#i knew the companions could romance each other | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

melancholymetropolis · 1 year ago

Text

Escapism.

plot: In which two lonely souls find each other in the middle of the woods

pairings: HeadlessHorseman!Nanami Kento x Reader

genre(s): Hurt with Comfort, Porn with Feelings

warnings: unedited (mostly). a load of crying from the reader. the headless horseman is an absolute gentleman. COURTING. gifts (f receiving). reader is a jokester. nanami is actually headless and the reader is scared of him at first. PIV SEX. fingering (f receiving). squirting. rounds and pounds. nanami falls first and HARD. he is covered in scars. traumatic past. lowkey its an "I can fix him" au. Couple's Banter.

w.c: 9.02k

The spare sunlight trickled from between the clouds and kissed the rippling water of the lake. The morning dew was still heavy in the air and it created a mist above the water. I broke through the milky terrain and debated whether I should catch up with my companions. They seemed to be miles away from me, engaging in some kind of conversation. By the smiles on their faces, it had to be one they both enjoyed. Perhaps pertaining to their blossoming relationship.

I wasn’t a fool.

I could see the way they looked at each other. The love they shared grew every time we were together. The smiles never seemed to leave their faces when they were side by side. The lingering touches seemed far too intimate to have belonged to “just friends”. There was more going on than they let on. More than meets the eye. Yet, I couldn’t talk about it. I couldn’t mention it. I knew that the moment the question “Are you fucking?” came out of my mouth that I would be shamed. They would minimize my every observation and make me believe that I was seeing things. What made the notion worse was that they would immediately alter their behavior afterward. They would go back to being just friendly with one another and pretend like they weren’t engaging in a forbidden romance just before.

We were supposed to be celebrating my birthday and new promotion. Yet, here I was. Playing the third wheel to my so-called “friends”. There was an intense feeling of loneliness that drifted through me when I was around them. I almost felt excluded from my very own camping trip. I just didn’t connect with them like I used to. The moment the possibility of love came between them, they blocked out everything and everyone around them. They were so absorbed with one another that they didn’t see anyone else. They couldn’t see me— desperately trying to get their attention. So, for both my sanity and my dignity, I’ve decided to cut the trip short. At least, my participation in it. I was going to give the lovebirds all the room they needed to mess around. I could no longer stomach the feeling of exclusion any longer.

A single tear rolled down my cheek and I quickly wiped it away. Removing the evidence of any notice of sadness on my face.

Through the milky mist, I could Trista and Jessica boarding the doc. Their hands were tighter interlocked and their smiles were even wider than before. They were still too far ahead to hear their conversation, but I could tell it was a continuation of the funny one from earlier.

I tore my eyes away from the couple and looked into the rippling water.

It was so inviting and pleasant.

I dropped the teary hand into the water without thinking. I swirled the digits into the clear pool and felt tingles slowly course through my body. Instead of providing a cool sensation, the tingles gave me a warm one. It made the water feel even more comforting. The emotional feeling was neither familiarity nor longing. It was neutral. Almost the feeling you get when you start a new relationship. Right after you discover that your potential suitor may not be an axe murderer. The moment you realized that they had the potential to be your one and only. The water felt, simply put, hopeful.

I kept quiet on the drive back to the cabin. I allowed the lovers and the radio to occupy all the space between us. My eyes drifted out the window, taking in the beautiful woodlands around us. My heart ached at the notion that I could never truly enjoy it. Six months of planning a fantastic rural getaway ruined by the people I held most dear.

“Sorry to interrupt your jam session,” the radio host interjected, mid-song. “But, it was just brought to our attention that a massive mud lid has shaken Evergreen County. It has blocked off access to Route 78, meaning no one will be coming in or out of Evergreen until it is all clear.”

“That’s really unfortunate,” Trista said, clicking off the radio.

“Yeah,” Jessica replied, her eyes flicking over to me in the rearview mirror. “Good thing Y/N booked the cabin for the rest of the week and stocked the fridge, right?”

I gave her a weary smile and looked back out the window.

My plan of leaving was completely foiled. I was stuck with these damned lover birds until the roads were clear. My sadness was quickly replaced with anger beneath my skin. I didn’t have the energy to conceal my emotions anymore. I was incredibly tired of engaging in the activity and lacked the social battery to communicate with these women any longer.

“What with the long face, Y/N?” Trista asked, turning her head towards me. “Are you boat-sick?”

I nodded. “That must be what it is.”

“I’ll put on a pot of tea when we get back to the cabin, okay?” She cooed.

I hummed in agreement. “That sounds good.”

“Maybe you should lay down for a bit, as well,” Jessica chimed in. “Just take the night off. Leave dinner to us for once.”

“Yeah! I can finally make that lasagna soup I was telling you about!” Trista squealed. “When I tell you guys it’s so good! I mean it is to die for.”

“I can’t wait to try it.”

I used the boat sick excuse to hole myself in my room for the rest of the night. My tolerance for their lies had reached its limit and I really wanted to be alone. After a quick shower to wash off the smell of the outside, I slipped into my favorite nightgown. It was a custom number from a Parisian seamstress, a birthday present to myself. The garment was made of deep mauve-colored silk with a lace neckline. It had been well fitted in the waist and thigh air— yet came down to my ankles like a silken waterfall. The seller was so kind to give me a matching robe and bonnet with my order; which I also wore to bed that night. I pulled the fluffy duvet up to about chest level, before lowering my eyemask. I relaxed all the muscles within my body and released the tension in my jaw. I took several deep breaths and rolled over to my side.

However, neither one of these tactics seemed to work.

I had laid in my bed for hours, unable to relax fully.

My mind was simply too busy to sleep. The sadness arose once more now that I was alone. There was a gnawing in my chest that I couldn’t shake. It had gotten worse the longer I held it in. The call/text for dinner had come and went eons ago. The faux bubbly persona of my friends had retired to their rooms and left me to my own vices.

In desperate need of a change of scenery, I swung my legs from the edge of my bed and put on my slippers. I grabbed the chunky knit sweater that hung behind the door and slipped it on. I made sure to keep my footsteps light when walking through the hall. I didn’t want to wake Trista or Jessica. Both claimed to be really light sleepers, but I found that hard to believe.

About halfway through the corridor, I realized that my actions were done in vain. Trista’s room had been right near the staircase and her door was cracked open. Pleasurable moans and sensual sighs oozed from the room. There was a subtle creaking sound from the old bedframe as well. I recognized Trista’s voice sending hushed praises to the other lover. Whispering to Jessica about how good at “it” she was and how she never wanted her to stop.

Suddenly, the house felt entirely too small for the three of us.

My gentle footsteps carried me outside to the porch. I took a seat on the old rocking chair on the left and found myself looking up at the sky. I could not spot a single cloud in the sea of stars. The moon was full and gave everything around me an ivory tint. It was beautiful, for lack of a better word. It was the reason I decided to come to Evergreen County in the first place. I sat up in the rocking chair and placed my forearms on the railing. I allowed my chin to rest on the fleshy area and simply looked at the property around me. I took in the loud chirps of the crickets and the subtle twinkling of fireflies. I felt the cool breeze kiss my skin and the smell of pine invaded my nostrils. I tasted the fresh air on my tongue and felt it penetrate my lungs. With a deep breath, I tried to force all the negative shit out of me. I brought the pain from my chest and to my head. I finally let myself cry.

After a few minutes, I realized that I was no longer alone. I could hear the sound of horse hooves clicking against the pavement. Coming up the driveway was, in fact, a horse. A massive black stallion with a mane that is only seen in fairy tales. Its shiny black coat sparkled in the moonlight and gave it an ethereal aura. Its steps were careful. Almost like it didn’t want to alert anyone of its presence. For that realization, I had to give all the credit to its rider— who was equally as large as the horse it seemed. He, too, was shrouded in all-black. His long, overcoat was tailored perfectly to his body. It accentuated his broad chest and shoulders. He had thick, long legs that hung on either side of the horse. He wore black, freshly shined boots on each gigantic foot.

Although, it felt as though my eyes were deceiving me.

Despite how close the man was getting to me, I still couldn’t make out his head. I couldn’t make out the color of his hair or even get a general outline of his face. I squinted my eyes, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of something.

It wasn’t until the horse made it about six feet away from the house that I realized that I wasn’t going crazy.

The lone horseman was completely headless.

A wave of fear coursed through my body and I felt myself rise from my chair. I made a beeline to the front door and yanked it open. I shoved my body inside the home and swiftly locked the door behind me. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest at the sound of his heavy boots climbing the porch steps. My breath had become uneven from the sounds of my erratic panting. My hands were trembling as I slipped the phone from my cardigan’s pocket and unlocked it. I pressed the little phone icon and began to dial for the police.

But, then, the moment I went to press the phone to my ear, I heard the sound of receding footsteps.

It took all the courage in me to crawl to the window and peer out of it. I had caught a swift glimpse of the horseman mounting his horse, before directing it back down the driveway. Just as swiftly as they appeared the man and his horse disappeared. Leaving me alone once again. I took the phone away from my ear and hung up the call. After another minute or so, I unlocked the door and stepped onto the porch. I looked back at the driveway once more; a frugal effort to ensure that he was truly gone.

He was.

As much as I wanted to ponder why out of all places he came here, to my cabin, I couldn’t. The reason was sitting directly in front of me. Just three feet from the door sat my ring. A friendship that Trista and Jessica both wore as well. We had gotten them right after graduating college. It was a vow to always stay true to one another and to work things out when things had gotten hard. It felt more like an empty promise these days though. I didn’t even notice I had lost the gold band. My mind must’ve been so numb from their fallacious activities that it didn’t even process that it was gone. Even if I had, I probably wouldn’t have looked for it. It didn’t matter to me anymore.

Next to the ring sat a bouquet of wildflowers. The huge bundle was made up of blue and white blossoms. Their scent was sweet and clean. It eased into the nostrils and hardly ever lingered. It made my heart flutter ever so slightly; temporarily lifting the sorrow from it. A tingling sensation bloomed within my chest. It was almost identical to what I had been feeling in the lake earlier when I had put my hand in the water. The tingles gave me comfort. Almost like I had been experiencing the beginnings of a new relationship. As much as I wanted to be mad at the feeling, I couldn’t. My capacity for feeling my emotions had already been filled to the brim. I no longer had the mental space to process this ordeal. I would simply have to wait until I was no longer burnt out to confront the horseman.

Every night the headless stranger would stop by. And every night he would bring me a gift. It was usually in the form of flowers. Fragrant and wild. They filled the small cabin with their scent and added a homey feel to the place. The flowers were a wonderful distraction from the loneliness that remained in my heart. They brightened the rainy days and gave me something to hope for. The mudslide had seemed to have gotten worse with the constant showers. More and more debris had filled the road, making it even harder to leave. The rain had limited our outdoor activity, as well, and forced me inside the force. I couldn’t even use the beautiful scenery to distract from the betrayal anymore. I was trapped.

By the fourth night of spending a whole day pretending to be fine, I found myself on the porch once again. There were no tears in my eyes that time, though. I was all cried out. The sadness had moved from my heart and unrooted an emotion I tended to avoid: anger. I started to become angry that my “friends” had thought so little of me; how they had the gall to sneak around right under my nose and think it was perfectly acceptable to do so.

I don’t know if it was being trapped in the house or the cold, rainy days, but I could hear them messing around almost every night. I heard almost every pleasurable sigh, bed creak, and intense squeal through my very thin wall. It was so infuriating. I wanted nothing more than to just bang on the wall and ask them to stop. Or, at least, take it down to the basement where I wouldn’t hear them. There was an escape from their constant torment. It wasn’t the loving glances and gentle hand brushes in the day— then it was the aggressive humping and loud moaning at night. I was reminded of their betrayal every second of the hour and I was slowly losing my mind because of it.

I was so deep in thought on the fourth night that I didn’t notice the horseman’s presence, until after he placed the flowers on the porch’s steps. Their bright yellow petals had torn me from my reverie and brought me back to reality. The hulking figure had stood several paces away from the steps. His hands were crossed against his chest and there was a slight tilt in his body. If he had a face, I imagined it could have been a quizzical look upon it. He’d seemed rather confused, yet intrigued at the sight before him. The image of a relatively young woman, adorned in a silk nightgown and robe, pacing back and forth on a front porch. It was way past midnight and the air was borderline arctic. Yet, she still decided to wear a fashionable outfit while mumbling to herself like a crazy person. I am sure any given person would have stopped and stared at me if they had the chance. Even if they had been a ghost.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when the realization of his presence finally hit me.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” I hissed, taking a step back. “Where the hell did you come from? Sneaking up on me like a ghost in the night.”

I mumbled the last bit under my breath, but the headless horseman seemed to have heard it anyway.

He gestured to his body, lifting both hands up and down at the same. Almost as if to say, “Don’t you see me? I am the ghost in the night.” The last part was solidified by the gesturing of the empty space between his shoulders; right where his head was supposed to be. The movements were playful. Some would say they were even comical, but they still didn’t get much out of me. Not a laugh, nor a giggle. Just a slight smirk and a shaking of my head.

“I’m gonna have to get you a bell or something so I know you’re close by.”

He gestured to the massive black stallion tied to a nearby tree.

“Oh yeah. . . I forgot about that. Good point,” I replied, scratching the back of my head. “I really must’ve been out of it, huh? I didn’t even hear the heavy hooves of that big ass horse over there. Well, shit. I really made myself an easy target, didn’t I?”

The horseman gestured to his belt. It carried several weapons, such as an axe and a revolver. The second movement was something I didn’t realize he knew. He puffed out his chest and placed his hands on his hips. He assumed the Superman stance— the pose made more clear by the way his jacket blew back in the wind. That was something I couldn’t help but smile at. It seemed that he had been trying his best to make light of the situation. From the comical gestures to how he stood a good five feet away from the porch. It felt like the horseman didn’t want to impose, but he also didn’t want me to dwell on something so upsetting. The realization had struck a chord with me. The fact that a ghost could pick up my change in attitude and my friends did not was eye-opening. It was downright alarming. It just solidified to me that they had truly been on another planet. Never mind the fact that I had only officially met the headless stranger several days prior.

“So, you’ll protect me, hmm?” I said, crossing my arms over my chest and tilting my head. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

The being lowered his hands to his hips and took several paces to the porch steps. He lifted the bouquet from the polished wood and gently passed the bundle to me. I took the yellow daisies and brought them to my nose. Their scent was fresh and inviting— almost like new love. There were hints of chamomile within its petals, although I couldn’t stop the little flowers anywhere. I watched as the hulking figure lowered himself onto one knee and placed a hand on his chest. He outstretched the other towards me, his fingers spread and his gloved palm open.

The love confession, as simple as it may be, made my heart flutter.

It hadn’t taken long for me to realize just how meaningful the horseman was. He relied heavily on his actions to perpetuate his feelings. He didn’t seem like the kind of man to tell a lover white lies to pass the time. Perhaps it was the absence of his head that forced the notion, but I appreciated all the same. He seemed authentic and raw in his sentiment. He probably couldn’t lie, even if he wanted to. The movements of his figure would give it away. It was easy to lie using your vocal cords, it was even harder to lie through body language. The more I thought about it, the more I understood why I had entertained this attraction for the past several days. Not only did it serve as a distraction from my dishonest vacation buddies, but it felt genuine. It felt so fucking real in a world of grey skies and black smoke. The Headless Horseman was the only one expressing his true self these days, the only one unable to lie to me. Although, I am pretty certain he wouldn’t want to if he had the option. He was a gentleman above anything else, and he wasn’t the type of guy to misdirect his lady.

The longer I looked at him, the more my heart pounded. A million thoughts exploded through my mind at once. The main one was how I only had two more days left of this vacation and how I would probably put this place behind me— due to the unfortunate actions of my friends. It almost saddened me that I would never be able to see someone as sweet as the horseman again. It was truly insane how a ghost knew the art of courtship better than the living, breathing humans I accompanied on the daily. Yet, I digress. The second thought was of my friends upstairs. There was no doubt in my mind that the act they were engaging in was somewhere between sinful and unholy. They had been fucking like rabbits since the mudslide happened. However, the judgment in my being was beginning to subside.

Sure, I didn’t hand a human participant to engage in such disgusting activities.

But, I did have a ghost.

A sexy one, at that.

Call it petty, but, I had a sudden taste for vengeance.

“Mister Horseman?” I hesitated.

He rose from the ground and took several steps closer to me. It was just until his shins were touching the bottom step of the porch. Still, he opted to keep his distance. Just like the gentleman he was. Even after all that time, he worried he might scare me.

I lowered the flowers back onto the floor and proceeded to untie my silk robe— ever so slowly. I allowed the garment to fall to the crooks of my elbows and expose my bare shoulders. My nipples pebbled in the cool night air and a shiver crept down my spine. I saw his body tense at the sight of my exposed skin and his hand balled into a fist. Hollow breaths fell from my lips as I took several steps back. They weren’t out of fear, no. They were to add to the art of seduction. I pulled the silk bonnet off my head and allowed my goddess braids to flow down my back. I saw his chest rise and fall at a rapid rate. Despite him having no head, it seemed that the horseman was struggling to breathe. It was an intriguing sight.

“Allow me to be the first to say that the feeling is mutual,” I said, breathlessly. “I, too, hold a certain affection for you.”

His body leaned closer and began to tremble after digesting the words.

“However, unlike you, I was not blessed enough to show my talents through crafts,” I said, gesturing to the bouquet on the ground. “I was blessed in other ways. Ways that I can only show you upstairs, in my bedroom. And I would have no problem showing you—”

His gloved hands were on my body before I could finish the sentence. I could feel the cool leather through the soft silk against my hips. He held the plush area firmly, hesitant to bring any lower. The horseman was testing the waters, attempting to see just how comfortable I was with him. I brought his palms lower and slid them to my backside. I guided them to my plump rear and assisted in his grabbing of it. A soft gasp fell from my lips as I felt him reciprocate the action on his own. Gently, he massaged the plump muscle, bringing my body slower the longer he did it. About thirty seconds later, my chest was pressed against the top of his abdomen, and my arms were drabbed over his shoulders.

“Let’s go upstairs,” I purred, pulling away to open the door.

The horseman, quickly, pulled me back against his body and lifted me in one fell swoop. My thighs rested on either side of his slender waist and ankles locked just above his rear. My arms immediately gripped his shoulders, while one of his arms wrapped around me— holding my body completely steady. He used his other hand to open the front door quietly and let us both inside the cabin. He took careful steps; I could barely hear his footfalls on the hardwood floor.

“My room is upstairs,” I whispered. “It’s the third door on the left.”

The horseman took silent steps up the creaky old stairs. Both hands were around me now. He caressed my back sweetly as we ascended to my room. If he had a mouth, I was sure he’d hum a loving tune in my ear. My heart couldn’t help but sway at the action. It had only been a few minutes of him embracing me and I was already starting to fall for him. Maybe it was loneliness or the betrayal that left me so sensitive, but I couldn’t help myself. The horseman was simply too impactful.

However, the temporary bliss was cut short by the sight of Trista’s cracked door. Just as I had expected, lustful sounds danced from within the room and caressed my ears. I could feel my expression immediately drop at the sound. My inference had been correct. They were still, in fact, fucking like rabbits. As much as I would’ve loved to side my expression, I couldn’t. The horseman's face, or lack thereof, was right next to mine— meaning that he saw everything.

Instead of simply ignoring it, he gripped my body tighter and took quicker steps down the hall. He, still, didn’t make a sound. He walked right through my open door and gently lowered me onto the bed. He stood before me for several seconds, taking in the sight before him. A significantly smaller woman, adorned in lace and silk, with a face stricken with sorrow. I doubt that it was a pretty sight, though his actions said otherwise.

The horseman shrunk down to the floor before me and placed his hands on my knees. He slowly pushed them apart. Unlike the men before him, the horseman didn’t dive right in and reach for the slick lips underneath my silk skirt. He placed his body between my separated thighs and placed his hands on my hips. Gently, he moved them up my soft sides and back, just before stopping at my collarbones. With the cool leather of his glove, he caressed the soft area. The horseman gradually moved his embrace up my neck and to my jaw. His thumb ran across my bottom lip tenderly and sent shivers through my body. His other hand gripped the side of my face and started to brush against my cheek. I felt my eyes close at the action. My heart was warm and my mind was beginning to ease. The irritating sounds from earlier had left my mind and been replaced with a sense of tranquility. It was strange how someone so mythical was able to get such a reaction out of me. Especially after just knowing him for a few days.

“Let me feel you,” I said, opening my eyes. “Let me feel your skin against mine.”

The word “please” lingered after those sentences, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud. I wasn’t the kind of woman to beg anyone to do anything for me. And I wouldn’t be starting now.

I felt him tense at the rest, almost as if he hadn’t expected it. Or, he just didn’t want to do it. Yet, he still obliged with my request.

Slowly, the ghost removed his hands from my face and placed them on my lap. He started on his right hand; pinching each finger and pulling it away from the skin. When each digit was loose, he pulled the glove off his hand with an air of hesitation. Clumsily, the leather garment was removed from his palm and tossed aside. Underneath was a stark, pale, icy-cold hand covered in an array of scars. His fingers seemed to be trembling slightly. His sensitivity to rejection was prevalent and made itself known to me. I took the massive palm into my hands. I bent the fingers at the knuckles just slightly before pressing a sweet kiss on the chilly surface. My eyes instinctively zeroed in on the empty space his head used to be. I stared at it, imagining it was actually there.

“You’re beautiful,” I found myself saying. “Scars and all. I accept you as you are. Thank you for sharing your body with me.”

A wave of relaxation overtook his rigid demeanor. His body eased into the confines of my own, before wrapping his arms around my waist tightly. It was a simple hug, yet it felt like so much more. It was the only way he could possibly show affection without easing into a carnal activity. The absence of lips had made this rendezvous so much more difficult. I wanted nothing more than to press my mouth against his and press his against mine. I wanted my hands to be in his hair, while he roamed underneath my skirt and beneath my thighs. I wanted to be as close to him as physically, and maybe spiritually, possible. But, I had to settle for a hug instead. I wrapped my arms around the undead man tightly and simply took in the moment.

Upon releasing me from the embrace, the horseman pressed a tender hand to my chest and pushed my body back. It was until my back hit the mattress. Then, he slowly pushed the wrinkled, skirt from my ankles up to my rear. I placed the bottoms of my feet at the edge of the bed, just to give him more access. Nestled between two soft thighs was my womanhood. Damp, curly, and absent of panties. The grip that the horseman had on my thighs firmed and I watched his chest expand. Almost as if he were holding his breath. He quickly removed the second glove before getting to work. The icy finger brushed against the hot vulva and caused me to shiver. A pleasurable sigh fell from my lips as I relaxed completely atop the bed.

His gentle digits proceeded to separate the lower lips and expose the sensitive bud beneath. Before touching the throbbing clit, the horseman slid his thumb along my slit. He gathered all the lovely slick my walls produced on the thumb’s pad, before swirling it along my bud. I hissed at the feeling of his finger against me. The cold sensation was making my walls spasm a little. He rubbed my bud in large circles. The horseman added just the right amount of pressure to have me moaning up a storm. At some point, I lowered my bent knees to a wide ‘v’ shape and gave him more access to me. My hips rolled and bucked against his hand, desperately wanting more than he had to offer. Like a friendly visitor, one of his fingers tapped against my entrance. It was his silent way of asking for my permission.

“Yes,” I sighed. “Put it in.”

