Baby You're A Star

Cowboy Sukuna (Part 1)

Sukuna became a cowboy so he wouldn't have to let anyone tell him what to do. And because he wanted to put some distance between himself and his little brother so Sukuna wouldn't drag him into his mess. Sukuna is made for the lonesome cowboy life. He doesn't need anyone by his side. He isn't looking for love. At least that's what he thinks until he meets you, a pretty girl in a flowery dress and cowboy boots who somehow knows how to tear Sukuna's walls down.

Cowboy!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: Cowboy AU, fluff + smut Word Count: 7.5k Playlist: Cowboy Sukuna Warnings: 18+, smut, cigarettes, alcohol, fistfights, blood. Minors don't interact. This story is inspired by @sweetlandspos fanart of Cowboy Sukuna (also this is the selfie he sends Reader). I saw him and fell in love, and I just HAD to write a story about this sexy cowboy. Divider @/benkeibear. The art in the header was used with permission from @/sweetlandspos

Sukuna grew up thinking he belonged nowhere. He can't even remember his dad and his mama didn't want him either. He was raised by his grandpa, but Sukuna was a wild one, a rebel and troublemaker, famous in his small town but for all the wrong reasons. He got all those tattoos when he was far too young, got into all those fistfights, broke all those hearts, and even got into trouble with the cops once. His gramps told Sukuna he was a bad influence on his little brother, so when Sukuna was old enough, he left it all behind and bought this old ranch in the middle of nowhere.

He renovated the old farmhouse all by himself and built his own life out here. A life he could be proud of. It's a lonely life. No wife, no kids, not even a girlfriend. Just Sukuna and his dog and horse and the cows. And lots of hard work. But it's what Sukuna tells himself he wants. The bad boy cowboy never even considered getting married. He doesn't think he is made for love. He isn't even sure he deserves it or is capable of it. Sukuna enjoys life out here in the middle of nowhere and tells himself he doesn't need anyone by his side, anyway.

If he wants to fuck, he can drive to town and flirt his way into some pretty girl's bed. It's never anything serious. Just a few hours of fun and then Sukuna is gone again. No goodbye kiss, no exchange of phone numbers. The only thing he leaves behind are some muddy bootprints on her front porch, and some cigarette ash flicked out of his car window.

Sukuna doesn't expect to ever find love or even want to find it. And he certainly doesn't think that he will meet his future wife on a random Tuesday morning in the shabby old hardware store he has been frequenting for years.

He got into his pickup truck at sunrise, driving several hours to the small town to buy some things in the hardware store, and that's where he runs into you, a sweet little thing in a flowery dress and pretty cowboy boots, wringing your hands nervously when Sukuna has some questions regarding the pond supplies he wants to buy.

He grins at you, taking his cowboy hat off and nodding at you respectfully, all polite because contrary to what he looks like with all his tattoos and the intimidating height and muscular build, he can be a gentleman if he wants to, and you seem like such a sweetheart, Sukuna thinks you deserve his best charming self.

You tell him it's your first day working here and you have to check with your boss. You apologize profusely to Sukuna, and he can't stop the smirk from spreading over his tattooed face because you are so damn cute.

He tells you, "It's okay, ma'am, I have time.", and watches you get all flustered before you hurry to the back of the store.

You return a few minutes later with a warm smile on your face and answer Sukuna's questions, showing him around and also helping him pick some other things he says he needs (which he doesn't, but he likes the way you smile at him and the way your sweet flowery perfume fills his nose anytime you move).

You even insist on helping him load the items into his pickup truck,

"See it as compensation for my earlier lack of fishing pond knowledge."

And Sukuna laughs and thanks you,

"There is nothing you have to compensate for. I am very pleased with your service."

He eyes the nameplate attached to your dress and addresses you by your name, letting it roll off his tongue in his low, velvety voice that he knows girls find sexy. Sukuna can see that you are affected by his charm, and he grins broadly at you when he tips his cowboy hat in a farewell. And you smile so sweetly at him, and Sukuna is pretty sure you really mean it when you tell him to come back again soon.

Sukuna is back in town only a week later, picking up a new saddle he ordered at the local saddler, but he drives past the hardware store on his way back, and something makes him slow down, makes him take one last deep drag from his cigarette and then flick the cigarette butt out the open window before Sukuna pulls into the small parking lot.

Sukuna tells himself it's a good idea to have a little look around when he already made the long drive into town anyway. He could use a new toolbox. The old one is still functioning, but this new one comes with a sweet girl in a cute little skirt and those shiny cowboy boots. Sukuna spends thirty minutes in the little shop until he finally sees you coming out from the back.

Your gaze meets his, and he sees the way your eyes widen just as Sukuna grins at you, tipping his cowboy hat in greeting and casually strolling over to you.

You smile brightly at him, remembering him (Of course you do. Sukuna knows he always leaves an impression), greeting him by his name, and asking him how you can be of help.

Sukuna cocks his head, a lazy smirk spreading over his handsome, tattooed face, letting his gaze travel over your pretty face and cute curves, thinking that he definitely knows some things you could help him with. He is pretty sure he could have you in his truck in no time at all, his calloused hands slipping under your cute little skirt while your pretty mouth moans his name. But something makes him hold back.

It's untypical for Sukuna. He drove all the way to town and will only be here for a few hours. Usually, he makes good use of that time to get his fill of some sweet pussy wrapped around his cock to keep him satisfied for the long lonely nights to come once he is back home again, riding over the plains, herding his cows.

But Sukuna looks at your sweet smile and your genuine kindness, and it doesn't feel right to only fuck you and then leave again to never see you again.

And so Sukuna doesn't try to get under your skirt but instead leans down to grin at you and ask you to help him pick a nice new toolbox.

He walks out of the store an hour later, not just with a new toolbox but also a new BBQ grill, some lawn chairs, and a saddle bag he could have gotten in much better quality at the saddler he just came from. But it's okay because it meant that he could spend a whole hour with you in the shitty little hardware store, letting you show him around, talking to him in your sweet voice with the thick accent, while Sukuna watched your little skirt sway around your knees.

You accompany him to his truck again, and Sukuna smirks at you like the devil that he is, asking in a teasing voice,

"Is this some new service your store offers? Helping every customer load their stuff into their cars? Or is this a special service just for me?"

His smirk grows bigger when he sees how flustered you get once again, and he adds,

"No need to get all shy on me, sweetheart. I like being your favorite customer."

You giggle nervously but smile that bright smile at him again and quickly ask him where he lives and what he's doing for a living. And Sukuna laughs and points at his cowboy hat,

"This is what I'm doing. The hat isn't just a sexy accessory."

"Oh? So you're really a cowboy?"

"Yeah, as real as you can meet one. I have my own ranch a few hours from here. Just me and my animals."

You smile at him, getting a slightly dreamy look in your eyes, telling him,

"That sounds nice."

Sukuna doesn't know why his chest feels so fluttery and warm the whole drive home. He even catches himself humming along softly to one of those stupid, catchy lovesongs playing on the country station on his shitty old car radio.

Cowboy Sukuna doesn't know what it is, but lately, he keeps coming to town more often than usual. It's Friday night, and he's sitting in the small bar with the roses on the wooden sign above the old-fashioned saloon doors.

Sukuna is drinking whiskey with some rancher who wants to buy several cows from him, when Sukuna suddenly sees you. All pretty and sexy without knowing it, in your blue jeans and the cropped blouse, laughing unrestrainedly with your girls after a long work day.

Sukuna can't take his eyes off you. He watches you over the rim of his whiskey glass, feeling that strange warmth in his chest again. He's about to put his glass down and walk over to you when he sees a guy bump into you.

The asshole is acting as if it was by accident, but he is far too handsy for Sukuna's taste. Standing much too close to you, his shoulders brushing against yours, his mouth at your ear, saying something to you.

Sukuna grits his teeth.

You smile politely at the guy, laughing awkwardly, not at all like when you laugh with Sukuna. You are uncomfortable. That much is clear to see, but Sukuna can tell you are a good girl who was taught to always be nice and polite, even to that guy with the grabby hands. That pathetic worm puts a hand on your hip, and Sukuna sees red.

He slams his whiskey glass down on the table and crosses the small bar in a few large steps, grabbing that handsy guy and pulling him off you with an angry growl. Sukuna slams him into the wall, glaring at him, his voice low and dangerous,

"Get your dirty hands off her, or I'll fucking kill you!"

Your wide, surprised eyes stare at Sukuna, and that nameless guy screams and tries to punch him, but Sukuna just laughs about the pathetic attempt and drags him further away from you, grabbing him by the collar as Sukuna's right fist connects with the asshole's face.

Sukuna has always been good at fistfights. He is a rough guy, a dirty fighter, sadistic when someone pisses him off. He tried to stay out of trouble those last few years, but tonight, he is not restraining his anger, not when it comes to protecting you.

He smirks devilishly at the guy when that asshole manages to land a hit on Sukuna's face. It just manages to rile Sukuna up even more. He laughs and taunts that loser for hitting like a little boy before Sukuna attacks again and sends the guy tumbling to the floor with the next hard punch.

It's then that your small, soft hands wrap around Sukuna's tattooed biceps, and your sweet voice says his name with so much worry that it makes Sukuna stop going after that guy on the floor. He just jerks his head at the guy, telling him to get lost,

"If you know what's good for you, you better stay a mile away from that sweet lady in the future. Now apologize to her."

And the guy scrambles to his feet, mumbling a sorry before he flees from the bar and from Sukuna.

Sukuna slowly turns around, running a tattooed hand through his pink hair. He wipes his split lip on his sleeve, gives you a lopsided grin, and asks if you are okay.

And you stare at him with big, worried eyes, taking in the blood on his tattooed face, but a small smile plays around your lips as you tell Sukuna,

"Thank you for getting him away from me. I am fine... but what about you? Your lip... let me fix that, please."

You take Sukuna's large hand in your smaller one, tugging gently on it, and Sukuna follows you out of the bar.

You lead him down the road to your small house, inviting him in, not to have sex with him, but to patch him up, and somehow it feels a lot more intimate than all the times combined that Sukuna went home with another girl.

You are so sweet to him, scolding him for getting into a fight and getting himself hurt, but your fingers are so gentle when you wipe the blood off Sukuna's face and put a band-aid on his split lip. You smile softly as you trace the tattoos on Sukuna's jaw with your fingers and whisper a thank you to him.

"Thank you for protecting me from that guy and teaching him a lesson. You're a good guy."

And Sukuna laughs roughly, grinning at you and shaking his head,

"That's a first. Usually, I get called the opposite."

And you laugh with him, your soft fingers still cupping his chin and touching his tattoos oh so gently, insisting that even though he looks like a bad boy, Sukuna seems really nice.

Sukuna is so close to just pulling you on his lap and kissing you, but he refrains from doing it. Because he knows where it would lead, and for once in his life, Sukuna doesn't want a one-night stand. He doesn't want to fuck you and then drive back to his life out on the ranch to never see you again.

He doesn't want that with you. He wants to see you again, and he wants to take things slow. He wants to court you in an old-fashioned way.

Sukuna eats the homemade pie you bring him and drinks the coffee you insist he should drink before he drives back home. He thanks you politely for playing nurse for him and for feeding him, looking at you with the most charming smile he can give you with his split lip. And you tell him he is welcome and that he knows now where to find you if he ever needs someone to patch him up again.

Sukuna returns a week later to the hardware store, not because he needs to buy anything, but for you. He sees you smile when you spot him leaning casually against a wooden fence display, twirling his cowboy hat in his fingers and smirking that lazy grin at you.

You only have eyes for him, forgetting what you want to say to the customers you are serving. Looking at them in confusion and stuttering an excuse before your gaze wanders back to Sukuna. And Sukuna's smirk grows bigger.

He didn't even dress nice. He is just wearing his typical black jeans and cowboy boots, and one of the flannel shirts he always wears on the ranch. But he knows he looks good anyway. Sukuna knows the ladies love his handsome face and his tall and strong body with all those well-defined muscles from all the hard work. And his pink hair and tattoos are very popular with the country girls, too. They all get weak in the knees for a bad boy like Sukuna.

But somehow, he doesn't want to be a bad boy when it comes to you. A strange warmth spreads through Sukuna's chest when you leave the other customers standing and come over to him with that big smile on your pretty face, greeting him and telling him that it's nice to see him again.

No, Sukuna doesn't want to be an asshole or a bad boy when it comes to you. He wants to be a good man for you. He is polite to you, sweet, and respectful. A true cowboy and gentleman.

He grins his boyish grin at you, cocking his head and drawls,

"I thought I should stop by to check on you. Make sure there aren't any weird guys I have to fistfight for you."

Sukuna flirts with you and makes you laugh and giggle until your boss gives you side eyes and informs you that you shouldn't pester customers. But Sukuna turns to the man, towering over him,

"She is just helping me decide which products to buy. You shouldn't berate her but rather give her a raise. This sweet lady is the best thing about this shitty store. The only reason I keep coming back."

You burst out laughing the moment your boss has left and Sukuna thinks his stomach has never felt so fluttery. He asks you when your shift is over and if he can take you out for dinner. He is delighted when you say yes.

Sukuna waits until your shift is over and then leads you to his old pickup truck, holding open the door for you, giving you a hand, and helping you climb into it. His hand rests a bit longer than necessary on the small of your back, but you don't seem to mind.

He takes you to a cozy little restaurant that he has been to several times before. Always alone because Sukuna never went on dates in the past. But the elderly lady who owns the restaurant always tells Sukuna that she knows the type of cowboy Sukuna is from the time when she was still a young girl.

"Oh, I have had several boys like you in my life. Y'all are such handsome devils, but always breaking hearts everywhere you go because you are always running from something, and you don't even know from what. I wish for you to find the right girl one day. And if you do, bring her here."

And now Sukuna is here with you, walking into the restaurant with his arm wrapped lightly around you, catching the knowing gaze of the old lady behind the counter. She leads the two of you to a table on the patio, all romantic with wildflowers in a mason jar and fairy lights overhead.

Sukuna has never been on a real date, but he likes this. He likes to be here with you, chat with you, laugh with you, and hold your hand on the table, watching his long tattooed fingers interlace with your smaller ones, which feel so soft.

The hours slip by without either of you noticing how late it is.

When it is time to bring you home, Sukuna drives you to your house, parks the truck in front of it, and turns to you to say the typical flirty stuff that he usually says to girls, but he stops when he sees your smile, and somehow anything he usually says seems so hollow and fake, and it wouldn't be right to say it to you.

Sukuna closes his mouth again, gulping hard, the bad boy cowboy at a loss for words for the first time in his life.

This feeling is new to Sukuna. All of this is new to him. This warmth in his chest and the fluttery feeling in his stomach. And how he is so damn scared to fuck things up and lose you before you even are his.

How can Sukuna even say anything at all to you when everything he wants to tell you is so fucking raw and loaded with feelings he has never felt before? When it all makes him feel so fucking vulnerable?

Like the fact that Sukuna really enjoys spending time with you and that he wants to see you again. Or that he is pretty sure he gets butterflies when hearing your laugh. Or that he never believed in love, but he thinks he is starting to do it now.

He can't say those things, can he?

In the end, it doesn't need any words from him. You smile at him and thank him for the lovely evening, adding a bit shyly that you aren't used to going on dates, and then stutter because you realize what you said and you are worried that it wasn't really a date and you made a fool of yourself by assuming it was one.

And Sukuna can't help but grin and then do the one thing that will shut you up and hopefully ease your worries:

He kisses you right there in his truck. Cups your chin with his calloused hand and brushes his lips softly over yours. Careful, gentle. Something Sukuna usually isn't, but you bring out some part of him that was dormant until now.

Sukuna wants this kiss to be special. He wants to be gentle with you because you are gentle with him, too. You are sweet and kind. You treat him as if he is deserving of tenderness.

You make a cute, surprised sound, but don't pull away. Instead, your hand lands on Sukuna's neck, caressing the short stubble of his undercut, pulling him closer as your lips begin to move against his, too, and Sukuna can't help but smile into the sweetest kiss he ever had.

When the two of you pull apart again, Sukuna smiles at you, a genuine, soft smile, and tells you,

"It was absolutely a date. And I had a lovely evening, too, princess. Let me take you out to dinner again soon."

Sukuna watches you get out of his truck and walk to your front door. He lifts a hand to give you a little wave when you turn around in the open doorway to smile at him once again, whisper-shouting to him that you wish him a safe drive home.

Sukuna stays in his truck outside your house until the light in your living room goes on, and he knows you are safe and sound before he finally pulls out of your driveway and makes his long way home, his thoughts filled with your smile and the taste of your sweet lips and tongue in his mouth.

Sukuna stays true to the promise he made to himself and really takes things slow with you. He has to work anyway, look after his ranch, fix some fences, and ride across the plains, where he meets no other human being for several days. But you are on his mind the whole time.

He sends you pictures from his rides when he is lucky and gets a signal. Selfies of him on horseback, grinning at you with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his lips. And some pics of some of his cows, smiling when you ask for their names.

"They don't have names. I just numbered them. But you can give them names if you like, sweetheart."

And you do. You send Sukuna the stupidest names you can think of, and he can't stop grinning,

"I sure hope you won't be in charge of naming any kids."

"Well, I will let their daddy help choose the names if he has such a problem with my name-giving skills."

And Sukuna's head spins at the implication. You're a tease in such a sweet way, and it drives him completely insane.

But Sukuna knows he drives you crazy for him, too. He knows that as much as you like the normal pictures he sends you, you also love the thirst traps he blesses you with.

The pictures where he is shirtless, all his tattoos and defined muscles on display for you, sweat glistening on his strong body, his faded, ripped jeans sitting low on his hips and doing nothing to hide the massive bulge throbbing in them.

You send him pictures, too, not as shameless as the thirst traps Sukuna sends you, but enough to drive him crazy. He has never held himself back so long, but damn, he thinks you are worth all the hard-ons he has and only his own hand to take care of them. Sure, Sukuna could drive to the next bar and find a random girl to ease that pressure, but he doesn't want it. There is only one girl he wants.

Sukuna can wait. He knows you are worth it.

And as much as he wants to have you under him, leaving scratches on his back and squealing his name in pleasure, he also wants to just talk to you or maybe take you on a little ride on his horse.

He calls you every night just to hear your voice and ask about your day, laughing about all the rude customers at the hardware store. Sukuna asks you what you had for dinner and listens to all the latest gossip your mama told you. Sometimes, he falls asleep while listening to your sweet voice and sees a text from you in the morning telling him that he sounds cute when he snores.

Maybe that's ruining the bad-boy reputation that Sukuna has all over your small town, but he doesn't give a fuck. You can see this other side of him. You are the exception, and he finds that he likes that.

Sukuna visits the town as often as his ranch duties allow so he can take you on dates. Sometimes, he drives his old pickup truck, but sometimes, he takes his motorcycle, grinning at you when he parks it in front of your house and takes off his helmet, running a hand through his ruffled hair to smooth it down again, and telling you to come hop on so he can take you on a ride. And you raise an eyebrow jokingly,

"When you said you are a cowboy, I pictured a guy on a real horse..."

And there is this happy sparkle in your eyes, and that sweet laugh falling from your lips. And fuck, Sukuna knows he is a lost man.

He grins back at you, leaning down to greet you with a slow, deep kiss before he holds out his helmet to you,

"This cowboy will let you ride his horse soon, too, but for now, let me show you a bit more horsepower."

Sukuna loves the feeling of your body snuggling against his back, your hands wrapped tightly around his waist, your hands caressing his chest and his abs through his shirt, and your loud, excited laugh when Sukuna accelerates his bike and speeds down the dirt road leading to nowhere, leaving a cloud of dust and dirt behind.

Sukuna parks his motorcycle at a pretty pond and spreads out a picnic blanket in the grass. The two of you sit down to eat something, but it only takes a few minutes before the snacks are forgotten, and Sukuna rolls on top of you and kisses you until he feels dizzy, and you sigh into his mouth.

When you look up at him and touch his face, trace his tattoos with your fingertips, and smile at him, Sukuna knows that he has never been this genuinely happy in his life. But at the same time, it scares him. It terrifies him to feel so much.

He strolls down to the pond, smoking a cigarette while looking over the smooth surface of the water, trying to calm down and stop his fears from swallowing him. Trying to stop that voice in his head that whispers to him that this cowboy should do what he is best at and just run and isolate himself and live his life in solitude.

But your sweet laugh carries to Sukuna's ears as you run towards him, pulling him out of his dark thoughts. Your small hand wraps around his tattooed biceps, and you lean against his side,

"Hey cowboy, come back. I have some homemade lemonade and cake in my bag."

Sukuna turns his head to look at you, at the way you tilt your head to smile up at him, eyes full of affection. How could he walk away from this? Yeah, he is scared out of his mind of all those feelings, but he would regret it even more if he ran.

He blows out his cigarette smoke slowly as a lazy grin spreads over his face, and he leans down to press a kiss on your forehead.

"Homemade lemonade? You sure know the way to my heart, huh, princess?"

He lets you take his hand and pull him back to the picnic blanket, sipping your lemonade and letting you climb in his lap and feed him the cake you baked for him, and Sukuna wraps his arms around your waist, capturing your lips in a sweet, sexy kiss, hoping you can understand the silent promises his tongue writes against yours.

