hun?”, The nurse, whose name tag said Lupe, asked you.

Nerves suddenly crept up your spine.

“I’m uh”, What should you say? Who was he to you at this point?; “I’m here to see Jack Abbot.”

Something flickered briefly across her eyes, but she didn’t ask anything else. Instead she stood and pressed a button.

“Oh! Right this way, he’s back here somewhere…”

You let her lead you through a set of doors, ignoring the groans of patients behind you that were clearly slightly annoyed. You only felt a little bad. Lupe told you where to go, pointing down a hallway and sent you off.

Your breath caught when you entered the ED. The smell of antiseptic filling your lungs. The noise was significantly louder, lights brighter and air charged with something you couldn’t quite name. Nurses and doctors rushed by around you. Suddenly you felt very out of place.

Gripping the bag tighter in your hands—you ventured in slowly and carefully—like any step you took could flip this entire place on its head.

A few more nurses strolled by; one pushing an older man in a wheelchair, one with supplies in her hands. You saw a few doctors look your way, could feel their eyes on you. A sigh of relief filled your lungs when you caught sight of the big round desk area in the middle.

Dana and Lena clocked you first, the red head slipping her glasses off and nudging the blonde next to her; “Seems we have another lost little lamb upon us.”

Dana followed her gaze, watching Lena wave you over and trying her hardest to put her finger on why you looked so familiar.

“Hey kiddo, you need help?”, Lena asked you.

You shook your head; “No actually i’m uh here to see someone. The nurse upfront said I could find him back here?”

Lena’s already nodding; “Course honey, are they a patient?”

The nerves you felt suddenly tripled, lighting a fire beneath your skin; hands slightly trembling.

“No uh, a doctor actually…I’m here to see Dr. Abbot, uh, Jack?”, The waver of nerves in your voice made you want to smack yourself in the forehead.

Realization settled quickly on Dana’s face, but she didn’t say anything, not yet.

Lena exchanged a glance with the fellow charge nurse, both of them quickly returning to moving after pausing at the name that left your mouth.

“Oh, sure! He’s around here somewhere…let me see if I can find him”, Lena says, patting your arm gently as she slips by.

You can feel Dana’s gaze on you, rocking on your feet as you look at everything around you.

“How’s your arm?”, Dana finally says.

“I-what? Oh! All good!”, You say, holding up your arm.

She nods, letting a careful silence drift between you before she speaks again; “He really likes you, ya know.”

You can feel the blush on your neck and cheeks, smiling wide as you whip your head up to look at her; “Yeah?”

Dana laughs softly; “Whatever you’re doing, hon, keep doing. You make him very happy.”

You open your mouth to respond, but get cut off by a familiar voice in the distance;

“Sir, we will get you some more pain meds. But right now, I need you to shut your fucking mouth!”

Oh. That’s a….different side of Jack.

All you see is the quick blur of black scrubs, and the back of his head; greying curls slightly messy as he disappears into a trauma room.

Your head whips around towards the charge nurse beside you; “Was that…?”

She nods, already laughing because of course you’d be here for that; “One of the reasons our patient satisfaction scores are so low?…He likes to grumble when he’s not hovering.”

You have to hold back a laugh.

But deep in your mind, something about the way the words left his mouth had the blush on your skin turning to a shade that was almost crimson.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

Time passes differently in the ED you’ve noticed, you don’t know how long you’ve been standing at the hub talking to Dana when Jack finally makes his way over.

His face is tired at first, almost grumpy as he frowns, lines on his face more prominent—countless years of experience and work etched in his skin.

The first thing you see is worry and fear flash through his tired hazel eyes—gaze flicking up and down your figure—checking you over for anything wrong or out of place.

His shoulders relax a bit when he finds nothing.

“Skip, what’re you doing here? Everything ok?”, You notice the gravel in his voice immediately.

“Everything’s fine Jack, I promise”, You say softly, but the hand he has on your arm doesn’t move; “Just heading home from work and thought i’d bring you something to eat.”

His face softens—boylike features peaking through.

“You…brought me food?”, He asks softly, eyeing the bag in your hands.

