Sibling Situation

one of me is cute, but two, though?

one | chapter index

fresh from a breakup, you fucked your ex-something's ex-best friend - and it looks like he left you with more than hickies to remember him by

relationships: baby daddy!Geto x f!Reader

content: smut and angst and fluff unplanned pregnancy, one-night-stand to coparents, pregnancy symptoms, soft domestic Geto, making out, hickies, fingering, unprotected piv sex, this man is already down bad and worships you, falling for each other, comfort <3

a/n: this is part of a larger fic (falling snow found here, branches off of pt. 10 of gojo's ending, picking up a couple months after her and geto's hookup), however it can be read as a standalone <3 gorgeous Geto art is by @grartsss

Your tits felt weird.

A little heavier maybe? You squinted at your reflection in the mirror, readjusting your bra for the third time this morning. How was it too tight? You just bought it before you moved in to your new apartment and out of your old city. It had barely been six weeks.

Frustrated, you unhooked the back and returned to your dresser to fish through the drawer for another one. Maybe it was just the lighting, but it almost looked like your nipples were just a shade darker too.

Weirder.

You pushed the thought to the back of your brain while you kept getting ready. It wasn't until you were pawing through your medicine cabinet trying to find your deodorant that you saw the unopened box of tampons pushed to the back and a little click! went off in your brain.

Must be about time to start your period.

You paused.

When was the last time you'd gotten it?

You quit your birth control the week after your brutal break up, convinced you were calling off all men for the foreseeable future. And okay, yeah, maybe you fucked his former best friend two months later, but that was in the name of getting over him and under someone else.

Either way, you were pretty sure you'd gotten it a week or two after he discarded you. Or at least the month after that. But last one? You had no idea.

Between moving all your stuff in and working overtime half the week, the days had flown by so fast you hadn't even thought about it. Frowning at the box in front of you, you chalked it up to stress and your hormones being out-of-whack.

This was supposed to be your fresh start.

A new job in a new city, fresh faces and a nice apartment to return home to. Someplace you could carve out a sweet little slice of life from and start over again.

Still, the whole day you couldn't shake the lingering feeling that something was different.

“We're going to grab a bite to eat. Wanna come?” The receptionist called out to you, leaning across the desk as she chatted with a few other women you'd talked to a handful of times since you started.

“Sure,” You nodded, backtracking to where they were standing. Honestly, you'd give anything to stop thinking about how off you felt today.

“You seem a little down today, sweetie,” One of them patted your shoulder. She was the type to bring homemade cookies for everyone on Mondays, never forgetting to greet you with good morning before you’d even set your bag down. It was plain to see her concern.

“Everything good?”

“Yeah, I'm okay. Just not feeling very well,” You tried to smile.

“Are you sure you're up for dinner? You don't have to come if you're sick,” The receptionist frowned, searching your features with worry.

“I'm fine, just think it's about to be y’know, that time...” You trailed off, knowing the women would immediately pick up on it. They laughed, offering their sympathies.

“Could be worse,” The receptionist giggled. “At least you're not pregnant.”

A gnawing pit opened in your gut the second the last word fell out of her mouth.

There was no way.

No fucking way.

“I'm actually starting to cramp,” You lied, panic pumping through your veins. “Join you guys next time?”

“Okay,” They waved you off with a chorus of hope-you-feel-betters, heels clicking hard against the tile as you hurried out in search of the nearest pharmacy.

Enduring the embarrassment of being in the family-planning aisle and staring at the assortment of pregnancy tests lining the shelves, all boasting things like a 99% accuracy rate to detecting it as early as the first day of your missed period. How the fuck were you supposed to know what to pick? You didn't miss the tremble in your hands when you grabbed a couple different ones or how white your knuckles were against the boxes as you waited in line to checkout. You couldn't be pregnant - that was insane.

But if you were, then the morning-after pill must’ve not worked. Or maybe you took it too late. Oh God.

“Next?” The cashier's voice snapped you out of your daze as you stepped forward and set the pregnancy tests on the counter. He didn't even bat an eye, scanning the barcodes and monotonously telling you the total as you slid over some cash. He pushed them into a plastic bag, handing it and your change over, already moving onto the person waiting behind you.

Like this purchase didn't have the potential to change the trajectory of your entire fucking life.

“Thanks,” You muttered, stuffing the plastic bag into your purse.

It felt like you were walking around with a loaded gun.

You tried to think about anything else. What you were going to eat tonight, whether or not to make the drive to crash at your friend's place this weekend, what you'd been too lazy to unpack from the moving boxes yet. Definitely not that you might need to call Suguru Geto and tell him he was about to be a father.

The second you unlocked your apartment door, you made a beeline for the bathroom to take every single one of those stupid tests.

Surely you'd feel a lot better once you knew you weren't pregnant.

You’d always heard stories of other girls having pregnancy scares, but it felt ten times worse living it.

So you ended up staring at the ceiling, sitting on the cold tile of the bathroom, staving off a panic attack and waiting for the timer on your phone to go off. Chewing your nails down to nubs as each second dragged on excruciatingly long.

Ding ding ding.

Pushing off the floor, your hand froze before you reached for the first one. Too scared to see what you already suspected. You hesitantly picked it up, teeth gritted as you stared blankly at the two dark lines in the middle.

Two dark lines.

“Fuck.”

Okay, maybe one could be a fluke. False positives happened sometimes. You snatched the second one, heart sinking in your chest as you saw the single word in the tiny box.

Pregnant.

“Oh fuck.”

You called out of the work the next day, feigning a stomach bug as you scheduled an emergency appointment at the nearest gynecologist. Not like it wasn't that far off from the truth.

“When was your last period?” The nurse asked, poised to type over her keyboard.

“Uh, I'm not sure?” You swallowed hard. “July? I think?” She hm-ed like you answered wrong.

“If you don't know, you’ll need an ultrasound so we know how far along you are,” She informed you. You nodded, clutching your purse against your stomach as she went through a checklist of questions that you stumbled through answering. Standing up, she ushered you down the hall into a dim room with a medium-sized screen against one wall next to the exam table. As soon as she closed the door, leaving you to get on the bed and wait for the ultrasound tech to show up. There wasn’t any way to distract yourself or keep the panic at bay laying back on the crinkling paper and scrunching your eyes shut. Your mind constantly wandering back to how you were waiting to see your baby.

You couldn't think of a scarier pair of words.

The tech knocked on the door before pushing it open. She was perky, greeting you with a smile that reminded you of Yuji's as she sat down next to you.

“Morning!” She chirped, looking over the chart in her hands as she confirmed your name and birthday. “So your last period was in July, huh?"

“I'm not sure,” You admitted. “But I think so. Maybe August?”

“No problem,” Her voice was smooth, trying to offer a little bit of comfort as she pulled out a white bottle with red writing across the label. “Why don't we go ahead and get started?”

“Okay,” You mumbled, hesitantly lifting up the hem of your shirt to expose your stomach.

She tucked tissue paper in the waistband of your pants, pulling them a little further down on your hips.

“The gel might be a little cold,” She apologetically said.

“It's fine,” You swallowed hard as she squeezed a fair amount on your stomach, using the wand attached to the ultrasound machine to spread the jelly-like substance across your skin.

You were a little surprised at how firmly she pressed the wand against your lower stomach as she clicked a few buttons on the keyboard. It always looked so gentle whenever you saw it happening in movies and tv, just skimming the surface. Not like this.

A black and white staticky image popped up on the screen, and you had no clue what you were supposed to be looking at. You squinted, trying to make out the vague shapes as she moved the wand along.

“See that?” She pointed to a tiny gray splotch standing out against the black. “That's your baby.”

“Uh-huh,” You said, dumbstruck. It was so small.

It’s not like you were expecting to see a fully-grown fetus or anything. But the thought of that little glob on the screen being a baby, your baby, was sending you in a bit of a tailspin. You nervously laughed, waiting to wake up from whatever weird dream you were in.

“You okay, honey?” She paused, seeing the panic-stricken look on your face.

“Um,” You paused, the lump in your throat choking you up. “It’s, uh, different seeing it.”

You scolded yourself for calling the baby it, but you didn’t think you could say the words out loud yet.

“Yeah, feels more real now, right?” She sympathized, returning her attention back to her own screen. She was typing something with her free hand, taking measurements and offering explanations that went in one ear and out the other. You didn’t understand how she could tell what any part of it was. “We’re going to check for the heartbeat now.”

“Okay,” Your mouth was so painfully dry, palms clammy as you waited for it.

You didn’t know why you were so anxious when it took her more than just a few seconds to find it. But then you heard the muffled and grainy thump-thumps of the baby’s heart beating so fast you could feel your own pulse thrumming in your veins.

You stayed quiet, not a single thought floating through your brain as you watched her click a button and photos of the ultrasound started printing out of the side of the machine. She pulled them off, handing you a roll of photos that all looked virtually identical to you.

“Looks like you’re about eight weeks along,” She commented. “So that’d put your due date around mid-April.”

You felt like you might puke. Or faint. Or maybe both.

“Oh.”

“If you want to keep the baby, if not, there are other options-”

“I want to,” You interrupted, surprising yourself. Although you were admittedly terrified, the thought of not having it was worse.

So what the fuck happens now?

The rest of the appointment was a blur, being shuffled back around to a new doctor who handed you a packet of papers practically two-inches thick with dos and don’ts and what-to-expects and a prescription for prenatal vitamins that she recommended you pick up as soon as possible. Thumbing through it in the driver’s seat of your car, knowing your eyes weren’t processing a single word they were reading while you sighed. Maybe it was silly considering you weren’t actually together, but you still wanted to tell Geto first. He was the father. Even if he ended up not wanting anything to do with it.

You tried to comfort yourself with the hope that he wasn’t the kind of man who’d get angry or upset with you - but you had to remind yourself that you didn’t know him all that well.

Where he worked, what his family was like, what hobbies he had or any of the little things that added up and amounted to who someone was. You’d let him lead most of your conversations, and he usually ended up asking about you and offering very little of himself.

It’s not like you could just pretend this wasn’t happening though.

You were supposed to visit your friends this weekend anyway. You unlocked your phone, pulling up his contact information before you chickened out.

You: Are you free this weekend?

You immediately set the phone down in the cupholder, leg bouncing up-and-down anxiously as you tried to distract yourself by reading the first page for the fourth time since you got in the car. But your phone vibrated only a few seconds later and you couldn’t help snatching it back up.

Suguru Geto: Yeah, everything OK?

You: I’ll be back in town tomorrow morning. Can we meet?

Suguru Geto: Of course.

At least it was a beautiful day to tell your one-night-stand he knocked you up.

The sun was out, pleasantly warm outside. A light breeze floated by, the leaves on the trees just starting to change from green to sunset shades as they drifted down with the wind. You pulled your jacket around you tighter, waiting on a park bench for Geto to show up. The carefully folded ultrasound pictures you brought felt like they were burning a hole in your pocket.

You could tell he was a little confused when you picked a park to meet at when he offered to take you out to eat instead, but you honestly didn’t know if you’d be able to tell him with other people around when you hadn’t even managed to even say it in the mirror.

“Hey,” A warm familiar voice greeted you, a hand on your shoulder as he snuck up on you.

“Hi,” You turned around as he walked around the bench to take a seat next to you. At least you wouldn’t have to worry about your baby being ugly with him as the father. His bangs were down today, but he had put half of his long hair up in a messy bun in the back of his hair. The cream-colored sweater hanging off his broad shoulders suited him, made him look even more sophisticated somehow. He had a small bouquet of flowers in one hand, holding them out for you.

It only took him a couple seconds looking at the panic in your eyes for concern to flicker across his face. He sat the flowers down in the small gap between you on the bench, the plastic wrapping creasing as his expression darkened.

“What happened?” He asked, skipping the song-and-dance of him asking if you were okay and you pretending that everything was fine.

I’m pregnant.

The words were on your tongue, lips parted like you were going to say them, but you couldn’t get a single sound out. He reached over, covering your hand with his.

“Hey, it’s okay. You can tell me,” His voice was low, so soothing. You didn’t want him to stop talking to you like that.

“I’m sorry,” You apologized, even though you knew it took two to make a baby. That didn’t make you feel less guilty for the information you were about to drop on him.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

You stuck your other hand in your pocket, pulling out the ultrasound photos and half-shoving it in front of him.

“I’m pregnant,” You muttered, barely audible. You couldn’t look at him when he took the film from your hand. He didn’t say anything.

Geto sucked in a sharp breath.

“The baby’s mine?” He asked. You shakily nodded.

“I went to the doctor yesterday. I'm, uh, due in April,” Hearing yourself say it out loud was surreal.

“You went by yourself?”

“Yeah. Haven't told anyone else,” You hesitated. “I thought you should know first.”

“Because I'm the father,” He said it like he couldn't believe it. You weren't entirely convinced you were over your own shock yet.

“I understand if you don't want anything to do with this,” You mumbled. He squeezed your hand tightly.

“You want to keep the baby?” He sounded so tender you had to look back over at him. He was staring down at the ultrasound in his free hand, eyes glued to the little gray speck.

“Yeah,” You confessed, feeling self-conscious.

Geto paused, both of you staring at each other while the weight of the decision started sinking in.

“Do you want the,” You cleared your throat, tongue failing you again. “Um, baby?”

You had to cringe at yourself, how tense the word came out, your voice cracking with all two syllables of it. Holding your breath and hesitantly meeting his intense gaze.

“I do,” He softly said. Maybe it was the way the morning’s rays caught the warmth in his brown eyes, but there was something gentle and affectionate in them reflecting back at you.

“Oh,” You squeaked, on the brink of crying and not even knowing why.

“Hey,” He soothed. “It's going to be okay.”

You hadn't realized how badly you needed to hear that until he said it. Geto let go of your hand, reaching up to brush away a tear you didn't know fell. It wasn't even necessarily romantic when you moved the flowers to your other side so you could scoot closer to him.

With his leg pressed against yours, he pulled you against him, one hand deep in your hair while the other still held tight to the ultrasound photos.

“I’m scared. And I don't have anything figured out,” You admitted into the thick cashmere fabric, words broken up by quiet sobs. It’s not that you thought you had to be married to have a baby, or ever really considered the possibility of even getting pregnant beyond a passing thought. But you always sort of figured you’d be in a committed relationship if it happened.

Nothing like this. You just moved cities away and he lived here and you didn’t know the first thing about having a baby, let alone raising one and -

“We have plenty of time,” He talked into your hair while you tried to catch your breath. “Whatever you want to do, I'm here. I'll support you and our baby.”

Our baby.

“I'm gonna get makeup all over your nice sweater,” You started to pull away, sniffling as you blinked back the last of the tears. But he just pressed you back into his chest.

“Go ahead,” He chuckled a little.

The sound escaping your throat was half a sob and half a laugh.

“What are you doing for the rest of the day?” He asked, his thumb dragging along the back of your neck down to massage the tension in your shoulder.

“S’pposed to go see my friends,” You mumbled into his sweater. The idea of telling your friends that you were pregnant made your stomach churn.

“Let me take you out to dinner tonight, okay?” You looked up at him, the seriousness and sincerity in his fox-like features as he brushed your hair out of your face and wiped away the damp trail of tears from your cheeks. For the first time since you’d seen the two lines on the test strip, you felt like things might actually be okay.

“Okay,” You shakily nodded, his fingertips tracing your cheekbone. It wasn’t love in his eyes, but a quiet sort of admiration and adoration to let you know you could depend on him. “Do you mind if we keep this between us for now? Until I’m a little further along?”

“Sure,” He kissed your forehead.

It’s not like it’d be particularly difficult to keep it a secret at least until you started showing, right? How hard could it be?

And yeah, while you made it through visiting your friends just fine, dinner came sooner than you were ready for.

It might have been the most awkward date (question mark?) of your life.

He didn't seem to get the message though Sitting across from Geto in a cozy little booth at a family-style restaurant tucked between some shops you'd never heard of before. It wasn't quite what you expected when you told him he could pick the place. Skimming through the menu and stealing glances at him over the laminated paper.

You had a hard time grounding yourself in the moment.

He was as put-together as ever, not a hair out of place or wrinkle to be found on his clothes as his eyes scanned across the menu.

“Have you been here before?” You tentatively asked, hoping to break the silence. He sat the menu down, directing all his attention towards you.

“Not as much now, but I used to come every month. The girls love this place,” He casually said.

You stared blankly at him, not understanding what he meant by his last sentence. Girls? Was he implying that he used to bring dates here or what?

Sensing your confusion, he frowned like maybe he was just realizing something.

“I’m sorry, I don't think we’ve talked about Nanako and Mimiko,” He paused, going to pull his phone out of his pocket and scrolling until he found what he was looking for. He held it out, showing off a picture of him with two girls a few years younger than you. Probably still in college, grinning brightly at the camera. You recognized one from the work party you first met him at, but you hadn't gotten a great look at her then.

“Sisters?” You asked. He shook his head.

“Adopted them when I was still kind of a kid myself,” His face was grim, like maybe the memory of it was unpleasant before resuming his neutral mask. “But they turned out okay.”

Part of you sympathized - it reminded you of how hard Choso had worked to take care of Yuji. Unfortunately for you, the larger part of you was stuck on the fact you were about to be a what? A mother and a stepmother of sorts? Ok, maybe that was getting ahead of yourself.

You didn't think Geto necessarily wanted a serious relationship with you, but still, your baby would already have siblings before it was even born.

What if they didn't like you? Or the baby? They’d been his family far longer.

Would that change things for him?

“They must really love you,” You commented. It hit you again how much of his life you weren't privy too - just how little you knew about him. You'd be taking care of a whole human with him in less than nine months. Was that nearly enough time to get to know him?

Especially considering the fact you no longer lived in the same city?

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” He asked, watching your reaction through half-lidded eyes.

“Not really,” You shook your head. It was probably best to be upfront with him. “Just thinking about how much we don't know about each other.”

He shrugged like it didn't particularly bother him.

“We've got the rest of our lives to learn,” Geto said, setting his phone down on the table and picking the menu back up.

“How are you just okay with this?” You gaped at him, finger tapping the table nervously. The fluttery panicked feeling was stuck in your throat, the question strained. Could he really be that cool and collected under his polished surface too? Was vulnerable even in a word in his vocabulary?

You probably cried on-and-off for two hours after getting those positive tests. Him? He ended up comforting you not even a full minute after you broke the news.

“It’s our baby.”

It sounded so simple when he said it like that.

But it also made you feel like you were going to have an anxiety attack in the middle of the restaurant. You might actually have if you weren't interrupted by an approaching waiter.

He ran through his memorized greeting spiel, reciting specials with his best customer-service smile before asking what you wanted to drink.

“Just water,” You nodded, your eyes drawn back to Geto as he politely addressed the man and gave him his drink order. The demure confidence that practically oozed out of him no matter what he was doing was intimidating.

What, would you have to be prying other single moms off of him every time you took your kid to the park?

Once the waiter walked away, he turned back to you, the corner of his lips just barely turning upwards realizing you were already looking at him.

“Let's start spending weekends together,” He suggested. You chewed your cheek, considering the logistics of an arrangement like that. “That way we can get to know each other, right?”

“My friends would probably be a bit suspicious if I'm coming down here every weekend and disappearing half the time,” You mused.

Still, you wanted to get to know him. If he was going to be in your baby's life and by-extension yours, it would be nice to have a good relationship of any kind.

“My apartment isn't quite as nice as yours, but I wouldn't mind you staying over,” You added, almost embarrassed by your own invitation. “If you want to, I mean.”

“I’d love to,” His small smile turned into a smirk at your shyness. It felt kind of ridiculous to be worried over such surface-level pretenses when the two of you were here thanks to something so much more intimate. “I meant that you could stay at my apartment too, you know. Not your friend’s.”

You blushed, really embarrassed now.

“Oh,” You mumbled, looking away and praying the waiter would return with your drinks and maybe a gun to put you out of your misery.

But he was nowhere to be seen and you could feel those dark eyes focused solely on your face.

“We could just trade off. I could drive to you one weekend and you come over the next?” You nervously suggested. There was still an absurd amount left to figure out but it sounded like a good place to start, at least.

“Okay,” The look on his face was almost enough to convince you that there wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be. “I’m holding you to that.”

It was difficult to say no when he suggested you return back to his place for the night after your meal.

His apartment hadn't changed in the past couple months since you'd last been there. But there were a few new additions to the coffee table, books on parenting and pregnancy stacked with the receipt still tucked in the front cover. The idea of him leaving your meeting this morning to go straight to a bookstore to pick those out was more endearing than you'd like to confess.

He shrugged his jacket off, hanging it on the coat rack by the door, not hesitating to help peel yours off and hang it up next to his.

“Thank you,” You swallowed, feeling suddenly meek remembering his hot and heavy touch, how he hadn't hesitated to throw you on his bed and take you like you always belonged to him.

“Of course,” He murmured. His tall frame hung behind you, his breath warm on your neck.

Was it wrong to want him to kiss you? It’s not like it would be the first time.

If you were being honest with yourself, you really wanted him to.

You didn't turn fully, just glancing curious and cautiously back up at his expression. He was watching you back just as intently.

“Are you going to kiss me?” You asked, voicing the thought you couldn't get out of your mind.

He cupped your cheek with one hand, his kiss searing your lips. You slipped your arms around his neck, twisting into his body and parting your lips for him.

“Baby,” He murmured in the shallow gasps for air, picking you up with your legs wrapped around his waist as he tenderly marked your throat with fevered kisses. You could taste the need, the want for more radiating off of him, practically able to see the leash he was using to hold his desire back.

You still weren't sure what this was to you, much less to him - the chemistry just as confusing as it was compelling. Did he need you or just the comfort of having someone warm underneath him? Geto didn't give you a chance to think much further on that.

He pressed you against the wall of the hallway, pausing to suck a harsh mark above your collarbone. You giggled, reaching up to pull out the hair tie on his half-bun that somehow got disheveled in the heat of the moment.

“What? Getting me pregnant wasn't enough? Need to leave hickeys too?” You teased, watching his pretty black hair frame the fine features of his face. The smile that adorned his face came easily, his eyes crinkling in the corners before he buried his face back into your neck.

You groaned into him, letting your fingers sink into his silky black locks, tugging as he grazed his teeth against your skin.

It was like he couldn't get enough of you. Like you might somehow manage to slip away while still in his arms, he had to close the gap. His body slotted so firmly against yours that your thighs ached when they spread further to accommodate him, ankles crossing behind the taut muscles of his back. Pinned against the wall, letting him pepper your skin with heated kisses that melted the thoughts and worries which left you frozen in anxiety and panic over the past two days. You tilted your head back, the exposed tendons flexing as he didn't hesitate to press his tongue hard and flat against one, the sensation sending goosebumps down your arms.

“You're teasing me, you know?” You accused, biting your bottom lip as the growing bulge in his pants rubbed against you tauntingly. He chuckled, his dark eyes flickering over to meet yours as he squeezed your ass in his cupped hands.

“Maybe I missed you,” He casually smirked. Your brain was frazzled by the feeling of all of him grinding against you, the friction bordering on agonizing through too many layers of clothes.

“Better prove it then,” You jutted out your bottom lip, and he didn't falter, didn't hesitate to hoist you up higher, readjusting his grip to carry you the rest of the way to his bedroom. The door was half-open already, and he used his foot to kick it the rest of the way before your back could hit the wood. Instead of throwing you down onto the mattress like last time, he laid you down softly without ever letting go. His mouth found purchase on yours, your back sinking into his mattress.

“I've gotta be gentle,” Geto mumbled into the corner of your mouth, barely two inches away.

His hair all the down and so handsome it hurt, he stared so intensely it stole the breath right out your throat.

“You can still fuck me, you know?” You swallowed hard, moving your hands from their spot around his neck to touch his face, trace the line of his bottom lip and craning up to deliver a soft kiss. When he kissed you back, it was harder, rougher, and you could taste the restraint in it.

“You better behave,” He chided.

How could anyone expect you to behave when it came to him?

“Make me,” You taunted, bucking your hips up to harshly rub against his groin. A low moan escaped his throat, his head snapping down as his hair fell in a curtain around his face.

Watching him try to maintain his collected demeanor, attempting to control himself was absurdly attractive.

Why should you hold back now?

He already got you pregnant. It's not like he could do it again.

He sat up, grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head while you propped yourself up on your elbows. Geto slipped a hand behind your back, pulling you up into a sitting position so he could get yours off too. When his gaze landed on the way your breasts had already started to practically spill out of the now almost too-small bra you had yet to replace, he paused, his Adam’s apple bobbing tightly in his throat.

“None of them fit right,” You defensively said, crossing your arms over your chest. No one had ever told you about that part of pregnancy, the fact that a baby was barely the size of a raspberry could already be affecting the rest of your body so much. What you just dismissed as period symptoms had persisted, your breasts still swollen and tender.

He grabbed your wrists in one large hand, pinning your hands over your head and pulling one out of the cup before you could protest. Running his fingers across the sensitive peaked nipple and smirking at the gasp he elicited.

“We can go shopping tomorrow and I’ll buy you new ones,” He promised, his voice a smooth velvet meant to distract you before he continued licking and pawing at you while you squirmed under his firm hold.

You slid a knee up to press into his crotch, massaging it up-and-down. If he was going to be a tease, you were going to return the favor. He groaned, his mouth still wrapped around one of your nipples as his free hand slipped down under your skirt to find the band of your panties.

All it took was one finger to slip in, just barely ghosting against your damp skin, for him to laugh.

“What am I going to do with you?” He sighed, but you could see a glimmer of contentment in his eyes as he let go of your wrists so he could stand up and (finally) take his pants off.

“I guess I'm your problem now,” You laughed back, scooting up on his bed and shimmying your skirt down your legs to toss across the wooden floor of his bedroom. You had just managed to reach around and unclasp your bra before he was back on you, hands on your back and skin-on-skin as he pulled you into his chest. Each aching kiss left you wishing his lips had lingered a little longer.

“Yeah,” He softly muttered. “Mine.”

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach at the word.

You weren’t confident, you’d never been, but you could let yourself believe in it while he was here.

He pulled down your underwear, tossing it behind him without a glance. You wanted his mouth everywhere, your upper thighs and dotting across the crook of your hips and smothering your own.

“Sugu,” Your breath was labored, tension packed into every crackling atom hanging in the air between the narrow space between your body and his. There were so many things you wanted to say but nothing would come out.

He trailed feather-light kisses down your chest, pausing when he got to the soft spot of your stomach just below your belly button. His dark eyes looking up to meet yours, a mutual understanding that he meant it when he said he wanted this with you.

“Are you going to let me be gentle now?” He nonchalantly said, not looking away once. You nodded, tongue numb.

He slowly slipped a finger in, easing it in like it might hurt you despite the fact you’d been wet from the moment he pushed you against the wall earlier. He fingered you like he lived - steady and practiced, taking his time and measuring your reactions with an almost smug expression.

“God, please,” You fisted his bedsheets, arching up into his hand.

“Come on, use your words,” He goaded, sliding his finger up to circle your clit. Biting your lip hard enough to bleed, you whined.

“Can’t you just fuck me?” You pouted, desperation bleeding through your question, thighs trying to close around his hand as you searched for any scrap of friction you could get against your clit. “Please?”

He didn’t reply, and you got the impression that he might give in if he did. Instead, he nestled his head in between your thighs, his tongue darting out to paint meticulous patterns inside while one of his long, sturdy fingers massaged the sensitive bud above it. His slow pace was driving you insane.

“Suguru, ah, I can't-” You gasped, trying to buck up into his mouth. He didn't stop, even when he chuckled at your weak mewls, writhing as he slid his other hand up to grope one of your swollen breasts.

“You can,” He muttered, pinching softly at your clit, sending a surprised jolt through the rest of your body.

Suguru Geto was definitely not like anyone else you’d ever met.

You didn’t know if that was thrilling or terrifying.

Maybe both.

Once he felt like he prepped you enough - borderline edging you alternating between his soft and hard touches of his tongue and fingers - he moved up, positioning his throbbing cock against your slit.

His tongue lapped at the blood on your split bottom lip from where you had bitten it earlier, the corner of his mouth red.

“I wanna look at you,” He murmured, thumbs pressed into the corner of your brows as he gently eased the tip in, giving you time to adjust to him. It felt like every part of you was throbbing, aching for all of him.

“Need you, Sugu,” You panted, nails scratching down his back. A not-so-small part of you wanted to mark him too, stain his skin with some proof you were here now that you were carrying part of him with you.

“Need you too,” He promised, his cool was starting to slip a little, sweat dripping and plastering a few loose strands of his bangs to his forehead. He finally started thrusting in-and-out, struggling to keep his strokes gentle. “Fuck.”

His hoarse curse had you curling your toes, lost in the darkness in his eyes and the feeling of how well he fit into you with every careful movement of his hips. He readjusted his position just enough to allow one of his hands to slip back down to rub against your clit while he fucked you.

It was almost embarrassing how fast he’d pushed you to the edge. You hadn’t even realized it until you were on the brink of falling over.

“S-Sugu, shit, ah, I’m gonna cum,” You whined.

“I know, beautiful,” He half-whispered into your ear, hair tickling your face as he rutted into you faster. “Think you can make it a little longer?”

You whimpered, nodding and trying to hold yourself back, clawing at the feeling trying to keep it at bay.

“That’s my girl,” He kissed the side of your neck, and you couldn’t stop yourself from snapping, coming undone under him with a loud moan. The sound of your voice seemed to push him past his limit too, a low noise coming from his throat as he finished inside of you.

