࿐ Yuji Loves Seeing You Happy. Before You Guys Became Something More, He Noticed Your Extreme Stoic

Frowny Face

Summary: Nobara and Itadori try to figure out the similarities between Megumi and his son. They manage to find that the infamous Zen'in frowny face is a dominant trait.

Tags: Megumi x F!Reader, Humor, Fluff, SFW, 1200 wc

Notes: I had this drafted for weeks. After seeing the epilogue and the grandkids, wish I had posted sooner, I felt there wasn't a more appropriate time for this. Happy belated-birthday 'gumi.

“No, no, look again, he definitely has his eyes,” Itadori points out.

Nobara lowers her face towards the baby currently blinking at the two of them from the comfort of his plush crib. Megumi stands off to the side, arms loosely crossed over his chest and an increasingly spreading scowl as his two friends, if he could call them that right now, poke and prod at his kid.

Nobara was the first one to point out how much his child was growing and starting to resemble his parents before noticing that his new emerging features leaned heavily to your side of the family, leading to this search to pick out their similarities.

“I’m not seeing it,” Nobara disagrees, failing to find the hint of dark blue that Itadori swears he can see in the baby’s right pupil. To her, all she can see is black all the way through both eyes, like the majority of the Zen’in clan geezers from those centuries old family books she helped Maki trash; unfortunately, this didn't include Megumi so they couldn't even count it. With a hand on her hip, she turns to Megumi. “Sheesh, he doesn’t resemble you at all. The misses really said copy and paste, huh?”  

Megumi huffs, about three seconds away from shooing them into the kitchen where you’re making dinner. That’s until Itadori pipes up, “Sure he does.” And for a second, Megumi thinks they’ll finally drop this silly discussion. “He has the same grumpy face his dad does.”

Megumi sighs. He should’ve known better.

“Now that you mention it,” Kugisaki can barely contain her laughter as she reaches into the crib and gently pinches a chubby cheek. Your son makes no expression at her playful squeeze or poke to his belly. His tiny legs kick the same way any other baby would when tickled, but the flat line on his face refuses to budge. “This is the least smiley baby I’ve ever seen,” she concludes while Itadori nods in agreement as he goes in to tickle the baby’s foot – just to make sure.

Megumi knows the two idiots don’t mean any harm by it, being the person to receive the brunt end of their jokes and observations over his life, the kind that can only be made out of innocent obliviousness and overconfidence, but he can’t help but feel more defensive when it’s his kid.

“Do you two have nothing better to do than to shame a baby?” he gripes. “It’s late, go home.”

“Oh, lighten up, we were only teasing. He’s adorable,” Nobara dismisses as she notes how much bigger her future-partner-in-crime has become over the past few months. Looking back on it, she can’t recall any time she’s heard him laugh or much of anything. Sure, she’s seen him get fussy while babysitting, but she’s rarely heard him cry. “But you have to admit he isn’t very expressive…for a baby,” she mentions with a hint of concern, concern that isn’t needed from Megumi’s point of view.

“Maybe you two just aren’t funny,” he says, watching the way Itadori attempts to get his son to laugh by making silly faces; it results in little more than a fist full of pink hair getting tugged.

“I’m being serious. I mean…” she tilts her head, trying to word it delicately. “Does he smile at all?”

Megumi nods. “He smiles.”

“Does he?” Itadori presses, craning his neck as he struggles to free his hair.

“He does,” Megumi repeats, his eyes softening at the memory of that innocent and joyful giggle he first heard like an unimaginable dream come true. “It’s just when you’re not around.”

Nobara rubs at the back of her neck apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t mean any offense by it. He’s a good baby,” she compliments before moving to help free Itadori’s hair from his iron-like grip. “And strong too,” she adds, looks at him, and clicks her tongue when she once again fails to find the bit of blue Itadori mentioned earlier, but it provides an opportunity to cut through the awkwardness they unwittingly created. She fakes a sigh. “Unlike your genes. I don’t think they even had a battle plan.”

“Very funny,” he puffs out between their chuckles then he hears another voice coming from the direction of the kitchen.

“That’s not true,” you say as you pad into the room with a milk bottle in hand, the grin on your face trembling as you try not to laugh with them. “They have a lot in common.” You begin to list off on your fingers. “They both like the same fruit and animals, he really likes books when you read to him, and do you think his hair maintains itself?”

Nobara breathes out an "oh" at your explanation. “So, he gets mom's good looks to balance out dad's aloof personality? Makes sense."

Your resistance breaks as you let out a giggle, ignoring the pout on your husband’s face. “Are you guys staying for dinner?”

“No, we should really get going,” Nobara states with a small yawn. “Mission reports won’t write themselves.”

You nod, handing Megumi the bottle of milk as you walk the others to the door and wave them off.

“Have a good night,” Itadori calls out while Nobara makes you promise to phone her tomorrow and to come hang out if you’re free.

Locking the door, you walk back in and head towards the crib.

“You really shouldn’t entertain them when they get like that," Megumi reminds you.

“You know they only do it to mess with you. It’s how they show they like you.”

“You mean they’re idiots.”

“Yet you open the door right up every time they come over.”

Megumi gives you a doubtful look. “Not by choice. It’d be like trying to stop a rampaging bull from barging in,” Megumi states, and you let out an amused huff. 

No matter how much he complains and comments that they haven't changed one bit after leaving school, he enjoys them. You remember how excited he seemed when Itadori called to ask if it was okay to pop in since they were nearby. Well, excited in that he immediately started to straighten out the house even though he had already cleaned earlier that morning. It's cute little quirks that often gives him away and the ones that make you like him even more.

“If it makes you feel better, I think you have a great personality and good looks,” you compliment with a brush of your hand over his hair. You look down at your son, who still seem unmoved by all the events of the evening. It makes you laugh because Nobara and Itadori were right. Your son does have Megumi’s ever-dull facial expression. 

“And both my boys have the cutest frowny faces,” you say, holding up your son to your face to nuzzle his nose. As you pull him away, your eyes brighten at the wide smile that flashes on his face followed by a warm giggle. “Hello to you too,” you coo and cuddle him again, causing another fit of giggles to fill the room, and the sound resonates in his chest and makes him forget any problems that arose on the way to getting to this point in his life.

“You forgot to tell them one thing,” Megumi says, coming forward to kiss your temple. As he told the others, his son does smile, and Megumi does too. “They both smile when they see mommy.”

The JJK men want YOU to wear their jersey

Tags: JJK men x fem!Reader, college au, sports au, mostly fluff and/or crack, suggestive only on Toji’s (nasty bitch), itafushi makes an appearance

An: This has been heavy on my brain recently 🙂‍↕️ Also, I don’t know if this concept is only in like my area, but basically, the concept is that on game days, a common thing for highschool/college players to do is to wear their jersey to class, and their sweetheart wears their home/away jersey. it’s just a cute thing to show support. Another thing, I know Kamo is not Choso’s last name, and I know Sukuna is not Sukuna’s last name. Sukuna might not even be Sukuna’s name at all. idk and idc. this is a no curse au anyways so who cares! let me know if i should do more sports au :)

Incl - Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Choso, Toji, Sukuna

SATORU

Girls will literally hunt Satoru down to get his jersey from him, and if you were the lucky girl who got to wear the jersey of the star quarterback… you either became instantly popular, or every girl in the university wanted to kill you.

“I’m sorry, ladies. I already have someone in mind.” Satoru flashed a grin towards the crowd of girls surrounding his seat. Disappointed sighs and whines emitted from the group as they slowly dissipated from his desk.

Satoru couldn’t care less. They could be mad at him if they wanted to. They were no where near as special as the girl he had his eyes set on.

Class had yet to start, and Satoru was growing tired of just staring at the back of your head. He finally got up, and he slumped down in the chair next to you.

“Is this seat taken?” He asked with a bright smile. He hadn’t interacted with you much, but he always had his eye on you. You were the one of the few girls who didn’t dumb down their intelligence for him to make themselves more appealing.

“It’s not.” You replied shortly. You weren’t rude, just incredibly matter-of-fact.

“Wanna make a bet with me?” Satoru asked as he tried to catch your eyes from your book. He was really pining for your attention, and you wouldn’t pass him a second glance.

“Not really.” You replied, not looking up from your book.

“I bet the professor will be twenty minutes late.” Satoru went on anyways, not taking your rejection to heart.

“Hmm. Doubtful. He’s normally prompt.” You say finally looking up at Satoru, which causes him to flash an easy smile. He’s happy to have your attention — now he wants to keep it.

“If he isn’t here within the next twenty minutes, you have to wear my jersey today and every game day for the rest of the season. If he makes it here before twenty minutes is up, I’ll buy you as many books as you can carry.” Satoru proposes as he taps on your book with a cheeky grin.

You think for a moment… all the books you can carry?? “Deal.” You say with a smile, offering your hand to him to shake on it — thinking you just easily won yourself a free shopping spree. Satoru takes your hand, and he gently shakes it before bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

He’s already won.

Satoru knows that you’ll be wearing his jersey today, and you’ll wear his colors for the rest of the season. He’ll make more bets… win you over slowly with false bets. Oh, he’ll buy you all those books you want too just because he can.

He’s already set Geto in motion to go run into your professor with large cups of coffees in his hand. Your professor ended up cancelling class after being 25 minutes late.

When the group of girls sees you with “GOJO” written on the back of your jersey, their faces contort in utter disdain, but Satoru looks at it with a shit-eating grin on his face. He won.

SUGURU

Suguru really didn’t get the thing about giving a girl his jersey on game days. Basketball season is pretty ruthless. While football teams only have 12 games in a season, basketball teams play over 30. That’s 30 days in one season that he’d have to find a girl that he gave enough of a shit about to give his jersey to? No thanks.

Of course, if he had a girlfriend it wouldn’t be too big of a deal, but the whole attitude around giving a girl your jersey was just something Suguru didn’t subscribe to.

Well, he didn’t think he subscribed to it until he saw one of his teammates offering you their jersey.

Maybe on a more psychological level, this was territory marking, and Suguru would be damned if he sat back and let another man mark you as their territory.

Even though he’s not proud of it, Suguru immediately marched straight up to you and his teammate with his away jersey thrown over his shoulder. He placed his hand firmly on the small of your back, and he gave his teammate a piercing look with his violet eyes. His lips curled into an easy smirk.

“Sorry man, she’s already agreed to wear my jersey today, isn’t that right angel?” He asked in such a condescending tone, and his fingertips dig into your skin with just enough pressure to make your face flush.

Luckily for Suguru, you were into it — and not his teammate. “Yeah, sorry. I almost forgot.” You agree, giving his teammate an empathetic smile.

So no, Suguru doesn’t get the idea of giving his jersey to a girl on game days, but he does get the idea of giving you his jersey. He loves how he towers behind you in the halls, seeing the name “GETO” written on your back with his number. He loves remembering the way you easily went along with his plan. You just fit him.

NANAMI

Nanami doesn’t need antics to get you to wear his baseball jersey.

Plenty of girls pine for Kento. Who wouldn’t? He was the leading star of the baseball team… who’s ass just so happened to look so good in those white tight-fitting pants.

Your college certainly played into it, giving Nanami the big screen when he takes off his helmet and shakes out his messy blonde hair that a bit damp from sweat. His cheeks are smeared with his eye black smeared on his cheeks (the charcoal black lines that athletes sometimes have).

They knew what they were doing when the yearbook crew took professional level pictures of Nanami looking absolutely jaw-dropping while delivering the nastiest pitch.

He was like eye candy that enticed a bunch of girls to buy tickets to the baseball games, and dammit, it worked.

Despite his celebrity status at the school, Kento didn’t act above anyone else. He didn’t flaunt money or act posh and sophisticated like a lot of the wannabes did at your university.

He was down to earth, smart, caring, and humorous to the right group of people (the dry humor enjoyers). Kento was the type of man to be able to reject someone without them even feeling rejected, which he did a lot when girls would ask for his jersey.

You often came to baseball games to watch (to watch nanami lets bffr), but you weren’t bold enough to ask Kento for his jersey on game days. You had witness girls before you, pilgriming the way to Nanami before they turn back empty handed. You couldn’t risk the heartache.

It wasn’t until one day after class you and Kento were the only two still packing up after a lecture, he casually strolled to your desk. “Will you be at the game tonight?” He asked with a genuine air of curiosity to him. This wasn’t awkward forced conversation because you two were the only two people in a room together.

You hadn’t even known that Nanami noticed you, much less noticed your attendance at games. You could feel your heart start to thud obscenely loud in your chest as you came to terms that you’re not invisible in Kento’s life.

“Yeah, I think I’ll show up…” You try your hardest to sound casual, but you just sound terribly nervous.

“I’ll look forward to seeing you.” He said politely before he reached into his bag and pulled out his spare jersey. “Hopefully wearing this..?”

Your eyes widen as you realize he was offering his jersey to you. “That- are you sure? Me?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” He gives an honest laugh. His multimillion dollar smile makes you swoon, and he hands his jersey out again. “You should put it on now. That’s the tradition, right?”

You slowly slip the jersey on over your long-sleeved white top, and it definitely hangs loosely on you, but with a few tucks and adjustments, it finally sits on your body appropriately.

“It looks good on you. I’ll see you tonight.” Kento smiles before leaving the classroom.

You had never gotten more shocked stares than when girls saw you with “NANAMI” printed across your back.

CHOSO

“Hey Yuji, why does Megumi wear your jersey on game days?” Choso asked his teammate as he sat down on the bench in the locker room.

He had seen quite a few people - guys and girls who weren’t on the basketball team wearing the jerseys of his teammates, but he didn’t understand it. He figured he’d ask the one teammate who he considered to be more of a brother to explain.

“Because I make him.” Yuji laughed as he dried his pink hair off from the shower. It was a pretty brutal practice, even Choso’s raven hair was down, messy from sweat.

Choso furrowed his eyebrows. “Why would you do that-? I thought you liked him.”

Yuji laughed even harder as Choso clearly didn’t understand the dynamic he had with Megumi. He also clearly didn’t understand the concept behind giving someone his jersey.

“I do like him, so I like seeing him wearing my jersey on game days. I think he looks good in it too, even if he pretends to hate it. I know he likes showing his support.” Yuji explained, but he went on, “People give their jerseys to someone they like. It’s like a courting gift, and it lets everyone know your intentions with that person.”

Choso nodded as he began to understand. He should give his jersey to someone he liked - to someone he wanted to court, and his intentions would be made known.

That’s how shy, timid Choso ended up at your dorm door late one evening. After much encouragement and convincing from Yuji, he finally gave your door a soft knock, and Yuji ran around the corner to hide.

When you opened the door, looking at Choso with those big pretty eyes, he completely clammed up and forgot the mental script he had prepared about how he really liked you, and it’d mean a lot to him if you wore his jersey.

Instead, “I want my intentions known.” He nearly shouted as he gestured his jersey to you.

Yuji facepalmed around the corner.

You blinked a few times, looking down at the jersey then back up to him. He was lucky that you’re very good at filling in the blanks. “You want me to wear your jersey, Cho?” You asked with a small laugh before taking the jersey from his hands.

His cheeks were flushed, and he gave you an awkward smile before nodding his head vigorously. “And uh.. I want to court you.” He finally added all in one breath.

To Choso’s delight, you agreed, and now, he finally understands the real reasoning behind giving his jersey to someone he likes because seeing “KAMO” on your back makes him feel all dizzy with love and adoration.

TOJI

It started off as a small prank amongst girls. A prank that really pissed Toji off. A group of girls decided it would be cute to steal Toji’s spare hockey jersey and wear it without his knowledge.

When Toji saw one of the girls wearing his stolen jersey with his appalling last name printed on the back, he was livid.

Needless to say, he got his jersey back, and the girl couldn’t even look him in the eye after that whole experience.

He hated his jersey. He hated how his last name was on the back, and he hated how anyone else would want to wear it.

He couldn’t just get rid of his spare jersey. Then, he’d owe the school even more than what he already owes them. He couldn’t trust to keep it in his dorm because he didn’t put it past those bitches to try to sneak into his dorm to get their filthy hands on it. That was when he had a genius idea.