“And a coffee”, You shrug; “I know you forget to eat sometimes.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, you notice. So instead he leans in carefully, pressing a soft kiss to your temple that has his ears turning pink when he realizes Dana is still watching.

“Thank you”, He says, eyes on nothing but you.

He turns back to Dana after a moment; “Hey, do you mind-“

“Go”, She says, waving her hand, a soft smile already blooming; “I’ll hold the fort down.”

“Fifteen minutes, I promise!”, He calls out, guiding you by your elbow to the break room.

It looks just as sterile as everything else you note—but there’s a couch in the corner and a round table with chairs in the middle; a coffee station set up on one counter.

You set the bag and coffees down on the table, spinning around towards Jack but he’s already on you.

Arms around your waist and pulling you in close with a kiss to your hairline and a hand on the side of your head.

“Thank you, I needed this.”

Your fingers scrape his scalp; “Of course, Jack.”

You let him just be for a moment.

“I brought you a sandwich.”

He pulls back, eyebrows raised; “From the corner place?”

“Mhm”, You nod, “and a coffee, large.”

He squeezes your hand; “God that’s…yeah.”

You watch him pull out his sandwich, the sigh that leaves his nose as he takes the first bite—shoulders falling about two inches and his eyes closing as his tongue pokes out to lick his lips.

“This is perfect, Skipper, thank you.”

You sit across from him, unwrapping your own sandwich as you smile back at him; “I’m glad I could help.”

That makes him fall serious for a moment, hand over yours across the table as he dips his head slightly to catch your eye.

“Hey”, He says softly; “I mean it, really. Tonight’s been…”

He trails off, but you know what he means.

“‘Shut your fucking mouth’, busy?”, You quip, smile failing to be held back.

He groans, ears red again and head falling back; “You heard that?”

“Heard it, saw it, filed it away for later. Your pick.”

He shakes his head; “You’re still trouble.”

“…You ok?”, You ask him softly, not wanting to overstep.

He nods once; “Yeah, I’m good.”

Though by the way his shoulders tense, you’re not sure you fully believe him.

You finish eating in silence, watching him stretch out his back and arms above his head—biceps bulging as his shirt rides up a little—the bottom of his stomach to just above his navel peeking out. So strong and perfect. He checks his watch and sighs.

“I should probably get back to work before Dana has my head”, He says, voice soft like he doesn’t want to go.

But he stands anyways, arms wrapping around your waist again, lingering there with you. His cologne encompassing you.

“You sure you’re ok?”, You murmur, fingers at his nape.

He’s nodding again; “I’m ok, Skipper.”

He pauses to tuck a strand behind your ear. Looking at you like every fiber in his being once to kiss you right here and now, but he stops himself.

“I’ll see you this weekend, yeah?”, He says softly.

You pull back, cupping his cheek; “Of course.”

Then his lips hover on your forehead, skin warm and grounding, before he finally steps away and back out into the business of the ED.

“Go save lives!”, You call after him, the small smirk he sends back your way more than enough to have you blushing.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

The knocking at your door comes early, way too early. The bedside clock reads 7:30, the sun outside golden as it just starts to settle into daytime.

You shuffle out of bed and to your feet, your shirt hanging loosely off your shoulders and covering your sleep shorts. There’s silence through your apartment before the knocking comes again. It’s not rushed—just steady—heavy and intentional.

In your sleep filled haze you don’t bother to look through the peephole, when you open the door the person on the other side makes you freeze.

“Jack?”

Jack stands there—still in his scrubs with his bag slung over his shoulder—hair disheveled and his scruff looking even darker than it had the previous night. His eyes look sad and solemn and his frown is deeper.

He’d come straight from work.

You feel your chest and heart twinge.

“Sorry, I just—didn’t know where else to go”, He says softly, voice almost shaking.

You pull him inside gently, shutting the door and peeling the bag off his shoulder, letting him pull you close after he hesitates for a moment; like he’s unsure if he’s allowed to touch you.

His chin hides in the crook of your neck, breath warm against your skin and he breathes shakily into you, his back arched to crouch down more to your height.

“Hey, hey…what’s wrong?”, You ask.

