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faebled-stories · 2 months ago

Text

Rumor Has it

Kinkvember Day 12: Size Queen

ITZY Lee Chaeryeong x Male reader

7k words

“I can’t believe I’m with ITZY’s Chaeryeong,” the man murmured, voice heavy with disbelief as his eyes roamed her flushed face. “You’re just so hot,” he added, the words tumbling out in a way that was meant to be flattering but only served to deepen the emptiness settling in her chest. His awe should have kindled something—pride, excitement, even a fleeting sense of satisfaction—but it barely registered.

Chaeryeong lay on the unfamiliar bed, her body half-sunken into the cushions as he moved rhythmically, each thrust marked by an urgency that lacked any real warmth. His hands skimmed over her skin with a mechanical precision, more rote than passionate, as if he were caught up in the idea of her rather than the moment they shared. His breath came in shallow, heated bursts against her collarbone, but rather than igniting any spark within her, it only deepened the creeping impatience that gnawed at her.

Detachment wrapped around her like a cold wave, numbing her senses until it felt as though she were watching herself from above, disconnected and distant. The cracked, faded ceiling above was far more familiar, more interesting than the man whose movements quickened, already nearing the climax of their encounter.

The scene was painfully predictable, an act she could have performed in her sleep. The pattern was always the same: meet a guy, revel in the spark of attraction, then watch that spark die the moment intimacy began. It wasn’t their lack of effort; many were charming, practiced, saying and doing all the right things. But beneath the flattery, the skilled movements, and the whispered praises, there was only the same worn-out script she had seen unfold too many times to count.

He caught her gaze, a confident smirk tugging at his lips. “I knew you’d be this wild,” he said, tracing a line down her side as if her silence was proof of his prowess. Chaeryeong’s lips curved into a slight, practiced smile—just enough to maintain the illusion. She knew what he was looking for: affirmation, a performance. It was easier to provide it than let him glimpse the blankness she felt inside.

“Tell me how good this feels," he whispered, voice thick with self-assured pride as he pushed forward. The words fell over her, hollow and ineffective, their intended power dissolving before it could ignite even a flicker of genuine response. She knew men like him all too well—the ones who craved validation, whose confidence was built on a steady diet of praise. They lived for these moments, hungry for reassurances that fed their ego as much as any touch or fleeting glance.

“Mm-hmm,” she murmured, carefully calibrating her voice to mimic desire. Inside, the chasm of disinterest yawned wider, swallowing any pretense of excitement. His movements grew more erratic and rushed, signaling the approach of the end. Each gasp, each strained promise of how he would make her feel, only deepened her impatience. Her eyes wandered to the wall, where the paint peeled in thin, curling strips.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” he gasped, voice ragged as he tensed, releasing with a final, shuddering exhalation. The warmth splattered across her stomach, sudden and uncomfortable against her skin. He collapsed beside her, chest heaving, eyes closed with a self-satisfied smile curving his lips. The silence that followed pressed down on her, suffocating and familiar.

Chaeryeong stared at the ceiling, her expression unchanged, irritation simmering beneath her blank exterior. The mess was just another inconvenience, another reminder of how detached she felt from the entire experience. She sat up, reaching for the box of tissues on the bedside table, each swipe across her skin sharp with annoyance. The sticky remnants clung stubbornly, and she fought the urge to let out a sigh as she wiped it clean.

“That was amazing, you loved it, didn’t you?” he said, the lazy grin on his face matched only by the certainty in his voice. He looked up at her, eyes glinting with a kind of self-congratulation that made her jaw tighten.

“Yeah,” she said absently, the word slipping out devoid of meaning. She crumpled the tissue and tossed it into the trash with more force than necessary, already turning her attention to putting her clothes back on. The quicker she dressed, the sooner she could escape the weight of his gaze and the aftermath of a night that felt like just another checkbox ticked.

“You’re leaving?” His tone shifted, a hint of surprise breaking through his post-coital haze.

“Yeah, something came up,” she said, already buttoning her jeans and reaching for her jacket. She didn’t spare him a glance, the cool air from the hallway whispering in as she opened the door.

“Oh, well… okay. I guess I’ll see you around?” The words trailed after her, carrying the echo of confusion and a touch of disappointment.

“Maybe,” she muttered, stepping into the hallway. The door closed behind her, muffling his presence, and she let out a silent breath. The street outside stretched dark and quiet, the distant hum of traffic soothing in its consistency. With each step away, the encounter faded into the background, another scene in a cycle she was desperate to break.

-----

The next day, Chaeryeong walked into the studio, the weight of last night’s disconnection lingering around her like an unwelcome shadow. The steady thump of music in the background was a familiar comfort, its rhythmic beat grounding her as she stepped into the safe haven of dance practice. Here, she could shed the emptiness, rediscovering herself in the movements and the sweat.

As she moved down the hallway, she nearly bumped into you—a newer dancer known for your laid-back, shy demeanor that had a certain charm. The unexpected encounter made her pause, and she blinked up at you, adjusting the strap of her bag with an almost self-conscious touch.

“Oh, hey,” you said, eyes widening with surprise before a soft, genuine smile spread across your face. Your voice carried a hint of nervousness, but it was endearing, a reflection of your gentle nature.

“Hey,” she replied, her tone casual but warm. Chaeryeong had seen you before, exchanged a few words here and there, but your interactions were always routine—comfortable, familiar, but devoid of any real thrill or spark. Still, there was something grounding about your presence, an easy reliability in an industry full of fleeting faces and shallow exchanges.

“How’s it going?” you asked, shifting the strap of your own bag and glancing at her with a mix of shyness and openness.

“Good,” Chaeryeong answered with a brief look toward her makeup room. “Just getting ready for practice.”

“Same here,” you said with a small, awkward chuckle, nodding toward the practice room behind you. “Well, I’ll catch you later.”

“Yeah, see you,” she echoed, stepping past you as the moment seamlessly blended into the rest of her day.

Settling into her makeup chair, Chaeryeong projected an air of calm as the room buzzed around her with practiced chaos. Stylists moved efficiently, tugging at her hair and trimming stray ends while she scrolled through her phone, barely registering the cascade of notifications on the screen. Despite the morning’s encounter, her mind drifted back to the comforting rhythm of dance, where she could momentarily leave everything else behind.

A sudden murmur of gossip cut through the ambient chatter, the tone sharp enough to catch her attention.

“Did you hear about the new dancer?” one stylist whispered, drawing out her words as if relishing their weight.

Chaeryeong’s pulse quickened, but she kept her expression neutral, eyes glued to her phone as though she hadn’t heard.

“Oh yeah,” another stylist chimed in, her red lipstick as bold as the knowing smile she wore. “They say he’s... well, really well-endowed.” She stretched out the last words, savoring the ripple of reactions they prompted and darting her eyes around for signs of who was listening.

Heat crept up Chaeryeong’s neck, her cheeks warming despite her best attempt at indifference. In the mirror, she caught a glimpse of the stylists exchanging conspiratorial looks, their excitement palpable. She focused back on her phone, but the whispered words replayed in her mind, stubbornly refusing to fade.

“Where did you hear that?” a third stylist asked, her eyes wide as if this were the juiciest piece of news in weeks.

“Someone in the wardrobe department,” the second stylist replied, leaning in conspiratorially. “They saw him changing during a show. It was... unmistakable.”

Unmistakable. The word lodged itself in Chaeryeong’s mind. She scolded herself for the flicker of interest that sparked within her. It’s just gossip, she reminded herself. But the allure of whispered secrets had a way of sticking, no matter how much she tried to brush them off.

Chaeryeong attempted to shake off the chatter, but it clung to her thoughts, feeding her curiosity. She opened a recent group photo on her phone from a past shoot, eyes scanning your face, searching for... what, exactly? She didn’t know. The absurdity of it made her bite back a sigh.

She locked her screen and set her phone down, chastising herself. This is ridiculous, she thought, trying to push the rumor out of her mind. But it lingered at the edges, a persistent tickle she couldn’t quite dismiss.

A few days later, Chaeryeong found herself tucked into a quiet corner of a café, a rare escape from the whirlwind of studio life. The hum of coffee machines and the clinking of cups provided a soothing backdrop, calming her frayed nerves. She took a slow sip of her latte, savoring the warmth that radiated through her.

Her peace was short-lived. From a nearby table, lively voices cut through the mellow atmosphere. Natty and Julie, two bright junior members of Kiss of Life, were leaning into each other, their laughter infectiously carefree. Their energy filled the small café, vibrant and uncontainable.

Chaeryeong wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but their excitement was impossible to ignore.

“So... have you heard about the hot topic recently?” Natty’s eyes were wide, her voice tinged with thrill.

Julie’s grin widened as she lowered her voice. “Oh my God, yes! Everyone’s talking about it. You mean... the rumor?”

Chaeryeong’s fingers drummed lightly against her mug. She’d heard variations of this story a hundred times before—momentary bursts of intrigue that swirled through the industry, more smoke than fire. Yet, there was something magnetic about the way these whispers spread. No matter how hard she tried to tune out, the animated tones and shared glances drew her in.

“Yeah, you know... the rumor,” Natty said, barely suppressing her giggles.

Julie leaned back, crossing her arms with a playful smirk. “Honestly, I kind of want to see if it’s true.”

Natty’s eyes widened, shock mixed with amusement. “Wait, what? You’re actually thinking of... finding out?”

A daring glint crossed Julie’s face. “Why not? Everyone’s acting like he’s some kind of god. He’s always so nice and friendly. It wouldn’t be that hard to get close.”

Natty shook her head, half-amused, half-incredulous. “You’re wild! What if it’s not true? Or worse, what if it is?”

Julie’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “That’s what makes it fun! I’m not just going to ask him, obviously. But if the opportunity comes up... why not?”

Chaeryeong took another sip of her coffee, pretending to focus on the view outside. The boldness of youth was something she recognized from her own early days. They were fearless, driven by curiosity and the thrill of what-ifs. But she knew better now. Rumors had a way of spiraling, turning curiosity into consequences.

Yet, their conversation lingered in her thoughts, winding its way into the quiet spaces of her mind. Could there be any truth to it? It was absurd, but the question gnawed at her. She tried to brush it off as idle curiosity, but the story held on like a stubborn melody.

With a sigh, Chaeryeong set down her mug and stood, casting a glance back at Natty and Julie. They were still deep in conversation, laughter bubbling over as they reveled in their world of daring and speculation. Their faces were bright, full of life untouched by the cynicism that came with years in the industry.

As Chaeryeong stepped into the crisp autumn air, a bemused smile tugged at her lips. Maybe, in their own ways, everyone was searching for a little excitement, a hint of truth buried in the glitz and chaos. In the unpredictable realm of K-pop, who wouldn’t want to peek behind the curtain to find out what was real?

-----

On a quiet afternoon, Chaeryeong sprawled across the cool floor of the practice room, her body still humming from hours of intense rehearsal. The mingling scents of sweat and faint traces of perfume filled the air, and the ache in her muscles was a satisfying reminder of her hard work. For a brief moment, silence settled over the room, seeping into her exhaustion and offering a rare sense of peace.

The stillness was broken by the soft, deliberate clicks of Ryujin’s phone. Every few moments, Ryujin’s lips would curl into a smirk, her eyes flickering with amusement as she scrolled through whatever had caught her attention. Chaeryeong, trying to focus on stretching out her legs, found herself drawn to the subtle shifts in Ryujin’s expression.

“What’s got you giggling?” Chaeryeong asked, her tone casual but laced with curiosity. She lifted an arm over her head, feeling the pull in her shoulder, though the stretch couldn’t quite outmatch the intrigue sparked by Ryujin’s grin.

“Oh, just some juicy gossip,” Ryujin replied, snapping her phone shut and looking up with a mischievous glint. “You’ve heard the latest about him, haven’t you?”

Chaeryeong raised an eyebrow, her heart giving a small, involuntary skip. “I’ve heard bits and pieces. What’s new?”

Ryujin leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Well, rumor has it things have taken an… interesting turn.”

Chaeryeong found herself inching closer, her interest piqued. “Interesting how?”

“Remember that new staff member from production? Long hair, brunette, always with the clipboard?” Ryujin’s voice dropped even further as Chaeryeong nodded, recalling the confident, polished woman who’d been around the studio lately. “Apparently, she tried to hook up with him, but it didn’t go as planned.”

Chaeryeong’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

Ryujin savored the suspense, a smile playing on her lips. “She called it off halfway through. Said it was ‘too much’ for her.”

Chaeryeong’s mouth fell open in disbelief, a small laugh escaping before she could stop it. “You’re serious?”

Ryujin’s nod was triumphant. “Completely. She’s been avoiding him ever since.” The way Ryujin spoke made it clear she found the entire thing endlessly entertaining. “Can you imagine? She didn’t even finish!”

Chaeryeong leaned back, trying to process the bizarre twist. Until now, the rumors had been little more than idle chatter, a way to pass the time between rehearsals. But this? This felt different—specific, almost too wild to be entirely made up.

“That’s beyond crazy,” she muttered, shaking her head. “So she really just… walked away?”

Ryujin’s smile widened. “Too intense for her, apparently. Makes the rumor even juicier, right?”

Chaeryeong chuckled, fingers brushing her forehead as if to clear the strangeness from her thoughts. She’d always seen you as quiet and reserved, an enigma wrapped in an unassuming presence. You’d danced beside her, shared jokes and casual conversations, but now it felt like a veil of mystery had fallen over you, changing how she saw you.

Ryujin noticed the flicker of interest in Chaeryeong’s eyes and pounced on it. “Not curious at all?”

Chaeryeong scoffed, though a faint warmth crept up her neck. “It’s just gossip. Things like this always get exaggerated.”

Ryujin laughed knowingly. “Maybe. But admit it, there’s a part of you that wants to know. And who’s to say there isn’t some truth hidden in there?”

Chaeryeong rolled her eyes, trying to brush off Ryujin’s teasing, but a reluctant smile played on her lips. “Okay, maybe I’m a little curious,” she conceded.

“Exactly,” Ryujin said, leaning back with a victorious nod. “And who knows? You’ve worked with him more than anyone. If anyone can figure out what’s real, it’s you.”

Chaeryeong’s expression turned wary. “Are you suggesting I go looking for answers?”

“Not exactly,” Ryujin replied with a wink. “But it wouldn’t hurt to keep your eyes open. You never know what you might find.”

As Chaeryeong stood up, stretching her arms high above her head, the tension in her muscles eased, but a new kind of tension lingered in her mind. “I’m not getting caught up in this,” she said, trying to sound resolute.

Ryujin’s smirk deepened. “Sure. Just don’t blame me when you can’t stop wondering.”

Chaeryeong’s gaze drifted across the empty room. Though she said nothing, her thoughts inevitably circled back to you—the unexpected center of a rumor that refused to fade. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to you than she had realized.

-----

In the days that followed, her resolve to ignore the gossip unraveled bit by bit. Every break in rehearsal, she’d catch snippets of whispered conversations, soft voices punctuated by the thrill of the latest gossip. The room seemed charged, the air thick with secrets woven together in webs of speculation, and the more she tried to tune it out, the more the curiosity gnawed at her.

It was a curious thing, the way her perception of you began to shift. In her mind, the once-awkward grin and boyish shyness you’d worn so easily took on a new, shadowed dimension. She’d always seen you as the soft-spoken one, the one who was quietly supportive, almost unassuming. But now, even a passing glance was tinged with the echo of those whispered stories, and each encounter left her feeling as if she’d glimpsed only a fraction of who you really were.

The questions pulsed in her thoughts, gaining a stubborn grip, no matter how often she told herself it was only idle gossip. What if the quiet you she’d known was only part of the story? What if there was a depth, a mystery lurking beneath the surface, a piece of you yet to be uncovered?

With every passing day, her curiosity transformed from a soft, passing thought into an itch that lingered, whispering at the back of her mind. And though she told herself to brush it aside, Chaeryeong couldn’t help but wonder. In a world built on appearances and carefully constructed images, maybe there was something real beneath all the stories. And maybe—just maybe—she’d find herself wanting to know who you truly were.

Then, one afternoon, it seemed as though fortune had finally aligned in her favor. Practice had stretched longer than usual, the group winding down and slowly dispersing in pairs or small clusters, chatter buzzing through the air. Chaeryeong, catching her breath near the edge of the practice room, happened to look up just as you turned the corner into the hallway, your figure briefly silhouetted against the light streaming in from the corridor.

Your gaze found hers, and in that brief, quiet exchange, you offered a shy, slightly lopsided smile—a familiar look that made her pulse skip, the awkward charm in it disarming and strangely magnetic. In that moment, something sparked in Chaeryeong’s chest, a flicker of boldness mixed with curiosity. Today, she insisted, I’ll find out more.

Whether it was the way you moved, calm and at ease despite the group’s lively presence, or the weight of the unanswered questions lingering in her mind, she couldn’t ignore the pull anymore. The hallway felt smaller, the walls pressing closer as she crossed the distance between you, her footsteps light but deliberate.

“Hey!” she called out, her tone casual but carrying a note of unmistakable purpose. You paused, a slight furrow of confusion forming on your brow as you turned. “Can you help me with something?” she asked, her smile warm but with a hint of mischief that made your eyes narrow in curiosity.

“Oh, uh… sure. What do you need?” you replied, polite and almost cautious, your tone laced with that familiar modesty she had come to expect from you.

“There’s something broken in my dressing room,” she replied, her tone smooth and casual as she gestured down the hallway. Ignoring the flicker of uncertainty that crossed your face, she took a step forward, inviting you to follow her. You hesitated, but soon enough, you fell into step beside her, the two of you making your way through the quiet corridor toward her dressing room.

Her heart pounded as you neared the door, the quiet intensity of her decision hitting her as she led you inside, closing the door behind. For a moment, you looked around, a faint confusion in your expression as you glanced around the small space.

“So… what exactly is broken?” you asked, your brow lifting as you scanned the room, clearly searching for any sign of damage.

A smile crept onto her face, playful and assured. “There’s nothing broken,” she said softly, watching as the realization dawned in your expression. “I just wanted to get you alone.”

Your eyes widened, surprise and hesitation crossing your face as you struggled to find a response. “Alone? I… I don’t really…”

She reached out, placing a hand on your arm in a gentle but firm gesture, her gaze steady. “You’ve probably heard the rumors about you,” she said, her voice quiet, laced with both curiosity and determination.

Your face flushed, a deep crimson that betrayed your nervousness, and you quickly averted your gaze. “I-I don’t really pay attention to that stuff,” you stammered, shifting uncomfortably.

“Well, I do,” she replied, her voice lowering to a near-whisper, her breath warm and close. “And I’m curious.”

You blinked, taken aback, struggling to process her words. “Curious? About… about what?” Your voice was barely a murmur, your gaze flicking nervously between her face and the door.

“About whether the rumors are true,” she continued, taking a step closer, her eyes searching yours with an intensity that made the air between you both feel electric. She could feel your hesitation, but she wasn’t about to back down—not now.

Your breath hitched, and you took a small step back, the uncertainty clear in your expression. “I… I don’t think this is a good idea, Chaeryeong.”

But she only smiled, undeterred by the protest, taking the soft reluctance as a sign that she was closer to the truth than she’d expected. “I think it’s a great idea,” she said softly, her gaze steady as she leaned in, her hand tracing a slow line down your arm.

Before you could voice another word of protest, she closed the space between you, capturing your lips with her own in a kiss that was unhurried but unmistakably confident. You froze, the surprise evident as her warmth pressed against you, but after a moment, your hands found her waist, responding with an uncertainty that melted into something softer, bolder.

When she pulled back, your breath was shallow, confusion and conflict swirling in your gaze as you looked at her, trying to find the words. “Chaeryeong, I… I don’t want you to think—”

She lifted a finger to your lips, silencing you with a soft shush. “You don’t have to explain anything. I want this.”

Your expression betrayed your uncertainty, but beneath it, there was a flicker of something else—a tension, an attraction you seemed to be struggling to contain. “But… what if this isn’t—”

“Don’t overthink it,” she murmured, her voice soft as her hand found yours, guiding it gently. Her fingers brushed against your skin, warm and light, and you felt the world around you blur, the small room shrinking to just the two of you. “Just show me.”

“Show you?” you repeated, the words barely escaping your lips as you tried to steady yourself, her gaze holding yours with a quiet intensity that felt almost like a challenge.

Her smirk widened, her hand trailing downward, brushing against you with a deliberate slowness that sent a surge of heat through the quiet room. “Show me what I’ve been hearing about.”

A heavy silence fell between you, your gaze flicking toward the door, conflicted but drawn in by the certainty in her eyes. Something shifted in you then—whether it was the thrill of the moment, the pull of her confidence, or the simple desire to finally let go of your restraint, you couldn’t tell. You nodded slowly, your hands moving to the buttons of your shirt, your breath shallow as her eyes followed every motion.

As the last button fell open, Chaeryeong’s gaze grew intense, her breath catching as she took you in. For a moment, the noise and tension of the studio outside felt like a distant memory, her curiosity and excitement heightening with each second. It’s real, she thought, the truth of all the whispers and gossip settling into place, striking her with a thrill she hadn’t fully expected.

"Wow the rumors are true," she whispered, stepping closer. Her hands gently guided you to sit on the plush couch. "I've been looking for someone to be able to fulfill my needs and you are formidable" she admitted, her voice lowering to a sultry whisper.

Sitting down, your heart pounded as Chaeryeong knelt before you. There was a moment of stillness, her eyes locked with yours, before she leaned in. Her breath was warm against your member as she began, her touch sending waves of electricity through your body.

She started slowly, her lips parting to take you in, her movements deliberate and gentle. You could feel her tongue, soft and exploratory, circling the tip before she took more of you into her mouth. The warmth, the wetness, it was overwhelming.

As Chaeryeong continued, she seemed to grow more empowered with each inch she took. Her eyes, when they met yours, were filled with a proud determination. She was proving something to herself as much as she was pleasuring you.

The air was thick with anticipation and the subtle scent of her exertion. She was focused, each movement more deliberate and bold than the last. Her determination was palpable, and you could see it in the way she bit her bottom lip as she concentrated.

Her hands gripped your thighs tightly, using your body for support as she pushed herself to take more of you. With each movement, she adjusted her technique, learning as she went, adapting to the situation with a skill that only came from experience and a deep understanding of her craft.

You could feel the tension building in the room as she took more of you, sinking deeper with each thrust. Her breathing became heavier, and you could hear the soft sounds of her exertion, mingling with the sound of her lips against your skin. Her hair brushed against your thighs as she moved, a soft and sensual contrast to the firmness of her grip.

Finally, she reached the base, her lips pressed against you as she took all of you in. It was a moment of pure intimacy and connection, a testament to her skill and dedication. And as she held you there, you couldn't help but feel a deep sense of admiration and respect for the woman before you.

The feeling of your entire body being enveloped by warmth and tightness was overwhelming. You could feel the muscles of their throat contracting and relaxing around you, creating an indescribable level of pleasure that left you trembling. The sensation of being so completely encased was both thrilling and intimidating, and you couldn't help but let out a gasp of disbelief.

"No one has ever taken me so well before," you managed to say, your voice thick with emotion and desire. Your words were muffled, but still understandable, as you were still buried deep within them. You could hear the surprise and satisfaction in your own voice, and it only served to heighten your arousal.

The experience was so intense and all-consuming that you found it hard to think or speak clearly. You were lost in a sea of pleasure, your mind and body fully focused on the sensations coursing through you. You couldn't believe the level of arousal from being completely inside Chaeryeong's throat.

She paused for a brief moment, pulling back slowly with a satisfied, almost victorious smile gracing her lips. Her eyes slightly teary but gleamed with a sense of pride and accomplishment, as if she had just uncovered a hidden treasure. In a way, she had discovered exactly how to please you in a manner that was unique to her.

She plunged back down, enveloping your shaft once again with her warm, wet mouth. Her tongue danced and swirled around your member, exploring every inch with a curiosity that was both exhilarating and arousing. The rhythm she employed was methodical and precise, building up a steady momentum that left you breathless and wanting more.

Chaeryeong's technique was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. She moved with a confidence and fluidity that seemed almost otherworldly, as if she had been practicing this art for centuries. Every movement was deliberate and calculated, designed to elicit the maximum amount of pleasure from your body.

As she continued to work her magic, you could feel the tension building way too quick, like a coiled spring ready to burst. your muscles tensed and released, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you struggled to maintain control. But it was no use she had you under her spell, and there was nothing you could do but surrender to the inevitable.

Without warning, the peak arrived embarrassingly quickly, your body tensed up as you surrendered to the intense climax. A wave of pleasure washed over you from head to toe. Crying out her name, your fingers tangled in her hair, pushing her deeper as you rode out the high. Chaeryeong, who was completely dedicated to the moment, took you in as deeply as she could, her jaw stretched wide open to its maximum capacity. However, even with her best efforts, some of your release managed to escape past her lips, leaving a glistening trail that made its way down her chin. The sight of it was incredibly arousing, and it was clear that Chaeryeong had given her all to the moment, creating an unforgettable experience that would be etched in your memory for a long time.

She sat back on her heels, a look of satisfaction and slight surprise on her face as swallowed as much of your release as possible, savoring the taste as she wiped the corner of her mouth. Her chest heaved, not just from the physical exertion, but from the thrill of her achievement.

"Fuck, I cant wait to have you in my guts," she said, her voice a mix of pride and a playful challenge.

You could only nod, still reeling from the intensity, your mind buzzing with the intimacy of the moment.

As she straddled you with a grace that belied her iron will, the air around you thickened with anticipation. "I told you, I'm not like the others," she murmured, her voice a sultry blend of promise and challenge that seemed to resonate with the very walls of the room. "I'm going to take it all, every inch of you."

Chaeryeong reached down and positioned you member along her toned tummy. the outline of your shaft reaching past her belly button and the sight only seemed to heighten her arousal. She lifted herself up and placed your tip right at her entrance. As the first surge of her entry made contact, a sharp and searing connection coursed through both of you, a potent mixture of challenge and exhilaration. Ugh, finally the words echoed in her mind, a silent testament to the culmination of her relentless pursuit.

Her body's response to your formidable presence was visceral, yielding and stretching in a way that was almost overwhelming. It was a threshold moment, where the line between pleasure and pain blurred into a singular, exquisite sensation. The initial sting of the stretch was rapidly eclipsed by a rush of empowerment, a triumphant defiance that scoffed at any hint of intimidation.

As each second ticked by, she experienced a growing sense of command and authority over the situation. She welcomed the intensity, the complexity, and the overwhelming power of the experience, using it to bolster her confidence and firm her resolve.

The moment was profound for both of you, a shared experience of vulnerability and intimacy that neither had encountered before. As you moved together in a rhythm as old as time, there was a sense of exploration, a journey into the uncharted territories of each other's bodies and souls.

For you, the sensation was overwhelmingly new. The initial penetration was a revelation, the heat of her inner walls enveloped you, the tightness and the pulsating warmth bonded you to her in a way words could scarcely capture. Every inch was cradled by her as you became one. It was as if the very essence of your being was being drawn out, channeled through the physical connection that tethered you to her.

While for Chaeryeong, the experience was equally transformative. She felt a stretching, a yielding of her deepest self to accommodate your presence. The depths of her womb were stirred as if from a long slumber. It was as though ancient, primal instincts were roused, acknowledging the potential of creation that lay within the act.

Her body responded with a knowing of its own, a subtle undulation that seemed to draw you in further, inviting you to explore the innermost sanctum of her being. With each movement, she felt more alive, more in tune with the ebbs and flows of her own desire, mirroring the dance of life itself.

Her breaths grew deeper, her grasp tightened, and her spirit soared. She reveled in the realization that she was not merely a passive participant in this dance of passion—she was the masterful conductor, leading them both in this symphony of sensation and connection.

With every sinuous sway of her hips, Chaeryeong's dominance unfurled like a nocturnal bloom, each movement a testament to her unyielding control. She danced a dance of power that commanded the space around her, her body moving with a precision and intent that was nothing short of mesmerizing. Her voice, rich and velvety, wove a sultry symphony that resonated with the raw essence of confidence and command, her words hanging in the air like a seductive incantation.

"Ugh, fuck you're huge," she murmured, her breaths short and quick from the exertion of her rhythmic movements. "You'll never feel this good with anyone else." Her words, laced with a potent blend of pleasure and cunning seduction, curled into the air like tendrils of smoke, captivating the senses and ensnaring the mind. In that moment, Chaeryeong was the embodiment of dominance, her presence an indomitable force that rewrote the rules of engagement, leaving an indelible mark on the soul.

Your gaze was locked onto the vision before you—Chaeryeong's face, a canvas of pure pleasure, her body undulating with a rhythm that resonated deep within your being. A moan escaped your lips, a testament to the desire that was building like a crescendo within you.

She sensed your struggle, the battle to maintain control as you teetered on the brink of something monumental. "Look at you," she breathed, her voice a sultry whisper that seemed to caress your soul. Her fingers traced a delicate path along your jawline, a touch that was both tender and tantalizing. "I'm making you feel so good, aren't I?"

Her words were a silken web, ensnaring you in a trap of yearning from which there was no escape. "You're going to lose yourself in me, aren't you?" she continued, a hint of satisfaction threading through her tone. "After this, you won't want anyone else. You’ll be mine."

Your grip tightened around her waist, a futile attempt to anchor yourself amidst the tumultuous sea of sensations. "I... I can't hold back much longer, Chaeryeong," you confessed, the urgency in your voice betraying your helplessness.

Her smirk was a promise of the inevitable, her movements an expertly choreographed invitation to let go. "Oh, why would you hold back? I want to feel every last bit of you inside me," she teased, her own excitement evident in the catch of her breath.

The air between you crackled with electricity, each touch, each movement fueling the fire that raged within. The rhythm of your union grew ever more insistent, a siren's call to the depths of abandon. "I won’t be able to stop," you managed to utter, a final warning as your eyes locked with hers, the last vestiges of your resolve dissolving under the weight of your need for her.

Chaeryeong's response was a whisper that scorched your ear and sent a fresh cascade of desire down your spine. "That’s exactly what I want. Show me how much you need me," she commanded, her voice a low thrum that resonated with the primal beat of your hearts.

With a renewed fervor, she moved against you, her hips a maelstrom of motion that drove you both inexorably toward the precipice. The world outside this room ceased to exist; only the two of you remained, entwined and moving as one. The couch beneath you protested faintly, its legs scraping against the floor—a mere whisper compared to the symphony of your mingled breaths and the roar of passion that enveloped you.

"Cum for me," she urged, her voice a blend of triumph and anticipation. "Show me you’re mine."

With a final, surrendering thrust, you reached the zenith of pleasure, your voice breaking in a raw, primal cry as ecstasy consumed you. "I'm cumming," you declared, your body a conduit for the overwhelming surge of release that coursed through every nerve.

The room was thick with the scent of passion, a musky perfume that clung to the air and enveloped the two entwined figures. Chaeryeong's breaths came in short, sharp gasps. Her body, slick with the exertion of their shared dance, moved with an urgency that matched the pounding of her heart, a drumbeat that seemed to echo the rhythm of their lovemaking.

As she surrendered to the waves of her climax, she found herself immersed in an ocean of bliss, her body quivering beneath the relentless surge of rapture. "Yes! I'm cumming! Fill me up" she screamed, her cries a declaration of victory.

Each pump of your seed overflowing within her propelled her to new heights, a sensation that had once been merely a fantastical dream, now vividly experienced. Her body convulsed and succumbed to the intensity, her cries intermingling with the potent atmosphere of the room, culminating in an intoxicating sensory symphony. At long last, she had discovered the pinnacle of her sexual quest, the ultimate fulfillment that had eluded her until this moment of unbridled surrender.

Her fingers, like talons, clawed at your chest, not out of aggression but from a primal need to mark you as hers. She sought to erase the boundaries between you, to blur the lines until there was no her, no you, but a singular entity caught in the throes of passion. It was as if she believed that with enough force, enough desire, she could fuse your very essences together, creating a bond that transcended the physical realm.

As the warmth of the moment settled around you both, Chaeryeong’s fingers moved with slow, intentional strokes along your collarbone, lingering as if marking her place. She traced small circles over your skin, her touch both gentle and claiming, a wordless reminder that she held a special kind of control here. Her gaze lingered on you, unwavering and filled with a spark of something deeper, a hint of possessive pride in the effect she had on you.

She leaned closer, her lips brushing against your ear, her voice low and deliberate. “You know,” she murmured, each word sinking in with quiet intensity, “no one else could ever take you like I do.” Her fingers drifted to your jawline, holding you there as she spoke, her eyes narrowing slightly, studying you in a way that felt intimate, almost territorial. “You’re mine now,” she added softly, her voice laced with a blend of warmth and certainty, as if she had no doubt of the truth in her words.

There was a satisfaction in her expression, a quiet, possessive pride that seemed to fill the space between you. Her hand found yours, and her grip tightened, an unspoken promise in the way her fingers intertwined with yours. “When you want this again”—she gave your hand a gentle squeeze—“you’ll know exactly where to find me.”

Her eyes never left yours, her gaze intense and steady as if binding you to her in an unbreakable vow. She leaned forward, her lips pressing against yours in a kiss that was slow and lingering, a deliberate, possessive mark she left there like a signature, something to remember her by.

When she finally pulled away, the warmth of her core around your shaft vanished, replaced by the cold, empty air that only made you crave her all the more. As she rose, a trace of your seed slipped down from her glistening folds. The sight stirred something primal within you—a longing that went beyond desire, a need to be inside her again, to feel that consuming warmth at all times.

Her hand lingered on your chest as she looked down at you, her gaze satisfied yet somehow gentle, as if savoring the effect she’d left on you. Her fingers traced along your jaw, her touch warm and lingering, as if marking you with the memory of her presence.

With an effortless grace, she rose to her feet and cast one last, lingering look back at you. Her gaze held a quiet dominance, an unspoken assurance that the spark between you was entirely hers to command. She dressed herself swiftly, leaving the lingering trace of your essence inside her, a mark of the connection you’d just shared. And as she slipped away, her touch, her warmth, and the faint, visceral reminder of your bond wrapped around you like an invisible tether—one you knew you’d carry long after she was gone.

#kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop smut #girl group smut #reader insert #male reader #kinkvember #kinkvember 2024 #itzy smut #itzy #itzy chaeryeong #lee chaeryeong #chaeryeong #itzy chaeryeong smut #chaeryeong smut #lee chaeryeong smut #kpop gg #kpop

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mephisto-reporting · 3 months ago

Text

Take A Break

About: You’ve been pushing yourself to the brink of exhaustion. Someone needs to step in and help you rest before it takes a serious toll on your health—or worse. Pairing: Reader x Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus (Seperate) Note: Reader and the men are not in a relationship yet but there is an implied mutual attraction.

XAVIER

You could feel exhaustion creeping into your bones, but your hands still worked, fixing up your equipment, mindlessly checking and rechecking everything.

“You should take a break.”

Xavier’s voice, calm and devoid of inflection. He was seated at the table, eyes half-lidded as if he could fall asleep at any moment. His usual expression didn’t waver, but you’d been around him long enough to recognize the care beneath it.

“I’m fine,” you replied, though the slight tremble in your hands betrayed the truth. You kept busy, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

He did.

Without saying anything, Xavier reached into his jacket and pulled out a deck of Kitty Cards, placing them on the table between you. “Play a round with me.”

You glanced at him, raising a brow. “Now’s really not the time for games, Xavier.”

He shrugged, his expression unchanged. “You won’t rest, and there is time until the next mission, so this is the compromise. Besides…” His eyes glimmered with the smallest trace of mischief. “I want to win this time.”

Xavier’s boyish charm peeked through his usual calm, and despite yourself, you couldn’t help but smile. He knew exactly how to get to you, and this was one of those moments where he wasn’t above using it.

“Fine,” you said, reluctantly setting down your tools. “But don’t think I’ll go easy on you.”

His lips quirked up. “I wouldn’t dream of it. But if I win, you listen to me and get some rest., Deal?”

Knowing how he usually was in this game, you confidentally accepted his deal. There was no way you would lose. As the game commenced, Xavier’s focus was unwavering. He played his cards methodically, and before long, he had amassed a considerable lead. You frowned, desperately trying to catch up. Just as you were about to make a move, Xavier leaned back, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Xavier!” you exclaimed, half-laughing, half-annoyed as he dozed off, completely unaware of the game progressing without him. You couldn’t help but shake your head in disbelief. The sudden quiet felt oddly peaceful, allowing you to relax for just a moment. You noticed how the soft glow of the lights illuminated his serene expression.

“Did I fall asleep?” he asked, feigning innocence, though you could see the way he fought back a smile.

You shook your head, trying to focus, but fatigue was making it hard. Xavier’s hand was steady as he played his next move, drawing the game closer to an end.

He was winning. “Looks like you’re distracted,” Xavier commented, his voice still soft, though there was an edge of teasing in it. “Maybe you're too tired to concentrate?”

You glared at him playfully. “You’re just lucky today.”

Finally, with a quiet triumph in his eyes that didn’t quite reach his face, he played his last card. "I win."

You exhaled, a sense of frustration bubbling up inside. “Alright, you got me. What now? Another round?”

He shook his head, leaning forward just slightly. His gaze softened, his unreadable expression giving way to something more sincere. “No. Now you rest.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Xavier cut you off. “You’re exhausted. I can see it. If you keep pushing yourself, you won’t be able to fight the Wanderers. You won’t be able to protect yourself. this is my win. You rest.”

You blinked at him, a warmth settling in your chest at the unexpected care behind his words. Xavier, the one who barely showed emotion, was looking out for you in his own way. You couldn’t deny it any longer. You were tired, so incredibly tired.

“Alright,” you conceded, leaning back into the sofa. “I’ll rest.”

Xavier gave a slow nod, his eyes softening further. “Good.”

As you closed your eyes, you felt him reach over, the deck of cards disappearing from the table. The familiar sound of shuffling filled the air, and though he didn’t say anything more, the steady presence of Xavier nearby was all the comfort you needed.

He had won, but in that moment, so had you.

ZAYNE

The makeshift hospital buzzed with activity, filled with the low hum of hurried footsteps and murmured instructions. The air was thick with exhaustion, tension from the recent attacks on the area palpable. You’d been at it for hours, taking on shift after shift without a break, ensuring that everyone in the hospital remained safe. Your body ached, your limbs felt heavier with every passing moment, but you pressed on.

There wasn’t time to rest.

Zayne was nearby, performing triage on the injured, his face as stoic as always. Despite the weight of the situation, he remained calm, moving with precise efficiency. His hands—deft and careful as ever—made sure each patient was stabilized, patched up, and prepped for whatever came next.

You caught his gaze for a fleeting moment, and though he didn’t say anything, you could see the concern beneath his composed exterior.

“Still standing, huh?” Zayne said, his voice low as he approached you, eyes scanning over your fatigued form. His tone, as usual, carried a hint of dry amusement despite the serious situation. “Or at least trying to.”

You shrugged, trying to shake off the weight of his words. “I’m fine.”

“Of course you are.” He raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with sarcasm. “It’s not like you’ve been up for nearly 24 hours or anything.” He sighed, his lips twitching slightly as if resisting the urge to smile.

You rolled your eyes, brushing off his words. “I’m not the only one working without rest.”

Zayne gave a short nod, acknowledging your point. “True. But there’s a difference between pushing yourself and running yourself into the ground.” He glanced around the ward before turning his full attention back to you. “Come with me. You’ve done enough for now. I’ve got something that might help.”

You hesitated, but Zayne’s insistence was always hard to ignore. “What, now?”

“Yes. Now,” he replied, his tone firm but not without warmth. “I’ll even make sure it doesn’t take long.”

He didn’t give you much room to argue. Without waiting for a reply, he placed a gentle but guiding hand on your arm and led you to a small side ward, one reserved for staff members to take quick breaks. You gave him a quizzical look, but he just waved off your concerns with a simple, “Trust me.”

There, on a nearby table, sat two sealed containers of food. It wasn’t anything extravagant. “Eat,” he said, his voice calm, but there was an underlying firmness that told you he wasn’t asking.

You frowned, stubbornness rising up despite the exhaustion. “I don’t have time to eat, Zayne. There are still—”

“Eat,” he repeated, cutting you off. This time, his gaze softened, a rare show of tenderness slipping through his usually stoic exterior. “You can’t protect anyone if you collapse. This isn’t a negotiation.”

With a sigh, you took the container, too tired to argue further. You sat on one of the nearby beds, picking at the food slowly. Zayne stood nearby, his arms crossed, watching you with what seemed like affection. After a few bites, you felt the weight of the day pressing down on you more than ever. You leaned back, letting the exhaustion creep in despite your best efforts to resist it. The bed beneath you was far too comfortable for your sleep-deprived mind to ignore.

You didn’t even notice when Zayne quietly removed the empty container from your hands.

“You’re done,” he murmured softly, his hand brushing lightly against your shoulder. His touch was firm but soothing, and you found yourself slipping further into the comfort of the bed. “Close your eyes.”

You blinked up at him, confused. “I wasn’t planning on resting…”

“Of course not,” he said dryly, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “But you are now. Doctors orders.”

Before you could protest, Zayne’s hand slid from your shoulder to your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin in a gesture so tender it left you speechless. “And if it gets you to rest, I’ll take a break too.”

Despite your determination, the exhaustion finally won. Zayne’s gentle touch and the warmth of his words lulled you into a peaceful surrender. You felt his presence nearby as your eyes fluttered shut, the steady rhythm of his breathing a comforting sound in the otherwise chaotic hospital. “I’ll be right here,” Zayne added softly, his voice the last thing you heard before sleep overtook you. “Get some rest.”

And with him by your side, for the first time in what felt like forever, you did.

RAFAYEL

You hadn’t seen Rafayel in days—not since your latest string of missions had taken you deep into the conflict with the Wanderers. As much as you tried to keep up with everything, exhaustion was catching up to you. Your movements felt sluggish, but you pushed on, determined not to let fatigue show. After all, you had work to do. Rafayel had a mission for you.

When you finally stepped into Rafayel’s space, his studio, he greeted you with a pout. "Well, look who finally decided to show up." His tone was bratty and haughty. "I was starting to think you forgot about me, Miss Bodyguard. "

You could hear the petulance in his voice, but you knew better. Beneath the teasing, there was always something softer with Rafayel, no matter how much he tried to hide it. He took a slow, deliberate look at you, eyes narrowing slightly, as if he was annoyed by what he saw. He noticed your exhaustion.

Not that he’d ever admit it out loud.

“I’ve been...occupied,” you replied with a tired smile. “I’m sure you’ve been managing just fine without me.”

“Hmph,” he huffed, turning his head dramatically. “As if I’d need you around to keep me entertained. But—" He paused, his voice dropping into a more playful, roguish tone, "It is terribly boring without you. I’ve been waiting for ages.”

You blinked, slightly taken aback. “So, what’s this mission you’ve dragged me here for?”

Rafayel hesitated for the briefest of moments, but then, with a casual wave of his hand, he dismissed whatever real task had brought you here. His lips curled into a mischievous smirk, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he leaned forward slightly. “Ah, the mission? Well, I’ve decided I need a muse for my next painting,” he said smoothly. “And you, my dear Miss Bodyguard, will do just fine.”

Before you could protest, he was already pulling you over to a plush chaise lounge, his touch light but insistent as he maneuvered you into place. "Lie down," he ordered in his typical, half-commanding, half-teasing way. "You’re far too stiff to inspire anything worthwhile."

“What? A painting?” you began to object, trying to sit up. "Rafayel, I don’t—"

“Shhh.” He pressed a finger to his lips and gave you a lazy, charming smile, as if you were the one being unreasonable. "Don’t move. You’ll ruin the masterpiece.”

Despite the flirtatious teasing, there was a strange warmth in his tone that had your heart skipping a beat. He made it impossible to argue, his words dripping with that roguish charm of his. Before you knew it, you were sinking into the softness of the chaise lounge, your limbs too heavy to resist.

"Now stay perfectly still,” he instructed, settling down with his canvas and brushes. “I want to capture you just like this.” His voice was almost a purr, amused by your protests but not letting you get a word in edgewise.

“Rafayel, I don’t have time to—” you tried, but he waved you off with that same infuriatingly relaxed smile.

“Tsk tsk tsk. I’m the artist here, remember? You’re just the subject,” he said, eyes twinkling with mischief as he continued to pretend like this was all part of some grand artistic vision. “Don’t ruin the vibe.”

You couldn’t help but scoff softly at his antics, but your exhaustion was winning. Between his teasing words and the comfortable softness of the chaise, your body was betraying you. The fight to stay awake was quickly becoming a losing battle.

Rafayel's voice was a soft hum in the background as he began to paint, each word drawing you further into a haze of warmth and comfort.

"See? Isn’t this better? I’ve always preferred my muses to be calm...and peaceful.” Lies. He knew it. He glanced up, his lips quirking in a knowing smile as he saw your eyelids drooping. “Don’t worry, Miss Bodyguard. You’re perfect just like this.”

As your consciousness started to slip away, the last thing you felt was Rafayel’s hand brushing against your hair in an uncharacteristically tender gesture. His bratty, teasing nature had softened, just for a moment, as he watched you drift off to sleep.

When you were fully asleep, he set down his brush, a satisfied smirk still on his face. He pulled a soft throw blanket from a nearby chair and draped it over you, his voice low as he spoke to your resting form.

“You really shouldn’t overwork yourself like this, you know?” His tone, for once, was gentle, almost affectionate. “I might not say it, but…I miss you when you’re gone.”

SYLUS

The small town was quiet as you finally made your way back, the distant hum of your motorbike in sight. It had been a grueling week spent battling through the Metaflux high zone and clearing out the Wanderers. The mission had taken its toll—your body was heavy with exhaustion, your muscles aching, but you had pushed through. You always did.

Reaching for your comms, you were about to check the latest updates when you noticed a shadowy figure leaning casually against your bike. The unmistakable silhouette made your pulse quicken. Sylus. He was dressed as sharp and intimidating as ever, his hair tousled just enough to give him that rogue-ish charm. His signature smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, like he was amused by your surprise, but his sharp gaze gave away nothing.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, not hiding the confusion in your voice. Even though he wasexactly the type to show up unannounced without a reason. And his reasons were rarely straightforward.

“Business,” he replied vaguely, the smirk never leaving his lips. He made it sound like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “Had to deal with something. But… I seem to have found something else worth my attention.”

Before you could react, his hand reached out, gently but firmly taking hold of your wrist. His touch was surprisingly warm but assertive, and with a deft flick of his thumb, he shut off your comms.

“You’re coming with me,” he said, his voice dripping with authority, leaving no room for argument.

“Sylus, I don’t have time for—”

But before you could finish the sentence, you felt the familiar tug of his Evol—his will imposing on yours. In a swift, almost effortless move, he guided you onto your motorbike, positioning you behind him as he took control. The engine roared to life under his command.

“You’ll thank me later,” he said over his shoulder, that smug confidence radiating off him as he drove you both away.