All the words he doesn't dare say out loud because they scare him. But Sukuna knows it's you for him. He knows that he wants by his side. He knows you are his girl and hopes he is your boy, too. He hopes he is a man who is deserving of you and your sweetness. Sukuna promises you silently that he will work damn hard to be that man.

It takes weeks before the two of you have sex.

Sukuna takes you on another date with his old truck this time, driving far out to watch the stars with you and lying in the bed of his truck with you in his arms.

He brought you flowers. The wild ones which grow on his ranch because he feels like you enjoy them more than the ones from the flower shops, and it makes him happy to see you with something from his life.

You thanked him with a sweet kiss and put some of the flowers in your hair, laughing when they fell out again, and Sukuna picked them up again and tucked them behind your ear.

And now those flowers are already out of your hair again, strewn all over the truck bed because the two of you are so lost in your deep tongue kisses and the feeling of your bodies grinding against each other.

The flowers are forgotten, just like the stars above. The only thing you know is each other's mouths and hands that tug on each other's clothes, craving more, needing skin-on-skin contact.

Sukuna's shirt has been long gone, and yours too, leaving you only in your lacey bra and the little skirt, driving Sukuna crazy. Your hands explore the naked skin of his broad back and his biceps, and your lips trail sweet kisses down Sukuna's neck, leaving your lipstick marks on him.

And Sukuna licks and kisses the swell of your breasts above your bra, finally pulling the pretty lacey thing down to reveal your even prettier tits. He sucks one nipple into his warm mouth as he looks up at your face, grinning when he sees your eyelashes flutter and hears the cute little noises you make for him.

You straddle Sukuna's lap, smiling at him with desire burning in your eyes while your small hands wander a bit shyly over his tattooed chest, and Sukuna thinks he will lose his mind if he doesn't finally take you.

He flips you over on your back, pushes his head under your skirt, and eats you out until your legs are shaking and your hands tug on his pink hair, and you cry out his name into the night.

You look up at Sukuna with parted lips and heavy-lidded eyes as you unbutton his jeans and get his achingly hard cock out, stroking him lovingly while you tell him to please make you his girl.

Sukuna has held back for so long but cannot do it anymore. Not when you look at him like that and stroke his cock like that and ask him to claim you. He pushes you down on the truck bed, his arms on each side of your head, his heavy body on top of yours, his lips claiming yours in a possessive, hungry kiss at the same time as his cock claims your sweet, warm pussy.

He takes you with hard, rough thrusts, fucking you almost feverishly once he feels your warm pussy around his cock. And for the first time in his life, Sukuna apologizes for the way he fucks. For his roughness, for his strength. But you cling to him and moan his name and tell him it's okay and that you want him exactly like this.

You leave scratches on Sukuna's back, and he fucks his seed into you over and over again. The two of you can't get enough of each other that night, making out and fucking in various positions until the sky becomes pink with the approaching sunrise, and both of you are sated and exhausted, and you slump against Sukuna's body, hugging him, pressing your tits firmly against his tattooed chest as his spent cock softens gradually inside you.

Sukuna lets his head fall back on the truck bed, his large hands lazily caressing your back, and he looks up at the sky that brings a new morning, thinking that it feels like it's a whole new life that is beginning today.

He drives you back to town an hour later, stealing glances at you the whole drive long, one tattooed hand resting on your naked thigh under your skirt, and your small hand lands on top of Sukuna's, caressing the back of his hand while you sing along to the country songs on the radio. Sukuna can't stop grinning the whole time.

But even after you start to have sex with each other, you still take time to get to know each other even better. It's fun and sexy but also deep and meaningful, and Sukuna catches himself being more open with you than he ever was with anyone before.

He tells you the truth when you ask about his family, tells you that it's messy, that he can't even remember his dad, and that his mama didn't want him either. He tells you about his little brother, who he hasn't seen in many years because Sukuna ran from home the moment he was 18. He confesses all the shit he did. All the stupid things a rebellious teenage Sukuna got involved in. All the trouble and pain he caused his family. All the regrets he has, when he looks back at his former life now.

And you take his large hand into both of yours and hold it so gently, and smile that sweet smile at him, telling him that sometimes families simply are like that. A mess.

You tell him that you like him the way he is, with all his rough edges, and that you wish Sukuna had more love in his life when he needed it the most as a child.

"But you have me now, Kuna. And I will make sure you don't feel alone."

You tear down his walls so easily, break him in the most beautiful way, and build him up again, even stronger than before, because now Sukuna knows what it feels like to be loved.

And Sukuna says those famous three words for the first time in his life.

He pulls you to him, holds you in his arms, and rests his chin on your head, swaying you softly from side to side as he murmurs those words into your hair, words he never thought he would say,

"I love you. And I want to be with you. I know it's hard to love a man like me, but I want this to work. I want you. I want us. And I will work hard for it."

He thinks he will melt when you tell him you love him too and that there is nothing hard about loving him at all.

For the first time in his life, Sukuna stays in someone's bed the whole night.

The two of you kiss at your front door, and you gently pull him inside. You kiss and laugh and playfully tease each other all the way to your bedroom, undressing each other on the way, leaving behind a trail of clothes on your floor.

You call him baby, and Sukuna thinks he will go crazy. He picks you up and carries you the rest of the way until he lays you down on your bed, his lips never leaving yours.

You don't fuck that night but make love, nice and slow. You look so beautiful lying under Sukuna, your face so close to his, your small hands caressing his biceps and his muscular back while Sukuna takes you with slow, deep thrusts, unable to tear his gaze away from you and the love in your eyes when you whisper his name.

Sukuna tells you he loves you again when he is about to cum, and it feels more intense than anything else he has ever experienced. Especially when he feels you cum on his cock, too, sobbing his name and returning the "I love you" several times while you shudder in pleasure beneath him.

Sukuna doesn't let go of you the whole night. He lets you use his chest as your pillow, wraps you in his strong arms, and holds you. The wild, freedom-loving cowboy who usually runs, suddenly all tame.

Sukuna thinks he is right where he should be. He wants to stay forever in your bed and in your arms, holding the girl he loves.

Of course, a cowboy like Sukuna has to leave again in the morning. His ranch needs him. There are miles and miles of fences to fix, horses to train, and cattle to herd. But Sukuna promises to call you every night.

"And if I don't have a signal, I want you to know that I will still think of you, okay princess? Let's make a deal. Every night at ten pm, I want you to look at the sky. And I'll do the same, wherever I am, and imagine you are by my side."

And he laughs softly and hugs you to his strong body, adding,

"I will think about you every second of the day anyway. And I am damn sure you can't get me out of your mind either, huh?"

He winks at you and grins his boyish grin, and you chuckle and get on your tiptoes to kiss his grin off him.

Before Sukuna drives off, you give him a leather cord with a small charm in the form of a horseshoe, telling him you saw it on the farmers market last weekend and thought of him.

"I want to give it to you because I hope it will bring you luck and keep you safe out there on all those lonely nights and long rides."

And Sukuna leaves his bandana at your place,

"So you have something to remind you of me while I am away, princess. Wear it around your pretty throat to keep the chilly winds away and to think of your favorite cowboy."

Sukuna calls you every day just like he promised.

But out here on the plains, where Sukuna is on horseback, with only his dog running along beside him, his life still feels lonely. This solitude used to be something Sukuna chose willingly for himself. Something he thought was the only life that was right for a man like him.

But now Sukuna feels this longing inside his chest, and the questions keep filling his mind. Does a cowboy really have to be alone? Does Sukuna really have to be alone?

His ranch and his life out here are the last parts of him, which Sukuna hasn't opened to you yet. It seemed too risky to bring you here, too intimate. This is the place, after all, where Sukuna fled to so he wouldn't hurt his little brother anymore. A place he used to see as some kind of fortress that kept other people safe from Sukuna and also kept him safe from feeling too much. A place where he was free from all the complications of human interactions.

But things have changed, haven't they?

Sukuna visits you as often as he can, and he catches himself telling you more about his everyday life as a cowboy while watching you closely for your reactions. He tells you what he loves about his life on the ranch, tells you that it is a lot of hard work and that it can be tough at times, but that it is also peaceful, and that he likes that he is free out there.

"I like that I am my own boss because I really don't do well with people trying to tell me what to do."

And you laugh and roll your eyes, and Sukuna grins at you with a wink and adds,

"Well, you are the exception, baby."

And as teasing and light-hearted as it sounds, Sukuna knows that he is telling the truth. He doesn't mind if you tell him what to do. He doesn't mind if he has to take responsibility for his actions. Not when it comes to you.

You beam at him and kiss his tattooed cheek and ask in that sweet voice,

"Will you finally show me your ranch, Sukuna?"

And he knows what you are really asking is for Sukuna to finally let you in. To let this last wall tumble to the ground and allow you into his life in every way.

Sukuna feels strangely nervous when driving you to his ranch. But not because he is scared of losing his last refuge. He is nervous because he is worried you won't like the life out here in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but endless miles of uninhabited land around you and only Sukuna and his animals to keep you company.

Sukuna hopes you will like it. Because there is this small voice in his mind that whispers to him, "I want her to stay."

Sukuna watches you carefully while he shows you around his small ranch, showing you the old farmhouse he renovated, the barn he built with his own hands, and the stables he gave a new paint and a modern interior.

Relief floods Sukuna's chest when he sees the genuine smile on your pretty face and the joy when you pet his favorite horse. You turn to him, telling him that you love his ranch and praising him for turning an old abandoned farm into this pretty place.

"You are so passionate about the things you want, Sukuna, and you work hard for them. That's an admirable trait. This place is beautiful."

Sukuna smirks proudly at you, feeling this warmth in his chest again. He wraps a strong, tattooed arm around your waist and pulls you against him. And he knows exactly what he wants.

"This place is even more beautiful with you here. You remember what I said about enjoying my freedom out here? I feel free with you by my side, too. It doesn't feel like I am giving anything up when I am with you. It feels like I am gaining something."

There are happy tears shining in your eyes when you look up at him, and you smile and put a small hand on Sukuna's defined chest, right where his heart is beating strong and fast,

"I would love to live here with you, cowboy. I could help you with the crops and make sure you always have something warm to eat when you come home in the evening. I could even help with the horses and the cows, I think. And I can keep you company out here and keep you warm at night."

Sukuna doesn't believe in a God, but he thinks some kind of higher power or fate or whatever must have finally blessed him. Must have finally allowed a fallen angel like him some sort of heaven, too.

Sukuna smiles at you, a gentle, genuine smile that he never gives to anyone else, and he takes his cowboy hat off and puts it carefully onto your head,

"Then welcome to your new home, cowgirl."

SIGHHHHH, this cowboy makes me swoon 😭😭💗💗 I didn't expect this story to become so long, but I just couldn't stop writing. It was one of those moments where Sukuna took things into his hands and made me tell the whole story, and of course I do what my man wants ;)

I hope you enjoyed falling in love with Cowboy!Sukuna, too 💗

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.

There will be a Part 2 in which we see our life on Sukuna's ranch.

And once again: Thank you Émilie @sweetlandspos for drawing your beautiful and sexy Cowboy!Sukuna, who inspired me to write this AU!! I hope you find joy in this story!!

Standing outside your apartment, Simon tightened his grip around the wooden toy train, the corners of the box digging slightly into his palm. His heart thrummed uncomfortably in his chest—a sensation far too foreign for someone who’d faced down worse odds than this. He was used to calculating risks, taking them head-on, but this? This wasn’t a battlefield; it was something infinitely more terrifying. He was meeting his daughter.

He cast a glance at the train in his hand, a sturdy, well-crafted toy he and Johnny had spent hours picking out earlier that day. The shopkeeper’s amused expression still lingered in his mind—two grown men scrutinizing toy trains as though the fate of the world rested on their choice. You hadn’t been specific, just a train, no frills, nothing cartoonish. And so Simon had chosen the simplest one, figuring it was better to err on the side of practicality.

Beside him, Johnny leaned casually against the wall, spinning a plastic-cased mermaid Barbie in his hands. The vibrant teal-and-pink packaging clashed starkly with the air of seriousness Simon carried.

Simon scowled, his gaze darting to the doll. “I told you, no dolls. She said no dolls.” His voice was low and rough, almost a growl, though it carried more nervous energy than actual anger.

Johnny raised an eyebrow, smirking as he turned the Barbie over in his hands. “What kid doesn’t like a Barbie? Eh? You’re overthinking this, big man.” His Scottish accent lent an irreverent edge to his words. “Besides, it’s just a backup. If she doesn’t like the train—which, let’s face it, is a bloody long shot—I’ve got something she’s bound to love.”

Simon shot him a sharp look. “It’s not about the toy,” he muttered, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “It’s about… makin’ an impression. Proper one.”

Johnny’s smirk softened, his usual teasing tone giving way to something closer to sincerity. “And you think that’s all ridin’ on a train? C’mon, mate, it’s you she’s meeting, not just some toy. Kids aren’t daft—they know when someone’s tryin’.” He tilted his head toward the toy in Simon’s hand. “But, for what it’s worth, that train’s not bad. Proper classic. No gimmicks.”

Simon grunted in response, his attention flicking back to the apartment door. It was a quiet, unassuming building, but the pressure of what lay beyond that door was immense. You were in there with her—Adira. His daughter. The thought still felt surreal, even after the days he’d spent turning it over in his mind. He’d seen her before, from a distance, but that was different. This was too personal in a way he wasn’t sure he was prepared for.

“I should’ve brought the others,” Simon muttered under his breath, more to himself than Johnny.

Johnny’s eyes twinkled with humor. “Aye, because showin’ up with the whole bloody team wouldn’t be overwhelming at all, eh? ‘Here’s yer dad, and here’s his army of uncles.’ Real subtle.”

Simon huffed a dry laugh despite himself, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a fraction. Johnny always had a knack for cutting through his nerves, even when Simon wasn’t in the mood for it.

The sound of footsteps on the other side of the door snapped Simon’s attention back to the moment. His pulse quickened as the lock turned, and the door creaked open to reveal you standing there, a mixture of caution and curiosity etched into your expression. You didn’t say anything right away, your gaze darting between Simon, Johnny, and the toys in their hands.

“Hi,” Simon managed, his voice quieter than he’d intended. He cleared his throat, adjusting his grip on the train. “Uh… thought I’d bring somethin’ she might like.”

You glanced at the train, then at Johnny’s Barbie, raising an eyebrow. “I see Johnny didn’t listen,” you comment dryly, though there was a hint of amusement in your tone.

Johnny grinned, unbothered. “Insurance, lass. Always good to have a backup plan.”

Stepping aside, you gestured for them to come in. “Well, let’s see how this goes. She’s in the living room.”

Simon felt the air grow heavier as he crossed the threshold, each step bringing him closer to something he’d been equal parts dreading and hoping for. The sound of quiet giggles and the rustle of toys came from the living room, and he stopped short in the hallway, his hand tightening instinctively around the train.

“You okay?” you asked curiously, your question laced with something he couldn’t quite place—concern? Reassurance?

He nodded stiffly, though he wasn’t entirely sure who he was convincing. “Yeah,” he said, masking his unease. This wasn’t the time to let emotions run wild, not when his daughter was just a few steps away. He needed to reel everything, keep composed.. “Just… takin’ a moment.”

Johnny clapped him on the shoulder, his grin unfaltering. “You’ve got this, mate. And if all else fails—” he held up the Barbie with a dramatic flourish—“I’ve got you covered.”

Simon rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips. “Thanks for that,” he muttered dryly.

He took a grounding breath, then stepped into the living room. The sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks—Adira, sitting cross-legged on the floor, a miniature train set spread out before her. Her dark hair fell in delicate curls around her face, and her eyes, so startlingly like his own, lit up with delight as she guided a tiny train along the tracks.

The world seemed to narrow, every noise fading into the background except for the sound of her soft laughter. This was his daughter, and for the first time, he wasn’t just watching from afar—he was here.

Adira looked up, her curious gaze locking onto him. Simon’s heart leapt into his throat as she tilted her head, studying him with a mix of curiosity and caution. Before he could speak, Johnny stepped forward, a grin plastered across his face as he crouched beside her.

"Hey, bonnie lass," Johnny greeted, bringing in  warmth and cheerfulness. He held out the mermaid Barbie, its plastic casing shimmering in the soft light. “Look what I got for ye.”

Adira blinked at him, her small head tilting to the side in the same assessing way she’d done with Simon. Then, in a voice as sweet as it was blunt, she said, “Ugee.”

Simon held back a laugh, but Johnny froze, his grin faltering. Did she just call me ugly again? he thought, momentarily stunned before recovering with a sheepish laugh.

“Oh, come on, lass. That’s no way to treat yer Uncle Johnny,” he teased, though his pride was clearly bruised. He pushed the doll a little closer, his voice softening. “It’s for you. Look—she’s got a shiny tail and everything.”

Adira’s expression shifted, her curiosity piqued as she finally reached for the doll. Johnny’s face lit up with relief, and he turned to you and Simon with a victorious smirk. “Told ya,” he mouthed, his tone smug.

Simon raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, while you merely crossed your arms, waiting for what you knew was coming.

The sound of plastic ripping shattered Johnny’s moment of triumph. His head whipped around just in time to see Adira pull the doll free from its packaging with surprising efficiency. She studied it for a moment, her tiny fingers gripping the head and the body. And then—pop—the doll’s head came clean off.

Johnny’s jaw dropped as he watched Adira inspect the decapitated doll with silent satisfaction. She set the head down beside her, then held up the now-headless body, apparently contemplating her next move.

Simon let out a chuckle, unable to hide his amusement as Johnny gawked at the scene, his earlier smugness entirely gone. “Well,” Simon drawled, unable to hide his dry humor. “Guess she wasn’t a fan after all.”

Johnny turned back to you and Simon, his expression caught between disbelief and betrayal. “What… what kind of kid just does that?!” he demanded, gesturing wildly at the scene behind him.

You shrugged, biting back a laugh. “I warned you about the dolls.”

Johnny shook his head, still reeling as he muttered under his breath, “She’s Sid from Toy Story incarnate, I swear.”

Adira, seemingly unbothered by the fuss, returned her focus to her trains, contentedly adding the doll’s head to a makeshift pile of "cargo." Johnny looked ready to protest further, but Simon stepped forward, crouching to her level and holding out the wooden train.

“Hi,” he spoke softly, his voice steady despite the lingering laughter in his chest. “I brought you somethin’. Thought you might like it.”

Adira didn’t respond right away, her eyes bouncing between him and the toy. Then, slowly, she reached out, her small fingers brushing against the train before taking it from his hands. Unlike the Barbie, she carefully opened the box, her movements deliberate and methodical. She removed the wooden train gently, inspecting it for a moment. Without a word, she added it to the tracks, her attention already back on her play as if nothing else in the world mattered.

Simon stayed crouched, watching her intently. A flicker of relief crossed his face at her acceptance of the gift. The room, heavy with unspoken tension just moments before, now felt lighter, though Simon could feel the enormity of the moment pressing against his chest.

You appeared at his side, crouching slightly to meet his eye, a small grin on your lips. “That’s a good sign,” you murmured, keeping your voice low. “She doesn’t usually let people touch her trains.”

Simon exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His gaze flickered back to Adira, watching as she carefully positioned the new train car alongside the others, her focus unwavering. It wasn’t much—just a small gesture—but it felt monumental. A start.

“She’s got good taste,” Simon adds, a touch of pride in his tongue as he nodded toward the tracks. “Knows quality when she sees it.”

You chuckled, the sound easing the edges of Simon’s nerves. “It’s not just that,” you replied, your eyes lightening as you watched Adira. “Trains are her world. If she’s letting you into it, even a little…” You trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air.

Simon nodded, his throat tightening with a mix of emotions he wasn’t used to confronting. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply watch her, the curve of her cheek, the determined set of her brow as she pushed the train forward, creating a soft click-clack noise against the wooden tracks. He thought of all the moments he’d missed, all the firsts that had come and gone without him. But now, sitting there on the floor of your apartment, watching his little girl play, he felt something unfamiliar: hope.

“It’s a start,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. And for now, that was enough.

Johnny hung back near the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the tender scene unfold. Simon, a man he’d always seen as unshakable and stoic, was crouched beside Adira, his usually guarded expression diminished by a rare, genuine grin. Johnny didn’t dare interrupt—this wasn’t his moment. He was just a spectator, standing on the sidelines as a long-standing divide finally began to close.

The warmth in the room tugged at Johnny’s own heart, and though he wasn’t one for sentimentality, the sight was too good to pass up. Without a word, he slipped his phone from his pocket, angling it just right to snap a quick picture. Simon’s grin, lopsided and proud, was illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp, his large frame almost comically dwarfed by the tiny train set and the little girl at its center.

Satisfied with the shot, Johnny smirked to himself as he typed out a caption: “Big man, small trains. Heart officially melted. ” He hit send, the photo shooting off to the group chat where the lads were bound to have a field day with it.

Moments later, his phone buzzed with a flurry of responses:

Roach: “Never thought I’d see Ghost look so human.”

Gaz: “He’s got the ‘Dad Look’ down already. Almost feel bad making fun of him.”

Price: “I don’t. Send more pics.”