He took care not to collapse on top of you, pulling out slowly, cum leaking onto your legs while he sighed. He climbed off the bed, his gaze hanging onto your body bare before him like it was an altar to worship at.

When he watched you with those eyes, it was nearly enough to convince you that all his sweet nothings exchanged in between kisses were whole-hearted and real. As much as you didn’t want to hold your past relationship experiences against him, you were struggling. The weight of them wasn’t his burden to bear but you didn’t think you could carry the load alone.

“You wanna take a shower?” He asked.

“Yeah,” You nodded, pushing down the messy feelings clouding your judgment. You had time to figure out whatever this was going to be.

He held out a hand to help you up. You took it, wishing all the other decisions coming up would be as simple as that.

tags: @inthedarkshadows000 @universal-s1ut @theonlyhonoredone @sugurusfavemonkey @chsuguru @ravester @unikornboop @ivyvenus333 @nylve @shibataimu @20kglex @cuntphoric @starriesworlds @cryingoverpixelsetc @psychoartiste @saurondriell @simplyraeblue @deftoneslut004 @theclassbookworm @grapelover2000

Took you Like a Shot

Pairings- Rich Frat/fuckboi Toru x Preppy Sorority reader

Summary- One VERY drunk encounter between your greatest rival ever - on your last day of college- leads to you being knocked up. Satoru Gojo, a fuckboy, fratboy, rich little jerk, has been a rival of yours since you all met in College, every damn grade you fought for he got with ease. He crashed every Sorority party you threw. The two of you are so infamous in your rivalry, your friend groups were rivals, and for some reason, life is playing some damn joke on you both. Now... you have to tell him the news - but how Satoru takes it surprises you. Can you both raise a baby together!? And do you even really know each other?

Contents/Warnings- gonna be flashbacks to the rivalry/that night, nerdjo but make him a fratboy, enemies to kind of begrudging partners, but then as the pregnancy progresses, they fall in love hehe (gojo is an idiot) - fluffy and smutty, MDNI -will have explicit sex etc- 4 parts (I THINK) in this chap- flashbacks of explicit sex with dirty talk, weed smoking (Satoru and his boys aha) mentions of sex, lots of humor, enemies to loversss- WC- this chap- 8k- art in the banner by Yuana on X

Comments and reblogs so appreciated if you enjoyy <3

Masterlist - Playlist- Chapter Two>>> (coming soon)

Chapter One

It had been an absolutely filthy night, that led to your doctor coming in and informing you three months later-

'You're pregnant'

You came in for a normal checkup, you're on the pill and you have no sex life, aside from one encounter almost three months ago. A filthy, questionable ass encounter with what so happened to be your former 'bully' - rich boy, frat boy, pretty boy, pretentious boy- Satoru Gojo.

For years, the two of you were rivals, not just academic either, since you were both top of your class all through college, but at everything. He'd hold your notebooks high and laugh at you, he'd try to ruin and crash every sorority event he could. Known as the Queen and King of the campus, you ran the rivaling Sorority to his Fraternity. The amount of times you all had gone toe to toe was literally notorious, even your best friends hated each other on your behalf, starting an entire war between you all.

You have no clue how it happened, still, how the two of you had the best sex of your life at that damn party, fueled by drinks but also something you'd never admit- you've always wondered. Hearing those stories about his... skills, seeing his perfect body and the way his pretty lips smirked so cruelly in your direction, even after all these years- how it all led to this moment.

'Hah, sweets, ya finally admit I'm good at something?' Satoru had murmured in your ear, while he'd had you bent right over some bed at some party- both of you were seniors in college on your last and final party, finally you thought you'd be rid of him, of this ass of a man. He was going to live the rich life, working for his family, and you were moving on to a whole different career.

'One t-thing... that's it...' You had cried out when his cock had shoved in so deep, making you cum all over him, his fingers gripping your hips while he'd pumped deeper and deeper, impossibly until he'd been right on your cervix. 'F-fuck!'

'Fuck... you had a pussy like this and we've been fighting!?' Satoru is whispering, resting his snowy locks against your neck, biting it with sharp teeth as you milk his cock. 'So greedy, huh?'

'S-shut up, mnh- just... keep... there, there shit!' Satoru had slammed right against your cervix, feeling you pulsing around him, it had been too good, too tight, too fucking wet, he'd paused then, looking at your arched ass, your skirt shoved over your hips. 'Keep g-going, please...'

'M'gonna cum, tho-she's too tight- shit can I?' 

Your drunk ass had said- sure. You're precise on that pill, every day your alarm goes off in the morning, you take it. How could...

"Pregnant!?" You repeat. Unbelievable. No fucking way. You...

"Yes sweetie I suggest prenatal and an ultrasound, hmm?" The nurse says so sweetly, as you feel sick to your stomach, which your hand goes down to touch.

Pregnant. With rich, notorious fuckboy Satoru Gojo’s baby- now you would have to tell him!?

Shit.

You take the results in a shaky hand, mind swirling as the doctor goes on and on, some crazy distant humming in your head, there’s no way, it can’t be. You’re literally starting your journalism career, thinking you’d maybe gained a few pounds from stress and ramen, the interning was absolutely brutal, you’re never regular on your periods, hence the birth control in the first place.

Running coffees here and there, grabbing this and that for everyone above you, but you were now officially hired, and you were making good money for once, finally able to pay down some of your pesky student loans and get a nice car. You worked hard for it, for everything, despite many thinking leading a sorority meant you came from money, you were a scholarship girl.

That’s a huge reason you and Satoru always clashed, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, easily acing every test that you busted your ass for, things came easy to him, you worked for it. Achieving the highest you could in your graduating class, the little shit that came to school hungover grinned right next to you, like a goddamn plague, and you hoped that finally he was gone for good.

What bonded two people like you now?

Well…

“Do you need to go over your options, hunny?” One of the nurses says, touching your shoulder with a gentle smile, you shake your head then, clearing your throat.

“I just need to… think.”

You’re pacing back and forth in your apartment, feet padding gently along the hardwood floor, cell phone in your hand, staring at the phone number that just got sent to you by Shoko. She was Satoru’s friend and yours, which was rare given the ongoing student warfare zone you all created. You’d texted her a simple- hey do you have Gojo’s number- not going into details.

How do you even tell him?

What do you say!?

You psych yourself up, finally dialing it, when he picks up the phone after the second ring, murmuring - “Hello.” God, even him answering what he assumes is a stranger is snarky.

“Um, hey.” Gojo pauses at the sound of your voice, faltering just for a moment, as his friends bounce a basketball around a court outside, he sits down on the bench, vivid images filling his head. “It’s-”

“Think I don’t know your annoying voice by heart, sweetheart?” You roll your eyes, sighing and plopping down on your couch.

“Yeah, well… I got your number from Shoko.”

“Need a second round? Should have guessed.” He’s gesturing to Suguru and Sukuna, who roll their eyes at him, and he puts his voice down an octave. “I could be convinced.”

“Jesus christ, Gojo.” You almost hang up, feeling your tummy tighten then, almost nauseous, realizing you had to talk to him. “Are you, I don’t know, um… free for lunch or anything?” You despise the words falling from your lips.

“Asking me on a date, huh? So bold, I like it.” Satoru winks now at his friend’s shocked expressions, muting for a moment, telling them it was you.

“No fucking way.” Sukuna says, Suguru snorts in laughter and Satoru just grins, unmuting you again.

“I guess I could be convinced.” He purrs out those words, chuckling. “Hmm, we could go to that nice place on Hollywood ave hmm? Perfect Sushi.”

Your tummy growls, but then you frown, remembering that Sushi is on your damn list not to eat, you curse internally, peering at this list of everything you should never do or consume, and it specifically says raw fish right there. “Do they have cooked Sushi there?”

“Pshh, you’re such a prissy ass, can’t eat raw huh? Didn’t mind it raw from what I remember.” You hate this man.

“You know what never-”

“Shit, I was just kidding.” He panics, thinking you hung up, hearing your irritated sigh then. “Yeah I think they do. Why do you even wanna hang out, ya wanna nag me in person?” He spins his basketball effortlessly on his finger, acting all calm, as if he wasn’t dying to be buried in your perfect pussy again. “Miss being bitchy to me so bad?”

God he wanted to have you on his face, have you sucking him, he wanted for so much more than you all got to do, drunken fingers and your muted cries as he’d had a big hand tight over your mouth. His cock twitches under his basketball shorts just remembering how slick and hot you were, god how you fucking felt gripping him so damn tight.

Satoru had felt you pulsing around him as he reached his arm around you, pressing his fingertips to your clit in circles, as you’re crying out against his palm, practically drooling against him. ‘There you go, cumming so easy f’me huh?’ he taunts, as his own eyes roll back, feeling your pussy drool against his hand.

‘Mnh!’ was all you managed to murmur against his hand, as he feels your gummy walls spasm around his cock, his blue eyes roll back at how perfect you feel, how long he’s dreamed of this.

‘F-finally got you to shut up, hmm?’ He taunts you, normally you’d have something smart to say, but not as he’s overstimulating your little clit, pulling it away as you damn near collapse on the mattress, your thighs shaking, he wants to kiss you so bad, but you’re burying your face, arching your ass.

‘F-fuck you, Gojo- ah!’

The memories are so vivid Satoru can barely calm his thoughts, hearing you say his name in that irritated little voice, the one that drove him insane from day fucking one, the moment he’d met you. Prissy little thing with so much to prove, he thinks you still feel that way, which the biggest secret Satoru had for you had almost spilled on that last drunken night, the night he was inside you was…

He's always wanted you, not that he'd ever admit that however.

Ever.

“Is like three okay?” You're interrupting his thoughts now, as he clears his throat.

“Three rounds?”

You’re scowling at the phone as you question your life’s choices at this very moment. “Three o'clock, my god, for lunch.”

“Sounds good, it gives us time later, to… you know.” You glare at the phone, unbelievable, he’s ridiculous! 

“Time for what?” Satoru chuckles at your high pitched question.

“Don't be shy, sweets, no need to pretend. I remember it all in vivid detail, every little bit.” Your cheeks heat up, hand clutching the phone tightly, trying to calm yourself and focus.

“Just lunch, that’s all I’m asking you for. Sounds good?”

“Want me to pick you up in my-”

“No, I'll meet you. Okay um…. Bye.” You hang up, breath coming quickly, you couldn't just tell him on the damn phone, this needed to be in person.

The thought of his pretty yet annoying ass presence damn near makes your head spin… would he think it's all a joke? Some scam to get with him or get money?

You're fucking terrified, standing and staring in the mirror, rubbing your tummy and frowning as you do. A damn baby… Likely raising it alone, knowing Satoru all these years, partying, insane and so immature. Even on the phone, he’s so damn cocky and self sure, that this must absolutely be what you want, to have him, as if you are over here pining away.

The sex was amazing to put it lightly, and sure if he was a decent guy, and not a fucking ass of a man, you’d have done it again, but the walk of shame that morning had been the most embarrassing day of your life. His little smirk after you woke up, plump lips too damn glossy for his own good, yawning and stretching half naked, cock already hard as he’d tapped his lap.

‘Another round, sweets? Come to daddy.’

You scoff even at the memory, at the audacity of fuckboi Satoru Gojo, you had run out so quickly he hadn’t had a moment to speak, and you swore to yourself never, ever again. Who cared if his cock was so big it hit places you didn’t know existed, and who cared if you’ve never felt that way, fuck you wish he actually wasn’t as good at it as he was.

Perfect at everything, infuriatingly, even fucking.

You get a text from the guy you were currently at least flirting with a bit here and there, the one you suggested going on a date, and then it all starts to hit, you’re pregnant and quite likely going to be some single mom. You couldn’t just go on dates, everything is completely different, maybe forever truly.

“Twenty Two year old single mom.” You grumble, sighing a bit as you text him you’re busy.

Busy.

*****

Satoru waits nervously at the restaurant, he doesn’t really do dates, he usually spends his time in the bedroom with a girl then runs right off. Shit, he’s never even gone without a condom before you, but when you’d said hurry up and put it in, who the fuck was he to tell you no? Not only had it felt superb, he never wanted to leave that perfect pussy.

Of course you would have the most perfect pussy.

You had to be the best at everything, all the time, didn’t you? Always competing for that top spot, but Satoru always just barely got past you, that .01% of that GPA, winning every contest over you always by just a tiny bit. From the moment you glared up at him and crossed your arms, he knew it, he had to do everything he could to win against your cute little ass.

Here’s the thing… Satoru never hated you, but he loves to say he does, you both say you do, or… well, said. Considering you slept with him and didn’t say a single word after, it’s not like he’s hard to find, but each of you actively refused to add each other on socials, though Satoru will admit he stalks your IG, you’re too fucking pretty not to do so, not that he’d ever like a post.

Once he accidentally did, god he wanted to be like those pathetic simps in your comments, but he’s not that, he’s Satoru Gojo. Women come to him, women come easy too, you of course were never one to come near him in that way, no you’d look at him getting smacked in the face on campus with a grin, vowing to your friends that you’d never be one of his conquests.

That night, though, it was like he lost himself, the most stupid, corny shit Satoru could think of, that last night of his freedom before being forced to take over his family’s business. You and everyone probably thought he wanted to, but of course he fucking didn’t, he didn’t want a part of the Gojo corporation in any way, shape or form.

Satoru felt lost, honestly.

Self sure, confident, conceited clearly, talking far too much shit and laughing, picking on you every chance he got, showing up to all your sorority parties in various stages of undress to lure your friends to him. He’ll never forget him, Sukuna and Suguru crashing your ABC party, wearing nothing but cut open beer boxes, and you so happened to have some white claw box made bikini.

God you’d been sexy, but when he stole all the attention? Oh he’s never seen you more mad.

Well no, he has.

Gojo loved to make you mad, because you’re so damn cute when your nose scrunches up, when your pretty eyes narrow, there was nothing like your huffs as you would cross your arms and shift your hips just so. And if there was anything Gojo was absolutely perfect at, amongst well damn near everything, it was making you absolutely furious.

Finally Satoru sees you, dressed in this pretty blue summer dress that juts out just a bit at the waist, making his heart race for just a moment at how pretty you are. It’s not like he forgot… but god. Are your tits bigger he wonders, or is he just obsessed with them, as always, looking too hard. Your cheeks are this beautiful color, your eyes so bright, like… some damn glow about you.

How corny is he lately.

He puts on a smirk as he leans back, waving with his fingers to gesture you over, and you look at him so damn seriously, sitting across from him, hands entwined together in front of you on the table for a moment, as you eye him carefully. “Gojo, um… how are you?’

Who the fuck is this girl in your body!?

You don’t nervously ask shit, you tell Gojo to fuck off, you glare or scowl while he smirks, what’s this… shy ass shit? He frowns a bit now, you exhale and slide off your purse, letting it sit on the seat next to you, he can’t stop staring at your lips, clearly bitten to fucking hell.

He tries to feign that he’s fine, that he hasn’t missed you, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. He missed your daily arguments on campus, he missed you being a total brat. He misses your scent, god that vanilla sugar body spray was haunting his very dream.

He acts as if he hadn’t died to hit you up, but he stopped himself. He couldn’t go that far, not with you, not with what you did to him, how you’ve damn near destroyed any game for himself any longer. That one night with you had sunk into him so deeply, he wishes it was just good pussy, and not whatever this was.

He’s jerked it off to you every fucking night since, to the point is damn dick doesn’t even work, he sure also wouldn’t admit that he can’t even fuck a girl because you were so good. Some evil witch that did something, it must be, he has at this point just given up trying, until whatever curse you gave him falls the fuck off.

But god you look good in front of him.

He should tell you, but instead he swipes a hand through his silky white locks and smirks right at you. “Missed me so badly, sweets?”

You roll your pretty eyes as the menu comes, smiling and thanking the hostess, a smile reserved for anyone in the world but him, even when he’d had you cumming all over him, you weren’t smiling. No, but you were drooling then.

‘Ah, look at you, so fuckin pathetic f’me, huh? Thought you hated me, sorority brat’ Satoru had huffed, as he’d fingered your cunt, curling inside of your slick walls, watching your pretty fucked out face. ‘Just from fingers?’

‘I do h-hate you- mnh!’ Your sparkly manicured nails dug into his broad shoulders as your tight walls convulsed around him, as he hit that spot that no man had ever found in a moment.

Perfect at everything, stupid Satoru.

‘Feel her, god she’s so desperate, huh?’

“Fuck you I- there, shit!’ you’d rolled your hips, grinding right on his hand, pussy drooling as you came from his fingers before he’d even put his cock inside you, and Satoru’s cock was leaking against his boxers, twitching as he pictures how perfect you’d felt around him. ‘Fuck you for being so g-good at that!’

‘Oh, I’ll fuck you, sweetheart.’ He’d turned you then, whispering a ‘bend over, just like that, gonna be a big stretch, hmm?’

Satoru struggles to calm his memory, focusing on that sexy mouth of yours moving, realizing words are coming out of them, blinking to focus.

“How are you doing, Gojo?” You ask softly, always Gojo, you never called him Satoru, and he always called you sweets, short stuff, your last name, also never your first.

But he wanted to call you a lot of things, one of them being-

Stop that Satoru.

“I’m doing great, of course, miss me so much?” He teases, winking at you and sipping on the sickeningly sweet Shirley temple he’d had them buy, you just grab a water, hand flitting to your tummy for a moment. “You’re not sick are you?”

“No, not sick just… yeah we needed to talk. Is that okay?”

Satoru leans forward, raising a thin white brow. “You seem weird, everything okay?”

“Well… shit. I guess I’ll just say this. Um…” You tuck your hair behind your ear, looking out the window at the bustling city for a moment, before looking back at him. “Remember that night?”

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to do all this to have a repeat.” His hand comes to your thigh, and that’s when you curse this pregnancy, because your nipples tighten, your cunt gets hot and wet from that.

Fuck hormones.

You take a breath, glaring as you always do at Satoru, the only time you never had was when he’s had your face with a slutty O for your mouth, your eyes rolled back, nails gripping those sheets. You shove his hand off, hoping he couldn’t feel your heat that quickly, as your body responds stupidly in a damn sushi restaurant.

“It’s not that, it’s important. Can you ever be serious in your life!?” You say quietly, and it’s his turn to glare, taking his hand back, sipping his drink again.

“Well just spit it out. What is all this, then?”

“It’s… I… You…” Shit, if ever you needed a drink it was now, and you damn sure wouldn’t have one for a good six months or more.

“It’s… I…. You…” He mocks, and you stand then, so furious your heart is racing, snatching up your purse.

“Never mind, I should have known you’re-”

“Shit, just sit. Sorry. Okay?” He grips your delicate wrist in his big hand, and even that is wrecking you, against your better judgement and everything you feel. “I’m sorry, it seems… serious. Just sit down and spit it out.”

You sit back down now, shifting as you both make your orders, a thankful distraction. As the waitress leaves, you sigh. “I don’t want anything from you, first off, so don’t think that.”

“What?” He blinks in confusion.

“I don’t need help, I can do it myself.”

“Do what!?”

“But you have to know… it’s the right thing to do, to tell you.” You look up at the ceiling, gathering your thoughts.

“Is this… are you in love with me, because of how good it was? Shit, that’s okay baby, everyone-”

“I’m pregnant.”

“What!?” You just sit there, seriously staring, as he blinks, looking at fuller breasts, your damn glow, thinking of every dumb thing he’s heard. “You’re… by who?” He whispers, and you flush then, shifting in your seat, sipping more of your water, condensation cool on your hot palm, your skin is burning, heart is racing.

“I was on the pill, religiously, I swear, I never missed one. Shit, until I found out I never missed… I… never would have done it like we did if I knew.” You feel sick as he gapes at you, his pretty blue eyes bulging out damn near, his mouth dropped open. “I expect no help, no involvement, we’re young. I just-”

“This a joke, right?” You take another breath, hand gripping the glass, eyeing those around you all, engulfed in conversations.

“It’s not a joke.” He’s laughing now, smacking his thigh, and your jaw tenses as he does.

“It’s you and your damn friends, someone recording!? Hah-”

“It’s not a joke.” You clear your throat now, leaning in your purse and pulling out the papers, with your name, the results, watching his expression shift, brows drawing low, his jaw tense. “It’s only been you, no one else for an entire year.”

“A whole year?” He eyes you again, and you flush under his gaze, as his hands shake, hands you’ve never seen shake, hands that dribble basketballs, that tossed footballs, all with ease.

Hands that…

Fuck, don’t think of it.

“I’m not… I was too busy.” Besting Gojo, competing with Gojo, you had no time for shit with him, your anger at him shone so brightly it was hard to think about men. “As I said, you don’t need to pay for anything, this isn’t that conversation, this is just me letting you know. I’m keeping it.”

Satoru continues to blink at you, staring open mouthed, at your face, then your body, then back to your face, over and over, while the waitress brings out the food, smiling curiously at the two of you. Satoru doesn’t make a move to touch his food, running his hand through his now messy white locks again, as his mind spins.

“I know you’re wealthy, I don’t want you thinking I want some piece of it. I’ll take care of them alone, please don’t worry.” You touch your tummy, the motion making Satoru fucking feral in some way he can’t put together, just continuing to stare at you in utter shock as the sushi sits in front of the two of you. “I can leave, now, we don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?” He murmurs finally, voice hoarse.

“Act like we are civil, act like we’re anything but college enemies, fucking rivals, not even friends. God I know you hate me, I know this was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” He whispers.

“Yes, for both of us. You don’t deserve your life uprooted, sure I can’t stand you, but this is my fuck up. I said those words…”

‘Cum in me, f-fucking cum in me, mnh…’ you’d arched your back, as his long fingers wrapped your throat, god he’d never felt anything like you.

‘Want me to fill your pussy s’good, huh lil brat?’ you just whine, muscles clenching on his cock, and he’d groaned in your ear then, shoving deep inside your drooly cunt. ‘Beg for it, then’

Oh, you had.

You hated him for it.

“It’s my fault, so don’t worry. But I wanted to be transparent, but I am… indeed, pregnant.”

“Pregnant, like, with a baby?” Satoru whispers, and You giggle then, for the first time since you found out, covering your mouth just a bit as he just stares.

“Yeah, a baby.”

“Mine…” His words send something through the both of you.

“Yours, but only if you want to be involved. I know it was a hate fuck, we’re young, we have lives-”

“You got a… like that scan shit set up?”

“Ultrasound?” He nods, nervously, hands clenching the table so hard you see the veins popping up through his thin skin. “I do, next week. I mean it is a couple months already, so I will see something, not like… the sex but…”

“Can I go?”

You blink in shock now. “You want to?”

“Yeah. I mean… why wouldn’t I?” He rubs the back of his neck, as the life he thought, the mundane one of following his damn family, of being a pawn in a bigger scheme, everything flashes.

It changes.

He’s scared shitless, but…

“I want to be involved. If you want me to be.” You blink back tears, but you fail, and if it’s one thing, Satoru Gojo has never seen his preppy ass Sorority rival cry, not fucking once.

He falters as those tears run down your cheeks, he leans over, hesitantly, the only physical contact aside from that fateful night was him shoving at you teasingly, or you smacking at him. Shit you all hadn’t hugged, you never even kissed aside from that night, sloppy and messy. But he doesn’t stop, until his thumb brushes your cheek, and you gasp.

“Shit I’m crying. Stupid hormones.” You huff now, swiping at your own eyes with shaky little hands. “You really wanna go?”

“Yeah if it’s cool?”

Satoru’s shocking you, the world tilts on its axis, like you’re having some insane dream. This can’t be real, can it? It’s fuckboi, frat boy Gojo, the man who goes through girls like they’re candy, the man who takes nothing serious, who has the world handed to him.

“Gojo, if you want to go of course you can, to any and all appointments, but you’re under no obligation, and please know I can cover the costs.”

“I know you’d never take my money, shit even if I offered, stubborn ass little brat that you are.” You manage a breathless giggle, the second one, realizing he is still brushing that thumb against your cheek, before he clears his throat. “So, tell me what day, I'll be there.”

“Yeah, are you sure? It will make it so… real, you know?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Now eat your cooked sushi, aren’t you like eating for two or some shit?”

You take your chopsticks with a shaky hand, exhaling. “I was reading, I think they are like the size of a pea maybe. But, this is yummy looking.”

“Gonna be a huge ass baby, shit.”

“Oh god!” You eye his lanky body, and he’s grinning, Satoru is grinning!? Shocking you further.

Maybe you don’t know him like you think?

“Tits are gonna get so big.”

Never mind.

*****

“An ultrasound!? A baby? Fuck…” Suguru Geto inhales the blunt, sucking the smoke into his lungs as Satoru nervously paces Sukuna and Suguru’s apartment, Satoru chose to live in his own place, closer to work. But he frequently gets shitfaced and crashes out at their place.

“Sounds fucking insane, shit.” Sukuna chuckles, as he’s hitting a bong, inhaling and exhaling, broad shoulders shaking as he coughs. “You look like you could use a hit or something.

“Before the ultrasound? Shit I need more than weed. I’m freaking the fuck out right now.”

“Imagine you as a dad though hah!” Sukuna smacks his thigh, as Satoru glares now, stopping his pacing while the music plays, the same music Satoru remembers doing keg stands and playing beer pong in togas to, only to now have the possibility of being responsible for a whole human being.

“Can’t even keep a plant alive, shit.” Suguru says in between laughs, and Satoru raises a white brow at the two of them on the couch.

“You two are so supportive.”

“Well shit, she said you don’t have to be involved, you can always just like… send money and shit? Do you really want a whole kid?” Sukuna asks, and Satoru takes a breath, pacing once more as he runs hands through disheveled hair over and over.

“Do I want a whole kid, no, I never even… I mean I figured eventually, as the Gojo heir, blah blah blah.” Satoru slumps in a nearby recliner, as Suguru hands him the blunt, frowning a bit now.

“You do need a hit. You’re young, it’s not time to give your family fuckin’ heirs yet, is it?”

“They’d probably be delighted.” Satoru rolls those cerulean eyes, inhaling the smoke into his lungs and leaning back, staring up at the ceiling, as the black fans above them swirl, moving the puffy clouds of smoke all around. His nostrils fill with the scent of the Sativa, wishing he could make sense of his thoughts. “Not delighted that it’s out of wedlock and unplanned.”

“Imagine her marrying you.” Sukuna and Suguru laugh loudly again, as Satoru hits the blunt again, not passing it.

“The fucks that mean?”

“She hates you. God I think more than anyone.” Suguru says, and Satoru smirks just a bit.

“She sure didn’t hate this dick.”

“Oh!” He’s slapping hands with his friends as Sukuna and Suguru start to make the most obscene gestures, while you call, and he shushes them quickly, trying to compose himself.

“Hello?”

“Gojo, hey. Um, ultrasound is in an hour, I’m heading out soon if you want to meet up?”

“Why don’t I have my driver pick you up?” He asks, and Suguru and Sukuna continue the gestures, making Satoru snort in laughter, the weed starting to enter his bloodstream.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just thought it would be more convenient in this traffic.” He shoots a wink at his friends.

“I mean… sure?” Satoru mouths yes, pumping his fist, clearing his throat now.

“It’ll be easier this way, alright send me your addy I’ll head out.”

“All right.” You just hang up, such a rude little thing. Satoru has changed your name to Sorority Brat in his phone for a good reason.

“What are you gonna do though, man?” Suguru murmurs thoughtfully, his dark violet eyes narrowed, clearly blitzed. “Gonna like… be with her?”

“Could cum in her whenever now.” Sukuna bursts out in laughter as Satoru glares at the two of them.

“Grow up…” They blink at him, then Satoru grins wide. “Nah, that would be a perk, because her pussy my god.”

They both scooch up, elbows on their thighs, avidly staring at Satoru now. “Details, man, it’s like the one girl you never told us about?” Sukuna asks.

“Because you’re in love.”

“Pshh, in love!?”

“Haven’t seen you with anyone since.” Suguru earns Satoru’s middle finger, as he puts out the blunt, stretching and earning their pouts.

“Bet she’s so good, though, all angry and shit, bet she’s a freak.” Satoru doesn’t even know if you’re a freak necessarily, but as Suguru agrees, he glares at them both, crossing his arms.

“This has been the worst pep talk in fucking history.”

“Shit, what’s your decision?” Suguru asks, and Satoru’s mind races, peeking at his watch now.

“I think I’ll make it when I like… see it?”

“Alright big Daddy, then if you decide to be involved we’ll be like… their uncles and shit.” Suguru says, and Satoru grimaces.

“God no, you’ll ruin my kid.”

“Fuck off now.” Sukuna starts hitting his blunt again, Satoru walks out away from them and spritzes cologne all along himself, he knows your prissy self never smoked weed, no you were a little goodie goodie. He thinks the only time he saw you drink was a little at parties, but never like that last night.

He remembers just looking at you asleep when he’d woken up, and the tenderness he felt when he had brushed your hair off your pretty face, and you’d stirred a bit. For a moment he felt his heart hammer in his chest, stone cold sober, seeing the bite marks he’d left on your delicate skin, feeling affection like he couldn’t describe, Satoru never felt that way.

He didn’t cuddle, he didn’t linger.

He ran out before they could wake up, he ran out like you did to him, perhaps he was a little nicer about it, though, you’d given no fucks when you darted out the damn door in a hurry. He had acted cocky though, full on hard just by the damn thought of your slick sticking to his cock, but instead of perhaps kissing you, he’d patted his lap and been a little shit.

He hated the recognition on your face, like he’d been a mistake, so he decided to shove you out of his brain, though he clearly failed.