The ride was fast and purposeful. You tried to protest, tried to convince him to stop, but he was always a step ahead. His control never faltered, and your words fell flat against the rush of the wind. Sylus didn’t let go of the reins until the bike finally came to a stop in front of a lavish hotel on the outskirts of town.

“Really? A hotel?” you muttered, incredulous.

He didn’t respond immediately, instead using his Evol once again to guide you inside and straight into a large, opulent room. Everything about the space screamed luxury—the soft lighting, the plush velvet furnishings, and the enormous bed that took center stage.

Still reeling from the unexpected turn of events, you tried to stand your ground. “Sylus, I don’t have time for this. I need to get back, there are Wanderers—”

“They’re being handled,” he interrupted smoothly, crossing the room with a lazy, confident stride. “Luke and Kieran are on patrol. You’ve been running yourself into the ground for the past week. It’s time for you to stop.” He gestured toward the bed. "Sit."

“Sylus—” you began, but before you could argue further, you felt that familiar pulse of his Evol, urging you toward the bed. His power wrapped around you, persuasive and unyielding, as if coaxing your tired body to comply with his silent command.

Your legs betrayed you, and you sank down onto the soft mattress, glaring up at him as he stood over you, arms crossed, his expression a mixture of triumph and something more difficult to place.

“You’re impossible,” you grumbled.

“Me?” He raised an eyebrow, the smirk finally softening into something closer to amusement. “I’m not the one pretending to be invincible, sweetie. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard, and we both know it.”

You scowled, but deep down, you knew he was right. The exhaustion clung to your bones, and the idea of resting—even for a moment—was becoming more tempting by the second. Still, giving in to Sylus felt like losing a battle you hadn’t agreed to fight.

“Look,” he said, leaning down, his voice dropping to a softer, more persuasive tone. “Let’s make a deal.”

You eyed him warily. "What kind of deal?"

He tilted his head, his lips curving into a sly grin. “You rest—just for a little while. Take the next few hours off. In return…” His voice lowered, taking on that smooth, almost dangerous quality he used when he knew he had the upper hand. “I’ll let you decide what you want from me afterward. Something I can’t say no to.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by the offer. Sylus never relinquished control easily, and for him to offer anything in return… well, it was enough to give you pause.

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch, kitten” he replied, his smirk widening just a fraction. “Think of it as a rare moment of generosity. You rest, really rest, and I’ll owe you a favor. Deal?”

You hesitated, trying to weigh your options, but the exhaustion gnawing at you was impossible to ignore. You’d been running on fumes, and Sylus—infuriatingly—was giving you a way out, even if it was wrapped up in his manipulative charm.

Finally, you sighed, giving in. “Fine. Deal.”

He smiled, that smug, triumphant smile that made you want to punch him and kiss him all at once. “Good girl,” he purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he moved to the edge of the bed. “Now rest. I’ll make sure nothing happens to this town while you do.”

Before you could protest further, he covered you with a soft blanket, his touch lingering a little longer than necessary. His hand brushed against your cheek for a moment, his fingers gentle—almost tender, though he’d never admit it. “You don’t have to play the hero all the time, you know,” he said quietly. “Let someone else handle things for once.”

“You... really owe me a favor?”

He chuckled softly, sitting beside you on the edge of the bed. “I always keep my promises... especially to you.”

Before you could say anything else, your exhaustion finally overtook you, and the last thing you felt was Sylus’s hand lingering on yours, his thumb tracing a light, almost affectionate circle against your skin. You realized—just for a moment—that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind letting Sylus win this one.

Just this once.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

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edenesth · 4 months ago

Text

TWTHH Spinoff: Until I Found You [2]

Pairing: prince!Yeosang x princess!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 13.5k 🤡

Trigger Warnings: emotional abuse, manipulation, mistreatment

Summary: It had been a while since Lady Park's firm rejection, and the fourth prince was beginning to believe he would never get over her. Though the heartbreak had made him more mature, one thing remained unchanged: his stubborn reluctance to marry. Convinced he would never find someone who could understand his pain as deeply as the general's wife, he was unprepared for the surprise life had in store for him—one that came in the form of a foreign princess.

Part 1 | Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist

"It's late. We should likely retire for the night. May I escort you back to your chambers, my princess?" Yeosang's deep yet gentle voice sent a ripple through your heart—one that had been starved of warmth ever since you set foot in this foreign land. His genuine kindness touched you deeply, far more than he could ever know. For once, it was not a gesture for the sake of appearances, but something sincere.

"N-no, thank you, Your Highness," you replied, rising from your seat beside him. "I remember the way back and can manage on my own just fine."

A flicker of what seemed like admiration crossed his face as he stood to meet your gaze. "On your own? Are you sure? The palace can be like a maze at night. I don't mind walking with you—"

"I'm sure, truly," you said, cutting him off with a small, shy smile. "I was planning to explore a little more anyway. You should rest. I'll… see you soon, my prince." You bowed slightly, your reluctance was evident as you quietly exited, leaving him behind before he could press the matter further.

As much as you longed to accept his offer, you couldn't bear the thought of him seeing the reality of your living conditions or the disdainful treatment you received from the palace servants. You were far too ashamed to let him witness such things—you didn't want him to see how lowly you were regarded. You wanted to keep things as they were; for him to see you as a person with dignity, not merely as an object or a tool of duty.

It's better this way, Prince Yeosang.

Making your way back to your quarters, you realised the fourth prince had been right—it was indeed like a maze, and you found yourself stumbling through the winding paths. After a few wrong turns and frustrating detours, you eventually caught sight of the familiar building you were staying in for the time being. Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived. No one was waiting for you anyway, or so you thought. Yet, something was off.

Your eyes widened in surprise as you noticed the lanterns in your chambers were already lit. Who could be there? Panic surged through you—could it be your father?

Your heart raced as you noticed a line of palace maids standing in the courtyard, leading up to your room. The servants were unfamiliar to you; not the ones assigned to your service. These belonged to someone else. Clearing your throat to steady yourself, you entered cautiously, nodding in acknowledgement as the maids bowed low and greeted you as you passed.

With a shaky breath, you finally stepped into your room, your nerves still rattled by the unknown. But then you saw a figure, his back turned to you. A small breath of relief escaped when you realised it wasn't your father—just your… fiancé. But perhaps you had been too quick to let your guard down.

Your heart stopped when he slowly turned to face you, his expression dark and menacing. "Where the hell have you been?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

A chill ran down your spine at his words. Why did he care? What did it matter to him? You weren't supposed to be seen together until the morning anyway, so what could he possibly want?

"I… I was just taking a walk around the palace, Your Highness," you stammered, your voice shaking. "I thought I'd familiarise myself—"

He cut you off with a scoff, stepping toward you. That was when you noticed the slight sway in his step. He was drunk.

"Taking a walk around by yourself?" he sneered, his tone dripping with contempt. "Have you not listened to anything I've said? We are to play the perfect couple, and how do you think it would look to others if you were seen wandering around without me by your side? What kind of husband would they think I am? From now on, you are not to leave this building without me. Do you understand me, woman?"

The harshness of his words stung, your heart sinking as his command set in. This wasn't just about appearances—this was control. You opened your mouth to protest, the thought of your newfound friendship with Yeosang flickering in your mind.

"But, my prince—" you gasped as his hand suddenly gripped your jaw tightly, forcing you to look up into his cold, narrowed eyes.

"I said, am I understood?" he repeated, the menace in his voice unmistakable.

You trembled under his grasp, nodding tearfully. He loosened his grip, his hand trailing down your face and lingering at your neck. "Now, that's a good girl." A wave of fear swept over you as his hand continued to drift lower, sending a shudder through your body. Desperate, you forced yourself to speak.

"Y-you should rest, Your Highness," you whispered, barely able to keep your voice steady. "I fear it wouldn't be appropriate for others to see you here so late. We're not officially married yet."

His eyes flickered with understanding, and his lips twisted into a sly grin. The stench of alcohol on his breath was overpowering.

"Finally," he said with a slurred chuckle. "You say something smart. I'll see you tomorrow then, princess."

With a mocking smile, he turned on his heel and left the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as you stood frozen in place, your heart pounding in your chest. You waited until you could no longer hear him before collapsing onto the floor, trembling as the tears you'd held back began to fall.

As you remained in the same spot for what felt like an eternity, your mind raced, torn between relief and dread. A small, bitter smile tugged at your lips—thank the heavens you hadn't let the fourth prince walk you back tonight. The thought of what could have transpired had Yeochan found him with you sent a shudder through your entire being. What if he had seen? What if no amount of convincing could have diffused his anger? The memory of his disgusting hands on you sent another shiver down your spine.

God help me, please...

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe steadily, but the reality of your situation weighed heavily on your chest, pressing down with an unbearable force. This was your future, this man—this cold, vicious prince—was to be your husband.

The thought filled you with despair. You had heard rumours about royal marriages, about how they were rarely based on love or affection, but to face it in such a brutal, personal way… it was more than you could have imagined. Tears continued to stream down your face, soaking the sleeves of your garment as you hugged yourself, wondering how you would survive this life bound to him.

Loneliness had been your greatest fear, but now, as you stared into the empty darkness of your chambers, it seemed that loneliness would have been kinder than the fate that awaited you at the ninth prince's side.

You weren't sure how long you had been sitting there, but you knew that rest was essential if you were to face breakfast the next morning. The thought of maintaining your composure—looking at least somewhat decent for the final shared meal before your father's departure, as he was finally returning to Ruhon—loomed large in your mind. It wasn't just a matter of appearance; the King and Queen of Joseon would also be present, and you needed all your strength to uphold your act around your father and your soon-to-be husband.

Like a weary spectre, you dragged yourself to your bed, the weight of the evening's events still pressing heavily on your shoulders. With a sigh of resignation, you removed the outer layer of your hanbok, letting it fall to the floor in a crumpled heap before climbing into the bed, the comforter feeling like a fragile barrier against the cold reality of your situation.

You pulled the covers close, seeking solace in their warmth, as a fresh tear slipped down your cheek. "It'll be okay," you whispered to yourself, the words barely audible. As exhaustion finally overcame you, you closed your eyes, trying to find some semblance of peace amid the turmoil.

The following morning, the air in the grand dining hall was thick with formality and unspoken tension. As you sat at the breakfast table, trying to compose yourself, the King of Joseon turned to your father, a hint of concern in his voice.

"Are you truly certain it is acceptable to proceed with the ceremony without your presence, or that of the Queen of Ruhon, or even Royal Concubine Sarisu to witness the princess wed, Your Majesty?"

Your father, seated across from you, stifled a smirk, his eyes gleaming with a wicked satisfaction. He shook his head lightly before turning to you with a smug grin that made your stomach churn.

"No need," he responded, his voice laced with mockery, clearly intended for you to hear. "Princess Sarisu is my most independent daughter. She'll do fine without us. I'm sure her mother would love to see her off, but the lady is too weary to travel the distance. We'll leave our princess in your good hands, Your Majesty."

His words sent a cold shiver down your spine. You could feel the blood boiling beneath your skin, your fists trembling as you clutched the fabric of your hanbok, desperately trying to maintain your composure. Because that was a goddamned lie. Your mother was fine, perfectly capable of making the journey. This was his revenge, his way of punishing you for defying him.

While you were more than fine with the fact that you might never see him again, the realisation that you would miss the chance to see your mother one last time before your marriage struck you like a blow. She had only one daughter, and now she wouldn't even be there to witness your wedding—an event that, though not of your choosing, still held immense significance. The cruelty of your father was overwhelming, and a deep bitterness settled in your heart.

How could this man, the one who was supposed to protect and cherish you, be so heartless? The thought of him returning home to your mother, likely to mistreat her out of spite, filled you with both dread and simmering rage. But there was nothing you could do. You were trapped in this gilded cage, your future bound to a man you did not love, and your past severed by the very person who should have loved you most.

The ruler of Joseon, perceptive as ever, was quick to notice the tension simmering beneath the surface between you and your father. In an attempt to ease the heavy atmosphere, he let out a light chuckle. "I understand. Fear not, we will do well to take care of the princess. Right, Ninth Prince Yeochan?" His Majesty asked, his gaze shifting to his son seated beside you.

At the mention of his name, you stiffened, feeling your fiancé's arm snake around your shoulder. The contact was anything but comforting. Your fists clenched tightly around the skirt of your hanbok, desperately trying to stop your hands from trembling. Yeochan smiled, a smile that looked convincing enough to anyone who wasn't aware of the truth, and nodded, pulling you uncomfortably closer to him.

"Of course, Father," he replied, his tone dripping with false sincerity. "I will cherish her like the blessing she was bestowed upon me." His sweet words drew a coo from both his father and Her Majesty, their expressions softening with approval.

But your heart only hammered in dread.

Couldn't they hear the subtle sarcasm lacing his words? The forced affection in his actions? You felt as though you were the only one who could see through the facade, the only one who understood that those words, far from being a promise, were a warning. The weight of your fate pressed down on you even more heavily as you realised that no one would come to your aid. To everyone else, this was a union to be celebrated—but for you, it was the beginning of a nightmare.

"Is that right? I do hope you mean what you're saying, as this is what keeps the ties between Joseon and Ruhon strong."

The unexpected deep voice reverberated through the hall, catching everyone off guard. But for you, it was like a sudden gust of wind calming the storm within. Almost afraid that his presence was a mere figment of your imagination, you slowly lifted your head. When your eyes met the familiar figure standing at the entrance, you breathed a small sigh of relief. It really was the fourth prince in the flesh.

Oh, thank god.

Before your fiancé could react, the Queen cleared her throat, her voice laced with surprise. "Prince Yeosang, what a surprise. What brings you here, my son?"

He stepped forward, bowing respectfully to his parents. "I heard a send-off event was being held for the King of Ruhon this morning and thought I'd join," he responded, his tone calm and composed. He then turned to your father, his expression respectful. "I've come to make up for my short presence at the banquet last night, Your Majesty. I apologise for not being very social."

Your father, ever the opportunist, bit his lip to suppress a smirk, clearly amused by the situation. "Why, of course, Fourth Prince Yeosang. Please do join us."

You could almost feel the anticipation radiating from your father, eager for the drama he expected the once-rebellious prince to stir. But you knew better. The fourth prince was far too mature, too composed, to indulge in such pettiness. His presence served as a silent reminder of what true nobility looked like, a stark contrast to the cruel games your father played.

As he took a seat, his calm demeanour brought you a small measure of peace. "Good morning, my princess," he greeted you with a kind smile, acknowledging his younger brother with only a brief nod. For a fleeting moment, the weight of your situation seemed to lift.

"Good morning, my prince," you replied softly, subtly shrugging your soon-to-be husband's hand from your shoulder.

Amid the turmoil surrounding you, at least there was someone who saw through the facade, someone who, though he may not openly challenge it, was a beacon of quiet strength and reassurance.

"Careful, princess. Stare at my brother any longer, and people might mistake him for your fiancé instead," Yeochan whispered threateningly into your ear, his voice laced with a possessiveness that made your skin crawl. "Remember who you belong to."

You swallowed hard, a shiver running down your spine as you quickly averted your gaze from Yeosang. "Y-yes, Your Highness," you murmured obediently, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to suppress the fear gnawing at you.

Unbeknownst to you, none of this escaped the watchful eye of the fourth prince. He had always been perceptive, and though he knew that no arranged marriage could be perfect from the start, especially in a place as politically charged as the palace, what he saw didn't sit right with him. You were the first person within the palace he had ever considered a friend and he would hate to see you trapped in a marriage too unhappy.

Yeosang's gaze softened as he watched you, his heart heavy with unspoken concern. He knew he couldn't intervene openly, not without causing a scandal, but he would find a way to help you. For now, all he could offer was the comfort of his presence, a silent promise that he would be there if you ever needed him.

After a tension-filled meal, it was finally time to send the ruler of Ruhon off. The air was thick with formalities and forced smiles as everyone gathered in the courtyard. Your father, ever the performer, approached you with a sneer hidden beneath a mask of fatherly affection. He leaned in close, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

"Goodbye, my daughter. Have a good life here," he whispered with venom, pulling you into a brief, cold embrace. The act was flawless, his expression one of tender care, but the words he spoke cut deep.

As he began to pull away, you instinctively reached out, gripping his sleeve in a desperate attempt to appeal to whatever shred of humanity he might have left. "Father, please… I've done what you asked. Just let Mother be."

He scoffed, his eyes flicking down at you with a mix of disdain and amusement. "You think too highly of yourselves. I have more important things to do than to toy with her." His voice was icy, his words dripping with indifference. "I'd worry more about myself if I were you," he added, his tone dismissive.

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, heading toward his carriage without so much as a backward glance. You stood there, the sting of his final words echoing in your mind as he disappeared from view. The realisation that you were truly alone in this foreign land, with no family to support you, settled in your chest like a heavy stone.

As the crowd began to disperse, your fiancé approached with his usual display of false affection, speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Come, love. Let me escort you back," he said, maintaining his flawless act. To those unaware of the truth, his performance was convincing, hiding the darkness beneath his smile.

Before he could take your arm, however, Yeosang stepped forward, his presence both unexpected and reassuring. "Wait, my princess!" he called out, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. "Didn't we agree to exchange more literary knowledge?" His words caught everyone off guard, especially his parents and brother. With infectious enthusiasm, he turned to the King. "Father, you won't believe it! Her Highness is incredibly well-versed in poetry and a great admirer of Shin Sukju's works. Would it be alright if I borrowed her for a bit? We'll just be in the library, and it would be a wonderful opportunity for me to bond with my future sister-in-law."

Before the ninth prince could protest, His Majesty clapped his hands in delight. "Oh, really? That's impressive! Yes, yes, like-minded young people like yourselves should definitely spend time together and learn from each other. Please, go ahead."

The Queen nodded eagerly in agreement, her eyes lighting up with genuine joy. Both she and the King seemed pleased to see Yeosang stepping out of his usual isolation and making an effort to connect with someone, even if it was the foreign princess.

"Thank you, Your Majesties," you said respectfully, bowing to your soon-to-be in-laws, not forgetting to offer a slight bow to Yeochan as well. "I shall see you soon, Your Highness."

With a gentle smile, Yeosang gestured for you to follow him. "Come, my princess." Feeling your fiancé's gaze burning into your back, you hesitated only briefly before walking away, finding solace in the fourth prince's calm and composed presence. Together, you left the courtyard, leaving your betrothed behind with a frustrated scowl hidden behind his practised facade.

Lost in your thoughts about how Yeochan would likely react once you returned from this meeting with the fourth prince, you barely noticed you had arrived at your destination.

"We're here, princess."

His voice snapped you out of your trance, and you looked around with wide eyes, startled by the unfamiliar surroundings. "Wh-what—I thought we were heading to the library, Your Highness?" you stammered, taking in the serene view of the cherry blossom garden, the very place where you had first met him. The pavilion stood before you, just as it had that day.

Yeosang smirked, gesturing for you to take a seat. "That was clearly a lie. We wouldn't be able to converse freely if we were in the library. Now, come sit with me."

With a soft chuckle, you complied, both of you settling down opposite each other. His mischievous grin hinted at the rebellious side everyone had whispered about, and you found yourself amused by it.

"Besides," he added, his tone more serious now, "I had a feeling you could use some fresh air. I hope this is alright with you. We can always leave if you prefer."

Your heart fluttered at his thoughtfulness. There was something disarming about his considerate nature, something that made the weight on your chest feel a little lighter. You shook your head with a small smile.

"Not at all. This is more than okay."

As your gaze drifted toward the barren cherry blossom trees, the fourth prince couldn't help but notice the sorrow and quiet despair reflected in your eyes. The weight of your situation was not lost on him. To be sent away to a foreign land, bound in marriage to a man you hardly knew, and expected to act as though all was well—it was a fate he could scarcely imagine. Though he couldn't change your circumstances, he hoped, as a friend, to ease your burden somehow.

"Is... everything alright, princess?" Yeosang ventured cautiously, recalling how the ninth prince had whispered something that seemed to shatter your composure in mere seconds. The change in your demeanour had not escaped his notice, and it unsettled him. What could Yeochan have said to unnerve you so thoroughly? The thought troubled him, especially seeing how uncomfortable you appeared around the man you were meant to wed.

You gulped, offering a polite nod without fully meeting his eyes. "Yes, of course. It will take some time for me to adjust to my new life here, but I will be fine, my prince. Your concern is most kind."

His smile was faint, knowing full well your words were more for courtesy than truth. He was aware that despite the bond of friendship forming between you, there was still much distance between your hearts. He had no right to press further, not yet.

"I see," he replied, his tone thoughtful. "I hope Prince Yeochan is treating you well. My brother is known for his ambition and his... bluntness, but he should make a suitable husband... wouldn't you say?"

You struggled to maintain the smile that barely clung to your lips, biting down hard enough on your lower lip that you feared it might bleed. "I suppose... I cannot truly say. We aren't married yet, after all. He's been kind to me thus far."

In public, at least.

Determined not to dwell on your unhappy thoughts and wanting to make the most of the time spent with your first and only friend, you straightened up, beaming at him. "So, tell me, Your Highness, what are some things you think Joseon does better than Ruhon?"

Yeosang narrowed his eyes playfully at your cheeky question, a spark of mischief dancing in them. "Ah, yes, always up for a good debate, are we? I shall prove to you that this nation is indeed worth leaving Ruhon for," he quipped, his tone light-hearted and playful.

His jest made you chuckle, the weight on your shoulders lifting just a little. You knew, of course, that no argument could ever make you truly feel at ease about your forced departure from your homeland, but his attempt to lift your spirits was enough to make you feel lighter at the moment.

With that, the conversation shifted into a lively exchange. He launched into stories of Joseon's cultural achievements, its rich history of scholarship, and the honour of its warriors. He spoke of the grand palaces, the festivals that brought the people together, and the scholars who shaped the nation's identity. You found yourself engrossed in his tales, the passion in his voice making even the smallest details feel important.

In return, you shared stories of Ruhon, the traditions that bound your people, and the unique customs that defined your homeland. You spoke of the festivals under the moon, where dancers twirled to the beat of drums, and how the scent of spices lingered in the air long after the market stalls closed. You told him about your childhood, the way your mother would braid your hair by the hearth, and the songs the village elders would sing when the harvest season came to an end.

The conversation flowed easily, each of you learning more about the other's world. For the first time in what felt like ages, you felt like you could simply be yourself. Yeosang's genuine interest in your stories and his willingness to share his own made you feel seen, something you hadn't experienced since your arrival.

Through this exchange, you felt the bond between you deepen. It was as though, amidst all the uncertainty, you had found a friend—a true companion who saw you not as a foreign princess, but as someone with a rich life of her own. It gave you comfort to know that in this unfamiliar world, there was someone who shared your love for learning, who appreciated the differences between your homelands, and who, in his own quiet way, made you feel less alone.

After listening to you gush about missing the sweets of Ruhon, his eyes lit up. "Oh, we have this snack called Yakgwa! It's heavenly, you must try it! I'll have the kitchen servants prepare some for us," he said enthusiastically, already rising to get things arranged.

Before he could move further, a sigh escaped his lips as he spotted his eunuch rushing over, looking frazzled. "Your Highness! We were told you were in the library, but you were nowhere to be found. The royal tutor is waiting, and it would not do to keep him any longer!"

The prince's expression immediately darkened, irritation flickering in his eyes. It seemed as though he was about to protest when, unexpectedly, he said something you hadn't anticipated. "I understand, Eunuch Hwang. But shouldn't you first acknowledge the princess and show her the respect due before all else?"

Your jaw dropped slightly at his words. That was the last thing you had expected him to say. He really was different. Gratefulness flooded through you as the eunuch, now flustered, hastily bowed. "M-my apologies, Your Highness! This servant greets Princess Sarisu, the future Ninth Princess of Joseon."

The reminder of your impending title made you shift uncomfortably, but you nodded in acknowledgement, trying to keep your composure. The fourth prince huffed in mild annoyance, then turned back to you with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, princess, it seems I have lessons to attend. But don't worry, we'll get you those sweets tomorrow."

Your breath caught in your throat. "T-tomorrow?" The idea of seeing him again was comforting, but the thought of how your fiancé would react twisted your insides with dread.

Yeosang, oblivious to the turmoil swirling inside you, smiled warmly. "Yes, tomorrow. I'll escort you myself."

Your eyes widened in panic. You shook your head vigorously. "N-no! I'll come meet you myself!" Something flickered in his gaze, a quiet realisation, but he didn't press you. His understanding smile remained, though you could sense that he was beginning to notice something wasn't quite right. "Of course, princess. I'll see you tomorrow, then. Same place, same time."

You nodded, your voice soft as you repeated his words. "Same place, same time. See you, Your Highness."

With one last smile, he bowed his head slightly before turning to follow his eunuch, leaving you standing there, heart racing at the thought of tomorrow—and the inevitable confrontation you might have to face.

That evening, you returned to your chambers with a heart heavy with dread, expecting the ninth prince to be waiting, but to your surprise, the room was empty. Not a single soul lingered—not even the group of servants assigned to you. It seemed they hadn't bothered to wait for you to return and dismiss them.

With a tired shrug, you went about your routine, refreshing yourself and settling down with one of the few books available in your quarters. But as you read, a furrow creased your brow. The sky outside had grown dark, and no one had come to light the lanterns. You waited for a while longer, hoping someone would arrive, but it became clear no one was coming.

Sighing, you rose from your seat and made your way to the storeroom to fetch the necessary items. It was a menial task, but with your own hands, you lit the lanterns one by one, the soft glow slowly filling your chambers. Dusting off your hands, you gazed around at the lit room with a small sense of pride, but that brief satisfaction was quickly overshadowed by the rumbling of your stomach.

Crap, I'm starving...

The usual time for your meal had long passed, and still, no one had come to bring you food. You stood by the entrance of your cold, lonely chamber, waiting, your stomach growling louder with each passing minute. The chill in the air began to creep into your bones, but still, there was no sign of anyone.

After what felt like an hour, the cold became unbearable, and you retreated back inside, pulling the covers of your bed over yourself. Laying there somberly, you couldn't help but wonder if this was Yeochan's punishment. His way of showing you the consequences of spending time with his brother.

You hadn't eaten much that morning. If only you'd known that would be your only meal of the day, you might have had more. But now, all you could do was hug your empty stomach and curl into your side, trying desperately to fall asleep on an empty belly.

As you curled up beneath the covers, the ache in your stomach gnawing at you, a small smile crept onto your face. Despite the discomfort and the coldness of your empty chambers, the thought of tomorrow brought you a glimmer of warmth. You were going to see Yeosang again, and that simple fact made everything feel a little more bearable.

Tomorrow, there would be no pretence, no masks to wear. Just you and your friend, sharing stories, and learning more about each other's worlds. That hope was enough to chase away the shadows of the evening, if only for a while. You sighed softly, your mind finally quiet, and with that thought, you allowed sleep to take you, clinging to the promise of a brighter tomorrow.

The next morning, your chambers remained eerily quiet, a clear sign that no one had any intention of attending to you. You rubbed your growling stomach, frowning as the realisation sank in that you'd be left to fend for yourself again. Sighing softly, you went about getting dressed, thankful that the task wasn't overly difficult. Back home, you and your mother had grown accustomed to doing things on your own, so you managed just fine. The hanbok, with its simpler design compared to Ruhon's attire, was much easier to slip into, and while your hair wasn't as neatly styled as the palace servants would have done it, it was at least presentable.

The gnawing ache in your stomach remained, reminding you that no meal had been provided. You bit your lip, trying to push the discomfort aside. But then, a glimmer of hope sparked within you as you remembered Prince Yeosang's promise from the day before. He had mentioned getting the kitchen to prepare some sweets—perhaps that would be your salvation today.

Enduring the hunger, you bided your time until noon, your anticipation slowly building with each passing minute. By the time you made your way toward the cherry blossom garden, your heart was fluttering with excitement. The thought of seeing Yeosang again brought a warmth that softened the cold indifference of the palace. Even if everything else seemed uncertain, you found solace in the one friendship that was blossoming amid the darkness.

As you approached the garden, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips, the sight of the familiar pavilion and the thought of spending time with the fourth prince making everything feel, at least for now, a little more bearable.

"Good afternoon, princess," the familiar deep voice called out, filling you with a sense of warmth and relief. It was all you needed to feel better. As you turned toward the table, your eyes sparkled at the sight of the colorful array of snacks displayed before you. The vivid hues of the treats beckoned, a stark contrast to the dullness of your morning.

"Good afternoon, Your Highness," you greeted Yeosang, your voice lighter than it had been all day. As you moved to settle down, a loud growl erupted from your stomach, the sound echoing embarrassingly between you both. You quickly bit your lip, cheeks heating up in mortification.

His eyes widened in surprise. "Haven't you had your breakfast yet?" he asked, concern replacing his usual teasing tone.

You cleared your throat, scrambling for an excuse. "I-I… I was just too excited to try these," you gestured to the snacks on the table, forcing a smile. "You know, had to make space for them."

His brow furrowed as he shook his head, clearly unconvinced. "Absolutely not," he chided gently. "You know better than to skip such an important meal for some sweets." His voice was stern yet filled with genuine care, a tone you hadn't heard directed toward you in so long. "Stay here. I'll get you some proper food."

Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest as you watched his reliable figure move away, leaving your side to fulfill his promise. You blinked back the sudden tears that welled up in your eyes.

God, why couldn't he be the one you were meant to marry? You hugged yourself tighter, the thought slipping into your mind unbidden, making the situation even harder to bear. The fourth prince's kindness, his gentle presence—it was all you wanted. Yet, your fate was bound to another. Still, in this fleeting moment, you allowed yourself the indulgence of wondering what it would have been like if things were different.

Yeosang returned swiftly, carrying a tray of steaming food with a determined look in his eyes. "Here you go," he said as he set the meal before you. The warm, savoury aroma made your stomach ache even more with hunger, and despite the embarrassment that still lingered, you couldn't deny how much you needed this.

"Eat," he instructed softly, his tone leaving no room for protest. You nodded, grateful beyond words, and dug into the meal. The warmth of the food instantly soothed the emptiness gnawing at your insides, and you couldn't help the small hum of satisfaction that escaped your lips. He smiled, watching you with silent approval.

"You shouldn't go without food, princess. How else will you have the energy to put me in my place when we debate Joseon versus Ruhon?" he teased lightly, the tension lifting between you.

You chuckled, swallowing a bite. "You have a point, Your Highness. Can't have you winning all the arguments, now, can I?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "I wouldn't want that either." His voice was rich with amusement, the sound easing the tightness that had settled in your chest earlier.

Once you had your fill of the warm meal, he pushed the tray of sweets toward you. "Now you can enjoy these without starving yourself."

Your eyes brightened as you looked at the colourful treats. "Thank you," you murmured, popping a piece of Yakgwa into your mouth. The honeyed flavour melted on your tongue, every bite as delightful as he had described. As you enjoyed the sweets, the conversation between the two of you flowed like a river, smooth and endless.

You began with light topics—favourite poems, childhood stories—before moving on to deeper discussions. Yeosang shared captivating tales of Joseon's history, recounting stories of ancient kings and battles long past, while you spoke of Ruhon's traditions, the bright stars in its night skies, and... your mother.

"You must be close to her," he observed with a gentle smile.

You nodded, your chest tightening at the thought of your mother. "Very. She's the one thing I truly couldn't bear leaving behind."

He glanced down, his hand twitching as though he wanted to reach out to you but stopped himself. "Perhaps you'll see her again someday."

"Perhaps..." you whispered, though the doubt in your voice was unmistakable. You quickly steered the conversation elsewhere, eager to escape the painful thought, diving back into the differences between Ruhon and Joseon.

Yeosang listened closely, his curiosity evident in the way he soaked in every detail you shared. In turn, he painted vivid pictures of life in Joseon, filled with colour and history. The two of you became engrossed in friendly debates, passionately defending your homelands' best qualities.

As the conversation wore on, it became lighter, drifting toward more personal topics—his love for archery, your fondness for dancing, and even the odd rumours that floated around the palace. Laughter came easily between you, the weight of your circumstances momentarily forgotten.

"I think you'd be excellent at archery," he remarked thoughtfully.

You raised an eyebrow, laughing. "Me? With a bow and arrow? I'd probably end up shooting myself in the foot."

"I seriously doubt that," he teased. "But if you ever want to give it a try, I'd be more than happy to teach you."

"Perhaps one day," you replied with a soft smile, savouring the thought of a future where you might be free enough to take him up on the offer.

The hours passed unnoticed as you shared stories, thoughts, and dreams. The afternoon sun cast golden rays over the pavilion, and in his presence, you felt lighter—like you weren't just a pawn in a political marriage, but a person with your own desires.

You returned to your empty quarters that evening, but the silence and cold no longer bothered you. After the warmth and joy of the day spent with Yeosang, the loneliness felt distant, almost irrelevant. You were more than full, not just from the food but from the conversation and laughter shared under the cherry blossoms. The routine of solitude upon your return had become something you could bear, as long as your afternoons were filled with his presence.

The same pattern unfolded the next day and the entire week after that. Each morning, you would wake to the empty quarters, handle your own needs, and then make your way to the pavilion where he would be waiting. Together, you found comfort in each other's company. He was your first and only friend here, someone who understood your situation without having to ask too many questions. Over time, a mutual understanding and respect blossomed between you, both of you finding solace in these stolen moments.

You learned more about him each day, his quirks and passions, while he listened to your stories of Ruhon with genuine interest. The hours flew by in those afternoons, filled with the easy flow of conversation, laughter, and sometimes, comfortable silence. At this point, you had grown content with the way things were. If nothing changed, you thought you could be fine living like this forever. The thought of it made your heart flutter—an afternoon with the fourth prince, a quiet return to your quarters at night, and no pressure from the palace or your impending marriage to Prince Yeochan.

As the sun dipped low on the horizon one evening, casting golden light over the pavilion, Yeosang broke the comfortable quiet. "Are you sure you don't want me to walk you back?" His voice held a note of longing, his eyes searching yours for any hint of what you truly wanted.

You swallowed hard, feeling your heart stir in a way you weren't ready to admit. "I'll be fine," you assured him, trying to steady your voice and the fluttering in your chest. "I'll see you tomorrow. Same place, same time."

He nodded, though his gaze lingered on you a moment longer. "Same place, same time," he repeated softly, his voice betraying the unspoken emotions that hung between you.

As you walked away, you could feel his eyes on you until you disappeared from view, your heart both aching and content at once. These moments with him had become your escape, a reprieve from the storm looming over your future.

For now, that was enough.

Your steps slowed to a crawl as you neared your quarters, a stark contrast to the usual emptiness. Tonight, the windows were brightly lit, and the servants were suddenly lined up like soldiers, just as they had been that fateful night. The last time this had happened, Prince Yeochan had come, drunk and unpredictable.

Dread twisted in your gut as you took in the scene, your heart pounding so hard you could hear the frantic rhythm in your ears. What was he going to do this time? Memories of that night came flooding back—his sharp words, his cold grip, the way he loomed over you as if daring you to resist. But you knew there was no escape. This was your fate. Whatever he wanted, you had no choice but to obey. It was your duty. The thought of it made your heart sink, heavy with the weight of powerlessness.

As you neared the entrance, your eyes landed on the palace maids standing by, their smug smiles and knowing looks making your stomach churn. They had seen this before and even enjoyed it. They were eager for your downfall, eagerly awaiting the moment you'd be humiliated, just like last time. Their bows were mocking, insincere, dripping with scorn.

"Welcome back, Your Highness. Oh dear, perhaps we should've given you a heads up," one of them sneered, her voice laced with false sweetness. "The ninth prince has come to visit."

Your throat tightened as the words registered. Yeochan was inside, waiting. You could already feel the walls closing in around you, suffocating you before you even stepped foot inside. The fear of what awaited you on the other side of that door made your legs feel like lead. But you forced yourself to move, to step forward, to face whatever punishment he had in store. Because you had no choice.

This was your life now.

And as you crossed the threshold, you wished—just for a fleeting moment—that you were back in the cherry blossom garden with Yeosang, where everything felt safe and warm. But that dream was far away now, and reality was waiting for you behind that door, cruel and unrelenting.

"There you are, princess," Yeochan's voice slithered through the room, low and deliberate, as you entered the chamber. Your eyes immediately dropped to the floor, your body instinctively bowing deeply before him.

"G-good evening, Your Highness," you whispered, your voice betraying the trembling fear coursing through you.

He eyed you up and down, his silence stretching uncomfortably before a smirk curled at the corner of his mouth. It wasn't one of amusement but of something darker. "You seem well. A little too well for my liking. A week with no one to serve you, and yet here you are—more content than anything, out gallivanting every single day." He took a step forward, his words laced with accusation. "Care to tell me where you've been all day?"

You felt your hands clutch the fabric of your skirt, squeezing it so tightly you feared it might tear. Your heart raced, the walls closing in around you. "I-I…" The words caught in your throat, terror and shame making it impossible to answer. How could you possibly tell him the truth?

His smirk deepened, his gaze sharp as a blade. "The fourth prince must've been very good to you, hm?" His voice was dripping with venom. "What do you think would happen if word got out? That it wasn't enough he once tried to steal General Park's wife, but now he's after his younger brother's betrothed too?"

His words hit you like a cold slap, your blood running ice-cold as your knees gave way beneath you, sinking to the floor before him. You felt weak and powerless under his cruel, threatening gaze.

A dangerous laugh echoed through the chamber as he watched you crumble. "Perhaps then Father would finally take proper measures against him," he mused darkly, the amusement in his tone quickly vanishing. He turned, his expression hardening into a cold glare. "I've honestly had it with you. But then again, it's no surprise. Your kind would go out and whore around the first chance they get. And of all people, you had to embarrass me by choosing that degenerate?"

Tears welled in your eyes, fear gripping you tightly. While you might've anticipated his wrath, you couldn't allow him to drag the fourth prince into this, to ruin the only thing that had brought you solace in this foreign, suffocating life.

Not Yeosang—he didn't deserve that.

"I… We didn't do anything, Your Highness. We're just friends," you pleaded, the tears now spilling down your cheeks. "If you wish, I promise not to see him again. Just... leave His Highness alone."

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Yeochan's smirk returned, more sinister than before. He knelt before you, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "Really? Is that what you want?"

You nodded frantically, swallowing hard. "Yes... please."

His smirk widened. "That depends on your performance then, doesn't it? Don't let me down, princess."

The weight of his threat hung heavy in the air, suffocating you as he rose and walked past you, leaving you kneeling in the cold chamber, your tears staining the floor beneath you.

I'm so sorry, Prince Yeosang...

"Where is she?" the fourth prince murmured to himself, his gaze fixed on the steaming bowls of food slowly losing their warmth. The servants had prepared everything right on time, just as they had done every day for the past week. And every time, without fail, you arrived promptly, your face lighting up the moment you stepped into the garden. But today, there was no sign of you.

He tried to brush off his unease, telling himself there must be a simple explanation. Maybe you were running into trouble with your quarters, or maybe your attire or hair was taking longer than usual. Yeosang's mind flickered to the oversized shoes you'd been given, his brow furrowing. He'd reminded you to ask for better-fitted ones, hadn't he? What if you'd tripped because of them? The thought made him chuckle lightly, trying to dispel the growing knot of concern in his chest. No need to overthink it, he thought.

Maybe she overslept.

The image of you with tousled hair and sleepy eyes brought a smile to his face, one that lingered a little too long. Slowly, realisation dawned on him. Do friends think of each other this way...? he wondered. Since the day you two had become close, he found that thoughts of you followed him everywhere. Even when he wasn't with you, his mind strayed back to your laughter, the way you spoke about Ruhon with such fondness, the light in your eyes when you teased him about Joseon. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about you.

But now, as he stared at the empty seat across from him and the bowl of stew cooling in front of it, his thoughts shifted from fondness to worry. You'd never been late before. Where were you?

The prince's fingers drummed anxiously against the wooden table. As the minutes stretched on, the gnawing feeling in his stomach grew worse. What if something had happened to you?

No, don't overthink it, he told himself again, trying to keep calm. But with each passing moment, his composure faltered, his mind conjuring all sorts of possibilities. You were alone in this unfamiliar palace, with no allies but him. He knew what kind of dangers lurked in the shadows, especially for someone as isolated as you.

He stood up abruptly, unable to shake the dread that was slowly taking hold of him. He had to find you. Whatever had delayed you, he couldn't just sit there, waiting.

"Please be okay, princess..." he muttered under his breath, his heart clenching at the thought of something being wrong. He grabbed his cloak, striding purposefully out of the pavilion. He wouldn't rest until he knew you were safe.

His feet led him instinctively to your quarters, a place he'd never seen but had always pictured to be grand and befitting of your status. Yet, as he slowed his steps and approached the area, his brows furrowed in disbelief. The quarters before him were anything but grand. They were one of the more neglected chambers in the palace, the kind usually reserved for lesser guests, not for someone soon to become the Ninth Princess of Joseon.

This... can't be right, he thought, his gaze hardening as he took in the sight. The King and Queen never would have agreed to this if they knew. Who had placed you here? His mind immediately turned to the only person capable of such pettiness—his brother.

His jaw clenched at the thought, but before he could mull over it further, the palace maids stationed at the entrance of your chambers bowed deeply.

"These servants greet Your Highness," they said in unison.

He nodded in acknowledgement, but when he tried to take a step forward, they subtly moved to block his path.

"Deepest apologies, Prince Yeosang," one of them said, her tone laced with formality, "but Her Highness the princess wishes not to see anyone today."

His status as your future brother-in-law, rather than a direct family member or fiancé, dawned on him. It would be inappropriate for him to insist on seeing you, no matter how much he wanted to make sure you were alright. Still, concern gnawed at him, and he couldn't help but ask, "Is she okay?"

The maid closest to him bit down on a smirk, as if sharing an inside joke with herself. "Yes, Your Highness. Why do you ask? The ninth prince was just here last night. He left after ensuring she was fine."

His heart sank. Yeochan was here? His mind raced. Did he find out about our meetings? Knowing his brother's volatile pride, it wouldn't have been surprising if he had lashed out. The thought of Yeochan taking his anger out on you made his chest tighten.

He cleared his throat, trying to mask his unease. "O-oh, I see... I was just uhh... hoping to meet the princess for another study session," he said, forcing a smile.

The maid bowed again, her gesture more dismissive this time. "Perhaps another time, Prince Yeosang."

He blinked, feeling the sting of rejection but knowing there was little he could do at this moment. He took a step back, his heart heavy. "Perhaps..." he echoed softly.

With a final nod, the fourth prince turned and walked away, his mind filled with worry. His thoughts circled back to you—your absence today, the state of your quarters, and the lingering fear that something was terribly wrong. He had to find a way to see you, to make sure you were safe.

Wait for me, princess.

"Congratulations, Your Highness. Since you've been good, Prince Yeochan is rewarding you with dinner tonight. Enjoy," one of the maids said, her tone dripping with insincerity as she and the others stepped into your room. They carried trays with the same paltry rice and side dishes they had served you since your first day here. But despite the meagre meal, your empty stomach didn't care. After being starved all day, anything edible seemed like a feast.

Scrambling over to the dining table, you thanked them softly, even though they didn't deserve it. You sat down quickly, hands trembling as you began to eat, the food filling the gnawing ache inside you. But the relief was short-lived. You paused mid-bite when you noticed the smug expressions plastered on the maids' faces. Something was coming, and you dreaded it.

You wiped your mouth with shaky fingers and whispered, "Y-you may go."

One of the maids let out a sarcastic coo. "Oh, but princess, don't you want to hear all about the fourth prince's surprise appearance today? He came all this way to see you."

Your body froze, the warmth of the food in your stomach doing nothing to quell the sudden chill that overtook you. Yeosang was here...? The realisation hit you like a blow, and your heart clenched. You tightened your grip on the utensils, willing your hands to stop shaking.

"If we didn't know any better, we'd think he was your lover... but you wouldn't do that to your betrothed now, would you?" another maid added with a wicked smirk. Her words cut through you like a knife, but you dared not look up, staring at your food with tears welling in your eyes. You blinked rapidly, trying to force them away.

"N-no..." you choked out, barely above a whisper. "I wouldn't."

"That's what I thought," the leader of the group sneered. "After all, what would people say if they knew? The ninth prince would be furious, don't you think?"

You kept your gaze locked on the table, your chest tightening as they circled around you like vultures, feeding off your discomfort.

Finally, with a mocking bow, they left the room, closing the door behind them with a soft click. The moment they were gone, your head dropped into your hands, the weight of their words pressing down on you. The food sat heavy in your stomach now, each bite you had taken feeling like a betrayal.

Yeosang had come to see you, and you weren't there. You could only imagine how worried he must have been, wondering why you hadn't shown up today. And now, all you could think about was the thinly veiled threat in the maids' words.

Tears finally escaped, sliding down your cheeks as you sat in the silence of your room. You hadn't done anything wrong, but somehow, everything felt wrong—like you were trapped in a cage with no way out.

Lying in bed, Yeosang couldn't sleep. His thoughts kept drifting back to you—how you'd smile, your voice when you spoke about the things you loved, the way your eyes lit up over the simplest things, like a plate of sweets. He thought he understood love when he'd pined for Lady Park, but this... this was different. The weight in his chest was heavier, the ache more painful. With the general's wife, there was always distance, a barrier he could never cross. But with you, everything felt natural—like the world aligned whenever you were near.

He tossed and turned, trying to push the thoughts away, but they wouldn't leave him. His heart was breaking all over again, only this time it felt worse, deeper than before. He had waited for you at the pavilion every day, hoping that maybe you'd just been delayed the first time. But as the days passed and you never showed up again, the hope he clung to slowly withered. Something was wrong. He could feel it.

Each day, he'd pass by your quarters, but the doors remained tightly shut, without a single sign of life behind them. He thought of knocking, but the way the palace maids had treated him before made it clear he wasn't welcome. His mind raced with questions: What happened to you? Were you okay? Were you eating? Were you sleeping soundly, or were you struggling, just like him?

The thoughts gnawed at him, and finally, he couldn't take it anymore. Throwing off the blankets, he pushed himself out of bed. He needed air, something to clear his mind from the torture of endless questions. He slipped on his outer robe and quietly made his way out of his chambers, the palace eerily silent in the late hours of the night.

His feet led him on a path of their own, and before he realised it, he found himself in the garden that faced the small pond where the two of you had sat together on the night of the banquet. The memories hit him with such force that he had to stop and catch his breath. You had looked so beautiful that night, the soft glow of the lanterns reflecting in your eyes. It had been a fleeting moment, but it had meant so much to him. He was sure it had meant something to you too.

To his surprise, the lanterns were still there, hanging gently in the night breeze. They were the same ones from that night. Perhaps they'd been left up because of the upcoming royal wedding, a reminder of what was supposed to be a grand celebration.

The fourth prince stood there, staring at the pond, the reflections of the lanterns dancing across the water. He remembered how you'd sat beside him, how close you'd been, how easily the conversation had flowed between you. And now, you were gone. Not physically, but... gone from his life in a way that made him feel lost, like a part of himself had disappeared too.

