#limply dropping

[qu1etdays]

Fresh tattoo with great naps too.

📸: @the-bashful-bl00m

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒. love; you wonder if the king of curses is capable of feeling that emotion too. so, you take on a more direct approach to ask him.

word count. 1.7k

note. sukuna brainrot sorry. . .

tags. true form!sukuna x female reader. angst (+ comfort) / fluff. size difference mentions. eh sukuna’s a bit mean. established relationship, but you’re like v early into the relationship.

it was a calm sunday evening. both sukuna and you had fulfilled your duties for the day. all you needed after working hard was the presence of the person you admire most. thus, you had made your way over to sukuna’s chambers. to your surprise, you already found him sitting on the engawa which led to the connected backyard.

sukuna noticed your presence, but didn't utter a word. he simply shot you a glance before continuing to stare into the distance. he seemed to be in deep thought about something. you didn’t want to bother him when he was like this, but the voice in your head told you to stay.

you silently kneel next to him and gather your hands in your lap. your eyes automatically move to focus on sukuna again. two of his hands are supporting his weight as they rest flat on the wooden surface. the other set rests limply on his thigh.

your gaze falls on his bottom left hand. the one he uses to kill, but also the one he uses to hold and caress you. you could easily recall its feel without having to touch him; rough, callused and warm. you reach your hand out towards his without hesitation.

sukuna’s eyes dart over to your small stature next to him. he allows you to grab his hand, to pull it over to your lap and let it rest palm up on your thighs. it’s almost funny. how big his hand is in comparison to yours.

the comfortable silence continues. the rustles of the leaves and the water movements in the koi pond in the yard are soothing to the soul. your finger traces the lines on sukuna’s palm, following them until they end before switching to the other.

the king of curses watches you play around with his hand. still with that stoic expression on his face. however, feeling your delicate touch on his skin and seeing you smile to yourself for whatever reason makes the corners of his lips curl up. for a split second.

a faint, amused grin. you sure are an interesting creature in his eyes.

“sukuna, can i ask you something?” you break the silence with a question. there is an unknown feeling in your chest; one that makes you restless at night. your smile slowly drops into a small pout when you think about what you want to ask him.

not a single action goes unnoticed by the man next to you. he lifts an eyebrow, but other than that, there’s no reaction visible. he answers you with a hum of approval, “mmh.”

you lift your head and look up at him. sukuna was already staring right at you—his piercing eyes catch your soft ones. he squints. there is something wrong with the way you are looking at him. normally, the smile you give him would reach your eyes. now it doesn’t.

that same smile completely disappears over time.

“do you.. are you..” you stammer. you don't know how to articulate your question. it’s probably dumb. to both you and him. sukuna watches you struggle to ask him whatever is on your mind. he firmly grabs your wrist and squeezes it. not too hard. he doesn't want to inflict any unneccesary pain.

sukuna sighs. a heavy sigh. one thing he dislikes is when you leave him in the dark. it isn’t the first time you did so during the past week. asking him if you could ask him a question and when he grants you the permission to, you back down or change topics.

it’s getting tiresome.

“spit it out.” sukuna grumbles. he pulls your body closer to his by your wrist, your arm stretched upwards with your hand hovering near the side of his face. his breath hits your wrist, causing goosebumps to form on your skin.

crimson orbs stare right into your soul. you gulp and feel your body warm up. when you try to avert your gaze, one of sukuna's free hands grabs you by the jaw and steers your head to face him. his thumb presses down on your chin. he’s not letting it go today. he needs answers.

before sukuna could add to his words, you breathe in sharply. like you’re ready to ask him what had been weighing on your mind ever since a couple days back. oh, stupid it sure is. you know. you’re probably making it too big of a deal. when it isn’t. not in the slightest.

your eyes water. you blink the tears away. you don’t want to embarrass yourself any further by sobbing. your bottom lip trembles as you finally muster up the courage;

“do you love me?”

there it goes. you try to squirm away from sukuna’s grasp after that. you feel flustered. embarrassed. you just want to crawl into a hole and rot.

sukuna does not tighten his grip on you. instead, he loosens them. your wrist slips from his hand. your chin no longer restricted by his fingers. he lets you go.

a painful sting in your heart. you secretly hoped that he’d resist. pull you closer maybe. you don’t know why you expected that. you learnt not to get your hopes up around him and yet you always wish for him to do something.

a silence falls between the two of you again. you act like you didn’t ask him anything. you try to ignore the way sukuna clenched his jaw. how he subtly clicked his tongue. how he let you shuffle away from him.

you clear your throat. with hesistance this time, you gently grab one of sukuna’s hands again. that he allows you. you appreciate that. at least it means he isn’t completely upset. you know sukuna does not allow just anyone to touch him so without permission.

you hold tightly onto his hand like it’s your last hope. his fingers don’t close around yours, though. you don’t mind.

“what a foolish question.” sukuna scoffs and looks the other way. his voice was hoarse. probably from not speaking for quite what time. you silently nod. an expected answer, at last.

you stay silent after that. it hurts. more than you want it to have hurt. maybe it was too early into your relationship to ask such a question. you got into it, knowing fully well how harsh the man next to you could be sometimes.

what you can’t deny is that soft spot sukuna has for you. you see it. uraume sees it. the maids see it. sukuna probably.. knows of it, but doesn’t speak on it. he does not speak up about his feelings much anyway.

but it’s visible in his actions. the king of curses allows you to say and do whatever you want around him. he makes sure his subordinates treat you well. he looks at you with a hint of softness hidden in those red eyes. when he touches you, it’s firm but gentle. like he desperately craves to touch you, though knows not to make that yearning accidentally hurt you in any way.

the latter is what you love most about his soft spot for you. sukuna handles you with utmost care. even uraume had told you that it surprises them greatly whenever they witness the way their master treats you in general.

especially at night. you can’t count the amount of times you quite literally melted into his arms. those four, beefy arms that know just how to make you feel protected. you never sleep in unease. you know that nothing could hurt you when you’re laying against his chest.

sukuna’s actions speak volumes. despite all of that, you wish he’d at least tell you with his words. how much you mean to him.

“my apologies.” you give up. for today, you’ll let him be. the slight irritation in his voice earlier nearly made you cry. he needs more time and you’ll give him that. you slowly detach your small hand from his big, warm one, “i won’t ask you that again.”

sukuna frowns and grumbles something under his breath. you think it’s still because of your previous question, yet his gaze tells a different story. he narrows his eyes as he glares down at his now empty hand. you connect the dots once you see the man take a glimpse at your hand on your lap.

your touch. the sudden abscence of your touch.

“i didn’t say you could do that.” sukuna murmurs. his tone low and maybe even upset to a certain degree. you blink a few times and freeze on spot. the king of curses starts to get grumpy the longer you fail to take the hint.

he kisses his teeth out of impatience. sukuna tightly gets ahold of your hand again and softly yanks it towards him. you squeal as your body stumbles closer to his.

sukuna holds eye contact with you as he brings your hand to his mouth. his tongue wets a spot on your palm—specifically the area that connects your thumb with your wrist. your lips part, your tummy doing flips from the sudden touch.

“don’t let go again,” he bares his teeth before slightly sinking them into the soft flesh. it isn’t a hard bite. more a nibble that leaves a faint mark. what you didn’t expect was for sukuna to kiss that same place after marking it. his thumb runs over that exact spot as well, “got that?”

you nod. you’re unable to refuse him. those feelings of disappointment from earlier long forgotten. you intertwine your fingers with sukuna’s and unlike the previous instant, his fingers do curl back around yours. your skin is still tingling from the feeling of sukuna’s kiss.

the king of curses keeps your entwined hands on his lap this time. he stares off into the distance for a couple seconds before returning his gaze to you. he scans your face and finds what he had been missing;

that tender smile of yours. it was back, tugging at your lips. one of your fingers resumes its soothing motion on his rough skin again. sukuna’s face relaxes. his jaw unclenches.

“good.” sukuna nods at the sight. he turns to watch the night sky again—secretly (yet not so secretly) enjoying this moment of peace.

you’re content with how that ended. and, you’re sure that you don’t mind if it takes days, weeks or even months for your relationship to fully blossom. when you’re with sukuna, one thing is clear: actions do speak louder than words.

[kalystatheevil]

picture scaramouche bent over, hands tied behind his back, face pressed to a coffee table with you holding him from behind

tw: cursing, cnc, praise, humiliation, dom reader, unhealthy use of ellipses; (amab reader), 18+

you rub your glistening cock between scaramouche's spread asscheeks, almost moaning from the view alone. your precum is already leaking into the cracks, moistening them prettily.

"fuck, scara… what did i tell you, huh?" a sharp slap resounds, and scaramouche's right cheek immediately starts turning pinkish. the boy grits his teeth.

"go to hell you fucking psycho."

"mhhh…" your thumbs leave little indents in the supple skin of his ass. between them, a throbbing hole clenches nervously. "a psycho, am i."

scaramouche moans as you push the tip past the rim. you're sure he didn't mean to, but it still escaped his lips. slowly, you push just the tip in and out, watching intently as the skin spreads around the gland, swallowing it greedily.

"you stretch so beautifully, scara," you coo, a soft blush on your face. "so incredibly beautiful"

"stop— stop looking!" scaramouche growls. "it's—" he gasps loudly when the tip enters him yet again, face already red from all the blood gathering in his head.

"it's what, scara..."

"it's— ugly…"

at this, you click your tongue and stop. "ugly?"

scaramouche becomes angry, deflecting from his quickly rising shame. "yes, ugly. seriously, stop with this stupid game you're playing, i don't need you to act like you're into th—"

you thrust into him, deep and hard. scaramouche's words are lost in a strangled gurgle as his eyes roll back.

"it seems i need to fuck that thought out of you."

with one roll of your hands, you shorten the rope connected to his tied wrists, tugging them upwards. slowly, you start to roll your hips back, watching as the rim catches and slides over your cock. you moan. "aah, scara… you look so, so pretty like this"

"fuck… you… ngh— a-aahn…"

you breathe heavily. "fuck. fuck, scara. you take me so well. look at you, moaning like a slut..."

"shut— shut up. fuck. i'll kill you. i swear i'll fucking kill y— MGH!" you slam back into him. any further protest is drowned by the sound of thighs hitting flesh in sharp slaps as you start pounding into him. harder and harder you thrust back inside, needing to reach deeper, faster, harder.

it doesn't take long for scaramouche to lose his composure. on the surface of the coffee table, he rolls his head almost limply to the side. his eyes are blurry with pleasure, but still he tries to look at you out of the corner of his eye - to make you see exactly what you are doing to him.

you breathe a laugh, panting hard. under scaramouche's mouth, a steadily growing puddle of drool forms. he twitches, legs giving in.

you grab his hips so hard his skin will certainly bruise. scaramouche is not yet allowed to stop taking you. you stare and stare, fucking him until the world starts to tilt, until your cock feels numb from sheer pleasure, until you start twitching so hard that it's visible on the front of scaramouche's stomach—

you cum hard, gasping for air. white stars form in your vision, and you can feel your hands tremble on his soft skin.

"haha…" you laugh, out of breath. under you, scaramouche whimpers quietly.

after a moment, you pull out slowly. a thick line of cum connects the tip of your still slightly twitching cock with scaramouche's warm, fluttering hole. "ahh… fuck. my cum… hahaha… deep… deep inside you…"

scaramouche lets out another whine. his hole clenches before releasing a white drop of liquid. he whimpers, trying to say something.

"mh?" you ask, using your thumb to smear the droplet around the throbbing hole. "speak up, scara…"

amidst his wordless whimpers, you push your thumb inside and laugh again, feeling scaramouche milking it powerlessly.

"i wonder when you came…"

"mmglh…" scaramouche answers. when something warm touches his freely leaking cock, he flinches lightly. a moan tumbles over his lips. with the palm of your hand, you rub the tip of his soft erection.

"or rather… how many times." scaramouche's eyes slowly roll backwards. with a grin, you raise your hand back up and glide your tongue over the palm, humming appreciatively at the taste. "yum ~"

"no…more…" scaramouche finally breathes. "can't…" your arm slings around his belly. with ease, you lift him up. "ahn—"

"no more? no more, scara?"

"no... more..."

"but baby..." you place a soft kiss on his temple.

"we were just getting started."

[formatting shamelessly stolen from scara smut writer @hanxku]

[lovedazai]

PLAYING WITH THEIR HAIR

ft. dazai, chuuya, fyodor, sigma, tecchou

p.s.! ₊˚. inspired by this post on my old blog !! blowing u a kiss if u remember it, mwah <3 !!

DAZAI — dazai doesn’t know if he should let himself get used to this.

with freshly changed bandages and a full stomach, he lays his head on your lap, blissed out sighs falling from his lips as your fingers rub his scalp just right, gently tugging the knots out of his hair. he can’t remember the last time someone has made him feel so taken care of.

your nails drag across his temple, tucking his bangs behind his ear. he barely manages to suppress the shiver that makes its way up his spine when you trail your fingers down, tracing along his jawline.

he only opens his eyes when you lean down and kiss his nose, and he swears his heart stops; nobody has ever looked at him so softly before. he wants to spill his heart out, tell you how he’s certain you’re the reason he’s still alive.

he pulls the back of your head down to press a kiss onto your mouth instead, smiling against your lips when you huff. he whines when you pull away far too soon, raising himself on his elbows to follow you.

“you're supposed to be relaxing,” it’s always so hard to feel scolded by youーyou’re just too cute when you’re grumpyーbut it’s especially difficult now, when your smile is so sweet, and the tip of your nose brushes against his from how close you are.

he barely whispers "i am, i swear,” before his lips are on yours again, unable to hold in all of the love he feels; it bubbles up in his chest as he guides your hands back to his head.

the feeling of your mouth on his and your hands brushing through his hair is almost overwhelming, igniting something warm and tingly beneath his skin. he whines when you tug on his locks, soothing it away as your thumb traces the curve of his ear. he parts his lips enough for your tongue to trace inside, but you pull away all too soon again.

your nails trace along his scalp so gently, and you’re looking at him so lovingly, he doesn’t know what else to do besides pull you closer. he needs more.

his heart pounds against his ribcage, racing without his permission; he doesn’t think he can make it slow down, even if he tried.

CHUUYA — when chuuya comes out of the shower, it’s with a towel hanging low on his hips and the sweet scent of his expensive body scrub clinging to his skin.

you watch him sort through his drawer for a pair of underwear, the long section of his hair taunting you with the way it beads water, stray drops dribbling down his toned chest. his bangs fall limply over his nose, and your eyes follow his fingers as he brushes them back.

it doesn’t take long for him to catch your gaze on him, lips rising into a cocky smile as he looks at you over his shoulder.

“like what you see, baby?”

you nod, holding your grabby hands out from where you sit on the edge of his bed, waiting for him to join you. his smile only grows, and he pulls a pair of sweatpants up his waist before he settles in front of you.

the spot where your knees open is the perfect size for him to rest his head in your lap. you brush back all the stray pieces of his bangs, watching them flutter back against his forehead. his hair is like silk, smoothly gliding through the gaps of your fingers. you treat it like something fragile, even if chuuya was anything but.