Jogging down the stairs, he has his driver sent in your direction, and you get the text he’s there, stepping out in front of your little house, cute Satoru thinks, it’s small but it’s immaculate from the exterior. You have pink flowers and succulents all over the front of it when he steps out, eyeing your pretty dress, nerves starting to eat at him, but he puts on an easy smile.

“Ready to go see this little parasyte?’

“A what!?”

“Technically, it sort of is. Right, you’re like its host.” Your mouth is wide open, as you touch your tummy, and he curses. “Shit…”

“A parasyte, you’re calling our… I mean I guess my… the baby a-”

“I’m sure it’s a cute parasyte? It has a pretty host.” Satoru tries to put on the charm, the smolder, as you stare at him in shock.

Was it shocking, this was Gojo.

“Dear God.”

How’d you end up pregnant with this idiot’s baby?!

You slide into the car as you shake your head, and he covers his face, grimacing as he realizes he just told his… god what even were you, a baby mama!? That his baby was a… parasyte. Well, it is, and Satoru would typically just argue with you and let you know he’s correct and you’re wrong, but he keeps quiet, feeling you seething.

“Fire signs.” He mumbles, you look at him again.

“What?”

“You’re a fire sign, it’s why you’re so feisty. I am too, you know.” You relax just a bit, curiously.

“You believe in astrology?” You ask in shock, for as long as you’ve known Satoru Gojo, the two of you don’t really know each other.

“Baby I’m the most Saggitarius man there is.” You giggle again, fuck that’s three giggles Satgoru has counted, and how it lights up your already glowing makes him ache for you, suddenly realizing one of his long legs is brushing against you. Your warmth alone makes him throb, the vanilla sugar filling the space in the car.

“You certainly are the epitome of a Saggitarius. Don’t call me feisty, yuck.” You shove at him playfully almost, pausing a bit when you realize his body feels far too good against yours.

You may or may not have masturbated last night, and he may or may not have popped in your head, over and over. But, don’t worry, because Satoru has spent months jerking his thick length to the thought of you, not that either of you would admit that it may or may not have happened.

“This baby would be a fire sign.” You murmur then, letting your hand fall, and nervously fidgeting, Gojo’s long limbs take over so much of the car, as big as it is, Gojo’s always taken over everything, even apparently your senses.

“Would it?” He asks quietly, for once just a little serious it seems.

“Yeah, an Aries if it comes when it should.”

“So it’ll be a brat like you.”

“Psh, like you.” You roll your eyes, and the two of you fall into a bit of a silence, so much unspoken between you. “Do you know if…”

“That’s why I want to see. Make it real?”

You actually nod in understanding, surprising him then. “I get it.”

The ultrasound tech is rolling the wand over cold gel soon, as you’re embarrassingly propped up with your feet in stirrups, and Satoru stands to the side, glaring at the man who’s inserting this wand in you. He gets angry that he’s getting such a view, he doesn’t even think he saw you that much.

What he remembers…

Your pussy is very pretty.

You wince a bit as the doctor smiles up at you. “Tight muscles, huh?”

Satoru snorts in laughter, and you glare. “What!?”

“You are so tight.”

“Gojo!” You glare, and even the doctor laughs, also earning your scowl, which makes them both sober up.

“Sorry, Miss. Alright… relax, would you?” How do you relax as a doctor is shoving a wand in your coochie and your enemy, who got you pregnant somehow, is turning red holding in his lewd thoughts!? “Look at the screen.”

You and Satoru both look over now, your breath catches then, as does his, when the doctor begins to tap keys on the keyboard, and you hear it for the first time, this little… heartbeat. It’s a heartbeat.

“There it is, congratulations you two. About… ten weeks?” You’re enamored as you stare at the screen, and he moves the wand inside you. “Look there, that’s the little baby.”

Baby.

A baby.

It’s all real.

Satoru’s completely silent as tears fill your eyes, a myriad of emotions, some that you’re so connected already to a little peanut inside you, some that you don’t know how you’ll do this, some of your life. How will it alter, how will it go, what will people think… and what does the man next to you think? What will he do!?

But overwhelmingly as you feel yourself begin to cry, and the screen turns off, you feel warmth spread, touching your tummy in wonder, there’s a damn baby in your body. Your baby. Something you never considered or thought of, you figured much, much later in life, not now.

And you’d likely be…

Alone in this.

“I’ll go get a picture printed for you two.” The doctor smiles kindly, as you’re left alone, with a for once silent Satoru Gojo.

You hesitate to look at him, a stunned expression on his face as you sit up, closing your legs and biting your lower lip, he finally looks at you and exhales, seeing your tear streaked cheeks. A girl he never knew to cry or giggle has done both, and a man you never thought to be serious or quiet… was.

“Satoru um…”

“Satoru?” He asks quietly, and you flush.

“Sorry…”

“No, I don’t mind, just… crazy. This is crazy. There’s a whole life inside you!? And we made it?” You sigh, nodding then, and he shocks you as he leans down, as you’re sitting in the bed, coming so close to you, eyes swirling storms of emotions.

“You can back out now, it’s okay. I won’t put this on you, keeping it is an insane idea but… it feels right to me?” He tilts your chin up, leaning closer, to where you can taste the sweetness of his breath, as your heart pounds right in your chest. “But if you’re backing out, do it now, it will hurt… fuck it will hurt more if you get too involved, okay? Do it now.”

“I’m not backing out of shit.” You gasp, and he exhales, wiping your tears away. “We both did this. I’ll not live in some world knowing my baby is raised with no help of mine in any way, fuck that.”

“But you-”

“I get it, we… aren’t… together. But in this I will be.”

“Satoru, I think I may have a cardiac arrest  before I get this baby out.” You sniffle and he smirks a bit.

“So unbelievable that I’d want to?”

“Yes. The Gojo I know…”

“You may not know me as well as you think. And maybe I don’t know you that much… aside from I agree about that tight-”

“I swear!” You shove at him, as he snorts in laughter, still a little shit, as they bring in two pictures, and Satoru takes one thoughtfully.

“That’s it, huh?” He tilts his head curiously. “Looks like me.”

“It looks like nothing yet, what?” You’re taking tissue and cleaning up a bit, as they give you privacy to pull back on your panties, but Satoru gives you no privacy, just looking. “You could turn?”

“Why, that’s one benefit you know.”

“What?”

“Could fuck any time, cum inside whenever.”

“Oh you wish.” You shove at his chest, and he’s grinning and wiggling his brows, grabbing your waist, pulling you against him.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.”

“Shut it.” Yes.

“Sex is good for pregnancy.”

“You’re so full of shit! I can’t with you. Rizzing me up at a gyno?”

“Perfect place, see that doctor, he wants a piece.”

“You’re so dumb, I swear.” You look at the picture then, thumb brushing against the baby’s… maybe it’s a face?

“Are we gonna live together?”

“I mean… what?” You eye him in shock.

“When the baby’s here.”

“No, we don’t have to do all that, we live close. Can you imagine us living together, we’d kill each other.” He envisions it, the fights surely but… the sex, and seeing you in the morning?

“Or fuck. Alot.”

“That’s how this happened.” You mumble, and soon you’re back home, and trying to ignore your body’s insane responses while he stands on your porch, looking far too fucking sexy. “Thank you for being there.”

“You thanking me? the world is ending.”

“Hush. I appreciate this, you standing by me. You don’t have to.”

“I… want to. Um, what will we say?”

You bite your lip more, until he gently takes it out from under your top row of teeth, brushing against the indentations. “We could say we’re together, if you don’t mind, dating I guess? My parents would trip if they knew it’s like…”

“Same. My parents would be happy for a Gojo heir though.” You hear it, the surprising resentment in his voice.

There’s a lot you don’t know.

“Well, I can act like I like you for them if you want.” You tease, and he leans against your doorway, so fucking tall, just looming over you, and you have to clench your hands not to give in to the temptation of touching him.

“Act like you like me- you?”

“I could! If you could act like you like me, in front of my family.”

“How will we explain the whole not living together thing?”

“It’s new, it’s 2025 Gojo, not 1810. We’ll be okay. You're so old school huh, gonna marry me?”

“You’d leave me at the altar.” You both laugh again, as he straightens up now. “Alright, so when should we tell them?”

“When you want to. So work on those acting skills. I’ll set up brunch with mine, you set up dinner with yours?”

“Sounds good. Alright don’t miss Daddy too much.” You snort and roll your eyes, turning away now.

“Daddy? Whatever.”

Satoru presses you against the door, wrapping an arm around your waist, pressing a hand gently on your tummy, splaying the expanse of it with long fingers, as your breath comes quicker and quicker. “Could swear you called me daddy when I beat up that pretty pussy hmm?”

You falter, whining softly, hating your body’s reaction, scowling right up at him, your hand on your doorknob, while this tall ass of a man makes your body light up. “Never called you daddy, no way.” Your voice is a pathetic whisper, why does he do this to you, you want to arch into his damn touch, press against his length, to the point you make yourself stiffen.

“Oh? Must have been the liquor.” He caresses your face, leaning so close you wildly think he’ll kiss you, and you know damn well you can’t handle that, not with your pussy soaking your damn panties just from this.

You hate Satoru Gojo, and he hates you.

This is… because you both are having a baby.

Right?

“It must have been.”

“Ah, I see. Good night, then sweetheart.” He leans his lips up, kissing the top of your head, a gesture so oddly sweet it doesn’t even fit him. “Text me the details, Sorority brat.”

“Sure will, Frat boy.” He sticks his tongue out as you do, walking in and leaning against the door, overwhelmed by the scent of his cologne, the feel of his hands, the memories that surfaced. You slide down it slowly, burying your face in your hands, as your body trembles with this insane need.

Shit. A baby with your enemy?

A baby with Frat Boy Gojo?

Faking that you like him, would it really be that fake?

Satoru’s leaning against it too, for just a moment, trying to compose himself… finally he’s in the back of the car again, as his driver looks  in the rearview mirror curiously, tired eyes focusing as Satoru looks at the picture again. The little peanut that’s apparently a…

A baby.

With his enemy.

An enemy he really wants to be inside again.

“Everything alright, Mr. Gojo?” Kiyotaka asks, Satoru runs a hand through his hair now, leaning back in his seat as he peers out the dark tinted windows.

“I’m having… a baby with a girl who hates me.”

“Why does she hate you?” Kiyotaka asks, driving off, as Satoru chuckles just a bit, remembering bits and pieces of college, out of order, out of sync.

“Because honestly, I was kind of a complete dick to her?”

“That’s… oddly self observant.”

“You saying I’m a dick to you?”

“No Mr. Gojo!”

“I’m kidding, relax.” Kiyotaka’s tense shoulders relax when Satoru leans forward, hand on his shoulder through the little divider that’s opened. “Do you know shit about kids at all?”

“I have nephews, they’re pretty good kids. But babies, not really.”

“I could ask my parents but they basically had nannies raise me.”

“Many nannies, I heard.”

“Well, I was a menace to be honest. Where do I learn about these… things?”

“Babies?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I think there are books?”

“Hmm.” Satoru pulls out his phone then.

Fratboy Gojo🙄(yes that’s his name in your phone now, no you’re not sorry): Should I order us baby books?

Sorority Brat💦😻(of course that’s your name in his phone): Yes, if you want to? That would be good. Thank you… for today.

Fratboy Gojo🙄: Two thank yous!? That baby is making you a mush.

Sorority Brat💦😻: Whatever!

Satoru snorts then, but when you’re in your bed later that night, nibbling on a bag of hot cheetos that have been screaming at you all day, how is that your first craving!? He writes to you again, and you pick your phone up with your clean hand, sans hot cheeto dust, rolling your eyes.

Fratboy Gojo🙄: Need some nudes for your spank bank?

You’re gonna kill him.

Sorority Brat 💦😻: Good night, Gojo.

Satoru frowns, because his dick is already in his hand, but for a moment you think about it, and would it be so bad to-

No, no no.

You aggressively eat those hot cheetos, wondering just what you were in for with that damn boy in your life now, shit forever.

“Fuck.” You’ll never drink again.

I say four parts but I feel like this is gonna be long aha, bc god Gojo is a lil shithead hehe (as I like him) this just a teensy bit similar to the Knocked Up movie premise so expect a LOT of humor here! <3

Taglist one- @jannythewriter-pt2 @gojosoups @lycoris-radiata-4-sale @cutiepi-iee @poisonousspiderlily @closerbutnevertogether @myahfig4 @shokosbunny @coq1myun @rinny27 @abibliolife @coq1myun @megumisthirdog @p4lli @turtlebangtan @webshooterrr9 @aldebrana @msqudo18 @s0ulsnatchaaa @ovela @midnaamethyste @nearlyfuckingwitches @shibataimu @msniks @missthatgirl @fantasy1nightmare0 @maddyhehehehhe @yourst3pm0mmy @haithamsbb @rentheannihilator @ilovebeansyay @lemonswirlz @dilfkentolover @evelynxxo @bkgnotsuma @suki91 @burntasian @nakiich @hyunjinsruinedpainting @miniv1x3n @minascasket @ihrtmack @contaminatedcupcake @girlwithn0j0b @tokyi999 @vamqyx @queenofthekill @verriees @vullzo @jkslaugh97

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty-five —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 5.8k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. menstruation. harm to a child. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Jagged rock burns into your palms. Slapping a hand up, you feel for the grassy ledge, barely visible in the darkness. You heft the backpack over it before managing to pull yourself up, landing on your stomach with a grunt through your teeth. The sneakers you scavenged from the closet are tight around your toes—better than Salome's thin shoes, but still far from pleasing as you stand and press on towards the road.

Moonlight guides you north. 

Not long until sunrise, judging by the sky.

Small white clouds puff around your mouth as the chilled air brushes the damp spot on your too-big jeans, the cuffs rolled and the waist cinched to keep them from slipping. You couldn't leave in the middle of the night, so you held a mug of water as a makeshift alarm. The moment sleep tried to steal you, the splash on your thigh ended it abruptly. 

You'd woken Blue up to tell her. At first, grey eyes scolded you in the dark. She looked away, ready to argue, before quietly reciting instead: the house they kept her in, the layout, any hiding places she may have seen.

"What about her?" you had asked. "Anything important to her. She probably saw antibiotics as a gift from God or something."

"Yeah. She would've," Blue muttered. "She liked to knit. And, um, talked about birds. Her husband owned the whole place, but he died. I don't know if any of that helps."

"It does. It's better than nothing." You gave her hand a squeeze. "Make sure he eats again. And check his back. You might need to drain it. You know how now, right? Nereida could—"

"I've got it." She slipped her hand away. "Just—don't do anything stupid, okay?"

"Of course not."

Sneaking out had been easy—only because Nereida was on watch. You slipped out the back and wove through the tall grass, barely stirring the stalks. Price would've caught you for sure. But you made it across the creek with nothing more than the slow unrolling of your jeans to slow you down, the cuffs dragging in the water and soaking through. You rolled them back up, but a kilometer up the road, they've slouched back down, heavy and clinging to your legs.

Time feels like an enemy, one you've already let get the better of you for over a day now. Begrudgingly, you sink onto the hood of a rusted car and take the knife from your waist, slashing roughly at the ends of the fabric. A serrated one would be easier to work with. The end result is jagged hems. Less of a nuisance now, at least.

Ghost's persistent fever isn't the only threat. It's the sepsis. The blood poisoning. The shutting down of his organs. The things you haven't explained to Blue. At best, he could have a week. At worst, if they set in quickly, another day. The thought scrubs your hands over your bleary eyes, recentering your vision, and you push away from the car. You toss the cut scraps in the grass just when a disturbance skims the back of your neck.

You whirl around, dropping the knife in favor of the pistol. 

"Just me."

"Jesus. Kyle. I was ready to shoot."

"Honorable of you to give me a quick one."

You huff, bend for the knife, and slip it back at your waist.

He closes the gap, rifle and backpack slung over his shoulders. 

"Why wouldn't you tell anyone?" His brows lower. "I went to feed him, and Blue said you’d gone back. Hell of a surprise."

You give him your back. "I've already wasted time. I knew what you'd say."

"And what exactly did you think I'd say?" A hand on your shoulders pries you back around.

Your eyes drift up to his, narrow, then veer to the side. "That it's a long shot."

"Yeah, it is." His hand drops. He brushes past you with a sigh, long and ragged, adjusting the rifle on his back. "Come on, then. You're not the only one who gives a shit about him."

There isn't anything to be said as you trudge beside him, no argument able to form. You know his company is invaluable. Gratitude is still hard to find, even when he prevents you from going the wrong way. "We turned here last time." Apparently you hadn't paid much mind. The road fills the gaps of silence, dawn breathing life into the buzz of cicadas. Long drags of air fill your lungs: sweet flowers only, until, something else. A waft of charred meat.

"You should eat."

Kyle extends a piece of squirrel. Despite the twinge in your stomach, you brush him off. "While they were starving you, we were getting stuffed. Fatten the mares, get a strong foal—all that."

His jaw ticks. "Ah."

"Damn good food, too."

"Lucky you."

"Lucky us."

Conversation shrinks to a brief exchange of what Blue said. He doesn't look convinced it'll help much. The stench doesn’t sour the air until the first sign for Fleurbaix rises at your right—like a breath in your face. Humidity clings to it, thick and unmoving, until there’s nothing else to breathe. In the sunlight, familiar stone walls and red-shingled rooftops repulse you, almost more than the sight of aimless Greys—some weaving between clotheslines, most trapped within the fenced pasture. The cows, however, have already fled through a broken gap, eager to escape uphill.

"They should've lost interest by now. The blood isn't fresh," you mutter.

"Humidity. Less evaporation, more smell." He nods the tip of his rifle. "Over there. That one has a wraparound porch like Blue said."

The view vanishes behind overgrown trees as you crest a hill, descending toward the commune. Kyle motions you forward, weaving through structures, keeping clear of the Greys. As long as they can’t scent you, they will stay distracted. You step over a few stray bodies, faces picked apart by crows that scatter at your approach. Clinging to a stone wall as you follow, a bony hand bursts forth from a window—Kyle knifes its skull before it can grab you.

Other than that, there aren't any close calls.

You reach the house that fits Blue's description.

The door is wide open.

Kyle sweeps in with the poised rifle.

You are greeted by an already ransacked interior. Tipped chairs, half-yanked cabinets, tossed couch cushions. A sick understanding settles at your fingertips, curling them around the gun. 

"They were here. The women. They knew she would've hidden them."

More signs that this is just a dead end; a waste of precious time.  

Kyle lowers the guns and presses forward into the hall. "That doesn't mean they found what they were looking for. Check the rooms."

Maman's house is as expected, even in disarray. Quiet and balmy. You kick open the first door. Polished wood, gold-embellished hinges, a closet stuffed with white gowns. A knitting bag catches your eye. You sift through it, tossing out balls of red yarn. Nothing.

More nothing under the bed. 

You tear the painting from the wall, only solid stone behind it.

A family photo thrashes to the floor beneath a swipe of your fist. You find Kyle in the other room, where a smaller bed is tucked beneath a window—the sight makes it hard to breathe for a moment. The blood stain on the sheets. Somehow you know whose it is. Your stomach rips at itself. You force yourself to look away before you lose it. 

"The floorboards. They didn't look under them. Help me."

He raps the butt of the rifle against the wood. A hollow echo near the doorway offers promise. A knife jammed between the planks pries them apart. When you sink to your knees, all that fills your hands are stashes of faded euros. No pills, no vials. 

You rip up the notes and let the shreds feather through the air, leaning back on your palms as a quiet hiss leaves your teeth. "Where did you put them you vile, ugly, goddamn hag."

"Maybe her son kept them," Kyle murmurs, threading a hand through his hair. "He had the guns."

"No." Your voice is firm. You stand and pace. "She would've wanted them close to her. Antibiotics—she was saving that for the women. The births."

You reach for your knife and stab the mattress, slicing it open. Springs and foam. Books maybe. You run back to the shelf in the hall and rip them one at a time, flipping them open to see if any were hollowed out. Even the Bible is just a book. 

What else?

What else?

"How much time are we willing to spend looking for them, Twix?" he asks lowly behind you. "Maybe we check somewhere else. A town."

"They'd have picked them clean years ago." You toss the Bible to the floor with a thud. "This was our best bet. We had them. We fucking had them."

"And now we don’t. We can’t keep tearing this place apart. We focus on keeping him stable—keep the wounds clean, use what we’ve got. He’s made it this far without them. We just need to buy him more time. There might be another stash in one of the other houses."

You lean against the wall, eyes fluttering shut briefly. A deep inhale. "There's just—something I'm missing."

"Twix—" He sighs, running a hand down his face. "Alright. Let's do another sweep. I'll check the floors in the living room."

Thoughts race. A frothy tide refusing to settle. You press your thumb to the scabbed cut on your wrist, the sting sharpening your mind. Back in the cell. Morning sun slanting through the window. Obsessively studying what’s around you. Replaying everything you learned about that woman. A dead woman. If you could’ve told the Greys to hold off, let her speak before they tore through her neck, you would have.

In the midst, a dove’s call breaks through—three notes, too close in your ear. You must be imagining it, but Alexandre’s voice stirs in your head: La tourterelle chante pour toi.

He said that when he heard the dove.

Why?

Birds.

She talked about birds.

You push off the wall and follow the sound to the room where they kept Blue. The coo draws you to the windowsill by the bed, where the glass is cracked just enough for the curtains to stir, the stench outside seeping in. Twin beady eyes snap to yours, a mechanical tilt of its neck. A collared dove, you think. Paul used to rise early to listen to them.

"Where are they?" you press lowly, accusing. "You know, don't you?"

The bird doesn’t answer, only flutters down from the sill.

Your fingers grip the edge of the window as you kneel on the ruined mattress. Below, the bird perches in the flower box—no flowers, just dried weeds and a nest of twigs.

"Tell me." It watches the whisper curl from your lips. "Tell me, or I’ll rip apart your home."

It flutters off. Your arm lunges after it, clawing at the nest in blind retaliation. Twigs snap. Dirt kicks up into your eyes. You blink hard to clear it. A strangled sound catches in your throat—half a curse, half a cry. Then, something strange beneath. Sharp rust that makes you freeze.

You sweep debris off the top of a—a lock box—loosely buried within the soil. A breath lodges in your throat as you claw at the dirt, dragging the rusted metal loose, launching backward on the bed with it clutched in both hands. It can't be real. You give the box a sharp shake. Something rattles inside, and your chest tightens.

"Kyle!"

Thunderous slaps of his boots echo down the hall. He rushes in, scanning you with a sweep of his gaze.

"No, I'm—this is locked." You tug at the bolted metal. "Can you open it?" 

He doesn't question it, the flicker of relief in his face quickly replaced by a grim determination as he musters his strength, raising the rifle and bringing the butt down hard against the lock. A sharp clang echoes through the room, metal chipping but holding firm. He exhales through his nose, adjusting his grip, and you meet his eyes, nodding once—keep going.

He hammers at the lock repeatedly, pausing only to yank at it, testing for weakness. You wipe dirt from your jeans, watching. Whatever she buried here—it mattered. It had to. You glance away for a second when the dove returns to the windowsill, but movement beyond it sends your pulse spiking above the sharp cut of metal.

Greys.

When did they—

"Shit, shit, shit." You lurch from the bed. 

He stops, yanking up the rifle to jut it toward the window, shooting a snarling one that clambers up on the porch. It flails back, revealing more alike behind it—many more—shambling out from wherever they'd been lingering. "Fuck—how!" He tucks the lock box under his armpit and grabs your wrist. "Come on."

The living room windows reveal just how many have begun to close in around the house. Faster ones are already at the front door, clawing at the wood. Kyle swears, yanking you toward the bathroom—higher ground, a window above the porcelain tub. He slams it open with the rifle, then hands instantly find your waist to lift you. You shed the backpack, pulling it through behind your feet to squeeze through blindly.

"Anything to climb?" he barks.

You look up. "A gutter!"

You grab it and tighten your core, hoisting yourself up as your sneakers scrape against the siding, the moans below growing louder as they round the corner of the porch. Your palms press into exposed rafters, the gutter serving as a shaky foothold, but the last push onto the roof eludes you.

A firm shove at your thighs sends you over. You scramble up, steadying yourself before glancing back.

Kyle is halfway up, rappelling fast—until a bony hand clamps around his ankle, yanking him downward. Disoriented from the rush, you slap for the gun at your waist, firing wildly—two bullets wasted before one lands, shattering the Grey's skull with a squeal.

He throws the lockbox. You catch it just as he hauls himself onto the shingles.

Your head reels as you watch Kyle drop to one knee and start picking them off. Four, maybe five drop with ease, but the rest move erratically—jolting, frantic. He slows, trying to track their unpredictable movements, each shot requiring more precision. If you had your bow, you could help. But the pistol? You don't trust yourself.

He grunts in frustration, adjusts his stance, then reloads as he circles the perimeter of the roof. That’s when you feel it—not a hunger pang, but a deep, familiar ache, piercing low in your gut. Then something wet. Warm. A slow gush down your leg. Your breath stutters as you glance down at the stain blooming red across your thigh.

"It's me," you say.

"What?"

"Fuck, it's me they smell. My period."

His gaze drops to your body, widening when he sees the evidence. You should feel exposed, but you don’t. The thought slams into your brain at the same time your hands move—unbuttoning, yanking at the fly. The moans below swell.

"We can use it. Look away."

His eyes snap back to yours, then dart away with a sharp exhale. "Christ."

You’re already shoving them down, tugging at the loose, borrowed underwear clinging to your hips. Gathering the fabric, you swipe at the blood slick on your thigh, pressing it deeper into the fabric. "It can buy us time—but not much."

You yank the jeans back up. You roll the underwear into a ball. Kyle looks over.

"There—throw it toward that house. The door’s open. If enough go inside, it might trap some. Then we run back to the hill."

Just as quickly as the plan is formed, you hurl back your arm and launch the decoy as hard as you can. It lands in front of the next house, far enough to release the breath caged in your lungs as heads snap toward it, bodies lurching away. Kyle slings the rifle over his shoulder, grips your waist, and helps you down—but the moment he lets go to steady himself, your foot slips on the gutter.

You land roughly on your side, losing hold of the lockbox. All of the breath leaves your body as you scramble to grab it. A strong hand beneath your armpit tugs you back up, and then you're sprinting. A quick glance back shows most are drawn away, but a few still trail you. Kyle snatches the handgun from your waist mid-stride and fires, dropping two before they get too close.

You duck beneath clotheslines, weave through wash bins still brimming with water. Trample roses. The pulse pounding in your neck drowns out everything but the next shot Kyle fires—enough to throw off your step. You don’t see the one lunging until it slams into you from the side.

You feel the jolt of the fall before you fully register the thing wrestling on top of you. Hair whips into your mouth, rancid breath spilling hot across your cheek. The strength is wrong—too fresh, too human. The hands grabbing at you are still strangely soft. A distinct bulge presses you down. Then a glob of dark-tinged saliva splats onto your eye, blinding you before you can make sense of it.

It's only a second of fight before a shot to the skull sends pulpy blood and brain onto your face. 

The weight is torn away as you scrub at your eyes. Part of you already knows before you look at the limp corpse. Time congeals. Blonde hair fans over the grass, framing a pale face with white eyes. The slip dress—the same one you pulled over her head.

Her swollen belly.

You go rigid. Kyle has to yank hard to get you upright.

"Come on!"

"They left her."

The words spill numbly from your lips.

When he shoots another Grey, your wooden, puppet legs move. You leave the body of her behind, adrenaline numbing you. After what is realistically only minutes but feels like hours, the thick trees envelop you once again, and when you finally steal a glance, you can't see them anymore. They've lost your scent for now. Enough for you to pause against a tree, swallowing air to catch your breath. 

You walk deeper into the vegetation until Kyle feels satisfied enough to stop and retrieve a canister of water from his backpack. He offers it to you. It takes a moment to steady it at your lips, then your throat allows some down. But your stomach spasms almost instantly, and you are wrenching it back up at the base of a tree, crumpling to your knees.

"Shit."

Hands collect your hair.

A few more dry heaves consume you, until you're breathing harshly through a hanging mouth.

"No… They didn’t—" A hard swallow. "They let her out. She was in the cell."

"What?" His voice brushes your neck, touch halting at your shoulders. Realization softens his tone. "You knew her—the pregnant one."

You wipe your mouth. Force yourself to stand. His hands stay at your arms a beat too long, grip firm, like he’s waiting for something—an explanation you don’t give. You don’t meet his eyes. A flicker at your jaw. "We need to move."

Your stomach still aches, but you don't vomit again. You walk quickly out of the trees and to the road. 

The walk back is spent scanning more closely to see if you've drawn more with your smell. By the time you reach the cliff, midday swelters. Lightheadedness teeters your first attempt down. Kyle tosses the box and rifle to the bottom, then carries you on his back, your fingers interlocking to keep you secure like the backpack that hugs his chest. 

A stop at the creek allows a shaky handful of water to splash your face. Taking off your jeans to wash your blood-stained thighs feels too much of a task. Instead, you watch Kyle finally finish striking the lock, the metal giving way under his relentless grunts. 

"Do you want me to open it?" He glances at you.

A slow shake of your head. Your knees sink before it. Fingers hesitate at the latch. If this isn’t it—if it’s empty—you don’t know what comes next. What fills the space where the smallest sliver of hope has wedged itself in.

The scrape of rusted metal.

At first, all you see is cloth. A yellowed shade of white. A beat of nothing. Then, your hands move on their own accord, unwrapping the contents, brushing hard plastic. The faint rattle of capsules makes you inhale before you even read the first label: amoxicillin. You go still. Dig through for more. Four, five vials. Even more than what you had on you.