A sharp pain gripped his chest. Was this love? If it was, it felt like too much to bear. He had thought losing Lady Park was painful, but this was different. The weight of it felt unbearable, like he was being crushed under the possibility that he might never see you again.

His thoughts were interrupted when his ears caught the faint sound of someone crying. He froze, his breath hitching as the soft sobs pierced the quiet night. For a moment, he dismissed it as nothing more than the echoes of sorrow often heard within the palace walls. The palace staff loved to whisper of haunted spirits—the restless souls of those who had taken their own lives, trapped within the suffocating confines of court life. Such tales were frequent, and he knew better than to believe them.

Still, the sound unnerved him, not because of any fear of ghosts, but because it reminded him of the very real torment experienced by so many who lived under the weight of the royal family's rules. Perhaps it was just another of the King's properties—a concubine or a servant—mourning their fate. With a sigh, he prepared to leave, thinking it would be better to search for peace elsewhere. But something caught his eye.

A flash of lavender fabric peeked from behind a nearby tree, illuminated faintly by the lanterns. Yeosang's heart skipped a beat, his pulse quickening. Lavender... the exact colour you'd worn the first time he met you. It could be a coincidence—anyone could wear such a colour—but the hope blooming in his chest was undeniable.

What if it was you?

He couldn't just walk away. Not now.

With careful, deliberate steps, the fourth prince approached the trembling figure behind the tree. His breath was shallow, his nerves on edge, as the soft weeping grew clearer with every step. The closer he got, the more his heart ached. The sight before him was enough to tear him apart.

It was you.

You were curled up against the rough bark of the tree, your knees drawn to your chest, hands clutching the edges of the lavender hanbok tightly. Your body shook with silent sobs, the sound so fragile that it made Yeosang's chest tighten painfully. He could barely stand seeing you like this—so vulnerable, so broken.

For a moment, he hesitated. He wasn't sure if you'd want to see him right now, especially in this state. But he couldn't just leave you like this. Not after days of wondering if you were alright, not after the constant worry that something had happened to you. Seeing you now, alone in the dark, crying as if the world had crushed you... it was unbearable.

"Princess..." he whispered softly, his voice gentle as if speaking too loudly might shatter you completely.

You flinched at the sound of his familiar deep voice, your head snapping up in surprise. When your tear-streaked eyes met his, a flood of emotions passed between you. Shock, fear, relief... and something else. Something deeper that neither of you dared to voice aloud.

"Yeosang..." you breathed, your voice weak and trembling, barely above a whisper.

Without thinking, he knelt down beside you, his eyes full of concern. "What happened? Why are you out here like this? I've been so worried... Where have you been?"

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words got stuck in your throat. Tears streamed down your face again as you struggled to find the strength to answer. You were supposed to be stronger than this, to hold everything together, but the weight of it all—the pressure, the fear, the loneliness—was too much.

His heart broke all over again, seeing you like this. He reached out hesitantly, placing a hand on your shoulder, his touch soft and comforting. "It's okay," he whispered. "You don't have to say anything. Just... let me stay with you, alright?"

For a long moment, you simply stared at him, the warmth of his presence slowly easing the tight grip of despair around your heart. Then, as if you couldn't hold it in any longer, you nodded, and he gently pulled you into his arms. You collapsed against him, your sobs muffled against his chest. He held you tightly, cradling you as if you were the most fragile thing in the world.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn't feel so alone.

As your sobs began to fade and your breathing steadied, a heavy silence settled between the two of you. But even as the tears stopped, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away from him. The warmth of his embrace was comforting, grounding you in a way you hadn't felt in so long. You kept your eyes closed, pressing closer to him, feeling his steady heartbeat against your cheek. His scent—earthy and soothing—wrapped around you like a protective barrier from the world outside. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you felt safe.

You didn't want to move. You didn't want to leave his arms, leave the calm that came with being next to someone who actually cared. The reality of your life—your engagement to the ninth prince, the cruelty of the palace, the loneliness—seemed so far away when you were here, in this quiet moment with Yeosang.

Letting out a shaky breath, your fingers tightened around the fabric of his robe, clutching onto him like he was your lifeline. And in a way, he was. You whispered, your voice raw and barely audible, "I-I can't do this anymore... wh-why couldn't it have been you, Yeo?"

For a moment, he stilled. Your words hung in the air between you, and he wondered if he had imagined them, if they were just the desperate hope of his own heart. But when you pressed closer to him, trembling slightly as if you'd just revealed your deepest secret, he knew it was real.

He closed his eyes, tightening his hold on you, his arms wrapping more securely around your body. Gently, he pressed your head into the crook of his neck, holding you as though he could shield you from all the pain, all the heartache you had endured. He didn't say anything at first—he was too overwhelmed by the surge of emotions in his chest. Relief, sorrow, love... it all mingled together in a way that left him breathless.

And then, softly, he whispered into your hair, his voice hoarse with emotion, "I... I wish it could have been me too."

His confession was quiet, but it carried the weight of all the feelings he'd been holding back. For the first time, he allowed himself to admit it—to say aloud what he'd only been able to think. He had fallen in love with you. It wasn't just a passing infatuation or the admiration of a friend. It was love, deep and consuming, the kind that made it impossible to imagine his life without you in it.

"I... I'll make it better," his voice wavered, his grip tightening around you as if he was afraid to let go. "I'll take you away from all of this. I hate seeing you like this... suffering. You deserve so much more."

His words lingered in your mind, and fresh tears welled in your eyes—this time not from fear or sadness, but from a deep longing for a life that seemed impossible. "But how?" you whispered, your voice cracking. "The ninth prince... h-he's—"

At the mention of his brother, the fourth prince tensed, barely holding back the surge of anger that threatened to overwhelm him. He continued stroking your hair gently, his touch grounding you both. "Tell me," he said, his tone firm but soft, "everything he's done to you."

Fear flickered in your eyes, and you shook your head slightly. "B-but—"

"It's okay," he reassured you, his voice steady and full of conviction. "I'll protect you. You have my word, princess."

"Father, I have come to report wrongdoing," the fourth prince's voice rang out clearly across the throne room. His heart pounded in his chest, but his resolve never faltered. He had waited too long for this moment, and he wouldn't waste it. The King, seated on his grand throne, raised a surprised brow. His fourth son had never shown much interest in palace affairs before.

"Yes, my son. What is it?" he asked, his voice weary with expectation.

Yeosang took a deep breath, steeling himself. "It's Ninth Prince Yeochan. He has been mistreating his fiancée."

The elderly man sighed heavily, rubbing his temples as if this were a minor inconvenience. "Prince Yeosang, you know there are far more pressing matters in this kingdom than marital squabbles."

The prince's nostrils flared, his temper threatening to boil over. "Listen to me, Father! For once in your life, listen to me. You haven't heard a word I've said for the past 25 years, and I've had enough of it!"

The sharpness of his words silenced the king. He straightened in his seat, eyes narrowing as he studied his son.

Yeosang pressed on, desperation clinging to every syllable. "The princess... she's living in misery. Do you even know where your 'beloved' ninth son has placed her? She's not in some luxurious chamber—he's hidden her away in a miserable room like she's less than a servant! Did you know he's been denying her basic needs to manipulate her into submission? Have you any idea what he's—"

The King closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Marriages aren't all sunshine and rainbows. Especially not arranged ones. You're young, and I understand you're friends with the princess, but you also know how girls can exaggerate things. She'll be fine. They will work it out in time. You must see that this is all for the greater good of our nation."

His Highness clenched his fists tightly, the urge to shout rising within him. He had expected resistance, but this blatant dismissal enraged him. "Don't invalidate her feelings like that, Your Majesty... you just don't get it, do you?"

The ruler's gaze hardened. "What don't I get, Fourth Prince?"

Yeosang let out a bitter laugh, his voice dripping with frustration and scorn. "That you are part of the problem. How can you expect this kingdom to flourish when you don't even care about what happens within your own palace walls? What kind of king turns a blind eye to the suffering of his own people? To a foreign princess, no less, one who was supposed to be under our protection?" His eyes blazed with fury. "You always talk about the greater good, but it's never been about the people, has it? It's about your power. You think the end justifies the means, no matter who gets crushed along the way. What kind of noble king does that make you? Or should I say... what kind of useless king?"

The air in the throne room grew thick with tension, his words hanging heavy between them like an unsheathed blade.

Despite his initial irritation at the prince's boldness, His Majesty felt a surge of pride. Yeosang's passionate defence of the foreign princess was a clear sign of his growth and potential as a future ruler. His newfound affection and protectiveness toward you were a stark contrast to his past obsession with Lady Park. It was clear that he had finally moved on from the general's wife and was now focused on something—someone he truly loved.

Yet, the King also felt a pang of disappointment. Entrusting you to Prince Yeochan had been a grave mistake, and the realisation that you had suffered under his treatment made the ruler question his past decisions. He clasped his hands together, mulling over his son's words.

"Fair enough. What do you suggest I do then, Fourth Prince?" The elderly man's voice held a rare note of invitation, allowing Yeosang to propose a solution.

His Highness straightened, his resolve clear. "I understand how vital it is to maintain our relations with Ruhon. I'm not suggesting we break the peace treaty over the ninth prince's actions. Instead, I propose we reconsider the current arrangements."

The King almost smiled, entertained by his son's careful diplomacy. "Alright, so what then? Who else would the princess marry?"

The fourth prince's gaze didn't waver as he replied, "I put myself forward as a candidate. I'm confident I can give her the respect and care she deserves."

His Majesty chuckled, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Really? And does she agree with this arrangement?"

"Yes, she—" Yeosang froze for a moment, realising he'd revealed more than intended. But after a brief hesitation, he nodded.

The King's expression softened, his earlier irritation dissolving. "You're right, my son. If the princess' happiness is important for the stability of our nations, we must ensure she is well cared for."

Yeosang nodded, gratitude flooding through him as relief settled in. The King sighed, a glimmer of satisfaction lightening his burden.

"As for the ninth prince... I'll make sure he understands the consequences of his actions," the elderly man said firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

The fourth prince's heart swelled with hope and determination. This was more than he had dared to wish for, and he was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead—with you by his side.

His Majesty's smile slightly faltered as he watched the visible relief wash over his son. A heaviness settled in his chest. "But my son," he began, his voice quieter, more measured, "you have to prepare yourself for the potential talk that will spread about you... and the princess. This isn't going to be an easy or smooth process."

Yeosang met his father's gaze, his expression unwavering. "I understand, Father."

The ruler sighed, the weight of what was to come settling on him. He knew the whispers in the court would be brutal, the rumours relentless. The nobility had a way of twisting any situation, and there would undoubtedly be those who questioned the sudden change in marriage arrangements. There might be talk of favouritism or worse—of scandal.

But before he could voice more concerns, Yeosang's calm words broke the silence, further tugging at his father's heart. "Don’t worry, Father. It's nothing I'm not already used to. I've endured rumours and whispers all my life..." He paused, his expression hardening with determination. "But I won't let them touch her. I'll protect her, and I won't let anyone disrespect her again."

The King felt a surge of pride and sadness all at once. His son had indeed grown beyond what he'd expected, but the fact that he had carried so much weight for so long without ever seeking his father's help broke his heart. The King realised how much he had missed over the years, how distant he had allowed their relationship to become.

"You're a good man, Yeosang," the King said softly, his voice laced with both admiration and regret. "I wish I'd seen it sooner."

His Highness gave a small nod, his resolve as strong as ever, though the lingering pain in his eyes was unmistakable. "I'll do right by her, Father. That's all that matters now."

The King intertwined his fingers, watching his son with a mixture of pride and sorrow. The future of their kingdom—and the princess' happiness—now rested on this new path. He only hoped it would lead to a brighter future for both his son and the Ruhon princess.

"Wh-what are you doing here, Yeo? The ninth prince, he'll—" Your voice trembled with panic as you glanced nervously toward the door. But Yeosang only shook his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he pulled you into his embrace.

"Shh, it's okay," he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. His touch was warm and steady, a silent reassurance. "He won't be able to come near you again. I promise."

As if on cue, the door creaked open, and a group of palace staff entered. Their uniforms were pristine, and their faces composed, unfamiliar to you. Bowing deeply, they addressed both of you.

"These servants greet Fourth Prince Yeosang and Princess Sarisu. We have come to move the princess to her new chambers."

Your eyes widened in surprise as you looked up at Yeosang. "N-new chambers?"

One of the court ladies, an older woman with a warm smile, nodded eagerly. "Yes, Your Highness. Congratulations on your engagement! May the future Fourth Princess of Joseon live a thousand years!"

"F-fourth Princess...?" You stared in shock, barely able to process the words. Engagement? New chambers? The past few weeks of torment and isolation suddenly felt like a distant memory, replaced by this surreal moment of freedom. Yeosang grinned softly down at you, the light in his eyes unmistakable.

He nodded to the servants, giving them permission to start packing your belongings. Then, leaning down, he whispered in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "I told you I'd take care of it, my soon-to-be wife."

The words sent a shiver through you, but this time it wasn't from fear or anxiety. It was a mix of disbelief and relief. Your heart raced as the palace staff began gathering your things, their movements efficient and respectful—a stark contrast to the way you had been treated before.

The rest of the day felt like a dream, as if the heavy weight that had been suffocating you for so long had finally lifted. You followed your new fiancé out of the quarters you had been forced to call home, stepping into the sunlight for the first time in what felt like forever.

Your gaze drifted, and that's when you saw him—Prince Yeochan. He stood several paces away, his face pale with disbelief as royal guards surrounded him and his servants. Officer Song led the group with his characteristic sternness, his sharp eyes missing nothing.

You overheard snippets of conversation, catching the words "interrogation" and "treatment of the princess." Your heart quickened. In Joseon, interrogations weren't handled lightly, especially when they involved royalty. You knew for a fact that the ninth prince and his servants were in for a rough time.

Yeosang's hand slid into yours, grounding you in the moment. His touch was steady, his presence comforting. He glanced at you with a soft smile, his eyes filled with quiet determination. "You’re safe now," he whispered.

As you walked away from the quarters, leaving the past behind, you couldn't help but feel a rush of gratitude for the man beside you—the man who had promised to protect you and had kept that promise.

Thank you, my prince.

The following week felt like a fantasy you had never imagined could come true. Every moment with the fourth prince was filled with joy, love, and a sense of belonging you had never experienced before. He moved you to a chamber near his, ensuring you were never far from him. Every morning, he would come over, smiling warmly as he shared meals with you, and afterwards, he'd whisk you away to different spots in the palace, if you were not bonding with the Queen. There was always something new to show you, some hidden garden or scenic view you had never seen before.

On one of those magical days, Yeosang had even summoned a renowned dressmaker from outside the palace. Dressmaker Kim, known for his exquisite designs, came to you with endless fabrics and ideas, eager to create a new batch of hanboks that reflected your personal taste and style. Your fiancé had insisted that you not be restricted to the simple garments the palace provided. You deserved something beautiful, something uniquely you.

One sunny afternoon, as you stood together in the palace gardens, gazing at the cherry blossoms in full bloom, his arms wrapped around you from behind. His embrace was gentle but firm, the warmth of his body making you feel safe and loved.

"Our wedding's in a week, can you believe it?" he whispered softly against your ear.

You smiled, your heart fluttering at the thought. "I know, it feels like a dream."

He pressed his lips softly to your cheek, and you leaned into him, basking in the tenderness of the moment. "Is there anything else you want, my princess?" he asked, his voice low and full of affection.

Turning to face him, you cupped his face in your hands, your heart swelling with gratitude. "Enough, Yeo. You've given me more than enough for the past week."

But he shook his head, his gaze softening as he leaned in, resting his forehead gently against yours. "Not nearly enough," he murmured. "I do have one final surprise for you before the big day."

You frowned slightly, about to protest, but before you could speak, he silenced you with a kiss. It was tender, loving, and left you completely dazed. When he pulled away, his lips brushed lightly against yours, leaving you breathless.

"Don't reject me just yet," he whispered, his voice teasing but full of affection. "Go have a look and tell me how you like it. The surprise is waiting for you in your room."

Curiosity sparked within you, and though you tried to suppress it, excitement bloomed in your chest. What could he possibly have prepared now? You smiled up at him, already feeling that whatever it was, it would be another unforgettable moment.

And unforgettable it was.

He trailed behind your excited steps, heart swelling with anticipation as he followed you to your chambers. He stopped just outside, giving you enough privacy while still keeping the doors open. His eyes never left you as you entered the room, eager to see your reaction.

The moment you stepped inside, you froze in place. Your breath caught, and your vision blurred with tears before a sob escaped your lips. You couldn't believe what—no, who—was waiting for you.

"M-mother…" you choked, your voice thick with emotion.

Without hesitation, you rushed forward, falling into her arms. The warmth and familiarity of her embrace washed over you, the scent of home bringing back memories of a time when you felt safe. She held you tightly, her hand stroking your hair as you trembled in her embrace.

"I'm here now, my dear," your mother whispered, her own voice shaking with emotion. She sniffled, pressing her nose into your hair, her tears mingling with yours. "All thanks to my good son-in-law."

Her words broke through the haze of your emotions, and you glanced back toward the door. Your soon-to-be husband stood there, watching you from outside with a soft, tearful smile. He didn't step inside, allowing you this moment with your mother, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. He had made this reunion possible. He had brought your family back to you.

Your mother's tearful smile reached Yeosang, and he dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement. The silent gratitude exchanged between them warmed your heart even more.

A year ago, if anyone had told Yeosang he would find love, happiness, and purpose, he would've laughed bitterly, dismissing it as nothing more than a foolish dream. For so long, he had drifted through life, lost in the cold shadows of the palace, burdened by duty and the emptiness it brought. He had watched others find joy and love, believing it was something forever beyond his reach. But now, standing there, watching you fall into your mother's arms, he felt a wave of clarity wash over him. He's been wandering this earth alone, feeling lost for what seemed like an eternity...

Until I found you, my princess.

Aaaand, it's a wrap! God, I sincerely hope this was decent HAHA this ended up so much longer and darker than initially planned but oh well, it is what it is. I might consider doing one last bonus chapter for TWTHH, but we'll see~ you know what they say, there will only be supply if there's a demand🌚

If you've made it this far, thank you so very much for reading and staying with me throughout this entire journey! I look forward to hearing all your thoughts on the spinoff and this series! Which member's spinoff was your favourite and why? Let me know! <3

Tag list (1/11):

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@cheolliehugs @the-kpop-simp @writingwieny @stayatinykatsy @skzline |

@green-agent @stayinhellevator @vampzity @tinyteezer @evidive |

@vantediary @superbbananananana @kimyeolchan @chocolate-scoups @decadentstrangernacho |

@vic0921 @marievllr-abg @sunnyhokyu @seungmin-in-thebuilding @heyitsmetonid |

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@chicken-fifi @thunderous-wolf @shythinggiver @madnpan @yandere-stories |

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@chickenscoups

#edenesth #the way to this heart #until i found you #twthh spinoff #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #kang yeosang #ateez yeosang #historical au #joseon era #yeosang x reader #yeosang x you #ateez fic

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pandapetals · 27 days ago

Note

ong i love your writing! can i please get a x1 logan fic where the reader is a ballerina? she’s been alive for a long time just like logan with the same regeneration ability. they meet when she is invited to the x mansion for something. but he walks in on her dancing swan lake? if not i totally understand. a girl can dream 💗✨

Hi! Thank you so much and sooo sorry for how long it took. I’ve been busy finishing school and sleep-deprived. Hopefully, i did it justice. Idk what this is lol but i ran with it. It turned into a mini fic....anyway, I always wanted to be a ballerina when I was a kid so this lowkey fulfilled my dreams.

logan howlett x fem!mutant reader - angst, minor fluff, reader has established relationships with x-men especially hank, slight reader description, no y/n used, reader has met logan before but he doesn’t remember, timeline sort of follows X1 & X2, ballet references

You stood in the middle of the mansion’s wide, polished hallway, the faint smell of waxed floors and old books swirling around you. The hum of distant voices, laughter, and the occasional crash of something breaking echoed deeper within the sprawling mansion. You smoothed your palms over your thighs, fingers brushing against the soft cotton of your dance tights beneath your coat. This place hadn’t changed—well, not in the ways that mattered.

Storm walked beside you, her silver hair catching the sunlight spilling through the grand windows, while Scott trailed just behind, his arms crossed in his usual no-nonsense stance. You saw your reflection in one of the hallway mirrors—unchanged. Despite the weight of decades, your skin was still smooth, and your body lithe. This place carried ghosts for you, but not the kind that faded with time.

"Still feels the same," you murmured under your breath, your voice almost swallowed by the mansion's high ceilings.

Storm turned, a small smile pulling at her lips. "The kids grow up, and new ones come in, but the mansion stays the same."

"Right down to the same smell of burnt toast from the kitchen every morning," Scott added, his tone dry. He gave you a sidelong glance, the faintest hint of warmth breaking through his stoicism. "You'll fit right in again. Hank’s been talking about your return for weeks. I think he's been counting the days."

Storm chuckled softly, her voice lilting like the whisper of wind through trees. “You’d think he was the one with a photographic memory.”

As if summoned by your name, a deep, rumbling voice boomed from behind. “Is that—no, it can’t be.”

You turned just in time to see Hank bounding into view, his blue fur almost shimmering in the light. His tailored blazer looked comically out of place over his hulking, beastly form, but the warm smile on his face was the same as you remembered.

"Hank!" you exclaimed, your smile splitting wide as you stepped forward. His massive arms enveloped you in a bear hug, lifting you clean off your feet.

"My dear, you haven’t aged a day!" he declared, setting you back down but keeping his enormous hands on your shoulders as if to confirm you were real.

“Well, you know me. Perks of the trade,” you said lightly, but his words brought a pang you quickly shoved aside. You tilted your head up at him. “You, on the other hand, look fluffier than ever.”

Hank laughed, the sound rolling through the hallway like thunder. “You flatter me.” He released you with a fond pat on the back. "Though I must admit, it’s wonderful to see you again. It hasn’t been the same without you."

Scott cleared his throat, his voice tinged with impatience. “As much as I enjoy a good reunion, we still have the tour to finish.”

You smirked. “Still as serious as ever, huh, Summers? Don’t worry, I won’t let Hank hold us up too long.”

As the group moved down the hallway, your footsteps were light against the polished floor. A gruff voice cut through the air, stopping you in your tracks.

“Who’s the new recruit?”

You froze. You knew that voice—low, gravelly like it had been dragged across gravel and left to smolder. Turning slowly, you locked eyes with Logan. He leaned casually against the doorframe, one hand resting on the frame, the other holding a cigar he hadn’t bothered to light. His eyes raked over you, sizing you up with an air of detached curiosity.

“Logan,” you said, the name tasting familiar on your tongue, like a song you hadn’t sung in years.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Do I know you?”

For a second, you almost told him. The memories of a fight decades ago—the clash of claws and fists, the way his grin had split his face after every victory—flashed through your mind. But his blank stare reminded you he wouldn’t remember. Not this version of him. Not after what they’d done to him.

“Not really,” you replied with a shrug, masking the ache behind a practiced nonchalance. “But I’ve heard of you. Big fan of the ‘snikt-snikt’ routine.”

His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners. “Cute.” He pushed off the doorframe, his boots thudding against the hardwood as he walked closer. “What’s your story?”

You mirrored his casual stance, crossing your arms as you looked up at him. “I’m here to teach ballet. Figured the kids could use some culture.”

“Ballet?” Logan snorted, his grin widening. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll be real useful in a fight.”

You smirked back. “You’d be surprised. I could take you down in three moves.”

“Three, huh?” He tilted his head, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re confident. I like that.”

“Is that your way of saying you’d like a demonstration?”

Before he could reply, Storm cut in, her voice carrying an edge of authority. “Logan, play nice. She’s here to help, not trade punches with you.”

Logan raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin never faltering. “Alright, alright. But don’t blame me if she ends up knocking one of the kids on their asses in the Danger Room.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the small laugh that slipped out. Logan might not remember you, but some things about him hadn’t changed.

As he walked away, cigar tucked back between his teeth, you turned to Storm, who was watching you with a knowing look.

“Well,” you said, “this is going to be fun.”

Storm chuckled. “Oh, I think you’ll fit right in.”

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

The room smelled faintly of lavender, likely from whatever freshener Storm had insisted on using, and the golden light of late afternoon streamed through the large windows. You sat cross-legged on the neatly made bed, hands resting on your knees, staring absently at the few belongings you’d unpacked. A duffel bag in the corner. A framed photo of you and Hank from years ago—his arm slung over your shoulder, your face mid-laugh. It felt surreal, almost too heavy to keep looking at.

You shrugged as if trying to loosen the weight pressing on your chest. It was nice to be back, even if it stirred old memories you’d locked away. Memories of laughter, battle, and the kind of losses that didn’t fade with time. But this was temporary. Just another stop along your endless road, you reminded yourself. You never stayed anywhere long enough to leave roots. You couldn’t.

A knock at the doorframe broke your reverie.

“Mind if I come in?” Hank’s familiar baritone rang out, warm and tinged with his usual politeness. He stood there, one hand resting on the frame, his blue fur catching the golden light.

“Course,” you said, a smile pulling at your lips as you waved him in.

He stepped into the room, his hulking frame seeming almost too big for the cozy space. But the way he moved—careful and precise—kept it from feeling intrusive. He glanced around, his sharp eyes taking in the bare walls and the sparse unpacking. “Travel light as always, I see.”

“Old habits die hard,” you said with a shrug. “Besides, I’m not planning on staying long.”

Hank’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t press the matter. Instead, he crossed the room and plopped into the chair at the small desk, the furniture groaning under his weight.

“We have a lot of catching up to do,” you said, your smile softening. “It’s been...”

“Ten years,” he finished for you, his voice quiet but firm.

Your smile faltered, and you looked away, the guilt settling in your stomach like a stone. “I’m sorry,” you said finally in a whisper.

Hank waved you off, the gesture almost as familiar as the amused twinkle in his eyes. “Don’t worry about it, dear. I know you had your reasons for running off. It just would’ve been nice to know you weren’t, you know, dead in a ditch somewhere.”

That earned a small laugh as you rubbed the back of your neck. “Yeah, I guess I could’ve done better on the whole ‘staying in touch’ thing, huh?”

“Just a bit,” he teased, leaning forward and resting his chin on his massive hand. “I missed you, you know. Things have been... quieter without you around.”

You grinned. “Me? I think you’re confusing me with someone else.”

“Oh no,” he said, his eyes glinting with playful mischief. “I distinctly recall a certain someone sneaking into my lab at three in the morning to swipe beakers for—what was it—homemade glow-in-the-dark paint?”

You laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. “In my defense, it worked! That mural in the attic was a masterpiece.”

“And I had to spend an entire week re-organizing my lab. You’re lucky I’m so forgiving,” he said, though the grin on his face made it clear he didn’t regret a second of it.

The laughter between you settled into a comfortable quiet, the kind of silence only shared between old friends.

Hank cleared his throat, his tone turning curious. “So, how are you feeling about being back? I know it can’t be easy.”

You leaned back on your hands, glancing up at the ceiling. “It’s... weird. Good, but weird. This place has so many memories, you know? Feels like I’m walking through a time capsule. Everyone’s so familiar but different at the same time. Even Logan.”

Hank’s eyebrows shot up. “Logan?”

You nodded, a sly smile tugging at your lips. “Ran into him in the hallway earlier. He asked who I was.”

“And did you tell him?”

Your smile faded slightly, replaced by something more wistful. “Just said I was here to teach ballet and that I’d heard of him.”

Hank tilted his head, studying you. “You’ve met him before, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, your voice soft. You traced the edge of the duvet with your finger, eyes distant. “A long time ago. Before he lost his memory.”

Hank frowned. “And he doesn’t remember?”

You shook your head. “Nope. Not a thing.”

“That must’ve been... hard,” Hank said, his voice gentle, always the considerate one.

You shrugged, forcing a small, tight smile. “It’s not like I expected him to. Besides, it’s probably better this way. Less complicated.”

“Hmm,” Hank murmured, leaning back in the chair with his arms crossed. “Well, complicated or not, he seems intrigued by you. I caught him muttering something about ‘ballet instructors with an attitude’ after he saw you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “Sounds about right. I think I annoyed him within thirty seconds of meeting him. New record?”

Hank chuckled. “Perhaps. Though, if I know Logan, that probably just means he respects you already.”

You snorted. “Yeah, sure. Respect. That’s what I’m calling it.”

Hank grinned at your sarcasm, but his expression softened as he leaned forward again. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. Even if it’s just for a little while. The place feels more like home with you in it.”

The words struck a chord deep in your chest, and you looked down, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve to avoid his gaze. “Thanks, Hank. That means a lot.”

“You mean a lot,” he said simply, his sincerity cutting through any attempt to downplay his words.

The two of you fell into an easy silence again, but this time it was heavier with unspoken things. Things you didn’t have to say, because after all these years, Hank just knew.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“Great work today,” you said gently, crouching to pat one of the kids on the head. The little girl beamed up at you, her hair still pinned into a slightly crooked bun from class.

“Thanks!” she chirped before bounding off toward the theatre entrance, where a gaggle of other students waited.

“I’ll see you all tomorrow, bright and early!” you called after them, your voice carrying across the empty rows of seats. A few of them waved over their shoulders, laughter spilling into the hall as they disappeared through the double doors.

The stage was quiet now, the faint scent of resin and sweat lingering in the air. You stood there staring out at the rows of chairs that stretched into a shadow. The polished floor beneath your feet caught the faint gleam of overhead lights, reflecting a ghostly version of yourself back at you.

Your shoulders sagged as you sighed, the stillness pressing around you like a heavy blanket. This place stirred something deep in you, something you hadn’t felt in years. You glanced down at your feet, your sneakers looking almost out of place against the elegant backdrop of the stage. Your eyes drifted, drawn to a battered old prop chest tucked just off to the side, partially hidden by the heavy velvet curtain.

Curiosity pulled you forward, and you crouched to flip open the lid. A cloud of dust puffed out, tickling your nose as you rummaged through its contents. Costumes, ribbons, bits of tulle—faded relics from long-forgotten performances. And then, nestled at the very bottom, you found them.

A pair of pointe shoes.

Your breath hitched as you lifted them from the chest, the ribbons cascading down like silk waterfalls. They weren’t yours—at least, not exactly—but they might as well have been. The scuffed toes, the frayed edges of the satin, the way the soles were worn down just so—it was all so familiar it made your chest ache.

Without really thinking, you sat down on the edge of the stage, untying your sneakers and slipping off your socks. The cool satin of the pointe shoes slid over your feet like a second skin, and your fingers moved on autopilot as you laced the ribbons up your ankles. The motions were muscle memory, older than most of the students you’d taught today.

You rose slowly, the faint stretch and pull of the shoes grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you’d needed. A glance backstage revealed a small sound system someone had left behind, a phone still plugged into it. You scrolled until you found it—Swan Lake.

The haunting strings began to play, swelling and softening as if they were breathing. You stepped back onto the stage, your toes brushing the center mark, and let the music guide you.

At first, you moved tentatively, testing the feel of the shoes and the way your body responded. But soon, the hesitance melted away, and the steps came to you as naturally as breathing. A pirouette turned into an arabesque, which melted into a series of gliding movements that carried you across the stage.

The world outside the theatre faded, and all that existed was the music, the stage, and the rhythm of your own heartbeat. Each movement felt like slipping into an old memory, one you didn’t even realize you’d missed.

You were mid-leap when you caught the faintest creak of floorboards behind you.

The sound shattered your focus, and you landed with a jarring thud, spinning around instinctively.

Logan stood at the edge of the stage, one hand shoved into his jacket pocket. He leaned against the proscenium arch, watching you with an unreadable expression, though something about it wasn’t entirely unkind.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The soft strains of Swan Lake still played behind you, the violins aching as the tension in the air stretched.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked finally, your voice sharper than you intended.

“Long enough,” he said, his gravelly voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

Your eyes narrowed. “And you didn’t think to announce yourself?”

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Didn’t want to interrupt. You looked... focused.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise to your face as you turned away and bent to tug the ribbons loose from your ankles. “Well, congratulations. You interrupted anyway.”

“Didn’t mean to,” he said, stepping closer, his boots thudding softly against the stage floor. “You’re... pretty good at that, by the way.”

You paused mid-motion, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “Pretty good? Gee, thanks for the glowing review.”

He smirked, his sharp eyes gleaming with amusement. “Alright, fine. You’re really good. Happy?”

You snorted, slipping the pointe shoes off and flexing your toes. “It’s been a while.”

“Couldn’t tell,” he said simply. His gaze lingered on you even as you busied yourself with tucking the ribbons back into the shoes. “You used to do that, huh? Dance, I mean.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, turning the shoes over in your hands. “A lifetime ago.”

The silence hung between while the faint hum of the violins still played in the background.

“You should do it more,” he said finally, his tone softer than you expected.

You looked up at him, startled by the sincerity in his voice. The rough edges of Logan’s demeanor didn’t usually leave much room for softness, and it caught you off guard. But before you could respond, he was already turning away, heading toward the wings, his boots thudding softly against the stage floor.

You just sat there, the pointe shoes resting lightly in your lap. You stared after him, unsure whether to laugh, roll your eyes, or call him back just to yell at him for sneaking in. But something about the way he moved—slow, deliberate, almost hesitant—stopped you.

“Logan,” you called out, your voice carrying across the empty stage.

He paused, his broad shoulders tensing, though he didn’t turn right away. When he did, his expression was guarded, like he wasn’t sure what to expect from you.

“How long have you been here?” you asked, gesturing vaguely to the space around you. “At the school, I mean.”

His brow furrowed slightly, and for a second, he looked like he was deciding whether or not to answer. “A good while,” he said finally, his tone gruff.

It wasn’t much of an answer—not something you could work with—but you tried anyway. “Hank tells me you’re just… passing through.” You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “But you’re still here.”

Logan let out a soft huff, the corner of his mouth pulling into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but close enough. “He should mind his business,” he said, though there was no real heat in his words. He paused, stepping closer with a glint of curiosity in his sharp eyes. “You talking to Hank about me?”

You shrugged, the movement casual, but your heart was beating just a touch faster. “Me and Hank are good friends. We’ve—well, I’ve known the X-Men almost my whole life.” You hesitated, glancing down at the pointe shoes in your lap, your fingers idly tracing the frayed edges of the satin. “Been around a long time.”

Logan’s gaze lingered on you, and you could feel the weight of it, heavy and searching. “Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You give off that vibe.”

You frowned, looking back up at him. “What vibe?”

“Like you’ve seen some things,” he said, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. His tone was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that felt older than even his rough exterior let on. “Been through it. Same as me.”

You held his gaze for a moment, unsure of what to say. He wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t the kind of thing you could explain. Not easily, anyway. Instead, you offered him a small, wry smile. “Yeah, well. Time has a way of kicking the crap out of you if you let it.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, the sound more genuine than you expected. “Ain’t that the truth.” He shifted slightly, his gaze dropping to the pointe shoes still cradled in your hands.

“You’re good at that,” he said finally, nodding toward them. “Dancing, I mean. I could tell. Not just talent—it’s in your bones.”

You blinked, taken aback. “What, you an expert on ballet now?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “Nah. But I know what it looks like when someone’s got somethin’ that keeps ‘em going. Something they can’t walk away from, even if they try.”

The words hit deeper than you wanted to admit as you stared at him, unsure how to respond. Finally, you said, “Yeah, well. It’s not exactly something you forget. Even when you want to.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. Something was flickering behind his gaze, restless and uncertain like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t even know he had.

“You seem… familiar,” he said suddenly, the words rough, like they’d been dragged out of him against his will.

Your breath caught, and you stiffened, your grip tightening on the pointe shoes. “Familiar?”

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. I dunno. I get these dreams sometimes. Flashes of… people, places. Can’t make sense of ‘em half the time, but you…” He trailed off, running a hand through his dark hair. “You feel like one of ‘em. Like I’ve seen you before.”

Your heart was pounding now, and you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, even as his words pulled at something buried deep in your chest. “Well,” you said lightly, “maybe I just have one of those faces.”

Logan snorted, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah. Maybe.” But the way his eyes lingered on you made it clear he wasn’t convinced.

You stood abruptly, the pointe shoes dangling from your fingers as you moved to set them down on the edge of the stage. “I should probably get going,” you said, your voice a touch too bright. “Long day tomorrow. Lots of kids to wrangle.”

Logan straightened, watching you carefully. “Yeah. Sure.” He hesitated, then added, “Hey. If you ever feel like you need to talk… about all that time kickin’ the crap outta you…” His smirk returned, softer this time. “I’m around.”

You looked at him, caught off guard by the unexpected offer. Then you nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks, Logan.”

He nodded back, stepping away toward the wings. “Anytime.”

As he disappeared into the shadows, you found yourself standing there, staring at the space he’d left behind, wondering if he remembered more than he realized.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“Leaving already?” Hank asked, his deep voice soft but tinged with disappointment as he leaned against the doorframe of your room. His sharp blue eyes swept over the half-packed duffel bag on the bed.

You turned to face him, zipping up the side pocket of the bag before offering him a faint smile. “Yeah,” you said, your tone light, though the ache in your chest betrayed you. “My job’s done. These kids learned pretty quickly. They don’t need me hanging around.”

Hank stepped into the room, his large frame taking up far too much space as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You could stay…”

His words hung in the air like a challenge, and you looked down at your hands, gripping the strap of your bag. The idea tugged at you, and you couldn’t deny it. A part of you did want to stay. It had been a few months—far longer than you’d initially planned—and yet leaving felt harder than it usually did.

Hank tilted his head, studying you. “I know he would miss you,” he said gently, his voice softening. “In his own weird way.”

Your heart gave a traitorous thud, and you swallowed hard, glancing toward the window. The late afternoon sun cast long golden streaks across the walls, the light catching the faint dust motes in the air. You knew exactly who Hank meant.

“Hank,” you said, shaking your head as if to dismiss the thought. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” Hank continued, his tone a mixture of teasing and sincerity, “it’s not every day Logan actually lets someone get under his skin.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up, though it was tinged with a bittersweet edge. “Under his skin? Pretty sure he’d describe me as an itch, not a friend.”

Hank raised an eyebrow, a knowing look on his face. “Perhaps. But even Logan doesn’t get that annoyed unless he likes someone.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway made both of you glance toward the door. A moment later, Logan appeared, his usual scowl in place as he leaned against the frame, arms crossed.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, his gravelly voice laced with sarcasm, though his eyes flicked to your bag with something far harder to read.

“Not at all,” Hank said smoothly, stepping toward the door. “In fact, I was just leaving.”

You shot Hank a glare, but he only smiled innocently before brushing past Logan and disappearing down the hallway, leaving the two of you alone.

“So,” Logan said, jerking his chin toward the bed. “Packing up, huh?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah. Time to hit the road. The kids are in a good place, and my work here is done.”

Logan snorted, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the room. “Work? Looked more like pirouettes and tutus to me.”

You rolled your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Don’t knock it, Logan. Ballet’s tougher than it looks. I’d like to see you last five minutes in a pair of pointe shoes.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” he said, the ghost of a grin flickering across his face. “I like my dignity right where it is.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you zipped up the duffel bag. “You wouldn’t know dignity if it hit you over the head.”

“Careful, darlin’,” Logan shot back, his voice teasing but low. “I might actually start to think I’m gonna miss you.”

The playful tone of the conversation faltered for a split second, the weight of his words landing heavier than either of you expected. You looked at him, your smirk fading as your eyes searched his face.

“Well,” you said lightly, trying to brush it off, “don’t get too sentimental on me, Logan. I’ll think I’ve broken you.”

Logan didn’t laugh. His expression grew more serious, his brows furrowing slightly as he stepped closer. “I’m not bein’ sentimental. I mean it.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden earnestness in his voice. “Logan—”

“I’ll miss you,” he interrupted, his gaze dropping before meeting yours again. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

Before you could respond, Logan ran a hand through his dark hair, letting out a low huff. “I don’t know what it is about you,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “But you feel… familiar. Like I’ve known you before.”

You froze, your pulse quickening. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to piece something together. “I’ve had these dreams,” he said slowly. “Flashes of… I dunno, a forest. Snow. And you. You’re there. You’re always there.”

Your breath caught, and you forced yourself to stay still, to keep your expression neutral even as his words sent a ripple through you. “Logan, that doesn’t mean anything,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady. “Dreams are just… dreams.”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “Maybe. But it feels real. Like I’m rememberin’ something I’m not supposed to.”

You took a shaky breath, gripping the strap of your bag like a lifeline. “Logan…”

He stepped back, giving you space but keeping his sharp eyes locked on yours. “I don’t know what it means, but…” He exhaled, the sound rough and frustrated. “I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is… if I ever figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

You managed a faint smile, though your chest felt tight. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Logan nodded once, his gaze lingering on you before he stepped back toward the door. “Take care of yourself, darlin’,” he said, his voice gruff again, though the softness in his eyes remained.

“You too, Logan,” you replied, watching as he disappeared into the hallway.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“He isn’t here,” Hank’s familiar voice rumbled as you stepped through the heavy oak doors of Xavier’s mansion.

You froze for a moment, your breath catching in your chest before you schooled your expression into something neutral. “Who said I came back for him?” you quipped, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Maybe I missed you, you big fluff.”

Hank appeared at the top of the grand staircase, his blue fur catching the soft light streaming through the tall windows. He grinned as he descended, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet foyer. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he said, his tone warm and teasing. As he reached the bottom step, he opened his arms, and you moved forward, letting yourself sink into the familiar embrace.

He pulled back slightly, his large hands resting gently on your shoulders. “My dear, I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

You gave him a faint smile, setting your duffel bag down by your feet. “Well, you were right. This place has a way of sticking with you.”

Your gaze wandered, taking in the grand entryway—the polished wood floors, the scent of old books, and faint traces of Storm’s jasmine perfume lingering in the air. It felt the same as it always had, and yet different, as if the mansion itself had shifted in your absence. It had been three months since you’d left, determined to put some distance between yourself and the memories this place stirred up. But the farther you went, the more you felt the pull to come back.

Something about being here this time had gotten under your skin, burrowed into the part of you that you usually kept locked away.

Hank seemed to sense your hesitation. His perceptive blue eyes studied you carefully, the teasing edge to his voice softening. “What brought you back this time? Missing the kids already? Or…” He trailed off meaningfully, giving you a knowing look.

You rolled your eyes, stepping away to avoid his gaze. “Don’t start with me, Hank.”

“Start with what?” he asked innocently, though the twitch of his lips betrayed him.

You bent to pick up your bag, slinging it over your shoulder as you moved toward the staircase. “I just felt like it was time to come back, okay? No ulterior motives.”

Hank followed you, his footsteps were heavy but deliberate. “Hmm,” he murmured, and you could feel his gaze boring into the back of your head. “I see.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gestured for you to follow him toward the sitting room. You hesitated, but the look on his face made it clear he wasn’t going to let this drop, so you sighed and followed him in.

As you stepped into the room, the crackling of a low fire greeted you, the warmth immediately chasing away the chill that had settled in your bones during your journey back. Hank moved to pour himself a cup of tea from the silver pot on the table and offered you one with a tilt of his head. You shook your head, folding your arms across your chest instead.

When Hank finally spoke, his voice was careful but direct. “Logan left shortly after you did.”

You froze, the words hitting you like a punch to the stomach. You forced yourself to stay still, to keep your expression calm. “Oh?”

Hank’s sharp eyes flicked to you over the rim of his cup. “He went to Alkali Lake.”

Your breath caught for a fraction of a second before you forced yourself to shrug casually. “Is that so? I guess he's still looking for answers.”

Hank hummed, setting the teacup down with a quiet clink. “Indeed. He seemed… restless. More so than usual. Charles sent him there.”

You shifted your weight, pretending to be absorbed in the crackling fire, but you could feel Hank watching you, his gaze pressing against the cracks in your carefully constructed mask. “Well, you know Logan. He’s not exactly one for sitting still,” you said lightly.

Hank didn’t respond immediately, but when he did, his voice was softer, more concerned. “You knew he’d leave, didn’t you?”

You frowned, turning your gaze to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hank leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he regarded you with that gentle yet unyielding intensity that only he could pull off. “You care about him,” he said simply. “And don’t try to deny it. I’ve known you too long.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died in your throat. Instead, you looked away, your fingers tightening into fists at your sides. “It doesn’t matter,” you said finally, your voice quieter now. “He doesn’t even remember me.”

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it,” Hank said gently.

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. You cleared your throat, straightening your shoulders. “I think I’ll talk to Charles,” you said abruptly, moving toward the door.

“Of course,” Hank said, his voice soft and understanding. “But if you need to talk…”

You glanced back at him, offering a small, strained smile. “Thanks, Hank.”

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

You found Charles in his study, the quiet hum of his voice reaching you before you even entered the room. He was finishing up a conversation with Storm, who nodded at you in greeting as she passed by on her way out.

“Ah,” Charles said, his warm smile appearing as he gestured for you to come in. “It’s good to see you back.”

You hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, closing the door behind you. “Why did you send him there?”

Charles raised an eyebrow, though his expression remained calm. “Logan?”

“Yes,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “Hank said you sent him to Alkali Lake. Why?”

Charles sighed, folding his hands in his lap as his gaze turned contemplative. “Because he was searching for answers. And I thought he deserved a chance to find them.”

“At that place?” you said, your voice sharper than you intended.

Charles’s gaze softened, his eyes piercing yet kind. “You know as well as I do that Logan’s past is complicated. He came to me, searching for guidance. I simply pointed him toward where I believed he might find what he was looking for.”

You turned away, pacing to the window as you tried to steady your thoughts. Memories of Alkali Lake clawed at the edges of your mind, and the idea of Logan going back there made your chest tighten.

“He’s going to get himself killed,” you muttered.

Charles was silent for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was gentle. “He’s stronger than you think. And, perhaps, finding the truth is the only way for him to heal.”

You clenched your jaw, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for,” you said quietly. “He doesn’t remember.”

Charles tilted his head, studying you carefully. “And yet, it seems to me that you do.”

You turned to face him, your arms folded tightly across your chest like a shield, but you couldn’t keep the vulnerability from your eyes as they met his. He was right, of course—he was always right. You did remember. You remembered everything.

And that was the problem.

“Sometimes,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough to betray you, “things happen for a reason. Sometimes it’s better not to remember.”

Charles’s expression softened, his piercing gaze never wavering. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his hands folding neatly in his lap as he studied you. “Perhaps you feel that way,” he said gently, “but Logan doesn’t. He wants to remember—he longs to, even if he doesn’t realize how painful the truth could be.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening against your arms. The lump rising in your throat made it difficult to speak. “You shouldn’t have sent him there,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “You could’ve just told him. You could’ve looked into his mind and shown him.”