“Wear my jersey.” His gruff voice demanded as he dropped the fabric on the table in front of you, his too responsible friend.

“No, it probably stinks.” You pushed the jersey aside, trying to focus on the homework in front of you.

“Nah. It smells like the last bitch who stole it.” He remarked as he plopped down in a chair in front of your desk.

“Even worse.” You respond back unamused, still not giving Toji the time of day.

“Do you remember who hunted down the fuck who stole your headphones?”

You sighed, finally looking up at Toji to show that you were paying attention. “Why do you think me wearing your jersey will deter them?”

“Maybe they’ll think you’re my girl and piss off for a while. I don’t know, but if I see another preppy bitch wearing it without my knowledge, I’m going to burn it.” Toji’s voice sounded stressed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“And you don’t mind them thinking that?” You inquire, raising your eyebrow.

“Doll, you know I’ve spent the last three years trying to get you to hop on my-“

“Eughhh, give it.” You interrupt Toji before he can go into any further detail, snatching his jersey up and putting it on over your clothes. “There. Happy?”

Toji didn’t expect to have such a reaction to seeing you in his jersey. He knew he was serious about liking you, no matter how much you liked to believe that he didn’t actually like you, but seeing you in his jersey — the way it swallowed you whole. He figured he’d still hate seeing his last name on you, but there was something satiating those deep primal urges when he caught a glimpse of “ZENIN” across your back.

SUKUNA

Sukuna is much comparable to a dragon. He sees something pretty and shiny (you): he wants it all for himself. He wants to hoard treasure (you) to keep, and he definitely does not like the idea of anyone else looking or touching his treasure.

So, how does he keep wandering eyes off his treasure? He cloaks her in his favor, making her brandish his last name on her back along with his number. Yes, Sukuna demanded for you to wear his football jersey.

There was just enough satisfaction of seeing you walk around campus with “SUKUNA” written on your back that kept him from trying to hoard you in his room.

Oh, he’s also like a dragon in the sense that he’s absolutely devastating out on the field.

“say ‘i’m the man!’”

eren’s voice carries down the hall, boisterous and loud as it easily reaches every corner of your small one bedroom apartment.

you furrow your brows and glance in the general direction of the sound, but decide to ignore it and continue on with breakfast—gathering a dollop of strawberry jam on your knife before spreading it onto a piece of toast.

you’d rather not know what the two of them are up to, eren and your two year old son that is. he’s supposed to be getting the kid ready for the day, but whether or not that’s actually happening is a different story.

“i’m da man!” his little voice repeats the sentence—not quite as powerful as his dad, but still loud enough to find your ears.

“louder!” eren shouts, and you immediately drop what you’re doing to head towards them.

your slippers scuff against the floor as you shuffle down the hall, following the source of sound until it leads you just outside the bathroom door. you nudge it with your foot, causing it to creep open and reveal the duo—your son, who’s standing on the counter, and eren, who—at the very least, is holding onto him.

“hi,” eren grins, prompting his mini me to do the same. you note the atrocious man bun, well, little man bun your son is sporting—hair haphazardly pulled together at the back of his head.

eren gestures to him, pride flooding his features as he mumbles, “he’s the man.”

“oh yeah?” a smile tugs at your own lips—every ounce of authority you waltzed over here with threatening to vanish into thin air as you look at your little family. nevertheless, someone has to enforce the rules around here. “well, tell the man that if he doesn’t keep it down, he’s not getting any chocolate milk with his breakfast.”

the two of them exchange a glance, an identical look of concern—real and genuine from your son, dramatic and over the top from your fiancé.

“should we go eat?” eren whispers to him, naively expecting him to follow in his footsteps again.

“yeah!” your son yells, excitement filling his eyes at the mention of his all time favourite beverage. he sets a new record every time he chugs a glass, and always gets a kick out of the little moustache he gets afterwards—loving that he looks like dad.

“buddy,” eren laughs as he lightly cups a hand over the toddler’s mouth. “shhh, quiet okay? you heard the boss, no chocolate milk if you yell.”

your son puts his hand over his own mouth and nods his head, prompting eren to lift him onto the floor and send him scurrying off into the kitchen—little feet padding against the hardwood.

“what the hell?” you say, keeping your voice low to ensure your baby doesn’t hear. “it’s 8 o’clock in the morning, why are you shouting?”

“hey, i’m instilling confidence in him,” he pouts, having heard you mention something along those lines once or twice—about how important it is for him to be proud of who he is.

“eren,” you sigh, because you know he means well—he wants nothing but the absolute best for your son too, which is why he more or less lets him do as he pleases.

he encourages him to jump around and dance to his favourite songs, and doesn’t care that he gets marker all over his face when he colours. he’ll give him bear paws before dinner, and hold his hand as the two of them run and giggle down the halls of your apartment building, because they’re just so happy to come home and see you after a trip to the grocery store.

eren lets your kid be a kid, and while that might put a scowl on the face of those around you, all that matters is that your son is always smiling.

“i know, just,” you pause, searching for the right words—the ones that won’t paint you as the bad cop you feel you’re being. though, you look into eren’s eyes, and see nothing but the purest love and adoration overflowing from his pupils, and you know—he thinks you’re doing perfect. “just, wait until after ten at least, okay? that old couple next door already has us on their shit list.”

“course, ‘m sorry baby,” he hums—cupping your cheek with a grin that’s a little too smug and out of place to be there right now. “but you know, you got us on that list, not him.”

“me?” you tilt your head, racking your brain for a time in which you might’ve pissed them off. did you forget to hold the door open? shit.

“mhmm,” he hums, moving his hand to the back of your head to hold you flush against him, and you look adorable—in the reflection of the mirror, with your little thinking face on and your cheek squished against him. he almost feels guilty.

“what did i—”

“nghhh eren, that feels soooo good,” he moans, quiet and sultry—changing the pitch of his voice slightly in an attempt to mimic your own.

“eren!” you gasp, planting your palms flat on his chest to push him away. “shut up, you’re the only reason i sound like that.”

“damn right,” he grins, pulling you right back in for a messy kiss—hands sneaking underneath your shirt and travelling up your—

crash.

“oh no,” you mumble, peeling yourself away from him once more. your son—who’s been alone and suspiciously quiet for the last five minutes, is now doing god knows what in the kitchen. “go check on your satan spawn, would you?”

“hey,” he frowns, swiftly backing out of the room and towards the noise, but not without putting on a quick smile to clarify, “our satan spawn.”

you roll your eyes, but still feel the corners of your lips tug upwards. eren is far from perfect, but he’s pretty good at keeping a smile on your face too.

Geto: so, how's motherhood treating you?

Y/N : Oh it's wonderful, I just didn't expect there to be this much crying

Geto: I mean, that's what babies are supposed to do ...

Y/N: what? Oh! No the baby is perfect! I was talking about satoru..

Gojo: (looking at their baby, sobbing uncontrollably) I JUST LOVE YOU SO MUCHHH !!!!

When the moon fades, the stars guide

Part 1

Part two of "How does a moon lose its shine?"

Summary: When the chaos went down, what led up to it? And what will happen next in the dark, metal casements of the Tulpar?

Pairing: Father figure! Swansea x reader

a/n: ask and you shall receive~ thanks for y'all's patience!!

Trigger warning: Depictions of sexual abuse and violence. There are no explicit scenes of the rape itself but the trauma and experience of y/n is very much described. Please take care of yourselves while reading <3<3

Day of Departure

The Tulpar’s engines hummed steadily, a sound you came to think of as the freighter’s heartbeat. Three years on this ship, and it started to feel like a second skin at this point. But still, every haul gives you that faint, familiar buzz of excitement, like the thrill of stepping into something bigger than yourself. Responsibility.

You leaned against the inventory console, triple-checking your clipboard. Rows of numbers and codes blurred together, but the satisfaction of seeing everything in order made the strain worth it.

"So, you’re the famous Y/N," a voice chirped behind you.

You turned to find Daisuke, the new mechanic intern that Curly told the crew about. He looked barely out of his teens, his uniform covered with a bright yellow hawaian-patterned shirt that he somehow managed to smuggle and had a grin a little too wide. Newbie's buzz, you thought.

"And you’re the new grease monkey," you teased, extending a hand.

"Mechanic-in-training," he corrected, shaking your hand with exaggerated seriousness. "Big difference."

Swansea scoffed from the other side of the utility room, tinkering away with a coolant valve. "Big talk for a kid who just learned what a carburetor is."

"I thought it was a coffee maker for cars," Daisuke mumbled to you, pouting.

Biting back a laugh, you shot Swansea a grin that practically dared him to roll his eyes. He didn’t disappoint.

Jimmy entered the room, clipboard in hand. His presence had always been grounding, his confidence infectious. He nodded at you as he passed. "Inventory’s in good hands, as usual."

"As if you’d trust anyone else," you replied, your tone light but your chest warming at the compliment. He smirked, tapping the clipboard.

The ship’s intercom crackled to life. "Alright, folks," Curly’s voice boomed. "Buckle up, we're launching at five."

Your hand froze on the console. No matter how many times you’d done this, the Tulpar's jump during the launch always lit something in you. The co-pilot once commented how you're like a puppy with a treat dangling in front of you.

As a kid, you’d been obsessed with the idea of outer space. Not in a “memorizing star charts” kind of way, but in a way where you just admired them every night that you gazed at the night sky.

Whenever you see pictures of galaxies, stars, or any heavenly body, it was like looking at something familiar, something that made sense to you. The outer space wasn’t just an escape; it was home.

Anya appeared at your side, her medical bag slung over one shoulder. She flashed a small smile, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Let me guess," she said, her voice relaxed. "Gonna watch the Earth fade away again, huh?"

"Every. Damn. Time." You nudged her playfully, earning a laugh.

"Swansea's really rubbing on you with those words."

When the Tulpar lurched, you gripped the edge of the console, your gaze already flicking toward the viewport. For a moment, the universe stretched out in every direction, infinite and vast. You couldn’t help the grin on your face.

Out here, it all felt right. The stars, the ship, the crew… they all came together in a way that felt as natural as breathing. For now, at least, you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

One Month After the Crash

When you thought things were about to get better the night you broke down, helpless, at the lounge... you were desperately wrong. Somehow, the man who betrayed you, the monster you treated as a friend, a mentor—hell, even family—claimed Curly's title and is set loose.

And now? You were cowering at the corner of the utility room, covering your ears as the voices outside grew louder with every passing minute. Funny how one voice made you gag and the other made you feel secure.

“Come on, Swansea. I told you, I’m not gonna hurt Y/N, alrig—”

“If you’ve got a death wish,” Swansea’s voice, low and bristling, cut through the tension. “Keep yappin’.”

It had been a month. A month of watching your back. A month of slipping between rooms, dodging Jimmy’s shadow, a sick game you were forced to play with him. But it was also a month of being under the mechanic’s wing, always having him or Daisuke by your side when checking inventories, because almost facing your deaths just days ago wasn’t enough reason to stop your job. Or being in the locked medbay with Anya when both your guards were busy.

“Look, I just wanna make things right,” Jimmy said, his tone too smooth, too practiced. “Curly’s out of commission, and now, as captain, it’s my job to take responsibility for what I’ve done.”

For a second, your stomach twisted at the pause. Would Swansea actually believe him? Could he? You strained to hear the older man’s reply, then there it was.

It started weak, the soft wheezing sounds went through the metal wall. It grew louder, rougher, until it was a full-blown, bitter laugh that rattled the air. Guilt filled your chest—why would you even ever doubt him after all he's done?

"What a fuckin' joke. Know what? If yer that desperate to play captain, wanna tell me how the ol' Tulpar really crashed?"

Silence. Not even a breath from Jimmy. Then, heavy, angry stomps faded down the hall.

For a solid ten minutes, you stayed frozen, your pulse loud in your ears. The air in the utility room felt thick, clinging to your skin. Then the door hissed open.

“That roach’s got some nerve,” Swansea muttered, stepping inside. His face was carved with exhaustion, but his sharp eyes softened when he met yours. He offered a tired smile, and you returned it, grateful.

"You shouldn’t be out here," Swansea grumbled, his eyes scanning the corridor as he steered you back toward the medbay.

"I’m fine." You tried evading him, but given his bouncer-like body, he placed a hand on your shoulder.

"Sure, and I’m the swan princess from that pink doll kid's show."

The Tulpar floated through infinite space, a shell of its former self. It wasn’t one of those massive freighters like the newer ones Pony Express had, but a running old freighter is infinitely better than a broken old freighter. Supplies were low, tensions were high, and the Tulpar's once-familiar corridors felt more like a prison than home.

When the asteroid hit, or so Jimmy claimed, Curly had supposedly saved everyone by making a split-second turn to minimize the impact. It was a story that gave the crew a shred of hope, something to hold on to.

But cracks already started to form in Jimmy’s tale. The damage didn’t match the trajectory of any known asteroid paths. The ship’s logs were corrupted, erasing any evidence of what really happened.

It wasn't farfetched to believe that Jimmy didn't stay put at his quarters when the crash happened.

Swansea has his suspicions. So did you. But neither of you said it out loud. The truth was a dangerous thing aboard the Tulpar now, fragile and very explosive, just waiting for the right moment to destroy whatever was left.

"Kid," Swansea’s voice broke through your thoughts. You hummed, "Don’t go doin’ that thing where you stare off into space like a lost puppy."

You managed a weak smile. "Can’t help it. Space is kinda my thing."

He snorted, but his eye-roll was absent. He didn’t let you go until he was sure you were back in the medbay, under Anya’s watchful eye and the door's lock.

2 Months before the Crash

Jimmy’s compliments had always felt harmless. You were used to his jokes, his easy smiles, and the way he called you "kid". It was comforting, in a way - until recently.

"Nice shirt," he said one day, leaning casually against the inventory shelves as you logged spare parts into the system.

You glanced down at your standard-issue disgustingly yellow t-shirt, streaked with dust and grease from helping Swansea earlier. "Uh, thanks? Didn’t know grease-stained chic was trending."

He laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "You pull it off, though."

You gave him a half-smile, feeling like the co-pilot has something more to say than he's letting on. His tone felt... heavier. You chalked it up to overthinking and turned back to your work. Jimmy was your friend, someone you’d always trusted.

But somehow, the comments became more frequent, more pointed. A hand on your shoulder lingered too long. Always looking at you when he laughs.

The next time it happened, you were helping the mechanic in the engine room. You crouched next to him, handing over tools as he muttered under his breath about "cheap replacement parts." The rhythmic clank of the wrench echoed in the space while Daisuke watched because the last time he helped replace something, he had to receive 3 stitches from Anya.

"Careful not to scratch the paint off," you teased, smirking.

Swansea snorted, rolling his eyes. "Look who's talkin', Ms. 'I-can-make-any room-look-like-a-fukin' junkyard' with all the shit you leave laying around."

"Ha! Boss' got you there Y/N!" You poked your tongue out at the intern.

Swansea gave you a sideways glance, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You wanna talk about paint? Maybe start by remembering where you put all yer inventory sheets before I have to staple ‘em to yer forehead."

You laughed, wiping your hands on your coveralls, when Jimmy walked in. His gaze lingered too long as he leaned against the doorway.

"Got the inventory finished?" he asked, his voice casual.

"Mostly," you said. "Swansea needed a hand, so I figured I’d multitask."

Jimmy’s eyes narrowed briefly, just a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place. His smile returned, too quick to feel natural. "You’re a real team player, kid."

Swansea grunted in agreement, not looking up. "She’s handy, I’ll give her that. Saved me a headache with these damn filters."

"Hey! I'm here, to--"

"Tell me what happened to yer forehead with just a screwdriver, boy." That seemed to silence Daisuke up.

Jimmy’s jaw tightened, his hand gripping the edge of the doorframe, though he quickly masked it with a chuckle. "Better not let her show you up, old man."

"Not a chance," Swansea shot back, oblivious to the tension.

But you felt it. The way Jimmy’s smile didn’t match his eyes, the way his presence filled the room like static. Something about it was off. You wanted to brush it aside, but the feeling lingered.