The run back to the house is a battle against your own legs.

The smell of blood hits first—thick, metallic. Not human. A quick glance confirms it, Price carving up a hefty cattle he must've found.

He's saying something, to Kyle maybe. You don’t pause.

The front door swings open.

Blue—

She slams into you, arms locking tight, breath knocked from your lungs.

"I saw you from the window."

"You shouldn’t be on your feet," you manage.

She looks down. At your hand. At the pills.

Her voice trembles. "You… you found it?"

You nod.

Up the stairs. Blue tugging at your sleeve. Kyle's steps audible behind you. The bedroom waits. Stale air. Ghost—he's lying on his stomach the way you left him, but a smother of something sticky glistens on his back. 

"Honey," Blue mumbles, wincing as she lowers on the bed. "Ari... he found a hive. I was just about to put clean bandages, too. It helps, right?"

"Not as much as this should help."

Kyle begins lifting him.

"He was up for a bit, but he was... talking weird," Blue whispers as you kneel at Ghost's side, fight the shake in your hand to unscrew the cap. "He asked if you were sleeping outside—like, out loud, to himself. Then he kept saying ‘sparks’ and ‘Washington.’ Do you know what that means?"

The words barely register anything but confusion and the fact that he is even worse. It's Kyle who answers under his breath. "No clue." His gets Ghost upright without disturbing his wounds, steadying a hand at the back of his skull. 

When your thumb presses at his bottom lip, the dry, cracked skin resists. As you try to pry it apart, his eyes flicker open—unfocused. Dilated pupils shift to yours.

"I need you to open," you whisper around the tightness in your throat. "It's amoxicillin. We've got it."

Overgrown hair clings to his forehead, thick and unruly. Sharp stubble scrapes your hand as you try again to open his mouth. Labored breaths hit your knuckles, unnervingly hot, along with a release of words he murmurs through his teeth. "There you are... again. 

Your teeth graze your cheek. "Here I am. Now open, please."

He does—barely. The chalky pill makes it to his tongue. The rest blurs.

Waking up on edge is nothing new.

At first, you keep your eyes shut—squeezing them until the backs turn red. Then, true consciousness jolts through your limbs, setting a heavy heartbeat between your ears. Light floods your vision. Soft cheeks. Pink lips, pursed. Brows knitted tight.

"You make the strangest faces in your sleep sometimes."

"I..."

"Water?"

"Please," you croak.

Pins and needles prickle your fingers as you lift your head. A mug presses to your blistered lips, gentle fingers stroking the greasy hair at your temple. The gulp of water almost makes you moan. You're ready to down the entire things until it's pulled away.

"You're gonna throw up again if you keep going."

You lick your lips. "What?"

"You've been passed out for two days," Blue explains. "Except for when we tried to get you to eat and drink, but that was a fucking struggle. Nereida says you overworked yourself. Not enough sleep and water can kill you, you know." Her brow arches. "I told you not to do anything stupid, but I guess you've been doing that."

Two days.

You inhale through lungs that feel primitive. 

"He—"

"Before you ask, yes. We've been giving him the meds. Morning and evening. His fever finally went down last night. He's been out since."

Your eyes finally drift to the other side of the bed. A steady rise and fall presses warmth into the sheets. You scramble up, reaching over—his cheek meets your palm, warm, but not alarmingly so. Normal, almost. A faint flush dusts his skin, the color creeping back in. His back is freshly bandaged, but his eyelids still bear the violet tinge of exhaustion.

"It's helping." The words press into your teeth. 

The rest of the day passes in gentle fragments. 

A bowl of fire-braised beef pressed into your hands. You eat without tasting, slow chewing through lush fat, while Price and Kyle pore over a more detailed almanac they found in the house. The food settles heavy, to the point of discomfort, but stays down. 

Later, you wade into the creek with Nereida. She was the one who changed you while you were out—scrubbing the dirt from your legs, tucking fresh towels and a new pair of underwear beneath you. You only realize she added rosemary when a sprig falls out as you undress.

You listen to her talk. You don’t tell her about Salome. No. You keep it to yourself. The water is warm. At first, you don’t feel it. But as it swallows your shins and carries away ribbons of dried blood, the gentle current soothes, taking the edge off the sun, which turns the rocks along the bank scorching hot. Birds call from the trees—you don’t know what kind. Worm-like minnows tickle your sore toes.

Back at the house, you sit on the porch to wring out your hair. You catch Ari carrying Blue through the garden, her head tucked against his shoulder, bandaged feet dangling over the arm that hooks under her knees. They whisper about something. His steps are slow, pausing by a beautiful patch of flowers that, apparently, smell rancid by the way she leans in and recoils, making a face. When you look away, Kyle is staring at you across the grass as he hangs strips of beef over a tree branch to dry. 

You should thank him. For not letting you do the stupid thing alone. But instead, you shift your gaze to the sun and watch its slow descent on your own, studying the way it casts an orange glow across the wild growth. It's the sudden assault of dark clouds that send everyone inside. A summer rain that bursts down without warning, without mercy. 

It hasn't relented by the time you fix a bowl of meat for Ghost. He has yet to ingest anything but bone broth and some plum juice according to Blue and Nereida. You chew off little pieces of the least fattiest parts into a bowl and give it to Blue. You go with her to feed him but stop short, keeping your distance. You simply watch from across the room as he manages to sit up on his own despite swaying, brushing away Price's helping arm, and chewing slowly with great effort. His eyes, focused and clear, flit upward to yours. You hold them for a moment, until the pull in your chest turns intolerable, and you look down at his bandaged shoulder instead. 

"Tastes good?" Blue murmurs, brushing the hair from his forehead.

He hums. 

"How do you feel?"

He swallows, then lifts a hand to her hair, thumbing at it. "Young again."

She places her hand over his, biting a smile. "You're so annoying."

She wipes at her eyes. 

Instead of easing, the rain intensifies as the night deepens. Distant thunder rolls closer, flashing into overhead lightning that only sharpens your edge. Blue, on the other hand, spends the night with Ari in the living room, where Kyle helped them set up a small fort of blankets and pillows—a small distraction, but one she could use. It takes a nudge from you to push past her hesitation, to convince her it’s okay to leave Ghost’s side, just for a little while.

"It's good to have some space, if you need it."

That leaves you alone in the bedroom with him. He knocked out again after eating. You redo his bandages, relieved to find the wounds free of pus. New scabs have begun to form, fragile but promising.

But you can't lay down. You try—perch at the edge of the bed, press your palms into the mattress—then you're back on your feet.

The walls feel too close. The air too thick. His steady breathing should ground you, should ease something inside you, but it doesn’t. The storm is unyielding, pressing against the house, rattling the windows. It drives your nails into your palms, into the raw skin around them. A string ties itself around your ankles, pulling one foot in front of the other until you're in the hallway, hand blindly skimming the wall to guide you to the spiral staircase.

Upward.

The library. You don’t even realize you’ve come here until you freeze at the top of the stairs, staring at the wreckage left behind by your hands. Books lie scattered across the floor, pages severed and crumpled. A curtain rod rests askew, displaced in the quiet ruin.

When you finally move, it’s a mindless ordeal. The motions of putting the room back together—guided only by the stray flash of lightning—steal any thoughts before they can form. You kneel, gently stacking books against your chest, slotting them one by one back onto the oak shelves. Embellished spines offer familiar titles, even in French. A lot of Jane Austen.

"No Hemingway, huh?" you whisper, swiping a finger through the blanket of dust before bending for more books. You reach the last shelf, lips twitching. "I'm fixing you. Happy now?"

Of course, no answer. Only the faint slide of leather against the wood. 

He’s in the room before you notice.

The presence registers as a skim along the back of your neck.

But you don’t turn, hand freezing after you release Le Comte de Monte-Cristo, then dropping limp at your side. You know it’s him. You feel it in the shift of the air, the weight of it settling differently around you. More so in the slow, deliberate footfalls, each one measured, as if testing the ground. And if none of that gives him away, the warmth of his breath—heavy, uneven—spilling over your scalp does. It sinks into your skin when he reaches you, winds through your veins, curls your toes against the floor until they hurt.

You try to inhale, but the breath snags, fracturing in your throat. "You shouldn’t be up."

"I shouldn't."

His hand lifts, knuckles skimming the flannel draped over your frame before grazing your neck with a slow, unhurried sweep of his thumb. It trails down your arm, pausing at the last book in your grasp. He takes it from you—or maybe it slips from your weak grip. You can't tell.

With a deep breath, he reaches the shelf above you. The book doesn't fit at first, his hand unsteady, struggling to align it. A final rough shove of his knuckles forces it into place. He’s close. You knew he was, but now his scent wraps around you—mossy, salty, earth that you fall face-first into. His chest skims your spine. An elbow grazes your ear as he finishes.

And then he turns you.

Slowly. His fingers curl around your shoulder, guiding you until you're facing him. Your feet slide to follow, reluctant and all too willing. Storm-filtered light catches on the sharp cut of his jaw, casting it in shadow. You brace yourself, breath unformed in your chest, unable to meet his eyes—though you feel them, tracing every inch of your face.

Wordless, he takes hold of your wrist. You don’t understand why until he cradles it in his rough palm, between your chests. His chapped lips lower to the tail-end of the healing cut, light enough not to stir pain.

His lips move.

But you don't.

It's as if every function of your brain is funneled into the nerves beneath each kiss he trails up your forearm. Soft, unwavering, yet each one lingering for a beat longer than the last. The next one lands at the crease in your elbow. A breath finally rushes out of your nose when he reaches the top of your shoulder, close enough to the pounding artery in your neck to invite heat over your cheeks. A strange heat. The same temperature of the moisture that begins to cloud your vision. 

You tremble. "Ghost, I—" 

You make a last-ditch effort to clutch the hem of his jeans before your knees can waver, clutching it fiercely when his mouth finds your throat. He kisses the part of it that bobs. Then pulls away just enough to cup your face between his hands, forcing your gaze to his. What you are met with is twin, black eyes. They unnerve you. Like the ground beneath your feet, it feels like they might swallow you whole and spit you out. 

You can't breathe. The shaking is uncontrollable. Rapid blinks dispel the moisture in your eyes before you're gasping, pressing into him. "Please... please. Ghost, I—" Frustration chokes you. "Please, I just—"

You sound scared, even to your own ears. Like you might get hurt if you he doesn't give you what you're asking for. But you don't know what you're asking for—don't understand why the soft kisses he places on your forehead and cheeks feel like too much and not enough at the same time. Your hands clasp his wrist to pull his hands off your face, nails thoughtlessly piercing into the skin there. He allows it—you hurting him—even when almost his entire upper half is swathed in bandages. 

"You're shaking," he murmurs.

"I'm fine." You exhale, but it’s uneven, shaky in its own right. "I just need—"

His thumb presses under your chin in attempt to still you.

A swallow forces down the lump in your throat. The ghost of an inhale. Then you lunge, kissing him. Not gentle or hesitant. But with a desperate growl, bursting forth from your mouth into his, your hand threading into his hair and holding tight onto his skull.

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-nine —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 4.4k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex!!! SEX. 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.

You trip over a tree root, catching yourself against the rough bark. You don’t stop. You scream for him again, your legs propelling you toward the road, boots sliding over loose gravel.

He pushes past the others and closes the distance.

You slam into him, nearly falling, and grab his shirt, using him to steady yourself. “Simon, we have to go. Now. We need to leave.”

“What’s going on?” Someone asks—Price?—but it barely registers.

"We need to fucking leave!" you urge.

Ghost clamps onto your shoulders. “Twix, breathe. What did you see?”

“There is a body—and blood, on the wall—I don’t know what it says, but it's fresh—” You shake your head, heart erratic. The words won’t come out right. You can’t explain the wrongness crawling under your skin, the terrible dread in your stomach. You thrust a finger in the direction of the chapel as if they will understand. The quiet air rolls through the flowers. You feel it now. It's too quiet. Too calm. You can only manage a whisper. “Someone had to have written the words. We’re not alone.”

You barely catch the unfurling of his eyes before the world erupts into black smoke, and then you can't see him at all.

They already knew you were here.

He grabs you, shouting something you can’t make out.

Your first thought is Blue, and your second is the bow.

Your hands fumble as you blindly slap an arrow onto the string, but someone's body slams into yours, and it falls. You can’t even see where it landed.

The cloud of smoke burns your lungs, and a string of coughs spasm up your throat.

Ghost’s grip slips from you.

"Blue!" you choke out. 

You stumble forward, reaching aimlessly, even though you don’t know what you’ll do when you find her. Your vision blurs with painful tears, and then you feel it—a sharp prick at your neck.

The pain is a numb, searing sensation down your spine.

Your muscles seize, then convulse.

"Ghost," you think you say. The soft ringing in your ears drowns everything. You try to take a step, but your leg won't move. You succumb to the numbness. The ground rushes to meet you, though darkness steals you first.

You swim between disjointed visions. Viewing them from behind plexiglass. At first, you are talking to Paul. It's a sunny day. The birds are chirping through canopies of oaks. Then, you are in a room bathed in white. Fingers prod at you. You can't react to them. A soft voice hums sweetly, almost soothing, but it twists and warps back into Paul’s voice.

"The world kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry."

You bite a smile. "You know I have those words memorized."

"Good. Don't forget them," he says, not looking up from the wooden bird he whittles between leathery hands. It is a raven, you think. Though, you're no expert like he is. 

"You missed the first part, though."

His brow lifts. "Remind me."

"The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places," you recite. 

A weathered mouth stretches at the corners. "Which one will you be, then? Broken or killed?"

You look down at the knife in your hand, the one you've been using to carve the arrow for the bow he's made you. The blade is dulled. You drag a thumb over it, shrugging. "I guess only time will tell."

"I suggest deciding for yourself, Twix."

You look back at him. "What did you call me?"

He responds, but his voice slurs into something unintelligible. 

White sunlight catches on his knife’s blade, almost blinding you. You close your eyes against the glare, but the light doesn’t fade when you reopen them—it grows, washing out the blue sky until it shifts into a stark white ceiling. Paul is gone. The birds have been silenced. The crisp scent of fresh linen reaches you. Is this a new dream, or the kaleidoscope rolling before the surrender to death? Your body feels like a borrowed shell, your mind straining to instruct your fingertips to move. They manage a weak press into the soft sheets below, rubbing against the fabric as if to convince yourself it’s truly there.

You are alive, then. Or the brain is incredible at tricking you into thinking so. 

Moving your neck feels like a daunting task, as if the vertebrae in your spine have been rewired, so you shift your eyes, searching for clues, but your memory is faulty at best. The walls are all white and bare. There is a dark wood table at the far corner, and a single shut door to your right. Then, there are...bars. Metal bars stripe the view, and you realize with a sudden jolt in your chest that you are enclosed by them, kept in a confined rectangle at one part of the room. 

Awareness strikes as you realize you're nearly naked, clad only in a thin, white shift. Someone has changed you. You ignore the lingering ache as you crane your neck upward and steal leverage from your elbows. The small bed below you creaks with the shift in your muscles. 

There are two other cots in the enclosure, and in them lay two unconscious figures. One lays flat, limbs spread in an unnatural way, while her black hair curtains over the white linen like splats of ink. The other is a smaller girl, her body curled into a haphazard fetal position.

There is no one else in the room.

Only you, Nereida, and Blue.

Audibly dry breaths stagger up your throat. Your mouth feels like painful sandpaper no matter how much spit you try to gather. You try to sit up more, but your legs won't move the way you tell them to, and you end up almost crumpling onto your back again. 

"F...uck."

They are still asleep, or knocked out, or whatever it is that has been done to you. They are alive, though. This much you know, based on the steady movement in their chests. Still, you want to reach them. You try to lift up once more, managing to lean your back against the wall for support, but just when you are ready to throw your weight into swinging a leg over, a gentle creak comes from the door.

"Tu es réveillée!"

Your gaze snaps to a young woman—a stranger—dressed in a long white cloak with a hood and veil. She might look like a ghost if not for the faint shimmer of her features on the other side of the veil: soft cheeks, a slightly crooked nose, but still pretty. She can't be older than you. In her hands is a tray with three mugs of what appears to be a porridge. Nothing about her emits a threat except for the fact she is on the other side of the metal bars. A sharp intake floods your lungs, a scream caught in your throat as she approaches, tilting her head in a look that feigns concern.

"Forgive me, I forget you speak anglaise. Please, do not be afraid. My name is Salome." The accent is thick but ignorable. She glances at the other two with a gentle smile. "I am happy you are awake. Your friends will be awake soon, as well. Are you hurting?"

When you say nothing, frozen, she reaches a mug through the bars and sets it on the floor. "Here. For you. Eat it slowly. Your body is still recovering."

A stretch of silence hangs between you, broken only by your uneven breathing. The understanding sinks in with full force as you glance between her, the other two, and the mug. It’s an understanding spliced with confusion—missing pieces. All you know is that your nostrils twitch, and you have no desire to move an inch toward the offering of food.

You observe her in more detail. The cloak hangs loosely on her frame, but she isn't boney, in fact a distinguishable swell shifts under it when she adjusts the tray in her hands. She is pregnant. A pregnant woman is your kidnapper. No, that's not right. She couldn't have carried the three of you, nor could she have done whatever the hell has been done to the four males who are clearly not present. There has to be others. The thought digs your nails into the soft mattress. 

She looks ready to say something again when her eyes dart to the side. You follow her gaze to see that Blue is moving her leg, eyes still closed, but she is moving.

The sight gives the rush of adrenaline needed to rip the sheet off your body and bring your feet to the floor. On wobbly legs, you rush to her cot, ignoring the woman's presence in favor of cupping Blue's cheeks, checking her pulse. Her skin is warm and the artery is beating steadily. You give her a little shake, but her eyes won't flutter. 

"She might not wake for longer than you. Do not be worried. The dosage has a stronger effect on children."

You stiffen.

A snarl cuts through you as anger surges, ripping free from the pit in your chest.

"Dosage?" 

You whirl around, careening toward the bars, gripping them when you almost lose your balance. "Do not be worried? You drugged a fucking child and shoved us in a cage." Your hands tighten, the metal biting into your skin. You don't care that your voice hurts from disuse. "Where are the others? Why aren't they here?" She startles back a step, her soft eyes downcast.

"I see you are upset," she says, her tone soft and careful. "I know this is... much for you. Sometimes God works in ways we do not understand right away, but I promise, He has blessed you. You are safe here." A light touch to her belly. Whispering now, she adds, "You are coveted." 

Then, she lowers the other two mugs through the bars and slips out of the room, cloak silently brushing her feet. 

Breathing hard, the energy deflates.

You half-crawl back to Blue's bed.

Staring at her pink cheeks.

Head pounding.

She claims you are safe. The lack of hostility might suggest that, but the enclosure and fact that she could not answer your question about the others say different. 

You spend a strange amount of time sifting through the recesses in your brain, plucking the memories out, from the bloody chapel to the smoke to this, before Nereida shifts in her bed. Her eyes actually open, and then she is gazing around, the same process of understanding contorting on her face. 

"Twix," she breathes. "What is—where are we?"

You tell her about Salome and everything you know, which is next to nothing. 

"But the guys—"

"I don't know where they are. She wouldn't tell me anything."

The mugs of porridge go cold. 

You hear movement outside in the distance—someone stepping through the grass, a passing exchange between French-speaking men—but the window is on the other side of the bars.

"Maybe if we try to just..."

Nereida attempts to poke half of her face through the bars to look out, but by the way she claws at her hairline in frustration, you don't need to ask to know she can't see a thing. 

Your muscles feel mostly in control now, and despite the howl in your stomach, you refuse to eat.

Nereida does, too. She does some silent prayer—if that's what you could call closing her eyes and humming hypnotically to herself—and when she is done, she reopens them and says, "John will come soon. He will."

"They could be dead."

"We would know if they were."

"No, we wouldn't."

"I would know," she whispers, and circles her arms around her knees, thumbing the scar on her shoulder. "He isn't dead."

Neither of you speak for some time. 

You watch Blue, her pulse steadying you, even if by a little. Absently, you stroke her hair. The pieces of the puzzle fall together with grim clarity. No weapons. Ghost, Price, Kyle, and Ari could be dead. The thought is a weight you can barely carry. You shove it away, refusing to let it consume you. If you let yourself linger too long on the possibility, you'll break down. You can't—merely for Blue's sake, not when you're holding onto the fragile thread keeping you together.

As the sunlight through the window starts to fade, you try to determine whether it's been a day or more since you were knocked out, and when exactly Salome will return. That's when Blue finally wakes up.

"Twix?"

Her lashes flicker.

"Blue. Blue, I'm here." You carefully scoop her in a tight hug, breathing her in closely. 

"What... what happened?" She lamely pulls away, shoulders sagging, and trembles in confusion. "I can't—I don't remember anything."

"We were drugged. Someone—I don't know who or why—but someone is keeping us in here."

"Are they going to kill us?" she whispers.

"I think they would have by now if they wanted to."

Her breath staggers. "But where is—why isn't Ghost here?"

You swallow. "I don't know if he... I don't know where he is."

Her eyes dart around.

"You mean my dad—he could be..."

She clutches at the shift on her chest.

At first, when you see her eyes begin to gloss over, you fear she is in pain. But then the panic becomes palpable, tearing through her ability to breathe, and she starts clawing at her own skin. 

"My dad is dead! My dad is fucking dead! He's not here. Why isn't he here!"

Her screams pierce the room.

You grab her wrists to stop the damage from her nails, welts already beating red on her neck.

"Blue, stop! Stop it!"

But she won't stop. She grabs the pillow and stuffs it in her mouth, howling into it, her face red and wet.

She begins to rock violently.

"I can't survive without him."

You watch helplessly, trying to hold her. 

"Please, just—breathe. We don't know if he's—"

The door opens. Salome rushes in beside an older woman similarly dressed in white. 

"Le pauvre enfant a peur! Dieu montre ta grâce." The other woman carries the tray this time, with what looks to be more food along with a syringe. She hands it to Salome. "Dites-leur que cela aidera."

Salome offers the needle through the bars as you glare at her, tightening your arms around Blue. "This will help her calm down."

"I am not giving her that. Stay the fuck away."

Blue is shaking so hard she bumps her skull into your jaw. Nereida touches your arm. "Twix, it could help her."

"You don't know what the fuck they put in that thing," you hiss at her. "I'm not drugging her even more."

"I will leave it here for your choosing. Your dinner will not be hot for long. Please, all of you, eat." Salome bows her head as she places the syringe and tray on the floor in front of the cell, and leaves with the other woman before you can demand more from them. 

It is only after minutes of listening to Blue scream, unable to stop her from scratching herself any longer, that you concede and ask Nereida to bring it to you. Carefully, you sweep the hair from her face, steadying the tremble in your hand as you sink the needle into a vein in her arm, with Nereida helping to keep it extended.

"There. Please, Blue, please calm down. We cannot think the worst. Not yet, okay?" Your eyes threaten moisture but you blink hard to keep it at bay.

Whatever it was acts the moment it seeps into her bloodstream. She sags into you, face turning sticky as the tears are given time to dry, and her wailing dies down to silence. 

"Are you hungry?" 

She shakes her head.

That first night is spent without sleeping. 

You entangle yourself with Blue in the cot, watching the evening turn to a sliver of moonlight across the floor. She doesn't fall asleep, either, oscillating between silent tears and a void stare at the ceiling. Nereida stays in her own bed, humming here and there in that way that she does. At one point, you hear her whisper into the pillow: "John, give me strength. You always do."

You keep your emotions steady by counting the notches in Blue's spine, one by one, then starting back at the top. As you do, you think about what Salome said. You are not just safe, you are coveted. They want you to eat. They are not trying to harm you. Coveted. She's touched her stomach when she said it. The connection between it all grows starker in your mind. 

You share this with Nereida at the break of dawn when Blue seems to finally have succumbed to fatigue.

"They want us because we are women. That's why the others aren't here."

She nods, whispering. "I was thinking the same."

"Then we use that to our advantage."

"How?"

You palm your temple. "I don't know. I mean, we have some standing here. They value us in some way, right?"

"But we don't even know who 'they' includes," she murmurs, leaning her forehead briefly against the wall, then sitting straighter. "There are men here, too. That much we know. And if they were able to take out all of us at once, then there could be many."

"But none have come to see us," you point out. "Why is that?"

"Because they aren't allowed to." She places a finger on the wall, drawing it around, as if it helps her think. "Why would they be? We are coveted, remember? Something to be protected. Why else would they bother feeding us and keeping us tucked away in here."

"So maybe the guys aren't dead yet," you exhale, wishfully. "Maybe they are just in separate... housing or something. Another cell of their own. Kept away from the women, that's all."

Based on the interior of the room, this feels it was once a small, detached home. Maybe on a farm. The walls are painted stone; cold to the touch. All of the buildings you recall seeing on your way here were old, little farmhouses. Perhaps they have an established settlement. 

Mewling it over, you finally touch the cold food, taking a small bite of the cut-up meat to confirm it's something you haven't tasted in years: beef. They have cattle. What else do they have? Drugs, apparently. Or at least some type of sedatives extracted from plants. They are well-versed in the land. They are religious. And women are coveted for reproduction. 

"But then what was the shit in that chapel for?" you whisper to yourself, the image of the mangled body staining the backs of your lids when you close them.

When they reopen, Salome is at the doorway.

"Bonjour, mesdames. I have some oatmeal—" she frowns at the tray on the floor. "Oh... my. You have not eaten for two days. This is not the Lord's wishes. Your bodies are chosen, and they are in need of—"

"Tell us where they are, and we’ll eat," you cut her off, rising to your feet. You grip the bars tightly. "Tell us if they're still alive. One of them is her father. If you don't want her screaming again, you will tell us if he's okay."

She stares at you, then nods. "Eat first. All of you."

The oatmeal is sweetened with ripe blackberries that burst on your tongue. Blue awakens just when you and Nereida finish scarfing the last bite. You hand her the last bowl of oatmeal and urge her to eat, knowing that Salome won't cooperate if she doesn't. Blue takes minuscule bites. She hacks some of it back up, but with a sip of water passed through the cage, she is able to finish the rest.

She wipes a hand over her mouth and looks at Salome. "My dad. Where is he?" Her voice is low.

"He is alive. Of course, he is. They all are." A tremendous sense of relief washed over you. She cups her belly, her fingers tracing the shape. "Life is sacred... and so is death. We must be careful not to let more death come than is needed. The world... it has already seen too much of it."

Your brow scrunches. "Bullshit. I saw that corpse you guys left in the—"

Nereida gives your wrist a light squeeze, a reminder to hold back. You bite your tongue, knowing this woman is the only one who might give you any answers.

Salome tilts her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "I do not mean the world does not deserve the plague it bears. Men... they grew too sinful. Strayed far from God's will. It was His plan for them to atone for it." Her lips stretch into a faint smile, a thin, almost sad expression. "Your friends—they cannot come closer to God until they make amends. They must atone before they can be worthy of the future we will bring."

You blanch. "What the hell does that mean? 'They must atone?'"

Her gaze drifts to the left, and she mutters something under her breath in French, her words faint, then lowers her head to collect the tray, her back to you. You can’t hold yourself back any longer, pushing your face between the bars. "Don’t you fucking dare. You’ve hardly told us anything!"

"I... I fear I cannot say more." She pauses, glancing over her shoulder. "You are in a delicate state, and Maman will see to you today. Please... trust me, this is the way it must be."

Maman?

The door quietly clicks shut and you growl at it.

A hand cups your shoulder. 

"She told us they're alive. That's what matters, right?'

You face Blue, leaning your spine into the metal. "Yeah. But we still have no way of getting to them."

The red rim around her eyes has faded to the same flush as her lips. She takes a slow breath through her chest, clenching and unclenching her hands, before asking, "What do you think they are doing to them?"

"I don't know," you say with a heavy exhale, your tongue pressing between your cheek and teeth.

G

Pennies.

When Ghost swims to the surface of semiconsciousness, the smell of pennies wafts up his nose first, then the feel of icy, hard restraints around his wrists hits him second. It is the kind of smell that is deeply woven into the floors and walls. Old blood calling for new. He could remember smelling it for the first time in Mexico when he'd awoken in a cell, stripped. The flush of air against his chest suggests this time is now different, but upon forcing his lids apart, a glance downward reveals he still has jeans on.

Ghost thinks he hears someone scream his name—Simon!—but it is merely a memory from right before the world went dark. He'd fought against it all he could, keeping the tail of Twix's shirt in one hand, and trying to seek Blue with the other, but then he had to choose one to let go of to grab his gun. The memory swims up to the forefront; the fumbling of his fingers at his belt loop, seeking the pistol, the loss of motor function as something pricked his neck. The pistol slipped from his grasp, and so did they.

He forces the reel of Twix's screams to the back of his mind where they play in a distant loop. Through hazy vision, he looks around, taking in the lack of light. No windows. It is a small room, with grey stone walls, and only one door at the far end. None of the others are here. Not the girls or Price or Gaz. There wouldn't even be space for all of them to fit in here. The shackles on his wrists are rusty, nicking his skin when he tries to shift around. His heart thumps steady and slow between his ears. Whatever they drugged him with is fading with each shake of his head and forced blink of his eyes.

He tugs on the manacles once more in vain when there is a voice from the other side of the wall.

It is muffled through stone, but grows crisper as booted footsteps close in.

Then they stop.

The door creaks open.

The man who steps in is cloaked in grey.

