#part2

• ~ mature fanfic • {18+} • part two

Context: it’s been a week since you spent the night in Michael’s hotel room. He took your number, but you didn’t expect anything. Except he calls late one night, asking to see you…

[this is a part two, I suggest reading part one and then this one.]

Enjoy ~ xx

part two! part one.

zombie apocalypse au - simon riley x pregnant!fem reader. inspired loosely by @drmonstersdungeon, thanks for the idea, baby. zombies based on TLOU infection

~2.4k words

tw: suicidal ideation (brief, non-descriptive), character death offscreen and onscreen, british inaccuracies, sadism, stalking

Simon never believed in happy endings. At least, not for men like him. He considered himself lucky to make it to the end of each mission without a bullet in his head or a trip into a two-meter hole in the ground.

He considered himself lucky that he'd at least been home when the outbreak hit England. Getting out of Manchester without getting bitten or killed had been difficult enough. Getting around and surviving in a foreign country or city would've been worse. It hadn't been luck that had him home. It was Johnny's death that had him and his team homebound. The idealist with bright blue eyes and horrible taste in beer, gone from his life in a blink. He'd been unable to stop Johnny's death or the thoughts that plagued him following. Simon considered following him, thinking that maybe the God Johnny believed in would let him in through those gates. But he knew better. Men like Johnny went to heaven.

Men like Simon would not.

The scarred man had headed to the coast, in that general direction, at least. Price had a cabin out on the cliffs, one he let the men use from time to time. It was lovely. Simon remembered going, when the team was still whole, and Price's lovely missus was expecting their third. He remembered watching the eldest two run underfoot, Price's laughter, the missus' doting smile, and the swell of her belly. Johnny had always wanted kids. He wanted a lass that'd give him an entire football team, though Simon knew that Johnny would kiss the very ground she walked on, and she'd have him on a leash.

Simon had felt a... hunger. Deep, low in his gut, and dangerous. He watched Price and his wife. He watched the children play and dote on their mother's growing womb. He knew the captain knew it, just the same way a handler knew his loyal dog. It wasn't that he wanted her or Price's life as his own. He wanted a lass of his own. Some delicate bird to rely on him. He didn't care about looks (though he'd prefer one with a bit of meat on her bones). Simon wanted someone to need him.

The way that Johnny had.

But he knew he'd never feel for another man the way he had about Johnny, and he'd put his foolish dreams to rest. A bird like that didn't exist.

And a man like Simon didn't get happy endings.

He'd made it as far as Bury before traffic became... strange. People were beginning to crash along the highways, getting out of their cars, bloodied, mangled from accidents, and wild-eyed. He'd been none too keen on getting out of his truck when he saw people beginning to tear each other apart, overcome by madness or sickness. He turned his vehicle to the shoulder of the road, roaring past until he was forced to get out in Ingleton, near the national parks.

His phone had quit working, and the cell towers shut down. Simon was only able to get hold of Gaz, though he hadn't heard from him after the younger man had gone south to find his parents.

Grief consumed him in waves as he trekked through the hills of Yorkshire Dales. He steered toward the ledges, eyes constantly on his surroundings.

He counted himself lucky once more that he'd thought to bring his gear. Just in case Price found Makarov and needed him to take revenge for their fallen boy.

Months passed in the parks. He continued his trek north, avoiding towns until he needed food or supplies, avoiding roads until they needed to be crossed. The world changed before him, and he became a ghost. A hollowed-out husk only meant to survive. For what, he did not know. Something nagged at him. The back of his mind itched as he lay in his camp spot. He'd found a good spot hollowed out in the ledges. Enough game traveled through that he'd been able to eat, and a fresh spring ran nearby. He'd survived worse at the hands of Roba. At least now, his solitude was determined by his own means.

For weeks, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling of the cave, wondering about his brothers, wondering about his captain, and wondering if all of this effort to stay alive was worth it.

But Johnny nagged at him. Stubborn bastard, even beyond the grave.

