#and these asks and everyone’s support inspired the ending for this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chronically-ghosted · 2 months ago

Text

i'm empty without you, so come grow within me

AO3 Link | main masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist

rating: explicit (18+)

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

word count: 9K

summary: with winter approaching, joel takes stock of what he wants and what he has in his life. he wants you, but he's not quite sure he has you, not in a way that only a life in Jackson can afford. joel's an old-fashioned guy, so he's looking for an old-fashioned love . . . if he can only remember how to do it right.

inspired by the songs 'why don't we just dance' by Josh Turner and 'the kind of love we make' by Luke Combs, this fulfills a request from @handsomehelmet for my 1k celebration (creativity struck and now i'm going to make it everyone's problem)

warnings: the nastiest thing i can possibly imagine which is romance and sincerity, some willie nelson lyrics, established situationship, no age of reader specified, body insecurity, feelings of unworthiness/shame, survivor's guilt, blatant disregard for old man knees by eating pussy on the floor, unprotected piv, a teenager bullying fully grown adult to quit being stupid.

a/n: i know everyone gets into a tizzy when Joel doesn’t name what Tess is to him in front of Bill and while there probably was a heaping amount of guilt that accompanied that omission, i wonder if it might be a bit more complicated: he simply couldn’t name one thing because she was all things to him. A friend, a lover, a guide, a support system, a protector, a partner. So he says it the best way he can: “she’s mine.”

come see what else we've done to celebrate 1K followers

By the fourth bag, all you can think about is a warm shower.

A chance to scrub away the dirt smeared on your arms, your neck, probably your face. You’d brought your own work gloves to bag fresh dirt for the greenhouse, but the longer you work, more sprinkles of dirt find their way down the lip of your gloves. You can feel it against your palms, under your nails. The cold winter air lurks beneath the crack of the door, stifled from invading by the artificial heat provided by the generator just outside, and it stifles you too with its oppressive weight. You’re fairly sure the dirt on your forehead has turned to mud, sweat and damp earth encrusted on your dry skin.

By the sixth, you doubt your shoulders will ever move again without popping.

You know Joel’s already do.

Never a particularly chatty man even in his best moods, the greenhouse had become stuffy with heat and silence, both you and Joel too lost in the work to find the energy to even fake idle chatter. But, knowing this about Joel and a certain degree yourself, silences with him were never a bad thing. That was one of the things you enjoyed most about being with him; you two could do your own things together. Many snowy days were spent with him stretched out on the couch, reading, and you working on writing your sheet music on the floor, his knee hovering over your shoulder with your back to the cushions – spent in total silence, and they are some of the fondest memories you had since coming to Jackson and falling into the third and final piece of the Miller-Williams household.

Like with the end of the world, you weren’t sure how you got there until everything had fallen into place around you; Joel and his adoptive daughter had been just another group who were taken in by the town of Jackson . . . until they weren’t. Ellie was just another foul-mouthed kid who had seen too much and had too much taken from her . . . until she wasn’t. Joel was your occasional patrol partner and a fellow Willie Nelson fan. . . until he wasn’t.

Until that unmistakable line, one that seemed to be lost on a global scale beneath the blood and the gore and the grief, had been crossed when he asked you out for drinks and the both of you knew the evening wasn’t going to end in a nightcap.

And then you were partners, even outside of patrol. Partners in re-enforcing a weakened part of Jackson’s outer walls. Partners in cooking, attempting to recreate an enchilada recipe Joel only vaguely remembered from a Tex-Mex hole-in-the-wall fifteen minutes from where he used to live in Austin. Partners when it’s snowing heavily outside and there’s not much to do except to read and, well . . . Joel was a fantastic partner in that.

Joel Miller was a great partner for a lot of things. He worked diligently, quickly and, unless the conversation was started by someone else, silently.

He, in short, was not someone who was easily distracted.

Which, in combination with your own exhaustion and a desire to scrub the first layer of your skin off with a loofah, is why you feel a flare of annoyance when you look up and see him staring off into the distance. His fingers loosely grip the handle of the shovel, his palm resting over the curved point, Joel’s expression is nearly unreadable, except for the small crevice between his eyebrows. He stands, fixated on the greenhouse wall, as if watching the blurry Christmas lights from the town square, suddenly oblivious to the work you two have been doing for the past hour and a half.

“Joel.” Nothing. “Joel!”

You raise your hand to smack him on the leg when, without looking down, he asks:

“When was the last time I took you out?”

“What?”

His weight shifts, holds the shovel by one hand now. You catch a sliver of frustration in those deep brown eyes as he looks at you. He wears what you and Ellie secretly refer to as his “pouty-mouth”, a classic expression when he isn’t getting his way about something but won’t draw attention to the fact that it annoys him.

“Tell me about the last date I took you on.”

You huff, standing up with a pop in your hips. Your knees are aching from kneeling on the cold winter ground and your skin fluxes between overheating under your jacket and stiffly frozen on your extremities.

“Joel, c’mon, be serious. We’ve got three more –,”

“I am being serious.” Dumb-founded, you watch as he digs the tip of the shovel into the ground with a hollow chunk. Crosses his arms and continues to frown at you like you just suggested doing away with the Christmas holiday entirely. “We’ll get to this, but I want you to tell me right now what we did on our last date.”

You roll your eyes, humoring him. “Fine, I don’t know what crawled up your ass, but okay. On our last date, we . . . we did . . . you took me to . . .”

It’s your turn to frown. He raises a petulant eyebrow and it’s eerie how many times you’ve seen that exact expression on Ellie.

“Okay, fine, so it’s been a while. We’ve been busy – we’ve all been busy with the winter season coming. All of Jackson has been out battening down the hatches. What does it matter if we’ve let things slide a bit?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, quiet in his Joel way. He glances out through the blurred greenhouse glass and maybe he was actually staring at the string lights hung over Jackson’s square. Normally, you didn’t mind being unable to dissect his every expression, every sigh, every carefully wielded silence, but when it came to you and his feelings about you – feelings that were always implied in those silences – you wished you had a little window, some hint, as to what rumbled on behind those earth-dark eyes.

Joel drums his fingers on the handle of the shovel, unease rolling through his body as he shifts his weight.

“Matters some,” he tells the ground. “With the holidays comin’ around . . . matters for Ellie – her first winter here in Jackson. Matters for Tommy, with that new baby of his . . .”

“Your nephew,” you supply as much as prod. Sometimes the only way to get an honest answer out of him was when he was just a bit pissed off and less guarded. Instead he just nods, gloved hand on his hip, thick jacket widening his already confounding broadness.

“It matters because it’s important. To me. It’s important to me.”

He meets your gaze and you’re struck full force again with that feeling like you drank too much of the Tipsy Bison’s shitty whiskey too fast. Same feeling that couldn’t be drowned even with the Tipsy Bison’s shitty whiskey when you shared a drink with him for the first time. When you managed to laugh when he bet you a whole day of stable cleaning duties that Willie Nelson and Chris Stapleton survived the apocalypse somewhere in a shack in Tennessee. Joel Miller was disarmingly funny when he wanted to be.

And even worse, disarmingly sincere.

You take his gloved hand in yours. You feel the sensation of his fingers threading through yours but not the heat you’ve grown so accustomed to.

“Alright, then. What do you want to do about it?” You ask quietly, to the upturned collar around his neck, his green flannel peeking out from behind the zipper of his jacket. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but there’s a lot of snow on the ground so that makes our options for date night kinda limited.” You scrunch your nose at him because you like to see the light in his eyes bloom when you do.

He chuckles, a rumbling sound, and he drops his forehead against yours, fingers tightening their grip around yours. Suddenly in your throat, your heart pounds. He’s never this affectionate in public. Maybe it’s those miraculously blurred greenhouse glass walls.

His breath smells like that peppermint toothpaste that came in last week, infused with the warming-coil smell from the greenhouse.

“Dunno yet.” He admits. “I’ll think of somethin’.”

“No ideas yet?” You raise your eyebrows against his forehead and he grins, shaking his head.

“Not yet.”

“Then can I make a suggestion?”

“‘Course.”

“We finish bagging this dirt, then head home for a shower. In a really sexy way, obviously.”

He huffs, smothering a laugh, and quick as lightning he kisses you on the cheek. But in the same movement, steps away and grabs the shovel again. You don’t have time to react to the fact he just kissed you for the first time outside of the four walls of his house before he’s scooping up dirt. You drop to your knees to pick up the bag again, your legs already weak.

“We both know you’re going to pass out on the couch the second we’re home.”

Your voice is steadier than you feel, as you look up at him. His face is flushed and that worry line between his eyes is gone.

“You got me pegged, Miller. You got me pegged.”

Two days later, he stands in the middle of his living room, hands on his hips, surveying his handiwork. All of the furniture has been pushed to the far ends of the room, up against the walls or against the staircase out in the hallway. He’s kept the overhead lights off and put the standing lamps in the corners, bathing the room in a despondent glow. He thinks, after a quarter of a century never even entertaining something like this, it might be interpreted as romantic. He hopes you’ll see it that way at least.

He hears it now, in his head, even though she’s out in the disconnected garage, snug and warm as he could have possibly made it – you worry too much, old man.

Ellie knows there’s something going on between you two. Hell, the entire town has cottoned onto whatever this is; you’re often seen leaving his house early in the morning, and he’s been seen on occasion strolling up to your house with flowers. It’s not new, it’s not a secret, but it is . . . it just is and that’s about as far as he’s gotten.

He hasn’t had you over for dinner with Ellie in that very specific way that very much needs to happen, as it often does when there is a new presence added to an established dynamic – as Maria often reminds him. But that almost feels like presenting your head on a silver plate to Ellie to either sniff with disinterest or tear into – both terrifying scenarios, even though they seem unlikely. Ellie does in fact seem to like you very much, as her riding teacher and occasional greenhouse buddy. But would she continue to like you in the context of you being one half of “You and Him” as a pair? Together. As a couple . . . of people who are seeing each other, whatever that means in a world filled with the most aggressive form of fungus imaginable.

This life in Jackson, this fragile second chance to remember and rekindle his own natural instincts, is too precious to bet on a question like that.

So he doesn’t ask it. At least not out loud.

That’s one of the things he likes so much about you: his silences aren’t entirely indecipherable and often are encouraged by your own. Except this silence about this particular thing doesn’t feel like one of your shared, comfortable moments and instead it’s encroaching rapidly into avoidance.

Standing in that greenhouse and seeing the string lights over the town square reminded him of a long ago Christmas, dancing with his favorite person under a Christmas tree, and how good it made him feel. How special it made him feel. All these years later, safe in a way his body has almost forgotten, there’s an urge he has to share that feeling, to recreate it under entirely different circumstances, with someone new. Someone else. To not try and fight the smile that constantly threatens to buoy up every time he’s around you.

It’s foreign, that feeling in his chest, but it’s not entirely alien, at least not of late.

He knows he’s white-knuckling it because he knows firsthand how painfully quick it can all be gone. Taken away. Left and buried by a black river while the world burns.

But he’s worried he’ll crush it with how tightly he holds on. How hard he begs a silent universe for it to last just a little bit longer.

His knees ache, his left shoulder goes tight when it rains, his body is not what it once was, but his mind is still there, still clear, and he remembers how romance used to feel, where it used to reside in his younger body, and as he stares out at the cleared room, listening to your footsteps overhead as you attempt to follow his vague instructions to “make yourself feel pretty” (because you already were to him, even covered in dirt and sawdust), he thinks this feels like the old world. An old world romance. It’s foreign, that feeling, but for the first time in a long time he doesn’t want to hold it at arm’s length.

“Joel?” You call from the top of the stairs, your voice tentative and cautious. But not cautious like you peeking around a corner to look for clickers. But cautious as in unsure, doubtful. You are a woman made up of a lot of things, with foundations unlike he’d ever seen before, but doubt is not a part of you. You never doubt him.

“Yeah, baby?” Your nerves make him nervous and he futzes with a lampshade while waiting for you.

“Are you done down there?”

He has to breathe slowly through the fluttering beneath his breastbone before he can answer. “Yeah, baby, all finished. You can come down now.”

“Okay . . . but you can’t laugh.” Him, laugh at you? There’s the instinct to smother the faint grin that spreads out across his mouth, but he told himself he wasn’t going to fight whatever came across his face tonight. If you see it, then you see it and he’s come to accept that.

(Maybe even want that.)

He shakes his head, his only pair of nice boots (a thank you from a former rancher when Joel fixed his family’s heater) clicking on the hardwood floor as he stands at the bottom of the stairs. You must be hiding behind the wall because he can’t see you.

“I’m not gonna laugh, sweetheart. Why d’ya think I’d laugh?”

Silence faces him at the top of the stairs, and then:

“Because quite frankly I forgot my tits could look like this and I don’t know how to feel about it.”

The snort that comes out of him is a poor attempt to muffle the chuckle. He thumbs the wood finial at the top of the bannister.

“Can’t remember ever having any complaints before and I don’t think I’ll have ‘em now, no matter how they look.”

“Whatever, Miller, you’re just a horn dog.”

He rolls his eyes, fingers rubbing anxiously together at his side, as if he could tug the fluttering out of his chest. He leans on the other foot, the one with the bad knee, to adjust the slightly uncomfortable tightness in his jeans. A dark swirl in the second step of the stairs has become wildly interesting.

“Baby, just come down here. I’m not gonna laugh. Promise.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” you grumble, still out of sight. “I know where you keep your feral child and I will not hesitate to let her loose on you.”

Joel nods, grinning faintly, still focused resolutely on the whorl in the floor. “That’s a real big threat from someone who –,”

The words die in his throat.

In fact, he’s quite sure he won’t be capable of speech for a very long time.

That foreign feeling – that feeling he’s worked for twenty years to suppress – is ignited in his chest.

You walk, no, maybe you float down the stairs in the most stunning red dress he’s ever seen. It’s definitely not yours – he knows every inch of your closet because he had inspected it studiously when you offered to keep some of his clothes at your place and he was trying very hard to delay putting a handful of his belongings beside a woman’s things in a move that felt heart-stoppingly domestic.

No, he has never, ever seen you in this dress.

Come to think of it, he’s never seen you in any dress and you were entirely correct that your tits look wildly different. Fantastically different, but –

“Maria didn’t have any heels that fit me to go with the dress,” you announce airily, your chin up. But your eyes dart over his face as if looking for something you need to find. “But it’s fourteen degrees outside, Joel, and I’m not doing whatever this is in just socks because that’s ridiculous so you’re just going to have to deal with the boots.”

The Boots. The ones you wear while crushing clicker skulls and tending the stables. They still bear damp spots from where you tried to clean the blood and dirt from the leather.

It’s rather incapacitating how arousing he finds this particular combination.

So much so, he doesn’t realize he hasn’t said anything in a full minute until you bark at him, a cold tinge of panic in your voice.

“Joel!” His eyes snap to yours. Of course, you’re fucking beautiful – your eyes seem bigger, cheeks pinker, mouth wet – fucking Christ, where did you get make up?

“Say something!” Those rosy lips drop down and to his horror, you’re upset. “Please!”

“B-baby, you look . . .” He doesn’t mean to grab your entire ass in one hand; he just wants to feel as much of that velvet on your skin as possible. You stumble into his arms, another something that is so unlike you, as he tugs you forward. Bends his lips to your ear to discover how fast you’re breathing. How fast your pulse races in your neck. The shudder that breaks the rigidity of your body when he brushes his mouth, the short bristles of his beard, against your skin is no surprise; you told him exactly what that sensation does to you in no uncertain terms the first night he ate you out on the table of your kitchen. “You look incredible.”

Your fingers bite into his biceps. Push back out of his arms, despite the obvious warmth in your cheeks. You level his arousal in a single glare. “Joel, I asked you not to tease.”

Tommy once told him he was a pain in the ass to be around sometimes because he displays every negative emotion as anger and so it’s damn near impossible to figure out whatever it was he was so bent out of shape about.

Sadness as anger.

Shame as anger.

Guilt as anger.

Fear as anger.

With your fingers balled up, it's the tremor in your fists that gives you away.

He had genuinely intended this to be a quiet night away from the cafeteria, away from the Tipsy Bison, away from anyone else. He wanted you all to himself and in his greed, he didn’t see it until he saw it in your eyes.

How vulnerable being pretty made you. How vulnerable privacy made you.

How being vulnerable made you so deeply, deeply afraid.

Almost as afraid as he was.

Without a word, he turns to the record player, strategically hidden behind the couch and puts on the carefully selected record. The silent scratches for a moment before –

Your eyes widen as Nelson begins to sing his most beautiful love song (in Joel’s humble opinion). Your shoulders slacken, hands lose their grip, you blink up at him in total bewilderment. You aren’t an indecisive person, you’re quick as a whip, rarely confused – so this befuddled look on your face is kinda cute.

Tucking that rare look on your face away for another time, Joel wanders to the center of the room, in the heat of the light from the fireplace, his good boots clicking over the wood. He opens his arms, hand out to you.

“Let’s try something new tonight.”

I'll always be with you for as long as you please

For I am the forest but you are the trees

The decision you make is a visible one.

Your palm is warm, weighted as it slides over his. This time his hand respectably settles on your waist, then on your low back when (to his surprise) you come closer. He’s delighted to watch you smile at him, distantly aware of the stretch of his own on his face.

Willie strums on his guitar, crooning softly, the sound warm and deep. With the weight of you against his chest, that feeling crackles like the flames over the wood logs in the fireplace. You drop your head, turn your cheek, and just before you come to rest on his shoulder, he sees your smile slide into a smirk.

“New, huh? What’s new look like for a sixty-five-year-old man at the end of the world?” Even with teasing, your voice is soft and sweet, the soft powder of cinnamon. Slowly, as if not to startle either one of you, he leans his chin against your forehead.

“You n’ I’ve been burning both ends, keepin’ the lights on. New to us is having a goddamn break.” His voice is low, meant only for you, and in the tremble of his deep bass, the words elongate in his mouth. He brings your intertwined hands just under his chin and when that goes well, he tightens his grip around your back, drawing you flush against him. It reduces the dancing to more of a sway but Joel can’t find a single thing to complain about. You gently tap the pad of your middle finger in the hollow of his collarbone to the beat of the song.

I'm empty without you so come grow within me

For I am the forest and you are the trees

And the heavens need romance so love never dies

“‘N ‘m only fifty-six, jackass.”

You grin, twisting in his grasp, rub your nose on his chest to wrap your arms around his neck. He clutches to your back like a key finding its lock.

You'll be the stars dear and I'll be the sky

And should any of this find us let them all be forewarned

That you are the thunder and I am the storm

“This is nice, Joel,” you murmur in his ear. The backs of his arms are growing warm by the fire. He presses his lips to your exposed shoulder, unsure of what to say, or what not to say, only nodding. He closes his eyes, trying to hold this moment forever in his memory. The soft flare of your waist, the winged-spread of your ribs, beneath his hands brings him back into your arms.

"Yeah?" Quiet, into your skin as if to muffle the question entirely, to muffle the unsure wobble in his voice. "It's good?"

He feels you nod beneath his chin, the smell of fresh soap escaping from the back of your neck, and the clamp around his throat loosens. He breathes, unimpeded for the first time all night, a low exhale taking the tension from his body as the air leaves his lungs.

Relief. A sinking down into the moment, into your arms.

You chuckle with your cheek against his chest and he feels the vibrations down to his stomach.

"Yeah, Joel, you did good. Really good." With the hand he holds in the air, you rub your thumb over the knuckle of his thumb, soothing. It used to bother him you could read the lines of his emotions as well as you read a book, as well as you write your own name, effortlessly, as if you had been given a guide no one ever thought to show him. But now, now that you understand how much this means to him, that you know he needs to be told he made you happy, it's more than relief. It's an unburying – a resuscitation of pieces of himself (seed-like bone fragments) that he thought had long since died in the soil of his ribs. "Thank you. I needed this."

He wants you to see the whole of him. Lift up an antiquated silver plate and show you the dents and scratches in his reflection. When you kiss his cheek gently, the hope floating in his chest flares, a solar explosion with tendrils that reach into the blackness of space and it asks him, what would you do to keep her?

Everything. Anything.

He shuffles closer, feels the warmth of your body lined up against his, the clean scent beneath the edge of your jaw blooming in his nose and throat. The hope hums, pitches dark like the forest floor in the rain, and grows teeth. His want for you digs into his skin and evolves into a needy, unsatisfied thing.

“Where’d you get this dress, hm?” He asks, lips half an inch from your shoulder. It falls and rises, never catching on your skin as he plays with the fabric. He runs his palm up your spine, the velvet coming with him, and watches as the swell of your thighs and the tease of your ass is revealed. Dirty old man. “‘N who do I have to kill to get you to keep it?”

You laugh into his neck. He wonders if you’re intentionally twisting his curls at the base of his neck to send sparks of arousal down his spine or if you are completely unaware of the cause of his insanity. Your hands are littered with scars and calluses and every time you touch him, he could melt through the floorboards.

“They found it in some strip mall and were actually going to strip it down for material. But Aaron at the sewing center owed me a favor and you said wear something nice, so . . .” You thumb the lip of his collar, your fingertips brushing the knot of his spine every time you drag your fingers back and forth.

And I'll always be with you for as long as you please

For I am the forest and you are the trees

He knows you well enough to know that something lingers in your mind, but even after all this time, even after what he’s seen with you, been through with you, the things he’s done to you – he isn’t quite sure if he has the right to ask.

Instead, he squeezes you. He means to do it just with his hands, but ends up swallowing you in his arms.

Your mouth is pressed up against his chest when you finally go on.

“It just seems silly to keep, Joel.”

The high he’s been riding on all night falters, since you first walked down those stairs to him. Your eyes are wet when he pulls back and cups you by your cheek. He stops swaying with you.

“Why’s that?”

There it is, that all too familiar flicker of fear. You can’t look at him, despite his every touch, his every glance pulling you into him, to be near him.

“Because other people should have it. They should have a chance to . . .”

You withdraw your head from his hands, his thumb brushing your jaw as you retreat. He might actually lose a piece of himself if you let go now, but instead you clasp his wrists in your fingers. You stare at your hands and his between you, as if this whole thing between you could solidify at your feet, finally real.

Willie has stopped singing, only that musky drone on an empty track.

“Someone else should have a chance to feel pretty, to feel this way, because it shouldn’t be wasted and I’m afraid – I wonder if –,”

He knows he’s being a bit too rough when he takes your jaw and straightens your gaze to him, but his heart might fly out of his chest before he has a chance to say anything. His stomach turns, not knowing he’s not at the peak of a roller coaster drop, that he’s standing on solid ground, even if it swims under his feet.

“What you feel is not wasted.” A murmur, stern, as steadily and as serious as he possibly can be.

That feeling aches in his chest and you haven’t even gone anywhere. You haven’t left . . . yet. “What this is, is not wasted time. I spent twenty years wasting time, looking for something that wasn’t there, and with you . . . I can’t say I’ve found it –,”

“Why? Why can’t you say you’ve found it?” Your grip around his wrists tightens, eyes hard. “Why can’t you name it, Joel?”

“Can you?” He pulls his hands out of your grip and you let him go. “How can you ask for what you want when you can’t even ask to keep this dress?”

“Because I don’t deserve it!” It’s not silence that follows; it’s emptiness. You face away from him, pressing the heel of your hand into your brow bone, teeth slightly bared. Your arm bars across your stomach like you are literally holding in your guts. Finally, you lift your head, the few scant tears on your face sparkling in the firelight. “I don’t deserve you, Joel. I don’t deserve any of this. Ellie, the way she . . . I’m here, warm and happy, acting like the fucking world hasn’t ended. Playing house, playing pretend. Pretending like I’m your –,”

You swallow the words caught in your throat, gaze leaping away from him. At your side, your hand trembles again.

Oh, honey, the shit I’ve done . . .

With wide, wet eyes, you watch him approach. He doesn’t look at you, instead seeing exactly where he’d like to put his lips on your stomach beneath the fabric.

“Then what do you want, hm?” There’s a fold in the front of the dress and he runs his fingers along the edge of it. “We can’t fix it. Can’t go back ‘cause there’s nothin' to go back to. I don’t care what you had to do to get here, right here, with me because I’m so fuckin’ glad you are. I’m not pretending, not wasting my time, never was. ‘Cause you’re right.”

Your hand over his stills his endless roving and then it stays, scarred hand over scarred hand. Your gesture says something to him, something so meaningful he has no idea how to put it into words. He swallows his attempt and instead, slowly, drags both hands over your hips, where they stay. Heavy against the velvet.

You rest your own against his forearms, neither pulling him in or pushing him back.

“I was right about what?”

His eyes flick to yours and maybe it’s presumptuous, maybe he really is an old man afraid of his feelings, or maybe living this long – despite everything that ever tried to make it otherwise – living this long has granted him the privilege of knowing with perfect clarity what you’re thinking when you look at him like that. How he wants to whisper it back to you and he decides he will the next time your skin is warm and tacky, body helpless beneath his.

Your eyes shamelessly track the brush of his tongue against his bottom lip.

“That you’re mine. Just like I’m yours.”

The hands at his forearms glide up to his chest. The rims of your irises have gone a bit blurred, a bit unstable, and you can’t decide whether to look at his mouth or his eyes.

“Joel?” Suddenly breathy, all begging, pleading.

“Hm?”

“Get me out of this fucking dress.”

When your lips crash into his, his entire world narrows down to where on his body, yours touches:

your rough hand cradling his cheek, the other fisting the collar of his shirt. His fingers digging into your skirt, the heat from your thigh nearly driving him to tear straight through the fabric to get to you. Your sweet, perfect mouth smeared against his, lips puffed pink, nose to your cheek.

That warm, wet cunt he thinks he can feel through his boxers, jeans, the dress and your underwear.

It’s not enough.

The cry you let out is some mangled mix of a moan and his name when he licks the soft supple skin behind your ear and nips your earlobe.

“Baby, please – please – bedroom, we have to–,”

He grunts his disapproval at your words, overwhelmed by the scent that makes his mouth water as he stains the column of your throat with wet, humid kisses.

“Joel, c’mon, honey, just upstairs –,”

The last flickering tiny speckle of logic in his brain fights with itself; take your right here or haul you over his shoulder – which isn’t great for his back and, quite frankly, he intends to spend most of the night on his knees.

First option it is.

You mumble in confusion, eyes shut, chin brushing the thread of gray curls on the top of his head as he purposefully sucks a bright hickey into your collarbone, one hand cupping your breast, the other pushing you backwards. You go willingly, of course.

Until the backs of your legs hit the couch and there’s nowhere else to go. In the stumble, your dress rides up even higher and those thighs he’s actually lost sleep over appear to him. He drops to his knees, hands like meat hooks as they squeeze your waist, pulling that warm cunt even closer to him over the edge of the couch. You groan when he pushes the skirt up even higher, practically to your tits, as he explores your outer, then inner thighs with soft strokes of the back of his hands. He presses his nose to the crevice between your thigh and hip and inhales.

“B-baby, the windows,” you swallow thickly, slurring like you’re drunk, grabbing at his shoulders like you’re trying to steady yourself, or turn him towards the windows. “I mean – the curtains, baby, the curtains are –,”

“It’s a fucking blizzard outside,” he explains tersely with his eyes still closed, as if irritated to have a conversation instead of focusing every ounce of concentration he has to the heat and smell beneath your black panties. He drags his teeth over the elastic band around your hips and makes you whine his name for an entirely different reason.

You don’t make him stop or wait when he tugs those panties down your hips. In fact, you help, lifting your hips, the irises of your eyes so wide and black, you look halfway out of your mind.

Good.

He gathers the skirt he was once so fond of and stuffs it into the cushions behind you. You watch him as he moves, eyes half-lidded, finger scraping your bottom lip. Around his ribs, your knees dip back and forth, moving targets, like he’s forgotten why he’s here and needs reminding.

His big paw, the size of which makes you feel indescribably small, catches your knee and stills it, gaze dark and heavy. Do not test me right now. You try not to moan.

“Can’t believe I’m going to let you fuck me with my boots on,” you whisper airly, watching with delirious fascination as he puts one of your slender legs over his shoulder. His mouth is actually watering at the sight of your damp curls.

“Not gonna fuck you. Just gonna eat your pussy. You’ll know the difference.”

“Semantically, it’s the sa-a-me thi-ng, Jo-e – ah, Joel!”

His tongue up inside you turns you into a whiny, high-pitched, feminine mess. He eats like he does everything else: diligently, quickly, and silently.

Until you bury your fingers in his ash-flecked curls and tug.

That first deep, loud moan ripples through his body, rolling him up just off his heels, his crotch seeking some kind – any kind – of friction.

The feel of his mouth humming against your cunt has your eyes rolling back in your head. “Please, oh fuck, please –”

You are a grown woman. You should not be making these noises.

You also shouldn’t be using a man’s face to get off . . . but you do it anyway.

“Tha’s it, baby,” he mutters when your hips grind against his face. His nose catches your clit and around him, your thighs wobble. “Use me, fuckin’ use me.”

His grip around your calf over his shoulder turns rough and he knows he’ll bruise you, but fuck, the thought of you walking around town with a mark in the shape of his hand where everyone can see —

He briefly lifts his grip from your thigh to adjust his iron-hot cock in his jeans. From his view over your cunt, it doesn't seem like you noticed, or even saw him leave your skin. He watches you writhe, try to capture your breath, eyes crammed shut as your hips rock almost without your control. He takes a chance to lick the musky dampness from his upper lip when your cunt rolls back from his face a fraction of an inch — and then he sinks in again.

Call it age or the fact that you both are here at the end of the world, but the first night he ate you out, you told him exactly how and where you like it, unabashed and in control and honestly it’s the hottest thing he can think of in recent memory.

He would have written it down on the backs of his eyelids if he could.

He follows it to the letter.

“Joel – Joel, baby, please don’t stop –,” You buck and moan beneath him as he spells out your instructions with his tongue along your cunt. He dots the i’s with a tap of his tongue or a lick on your clit. Just inches above his head, your chest heaves, your fingers locked into his curls, gently pushing him closer to your puffy pussy as if he’d ever waste a drop of what leaks out of you.

With a flat-tongued brush against your suffering clit, you arch off the couch, your sighs now verging on desperate, high and whinging, because it’s just not fair how good he makes you feel. He can feel your foot curl against the planes of his back, the rubber heel heavy, your mouth open and wet, with your eyes locked on the ceiling as you try to ride out your humming orgasm with a semblance of control.

“Look at me.”

No other man has ever been able to make you come with just his mouth, you told him once.

And no other man ever will.

It’s sweet, the way your eyes soften briefly when you lock eyes with him, crouched between your thighs — before your head tips back, lips wrenched apart in a silent scream, and you come, as hard as he has worked for the flush of slick down his chin.

There’s goosebumps on your thighs, he notes. He rubs his thumb against your raised skin and you shudder, head rolling against the back of the couch.