You were worried to say the least. He was always so strong and level-headed, but here was; crumbling in front of you. Still smelling faintly of antiseptic and sweat.

There had been a lingering feeling in your chest when you left him earlier, that he wasn’t quite altogether like he’d said he was; and now here he was, proving the feeling right.

You pull his head back carefully, forcing him to look at you; “Shitty shift?”

He only nods, eyes glassy and biting his lip like he’s trying to keep it from wavering.

“It’s ok, i’m here, i’ve got you”, You tell him.

“M’Sorry…for waking you. I know you have to work and I don’t want you to feel like that’s not important-“

You don’t remind him you’re off today, not now.

“Jack”, You say once, “Stop that. It’s ok, I’m glad you’re here.”

You realize now you mean more than just in this moment, and surprisingly; he catches that meaning in your voice too.

You see the moment he freezes as you dip your head to lean it against his—but he’s moving quickly again—dipping his own head to catch your lips against his. The kiss is slow and tentative; warm and unrushed. Like he’d rather be here than anywhere else.

The amount of times you’d kissed was still able to be counted on one hand, but each once was more special and passionate than the last. Still learning each other; still growing closer and comfortable.

Each kiss lit both of you up inside like a warm sunny day—the feeling of the ocean tide and breeze almost within reach.

He pulls back slowly, eyes staying close as he savors it, before he’s looking softly down at you again.

“Was that…”, He swallows carefully, “Was that ok?”

You can only nod, all words ripped from your mind except for one; Jack.

You find yourself playing with his sweaty curls again; “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not right now”, He shakes his head, and then; “…Do you mind if I use your shower?”

You’d find out later about the patient’s he’d lost. The dad who came in without his son, only to find he passed on route. The older couple who both passed within an hour of each other after coding for almost two—drunk driver responsible.

The child with pneumonia whose lips were purple and face almost blue as he was rushed up to the ICU. They all echoed in Jack’s head—part of the curse that came with the job. One of the reasons he gravitated towards the roof on certain nights. Though those had become less frequent since he’d met you.

“Not at all, second door on the right…you hungry?”

He shrugs; “A little.”

“I’ll order us some food, go get clean.”

You watch him head back the hallway, bag in hand and a slight limp to his gait that’s way worse than it was earlier.

─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─

Forty-five minutes later you’re unpacking the food that just arrived when he steps back out from the hallway again.

Grey sweats that match his hair hanging low on his hips, his torso still speckled with water droplets in between the freckles, lightening curls that are still damp and dark from the water.

“Oh Jack…”, You say, softness dripping from your voice; “You look so tired, baby.”

The nickname slips out, but neither of you react.

He sighs like he knows how he looks—how he feels on his feet—heavy and ignoring the burn of his nerve endings and the way his prosthetic is rubbing. His eyes are darker with exhaustion, both in the iris and the bags below them; purple marking them there. Hair sticking up and muscles flexing.

You find him in front of you again, hands gently roaming his shoulders; “Shower ok?”

“Yeah, definitely needed, thank you”, He says.

“Sorry I don’t have a chair…I don’t know if that’s good or bad-“

“It all worked out, don’t worry about me, sweetheart”, Almost waving his hand.

“Jack”, You say sternly, “Of course I worry about you, you’re important to me.”

He freezes, then leans in to engulf you in his arms again, tears pricking his eyes, but this time he doesn’t really bother to try and hide them as much. Mental and physical exhaustion breaking the dam.

He’s kissing you softly again when you look up at him, lips clashing and roaming with a little more passion than before, but still soft and tentative.

“Food is here”, You whisper.

He grunts softly in response; “Good, I’m starving.”

You smile at his change in appetite, the shower helping wake him up a little.

You’re still cradling his face when he pulls away, eyes raking over him in a way that makes him feel shy and want to pull away, but he doesn’t.

“You’re so beautiful, Jack.”

His breath hitched audibly; “Don’t.”

He pinches his eyes shut, but you don’t let him.

“You are, you’re so beautiful”, You say, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

His eyes stay closed as you pepper kisses across his face with each compliment.

“You’re so smart”; a kiss to his other cheek.

“So strong and muscular”; a kiss to his forehead.

“So kind and caring and thoughtful”; a kiss to his temple.