"i'm starting to think you're only with me for my hair,” he tilts his head back to look at you, but you're quick to push it forward, shushing him. he pinches your thigh, but it doesn’t take long for his grumpy mumbles to fade away as your nails drag against his scalp.

you twirl the longer strands around your fingers, tangling and untangling them. you brush against the crown of his head, watching his shoulders sag. you wish he could have moments like this more often, always so busy protecting the city, protecting you.

you brush his hair to the side, placing a kiss on his neck as his baby hairs rise along his nape. when you peek at his face, his eyes are barely open, and soft, even breaths leave his parted lips.

“chuuya,” you brush your lips against his ear, and he lets out a little grunt in response. “do you want to go to sleep?"

“‘m awake, i swear,” he turns himself to rest his cheek on your thigh, pressing a kiss against the side of your knee. "keep goin’."

FYODOR — you had only come over to his desk out of curiosity, peeking over his shoulder to see what he was working on. before you even realize it, he’s talked you into keeping him company, and you end up in one of his extra chairs with your legs across his lap. the scent of earl grey fills the air from your half drank tea cups, a symphony of soft strings playing against the background of his quiet typing.

his ushanka is put aside, folded neatly on his desk. his bangs rest against his nose, stray pieces falling dangerously close to his pretty eyes. he hums his thanks as you tuck them behind his ear, touch lingering.

you run your fingers through the little pieces framing his face, tracing the way they curl inward towards his cheeks. your fingers catch on knots, and you frown. you don’t even notice that he’s looking at you from the corner of his eye as you comb through his hair, gently detangling it.

“you should take better care of yourself, fedya,” you whisper, twirling the smoothed strands around your finger.

“there’s no need,” he smiles. “you already do such a lovely job.”

it was rare for fyodor to let his emotions present themselves so physically, but in the safety of your gaze, he lets himself visibly relax. you brush your fingertips through his hair diligently, and each time your nails graze a certain spot on his scalp, his eyes fall closed, a little smile growing on his lips. he was just too cute, but you knew better than to tease; it was rare to see him so genuinely at peace. you wonder how many people had the chance to touch him so intimately, if at all.

“you’re quite the distraction today, dear,” he comments, leaning back in his chair, hand leaving his keyboard to settle on your thigh.

"am i?" you gather his bangs between your fingers, brushing them back so you can press your lips to his forehead. you let the dark locks slide through the gaps between your fingers, watching them flutter back down into place against his forehead.

just as your hand leaves his head, cold fingers wrap around your wrist, holding it in place.

"i didn't tell you to stop, did i?”

SIGMA ー when sigma first came into your room, it was with shaky hands and downturned lips, confidence visibly wavering in a way he only let show in front of you. you draw him into your lap, and he rests his head against your thighs with a deep exhale. you pull on his tie, loosening it as he scrunches his eyes shut, trying his best to relax.

“it’s okay,” you whisper. “i got you.”

you rub your thumb across his forehead, soothing his furrowed brows. he’s stiff in your hold, gripping his thighs through his pants, cheeks dusted pink.

you smooth your hand across his head, watching the way it makes his lips twitch. you brush through the purple side of his bangs, each choppy layer fluttering back down into place through your fingers.

you trace along the zig-zag of his part with just enough pressure to melt away the tension in his neck and make him unclench his jaw. both sides of his hair are separated perfectly, and you twirl them around your finger, watching the colors swirl together like soft serve ice cream.

when you look at his face again, he’s finally relaxed, with his pretty lips parted and his long, white lashes resting against his cheeks. you bend down and kiss him, smiling when his eyes open dazedly.

“have i ever told you how pretty you are?”

“yes,” he mumbles, fidgeting beneath your gaze. even quieter, he says, “but you’re the prettiest.”

his face scrunches up into a frown when you coo over him, pinching his cheek as he tries to swat your hand away. he catches it between his own, intertwining your fingers.

“can you…” he draws small hearts with his thumb on your skin. “…keep going?”

“only if you take the rest of the day off and spend it with me instead.”

he raises your hand to his lips, smiling against your knuckles. “consider it done.”

TECCHOU ー tecchou had sought you out as soon as he came home. he’d barely stripped off his uniform before he was crawling on top of you and snuggling his face into your chest, effectively pinning you to your bed. you smooth your hand down the lines of muscles along his back, tracing up and down the dip between his shoulder blades.

you trail your hand up his nape, burying your fingers into his hair. you comb through the mess, endlessly entertained at how it defiantly pops up in all directions no matter how many times you run your fingers through the strands or smooth them down beneath your palm. his expression is neutral as always, eyes closed, lashes resting against his rosy cheeks.

he’s been so still and quiet, you thought you’d lulled him to sleep, until you pulled your hand back and were immediately met with wide, expectant eyes.

you grab one of the longer strands, tickling his cheek with it.

“you stopped,” he says. “keep going, please.”

a giddy smile grows on your face, delighted he's enjoying this as much as you are. you gather his bangs through your fingers, running your nails against his scalp and gently pushing them back. his entire body is lax except for his hands, gripping your shirt, pressing you closer into his firm chest.

his eyes are heavy and lidded, finally falling shut when you scratch against his scalp a little firmer. his head tilts forward, but he straightens it each time, resisting sleep. you press a kiss against the little markings under his eye.

“why don’t you go to sleep?” you whisper, and his eyes crack open.

“but this feels so good,” he drops his cheek back to your chest. “i don’t want you to stop.”

“i won’t, i promise,” you seal it with a kiss against forehead. “your hair is so soft. i could do this forever.”

“okay,” you twirl a section of wayward strands around your finger, tugging gently, and he sighs a content, heavy exhale. “if you promise.”

BSD MASTERLIST

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ STRAWBERRY FLAVORED — GETO SUGURU.

contents. here is a lil prequel to this btw, basically this is suguru’s shower scene but if he actually had someone to take care of him, reverse comfort, aka my extremely self indulgent drabble of fixing suguru before he turns into a mass murderer <3

it’s been a while—suguru has been in that shower for long enough that you’re starting to grow concerned. you contemplate for a bit, whether it’s a good idea or not to enter the boys shower, weighing the possibilities of being caught.

satoru’s not here, you reason, nanami and haibara are gone too, and yaga shouldn’t notice either—so, with a heavy sigh, you walk up to the door, opening it slowly. you can see him, standing as the water pours over his body, not even moving a little when you enter.

suguru is not the same—not after everything that’s happened. you can tell, you can see it under his eyes from the lack of sleep, you can see it in his cheekbones as they show a bit more from the lost weight, you can see it in the stiffness of his body when you’re around him. he’s not the same, and no one’s seem to have noticed, but you have. you always have.

you slowly strip from your clothing, walking up to him quietly until your arms circle his waist and your cheek rests against his bare back.

“baby,” you hum, “you’re turning into a prune. look at your skin,” you grab his hand, running a thumb over the tips of his fingers, wrinkly from the water.

he gives you an empty chuckle—you don’t think you’ve heard a real laugh from suguru since that day. “but aren’t i a handsome prune?” he mumbles.

“of course,” you kiss his shoulder, “the handsomest.”

“that’s a relief,” he says playfully—there’s nothing playful about his tone, though. it’s numb, automatic, like he’s trained himself to respond to you the way he always does. but you can feel it. he’s not the same.

“you’ve been in here a while. i got tired of waiting.”

“sorry,” he drops his hand from yours, falling limply to his side, “lost track of time, i guess.”

“suguru,” you say softly, “what’s wrong?”

he’s quiet, probably contemplating his answer. no one else might’ve noticed, but you have. you always do—he knows you always will. finally, he decides to answer, “are you really asking me that?”

“yes,” you say firmly, “i want to hear it. i want you to hear it. stop pushing it down.”

“i’m fine,” he mutters, “just tired.”

“i know,” you say softly, “i know you’re tired. what’s got you so tired?”

gently, your arms twist his body—he doesn’t put up a fight, just spins to face you until his face is digging into your neck on instinct. he can smell your body wash, can inhale the familiar scent of you from here. there are no curses to consume and no people to save at the risk of himself here, just the soft feeling of your skin and the warm press of your lips on his head.

riko would’ve liked you, he thinks. he can’t help it.

for a fleeting moment, when his hand was outstretched to her, he’d wondered if you’d like her too. he’d decided you would—you’re kind, you always have enough love for one more person. you’ll like riko, he’d thought. and then just like that, she’d been on the floor, dark pool of blood under her head.

you never got to meet her, and he never got to introduce you.

“what’s wrong, sugu?” you ask again, voice more delicate this time.

“everything,” he whispers.

he’s tired, so incredibly tired. suguru is exhausted. so for today, he’ll let you pick up the pieces. he doesn’t want to worry about you right now, doesn’t want to think about whether or not the edges will be sharp enough to slice your fingertips. suguru is exhausted—so for once, he lets you worry about him instead.

“i see,” you nod, letting your fingers trail to his head, stroking the wet strands gently as he trembles against your body, “everything is a lot. let’s start with just one, yeah?”

“i hate the taste of curses,” he spits, “it tastes like vomit.”

“that’s no good,” you agree, and then you’re pulling his head out of your neck—he wants to protest, wants to stay right where he is so he doesn’t have to face you, or anything. but you’re insistent, gentle as you are firm, cupping his cheeks as you force him to look at you. “can you still taste it?”

“yeah,” he nods. it’s true, he can’t forget the taste even if he tries. it’s like a phantom pain—but it resides on his tongue, haunting him long after it’s gone, even as he breathes and swallows and talks. “i hate it.”

your lips are on his after that, soft and sweet against his mouth. he can taste the strawberry of your chapstick, the familiar taste of you that he also could never forget. it washes down the vile taste of curses easily, so he leans in for more. and more. and more. he needs more.

“what about that?” you ask, stroking his cheek when you pull away, “how does that taste?”

“good,” he says shakily, “i…i like that.”

“i know you do,” you smile, pecking the corner of his mouth, “i can’t change how curses taste. but if i could, i’d make them strawberry flavored for you.”

he chuckles at that—it’s small, but it’s real. for the first time in a long time. it’s real.

suguru hates how curses taste, and you can’t change that, but you can help make swallowing become easier. he’ll take it—he’ll take anything you give.

“that might make the job easier,” he says, burying his face back into your neck, “they’d taste like you.”

“i’ll kiss you then,” you stroke his hair, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his head. his lips wobble, vision turning blurry. suguru is tired—he doesn’t want to hold it in anymore. “after every curse you swallow, i’ll kiss you. it’ll make it easier.”

“i don’t know if it will,” he admits, “this….what do we do it for? none of it is easy.”

he used to think it was. fighting curses was easy—satoru and him were the strongest. fighting curses was like stepping on ants as they walk on the concrete, crushing them before they can bite anyone. but he starts to wonder if people deserve to be bitten, if the people who kick at ant piles mindlessly for fun deserve to be saved from themselves.

you think for a bit, contemplating his question as the water runs over both of your bodies, slipping into the thin crevices between your skin and his.

“it’s not,” you agree, “it’s not easy. i would’ve loved to meet riko. i know you wanted me to. i’m sorry, suguru.”

somewhere along with the water on your shoulder mixes his tears, and his body shakes against yours. suguru is tired. he’s tired of swallowing curses and tasting bile. he’s tired of pretending the weak are innocent. he’s tired of carrying so much weight on his young, innocent shoulders. they deserve to be free.

“is it worth saving them?” he asks as he sniffles, “if they clap over people like us dying?”

“people like us aren’t always so different,” you point out.

people like us don’t need saving, he wants to argue—but you don’t give him a chance to, turning the water off behind him as you stand there holding him as he leans into you.

“there will always be someone who needs to be saved,” you murmur, “and there will always be something they need to be saved from. it’s not always as simple as curses and exorcisms, though.”

“that doesn’t make any sense,” he frowns, “that’s the whole point of jujutsu. to exorcise curses.”

“and if we exorcised them all? would that make everyone safe?”

“maybe not,” he furrows his eyebrows, “but at least we wouldn’t be dying for them.”

“you never know,” you reach for the towel, slowly pulling away and patting his skin gently as you dry his dripping skin, “maybe you’d die from something worse.”

“what could be worse?” he asks bitterly. he doesn’t understand. but you smile, pressing a kiss to his jaw as you brush his bangs from his face.

“i don’t know,” you shrug, “but i’m sure there’s something. there’s always something worse. but there’s always something better too.”

he still doesn’t completely understand. but the weight on his shoulder doesn’t feel as heavy when you lean and kiss it again—he feels like at least some of his youth is still his, still yours.

“you make no sense,” he grunts, scowling when you ruffle his hair obnoxiously with a giggle.

“well, maybe you’ll make sense of things after a nap,” you poke his chest accusingly, “you really need one. and then you’ll eat something. c’mon.”

“i don’t sleep with wet hair,” he reminds you as you tug him along, stopping where his clothes hang. you gesture at him to hold his arms up, grabbing his shirt. he rolls his eyes and indulges you, letting you dress him.

“i’ll dry it for you,” you chuckle, “my sugu is so high maintenance.”

and then, before you can turn to grab your own clothes, he tugs your wrist and pulls you in, kissing you hard, kissing you hungrily, kissing you like you’re all he has. just because he can. he can taste the last bits of your chapstick—he wants to keep tasting it forever. it’s strawberry, his favorite.

“i like strawberries,” he presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes, “so don’t change the flavor.”

“okay,” you grin, cupping his cheeks, “i’ll always get strawberry for my sugu.”

he just needed a few kissies and he would’ve been fine. i guess i’ll take one for the team and kiss him a few times 😔 i guess i can take the responsibility of loving him 😔 i’ll be fine guys no need to worry about me 😔

[catboyieejeno]

.・゜゜・・゜゜・．.・゜゜・★

cw: soft dom! mingyu x slight pillow princess! reader, fem! reader, pwp, oral (fem and male receiving), slight overstimulation, praise, mentions of cum, npr

18+ minors do not interact !

boyfriend! mingyu who is completely obsessed with burying his face in your sopping cunt until your fingers are weaved between his locks and you’re coming multiple times in a row. he won’t let up, not because he’s being mean or punishing you with overstimulation—although occasionally, that is the case—but because you, his sweet, pretty girl, deserves nothing less than his tongue lapping restlessly at your folds. It’s embarrassingly easy for him to get pussy-drunk, grinding himself into the bed as he goes down on you for well over an hour. By the time you plead out desperately for his cock, he’s already left a thick puddle of his cum on the spot in the bed he was fucking his length into. 

kim mingyu is a simple man of simple pleasures, some of which include your cries and sputters, your trembling thighs and heavy pants, and the infrequent, though appreciated, indiscernible blabbers of praise you manage to let out through drooling lips. when you can actually manage to form words, that is. 

you are his pillow princess, whether you bestowed that title upon yourself or not. The chances of you going down on him? slim. giving him head is a rare occurrence; in fact, you’d have to beg him to let you try, plead with him to stuff his considerably large length down your throat. you’d have to convince him you need him there so bad, that you want him to feel just as good as he makes you feel, but even then, his responses are rehearsed. 

“but baby, i don’t need all that, let me treat you instead,” 

“‘wanna do all the work for you, honey. you deserve it.” 

“you really want me to fill your mouth up baby? first you have to come twice on my tongue,” 

“I’d rather come in you, sweet girl.” 