C'mon, L.T., I'm tellin' ye, ye've got ta keep movin'. We're almost there. Keep movin'. We're goin' home.

Simon and Johnny had been pinned down in a gnarly fight in Mexico. Simon had taken a sniper round to the thigh, bleeding through the bandage. Johnny's tourniquet couldn't even seem to work. Simon was convinced he was going to lose his leg or die before it came off. But Johnny, the insufferable optimist, ignored his orders to leave him behind and forced them all the way to safety.

And it was Johnny who led him to you.

Simon continued north after maintaining his territory in the hills for nearly three months. Four months had passed since the outbreak. Four and a half since Johnny died. Four since he lost everything else that ever meant anything to him.

The town was small, overrun by veins and corpses. Time in the hills had cleared his lungs apart from the cigarette usage, so the smell hits a spot in the back of his throat. The scarred, crooked nose beneath his balaclava crinkled in disgust as he weaved through the narrow streets. It was clear to Simon that there were ravagers here, though he didn't know them by that name. Recognizing the traps was easy. He'd count himself lucky for his experience in the military once again. His booted feet moved nimbly, cold eyes calculating. Every flutter of trash, shifting of curtains through broken windows, he saw it all.

A quiet hum filled the air, followed by the crunch of tires on stone. Simon plastered himself against a wall, crouching as a truck coasted slowly into town. He saw the woman immediately through the windshield. Your eyes were shifty, terrified even, as you pulled the truck into a side street. Smart thing, you tried your best to hide it. An amused smirk twitched at his lips as the bird covered the truck in trash and a dirty sheet.

His eyes took in your gear. The hiking pack, the boots, the shaking hands holding a small pistol. His amused smirk disappeared. You were holding it wrong, and your gloves were too big. You'd hurt yourself.

A scratching tickled the base of his cerebellum, as though someone with long nails was trailing them over a primal instinct in his brain. So, naturally, he followed you. The woman knew better than to step on the veins. That was good, he decided. You weren't entirely helpless. You couldn't have been if you had survived this long. He watched you squeeze into the old market. Through the window, he observed as you shoved item after item into your pack. You reminded him of a squirrel or a rabbit: shifty eyes, quick movements.

Then, your hand graced your stomach. Just once, just a caress. His eyes zeroed in on the movement. Heat seeped from his chest through the rest of his limbs.

So the lass was pregnant.

Any man of worth wouldn't let you come here on your own. Any man of worth wouldn't let you out of his sight. So whatever man had you, if there was any, would be dealt with. You needed someone to care for you properly.

You eventually wormed your way back to your truck. Driving away quickly, you didn't notice your following. More than one predator had eyes on you as you made your escape.

The plotting ravagers, a group of three, died quickly. Simon didn't need to waste bullets on the spineless men. It felt good to deal with them by his own hands. The rush of warm blood soaking his gloves was a carnal pleasure that he hadn't felt in months. He fed the bodies to the local infected before clearing them out, too. If you came back, the town needed to be safe for you.

So he watched. Simon waited. He wouldn't be able to keep up with your truck, but rabbits like you were creatures of habit. Every two weeks, you came back, ransacked your little store, and left again. He liked watching you. Your movements and mannerisms endeared you to him rather swiftly. You were always so timid and frightened, easily startled into full fear.

I will protect you, he thought, and you won't need to be scared.

Slashing your tires had been easy that December morning. He was almost furious at you for how trusting you were. But it didn't matter. Simon would keep you safe, far away from anyone who would hurt you.

The truck rolls easily in front of the cottage he'd left you in. Before the outbreak, he'd have said something smart about electric drivers being pussies, but now, he keeps his mouth shut. It's quiet, and obviously, his rabbit has some way to charge it.

His boots hit stone before he heads inside. He's wordless as he heads to the nursery, finding you curled around a small stuffy, still clutching the gun like he showed you. A bunny, he realizes. Fitting.

"Found some new tires," he says gruffly, taking the baby bag and hoisting it over his shoulder. "Let's go. Wanna get back before sundown."