“So good at your job and with patients”; a kiss to his nose.

Then your lips hover over his; “So gentle and caring and good to me.”

Your lips press against his, kiss deepening as his arms tighten around your waist, lifting you into the air as your legs wrap around his waist; food long forgotten for now.

Jack pulls you down ontop of him on your couch, lying sprawled out with you on his chest—soft kisses still peppering his lips and face—holding you together. There’s no place you’d rather be. Finally his chin ends up on your head, lips and nose brushing your hair as you snuggle into his bare chest; fingers playing with the greying hair.

“Thank you”, His voice comes scratchy; “For answering…for letting me in…for being here.”

You tilt your head up; “I’ll always be here, Jack.”

He presses a kiss to your lips again, sighing more in content now than exhaustion. His eyes growing heavier by the minute. He doesn’t say anything else—just pulls you closer again and lets his breath brush your hair.

He realizes right then he’s truly, truly screwed.

You were opening up something inside him that he didn’t know was there anymore.

But now? Maybe he’s not as scared of that anymore.

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if you wanted to be tagged but don’t see yourself here, it’s because your username didn’t come up when typed !! <3

[uzugeto-deactivated20260427]

★ DOUBLE SHOTS & DOUBLE LINES ★

you're out of your element at one of the frat parties sukuna's hosting, left to your own devices for most of the night. one thing leads to another, you're in his bed tonight and with a positive test five weeks later?

★ FEATURING: frat bro! ryomen sukuna x nerdy fem! reader

★ CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ content, MDNI. sukuna's kind of an asshole. fingering. unprotected p in v. tit sucking. throat grabbing (f receiving). doggy. belly bulge. unplanned pregnancy. implied talks about abortion.

★WORD COUNT: 3.9k

★ A DIVINE NOTE: okay hi :p updates might be a slow since i’m rewriting some parts of this series and i do have a couple other wips im focusing on. but i hope you enjoy (again if that’s the case <3 )

part one of frat bro turned father of the year

frat parties were never really your scene.

always too loud, too sticky, too many people bunched up in one room like a pack of sardines to where you didn't know where the crowd ended and where it started. not even the alcohol was appealing: if you wanted a cheap beer that tasted like piss, you could easily go to the gas station near campus and buy it for two dollars.

many students lived with the thrill of finding the next party, of getting dressed up and losing themselves after a week of classes and exams. you never felt like you were missing out on much, never felt like you needed to go to one to complete your college experience. you were happy staying in your dorm, curled up with a book and a movie playing in the background.

and yet, here you were. standing in front of nu sigma kappa’s house on a friday night at 11 pm.

the air felt stifling just by stepping into the house: weed, beer, and sweat mixing in one putrid concoction that had your head spinning a minute in. every breath of oxygen almost felt stolen, lucky. your body rattled down to the very bone with each loud thrum of the bass, speakers penetrating through paper thin walls.

yelled conversations filled those empty pockets that the music wouldn’t quite fill, talks about ‘i missed you so much!’ echoing through the room. drunken promises about seeing one other after the party, about meeting up in the café outside of campus just to end up forgetting by the end of the night. lights flashed from every direction—red, green, and blue hues reflecting off a cheap disco ball blinding you the further you stepped in.

the people inside carried themselves with an ease you were almost envious of, completely in their element as they either lean against a wall with a red solo cup in hand or sprawled out over the few couches in the living room—fitting five people in a couch meant for three. you’re an outsider peering in, pretending you’re in the same boat.

that you frequented these parties as often as they did instead of usually spending your time cooped up in the library at 10 pm on a saturday. that you weren’t silently counting down the seconds until you called it a night.

the skirt you’d borrowed from your roommate, shoko, inches up with each sway of your hips, fingertips glued by your sides in an attempt to smooth the material down. you’re trying to fit into a costume and failing—low cut top itchy and uncomfortable against your body, strappy heels making your feet ache with each step, each strap cutting into the skin of your leg.

there’s nothing about this situation that feels like you, that makes you feel comfortable.

you’re only really here because of the guy you’re tutoring: ryomen sukuna.