“s’too big for your pretty little mouth, don’ wanna hurt you,”

at first, you thought he didn’t want you to give him head at all, or that he assumed you would be bad at it. But, when you finally begged enough, your pretty boy caved and it became apparent very quickly why he was holding off for so long. from the moment he lays back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other pressing his thumb onto your swirling tongue, he knows he’s done for. watching you crawl over him, leaving kisses and licking stripes as you make your way down his torso, makes his pre-cum leak freely from his flushed tip. 

mingyu has his lip caught between his teeth, eyes glossed over in a haze. the very moment your velvety lips wrap around his head, he’s groaning out, arms and legs dropping limply onto the mattress. you have absolute power over him in that moment, and both of you are very, very aware of that. all of your insecurities dissipate as you realize he’s falling apart, melting like putty in your hands. his chest that previously rose and fell calmly is now puffing up with air he pushes out through his nostrils and the noises he’s letting out? other-fucking-wordly.

he eventually regains feeling in his hands and they rotate between holding your throat, your cheek, and simply sliding along the ridges of his abdomen. all the meanwhile, it’s him who chokes up on his words, slurring his speech. 

“please, please, please…” 

“your mouth feels s’good on me, fuck,” 

“doin’ so good, so fucking good, all for me…” 

“if you do that again, i’m not gonna last—shit.” 

“just like that, yes, baby… oh, god, you’re gonna make me—“ 

when your tongue swipes deliciously over his tip, he drags out a strangled moan, shooting his hot load into your mouth and down your throat. knees locked, toes curled, and hips bucking up into you, he throws his head back to ride out his orgasm. 

a few seconds later, his hands fly to your hair to lift you off, but in a small act of defiance for all the times you were overstimulated by him, you grab his wrists and pin them at his sides. he lets you do this because it’s so, so fucking hot to watch you have a sliver of control for once—both of you are well aware he could overpower you if he wanted to. instead, though, he laces his fingers with yours and takes what you give him like the good boy he is. it takes less than ten minutes for him to come each and every time you give him head going forward but thankfully, his stamina doesn’t betray him. he recovers while he returns the favor, devouring you and drinking up your juices as his cock that never fully softened, swells up all over again. 

⋆ ★

[yandere-daydreams]

file #5: the lactation fic.

part of the FREAK SHIT MARCH evidence packet.

pairing: yandere!sukuna x reader (jjk).

length: 1.8k.

warnings: afab!reader, heian era sukuna, vaguely dubious consent, lactation (not the way you’d expect though), fem!dom, verbal degradation (m. receiving), breast milk, and mentions of death/cannibalism.

If you could say you’d learned anything about Sukuna, it would have to be that he was not the kind of man you could expect predictability from.

That was, if you could even call him a man at all. It would be more accurate to say that he was not the kind of monster you could expect predictability from, which made sense – monsters were rarely known for having a rational motivation for their senselessness. With Sukuna, though, it was less that you were forced to guess how violent he’d be and more whether he’d be violent with you at all. It was as common for him to demand that you spend the afternoon laying on a shady riverbank, feeding him honey and grapes, as it was for him to threaten to gut you like cattle should you make one more snide comment about the bloodstains his constantly wandering hands tend to leave on your clothes. His other servant, the inexpressive butcher who spoke to you rarely and reeked constantly of blood, claimed to be able to find a pattern to the chaos, but whatever knowledge they might’ve gleaned over their time with him, they’d never seen fit to share with you. You found your own ways of coping, though.

Like right now, for instance – as you hung limply over Sukuna’s shoulder, kept in place only by the hand pressing into the small of your back. Despite the way his arm bit into your stomach, a slight scowl that’d been playing on his lips when he snatched you away from what you’d been doing, you did your best to keep your mind empty, your thoughts limited to a blank ambiance. If there was as good of a chance that he was going to kill you and feast on your decaying flesh as there was that he simply needed someone to fix yet another tear in his favored yukata, you didn’t want to make it worse for yourself by panicking prematurely.

Still, you were vaguely aware of the passing scenery as he hauled you through grand, vacant halls and into the master’s chambers. Sukuna would find a place to dwell wherever he roamed, whether that meant sleeping in a damp cave or on a bed of woven cloud and quail feathers, but a part of you was undeniably (and guiltily) glad that he had a clear preference for the latter. Currently, you were biding your time until Sukuna’s next feeding spree in a palace that used to belong to a wealthy merchant; a merchant whose organs were, if memory served, currently being divided into portions and dried on a rack of—

You were pulled out of your thoughts as Sukuna dropped you onto a bed of down-stuffed pillows and silk sheets. Wordlessly, he fell beside you and, using his lower set of arms, hauled you onto his chest, forcing you to straddle his abdomen. With only a slight huff, a roll of your eyes, you settled into place – bracing your hands on his midriff. “My lord, I have other obligations to—”

“I am the only obligation you should be paying any mind to.” His tone was clipped, his voice gruff. Clearly, he was in one of his poorer moods, today. “Get on with it” he barked, making with a vague gesture to his upper chest. “I don’t have all day, brat.”

You spared a half-second to scan over him. He treated you like a tailor, among other things, but at the moment, his chest was bare, and this wasn’t exactly comparable to the countless times he’d dropped the tattered shreds of a kimono or yukata into your lap and told you to make something more or less wearable. “I… I’m afraid I don’t exactly know what I’m supposed to be doing, sir.”

He rolled his eyes, and you bit back the urge to return his irritation. “Y’know, just…” Another gesture to his chest, this one shortly followed by a disappointed, breathy noise. “Empty them out. It’s starting to get uncomfortable, again.”

Empty them…?

Again, you glanced down, your attention landing on the swell of his chest. He was always sickeningly bulky, prone to wearing his strength on the layers of muscle blanketing his biceps and thighs, but his chest did seem more swollen that it normally was, now that you thought to look, the usually hardened flesh visibly more plush, more tender. You shifted your weight, your fingertips digging into the swell of his right pec, and you felt something warm and wet trickle over the back of your hand and onto the velveteen cushions below you.

Sukuna let out an airy groan, and your mind went entirely blank.

Reflexively, you tried to pull away, but Sukuna had always been faster than you. His hand was wrapped around your wrist before you could so much as break contact, keeping your palm pressed into his pec (breast?). “Don’t act like such a baby. It’s a task even an idiot could manage.” With his hand draped over your own, he ground the heel of your palm into the plush of his pec, and this time, you weren’t lucky enough to look away in time – your eyes falling to his chest as a thin stream of a surprisingly white, surprisingly thick fluid dribbled out of his nipple in short, stilted bursts. Milk, your mind filled in, against your will. Except, it couldn’t be. Sukuna wasn’t human. Sukuna wasn’t supposed to be able to do that.

More out of curiosity than anything, you pressed your palm down again with just a little more force, a little less trepidation. The jet was stronger, this time, and Sukuna’s eyes closed, his lips soon drawn into a thin line only occasionally parting to let out a deep breath or raspy groan. His hand dropped away entirely as you fell into a steady kneading pattern – both of his upper arms soon crossed above his head, as he often did when he was lounging in a particularly entrancing patch of sunlight, while their lower counterparts remained on your waist. “Use both hands,” he grunted, and not bothering to suppress your scowl, you did. Soon enough, milk (because, as unsettling as it was, you just didn’t know what else to call it) frothed steadily, painting both sides of his chest with unorganized streaks of splotchy white – delicate ribbons spread over a canvas of ink and scars.

Despite yourself, you found yourself focusing on that. The word, almost jarringly quaint, repeated in the back of your mind; milk, milk, milk. Almost in a trance, you found yourself bowing your head, lowering yourself until your chest was slotted against his. After making sure his eyes were still closed, his attention still on the steady movement of your hands, you ran the flat of your tongue over his left nipple and—

Oh.

It was sweet.

His hand was on the back of your head in an instant, but you were already latched on – your lips sealed around his nipple, sucking harshly. There wasn’t a point trying to be gentle with Sukuna, not when you’d seen him take spears to heart without so much as a wayward flinch, but any passing temptation to veer towards delicacy was quickly forgotten as thick fingers knotted themselves in your hair, a reverberating moan tearing past his lips as you lapped and suckled, letting whatever you couldn’t swallow down flood out of the corner of your mouth. He could’ve pried you away, if he’d wanted to, could’ve torn off your head with little more than a flick of his wrist, but all he offered was a weak – pathetic – tug, a few garbled curses spat under his breath. “Brat,” he hissed, as you drank greedily. “Just— Just do your damn job and—”

“You’re so fucking loud,” you muttered, pulling back just far enough to be audible. “For once in your life, would it kill you to be quiet?”

You couldn’t see him, but you’d seen him baring his teeth often enough to recognize his tone. “Know your place, huma—”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish. Before you could think better of it, you braced yourself and bit down, burying your teeth into the tender meat of his chest. You tasted blood, heard Sukuna moan, and felt his body jolt underneath you, hips jutting against yours as something long and thick twitched against your ass. You pulled away as quickly as you could, already grinning. “Are you…?

“Be quiet.”

He was. You could feel his cock against your ass - already hard, already pulsing. Or, his cocks, rather, both standing stiff against his lower stomach despite the loose fabric of his robes. Carefully, you shifted back, straddling his thighs, as you slowly removed the thin sash sitting low on his waist, as you dragged the silken fabric aside in favor of wrapping your fist around the thicker of his paired cocks; your fingers barely grazing each other where they were supposed to overlap. “No wonder you’re always so temperamental,” you went on, speaking slowly, giving him every chance to cut you off, to throw you to the side, to tear you limb from limp. He only scowled, though, only pouted, clenching his eyes shut as thick beads of arousal blotted and dripped over the back of your hand. “To think the King of Curses would get this hard from some powerless human sucking on his leaking tits… You must be so pent up, you just don’t care who touches you, huh?”

His hold on your hips tightened, threatening to bruise. You barely noticed, already distracted by the slight tremble in his bottom lip, the pitchy whine that escaped his grit teeth as you shifted your weight onto your knees and aligned the blunt, flushed tip of his cock with your entrance. You took measured seconds to lower yourself onto him, ignoring the burning stretch in favor of focusing on the heat of it, the immediate and overwhelming fullness. You’d barely gotten the head of his cock inside of you when you stopped, going completely still. A second passed before Sukuna seemed to notice, another before one of his many eyes flickered open – immediately landing on you.

It was barely a whisper, a breath. He was mumbling, as much as you knew Sukuna would loathe you for accusing him of something so meek aloud. “Do your—” A bubbling groan, a hitched gasp as your pussy clenched around him. “Do your damn job, brat.”

Your attempts to bite back your wide, beaming smile were only half-successful. “It would be my pleasure, my lord.”

You rolled your hips as you lowered yourself back to his height, trapping his unsheathed cock between your body and his as your mouth found its way back to his nipple. It was barely another minute before he was swearing, groaning, bucking into you from below in short, stilted thrusts – like he was afraid of so much as coming close to slipping out. It was all you could do to stay concentrated on the task at-hand, to stop your mind from wandering from the taste on him on your tongue, the feeling of his cock throbbing inside your pussy. Still, you found the time to allow yourself a single, self-indulgent thought – one so ridiculous and so simpering that you couldn’t help but laugh against his skin.

Maybe, just maybe, there were sides of Sukuna that weren’t so difficult to predict, after all.  

[girlgenius1111]

floodgates

alexia x reader alexia is struggling post knee surgery and just as she’s about to finally talk to r, r gets hurt, and it’s partially alexia’s fault. cw: injury... nothing else really.

-----

Alexia was stoic. Your girlfriend never let anyone know what she was really thinking. You were the exception, and even then, you still had to pry her feelings out of her.

It had been a long few months. Alexia's injury, the speculation surrounding her renewal, continued issues with the federation. Through it all, Alexia had been stony faced. Even with you, where she was normally more vulnerable, she had remained detached, as if the emotions surrounding these things did not exist.

If there was one thing you knew about Alexia, it was that you couldn't push her. She would come to you, in her own time, when she was ready. It sometimes took longer than you would have liked, but she always came around, in the end.

You could read her well, and you knew when she was inching closer to a breakdown. On the day that you were sure it was going to happen, positive that she would pull you into bed after training and cling to you, not letting go until she felt better, you broke your nose.

Well, more specifically, Alexia broke your nose. It was a complete accident; you'd been visiting her in the gym where she'd been doing her training. The team had finished early, and Alexia still had a few exercises to go, so you were keeping her company.

If it was anyone's fault, it was Mapi's. She was fucking around on the massage table, throwing little pieces of paper across the gym at you, while she got her knee massaged. You knew she hated the process, and even with Ingrid sitting next to her, slyly holding her hand, she needed a distraction, and pissing you off seemed to be it. She launched another little ball at you. You'd been looking down at your phone when the paper hit you in the head, and you glared at the defender, leaning down to pick it up.

Alexia didn't know how close behind her you were, as she finished up talking to the physio. She had her heavy water bottle in her hand and she was swinging it around like she was a toddler that couldn't hold still, yet another hint that she was going to be upset once you both got home.

You'd barely picked up the paper before another one was landing a few inches closer to your girlfriend, ricocheting off your head. Mapi's shout of alarm came a second too late, and you leaned closer to the ball, and to the blonde, just as she switched hands with her water bottle, swinging it directly back into your face.

Your nose made a sickening crunch, and Alexia turned around in horror, dropping her water, and immediately trying to kneel down by where you were leaning over. Her knee protested, though, at the sudden movement, and she yelped in pain, falling back onto her butt. Her face burned with embarrassment as you shook off the physio, blood gushing through your fingers.

"Ale, are you okay?" You asked, the words barely understandable as you spoke through the blood, and through your hands. Your nose was visibly split open, yet your attention was only on Alexia as she got to her feet, taking your face in her hands. She was wracked with guilt, taking the towel someone handed her and replacing your hands with hers.

"Lo siento mucho, mi amor, dios mio." Alexia said roughly. The physios finally sprung into action, gently pushing Ale out of their way, and moving closer to inspect your nose.

"It's okay, baby, it's not your fault." You promised, trying to send her a smile as you were led out of the gym and towards a medical room.

Alexia stood, arms hanging limply at her sides, as she blinked at the door you exited through. She looked like she was malfunctioning, taking a few steps closer to the door before stopping, completely and uncharacteristically unsure of herself. Mapi and Ingrid, forgotten on the massage table, watched their captain act in a way they'd never seen before.

"Ingrid. Go fix her." Mapi said out of the corner of her mouth. Ingrid nodded, walking closer and putting a hand on her captain's arm. Alexia jumped slightly, but drew herself up to her full height. She looked fearsome, glaring around Ingrid at the Norwegian's girlfriend.

"Idiota, María." She hissed, before stalking out of the room and following you down the hall, where, presumably, she would revert back to Soft Alexia.

Ingrid sighed, returning to Mapi's side. "You and your damn paper balls."

"Do you think Ale is going to cut off her nose to give to her girl, or will she take mine?" Mapi wondered

"Yours for sure. Two birds, one stone."

-----

The drive home was completely silent. On your part, because it was hard to talk when you had an ice pack pressed to your face. Alexia was silent because she was rather conflicted; she felt horrible. For breaking your nose, yes. But also, because she was at the end of her patience, the end of her strength. She needed you. You were the only person she trusted to see her upset, but now you were hurt, and it was her fault and she couldn't burden you with this.