He’s already feeling a slight twinge of shame at the noise his knees will inevitably make when he stands, but for now he’s content watching you glide down from your high, his head against your knee, shoulders still stretching your legs open wide.

To his delight, you manage to laugh, your hand draping over your eyes. You can see the shine of the dull light all across his lips, his chin, his nose and you have to close your eyes. He should make you lick it off him, but not tonight.

“Top marks, Miller, as usual,” you mumble, “but the threat of voyeurism really deserves the extra credit.”

He grins. Still waiting for your breath to slow, he wipes his mouth with his palm and slides the leg over his shoulder down in between his own thighs. Propped up on one knee, he begins to unlace your boot. He holds your calf like it’s delicate as he gently drags the boot over your heel.

He’s just as reverent with the other side.

And then your boots, the pair, sit at the end of his couch, like they were always meant to be there.

His heart, easing down from its own thunderous beat, squeezes and that feeling, that strange-not-so-strange feeling, the one that dictates practically every action with you, dribbles into his veins.

You open one eye. A flutter of lashes, coy and playful, the curve of your mouth guarding a hoard of secrets.

“Now, Joel Miller . . . will you take me to bed?”

It’s a question. A request. Your eyes, as dark as ever, on his warm his chest, all the way down his spine. You’re asking, politely, for a thing you both know he would never, ever deny you.

He cannot lose you, he just can’t.

He stands and, yes, his knees crack and pop, but he regains stability when he toes off his only good pair of cowboy boots. He nods, grinning, and offers you his hand.

The walk, half-run up to his bedroom is something his brain designates as not important enough to store away.

Instead, it languishes in the way you stretch out on his mattress before him, ass in the air, knees spread over his blankets and arms sliding through crumpled sheets towards the headboard.

The room is dark, the only light fighting its way through the downpour of snow comes from the lamp posts that dot the street outside. But the veil of snow warps the light and everything in the half-darkness is doused in blue.

The shadowy, blurred curve of your shoulder, blue.

The spread of your fingers on his mattress, blue.

The swollen bottom of lip of your mouth —

“Joel.”

The snow falls so fast and hard, it patters against the windows and the sides of the house. It’s the only thing he can hear over the pounding of his heart and the short breath in his lungs. He stares at you, soaking his blankets in your scent and slick, and you stare right back in utter and total silence.

You sit in the center of his bed, bare for him beneath the velvet dress that is red like blood, your patchy white socks at complete odds with your smeared make up and the fucked-out look in your eyes. But there’s something else there too.

Something softer. Gentler.

You reach out a hand to him and he goes to you, like always. The instant your skin touches his the instinct to fuck you hard until you’re bruised and crying evaporates. He doesn’t think you want that anymore either.

No, you need —

“Joel, please come here. I need you.”

You need him.

The mattress squeaks when he settles one knee and then the other on top of it, his fingers stroking your ear, brushing the tips of your hair, while he kisses you with an ache that is not physically manifested. Instead, it resides —

“I love you,” you whisper.

You pull back infinitesimally, just enough that your eyes are all he sees.

A patient silence hangs from the ceiling. The sound of snow falling. Of baited breath. The scratch of your fingers against at his beard —

“I love you too.” You smile and his body is no longer big enough to contain his heart. “I feel like I’ve always loved you. Is that strange?”

Your gaze traces the same path your fingers take when you think he’s sleeping; it runs over his nose, his forehead, his eyebrows, the plush curve of his lips. Like you can’t believe he’s there with you. Like you can’t believe he’s real.

That feeling — that feeling he had been fighting because it always was the only thing that would ever really do him in — is love. He loves you.

He loves you.

And you love him.

Didn’t think they told stories like this anymore, not in a world like this. So maybe, for once, Joel Miller just got lucky.

“No. It’s not. Just be sure you mean it.”

He can't tell if the glow in your eyes comes from within you or it beams out of him. “Every word.”

Eventually, he sheds you of his favorite dress of yours, your only dress, and he lays you back, fully bare in the nest of his blankets. In the corner of his bedroom, the heater hisses like the wind from a purple storm, the static crackle of warmth hovering in the air. You watch, with eyes that shine like stars, as he pops apart the pearl-snaps holding his shirt together.

And then his white undershirt goes next. He used to worry what he looked like, until he found someone else who had done exactly what was necessary to survive.

When he goes to unzip his pants, you sit up, hair mussed and the hickey he gave you earlier throbbing like a dream.

“I wanna do it.”

He lets you unbutton his jeans, slide the zipper down, at the edge of the bed, but your hands are shaking, your breath stunted.

“I’m fumbling like a teenager,” you huff, a small, flustered smile on your face. “It’s like I’m nervous, but what is there to be nervous about —,”

His mouth pressed up against yours creates the most beautiful silence of all.

How do you want me, you ask him and he thinks, all the time. But he takes you both under the covers and settles in next to you. He positions one leg over his hip and immediately you know exactly what he’s asking for. Quick as a whip, you are.

There’s a rustle of covers, the bed slats squeaking, and then he’s nearly nose-to-nose with you. You kiss him again, maybe nervous still.

He disconnects, when you slip between his legs and take his thick, leaking cock in your hand.

“Baby, wait, do you need — I know it’s a lot — I’m a lot –,”

He can’t fathom why he’s so nervous either. But you chuckle, shake your head, smile at him.

“Don’t need anything but you.”

Your leg wraps tighter over his hip, knee up to his ribs, as he sinks inside you. The palm wrapped around the back of your knee grips roughly only once.

This is true silence. The instant where the world goes muted, everything distant and muffled, when he’s first buried deep in your heat.

Your fingers thread through his curls and suddenly all sound is cranked up to an eleven. Your rapid, stilted breathing, the groan of the bed, your soft smothered moans, or are those his? —

“Fuck me, Joel.”

Eyes never leaving yours, he does.

Your fingers dig into his skull, nails biting, hand wrapped around his neck to hold yourself steady as he thrusts up into you. He thumbs your stiff nipple, half of his hand still grasping your ribs.

You meet him thrust for thrust, a slow steady pace that draws sweat to his hairline and endless gasps from his mouth. But your gaze stays strong, never falters. Your hand slips to his shoulder, to stabilize just a bit more, but then it's on his chest, twisting his chest hair and he thinks he feels that sparkle of sanity, of rationality, any restraint to hold back crack and shatter between the clench of his teeth.

“Goddamn–,”

He rolls, taking you under him and demanding a faster pace. You push your hand against the headboard, the bed knocking against the wall in rhythmic, hypnotic thuds.

He thinks you hiss his name before you bite down his shoulder.

The sharp shock of pain lights up his brain, channeling the sudden awareness that he liked that so fucking much all the way down his spinal cord where it presses hot against his groin.

He lifts up onto one elbow, skin sweat hot and sticky as it splits from yours.

“Tell me what you need to come,” he pants.

You whine again, your throat dripping sweat, but that’s not an answer. Knowing he has about a half-a-dozen to a dozen good grinds before it puts too much strain on his back, he uses every single one of them to drag you to the knife’s edge.

“What–,” grind, “do you need –,” grind, “to come?”

The wail you let out nearly makes him come on the spot. Your eyes have that same, out-of-this-world, off-this-planet unfocused gaze, any sort of language impossible. You plead with him in the silence. A silence loaded with damp moans, grit teeth, and skin against skin against skin against skin against skin. Best sound in the world, as far as he was concerned.

You arch until he lifts above you and, taking the hand that was by your head, tuck it down between your legs. You let him grasp around with spread fingers where you are wet, where his cock rocks into your body, watch as that pulls him apart faster with dark eyes, before pressing his thumb against your clit.

There, you say without words. There is where I need you.

Once, twice, he circles – he can feel the tightness in his back already settling in, his jaw fixed and locked, his body battling the two overwhelming sensations of dull pain and fierce, wild pleasure – and you hit your release and you soak him in it.

He falls then too, falls just as hard and as fast as you, the chronic pain he holds in his shoulders, his neck, his back, his knee fleetingly gone in the rush of heat that branches out of his body from his groin and it feels divine.

When he lies on top of you, face buried in the curve of your neck, the heat from your humid skin warming up the breath in his lungs, the throb of your body matching his, his mind wiped clean, the thought occurs to him:

It’s not silence he’s found with you, it’s quiet.

It’s peace.

Eventually, some awareness seeps back into his trembling body and he rolls off of you, but takes the curve of your jaw in his hand as he goes. He can’t settle into the pillows because he can’t stop kissing you, love bites occasionally against your lip, as if where his body fails, he proves his love for you won’t end so easily.

Eventually, you press your fingers into the base of his skull and, like a reset button, he groans and drops onto his back.

Eventually, the quiet returns. Only soft noises, murmurs of existence outside of this perfect little room, fill the space.

Eventually, he falls asleep with you curled up next to him.

He knows you love waking up in bed together, but he also knows you love fresh coffee even more.

Which is where Ellie finds him the next morning.

He nearly adds too much ground coffee to the pot because he’s distracted, lost in thought about the way your curves looked in the bright morning light, when the back door slams open and a little creature made of entirely scarves, mittens, and an oversized purple jacket stomps into his kitchen and clomps its snowy shoes on the rug.

“Joel, we gotta go!” She’s a little breathless, red-cheeked too as she unwinds the scarf around her head and her face is revealed. “We don’t wanna miss it!”

“Miss what?” Joel asks, this time carefully measuring how much water the pot needs.

His question is not met with her usually buzzy chatter. Instead, she’s stopped undoing her scarf and just stares at him like he’s been beamed down from another planet.

He realizes all too late that he’s still in PJs at 9AM (basically a sign of another apocalypse), he’s making more coffee than just for himself, and he’s smiling.

Shit.

“Ellie, um, I –,”

She rolls her eyes. Her scarf is flung off her neck and she starts yanking off her gloves, her plucky attitude back, if not a bit smug.

“Get your girlfriend up too. They’re lighting the big tree in town square in an hour. I know she’d be pissed if she missed it.”

So definitely caught. Time to be “The Adult” here and put it out on the table.

“Don’t call her that.” Joel eyes her. Coffee percolating, he grabs a slice of bread and Ellie’s favorite jam. “Makes it sound like we’re fourteen.”

She frowns at him, classic “pouty-mouth”.

“I’m fourteen — rude. But seriously, and I say this because I care, get over yourself. Call a spade a spade. You’re dating her, fucking her–,”

“Ellie!”

"– and you make gross ga-ga eyes at each other when you think I’m not looking."

She slides into the seat at the island in front of him as he pushes the toasted bread with jam across the marble to her. She takes a bite, chews with her mouth open, and shrugs. “That’s a girlfriend, dude.”

Joel turns back to the eggs that might be burning, his shoulders hunched and fist tight around the spatula. Hate it when the kid is right.

He salvages what he can of the eggs, plates them along with two strips of bacon on two plates, and balances a mug of coffee on each. He tries to salvage some of his dignity with a glare.

“When you’re older, you’ll see some things just don’t need labels.”

At that, she rolls her eyes again and snatches up the last strip of bacon from the folded, greasy napkins. “Whatever, you dork.”

Argument soundly lost, he gathers up the plates and heads back up stairs. She’s still mumbling to herself as he goes.

“'Girlfriend', pfft . . . much better than fuck bunny!” She yells to no one in particular.

You hear the entire conversation from bed, the door cracked open enough for the sound to travel. Muffling a giggle, you snag his white shirt from the floor and draw it over your head. You should probably be more embarrassed that Joel got caught in his Walk of Shame, even if it was to his own kitchen to make breakfast. But . . . you’re just not.

The smile is still on your face when his footfalls approach the door and he sticks his head into the room.

“Sounds like we’re busted,” you smirk.

Joel almost chuckles. “'Bout as busted as you can be.” He hands you one plate and sits on the end of the bed with his own. He takes a low, slow sip of coffee and you follow him. The eggs are nibbled at and the bacon is perfectly crunchy.

“So . . . girlfriend?”

He rolls his eyes. “Not you too.”

“I mean," you slip the plate and coffee onto the bedside table, then hug the sheets around your knees, "I agree with you on the bit about labels. It seems silly. And not wasteful silly. Just . . .”

“Silly.” Joel’s eyes are as dark as his coffee, warmer than it too. “Doesn’t really capture the whole thing, does it?”

An apocalypse and a half later, and a boy’s sweet eyes on you can still make your stomach swoop.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Then what do you wanna say, if people start askin’?”

You bite your lip, eyes up in faux-thought. “Truth be told, I'm kinda partial to fuck bunny. Cute like with a little tail and ears —,"

The groan from Joel and subsequent head shake makes you laugh enough for you to take pity on the old guy. You crawl closer and his eyes slip from your face to where the sheet tucks under your knees. But a hand on his cheek returns his gaze.

"I like what you said last night." Your smile is soft, pleased. "That I’m yours. Like you’re mine.”

Joel’s warmth bleeds from his whole frame as he leans in close to put his mug on the bedside table, then leans in closer still to you. He drags his nose over your bare, exposed shoulder, in a way that is sweet and sensual all at once. He stops with a kiss on the hinge of your jaw.

“I like that too. I like saying that you’re mine.”

Ignoring the shiver that rockets up your spine at the low hum of his voice, the flutter of his lips barely against your cheek, you tuck an errant curl around his ear and it immediately springs back up again. You smile and he smiles back, a youthful shine in his eyes.

“Wherever you are, I am too.”

Listen to: I am the forest by Willie Nelson

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syb-rooks · 1 year ago

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The bad kids are an incredibly healthy and supportive friend group BUT OH MY GOD THEY SUCK AT COMMUNICATING!

Half of their problems would be solved if they talked to each other.

Fabian would GLADLY pay for Adaine's components and for Riz's tuition if they asked. He would even get his papa to change his trust fund conditions to include them. Or he would declare Riz and Adaine his nemesis.

They would figure out the reason for Fig's misfortune in a week max. They would march into hell, probably accompanied by both Gorthalax and Sandra Lynn, and demand to break whatever deal she made with whichever demon involved.

If Fabian even suggested he was lonely, the bad kids would organise sleepovers every night. He would circle between the Thistlesprings, the Gukgaks and the Mordred Manor. Lydia would pack him his own lunch.

Fig would immediately start promoting Cassandra's religion on all social media, and get her to thousand followers in a week. The rest of the bad kids would join without hesitation.

If Riz would finally admit the HUGE stress he is under, everyone, even Fig, would stop piling all the work on him and happily write their 10 page essays. They would convince him to see Jawbone, and enjoy his last years in high school. They would band together to find the rogue teacher within a day. They would make sure that Riz's resume is the most impressive CV that the universities have ever received.

They would all gather together to come up with music for Fig and Gorgug's new album. Fabian would choreograph their music videos, Adaine would come up with rhymes, Riz would bring a list of all their adventures, including motifs and connections made, to give her inspiration, Kristen would suggest to make parodies of classic camp songs from her old church.

Adaine would contact Aelwyn immediately to get dirt on Porter, to blackmail him. Gorgug would get permission for his MCAT exams by the end of the week.

And if she would stay on the phone a little longer and admitted how much she is struggling, Aelwyn would immediately return home along with her cats. Then she would drag her sister to Jawbone's door, and force her to give him the components list.

The problem is that even after all those years, after all those adventures, even after the forest of the nightmare king, they still each think of themselves as the weak link. As the person in the group that isn't allowed, doesnt deserve to take space, ask for help. Because they should be able to handle it on their own. Isn't that what adulthood is like?

They would abandon anything and everything to help someone else, as long as that person isn't themselves. As long as they dont have to show their amazing, incredible, powerful, and oh so compassionate friends how weak and imperfect they are in comparison.

#what i am saying is that #I NEED SOMEONE TO LOCK THEM IN A ROOM #AND CAST ZONE OF TRUTH #PLEASE BRENNAN I'LL PAY YOU 10 DOLLARS #dimension 20 fantasy high spoilers #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #fhjy spoilers #dimension 20 fhjy #dimension 20 #riz gukgak #adaine abernant #gorgug thistlespring #fig feath #fabian seacaster #kristen applebees #long post #the bad kids

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novelistwriter · 1 month ago

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Ghastly Connections

DP x DC Prompt

This prompt was inspired by "Building a Proper Support System Straight from the Box"

Danny's life is pretty good so far. His parents had accepted his Ghost Half, Vlad isn't being his usual Fruitloop self, his grades are slowly getting better because his Ghostly Rogues are scheduling fights, the Observants aren't as obnoxious and demanding on him because he's the Ghost King/Prince, and the GIW seem to have given up on him, as no one has heard from them at all.

The GIW didn't give up. They just pulled back temporarily to get better. They trapped the entire town and started subduing any and everyone that was Liminal and Ghosts and dragging them... somewhere.

Danny, Dani, Dan, Vlad, the Fentons, and anyone else tried their best to push back against the GIW. Nothing was working, so the Halfa's pulled off a raid to free the Ghosts and people trapped by the GIW, sacrificing themselves in the process.

The Ghosts that were freed and sent to the Infinite Realms/Ghost Zone were too shocked to see that Danny, their King, destroyed the portal without following behind them. They had to help their King and the rest of the Royal Family, but they need help, so they are heading to the people they knew when they were alive to ask them for help.

Pandora is ashamed for letting the White Suits best her because of her weakness to their weapons, but she heads to Themyscira to get aid from Hippolyta and the rest of her Amazon Sister's.

Johnny and Kitty are heading to Star City to see if Johnny's younger brother will be able to help, Johnny knows that little Oli is still alive.

Ember is heading to her home city, Gotham, to see if the Bat can help her. After all, she was a popular singer, and the little Street Rat she knows is Robin will be on board to help.

Skulker is going to Metropolis, his old "buddy" Alexander still owes him some favors, and he's going to cash them in.

Lunch Lady is going to Smallville to see if the Kent's still live there, she knows Superman is Clark, and she hopes they still live on the farm she visited her old friend has, after all, Martha Kent and her were quite the rambunctious duo in their prime.

Youngblood is going to Central City to see if his best friend Barry still lives there and to see if he has any kids to play with when everything is over and done with.

Desiree is going to her favorite Drunk British Man, but not to mess with him. She is on a mission to save the Realms from being destroyed. She'll mess with him later.

Now it's a race against time, and the Ghostly Rogues of Phantom need to gather help fast, or else the Realms will cease to be when the Royal Family is ended by the GIW.

#danny phantom #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcu #ghost king danny #danny fenton #dp crossover #dp x dc prompt #batman #green arrow #wonder woman #superman #hellblazer #the flash

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aly4khq · 2 months ago

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INCIDENTS, INCIDENTS...

characters: xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus

summary: you are a idol who is known worldwide for your amazing talent and dedication, you loved your group and your career, but at one performance you stumble into a problem when you have an accident on stage.

warnings: described injuries, mention of an 0verdosage in medication, fainting, weird fans, mentions of death (not mc), falling like a silly, 1 pinch (sylus)

wc: written on the separate info!

XAVIER : a hunter's instinct

wc, 1.1K — boyfriend!xavier, falling, injuries, xavier fighting for your right after

xavier was your biggest fan, whenever he would find that any of your merch was on stock again, they'd be sold out because of him in less than an hour. he was always wishing you a good performance, making that you ate well and sleep well the day you were performing.

he was always there, in the front row cheering you on and just admiring how beautiful you looked on stage with the mic in your hand and the lights shining of your face. meanwhile, the fans around him are screaming and yelling, the absolute opposite of him.

now; when you were rehearsing on the stage, you realised that your spot on the rising platform was very loose and unstable. the platform would rather get jambed in the middle, start to drop at random points or sway dramatically which affected your beginning of your dance. it felt like it was missing a few nails, so you reported it. yet you were only given back a, "you'll be alright, it's probably getting used to being stepped on."

you dealt with it, and managed to figure out a way to manoeuvre it so you could rise from under onto the stage above without swaying or falling. but every day it got more worse until i was way too late to get it permantely fixed.

the day had come and fans with their sighs, inspired outfits and light sticks had arrived at the big stadium where your group was performing. xavier was absolutely there first, making sure to give you a few reassuring texts once he got in.

✧: Are U Ready

✧: I can't wait 2 see U on the stage

✧: Drink water and be safe, see U

as soon as the introduction ended, the platform's rose and you began to sing the intro to the first song of the night. many fans sang along whenever you'd turn the mic to them.

as much as xavier loved your amazing skills in dancing, his eyes were focused on that platform your life was apparently in the hands of. it was wobbling like crazy and the side of it was dropping down like there was nothing supporting it anymore. xavier tried to alert you, pointing at the platform whenever you made eye contact but you just had to shrug it off.

whilst another member was singing her part, a member on your right whispered to you, trying to talk to you about it. "walk around it." they said, step over it or all of us stop in front of the platforms." but despite the talking, you couldn't alert the others in time until you had to continue performing.

you and your members walked back due to the steps in your choreography, making your way to the other side of the platform to dance to the other side of the audience on your right and left. everyone was clapping along a s you all strutted down the stage to your places with the mic by your ear.

as soon as your foot met that platform, you heard a clack! and you were going down. the platform snapped, drooling you down to the place where you originated from with a thud. you let out a pained scream from the impact of your body on the harsh material of the platform's floor and it's mechanics.

"ahh!" you took a deep breath before closing your eyes to endure the pain that shot through your body. the metal rods that connected to the top of the platform dug into your skin and scratched the surrounding areas.

your members ran to your platform, trying to each for your arms as you laid there in pain, many backstage crew coming onto the stage. the fans all gasped and stopped cheering after you fell, all of them quietly asking each other what even happened.

but xavier..that man was already there. you opened your eyes again after closing them due to the pain and he was there in the slightly tight space, holding you in his arms before teleporting back up to the stage where the medics were currently heading. the crowd nearly instantly erupting into more gasps and slightly yells, asking if you were okay.

"hey..." xavier pants, "it's me, just breathe—" you began to hiss at the feeling of your body aching, reminding your brain that you were injured. your body tensed weirdly as you held onto xavier's hand. "—hey hey hey, relax, you're okay...you're okay..."

"ow..." you whined as medics surrounded you, opening their large briefcases filled with medical equipment and started to examine you.

the bruises lingered on your poor body; staining your side, hip and inner thigh with a reddish colour which was soon to turn into a deep bruise. the sharp metal parts cut into the skin behind your thigh, small pea sized blood escaping the small scratch.

meanwhile, the directors came out, telling the other members to say their ending speech now whilst you were taken backstage. many fans were upset, leaving out of the door that were assisted by the bodyguards. the whole performance was being rescheduled for another time.

"baby," xavier gently caressed your cheek, turning you face to him as the medics cleaned the cut and bandages up other wounds. "are you sure you don't want to report this?"

with a tired shake of your head, you murmured, "i reported it already, it was just ignored again." he didn't like that at all, gently holding your hand in his whilst he thought about all that happened. "i couldn't even breath for a second when you screamed, fear like that...? it could be deadly."

"i'm sorry xavier," he quickly cut you off with a kiss on your forehead. "don't be sorry, it's alright, it's the people who are in charge who are at fault."

you laughed before the medics helped you get up, helping you to the backstage first aid station where your members were waiting.

"are you okay?!!" one asked, holding your arm as you walked together. you smile at her concern before replying, "i'm alright, i should be fine by tomorrow or the day after—"

xavier took your chin in his index and thumb, turning your head to his direction. you spotted his confused gaze. "are you sure that you want to perform? those bruises could get worse, it's bad for your health for you to be injured and perform."

"i'll be okay xavier, i'll be extra careful." despite the amount of fear xavier felt in his heart for you, he wasn't going to force you to stop performing. he'll just be extra cautious with you, more than normal.

ZAYNE : a doctor's concern

wc, 0.8K — husband!zayne, mentions of an over dosage, fainting

zayne has known about your passion for performance and singing since you were young, he was one of the first people to ever hear your singing and skills in songwriting. and he was now the most popular fan for being spotted nearly everywhere.

he would buy your photo cards and have them on his desk in his office where he could remember those eras inside of his comfort place at work whilst also doing paperwork. he'd always be in the backstage or the seats at the front.

the only reason why he was backstage was because he was your primary care physician and they needed him to make sure that you were in perfect shape and health whenever time would come that you needed to perform. he made sure that your medicine was given to you properly. mostly he would do it himself but today he was busy for the first few hours before your show.

one of the backstage crew were put in charger to put the dosage of medicine into your system, only because they had been proven to have studied medicine once in their lifetime.

you went backstage as normal when the beginning of your concert was near and the member of the crew gave you that dosage of medicine. "thank you," you replied with a smile before walking to the bench and hydrating.

you started to feel a dizzy, your head beginning to throb in the right wide out of nowhere. your eyebrows furrowed we you tried to figure out what to do in this situation. you couldn't call zayne to ask if there was any side effects to the medicine you were given because he wasn't avaliable for that hour, you were reminded when you check your messages. "...what am i supposed to do now??"

❅ : Don't forget your medicine.

❅ : I'll be there in an hour.

❅ : I love you.

despite the weird feeling in your body, you forced yourself to deal with it and get ready to perform.

the introduction came on as your appeared from the starting point, smiling and putting the mic to your lips. you started to sing out your heart; enjoying the moment.

that's when you could hear zayne in the back, asking the backstage crew for something. but that wasn't your concern, you had a job to do.

you danced along with the back up dancers, singing and just messing around with the screaming fans around you. many of them waving around signs and wearing your merch, even those that just dropping a little while ago.

that was until you felt it. a banging pain in your chest which instantly caused you to slow down on the movements, sitting down on the chair you came from with elegance, turing to make it seem like it was apart of the plan despite your face full of fear and pain. the fans around you were yelling out, not realising what was happening right in front of them.

you sang one more verse before you tried to focus. your mind was elsewhere as you started to dissociate, out of this world. "...um, shit..." you grasped onto the chair with fear before your vision got bouquet then went completely black.

tha last thing you heard was a loud thud and people gasping, people running across the stage and that familiar voice: that voice that made your heart relaxed at the sound of it. zayne.

when you woke up, you were in a pristine white environment; white bedcovers and walls, fhe trays and tablets were placed between you and the wall of your bed, the bed centred in the middle of the room. there was an iv beside you which gave you the answers that you needed, you were in the hospital.

with a little whimper, you rose your head to try and remember your reason of even being here. the door opened as zayne, in his work clothes, entered with a tray of food and water. he was already in his work clothes, which indicated that it was the next day and you've already been here for a day or so.

he was soft when talking to you.

"hello, how are you feeling?" his voice was calming, soothing yet there was a little bit of rage underneath that tone. he sat down beside you, "i heard what happened and rush to your aid."

then it clicked, the medicine, you fainting and more. "...oh that," who would know that a simple instruction of medicine could end up risking my life?

now as a reminder, you're only supposed to take a few millilitres before your performance and turns out that that same backstage crew member had seen the 1 as a 10 and give you the completely wrong dosage. a lethal dosage.

"i hope that you realise that i'm never leaving your team responsible of medicine ever again."

RAFAYEL : an artist's sharpness

wc, 1.1K — boyfriend!rafayel, he gets angry, flashing??, crying

rafayel and you were known as the biggest power couple known to man. his famous art exhibition was a form of performance in his eyes, and your famous display of your performances was the best duo ever. he was there for your concerts, just as much as you were there for his art work and interview work.

only this amount rafayel is that he has an AMAZING choice in fashion, his outfits were always fitting and well tailored. this led to him always making sure that your clothes were made nicely as well as your other members and that you weren't being left out from the theme/other clothing.

there were times that this man would fight with your stylist about their clothes that they gave you, leading to him taking over himself and obviously making sure that you were comfortable in those clothes.

now, today was another important day with a concert coming up. this latest album was focused on maturity and professionalism , which was why your outfits were slight revealing but also very teasing in a way. your outfit was adorable and fit in well, but there was one little problem.

whilst practice, your shirt kept falling apart, nearly exposing your whole upper half to your members and the directors around you. whenever you did a particular move in your dance where you'd push your right leg out and roll your chest to the right, the fabric would fall apart and fall off of your body.

you instantly went to the stylists once it became enough 'mistakes', reporting it as it being too loose and interrupting your dancing. but they only replied with, "you're being too aggressive," "maybe it's the dance, not us." and "i can't do anything honey,"

this was becoming an ongoing issue, and no one was taking it into mind properly. no one except rafayel.

𓇼 : wdym ur shirt is falling off

𓇼 : ????

𓇼 : don't worry cutie

𓇼 : i'll fix this.

when your concert started; you had already had doubts about that shirt that you were told to wear. it was once, twice, thrice that you had to correct it and not flash everyone. but now it was way too late to argue about it because the stage was opening up and your members were just about ready.

you all walked onto the stage, getting into position as the other dancers did their thing — dancing and introducing the next song with they famous move. the beginning of the song started and you could see rafayel in the VIP seats, along with his bodyguards, staring at you with awe.

...until he landed his eyes on your shirt. even though he knew about the mistakes that it brought, from one look he could see the problem. the stitching was too loose and the material wasn't good quality for a shirt that type.

halfway through, you thought that your outfit was behaving and it wasn't making you seem weird. there was one move in the dance when all the group members put your hands on your hips and move your chest up and down whilst moving to the side.

it went well, then you heard a big rip! and a cold breeze met your chest. your hand flew to your shirt, catching it just in time to cover your chest with a yelp. you turned around, trying to fix it when the back ripped as well.

luckily, rafayel managed to get one of the bodyguard by the stage to hand you his jacket. you wrapped it around your chest and zipped it up, it fit nicely and also held the old shirt fabric tightly. you continued to dance and perform despite the feeling to cry in your throat.

as soon as the concert finished and you all said your private thank you's, you ran backstage as you saw a familiar figure in the audience rush as well. you were devastated, you felt disgusted and you had humiliated yourself in front of your own fans.

you sat in your design room, sitting at your desk as you found an older shirt to put on. with tears in your eyes, you put the shirt on.

the door opened, "i'm changing!" you yelled, snapping at whoever decided to walk up unannounced. "it's me," you heard rafayel state, shutting the door behind him. he instantly saw how badly you were upset, putting his arms out.

"come here," he beckoned as you followed and hugging his chest, letting yourself cry into his chest. "there there.. he looked devastated seeing you so distressed and sad from your outfit malfunction. so he did what any boyfriend would.

with you in his arms, he left the room and went straight to the directors and stylist with an annoyed gaze.

they were currently in a deep conversation about todays and future concerts, concerning the members and stage crew when the door slammed open with rafayel.

"um...this is a confidential meeting mr rafayel..are you alright?—" "confidential my ass, it wasn't so confidential that your directing skills were shit when my girlfriend was literally humiliated on stage because of you."

he turned to you, "you looked beautiful cutie, dont worry." you let out a smile before covering my face with your hands. rafayel sighed, "what if i wasn't there at that moment? would she have had to continue with her chest exposed? or would she have had to run off stage and risk being scolded by you assholes."

the room was completely silent once rafayel was finished with his rant, no one dared to speak, not when he could easily speak out about this incident to thousands and get them fired.