The thick finger eased into the slick center and I felt my world come crashing down. The coolness of his digit in my hot crevice was something I couldn’t mentally fathom. It was foreign and almost bizarre, yet I couldn’t stop myself. It swiftly became addicting. The horseman added another finger and flexed the digits upward— pressing directly against the g-spot. My legs twitched and my breath started to hollow. The movements of his fingers were stern, not rough. They were meant to hammer the sensitive area— they were supposed to massage it. The skill in his fingers was something of a legend. They stretched the walls within, ever so gracefully. They prepped me for the awaiting member I already caught a glimpse of moments before. From the imprint it made on his trousers, it was big and girthy. It would probably tear me in half without the right preparation. Yet, despite how intimidating the semi-hard member seemed through the fabric, I couldn’t have been more excited about it.

The orgasm was deep and erotic. And completely took me by surprise. It unearthed something divine within my womanhood and presented it to the horseman. My back arched against the bed as my mouth grew wider. My moans bounced on the walls as the orgasm nipped at my heels. The warm sensation in my belly grew wider until my entire body was on fire as a result. My fingers dug into the bedsheets as my toes curled and my body shook. My eyes were squeezed shut and my breathing grew erratic. My legs twitched and vibrated against the horseman’s forearm. He had to remove the thumb from my clit to hold my left leg.

“Oh Dear God. . .” I slurred as my eyes rolled to the back of my head.

The movements of his hands never stopped, they only made the orgasm longer and more powerful. I was seeing stars in my mind as my slick coated his hands. Thick cream oozed from my cunt as my body started to settle against the mattress. The after-effects of the climax started to wear down on my nerves. After some time, the ghost removed his cool finger from my center. He massaged the soft flesh of my thighs for a little while, before rising to his crouched position on the floor. I plopped my body onto my elbows and watched as he began to disrobe. The heavy, wool cloak was removed from his broad shoulder. Underneath was a stark white shirt and silk suit vest. Slowly, the ghost undid the buttons of both garments. Taking special care of the flawless pieces as he did so. Just as his hands, his chest was covered in an array of scars. They are arranged in size, shape, and depth. My heart sunk at the sight of them in the pale moonlight.

It was unclear whether or not he received them all at once, but one thing was certain. The Headless Horseman had a very rough life. Underneath the scars was a body I hardly expected. Almost every muscle along his figure was pronounced. From his rock-hard abs to his rippling arm muscles. Every last one was on perfect display for me to see. And what a beautiful sight it was.

His shoes were the next thing to come off. Followed by his pants. It felt like that bit was in slow motion. He unbuckled the silver belt buckles and undid the closure with ease. Slowly, as if he knew I was watching, the horseman pushed his pants down his thick thighs and forced them into a puddle on the floor. Just as I expected, the member was big and girthy. It seemed the nickname “horseman” was a double entender. Even in the pale moonlight, I could see the pre-cum leaking from his slit. It painted the brown tip gloriously and made it glisten. One of his wide palms inched down to his member and took a firm hold of it. I watched him stroke the member slowly. It felt like he was seducing me. Fortunately for him, it was working. He took several slow steps toward my body, I could feel my heart pound in response. Before we did any more damage to my favorite nightie, I lifted the silk garment off my body and tossed it aside. I, also, scooted back against the bed; in able to give the horseman more room to work.

The ghost proceeded to crawl against the fluffy mattress, flexing every muscle in his body as he did so. Groans left my mouth at the sight. I had never seen something so sexy in my life. Before long, his cool hands were pressed against my thick form once more. In one swift motion, the horseman spun me on my stomach and angled my hips in the air. I didn’t even have time to process what was happening, since his hands were palming my ass. He squeezed and massaged the soft tissue in a way I didn’t expect. He seemed completely mesmerized by it. Maybe it was the size or how soft it felt in his grip, but the horseman couldn’t get enough.

I giggled at the notion. “You could give it a smack if you want,” I said, wiggling my hips against his palms. “I won’t mind.”

The ghost paused the massaging of the rear and hesitantly raised his hand from my right cheek. He proceeded to give me the softest spank I had ever received in my life. I couldn’t help but erupt in a fit of laughter.

“You can do better than that,” I chuckled. “I’m a big girl, horseman. I handle a little pain.”

With a firm hand, the horseman spanked my ass once again. The feeling was somewhat indescribable. I had never been one for experiencing pain during sex, but being with him was starting to make me think otherwise. The sheer sting of the hit was enough to make my walls clench. He seemed to have noticed it as well. A shocked moan fell from my lips when the horseman did it again. That time, it was placed on the left cheek. A buzz of electricity coursed through my being with the second hit. My walls were oozing for him to invade them. The desire to be torn apart by the horse cock between his legs was growing greater by the second. The closer our bodies became, the more I wanted him. There was a force that was drawing us together. Something completely mythical and absolutely otherworldly. It felt like it was trying to tell us something.

But, I couldn’t decipher the message.

At least, not yet.

The moment he sunk into me I could feel my nerves begin to sing. The coldness of his body against my hot one was something divine. I pressed my face deeper into the pillows as he gave me everything he had. And it was a lot. It stretched me in either direction and made my canal spasm as a result. His cock pushed against every pressure point within my womanhood and I knew, then, that it would simply destroy me. I brought a shaky hand between my thighs as he started to rock against me. I rubbed my bud in lazy circles, a frugal effort to aid in my adjustment to his size. Low mewls fell from my lips as the thrusts started to increase in speed. The horseman had both hands on my hips as he moved against me. His hips rolled against my ass in a wave-like motion. The horseman didn’t seem interested in ‘fucking’ me, per se. He had no interest in giving me all that he had and shoving me into the mattress. When he moved against me, it didn’t feel like he was using my body. I didn’t feel like a tool to assist in his cardinal desires. He treated me like a prize; as if I was the main attraction. Even without a mouth, the horseman had communicated his intentions clearly.

He wanted me as a potential lover, not as a passing phase.

His actions— from the beautiful bouquets to the way he fingered me— were an act of courtship. Even with his member buried in my pussy, the ghost was still courting me. The rolling of his hips against my cunt and the soft grip on my hips were examples of that. Again, the horseman had no intention of ‘just’ fucking me. He wanted more. So, this little rendezvous was the perfect opportunity to express that. Rather than use me like a living, breathing fleshlight, the horseman decided to make love to me. He was proposing what a union could be like between us. Without saying a word, the horseman was explaining to me that I was capable of having both a lovely companion and a seductive paramour. He showed me that it was possible for me to have a gentleman that would get me flowers, and fuck me within an inch of my life.

Suddenly, a warm sensation started to flutter about my body. It gave me an air of comfort that I never experienced before. It gradually started to pool in my stomach, making my tummy feel warm in the process. The muscles in my body started to tense up and my grip on the mattress tightened. The breath in my throat grew thicker and my eyes fell shut. The gentle sound of the wind was the only thing to grace my ears. Every other sound drifted away. I could no longer hear the bed creaking beneath us, or the headboard hitting the wall. I wouldn’t hear my desperate gasps or the sound of our wet bodies hitting each other. Most importantly, I couldn’t hear the sapphic lovers enjoying themselves next door. At that point, their union no longer mattered to me. It was swiftly becoming something old and stale. Their betrayal was the most mundane thing to happen since we entered Evergreen County. In less than a week, I had a natural disaster grace my path, discovered that mythical beings existed, and was actively pursued by one. Not only that, but he was a better lover and companion than everyone before him.

Maybe I was entering my fifth stage of grief or maybe I was delusional, but I was swiftly getting over it.

“That’s it. . .” I grunted, my body still tense. “Keep going. . . I’m so close.”

The ghostly gentleman squeezed my hips tighter at the request. He kept his deep, seductive pace— not changing it one bit. If the arrangement was different, if he had a head, I knew the horseman would be the kind of guy to talk me through it. He’d whisper sweetnothings in my ear, calling me “beautiful” and “gorgeous”, while turning me into a slobbering, cock-hungry slut. He’d have a tongue like a snake, sneaky and deceptive. The horseman would never get rid of me if I could hear him speak. I’d never leave Evergreen County, even if my life depended on it.

The water in the shallow pool slipped over the edge and sent me into a spiral. The orgasm was deep, slow, and soul-wrenching. It unearthed something downright feral from my being. A low, groan poured from my mouth as I subconsciously threw my hips back to meet his. My mouth hung open like a bitch in heat and drool poured from the side of my mouth. My eyes rolled back until the whites were the only thing visible. Oxygen came rushing into my throat all at once. My throat started to heave and my heart began to pound in my chest. It was so loud. It began the only thing I could hear for a short while.

I didn’t even register that the horseman had changed positions. He hoisted my body from the bed and pressed my back against his chest. He hooked his left arm across my body and gently cupped my right breast in the process. His right arm wrapped around my waist, while his right hand gripped my hip. The ghost sunk back on his heels and separated his thighs a little bit more. My ass sat comfortably on his lap and his cock felt deeper than before. My walls were still fluttering when he started to move. The pace was faster than before. His hips moved like a piston, almost mechanical and precise. I could feel the head of his cock hammer the underside of my cervix. The pleasure point was getting obliterated at record time. The warm, fuzzy post-orgasm feeling had swiftly left my body. It was replaced with a burning hot desire that I, sadly, recognized. It was a feeling I had grown accustomed to in the short time our bodies were joined. The horseman was the only being to make me feel such cardinal desires. He was the walking epitome of sex, despite not having a head. Sex with him didn’t feel like a chore. It was an experience. An activity both parties could enjoy. And I was enjoying myself more than he could ever know.

It wasn’t long before his quick, machine-like thrust turned sloppy and clumsy. I could feel his lips begin to twitch the longer he pounded into my pussy. He was reaching his limit. I could feel the rapid pace at which his chest rose and fell against my back. It was a strange feeling, to say the least. At the front of my mind, I knew the horseman wasn’t alive. I knew he was a ghost, a headless one at that. However, I couldn’t process the feeling of humility I had gotten from him. The coldness I first felt when he touched me was no longer present. His body felt warm and inviting. It even had a thin sheet of sweat on it, just like mine. It could have been the crazy sex hormones coursing through my body, but it felt like the horseman was slowly becoming human.

I didn’t have to time to analyze the thought any further before the third climax came knocking at my womanhood. It was somehow even more powerful than the ones before. My entire body trembled as I came undone against the horseman. A loud, pleasurable scream flowed from my lips as I threw my head back. My hips bucked against his lap as liquid shot out of my cunt and coated his rod. My nails dug into his warm flesh as I rode out my high. The massive member began to vibrate and twitch within me. Shortly afterward, thick ropes of cum coated my slick walls. I groaned at the sensation. The horseman continued to pound into my used pussy until he physically couldn’t anymore. His body, also, trembled and shook against mine. The lasting effects of overstimulation eating away at his feral demeanor. His sloppy thrusts came to a slow stop and his arms loosened their grip.

The horseman repositioned our bodies for the final time that night.

With both of us on our sides and my face buried in his chest— I had never felt more content in my life.

I awoke to a gentle kiss placed on my forehead. Followed by another on the tip of my nose and one on each eyelid. A soft hand readjusted the silk bonnet on my head, before capturing the side of my face in its palm. It was warm, familiar, and inviting. I found my sleepy form leaning into it, nestling against it for comfort. Slowly, my tired eyes eased open. The bright sunlight forced me to immediately shut them and groan in annoyance. The thumb, attached to the warm palm, gently caressed my face. It stroked my cheek lovingly, before moving over to my lips. Tenderly, the digit ran across my bottom lip; sending shivers through my body once again.

Once again?

The memory of the horseman’s gentle fingers immediately came to mind. How they caressed my face and neck, before easing down to my cunt. The feeling of his thumb running against my lips was identical to the sensation I was feeling now. But, something was different about it. There wasn’t a sadness in the touch as it was before— only anticipation. As if he was waiting to finally kiss me after the night we had. That would’ve been impossible, given his current disposition. It would be impossible to share a kiss with the horseman since he was without the equipment necessary to achieve said embrace. Unless he managed to grow a head at some point during the night—

“Open your eyes, darling.” The voice was deep and smooth, like an aged wine. It brought pleasure to my eardrums and made my heart sing.

Upon easing my eyes open, I was graced with the most beautiful man I had ever seen. The warm sunlight gave his pale skin an ethereal glow. His deep, brown eyes shined like ambers in the light. He had high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. Resting above a very pronounced chin was a pair of plump lips. They were soft and had a pinkish hue to them. Above them was his nose; it was straight and came to a subtle point. The shape of his eyes was narrow and just above them were a set of thin, blond brows. They matched the messy blond hair atop his head.

A smile spread upon his lips. “Good Morning, little owl,” he purred, pressing another kiss to my forehead. “How did you sleep?”

I matched the smile on his face. “I slept well,” I replied. “It’s great to finally see you. All of you.”

“And what a marvel it is to be seen by you,” he hummed, lovingly.

Hesitantly, I raised a gentle hand to his face. My warm fingers brushed against his plump lips; a weak attempt to determine if I had been dreaming.

I was not. This was all 100% real.

“You know,” I started, combing through his soft locks. “I have a lot of questions about. . . this.”

“I’m sure you do,” he smirked. “And I am more than happy to answer every last one of them.”

“Quite the charmer you are,” I quipped. “I bet you have all the ladies losing their heads over you.”

A deep, guttural laugh erupted from the man above me. It warmed my heart.

“You are quite the jokester, aren’t you?” He replied when he finally died down. “On the contrary, it was the exact opposite. I lost my head for a lady.”

A frown took over my face. “I’m sorry.”

The horseman used the awkwardness of the conversation to adjust his position above me. He slumped into the space on my left side and pulled me closer. His stronger arms cradled my soft body against his hard one. My bare chest was pressed against his and our legs were intertwined. It was painfully obvious that we were both quite naked underneath the covers. I could feel a familiar friend begin to twitch against my right thigh. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t ready for another round. Sure my body was on fire and there was a subtle ache in my walls, but the feeling of that man against me was something I wanted to relive. Especially now that I had something to look at.

The horseman was so pretty that it fucking hurt my feelings.

“It was a long time ago,” he sighed, stroking my cheek. “I hardly ever think about it anymore.”

“But. . .” I hesitated. “How were you able to wander around without your head?”

He thought for a minute. A sour look overtook his look of contentment. There was also a hint of shame in his eyes as well. Whatever he was about to say, he was deathly embarrassed about it.

“I made a bargain with the forest guardian as I was dying,” he admitted after some time. “I asked her for a chance to walk the earth again. To experience the love I had just previously lost again. Even after all she had done, I still loved my wife and I wanted to get back to her. The forest guardian must’ve been sympathetic and granted me one more night on this plane. In exchange, I was to be her servant and guard the north side of the forest until she no longer needed me. However, like most bargains, there would be a catch. I was to remain headless and walk the forest until the end of time.”

“But, what changed?” I asked, hanging on the edge of my seat. “Why do you have a head all of a sudden? After all that time has passed?”

The warm smile from earlier reappeared on his lips and the horseman pulled me closer. “You came into my life and changed everything.”

“How?” I said. “I didn’t even do anything.”

“That’s the point. You did nothing to warrant such devious actions from your friends, yet you still got betrayed. As did I,” he answered. “We share a pain known to many but not often spoken about it. The loss of a community. I could feel that pain the day you were in the boat. It drew me to you. I watched you cry from the shadows and my heart bled for you. I wanted to make you feel better by any means necessary and I heard flowers would do the trick.”

“So you started making me bouquets,” I interjected.

The horseman nodded. “But, I think it was your acceptance of me that freed me from servitude. Your words last night were genuine, along with your actions. You meant what you said and it thawed my frozen heart. I no longer wanted to live in solitude, roaming the forest for the rest of eternity. I wanted to be in love. You made me want to love again.”

I raised a shaky hand to his cheek and stroked it lovingly. “This is a lot to take in. There’s so much I to say, but I don’t even know where to start.”

“How about we start with our names?” The horseman suggested. “My name is Nanami Kento. What’s yours?”

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a/n: long time no see! I missed y'all! this took longer than i expected, but i hope it is to your linking. please give you sis some feedback! i wanna hear what you think. also, please vote for what piece you'd like to see me upload next!

click here for the POLL

until next time! see you later!

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scuttlingcrab · 7 months ago

Text

Fiendish Rewards

Summary: Raphael appears at Withers' party, hoping to finally collect the Crown of Karsus from Tav. However, an unexpected turn of events causes Raphael to re-think his plans.

Notes: Featuring growing tensions and light angst. I always wondered what would happen when Raphael wore the Crown for the first time. This might be a wee bit too long but I initially intended this to be another submission for @dmagedgoods Raphael romance collection.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

(Image via raphael-ancunin)

Raphael knew he was intruding. He had no business attending Withers' party, yet he arrived fashionably late all the same. He would never show his face, grace the companions with his presence, merely to exchange pleasantries. As tempting as their tadpole-free souls were, the simple minded mortals had no meaning to him now that the Elder Brain was defeated. That evening Raphael’s only desire was to collect the Crown of Karsus. And perhaps, converse with that little mouse, if time allowed.

Thus, the Devil did what he knew best: lurked from the shadows of the wings and listened for his cue.

Raphael had abided for over a millennium after he lost the Crown to Mephistopheles, lashing out with such violent anger in the first century that he nearly eradicated an entire plane. That initial taste of defeat never left his memory; the bitterness, that rotting feeling he felt deep within his core still haunted him. It was his first introduction to failure and the last.

He eventually learned how to forge that frothing hatred for his father, his revulsion at the cursed cards he had been dealt with, into a far more superior weapon: knowledge, his greatest strength. Raphael researched, manipulated, and opened up the recesses of his mind to devour the ins-and-outs of the Hells. He painstakingly plotted, weaving his schemes into the very fabric of fate itself, planting the seeds of prosperity for what he hoped would eventually gain him a win.

Despite all Raphael had endured since the collapse of Netheril, the last 6 months had been the most excruciating. Waiting. Watching. Hoping. There was no longer an Archdevil in his path, but a mere mortal. His hunger for power grew rampant as he watched Tav continue to elude him, to harbour the final piece of his victory as she tried to reclaim what was left of her old life. That selfish creature.

To Tav’s credit, she had been quite remarkable on the battlefield, showcasing her strength and resolve as she smited enemies and climbed through the carnage to her destiny. She left a sea of corpses in her wake, the mortal rubble alone was unlike anything Raphael had ever seen. Out of all the calamities he had been fortunate enough to craft and witness, being a spectator during the fight against the Netherbrain would forever be a highlight.

When the Crown fell into the River Chionthar, Raphael eagerly watched as Tav spent weeks fishing it out, taking her precious time as she retrieved each broken piece of his future. He restlessly stormed the halls of his domain, cursing the woman for attempting such an arduous task alone. He could have aided her, sent in Korrilla as a last resort, but he refused. He would not give Tav the satisfaction, she would have to work just a little more to complete her end of the bargain. Besides, there was something endearing about watching Tav work so diligently, the determination in those eyes reminded Raphael of himself.

The little mouse was Raphael’s greatest investment and he’d be damned if she failed him now, or if he let his sudden affinity for her overtake his true purpose. Raphael’s ambitions for the Crown had somehow intertwined with his infatuation for the woman, and he was just as much to blame.

He had let this farce go on for long enough. Raphael would not stoop so low in his final moments before he rose to glory. Once Tav crowned him, these foolish emotions would cease and he would continue with his grand plan. He was a Devil and he would not let these cursed mortal emotions falter his intentions any longer; he would never allow anything, anyone, to destroy his work. Raphael’s blood, sweat, and tears would not be in vain.

Cheering suddenly came from the camp as Tav and her companions raised their chalices in celebration. Withers' speech had finally ended, much to Raphael’s delight. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could’ve listened to the monotonous dribble. The monologue was indeed rousing, but Raphael could’ve done better, if given the opportunity.

One by one, the group of heroes slowly disbanded, until only Tav remained. She made her way around the camp, stopping by each empty tent. It was as if the little mouse was paying her respects, bidding farewell to the ghosts of her past.

When Tav was done she wandered to the lakefront and sat down on a mossy rock, staring into the sparkling evening sky. The light in her own eyes vanished, leaving a dark cloud looming above her.

Raphael took that as his signal. He quietly removed himself from the cover of the treeline and began his entrance, approaching Tav with a swagger.

“If it isn’t the hero of Baldur’s Gate. My, how far we’ve come! It feels like only yesterday you fell from the skies, tadpole and all, and began your little adventure; slowly scurrying your way to triumph.”

Tav smiled at the sound of Raphael’s voice, turning to greet him. They locked eyes, her expression brightening. That look pierced through Raphael’s defences with such ease, a slight chill crawling up from the base of his spine. He stopped in his tracks, quickly recovering by placing a hand on his hip. It had been too long since they were alone, when he had last gazed into those cursed eyes. Careful now.

“Raphael, always the poet.”

“The little mouse is no longer, but now a ferocious lion. Congratulations are in order.”

Raphael gifted Tav with his most flourishing bow, hoping the gesture would distract from his earlier misstep.

“Now do tell, how does it feel to be the victor? To have saved the world? Is it as the bards have sung?” Raphael rose, taking another step towards Tav.

Tav merely shrugged, her lips quickly returning to a frown.

“Dunno.”

“I would have thought a hero to be more eloquent.”

“I'm still waiting for that ‘ah-ha!’ moment, but if we’re being honest tonight, I’m not really sure what it means to be a hero.”

“You will come to understand eventually. It’s the very nature of your existence.”

Tav remained silent, pulling her eyes away from Raphael. She stared down at her hands, studying her scarred palms.

“May I?” Raphael inquired, gesturing towards the available space on the rock.

Tav nodded and Raphael sat himself beside her, intentionally leaving a minimal amount of space between them.

“You have something that belongs to me.”

“There it is,” Tav said, through a faint laugh, “You know, I was expecting you to come sooner.”

“I’ve often found the best persuasions are the ones that aren't forced.”

Tav looked up at Raphael, her eyes moving over every inch of his guise, stopping briefly near his lips. He was close now, so close. To the Crown. To his objectives. And to that damned woman.

“May I see the Crown, please?”

Tav smiled, moving towards Raphael. For a split second, Raphael expected a kiss. It was only natural for mortals to attempt such a distraction in times of distress. Infuriating as it was, he wouldn’t have been opposed to such a notion. Tav instead reached down for her backpack lying in the sand, placing it on her lap.

She pulled open the straps and yanked out the Crown, handling it as if it was but a petty trinket. Raphael suppressed a sigh, he would not let the significance of this moment be soiled due to the mortal’s lack of formality.

“I managed to reforge it, to the best of my abilities, thanks to the Annals of Karsus. Though I haven't tried it on yet to see if it worked.”

“A wise choice.”

Tav held the Crown out towards Raphael, but he raised his hand. With a flick of his wrist, the Crown floated out of Tav’s grasp, slowly moving towards him. It was just as beautiful as he remembered, if not more so. It glistened under the moonlight, calling to him. Soon. Very soon. He let the Crown hover, spinning delicately, for a few more seconds.

“Do you need me to remind you of our terms? The deal was that you are to crown me. I would’ve come to you long ago if I could simply put it on myself.”

“Gods. Really, Raphael?”

“Truly.” Raphael donned his notorious smirk in response.

“Fine, are we to do this here then?”

“I couldn't think of a more fitting location.”

Raphael rose, walking towards the middle of the lakefront. He snapped his fingers, and a luscious red silk pillow appeared. He shifted it slightly in the sand and bent a knee, preparing himself for the crowning.

“Come, it is time.”

Tav stood intending to grab the Crown, but before she could reach it, Raphael beckoned it towards him. Tav quickly followed, positioning herself above Raphael. He raised his head to gaze at the magnificent sight in front of him. The moonlight framed Tav perfectly, she was silhouetted against the dark sky, glowing. The Crown and the little mouse, side-by-side, as it was always destined to be.

Raphael took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He absorbed the scents and sounds around him; earthy tones, a hint of wetness, mixed with the fresh woodland air. Faint chirping from various insects called out to him, the leaves rustled slightly against the warm summer wind. His heartbeat intensified, growing more rapid, adding an extra drum beat to the night’s symphony.