Charles sighed, his expression tinged with a sadness that only came from decades of making impossible decisions. “I could have,” he admitted, his voice as calm and steady as ever. “But sometimes it’s best to let one discover the truth on their own. To take the journey themselves, rather than having it handed to them.”

You shook your head, pacing a few steps toward the window before stopping, your hands bracing against the ledge as you stared out at the sprawling gardens. The sky was painted with the fiery hues of sunset, the warm colors stark against the shadows creeping across the grounds.

“You don’t know what he’s walking into,” you said, your voice quieter now but no less strained. “Alkali Lake isn’t just some mystery to solve—it’s a wound that doesn’t close. Whatever he finds there… it’ll destroy him.”

Charles’s chair creaked faintly as he shifted, his voice still calm but tinged with something deeper, something more insistent. “Logan is stronger than you think. He has endured more than most men could even imagine. And while you may see Alkali Lake as a wound, for him, it may be the key to healing.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Healing? Is that what you call it? Ripping open the past just to bleed all over again?” You turned to face him, your voice rising slightly. “You think that’s going to help him?”

Charles remained unshaken, his steady gaze meeting yours. “I think,” he said carefully, “that Logan deserves the chance to decide for himself. To understand who he was, and who he could become.”

You looked away, your jaw clenching as the weight of his words settled over you. “He doesn’t need to remember everything,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Charles. “Some things… some things are better left buried.”

Charles regarded you silently for a long moment, the silence between you heavy with unspoken truths. Finally, he spoke, his tone gentle but resolute. “You could help him.”

The words made your heart jolt, and your eyes snapped back to his, wide with surprise. “What?”

“You could help him,” Charles repeated, his gaze unyielding. “You know him. You understand his pain in ways others cannot. Perhaps you are exactly what he needs.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to protest, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head as you stepped back toward the door. “No,” you said firmly, though your voice cracked slightly. “That’s not my place. He doesn’t even remember me.”

“Perhaps not,” Charles said, tilting his head slightly. “But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel the connection. And it doesn’t mean you don’t care.”

You froze in the doorway, your hand gripping the frame as you glanced back at him. “This isn’t about me caring,” you said quietly, though even you could hear the lie in your voice. “This is about you sending him to a place that’s going to tear him apart, and expecting someone else to pick up the pieces.”

Charles’s gaze softened, his voice almost a whisper. “I’m not expecting anything, my dear. I’m simply reminding you that you have a choice. Just as he does.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening as the weight of his words pressed against the walls you’d so carefully built around yourself. Without another word, you turned and walked out, the faint echo of your footsteps fading down the hall.

Later that night, you found yourself sitting by the window in your room, the pointe shoes you’d brought with you resting in your lap. The moonlight spilled across the polished floor, painting the room in silvery shadows.

You hadn’t danced since the day Logan had interrupted you in the theatre, but now, your legs ached with the restless energy that only movement could soothe. Setting the shoes aside, you rose to your feet and began to move, the quiet hum of your memories guiding your steps.

But no matter how hard you tried to lose yourself in the rhythm, his words echoed in your mind.

“I’ve had these dreams. Flashes of… I don’t know, a forest. Snow. And you. You’re there. You’re always there.”

You faltered mid-spin, your movements slowing until you stood completely still, your chest heaving with shallow breaths. The memories he didn’t fully understand were ones you couldn’t forget. The snow, the forest, the way his eyes—wilder, more broken than—had locked onto yours as if you were the only thing tethering him to the world.

You sat back down on the edge of the bed, resting your head in your hands. You had told yourself that coming back to the mansion was about the kids, about the familiar comforts of a place you’d once called home. But deep down, you knew it was about him.

And now he was gone.

You didn’t know whether to feel relieved or heartbroken, but one thing was certain—if Logan ever truly remembered everything, you weren’t sure either of you would survive it.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

You descended the staircase beside Hank, nodding absentmindedly as he launched into an animated explanation of his latest research—something about neural pathways and genetic mutations. It was fascinating, you were sure, but your thoughts had drifted. A week had passed since you returned to the mansion, and yet it still felt strange to slip so easily back into the rhythm of this place, like stepping into an old pair of shoes you’d forgotten you owned.

“Logan! You’re back!”

Rogue’s excited voice cut through the air, and you froze mid-step, your hand tightening on the polished wood of the banister. Your eyes darted to the entrance below, where Logan stood just inside the door, a worn duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He looked as gruff as ever, his jacket unzipped and his hair slightly mussed, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as Rogue darted across the hall to embrace him.

You lingered on the stairs, watching the exchange with a small smile. Rogue stepped back, saying something too low for you to hear, and Logan responded with a grunt that made her laugh. The sight of it tugged at something in your chest—something you weren’t ready to name.

“Wonder why he’s back,” Hank said beside you, his voice low and tinged with curiosity.

You didn’t miss the knowing look he gave you, and you sighed, swatting his arm lightly. “Don’t start,” you said, your voice teasing but edged with a hint of nervousness.

Still, your heart raced, betraying the calm exterior you were trying so hard to maintain. The thought crossed your mind—fleeting and impossible—that maybe Logan had come back because you were here. But no. That wasn’t how things worked. You had left before him, made it clear you didn’t intend to stay, and Logan… well, Logan wasn’t the sentimental type.

As you descended the last few steps, Hank still at your side, Logan’s gaze lifted. His smirk faded as his sharp eyes found yours, and for a second, something flickered across his face. Surprise? Relief? It was gone before you could name it, replaced by his usual guarded expression.

“You… made it back,” you said, your voice softer than you intended as you offered him a faint smile.

Logan’s brow twitched, and he set his duffel bag down by his feet. “Looks like we both did,” he said gruffly, his voice carrying that familiar gravelly tone that always sounded like he’d just woken up.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you admitted, stepping off the last stair. “But, you know… this place has a way of dragging you back.”

“Yeah,” Logan said, his lips twitching as though he might smile. “Does that.”

There was a beat of silence, not quite awkward but heavy enough to feel like the air between you had changed somehow. Hank, ever the socially astute one, cleared his throat and patted you lightly on the shoulder. “Well, I’ll leave you two to… catch up. I have some experiments to check on.”

You shot him a warning look, but he just grinned and disappeared down the hall dragging Rogue along with him. Leaving you alone with Logan.

“So,” you said after a moment, folding your arms casually. “Alkali Lake. Find what you were looking for?”

Logan let out a low huff, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Nah. Nothin’ there but snow and bad memories.”

You nodded, though your chest tightened at his words. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t let this get to you, wouldn’t let your emotions bubble to the surface. But it was hard. You knew what Alkali Lake meant, not just to him but to you as well.

“Well,” you said lightly, forcing a smirk. “Guess you can cross that one off the list.”

“Yeah,” he said, watching you carefully. “Guess so.”

There was a pause, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were working up to something. You shifted under his gaze, feeling the weight of it settle on your shoulders.

“What?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Had another dream,” he said suddenly, his tone casual, but there was an edge to it, something unspoken lingering beneath his words.

You froze, your smirk faltering. “Oh yeah?”

Logan nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “You were in it again.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, but you forced yourself to play it cool. “You sure it wasn’t Rogue this time? Or Storm? Maybe I’m just a stand-in for all the women in your life.”

He huffed out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Nah. It was you.” He stepped a little closer, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly, studying your face as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle. “This time you were… dancin’.”

The breath hitched in your throat, and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks. You broke eye contact, looking down at the scuffed floorboards. “Sounds like a weird dream,” you said, your voice quiet.

“Yeah,” he said, his tone softer now. “Weird thing is, it felt… familiar.”

You looked back up at him sharply, your stomach twisting. “Familiar how?”

Logan shrugged, the movement almost too casual, but his brow furrowed as though he were trying to make sense of something. “Don’t know. I just… felt like I’d seen it before. You, up on some stage or somethin’, spinnin’ around. There was music. Somethin’ old… Swan Lake, maybe?”

Your throat tightened. The memory flashed in your mind—the theatre, the faint strains of Swan Lake, the way you’d let yourself get lost in the dance only to find Logan watching you from the shadows.

“Well,” you said finally, forcing a smirk. “Maybe you’re just jealous of my skills.”

Logan snorted, his lips twitching upward. “Yeah, sure. That’s it.”

He held your gaze for a second longer, and you thought you saw the faintest flicker of something in his eyes—something uncertain, almost vulnerable. But then he stepped back, picking up his duffel bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Good to see you back,” he said gruffly, his voice dropping just enough that you almost missed it. “Place is better with you here.”

Before you could respond, he turned and started walking down the hall, leaving you standing there, your chest tight and your thoughts swirling.

Logan might not remember everything, but the pieces were there buried just beneath the surface. And whether you liked it or not, it seemed those pieces included you.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“Charles suggested I… help him,” you said, your tone sharp as you leaned against Hank’s lab table. The polished steel was cold under your hands, grounding you as you tried to organize your thoughts. “Can you believe that? The old man won’t use his powers to look inside Logan’s mind, but he expects me to do it—in some weird, roundabout sense.”

Hank hummed thoughtfully, his attention divided as he adjusted the burner beneath a bubbling beaker. “Charles has his methods,” he said evenly. “Though I suspect he thinks you’d be a better help because you… knew Logan. From before.”

Your stomach tightened, and you crossed your arms over your chest, your gaze dropping to the tiled floor. “Hank, I’ve known almost everyone. I’ve been alive longer than any of you. It doesn’t mean I have all the answers.” You hesitated, then added in a softer voice, “And you can’t expect me to just… spill my guts to him. What if it triggers something in him? The feral side?”

That made Hank pause. He looked up from his work, concern creasing his blue-furred face. “I’ve heard about that side of him,” he said cautiously, “but I’ve never seen it in person.” His voice lowered. “Have you?”

The question made your chest tighten even more, your heart thudding against your ribs. You turned away, your eyes settling on a shelf of meticulously labeled vials, pretending to study them.

“We’ve seen it, haven’t we?” Hank pressed, his tone gentler now.

Finally, you nodded, the memory bubbling to the surface unbidden. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “I’ve seen it.”

Hank tilted his head, his expression shifting from curiosity to quiet concern. “My dear,” he said carefully, “you’ve always made it seem as though you knew Logan in passing… like acquaintances from a battlefield. But…” His voice trailed off, and he straightened, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as realization dawned. “You’re not telling me something, are you?”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as if to dismiss the thought. “Hank, it doesn’t matter. It happened a long time ago. Just let it go.”

“What happened a long time ago?”

You gritted your teeth, frustration flaring in your chest. “It’s complicated,” you said, your voice low.

“I’ve got time,” Hank replied simply, leaning against the counter and folding his massive arms across his chest.

You threw him a look, but the patience in his gaze—the quiet, unyielding kind that Hank was so good at—made you falter. You pushed off the table and started to pace, running a hand through your hair as you tried to organize your thoughts.

“I met Logan decades ago,” you began, your voice tight. “During a war. A different one from the ones the X-Men are used to. He wasn’t like he is now. He was wilder, more dangerous. Barely in control of himself. A weapon, not a man.”

Hank’s brows furrowed. “Weapon X?”

You shook your head. “No. This was before that. This was… something else. Something darker.”

You stopped pacing, your arms falling to your sides as the memory gripped you. “I was passing through this remote town in the Canadian Rockies. Just trying to stay out of the way, you know? That’s what I did back then. I didn’t get involved. Didn’t put down roots. And then…” You swallowed hard, your voice dropping. “Then I heard the screams.”

Hank’s ears twitched, his expression unreadable as he watched you.

“There were bodies,” you continued, your voice distant now. “Shredded. Blood everywhere. And in the middle of it was him. Logan. He wasn’t himself—not the man you know now. He was… feral. An animal. He couldn’t even speak. Just growled and snarled like a beast.”

Hank adjusted his glasses, his expression turning grim. “And you fought him?”

You let out a dry laugh, though there was no humor in it. “I tried. I had to. He was killing anything that moved. I thought I could stop him, but… I underestimated him. He tore through me like paper.”

Hank’s eyes widened. “But your healing—”

“Exactly,” you cut in, nodding. “He saw me heal. Saw me get back up when I should’ve stayed down. I think it… confused him. Maybe even snapped him out of it a little. He stopped attacking me, but he didn’t calm down completely. He just… stared at me. Like he didn’t know whether to rip me apart or run.”

“And what did you do?”

You hesitated, your gaze drifting to the window. The late afternoon light spilled into the lab, casting long shadows across the floor. “I didn’t run,” you said softly. “I stayed. I talked to him. Calmed him down somehow. It was like he recognized something in me, though I didn’t know what it was at the time. I stayed with him for weeks after that. Helped him regain some sense of himself. Taught him how to fight his instincts. We… we bonded.”

The last words came out quieter than you intended, and you felt Hank’s gaze sharpen.

“You didn’t just know him,” Hank said slowly, as though the pieces were finally coming together. “You cared about him.”

You looked away, your jaw tightening. “I left when he got better. Disappeared. I thought it was for the best. And now he doesn’t even remember me. So, yeah, Charles wants me to help him, but I don’t know if I can. And even if I could… I don’t know if I should.”

The room was quiet for a long moment, the bubbling of the beaker the only sound. Finally, Hank sighed, his voice softer now. “Perhaps you underestimate how much of you he might still remember, even if it’s not clear to him yet.”

You shook your head, the weight of your thoughts pressing down like an old, familiar burden. “He doesn’t remember. At least, not the whole picture. And honestly? It’s better that way.” Your voice softened, but a bitter edge crept into it. “He shouldn’t have to remember all the pain he caused. All the blood.”

Hank froze for a moment, his hands stilling over the set of vials he was arranging. The soft hum of the equipment filled the silence as he carefully chose his words. “I understand—”

“No, you don’t.” You cut him off, the sharpness in your tone surprising even yourself. You turned toward him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. “Hank, if you had lived as long as we have… seen the things we’ve seen, done the things we’ve done… You’d want to forget too. You’d want it wiped clean, all of it. Trust me.”

Hank straightened, his broad shoulders rising slightly as he considered your words. “You’re speaking for Logan,” he said slowly, his voice calm but firm. “You’re deciding for him.”

Your eyes flicked away, focusing on the far corner of the lab. It was easier than meeting his gaze.

“It’s not like Logan was given a choice back then,” Hank continued, his tone softening but losing none of its weight. “And now he has one. A chance to choose for himself who he wants to be—what he wants to know. You’re taking that away from him by deciding for him.”

The words hit harder than you wanted to admit, threading a knot of tension through your chest. You opened your mouth to argue, to say something to push back against Hank’s steady reasoning, but no words came.

Instead, you closed your eyes, exhaling slowly through your nose. “I’m not taking anything away from him,” you said finally, your voice tight. “I’m just trying to protect him.”

“Protect him?” Hank asked, his eyebrows rising slightly. “From what? From himself?”

“From the truth!” you snapped, your voice rising before you could stop it. The words hung in the air between you, raw and unfiltered, and you took a step back, shaking your head as if to banish the emotions bubbling to the surface.

Hank studied you carefully, his blue eyes searching yours. “You don’t believe he deserves the truth, do you?”

Your laugh came out bitter, almost hollow. “Deserve? What does that even mean? Deserve doesn’t matter when it comes to this. What Logan’s been through, what he’s done—he deserves peace. And that’s not something he’s going to find at the bottom of a memory.”

Hank tilted his head, his expression a mix of empathy and challenge. “You think peace is ignorance?”

“I think…” you said slowly, your voice faltering. “I think there are some things you can’t come back from. Some things you shouldn’t have to come back from.”

“And yet he keeps fighting,” Hank said, his voice quieter now. “Every day, Logan fights to be better. To be more than what he’s been through, more than what was done to him. But you… you’re standing in his way.”

His words struck like a blow, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

“I’m not standing in his way,” you said finally, but the words felt hollow.

“Are you sure about that?” Hank asked, his tone gentle but unwavering.

You turned away, gripping the edge of the lab table so tightly your knuckles turned white. “He doesn’t need to remember me,” you said after a long pause, your voice barely above a whisper. “Or what happened back then. He doesn’t need to carry that weight.”

Hank hesitated before stepping closer, his voice soft but unrelenting. “Maybe. But are you sure this is about what he needs? Or is it about what you don’t want to face?”

The question hung in the air like a loaded gun, and you couldn’t bring yourself to answer it.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

Later that night, you found yourself sitting alone on the stage, the empty theatre shrouded in silence. Your legs stretched out in front of you, the ribbons of your pointe shoes loose around your ankles. Though the music had long since stopped, the soft strings of a violin still lingered in your mind, weaving through the restless thoughts you couldn’t escape.

Dancing used to help, used to be your escape when the weight of everything threatened to crush you. It felt like it only made things worse. The memories, the what-ifs, the fears you’d buried so deeply—all of it rose to the surface when you moved. Hank had been right, and you hated it.

It wasn’t just about Logan. It was about you. About the things you didn’t want to revisit, the things you’d worked so hard to leave behind. The terrifying truth was, if Logan ever pieced it all together—if he ever remembered everything—you weren’t sure either of you could handle it.

The quiet creak of the double doors opening snapped you out of your thoughts. You froze, your hands resting on your ankles as Logan stepped into the theatre, the dim light catching the sharp angles of his face. He looked more relaxed than he had when you first saw him after returning from Alkali Lake, like some of the tension he always carried had finally eased. Maybe his trip had given him some kind of closure. Maybe it had only left him with more questions.

You didn’t know which possibility scared you more.

You dropped your gaze to your pointe shoes, fingers fumbling with the ribbons as if untying them could somehow distract you from the way Logan’s gaze lingered on you.

He snorted, the sound soft but amused as he moved farther into the room. “Didn’t feel like dancin’ tonight?” he asked, his gravelly voice carrying a faint teasing edge.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the faint smile that tugged at your lips. “What do you want, Logan?”

He shrugged, stepping farther down the aisle until he was close enough for you to feel the weight of his presence. His expression shifted, the smirk fading as his sharp eyes narrowed. “Figured I’d check in. You’ve been avoidin’ me since I got back.”

“I’ve been busy,” you said quickly, tugging your pointe shoes off and setting them beside you. The excuse sounded thin even to your ears.

“Yeah,” Logan said, his voice flat as he folded his arms over his chest. “Sure you have.”

You sighed, pulling your legs up onto the stage and crossing them in front of you as if the position could shield you from the intensity of his gaze. “What do you want, Logan?”

His gaze dropped to the floor before lifting again to meet yours. “I think we both know the answer to that,” he said quietly, stepping closer to the edge of the stage. “You’re keepin’ stuff from me.”

Your breath caught, and you forced yourself to laugh softly, shaking your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do,” Logan said, his voice low and firm. He stepped up onto the stage, closing the distance between you. “You know exactly what I’m talkin’ about.”

You looked away, focusing on the empty rows of seats stretching out into the shadows of the theatre. “Logan, I—”

“Cut the crap,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “Every time I get close to somethin’, you shut me out. Every time I try to figure out what the hell’s goin’ on in my head, you’re there, lookin’ at me like you already know the answers.” He paused, his voice softening just enough to make your chest ache. “You do, don’t you?”

Your hands tightened in your lap, your nails digging into your palms as you tried to steady your breathing. “It’s not that simple,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan snorted, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “Nothin’s ever simple with you, is it?”

“Logan, please,” you said, finally meeting his gaze. “Let it go.”

He shook his head, stepping even closer until he was standing right in front of you. “No. Not this time.” His voice was quiet but resolute, the kind of tone that left no room for argument. “I went to Alkali Lake and found nothin’ but ghosts. I keep havin’ these dreams, these flashes, and half the time, you’re in ‘em. You tell me to let it go? How the hell am I supposed to do that when I know there’s more? When I know you’re holdin’ somethin’ back?”

You stared at him, your chest tightening under the weight of his words. “You don’t want to remember,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “Not all of it. Trust me, Logan. You don’t.”

His jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “That’s not your call to make.”

“Isn’t it?” you shot back, your voice rising as the emotions you’d been suppressing finally broke free. “Do you have any idea what’s buried in your head? What remembering could do to you?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. “What’s buried in yours?”

The question hit like a punch to the gut, and all you could do was stare at him. Finally, you looked away, your gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s not about me,” you said weakly.

“Bullshit,” Logan said, stepping closer until he was towering over you. “This is about you just as much as it’s about me. You’re scared, aren’t you? Scared of what I’ll remember. Of what it’ll mean for you.”

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard, fighting back the sting of tears. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Logan crouched in front of you, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were sharp, but there was something softer, almost pleading. “Then tell me. Tell me what I don’t know.”

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill over as you whispered, “I can’t.”

“Why?” Logan’s voice cracked, and for the first time, you saw the vulnerability beneath his gruff exterior. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“Because it’ll break you,” you said, your voice trembling. “And I can’t be the one to do that to you, Logan. I won’t.”

The two of you just stared at each other, the silence between you heavy with unspoken truths. Finally, Logan stood, running a hand through his hair as he stepped back.

“I’m not gonna stop,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I’m not gonna stop until I figure it out. Until I figure us out.”

You looked up at him, your heart aching at the determination in his eyes. “Logan—”

He shook his head, cutting you off, his tone low but firm. “No more runnin’, darlin’. Not from me. Not from this.”

Your breath hitched, and you looked away, blinking hard to fight the tears threatening to spill. “You—you can’t just expect me to tell you everything,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Why not?” Logan said, his gaze piercing as he stepped closer. “Is it a long story? I’ve got the time—we both do.” His voice softened slightly at the end, but the determination in his tone didn’t waver.

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your face with the back of your hand. “It’s not that simple.”

“All I hear are excuses,” Logan snapped, his frustration bleeding into his voice. “Excuses from Chuck about my mind bein’ too fragile. Excuses about how I’ve gotta ‘find the answers myself.’” He gestured toward you, his movements sharp. “And now excuses from you about dreams bein’ just dreams. Do you think I can’t handle it? You think I don’t deserve to know what the hell’s been bouncin’ around in my head all this time?”

“It’s not about what you deserve, Logan!” you shot back, your voice cracking as you stood suddenly, your body tense with emotion. “It’s about what you can survive. You don’t know the weight of it—the guilt, the anger, the regret. You think finding all the pieces is going to fix you, but it’s not. It’s just going to break you more.”

Logan stared at you, his jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides. But something in his eyes—something raw and pleading—made you falter. His voice softened, the edge fading. “Maybe it will. Maybe it won’t. But it’s not your call to make. It’s mine.”

The truth of his words cut through your defenses like claws, and you sank back onto the stage, your hands gripping your knees as you tried to steady your breathing. The silence between you stretched, heavy and charged.

Finally, you broke it, your voice quiet but resolute. “Fine.”

Logan’s head tilted slightly, his sharp gaze narrowing as he tried to gauge your meaning.

“I’ll tell you,” you said, swallowing hard as you looked up at him. “But I can’t promise it’s going to be pretty. And I can’t promise it’s not going to hurt.”

Logan’s posture relaxed ever so slightly, and he exhaled, his shoulders dropping as he moved toward you. He sat down beside you on the stage, the movement slow and deliberate. His elbow brushed against yours, and the quiet warmth of his presence steadied the storm inside you, if only for a moment.

“I ain’t lookin’ for pretty,” he said quietly, his tone gentle now. “And I’m not afraid of hurtin’. Just… tell me the truth. That’s all I want.”

You stared at the floor for a long moment, your hands twisting in your lap as memories you’d buried for years rose to the surface, raw and unrelenting. Finally, you took a deep breath, your voice shaking as you began. “We crossed paths again a long time ago.”

Logan frowned slightly, his brows furrowing. “Again?”

You nodded, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “It was…after everything happened when I first found you.” You hesitated, your voice dropping. “I thought I’d never see you again. Honestly, I hoped I wouldn’t. Not because I didn’t care, but because… because you deserved a fresh start. You needed one.”

Logan didn’t respond, but his silence was expectant, urging you to continue.

“I was in New York,” you said softly, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. “Dancing. There was this small theatre, nothing fancy, but it was mine. I was performing that night—Swan Lake, actually. I remember being backstage, nerves eating at me like they always did before a show. And then the curtain rose, and I…” You paused, shaking your head at the memory. “I saw you. In the audience.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. “Me?”

You nodded, your smile fading. “You were sitting in the second row, staring at me like you’d seen a ghost. I almost stumbled through my first few steps because I couldn’t believe it was you. You looked… different. Cleaner. Put together. But the way you watched me—it was like you remembered something. Something buried.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and his gaze dropped to the floor as if searching for the memory.

“When the performance ended,” you continued, “I went backstage, thinking you’d leave. That maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me. But when I came out, you were still there. Waiting. I didn’t know what to say, but then you said it first.”

Logan glanced at you, his voice quiet. “What’d I say?”

You hesitated, the memory sharp in your mind. “You said, ‘It’s you. You’re the one who helped me.’”

His expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as though trying to piece together fragments of a puzzle. “I remembered you?”

“Some of it,” you said softly. “Not everything, but enough. Enough to know we’d met before. Enough to know I’d helped you when you weren’t… yourself.” You exhaled shakily, your hands trembling in your lap. “We went out afterward. Got drinks at some dingy little bar down the street. You asked me why I helped you back then, and I didn’t know how to answer. So I told you the truth.”

Logan looked at you, his voice rough. “What truth?”

You met his gaze, your eyes glassy. “That I didn’t want to. That I’d seen what you were capable of, and it terrified me. But there was something about you, Logan. Something human buried under all that rage. And I thought… I thought if I could just reach you, maybe you wouldn’t be lost forever.”

The room fell silent, the weight of your confession settling between you like a fragile thread. Logan’s gaze didn’t leave yours, his expression unreadable but his eyes impossibly soft.

“You were right,” he said finally, his voice low but steady.

You blinked, your breath catching. “What?”

“You reached me,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t remember all of it, but I know one thing: you didn’t let me go. You could’ve, but you didn’t. And that…” He shook his head, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. “That’s somethin’ I won’t forget, even if the details are gone.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you looked away, wiping at them quickly. “I don’t know if I helped you, Logan. Not really.”

“You did,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for doubt. “You still do.”

The words hung in the air but they carried a weight that settled deep in your chest. Logan reached over, his rough hand covering yours briefly before pulling back. The touch was fleeting but enough to let you know he meant it.

238 notes · View notes

solaceseven · 16 days ago

Text

Ashes of Tomorrow Pt. 2

↳ summary: in a world overrun by the infected, survival is brutal and trust is rare. when a lone survivor joins sukuna’s guarded group, tensions flare, and bonds form in the shadow of constant danger.

→ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sukuna x fem!reader

→ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: apocalypse au, enemies to lovers, fluff, angst

→ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: graphic injuries, violent confrontations, emotional trauma, loss of loved ones, mature themes, and anything you would expect in an apocalypse au. unprotected sex, cunnilingus, dirty talk.

→ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 20k+

→ a/n: here is part two! i hope everyone enjoys it. this was my first time writing smut, so I really hope it turned out well. part one.

The stars shimmered faintly above as you lay beside Sukuna, your body finally starting to relax in the rare moment of peace. His warmth was a subtle presence beside you, grounding and oddly comforting. The faint hum of his breathing, steady and unchanging, added to the sense of safety you hadn’t felt in months.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep. The exhaustion crept up on you, your eyelids growing heavy as the stillness lulled you into quiet surrender. The last thing you remembered was Sukuna’s voice, low and steady, murmuring something you couldn’t quite make out as sleep overtook you.

When you stirred again, it was the sensation of movement that pulled you from your light slumber. You blinked groggily, your mind hazy, and realized you were no longer on the roof. The world tilted slightly, your body cradled in strong arms. Each step was deliberate and measured, steady in a way that made you feel oddly secure.

You glanced upward, your head lolling against a broad chest, and caught sight of Sukuna’s face. His expression was softer than you’d ever seen it, his brows drawn together in quiet concentration as he navigated the stairs.

“I can walk,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

“Sure you can,” he said, his tone dry but without its usual sharpness. “You were about to roll off the roof. You’re lucky I was paying attention.”

Your brows furrowed faintly, though the effort was weak, and you pressed a hand against his chest in a half-hearted attempt to push away. He didn’t budge, his hold steady and resolute. “I wasn’t gonna fall.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” he muttered, his gaze fixed ahead. But there was no venom in his words, only a quiet exasperation that made your cheeks warm.

You let your hand fall, your head resting back against him as you surrendered to the warmth of his hold. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere you can actually sleep,” he replied curtly.

The words barely registered as your mind drifted in and out of awareness, but when the cool air of the hallway gave way to the relative warmth of a room, a sliver of confusion stirred in you. This wasn’t where you usually slept.

Sukuna nudged the door open with his shoulder, stepping inside and making his way to the bed in the corner. He eased you down onto the mattress with surprising care, adjusting the blanket over your body before stepping back.

“This isn’t my bed,” you mumbled, your voice sluggish with sleep.

“No, it’s not,” he said, his tone even. “But it’s closer, and you need rest more than anyone else in this place right now.”

You blinked up at him, the dim lighting softening the hard lines of his face. In the quiet, with no one else around, he looked almost gentle. The thought made your heart ache in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“What about you?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

“I’ll figure it out,” he replied, brushing you off with a slight shrug.

As your eyelids grew heavy again, the faint sound of him moving around the room reached your ears. A rustling noise followed, the unmistakable sound of a blanket being spread out across the floor. You didn’t have the energy to open your eyes, but the realization settled over you like a comforting weight—he wasn’t leaving.

Before sleep fully claimed you, you heard his voice, low and gruff. “Go to sleep, idiot. You’re safe.”

You smiled faintly, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a second blanket. Whatever walls Sukuna kept between himself and the world, tonight they felt just a little thinner. And as you drifted off, you knew he’d be there, watching over you, just as he always seemed to.

You woke up to a strange warmth. Blinking sleep from your eyes, you took in your surroundings—a dimly lit room that bore the wear of the apocalypse. A beat-up dresser sat against the wall, its surface scratched and scarred with age, though it held a few weathered photo frames propped carefully on top. A single chair rested near the window, its wood chipped and worn. Weapons leaned haphazardly against the far corner, their cold, sharp presence a stark reminder of the world outside. The space was utilitarian, but not uninviting, carrying a sense of quiet resilience rather than comfort.

This wasn’t your room.

It hit you like a jolt: the steady hum of Sukuna’s presence. You recognized his scent now—subtle, sharp, like fresh ink and a faint trace of smoke. Your heart skipped a beat as you sat up, the blanket pooling around your waist.

Why am I here?

The faint sound of footsteps echoed from somewhere beyond the closed door. You froze, then quickly glanced around. Sukuna wasn’t here, at least not right now, and curiosity got the better of you.

Carefully, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, mindful not to make a sound. The room was sparse but hinted at a life long before the apocalypse had stripped everything away. Your gaze landed on the dresser, where a small cluster of photographs sat in worn frames.

You stepped closer, your fingers hovering just over the edges of the first picture: Sukuna standing with his arm slung around a younger boy who had the same sharp features and piercing eyes. His brother, you realized. They both looked so happy, the kind of carefree joy you only see in pictures from the past.

Next to it was another photo, this one of Sukuna standing proudly in front of a sleek tattoo shop, a broad grin on his face. The sign above the door read “Ryomen Ink” in bold, clean letters. You could almost picture him there, surrounded by the hum of machines and the scent of ink, thriving in a world that no longer existed.

Then there was the photo of the group—Shoko, Geto, Nanami, Gojo, and Sukuna himself. They were younger, all crammed together on a couch, beers in hand and grins on their faces. Gojo had his signature sunglasses perched crookedly on his nose, and Shoko’s cigarette was caught mid-air as she leaned into the camera. Even Nanami, usually so serious, had a faint smile tugging at his lips. Geto was leaning casually against Sukuna, his arm slung around his shoulder as he flashed a wide, genuine smile. Sukuna, seated in the middle of the group, was smiling too—not his usual smirk, but an open, rare smile that softened his sharp features.

Your chest tightened at the sight. They’d been happy, a family forged in friendship. And now, in this broken world, they were all each other had left.

“What are you doing?”

The deep voice startled you, and you whipped around to see Sukuna leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and his crimson eyes sharp yet unreadable.

“I—” you stammered, heat flooding your cheeks. “I wasn’t trying to snoop. I just... woke up and...”

His gaze flicked briefly to the photos before returning to you. For a moment, his expression softened—just a fraction, but enough to ease your tension.

“You’re in my room,” he said simply, pushing off the frame and stepping toward you.

“Why?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

“You fell asleep on the roof,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I wasn’t about to leave you out there. It was easier to bring you here than wake everyone up shuffling you back to your room.”

“Oh.” Your cheeks warmed at the thought of him carrying you, but you quickly turned back to the photos to distract yourself. “These... they’re nice. From before everything, right?”

He stopped beside you, his gaze lingering on the images. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, and you worried you’d overstepped. But then he sighed, the sound heavy with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “From before.”

Your fingers hovered near the photo of him and his brother. “This is your brother?”

He nodded, his jaw tightening slightly. “Yuji.”

“He looks like you,” you said softly.

“He’s better than me,” Sukuna muttered, almost under his breath.

You didn’t push him for more, sensing the weight of the subject. Instead, your eyes shifted to the group photo. “And this? You all look… happy.”

“We were,” he said simply, his voice distant. “Before everything went to hell.”

You wanted to offer something comforting, but no words felt right. Instead, you reached out to lightly trace the edge of the photo. “It’s nice that you still have these.”

“They’re all I’ve got left,” he admitted, his tone quieter than you’d ever heard it.

His vulnerability made your chest ache. Slowly, you turned to face him, your gaze meeting his. “Thank you for bringing me here. And... for letting me see this.”

For a moment, his crimson eyes searched yours, something unreadable flickering in their depths. Then, to your surprise, he reached out, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered, warm against your skin, before he pulled away.

“Don’t make me regret it,” he said, his voice low but not unkind.

You nodded, unable to tear your gaze from him. In that moment, the distance between you didn’t seem so impossible. And maybe, just maybe, the walls Sukuna had built around himself were beginning to crack.

You focused on your breakfast, humming softly to yourself in the quiet kitchen. The morning was peaceful—exactly what you needed after the whirlwind of last night.

That peace, of course, didn’t last long.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty!” Gojo’s sing-song voice broke through the calm as he strolled into the kitchen, his signature grin plastered across his face.

You glanced at him warily. “Good morning, Gojo.”

He plopped down into a chair, resting his chin on his hand as he watched you. "So,” he began, his tone as smug as ever, “sleep well?”

Your brows furrowed at the question. “Yeah… why?”

"Oh, nothing,” Gojo said, dragging the words out as his grin grew wider. “Just heard you spent the night in Sukuna’s room.”

Your fork froze mid-air. “Excuse me?”

“Sukuna’s room,” Gojo repeated slowly, his tone dripping with false innocence. “Care to explain? Or should I just assume the obvious?”

Heat rushed to your face. “It’s not what you think!” you blurted, the words tumbling over each other. “I fell asleep on the roof, and he—he carried me so I wouldn’t wake everyone up.”

“How chivalrous,” Gojo mused, tapping his chin dramatically. “And yet, out of all the rooms, he chose his own.”

"It wasn’t like that,” you insisted, stabbing at your fruit with more force than necessary.

“Right,” Gojo said, dragging the word out. “Next thing you know, he’ll be making you breakfast.”

Before you could retort, the back door creaked open. Shoko and Suguru stumbled in, their bags slung haphazardly over their shoulders. Shoko dropped hers onto the counter with a tired sigh, and you immediately noticed the smear of red on her leg.

"Shoko, your leg!” you exclaimed, bolting to your feet as your chair scraped loudly against the floor.

Shoko waved you off, already digging through her bag for a cigarette. “It’s just a cut,” she muttered, plopping onto a nearby chair. “Barely even hurts.”

Suguru, setting his bag down more carefully, gave her an exasperated look. “It’s a cut because you tripped. Who trips during a supply run?”

“I tripped because someone didn’t cover me properly,” Shoko shot back, her tone sharp but amused.

“I didn’t cover you properly because you ran in before I was ready!” Suguru argued, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

Shoko rolled her eyes, lighting her cigarette with a dramatic sigh. “Excuses, excuses.”

“Oh, I’ll give you excuses,” Suguru retorted, stepping closer as if preparing for a mock confrontation.

“Alright, break it up, you two,” Gojo interjected, standing abruptly. “Clearly, this is a job for the great peacemaker.”

Before anyone could react, Gojo swooped in, wrapping an arm around Shoko’s neck and pulling her into a playful headlock. “Apologize to Suguru, Shoko!” he demanded with mock seriousness, ruffling her hair with his free hand.

"Get off me, you idiot!” Shoko yelled, trying to shove him away. Her cigarette was miraculously still intact, though her glare could’ve set the kitchen on fire.

Suguru, seizing the opportunity, pointed at her and stuck his tongue out like a child. “Serves you right!”

“Real mature, Suguru,” Shoko snapped, elbowing Gojo in the ribs and finally breaking free.

The whole scene was absurd—Gojo laughing like a maniac, Suguru acting like a smug little brother, and Shoko muttering curses under her breath as she fixed her hair. But it was their chaos, and you couldn’t help but laugh along with them, warmth blooming in your chest.

Your laughter trailed off as Sukuna’s quiet footsteps echoed in the doorway. He stepped inside, his sharp eyes scanning the room briefly before landing on you. Without a word, he placed a mug of tea on the table beside you, his movements deliberate. He lingered for a moment, his gaze meeting yours before he turned on his heel and left without another word, the sound of his footsteps fading down the hallway.

The room fell silent for half a beat.

Then—

“See!” Gojo exclaimed, pointing wildly at the mug. “Tea! A declaration of love if I’ve ever seen one!”

Shoko snorted, leaning back in her chair. “Maybe he’s just trying to keep her from snapping under your endless teasing.”

“Or maybe,” Suguru added with a sly grin, “he just likes her.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, covering your face with both hands as heat surged to your cheeks.

Their playful banter continued, their voices overlapping in a chaotic symphony of laughter and teasing. But as you stared at the tea in front of you, a quiet smile crept onto your face.

These moments—messy, loud, and full of life—were the reason you fought so hard to survive.

The next morning sunlight filtered through the cracked windows as you made your way to the common area, your footsteps light against the worn floor. You could already hear the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of utensils against plates. It felt almost normal—a fleeting echo of a life long past.

As you entered, you were greeted with the sight of everyone gathered around the table, eating breakfast. Shoko glanced up from her plate and, to your utter confusion, broke into a wide grin.

“Happy birthday to you…” she began, her voice light and teasing.

You froze mid-step, your heart stuttering.

“Wait, what?” Gojo perked up instantly, his sharp blue eyes wide with excitement. “It’s your birthday?”

Before you could even form a reply, Gojo shot out of his chair, his lanky frame moving across the room with surprising speed. He grabbed you by the arms and lifted you clean off the ground, spinning you around like you were the star of some grand celebration.

“Happy birthday!!!” he hollered, his voice far too loud for this early in the morning.

“Gojo, put me down!” you protested, laughing despite yourself as your feet dangled in the air.

“Not until you accept that it’s your special day!” he declared, finally setting you back down but keeping his hands on your shoulders like an overenthusiastic parent.

The others had stopped eating by now, their attention drawn to the commotion. Suguru looked mildly amused, Shoko grinned like she’d been waiting for this, and even Nanami had a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

And then there was Sukuna. His expression was unreadable, his crimson eyes flicking between you and Gojo. There was a flicker of something in his gaze, sharp and fleeting—was that annoyance? Jealousy? No, you told yourself, you were imagining it.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Gojo asked, his tone exaggeratedly scandalized.

You shrugged, suddenly feeling shy under all the attention. “It’s not that important. I didn’t think anyone would remember.”

Shoko scoffed, leaning back in her chair with a smirk. “Of course I remembered. What kind of friend do you think I am?”

Your heart warmed at her words. “Thanks, Shoko. That means a lot.”

But Gojo wasn’t done yet. He released you and started rummaging through the shelves, muttering to himself.

“What are you doing now?” Nanami asked, his tone weary but amused.

“This!” Gojo crowed triumphantly, holding up a dusty box of cake mix like it was a prize. “I knew this would come in handy one day!”

“Gojo, we don’t have electricity,” Suguru pointed out, though there was a clear hint of humor in his voice. “How exactly do you plan on baking that?”

“Details,” Gojo said, waving a dismissive hand. “We’ll figure it out. It’s her birthday! We can’t just do nothing!”

The room filled with soft laughter, and you couldn’t help but smile, your chest tightening with gratitude. For the first time in what felt like ages, the weight of the world seemed to lift, replaced by something lighter—something warm and human.

Suguru offered you a small, genuine smile. “Happy birthday.”

“Happy birthday,” Nanami echoed, his tone calm but sincere.

Then Sukuna’s voice cut through, low and uncharacteristically soft. “Happy birthday.”

Your gaze snapped to him in surprise, but he didn’t meet your eyes, focusing instead on his half-empty mug. Still, your heart fluttered at the simple words.

“Thanks, everyone,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “Really. This means so much.”

Gojo threw an arm around your shoulders, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re stuck with us now, birthday girl! And don’t think for a second we’re letting this day go to waste.”

You laughed, light and unguarded, and for the first time in a long while, you felt truly celebrated.

The day had been a whirlwind of warmth and joy—the kind you didn’t think was possible anymore. The laughter, the makeshift cake, the group’s relentless effort to make you feel celebrated—it had all left your heart full. Now, as the night deepened and the others settled in for the evening, you found yourself savoring the peace that had settled over the group. You were curled up in your bed, flipping through the pages of a worn book you’d scavenged a few weeks ago, the faint scent of aged paper comforting in its familiarity.

A knock at the door broke your focus, startling you slightly. Setting the book aside, you got up and opened the door to find Sukuna standing there, his tall frame casting a shadow over the dimly lit hallway.

“Sukuna?” you asked, blinking at him. “What’s going on?”

“Put on your jacket and follow me,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind.

You tilted your head, curiosity flickering in your chest. “Why?”

“Just trust me,” he replied, his crimson eyes steady as they held yours.

Unable to resist the pull of intrigue, you grabbed your coat and boots, slipping them on quickly before stepping into the cool night. The air was crisp, and the faint scent of pine lingered as Sukuna led you through the woods. His pace was steady, his silence leaving you to wonder what he had planned.

“Are you ever going to tell me where we’re going?” you asked, glancing at him.

“You’ll see,” was all he said.

After a few minutes, the trees gave way to a small clearing, and your eyes widened at the sight before you. A weathered cabin stood nestled in the clearing, its silhouette softened by the pale glow of the moon. But it wasn’t the cabin that caught your attention—it was the object on the porch.

“Is that a telescope?” you asked, your voice laced with surprise.

Sukuna’s gaze flicked to the telescope before returning to you. “Yeah. You told me your dad taught you all the constellations. Thought you might want to see them again. That’s all.”

Your chest tightened at his words, the weight of his thoughtfulness pressing gently against your heart. “Sukuna…” you murmured, unsure of what else to say.

“Go on,” he said, nodding toward the telescope. His voice was gruff, but there was a hint of softness beneath the surface.

You stepped onto the porch, leaning down to peer through the lens. The stars burst into view—vivid and breathtaking, more vibrant than you’d ever seen them on the roof. Each constellation was a reminder of nights spent with your dad, his voice patiently teaching you their names. It was as if Sukuna had brought a piece of him back to you, and the thought made your throat tighten.

“It’s incredible,” you said, pulling back to look at him. “I can see them so clearly—better than on the roof.”

He shifted, his arms crossing over his chest as his gaze lingered on you. “Figured you’d appreciate it.”

“Come look,” you urged, stepping aside.

Sukuna hesitated, his gaze shifting to the telescope. “I don’t need to—”

“Come on,” you urged with a small smile. “You might actually enjoy it."

For a moment, he hesitated, as though he wasn’t sure about the idea. But he finally moved, his large frame bending down to peer through the telescope. The moonlight illuminated his sharp features, softening them, and you found yourself staring at him instead of the stars.

“Not bad,” he murmured, his tone low.

You smiled, something tender stirring inside you. “Thank you, Sukuna,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Before you could think too much about it, you stepped closer and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. The warmth of his skin against your lips made your heart race, and as you pulled back, realization struck.

“Oh—I’m so sorry,” you stammered, your face flushing. “I didn’t mean to— I just—”

Sukuna’s eyes searched yours, and before you could finish your sentence, he leaned down. His lips brushed against yours softly at first, hesitant. The tenderness of it took your breath away, and when he felt you respond, his hand moved to cradle your face, his kiss deepening.

The world fell away. There was no cold, no fear, no apocalypse—only Sukuna. His kiss was unhurried and warm, filled with something unspoken that made your chest ache in the best way.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin lightly.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured, his voice quiet but full of meaning.

Your throat felt tight, and all you could do was smile up at him, your heart full. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

Sukuna’s eyes softened and he kissed you again. This time, there was no hesitation. His lips moved with more certainty, pulling you deeper into the moment. His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, gently but firmly holding you close as his other hand found your waist, grounding you in his warmth.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, holding onto him as if letting go would shatter the fragile bubble of intimacy surrounding you both. His kiss was fervent, pouring in all the things he could never say out loud. Each press of his lips felt like a promise, a desperate vow in a world where so little was certain.

When the kiss finally broke, Sukuna’s breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling in time with yours. His forehead touched yours again, but this time his hands remained on you—one at your waist, the other brushing your hair aside with a tenderness that contradicted his usual demeanor.

“Come inside,” Sukuna murmured, his gaze searching yours, seeking permission.

You nodded, your voice caught somewhere between your heart and throat.

You stepped into the cabin first, your boots creaking against the worn wooden floor. The air was thick with the faint smell of dust and age, but it was warmer than the chill outside. Sukuna followed silently, striking a match as he made his way to the chimney. With practiced ease, he lit a few candles their flames flickering to life. The golden glow chased away the shadows, illuminating the small space.

The cabin was simple but comforting. Its wooden walls creaking faintly under the pressure of the wind outside, a constant reminder of the fragile barrier between you and the chaos beyond. In one corner of the room, a worn mattress lay on the floor, draped with an old, patched blanket. It wasn’t luxurious—far from it—but it was a sanctuary in a world that offered none. The soft candlelight danced across the walls, painting the room in warm hues and casting fleeting shadows over Sukuna’s sharp features.

He turned to the door, closing it with a soft click. The sound broke the stillness, pulling your attention back to him. His steps were measured as he approached you, the tension in his shoulders contrasting with the gentleness in his gaze.

His hands found your waist, calloused fingers brushing against the fabric of your shirt. He paused for a moment, searching your face with quiet intensity. “Are you sure?” His voice was low, almost hesitant, as though the words carried more weight than he was willing to show.

Your breath hitched, the warmth of the room doing little to calm the fluttering in your chest. You met his gaze, steady and sure, even as your pulse raced. “Yes.” Your hands slid up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

That was all he needed.

Sukuna’s mouth captured yours again, this time slower, savoring each kiss like it was the last. His hands explored with unhurried reverence, tracing the curve of your waist and the small of your back. You matched him, your fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer.