"what do you say to her?", rafayel spoke nicely, but you instantly went out of your way and dismissed him. "rafayel what?- that's not—"

he put his finger over your mouth and let them speak and in unison they all responded, "we're sorry," rafayel interrupted, "for what?" you tried not to laugh as you mouthed to them to just continue with their meeting. but rafayel's gaze was more intimidating. the main stylist spoke our, "we're sorry for...invalidating your..um..concerns and not being...more keen on making you see comfortable on stage."

"it's alright—" you tried to speak but rafayel spoke, "and you better not do it again—ow!" you slammed his upper arm before excusing yourself and removing him from the room with a slight pull. you were shocked with what he was trying to accomplish.

whilst you were walking back to your room, he noticed your fake annoyed glare, "whatttt?? i was just telling them off." he defended himself, letting you drag him back. "yeah and risking my career, dickhead."

"no, its putting people in their place: i'll always be there to do that for you. don't forget it."

SYLUS : a leader's observation

wc, 0.8K — husband!sylus, mentions of death(not mc, not sylus!), kidn4pping attempt, he carry you, 1 pinch,

sylus was a secretive supporter when it came to your passion in music. he was always there on the sidelines, cheering you on from the VIP section along with luke and kieran who managed to become your two biggest supporters in the world.

he was there whenever you wanted him to be even when he had important things to do, he'd make sure that he is the first person to sit down and the last person to leave (if he's forced too).

lately, there's been a fan sending weird letters to places associating with you. your house, your workplace, any brands that you collabed with and even shops that you were seen constantly entering.

you brought this to the attention of sylus, hoping that he'll help. luckily, he managed to track down the letter and have them banned from your comfort homes.

𓅩: I'll be there tonight.

𓅩: Start whenever you'd like, I'll secure the area.

𓅩: Be safe.

now today was another concert, and you were standing on stage. the introduction performers were doing their thing — waving their flags and gracefully moving to the music of your first song.

as you sat in the middle of the stage, you had a piano in front and a microphone on top. you even singing nicely, hitting ever note that came across. the fans were silent, how you nicely asked them to be. some of them with their phones, recording the beautiful songs you sang.

until a few gasps and confused noises came from the crowd before, all of them focused on someone behind you. after a few seconds of you slowly stopping your singing, they started to speak...then get louder and start yelling.

'over there!' one of them yelled, pointing quickly, 'who is that??!!' you did as told and turned around to see a random man, dressed in all black with his hood down from his jacket. he walked towards you quickly before holding your hand and pulling you slowly. you stood from your seat, trying to understand what was going on.

"hey— wait! security!" you exclaims, suddenly realised what was going on. a random fan or whatever had gotten onto the stage and was trying to take you somewhere without your management knowing. "hello!!"

the security caught on, trying to get onto the stage fast before you were taken. but they were beaten to it.

crimson and black streaks wrapped around the fans body, straggling ghe man up by his chest. the pressure held onto his torso, leaving him to struggle the magic wrap. you escaped before rushing backstage as the security began to lead the people out until they stopped at the sight of sylus walking onto the stage with an annoyed glare.

the people rushed out faster and the stadium was cleared as sounds of gargling and choking came from inside.

you heard a loud burst of disgusting sounds before silence filled the stadium and the next thing you were hearing was sharp footsteps. everyone around you were wondering why someone was basically storming up to the room.

then a tall figure with his hands in his pockets and white locks came into view, you ran to him before hugging him. "sylus! oh my gosh..." he used his right hand to hug you back, wrapping it around your waist before rustling his chin against your hair, turning around with you in his arms.

"we'll be leaving." his deep gloomy voice was enough to make your colleagues agreed. "yes sir!" he sighed agaisnt your head, before his hand went further down your body to behind your knees. with one smooth move, he lifted you onto his shoulder, carrying you gently.

"sylus?" you called out quickly, and he responded by letting out a small hum. "where are you taking me?" with every step, he held into your body tighter.

he nearly felt offended by what you even asked, his other hand coming up to pinch the back of your thighs making you let out a shriek. "where do you think? we're going home."

"....this is not the direction to my home." you hesitantly replied after a beat or two.

you could sense the laugher in the area and then sylus let out a hearty chuckle, "you're adorable sweetie, we're going back home."

home meaning his base, you let out a small gasp of realisation. "oh!"

"yeah, oh."

this took took long for my liking, but anyway.

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downbad4sylus · 18 days ago

Text

“Sylus, something’s wrong.”

(inspired by this post)

synopsis: After an impromptu mission with Sylus, you have a sudden flare up of your Protocore Syndrome.

content: sylus x afab!reader; reader is MC; use of Y/N; established relationship; angst. so much angst; zayne cameo; happy ending; mostly proofread

word count: ~2.4k

a/n: been cooking this up for a while, then was inspired by the post referenced above. hope everyone enjoys like two thousand words of pure angst :D

Sylus always enjoyed tagging along on your missions. He enjoyed all the time he spent with you of course, but fighting beside you was like seeing a physical manifestation of how far you’d come in your relationship. You moved in perfect synchronicity, supporting and anticipating the other’s moves without so much as a word passed between you. And when you resonated, when your powers combined and your light filled his darkness, Sylus felt like he was floating on air. Oh how far you’d come with him, and now you were his and only his.

Working in tandem, you and Sylus finished off the last of the Wanderers that had interrupted your walk through the park, the protofield dissipating.

Breathing heavily, but otherwise unharmed, you checked your Hunter’s Watch. “The area’s all clear,” you announced.

“That was fun, sweetie,” Sylus drawled with a grin. “We should fight Wanderers on our walks more often.”

You chucked. “They do spice things up, don’t they?”

“They do,” he agreed. He held out his hand for yours. “Come, let’s go sit and catch our breaths.”

Smiling, you reached for his hand—

A sudden wave of discomfort washed over you. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Sweetie?”

Instinctively, the hand that reached for his retreated, curling against your chest.

You looked up into Sylus’s red, gem-like eyes and took a staggering step toward him. “Sylus, something’s wrong. I don’t feel right.”

Sylus’s face twisted with concern, and he closed what little distance lay between you, gently gripping your upper arms. “What is it? Tell me.”

“My…heart...”

You went limp.

Sylus caught you before you could fall, tilting your head up. “Y/N?”

No answer, you were unconscious.

Sylus was well aware of your heart condition, however for as long as he’d known you, you’d never had a flare up.

A fear he hadn’t felt before—so visceral in the way it stole the air from his lungs—washed over him.

He didn’t know what to do.

You never told him what he was supposed to do if this happened.

What was he supposed to do?

Sylus moved on instinct alone, sweeping you into his arms as he strode for his car. He pulled your phone out of your pocket, unlocking it with practiced ease, and scrolled through your contacts until he found who he was looking for.

It rang only once before the caller picked up.

“Y/N, should I be worried you’re calling me out of the blue like this?” asked the cool, slightly amused voice.

“Are you at the hospital?” Sylus questioned, trying very hard to keep the panic from his voice.

He felt the shift in demeanor through the phone.

“Who is this?”

He might have appreciated Dr. Zayne’s suspicion were these different circumstances, but right now, Sylus didn’t have the patience for it.

“Her boyfriend,” Sylus snapped. “Are you at the hospital?”

There was a pause. “Yes, I’m at the hospital. Is Y/N all right?”

Sylus swallowed against the growing lump in his throat and choked out, “It’s her heart.”

Zayne swore softly. “How far away are you?” His tone was more frantic now, mirroring Sylus’s own inner turmoil.

“Maybe ten minutes,” Sylus said, finally reaching his car. He didn’t bother to put you in the passenger seat, he simply held your limp body in his lap as he started the car and peeled out of the parking lot.

“Come to the emergency room, I’ll have a stretcher and team ready by the time you arrive.”

The line went dead, so Sylus tossed your phone onto the empty passenger seat and focused on the road ahead of him.

He weaved in and out of traffic, ignoring a myriad of laws to do so. He didn’t care about the others cars on the road, or the pedestrians trying to cross the street, all that mattered to him was you.

Sylus kissed the top of your head, willing and praying for you to be okay. “Come on,” he whispered, his hand tightening around the steering wheel, “just hold on a little longer for me, kitten.”

—

Pulling up to the curb in front of Akso Hospital’s emergency room, Sylus had barely put the car in park before barreling out, leaving the door wide open as he ran for the entrance with you cradled in his arms.

Zayne was waiting inside, just as he’d said, with a team of doctors and a stretcher. Sylus carefully laid you out on the stretcher, keeping your hand in his.

“What happened?” Zayne asked, leading the team out of the lobby and into the emergency ward.

“We were fighting Wanderers,” Sylus explained, “Y/N wasn’t injured but she said something was wrong all of sudden, and before she collapsed, she said it was her heart.”

Zayne, with a clinical precision, began barking orders at his team of which Sylus paid no attention. He was laser focused on you, on your unconscious form on the stretcher, on the hand he gripped tightly with his own.

He couldn’t lose you, not so soon after he’d finally been able to call you his.

Only moments later, Zayne stopped at another set of double doors, marked for hospital staff only.

“I need to evaluate Y/N’s condition and from there I’ll determine the best course of treatment,” he explained as the team rolled you through the doors, your hand slipping from Sylus’s grasp. “I’ll update you when I can. You can wait in my office, just ask one of the nurses at the front for directions.”

Zayne didn’t wait for Sylus’s reply and strode through the doors after you.

Sylus stood frozen for a moment, still in shock that this was even happening. That you were no longer by his side and he now had to wait for updates on your condition.

He felt so useless, and Sylus hated feeling useless.

Sylus wrestled with his emotions as he finally moved from the doors and headed toward Zayne’s office. He knew the way, he’d memorized the location of where your doctor conducted your check ups long ago.

He was furious with himself as he stalked through the halls. He was supposed to take care of you but now had to rely on others to do it for him. Sylus could heal your physical wounds with his Evol, but he wouldn’t dare touch your heart with it for fear he would do much more harm than good. He did not have the wealth of knowledge and experience of Protocore Syndrome like Zayne. He could do nothing but pass you off to those more equipped to help you. He could do nothing but wait and pray that you’d be okay.

—

Sylus waited in Zayne’s office for hours.

Naturally, he’d searched through its entirety. It was mostly out of the need to do something more than just sit around and wait.

There wasn’t much of note, but Sylus did notice a few odds and ends on Zayne’s desk that he knew had come from you. Again, were the circumstances different, Sylus would’ve been more upset seeing your touches on your doctor’s desk, touches that should be reserved solely for him and no one else. But rather than be upset, seeing these things only produced a hollow ache in Sylus’s chest.

Would he lose the touches you made in his life? Would the growing collection of odds and ends on his desk back at the base stop in its tracks, never to be added to again? Would the slow plushy takeover of his bed, his couches, cease as well? What would he do with your things? He couldn’t get rid of them, but would he be able to bear looking at them, day in and day out, knowing you were no longer there alongside them? Alongside him?

The pain of losing you quite literally knocked Sylus off his feet. He collapsed on the couch, burying his face in his hands.

He couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t lose you.

Sylus wondered if this was how you felt after you’d lost him, in another lifetime amongst a field of flowers. He prayed that fate be kind to him, that fate spare you, so he could make it up to you, for leaving you as he did. He would shower you in love, to make up for a lifetime lost but also to promise a lifetime anew. He never took you for granted, not for one second, but if you survived this, he would make damn sure you knew how much he loved and appreciated you.

The office door opening tore Sylus from his thoughts, his head snapping up to find Zayne striding toward him. The doctor sat on the couch beside Sylus, staring at his hands. Sylus noticed the scars on his arms, peeking out from his slightly rolled up sleeves.

“Y/N is stable,” Zayne said, prompting a tidal wave of relief to crash over Sylus. “Her flare up was nothing too serious this time, but she’ll need to rest for a few weeks before returning to work.” Zayne met Sylus’s gaze, hazel tinged with green locked on striking, ruby-red. “Can I trust you’ll make her follow my treatment plan?”

Despite himself, Sylus huffed a laugh. “She is a stubborn one, isn’t she?”

“To a fault,” replied Zayne.

“Yeah, I’ll make her,” said Sylus. “I have no intention of having her repeat this anytime soon. Once was more than enough for me.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Zayne rose from the couch. “Would you like to see her?”

—

Seeing you laying in the hospital bed, hooked up to an IV, your steady pulse beeping from the heart monitor, was a sight that almost brought Sylus to his knees.

At first glance, he thought you were dead, despite knowing that Zayne had said you were stable. But even as his emotions caught up with his logic, it was still a hard pill from him to swallow.

As Zayne stayed near the door to give you both a semblance of privacy, Sylus swiftly crossed the room and sat in the chair beside the bed, taking your hand without the IV needle in it between both of his.

“I’m here, sweetie,” he murmured, running his thumb along your skin. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Your brow furrowed as your nose scrunched. Your eyes opened slowly, as if hearing Sylus’s voice had roused you into consciousness.

You blinked slowly, taking in the strange space in front of you. It took a few moments before it became clear, before you realized you were in the hospital, when the last thing you remembered was being in the park with Sylus.

Sylus.

Your gaze drifted to where he sat at your bedside, cradling your hand in both of his. “Sy?” you croaked. “Why are we at the hospital? I thought we were at the park.”

His face was nothing but tender as he looked at you, providing you with an innate sense of safety and comfort. “We were,” he said softly. “What do you remember?”

“We fought some Wanderers…and we were going to sit on a bench to catch our breaths…and then nothing,” you said.

“Before we could sit, you told me that you didn’t feel right,” Sylus explained. “You said something was wrong with your heart, and then you fainted. I brought you straight to the hospital.”

Your brows knitted. “Is Zayne here?”

“I am, Y/N,” Zayne said, moving from his spot near the door to the end of your bed.

“Doctor Zayne.” You managed a small smile. “What’s the prognosis?”

The exasperation was clear in your doctor’s expression as he grabbed your chart and looked it over. “You’ll live,” he replied dryly.

You chuckled. “Isn’t that a relief.”

Sylus squeezed your hand and you looked to him. He was frowning and did not seem remotely amused at your attempt at levity. Knowing you had probably scared the poor man half to death, you resisted the urge to stick your tongue out at him.

“You’ll need to stay overnight for observation,” Zayne continued, either unaware or uncaring of yours and Sylus’s silent conversation. “As long as your vitals are normal come the morning, you’ll be able to go home, under a strict treatment regiment of course.”

You rolled your eyes, earning another disapproving squeeze from Sylus.

Zayne glanced up from your chart, meeting your gaze.

“Thank you, doctor,” you said to him, genuinely meaning it.

“It’s my job,” was his simple reply. He glanced between you and Sylus. “I’ll leave you for now, but I’ll be back later to check on you.”

“Thank you,” Sylus said, surprising you.

Zayne gave a curt nod before making a swift exit.

You opened your mouth to speak to Sylus but was interrupted by his phone vibrating in his pocket.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” you asked when he made no move to retrieve it.

He shook his head. “It’s just the twins looking for an update.” He reached up with one of his hands, gently cupping your cheek. “How do you feel?”

You leaned into his touch. “I feel okay.”

“Don’t ever do that to me again.” There was a rare vulnerability in Sylus’s voice as he said those words, one that told you all you needed to know about the time he spent while Zayne was treating you.

But you couldn’t make him that promise. You knew that, and you knew he knew that.

Still, this didn’t stop you from saying, “I won’t.”

Satisfied, Sylus rose from the chair and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I love you too much to lose you, okay?” he whispered against your skin.

“Okay,” you whispered back. “And I love you too.”

—

Bonus:

“No rigorous activity of any kind for at least a week,” Zayne instructed harshly as he wrapped up your strict treatment plan before you were to be discharged. A positively smug glint sparkled in his eyes as he said, “That includes sexual activity.”

Your face went beet red. “Zayne!” you exclaimed, burying your face in your hands to hide your embarrassment. “Why would you say that?! I understood what you meant!”

“It’s a doctor’s duty to be as detailed as possible when giving a patient’s treatment plan,” he responded with a slight smirk.

“I’m seeing Greyson from now on.”

“Let’s not be dramatic.”

“Zayne! Just let me go home already!”

As Sylus silently observed the back and forth, he begrudgingly admitted to himself that he might actually like your doctor.

#l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #sylus x mc #sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #sylus angst #lads angst #love and deepspace angst #l&ds angst

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danganronpadespairtime · 4 months ago

Text

As you may know, Chapter 2 of Danganronpa: Despair Time has finally concluded, after a long 3 years since the end of Chapter 1. Thank you to the staff members who made this possible and thank you to everyone who has stuck with me during this long journey! I was very nervous about a lot of things, so I hope that chapter 2 has been received well.

This is unfortunately where I have to talk about some bad news. DRDT is going on hiatus. In fact, it will probably be quite some time before I even begin work on chapter 3. I know this is probably disappointing news for many, I am terribly sorry. I will talk about some of the reasons behind why.

I felt as if there was a lot of mixed response to this chapter. Please know that I take your complaints seriously, I want to produce a work that can be enjoyed by everyone. In truth, I have no experience or education in writing or producing, and I do not even consider myself a "writer" or "producer." This is the first story I have attempted to write. I hope you can acknowledge that it is a long learning experience for me, and be lenient with the amateurish first work that is full of flaws. Even though DRDT has become a popular Fangan, it doesn't mean that in turn I have become an experienced creator. Because of my lack of experience, I have little confidence as a creator. When fans are dissatisfied with something that happened recently in DRDT, I worry about how they will respond to future episodes of DRDT. It is difficult to maintain faith in the decisions I make and I keep second-guessing myself, worrying about how something will be received. Working on chapter 3 in this state is too difficult.

I am also burnt out from working on DT. Even though it was once possible for me to draw multiple sprites in one day, now it is a struggle to even make a single sprite of a small face modification. Nearing the end it was difficult and painful to draw such things like the execution or closing argument. So it will probably be a while before I am even capable of writing or drawing for the DT main story again.

TL;DR: I don't foresee myself even beginning to work on DT Ch3 (including bonus episodes) for a very long time. I apologize for delivering this disappointing news. With this in mind, I will be working on and posting things that are not DT CH3. Some of this will relate to DRDT and some of it will not. I ask for your patience as I continue to create and gain experience as a creator. I hope that you can support these works too.

Thank you again to all those who have supported me and enjoyed my work. Please support the amazing staff who worked on DT as well, I am eternally grateful for their work. If my work was able to inspire you or move you or bring you enjoyment even a little, I would be happy.

#update

1K notes · View notes

jenscx · 4 months ago

Text

CALL ME WHEN YOU GET LOST !

# special 2k celebration ; aespa as classic tropes

tags aespaxreader, fluff, idol!au, fifthmember!reader, karina’s fic is inspired by haobin fanmeeting, zero angst, flirty x flustered, only one bed, sunshine x sunshine protector, enemies to lovers

🎙️ author’s note: thank you everyone for 2k followers! i was never expecting to gain so much traction for my writing but i’m really happy that people have been enjoying my works! as promised, here is a special fic to truly show how grateful i am for your support (*¯︶¯*)

YU JIMIN — flirty x flustered

jimin would definitely enjoy teasing you a lot. the first time she had made an offhand comment, her eyes were basically sparkling when she witnessed the blush that spread through your face. she likes the way your eyes evert from her gaze.

“oh? are you blushing again? did your heart flutter because of me?” jimin would ask, staring at you intently with faux innocence. she’s amused by your hand reaching out to swat her face away. despite your disdain for her flirty nature, some part of you felt satisfied whenever jimin’s attention would be on you solely. it was egotistical, but you enjoyed it nonetheless; the fact that this one girl had people bowing down at her feet, worshipping her, but she only focused on you.

jimin’s flirting has no end; during vlogs, behind the scenes, instagram lives, concerts and even fanmeets. like that one time, a fan had asked jimin who she would her sibling date in aespa and her response had twitter up in flames the next day.

“who would i let my sibling date?” jimin hums thoughtfully, her head swaying from side to side as she observes her fellow members. you catch the way her lips curl into a smirk above the microphone, “that person must be a kind and sweet girl then…”

there’s multiple chants of ‘y/n’ from the crowd of mys, no doubt due to the popularity of ynrina. you bow your head down, cheeks already slightly red. then, jimin says, “maybe aeri? she’s very caring and reliable.”

the crowd falls silent with disappointment and then one fan shouts, “why not y/n?!” the mention of your name makes you snap your head upwards and you reach for the microphone to retort. yet, jimin beats you to it and she giggles slyly, “y/n is mine.”

“what?!” another fan shrieks and suddenly, they all erupt into cheers and screams. you wince at their loudness, the fluffy headband resting neatly on your hair nearly falling down. jimin’s face is filled with satisfaction and your members are equally as stunned as the crowd.

you groan, already feeling the fatigue from having to do another late instagram live to feed the fanservice after today. jimin only grins, clearly elated by the response of the fans.

“jimin-ah, why do you like y/n?!”

the mentioned girl only hums, supposedly unfazed by all the commotion caused by her answer.

“y/nnie? her reaction’s are cute, no?” jimin smiles, glancing at you. unfortunately for yourself, the seating arrangement was according to age and being the second oldest, you found yourself sitting next to jimin. “and she’s a good cook. she always cooks for us and her ramen is delicious. i think she would make a good girlfriend.”

your ears burn with embarrassment as multiple flashes go off, capturing the moment that would surely make its way onto the trending page tomorrow. jimin merely nods, proud of herself.

“what about you, y/n-ah?!”

you swallow your saliva, inhaling sharply and picking up the microphone. there’s a moment of hesitation before you mutter, “jimin unnie would make a good sister-in-law.”

the crowd bursts into disappointment and jimin glares at you playfully with disapproval. she huffs, “am i not your type?” her question only further fuels the burning heat in your cheeks. you can barely look at her now, eyes staring straight at the numerous letters and gifts your fans had given you that were all laid out on the table.

“so who would you choose to date then?” jimin adds. you can feel the saliva in your throat drying up, “uhm… maybe… minjeongie…”

“kim minjeong, don’t steal my y/n!” jimin yells as minjeong rolls her eyes. your eyes fall on yizhuo, who’s already grimacing at the scene. you just know she’s imagining her twitter timeline tomorrow.

“stop making fun of her before she explodes,” aeri chides as jimin gleefully chuckles. the older one reaches over to prod at your cheek, feeling the warmth and then cradling it in her palm, “her face is so hot.”

“unnie—” your voice comes out strained and luckily for you, minjeong cuts in, “rina unnie, calm down.”

jimin halts for a second and then sighs loudly and dramatically. she leans back into her chair, pouting. you can still feel the adrenaline rushing through your bloodstream from her touch. it’s maddening the way she can make you feel so flustered without much effort.

true to your words, both ‘karina’ and ‘y/n’ trended on twitter the next day. the keywords had exploded in popularity and there were thousands of edits of this supposed y/nrina moment.

@jjimyangs | 28/09/24

ynrina’s cute relationship ^^ the way rina says her sibling can’t date yn because yn is hers where can i find a yu jimin for myself 🙈

@ningzhyo | 28/09/24

ynrina is REAL. i can’t believe they’re this flirty and sweet in front of us this is sickening omfg im about to throw up. if they arent dating i’ll eat my sock

@solddaeng | 28/09/24

aespa trending cuz of ynrina… thank you gay people for existing 🙏🙏

UCHINAGA AERI — only one bed

going on tour meant having barely an hour’s worth of sleep, frantic running and packing, drastic practices that drained your energy and sharing hotel rooms together. most of the time, the company would be able to book separate rooms for all the members. at least when they were free, they could rest with comfort. you appreciated that fact. either that or the company would at least have member sharing a twin bed hotel room rather than a single.

yet, the hasty planning of the tour led to some misunderstandings and confusion. everyone had been working extremely hard for the upcoming schedules and perhaps some miscommunication had happened. hence, that’s why you found yourself staring at a single bed with uchinaga aeri by your side. for the hongkong stop, aeri was to share a room with you and you didn’t mind at all. you had been her roommate for a couple of months before. aeri was neat, clean and helpful.

unfortunately you couldn’t fathom how you both would be able to fit on a single bed. the room had no other space to sleep on— other than the living room couch.

you turn your head back to the couch situated right in front of the television stand. there’s already a feeling of soreness that runs through your back as you observe the firm and rough texture.

aeri was already having back aches with the amount of practise you had been doing and she couldn’t suffer another night. you weren’t too fond of sleeping on the couch either.

“let’s just sleep together,” aeri offers.

“will we both fit?” you ask hesitantly.

aeri grimaces slightly before nodding. you had already showered and due to your fatigue, you didn’t even notice that there was a single bed instead of two. freshly showered, aeri heads towards the bed and flops onto it. her body already took up almost a third of the space available and there was no doubt that you had to at least squeeze together to accommodate you as well. your hand reaches out to the side to turn off the remaining lamps. as the room dims, you take hesitant steps towards the bed.

you sit on top of the duvet sheet and carefully maneuver yourself to slide into the blanket. aeri only watches and she slowly inches closer to the side.

your skin eventually rests against the soft sheets and aeri’s body. her touch emits warmth and it sends a tingle down your spine. you don’t dare to look up at her, choosing to stare away. your hands are placed awkwardly by your side

“is this okay…?” aeri’s voice whispers beside your ear. you sink further into the mattress, feeling the tips of your ears burn at her close proximity. swallowing your saliva, you mumble back, “ye-yeah.. it’s fine.”

you can feel aeri shifting a bit before nodding her head. a moment of silence passes. your eyes eventually flutter close but aeri shuffles around again. when you peek in the darkness, half of her limbs are dangling down the bed and her face is scrunched up in discomfort. she’s facing the other side and at the edge of the bed.

“you should come closer. you’re gonna fall off,” you state, guilt seeping into you.

“it’s okay— there’s, uhm, not much space,” she replies. you ignore her words and turn around. once you’re facing her back directly, you reach out to tug at her arm, pulling her closer to the middle.

aeri lets out a whine but she doesn’t resist.

“should we just cuddle?” aeri asks quietly. there really wasn’t another way. you were fine with skinship but something about cuddling with the japanese seemed too intimate. you hadn’t been too comfortable with physical touch at first but after getting closer to the members, you would no longer flinch at their advances.

among all the members, you would say you spent the least time with aeri. despite being the same age, you just got too intimidated everytime she was near you. her domineering figure that towered over your head was frightening. sometimes, when you’re talking, she would lean down to listen better and it only makes you even more aware of how much taller she is than you. something about the noticable height difference made your chest constrict and your cheeks flush.

“i guess so,” you try to hide the nervousness in your voice. unfortunately, it does crack a little but aeri pays no mind to it. just as you flip your body around, she flings a hand over your waist, pulling your back flush against her chest. goosebumps rise against your skin as you feel her body warmth.

“this is better,” aeri mutters, sighing comfortably. her cool breath breezes over your ear, forcing an involuntary shiver that makes you shrink in her arms even further. her legs are woven with yours, tangling together like threads. you can feel every inch of the smooth expanse of her legs that silently, you curse yourself for wearing shorts. “you okay?” aeri asks.

“yes, i’m fine,” you croak out, “goodnight aeri.”

“mhm— night, lovely.”

@aebbltrans | 21/09/24

🌙💬 bubble update

‘did everyone sleep well?’

+1 📸

‘i sure did 🤭’

seems like ynselle slept together?!

@aerishilton | 21/09/24

yn and gigi shared a hotel room and bed last night omfg and gigi posting a photo of them cuddling YNSELLE NATION WE ARE ALIVE!

KIM MINJEONG — sunshine x sunshine protector

you had known minjeong for a long time— ever since you were trainees. most of the time, she was broody and indifferent. popular for her cold looks, the stage name ‘winter’ suited her well. sometimes, rarely, she would smile. you didn’t understand why she had such a poker face on for the longest time until she had gifted you with the sight of her smile. then you understood that it was because the curl of her lips would give people heart attacks immediately.

minjeong wouldn’t smile often, but when she did, it was like a gift from god himself. hence, everytime she would grace you with her smile, you would subconsciously capture the memory in your mind.

when you had first debuted, minjeong was criticised heavily for not having any facial expressions. you had spent countless nights as burner twitter accounts arguing with trolls and haters. you hated how everytime she went online, her smile would dim further.

you would have your ipad, macbook and phone all displaying the comment section under minjeong’s fancams and everytime you spotted a hate comment, you would start arguing with them about how minjeong was definitely not a robot and she had real emotions. sometimes minjeong would wake up from her naps, groggily hugging your back for comfort and you would get distracted from this super important matter at hand.

(but minjeong always comes first and she gives really good hugs, so you’ll abandon your devices in favour of cuddling her under her thick, comfy blanket.)

one time, the hate comments were especially bad and minjeong didn’t come out for dinner, even refusing her favourite food. obviously worried, you had gone to her room, begging for her to let you in.

after some time, minjeong finally opened the door. you had felt your chest deflating at her puffy eyes and red nose, still sniffling. you spent that entire night talking to minjeong, saying how proud you are of her and how she shouldn’t listen to whatever mindless nonsense she was reading.

“—i know it’s difficult to express your emotions well and i understand. you can always talk to me. i just want you to be happy,” you had comforted her. minjeong only stared at you, confused.

“i’m the happiest version of myself right now,” she had stated firmly. despite the evident tears rolling down her rosy cheeks, her voice was full of conviction. you could only smile fondly and rest your head against hers, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

at that moment, you had vowed to always protect minjeong. that precious smile that you rarely saw— it needed to be preserved gently, like a diamond. if you could keep her in a museum, protected behind a layer of thick glass no one could penetrate, you would.

even a few years into your career, when aespa was steadily growing in popularity, you had deemed yourself as the knight in shining armor that would protect your minjeong from harm. traveling meant that fans would swarm the airport and paparazzi would camp outside the terminals, hoping to take photos of the newly arrived idols.

the moment you stepped out of the gates, fans had started pushing around and a crowd swiftly formed, surrounding the whole group and the bodyguards. minjeong was latched onto your arm and you felt her grip tighten as multiple flashes of cameras went off. you had pulled her a little closer to your body, ensuring that the horde of fans couldn’t get too close.

“winter! look here!”

"karina-ssi!"

minjeong’s head turns and she’s nearly bombarded by a new onslaught of fans, all pushing towards her like zombies. instinctively, you step ahead to block her from everyone, a scowl plastered on your face. you loved your fans and your life as an idol but sometimes the attention was overwhelming. hands reached out through the gaps between the security, holding letters and gifts. you had tried your best to grab any envelopes with one hand since your other was occupied with hugging minjeong.

one hand filled with letters, you try to muster up a grateful smile at everyone despite your annoyance that they were shoving cameras in your face. the other members were in front, jimin leading the way while aeri and yizhuo followed closely behind. you could see the gate where the company car was parked from far away. knowing that you would reach soon, relief settled in your heart while minjeong’s fingernails dug into your skin.