You would have noticed this, under normal circumstances, you would have picked on the guilt and anxiety radiating off your girlfriend. Your nose was killing you though, completely broken. It was to be seen whether you’d need surgery or not, depending on how the healing process went. You were concussion free, thank god, but you were being brought home and put on bed rest anyway, thanks to Alexia’s intimidating glare at the physio, who had quickly instructed you how Alexia wanted. So, you were rather distracted, focused instead of getting home, showering, eating something, and crawling into bed. 

Alexia helped you out of the car and inside the house as if you were a priceless, fragile object, her hands resting on your back and shoulder so lightly you barely felt them. She made you sit down on the sofa, ignoring your arguments that you could help with dinner and heading into the kitchen. She just made 2 sandwiches, bringing one out to you, beginning to eat in silence. She was practically glued to you, the entire left side of her body pressed against yours. It was at this moment that you realized she had yet to speak a word since walking into the house. 

“Ale, are you feeling alright?” You asked, because it was easier to get Alexia to admit weakness when she could play it off to being sick. You could convince her to be honest later, but for now, you needed her to speak, even a word. 

“I am okay. Care if I shower first?” She asked, standing up and taking your plate out of your hands. 

You honestly did mind, but you nodded easily, not really feeling like denying her anything at this point. 

“Can I join you?” You asked, smiling softly at her. Alexia was normally never one to deny herself the chance to shower with you, and this time was no different. The smallest of smiles tugged at her lips, and she nodded eagerly, grabbing your hand and pulling you in the direction of the bathroom. 

-------

Alexia tried to hold herself together, she really did. It was a lot harder than it had ever been, though, and every time she caught sight of your swollen face, she felt herself inch closer and closer to a breakdown. Her emotions had been too much, before, but now? Compounded with the guilt she was feeling, they were completely overwhelming. 

She made it through most of the shower, and it was only as you rinsed the conditioner from your hair, the last thing you needed to do, that she broke. It was dumb, but seeing you flinch as your hand accidentally brushed over your nose was just too much for her, and very suddenly, there were teardrops sliding down her face that she hoped you would think were just from the shower head. 

Alexia bit her lip in an attempt to silence the sob that was ripping it’s way out of her chest, but was not very successful. You opened your eyes, finding Alexia stood in front of you, with a hand covering her face, now silently crying.

“Baby,” you sighed, turning the water off and pulling Alexia through the glass door. You wrapped a fluffy towel around your girlfriend’s shaking shoulders, more than a little concerned with the way she let you guide her out of the shower.  “Is it your knee?” You asked, although you were pretty sure it wasn’t. You had to check, though, that had to be your first thought, because it was always Alexia’s first thought. 

Alexia shook her head, moving her hand to cup your cheek, exposing her bloodshot eyes. Her lips fell into a sad frown as she looked down at you. “I broke your nose,” she mumbled miserably, her fingers tracing delicately over your swollen face. 

“No, Mapi made you break my nose.” You corrected, trying to lighten the mood. It didn’t work, and Alexia just shook her head, gripping the towel tight around her. She looked so vulnerable, so small, so unlike herself, it was tearing your heart out of your chest. 

You pulled on her hand, guiding her into the bedroom and gently pushing her to sit on the edge of the bed, walking away briefly to get her some pajamas to change into. She pulled them on, her eyes still fixed on the ground, now refusing to look at your face. You wondered if it was the fear of the vulnerability of eye contact or the fear of seeing your broken nose that stopped her. Either way, it wouldn’t do. 

You tilted her chin up, her wet hazel eyes meeting yours. “You broke my nose, you haven’t played in months, the federation is making your teammates miserable, and you’re exhausted.” 

“I am okay,” she whispered, so faintly and so pathetically that you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. 

“Don’t lie, love. You’re not okay. You haven’t been for a while. It’s catching up to you, huh?” 

“Sí.” Alexia admitted, one of her hands wrapping itself around your leg, holding you in place close to her, as if she was afraid that the very simple confession would make you run. 

“You need me, yes?” 

“I broke your nose.” Alexia said again, a few tears sliding down her cheeks. 

You wiped them away gently. “Alexia.”

The blonde sighed shakily. “Te necesito.” 

“Bueno. Get under the covers, I’ll be right back.” 

Alexia frowned, her other hand reaching out to wrap around your abdomen and pull you back as you stepped away. Her long arms wrapped around you, and she pressed her face into your bare back. You smiled to yourself, untangling yourself from her grip and laughing just slightly at the huff of annoyance she let out. When Alexia finally allowed herself to feel, to be clingy, it was like all the attention she didn't let herself ask for caught up to her, and she acted like she wanted to climb into your skin with you. 

“I need to change, love. Just give me a second.” 

You didn’t look back as you entered the closet, pulling on the nearest shirt and shorts that just happened to belong to Alexia, before you returned to the bedroom, fighting a grin at the sight of Alexia laying in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin. Her arms were distinctly crossed over her chest, and there was a slight pout on her face. 

You slid into the bed next to her, laughing lightly at the way she eagerly pulled you into her, wrapping all four of her limbs around your smaller body and sighing in relief. You were expecting her to talk, honestly, thinking that she was upset enough that she’d be ready to have a conversation. Instead, though, as her breath tickled your neck, she asked a quiet question. 

“Amor, can I go to sleep?” You knew she wasn’t really asking permission to sleep, she was asking you to stay, in the least vulnerable way possible. 

“Of course you can, amor. We have the day off tomorrow. Sleep for as long as you need to. I’ll be right here.” You replied, smoothing some hair out of her face as her eyes fluttered shut. She forced them back open, though, eyes flickering from yours down to your nose. 

“Wake me up if you are hurting? Please?” She asked, and you nodded, though you had no intention of doing so. Alexia hadn’t slept well in… you didn’t even know how long. This was the perfect opportunity to give herself a break, and you weren’t about to take that away from her, no matter how badly your nose hurt. 

Alexia knew you too well, though, shaking her head with a frown as she settled her head back down on your chest, unable to resist the comfort that listening to your heartbeat brought her. 

“You are lying.” She mumbled, somehow seeming already half asleep. Her head moved with your chest as you laughed silently, and as she smiled a bit, too. 

“I am lying. I’ll wake you up if I need you, though, okay? I promise.” 

“You better.” Alexia grumbled. 

“Go to sleep.” You instructed, feeling her fully relax into you. It was barely 8pm, yet you were exhausted, and you fell into an easy sleep soon after Alexia. 

-------

“Mi amor, wake up.” Alexia whispered, giving your shoulder a gentle shake. You grunted, opening your eyes. Well, you tried to open them. Your left eye was rather… swelled shut, and the right was only a bit better off. You could just barely make out Alexia’s face hovering over yours, worry contorting her features. Your head was pounding, and you gave up all hope of treating Alexia to a self care day today. You weren’t sure you’d be able to get out of bed. “I am sorry to wake you, bebé, but it is 11am, and your nose does not look too good.” 

You weren’t very happy with being woken up, now very aware of the pain radiating from your nose, and all you could think was to make it stop. “Ice, please,” you murmured, feeling a gentle kiss pressed to your cheek, before Alexia’s weight was gone from next to you. 

You didn’t open your eyes when she returned, just held your hand out for the ice pack. 

“I can put-”

“Let me, please.” You insisted, knowing that no matter how gently it was pressed to your face, it was going to hurt, and you really didn't want to flinch away from Alexia’s touch right now. 

Alexia handed you the ice pack, and you gently pressed it to your nose, letting out a sharp hiss of pain. Your girlfriend’s hand grabbed your free one, and you squeezed tight. 

“Ow ow ow,” you cried through gritted teeth. A few tears escaped from your swollen eyes, and you fought back a sob yourself, now, feeling completely wretched. 

“Shh, estas bien, estas bien,” Alexia cooed, feeling completely helpless. “I am so sorry, mi amor, so so sorry.” 

“Hold me?” You asked quietly, ignoring her apology completely. 

“Anything, cariño, anything you want,” she promised, gently pulling you into her arms. The pain began to numb eventually, but your tears didn’t stop. You were so incredibly frustrated with yourself. You were supposed to be taking care of Alexia, letting her need you, and instead, you were crying because of a broken nose, making her feel even worse. 

“I’m sorry,” You mumbled into her shirt, your cheek pressed to her chest. You liked it better, cuddling like this. You liked it when she held you, her large hands splayed across your back, her chin resting on the top of your head. 

“Why are you sorry?” She asked. 

“You’re upset, and you need me, and I’m crying and-”

“Stop, amor, do not be sorry. You always tell me to feel what I need to feel. You need to do that too, sí? You are in pain, you can cry, you can always cry. You never have to be sorry for hurting, and you never have to be sorry for needing me.” Alexia insisted, running her fingers through your hair, being very conscious of not letting anything come into contact with your nose. 

“You need me, too.” You said miserably. 

“I do.” Alexia admitted. “But I have you, right here, in my arms. I feel better already, mi amor, I really do. I am okay, I just want you to be okay. Let me take care of you. You can have a turn later, when you can open your eyes.” 

You choked out a laugh, wincing when it caused pain to shoot across your face. “Don’t make me laugh,” you groaned. 

“Well I should go then, amor. I cannot just turn it off.” Alexia said seriously, beginning to slide out from under you. 

“Don’t you dare.” You warned, your hand tightening its grip on her shirt. Alexia smiled to herself, readjusting you against her. 

“Te tengo, mi vida, te tengo.” She whispered into your hair. You sighed happily, the pain in your face lessened, somehow, by the affection the blonde was showing you. 

“Talk to me.” You asked after a minute, tangling your leg with hers under the covers. Your nose might be shattered, and you might be almost concussed, but you weren’t giving up on getting Alexia to lean on you. 

“About what?” Alexia whispered back, not stopping her fingers softly running through your hair. 

“How are you doing?” 

Your girlfriend was silent for a few moments, seemingly thinking through her answer. She was more honest when she did respond than you expected. “I am okay. I mean, it has been a rough few months. I was not really okay yesterday, but I am now.” 

“Ale, you don’t need to be okay just because I’m not either,” you started, but Alexia cut you off with a shake of her head. 

“No, I am not lying. I am okay. I feel better. Seeing you hurt… it puts things into perspective. All that matters, really, is that you are okay, and you are with me. Everything else is… not important. Not if I have you.” 

You weren’t really used to Alexia making big statements like this. It wasn’t that she didn’t express her love for you, because she did. It was just… she normally did it with actions, rather than words. This was a welcome surprise, though, and you felt your already swollen eyes welling with tears. 

“You’ll always have me.” You promised, forcing one eyelid open to gaze up at her. You knew you probably looked atrocious at the moment, all swollen and bruised, but Alexia still looked at you like she always did; like you were the best thing she’d seen that day, the best thing she ever would see. 

“Even if I break your nose again?” she joked, but her voice was a little choked up. 

“Even then.” You promised, puckering your lips for a kiss. Alexia leaned in, so delicately, barely brushing her lips with yours. 

“Te amo, más que a todo,” she whispered, her thumb rubbing a light circle over your cheek. You shivered a little at the contact, whispering the words back. You could see in her eyes, even with your rather challenged vision, that she meant it. 

-----

i've had this in the drafts for actual months

i feel like i say this with half the fics i post but i really... hate this one. which is why she's been hidden away for such a long time but i finally finished the ending and i just thought i'd post and delete it later if i hate it still :)

[kentopedia]

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ SAFEGUARD — dazai, chuuya, akutagawa

summary . . . they save you after you've been injured and captured by an enemy.

contents . . . sfw, f!reader (chuuya & dazai) and gn!reader (akutagawa), violence / blood, threats, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, and it's pmboss!dazai bc i can't help myself — 3.5k total

notes . . . i got this request so long ago lol. not my best work, but i have been in the worst writing slump ever and just wanted to finish something. i've also never written for akutagawa before so pls be nice <3

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 . . .

there are very few times that chuuya feels he’s been outsmarted. he knows he’s not the mastermind of the port mafia, but he certainly isn’t a fool. when it comes to you and your well-being, though, his mind short-circuits, half of his intelligence draining away while his emotions take hold. 

your relationship isn’t a secret to anyone in the port mafia, which means that it isn’t a secret to your enemies either. and while most people know it’s hard to land a finger on chuuya directly, his pretty little girlfriend doesn’t have the power of a god nestled inside of her.

the rage sparks through him, growing fiercely into the blaze of a forest fire, until all he can think of is getting you home safely. he thinks of your sweet smile as he rips the door of the enemies’ base off the hinges, crushing it into a million pieces with the force of gravity. 

the men are quick to react, but chuuya hurtles the crushed door towards them, knocking three of them to their feet. another group charges at him, but their guns do little against his skill. after years of fighting some of the strongest ability users, simple criminal organizations are as easy to step over like ants. 

chuuya kills them all — except for one.

the man’s knees are wobbling, hand shaking around the gun as he realizes that these will be his final moments. there is fear in his eyes, brown ones that rest wide open, and chuuya almost hesitates. his remorse doesn’t last long, though, before he’s wrapping a hand around the man’s throat, thrusting him backwards. 

“where is she?” chuuya asks, voice sharp and commanding. 

he can feel the man swallowing. 

chuuya knows that backup is probably on the way, but it won’t matter whether they show up or not. he’ll crush the rest of his enemies just as he’s crushed the last twenty men. the poor soul in his leather hold seems to know that as well. 

“i-i’ll take you to her,” he rasps, dropping his gun to claw at chuuya’s hand. 

he drops him, lets him take a few heaving breaths and coughs, before he’s kicking at him, forcing him back to his feet.

the young man takes him up the elevator, weaves him through a hallway as chuuya leaves a scattering of bodies in his wake, not hesitating to kill a single man that gets in his way. there is nothing that can keep him from you. 

how fiercely and loyally he loves you — it drives him to near insanity. 

finally, with blood coating his face and his clothes, the young man enters a room, locked with a code, revealing you. 

chuuya’s rage is almost as blinding as his corruption, as he gazes at the sight of you. bloodied and bruised, tied up in a chair, so visibly harmed. his hands clench into fists. “get the fuck away from her,” he says to the man who seems to be monitoring you.

“what are you doing in here?” the men left in the room panic, but they don’t have time to react before chuuya throws them back at the wall, so quickly, with so much force, that their spines snap. they hit it with a sharp crack, skulls shattering against the plaster, the wall crushing beneath the weight of them. 

limply, they fall to the floor. 

chuuya rushes over to you. 

the young man that led him here disappears, but chuuya isn’t worried about him. he’s a coward; he’ll likely flee from the country and never look back. the men that truly hurt you are already dead, and he’ll burn this building to the ground once he’s gotten you away from it. 

“hey,” chuuya says, cradling your cheeks gently, trying to coax you back awake. he’s not sure if it’s exhaustion, blood loss, or the obvious head trauma that caused you to pass out in the first place. but you’re still breathing, so he counts that as a blessing. 

“hey,” he whispers again, kissing your forehead, like it will heal all your ailments. “wake up, baby. we gotta get you out of here, okay?” 

it takes you a few seconds to come to, eyes glazed over and shell-shocked as you blink at him. “chuuya?” you say; your voice is so hoarse it makes chuuya want to keel over and vomit. “is it really you?” 

guilt gnaws at him, almost crushing, at the fact that thirty-six hours passed, and you’re delirious enough not to recognize him. you probably haven’t eaten, either. 

he should’ve been there. no one should’ve ever had the chance to hurt you, yet…

“it’s me, i’m here,” he says, kissing your lips, your temple, brushing your hair away from your face. the strands are sticky with blood. “shit,” chuuya nearly shouts, pulling a knife from his pocket, sawing through the thick ropes around you as quickly as he can. “i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry.” 

he can’t get you free fast enough, and you smile at him, drowsy, your eyes fluttering shut once more. “it’s okay, chuuya,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you’re here now.” 