He waves a metal bar, whistling lowly, and kicking the door shut behind him. 

"You must be an early riser." His chuckle is wry. "Up before your friends. Tell me, Brit. What brings you all the way to l'Hexagone? Not a fun trip over the water, is it?"

The man circles him. A light tap of the bar on his bare shoulder blade. 

"No? Not much of a sharer?" The end of the bar presses in, just slightly, but the pain doesn't register. Only the cold wetness of a trickle of blood on his back when it pulls away. A hand fists his hair, and yanks his head back. "Nous allons régler ça, sale racaille. Je me ferai un plaisir de t'aider à retrouver la lumière."

His head is thrown forward with force. Ghost blinks down at the floor, teeth grinding. Through them, he breathes hard—

"Where are they?"

"Which ones? The pretty ones?" The accented voice lowers to the shell of his ear. "I would not get your hopes up of seeing them again. They will be saved for the most worthy of us."

- Nous devons expier nos péchés...We must atone for our sins. - Tu es réveillée!...You're awake! - Le pauvre enfant a peur! Dieu montre ta grâce....The poor child is afraid. God show your grace. - Dites-leur que cela aidera...Tell them it will help. - Nous allons régler ça, sale racaille. Je me ferai un plaisir de t'aider à retrouver la lumière...We'll sort this out, you dirty scum. I'll be happy to help you get back to the light.

Not Just Anybody | baby daddy!sukuna x f!reader

summary: everything's going good, amazing actually. your baby girls happy, healthy, and turning one. your co-parenting relationship with sukuna has never been better, you smile a little more and fight less. yet despite all of the progress you've made, you continue to be unaware of anger and resentment that continues to build up inside of him.

genre: hidden child trope, toxic relationships, ex-fwb to co-parents to lovers, angst, fluff, smut, emotional cheating

part three | part four | part five

notes: again, tag list is closed! this part is also 9.3k words, so u may want to split it up or save it for later ❤️

Sukuna’s house is different from yours– it’s sharper, darker, colder. It’s devoid of warmth, a stark contrast from yours, yet there’s a certain calm in the air when you wake up there in the morning. It could just be the fact that there's no random toys laying around, something you don’t get to wake up to much often. 

Or maybe the fact that you actually got to sleep in for once in your life since Sukuna was the one who kept an eye on the baby monitor– waiting for any sign that Sayomi was starting to wake up. The goal was to catch her before she started crying so you could sleep in. 

Maybe this was your gift for keeping a little human alive and happy for an entire year— a full night of uninterrupted sleep and waking up at 10:00 am. 

You weren’t sure why he was so adamant on having you two sleep over the night before her birthday, but after a whole week of him practically begging you without giving a real reason why, you finally said yes. 

It made sense when he surprised you with Yomi’s very own room. He wasn’t sure what to get her for her birthday and decided it would’ve been perfect since she didn’t have one at his house in the first place. The room itself was the complete opposite from the rest of the house, filled with different shades of pink and soft textures– very cottage fairy vibes.

You avoided saying that though, only because he would’ve made fun of you for wording it that way. But it was beautiful, it became the one spot in Sukuna’s dark home that the sun had shone on.

He also revamped the room that was next to hers for you, just in case you didn’t feel completely comfortable with letting her spend the night there alone. He didn’t have to go that far, you would’ve stayed in any room or even the couch, but you appreciated the extra effort. Your room definitely wasn’t as fancy as Ms. Sayomi’s, but you could tell he had you in mind when decorating it. Soft white linen sheets, some art pieces hung up on the wall and a couple of plants laying around. It had a similar vibe to your home.

The party isn’t until Saturday, but you still wanted the day of her actual birthday to be special. You took the day off from work and Sukuna took the day off from practice. Some close family will be coming over a little later for an early dinner. It’ll be your parents, along with Jin, Yuji, his other brother Choso and Choso’s long time girlfriend, Yuki. 

You haven’t met Yuki yet, but you’re fine with having her around your daughter. She’s been with Choso since their freshman year of highschool. Just from what you’ve heard so far, you get the feeling that she won’t be someone temporary in Yomi’s life— something you won’t outwardly say to Sukuna, at least not in that same exact wording. The last thing you need is him getting offended that you still don’t want him to introduce her to Yorozu. 

They’ve been official for a little over three months now, you told yourself that you’ll allow it once they reach the one year mark. And no, you don’t think you’re being harsh on the timeframe, you hold yourself to the same standard as well. You want Sayomi to meet a future step-parent, not a girlfriend or boyfriend. 

You take one last look at your phone before heading downstairs. The closer you get to the staircase, the more your daughter’s laughter fills the air. She’s grown to be quite the daddy’s girl, Sukuna really doesn’t have to do much and she’s already smiling at him. 

“Mm!! Hi mama!” She excitedly greets you when you come into view, it’s the one sentence she can say just about perfectly.

Sukuna’s feeding her breakfast and you're pretty sure he was just eating her food as a “joke”, hence the laughter. 

“Good morning, birthday girl!” You lean down and give her several kisses on the cheek. “Are you eating breakfast with your dad?” 

She tilts her head when she looks at you and babbles some random sequence of words that are only known to her, then finishes it off strong by saying “dada”. 

“Sounds fun babe!” You enthusiastically say, it’s always better to just act like you know. Sukuna ends up laughing, having no idea what the hell she just said either but he likes the passion behind it. 

“Did you sleep good?” He asks in place of a normal greeting, continuing to feed Yomi the rest of her oatmeal. 

“I actually did.” You say, brushing some of the baby’s hair off of her forehead. You’re a little afraid to look anywhere else, Sukuna’s in nothing but a pair of short rugby shorts. You try to not think that everything’s about you, but you’re seriously having a hard time believing he didn’t do this on purpose. 

Whether it was on purpose or not, the one thing you know for sure is that this man is not above accusing others of lusting over him and trying to objectify him– all it takes is a glance while Sukuna’s in a silly goofy mood.

“What about you two? Did she wake up super early today?” 

“She woke up so fucking early,” he sighs and complains. “She got up at 5:00 am, so I gave her a bottle–”

“Did you measure it correctly?”

“Who knows, she’ll survive.” He waves off your concerns and continues. “Anyways, I gave her a bottle and took her back to my room. We both fell back asleep, then she woke me up at 8:00 am by picking my fuckin’ nose.” 

“That’s so gross Yomi, he has germs up there.” You squish her cheeks and tease her. 

“She would not be here right now if you thought I had germs.” He murmurs, feeding her the last spoonful of her food. 

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.” 

The day goes by slowly. You end up having to go back to your house real quick to grab a couple things, like makeup since you forgot it for some reason. Other than you brief trip home, the three of you lounged around up until family members started showing up. 

The first to arrive was Sukuna’s side. As always, Yuji’s excited to see his baby cousin. No introductions were needed for Jin and Choso since you’ve already met them, so you introduce yourself to Yuki and spend some time getting to know her.

She was also nice enough to bring a smash cake for Sayomi, something that you and Sukuna slightly felt guilty about since you both completely forgot a cake and candles. 

You don’t even know how it slipped your mind– probably happened because her actual party is on a different day and this is literally your first time celebrating your child’s birthday. 

You quickly let it go after Sukuna told you a lot of kids in this world don’t get to have cake on their birthdays. In that moment you truly understood why he is the way he is.

Your parents arrive around an hour later. They don’t bother providing an explanation, even with Sukuna glaring at them as he patiently waited for one. Ever since they retired, they’ve started to run off of their own time, a.k.a it’s not 6:00 pm unless they say it is.

It’s kind of funny when you think about it, but you still feel bad for the people that have actual appointments with them. The only reason why your mom shows up to her workout classes on time is because they threatened to kick her out for constantly showing up late. 

Well deserved in your opinion, but you kept it to yourself. 

Even with how.. particular your parents can be, everyone gets along surprisingly well. As expected, they really liked Jin, but it was Choso that ended up capturing their hearts. They even made a comment about how they’d adopt him if they could.

Unfortunately Sukuna, who was already drinking, overheard that.

It’s one of those days where you’re not sure if he’s being serious or not. You were leaning towards him being serious since they gushed over all the guests, except him. He also started listing off reasons why he’s better than all of them, and since it’s Sukuna, he never ran out of reasons. 

It’s impressive how obsessed he is with himself.

“Do you guys want a refill?” Choso gestured at your parent’s empty glasses, interrupting Sukuna and giving him another reason in his head. 

“On top of that, I don’t interrupt others, especially when it comes to proving to others that I respect my elders.” Sukuna continues to ramble, he was also way more fucked up than he was when he first started. “Which is ageist, or however the fuck you pronounce it. Listen– mom, dad– I don’t care about how old someone is, there is no age limit to getting your ass beat.”

“Did you just call me an elder, Sukuna?” Your dad asks, deciding that getting called old was far more concerning than Sukuna basically saying his hands were rated E for everyone. 

“Me? Never!” He tries not to laugh as he begins to twist the narrative. “Choso said that shit, not me.”

“I never said that!” Choso defends himself. But it’s too late, Sukuna was going to win this argument by any means necessary. 

“You didn’t have to say it, you showed them that you thought they were old by offering to refill their drinks.” He turns away from your parents and smirks at his brother who was just trying to be nice. “They’re strong, independent people. Their arms aren’t go to break off by pouring themselves a well deserved drink for being the best grandparents in the world.” 

“Wow.” You turn to look at your parents who are floored by how he just doesn’t shut up when he’s drunk. “He holds you guys in such high regard yet you couldn’t even buy him his first pair of earrings.”

“Don’t you start with us now too.” Your dad says, you couldn’t tell if it was a warning or plea. 

“God forbid women have hobbies.” 

“Giving your father a headache is not a hobby.” He scolds you, he doesn’t get too far since you start laughing. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop, I’m done.” 

“Good ‘cause I was just getting started.” You already know who said this.

After chugging two massive glasses of water and listening to his daughter have a meltdown that he’s convinced was for fucking fun, Sukuna sobers up. You all decide it’s the perfect time to do a test run for the smash cake. She’s going to eat some of course, but everyone’s more interested in seeing how Sayomi would react to a group of people singing happy birthday to her. It might not be the most accurate result since there will be almost a hundred people at your house on Saturday, but it doesn’t hurt to try. 

So you guys give it a try. She’s slumped back in her high chair, staring at the cake like it’s more of an inconvenience than it is a delectable treat. Sukuna tries to tickle her neck and she just frowns and slaps his hand away.

But no tears. This is good. 

Her expression changes when you light the candle on top, making her a little more interested than before.

“Mama no?” She asks and you nod. 

“That’s right babe, no.” 

She points at the lit candle, “no?”

“No.” You say again, she seems to get it. Even if she didn’t and eventually tried to grab at it, you were close enough to stop her. “No touching, that’ll give you an ouchie.”

After fully explaining why fire was bad and doubting she understood or even listened, you moved on to the moment everyone’s been waiting for— the singing.

It’s kind of ridiculous how far you all would go to see what her emotional limit is, but you’re left with no other choice. On any other day, it’d be fine— cry your fucking heart out. But it’s her first birthday party, you’d rather not bring her to the point where she gets in one of her moods and then sleeps for the entirety of the day. If it’s something avoidable like not singing happy birthday or keeping balloons away from you, you’ll do it. 

It goes well at first, she doesn’t seem to care, but something bothers you. 

“Sukuna.”

“What?”

“Can you sing along with everyone?”

“No.” He responds stubbornly, crossing his arms as if it’d prove a point. 

“Why not?”

“I don’t like singing.”

“You’re singing happy birthday,” you scoff at him. “You don’t have to hit Mariah Carey notes to properly sing it.” 

“I don’t care. I gave her a room that’s bigger than some peoples homes, the fuck does she need me to sing to her for?” 

…

Not only did Sukuna sing beautifully, but Sayomi also didn’t cry for all the 12 times you’ve rehearsed the song. She even smiled at one point, so you have high hopes for Saturday. Everyone was quick to go home after that, which is understandable. You all had lost track of time, it was already pushing 9:00 pm when you brought the cake out.

You were the last to leave since you had to pack up all the stuff you had brought for the overnight stay, but there was no rush. Yomi was already fast asleep in Sukuna’s arms, so you were able to take your time making sure you didn’t forget anything important.

“You sure you two can’t spend the night again?” He asks as you walk toward the driveway. 

“I can’t, my parents are staying with me for two nights.” You remind him once again, too tired to even get frustrated at having to repeat yourself. 

He most likely does remember and just thinks he can talk you into it.

“So?” He chuckles, genuinely not understanding why that’s an issue.

“They’re staying with me because they want to spend that time with her.” You hold back a smile from how you actually have to break it down for him. “They want to see her at night before she sleeps and they want to eat their breakfast with her in the mornings. I doubt they’d stay if the house was empty.”

“That’s dumb but alright.” He mutters, placing a kiss on Yomi’s head right after. “Gonna feel empty here.”

“Are you still tipsy?” You ask, looking at him with slight disbelief.

“Maybe.” He says in response, yet the long pause beforehand tells you yes. “I’ve said worse than saying my house feels empty while drunk.”

“I believe that.” You end up smiling when thinking about how he tried to turn your parents and Choso into enemies. “I’m surprised you’re saying that in the first place. I doubt it’ll feel empty here if you invited your girlfriend over.” 

The suggestion brings genuine laughter to the man, eventually having to cover his mouth for a moment because Yomi began fussing around in his arms. 

“Say her name.” 

“Why would you want me to do that?” You immediately shoot him an annoyed look.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say her name before.” The smile on his face is way too warm for someone that’s just realized something like that. “It’s always ‘your girlfriend’ or just her pronouns.” 

“I think you’re thinking too much into it.” You laugh with him. “I wouldn’t even know how to confirm or deny that, it’s never crossed my mind.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs, not caring that much if it were true or not. “But yeah, I could invite her over.”

“You should.”

“Definitely should.” He easily agrees. “Probably won’t though.”

“Don’t complain about being lonely then.” You softly scold him. The way you said it makes him realize hasn’t felt this much warmth from you in years. 

Having her here wouldn’t fix that. 

He probably shouldn’t say that. 

It’s not the same as having you two here.

He probably shouldn’t say that either. 

It would never make a difference in the way you see him. 

“I know.” He ends up saying, then forces out a low laugh. “I probably just need sleep.”

“I think so too.” You end up taking Yomi into your arms and begin walking to your car, he follows right behind out of habit. “You’re not used to someone waking you up so much in the morning.”

“M’not– I’ll get used to it though.” He says, watching you put her into the car seat. 

His chest tightens a little more than usual this time around as he watches you gentle secure the rest of the straps.

“It’s fine if you don’t, I never did.” You let out a little sigh after stepping away from the backseat. “It’s just easy to get over it because she’s cute.” 

“She's the cutest,” he chuckles and shuts the backseat door. “I might be a little busy tomorrow, so if I don’t get the chance to visit then I’ll just see you Saturday morning.”

“Sounds good. Have a goodnight.” You offer him a little smile before getting in the car.

“You too.” He can’t find it in himself to smile back right now, but allows his eyes to linger on you a little longer. It’s the one thing you don’t get on him for and hopes you continue to just let him have it. 

As pathetic as it sounds, it’s all he has left.

—

“Nice of you to come out the night before your daughter's party.” It’s one of the first things Suguru says after you finally sit down and look at the menus. 

It was a new restaurant in the area that has quickly gained popularity from their food and laid back ambiance. It was still fancier than most, but one you could definitely relax and enjoy your dinner in. 

“You have no idea how much I needed this.” You admit, sounding more than relieved to be here with him. “It’s been such a long week trying to get ahead with work just so I could take some extra days off for Yomi.” 

“I bet.” He chuckles. “How’s work been for you?” 

“It’s doing good! I have 2 potential clients that reached out this month. I'm considering hiring an intern for extra help and to see what having an employee would be like.” 

“Why an intern? Just so you can say goodbye without feeling bad if you end up not liking it?” 

“That’s exactly why.” You laugh with him. “It’d be good for them too, they’d be getting the experience and a nice letter of recommendation for wherever they’d want to go next.” 

“That would be good for them.” He agrees and takes a sip of his drink. He’s a whiskey on the rocks kind of guy and you don’t know how he does it. “I remember getting so stressed out trying to land a good internship while I was in college, I never want to go through that again.” 

“Did you end up getting a decent one?” 

“More than decent, it was one of the top ten financial firms in the country.” He reveals, acting a little shy about it. “But my manager was such a fucking dick.” 

“That sucks, I'm sorry. I feel like it’s more common than not. I had 2 during college and 1 right after and they were all really rude. I just stuck through it to fluff up my resume.” 

“Yeah, same here—“

“Here you go, Sir.” A waitress ends up interrupting the conversation to drop off your plates. “And here’s yours Ma’am. Was there anything I could get you two before I step away?” 

“Yeah, a refill on this please.” He says, sliding his empty glass over to her. “Want more wine?” 

“Yeah sure.” You smile and slide the empty glass over to her. “Same as the last one please.” 

“Of course, I’ll be back with those shortly.” 

The rest of the dinner is kind of just that— small talk with some personal stories sprinkled into the mix.

You try not to talk about your daughter too much during dates. You make it known that she's your everything, but you’ve found that it’s nice to take a break from talking about things like milestones and teething.

Or the crippling anxiety you get whenever you think about how dangerous the world can be, and that you can try your best to protect her from it, but you’ll reach a time where you can’t and that terrifies you. 

But that’s a conversation that you save for your family and therapist. 

Suguru isn’t the first guy you’ve gone on dates with, but the one thing that’s made him stand out from the others is how he doesn’t seem to care that you’re a mom. 

He knows you’re busy a lot of the time and isn’t pushy when it comes to seeing you. He’s never made any backhanded comments about your life being ruined, like a couple of men have said in the past. You also like that he asks questions about her and seems genuinely curious, instead of asking just to be nice. 

Are you trying to find Sayomi a stepdad? Not really. You’re just having fun. Going out on dates and having girls nights for a couple hours, 3-4 times a month has helped you feel like yourself again in a short amount of time. 

It’s not like you bring people home to meet your daughter, so there was no harm in having some nights out. 

As you both begin to walk through the dining room, Suguru takes your hand in his and it’s oddly nice. You’ve slept with him a couple times before, but your internal reaction to something as innocent as having your hand held made you realize how touch starved you truly were. 

But the night is young, you’ll have time later to sulk about how lonely you feel sometimes. 

The cold air immediately hits you when you two step outside. Springs deceiving as always— you find yourself sweating at some parts of the day, then barely able to talk from how violent you shiver at night. 

Except the usual feeling of wanting to run into a car with a heater on full blast fades away when you get a glimpse of pink hair and mass walking up to you from the corner of your eye. 

This man couldn’t sneak up on anybody no matter how hard he tried. 

The moment you turn to face him, you can’t tell what he’s thinking. When he first saw you walking out of the restaurant, he wasn’t quite sure if it was you or not. 

He hasn’t seen you dressed up in almost 2 years. The times that he actually has shouldn’t even count since he’d rip the clothes right off of you, leaving you bare for him to enjoy. 

Then you got a little closer. Instead of your words, he was able to hear only the sound of your voice. You obviously don’t use it on him because you don’t like him anymore— for whatever fucking reason— but you used to use that same exact tone with him. 

He doesn’t even completely realize what he’s doing until Yorozu’s following behind him, asking where he’s going— and he suddenly realizes he’s walking straight over to you. 

There’s no plan in mind, there’s barely any thoughts except for what are you doing here and who did you leave his little girl with. 

“Oh, Sukuna!” is all you can fucking come up with right now. You two obviously aren’t together but you can’t help but feel like you got caught doing something bad, especially with the way he was looking at you. “Surprised to see you here, have you been here bef—“

“Where the fuck is Sayomi?” He cuts you off with a question that sounded more like an accusation. He didn’t even bother to introduce the woman he’s with or introduce himself to the man you’re with. 

He doesn't give a fuck about either right now, all he can see right now is you as he began to seethe.

“At home?” You let out a light laugh, mainly from how uncomfortable you’ve become in record fucking time. He makes it seem like she’s all alone at home or waiting in the car for you while you finish your date. “She’s spending time with her grandparents right now.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He continues to question you, looking back at Suguru once before going back to glare at you. He takes a small step forward and Yorozu lightly wraps her hand around his arm, you’re not sure if it’s an attempt to calm him down or hold him back. “I thought you were with her this whole time.”

“I didn’t know I had to.” You begin to defend yourself, but he just starts laughing, it makes it hard to continue speaking but you do anyway. People are starting to look and you don’t need him to cause a scene. “Are you mad? She’s safe at home right now.”

“Of course I’m fucking mad!” He begins to raise his voice, taking another step closer. “You didn’t fucking tell me other people were watching her tonight!”

“What do you mean other people?! They’re my parents!”

“That’s not fucking point! I thought you were with her this entire time!” There’s a strain in his voice as he begins to fully unload on you, it causes Suguru to step forward and hold his arm out in front of you. He doesn’t know what Sukuna’s like, you haven’t given him too many details, but with the way Sukuna’s looking at you right now, he’s fully prepared to block him from getting to you.

Seeing that pisses off Sukuna even more. 

“I don’t see the fucking issue, Sukuna!” You throw your arms out in defeat, “I don’t even see why I should be telling you where I’m going.”

“Babe, it's okay.” Yorozu steps in and tries to get him to relax, he drank a little bit before coming here, he could do anything right now. “I’m sure Sayomi’s safe.”

“No, no— YOU DON’T FUCKING GET IT!” He suddenly snaps at her, before pointing his finger at you. “Let’s get one thing straight, I don’t give a FUCK about what you do or where you go. What I care about is where MY DAUGHTER is and who she’s with. This whole fucking time I thought she was with her mother! I don’t care how simple it seems to you, I need to know that kind of shit!”

The whole street’s looking at this point and you swear you’ve never felt smaller. Sukuna continues to release years worth of anger on you, all while his girlfriend continues to try to soothe him while throwing little glares at you, and you just continue to shrink beside Suguru, who did not sign up for this shit tonight. 

“Jesus fucking christ– OKAY! I’m sorry, I’ll fucking tell you next time!” You yell back. “I didn’t think it was going to be a big deal.” 

“That’s his daughter, of course it’s a big deal.” Yorozu says, backing him up. Your eyes almost widen in surprise— you weren’t expecting her to say anything at all, now she’s trying to make you look worse than he already is. 

“I didn’t mean it like that. Are you fucking serious right now?” You grimace and take a step forward, but you end up getting stopped by Suguru who still has his arm out in defense. 

He wasn’t planning on saying anything, letting the parents sort this through and all, but even he reached his breaking point after seeing that the girlfriend was ready to go at it with you. Sukuna didn’t look like he was going to do anything about it anytime soon either. 

“Listen man.” Suguru turns to him, trying to sound as sincere as possible. “We get where you’re coming from, we understand. I can promise you she didn’t have any bad intentions behind this.”

Sukuna laughs then stares him dead in the eye, clearly not really to settle down just yet. “Who the fuck is we? ‘Cause last time I checked, it was her that hid a child from me for almost an entire fucking year and I doubt anything like that’s ever fucking happened to you. So tell me, do you actually fucking understand? NO.” He then turns back to you, “And now you’re keeping shit from me again, is this just who you fucking are?!” 

“No it’s not! I already said it wouldn’t happen again!” You cut him off in frustration and your eyes slowly become glossier and glossier. “I apologized, Sukuna! I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“It sounds like you’re just trying to get him to shut up!” Yorozu says. “You were defensive from the start and don’t sound remorseful at all.” 

“How do you expect me to act when it was him that immediately started attacking me?! He could’ve talked to me about this in private but he chose to yell at me in public.” 

“He wasn’t attacking you, he was worried about where his daughter was since you never told him you were leaving her with other people.” She refutes. 

“Okay ms. Sukuna whisperer,” you mutter and laugh. She literally just repeated everything he said. “I’m sure he’s real worried from how he’s letting his fucking girlfriend fight in his place.” 

“I’m my own fuckin’ person, sweetheart.” He chuckles, “no one’s fighting in my place.” 

“Coming to your defense then.” You roll your eyes as you correct yourself. “Something a grown fucking man does not need, yet here we are.” 

“That’s what couples do.” He says bitterly. 

“Oh, I’m sure. Tell me, do couples also blow up every others fucking phones when they don’t get a text within 5 minutes?”

“Or how about that one time you wanted to spend the day with Yomi after she got her ears pierced and you couldn’t because someone else was demanding your attention?”

“You couldn’t even use your phone because of how many calls you were getting back to back!”

Crickets.

“Nothing? Okay! I’ll let you two go then, so you can enjoy being a normal couple.” The look you give Suguru immediately tells him that you’re ready to go and begins to step back, waiting for you to take the lead. 

“Back to your boyfriend's house then, huh?” Sukuna continues to throw jabs, showing you once again that he just likes to fight.

You tried so hard to get away from him, so hard to avoid being on the receiving end of his anger, yet here you are. He doesn’t even let you walk away.

You were fucked since the moment he laid his eyes on you. 

You take one big deep breath, trying to get it together because Suguru had already seen enough. Sukuna and Yorozu have also had the pleasure of watching you lose your temper. The small attempt to calm yourself does nothing to soothe the burn in your eyes, you eventually blink away the tears that have slowly built up within the last 10 minutes and they steadily flow down your cheeks.

Fuck. 

If only they knew this was all from frustration and not fear or remorse. You don’t regret a thing you said. 

“No.” You finally respond to his question. “My mood’s ruined and I don’t feel like staying out and making it everyone else's problem, I’m not like you.”

“So now it’s my fault?” He asks, getting defensive all over again. 

“No.” Your voice slightly raises and you sniffle right after. “It’s mine– I don’t communicate enough, I hide things from you, I have the fucking audacity to defend myself when it comes to you. How dare I try to do that after all I’ve done to you?”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“No, I don’t know, but I felt it.” Your voice slightly trembles. “You take any chance you can get to remind me how much of a piece of shit I am. Sometimes I wonder what life would’ve been like had I never left you and I don’t think it’d be any different from this.”

You finally begin to walk away from the two, with Suguru following along. Sukuna tried to say some other things to you, but it was all muffled out. Maybe it was from some of the wine you drank, or maybe it was just the pent up frustration you’ve been having since he came back into your life. Whatever it was, you didn’t hear a word he said, nor did you care anymore at this point. 

Suguru was the one that picked you up, but you decided to take an uber back home. The last thing you wanted to do was unpack everything that just happened on the car ride back. You were also just plain embarrassed, Suguru never knew about the full story of you hiding Yomi away from her father. 

The birthday party was less than 24 hours away, you needed the time alone to relax and prepare yourself to deal with all the people that were attending it.

—

As expected, the morning was hectic. The planner and her assistants got to your house at 9:00 A.M sharp and got to work decorating the main areas of the house and backyard. You didn’t even know what to expect, you told her to do whatever she pleased, so you’re in for just as much of a surprise as everyone else. 

Your only job for today was getting Sayomi fed and dressed in her frilly little birthday dress. She seemed to love it with the way she kept grabbing at it and smiling, but she hated the matching headband. You didn’t even bother putting it back on after she ripped it off, you ended up tying half of her hair up and adding a little accessory. 

When you finally walk back down the stairs, everything’s pretty much done— the balloon decorations, flower arrangements, snack tables, different food stations. You momentarily interrupt your moms conversation with her to quickly thank her for everything, god knows you could never transform a space the way she could. 

You didn’t even have the time for that.

The guests started rolling in at noon, with each person that arrived, the more you dreaded her Sukuna’s arrival. The good thing about him is that he doesn’t seem to tell his family much about the tumultuous relationship you’ve have the past three months, so you’re sure it’ll be easier to act normal around him with his brothers and Yuki around. 

The entire family shows up around 30 minutes after the party officially started and of course, your child’s father manages to steal all the attention.

He’s tall and built to begin with, imagine all the looks he got when he stepped into your home with a white button up, rolled up at the sleeves and the top buttons undone to show off his chains. On top of that, his grey slacks were perfectly tailored and his hair was neatly styled. You’d think it would all clash, but it somehow worked with his ear piercings and eyebrow slits. 

You don’t look for too long though, he was already getting enough attention from everyone else. You hardly acknowledge him at all, actually. 

The first one to greet you was Yuji. The sweet boy was already bouncing off the walls, ready to go outside and play with the other kids. But he also had manners, making sure to give you and Yomi a hug and kiss on the cheek. Next were Jin, Choso, and Yuki, which you greeted and gave a hug to in that exact same order. 

By the time you reached Yuki, Sukuna was looking at you expectantly, but you ended up turning back around and leading the three to where all the food was.

Peace doesn’t exist though when you have a child, your sweet baby girl proved that to you within those 10 minutes.

“Dada,” Yomi says to you and points at him, as you’re walking into the kitchen. 

“You wanna go to Dada?” You ask, moving some hair out of her face, not bothering to look up at him. 

“Mm.” She lightly nods, looking at Sukuna excitedly. 

“Okay.” You smile before side eyeing the man. “Here.” 

Without protest, he takes her. He’s honestly been waiting for you to hand her over, not completely sure if you’d say yes if he asked. He wasn’t even sure if you were going to allow him to come after last night, but figured it was alright since you never texted him telling him to fuck off. 

Sukuna spent the rest of the day being pulled away by a bunch of relatives and family friends– out of sight and mainly out of your mind. A lot of those who approached him tried to use the birthday girl as an excuse to go up to him, but you knew they just wanted to finally meet the mystery man that fathered her. A part of you wondered how some of those conversations went. The topic about who Sayomi’s father was is a topic that everyone avoided, even just asking about it was a big no-no. So you can imagine it to be a lot of mental gymnastics trying to talk about it, you never even gave people an explanation as to how or why he’s in her life now. 