“Let’s get on with it then.” Tav spoke.

Raphael opened his eyes and watched Tav grab the Crown, lowering it on top of his head.

When the Crown touched his forehead, it reformed itself to accommodate his size, shrinking to provide a snugger fit. It hissed into place and then in an instant, everything changed.

Pain, pleasure, fear, anger, confusion; every possible emotion tore through his very being. He was ripped in two, three, four… millions of tiny little pieces. His head throbbed with information, so many secrets, so much… he saw and felt everything, what could’ve been, what might come to pass… it was too much. Too much! Too fast!

He fell forwards, his hands digging, ripping through sand. He was alone, always alone, darkness surrounded him. No. There was light, light flooded in from the top of his skull, projecting into every possible direction. He was the light. He was the dark. He was all-encompassing.

Raphael screamed, his voice echoing into the abyss around him. He had never read about such a reaction, in all his years of researching, how could he have missed… could it be because… NO. He will tame this. He will persist. He will…

The sand beneath Raphael turned to liquid as the newfound power continued to surge through his limbs, burning his veins. He tore at his own flesh and bones to rid himself of the agony, but it wouldn’t come to an end.

“Raphael!” He heard a voice shout, such a familiar tune. But who? He couldn’t quite place it.

Raphael erupted, his devilish wings tearing through the skin in his back. There were flames all around him, growing hotter, thicker. His chest melted, his ears ached from the thunderous explosions. Whispers, whispers everywhere. He heard so many, and the cries, the screams. Would they never cease?

Something tore at his head, pulling the Crown away from him. The Crown. NO! He cannot lose it again. Raphael raised his hands attempting to fight back, but he was grasping at nothing. It was over as fast as it had begun. There was now silence.

Raphael’s vision cleared. He was on his back, looking up at the stars. Tav stood over him, holding the Crown in her hands. She eyed him with concern, tears flooding down her cheeks. He raised his own hands, his claws trembling. Raphael tried to think but his mind was vacant, every thought achingly bounced back. His skin burned, bones ached. There were deep lacerations all over his body, his own hands were covered in blood. He gasped, looking at Tav’s body but found no abrasions. He let out a disgruntled sigh. If he had harmed her in his rage, in those brief seconds of failure… would he ever forgive himself?

Tav threw the Crown aside and helped Raphael to his feet. His eyes followed the artefact as it landed on top of the sand, taunting him still. How?

As if reading Raphael’s mind, Withers' voice cut through the silence as he appeared before them.

“Thou hast succeeded but are not yet ready. Take care that thou are not too hasty, thine pursuits will lead to plights.” There was a long pause as Withers continued staring at Raphael, looking straight through him. He met Withers’ expressionless gaze, waiting for him to continue. “The pattern has been woven and all circumstances interlaced are as fate decided.”

Raphael never imagined the consequences of his premature investiture. He was always going to reforge the Crown himself, in his own image. How could he possibly trust a mortal to handle such a relic successfully? But in the heat of the moment, and in the fine print of the very deal he crafted, he had opened himself up to carelessness, becoming the very thing he despised.

His eyes darted to Tav, searching the woman for any excuse against his actions but he could only look at her with veneration. He would not blame her for everything. His vanity, eagerness… his obsession for the Crown and that cursed woman nearly brought him to his untimely demise. Let this be a lesson to Raphael to heed his own warnings. The Devil would need to cool his heels in preparation for the battles looming ahead.

Raphael turned to face Withers, but the curious being had vanished. Instead he hummed thoughtfully, looking at Tav.

She stood next to him, her body trembling. Tav's eyes were fixed on Raphael, still full of worry but there was something else present, another emotion he thought he’d never see from a mortal again.

Tav’s expression sent a sudden stabbing pain through his chest as a wave of nostalgia washed over him. There was another mortal who had once looked at him with the same kindness and understanding. He had buried it deep within his subconscious, but it was rising back to the surface, like a blooming flower. He would NOT allow himself anymore turmoil this evening.

“I owe you my thanks.” Raphael whispered, his voice on the verge of cracking.

“Raphael, I don’t understand, you were nea…”

“If you value your life, you will hold your tongue. There will be no talk of this moment again. Ever. Have I made myself clear?”

Tav’s eyes widened at his sudden change of tone, but she nodded nonetheless.

“I must return to my House of Hope. For healing and reflection. There is work yet to be done, as you have borne witness to this evening.” Raphael snapped his fingers, a raging portal materialised behind him. “You may join me, if you so wish.”

Raphael extended his arm, welcoming her acceptance.

“Would you consider our deal completed then?” Tav asked, apprehensively.

“You have upheld your end of the agreement, exceptionally well, might I add, bar this evening's hiccup. Now please, let me show you my appreciation.”

A dash of colour appeared on Tav’s cheeks as she wiped away the remaining tears. She grabbed her backpack, placing the Crown inside. She swiftly reached for Raphael’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Raphael nodded in acknowledgment and led Tav through the portal.

Indeed, their deal was complete, but Raphael wasn’t done with Tav yet. She would continue to prove a valuable ally and more in the months to come.

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ferrstappen · 7 months ago

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mónaco l Carlos Sainz

(a/n): this is a very short piece based on one of my favorite songs of all time which, by coincidence, is called Mónaco by Lagos and Danny Ocean. If you listen to it you can picture yourself having a summer romance with Carlos, true story. I'd love to dive deeper into it, but idk I just needed to get it out fast for some reason. hope you like it, feedback is always welcomed<3

summary: pero si algo que nos quedó es todo lo que pasó en Mónaco (but if there’s something left in us then it’s everything that happened in Monaco)

no sé si te acuerdes, de la vez que nos perdimos en septiembre

she'd never forget the warm september night when Carlos took her to the casino for the first time. He still wasn't very familiar with the principality and she was just a fleeting person for a couple of weeks, months, and he couldn't count on her of all people to know the streets of the heavenly Monaco.

As the flutes of Don Perignon continued to flow, he became more and more animated, trying his best to explain the intricate science behind poker and the true meaning behind each card. But despite his best efforts, she found herself unable to concentrate on his words. Instead, she was deeply lost in his eyes, taking in every detail of his sparkling hazel hue.

As she continued to stare, he finally noticed the piercing gaze, causing a warm flush to rise in his cheeks. A shy smile appeared on his lips, and she couldn't resist the urge to lean in and place a gentle kiss on them and when she pulled away, his smile grew wider making her fall deeper and deeper in this announced tragedy.

Everything was good until Carlos realized he was drunk, couldn't drive and didn't remember his address, eyes growing comically large as he came to terms that his alcohol-consumed brain really couldn't remember the name of his street, meaning someone had to drive him and his companion through the beautifully and carefully lit streets until one of you started to recognize his complex and as unusual and absurd of a situation they were in, she couldn't stop giggling as the streets kept passing by in a blur and watched Carlos still trying his best to remember.

tantas veces que tomé tres escalas para verte, creo que me acostumbré a tenerte como si no fuera a acabar.

her time in Monaco was over and Carlos' career in Toro Rosso was steadily climbing, he couldn't afford to take his mind off the track and she understood, she was willing to fly over just to see him.

but it started to fade away.

she was still willing to deal with three layovers to see Carlos, and his caramel eyes still sparkled when he saw her, but there was something missing, this wasn't like their late nights in strolling around Monaco, drinking cheap wine even if they could afford a way nicer bottle.

they weren't stupid, this wasn't meant to last any longer than a couple weeks in autumn, a simple memory, one of those people you can close your eyes and feel their scent, mind playing tricks that maybe if they closed their eyes long enough they might get a feel of the soft skin of each other, running her thumb through his cheek while he tried to fall asleep.

yo sé que para volver ya es tarde, y nuestro plan nunca fue quedarse, no sé si habrá una segunda parte, pero si hay algo que nos quedó es todo lo que pasó en Mónaco.

she stopped flying over, Carlos stopped asking her to spend the weekends off in his apartment, just the two of them

Both reminded themselves this wasn't meant to last, wasn't supposed to create one single string, but they both failed.

chances were, they would find each other again maybe on another holiday, another masters degree, PhD, Grand Prix; a part two, a proper goodbye to te September walks in heels she couldn't take off in order to not get a fine, pouting so Carlos would carry her on his back, as if they knew each other their entire lives.

it wasn't important now.

all they had left was what happened in Monaco.

-------------------------------------------------

translations <3

no sé si te acuerdes, de la vez que nos perdimos en septiembre: i don't know if you remember about the time we got lost in September.

tantas veces que tomé tres escalas para verte, creo que me acostumbré a tenerte como si no fuera a acabar: so many times i took three layovers just to see you, I think I got used to having you as if it was never gonna end.

yo sé que para volver ya es tarde, y nuestro plan nunca fue quedarse, no sé si habrá una segunda parte, pero si hay algo que nos quedó es todo lo que pasó en Mónaco: i know it's too late to come back and staying wasn't our plan, i don't know if there's gonna be a second time, but if something's that's left in us is everything that happened in Monaco.

#carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz blurb #carlos sainz au #carlos sainz angst #f1 fluff #f1 fics #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you

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kiwriteswords · 19 days ago

Text

This world is only gonna break your heart

Part III in the Wicked Game Universe (Can be read on its own, though!)

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: Here is another part of the Flirty!Female reader storyline I shared last week. This story can be read solo or as a companion piece in this universe!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 13k

Tags/Warnings:Romance, Slow Burn, Fluff, Angst, Banter, violence, blood, injury, medical procedures, torture, kidnapping, strong language, sexual tension, emotional distress, near-death experiences, guns, workplace romance, mentions of past trauma, manipulation, power dynamics, brief mentions of death, explicit descriptions of pain, psychological manipulation, Part of a series but can be read as a standalone.

Sypnosis: Having once worked closely with Aaron Hotchner on the original team, you always knew how to push Hotch’s buttons in the flirtiest way. Now, with a second chance at working together, the chemistry between you and Hotch is impossible to ignore. Though you’ve begun seeing each other in secret, nothing has been officially defined between you. As you work together on a dangerous case that threatens both your lives, the complexities of your relationship grow even more intense.

The team was gathered in the bullpen, coffee cups in hand, chatting about the usual morning routine. JJ, sitting at her desk, leaned toward Morgan and Prentiss, her voice low but playful.

“I’m telling you, something’s going on with Hotch,” JJ said, casting a quick glance toward Hotch’s office. “He’s been... different lately.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Different how? You mean he’s been even more serious than usual? Didn’t think that was possible.”

JJ shook her head. “No, that’s the thing—he’s been a little less serious. I saw him leaving the office early the other day. Early.”

Prentiss smirked, taking a sip of her coffee. “So, the man takes a day off, and suddenly he’s a suspect? Come on, JJ. What are you really getting at?”

JJ leaned in, her voice dropping. “I think he’s seeing someone. He’s been more... distracted lately.”

Morgan leaned back, arms crossed. “Hotch? Seeing someone? What, is he sneaking off to a chess club or something?”

Prentiss chuckled, but her eyes sparkled with curiosity. “If he is seeing someone, I’ve got to meet her. Can you imagine? She’d have to have the patience of a saint to deal with him.”

Rossi, standing nearby with his cup of espresso, raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe she knows how to make him crack. I’ve noticed him on his phone more often, and it’s definitely not work.”

Reid, flipping through a case file, chimed in without looking up. “Actually, studies suggest that people who are highly disciplined in their professional lives tend to form very strong, sometimes hidden, emotional attachments in their personal lives. If Hotch is in a relationship, it could explain a slight shift in his behavioral patterns.”

Morgan shook his head, laughing. “Reid, man, sometimes I think you’ve got Hotch more figured out than Hotch does.”

Just then, Penelope breezed into the bullpen, wearing her signature colorful ensemble. “Did I hear someone say Hotch and behavioral shifts? Tell me we’re talking about juicy secrets!”

Prentiss grinned. “JJ thinks Hotch is seeing someone.”

Penelope’s eyes widened dramatically. “Shut. Up. Is this for real? Do we know who the lucky lady is? Or more importantly, does she know about the constant banter between him and Y/N?”

Morgan laughed, shaking his head. “If Hotch’s girlfriend exists, she’d probably lose it with the way Y/N always pokes at him.”

Rossi chuckled softly, leaning against the desk. “Or maybe she doesn’t mind. Maybe she likes watching him squirm. She might enjoy it.”

Prentiss shrugged, a thoughtful expression on her face. “You know, whoever she is, I kind of feel for her. Y/N gives him hell.”

Penelope waved her hand in exaggerated exasperation. “I’m telling you, if I were Hotch’s secret girlfriend, I’d have a serious chat with Y/N about boundaries. Though, come to think of it, she might just be my hero for getting under his skin like that.”

Just then, the bullpen doors swung open, and in you walked, your bag slung over your shoulder. The team fell silent, eyes shifting to you as you approached your desk.

“Morning, guys,” you said casually, sitting down and pulling out your work. You’d just driven in with Hotch after spending the night—again—but no one had a clue. They all thought you were just being your usual teasing self.

Morgan leaned forward, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Hey, Y/N, you noticed anything... weird about Hotch lately?”

You raised an eyebrow, keeping your tone light. “Weird? Hotch? Nope, he’s his usual grumpy self to me. Why?”

Prentiss smirked, glancing at the others. “We’re just trying to figure out if he’s seeing someone. Thought maybe you’d have some insider info, considering how much time you spend giving him a hard time.”

You smiled, playing along. “If he’s seeing someone, I’m sure she loves hearing how much I mess with him.”

JJ, with a knowing look, chimed in. “Honestly, if one of Will’s coworkers was flirting with him the way you do with Hotch, I’d lose it.”

You fought back a laugh, biting your lip. “Yeah... she probably does.”

Before anyone could say more, Hotch strode into the bullpen, as composed as ever. His eyes briefly flickered to you, a subtle connection passing between you that the others didn’t catch. You met his gaze with a soft, secret smile.

It wasn’t long before the team gathered in the briefing room. The morning conversation and speculation were left behind as you all were quickly thrust into another case, with Hotch walking everyone through the details of a series of murders across state lines. With little time to waste, the team packed up, ready to leave for the jet.

The case was gruesome, as always, but by now, you were used to it. Their professionalism took over, and within the hour, they were boarding the jet, ready for another round of hard work.

Once in the air, Hotch stood at the front of the jet, walking everyone through the unsub’s profile, delivering the details with his usual composed, steady tone. The weight of the case was heavy, but the team listened closely, hanging on every word.

As the jet began its descent, Hotch gave out the next set of instructions. “Y/N, when we land, I need you to coordinate with the local officers. Make sure they’re ready for us.”

You tilted your head, a playful glint in your eyes as you replied, “And if I don’t feel like playing nice with the locals?”

Hotch looked at you, his face giving nothing away, but his tone remained cool and collected. “Just get it done.”

You smirked, leaning back with a mock sigh. “Guess I’ll behave... for now.”

The team exchanged glances, recalling their earlier conversation about Hotch possibly seeing someone. Morgan shook his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. Prentiss raised an eyebrow at JJ, who grinned knowingly.

Rossi leaned over to Morgan, muttering quietly, “You’d think with how much she flirts, someone would’ve put a stop to this by now.”

Morgan chuckled under his breath. “Hotch must have nerves of steel, man. Still letting her get away with murder.”

Hotch, as usual, didn’t let the playful exchange break his focus. He remained silent, his eyes briefly flicking to you with the faintest trace of amusement before returning to the case file.

The jet continued its descent, and the team’s quiet chuckles gradually subsided, the light-hearted banter easing the tension from the weight of the case. You caught Hotch’s gaze one last time, your smirk still lingering, knowing exactly how far you could push his buttons without ever crossing the line.

The team pulled into the parking lot of the local police station, the air outside thick with tension as they prepared to dive into another tough case. As the others unloaded their gear, you found yourself walking side by side with Hotch, a rare moment alone.

You shot him a sidelong glance, the playful smirk that had become second nature around him tugging at your lips. “You know, the team thinks you’ve got a girlfriend.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow but didn’t look at you directly. His tone was calm, as always. “Is that right?”

You chuckled softly, shrugging. “Can’t say I blame them. You’ve been...distracted lately.” The words hung in the air for a beat, heavier than they had sounded in your head. Distracted by you—but neither of you had said it out loud. Not yet.

As you walked, your mind wandered, your thoughts swirling around the unspoken. You hadn’t labeled what was happening between the two of you. There had been nights, quiet moments, but nothing concrete. You didn’t even know if you wanted to put a label on it... but the thought of someone else assuming they knew Hotch’s private life left a flicker of unease in your chest.

Hotch, on the other hand, kept his eyes forward, his thoughts mirroring your own. He hadn’t given voice to what this was—hadn’t dared to. Not because he didn’t want to, but because...what if it complicated things? What if crossing that line made everything harder? Still, every time you pushed his buttons, every time you looked at him like that, it made him wonder why he was hesitating.

He finally glanced at you, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “And what do you think?”

You met his gaze, the tension between you simmering just beneath the surface. “I think they’d be shocked to know the truth.”

Neither of you said more, the weight of the unspoken hovering between you as you approached the station doors. The moment passed as quickly as it had come, and you both returned to the professional roles you knew so well, but the lingering question of “what now?” remained just beneath the surface.

As the team entered the bustling police station, you were greeted by a wave of officers, all eager to assist. It didn’t take long for one of the senior officers to recognize you.

“Hold on,” the senior officer said, a grin spreading across his face. “Didn’t you teach a few lecture? I was at one of them—best training session I’ve had.”

You smiled, nodding. “Glad it was useful.”

Before you could continue, a rookie officer stepped forward, his gaze lingering a little too long. “I think I remember hearing about you... they didn’t mention how impressive you are in person though.”

You chuckled, brushing it off as harmless, barely noticing the rookie’s attempt at flirting. But Hotch did.

Standing just behind you, Hotch’s posture stiffened slightly. After a beat, he stepped forward, his voice cool and authoritative. “Officer,” he said evenly, “let’s keep things professional.”

The rookie blinked, clearly taken aback. “Yes, sir. Sorry about that, Agent Hotchner.”

You raised an eyebrow at Hotch, amused by his unusually protective tone. The rookie quickly excused himself, leaving you and Hotch with a brief moment of quiet.

You were about to make a teasing remark when Hotch, in his usual composed manner, gently placed a hand on your elbow and guided you aside.

“Agent Y/L/N, a word?” His voice was calm, but you could tell something was brewing beneath the surface.

He pulled you just far enough from the team for a private conversation. His touch was firm, not forceful—he wasn’t angry, but there was a tension there, something unspoken.

“I don’t like it when men talk to you like that,” Hotch said quietly, his eyes searching yours.

You tried to hold back a laugh, finding the whole situation somewhat amusing. You leaned against the wall, crossing your arms as you gave him a playful look. “What, jealous, Hotch?”

Hotch’s gaze didn’t falter. “It’s not about jealousy,” he replied, though you both knew there was more to it. “It’s about keeping a professional environment.”

You tilted your head, clearly entertained by his response. “Uh-huh. And what exactly bothers you more? That he was out of line... or that he was talking to me?”

Hotch exhaled softly, glancing away for a moment before looking back at you. “Both,” he admitted. “I don’t like it when anyone crosses boundaries with you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, though you weren’t about to let him off the hook so easily. “Well, for the record, I didn’t even notice. But...” you leaned in just a little, lowering your voice, “it’s kind of hot that you did.”

Hotch paused for a moment, almost processing what you said. A flicker of amusement passed through Hotch’s eyes, though he kept his expression controlled. “Is that so?”

You grinned, taking a step closer. “Definitely. Who knew Aaron Hotchner had a jealous streak?”

His lips pressed into a thin line, but there was no denying the hint of a smile tugging at the corners. “Just focus on the case, Y/N.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Oh, I’ll get the job done, don’t worry. But if you ever want to talk about boundaries, I’m all ears.”

Hotch shot you a brief, unreadable look before turning back toward the rest of the team. “Let’s go,” he said, his tone all business once again, but the moment between you lingered.

As you walked back to join the others, you couldn’t help but smirk, knowing that beneath his stoic exterior, you had gotten under his skin just a little. The tension between you and Hotch had always been there—an unspoken undercurrent that surfaced in moments like this, where a brief look or a playful remark lingered longer than it should.

But now, the case demanded your full attention. The unsub was escalating, and there wasn’t room for any distractions. You shifted gears, falling back into your role as a professional, your focus sharpened.

The rest of the day blurred into a whirlwind of interviews, reports, and strategy sessions. By the time the evening came, your body ached with exhaustion. The local police had set up a command post in their precinct, and you and Hotch, along with the team, spent hours pouring over the unsub's patterns, trying to pinpoint his next move.

But you never saw it coming.

One moment, you were outside, gathering more information with Hotch by your side. The next, everything went dark. The sharp sting of something pricking your neck, the world tilting, and then nothing.

Now, here you were—the cold, dimly lit room smelled of damp concrete, and a faint, flickering light barely illuminated the camera that hung from the ceiling. It was fixed on you and Hotch, silently recording every breath, every glance. You knew it was being streamed to the local police station—your team was likely glued to the screen, watching helplessly as they worked to track down your location.

Your mind raced, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. This was a trap. The unsub had planned it all out perfectly, and now you and Hotch were the bait.

The unsub had left you both in the room for what felt like hours, alone and vulnerable, but it gave you time to think—time to prepare for what was coming.

Hotch sat next to you, his hands bound behind his back, just like yours. His face was impassive, focused, but you could feel the tension in the air, crackling like static between you. The silence was suffocating, and you were desperate to break it, to bring some lightness into the room despite the darkness surrounding you.

“You holding up over there?” you asked, your voice softer than usual but still carrying that teasing edge. You tilted your head, trying to catch his eye.

Hotch’s gaze flicked toward you, his expression still hard. “I’m fine,” he replied, his voice steady, clipped. “Stay sharp.”

You smirked, refusing to let the weight of the situation break you down. “Always,” you quipped. “But when this is over, I think we deserve a serious vacation. You know, one without kidnappings, torture, or unsubs.”

Hotch’s lips twitched—barely. But it was enough to encourage you. “Focus, Y/N,” he said, though you could hear the faintest note of amusement in his voice.

The moment of near-normalcy was shattered when the door to the room creaked open, and the unsub stepped inside, a menacing grin stretching across his face. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with an air of control that made your stomach twist. His eyes gleamed with a sick sort of excitement as he looked from you to Hotch, then back again.

“Well, well,” the unsub said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Looks like you’re both holding up quite nicely. Let’s change that, shall we?”

He moved toward you first, his footsteps deliberate, almost casual, as if he had all the time in the world. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you forced yourself to remain calm, to show no fear. You couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Before you had time to react, the unsub grabbed you by the arm, yanking you roughly out of your chair and dragging you toward the center of the room. You stumbled slightly but caught yourself, standing tall, refusing to show weakness. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Hotch tense, his jaw clenching as he watched the unsub pull you away.

“You know,” the unsub mused, circling you like a predator, “it’s always the tough ones who break the hardest.”

He pulled out a knife, the blade gleaming under the dim light. You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing as he brought it close to your skin. The first cut was shallow—a stinging line across your arm. You hissed but bit back any further reaction. The unsub glanced back at Hotch, his grin widening.

“Let’s see how your boss likes watching this.”

Hotch’s voice was like steel, calm but deadly. “This won’t end well for you.”

The unsub chuckled, clearly unfazed by Hotch’s words. He made another cut, deeper this time, and you couldn’t suppress the sharp intake of breath that followed. Your knees buckled slightly, but you caught yourself, trying to keep your expression neutral.

“I’m fine, Hotch,” you forced out, your voice tight but controlled. “I can handle it.”