Guided by instinct as much as by need, he walked you backward toward the small bed tucked into the corner of the room. When the backs of your knees hit the edge, he caught you, lowering you carefully as though you were made of something fragile.

The world outside melted away, leaving only the warmth of his touch, the heat of his breath against your skin. His kisses trailed lower, brushing over your jaw, your neck, and the delicate line of your collarbone. Each touch sent a wave of heat coursing through you, your body arching instinctively toward him. His hands, warm and rough from years of hardship, slipped under your shirt, the calloused pads of his fingers igniting a trail of fire as they moved.

“You’re beautiful,” Sukuna murmured against your skin, the words almost reverent, like a truth he could no longer keep to himself.

Your cheeks flushed at his words, but before you could reply, he eased your shirt over your head, his eyes darkening as they roamed over you. Instinctively, you crossed your arms over yourself, a mix of shyness and vulnerability washing over you.

Sukuna’s gaze softened, and he reached out, his hands warm as they gently wrapped around your wrists. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

Slowly, he guided your arms away, holding them at your sides as his crimson eyes met yours. The tenderness in his expression made your chest tighten, and the way his thumbs brushed against your skin was grounding.

“Not ever,” he said softly, his voice rough but filled with something unspoken.

Something in his tone, in the way he looked at you, unraveled you completely. You reached for him, tugging at his shirt, and he let you pull it off, the flickering candlelight illuminating the scars that marred his chest and arms.

"You’re beautiful too," you said softly, and the way his breath hitched made you wonder if anyone had ever told him that before.

His lips claimed yours again, the kiss deeper this time, his body pressing you gently into the mattress. Every touch, every shift of his weight against you, was measured and deliberate. His hands explored your curves with care, learning the rhythm of your breath, the places that made you shiver under his touch.

The kisses trailed downward. His movements were unhurried, savoring every inch of skin he uncovered, his lips and tongue leaving a heated trail down to your stomach. When he reached the waistband of your pants, he paused, his crimson eyes lifting to meet yours, silently seeking permission.

Your soft nod was all it took. His hands gripped the fabric, his calloused fingers brushing against your hips as he tugged your pants and boots off in one smooth motion, discarding them carelessly to the side. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, raw desire flickering in his eyes as his hands slid up the inside of your thighs, parting them gently.

The first flick of his tongue against your folds sent a shockwave through your body. You gasped, your back arching off the mattress as your fingers instinctively tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Sukuna didn’t hesitate, his tongue diving in, messy and relentless as he devoured you like a man starved.

“Fuck, Sukuna,” you breathed, your voice trembling as his tongue moved in long, deliberate strokes, teasing and tormenting. The heat of his mouth against you was intoxicating, and the way his nose pressed into you as he worked only heightened the intensity.

He groaned against you, the vibration sending a jolt through your core. His tongue dipped inside your entrance, swirling before dragging back up to circle your clit. His movements were deliberate yet feverish, the kind of messy control only Sukuna could manage, his brows furrowing in concentration as he ate you out like it was his favorite meal.

He pulled back just enough to gasp for air, his lips glistening and his voice thick with lust as he murmured, “You taste so fucking good. I love it. Love you like this.”

Before you could respond, his lips latched onto your clit, sucking with a sinful intensity that made your hips jerk against his face. He didn’t stop, didn’t relent, one hand gripping your thigh to hold you in place while the other slid up to your stomach, grounding you as his mouth drove you higher and higher.

The wet sounds of his tongue and the low, guttural hums in his throat filled the room, combining with your broken gasps and whimpers. Your thighs trembled under his hands, and the heat coiling in your stomach tightened to a breaking point.

“Sukuna—” His name fell from your lips like a prayer, breathless and desperate, your grip on his hair tightening as your body tensed. He growled in response, the vibration pushing you over the edge, your climax crashing through you in waves that left you trembling and gasping for air.

He didn’t stop immediately, his tongue lapping at you lazily, as though savoring every last drop. When he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, his eyes blazing as he looked up at you. His smirk was wolfish, his face slick with evidence of what he’d just done.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, crawling back up to meet your lips. The kiss was heated and consuming, the taste of yourself on his tongue only adding to the intoxicating haze. His body pressed against yours again, his weight solid and grounding, his hands bracketing your head as his lips trailed along your jaw.

“Still with me?” he asked, his voice low, his breath hot against your ear.

“Yes,” you managed to whisper, your hands sliding up his back, nails grazing his skin in a way that made his muscles tense under your touch.

“Good,” he growled, his lips crashing into yours, demanding and unrelenting. The kiss was intoxicating—hot, messy, and all-consuming. His tongue slid against yours, tasting, teasing, as if he couldn’t get enough.

When he finally pulled back, his lips lingered for a heartbeat, swollen and glistening as he licked them, savoring the taste of you. His eyes, heavy-lidded and blazing with desire, locked onto yours, and you felt the heat of his gaze like a physical touch.

Without breaking eye contact, his hands moved to his waistband, fumbling in his haste. A soft shuffle followed, and then his cock was free—thick, flushed, and heavy in his hand. He didn’t hesitate, sliding it through your slick folds, teasing you, and drawing a gasp from your lips as your eyes flickered down to take in the sight for the first time.

Your breath hitched as he lined himself up, his hooded gaze locking on yours. His brows furrowed in concentration as he pressed forward, the thick head of his cock stretching you open inch by inch.

A sharp, keening moan slipped from your lips as he pushed deeper, your nails digging into his shoulders to ground yourself. The burn was intoxicating, stealing the air from your lungs as he filled you, your jaw falling slack and your head tipping back against the pillow.

“Ah,” he groaned, voice trembling as he bottomed out. “You’re so warm—fuck, baby—”

You trembled beneath him, walls fluttering around his cock as he started to move. He pulled out slowly, almost entirely, before sinking back in with a deliberate, measured thrust. “So big, Sukuna,” you whimpered, your fingers clutching his broad shoulders for dear life. “F-fuck.”

Your pussy clenched tighter around him, drawing a guttural groan from his lips. Words escaped you, lost to the symphony of moans and broken cries spilling from your mouth. Each thrust was perfectly aimed, his pace unrelenting, hitting that spot inside that had your vision blurring. The rhythmic slam of the headboard against the wall barely registered in your mind—your body too consumed by pleasure to care.

A large hand pressed firmly against your belly, and Sukuna’s lips curled into a dark smirk. “Feel that?” he growled, his palm adding pressure just above your pelvis. “Feel me? Fucking you so deep I’m right here?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your hands clutching at his back, nails digging into his skin as you tried to anchor yourself. “Oh my god, yes—yes”

He leaned down, his warm breath ghosting over your chest before his lips closed around your nipple as he sucked, his tongue flicking against the sensitive bud. The sensation shot through you like lightning, a sharp cry escaping your lips before you could stop it. “So loud,” he muttered, his voice laced with teasing, though the smug curl of his lips made it clear he was reveling in every sound you made.

Before you could respond—if you even could—his fingers trailed from your hip to your swollen, throbbing clit. He worked slow, wet circles over the sensitive nub, his movements almost too much as pleasure threatened to consume you whole.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped, his voice rough and broken when he felt the trembling clench of your walls, that telltale sign of your impending climax. “Cum for me. Let me feel it. Cum all over my cock.”

“Yes!” you screamed, your body seizing as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Your cries were loud and unrestrained, your nails raking down his back as you came hard, your walls gripping his cock in a vice-like hold. “Oh—fuck, Sukuna!”

He didn’t slow down. If anything, his pace grew more erratic, his deep thrusts hitting even harder as he chased his own release. “Gonna fill you up,” he choked, his voice hoarse, a growl underlying his words. “Fuck, baby—gonna cum so fucking deep inside you.”

“Yes,” you whimpered, the word tumbling from your lips in a desperate mantra. “Want it—want all of it—please, baby—”

His hips snapped forward one last time, slamming into you as he let out a deep, guttural groan. “Cummin’, baby,” he choked, his body shuddering as he spilled into you, hot and thick, filling you to the brim.

But he didn’t stop. His fingers kept working your clit, insistent and unrelenting as he rocked his hips in slow, shallow thrusts, milking every last drop. “Come on, angel,” he murmured, his voice soft but pleading. “One more. Give me one more, baby—please.”

You were trembling, body convulsing as his words pushed you over the edge again. Your walls clenched tight, pulling yet another groan from his lips. He watched, mesmerized, as your body arched beneath him, surrendering to the waves of your second orgasm.

“That’s it,” he cooed, his voice low and wrecked. “So fucking perfect, baby.”

Your chest heaved as you came down, every nerve in your body buzzing with overstimulation. Sukuna’s hips stilled, his cock twitching inside you as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. He lifted his fingers from your clit, panting heavily, and without a second thought, brought it to his lips, sucking your slick clean with a satisfied hum.

His crimson eyes scanned your face, drinking in every detail—your flushed cheeks, the unfocused glaze in your eyes, the way your lips quivered as you fought to steady your breathing. A low chuckle escaped him, deep and smug. “You look ruined,” he said, his thumb grazing over your swollen bottom lip. “Exactly how I like you.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your body too blissed-out to argue. “You’re impossible,” you murmured, voice hoarse yet warm with affection.

He smirked, leaning in to steal a soft kiss, his lips lingering against yours. “And you’re mine,” he countered, the possessiveness in his tone unmistakable.

The room settled into a quiet stillness, broken only by the soft hum of your breathing. Sukuna carefully eased out of you, his movements uncharacteristically tender. Grabbing a discarded shirt, he cleaned you up with surprising care, his touch so gentle it made your chest ache.

When he was finished, he pulled you against him effortlessly. His strong arms wrapped around your trembling body, your back pressed firmly to his chest.

His lips brushed against your ear, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “Get some rest.” he murmured, his tone laced with both command and care.

His embrace was steady and warm, and the rhythmic beat of his heart against your back became your anchor. Your eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion pulling you into a deep, dreamless sleep, safe in his arms.

The soft glow of morning sunlight filtered through the cracks in the cabin’s wooden walls, bathing the room in a hazy, golden warmth. The scent of aged wood and the faint trace of Sukuna’s presence surrounded you, grounding you even before your eyes fluttered open.

It took a moment for the memories of the night before to surface, but when they did, your cheeks burned, and a soft, dreamy smile tugged at your lips. You shifted slightly, feeling the comforting weight of Sukuna’s arm draped over your waist. His chest was warm against your back, rising and falling in a steady rhythm, his deep, even breaths betraying that he was still lost in sleep. For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to bask in the quiet intimacy of it, the kind of peace you hadn’t felt in so long it almost felt foreign.

Turning your head slightly, you let your gaze fall on him. The sight nearly stole the breath from your lungs.

Sukuna looked so different like this—softened by sleep, his sharp edges dulled by the golden light. His usually intense features were relaxed, his lips parted slightly, and his hair was delightfully tousled. He seemed younger somehow, untouched by the weight of the world you both carried.

A quiet laugh almost escaped you at the thought of how different this Sukuna was from the one who commanded the room with sharp words and piercing glares. This version of him felt like a secret, a piece of himself he rarely shared. And right now, it was yours.

As if sensing your gaze, his brow furrowed slightly, and his eyes blinked open, still heavy with sleep. Crimson irises, softer than usual, locked onto yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice husky and rough from sleep, but impossibly gentle.

“Morning,” you whispered back, feeling your cheeks heat under his gaze.

His eyes stayed on yours, searching, as if trying to read your every thought. The space between you felt fragile, electric, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he could feel it too. He didn’t move his arm from around you, and you couldn’t decide if it was because he hadn’t realized or because he didn’t want to.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked, his voice lower than usual, as though he didn’t want to disturb the stillness of the moment.

You nodded, your voice coming out softer than you intended. “Yeah. You?”

His gaze lingered for a moment longer before his lips curved into a faint, almost boyish smile. “Better than I have in years.”

The quiet confession made your chest tighten, warmth spreading through you like sunlight. You wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, the quiet between you stretched, filled with the unspoken, yet it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy with possibility.

Finally, Sukuna shifted, his arm reluctantly sliding away as he sat up. The bed creaked softly under his weight, and he ran a hand through his hair, the gesture somehow both casual and intimate. The morning light danced across the ink curling over his skin, highlighting every intricate design. It was impossible not to stare, your heart stumbling in your chest at how effortlessly beautiful he looked.

He reached for his pants first, pulling them on with a fluid motion. The sight of him—bare and unapologetic in the soft glow of morning light—sent a wave of heat rushing to your cheeks. You quickly looked away, your heart hammering in your chest as you tried not to think about how much you had seen the night before.

From the corner of your eye, you caught the faintest smirk tugging at Sukuna’s lips as he reached for his shirt. “What’s this?” he teased, his voice low and laced with amusement. “Shy all of a sudden?”

Your face burned even hotter, and you mumbled, “It’s different in the morning.”

He let out a quiet laugh, the sound rich and unhurried as he tugged his shirt over his head. Fully dressed now, he sat back on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots, though the weight of his gaze lingered on you.

His crimson eyes softened as he watched you, catching you mid-thought. “You hungry?” he asked, his tone casual, though the softness in his eyes told you he hadn’t forgotten the night before.

You blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard by the simplicity of the question. “Uh, yeah, I guess.”

“Stay here,” he said, standing again and stretching. His movements were deliberate but unhurried, and the way the light caught on the ink curling over his skin, even beneath his clothes, made your pulse quicken all over again.

Without another word, Sukuna headed toward the small kitchen area of the cabin. The sound of his quiet footsteps faded, leaving you in the silence of the room.

You sat up slowly, pulling the blanket around you as you stared after him. The memories of his touch, his kisses, his whispered promises from the night before flooded back, and you couldn’t stop the small smile that crept onto your face.

Finally, with a deep breath, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and began gathering your clothes. The chill in the air made your skin prickle as you dressed, but the warmth in your chest didn’t fade. Each piece of clothing you slipped on felt like another layer of armor against the reality waiting outside, yet it also reminded you of the vulnerability you’d shared.

Once dressed, you hesitated before lying back down on the bed. The blanket still carried the warmth from where you had slept, and the comfort of being cocooned within it felt too good to abandon just yet. You leaned back against the headboard, pulling the blanket up around your shoulders as your gaze drifted toward the small window, where sunlight filtered in faint streaks.

Sukuna moved around the small cabin, rummaging through drawers and shelves in search of something edible. The soft creak of wood and the occasional sound of shifting items filled the quiet air as you watched him, the blanket still wrapped snugly around your shoulders.

When he finally returned, he handed you a small plate with what looked like dried fruits and crackers he must’ve found. He sat down on the edge of the bed beside you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight.

“It’s not much, but it’ll hold you over,” he said, his tone casual but his actions deliberate.

You took the plate, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks, Sukuna.”

He shrugged, glancing away, though his eyes flickered back to you briefly. “Don’t mention it.”

You looked down at the plate, then back at him. A thought crossed your mind, and without saying a word, you picked up one of the crackers and held it out to him, your gaze steady.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking in faint amusement. “What?” he asked, though his voice was softer than usual.

“You should eat too,” you said simply, offering the piece of food again.

For a moment, he didn’t move, his crimson eyes locking with yours. Then, with a small shake of his head, he pushed your hand back toward you gently. “I’m fine,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “You have it.”

Instead of backing down, you leaned forward and brought the cracker to his lips, your expression determined. His eyes narrowed slightly, but there was no edge to his gaze—just curiosity mixed with something warmer. “Eat,” you murmured, your voice soft but insistent.

Sukuna sighed, his lips twitching as though he wanted to argue. But then he opened his mouth slightly, letting you place the cracker between his lips. He bit into it, chewing slowly, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Happy now?” he asked after swallowing, his tone dry but his eyes betraying the faintest hint of amusement.

“Very,” you replied, a small, triumphant smile tugging at your lips.

The two of you finished the rest of the meal in comfortable silence, the kind of quiet that felt more like understanding than awkwardness. You found yourself stealing glances at him when you thought he wasn’t looking, only to find his gaze occasionally flicking back to you as well. Every time your eyes met his, your stomach fluttered, the unspoken connection between you growing stronger.

When the food was gone, Sukuna leaned back on his hands, letting out a soft exhale. His gaze drifted to the small window, where sunlight filtered through, casting golden streaks across his face. The light softened his sharp features, making him look almost peaceful.

“They’re probably wondering where we are by now,” he said finally, his tone matter-of-fact but gentler than you expected.

You thought of the others—Gojo’s inevitable dramatic freak-out, Shoko’s knowing smirk—and couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto your lips. “Yeah,” you said lightly. “They’re probably planning some over-the-top story already.”

Sukuna glanced back at you, his crimson eyes lingering on your face as though he could read your thoughts. Then he stood, stretching lazily before turning to you and holding out a hand.

“Come on,” he said, his voice low but laced with quiet care. “Let’s head back.”

You hesitated for only a moment, then slipped your hand into his. His grip was warm and steady, a silent reassurance that steadied your racing heart. When he pulled you to your feet, the closeness of him made your breath catch for just a second.

Even after he let go, the warmth of his palm lingered on your skin. As the two of you began to prepare to leave the cabin, you couldn’t help but steal another glance at him, a soft smile tugging at your lips. Whatever this fragile, growing bond was between you, it felt real—something neither of you were quite ready to let go of.

When the familiar outline of the hideout came into view, your heart skipped. You could already hear the muffled voices of the group inside, and you braced yourself for Gojo’s inevitable commentary. The thought made you smile faintly despite yourself.

Just before you reached the door, Sukuna placed a hand on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks.

You turned to him, brows furrowed in question. “What’s—”

“I hope you enjoyed last night,” he said, his tone low but steady, his crimson eyes locked on yours. There was no teasing in his voice, no smirk on his lips—just quiet sincerity.

The words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you could only blink at him. But then warmth spread through your chest, your lips curving into a small, genuine smile. “I did.” you said softly

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, something unspoken passing between you. Then he gave a slight nod, his hand dropping from your shoulder as he turned back toward the door.

Together, you stepped inside, the familiar voices and laughter washing over you like a wave.

“THERE YOU TWO ARE!” Gojo’s voice rang out almost immediately, his dramatic gasp followed by a sly grin. “Were you off having some alone time?”

Shoko glanced up from her spot on the couch, rolling her eyes as she leaned back with her cigarette, while Nanami merely raised a brow over the edge of his book, his expression unreadable.

You groaned, already feeling your cheeks heat. “Gojo, don’t start.”

But Sukuna didn’t react to the teasing. He simply shot Gojo a pointed look, the kind that carried enough weight to shut him up instantly, though not without an exaggerated pout. Without a word, Sukuna headed toward the kitchen, leaving the rest of the group momentarily speechless.

You lingered for a beat, still acutely aware of the warmth in your cheeks, before following after him. Sukuna’s broad frame was already moving efficiently through the small kitchen, and though he didn’t say anything as you approached, you noticed the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

The day carried on like most others, though a quiet buzz lingered beneath your skin every time Sukuna was near. His usual sharp edges seemed softer, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his crimson eyes drifted to you more than once. Each glance sent a flicker of heat through you that you tried to ignore but couldn’t.

By the time night fell, everyone had gathered in the common area, sharing stories and sipping on whatever rations of tea or canned drinks were left. Gojo, as always, was the loudest, his animated recounting of some pre-apocalypse escapade earning Shoko’s trademark eyerolls and Geto’s quiet smirks.

You sat off to the side, cradling a cup of tea in your hands and letting the lukewarm liquid provide some comfort. There was a rare peace in being surrounded by this makeshift family, even in a world as broken as this one. Sukuna sat in a chair across the room, his elbows resting on his knees, silent as ever. He hadn’t said much, but you felt the weight of his gaze more than once. Each time, it sent heat rushing to your cheeks, leaving you flustered.

Eventually, Gojo’s storytelling tapered off, and one by one, everyone began heading to bed. Shoko and Geto left first, Shoko muttering something about needing a real drink as she disappeared down the hall. Nanami followed shortly after, murmuring about needing rest for another long day ahead.

Gojo lingered, his sharp blue eyes flicking between you and Sukuna. A slow grin spread across his face as he sauntered past. “Don’t stay up too late,” he teased, his tone dripping with implication. “Wouldn’t want anyone to start thinking things.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “Goodnight, Gojo.”

“Goodnight,” he sang, shooting you one last wink before disappearing down the hall.

The common area grew quiet, the soft crackle of the fire filling the space. It wasn’t until then that you realized Sukuna was still there, his chair creaking faintly as he shifted.

You glanced at him, your gaze flicking up briefly before darting back to your empty cup. Your heart raced as you felt his presence grow closer, the quiet sound of his footsteps barely registering before his hand tilted your chin upward, his fingers gentle but firm.

The sudden gesture startled you, and your eyes locked with his. His crimson gaze was intense, searching yours as if looking for something you couldn’t name.

“You didn’t eat much at dinner,” he said, breaking the silence.

You blinked, caught off guard by his observation. “I wasn’t that hungry,” you admitted softly. “I guess I was just… tired.”

His thumb brushed lightly against your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine. “You should rest,” he said simply, though his tone carried an unspoken concern that made your chest ache.

“I’m fine,” you said, brushing off your pants as you stood. “But I guess I should head to bed before Gojo starts spreading more rumors tomorrow.”

At that, Sukuna smirked, the faintest flicker of amusement lighting up his face. “Let him talk. It’s the most entertainment he gets.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. But before you could turn fully toward the hallway, Sukuna’s hand lifted again, his fingers brushing your cheek. The gentle touch stopped you in your tracks, and when you glanced up at him, his expression had softened in a way that made your chest tighten.

He leaned in slowly, his movements deliberate. His lips brushed yours in a soft, fleeting kiss, so light and careful it made your breath hitch. The warmth of the gesture sent your heart into a frenzy, the intimacy of it leaving you momentarily stunned.

When he pulled back, his thumb grazed your cheek one last time, and his voice was quieter than before. “Goodnight,” he murmured, his tone carrying a tenderness that left you breathless.

You swallowed hard, managing a soft, “Goodnight, Sukuna.”

Satisfied, Sukuna stepped back, his hand falling away as he grabbed his weapon from where it leaned against the wall. Without another word, he headed toward the exit, his steps deliberate but unhurried.

You watched him go, your heart racing and your chest warm with something you couldn’t quite name. The faint creak of the door signaled his departure, and you knew he’d taken the first watch, as he often did.

The weight of his kiss lingered, the memory of his touch etched into your skin as you finally turned toward your room. Once inside, you leaned against the closed door, your breaths unsteady as you tried to process what had just happened. The warmth he left behind stayed with you, wrapping around you like a secret you weren’t ready to share.

For all the chaos of the world outside, this moment—this fragile, connection—felt like a lifeline. And as you climbed into bed, the small smile on your lips refusing to fade.

Three hours later, the soft knock at your door stirred you from a restless half-sleep. Your heart leapt, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d imagined it. But then, there it was again—another knock.

“Come in?” you called softly, sitting up a little straighter.

The door creaked open just enough for Sukuna to step inside, his tall frame illuminated faintly by the flickering firelight from the hallway. His hair was slightly mussed, and the faint exhaustion on his face told you he’d just finished his turn at watch.

“I saw your lamp on,” he said, his deep voice quieter than usual. “You’re still awake?”

You blinked up at him, surprised he’d noticed. “Yeah… couldn’t really sleep.”

He leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed as he studied you for a long moment. Then, with a quiet sigh, he rubbed the back of his neck and stepped closer. “If you can’t sleep here,” he said, his tone almost casual, “come sleep in my room.”

Your eyes widened slightly, heat creeping into your cheeks. “What?”

“It’s warmer,” he added with a small shrug. “And quieter. Unless you’d rather toss and turn all night.”

For a moment, you hesitated, your thoughts swirling with the faint hum of nervousness. But Sukuna’s gaze was steady, his crimson eyes holding yours, and something about the quiet surety of his offer made you nod. “Okay.”

He stepped back to let you pass, the flicker of satisfaction in his expression barely visible but unmistakable. You grabbed your sweater, slipping it on before following him into the dim hallway. The quiet of the hideout felt heavier this late at night, but Sukuna’s presence was grounding as you walked beside him.

When you entered his room, the warmth hit you immediately, cocooning you in a sense of comfort you hadn’t realized you were missing. It wasn’t anything fancy—an old chair with his shirt draped over it, a faint smell of soap, and a small, half-filled shelf in the corner—but it felt like him.

“Get in,” he said, nodding toward the bed as he set his weapon against the wall.

You climbed in, pulling the blanket over yourself. Sukuna slipped his jacket off, tossing it onto the chair, and joined you. The bed dipped under his weight, the tight space bringing you closer than you expected. It should have been awkward, but the warmth of his presence made it feel natural, like this was how it was always meant to be.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the only sounds the faint creak of the mattress and the soft rhythm of your breathing. Then Sukuna’s voice broke the silence.

“What’s your favorite color?” he asked.

The question was so unexpected that you blinked at him in confusion before letting out a soft laugh. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” he replied, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

You shook your head, still smiling. “Green.”

“Why green?”

You thought about it for a moment, your voice softening. “It reminds me of life. Of things growing. It’s… hopeful.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Makes sense.”

You tilted your head, watching him. “What about you?”

“Red,” he said without hesitation.

“Of course it is,” you teased, grinning. “Let me guess—bold and intense, just like you?”

“Exactly,” he said, his smirk widening slightly. “You’re catching on.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing quietly. “You’re impossible.”

Sukuna shifted slightly, turning onto his side to face you more fully. His gaze softened, his tone quieter now. “What’s something you’ve never told anyone?”

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated, your fingers playing with the edge of the blanket. “I don’t know,” you admitted softly. “I guess… I used to be scared of failing. Like, really scared. But now…” You trailed off, your voice fading.

“Now, it feels like there’s nothing left to fail at,” Sukuna finished for you, his voice low but understanding.

You nodded, your chest tightening at the weight of his words. “What about you?” you asked, your voice just as quiet. “What’s something you’ve never told anyone?”

He was silent for a long moment, his crimson eyes meeting yours before flickering away. “I didn’t think I’d still care about anyone after all this,” he admitted, his voice rougher than before. “But I do.”

Your heart ached at the quiet vulnerability in his tone, and before you could think, you reached out, your fingers brushing lightly against his arm. He didn’t pull away, his gaze flicking back to you with something unspoken lingering there.

“You should get some sleep,” he murmured after a moment, his voice softer now, almost fond.

You smiled faintly, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a blanket. “I’m not tired yet,” you admitted softly.

“Then stop thinking so much,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of amusement.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered as you whispered, “Maybe I’m just thinking about you.”

His eyes widened briefly before softening, his hand brushing against your cheek to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Careful,” he murmured, his voice warm and low., laced with that familiar teasing edge. “Keep talking like that, and I might start to believe you actually like me.”

You laughed softly, the sound carrying just enough mischief to match his tone. "What? Last night wasn't enough to convince you?"

Sukuna didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate. His hand stayed on your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin, and the warmth of him surrounded you, steady and sure.

When he finally pulled back, he stayed close, his forehead resting against yours. “Goodnight,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady.

“Goodnight, Sukuna,” you whispered, your heart fluttering as you tucked yourself into the blanket.

He shifted closer, his arm wrapping around your waist as he pulled you gently against him. The steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his presence cocooned you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, sleep came easily.

The next morning came softly. Sunlight crept through the cracks of the curtains Sukuna never bothered to close fully, casting golden streaks across the room. You stirred first, your body reluctant to leave the cocoon of warmth the blanket and Sukuna’s presence had created.

As your eyes fluttered open, the first thing you saw was Sukuna. He was still asleep, one arm draped lazily over the pillow between you two, his face relaxed in a way you rarely got to see. His brow wasn’t furrowed in annoyance, and his sharp features were softened by sleep. He looked so… peaceful.

You couldn’t help it; a small smile tugged at your lips as you watched him for a moment longer than you probably should have. He looked almost boyish like this, the harshness that defined him nowhere to be found. It made your chest tighten in a way that was equal parts comforting and unnerving.

Suddenly, Sukuna’s eyes cracked open, their familiar crimson shade peering at you through sleepy lids. He caught you staring before you could look away.

“Caught you,” he muttered, his voice low and rough with sleep, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Your eyes widened, and you jolted upright, heat rushing to your face. “I wasn’t staring,” you protested, though your voice betrayed your embarrassment.

“Sure you weren’t,” Sukuna said, his smirk deepening as he stretched lazily, the movement shifting the blanket and giving you a glimpse of his toned torso. He caught the way your gaze flickered, and his smirk turned downright mischievous.

You grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at him. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, though the laugh bubbling in your chest betrayed the scowl you tried to wear.

Sukuna caught the pillow easily, his smirk never faltering. “And yet, here you are,” he teased, sitting up now. His hair was an unruly mess, stray strands falling across his forehead, and somehow, it made him look even more effortlessly attractive.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips. “Maybe I should leave, then.”

“Don’t.”

The word was quiet, softer than you’d expected. It caught you off guard, your gaze snapping to his. Sukuna wasn’t looking at you this time; instead, he was busying himself by pulling the blanket off his legs. But the sincerity in his voice lingered, settling in your chest like a warmth you couldn’t quite name.

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn’t press him. Instead, you stretched and threw your legs over the side of the bed. “I’m starving,” you said, trying to keep your voice light.

Sukuna grunted in agreement, ruffling a hand through his messy hair. “You go ahead,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer. “I’ll be down in a minute”

You nodded and slipped out of the room, leaving the door cracked behind you as you made your way to the common area. A soft smile played on your lips as you walked, the warmth of Sukuna’s presence still wrapping around you like an invisible blanket. The morning light felt softer, the world a little brighter, and you couldn’t help but wonder how much of that had to do with the man still upstairs.

When you entered the common area, Gojo, naturally, was the first to spot you, and his mischievous grin appeared before you’d even said a word. “Ah, look who finally graced us with her presence,” Gojo said as soon as you walked in, his grin sharp and teasing. “Had to pry yourself away from Sukuna, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, making a beeline for the pot. “No, I was just savoring the last few minutes of peace before dealing with you.”

“Rude,” Gojo shot back, dramatically clutching his chest. “I’m the heart of this group, you know. Where would you all be without me?”

“Be more efficient,” Nanami said without looking up from his notebook.

You stifled a laugh, grabbing a mug and pouring yourself some tea. As you turned back toward the table, your gaze caught on a faint smear of blood on Gojo’s forearm. You frowned, setting your mug down.

“Gojo,” you said, nodding toward his arm. “What’s with the cut? Why haven’t you cleaned that up?”

Gojo glanced at his arm like it was nothing. “Oh, this? Just a little souvenir from yesterday. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” you said, crossing your arms. “You know how dangerous infections are. Why didn’t you take care of it?”

“We’re out of supplies,” Gojo admitted, his tone softening slightly. “There wasn’t much left to clean it properly, and I didn’t want to waste what we had on something small.”

Shoko sighed, putting her cigarette out in the ashtray. “It’s not about wasting supplies, Gojo. If that gets infected, you’ll need more than just antiseptic. You should’ve told me.”

“I knew you’d worry,” he said, giving her a lopsided grin. “I figured I could tough it out until we restocked.”

“Toughing it out doesn’t make you invincible,” you said, exasperation creeping into your voice. “We need more medical supplies.”

“That’s what we’ve been discussing,” Nanami interjected, his voice calm but firm. He tapped the notebook in front of him. “The pharmacy on the east side is our best option, though it’s risky. We’re almost out of gauze, antiseptic, and antibiotics.”

And that hardware store nearby?” Geto asked. “We could use batteries and tools.”

“It’s on the way,” Nanami confirmed. “We’ll hit both if we can.”

The sound of footsteps pulled your attention to the doorway. Sukuna entered the room, his presence commanding as always. He walked over to the table, scanning the group before taking the seat next to you without hesitation, his arm brushing yours as he settled in.

“Perfect timing,” Nanami said, sliding the notebook toward Sukuna. “We’re working out the next supply run.”

Sukuna scanned over it, his tone clipped as he spoke. “Pharmacy on the east side?”

“And the hardware store nearby,” Nanami added. “Tools, batteries, anything we can scavenge.”

Sukuna flipped through the notebook, nodding as he scanned the list. “We’ll split into pairs. Smaller groups, less noise.”

“I call Shoko!” Gojo said immediately, raising his hand.

“Absolutely not,” Shoko said.

“You’re with Nanami,” Sukuna said, his voice brooking no argument.

Gojo pouted but didn’t push it. “No fun.”

Geto leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand. “What about me? Where do you want me?”

“You’ll take the hardware store with Shoko,” Sukuna said, glancing at him briefly. “Grab anything useful.”

“What about me?” you asked, tilting your head at Sukuna.

“You’re with me,” he said simply, his focus already shifting back to the notebook. “We leave in about an hour.”

The group was gearing up for a supply run, the air thick with humidity that made your clothes cling uncomfortably to your skin. Sukuna stood near the entrance of the base, meticulously adjusting his weapons and surveying the group with his usual commanding presence. His sharp crimson eyes lingered on you a moment longer than necessary, and then he spoke.

“You’re staying here,” he said abruptly, his tone brooking no argument.

You blinked, startled. “What? No. I’m coming with you. You just said I was going to be paired with you, and we need as many hands as possible. You know I’m more than capable.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened, his gaze narrowing. “I said you’re staying.”

The others glanced between the two of you, sensing the brewing tension but wisely choosing to stay silent.

You crossed your arms, your voice firm. “You can’t just decide that for me, Sukuna. I’ve done this plenty of times. I’ll be fine.”

His expression darkened, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “Last time we went out, you almost got yourself killed. I’m not risking that again.”

“That was almost two weeks ago, Sukuna! ” you snapped, your cheeks flushing with anger. “You can’t wrap me in bubble wrap because of one close call.”

“It’s not about that!” he barked, his voice loud enough to make Shoko wince and Nanami glance up from his knife sharpening. His glare softened slightly as he lowered his tone, his fists clenching at his sides. “You’re not going. That’s final.”

“Oh, screw this,” you muttered under your breath, grabbing your bag and striding toward the door. But Sukuna moved faster, stepping in front of you and blocking the exit with his broad frame.

“You’re not going,” he repeated, his voice quiet but ironclad.

You glared up at him, your frustration boiling over. “You can’t just tell me what to do! I’m not some helpless kid, Sukuna. I can handle myself!”

His crimson eyes bore into yours, and without another word, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you a few steps away from the others, out of earshot. His voice dropped to a low, heated murmur.

“You think I care about anyone else getting hurt like that?” he said, his tone raw and unguarded. “You think I can just stand by and let it happen to you?”

Your breath caught in your throat, his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. His grip on your wrist was firm but not harsh, his thumb brushing your skin as if he was trying to steady himself.

“Sukuna…” you began, your voice faltering.

“No,” he cut you off, his tone softer now but no less resolute. “You’re staying. I can’t…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening as he fought to find the words. “You’re not going. I can do this all day if I have to.”

Your heart raced, caught between anger and the ache of understanding. His protectiveness wasn’t just about control—it was about fear. Fear of losing you. And yet, the high-handed way he handled it still grated on your nerves.

You pulled your wrist free, glaring at him. “Fine. Stay here all day, Sukuna. I’m done arguing.” With that, you spun on your heel and stormed off, your frustration bubbling over into every sharp step.

Behind you, Sukuna let out a heavy sigh but didn’t follow. He stood there for a moment, watching your retreating figure, before turning back toward the group.

Gojo let out a low whistle. “Oh, man. She really told you, huh?”

Sukuna’s glare could have melted steel. “Shut it, Gojo.”

Gojo held up his hands in mock surrender, his grin unwavering. “Alright, alright. Don’t kill the messenger.”

Sukuna sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck before turning back to the group. “Let’s move,” he said gruffly, his tone leaving no room for further comments.

As the group filed out, Sukuna cast one last glance down the hallway where you’d disappeared. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything, following the others into the humid air outside.

The day passed slowly, tension lingering in the air after the group left for the supply run. You stayed in your room, not wanting to interact with anyone. Despite the quiet, your thoughts churned, replaying the heated argument with Sukuna earlier. He hadn’t come to you since, and you hadn’t gone to him either. The hours dragged on.

After two hours, you heard the heavy sound of boots echoing through the base’s entrance. You stayed in your room, listening as the others returned. Their muffled voices carried down the hall, but Sukuna didn’t come looking for you, and you didn’t make any move to join them.

When it came time for your turn on watch, you grabbed your gear and made your way to the watchpoint on the roof. The air was cool and quiet up here, the stars scattered across the sky in a peaceful contrast to the chaos of the world below. You settled into your spot, letting the stillness of the night ease your mind.

The sound of footsteps behind you pulled you from your thoughts. Turning, you saw Sukuna approaching, his broad frame unmistakable even in the dim light.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” you asked, your voice steady but guarded as you turned back toward the horizon.

“I can’t fall asleep,” he said simply, stopping a few feet away and crossing his arms. “Figured I’d check on you.”

“I’m fine,” you said, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “You don’t need to keep checking on me, Sukuna. I can handle a watch.”

He let out a low sigh, stepping closer and leaning against the edge beside you. “It’s not about you being capable,” he said after a moment, his tone quieter than usual. “It’s about… me.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

Sukuna kept his gaze on the horizon, his jaw tightening briefly before he spoke. “When you’re out there, I don’t think straight. Every time something happens, even something small, it feels like my chest is in a vice. It messes with my head.”

You stayed silent, your heart twisting at the raw honesty in his voice. He rarely opened up like this, and hearing him now made your frustration from earlier melt away.

“You’re important to me,” Sukuna continued, finally meeting your gaze. His crimson eyes softened slightly, vulnerability flickering there. “I’m not used to… caring about people. Not like this. It’s different with you.”

Your breath caught at his words, but you forced yourself to stay composed. “Sukuna,” you said gently, “I understand why you worry, but you can’t keep doing this—ordering me to stay back, acting like I’m fragile. I’ve survived this long because I’m capable. You have to trust that I can handle myself.”

He stared at you, his expression unreadable, before letting out a resigned sigh. “I know you can handle yourself,” he admitted. “It doesn’t stop me from worrying.”

You reached out without thinking, placing a hand on his arm. “You can worry,” you said softly, your voice steady. “But you have to let me do my part too. I’m not going anywhere, Sukuna. You’re stuck with me.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips, though his eyes remained serious. “You’re too stubborn for your own good.”

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, a small smile breaking through.

Sukuna huffed a quiet laugh, the tension easing slightly. He looked back at the stars for a moment, then turned his attention to you. “Alright,” he said finally. “I’ll try.”

Before you could respond, he stepped closer, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. The unexpected warmth of the gesture sent a flutter through your chest, leaving you momentarily breathless.

The two of you stood in silence for a while, the cool breeze and the faint chirp of crickets filling the quiet. Finally, Sukuna pushed off the edge. “Don’t stay up too late,” he said, his voice lighter now.

You smirked, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the whole point of first watch.”

He shook his head, a faint smile lingering on his lips as he turned to leave. Just before he stepped back inside, he glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the warmth spreading through your chest. “No promises.”

Sukuna shook his head again, disappearing down the stairs. You turned back to the horizon, the weight of his words and the look in his eyes lingering long after he was gone.

The group was sitting together in the common area, enjoying a rare moment of peace. Shoko was sketching plans for organizing the medical supplies, Nanami was engrossed in an old, battered book, and Gojo was shamelessly cheating Suguru in a game of cards. You were tucked on the couch beside Sukuna, his quiet presence grounding despite the lighthearted chatter.

The sound of glass breaking in the distance shattered the calm. Everyone froze.

“What the hell was that?” Suguru asked, his voice low but sharp.

Sukuna stood instantly, his hand moving to the knife strapped to his side. “Stay quiet,” he ordered.

Gojo’s usual grin faded into something more serious. “Sounds like we have company.”

The group crept toward the hallway that led to the entrance of the base. Your heart pounded as Sukuna motioned for you to stay close behind him. The sound of voices filtered through the air, rough and unfamiliar.

“They’ve got supplies. Enough for us to take over,” one voice muttered.

“They’ve got a good setup,” another added. “If they’re here, we’ll deal with them.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened, his hand gripping the hilt of his weapon. He leaned down to whisper to you. “Stay close. And watch your back.”

You nodded, clutching a makeshift weapon—an old pipe—you’d grabbed from the corner of the room. The air was thick with tension.

The door burst open, revealing a group of five strangers armed with weapons. The man in front sneered, his eyes scanning the group. “Looks like the place isn’t abandoned after all,” he said. “Hand over what you’ve got and walk away, or we’ll take it by force.”

“Not happening,” Sukuna growled, stepping forward to block you from view. His imposing stance left no room for negotiation.

Suguru, Nanami, and Gojo flanked him, their expressions hard and ready for a fight.

The leader chuckled, clearly unimpressed by the united front. “Suit yourself.”

Chaos erupted. Sukuna surged forward like a force of nature, his knife flashing as he disarmed one of the attackers with brutal efficiency. Suguru took on another, his movements fluid and precise. Nanami and Gojo worked in sync to handle the rest, their combined strength overwhelming the intruders.

You kept low, the pipe gripped tightly in your hands. One of the attackers broke away from the chaos, his gaze locking on you. Without hesitation, he lunged, his knife aimed directly at you.

You dodged swiftly, the adrenaline sharpening your instincts. With a calculated swing, you slammed the pipe into his ribs, the force making him stagger back with a pained grunt. He recovered quickly, charging at you again, but you were faster. Ducking under his swing, you delivered a sharp kick to his knee, sending him toppling forward.

Seizing the opportunity, you raised the pipe and brought it down on his weapon hand, forcing him to drop the knife with a cry of pain. A second swing to his shoulder sent him sprawling to the ground, groaning and defeated.

The last of the intruders realized they were outmatched and scrambled to retreat, dragging their injured comrades with them. Gojo smirked as he shoved one of them toward the door. “And don’t come back,” he warned, his tone almost playful despite the seriousness of the situation.

As the door slammed shut, the room fell into silence. Shoko stepped in from the hallway, scanning the group. “Everyone okay?” she asked, her voice calm but firm.

“Still in one piece,” Suguru said, wiping blood off his knuckles.

“Same,” Nanami added, adjusting his glasses.

Gojo slung an arm around Suguru, grinning despite the scuffle. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you protect a base!”

Sukuna ignored him entirely, his attention fixed on you as he crossed the room. His hands settled gently on your shoulders, his crimson eyes scanning you for any signs of injury.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his tone softer than you expected.

You nodded, your voice soft but steady. “I’m fine. I handled it.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips, and he gave the smallest nod, his hands lingering on your shoulders for a moment longer. “I saw,” he murmured. “You were incredible.”

His words made your chest tighten, warmth blooming under the weight of his quiet praise. “Thanks,” you said, your gaze holding his. “But you don’t always have to worry so much, Sukuna. I can take care of myself.”

“I know,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “But I’m still going to worry. I can’t help it.”

His honesty caught you off guard, and your breath hitched. For a moment, the world seemed to shrink until it was just the two of you, the space between you filled with unspoken emotions.

“Sukuna…” you began, unsure of what you wanted to say.

“I just want you safe,” he said quietly, his voice dipping into something more vulnerable. “That’s all.”

The sincerity in his tone made your chest ache, and you reached up, placing your hand lightly over one of his. “I’ll be careful,” you promised, your voice barely above a whisper.

He gave a small nod, his thumb brushing against your shoulder before he finally let his hands fall away. “Good,” he said, his voice returning to its usual gruffness, though the softness in his gaze remained.

Later, as the group settled back down, you caught Sukuna’s gaze from across the room. His eyes met yours, and he gave you a subtle nod—silent reassurance that he was still watching out for you. You returned it with a faint smile, a quiet understanding passing between you that made your heart flutter.

Even in the midst of chaos, Sukuna’s protectiveness and care grounded you, the connection between you feeling stronger and more certain with every shared glance and unspoken word.

Later that evening, after the chaos had finally subsided and the group ensured the intruders were gone for good, you found Sukuna sitting in the corner of the common area. His shoulders were hunched forward, his jaw tight as he dragged a bloodied cloth over his forearm in careless swipes.

You frowned at the sight of him. He was clearly doing more harm than good. Without a word, you grabbed the first-aid kit from Shoko’s stash and made your way over to him.

“Let me see,” you said gently, kneeling beside him.

“I’m fine,” Sukuna muttered, his tone low and dismissive.

“You’re not,” you replied softly, catching his wrist before he could brush you off. “Hold still.”

He tensed at your touch, his jaw clenching, but he didn’t argue. You turned his arm toward you, examining the shallow gash on his forearm. Dried blood streaked his skin, and scratches lined his knuckles, the remnants of the earlier fight.

You dipped a piece of gauze in antiseptic and pressed it to the wound, your touch firm but careful. Sukuna hissed under his breath at the sting, though he didn’t pull away, his crimson eyes fixed somewhere beyond you.

“You know,” you murmured after a moment, breaking the silence, “for someone who’s so strict about keeping me safe, you’re not very good at taking care of yourself.”

He let out a quiet huff of laughter, the sound low and rough. “It’s different.”

“It’s not,” you countered softly, glancing up at him. “If you keep this up, I might have to start babysitting you.”

He gave a faint smirk, his lips tugging upward just slightly. “Good luck with that.”

You rolled your eyes with a small smile, wrapping the clean bandage around his arm. “Well, maybe you could make my job a little easier next time and stop bleeding everywhere.”

“Noted,” he said dryly, though there was a faint warmth in his tone now.

Once the wound was clean and properly bandaged, you leaned back slightly, packing up the first-aid kit. Sukuna stayed quiet, watching you with an unreadable expression.

Before standing, you hesitated, your voice soft but firm as you said, “I’m serious. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

His expression shifted, the teasing edge fading as his gaze locked onto yours. There was something raw and unguarded in his crimson eyes, and for a moment, he didn’t speak.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice unusually gentle.

The air between you grew heavier, a quiet intensity settling in. Slowly, Sukuna reached for your wrist again, his touch deliberate and sure. He pulled you closer, and before you could fully process the moment, his hand came up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

He leaned in, his movements slow and purposeful, and when his lips met yours, the world seemed to stop. The kiss was soft yet firm, unhurried but filled with all the things he’d never say aloud.

Your hands instinctively clutched the front of his shirt, holding onto him like he was the only solid thing in a crumbling world. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss just slightly.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his crimson eyes locking onto yours. Neither of you spoke, the silence filled with the quiet promise of the moment.

You stayed like that, breathing him in, letting the world around you fade away. Nothing else mattered—just the closeness, the quiet, and the unspoken understanding between you.

Three weeks had passed, and things within the group felt oddly the same—except for you and Sukuna. You were a couple now, a quiet shift that felt natural, like something that had always been meant to happen. It didn’t change much; Sukuna still acted like the gruff leader everyone relied on, but there was a softness reserved just for you. He remained protective but wasn’t overbearing, and his efforts to teach you new ways to defend yourself were a testament to how deeply he cared.