You sniffle, nose reddened and cheeks drying. He likes the sight of your tears a bit too much. "Back?" You ask as you get up. "I thought we were leaving in the morning?"

His cold eyes level at you, the only feature you can see. He can't decide whether stupidity lies in you for your lack of fear in him, or if it's intelligence that recognizes the protective beast inside him. There's very little good left in him, but he could give every drying drop to you.

"Your place. I'm assuming you've got somewhere to charge that truck of yours," Simon responds plainly, already walking through the cottage, back out to the truck. He knows that you have a farmhouse. He saw the mud on the tires. He doesn't bother explaining why he changed his mind. You wouldn't sleep well here. That wouldn't do.

You follow, wiping your nose with your sleeve and giving a quiet, "Okay."

It pleases him greatly that he doesn't have to domesticate you in this moment. He hopes that you'll have some bite later, but right now, he knows that his little rabbit needs coddling. A warm blanket, fire, perhaps some soup, and for him to hold you. His chest puffs slightly as he takes your bag, hoisting it into the cab, before rounding the truck to open the door for you.

You pause momentarily. It's been a while since you've had true human interaction. His action throws you, but the grunt he gives and a hand on your back force you to push through it.

He comes back to the driver's side, allowing you to quietly direct him out of the town and to your home. The countryside passes your tired gaze, your head leaning against the cold glass of the window. Snow drifts cause slight pain behind your eyes as the winter sun reflects light from the ivory blanket, so you let them slip closed.

Simon is pleased by this, he thinks. He makes sure the heat is blowing, fixing your vent. "When's it due?" He asks, eyes flicking once to your bump. His tone is nonchalant, uninterested, like he's speaking to a coworker only to be polite.

"Uhm, April or May, I think," you murmur quietly, shifting your head to look at him.

"Y'think?" He repeats. The tone is only slightly condescending.

Your cheeks puff, and you blow out a long breath. "I didn't know before the outbreak. I didn't get to go to the doctor."

An organ in his chest tightens at the thought of his poor girl finding out such a big thing on her own. His eyes stay on the road ahead. "And the father?"

There's a long moment of silence. Only crunching snow beneath tires and the air pulling through the vents greet him until he looks at you. Your eyes are misty.

"He died," you answer, voice weak. You clear your throat, and he wishes for a moment that he could hold your hand without weirding you out. He'd have to work you a bit before sinking his teeth in. "The third day of the outbreak."

There's a sick feeling of glee and rage, a sanguine combination that cases his bones with lead. Glee that he didn't have to dispatch your partner and scare you. Rage that he hadn't been able to watch the light fade from your partner's eyes while he stole you from him. "Shit luck," he says instead of the sadistic commentary in his mind. "On your own, then?"

You give another nod, wiping at your eyes. "Well, Bug and I. And Alfie. And the hens."

His gaze turns to you. "Alfie?"

You nod. "My dog. An Irish setter."

Simon grunted. That breed wasn't ideal for protection, but he gathered that he could train the beast all the same. Hens meant eggs, which were good, and meat, which was also good. "You've kept the place running, then?"

Your thumbs play with the edge of your coat, and you give a half-shrug. "My parents were doomsday preppers. There's solar panels and such. A greenhouse for vegetables and herbs. My dad built a system that recycles the snow into water for it."

His giant hand settles atop your head, giving you a rough ruffle just once before it returns to the wheel. "Good girl, sweetheart. It was very smart to go there."

The praise warms you, while a bit startling, and you relax further into the leather.

With the skin of your cheeks darkening just a bit, you gesture to a driveway that splits a row of trees. "There."

He turns, gloved hands deft and capable. The driveway winds through a pasture and into the hills a bit before he sees your home. Victory wells in his chest, a wolf pissing on a new tree to claim his territory. He turns to face you, dangerous light gleaming in his eyes. "Let's get you inside, rabbit."

