#if you want to write your take on this go for it

[lykos-with-a-gun]

Hi so

I've done this shi on my iPad

I just had the silly idea that luffy when about to get real silly He smiles even more

This is dumb what am i doing with my life

HERE COMES ZOLU GOD AU WITH A STEELCHAIR!!!!! Lore below!

(In which everything is the same except Luffy was 'born' as a god-like entity and grew copying the people of his island.

He basically copied and pasted human (and some non human) behaviors, especially kids (i'm looking at the ASL brothers.) until whatever blob of energy he was, turned into something resembling human. (See how luffy is kind of a physical mix between sabo and ace? yeah. he took inspiration)

He's the manifestation of freedom, but he also made up the personality we know and love, as kids do. He's 18 when some weird three sworded demon gets deployed by some mercenaries of the island who want to get rid of the really weird devil fruit user that keeps breaking havoc and getting in their way. Zoro just came for a simple job and got a handful of Sun god. Good for him. Also, because this au is basically a What If scenario in which everything but Luffy is the same, you can assume that finding the one piece is ON the table. Being a pirate and finding the crew is ON the table. It just takes a couple extra years, give or take. I'm thinking that there's a reason why Luffy hasn't left the island already, but Zoro is, ironically enough, the one to push him to go and go crazy at sea. Also, because Zoro never got to meet Luffy early on, he's a little extra grumpier. He has no friends basically and his life's purpose is kinda a bit stranded at the moment. He's been picking up odd jobs for some time now and it's gotten old. He's losing his edge and he hates it. And then he meets ITS FREE REAL STATE himself. Huzzah. Ps: Yeah the world government knows about Luffy. Kinda. They've been ignoring him and praying/hoping/begging to whatever god is out there that he DOESNT GET OUT. Too bad.)

[norrisainz33]

home for the holidays || ls18

☆ summary: lance and his partner start a new chapter now that the season is over and take their relationship to the next level

☆ pairing: lance stroll x nonfamous!reader

☆ fc & warnings: none

☆ requested: nope! just a short one bc i don’t see enough lance fics so wanted to write one!!

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

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ynuser: and just like that - the 2024 season has come to an end. this was a tough one but no matter what i am proud of the team and proud of lance. see all you beautiful people again in march 🤍

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astonmartinf1: see you soon y/n/n! we love you ❤️

ynuser: 🤍 you more admin

user1: you are so real for posting the vegas pics of lance

lance_stroll: i love you 😘

ynuser: and i love you 🥹

user4: mama y papa

user2: i’m going to miss this silly season and seeing you practically every weekend smh

francisca.cgomes: see you sooner than march please😭

ynuser: you know i can’t go more than a couple weeks without you 😔

user44: can lance fight?

scottyjames1: no

user44: SCREMING

ynuser has posted to their story

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user1: most canadian thing i’ve ever seen

lance_stroll: missed this and missed you darling

ynuser: i missed you more lance. i’m overjoyed to be back 🤍

yourbff: i’m so glad you and lancey are finally home

ynuser: me too! this season was a long one 😩

yourbff: you both are stronger than i

ynuser: i’m not sure how we made it honestly! but it’s time for new beginnings and rest 🫶🏻

user2: time for some much deserved relaxation

user6: just saw the f1 secret santa and can’t stop thinking about how good of gift giver lance is and how he probably got you the best gifts ever

fernandoalo_official: happy holidays mi amiga

ynuser: gracias nando! i hope you have the best break with all of those you love most 🤍

user3: i hope you have the best break y/n

ynuser has posted to their story

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yourbff: i can’t wait to visit you in your new home!!!

ynuser: i can’t wait for you to visit!! one of the spare bedrooms has your name on it bestie

user11: ahhh congrats y/n!!!

carmenmundt: congrats on your and lances new home!! looking forward to visiting 😘

ynuser: thank you carmen! i miss you sm already. please come visit soon 🤍

user14: so so happy for you and lance. end game fr

lance_stroll: remind me why i thought moving right after the season ended was a good idea

ynuser: you said, and i quote, “i want to be home for the holidays and host all the people i love in our home.”

lance_stroll: well when you put it like that….

cholestroll: yayyayayay!!!!! can’t wait to see it in a few days

ynuser: can’t wait to see you and scotty and the lovely little bug soon. it’s been too long

astonmartinf1: cheers to new beginnings ✨

lance_stroll posted to his story

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chloestroll: the tree is so cuteeeeee oh i love it

lance_stroll: it is ! y/n is very excited for the holidays

chloestroll: as she should be!! do you have everything set?

lance_stroll: everything should be set up according to plan! im beyond nervous though

chloestroll: don’t be!! it’s going to alllll be ok

user3: y/n is so cute

scottyjames31: glad she’s getting you into the holiday spirit

lance_stroll: between y/n and chloe there’s more than enough holiday spirit! we’ve got hanukah and christmas covered over here

user4: pookie christmas lets goooo

ynuser: i am having the most fun decorating our new house 🫶🏻

lance_stroll: me too my love. building this life with you is everything i could ask for and more ❤️

user5: i’m glad you’re getting the time to relax lancey. you deserve it after this season

lance_stroll has posted to his story

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user2: holy crap this is beautiful?????? and she managed this right after you two moved in???? get this girl an award

fernandoalo_official: looks beautiful! can’t wait to hear about how your evening goes

lance_stroll: you’ll be one of the first to know ❤️

user6: this called me broke in about 800 different languages

pierregasly: WOW! can i hire y/n to decorate my house?

lance_stroll: for a hefty price 😉

user9: you better marry this girl i s2g

ynuser: thank you 🥹 🤍😘🎄

lance_stroll: no thank YOU gorgeous! i am so thankful to have you help me host the holidays ❤️

ynuser: 😭 i love being a part of your family lance

lance_stroll: we all love you so very much ❤️

ynuser: you’re going to make me cry 🥹

chloestroll: eeeeek!!!!!! today is THE day 🤍🤍🤍🤍

lance_stroll: she doesn’t suspect a thing 😍

user12: her outfit is everything ??? literal angel

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ynuser: tonight may have been the best night of my life. wishing you the happiest of holidays from the future mr and mrs stroll ❤️

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user18: this is so important to me you have no idea

chloestroll: welcome to the family sis 😘

ynuser: sis 😭 oh i love you chloe

georgerussell63: 🥹 congrats! you two make the perfect couple

ynuser: thank you georgie ❤️

fernandoalo_official: felicidades mis amigos

ynuser: gracias por todo nando 🫶🏻

user32: my mom and dad are getting married im overjoyed

lance_stroll: i can’t wait to make you my wife

ynuser: and i can’t wait for you to be my husband 😘

user23: you look so good in white

astonmartinf1: best news we’ve seen all day

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thanks for reading!! likes and reblogs appreciated.

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[bootycallin]

🪼⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ want me that top!