“you have to stay awake,” he says desperately, realizing your head is still bleeding. he doesn’t know how hurt you are. chuuya’s no expert when it comes to medicine, but he’s smart enough to know that internal injuries could be even worse than the external ones. 

“stay awake for me, okay, honey? i’ll get you back to the boss and we’ll find you a doctor. you’ll be just fine.” 

“okay, chuuya,” you hum, weakly gripping his back. seconds of silence pass before you mutter, “i just want to go home.” 

"i know." his heart pulls, and he almost lets out a cracked sob. but he refrains, knowing that there is plenty of time to drown in his sorrows later. 

finally, he gets the ropes under, lifting you from the chair. you’re so much lighter, weaker, and it makes him sick as he carries you. “let’s get you home.” 

𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀. . .

the call comes just as akutagawa is getting ready to head home for the evening, his tasks completed, eyes heavy with exhaustion. 

normally, he doesn’t stick around to say any goodbyes, sneaking off into the darkness of the night like a shadow, blending right in. but, something about the evening, so gloomy and drizzly with spring rain, feels off. 

with a heavy knot in his chest, so much different than an incoming fit of coughs, akutagawa heads back up to mori’s office, if perhaps to only ensure that everyone else’s jobs had been completed. he’s a lot of things, but he’s never been a slacker; and he’ll do what it takes to ensure that his position in the mafia is eternally secure.

though, he doesn’t have the opportunity to get all the way upstairs before he run into the boss, who is calm, but with an air of irritation clouding him. 

he explains the current situation to akutagawa in a clipped tone, bored — an enemy group has kidnapped you, holding you hostage. 

“how rude is it to bother a man, just as he is getting ready to go to sleep?” mori says, sighing histrionically.

but what is a minor inconvenience to mori sends an entire wave of dread through akutagawa, his entire body feeling as if it’s been dipped in ice. he can’t explain the horror that washes over him, not really, because he shouldn’t feel so panicked. it is rare for him to get worked up about the danger his subordinates find themselves in, save for his sister, of course. 

but you… you’re different. 

“can i trust you to diffuse the situation?” mori asks, impatiently glancing at his watch as if that will change anything. “i can call someone else, but they will not be so quick.” 

akutagawa doesn’t even think before he accepts the job, hating the way he sounds pathetically desperate for more details. his hands flatten the edge of his cloak, as if his ability is going to take on a mind of its own. 

he calls for a driver, calm but breathing so heavily that an aching cough rises up in him. his throat feels as if it may begin to bleed, but he swallows, glances away from the driver and gets himself under control.

there’s a ransom — bring them the money and they’ll return you, mori had told him. you’re only a lower ranking member of the mafia, and someone that makes for a pretty poor bargaining chip, so the motive is questionable. 

mori probably would’ve let you die, akutagawa knows, his teeth gritting together, so much so that a splintering sound comes from it. but the boss, in his infinite, concerning wisdom, seems to also know that his loyal dog has an soft spot for you. 

as regrettable as that may be.

akutagawa has no doubt that whoever the enemy is, they are no match for him. still, a twinge of anxiety settles in his stomach, fingers jittery as the driver, despite the decreased traffic of the hour, seems to drive impossibly slow. 

“are we not in a rush?” akutagawa snaps, leaning forward.

“apologies,” the driver, says, not daring to even look at akutagawa from the mirror. but the car speeds up, enough for akutagawa to be able to notice, at least. it cools the simmer that has already begun deep in his chest.  

even so, the car seems to go at a snails pace, minute upon minute flying by, with you in the clutches of an enemy. 

akutagawa doesn’t care who they are. he doesn’t care why, or how they captured you. he wants them dead. he’ll rip them apart, easily, and he’ll make them suffer — they’ll be alive for all of it, for every second that he peels the skin from their bones, ripping the smaller ones out of their sockets. 

what he feels for you… well, it’s too hard for him to admit to himself. he has no experience with what it means to care for another person, doesn’t even know if that’s his goal. he just knows he wants to protect you.

and he can’t do that if you’re dead.

finally, the car pulls up to an old warehouse, one at the very outskirts of the port, beyond the docks and the shipping carts. it’s tucked far back, an obvious lair for some villainous organization that doesn’t want to be found. 

akutagawa gets there, but there is nothing. he hears nothing, feels no signs of life as he trudges through the puddles left behind from the earlier rain. 

a small string of panic begins again, as he wondered if maybe the call that mori had told him was only a ruse. maybe this entire time had been a distraction, a way to lure him away. there are other skill-users in the mafia, but none quite as dangerous as him. 

though, he hears it, then. a small little sound, muffled and hoarse, full of pain. 

he ducks into another corner of a warehouse, and you’re there — bound with chains and a gag across your mouth, one of your eyes blackened with bruises, your nose bleeding. 

his heart aches. never in his life has he so quickly made his way over, used the sharp edges of his ability to shear through the chains, falling to his knees as he unbinds the cloth from your lips. 

“where are they?” he rasps, mouth opening and closing, hating the sound of his own voice. he recognizes his desperation, his anger, but the affectionate sound that clips at the end is unfamiliar, as he shakily pulls himself closer to you. 

you glance up at him, eyes glossy and wide, and though you are scared, hurt, he’s so thankful you are alive. his heart flips once, as you grasp at his cloak, the material that has the blood of so many staining the threads. 

“gone,” you say, throat chalky, words nothing more than a note against the wind. “they fled when they heard it was you coming.” 

“and left you?” he asks, jaw clenching, as he hopes that the emotions aren’t as visible on his features as he thinks they are. “were you not a ransom?” 

“no,” you swallow, hard, as if in pain. he notices bruises around your neck, the shape of fingerprints indented there. “i was bait.”

anger rises up in him like a wave, engulfing him, wholly and relentlessly. he is no stranger to that, like he is the kindness you show him, the way you look at him as if he is your protector, rather than a bringer of destruction. “i’ll go after them. where are they headed? they’ll pay, i’ll slaughter—”

“ryunosuke,” you say, reaching for him as he stands, expression pleading as he backs away. “stay.” 

he has half a mind to ignore you — the enemy escaped, after all. but your voice. your eyes… you look so small sitting there, bloodied and bruised and broken. 

“please,” you try again, near tears, and though he has never been good with obvious displays of emotion, something within him snaps at the desperation in the word. 

he nods, slowing his pace as he returns to you, lets you wrap yourself in him, cling to him. his hands fall, naturally, to your waist, somehow knowing where they belong, even if akutagawa never has a clue what he’s doing with you. 

“i’ll call hirotsu,” he says simply, before pulling out his phone, not bothering to untangle himself from you. 

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 . . .

dazai is not a forgiving man, and will never learn to be. forgiveness is not a luxury he is often able to indulge in in his line of work, and his heart has hardened enough that until the end of time, those that are branded his enemies will remain his enemies. 

though, in his blackened heart, one soured over the course of time, you have carved out your own little space, lit it up with golden rays of light that are fiery enough to melt the stone casing of his chest. 

his only love — his only weakness. but it is a weakness that his enemies know about as well. 

dazai tries his best to keep you safe. he always has, and he knows that, sometimes, his grasp on you can be a little too tight. that the way he tries to keep you under his watchful eye can sometimes be stifling, frustrating. 

but he can’t always be there to protect you. and it is in times like these, that he regrets letting you go without a bodyguard. he regrets that he listened to your insistence that you could keep yourself safe. 

he should’ve at least told you to take a friend. 

“boss,” his subordinate says, bowing his head, his voice pleading, desperate. “i’m so sorry. your wife—”

“if anything… anything happens to her, you will be the one responsible, do you understand?” dazai says, his eyes cold as he glowers down at the man, only a few inches shorter than him, but feeling so much smaller. “i will personally see that this act does not go unpunished.” 

“of course, sir,” the man says, and he, at the very least, has the decency to sound resigned. to accept his fate and suffer the consequences, for allowing the boss’s wife to get herself into such a situation. 

and dazai means it, every last word; if he finds you in a state closer to death, anyone who put you in harm’s way will be torn apart from the inside out. he isn’t able to think of anything but bringing you home safely, his hands shaking with rage as he sends more than enough people out on a search to find you. 

with all the strings he’s able to pull as the mafia boss, it doesn’t take long to find you, for those that have bravely — or stupidly — used his wife as bait to come forward, and offer an attempt at some sort of negotiation. 

there’s little of the conversation that dazai remembers on the phone, even less that he remembers after that. the anger bubbles up in him and grabs hold of his conscience, the emotion directing his movements with a mind of its own. 

he’s already sent out every last one of his people into the field, ensuring that the organization that had the gall to threaten you is wiped off the face of the earth. deleted from every corner of the world, buildings flattened to the ground. by tomorrow, they won’t have ever existed. 

today, he doesn’t care what happens as long as he finds you alive. 

you’re held hostage by two men — so completely beaten that they’ve given up on any restraints. whatever they wanted from you, you seemed to refused to have given up, lip bleeding, eyes swelling so badly that you can’t even open them. 

dazai doesn’t hesitate before pulling the trigger on the first man, then turning to the other, shooting the hand that holds the pistol. the man recoils, shouts, and drops the weapon completely, as dazai lands another bullet to his knee, causing him to fall. 

slowly, dazai walks up, firing again to his other arm, a loud snap echoing throughout the room. the man winces, trying to crawl to the gun, one last desperate attempt to stay alive. 

he kicks the gun away, watching, as, pathetically, the expression in the enemy’s face changes — any of his remaining hope vanishes. 

“you told me she was unharmed,” dazai says, bending down, his coat flaring out behind him as he squats. 

the man coughs, gasping for air as the blood seeps out of him. “we lied.” he smiles cruelly, and though he shares the same sort of darkness as those in the port mafia, there is something even more twisted in his smile. 

dazai hums. “you the leader?” 

the man doesn’t give an answer, but the slight twitch of surprise on his face is all dazai needs. he’s no one — just a grunt whose life was put on the line to guard you. 

“didn’t think so.” dazai shoots him once, straight through the forehead, instantly killing him. but he is vindictive, angry, and the man he truly wants to destroy, the one who took you, is nowhere to be found. another bullet lands, tearing apart the flesh of his temple, then another, and one more, his skull beginning to cave in from the force of it all. 

dazai heaves, letting the gun clatter to the ground as it runs out of bullets, and then he realizes, all this time, you’ve just been watching him. the ugliest side of him — the worst side of him. 

you’re no stranger to it, of course. how can you be, when you’ve shared a life with him for years? but that doesn’t mean he wants you to see it, see how bloodthirsty he can become. 

he stumbles over to you, where you’re still sitting on the ground, your wrist in your lap, bent at an angle that he knows isn’t right. bruises are littered across your skin, and your hair is matted from the blood that pools at your temple. 

it takes every ounce of restraint he has to stay calm, a million feelings swirling under his skin. ones that he was never familiar with until he met you. 

“i’m sorry,” he says, taking your face in his hands so, so softly, worried that he’ll hurt you even more. “i’m sorry, darling. i should’ve — i should’ve been there.” dazai notices his hands are shaking and he balls them up into fists, leaning back. “fuck. fuck — i’ll kill them all, just tell me who it was. anyone who laid a finger on you. i’ll cut them down one by one.” 

“osamu,” you say, and your voice is raspy, cracking, as your unbroken arm reaches for him, squeezing his shaking hand. “i—”

you open your mouth to continue, but only tears come streaming down your cheeks, over your bloodied lips, saltiness soaking your jawline. no words don’t leave you, but a soft sob chokes itself up your throat.

“hey, hey, hey.” dazai’s voice softens, every muscle in his body relaxing as he draws you nearer to him, into his chest with a touch that’s barely there. “you’re safe. i’m here, okay? they’re not going to hurt you again, sweetheart.” 

you sniffle, barely making a sound, but he can feel the tears drop onto his clothes, soaking the material.

“can you walk? are you hurt anywhere else?” 

you hesitate for a moment before answering; he’s not sure if there’s a reason you only answer the first question. “i can walk.” 

dazai nods, and though the rage is still bubbling there, underneath the surface, there is a coolant streaming through him at the vision of you alive. the men who did this will pay the price, but he still has you — and that’s all that matters.

thank you for reading !!! ❤︎

[becca-e-barnes]

Ma’am, you are deviously incredible 🔥 We’re begging for an exploration of him saying “I love you” while fucking her like he doesn’t 🥹

My brain keeps picking up the storyline a few splendidly torturous hours in when her body’s completely spent & quivering & she’s a blubbering mess & that’s when he picks her up & takes his sweet time positioning her so she can limply yet eagerly watch their reflection has he finally gives her… exactly what her twitching body’s been craving. 🥵

I'm so glad you all enjoyed the thought of this as much as I did because I've been dying to expand on it 😵‍💫 (Part 1 here)

I like to imagine by that stage, he's absolutely desperate too though. He's got to feel your sweet little pussy clench and flutter around him, contracting so tight every time you cum that he swears it's going to be the end of him.

He's been too hard for too long, buried inside your body and he swears he's never felt you this wet or this hot before. It's been fucking luxurious, forcing you to cum against his fingers, feeling how your body's natural reaction is to coax him to drain his balls into you but that alone isn’t enough. He needs more than that.

He wouldn't admit it to you but he can't take any more. His balls feel like they're fizzing; overfull and beyond ready to flood your waiting, overstimulated body.

He arranges you gently, laying you on your front because he doesn't trust your trembling arms to support you. "That's it, good girl." He coos, hearing you whimper and sob pathetically because he needs to slip out of you to slide a pillow under your hips.

"You've made such a mess." He groans, taking a second to appreciate the delicious, inviting, slick little cunt he's about to indulge in. "You're dripping, sweetheart. God, I just know there's no way I'm going to be able to pull out."

His huge hands are gripping your hips and with one sharp, brutal thrust, he's back inside you and you both sob pathetically at the feeling of your bodies being joined again. This is exactly what you've needed but you don't have the words to tell him that. All you can do is whine and will your body not to cum again so soon.

"I meant. What I said earlier." He punctuates his sentence with soft groans, drawing back until he almost slips out of you before pounding back in.

He leans forward, tilting your chin up, making sure you can see the way he's fucking you in the mirror at the end of the bed.

"I love you. And I don't want you to forget that." He sounds sincere, one hand trailing up from the small of your back to right between your shoulder blades and then back down again. It feels intimate and tender but all that is forgotten by the very next thrust.

"I love you. But for now, you're just a mindless. Little. Drooling. Breedable. Cunt for me." He slows his thrusts down, determined not to cum so soon but it's going to be difficult to last until he gets the first couple of loads out of the way.

"Baby..." You whimper, feeling the tip of his cock nudge against your sweet spot, making you shake from overstimulation.

"I know sweetheart, I know. It's too much. But you're being so good for me. You're so perfect. How have no idea how you feel. So wet and warm and I can feel you fluttering around my cock. It's like you're trying to squeeze every last drop of cum out of me. Is that what you want? Because angel, I'll keep this delicious cunt stuffed full of load after load until I have nothing left to give you."