his name touches a room before he ever does—in hushed whispers about the parties he’s thrown, the women he’s slept with, the many times that he’s been arrested spreading like wildfire. rumors that are too insane, bordering on criminal following each step that he took. the worst thing? he wouldn’t deny or confirm, just merely grunt about being left the hell alone.

still, there’s nowhere you can go without hearing about him in some way, shape, or form.

you only wished he was as dedicated to going over calculus equations as he was throwing parties. his grade had dropped down to a 36.7% when your professor had assigned you to help him out, ready to give you as much extra credit as was necessary to deal with a guy like him. no amount of it was ever enough to deal with the aching headache that you left with, but anything for your grade.

sukuna didn’t show up to your tutoring sessions half the time. making up some excuse of having a late night practice or simply saying he didn’t want to come only to see him on some sorority sister’s instagram story mere moments later. and the few times that he did manage to show up, he ended up showing thirty minutes later.

as smart as you were, you were anything but a miracle worker.

though, he’d been showing up more now that you had finals coming up. taking up more of your time despite not understanding derivatives and differentiation half the time. sukuna doesn’t take your time seriously, spending his time making fun of you and on his phone instead.

today had been no different. sukuna propped his feet up on the table, dangerously leaning back in his seat while he scrolled through some dumb shit on his phone. you could feel your patience fraying by the second, the book in your hands slamming shut. the librarian turned to look over, a scowl already painted on her features.

you made a mental note to go apologize later.

“are you just wasting my time here?” you bring yourself to ask in a hushed whisper shout. sukuna sets his phone face down, folding his arms across his chest.

“and what if i am? not like you got anythin’ important going on.” at that, you instantly got up from your chair. packing up your books, grumbling under your breath about assholes in fraternities, “spending money to get hazed like an idiot, thinking he’s the shit when he’s not even a toot…”

pushing your backpack over your shoulders, you reach over to pick up the rest of your stuff off the table. phone, chapstick, the last of your dignity. the chair across from you scrapes against the floor, sukuna getting up and approaching you. “alright, my bad. clearly you do have more important shit going on than tutoring me.” he looks uncomfortable with each word that leaves his lips.

good.

“let me make it up to you. frat’s hosting a party this saturday, goin’ to be drinks, you should let loose. i’ll get you in for free.” you should’ve ignored the offer. you’re sure he wouldn’t have noticed if you did. but here you were. standing in a room full of people you don’t know with music that’s making your head throb.

you make your way over to the kitchen, passing through the throng of people standing around, digging through one of the coolers. there’s a specific cooler designated just for twisted tea and trulys, you quickly come to learn. another one just for cans of budweiser and corona. neither one is appealing.

“could make you a rum n’ coke if beer isn’t in your palate, princess.” you hear behind you, turning to see sukuna leaning against the counter with mild amusement.

“please.” sukuna slinks off the counter, grabbing a bottle from a cabinet near the sink. it’s nearly half full, hidden away from the rest of the people hanging around the house. he takes a cup, pouring in a bit of coke before filling the rest of it with rum.

a small spark passes through your body when his fingertips graze against your own. you take a tentative sip from the cup, the taste of rum burning down your throat as it overpowers the slight tinges of coke mixed in.

“good?”

“fucking burns,” you let out a hoarse whisper, taking another sip from your cup regardless, “but yeah, good.”

sukuna approaches you like a predator stalking up on its prey, leaning against the counter next to you. he leans his head down in a way that has most sorority sisters (and you) clenching their thighs together, leaning down like you’re the only two people in the room. “i didn’t think you’d come.”

you down the rest of the shot in one gulp, setting the cup beside you. “i didn’t think i’d come either. it’s not really my scene, but… it’s nice seeing you.”

“you know her?” one of his frat bros breaks through your conversation, a teasing smirk on his face as he gives you a once over.