You were all gathered in the common area, finishing up a shared meal. The mood was relaxed—Shoko and you were locked in a game of cards, her sharp eyes narrowing as she studied the table, clearly plotting her next move. Across the room, Gojo lounged on the couch, casually tossing a small rubber ball against the wall and catching it on the rebound, the steady rhythm blending into the quiet hum of the evening.

Nanami and Geto sat at the table nearby, discussing supply organization in low voices, their tones measured and focused. Sukuna leaned against the wall in the far corner, his hat tilted low over his face. He looked like he was resting, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee, his hand resting loosely on his thigh. Even in repose, there was a sense of readiness about him, like he was never truly off guard.

The soft clink of cards, the muted thud of Gojo’s ball, and the faint murmurs of conversation created an atmosphere of calm—a rare moment of normalcy in a world that had long since lost it.

Then it happened.

The crackle of static from the old radio in the corner made everyone pause, heads snapping toward it. The thing had been useless for months, a relic of a time when communication had felt possible. But now, there was something different. A sound.

“Was that…?” Geto started, trailing off as everyone stared at the radio.

And then it came—a voice, distorted but unmistakable: “If you can hear this… find us.”

Your breath caught as the message continued, giving coordinates and repeating the plea: “This is a government-sanctioned safety zone. Survivors are welcome. If you can hear this… find us.”

The room fell silent, the voice repeating again and again, with static filling the gaps like an ominous reminder of how fragile this moment was.

“What now?” you whispered, breaking the silence. “We have to try, right? I mean… if this is real…”

“If it’s real,” Shoko said cautiously. “It could be a trap. Or a leftover transmission from months ago.”

Nanami crouched by the map spread across the table, tracing his finger over the coordinates. “It’s far,” he said, his voice measured. “Three days at least, maybe more, depending on the terrain.”

“That’s not that far,” Gojo quipped, trying to lighten the mood. “We’ve been on longer supply runs.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t a supply run,” Geto countered. “This is everything. We’d be leaving the base. Everything we’ve built here.”

You looked around the room, seeing the hesitation on everyone’s faces. They all had valid points, but the idea of leaving behind your hard-won safety was terrifying. Yet…

“What if it’s real?” you said softly, your gaze moving to Sukuna. “We could be safe. All of us. Together.”

The weight of your words seemed to hang in the air, and everyone’s eyes shifted to Sukuna, waiting for the final call.

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied the radio, his expression unreadable. “We don’t have enough information,” he said finally, his voice calm but firm. “We don’t even know if it’s still active.”

“But we can check,” Gojo suggested. “Send a small group ahead to scope it out. Worst-case scenario, we turn back.”

“It’s not that simple,” Shoko interjected. “If it’s real, we’d need everyone to relocate together. Splitting up could be dangerous. Not to mention the risk of moving with limited supplies.”

Arguments broke out, voices overlapping as the group weighed the risks and possibilities. You stayed quiet, your eyes on Sukuna as he listened, his brow furrowed slightly—a telltale sign that he was deep in thought.

Finally, Sukuna raised a hand, silencing the room. “Enough,” he said, his tone cutting through the noise. He glanced at you briefly, his expression softening before turning back to the others. “We’re not making any decisions tonight. Everyone get some rest. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

The group reluctantly agreed, dispersing with murmured conversations and worried glances. Shoko gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before retreating to her room, and Geto and Nanami exchanged a few last words before heading off. Gojo tossed his rubber ball one last time, catching it deftly before disappearing down the hallway.

The room emptied, leaving only you and Sukuna behind. For a moment, the silence felt heavier, the weight of the decision looming over both of you.

You glanced over at Sukuna, standing at the table with his hands braced against its edge, his crimson eyes fixed on the map spread out before him. His hat was pushed back, and his sharp features were locked in an unreadable expression as he studied the coordinates. Something about the weight of this decision on his shoulders made your chest ache, and without thinking, you walked over to him.

“Sukuna,” you said softly, drawing his attention. His crimson eyes shifted to yours, and before he could respond, you stepped closer and wrapped your arms around him, pressing your face into his chest.

He stiffened for just a moment before his body relaxed, his arms coming up to hold you against him. One hand rested on your back, the other settling lightly on your head, his touch gentle in a way that was becoming familiar.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, his voice low, a softness in his tone reserved only for you.

You nodded against his chest, but your voice wavered slightly when you replied. “I just… I don’t know what the right thing to do is. What if this is our chance?”

His grip tightened slightly, grounding you. “We’ll figure it out,” he murmured, his hand brushing up and down your back in a soothing motion. “Together.”

And somehow, despite the uncertainty ahead, that was enough.

Later that night, you were on your side of Sukuna’s bed, his arm draped lazily around your waist. The weight of the day’s revelation lingered as you both lay in silence. He stared up at the ceiling, tension radiating from him.

“Hey,” you murmured, turning to look at him. “You’re quiet. What’s on your mind?”

He sighed heavily, his hand absently tracing circles on your hip. “You know what’s on my mind,” he muttered. “That damn broadcast.”

You propped yourself up on your elbow, studying his face. His usual confidence was replaced with something more vulnerable. “You don’t think we should go, do you?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It feels… reckless. We’ve built something here. We’re safe, we have supplies, defenses. Why risk it for some half-baked promise of safety?”

You brushed your fingers along his jaw, drawing his gaze to you. “Because it’s not just about safety, Sukuna. It’s about living. Don’t you think we deserve a chance at something better?”

His eyes softened, but doubt flickered there. “What if it’s not real? Or worse, what if it’s a trap? I can’t risk losing anyone. I can’t risk losing you.”

Your chest ached at his words. “You won’t lose me,” you said softly, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “But staying here forever isn’t an option. Supplies won’t last, and neither will luck. This might be our only chance.”

Sukuna was quiet for a long moment, his hand moving up to cradle your face. “You really believe this is the right thing to do?”

You nodded. “I do. And I think you do too. You just hate taking risks.”

A wry smile tugged at his lips. “You’re too stubborn for your own good, you know that?”

You grinned, leaning down to kiss him softly. “Good thing you like me that way.”

He chuckled against your lips, pulling you closer. “More than I probably should.”

The weight of his words hung in the air before he sighed again, his forehead resting against yours. “Alright,” he said reluctantly. “We’ll go. But if anything feels off, we’re turning back. I’m not taking chances with your life—or anyone else’s.”

Relief flooded through you, and you kissed him again, this time longer and sweeter. “I promise you won’t regret this,” you whispered.

His lips brushed against your temple. “I already do,” he teased, though his tone was fond. “But I trust you.”

You smiled, settling against his chest. For the first time that night, you felt hopeful. Whatever lay ahead, you knew you wouldn’t face it alone.

The next morning, everyone gathered in the common area, their faces tense as they waited for Sukuna to speak. You sat beside him, feeling the weight of the decision he was about to make. Sukuna looked more serious than usual, arms crossed over his chest, his sharp eyes sweeping over the group.

“Alright,” he began, his voice firm, cutting through the silence like a blade. “We’re going.”

Gojo’s brows shot up, a grin spreading across his face. “Really? Didn’t think you’d go for it, boss.”

“It’s risky, and I’m not about to pretend it’s not. We’ve all heard messages like this before—false promises, traps, or worse. But…” He glanced briefly at you, almost like he was drawing strength from your presence, “We can’t stay here forever. It’s not sustainable.”

Nanami, who had been studying the map for most of the morning, gave a short nod. “Three days on foot if we pace ourselves carefully. We’ll need to chart out stops for rest and security checks.”

Suguru ran a hand through his hair. “And what if we run into others? It’s a long trip, and there’s no telling who else might’ve heard the same message.”

“We’ll deal with it,” Sukuna said simply. “We stick to formations. Pairs. No one wanders off.” His gaze swept over the group as if daring someone to argue. “We’re smart about this. It’s going to take every one of us to pull this off, so don’t screw around.”

Shoko leaned against the wall, arms crossed but with a faint smirk. “So, are we packing light or taking extra supplies? I’m guessing there’s no guarantee we’ll find much along the way.”

Sukuna nodded. “We take what we need and a little extra, but no overloading. If we’re too weighed down, we’ll slow ourselves. Weapons, medical supplies, and enough food and water to last us at least four days, just in case.”

Gojo whistled. “Man, I can’t wait to see what the government’s offering. Maybe it’s like one of those utopia bases with hot food, comfy beds—”

Sukuna shot him a dry look. “You’ll be lucky if it’s not another graveyard.”

The mood dampened at his words, but you stepped in to lighten the tension. “We’re strong enough to handle this. We’ve survived worse.” You looked around at the group, meeting each of their gazes. “We’ve got each other, and that’s gotten us this far. It’s going to be okay.”

Sukuna glanced at you, the corner of his mouth twitching up just slightly before he turned back to the group. “Exactly. This team’s survived everything the world’s thrown at us so far. Let’s not forget that.”

Nanami placed the map on the table and pointed at a few locations. “I’ve marked safe houses we’ve passed before and areas we can use as rest stops. It’s important we pace ourselves to avoid exhaustion.”

Suguru nodded. “I’ll help pack weapons and make sure we’ve got ammo. Gojo, you’re on food and water duty.”

“Why do I always get the boring job?” Gojo grumbled, but he moved to help nonetheless.

Shoko stretched, already moving toward her stash of medical supplies. “I’ll get the first aid kits ready. You’re all going to need me when this inevitably goes sideways.”

As everyone began moving, talking through what needed to be packed and how to secure the base before leaving, you felt Sukuna’s hand brush yours lightly. When you looked up at him, his eyes were steady, unwavering.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked quietly, just for you.

You smiled softly and nodded. “I’m sure. We’ll make it through this, Sukuna. Together.”

Something flickered in his expression—something tender that he rarely let anyone see. He gave your hand a small squeeze before pulling away to bark orders at Gojo, who was trying to sneak extra snacks into the supply bags.

You watched him work, the leader everyone trusted, and your heart swelled with pride.

The day stretched on as preparations fell into a steady rhythm. The group moved with quiet purpose, packing essentials and double-checking supplies. You busied yourself with securing the last of the gear, tying packs and testing straps to ensure nothing would fall apart mid-journey.

Sukuna stood nearby, inspecting weapons with Suguru, his sharp gaze flicking up every so often to survey the group. Even when he wasn’t looking directly at you, you could feel his watchful presence—an unspoken assurance that he was there, keeping everything in check.

By sunset, everyone gathered in the common area, the weight of what lay ahead settling heavily over the group. There was little need for unnecessary chatter now; everyone understood the stakes.

Sukuna’s voice broke the silence, steady but quieter than usual. “We leave at dawn. Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

Gojo stretched dramatically, letting out an exaggerated groan. “Ugh, dawn? You’re cruel, Sukuna.”

“You’ll live,” Sukuna replied flatly, though the faintest smirk tugged at his lips.

Nanami rolled up the map carefully before tucking it into his pack. “I’ll set an early alarm to make sure we’re ready. We can’t afford delays.”

As the group began to disperse, you lingered, tightening the straps on your pack for what felt like the tenth time. Sukuna caught the motion and stepped toward you, his footsteps deliberate and quiet.

“You’re overpacking,” he muttered, eyeing the weight of your bag.

You glanced up at him with a small smile. “I just want to make sure we’re covered.”

Sukuna huffed a quiet breath, his tone gentler than before. “We’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”

His confidence was comforting, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The dim light of the setting sun filtered through cracks in the walls, casting a soft glow over his features. In that moment, he looked less guarded—his edges softened, revealing a side of him few ever saw.

“You’re not nervous?” you asked softly.

Sukuna tilted his head slightly, considering your question. “Not nervous. Just… aware.” He paused, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting yours again. “It’s a big risk, leaving what we’ve built here. But if there’s even a chance at something better…”

You nodded, understanding his unspoken hesitation. “It’s worth trying.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod before his gaze fell on your pack again. Without a word, he stepped forward and started loosening one of the straps you’d tightened too much.

“Sukuna, what—?”

“You’re going to hurt yourself carrying this much weight,” he said with quiet authority, crouching slightly to sift through the contents of your bag. He pulled out a few unnecessary items, including an extra water bottle and a bulky flashlight, setting them aside with a quiet shake of his head. “Relax.”

You blinked at him, surprised. “You’re fussing.”

He paused, shooting you a look that was equal parts glare and amusement. “Shut up.”

You couldn’t help but grin, warmth blooming in your chest at his uncharacteristically soft gesture. When he finished, he straightened and looked down at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, it seemed like he might say something more, but instead, he rested his hand lightly on your shoulder.

“Get some sleep,” he said quietly. “I’ll keep watch tonight.”

“You’re always keeping watch,” you replied, your voice just as soft.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his tone steady and reassuring.

He gave your shoulder one last squeeze before stepping back, his touch lingering in your thoughts as much as on your skin.

“Goodnight,” you murmured, lingering for just a moment longer.

“Night,” Sukuna replied, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver through you.

As you headed toward your room, you glanced back. Sukuna stood by the window, staring out at the darkening sky. His broad frame was silhouetted by the last traces of light, his posture steady and resolute—like a shield against whatever was coming.

For all the uncertainty ahead, one thing was clear: you weren’t in this alone.

The room was still cloaked in darkness when a gentle hand shook your shoulder. Groggily, you blinked awake, the faint silhouette of Sukuna coming into focus above you.

“Time to go,” he murmured softly, his voice unusually tender.

You nodded, wiping the sleep from your eyes as you pushed yourself upright. Sukuna crouched by the bed, watching you with an unreadable look in his crimson eyes. It wasn’t like him to linger like this, and the way his gaze flickered—uncertain, almost hesitant—told you there was something on his mind.

“What is it?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sukuna exhaled, running a hand through his hair before dropping it to his knee. “Listen… before we go out there, I need you to promise me something.”

You tilted your head, now fully awake and focused on him. “What kind of promise?”

He shifted closer, his expression serious, but there was something softer about him in this moment. “If things go south… if anything happens, you come with me. No matter what. You stick with me—understand?”

“Sukuna…”

“I mean it,” he cut in, his voice firmer this time, though not harsh. “Don’t try to be a hero. Don’t run off to help someone else first. You come with me.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he kept going, the words tumbling out faster now, like he was afraid you’d stop him.

“I know you’re strong,” he said, his tone steady but raw. “I know you can handle yourself. You’ve proved that over and over. But this isn’t about how capable you are.”

He paused, his jaw tightening as his gaze dropped for a brief moment before meeting yours again. “I can’t lose you,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost fragile. “Not you.”

The vulnerability in his words tugged at your chest, and for a moment, all you could do was look at him—this man who’d spent so long guarding himself, now laying it all bare in front of you.

“Sukuna,” you whispered softly, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He started to speak again, as if he still wasn’t sure he’d made himself clear, but you silenced him by leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. His words faltered as he stilled, taken off guard, before his hands came up to gently cup your face, deepening the kiss just slightly.

When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, your hands curling lightly around his wrists. “I’m not going anywhere,” you murmured. “I promise.”

He stared at you for a moment, his crimson eyes searching yours, as if to make sure you meant it. Finally, he let out a small, shaky breath, his hands lingering against your skin like he didn’t want to let go.

“You’re too good at shutting me up, you know that?” he muttered, but there was no bite in his tone—only warmth.

You grinned softly, brushing your thumb across one of the callouses on his hand. “Someone has to keep you from overthinking.”

Sukuna huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head before leaning in to kiss you once more—this time slower, gentler, like he was memorizing the feel of you before the day ahead.

When he pulled back, his thumb traced along your jaw, his voice soft as he spoke. “I know you’re not afraid. And I know you’ll fight like hell out there if you have to. But promise me you’ll let me protect you when it counts.”

“I promise,” you said, your voice steady and sure.

Satisfied, Sukuna stood and extended a hand to you, his gaze still holding yours. “Come on,” he said quietly, helping you to your feet. “Let’s get this over with.”

As you followed him to the door, you felt his hand settle against your lower back, a quiet reassurance that he was there. Whatever the day held—whatever the world outside threw at you—you knew one thing for certain.

You weren’t in this alone. And neither was he.

The common room was alive with quiet activity when you and Sukuna entered. The group moved in practiced motions—securing packs, checking weapons, and mentally preparing for the journey ahead.

Gojo was by his bag, cramming even more food into its already overstuffed frame. A loaf of bread jutted out of one pocket, while an entire bag of dried fruit threatened to burst another seam. He hummed quietly, clearly in his own world, as he tried to wedge a jar of honey on top of it all.

Sukuna, spotting the chaos, strode over with purposeful steps. Without a word, he smacked Gojo lightly on the back of the head.

“Ow! What was that for?” Gojo grumbled, rubbing the back of his head as he turned to face him.

“You’re overpacking,” Sukuna said flatly, crouching down and unzipping Gojo’s bag. His hands moved swiftly, pulling out items one by one—a jar of pickles, a deck of cards, and yet another loaf of bread.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Gojo protested, grabbing for the deck of cards. “That’s important! What if we get bored?”

“Then you can count how many times I’ve saved your ass,” Sukuna shot back, shoving the cards onto the table.

As Gojo launched into an impassioned defense of each item’s “essential value,” you crouched beside Shoko, who was cross-legged on the floor near the corner. She was surrounded by an array of medical supplies, organizing her kit with her usual calm precision.

Shoko glanced up as you approached, her eyes narrowing slightly before she gave a small, knowing smirk. “You ready for this?” she asked, her tone light but her gaze sharp.

You helped her tuck a few spare bandages into the corners of her overstuffed med kit. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” you said with a small shrug. “What about you?”

“Always am,” she replied casually, though her expression softened just slightly as she glanced at you. “Don’t let them push you too hard out there. Especially him.” She jerked her chin toward Sukuna, who was now pulling yet another item—what looked like a full bag of candy—out of Gojo’s bag.

You chuckled softly. “He’s not that bad.”

Shoko arched a brow, clearly unconvinced, but her smirk lingered. “Sure. Just remember to look out for yourself too. Even the great Sukuna Ryomen can’t see everything.”

Her words held an odd warmth, a rare expression of her care in her typically sarcastic manner. You gave her a faint smile and nudged her lightly. “I’ll be fine. And I’ll keep an eye on you too.”

Shoko huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she zipped her med kit shut. “You’d better.”

Straightening, you glanced over and noticed Sukuna was done with Gojo, who now looked dejectedly at his significantly lighter bag. Sukuna had moved to the table with Nanami and Geto, his sharp focus now on the map spread before them.

“What’s the update?” Sukuna asked, his tone cutting through the ambient murmurs.

Nanami straightened, his hand resting on the edge of the table. “We’ve mapped out a route. Three days if we push through steadily, but the open stretches will leave us vulnerable.”

Geto nodded, tracing a longer, winding trail on the map with his finger. “There’s an alternate route with more cover—woods, small towns—but it’ll take five days, minimum.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened as he studied the map, the weight of the decision clearly etched into his features. “We’ll stick with the shorter route. We’ll be exposed, but we’ll move faster.”

Sukuna’s eyes remained fixed on the map for a moment longer, his fingers lightly tracing the marked route. He exhaled through his nose, the sound low and decisive, before straightening. His sharp crimson gaze lifted from the map, sweeping over the group with an authority that commanded immediate attention.

“Ten minutes,” he said, his tone firm but measured. “Make sure you’re ready to move. We’re not leaving anything behind.”

The room buzzed with renewed energy as everyone went back to their tasks. You grabbed your pack and double-checked its contents—water, food, a small med kit Shoko had prepared, and a few personal items you’d managed to keep over the months. It felt heavy on your back, but the weight was nothing compared to the uncertainty churning in your chest.

As you tightened the straps, Sukuna appeared beside you, his presence as steady as ever. His expression was unreadable, but his crimson eyes held a flicker of something softer as they met yours. “You good?” he asked quietly.

You glanced up at him, offering a small, reassuring smile. “Yeah. Just… nervous, I guess.”

His hand brushed lightly against your lower back—a small, comforting touch that spoke louder than words. He leaned in slightly, his voice low and steady. “Don’t overthink it. You’re with me.”

That simple reassurance sent a wave of warmth through you, soothing your nerves. You nodded, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. “I know.”

Moments later, Sukuna gave the call to move out. The group assembled near the exit, weapons in hand and packs secured. Tension hung thick in the air, unspoken but shared by everyone. Without a word, you all stepped out into the dim, early morning light.

The world beyond your base stretched out in eerie quiet. Half-collapsed buildings loomed like hollowed-out skeletons, the streets littered with debris and rusted cars. It had once been home, but now it was nothing more than a shadow of what it used to be—a haunting reminder of the world you’d all lost.

Sukuna led the way, his steps steady and purposeful, his gaze razor-sharp as he scanned the surroundings. You walked beside him, glancing back occasionally to check on the others. Nanami stayed close to Shoko, who carried her bag of medical supplies, her expression calm but alert. Geto and Gojo took up the rear, their sharp eyes darting to every corner, watchful for any signs of movement.

The first few hours passed uneventfully, the silence broken only by the sound of footsteps crunching against gravel and the occasional groan of strained metal from the decaying city. But even in the stillness, an air of unease clung to the group. The open streets left you all feeling exposed, and every creak or shift of rubble sent a jolt of tension through you.

After a while, Sukuna’s voice cut through the quiet, low and meant only for you. “Stay close to me, alright?”

You glanced up at him, surprised by the sudden break in silence. “I am close to you.”

“Closer,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. “Just in case.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips, but you didn’t argue. Instead, you stepped closer to his side, matching his pace as you pressed forward. The proximity was reassuring, his presence a constant reminder that you weren’t alone.

The journey ahead was uncertain, and the message you’d heard on the radio left more questions than answers. But one thing you knew for sure: as long as Sukuna was by your side, and as long as you had each other, you could face whatever lay ahead.

Together, you would endure. Together, you would survive.

The day stretched on, the sun climbing higher into the sky and beating down on the cracked pavement and overgrown roads. The group moved in steady silence, speaking only when necessary. Sukuna’s presence beside you was a steady anchor—his movements deliberate, his sharp eyes scanning every shadow, every corner, like a silent promise that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

By midday, Nanami led the group into a wooded area just off the main road. The forest was dense, shadowy, and alive with the hum of insects and the rustle of unseen creatures. The air was cooler here, the canopy of leaves offering a welcome respite from the relentless sun.

Sukuna dropped his pack against a tree and motioned for everyone to take a quick break. “Fifteen minutes,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the stillness. “Drink water. Eat something if you need it. Then we’re moving again.”

You sank down against the rough bark of a nearby tree, taking a long sip from your water bottle. Sukuna sat beside you, his back straight, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his weapon as he scanned the woods. Even in this moment of relative calm, he was alert, his crimson eyes flickering between the shadows.

“Do you ever relax?” you teased, nudging his boot lightly with yours.

He snorted, his gaze flicking to you briefly before returning to the treeline. “Not when I’ve got a reason to stay on edge.”

“Are you saying I make you paranoid?” you quipped, tilting your head with a small smile.

He didn’t answer right away, but when he did, his voice was quieter, softer. “You give me something to lose.”

The flutter in your chest was immediate, heat rushing to your cheeks as his words settled over you. Sukuna wasn’t one to express himself like this often, and when he did, it always left you breathless.

Before you could come up with a response, Gojo’s voice cut through the quiet. “Hey, you mind sharing that water over there?” His tone was unusually casual, but you could see he was already scheming something.

You sighed, passing him your bottle as he exaggerated a grateful sigh. “You’re the best,” he said with a grin, taking a swig before handing it back.

Nearby, Geto and Nanami leaned against a tree, their voices low as they talked.

“Do you remember the last time we came through a stretch like this?” Geto asked, glancing up at the canopy of trees.

Nanami nodded. “Yeah. Quiet like this feels worse than noise sometimes.”

Geto hummed in agreement. “Easier to spot movement in the open, though. Less chance of surprises.”

“True,” Nanami said, adjusting his glasses. “But surprises don’t always come from the environment.”

Geto smirked faintly, catching the subtle jab. “You still mad about that time Gojo wandered off?”

“Mad?” Nanami’s tone was dry. “No. Prepared for him to do it again? Always.”

Their conversation drew a quiet chuckle from you, the easy camaraderie between the two a welcome distraction. It was moments like these that reminded you why the group worked so well together—they balanced each other out.

Meanwhile, Shoko sat cross-legged a few feet away, unwrapping a snack from her bag. Gojo’s attention immediately zeroed in on her food.

“Shoko,” he called sweetly, inching closer. “You wouldn’t happen to want to share that, would you?”

She didn’t even look up. “No.”

“Oh, come on,” Gojo whined, reaching out as if to grab it.

Without hesitation, Shoko raised her hand and smacked his away. “Touch it, and you lose that hand.”

Gojo gasped theatrically, clutching his heart. “How could you be so cruel?”

“You have so much food in your bag,” Shoko deadpanned, raising an unimpressed brow.

“Had,” Gojo corrected, dramatically pointing at Sukuna. “Until he decided to lighten my load.”

Sukuna, who had been observing the exchange with mild amusement, crossed his arms. “If I didn’t, you’d be dead from exhaustion. You packed like the trip was going to take a month.”

The group erupted into quiet laughter, the tension lifting as the banter rippled through the clearing. Even Sukuna’s lips twitched with the faintest hint of a smile.

Shoko smirked, finally taking a bite of her snack. Then, with a small, unexpected gesture, she held it out to Gojo. “Here.”

Gojo’s face lit up like a kid on Christmas. “I knew you had a heart, Shoko!” He took a bite happily, earning an exasperated sigh from her.

“Don’t make me regret it,” she muttered, shaking her head, but there was a faint smile on her lips.

The lighthearted moment settled over the group, easing some of the tension from the day. For a fleeting second, it almost felt normal—like the world outside these woods wasn’t crumbling, like you were all just friends on a casual outing.

The day stretched on, the sun climbing higher into the sky, beating down on the cracked pavement and overgrown roads. The group moved in steady silence, speaking only when necessary. Sukuna’s presence beside you was a steady anchor—his movements deliberate, his sharp eyes scanning every shadow, every corner, like a silent promise that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

By the time the sun began to set, Nanami led the group to an abandoned gas station on the outskirts of what looked like a small, ruined town.

“This is as far as we go tonight,” Nanami said as he surveyed the area. “We’ll set up here, take turns on watch.”

Geto and Gojo took the lead, entering the gas station first to ensure it was clear. It didn’t take long before they gave the all-clear, allowing the rest of the group to enter. The gas station was grimy and smelled faintly of mildew, but it was shelter—four walls, a roof, and a place to sleep that wasn’t exposed to the elements.

Sukuna himself would stand guard outside, taking first watch as always.

Inside, the group began settling in. Shoko found some makeshift blankets in the backroom, handing them out to whoever needed them, while Nanami quietly discussed the watch schedule with Geto. The air was heavy with exhaustion, but there was a subtle undertone of relief in having made it through another day.

You dropped your pack in a corner and set up a small space to sleep, but your thoughts remained on Sukuna. Even as the group moved about the room, settling into their makeshift beds, your focus lingered on the door. You couldn’t relax—not entirely—knowing Sukuna was out there, keeping watch alone.

It wasn’t until hours later, when the gas station had fallen silent, that you heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching. Sukuna’s tall silhouette appeared at the doorway, the moonlight casting a faint glow on his face as he entered. His movements were quiet, deliberate, though the weariness in his frame was impossible to miss.

The moment you saw him, you didn’t hesitate. Sitting up from your spot, you reached for him, your voice soft as you beckoned him closer. “Come here.”

Without a word, Sukuna dropped down beside you, settling himself against the wall with a low, tired sigh. You didn’t give him a chance to protest or brush off his exhaustion. Instead, you immediately nestled into his side, tucking yourself gently against him.

“Get some rest,” you murmured, your voice tender as you rested your head against his shoulder. “You deserve it.”

Sukuna didn’t resist. His arm came up to wrap around you, pulling you closer as if it was the most natural thing in the world. His fingers traced absent patterns against your arm, his sharp eyes flickering briefly toward the others to ensure everything was as it should be. Only then did he allow himself to relax.

The world outside was cruel and unpredictable, but here, wrapped in the quiet comfort of Sukuna’s warmth, it felt just a little safer. His presence grounded you, a reminder that no matter what the next day brought, you’d face it together.

For now, in this fleeting moment of peace, it was enough.

The group rose with the first light of dawn, the orange-pink hues of the sunrise spilling through the broken windows of the gas station. Nanami was already awake, his map spread out on the counter as he quietly calculated their next steps. Geto leaned over his shoulder, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, occasionally pointing out alternate routes. Shoko sat cross-legged on a worn-out chair, sipping something lukewarm from a tin cup, her med kit already packed and resting by her feet. Meanwhile, Gojo lounged nearby, fiddling with a piece of twine he’d found, trying (and failing) to fashion it into a slingshot, much to his own amusement.

Sukuna was the last to wake, but not on his own. You were still half-asleep yourself, head resting on his shoulder after a night of shared warmth. He hadn’t stirred once during the night, his even breathing a steady comfort against the chaos outside. As you blinked yourself awake, the golden light spilling into the room illuminated his face, softened by sleep in a way you rarely got to see.

Your gaze lingered for a moment, guilt settling in your chest. He had been carrying so much—keeping watch, leading, protecting. He needed the rest more than anyone. But the day was calling, and you knew the group couldn’t wait much longer.

You lifted your head from his shoulder and placed a gentle hand on his stomach, giving him a soft shake. “Sukuna,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the quiet rustling of the others. “It’s time to go.”

His brows furrowed slightly at first, his body instinctively resisting the pull of consciousness. But after a moment, his crimson eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with a hazy focus. For a second, he didn’t say anything, just blinked at you as if grounding himself in the moment.

Then, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his voice low and gravelly from sleep. “Alright.”

You offered him a soft smile, pulling back to give him space to sit up. He rolled his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair before rising to his feet with practiced ease. Around you, the rest of the group was already moving with purpose—packing, checking gear, and preparing for the day ahead. Sukuna, however, lingered a moment, his eyes scanning the room before settling on you again.

“Let’s get moving,” he said quietly, his tone steady but gentle as he reached for his pack. And with that, the day began, the group falling into rhythm once more under Sukuna’s watchful guidance.

By the time the sun fully crept over the horizon, the group was packed and moving again. The weight of the journey was palpable, and everyone was more focused as the hours stretched on. The empty highways gradually gave way to rural roads lined with skeletal trees and patches of wild grass, their uneven crunch underfoot the only consistent sound.

By midday, the group came across an abandoned farmhouse nestled at the edge of a sprawling field. The structure was mostly intact—shattered windows and weather-worn wood hinting at its age—but it was isolated and quiet, offering a moment of reprieve.

Geto and Gojo took the lead, sweeping the farmhouse to ensure it was clear. It didn’t take long for them to give the all-clear, and the group filed in. Sukuna remained just outside, his sharp gaze sweeping over the horizon as he stood guard.

“This will do,” Nanami said, surveying the inside of the house. “We’ll rest here for now.”

Inside, everyone quickly settled into their tasks. Shoko rummaged through a dusty kitchen drawer, unearthing an old, rusted first-aid kit with a satisfied huff, while Gojo poked around the pantry in search of something edible.

You found yourself brushing cobwebs off the mantle of a fireplace, eyes flitting to the window every so often. Sukuna’s presence just beyond the porch felt like a tether, grounding you even as the day’s tension lingered in your chest.

Sukuna stepped inside shortly after, his heavy boots creaking against the old wooden floor. He walked straight to you, his brow furrowed. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

You turned to him, offering a small smile. “You’ve asked me that a lot today.”

His lips twitched into the faintest smirk. “Can’t help it. You’ve got a knack for finding trouble.”

You scoffed, warmth blooming in your chest. “I’ll remind you I’ve saved your ass a few times now.”

Before Sukuna could respond, distant footsteps reached your ears, and the air in the room shifted. Instantly, everyone stilled, their movements halted as their senses sharpened. Sukuna’s hand instinctively went to his weapon, his crimson eyes narrowing as he exchanged a glance with Geto.

The group moved quickly, gathering near the front of the house with weapons drawn. The footsteps grew louder, and it wasn’t long before figures appeared on the horizon—four or five, their postures tense, weapons glinting faintly in the sunlight.

“Humans,” Geto murmured, his voice barely audible.

“That doesn’t mean friendly,” Nanami said, his jaw tight as he positioned himself near the door.

The figures stopped about twenty feet from the house, one of them stepping forward and raising a hand in what seemed to be a gesture of peace. “We don’t want trouble,” the man called out. “Just looking for supplies.”

“Keep moving,” Sukuna barked, stepping forward onto the porch. His voice was sharp, commanding, leaving no room for negotiation.

The man hesitated, glancing back at his group. “Look, we’re not here to—”

“Don’t take another step,” Sukuna cut him off, his weapon glinting in the faint light as he raised it slightly. “I’m not saying it again.”

The tension in the air was electric, every muscle in your body coiled as the strangers deliberated. Finally, after a long pause, the man nodded. “Alright. We’re leaving.”

The group of strangers retreated, their movements stiff and reluctant, but they didn’t look back. Sukuna stayed on the porch, watching them until they disappeared completely from sight. Only then did he lower his weapon and step back inside.

You were waiting for him, your arms crossed but your expression soft. “You didn’t have to be so scary, you know.”

Sukuna shot you a look, his crimson eyes still blazing. “You think I’m going to take chances? Especially with you around?”

Your breath caught at the quiet intensity in his words. He stepped closer, his gaze searching yours, and you felt the weight of his protectiveness settle between you.

“I mean it,” he said softly, his voice quieter now. “I’m not losing you.”

The raw vulnerability in his tone made your chest tighten, and you reached out, slipping your hand into his. Giving it a gentle squeeze, you replied, “You’re not losing me. Not now, not ever.”

His grip tightened briefly before he nodded, releasing a small, relieved exhale. “Let’s secure this place,” he said, his voice gruff but softer now.

As you followed him through the farmhouse, the tension from earlier began to fade. Sukuna’s steady presence at your side reminded you that, no matter what this world threw at you, you wouldn’t face it alone.

As night fell, the group gathered in the living room around a small fire crackling in the fireplace. Its warm glow danced on the walls, softening the room’s grim edges. Gojo, never one to let a heavy mood linger, leaned back against the wall with his usual smug grin.

“Well,” he began, flicking a glance at Sukuna, “I’d say we handled that pretty well. Didn’t even need to waste any ammo. Nice job, boss.” He gave an exaggerated wink, clearly fishing for a reaction.

Sukuna ignored him entirely, his crimson eyes fixed on the fire, his arm resting casually on the back of the couch where you sat perched. His body angled slightly toward you, his presence steady and grounding.

Shoko rolled her eyes but smirked faintly as she leaned back against the wall. “Let’s just hope they don’t come back with reinforcements.”

“They won’t,” Sukuna stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. The finality of his words seemed to settle the matter.

Nanami, seated at the far end of the room, was hunched over the map, his brow furrowed in thought. Geto stood beside him, gesturing to something on the paper. Their low murmurs filled the lulls in conversation as they discussed potential routes and what lay ahead.

“Tomorrow’s another early start,” Nanami announced eventually, his sharp gaze lifting to sweep over the group. “The farmhouse is a good stop, but it’s too exposed. We’ll need to move at first light.”

There were murmurs of agreement, but the tension began to ease as the conversation shifted.

Geto launched into an outrageous story about a prank war between all of them during their college days. The schemes were both elaborate and ridiculous: Shoko’s chair was saran-wrapped until she couldn’t use it, Nanami’s carefully organized notes were swapped out for pages covered in absurd doodles, and Sukuna’s jacket had been rigged to release an explosion of glitter when he grabbed it, leaving him fuming as everyone else howled with laughter.

Shoko’s revenge was methodical, hiding alarm clocks throughout their dorm to blare at odd hours, while Nanami’s retaliation was subtle yet sharp—he salted Gojo’s coffee just before an important presentation, leaving Gojo spluttering in front of the class. Even Sukuna had joined in, stuffing Shoko’s favorite pastries with wasabi, prompting days of silent glares and thinly veiled threats.

The prank war culminated in chaos when Gojo and Geto teamed up to flip Sukuna’s entire dorm room upside down, duct-taping the furniture to the ceiling in a masterpiece that left the rest of the group cackling while Sukuna plotted revenge.

Gojo was now sprawled out on the floor, laughing so hard he was nearly gasping for air, his hand slapping the ground in a steady rhythm. Shoko, her head tilted back against the wall, groaned dramatically, clearly remembering the chaos of those days, but the faint, amused smirk on her face betrayed her fondness for the memories. Nanami let out a rare chuckle, shaking his head as he thought back to the sheer absurdity of being caught in the crossfire so many times, his ever-composed demeanor no match for the group’s relentless antics.

The laughter was infectious, spreading through the room like wildfire. Sukuna, usually composed and stoic, let out a deep, rumbling laugh, his sharp features softening as his hand briefly covered his face in an attempt to smother the sound. It was so unexpected, so unguarded, that you couldn’t help but laugh even harder, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably as warmth bloomed in your chest.

Without thinking, you leaned into Sukuna, seeking the comfort of his solid presence. His arm slipped around you instinctively, pulling you closer as though it were second nature. The heat of the fire and the gentle weight of his arm wrapped around you created a cocoon of warmth that made the outside world feel like a distant memory.

As the laughter began to fade and the fire’s crackles filled the quiet room, Sukuna’s hold on you didn’t waver. His fingers brushed lightly against your arm, a subconscious gesture that spoke of comfort and connection. You tilted your head slightly, catching the last remnants of his rare smile before his features returned to their usual sharp focus.

Eventually, the fire burned low, and the group began to settle down for the night. Blankets and makeshift beds were laid out across the living room and adjoining rooms, everyone finding their place to rest. You grabbed a blanket of your own, your eyes scanning the room before slipping upstairs to check for anything salvageable.

In one of the smaller bedrooms, you found it—a dusty but intact bedframe with a mattress. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping on the floor. Smiling to yourself, you headed back downstairs.

You approached Sukuna, who was still seated on the couch, watching the group with his usual keen intensity. Gently, you touched his arm to catch his attention.

“Come with me,” you said softly, motioning toward the stairs.

He raised a brow but followed without a word, his broad frame silent as he ascended behind you. When you led him into the small room and gestured toward the bed, his expression shifted from curiosity to something almost incredulous.

“What is this?” he asked, his tone edged with confusion.

You smiled, nudging him toward the bed. “You deserve a bed. It’s not much, but it’s better than the floor.”

For a moment, Sukuna just stared at you, his crimson eyes unreadable. Then, slowly, his gaze flicked to the bed, and he huffed a quiet breath, the faintest trace of a smirk ghosting across his lips. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You shrugged, your grin widening as you moved to drape the blanket over the mattress. “Maybe.”

Sukuna crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe as he watched you work. There was something softer in his expression now—an almost reluctant gratitude that he didn’t voice, but you could see it in the way his shoulders relaxed.

When you finished, you turned back to him and patted the edge of the bed. “Go on. You need rest more than anyone.”

He rolled his eyes but stepped forward, sitting heavily on the mattress. The bed creaked faintly under his weight, but it held firm. With a quiet sigh, Sukuna leaned back, his crimson eyes meeting yours. “You’re staying too.”

It wasn’t a question, and you didn’t argue. Instead, you climbed onto the bed beside him, settling under the blanket as he lay back with one arm behind his head. The bed was small, and the proximity sent a soft warmth blooming in your chest.

For a while, the two of you lay in comfortable silence, the faint creaks of the old house and the distant chirping of crickets the only sounds. Then Sukuna turned his head slightly, his gaze finding yours in the dim light.

“You don’t have to do all this,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “You deserve the bed more than me.”

You shook your head, smiling softly. “You’re always looking out for everyone else. Someone has to look out for you too.”

Sukuna’s expression softened, a rare vulnerability flickering across his features. Without a word, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. The tender gesture made your chest ache in the best way.

“I don’t think I say it enough,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, like he was laying down armor he rarely took off. “But you mean a lot to me.”

Your chest swelled with warmth, and a soft, happy laugh escaped your lips as you tilted closer. “You’ve been saying it in your own way,” you whispered, your nose brushing against his. “But I don’t mind hearing it out loud.”

His mouth curved into a faint, lopsided smirk, but the look in his eyes was nothing but earnest. “I guess I could get used to saying it,” he muttered, his tone softer now, almost teasing.

You grinned, your hand resting lightly against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “Good,” you replied, your voice equally soft.

Sukuna didn’t respond with words this time. Instead, he dipped his head and kissed you—a slow, deliberate kiss that felt like both a promise and a confession. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his warm breath mingling with yours in the quiet.

“Don’t ever forget it,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that made your chest tighten in the best way.

As you settled into the circle of his arms, his hand resting securely on your waist, you allowed yourself to close your eyes, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek lulling you into a peaceful calm. With Sukuna’s quiet strength wrapped around you, the world outside felt just a little less daunting.

The group was already gathered in the living room, their gear stacked neatly by the door. The air was tense but focused, each person making final checks on their supplies. Shoko adjusted the strap on her med bag with practiced ease, while Geto leaned over the map spread out on the table, marking alternate routes and murmuring quietly with Nanami about possible contingencies.

As you and Sukuna entered, Shoko glanced up, her sharp eyes catching the faint flush of sleep still on your face. Without a word, she reached into her bag and pulled out a small piece of bread, handing it to you with a casual smirk before tossing another to Sukuna.

“You’re both going to need the energy,” she said simply, her tone as dry as ever but her gesture undeniably thoughtful.

“Thanks,” you murmured, smiling softly as you accepted the bread. Sukuna caught his piece easily, giving her a brief nod of acknowledgment before taking a bite.

Nanami’s voice cut through the quiet hum of activity, bringing everyone to attention. “We need to move soon. The longer we wait, the harder this will be.”

The room stilled as Sukuna stepped forward, his commanding presence effortlessly drawing every gaze. His crimson eyes swept over the group, sharp and calculating. “You know the drill. We stick together—no splitting up unless it’s absolutely necessary. If we run into trouble, we fall back and regroup. Don’t take unnecessary risks. Got it?”

Everyone nodded, the gravity of his words settling over the room. Shoko slung her med bag over her shoulder, and Geto folded the map with a decisive motion, tucking it into his pack.

“Let’s move,” Sukuna ordered, opening the door and stepping into the cool morning air. The sky was a pale wash of orange and blue, the sun just beginning to crest the horizon. The crisp breeze carried a faint hint of dew and wild grass, a sharp contrast to the weight of the journey ahead.

The group moved in a tight formation, the familiar walls of the farmhouse fading behind you as the path stretched out into uneven terrain. The silence between everyone was broken only by the crunch of boots on gravel and the occasional quiet murmur of conversation. Sukuna walked slightly ahead of you, his broad frame cutting a steady, reassuring figure against the morning light.

As the hours passed, the sun climbed higher, its warmth pressing down on the group as the path grew more overgrown with weeds and debris. Sukuna glanced over his shoulder every so often, his crimson eyes scanning for threats but always flicking briefly to you as if to make sure you were still close.

When the sun was high in the sky, he raised a hand, signaling a stop. “Break,” he said firmly, his voice carrying over the group. Everyone eased onto whatever flat surface they could find—tree stumps, boulders, patches of grass—and began sipping water and pulling out small rations.

Sukuna settled next to you, his knees brushing yours as he leaned back on his hands. His gaze lingered on you, his sharp eyes softening slightly. “You’re quiet today,” he remarked, his voice low and almost tentative.

You glanced at him, offering a small smile. “Just thinking. About what we’re leaving behind, and what’s ahead.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “You worried?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “A little. It’s just… hard not knowing what we’ll find.”

His expression softened further, a rare moment of vulnerability slipping through his stoic exterior. “We’ll figure it out,” he said quietly, his voice steady and sure. “Together.”

The simplicity of his words, paired with the quiet strength in his tone, settled something in you. You leaned a little closer, letting your shoulder brush his as you whispered, “Thank you.”

Sukuna didn’t respond, but his presence remained a steady reassurance. When the break ended, he rose first, offering you a hand to help you up. The small gesture was unspoken but full of meaning, like so much of what he did.

As the group moved out again, you found yourself walking just a little closer to him, the weight of the journey ahead feeling a little lighter with his steady presence by your side.

As the group trudged along the overgrown road, Sukuna raised his hand in a silent command to stop. His deep voice cut through the quiet, steady and authoritative. “Five-minute break. Stay alert.”

Grateful for the pause, everyone settled into their own routines. Nanami leaned against a tree, unfurling the map to study the route ahead. Geto wandered a little further off, scouting the surroundings with a practiced eye. Shoko sat on a large rock, rummaging through her med kit and muttering to herself as she reorganized supplies. Meanwhile, Gojo flopped dramatically onto the ground, munching on a pilfered apple, his expression one of exaggerated exhaustion.

You dropped your pack with a relieved huff, rolling your shoulders to ease the tension. The weight had been nagging at you for the last stretch of the journey. Sukuna’s sharp eyes caught the movement immediately, and he crossed the short distance between you in a few long strides. Without a word, he stepped behind you and placed his hands firmly on your shoulders, his touch both surprising and steady.

“What are you—oh,” you started, but the words melted away as his thumbs pressed into the sore muscles at the base of your neck.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he worked at the tension in your shoulders. “You’re all knotted up. You’re gonna hurt yourself carrying all that weight.”

The relief was instant, and though you felt your cheeks flush, you couldn’t stop the small sigh that escaped you. His hands were rough but careful, the perfect combination of firm and gentle. “I’m fine, really,” you said, though your voice betrayed how much you were enjoying it.

“Sure you are,” he replied dryly. “Fine enough to wince every time you move. You’re not hiding it very well, y’know.”

You huffed but didn’t argue. The truth was, it felt too good to tell him to stop. His hands moved expertly over your shoulders and down to your upper back, kneading away the tension like he’d done it a hundred times before. You let out an involuntary sigh of relief, which earned a quiet chuckle from him.

“Feels better, doesn’t it?” Sukuna teased, his tone lighter but still warm.

“Okay, fine,” you admitted, glancing back at him. “You’re good at this.”

“Used to help my brother with this stuff,” he said casually, his hands never faltering. “He’d push himself too hard sometimes. Guess I got good at noticing when someone needs a break.”

The mention of his brother softened you, and you turned your head slightly to look at him more closely. His expression was calm, focused on what he was doing, but there was a tenderness in his touch that made your chest ache in the best way.

“Thanks,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t thank me,” he said, his eyes flicking down to yours. “Just don’t be stubborn about it next time.”

You rolled your eyes, though there was no heat behind it. “You’re the one being stubborn right now.”

He grinned faintly. “Yeah, well, I’m not the one who’s gonna be complaining tomorrow if I don’t fix this now.”

When he finally stepped back, you felt the loss of his warmth almost immediately. But then, Sukuna crouched down beside your pack, his hands already undoing the straps. “Let’s see what’s making this so damn heavy,” he muttered.

“You don’t have to—” you started, but he cut you off with a look that clearly said he wasn’t asking.

He pulled out a sweatshirt first, shaking his head. “You don’t need this.”