Later, in the lounge, Curly tossed you a cup of coffee. "Heard you’ve been pulling double duty with the inventory and the utility. You gunning for my job or what?"

You smirked, shaking your head. "Dream bigger, Curly. I’m aiming for Swansea’s."

Curly laughed, but his attention shifted behind you for a moment. You glanced over your shoulder to see Jimmy standing in the doorway again, watching. His posture was casual, but his knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the counter.

When you turned back, Curly raised an eyebrow. "Jimmy’s been hovering a lot lately. You notice that?"

You shrugged, trying to sound casual. "He’s probably just bored."

But deep down, you weren’t so sure. You sipped your coffee, forcing a laugh. "One more compliment from him? I’m charging him rent."

Curly chuckled, but his smile faded slightly as he glanced at Jimmy again. "You should tell him that. See what he says."

You smiled weakly, staring into your coffee as the unease settled in your chest.

One Month Before the Crash

Jimmy’s words echoed in your ears, wrapping around your thoughts like a noose.

"I don’t want to hurt you," he said, his voice trembling, his breath uneven. "But I can’t stop thinking about you."

You remembered the way his hands shook, how his eyes flitted between you and the walls, never meeting yours. He looked like he wanted to convince himself as much as you. But it wasn’t the shaking or his words that lingered in your mind, it was the suffocating fear, the way the air in the room thickened, pressing down on your chest until you couldn’t breathe.

You fought back, kicked, punched, scratched, used everything in your disposal, but it wasn't enough.

In that moment, the world felt unrecognizable. The Jimmy you looked up to, trusted, and even laughed with, was gone. Or maybe he had never been real.

And you felt something within you... break.

You didn’t cry. Not then. The betrayal was too sharp, cutting through your chest like shards of glass. You couldn’t feel anything but the raw, jagged edges of shock and pain. It was never-ending, it was unforgiving.

Later, when it was over and the room was silent again, you sat on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the dull metal wall. The memories replayed in your head, over and over, a loop you couldn’t escape.

"Why didn’t I stop him?"

"Why didn’t I fight harder?"

"Why didn’t I say something?"

The questions bit you, each one sinking its sharp fangs deeper into your guilt, into your body, mind, and soul.

Jimmy’s voice broke through the haze of your thoughts. You remembered how he sat across from you, his voice low and soft, as though he were the one wounded.

"I didn’t mean for it to go like this," he’d said, his tone almost pleading. "You don’t have to hate me, you know? I care about you. I just… I just couldn’t hold it in anymore."

Each word sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you. The confusion was unbearable. Was he sorry? Or was this another lie? Another betrayal? It didn’t matter. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him or yourself anymore.

And from that night on, everything you loved about your life on the ship, the crew, the stars outside your window, even your own reflection, felt like it died.

You went through the days like a ghost. Your laughter was gone, replaced by silence. Meals went untouched. The inventory, your pride and responsibility, piled up unchecked.

The crew noticed. How Swansea’s gruff teasing didn’t make you laugh anymore. How Daisuke’s bad jokes only entered your ear and exited the other. And every time Jimmy walked into the room, your body froze, your skin crawling as though his gaze alone could trap you again.

Anya, however, never pried. She saw through the silence, the robotic movements, the emptiness in your eyes.

One evening, she's nursing you. You sat on the cot, staring at the floor, your hands limp in your lap. You passed out from hunger earlier and Dasiuke had to carry you to the medbay, sweating and frantically assuring himself more than anyone through panicked mumbles.

She approached quietly, a tray of tea and biscuits in hand. "Y/N," she said softly, placing the tray beside you.

You didn’t respond.

Anya pulled up a chair and sat down across from you, her gaze steady. "You have to eat."

"I’m not hungry," you murmured, your voice flat.

She didn’t push. Instead, she reached out, her hand resting gently on your arm. Her warmth cut through the cold numbness you’d wrapped yourself in.

"You know, it’s okay to feel like this," she said quietly. Her tone wasn’t pitying, just kind. "But you don’t have to do it alone."

You didn’t react. You couldn’t. Her words were like waves breaking against a stone, unable to reach its core.

Anya stayed with you anyway. She talked softly, about nothing in particular, old stories, small jokes, telling you how Daisuke stole Swansea's snacks and having to say I'm sorry for a hundred times as punishment. She didn’t expect you to respond. She was simply there, filling the silence with her presence.

Even when you retreated deeper into yourself, Anya never gave up. She left food by your workstation, tidied your quarters when you weren’t looking, and covered for you when Curly asked too many questions.

One night, as Anya walked you back to your quarters, she stopped just outside your door. Her voice, usually gentle, held a weight you hadn’t heard before.

"Y/N," she began carefully, "I’ve been where you are."

Your steps faltered. The numbness you carried didn’t lift, but her words sent a faint ripple through the sea of numbess. You kept your gaze fixed on the floor, your hand tightening on the doorknob.

"I know what Jimmy did to you," she continued softly.

The air in the hallway felt suddenly heavy. Anya hesitated, then added, "It happened to me too. Weeks ago."

The words were like a thunderclap in your mind, sharp and deafening. You turned to her, your eyes wide with disbelief.

"You knew?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, raw and cracking. Anya went through the same thing yet here she is, stronger than you, caring for you. Your stomach churned in guilt. "You—why didn’t you tell anyone? Tell me?"

Anya’s expression didn’t falter, but her shoulders tensed as though she’d been bracing for this. "I told Curly," she admitted, her voice quiet but steady. "But… nothing changed."

Nothing changed.

The words hit like a sledgehammer, shattering the fragile threads of hope you’d been clinging to. Your chest tightened as anger and despair fought for control.

"You told him," you whispered, the words trembling with a pain that reached far deeper than you’d let anyone see.

Anya didn’t look away. She didn’t try to explain or justify it. "I thought it would help," she said, her tone even. "I thought it would stop."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, sharp and hollow. "And now it’s my turn, right? Cap kept quiet and hoped it wouldn’t happen again?"

"Y/N--"

"Now what, Anya?" You snapped, your voice rising despite the lump in your throat. "What was the point of telling him if it didn’t change anything? He was supposed to be the captain, he was supposed to protect his crew. And no it didn’t stop tha--"

Your words broke off as your breath hitched. The weight of it all, Jimmy’s betrayal, Curly’s silence, Anya’s quiet endurance, crashed down on you like a tidal wave.

Anya reached out, her hand brushing against your arm, but you pulled away.

"I can’t—" you choked out, shaking your head as tears blurred your vision. "Sorry Anya, can I be alone for a moment? Please, don't look for me."

The hallway felt too small, the air too thick. You stumbled back, your legs moving on instinct as you fled toward the lounge, where the empty silence swallowed you whole.

This was where it all unravelled like a predator ripping meats of its prey piece by agonizing piece.

The knife in your trembling hand, the memories replaying in your mind, the feeling of the world collapsing around you, all of it led back to this moment. To the truth you could no longer ignore.

The one person you thought could protect you knows - and he did nothing.

Two Months After the Crash

The cargo bay was dimly lit, the faint hum of the ship's remaining systems filling the silence.

Jimmy had been relentless over the past week, pestering Swansea to let him talk to you about the cargo. Why? Well unlike any other facilities of the freighter that's unlocked by codes visible through the Captain's flashlight, the cargo bay can only be unlocked by a code held by two crewmembers - the captain and inventory officer. Obviously, with Curly laying helpless in the medbay, Jimmy only had one person left to disturb. And the man grabbed the opportunity to talk to you again.

Exhausted, that’s what you were. Tired of Jimmy's persistence, of how he kept shifting from casual then cutting sharper the next. And all these bugging went straight to Swansea. As much as you didn’t want to give the bastard the satisfaction, you knew there was no way around it - you gave in, but not for Jimmy. You did it for the mechanic.

“Are you sure about this?” Swansea asked earlier, his voice low but heavy. The lines on his face deepened as he watched you wrestle with the decision.

You nodded, though your stomach twisted at the thought. “Jimmy’s not going to stop bugging you about it, and you’ve got enough on your plate. I’ll deal with him.”

The mechanic grumbled something under his breath, shaking his head. “I don’t like it. You shouldn’t have to deal with him at all.”

“I know,” you’d said softly. “But he’s not going to stop. And… I’ll have you and Daisuke with me. It’ll be fine.”

Swansea did not looked convinced, but he eventually relented, only after you promised he could stay nearby, just in case.

Now, standing in front of the cargo bay's doors with Jimmy pacing in front of you, you were keenly aware of Swansea’s presence by the door. A silent guard, his watchful eyes never leaving the co-pilot. Daisuke was at your side, arms crossed and radiating quiet protectiveness, like a little brother who didn’t care how big a fight he might have to pick if it meant keeping you safe.

Jimmy, oblivious or indifferent to the tension, took a step forward, his movements quick but not careless. “Y/N, I know you’ve been keeping tabs on the cargo. But it’s been two months. We need to know what’s in there. It could help us—”

“It won’t,” you interrupted, your voice steady but firm. “I’ve told you before, Jimmy. It’s nothing important. We'll just waste our time."

Jimmy’s jaw tightened. “Leave that up to me to decide whether what's in there is important or not."

Swansea cursed under his breath and your lips pressed in a thin line, but the man's gaze didn’t waver.

Daisuke took a step forward. “She’s not wrong. Y/N wouldn’t hide anything if it could help. She knows what she’s doing, Jimmy.”

Jimmy scoffed. “I’m just saying—if there’s even a chance, we should check. We’re running out of options here.”

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “Fine,” you said, exasperated. “You want to see it so badly? Go ahead. Open it. But when you'll find out I’m right, I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

Daisuke frowned but didn’t say anything, glancing at you like he wanted to intervene but knew better than to push. Instead, he stepped closer to your side, his quiet presence grounding you.

Jimmy’s shoulders relaxed slightly, as though he’d won some kind of victory. “Thanks, the code?” he muttered, moving toward the cargo bay doors. Swansea was already there, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, his sharp gaze locked on Jimmy.

“She said yes,” Jimmy said defensively as he approached, but Swansea didn’t move.

“She shouldn’t have to,” Swansea muttered under his breath, stepping aside only when you gave him a small nod.

"4517" The pad beeped with each number you tell him. The entrance hissed open, like a dragon waking up from its deep slumber.

The cargo bay was dim, the rows of hundreds of boxes towered over all of you. You followed Jimmy inside, Daisuke sticking close to you while Swansea lingered by the door.

The co-pilot walked straight to the nearest box, his movements quick and eager. “Let’s see what’s so ‘unimportant,’” he muttered.

As the box was pried open, the sharp, clinical smell hit instantly.

Mouthwash.

Jimmy froze, staring down at the neatly packed bottles as if they might suddenly transform into something else. Daisuke peered over his shoulder, his eyebrows raising. “Huh. Well, that’s… useful,” he said.

Jimmy’s face burned as he looked back at you. “This is it? You’re telling me this is all we’ve been hauling?”

“I told you. Nothing important. But you couldn’t take my word for it, could you? You know what's funny, Jimmy?" You balled your hands on your sides, "I should be the one not trusting you, after what you've done."

Jimmy stood there, eyes narrowing and jaw clenched. For a moment, it looked like he was gearing up to argue. But it was all so painfully obvious, the desperation in his stance. He wanted to paint himself as the victim, again, to make excuses, again, as if he wasn’t already a pathetic excuse for a man.

You glanced at the box, the sight of the neatly labeled bottles almost comical in its absurdity, mocking the co-pilot. Then your eyes landed at him, his confidence snapping under the weight of his proud insistence.

“Satisfied now?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the tension like a knife. Without waiting for an answer, you turned your back. “This is your answer, Jimmy...”

For the first time since the crash, you felt something crack open inside you, not fear, not guilt, but anger. Controlled, righteous anger.

"We don’t survive by hunches or waiting for some fucking miracle," you spat. "We survive because people are actually out here making sure the Tulpar doesn’t fall apart."

Your eyes met Swansea's, then to the ground.

"Everyone pitches in, does what needs to be done, no matter how much of a death trap the job is. But if you’re too busy playing pretend captain while the rest of us are holding it all together, maybe it’s better that you step back and let the people who actually know how to keep this mess running do their thing."

You didn't wait for a response, not even tried to gauge his emotion. You left the cargo bay, going into the only place that gave you comfort, utility room.

Swansea appeared in the doorway. Before he could speak, before you could even gather your thoughts, you found yourself moving toward him. The words caught in your throat, but your legs carried you anyway, and in one swift motion, you collided with him in a tight hug. The kind you hadn’t realized you needed until the warmth of his body pressed against you.

“Thanks for everything," You paused, and before you could stop it, the words slipped out. "...dad."

For a moment, everything went still. The hum of the damaged Tulpar only filling the air, and for one fleeting second, you feared you said too much. That you crossed a line, said something you didn’t have the right to say.

But then, without a word, his arms wrapped around you, solid and sure, holding you like he was never going to let go. The tension in your chest slowly released and a stray tear rolled down your cheek.

“Always, kid.” His voice was low, thick with meaning, and at that moment, it held everything you needed to hear.

https://youtu.be/qillYsPzEs0?si=zWRzrkWUSQ-jRaTA

Can you do this just with the Targaryens and Lannister? Sister!reader Targaryen vs Cersie Lannister 🫣🙏🏼

Fire and Gold

- Summary: Rhaegar chooses you over her. And Ceresi never forgives you for it.

- Paring: sister!reader/Rhaegar Targaryen

- Note: In this AU Robert's Rebellion never happened. Rhaegar marries the reader, Ceresi still marries Robert after Lyanna dies in childbirth along with their child.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

- A/N: I hope this was what you had in mind, dear anon. The story is fresh from the oven.

You and Rhaegar have always known how to draw a crowd. The smallfolk line the roads, banners flapping in the breeze as cheers follow your every step. Rhaegar’s hand rests at the small of your back, his touch familiar and comforting. The two of you move through the throng with practiced grace, your smiles reflecting the adoration in the eyes of those gathered. The royal tour has been a triumphant journey so far, a celebration of unity and strength. Yet, beneath the surface, tensions simmer, particularly when it comes to the Lannisters.

It’s no surprise that Cersei Lannister would try to disrupt your journey. Tywin’s golden daughter has never hidden her disdain for you. You, the sister who Rhaegar chose over her, who embodies all that she desired but could never possess. Her presence is almost expected as you approach the encampment set up for the royal party. When you step inside the tent, the air is thick with unspoken tension. Rhaegar’s jaw tightens beside you, and you can feel the shift in the atmosphere like a gathering storm.

Inside, Robert Baratheon looms, his massive form imposing even in stillness. Cersei stands at his side, her face twisted in fury, her eyes burning with a hatred you’ve known since you were both young girls at court. The very air seems to crackle between you. But your attention is drawn to your children and theirs, lined up in a tense, volatile standoff. Your eldest son, Aelor, stands tall, his eyes a mirror of Rhaegar’s determination. Blood stains the edge of his blade, and a long, angry gash mars Joffrey’s cheek. The boy’s face is contorted with pain and rage, his hand pressed against the wound.

“What in the name of the gods happened here?” Rhaegar’s voice is a sharp, commanding presence in the room. The knights and guards around you tense, sensing the gravity of the situation.

Robert spits, his voice dripping with contempt. “Your damn spawn attacked my son. Maimed him, Targaryen. That’s what happened.”

Aelor’s voice rings out, clear and unwavering. “He insulted us first. He insulted me, my brothers and sisters. He insulted you, Father, and you, Mother. When he drew his blade, I defended us.”

Joffrey, clutching his wounded cheek, shrieks in a high, grating voice. “Lies! He called me a Lannister bastard, and then he—”

You narrow your eyes, your gaze locking onto Cersei. It is an open secret in the court that her children bear none of the Baratheon traits, their golden hair and green eyes a reflection of the Lannister line. You’ve never spoken of it openly, but now, the accusation lingers in the air, unspoken but heavy. Cersei’s lips press into a thin line, her fury palpable.

“How dare you,” she hisses, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. “Your vile little whelps—”

“Enough.” Rhaegar’s voice cuts through the tumult like a blade. “They are children, Cersei. This matter is settled.”