Honey, I'm home.

a/n: hey!!! ik this was delayed and i didn't proofread so if there's anything crazy let me know, lol. this is mostly more story-building i suppose. also, bisexual!simon is real to me, so keep it to yourself if you disagree.

listening to "crying during sex" and "crush" by ethel cain while writing this

Three days passed since the ‚unspoken break-up’ and without a word from Sukuna. No angry texts, no late-night calls, no sudden appearances at your door. The silence was deafening. You checked your phone obsessively, even when you knew it was pointless but you didn’t call or text him either.

You found yourself scrolling through old pictures of the two of you - happier times, before everything got so complicated. Before you started caring too much and he to less. Your apartment felt too quiet, too big. You couldn't focus on work. You barely ate. It was pathetic, really, how much one person could affect you.

Meanwhile, Sukuna was doing exactly what he said he would do. He kept himself busy. Too busy. Work lunches, business meetings, late nights at the office. When he wasn't working, he was out with friends or at the gym. He'd even gone on a date with some woman from his office - a tall, gorgeous thing named Yuna who laughed at all his jokes and leaned into his touch. It could be perfect.

It wasn‘t.

He couldn't focus on the conversations at dinner. Yuna's smile was too bright, her laughter too loud. She was perfect on paper - beautiful, intelligent, ambitious. But Sukuna felt nothing. No spark, no interest. Just a hollow emptiness in his chest that grew heavier with every passing moment.

He cut the date short, making up some excuse about an early morning meeting. Yuna looked disappointed but didn't press him. As he drove home alone, he found himself gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary. His apartment was too quiet when he got home. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and sat on the couch, staring at nothing. The silence was suffocating. He reached for his phone out of habit, thumb hovering over your contact before he remembered - you weren't talking anymore. "Fuck."

His mind drifted back to the look on your face the last time he saw you - hurt, betrayed, resigned. He remembered the soft curve of your smile before he'd broken it, the warmth of your touch before he'd pushed you away. He downed his whiskey like it was poison. For the first time since you'd met, Sukuna was truly alone. No work to distract him, no friends to drown out the silence. Just him and his thoughts, which were darker than he cared to admit. He missed your voice, your laugh, even your stubborn arguments. He picked up his phone again, thumb hovering over your contact. Three days. You hadn't fought back. You hadn't texted him stupid memes. You hadn't asked if he was okay after work. You just... left. And for some reason, that pissed him off more than anything else you could have done.

He threw the phone on the coffee table and poured another drink. Week one ended. Still no contact. By week two, Sukuna was canceling more plans than he was keeping. His colleagues noticed he was getting short-tempered, snapping at anyone who looked at him wrong. Yuna texted him - he didn't reply.

Then, Friday night, after getting off a late call, he found himself driving. He pulled up outside your apartment building, engine idling. It was late, the streets quiet. His heart was pounding in his chest - whether from anger or something else, he wasn't sure. He sat there for a long moment before finally turning off the engine and getting out of the car. The night air was cool against his skin as he walked up to your door. He hesitated for only a second before knocking - three sharp raps that echoed in the quiet hallway. It was past midnight.

Inside, you were curled up on the couch, wearing one of his old hoodies you'd never returned. The TV played some mindless show you weren't actually watching. You heard the knock and froze. Your heart skipped a beat before you slowly got up, walking to the door on quiet feet. You looked through the peephole and saw him standing there - tall, broad-shouldered, hands shoved in his pockets.

His expression was unreadable.

For a moment, you considered not answering. But then he spoke, his voice muffled but clear through the door. "I know you're in there." He sounded tired, not angry. "Open the fucking door." You unlocked it slowly, opening it just a crack. Sukuna stood there, looking unchanged - same sharp features, same intense eyes, same expensive cologne. His gaze dropped to the hoodie you wore, his expression softening just a fraction. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual scowl. "Let me in." He said gruffly, pushing the door open wider and stepping inside without waiting for a response.

He walked straight through your small apartment like he owned the place, which was annoying because for a brief moment, he actually had helped you buy it. Before everything went to shit. He stopped in the middle of the living room, turning to face you. The silence stretched between you like a physical thing.