“this nerd?” sukuna pulls away from you almost instantly, the lack of his presence next to you leaving a pout on your gloss covered lips. a snort left his lips at the ridiculous notion, “nah, tellin’ her the book club’s halfway across campus.”

you’re left alone yet again after sukuna pretends you don’t even exist—pretends like he’s not the one who even suggested you come out to this place in the first place. and maybe you’re stubborn, unwilling to take a clue, but you decide to stick it out. talk to a few people you had a class with, pretend like you wanted to be in a conversation as the hours ticked by.

the shortest dude in the frat stands up on the burgundy futon in the living room at around three in the morning, cupping his hands around his mouth, "if you ain't a brother or fucking with a brother, get out! you don't gotta go home but you can't stay here!"

everyone around you begins to disperse, leaving in small groups. already talking about a darty being hosted the next morning. half empty cups line up the edges of the table, scattered cans crinkled on the floor. a few people are left making out on the couch, unaware of their surroundings. you toss your empty cup away in a trash bin, pulling your phone out of your purse to get ready to leave.

you’re mentally contemplating if the $20 uber trip is worth it when you feel a hand resting against the small of your back. the familiar scent of dior sauvage infiltrates your nostrils, sukuna’s body heat seeping in from the proximity. his head drops down, his lips against your ear in a way that has a shiver running down your spine, “you wanna fuck with a brother?”

as corny as that line was, it worked.

you follow him up the stairs to the last door at the end of the hall, the biggest room in the entire frat. while the rest of the house is bathed in chaos and muck, his space was relatively clean.

an actual bed with a headboard with bedsheets (wow) pushed against the wall in the middle of the room, a couple posters from bands you don’t recognize lining up his walls.

sukuna doesn’t give you the chance to look at his choice of decor for long—hoisting you up against the door as soon as you step in. your legs wrap around his waist, fingers digging into his broad shoulders while his hips roll onto your panty-clad pussy—letting you feel how hard he is for you.

for the nerd he’s not supposed to be attracted to.

his lips move down, kissing his way down the sensitive skin of your neck. your head flies back, more of yourself exposed to his greedy, fervent touch. large hands move down your body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake as he lifts your shirt over your head.

you’re left in a lace bra you’d picked out on a whim at victoria secret, a red piece that barely manages to cover your nipples. sukuna moves a finger underneath the strap, pulling back just enough for it to sting.

“look at ya. like you were hoping you’d get fucked, fucking slut,” he taunts, reaching back, unclipping your bra with an ease you’re almost envious of before tossing it to the side.

sukuna takes one of your tits in his mouth, tongue swirling around your peaked nub. his other hand snakes in between your legs, rubbing two thick fingers against the slick front of your panties and tracing your folds through the wet fabric. “want it that bad? you’re fucking dripping.”

“a-ah yeah, please,” you’re moaning already, nodding along like a bobblehead. his fingers push your slick panties to the side, the two pumping inside of your dripping cunt. your back arches with the curl of his fingers, your pussy swallowing the digits.

sukuna pumps his fingers in and out of you quickly, your cunt gushing and squelching around him. his mouth latches onto your tit, suctioning his lips around the sensitive skin while his tongue flicks at your erect nipple. “a-ah fuck, so so good,” you’re babbling, one of your hands tangling in his hair.

his thick fingers move in a scissoring motion, spreading you wider and wiiider. his hips buck up into your cunt, thick cock imprinted in the material of his jeans. your hips move against his fingers, pushing them deeper inside of you while his mouth moves onto your other tit.

his thumb rolls against your clit, pushing you to your incoming orgasm. “you wanna cum?” sukuna’s lips move up the column on your neck, his tongue tracing your jugular. “yeah, wanna cum,” you whine in response, your pussy tightening up around his fingers.

“cum, then.” your head flies back against the door at the command, your toes curling in your heels. his fingers pump inside once, then twice before you’re spurting around his fingers, drenching him in your release. sukuna slides his fingers out of your pussy, tapping them against your mouth.

your tongue darts out, tasting yourself on them before they slide in bewteen your lips. it glides up and down his fingers, swirling around his fingertips before you release off them with a loud pop!

he slides his shirt off with one hand, pushing it over his head. he’s ripped. you’d felt, of course you’d felt it, but it was a different thing seeing just how big his biceps were—practically the size of your head, how defined his abs were from extensive training.

“like what you see?” he notices your stare, the question snapping out of it. there’s already a cocky smirk on his face, his fingers working on unbuttoning his 501s and sliding his belt off the loops.