“Settled?” Cersei’s face flushes crimson. She turns to Robert, desperation sharpening her tone. “You will let this stand, my lord? He has harmed our son!”

Robert’s eyes flicker between Rhaegar, your children, and his wife. His face is flushed, whether from drink or anger, you cannot tell. For a moment, the entire tent holds its breath, waiting for the King’s decree.

But Rhaegar steps forward, his presence filling the space. “This is over. Children quarrel. It will not be escalated further.”

Cersei’s expression is a mask of fury, her body taut with indignation. Her eyes meet yours across the tent, and for a heartbeat, it’s as if the world narrows to just the two of you. There, in her gaze, you see the depth of her resentment, the wound to her pride that will never heal. You hold her stare, your silence as cutting as any word you could utter.

Cersei’s movements that soon follow are a blur, her hand snatching the dagger from Robert’s belt with a ferocity that sends a jolt of shock through the tent. She lunges at you, the blade aimed with a deadly precision that could only be born from hate. Instinct takes over, and you reach out, catching the weapon with your bare hand before it can pierce your heart.

The sharp steel bites deep into your palm, the pain immediate and excruciating. Blood wells up, spilling over your fingers and dripping onto the ground. Gasps echo through the tent, but no one dares to intervene. Robert’s roar reverberates around you, filled with anger and disbelief. “Cersei, what are you doing?!”

Your children’s cries pierce the air, frantic and terrified. Their small voices, shrill with fear, tear at your heart. The sight of their mother locked in a deadly struggle, blood pouring from your hand, is too much for them to bear. But you can’t look away from Cersei, can’t afford a single moment of distraction.

Her face is contorted with fury, a rage so intense it seems to consume her. “You ruined everything!” she screams, her voice raw. “You were supposed to be nothing more than a bargaining chip, another mad Targaryen girl! But instead, you took him—took the life that should have been mine! And now I’m shackled to this brute, trapped in a prison of my own making because of you!”

“You chose this,” you retort, your voice low, steady, despite the pain searing through your arm. “You and your father wanted too much. You thought you could seize the crown, twist the realm to your liking. But it was never yours to take.”

Her eyes flash, and with a snarl, she presses down, driving the blade further into your grip. The pain is blinding, but you refuse to let go, even as the dagger slices across your forearm in a brutal arc. You cry out, the sound sharp and involuntary, as the blade carves a deep, angry line from wrist to elbow. Warm blood streams down your arm, pooling at your feet.

The lords and ladies around you recoil, horrified, but none move to intervene. Fear holds them frozen in place, their eyes wide, their faces pale. The tent, filled with the sound of your children’s desperate sobs, seems to close in around you.

“Look at you,” Cersei hisses, her voice dripping with venom. “Bleeding for a throne you think you’re owed, just like your father. You’re no different from him. Mad, arrogant, and dangerous.”

“And you,” you bite back, your voice shaking with pain and fury, “are nothing but a bitter, power-hungry fool. You think you can cut me down? You think you can break me? I am not my father, and I will not be cowed by you.”

With a furious cry, she shoves the blade again, but you twist, forcing the weapon away. The dagger slips from her grasp, falling to the ground with a dull thud. You stumble back, clutching your bleeding arm, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. Pain throbs through every nerve, but you stand your ground, refusing to show weakness.

Rhaegar is at your side in an instant, his face ashen with worry. “Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice tight with concern, his hands gentle as he examines your injured arm. “Gods, what has she done to you?”

Robert steps forward, his face a mask of barely restrained fury. “Have you lost your senses, woman?” he growls, rounding on Cersei. “You draw a blade on the Princess of the Realm, on your king’s daughter? Are you so eager to invite Aerys’ wrath upon us all?”

Cersei glares back at him, her chest heaving, her hands shaking. “I don’t care!” she cries, her voice breaking. “All my life, I’ve been promised things that were taken away. I was promised Rhaegar, promised a crown, and now I’m nothing! Stuck here, with you, and this—this farce of a marriage. I’m trapped, and it’s all her fault!”

“Enough.” Robert’s voice is like a hammer striking stone, his eyes blazing with anger. “You’ve gone too far. This is beyond foolish, beyond dangerous. You think Aerys will turn a blind eye when he hears of this? His daughter bleeding at your hands?”

The name of your father seems to cut through her fury, a flicker of fear passing over her face. The threat is real—everyone knows the Mad King’s unpredictable wrath, his unquenchable thirst for vengeance. And you, his beloved daughter, lying wounded at her feet? The consequences could be catastrophic.

Rhaegar’s arms wrap around you, his touch gentle as he guides you away from the scene. “We need to get you to the maester,” he says softly, his voice tight with worry.

You nod, the pain throbbing with each heartbeat, but you keep your gaze on Cersei, refusing to look away. “Remember this, Cersei,” you say, your voice steady despite the agony. “You brought this on yourself. You chose your path, just as I chose mine. And you’ll find that you’ve made an enemy you can’t afford to have.”

With that, Rhaegar leads you out of the tent, your children trailing behind, their faces pale and tear-streaked. The lords and ladies part before you, their whispers already spreading like wildfire through the camp.

This skirmish is over, but the repercussions are only beginning.

Having the Number One pro hero as your boyfriend is not easy.

Especially when you're a pro hero yourself.

And especially when your relationship is supposed to be a secret.

And even more especially when your boyfriend needs to be around you every second of every day like his life depends on it.

Izuku's a sweet man, he always has been and always will be. But sweet isn't even close to the word someone could use to describe how he treated you. In fact, even infatuated wouldn't be sufficient.

But Izuku's love has a price. He knows you can damn well defend yourself (trust me, he probably knows best after you almost stabbed him by accident when he came home in the middle of the night with no warning)—but still, he worries.

Which is why, much to his chagrin more than your own, you kept your relationship hidden from the public.

But like I said, Izuku's love for you is a force stronger than One for All itself.

So you can imagine this 'secret relationship' thing didn't really work out..

It was after a mission, a big operation in the city - the heroes had won but barely.

You were all exhausted.

And your boyfriend Pro Hero Deku more than most.

You were talking with a reporter, trying to reassure the civilians that everything was now resolved, when Izuku stumbles over and just starts peppering your face with kisses tiredly, the battle taking so much out of him that he forgets where he is.

he just wants his baby :(

All you can really do is stand there and take it, face bright red as a stunned cameraman and civilians start snapping photos and taking videos of the affectionate pro hero.

...Good thing you can defend yourself.

A/N: Deku's not one of my favs heh but he's such a sweetheart we need more loverboys in the world 😔

jjk men when you aren't feeling well but try to hide it...

"hello! i was wondering if you could write an angst but w comfort fluff headcannon w the jjk men? i was thinking reader has an injury or is sick but she hides it, but they find out. it would be great if you can, but if not i totally understand. your writing is amazing!!!" -anon

gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna

satoru gojo: (sprained ankle!)

you're fucked.

you know you are the moment you go to pick yourself up from your boyfriend's hardwood kitchen floors and wince in pain in reaction to the pressure in your left ankle.

you hiss, immediately stumbling back to a sitting position. You look over your outstretched foot to find that your ankle is rapidly swelling, and you curse under your breath.

this is so inconvenient. of all times to injure yourself, you of course had to a day before an important mission. you never handle injuries very well. you are always so quick to brush them off, or at least be in denial about them because you can't stand the thought of feeling helpless or incapable.

especially not when satoru gojo is your boyfriend, who unfortunately knows you far too well to overlook something like an injury to your ankle.

damn. what are you supposed to do? satoru will never let you out of his sight, let alone allow you to go on this mission if he finds out about your injury. as much as you love the way he looks after you, you're not in the mood to accept the fact that you may not be able to walk for a few days without his help.

you try to stand again, stubborn with determination. you grip onto the countertop and rise slowly on your able foot, then lean to press your injured foot down slowly. okay... not so bad! Maybe you can add just a little bit more pressure, and-

"fuck," you curse, sharp pain throbbing through your foot the moment you try to walk. You lift your leg immediately and whimper, leaning your body against the counter. "god dammit," you pout.

you should ice it, you think, but icing it will only make the injury more real. maybe it's not so bad, right? maybe if you just sit down for a bit and push it to the back of your head, it will go away?

you know it's not smart, but truthfully, you don't have the time to worry about a stupid ankle. you're sure you only irritated it. with some rest, you'll be fine.

you hop your way up the stairs with your hand gripping the railing tightly to your shared bedroom and ease yourself into bed. you decide you'll take a nap while you wait for satoru to come home, ignoring the simmering pain in your swollen ankle.

"babyyy!"

you wake suddenly to the sound of satoru's voice singing through the house. you jump and immediately hold in a whimper of pain when you accidentally shift your foot beneath the covers. you can tell solely by the lack of mobility in your ankle that it's, unsurprisingly, gotten worse.

you panic, moving quickly to prop your back up against the headboard. you fix yourself in the most normal possible position you can without agitating your foot, and you turn to the door with an innocent expression the second satoru bursts through with a beam.

"hey, pretty," he walks in and immediately crouches over the bed to wrap you up in a hug. you cringe as his lips meet every crook of your face, his body enveloping you in warmth. "missed you so much today," he sighs.

"missed you too, toru," you wrap your arms around his back. "how was your day?"

"same old same old. the higher-ups only get more annoying each day, if that's even possible," he grumbles into your ear, slumping against you. "what are you doing cooped up here all by yourself? you taking a nap?"

"yeah, I just woke up," you tell him with a hefty exhale, his lips meeting the crook of your neck lazily as he nuzzles into you. "you wanna take one with me, you big baby?" you giggle.

"god yes," satoru agrees. "but first, I'm starving. did you eat while I was gone?"

"nah, I waited for you, toru."

"well, you normally cook, baby, I was waiting for you."

you momentarily freeze and he pulls back reluctantly, not before dotting one more kiss to the crook of your jaw. you had completely forgotten about making dinner, but seeing how you couldn't even walk, those cards were off the table.

he looks down at you with his arms propped on either side of your figure on the bed. your ankle continues to throb, and while you try to hide the pain that you are currently in by shifting ever so subtly beneath him, his sapphire eyes catch the twitch in your brow and the motion of your body beneath his blindfold.

"not that I care if you cook or not. obviously you were tired..." he trails off. "you okay?"

fucking hell, damn those six eyes.

you nod despite yourself, keeping a soft smile as you brush your fingers over satoru's hair. "yeah, of course. just tired like you said. I'm sorry about dinner, it slipped my mind."

"don't you dare apologize," he ducks down to kiss your cheek loudly. "we can go out to eat. make it a date before your big mission tomorrow, yeah?"

you internally deflate. the idea sounds amazing, but going on a date would mean getting up, getting dressed, and walking out the door. you're unfortunately physically incapable of doing any of the above at the moment.

satoru watches the way your shoulders slump and your lips part as if to protest, and he tilts his head in slight confusion. "...or not..." he says slowly.

"sorry, toru, it's not that I don't wanna go, i just don't have the energy..." you excuse pathetically.

satoru's face tells you that he doesn't buy your words, but he complies nonetheless. "that's no problem, baby, we can order in instead."

you sigh and nod with a gentle smile. "that sounds great."

"someone's feeling real lazy today, huh?" he teases, hooking his finger into his blindfold to peel it from his face, revealing his bright irises gazing curiously down at you. "you sure you're just tired?"

"yeah... why?"

"i'm just askin," he says. his eyes dart over you one more time before he pushes himself up with an exhale and tugging at your arm. "come on, let's go to the living room to order."

why the hell does he want to move around so much?!

"um- why can't we just order here?"

a smile quirks on Satoru's lips as though you've made a joke. "cause, we'll be downstairs once the food gets here," he says.

you pucker your lips slightly and tilt your head. "can't we just eat it up here and you can go get it?"

gojo's eyes are now slim with suspicion as he pulls himself back over to you. "i mean, of course i can but you never eat takeout in bed, we always cuddle downstairs and eat."

"I'm tired, can't i change it up today?"

"you know i have no problem doing what you want and pampering you baby," satoru starts slowly. his eyes dash to your legs, and he suddenly notes that he has not seen you bend them in the few minutes he has been home. in fact, you had been rather stagnant instead of running up to clobber him when he entered the room, whether you were previously asleep or not. "but you're acting a little weird."

"no, I'm not," you deny adamantly. you have always been a poor liar, but in the face of Satoru Gojo, your lack of talent in the arena only proves to be more prominent. "you think too much, you know that?"

"you think so?" he raises a brow at you, a hint of playfulness remaining though it is steadily fleeting the longer he examines you. "you think i'm thinking too much if i feel like you're lying to me?"

you press your lips together tightly. "...yes."

"hm," he nods. "come here for a second, pretty," he requests, stepping back a bit to give you room to stand. "just real quick, then you can lay back down and I'll get us that food."

"why do you want me to stand?"

"i wanna give you a big hug," he opens his arms widely. "c'mon, give your loving boyfriend a hug. you'd never deny me that after such a long day."

"come hug me here, then," you roll your eyes, turning to look the other way as heat overtakes your body.

"i want to hold you and pick you up," he argues, knowingly. "just stand and walk to me for one second."

"no."

"no?!"

"no, i don't want to."

"don't want to or you can't?" he accuses, face falling along with his arms. he moves to sit at the edge of the bed beside your legs, resting a hand over your uninjured one. "why can't you get up?" he asks, this time a tad more serious.

"i don't feel like it, satoru, god," you murmur in annoyance, growing agitated with his swiftness to notice that something is wrong.

"don't 'satoru' me, baby, you're the one not telling the truth," he says. "what's wrong with your legs?"

"nothing."

"then stand up."

"no, satoru. stop telling me to stand."

"i will if you tell me what's wrong."

"nothing's wrong!" you shrug harshly, crossing your arms and suddenly taking interest in whatever is outside of the bedroom window. satoru stares at you intently for a moment then back down at your covered legs.

he gazes harshly between the two, pondering, before reaching over to rip the comforter upward to reveal your bare feet. you gasp slightly, jerking to stop him, when your swollen ankle is revealed.

his brows immediately angle and he leans to hastily look over it. "(y/n), what the hell?! what happened to your foot?"

you grow embarrassed suddenly, moving to brush his hands away. "it's not that bad, stop," you say, going to move your leg to the side when you hiss sharply.

"not that bad? baby, your ankle's the size of a golfball!"

"satoru, you're being dramatic."

"what happened?" he asks, concerned. "did this happen while I was gone?"

"it's fine, relax."

"(y/n)," satoru begins sternly. you can tell that you've pinched a nerve. "i'm about to lose it if you don't tell me how this happened and why you were trying to hide it from me."

you frown. "But-"

"Now."

you hug your arms around yourself with another meek shrug. "it's humiliating..." you murmur.

satoru softens slightly. "baby, humiliating? i'm worried about you getting hurt."

"yeah, but-" you sigh and close your eyes, your emotions suddenly getting the best of you. you hate feeling small and weak, as though you can't handle yourself, and you swear every time you injure yourself or get sick, it's the worst possible thing that could happen in the entire world. "i don't know. whatever."

"uh uh uh," your white-haired boyfriend tuts, leaning over the smooth his hand over your leg comfortingly. "it's not 'whatever.' i know exactly how you are. you can't fool me. is this about your mission tomorrow?"

"it's not just about the mission, toru, i just don't- i hate it when i can't do stuff on my own."

"you don't have to tell me something i'm already well aware of." you give him a look. "don't look at me like that. i know you like the back of my hand, and i especially know when you're uncomfortable."

"i get it, toru," you frown.

"why the attitude, hm?" he asks, leaning over to prop his elbow on the other side of you, his body resting against your lap as he peers up at you gently. "it's okay to get hurt- well, no, it's not okay for you to get hurt because it makes me wanna die, but you get what I mean."

your lips twitch in amusement momentarily, leading satoru to grin widely.

"there's that pretty smile."

"it's just-" you huff. "it was such a stupid thing... i rolled my ankle stepping down from closing the cabinets and when it started getting worse, i thought it was so dumb that something so small did that to me so i left it alone. now it's probably twisted, and i just feel really..."