He looked tired. Dark circles under his eyes. His jaw was tight.

"You're wearing my hoodie." He commented abruptly, breaking the silence. His eyes raked over you, taking in the way the fabric swallowed you whole, how the sleeves covered your hands. It was stupidly large on you. "And you look like shit." „Are you here to insult me?“ you ask.

"No." He said gruffly, running a hand through his hair in frustration. For a moment, he just stood there, looking around your apartment like it held answers to questions he hadn't asked out loud. "I'm here because..." He paused.„Because?“ you said, looking with hope in your eyes at him. He caught the look in your eyes and something inside him twisted. That fucking hope. The same hope he'd crushed. The same hope he'd told himself he was protecting you from. It made his chest ache in a way he hated. "Don't look at me like that." He said harshly, turning away. "I'm not here to apologize." „Then why are you here?“ you ask, your Voice trembling.

He turned back to face you, his expression hard. He was good at this - pushing you away, being an asshole. It was easier than letting you in. Easier than admitting he actually give a fuck about you.

„Sukuna…“ you said soft taking a step closer.

He froze as you stepped closer, his eyes locked onto yours. Your voice was soft, gentle. Everything he wasn't. He hated how much he missed that softness. "Stop." He snapped, taking a step back. "I'm not here for this." He gestured between you two. „Then why the fuck are you here?“ you snap at him. His eyes flashed with something dangerous at your snap. He liked this version of you less - the angry one. It made him want to push harder. "I don't know!" He shouted back, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Maybe I just wanted to see your fucking face!"

„Fine you seen it now, anything else?“ you hiss.

The second the words left your mouth, he was across the room, backing you against the door. His hands slammed the wood on either side of your head, caging you in. His face was inches from yours, chest heaving.

"I can’t without you, Woman" He growled, his voice low and raw. His eyes dropped to your lips.

„Don’t make me say it twice“

You could see the war in his eyes - the anger, the frustration, the longing. His breath fell hot against your face, his scent surrounding you. One of his hands left the door to grip your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him. "Say something." He demanded, thumb pressing against your bottom lip. "Yell at me."

„You know i wont yell at you and you know that i can’t live without you either“. His eyes closed for a moment at your words, a pained expression crossing his face. When he opened them again, they were filled with a quiet desperation. His grip on your chin tightened just a fraction. "Then fucking kiss me." He whispered harshly, pressing his forehead against yours. "Before I do something stupid like beg."

You didn't hesitate. Your hands gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him down, smashing your lips against his. It was messy and desperate and perfect. Sukuna groaned into your mouth, his hand sliding from your chin to grip the back of your neck, holding you there as he deepened the kiss.

He tasted like home.

Tongues wrestled fiercely. Teeth clashed. Breaths mingled. Your body pressed against the door, his pressed against yours. Every hardened muscle, every sharp edge, every dangerous curve was against you. His other hand gripped your hip possessively, pulling you against him.

He broke the kiss just long enough to growl against your lips. "Missed you." Then his mouth was on yours again, this time slower, hungrier. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth. His grip on your hip tightened, fingers digging into you through the thin fabric.

He pulled back suddenly, eyes dark with want.

"Bedroom." He ordered gruffly, letting go of you and stepping back. His chest rose and fell rapidly, pupils dilated. He looked wrecked and perfect. He gestured impatiently with his hand.

"Now."

His voice was low, commanding. Expectant. "Before I fuck you against this door instead." You didn't argue. You moved quickly towards the bedroom, Sukuna hot on your heels. As soon as you reached it, he kicked the door shut behind him and pushed you onto the bed. His hands went to his belt, unbuckling it while staring down at you with intense hunger.