“you okay?” you ask loudly over all the shouting. minjeong nods meekly and exclaims through her mask, “i’m okay!”

almost a third of the way there, you hear a yelp within the crowd and a blur flashes by your face. security immediately tries to block off the stranger breaching through their protection. the person manages to just glide their fingertips on minjeong’s shoulder before you jump into action, grasping the collar of their shirt and pulling them as far away as you could from minjeong. then, you shove them forcefully into the hands of your bodyguards, leaving them to deal with the stranger. you can feel minjeong trembling beside you and internally, you curse yourself for not acting faster.

the rest of the trip to the car goes by smoothly; all the fans seemed a little more timid now, probably shocked that their idol would push them away and scared of the repercussions if they did get too close. the moment you entered the car, you inhale sharply, finally catching a breath of fresh air from all the commotion.

“thank you for just now,” minjeong whispers quietly and if you hadn’t been paying extra attention to her, you would have missed it.

“that guy got too close,” you shake your head, frowning at the thought of him being within a metre radius of minjeong. the girl only pouts cutely, “at least you were there to save me.” she says it like she’s a damsel in distress that you were owed the duty of protecting. maroon colouring your cheeks, you cough awkwardly, “just making sure you guys are fine.”

“you should join the security team,” jimin chuckles while aeri feels up your biceps, aweing in disbelief, “how’d you manage to throw him like that?! you don’t even go to the gym.”

meanwhile, yizhuo just sighs, “twitter’s going to be crazy tomorrow.”

@kminsiksgf | 29/09/24

DOES ANYONE HAVE THAT VIDEO OF YN TOSSING THE SASAENG AWAY FROM MINJEONG

@krynaeri | 29/09/24

oomf just blessed me with a new minyn moment 😫 wish i was mj so bad i want yn to be throwing people around for me.

@ynbubble | 29/09/24

🫧💭 [3.17pm]

mys~~ please be careful if you come see us at the airport ^^ walk slowly and carefully! to protect yourself don’t push around and make sure to be respectful!

+1 📸

look at how well minjeongie is taking her afternoon nap! like a cute puppy 🐶

NING YIZHUO — enemies to lovers (one-sided)

ever since the chinese girl had became your roommate, you had hated her. from the moment she landed in sm, she always managed to ignite a fire of rage inside you. ning yizhuo was cocky, rude and nasty in your eyes. you wouldn’t understand why jimin and minjeong were so prone to hanging out with her since she was a literal spawn of satan. sometimes you think that god sent her up to earth from hell to test your limits.

constantly eating your snacks, throwing paper airplanes at your head folded from lyric sheets, purposely bumping into you during dance practices, was there a day that went by without your blood boiling because of ning yizhuo? you hated how she used her angelic charms and innocence as a maknae to get herself out of trouble. when you had received the confirmation of shooting a debut music video, your heart had leapt, then dropped down into a bottomless pit when jimin had awkwardly muttered, “ning too.”

since your debut wasn’t truly confirmed until the music video dropped, you had prayed every day consistently, hoping that somehow, one of the higher-ups would decide to take yizhuo out of the lineup. yet, that never happened since on the seventeenth of november, you had debuted with yizhuo by your side. the anger you held for her subsided for a while during the first round of promotions since even it couldn’t overwhelm the happiness of debuting. but the moment everything settled again, it came back swinging in full force.

nothing you did seemed to restrain yizhuo from causing trouble. she would even bully you in front of the cameras, pinching your cheeks and smacking your shoulder roughly, all under the guise of being friendly. yizhuo knew you wouldn’t retaliate against her while shooting, so she took her chance. the popularity of the ‘tom and jerry’ duo, as fans had coined, only further brought suffering in your life. management would constantly want you and yizhuo to interact and they would force you to sit next to each other during fanmeetings.

“stop pinching me!” you yell, whacking yizhuo’s hand away with a my melody plushie a fan had gifted. the crowd only laughed at how yizhuo avoided your attacks and squeezed your cheeks gleefully. you wanted to smack that smirk off her face.

“mys, isn’t y/n so cute?” yizhuo asks, grinning proudly. head pounding from how hard your heart was beating, you give up fighting back and choose to glare at yizhuo between your squished cheeks.

“stop bullying her,” jimin chuckles, putting on a night fury headpiece. yizhuo rolls her eyes but she relents. throughout the fansign, she would make teasing comments, borderline almost hurtful if you weren’t already used to her antics.

one fan had asked, “how do you deal with ningning all the time? you’re very patient.”

you had to hide the disgusted sneer on your face and opt for a casual laugh, “she’s a handful. i’m just doing my best.”

yizhuo had obviously giggled at your lie and continued conversing with her own fan animatedly. just as another fan sits down, you hear the mind-boggling request of, “can we have ningy/n posing together?” your eyes had nearly bulged out of their sockets and you almost blurted out for her to repeat her question. unfortunately, yizhuo had heard her (because she has supersonic bat hearing, which you found out after you had cursed her under your breath and she merely winked at you).

“c’mere,” yizhuo wiggles her fingers around, pulling your chair closer and forming a half of a heart with her left hand. begrudgingly, you do the same with your right hand, smiling at the wave of flashes that go off. her other hand wraps around your shoulder, gripping it tightly but playing it off as skinship. you wince at the sharp nails that dig into your bare skin.

even after the fansign, you could still see the indents she left behind if you craned your neck. the car ride back to the dorms was the only peace and quiet you kept to yourself. yizhuo would normally be knocked out after such a tiring day and she, understandably, would much rather sleep than annoy her favourite member. you would sneak glances at yizhuo, who was coincidentally sitting next to you, making sure she wouldn’t jolt awake and scare you or anything.

(at least that’s what you told yourself.)

the bumpy ride only caused yizhuo to flinch and shift uncomfortably in her seat, cuddling further into one of the many plushies the fans had given her. you would use this time to stare out the window and admire the serenity of the scenery. when the car hit a particularly rough patch in the road, yizhuo jostled before her head dropped lowly onto your shoulder. you couldn’t even recoil away since you were sitting next to the car door.

“how cute,” aeri teases, pointing at yizhuo who rested soundly. you grit your teeth and scoff, “this wasn’t by choice.”

your quick quips attracted the attention of jimin and minjeong as well, who joined in.

“are you sure you hate her?” minjeong asks mockingly. you clench your fists and make a gesture of punching her. unfazed, she only leans further into her seat and whispers conspiratorially, “she likes you, don’t you know?”

“shut up—”

jimin cuts in, “seriously though, ningie has never paid so much attention to someone before.”

your cheeks redden involuntarily and there’s a conspicuous gulp of saliva that goes down your throat.

“what?!”

“don’t you get it? why ningie only teases you?” aeri questions again, her voice full of intrigue this time. with the members’ stares on you, you can only squeeze your eyes shut and huff loudly, “it’s not like that!”

sighing, aeri turns back to her phone, “sure kid. whatever you wanna tell yourself.”

similar to aeri, minjeong and jimin do the same and indulge in their own conversation while you’re left to ponder about their words.

ning yizhuo who would only steal your pocky. ning yizhuo who would only doodle on your lyric sheets. ning yizhuo who would constantly find some way to make you angry. ning yizhuo who you hated.

you knew she was doing all this to get a reaction out of you but you hadn’t expected it to be for such a reason.

ning yizhuo who only ever wanted your attention.

your entire body flushes at the realisation and you freeze when yizhuo stretches her arms out, waking from her slumber.

“ah— sorry,” she says lowly, her voice raspy from the nap. you don’t bother replying her, scared that your own voice might crack. hiding behind your bangs, you face away.

yizhuo doesn’t take the hint that you physically cannot speak to her right now and she insteads places a hand on your thigh that sends sparks of humiliation throughout your veins, grinning slyly, “your shoulder’s super comfortable. lend it to me some other time, okay?”

🔔 NINGNING just made a post.

with my favourite y/nnie! ☀️💛

see all comments

aerichandesu don’t hog y/n all to yourself 😕

↳ imnotningning she likes me the most.

imwinter i thought i was your favourite?

↳ imnotningning sorry, no.

katarinabluu congrats on the newlyweds~

↳ imnotningning you’re my second favourite!

#aespa x fem reader #aespa x reader #aespa #yu karina x reader #yu karina #karina x reader #yu jimin x reader #jimin x reader #kim winter x reader #winter x reader #kim minjeong x reader #minjeong x reader #giselle x reader #uchinaga aeri x reader #aeri x reader #ning yizhuo x reader #ningning x reader

1K notes · View notes

5sospenguinqueen · 8 months ago

Text

Bedtime Stories Pt 2 | Daniel Ricciardo x Author! Reader

Summary: Daniel made a silly little comment that lost him everything. Over a year later, he tries his hardest to fix his mistakes.

Warnings: Swearing. A tiny smidge of angst but mainly fluff. Redemption for Daniel.

Female reader with various faceclaims (pics found on pinterest). Takes place in 2023. For the purpose of this, Daniel has been with AlphaTauri the whole time.

Main Masterlist

prev.

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

28•05•2023

danielricciardo just posted

liked by redbullracing, YourUserName and others

danielricciardo monaco, always a delight. P11. so close to the points but racing through your streets feels like being on a podium

4,337 comments

landonorris and whose attention are we trying to grab with that sexy last pic 👀

→ danielricciardo only yours, mate

→ User1 don’t act like you’re not dying inside because y/n liked this

→ User2 relax, they never unfollowed each other 🙄

maxverstappen1 you’ll get them next time, mate

→ danielricciardo fancy giving me a tow?

→ maxverstappen1 never

→ User3 i love their friendship so much

User4 um, did anyone see that y/n liked and then unliked this post

→ User5 omg yes! sis was caught stalking and we love her for it

→ User6 i too would thirst over my ex if he looked like that

kellypiquet we were watching the whole time

liked by danielricciardo

→ User7 what a weird comment to make?

→ User8 who’s we, kelly?

→ User9 what does this mean?

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

04•06•2023

Tweet 1

User10 @ kikiki babe did you hit your head? is that why you were in the ER? they broke up

User11 @ kikiki maybe ask them to do a head scan whilst you're there 'cause ain't no way you saw here there

→ User12 literally. like why would she even be in spain right now?

Tweet 2

User11 i think we might have to apologise to @ kikiki

→ User10 can we really trust the wag page though? They did report that Lando was having a secret love child the other week..?

Tweet 3

User13 asking the real questions because she's not even hinted that she’s been writing so it’s not like she’s on a book tour or anything?

→ User14 some people are saying she could be on vacation but please, why would mother choose a holiday destination during a time that she knows is a GP?

User15 guys, guys, I think our sacrifice circle worked

→ User16 please, please, 🕯️🕯️

User 17 how poetic would it be though if they got back together during the spanish GP when they broke up at the spanish GP a year ago

User18 shouldn’t you know these answers, and that she was in spain, if you're her so-called updates page

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

22•08•2023

YourUserName just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and others

YourUserName some big news approaching

6,349 comments

kellypiquet i can’t wait, my beautiful girl

→ YourUserName thank you for being my #1 support

→ kellypiquet thank you for letting me help plan

→ User1 what does this mean?

→ User2 miss piquet stop being so cryptic on socials

maxverstappen1 i’m very excited

→ YourUserName did kelly force you to write that because i could feel the excitement oozing through the screen

→ maxverstappen1 i wanted to say something worse

→ YourUserName i hope she leaves you

→ kellypiquet behave, you two!

→ User3 i live for max and y/n terrorising each other, even without danny ric being around to encourage it

bloomsburypublishing we look forward to the end result

User4 i’m sorry but is this a soft launch?

User5 who is that in the last slide, miss y/n?

→ User6 the inspiration behind a new romance we hope

User7 don’t be shy. tag him

User8 soft launches have recently become my least favourite thing

charles_leclerc are you perhaps writing my next plane read

→ YourUserName depends how long the flight is

→ User9 confirmation of a new book ya’ll!! everyone say thank you charles

User10 i like to be edged by her books, not by her hiding her man

User11 don't try and distract us with news of a new book, we wanna know who the feet belong to!

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

01•09•2023

danielricciardo just posted

liked by maxverstapen1, yukitsunoda0511 and others

danielricciardo ciao a tutti. lovely sightseeing in beautiful Italy

6,445 comments

User12 you’re telling me that i’m currently in the same country as THE daniel ricciardo?

kellypiquet i’m still trying to recover from that hike

→ User13 kelly and max went on a double date with daniel and the new girl?!

→ User14 omg please be y/n. i can’t imagine kelly agreeing to it otherwise

User15 i know he's trying to distract us with his beauty but we see the last slide, daniel. we see it

pierregasly so you’re telling me that you were in milan and didn’t bother to come and see me? that’s it. i'm ending our friendship

→ danielricciardo i’m sorry, mate. i was doing more important things

→ pierregasly clearly ;)

User16 someone check on y/n, please

→ User17 babe is clearly having the time of her life in italy (yes, i'm delusional)

User18 does nobody find it odd that he’s posting a soft launch not long after y/n posted a soft launch

→ User19 i know! it’s only been three weeks since hers and he’s posting one

→ User20 i can’t decide whether they’re soft launching each other or he’s trying to make her jealous by flaunting a new relationship as well

→ User21 it HAS to be each other or i will die

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

15•10•2023

lando.jpg just posted

liked by YourUserName, danielricciardo and others

lando.jpg so i attended this event… and no, it’s not mine before you all freak out

8,223 comments

charles_leclerc it was a beautiful day ❤️

alexandrasaintmleux i’m so thankful to have been a part of such wonderful memories

kellypiquet the most beautiful bride i have ever seen

maxverstappen1 this was a nicer caption than i expected from you

→ danielricciardo agreed

→ landonorris i take offence to that

User1 guys do we think kelly and max got married? they’ve both comments on this?

→ User2 yes but so did charles and alex so…

→ User3 plus, i know kelly is stunning but do we really think she would call herself the most beautiful bride in 3rd person?

georgerussell63 i’m surprised you remember much after the state you were in

→ landonorris excuse you but most of that was just pure happiness

hulkhulkenberg an amazing day

estebanocon so happy to have been a part of this

alex_albon how’s the hangover, mate

→ landonorris i didn’t drink that much!

→ georgerussell63 tell that to the bouquet that you puked on

→ landonorris i caught it so it was mine anyway

carlossainz55 beautiful photos. she’ll love those

→ User4 who’s she?!

lewishamilton🤍🩵

fernandoalo_official congratulations to the happy couple

User5 the entire grid are commenting on this post, clearly having been in attendance. who IS IT?

pierregasly c’était une belle mariée

liked by YourUserName

User6 guys, y/n’s name on socials just changed from y/l/n to ricciardo

liked by danielricciardo

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

03•04•2024

YourUserName just posted with danielricciardo

liked by kellypiquet, maxverstappen1 and others

YourUserName my husband helped with this project. baby ric coming aug 2024

9,550 comments

kellypiquet you will be the most beautiful mother. i’m so honoured to be part of this with you 💕

→ YourUserName stop you’re going to make me cry. you’ll be the most perfect godmother

→ kellypiquet i still think you should've married me instead

maxverstappen1 i call godfather

→ landonorris no you don’t get to call godfather! you already got to be a groomsman

→ maxverstappen1 yeah because who helped get them back together

→ YourUserName kelly

→ danielricciardo me

→ YourUserName no, babe

danielricciardo and before you all ask, no I haven’t stopped crying since she told me

→ kellypiquet me too, dan, me too

maxverstappen1 on a serious note, i am very happy for the two of you. y/n will be a wonderful mother, and daniel, he’ll be there also

charles_leclerc i am so excited. alex keeps telling me to stop buying baby things for you guys but i just don’t listen

→ YourUserName well at least you can safely say that uncle charl bought little mcqueen’s love

→ User7 uncle charl!!!!

lewishamilton congratulations, you two. y/n looks amazing

fernandoalo_official how lovely 💚

User8 omg it WAS their wedding lando attended!!!!!

hulkhulkenberg baby ricciardo!!

pierregasly congratulations. i can’t wait to be uncle GASSLYYYYYY

alex_albon welcome baby ricciardo

→ lilymhe it’s not an alien, alex. you don’t have to greet it so formally

redbullracing we’re all so excited for the upcoming grid baby. working on a racer stroller right this minute

→ mclaren you stole our gift idea!

→ redbullracing you stole our driver!

carlossainz55 congratulations y/n and daniel 😄

mercedesamgf1 what wonderful news 🍼

landonorris i’m just so glad i can go back to calling you mum and dad without daniel wanting to drive his car into the barrier

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

Please don’t hate me for this! I did say from the beginning that Part 2s would be redemption.

I’ve had this planned and written since before Part 1 was published so when half of you then asked for her to get with another driver/move on, I was like noooooo I’ve already planned their baby 😂

As always. Requests welcome. If you have requested, I promise I’m not ignoring it, it’s been added to my queue

Baby Fever Angst Series

Tag list

@bibissparkles @barcelonaloverf1life @rlalliehayes @dullypully @softtina @callsignwidow @lav3nder-haze @minkyungseokie @luvrrish @fall-bambi @evans-dejong @sadsierra2 @justdreamersdream @spookystitchery @dark-night-sky-99 @majusialikesfastcars @luckyladycreator2 @bborra @mrosales16 @reguluscrystals @tvdtw4ever @alwaysclassyeagle @gigicisneros @spanishcorndogs @thecubanator2 @goldenharrysworld @awritingtree @jxnellat @sbrn0905 @hc-dutch @buckybarnessweetheart @ironmaiden1313 @dreamercrowd @yourbane @reguluscrystals @peachiicherries @g-l-o-b-e-w-h-o-r-e @weekendlusting @leclercsluvs @hannannannannannah @lifeless-firefly @sinofwriting @exotic-iris13 @imperfect-paragon @dan3avocado @barcelonaloverf1life @avillagesperson @hard4ndsoft @justzluv @laneyspaulding19 @danielshoe @chocolatefanunknown @redcrescentmoons

Sorry if I missed anyone!

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leighsartworks216 · 2 months ago

Text

Kiss-Proof

Sylus x implied fem!Reader

Inspired by this fic by @peachlynnie

Also inspired by an Archie comic lol

Warnings: fluff, kissing, established relationship, lipstick, implied sexual content at the end

Word Count: 948

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form (fill this out to be tagged in future fics)

How he got roped into this situation, he has no idea. Not that he's complaining. What could be better than his partner straddling his lap, kissing him over and over again?

You plant a kiss at a bare spot on his cheek without ceremony. You pull away, hopeful, only to deflate when the vibrant imprint of your lips are left behind. "Ugh, this one transfers, too." The tube of lipstick is tossed off to the side with the other failures.

Sylus grabs the makeup wipe from the previous attempts (almost completely covered in various shades of pink and red). His hand holds your jaw warmly, thumb on your chin, as his other thumb brushes the wipe over your lips.

He could suggest taking you shopping to the high end stores that would most certainly have lipstick proven not to smudge or transfer, but then you'd have to get up and stop testing it. His lips still have some red staining them, and his cheeks, neck and forehead are almost completely covered. He'd hate to stop now.

"How many more do you have to test?" he asks.

You shift in his lap, forcing him to stop his ministrations in favor of holding your hip to support you. You grab another lipstick tube from a pile andshift the remaining ones around. "Like, five more? At least one of these has to work."

He shifts his legs, settling you back into place, and draws your attention back to him so he can wipe away the last smidge of tint at the corners of your mouth. "If none of these work, I'll buy you some more," he promises. He nods slightly as he sets the wipe aside. "Go ahead, try this one."

You use a little compact mirror to help you get the shade on right. It's a warm red, bloody and tempting. It’s the same shade as his eyes after a couple glasses of Gin Fizz, when he looks at you with unbridled affection, enhanced with his slight intoxication.

Sylus would be the first to admit how much he loves watching this. He loves the comfort you have to propose this silly idea, to crawl into his lap with a bag of lipsticks and makeup wipes and the intensity of an executive making a pitch to a board room. He loves getting to watch the concentration on your face as you glide the applicator over your top lip, following the natural line to ensure it's perfect. Loves the mild frustration when you mess up the corner. Loves that you trust him to fix it with the wipe wrapped over his thumb nail. Loves the quiet thanks you mutter before you get back to work.

Fully applied, you hum impatiently as you turn the tube over to read the directions. "'Wait two minutes.' Damn."

"The best results take time," Sylus teases.

You shoot him a half-hearted glare. "Fine. What should we talk about for two minutes?"

He hums as he taps a finger on your hip. "I don't think I ever asked: Why are you so eager to find a lipstick that doesn't transfer?"

"Well," you wipe your thumb along his lip, dragging the lingering color with it, "it's embarrassing to drink from a glass and leave a big smudge behind."

He chuckles. "That's what's got you so worried, sweetie?"

You trace the rouge up to his prominent cupid's bow. "Mm, not completely." You wonder what he'd look like with lipstick on him properly. You're sure he'd look amazing. Hell, even like this, covered with all your kisses, he looks good. You're damn near convinced he can pull any look off.

He squeezes your sides. "Tell me," he implores, voice soft and tender.

You sigh. "When we go to auctions, I feel like I can't kiss you," you admit quietly. "Everyone there is so... imposing. I don't want to, well, do this to you," you gesture at all the lipstick stains, "and ruin your reputation."

"Sweetie." He cups your cheek in his large hand. It holds you perfectly, always. You lean into it without a second thought. He smiles. "My reputation isn't that fragile. Besides..."

His voice gets lower as he draws you in. You could get high on the way his eyes flicker to your mouth. His nose brushes yours, hot breath shared in the centimeters of space left between you.

"How else will they know who I belong to?"

Your breath hitches. His mouth is on yours, seeking, claiming, drawing you deeper into him. You feel the creamy texture of smudged lipstick as you hold his face, slide your fingers along his neck into his hair. It streaks along his perfect skin.

His tongue licks the seam of your lips, begs for entrance. You tug at his hair as you let him in. He groans into your mouth, sighs a wanton rendition of your name. Your shirt slips up your waist as he dives a hand below the fabric to press against your bare skin.

You pull away sharply. "The lipstick!"

His eyes look murderous for being disturbed, by you of all people. Still, he contains himself enough not to dive right back in. Just barely. What he can’t contain is the furrow in his brow and the frown he wears.

You ignore the smudges of color on his skin, matching stains on your hands, as you tilt his head up to better look at his lips. They're still stained with that light red from before, but-

"Sy! It worked! This one didn't smudge!"

"Perfect." He pulls you roughly back down to him, biting your colored lip before licking it sinfully. "Let's take it for a test run, shall we?"

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy

#fanfic #fanfiction #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #fem reader #x fem reader

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suni-writings · 25 days ago

Text

Take the pain away.

jude bellingham x fem!reader

wc: 2.2k

+18!! mdni

(content warning: unrequited feelings, cheating [unrelated to jude x reader], toxic relationship [also not jude x reader], smut, fingering, unprotected sex [have safe sex pls])

it's been a while since i wrote a jude smut, but you ask and i shall deliver. we have been waiting for this one. heavily inspired by "fuck the pain away (lost tapes 2022)" by tory lanez.

He was exhausted. Not because of football, not because of fame, but because of his best friend. Being physically exhausted was something he was used to — Jude could get rid of it in a few weeks if it resulted in some type of pain. Emotionally, however? He was clueless as to how to heal it, especially since time did nothing but deepen his feelings towards her. It messed up his head, his thoughts got foggy, and he seemed to act out of impulse whenever he was around her. Nothing could really stop him when she was next to him, and that was his doom.

Well, that and her boyfriend. Her hideous, stupid attempt of a man of a boyfriend, whom did nothing but make her feel bad and cheat on her. She wasn’t the girl Jude used to know anymore — the fierce one, who everyone would be scared to even look at her the wrong way. Somehow, that manipulator managed to get her undivided forgiveness every time. It was a never-ending cycle, one that was tearing his mind apart. He was always the one to rescue her, until that dumbass showed up again, promising to be different and acting like a prince for a week.

That night wasn’t any different. The moment his phone vibrated in his pocket and Jude saw who sent the message, he already knew what it was about. And, despite being tired, he still walked up to her house, because she had him at his mercy. He wanted nothing more than to see her okay again, to be her sunshine of her rainy days.

Even if for a single moment only.

She had left the door unlocked for him. Jude carefully got inside, taking a deep breath. He could hear her sobs coming from her room, which he carefully walked up to.

“Princess?” Jude called out softly.

Even in the darkness, he could see her hands coming to dry the tears in her eyes. She sat up, still sniffing, and he sat next to her. He caressed gently her face and wiped another tear.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked quietly.

“What’s the point? You already know what happened. It’s what always happens.” She let out a humorless chuckle and sighed. “I’m sorry. I probably look like shit right now.’

Bellingham took a moment to look — more like admire — her face. Red glimmering eyes, puffy nose, the bite marks on her lip to avoid crying. She still looked breathtaking.

“You look like a mess, honey,” Jude smirked. “But still pretty as ever.”

She gave a small smile, that quickly turned into a grimace, and she looked at him.

“I feel so weak, Jude. I don’t know why I keep letting this happen, I don’t know why I’m so—” she stopped midsentence and laid in bed again, holding back her tears. He was next to her, supporting the weight of his body on his elbow. “Please, take this pain away. I can’t handle this anymore.”

He took a deep breath yet again. There’s not much he could do, and all his options sounded selfish; even if it was for her own good, it also benefited him. Like leaving that project of a man for once and all. He slowly took strands of her hair out of her face, gently outlining her cheek. He avoided looking at her lips, because he couldn’t do anything about it. Especially with her this vulnerable.

“I’m here, princess. What can I do for you?” Jude asked quietly, toying her hair between his fingers.

“Take the pain away.” She begged again and looked into his eyes.

She had no idea how much Jude wanted to do that.

“I can’t do that. I’m not him, I can’t fix his mistakes, but I can—” he bit his tongue when he realized he was about to say too much; to act selfishly, to prove her she could do better, to give her a taste of what she could have.

A few moments of silence fell between them and her eyes searched for his. She leaned closer, as if she got the hint. As if she wanted it too.

Jude could be her temporary relief, he didn’t care. If he could help, he would.

Who was he trying to fool? If he could have her in any way, he would.

“Fuck the pain away. I could fuck the pain away, baby.” He whispered as he looked at her in her beautiful, almost translucent nightgown. “An eye for an eye. Give him a taste of his own poison. You say the word, I’ll do it.”

She leaned even closer to him, her hand gently resting on his face as she caressed his cheek. She bit her lip, thinking. She was desperate, and Jude was right there for her.

If her boyfriend could do it, then so could she.

Without a second warning, to Jude’s surprise, her lips crashed into his, hastily seeking relief. When their tongues touched, she was in a frenzy, and everything started to get blurry.

All she could think was the way Jude kissed and bit her neck, the way his warm tongue descended to her collarbone and threatened to go even lower. The way she tugged, on Jude’s hair, not wanting the moment the moment to end, needing more of his kisses. Of his burning touch.

“Need to take this off, princess.” He muttered against her collarbone, holding the hem of her nightgown. She nodded and stood her arms up so he could easily remove it. “Making this all so easy for me.” He said once he saw her breasts and tossed the nightgown away, biting her nipple before gently sucking it while caressing the other with expertise.

She was already panting. In a single attempt, he brought his covered knee close to her core, and the damp in her panties was undeniable.

That only fueled his anger. That bastard had her and didn’t touch her properly.

His mouth left her breast and moved back to her neck, sucking and biting it while his hand descended to her core and she her back almost arched in anticipation; if he knew she was that touch deprived, he would’ve suggested that a long time ago.

With his hands underneath her underwear, he pressed two fingers against her clit and moved them slowly, pressuring further to see the way her chest rose, the way her cheeks flush and how her mouth opened, too scared to make a sound.

So, without warning, Jude inserted the two fingers inside her and moved them fast, curling them until he found the spot that made her back arch, and the room became filled with moans. He kissed her throat, his mouth vibrating with each moan that came out of her mouth. His movements were precise, fast, and with an urge to prove something that, before he could realize or properly enjoy what he was doing, her walls were closing against his fingers.

“Jude, I’m—” she tried to say, but he smirked against her skin and moved his fingers even harder.

“You’re what? Tell me, baby.” Jude teased her and her back arched. He felt his fingers hurt, but it didn’t matter. Not when she was coming undone in his hands.

“Jude—” she tried to warn again, and he kept moving his fingers, looking at her in the eyes. She struggled to keep them open, trying to keep eye contact.

“Is that everything you know how to say now? My name?” He hit the spot once again and smirked. “I could get used to that.”

Her walls fully clenched around his fingers, and she finally came, seeing stars behind her eyes and leaving a loud moan. It was something she had never experienced so strongly, and she didn’t know if it was because her boyfriend didn’t care about her pleasure or if it was because it was Jude. Maybe the answer was both.

“Fuck.” she muttered, panting. He just smirked, looking into her eyes and leaning away, putting his own fingers in his mouth to taste her.

“Now that’s a very—” his fingers left his mouth with a pop once he made sure to savor the taste. “—very good girl. And a delicious one, if I might add. Could taste you for fucking hours.”

Jude didn’t care if he still had his clothes on. He had a taste of hers, and nothing would stop him now. If he already couldn’t stop himself before touching, the gods may as well punish him, and it wouldn’t be enough for him to stop.

He kissed her again, making her taste herself before lowering the kisses — from her mouth to the spot under her ear. From her neck to her collarbone. From the valley of her breasts to her stomach. The kisses only lowered. Before he could reach her panties once again, starving, she tugged on her hair.

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m too worked up for you to eat me out. Need more.”

He bit his lip and smirked. As much as he wanted to taste her, he wanted to be inside her. He took off his shirt in a swift move and she sat up, crawling closer to him to kiss him and bite his neck. He felt like his skin was on fire and the bulge on his sweatpants only got harder. He took a deep breath.

“You’re not helping, princess.” He sighed.

“Am I not?” Now it was her time to tease. She straddled him and sat right against his crotch, making him almost roll his eyes. “You should take those sweatpants off.” She said as her hands caressed his abdomen.

He quickly turned the position, now on top of her, and took his sweatpants off.

“Good enough for you, princess?” He whispered, leaning closer.

“Better if you took your underwear off.” She smirked.

“Brat.”

Instead of taking his underwear off, he took her panties off in one single move. A risky one, since he could’ve ripped it from how quickly he took it off. He lowered and admired for a moment.

“Such a pretty pussy. A shame you won’t let me eat you out.” He whispered as he looked at her core, gently touching her puffy clit once again. She was stretched, but not enough. He didn’t pay attention to that when he had his fingers inside her — he just wanted to see her pretty face coming.

“Jude.” She called him out with some urgency, and he sighed.

Maybe the gods couldn’t stop Jude, but she could.