But the unsub wasn’t done. He stepped back, and before you could react, his boot slammed into your side with a sickening thud. The force of the kick sent you sprawling to the ground, gasping for air as pain radiated through your ribs. You heard Hotch shift in his seat, his breath quickening slightly.

“You touch her again, and I will kill you,” Hotch growled, his voice dark and dangerous.

The unsub laughed, as though he’d been waiting for this. “Oh, I see how it is. You care about her, don’t you?” He took a good look at you for a moment, almost examining--soaking you in. “I can see why, she’s great to look at.” He turned his back to you and strolled over to where Hotch sat, looming over him like a shadow. “Well, let’s see how you do under pressure, then.”

The next moments were a blur of violence. The unsub laid into Hotch with calculated precision, each punch, each strike designed to inflict maximum pain without killing him. Hotch took it without a sound, his body recoiling with each hit but never breaking.

You pushed yourself up to your knees, your vision swimming from the pain in your ribs, but all you could focus on was Hotch. His face was bloodied, a bruise blooming under his eye, and still, he remained stoic, silent. But you could see it—the cracks in his armor. He was hurting, badly.

“Stop!” you screamed, your voice hoarse and raw. “Please, stop!”

The unsub paused, glancing back at you with a smug expression. “Oh, look. She’s finally begging.” He took a step toward you, but you shook your head, forcing yourself to your feet, wobbling slightly as you stood. “I love it when women beg.”

“Take me,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “He’s not going to break, but I will. Just... just leave him alone.”

Hotch’s head snapped toward you, blood dripping from his split lip. “No,” he rasped, his voice thick with pain. “Don’t. Don’t offer yourself up like that. I can handle it.”

You shook your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes despite your efforts to keep them at bay. “Not like this, Aaron. Not like this.”

The unsub watched the exchange with amusement before turning his attention back to you. “Oh, I like this,” he said, stepping closer, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. “But don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll get to you soon enough.”

He grabbed you again, pulling you toward the center of the room. Hotch struggled to rise, grunting in pain as he tried to pull himself up. “Leave her alone!” he shouted, his voice raw with desperation.

You looked back at him, trying to hold yourself together as the unsub loomed over you. “It’s fine, Hotch,” you said, your voice shaking. “It’s just pain. I can take it.”

But as the unsub raised his hand again, you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on.

The unsub’s hand slammed across your face, a sharp sting that sent your head snapping to the side. You tasted blood on your lip, and for a brief moment, the room tilted. You blinked, trying to focus, to hold yourself together. But the pain was starting to feel like too much—your ribs ached, your arm burned, and your head throbbed with every heartbeat.

Hotch’s voice cut through the haze, low and dangerous. “Stop this. Whatever you’re after, you won’t get it this way.”

The unsub ignored him, grabbing your chin roughly, forcing you to look into the camera that was still streaming every agonizing moment back to the police station. The team had to be watching, helplessly trying to track down where you were.

“Tell them how much pain you’re in,” the unsub hissed in your ear, his fingers biting into your skin. “Tell them how much it hurts.”

You gritted your teeth, refusing to give him what he wanted. “I’m fine,” you spat, voice thick with defiance. “I’ve had worse.”

Hotch’s eyes met yours from across the room. His face was battered, but his gaze was unwavering. He knew you were lying, and so did you.

The unsub’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Oh, I think you’re lying, sweetheart.” He released you suddenly, and you stumbled, barely catching yourself. He turned his back on you, walking over to Hotch with slow, deliberate steps.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched the unsub crouch down in front of Hotch, his voice dropping to a low whisper that sent chills down your spine.

“You’re the leader, right?” the unsub said, his tone mocking. “You keep things under control, make sure everyone follows orders. But what happens when you can’t protect the people closest to you? When you’re helpless?”

Hotch’s gaze stayed locked on the unsub, not giving an inch, but you could see the tension in his body—the way his hands clenched behind him, the way his jaw tightened.

The unsub suddenly grabbed Hotch by the collar and dragged him to his feet. You struggled against your restraints, your body screaming in pain, but you couldn’t just sit there and watch. You knew what was coming.

“Leave him alone!” you shouted, your voice hoarse and desperate.

But the unsub didn’t even look at you. He slammed Hotch against the wall, the sound of the impact reverberating through the small room. Hotch groaned in pain, and your heart clenched. The unsub turned Hotch to face the camera, one hand gripping his neck.

“Let’s see how long your leader lasts,” the unsub sneered.

You watched in horror as the unsub started to beat Hotch again, this time harder, each blow landing with sickening force. Hotch gritted his teeth, trying to remain stoic, but you could see the pain etched on his face, the way his body sagged with each hit.

Your chest tightened, panic bubbling up inside you. “Stop! Please!” you begged, tears spilling down your cheeks now, despite your best efforts to stay strong.

The unsub paused, his fist hovering mid-air, and he turned to look at you. “Ah, now we’re getting somewhere,” he mused, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You care about him, don’t you?”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The unsub stepped away from Hotch, walking back toward you, his eyes gleaming with amusement. He knelt down beside you, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face in a disturbingly gentle gesture.

“Tell me,” he whispered. “How much would you sacrifice to keep him safe? Would you take the rest of the punishment yourself?”

Hotch’s voice, strained but strong, cut through the air. “Don’t. Don’t do it.”

But you couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. “Yes,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll take it. Just... just leave him alone.”

The unsub grinned, standing up and looking back at Hotch. “Well, well. Looks like someone’s finally breaking.”

You closed your eyes, trying to prepare yourself for what was coming. The pain, the torment—anything to keep the unsub away from Hotch. But when the first blow didn’t come, you opened your eyes to find the unsub standing over you, savoring the moment.

“Not yet,” he said, his smile widening. “We’ll get back to you.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and left the room, leaving you and Hotch alone again.

Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, the adrenaline making your hands shake. The room felt smaller now, the walls closing in as you looked over at Hotch. He was still on his knees, breathing heavily, his face a mess of blood and bruises. Your heart ached at the sight of him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I’m so sorry, Aaron.”

Hotch raised his head, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “Don’t apologize,” he said quietly. “You did what you had to.”

You swallowed hard, the guilt gnawing at you. “I couldn’t just sit there and watch... I couldn’t—”

“I know,” Hotch interrupted gently. “I know. But you don’t have to sacrifice yourself for me.”

You shook your head, blinking back more tears. “I couldn’t stand seeing him hurt you like that.”

Hotch’s expression softened even further, but he remained firm. “We’re getting out of this. I need you to stay focused. The team will find us. They will.”

You nodded, but the doubt still lingered in the back of your mind. The unsub wasn’t finished with you, and you both knew it.

As the minutes ticked by, you sat in silence, your body aching, your mind racing. The camera continued to roll, the live feed still broadcasting every second to the team. They had to be watching. They were out there, trying to find you.

But how much longer could you hold on?

The room was silent again, except for the faint hum of the camera above, recording every breath, every moment of vulnerability. You tried to focus on your breathing, to push the pain from your mind, but it clung to you, heavy and unrelenting. Hotch, still battered and bleeding, was watching you carefully, though you could see the strain in his expression.

The weight of what had just happened was suffocating. You couldn’t stop replaying it in your head—Hotch being beaten, you begging the unsub to stop, offering yourself up. It gnawed at you, how easily you'd cracked. But seeing him in pain, seeing him suffer, had done something to you that you couldn’t control.

Hotch watched you through the haze of his own pain, his mind racing. He had seen that look in your eyes—the desperation, the willingness to throw yourself into harm's way just to protect him. It unsettled him in a way he hadn’t expected. He was used to being the one in control, the one making sacrifices. But you... you had stepped forward without hesitation, offering yourself up, willing to take the pain so he wouldn’t have to.

She can’t do this, Hotch thought, his heart pounding in his chest. She shouldn’t be willing to sacrifice herself for me. I’m supposed to protect her, not the other way around. His mind reeled at the thought of you taking on more of the torture, the way you flinched with each blow, the way you offered yourself so freely. The fear gripped him tighter than any physical pain.

She’s stronger than this, Hotch told himself, trying to steady his breathing. But the image of you crumpling under the unsub’s blows, your voice breaking as you told him you could handle it—it haunted him. He wasn’t just scared of what the unsub would do next; he was terrified that you would break yourself for him.

Hotch closed his eyes for a moment, fighting the wave of nausea from his own injuries. He knew he had to stay composed, had to be strong for you, but the thought of watching you suffer again—of you offering yourself up for his sake—made his blood run cold.

“Hotch,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the stillness. “I don’t know how much longer...”

“Don’t,” Hotch interrupted his tone firm despite the weariness in his eyes. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

You swallowed hard, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill again. “But you—”

“We’re getting out of this,” Hotch said, his voice low but resolute. “You’re stronger than this. Stronger than him.”

You wanted to believe him; you really did. But the pain was overwhelming, and the sight of Hotch—bloodied, bruised, and barely holding on—only made it worse. You clenched your fists behind your back, trying to push through the wave of emotion. You had to stay strong. For him.

The door creaked open again, and the unsub sauntered back into the room, his eyes gleaming with that same twisted pleasure. You felt your stomach drop, knowing what was coming next.

“Well, well,” the unsub said, clapping his hands together softly as if congratulating himself on his handiwork. “Looks like you two have had a nice little heart-to-heart.”

You shot him a glare, trying to summon whatever defiance you had left. “If you’re looking for applause, you’re not getting any.”

He smirked, amused by your attempt at resistance. “Oh, trust me, sweetheart. I’m just getting started.”

Without another word, he crossed the room and stood between you and Hotch, his presence looming like a dark cloud. He looked from you to Hotch as though deciding who to start with this time.

Hotch, ever the protector, locked eyes with the unsub. “If you’re trying to break us, you’ll have to do better than this,” he said, his voice steady despite the pain you knew he was in.

The unsub’s grin widened, and before you knew what was happening, he swung at Hotch, his fist connecting with Hotch’s already bloodied face. You gasped, your heart pounding in your chest as Hotch slumped back against the wall, his head hanging forward for a moment.

“Stop!” you screamed, your voice cracking. “Please, just stop!”

But the unsub ignored you. He grabbed Hotch by the collar, lifting him slightly and slamming him back against the wall again. Hotch groaned, his face twisted in pain, but he still didn’t cry out. He refused to give the unsub the satisfaction.

“Leave him alone!” you shouted, your throat raw from the strain. “Take me! I’m the one who—”

The unsub dropped Hotch and turned to you, his eyes gleaming with that sick pleasure again. “I’ll get to you in a minute,” he sneered, “As much as I love hearing those pretty lips of yours beg.”

He stepped toward you, and for the first time, real fear crept into your chest. You had been hurt before, but this time felt different. The way he looked at you—like you were nothing more than prey—it sent a chill down your spine. You wanted to fight back, to stay strong, but your body was weak, your mind exhausted from the pain and the fear.

But as the unsub reached for you, something inside you snapped. You couldn’t let him win. Not like this.

“You think you’re in control?” you spat, glaring at him despite the terror clawing at your insides. “You’re nothing. Just a sad little man who gets off on hurting people because that’s the only way you feel powerful.”

The unsub froze, his hand hovering in the air for a moment. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a twisted smile.

“Oh,” he said softly, his voice dripping with malice, “you’ve got some fire in you, don’t you? I like that.”

He grabbed your arm, yanking you to your feet with a force that made your head spin. The pain from your ribs flared up again, and you gasped, but you refused to cry out. You refused to give him the satisfaction.

Hotch stirred, his voice hoarse but determined. “Don’t touch her,” he growled, his eyes blazing with fury.

The unsub laughed, a low, chilling sound. “What are you going to do, hero? You can’t even stand.”

He dragged you closer to the camera, forcing your face toward the lens. “Tell your friends how much pain you’re in,” he hissed in your ear. “Let them see how helpless you are.”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to speak, but the pain in your body was overwhelming. Your knees buckled, and you sank to the floor, gasping for breath.

The unsub turned to Hotch, his smile widening. “Let’s see how much longer she lasts.”

He reached for you again, and you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the next wave of pain. But then, something shifted in the room—something subtle but palpable. The unsub’s attention flicked toward the door as a faint sound echoed through the hall outside.

It was distant, barely audible, but it was there: the unmistakable click of footsteps.

The unsub’s expression darkened. He glanced back at the camera, then at the door, his confidence wavering for the first time. You could feel it—the team was close. They were coming for you.

For a brief moment, hope flickered in your chest.

The unsub grabbed you by the hair, pulling you roughly to your feet once more. “Looks like time’s running out,” he snarled, his voice filled with anger. He dragged you toward the wall, pressing you against it, his knife flashing in the dim light. “It’s a shame we’re out of time. I was planning to have some real fun with you later. Would’ve been a waste to keep a body like yours all to myself, though.”

Your stomach lurched in disgust, and you could feel Hotch’s eyes burning into the unsub, his rage palpable in the air. The unsub’s words were laced with a crude, vile intent, his objectification of you stoking a fire in Hotch that was barely contained.

Hotch’s jaw clenched so tightly you could hear his teeth grinding together. His breath came faster, shallow, his muscles tensing despite the pain coursing through him. The sight of the unsub touching you, treating you like something to be played with—it ignited a rage in him that he hadn’t felt in years.

“Don’t you touch her,” Hotch growled, his voice low, lethal, but the unsub just laughed.

“Or what?” the unsub taunted, his knife pressing closer to your skin. “You’re not in control here. But don’t worry... maybe I’ll let you watch when it gets really interesting. Unless this is something you’ve already seen?” The unsub lifted the hem of your top with the tip of the blade.

Hotch’s vision blurred with fury. The pain in his body was forgotten, overtaken by the single, blinding need to stop this man—this monster—from doing any more harm to you. Every fiber of his being screamed to break free, to put himself between you and the unsub, but he was bound, helpless to intervene.

The unsub glanced back at Hotch, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure, reveling in the power he held over you both.

But then, the sound of footsteps outside grew louder—closer. The unsub stiffened, his smirk faltering for the first time. He looked back toward the door, his confidence slipping as the realization hit.

The team was coming. They were almost here.

Hotch struggled, trying to rise to his feet, but his body betrayed him, slumping back against the floor in agony. His voice, broken and strained, called out to you. “Y/N...”

You turned your head slightly, meeting Hotch’s gaze. His eyes were filled with pain—both physical and emotional—but beneath it all, you could see the same thing that you felt: hope.

“They’re coming,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “They’re coming for us.”

The unsub pressed the blade to your throat, his breath hot against your ear. “Let’s see if they get here in time.”

The unsub’s knife pressed harder against your throat, the cold steel biting into your skin. You could hear his heavy breathing, and feel his rage as the sound of footsteps outside the door grew louder. Your heart raced, hope and terror battling for control in your chest.

“They’re coming,” you whispered again, your voice hoarse, but the unsub didn’t waver.

“They won’t make it in time,” he hissed, his grip tightening. And then, with a sickening twist, he drove the knife into your side.

A sharp, searing pain shot through your body, and you gasped, eyes wide, your knees buckling as your strength left you. The world blurred around the edges, the sound of the door crashing open barely registering over the ringing in your ears.

“FBI! Drop the weapon!” Morgan’s voice boomed through the room, and you heard more shouting—Prentiss, Rossi—all of them rushing in at once.

The unsub was yanked away from you, the knife slipping from his grip as the team tackled him to the ground. There was chaos, shouting, and the sound of handcuffs clinking, but it all faded into the background as you crumpled to the floor, clutching your side, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Medic! We need a medic!” JJ’s voice rang out, panic clear as she ran to your side.

Hotch, battered and beaten, was still tied up, his eyes wide with horror as he watched you fall. His body screamed in pain, but he fought against the restraints with renewed desperation.

“Get these off!” he shouted, his voice raw, barely recognizable. Rossi hurried over, fumbling with the ropes that bound Hotch’s wrists, finally freeing him.

The moment Hotch’s hands were free, he pushed himself up—his body protesting every movement, but he didn’t care. Stumbling forward, he rushed to your side, collapsing next to you, his hands hovering just above your body as if afraid to touch you.

“Y/N,” Hotch rasped, his voice thick with fear, his fingers trembling as they hovered over the wound in your side. Blood soaked through your shirt, and you tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, though the pain was excruciating, your breath coming in shallow gasps. “I... I’ll be fine.”

Hotch shook his head, his face a mask of anguish. “No, no, you stay with me. Do you hear me? Stay with me.”

His voice was fierce, but beneath it, there was desperation. Hotch never panicked, never faltered, but the thought of losing you like this, after everything, was more than he could bear. He could see it in your eyes—you were slipping, and it was breaking him apart.

You swallowed, tasting copper, the metallic tang of blood in your mouth. You could feel yourself weakening, the strength draining from your limbs, but you couldn’t let him see. He’s already been through too much. If I let go now, he’ll blame himself.

The thought tightened your chest more than the injury ever could. You blinked, trying to focus on Hotch’s face, trying to reassure him, even though you could feel the darkness creeping in at the edges of your vision.

The rest of the team was moving in a blur around you—Prentiss restraining the unsub, Morgan barking orders for backup, but all you could focus on was Hotch. His eyes, usually so composed and controlled, were wide with fear and panic etched into every line of his face.

You reached up, your hand trembling as you placed it on his arm. “Hotch... I’m okay,” you tried again, your voice fading, but you saw the tears gathering in his eyes, his composure crumbling.

“Don’t you dare,” Hotch whispered fiercely, his voice barely holding together. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

The medics rushed in then, pushing Hotch aside as they worked to assess the damage. He refused to leave your side, kneeling next to you, his hand gripping yours tightly as if his sheer willpower could keep you tethered to him.

You tried to speak, but the world was growing darker, slipping away despite your best efforts to hold on. The last thing you felt was the pressure of Hotch’s hand in yours, the sound of his voice fading as you drifted into unconsciousness.

The doors to the ambulance swung open, and Hotch immediately followed the medics as they loaded you in. His eyes never left your still form, pale and lifeless on the stretcher. He climbed in without a second thought, his heart pounding in his chest, the fear gnawing at him like never before. The doors slammed shut behind him as the sirens blared to life, the ambulance speeding away from the scene.

Rossi and Emily stood back, watching as the vehicle disappeared down the street, lights flashing in the distance. The adrenaline was still coursing through them, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in.

Rossi glanced at Emily, a knowing look in his eyes. “Well,” he muttered, crossing his arms, “I think we know who Hotch’s girlfriend is.”

Emily blinked, her eyes still fixed on the ambulance. “How did I not see that?” she asked, more to herself than to Rossi. She shook her head, disbelief washing over her. “I mean, I knew they were close, but I had no idea…”

Rossi chuckled softly, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think either of them have any idea how deep they’re in, to be honest.”

Emily nodded, still processing everything. “They’ve been so... professional, even when they flirt. I just thought it was part of the banter, part of their dynamic.”

Rossi’s smile faded, and he glanced back down the road where the ambulance had disappeared. “Sometimes it takes a situation like this to realize what’s really going on. I’m not sure Hotch has come to terms with it, though. And her?” He sighed. “She’s strong, but she’ll need him more than she realizes.”

Emily looked back at Rossi, a concerned frown on her face. “You think they’ll be okay?”

Rossi nodded slowly, his eyes still focused on the distant sirens. “If they can survive this, I think they’ll be just fine. But it’s going to take them both a while to get there.”

They stood in silence for a moment, both knowing that nothing would be the same for Hotch—or you—after this. The weight of the moment hung heavily in the air, and as the sirens grew fainter, they both turned back to finish the job they’d started, a new understanding between them.

The fluorescent lights in the hospital hallway buzzed quietly as the doors to the emergency room swung open. The paramedics rushed you in on the stretcher, doctors and nurses immediately converging on you, assessing the severity of your injuries. Hotch was right behind them, his breath shallow and his body screaming in pain, but he didn’t care. His focus was entirely on you.

The team arrived moments later, filing into the waiting area with wide eyes and worried expressions. Prentiss and JJ exchanged tense glances; Reid and Penelope seemed at a loss for words, while Rossi and Morgan hung back, trying to remain calm, though the gravity of the situation was weighing on all of them.

Hotch, standing just outside the trauma room, watched as they wheeled you through the doors, taking you straight to surgery. His fists clenched, jaw tight as he turned to one of the doctors in a white coat who approached him.

“Sir, we need to check you out,” the doctor said, glancing at the cuts and bruises covering Hotch’s face. “You’ve clearly been injured. We need to—”

“I’m fine,” Hotch snapped, his voice sharp and irritable. He didn’t have time for this. “I need to know what’s happening with her.”

The doctor blinked, surprised by the intensity in Hotch’s voice. “She’s being taken into surgery, but we need to—”

“Is Dr. Stevens performing the surgery?” Hotch cut in, his tone brusque. “She’s gets nauseous from certain anesthetics--Has that been noted? Do they know her medical history? She had a shoulder injury years ago—it could complicate the procedure if they don’t know—”

The doctor raised his hands, trying to calm Hotch down. “We have her records, but we need you to sit down so we can—”

“She’s had issues with her blood pressure before,” Hotch continued, not listening. “Do they know that? Do they know she’s—”

“Agent Hotchner,” the doctor said firmly, cutting him off. “We will take care of her. But we need to take care of you first. You’re bleeding, and you could have internal injuries.”

Hotch’s face hardened, his patience wearing thin. “I don’t care about me. Just tell me what’s happening with her.”

The doctor sighed, clearly exasperated. “Sir, I understand you’re concerned, but you’re not helping by refusing treatment.”

Before Hotch could retort, Derek Morgan stepped up, placing a firm hand on Hotch’s shoulder. “Hey, man,” he said, his voice calm but insistent. “You need to take a step back.”

Hotch shook his head, his eyes still locked on the trauma room doors. “I can’t just stand here—”

“You’re not any good to her like this,” Derek said, stepping in front of him, forcing Hotch to meet his gaze. “You’re bleeding from your face, probably have a couple broken ribs. You need to let the doctors do their job.” Hotch opened his mouth to argue again, but Derek tightened his grip on his shoulder. “Look, I get it. You want to make sure she’s okay. But you’re no good to her—or anyone—if you don’t let them help you. You need to sit down.”

Hotch’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his hands still clenched into fists, but the fire in his eyes dimmed slightly as Derek’s words sank in. He knew Derek was right—knew that his stubbornness wasn’t going to help you. But the thought of sitting in the waiting room, powerless, while you were in surgery was unbearable.

Reluctantly, Hotch nodded, the fight draining from his body. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice low. “But I need to know as soon as she’s out of surgery.”

Derek gave him a firm nod. “You will. But right now, you need to let them patch you up. She’s in good hands.”

Hotch cast one last glance at the trauma room doors before turning toward the doctors, the weight of everything pressing down on him.

Hotch sat on the edge of the hospital bed, his body tense as the nurse carefully cleaned the cuts on his face and arms. The antiseptic stung, but he barely felt it. His mind was elsewhere—back in that dark room, watching as the unsub’s knife sank into your side.

The pain in his own body was nothing compared to the images flashing in his mind. He knew that pain—the searing, sharp agony of a knife tearing through flesh. He had felt it before, when Foyet had plunged the blade into him, over and over. The memory was vivid, the way the air had left his lungs, the way his body had screamed in agony. He didn’t wish that pain on anyone, least of all you.

As the nurse worked, Hotch’s mind drifted to Haley. The sight of her lifeless body, the blood... the feeling of being too late, of having failed her. It haunted him, even now. The parallels to this moment were too close for comfort, and he couldn’t shake the fear that he was about to lose someone else he cared about. The thought of walking into another hospital room to find a body—your body—was unbearable.

His hands clenched into fists, the sense of helplessness gnawing at him. I should have protected her. I should have done more. The weight of it pressed down on him, suffocating.