꩜ .ᐟ basically; caitlyn’s that kind of top…

cw; female reader. stráp usage (r! receiving). stráp referred to as côck bc. cait is MEANNN. brief mentions of edġíng. sweáring. pet names. degrádátion but also praișe lol. dírty talk. däcryphïlia if u squint. not proofread.

a/n; never wrote for caitlyn. please do excuse any shitty writing and ooc. anyways she’s so hot

NSFW UTC.

cait’s that mean kind of top. it’s not that she doesn’t want you feeling good! it’s the opposite. she wants you feeling good for so long you’re crying and writhing, begging for her to just let you cum.

yes, cait’s the type of top that edges you for her own enjoyment. next question.

cait, contrary to vi, is that type of top that loves straps. something about dicking you down, seeing your eyes roll—she knows it’s not her dick but damn, she can cum on fucking your pussy with that dildo if it comes down to it.

cait’s that type of top to say the nastiest shit with the sweetest tone of voice. yeah? you like that, mm? i know you do, baby. such a pretty little slut for me. her praise gives you mixed signals but she doesn’t stop, because she can feel your pussy twitch every time she calls you her slut.

cait’s that type of top that has surprising self control. she doesn’t get angry with brats and she doesn’t get jealous often, as a kiramman should. that doesn’t mean she won’t show you what happens when you’re a brat.

cait’s that type of top that gets what she wants. she’s always had it all on a silver platter and that isn’t changing now, not even when it comes to you.

cait’s that type of top that will take you anywhere. and i mean, anywhere.

cait’s that type of top that spoils you rotten. be it with clothes or making you cum. when you earn it, that is. yes, she will give you the most luxurious, expensive lingerie sets in piltover, if you agree to model for her. if you act good for her, i guarantee she will give you the best orgasms of your life. there’s nothing she likes more than to see you submit.

cait’s that type of top to be mean, but she has good intentions. she can’t help herself sometimes. you’re easy to poke and pick at when you’re under her, and you’re just so cute when you cry. she loves you, though. she swears. her good girl.

“what was that, baby?”

she was making fun of you. you were babbling incoherently, royal blue strap reminiscent of her own hair color plunging in and out of you, tip repeatedly kissing your cervix until you couldn’t think anymore.

“caiiittt…!” you whine out. she’s the only thing you can think of. pretty much any other words escape you as she fucks you, moaning and whining her name over and over and over again.

“hmm? yeah? you like that, huh?” she’s smirking. it’s so cute. you’re so cute, chest heaving with every moan and whine, tears pricking at your eyes at the sheer pressure on your womb. her pelvis repeatedly rubs and smacks against your clit, sharp little stings of pleasure to the puffy nub. not enough to cum, just enough to drive you to that edge and then away again. a constant swing of being at your limit and being pulled back by caitlyn.

“look at me.” she snaps suddenly, driving her cock deep into you, tip now practically smushed against your insides as she leans up against you, legs pushed up near your sides. she slings them over her shoulders, one hand holding your knee and the other grabbing your chin to make you look straight at her. her nails bite into the skin ever so slightly, a subtle reminder.

“c’mon. tell me how you like it, baby,” she grins, her movements suddenly continuing, but slower. methodical. she just rubs into you, just barely leaving an inch of space before going back in. her tip is massaging your uterus, you can feel it, and it almost feels like you’re about to explode.

“caitlyn!” you cried, legs trembling over her shoulders, “p-pleaseee…”

“please what?” she’s not letting you get the easy way out. no way. she’s panting, the heat coiling in her stomach growing the more she sees you beg and whine and cry her name. the rubber of the strap rubs against her own cunt, a delicious, excruciating continuous stimulus that she can’t help chasing.

“please… please fuck me, please… wanna cum, please let me—“

you’re cut off by a sharp smack of skin against skin as she suddenly thrusts full force into you. “good girl.” she nearly growls, adjusting her hold on your thighs, nearly folding you just to get the deepest angle she could. her thrusts grow more erratic, harder, and she grins at the little bulge that forms in your tummy every time she thrusts back into you.

you’re moaning so loud you might as well be screaming. god spare any maid in the kiramman estate from hearing you two. caitlyn has the decency to lean forward, kissing you open-mouthed and all, swallowing allll your moans into her own. you’re blubbering incoherently, tears making your eyes glassy—which just riles her up further.

“gonna!-“

“gonna cum, yeah? come on. cum for me, baby, you’ve earned it.”

she barely gets through her sentence, as you cum over her cock, earning her a chuckle as you paint her shaft a pretty milky white. your back arched and your head flopped back, moaning out a long whine of her name.

“yeah… that’s it. make a mess. you’ve been so good for me, haven’t you? just let it all out.” she fucks you through all of your orgasm, picking up her pace a little just to see your juices gush onto her lower belly. she goes until she reaches her own orgasm. the friction driving her into a wave of pleasure that makes her nearly collapse over you.

she lets your thighs fall from her shoulders. her chest presses against yours, her movements halt inside you as she groans a curse into your neck, riding out her own high.

you both lay there for a minute or so, just catching your breath. she picks her head up, kissing your neck, up to your jaw, up to your lips.

“my flower,” she muttered, “so perfect. so good for me. i love you.”

cait’s that type of mean top… but not cruel. she’s gonna let you cum—eventually. she wants to see you cum. there’s nothing better than seeing you burst with pleasure because of her. but she’s not letting you do that, not until all you can think about is her, her, her<3

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 © bootycallin on tumblr. do not copy, translate or cross post without permission. ᛝ

[ellecdc]

Hey! I've recently joined tumblr and I'm obsessed with your poly!Marauders×fem!reader fics. They're so so sweet and it just heals something in me. I'm not entirely sure if you're taking any requests at the moment so if you aren't, please feel free to ignore this completely.

Um, i was wondering if you could write about the reader being pregnant and having a scare in the middle of her pregnancy that has them all worried about her and the baby(s? As you wish again) so they rush her to the hospital and their anxiety and relief and how they handle the situation would be sweet to see i feel.

I love me some angst before a happy ending, so feel free to make this as angsty as you wish, I would be more than happy to just have the opportunity to read your work on my prompt.

Thanks for reading, again no pressure to write this if you're uncomfy.

<3

so glad you've enjoyed my works! thanks for your request <3

poly!marauders x afab!reader who has a scare during her pregnancy [2k words]

CW: fem!reader, pregnancy fic, I'm not a doctor nor have I ever been pregnant myself so this is likely not entirely realistic - my apologies for any inaccuracies, reader notices bleeding about halfway through her pregnancy, first pregnancy so they're all very nervous and tense, hurt/comfort, everyone's fine

Your silence was perhaps the most concerning part in Sirius’ mind. 

You were slightly hysterical when you first called to the boys from the bathroom; your voice a few octaves higher and breathing somewhat erratically as you explained that you were spotting. 

Remus, ever the fixer, immediately went into diagnostic mode. Sirius wondered if that hadn’t ultimately contributed to some of your anxiety. How much blood? From where? Was it in your urine or external? Could he see? 

You seemed torn between being mortified that he wanted to see your pink tinged urine and horrified that you’d flushed before he had a chance to inspect it for you.

“That’s alright; hey, it’s okay dove. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He had assured you. You didn’t seem convinced. 

James insisted he carry you to the bedroom, and it was a testament to how freaked out you were that you actually let him, even though the edge of your shared bed was a mere 15 steps from the bathroom. 

James had you tucked into his side as he rubbed soothing stripes up and down your arms, a concerned divot making itself home between his brows as he volleyed questions back and forth with Remus who was quickly making some quick searches on his phone and you stared unseeingly at the carpeted floor. 

Sirius, ever the useless sod, stood with his arms crossed, gnawing on the skin surrounding the nail on his thumb as he kept his worried gaze locked on the side of your face. 

When he got off the phone with your obstetrician, Remus eventually suggested  - in his most calm, authoritative voice - that they take you to A&E. 

You haven’t said anything since. 

Sirius packed you a bag - just in case you needed to be admitted for an extended period of time - whilst James and Remus helped you put on your jacket and shoes before helping you into the car. Again, Sirius knew just how freaked out you were that you even let them fuss over you as such; the fact didn’t seem to be lost on Remus or James either, who shared a concerned glance over your head as James fastened your buckle and Remus shut your door. 