“y-you’re conventionally attractive,” you retort in defense, “with nice proportions and all tha….” the words die off when you see him push his boxers down, his cock slapping against his stomach upon being released. it’s long, about eight inches, with a girth that rivals the width of your wrist.

precum glistens and drips off the flushed tip, drip drip drip. you hoist yourself up on your knees and elbows, your back arched and ass up in the air. “my dick conventionally attractive too?” he teased, his dick swaying back n’ forth with each step he took closer to the bed.

“mhm, it’s pretty.” a low chuckle leaves his lips at your quiet admission. he wraps his hand around the base, jerking himself off once before he lines himself up. your eyes scrunch tightly at the stretch, thick mushroom tip splitting your folds apart as he pushes in. sukuna molds your pussy to the shape of his cock, pushing inch after inch inside.

he bottoms out, balls snug against your ass before pulling out, pushing back into you in one swift thrust that knocks the air out of your lungs. each one that follows is slow but deep, your nails digging into the bedsheets below. only when you’re ready to take more is that he speeds up, his pace punishing from the beginning.

there’s nothing romantic about the way sukuna fucks. his cock pounds into you like your pussy owes him money. your ass jiggles back against him, moving back against him in an attempt to meet his thrusts. his fingers dig into the supple skin of your hips, leaving himself imprinted in nearly every way possible.

the music drowns out your muffled moans, your nails digging onto the sheets beside you. “f-fuck, you’re in deep!” you whine out, head buried into the pillows while he bullies his tip against your g-spot.

“yeah? feel how fucking deep i am.” he takes your hand, pressing against your lower belly where his tip’s bulging out. cock drunk and fucked out, you nod your head along. there’s nothing in your head but sukuna, nothing other than just how good he’s fucking into you.

his hand wraps around your throat, not enough to choke you, but enough to turn your face towards him. he exchanges a sloppy kiss, strings of saliva connecting you to him. his tongue pushes past your plush lips, your moans swallowed by his mouth like the finest of drinks.

you chase after his lips when he pulls away, a mocking laugh leaving his lips. “you want a kiss that bad?” he all but pouts in the same way you are, giving your lips one quick peck before he finally manages to pulls away.

he plants one of his feet on the plush mattress, his hands pulling your body back towards him like a ragdoll while his cock drills into you. "oh, fuck, fuck, fuck! kuna, right there, fuck me!" the wooden headboard smacks against the wall with each brutal thrust of hips, rattling a couple things cluttering up his bed stand. drool spits from the corner of your lips, your eyes rolling back in sheer ecstasy.

one of his hands moves down in between your legs, fingertips rubbing against your clit in quick little circles. while your previous orgasm had been a slow build of his fingers, his mouth, feeling him everywhere at once, this one hits you quick and hard. “oh fuck, kuna!” you drench his cock, spilling out onto the sheets underneath.

your legs shake and quiver with the trembles of the aftershock of your release, your knees threatening to give out under you. sukuna keeps a hand on the small of your back, keeping you in that arch while he sloppily thrusts into you. he's quicker now, his thrusts shallow while his balls tighten up with his impending orgasm.

“c’mon, slut. take. every. fucking—” he punctuates each word with a harsh thrust, his cock twitching inside of you, “—drop.”

thick after thick spurts of cum coat your inside white, his cock pushing it all that much deeper into your womb. your walls clenched tightly around his shaft, milking him for all his worth. he pulls out his softening cock after a couple seconds, giving your ass a singular tap to let you know he was done.

cum trickles down your legs in milky trails as you shove your panties back on, trying to get dressed as quickly as you can. the party’s died down outside, lights shut off and halls quiet. you pull your skirt back on, your back turned towards him.

sukuna pulls up his boxers, plopping down on the mattress. he’s fiddling with a lighter, waiting until you’re about to leave to speak, “i’ll see you for our tutoring sesh.”

you, in fact, don’t see him for your tutoring session. avoiding him becomes an active effort, slinking between corners of the halls to avoid seeing him on the off chance you stumble upon him. what were you supposed to say to the guy who’d been buried deep within your guts just a few days back?

nothing, that’s what.