Stifling a snicker, Johnny shoved his phone back into his pocket. He glanced back at Simon, who was completely absorbed in Adira’s world, watching as she pushed the new train along the tracks with the utmost concentration. The sheer joy and focus on her face seemed to draw Simon further into her orbit, as if nothing else existed but the tiny, clacking train set.

Johnny shook his head fondly. Big, scary Ghost, he thought, brought to his knees by a wee lass and a wooden train. It was a sight he’d never forget.

Johnny slipped out of the apartment with a quiet click of the door, leaving the two of you in a silence that felt both comfortable and weighty. His absence left the air clearer, yet filled with the unspoken. As Adira remained engrossed in her trains, her murmurs creating a gentle rhythm in the background, you found your mind racing with a single, unrelenting question:

What now?

Giving her toys was one thing. Simon showing up, physically present, was a start. But the path ahead of you wasn’t so simple. Building a connection took more than gifts and fleeting moments. Adira was too young to truly grasp the gravity of this shift in her world. Telling her outright that Simon was her father didn’t feel right—not now. That conversation would be better left for a day when she could fully understand it.

You rose from your position near him, brushing off your knees as you took a real long look at her. There it was, in her little mannerisms, her sharp focus, the way her brow furrowed just slightly as she concentrated—it was him. So much of him. And the way Simon’s gaze relaxed as he watched her? You could see it, plain as day. He wanted to be there for her.

And you wanted her to be happy.

The realization hit you with clarity: the best way to make this transition smooth was to let Simon find his place naturally. He couldn’t make up for all the firsts he’d missed, but there was still time for so many more moments.

“So…” you began, your voice quiet but heavy, the word hanging between you like an unspoken question. You turned to face Simon, watching him carefully as he sat cross-legged on the floor, his broad frame surprisingly small in this intimate space. He was still holding that wooden train, his fingers gently brushing over the smooth surface like it was something sacred.

Simon looked up at you, his eyes catching yours, and he shifted slightly, his posture relaxed, but there was something else—something vulnerable yet determined. "So," he echoed, his voice unshakable, though you could hear the undertone of apprehension, a slight tremor of uncertainty beneath his calm façade. He wanted to be open, to show you he was ready for whatever was coming next, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what that was.

You crossed your arms, not out of defiance but out of the need to ground yourself. It was a physical gesture, a way to hold yourself steady in the face of everything that had led to this moment. “This isn’t going to be easy,” you said, the words a simple statement, but they carried meaning.

“I didn’t expect it to be,” Simon replied, his voice firm, the same way it would sound in the midst of a mission, when the stakes were high. The seriousness in his tone wasn’t lost on you. But there was more than just the soldier in him now—there was a father. "But I’m here. I want to try. For her." His eyes darted to Adira, his gaze lingering on her as she lined up her train set with careful precision. It was a look filled with fierce, almost protective determination, and it tugged at your chest.

“For her,” you agreed, your heart swelling with the truth of it. “She deserves that. But it’s not just about showing up with toys. It’s about showing up for her. Being there when she needs you, even if it’s hard. Even if she pushes you away at first.”

Simon’s jaw tightened as you spoke, and you saw the muscles in his neck flex, as though he was fighting against something—maybe the grandness of what this all meant, maybe his own doubts. “I can do that,” he said after a pause, his voice low but resolute. “I will.”

“You’ll have to.” Your tone tender, but you still held that edge of playful taunting. It was your way of testing the waters, of gauging if he was truly prepared for what this would take. “She’s stubborn. Wonder where she gets that from.”

Simon huffed a quiet laugh, and a faint smirk forming on his mouth. For a brief moment, the walls he’d built around himself seemed to weaken, just a little. “Aye, can’t imagine,” he replied, the humor easing some of the tension in the room.

There was a pause, the room settling into a calm that hadn’t been there before. You watched as Simon glanced back at Adira, his eyes lingering on her as she placed another train down, her little brow furrowed in concentration. The sight was almost too much for him—this was his flesh and blood, sitting right there in front of him, in this quiet, domestic world he hadn’t been a part of.

“First things first—likes and dislikes.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, but you didn’t wait for him to respond. You turned on your heel and slipped into the kitchen, the quiet tension that had settled between you both diminishing. Simon, sitting cross-legged on the floor near Adira, was still absorbing the weight of everything unfolding. His gaze followed you as you disappeared into the next room, the brief silence stretching between the two of you.

When you returned, you were holding a file—nothing flashy, just a plain folder. You approached him and handed it over, watching as he hesitated, the weight of the paper in his hands heavier than it appeared.

The sight inside that greeted him threw him off guard—pages upon pages of meticulously written details. At first glance, it looked like a detailed report, every section filled with information about Adira’s daily routine, preferences, and even the smallest of habits. Her favorite snacks, the way she liked her sandwiches cut in triangles. Each page was packed with specifics: her reactions to certain foods, her favorite colors, how she responded to certain sounds and even what she liked to do on rainy days—took him completely off guard.

Simon blinked at it, flipping through the pages as if trying to find a sense of grounding in the flood of information. It was overwhelming, but what struck him the most was how thorough it was—how much you had put into it. Everything about her, everything you alone learned over the years, all laid out for him to see.

The file was thick, packed with details. The more he flipped through, the more surprised he became. Notes jotted in neat handwriting with labeled sections.There wasn’t just filled with cold, clinical notes. It also contained moments of tenderness, small anecdotes about how Adira reacted to certain situations or things that made her smile. You had carefully noted the songs she liked to sing along with, how she would curl up on the couch when she was feeling down, the exact way she liked her bedtime story read.

Simon looked up at you, his expression one of confusion and curiosity. “What is all this?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with surprise.

You offered him a faint smile, though there was no real humor in it. “Before you think I’m crazy or paranoid,” you began, raising your hands slightly in defense, “I work at the daycare around the corner, and Adira comes with me. It’s policy to keep these records—just in case. You know, since some kids have allergies, or there are specific things we need to be aware of.”

He nodded, still flipping through the file, as if seeing this list of Adira’s little quirks and habits for the first time made her seem more real. More like a child who had to be cared for, understood, and loved in ways that went far beyond simply showing up with a toy.

“I didn’t know you’d been keeping track of all of this,” A look of genuine surprise crossed his face. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know you’d been doing so much.”

You shrugged slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “It’s nothing. Just making sure she’s okay.” There was an edge of vulnerability to your words, as if you were downplaying the emotional weight of it all.

Simon’s fingers lingered on the pages, his gaze skimming the words as if trying to understand the depth of the commitment you had for Adira. It wasn’t just about her well-being, it was about every little thing that made her, her.

“You really do know everything about her, don’t you?” he said, his voice tinged with awe.

You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you at his reaction. It wasn’t about control or being overprotective—it was about ensuring that every part of Adira’s world was in order, even when you weren’t looking.

“I know what she likes, what she dislikes. I know how she reacts when she’s tired or overstimulated. I know what makes her laugh and what makes her cry. It’s not about keeping tabs, it’s about making sure she feels safe. Especially with everything changing right now.”

Simon absorbed your words quietly, the weight of the file heavy in his hands. The realization hit him like a punch in the gut. You had been doing this alone for so long—carrying the weight of all these little details, managing the complexity of motherhood without the support he should’ve been offering.

“She’s lucky,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “You’ve done more than I can even imagine.”

You didn’t say anything at first. The simplicity of his words caught you off guard, making you feel a bit exposed. “It’s just what you do for them,” you replied, your voice softer now, more vulnerable. “You do what you can to make sure they’re okay.”

Simon closed the file slowly, processing what it meant. He felt a surge of something—guilt, maybe, or a quiet ache—as he realized just how much he’d missed. He’d been absent for so many of the small, seemingly insignificant moments that made up Adira’s life. And now, looking at the file, he could feel the weight of his absence more than ever.

“I want to know it all,” Simon said quietly, his voice full of resolve. “Every little thing. I don’t care how small it seems. I want to learn everything about her.”

Your heart skipped at his words, and for the first time, you felt a sense of stability knowing he’d be around to lift some of the hardship off your shoulders. For once, it wouldn’t just be you anymore.

“Good,” Your voice filled with quiet approval. “Because it’s going to take time. And you’ll need to be patient.”

“I can do that,” he replied, his jaw set with determination. “I’m not going anywhere.”

By 6 AM sharp, there he was—a solid, familiar figure standing at your door with his sleeves rolled up and a faint, hesitant smile. He never asked if you needed help; he simply showed up, ready to lend a hand. Simon didn’t just want to be in your life—he wanted to belong in it. Every visit to your apartment wasn’t just about showing up; it was about figuring out how to bridge the gap between her world and his. You had been Adira's anchor, her everything. Simon understood that, respected it, but he was intent on creating his own place in her little universe—one small gesture at a time.

At first, his kitchen skills left a lot to be desired. You insisted you could handle breakfast on your own, but Simon waved you off, determined to prove himself. Adira sat in her highchair, small fingers clutching a slice of strawberry as she watched her father with wide, curious eyes. He wrestled with the stovetop like it was an enemy combatant, flipping pancakes that somehow always ended up sticking or splattering in every direction. A particularly ambitious flip sent batter flying, splattering across his shirt and the counter.

Adira paused mid-chew, her sharp little eyes zeroing in on the mess. "Messy man," she mumbled around the strawberry, her tone matter-of-fact but laced with childish amusement.

Simon froze, mid-swipe with a paper towel, and glanced at her, eyebrows shooting up. “What’d you call me?”

"Messy man," she repeated, a little more confidently this time, giggling as she pointed at the batter streaked across his chest.

You couldn’t help but laugh as Simon groaned, shaking his head with mock exasperation. “I’ll remember that,” he muttered, though there was no hiding the faint smile that tugged at his lips.

Despite the mishaps, he never gave up. Day by day, the kitchen disasters became fewer. He learned that Adira liked her pancakes shaped like stars if you had the time and that a dollop of whipped cream on top made her clap her hands with delight. He discovered she preferred her strawberries sliced thin, not chunky, and that she hated the crusts on toast but loved when it was cut into neat little triangles.

More importantly, while you were around, Adira began to interact with him in ways you hadn’t expected. She would babble at him as he cooked, her little hands waving animatedly as though she was offering advice. He listened as if she were telling him the most important secrets in the world, nodding solemnly and responding in his deep, rumbling voice.

One morning, as he handed her a plate with her favorite star-shaped pancakes, she looked up at him with a toothy smile, “Thank you, messy man.”

Simon froze, his grip tightening on the plate for just a second before he crouched down to her level. “You’re welcome, love,” The endearing nickname left his lips with ease, carrying an edge of something raw and tender.

You stood in the doorway, watching the scene unfold with a lump in your throat. This wasn’t just about breakfast. It was about Simon trying—every single day—to show her that he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere. It was clumsy and imperfect, but it was real. And you couldn’t help but feel the faint stirrings of something like hope, watching the way Adira’s small world seemed to expand to make room for him.

After some time of this new, unspoken pattern settling in—one that felt like a quiet, gradual understanding—Adira seemed to begin warming up to Simon. It wasn’t as deep or instantaneous as it had been with you, but it was enough. Enough for her to sit at the table, nibbling on the pancakes he’d made. Enough to sit near him and listen to his voice without the immediate urge to run to you. And, perhaps most telling, enough for her to offer him a strawberry one morning before daycare.

Still, there were unspoken boundaries. She wouldn’t let him touch her trains, a sacred realm of hers he dared not trespass. And after a while of him being nearby, she’d often wander back to you, clutching at your leg or climbing into your lap, needing the reassurance of your proximity. 

You saw it in Simon’s eyes sometimes, the flicker of hurt that he quickly masked, brushing it off like it didn’t matter. But it did. You could tell. Adira was studying him from the safety of her bubble, keeping her distance as if trying to figure him out. You couldn’t blame her. Adira had lived her life with you as the constant; Simon was a new element in her world, one she wasn’t sure how to integrate yet.

But you couldn’t help but wonder: Did she need just a little nudge? A chance to have a moment with him—just the two of them—without you hovering nearby to catch her if she fell?

That opportunity came one morning when the daycare announced they would be closing down the toddler classrooms for renovations. Since Adira’s classroom was off-limits, she couldn’t come with you, leaving a gap in her schedule for at least a day or two. It was the perfect chance for Simon to step in and watch her alone, just the two of them.

That morning, Simon arrived as usual, but the atmosphere was different. You were already dressed for work, and Adira sat on the couch, her little frame wrapped in her favorite onesie—a fuzzy lavender number with tiny clouds on the sleeves. Her attention was fixed on the cartoon playing on the screen, her pillow hugged tightly to her chest.

You had considered this moment for a while, weighing the risks and the benefits. You knew how much it would mean to Simon if Adira let him in just a little bit more. But it was still a leap. You couldn’t help but feel the protective instinct rising in you, a sharp edge of caution in your chest. If anything went wrong, if Adira seemed uncomfortable or the situation felt off, you’d be home in a heartbeat. It was your job to protect her, to put her needs above all else—even Simon’s. As much as he was trying, as much as he cared, she was still your child, and her safety and happiness mattered most.

Simon raised an eyebrow as he noticed your state of dress and Adira’s lounging figure. “So, it’s just me and her today?”

You nodded, grabbing your keys. “her classroom is closed for renovations. Figured this would be a good chance for you two to spend some time together.”

He didn’t respond right away, instead Simon seemed to take everything in stride, breathing in deeply, knowing his moment was now.

You couldn’t help but study him for a moment longer, as if reading him for any sign that he was second-guessing himself. But then he smiled at you, it was genuine—reassuring. You had to trust him. You had to let him try.

Walking over to Adira, you knelt beside her, smoothing her hair as you spoke. “Sweetheart, you’re gonna hang out with Simon today, okay? I’ll be back soon.” 

Adira’s brows furrowed, her lips pressing into a tiny pout. “You go?”

“Just for a little while,” you reassured her. “Simon’s going to stay with you, and you’ll have lots of fun. Won’t you?”

Adira looked up at you with those wide, dark eyes, not fully understanding the implications, but offering you a small, shy nod. She then returned her attention to the TV, her little fingers absentmindedly squeezing the fabric of her pillow.

“She’s had her bath, so no worries there,” you swiftly explained, slipping into your role as her mother. “She’s in her onesie because it’s raining today, and for some reason, she loves wearing it on rainy days—I don't understand it but as long as she's happy. There’s food in the fridge, but after a couple of hours, I’d suggest cutting the TV off. Let her color, read, or maybe play with her trains. It gives her eyes a break from the screen. Oh, and rainy days mean pizza. Her favorite place is ‘Mario’s,’ and the number’s on the fridge. She’ll ask for the stuffed crust and extra cheese, light on the sauce.”

Simon absorbed the instructions like a soldier receiving a mission briefing, nodding along as you spoke. His eyes flicked to Adira, who was now idly kicking her feet as she watched the TV, and then back to you. “Got it. Anything else?”

You hesitated for a moment, then let it subside. “Just… be patient with her. She’s still figuring this out. You’re doing great, Simon.”

His lips twitched into a small, almost shy smile. “Thanks.”

You gave him one last glance, scanning for any signs of hesitation or doubt, but his steady demeanor gave you confidence. With a final goodbye to Adira, who waved absently, you headed for the door. With that, you left, the door clicking shut behind you. Your chest felt tight, your every nerve on edge as you walked to work. This was Simon’s test, sure, but it was yours too—trusting someone else with the most precious thing in your life. Only time would tell how it would go.

The door clicked shut behind you, leaving Simon standing awkwardly in the quiet apartment. Adira stayed exactly where she was, her little form cocooned on the couch, eyes glued to the animated animals bouncing across the TV screen. Simon exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck as he took in the moment. This was it. His chance.

He crossed the room and sat down next to her, careful not to invade her space. For a moment, the silence stretched between them, thick and uncertain. Adira didn’t so much as glance his way, her focus unwavering as the characters on the screen launched into a cheerful song.

Simon cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the air like an awkward ripple. "So, uh," he started, his voice low and unsure, "you like it when it rains?"

Adira finally looked up at him, her big, curious eyes meeting his. She blinked a couple of times, processing his question, before giving a small, shy nod.

"Yeah?" he pressed, a soft smile creeping onto his face. "What’s your favorite thing about it? The sound? Jumping in puddles?"

Her lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she shifted on the couch, pulling her pillow closer as if using it as a shield. Simon waited, giving her time, not wanting to push. Then, as if finding the courage, she mumbled, “The sound.”

“The sound, huh? Me too,” he said, leaning back a bit to ease the tension. “Kinda peaceful, isn’t it? Makes everything... quiet.”

Adira nodded again, this time a little more confidently. Her tiny fingers started to drum on the pillow in her lap, the rhythm mimicking the pitter-patter of raindrops. Simon caught it and grinned.

“You know,” he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “I used to watch the rain all the time when I was little. Sometimes I’d sit by the window for hours, just listening. My mum always said I’d get stuck there.”

Adira tilted her head at him, her curiosity evident now. “Why?” she asked, her voice soft and a little unsure, as though she wasn’t entirely ready to start talking freely.

Simon chuckled, scratching his chin. “Dunno. Maybe I thought if I stayed there long enough, I’d see something special, like... I dunno, maybe the rain would make magic happen.”

Her eyes widened slightly at the word magic, and Simon felt a small victory bloom in his chest.

“Magic?” she echoed, her tone a mix of skepticism and interest.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, leaning in just a little, like he was about to share a secret. “The kind that only shows up when you’re really, really patient. You gotta look close, though.”

Adira’s gaze darted back to the TV for a moment before returning to him, her guard lowering inch by inch. She hugged her pillow tighter but didn’t turn away.

“Maybe,” she murmured, almost too quietly for him to hear, “maybe I’ll see magic too.”

Simon’s chest tightened, a warmth spreading there that he hadn’t felt in years. For the first time, he wasn’t just a stranger in her world; he was someone she was starting to let in.

“Maybe you will,” he said softly, leaning back into the couch. He let the quiet fill the space again, content to sit beside her, waiting for the rain—or the magic—to come.

After a few minutes, Adira reached over to the side table where her sippy cup rested. She grabbed it, then paused, her hand hovering. Slowly, she stretched it out toward him. “Drink?” she offered, her voice small but steady.

Simon blinked, caught off guard by the gesture. It wasn’t much—just a sippy cup of watered-down juice—but it felt monumental. “Thanks, but that’s yours,” he said gently, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She pulled it back and took a sip herself, nodding like she’d made a grand decision.

Simon chuckled softly. “Fair enough.”

It wasn’t much, but it was something. A small step, a tiny opening, and Simon took it as the win it was.

The hours slipped by quietly, the sound of the TV buzzing in the background, and before Simon knew it, the three-hour mark had passed. He glanced at the clock, then at the screen, and with a deep breath, he reached over and clicked the power button.

Adira's eyes widened in shock, her little fingers frozen mid-air as she pointed at the now-black screen. "Why?" she asked, her voice a mix of confusion and mild frustration. "I wanna watch..." Her words trailed off, her pout deepening as she looked back at him, like she couldn’t quite understand why he’d taken it away.

Simon bit his lip, fighting a chuckle. "You’ve been watchin' for a while now, kiddo," he said, trying to sound casual, but there was a slight hesitation in his voice. "Time to do somethin’ else, yeah?"

Adira stared at him for a long moment, her little brow furrowed as she processed what he’d said. She didn’t seem convinced at first, her gaze darting back to the black screen as if willing it to come back to life. When it didn’t, she crossed her arms over her chest, her lower lip poking out in a full pout.

“I don’t wanna,” she muttered, voice small but firm. It was clear she wasn’t happy with the decision, but Simon had a feeling it was more about the principle of the matter than the TV itself.

“C’mon now,” Simon said softly, trying to soften the blow. “We can do somethin’ fun. How ‘bout we build somethin' together? Or read a book?”

Her little frown deepened, and Simon almost felt bad for turning the TV off. But this was the first time he’d gotten a moment alone with her, and he knew it was important to break the habit, to show her there were other things to do in the world besides the screen.

She hesitated, her gaze flicking between him and the quiet living room. Then, with a small sigh, she uncrossed her arms and stood up, shuffling toward the toy box with little steps, only to find nothing that interested her.

"Books?" she asked, her voice still laced with uncertainty but tinged with the smallest bit of curiosity.

Simon smiled, feeling a wave of relief. “Books it is,” he said, standing up to join her. “I bet we can find somethin’ that’ll be just as fun as that TV show.”

Adira didn’t answer, but the way she grabbed a book off the shelf made Simon’s heart flutter with a tiny spark of victory. 

Adira returned to Simon’s side, holding a colorful book with a soft, focused expression on her face. The cover was bright, featuring two foxes—one with a bushy tail and the other a smaller, more timid-looking one. The title, No Matter What, was written in bold letters above them. She climbed up beside him and, without a word, placed the book in his lap, her small hands brushing gently against it as if offering him a treasure.

Simon looked down at the book, caught off guard by her quiet gesture. He glanced at her for a moment, meeting her eyes. She looked at him with a silent kind of expectation, waiting.

Slowly, he picked up the book, holding it carefully as if it were something precious. “What’s this?” he asked softly, though it was clear he already had an inkling.

“Foxes,” Adira replied simply, her voice soft but firm. “Mama read it. It’s ‘bout love.”