Next, a gardening book. “Or this.”

You crossed your arms, watching as he worked with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. Then, he paused, holding up a small deck of playing cards. His crimson eyes flicked to yours, one brow arching in disbelief. You recognized it instantly as the deck he’d confiscated from Gojo’s overstuffed bag before the trip.

“Seriously?” he asked, his tone hovering between incredulity and teasing.

You winced, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips. “Gojo’s good at convincing,” you admitted.

Sukuna snorted, shaking his head as he slipped the cards into the pile of discarded items. “You’ve been spending too much time with him. He’s rubbing off on you.”

“You’re just mad he beat you at cards last week,” you teased, unable to resist.

His eyes narrowed playfully, “Keep talking, and I’ll make you carry his bag next time.”

You couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips as his teasing melted into something warmer, his hands lingering on your shoulders for a moment longer. Then he stepped back, picking up your pack with ease.

“I’ll carry this for a bit,” he said, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Sukuna, I can—”

“No arguments,” he interrupted smoothly, his tone leaving no room for debate. “You’re no good to me if you’re falling behind because of a sore shoulder.”

You sighed, though the smile on your face betrayed how much his care meant to you. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re lucky I’m nice,” he quipped, his smirk turning playful as he gestured for the group to start moving again.

As you fell into step beside him, his steady presence made the long road ahead feel just a little easier to face. Moments like this reminded you that even in the chaos, there were still moments of warmth, humor, and quiet care worth holding onto.

The night was a shroud of darkness, the faint light of the crescent moon barely piercing the dense canopy above. The group moved cautiously along the narrow forest path, the distant rustle of leaves and eerie stillness pressing on your senses like a vice. Every step felt like a gamble, the weight of the silence almost unbearable.

Then, a distant but unmistakable sound shattered the stillness—a guttural moan carried by the wind, followed by the crunch of twigs snapping underfoot. It was faint at first, almost like a trick of the mind, but as it grew louder, there was no mistaking what it was.

Your pulse spiked. Ahead, Sukuna’s posture stiffened, his head snapping toward the sound. The groans multiplied, joined by the sickening squelch of feet dragging through the underbrush. The horde wasn’t just nearby—they were closing in.

Before anyone could react, they appeared. Shadows surged from the trees, pale, rotting faces catching the faint moonlight as their guttural snarls grew louder. Zombies. Dozens of them.

The group sprang into action, weapons drawn with the efficiency of survival instincts honed over months of living on the edge. You unsheathed your knife, your heart pounding as you fell into position beside Sukuna.

The undead swarmed like a wave, their twisted hands clawing at the air. Sukuna didn’t hesitate, his blade slashing through the nearest zombie with precision and power. Beside him, you dodged a lunging creature, your knife plunging into its temple with a sickening crunch.

Geto’s crowbar swung in a brutal arc, caving in the skull of a zombie while Gojo’s machete carved through the air with deadly speed. Shoko and Nanami worked seamlessly, clearing a path as they fought back-to-back.

But the numbers were overwhelming. For every zombie that fell, another seemed to emerge from the shadows, their grotesque forms relentless in their pursuit.

You barely had time to breathe as you sidestepped another attacker, its rancid breath brushing your face before you drove your knife upward into its jaw. The creature collapsed, but the sound of groaning and snapping branches told you there were more coming.

“They’re everywhere!” Shoko yelled, her voice strained as she swung her blade at an advancing zombie.

Nanami glanced around, his movements calculated as he crushed another skull. “We need to split—regroup later! We can’t hold them here!”

“No!” Sukuna snarled, his voice sharp as his knife slashed through another undead. “We stay together!”

“They’ll overrun us!” Nanami countered, his tone resolute even as his weapon struck another foe. “We regroup in two hours—this is the only chance!”

Sukuna’s crimson eyes flicked to you for a split second, hesitation flashing across his face before he relented. “Fine! Two hours, back here!”

The group split in a blur of motion, each pair darting in a different direction through the trees. Gojo and Geto broke off down one path, their movements fluid and efficient as they covered each other. Nanami grabbed Shoko’s arm, pulling her in the opposite direction as they vanished into the trees.

You barely had time to react before Sukuna’s hand found yours, his grip strong and unwavering as he pulled you forward. “Stay with me,” he growled, his voice low and urgent.

The two of you bolted into the forest, the snarls and groans of the undead growing louder behind you. Branches whipped at your face and arms, but you didn’t dare slow down. Sukuna’s hand was your lifeline, anchoring you as the world descended into chaos.

“Don’t fall behind,” he said, his tone sharp but protective.

“I’m not planning to!” you shot back, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you kept pace with him.

The forest seemed endless, each step a fight against the relentless pursuit of the horde. The stench of decay clung to the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. You could hear the zombies crashing through the underbrush, their grotesque snarls echoing around you.

Sukuna pulled you sharply to the right, ducking under a low-hanging branch as he led you into a dense thicket. “Here!” he hissed, crouching behind a fallen tree and pulling you down beside him.

Your chest heaved as you caught your breath, your knife still gripped tightly in your hand. Sukuna peered over the edge of the log, his sharp eyes scanning the darkness. The groans of the undead grew louder, the shadows shifting as the horde moved closer.

For a moment, all you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. Sukuna’s hand tightened around yours, his grip grounding you as the creatures came into view.

He leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper. “We’ll move when they pass. Stay quiet.”

You nodded, your pulse racing as you tried to steady your breathing. The zombies stumbled past, their rotting forms just feet away. The smell was overwhelming, and you fought the urge to gag as one of them paused, its hollow eyes scanning the area.

After a few tense moments, Sukuna let out a sharp exhale, his shoulders dropping ever so slightly, though his crimson eyes still flicked to the shadows. He turned to you, the tight line of his jaw easing only as his gaze found yours.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low but unshakable, a thin thread of worry laced beneath the surface.

You nodded, though your chest heaved from the adrenaline still surging through your veins. “Yeah. Are you?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, but the smear of blood streaking across his cheek and the jagged tear in his sleeve betrayed his words.

Your gaze dropped to the shallow cut on his arm. Instinctively, you reached out, brushing your fingers gently against it. “You’re hurt,” you said, your voice soft, concern cracking through your composure.

“It’s nothing,” Sukuna replied, his tone softening at the look in your eyes. But before he could reassure you further, the air around you changed.

The faint rustle of leaves exploded into chaos as snarls and guttural growls pierced the night. Heavy footsteps tore through the underbrush, and the trees seemed to shift and tremble as two zombies burst into view, their grotesque forms lurching toward you like predators zeroing in on prey.

Sukuna’s expression darkened, and he grabbed your arm, jerking you behind him as the first zombie lunged. His blade flashed in the moonlight, cutting through the creature’s skull with a sickening crunch. Without missing a beat, he spun, driving his boot into the chest of the second, shoving it back against a tree. But instead of crumpling, the creature let out a guttural snarl and surged forward with surprising strength. Sukuna’s blade came up just in time to block its clawed hand, the force of the strike reverberating up his arm. He shoved it back with a growl, stepping into its space and aiming a slash at its throat, but the zombie twisted unnaturally, avoiding the blow and slashing back with sharp, decayed claws.

The faint rustle of leaves had barely begun to settle when a third zombie appeared, bursting from the shadows like a predator springing its trap. It was on you before you even realized it, its grotesque form moving with an unnatural speed. The sheer force of its charge slammed into you, knocking you off your feet and driving you into the cold, hard ground.

The world spun as you landed with a bone-jarring impact, the breath punched from your lungs. Before you could even process what had happened, the zombie was on you, its decayed face inches away, snarling and snapping its jagged teeth like a rabid animal. Instinct took over, and your arms shot up, locking against its shoulders as you strained to hold it back.

The weight of its body bore down on you like a crushing tide. Its claws raked at your arms, shredding fabric and skin alike as it fought to overpower you. Pain flared hot and sharp, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins pushed it to the back of your mind.

Your mind raced, panic clawing at every nerve as you tried to push it away. The knife—it had been in your hand. Where was it now?

Your eyes darted wildly, searching the dim forest floor. There—it lay just a few feet away, glinting faintly in the moonlight. Desperation flared in your chest, and you shifted one arm to reach for it, your fingers trembling as they scraped against the dirt.

Panic clawed at you as the zombie snarled again, its grotesque face lunging closer. Its teeth snapped wildly, its hot, fetid breath washing over your face, shoulders, and neck. Every inch of you screamed in terror, but you shoved back against its shoulders with all your strength, your muscles trembling under the strain.

The zombie's teeth snapped closer, so close you could feel the heat of its breath against your skin. Its claws dug deeper into your arms, ripping at your flesh as it pushed harder, forcing your back to arch painfully against the ground.

Your fingertips brushed the hilt of the knife, but it wasn’t enough. The zombie snarled louder, the sound drowning out your frantic gasps.

“Sukuna!” you screamed, the raw, desperate cry tearing from your throat.

“I’m coming!” his voice roared from somewhere in the chaos, but the zombie’s weight bore down on you, blocking out everything else.

Terror surged through you as the creature’s jagged teeth lunged toward your shoulder. With a final, desperate push, your hand closed around the hilt of the knife.

Adrenaline exploded through your veins as you swung upward with everything you had. The blade plunged beneath the zombie’s jaw, slicing through decayed flesh and bone, the impact reverberating up your arm.

The zombie convulsed, its body jerking violently before going still. Dead weight collapsed on top of you, and for a moment, all you could do was stare into the sky, gasping for air as your trembling hands released the knife.

The world blurred as you gasped for air, your chest heaving. The stars above seemed to spin, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at the sky. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, so loud it drowned out everything else.

Am I even alive?

Before the thought could settle, the crushing weight was ripped away. Sukuna’s hands gripped your shoulders, and in one swift motion, he pulled you to your feet. The sheer force of his movements sent a jolt through your body, grounding you in the present.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, his voice a mix of fury and fear, his crimson eyes raking over you like he was afraid to find the answer.

You swayed slightly, your legs shaky beneath you, and his hands steadied you, his grip firm but not harsh.

Your chest heaved as you stared at him, dazed. Then you felt it—warm, wet, wrong.

Both of you froze, the world narrowing to the crimson stain blooming across your shoulder. Sukuna’s grip slackened, his hands trembling as his sharp, commanding gaze faltered. For the first time, the indomitable Sukuna looked powerless.

“No.” The denial came in a fractured whisper, as if spoken louder, it might shatter him entirely.

Your own hands trembled as you pressed them to the wound, your fingers slick with blood. The air caught in your throat as the weight of realization dawned. “Sukuna… I—”

“It’s nothing,” he cut you off, his voice biting yet unsteady. His crimson eyes darted to the wound, refusing to believe what he saw. “Just a scratch.”

“But what if it’s not?” you choked, tears slipping free as fear surged through you. “It only takes a minute, Sukuna—”

“Stop.” His hands latched onto your waist, his grip hard, desperate. “Don’t. Say. That.”

“You know it’s true.” Your voice cracked, splintering as the unspeakable hung between you like a death sentence.

“It’s been seconds!” he barked, shaking you slightly, his breath coming fast. “You’re fine. You’re going to be fine.”

You shook your head, the pulse in your ears drowning out everything but the countdown hammering in your mind. “You have to do it.”

His face went pale, his jaw locking. “What?”

“You have to kill me, Sukuna,” you whispered, your voice broken, pleading. “Before it’s too late.”

“No.” His denial came quick and brutal, a guttural snarl ripped from his chest. “Don’t you dare ask me for that.”

“Sukuna—”

“You won’t turn!” he shouted, his fury barely masking the crack of desperation in his voice. “It’s a cut. A goddamn cut!”

“But we don’t know!” you cried, your voice rising into a frantic pitch. “It only takes sixty seconds, and that thing—it was snapping at me! Its teeth were so close—”

“Stop!” he roared, his voice shattering the night air. “It didn’t bite you!”

“Twenty seconds,” you whimpered, your knees threatening to buckle. Panic clawed at you, its icy grip closing around your throat.

His hands fell to his sides, curling into fists so tight his knuckles turned white. His whole body shook as he struggled against the inevitability.

“Shut up!” His voice cracked, trembling with anguish. “You’re not—”

“Please!” you screamed, tears streaming freely now. “Sukuna, you have to save yourself! You have to do it! Please!”

“I CAN’T!” His voice erupted, a guttural cry of despair, raw and agonized. His entire body trembled as his hands reached for your face. His forehead pressed to yours, his breath hot and erratic. “You don’t get to ask me this,” he rasped, his voice barely audible. “I can’t—I can’t do it.”

“Thirty seconds.” The countdown fell like a hammer, each tick an agonizing reminder of what was slipping away.

Sukuna,” you choked out, your voice cracking. “Please—I don’t want to hurt you, Sukuna. I can’t… I can’t turn into one of them.”

“I’m begging you,” you whimpered, your voice breaking on every syllable. “Please… don’t let me turn into of them.”

His hands cupped your face tighter, his tears spilling unchecked as his resolve crumbled.

“Forty seconds,” you sobbed, clinging to him, clutching at his shirt like it was the only thing tethering you to the world. “Sukuna, please.”

His hands cupped your face tighter, his tears spilling unchecked as his resolve crumbled. For a moment, it seemed like he might hold on forever, refusing to let go.

His jaw tightened, his teeth gritting audibly as his hands fell away from your face. His body rigid as he turned his back to you. His shoulders trembled with the weight of his emotions, his breaths sharp and uneven.

“Sukuna,” you choked out, your voice cracking. “Please—”

He didn’t respond, his hand dragging through his hair as he paced a few steps forward. His movements were erratic, torn between rage and despair. When he finally stopped, his head dropped forward, his fists clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles turned white. The silence that followed was deafening.

Then, slowly, he reached for the gun at his hip.

Your heart raced faster as he turned back toward you, the weapon in his shaking hands. He raised it, the barrel glinting in the faint light as it pointed directly at you. His crimson eyes burned with anguish, his expression twisted in a way you had never seen before—raw, broken, and utterly lost.

“Sukuna,” you whispered, tears blurring your vision as you looked at him.

His hand trembled, the gun quivering in his grip. His jaw worked, but no words came, just the silent agony etched into every line of his face. You could see it—the war raging inside him, the impossible decision tearing him apart.

“Please,” you whispered again, your voice breaking.

His crimson eyes burned into yours, filled with anguish, rage, and something utterly broken. “Don’t make me do this,” he rasped, his voice low, raw, and trembling with emotion.

“Fifty seconds,” you whispered, your voice cracking as desperation took hold. Tears blurred your vision, but you held his gaze, silently pleading. “Please, Sukuna.”

The gun in his hands quaked, the barrel dipping before he forced it back up, his entire frame trembling under the weight of the decision. His finger hovered over the trigger, paralyzed, as his breaths turned shallow and uneven. His face twisted, the confidence you always saw in him splintering into fear and despair.

“Sixty seconds.”

The words hung in the air like a death knell. Everything froze—the wind, the trees, the very earth beneath you—as if the world itself was bracing for what would come next.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

Nothing.

Your chest heaved as you gasped for air, your heartbeat roaring in your ears. Your head snapped down to your shoulder, your hands clawing at the blood-soaked fabric as panic gave way to disbelief. Your trembling fingers probed the wound, and relief slammed into you like a tidal wave.

“It’s…” Your voice cracked, tears streaming down your face as a sob bubbled up from your chest. “I think it’s just a cut. Sukuna—it’s just a cut.”

His crimson eyes widened in stunned disbelief. The gun slipped from his grip, hitting the ground with a dull, final thud. His body gave out entirely, knees slamming into the dirt as his hands flew to his face. A guttural, broken sob ripped from his throat, raw and agonized, his shoulders shaking violently.

“Sukuna!” you cried, collapsing in front of him. Your hands, trembling with adrenaline and relief, cupped his face, pulling it away from his shaking palms. “I’m okay! Do you hear me? I’m okay! Look at me!”

His red-rimmed eyes met yours, hollow and haunted, like a man who had stared into the void and barely clawed his way back. “You can’t…” His voice broke, barely audible, a plea wrapped in heartbreak. “You can’t leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you,” you said, fierce and unyielding despite the tears that streamed down your face. Your forehead pressed to his as you whispered again, “I swear to you—I’m not leaving you.”

His arms shot out, wrapping around you with a desperation that made your breath hitch. He crushed you to him, burying his face in your neck as his body convulsed with shuddering breaths. His hold was fierce, as if he feared you might disappear if he loosened his grip.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words escaping him like a prayer. They were broken, raw, and vulnerable, trembling in the quiet air. “I love you so much. I can’t… I can’t lose you.”

Your breath caught, your heart breaking as you cupped his face again, pulling him back to meet your eyes. “I love you too,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. “I’m here. I swear, I’m here.”

His hands cradled your face now, his touch reverent as though he needed to feel you to believe you were still there. “I thought…” His voice cracked, his jaw trembling as he choked on the words. “I thought I lost you.”

“You’ll never lose me,” you whispered, your own voice breaking. “Not now. Not ever.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence between you heavy with unspoken promises. Then Sukuna’s lips brushed your temple, soft and trembling, a wordless thank you for still being there.

And in that moment, the world outside could burn, the apocalypse could rage—but in his arms, with his heartbeat pounding against yours, you knew you’d fight through hell to stay together. Two hearts, still beating—alive.

part three coming soon!

taglist: @mangiswig @glads-stuff @merv123 @pinkpookiebear @pookalicious-hq @anything4yoongi @perqbeth @ssetsuka @eggingamazinglove @sylussss7

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x fem!reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #💿 — solace seven works

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deliciousangelfestival · 8 months ago

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Bad Romance

Character: Lloyd Hansen x Ex-wife!Reader

Summary: On his dying breath, he made a choice: to seek refuge in the one place he still considered safe—his ex-wife's house.

Words Count: 4,089

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

As the raindrops pelted his face, each impact weighed down his eyelids, making them droop with exhaustion. With a muttered curse escaping his lips, he grumbled, "Fuck."

Tonight, he faced multiple betrayals, each cutting deeper than the last. His best friend, boss, team, agency—all had turned their backs on him, sacrificing him like a pawn in a game he no longer understood.

And for what? For all he had sacrificed and given, this was the thanks he received.

Dragging his feet through the sodden ground, he felt the weight of his exhaustion and pain bearing down on him like a leaden anchor. His body screamed for respite, for release from the torment that plagued him. But still, he pressed on, his gaze fixed on the faint light in the distance, a beacon of hope in the midst of the darkness.

His body language betrayed his struggle, his shoulders slumped with weariness, his movements labored and unsteady. Yet, he refused to yield to the darkness that threatened to consume him. He pushed forward with every ounce of determination, driven by a stubborn resilience that refused to be extinguished.

But as the rain continued to fall and the pain in his wound intensified, a chilling thought invaded his mind. "Is this how it ends? Alone, in the cold and the dark?" Finally, his strength gave out, his body surrendering to the inevitable embrace of unconsciousness.

🌅

As he slowly blinked open his eyes, he was greeted by a sudden burst of brightness, the sun's rays piercing through the whiteness that surrounded him. "Am I in heaven?" he murmured, his voice barely audible amidst the surreal scene.

His confusion deepened as he felt something wet against his hand. "What-" His words trailed off as he glanced down, his eyes widening in shock at the sight before him.

There, by his side, was a shepherd dog, its tail wagging eagerly as it gazed up at him with a warm, friendly smile. "I guess it's true, dogs go to heaven," he mused softly, his disbelief mingling with a flicker of amusement.

"Woof," the dog barked cheerfully, before bounding onto the bed beside him, its tongue lolling out as it showered him with affectionate licks. "Stop," he protested weakly, though a smile tugged at the corners of his lips despite himself.

Lloyd had never been particularly fond of dogs, but there was something about this canine companion that stirred a long-forgotten warmth within him. Memories of a puppy he once cared for flooded his mind, though it had been years since he had last thought of it.

Running his fingers through the dog's fur, he couldn't help but notice the striking resemblance it bore to that cherished pet from his past.

"You look like someone I knew," he murmured softly, a pang of nostalgia tugging at his heartstrings as he allowed himself to be comforted by the presence of his unexpected companion.

"He would be saddened if he understood what you just said. Don't you remember Choco?"

Lloyd's heart skipped a beat as her voice pierced the air, drawing his attention away from the dog and towards the source of the sound. Slowly, he turned around, and there she stood — the woman with whom he had once shared a lifetime.

His ex-wife.

You stood before him, holding a tray of food, your expression unreadable. Despite the years that had passed since he last laid eyes on you, you seemed unchanged. There was no trace of worry in your demeanor, only a cool detachment that sent a shiver down his spine.

Even now, after four long years since the finalization of their divorce, you remained a constant presence in his life, a reminder of all that he had lost. The years had not softened your gaze or dulled the edge of your resentment.

As he met your gaze, there was no warmth, no flicker of recognition in your eyes. Only a steely resolve that spoke volumes of the lingering animosity between them. At that moment, he realized that despite the passage of time, some wounds never truly healed.

Lloyd's voice broke the silence, filled with a hint of nostalgia and warmth. "It's really nice to see you, sunshine."

You responded with a dismissive "Hmph," setting down the tray of food and medicine beside him. As you observed him lying on the bed, a surge of conflicting emotions washed over you.

Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine having him back in your life, especially in such a vulnerable state. Four years ago, you had scrubbed every trace of him from your existence, convinced that you were better off without him.

But fate had a cruel way of intervening. Just last week, Choco's persistent barking had led you to investigate, eventually guiding you to the sight of your ex-husband sprawled in the mud, wounded and on the brink of death.

The sight had shocked you to the core, dredging up memories of the tumultuous past you had shared. His dangerous job, the reason you had chosen to walk away from him, now seemed to loom over you like a grim specter.

Seeing him alive, breathing, and smiling with that smug expression plastered across his face, you couldn't help but question yourself. Why did you save him? As you tended to his wounds, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions raged within you.

You couldn't help but let out a sarcastic remark, your tone laced with equal parts irritation and concern. "With who this time did you make trouble?"

Lloyd's reaction was immediate, his expression caught off guard by your directness. This was the woman he remembered, the one who could simultaneously infuriate and enthrall him. "A lot of people, pumpkin," he replied casually, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes at his response, unable to suppress a wry smile. "Always a troublemaker," you muttered under your breath, the familiarity of the exchange bringing a sense of deja vu.

"Yup. That's why you like me," Lloyd quipped back, a cocky grin spreading across his face as he attempted to lighten the mood.

You didn't dignify his remark with a response, instead choosing to focus on examining his wound. Gently raising his arm, you inspected the injury with practiced care, noting the signs of improvement with a sense of relief. "No more infection," you announced, your voice tinged with a hint of satisfaction.

As you continued your examination, Lloyd couldn't resist interjecting with a hint of pride in his voice. "Did you notice I've gained more muscles?"

You couldn't deny the subtle changes in his physique, resulting from his relentless pursuit of his dangerous profession. But you refused to acknowledge it aloud, knowing that it would only inflate his already sizable ego.

"How did you find out my place?" you questioned, a mix of curiosity and wariness in your voice.

Lloyd met your gaze squarely, his expression unapologetic. "I always check on you. Just in case," he replied casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

After the divorce, he had never truly let you out of his sight, a fact that both unsettled and infuriated you. It was as if he couldn't bear the thought of you moving on without him, even though your relationship had long since run its course.

But for Lloyd, the idea of you being with someone else was intolerable. He couldn't stomach the thought of you in another man's arms, couldn't bear the thought of someone else laying claim to what had once been his.

And so, he took matters into his own hands, using underhanded tactics to sabotage any potential suitors that crossed your path. From slashing tires to sabotaging work projects, he left no stone unturned in ensuring you remained single.

The mere thought of you with another man made him sick to his stomach, a bitter taste rising in his throat. But despite his best efforts to keep you all to himself, he knew deep down that he couldn't control your heart.

And yet, he couldn't help but cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe, you would come back to him in the end.

As Lloyd found himself teetering on the brink of death, his world collapsing around him, he felt a desperate longing for safety and solace. Betrayed by his team, abandoned by his friends, and hunted by the very agency he once served, he was left with nowhere to turn.

With each labored step, he struggled to keep moving forward, to escape the clutches of death that threatened to consume him. But amidst the chaos and despair, a flicker of recognition sparked within his subconscious, guiding him towards a beacon of hope in the darkness.

And then, as if by some miracle, he remembered you. Your address, your home—the one place where he knew he could find refuge, if only for a fleeting moment.

Driven by a primal instinct for survival, his body moved of its own accord, drawing him inexorably towards your doorstep. With each passing moment, the distance between them narrowed, until finally, he stood before your door, battered and broken but alive.

At that moment, as he reached for salvation, he clung to the faint hope that you would offer him sanctuary from the storm that raged within and without. For in the depths of his despair, he knew that he could find the peace and redemption he so desperately sought in your arms.

You let out a sigh, the weight of Lloyd's words sinking in. "Does that mean they knew about me?" you asked, your voice tinged with a hint of concern.

Lloyd shook his head firmly, his gaze unwavering. "No. I made sure nobody knew about you," he reassured you, his tone laced with conviction.

"Good," you responded with a nod, a sense of relief washing over you at his words.

You clapped your hands softly, calling Choco who still lay his head on Lloyd's lap. The loyal dog obediently jumped from the bed to be beside you, his presence a comforting presence in the room.

Lloyd's gaze shifted to the dog, who had grown significantly since the last time he saw him. "He's bigger," he remarked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"Staying out of town suits him," you replied, a faint smile playing at the corners of your lips as you remembered the countless arguments you and Lloyd had over the city life.

Lloyd nodded in understanding, a pang of guilt tugging at his conscience as he recalled the sacrifices you had made for him in the past.

You stood up, determination etched on your face. "I need to buy more medicine for you," you declared, your voice firm despite the underlying concern.

"Alright. And I'll be waiting for you," Lloyd replied, his tone filled with gratitude.

Before you left the room, you turned to him with a sense of urgency. "Your gun. It's inside the nightstand," you instructed, your words carrying a weight of responsibility.

Lloyd's eyes widened in surprise as he slowly maneuvered his body, wincing with each movement. With cautious hands, he opened the nightstand and discovered his gun, meticulously cleaned and reloaded, lying within.

In that moment, as he gazed at the weapon before him, he couldn't help but feel a surge of conflicting emotions. Despite the animosity that had defined their relationship, he couldn't deny the underlying care and concern that you still held for him.

And as you left the room, he couldn't help but wonder how someone could simultaneously hate and care for him so deeply. It was a paradox that he would never fully understand but one that he couldn't help but be grateful for in his darkest hour.

As Lloyd lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, a sense of profound gratitude washed over him. Despite the perilous path he had tread, he couldn't help but feel incredibly fortunate to be alive, to have been granted a second chance at life, and to have crossed paths with you once again.

In that fleeting moment of introspection, he couldn't help but wonder about the path not taken.

What if the two of you hadn't parted ways?

Would he have found solace and happiness in your embrace, surrounded by the warmth of your love and the companionship of Choco?

The thought lingered in his mind, a bittersweet reminder of his choices and the consequences that had ensued.

Perhaps things would have been different in another reality or in another lifetime. Perhaps he would have found the peace and contentment he desperately sought in your arms.

But as the painkiller coursed through his veins, enveloping him in a blanket of warmth and drowsiness. Exhausted, he succumbed to the pull of sleep once more.

🗡️

Lloyd stirred from his slumber, awakened not by pain but by the gnawing ache of hunger that clawed at his stomach. Slowly, he sat up, testing the limits of his body and finding that the pain had subsided to a dull ache.

With cautious movements, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing slightly as he eased himself into a sitting position. Gradually, he rose to his feet, testing his weight on unsteady legs until he found his balance.

As he ventured out of the room, his gaze wandered around the house, taking in the familiar furnishings and décor that adorned the space. It felt strangely comforting, like stepping into a memory from his past.

His eyes drifted to the photographs that adorned the walls, capturing moments of joy and laughter frozen in time. Each image seemed to tell a story, a testament to the life you had built for yourself after leaving him behind.

With a heavy sigh, he questioned the purpose of his existence and the futility of clinging to a past that no longer held any promise. What was the benefit of wallowing in self-pity, of longing for a life that could never be reclaimed?

As Lloyd made his way to the kitchen, he was greeted by a home-cooked meal waiting for him, prepared with care and accompanied by a note instructing him to simply microwave it.

When was the last time someone had gone to such lengths to provide him with a warm, comforting meal?

The question lingered in his mind as he heated the food and began to eat, savoring each bite as if it were a taste of long-forgotten bliss.

After finishing the last bite of food, Lloyd washed it down with a sip of water, his expression shifting from relaxed to serious as he surveyed the now-empty plates before him.

"At least you let me eat first," he murmured under his breath, a hint of resignation in his voice.

'Click.'

The sound of the gun echoed throughout the house, piercing the stillness of the moment. In the reflection of the fridge, Lloyd caught sight of Carmichael and Susan, their guns trained on him with steely determination.

With a wry smirk, Lloyd raised his hands in surrender, his gaze steady as he met their accusing stares.

"Really? You still have the confidence?" Susan's voice dripped with disdain, her finger twitching on the trigger.

Carmichael's voice was cold and calculating as he spoke, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Of all places, you choose to hide here?"

Lloyd's casual shrug belied the tension that hung in the air as Susan's voice cut through the silence once more. "You need to come with us," she demanded, her tone clipped and authoritative.

Lloyd's response was equally defiant. "What if I don't want to?" he challenged, his gaze locking with Carmichael's as he awaited their next move.

Carmichael's response was swift and to the point. "You have no backup," he stated matter-of-factly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Lloyd's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the revelation. "Really?" he quipped, a hint of skepticism.

Unable to contain her frustration any longer, Susan lashed out at Lloyd, her voice dripping with venom. "I'm going to laugh when you rot in jail—"

But before she could finish her sentence, she was interrupted by a sudden gust of wind that sliced through her left ear, followed by a searing pain that engulfed her cheeks and ears.

"Fuck," she cursed, her hand instinctively flying to her injured ear as she recoiled from the unexpected assault.

As Susan dropped to the ground, the suddenness of her descent caught everyone off guard. Carmichael's attention snapped to the shattered window, his instincts kicking in as he processed the situation instantly.

"A sniper," he concluded, his voice tense with urgency as he scanned the perimeter for any signs of danger.

Susan, still reeling from the shock of the attack, struggled to comprehend what had just transpired. "But how?" she gasped, her voice tinged with disbelief as she tried to make sense of the chaos around them.

Lloyd's smirk widened as he watched the realization dawn on Susan and Carmichael's faces. "Don't underestimate the owner of this house," he cautioned, his gaze flicking towards the framed photos on the wall.

Susan and Carmichael's eyes fell upon a woman adorned with a gold medal, the insignia of an Olympic shooting competition adorning the frame.

"Shit," they both muttered simultaneously, a sense of dread settling over them as they realized the gravity of their situation.

Carmichael turned to Lloyd, his disbelief palpable. "Her? You and her? Impossible," he exclaimed, his voice tinged with shock and skepticism.

But Lloyd's smirk remained, a silent testament to the unexpected ally that had come to his aid in his moment of need.

The contrast between you and Lloyd couldn't have been more stark, yet fate had a curious way of bringing opposites together. While you had earned your place at Harvard through your exceptional skill in shooting, Lloyd's prowess on the football field had secured his admission.

In the law class, the tension between you two was palpable, your conflicting personalities clashing like water and fire. Your debates were heated, your arguments fierce, yet beneath the surface, there lingered a begrudging respect for each other's abilities.

Despite the animosity that simmered between you, there was an unspoken understanding that if one of you needed help, the other would be there to lend a hand. It was a reluctant partnership born out of necessity, fueled by a mutual desire to succeed in a cutthroat environment.

As the years passed, the animosity softened into something resembling camaraderie, a grudging acknowledgment of the role you each played in the other's life.

In the end, despite your differences, you and Lloyd were bound together by a shared journey that neither of you could have predicted.

Lloyd raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his words laced with a mix of astonishment and resignation. "We're divorced, but still she cares for me," he remarked, a hint of disbelief coloring his tone.

'Bang.'

Another bullet pierced the air, embedding itself in the sofa with a resounding thud.

"Shit. She's going to blame me for this," Lloyd muttered under his breath, his expression clouded with frustration.

Susan's regret swelled within her, a knot forming in the pit of her stomach as she realized the gravity of their oversight. "Just kill him," she spat out, her voice tinged with desperation.

But Carmichael's voice cut through the chaos, his words ringing with authority. "No, the order is to bring him in alive," he declared, his tone unwavering in its resolve.

Lloyd, caught in the crossfire of their conflicting agendas, couldn't help but interject with a hint of sarcasm. "Stop fighting over me. I prefer to stay here," he quipped, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips despite the gravity of the situation.

Susan's hand trembled as she pointed the gun at Lloyd's forehead, her eyes blazing with a vengeful fury. "I've been waiting for this," she seethed, her voice laced with venom. "This time I'll blow your head off."

But before Susan could carry out her threat, she was overcome by a searing pain that radiated through her hand, causing her to cry out in agony.

'Bang.'

Another shot rang out, the bullet tearing through Susan's hand with brutal force, eliciting a guttural scream of pain from her lips.

As the smoke cleared, you appeared before them, armed and prepared, your presence commanding and formidable. Carmichael and Susan paled at the sight of you, realizing with dawning horror that they were outmatched and outgunned.

"You bring unnecessary problems, Lloyd," you stated coolly, your voice hinting at disappointment.

With guns and spare bullets adorning your body, you stood as a formidable barrier between them and your ex-husband, ready to protect him at any cost.

With a steely resolve, you stepped forward, your gaze unwavering as you assessed the situation before you. Despite the chaos and tension that hung in the air, you remained calm and composed, your mind calculating the best course of action to diffuse the volatile situation.

"Susan, Carmichael," you began, your voice firm but measured, "you have overstayed your welcome. It's time for you to leave."

Susan's hand throbbed with pain, her grip on the gun loosening as she recoiled from the intensity of the burn. Carmichael's expression was shock and disbelief, realizing their attempt to apprehend Lloyd had backfired spectacularly.

But you weren't interested in vengeance or retribution. Instead, you sought a peaceful resolution, one that would ensure the safety of everyone involved.

With a swift and decisive motion, you disarmed Susan and Carmichael, carefully removing their weapons and rendering them harmless. Despite their protests and threats, you remained steadfast, refusing to be swayed by their desperate pleas.

You held their gaze steadily, your voice unwavering as you addressed Susan and Carmichael. "I'm sure neither of you wants to die today. Just as I don't want Lloyd to die," you asserted, your tone firm but not without empathy.

Susan's eyes widened in realization, the gravity of the situation sinking in as she glanced between you and Lloyd. Carmichael's expression hardened, his jaw clenched in silent acknowledgment of the truth in your words.

Lloyd's smirk widened into a knowing smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he caught your subtle reference.

"Since he has to clean up the house first," you added with a playful wink, a hint of humor creeping into your tone.

Lloyd's smile broadened at your jest, a sense of relief washing over him as he realized you had everything under control.

"Leave," you commanded, your voice brooking no argument. "And don't ever come back."

Reluctantly, Susan and Charmichael complied, their defeat evident in their defeated expressions as they slunk away, their tails between their legs.

As Charmichael and Susan begrudgingly exited the premises, leaving behind a trail of tension in their wake. "You always manage to find trouble, don't you?" you remarked, a hint of exasperation in your tone.

Lloyd turned to you with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. He placed a comforting arm on your shoulder, seeking reassurance in the midst of uncertainty.

"No matter what, you still care for me, right?" he questioned, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

You met his gaze with a small, enigmatic smile playing at the corners of your lips. "In your dreams," you replied cryptically, words laced with affection and defiance.

With a swift motion, you brushed aside the sentimentality, your expression hardening as you turned away from him.

Lloyd watched you go, his arms crossed over his chest as he contemplated your retreating figure. Despite your dismissive words, he couldn't shake the feeling that beneath your tough exterior, there still lay a flicker of concern for him.

'Woof.'

The sound of Choco's bark brought Lloyd back to the present, the loyal dog appearing at his side with a comforting presence. Lloyd reached down to pet the dog's head, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Your mother is still a bad liar," he remarked with a chuckle.

#lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen imagine #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen x you #dark!lloyd hansen x you #dark!lloyd hansen x reader #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x fic #lloyd hansen x f!reader #the grey man au

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dragaliareferencearchive · 10 days ago

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Model references for Traditional Japanese Elegant Outfit | Teach Us, Ms. Shiho! (MEIKO) - Project Sekai: Colorful Stage!

#art references #art reference #model references #hatsune miku colorful stage #project sekai colorful stage #pjsk #prsk #project sekai #Traditional Japanese Elegant Outfit #Teach Us Ms Shiho!#MEIKO #l/n #Beside Unchanging Warmth #New Year's Enchanting Flowers Bloom Bright #(New Year 2024) Colorful Festival Gacha #dragaliaarchiveprsk

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heartseungs-archive · 5 months ago

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lucky strike | l.dh

word count: 2.3k | genre: arcade employee! haechan, high school au, (sort of?) f2l, mc and hc are very cute | warnings: none

Haechan notices you the moment you step foot into the arcade. After all, it’s not every day that his crush walks into his workplace, unaccompanied and teary-eyed. You stick out like a sore thumb amongst the neon red and blues of the pinball machines, pristine white shoes thudding against the cement floor which hasn’t been cleaned in years.

He hasn’t had the opportunity to speak to you much, considering the both of you are in entirely different social circles. However, he does know you’re a responsible class representative and someone who never hesitates to greet him with a smile in the morning, which he shyly returns. His friends have teased him endlessly for the way he seemingly becomes mute when you approach, his cheeks always heating up. Haechan is extroverted, but he supposes even he becomes withdrawn in the presence of your warmth and friendliness.

Which is why the unfamiliar sight of you crying immediately sends a pang to his heart, but he’s not entirely sure how to approach you without making the situation become uncomfortable. You likely want solitude, and it’s the least Haechan can do to let you have it, both as a well-behaved employee and an almost-friend.

It’s a quiet weekday at the arcade, and Haechan’s eyes follow you as you move from the token machine to a few different games, until you finally settle on the fishing one. Throughout, your expression remains unchanged, even though you occasionally sniffle slightly.

Fuck it, Haechan thinks. Before he knows it, he’s made his way over to you, and he knows how clear the difference is between the both of you. While Haechan wouldn’t call himself a delinquent, he’s definitely not the model student you are. He’s had one or two tardies this semester, and his red Converse is definitely not in line with attire rules. Still, you light up at the sight of him, a wobbly smile making its way onto your face.

“Oh, Haechan-ah. I didn’t expect to see you here.” Haechan wants to say that your appearance here is even more unexpected, but instead, he rubs the back of his head nervously. “I work here.” Your mouth drops open in a silent ‘o’ of understanding, and he can’t help but think it’s one of the cutest things he’s seen.

“You shouldn’t play at the same seat. You’ll have a higher chance of winning if you switch the player more often,” Haechan blurts out. He’s afraid of allowing the silence to become too awkward, and so he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet anxiously.

You raise your eyebrows at that. “Really? I didn’t think it made a difference. Thankfully you work here. Do you want to sit and play with me?”

“Huh?” Haechan’s eyes widen, slightly taken aback. You’re asking him?

“Sorry, I forgot that you must be busy considering you work here. Please don’t let me disturb you.” Your cheeks are red from slight embarrassment, and you’re mentally kicking yourself for even making that ridiculous request. He must have just wanted to say hello. Now you’ve put him in a spot, Y/N.

He shakes his head fervently, so hard that it startles you. “No, I’m not busy at all. I’d love to. Besides, if I play with you, we can get more tickets.” Haechan immediately pulls a chair over, and you pass him your stack of tokens. The both of you play a few games, enough for you to realize that Haechan is much better at this than you are.

However, when you remark on his skills, he shrugs nonchalantly. “I used to play this every day when I was a kid.” Your eyes widen, and you grin a little. “Really? Me too!”

“Well, you’re quite bad at it for someone who says she plays often,” he teases, and you roll your eyes. ‘Okay, whatever you say.”

It’s interesting how rapidly your mood lightened the moment Haechan appeared, a wide smile on your face compared to your previously glum expression.

He clears his throat then, eyes shifting around. “What is it?” You ask, looking around as well.

“I just…sorry. This might be a bit too nosy of me. You don’t have to reply or anything. But your eyes were a little red when you came in. Are you alright?” The genuine concern in Haechan’s voice is surprising to you, considering the nature of your acquaintance. However, his doe-brown eyes are earnest as they stare into yours, and you find your gaze escaping to your feet, which tap on the floor nervously out of habit.

A small laugh escapes you, and you nod. “Yeah. It was just a bad argument with my parents. You know how it is. I just came here because I needed a distraction.” Haechan nods, sympathizing with your situation. If anything, he finds his fondness for you growing. The way that you’re so kind and welcoming to everyone at school, and to him, even if you’re having a bad day.

“Well, feel free to drop by whenever. Though preferably on weekdays, since that’s when I work. The other guy, Jaemin, is really strict about tickets. I’ll throw in freebies for you though.”

Haechan’s words allow your smile to grow even brighter, and he feels a sense of pride in seeing the way your shoulders gradually become less sunken and a familiar twinkle returning to your eye.

Suddenly, he gets up from where he’s sitting, causing your eyes to fix curiously on him.

“I’ve got a place to show you. Come on.” You immediately get up to follow after Haechan, who winds past the claw machines and basketball hoops to a more isolated part of the arcade.

A faded wooden sign dangles above the capsule machines, neatly lined up in rows . The light barely reaches this side of the arcade, and Haechan turns on a lightbulb that flickers precariously in the smaller space. Compared to the almost-deafening noises outside, this feels almost therapeutic in some way.

“MBTI Fortunes? I haven’t seen this in a while,” you mutter in mild surprise.

“This is one of my favourite sections. Try it.” You immediately head over to the roller machine and turn the knob, stainless metal cool against your fingers. Barely seconds later, the familiar sight of a red ball rolling gently down the chute enters your vision, before it lands neatly in your hand.

You tilt your head towards Haechan. “You try it too,” you say, smiling. So he’s an ENFP, you think, as he walks over. It makes sense, you suppose. Haechan’s definitely extroverted from the way he acts with his friends, and he’s constantly the center of attention. If anything, you wish you had more of his effortless confidence. There’s no way you could ever approach someone like he did. But you’re impossibly grateful for his presence.

“Should we open it?” He says, throwing the red ball up and catching it smoothly as he makes his way back over to you.

It takes a while, but the both of you eventually manage to twist the capsule open, unrolling the tiny folded piece of paper. Haechan holds it up to the light, squinting to read the writing.

“Take a chance. It just might be a lucky strike,” he mutters, humming in thought.

However, your voice rings out much clearer than his and causes Haechan to pause. “A heart-fluttering event will happen to you today.” You clear your throat nervously, cheeks immediately reddening. Right now, there’s only one person in mind, and he’s standing right in front of you.

“Ah…don’t get too bothered by it. These are all just random anyways.” Haechan is perturbed by the slight stutter in his voice, the way his pulse is speeding up, and how he’s unable to look at you for too long. It’s just because you’re pretty, he thinks. It’s not good to look at pretty people for too long, or his ego will be hurt.

When the both of you make your way back to the main area of the arcade, the silence becomes awkward, but it’s an almost endearing sight. You fiddle with your fingers, but you’re unaware of the fact that Haechan is the exact same.

“Well, thank you for today. That was fun. I should let you get back to work. I’ll see you in school?” You mumble, a faint smile on your face. Haechan nods eagerly. “Yeah. I'll see you.” He wonders if he’ll be able to strike up the same conversation in school. He thinks this is the longest time he's ever interacted with you, and he hopes it isn’t the last.

Haechan can’t help but feel slightly forlorn as he watches you make your way towards the exit of the arcade, red capsule ball in hand. His work is going to feel much longer without your presence. His eyes inevitably drift to the piece of paper that he, for some mysterious reason, hasn't yet thrown away. Take a chance, it says. Haechan's a spontaneous person. The most spontaneous one he knows, actually. Still, he finds it a bit hard to make rash decisions when it comes to you. Maybe it’s because your work is written in neat, clean lines while his is more of a legible scribble. Or that your stationery is neatly categorized in the same color while Haechan’s is more of a haphazard rainbow.

Still, he hopes you’ll accept the slightly disorganized mess that is him.

“Jaemin’s going to kill me for this,” he complains, as he makes his way towards the area containing all of the redeemable prizes. Still, he thinks it’s a worthy tradeoff, facing the wrath of the grumpy blue-haired man who acts like he’s so much older than Haechan when he’s just a college student.

You’re just about to turn a street when you hear the thundering of footsteps on cobblestone behind you, and you’re quick to turn around, alarmed. Haechan almost crashes into you, out of breath and face flushed.

“Haechan? Is something wrong?” There is evident alarm on your face, and Haechan shakes his head vehemently. Just then, you look down at what he’s holding in his hands and let out a slight laugh.

“Did you run all the way here…for this?” You ask.

“Yeah. It’s…for you.” Haechan extends out the Cinnamoroll plushie to you, an expression of anticipation on his face. You take it from him, smoothing your hand over its fluffy ears. A certain sense of warmth fills you. Maybe this was the heart-fluttering event the paper mentioned. Because you’re quite sure that your pulse is now fluttering wildly as you look at Haechan.

“Thank you. But how did you get it? I definitely didn’t have enough tickets for this.” There's a curious glint in your eyes, and Haechan lets out a little scoff.

“Well, I have some benefits as an arcade employee, I suppose,” he says nonchalantly. What he doesn't tell you is that he's now in crippling debt to Jaemin, and will likely spend much more money winning the tickets to pay it off than if he just bought you the plushie.

Seeing the radiant smile on your face only encourages Haechan to make another rash decision. Maybe he’ll fall flat on his face, but he wants to at least try.

“My shift ends in an hour. I know a really good tteokbokki place,” he says, the words coming out of him in a rush, and then realises the abruptness of his statement.

You smirk slightly, and it’s an unfamiliar expression to Haechan to see you so playful, but he doesn’t mind it at all.

“Are you asking me out on a date?” Your confidence is sudden, but you find that it comes more easily with Haechan around.

“It can be one. If you want it to be,” Haechan replies immediately. His gaze is much more determined now, and you’re almost intimidated by it. But you refuse to back down, especially when this is everything you’ve ever wanted.

“Okay. It’s a date.” You can’t hide your smile when you say it, and immediately saunter back in the direction of the arcade. Haechan, who still can’t wrap his head about the reality of the situation, automatically follows you. His crush agreed to go on a date with him. You, Y/N, model student and the girl who Haechan thinks has the most beautiful smile he's ever seen in his life, has agreed to eat tteokbokki with him. It's a small start, but a start nonetheless.

“Wait, actually? Also, why are you going back to the arcade?” He asks, confused.