Hotch had never been one to care much about labels. It wasn’t about being your “boyfriend”—he felt far too old for that, and it had never seemed important before. But as he sat there in the hospital room, the lack of definition, the absence of a clear place in your life gnawed at him. It wasn’t about a title; it was about the undeniable connection he felt, a place he knew he held but had never acknowledged, not even to himself.

From the officers at the local PD to his own team subtly questioning his personal life, there was nothing tangible that tied the two of you together in a world where nothing felt certain anymore. And that absence—of control, of clarity—bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

The nurse wrapped a bandage around his ribs, and Hotch exhaled sharply, the pain in his side flaring up. His ribs had probably cracked under the unsub’s blows, but it felt insignificant compared to the storm raging inside him. He had been through this before—too many times. He knew what loss felt like, and the fear that it could happen again gripped him harder than any physical injury.

Just as the thoughts threatened to spiral out of control, the door to the examination room opened, and the doctor walked in, pulling Hotch from the whirlwind of his mind.

“Agent Hotchner,” the doctor began, glancing at the chart in his hands. “I wanted to give you an update on her condition.”

Hotch’s heart pounded in his chest, his body going still as he waited for the words.

“The surgery went well,” the doctor continued. “It was very quick, and we were able to stop the bleeding without any complications. She has two broken ribs from the impact, but we’ve stitched the stab wound, and she’s stable.”

Hotch exhaled, the tension in his chest easing just slightly. But the doctor wasn’t finished.

“She also has stitches on her face from the cuts and bruising across her body, but physically, she’s going to be okay.”

Hotch nodded, the weight of the news sinking in. Physically, you would heal. But the mental scars—he knew all too well—might linger much longer.

“Can I see her?” Hotch asked, his voice rough, barely holding back the urgency.

The doctor nodded. “She’s being moved to recovery now. You can see her soon. Right now, it is only immediate family.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, the words cutting through him like a blade. Immediate family. The phrase echoed in his mind, and for a moment, he froze. But then, without hesitation, he straightened, meeting the doctor’s gaze with unwavering resolve.

“We’re her family,” Hotch said, his voice steady but firm. “All of us—me, the team. And I’m her...” He paused for just a beat, his eyes hardening with determination as he found the words. “I’m her significant other.”

The doctor studied him for a moment, as if weighing the weight of his words, then nodded in understanding. “Alright. I’ll let the staff know. You can see her when she’s settled.”

Hotch gave a slight nod in return, the tension in his chest easing just a little. It wasn’t about the label—it never had been—but in that moment, it gave him a sense of control, a way to protect you, to stay by your side.

Hotch returned to the waiting room, his steps slow but deliberate, the weight of the past few hours pressing heavily on his shoulders. The team looked up as he approached, their eyes filled with anticipation and concern.

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, trying to find the right words. “She’s out of surgery,” Hotch began, his voice low but steady. “It went well. They were able to stop the bleeding, and she’s stable. She has two broken ribs and stitches, but physically... she’s going to be okay.”

A collective sigh of relief washed over the room, and the tension that had gripped the team loosened ever so slightly. Prentiss exchanged a relieved glance with JJ, and Morgan leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply.

Before Hotch could say anything more, a nurse stepped into the room, interrupting the moment. “Excuse me,” she said, glancing at the group. “Only one person can visit at a time for now. If her boyfriend would like to join her, we can take you back.”

There was a beat of silence as the words hung in the air.

The team collectively froze, exchanging looks of surprise and confusion. Prentiss raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking toward Hotch, while Morgan’s eyes widened just a fraction, caught off guard. Penelope’s jaw dropped, eyes bugging out at Hotch. JJ and Reid blinked, clearly processing the revelation, and Rossi, ever the observer, simply gave a knowing smile.

Hotch, for his part, didn’t flinch. He nodded to the nurse, his expression calm and composed, even as the team’s unspoken questions swirled around him. “Thank you,” he replied, his voice steady. “I’ll go in.”

The nurse gestured for him to follow, and as he turned to leave, he could feel the eyes of his team on him, the weight of their surprise lingering in the room behind him.

As Hotch followed the nurse down the hall, the team watched him disappear around the corner. The moment he was out of earshot, they exchanged looks, the silence quickly breaking into hushed whispers.

Penelope, sitting on the edge of her seat, was the first to speak. “Did anyone else hear that? Boyfriend? Boyfriend?!” Her eyes were wide, and she looked from one teammate to the next, waiting for someone to confirm she wasn’t imagining things.

Morgan raised his eyebrows, glancing at the others. “Oh, I heard it too.”

Prentiss leaned back in her chair, still processing. “I mean, I knew there was something between them, but... boyfriend?”

JJ smiled softly, though she still looked surprised. “I knew they were close, but wow.”

Rossi sat quietly, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, it was bound to come out sooner or later.”

Reid, who had been silent until now, spoke up, his brow furrowed in thought. “Maybe Hotch just said that so he could get in to see her. You know, bypass the whole ‘immediate family’ rule.”

Morgan shook his head, smirking. “Reid, you really think Hotch would lie about something like that just to get in the room? No chance. There’s more going on there.”

Penelope nodded vigorously. “Morgan’s right. That was not just an excuse.”

Prentiss crossed her arms, still mulling over the revelation. “They’ve been like this for a while. It’s always been there.”

Rossi, always the observer, leaned back and added, “I don’t think either of them realizes how deep they’re in. But they’re definitely in it.”

The group fell into a brief silence, each of them now piecing together the subtle interactions they’d seen between you and Hotch over the months. The signs had always been there, but now it all seemed to make sense.

You blinked groggily as the haze of anesthesia began to wear off, the bright lights of the hospital room slowly coming into focus. Everything felt heavy, your body aching, but the familiar presence beside you—Hotch standing near your bed—brought a wave of relief.

“Hotch?” you murmured, your voice still thick with sleep.

He stood close, his eyes full of concern but also unmistakable relief. “I’m here,” he said softly, his voice steady and reassuring.

Despite the pain radiating through your body, a small smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth. Even in your state, you couldn’t help yourself. “I guess I’m still alive... which means you didn’t mess up too badly.”

Hotch blinked, clearly caught off guard by your comment. A faint smile flickered on his lips as he raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, who just got out of surgery here?”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, immediately wincing as the pain in your ribs flared up. “Yeah, yeah... I know,” you said, your voice still playful. “But someone’s gotta keep you humble.”

Hotch’s expression softened, the tension in his posture easing slightly. “You should be resting,” he said, though there was a faint trace of humor in his voice. “Not trying to be a smartass.”

You smiled, though it was more of a pained grin. “Can’t help it. It’s part of my charm.”

For a moment, the two of you shared a look, your usual teasing and banter making the heavy weight of everything feel just a little bit lighter. Hotch, despite everything, couldn’t help but feel relieved—you were still you.

“Yeah,” Hotch replied, allowing himself a small smile. “I’m beginning to see that.”

You let out a small chuckle, though the pain in your ribs quickly reminded you not to push it. You winced, shifting slightly on the bed. Hotch immediately stepped closer, his concern flickering back into his expression.

“Easy,” he said softly, his hand hovering near yours but hesitating, as if unsure whether to offer comfort or give you space. “You’re still healing.”

You smirked, wincing again as you tried to adjust. “Guess I’m going to have to take it easy for a while, huh? Don’t worry... I’ll let you wait on me hand and foot.”

Hotch shook his head, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think you’re going to need much help with that,” he replied dryly, his voice laced with amusement. “You seem to be managing just fine.”

You grinned, even through the discomfort, enjoying the back-and-forth. “Hey, you owe me. I took a knife for you.”

Hotch’s expression faltered for just a second, the weight of your words pulling him back to the reality of what had happened. His gaze flicked to your bandaged side, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“You shouldn’t have had to,” he said quietly, the lightness in his tone replaced with something more serious.

You sighed, the teasing fading for a moment as you met his gaze. “I would do it again,” you said softly, your voice more sincere. “For you? Every time.”

Hotch didn’t respond right away, his eyes searching yours. The intensity of your words hung between you, and for the first time since the surgery, you could see the depth of emotion in his eyes—the worry, the guilt, the relief. It was all there, unspoken but palpable.

He finally nodded, swallowing thickly. “And I’ll make sure you never have to again.”

You smiled at him, the moment heavy but comforting in its own way. “Good,” you said, breaking the tension with a hint of playfulness. “Because next time, you’re buying dinner first.”

Hotch chuckled, the sound soft and low, but it was enough to bring a warmth to the room that hadn’t been there before. “Deal,” he said, his voice lighter once again. “Now, get some rest. We’ll talk about your ‘waiting hand and foot’ plan later.”

You had been in the hospital for a couple of days now, resting and recovering. The team had stopped by to check in on you, offering support and making sure you were comfortable, but no one brought up the “boyfriend” comment. It seemed like they were all content to brush past it, letting you heal in peace without probing into whatever was happening between you and Hotch.

Now, it was just you, Penelope, and Hotch in the room. Penelope was sitting next to your bed, keeping the conversation light, as always, while Hotch stood nearby, his usual quiet presence comforting but still charged with that underlying tension you hadn’t fully addressed.

The nurse entered with a clipboard and a warm smile. “Good news,” she said, glancing between the three of you. “You’re being discharged today.”

You smiled back weakly, the exhaustion from your recovery still weighing on you. “Finally,” you murmured.

The nurse glanced at her paperwork. “We just need to arrange for your ride home. Will your boyfriend be taking you?” she asked, her tone casual.

Without thinking, you immediately blurted out, “I don’t have a—” But you paused, suddenly realizing who she might have meant. Your eyes flicked toward Hotch, the gears turning in your head as the weight of the comment settled. Did she mean Hotch?

Before you could find the words to clarify, Penelope looked at you, surprised. “What do you mean? I thought Hotch was your boyfriend?”

The air felt heavy all of a sudden, the words hanging between you. You opened your mouth to respond, the confusion and unease already bubbling up inside you, but Hotch cut in smoothly.

“Yes,” he said, his voice steady and calm. “I’ll be taking her home.”

You blinked, the moment spinning out of your control before you even had time to process it. Penelope beamed at his confirmation, seemingly oblivious to the internal storm that was starting to brew in your chest. She began helping you gather your things, chatting away as if everything was perfectly normal.

But it wasn’t. Not for you.

As the nurse continued explaining your discharge instructions, Hotch was listening intently, nodding as she described how you’d need help with bandage changes, rest, and general care over the next few days. But you weren’t paying attention anymore. Your thoughts were spinning, crashing into each other in a swirl of emotions you couldn’t untangle.

Panic. This was unexpected. Did Hotch mean what he said, or was he just saying it to smooth over the situation? There had been no conversation, no agreement between the two of you. The suddenness of it, this label, felt like it had been thrust upon you without your consent. The weight of the moment pressed down, tightening your chest.

Anger. He should have spoken to you first. If he had made this declaration in front of the team—or worse, if he genuinely believed this was something you had agreed to—it wasn’t fair. It felt like a line had been crossed without warning, a decision made without your input. You hadn’t even had the chance to figure things out for yourself, let alone with him.

Fear. This changes everything. A label like “boyfriend” brings expectations, complications, and shifts in dynamics you weren’t sure you were prepared for. You hadn’t even begun to navigate your feelings about Jack, about what it meant to be a part of Hotch’s life outside of the team. What if this label, this step, was too much too soon?

Confusion. What are we, really? There were too many unanswered questions, and too many parts of this relationship that were undefined. It wasn’t just about you and Hotch anymore; his son, his responsibilities, and his life outside the job added layers you hadn’t fully explored. Could you really handle all of that?

Frustration. Hotch had always been measured and thoughtful in his actions, but this felt rushed, impulsive. You couldn’t help but feel a surge of frustration at his decision to jump into something so big without a conversation. It felt blindsiding like the ground had shifted beneath your feet without warning. And the scariest part? You couldn’t shake the thought: What if this ruins everything?

You were yanked from your spiraling thoughts when the nurse handed Hotch a few papers. “Here’s the aftercare sheet,” she said. “It explains how to change her bandages and monitor her pain levels. She’ll need rest, of course, but with your help, she should recover well.”

Hotch nodded, his focus completely on the nurse’s instructions, but you were still caught in the whirlwind of emotions, your mind racing.

The discharge process had gone by in a blur. The nurse’s instructions, Penelope’s cheerful goodbyes—it all felt distant, like you were moving through the motions but not really present. Soon enough, you found yourself outside, the cool air brushing against your skin as Hotch opened the car door for you. You settled into the passenger seat, your body still sore from the ordeal, but it was the silence that weighed on you more than the pain.

The car ride back was quiet. Too quiet. Hotch drove steadily, his eyes occasionally flicking toward you, but neither of you spoke. Normally, you’d have something witty or sarcastic to say to fill the space, but today... you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything.

You stared out the window, watching the city blur by, the tension between you and Hotch palpable but unspoken. The questions, the confusion, the frustration—it was all there, just beneath the surface, waiting for one of you to address it.

After a while, Hotch finally broke the silence. “You’re quiet,” he said, his voice calm but cautious. “That’s never a good sign.”

You didn’t respond immediately, still trying to make sense of everything that had happened. Hotch, sensing your hesitation, continued, his tone softer now.

“I know we need to talk... about the label.” He paused for a moment, the weight of the word hanging in the air. “I didn’t... I didn’t mean to rush into anything. But I know we need to figure this out.”

His hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. Even he seemed apprehensive, uncertain about what came next.

“I can see something’s on your mind,” Hotch added, glancing over at you again. “You never stay quiet for long. You always have something to say.”

You exhaled, your mind still racing with everything you’d been trying to process. He was right—you did always have something to say. But this? This was different. You weren’t sure where to even begin.

The tension in the car hung thick between you, and after Hotch’s gentle prodding, you felt the pressure to finally respond. You were still sorting through the whirlwind of emotions, but instead of diving into them head-on, you did what you always did—deflected with a sharp edge.

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, eyes still fixed on the window, “guess I’m not in the mood for small talk right now. Sorry to disappoint.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, though his expression remained calm. “I didn’t expect small talk.”

You crossed your arms, your voice taking on a sarcastic bite. “Oh, right. You want to talk about... the label. Great.” You scoffed, finally turning your head to glance at him. “Well, since you’ve already declared yourself my boyfriend, I guess the conversation’s already been had, right?”

Hotch’s jaw tightened slightly, but he kept his tone measured. “I didn’t mean to make that decision for you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you shot back, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. The brattiness in your voice masked the confusion and frustration bubbling beneath the surface, but it wasn’t hard to tell there was more you weren’t saying. “What, you couldn’t wait for me to be conscious for that part of the conversation?”

Hotch exhaled, his gaze steady on the road ahead. “I get why you’re upset,�� he said, his voice calm but firm. “But this isn’t something I take lightly.”

You rolled your eyes, still not ready to back down. “Right. Well, maybe next time you can include me in the ‘significant other’ discussion before you start telling people I’m your girlfriend.”

Hotch didn’t say anything at first, but the slight shift in his expression told you all you needed to know. He was hurt. The sharp edge of your words had cut deeper than you’d intended. His jaw tightened, and for the first time in the conversation, he seemed genuinely taken aback.

He glanced at you briefly before speaking again, his voice quieter, more measured. “I didn’t realize... that’s how you felt about it. The label.”

You could hear the tension in his tone—the disappointment, the hurt—but it was masked under his usual calm demeanor. He was trying to hold it together, even now.

“I just...” Hotch paused, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as he collected his thoughts. “I need to know where this is going. I can’t...” He hesitated, then continued, his voice tinged with a vulnerability you weren’t used to hearing from him. “I can’t be with someone if it’s not permanent.”

You blinked, his words catching you off guard. Permanent. The weight of it hit you like a ton of bricks.

“This whole situation—being in that hospital, hearing them say I wasn’t ‘family’—it clarified a lot for me. I can’t do something halfway. I have Jack to think about. You’re with me more often than not these days when I’m not working or with him, and I need to know how to balance that.”

The hospital had been a reminder of the importance of clarity. He couldn’t afford uncertainty, not with Jack in the picture. Relationships, especially one like this, needed structure—boundaries. His role as a father demanded it, and so did his position at the BAU. Blurring those lines without understanding what they were to each other was a risk, one he wasn’t willing to take without her being fully on board.

You stayed silent, but the biting sarcasm from before was still at the tip of your tongue. You wanted to lash out, to brush it off as another heavy conversation you weren’t ready for. But there was something in the way he looked at you—something real. Something that made you pause, if only for a moment.

Hotch sighed, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “If this isn’t something you want... if the label is a deal breaker for you, I need to know.”

You clenched your jaw, feeling a fresh wave of frustration rising up inside you. Deal breaker? You hadn’t even had time to process everything, let alone decide if you wanted something “permanent.” You felt cornered, like the decision had been made for you, and now you were just being asked to confirm it.

“So now you’re asking me if this is a deal breaker?” you shot back, your tone sharp. “You don’t think I’m overwhelmed? You don’t think I need time to figure this out?” You exhaled harshly, shaking your head. “I went into that case thinking we were... I don’t know, figuring things out along the way. Then I wake up to find out I’m halfway married or something?”

Hotch’s face remained calm, but the hurt was still there, just beneath the surface. You could tell he was trying to stay composed, but the weight of your words was sinking in.

“I never meant for you to feel that way,” Hotch said quietly. “I just—”

“Yeah, well, that’s how it feels,” you interrupted, your voice laced with a mix of frustration and sarcasm. “And I don’t even know how to handle all of this right now. My career, the team... it’s all a lot to process. And now you’re asking me about ‘permanent’? You didn’t even give me a chance to figure out if I wanted the label in the first place.”

The car was silent for a few moments, the air thick with unspoken tension. You were both hurt, both grappling with the weight of everything that had been left unsaid.

By the time you reached your apartment, the frustration had settled into a dull ache. Hotch parked the car, and despite your stubborn urge to insist you could handle yourself, you knew better. As much as you wanted to protest, the soreness in your body was a constant reminder that you needed help. Quietly, you let Hotch guide you inside, though you couldn’t help but pout a little, feeling more like a sulking child than an FBI agent.

Hotch, ever patient, didn’t comment on your mood as he helped you settle onto the couch, adjusting the pillows behind you to make sure you were comfortable. You shot him a look, but said nothing, biting back the urge to make a snarky remark. You knew you were acting childish, but the weight of everything was still sitting heavy on your chest.

Once you were settled, Hotch sat down next to you, the quiet stretching between you like a fragile thread.

“I’m ready to talk now,” you said finally, your voice still carrying a hint of attitude, but the sharp edge had softened. You weren’t quite ready to drop the sarcasm completely, but you knew this conversation was necessary.

Hotch simply nodded, his gaze steady on you, silently giving you the space to start.

Taking a breath, you glanced at him. “If I’m going to be... permanent in your life, with you and Jack, there are things we need to get straight.” Your tone was still tinged with a bit of defiance, but there was no denying the seriousness in your voice.

Hotch listened intently, his expression calm, but you knew him well enough to see that he was taking every word to heart.

“I want to get to know Jack more,” you continued. “I need to feel like I’m part of his life, not just someone who shows up occasionally.” You paused for a moment, then added, “And there need to be clear boundaries at work. I won’t be just ‘Agent Hotchner’s girlfriend.’ I worked too hard to get where I am to be reduced to that.”

Hotch gave a slight nod, his silence encouraging you to keep going.

“I still need my space,” you said, a bit of sarcasm creeping into your tone again. “My life. I’m not just going to revolve around you and your schedule.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Hotch’s mouth, but he stayed quiet, letting you lay it all out.

“I’m serious,” you added, your eyes narrowing. “I’ve worked too hard for my career. I won’t just be your... partner. I need to be seen as my own person.”

Hotch leaned back slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. He already knew all of this. Deep down, you could tell he respected you too much to think otherwise, but saying it aloud gave you some sense of control over a situation that had spiraled.

You sighed, a hint of vulnerability creeping into your voice. “I was wrong, though. We’ve been in a relationship this whole time, haven’t we?”

Hotch’s expression softened. “Maybe a little old-fashioned of me to not ask you to ‘go steady’ first,” he teased, the rare humor catching you off guard.

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, you kind of missed the mark there, old man.”

Hotch chuckled, then his tone shifted to something more serious. “I took all of this into account long before now,” he said quietly, his voice full of certainty. “The moment we crossed that line... when the banter stopped being just banter, I knew what it meant. I knew what I was risking.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on your lips. “Oh, so you were playing with fire and didn’t even flinch?”

Hotch leaned in just slightly, his eyes locking with yours. “I knew it was worth the risk.”

You held his gaze, the tension between you shifting from uncertain to something far more solid. You could feel the weight of his words, the promise in them, but you weren’t about to let him have the last word.

“Well,” you said, your tone bold and flirty, “just don’t expect me to go easy on you. I’m not here to stroke your ego, Hotchner.”

Hotch’s smile deepened, a rare glimpse of amusement in his eyes. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x you #hotch x reader #hotch #hotchner #aaronhotchner #wicked game #kiwriteswords #hotch x y/n #cm #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfiction

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srvbryn · 9 months ago

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Luke Castellan. Flowers? What flowers

Luke Castellan X f!reader

summary: candlelit dinner with Luke Castellan

Valentine's prompt is from Valentine's Day Prompt

A/n: I apologize for posting shitty fanfic 😔🙏🏻

Luke revealed a stunning bouquet of vibrant flowers in the delicate shine of a lit candle, “Behold! Unparalleled beautiful flowers, suitable for my lovely lady.”

(Name) raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into an amused grin. "Luke, flowers and a candlelit dinner? have i swallowed a romance novel? did you?”

Luke winked, striking a pose. "Why not both? I'm a man of many talents, you know."

He couldn't help but say, "Consider it a token of my undying gratitude for your unmatched skill to endure my behaviour," as she happily accepted the bouquet.

She playfully rolled her eyes. "Flowers, Luke? I thought we were more of a prank and sarcasm kind of friendship."

Luke laughed, "Well, I figured a bit of floral finesse wouldn't hurt. Besides, even mischief-makers like me need a touch of romance."

Their conversation flowed naturally all throughout the candlelit dinner, telling an amusing story that only two closest companions was able.

Luke leaned back and smirked in satisfaction after telling an extremely long story concerning an incident involving spaghetti. "Who needs a romance novel when we've got this absurdly entertaining day?"

(Name) chuckled, toying with the flowers. "True, our story might not be a bestseller, but it's definitely a wild ride."

The evening wore on with laughter, shared memories, and more than a few clumsy attempts at being overly romantic.

Luke took a deep breath, "So, uh, Angel, about these flowers... they're not just for show."

(Name) raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on her lips. "Oh? Is this a new chapter in the Luke Castellan playbook, or did someone switch our scripts?"

He chuckled nervously, "Well, let's just say these flowers are... my way of saying something."

Her curiosity piqued, (Name) leaned in. "Spill it, Luke. I'm not great at deciphering floral messages."

Moving closer, he gave her another bouquet. "Consider these flowers as an introduction for what I'm going to say."

As she accepted the bouquet, he added, "I might be a prankster and a charmer, but there's something I've been wanting to tell you for a while."

(Name) looked at him, intrigue mixed with a hint of surprise. "Okay, Luke, hit me with it."

Taking a deep breath, Luke locked eyes with her. "I think... no, scratch that, I know that what we have is more than just friendship. (Name), I... I really like you. More than just friends."

Her eyes widened, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Luke, are you telling me you're about to confess, right here, surrounded by candlelight and flowers?"

He nodded, "yeah I am"

She chuckled, "Well, I appreciate the fact that you swallowed a romance book for all this courage," (name) continues "But, in all seriousness, I like you too, Luke."

Relief washed over him, and Luke grinned. "So, we're on the same page?"

(Name) leaned in, closing the gap between them. "Absolutely."

Warmth of the moment enveloped them as their lips found each other in a sweet and tender kiss.