Simon’s heart tugged at the mention of you. He could imagine the way you’d read to her, the soothing cadence of your voice, the way Adira had probably snuggled up beside you during the bedtime ritual. But there was something in Adira’s face now, something that felt like an invitation—a little piece of trust she was offering him, too.

“Well, alright then,” Simon said, his voice soft as he began to flip open the book. Adira sat close beside him, her tiny hands still on the cover, watching his every move with an intense focus. She didn’t rush him. The silence between them felt comforting.

He began to read aloud, slowly at first, as if still gauging her reaction. “No matter what, the foxes knew that they would always be together, through the rain or the snow, through the darkest nights and the brightest days.”

Adira shifted beside him, her little legs crossing as she settled into his side. Her small hand reached for the page as he turned it, her fingers brushing over the illustrations. She didn’t interrupt, just quietly absorbed the words.

As Simon read on, his voice grew more confident, and the warmth of the moment started to settle between them. For a fleeting moment, it felt like they had bridged a gap, one word at a time, one page at a time. It wasn’t much, but it was something—something to build on.

Adira’s gaze remained fixed on the book, but her body had relaxed against Simon’s, the way a child does when they feel safe. As the last pages of the book came into view, she snuggled closer, her head resting against his shoulder.

When Simon finished reading, he let the book fall softly onto his lap. He looked down at her, her eyes half-closed, but still aware and trusting. She looked up at him again, her tiny voice soft as she spoke. “Foxes love each other... no matter what.”

Simon’s heart thudded in his chest, the simplicity of her words hitting him harder than he expected. He wasn’t quite sure what it all meant yet, but in that moment, it was enough to see her so close, so willing to share something so personal. A bond had begun to form—fragile, yes, but it was there.

“Yeah,” Simon said, his voice barely above a whisper, “no matter what.”

With the last of the kids sent off and the staff beginning to clean up, you closed up shop, ready to call it a day. But just as you were locking up, a loud clap of thunder rattled the building, causing you to jump in shock. Your heart raced for a moment, the suddenness of it making you freeze in place.

“Jesus, if Adira was here, she’d lose it,” you muttered to yourself, trying to laugh off the shock. But then, your words hit you like a ton of bricks.

If Adira was here.

A chill ran through you as it dawned on you just how careless you’d been. Shit. Shit. Shit. You had completely forgotten to tell Simon about her fear of thunderstorms. She hated them. Hated the loud crashes of thunder, the flashes of lightning. You’d seen her curl up in a ball, her hands over her ears, eyes wide with terror when the storms hit.

The sound of the storm outside was only getting louder, the thunder now booming and crackling as it came closer. You could imagine Adira, sitting there with Simon, eyes wide and full of fear, clutching whatever comfort she could find, and Simon… God, Simon probably didn’t know what to do. He wouldn’t have any idea how to handle it.

Without thinking twice, you dropped everything—your bag, your jacket, anything that wasn’t crucial to getting home. You shot a quick look toward the staff, offering a hasty explanation and apology. Then, without another word, you bolted through the doors, past the remaining parents who were still talking in the lobby, and into the rain.

The rain beat down on you as you sprinted through the streets, the cold droplets stinging your skin as the thunder rumbled overhead. You couldn’t focus on anything but getting home. Adira needs me. Adira needs me.The mantra repeated in your head with each pounding step. Your feet splashed through puddles, the air heavy with the scent of wet pavement and the growing tension in your chest.

It felt like forever as you raced through the downpour, but at last, you reached the building, heart hammering in your chest. You fumbled with your keys, every second feeling like an eternity as the thunder rumbled louder, closer. Hurry, you told yourself, voice shaky as you turned the key and shoved the door open.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

The air felt thick, and as you stepped inside, your eyes instantly darted to the living room.  

On the couch, Simon was sitting with Adira curled up in his side, wrapped tightly in her favorite blanket. Her little body was nestled against his, her small form practically hidden in the folds of the soft fabric. On the coffee table in front of them were the remnants of their quiet afternoon—plastic plates with pizza stains, her sippy cup placed haphazardly next to the mess. Around them, the stack of books you always read to her was scattered across the table: I Love You to the Moon and Back, The Koala Who Could, What Color is a Kiss?—books that had been a staple in your bedtime routine for as long as you could remember.

The sight of them—Adira calm, safe, resting against Simon—caught you off guard. You’d expected panic, chaos, something more… uncertain. But instead, the two of them looked peaceful. Simon’s hand was gently resting on her back, his other arm loosely around her as she drifted in and out of sleep, her head nestled against his chest. She was calm. And that... that made your heart ache in ways you hadn’t expected.

You hadn’t expected Simon to be so… natural with her. He’d stepped up in a way you didn’t think was possible, at least not this soon. Maybe you had underestimated him. Maybe—no, you knew—you had underestimated this. 

Simon, with Adira, was something real.

Hi so, this took a while, wanted to make this really long for yall. For me as im writing this, it's 5 AM! I've been working on this since 1 PM yesterday. Long Fics are not my strongpoint, I had so much trouble with this because I'm a perfectionist and my tiny brain often repeats words ALOT. I'm working on it and the best way to improve is to keep writing.

As things currently go, I may write shorter things for this family, I want to develop Adira and Simon's relationship more just not with super long stuff like this. I'd also would love to answer any questions or talk about headcanons anyone has about them. Feel free to send asks!

Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed and by the time this goes up I'm sure I'll still be asleep!

P.S can someone tell me if I do tags wrong, like ive noticed sometimes when I tag it doesn't have the little underline so I keep thinking it doesn't go through </3

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Mama, i fell in love with bandit. Chapter 1.

Russian1990s!AU Bandit!Simon Riley x fem!reader T/W: mention of the Afghan war; mention of rape ********************************************

It was an October day in 1993.

You left the building of your university, together with your friend and roommate Yulia.

“Well, where are you going?” – she asked you.

“To the bakery for bread, and then to the dorm. I’m starving.”

“Okay, I'll be waiting for you there.”

For the last few days, you have been eating only bread and canned vegetables brought from Yulia's village.

The scholarship and the money that your parents could send were not enough.

Very often you thought that you should have stayed in your hometown rather than go to St. Petersburg.

But the parents insisted – they wanted their family to finally have a person who graduated from university!

Of course, you had the opportunity to graduate from university, but you were alone in a big city where no one cared about you.

No, of course there was a mom's friend with whom you stayed for a week when you applied to university and got a dorm room. But it was immediately clear to you that she wouldn't be happy to see you again anyway.

You were passing by one of the restaurants that you definitely wouldn't have enough money for when your eye caught on a piece of paper talking about finding waitresses.

You stopped, staring at the piece of paper hanging on the door.

It immediately sounded like a good idea in your head. The restaurant was open only in the evenings, so you could go to university in the morning. Of course, there would be much less time to sleep, but it was necessary to use every opportunity to earn money.

There was a smell of food inside, which made your stomach hurt.

“Excuse me,” - you said to the man behind the counter. – “It was written on the outside of the door that you were looking for a waitress.”

The man looked you up and down, grinned and said:

“Well, yes, I think you're a good candidate. Go over there”

You headed in the direction. An elderly man was standing there, looking through some papers.

“Excuse me! I would like to work as a waitress.”

He looked up at you, his gaze lingered on your face.

“Are you even eighteen?”

“Yes!”

The interview took place in the same place where you were standing. An elderly man, who called himself Anatoly Mikhailovich, asked various questions: where are you from, who are you studying for, where do you live, are you married.

And that's how easily you were hired – you were supposed to go to work next week. The advantage turned out to be that at the end of each shift they give you something to eat. So, at least on the days of work, you won't starve.

“And this week, learn how to make up and get a shorter skirt.”

“What's that for?”

Anatoly Mikhailovich looked at you as if you were a fool, and you fell silent.

***

The first shift was quiet – there weren't many guests, you met the waitress girls.

They, like you, were young students from other cities and villages without a ruble in their pocket. And they were all beautiful.

You understood why Mikhalych– that's what everyone called him–asked you such strange questions at the interview.

It was mostly men who came to your restaurant. Clearly from the criminal world. And they clearly wanted to see beautiful women around them, even if they themselves were far from handsome.

***

The second shift started quietly, until a huge company came into the restaurant and took the largest table.

You were called to serve them.

Approaching the table, you have already noticed this man from afar.

He was wearing a black turtleneck, a matching black jacket and a heavy gold chain around his neck.

And he had a black mask on his face–only big brown eyes were visible.

You were a little taken aback when those brown eyes stared at you.

“Hello!” – you addressed everyone, but you only looked at the man in the mask. Realizing this, you instantly turned your eyes to the man sitting next to him. He looked very cheerful and friendly.

“Is there a new beauty in this wonderful restaurant? What's your name?”

You told him your name.

“Lovely! Bring us this…”

***

“Who is this one in the mask?” - as soon as you left their table, you whispered to the other waitress, Lida.

“What are you talking about! This is Simon Romanov, don't you know? His nickname is Ghost!”

“Ghost? Why is he wearing a mask?”

“God knows! Maybe he is a freak and hiding it. But he gives generous tips and does not touching your ass!”

Simon, as if sensing that he was being discussed, turned his gaze to you. A chill immediately washed over your back. That gaze.

“How old is he?” – you abruptly turned Lida by the hand, and you went to the kitchen.

“What are you talking about! Don't tell me you're into him. He would be something else to fall for…”

“No, I'm just curious.”

“I don't know. But he was in Afghanistan, I think… But I like his assistant – Zhenya with the nickname Soap. He was the one who talked to you.”

“What kind of nickname is so stupid…”

“A normal nickname! And anyway, everyone has similar nicknames, don't you dare laugh!”

“Yes, I understand, I understand,” - you turned your head back. Simon was still looking at you. For a moment, you were afraid.

And then you got curious.

***

All evening you were running around the hall, carrying and bringing plates, and trying to dodge men's hands.

If your parents had seen you, they would have gone crazy seeing their daughter in a short skirt and heels serving drunk men.

All your thoughts were occupied with tomorrow's classes and the fact that winter is coming, and the coat is completely worn out.

Maybe you should get a second job? That way you could help your parents.

“Hey, beautiful!” – you heard it behind your back. You turned towards the voice. It was the same Zhenya that Lida was talking about.

“Yes, what is it?” - you walked over to their table, trying not to look at Simon.

“Bring us some more vodka, please. Two decanters.”

“Is there anything else?”

“That's it for now.”

“Okay,” - you sneaked a glance at Simon. He was watching you.

***

“My legs hurt like a nightmare,” - Lida stood with bare feet, stretching her cramped feet.

“Don't tell me.”

“But the revenue is big today! And let's eat now!”

You don't seem to have eaten since this morning. Hunger suddenly came up and attacked, squeezing in a vice.

Together with Lida and the other waitresses, you sat in the kitchen and had dinner, discussing today's shift.

“Oh, girls, - Nastya said dreamily, - I wish I could become the wife of one of our guests. They have a lot of money.”

“But they're all ugly. One of them wears a mask at all, there's probably nothing to look at all,” -  Lida shot you a look.

“You only want handsome guys, and it doesn't matter at all! And this one in the mask, I heard, is crowned. And no one is crowned just like that”

“And you imagine how this ugly man fucks you, so the crown will fall.”

“And my classmate’s older sister,” - you decided to cut into the conversation, - “married such a man. She has a lot of money now. She came to our graduation, all so beautiful, in expensive clothes, and brought a beautiful dress to a classmate.”

“Have you seen her husband?”

“No, she seemed to come alone”

***

You left the restaurant late at night. The cold autumn air blew over your face.

It's an hour's walk to the dorm. Maybe it's worth catching a taxi?

No, there's not enough money.

You were walking along one of the streets when you suddenly heard a whistle in your direction.

Turning your head towards the sound, you saw a black BMW not far away. In the light of the night lanterns, you somehow managed to make out a face in a familiar mask. Simon got out of the car.

"Come here," you heard his voice for the first time that evening. Deep and calm.

Everything went cold inside.

Well, that's it.

Goodbye Mom, goodbye Dad.

You won't run away even if you really want to. You're wearing heels, and you can barely move your feet.

“Come on, I won't hurt you.”

You didn't really believe it.

But on the other hand, if he wanted to, he would have already dragged you into the car. Without warning.

It seems like forever before you took the first step towards him. It's crazy, it's utter nonsense, but it's like you had no choice but to go to him.

As soon as you caught up with him, you were terrified of how huge he was.

- Did you want something? – you asked that stupid question and immediately regretted it. Well, of course, if he was waiting for you, then he wanted something.

“I wanted to give you a ride. It's not right for such little girl to roam the streets alone.”

"Give me a ride?" I'm not far from the dorm here.”

“If it were not far, you would have already reached it. Get in the car.”

And he got into the car himself, obviously waiting for you to do it.

You thought about running away again, but the idea turned out to be stupid again.

Do you have a choice? Obviously not.

And you got in the car.

***

You drove in complete silence to your dorm.

You were waiting for Simon to start touching you, molesting you.

But he didn't do any of that.

He was just driving, glancing at you from time to time.

You were crumpling your bag, afraid that he would turn into some alley, and then he would put all his incredible weight on you and rape you.

But he didn't do any of that.

Finally, he stopped the car near your dorm.

“Thank you!” – you rattled off and jumped out of the car like a bullet.

You turned around just before the door. Simon was looking at you from the car.

"That's crazy," you thought, and walked in.

Notes

Being crowned in the russian crime world means getting the status of a "thief in law". "Thieves in law" have high authority and belong to the elite of the criminal world.

Instead of doing my homework, I look for which cars bratki drove and listen Mikhail Krug.

У нас было два фильма «Брат», фильм «Жмурки», сериал «Бригада», открытая статья со сленгом девяностых, песни Комбинации и Ирины Салтыковой. Не то, чтобы нам всё это было нужно для написания фанфика по девяностым, но если вы сели подобное писать, то к делу надо подходить серьезно.

Part SEVEN of Simon Riley and his single mother god bless <3

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six

A few more months went by -- broken up by a couple of deployments, but easily the best months of Simon's life. He started sleeping over, every once in a while, sleeping with you. Going to bed with you in his arms after a full day, a full life? It was almost too much. Too good.

He should have known it couldn't last.

Charlie turns five in January. The cold outside is bitter and biting, but there's no snow on the ground just yet, so when he asks to go play outside, it's not that difficult for him to convince you that it's a good idea.

"Please, Mum, it's my birthday," Charlie tells you, eyes wide and pleading. "Simon'll take me, you won't even have to go out there. Just want to go to the slides for a little bit, please."

Your eyes shifts to meet Simon's, and he gives you a small grin. You know he'd do anything for Charlie, Charlie knows it too. Even Emma, the little baby who's getting bigger every day it seems, probably knows it.

Half an hour and a short walk later, and Simon has Charlie at the park where all this began. He goes down the slides a few times like he wanted, then moves to the swings for a bit. It's freezing, but he's having a blast, and so is Simon.

These little moments are getting easier with time and practice. It feels like his heart is expanding, widening to bring in you and your children, the flesh pulled taut but still sturdy, capable of holding all of it.

Until it snaps.

It happens so fast. Charlie always has seemingly boundless energy, but it's been kicked up a notch this afternoon with the excitement of his birthday. He runs wild around the deserted park, laughing and playing, hardly stopping to think as he climbs one of the narrow sets of steps that lead up towards the slides. He makes a detour this time, wanting to try the monkey bars. Simon keeps a watchful eye on him, but the boy isn't paying enough attention, and slips as he tries to navigate the high bars.

He falls to the ground, hard, and Simon hears the unmistakable snap of bone breaking. Charlie starts wailing, piercing and immediate, and Simon does a quick assessment, trained enough to keep his head even as his heart races.

There's no blood, no visible injuries besides his left arm, bent in a way it isn't supposed to go.

"You're all right, Charlie," he says quietly, carefully picking him up, making sure to keep his arm stable. "Going to get you taken care of, hear me?"

It's a quick walk back to your house, followed by a quick drive to the hospital with you and Emma in tow. Charlie's crying sets off the baby, and you're quietly weeping too, trying to tend to Charlie, and Simon navigates the streets with a clenched jaw, certain that he's destroyed everything.

Once everyone is inside the hospital, it's another quick blur of doctors and nurses poking and prodding Charlie, followed by an x-ray that confirms the clean break in his upper arm. The boy is sedated so the bone can be set, and then, while you wait for him to wake back up and while Emma finally calms, there's a stretch of silence.

Finally, you look up from the hospital bed to Simon, studying him with a frown, before saying, "You've been very quiet."

When Charlie hit the ground, Simon felt like he'd gotten the wind knocked out of him himself, and he hasn't been able to catch his breath since. It feels like the sadness, the constant weariness he'd felt for as long as he can remember, that emptiness that you'd filled so perfectly, was clawing its way back inside him. Like it never left, and you were just a pretty distraction but not something he could ever really have.

After a moment of strained silence, he mutters, "I ... fuck, I'm so sorry, love. So sorry. I shouldn't have let him on those fucking bars, I should have --"

"Stop," you tell him, your voice low too as Emma dozes in your arms. "Are you blaming yourself for this?"

"My fault," he admits. "I was the one watching him."

"Simon, don't ..."

He wants to apologize again, but he doesn't want to make you feel like you need to comfort him, but there's no way he can put on a neutral face right now ... he tries to take a deep breath, tries to finally catch it but it eludes him again.

"It's not your fault," you tell him firmly. "Accidents happen. He's a tough kid, he's going to be all right."

"He shouldn't have gotten hurt, not on my watch," he insists.

"Do you honestly think there's something you could have done differently? That you willingly let him do something unsafe?"

He racks his brain -- the logical part of him knows that it's not right. He's always careful with the children, and if he'd thought that Charlie could have gotten hurt like this, of course he would have stepped in. But the panic still rises persistently in his chest, flashing him images from a future in which you stop being understanding, where you understand how dangerous he is, how unworthy of everything you've given him. He's seconds away from being alone again, and it would be worse now that he knows what it's like to be loved.

"Simon."

Your voice is firm, solid and strong like it was that very first day when he heard you command Charlie to stop messing around on the playground. Charlie was too young and headstrong to listen then, but Simon wants, more than anything, to listen.

"It's not your fault," you tell him again. "Stop. It's not your fault."

You wrap your free arm around him, your grip firm, and he takes a shaky breath, then another. His eyes find Charlie, still out cold, and he shakes his head, but you give him another squeeze.

"It's not your fault."

That night, Charlie goes home with a sling, drowsy but no longer in pain. He asks Simon to carry him inside, and when he does, he asks him to stay, his good arm slung around his shoulder while Simon carefully cradles the one in the sling.

"Can it still be my birthday tomorrow?"

"It can be your birthday all month long," you tell him, putting Emma down on the floor with some toys.

After you make sure both your children are good for the moment, you pull Simon to the hallway, close enough to keep an eye on the kids but far enough away to speak privately.

"Are you ok?"

"Not the one you need to be asking."'

You give him a pointed look, one he knows by now means that you want him to stop being strong or stoic or whatever else and just be honest.

"I'm ... nervous," he confesses. It feels like a weak word to describe what he's feeling, but it's in the right arena, at least.

"About what?" you ask.

"That I ... that you'll want me to leave."

Your eyes widen, and you shake your head immediately, pulling him down for a hug. Your hands stroke his back and his hair, struggling to pull him even closer, and you start whispering to him. More of what you said earlier -- it was an accident, it wasn't his fault, just an accident.

What cuts through though, like a lightning rod through whatever storm is going on inside him, is when you say, "I don't ever want you to leave."

He pulls back, troubled eyes meeting yours.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, Simon. I love you. Don't leave."

It's the first time you've ever said it. You've danced around it before -- "Charlie loves you, the kids love you, we love having you around" -- but never as plain as this. He's done the same, told you in actions every day, in promises to take care of you, but actually saying the words ...

"I love you too," he says. "More than anything."

Charlie's birthday does, for the most part, last the whole month. Simon slowly starts to feel the air come back into his lungs, breathing a little easier every time Charlie acts like himself. When the boy slips, every once in a while, and calls him Daddy, or when Emma grips his hair in her chubby little fist. When you tell him that you love him, with words or kisses or promises ...

It's another lesson. Another piece of evidence that, despite everything he's ever believed about himself, he has value even when he's not perfect.

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-four —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: ily

England passes in beautiful shades of green, the last time you'll see it, so you soak it in. Rolling hills streak the landscape like scars. In the distance, you glimpse faded architecture, imagining people living and working there. An ivy-covered university appears, and you picture yourself dozing off in a lecture. These little fantasies entertain you for the next two hours, but Blue isn't distracted by the same game. When you look at her arm, you notice pink scratches just below where the friendship bracelet hugs her wrist, made by her nails mindlessly.

You tear your eyes from the window and nudge your shoulder against hers. "Hey. What do you call a cow with no legs?"

Her lips twitch at the broken silence and she lifts her azure eyes to yours, a bead of sunlight catching in them. "What?"

"Ground beef."

Those eyes roll. "That's stupid."

Nereida smiles from the other side of her. "Oh, I've got one. What did the ocean say to the beach?"

Blue sighs. "Ghost said that one before. Nothing—it just 'waved'."

A recoil passes over Nereid's kind eyes. "I apologize. That's the only one I know."