The belt hit the floor with a thud. His shirt followed, revealing that chiseled chest you used to trace patterns on when he slept. His pants came next, leaving him in just his boxers which did nothing to hide his hard length. He crawled onto the bed over you like a predator. His hands gripped your legs, pulling them apart and making room for himself between them. His voice was low, almost dangerous when he spoke. "No sweet talk. No gentle fucking. If you need me to slow down, tap my chest. Otherwise..." He rubbed himself against you. His hands framed your face, holding you still for a deep, searching kiss. His hips pressed against yours, his hardness prominent even through the thin fabric of his boxers. He broke the kiss to trail open-mouthed kisses down your neck, his hands roaming possessively over your body. He yanked your (his) Hoddie up, breaking the kiss to pull it off completely. Your breasts bounced free and he growled, lowering his mouth to one nipple while pinching the other. His hips rolled against yours, making you feel every inch of his hard cock. He worked your Thong off in one swift motion, tossing them aside. His boxers followed. The sight of his bare cock had your breath catching - thick and long, precum already leaking from the tip. He lined himself up with your entrance, pushing just the head inside.

"Still fucking tight for me." He groaned against your neck, not moving yet. His hips jerked suddenly, pushing his entire length inside without warning. You gasped and arched your back, taking him deep. He growled in approval, bottoming out inside you completely before pulling back and doing it again, establishing a brutal pace right from the start. "Fuck... missed this pussy." He pounded into you without mercy, each thrust hitting that perfect spot. Your moans filled the room, mixing with his grunts. One of his hands gripped your thigh, pushing your leg higher to get a better angle. The other went to your hair, pulling your head back so he could mark your neck.

He felt so fucking good. His pace became erratic, harder, faster. The bed slammed against the wall with each brutal thrust. His hips slapped against yours, skin on skin. You were close - so close - and he could feel your walls clenching around him. "Not yet." He growled, grabbing both your wrists in one hand and pinning them above your head.

He changed the angle of his hips, targeting a spot that made your vision white out. He did it again and again, hitting it perfectly each time. His free hand went between your bodies, finding your clit and pinching it hard. He bit down on your neck, sucking bruises into your skin as he fucked you relentlessly.

Your orgasm hit suddenly, your pussy clamping down on his cock like a vice. He swore loudly, thrusts stuttering as your walls milked him. But he didn't stop - he kept fucking you through it, extending your pleasure until you were seeing stars. As soon as your orgasm started to fade, he pulled out suddenly, flipping you onto your stomach in one swift motion. He grabbed your hips and pulled them up, entering you from behind with a deep groan. His hands gripped your ass cheeks, spreading them wide as he fucked you brutally.

He reached around to grab your tits, squeezing them hard as he slammed into you from behind. His balls slapped against you with each thrust. He was so deep in this position, hitting spots he hadn't reached before. You were whimpering and moaning uncontrollably. "Fuck..." One of his hands slid down your stomach, finding your clit again. He rubbed harsh circles while continuing to pound into you from behind. He watched your body, saw how your back arched with each thrust, how your hair spilled over your shoulders.

His other hand gripped your shoulder, using it for leverage as he started to fuck you even harder. The bed was shaking, the headboard slamming against the wall. You felt completely stuffed with his thick, hard dick, your pussy dripping wet around him. "Take it..." He suddenly pulled out completely, leaving you empty and gasping. Before you could protest, he flipped you onto your back again and lifted your legs over his shoulders. He entered you in one deep thrust, hitting your cervix immediately. "Look at me." He demanded roughly.

When your eyes met his, you saw pure possessiveness. Love and hunger and a need that went beyond physical. He started fucking you at a slower but deeper pace, making eye contact the entire time. Each thrust was deliberate, controlled, designed to make you feel every vein, every inch.

"I'm not leaving again." His words hit harder than his cock. Your chest tightened. Tears pricked at your eyes - not from sadness, but from something overwhelming and terrifying. He must have seen it, because his pace faltered for a second.

"Don't fucking cry." He growled, leaning down to kiss the tears before they could fall. "Just stay."

„I will“ you sniff. Something seemed to break inside him at your words. He kissed you roughly, deeply, tasting salt and promises. His hips snapped forward, fucking you hard and fast again.