He took his underwear off, only now realizing how painfully hard he was. She watched as his cock sprung out, rigid, leaking with too much precum. He bit his lip and put his hand around his cock, spreading the precum slowly. He knew how sensitive he was right now, and he had to hold it back for her. He lined his member with her entrance and slowly dipped inside her.

She moaned loudly and Jude could feel his breath stopping from how tight she was. He gave her some time to adjust to his size.

“This is too much.” She whined.

“Darling, I’m not even moving.” He replied. “Your boyfriend lacks even in that area? He’s truly useless.”

She would’ve chuckled if she wasn’t having a hard time with the way his cock filled her, the burning sensation from the stretch seeming unending.

“It hurts.”

Jude leaned close to her, their lips almost touching.

“It doesn’t, baby.” He thrusted one time, to make her more used to the movements. “I’m taking the pain away. Just feel me here. That’s all you have to do.” He pressed his hand against her belly and thrusted once again, earning a moan and feeling himself from how big he was.

She could do much better than her boyfriend. He wanted to be the much better.

He started properly moving, hard, fast, desperate for his own release as well. To prove her how much better she could be fucked if he was the one doing it. And each time he hit the spot, he could feel her walls clenching. His hand never left her belly, knowing how deep he was going into her. He couldn’t stop.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and held his hair as his movements became more frenetic, moans dripping from her mouth to his ear with anything he did. He moaned whenever she clenched too hard against him.

“You’re so fucking tight.” he muttered, panting, trying to keep the pace. It was taking all of his willpower to not just come already. She didn’t reply, of course. She was too busy scratching his back and moaning desperately.

His movements became more erratic, slower, and, when her walls clenched around him one last time, he spilled everything inside her and fell to her chest, trying to catch his breath.

“Jude?” She called him out once they could properly speak.

“Yeah?”

“Stay. For the night.” She pleaded softly, caressing his back that were marked by the painting her nails had done.

“I wasn’t planning to go anywhere else, princess.” He smiled at her.

Jude held her against his chest, as she peacefully slept. He leaned his chin on the top of her head and, once he was certain she was sleeping, he sighed.

“I can’t take the pain away because I’m not your man.” Jude whispered. “But I wish I was.”

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2handsslan · 3 months ago

Text

lando norris // ln4 fic recs

———————————— 🏎️🏎️ ————————————

one shots

champagne coast - @snoopyracing

“when lando and you spend summer break together you don't expect italy to eventually hold such a special place in your heart... or lando and you go on vacation and everyone keeps thinking you're a couple”

wanna be yours - @snoopyracing

“you're the mclaren f1 team photographer and lando can't help but get jealous at your friendship with logan sargeant”

the breakup of the century - @no-144444

“you and lando break up on horrible terms, can a new album and a special performance bring you back together? is that even what you two want?”

encontrar tu media naranja - @iamred-iamyellow

“during one of your concerts a fan threw their phone up on stage. after you finished recording a video, you tried tossing it back to them and ended up accidentally hitting a world famous f1 driver in the face”

rookie - @propertyofwicked

series

dreamland series - @chilling-seavey

“as a flunking university student in dreary bristol, lando is sure there’s another life waiting for him elsewhere. a life that he can only dream of living with the girl with a million dollar career, verified instagram, and a stunning smile that he swears was created for him. but maybe those dreams stray no farther than his phone screen”

somebody else series - @eroselless

“you just work in hospitality for McLaren and he’s their star driver. what happens when your paths cross and you find yourself questioning your feelings for each other?”

vexing vacation - @vroomvro0mferrari

“when you agreed to join your brother on his vacation, sharing a room with his best friend wasn’t part of the plan. now, that you’re constantly stuck with lando and his relentless teasing, you’re not sure whether you want to strangle him or kiss him”

hermana series - @grandprixprincess

“after running into lando at the singapore gp, he finally shoots his shot. reader is family friends with carlos and is like a little sister to him. friends to lovers”

smau

telepatía - @iamred-iamyellow - smau

nueva vida (pt2)

“spending years in lower divisions finally payed off when you found out you'd be lewis hamilton's race engineer for ferrari in 2025”

fake it ‘till you make it! series - @racew1nn3rs - smau

“after an underwhelming 2022 season, the mclaren formula one team decided to bring in a new, young social media manager in the hopes of increasing brand promotion in 2023. when online banter between the newest team member and lando garners unbelievable fan attention, the two are asked to do the impossible in order to keep the support high: fake a or relationship”

fifth wheel series - @dannyricsmirrorball - smau

“y/n is always fifth wheeling george, carmen, alex, and lily”

just a boy - @hugleclerc - smau

"lando is just a boy trying to fight the guys in your comments without exposing his identity to the public"

tales of candor - @povlnfour - smau

“lando’s girlfriend has a secret identity. she’s not quite the girl next door everyone assumed, and he might just be the inspiration for more than just her instagram captions”

cool for the summer - @theonottsbxtch - smau

“in which lando goes to the same resort each summer and he befriends the owners daughter who works there”

*these are part of my fic rec masterlist, please note none of these are written by me and the author of each story had been tagged! check out my f1 fic rec masterlist for other drivers!*

#lando norris fic rec #lando norris smau #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris fic #ln4 x reader #ln4 x y/n #ln4 fic #ln4 fic rec #formula 1 fic rec #f1 fic rec #b’s fic recs

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canisalbus · 2 months ago

Text

Hi! A little life update.

At the end of October I wrote that I was deep in a depression spiral and due to unexpected occurrences I had been left with basically no income for several months. I had emptied my savings at that point and was feeling extremely stressed, sick and hopeless.

I just want to thank everyone who reached out and offered support or even looked up my ko-fi info and sent me a donation. It was an unfathomably kind thing to do and helped me tremendously. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I was at the end of my tether, I had 1,70€ in my bank account at that moment. I was sleeping four hours per night on average because my insomnia was so out of control, and had more or less stopped eating, after surviving on nothing but porridge, bread, apples and buttered pasta for close to a month. Things were kind of dire. No one has ever showed me that kind of unprompted generosity before, irl or online. Thinking that people I've never even met were willing to support me like that both warms my heart and makes me feel kind of guilty and undeserving. I'm not used to being treated like that. I hope I didn't make you feel pressured to get involved. It did genuinely help me put myself back together though. The next day I went and bought some essential groceries and getting to eat properly was a massive boost in terms of energy and mood. I'm doing a little better now. I finally managed to get the financial situation corrected, but it'll take months before my finances recover and I'll be able to go shopping without feeling paranoid about counting every cent and hating myself if I buy a small treat. I mentioned that my seven years old, well-served laptop is on it's last legs, so the remaining funds are going towards putting together a new PC, hopefully soon. I don't really have any product or extra content to offer you as a thank you for the ko-fi donations I received, but I hope it's at least nice to think that they're directly enabling me to continue making more art in the future.

I'm still struggling with intense anxiety every day, and it has caused me to develope some kind of impostor syndrome that is impacting my online presence negatively at the moment. I look at the things I try to draw and the asks I get, and feel like nothing I create, say or write is good enough or worth people's time and attention. I'm having hard time opening up like I used to, and I miss the interactions I used to have here, they were an immense source of inspiration and motivation to me. But I'm trying to work on that, and hoping that posting stuff will start to feel more natural again eventually. This got a little long, but thanks for reading! I hope life treats you well.

#life rambles

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gojoluvs · 10 months ago

Text

J’adore

⤿ Satoru Gojo × reader

summary, “her world turned upside down when her boss announced that he was the father of her unborn child. As she navigates her new life as a wife and mother, she finds herself falling for her husband's best friend, Suguru Geto. But is it love she feels? or just a desperate attempt to be noticed by someone other than her husband..”

Warning/ tags; angst, profanity, smoking, cursing, smut, violence.

Genre; angst, infidelity, jik, Gojou × reader, modern au!, business au!

Notes: the tag-list is open if you'd like to be mentioned everytime i update just send me a message.

10k words

masterlist ⤏ next chapter

it felt like a fever dream.

Your thoughts were racing as you sat there staring at the positive pregnancy test. You never imagined that a casual fling with your boss, Gojo, would result in this. You were filled with a mix of emotions - fear, confusion, and excitement all at once. You knew you had to tell Gojo, but the thought of his reaction scared you.

Would he be angry? Would he want you to keep the baby? These questions filled your mind as you tried to figure out the best course of action. Ultimately, the decision was yours to make and you knew it wouldn't be an easy one.

"Fuck." Grabbing a piece of toilet paper, you wrapped the positive pregnancy test and shoved it inside your pant pockets.

Immediately washing your hand, you exited the restroom to face your dear friend and co-worker. With her back against the wall, you could see her biting her nails in anticipation.

You could tell she knew something was wrong, as she anxiously asked, "What's going on?"

Taking a deep breath, you slowly let out, "I'm pregnant." As the words sank in, you could see the shock and worry on your friend's face.

You knew this wasn't the ideal situation, but you also knew that you had a supportive friend by your side. Her eyes widened in shock, and she slowly began to walk towards you. She looked at you with a mix of surprise and concern, her mouth agape as she tried to process the news.

You could tell she was trying to find the right words to say, but in the end, all she could manage was a quiet, "Oh."

"I'm sorry, I can't believe this," she gasped, her eyes filled with worry.

"What are you going to do?" You shook your head, feeling overwhelmed and uncertain.

"I have no idea," you replied honestly. "I wasn't planning on this."

Your friend placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "We'll figure it out together," she said with a reassuring smile. "You don't have to go through this alone." Grateful for her support, you took another deep breath and nodded, feeling a glimmer of hope amidst the fear and uncertainty. You began walking back towards the office while everyone was in lunch.

As an employee at the national elect industries estate that the Gojo's had owned, you were fortunate enough to work closely with Satoru Gojo, one of the most well-known and influential CEOs in all of Tokyo. Witnessing his leadership style first-hand, you found him to be an inspiring and motivating leader who always pushed his team to reach their full potential. Despite being just one of the many employees in the building, you felt valued and appreciated under Satoru Gojo's leadership. His positive and encouraging attitude made it a pleasure to work in the office and you always felt inspired after a conversation with him. It was an honor to be a part of the team.

Unfortunately everyone knew that Satoru was a sex hungry man. All he needed to do was just point at a woman and they would come running to him because everyone knew he was the most attractive man in the building. However, Satoru was not looking for love. He was focused on his career and was determined to be successful. No matter how many women tried to win his heart, he kept his eyes on the prize and refused to be distracted.

"Y/N." Seeing the tall white haired male you immediately grabbed the report you stayed up all night redoing.

Your heart raced as you walked towards him, clutching the report tightly in your hands. You could feel the sweat in your palms as you nervously approached the tall white-haired man. Despite your anxiety, you stood up straight and confidently handed over the report, hoping it would impress him.

You were relieved when he smiled at you, and you managed to smile back handing him the report you had worked so hard on all night.

"Here you go Mr. Gojo, I also decided to put the sales graph from last weeks advertisement," you said with a sense of accomplishment.

As he glanced through the report, you couldn't help but feel proud of your hard work.

You stood there, watching him walk away, you couldn't help but feel a sense of longing and regret. If only things were different, if only you could share the news of your pregnancy with him. But you knew it was better this way, to keep your distance and avoid any potential complications.

You couldn't help but wonder what his reaction would have been, and if his parents would have accepted you and your child. But ultimately, you knew that this was the best decision for everyone involved. With a heavy heart, you turned and walked away, knowing that your secret would remain just that - a secret.

Despite your admiration for Satoru, you couldn't help but feel inferior to him. Being considered a low life and not as successful as him only added to this feeling. Your dad owned a small restaurant down the street where the building was, while Satoru's family lived in a lavish mansion. You were just a commoner and Satoru was like a prince. You had grown up in a small town, and Satoru had grown up in a wealthy family.

The differences in class between the two of you were stark and you were constantly reminded of your social status. You knew that his family wouldn't approve of the two of you together, and deep down, you knew that your relationship was doomed from the start.

"We should go eat, it's on me since your eating for two." Grabbing your arm she held it, you both walked towards the lunch area where the food was at.

Seeing the rest of the workers in the building you wondered who else Satoru had sex with. Knowing you weren't the only one because he once had a long lasting hookup with one of his secretaries but once his dad found out he fired her.

You were feeling uneasy knowing Satoru's history with other women. He was a notorious playboy, always looking for a new conquest. You couldn't help but wonder what his true intentions were. He had always been kind to you, but that could easily change if he got bored.

Despite your doubts, you couldn't help but be drawn to him, his charisma and charm were hard to resist. But you also knew that getting involved with someone like him could lead to heartbreak and disappointment. It was a risky game to play, and you weren't sure if you were willing to take that chance.

"Y/N?" Tilting her head you could see that Utahime was waiting for you to come back to reality.

Nosing you sat down with her, feeling overwhelmed by the thought of raising this child alone. However, you knew that you were strong and capable, and you were determined to give your child the best life possible.

You looked into Utahime's eyes and saw a reflection of your own sadness. You knew that she was feeling your pain and loneliness, and that you were in this together. You sighed and steeled yourself for the difficult road ahead, but with Utahime by your side, you knew you could make it through.

"Can you order me a sandwich please? I'm too tired to go," you said, feeling exhausted from the long day.

With a nod, Utahime quickly got up and left you alone at the table. As you took out your phone, you hesitated before texting Satoru. You knew he had a right to know about the child.

Taking a deep breath, you type out a message to Satoru:

"I need to tell you something."

After sending the message, you lean back in your chair and wait. You feel a mixture of emotions and fear of how he will react. You immediately got a text back. Surprised to see that Satoru would reply to you during a meeting.

The message said:

"What is it? I'm in a meeting right now but I can talk later."

You took a deep breath, relieved that he isn't mad and that you can talk to him later. You respond with a short message:

"Well, if that's the case, we can talk later then."

This way, you can both have some time to calm down and approach the conversation with a cooler head. Plus, it's always better to discuss important matters in person rather than over text.

"Here," handing you the delicious sandwich you've been craving all day, you took a bite. As you bit into the sandwich, the flavor of the freshly baked bread and the savory combination of ingredients made your mouth water.

The juicy tomatoes, crisp lettuce, and perfectly seasoned meat all came together in a burst of flavor that satisfied your hunger and left you wanting more. You couldn't help but savor each bite, enjoying every last morsel of this delectable sandwich.

"Mm! This is so good." Smiling she drank her coke gazing at you while you devoured the food like if you hadn't ate in weeks.

You were so focused on the food that you almost forgot about the conversation you two were having. You looked up and met her gaze, and you both shared a laugh. She said, "You really are enjoying that, aren't you?" You smiled and nodded, taking another bite.

"Mm... did you see that the secretary that Gojo supposedly had a thing with is back?" she asked you,pausing mid-bite.

"She's back...?" After nodding, you couldn't help but wonder why she returned.

The last thing you remembered was her getting completely humiliated by Satoru's father in front of the entire office.

"I heard supposedly he gave her a check of one million dollars to leave the boss alone. God I hate him." Utahime rolled her eyes, taking another sip of her drink.

You couldn't understand why Utahime harbored such strong dislike for Satoru. Maybe there was more to their relationship than meets the eye.

"Why do you hate him so much?" you asked her, curious. Utahime sighed and shook her head.

"It's not important," she said. "But I can't stand people who use their money to get away with anything. It's just not fair. It creates an unequal playing field and allows those with wealth to escape consequences for their actions, while others are held accountable. It perpetuates systemic inequality and injustice."

You could also agree with that, paying someone to leave their loved one is such a dick move. Before you knew it everyone was already finished with their lunch except for you and Utahime. You looked around the canteen and saw that everyone was watching you and Utahime, with some of them grinning and whispering to each other.

You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you, and you quickly finished your lunch while Utahime still calmly ate her food.

"Let's go, I don't want to get in trouble," you whispered urgently to your friend.

You both stood up and quickly made your way back to the office where everyone else had gone to work. Utahime gave you a questioning look, but understanding the situation, she quickly followed you out of the canteen. You were careful to avoid contact with anyone as you walked back to the office, feeling like all eyes were on you.

As soon as you arrived, you quickly darted to your desk and started to work, trying to distract yourself from the embarrassment you felt. Despite your efforts, you couldn't shake off the feeling of being judged and the fear of getting in trouble for your actions.

You opened the first document and started typing, your fingers hitting the keys in a steady rhythm. However, as you continued typing, you realized that finishing the reports quickly would not solve the underlying issue that had been weighing on your mind.

You knew that you would still have to confront Satoru and address the problem head-on, no matter how much you wanted to escape from it. You took a deep breath and focused on completing the reports, determined to face the challenges ahead with a clear mind and a proactive attitude.

As much as you dreaded it, you knew it was unavoidable. You had been working late nights for weeks now and the stress was starting to take its toll. You felt exhausted and overwhelmed by the amount of work you had to do in such a short amount of time. You just wanted to take a break and relax, not have to deal with yet another deadline.

The pressure to come up with new ideas for the company to expand in the east coast was daunting and you were running out of creative energy.

You could say your position was important but it wasn't that much compared to what other people did. You wanted to be one of the members who would attend the meeting and present your own ideas without getting everything stolen from you. You had a role in the company, but your contributions were often overlooked or overshadowed.

You couldn't shake off the feeling of disappointment and frustration. Wanting to be able to make meaningful contributions to the team in meetings and have your ideas taken seriously, but you knew you were far from that, especially now that you were carrying his child.

You wondered if Satoru's family would also give you a check to disappear, to act like you never had anything with Gojo. It was a harsh reality to face, but you refused to let it stop you from achieving your goals and proving your worth.

You thought of all the different scenarios that could happen, you felt helpless. You had come to the office to gain experience and learn from the best. But now you were in a situation you hadn't anticipated and you didn't know how to handle it.

You wished you had someone to talk to and get advice from, but you knew none of your colleagues could understand what you were going through. You had feelings of insecurity and fear. You were scared of being judged and looked down on by Satoru's family and his colleagues.

You felt that you weren't good enough, and that you didn't have the skills or the knowledge to make meaningful contributions. You were worried that if you stayed, you would be seen as a burden and a nuisance, and that your ideas would be dismissed.

"Y/N, sir Gojo is requesting your presence in his office." You were startled by the voice of the secretary, who you had only heard about before. Her beauty was even more striking in person - her long black hair cascading down her back and her piercing green eyes seeming to see right through you. Her pale complexion and rosy lips added to her ethereal appearance.

"Yes," you replied, feeling a bit flustered by her beauty. You followed her down the hallway to Gojo's office, admiring her graceful walk. She opened the door and motioned for you to enter, giving you a gentle smile before she closed the door behind you.

Looking out the window Satoru had his hands in his pockets. Snapping his head towards the door when he saw you enter. He smiled before walking towards you. His tall figure hovering over you. You hadn't realized despite your height, Satoru was super tall. You stepped back in surprise, taken aback by his sudden proximity, and your eyes widened as you looked up into his face.

His kind eyes twinkling and his lips curling into a warm smile. For a moment, you were lost in the moment, unable to remember why you had come.

"What did you want to talk about?" asked Satoru as you walked into boss's office. Grabbing his remote, he clicked a button and the window blinds slowly descended, providing more privacy in the office. He sat down and motioned for you to do the same.

You waited patiently for the right words, as he wondered what could be so important that they needed privacy.

Your mind was racing with all the possible outcomes, but you couldn't bring yourself to speak. You fiddled with your hands, trying to calm your nerves, and felt the weight of the situation bearing down on you.

Would he support your decision? Would he be angry? Would he even want to be a part of this? The uncertainty and fear were almost suffocating. You mustered up the courage to meet his gaze, hoping for some sign of reassurance. But his expression remained stoic, leaving you to wonder what he was thinking.

You hesitated, unsure of what to say. You knew Satoru didn't love you, to him you were just a one night stand. But you couldn't keep living in doubt, you had to tell him the truth.

A one night stand that screwed up and didn't use a after pill. You knew that the next few words that were going to leave your mouth was going to devastate Gojo. Maybe even ruin his life. But still, you wanted to know the truth, no matter how much it hurt. You felt like you were caught between a rock and a hard place. Gojo was so kind to you and you had grown to care for him deeply.

But on the other hand, Satoru was the father of your unborn child. You were unsure of what to do and what would be the right thing for everyone involved. You felt helpless and scared.

Despite the fact that you wanted to tell Gojo the truth, you couldn't bring yourself to do it. You couldn't bear the thought of hurting him, knowing that the truth would have a devastating effect on him. You felt that it was better to keep him in the dark and live with the regret of your decision.

He was visibly anxious as he waited for you to explain the situation. His brow was furrowed and his mouth was set in a tight line. He clasped his hands together, as if in prayer, and waited for you to break the silence. Staring at him you could tell he was concerned as to why you weren't speaking.

His blue eyes stared back at you waiting for you to tell him the news. You were hesitant to tell him the truth, but you knew you had to. Taking a deep breath, you slowly began to explain the situation. You could feel your heart racing as you spoke, and you could tell his expression was slowly changing as he heard the news.

You took a deep breath and finally spoke, "I'm pregnant." Satoru's face turned to shock and then anger, "You're lying," he spat. You knew this was going to be difficult, but you had to do what was best for you and your child.

"Im not lying," You said back. He was speechless, his mind trying to process what he heard. He was frozen in place, not knowing what to say or do. He was in a state of disbelief, struggling to comprehend the news. Finally, he managed to speak, his voice barely above a whisper, "Are you sure?"

His heart was pounding in his chest, as he waited for the answer. He felt like the room was spinning, the world around him a blur. He was filled with fear and disbelief, as he tried to piece together what he had heard.

His heart raced as he waited for a response. He had never expected to hear this, and he felt a sudden wave of shock and confusion wash over him. He felt like he was stuck in a dream, unable to move or think clearly.

"Yes, here," you said, taking out the small piece of toilet paper and unwrapping it, revealing the positive pregnancy test. Satoru's eyes widened as he grabbed it, shock and disbelief washing over his face as he tried to process the news that would forever change his life.

He couldn't believe that he was going to be a father, and the thought of all the responsibilities and sacrifices that came with it was overwhelming.

His face fell and he stared at you in shock before his emotions turned to anger. "How could you be so careless? Do you know what this means?" he yelled.

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. You knew this was going to change everything and it was a difficult situation to be in. You couldn't help but feel guilty for causing this turmoil but you also knew that the truth had to come out.

With a heavy heart, you averted your gaze, unable to face the man in front of you. "I understand the gravity of this situation, and I know that I am not from the same social status as you. If you think it's best for me to leave and raise our child on my own, then I will do so."

He put a hand on his mouth before rubbing it on his chin. "Shit," he muttered.

You could tell he didn't want this pregnancy as much as you didn't want it. "But you took the morning after pill?" he questioned, staring right at you with concern in his eyes.

Despite his hesitation, you knew he would support you no matter what decision you made.

"I did," you lied, feeling a knot form in your stomach. "But it wasn't 100% effective." You both knew the risks, but neither of you expected it to happen.

“What do we do now?" you asked, looking at him for guidance.

"I don't know," he sighed, rubbing his forehead in frustration. "Maybe we should consider all of our options." You knew what he meant, but you weren't sure if you were ready to make that decision.

"I'll arrange a meeting with my parents as soon as possible and we can discuss what we'll do then. But... how far along are you?" Gazing at Satoru, you could see the doubt and suspicion in his eyes.

He didn't trust you and it was understandable. You couldn't blame him for thinking you might be using this pregnancy to ruin his life. But deep down, you knew the truth - that you could possibly be carrying his child, and that thought alone scared you.

"I don't know what you think of me, Satoru, but I'm not here to ruin your life," you said.

"I'm not sure how far along I am, but I do know that I'm pregnant, and that's why I'm here. I'm not trying to pressure you into anything, I just wanted you to know the truth and I thought it would be better to do this in person."

“Despite the potential challenges and complications, I am committed to taking responsibility for my pregnancy and raising our child. I understand that this may not have been part of our plans, but I believe we can work something out.” Satoru looked at you with a mix of shock and confusion.

He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. He just stared at you in disbelief, not knowing what to say. Finally, he managed to stutter out a few words. "Are you sure you want to keep it?”

"Yes i am, if you want me to I will raise this child but I need you to be here. My kid, our kid. Its not going to live without a father." Satoru could see the determination in your eyes. Clenching your fists you wanted for his answer in anticipation

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair before turning to you. His eyes were heavy with emotion as he finally spoke.

"Yes, I'll stay. I promise. I'll be here for us and for our child." He got up and reached out, taking your hands in his, giving them a gentle squeeze.

It was a difficult decision, but you knew that the potential benefits for the child far outweighed the risk of getting your heart broken. You were determined to make sure that Satoru saw the potential of being a father and the positive impact he could have on the child's life.

You were willing to do whatever it takes to make sure that this child had a loving and involved father figure, even if it meant facing rejection or heartache. In the end, the well-being and happiness of the child was your top priority.

"For now I want you to stay here until I'm done with my last meeting then we can head out and go to my parents mansion." You knew how much it meant for his parents to know about this. To be honest, you were so fucking scared right now.

You knew that this was not going to be easy, not just because of the child growing inside you, but because of the potential backlash from Satoru's parents. You were fully aware of the cultural and societal differences between your backgrounds and how it could be perceived by his family. Despite your fears and concerns, you nodded and agreed to his request, determined to make it work and put on a brave face. With a deep breath, you tried to calm your nerves and prepare yourself for the challenges ahead.

Closing the door behind him just like that Satoru went to another meeting leaving you with your thoughts. While you were grappling with these thoughts, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease and guilt. The image of Satoru with his secretary kept replaying in your mind, making you question your own feelings and actions.

Would it be right to sabotage their relationship for your own selfish desires? These moral dilemmas left you feeling conflicted and unsure of how to proceed. As you sat alone in the office, you couldn't help but wonder if things would ever be the same between you and Satoru.

You felt a pang of guilt and sadness as you tried to push away the thought and focus on the task at hand. Closing your eyes you decided to lay down on the small sofa that Satoru had in his office.

Putting a hand on top of your stomach you couldn't really feel anything. You knew you were at least a few weeks pregnant. You stayed in that position for a few minutes, feeling the warmth of the sunrays coming through the window and calming your body. You felt safe and secure and couldn't help but smile, as you thought about the life that was growing inside of you.

You stayed there, eyes closed, feeling the warmth of the sun and the comfort of the sofa, as your mind wandered through the possibilities of the future. You just wanted to savor the moment, to make sure you could remember it forever. You had taken the pregnancy test several times, but it was still hard to believe that you were actually going to have a baby.

You had so many questions - you were wondering if the baby was the size of a bean or if it was even smaller than that. You were filled with a mix of emotions - from excitement to fear. You were going to become a mom. Wondering how you were going to explain to your father that you got pregnant by your bosses you couldn't help but let out a sigh. You knew things were going to get more complicated now.

You had always been taught to do the right thing and you knew this was the wrong thing to do. You wanted to do the right thing and take responsibility for your actions but you were afraid of what your father's reaction would be. He had always been so strict and you knew he wouldn't approve of this situation. You felt so helpless and confused.

You were already in a difficult situation, having to work for a man that you felt attracted to and now being pregnant with his child. You felt lost as to how you were going to explain this to your father. What would he think of you? How would you even begin to explain what had happened?

“Oh yeah dad! I thought my boss was super hot and I slept with him and guess what? I'm pregnant!” Sarcastically you let out another sigh. You really screwed up this time. You shook your head and let out a deep sigh. You had just been telling your father about the problems you were having at work, and now this. You knew your dad was going to be disappointed in you. You could already hear the lecture he was going to give you.

However, you knew that you had to take responsibility for your actions and face the consequences. You hoped that your father would understand and support you, but you also knew that you needed to learn from this mistake and make better choices in the future.

You couldn't even tell your mother because she had died when you were born. Never being able to be raised with a mother figure you were all alone im this situation. You covered your face with your arm. Trying your best to forget about everything and just go to sleep.

Maybe a nap would help you process everything and get you in a better mood. You had so much on your mind and felt so alone. You had no one to talk to, no one to turn to. You wanted someone to just listen, someone who could understand what you were going through and be there for you. But there was no one, and you had to find a way to cope with your emotions on your own.

"How long was I out?" you groaned as you rubbed your eyes, still trying to wake up.

You were surprised to see Satoru standing there, wearing his casual black glasses and with his suitcase next to him. It was clear that everyone had already left the building and it was just the two of you. "Did I oversleep?" you asked.

With a deep sigh, you slowly stood up from the comfortable embrace of the sofa. You felt a dull ache throughout your body, as if you had been in the same position for hours. You reached up and rubbed your forehead, trying to ease the tension. Taking a deep breath, you rubbed one of your eyes with your other hand, blinking away the sleepiness.

Realizing that you must have been asleep for a while. Satoru replied , "Not too long, just a couple of hours. You looked so peaceful, I didn't want to wake you up." You were grateful for his thoughtfulness and couldn't help but smile back at him.

“You were asleep for three hours." Helping you up Satoru offered his hand. Taking it you thanked him silently before taking all of your stuff and leaving his office.

You checked the time on your phone and realized it was already past midnight. You had slept for the past three hours while Satoru was patiently watching you from his chair. You were embarrassed but grateful for his understanding and kindness. You thanked him as you gathered your things and made your way out of his office.

You walked outside into the parking lot, as you sat inside the luxurious Mercedes Benz, you couldn't help but feel a little out of place. Satoru barely acknowledged your presence as he started the car and drove towards his parents' mansion. It was clear that he was more focused on his own comfort and status, rather than making you feel welcome. Despite the extravagant surroundings, you couldn't shake off the feeling that something was off.

You took out your phone, your fingers gently tapping on the screen trying to send a text to your dad. Letting him know you might come home later than usual as you were going to meet Satorus parents. As you typed out the message, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and nervousness. You couldn't resist the curiosity and ended up searching for Satoru's lover on Instagram. You typed her name into the search bar multiple times until you finally found her profile. As you clicked on it, you discovered that her name was "Asami Oba."

As you scrolled through her photos, you couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. She seemed to have a perfect life - traveling to exotic locations, attending luxurious events, and surrounded by beautiful people. You couldn't believe Satoru was dating someone like her. It made you question your own self-worth and wonder what he saw in her that he didn't see in you. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't help but continue scrolling through her profile, torturing yourself with images of their seemingly happy relationship.

However, it still bothered you to see the pictures of Asami and Satoru together. You couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal, even though you knew she had nothing to do with the reason why he slept with you. It was a constant reminder that you were the other woman, and that their relationship was still going strong while you were left to deal with the aftermath. It made your stomach turn every time you saw one of their pictures with a caption that said "with my love."

The picture that stood out the most was undoubtedly the one featuring them in the Eiffel Tower. The breathtaking view of the iconic landmark served as a backdrop, capturing their joy and creating a lasting memory of their trip to Paris.

As you watched Satoru lost in his thoughts, you couldn't help but wonder about the consequences that would arise once his lover discovered the truth about your pregnancy. The situation seemed to hang in the air, heavy with uncertainty and potential conflict.