His thrusts are punishingly fast, thumping against your raised ass, half chasing his orgasm, half holding it back.

"And when I do, I'll remind you just how much I love you. And the baby I'm going to give you tonight."

With that thought, he can't stop himself from cumming, his dick twitching inside you as he shoots thick ropes of his seed right against your cervix. You're so cock-drunk you can only rut yourself millimetres back and forth but that's all you need to send yourself spiralling into another orgasm that leaves you trembling and sobbing.

"Fuck, you want that as much as I do, don't you?" He kisses the back of your neck, breathing you in while letting the euphoric rush subside. He notices he hasn't softened in the slightest despite such an intense orgasm but he knows he needs to be gentle with you for a moment before he can get any rougher.

[qu1etdays]

The wave goodbye, the breathing...

All held behind her finger using a spiral only she can see.

And a fist only she can hear.

📸: @sweetn0va

[sttoru]

I was listening to 7 rings earlier and saw that post and my head immediately went to older bf suguru or satoru 😋

why not both hehe

tags; older bf!satoru/suguru x female reader (seperately). age gap (reader early 20’s, them early 30’s). suggestive. cult leader suguru yum. reader is depicted as innocent. nicknames ‘princess, sweetheart’.

GOJO SATORU

“satoru, are you. . sure? i mean it’s a lot of money and stuff,” you pout at your lover as he sits down on the comfortable chair in front of the fitting rooms. you’ve tried out a couple things by now—all which satoru has approved of. he recommends you to buy them all, but you’d feel guilty for agreeing. it’ll cost him a fortune.

satoru chuckles and leans back, manspreading with his hands limply resting on his thighs. he looks you up and down without an ounce of shame, “mhm. i’m completely serious when i’m telling ya to get ‘em all, princess.”

your shopping bags are piling up more and more. satoru bought you all the things you said you liked. or if he thinks a piece of clothing suits you nicely, he takes the initiative to buy it. the older man doesn’t look twice when handing the employee his black card.

“c’mere,” satoru gestures for you to come closer once the employee leaves to pack your purchases. he pulls you onto his lap the moment you’re close enough.

his hands run up and down your curves—feeling up the material of the dress you’re currently wearing. the sorcerer cannot wait until you’re home with him. he’ll have you give him a special fashion show with all the pretty lingerie he bought you.

satoru grins at the thought. your little squirms and whines of being ‘too sensitive’ makes him want to tease you even more. he doesn’t care if he’s in public or if anyone sees you; you’re all he focuses on.

“i jus’ wanna spoil my sweet girl—take care of her like she deserves,” the white-haired sorcerer whispers. a lingering kiss on your shoulder makes your breath hitch. he chuckles at your adorable reaction.

satoru holds you down on his thighs, hands firmly placed on your waist whilst he leaves kisses on your exposed skin. he’s got all the money and time in the world—all which he’s spending on his lovely girl.

“everything is yours. tell me what you want and i’ll buy it for you, baby. there’s no limit, ‘kay?”

GETO SUGURU

gentle fingers play with the strands of your hair. you lean into the touch, not really caring that people are staring right at you and your lover.

“your hair looks gorgeous like this, sweetheart,” suguru smiles sweetly. his legs are trapping you against him. your back and his chest touch—your head leaning on his shoulder. he’s completely got you under his spell with the way he’s holding you.

suguru had given you his card earlier and told you to spend it however you see fit. he would have gone shopping with you, though he unfortunately has to help a couple people who swear that they’re cursed.

he was still busy when you returned from your little trip. you didn’t want to bother him when he was working, but suguru excitedly invited you into the room once he spotted you. he wasted no time settling you on his lap and asking you all about your recent purchases.

“s-sir, could you please respond?” the shaky voice of a man snaps you out of your bubble. your gaze moves towards the poor citizen who’s groveling before suguru, the clear presence of a curse gnawing at his back.

suguru’s sweet attitude drops the moment that lowlife interrupted his time with you. his eyes darken and his grip on your hand tightens, showing just how much he’s holding back from murdering that man in cold blood.

he doesn’t want to scare you—no, he’d never kill someone in front of your eyes. he doesn’t want to taint your innocence like that.

“silence,” suguru’s sharp voice causes the man to shriek before he quiets down. a second passes before you feel your lover’s hand on your jaw, guiding your face back to his. the tender look in his eyes and the soft smile on his lips instantly returns.

suguru’s other hand slowly traces the diamond necklace around your neck, “where were we again. . . ah, yes—tell me what else you got, darling. i want to hear it all.”

[ssahotchnerr]

could we maybe get some momfriend!reader and jack dynamics, maybe from before her and Aaron were even together?

something special

<333 cw; fem!bau!reader, very tiny blood description (& yes i know you're supposed to wash a paper cut right away but for the sake of the setting and aaron being cute i didn't include that step 😭), mentions of haley, mutual pining

"whatcha drawing?" you asked mid-writing, your pen flying across your paper but still finding the opportunity to peek over.

"spiderman and superman." jack replied happily, switching from a red to a blue crayon. "see, they're teaming up to fight the bad guy because he keeps doin' crimes."

about an hour or so ago, jessica had dropped off jack at the bau. long story short; she was called into work urgently and with aaron in a meeting, you were quick to volunteer yourself to keep him company. rather than cramming into the small space of your desk, and jack potentially hearing conversations or details not fit for a six year old, you've made home in the roundtable room. you could work, jack could color.

you had also fired off a quick text to aaron; letting him know jack was with you, a brief synopsis of the situation and where he could find you both once his meeting concluded. it had, and he was about to join, but found himself pausing outside the door, listening to your easy, lighthearted conversation for just a moment.

when it came to you and jack, there was just something about it. something extraordinarily special.

"i see," you nodded along to jack's words, an encouraging smile on your face. "that's really good. since when did you become an artist?"

"since always." jack grinned proudly.

"then you have to promise you'll make me a drawing soon. my desk is pretty boring, i need something to brighten it up." you held out your pinky, eyebrows raised. "promise?"

"i promise." jack linked his pinky with yours, and turned back to his masterpiece with renewed vigor.

a sense of warmth filled aaron's chest, the ends of his lips turning upwards into a faint smile at the natural bond you and jack had developed so quickly, over the course of a few weeks. deciding it was as good a time as ever to join, aaron reached out to fully open the door when a wince-gasp came from jack, stopping him.

"oh no," your head turned. "paper cut?"

jack nodded meekly, grimacing as his gaze shifted to you. his big, sweet eyes were tearful, "it stings."

"can i see?" he offered his hand limply, hanging downwards at the wrist. you cradled his small hand in yours; it was just a tiny cut - no more than a few centimeters, a faint line of red gradually seeping to the surface.

"hm, well," you huffed a breath, turning his hand face-up face-down - vaguely exaggerating the examination. you got up to retrieve the first-aid kit stationed in the room, aaron sidestepping a bit to keep out of potential view. "i think luck was on your side today, i don't think we'll have to amputate this time." you spoke with an airy tone, quick to bring light to the situation. it worked, jack stifling a laugh as you retook your seat. "nothing a bandaid can't fix."

there was the click of kit opening, a slight shuffle of what sounded like paper.

"and don't tell anyone i told you this," you applied a bit of ointment onto the bandaid before wrapping it onto his finger - not too tight or too loose, all to avoid cutting off circulation and to let the wound breathe. "we gotta keep extra band aids around because your dad always seems to get one himself."

"dad gets paper cuts? really?" jack's eyes widened in surprise.

just as his son, a breathless chuckle exited aaron; that wasn't necessarily true, but your intentions were clear: cheering jack up.

in addition, the last time he had heard someone talking to or interacting with jack like this - empathetically, attentively, motherly, was, well... haley.

it touched the usually unattended part of his heart that had been vastly empty since the divorce. since that one, horrible day. while the emptiness still lingered, you had made a pull at it. for a moment, you had healed it, even.

again, there was just something special about you. and again, the only way aaron could describe it was extraordinary.

"really." you nodded convincingly, tossing the little plastic scraps into the nearby trash bin, giving top of jack's hand a consoling pat. "it happens all the time."

aaron mentally rolled his eyes at that, a smile itching at his lips.

jack picked up his brown crayon, pain forgotten, eager to get back to his drawing. "i'm gonna draw daddy and put a bandaid on him. he's a superhero too, y'know?"

"yeah," your smile was rather bashful, your tone of voice so admirable it caused a blush to rise in aaron's cheek. "i know."

[briefalpacashark]

~Saviour~

Warning: Hospitals, near death, violence, blood. Graphic descriptions.

Synopsis: when a mission goes south you save your 141 boys.

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Life had a way of throwing shit at you. Giving you a curveball that often cleaved through your life.

This day was no different.

You sat in the med bay. Blood and dirt caked your hands all the way up to your elbows. Your breath was erratic as your left hand clasped and unclasped. Your right arm was numb laid limply on your knee. You glanced at it, unsure why it wasn't moving. Your hand was hidden by a glove that looked a little big to be yours. Were you wearing gloves? You couldn't remember. Your eyes set on the door in front of you. The doors which behind held your squad. The nurses and doctors who rushed around sent brief worried glances at you, but you would simply wave them off. You could only see the blood on your arms. You couldn't see the blood that covered your shirt and down the right side of your face.

Flashes of what happened played on a taunting replay in your head.

It was supposed to be just a simple routine check on one of the outreach bases. Your team was accompanied by about thirty others. You remembered sitting with your squad as Price gave out some simple orders. You remembered smiling brightly at the boys as they cracked a joke.

You remembered feeling the first drops of rain when it happened. You took notice of the water dripping from your body onto the cheap plastic chair as you closed your eyes. You were as wet as a drowned rat. You weren't really sure how it happened. There was an explosion. There were other soldiers, not dressed like you. It was an attack. You were the furthest from the explosion. You remember seeing your squad scattered around? Price and Ghost were the only other ones who recovered consciousness. They went down faster than you could comprehend. Ghost, because of another explosion and due to a loss of blood, a bullet cleaved through his collarbone. Jonny's lung was collapsing and Gaz was unresponsive. You could name every other injury your squad sustained. You had it all listed in your head. Every scratch and laceration. You remembered treating them amid the chaos. You remembered dragging them each to the rally point where they were packed into a chopper and taken to safety. You remembered regurgitating that information up to the doctors. When your mind was done with that, it started replaying what you had done to treat their injuries. Had you done it properly? You followed through your steps, trying desperately to piece them all together.

You couldn't. It was all a jumbled mess. You mind was a jumbled mess.

You weren't allowed in the operating rooms; you weren't qualified. You remembered being pulled out by someone. You remember trying to fight against their arms, but they were too strong. And now you were there. Sitting alone in an empty hall.

As the adrenalin started to run out, you finally noticed the ringing in your head. The numbness up your right arm. With everything you felt, you diagnosed yourself with a concussion, a bad one and possible shock. You didn't know how long you had sat there. Yet when a doctor approached you, your clothes were dry.

"You can see them now. They're all awake and in bay seven," he said, gesturing you in the room. Nodding, you mumbled out a thank you as you walked into the room and noticed that you had a slight limp.

"Heeeyyyyyy. There's our medic. Finally decided to show up and do your job, huh?" your eyes first found Jonny’s. He sat upright in the hospital bed with a bright smile on the right. Ghost and Gaz stood next to Price, in a bed of his own, looking pretty good on the left. You had to give it to modern medicine. It was extraordinary. 

"Damn girl, you look like shit," Gaz commented, making everyone in the room chuckle. You chuckled as well as you took them all in. Took in the open eyes and smiles. 

They were alright.

"Sorry. Haven't had time for a shower. But I still smell better than Jonny," you said, earning chuckles from them. 

"You got a bit of a limp there. You alright kid?" Price groggy voice came from the bed. His shoulder was wrapped up something fierce.

"I'm alright sir. My arms a little banged up. How about you, huh?" you asked. 

They were all alive and safe.

"I'm alright. A little disappointed you weren't doing your job, though. But I had a cute doctor so I'm not complaining," Price cracking a joke. A rare but welcome thing.

"Nah, the doctors wouldn't let me in. I don't have the right credentials apparently," you said, feeling something building behind your eyes.

"What a load of shit," Jonny said.

"But you're all ok right?" you asked, your voice shaky as you gripped your sleeve.

"We're fine. A little beatenand bruised, but we're out of the woods," Gaz commented. You weren't able to hold the small sob that escaped your lips.

"That's good. That's good," you said, reaching your hand up to cover the sob with a cough. Yet you couldn't hold back the tears that quickly started to pour from your eyes. The relief you were feeling was too much. The worry and fear that had been suffocating you had lifted, finally letting you breathe. It seemed like the whole time you had been waiting was like being underwater. And with their words, you were finally able to gasp for air. 

They were ok.

"Sargent?" Price questioned hesitant looks being passed around the room.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, wiping the tears away.

"Oh come on short stack. These little scratches aren't worth crying over." your squad wasn't sure what to do. They didn't really cry. It was something that was strange to them, so they weren't sure how they should react to you doing just that.

"It's just. God. You idiots really worried me, you know. And now you fuckers got me crying. God. It seems like I really love you guys," you sniffled as you whispered that last part to yourself. Not well enough though. They had each heard it.

"Aw come on. Now. You're gonna make me blush," Jonny’s comment had you laughing as you whipped your nose.

"You better consider yourselves important. I don't just cry for anyone you know," you calmed yourself, your cries settling into only tears and a brief quiver of your voice.

"Come on now, Sargent. Straighten yourself out. And for god's sake, have a shower," Price said with a warm smile. You nodded with a smile.

"Yes sir," you took one last look around the room before turning to leave. 

You didn't get far. Your legs didn't seem to get the plan. Your knees buckled slightly, but you were able to keep yourself up.

"Come on," you whispered, straightening up. You weren't on your feet for more than two seconds before you tumbled to the ground.

"Y/N!" As you lay on the cold ground you felt yourself being flipped over. Those who could stand had rushed to you. Then nothing.

Your squad watched all in pure worry as Ghost lifted you onto a spare bed. They yelled for a doctor.

"What's wrong with her?" A doctor who had been yanked into the room asked, taking a torch and shining it in your eyes.

"She just collapsed," Gaz said.

"She's got a concussion," he started.

"She said there was something else with her arm too," Ghost added. Jonny stood waddling over to you. The doctor pulled your left sleeves up to see if there was anything wrong. Seeing nothing, he moved to the right. Pulling the sleeve up, he pauses in slight shock. Your skin was blistered and bleeding with four-degree burns.

"I need nurses here now!" he yelled. He hurried, cutting your shirt sleeves going higher and higher to see the burns all the way up your arm and shoulder. Underneath were the remnants of a burnt shirt. You had put the glove on to get a better grip of whatever you were handling, your hand having become a blistered mess. A few nurses rushed into the room, starting to set up monitors. One nurse cut open your undershirt and paused.

"Doctor," she explained. All attention was pulled down to your stomach. Deep Purple coloring had spread across your abdominal area.

"She's bleeding internally. Get the surgery ready! Let's go!" your squad watched on in shock as the nurse hurriedly ushered your bed out of the room.

Price sat upright in his bed, waiting. They all were. A young private rushed into the room. 