"you're not weak," satoru interjects urgently. "if that's what you're saying, which i'm pretty sure you are. you're far from what i would call weak."

"still. it still made me feel weak. and i'm supposed to go on that mission tomorrow, and i don't know what the hell i'm gonna tell yaga-"

"forget the mission."

"...satoru, i can't just-"

"you can and you will. you have an injury, baby. you can't walk. it's okay, i'll talk to yaga and he'll get someone else on the assignment while I take care of you."

"but the fact that you even have to do that because i was clumsy!" you shake your head and look down. "it's so ridiculous. and i knew you were gonna worry..."

"of course i'm gonna worry, (y/n). no less than you'd worry for me."

"but you're you."

"so? do you worry for me any less because of that?"

"i mean... i know you're always gonna be fine, but... yeah, i guess."

"you guess?" satoru scoffs. "to think, my girlfriend doesn't care about me..."

"oh shut up," you nudge his head away. his grin remains, face turning back to you as he captures you in his soft gaze. "obviously I worry."

"then, there you go," satoru says. his free hand runs over your hip. "i know you can handle yourself just fine and that you're strong as hell, but whether you're going on a mission or stubbing your toe, I'm worrying 'cause i love you."

you pout slightly. "I love you too."

"i know," he beams, kissing your thigh. "so stop with that. as if you'd ever be weak for getting a little boo boo."

"yeah, but now you're not gonna let me do anything," you whine.

"is there really such a big problem with that?" satoru smirks. "try hiding an injury from me again, and you really won't be able to do anything. now let me see."

he pushes himself up to round the edge of the bed. he kneels down and cradles your foot in his hand delicately, fingers grazing the area of swelling. his brow angles. "can you move it?"

you shake your head slowly. "not without it hurting."

"in all seriousness, baby, you need to take better care of yourself. why didn't you ice it?"

"...i wanted it to go away."

"and you walked up the stairs after rolling your ankle?!"

"i wanted to get into bed!"

satoru lowers his head. "what am i gonna do with you? you're gonna give me a heart attack one of these days."

"it's really not that serious. i just need to rest it a bit and then I'll be fine-"

"i'm gonna go cook you some dinner, okay? then we can eat in bed and cuddle, and then I'll run you a hot bath later."

"satoru, i just said it's not that serious! please don't go burning down the house because of my ankle. we can literally still order food," you try to convince him, but the blue-eyed man is already on his feet, by your side, and kissing your lips.

"not another word. you're practically dying, now, i have to look after you."

"toru-"

"i'll be right back, i'm gonna grab you some ice and a pillow for your foot."

"satoru!"

but when you call him, he's already zooming out of the room and down the stairs. you sigh and plop your head back against the headboard with a soft smile. as humiliating as you find it to be injured, you can never say that gojo doesn't do everything he can, if not excessively more, to look after you when you are.

suguru geto: (cold!)

shit.

you step into the bathroom for the umpteenth time today to blow your nose, clearing your searing throat as you do so with a groan.

something in you knew this morning that you were coming down with a cold when you woke up to that dreadful scratch in the back of your throat, but the idea of getting sick physically ails you more than actually being sick does.

you're far too busy today to be weighed down by some common cold. you're in between meetings at work as you toss another tissue into the women's trash. You have paperwork to finish filling out by midnight, and you have to pick up the girls later from daycare.

how can you be sick of all things?

you know it's likely because you run yourself ragged more often than you need to, and suguru always tells you to slow down and take a breath, but you rarely listen to him. your life moves at a quick pace, constantly on the run from one task to the next, and you truly do not feel that you have the leisure of giving yourself one second to rest.

you're on the verge of earning a new promotion, and you need the money. you need the opportunities, and the accomplishments to care for the family you've built with geto. just as suguru works tirelessly to manage his cult, you work tirelessly to keep a living for yourself.

you're proud of the work you have done, truly you are, but at times it feels as though you are amounting to nothing, chasing promises of a higher position that have yet to come. despite the haziness of the path ahead, you push harder and harder each day.

suguru hates it, how you drive yourself to the brink of insanity day in and day out, but you can't help but be an overachiever. you can't help but work hard for those who may not even deserve it.

and now, of course, you're sick. you can feel your temperature spiking, your nose is stuffy, and your head is pounding. you want to go home and curl into bed, but you have responsibilities to fulfill. just a few more hours... then you're home with geto, with the girls, safe in bed just to wake up and do it all over again tomorrow.

you jump when your phone suddenly rings in your pocket. you pull it out to see your boyfriend's contact, and you straighten yourself up as best as you can to make it sound as though you aren't struggling to breathe through your nostrils.

"hello?"

"hey, babe, how's work going?" suguru's soothing voice echoes through the phone and you sigh, clinging to the comfort his tone provides. you miss him. you want to go home already.

"it's good," you lie. "i have a few more meetings. then some paperwork to finish, but I'll be able to get mimi and nana on time."

"actually, i called to tell you not to worry about that. i got finished up here with the group pretty early, so i'll be able to get them later."

you're relieved that you won't have to expose the girls to your germs in the car. "okay, thanks for letting me know. you need me to pick up some food on the way home?"

"no, we're gonna make pizzas later. the girls have been dying to try it making it from scratch forever, so i'll take them to the store once i get them."

"...oh. okay..." you nod. "there's nothing else you need me to do then?"

"just to come home in one piece," suguru says. "i'm trying to take some stuff off your plate, (y/n). you've been exhausted, and you can't tell me otherwise."

"sugu, I'm fine," you dismiss him, only to turn your head into your elbow to muffle a cough. you forget to mute the call when you do so.

"what was that? are you okay?" the dark-haired man questions quickly. "you're not sick, are you?"

"no, no," you deny fast, voice slightly hoarse. you clear your throat quickly. "something was just- stuck in my throat. but I'm fine. i'm not sick."

suguru's quiet for a moment, and you chew on the inside of your lip while you wait for him to respond. you know it's impossible to fool suguru, especially when it comes to matters regarding you or the girls, but you can't handle him worrying over you right now. his concerns would only bring you back to reality, pulling you from this cycle of overworking you've fallen into. you need to keep going. You can't stop, and if suguru knows you're sick, he will make you stop.

"suguru? you there?" you finally say.

"oh yeah, i'm here," he responds rather quickly, and you internally curse yourself. "what time do you get off?"

"uhhh..." you think about it for a moment. it's 3:30 now, and technically you only have an hour and a half left, but since the girls will be picked up by Suguru, you realize you can finish your paperwork in the office. "today's kind of a long day... so I probably won't be home until... 7?"

"(Y/n)."

"i know, i know, but listen, i just have to finish up this paperwork. that's all."

"weren't you just gonna do it at home?"

"well, yeah, but since you're getting the girls, it's kinda easier for me to finish it here..." you start mumbling lowly, knowing that whatever explanation you give is not one that suguru will willingly accept.

"babe, please just come home at a normal time today. you can't keep doing this to yourself."

"i promise it won't be past 7. i swear. just let me get this done, and I'll be home."

suguru releases a hefty sigh, and you can picture him rubbing his thumb against his forehead in stress. "7 o'clock, (y/n). i mean it. if you're so much as five minutes late, i'm coming over there myself with rainbow dragon."

you chuckle softly. "i promise it won't get to that. i'll be fine, alright? i'll text you when I'm headed out."

"okay. I'll see you in a bit."

after your meetings had ended, your cold symptoms grew worse. your coughs were more frequent, a pile of tissues were stacked at your cubicle, and the glare of your computer screen felt as though it was burning a hole into your already aching head.

you feel miserable, and as luck would have it, your boss placed a new stack of papers onto your desk to finish filling out before you went home on his way out of the door.

you're alone in the office now, surrounded by excess assignments, and you can hardly breathe through your nose. you check the time, and its thirty to the time you told suguru you'd be home. you groan, rubbing your hands over your face.

you're tired. your bones are aching. you want to be with the girls, you want to be home, you don't want to do this anymore. you're so burned out, it hurts, and you want to cry and collapse face-first onto your desk at the same time.

just then, your phone lights up with a message from suguru. you open it eagerly to be greeted with an image of the girls beaming up at the camera in the kitchen, hands covered in tomato sauce as they display them to the phone. beneath the photo, suguru types.

we miss you :(

you break, placing your phone down and shielding your face in your hands as the tears flow. god, you miss spending time with them. you're hardly home anymore because you've been so busy with work, and you're yearning to be held by your boyfriend, to hear the girls laugh, to sink into the bed combined with your deteriorating physical state makes you feel worse.

you miss having a life.

you don't know how long you spend crying in your empty office before your body shuts down on you completely. the energy you exerted shedding tears in addition to your long days at work send you into a deep sleep. before you know it, you're knocked out with your cheek pressed against one of your unfinished papers.

the second you failed to answer Suguru's text, he knew something was wrong. he calls, and calls, and calls after twenty minutes, but you don't answer. He wastes absolutely no time in calling up manami to look after the girls before trekking out of the house to you with rainbow dragon, just as he promised.

he's prepared to break a window when he sees the janitor leaving the building. he takes the opportunity to swoop in through the doors after grumbling something about his girlfriend being inside, before making his way up to you.

when he reaches your office, he finds you lying in the only occupied cubicle. His eyes go wide as he studies your slumped figure, walking slowly to where you're seated. he notes the tissues and cough drop wrappers crowding your space, then the tears that coat your lashes when he kneels down.

"jesus, (y/n)," he murmurs, swiftly getting to work and clearing your desk of all your trash. when he's done, he crouches by you again and runs a hand over your back. "baby, wake up for me. come on," he coaxes softly.

you stir, face tightening in discomfort. suguru sees the bags under your eyes and his frown deepens. Eventually, you wake with furrowed brows, adjusting your blurry eyes to the sight of suguru gazing down at you worriedly.

"sugu...?" you mumble weakly, only to be interrupted by a few coughs that rack your chest. suguru's heart aches.

"i knew it," he sighs, eyes hardening as his hand strokes over your warm forehead. "why don't you listen?"

"what are you doing here?" you grumble, picking your head up slowly. you're greeted with a retched reminder of your headache, and you wince, pressing your hand to your head.

"we had an agreement, remember?" he reminds you, and you slowly recall. you move to grab your phone and the time reads 7:15. "i wasn't joking."

"suguru..."

"stop," he immediately cuts you off. "look at you, (y/n). you've made yourself sick."

"it's just a- a cough," you murmur, rubbing your irritated eyes harshly.

"that's bullshit, baby," he tells you rather firmly. "i don't know why you're trying to hide this from me when i knew something like this would happen. we're going home."

"no, wait, Suguru, i didn't finish my paperwork yet."

"do you think I give two shits about your paperwork?"

his tone comes off rather harshly, and both of you notice. he blinks his eyes tensely and readjusts himself, attempting to reel in his anger. his anger for you, over your lack of care for your wellbeing, at your fucking boss for letting you work yourself like this.

"you've been killing yourself for weeks, (y/n). i won't let you anymore. this is the last straw."

"hold on," you urge. suguru looks down at you, befuddled. "i really can't just up and leave my work behind like this. I'm sorry, I can't."

"what's more important to you, (y/n)? being healthy or working yourself to death?" he proposes, almost pained by the latter. "if you cared about your well-being, you would have asked for an extension or at least had a conversation with your dick of a boss about doing this another time. anyone can see that you aren't feeling well, and someone who cares will tell you that enough is enough."

"don't make me do this, suguru," you whimper. suguru's face relaxes when he sees your eyes glossing over. "don't make me stop. I can't stop."

"baby," he curls his brows, holding your cheek in his hand as he kneels before you. "why are you doing this to yourself?"

"b-because, I have to..."

"no, you don't. i've been telling you this for years, you don't have to do this."

"but I need to make something of myself. i have to keep going. i can't just quit, because if I do, then what will any of this have meant? why have i been doing this?"

"you're breaking my heart, baby," suguru exhales. "this job doesn't define you. i see how hardworking, smart, and strong you are. i see the effort you put into everything you do. i see the commitment in your heart. i see it everywhere, all the time, and that is one of many reasons why i love you so much."

your lips wobble as you look into his hazel eyes as his voice and words melt you into his palm. you've been moving so fast all this time, you've been trying to prevent yourself from falling into suguru's warmth, which has always had the power to make you do anything he says.

"but I can't stand to watch you make yourself sick because you think there's more you need to do. this isn't good for you. you know it isn't."

you nod, red nose flaring as you sniff. "i know," you admit.

"so please, please take a break. i'm literally begging you. you need to come home and rest. i'll take care of everything else, just come home. lay down. come back to us. to me."

your shoulders jerk as a few tears drop from your eyes. "sugu, i can't do this anymore," you finally give in. "i don't even feel like myself. i just want to go home."

"then let's go baby, come on," he stands and takes you with him in his arms, pressing your body to his as he holds you. you sink into him, your exhaustion and your sickness finally crashing down over you. "i'm gonna fucking kill your boss," he murmurs into your hair.

you laugh weakly against him, closing your eyes. "later. just take me home, now. please."

"yes ma'am," he nods, kneeling down to pick you up into his arms. you wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face into his chest.

"m'gonna get you sick," you mutter.

"we can be sick together," he chuckles. "the girls and I can make you some soup. they've been obsessed with cooking lately," he says, leaning over to shut off your monitor before carrying you off to the elevators.

"that picture of them you sent earlier made me so sad. I miss you guys so much."

"i'm sorry baby, i didn't mean to upset you that much. i was only trying to guilt you a little into coming home early."

you slap his shoulder pathetically. "asshole."

"i know, i'm sorry," he kisses your head. "gonna get you all better in no time."

kento nanami: (low iron!)

you have always been a little anemic, and of course that never really posed as a terrible challenge for you until you ran out of iron supplements.

it is your responsibility undoubtedly to keep track of when you run out and when you need to restock, but recently, you've found yourself neglecting the habit.

you never did like taking iron pills, or any supplements for that matter. you feel as though they take too much out of your daily life, as though they're a burden to your existence, and the harder you think about it, the less inclined you are to keep track of it.

it's been about three weeks since you last took your iron, and while you would like to say that you have improved significantly, you would be lying.

perhaps the first few days of not taking your supplements was fine, but as time droned on, the symptoms kicked back in rather quickly. you are extremely tired all the time, you feel lighter on your feet as if you are going to pass out at any given moment, and your hands and feet are ridiculously cold though it is now the summertime, and the weather outside thoroughly contrasts your body temperature.

you're in denial about the changes, of course. you want to be able to feel fine without the crutch of your pills, but the reality of the situation is that you don't, and it's crushing you for some reason.

what's crushing you more is that you know how disappointed nanami will be to find out that you haven't been being responsible in stocking up on your supplements. he would normally keep track of when you run out in addition to you, but he's reeled it in a bit over the past few months because you wanted him to trust that you can handle taking care of something that you've managed all of your life, so he did.

and yet, here you are, trying to hide the symptoms of your iron deficiency that are only proving harder to veil. nanami has already asked you a few times if you are feeling okay over the past few weeks, therefore you know that he suspects exactly what is happening, but you brush him off each time.

"i'm good, honey," you'd tell him. "just had a long day. what about you? how are you feeling?"

you feel like shit lying to him, but you're afraid of being truthful for some reason. he would scold you, and you'd have to resort to the aid of your only weakness all over again.

god, why can't you just be normal?

you've even tried to ween off of the strict iron-sufficient diet that you've been on practically all your life because you feel like you have something to prove, especially in this world of jujutsu. how can you be a sorcerer with low iron? how can something so smell render you so weak? it's pathetic.

you don't want to think about it, in truth. you want it all to just go away. you want to be fine, to feel fine without eating certain things constantly or taking those damn pills, and you try to force yourself to, but it only grows worse the longer you hide it.

you stumble into your home after a long day of teaching and press your back to the door with a sigh. you know nanami won't be home for another forty or so minutes, so you kick your shoes off, go grab a water, and plop down on the couch.

you feel so tired. you pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes, leaning back. this is stupid, you think. you're being stupid. just reorder the damn pills.

but something stubborn within you refuses. something within you that must prove you can push past this.

you decide to watch some tv to distract you as you wait for nanami to return home. he suggested cooking for you tonight, so you rest until you hear him walking through the door.