But it wasn't angry or brutal this time - it was relieved, grateful, filled with emotion. "Good girl." His thrusts became erratic, his jaw clenched. You felt him thicken inside you, his balls tightening. He buried his face in your neck, biting down hard as he came - shooting deep inside you with a guttural groan.

"Yours." He panted against your skin, still not pulling out. "Only fucking yours." He wrapped his arms around your legs, keeping them spread wide and his dick buried inside you. He rolled onto his back, pulling you on top of him. You felt his hot cum leaking out around his still-hard dick, mixing with your own wetness. "Stay like this."

He held you there for what felt like hours, his cock softening but never leaving your pussy completely. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back and thighs. Occasionally he would kiss you deeply or murmur things that sounded like promises and apologies. Your Hands interwhine wich eachother.

And for the first time Sukuna do Aftercare

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 : 𝚅𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜! 𝙹𝙹𝙺 𝚡 𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚔𝚊𝚒𝚍! 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

╰┈➤ "𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐌 𝐈" You lived like any ordinary person, each day repeating like a loop. But everything changed the moment you woke up in a world you never dreamed of seeing.

𝙽/𝙰 : 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢~!

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

You yawned as you walked through the noisy street, just finishing your shift at a restaurant, it was already late in the night — little over midnight since it was a weekend, the restaurant was up until 11 pm.

Dinner was simple: white rice, grilled fish, and the sound of your chopsticks hitting the bowl far too loudly. Shota sat across from you, his yellow sleeping bag discarded for once, though he looked like he wished he could hide in it.

For ten minutes, neither of you spoke. He just chewed slowly, his dark eyes fixed on the wall behind you.

He finally set his chopsticks down with a precise clack. "Bakugo? Really?"

"He’s loud. He’s volatile. He has a hero name that includes the word 'Murder,'" Shota sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I spent three years trying to keep that kid from blowing up the school, and now I find him trying to swallow my daughter’s face in the hallway."

He didn't yell. In typical Eraserhead fashion, he treated the situation like a mission briefing. He pulled out a small notebook—the one he usually used for student evaluations—and flipped to a fresh page.

"If you’re going to date him, we’re establishing 'Logical Constraints' immediately:"

"On school grounds, you are classmates. Nothing more. If I see a hand held, I’m giving you both extra cleaning duty for a month."

"No more 'sparring' that ends in make-out sessions. From now on, you train with Shoji or Tokoyami. Bakugo is banned from your personal training orbit."

"When he comes over—and I use 'when' very loosely—the door stays open. If I hear silence for more than three minutes, I’m using the capture scarf."

You looked down at your rice, feeling your face heat up, but then you heard a heavy sigh. You looked up to see your dad’s expression had softened just a fraction.

"He’s a good hero, [Y/N]," he admitted, his voice dropping to a tired murmur. "He’s driven, and he’s protective. But if he breaks your heart, I won't just expel him. I’ll make sure his hero career involves nothing but directing traffic in a small town with no crime. Do you understand?"

You nodded quickly, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Thanks, Dad."

Nanami Kento x chubby!reader

The soft sigh as you snuggled deeper in his arms, feeling safe and warm. Smelling a bit of Cedarwood and whiskey cinnamon, you gently opened your eyes to see the love of your life, holding you so right and lovingly. "Kento..." You whispered for him to hear.

"Yes, my love?" He replied, softly looking down at you, meeting each other's eyes.

"I'm so glad you're alive and here." You admitted, fearing that he'll disappear, you gripped his shirt tightly, trembling. The incident. Fighting that curse spirit. Kento would live to have those battle scars but it will not let you love him less. In fact, a final decision was made that day, for you two to marry.

Nanami was planning to how to purpose to you.

Him, squeezing you slightly, that memory shivered down his spine, fearing of never seeing you again. Leaving you alone. He moved his head into the gap between your head and shoulders, smelling the scent of you. He kissed your neck lightly, and hummed. "I am too..."

"I love you so much, y/n"