"Sir, here's the footage you asked for," he rushed forward holding out a tablet to the Captain. Silently, he pressed play. Everyone watched in shock as they saw the attack play out. They saw you. Dazed and in pain as you took in your burnt arm. They watched your worry quickly shift to them. They saw you pulling them each to safety. Saving them. They saw you get struck in the stomach by an airborne piece of debris. They saw you covered them with your body as more explosions rang out. They saw you come back for each and every one of them even when people held you back. 

"How long ago did we get in?" Price asked.

"About a day and a half, sir," the private stated.

"So you're telling me. One of my men sat out in that hall for a day and a half with no medical attention?" Price asked, gripping the tablet tightly. The poor lad nearly shit himself when he felt the glares of all four men fall upon him.

"Sir, the attack borough in a flux of patients," the young soldier wasn't able to finish his response when Price shoved the table back into his chest.

"Then why the hell was she alone in the attack?" he asked. The private eyes darted around nervously. Even if her team had gone down, there were other soldiers around. Where were they? Why haden’t they helped you?

"You were all in a danger zone. We had established a protective line. We were given orders to stay behind it," he muttered.

"So you fuckers were gonna leave us there?" Jonny asked in anger. The private cast his eyes down in shame. They now understood why people were holding you back. You were going against orders to save their lives.

Most of the squad was discarded and getting dressed when a doctor walked into the room, his eyes cast down at his tablet.

"Who's the dick that demanded I personally report a medical condition when I have a whole base full of patients?" the doctor was pissed. When he pulled his eyes from his tablet and took in the inhabitants of the room he gulped quickly changing up his tone.

"How is she?" Price asked.

"Well, she had severe internal bleeding. We patched that up though. She had a few broken ribs. Her arm had four-degree burns. She has a concussion and a slight fracture to the skull. She's going to heal up fine with time but her arm will be permanently scarred. She's unconscious right now. And it might be a few hours before she's out of the woods," he quickly reported your condition. He looked hesitant building up the courage to get the last bit of information out.

"What else?" he asked.

"Her heart stopped beating halfway through the operation. Only for a few seconds though. We were able to resuscitate her with the deliberator," he added. The boy's mouths went dry.

Your squad all stood at the window to your room. You were bandaged up like a mummy, a breathing tube stuck in your mouth. Two nurses shuffled around you attending to bits and pieces. Dread, utter dread seeped into their bodies as they took you in. As reality set in.

The team was a mess after that. At all times, you had at least one of them in your room. Cards and flowers piled up on your bedside table moving to encompass the little corner of the room. As soon as the doctor told him that talking to you might help you come out of the coma quicker, he was unstoppable. Jonny would constantly come in, talking nonstop about anything and everything. Gaz would sometimes bring you your favorite snacks wafting the scent over to you in hopes it would wake you up. Price would pop in every morning before breakfast and every afternoon before dinner, demanding a full report of your status. And Ghost would simply sit by your bed. Scared half the nursed shitless to see him looping finger and skull mask walking about at night. 

And they were mad. Price nearly got half the nurses and doctors fired. Those he didnt mange to get fired were transferred. 

It was a week before you woke up. You were in a slight daze. Your vision blurry as you took in your painful limbs. After the doctor and nurses checked up on you, you sat upright in bed. They had told you the extent of your injuries. And you were still feeling a bit drowsy.

A nurse had just left from checking your vitals when you heard a thunder of footsteps. Then you saw them. Your squad all fumble into the room. Relieved and happy smiles spread over their faces as they all clambered around your small bed.

You couldn't really remember what they were saying. After all, they were all talking over each other. What you do remember was the looks they gave you. Looks of utter application and relief. And a newfound respect. 

"Sargent," they all went silent as Price entered the room.

"Sir," you nodded.

"We saw what you did for us," he said, simply unsure how to proceed with the following words. How do you thank someone for saving your life?

"What I did?" you mumbled in confusion. "What did I do?" you chuckled playfully. Your squad looked over your carefree smile.

"You don't remember?" Ghost asked.

"Not really. I remember we were attacked. Seems like I was pretty fucked. Let me guess, you guys saved my ass huh?" you asked playfully. You really couldn't remember what had happened. It was all a blur. The doctor mentioned you might have some amnesia. 

"You did well, Y/N. You did good," Price said, extending his hand out to you. You let out a huff of a chuckle confused by his words but shook his hand nonetheless. The boys would later tell you what had happened but you just shock it off thinking they just wanted to make you feel better.

As you recovered, they harassed the doctors and nurses hanging over their shoulders and constantly asking what they were doing. And you healed. 

Ghost would find himself constantly training to keep his mind off his worry for you. Yet halfway through every workout or exercise, his worry would get the better of him. It brought a smile to your face when he would walk in. He would chat and talk, as much as Ghost could, always checking that you had everything you needed. He was also the one the nurses hated the most. Now Ghost wasn't dumb, but he certainly didn’t really understand all the medical mumbo jumbo, as he called it. So when anything beeped, or he noticed something that looked weird, he would press the nurse call button and ask what it was. You found the concern cute but annoying sometimes. A welcome annoyance, though. 

After a certain amount of medication, you felt sleep pulling at you. Ghost, noticing your heart rate slowing down, slightly reached for the nurse call button.

"It's fine, Simon," you spoke up through half-closed eyes.

"Then why is the beeping thing slowing down?" he asked, gesturing to the machine as he pulled a chair up to sit beside your bed. 

"Your heart rate slows when you go to sleep. Which the current medication is doing," you explained with a small smile.

"Huh," he hummed, settling down in the chair.

"What's on your mind, big guy? You're usually jumpy today," you questioned lazily, waving your arm out to him. Not bothering to bring it back to the bed, you let it dangle off the side.

"The doc said something about a bleed somewhere," he shrugged gently, taking your hand and going to tuck it back under the sheets. Instead, you grasped hold of his pinky, holding it tightly.

"I popped open a stitch, it's fine, it's fixed, see," you said, waving your other damaged hand where a small cut lay underneath the bandage.

"What? You worried about little old me?" you asked with a small smirk, your eyelids drooping.

"Always love," he grinned back, moving his hand to completely engulf yours. You looked over his gentle eye. The honesty in his eyes. He had called your love before. It was always in a playful tone. But that time. The word sounded so different. It sounded sincere.

"Is the big bad Ghost actually saying something sincere?" you asked playfully.

"Yeah well, don't get used to it," he shrugged, going to pull his hand back, but you held tightly onto it. He propped an eyebrow questioning.

"Thank you for being here. It means a lot," you whispered.

"Well, it's the least I can do. And while we're on the topic of thanking. I wanted to thank you for everything," he avoided your gaze as he spoke, having to clear his that afterward.

“I'm the medic, it's my job,” you stated simply. 

“Yeah, well you gotta stay alive to do ya job,” he mumbled, his gaze focused on your intertwined hands, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing the back of your palm. Flashes of the cold panic reverberated in his mind. The fear that threatened to swallow him when he saw you being wheeled out of the room. The dread that squeezed his lungs so painfully he thought he might have a collapsed lung himself. 

“Don't tell me what to do,” you joked playfully. His shoulders did their little jump chuckle thing as he returned his gaze to yours. The warmth you held in your eyes. The warmth that spread through you as he gazed at you so sincerely. You had to admit it now. You were smitten with the lieutenant. Perhaps it was the drugs making you feel truthful. It was definitely the drugs that had you reaching up. Ghost frowned as your hand placed itself at the base of your mask. A pleasant shiver ran down his spine as your fingers dived under the mask trailing up to cup his cheek. Your smile widened as you felt the tickle of a stubble on your palm. 

“I knew it. I knew you had a stubble. Jonny owes me a tenner,” you whispered softly, your thumb brushing the skin feeling a scar or two. Ghost found himself placing his hand over your own, moving his lips to press them into your palm. The kiss so tender as it lingered on your skin. 

"You know. I'm gonna make you my Misso," now you were sure it was the drugs that had you speaking like that, but at that moment you didn't care. Because only a second after you pulled your hand back, Simons fell with yours as he held it again. Only a second after you had fallen into a deep sleep, your hand still clasped around Ghosts.

A very confused Simon glanced over at your heart monitor before signing deeply.

"What the fuck is a misso?" he asked himself.

Price would come by later to see how you were, only to stop in the doorway. Simon lay propped up on the bed beside you, sleeping peacefully. Your hands still intertwined. 

With a small knowing smile, he turned around and closed the door behind him.

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--Cod master list here--

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[itadorey]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

pairing: geto suguru x gn!reader summary: geto doesn't know if you've been looking for him or not, but he does know that he can't look you in the eyes after your last mission together. genre: friends to lovers, angst to fluff, hurt/comfort notes: reader lights a cigarette, doesn't actually smoke it. reader was previously injured on a mission (description of the incident), no actual timeline fit but kind of an au in my head where geto stays at tokyo jujutsu high wc: ~3.2k

Geto pauses when he walks through the entrance to the school grounds, stopping in his tracks when he sees you sitting on the front steps of the dorms.

He's silent as he observes you, one of your legs bent at the knee while the other remains stretched out, your body twisted slightly as one of your elbows rests on the step behind you. Your head is ducked down slightly as you fiddle with something in your hands, and when you toss your head back in what he can only assume is boredom, he sees the cigarette dangling from the corner of your mouth.

Your head perks up when you hear his footsteps approaching, and you give him a lazy smile before straightening up, hunching over slightly before patting the empty space next to you. He does his best to avoid looking at your left arm, hanging limply in a sling because of him.

Because he wasn't strong enough to protect you, he reminds himself.

"Are you just gonna stand there looking constipated or what?" you asks, your smile widening as you take in his pinched expression. He looks uncomfortable, a pained frown on his face as he shifts his weight from one foot to another and looks around.

"Does Yaga know you snuck out of the infirmary?" he asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he kicks a stray rock. He ignores the way you giggle at his question, refusing to look at you even though that's the only thing he ever wants to do when you're around.

"I was released. Does he know you snuck out of the school?" you shoot back in response, eyebrow arching as you pat the space next to you once again. "C'mere, Suguru. You're acting weird."

Geto is stiff as he takes a seat next to you, leaving a ridiculous amount of space between the two of you as he brings his knees up to his chest. He tenses even more when you shuffle closer, and he resists the urge to flinch away when you fix him with an unreadable stare.

A faint clicking catches his attention, and he lets his gaze wander down to your hands. His eyebrows furrow when he sees the pink lighter held tightly between your fingers, your thumb playing with the spark wheel absentmindedly.

"Isn't that Shoko's?" he asks, recognizing the lighter as the one that always seemed to be lost. He thinks about the way Shoko always rummages through her bag, her voice tired and exasperated as she constantly asks her friends if they've seen it. His question earns a laugh from you, and you nudge him with your shoulder before replying.

"Yeah, and so is this."

He can't help the way his eyes immediately drift to your mouth, and he stares intently as you purse your lips to wiggle the cigarette in a teasing manner. He gives a half-hearted huff, eyes still burning into you as you raise the lighter to your face.

The lighter sparks to life at the first touch of your thumb, the soft, orange light of the flame dancing across your features as you bring it to the cigarette. You look ethereal, the shadows dancing across your face and highlighting the bridge of your nose, the curve of your lips, and the sly shine in your eyes as you cup it with your injured hand to shield it from the wind.

Geto feels his heart ache with want.

A hum of content leaves your lips when you see the end of the cigarette burning, and you tuck the lighter back into your pocket before turning to face Geto. His eyes are still fixed on you, eyes dropping down to your lips every few seconds before he suddenly leans forward.

You feel your breath stutter slightly at his close proximity, studying the slope of his nose and barely sparing a glimpse at his eyes before he presses even closer and your own eyes flutter shut. A moment of silence passes before you feel the cigarette being pulled out of your mouth, his fingertips brushing against your lips before they pull away.

It's embarrassing to admit that you're waiting for a kiss that never comes, so you awkwardly clear your throat and straighten up as you hear more than see the way Geto crushes the cigarette under his shoe. The same one that he had just pulled from your lips.

(You try to ignore the way you can still feel his touch, instead deciding to focus on the fact that you had just lit the cigarette up).

"Hey! I didn't even take a single drag!" you complain, lips pursed in a pout and eyebrows furrowed as you nudge him with your shoulder once again. There's a soft look in his eyes as he turns his head to look at you, and you find yourself softening slightly before you roll your eyes and lean away. "It took me forever to steal that from Shoko. She never lets those things out of her sight."

"They're bad for you," is all Geto murmurs in response, his foot still absently grinding down on the cigarette. You see the way his eyes flicker down to your arm, all softness in his gaze having been replaced by something akin to guilt. "You got enough problems as is. We don't need you having respiratory issues on top off everything else."

"It was one cigarette, Suguru," you argue, rolling your eyes before waving your arm around. "Besides, this is healed thanks to Shoko. In fact, hold on."

Geto watches as you remove the sling, tossing it behind you as you wave your arm once again.

"Put it back on," he says with a scowl, reaching behind you to grab the sling. The close proximity causes the both of you to freeze, and you stare into his dark eyes before turning away, refusing to have a repeat of the earlier incident. You feel Geto's hand cup your cheek, and your eyes slightly widen as he turns your head back to face him.

He holds your gaze for a few seconds before he lets the sling drop into your lap. Neither one of you backs away, and Geto's eyes drop to your lips when he sees your tongue darts out to wet them. He leans forward slightly, the hesitance in his eyes clearly visible as he stops himself mere inches away from your lips.

That same hesitance is nowhere to be found in you when you surge forward, your lips connecting with Geto's briefly before he jerks away from you. His hand separates from your cheek as you scramble backwards, your hands scraping against the stone of the steps as you try to put as much distance between you and him as possible.

"I-I," you stutter, clamping your mouth shut and shaking your head before stumbling to your feet. Your actions send the sling tumbling to the ground and you do your best to suppress the sob crawling up your throat as you look down at the ground. "I'm sorry."

Geto is still frozen in place, hand hanging limply in the air as he stares at the spot in front of him. There's a conflicted expression on his face as he turns to watch you, mouth parted slightly in surprise and eyes shining with a mix of elation and grief as he lets his hand fall back down to his side.

"I'm going to bed," you say, your voice much more composed than it had been mere seconds ago. You clasp your hands behind your back, nodding your head diplomatically and avoiding Geto's gaze as you turn around. "Good night, Geto."

It's the use of his last name that has Geto scrambling to his feet, so unused to the sound of his family name coming from your lips. (The same lips he's been aching to kiss for more than a year. The same lips he pulled away from no more than a minute ago.)

You do your best to ignore the approaching footsteps, hastily wiping away the stray tears falling from your eyes as you start walking faster. You flinch when you feel Geto's hand close around your wrist, gently tugging you back as his other hand comes to rest on your waist in an attempt to keep you in place.

Your free hand lands on his chest, and you briefly struggle against him before you manage to break away from his hold, stumbling back a few steps and giving him an undecipherable look.

"Don't," he mutters, shaking his head lightly when you give him a puzzled look. "Don't apologize. For kissing me."

"Why?" you ask quietly, your hands clenching as you make a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Why, Geto? I don't get it. You give me all these soft looks and tender smiles and give me signals that make me think you like me but whenever I try to take a step forward, you take five steps back."