Quiet air fills the space again, and when you notice Blue's nails dig back into her wrist, you gently lace your fingers through hers and pull her hand to your lap, allowing her to scratch your thigh, instead. 

When an old theme park erects from the grass, Blue's interest piques. "Woah. What is that?"

"None of it works anymore," Ghost mutters, one hand on the wheel.

"It looks cool, though. I have to pee, anyway. Can we stop here?"

"I could use a little stretch for my legs," Nereida adds.

The pitstop is brief enough to allow Blue the chance to curiously look through the decrepit bumper cars, carousel, and even a small rollercoaster that still has the car sitting mid-track. She grabs Ari's hand to show him, but he doesn't seem as intrigued given the pale look on his face. He ends up rushing to a bush and keeling over.

"The back gets a bit bumpy," Kyle says when he notices your expression. "He'll be fine."

"I'll switch with him for the rest of the way."

"You don't have to."

"It's fine. He can probably entertain Blue better than I can."

Everyone uses the small break to eat a little lunch. You already had some of the beans Ghost packed, so you feel uncertain whether you should eat anymore of his food. You haven't even discussed sharing. Rather, you ration the jerky you made and save the rest. 

It is a small meal, so you eat it slowly to trick your stomach into feeling full. Just before getting back to the truck, you spot a tree by the entrance to Kettering Kastle. Hickory. Paul told you once they make for great arrows, a softer hardwood. Pliable yet strong. This excites you. Your sheath is only half-full, so you grab your serrated knife and cut a few midsized branches to take with you.

Sitting in the truck bed is far from pleasant. The tail wind makes it hard to breathe, and you have to grab the side of the truck to keep yourself from flying out. Kyle notices your struggle and seems amused, but reaches an arm over in offering. You hold onto him and it does some to keep you stable. 

The motorway passes through Kettering, which is a smaller city. The smell is retched, though the only Greys you spot don't take notice to you, trapped between buildings and toppled telephone poles. You make out a sign that reads A14 and figure it is headed to Cambridge. If you continue this pace, you'll reach the coastline by sundown.

Of course, things don't work out that way. The road becomes more obstructed with abandoned vehicles. Ghost has to weave through them like a maze, wasting time and fuel. The sun crawls higher in the sky. Finally, there are a few kilometers of straight road. Speed ticks up only to come to an abrupt halt when he reaches an underpass. You let go of Kyle and stand up to see what has caused the stop—a semi truck completely blocks the way through it.

"Jesus," you mutter.

Consecutive slams of the fronts doors indicate Price and Ghost are checking it out. Kyle hops out with them. After a few minutes, he returns and explains with a sigh, "We'll have to backtrack and find a side street that will lead to another motorway ramp."

"That's going to eat time. The sun will set soon."

He offers his arm again as Ghost begins reversing. "I know. It's fine, we'll just get to the water tomorrow. No rush, yeah?"

It adds an extra hour and a half. The sky turns a remarkable orange that would've had you gawking if not for your irritation of having to stop again. Ghost pulls over just before it gets too dark to set up the tents in a small market town called Haverhill. There's hardly anything here except fields of bright, yellow flowers and little shops with slanted CLOSED signs. It is actually pleasant and well-preserved, until you catch the distinguishable shape of a corpse hanging from one of the telephone poles, a black trash bag over its head.

"Don't look at it."

"Nothing I haven't seen before," you dismiss under your breath. 

A more forested patch of land at the edge of the town is where you make camp for the night.

They eat canned goods and you finish your last pieces of jerky. This means you'll have to find more food for yourself tomorrow, or ask Ghost for some. The thought makes you anxious. The last thing you want is to seem like an extra burden. Dead weight that they'd be better off leaving behind. But he also didn't comment when you ate the beans. The uncertainty of where you stand means you need to make yourself useful.

The men need rest, so you offer to keep watch.

Prices dismisses you. "You don't have to, Twix. The three of us can take turns."

"No, really. I'll keep watch and you guys can all get more sleep. I've just been sitting in a car all day, anyway."

He gives in, visibly fatigued after being up over twenty-four hours.

Ghost and Price sleep first.

That leaves you sitting with Kyle when the stars begin to flicker like bright, little heartbeats against the black night.

You pull out your smoother knife—the one you found back at that base—to carve the sticks you found, careful of your bandaged thumb. 

Kyle lays his rifle across his lap. "First time I am seeing you smile today and it's while carving sticks." 

"Arrows," you correct, holding one up and tapping your index lightly against the sharpened point. "And it's good wood. Hickory."

"You're an easy woman to please," he teases.

"My tastes have changed over the years."

"Really? I can't imagine you as one of those people who cared too much about nice things."

You flash him a raised brow. "Are you saying I was cheap?"

He nudges your knee. "Not what I'm saying. You just seem like someone who would prefer a little movie date over a fancy dinner."

"I liked sushi. Is that fancy?"

He hums. "There were some good cheap sushi spots in London—hole in the wall type places. When there was some kid doing their homework at one of the booths, that's when you knew it'd be good shit."

"You're making me hungry."

"Well, you should've eaten more." He looks at you knowingly. "You're scared to ask anyone for food, aren't you?"

Are you really that easy to read? You place the half-finish arrow across your knees and look at the ground, brushing your fingers absentmindedly through the soft grass. "I just—I am aware of my place here."

"Your place?"

Your hands tightens the grass into a fistful. "I am at the bottom."

"The bottom," he repeats slowly, and his voice lowers. "You really think that?"

You rip the grass and sprinkle it over your boot, glancing up at him. His eyes have darkened, or maybe they are simply mirroring the sky. "I am not complaining. I understand that everyone here has others who they would prefer to keep alive over me, that's all. I just don't want to stick out anymore than I already do."

He reels in your words. "You're forgetting that everyone here has their own perspective, their own wants. It is not as simple as you're making it seem." In a change of topic, he reaches for the arrow on your lap. "Here—let me help."

You hand him the knife and he begins carving expertly as a few minutes of silence ensue. You are lost in your thoughts, keeping your eyes on the surroundings, when he suddenly stops in his handiwork, holding up the knife. You watch him study the leather handle carefully, shake his head to himself, then look at you.

"Where did you get this?"

"Huh? Oh—I found it. At a military base actually."

Your answer seems to strike him, and he releases a disbelieving exhale. "The one near Manchester?"

You nod. 

"It was my brother's."

What?

Reading your expression, he shows you the handle and rubs his thumb over a small etching at the bottom that you can barely make out in the moonlight: PG.

"Patrick Garrick," he explains in a murmur, and your chest tightens. "I didn't even notice it at first. It's been years since I had it. The last time...the last time was when shit happened, and I lent it to a friend of mine at the base."

"Who?"

"Soap," he says, a memory taking over his expression as he rubs his jaw. "He was the other member of our spec ops unit."

"You... Someone mentioned him before. Ghost—he asked you guys about him when you arrived. You don't know what happened to him, right?"

Kyles nods. "He stayed back at the base to keep helping even when Price and I jumped ship. That was the Scottish in him—stubborn as hell. Soap was just his codename, of course. Like mine was Gaz." He looks up at you with a faint dimple. "And yours is Twix, huh?"

"I guess." You press your tongue to your teeth and grab the knife, frowning at it as you try to recall exactly where you grabbed it from. "What was his real name, then?"

"John MacTavish."

"I think—I think your friend is dead. I'm sorry." You gaze at him. "I remember now. I found it in one of the rooms, and there was a skeleton with that name. He... he had it quick, though."

The expression on his typically warm eyes turns unreadable and his shoulders stiffen in the slightest. You wonder if you should have bothered sharing this, but then he shrugs it off with a sigh. "It's okay. Figured as much. Many people have died. He's just another name to the list."

Instinct draws your hand to his shoulder, and the muscles softens beneath your touch. "I'm still sorry."

His eyes find yours. 

He smiles solemnly.

Then, somewhere in it all, he leans over and closes the gap. The sudden, foreign feel of lips pressed against your own stuns you. His lips move gently, cold and soft against yours, and only when he threads a hand through your hair to pull you closer do you fully register what he is doing. Your eyes fly open and you break away, leaping to your feet.

"Why did you—what was that?"

He stands up with you. "It felt right in the moment."

He tries to touch your shoulder but you flinch away. "I'm sorry. I just—I was just trying to comfort you."

"I misread the moment." His eyes are clouded. "So you didn't want it?"

Did you? Your mind feels fuzzy. "I don't know. I need to...I want to be alone right now."

You grab your knife and sticks, rushing around the tents to find solace by the truck, needing to process what just happened. As you move, you bump into a hard chest—Ghost. Somehow you failed to hear the jagged teeth of the tent's zipper. Avoiding his gaze, you try to slip past, but he grips your elbow, holding you in place.

"What is it?"

The lie wedges out of your lips. "Nothing. I just—thought I saw something so I am going to sit over there and keep an eye out."

The difference in height leads to his stare burning into your scalp. "What did you see?" 

"I don't know. Something. Maybe just an animal."

His hold doesn't soften. Stoicism forces itself on your face as you press your lips into a line.

You're easy to ready.

He finally lets go. "I'll take over now. You can sleep."

You find yourself nodding soundlessly, internally glad to be relieved of this duty. 

Sleep offers peace of mind, at least until morning. 

Dawn breaks over the small town in a quiet clatter of spoons against cans and the shuffling of bags being packed up. The dream you wake up from was one of an old life—the last kiss you experienced. But it fizzles quickly from the recesses of your brain the moment your lids shutter open. 

Both you and Kyle seem keen on acting as though nothing happened. More than anything, you are confused. You try to search inside that box of yours for how you feel, but all you find is fear. You've barely been able to keep up with the fear. You busy yourself with helping get everything back in the truck, fitting the supplies like a jigsaw puzzle. You have nothing to eat. A day or two without food is doable until you can properly hunt for something—

"Here."

It is Nereida who catches you by the truck before leaving. She practically shoves a can of tuna into your hands and you look up at her in hesitant gratitude.

"We're all sharing food," she says. "That is how it should be."

"Thank you. Really, this is—"

"Don't thank me. There is plenty for everyone."

For now, your mind chides, but you swallow the thought while scarfing down the meal you pretend is London's finest sushi. 

Once everyone is ready, you head to the back of the truck, expecting an awkward encounter with Kyle, only to find Ghost sitting there beside the kayak, hands relaxed behind his head.

"What are you doing?"

"Needed a break from driving."

You glance at the front to see that Price is behind the wheel, and Kyle is in the passenger side. In a way, you're relieved. You breathe through your nose and hoist yourself up. The bumpy ride is quiet at first. His body takes up space so that each pothole nudges your shoulder or knee against his. The morning ages. You swear you can see there coast at one point, but it must be your imagination, because the passing sign reads Halstead. 

"You really need to work on lying better."

The brash accent registers low against the hum of the engine, and his eyes are closed when you look over. He is leaned back, one leg straight and one bent, seeming to enjoy the seat more than you are. 

"Fine. I'm bad at lying."

"Care to share the truth, then?"

He needn't elaborate for you to know what he is referring to. "I was...I was upset because I found out my knife—the one I took from the base—belonged to Kyle's brother."

His brow ticks.

You continue, "But he actually gave it to Soap, and I—I found his dog tag on a skeleton. John MacTavish. You were friends with him, weren't you?"

His eyes open, but they are too murky to decipher from just his profile. His jaw flexes. "I wasn't a man with friends, Twix."

"You know what I mean."

There is a pause, and then, "He was a sergeant under my command. A good man. Grating, at times. But good."

"Well, I'm sorry he didn't make it. If you of all people say he was a good guy, then he really must've been."

He hums in agreement. Thoughtful. Then—two gloved fingers touch your jaw, turning your eyes to his. "You are still lying, and still bad at it."

You wet your lips. "I wasn't—"

"Help!"

Ghost drops your chin and grabs the gun from his waist.

Your eyes flash around at the sound of a second plea. There is a man at the side of the road, leg draped in bloodied bandages, but there isn't a chance for you to register more of him when the truck takes a sudden, sharp left down a side street and you brace yourself by grabbing the edge with both arms. The small city-scape whirls by in a blur. Ghost swears under his breath, scanning the area as he bends on one knee and keeps the gun secure in his grip. Confused, you grab his arm.

"That man was injured."

His voice is harsh and alert. "He has fucking friends somewhere here. He was just trying to—"

A shattering sound. An audible pop. You're thrown against the truck bed even harder this time as it skids across the street, nearly slamming into a flipped-over car. Ghost covers you, the weight of him keeping you from flying out. The truck swerves to a halt. Everything is black until his weight lifts. He barks an order, jumps out, and pulls you with him.

Pressed against the side of the truck, the world becomes consumed by loud sounds and the distinct smell of gunpowder. Ghost rips open the passenger door and urgently pulls Blue, Ari, and Nereida out, ordering them to keep low. From the other side, you hear Price and Kyle shouting, followed by another series of gunshots.

【Ｌｉｍｉｎａｌｉｔｙ】

Damaged Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Chapter 12 | I’m Cloudbusting Daddy.

Dark themes, references to past abuse. A PTSD freak out. Kinda hurt no comfort vibes? Take care besties.

You press your face into the cool tiles patterning your shower, feeling the water droplets forming random shapes against the thin flesh of your eyelids. It’s calming, the heat of the mist drenching your scalp, flowing in endless swirls around the drain beneath your feet.

It’s been weeks since the great revelations, since you opened the door to your anxiety for Simon and instead of retreating, he walked straight through. You’re glad he’s on leave actually, it’s given you time to process, move the relationship from one of faintly awkward strangers to the footings of a honeymoon period.

Without needing to verbalise it, you recognise that you’re both in deep now, the light above you reduced to a glimmering speck as you descend into dim and uncharted territory. You know he’s probably never spoken about some of the things he told you with anyone, the fact that he trusted you enough to reveal the difficult truth of his past means everything. It’s given you both a new footing you’re still navigating around.

The first time Simon slept in your bed, it felt like a big deal. A fucking big deal actually. You weren’t sure if you’d ever be brave enough to close your eyes around someone again, give them access to a space where you’re unguarded, vulnerable in the extreme. He stuck to his side of the mattress with almost rigid formality that made humour lodge in the back of your throat. Ironing board stiff and barely moving, shovel like hands folded neatly under his head, a side sleeper by all accounts, when you woke up he was still in the same position and the only indication he was comfortable was the change in his breathing, exhales of air expended from somewhere peaceful.

Slowly, like dream walking, Simon had gradually eased into it, until his hand laced with yours when it came time to turn off the amber light on your bedside table. That progressed to your head making it’s way onto his shoulder, or a leg being flung absently across his thigh. Shapes that gradually came together through the blackest night or in the early hours where the soft plumed birds chirp. With each passing day the awkwardness disappeared, until you realised your bed would feel entirely empty without his body there, even given the whistling snores he makes when he’s dozing through a nose broken more than once.

It’s going so well, it almost makes you uneasy. You keep waiting for him to show some sign of impatience with you, try and touch you somewhere that makes the wounds in your psyche flinch away, withdraw under the pain of previous caresses you’ve tried so hard to bury twelve feet deep.

But it never comes. Simon kisses you like a man fevered, possessed by the feeling of your lips against his, nips at your jawline and threads his big paws with your fingers. Steadily you’re recognising that perhaps Simon is more afraid of taking that leap than you are. The jump that involves acting on the slickness between your thighs after a particularly intense make out session, or acknowledging the hardness you’ve felt pitching in his black jeans.

In spite of your own anxieties, you’ve got to admit you crave that physicality with Simon. It’s stirred all sorts of excitement in you, the type that makes your stomach tense with anticipation, heat curling over your shoulders in waves every time he murmurs your name, slightly out of breath from long minutes wrapped up in you.

The water plunging from the spouts above you is turning lukewarm you’ve been in here so long. More than once you’ve taken a shower as an acute distraction from the overstimulation bought on by Simon’s presence. Slipping a hand between your legs to ease the ache he leaves, toying with your clit until a short and sharp orgasm blooms under your fingertips. Oddly, it leaves you craving more though, becoming less and less satisfying with each stolen moment.

A little frustrated, you shut off the flow. You both agreed you’d take things slowly, it’s needed, required even. You’ll have to shove batteries in your old vibe and sneak it into the bathroom. That should stave off the constricting desire that has you gazing at Simon’s broad back when you wake up before him in the mornings. The itch inside you to trace a palm over the corded muscle and sinew built there, press kisses to every scar. It’s a relief in some ways to be so attracted to him, when it’s been a while since frisson didn’t make you anxious.

“Oi.”

“Oi.” Simon replies softly, barely opening one eye, head resting against the sofa cushions. You can tell he’s awake though, his gravelled voice holds no sign of sleep. He’s always watchful, only rests in a light state of consciousness, sometimes waking if you move too much or twitch while you dream.

The tv show you were watching has long since finished, something else is playing. The hum of the dialogue onscreen washes over you, drowning out the negative voice inside your head. Simon’s black gaze is now resting on you entirely, slow blinking like a cat on the lap of an owner who dotes on it.

It’s now or never.

“Do you ever think about…” You pause, trying to bottle the shyness suddenly seeping into your body and making you clench your fists. “Trying stuff? Stuff other than kissing?”

Simon sits up and immediately you regret your statement. In his uncanny way you know he understands exactly what you mean. You get studied by eyes full of apprehension, something churning in the depths you can’t quite grasp, an undercurrent through a restless body of water that’s usually still.

“You don’t have to answer that! Sorry, forget I said it.”

Shit, now you feel awkward.

But Simon closes his rough fingers tightly around yours, the pad of his thumb brushing the inside of your wrist.

“Stop apologising to me.” He huffs, the scar on his lip tugged downwards in a stern line. But his severe stare starts to crumble at the edges, humour breaking through the cocktail of uncertainty in them. “M’tougher than I look.”

You snort at that, then hold his hand properly, sliding your fingers to rest on his knuckles, marked and sloping as they are. Flipping his hand to bring yours closer still, you notice something, a vibrant red, crimson smear on the thin skin just before his weathered palm begins.

“Is that lipstick?!”

“Yeah.” Replies Simon, looking utterly unabashed. You press a pad into the stain, garish against his fair colouring.

“Do I want to know why you’ve got red lipstick there?”

He shrugs, lips tilting up at the corners in a surprisingly boyish way. Simon looks like he’s been caught out in some amusing fashion, it piques your interest immediately.

“Si?”

The smirk grows a little wider, so you squish his hand in an attempt to extort the truth from him. It has all the affect of a breeze blowing against a large rock. He doesn’t even flinch, though you’re puffing.

“Tell me!” You lean all your weight on his hand which remains resolutely steady.

“Surprised it’s taken you this long to notice it actually.” He hums, watching you wrestling with him while his eyes crinkle happily at the corners. “Pinched your lipstick weeks ago. Wear it everyday.”

You gawp at him, momentarily distracted. Simon uses that to flip your hand and traps it vice like in his paw.

“I’ve been looking for that!”

“Bought you new ones didn’t I?!” He grins stupidly at the outrage on your features.

“You’re a weird guy Simon.”

“Know that.” Simon shrugs without batting an eyelid. “Reminds me of you. Thought you’d lose your shit if I got a tattoo, lipstick will do for now eh.”

Warily, you eye him, the sentiment is crushingly adoring and it should have you running for the hills. Instead you’re more than a little bit pleased he wants to keep a part of you with him, even if that did involve stealing your favourite lippy.

“Have you got any other tattoos? Apart from your arm?”

“Nah. Don’t like sitting for em. Tha’s why I only got a half sleeve. Never went back for the rest.”

You digest that fact, your brain making links in the pieces of information you have about him. He finds touch difficult sometimes, you know that already. Occasionally he doesn’t sleep at all and you wake up to him pottering around your flat like a helpful poltergeist, tightening loose screws and fixing dripping taps.

“Do you prefer piercings then?”

Simon nods slowly.

“Mm. Done those myself in the main.”

“You pierced your own tongue?!” Horrified you gaze at him, imagining how difficult that must have been to do without flinching.

“Pierced other stuff too. Just took em out when I got bored.”

“Like what?”

“Come ‘ere?” Simon murmurs, pulling you closer then patting his lap. He still frames it as a question, giving you the right to refuse at any moment, to pull back without consequences. Feeling bold, you clamber onto his thick thighs, as his orbs flit over your form.

“See how many you can guess.”

Steadily he stares up at you, big hands resting gently on your hips, the lightest touch that might as well weigh tenfold with how heated you’re feeling. Spread wide across his lap, feeling the stretch in your muscles as they accommodate the broadness of him. It would burn to take him, you’re sure of it, but it would be the best feeling in the world.

Carefully you examine his face, a few lines around his eyes, scars that criss cross through his ash blonde stubble, light lashes framing the obsidian orbs so tenderly observing you in return.

There’s a little hole shaped mark in the corner of his lip, two by both sides of his brows. A few more litter his ears. Quietly you let your fingers trace each in turn, while he sighs at the whispering touches. You tap his Cupid’s bow and tilt your head to add the little metal barbel inside his mouth to the list of sites. Then your hand trails the length of his jawline, down to his Adam’s apple which jumps as he gulps.

“Did I get all of them right?!”

Simon’s orbs look over-bright, black pupils a vortex in which to drown. His breath quickens, a pace to match his thrumming pulse. It’s innocuous, but you touching him so tenderly has roused something wolfish that can’t be ignored. Simultaneously he wants you to stop and go further all at once.