It’s not until you have to sing Happy Birthday when you have to interact with him. You almost want to laugh when he turns the corner and you see how blissfully unaware your daughter is of what she’s about to have to deal with. 

You were able to set aside your differences for a minute when he also acknowledged how much she was going to hate this. She may not have reacted much on her actual birthday, but now she’s essentially in a room filled with strangers.

“Should one of us hold her while they sing it?” He asks, lightly bouncing her in his arm as if getting her in the best mood would make her fall from grace less steep. 

You shake your head, “that’s never stopped her from having a meltdown.” 

“Right.” 

He cautiously set her down into the high chair, where there’s a purple princess cake in front of her that’s waiting to be lit. She’s fine at first, her attention’s on the cake, not the crowd in front of her. 

It’s after only a few seconds of singing where she slowly drops her happy demeanor, her face turns into one you’d make if you were all alone in a room and something randomly moves.

Complete terror of the unknown. 

The worst is when she looks at you or her dad, she thinks crying is going to get her out of this situation so her bottom lip starts to quiver the longer you two go without getting her the hell out of there. 

Too bad Sukuna was determined to keep her in that goddamn chair, so he takes a little frosting off the top of the cake and quickly swipes it over her lips. 

Usually she’d be offended by something like that happening, but her mood quickly turns around when stops pouting and actually tries it. She eventually starts kicking her feet around and pointing at the dessert, asking for more. 

Singing happy birthday was a success, it ended with Yomi clapping her hands along with everyone else while chewing on her newest favorite food.

You gave her all the time in the world to eat however much of it she wanted, you were taking pictures after and needed her to look as happy as possible. 

And it all went fine, at least up until the very end. You were so worried about Sayomi this entire time that you never considered what were some of the things that could’ve gotten on your nerves today, aside from looking at Sukuna’s face.

“Okay, now let’s get a picture with both mom and dad!” Your dad’s sister, who’s never once in her life been able to read a room, exclaims. 

You try to look at anywhere else but Sukuna’s direction after hearing that, it was so painfully obvious to him, only because he’s the only one that knew about what went down last night.

After everything, he still wanted to take a photo together as a family, even though he’s starting to accept that the three of you will probably never truly be one, especially after what happened last night.

But still, he puts his pride aside.

“C’mere.” He murmurs, holding his arm out for you. 

You obviously go up to him, not wanting to give away any signs that there were issues between you two, allowing him to pull you into his side and throw his free arm around you. 

“Hi mama!” Your daughter flashes you a dopey grin– doesn’t matter if she hasn’t seen you in 2 minutes or 2 hours, she’s been greeting you each time she sees you and it makes your heart melt.

She makes the picture taking a little better, she’s more giddy than usual because of the sugar content that was in her cake— she’s probably in outerspace right now. Hopefully her energy crash isn’t that bad at bedtime, but it’s her birthday. She’ll do it if she wants to. 

Her pathetic father had some hopes that you’d rest your hand on his chest or something for the photo— just seems kind of natural to do so, but you take your daughter's hand instead. 

At least it made a cute photo. Sayomi will look back and never know just how cold and distant you felt in his arms at that moment.

—

The last people to leave your house are your parents. They love staying over and seeing Sayomi, but miss the peace and quiet of their own home, so they decided tonight's the night they finally go back home. 

Is a two day stay a lot? 

For them it is.

It’s not something to take personally, if you absolutely needed them, they’d be here for you in a heartbeat. 

It’s not until you walk into the cluttered kitchen and realized you’re not alone. You find Sukuna standing over the kitchen island, quietly trying to open a bottle of wine.

“Didn’t know you were still here.” You mutter, taking his attention off the stubborn cork. 

“Probably because you spent the whole day ignoring me.” He says while finally opening the damn thing. The room’s quiet as he pours you a glass and slides it over to you. “Can’t blame you though.” 

“You sure? You don’t seem to mind blaming me for everything else.” You say, taking a seat in front of him and pulling the wine glass closer to you. You’re not even taking jabs at him anymore, you genuinely meant it, which makes him feel worse.

He doesn’t respond to that out of guilt and leans forward on the counter. He doesn’t even know where to start right now, he was an asshole to everyone last night. But if he were to be completely honest, he doesn’t care much about how he made Suguru and Yorozu feel last night. He was out for blood the moment he saw you stepping out of the restaurant, he would’ve snapped on anyone. 

And since he’s being honest with himself right now, he wanted to hurt you. Right now he’s just trying to figure out if last night's anger was how he truly felt or if that was just his final straw to an already bad day. 

He didn’t even want to go out last, his girlfriend just wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it. He was tired and wanted to rest up since he had planned on being here the entire day. Lately, Yorozu’s been taking his “no’s” as suggestions and it’s so much easier just giving in sometimes. 

He glances at you and you’re already looking at him, raising your brows at him. He knows it’s your nonverbal way of saying “fucking get on with it”. 

“After missing all that time with Yomi…” He begins to explain himself, carefully choosing his words because he wants you to understand. Right now he’d rather you understand why he reacted that way he did, instead of forgiving him. “Not knowing what’s going on with her triggers the fuck out of me. I don’t know.. I– when I was getting ready to go out and on my way to the restaurant, I had this idea that you two were at home together and realizing I was wrong made me lose it. I trust your parents, but if you told me you were going out, I would’ve cancelled my plans and hung out with her.”

“Are you saying you got mad because you got fomo?” 

He lightly chuckles at the word choice. “It sounds so stupid when you break it down in your own words, but yeah, that’s kinda what happened.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid.” You assure him, it’s probably hard enough having to explain himself after the scene he caused. “I would’ve asked, but you usually have date nights with Yorozu on Fridays, so I never thought to ask.” 

“I’d never choose a date night over spending time with Sayomi.” His voice drops an octave as says those words in all seriousness. “I’m also really sorry for the way she tried to get into our business like that.”

“Can’t blame her, you made it her business the moment you decided you were going to call me out in front of her. Same with Suguru.” 

Fair enough.

“Still shouldn’t have let her talk to you like that.”

“Did you even try to say something to her after I left?” You murmur, twisting the glass around by its stem. “Or does she think she can start arguing with me whenever we fight, because that’s what couples do?”

“We fought over that after you left.” He reveals, his expression grew a little more stressed as he continued. “I told her if she ever pulls some shit like that again, it’s over.” 

You were aware of how heated their arguments could get, so when he tells you they’re bad, you don’t take it lightly. You fully believe him when he says they stayed up until 1:00 am fighting over the fact that he never wanted her to speak to you like that again and how she constantly countered it by saying she was just defending him.

It barely got resolved, she just barely stopped arguing with him when he threatened to break up with her. 

He was so fed up at the end that he even called her an uber home, all he wanted at that point was to be alone— his head hurt, voice all raspy from yelling too. Yet he stayed up for another hour or two just staring at the ceiling and listening to nothing but the faint breeze outside, wondering what the fuck was he even doing with his life.

You hum in response, you’re not sure if his threat is overkill or not, but it makes you feel slightly better. Enough to be okay with her meeting your daughter after a year? Nope. 

“Well thanks, I guess.” You say nonetheless. 

“Yeah…” He takes a deep breath. “I really am sorry. I can apologize to your date too if you want.” 

You almost laugh at the suggestion, he sounds so remorseful, it’s not very fitting of him. “No need— he ended things with me.”

His jaw might as well be on the floor from how shocked he is to hear that. “Are you fuckin’ serious?”

“Mhm.” You say, letting how bad he fucked up sink in for him.

“Fuck.” He puts his head down and lets out a low curse. “I’m so sorry… what did he say?”

“He texted me when I got home, saying something along the lines of how my situation was a lot to handle, and that I deserved someone that didn’t feel that way.” You finish the rest of the wine in the glass after saying that. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, genuinely concerned. Heavy lids, brows slightly furrowed, he looks guilty as hell.

“Honestly… yeah. We only dated for three months, I only saw him a couple times a month too. I feel like he would’ve seen something else anyways and backed out.” You’d obviously like for Sukuna to feel bad about it for a while, but it’s the truth. You and Suguru wouldn’t have worked out to begin with. When you two first started talking, he thought that Yomi’s dad was out of the picture— a lot has changed since then. 

Then you bring in one of Sukuna’s record breaking meltdowns, you understand the guy.

Which also leads you to another thing. 

“Listen… you’re always going to have some sort of resentment towards me and I understand that.” You say, breaking the silence. “But I don’t want to spend the next seventeen years having you throw that in my face whenever I do something wrong. I think it’s time that we start thinking about splitting custody with her.”

You obviously haven’t had enough time to think about it, but it’d be easy, especially with how she has her own room at his house now. It’s not like he was bad at taking care of her anyways. If you stop breastfeeding her now, she could probably spend her weekends with him and be perfectly fine.

“What? No, I don’t want that.” He immediately rejects the suggestion, slightly hurt over it. “I don’t want to take her away from you, I’d rather just visit when I can.” 

“And what if I don’t want that?” You argue back. “The last thing I want is for you to teach her that it’s okay to treat me like that. I’ll admit that what I did was a thousand times worse, but that doesn’t mean you can treat me like a punching bag whenever you get triggered over something.”

“I’ve never done any of that in front of her!” He tries to reason with you, but deep down he knows it’s not enough.  

“There’s always the possibility that you will. Look, I’m trying to make it easier on all of us. If me not being around you helps you heal from all of this, then I’m glad to do it.” You continue to explain, but it just falls on deaf ears. 

Yeah, you two have your bad moments, but when it’s good, it’s really good. You two are able to laugh together, easily make decisions over Yomi together. He enjoys being with you— the both of you. 

“You make it seem like I get pissed at the sight or thought of you, I don’t! Last night was just a bad day, I didn’t even want to go out in the first place–” 

You cut him off from going on a rant. “I obviously don’t want you to have bad days, but that’s not my problem, you can’t just use that as fuel to lose your shit on me.”

“I know that.” He murmurs and sighs. 

“And I know that you feel bad and mean it when you apologize, but you need to work on yourself— whether it’s therapy or making some other life change. I can’t keep listening to you apologizing.” 

Therapy? 

You see the weary look he gives you for bringing that up, but he can’t even deny that it’s probably a good option at this point. He already had his own problems to begin with, having a child just makes it all worse. It doesn’t matter how good he is to Sayomi either, she’ll grow up to see how mad he gets when things don’t go his way, you don’t want her learning from that.

“So if I get therapy, you’ll…” He waits for you to finish the sentence. 

“Do nothing. We can keep doing what we're doing. It works, I just can’t have you treating me the way you did last night.” You lean back in the seat and cross your arms. 

He apprehensively looks at you for a bit, not sure if you’re telling the truth. You’re oddly calm for someone that just threatened to remove herself from his life if he didn’t get help.

He’d think you’d be a little bit more emotional about this, but then remembers you’re mentally and emotionally capable of leaving someone without a word. 

“I did all my crying last night.” You say, he just realized he’d muttered that last sentence to himself. 

“M’sorry about that too.” He easily apologizes again. “About all of it, I feel like a fuckin’ asshole.”

You look down at the empty wine glass, which he quickly fills up for you as a part of his final apology, and can’t help but feel guilty at how much remorse he’s showing right now.  

What are you so afraid of? 

It’s not like I’d hide her away from you.

At least now.

But he doesn’t know that, hiding her from him is all that he knows. If only you could be a little more selfless, allow him to make you feel the same way you made him feel at one point. 

An eye for an eye. 

You doubt it’d stop there, there’d be no truce— you’d destroy each other completely.

“Try not to be so hard on yourself.” You take another sip of the freshly filled glass, it makes looking him in the eye a little easier. “I made you this way.”

You absolutely fucking did, he refrains from saying and instead just looks at you back. He’s recently come to realize that this is something you struggle with too, you don’t say it but he sees it whenever he’s having a good time with Yomi. You look happy one minute, then the next you wipe the smile off your face. It’s almost as if you don’t allow yourself to have that experience with them, like you don’t deserve it. 

“We just need to find a way to move on from it.” You say, wrapping up the last of the words you had for him. 

“You’re right.” He’s been holding his breath enough that it’s shaky when he finally exhales. “I’ll uh– I’ll reach out to someone on Monday.”

“Okay.” It comes out so light, it’s almost a whisper. It’s a hard conversation to have, you weren’t expecting him to make it so easy. “Can I ask you something?”

Hearing the answer would probably make you feel worse, but it’s the one thing you’ve always wanted to ask him. 

“Does it have something to do with when we were together?”

“Yeah.” 

“It’s better if you don’t ask, you’re hard enough on yourself as is.” He says, giving you back your own advice. You already know you caused enough pain by jumping to your own conclusions about him, hearing the truth from him was just unnecessary at this point. “How were you supposed to know how I felt about you when I never told you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Exactly.”

The only times he's texted you back then were to see when you’d be free for him, you looked like a booty call on paper. It was stupid of him to think you’d stick around just because he was nice to you. He should’ve taken you out more, called you when he had free time, let you know he missed you whenever you weren’t around. 

It’s not that he was scared, he was just stupid. He genuinely thought you’d just feel it, but you clearly don’t trust your gut. He’ll always wish he told you he loved you, he’d probably be getting ready to go to bed with you right now if he said it all that time ago. 

He looks at his phone to check the time and realizes he’s overstayed his welcome. Not that he’s complaining, you two got somewhere from it. A mutual understanding almost. Maybe he’ll finally be able to have his first decent night of sleep since he saw you at the park that day.

But who is he kidding? 

Mutual understandings don’t mean shit to a man that is unfortunately in love. 

“Do you wanna sleep in the guest bedroom that’s here downstairs?” You suddenly offer after seeing him check the time. He didn’t live far, but it’d probably be nice if he skipped the driving for tonight. 

“You don’t mind?” He asks, skimming through his missed texts. 

“No. I’m sure Yomi would like seeing you in the morning too.”

He chuckles and puts his phone away. “I’d hope so.” 

He tried so hard to hate you, but the love he’s always had for you has sadly grown since being back in your life again. 

And no, you don’t try to deliberately hurt the people you love, like how he did last night. But like what you said, you made him this way, and now he’s stuck having to fix that part of himself. 

What’s worse is he’s happy to do it if that means he gets to stay around you, because you will never be too much for him to handle. He chose the baby in a heartbeat, if only you knew he’d choose you just as fast too.

His phone buzzes again once he’s finally comfortable in the guest bedroom you offered him. For once, he’s not annoyed when he checks it. 

[7:05 p.m] Yor: How did the birthday party go? 

[8:45 p.m] Yor: Did she give you a hard time over what happened last night?

[8:50 p.m] Sukuna: No

[8:55 p.m] Yor: That’s good. Can I come over? I wanted to talk about yesterday.

[8:58 p.m] Sukuna: I wanna be alone rn. ill talk to you tomorrow

notes:

i just wanted to leave this here and the direct quote below for anyone that’s a little confused/needs clarification on what sukuna got mad about during this chapter. he went almost a full year of not knowing he had a child, he has trauma from that. he’s fine with reader going out and doing whatever, he just wants to know where the baby is and who she left the baby with ‼️

“After missing all that time with Yomi…Not knowing what’s going on with her triggers the fuck out of me. I don’t know.. I– when I was getting ready to go out and on my way to the restaurant, I had this idea that you two were at home together and realizing I was wrong made me lose it.“

and also, read the warnings!!! the angst and toxic relationship warnings are there for a reason. i understand that it’s not for everyone, but don’t make that my issue by coming up in my comments and announcing your departure 😭

taglist is closed!

All rights reserved © 2025 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

Lowkeyartist!Sukuna & reader expecting their 2nd child?? 😇

lowkeyartist!sukuna who wouldn’t tell everyone about the new addition to his family just yet, he’d just let them speculate.

He has a daughter now, 2 years younger than his son. Your son was a carbon copy of sukuna, similar face and same hair colour, so ofc his princess came out looking like her mom - and he has no complaints at that.

I feel like when you’re pregnant and during postpartum, Sukuna won’t post at all. He would kick back from mainstream and his account, declining any offers given to him and any artists that would want to use his samples. He did the same for when you first got pregnant, but because of how high his numbers in following has gotten he’s taking a bigger step and not interacting with anything at all until he is content with how his family is growing.

It’s not particularly a reveal, but a slight teaser if you will when everyone starts to know that his family has gained a new member.

His new video, after almost 2 years of being absent, is him and his guitar in his room. You’re not in the video, but people don’t suspect about it anymore because they just assume you’re with his son. His piece is soft and mellowed down than his usual, but people guess because of the new foot print on his guitar base. Yours and your son’s hand print have been on that guitar for a while, so everyone knows that guitar through and through, so it’s no surprise everyone starts congratulating him on his new baby when they see her little pink footprint on it too.

The only insight he gives to the public about his baby girl is a short story post.

ryomensukuna: It’s a girl, she looks just like her mama. Her mother had a good birth. She’s a healthy 8 month baby who’s getting as big as her brother by the way her mother spoils her. Thank you for the support - RS

Mama, I’m in love with a criminal 3

Tags: Sukuna x fem!Reader, prisoner!Sukuna, modern au, no curse au, dead dove, vivid descriptions of violence including murder, dark romance trope, read at your own discretion, brief mention of smut at the very end.

Synopsis: Sukuna is in prison because of you. He’s ordered to undergo weekly counseling sessions. Talking to his counselor about you, it's apparent that his obsession with you is quite concerning.

An: Updates with this story are slow because I really care about it, and I want to do it justice.

Session one. | Session two. | Session three.

Each session with Sukuna left the counselor wanting more. He had to give to the prisoner: he was a phenomenal story teller. Sukuna was generally antisocial. He only conversed with others if he felt like he would gain something out of the conversation, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t incredibly charismatic.

Anyone with eyes could tell that Sukuna knew how to work a room to his advantage. Hell, his trial was basically an event for all of his fangirls. He had been turned into an idol by the press.

Unhealthy, sick individuals praised his actions. They edited his mugshots to look all cutesy. It felt like every chronically online young woman wanted to be you in this situation.

People tried finding out your true identity, but your name had been scrubbed from the media completely. Your name was a privilege to know. The counselor merely knew it because he had looked through the warrants and made copies of them before they were sealed away.

The counselor had been busy since his last session with Sukuna. He couldn’t get enough of Sukuna’s story. He went digging, trying to find you or anyone else from Sukuna’s past.

That was when he found out about Jin, Sukuna’s missing twin brother.

Immediately, the counselor had a gut feeling that Sukuna was to blame for this. He wasn’t stereotyping the prisoner, but if anyone went missing or dropped dead around Sukuna… he was usually the one to blame.

So when Sukuna came trudging back into the counselor’s office, shackles and cuffs jingling with each step, the counselor took note of Sukuna’s bloodied knuckles. It seems as if the prisoner had been busy this week too.

“What kind of trouble did you get yourself into?” The counselor asked, promptly skipping all greetings and pleasantries. He and Sukuna were the type of men who loathed small talk anyways.

Sukuna plopped down on the couch, and he let out a hearty laugh from the counselor’s concerns. “Trouble seems to find me, doc.” He answered noncommittally, shrugging his shoulders in nonchalance.

“How so?” The counselor pressed lightly. After his first couple sessions with Sukuna, he had gotten a grasp as to just when to press on and when to back off.

Sukuna eyed his cuffed hands, looking at the dried up blood and scabbed over wounds on his knuckles. “You know newbies always come in looking for something to prove.”

That… made sense. Sukuna was a big man. In fact, he was the biggest man in his pod. The newbie inmates were always looking to fight the biggest fish in the pond to prove something. It never worked in their favor. Usually, they just became the big guy’s bitch.

“I’m surprised they don’t have you in solitary confinement then.” The counselor commented, relaxing in his chair. What an odd thing to do… relax in the face of a heinous criminal. This line of work had definitely jaded the counselor.

“Got out this morning.” He grumbled lowly, not caring to continue on with this conversation any longer. He came to these sessions to relive his memories of you, not to talk about stupid shit like the newbies in the jail.

“Lucky you.” The counselor commented as he flipped through a stack of papers. “Tell me about your brother, Sukuna.”

The pink-haired male immediately gritted his teeth together so hard that it was a wonder how he didn’t shatter them. His muscles tensed, and he eyed the counselor closely, trying to decide whether the counselor had gone mad or not.

“Considering you’re asking me, I assume you already know all about him.” Sukuna answered lowly. His dark gaze was unwavering.

“I only know that his name is Jin, and he’s missing.” The counselor responded. He kept his body language open, so Sukuna would know the he’s telling the truth.

“That’s all you need to know.”

“So, Jin never met mouse?” The counselor gently pressed.

Sukuna’s breath went eerily still as his teeth ground together. His lips twitched into a snarl. If looks could kill like Sukuna did, the counselor would be dead by now. “He did.” He answered shortly, suddenly not such a good story teller.

“You don’t seem like you were very fond of him. Why not?” The counselor asked carefully. He knew if he brought you up again, Sukuna would probably snap… then snap his neck in half, and he valued his neck remaining intact.

“Jin wasn’t the star pupil everyone made him out to be. Only I knew his true nature.” Sukuna replied. He was still tense, but he at least wasn’t on the verge of catching another murder charge. It’s not like it mattered anyways. What’s one more charge? He’s serving life already.

“Everyone treated him like a star pupil?” The counselor asked, clicking his pen to start taking case notes. He was finally getting somewhere this session. Sukuna’s sessions were way too short already. The jail was too afraid of him having too much time to hurt somebody, so he was only allowed to have 20-minute sessions before he was escorted straight back to his pod.

“Tch. Everyone fucking adored him, never spoke an ill word ‘bout him.” Sukuna explained. “Our parents didn’t know they were having twins until after he was born, and I was coming out shortly after. He was the firstborn — the one they were expecting, the one that they cared about. I was just a surprise mistake compared to Jin. They had to scramble to make ends meet.”

The counselor stayed silent for a moment. It was apparent Sukuna likely lacked any parental love or guidance. His parents probably saw him as a burden. That would fuck anyone up in the head.

“Jin was their son. I was the reason for their financial struggles and stress. It didn’t help that Jin apparently came out malnourished as fuck, while I was a healthy baby. I apparently hogged all of the nutrients. It was a wonder why I didn’t just absorb him in the womb. Compared to Jin, my parents thought I was a soul-sucking leech.” Sukuna spoke with very little emotion in his voice. He wasn’t sad or even scorned. It simply just was something he dealt with.

“Did that bother you… seeing Jin receive love from your parents?” The counselor asked, attempting to gain some insight to Sukuna’s feelings on everything.

“Fuck no. I couldn’t care less. It was honestly a blessing that our parents paid me no mind. It made it easier to do whatever the hell I wanted without being bothered.” Sukuna answered confidently. His amused expression slowly coming back to him.

“That four-eyed freak could have our parents’ affection. I only gave a damn about mouse.” He added, picking some lint off of his jumpsuit.

“So, how did Jin meeting mouse lead to him going missing?” The counselor pressed, giving Sukuna a look. He knew this scenario all too well. Sukuna didn’t take well to sharing you, and if Jin got too close to you, well…

“You’re not as stupid as you seem, doc.” Sukuna said with a reserved grin. He leaned his head back against the couch, revealing his sculpted jaw along with his adam’s apple. Sukuna’s neck tattoo was playing peek-a-boo from his jumpsuit.

“Thanks?” The counselor asked with a hesitant scoff, causing Sukuna to grin more.

“You’re skipping a few chapters though.” Sukuna added as he finally found his reprieve in living out his memories with you. “When she was 16, mouse finally opened up to the idea of being mine. It only took a few instances to make her realize she wasn’t getting rid of me, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to find another who cherishes her like I do.”

The counselor knew Sukuna was leaving out key details with his “instances” like… the time he strangled a guy within an inch of his life for asking you out on a date, or the time that he tied down another guy to his motorcycle and drug him down a gravel road for giving you a very romantic valentine’s day gift, OR the time he nearly shoved a tattoo gun into his artist’s eye for hitting on you right in front of him.

“So, you two became official when she was 16?” The counselor prompted as he jotted more notes down on his notepad.

“Nope.” Sukuna replied with a toothy grin to the counselor’s surprise. “We made an oath to each other. Exclusivity. She nor I could see anyone else.” The prisoner explained, only confusing the counselor even more.

“So, you two were committed to each other, but you weren’t… romantically involved?” The counselor asked with furrowed eyebrows. It made no sense for Sukuna’s m.o. Sukuna loved through possession, owning someone. He also didn’t like sharing. There was no reason for him not to make you commit to him romantically.

“Mouse is.. a bit younger than I am by nearly two years. She was 16, and I was about to turn 18 soon. Her birthday fell in that weird timing for school, and I was held back in first grade. That’s how we ended up in the same class.” Sukuna explained, but it still made no sense in the counselor’s mind. “I knew if I made her mine when she was 16, I wouldn’t have wanted to hold back. So, in my oath, I promised to take her and give her all of me when she was 18.”

Now, that made sense.

In Sukuna’s twisted logic and severely skewed morals, he thought he was protecting you by making you wait until you were 18 to finally be official with him.

“That must’ve been hard to wait that long for her.” The counselor commented, unsure of what to say.

Sukuna shot him a warning glare. “I’d wait a century for her.” He responded in a low growl. It was a clear indication to not make anymore comments regarding you in that manner.

The counselor back-tracked, not wanting to lose Sukuna’s feeble trust. “So, what does this have anything to do with Jin?”

Sukuna relaxed with a low huff, and he sat back in his seat as he went back to telling his story. “Jin got whatever the fuck he wanted: money, girls, popularity, and he didn’t like someone having anything he didn’t.” He explained to the counselor.

“Mouse had just recently turned 18. It was our senior prom night, and I had plans to show her exactly how patient and disciplined I had been for two years.”

“You don’t seem like the type to go to prom.” The counselor commented in an amused tone.

“I only went because mouse wanted to go. She wanted one last opportunity at being a normal teenager… whatever that meant.” Sukuna explained. His expression seemed to falter to more of a thoughtful one. The counselor began to wonder if Sukuna ever regretted subjecting you to his depraved nature.

“Jin was, of course, elected prom king. He wouldn’t have accepted less, and some bitches thought it’d be funny to rig the ballot to have mouse win. They wanted to publicly humiliate her while she was on stage, knowing she still struggled talking publicly.” Sukuna went on, and slowly, the pieces started to fit together.

“I was going to create a scene, take the heat away from her, but Jin decided to take manners into his own hands and thank everyone on her behalf… as if he fucking knew her well enough to do that.”

“I was going to try to hold it in. It was just one dance with Jin. Then, I could take her home and claim her. I just had to watch one dance, but Jin knew this would be the only fucking time he had the upper hand on me. It wasn’t enough that he had our parents under his thumb. He wanted the one fucking thing that was mine and mine alone.”

A shiver went up the counselor’s back as he watched Sukuna closely. The prisoner was seething, clenching his cuffed hands together so hard that his knuckles were popping in agony. His jaw was clamped shut as he remembered what it was like to see Jin dance with you.

The counselor had seen Sukuna mad, but this was pure rage.

“What did he do, Sukuna..?” The counselor asked shakily as the air in the room was so tense. The counselor knew that their twenty minutes were coming to an end, but he hoped to god the guards got distracted so Sukuna could finish his story.

Sukuna’s breath was ragged as he recalled the memory. “His hand kept fuckin’ wandering to places it didn’t belong. I couldn’t hear him talkin’ in her ear, but I could read his lips. He was talking about some fucking after party, and he was trying to convince her to ditch his “degenerate freak little brother”. He said he’d show her a good time.”

“I was going to let it slide for the sake of not wanting to ruin mouse’s last night in high school. One fucking dance. I knew mouse wasn’t going to agree to any of that, not after we had promised ourselves to each other, but the fucker was persistent. He grabbed her arm and tried to lead her back to where his table of fucking losers were sat. She tried to pull away, but he knew he was stronger than her.” Sukuna shook his head, picking at the scabs on his knuckles to make himself bleed. It was almost a release from the pure anger he felt as he remembered that night.

“What did you do to him, Sukuna?” The counselor quietly prompted.

Sukuna’s eyes met his, and he bit the side of his cheek for a moment as if he was deciding whether he wanted to admit to yet another crime. He knew he was protected under patient confidentiality, but he had never admitted to Jin’s disappearance — not even to you.

“I dragged him out of the school. There was a pig farm behind the school. The electric fence was made out of metal. The fence posts were sharp on the top. We got to arguing about mouse. He kept asking why I cared about a little piece of ass when I didn’t care about anything else.” Sukuna continued picking at his scabs. His movement was almost compulsive to a degree.

“He said she deserved a normal life — not one that I could give her. He fucking… he fucking called it, said I’d either end up dead or in jail. Then, he made the fucking mistake of saying he’d be there to take good care of her while I’m gone.”

There was a beat of silence between the two. The counselor knew what was coming next, so he braced himself for Sukuna to describe the murder.

“I bashed his fucking head into the metal stake. He immediately died, impaled straight through his brain. I then fed his body to the pigs. I fabricated evidence to make it look like he left prom early to go meet up with a girl down in Shibuya. I buried his bones and teeth down in a graveyard after the groundskeeper inevitably fell asleep while he was on watch.”

The counselor had to bite back the urge to throw up his lunch. The food was crawling up his esophagus. He couldn’t even formulate the words to say in response. Sukuna was truly a monster for you. He had killed his own flesh and blood for insinuating that he could take you away from him.