What felt like forever finally had come to an end, you couldn't help but feel out of place as you stepped out of the car. The house was even more luxurious than you had imagined, the expensive cars and perfectly manicured lawns. Satoru's parents were known for their wealth and you couldn't shake off the feeling that you didn't belong there. You knew Satoru's parents were going to judge you for not dressing more formally, but you were too exhausted from work to change.

"Listen Y/N," he said before ringing the doorbell. His expression suddenly changed, as if a wave of desperation had washed over him. His eyes were pleading, his hands trembling.

"I'm warning you my family is very old fashioned," licking his lips, that's all he said before ringing the doorbell.

You could practically hear your heartbeat, feeling as if your heart was going to jump out of your body. As you nervously waited for the door to open, you couldn't help but wonder what kind of traditional customs and expectations his family might have. Would they approve of your relationship? Would they expect you to conform to their beliefs? The unknown made your stomach churn with anxiety.

As the door swung open, a small click sound could be heard. A man, who looked identical to Satoru but slightly older, stood in the doorway. He quickly glanced at his son before his eyes landed on you. Raising an eyebrow, he muttered a few words under his breath, "Oh god, your mother is going to be ballistic."

"Father, please." pleaded Satoru as he held onto your hand, almost crushing.

"Please come in, it's a pleasure to meet you. My wife is in the living room, so please have a seat there." Said Satoru's father, gesturing towards the living room. He was a tall and imposing man, his deep voice echoing through the spacious hallway. You couldn't help but feel a bit intimidated as you followed him inside.

The intricate details, luxurious furnishings, and spacious layout of the Gojo mansion left you in awe. It was everything you would expect from a wealthy family's home. As you walked through the halls, admiring the lavish decor and elegant architecture, you couldn't help but utter a soft "Wow" under your breath. While you may have seen similar houses before, there was something about the design of this one that was truly impeccable and breathtaking.

As you sat on the silky white couch, you were met with Satoru's mother's gaze. It was intense and piercing, making you feel uncomfortable and self-conscious. She seemed to be silently judging you, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease and inadequacy under her scrutiny. You shifted nervously, unsure of how to react or what to say to break the tension.

"What's your name?" her strong voice practically echoed. Despite her age, she was still stunning, with striking features and an air of elegance.

"Y/N, it's lovely to meet you, Mrs. Gojo." You replied with a warm smile, trying to make her feel welcome and at ease.

"So, what business do you have with my son?" she asked, her tone icy and unwelcoming. "To be more specific, what do you want from him?" Her sharp gaze bore into you, daring you to give her an answer she didn't want to hear.

"Mom," he said, avoiding eye contact with his mother. "She's pregnant and the child is mine." Her gaze softened as she laid her eyes on Satoru, her future grandchild. She could see the worry and fear in her son's eyes.

"Are you sure it's your child?" She questioned, looking you up and down before sighing. Her disbelief was evident as she struggled to accept the news. Doubt and confusion filled her mind, unsure of how to react to this unexpected information. She took a deep breath before finally asking, "How can you be sure?"

"I'm not convinced that you are the father," she questioned, eyeing you up and down before letting out a sigh.

"Mom, she's the only woman I've slept with in a while. Please," he pleaded.

"Do you have anything to say to that?" she asked, her eyes fixed on Satoru's father who wore a disappointed expression. His son had made a mistake and it was clear that he was struggling to come to terms with it. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and it was clear that he had nothing to say in response.

"As long as it wasn't Asami," he said, your heart broke at the mention of his lover's name.

"I totally forgot about that girl," said his mother, chuckling at the memory of her. "She was so pretty, but unfortunately her background was not so great."

The atmosphere in the room changed as soon as her name was mentioned, satoru shifted his weight uncomfortably and it was clear that her presence had a profound effect on him. He couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt and longing when her name was brought up.

Memories of their time together flooded his mind, causing him to nervously bite his lip. He knew he should move on, but the thought of her still had a hold on him.

"Well since you two are over here fucking and populating the earth like little bunnies, it's time for you to take responsibility for your actions," she said sternly as she interlocked her hands together. "I want you two to get married and commit to raising this child together." Her tone was serious and determined as she laid out her expectations for the young couple.

"Mother, I don't even know her that well, let alone love her," you side eyed Satory, seeing his eyes widen at the mention of marriage. You could tell he was visibly frustrated and not ready for such a commitment. It was clear that he needed more time to get to know this person before even considering marriage.

"You know her well enough to have sex with her, please Satoru, you're grown now." Shaking her head, she got up, "and I expect the marriage to be soon. Don't you know how ruined your reputation would be if they found out you got some lowlife pregnant?" she yelled.

"But Mother," Satoru pleaded, "I don't think I'm ready for marriage yet." His mother's face softened as she let out a sigh.

"I know, but it's important for our family's reputation. You know how strict society can be with these things." Satoru hung his head, knowing that he couldn't argue with his mother's logic.

This turn of events was completely unexpected for you. Marriage was never a part of your plans, and you never would have imagined that his mother would actually want you to marry her son instead of getting rid of you.

"I want you to be moved in his house by tomorrow," She said, her voice filled with anger as she glared at you. Satoru's father stood up and gently grabbed his wife's shoulders, trying to calm her down.

"Let's go now, you know how you get with these things," He said, leading her away from the situation. It was clear that their heated argument was not something to be taken lightly.

You couldn't believe how quickly she had dismissed you and Satoru from her house. Your mind was racing with questions and confusion from the confrontation you had just witnessed.

Satoru held his head low, not wanting to look at you anymore. "Fuck," he mutterd between his breath. Satoru's expression was cold and distant, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of fear. You knew he was capable of hurting you, and it seemed like he was about to.

"Gojo," You said timidly, hoping to break through to him. But before you could finish, he roughly pushed you towards the car. You stumbled, your heart racing as you realized that you were completely at his mercy.

"What did I do wrong?" you asked, tears welling up in your eyes.

"Why did you have to get pregnant and not her?" He spat at your face, and you couldn't help but feel like it was somehow your fault. Despite the hormones coursing through your body, you couldn't hold back the tears any longer and you broke down in sobs.

You stood there, stunned by his words. You couldn't believe he would say something like that, especially when you were carrying his child. The tears welled up in your eyes, and you didn't know if it was the hormones or if it was just you feeling completely overwhelmed and hurt by his words. How could he be so heartless and insensitive?

"I didn't think this would happen..." You replied, your voice trembling with nervousness. You couldn't believe that this was actually happening. You couldn't even bring yourself to look at him, your gaze dropping to the floor. Your stomach was in knots and you couldn't help but swallow nervously, unsure of what to do or say next.

"Fuck!" He yelled, frustration evident in his voice as he passed his hand through his hair in exasperation.

"What the hell am I supposed to do now?" He yelled, frustration evident in his voice as he ran his hand through his hair in exasperation.

"Gojo, please." You pleaded, desperately clinging to his arm. But he forcefully pushed you away, his expression hard and unyielding. It was clear he did not want to be bothered, and you could feel your heart sinking with each step he took away from you.

"Get in the car Y/N," he said urgently, "I'm taking you home with me. I'll ask someone to get your things." Your heart dropped at his words. You knew you weren't even allowed to go home, to see your father. The thought of leaving him alone by himself was almost too much to bear.

"But Satoru, my father," you said, protesting as you opened the car door and sat inside. You were hesitant to leave without saying goodbye to your father, but Satoru urged you to hurry as the car started to pull away from his parents house.

"I don't care about your father, you're my soon-to-be wife. You will listen to me, Y/n." His eyebrows furrowed, he sped up.

You looked away and just stared at the window. Watching as you passed by buildings. The moon had come out, shinning down on you. You wondered if maybe life would be better if you got to be the moon - free to shine and roam the sky without anyone trying to control or dictate your every move. But the reality was that you were stuck in this car, with a person who didn't value your thoughts or feelings. You wished you could escape, but you knew that marrying him would only trap you further.

It seemed so peaceful and distant, away from all the conflict and tension happening in your relationship. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy towards the moon, longing for its serenity. But as you looked back at your fiancé's angry expression, you knew you couldn't escape your reality. You were stuck in this tumultuous relationship, always having to put his needs and desires above your own.

"But can I still see him?" You asked, your voice trembling with worry. Satoru let out an exasperated sigh, feeling frustrated with the endless stream of questions you had. "Yes, you can still see him," he reassured you, hoping to ease your concerns.

As you sat there, deep in thought, you couldn't help but feel a sense of dread. Was this truly the right decision for you and your unborn child? The weight of responsibility and sacrifice weighed heavily on your mind. You knew that this child would inevitably cost you everything - your freedom, your happiness, and possibly even your own self. Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to speak up and go against Satoru's family wishes. You were trapped in a situation that seemed to have no good outcome.

You anxiously bit your lip, dreading the thought of having to meet new people and make new friends. There was also the added uncertainty of whether or not you would still be working for your fiancée once you moved.

Not to mention the press and newspaper would get ahold of this new engagement. The Gojo's were almost treated as royalty here.

"Do you want to stop for food?" he asked, quickly checking on you before focusing back on the road.

"No."

"What about the baby?" he said, raising an eyebrow as he slowly put his hand on your stomach. "Our baby needs to eat too, Y/N."

You licked your lips proceeding to ask him if he could stop by a nearby fast food or just anything at this point. The last thing you ate was the sandwich during lunch. He began driving towards the nearest place that sold Onigiri. To be completely honest you didnt have much friends beside utahime.

You were the last remaining original member of your team, and it was lonely at times. You missed the camaraderie and inside jokes that you shared with your former coworkers. But you were grateful for Utahime's friendship. Asami had joined two years ago. However, things changed when they discovered Satoru and Asami's affair almost a year ago.

It seemed odd that she would come back after everything that had happened. Was she truly that deeply in love with Satoru that she couldn't bear to be separated from him? Or was there another motive behind her return? It was hard to shake the feeling that something was not quite right.

You grabbed your phone once again only to be surprised to see so many people had followed you on social media. Confused you clicked on the news article that was labeled "Has the CEO of Berkshire found a new woman?"

You couldn't believe it - the news was spreading like wildfire. You had never expected your life to change so drastically after just one night out with Satoru. As you scrolled through your notifications, you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed and a little scared of the attention. You knew that this new attention could bring both positives and negatives, but you weren't quite sure how to handle it all.

"Satoru, there are already articles written about us." He parked outside the small restaurant.

Getting out he asked before leaving, "What do you want from here?" I'm not sure if it's worth the risk to go inside." Satoru hesitated, knowing that any action they took could potentially land them in even more scandals.

"Can you get me an umeboshi onigiri please?" He closed the door and walked towards the restaurant, leaving you alone in the car. You quickly dialed your father, hoping he could bring you an umeboshi onigiri as well.

"Hello Y/N? are you there?”

"Dad, I'm sorry for not answering your calls. I might not be able to come home today as I'm stuck doing paperwork at work. Please don't wait up for me, I don't want you to stay up too late." You could hear the relief in his voice as he responded to your message. It was important for you to let him know what was going on and reassure him that you were okay.

"Okay sweetie, just please let me know if you need anything," you said with a sigh as you said your goodbyes. Turning off your phone, you couldn't help but feel helpless, knowing that there was nothing more you could do to help.

Your mind was filled with a mix of emotions and insecurities as you read the comments on the Instagram posts of you and Satoru. You couldn't help but wonder what people were saying about you and if they were judging you based on your appearance. You looked around nervously, hoping to see Satoru inside. Thankfully, he was still standing in the restaurant, talking on the phone.

As you clicked through the comments, you couldn't help but feel hurt and disappointed by the harsh and derogatory words directed towards you.

"Shes way prettier than the other girl!"

"she looks like a commoner..."

"What a skank!"

You could already feel the fatigue and discomfort that came with being pregnant, and you weren't even showing yet. The thought of carrying a child for nine months and then going through childbirth was daunting and overwhelming.

Satoru came back with two onigiris, handing you one and keeping the other for himself. You quickly ate it, not caring if he judged you for having no manners in front of him. After all, you were too hungry to worry about etiquette.

"We're almost home yet so dont worry, I can ask my maid to make you something if you'd like."

"No thanks." you replied just wanting to go and sleep already.

The stars were shining brightly in the sky, and the moon illuminated your path as you made your way home. The cool air was refreshing after a long day, and you couldn't help but feel grateful for the peacefulness of the night. As you drove, your mind drifted to the events of the day and you couldn't help but feel a sense of exhaustion creeping over you. But the thought of finally being home, in the comfort of your own bed, kept you going. You leaned your head back against the headrest and let the darkness of sleep overtake you.

"Geto, did you hear what I said?" All Satoru could hear from the other line was laughter, making him feel frustrated and unheard. Despite his repeated attempts to communicate, it seemed like his words were falling on deaf ears. He wondered if Geto was really taking him seriously or not.

"No way," exclaimed Geto, who was currently at a business party on the other side of the world. "You got her pregnant? Talk about a major backfire!" He chuckled, amused by his friend's predicament.

He was about to ask for her number when his best friend called, desperate for his attention. Though he wanted to continue flirting with the hot chick, he reluctantly answered his friend's call.

"And now we have to get married," shaking his head, Satoru picked you up from the seat. His maid had helped him open the door to his house, and he was grateful for his strength.

"Hey man, I told you to just have a one-night stand with her, not to get her pregnant and marry her." Geto said in the other line, he picked up a pen and wrote down his number in the napkin handing it to the cute bartender.

" What about Asami? Isn't she the love of your life?" he asked teasingly, giving him a playful tone. “Have you told her yet?"

He slowly placed you on his bed, his gaze never leaving you. "Can you change her into something more comfortable?" he asked his maid, who nodded before closing the door behind her.

"I haven't told Asami," Satoru admitted. "She's still insisting we get back together." He grabbed a beer from his refrigerator and took off the cap with a small pop before taking a sip.

"But I don't think it's a good idea. We've been through this before and it never ends well." Satoru sighed, knowing that his decision would only lead to more tension and arguments with Asami. But he also knew that it was the right thing to do for both of them.

"I would pay to see her reaction, she's probably going to go crazy." With a sly smirk, Geto had already entered the bartender's contact information into his phone.

Satoru laughed and took a sip of his drink. "I know, but that's what makes her so irresistible," he replied with a grin.

"Besides, I like a little bit of crazy in my life." He uncrossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "You should try it sometime."

Geto chuckled and raised his glass in agreement. "Maybe someday, but for now I'll stick to watching your crazy love life from the sidelines."

"Maybe next time I suggest using condoms," he began, but his laughter interrupted him once again. "Man, you're so screwed. I just know your old lady had a tantrum." His words were met with a bit of amusement.

"What about you and Shoko, huh?" Satoru asked, taking off his shirt and laying down on his couch with a beer in hand.

"You guys have been spending a lot of time together lately." His tone was teasing, but there was a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"It's complicated," said Geto who was practically eye-fucking the bartender on the other end of the phone. The tension between them was palpable, and their relationship was anything but simple.

"Complicated my ass," he thought as he took a sip from his cold beer and smiled. "I bet you're already thinking of having sex with someone else."

“And you’re absolutely right.” With a smirk Geto made his way to her. Satoru was able to hear his whole conversation start to finish.

“You know what i’ll call you later, you have fun.” Satoru took one last sip of his beer before going to the restroom to shower. He turned off his phone and threw it on the sink before undressing himself.

He regretted the night it happened and wished he could take it back. The thought of you now made him cringe, and he couldn't wait to move on and forget about it. He didn't think he could ever find anything about you interesting, and he just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened.

He couldn't believe his luck - or rather, his misfortune - when he found out that his arranged marriage was to be with someone he barely knew. He couldn't help but compare this stranger to Asami, the woman who held his heart. He couldn't shake off the feeling that this marriage was a mistake, and that he would never be truly happy with anyone other than Asami. But now, he was stuck with this random person who worked for him, pretending to be his wife. He couldn't help but wonder if he had made the wrong choice in agreeing to this marriage.

Despite the intense attraction he felt towards Asami, he couldn't deny that their relationship was tumultuous and unpredictable. There were moments where she seemed to understand him better than he understood himself, but there were also times when she drove him to the brink of insanity. Even now, he couldn't shake the memories of their secret rendezvous, the adrenaline-fueled sex that still haunted his dreams. But as thought of you, his heart aches with regret, wishing that he had chosen Asami instead of you, hoping that he could have created a family with her instead.

His mind would just wander off to when he would have Asami all to himself - skin to skin, after sharing a passionate night together. The way her hair would stick to her face when he was so close to cumming inside her drove him wild. He couldn't wait to have her all to himself again, without any distractions or interruptions.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, feeling his body react to the thought of her naked form pressed against his. The anticipation and desire grew, making him hard and unable to focus on anything else. He couldn't wait to have her in his arms and fulfill every fantasy he had been imagining.

He grabbed shampoo and shoved it all over his face, rubbing his face before rinsing it off. He grabbed his towel and wrapped it around his torso. He grabbed his toothbrush and started brushing his teeth vigorously. After rinsing his mouth, he quickly dried off and went to his room.

Opening the door, he was met with your peaceful sleeping figure, dressed in shorts and a big t-shirt. He couldn't help but smile at how adorable you looked. As he changed into his pajamas, he couldn't help but feel a bit regret on treating you so hurtful.

He felt a pang of loneliness as he snuggled up to you, his fiancée, and not the person he truly desired. He could feel your warmth and smell your familiar scent, but it only intensified his longing for someone else. As he whispered goodnight, he couldn't help but imagine it was his lover in his arms instead.

"Goodnight Asami," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Despite the fact that you were wide awake, Satoru cuddled up to you and drifted off to sleep. You could hear his deep breathing before you bit your lip and silently let tears fall down your cheeks. It hurt to know that he couldn't even say your name.

#arranged marriage #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk gojo #jjk smut #jujutsu satoru #mean gojo #jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojo satoru angst #cheating gojo #gojo satoru #business au #jujutsu kaisen

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mononijikayu · 3 months ago

Text

to you 2,000... or... 20,000 years from now… — ryomen sukuna.

As they stand to leave, his gaze drifts to one of his portraits—a work that captures a moment from another time, another life. In it, the King of Curses sits beside his beloved concubine, her expression full of light and laughter, radiant in a way that suggests an unbreakable bond. Ryomen Sukuna pauses, his hand still entwined with hers, and a rare, gentle smile crosses his face. Looking at the painting, he lets himself hope, just a little. Perhaps, even in a world he once saw as cold and unyielding, there are threads of something beautiful woven into his story. Perhaps, even for someone like him, there could be a happy ending, one he’d never dared to imagine. He leans down and whispers softly, almost as if confessing a secret. “I like to think they found each other again, you know? That somehow… this time, they got to be happy.”

GENRE: alternate universe - reincarnation;

WARNING/S: post canon, future timeline, fluff, possible romance, getting together, mild angst, reincarnation, conflicted feelings, hurt/comfort, dreams and nightmares, distress, grief, feelings, physical touch, character death, moving on, flashback, humor, no curse future au, pining, light-hearted, happy ending, depiction of the future, depiction of reincarnation, depiction of letting go, depiction of flashback, depiction of getting together, depiction of depiction of character death, depiction of distress, depiction of grief, mention of character death, mention of the past, mention of letting go, mention of grief, reincarnated! sukuna, reincarnated concubine! reader;

WORDS: 15k words.

NOTE: this concludes the final part of the main story of the other woman. i'm genuinely grateful for you love and attention towards my story. this was never supposed to be a series, it was supposed to be a one off fic. but because of your love for concubine reader, i was inspired to bring more to her life.

as i promised, this is a happy ending. well, the happy end that i think would suit the story. of course, this is not the end of concubine reader's story. there will be drabbles of sukuna and concubine reader's life that i never managed to put out.

if you have any suggestion or questions about the story, you can drop some words down in the inbox!!! i'm very happy when you ask questions about the story or have suggestions of what you wanna see next!!! please do so everyone!!!

i hope you look forward to them!!! thank you for reading, thank you for your support and love. i'll continue to write for you all!!! i love you <3

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HE DOESN’T KNOW HOW HE’LL GET THROUGH THIS. He’d never felt like this before. What do his other artist friends call it? Oh, that’s right. A slump. An artist’s slump. Yeah, that’s what it’s called. He’s never had that before.

But why should he? Ryomen Sukuna was a protege. He was a stellar artist with a golden hand, one who never stops. The one who works as though he’s running out of time. It’s him.

And yet, at that moment, he wasn’t.

Ryomen Sukuna had a problem.

He was stumped from hell and back.

And he doesn’t understand why.

A loud exhale releases from his mouth as he looks up at all the drying canvas in front of him in the various easels. They’re all beautiful, don’t get him wrong. But they’re all the same.

And that bothers Ryomen Sukuna as he purses his lips in a flat line. His own studio has become a homage to these paintings and sketches as of late. There was nothing else coming out of him. Nothing else was occupying his mind.

In the maze of half-finished canvases and dried paint of his studio, there were only those same eyes staring at him. He could feel it even now under the dim lighting casting long, wavering shadows across each and every tender gaze.

He couldn’t stand up anymore. He’s exhausted. He’s been up since god knows when. Everywhere there was paint. His hands are stained, his shirt splattered with colors that have long since dulled. It’s been weeks.

He doesn't know how to deal with this. How could he, when she finds him in every moment? How easy it was to be that way. He’s stopped keeping track of time, because time means nothing when all he can see, all he can paint, is her.

As of late, it was this that haunted him. It was the same as always. It was this woman with those kind eyes looking back at him. That same tender smile greeting him. That same beauty yearning towards him. Everything about the woman’s face consumes him. Everything that she is continues to follow him like a ghost, over and over.

He can’t even pinpoint when it started. It just started happening out of nowhere. At one point there were normal dreams and soon enough, there were something else.

And as time passed by, there was nothing else left but her. Her beautiful smiling face looking at him. Every single time, she never fails to be warm towards him. As though she could feel him, as though she could see him.

She’s become more than a fixation; she’s an infection, seeping into every corner of his mind, haunting the hours he’s awake as much as those precious few where he drifts into a broken sleep.

She first appeared in his dreams like a fleeting whisper, but her image has grown, intensifying with each passing night, filling his dreams with a crescendo of color and dread. And over and over, it was repeating.

Like a piano key stuck on the board, playing over and over that same repetitive note. And yet, it was still lovely. It was still tender. And then suddenly, it wasn’t. That was the worst part of it all, he thinks. He captures the beauty of her and then suddenly, it just disappears. It goes. Almost like smoke.

The dream is always the same every night. At first it was terrifying to him. He’d never seen anything like her before. He’d never seen what happened to her before, not to anyone. Not ever. But with her, it repeats.

That nightmare continues over and over again. And he hated it. He hated how he has memorized it. He has hated how it was all he could see over and over again. He hated how this was the fate that such a beautiful, kind woman had to meet.

That beautiful lady, she would stand there and smile at him. Often, she stands at the edge of a crumbling cliff, the ocean roiling and dark beneath her, waves crashing against jagged rocks far below.

She turns, her eyes fixed on him, lips curling into a smile that might be tender, might be mocking, it shifts each time, eluding any attempt to decipher it.

She extends a hand, beckoning, imploring him to come closer. His heart races, his feet propel him forward, but just as he reaches for her, she slips, and he’s left grasping at nothing but empty air.

Again and again, he tries to save her. Again and again, she falls.

The dream wakes him in a cold sweat, heart pounding, breath shallow. He stumbles to his studio, and without thinking, he begins to paint. Her face materializes with each stroke, her eyes holding secrets he can’t unlock.

Her smile flickering with a mystery that tightens his chest. He paints her until his fingers go numb, until his eyes blur from exhaustion. He paints her even when he’s on the verge of madness. And he hates it—hates her—but he’s powerless to stop.

The people around him have noticed the shift, though they don’t understand it. They speak of his new works with reverence, captivated by the haunting beauty of the unknown woman he’s made famous.

But they don’t see the toll she takes on him. They don’t see the shadow of sleeplessness etched into his face, the dark circles under his eyes, the wild desperation lurking just beneath his cool exterior.

Every time he tries to paint something else. Absolutely anything else, it does not work. Not anymore. He would feel his hands freeze, his mind goes blank, and all he can see is her smile.

She’s everywhere, a ghost in his waking hours, her gaze piercing through every wall he builds to keep her out. The thrill of creation is gone; all that remains is the raw compulsion to recreate her face, an act that feels more like exorcism than art.

Ryomen Sukuna slumps back into his chair, eyes trained on the painting before him, hands limp and smeared with shades of red and soft violet. Her face, the delicate arch of her brows, the smirk teasing at her lips. All of it stares back at him, alive, taunting.

It’s as though she’s watching him, laughing softly at his obsession, fully aware of the hold she has over him. The painted eyes seem to flicker, and in his exhaustion, Sukuna wonders if he’s the one painting her, or if she’s the one reaching through the canvas, carving her image into his mind with a precision that leaves him helpless.

“Damn it. This is so annoying.” he mutters, his voice echoing hollowly in the quiet room. He reaches for his brush, the movement automatic, but his hand falters, dropping it back onto the table as he releases a frustrated sigh.

The curse feels weak, a pitiful attempt to regain some control, but he knows it’s useless. She’s an endless riddle, one he’s compelled to solve yet doomed to never fully understand.

No matter how many times he paints her, he can’t capture her—not completely. The harder he tries, the more elusive she becomes, as though she’s slipping through his fingers, mocking his every attempt.

He sits there, shoulders slouched, the steady tick of the clock filling the empty space around him. Hours blur into each other, and yet he can’t bring himself to look away, his gaze locked on her face, that faint smile hinting at secrets she will never share.

And then, just as the clock strikes midnight, he hears it. That tender voice giving him grief. That warm voice turning him cold. That voice echoed that whisper, soft as a breeze, calling his name.

“My lord…..my lord Sukuna.”

He closes his eyes, the sound reverberating through him, familiar and yet so distant. She’s there, in his mind, like an echo carried across lifetimes, the warmth of her voice stirring something deep inside.

He knows it’s a dream, an illusion conjured by his own obsession, but he doesn’t care. For a brief moment, he lets himself lean into it, lets her voice wash over him like a balm.

“My lord, my beloved lord Sukuna…” Her voice is softer this time, coaxing, filled with a strange tenderness that he’s certain only exists in his imagination. He can almost feel her fingers trailing along his cheek, the faintest touch, leaving warmth in their wake.

“What do you want from me?” he murmurs, his voice a weary plea, barely audible, as if afraid to break the fragile spell she’s cast over him. “You’re there every night, haunting me, making me see you even when I close my eyes. But what do you want?”

In his mind, her laughter echoes, soft and familiar, as if she’s toying with him. “You know what I want, my lord Sukuna. You’ve always known.”

He clenches his fists, frustration simmering beneath his skin. “Then tell me, damn it. Tell me what I need to do to set you free.”

“Set me free?” she repeats, and there’s a hint of amusement in her voice, as if the very idea amuses her. “Oh, my lord Sukuna… it’s not me who needs freeing.”

His breath hitches, her words cutting through him like a blade. The realization settles over him like a heavy weight, and he knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that she’s right.

She isn’t the one trapped here—he is. Bound by his own memories, his own regrets, unable to let go of the past that has woven her image into every part of him.

He opens his eyes, staring at the canvas again, her face seeming to shift. It was almost ever so easy for her to taunt him like that, to tease him. Everything about her gave him that feeling that overwhelms him. Feelings that he's never felt in his entire life.

He could feel her eyes glinting with a knowing look that sends a shiver down his spine. He reaches for the brush, hand trembling as he adds another stroke, trying to bring her into focus, to finally capture the essence of her that has haunted him. But no matter what he does, he can’t reach her, can’t grasp the fleeting vision that seems to dance just beyond his reach.

“I’ll keep painting you. I swear.” he whispers, his voice raw, laced with something close to desperation. “Every night, every dream, until you’re satisfied. Until you let me go.”

But he knows, even as the words leave his lips, that she won’t; she’ll never truly leave. She’ll linger there, a silent muse, a relentless force guiding his hand, embedding herself deeper with every brushstroke.

And he, trapped in this beautiful, maddening cycle, will keep painting her face, night after night, each canvas only revealing a fragment of her and yet never enough.

The clock ticks on, marking the hours that slip away in her wake, but he’s long since stopped noticing. She’s there, in every line, every shadow, every flicker of light on the canvas.

She’s his prison, his muse, his madness—and he knows, even as he tries to break free, that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

══════════════════

BY THIS POINT, HE WOULD HAVE BEEN FINISHED WITH HIS COLLECTION. Usually, Ryomen Sukuna finishes his pieces weeks ahead, leaving everyone else; especially Gojo Satoru—scrambling to catch up. Well, perhaps because he usually doesn’t work until he stops messing about.

Still, the rivalry is a running joke among their peers. Gojo Satoru would tease him endlessly, his voice loud and mocking. “The world might as well end if you didn’t finish first, Ryomen Sukuna. I’d have to check if hell froze over.”

Gojo Satoru would say with that infuriating grin, and Sukuna would just roll his scarlet eyes, barely dignifying it with a response. He didn’t need to—he’d simply outdo him, his work claiming the prime spot at the National Gallery, cycle after cycle. That’s just how it works for them.

But now, as the days tick by and his canvas remains trapped in this maddening loop, the weight of that old joke feels heavier. Maybe it would be better if the world did end, he muses grimly, his frustration boiling under the surface. Each day that he fails to paint anything else, fails to break free from this woman’s image—drains him.

Every line, every shadow, every detail is etched with painstaking care, and yet each piece feels incomplete. He lets out a heavy sigh, his eyes narrowing as he looks once more at the canvas, the same haunting face staring back.

Another artist would leave the piece for a day, perhaps even a week, and come back with fresh eyes. But not Sukuna. He’s stubborn, relentless. Yet this time, it feels as though he’s been bested, and that thought is infuriating.

A soft knock sounds at the studio door, but he doesn’t respond. The door creaks open, and he doesn’t need to look up to know who it is—he can practically feel Gojo Satoru’s grin from across the room. This was a rare visit from his rival and somewhat friend. But, he already regrets giving him his address.

“Not done yet?” Gojo drawls, strolling in with a lazy confidence, hands shoved into his pockets. “Well, this must be it—the end of the world. Should I start making apocalypse preparations?”

“Leave, Satoru.” Sukuna mutters, his voice a low growl. But Gojo just chuckles, unperturbed.

“Can’t. I live wayyyyyy tooo far. Besides, I came all this way to see the fall of the great Ryomen Sukuna. And boy, is it a sight.” Gojo steps closer, his gaze shifting to the canvas. “Her again, huh? Your mystery woman? I thought you were done with her!”

Sukuna’s jaw tightens. “Say another word, and you’ll be painting with your own blood.”

Gojo just laughs, crossing his arms as he leans back against the wall. “Fine, fine. But it’s… interesting, don’t you think? You, stuck on the same image, over and over. And all of this because of one woman.”