“More or less.” He concedes, leaning his throat into your touch until a thrumming starts to drive between your legs. Boldly you trace a peck over his T-shirt, the outline of muscles bunching under your caresses until he’s taut like a spring.

“Anymore round here?”

Your thumb finds the edge of his nipple and curves around it, feeling the peak while he shivers slightly. It occurs to you then and there that Simon could have more piercings in delicate areas unseen as yet, and the thought of that has your pussy fluttering with anticipation.

“I’ll tell you if you’re hot or cold.” He rasps, throat bobbing again. Is it just nerves? Or is he really so affected by a trailing touch?

Sinking lower, you stroke down to his navel, navigating his belly button with a quirk of your eyebrow. Simon inhales softly when you pause just under it, tentatively drawing little circles.

“Hot.”

You giggle, the vision of this giant of a man with a cute noughties belly bar is almost too much to handle. So carefully you’re now barely taking in oxygen yourself, your hand reaches the waistband of his jeans, resting on it with a feathery lightness that totally belays the amount of intoxicating want you feel for him. The incredible urge you have to undo the faded metal button and let down the zipper of his fly.

There’s a split second pause while your imagination goes into overdrive, contemplating one thousand different moves that would lead onwards to the place you’ve been fantasising about getting to with Simon.

That momentary lapse in observation is all it takes to miss that he’s frozen, no longer heavily lidded with lust, forearms straining and bunched with tension until the muscles look fit to burst through his flesh. All easy humour has vanished from his face, his eyes are burning like supernovas in their sockets, while his knuckles whiten.

Then seamlessly he’s on his feet, you’ve been deposited onto the sofa and he’s halfway into the hall. You barely have time to blink, to readjust to the change in position before you hear the bathroom door slam.

Shit.

You don’t know what to do, give him space? Is that the best thing? Or does he need comfort? Surely he wouldn’t have moved if he didn’t need alone time. Waiting for a beat you listen, it’s eerily quiet, not even the sound of the clock ticking over to midnight in the kitchen breaks the tension.

Shit, shit.

Anxiously you clutch your knees, wavering between going to check on him and the worry that might make it worse. Concern gnaws at you, along with rapidly rising guilt. You never even considered what level might be too much for him and that brings nausea to your throat.

The front door opens.

“Need fresh air.” Simon calls shortly.

It shuts with a finality that feels like a death toll, leaving you reeling a little in it’s wake.

Shit, shit, double shit.

On AO3

Masterlist

@cutiecusp @pxssygxblin @murder-hobo @misshugs @cherrieswine @garbau @callsignang3l @cmbghost

The Mask I Live With - pt 12

After a long week with work... I'm finally able to post the next chapter 😫 how was everyone's week?????????

Roommate|Reader x Simon Ghost Riley

The door creaked open again, causing you to look up and your chest tighten. Simon walked inside, his gear no longer on him, replaced by a simple black hoodie and cargo pants. Though his skull mask remained.

The two sergeants glanced at each other before Soap patted the side of your bed. "We'll go check on Danny. Let ya two talk." Gaz smirked but didn't say anything as they both left, shutting the door behind them.

Silence.

It was so quiet, except for the beeping of the monitor, you almost wanted to pass out again.

He stood there, hands shoved deep into his pockets like he wasn't sure what to do with them as he watched you. He was stiff like he was either restraining himself or forcing composure. You shifted, letting out a soft wince, and his eyes immediately dropped to your leg before looking back at your face.

You swallowed. "Did we get them?"

"Y'need to focus on gettin' better."

You blinked. "That wasn't an answer."

"Tha's the only answer you're gettin'."

You frowned but didn't push it. If he wasn't telling, then you probably didn't want to know. Instead, your gaze drifted down his form, taking in the tension that flowed over his body like he hadn't let himself rest.

"Are you okay?" You asked.

"Christ." He scoffed and shook his head. "You're the one in a hospital bed, and you're worried about me?"

You shrugged. "You look like hell." He shook his head again, but didn't deny it. There was something almost amusing in the way his eyes narrowed at you. You hesitated for a second before speaking again. "Thank you. For coming back for us."

"Didn't have a choice." He responded immediately.

Your brows furrowed. "What?"

"Wouldn't have left y'behind."

The way he said it—quiet but faithful—made your stomach twist. Like it wasn't even a question. Like there was never a world where he would've done anything else. It harder to breathe, your throat tightening for a response you couldn't form.

He shifted his weight, glancing toward the door like he was already halfway gone..... like this moment was already too much. "Should get some rest."

You wanted to say something else—wanted to stop him, ask what the hell this thing was between you; what it meant—but all you could do was nod.

******************************************************

When you were finally released from the hospital, you and Danny were placed on medical leave until you both recovered. No flying. No missions. No long hours in the hangar prepping aircrafts.

Just rest.

It should've been easy, but no......

You were told about his condition before you even saw him. The bullet wound in his neck had traveled and done serious damage - nerve and muscle trauma meant he wouldn't get in a helo for a long time. Months, maybe longer.

Still, his face split into a lopsided grin the second he saw you. "Damn, Riggs." He eyed your crutches. "We really know how to make an exit, huh?"

You playfully scoffed, lowering yourself carefully into the chair beside him. "Yeah, next time let's not get shot and crash a helo."

"Where's the fun in that?" He joked. Even with his usual sarcasm, you saw he was struggling. 

You knew it could've been worse. You both could have died. But the idea of Danny—your co-pilot, your best friend—being sidelined like this... it hit painfully deep.

Your own recovery was a hell too. The doctors were optimistic about your leg, but physical therapy was going to be brutal. You couldn't even walk without assistance—using the crutches they required you to have. It sucked..... 

You never realized how much you took something as simple as walking for granted until it became a whole goddamn process. Moving around the flat was annoying enough... but the first time you had to deal with the stairs? Absolutely infuriating.

You stood at the bottom, glaring up at them like they'd personally offended you.

"This is bullshit."

Simon, standing next to you, tilted his head slightly. "Y'gonna complain the whole way up?"

You huffed, adjusting your grip on the crutches. "I might."

He made a low, amused sound. "Need help?"

"No." You glared.

You should have accepted, but your pride was hanging on by a thread, and you refused to let a dumb ass staircase defeat you. So you gritted your teeth and started your slow, agonizing climb. It took way too long, your arms ached, and your leg throbbed....... by the time you reached the top, you were fucking out of breath.

He just stood there, unimpressed. "Took y'long enough."

"Screw you, Ghost." You shot him another glare, but it quickly vanished as you saw his eyes crinkle under his surgical mask. That's when you noticed something in that serious, yet comforting gaze he gave you...... it was full of...... care.

He also was just.... there.

More than usual.

A lot more actually.

At first, you thought it was a coincidence. He had always been in and out, missions taking him away for days or weeks at a time, but suddenly, he was home. Helping. Bringing you things before you even asked. Carrying stuff when he didn't have to. Making sure you were eating, and that you wereresting. You caught him glancing at you more, watching to make sure you weren't pushing yourself too hard.

And at some point, you found out that he hadn't gone on the next mission. That threw you off more than anything else cause he never sat out missions. But now?.... he was at the flat with you, being this constant, steady presence you hadn't expected.

Every time you wanted to ask him, the words stuck in your throat.

Why was he doing this? Why was he staying? What did it mean?

But you were too afraid of the answer.

Instead, you distracted yourself.. mostly by texting the group chat that had been blowing up ever since you and Danny got injured.

Danny : Morning cripples.

Soap : Aye Danny. How's the muscles?

Gaz : And how's our otherinvaliddoing?

You smirked at your phone before typing out a response.

You: I'm fine. Ghost helped me move some shit around earlier though.

It only took threeseconds before the chat exploded.

Soap: GHOST?? Helping you??? 😳

Danny: Again?

Gaz: Just ask him out already.

You: EXCUSE ME???

Soap: Come on lass we all see it. Man's been practically glued to your side since the crash.

Gaz: Yeah and he skipped a mission for you. When has he ever skipped a mission?

Danny: I told you. She's got some kinda spell on him.

You groaned, rubbing a hand over your face.

You: It's not like that. He's just making sure I don't die or something.

Soap: Oh yeah sure. Because he definitely watches over the rest of us like that.

Gaz: He's so into you.

Danny: He's a stubborn bastard, but so are you. Just ask him out.

Your stomach flipped wildly, and you hated that it did. 

Because the truth was... you had thought about it. More than twenty times. But you knew he wasn't the kind of man to—

Your phone buzzed again.

Soap: Bet she won't do it.

Gaz: Yeah no shit. She's too scared.

Danny: Pfft. You won't.

You scowled at your screen.

You: I can ask him out. I just don't want to.

Soap: Mmhm. Sure.

Gaz: Sounds like fear.

Danny: Sounds like excuses.

You groaned, throwing your phone onto the couch beside you. Because they weren't completely wrong. You were afraid......afraid of messing things up. Afraid of making things weird. Afraid that maybe he didn't feel the same way.

I swear we're getting closer and closer to them finally stopping the awkwardness and confessing their love lmao!!!

Pt. 1; Pt. 2; Pt. 3; Pt. 4; Pt. 5; Pt. 6; Pt. 7; Pt. 8; Pt. 9; Pt. 10; Pt. 11 (Simon POV)

Before The Ghost

taglist: @jessicab1991 @maskedbyghost @kittygonap @nappingmoon @chaos-4baby @ohdrey89 @skeletonsucker @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @roastyyytoastyyy @simonexxx1 @mrmountainman @thebumbqueen @lucienofthelakes @letiferian @jennamelinda12 @mulletmcghee @kittykatgorl @strawberrygato @ghostslollipop @emeraldeyes1805 @chaosundcoffee @whos-fran @fangirls94 @rafaelacallinybbay @quiet-loser @shondlenoodle @iceblossom1013 @sssophia0-0 @a-lil-bit-nuts

I WANNA BE YOUR ENDGAME – Chapter 08

🏒❤️ A Hockey Romance feat. modern!Sukuna

Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, Hockey AU, fluff + smut Playlist: I wanna be your Endgame Word Count: 5k Warnings: 18+, smut, cigarettes, alcohol, hockey injuries. Fuckbuddies to lovers. Reader is a creative writing student. Sukuna is an ice hockey player + history student. This story will have approximately 12 chapters. Minors don't interact. Header by me. Divider @/benkeibear

MASTERLIST

You lie awake for hours. What happened between you and Sukuna during the private ice skating lesson? Didn't the whole thing in the hockey arena feel too romantic and too intimate for just fuckbuddies? Do friends with benefits really kiss each other like that?

You feel strangely smitten, almost shy, when you think about your evening with Sukuna. He was such a gentleman, making sure you didn't slip and fall on your ass, helping you exit the ice and make your way to the bench, where you could put on your shoes again. You left the arena, and Sukuna ruffled your hair and made a joking comment about how you had screeched when you set foot on the ice for the first time. And you playfully hit his biceps and told him to shut up. But your heart was racing, and your face felt too hot, and you are sure you giggled like some teenager with a big fat crush.

Sukuna walked you back to your dorm, and you teased each other the whole way. You asked Sukuna if he wanted to come in, and he agreed with his typical sexy smirk. You spent an hour in your bed, low groans and soft mewls and the rhythmical sound of your headboard banging against the wall filling your room.

And now, Sukuna is gone again, but your pillow still smells like him. And you stare at the ceiling, unable to get that kiss in the hockey arena out of your head. A kiss that felt too romantic, too tender.

You know your little private ice skating lesson wasn't a date, but why did it almost feel like one? If you are honest with yourself, the hour spent ice skating in Sukuna's arms felt nicer than any real date you had.

You wonder if Sukuna is lying awake, too? Does he ask himself the same questions you are asking yourself? You want to convince yourself he isn't aware of it. But there's a small voice in the back of your mind reminding you how good Sukuna is at analyzing things. You are sure he can see how close the two of you have become, too.

But does he care? Does he want more? Or is it just fun for him? You know Sukuna has that bad reputation that paints him as a fuckboy. But is he, though? The thing is that ever since the two of you started your little arrangement, Sukuna seems to only fuck one girl... and that girl is you. And then there are all those little things Yuuji says that sometimes sound like he is dropping hints about Sukuna possibly liking you as more than just a casual fuckbuddy.

"Oh shit."

You groan and pull your blanket over your face, hiding yourself even deeper in the comfort of your bed. The little hopeful spark and the butterflies in your stomach scare you. You know this feeling all too well, and you don't want it!

You told yourself you would get through college without the complications of romantic feelings. All love ever did was cause you heartbreak and pain. You swore off it after the disappointment that your ex-boyfriend was. You swore to yourself that you would just have fun when you go to college. Nothing serious. No relationship. No feelings. Just fun. And this fuckbuddies arrangement with Sukuna had seemed so perfect for what you wanted. But what now? What if you suddenly develop feelings for Sukuna?

You cannot let that happen. You have to fight it!

Get a fucking grip!

You see Sukuna the next day, and you manage to act normal around him, ignoring the fluttery feeling in your stomach when he smirks at you and lets his large hand slowly trail down your arm to steal your heavy stack of books out of your hands and carry it for you to your classic literature classroom. He makes a comment about you obviously being too weak to carry it on your own while giving you one of his devilish looks, and you roll your eyes and yank the books out of his arms even though Sukuna already carried them all the way to the classroom.

You agree to meet him for lunch, and by the time the two of you have finished your meals and bickered playfully over all kinds of things, you feel better. More in control again. You can do this. You can continue this fuckbuddies thing with Sukuna without making things awkward. Even if his boyish smirk and those pretty, maroon eyes and mouth-watering muscles make your pulse race. It's fine. Sukuna is your friend. Just that. Just a very hot guy-friend who fucks your brains out anytime you feel like it.

It's perfect the way it is. You wouldn't want to risk losing this.

Sukuna asks you to see him after hockey practice, and you spend an hour in his bed that evening, moaning into his pillow and laughing against his buff biceps afterward when he lies next to you and shows you a funny video on his phone.

You steal a drag from Sukuna's cigarette that he smokes by his window, and he grins at you and pulls you into a kiss with that sexy, teasing tongue flick at the end before he tells you to be a good girl and go home to study for your classic literature course so you can join him in the top-grades-getter-league.

It's Friday, and Nobara keeps bugging you about joining her for a night out at a popular club, claiming that you will get a bad case of FOMO if you don't come with her. You doubt her words, but you have to admit that maybe a girls' night with some dancing and some fancy drinks is exactly what you need to get your mind off a certain pink-haired hockey player, and so you laugh and tell her to help you pick an outfit.

Nobara was right about the club being amazing. You really have a lot of fun, sipping on some pastel-colored sweet cocktail and dancing and laughing with your dormmate, feeling as if this is the authentic college experience.

The club is a popular meeting spot for college students. You see so many familiar faces. And so, it should probably not come as a surprise when you see several hockey players. You try not to do it, but your gaze keeps wandering through the club, searching for one particular Tiger.

And you find him.

He is leaning casually against a pillar, laughing at something his brother is saying to him before Yuuji gets pulled onto the dancefloor by Todo. Sukuna stays where he is, lifting a bottle of some vodka mix drink to his lips and tilting his head back to gulp it down. His Adam's apple bops enticingly, making you involuntarily lick your lips.

You have stopped dancing, you realize. Too busy staring at Sukuna.

Damn, stop it!

You shake your head and laugh, grabbing Nobara's hand to spin her around, forcing yourself to get back into your little fun time with your friend. But even as you dance with her, your gaze keeps straying back to your fuckbuddy, who is still standing at the same spot.

Several hockey players gather around Sukuna, laughing, chatting, and drinking together. Tequila shots this time. It looks like the whole team is here tonight, maybe celebrating something. Sukuna hasn't spotted you yet, and you use that chance to let your eyes trail slowly over him.

He looks hot. He always does, of course. Tall, athletic, and handsome. The tight black t-shirt he is wearing shows off his well-defined muscles and sexy tattoos. The expression on his tattooed face is aloof and bored, making him probably look even more attractive to all the girls who are eyeing him. Sukuna is a challenge. The bad boy, who seems so hard to please. The tough guy who seems like he never smiles. But you have seen his smile and know how to get it out of him.

You are about to walk over to Sukuna to greet him, but you freeze up when you watch a pretty girl dance up to him, a seductive smile on her face. You feel your stomach clench anxiously. The girl gets on her tiptoes, a sugary smile on her beautiful face as she says something to Sukuna. Her hand sprawls over his pecs, her body leaning closer and closer to him.

But Sukuna shakes his head at her and plucks her hand off him with a cold sneer on his beautiful face. He points a long, tattooed finger at one of his teammates and steers the girl over to him.

And as fast as that strange feeling in your guts appeared, it is gone again, and instead, you catch yourself grinning from ear to ear.

And suddenly, that maroon gaze is on you. You draw in a sharp breath, staring back at Sukuna as the seconds tick by.

Sukuna's tattooed face lights up with a broad grin, and he pushes himself off the pillar he was leaning against. Your pulse is racing as you watch him walk over to you while Nobara is laughing. Sukuna stops in front of you, tall and sexy with that boyish smirk and looking so good in his tight black t-shirt and jeans.

"Hey, princess."

The words come out slightly slurred. You tilt your head to smile at him, noticing the somewhat unfocused look in his usually so sharp eyes. He is drunk, you realize. His grin turns into a lopsided smile, and somehow, it makes him look almost cute. Softer around the edges. He seemed so aloof a moment ago when he turned that girl down, but now he is all playful again when he reaches out to wrap his strong arms around your waist and pull you against him.

"Fuck, I'm glad you're here, too, princess. I was so fucking bored."

He jerks his chin at Nobara in a greeting, informing her with a smirk,

"I am stealing her for a while. Find someone else to dance with, Ginger. What about my brother? He is a good dancer. Get him before someone else does."

Nobara complains loudly, smacking Sukuna's biceps while telling him that hockey players suck in general and pink-haired ones in particular, but you can hear the smile in her voice, and she really half-walks, half-dances away from Sukuna and you, looking for another dance partner.

You chuckle softly as Sukuna pulls you to him, making you stumble into his firm body. You put your hands on Sukuna's abs to brace yourself, grinning up at him, your pulse fluttering at being so close to him. His body heat seeps through his shirt, and his firm abs move under your palms when he leans down to press a sloppy, wet kiss on your cheek,

"Come on, dance with me so Todo and the brat get off my dick and stop pestering me about dancing with them."

Sukuna pulls you with him to the middle of the dancefloor, where the rest of the hockey players are. You don't even have time to complain or feel embarrassed about your dancing skills because Sukuna's strong arms are wrapped so firmly around you that you can't really make any move on your own anyway. And the drinks you had make you tipsy enough to just go with it and laugh loudly as Sukuna grinds against you.

You find yourself relaxing, just having fun with Sukuna and his teammates, dancing dirty with Sukuna while singing along to the songs, and smiling when Sukuna grins at you. You wrap your hands around Sukuna's neck, letting him sway you from side to side, or press his tall, muscular body tightly against yours to grind against you slowly.

It seems only natural that the two of you kiss. Sloppy, drunk kisses that make you chuckle against Sukuna's lips, feeling a lot more intoxicated than you truly are. It feels exhilarating to dance and make out with him here in the middle of the club.

Sukuna's hands are all over you, running up and down your back and groping your ass. He slips his hands into the back pockets of your jeans and pulls you even closer to him, and you let your nails trail over his short undercut, smiling when it elicits a low growl from the back of Sukuna's throat.

He trails hot, wet kisses over your chin to your neck, and your breath hitches. It's new to be like this with Sukuna in public, but you can't deny how exciting it feels to have him all over you. Drunk Sukuna is clingy, you realize. He doesn't let you move away even a step. His large hands immediately squeeze your ass, pulling you to him again while his lips trail kisses over your neck and his sexy low voice murmurs in your ear,

"Need you, baby."

Your heart skips a beat. You know Sukuna is just drunk, and it means nothing, but you can't help but feel a fluttery tingle in your belly and chest at his words. You smile and grab Sukuna's chin, pulling him into another kiss to shut him up before he can say anything else that will make you spin out of control and that he might regret in the morning.

You weakly try to decline when Sukuna whispers in your ear that he wants you to go home with him. But he won't let go of you, clings to you, and kisses you all sweetly before he looks at you with a cute little pout that looks hilarious on his tattooed face. His voice is a bit thicker than usual, tongue heavy from the alcohol, making you wonder how many shots he had.

"Don't leave me alone, princess. Who knows what kind of trouble I will get into without my personal lucky charm by my side."

He keeps grinning at you and bugging you until you agree to leave with him, even if it is just to put him into bed. You let Sukuna put a muscular arm around your shoulders while his other arm pulls his twin brother to his side, and the three of you make your way outside while you hastily type a message to Nobara, telling her you are leaving with the twins.

You laugh when Sukuna throws his car keys to his brother, even in his drunk state, not forgetting about the beef he has with Yuuji over his beloved car,

"You drive, brat, but if you get even the tiniest scratch into my car, I will punch that stupid smile off your face."

You sit in the backseat with Sukuna while Yuuji drives. Or, more like, you lie in the backseat because Sukuna is on you the moment the car starts. You spend the whole drive with Sukuna lying half on top of you, kissing you deeply, with those intense deep tongue kisses that make you moan into his mouth and knead his firm ass through his tight jeans.