As they pulled away, Luke couldn't help but smile. "Well, that was definitely not in the usual playbook."

(Name) laughed, "Who needs a playbook when we've got this?" She gestured between them, the flickering candlelight casting a soft glow on their intertwined hands.

As they withdrew, their laughter continued to reverberate, but Luke couldn't help but grin. "You know, (Name), if I knew you were a good kisser, I would've confessed earlier."

(Name) raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Oh, is that so? Maybe you should've done your research before the grand confession."

Luke chuckled, and before he could react, (Name) playfully tugged at his necktie. "Research or not, let me show you what you've been missing."

She pulled him in for another kiss. The soft glow of candlelight painted their shared moment.

Luke smirked, "Maybe romance novels were onto something after all."

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #luke pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #luke castellan x you #luke castellan fluff #charlie bushnell

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librababe99 · 1 month ago

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Moths to the Flame

Jason Todd x Female Reader (Addams Family AU)

Tags: Jason Todd, Female Reader, OOC, fluff, Addams Family AU

Summary: Jason finds his heart captured by you whose haunting beauty and playful spirit ignite a passionate romance that dances delightfully between darkness and desire.

WC: 542 words

A/N: YALL just walk with me for a moment…this past weekend I watched the 1991 Addams family movie and it has become such a comfort movie for me. Like the love Gomez and Morticia have for one another warms my heart! And I couldn’t help but think…what if I wrote an AU with Jason x Reader? This could completely flop but I had to share it 😭🖤

The dim light of the candlelit dinner flickered as Jason leaned back in his chair, an amused grin spread across his face. The opulent dining room was filled with the intoxicating scent of rich, dark food—braised rabbit with black currant sauce, of course. Everything about the evening felt delightfully macabre, from the creaking of the old mansion to the echo of thunder rumbling outside.

His eyes sparkled with mischief as he watched you across the table. You were the embodiment of everything he found enchanting: your long, hair cascaded over your shoulders like a waterfall of night, framing your skin and striking features. Tonight, you wore a deep black gown that hugged your figure perfectly, the lace details giving it a hauntingly beautiful touch.

Jason leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he looked at you with unfiltered admiration. "You know, my dear," he began, his voice smooth and low, "every time I see you in that dress, it’s as if the shadows themselves are drawn to your elegance. You could make the Grim Reaper himself hesitate."

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on your lips. "And what, pray tell, would you do if the Grim Reaper came knocking?"

His grin widened, and he leaned even closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Oh, I’d invite him to join us for dinner, of course. But only if you agreed to wear that dress. A fitting companion for our macabre soirée."

You laughed, a sound that danced in the air like a siren's call. It warmed his heart, sending a thrill through him. The way your eyes sparkled with mischief made him feel alive, as if he had stumbled upon a secret no one else could know.

"You're too much, Jason," you replied, shaking your head playfully. "But flattery will get you everywhere."

He feigned a sigh, clutching his chest dramatically. "Ah, but how can I not gush over the woman who makes even the darkness jealous? You are like a night sky full of stars, and I am but a moth, drawn to your light."

You couldn’t help but smile at his theatrics. Jason stood up from his seat, moving around the table with the grace of a dancer. As he reached you, he gently took your hands in his, his gaze intensifying. “Every moment spent with you feels like a dance—dangerous, delightful, and utterly thrilling. I would face any monster, any curse, just to see you smile.”

Your heart raced as you gazed into his deep, stormy eyes, feeling the warmth of his presence envelop you. “And what if that monster is you?” you teased, unable to resist.

“Then I would be your monster,” he replied with a devilish grin, “if it meant I could keep you by my side forever.”

In that moment, surrounded by the flickering candles and the echoes of thunder outside, you realized you wouldn’t want it any other way. With a playful spark in your eyes, you leaned closer, your foreheads touching, the tension electrifying the air around you.

“Just don’t forget who the real monster is,” you whispered, lips curving into a playful smirk, and in that breath, Jason knew you were exactly where you both belonged: in each other’s darkness.

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reshinless · 2 months ago

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Maybe I'm blind but I don't see a list of chars you write for so I hope it's okay to assume you write for any char from the series! Can I request Anton from ZZZ confessing to his crush headcanons or drabble? If not thats okay I understand! 🧡

──── put your head on my shoulder..

𝜗𝜚 synopsis. how does it go when anton confesses?!

𝜗𝜚 pairings. anton x gn!reader

𝜗𝜚 director's notice. HIIIII AND TY FOR YOUR REQUEST!! i also just don't write for minors if its romance, other than that i write for everyone!!

anton doesn't even realize it at first. but you're his favorite person. as soon as you entered his life, he always felt so fuzzy with you. so why was he feeling like this now? or was it always like that?

anton who now each time you both are so close to each other gets so easily flustered. your touch didn't always feel this nice, or maybe he just never noticed it before.

anton who decides to ask ben and grace about this. before he could to you so fluently, but ever since recently it's like his tongue is holding back!! even you noticed, teasing him with "cat got your tongue".. something along those lines.

grace was the one that told him that he had feelings.

"..anton.. you like them, have you realized each time you mention them, you start to ramble nonstop about random facts about them?" (ᵕ—ᴗ—) "WHAAAAAAAAAT." ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;)⁭ ⁭

probably takes a lot to convince him he likes you. like... like likes you. you know what i mean?

heating whenever he sees you so close to him.. he can already imagine the proposal i mean who said that

ben and grace (plus koleda when she can) definitely help him try and impress you. finding stuff out about you (not in the stalker way, just looking through social media profiles, or asking anton about you.) just so his confession goes well

his confession probably goes pretty smoothly, until you hear a crash in the tree nearby to find all three of his companions helping him on what to say, how sweet

if you do reject him after this though, he'll offer to still be friends, not wanting to ruin the relationship you already established with him. but it would definitely hurt his pride greatly.

(and same day if you rejected him his hair kinda deflates.)

oh but when you accept it he's over the moon. oh but he totally knew like definitely (was so anxious and scared about it he almost passed out while rehearsing, ben pretending to be you, grace and koleda in the background with a speakerphone)

probably does NOT wanna rush this process with you at all.. but i'll talk about relationships another time

( ˶°ㅁ°) (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ) you n anton :3

thanks for reading, request something while they're open (while i have motive)

#──── resin: performances #──── resin: custom play #zzz x reader #zzzero #zenless zone zero #zenless zone zero x reader #anton zzz #anton ivanov x reader #anton x reader #anton x y/n #zzz #anton ivanov #zzz anton #zzz anton x reader

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blush-boulevard · 4 months ago

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𝓕𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓤𝓷𝓲𝓸𝓷

𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐈 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑- Thrown together by an arranged marriage, Ni-ki and Y/N navigate the complexities of their unexpected union.

female reader/ Nishimura Riki x reader/ fluff/ romance/ non-idol AU/ Arranged marriage AU/ ENHYPEN/ ENHA/ ENGENE/ Nishimura Riki/ one shot

word count: 1216

~ @nikisgirl15 ｜𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬｜𝑅𝒰𝐿𝐸𝒮 𝒜𝒩𝒟 𝒢𝒰𝐼𝒟𝐸𝐿𝐼𝒩𝐸𝒮｜𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘｜𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 ~

"Riki, the coffee's getting cold," Y/N called out from the kitchen, her voice echoing through the spacious apartment they shared. The walls, painted in a soft shade of ivory, seemed to absorb the sound, creating a comforting sense of intimacy.

"Coming," Riki responded, his footsteps quick and light. He appeared in the doorway, phone in hand, a small smile playing on his lips. "Thanks for making it, Y/N."

Y/N handed him the warm mug, their fingers brushing for a brief moment. The simple touch sent a shiver down her spine, a stark reminder of their unusual living arrangement. They had known each other for a month, thrown together by a union of two powerful families. An arranged marriage, a concept she had only read about in historical romance novels, was now her reality.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of Riki's cologne. She took a step back, watching as he took a sip, his eyes never leaving hers. It was a strange dance they performed, one of forced familiarity and growing curiosity.

Riki set the mug down and approached her, his hand reaching out to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. "You seem tired," he said, his voice gentle. "Did you sleep well?"

Y/N sighed, shaking her head. "My family called again. They don't understand why I'm not happy about this."

He frowned, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "I know it's not easy, but we're in this together. I'll be here for you."

Their gazes held for a beat longer than necessary, and Y/N felt a sudden warmth spread through her. Perhaps this wasn't going to be the cold, loveless partnership she had feared. Riki, or Ni-Ki as the world knew him, was different when the cameras weren't rolling. His celebrity status had brought them together, but it was his kindness that made her feel less alone in this new life.

The tension in the room grew, thick and palpable, as Y/N searched for the right words to express her gratitude. Before she could, Riki leaned in and kissed her forehead, a gesture so tender it made her heart ache. "Let's sit down," he said, taking her hand and leading her to the plush couch.

As they sat, Y/N felt the weight of the world lift off her shoulders. Riki had a way of making her feel seen, heard, and for the first time in a long while, cherished. They talked into the night, sharing stories of their pasts, their hopes, and their fears. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and she found herself laughing, something she hadn't done in what felt like an eternity.

With the light from the moon casting a silver glow on Riki's features, Y/N realized she was beginning to see the man behind the idol. The man who was now her husband, bound by a promise she never wanted but found herself growing to appreciate. The lines between obligation and affection were blurring, and she couldn't help but wonder where this unexpected friendship might lead.

He listened intently as she spoke, his eyes never leaving hers, and she felt a warmth bloom in her chest. His touch was soothing, his presence a balm to her soul. They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the only sound the ticking of the antique clock on the mantle.

Y/N leaned into Riki, her head resting on his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer. It was a gesture she had longed for from her own family, but never received. Here, with this man who was once a stranger, she found the comfort she had been craving.

As the hours passed, the atmosphere grew cozier, the air thick with the promise of something more. Riki reached for the blanket draped over the arm of the couch, pulling it over both of them. They sat, entwined in a warm cocoon of fabric and shared warmth, the stress of their day slowly melting away.

The room grew quiet, their breathing syncing in a rhythm that felt more natural than any dance they'd ever performed on stage. Riki's thumb stroked gentle circles on her arm, sending waves of comfort through her body. Y/N felt her eyes grow heavy, lulled by the steady beat of his heart against her side.

As she drifted off to sleep, she knew that tomorrow would bring more challenges, more misunderstandings from her family. But with Riki beside her, she felt a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, this arranged marriage wasn't the end of her happiness, but the start of something new. Something she hadn't even dared to dream of.

The days turned into weeks, and their friendship grew stronger. Riki was always there to lend an ear or a shoulder to cry on when Y/N's family called, their voices sharp with disapproval. He never pushed her to reconcile, never judged her for her feelings. Instead, he offered his unwavering support, a stark contrast to the coldness she faced from her own kin.

One evening, as they sat in the soft glow of the setting sun, Y/N turned to Riki, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Why are you so kind to me?" she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. "You didn't have to be."

He looked at her, his expression serious. "Because you're my wife," he said simply. "And even if we didn't choose each other, I choose to care for you now."

The words hit her like a gentle wave, washing over the barriers she had built around her heart. She reached for his hand, her fingers intertwining with his, and squeezed tightly. For the first time since the wedding, she allowed herself to believe that this might work. That they might find something real in this forced union.

The following days saw a shift in their relationship. They began to seek out moments of intimacy, not just in the comfort of the couch, but in the quiet whispers before bed, the shared glances across the dinner table, and the gentle touches that lingered longer than they should. Y/N felt a bond forming between them, a bond that went beyond their titles of husband and wife.

And when the whispers of affection grew into something more, she knew that she had found in Riki not just a partner, but a soulmate. Someone who understood her pain, who shared her burdens, and who made her feel seen in a world that often seemed to pass her by.

Their first kiss was tentative, a soft brush of lips that spoke volumes about their growing feelings. It was a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, filled with all the sweetness and nervous excitement of a first love. And as they pulled away, both breathless, Y/N knew that she was falling for him.

But even as she basked in the warmth of their newfound closeness, she couldn't shake the fear that their happiness was built on a foundation of sand. The world outside their apartment was unforgiving, and their families' expectations loomed large. Could they truly find a way to make this work, to turn a forced marriage into a love that would stand the test of time?

Only time would tell, but for now, she allowed herself to lean into Riki's embrace, to feel the warmth of his love, and to hope that together, they could conquer whatever storms lay ahead.

#fluff #fanfic #oneshots #kpop fanfic #kpop #enhypen niki #enhypen #enha #nishimura riki #nishimura riki x reader #romance #arranged marriage

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ressjeon · 2 years ago

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endearing | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

summary: you're just worried when your loud housemate suddenly goes quiet after serenading you for hours

rating: pg13 | word count: 1.3k

genre/au: housemates!au, romance?, fluff (lmao who's this), they're just fRiEnDs 🤭

warnings/content: just alcohol consumption, they're sweet ig 🥰

a/n: yk i’m supposed to be on break (literally on midterm season) but here we are. also i haven’t written a purely SFW drabble for a very long time so please bear with me i just love him sm. huge thank you to my phone's voice feature lol, i'd never finished this in a few hours with how slow i usually am.

companion song: more than friends by becky g 💖

You’re scrolling through your phone when you notice that the whole house has suddenly turned quiet.

You couldn’t be that you’re fixated on your phone that you didn’t notice your housemate has ended his karaoke session because you swear the living room was still loud just a few minutes ago. Jungkook, one of your housemates, has been singing his heart out since past 1 AM today. Not that you mind it really, because you’re a night owl, just like him. You love it when he does his live streams because he usually does karaoke sessions in each of them no matter what he was doing at first.

Jungkook’s one of the popular students on your campus and has a huge following on his IG account, which he uses mainly for everything, no matter how random they are. He deletes his pictures often though when he feels like changing his feed. You’re hoping that he just archived them because he’s quite talented at photography. However, he does frequent lives on IG in return since people tune in when he goes live anyway, filled with comments from either his group of friends or his admirers.

It’s been a while since you heard Jungkook singing. He has a very beautiful voice that even though he doesn’t remember the lyrics for most of the songs that he sang, he still sounded so good to anyone who’s listening. Your other housemates are still not back from their reading week vacation, giving Jungkook the only time when he could be as loud as he can in the house without disturbing anybody. He’s aware that you stay up like him and listen to him when he’s singing, relieved that out of your housemates, it’s you who remained with him. Both of you are the only ones who didn’t go anywhere because of your packed schedules.

Tonight, as diverse as his playlist is, you still feel like he’s serenading you with most of his song choices. Those songs are on your playlist too, which he knew since you’ve shared each other’s links before. So now you’re going to let yourself be deluded, humming along to the songs while you’re getting your tasks done. When the music stopped, you thought he was just taking breaks, so you didn’t think much of it. Jungkook usually creates small noises after he’s done, cleaning up the living room and kitchen before going back to his room.

But it’s suddenly quiet. Did he fall asleep already? Should you check, but then why would you? Jungkook sleeps anywhere at any time unlike you, but you’ve always been paranoid. The lazy part of you wants to close your eyes and fall asleep already, but the other part wants to go down and check. It’s just normal right just in case? Besides, it’s also part of your responsibility as a housemate.

It’s the least you could do for Jungkook because he took care of you many times when you come home drunk from house parties at 5 AM. He even took as much as helping you by being there while you let everything out, offering you a glass of water and making sure you remove your makeup before tucking you into your bed after. He cooks you noodle soup in the morning too in case you get hangovers, which you thankfully don't but your heart somersaults every time with how thoughtful he is.

So despite how comfy your bed is right now, you forced yourself to get up and pushed away your comforter before going down to the living room to check.

And your guts were right because you see Jungkook sleeping soundly on his stomach by the couch with a lighted-scented candle on the table in front of him. The light from the candle allows you to see his handsome face clearly, with flushed cheeks and slightly puckered lips as he sleeps in his arms. He looks adorable, wearing a black crewneck in sweater paws, obscuring his colourful sleeve from your eyes. His cute snores crack a small smile on your face as you approach his sleeping figure, carefully taking the remote from his hands. Sure, he’s a deep sleeper, but you didn’t want to wake him up because it’s already 4 AM and you’re a bit sleepy too.

You then turn off the TV and unplugged the mood lamp that he designed for one of his classes. It’s so pretty, and he brings it out in the living room once in a while, especially when he’s doing his live streams. You also just noticed the half-filled beer mug on the table, taking it with you to the kitchen where you’ve put it back on the ref before deciding to look for spare blankets for him. You couldn’t find any though, so you just opted for his room, which is surprisingly wide open.

Jungkook stays in the room on the first floor, so he frequents the living room when he’s not gaming or doing schoolwork. Entering his room, you grabbed his blanket at once, fighting the urge to nuzzle it, given how good Jungkook usually smells when you hug him. You went back to the living room and put the blanket over him, pushing away a strand of his hair from his closed eyes before tucking it behind his ears. His hair had gotten longer and curly, so fluffy too that you’d been expressing how you love this look on him. Jungkook smiles when you do, letting you ruffle his hair more.

He stirs a bit, causing you to go rigid and worried that you woke him up. You don’t move until you were sure that he’s fully sleeping. And though he might not hear it, you still wish him a quiet good night before eyeing the candle. You love the smell of it but for safety reasons, you blow out and retreat upstairs to your room.

The footsteps padding in the hallway woke you up from your deep slumber, being the sensitive sleeper you are. You’re wondering how Jungkook’s awake at this hour and why he’s up here, reluctantly rising from your bed before opening the door. There you watch him scurrying back to the stairs wrapped in his blankets looking like a deer caught in the headlights when he hears you.

“Jungkook? why are you awake? do you need something? it’s still early” you asked him sleepily while rubbing your eyes.

“um, i woke up and i-uh” he couldn’t look you in the eye, the nervousness evident in his voice. “you can’t sleep?” you yawn, yearning to go back to your comfy bed but you just wanna talk to him more.

Jungkook shakes his head. “i just wanna say thank you for earlier and uh-sorry for waking you up” he grins apologetically, rubbing the back of his neck.

“oh Kook, that’s nothing compared to what you’ve done more for me” you smile at him, truly grateful for his existence in your life. Hold, you’re sleep deprived to be having these thoughts right now but Jungkook just looks so endearing in your eyes despite how sleepy you still are.

Damn, you really should sleep more.

He’s oddly looking at you fondly so you mimic him, both of you waiting who will back down first. Jungkook looks like he wants to say something more, tongue poking around his lip ring with that doe eyes of his. You smile at him, urging him to continue. He’s back to being shy around you these days for some reason but you don’t wanna pry, just want him to be comfortable as much as possible.

“i’m still sleepy so i’m going back to my room” you can see him retracting so you approach him, a knowing smile already plastered on your face. “do you wanna cuddle? i think we’ll fit in my bed” his nervous eyes were replaced with excitement, following you to your room.

You didn’t even get to lie down on your bed properly when he tackles you, spurring a hearty giggle out of you with him matching you. “what?” he hugs you right away, mumbling something against your skin as he snuggles his head on the crook of your neck. Your hands automatically card through his luscious hair until you hear his breathing slow down, and his cute snores occurring once again.

Guess you’ll never know what all these are for until he wakes.

e/n: i'm testing many things from this so hope it's wholesome enough lmao (i tried). have a lovely week everyone!

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mononijikayu · 4 months ago

Text

bu wang — ryomen sukuna.

In the quiet sanctuary of his domain, surrounded by the echoes of the past and the shadows of the future, Ryomen Sukuna found a semblance of solace. Your memory lived on, tender of light in the darkness of his immortal existence. He was determined for it to last. He was determined to tie your destiny together, no matter what. And as long as he drew breath, he would ensure that you were revered, loved, and remembered by all who served him. He will live forever, to be with you like this.

GENRE: Heian Era to Shibuya Arc, 2018;

WARNING/s: Alternate Universe ─ Canon Divergence, Romance, Emotional Hurt, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining, Domesticity, Friends to Lovers, Character Death, Grief, Miscarriage, Mention of Depression, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Depiction of Mental Anguish, Depiction of Violence, Depiction of Harm, Depiction of Blood and Wounds, Depiction of Miscarriage, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Harm, Pseudo-Incest, Adoptive Cousins, Portrayal of Misogynist And Degrading Acts and Language, Smut, Detailed Depiction of Sex, Depiction of Sexual Foreplay, Sexual Penetration, Consensual Sex;

masterlist

ashes of love

song: bu wang by wang yibo

ko-fi

note: i was going to write this two days ago, but i ended up cleaning and sleeping my room after the mess of exams. please pray that my exams and my grades end up well, thank you~ anyway im on my vacation this time around, so ill be around more than you probably would like. i might start updating ko-fi too~ i might write an extra chapter about you (hiromi) and sukuna's short but blissful married life!!! anyway, enjoy this chapter, much love my darlings <3

IT HAD BEEN A SOLITARY EXISTENCE. But he supposed that hardly mattered to anyone. Perhaps not even to himself. Ryomen Sukuna had learnt that nothing was ever worth keeping around for that long, nor getting that close to someone for that long. He had learned that too easily, as a human. But it was useless for him to pretend that he was a human being. He was not. He was all but a god that long forgot he wasn’t human.

Eighty years have drifted away like autumn leaves since your death, yet the memories remain vivid, haunting Sukuna's every waking moment. He had watched life blossom and life rot into flames. Over and over, generation after generation, he was the only one that had yet changed. And perhaps never will. He knew that too well. It has been more than a century now. A century where he had burned off all that came with humanity and left only what could be that blank space that will never be full again.

In the secluded echoes of Hida, where the mountains whispered secrets to the wind, Ryomen Sukuna had chosen his solitude. It is not to say that Sukuna does not open his doors to worshippers, to people who long for his aid, to people who long to leave those offerings.

But that isolation keeps Sukuna aware that he is above all those around him. And there above, looking down through the mountain passes, how small those were above him — he realized how truly solitary the throne he sat at. The same throne he never thought he would ever seat in a hundred years or so of this wretched life.

Still, even with that isolation, he still had companions. He had servants full to the brim in these halls, who one after the other took to his every need. Though, it was Uraume who served him most faithfully. And at times, he was given women to pleasure him, as either sacrifices to keep their villages safe or as war prizes for each sorcerer village was pillaged. Sukuna however had little interest in such pleasures. He supposed that too died with his humanity. But perhaps that was a relief on the part of the women around his harem.

In all that time, he found himself preoccupied. With their fleeting bravado, Jujutsu sorcerers came and went, defeated one after another, like moths drawn to a flame that inevitably consumed them. One after another, they came, at the behest of one of their lords or those wretched senile cunts. They all died the same.

He thinks that sparked quite the ire in Mikoto Masaomi, who kept sending his best sorcerer one after another. Each one failed their master and disaster led to Sukuna laughing at the fact that he was still alive, unchanged, unbothered by the man he had once known all too well.

He supposed that the same could be said about all the curses that had come his way. In these years, Ryomen Sukuna had nearly subjugated all the curses that plagued Japan, bending them to his indomitable will. Each and every one watched as one of their own died by his hands and more fell to their knees bowing with tears in their eyes, begging for mercy. He supposed that Masaomi was correct about one thing — the name King of Curses suited him better than the Fallen.

But he supposed that Masaomi could no longer entertain Sukuna with such names. He had long died in his sleep and his only child, Masuyo, replaced him. Just like her mother, the girl ascended her seat as clan head. But Sukuna remembers that she was barely a girl of ten and five then.

The girl was younger than her siblings by years. He had only seen that girl once, and it was as if those eyes from a hundred years ago haunted him. The same eyes before the gods claimed you as their champion. Hazel glares like a tree bark under the summer burn. Tender features that were as pale as crystal snow. Sukuna wonders if she can wonder if ghosts do exist. Perhaps then he would have asked her. Yet he could not ask her.