"hi honey," he greets. you turn to smile gently at him as he rounds the corner. your cheeks pinch with happiness, your current turmoil momentarily forgotten when you see your husband approach. you go to stand and walk into his open arms, just like you normally do when he comes home.

you put the remote to the side and shoot up. your mind is occupied only by nanami as you move toward him, but you see his face drop and your vision turns upside down, and suddenly, you're falling.

kento is quick to react, ducking down impressively to catch you in his arms before you can hit the ground. you collapse into him, head dizzy and breath suddenly gone.

"sweetheart?! (y/n) are you alright? are you awake?"

you groan, shifting in his strong arms as they cradle you securely. when your vision regains focus, you're staring up at nanami's worried face, your body resting over his lap. you blink rapidly before realizing what just happened.

"oh shit," you whisper.

"(y/n)," nanami says your name again, caressing your cheek sweetly. "are you here with me now?"

"y-yeah," you nod, moving to sit up and press your hand to his chest. "i'm alright."

"absolutely not," he stops you immediately, pressing against you to lay you back down on his lip. you frown, looking up at him. "don't even try sitting up like that right now."

"kento," you start, growing worried by the tense look on his face. "i'm okay, really. i just sat up too fast."

"i know," he affirms, his thumb still smoothing over your skin. "and care to tell me why that alone is making you pass out?"

you can't find the words to respond as you stare at him, likely as guiltily as you feel. he hums knowingly.

"right," he sighs. "(y/n), how long has it been since you've taken your iron?"

and there it is. the very question you had been dreading.

"...i'm not sure what you're-"

"don't. really, don't," he interjects firmly and you shiver, rather unfamiliar with this side of your doting partner. "i'm still trying to adjust to the fact that you haven't been truthful with me. the least you can do is tell me how long it's been."

your heart drops. "kento..."

"i'm not in the mood for stalling, sweetheart. go on. out with it."

the sternness of his voice hardly matches the way he is holding you and stroking your cheek, but nevertheless, you feel awful. you avert your gaze and shrink into yourself. "three weeks."

"three?" he repeats incredulously, and you nod in shame. "i knew it had been over a week, but three, (y/n)?"

"i know," you mutter.

"why? after you told me not to check after you, to trust that you'd take care of yourself," nanami questions. "this is why i tried to help you. i know it can be a hassle sometimes, and forgetting is one thing, but to deliberately stop taking them when you know how much i worry about it... when you know how important it is for you?"

you bite hard on your lip and look away, brows curling. nanami notices immediately and softens himself, leaning down closer to you.

"my love," he starts. "i don't mean to upset you, but this is very upsetting to me."

"i know. i know, i'm sorry..." you whimper.

"but not because it's about me, (y/n), because it's about you. and you've been hiding this from me, of all things. i don't understand."

"i just didn't wanna take them anymore, ken," you say quietly.

the blonde furrows his brows. "you didn't want to take them? have you not been taking them for years?"

"i have but that's the problem. i'm a sorcerer now, and..." you exhale. "the point of being a sorcerer is to not have anything weighing you down, and this weighs me down."

"if anything, (y/n), not taking the supplements weighs you down more."

"no, i just mean- all of it, the whole iron deficiency, i hate it," you confess. "i'm tired of relying on something to be strong. i'm tired of being tied down to this. i wanted to see if i could overcome it, but i can't. i'll always have this problem, and it sucks, ken," you ramble. "if i could go without taking these pills and still do my job like i always have, then just maybe.... maybe i could be better. and i could prove that i... i don't need those stupid pills, or the extra greens, or the- whatever. just all of it."

nanami looks down at you rather sadly. "i had no idea you felt this way."

"i haven't always felt this way. it's just lately, i don't know, i feel pressured to go beyond."

"darling, your iron-deficiency doesn't make you any less talented than other sorcerers."

"i know. i mean, i should know, but i can't help but feel that way."

nanami presses his lips together, smoothing a knuckle over your cheekbone. "i'm sorry you feel like this."

"it's not your fault, ken. and i shouldn't have kept this from you, i know. i'm sorry. i just felt humiliated by it."

"there's nothing for you to be humiliated by," he reassures you. "your deficiency is no different from any of us having to feed ourselves or drink water in between missions to keep ourselves alive. it's a necessity, and though we are sorcerers, we live off of necessities to keep ourselves physically and mentally able to work. you have a responsibility to yourself. just like the rest of us. just because your iron's a little lower doesn't mean anything about who you are as a sorcerer."

"...i never thought of it like that. i've just been thinking of it as a burden."

"it's only a burden if you view it that way. you are a grade one sorcerer who i have watched climb the ranks effortlessly since we were in high school, all the while with an iron deficiency that you have always taken supplements for. that never stopped you," he says. "the problem comes in when you don't keep up with yourself and take care of those needs. just like how i'd be unable to work if i decided to skip my last few meals and drink less water."

"that makes sense," you mumble, capturing his soft brown eyes with yours.

"good," he nods. "(y/n) you can't neglect your needs like this."

"i know."

"i'm being serious. i'll start checking behind you again if i find out that you're not doing what you need to do to take care of your body."

"i know, ken, i'm sorry, i-" you stop yourself and shake your head. "i just let my insecurities get the best of me."

"then, let me handle taking care of your insecurities. you handle taking your supplements. do we have an agreement?"

you nod slowly. "yeah. we do. i'm sorry for lying again, ken."

"please don't do it again," he sighs, ducking to kiss your forehead. "but i know you wouldn't lie to me about anything else, and that you hiding this was solely out of fear."

you slowly move to sit up, and this time, kento helps you very gradually. he guides you back to sit on the couch and cups your face gently, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "i'll go order some more iron and then get started on dinner. alright?"

you hum with a soft smile. "alright. i love you, ken."

he returns your loving smile. "i love you more, sweetheart."

choso kamo: (broken finger!)

it had fully been an accident.

you should have been paying more attention to what you were doing and at the same time, so should have panda.

it really was an honest mistake. you were standing in the doorway as everyone left the classroom, your fingers clutched around the frame as everyone filed out. you were asking around if anyone had seen your boyfriend, and yuta mentioned that he saw him with yuji earlier that day.

you thanked him, and just as you were about to pull your hand away, panda, who was the last out of the room, slammed the door shut behind him thinking you had already moved out of the way.

but you hadn't.

the door flew into your index and middle fingers and you screamed bloody murder. the cursed corpse as well as his classmates whipped their heads around, and to panda's horror, you were knocking your forehead against the wall with tears in your eyes as your fingers trembled in the doorframe.

"(Y/N), HOLY SHIT I'M SO SORRY!"

you hadn't expected panda to actually break one of your fingers, but you give the freak credit for his unnatural strength. you later find out that yuji and choso had gone out to grab food for you when you see a text from your boyfriend pop up asking what flavor ramen you want the second you learn that shoko will not be available until late tonight.

for the time being, you're given a finger splint and pain medicine as though you aren't freaking surrounded by jujutsu sorcery.

and god, did it hurt! like, really, really hurt. your fingers are throbbing, and the one that isn't broken is bruised and stained with some blood. you wish you could be angrier at panda, but his groveling before your feet on his knees eases your frustration a bit. after all, it hadn't been on purpose.

you're sent home and you are given no choice but to wait until choso returns, and you're... nervous. choso never handles the ailment of his loved ones very well. his spiritual and physical connection to his brothers wellbeings' often causes him to lose his mind every time yuji gets accidentally punched in the face during training, and when it comes to you? well, choso is just the same if not somehow worse.

you remember one time you got a papercut and winced when your finger made contact with soap. choso was quick to your side, grasping your wrist and looking over your hand as though it had been severed off.

one thing you have come to know in your relationship with the brunette is that he would (and has) killed someone for the sake of the people closest to him. he does not mess around when it comes to his family, and he certainly doesn't mess around when it comes to you.

and while you think he can be a bit excessive with making sure you're alright when it's hardly necessary, it's first and foremost endearing, and it only makes you realize that he will go ballistic the second he finds out that someone broke your finger.

he doesn't naively think that you can never go unharmed, though he would be incredibly content with the notion if it were plausible. he's familiar with scars, wounds, fights, and battles, and he knows you're in the very center of it just as much as he and his brother are. but still, he hates it when you're hurt. he wants to protect you as best as he can, or to at least prevent you from suffering any more than a sorcerer already has to suffer. he only wants you to be safe.

so to prevent him from having a heart attack, you decide it's better if he doesn't know about the incident. when you answer his texts before heading home, you mention nothing about your poor finger in hopes of him not finding out at least until after you're healed.

that plan of yours, however, fails when choso comes barging through the door three hours earlier than you expected him to return. your eyes go wide from where you sit on the couch, and you have no time to even go to hide your fingers behind your back when choso marches up to you, agitated.

"uh-" you're cut off when he grabs your arm gently and lifts it into the air, your taped crooked finger showcasing itself to him. you press your lips together at how poorly the plan to conceal this from him has failed. "cho-"

"were you gonna tell me about this?" his violet eyes fly to yours in a fury, and you're almost stunned by how aggravated he looks. his voice is calm, low, but his face is wrecked with concern and almost betrayal.

"...i was, but i wanted to wait because i didn't want you to freak out..." you say slowly, watching him softly. "like you are now..?"

"that's not fair, (y/n)," he frowns and you furrow your brows. "that's not fair at all."

"woah, hold on... are you mad at me?"

"i don't know," he answers you honestly, looking between your face and your trembling hand. "i'm... upset."

"who told you about my fingers, love?"

"yuji got a text from yuta," he tells you, moving to sit down on the space beside you with your hand still cradled in his. "he said that panda was begging me not to kill him, and this was after i had talked to you."

"oh..." you sigh. "okay, yeah, i can see how that looks."

"why didn't you tell me you got hurt? and pretty badly too? where's ieiri?"

"she won't be back on campus for another hour," you explain. "i didn't want you to worry, cho, i figured i'd just tell you after it was better, but..."

"why would you try to hide something from me?" he asks you, suddenly sounding hurt. it's clear on his face that he doesn't understand why you would conceal something as important as your health from him, whether it was small or not. you tell each other everything, and that shouldn't have stopped now of all times because you don't want him to worry.

"i didn't know you'd get so upset, cho, honestly," you tell him. "i-" you stop when a sharp pain shoots through your fingers and you gasp. choso's face drops and he gently sets your hand down to his lap, panicked.

"i'm sorry," he apologizes. "shit, you must be in a lot of pain."

"it's nothing i haven't experienced before," you try to reassure him, giving him a tight smile.

"why does that matter?" choso drags his brows together. "pain is pain. i don't like when you feel any of it."

you melt. "i know. i know you don't, i don't like when you feel any of it either."

"so don't... keep stuff like this from me, (y/n)," he says sternly. "please, i need to know. i don't have the same connection to you that i have with my blood brothers, but i'm still connected to you all the same. when you hurt, i hurt."

"i get it cho, i'm sorry," you nod bashfully. "i wasn't trying to make you mad. i just don't like it when you're stressed out."

"i'm always stressed out," he says flatly, and you raise your brows with a halfhearted smile.

"yeah, i know. so why stress you even more?"

"i'd rather be stressed about you if i'm stressing about anything," he says, looking over your face as the hardness in his gaze washes away. "you know you're everything to me."

"i know, baby," you push out your bottom lip, pressing your free hand to the side of his cheek and leaning in to kiss him. his ears burn when you pull away, and he sighs heavily.

"don't offend me by trying to hide stuff like this. it won't work."

"i'm sorryyyy," you giggle and choso grumbles incoherently under his breath.

his gaze goes back to your fingers and his brows curl. "how the hell do you slam a door on someone's hand?" he hisses.

"it was an accident, cho, he didn't mean it."

"i know, and i shouldn't really be angry at him but i can't help but be irritated because you're hurt..." his fingers graze the tape. "how bad does it hurt?"

"cho, it'll be okay."

"that wasn't my question."

you roll your eyes at his attitude with a soft smile. "it hurts as much as a broken finger would."

"right. sorry," he murmurs.

"you're okay, love, you don't need to apologize."

"i still wish i- nevermind," he refrains himself from discussing how he wanted to be there to protect you from such an unpredictable occurence. "is there anything i can do to help you feel better while we wait? do you need anything?"

"ummm," you try to think. "actually, could you grab a new pack of ice from the freezer? and... the snacks you got me earlier."

the brunette's face brightens slightly with the thought that he can do something to help ease your pain as you wait for shoko to return to the school.

he nods in determination, carefully sliding your hand into your lap and kissing your cheek before hopping up to run to the kitchen. he returns with the items you requested, placing the snacks down beside him and lifting the bag of ice over your hand.

"like this?" he eases the bag down and you wince, nodding.

"mhm. yeah," you strain out. choso watches your face sadly, hating the fact that you're hurting.

"i'm sorry for getting upset," he mumbles. you turn to look at him curiously. "i just love you a lot."

"i love you more, cho," you smile gently, leaning your head against his shoulder. he sighs, resting his chin atop your head as he ices your hand. "and don't worry, i get it. i won't try to hide injuries from you anymore."

"i really hope so."

"now can you pass me those chips please?"

toji fushiguro: (knife cut!)

toji is going to absolutely kill you, and you are dreading the moment he does.

he has always told you not to touch his weapons. even if you see any of them lying around his place because he never bothers to clean up in between jobs. his one rule when you're over is to leave them alone and to let him handle them when he gets back. he doesn't care how much you protest, he doesn't care that you want to help him pick up after himself.

no touching. that is all he asks of you.

and of course... one afternoon when he's out sorting out some finances with shiu and one of his knives is glaring at you from where it lay on the kitchen table, you can't help yourself.

you don't really think anything is going to happen. after all, you're not a baby, nor are you an idiot. you know how to handle a freaking knife and you know where to put it, and yet, somehow, you allow your arrogance with the task to distract you. you're not handling it as carefully as you should be, and the second you hear the keys jingling outside the front door, you panic.

the blade, naturally, fumbles in your grasp, and swipes through the air, over your palm, and to the carpet. you jump, stepping away as quickly as it falls. you feel a sting in your hand and look down to see the fresh gash stretching over your skin. you gape as blood slowly simmers from the wound, befuddled as to how something like this even happened so quickly.

you have no time to clean it when you hear the key inside the lock. you hurriedly pick up the knife with your unwounded hand, place it back on the table where you first saw it, rip a napkin from said table to press to your bleeding palm, and clench it into a fist just as the door opens.

toji immediately greets you with a raised brow, jade eyes eying you oddly as he steps in. "the hell are you gettin' into?" he asks, confused by the way you are standing against the wall when he enters.

you're quick to move into his space to distract him from the vision of his knife and from looking any further downward from your face. you lean up on your tiptoes, normal hand on his forearm as you kiss his scarred lips. "what do you mean?"

"why were you just standing there like that?"

"can't I wait by the door for you to come back?" you bat your eyelashes, and toji grunts, gazing down at you with lidded eyes as his hand comes around the small of your back. "i'm just happy to see you."

"you take a pill or somethin', doll?"

you glare at him. "now why would you ask me that?"

"you're just acting a little too nice, that's all."

you scoff. "i don't know what you're talking about, i'm literally always happy to see you."

"yeah, but i was gone for thirty minutes and you never make a show of it like this."

"why are you making it sound like i don't show you love? you're the one who's mean all the time," you retort sassily.

a smirk captures toji's lips as he ducks down to kiss you again. "that's more like it," he murmurs against you. "still ain't answer my question though."

"i literally did. i told you i was waiting for you."

"sure," he says, unconvinced. his eyes drag down your body and momentarily go to your fist when you swiftly wrap both arms around his neck, pulling him down to crash your lips into him once more.

his brows narrow and as you kiss him, and you can feel the blood on your hand seeping through your napkin. you curse internally, lowering your hand back down behind him as he pulls away.

"not that i'm against this," toji starts, voice dangerously low against your mouth. "but it feels like you're tryin' to distract me from something."

"why would i be doing that?" you ask gently, looking up into his piercing eyes. he hums, dragging himself away from you. he grabs your chin softly and tilts your head left and right, looking over your face. "what are you doing?" you ask.