"So greedy, huh, princess? Don't worry, I'll fuck you until you scream my name." "Oh, shut up. You are drunk. I'll just tug you into bed and then leave." "Don't you dare leave me alone. I had some drinks, yeah, but I am perfectly fine. I can still fuck you better than any other could." He smirks at you with that challenging glint in his eyes, and your pussy throbs, your conviction wavering. Sukuna licks your neck slowly, teasingly, before he captures your lips in another deep kiss, successfully making you change your plans. Your hands slip under his shirt, caressing his hot, smooth skin, kneading his buff muscles, smiling when you hear him groan into the kiss. You go with Sukuna to his room and watch him take off his clothes, heart pounding in your chest as he turns around and beckons you over, his sexy muscles and tattoos unashamedly on display for you, and his gorgeous thick cock already half hard, waiting for you to stroke him to full hardness so you can have fun with him. Sukuna fucks you with sloppy, lazy strokes and those deep French kisses that make your pussy and your tummy flutter. You are gasping his name, wrapping your legs tightly around his narrow hips, mewling with every thrust, enjoying the drunk sex immensely. Sukuna fucks good, even when he had several drinks. The only thing that's different is that he is louder. And it's so sexy that it makes you clench around him, your eyes falling shut to bask in the sexy, loud moans falling from Sukuna's lips.

You really scream his name when you cum, and he moans yours when he follows you a few seconds later, hot thick cock throbbing inside you. Sukuna slumps on top of you afterward with a satisfied sigh, and you hum happily, caressing his neck and running your foot up and down his muscular calves and thighs.

You ask how late it is, but Sukuna doesn't answer.

"Sukuna?"

You push at Sukuna's broad shoulders only to hear a soft snore coming from him, realizing he fell asleep on top of you. You laugh and relax, letting a hand trail slowly up and down Sukuna's broad, muscular back, caressing him while he sleeps soundly on top of you.

Sukuna is heavy, but you let him sleep, grinning to yourself, feeling oddly happy, lying here under the hockey star. After a while, Sukuna rolls off you, mumbling softly in his sleep, but it's incoherent, and you can't make out any words. It makes you feel surprisingly soft for him.

You roll onto your side, too and press a soft kiss to Sukuna's tattooed shoulder, murmuring,

"Good night, Kuna. Sleep well."

You are about to get up to collect your clothes from Sukuna's bedroom floor to get dressed and then sneak out. But before you can get up, a large hand wraps around your arm, stopping you, pulling you back against Sukuna's warm, naked body.

"Stay."

Just a single word, mumbled in a hoarse, sleepy-sounding voice.

You tense up. Does Sukuna know what he is asking? He never before asked you to stay the night, and he also never stayed the whole night in your dorm. It feels like a line fuckbuddies shouldn't cross. On top of that, you don't think Sukuna is the type who lets someone sleep in his bed. You know he's already making a huge exception when it comes to you by taking you to his room and fucking you in his bed. Apparently, that's something Sukuna never did with his former hookups because he thought his room was none of their business. And now he wants you to sleep in his bed the whole night?

You know you are overthinking it, but you simply can't stop worrying that you are somehow taking advantage of Sukuna's drunk state. The sex wasn't the problem because your whole arrangement is based on having sex with each other. But this is something different. Sleeping in Sukuna's bed feels like a big fucking deal! If you sleep here, will he regret it in the morning? Will he be mad? You don't want to overstep a boundary.

"Sukuna..."

"Shhh, no talking. Just stay."

And as if he read your thoughts, he adds in that slightly slurred voice,

"I swear I won't regret it in the morning. Stay. I'll even make you breakfast."

You chuckle softly and close your mouth again, not trying to argue anymore, nor do you want to. You smile and snuggle back against Sukuna's tall, warm body, sighing when his strong arms tighten around you, and he buries his face in your neck, instantly starting to snore again, sounding so cute that it makes you grin from ear to ear. The bad boy star player all cuddly and tame.

Even after your night in Sukuna's bed and the morning after, when he made breakfast for you just like he promised, you tell yourself you can just stay friends with benefits with him.

Nobara tries to rile you up, teases you endlessly, and tries to get you to admit you have feelings for Sukuna. But you turn her down anytime, adamantly declaring you only want him as a friend. A friend who is very good in bed and who you can have sex with any time the two of you feel like it.

You think if you just say it often enough, it will be true. You will be able to convince yourself you have everything under control.

And then the accident happens.

You're in your usual spot in the stands, watching the hockey game, cheering and laughing. The mood in the arena is ecstatic because it looks like the Tigers overcame their loss two weeks ago.

You hold your breath in giddy anticipation as Sukuna steals the puck from a rival player and speeds across the ice, his gaze on the goal ahead. His playstyle is high-speed and brutal, as always. It's sexy to watch. Until two rival players throw themselves in Sukuna's way.

You gasp loudly as Sukuna crashes full speed into the two players. All three go down, slamming hard into the ice with a heavy thud and the loud clatter of their hockey sticks skittering across the ice.

You are on your feet before you even notice it, a hand pressed over your mouth, staring wide-eyed at the ice where Sukuna is lying in a pile with the players he crashed into. The whole arena is yelling in shock because their star player went down, but you only hear it as a far-away noise because the blood in your ears is rushing much too loudly as your heart races fearfully.

What is going on? Why is Sukuna not getting up? You see the other jersey with the Itadori name speeding towards the scene. Yuuji pulls one of the rival players off his brother while yelling something you can't hear. He instantly gets attacked by several other players, but Yuuji fights back angrily, punching them and pushing them away from Sukuna.

Sukuna, who is still lying facedown on the ice. He isn't moving. Panic threatens to drown you, and before you know what you're doing, you start running and pushing your way through the crowd. Nobara is yelling your name, but you don't stop to wait for her.

You feel sick to your stomach. Your heart is pounding fearfully in your chest as you stop in front of the plexiglass, pressing your hands against the cold glass. Your anxious breath fogs up the glass as you watch the whole team and the team medic rush to Sukuna, who is still knocked out.

Or worse.

Tears are gathering in your eyes, and you feel a sob finding its way out of your mouth.

Please let him be okay! Please let him be okay! I never even told him how much I like him!

That's when you see Sukuna make a slight movement, and you huff a shaky sigh of relief.

The team medic is saying something to him, and Sukuna nods softly. You press yourself anxiously against the plexiglass, watching as the doc carefully pulls Sukuna's helmet off.

Yuuji and Todo help lift Sukuna onto a stretcher under the anxious gazes of the whole arena, which is filled with fearful silence.

You are still pressed against the plexiglass, watching as they carry Sukuna off the ice. Sukuna's eyes meet your worried gaze as they carry him past you. He lifts his head slightly, looking at you with a dazed expression. A dreamy look crosses over his tattooed face, and to your surprise, he smiles at you even as his maroon eyes seem unfocused and caught in some daydream.

Sukuna smiles a dreamy little smile at you while his lips move. You can't hear what he says, but you think you can read his lips, and what they murmur is something like "angel".

You stare after him, stunned, even when the stretcher is already getting carried to the back of the arena, away from your gaze.

The game continues, but the Tigers are out of it. The shock of seeing their star player get knocked out seems to sit in their bones. The cheerful and excited mood in the arena has dimmed almost completely. You bite your nails nervously as you stand at the boards, watching the game but not really seeing anything, too lost in your thoughts and worrying about Sukuna.

He was so fast when he crashed into those two players, and he seemed so out of it when they carried him off the ice. You were relieved to see him conscious again, but the shock still makes a painful knot remain in your stomach.

You practically flee from the rink once the game is finally over. But you cannot even consider the idea of going back to your dorm. Nobara walks up to you, reaching out to pat your back.

"Hey, I'm sure he is alright. That thick head won't crack from a bit of ice."

You smile weakly at her, knowing this is her being nice and sympathetic, but you still tell her,

"I'll wait here. Maybe I can talk to Yuuji."

"Okay, you do that. Let me know if Kirby Boy is okay."

You loiter around the lobby, waiting impatiently for a sign of pink hair. When Yuuji finally walks toward you, you hurry over to him with a fearfully racing pulse.

"Is he okay?"

Yuuji smiles that sweet, reassuring sunshine smile at you and nods,

"Yeah. He scared me, too. But he just has a concussion."

"A concussion?"

You stare at Yuuji worriedly, but he laughs softly and rubs your arm,

"It's no big deal. I get one almost every season. Kuna will be fine, don't worry. He just needs to rest for a day, or our coach will kill him."

You huff, feeling like Yuuji is downplaying it, or maybe this is really the way the hockey guys are. But his reassurance makes you relax anyway.

Yuuji cocks his head,

"I'm heading to our dorm to get the car because they won't let Sukuna walk home. Do you want to come with me?"

You nod and quickly hurry after Sukuna's twin brother.

When you finally see Sukuna after his accident, you curse loudly.

He is sitting on an examination table in the first aid room in the back of the arena, in his sweatpants and Nikes and the black compression shirt he always wears under his hockey jersey. His pink hair is ruffled, and he still looks as dazed as when they carried him off the ice. A dark blue bruise is already forming around his right eye.

Your heart clenches at the sight, and you find yourself hurrying over to Sukuna and hugging him lightly before you can stop yourself.

"Oh god, are you okay?"

You pull away a bit to look at him with big, worried eyes while you caress his biceps gently, afraid to hurt him if you touch him more firmly. As if the big, broad hockey player is a fragile porcelain doll. But you can't think rationally at the moment. All you see is that Sukuna is injured, and it triggers something in you, making you feel all protective and worried over him. And scared. So scared to lose him.

But Sukuna laughs softly and smirks at you. It's a bit crooked and a bit slower than usual, but it manages to calm you down regardless. A large, tattooed hand comes up to rest on your back.

"I'm fine, princess."

But you see how Sukuna can't seem to focus his gaze on you and how he squints his eyes against the bright neon light in the small room. Even if Yuuji hadn't told you about Sukuna's concussion, you would have figured it out by now. He belongs in bed, in his dark room with the curtains closed and lots of rest.

Luckily, Yuuji is already by his brother's side, pulling him up.

"Come on, let's get you home."

You help Yuuji, the two of you taking Sukuna in your middle and leading him slowly to the car. He complains all the way about how he can walk on his own and that he doesn't want Yuuji to wreck his car. You roll your eyes, but at least Sukuna seems to be halfway okay if he can talk like that.

You sit with Sukuna in the back of the car again. Not making out this time, but instead holding his large hand in yours and watching him worriedly, checking if he is still okay.

Once you are in Sukuna's room, you help him take off his tight compression shirt and sweatpants before telling him to get into his bed. He is a good boy for once and does as you say, lying down and letting you pull his blanket over him.

Sukuna looks up at you with that same dazed smile he had in the arena when they carried him past you and he thought you were an angel. It's an expression that seems so foreign on his face that it instantly makes worry flare up in your chest again.

Your decision is made at that moment. You grab the hem of your sweater, pull it off, and slip out of your jeans, crawling into bed to join Sukuna under his blanket,

"I'm staying. I don't think you should be alone right now."

Sukuna laughs softly, but his muscular arm wraps around you immediately and pulls you against his side. You sigh and snuggle against Sukuna, placing a hand on his naked chest, feeling his warm skin and his heartbeat, which is strangely reassuring.

Sukuna's low voice sounds tired but nonetheless smug when he murmurs,

"You're really worried about me, huh, princess? That's so cute."

"You were knocked out. Of course, I am worried. If you had seen the expression on your face when they carried you off the ice, you would have been worried, too!"

"Shhh, it's okay, princess. I'm just teasing you."

Sukuna's large hand lands on yours, holding it in place right there on his chest, his thumb caressing the back of your hand as he adds in a low voice full of amusement,

"I should get injured more often. I quite like it when you get all scared for me and dote on me like that."

"Oh, stop it. You are such an idiot. And don't you dare get into trouble!"

But Sukuna just laughs that raspy low laugh as you add firmly,

"You should get some sleep now. The doc and your coach said you should rest."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm on it."

And Sukuna really drifts off to sleep just a few minutes later, his body and brain obviously exhausted and in dire need of rest. You, on the other hand, can't find sleep for a long time.

You lie awake in Sukuna's bed, your palm resting on his chest, fingers sprawled over his defined buff pecs, feeling his heartbeat and listening to his soft breathing. The earlier anxiety has left your body now that you know Sukuna will be okay. But something else is keeping your mind busy.

You fucked up. You have a big problem, you realize.

Because what Sukuna's little accident clearly showed you is that he means a lot more to you than you planned.

I AM SO WEAK FOR HIM!! 😭 Tipsy Sukuna made me smile so much while writing 😍 He is so clingy and cute. "Need you, baby." I would have MELTED!! Did you feel protective over injured Kuna, too? I wouldn't leave his side either 😭 Thank you so much for reading the new chapter! I am so glad that I finally had time to post it. I missed our fave hockey player so much. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet. In Chapter 09, we will see Reader accepting her feelings + there will be jealous!Reader and jealous!Sukuna. And we will finally also see Sukuna's POV ;)

Spicy Curry (Bakugou Katsuki x F!Reader) Chapter 7

Summary: Pro-hero DynaMight hides his developing hearing loss from the public. He doesn’t want them or the villains to know about what he considers his only weakness. His family knows. His best friends know. And now you, the owner of his favorite little curry shop, know. You want to live a quiet life & to protect your son. The last thing you want is to draw attention to yourself. You hide your identity, you hide your scars, and you hide your quirk. And then Bakugou, Katsuki walks in one day with dried blood on his ears, and you can’t help but help him.

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Parts:  1  |  2  |  3 | 4 | 5  |  6  | 7 | ? ? ?

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Content Warning: This fic will contain mentions of past abuse from a “partner”, including sexual assault.

The bell above the door chimed as Katsuki and Kouichi entered the shop, the familiar scent of curry spices wrapping around them like a welcome. But instead of the usual calm atmosphere, they walked into controlled chaos. Nearly every stool at the counter was occupied, customers' chopsticks clicking against bowls as steam rose in fragrant clouds from their curry. Only two seats remained open in the far corner, tucked away from the main bustle. The tiny kitchen behind the counter was alive with motion as you moved between multiple pots, your hair escaping its neat bun in wisps that clung to your damp forehead.

The sight of you like this made something twist in Katsuki's chest. He'd grown used to seeing you in quieter moments, when the shop felt like a sanctuary from the world outside. Now, watching you navigate the cramped space with practiced efficiency, he found himself studying the fluid grace of your movements, the way you anticipated each customer's needs before they spoke, how naturally you maintained your composure even as chaos swirled around you. It reminded him, oddly enough, of watching seasoned pros work a crisis - that same economy of motion, that instinct born from years of experience.

Kouichi immediately bounced toward the counter, waving his hands to catch your attention, his small body practically vibrating with excitement. When you didn't look up, focused on a pot threatening to boil over, he tapped the counter rhythmically - your agreed-upon signal when he needed you urgently.

You glanced up, and Katsuki caught the flash of relief in your eyes at seeing them safe. But your attention was immediately pulled away by the overflowing pot. "Just a minute, baby," you signed quickly, one-handed while adjusting the heat. A customer at the far end raised his empty glass, and you moved to refill it, narrowly avoiding collision with another patron reaching for napkins.

The dinner rush had clearly hit harder than usual. Katsuki's enhanced observation skills, honed through years of hero work, picked up the subtle signs of strain – the slight tremor in your hands as you ladled curry, the way your shoulders tensed with each new demand for attention, the tight lines around your mouth that spoke of exhaustion you were trying to hide.

Kouichi's hands moved in increasingly larger gestures, determined to share his triumph. His signing became bigger, more emphatic: "Mom! I controlled the heat! I made a rock warm but not too hot and—" His fingers shaped each sign with perfect clarity, unconsciously demonstrating the control he'd learned that afternoon.

Your hands stilled for just a moment, genuine pride breaking through the stress. "That's amazing, sweetheart," you signed, love and pride shining through despite your exhaustion. But your response was cut short by a customer calling out their order. "I want to hear all about it, just... give me a little time, okay?"

Kouichi's face fell slightly, though he tried to hide it. His small hands dropped to his sides, the excitement dimming in his eyes like a candle being slowly extinguished. Kouichi's dimming enthusiasm hit Katsuki harder than he expected, like a punch he wasn't braced to receive.

"Oi," he signed to Kouichi, getting the boy's attention. "Let's sit down," he directed, guiding him toward the only empty seats at the counter's far end. The simple gesture was a quiet reminder that someone was still paying attention to him, still saw him through the chaos of the busy shop.

Kouichi nodded eagerly, settling onto the stool. You hurried past with two steaming bowls of curry, offering a quick glance that somehow conveyed both warmth and apology. Your movements stayed precise despite the obvious fatigue in your shoulders, each step measured as you navigated the crowded space.

"I'll get your food as soon as I can," you signed between packing orders, but three more customers walked in, the bell's cheerful chime feeling almost mocking now. Each new arrival seemed to add another weight to your shoulders, though you moved through the chaos with practiced grace, your movements precise despite your obvious fatigue.

He watched as you juggled multiple orders, your usual grace starting to fray at the edges. When you nearly dropped a bowl, catching it just in time but splashing curry sauce on your apron, he saw real strain flash across your face before you buried it beneath a professional smile. Something in that glimpse of vulnerability made him shift forward in his seat, his body moving before his mind could catch up.

Once Katsuki and Kouichi finally got their food, Kouichi pulled out his remaining schoolwork. The workbook was slightly scorched around the edges, evidence of this morning's frustration, but he attacked it with a determination that reminded Katsuki of himself.

"Mom?" Kouichi's hands moved in question, drawing your attention from where you were recording takeout orders. "What does this word mean?"

You glanced at the workbook, starting to explain, but another customer's voice cut through the din. Your explanation faltered as you tried to split your focus, signing with one hand while reaching for clean bowls with the other. The strain of trying to be everything for everyone showed in the slight trembling of your fingers, in the way you bit your lip in concentration.

"Mom?" Kouichi tried again moments later, pointing to a different problem. Each time you started to help, something else demanded attention – a new order, a spill that needed cleaning, customers requesting their bills. The constant interruptions were wearing you down, though you tried to hide it behind efficient movements and professional smiles.

Katsuki saw the moment it all became too much. Your hands trembled slightly as you stirred a pot of curry, your eyes darting between Kouichi's hopeful face and the growing stack of orders. The careful balance you usually maintained between mother and shop owner was cracking, and something protective surged in his chest at the sight. He recognized the look in your eyes – the same desperate determination he felt when trying to prove he could handle everything alone, even as the world kept demanding more.

The next time Kouichi raised his hands to ask a question, Katsuki shifted closer without conscious thought. The movement was natural, automatic - like adjusting his stance in a fight or reaching for support gear during patrol. Without a word, he angled himself to see the workbook better, as if helping with homework was something he did every day. Kouichi looked up in surprise as Katsuki's shadow fell across his paper.

"Show me what you're working on," Katsuki signed.

Kouichi pointed to a science worksheet about plant growth cycles. His small finger traced the confusing sequence of illustrations. "I don't understand which comes first," he signed, frustration evident in his furrowed brow.

Katsuki studied the page for a moment, his mind already breaking down the concept into manageable pieces. Years of analyzing quirk mechanics and battle strategies had honed his ability to explain complex ideas simply.

"Think about making curry," Katsuki signed. "What comes first?" 

Kouichi's eyes lit up at the familiar comparison. "Getting ingredients!"

"Right. Just like we need ingredients for curry, a plant needs ingredients to grow." His hands shaped each concept with careful precision. "The seed is like the first ingredient. It needs water and soil, just like curry needs water and spices."

You glanced over while measuring out rice, catching sight of them bent together over the workbook. The sight of Katsuki bent over the workbook with Kouichi, his usual intensity softened, stirred something quiet and unexpected within you.His crimson eyes were focused intently on Kouichi's face, watching to make sure the boy followed each explanation.

A customer called for a refill, pulling your attention away, but your eyes kept drifting back to them between orders. Katsuki's hands moved with surprising patience as he explained each stage of plant growth, relating it to things Kouichi understood from the kitchen. The boy's face glowed with comprehension as concepts that had seemed impossible suddenly made sense.

"See? Just like how curry needs time to simmer, plants need time to grow." Katsuki's signs flowed more smoothly now, his initial awkwardness forgotten in the focus of teaching. "Each stage is important, just like each step in cooking."

A bittersweet tenderness washed over you as you observed them working together– Kouichi's hands flying with enthusiasm as he finally grasped the concept, his expressions matching Katsuki's determined focus. There was something achingly natural about how they fit together, how Katsuki's usual sharp edges softened as he broke down complex ideas into pieces Kouichi could understand. 

Between serving bowls of curry and recording orders, you couldn't help noticing how competent Katsuki was with Kouichi. He didn't oversimplify or talk down to him, but explained things clearly and expected understanding. It was the same approach you'd always used – treating Kouichi's questions with respect while making sure the answers were accessible.

"Mom, look!" Kouichi's excited signing caught your attention as you passed with a tray of empty dishes. "I understand it now!" He held up his completed worksheet, pride shining in his dark eyes.