That wasn’t even why he was caught. Jin was still on the missing persons list. His remains had never been recovered. His parents likely mourned Jin, and they had no idea it was their other son who killed him.

Sukuna leaned in, speaking with a feral grin. “I went back to mouse in the early hours of the morning, took a long shower, and fucked her until dawn, making sure she knew inside and out who the fuck she belongs to.”

“Ryomen! Times up! Let’s go!” The buzzer rang loudly in the counselor’s office, causing for him to flinch in his seat.

The counselor should’ve known better than to go digging around in Sukuna’s past. He got what he asked for. He knew that he would have to delve in to the murder that actually got him caught next session, and that terrified him even more.

Taglist: @catladythoughts @pinky0328 @coldluminarykoala @lemonlimecrystal-blog @san-it-is-i-guess @kunasthiast @nonamevenus @ecliipzed @jup1tersuccubus @gojodickbig @totallygyomeiswife @gremlinartstudio @tojislittleprincesss @jaybirdluvr73 @emyyy007 @b3bybunny @unofficialsapphire @thequeenofcurses @canecomplex @sukubusss @satosugu4-ever @theonlyhonoredone @eravariety @kaged-kitty @stargirl-mayaa @jinxiewritings @startwithrecords @nikki-demi @samoankpoper21 @grinnwolph @mizuwki @cisseadven @meandmyhomieshateshibuya @gradmacoco @lolololololhanma @theuclid @uma0777

Seeing Double - Chapter 3

Pairings - Simon “Ghost” Riley x MacTavish!Reader, Platonic! John “Soap” MacTavish x MacTavish Reader, Platonic! Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x Reader

Summary - You are sent with Ghost and Soap to Mexico on your first team mission. But was it really your first?

Warnings - consumption of alcohol, mentions of past trauma, discussions of past trauma, jealousy, suggestive content, discussions of violence, adults cursing, angst but comfort I swear.

Author's Notes- Spanish is used bc reader, as a translator, is a #billingual queen but there is an immediate translation right after spanish is used and it is marked by only italicizing, if it's italicized and has 'these' then that's a direct inner thought. To my Spanish speaking readers or bilingual readers, I apologize if I fucked up anything. Im using the Spanish I learned growing up on my dad’s side of the family in Texas and almost 2.5 years of learning Spanish in highschool and college. My Spanish is more South Texas based but I still learned northern Mexican slang from my tíos. Anyways I hope you enjoy. Bear with me because some of the gender wasn’t translating pero es todo bien.

Word Count - 8k.. yeah ik. I’m shocked too.

Masterlist / Pt.1 , Pt.2 (this is a series but ig you can treat it as a stand alone)

“In how long?” John spoke, briefly peeking at the mission file.

“A week. I’m giving you time to prepare Banshee for using her translating skills as you’ll be working with Los Vaqueros again.” Laswell nodded to them.

“What for?” You piped up. Everyone turned to look at you, not because you spoke out of turn but because you usually waited for someone to speak to you.

“We have intel that Hassan might be in the mountains nearby Las Almas. You’ll find out more when you arrive. ” Kate responded, respecting your piqued curiosity.

You nodded to yourself. You did need to scrub up on your Spanish even if you were fluent.

The week passed by quick as you hit the books and the range. You had taken the time to bond with Gaz as the man tried to pick up a few languages from you. Price keeps you far from the mats after your blood bath with Ghost. Speaking of him, the masked man was oddly never around. Only there for meal times and maybe a glimpse at him before bed.

You didn’t see him again until the night before you were to be sent out with them to Mexico. You had been so focused on working through your knife throwing that you didn’t realize the time had passed until it was midnight. Six hours until you were to be on an aircraft headed to Las Almas.

Dull thuds filled the room as you sunk your knife again and again into the target. A masked figure passing by the door before stopping.

“Can’t sleep?” Ghost spoke as you retrieved your knives. You nearly jumped out of your skin at his voice, noticing him in the shadows of the entryway.

“Never been able to on the night before a mission.” You omitted as you took your stance again. Anything was better than looking at him. Quiet fell over the both of you as he watched. You could feel him studying you as you ran your drills.

Eager to break the silence, you remembered from Johnny that Ghost was quite the fan of dad jokes so you decided to try them out, “Sir, Do you know what sprinters eat before their race?” You spoke.

He spoke nothing but you got the feeling he was waiting for the punchline.

“Nothing, they fast.” You spoke. He froze for a moment before a sigh of air left his mouth almost similar to a chuckle but not quite. Relief flooded your body at breaking some of the tension. What you were not expecting was for him to give you one of his own.

“What do you call a pig that practices karate?” Ghost’s voice came out low as if he too had been starving himself of sleep.

A beat passed as you gave him a hum of interest.

“Pork chop.”

Ghost froze as the sound of a giggle slipped from your lips. Your shoulders sluggish as you threw the final knife but it still fell in line with the others. You gathered your knives and put them away slowly. You turned to face him only to find the doorway empty.

You didn’t see the lieutenant again until you made your way to the tarmac early the next morning. You had all your gear on from head to toe including a new pair of black shades to cover your eyes. Your hair was pulled up as you adjusted your vest. It weighed heavy on you almost as if the weight of your last team mission was still suffocating you.

Ghost stood off to the side with Price as they spoke with your pilot and Gaz. The masked man nodded to Price, listening but his eyes traced you as you walked up to the aircraft confidently. Something Gaz nor Price failed to catch upon but dismissed it under the idea that the man didn’t trust you yet.

Johnny had already made his way onto the aircraft as he turned around to extend a hand to you. Almost as if he had sensed that you would need a helping hand. You clasped his hand tightly as he pulled you up with a grunt.

Both of you exchanged a smile as the engine of the aircraft roared to life. Wind suddenly pushing through the entryway, sending a chill down your spine.

“Just like old times aye?” Johnny said as he held up a fist bump.

“Aye, just like old times.” You replied as you knocked knuckles, ignoring the growing bubble of worry in your gut. Oh how you hoped it would be different this time. You settled in next to your brother and got ready for the ride.

Ghost noticed how you never fully relaxed even as your twin, your supposed mirror image, Soap fell dead asleep on the flight over to Mexico. You had avoided his eye contact again for the whole plane ride, letting it fall to the floor or rise to the ceiling above.

You constantly adjusted everything even as the three of you left the aircraft. Something was bothering you and your commanding officer itched to know why. What was making you twitch. He felt his curiosity blooming in his chest before letting it die as a gruff voice cut through the air.

“Alejandro!” Soap cheered, a loud clap sounded through the air as their hands met in a firm shake and a quick nod.

“Glad to see you made it over in one piece, Jabón” Alejandro said as his gaze peered over to Soap’s teammate, not failing to notice the third set of feet hidden behind the two men.

Alejandro scanned over Ghost quickly as he spoke, “Lieutenant. Laswell says they call you Ghost.”

Soap practically lunged at the opportunity to interject, “Colonel, he actually he prefers to be called-”

“That’ll do.” Ghost cut him off quickly.

“And who is this behind you?” Alejandro said as Soap and Ghost stepped aside to reveal you standing there.

“Aye this is my twin sister-” Soap stopped short as the Colonel pulled you in for a tight embrace. Silencing both the lieutenant and Sergeant completely because you didn’t frown or even flinch at the sudden invasion of your personal space, something completely out of the norm for you.

“Chiqui! Aye qué bueno verte de nuevo!” Little girl (affectionately)! How good to see you again! The spanish slipped free from his tongue as you both separated. His hands lingered on yours as you step back. A small blush on your cheeks.

“Y a ti también. Pero creo que te dije que ya no me llamaras chiqui, no?” And you as well. But I believe I told you not to call me little girl anymore, no? Your eyebrow cocked up at him. A deep rumble leaving his throat as Soap cleared his own to cut through the conversation.

“Alright, Alright. Let us join the others back at the base hermanos!” Alejandro spoke to the group as you all began walking to the vehicle. Out of the corner of the lieutenant’s eyes, he saw the way you and Soap geared up to fight for the front seat, only to be disappointed when Alejandro climbed into the shotgun.

“Welcome to the city of souls, hermanos! A Bienvenidos de nuevo, Chiqui” Welcome back, Chiqui. Alejandro cheered as you all piled into the jeep. Soap took the seat behind the driver, and you slid in the middle, leaving Ghost to take the seat behind Alejandro. For once, you didn’t bristle at being so close to the lieutenant. A soft gasp left the driver as brown eyes met your own through the mirror, even if your eyes were shielded by the dark sunglasses.

“No mames, güey.” No way, dude. The driver interjected as he peered around the seat to see you. Your soft gaze meeting his own shocked one. A gruff noise left Ghost’s mouth to interject the moment and cut it off. This whole thing was starting to get on his nerves.

“Hola Rudy” you smiled. “Lieutenant, this is Sergeant Major Roldofo, everyone calls him Rudy. Rudy, este es mi teniente. Estoy seguro de que no necesitas presentación a Jabón.” Rudy, this is my lieutenant. I am sure that you need no introduction to Soap. Your hand pointing to each man as you introduced them. Your brain easily slid into place as you slipped between the languages.

“Tengo miedo de los fantasmas” Rudy shuddered slightly. Ghost’s head barely turned towards you, waiting for the translation.

“He said he has a fear of Ghosts.” You smiled playfully, shoving Rudy to turn around as you waited for the jeep to go.

“¡Vamos hermanos!” Let’s go brothers! Alejandro said as Rudy’s foot roughly slammed into the gas pedal as the jeep took off. A smile slowly creeped onto your face as you suddenly felt the wind in your hair again. Your shades protect you from the harsh glare of the sun. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to be back.

Soap peered out the window as they made their way into Las Almas. Outskirts of the sandy town were covered in graffiti as the houses came into view. Soap suddenly gripped his rifle as Ghost tensed up, both of them spotting a vehicle in the distance and strange men in masks covering the town.

“One black vehicle, about three men armed along the entrance” Soap called forward to Alejandro and Rudy. For half a second Ghost almost cursed at your poor reaction time until he heard Alejandro interject

“Cálmate, hermano. Es todo bien.” Calm yourself brother. Everything is fine. He spoke up, and then followed up with an explanation. “Las Almas is dangerous and the cartel here plays dirty. But I promise you those who are here to ‘uphold the law’ never succeed for long. Not until Narcos slips money into their pockets and women into their laps.”

“What about the military?” Ghost spoke out. His confusion masked behind a voice of concern.

“Es lo mismo. We’re even more likely to be corrupted and turned into working for the narcos because of our combat skills.” It’s the same. Alejandro nodded to the men ahead as he spoke.

“So why haven’t you been corrupted yet?” Ghost responded almost immediately. Just because you and Soap trusted these men doesn’t mean he has to. He only trusts you through an association of Johnny.

Alejandro knew why he asked but it didn’t stop his tongue from clicking as he responded. Pride swelled in his chest as he spoke. The honesty of his voice silenced any doubt. “We grew up here. The locals call us Los Vaqueros, the cowboys, for a reason. Anyone who calls himself or herself such a name and fights beside me is willing to die for the sake of saving even an inch of this city.”

Soap could see the love the man had for his community as they passed by women and children on the street. He silently wondered why they looked so happy in such a dangerous town. Did they not know what was going on?

“Be weary of the civilians. Yes we are welcoming of strangers but just remember that anyone can be turned into a piece of intel for Narcos. They can be quite.. charismatic.” Rudy spoke to the men.

“Even the children and women?”

“Especialmente las mujeres y los niños.” Especially the women and children, Rudy responded almost immediately.

Ghost nodded as Rudy hummed in agreement as they pulled up closer to the base. You were oddly silent as you took in how the base has evolved. Rudy pulled up to the gate and only had to look at the officer before being let in. You noticed how the sun was beginning to turn the sky orange. You missed how beautiful it was here. The heat not even bothering you as the open windows of the jeep gave your baby hairs around your face a beautiful framing. For just a mere moment you could forget why you left.

The sound of a car door opening pulled you out of your thoughts as Ghost and Soap quickly exited the vehicle. Everyone grabbing their respective bags. Rudy quickly matched your pace and stood to the left of you as Soap walked on your right.

“Veo que sigues siendo la boca de tu escuadrón, Chiqui” I see you’re still the mouth of your squadron. Rudy smiled before slipping into spanglish, “Do either of los güeros speak spanish, or sola tú?” Either of the white boys (like fair-skinned) speak spanish or just you? You could tell why he wanted to know but kept your mouth shut as you nodded to your brother.

“Mi hermano puede placticar un poco, pero solo lo sabe las palabras malas.” My brother can conversate a little, but he only knows the bad words. You responded as you glanced at Johnny. Noticing how he looked a little down.

Johnny’s heart sunk a little in his chest. Just how much of your new life had he missed? How did he not know that you had already met them and formed these close ties. You pulled him out of his thoughts as you ruffled his hair.

“So Jabón, why didn’t you tell me that you were related to Chiqui here, hm?” Rudy spoke, “we could’ve traded stories about her”

“I didn’t keen ye knew ‘er like tha.” Johnny said, suddenly meeting the Sergeant Major’s eyes, “How do ye know ‘er?”

Memories flashed across your eyes as you remember how you met the Mexican task force. How you came here stumbling around like a lost child when you were first assigned. The sounds of music flooding your ears as images of you dancing with a certain brown eyed man flashed across your eyes. The late night steak outs and the embarrassing moments of learning how Spanish is truly spoken and used. The images stopped and memories turned sour as you then remembered why you left, or why you were dismissed.

“She was assigned as our translator and infiltration specialist,” Rudy nodded, then he smiled as he jested a little, “Colonel over there thought it might be hard for military men to lure secrets from men as we are not their usual type. So we decided we needed someone more.. convincing. But we couldn’t trust any woman in this country so Alejandro sent a request to the Americans, and your sister showed up.”

“They were my first team after I stopped requesting solo missions.” You added on. Soap sighed at the notion that you were used to be bait for the corrupt men of this town to slip their secrets into. A silence fell over the group until you three walked into the living quarters of the base.

“Why do you and the colonel call her Chiqui?” Soap then turned to ask. His accent loosely stumbled around the nickname even if he said it confidently but he didn’t care. His curiosity bugged him. Sure, you’d let superiors walk over you but giving you a nickname was entirely different. It was intimate. Something he didn’t know you could do with others outside of the family or your small circle of friends.

Rudy’s eyes met yours, asking for permission to tell. You blinked slowly, even unsure of the action yourself.

“She didn’t have a callsign by then and kept on speaking Spanish like a little kid. Mumbling over her words, speaking quickly, and using basic phrases, too scared to be more complex. It was cute and Chiqui is short for Chiquita. Chiquita means little girl, but it’s friendly.”

“The name stuck even after I improved my spanish during my stay here.” You added ruffling up Rudy’s hair.

“You’d always be the kid on the team, Chiqui.” Rudy smirked. “Let’s get you settled into your quarters and then maybe you three would like to join us at the bar?” He was inviting you two but specifically met your eyes first then glanced at Johnny.

Ghost had disappeared off somewhere with Alejandro, probably forming a plan for tomorrow.

“Jabón, you’ll be down the hall with El Fantasma” Ghost. Rudy said as he walked the man down to the room and Soap walked through the entrance, dropping his bags quickly.

“Johnny ye coming tonight?” You looked at him and waited for him to say something

“Ye ever known me to be a lad who turned down a good time?” Johnny shot back at you.

“Never.” You nodded

“Then ye have your answer. I’m going to shower.” He said and closed his door but not before smiling at Rudy.

Rudy nodded as the door closed and he turned to you, walked you to your room, a few doors down the hallway.

“Dormirás en esta habitación” You’ll be sleeping in this room. Rudy nodded. You sighed as you opened it and recognized it as your old room. You saw how it had been scrubbed clean and bare for newer members but you knew it was yours as Rudy’s room was just across from it. Your doors mirror each other. You turned around to meet his gaze and sighed.

“Rudy..” the low whine left your lips as you frowned at him, your eyes tightening to form a glare at the man.

“Chiquita, Te prometo que estaba fuera de mi control. El coronel insistió en que durmieras aquí.” Chiquita, I promise you that it was out of my control. The Colonel insisted you sleep here. His hands flailing to his defense even with that small, guilty smile plastered onto his lips. Your firm mask slipping at the weight of your full nickname.

“Pero Johnny-” but Johnny-

“Jabón estaré bien.” Soap will be fine. Rudy finished the sentence off. His eyes scanning yours. Your name, your real name, fell from his lips as he looked at you. You finally dropped your mask as he enveloped you in a hug.

Over the course of your two years with the team, Rudy had been your best friend, your safe haven. Even if you blurred the lines at some moments you could always count on him to be there for you. Whether that was a lover in a moment of need or a listening ear when the world weighed too heavy to bear alone. He was your best friend, no matter how blurred that line became towards the end.

His warm muscular arms dug into your sides as he held you. A moment between you passed as your arms found his neck.

“Pensé que te habías ido para siempre. El coronel pensó lo mismo. He estado tan preocupada por ti, Chiqui. Lamento no haber ido contigo ese día. Pensé que no querías estar cerca de nosotros después de lo que sucedió.” I thought you were gone forever. The colonel thought the same thing. I've been so worried about you, Chiqui. I'm sorry I didn't go with you that day. I thought you didn't want to be around us after what happened. His words came out softly, the pain evident in his voice.

You pulled back to look him in the eye, a deep sigh passing through you.

“Nunca podría odiarte, eres mi mejor amigo. Nada cambiará eso. Lo que pasó no fue tu culpa, Rudy.” I could never hate you, you are my best friend. Nothing will change that. What happened wasn't your fault, Rudy. He knew that deep down but hearing it from you helped ease some of the weight still burdening him even now.

“Do they know?” He whispered as he pulled back. The man watching you as your brows furrowed.

“About what”

“Lo que pasó, contigo, con nosotros, con esos malvados bastardos.” What happened, with you, with us, with those evil bastards. Your body froze a little at it all, the memories rushing back to your head.

“No. Se lo diré a los chicos y a Johnny cuando esté listo.” I will tell the boys and Johnny when I am ready. Rudy sighed and sat on your bed while you grabbed your bags, and then a thought crossed his mind.

“So you have a callsign?” Rudy said in English as he watched you unpack. His eyebrow quirked up at you.

“Me llaman Banshee, como la mujer” They call me Banshee, like the woman. The name made him tense up. The realization of the legend hit him, the symbolism, and his expression changed

“Hijole” Fuck/Jeez. He grumbled as the shock washed over his face. “Pinche cabrón” fucking asshole. The man didn’t have to do rocket science to know exactly who gave you that callsign.

His eyes flashed over in anger as he too remembered it all. His memories of your spine-curling screams suddenly whisper into his ear as his brain flashed the images of how scared you looked. How much fucking blood you were covered in-

“Rudy. I am fine, I actually like it, it’s..” your eyes searched for the word but he beat you to it first.

“Chingón,” he murmured as he stood up, "Badass.”

You nodded as he smiled at you, the man heading for the door. “¿Sálvame un baile, Chiquita?” Save me a dance? He questioned you with a knowing look, already predicting your answer.

You nodded as you shot back, “si el coronel no los roba todos primero” if the colonel doesn’t steal them all. You smiled knowing deep down that you’d give him a dance anyway.

“Si todavía puedes bailar, eso es, Chiqui” if you can still dance, that is. He shot back, trying to goad you like he used to do. Only to be met with your door closing in his face and a muffled giggle coming from behind it.

Rudy’s hair stood on the end of his neck, the chuckle dying in his throat, as he peered down the hall to see a certain blue-eyed Lieutenant watching him closely.

“Pinche Fantasmas” fucking ghost. The man muttering a curse under his breath as he turned in and walked into his own room.

As the sun laid low in the sky, the four men were waiting next to the jeep. Everyone was in civilian clothes to various degrees but all men were cautiously armed.

Ghost looked the most out of place out of all of them as he was in all black from his combat boots, to his pants and his top, his balaclava stuck to his face like a second skin. All of them had obvious hand guns in various places on their body.

Soap was in combat boots as well but more dressed for the sandy weather. He was in some jeans, a nice cool t-shirt, the chain of his dog tags peeking out at his neckline.

Alejandro and Rudy were both respectively dressed in a distinct style with square toed cowboy boots, and slightly baggy jeans that fluffed out at the bottom in a boot-cut manner. Their boots looked worn down over time. Both men were ready for a good time before the hell of a mission tomorrow.

“So why are ye dressed up like it’s a party tonight?” Soap questioned the two men curiously.

“Because everywhere there’s a bar, there’s music and where there’s music-” Alejandro was cut off suddenly but your voice.

“There’s dancing” you finished the sentence as you stepped into view of the four men. This was the first time Ghost had seen you in civilian clothes and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t letting his eyes rake over you a little slower than normal. You had obviously packed with suspicion of the boys dragging you out.

You had black square toed cowgirl boots tucked underneath a beautiful pair of boot-cut blue jeans. A black belt held it up at your waist and a tight black tee pulled at your chest. Your hair was cascading down your back in it’s usual manner, you had obviously styled after your shower. You were covered in your usual assortment of jewelry, your sunglasses long gone. Glittering up at him like a jewel just barely out of his reach.

“Jeez, Sis, did ye even have a place to hide your weapons?” Johnny teased as watched his fellow men admiring you in silence.

“A woman doesn’t strap and tell” You said with a wink, your own heart pounding a little under all the attention.

“Vamos!” Let’s go! Alejandro called out as everyone got in the car. Everyone returned to the spots they took on the ride over. Rudy roared the jeep to life as he pulled out. Purposely putting a hand on the back of Alejandro’s seat to peer around to look at you and give you a grin.

Now that Ghost was closer to you, he noticed a jagged scar over your right eye, stopping just short of reaching your eyelids. It was violent and looked like it caused permanent damage and yet that only intrigued him more. He never noticed it before as he assumed you wore contact on that eye around base to hide it since sunglasses were not allowed in every room unlike Ghost’s facial coverings.

“Chiqui, blocking my view-”

“Yo sé.” I know. You clipped as you suddenly bent over. Your belt keeps your jeans down as your shirt rides up. You made your back horizontal as your hips slightly arched to make it comfortable as you completely moved out his rear window.

Ghost swears he tried to look away but his eyes were glued to your back, noticing the way your hips wiggled a little to get comfortable. Your tight black tee riding up your back as your hair fell forward a little to reveal the delicate skin underneath the cloth. Just under the hem of your tee he spotted two identical scars.

However, Rudy finally finished backing out and turning around the jeep. So your back snapped back up into place and met the back of your seat. Your shoulders gently brushing his own and Johnny’s.

.

Speaking of proximity, when Ghost took a deep breath to remind himself of his own boundary with you, the scent of your perfume invaded his senses. He swears he could smell every step of your routine from your shampoo to your lotion to that intoxicating perfume.

“Fuck yer stinking up the damn car. How am I supposed to bring home any ladies tonight if yer stink is rubbed all over me.” Soap whined softly.

“You can’t bring back women to the base anyway, Jabón.” Rudy said with a laugh at the Scotsman's dismay.

Soap was curiously looking at you for an answer so you decided to explain, “it’s the night before our mission so you shouldn’t be sleeping around, and any woman you sleep with here could be an informant for Narcos.”

A frown fell on his face as Alejandro spoke up in an attempt to console his fellow man, “You can still dance and flirt with them all you want. Just remember Jabón, anyone can work for the cartel.”

Ghost nearly rolled his eyes as he peered out the window at the setting sun in the horizon. The last thing they needed was a tipsy sergeant.

His wishes fell on deaf ears as they arrived, you and Rudy hitting the bar to order rounds. The masked giant suddenly took in the entire bar as they entered. Loud norteño music filled the air as did the laughter and the roaring conversations. People stared at him but not before failing to meet his gaze leaving him alone. He also scanned over to see the groups of men and women dancing in pairs.

The couples were so close, especially to him, embracing in a hold on their left side as their right hands interlaced and the men led their partners in dance. Chest to chest and heads right next to each other. Pairs of women being spun around in rhythm to the faster-paced music. Their legs intertwined as the knee of one man’s leg went in-between the woman’s own two. He also didn’t miss how occasionally the women were lifted up and then grinded down onto the thigh of the partner quickly before being put back down and spinning again.

“Do you know how to dance, Fantasma?” Alejandro asked the man, trying to make conversation. The three men piling into a corner booth with a full view of the dance floor.

The man shook his head as Soap answered for him.

“L.T. here has two left feet when it comes to dancing.” Johnny grinned as he said that. Johnny himself also noticed the dancing, the proximity, the rhythm.

“And what about you, Jabón?”

“I can dance but not like that.” Johnny responded, gesturing casually to the couples. Alejandro chuckled for a moment at his honesty.

“Your sister thought the same, you know, then we taught her and by the end of her stay, she would be the one dragging us to dance instead of the other way around.”

“What caused her to leave? I understand that she was pretty close with you after two years.” Johnny said curiously. Alejandro paused, trying to find a way to avoid answering, taking notice of how her own twin brother didn’t even know the circumstances.

Luckily, he didn’t have to avoid answering as you came back to the table victoriously. You and Rudy are holding ice cold bottles of beer with limes stuck in the rim to cover the opening. He also noticed the shot glasses of tequila on a platter.

You passed Ghost and Johnny each a beer, both thanking you as you handed out shots as well. Ghost gently pushed his shot back, to which you cocked an eyebrow but didn’t bother. Gleefully taking the extra shot before your brother could snag it.

“Salud!” Cheers! You, Rudy, and Alejandro said as the beer bottles held by the boys and your tequila glasses clinked together. The lieutenant’s hand shooting up to lift his mask just above his lips, the top one still slightly swollen from your move on the mat a week ago. Ghost’s eyes held your own for a mere second as he sipped his beer before you broke his gaze to take the shot. Everyone began consuming their drinks, and taking their own shot of tequila. Except for Ghost, he was watching you take his shot.

Your wet, pink tongue flickered out to wrap around the rim of the glass and lick the salt off, before shooting the clear liquor past your lips, then your glistening lips enveloped the lime and sucked out its juices. You repeated the process for the second shot as well, failing to meet his gaze. Ghost felt his pants grow just a little tighter as he watched the entire routine.

He quickly tensed up realizing what he had done before glancing to everyone around the table. The man was eternally grateful for the mask as he felt his cheeks dust. Rudy and Soap deep in conversation about different beers around the world as he breathed a short sigh of relief. Your gaze on two men arguing over something as silly as piss water.

‘Idiot. You’re lucky nobody noticed.’ The man internally chastised himself again.

Alejandro then stood up and looked at you, “quieres bailar, Chiqui?” Want to dance? Alejandro’s hand shooting out to take your own.

“Can ye manage without a translator for a while?” You said, your gaze directly pointed at Soap.

“Aye, ye have fun, sis. But not too much.” Soap said with a wink as he pushed you and subsequently Alejandro away from the table. Sure he didn’t want to see his sister grind on a comrade’s thigh or any person’s thigh for that matter but you were a grown woman, and obviously you trusted the Colonel.

“Vamos a bailar, Ale” Let’s go dance. You said as the man joined you on the floor. His strong hand embraced your own gently as you wrapped an arm around his shoulder. His arm quickly found your lower back. He smiled at you as you both began spinning. The liquor made your skin buzz just barely as the music practically thrummed through your veins. You ignored the feeling of eyes on you as you assumed it was just the locals watching you dance with an infamous vaquero. Some of the older locals recognized your face from your time here before.

However they weren’t the only pair of eyes on you as you danced. Ghost slowly sipped his beer as the sounds of your giggles cut through the crowd. Your lips moved as did Alejandro’s as you murmured to each other while dancing. The man is unable to decipher any of it due to limited vision of your lips, lack of knowledge for the language, and the distance. He couldn’t help but wish things were different.

‘What the hell were you doing to him.’ He thought as he focused on Soap and Rudy. The two grown men laughed and caused a commotion as they shifted to battle stories.

The night continued on as more beers were ordered. You finally sauntered back over with Alejandro in tow.

“Rudy, agh. Ayudame.” Help me. Alejandro groaned as he made it to the table, playfully teasing you. You held two more shots in hand as well as fresh beer for the boys.

Soap recognized the command and looked worried for a moment until your quip came back as you pushed him into the booth just as Rudy rose to the occasion.

“Me invitaste a bailar. No es mi culpa que seas un viejo.” You invited me to dance. It’s not my fault you’re an old man. You rolled your eyes before translating. “Ale here forgets that his knees are getting rusty and he wants to blame me.”

“Ale?” Soap said with an eyebrow quirk which you answered with a look alone.

“Te respado, Ale.” I got your back, Ale. Rudy said as he bumped your hips with your own. “Chiqui, tú sabes que no es agradable pegar a un viejo.” Chiqui, you know it's not nice to bully an old man.

You shot the Sergeant Major a look as Soap, Alejandro, and Ghost took the fresh beer bottles from your hand. Your cheeks thrumming with a slight flush of warmth from the liquor coursing through your body.

“You sure you don’t want to take a break?” Soap looked up with concern.

“Oh she’s just getting started unfortunately.” Alejandro chuckled at you as you shared a shot with Rudy. The two of you walked off together, laughing as you shoved each other.

Ghost was suddenly washed over a feeling of jealousy as he watched you dance with your old teammate. Your hips grinding downward onto his thigh in perfect rhythm each time he lifted you up. A laugh leaves your lips as the man whispers things in your ear, his hand resting low on your back. In truth, Rudy was just constantly pulling down the back of your shirt to avoid your scars being revealed. A warmth blooms in your chest as you recognize the habit. But Ghost didn’t see it as that, how could he?