Geto's heart aches in pain this time, and he breathes in shakily as he watches you blink back your tears desperately. Your shoulders slump as you run a hand through your hair, and your tone sounds defeated when you address him once more.

"If you don't like me, just tell me. But please don't keep making me think you do."

You raise your head to watch him silently, your face deceivingly calm as you nod and finally turn away.

"I couldn't protect you."

His words make you pause, and you turn back to face him with squinted eyed. He can see the way you softly shake your head, silently mouthing his words to yourself before straightening up and squaring your shoulders.

"What?"

"I couldn't protect you," Geto repeats, taking another step toward you. His face softens when you don't move away, and he takes that as an invitation to walk up to you. "This mission with Gojo, when you were trapped I was the first to arrive, but I couldn't help you. Gojo had to step in and save you."

He gets lost in thought as he thinks about the mission, down to the very moment he realized you were missing. One minute you were smiling prettily at him, your hand brushing against his as you shot a teasing remark at Gojo, never once looking away from Geto even as Gojo turned to give you a hurt look. The next, you were gone, Geto's hand unnaturally cold in your absence as Gojo scanned the area around them.

Loud calls of your name had escaped both of their lips as they checked the neighboring rooms, eyebrows pinched together in worry as they heard no response back from you. A minute of silence had passed before they heard a sharp shriek, and they had exchanged panicked looks as your screams rang out.

Gojo's entire body had tensed while Geto's hands started shaking, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to pinpoint where your voice was coming from. He had shot off like a bullet, Gojo hot on his heels as he sprinted through the halls. It was easy for him to track down your voice, and he had burst through the door of a room at the end of a hall to find you suspended in the air, a humanoid hand tightened around your neck as the curse they were hunting held you tightly.

It was hard to ignore the way your left arm hung limply at your side, your elbow twisted at an unnatural angle as it swayed ever so slightly. Your choked gasps filled the air as you fought against the curse, your right hand holding tight onto the curse's arm as you channeled raw cursed energy in order to injure it.

Geto's brief moment of stillness, his eyes darting around as he assessed the best way to deal with the situation, had allowed the curse to dig its nails into your throat, causing weak rivulets of blood to stream from the small cuts it left. That brief moment of hesitation had allowed Gojo to come in, easily separating the curse from you and grabbing you before you fell to the ground.

"Make sure it's dead," Gojo had said, motioning towards the curse with his head. "They need to get to Shoko immediately."

Geto had wasted no time in making sure the curse was dead, his footsteps heavy as he immediately followed after you and Gojo. The last thing he remembered was not being allowed into the infirmary, with Gojo and Yaga holding him back as they told him to let Shoko help you. To let Shoko heal you.

That had been mere hours ago.

In the hours that followed, you had been healed and released from the infirmary, fretted over by Gojo, and searching nonstop for Geto. Geto had instead shouldered past Gojo and Yaga, ignored all their calls and questions, and left the campus as fast as he could, hoping that putting distance between you and him would help divert his thoughts.

It didn't.

All he could think about was the way you looked in the curse's grip, feet dangling and eyes wide and panicked as you did your best to survive. He had flinched when he felt his nails digging into his palms, and he had let out a sigh before running his finger through his hair, ruining his bun in the process.

How could he proudly call himself a jujutsu sorcerer if he hadn't even been able to protect the person he cared about.

"Geto?"

The soft murmur of his name draws him back to the present, to this moment where you're healthy and breathing and alive and standing right in front of him, giving him a concerned look. You hand (the left one, he notes silently) is halfway raised, fingers moving slightly as if to rest on his arm. There's hesitation on your face and Geto watches quietly as you let your arm fell back down to your side instead.

His hand darts out to grab yours before it fully lowers, pulling it up and pressing his hand to yours. His gaze is still lowered, and he presses his hand closer to your urgently, palm to palm and fingers lining up before he decides to intertwine his fingers with yours and pull you close.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as he pulls you into him, hands still intertwined as his other arm comes to wrap around you, pressing your head to his chest as he wonders if you could feel how fast his heart is beating.

"I don't deserve you," he murmurs, nose brushing against your hair as he whispers into your ear.

"Geto, what do y—"

"You should be with someone like Gojo," he says, interrupting your words and refusing to let you go. "Someone strong enough to protect you in the way I couldn't. I'm not even strong enough to protect the person I love."

"Geto," you begin, your voice small and shaky as you use your free hand to push yourself slightly away from him. He's still holding you to his chest, his hand flat and warm against your back while the other is still enclosed around your own. "Did you mean that?"

"What?" he asks dumbly, confusion glinting in his eyes as he looks at you questioningly.

"What you just said," you explain, your fingers digging into his shirt as you look at him imploringly. "You said 'I'm not even strong enough to protect the person I love'. Ge— Suguru, do you love me?"

A breathless chuckle leaves Geto's lips, and you can feel the way his fingers tense against your back as his eyes widen in realization. The use of his name, his first name, makes him feel a little woozy, and he lets his head drop to the curve of your neck when you make no move to pull away.

"I did say that, didn't I?" he asks rhetorically, exhaling deeply and causing a shiver to run down your spine when you feel his warm breath against your skin. The two of you stay wrapped up in each other for a minute, and you only move when you reach up with your free hand to toy with Geto's hair.

"You know," you begin, prompting Geto to raise his head when he hears the teasing tone in your voice. "Gojo's cute and strong and smart and all, but I'm more into the broody, mysterious, devastatingly handsome, deceivingly strong, cares-too-much-for-his-own-good type of guys."

"I'm not broody," Geto shoots back, his lips perked up in a half-smile as he sees the mirth dancing in your eyes.

"Who said I was talking about you?" you ask, your fingers weaving through the silky strands that tumble down his back. Geto chuckles at your words, pulling you back in closely to his chest as he studies you.

"Just a hunch," he whispers, squeezing your hand to get you to look up at him. The two of you stare at each other for what seems like hours, and it isn't until your gaze hardens that his smile falls.

"Suguru," you start, pausing and resting your head in the crook of his neck, much like he had done to you earlier. He finally lets go of your hand, raising it up to join your other around his neck before letting his own settle around your waist. The embrace feels a lot more intimate, minimal space between the two of you as clasp your hands together behind his neck and pull yourself closer to him. "You are strong, y'know? You're a special grade sorcerer for a reason."

Your words are hushed and whispered against his neck, and you can barely feel him shake his head before he goes to speak.

"You saved me," you say, cutting him off before he can even begin to talk down on himself. "You are the one who located me. You led both yourself and Gojo to the room I was in and that's the only reason I didn't get fatally injured. It may sound mean, but I don't think Gojo's could've pinpointed where the sound of my voice was coming from. Besides, I’m not stupid. I could see you looking for an opening to attack. Gojo just happened to step in before you could, without thinking I might add. You would’ve saved me regardless.”

You chuckle softly at your own words before raising your head, coming face to face with Geto's soft expression.

"If I have to hear the person I love talk badly about himself one more time, I might have to kick his ass," you tease, a pretty smile on your lips as you watch the way Geto's eyes widen at your words.

"You can try," Geto whispers back, his eyes narrowing slightly when he sees the way your gaze drifts to his lips. "I'm sure you'll succeed. I can't see him putting up much of a fight against someone as beautiful as you."

"Just shut up and kiss me," you grumble, half-laughing as you look at him with stars in your eyes.

And as you pull him down into a gentle kiss, Geto Suguru finally believes that everything might be okay.

rbs are appreciated <3 ty for reading!!

[sprout-fics]

Whumptober Day One: "How many fingers am I holding up?"

(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OFC 'Fix')

(Whumptober Masterlist TBA)

Rating: Gen Wordcount: 1.6k Tags: Blood/Injury, Whump, Head Injuries, Fainting, Worried Simon, Banter Warnings: Vomit mention

Asshole got the drop on you. 

You were checking your corners this time, talking calmly into your radio as you slowly swept the perimeter of the warehouse you and Ghost had been sent to investigate. There had been fair resistance, one that had been thinned by your sniper fire as Ghost moved interior. It had only been once he’d sounded the all clear that you clambered down from your perch on the hill and had moved to rendezvous with your LT. 

A noise catches your attention, a rolling bottle that clattered against the concrete. You pivot sharply, weapon raised and moving silently towards the source of the sound. Too late do you realize it’s a distraction, and before you can spin on your heel to face the presence that makes the hairs on your neck rise, the world cracks with color and you’re sent spinning to the ground. 

It takes a moment for you to orient yourself, and the first thing you recognize is the splitting pain just above your right ear, so fierce it nearly blinds you. Yet the enemy behind you doesn’t seem to care, towering over you and reaching for your form with darkly clad hands. Body operating on pure instinct, you reach for the knife on your vest, slash across his calf so he stumbles. It doesn’t take much after that, as you swiftly stand and fire once from your side arm, the man slumping to the ground limply. 

“Fix, how copy?” Ghost suddenly barks into your radio, having heard the commotion, and the noise screeches in your ears. Too loud, too loud. It hurts, the place where the AQ agent hit you with the butt of his rifle, likely out of ammo. The pain unfurls across your skull, has you scrunching your eyes shut with a groan of blooming pain that feels bitter on your tongue. 

“Fix.” Ghost tries again, and you shudder an exhale as you try to breathe through the pain, eyes closed as you blindly fumble for your radio. 

“Copy. I’m injured. Moving to your position.”

There’s a pause, and you try vainly to right yourself, checking your gear and toeing the edge of the body at your feet so you can navigate around it with your eyes closed as much as possible. 

“Negative. Stay where you are. I’m coming to you.”

You wince at that, not out of pain, but at the griping irritation in Ghost’s voice at your injury. You’ll probably hear about it later, but for now you focus on trying to find somewhere to sit down so Ghost can find you. The world wobbles dangerously around you, and the first turn of your head summons a low, stifled groan at the pulsing gunshot of pain that flares behind your eyelids. 

“All stations- I’ve got one wounded. Standby.”

Way to advertise, Ghost. You think with a little frown, glad that now every operator on this mission knows you have a fucking headache. You press a hand to the center of the pain and instantly draw the touch away with a hiss, feeling the skin react to your fingers. They feel wet. It’s agonizing, the pain, it feels like someone has decided to try and fracture you open to look inside, forgetting how to close you back up. It feels like the only thing you can think of, your world consumed by a tilting dizziness and growing nausea that sits heavy and sour in your stomach.

It doesn’t take long for Ghost to find you, and when he does there’s little fanfare as he immediately moves to assess you. 

“Eyes up.” He demands, and despite the curtness it’s a touch gentle, encouraging as a gloved hand tilts your chin up and then to the side so he can examine the growing welt on the side of your skull. 

“How’s your head?” He asks blandly, trying to part the hair from your temple to see the injury.

“No complaints yet, LT. At least not from you.” You try, voice wobbling a little but trying to see if you can get a reaction from him.

Ghost takes a moment to catch what you’ve said, pauses, sighs. You snicker.

He elects to ignore you, which is a little disappointing, and admittedly a little worrying too. If he’s not up for jokes, whatever injury he’s looking at must be serious. You wonder if it’s worse than you think it is, which is to say it might be pretty fucking bad.

Headache, light sensitivity, nausea, bleeding…You grimace, years of medic training efficiently narrowing down the probable causes to a short and frankly worrying list of possible causes. The thought is short circuited to nothing as Ghost turns you slightly, making the world shift violently under you and something terrible roll in your stomach at the horrific wash of pain it summons. 

“Fix. Look at me.” Ghost tells you, and you force your eyes open to see the black void of his war paint mere inches from your own. He blinks underneath his mask at whatever he finds in your eyes scrunched with pain, brow scrunching in sudden concentration.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Ghost asks you abruptly, and despite the steadiness of his voice his hand is gripping your shoulder with a sudden severity that does little to anchor you from the spinning room.

You try to focus on his skeletal fingers with little success.

“...Two? Three?” You cut yourself off with a groan, pressing a hand to your head to try and dull the pain. It’s no use. It blooms blindingly behind your eyelids, carving deep into your skull with unrelenting mercy. You feel wetness trickle over the heel of your palm, warm and red.

“Ghost…” You try, unsure of what you're pleading for. Mercy? Help? A bullet between the eyes to make it stop?

"Fix." Ghost tries again, and his shadow falls over you, dwarfing you with his size. His voice has taken on an urgent growl that misfires in the back of your thoughts because it sounds like fear. 

"How many fingers?"

You try to focus on them, the digits wavering in front of your face. You squint your eyes, but it summons a sudden, violent wave of nausea that turns your stomach upwards.

"I-I think I'm going to be sick." You manage, and double over to the side, just in time for the bile in your stomach to avoid hitting Ghost's boots.

You hear him curse, bark over the comms for med-evac, and when you try to straighten you overcorrect, fall straight off the crate and into his arms.

"Fix!"

“S-shit. Sorry.” You fumble, but do nothing to try and raise yourself up, too consumed by the red pulsing pain behind your eyelids. “Fuck. Fuck it hurts.”

You don’t like to complain. As the medic your whining only serves as a poor example. Now, however, you grant yourself the reprieve of your quickly slurring words trailing into a broken string of curses you use to distract yourself. 

“Hush.” Ghost tells you, and there’s a flash of recognition as you try and place the waver in his voice. Anger? Fear? You can’t tell. His arm cradles you against his chest, a knee braced at your back to keep you sitting upright. “Breathe through it, stay with me.”

Stay with you? You think dumbly. You’re right here, you can’t move. Where the hell are you supposed to go?

“Simon-” You try, confused, spinning, a hand grasping at the strap of his vest. It takes effort to raise your hand, and you realize with a flash of alarm that your body isn’t nearly as responsive as you think it is. “W-wait, Simon. It’s-”

You can’t find the words, but Ghost seems to understand, because he suddenly goes rigid and begins yelling into his radio with a sudden volume that makes you whimper. Whatever you try to say next is swallowed by his arms suddenly closing around you, lifting you up as the world moves around you. 

“Fix. Pet, I need you to stay awake for me.” He tells you, voice taking on a new tenderness that betrays his sincere worry. You try and nod, but even that feels like too much, so you try and stay still, try to breathe like he’s told you, even when bile boils in your stomach at the dizzying turn of the earth under you both. 

“S-sick-” You try, trying to smack at his vest to warn him, but Ghost doesn’t stop moving. You end up trying to twist away with little success, a little dribble of sickness trickling down the front of your vest. 

“You’re alrigh’.” He tells you through gritted teeth, and somehow you don’t believe him. “Stay awake, Fix. Just a little longer.”

How much longer? You think desperately, stomach rolling with the pain splitting your skull. The movement doesn’t help, merely exacerbates your violent agony that forces you into limp stillness to just try and breathe through it. 

“Si-imon…�� You whimper again in a bid for mercy. 

When Simon responds with your name, you know it’s bad. 

He shakes you a little as you go pliant in his arms, growling a reminder to stay awake that you can’t seem to heed. You try to apologize, but the words feel useless on your tongue. Darkness beckons with a sweet promise of painless unconsciousness you desperately want to cave to. 

“Don’t you fucking sleep on me.” Simon growls at you, suddenly desperate, and you try to lift a hand to his face, to reassure him it’s only a little nap. All you succeed in is loosening your grip from his vest. Your hand falls limply against you. 

“Don’t hate me for this, Si.” You think weakly as your head falls forward into your chest, and you succumb to nothingness.