Sirius’ gaze kept darting to the rearview mirror where he could see James’ eyes on you as you kept your own gaze pointed out the window, watching the passing cars as you chewed on the quickly nearing raw skin of your lips. 

“Still feeling okay, dove?” Remus asked, feigning repose. You offered him a hum of quasi-confirmation. 

“We’ll get you all sorted out, angel. You’ve nothing to worry about, okay?” James assured you, clearly going for light and breezy, though his facade fell quickly when a breathy sob escaped you.

“Are you okay, dove?” Remus urged, turning nearly dangerously in his seat to face you. “Does anything hurt? Do you need us to pull over?”

“Remus…” Sirius warned, darting a nervous look to you and James in the rearview mirror.

“Can we just…stop talking? Please?” You begged, sounding so small as you hid behind your hands and rubbed harshly at the tears in your eyes. 

Remus and James both looked as though they wanted to argue the matter, but Sirius quickly agreed. “Of course, gorgeous. We’re almost there.”

Sirius could feel Remus’ helpless gaze settle onto the side of his face, and he casually reached over the console to place his hand on Remus’ thigh as he often did when Sirius drove, though this time he offered his knee a comforting squeeze. 

Remus let out a shuddering breath, and Sirius simply hoped you couldn’t hear it over the thundering of your pulse in your ears. 

He stole one more look at James and exchanged a sad smile with him before returning his attention to the road. 

The admission process passed by in a blur. Sirius sat in a chair with you as Remus spoke to the intake nurse and James paced nervously a few steps behind him. 

Sirius had no words to offer, but you had also been clear about the fact that you didn’t want any, so he simply held you tight and tried to infuse as much strength and love as he could through every point of contact his body made with yours, and prayed that it’d be enough. 

“So, Miss. L/N, this is your first pregnancy?” The doctor asked you as she looked down at the notes in your chart.

You cleared your throat before answering her. “That’s right.” 

“How far along are you?” 

“Twenty weeks.” You offered meekly, shooting a nervous look to Sirius who hoped his encouraging smile translated properly. “And two days.”

The doctor smiled at that. “Half way through. That’s great.” 

Though James tried to smile back, no one else in the room could bring themselves to share in the excitement. 

“So it says here you noticed some spotting. When did that start?”

“Just today,” you responded quickly, “it wasn’t…a lot. Sort of like…like the first day of a period, I suppose? Except…lighter in colour. I don’t know, I’m sorry, I’m not explaining this very well.” 

Sirius itched to reach out for your hand as you started to sound slightly panicked, but fought the urge. Remus hadn’t fought the urge; his hand was promptly shaken off of your form.

“No, that’s perfect. That was going to be my next question; how you would relate it to your cycle.” The doctor assured you. Sirius’ shoulders relaxed when he noticed you take a breath of relief, too. 

“Have there been any other concerns as of late? Any falls, any pain, any cramping?” 

You shook your head no at all of them.

“Okay, let’s take a look then, shall we?” She asked, and Remus supported you as you shuffled towards the head of the bed, this time without pushing him away. 

Sirius didn’t think it was possible to feel more anxious than he did that very first ultrasound after the two pink lines told the four of you that you were pregnant, but he wondered if maybe he couldn’t also ask for one of those plastic bucket things as he felt bile rising in his throat whilst waiting for the doctor to spread some of the gel onto your stomach and press the wand-like camera to the space just above your pelvis. 

It seemed as though the four of you were holding your breath as the doctor moved the camera around and you all tried to follow along with the images even though you really had no idea what you were looking at. 

And then Sirius saw it; a flutter.

“Well, you’re doing a wonderful job, mama.” The doctor said as she turned the monitor further to ensure you could see properly. “Your little one has a strong heartbeat, and they’re very active right now, can you feel them?” 

“Uhm,” You let out with a breathless chuckle, quickly bringing one of your hands up to rub at the tears quickly cascading down your face, “I’m not really sure. Maybe? But I thought maybe it was just nerves or butterflies.”

The doctor laughed in response with a nod of her head. “Yes, that’s often what people think of it as at first; butterflies or even like you’ve just had a fizzy drink.” 

You laughed in agreement, nerves still colouring your breathing as you kept your eyes glued to the monitor. 

Sirius was astounded by the fact that the baby looked so…human. The first few ultrasounds looked like an arbitrary blob that someone who had never seen a human before had a human described to them and then drew it based off of that description. But this…

He could see a neck, and a nose, and hands with little fingers, and the fluttering of a heartbeat he was so worried the bunch of you wouldn’t see. 

He felt a small cold spot on his chest, and when he looked down he realised he’d been crying. 

“Bleeding can sometimes happen during pregnancy; sometimes it’s as simple as hormonal changes or changes to your cervix, but it is always a good idea to get it checked with your healthcare provider.”

“We had spoken with her obstetrician prior to bringing her in.” Remus explained. “He suggested we bring her in just to be on the safe side.”

The doctor nodded in agreement before turning her attention back to her patient. “I’m glad you came in today, Miss. L/N. Your obstetrician probably wanted you to get looked at swiftly seeing as this was your first pregnancy and he didn’t want you to wait the weekend to get looked at. But this is a healthy baby and you’re clearly doing a wonderful job.”

You quickly covered your face as you began to cry in earnest, and Sirius couldn’t help it anymore. 

He perched himself on the edge of your bed and pulled you into his side as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. “You’re okay, doll. You’ve done great; you’re doing great.” 

“I thought I was losing them.” You keened, small bump twitching in surprise when James made to wipe the gel off of your stomach. 

“I know, my love.” He assured you, watching Remus approach the bed once the doctor closed the door behind her. “I know, that was really scary.”

“I’m sorry.” You sniffled. 

“What are you sorry for, angel?” James asked, having since tossed the used paper towels as he took both of your hands in his. Remus clearly found that wholly unfair and quickly stole one of your hands to hold between both of his. 

“I don’t know…for scaring you all, for worrying you. For maybe hurting the-”

“That’s quite enough.” Sirius chided as he pulled you further into his side, glaring at James who looked like he, too, sort of wanted to squish you into his side. “You’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing at all.” 

“Pregnancy is not easy, dove. Even if something had happened, it would have in no way been your fault. Okay?” Remus insisted, bending in an attempt to make eye contact with you when you refused to answer. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes.” You nearly wheezed, burrowing further into Sirius’ side; he let you. “Yes, I hear you.”

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” Remus relented, lifting your hand that he had in his to press a kiss to your knuckles. “I’m so glad that you’re both okay.”

“How do you feel about a bath, angel?” James asked then, quickly agreeing when Remus warned ‘not too hot’. “Maybe we could order some takeaway too? What are you feeling? We could pick up anything you want on our way home. If it’s not on our way home, I’ll drop you off and go get it myself. Would you like that?”

“James, how would you feel about a bath and ordering takeaway?” Sirius teased, eliciting a chuckle - albeit a wet one - from you under his shoulder. 

“Oh, I would love that.” James agreed readily, taking your hand that Remus relinquished in favour of packing your things back up and retrieving your shoes and jacket. 

“What do you think, doll? Think you feel up to joining Jamie in a warm bath with some take away?”

You pursed your lips as though considering it before rolling your eyes in faux concession. “Fine, I think I can manage.”

“My perfect girl.” James cheered, pressing a smacking kiss to your cheek. “Thank you, angel. I know that was a big ask.”

“Trying to get James to sit still for an extended period of time?” Remus asked as he held your jacket open for you, smoothing it over your shoulders as James and Sirius both put their own on too. “That really is a big ask.”

Sirius offered James a smile and a wink before taking his hand, thankful that James was more than willing to be the butt of the joke if it meant releasing some of the residual anxiety from your form by means of giggles.