Why was it that you were so comfortable taking the mask off with these men when he had to force it out of you in a spar. Johnny even had to take a moment with you for you to soften up with him again and he is your own family.. What was so trustworthy about these men? Sure you spent two years with these men, bled with them, drank with them, you did it all. But you were his teammate, a member of his task force, not theirs, not anymore. All of these thoughts flooded his brain as he unknowingly gripped his beer tighter, his brows furrowing. Is Rudy the reason why you looked so stressed to come here? You just couldn’t bear the idea of your new team seeing how good you had it with your old one?

Johnny knocked his shoulders against Ghost to snap him back to reality.

“So how did you two manage to get so close to my sister? I haven’t seen her this carefree in a while.” Soap questioned. He hadn’t seen you this carefree since before you started being sent on missions abroad. That’s what he meant to say, but bit his tongue carefully.

“She learned to trust us just as she did you” Alejandro answered calmly as he sipped his beer. The cold beer easing the fiery ache in the older man’s body. Alejandro’s answer irked Ghost but he didn’t show it.

That’s the problem. You didn’t trust him. Sure you trusted Johnny but that’s your family. He’s your commanding officer, your superior, you’re in his care and yet you act like he’s going to suddenly snap whenever he’s around. You can barely hold his gaze or be close to him, meanwhile you can grind on your old teammate without any care and practically share the same breaths of air like it was the only oxygen left.

“And Rudy is the same?” Soap quirked up an eyebrow. Ghost listened closely and watched the Colonel. Alejandro let out a deep chuckle at the question as if a joke was said.

“Rudy and Chiqui are different from Rudy and I. I mean they’re different. Sure, Rudy is my right hand man but Chiqui spent a lot of time with him. They always had each other's back. I mean they used to leave base just to go dance alone at the bar after every mission. He taught her everything. I used to catch them staying up late practicing her Spanish as she taught Rudy how to throw knives. Then I would have to send them to bed and make sure they didn’t follow each other back to the same room.”

“How is that different?” Soap said, “I assume you also taught her something.”

“There’s a phrase we use to describe friends like them. Un amigo es el que intenta levantarte cuando te has caído. Si no logra levantarte, se acuesta a tu lado para escucharte” Alejandro paused. He translated first, having momentarily forgotten the Mactavish twins weren’t completely the same, and then continued his train of thought.

“A friend will try to get you on your feet when you fall. If he fails, then he will lay down on your side and listen to you. Chiqui went through a lot here, especially with this being her first team. She should’ve been sent to somewhere that could ease her into the fire. Instead she was thrown in like a rag doll. Rudy helped her adjust and they became close. I can confidently say they were best friends through and through.”

“Ye dinnae ken me Colonel. I’m asking if my twin has had any history with yer man.” Soap finally said, his look getting serious. Alejandro nodded, finally understanding what the shorter man was getting at.

“Jabón. Under the hot desert sun that plagues Las Almas, even the most clearly drawn lines in the sand can become easily brushed over. Now what your hermana tells you is her business, not mine. She may not be my soldier anymore or under my care, but I will still respect her boundaries. So if you want to know so badly, ask her.” Alejandro said, a serious look appearing on his face as well. The sergeant loosened up on his questioning. Soap could understand why everyone respects the man so much. Soap let out a deep sigh as he peeked at you and Rudy still dancing together. He turned his head back to the table and took notice of the grip Ghost had on his beer. Alejandro following the Scotsman's gaze.

“Todo bien, Fantasma?” All good, Ghost? Alejandro murmured, the two men looking up at him.

“Yeah, I just need a smoke break. Johnny could you scootch-”

“Yeah I got ye.” Johnny said as he let the older man out. Even the nosy sergeant knew not to push his lieutenant when he was this bothered. As Ghost walked out, quickly popping a cigarette and a light into his hands right as he passed through the entryway, exiting into the night.

You noticed Ghost leaving and faltered a step. Rudy noticed and gave you a look. His hand momentarily tightening on your back then relaxing.

“¿Qué pasó Chiqui?” What’s wrong? He whispered into your ear before noticing the way you faltered. The man silently prayed that you were finally done, but a realization passed over his face as he noticed the absence of the lieutenant.

“No pasa nada.” Nothing You responded quickly.

“Ah. El Fantasma.” he chuckled in your ear, a knowing tone to his voice.

“Cállate Rudy. No te metas en algo que no está ahí” Shut up, Rudy. Don’t interfere in something that isn’t there.

“Pero es la problema. No?” But that’s the problem, no? He shot back.

“Rudy.” You spoke roughly, your tone clearly drawing a line.

“Bien, como dijiste que no pasó nada” Fine, just like you said nothing happened. He said, dropping the subject just as fast as it came up. “Pero siempre puedes hablar conmigo, como en los viejos tiempos” But you can always talk to me, like old times.

“Ya no podemos ser como en los viejos tiempos. Solo somos amigos. Ambos estuvimos de acuerdo con eso antes de que sucediera.” We can't be like old times anymore. We're just friends. We both agreed to that before it happened. You whispered in his ear, a saddening note was attached to how you spoke.

Suddenly the liquor turned sour into your stomach and the ache of being on your feet for so long finally got to you. You slowly pulled back from the man with a look, both of you knowing that you were done for the night.

The man nodded, immediately understanding but a part of him ached at your allusion to the incident. He knew what incident you were referring to. That incident when they let you slip through their fingers like the sand that blows through Los Almas. The one time they couldn’t fail and they did anyway.

“Chiqui, siempre estaré aquí para ti” I’ll always be here for you. He said as you both removed yourselves from each other and walked back to the table.

“Yo sé, Rudy. Y siempre estaré aquí para ti” I know, and I will always be here for you. You nodded back.

“Finally done?” Soap smiled at you, knowing that tired look you had on your face. “I hope it was worth it.” He teased you.

“Oh it was worth it.” You nodded, “¿Estamos listos para salir?” Are we ready to leave? You questioned the men with a sigh.

“Finally. I was praying you’d let up soon.” Alejandro said as you all made your way out the door. Even as the moon was high in the sky, everyone could feel the fatigue ache into their bones.

Your eyes immediately scanned for Simon. The man illuminated in the moonlight as he stood next to the jeep. His cigarette long squished out into the ground below.

The ride back to base was silent. Ghost peered down at you as you held his gaze. Neither of you spoke as you took a moment to stare into his glaring blue eyes. You couldn’t understand what ruffled the man’s feathers but you wouldn’t press him.

A soft whine escaped your lips as you walked back to your room. Johnny followed in suit as he went into the room. Ghost stood outside the door, allowing his sergeant time to change and decompress. Ghost knew that Johnny was worried about you and his conversation with Alejandro eased some of his worries while heightening others. Just as he was about to turn in, he noticed a light was on in the room across from yours. He slowly stalked over to the door, standing right beside it and focusing in on the two voices.

“Estoy preocupado por ella, Ale. Ella se niega a abrirse a su teniente. Incluso su hermano no conoce la historia completa..” I'm worried about her, Ale. She refuses to open up to her lieutenant. Even her brother doesn't know the full events.

“Lo sé, Rudy. Pero lo que ellos saben es asunto suya. Quiero decir, si estuvieras en su posición, ¿serías diferente? Le tomó semanas abrirle a ti y luego, justo cuando mejoró, le fallamos. Ella estuvo atrapada aquí durante una semana con esos malvados bastardos. ¿Sabes las cosas que le hicieron? ¿lo que la hicieron hacer?” I know, Rudy. But what they know is their business. I mean if you were in her position, would you be any different? It took her weeks to open up to you and then just when it got better, we failed her. She was stuck here for a week with those evil bastards. You know the things they did to her? What they made her do?

“Sé exactamente lo hicieron. Yo estuve allí! ¿O has olvidado quién entró primero en esa habitación? Quién escuchó su gritos durante horas hasta que nos dieron permiso para entrar? ¿Quién llevó su cuerpo ensangrentado de vuelta a la enfermería? ¿Quién se quedaba junto a su cama todas las malditas noches porque se despertaba gritando como si nunca saliera de esa habitación? ¡Lo hice! ¡Lo hice todo! Yo estaba allí para ella cuando nadie más estaba. ¡Ni siquiera podías mirarla o estar en la misma habitación que ella! Tú eres el que dejó que ese General la robara de vuelta. ¡Sabías exactamente ese General que haría con Chiqui y sin embargo dejaste que sucediera.”

I know exactly what they did to her. I was there! Or have you forgotten who entered that room first? Who listened to her screams for hours until we were given permission to enter. Who carried her bloody body back to the infirmary? Who stayed by her bed every damn night because she would wake up screaming as if she never left that room? I did it. I did it all! I was there for her when no one else was. You couldn't even look at her or be in the same room as her! You're the one who let that General steal her back. You knew exactly what that General would do with Chiqui and yet you let it happen.

“Baja el tono, sargento mayor. No me viste detenerlo. Lo intenté. Pero él fue por encima de mí, a nuestros superiores.” Lower your tone, Sergeant Major. You didn't see me stop him. I tried. But he went above me, to our superiors.

“¿y qué hubiera pasado si hubiera sido Valeria en lugar de Chiqui? ¿te habrías esforzado más?” And what if it had been Valeria instead of Chiqui? Would you have tried harder?

He recognized the voices as Rudy and Alejandro but he couldn’t decipher it. All he knew was that they were talking about you. There was a long pause, something was said lower but Ghost couldn’t pick it up.

“Su hermano me interrogó sobre ti, mientras ustedes dos bailaban.” Her brother interrogated me about you, while you two danced.

“¿Jabón? ¿Qué quería saber?” Soap? What did he want to know?

“Tú relación con su hermana.” Your relationship to his sister.

“¿qué le dijiste?” What did you tell him?

“La verdad.” The truth.

“¿Todo?” All of it?

“No todo, pero algunas cosas están muy claras.” Not all of it, but some things are very clear.

“¿Como lo que?” Like what?

“Le dije que algunas líneas se difuminaron, pero sobre todo que eras su mejor amigo. También le dije que lo preguntara a ella porque el necesitaba escucharlo de ella, no de mí.” I told him that some lines were blurred, but mostly that you were her best friend. I also told him to ask her because he needed to hear it from her, not from me.

A deep sigh was heard as Ghost got closer to the door.

“¿Es por eso que Fantasma se fue?” Is that why Ghost left? The masked lieutenant tensed up at the mention of his name in spanish.

“Sí.” Yes.

“¿Quién está siendo metiche en mi puerta?” Who is being nosy at my door? Suddenly a pair approached the door. And it swung open, but Ghost was already gone.

“Rudy?” Alejandro spoke as he walked past the shorter man, standing in front of the entryway as Rudy stepped back into his own room.

“¿Mande?” yes/come again?

“Creo que ahora tienes una razón para temer a los fantasmas” I think you have a reason to fear ghosts now.

Author’s note - The girls are fiiiighting. I know I know. Lots of questions, and all will be answered in the upcoming chapters. I’m sorry I couldn’t resist reader being close with Los Vaqueros AND me getting an excuse to practice my Spanish. As always - I hope you enjoyed it! Reblogs, comments, and likes are all welcome!

My requests are open! Feel free to drop by and ask questions!

Masterlist / Pt. 1 , Pt. 2.

houndtooth [16]

hey ao3 besties, here is chapter 16. i'll post the full chap on here once i get home from work!! <3

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3.8k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. SA and implication of child SA (very subtle). summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: this chapter is all from Blue's perspective. if anything regarding the abuse or suffering of children triggers you do not read. though it is really not graphic at all (imo) and the SA is EXTREMELY implied and subtle (just a woman looking/potentially touching Blue's private area to check for virginity). I wanted to tell you so there are no surprises.

B

Blue hasn’t been without her father for more than an hour in over five years. There were moments when she'd imagined him disappearing, especially when he said no to her, when he could annoy her, push her too hard, or withhold the words she craved. And yet—now, with her head resting in Twix's lap, she can only long for him. The thought of his absence fills her with cold dread. The kind that erupts goosebumps on her arms despite the stuffy air in the room. Twix’s fingers gently stroke the back of her scalp, but it does little to ground her as her mind drifts to Ghost. He’s alive, that woman said. But it's been over a day, and he still hasn’t come for her.

"Do you think he will come soon?" she asks quietly.

Twix's fingers pause at the top of her hairline. "I think... I think he is doing everything he can to find you."

Blue is old enough to know that is a non-answer.

She knows, deep down, that Twix doesn't think he'll be coming, either.

"I will figure something out, okay?" she promises.

"Okay," Blue whispers noncommittally.

"Hey." A faint smile. "I've done pretty good at getting us out of shit in the past, right?"

Blue mumbles, "I guess so."

But this time felt different from those times. No matter how many times she catches Twix squinting around the room, murmuring things to Nereida, even Blue knows that a bright idea won’t magically appear. Not in here, where there is nothing except the three beds, the bolted cell, and the out-of-reach door that Ghost has yet to barge through.

When Blue's fingers instinctively search for her wrist, Twix’s face softens, and she gently encloses her palm over Blue's knuckles. "Alright. I want you to close your eyes and imagine that beach you showed me once. The one with white sand, and super blue water." Blue plays along with a deep sigh, closing her eyes as she feels a callused thumb brush her cheek. "Almost as blue as your eyes. See it?"

"I guess."

"Good. Now, I want you to imagine that you are lying on the sand, eating all the Twix bars and Nutella you want. Oh, and Grim is there. He was trying to make a sandcastle but got his head stuck in the sand."

Blue's lips twitch despite herself. "This is dumb."

"Dumb? Well, I don't think Grim finds it dumb. He can hardly breathe right now so you better stop eating chocolate and haul his ass up."

Blue snorts quietly, eyes screwing tighter as she imagines it; pulling the bunny out of the sand, giggling, the waves crashing. She falls back onto the sand with him in tow, but he darts away from her hands, toward the water. When she looks over, sun glaring, someone else is there. It's her father, and for a moment she is ready to jump on his back and beg him to play in the waves with her. That's when she notices he is keeled over, ripped apart, bloodied and battered.

Blue jolts, inhaling sharply. When she reopens her eyes, the image is still there. 

"What's wrong?" 

"I just saw—" she rubs her eyes profusely, but he's right in front of her. Blood begins to spurt from a sever in his throat. His head snaps forward, hanging by a thin thread of tissue. "I see him! H-his head is..." 

She jerks upright from Twix's lap, her eyes blinking rapidly as if trying to shake off the vision. When that doesn't help, she buries her face in the pillow, but the image remains too real to ignore. The thread snaps, and her father’s head rolls away silently.

Twix’s voice cuts through, her hands gently shaking Blue’s shoulders, but it feels distant, like a shadow compared to the sickening thud of her father’s headless body hitting the ground. Thick blood pools at her feet, and she tries to move, but her muscles won’t obey. The blood rises and rises, suffocating her, until she can’t breathe.

"Blue, it's just... you're imagining it."

"I can't... I can't..."

Someone flips her over on the bed and hugs her shoulders.

Twix's chapped lips press into her cheek.

"Please, Blue. I'm here."

The touch is enough to drain the blood and free her lungs. Her father's dead body floats away. She gulps for air, cold sweat clinging to her neck, and curls into the body beside her. Lingering panic races through her heartbeat, but then, after a minute, it begins to slow considerably. A new feeling washes over with the force of a tidal wave; fatigue.

Blue suddenly feels so tired that she can't keep her eyes open. It’s as though the terrible images have drained her entirely, leaving only murky water in their place. Her mind begins to float, and the edges of the world blur. Twix's face is in front of her yet feels so far away. Her lips try to part for words to come out, but it takes three tries just to manage: "I feel strange."

Across the cell, Nereida whispers, "I do, too."

Weight shifts on the mattress as Twix tries to sit up, leaning against the wall. Her head dips slightly, then snaps back up. A shaky inhale. "That... that fucking bitch. The oatmeal!"

The oatmeal? Blue’s thoughts latch onto the warm meal they’d been forced to eat, but the memory slips away before she can hold onto it. The slow descent snowballs. Twix’s voice distorts, blending with the chirping of birds outside the window. Her body slides down the wall, crumpling back beside Blue. She tries to hug Twix again, but her arms won’t cooperate.

Minutes later, or maybe hours, Blue hears the metal screech of the cell door swinging open. Veiled ghosts drift in. She can do nothing to run from them. Murmured voices, speaking words she doesn't understand, bleed through the heavy blanket of fog lying over her.

"Vous avez dit que celui-ci était intact?"

"Oui, Maman."

"Nous offrirons son corps pur au Seigneur. Les deux autres seront aptes à avoir des enfants."

"Mais elle est une... Je veux dire, oui, Maman."

She feels something cold and sinuous lifting her—snakes. No, not snakes. Hands. Cold, unfamiliar hands. Twix shouts something slurred. Then Blue is dragged by her feet, her spine no longer supported by the bed. She tries to squirm free, but her limbs feel heavy, useless. More hands clamp down on her arms.

No, no.

She wants to call for Twix, but her voice is muffled beneath a palm, the sound dying in her throat.

A weathered voice coos in her ear. "Sweet child. There is nothing to fear."

She can't scream.

All she knows is Twix is no longer the one beside her.

Cold fear surges through her veins, and she claws at someone’s arm. The retaliation is swift—a prick to her neck.

The strike of pain intensifies her dizziness, the last fight in her body fading away. They're dragging her again. The hard floor beneath her feet melts into soft grass, and the stark white ceiling shifts into a blue, cloudless sky before everything fades to black.

A gentle melody repeats in her subconscious until she rouses.

The same three-note tune, over and over.

Peeling her eyes open against the buttery sunlight, the first thing she notices is an open window above her head, its thin white curtain dancing in the light breeze. Upon the windowsill sits a small, cooing bird with pearly grey feathers and a black ring around its neck. Its head tilts almost mechanically, two little black eyes regarding her. She stares for a long moment before her eyes fall closed once more, lulled by the familiar call. Only when the bird quiets does she truly come to her senses. The sudden silence jolts her upright.

This isn't the same room she was in before. There hadn’t been a window in the cell, and certainly not one left open. The air there had been thick with the scent of old wood and lingering dust. But here... here, the air is different. It smells of fresh flowers, of the tall grass she used to wade through with Ghost while hunting. 

The bird calls once more before flittering away, leaving her reeling.

"A collared dove."

Her gaze snaps to the right where an old woman sits in a mahogany chair, knitting needles in hand. Without looking up from the red yarn she weaves, she explains idly, "They are very common. Lovely, but common."

The accent of her old voice is nothing like Blue's Mancunian one. But she understands each word.

Her voice pulls through her teeth with great effort. "I don't... Where am I?"

The old woman's brow furrows as if she is deep in thought, but it smoothes over after she undoes a stitch and loops it again, hands moving with an unnatural slowness. "You had them in England, yes? They are very common there, too."

Blue's fingers spread into the fine linen, her pulse ticking as she blinks a few times to sharpen her vision. The woman before her is older than anyone she has seen in a long time, though there is a faint resemblance to a woman deep in her memory who she believes was her grandmother. Unlike the woman who visited their cell with food, this one does not wear a veil over her face. Long wisps of gray hair fall over her shoulders. Wrinkles etch around her eyes and lips. She is still cloaked in white, but around her neck hangs a red cord beaded with a cross dangling at the end.

Her fingers clench. "I don't care about the-the stupid bird. Why am I here? Where are my friends? You..." she swallows the feel of sandpaper in her mouth, "You put something in the food. You made me lose control of myself again!"

Finally, grey-blue eyes flicker up beneath a questioning brow. "Oh, sweet child. You are so full of fire." With an unsettling calmness, the woman sets down the knitting needles on a carved side table. Pressing a palm to the surface of it, she rises slowly, then laces her hands in front of her. "Come, and perhaps your questions will be answered. Though, I wouldn't try to run." She moves toward the door, her gait shuffled but steady. A glance over her shoulder beckons. "Your friends are under my care."

The mere mention stiffens Blue's spine. She forces herself to her unsteady feet, swaying slightly, bare toes digging into the wood planks. Each small step feels lighter than the first time she woke up from being drugged, though her body still protests. Ahead, the woman is already walking away. It wouldn’t take much to catch up, but Blue lingers, her eyes sweeping the room with deliberate caution—always stay aware of your surroundings.

For a moment, she considers grabbing the knitting needle and stabbing the woman. But then what? Everyone, her father included, is under her care, and any misstep could mean their deaths. Ghost always told her to never act without some type of plan—to wait for the right moment. Blue doesn’t even know where the others are.

As she hesitantly steps out of the small house, the realization hits her. There are more people here than she’s seen in a long time. Almost like a town, but not really. Smaller than that, but more than her group. The building they just left is a small, home made of light grey stone. To her right are more homes, smoke billowing from the chimneys. She counts at least four of them. Straight ahead of her is gravel road. This is where the woman heads, with Blue trailing behind her. To the left is a stretch of green lawn, bright and lush. She has the itch to sprint over it, but a voice ends that idea.

"Catch up, girl." 

Gravel bites her toes as she walks to the woman's side. She is still only dressed in the simple, white slip. She hasn't worn a dress before.

"Where are you taking me?"

"There are some things I wish you to see." 

"Why... why can't the friends I was with be here to see them, too?"

From the corner of her eyes, Blue catches the woman smile lightly. "What do you think of France?"

Blue digs her nails into her palms, swallowing down her frustration at the non-answer. "It's... nice, I guess." It isn't a lie. The beautiful beach they left from, the fields of wheat and flowers, were things she'd only imagined before. 

"Good. My husband was from India but owned this land. I never wanted to leave it. France is the most beautiful place. I knew I wanted my son to grow here." She exhales in a quiet appreciation. "My husband said this land would thrive, even after the plague. He was right. The Lord spared it. He did not spare Ashwin, though."

Blue doesn't know what to say to that. If she should feel sorry for this person or not. She didn't state her husband's death in a sorrowful way, merely factual. As they walk, they pass a few men hunched over tree stumps, chopping wood. The smell of fresh earth and spilt sap wafts up her nose. The men glance up, their gazes lingering on Blue a moment too long, making her shift uncomfortably. Then, they lower their heads respectfully toward the woman. She speaks to them in French, and their chuckles follow her words.

Under a warm afternoon, they approach what looks like a large barn, bordered by wooden fence posts strung with taut wires. Inside the fenced area, Blue notices a white horse, smaller than Cherry, along with four cows. More men are working nearby, some tending to the animals while others, farther off, wield sickles to harvest stalks of wheat.

When they stop in front of the fence, Blue can't stop herself from asking, "Where are all the girls at? Like the one who fed us? I've only seen guys so far."

The woman doesn't look at her. "Our community is built around the roles God intended for us. Men have bodies made for working under the sun. Women, like those beautiful young ladies you traveled with, are vessels to be cherished, protected. Especially in these times when they have become rather scarce."

A few of the words fail to make sense to Blue, never having learned them from any of the books Ghost read her. "Um, is that why you separated the girls in my group from the men?"

She hums, a slow sound. "Women are kept in their own quarters with the infants."

"Okay," Blue rocks on her feet and grips the hem of the dress before the light air can catch it. So is her dad one of those men working, then? She quints, confused, and shakes her head. No; if he was anywhere out here, he would've come to her. He must be locked up, too. A wave of anger buzzes in her chest, louder than the cicadas. "That still doesn't explain why you are holding Twix and Nereida prisoner. If women are so special, why are they locked up and I am out here? And where are all the men from my group?" Her mind briefly flashes to the others; Kyle, Price, and... Ari. 

"None of them are prisoners, child. They are merely being readied for the role their bodies were created for, by God."

Blue grits her teeth. "You're not really answering my questions. What about me? Why did you bring me to," she glances back at the working men, who haven't stopped to look at her like the others had, too engrossed in the strenuous labor. "A fucking farm. What could you possibly want to show me here?"

"There is someone I need here before our next stop." She leans closer to the barbed fence and calls out, "Pierre! J'ai besoin de toi et de trois hommes pour nous accompagner jusqu'à la cale. Apporte les chaînes."

A man—Pierre, she guesses—strikes one of the cattle's hindquarters, wipes sweat from the back of his neck, then shouts in French to three others following behind him. They unlatch a gate in the fence and slip inside a small shed for a brief moment, emerging with rusted chains in hand. They approach, causing Blue to falter and step back. An old, strange woman is one thing, but three strong men are another. A fissure of terror cracks through her, and she inhales shakily.

"You need not be afraid."

She blinks up at the woman, who for a moment, conjures something similar to a comforting expression. Blue nods, and then they are walking again, with the four men trailing behind them. The sound of the chains dangling in their grasp makes her feel uneasy. What are they for, and why are they coming with them? She is ready to build the bravery to ask when the woman ghosts a hand on her shoulder.

"What is your name, child?"

"It's... um, Blue."

A soft chuckle. "The English and their strangeness. This is not your real name, is it?"

For some reason, Blue finds the truth stuttering out of her. "No, it's—the name I was born with is Amelia."

"Amelia. Much better. Tell me, Amelia, did your mother have blue eyes?"

Blue nearly chokes, her footsteps halting in the grass as she flinches away from her hand, curling her fingers into fists. "What the fu—why are you asking me that?"

The woman stops beside her and clasps her hands together, the long sleeves of her gown falling over them. She is small woman, hardly taller than Blue, and can't be any stronger than she is, but something about her emits control. Blue can't look away from her eyes, even as her jaw tightens, stomach swirling.

"They are many answers to questions that can be discovered on their own if one simply looks for them. I know which one of them is your father—"

"How could you know?" Blue demands. "I haven't even said any of them was my dad."

Thin lips twitch at the side. "A daughter gets the shape of her face from her father." A bony finger reaches to trail the edge of Blue's cheek, and she trembles from the cold feel of it. "But the features are all from her mother." She looks away and continues walking, speaking over her shoulder, "A little dove might have also told me he was asking for you."

When the men step forward, Blue is forced to continue walking. It feels hard to breathe, even though the canopy of trees offer fresh, rich air. "Then why are you asking about my mother?"

"Your eyes are blue, but your father's are not. I was simply curious."

"My mother is dead," Blue finds herself gritting out. 

"I figured. Neither of those women were her, and many mothers have been lost. A very terrible thing. A child needs its mother. You will call me Maman, Amelia. This is what French children call their mothers."

"I am not going to fucking call you that. Tell me where we are going," Blue presses, swallowing as she looks back at the farm behind them. Through the gaps between the men's shoulders, she sees that it is rather distant now, along with the small homes. She looks back ahead; nothing but overgrown vegetation. Even the flowers have grown sparse over here. It is quiet and still. She can hear the thrum of her own heart.

"Your fire is admirable, but you need to learn respect." For the first time, Maman's voice carries an edge, one that sends a shiver down Blue's spine. A foreign bird call echoes through the leaves, and the woman holds up a hand, signaling for everyone to stop and listen. "Ah. That’s the Bluethroat, if I’m not mistaken. Much rarer than the dove. You won't often find those in England."

The bird calls again—a trilled chirp—as they crest over a small hill, and the air suddenly grows heavier, more pungent. A smell Blue knows well makes her freeze, but a strong grip on her arm keeps her moving toward the source of the stench: an old, smaller building made of much darker stone. The sharp rustle of wings through the trees fades into the distance, but the tension in her body doesn’t ease.

"You, too, are rare, Amelia," Maman continues, voice steady and unhurried. "A pure, young female like you—so virtuous—carries more favor from God than any other. Your friends have their purpose, and you have yours. Each of us plays a part in shaping the new vision of God's children."

The men move in front of them now, except for one who continues gripping Blue. The tremble in her body intensifies, and a cold pit grows unbearable in her chest, thundering. She is forced to stand about four meters in front of the large door, where one man grips the handle while two others, including Pierre, stand beside it, their hands ready with chains and their stances wide. It’s now, through the stinging film that grows over her eyes, that Blue notices large metal muzzles attached to the chains.

Blue is too stunned—too confused, yet frightfully aware—to move a muscle when Maman procures a knife from inside her robe. Pierre shouts something in French, but Blue can barely hear him. Her senses are fixed on the bead of sunlight glinting off the knife, and on the scratching and snarling she hears from the other side of the door.

"Please—" she gasps, unable to finish the thought.

Maman ignores her in favor of snatching hold of her wrist. Cold fingers force her arm to extend, and a burning pain cries out when the knife slashes a laceration from her elbow to the rim of her palm. 

"Une seule coupure pour les attirer."

The blood weeps, and the door shakes from the ignited frenzy behind it.

Tears finally escape Blue’s eyes just before the door opens. She feels it—the sensation of her body being torn apart beneath rotten teeth. She squeezes her eyes shut, thinking of Ghost, when she hears more shouting and the harsh sound of chains being whipped through the air. When she opens her eyes again, the men are wrestling two Greys into the muzzles.

"Deux c'est bien!" Maman orders, and the door is slammed shut over the others that threaten to spill out toward the fresh wound. 

Blue is alive.

Her arm numb and bleeding. 

Maman yanks something else from her robe—a strip of cloth. She wraps it roughly around Blue's forearm, then issues another command. Without warning, Blue is hoisted from the ground and callously tossed over the shoulder of the man who had held her in place. They start heading back the way they came, the leashed Greys trailing behind them, and finally, a scream rips from Blue’s throat.

"You said this one was intact?" "Yes, Maman." "We will offer her pure body to the Lord. The other two will be fit to have children." "But she is a… I mean, yes, Maman." "Pierre! I need you and three men to accompany us to the hold. Bring the chains." "One cut to attract them.” “Two is good!”