"lookin' for whatever you're hiding."

"i'm not hiding anything, toji."

"uh huh."

shit. it's never a good sign when toji doesn't even try to pretend to believe anything you're saying, and the way he's looking over your face let's you know that he at least suspects you've done something to yourself that he should know about.

you keep your fist to his back as he looks over the rest of your body with a rather relaxed expression, which only means that he doesn't suspect you touching any of his weapons. yet.

you have to keep his attention away from the knife on the table so that he doesn't figure it out.

"can you stop messing around already? i wanna go take a shower," you try to say, but toji doesn't listen.

"turn around f'me."

"huh?"

"huh?" he mimics you, looking at you unimpressed. "turn."

you suck your teeth. "i hate when you get like this."

"and i hate when you lie, now turn."

you grimance. you can't turn around with him looking down at your hand, and you're sure by now that the napkin you hold is coated red. your eye twitches in that moment when you feel a line of blood drip down your wrist.

god dammit. you're so dead.

nonetheless, you try to keep your palm facing inward as you slip it from his back and turn over your left shoulder, which connects to the uninjured hand. the second your back is to him, you bring your bloody hand in front of you.

"yeah, no," you hear toji gruffly say. your heart hammers in your throat and you know what's coming next. he moves around you to wrap his hand around your wrist and tug at it.

you cringe, allowing yourself to accept your fate when he pulls forward your balled up hand.

"open."

"can't we just-"

"open."

you sigh heavily, slowly peeling open your palm to reveal the red-stained napkin balled in it, the line of blood rushing down your inner arm, and the slice that stretches across your hand.

toji's eyes blow wide, and before he asks you anything, he throws his head over his shoulder to locate the knife that sits on the table. "are you fucking kidding me, (y/n)?" he growls, turning back to face you angrily.

"okay, let's not act like this is so crazy!" you immediately defend, throwing your other arm up. "you leave your shit lying around all the time!"

"and every single time, i tell you that i'll take care of it. what the fuck, do i have to go child-proofing the house now because of you?"

"if you would just be more mindful of how you leave your space, you wouldn't even have to worry about shit like this! you shouldn't even have knives lying around in the first place."

"i'm a grown man, (y/n), i know how to avoid cutting myself with the weapons i use daily."

"you're being a prick."

"oh baby, you must not know me because i'm about to be worse," he grunts, eyes heated with fury, and you frown.

"toji, come onnn, it was an accident."

"what do i always say about my weapons, (y/n)?"

"i just wanted to help you put it away, is that so crazy?"

"what. do i say. about my weapons."

you deflate slightly, uneased by the rate at which toji is growing angry with you. "...not to touch them."

"so why the fuck did you touch them?" he growls, picking up the napkin in your palm and tossing it over his shoulder. he looks over your wound and clenches his jaw. "fucking hell, (y/n)."

"look, i'm sorry."

"shut the hell up and come on."

despite his rage, he leads you to the bathoom with surprising care.

when you arrive, he flicks on the light with his free hand and swipes up a cloth from under the sink. he turns to you, pressing it down to your wound to stop the bleeding. once it seems like it's done, he puts the cloth down and turns on the faucet. "put your hand under," he orders, guiding it to the cool water nonetheless.

the water hits your open wound bitterly and you jump, watching the blood run through the drain as toji washes your arm as well.

"sit," he nods over to the bathtub, shutting off the faucet.

you oblige mutely, shuffling over and holding out your hand. you sit slowly on the ledge of the tub and watch as toji shuffles through his cupboards for a bottle of peroxide, some bandages, and ointment. you dread what is coming, for you know your hand is gonna sting like a bitch.

toji thuds over to sit hunched on the closed toilet lid, leaning over to grab your hand again. you stretch your fingers out and he sighs, shaking his head. "so fucking hard-headed," he murmurs.

you watch him screw open the bottle of liquid.

"go slowly," you plead.

"it's gonna hurt all the same, doll," he tells you, and you pout. "you should listen next time, then maybe you wouldn't have to go through this."

"shut the fuck up."

toji clicks his tongue, glancing at you momentarily before leaning down and holding the bottle over you, grasping your wrist loosely with your hand above his knee. "keep still."

the peroxide comes flooding out of the bottle and onto your hand, bubbling instantly over your gash. you whimper, tensing your body and scrunching your eyes at the sting.

"i know," toji mumbles, smoothing his thumb gently over your wrist. "you're alright."

your fingers dig into your thigh as it continues to burn. toji leans over to put down the bottle and continues to caress your arm, lowering your hand to his lap. he blows over your palm slightly as the peroxide dries, and you eventually open your eyes.

"not so bad," he tells you. he leans himself back to reach for a new cloth then pats it around the gash, drying your hand and your arm. he reaches back again for the tube of almost empty ointment he found and twists it open, squeezing it over your wound. "shit, hold on," he stops. he lets you lift your hand as he rushes to wash his own before coming to sit back down at hold yours on his leg again, now with bandages in hand.

you watch him gently as he works the bandage over you with such attentiveness, a dip in his brow proving his focus. you suddenly feel guilty for making him worry.

"i'm sorry," you finally say again, this time with more meaning.

toji's green eyes snap up at you amidst his wrapping. "yeah?"

"i really was just trying to help you. didn't mean to stress you out."

toji sighs, pausing his movements to look you in the eye. "you need to be more careful. i tell you not to touch my stuff because it's not your responsibility. obviously i know you can yourself, but some of my shit's really dangerous and i don't want you gettin' hurt," he gestures to your hand. "it could've been a lot worse, but still."

"if you don't want me touching your weapons, toji, you should probably clean them up more," you quirk a brow and he exhales loudly.

"i'm seeing that now, yeah," he says. "i'll be more careful if you are. don't need my doll getting a bunch of scars 'cause of me, now."

you smile softly. "yeah. i won't touch your stuff anymore, i promise."

"...how about instead i just... teach you how to handle 'em the right way?"

you perk up. "really?"

"i don't see why not. i'd rather you know how to use some of it than see you scrape yourself up because you don't know how to hold a knife."

"don't be a smartass."

toji smirks, continuing with his wrapping of your hand. "i mean it. i'll sit down with you sometime to show you."

"...how about after we're done here?"

"don't fucking push it."

ryomen sukuna: (fever!)

you wake up in a cold sweat, shivering.

you groan in displeasure, rolling over, slightly discombobulated. it can't be any later than 7 am, but you are boiling hot. you press your hand to your forehead and curse. you're sweating profusely and you feel incredibly lightheaded.

you don't even have the energy to get up, but you know that you need to take your temperature. you shudder, carefully shuffling out of bed and wincing as every brush against your skin feels like the stab of a thousand pins and needles.

you lethargically make your way to your bathroom, the cool air hitting your neck and sending you into a fit of shivers. you cling to yourself, teeth chattering, and reach into your cabinet for a thermometer. with half-open eyes, you pop it under your tongue and make your way back to your bed, bundling up in your blankets and curling into a ball.

it feels like hours before the beep resounds, and you slowly lift it from your mouth to read the little digital numbers.

102.4. perfect.

you shudder in pain, tossing the thermometer to the side and nestling your face in your pillows. you feel like absolute shit, but you can't bring yourself to do much else. you need medicine, water, a cool compress, but none of those things you have access to currently.

you close your eyes as your mind swarms, body throbbing and shuddering with chills though the last thing you need is to be cuddled under the covers. you think maybe it will go away if you get some rest. maybe you just need to relax, to take some time in bed. you'll let sukuna know when-

shit! sukuna.

there's no way in hell or on earth that sukuna will allow you to go untreated if you tell him, but god, you don't feel like letting him know. despite his likely haste to make sure you have everything you need, you can only imagine the snarky comments about your fragility, your strange body, your vulnerability that he''ll spout.

you don't want to hear it. you don't want to hear any of it, because you're sure that if you do, you'll start crying. you're already worn down, clearly, and the last thing you need on top of a fever is your boyfriend joking about your weak state.

you elect to stay in bed and tell sukuna you'll see him another time if he pesters you today.

which of course, he does.

a whirlwind of alarming dreams that you almost thought were hallucinations are disrupted by the persistent buzzing of your phone on your dress. you groan, reaching out a shaky hand to blindly grab the device and answer the call, pressing it to your ear with no knowledge of who you're speaking to.

"yes?" you croak.

"can't answer a telephone call the first time it rings?" sukuna's voice thunders through the mic, and you lift your brows.

"kuna?" you try to say his name normally, despite the constant chatter of your teeth.

"who the hell else would it be?"

"sorry... i was asleep."

"at this hour?"

"...what'dy'mean?"

"jesus, woman, it's 2 in the afternoon. why the hell are you still in bed?"

you reel momentarily at his words. 2 pm? it was just 7 in the morning! have you really been sleeping all this time?

"oh..." is all you can manage to say before a chill wracks your body again. you cringe, curling into yourself and holding the phone away from you.

"oh?" the king of curses repeats. "what is the matter with you?"

"n-nothing," you respond quickly. "i guess i was up late last night. i was c-completely knocked out..." you tremble.

"last night you told me you were going to sleep early because you were tired, you brat."

fuckkkk.

how could you have forgotten about that? you hadn't been feeling well last night, which is likely the reason why you feel so much worse today, so you turned in early. "i- couldn't fall asleep until later, though," you mumble.

"you are attempting to deceive me," sukuna grunts. "care to explain why?"

"m'not, kuna," you sigh halfheartedly.

"what exactly do you take me for?"

you're really not in the mood for this. you're aching at this point, and you can tell your body temperature has only risen. you're so weak. you can barely even process the fact that you're on the phone, and you can't handle sukuna's attitude. not if he's not going to help, which you automatically assume that he won't.

"i'm going back to bed," you say softly.

"what do you mean back to bed?!" sukuna fumes. "seriously, what the hell is the matter with you. you sound ill."

"i'm not i-ill."

"then why do you keep stumbling over your words, woman?" he questions, his voice mellowing out into a steady intensity. "what is it now? your monthly plague? whatever you people call allergies?"

this is exactly why you don't want him to know. he handles these things too crudely, as if it's a burden upon his existence. "y-you ask too many damn questions."

"i wouldn't have to if you answered them. now talk."

"i'm fine, sukuna. i'm just gonna go back to sleep."

"you hang up this phone, i'm at your door in two seconds."

"that's impossible."

"try me."

you know he's serious, but you don't have the energy. you can't stay on the phone with him any longer, trying to speak like nothing's wrong. it's cold. so cold, but you're so hot. you're probably drenched in a pool of your own sweat, but you can't feel it. you want to sleep. you just want him to let you sleep.

your vision grows dizzy as you stare ahead, brows arching in discomfort. you think you press the end call button, but you can still hear his voice picking up in urgency... is he shouting? are you even on the phone anymore? you aren't sure.

your vision suddenly drifts into inky blackness as the phone rests beside you on your pillow. the last thing you are aware of before you slip into unconsciousness again is banging at your front door.

sukuna bursts into your apartment mere minutes after you stopped answering him on the phone. he looks about ready to kill, crimson eyes wide and pupils shrunken as he breathes heavily, looking all over your apartment.

he's stomping to your room and throwing the door open when he sees you laying in the bed. "(y/n)!" he barks, searching for some response from you, but all he recieves or nonsensical murmurs.

he moves quickly to the side of your bed and grabs at your shoulder, turning you over to find your sheets drenched and your face tight with discomfort. he falters, heart jerking at the sight. "...the fuck?"

he presses a hand to your sweat-drenched face and furrows his brows in concern. you're hot. too hot for the temperature of a human being, and you're sweating like crazy, mumbling things under your breath in your sleep he can't even hear.

"the fuck did you do?" he grumbles, starting to internally panic. he scrambles to remember what this could be. he knows of plague, of pestilence, so maybe you're suffering some form of that?

hell, he can't tell. not from a glance. he's not even sure if he knows how to help you. you're entirely too hot for him to brush this off like it's nothing, and you passed out in the middle of speaking to him.

he looks over and sees the thermometer on your sheets and leans over to pick it up. the screen reads a high number, which he assumes is the temperature of your body. curious himself, he prods open your jaw and tucks it into your mouth, pressing the button the way you had shown him when you had the flu to reset the time.

"come the fuck on," he growls as seconds tick by before it beeps, and he pulls it from your lips to read 104.7.

he doesn't know how far it is from your usual temp, but he knows it's high. too high.

he's quick to dial uraume for some more information, and the second he hears that you need immediate medical help, he's picking you up and making a run for it without even thinking that uraume can likely help you.

when you wake, you're blinded by nauseating lights blaring down overhead. "ugh," you groan, feeling light and disoriented. you turn your head to the side and blink, to find sukuna's face staring directly at you rather harshly.

you jump slightly, startled. "what-?" you start, scrunching your eyes to adjust to the sight before you. "sukuna? what are you..." you trail off when you realize that you aren't in your house, nor are you at sukuna's estate. instead, you're in a hospital bed hooked up to a series of fluids.

your eyes go wide as you sit up suddenly, only to be hit with a sudden dizzy spell that sends you leaning back into the bed.

"don't move," he orders, and you turn to him in confusion. never would you have expected to see the day that sukuna sits in a chair beside you in a hospital.

"why are we... what happened?"

"apparently you had a high fever," he answers harshly, fist-propping his chin up over his leg. "too high for you to be seen in my care, and too high for you to be lying in bed as though nothing was wrong."

your heart sinks. "how high?"

"when we got here, tipping past 105."

"...are you serious?"

"i had to come bust down your door to make sure you were alive. i put you on an empty roller downstairs because these fucking dumbass doctors can't see me and i had to get their attention so they could notice you. yes, i am serious."

he sounds pissed. and you hardly want to think of what he means by ‘getting their attention.’

"what do you have to say for yourself? for daring to lie to me? for pretending like you weren't on the brink of a much worse fate?"

"...i..."

"you're so lucky you're unwell, girl, because you don't even want to imagine the things i would do to you as punishment for putting yourself in such a ridiculous situation," he growls. "all you had to do was tell me and i would have taken care of it before it got worse."

you blink, almost dumbfounded. you still aren't all there, but you can tell that your fever has gone down significantly. you're no longer sweating and fewer chills wrack your body. "...huh?"

"did that fucking fever scramble your brain or what?" he fumes, eyeing you sharply. "you should have told me."

you part your lips slightly as you look at him. "honestly, sukuna, i didn't think you'd really... i don't know-"

"care?"

"no, not care. i just didn't think you'd handle it well. i didn't even handle it well myself."

"you believe me to be incapable of tending to sickness?"

"no, i just thought you'd like... not take it seriously."

sukuna's eyes darken, and you realize that you may have said the wrong thing. "in what reality would i fail to take any threat to your health seriously, whether you are frail or not?"

"see, that's what i mean. you always have to slip in something about me being frail."

"because you are. as a member of your species. look at where you lay currently," sukuna grimaces. "that is not an insult to you, it's an observation. it's an insult, however, to everyone else who isn't you."

you relax slightly. "then you were actually worried?"

sukuna scoffs. "why the hell do you think i'm sitting in a human hospital with your sick ass right now? i thought we were past you believing i do not concern myself over you."

you suddenly feel foolish, having forced yourself to suffer in your isolation and simultaneously made sukuna, of all people, worry over you.

"hm. feeling foolish, are you?" he says, reading your mind.

"shut up,," you whine, only to clutch your stomach suddenly with a groan. sukuna sighs as he gently eases your head back onto the pillow.

"i told you not to exert yourself. you give me a headache."

"kuna," you mumble.

"what?"

"can you... take me home?"

sukuna raises a brow. "home?"

"to your place," you clarify. "i don't wanna be here. i just want to be with you. want you to hold me."

"you're such a needy thing," he exhales, toying with a strand of your hair as he leans over and gazes gently at you. "you have medications you need to take."

"then bring them with."

"and if you get sick again? you've only been here ten hours."

"ten?!" you exclaim.