Though Sirius knew that if James couldn’t bring himself to sit still for an extended period of time, especially after the scare you all had today, you had two more-than-willing partners who would quickly offer to take his place.

[littlelamy]

hiii I was wondering if you could maybe write something like Older!Rafe seeing reader being good with babies (u can decide if there’s smut

author's note: hi bby, let me know if you want headcanons because i am obsessed with older!rafe! credits to @mochilly for the the divider <3

the baby in your arms cooed happily, tiny fingers curling around your thumb as you adjusted the strap of your sundress with your free hand. rafe leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips. the way the sunlight spilled through the windows behind you gave you this sort of halo effect. it wasn’t fair, really—how effortlessly perfect you looked, cradling someone else’s kid like you were born to do it.

“you’re getting a little too comfortable there, don’t you think?” his voice carried that teasing edge, but there was something deeper underneath, something softer.

you glanced up, shooting him a grin. “why, are you jealous of a baby, cameron?”

he straightened up, pretending to think it over, one hand brushing through his sun-bleached hair. “depends. are they stealing all your attention from me?”

you rolled your eyes, but he caught the faint blush dusting your cheeks. he always noticed that kind of thing.

“you could come hold him, you know,” you said, tilting your head toward him. “he’s not that scary.”

rafe scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “yeah, sure. just let me swoop in and ruin whatever magic you’ve got going on there.”

“it’s not magic. you just have to be gentle,” you said, as if the word gentle and rafe belonged in the same sentence.

his smirk faltered for a second, something vulnerable flickering across his face. you’d seen it before—the way he tried to play off his insecurities, especially when it came to things he wasn’t used to.

“gentle, huh?” he murmured, stepping closer. his voice dropped slightly, taking on that low, gravelly tone he knew drove you crazy. “think you could teach me how to do that?”

you gave him a look, but your smile betrayed you. “don’t tell me you’re scared of a little baby, rafe.”

“not scared,” he shot back, crouching beside you now, so close you could smell the faint hint of cologne mixed with sunscreen. “just don’t want to screw it up.”

“you won’t.” your voice was softer now, and it made something tighten in his chest. you always had this way of looking at him, like you saw the parts he tried to hide from everyone else.

“here,” you said, shifting slightly so he could take the baby. “just support his head, and you’ll be fine.”

rafe hesitated, his hands hovering awkwardly, but when the baby settled against his chest with a soft gurgle, something shifted in him.

“see? not so bad,” you said, resting your chin in your hand as you watched him.

he looked down at the baby, then back at you, his blue eyes glinting with something mischievous. “you know, you’re really fuckin’ good at this.”

“at what?”

“making me want things I didn’t think I wanted.”

it was cheesy, sure, but the way he said it, low and serious, made your heart stutter.

“maybe that’s not such a bad thing,” you whispered, leaning in just enough for your knee to brush against his.

rafe glanced down at the baby again, then back at you, his lips twitching into a smirk. “guess we’ll just have to see about that.”

later, after the baby had been handed off to its mom and the yard cleared of most of the guests, you caught rafe lounging on the patio, a beer dangling from his fingertips.

you stepped out, the screen door creaking behind you as you crossed the space to him. “what are you doing out here all thoughtful?”

he looked up, his smirk lazy but sharp. “just thinking about how damn good you looked with that kid earlier.”

you paused mid-step, your brows raising. “oh, really?”

“yeah,” he said, leaning back and tilting his head as if sizing you up. “made me wonder how you’d look holding my kid.”

“jesus, rafe.” you tried to keep the heat off your face, but the way he said it, so low and gravelly, had your stomach doing flips.

“what?” he asked innocently, though the way his lips curved betrayed him. “just being honest.”

you shook your head, walking closer until you were standing over him. “you’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“maybe,” he admitted, setting the beer down and grabbing your wrist to tug you into his lap. “but you like me anyway.”

you let him pull you down, the weight of his arms wrapping around you making your breath hitch. “who said anything about liking you?”

he grinned, leaning closer until his lips just barely brushed your ear. “you didn’t have to. i can tell.”

and maybe you didn’t say anything back, but when your fingers curled into his shirt, holding him just a little tighter, rafe knew he wasn’t wrong.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

[nkogneatho]

"BETTER WRAP THAT PRESENT UP BEFORE YOU GIVE IT TO ME"

—gojo satoru x reader.

—#TAPE NO 1 OF 'Tis the Season to be Naughty

—cw: fem!reader, cunnigulus, nicknames, reader in lingerie

Throughout your dating life, you have never met a man who was interested in fucking you for your benefit. All they cared about is a quick fuck as long as they cum. Nothing for your pleasure. That changed when you met Satoru. He fucked you for you. To make you see the stars. To make you cum till you couldn't anymore. It's only fair that you returned him the gesture once in a while.

Christmas was Satoru's favorite because he loved spoiling you with gifts, watching your eyes light up and your fingers carefully unwrapped the gift, squealing and kissing him for them. He also loved the way you would beautifully decorate his gifts—he almost never wanted to open them, tearing away your efforts but you insisted—write him little cards with cute hearts drawn on each. But this year, you hid one gift from him.

"Sweetie pie, I am home." He announced, walking through the door. The higher ups tied him up with work even on Christmas eve, yet being the strongest he was, he completed it before time to spend time with his baby.

"Honey?" You didn't reply. The room lights were off, only the fairy lights on the christmas tree illuminating the sexy silhouette of you leaning against the bedroom doorframe.

"Welcome home. Santa left you a package."

"Wha—Holy shit." He walked closer, the soft glow of the lamp light bouncing off your skin and what he thinks is the most provocative lingerie. Red lace hugging your curves in all places oh so beautifully, he was jealous of them.

"Well, well, well...Looks like someone's been busy while I was out, huh?" He gulped. Taking in the sight of your  figure barely contained by the lacy red ensemble.

"Santa left one his naughty helpers for me?"

"Mhm" you nod, looking at him with a smirk while his hands pulled in your waist. "Was tired of helping him. Thought you needed to use me more than him." Slender fingers roamed all over your body, thumb lingering on some places for a little longer.

"All this for me?" He questioned, his pointer toying with the string.

"Yeah. All yours, Toru."

"Mmm..." he hummed. "Love unwrapping my presents. This might be the best one yet." That is all that was said before his lips crashed yours, an arm snaking your back to hold you as your arched into him, guiding both of you to the bed. Satory plopped you down but he remained on the edge.

He inhaled loudly, eyes bathing in the sight of you. the exhale followed a little later, almost coming out as a groan. You spread your legs, teasing him with the most inviting posture.

"Fuck. You're going to be the death of me Y/N Gojo." His lips trailed kisses all over your legs before they caught up to your pussy. He could feel it through the lace. All throbbing and wet. Just for him. Poking his tongue out, he pressed it against your clothed sex a few times, making you squirm. his fingers abandoned your thighs to rub you through the red fabric. He didn't take your panties off, just moved it enough to get access of your cunt. He left warm breaths on her.

"Pretty fucking pussy. Always so wet for me," he teased. Moving your thighs further apart, he licked a long stripe between your slick, parting your pussy lips. His eyes closed to feel how good you taste before going on for real. Warm, sloppy muscles making out with each other. Your fingers cascade through his locks, sweet moans leaving your lips.

"Fmuuck. shweet fmucking cwunt," mouth never leaving her. His big hands travel up to palm your tits and pinch your nipples, eyes so focused on you and the way you squirm, yelp and whine.

"Fhhuck. Toru, ngh—feels sooo good."