You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest at his excitement. "That's wonderful, baby," you signed quickly before turning to deliver another order. You couldn't help watching them between orders—how quickly they'd fallen into step together, how your son straightened whenever Katsuki acknowledged his progress.

Stop it, you scolded yourself, tearing your gaze away. This isn't permanent. He's only here because he's on medical leave. Once he's cleared to return to hero work, he'll have more important things to do than help with homework.

But watching him guide Kouichi through another problem, his hands moving with growing confidence through signs he must have practiced when no one was watching...it was hard to remember why you were supposed to keep your distance. Hard not to imagine more evenings like this, hard not to want this to be more than temporary.

Don't read into it, you told yourself firmly. He's just being kind. He's probably like this with all kids – he's a hero, after all. It doesn't mean anything.

The evening stretched on, full of these dangerous moments – glimpses of what could be, if you were brave enough to want it. If you were whole enough to deserve it. If the world was kind enough to let you keep it.

The last customers finally filtered out, leaving behind a scatter of empty bowls and the lingering scent of curry that permeated everything. Quiet settled over the shop like a heavy blanket, broken only by the soft clink of dishes and the gentle hum of the refrigerator. You moved behind the counter with mechanical efficiency, muscle memory carrying you through motions you'd performed thousands of times before. Your hands trembled slightly as you stacked bowls from the counter's edge, fatigue settling deep in your bones after hours of non-stop movement.

Kouichi had dozed off at the counter, his small face peaceful against his folded arms, schoolwork spread out beneath him. The sight made your chest ache – he should be in bed, not falling asleep in the shop because you couldn't manage to balance everything properly. But there had been so many customers, so many demands on your attention, and Katsuki had been there helping with homework, and somehow time had slipped away from you like water through cupped hands.

Katsuki watched you from his spot at the counter, crimson eyes tracking your path through the small space. You'd been in constant motion since they'd arrived, always reaching, lifting, serving – but he hadn't seen you take a single proper bite of food. Even now, exhaustion clear in every line of your body, you kept pushing forward with that quiet determination that made his chest tight. It reminded him too much of himself, that stubborn refusal to show weakness, to admit when things were becoming too much.

"Oi," he called out. You immediately looked up from your cleaning. His hands moved with a steadiness that hadn't been there days ago. "You've been running around feeding everyone else all day. When was the last time you actually ate something yourself?"

Your hands stilled on the bowl you were reaching for, surprise flickering across your face before you could hide it. The question caught you off guard – when was the last time you'd eaten? You'd had... something, surely. There had been that half-finished bowl of rice this morning, and you'd tested the curry batch for seasoning, and...

"I eat plenty," you signed back, the defensive gesture betrayed by how you wouldn't quite meet his eyes. Your stomach chose that moment to protest loudly, making heat crawl up your neck.

"Bullshit." He stood, moving around the counter with purposeful strides. There was something almost predatory in his grace, the way he commanded space even in this simple movement. "You had lunch with us earlier, sure, but that was hours ago. Since then, all you've had is whatever you can grab between customers. Call that eating if you want, but we both know it's not."

The observation struck deeper than it should have. You were used to running on empty, used to putting everyone else's needs before your own. It had become such a habit you barely noticed anymore – there was always another customer to serve, another task that needed attention, another reason to postpone taking care of yourself.

"I'm fine," you signed, movements sharp with embarrassment. "There's still cleaning to do." The excuse sounded weak even to your own ears, but old habits died hard. Taking care of yourself had always seemed like a luxury you couldn't afford, not when there were bills to pay and a child to raise.

But Katsuki was already taking the stack of bowls from your hands, his movements leaving no room for argument. His fingers brushed yours in the exchange, callused and warm, and you tried to ignore how that simple contact sent electricity skittering across your skin.

"Sit," he signed after setting them aside, pointing firmly at the counter stool. "I'll handle this."

"I don't need—" you started to protest, but he cut you off with a look that could have melted steel. The intensity in his crimson eyes made your breath catch, not from intimidation but from the genuine concern you saw lurking beneath his scowl.

"You're about to fall over," he signed, his movements gentler than his expression would suggest. "Let someone else take care of things for once."

"I can't just—" you tried again, but your hands were trembling now for reasons that had nothing to do with exhaustion. The words died in your hands as you caught his expression – not pity, which you couldn't have borne, but something closer to understanding.

"Yes, you can." His signs were firm but carried an undertone of something that might have been concern. You recognized the look in his eyes – the same one you wore when Kouichi pushed himself too hard, when he insisted he was fine even though you could see him struggling. "Now sit before you collapse and give me more shit to clean up."

A laugh escaped before you could stop it, surprised and a little watery. Katsuki's eyes softened at the sound, his usual scowl melting into something gentler that made your heart skip. Something about seeing DynaMight standing in your tiny kitchen made all your careful defenses start to crack. You found yourself sinking onto the stool he'd indicated, your body yielding to his demand before your mind could formulate any further protest.

The sight of him moving through your space with such natural familiarity made your heart do complicated things in your chest. He navigated between counter and stove as if he'd memorized every inch, his powerful hands handling your worn dishes with unexpected care. A bowl appeared in front of you, steam rising in fragrant clouds. You hadn't even noticed him preparing it, too mesmerized by the sight of someone else moving with purpose through the kitchen you'd always tended to alone.

"Eat," he signed without looking up from the sink, but you caught the slight pink tinge to his ears that betrayed his gruff exterior. “You're no good to anyone if you keep pushing yourself like this.”

The warmth that bloomed in your chest had nothing to do with the curry and everything to do with how naturally he'd claimed his place in your world. As if he belonged here, in your tiny shop with its worn counters and familiar rhythms. As if taking care of you was something he'd always done.

The warm curry filled your mouth, rich flavors spreading across your tongue—the first proper meal you'd had since dawn. You noticed his gaze flicking toward you as you ate, a quick, concerned glance that he tried to disguise as casual. Something softened in your chest at his unspoken attentiveness. There was something comforting about someone caring enough to watch over you.

The comfortable silence stretched between you, broken only by the soft splash of dishes in the sink and Kouichi's gentle breathing from his corner. The evening light painted everything in soft gold, catching in Katsuki's ash-blonde hair and making him look softer somehow. You watched his hands move through the familiar motions of cleaning – the same hands that created devastating explosions in battle now carefully washing your dishes, treating your worn bowls with a gentleness that made your throat tight. He moved through your kitchen like he knew where everything belonged, and maybe he did. Maybe he'd been paying attention all this time, learning your rhythms, finding his place in this small world you'd built.

The clock on the wall ticked past ten, far later than you'd realized. The day's exhaustion settled deeper into your bones as the adrenaline of the dinner rush finally faded completely. You stifled a yawn, gathering your empty bowl to bring to the sink, but Katsuki wordlessly took it from you with a look that brooked no argument. 

You moved to wake Kouichi, your hands already reaching toward his shoulder, when Katsuki's warm fingers wrapped gently around your wrist. The contact sent electricity skittering across your skin, but his touch was careful, almost hesitant, as if he was afraid of startling you.

"Don't wake him," he signed one-handed, his other hand still holding your wrist with surprising gentleness. His expression softened as he looked at Kouichi, something protective flickering in his crimson eyes. "I'll carry him. Just show me where."

The offer caught you off guard, a flutter of warmth spreading through you. You hesitated, old instincts warring with the trust that had been building between you. Letting someone else carry your sleeping child, letting them into your private space above the shop – it went against years of careful boundaries, of keeping everyone at arm's length.

But this was Katsuki, who had spent the evening teaching your son with endless patience. Katsuki, who noticed when you weren't eating and made sure you took care of yourself. Katsuki, who had already crossed so many of your carefully constructed barriers without ever making you feel unsafe.

Your nod came after a moment's hesitation. His hand fell away from your wrist, leaving your skin tingling from the brief contact. He picked up Kouichi with surprising care, his movements quiet and efficient. Your son barely stirred as Katsuki lifted him, small body relaxing naturally against his chest as if he'd done this a hundred times before. 

You led the way up the narrow stairs to your apartment, each creaking step familiar beneath your feet. The stairwell was tight, forcing you to walk close enough to feel the heat radiating from Katsuki's body behind you.

The door opened into your small living room, warm light spilling from the lamp you always left on. It wasn't much – just a modest two-bedroom unit above the shop – but you'd poured everything you had into making it feel like home. Kouichi's artwork covered the walls, each piece carefully framed as if it belonged in a gallery. A collection of his origami creatures marched along a bookshelf, arranged by color – something he'd done himself one afternoon when you were teaching him about organization.

You watched Katsuki take it all in, suddenly seeing your space through his eyes. The well-worn couch with its carefully patched cushions, evidence of years of stretching resources. Kouichi's finger painting of a colorful mountain sat drying on the coffee table, surrounded by newspaper spread out to protect the surface. Everything in its place, everything serving a purpose, everything chosen with careful consideration of limited means.

His gaze lingered on the family photos dotting the walls, telling the story of your life with Kouichi in captured moments. You watched his eyes catch on one from the hospital – you looked so young, so exhausted but triumphant, cradling your newborn son. Another showed Kouichi's first day of preschool, his smile bright despite the uncertainty you remembered him feeling. Each image carefully chosen to show only joy, no hints of the struggles that lay beneath the surface.

Books filled every available space – sign language dictionaries dog-eared from constant use, parenting guides marked with sticky notes, and well-worn cookbooks. They showed how you'd taught yourself to be everything Kouichi needed, learning through determination what most people had help to figure out.

Something shifted in Katsuki's expression as he absorbed it all. His eyes caught on the height measurements marked on the kitchen door frame, each line dated and decorated with small stars. 

The intimacy of having him here, seeing these private markers of your life with Kouichi, made your chest tight. YHe wasn't just seeing your apartment - he was seeing the life you and Kouichi had built together. His careful handling of Kouichi, the way he took in every detail without judgment, made something warm unfurl in your chest despite your usual caution.

You moved ahead into Kouichi's room, turning down the covers of his bed decorated with hero-print sheets – a special find from a secondhand store that had made his whole face light up. The walls here were his gallery, covered in crayon drawings of heroes in action. But it was the sheer number featuring Dynamight that caught your attention now – explosive quirk rendered in bright oranges and reds, each one capturing that fierce determination Kouichi so admired.

Katsuki's steps faltered as he noticed them, something soft and surprised flickering across his face. You watched him take in the evidence of how long he'd been Kouichi's favorite hero, long before he ever stepped foot in your shop. His eyes lingered on one drawing in particular – Dynamight standing protectively in front of a smaller figure with dark hair, flames dancing around them both. The date in the corner was from just after Kouichi's quirk manifested.

Katsuki carefully eased Kouichi onto the bed, his hands moving with such precision that the covers barely shifted. Your son snuggled into his familiar spot, one hand automatically reaching for the worn All Might plush that had been his constant companion since infancy. Together, you stood watching him sleep, his small face peaceful in the gentle glow of his nightlight. 

Your hands moved in the dim light, forming a simple "thank you" that encompassed far more than just carrying him upstairs. But your fingers trembled slightly, betraying how much it meant to have someone else here, someone who saw all your careful defenses and chose to be gentle with them.

Katsuki's eyes met yours with quiet intensity, crimson softened to burgundy in the low light. He understood – you weren't just thanking him for tonight, but for everything: for teaching Kouichi with endless patience, for seeing your struggles without making you feel weak, for treating your trust as the precious thing it was. For making your careful world feel less lonely without ever making you feel like you weren't enough on your own.

Stepping out of Kouichi's room, you found yourself suddenly aware of how narrow the hallway was, barely wide enough for two people to pass. The dim light from the living room cast long shadows, softening Katsuki's usually sharp features into something almost gentle. He stood close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, your shoulder nearly brushing his chest in the confined space. The familiar scent of caramel and smoke that always clung to him mixed with the gentle aroma of curry that permeated your home, creating something new and intoxicating that made your heart beat faster.

You should have stepped away. Should have maintained the careful distance you always kept between yourself and others. But something about having him here, in this private space where you only ever let Kouichi exist, made all your usual defenses feel paper-thin.

"Would you like some tea?" you signed, the offer slipping out before you could second-guess it. "As a thank you." The words felt inadequate against everything he'd done tonight.

His eyes met yours in the half-light, their crimson hue deepened by the shadows. For a moment, he seemed to be weighing something behind that intense gaze. You found yourself holding your breath, though you couldn't have said why. The air between you felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.

"Yeah," he finally signed. "Tea would be good." Such simple words, and yet they carried the weight of crossing another boundary - from helper to guest, from Kouichi's mentor to something less easily defined.

You led him to your small kitchen, hyper aware of his presence behind you. The space felt different with him in it. You'd never noticed how small your kitchen was until his broad shoulders filled the doorway, until his presence made every movement feel like a delicate dance of almost-touching.

You busied yourself with the kettle, grateful for the routine tasks that gave your hands something to do. The familiar motions helped ground you - measuring tea leaves, heating water, reaching for mugs. 

"Kouichi did well today," Katsuki signed once you were both seated at your small kitchen table, steam rising from the mugs between you. His movements had grown more fluid with practice, each sign shaped with the same precision he brought to everything he did. "He's got good instincts. Just needs confidence."

The genuine pride in his expression reminded you exactly why you were finding it increasingly difficult to keep your guard up around him.

"He was so excited about today he could hardly focus on anything else," you signed, a smile touching your lips. "I haven't seen him this enthusiastic about learning in a long time." The admission carried more weight than you'd intended - hints of Kouichi's struggles at school, of the isolation that came with being different.

Katsuki's eyes drifted to a photo on your refrigerator - you and Kouichi in the hospital, his tiny face scrunched and red against your chest. The sight of him studying that particular moment made your heart skip. That photo captured both the best and worst day of your life - the joy of holding your son tempered by the bone-deep exhaustion of running, of knowing you weren't safe even in the hospital.

"He was early, wasn't he?" The observation caught you off guard. Trust Katsuki to notice what most people missed.

"How could you tell?" 

"The monitoring equipment in the background," he signed, gesturing toward the photo. 

You nodded slowly, choosing your words carefully. "Six weeks early. We were in the hospital for a while, but he was strong." The simplified version of events felt hollow in your mouth, omitting the fear and exhaustion of those days, the constant looking over your shoulder even in the hospital. You didn't mention the cheap motels before that, the careful planning of your escape, the way you'd rationed food to save money for medical care you knew you'd need.

Something flickered in Katsuki's expression - recognition, perhaps, of the gaps in your story. You saw the questions form and die in his eyes, saw him choose not to push. Instead, he reached for the honey jar at the same moment you did. Your fingers brushed, sending electricity skittering across your skin. You both pulled back quickly, but the ghost of his touch lingered, warm and dangerous.

His attention returned to the photograph, his expression unreadable as his eyes traced over the image. "Can see where he gets that determination from," he signed, his gaze lifting to meet yours for just a moment before glancing away. 

Heat crept up your neck at the unexpected compliment, at the way his gaze moved from the photo to your face with careful consideration. 

"You notice a lot," you signed, trying to keep your movements casual despite your racing heart. The words felt inadequate against the weight of everything he seemed to understand without being told.

"Hard not to," he signed back, something in his expression making your breath catch. 

The implications of that statement hung in the air between you. The soft kitchen light cast a warm glow over his ash-blonde hair, and you noticed how his expression had gentled, the usual hard lines of his face relaxed. Your heart skipped a beat despite your best efforts to remain composed. He looked right somehow, sitting at your small kitchen table with his calloused hands curved around the mug you'd bought at a secondhand store. Like he belonged here.

A comfortable silence settled between you. The gentle steam from your mugs curled upward in the quiet kitchen, and you found yourself relaxing into the moment, your usual vigilance softening at the edges. The exhaustion of the day caught up with you all at once, and before you could stop it, a yawn escaped, your hand flying up too late to cover it.

Katsuki's eyes flickered to you immediately, that sharp observation that missed nothing softening with something that might have been concern.

"You're tired," he signed, his movements gentle in the warm kitchen light. There was no judgment in his expression, just that quiet attentiveness that seemed to catch everything.

"Long day," you admitted, embarrassed at being caught but too tired to properly hide it. Another yawn threatened, and this time you didn't bother fighting it.

"I should go," he signed decisively, setting his mug down with careful precision. "You need rest."

Despite your fatigue, you felt a flicker of disappointment that surprised you with its intensity. You'd grown so used to keeping people at a distance that the reluctance to see him leave felt foreign, almost dangerous.

"It's okay," you signed, even as you suppressed another yawn.

He snorted softly. "You can barely keep your eyes open."

Before you could protest, he was standing, collecting both your mugs and placing them in the sink. The simple consideration of it—that he wouldn't leave you with more to clean—was becoming a pattern you couldn't help but appreciate.

"Come on," he signed once he'd turned back to you. "I'll head out so you can get some sleep."

The wooden stairs creaked softly under your feet as you followed Katsuki down to the shop entrance. Shadows pooled in the corners, broken only by the gentle glow of streetlights filtering through the front windows, painting everything in shades of gold and shadow. Your small shop, usually so comfortable in its limitations, felt different at this hour. The counter where you'd served countless bowls of curry, the worn wooden floors that had supported thousands of footsteps, the simple decorations that made this space yours – everything seemed to hold its breath, waiting.

"Same time tomorrow?" Katsuki signed, his movements illuminated by the light above the door. The question was casual, practical, but something in his expression made your heart flutter traitorously in your chest. His hands moved with growing confidence through the signs, evidence of late-night practice sessions he'd never admit to. 

"If you're sure you don't mind," you signed back, hands moving carefully in the dim light. "I know it's a lot of time to spend on your leave." 

He scoffed, the sound soft in the quiet shop. But then his hands stilled, hovering in the space between you as if caught between impulse and restraint. You caught something flicker across his face – an aborted movement, words left unsaid. The hesitation felt significant somehow.

His shoulders tensed slightly, and you could almost see him wrestling with whatever he'd stopped himself from saying. The struggle played out in minute changes of expression, in the way his fingers twitched as if seeking signs he wasn't ready to form. You found yourself holding your breath, though you couldn't have said why.

Instead, his eyes found yours in the half-light, crimson softened to burgundy by the shadows. The intensity of his gaze made your breath catch, though there was something gentle in it that hadn't been there before.

"You know," he signed, movements deliberate, each gesture carrying the weight of careful observation, "for someone who spends all day feeding people, you're pretty bad at taking care of yourself."

The comment took you by surprise, not only for how spot-on it was but also for the quiet concern hidden in his rough voice.

"I take care of what matters," you signed, the familiar defense feeling weaker under his steady gaze. The words tasted like the half-truths you'd been telling yourself for years – that you could keep running on empty, that taking care of yourself was a luxury you couldn't afford, that being strong meant never admitting when you needed help.

His expression shifted into something that might have been fondness, though he quickly masked it with his usual scowl. But you caught it – that moment of softness, of understanding that went deeper than words. "Tch. That includes you, you know."

The words settled warm and heavy in your chest, carrying more weight than their simple meaning should allow. In the dim light, your eyes traced the sharp line of his jaw, the way his ash-blonde hair caught the streetlight's glow, how his usual intensity had softened into something that made your heart beat faster.

"Same time tomorrow," Katsuki signed, his movements illuminated by the light above the door. The statement carried no uncertainty, just the same decisive confidence he brought to everything. A sense of comfort washed over you at his certainty, at how naturally he'd claimed his place in your routine.

"Yes," you nodded simply.

He turned toward the door, and in the narrow space, his shoulder brushed against yours. The brief contact sent electricity skittering across your skin, leaving warmth in its wake that lingered long after the touch itself.

The bell chimed softly as he left, its familiar sound somehow hollow in his absence. You stood in the doorway, watching his figure disappear into the night, the streets quiet except for the distant hum of traffic. Without him, the shop felt suddenly larger, emptier—as if the space he'd occupied had left a vacuum nothing else could fill.

curling into the arm that tortures you, into the arm of simon riley, while your overstimulated, exhausted body shudders against the sweat soaked sheets, every punctured, new thrust of his muscular, tense thighs against your backside, skin slapping on skin at every short, deep glide of his cock inside your spasming hole.

your brain unable to fight off, plunged in the haziness that makes you feel high and weak, accepting every single touch, purred croons that whisper about how sweet you look, with your teeth's clattering, and your head lolled against his bulky bicep, jolting plaintively when the thick tip of simon's cock hits, nudges against your spongy spot, making you whine.

simon enjoys your sweet submission, your uncoordinated, needy movements when you press your hips back, meeting his aimed, rough pummels of hips, stretching your thin, velvety walls in the way that makes you drip, stuffed, warm hole oozing pools of slick that squelch everytime he pushes his fat, throbbing cock back, as you curl more.

murmur slurred, weak whimpers of his name, feeling how his pace turns down frantic, brutal, answering to the way your sopping pussy squeezes around him, constricting, gushing wet when you feel every pulsing ridge of his spilling, scalding cock, your tummy clenching with rushing, pooling release, as you arch, slotting against simon's chest.

breathing in the melange of sweat and cotton, your head, muzzy and just laying there, half on the pillowcase and half on simon's bicep, feeling how his palms, calloused and tender, sweep over your curved sides, the clenching tummy, your heaving chest, as he lays his head against your temple, panting mellow nothings, breathing in your scent.

main masterlist. quidelines.