"you were very ill, (y/n)."

you groan. "ten is long enough. i hate hospitals. take me home. i feel better anyway, and if i get worse, i’ll just go to uraume."

sukuna sighs, standing slowly. "after i get these tubes out of you without further damaging you, i will take you home," he says, looking over the IVs that you're hooked up to.

you close your eyes tiredly and nod in acceptance. "okay," you murmur.

he grunts. "let me find some damn instructions.”

"kuna," your hand weakly reaches out to catch his wrist and he stops, turning to look down at you.

"what is it?"

you open your eyes to look up at him fondly, exhaustion welling in your gaze. "thank you."

the king of curses clenches his jaw. he smoothes ahead over your now warm forehead and leans over you. "don't do some shit like this again."

Rollercoaster Rides

your jjk boyfriend doesn’t go on a ride with you. what’s their reaction when they find out another guy is about to accompany their girlfriend on it?

text messages including: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Sukuna Ryomen, Toji Fushiguro, Choso Kamo, Yuta Okkotsu, Toge Inumaki, Yuji Itadori, Megumi Fushiguro

How you reward the JJK men after they won their game

Tags: JJK men x fem!Reader, sports au, college au, smut, mention of mental health, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, oral sex (male receiving), heavy exhibitionism, dirty talk, use pet names, mdni

Incl - Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Choso, Toji, Sukuna

<< prev |

SATORU

“Fuck baby, that’s it…” Your large sweaty boyfriend pants underneath you. His hands are firmly wrapped around your hips, guiding your movements up and down his massive shaft.

The music and loud chatter from the after party is still raging on down stairs. Your college football team had managed to win the homecoming game against their rival team. It was a close game ending in 45-42. Your team had managed to kick a field goal as a last ditch effort to not go into overtime for a tiebreaker.

The party would soon be looking for the star quarterback to cheer him on, but little did they know he was too busy getting his fill of your pretty cunt.

The bed creaked beneath you two, and the air was filled with soft pants and hushed moans. Satoru was always on such a high after winning games like that. This was your second round. He barely got you through the door before he started on the first, taking you right up against the door — fast and hard to get the adrenaline out.

Now, it was time for the big celebration. “Sh-shit… so big, Toru. I-I can’t take it!!” You whined, but you and Satoru both knew that if he even thought about stopping right now, you’d probably cry from frustration.

The sound of skin slapping against skin was somehow heard over the blaring music. His shaft was coated in a thin slippery sheen of your arousal, easily impaling you over and over on his thick length.

“You can.. oh fuck- you can take it, sweets. Take it for me, yeah?” His pale blue eyes shined up at you as his skin was flushed. His white feathery hair was messily displayed on his head. He was always such a mess for you. “Just like thaat~ take it like a good girl. You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

You were nearly drooling from his filthy words. Satoru was always so chatty when he was getting close, and judging by the way his swollen tip was frantically diving in and out of you and how his hands were holding onto you, jerking you around with little concern — he’s very close.

Satoru removed one of his hands to gently rub tight circles onto your sensitive clit. “Let me fill you up. Please — just one more time. Fuck, one more time of me filling up my girl’s pussy.”

Your head was spinning. How could you say no to that when your whole body was consumed in pleasure by him? Satoru could ask you to do whatever in that moment, and you’d happily agree.

“Yes.. fuck yes, please Toru..”

With the mention of your little nickname, Satoru lets out a groan, and his length pulses inside your spongy walls, pumping you full of his cum. It’s a mere seconds later before you’re spasming on top of him — gasping for air as you clench down on his length.

You two take a moment to sober up in each other’s arms — panting for breath and whispering loving words of praise. “You looked good out there tonight.” You murmured dreamily into his chest.

“Aren’t you suppose to say I did good?” Satoru asks with a small laugh. His hand is entangled in your hair, gently rubbing your scalp as he softens inside you.

“Eh. Same thing.” You respond with a happy laugh. It’s not long after that someone is pounding on the bedroom door — telling you two to take a break so they can celebrate Satoru’s victory.

SUGURU

“Mmm, sh-shit, sweetheart.. Gonna make me cum early if you keep that up..” Suguru groans as his oversized veiny hand holds a tight grip on your hair.

There was something so exhilarating about sucking your boyfriend off in the locker room after every basketball game he won. Any of his teammates could walk in right now and see you on your knees in front of him, his back pressed against the cold metal lockers as he guides your head slowly up and down his length.

He’d let his teammates watch too if they walked in. You’re so pretty when you’re in your element. It’s truly a sight to behold, and he doesn’t mind giving his teammates a little morale boost by watching his pretty girlfriend giving him head.

He’d break their hand and put them out of a career if they tried to touch you though.

His eyes are fixated on you. He always gives you such a loving look while you work hard on your knees for him. He knows you’re trying so hard to fit all of him in your throat, but he’s just too big.

With every whine and gag, Suguru growls in approval. His hand continues petting your head. “That’s right… Gag on me, sweetheart. Doin’ such a good fucking job." He pants, leaning his head back against the locker.

He can't help but slowly pump his hips back and forth, forcing himself further down your throat because he loves seeing the tears that gather in your eyes. He loves seeing how completely ruined you are after sucking him off.

You look up at him with such a pitiful look he can't help but shove your head down as far as your throat will let him, and he unloads completely down your throat. He lets out breathy moans and growls as his cock twitches, spurting ribbon after ribbon of cum.

"Good girl." He praises huskily before yanking your head back so he can press his lips to yours, hungrily seeking out your taste.

Before you know it, Geto has you bridal style in his arms. "Just you wait, sweetheart. I'll return the favor once we're back in my dorm." He teases with a smug grin on his face. If you performance wasn't enough to motivate him to win each game, your thighs wrapped around his head definitely was.

NANAMI

The first time Kento took you to the press box after having won a game and railed you until you couldn't think anymore was out of sheer convenience and adrenaline.

Now? It was more of a tradition. You don't even know why the school trusted him with the keys to the press box, but you didn't question it.

Your boyfriend was normally so gentle and doting. The only time you got to see this more rough, primal side to him was after a big win, and Nanami's team just won the game needed to make the championship game.

"Mmmph... you feel so g-good, darling." He enunciates his praise with open mouth kisses to your neck. His hands have yours pinned above your head as he has your back laid out on the control desk. Your pretty white skirt was hiked up to your waist, and he was stood between your legs.

Your hands try helplessly to grab at the desk, but his thrusts were too heavy for you to grab onto anything. The wood creaked beneath each brutal movement. Your legs were already trembling, and he had just started.

The sounds of wet slapping noises filled the press box. Luckily, no one was in the stadium right now, or they'd see their star baseball player filling up his pretty girlfriend so full right now. If either one of you pressed the mic accidentally, the speakers would blare from the sounds of your whines and lovemaking.

"K-ken~!" You whimper as your body squirms beneath his, trying to find the smallest bit of refuge from his heavy cock bullying its way between your velvety walls, thumping obscenely against your womb.

He releases your hands with a small grunt, grabbing onto your hips to try and keep you still. His muscles ripple with each forceful thrust. He just has all this energy after his games that he has to release somehow, and this wasn't enough.

"Fucking... come here." He suddenly demands before grabbing you up and lifting you effortlessly off the desk. There's nowhere for you to run off to anymore. Soon, the entire rhythm is set by how fast and hard he can yank your body up and down his cock.

You're quickly reduced to a whiny puddle in his arms, only able to stutter out his name followed by various curses. His hips quickly jackhammer into you, pistoning deeper than he ever has before.

You can't even choke out a single word before you're spasming all over his cock. Your walls clamp down impossibly tighter around him like a vice, causing him to groan in satisfaction.

"Thaaat's it~ That's a good girl. Shh, I have you." Kento purrs in your ear, still fucking you through your orgasm to prolong your pleasure as much as he can. Soon, he could feel his balls tightening, demanding that he empty himself into you. "I'm gonna cum, sweet girl. You... you're gonna take it, right?" He pants.

One frantic nod and a pitiful hum of affirmation later, and Nanami's pulling you down onto his cock as hard as he can, making you take him as deeply as possible whit his cock pumps you full to the brim of his hot sticky cum.

"Did so good for me.." He praises as he presses a sweet kiss to your temple. "You're a work of art, darling."

CHOSO

"Cho, you were amazing out there!" You happily praised your boyfriend as he carried you in his arms. You knew he never stuck around long after games, figuring it was just in his introverted to want to leave so soon.

"Mhm.." He shakily hums, cradling you closely to his chest as he was on a mission: get you back to his dorm as soon as possible.

"Are you okay, baby?" You ask in a concerned tone, hoping he wasn't having another panic attack like he did after that one game.

Sometimes the adrenaline of winning and the concept of having everyone's eyes on him was too much for him to handle. He was beyond lucky to always have either you or Yuji by his side to talk him down from whatever had triggered his panic disorder.

"I'm okay." He hoarsely whispered. No, it wasn't anxiety that had him nearly trembling while carrying you. It was something else entirely.

*** *** ***

"You said I did good, right?" He huskily whispered as he pawed at your pants. He had you trapped beneath him on his bed. The room was dark, only warmly illuminated by a small bedside lamp. The scent of Choso's cologne as well as the natural musk from sweat was heavy in the air between you two.

"Yes, baby. You did so good." You hummed in agreement as your heart pounded against your ribcage. There was something off about Choso tonight. His nervous yet assertive energy had you feeling on edge.

"I deserve a reward then, right?" He asks, slowly tugging down your pants. He holds your gaze, looking for any sign of hesitancy or discomfort.

"I-" You weren't opposed to what he was suggesting, but honest, you were just taken aback. Your normally sweet and loving boyfriend was trying his best to be almost condescending towards you. "What are you wanting as a reward, Cho?"

Now, it's Choso's turn to nervously gulp. He's sweating even more now -- so incredibly nervous to directly tell you what he wants more than anything in the world right now.

"I want you to sit on my face." He finally blurts out like ripping off a Band-Aid.

"You want me... to sit on your face... as a reward?" You question.

He eagerly nods, looking like an excited puppy.

You can barely get out the word 'okay' before he's tugging his hair out of the messy buns he had it in. His strong arms grab ahold of you and roll to where he's on his back, and you're straddling his chest.

He's put a lot of thought into this. In fact, he's fucked his fist more times than he can count to the thought of you riding his face, using him for your pleasure.

"Cho- my p-panties aren't even off!" You squirm to release yourself from his grip, but he just hauls you up closer to his face.

"Leave them." He demands lowly, looking up at you with lust-blown dark eyes.

... and that's how you end up marathon cumming on your boyfriend's face more times than you can count... as a reward for him.

TOJI

Win or lose, Toji bends you over and fucks you hard and fast in the penalty box after every hockey game.

Even if his team won the game, he still usually has so much pent up aggression to where he needs to let out some steam, and your pretty pussy is the perfect punching bag for his cock.

"T-toji-! Slow down-" You choke out in a whine. Your cheek is pressed up against the glass as his hands are wrapped around your waist, completely ravaging you from behind. You can feel your tears smearing against the penalty box, and your legs are starting to tremble. It's hard enough trying not to slide around on the ice.

Toji was seething. He had sat a good portion of the game in the penalty box for fighting one of the opposing players.

Apparently, the opposing team had a little strategy to get the best hockey player, Toji, out of the game, which included goading him about his pretty little girlfriend.

Not surprisingly, Toji was quick to take the bait and nearly tried to stomp on the fucker who dared to utter your name.

"You want me to slow down?" He laughs as his hips continue their frantic rampage. "You don't like it when I'm mean to you? Don't be a liar, girl. Your fucking pussy's trying to clamp down on me. 'm starting to think she won't ever let me go."

And the worst part is, he's right. You're uncontrollably fluttering around him, leaking all around his cock and even dribbling onto the ice because your body loves how rough he is.

You're crying now out of sheer pleasure and overstimulation, unable to even choke out a response. Luckily for you, your boyfriend isn't a complete monster, and he hunches over your back, wrapping his big thick arms around you so you don't have to worry about slipping and falling.

"Answer me, girl." He grunts, using his new position to pinch on one of your nipples. "You love this shit, don't you? Say it."

"I love it-!" You cry out, allowing yourself to be free and vulnerable in the moment with him where no one else can hear you. "I love you-" You add as you don't have the mental capacity to hold yourself back.

The sudden warmth of your confession has Toji's hips stuttering. For once in his life, he's off balance. In a quick movement, Toji sits down on the bench, and he slams you right back down onto his lap, his cock impaling you on your way down.

"I'm gonna ruin you, doll." He growls into your ear, wrapping a hand around your throat as he pins your back to his chest. His hips rock back and forth, still pumping you so full. "You're mine -- mine to ruin. I fucking love you."

He came to the realization of his own feelings when he was ready to risk it all - his place on the team, his hockey scholarship, his freedom over some sad sack of shit who spoke your name in a foul way.

SUKUNA

Sukuna’s a little deviant when it comes to his rewards.. As soon as the kicker scores the last field goal needed for his team to win, Sukuna is charging out to the stands with a face of stone.

People literally make way for him, terrified of the way he looks. Plus, they all saw what a monster he was out on the field. It doesn’t take a genius to know not to fuck with him.

The only person who doesn’t move or dodge him is you. You give him the biggest hug, wrapping your arms around his neck and praising him for how well he did out on the field tonight. I mean, he only crushed three peoples’ ribs tonight. He was learning how to control his temper.

He doesn’t respond to your praise, only giving you a grunt before he unceremoniously slings you over his shoulder. He’s come to claim his prize of the night.

No one notices you two slip off into the darkness of the night — far away from the Friday night lights. Sukuna carries you out to where some random person’s car is parked, and he can’t resist himself anymore.

It’ll be a while before anyone makes it out to their cars anyways.

Bending you over the hood, you quickly start to protest and squirm, whining about how you will be caught, but Sukuna doesn’t seem to be listening.

“Be good.” He demands in a low grumble as his oversized fingers hook into your waistband, pulling your shorts and panties down around your knees in one tug.

“Sukuna-“ You plead once more, but as soon as his fat fingers swipe across your cunt, gathering your arousal, you know you’re done for.

“Hm? What is it?” He asks with obvious amusement. He finds it cute how you still deny liking being manhandled, but your pretty glistening pussy says otherwise.

“We can get in serious-“ Your breath hitches as his fingers delve inside, slotting right between your warm velvet walls. He’s already filling you up so good, you can’t even find your words anymore.

Sukuna just smirks, knowing he has you where he wants you. You’re so addicted to his touch, you’re willing to slut yourself out on the hood of some stranger’s car for him.

He’s convinced now. You were tailor made just for him. No one will complete him the way you do, and even if they did, Sukuna would end them just to find you again.

He pumps his fingers in and out of your slippery cunt while keeping his other hand firmly planted between your shoulder blades, forcing your face down onto the cool metal of the car beneath you.

His hips roll and grind against your backside, letting you feel his raging erection through the tight spandex pants of his uniform.

He’s working you so perfectly, curling his fingers just the right way and thrusting them so hard he’s practically lifting you up just by his fingers in your cunt. You’re nearly drooling against the car, letting out the most erotic sounds as you can’t be bothered to care anymore.

The pleasure builds and builds, and you start to hear voices in the distance. For whatever reason, it only heightens the experience.

“Come on. Give it to me.” Sukuna growls as he pushed his hips harder against your ass. “Give me what I want.”

“Suku-“ Your cry is quickly interrupted by Sukuna shoving his fingers into your mouth. His other hand is pounding your g-spot to no abandon, making fat tears well in your eyes.

He’s leaking gossamers of pre-cum in his pants, and he growls from the thought of making you lick it up later. For now, he’s going to indulge ruining you against this stranger’s car.

The voices grow a bit louder, and it all becomes so much. You cry out against Sukuna’s fingers as you feel yourself clamp down on his fingers, and the sound of water hitting the ground is heard as your release washes over you.

“Did you just- Fuck me..” He groans, seeing now as your clothes are soaked, and you even managed to get some on the car.

He withdraws quickly, knowing he’s running out of time, and he bends over, pulling your now soaked panties and shorts up over your waist. He makes sure to fasten your shorts before he throws you over his shoulder again to haul you to his dorm room.

“You’re going to do that for me again as soon as we’re home, flower.”