He continues his adorable abuse on your pussy before he shoves two fingers in your hole, inching you closer and closer to your climax.

"C'mon, princess. Do it for me. Santa sent you to help me, didn't he? Go ahead and help me. Lemme see this cute pussy cum." If you weren't gonna cum from the tongue or the fingers, you sure as hell did from his lewd sentences.

"G-gonna cum, toru. fuck. please ah—"

Soon enough, you were vibrating, thighs closing around his head, and fingers pulling his head too tight.

"Good girl." He breathed as he licked his lips. "Tell Santa thank you. Now..." you heard his belt unbunckle, "time for your present, princess."

[rafecameronssl4t]

hey i was wondering if you could write something where rafe and his gf are at a event and she started to get tired of standing but there’s no where to sit so he does wall sits so she can sit down like justin bieber did for hailey that one time? sorry this is so long, i love all your fics 🩷🩷

Anything For You || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: this was so wholesome to write 🥲

Warnings: pure fluff!!

Word count: 797

MASTERLIST

“Y/n?” Rafe’s voice cuts through the fog of your daydream, grounding you as you blink up at him. His expression is a mixture of amusement and curiosity, his piercing blue eyes locked on yours. You follow his gaze to the couple standing in front of you, both of them waiting for your response.

“Sorry, what was that?” you ask sheepishly, your cheeks warming under the weight of their polite smiles. Rafe chuckles, the sound low and familiar, as his hand finds its place on the bare skin of your back. “Don’t worry about it,” he reassures, his tone light. “Do you want to get another drink?”

You nod, grateful for the escape, and the two of you excuse yourselves from the conversation. As you walk away, his hand never leaves your back, a quiet but grounding presence amidst the lively hum of the party.“You okay?” he asks softly once you’re away from prying ears, his eyes scanning your face with concern.

“Just tired,” you admit with a sigh, leaning into him slightly. His hand moves in gentle, soothing circles against your back, and you relax under his touch. “I feel like we’ve been standing for hours,” you add, letting out a small huff as you shift your weight, reaching down to rub at your aching calf.

Rafe glances around, his gaze sweeping over the space as if searching for a solution. Noticing the lack of seating, he takes your hand without a word. His firm yet gentle grip pulls you along, and you glance up at him curiously. “Where are we going?” you ask, your voice laced with confusion as he leads you toward a secluded brick wall.

Instead of answering, Rafe moves to the wall, his back pressing against the cool bricks as he lowers himself into a wall sit, his thighs flexing under the strain. He pats his lap with a playful smirk, looking up at you. “Here,” he says, his voice light with teasing. You blink at him, furrowing your brows. “What are you doing?”

He chuckles softly, his tone warm and coaxing. “Sit on my lap.” “Rafe, no,” you protest, glancing around “I’ll feel bad!”“Feel bad?” he scoffs, the corners of his lips curling upward. “You think this is hard for me?” His hands reach for yours, tugging gently. “C’mon, Y/n. Trust me, I can handle it.”

You hesitate, but the playful determination in his eyes is enough to break down your resistance. Finally, you relent, lowering yourself onto his lap as he holds you steady with an arm wrapped securely around your waist. “See?” he says smugly, adjusting slightly to support you more comfortably. “Told you I could handle it.”

You huff, your cheeks warm as you let yourself relax against him, your back resting against his chest. “Show-off,” you mumble, but a small smile betrays your amusement. Rafe presses a quick kiss to your temple, his breath brushing against your skin. “Anything to make you feel better,” he murmurs, his voice filled with quiet affection.

[aliceoseman]

s3 dealt with some more mature themes than s1&2 did, did you struggle with that in any way or did it feel like a natural development for the characters? especially since heartstopper has been praised specifically for being a "wholesome" show basically from the start, did you find it in any way daunting to write (more) sex and alcohol into the show?

(Upon reading this back, I have only talked about sex, not alcohol, very sorry!! Also this gets really off topic but this was the only question I received about sex in the show and I have a lot to say that I just didn't get asked about at all in any promo interviews, so... Here I shall word vomit!!)

Short answer: Yes, I struggled, but not with the writing of the story - just with the general discourse about sex/no sex in Heartstopper, since the beginning of the show.

Long answer:

It wasn't something I struggled with when writing the comic. I always knew that Heartstopper would get to that point - that it would grow up alongside the characters - but the general cultural view of the show as 'wholesome' vs. the criticism of it for being 'puritanical' and 'sexless' has definitely made me feel quite anxious about how these maturer elements would be interpreted by people in the show.

I never saw Heartstopper as 'wholesome' when I started creating the comic. The first chapter of the comic leads to a scene featuring assault, and the story deals heavily with mental health and bullying. The comic has swearing throughout. Whether the story was 'wholesome' was simply not a topic of discourse before the TV show released - I knew it was uplifting and optimistic, of course, but only in the same way that most YA romance stories are. So the public declaration of the Heartstopper show as 'wholesome' - as its defining characteristic and unique selling point - did take me by surprise. I'd had to remove the swearing from the story, but aside from that, I couldn't really understand what was different with the show compared to the comic, and why this was its defining feature. And then of course some of the conversation shifted to the fact that in S1 and S2, there's no sex.

This too confused me. I always felt the sexual attraction between N&C was obvious from the start, and sex itself was introduced into the story at the time I felt was right for the characters, with no real thought as to whether the audience would agree with me. People hardly ever pointed out the lack of sex in the comic - it's very, very normal for YA fiction romances to not feature sex, and in fact, it's actually pretty common for teen movies and shows to not feature sex, certainly when they skew towards younger teens as Heartstopper did in S1 and S2. But for some reason, when the Heartstopper show came around, people really, really noticed the lack of sex, and I was very surprised by that reaction. I wonder if it was because people weren't accustomed to that in queer TV, or if it was because people liked N&C so much as a couple and desperately wanted to see them take that step, or just because people felt it was broadly unrealistic for a teen couple to wait a little while before feeling ready to have sex. Perhaps it was all. But whatever it was, it caused some... outcry!

(I could go into arguments as to whether it is morally correct or generally realistic for N&C to wait before having sex in the story, but ultimately I think people's opinion on that varies heavily depending on their worldview and personal experience, and there's no right answer - people can like it or not like it and that's completely fine, not every tv show is for everyone - but the one thing I would say is that I think it shows young readers/viewers that it's OKAY to not be ready, and how to have that conversation with your partner, and I think that's a really, really good and helpful thing for young people)

Fortunately for those who were distressed by the lack of sex in the show, and for me who was anxious about all of that criticism, I'd been planning for the story to reach that stage pretty soon anyway. It honestly made me relieved that it was going to be introduced, if only to reassure people that I wasn't pretending sex doesn't exist or that I, as an asexual, was spreading some sort of anti-sex agenda (seemed to be a common refrain among those who find it particularly annoying that I'm ace). But mainly - I'd always known this would be a really important step in N&C's journey, and I wanted to do it justice, and I felt I had done so in the comic, but with the TV show came all of those opinions and discourse, so I was much more nervous about it and spent a lot of time during the writing process trying to figure out how people would feel about it. An impossible task, and before S3 released, I had no idea what the reaction would be.

In the end it was pretty anti-climactic - it got hyped up a bit too much in the early promo for S3, and then the general consensus was that the sex in the show was shown with a very light touch, and some people thought that was a good thing and others did not. And people still call the show sexless and puritanical, so it didn't really solve that issue. (I'm just not sure what those people really expected to happen - obviously they are not going to suddenly start fucking on screen in a show that's been previously marketed for the 12-16 age bracket, guys, let's use our brains here) Personally, I'm really proud of how that element of the story turned out. I think the scenes are really beautiful and feel totally right for the tone of the story, and have let the show mature without suddenly becoming an entirely different show.