in all honesty, you want to forget that you hooked up with him in the first place. with the guy who didn't think you were good enough to be seen in public with him, but good enough to be fucking around with in between closed doors. he'd been a mistake, that's all that it was. 

it takes a few weeks for you to notice the changes. you were trying to forget about sukuna that you didn't take into account what actually went down that night. you’d dismissed your late period with the stress from upcoming finals week. you’d dismissed your increased appetite on that very same stress, odd cravings at midnight under that same pretense. but then came the things you couldn’t dismiss so easily.

sleeping in halfway through the day, often times missing most of your morning classes, if not all. having to go pee nearly every five minutes. feeling nauseous at just the pungent scent of fried food stands lining the streets, throwing up in your mouth just the littlest bit.

the positive pregnancy test in your hand does nothing to ease your worries, does nothing to soothe your soul. it only serves to affirm what you’d been dreading with each day your period didn’t come. what were you supposed to do? could you even afford keeping a baby?

you’d already mourned the $30 you’d spent on an abundance of pregnancy tests—only to get the same result each and every time.

it wasn’t impossible—raising a kid on top of an already heavy course load. many of the older adults in your classes managed. but you truly didn’t know what to do in that moment, nothing other than sinking down on your bathroom floor while willing the second line to be a mistake. willing that somehow all five tests on your bathroom counter were false positives.

you spend nearly half an hour with your head buried in your hands, processing the results. there’s a fetus growing inside of you. a fetus from a guy you’ve barely exchanged two conversations with before he pretended he didn’t know you. with a guy you’re certain couldn’t be paternal if his life depended on it.

your roommate comes home to find you in the shared bathroom, plopping down on the floor next to you. shoko’s nothing if not attentive, lightly rubbing your shoulder. “you should tell him. he deserves that much,” she whispered, wrapping an arm around you.

“can i just stay here for right now?” the thought of having to face him made you all that much more nauseous. of having to actually voice the fact that you’d gotten pregnant by ryomen sukuna. if you didn’t say it, it wasn’t real just yet.

“stay here as long as you need. i’m not going anywhere either.” shoko stayed by your side throughout the night, offering to buy takeout and watch a movie. the dread remained buried deep inside despite each forced laugh that left your lips at the right moments of the movie.

the next couple days, you spend your time trying to figure out how you should break the news. pinterest hasn’t been that much help, offering ideas from a corny gift basket to a onesie saying ‘you’re a daddy!’ how ridiculous.

however, you don’t get much time to think about it. sukuna approaches you at the library on a day you’re supposed to be studying the anatomy of a dolphin. he looms over your table, his arms folded across his chest. “you’re avoiding me.” he almost sounds pissed off, his voice gruff.

of course, it only happens when no one else is around to notice the two of you interacting.

you meet his gaze, your mouth opening before shutting back again. the words die in your tongue about four times before you manage to spit them out, “i’m pregnant.” digging through your sweater, you take out one of the many tests in a plastic bag.

sukuna malfunctions at that very moment, every connection linked to the motherboard severed off. he blinks slowly, barely registering the two dark lines on the pregnancy test you’d handed over. he looks from you over to the test, and then back to you again. like you were the crazy one here.

eventually, after the shock managed to wear off, he digs through his brown leather wallet. fishing out the couple hundred dollar bills that were meant to be used for this week’s supply of beer.

“aye look, you’re hot and all,” he speaks up, clearing his throat. sukuna grabs your hand, placing the crumpled up money in your palm, “but i ain’t ready to be a dad.”

[bisexualjoong]

♡ shout out to hongjoong's nose, gotta be my fav nose out there ♡ [04/∞]

[bisexualjoong]

♡ gifs of hongjoong that make me feel so sane ♡ [43/∞]

[makesoneteam]

"don't worry about a thing, it's gonna be okay" i'm gonna be so real with you song mingi. i'm a little worried. one thing about me is that i'm gonna worry a bit you know. like i'm gonna have faith because what else can i do but i can't lie to you there's worry in my heart. and like bark bark bark and all but. i'mma worry

[pinkprincessminki]

if you ever find me in this type of situation just let me be

[thirstkanaphan]