Sukuna can feel his patience fraying, each word from Gojo Satoru like sandpaper on a wound that refuses to heal. But Gojo doesn’t stop, his tone shifting from mocking to genuinely curious. It’s already giving him a headache.

“So, bestie……” he says, a glint in his bright blue eyes. “Who is she? A muse? Some long-lost love? Because whatever it is, you’re about to drive yourself mad over her.”

“She’s nothing.” Sukuna says sharply, but the words lack conviction. He doesn’t want to dive into it. Especially for Gojo Satoru. He’d only try to make it all a joke and laugh about it. “Just a woman. Just a damn face that refuses to disappear.”

Gojo Satoru couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow. “Nothing? Could’ve fooled me, seeing as she’s all you’ve painted for weeks. Either she’s ‘just a woman,’ or she’s haunting you.”

Sukuna clenches his fists, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I can’t… get her out of my head, no matter how many times I try. It’s like she’s taunting me. Every stroke feels like a chase, and I can’t catch her.”

For once, Gojo’s grin fades, a shadow of understanding passing over his face. “So that’s it, huh? You’ve finally found a challenge you can’t conquer. Even after all these years.”

Sukuna scowls, eyes narrowing. “It’s not a challenge. It’s… more than that.” His voice trails off as he glances at the painting, his expression a mixture of longing and frustration.

“Then stop,” Gojo says bluntly. “If she’s driving you insane, stop trying to capture her. Paint something else. Anything else. Get back to your work, to the craft that’s kept you sane all this time.”

But Sukuna only shakes his head, his gaze fixed on the canvas. “It’s not that simple, Satoru. I can’t stop. I need to understand… Why is she here? Why does she keep coming back to me?”

Gojo sighs, running a hand through his bright snow colored hair, clearly torn between amusement and pity. “Well, I can’t say I envy you. But maybe you should try looking beyond the canvas, for once.”

Sukuna scoffs, though a hint of doubt creeps into his expression. “You think there’s anything outside this room that could give me answers?”

Gojo shrugs. “Who knows? Sometimes the answers we need are the ones we’re not looking for. But if this is what’s keeping you chained…” he nods towards the door, his voice lowering, “then maybe it’s time to find out why.”

Ryomen Sukuna says nothing, his gaze flicking between Gojo and the woman’s face on the canvas. And as Gojo slips out the door with a knowing smile, Sukuna feels the weight of his words lingering, as if daring him to break free of the chains he’s crafted for himself.

Gojo Satoru stayed in his studio for a while; the entire time his head hurt. But he couldn’t help admitting that his frustration was put on hold and that he was grateful for it. Annoying as he was, it was better than suffering what he had been suffering with the woman that haunts him.

But when Gojo Satoru leaves, he finds himself unable to leave either. From the night before, he hadn’t really found himself to sleep. But if he was still being honest, he really doesn’t think he made any progress from the ones he had already made that he feels happy about.

Well, except perhaps three more additions to his deluded dreams of this woman. He couldn’t stop with that. That was not something he could enjoy. It didn’t look good. He didn’t think it was the best he had ever done. He looks at his canvas again and squints his eyes. It was as though he was hoping that he had painted something else. But he knew he hadn’t. There was no need to double check.

Okay, well, he should be more honest — it’s four now. This is the fourth one. The fourth one for a while and it’s only past lunch time the next day. Wait, is it really lunch time? He looked around again and saw his clock. His mouth agape in shock. It’s already been a whole day? It’s already the blue hour? What the actual fuck is going on?

He groans as he puts down his paintbrush and covers his face with his hands. A loud groan echoes against his skin, reflecting that bitterness he feels. He was going mad, he’s genuinely sure that he’s really going mad. This time for real. The world is ending and he’s going mad.

Once more, Ryomen Sukuna sits slumped in his studio chair, the dim, cold light from the nearby cityscape casting a pallor over his face. How can this be possible? He's rubbing his temples, staring at yet another drying and yet truly unfinished portrait of her when a familiar voice cuts through his brooding. Ryomen Sukuna turned his back and turned it back once more, just as quickly.

Fuck, its Uraume.

Shit, shit. Is it already that time?

He hasn’t messaged them for two days.

How the fuck is he going to survive—

“Sukuna–san, you have the exhibition in two weeks, you know that!” Uraume reminds him, waking over with their tone both gentle and insistent. They’re standing at the edge of the cluttered studio, arms crossed, their eyes flicking between Sukuna and the growing stack of canvases lining the walls. “Everyone’s expecting new work, Sukuna–san. You can’t just say you aren’t producing anything when this is—”

He cuts them off with a frustrated wave of his hand, as if trying to dismiss both them and the exhibition out of his mind. “I know, I know, Uraume–san. You already know that I know. Don’t you think I know? I just…… What’s the point of even going here? It’s not…it’s not finished—nothing is complete.”

“That’s not what you’re supposed to be telling me—”

“I know, I know.” His voice trails off, heavy with exhaustion. He looks at the half-finished canvas before him, her familiar eyes staring back, mocking him. “Look, I need time. Okay? Just a little more time to get over it. I promise. It will be done soon.”

Uraume steps carefully, sidestepping the mess of brushes, scattered paint, and half-finished canvases that litter the studio floor. Their usual calm is tinged with a hint of bewilderment, their brows furrowing as they glance over at Ryomen Sukuna, who sits slouched in his chair, staring blankly at the portrait before him.

This is the first time they’ve seen him like this—so unfocused, so… lost. It’s unnerving. For as long as they’ve known him, Sukuna was always in control, his power and his confidence absolute. Nothing stumped him; nothing could shake him from his single-minded determination.

And yet, here he is, surrounded by portraits of a woman they’ve never met, trapped in a spiral of obsession that they don’t understand.

“Get over what, exactly?” Uraume asks, a soft but firm edge to their voice, breaking the silence that has grown heavy in the room. “The exhibition is practically sold out already. You are the star of this show—you know that.”

They hesitate, crossing their arms as they study his profile. “If you let yourself slip now, you’re going to lose everything. They expect something… groundbreaking, something other than…”

Their voice trails off as they catch sight of another painting, and then another; all of them of her. Each one shows a different expression, a different tilt of her head, a different light in her eyes, but always the same haunting face. Uraume’s gaze lingers on the latest painting, her smirk, subtle yet all-consuming, as if she’s daring anyone who looks at her to understand.

They shake their heads slowly, exhaling in frustration. “This obsession of yours…” They struggle for the right words, their gaze hardening as they glance back at him. “I don’t understand it. Who is she? And why are you letting her control you like this?”

Sukuna looks up, his expression weary, but there’s a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes, a glint that only appears when he’s truly challenged. “You wouldn’t understand, Uraume–san.” he mutters, his voice low, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “No one would. Not unless you felt what she did to me.”

Uraume raises a brow, taken aback. This isn’t like him—this vulnerability, this almost painful honesty. They’ve seen Sukuna bring cities to their knees, watched him command fear and respect with the simplest look, but now? Now, he looks more like a man haunted than a man in control.

“Then tell me, Sukuna–san.” Uraume says, their voice softening slightly, more curious than before. “What is it about her? Why does she matter so much?”

He leans back, a bitter smile crossing his lips. “It’s like… no matter how many times I paint her, she’s always out of reach, Uraume–san.” he says, his eyes flicking to the painting in front of him, the smirk that never changes. “Every stroke, every color—it’s as if she’s taunting me, daring me to try again, knowing I’ll never capture her.”

There’s a pause, the weight of his words settling between them, thick and tangible. Uraume takes a step back, their expression wavering. They’re used to seeing Sukuna drive toward a goal with relentless force, breaking anything that stands in his way. But this? This is something else. Something they can’t touch.

“Is she worth all this?” Uraume asks, more gently than they intended. “Worth losing your edge, your control?” They gesture to the canvases around them. “If she’s haunting you this much, perhaps it’s time to let her go.”

A dark laugh escapes Sukuna, low and humorless. “Let her go?” he repeats, his gaze still fixed on the painting. “I’ve tried, Uraume–san. But she’s there, every time I close my eyes. And I can’t…” He stops himself, the words caught in his throat. “She won’t let me go.”

Uraume watches him, feeling a pang of something they can’t quite name—pity, perhaps, or fear for what this fixation could mean for him. They take a step forward, daring to place a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re stronger than this, Sukuna–san.” they say softly, but firmly. “Whatever hold she has over you, it doesn’t control you. You’re the one in charge here, remember?”

For a moment, Sukuna seems to consider their words, a flicker of clarity in his eyes. But then he glances back at the canvas, at her knowing smile, and his face hardens, as if he’s resigned to the fact that he’s already lost.

“I thought so too, Uraume–san.” he murmurs, barely loud enough for Uraume to hear. “But I’m beginning to wonder… maybe she’s the one painting me.”

Uraume watches him in silence, feeling the cold truth of his words settle between them. They realize, in that moment, that they may be witnessing the unraveling of the man they thought was unbreakable. And for the first time, they wonder if he can even escape from the shadows of his own creation.

Sukuna follows their gaze, feeling a surge of irritation and helplessness. “It’s not that simple, Uraume–san. God, it’s just….” he mutters, running a hand through his messy fuschia hair, which is starting to look as unruly as he feels.

“She’s—she’s everywhere to me. And maybe that’s why she’s always here. Every time I try to start something else, there she is. Like a bad dream I can’t wake up from.”

He glances at Uraume, searching their face for some flicker of understanding. “Don’t you get it? I need to work through this. You can’t just snap your fingers and make it go away. If I had magic, it would have been fine, but I just….”

“Then maybe make her part of it.” Uraume replies, unphased by his frustration. “People will want to see this obsession—whatever it is. But they won’t be satisfied with half-finished canvases of the same face over and over.”

He stands up abruptly, pacing, as if movement will shake off the weight pressing down on him. “It’s not an obsession,” he says, though the words sound hollow, even to him. “I just need… time. To figure this out. To move past her.”

Uraume watches him with a calm patience that only irritates him further. “You’ve had time, Sukuna-san. And every day, I’ve watched you do nothing but chase shadows.” They gesture to the rows of unfinished canvases, the dozens of faces that all share her haunting expression.

“Maybe you don’t need to get past her. Maybe you need to go deeper, to figure out what she’s trying to tell you.”

Sukuna clenches his jaw, feeling the heat rise in his chest. He hates that Uraume, of all people, might be right. But how could he go deeper when she’s already consuming him? They should know that this is not what he needs right now. He needs support about this trying situation. He needs kindness about this. He needs—

He turns his eyes slightly and soon enough, they land on the first portrait he’s drawn of her. It was rough around the edges, it was true. But he was trying really hard to capture what he had found in her. He thought he would never see her again. That first time, it was all too interesting. Because he thought he would never see her again. And her smile would have been everything even that one time.

That once would have been enough, it would have fulfilled him whole enough. That one portrait, that first one — it would have been enough for Ryomen Sukuna to feel like someone was always going to look at him kindly.

That someone would always look at him with such tender eyes. He purses his lips in a line. Here she was. Once again, staring into his soul. Frozen in time. Looking towards him as though he was the world. As though life can only be known through looking at him. He gulped.

“I’ll figure it out, don’t worry.” he says finally, forcing his voice to steady. “Just… let me handle it my way.”

Uraume sighs, a long, exasperated sound. “Fine. But remember, Sukuna–san, time waits for no one. Especially not for you.”

And with that, they turn, leaving him alone once more in his dimly lit prison, with nothing but her face and the ticking of the clock to keep him company. Ryomen Sukuna could not move anymore for a while. He couldn’t. Not when you were looking at him like that.

The echoes of the night pangs into the slumber of the bright starry sky, and the silence in Ryomen Sukuna’s studio is absolute, broken only by the occasional soft creak of his chair or the quiet scratch of his brush against the canvas. And he despises it. Usually, he would be happy about that. It helps him focus on his work.

Yet, he’s almost afraid to move or make more noise or appease the silence with his enjoyment. Ryomen Sukuna was afraid that if he does, he’ll break the spell that’s settled over him, the fragile connection that’s come alive between him and her.

This ghostly woman, this chasing woman who has rooted herself so deeply in his psyche. He knows she’s not real, and yet every inch of him feels as if she’s in the room with him, closer than a shadow, more vivid than any memory.

The woman on the canvas feels different this time. He’s pushed past the limits of his frustration and reached a depth of expression that feels raw, unnerving. Her face, no longer a series of lifeless shapes and colors, seems to breathe on the canvas.

Her smile is softer now, her eyes almost… knowing. But the knowing isn’t comforting; it unsettles him, strikes some primal nerve deep inside. He steps back, shaking his head as if to clear it, to dispel the irrational thought that she’s looking back at him with intent, with purpose.

But even standing back, even half-closing his eyes, he can’t unsee her. She seems more real than ever before, like he’s peeled away another layer, only to find her hiding deeper within. He feels his heart beat faster, a slow wave of dread creeping into his veins. How can a face he created himself feel so alive? So sentient?

He backs away from the canvas, his hands covered in paint, feeling a chill settle over him. He’s been pushing himself to exhaustion these past few weeks, painting her in every possible way, but this—this feels different, like he’s crossed an invisible line. For the first time, the compulsion to paint her is laced with fear.

Still, he can’t look away. Her presence fills the room, and he feels the weight of it like a physical force. His eyes roam over her face: the faint shadows around her eyes, the suggestion of pain hidden in the tilt of her lips, the look of sorrow mingling with defiance. Each detail tells a story he’s not sure he wants to know, yet he’s desperate to understand it.

Uraume’s words echo in his mind again: Maybe you don’t need to get past her. Maybe you need to go deeper, to figure out what she’s trying to tell you.

He shudders, the thought reverberating through him. What if this woman, this apparition, isn’t just an accident of his imagination? What if she’s here for a reason, some purpose he’s been too afraid to uncover?

He recalls the dreams—the cliff, the ocean raging below, the way she extends her hand to him with that haunting smile, beckoning him forward only to disappear again and again. It’s always the same. He can’t save her, but he can’t let her go.

He’s always believed that his art comes from somewhere deep within him, from emotions he doesn’t fully understand, from memories he can’t articulate. But this feels different to him. He had never dealt with this before.

It was almost as if it’s coming from outside of him, as though she’s reaching through the boundary of his mind, using his hands as a conduit. He lets out a shaky breath, clutching the paint-stained edge of his workbench. Is this woman, this image, an echo from his past? A ghost? Or something darker, something he’s unlocked without meaning to?

The thought stirs something in him, a strange, unexplainable pull to keep going, to lose himself in this process of bringing her fully to life. He walks back to the canvas, hand trembling as he picks up his brush once more.

This time, he paints her hand, reaching out, as if extending toward him. The fingers are delicate, almost ghostly, and he layers shadows beneath them, giving them depth, weight. He works until the details blur, until his vision is smeared with exhaustion.

He steps back again, chest tight. Her hand stretches toward him now, inviting him, her fingers just a breath away. The air in the room feels thick, electric, as if she’s drawing him closer, beckoning him to cross some unseen line. He reaches out instinctively, the tips of his fingers barely brushing the canvas.

In that instant, a shiver courses through him, the chill going bone-deep. He feels his hand pull back, but it’s as if something is holding it there, holding him in place. His heart races. He hears the ticking of the clock, each tick louder, more insistent. The woman on the canvas seems closer now, her eyes sharper, more alive, her expression shifting as though she’s on the edge of speaking.

He tears his hand away, stumbling backward, the sudden movement jarring him back to himself. His studio comes into focus, the familiar mess of paint and brushes scattered around, the quiet hum of the city outside. But she’s still there, her face on the canvas, watching him with that faint, knowing smile.

His heart still pounding, he grabs his coat and stumbles out of the studio, leaving her behind, feeling her gaze burning into his back even as he shuts the door. The air outside is cold, crisp, and he gulps it down, trying to shake off the feeling that he’s walked out of a nightmare he can’t wake from.

But even as he steps into the city streets, even as the lights and the noise surround him, he can still see her in his mind, as clearly as if she were standing beside him.

And he knows, with a strange certainty, that no matter how far he runs, she’ll be waiting for him, waiting in the studio, in his dreams, until he finally dares to confront whatever truth she holds.

══════════════════

HE REALLY CAN’T HELP IT. Ryomen Sukuna’s heart hammers in his chest, louder than the muffled hum of voices in the museum, louder than the memories raging through his mind. He stands frozen, his scarlet eyes locked onto her.

This was the woman from his dreams, the face he painted until his hands went numb, until his sanity frayed. The woman he has known is like the back of his hand. She’s here, in the flesh, not on a canvas or a hazy memory, but real, close enough to reach out and touch. And yet, at this moment, she feels farther away than ever.

The woman doesn’t notice him. Of course she wouldn’t have. Why would she? He doesn’t expect her to know what he’s feeling now. She’s oblivious to the storm her presence has unleashed in his chest, the way his pulse spikes as he watches her, every nerve in his body caught between reaching for her and running away.

She’s gazing intently at the displays, her head tilting thoughtfully as she studies each artifact, and with each subtle movement, she reminds him achingly of her—of the woman he’d known in that past life, his concubine, the one he’d lost so long ago. She has that same air of quiet intensity, that gentle focus, the same soft curiosity he remembers.

And then she steps closer to the display holding the hairpin. That hairpin—the one he’d given to his concubine as a symbol of the promise he couldn’t keep, the one she had treasured even on the darkest nights, when the weight of their hidden love had pressed heavy upon them both. The hairpin he’d clasped in her hair before she was taken from him.

The sight of it had been a punch to the gut even before he saw her. But now, watching this woman—a stranger, yet painfully familiar—reach out as though to touch the glass, Sukuna feels something crack open inside him, a wound he’d buried lifetimes ago tearing fresh and raw.

She lifts her hand, her fingers hovering near the glass, her eyes lingering on the hairpin with a look he recognizes—sadness, longing, nostalgia she can’t possibly understand.

Her face is calm, her expression serene, but he knows that look, knows that feeling. Does she feel it too? Does she feel the echo of something lost, something distant yet so deeply embedded in her soul?

His own hand trembles at his side. He wants to go to her, to pull her aside, to demand to know if she remembers, if somewhere in her heart she feels that same aching void he’s carried for centuries. But the reality sinks in, cold and unyielding: to her, he’s a stranger.

She has no idea who he is. She doesn’t remember their stolen moments under moonlight, their whispered vows, the quiet, forbidden love that had bound them tighter than any promise. She doesn’t remember his face, doesn’t know the agony he’s endured, living each lifetime haunted by her ghost, painting her face in the desperate hope it might bring her back.

And yet, the hairpin calls to her. He watches her, rooted to the spot, as she studies it with a reverence she can’t name, can’t explain, an inexplicable connection to something lost to time. He can almost see the weight of her past life hovering over her like a shadow she doesn’t even know is there.

Sukuna’s fingers twitch, aching to touch her, to break this unbearable silence and tell her everything: that he’s waited lifetimes for her, that he’s dreamed of her every night, that every stroke of his brush was a desperate attempt to remember her, to reach her, to feel even an echo of what they once had. But how could he explain that? How could he unload centuries of grief, of longing, on her shoulders, when she doesn’t even know his name?

She turns, moving slowly to the next display. But for a single heartbeat, her gaze drifts in his direction. Their eyes meet, and in that split second, the air thickens, everything around him falling away. Her eyes—those same eyes, dark and deep, full of questions and secrets—fix on him, and he feels the weight of their shared history settle like a heavy cloak over them both.

He watches as something flickers in her gaze, an almost imperceptible flash of recognition. She blinks, and it’s gone, but he clings to it, desperate. Did she feel it, even if only for a moment? Did she feel the weight of a life before, a life they shared, a love they lost?

But she turns away, her brows furrowing slightly, as if shaking off a strange thought, and the moment shatters, leaving him stranded in a sea of regret and unspoken words. She disappears around the corner, her silhouette swallowed by the shadows of the exhibit.

A bitter pang cuts through him, deeper than anything he’s felt in centuries. She’s here, alive, within his reach, and yet she’s still lost to him. He’s still haunted by the echo of her smile, the shadow of her memory, the woman he could never save.

Slowly, Ryomen Sukuna forces himself to step away, his gaze lingering on the hairpin. He clenches his fists, feeling the familiar sting of regret, of promises broken, of lives tangled and torn apart.

He’d thought he was prepared to face her, though he could handle the pain that would come with seeing her again. But the reality is raw and relentless, tearing open old wounds he thought were healed.

In that moment, he was the only one who knew the truth: he’ll always be trapped in this cycle, drawn to her only to watch her slip away. No matter how many times he finds her, she’ll always be just out of reach, a dream he can never wake from.

Ryomen Sukuna’s heart nearly stops when he feels a soft hand on his arm, drawing him back to the present. His present. In front of this woman, this woman who haunted him with everything and anything in him.

“Are you… okay?” the woman asks, her voice gentle, her eyes warm with concern.

He’s stunned, his breath catching as he looks down at her, the stranger with the face he’s known all too well, the stranger who feels like a ghost comes to life. But he forces himself to gather his thoughts, to act like this is a normal interaction with a stranger, even though every nerve in his body feels charged with recognition.

“Ah… yes, I’m….I’m good.” he finally says, his voice rough but steady. “I just find the gallery… interesting.” The words feel absurdly inadequate, but it’s the only thing he can manage.

A small smile breaks over her lips, and the sight of it sends a sharp pang through him. It’s so familiar, so achingly familiar, that he has to clench his fists to keep himself grounded. She glances around the exhibit, her expression softening with a hint of pride.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it, stranger.” she says. “It was… hard to tell the story. To do it justice, I mean.” Her gaze returns to his, warm and inviting. “I’m a Mikoto, by the way. A descendant of Hiromi.”

He feels his heart stop at the name, and it takes him a beat to respond. “Ryomen… Ryomen Sukuna, that’s my name.” he says, his voice catching slightly as he introduces himself.

He could only watch as her eyes widened in surprise, and she studied him, the weight of recognition glinting faintly in her gaze, though she didn't seem to realize its true depth. She probably did not expect him to have that name, that exact name, also.

“A descendant of Hiromi, too?” she asks with a soft laugh, her expression open, friendly. When he doesn’t answer, she shakes her head with a lighthearted smile. “It’s okay. The family’s too big for everyone to know where they come from anyway.”

He nods stiffly, a bit overwhelmed, struggling to keep his composure as memories flicker before him. There’s so much he wants to say, so much he aches to tell her, but he swallows it all down, letting the silence sit between them, as heavy as it is fragile.

Then, gathering his nerve, he glances at her. “Can I… can I ask you something about the exhibit? About Ryomen Sukuna?”

She tilts her head, curious. “Of course, you can.” she says. “But fair warning—it’s going to be a long story. A sad story.”

He meets her gaze, and in that moment, he sees a flicker of recognition in her eyes, something deep and familiar that calls to him. He nods. “That’s okay.” he says softly. “I think I need to hear it.”

She studies him a moment, as if trying to understand his need to know. Judging from her own reaction, it's a difficult story to even try and tell. But he was curious. Perhaps for the first time in his life, he wanted to know so badly.

He wanted to know more than anything how these two people lived. How she lived, that woman in his dreams — the woman right in front of him. He looks at her tenderly, curiously. And she nods, a quiet understanding in her expression.

“Ryomen Sukuna… and his concubine. Their stories are really not easy. Nor is her own. His concubine’s story is difficult. She led a long, sad life. They were together for a long time, longer than Sukuna and Hiromi were wed.” Her eyes lowered, the sight gleaming with sorrow as she touched the glass, trying to reach for the hairpin.

“She was devoted to him, in all the ways that one could describe devotion. And yet….she suffered under him… Quite a lot, if we’re to be honest. She gave him a son and she lost him and his indifference at times, it broke her.” She hesitates, glancing at him before continuing. “Though in his own way, he loved her. But well, was it enough? We cannot truly tell. From what we know from Ryomen Chiharu, she died without knowing. But perhaps, those are claims.”

The words pierce him like a knife. Hearing it from her lips, from her gentle voice, makes it all feel too real. The bitterness, the heartbreak, the weight of it all surges within him, yet he can’t look away from her. Is that what she has had to live through all that time? Was it only the heartbreak she had lived through? In that past life, in her past life — was it just grief born out of more, one after the other? Is that why she kept falling to her death? Suffering in all that pain?

“If he had loved her then….” Sukuna could feel some sense of anger bubble through him. “Why is it not ever clear, his feelings? If you love someone, you….you tell them! You make them know when they’re alive. Not when they’re gone! What kind of man is he? Is he even a man at that point? That’s cruel….That’s…..”

In that moment, her eyes turned wide as she gazed at him. She had seen people get angry on behalf of the long suffering concubine of the King of Curses. That was normal, to feel anguish on her behalf. And yet, this mayhaps is the first time he’s ever seen someone so infuriated. And aggrieved. And bitter. Truly, in the sense of the word. Her heart felt warm about that.

She smiles softly at him and places her hand on his own. “You know….he still did care. Even if he was a terrible man. In some ways.”

“Even then—”

“Come with me, stranger!” she says, her voice soft as she takes his hand, her touch sending an electric shock through him. She leads him to a long table draped in dark fabric, a single scroll lying open at the center. It was a magnificent piece of work.

In the middle was her, that concubine. With her elegant features and her bright eyed gaze, her tender smile that could bring life to a mundane world. The colors illuminated her with such ethereality that one couldn’t even understand. It would have taken much too much time to do this in their lifetime, during the Heian Era.

And yet, it was so carefully made, carefully thought of. So full of devotion to her, details that one couldn’t even find in any other portraiture in that time. Sukuna could only watch as her fingers glide along its edge with a reverence that pulls him in, as though she’s sharing a secret between them. Her smile grows wider.

“This is painted and written by Sukuna himself, mayhaps, a few years before she passed.” she whispers, her eyes shining as she looks at him. “We don’t know, if he had painted and made this in secret. Or if she had known and seen it. But….it was to her… a message. From him to her.”

The scroll is faded, ink blurred by age but unmistakable. And as Sukuna reads it, he feels his breath leave him, his pulse racing as he takes in the words he never thought he’d see again. In ancient script, barely visible, are the words he remembers writing so many lifetimes ago, a promise that felt foolish and desperate even as he wrote it:

“To you, my little one, from a thousand years to another twenty thousand years from now, you who will continue to be dear to me.”

His vision blurs, and he forces himself to swallow down the ache rising in his chest. How is that man ever so contradictory? How could he cause her hurt and then do…do something like this? How can one ever make amends, or show love, knowing they had caused grief and pain and suffering?

He purses his lips, his face echoing in conflict. He could feel his hand tighten in a fist. The woman he saw in his dreams, and the woman he sees before him now. How they both suffered to get to this point.

That smile a thousand years ago, so gentle and yet….so pained. And now, so beautiful and serene, happy. Truly so happy. He couldn’t help but be so overwhelmed by emotion. By all of this. She looks up at him, her face soft with empathy and warmth, her hand still resting lightly on his arm.

“What kind of person do you think could write something like that?” she asks gently, studying his reaction.

He swallows, searching for the right words, his voice barely a whisper. “Someone who knew… he’d never find peace without her.” he says, almost to himself, his gaze lingering on the scroll. “Someone… who wanted more time.”

Her eyes meet his, something unspoken passing between them, a quiet understanding that hangs thick in the air. She doesn’t say anything, but her expression shifts, her gaze softening, as if she’s sensing something she can’t quite place, something from another life pressing against the present.

In that moment, he knows he can’t tell her, can’t burden her with the weight of it all. This life may not hold the memory, the pain, the love he’d lost, but here she stands, still at his side. The universe, fate, something unknown has brought them here, and for now, in this fragile moment, it’s enough.

Sukuna’s mind swirls, each beat of his heart drumming louder against the silence that now surrounds them. The faint traces of this man’s ancient words—his promise, his plea—are scrawled on the scroll, untouched by time.

The weight of it feels unbearable, as if this fragile piece of paper holds not just a message from the past but the entirety of his soul. He risks a glance at her, the woman with his concubine’s face, her warmth, her spirit.

She’s watching him with an intensity that pulls him back from his reverie. “I wonder if he ever found her, if he was ever reborn and given new life.” she murmurs, more to herself than to him. “If… across all that time, they somehow managed to find each other again. And are more truthful to each other. I always thought that, even when I was a child. I hoped and prayed that they found happiness together in a new life.”

Her words send a chill down his spine. He wants to tell her they did, that he’s standing here, right now, because of her. But he knows he can’t—no matter how much his heart aches to reach out, to let her in on the truth he’s carried alone for so long. The curse of knowing, of remembering, is his burden alone.

Instead, he lets his fingers drift across the edge of the scroll, keeping his gaze lowered. “Maybe he never stopped searching. Even if he is reborn. Maybe if he doesn’t remember it all. He should find her and make amends.” he says softly. “Maybe that’s why his name and his memory linger even now. So that she’ll notice. And…maybe they’ll live the way you want them to.”

She tilts her head, considering him, her smile touched with the slightest hint of sadness. “That’s a beautiful thought. Almost… almost as if he’s still out there, waiting. Even if he had to endure every lifetime alone.”

Sukuna swallows, struggling to keep his composure. “Sometimes, we don’t have a choice, about it all.” he says, his voice low. “We’re bound by memories we can’t remember, by the promises our futures will have to remake, even if we have to carry them alone.”

She studies him for a moment, her expression thoughtful, as if she’s trying to glimpse the truth beneath his words. “That sounds like something he would have said, perhaps….perhaps to her.” she murmurs, almost to herself.

The weight of her gaze feels like a hand pressing against his heart, pulling him toward her, tethering him in a way that feels more ancient than memory. But she turns her attention back to the scroll, breaking the spell, and a soft smile touches her lips as she reads the words he once wrote.

“You know,” she says after a pause, “my family used to tell stories about Sukuna. He’s more of a legend now than a real person, but there are so many conflicting tales. Some say he was ruthless, others say he was capable of great kindness. I’ve always been fascinated by that contradiction.” She glances up at him, eyes alight with curiosity. “What do you think? Was he a monster… or was he something more?”

Sukuna’s breath catches at the question, the answer sitting like a stone in his throat. How can he possibly explain that the truth was more complicated than either legend or history could capture? That he was both and neither, a man torn by his own humanity and haunted by a love he couldn’t protect?

“It’s hard to say what he was.” he answers carefully. “Maybe he was both. A monster to some, but to others… he was someone who gave everything he had. No one is….no one is truly a villain, after all.”

She nods slowly, seemingly satisfied with his answer. “I like that answer.” she says quietly. “I think we all have pieces of light and shadow inside us. Maybe he was just… someone trying to find a balance, even if he had caused so much hurt. Even if he had failed.”

The irony cuts deep, the tragic poetry of her words like salt in an old wound. Her voice is gentle, but there’s a conviction in her tone that makes his chest tighten. If she knew the truth—if she knew what he’d lost, the sacrifices he’d made—would she still look at him this way, with this soft reverence and understanding?