This has been a long answer but I think what I'm trying to say is this: the 'mature' vs 'wholesome' scale of Heartstopper is something that has never been a topic of discourse for the comic. But it has been front and centre for the show, and certainly is something that has caught me off guard and caused me some anxiety, because I do see the criticism and it does hurt, and at times feels incredibly personal. But at the end of the day, I'm just telling a story, and the things that happen will happen at the time I feel is right for the characters. I just want to tell the story that I've set out to tell, and I intend to keep doing so until it is done.

If we get a S4, and indeed now that I am working on Vol 6, I am thinking much less about how the audience might react to the sex in the story, and am simply just writing/drawing what feels emotionally and dramatically right for the story and characters. And that feels much more creatively freeing!

[amiaclone]

You asked I’ll write! Gender neutral reader if you don’t mind

Tw: cursing I guess? Squid game in general should be considered a trigger over all the murdering lmaoo

*In ho sighed for the what? Fifteenth time? He’s been counting it’s what he’s trying to focus on the other thing is well……*

*When he decided to participate in these games again it was to prove Gi hun a point and mess with him a bit so he joined his “team” which well….. they happened to be in*

You were apart of it a strong person filled with determination in debt to a lot of money…..honestly in ho was shocked with how much debt you were in I mean you seemed like someone who’d make it far in live would rule against the poor like he used to be…

But you weren’t you were *trash*

You were lower lower class you were nothing…..

Yet why couldn’t he stop thinking about you?

He had a wife who he fell out of love with before he even met you…..swore he’d never fall in love again after distancing himself with his family and starting the games…..

But you just had to be lucky star didn’t you?

You were “kind” and not in a pushover kind of way just….kind like kind that would not take shit from people but would help others in need….and didn’t hide your opinions from others that deserved it….

It was disgusting but…..In a good way? He wanted you not in a possessive way but in a way type of wanting to care for you and you care for him-

*He shook those thoughts off ugh. Why now? He’s usually so calm and collected…..at first he wouldn’t lie he was hoping you’d die in one of the earlier games but now….he isn’t so sure. Gi hun already has plans to take the guns and fight back he had a plan problem was…..you were apart of the main plan

He probably had to kill you it’s probably a good thing but…now he isn’t so sure he’s gotten along with you great and he has a tiny bit of hope that you even like him back so for you to find out he runs these games….he can’t risk it

You’ll find out anyway but he doesn’t wanna face you to your face he atleast wants to hide behind a mask atleast imagining what you’d say…..

Currently he’s trying to convince himself that these feelings aren’t real……maybe it’s just attraction? Of course you’re really good looking maybe it’s that!

“Uh In ho?”

*He turns around that voice dreaded him more then anything the voice he was ready to hear-*

“Are you okay In ho?”

It was Gi hun

*He unfortunately realised that after breaking out of his rare trance he blinked for a few seconds then nodded*

“What is it?”

*Gi hun shrugged* “Nothing you seemed out of it….” *In ho stared at the ground trying to seem calm but spoke in a bitter tone* “I’m fine…” *He let his eyes wander to you who was talking to he thinks Junhee the pregnant lady? Gi hun noticed and raised an eyebrow* “Maybe Y/n will cheer you up…..Hey y/n!”

*You raised an eyebrow nodding at Junhee before walking away up to the two men.*

“You guys need something?” *In ho sighed he’s been trying to avoid hearing your voice….and you in general.* “In ho seems nervous I thought you’d be better at calming him down…*

*As Gi hun left you leaned your back on the bars of the bed he was sitting on….he couldn’t even look at you.*

“So. What is it?” *You asked he didn’t look at you but he could tell you seemed concerned*

“……” “In ho?” “…….If somebody did something almost unforgivable in any way…..what would you do?” “……What?” *You were confused rightfully you knew he was like this but for the way he got was so….* “Just answer the question…..please.” “Well if we were close I’d….wanna know why. Depending on what they did it’s…..hard to say hey are you saying this cause you’re worried or something i understand i am too but…..don’t focus on the negative so much you know?” *As usual kind…..how could such a good human like you be in these games yet he knew…..He is the front man after all he decided to atleast “ask you” and bond maybe a bit before he has to let you go….*

“Yeah you’re right as logical as ever so why are……you in debt if you don’t mind answering?”

*He felt you rise up you stared squinting your eyes then smiling* “Damn didn’t expect anyone to ask me that….don’t think it’s important.”

*Oh he knows what it is why wouldn’t he a petty part of him felt betrayed some what you weren’t gonna tell him after how close you’ve gotten but he decided to keep his cool.*

“You don’t have to tell you i just asked since we might be leaving this place or if neither of us..make it.” *You groaned* “The pessimism again In ho? Jeez you could…..I’ll tell you though cause you do have a point.”

“Well i used to be pretty rich and well-“ *As you went into your story he already knew it but continued to listen you were rich worked in a high payed business workplace but like most work places favouritism is common. Which unfortunately lead to your downfall.* “Anyways one day I found out i was being underpayed a lot of money so I complained this and that and i got a warning complained again then got fired…..It was hard to find a job i didn’t pay the bills for a lot of things debt grew bigger and bigger then a man asked me to play a game one day and well…..here i am.” *Ah yes In ho nodded at your story he knew it all he was the person who called for you to be in the game….you were a wonderful person honestly what was he thinking you were too good for a game like this is something he of all people would never think he would say.* “Im sorry you don’t deserve to be here after all it’s not your fault you’re in debt…” *You shook your head* “Eh I didn’t have a good of a college degree anyway maybe if I studied more in college I wouldn’t be here but eh atleast i got to meet you?” *In ho sighed and he didn’t want to or realise it but he couldn’t help but let a small smile rise genuinely.* “I suppose it’s…..mutual.”

*You sighed smiling* “I can’t wait for tomorrow we’ll finally *maybe* get out of here right?” *He felt his heart stop for a second oh yeah…..that*

*He awkwardly cleared his throat* “Oh yeah I suppose this game will….end and we’ll probably never see each other again” *You snorted* “We can still talk, we can meet up together and talk and stuff it’s not like we need to forget each other…”

*”That’s right” In ho thought he needed to forget you maybe these feelings would go away….but the the thoughts came he didn’t want to but…..”I killed my brother damn it! I can do this I’ve talked to them for only a few days this is…”*

“In ho??” *He stared up at you instinctively like an animal almost he stopped himself and regained his composure.* “Jeez you seem tense maybe get some rest…” “No im…..just thinking….about all the bad decisions…..humans can make.” *You hmmd* “I suppose so humans can be evil if given the chance with such power.” *In ho nodded* “Have you ever thought of doing something regrettable?” *In ho wasn’t sure why he was asking these…..questions but maybe it was to see the inhuman side of them to make him disgusted in you? Maybe that’ll work.* “Well I’ll admit yeah…..I got bullied and when I found out there father had cancer i wanted to well bring it up tear them down….i think i was about 14.” *You didn’t seem shameful you seemed to regret it but not shamed it only made In ho admire you more as he hated it.* “So why didn’t you do anything?” *You laughed a bit* “I would of if it wasn’t for me asking my mom and telling her like i was about to do the best thing she got mad scolded me and told me a different way a better way to handle bullying……and I’ve used that advice since.”