And he did not ever. He let them do as they pleased, as they had let him do — and in the end, he never saw her again. She succumbed to that one winter illness, twenty years ago. Her children followed suit and left a lordling in the chair, barely aged five. And once again, a weak link is shown in the blood of majesty.

Sukuna had always known that the moment you had dulled the blood with that man, the name would falter and so would follow everything else. Everything that had been sacrificed perhaps was for nothing. In the same inch of stone his father died in, were pitiful hungry lesser men arguing over who should be the boy’s regent.

But that was not his to give any care about.

Ryomen Sukuna supposed that he can only watch.

Mortal beings and their squabbles were not his own.

Time had no dominion over Sukuna like it did for everyone else; he remained untouched by its relentless passage. While everything around him withered and succumbed to decay, he stood unchanged, an eternal monolith. The world cowered before him, acknowledging his unrivaled power, yet with all that power — he could not explain how none of it could fill the emptiness gnawing at his soul.

He had long forgotten the essence of human emotion, the tender intricacies of joy, sorrow, and love. After all, he was immortal. What use are the squabbles of humankind to a godly king like him?

Still, each day, a ritual of remembrance unfolded in the depths of his mind. Somehow, that was all that could make humanity echo in a god’s heart. Since that fateful day they had parted, only you could linger in his thoughts, a ghost of the past refusing to fade. Near hundred years had passed and he could not forget how you both parted. How the snow fell like frozen tears, how the red of childbirth scattered the pavement, how your lilac eyes lost life ever so fast.

Sukuna did not know how to feel about it. But he knew, as he had been human, that your memory was a bittersweet refrain, an echo of a life that once brimmed with meaning. At this time, he could remember every detail, every moment. Yet, he could not remember the sound of your voice or your sighs of relief. The harmony of your tears, the battle cry to bring life.

Nor could he remember the warmth of your touch or the drum of your laughter. But perhaps, he thinks, it was for the best. It was for the best to little by little forget what remained. You were no longer here. You weren’t here for him to have anymore — and yet….why have you stayed ever so constant? Why have you stayed so near and yet so far? He could not understand it. And perhaps he never will. But it was best he did not ask, nor think about asking. The was never going to be a point in it.

He doesn’t sleep much, he doesn’t need it.

But at times, Ryomen Sukuna likes to pretend.

And think about those days when you were there.

IT WAS ALWAYS QUITE A UNIQUE OPPORTUNITY. One that not even Ryomen Sukuna had thought would ever happen. This day of peace, rare and fragile, had dawned upon the Jujutsu world, granting Sukuna a brief respite from the ceaseless and dull conflict. Not that Sukuna thought it helped much. He could easily turn the table upon these people. But he thinks that they’ll bore him and it would not even be worth it.

There was not a thought to him that he would ever agree to this day. But nearly four decades ago, it was what had become the common ground. The emperor and Fujiwara did not like it. Nor did Sukuna, if he was being honest. Yet it has. And he was here, a spectacle to those he passed by who cowered and lowered their eyes. Some had knelt and mumbling prayers.

The imperial soldiers immediately sprung to bring them to their feet once more. The whole trail to the capital was full of them. He could only snicker. What could human beings do to a god? Not even sorcerers were enough. Sukuna though could admire the strength in the mortals before him. Many who had bowed, they would not dare stand, not even when kicked and slapped. Some merely stood their ground, defiant as they stared at him down. Sukuna would have snickered, but he didn’t think he could bring himself to care about such trivial humanity. And so he just left them be.

On this sacred day was the only day he had the freedom to take leave of movement without the need to start a fight. Master Tengen had advised it, the old man Gojo and the lordling Mikoto approved it — what little choice did the emperor truly had? Ryomen Sukuna doubts that the Fujiwara would say anything about it. Not even forty years ago, their power too was easily crumbling, especially the powerful branch he had annihilated completely. Besides, it was one day, nothing more.

But in that one day, the imperial capital was secured. He could not remember who these people were – but their clan badges informed him of who these nameless faces were. Mikoto, Gojo, Inumaki, Azuma, Kamo, Zenin — the latter two were ever so reluctant, he was certain. The others he was certain were around the emperor and the non-sorcerer branch of the political Fujiwara.

All these folks were not truly as free as their counterparts from a hundred years ago. All these pampered brats are now from a generation which had led lives within the imperial capital’s walls. Experienced as they may, Ryomen Sukuna thinks that they would never be able to achieve what their ancestors have. Ever since the emperor had demanded them to move to the capital after the wars that had taken much, they had all become the system’s lackeys.

In these many years, Ryomen Sukuna too had made himself an enemy of the emperor. Such conflicts that had brewed over the century had been worrisome to the crown and more so – the main branch of the Fujiwara, who held the throat of the emperor. But he could hardly care. And they knew that he would not care. Not once in his life could he.

Uraume walked silently beside him, a shadowy presence that never wavered. They do not talk as much as Sukuna thought they would. His little servant had been an interesting one, always have been. But he supposed he had gotten used to that in all these many years. In the loudness of the world, Sukuna appreciated a space where there is silence. Years ago, it was in your arms, underneath the tree by that koi pond. But times have changed. And those moments would never repeat ever again. Uraume provides what they could. And perhaps it was enough.

As they traveled even further, bypassing Mikoto land, Ryomen Sukuna's thoughts meandered through almost a century of existence. The forest loomed ahead closer and closer and for a moment, a brief echo of memory pondered in his head. As though such memory mattered. You both had once sought refuge, fleeing the wrath of the Fujiwara. The trees whispered secrets of the past, their leaves rustling with tales that will never be known to anyone but to him and you.

“This place…..I recognize it.” Sukuna murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you, Sukuna–sama?”

“But it’s from a long time ago….I shan’t speak of it.”

Uraume nodded, a silent sentinel, understanding the weight of those memories. “Of course, Sukuna–sama.”

Sukuna wonders why he even spoke. But perhaps it was a forced habit, one that he had still yet perfected in abandoning. As they moved on and on, he could see the grassy plains that made up the Ryomen hunting grounds. It was the bane of his existence; how he could remember the way you would complain about the mud during the monsoon. How he remembered that night you both stayed long enough to see the bountiful firefly blossom in the fields. How he remembered how close you were in embrace. He could feel his mouth dry.

But it was the sight of Ryomen Manor that struck the deepest chord. The once grand estate had diminished, its former glory a shadow of what it had been. The Mikoto clan now occupied it, attempting to emulate the past magnificence of the Ryomen, but failing to capture its true essence. Ryomen Sukuna could barely allow himself to look at it. To even think that it was something that he could think of as home. It was nothing that it should be, that was for certain. And now that the MIkoto have resided in the imperial capital — this shall be left in shambles now. And soon forgotten, a relic of a past that most people will question.

“This was my home,” Sukuna thinks to himself, his inner voice laced with a rare bitterness. “They have taken everything, even our name. Mikoto... they usurped what was rightfully ours.”

He does not know what sears inside him as he looks at it. It was as though it was never truly what it was. Ryomen Sukuna could feel every echo of his face turn into what could be taken as anger. Is this what he had sacrificed his whole life for? For the home that gave him something, to be left by all that it had sheltered, with nothing? Had it all been for nothing? After all this time?

Uraume looked at him, as though trying to judge their master’s feelings. “Sukuna–sama?”

“We shall occupy that space, sooner or later.” Sukuna retorted to his servant. “It shan’t fall into disrepair.”

Those red eyes burned with anger. Uraume pursed their lips into a flat line and bowed. “Of course, my lord.”

In that sudden stillness, an echo from the past reached him. Somehow, he doesn’t remember whose voice it was. But as tender as it was, as warm as it was, as human as it was — he could only think that it was yours. He could only ask himself, if your voice ever sounded this soft and this haunting. He could not understand the words that were being said. It was as if it was another language, a long forgotten one that he would never be able to understand in his whole lifetime.

But you were smiling at him, telling him something that would have made his heart flutter all those years ago. Has your smile truly ever been this pure? Has such truth in your person ever been this wondrous? He does not know. And perhaps, he will never know ever again. But he doesn’t know if he had it in him to wish that he never could. Not even who he is now understands what he wants. So, all he could do was let you haunt him. Let you haunt him in ways not even he could understand. And even then, he has to keep moving forward, as he always has.

The living always has to move forward.

There must always be life lived even unwanted.

That’s what he must always strive to do.

“Are you sure that you need nothing of me, Sukuna–sama?”

“Yes.” He answers in a flat tone, his feet facing forward. “Walk, Uraume. Follow.”

“Of course, Sukuna–sama.”

IF HE WAS BEING HONEST, HE HATED THE IMPERIAL CAPITAL. Ryomen Sukuna detested venturing into enemy territory. Even back then, when he had been a regular man, the thought of going to the imperial capital, even to do his duty as a sorcerer, was unpleasant. The crown hated sorcerers. They had to tolerate them because their lives, their destinies, were tied to the world of sorcery. Prosecutions had been done a thousand times over and over again. But each time, the futile idea of unity offered by one side or the other was what happens. And even then, the cycle of animosity continues.

Each step he took into the heart of the imperial capital felt like a betrayal to his own spirit, a reminder that you had died because of these people, for these people. The closer he got to the imperial capital’s center, the more he realized how vapid these foolish little humans are. Over and over again, they gawk, and they complain, they ask if they could go home already. They roll their eyes or shake their heads at the importance of what occurs on this day each year.

The thought of it gnawed at him, fueling a rage that simmered just below the surface. None of them knew the true cost of their peace, the blood that had been spilled for their sake. It was as if sorcerers died for nothing, it was as if what he had lived through all this time mattered little. What you had died for mattered, fought and died for mattered little. The peace you died for, to prevent any more animosity that could kill any of these pathetic beings — and they take it for granted. And every time, each year, he saw their oblivious faces, he wanted to kill them all.

Uraume, ever perceptive, noticed the darkening storm within him. "Is there anything you need, my lord?" they asked quietly.

Ryomen Sukuna remained silent as they continued on. He could not put himself in a position where he could cause an issue. Of all days, he thinks he shouldn’t. And so, he keeps his mouth shut. The red eyed towered everyone as he entered the widened gates. They had widened it to fit him, he was certain. The strident guards lowered their heads, refusing to acknowledge him. But he could hardly care.

Uraume followed suit as he approached the inner courtyard of the newly established Gojo Manor. The grand building loomed ahead, a symbol of the power and influence of the Gojo clan. Entering its gates, Sukuna's gaze fell upon an old man standing before him, eyes covered with Ryomen bandages. Despite his frail appearance, the old man before him could only exude a calm strength, standing with the aid of a cane but without a trace of fear.

"My six eyes see that you are still young, Sukuna-dono," the old man greeted, his voice steady.

"Your brain has yet to rot, I see… old man." Sukuna replied, a cold edge to his tone. “Have you no intention to die already?”

The gasp and whispers that echo that came from the vassals, members of court and the members of the Gojo household could not be any louder. Each year, they seem to be shocked by the audacity of the King of Curses. He had no crass no desire to abide by rules which do not apply to him. All were silenced by the rumbling of the old man’s chest into bumbling laughter. Sukuna sighed as he looked at the old man, the Gojo crest proudly wrinkled by such laughter.

The old man snickers soon after, releasing a raspy sound. "The gods keep their servant on the earth for a little more time, I suppose. And one should honor that! Besides, one must keep a sharp wit, even if the brain is too wrinkled.”

“I do not understand why the gods keep you with us this long.” The red eyed curse user sighed. “Are you not tired at all, old man? A hundred and so, and still parading like this, Gojo.”

“Why not? Retirement is too dull.” The old man retorted back to the curse user. “Besides, I must keep my sons and grandsons on their toes. They wouldn’t leave long enough if they covet only.”

He snorts at the old man’s words. “The tongue of a pompous soul.”

“Of course, there must be one that remains.”

“I doubt we need one that remains.”

The old man laughs, shaking his head at Sukuna. From what he had heard, the old man had not been in the best of health this past spring and autumn. But perhaps Sukuna should expect that. Gojo Seiryuu was well the age expected of any mortal that could even come close. And even more so for someone who wields the power of the six-eyes and limitless, living this long was a miracle. Sukuna was not stupid to assume that he had any years left, he was not going to last any longer.

With some luck, there will be a year or two, maybe if there is something like a miracle, there will be a couple more. But peace will shatter once he dies. With the way the Gojo clan looked at him, no one else would be happy to curry any friendships with him. Fragile as it was, it was the best he and Sukuna had managed to stand upon. If his time comes, Sukuna cannot promise anything.

"I hope the journey wasn’t too tiresome, Sukuna–dono." the old man continued, his smile unwavering. “The roads are not of good import as of late. The ministers have been wasting good money, you see!”

“They’re corrupt as they come, I wouldn’t expect anything else.” Sukuna retorts, earning another round of gasp and whispers. “I would have thought you would have already unseated the bastards.”

“Now, now, don’t make it seem like I’m planning something bad or anything.” The old man says, causing Sukuna to roll her eyes. “But we shall talk about that sometime. I ask again, if the trip went well?”

"It was what must be done." Sukuna responded, his voice devoid of warmth. “It is part of our agreement, after all.”

"As always, you aren’t expressive." the old man observed, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Sukuna's eyes narrowed, his patience wearing thin. "And if that was the case? I do not think that my expressiveness ought to be welcomed by a crowd who holds no kindness towards me.”

The old man's smile faded slightly, but he held Sukuna's gaze steadily. "I merely wished to welcome you and offer my respects—”

Sukuna's jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. "Your fellow human’s respect is of little value to me, old man. Remember, it is not what I hear for.”

The old man sighed and nodded his head. "Very well, Sukuna–dono. I shall lead you with me to the crypt, as I always have.”

Old lord Gojo nodded to everyone, making his way to the front. Sukuna followed as the old man’s cane led the path forward. Uraume bowed his head along with the others, before following suit. The others whispered over and over, muttering those same pathetic gossip over and over. Ryomen Sukuna wondered when their palms would sweat, when they realized that such peace was over.

Ryomen Sukuna pitied humanity for a moment.

He pitied what would become of them soon enough.

But once again, he could care less what happens to them.

IN THAT TIME, THERE HAD BEEN SOMETHING OF A FRAGILE PEACE.In the fleeting expanse of time, enduring peace was an anomaly, a delicate thread stretched taut across the centuries. For Ryomen Sukuna, the longevity of such tranquility was a marvel in itself. How had this fragile peace between the Gojo clan and the Mikoto clan persisted over eight decades? It was an uneasy truce, teetering on the edge of mutual distrust yet holding firm, a precarious balance that upheld a semblance of stability in the nation.

It was not born of desire but of necessity, forged by the relentless currents of power and obligation that bound them all. Sukuna, too, found himself caught in its web, his existence intertwined with the legacy of his beloved Hiromi and the intricate web of alliances and enmities that shaped their world.

Their children, heirs to both the burdens and hopes of their lineage, were bound by this accord, their destinies entwined with the echoes of past conflicts and the uncertain future that lay ahead. Each day, they walked the tightrope of peace, knowing that any misstep could unravel the fragile tapestry that held their world together.

In this precarious dance of diplomacy and duty, Sukuna pondered the fragility of their existence, the weight of history pressing down upon them like an unseen hand. How long could this peace endure? Would their children inherit a world of harmony or one torn asunder by the ghosts of the past?

As Sukuna looked out over the tranquil landscape, he knew that despite the uncertainties, they must endure. For in the delicate balance between war and peace, between love and duty, lay the essence of their existence—a legacy forged in the crucible of time, bound by the unyielding resolve of those who dared to dream of a future where peace could prevail.

For nearly fifty years, Ryomen Sukuna had cradled you, entrusting your body to the icy embrace of Uraume's cursed technique. Encased in an intricate ice coffin, your form remained untouched by the passage of time, suspended in a state of ethereal beauty.

The ice coffin, a masterpiece of Uraume's craftsmanship, rested at the heart of the grand audience hall. Above it, the ceiling soared high, adorned with intricate tiles blooming with gold and pearls. Rays of sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, casting shimmering reflections upon the smooth surface of the ice. It was a scene that seemed crafted for you alone, as if the very heavens conspired to honor your presence.

The hall itself echoed with a hushed reverence, the air heavy with the scent of ancient wood and the distant whisper of wind through tall, slender pillars. Shadows danced upon the walls, playing out a silent homage to your silent repose. Around you, the world moved in slow, measured steps, as though holding its breath in deference to your stillness.

Sukuna stood at the threshold, his gaze lingering upon your serene countenance. The flickering light painted your features in shades of silver and blue, accentuating the delicate lines of your face and the graceful curve of your hands folded over your chest. Time seemed to stand still in this sacred space, where beauty and sorrow intertwined in a poignant testament to love and loss.

As Sukuna looked upon you, he felt a pang of longing and remorse, his heart heavy with memories that stretched across decades. Here, amidst the opulence of the hall and the quiet majesty of your presence, he found solace and sorrow entwined. At least that was left true to what remained in his humanity for you.

Each day, Sukuna gazed upon you, venerating you as if you were a goddess. To him, you were a deity, a symbol of his defiance against the world that had taken you from him. In his dominion, Sukuna decreed that everyone must bow to you as they bowed to him. They must make prayers for your immortality, as they do with his own.

Your presence commanded reverence, your memory immortalized in the rituals of his followers. Offerings were left at your shrine, tokens of respect and devotion, as though you were a living deity among them. It was the respect he thinks you were owed in your lifetime. If you would not get it in your life, then he would make sure he would give it to you now.

Sukuna stood before the ice coffin, his eyes tracing the delicate features of the wonder of your face. You looked as serene as you had in life, untouched by the ravages of time. You didn’t age and he does not want you to. He does not want to see you as anything else as what he had fallen in love with. You cannot be ash, not when you were still with him. Not when he still needed you.

"You are still with me," he whispered, his voice a blend of sorrow and reverence. "They will remember you, as they remember me. You are not forgotten."

Uraume, standing nearby, watched their master with quiet understanding. They had seen the pain etched into Sukuna's soul, the unending ache of loss. "Sukuna–sama," Uraume said softly, "Hiromi–samaremains as you wished. We have tended to Hiromi–sama well, Sukuna–sama. Please be rest assured—”

Sukuna nodded, his gaze never leaving you. "It is not enough, Uraume." he murmured. "It will never be enough. But….I must endure this. Being all I have.”

After fifty years of solemn reverence, a fragile peace shattered in an instant. Those vexing, arrogant, thieves, those sons of Gojo Seiryuu, driven by ambition or folly, dared to steal the ice coffin that had cradled you for decades, spiriting it away to their clan. Ryomen Sukuna could never believe that such thieves would ever have the intention of care.

Sukuna's fury erupted like a tempest unleashed, his heartache and rage merging into a torrential storm of wrath. In his grief-stricken fury, he embarked on a relentless rampage that tore through days and weeks. His presence was a whirlwind of destruction, leaving scorched earth and shattered remnants of lives in his wake.

Every step reverberated with the weight of betrayal and loss. Each strike echoed the anguish of fifty years of vigilance, shattered in a single act of defiance. In his wake, silence mingled with the cries of those who dared oppose him, their defiance crushed beneath the relentless tide of his fury.

The land trembled beneath his wrath, the skies darkened with his anguish. Sukuna's grief fueled a merciless onslaught, a testament to the depths of his despair and the ferocity of his love. For in that stolen moment, he lost more than an artifact—he lost a tether to his past, a relic of solace in a world fraught with turmoil.

As the rampage subsided and the echoes of his fury faded into the ether, Sukuna stood amidst the wreckage, his chest heaving with exhaustion and sorrow. It was then that Gojo Seiryuu had made himself known and came to confront the King of Curses. He stood below the throne Sukuna occupied, the elder man with dark red eyes gleaming as the man who had his cover. The tension between them was palpable, a volatile mix of anger and determination. One could feel heat release from the echoes of his nostrils.

"Sukuna-dono," Seiryuu began, his tone steady despite the danger he faced, "We must talk."

Sukuna's eyes blazed with fury. "Talk? You dare speak, talk of some ridiculous peace after what you've done? I will kill you, Seiryuu. You useless, impotent brat!”

A deadly silence followed, then Ryomen Sukuna released a barrage of the world-cutting slash aimed directly at Seiryuu. But a shimmering barrier materialized around him, absorbing the attack with ease. Gojo Seiryuu stepped forward, undeterred by Sukuna's rage. Sukuna’s eyes raged as it narrowed darkly against the Gojo clan leader.

"You have to understand, Sukuna–dono." Seiryuu said, his voice calm yet resolute, "This is not where my mother belongs."

Sukuna's expression twisted with anger and pain. "Hiromi was my person first."

Seiryuu's gaze softened, a rare glimpse of vulnerability. "Your Hiromi was my only mother. And I was robbed of her. That bond you claim cannot surpass a son’s love.”

The words hung heavily in the air. Sukuna's breath came in ragged gasps, his mind a maelstrom of emotions. He wanted to tear Seiryuu apart, to reclaim what had been stolen from him. But beneath the fury, a sliver of understanding pierced his heart.

"Hiromi was everything to me." Sukuna said, his voice breaking.

"And my mother was everything to us," Seiryuu replied gently. "We need my mother as much as you do."

Sukuna's hands clenched into fists, knuckling white with the intensity of his emotions. His chest heaved with each breath, the weight of grief and anger pressing down upon him like a suffocating shroud. For a long, agonizing moment, he stood amidst the ruins of his sanctuary, caught between the overwhelming urge to unleash his fury and the desperate need to hold onto the memories that bound him.

Every fiber of his being screamed with anguish, a primal roar of betrayal echoing through his soul. The theft of the ice coffin, the violation of her sacred resting place, tore at him with a visceral pain that threatened to consume him whole. Images of you, serene and ethereal in your icy repose, haunted his thoughts, your presence now torn from him like a cruel jest of fate.

Memories flooded his mind—moments shared, promises made, and a love that transcended time itself. He remembered the tender touch of your hand, the warmth of your smile, and the unspoken vows that bound them together. And now, to see your resting place desecrated, stolen away by those who sought to defy his authority, ignited a fury within him that burned hotter than any flame.

His surroundings blurred as tears of rage and sorrow welled in his eyes, the lines between reality and memory blurring in a haze of anguish. The air crackled with unseen energy, the very atmosphere vibrating with the intensity of his emotions. Each heartbeat echoed like a thunderclap in the stillness of the aftermath, a testament to the tempest raging within him.

Slowly, Sukuna lowered his head, his fists unclenching as he fought to regain control over the tumultuous storm raging within. His gaze hardened with resolve, determination flickering in the depths of his crimson eyes. He turns to look at the younger man.

"Very well." Sukuna finally said, his voice raw with emotion. "But know this: if you ever dishonor all of your mother’s memory, I will end you and everything you hold dear. This I swear, on a binding vow.”

Seiryuu nodded, understanding the gravity of the promise. "I swear on my life, we will honor my mother as what fits a clan leader of such rank."

“No.” He contests the clan leader, his eyes full of hurt. “Your mother….,my…..your mother is a goddess. Do not lessen such importance.”

“I shan’t.” He whispers back to him. “I am my mother’s son too. I hold too much devotion to not treat my mother a goddess.”

“....Very well.”

Silence engulfs them both as the words reverberated.

Sukuna turns his head away, his shoulders slumped.

Seiryuu purses his lips in a line as he tries to talk once more.

“You may see my mother, if you would like.” Seiryuu whispers to the curse user. “I shall have it arranged. You have my word.”

Ryomen Sukuna could not say anything else. As Seiryuu departed, The King of Curses watched him go, a storm of emotions raging within him. You were gone, taken to where you were also cherished, but the pain of your absence was a wound that would never heal. In the silence that followed, the King of Curses was left with his grief, his memories, and the bitter taste of a love that transcended even death.