Lost in thought, he hardly notices her reaching for his hand. Her fingers wrap around his, warm and grounding, and he’s stunned by the simple, natural ease of her touch, as though they’ve done this a thousand times before. Her hand fits perfectly in his, and for the first time in centuries, a glimmer of hope stirs within him.

“Come with me again, stranger.” she says, leading him past the scroll and into a smaller room at the end of the hall. “There’s something else I want you to see.”

They walk in silence, and he lets her guide him, his heart racing, wondering if perhaps, just maybe, she’s starting to feel the pull too—the invisible thread binding them across lifetimes. She stops in front of a display case holding a small, intricately carved pendant, its silver chain gleaming under the soft lights.

“This pendant, it was passed down to Ryomen Chiharu, after a few years.” she says, gazing at it with a fondness that surprises him. “It belonged to her. His concubine. One of the only things she kept close to her heart.”

Sukuna stares at it, his mind reeling. The pendant was once his gift to her, that King of Curses—a token, a promise of protection. Seeing it now, preserved and cared for, feels surreal, a whisper of the life they once shared. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, his voice thick with emotion he’s barely keeping in check.

He wondered, maybe if it was the right time, the right place. If he hadn’t been so enthralled with another — maybe it would have been a match that would have ended with less pain and more joy. Perhaps if the King of Curses had found himself able to move forward, he would have been happier. Maybe his concubine would have been happier.

But that was a thousand years ago. And humanity keeps making that same mistake. Little by little, you could find people repeating it over and over again. That makes Sukuna so bitter and sad, grievous and angry all at once. How could fate be so twisted? How could fate seem so indifferent to it all? How could…how could fate not stop such suffering of people who wish to be happy?

“I always thought it was sad, you know?” she continued, her tone soft. “She must have known he’d never be hers completely. But she still kept this close to her heart. Thinking of him. It’s like she never stopped hoping.”

Sukuna’s throat tightens, the weight of her words pressing into the raw ache within him. “Hope….hope is fragile.” he echoes, his voice hollow. “It can be a painful thing to carry, especially when there’s no chance of seeing it fulfilled.”

Her gaze turns up to him, searching, as though she can sense the depth of his grief but can’t name its source. “Maybe.” she says, her voice a whisper. “But sometimes… hope is all we have.”

He looks away, afraid she’ll see the truth in his eyes. He wonders if she understands, if somewhere deep down, a part of her remembers. But even if she doesn’t, he can feel her empathy, her gentle warmth reaching out to him, soothing his restless spirit.

She squeezes his hand, her touch gentle and grounding. “Thank you,” she says, smiling softly. “For listening to her story with me. I know it’s heavy, but… it’s part of our legacy, isn’t it?”

He nods, his heart raw and open, feeling the weight of the centuries fall away, even if just for this fleeting moment. It’s not enough—not enough to heal the wounds, to bring back what they’d lost—but for the first time, he feels something close to peace.

And in that silence, in her quiet smile, he dares to hope that maybe, just maybe, there will be a way to find and know each other again. She was right there. He likes to think she is. Right in front of him. There was hope, somehow.

That she would be happy. That maybe, just maybe – he could see her smile so beautifully again. A smile that would reach all the way to her eyes and warm her face and towards the reach of all the heavens.

Sukuna stands there, his fingers still brushing the edge of the glass case, the pendant gleaming faintly beneath his touch. He feels an unfamiliar warmth stirring within him, a strange, hesitant urge for something… more, something real and tangible. He looks down at her, her expression still soft with that quiet empathy that unsettles him as much as it comforts him.

Before he can second-guess himself, he clears his throat, casting a sidelong glance her way. “Would you, uh… would you like to grab a coffee sometime?” he asks, a bit gruffly, as if trying to sound casual. “Maybe you could help me with some ideas for my art. I’m….an artist by the way. ”

The question hangs in the air between them, and for a moment, he feels exposed in a way he hasn’t in centuries, like he’s offering a piece of himself he’s long since hidden. He braces himself for rejection, for her to smile politely and turn him down.

Sukuna watches her smile, a genuine, radiant expression that spreads across her face like dawn breaking over a darkened sky. It’s infectious, igniting something deep within him, as though it was a feeling that has lain dormant for centuries beneath layers of pain and regret.

Everything in him felt warm inside. Everything in him grasped to life, hoping that she could nourish it to last forever. Her acceptance feels like a lifeline thrown into the stormy sea of his existence, and he clings to it with a desperation he can’t quite articulate.

“Tomorrow sounds perfect, stranger.” she says, her voice a gentle balm against the jagged edges of his heart. “Oh, I should stop calling you that, shouldn’t I? My apologies, Sukuna–san. I wanted to tease you for a little more time.”

As she writes her number on a slip of paper, the world around them fades into a blur. The museum, the exhibits, the weight of history—all of it dissolves until it’s just the two of them, suspended in this fragile moment of connection.

He takes the paper from her, fingers brushing against hers for the briefest second. It sends an unexpected spark through him, and he’s momentarily lost in the warmth of her skin, the softness of her touch. He forces himself to pull away, catching her gaze again, wanting to savor the moment a little longer.

“What do you like to drink?” he asks, trying to keep the conversation going, to stretch this fleeting connection into something more tangible.

“Coffee, mostly. I love a good espresso.” she replies, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. “But I’m always open to trying new things. I’m sure the cafe will have new wonders. How about you?”

He nods, remembering the countless cups of coffee he’d consumed over the years, each one a bitter reminder of the countless sleepless nights spent alone. “I’m more of a dark roast person myself. Stronger the better.”

“Then I’ll make sure to introduce you to the best place in town. They have the most incredible brews, fit for a long suffering artist.” she says with a playful grin, and for the first time, he can’t help but smile back. It’s a small, simple thing, but it feels monumental, like a bridge forming over a chasm he thought would always divide him.

“Great….I uh….” he replies, his voice a little steadier. “I look forward to it.”

They linger for a moment, both seeming to hesitate, caught in a bubble of anticipation and something deeper that he can’t quite name. He’s never been one for lighthearted interactions, especially when it comes to connections. Yet here he is, standing before a woman who feels like a piece of his lost history, someone he feels inexplicably drawn to.

With one last lingering look, she steps back, her smile still warming the air between them. “See you soon, then, Sukuna–san.” she says, her voice light yet meaningful.

“Yeah….. I’ll see you soon.” he echoes, his heart pounding in his chest as he watches her walk away, the soft sway of her figure leaving him breathless.

As he turns to leave the gallery, the weight of the memories of a thousand years presses less heavily on him. He had left behind Sukuna's world, and birthed a new. He hopes he can. He wants to. He wants to make that woman happy. She deserves to. She deserves to be happy, in the way he couldn’t do it. He promises himself that.

For the first time, he feels a flicker of inspiration reigniting in his chest, like a spark that’s been waiting for just the right moment to burst into flame. The idea of coffee, of sharing thoughts and laughter, of discussing art with someone who understands the nuances of his legacy—it excites him in a way he hadn’t felt in what seems like an eternity. It excites him to burn with joy.

The streets outside are bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, the colors alive and vibrant, reminding him of the canvases he has yet to fill. He can almost picture it now, a new piece forming in his mind—a swirling mix of shadows and light, of loss and hope, reflecting everything that has led him to this moment.

In the days and nights that follow, he begins to sketch again. The woman’s face, a beautiful blend of familiarity and freshness, dominates the canvas, layered with strokes of longing and the bittersweet pang of memory. He paints her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and the gentle warmth that radiated from her smile.

Every brushstroke feels like a conversation, a way to weave their stories together—a blend of art, history, and the unspoken connection that binds them. The artist’s block that had once felt insurmountable begins to crumble, each session at the easel pulling him deeper into his thoughts and feelings, and farther from the suffocating grasp of despair.

He dreams of their meeting, the way her presence felt like coming home, and as their coffee date approaches, he finds himself wrapped in a mix of excitement and nerves. What would they talk about? What would she think of his art?

That evening, as he stands in front of the mirror, he catches a glimpse of himself—disheveled fuschia colored hair, weary bright scarlet eyes; but beneath it all, there’s a glimmer of something he hasn’t seen in ages: hope. A hope for the future. A hope for a new world, a new life. One that will echo years and years from now about joy.

Tomorrow, he tells himself as he brushes down his shirt, it will be different.

Tomorrow, he’ll make her the happiest person in the world.

Tomorrow, he’ll hope that she will never have any more days to frown.

When the sun rises, he feels it all too well. There was a flutter of anticipation in his chest as he prepared to meet her. Each step feels lighter, each moment filled with possibility. The thought of sharing coffee and stories—his past entwined with hers—ignites a spark of creativity he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.

As he enters the café, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee envelops him, and he scans the room, searching for her familiar face. When he spots her, seated at a cozy corner table, her hair cascading softly around her shoulders, he feels a rush of warmth.

Her smile brightens the space around them, and as their eyes meet, he knows he’s ready to embrace whatever this connection holds. It’s a chance to delve deeper into their stories, to explore the tangled threads of fate that brought them together.

“Hey!” she says, her voice lighting up the air between them as he approaches. “I’m so glad you made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” he replies, the weight of the past lifting as he takes a seat across from her. “So, what’s first on the menu?”

As you sit together, enveloped in the warmth of shared memories and laughter, Sukuna leans forward, his gaze both intense and gentle. The edges of his usually guarded expression soften, and the small lines near his eyes deepen with a smile that’s almost boyish.

“You know," Sukuna says, his voice low and thoughtful, “I have to say this to you… but… I never thought I’d find someone who could understand me like this. The things I’ve seen—it’s hard to explain to people who haven’t lived through the same nightmares."

He glances down at his coffee, a faint smirk on his lips. “But with you, it doesn’t feel like explaining. It’s like I’m just… remembering with someone else who was there too. This feels so natural. Between you and I.”

She smiles, feeling a warmth blossom within her. “It’s strange, isn’t it? I mean, if someone had told me even a month ago that I’d be here with you, talking like this…” She trails off, laughing softly, feeling a little lost for words. “I would’ve thought they were crazy. But here we are.”

Sukuna chuckles, the sound surprisingly warm, free of his usual biting edge. “Crazy doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He pauses, his gaze meeting hers, searching as if he’s trying to decipher something hidden. “It feels like I know you… not just from now, but from a long time ago. Almost like I was meant to find you.”

His words send a shiver through her, a feeling both comforting and unsettling in its intensity. She nods slowly, letting the feeling settle within her. “I know what you mean,” she whispers, her voice barely above a breath. “It’s like we’re picking up where we left off… wherever that was.”

He takes a sip of his coffee, his gaze never leaving hers. “Every lifetime,” he murmurs, as if saying it to himself. “Every single one, I think I’d find you.” His hand drifts across the table, his fingers brushing hers in a tentative, almost reverent way. “And every time, I’d be the luckiest man alive.”

She looks down at his hand, his touch grounding her. “Do you believe in that, then? In soulmates? Lifetimes together?”

He smiles, almost a little sadly, as if unsure of his own answer. “Maybe I never did before… but with you, I can’t help but think maybe I was wrong.”

A comfortable silence settles between them, the words hanging like a delicate thread binding them together. After a while, he speaks again, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You… you make me see things differently, you know that? I just met you, but I just… I think it’s meant to be.”

There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, one she’d never expected to see. “Like maybe life doesn’t have to be as lonely as I thought it was. Or maybe, it just doesn’t matter, as long as I’m here… with you.”

Her heart aches at his words, sensing the pain he’s carried and the hope he’s now daring to hold onto. She laces her fingers with his, giving a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore, Sukuna-san,” she says softly. “Not as long as we have this. As long as we have each other. Maybe… maybe we’ll find something more to life together.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he was holding. When he opens them again, there’s something raw, something almost fragile in his gaze. “I’m… I’m honored,” he whispers gently, a small smile forming on his face. “If that means I’ll be able to live by your side in this life.”

She blushes, feeling the depth of his sincerity. “I’m just as grateful, you know?”

“Thank you.” he says, the words rough, yet sincere. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“You never have to say thank you to me.” She whispered back to him, smiling even wider. “Or say sorry. Okay?”

“Okay.” He smiles back at her, almost contagiously.

“So, do you….do you wanna watch a movie with me?”

“I’d be honored.”

In that moment, it feels as though nothing else exists—just her and him, caught in the quiet gravity of each other’s presence.

As the sun sets outside, casting a warm glow over their table, Ryomen Sukuna feels a flicker of something he thought long extinguished.

And as long as she’s beside him, he knows he’ll be right there with her, finding a new meaning to every breath and every heartbeat, perhaps better than he’d ever dreamed.

After that day, Ryomen Sukuna stopped having those nightmares about that long suffering concubine.

Instead, he started to dream of a tall man and that long suffering concubine, walking away from him — smiling. Together.

══════════════════

HE WAS LUCKY HE MADE IT. He hadn’t slept much, but it was all worth it. He liked to think that he made his best gallery presentation yet. He knew she liked it just as much as he did. And that had made him even more happy.

He wasn’t the best of storytellers, he knew that much. Writing was more or less something else to him. But, art like this? He could do it. And so, as he promised, he would make happiness appear on his canvas. He would make that concubine happy again.

As the evening progresses, the atmosphere in the gallery transforms, infused with a blend of excitement and reverence. Guests drift in and out, their whispers and laughter weaving a tapestry of shared appreciation for Sukuna's work.

The vibrant energy of the space pulses with life, but at its core lies a poignant sense of introspection; a collective acknowledgment of the stories each painting holds.

Sukuna stands near the centerpiece, his gaze lingering on the depiction of himself and his concubine, locked in an eternal moment of tenderness. The hues swirl together, capturing not just their faces but the very essence of their souls; a connection that feels almost palpable. Each brushstroke is infused with the weight of longing and regret, but now, standing beside his companion, he recognizes a glimmer of hope amid the sorrow.

As the crowd ebbs and flows, Sukuna finds solace in watching her interact with the guests, her warmth radiating in waves. She engages effortlessly, sharing her thoughts on the art, her enthusiasm infectious.

He catches snippets of their conversations, her laughter ringing out like music, and he can’t help but smile at the ease with which she navigates the social landscape. It’s a stark contrast to his own guarded demeanor, and yet, her presence encourages him to lower his defenses, to engage in this world he once viewed from the shadows.

With each passing moment, Sukuna feels a shift within himself. The uncertainty that had plagued him for so long begins to dissolve, replaced by an exhilarating sense of possibility. As the crowd gradually dwindles, he glances at the painting again, his heart swelling with emotion. It’s more than just an image; it’s a testament to love that transcends time, a narrative that binds past and present.

Suddenly, he turns to find her standing close, her expression reflecting a mixture of admiration and something deeper. “You’ve poured so much of yourself into this, Sukuna.” she says softly, her eyes shimmering with sincerity. “It’s not just about the concubine; it’s about you, too. You’ve laid bare your soul.”

The intensity of her gaze sends a shiver down his spine, and he swallows hard, feeling exposed yet liberated. “I wanted to capture the essence of what we had… to honor her, in my own little ways.” he replies, his voice low and steady. “But I realize now it’s also about my journey. This is as much about my pain as it is about her love.”

She nods, her understanding palpable, and in that moment, he feels a deep connection; there was an unspoken bond that links them through shared experiences and emotions.

The weight of his past no longer feels like a burden; instead, it becomes a source of strength, a wellspring of creativity he can draw from as he embraces this new chapter in his life.

“I think you’ve done an incredible job of that, you know?” she says, her voice softening. “You’ve shown that even in our darkest moments, love remains a guiding light. It’s beautiful.”

Sukuna’s heart races at her words, and he feels a warmth blooming in his chest—a mixture of gratitude and affection. “Thank you, really.” he replies, his voice sincere. “It means a lot to hear that from you. You’ve been… a source of inspiration for me.”

Her smile deepens, and there’s a spark of something electric in the air, a subtle shift that sends his pulse racing. “I’m glad I could be here for you, you know?” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s a privilege to witness your journey, to see you reclaim a sad story to a happy one.”

He looks at her, the soft glow of the gallery lights illuminating her features, and he feels a wave of emotion wash over him. For so long, he had been shackled by the weight of his past, haunted by the ghost of his concubine and the mistakes that had led to their separation. But here, in this moment, standing with her amidst the beauty of his creations, he feels the chains loosening.

“Will you stay a little longer?” he asks, almost hesitantly, fearing her response. “I’d like to talk more… about the paintings, about everything.”

Her eyes light up, and the warmth in her smile reassures him. “I’d love that.” she replies, and they find a quieter corner of the gallery, away from the remnants of the evening’s festivities.

As they settle into a cozy nook, surrounded by the lingering essence of art and history, Sukuna feels a sense of calm wash over him. The world outside fades, leaving only the two of them and the unspoken connection that has blossomed between them.

“What do you see in these paintings?” he asks, eager to hear her perspective.

She leans forward, her gaze thoughtful. “I see love, loss, and resilience. Each piece speaks of a journey, a struggle to find beauty amidst pain. But what resonates most is the longing—the desire to reconnect with something that was lost. It’s powerful.”

He nods, her words echoing his own feelings, and as they discuss each painting in turn, he feels an exhilarating rush of creativity and clarity. The art becomes a conduit for their emotions, a way to explore the complexities of their shared experiences.

They dive deep into conversation, their voices low and intimate, each word exchanged drawing them closer together. She shares her own stories of loss and heartache, of moments when she thought she’d never find her way again. It’s a cathartic exchange, and he listens intently, captivated by her honesty and the strength she exudes.

With each revelation, Sukuna feels the walls that the King of Curses had built around himself begin to crumble. He shares his own struggles, the weight of his legacy, and the guilt that had shadowed him for centuries.

And perhaps, redemption may soon come for him in love. In this safe space, he finds himself opening up that man, that myth, that curse, in ways he never thought possible, unearthing emotions he had long buried.

The night wears on, and as the last of the guests trickle out, the gallery transforms into a cocoon of intimacy. It’s just him and her, surrounded by the echoes of their stories, and for the first time in ages, he feels a sense of belonging—a connection that transcends time and pain.

“I never thought I could feel this way again.” he admits, his voice thick with emotion. “After everything I’ve lived through… I thought I’d lost the ability to truly connect with anyone.”

She reaches out, her hand brushing against his in a gentle, reassuring gesture. “You haven’t lost that ability, Sukuna. You’ve just been waiting for the right moment, the right person….the right time.” she says, her gaze steady and filled with warmth. “I’m here now, and I want to be part of your journey.”

The sincerity in her words washes over him, and in that moment, he knows he’s found something rare—a connection that has the potential to redefine his understanding of love, art, and the future. The vulnerability he feels is both terrifying and exhilarating, but he knows he’s ready to embrace it.

As the last notes of music drift into silence and the soft, warm lights dim, the two of them sit close, hands intertwined, surrounded by the vibrant, intimate world he has created.

Each painting on the wall, each sculpture in the dim light feels like a memory brought to life, and she feels him relax beside her, the weight of his past somehow easing with each quiet heartbeat.

His thumb gently strokes her hand, and in that small, tender motion, she feels him say more than words ever could. With her here, in this sanctuary he’s built out of his own creativity and passion, he’s no longer the solitary figure haunted by shadows. He’s simply a man who has finally, against all odds, found someone who can see past his darkness and anchor him in light.

Ryomen Sukuna pauses, his hand still entwined with hers, and a rare, gentle smile crosses his face.

Looking at the painting, he lets himself hope, just a little. Perhaps, even in a world he once saw as cold and unyielding, there are threads of something beautiful woven into his story. Perhaps, even for someone like him, there could be a happy ending, one he’d never dared to imagine.

He leans down and whispers softly, almost as if confessing a secret. “I like to think they found each other again, you know? That somehow… this time, they got to be happy.”

She squeezes his hand, her eyes shining with warmth and understanding. “I like to think that too.” she replies gently, her voice full of affection.

They walk out together, the cool night air surrounding them as they leave his art behind. And as he catches her smile, he feels his heart swell with gratitude and a strange sense of peace.

For once, he isn’t looking back, haunted by the ghosts of what once was. Instead, he’s looking forward—toward a future that, with her beside him, feels so much brighter than he ever thought possible.

In his heart, he offers a silent prayer, hoping that they’ll continue to find each other, in this life and in all the ones to come. And as they disappear into the night, hands intertwined, this Ryomen Sukuna hopes that the King of Curses finally allows himself to believe that, this time, happiness might be his after all.

══════════════════

THERE WOULD BE NO MEMORY OF THIS WHEN HE’S REBORN. Ryomen Sukuna knows that much. That is the will of the unknown, of the gods unseen and unheard. He does not care much about the propriety of the accuracy. Why should it matter what their name is? He was dead, why should he care?

In the stillness of the afterlife, everything feels suspended, timeless. Everything was not what he had expected. Long ago, he had resigned himself to the thought that a final death would lead to the depths of burning inferno. And yet, it was not. He was stuck in a journey, a journey that continuously repeats over and over again.

He does not know what those gods intended with that. What was the purpose designed by the gods? What was the purpose of this journey? He had asked himself that for hundreds of years, walking and walking like the pilgrim he was and yet without end in sight. There was no road that was left to find a stop.

Perhaps, that is until now.

Ryomen Sukuna was the first to notice.

There was a wide shoji that appeared before them.

Ryomen Hiromi was quite unsure about what that was all about. But when she stepped right in front of it, the field protecting it had barred her from even touching it. She pursed her lips in a flat line. This door was not one for her to enter.

And she probably had already known that. Looking at him with those knowing purple eyes, she knew that it was not for her. It was for him. The gods had sent him a path, and it was not to be with her. It was a road for him to take, a road that was for him. Only him.

He took a short step towards it and allowed his hands to feel the space occupied by the massive wooden shoji. His touch could pierce its space. It was truly for him. There was no mistake in that. Uraume looked at him with a tense uncertainty. His most loyal Uraume is quite that timid child, still. Just as when Sukuna had met them years and years ago.

For a moment, it reminded him of Chizuru. That gentleness of that youth, that tenderness of youth. He could only see his little one. The little one that he misses most. His soul is already at peace, and perhaps Sukuna would never see him again.

He doesn’t deserve to. He wasn’t a good father to him. But moments like this, it gives him relief. Even if Chizuru didn’t need him anymore, then someone else did. And that someone still needed him. Even if he wasn’t the person suited to be needed.

Sukuna looked down at them, and then nodded reassuringly. Uraume reached forward and gasped. Their touch too pierced through its barrier. Of course, Sukuna thought to himself. Uraume tied their entire life to him.

They were one in the same. The loyal servant cannot live without the master. No, no. Sukuna corrects himself. There was always a need for someone. People will always need people.

He stands there idly as Ryomen Hiromi stood beside him, though keeping a distance. Everything around them had grown brighter. Brighter than before. All that surrounded them had been bathed in a soft, eternal light that neither burns nor fades.

This place, this moment, is for closure—a place where the bonds of the past can either linger or be released. A purgatory for souls, sinner or not. All souls look the same to the gods. Well, that’s what Hiromi had told him.

Sukuna’s gaze rests on Hiromi, taking in the warmth in her expression, the calmness in her presence. Even here, she glows with an inner light that he has always cherished. Serene as the moonlight, as mellow as the clouds.

There had always been a quiet grace that no one could replicate. He had known that in his long lifetime. And for as long as he had lived, he thought that his job had been to protect it. To protect her. No matter what, with everything in him — even if it often meant tearing down the world around him.

For a long while, they simply stand together, the weight of their shared history resting between them. A thousand years, feeling even more than that, reflected in the understanding that came in the silence. He had known her too well, she had known him too well.

There was nothing left between them. Only knowing. And perhaps, that’s why it wouldn’t have ever worked. He thinks about that. Knowing someone, even too well, will never truly be living a life with them.

There was too much he did not know about her life. There was much she did not know about his own. They had lived lives that grew out of their tender love. People who loved each other so much, that they risked everything in the world — finally became two boats in the night waiting for each other to pass.

Perhaps that’s all that there could be, he thinks about it now. No matter how much he loved her, no matter how much he still does love her — they were parallel lines. Right people, wrong place. Right place, wrong time.

That in itself was hard to admit, he knows that. He always has. But it was hard to say. It was hard to accept. Perhaps it always will be. Yet there is so much more beyond that grief of something already lost. Of life already lived and passed by. No matter how much he wants to follow Ryomen Hiromi with all the love in his heart, with all the devotion given from all his life, there will always be fate. And fate knows better than he.

As much as he tries, he was not a god.

He will never be one, he has tried to be.

He was just a sinner, a cruel cursed sinner.

Taking a deep breath, Sukuna speaks, his voice soft, yet resolute. "I can feel it, Hiromi." he says, looking down at his feet. “Somewhere out there……..I am soon to be reborn. Soon….I must enter this door.”

Ryomen Hiromi’s face softens, and a knowing smile tugs at her lips. She tilts her head, teasing, but with a hint of sadness that she can’t entirely hide. How could she? Ryomen Sukuna was her person. He was her family. Her dearest friend, her confidant. The man she loved, still does love. The love of her life.

But she knew that he was not yet ready. Perhaps he will never be ready to move forward like this. There was much tying him to the world of the living. To the earthly life. And she knew it wouldn't be her. It will never be her.

She could see it in the corner of his scarlet eyes. He too had lived a life. He had moved on. And he wants to see that loved one again. He wants to return. Even if he does not know it. He wants to see that smile on her face again.

"So, you’ll stop following me now, huh?"

He chuckles, the sound quiet, almost reverent, as he brings her hand to his chest. "I’ll love you most in the world, you know that.” he murmurs, each word weighed with truth. “You were the part of me that was good, Hiromi. Everything I am….was because of you.”

She looks at him, shaking her head. She remains smiling. “Endless flattery is not your style.”

His eyes warmed towards her. “It is not flattery if it's true. You know that most. I do not lie, not easily. Not without reason.”

“I know.” She huffs back in response, her eyes lowered to the floor. “I know you too well.”

“I need to go. You know that. There are still…..too much left undone. I have a lot to make amends for, things I must repair.” His voice grows steady, almost solemn. “I need to start with someone else I love. Someone who’s waiting, on the other side of the shore.”

Hiromi’s gaze flickers, her surprise shifting to understanding. There’s a light in her bright purple eyes, a pride that only deepens as she studies his face. For a moment, she wondered when he had grown up. When had he aged this well, lived this well. A part of her mourns the things they never saw. But she knew it was too late. He had someone else waiting to see those sides of him now.

“I always hoped you’d find something worth living for, beyond me. Beyond our clan. Beyond Jujutsu.” she says, her words carrying an emotion he hadn’t expected. She laughs. “You’ve done well, Sukuna. I know you would. And now you’re better at admitting your faults. You’ve….you’ve truly grown up! Father and uncle would be so glad to see it, don’t you think?”

The weight of her words settles deeply into him, her silent devotion across lifetimes coming into sharp focus. Ryomen Sukuna closes his eyes, feeling the immensity of all that they’ve shared, all that he’s never truly expressed.

“There’s still much for me to set right, Hiromi.” He looks at her, his expression softening as he finally speaks the words he’s never quite managed to say before. “But the love we shared… It's the best part of me. It’s the part of me I want to carry into the next life. Everything you taught me, it will be for the better.”

A soft laugh escapes her once more, and she shakes her head as if she’s hearing a promise she’s waited lifetimes for him to make. Her hand reaches up, gentle, almost motherly, as she brushes a stray hair back from his face. Leaning in, she presses a delicate kiss to his cheek.

“You don’t have to say anything else. I’ve always known you loved me.” She pulls back slightly, her hand lingering against his face. “I’ll always love you too, Sukuna. But we have different lives now. Paths that aren’t tied together anymore. No paths are bound, after all. Isn’t that what was taught?”

Her words are tender but firm, and he nods, finally accepting what she’s known all along. “I know.” he whispers, the smile on his face tinged with the bittersweet ache of goodbye. “But I think I’ll be alright, night flower. I’ve found something, someone… who I believe can make me better. She’s out there, waiting.”

For a moment, she could feel her heart shatter. In that moment, to remember what he had called her. With those words, with that tone of finality. With that tone of farewell. She could feel the warmth of water echo through her eyes. But she tries to make sure they do not pour. Those tears shouldn’t be poured. Not for him. He does not need it. She must send him happily. She must send him off with a smile. A good farewell.

Hiromi pulls away, her hand slipping from his, though her gaze remains fixed on him with a profound love and pride. Her bright eyes gleamed at him, even brighter than before. She smiles at him, though he could notice how tight it was. No matter how happy she is for him — she will mourn. She can’t help it.

“Then, I want you to find her, hm?” she says softly, the conviction in her voice like a benediction. “Find her and find your happiness, the kind that lasts. The kind that you finally deserve.”

He nods, and there’s a rare, open softness in his expression, a gratitude as deep as the ages they’ve spent together. He takes a good look at her, as though he was memorizing this moment. For as long as it still lasts, he wants to remember it. He wants to remember her, giving her blessing.

“Then, I’ll go, nightflower.” he says, his voice low and filled with purpose. “I’ll find her… and try to live the life I dreamed of with you.”

Hiromi smiles gently, and with one last lingering look, she turns to leave, pausing only to say. “Someday, I hope to meet her too—the one who brought you peace. Bring her back with you. So that I may thank her for taking care of you.”

He nodded at her. He takes a deep breath as he lowers his gaze and sees Uraume looking at him, as though asking for courage. Sukuna takes Uraume’s hand and tightly grips it, but is careful not to hurt them. A ghostly smile appears on his face, beaming it towards them.

Uraume could feel their eyes glisten as they felt the warmth of that smile. Uraume could feel warmth in them, tenderness — tenderness that molds their will to live with courage. Sukuna turns his head slightly, looking at Hiromi. His smile gets wider, and becomes more honest than before. She smiled at him, waving him off.

As he and Uraume walked towards the shoji, Ryomen Hiromi knew that she too has to move away. Ryomen Sukuna slowly watches her walk away into the path of light, alone, feeling the weight of a thousand lifetimes lifting from his shoulders. He could feel his breath hitch as he watches her walk away, perhaps for the final time, perhaps until they get reborn again.

If you were not waiting for him, if he had not met you, if he had not loved you — perhaps he would have turned away from these doors and moved towards the path of life and rejected rebirth. He would have let his soul rest in peace for all of time. But he knows that he was no longer that person anymore. He wanted to move forward. He wanted to break the cycle. He wanted to be with you.

Ryomen Sukuna is ready to face the world again, this time with a purpose that is as clear as the love he feels for the woman he will now seek. He must atone. He must live a new life. He must make you happy.

Both of you will be happy, he knows that. And as he steps forward, towards his own rebirth, he carries her blessings, his heart finally open to the happiness he had once believed was out of reach. He will live it now. He will atone, he will find redemption. He will make you happy.

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