*He quirked an eyebrow what would it be that he hasn’t heard ignore them stand up for yourself be the the bigger person?*

“Be better than them…..because bullies are the weakest of the weakest in society strategy they don’t want you knowing is you finding out you’re better then them.” *He knows that advice he’s never thought much of it but hearing it from you automatically makes him wanna know more…* “Well then your mom raised such a lovely person….you should be proud.” *You scoffed laughing a bit* “I made a lot of mistakes that i can’t even say thought of some weird stuff im glad i didn’t say or do anyways……yeah. We’re human everyone has made one bad mistake you’ll dwell on for the rest of your life my advice is well…..did you regret it?”

*In ho sighed smiling* “Thanks for the advice I’ll rest for a bit” *You got up smiling and leaving that’s it.* “Y/n you’ll always be in my memory….” *In ho didn’t know what to do with them maybe ask them to join him? No! That would be so idiotic they’d never agree….try to make them understand? Maybe let them go? Why doesn’t he want that…..he then smiled.* “I can’t wait for tomorrow y/n you’re so unpredictable maybe you could stay with me…..”

Anddddd a cliffhanger sorry if this is ooc i was halfasleep writing this 😭

[salemrph]

Wine, Lies and Longing

Summary: You win a romantic vineyard getaway, a dream escape you never expected. Unsure of who to take, you impulsively invite Sylus. What starts as playful pretending, soon becomes something far more real. In the heart of the vineyard, surrounded by the sweetness of wine and the glow of moonlight, you begin to wonder: is this just an act, or the start of something you’ve always longed for?

Based on the new banner Night Rendezvous!

Character: MC x Sylus // Genre: romantic, soft, explicit sexual content // Pet names: Kitten, Sweetie // Word count: 8,827 | Reading Time: 35 min

A/N: This was written before Night Rendezvous officially dropped, inspired by the clips we’ve seen over the past two days. Please note there might be some errors—I was absolutely frantic about the banner while writing this! I just couldn’t get Sylus out of my head.

WARNINGS: mdni, biting, penetration, cum. Remember, fanfics are not a reliable source of sexual education. For questions about protection and birth control, talk to your doctor.

A weeks ago, after visiting your regular supermarket to pick up your usual after-mission dinner set, the kind cashier, while taking your point card, reminded you about the ongoing special raffle.

"Miss, do you want to participate in the lottery?" You looked at the display banner on the counter. The image of serene mountains under a captivating sunset, the sparkle of a drop of water on a bunch of grapes, and the faces of people happily enjoying an unforgettable moment. “Two days in a mountainous region with beautiful views” it read— a getaway promising wine, relaxation, and a fleeting escape from your daily chaos. You paused for a moment, thinking that a vacation wouldn’t be a bad idea, especially since you’d been continuously working on missions, paperwork, and grueling training sessions. You let out a soft sight, the exhaustion creeping into your thoughts. What could happen? In worst case, you would not win the prize, and at the moment, simply filling out the digital form will maybe bring you closer to a small break. Without overthinking it, you nodded, typed in your details, and submitted your entry.

Not even sure, when that happens, you blink a couple of times while checking your email. You can hardly believe your eyes. You won, you actually won that stupid getaway for two! The excitement bubbles up in you like champagne, because you never win anything. You can already imagine the fresh air, the rolling hills, the luxury of it all. You want to scream. You do a little dance in your living room. This is how it should be. Without thinking twice, you call Tera to share the news. After a few rings, she picks up.

"Hey, my favorite person!" she say cheerful like always.

"Tera, guess what?" you ask enthusiastic, you don't wait for her to answer "I won a trip for two to a vineyard! Wanna go on a girls' trip?"

"Say what?! Really? That's amazing!"

"I know! I'm really excited." you explain to Tera briefly what kind of trip it is. “Oh, we could have a lot of fun. Are you in?”

"Oh, I would love to, but… isn’t this kind of trip for couples?" You freeze, your smile faltering.

"Couple? Let me check..."

A shadow of doubt creeps in, heavy and unwelcome. Frowning, you swipe back to the email announcing your prize, it took you a moment to go trough the conditions. Your stomach tightening as your eyes land on the fine print: Only couples allowed. Your mind races, a mix of disappointment and worry swirling inside you. You stare at the screen, torn between laughing at the absurdity and groaning at your oversight.

"What should I do?" you ask, feeling a little lost.

"We could just say we’re a couple" says Tera laughing a bit.

You lean back against the couch, chewing on the idea. Pretending wouldn’t be that hard, would it? It’s not like the vineyard is going to demand proof of your relationship. Still, the idea feels... complicated. Then Tera continues with a playful tone.

"Or..." she teases, "...you could ask Mr. Skye to go with you? He has a crush on you. Maybe this is the perfect chance to level up your relationship with him."

The thought alone makes your cheeks heat up. Sylus? Taking him with you? Your heart flutters. It wouldn't be the first time with him on a trip but... on a exclusive couple trip? You remember the time you were with him in that castle, telling you that weird story to help you fall asleep, but you strangely ended up being bitten by him on the neck. Your cheeks are starting to burn, the feeling of his teeth on your skin was intense. You put a hand on your neck, it feels like it was yesterday.

“Are you there?” You shake you head, trying to come back to the conversation.

“Really? Are you serious?” feeling a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

“Why not? He’s hot, you’re hot, and it’s a romantic vineyard trip. It practically screams opportunity!” Her words make you feel more nervous and you go silent again. She only wants to ship you with him. Her personal real time K-drama. "I think you should ask him,” she presses, a bit insistently. “It could be fun. Worst case? You survive the trip. Best case? You come back as a couple. Just saying"

“Tera...” you sigh. “I don't like him—"

“Bullshit!” she cuts you off, her voice cheerful and confident. “You have a thing for him, admit it! Be happy with him. You know what? I’m not going with you.” She laughs. “Ask him and have fun! And call me for the little dirty details. Byee”

“Wait! Tera?!” And with that, the call is over, leaving you staring at your phone.

You groan. The room feels too quiet, too charged with the sudden possibility. Sylus—always confident, always composed—would undoubtedly say yes. You could already imagine his reaction: that cocky tilt of his head, his dark eyes narrowing with amusement. You bite your lip. Tera is right, he is hot. Terribly hot.

You glaze on your phone, fingers hovering over the screen. Should I, shouldn't I text him? Your heart is racing. How could you wrap this up to make it less... weird? The last time you came up with a plan, it wasn’t that difficult, was it? The couple photo shoot... well, OTTO was very insistent that you take part in it. In the end, it was fun... and you had a kind of romantic moment with Sylus. Maybe you can see this as a payback of all the time he help you with stuff.

But why Sylus? You could just ask the other friend you have, right? You go through the scenario in your head, imagining how it might go if you asked Zayne, Xavier or Rafayel. I mean, the boys are cool, but bringing your co-worker/neighbour could be very relaxing. Xavier wouldn’t be interested in the wine, but he’d enjoy the fresh mountain air. Zayne... you sighed. He was always too busy to go anywhere. Rafayel could be fun, but the idea of playing bodyguard while travelling didn’t appeal to you. You're starting to feel sleepy from all this thinking, and feel like to take a nap is the right solution to not deal with this. It's early in the morning. Or should you maybe have a coffee and go for a run. You sigh. This can be so complicated.

After what feels like an eternity of hesitation, you finally decide to at least ask Sylus first. Just as you gather the courage to type something, your phone buzzes. A call from him.

“What are you doing?” he says without even saying hello.

“Working” you lie.

“You sound tired, kitten.” he says, a hint of concern threading through his voice. „I thought you were going to take a break after all that missions”

You feel the warmth in his ton, it make you feel... good. “I'm planning too.” Thinking how to bring up the trip. “I just need to finish a few things.”