Years later, Sukuna once more entered the crypt, his presence commanding attention and evoking a mixture of anger and disgust from those who watched him. He paid them no mind, his focus solely on the figure before him. Your body lay as perfectly preserved as the day he had last seen you, a testament to Uraume’s cursed technique. For a moment, he felt a glimmer of humanity, a faint light piercing through his demonic nature. Seiryuu, noticing the intensity of the moment, dismissed everyone from the crypt. Once they were alone, the tension between them grew palpable.

"Is it true, what I’ve been hearing?" Sukuna’s voice was low, barely masking the simmering rage beneath. "That your mother’s body is to be burned once and for all?"

Seiryuu met Sukuna’s gaze, his expression somber. "Yes, it’s true. It was an agreement between siblings over the years. We believe it’s time to finally put our mother to rest."

A heavy silence settled over the crypt, suffocating in its weight. Sukuna stood before you, his gaze fixed upon your form encased in the ice coffin. Memories, once cherished and now tinged with sorrow, flooded back with a force that threatened to overwhelm him.

The sight of you, serene and preserved in timeless beauty, stirred a maelstrom of emotions within him. The thought of your inevitable fate—ashes scattered to the winds—gnawed at his soul like a relentless tide eroding the shore.

Each moment spent by your side, each shared heartbeat and whispered promise, replayed in his mind with agonizing clarity. The echo of your laughter, the warmth of your touch, the scent of your hair—all now locked in a sepulchral embrace that mocked his inability to protect you from the ravages of time and fate.

The world outside the crypt seemed distant and inconsequential, blurred by tears unshed and words unspoken. In this sacred chamber, where time stood still and memories loomed large, Sukuna grappled with the weight of his helplessness and grief.

The silence stretched on, broken only by the soft whisper of his breath and the faint rustle of fabric as he clenched his fists in anguish. Each passing moment etched deeper lines of sorrow upon his face, shadows dancing in the flickering light of candles that bore witness to his silent vigil.

He reached out, fingers trembling as if to touch the icy barrier that separated him from you. His hand hovered, suspended in the air, as if unsure whether to breach the sacred sanctum that held your essence captive.

And in that moment of vulnerability, Sukuna whispered, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the crypt, "I cannot bear to see you reduced to ashes, my love. Not after all we've endured."

“I am sorry…..if that is not what you wished to hear.”

“I do not wish to see it, I do not wish to hear it. None of it.”

Seiryuu nodded. "My mother deserves peace, Sukuna-dono. We all do. Keeping my mother preserved like this, it’s... it’s not right. It’s time to let go. It’s…it’s time to let my mother go, Sukuna–dono.”

Sukuna’s hands clenched at his sides, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He had held onto you for so long, unable to accept your death, unable to move on. Now, faced with the finality of your cremation, your erasure from this earth, from your wholeness, he felt a profound sense of loss. For a moment, he felt human again. But perhaps, he will always be like that – when it comes to you. Only you.

For a long moment, he said nothing, his gaze locked on your serene face. Then, with a heavy heart, he spoke. “I cannot accept it. Not like this.”

Seiryuu nodded, understanding the depth of Sukuna’s pain. “I know, Sukuna–dono.”

Sukuna turned away, the weight of his grief almost too much to bear. “Do what you must. As long as I….As long as there is a way….”

Silence settled between Seiryuu and Sukuna, thick and palpable, like the frosty stillness of a winter's night. It draped over them, heavy with unspoken words and unresolved emotions, casting a chill over the atmosphere that matched the solemnity of their surroundings.

For Seiryuu, the silence held a weight of regret and sorrow, a recognition of the rift that had widened between them despite their shared history and familial ties. It was a moment of introspection, where the consequences of past actions and decisions hung in the air like frozen breath.

Sukuna, too, felt the silence keenly. It wrapped around him, a stark reminder of his own tumultuous emotions—anger, grief, and a longing that he struggled to reconcile. In this frozen moment, he grappled with the realization that their paths diverged irreversibly, bound by duty and destiny yet separated by divergent ideals.

Between them, the silence became a canvas upon which their unspoken thoughts and regrets painted themselves in muted shades. It was a moment pregnant with the weight of their shared history, their intertwined fates now strained by the passage of time and the choices they had made.

As they stood in the stillness, each lost in their own contemplation, the silence spoke volumes. It echoed with the echoes of unspoken apologies, of wounds too deep to heal, and of a future uncertain yet inexorably linked. In this frozen tableau, Seiryuu and Sukuna are bound together by bonds of grief for the one they loved the most, frozen in the deathly echoes in front of them.

Seiryuu broke the heavy silence with a gentle voice. "I understand why you want to keep the body whole, Sukuna–dono. But you must know, it was never my mother’s wish to be brought back to life."

Sukuna’s eyes flashed with anger, and he cut him off sharply. "Hiromi did not say that. Hiromi never did—"

Seiryuu sighed, his expression weary but resolute. "Regardless, my mother wanted to be free from all of this pain. What you would do, in trying to revive this body, would only bring my mother more suffering. I don’t want that for my mother, Sukuna–dono. I ask of you, as a son. Please.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened, his mind racing with the conflict of his desires and the harsh truth Seiryuu presented. The silence that followed was thick with unspoken emotions, a chasm between their understandings of love and loss.

"Do you really think I wish for Hiromi to suffer?" Sukuna finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with a raw vulnerability.

Seiryuu met his gaze, unwavering. "I know you loved my mother, Sukuna–dono. Mayhaps, you still do. But sometimes, love means letting go. Letting go of ties that don’t let our loved ones rest in peace.”

The words hung in the air, pregnant with unspoken implications that weighed heavily on Sukuna's heart. Rage and sorrow churned within him like a tempest, battling for dominance over his thoughts and emotions.

Sukuna stood at a crossroads, torn between conflicting desires that tugged at his very soul. On one hand, there was an unyielding urge to preserve you, to shield you from the inexorable march of time and the fate that threatened to extinguish your essence. The thought of losing you, of seeing your existence reduced to mere ashes scattered in the wind, clawed at his heart with a visceral ache.

Yet, intertwined with this desperate longing was a stark realization—a haunting awareness that his actions, driven by love and anguish, might inadvertently condemn you to a fate far worse than death. The weight of his power, the consequences of his choices, loomed large in his mind, casting a shadow over his every thought.

In the stillness that followed, Sukuna grappled with the cruel irony of his predicament. To keep you close meant defying the natural order, challenging the very fabric of existence itself. And yet, to let go—to surrender to the inevitability of your passing—felt like a betrayal of the love that had defined his existence for decades.

As he stood there, surrounded by the echoes of his turmoil, the silence bore witness to the tumult raging within him. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms, as if seeking to anchor himself against the storm of emotions threatening to consume him whole.

The room, once filled with the quiet reverence of your presence, now crackled with an intensity born of uncertainty and fear. Each passing moment stretched into eternity, the weight of his decision pressing down upon him like a leaden cloak.

And amidst the turmoil of his heart, Sukuna knew that whatever choice he made would shape not only his own destiny but yours as well. For in the delicate balance between love and duty, between defiance and acceptance, lay the essence of his eternal struggle—an agonizing quest for redemption and a yearning for solace in a world where nothing was certain but the inevitability of change.

"Hiromi was everything to me, boy." Sukuna said, his voice breaking. “There was nothing else but Hiromi.”

"And to us too. My mother was everything to us," Seiryuu replied softly. "We all want my mother to be at peace.”

Another silence descended, denser and more profound than before, wrapping Sukuna in a suffocating embrace of solitude. His gaze remained fixed upon Hiromi's serene visage, preserved in eternal repose within the icy coffin.

In the depths of his crimson eyes, a tempest of emotions raged unchecked. Anguish and longing mingled with a raw, gnawing grief that clawed at his heart like a relentless beast. The weight of loss pressed upon him, each breath a struggle beneath the burden of Seiryuu's words—words that resonated with painful clarity, cutting deeper than any physical wound ever could.

Sukuna knew, deep down, that Seiryuu's admonitions held truth. The inevitability of letting go, of releasing your spirit from the confines of earthly ties, bore down upon him with crushing force. Yet, accepting this truth was a wound unto itself—a wound that pierced through the very fabric of his being, leaving behind scars that no battle could ever erase.

The room around him seemed to constrict, suffused with a palpable stillness that mirrored the turmoil within his soul. Shadows danced upon the walls, casting elongated figures that whispered of past regrets and future uncertainties. Each moment stretched into eternity, time itself bending to accommodate the weight of his indecision and sorrow.

As he stood there, a solitary figure amidst the silent tableau of memories and regrets, Sukuna's hands trembled with the urge to reach out—to touch, to hold, to defy the relentless march of time. Yet, even as he yearned for solace in the familiarity of her presence, the truth remained a bitter pill to swallow—a truth that threatened to unravel the fragile threads of his resolve.

And in the hush that enveloped them both, Sukuna grappled with the agonizing truth that love, in its purest form, sometimes meant letting go. For in the depths of his heart, amidst the ache of separation and the anguish of acceptance, lay the essence of his eternal struggle—a struggle that would surely blossom from what he had left of you.

Seiryuu broke the silence with a question that pierced Sukuna's brooding thoughts. "Are you still asking, Sukuna–dono?”

Sukuna turned his head, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. "What are you talking about?"

Seiryuu's eyes held a depth of understanding as he clarified. "Are you still trying to find mother’s soul?"

Sukuna paused, the weight of the question settling heavily upon him. Your soul had vanished shortly after your death. Sukuna had felt it leave you. Sorcerers could always feel the energy of life leave. In all that time, Ryomen Sukuna had spent countless years searching for a way to retrieve it, to reunite your truest essence with your preserved body. He had worked all this time, trying to find a way to have you again.

Seiryuu shook his head slowly. "It’s no use. You should stop chasing the same madness that consumed the ancients. You will never find the answers you seek, nor the closure you crave. Neither will I. We will never find closure, only grief. And what better way to love than to grieve, until our dying day?"

Sukuna’s voice was low, almost resigned. "I don’t know if I can even die. Nor do I remember what it was to love."

Seiryuu chuckled softly, a sad yet knowing sound. "That's a pretense, Sukuna. All you have to do is look at my mother and you’ll remember."

A heavy silence enveloped them once more, each man lost in his own reflections. Finally, Sukuna broke the silence with a question of his own. "Where will Hiromi be buried?"

Seiryuu's gaze softened, filled with a mixture of sorrow and determination. "Mother’s ashes will be scattered between the Mikoto and the Gojo, but my mother’s heart will remain in Hida."

Sukuna's nod was solemn, his gaze lingering upon your serene countenance for what felt like an eternity. In the delicate lines of your face, he traced the echoes of a life once vibrant with purpose—a life intimately entwined with his own, now frozen in eternal repose.

Turning away felt like tearing himself from the essence of his existence, a painful severance from the one who had anchored his tumultuous soul. Yet, he knew that lingering would only prolong the agony, prolong the inevitable parting that fate had cruelly decreed.

As he stood at the threshold of the crypt, a profound sense of loss washed over him like a tidal wave. The weight of your absence bore down upon him with suffocating force, threatening to engulf him in a sea of despair. Each step away from your side felt like a betrayal of the love that had sustained him through decades of turmoil and strife.

But in that agonizing moment of departure, Sukuna found himself paralyzed by indecision. His hand hovered uncertainty in the air, fingertips brushing against the cold stone of the crypt. The room seemed to constrict around him, the walls closing in with the weight of unspoken regrets and unfulfilled promises.

Time stood still, suspended in the fragile balance between past and present, love and duty. His breath caught in his throat, chest tight with the ache of longing and the bitter taste of acceptance. The air crackled with unseen energy, the atmosphere heavy with the echoes of their shared history and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

For a fleeting moment, Sukuna dared to imagine a future where your spirit could find peace, where the echoes of your presence would linger as a gentle whisper in the winds. But reality intruded with merciless clarity, reminding him that some wounds could never fully heal, some losses could never be reconciled.

And as he finally tore himself away, each step echoing like a tolling bell in the silence of the crypt, Sukuna carried with him the weight of a love that transcended time and a sorrow that echoed through the corridors of his soul.As the meeting drew to a close, Seiryuu turned to Sukuna with a probing look.

"Before you go, tell me about the little girl you sent to me.”

Sukuna's expression remained unreadable. "The girl is important to me."

Seiryuu raised an eyebrow, curiosity evident in his eyes. "She looks exactly like my mother, Sukuna–dono.”

"It’s better to ask little to no questions," Sukuna replied, his tone cold. "The more questions you ask, the more trouble it will bring."

Seiryuu sighed, shaking his head. "You must have been such a bore if your words always echoed like this."

Sukuna made no response, his gaze steely. "I hope I never see you again, Seiryuu, because next time, I will kill you."

Seiryuu laughed, a genuine sound that filled the crypt. "You say that every time, Sukuna, and yet you never follow through. Do you have respect for your elders after all?"

Sukuna snickered, a dark amusement flickering in his eyes. "I have none."

With a graceful bow, Seiryuu offered a final word. "Thank you for making the time to see off my mother."

Sukuna remained silent, his stoic demeanor a stark and powerful response in itself. With a heavy heart, he turned away from the stairwell, leaving behind the crypt and the haunting memories that clung to its walls like shadows. The weight of his grief, a burden he carried with the weight of centuries, hung heavy upon his shoulders, echoing the pain of a past that refused to be forgotten.

Stepping into the fading light outside, the world seemed to darken around him, the encroaching shadows a tangible reminder of the darkness that still gripped his heart. Each footfall echoed with a hollow emptiness, the void that now consumed him—a void that no victory in battle or conquest could ever hope to fill.

Returning to Hida, his sanctuary amidst the mountains, offered him no solace this time. The familiar quiet that had once been a refuge now felt suffocating, a relentless reminder of the emptiness that gnawed at his immortal soul. Decades of relentless striving, of conquering foes and amassing power, had left him adrift in a sea of purposelessness.

The once-glorious halls of his domain now echoed with the whispers of lost ambitions and unfulfilled desires. His immortal existence stretched out before him, devoid of meaning or direction. What had once driven him—the promise of power, the pursuit of vengeance, the longing for a love lost to time—now felt hollow and meaningless.

As Sukuna stood amidst the silent mountains, their peaks piercing the heavens like jagged scars, he wrestled with the bitter realization that even immortality offered no escape from the agony of longing and loss. Each passing moment only deepened the chasm within him, a gaping wound that no amount of conquest could heal.

And so, in the fading light of day, Sukuna stood alone—a titan brought low by the weight of his own immortality, haunted by the echoes of a past that refused to be buried. And it bored him. It pained him. It turned him bitter, too bitter to even understand why.

Sukuna called upon Uraume, who appeared before him with a respectful bow. "Sukuna–sama," Uraume greeted, their voice tinged with concern. “You asked to see me?”

Sukuna met their gaze, his eyes reflecting a restless determination. "I’ve heard tales of a cursed user, who introduces themself as a sorcerer traveling the lands, granting wishes," he began, surprising Uraume with the unexpected topic of conversation.

Uraume tilted their head, curious. "Why would you be interested in such a thing, Sukuna–sama?"

Sukuna’s expression darkened with a hint of anticipation. "There’s something I want to do," he said slowly, his voice carrying an edge of urgency. "And I need your assistance."

Uraume nodded solemnly, sensing the gravity of Sukuna’s request. "Whatever it is, Sukuna–sama, I am here to serve."

Sukuna's mind churned with tumultuous thoughts, each thought of a turbulent wave crashing against the shores of his consciousness. For centuries, he had roamed the earth with purpose, driven by a relentless hunger for power and a burning desire for vengeance. Yet, amidst the eons of battles fought and victories claimed, there remained a desire—a yearning that whispered to him in quiet moments, a longing that stirred the depths of his immortal soul.

The prospect of fulfilling this desire now loomed before him, tantalizing yet elusive. It was a pursuit that had consumed him in quiet moments of reflection, a quest that promised to satiate a hunger deeper than any he had known. The flickering flame of possibility danced on the horizon of his mind, casting shadows of doubt and determination in equal measure.

In the labyrinth of his thoughts, Sukuna weighed the consequences of his next move. The path ahead was fraught with uncertainty, veiled in the mists of destiny and obscured by the echoes of past decisions. To grasp this desire meant unraveling the fabric of his existence, risking everything he had fought to build and protect.

Yet, the allure was undeniable—a magnetic pull that drew him inexorably forward, defying reason and logic. It whispered promises of fulfillment, of reclaiming what had been lost, and of forging a future where his immortal existence could find purpose once more.

As he stood at the crossroads of destiny, Ryomen Sukuna's resolve hardened like steel. With each passing heartbeat, he embraced the uncertainty that lay ahead, knowing that the journey to fulfill his desire would test not only his strength but also the depths of his resolve.

He cannot face this world like this any longer.

There must be another way to live with excitement.

There must be another way to be with you again.

“Seek out that man they call Kenjaku.”

IT WAS A CONFUSING THING. You stood amidst the rugged terrain, surrounded by towering mountains that seemed to stretch endlessly into the sky. The air was crisp and tinged with the scent of pine, a stark contrast to the bustling wind that swept through the valleys below. Your long hair danced in the breeze, lilac eyes scanning the unfamiliar landscape with uncertainty.

You looked left and right, Your gaze tracing the jagged outlines of the peaks that framed your surroundings. The silence of the mountains enveloped you, broken only by the distant call of an eagle and the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze. Each direction seemed equally daunting, equally unknown.

You didn’t know this place, but you truly wish you did. Its contours were foreign, its secrets hidden within the folds of its ancient rocks and whispering forests. Yet, despite the uncertainty that gripped your heart, something stirred deep within the depths of your soul. A faint whisper, a subtle urging, compelled you to move forward. To find that way somewhere.

Your brow furrowed in concentration as you tried to make sense of the inner voice guiding you. It was elusive, a fleeting sensation like the touch of a distant memory. It urged you to move, to seek out something you couldn’t yet define. But you could feel it, in your gut, in your mind, in your heart, in your whole soul — that you need to be somewhere, that something is calling to you.

You could only close your eyes briefly, inhaling deeply as if to draw strength from the untamed wilderness around you. The soul dragons, ethereal creatures of legend, fluttered around you, their presence both mystical and comforting. These soul dragons, they were ephemeral and ancient. And yet they were kind to you as they soothed you and your edges. Souls were pure, they always had to be. They were protecting you with their ethereal forms shimmering with hints of iridescent colors as they circled in a dance.

You were sure that they came here to rescue you. Wandering souls are often ones that come by here, you were sure. And somehow, they seemed to sense how overwhelmed you were and in their shimmering forms weaving through the air as if to point the way, as if to guide you to a safe zone. And you were grateful, that there was at least something that could help you feel like you weren’t alone.

Uncertainty lingered in your heart, but so did determination. You knew you had to go somewhere, even if you couldn’t articulate why. With a final glance at the vast expanse before you, you took a deep sigh and put your trust in your new found companions. You took a hesitant step forward, trusting in the unseen currents that guided your path.

"Where do I belong?" you whispered softly, your voice barely audible over the gentle rustling of leaves. “Do you know where I should be?”

The soul dragons continued their mesmerizing dance, their movements synchronized as if in response to your question. You furrowed your brows, focusing. You looked around the two, trying to decipher their silent language, searching for clues in the patterns they traced against the clear blue sky. But you could only sigh. You don’t know what they were saying.

A voice, soft yet commanding, echoed in your mind, urging you to look at their dances harder. To understand what they were saying to you. You turned again, trying not to give up. Before you heard a sound. You yelped as you hid behind the dragons, who formed a wall around you. You looked to the side as you gulped. You peered for a small moment and saw a figure approaching through the rocky terrain—a dark-haired man with an enigmatic smile on his lips.

"Are you lost, traveler?" the man asked, his voice carrying a warmth that belied the remote wilderness surrounding them. “I’m sorry, did I startle you?”

“N–not too much.” The dragons seemed unmoving as you moved to the side, but they followed you. You purse your lips. “I’m sorry….my friends here seem overprotective of me.”

He smiles back at you, shaking his head. “Not at all. Please don’t be concerned.”

You hesitated, uncertain whether to trust this stranger who seemed to appear out of nowhere. "I... I don't know…" you admitted, your gaze flickering between him and the soul dragons that hovered nearby. “I don’t know what to say.”

The man's smile widened, as if he understood the turmoil within her. "You're searching for something, aren't you?" he asked softly, his eyes holding a glimmer of knowing.

You could not help but nod slowly, a sense of relief mingling with trepidation. "I feel like I have to go somewhere," you confessed, your voice tinged with both hope and apprehension. “But I don’t know where or how to get there….I’m very….”

“Confused?”

You nodded at him. “I am…”

The man's expression softened, and he extended a hand towards you. "Then let me help you," he offered gently. "Tell me your wish, and I will guide you."

You looked into his eyes, eyes widened. “Do you… do you know who I am?”

“I do, I do know you.”

"Then…then….I… I long to remember who I am! And…and where I'm meant to go," you replied earnestly, your heart yearning for clarity. “Please tell me. Everything!”

The man's smile remained kind and reassuring. "I can help you with that," he said, his voice resonating with quiet assurance. “Don’t worry.”

You felt a surge of gratitude towards this stranger who offered to illuminate the path she sought. "What's your name?" you asked, curiosity sparking in your lilac eyes.

His smile widened as he responded, "My name is Kenjaku."

“And…..and what is my name?”

“I’ll tell you, on the way.” He takes his haori off and places it on top of your shoulder. “Do you trust me?”

You blinked at him. “I….I do.”

“Then trust me, wholeheartedly.”

Your eyes warmed as you nodded.

And so began, a thousand years of hell.

facts about the chapter

the chapter is 10k words long and it was just me trying to fit everything in one chapter knowing it would be rough if i split it into two.

i took out some stuff because the draft was not drafting the way i wanted. maybe like 2k words?

the entire chapter echoes a lot about sukuna's hypocrisy. he believes that he is a god, belittles humans and ends up being more human than most. seiryuu sees it the most in sukuna, and perhaps its why he keeps him around the most.

seiryuu is the only remaining child of hiromi still alive. he is in his 100s, which is a very rare feat in that time and being a six-eyes and limitless user, he is in fact very strained. no one knows how he lived that long.

the ode that mikoto masuyo wrote only lasted up until the death of hiromi. so only seiryuu knows about things that happened 80 years later.

the first to die was masako. she died in childbirth just ten years after her mother passed away. her last wish was to be with her mother, but she never got her wish.

the way the gojo clan stole hiromi's body back was to come when no one was around. sukuna at the time was called to the festival where he meets yorozu, whom he hates. it was put into the gojo clan manor in the capital, until the siblings could decide what to do.

sukuna talked about stealing ryomen manor and he does, for the next few years before the genpei war starts and begins. this is the time sukuna ended up dying and cutting himself into different pieces to be revived.

he renovated ryomen manor and made the entire thing have frescos of hiromi's life from beginning to end. its one of the marvels of ryomen manor, but we'll see this in us and them, but sukuna is displeased that they took out the part where he and hiromi fell and love and married - the mikoto do not in fact subscribe to the reality that they were ever married.

hiromi's soul wandered a long time, but gained form only that year because the soul could not find anyway to be whole as the way hiromi died nearly ruined the essence remaining in the soul.

the girl that was living with seiryuu was someone that sukuna holds dear. sukuna sent her away because he doesn't want her to be stuck with him. this will be elaborated on in the next chapter and in us and them!!!

kenjaku in fact was the person that trapped hiromi for one thousand years and in fact helped sukuna afterwards. the whole reason he trapped hiromi was because of her powers.

we'll only find out next chapter how hiromi was trapped and how she appears in shibuya.

the gif quotes is hiromi and her descendant genmei talking. this happens post shibuya.

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