You hold up the soft toy, not even looking back. “Apparently, someone’s in debt. I should return the favor, right?” Oh fuck, I said that out loud. You don’t bother to reply his first question, and Haechan’s quite sure he looks rather ridiculous with how big his smile is.

When the both of you are back, you immediately make a beeline for the fishing game again, looking even more committed to it than previously. The soft toy is placed gently in your lap, and you occasionally hug it unconsciously. Haechan's heartbeat has finally slowed down from it's breakneck pace, but he thinks the fondness he feels at the sight of you is an even more exhilarating feeling.

You’re his lucky strike, he thinks, and he'll gladly take as many chances as needed for you.

#lee haechan au #lee haechan #haechan au #haechan #nct dream #nct dream x reader #haechan x reader #lee donghyuck x reader #donghyuck #haechan fluff #haechan imagine #nct 127 #nct 127 au #nct 127 imagine #nct 127 x reader #lee donghyuck #kpop #kpop au #kpop imagine

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meazalykov · 12 days ago

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expect the unexpected

crush!vivianne miedema x reader prologue (lynn wilms x reader series)

this is the prologue to a new series coming february 1st.

the chill of an early spring evening seeps into your jacket as you step into the cozy apartment vivianne shares with beth.

the warm lighting and faint scent of coffee create a comforting contrast to the cold tension that’s been suffocating you at arsenal.

tonight is supposed to be a break. this is a chance to escape the drama that seems to cling to jonas’s shadow.

you clutch a cup of tea vivianne made for you, settling onto the couch next to gio, who’s scrolling absentmindedly on her phone.

beth is in the kitchen, joking with vivianne as they finish up the snacks for the night.

“you look dead,” gio remarks, glancing at you with a small smile that doesn’t quite hide the concern in her eyes.

you shrug, sipping the tea and letting its warmth anchor you.

“long week.”

“jonas again?” she asks knowingly, and you nod, not trusting your voice to not say anything respectful.

vivianne enters the room, setting a bowl of popcorn on the table.

“what did he do this time?” she asks, her tone edged with frustration as she sits down across from you.

you hesitate. it feels like every time you bring it up, you’re just adding to a pile of grievances too heavy to carry anymore. “same thing he always does. benched me for no reason, made some comment to kim about how i ‘don’t fit the system.’” the words come out bitter, and you hate how small they make you feel.

vivianne leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

“he’s an idiot.”

you look at her, gratitude mixed with something heavier—a yearning you can’t shake. viv’s expression is kind, steady, and unchanging. she sees you as a friend. a teammate. nothing more.

gio knows your liking for viv, lighting frowning with sympathy as your eyes twinkle at the dutch woman.

“thanks, viv,” you mumble, looking over to stare at the steam rising from your tea.

“he’s lucky i’m leaving,” gio interjects, tossing her phone onto the cushion beside her. the statement hangs in the air for a moment before anyone responds.

“wait,” beth says, stepping out of the kitchen with a plate of cookies.

“what do you mean, leaving? like, leaving on loan again?”

gio shakes her head, her jaw tightening.

“no. for good this time. i told my agent i’m done with arsenal. atletico madrid’s interested, and honestly? i think i need to go back. jonas is draining the joy out of football for me.”

the room falls silent. beth sets the plate down, her expression softening.

“gio…”

“i’ve thought about it for a while,” gio continues, her voice firmer now.

“i can’t stay here and keep pretending like everything’s fine. i want to love the game again, and that’s not going to happen under jonas.”

vivianne nods slowly, her gaze dropping to her hands.

“i get it. i’ve been feeling the same way.”

you look up sharply.

“wait, what?”

vivianne sighs, running a hand through her hair.

“arsenal’s not renewing my contract. i found out last week. honestly, i’m upset about it but my nervous system is relieved. i need a change if he is going to stay there.”

“where are you going?” gio asks, her brows furrowed.

vivianne glances at beth, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“probably manchester city. it’s the most appealing option right now.”

you force yourself to smile, even as something twists painfully in your chest. of course. city. beth. you’ve always known vivianne had something serious with beth—everyone did—but hearing it out loud still stings.

“that’s... that’s great,” you manage, your voice steady enough to hide the ache.

“you deserve to be somewhere you’re happy.”

“thanks,” vivianne says, her smile widening slightly.

“and hey, if you end up staying in the wsl, we’ll still see each other plenty.”

you swallow hard and nod, but you don’t respond.

you’re not staying. not here, not in the wsl, not under jonas.

beth sits down beside vivianne, her arm brushing against hers. “well, i’m not going anywhere,” she says lightly, though there’s a trace of tension in her voice.

“at least not yet. i figure jonas won’t last forever, and i want to be here when he’s gone.”

gio snorts.

“good luck with that.”

you take a deep breath, setting your tea on the table. “arsenal’s not renewing my contract either.” the words feel heavy, final, but there’s a strange relief in saying them out loud.

beth’s eyes widen. “what? since when?”

“my agent called me about it last month,” you admit.

“i haven’t told anyone until now.”

vivianne leans back, studying you carefully.

“are you staying in the wsl?”

you shake your head.

“no.”

“so, did barcelona finally knocked on your door?” vivianne jokes, a playful smirk on her face.

“sorry– i mean, you’ve only been obsessed with them since forever.”

you laugh, the sound more bitter than you intended.

“no, not barcelona. it’s... it might be the bundesliga. wolfsburg, specifically.”

vivianne’s expression softens.

“that’s a good move. wolfsburg’s a great club, and i know a lot of people there. i can introduce you to some friends to help you settle in.”

“that would mean a lot,” you say, your voice quieter now. the idea of leaving everything you’ve known is daunting, but her support makes it feel a little less terrifying.

“wolfsburg suits you,” gio adds.

“they’re lucky to have you.”

“thanks,” you reply to your bestfriend, though your mind drifts to what it will mean to leave—leave arsenal, leave the wsl, leave both gio and vivianne.

the four of you sit in silence for a moment, the weight of everything unspoken settling over the room. it’s beth who breaks it, her voice soft but resolute.

“we’ve been through so much together here. it’s hard to imagine us all going our separate ways.”

“yeah,” vivianne agrees, her gaze distant. “at least i will still be here with you but its a same difference. a fresh start.”

“it’s just... sad,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

“arsenal was supposed to be an amazing team, you know? but now it feels like i have to leave if i ever want to feel happy again.”

vivianne reaches out, squeezing your upper arm.

“you’ll find that happiness again. i know you will.”

you look at her, and for a moment, you let yourself believe her. maybe wolfsburg will be the fresh start you need.

maybe leaving vivianne will help you finally let go of feelings that were never meant to be with her.

“to moving on,” gio says, raising her glass of soda in a mock toast.

“to moving on,” the rest of you echo, clinking your glasses together. and in that moment, surrounded by your teammates, you start to believe that leaving isn’t the end.. it’s the beginning of something new.

series coming 2/1

#vivianne miedema #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #lynn wilms #awfc #awfc x reader #gio queiroz

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three-realms-archive · 5 months ago

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Just a Study

Content Warning: Spoilers for Lesson 40 of Nightbringer! Everything above the cut is spoiler-free!

The wise sorcerer watches his dear apprentice sleep peacefully, unaware of their close friend and mentor doing what he does best. Studying.

His eyes analyse the rise and fall of their chest, tracing his gaze over and across the parabolas that make up the shape of their sleeping form. The small chuckles that escape him when you snore and snort are sounds that you will never get to hear. The soft, unprecedented flushes of crimson across his cheeks when you nuzzle your forehead deeper into the crook of his neck is a sight you will never get to see. Yet your sounds, sights and touch… Solomon knows all of it. He knows the mean, median and mode of the number of hours you sleep at night; and he spends the midnight hours flipping through tomes dedicated to understanding love. To Solomon, this was all a study, really.

A study on how it would have been, if he had taken the time to know his fellow, human classmate from the get-go. How it would have been if he had taken you under his wing sooner - if he had won the race for your heart against the Seven Avatars of Sin. The data was there, in the form of the pact marks etched into your skin - placed there like perfect puzzle pieces. And no matter how much his brain wanted to process that data differently, the results and conclusion would remain unchanged.

To conduct a study, one must try to match the conditions of the experiment to the assumptions of the theory. Solomon knew this, and so he had strived to make Coctyus Hall your new House of Lamentation. He had lived with you - had eaten with you - had even slept beside you. He knew that you (more often that he liked) had shared a bed with each of the brothers before - so he had done that, too. He had taken your trip to the past as an opportunity to replicate the theory with ease, piecing together a domestic life with you that felt like bliss.

The perfect study.

It was meant to be the perfect study. For him and you.

So why?

Why did it hurt so bad, returning to the original timeline; and seeing how… easily, you fell back into your own life?

Why did it hurt, seeing you live, eat and sometimes even sleep alongside the brothers again?

Why did it hurt, sleeping beside you in your old room, when he had already shared a bed with you many times now? It hurt being with you, in this bed made for one, the pillows and blankets and your shifting form taking up room and pushing him out. Telling him that he didn’t belong next to you.

… The wise sorcerer watches his dear apprentice sleep; studying. He presses his lips gently to your temple and savours the familiar warmth that greets him, fondly. He selfishly, childishly, hooks an arm and a leg around you; entangling himself in you as you had done many times before with him. He easily finds your hand through touch alone under a blanket colder than the one you used to share; struggling to intertwine his fingers with yours properly. But he grips your hand like a lifeline when he manages to. He’s got the lines of your palm and the creases of the skin of your wrists memorised. With a small, shaky breath, Solomon uses his thumb to trace over them again, and again, and again. Studying.

It was just a study, right? A ‘what if’.

Just a study, with a simple title.

What if, for a while, he pretended you loved him?

A study compares the theoretical with the experimental. Compares the ideal with harsh, painful, hurtful reality.

You belonged with the brothers. They were your ideal.

… And his brief, domestic, blissful experiment with you was now over.

(i had started writing this before seeing that angest was ruling the poll, lol. but yayyyyyy i wanna start writing angst and romance with the characters i haven’t touched on yet, so have an angst solomon, set after lesson 40 of nightbringer)

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anyca786 · 4 months ago

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"IT IS GOOD TO BE HOME"

Daemon Targaryen x sister!Targaryen

WARNINGS: canon typical incest/targcest (brother & sister), fluff, mutual hate for Otto Hightower.

PROLOGUE: Daenys Targaryen, the youngest sister of King Viserys I and Prince Daemon, was a tempestuous soul who yearned for the open sky and the thrill of adventure.

Daenys' life took a dramatic turn when she witnessed the harrowing childbirth of her niece, Rhaenyra. The pain and suffering endured by her sister-in-law, Aemma, deeply affected her. Daenys made a solemn vow never to marry, fearing the same fate for herself.

With Nyx, her black scaled dragon at her side, she soared into the heavens and disappeared towards the North.

Now, Daenys has returned to King's Landing. The once unruly princess had matured into a woman of striking beauty and strength. Her beauty, enhanced, captivated the hearts of many in the city. Common folks called her, "Realm's Beauty".

Daemon found himself drawn to her in a way he had never expected. Whether it was lust or a deeper affection, Daenys's return had ignited a spark within him that would forever change the course of their lives.

Only time will tell.

Series

As King Viserys Targaryen and his Hand, Otto Hightower arrived, they find the small council gathered amidst pall of dread.

"The prince cannot be allowed to act with this kind of unchecked impunity.." Otto Hightower complained.

"Prince Daemon Targaryen, Your Grace" Lord Commander Ryam Redwyne announced.

Viserys nodded, his expression unchanged when he saw Prince Daemon was already waiting inside.

Daemon rises from the (previously empty) chair kept for him at the small council. He was still wearing his armor and gold cloak from the night before. A red smear stains his new gold cloak.

"Daemon" Viserys greeted.

"Brother" he replied.

Daemon then looks at the Hand of the King. The air has gone out of the room. Daemon has that effect.

"Do not let me interrupt, my Lord Hand. You were saying something about my impunity?" he said.

The Hand looks to his king, waiting for, hoping for him to start the conversation. But the king does not. So Otto moves to take the Hand’s seat at the small council table.

"You are to explain your doings with the City watch," Otto Hightower said.

"What about them?" Daemon smirked.

"Princess Daenys has arrived." a guard announced to the council.

A murmur rippled through the council. Her sudden return was a surprise to all.

The doors open and as Daenys entered the hall, all conversation ceased. The council members were stunned.

The girl who had left as a child had returned as a woman of breathtaking beauty. Princess Daenys, youngest sibling of King Viserys and Prince Daemon has arrived.

Her long, blonde Targaryen hair cascaded down her back, her pale purple eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. She wore a flowing red and black dress that hugged her curves perfectly, accentuating her goddess-like figure.

Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, couldn't help but admire her. A smirk crept onto his face as he took in her appearance. Daemon, too, was captivated by his sister's transformation. His eyes followed her every movement as she approached the table.

"Daenys," Viserys greeted her warmly, his voice filled with warmth. "It is good to see you, little sister"

"Brother," she replied, a smile playing on her lips. "It is good to be home."

As she took her seat beside her brother, Prince Daemon, the council members couldn't help but whisper amongst themselves.

Otto Hightower couldn't resist a sly remark. "We weren't expecting you back so soon, Princess," he said, his voice dripping with insincerity.

Daenys raised an eyebrow, her smile turning slightly sardonic. "Oh, is that so? Perhaps I should have sent a raven ahead to announce my arrival. Or maybe I should have consulted with the Hand of the King before deciding when to return home."

Daemon chuckled at his sister's retort. He and Daenys had always shared a mutual dislike for Otto Hightower, believing his ambition and cunning to be a dangerous influence on Viserys.

Daenys turned to Daemon, her eyes softening. "Brother," she said, her voice filled with amusement.

Daemon grinned. "Baby sister," he replied, his eyes scanning her from head to toe. "You've grown."

Daenys blushed slightly, she always had a liking for her more rebellious brother. "I suppose I have." She glanced at Otto, who was watching them with a disapproving expression.

"The City Watch is not a sword to be wielded at your whim. They're an extension of the crown." Otto comtinues.

"The Watch was enforcing the crown's laws. Wouldn't you agree, Lord Strong?" Daemon turned to Lord Lyonell Strong.

"My Prince, I don't think-"

Otto interrupts him, "Making a public spectacle of wanton brutality is hardly in line with our laws."

Daenys, who had been listening quietly, couldn't help but intervene, "Nobles from every corner of the realm are right now descending upon King's Landing for my brother's tourney. Do you want them mugged, raped, murdered? You mightn' know this unless you left the safety of the Red Keep, but much of King's Landing is seen by the smallfolk as lawless and terrifying. Our city should be safe for all its people."

Viserys nodded. "I agree," he said, turning to Daemon. "I just hope you don't have to maim half of my city to achieve this."

Daemon grinned. "Time will tell," he replied, his eyes lingering on Daenys. He felt a warm sensation as his sister took his side without hesitation.

Lord Corlys Velaryon spoke up in support of Daemon "We installed Prince Daemon as commander to promote law and order. The criminal element should fear the City Watch."

"Thank you for your support, Lord Corlys" Daemon replied.

Otto, growing increasingly frustrated said, "If only the Prince would show the same devotion to his lady wife as he does his work, Your Grace. You've not been seen in the Vale or at Runestone for quite some time."

Daenys rolled her eyes. "Mind yourself, Lord Hightower" Her voice stern. "You have nothing better to do than gossip about my brother's personal life?

"I think my bronze bitch is happier for my absence" Daemon replied to Otto.

"Lady Rhea is your wife; a good and honorable lady of the Vale" Otto persisted.

Daemon couldn't resist a final jab, "In the Vale, men are said to fuck sheep instead of women," he quipped, "I can assure you, the sheep are prettier."

"Dear me" Daenys rolled her eyes, but Otto's face flushed red with anger.

"You made a vow before the Seven to honor your wife in marriage." Otto slightly raises his voice.

Daemon decides to provoke Otto, "Well, I'd gladly give Lady Rhea to you, Lord Hightower, if you're in want of a woman to warm your bed. Your own lady wife passed recently."

Otto stands up in anger.

"Did she not?" Daenys pressed, faking inocence finding her own amusement in this.

"Otto" King Viserys tried to calm him.

"Perhaps you aren't ready to move on just yet" Daemon continued.

"You know how my brother makes sport of provoking you. Must you indulge him?" Viserys said.

Otto sits back down, "My apologies, Your Grace"

"This council has, at great expense pettered the City Watch to your exacting standards. Enforce my laws, but understand: Any further performances like last night's will be answered" Viserys said

"Understood, Your Grace." Daemon smirked.

He turned to Daenys, who was watching him. "Meet me at the dragonpit," he whispered in her ear, pressing a kiss on her cheek.

As Daemon left, Daenys couldn't help but smile.

Thinking about turning this into a mini series, if this gets atleast a 100 likes.

#daemon targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #tumblr #house of the dragon #hotd daemon #house targaryen #daemon targaryen

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charrlote365 · 7 months ago

Text

Forever Summer

Reference Idol: fromis_9 SONG HAYOUNG Word Count: 37.064

Tags: Mostly fluff , Kpop idol, fantasy, fromis_9, Song Hayoung

I fell asleep on the beach today, the sand felt like a comforting blanket. The sound of the waves and the gentle caress of the ocean breeze sent me into a deep slumber. In my dream, I saw her. Hayoung. She was as radiant as ever, her long hair shined like silk in the sunlight. She leaned in close, her fingers delicately stroking my face, and her sweet smile filled me with a warmth that I had missed for so long.

"Do you remember our promise?" she whispered, like a melody from our past.

I woke up abruptly, the dream dissipating like morning mist. The sky was a brilliant blue, and the sea sparkled under the midday sun, but a sense of sadness lingered. It had been years since I last saw Hayoung, and yet, she still visited my dreams as if no time had passed at all.

I sat up, brushing the sand off my clothes, and gazed out at the horizon. Life on Seonhae Island had a way of making time feel fluid, yet my memories of Hayoung remained vivid and unchanging. I loved her then, and I realized I still loved her now. But she was in Seoul, living a life that seemed impossible to reach.

After high school, Hayoung had moved to Seoul to pursue her dream of becoming an idol. She succeeded, of course. Her talent and determination made her a star, adored by flovers. I followed her career from afar, watching every performance and buying every album. Yet, despite the pride I felt, there was always an underlying sadness, a longing for the days when she was just a girl with dreams, sharing secrets with me under the big tree besides our school which now has been abandoned due to declining birth rates on the island.

At 28, I had settled into a routine on the island, working at my family's fishing business. The days were predictable, and while I found comfort in the familiarity within the island with all the residents, there was always a part of me that longed for something more, something that had gone long time ago along with Hayoung's departure.

One afternoon, as I was mending nets by the dock, my mother approached me with a smile that hinted she was up to something. “We have guests arriving today. I need you to help with the preparations.”

I was puzzled but didn’t question it. It was common for us to have family friends visit during the summer. I went doing my tasks, setting up the dining area and helping with the cooking. As evening fell, the doorbell rang, and my heart dropped when I saw who stepped through the door.

It was Hayoung.

She looked as radiant as ever, wearing a red dress that completed her graceful figure. The color suited her, making her look even more beautiful, if that was possible. There was a softness in her eyes that I remembered from our childhood. For a moment, time stood still. All the years melted away, and it felt like it was just the two of us again, as if she had never left.

Before I could say anything, she spotted our dog, Jjangi, who jumped towards her with excitement. Hayoung dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms around Jjangi, her laughter filling the room.

"Jjangi! I missed you so much," she said, burying her face in his fur. Jjangi wagged his tail furiously, clearly just as happy to see her.

Watching her embracing Jjangi, I felt a surge of emotion. It was as if all the yearnings I had kept buried for years resurfaced in an instant. She looked so natural, so at home, and I realized just how much I had missed her.

“It’s been a long time,” she said, while hugging Jjangi. Her eyes met mine, her voice made my heart fluttered.

I could barely find my voice. “Hayoung… welcome home.”

As we sat down for dinner, our parents distributed the cutleries. Both families gathered around the table, the atmosphere filled with warmth and nostalgia. Midway through the meal, our parents began reminiscing about the past, laughing about our childhood antics. Suddenly, my mother mentioned, half-jokingly to me, "Do you remember once you said you're going to marry Hayoung?"

Hayoung's mother chimed in, "Ah! yes, yes! You even said it in front us! You two were so adorable together. It would be nice if that came true. Should we do it for real this time?"

The families laughed together, the sound filling the room with warmth. I laughed along, but a sense of panic stirred within me. Could they actually be serious? The thought of marrying Haying, is a dream I'd held for years, yet the talks about it seemed too sudden and overwhelming.

As if on cue, Hayoung's father added, "You know, it wouldn't be a bad idea if you two got married this summer. It’s the perfect opportunity since Hayoung is back for a while."

I glanced at Hayoung, worried that this sudden talk would burden her. She was still an idol, after all, with a demanding career. She didn't say anything, but I noticed her sneaking glances at me, trying to see my reaction.

Hayoung’s silence made me even more nervous, but she continued to steal secret looks at me, her expression was unreadable. The rest of the dinner continued with more light-hearted chatter, but the thought of our parents' suggestion lingered in the air, creating a mix of excitement and anxiety within me.

After dinner, Hayoung and her parents went home. As the night deepened, I found myself restless, looking up to ceiling of my room, replaying the events of the evening in my mind. I couldn't shake the memory of Hayoung's secretive glances and all the casual yet significant talk of marriage.

As I was closing my eyes, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Hayoung, accompanied by a selfie of her silly look.

"Hey you, jigeum mwohae?" she texted.

I smiled at her familiar, confident approach. Despite the years apart, she seemed just as comfortable as she always had.

"Not much, just thinking about how crazy tonight was," I replied.

"Yeah, our parents sure know how to make things interesting haha," she responded with a laughing emoji. "All the nostalgic talks tonight reminds me of how we were in high school. I think I was kinda tomboyish and silly back then."

I chuckled, instantly transported back to those wild days. "Oh, you're 1000% right! You still remember you once cold punched the bullies into the freezing pond at school during early winter since they were trying to take our money? It was so chaotic they all were sent to hospital afterwards"

Hayoung's laughter echoed through her texts. "Hahahahaha… someone had to keep things in order and interesting! And you were the one who got panicked and afraid that they might actually die from that."

"hahaha.. they looked so pathetic I thought they were really in danger. That's right, and without you probably they would still bully me until now" I said with a smile emote. "You always did whatever you think right to do."

We continued chatting, the conversation flowing as easily as it had years ago. It felt like no time had passed at all between us.

After a while, Hayoung sent another message. "Hey, are you free tomorrow? I was thinking of roaming around the neighborhood, kinda miss this place a lot, could you accompany me?"

My heart skipped a beat at the thought of spending time with her. "Of course, I'd love to. What time?"

"How about we meet at 10 AM by the old tree?"

"Sounds perfect. See you then."

As I put my phone down, I felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. Tomorrow would be a revisit memories and perhaps the start of something new. With Hayoung back on the island, anything seemed possible.

The next day the sun rose with a soft, golden light filtering through the leaves, as if promising a perfect summer morning. I waited at the old big tree, anticipation stirring within me as I saw Hayoung approaching. She appeared from the path horizon, covered with beautiful white dress that seemed to shine in the morning sun. It was the type of dress I had always admired on her, the simplicity, yet elegance of it showing her natural beauty.

As she drew near, I couldn't help but smile. "You look amazing," I said, my voice genuine and warm.

A faint blush colored her cheeks as she smiled back. "Thank you," she replied, her eyes showed appreciation. "I thought you'd like it."

Her words sent a flutter through my heart, and for a moment, I struggled to find my composure. Hayoung had a way of effortlessly charming me, just as she always had.

The first place we ventured was into the forest, right behind our school, the air alive with the scent of pine and earth. There's nothing scary about the forest, we both knew everything about that place as if its our second home. As we searched for the flowers she loved, Hayoung's laughter echoed among the trees, filling me with a sense of joy and nostalgia. At one point, she suddenly handed me all the flowers we have gathered and turned to me with a playful grin.

"Race you to that hill!" she exclaimed, pointing ahead.

I grinned, unable to resist her infectious energy. "You're on!" I replied, taking off after her.

We ran through the forest, our laughter mingling with the rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds. The path opened up to a hill with a vast area of short grass, stretching out like a green carpet. The hill was quite high, offering a breathtaking overview of the entire island. The sea shimmered in the distance, and the rooftops of our small town were nestled among the trees below. Windmills scattered around, complimenting the whole look. The scenery was beautiful and romantic, a perfect backdrop for our day together.

As we reached the clearing, Hayoung suddenly stumbled and fell onto the soft grass. I rushed to her side, concerned.

"Are you okay?" I asked, reaching out a hand to help her up.

Hayoung looked up at me with a playful smile and instead of taking my hand, she pulled me down beside her. "I'm fine, sit here with me" she said, laughing. "Come on, let's just lay here and enjoy the view."

Reluctantly, I lay down next to her, the cold grass contrast to the warm sun. We lay there side by side, gazing up at the clear blue sky and the beautiful scenery of the island spread out before us.

"This is perfect," Hayoung murmured, her voice soft and content. "I missed this place so much."

I turned my head to look at her, my heart almost bursted with affection. "Yeah, and it's the best with you here."

We lay in comfortable silence for a while, feeling in the beauty of the moment. Then, Hayoung broke the quiet, her tone sound thoughtful. "You know, about our parents brought up that whole marriage proposal thing last night."

I felt a brief anxiety but kept my voice steady. "Yeah, they did. It was a bit of a surprise."

Hayoung turned her head to face me, her eyes serious yet kind. "Do you remember when you proposed to me in front of our parents? We were just kids."

A smile tugged at my lips as the memory resurfaced. "How could I forget? I even prepared with a bouquet of flowers I gathered from the forest."

She laughed softly, the sound blending with the gentle rustle of the grass. "You were so earnest about it, too. I remember thinking it was the most romantic thing ever."

"Do you remember," I began, turning my head to look at her, "how you ran away up here after I proposed to you in front of your parents?"

Hayoung laughed, the sound like a sweet echo of our past. "of course, I do. I got shy and embarrassed. I thought running away to this hill would help me to calm down."

"Then I chased after you," I continued, smiling at the memory. "And when I found you here, I proposed again. You then asked me what I could offer if you said yes."

Hayoung's eyes sparkled with amusement and nostalgia. "Yes, and since you're just a kid, you said you don't have money but you'd always love me and stay by my side."

I nodded, "And I meant every word. But you didn't answer right away. You asked for some time to think, but never actually replied."

Hayoung's expression grew thoughtful. "I was so young and didn't know what to say back then. But now, even after years later, I have proof of how true your words were."

"Do you still fulfill your promises?" she asked softly, her eyes staring mine.

"I do," I replied, my voice steady with conviction. "I always kept them. I've always loved you and stayed loyal to you, even when you were in Seoul. Everyone in town knows how much you mean to me. They always ask about you, and I always eager to tell how well you're doing in Seoul, keep supporting you from here and waiting for you to come back home is the best I could do."

Hayoung's eyes suddenly glistened with unshed tears, and she nodded. "I know. People in town kept telling me about it before I saw you this morning. I didn't know whether to believe them until now."

She took a deep breath, her gaze intense, holding her tears. "Oppa, propose to me again," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. This was the first time she addressed me that way. "Right here, with the flowers in your hand."

My heart pounded as I stood up, gathering a handful of the delicate wildflowers we collected together in the forest. I knelt down in front of her, the flowers trembling slightly in my grasp.

"Hayoung," I began, my voice filled with love and sincerity, "I've loved you since we were kids, and that love has only grown stronger over the years. I promised to always be by your side, to cherish and support you in everything you do, I kept that promise in the past, even now, and I will always be in future. Will you accept my love?"

Tears finally streamed down Hayoung's face as she looked at me, her smile radiant and full of joy. "Yes," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "Yes, I accept your love".

At that moment, an overwhelming sense of relief and happiness washed over me. It was as if that heavy burden I had carried for years had been lifted, replaced by a warmth that spread through my entire being. My heart swelled with love, and I felt an unbreakable connection between us, stronger than anything I had ever known. All the years of waiting, hoping, and remaining loyal to her had led to this perfect moment. My eyes started to blurred up by the tears of my own as I realized that she truly felt the same way.

My hands trembled slightly as I gently touched her face, wiping away her tears with my thumbs. I leaned in, and our lips met in a soft, tender kiss, filled with all the emotions we had kept inside for so long. It was gentle at first, an explorative kiss, but then it deepened, becoming more passionate as years of longing and love pouring out from our deepest heart. I felt Hayoung's hands slide up to my shoulders, her touch warm and reassuring.

The whole world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of us in that moment. The kiss expressed all our promises, dreams, and a future we both wanted to build together. As we finally pulled back, breathless and with our foreheads resting against each other, the sun started to set behind us, casting a golden glow over the island and sealing our love in the beauty of that perfect summer evening.

"This better than I imagined," Hayoung whispered, her eyes looked deeply to me, a bright smile complimented her lips.

As the sun set behind us, Hayoung and I stood up, hand in hand, ready to head back to her house. The path down the hill was still clear, and we walked slowly, savoring every second of the moment. Our fingers interlaced, and I felt a deep sense of contentment and belonging.

As we made our way through the neighborhood, people began to notice us. Familiar faces turned toward us, and I saw smiles spreading across them. The older couples, who had known us since we were kids, nodded approvingly. The younger ones whispered excitedly to each other. It was as if the entire neighborhood had been waiting for this moment as much as we had.

One elderly lady, Mrs. Park, who used to be our homeroom teacher, clapped her hands together slowly and beamed at us. "It's about time, you two," she called out, raising her thumb up, giving approvals.

Hayoung and I exchanged a shy glance, both of us blushing slightly. Despite the embarrassment, we couldn't help but smile back at everyone. The atmosphere was filled with warmth and affection, making our happiness even felt real.

Hayoung giggled softly and squeezed my hand. "It's nice to see everyone so happy for us," she said, her voice filled with delight.

I nodded, feeling my heart filled with pride and love. "Yeah, it really is."

As we arrived at Hayoung's house, we noticed the absence of her parents' car in the driveway. The house was quiet and dark, just a single light on the porch. We exchanged a glance, realizing we were alone for the first time under the roof as a couple.

"Looks like my parents aren't home yet," Hayoung said, her voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and slight awkwardness.

"Yeah, I guess it's just us," I replied, feeling a tiny bit of nervousness.

We stepped inside, the familiar warmth of her home surrounding us. Hayoung closed the door behind us, and we sat down in the dining room for a moment, unsure of what to do next. The silence felt heavier than usual, filled with the unspoken tension.

"Um, do you want something to drink?" Hayoung offered, breaking the silence.

"S-Sure," I said, grateful for the distraction.

She walked into the kitchen, and I followed her, trying to act natural. As she poured us both some water, I couldn't help but notice how different everything felt. The playful ease we had shared all day seemed to have been replaced by a newfound shyness.

We sipped our water in silence, standing in the kitchen. I glanced at the clock and then back at Hayoung. "I should probably get going," I said, not wanting to think something inappropriate towards her.

Hayoung's face fell slightly, but she quickly masked it with a smile. "Oh, um, it would be nice if you at least stay for dinner. I mean, if you want to."

Her invitation made my heart race, but the nervousness got the better of me. "I.. Maybe another time?"

She nodded, but I could see the disappointment in her eyes. "Yeah, sure. Another time."

I felt a pang of regret as I left her house, the door closing softly behind me after we waved a good bye. As I walked down the path towards home, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was making a mistake. Yet, just a few minutes later, my phone buzzed with a message from Hayoung and a selfie of her.

"Oppa, it's already late at night and I think you must be hungry, I don't want you to feel hungry so…I decided that I'll be your dinner tonight.. Please come back? 😊"

Her message, along with her nude selfie made me stop in my tracks. I took a deep breath, my heart pounding hard as I turned around and ran my way back to her house quickly.

When I knocked on the door, Hayoung opened it almost immediately, she was wearing nothing but a white apron. A raccoon-like smile was on her face. "Changed your mind, Oppa?" she asked, her eyes sparkling.

"Yeah," I said, smiling back. "I think I'm just too hungry of you tonight."

As I said that, I moved towards her and started kissing her aggresively. I was eating her lips as if they're tuna sushi, making a big smooch sound for every breath, I gently bit her lips and suck them hard. Hayoung seemed to be affected by the whole atmosphere as she also started biting my tongue and pulled them inside her mouth. Our breath getting heavier and as our body curled in close together, I could see the lower part of her apron is now a bit wet from her love juice.

"Let's move to your room?", I asked, almost a whisper to her ear. "Y-yes, I think we should", Hanyang answered with an uncontrollable breath. She gripped my fingers softly, our fingers intertwined together in the warmth of the whole atmosphere and with that, Hanyang guided me to her room. Even though we had known each other for very long time, this would be my first time I got into her bed room. My heart's pounding harder by all the anticipations.

Hayoung opened the door, and we stepped inside, taking in the space. Her room was cozy and inviting, with a soft white paint on the walls and soft warm lights strung along walls. Photos and posters filled the walls, a mix of memories from her childhood and her journey as an idol. A bookshelf filled with books lined at one wall, and a comfy bed with a heap of pillows sat in the center.

Hayoung's smile widened, and she squeezed my hands gently. "I'm so happy now. It feels like everything is so perfect since ever we met again", She shyly said.

She turned her back to me, lifting her hair to reveal the delicate part of her nape. "Oppa," Hayoung said, breaking the silence. "Would you take off this apron for me?." while looking back at me with the soft look. I gulped, frozen for seconds while looking at her bare back and ass cheeks for the first time. I moved closer, my fingers trembling slightly as I untie the apron slowly from her back. The proximity was both thrilling and nerve-wracking, and I could feel the warmth radiating from her.

I couldn't stop myself from kissing her nape. Hayoung slightly raised her shoulder as she felt ticklish from the kiss. Her body smelled really nice, there's slight hint of flower, light perfume and… a hint of close to baby powder scent. My right hand started to travel to her breast, feeling them from behind.. I found it really sexy, my hand groped while my fingers started to pinch and teasing her nips. Hayoung didn't say anything, but she occasionally twitched and let out small moans and I found them so cute.

"Y-yaa.. why am I the one who's naked here?" she lamented while her hands started to get into my pants. "Eh?", she said half surprised, "Has it always been this big?". My little ego felt a slight jolt of happiness as she found my dick as what she favored. "No, it's not always that big, it got that big probably because of you?", I jokingly teased her. She let out a bright smile, she looked so cute yet sexy with those big breasts of her.

Hayoung then squatted down and started to remove my jeans, leaving me with just my shirt and boxer. She began stroking gently from the outer layer of my boxer, I got excited and some pre-cum started to wet my boxer and it leaked a bit to the surface. "Oh? What's this?", Hayoung wondering. "I-it's my love juice, got some out because I love you that much", I joked. Hayoung couldn't hold her laugh hearing my reply, she found it romantic yet naughty. She then started to smell them, putting her nose closer to the tip of my dick and she licked it slowly. She seemed to be enjoying the taste as she tried to put it inside her mouth. She bit my boxer and pulled them down, leaving my dick to be free, exposing it to the air.

She then looked closely to my erected dick with so much curiosity and that showed clearly from her racoon-like eyes. This must be something new to her as she's always tried to pretend like she doesn't like erotic stuffs. "They look so stiff, does it hurt? Should I slowly lick it?", she asked while looking at me to the eye. "No, not yet, you know right? Ladies first? Let me lick yours first". Hanyang face got redder. I pulled her hand gently and rested her on her bed. I spread wide her legs up to the air but she got shy so she tried to hide her pussy with both of her hands. Her eyes locked onto mine, she wanted to do it but all these new naughty things we did all of sudden made her scared a bit.

"It's okay, Hanyang, I'll do it gently, you trust me?", I said to calm her down. She nodded and let go of her hands from her pussy. I could see her pussy clearly as blue sky now. diamond shaped pubic hair, small labia and distinct pink colour inside her complimented the view of the most beautiful pussy I've ever seen in my life. Her pussy was wet and kept oozing some transparent, sticky liquid. I kissed her clits and started to suck them gently. I tried to put my finger into her hole but found out how short it was due to her hymen.

Realizing this, I just put my forefinger halfway, and bent them up, trying to rub the g-spot gently, building up the tense while kept sucking her clit. She began biting her finger, trying to hold her voice out, she kept looking at me with the face filled with ecstasy. She suddenly grabbed my hair and pushed it harder into her pussy as her body arching up, I grabbed her ass cheeks with my left hand to hold them up. Not long after, she finally let out big moan as her body twitched hard. I immediately knew she just come.

It's time to stick it in. I stood up and started to position myself into missionary to put my dick inside her. "Are we really doing this?", I asked her wondering if she's ready of what's going to happen next. She didn't say anything but a nod, signaling that she's ready to do it. I gently put my dick inside her, it was really tight and my dick tip reached her hymen. I slowly pushed them harder, and finally, it broke. Hanyang face mirrored a slight pain she felt as she grabbed my shoulder with her finger nails and scratched my back. It felt hurt but as she went the same thing, I didn't even dare to complain. A trail of blood started to stream down from her pussy and my dick was now completely inside her yet I didn't dare to move. I lowered my shoulder and we're now facing each other closely. "Are you okay?", I asked trying make sure that she's not hurting. "I-I am okay, just don't move yet", she answered.

With my hard rock dick still inside her, I felt the intimacy and comfort filled in the room. I could see every detail of Hayoung's face, the curve of her thick lips, the innocence in her eyes, the red blush on her cheeks. Everything looked so perfect the way it was.

"Do you remember the last time we were this close?" she asked, her voice a gentle whisper.

My eyes looked up, trying to remember if such thing existed. "Yeah, probably when we used to study together. We would sit together at my desk, facing each other as close as this".

She chuckled softly. "And you always found a way to distract us from studying."

"Wasn't that my job?" I teased. "To make sure you took breaks and enjoyed life a little?"

"Well, you were very good at it," she admitted, her eyes smiled. "And you still are. I don't even feel in pain anymore." I reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair away from her face, my fingers comfortably placed on her cheek.

"Hayoung," I said softly. "Should I begin to move?", confirming again that she didn't feel hurt. "Yes", she answered. With that, I began to move gently, ensuring that every move conveyed my true feelings to her, they weren't just lust, but sense of love, care, loyalty and responsibility.

Hanyang started to let out small moans, her expression started to show that she's enjoying it. "Oppa, It started to feel good, you can move faster now". I quickened my pace, creating slapping sound that echoed around the room. My eyes kept locked on her face, saving every memory of her expression in this intimate moment.

I moved gradually faster, the pace was blurring my sanity, I groped her breasts hard and Hayoung let out a loud moan. We kissed and ate out each other while retaining our hips pace. "Hanyang, I think I'm going to cum, let me do it outside", I declared with heavy breath as I could no longer hold it. "No, its okay, cum inside me, fill me with everything you've got. It's safe day, don't worry about it", she replied with uncontrollable voice.

She then suddenly folded her legs inwards, locking me in place, ensuring that I didn't pull out, pushing me even deeper that within seconds, I finally came. "Hanyangg!! I'm comingg!!", I shouted hard, releasing as much semen into her womb. Although I knew it's her safe day, deep inside I slightly hoped that she got pregnant.

Hayoung felt the burst of my semen inside her stomach. She slightly peeked down, my semen and the blood from her hymen seemed to mixed up, spilling out from her pussy. She then looked into my eyes and slightly nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "We finally did it."

"I love you, Hanyang" I whispered, the words coming straight from my heart.

"I love you too," she replied, her voice filled with sincerity and warmth. "More than words can express."

Our quiet, intimate moment was interrupted by the growl of our stomachs. We looked at each other and we both laughed, realizing we had skipped dinner in all the excitement.

"It's almost 10 PM," I said, glancing at the clock. "We should probably eat something."

Hayoung nodded, her eyes still teary. "Are you going to cook? I'm starving, but I could use a bath after today."

"Sure, I'll cook something up," I replied, feeling a bit more confident now. "You can go relax."

She gave me a grateful smile before heading to the bathroom. I made my way out of her room to the kitchen, determined to make something special for her. The sound of the rain tapping against the windows provided a soothing white noise as I worked.

Knowing how much Hayoung loved seafood, I decided to make a simple yet comforting dish, jjukkumi bokkeum (spicy stir-fried baby octopus) with a side of rice and some banchan (Korean side dishes). The aroma of spicy octopus, garlic, and sesame oil filled the kitchen, mingling with the sound of the rain. Once everything was ready, I plated the food and carefully carried it back to Hayoung's room.

When I arrived, Hayoung was just stepping out of the bathroom, wrapped in a fluffy towel. Her hair was damp, and she looked refreshed and beautiful. She smiled when she saw me with the food.

"That smells amazing," she said, her eyes lighting up.

"Well, I hope it tastes as good as it smells," I replied with a grin, setting the plates on her bedside table.

She changed into a comfortable dress and joined me on the bed. The rain continued to fall heavier outside, creating a cozy atmosphere. We ate together, exchanging smiles and gentle touches. At one point, I reached out and took a piece of chili on her cheeks, while brushing a strand of wet hair from her face.

"This is delicious!," Hayoung said. "I missed home cooked food like this."

"I'm glad you like it," I said, feeling a sense of pride.

As we finished our meal, the rain intensified, drumming steadily against the roof. It was clear that Hayoung's parents wouldn't be able to make it back home tonight, and I realized that I would probably be staying here too.

"Looks like I'm not going anywhere," I said, glancing at the rain-soaked window.

Hayoung looked at me with a shy smile. "I don't mind. In fact, I'd like it if you stayed."

I stood up, stretching a bit. "I should probably take a bath too," I said, feeling a bit self-conscious.

Hayoung shook her head, her smile mischievous. "No? You don't need though?," she said, her eyes were playful. "You always smell good."

I chuckled, feeling my cheeks warm. "My sweat smells good? Really? Well, okay, If you say so."

"I do," she insisted, tugging me back onto the bed. "Come, stay here with me in bed."

We settled back on the bed, the remnants of our meal pushed aside. The room felt even cozier with the sound of the rain enveloping us. I took her hand, and we lay back down, side by side, facing each other.

"Thank you for dinner," she whispered, her eyes locked onto mine, her smile brightened.

"And thank you for being here," I replied, squeezing her hand gently.

"You know," she said softly, "this feels like a dream. Like we're really living together, like husband and wife."

I smiled, my heart felt the warmth. "It does, doesn't it? I can't wait for the day I become your real husband."

She blushed, her eyes shining with happiness. "Me too. I've always imagined what it would be like to come home to you, to spend every evening like this."

Hayoung shifted closer, her head resting against my shoulder. "I love you," she whispered, her voice filled with honesty.

"I love you too," I replied, feeling a deep sense of contentment. I put my hand around her shoulder, pulling her closer under the warm blanket we shared. So many things had happened today, and every single moment felt like a dream. As I thought about it all, I realized Hayoung had already fallen asleep on my shoulder. We both fell asleep in each other's embrace, closing the never forgotten day in our whole life with each other's warmth.

Morning arrived, and I was gently woken by Hayoung’s soft voice. "Oppa, wake up," she whispered, her hand gently shaking my shoulder.

I opened my eyes, blinking away the remnants of sleep, and found myself staring into her smiling face. It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen, and I felt relieved. This wasn’t a dream. It was real, and she was here with me.

“Good morning,” I said, my voice husky from sleep.

“Good morning,” she replied, her smile widening.

As we prepared to leave the room, Hayoung grabbed my arm, interlocking her arm with mine, making me feel like we were a real husband and wife sharing our first morning together. It was a simple gesture, but it filled me with warmth and happiness.

However, as we opened the door, we were greeted by the playful grins of both Hayoung’s parents and mine. They stood there, clearly amused, and it was clear evidence that they knew exactly what happened last night.

“Good morning, lovebirds!” Hayoung’s father said with a chuckle.

My mother added, “Hayoung-ah, due to the heavy rain last night, your parents stayed over at our house last night. When they checked the CCTV in the dining room from their phone, they saw you two. It was lovely to see how happy you both were. I bet both of you had the most amazing night yesterday”. She said while teasing us.

Both Hayoung and I blushed, feeling a mix of embarrassment and amusement. We were promptly led to the dining room where breakfast was already prepared by our parents.

As we settled down for breakfast, the teasing didn’t stop. “So,” Hayoung’s mother began, her eyes filled with mischief, “When are you two planning to get married?”

I nearly choked on my food, caught off guard by the directness of the question. I glanced at Hayoung, who met my eyes with a calm, reassuring smile.

“Well,” I began hesitantly, “We havent…”

Hayoung suddenly squeezed my thigh under the table. I looked at her in surprise, and she gave me a mischievous grin, nodding ever so subtly as if urging me to say the otherwise. It was a clear signal to me, a signal that said she was ready for us to make this decision together.

Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I continued, “We’ve decided to get engaged this summer,” I said, my voice steadier now.

Hearing this, our parents expressed their happiness and approvals. “Now that’s the news I want to hear!” my father exclaimed.

“We’re so happy for you both,” Hayoung’s mother added. “It’s going to be a perfect summer this year.”

.... I always loved Summer season. The season with a gentle warmth that seemed to embrace our island, our home. And now, it was the perfect season for our engagement party, a celebration in the eventful evening that brought together not just our families and friends, but the entire community that had watched us grow up together.

The venue was decorated with vibrant colors of summer, with strings of fairy lights twinkling overhead and tables filled with bouquets of flowers. A large banner proclaimed, "Congratulations Hayoung & Y/N!" in cheerful letters, celebrating the culmination of our long journey from childhood friends to soon-to-be official husband and wife.

During the party, the fromis_9 members joined in the celebrations wholeheartedly, mingling with guests, enjoying the food, and even participating in some of the traditional dances performed to celebrate the engagement. Their presence added the excitement and glamour to the event, turning it into a memorable occasion not just for Hayoung and me, but for everyone who attended.

The engagement ceremony itself was heartfelt and meaningful. Hayoung looked radiant in a traditional Korean hanbok, her smile lighting up as she stood beside me, wearing an outfit that felt like a perfect fit for the occasion. We exchanged rings, symbols of our commitment and love, amidst applause and happy tears from our loved ones.

During the event, there was a slideshow playing on a large screen, showcasing photos of us growing up together. From playful days in kindergarten to high school, the slideshow captured our journey through the years. It was a touching reminder of how far we had come and the unwavering support we had received from our families and community.

Among the guests, including friends and business partners from Seoul, where I would soon join Hayoung. It was decided that I would work at my parents' business branch there, ensuring that Seoul branch blooms into a bigger business.

As the evening deepens, Hayoung and I found a quiet moment together under the sky filled with stars. We looked around at the warm gathering of our friends and family, feeling overwhelmed with gratitude and love. This summer, which had started with a simple reunion, had become a season of a long awaited love fulfilled and new promises made.

Holding each other's hand gently, we knew that our journey together was just beginning, filled with endless possibilities and the unwavering support of those who had watched us grow from childhood friends to partners in both love and life, until death do us apart. -End.

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