There’s a pause before he speaks again, the softness of his words taking you by surprise. “If you ever feel overwhelmed, you're always welcome at my place”. You smile like an idiot without notices it. If Tera were there she would have teased you about that.

“I will...” you try to compose yourself. “Why are you calling me now? Isn't this you bed time hour?

He laugh softly, a sound that always seems to melt your heart if you're not careful “I like to hear your voice before I go to bed. That's way I call”.

“I see...” you murmur.

“What are you planning to do?”

“Well...” you hesitate, the words feeling awkward in your throat. “I won this trip for two to a vineyard. I was talking to Tera, she doesn't have the time to come with me. And I... I know it’s a couple’s thing, but I would be a shame—”.

“Go to the point, kitten” he interrupts with a laugh.

“I wanted to ask you, if...” you close you eyes, as if that would save you the embarrassment in case he says no. “...you could come with me? I owe you for few things.”

There’s a moment of silence before he answers, his voice calm, yet with an undertone of amusement. “Sure, I’ll go. Wouldn’t want you to miss out.“ The relief washes over you, but there’s a strange flutter in your chest too. You try to ignore it. “Send me the details.”

“Alright. Sleep well.”

“Thanks, kitten.”

...

When you finally arrive with him at the vineyard, the atmosphere is perfect. The air is crisp, the vineyards stretch out beneath a sky painted in soft pastels, and the scent of fresh earth and ripe grapes lingers. The estate’s stone pathways crunch softly beneath your feet as you make your way to the guest rooms.

The room is picturesque and charming, with rustic wooden beams and a window overlooking the sprawling vineyard. But your eyes are drawn immediately to the bed. One bed. A king-sized one, with crisp white sheets and pillows that seem to mock you with their perfect arrangement. Your heart skips a beat at the sight, the reality of it sinking in. Calm down! You have slept with him in one bed, more then you want to count.

Sylus steps inside behind you, he sets your and his bag down, his usual confidence radiating from him like a second skin.

“Looks cozy” he says, his voice smooth, his smirk just shy of teasing.

You manage a laugh, though it comes out shaky. “Cozy is one way to put it.”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning against the wall with an ease that makes your stomach flip. “You nervous already? We haven’t even opened the wine yet.”

You roll your eyes, desperate to mask the heat creeping up your neck. “As if. Just… surprised, that’s all.” He chuckles, the sound low and velvety, sending a shiver through you.

“Surprised, huh?” Then, with a playful tilt of his head. “Relax, my love” You get goosebumps hearing him say those words. The pet name drips with mockery, but the way he says it makes your breath hitch.

“You don´t have to call me that”

“Why not? This is a couples trip, doesn't it?” His smile is maddeningly confident, his tone bordering on a challenge. You let out a long sigh, trying to steady the flustered mess inside you.

“You’re really leaning into this, aren’t you?”

He straightens, stepping closer—too close. His voice drops just enough to make your pulse quicken. “We want to make it convincing. Or do you have a better plan?”

It’s not the first time you’ve had to pretend to be couple or lover, or whatever, but somehow, this feels different. You’re not on a mission with him, not playing a part for someone else's benefit. This is personal—too personal.

Sylus strides over to the bed, his movements deliberate. He sits down with the kind of ease that suggests he owns the space, leaning back on one arm as if the room was made for him. You perch on the edge of the bed, trying to relax, but every part of you is hyper-aware of his presence—the faint spice of his cologne, the quiet rustle of his shirt as he shifts, the heat radiating from him even at a distance.

“No, I don't.” you say annoyed “I... just hope we can enjoy this.” Your words trail off as you glance out the window, desperate for a distraction. It’s definitely a super romantic place, the kind of setting you’d see in a movie. You cling to the view, hoping its beauty will steady your swirling thoughts.

Sylus looks over at you, a faint smirk on his lips.

"I’m sure it’ll be enjoyable, either way. We’re in the right place for it" he says, his voice low and confident, as if he already knows how the weekend will unfold. You swallow hard, forcing a smile.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, his smirk deepening. “I’ll make sure you enjoy yourself.”

You turn your gaze back to the vineyard, trying to steady your racing thoughts. This is just a weekend, you remind yourself. It’s just Sylus.

...

The agenda for the day is simple—nothing too complicated. Just a tour of the property, along with the other couple staying at the vineyard. Then, a wine tasting session to enjoy the local flavours, followed by a leisurely dinner under the stars. Afterwards, you’re meant to relax, enjoy the evening, and retire to bed. Easy, right?

But despite how simple it sounds. As you make your way through the vineyard with Sylus by your side, everything feels heightened, even the sound of your footsteps crunching on the gravel path. The soft laughter of the other couple fills the background, but it feels distant. In your distraction, you trip slightly over your feet. Why are you even wearing heals? You catch yourself, but before you can fully regain balance, Sylus is there—his hand firm on your arm, pulling you closer. He steadies you effortlessly, his proximity sending a rush of warmth through you.

“Give me your hand,” he murmurs, his voice low, smooth. You blink, still a little off-balance, and look up at him, confused “What?” He smirks, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You surely don’t want to break you ankle or ruin your dress, do you?” His words are wrapped in a teasing edge. You eye him suspiciously, your pulse racing.

“Besides,” he continues in a soft whisper, his breath warm against your ear, “that’s what couples do. Care for each other.”

The heat of his hand in yours makes your heart race, his touch unexpectedly gentle, sending a shiver down your spine. You try to focus, try to shake off the unexpected flutter in your chest. But his proximity, his warmth, makes it hard to think clearly. Maybe…

The tour guide’s voice weaves through the warm air, narrating the history of the vineyard with practiced ease. But you barely register the words.

The wine tasting that follows feels like an eternity. Each sip is a kaleidoscope of flavours, yet none hold your focus for long. The richness of the reds, the crispness of the whites—they all blur together as you try to ground yourself, but it’s impossible with Sylus nearby. His gaze lingers too long, his teasing comments too precise, cutting through your resolve with the ease of a knife through silk.

“Not bad,” he says, his voice low and smooth as he swirls the wine in his glass. His dark eyes glint with amusement. “But I’ve tasted better.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to play it cool. “Oh, I didn’t realice you were such a wine connoisseur.”

He leans in slightly, his tone dropping just enough to make your breath catch. “I have a talent for recognising quality.”

A smile tugs at your lips, genuine this time. You can't help it. Each exchange feels like a dance, his confidence pressing against your composure in a way that leaves you breathless. Actually, you want to bite back with some sharp words, but there it is. That soft smile, the same one he had after the boxing match, under the falling snow... Your lips part, but instead of speaking, you just look back at him. Everything seems to slow down. Is the wine affecting you? For a heartbeat, neither of you speaks. For a fleeting second, you wonder if he feels it too. You eyes darts on this lips, how would they taste?

And then, just before the moment slips away, he does something unexpected. He sets his glass down, his movements fluid, and without breaking eye contact, he reaches out, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. His touch is light, but it lingers just long enough to make your skin tingle.

Before you can even process it, a soft tap on your shoulder pulls you from the moment. Two women approach, giggling like schoolgirls, their eyes sparkling with mischief.

They interrupt the bubble you’ve found yourself in, and the weight of Sylus’s touch vanishes as if it was never there. But the heat in your chest lingers, a faint trace of the connection that just passed between you.

“Excuse me” one of them says, her voice light and playful as she glances between you and Sylus. The other nudges her, stifling a giggle, and you can already feel the familiar mix of curiosity and dread bubbling up.

“We couldn’t help but notice” the first woman continues, her smile widening, “you two are just the cutest couple. You’ve got this… spark. It’s like you stepped out of a romance novel!”

You blink, caught off guard, the glass of wine freezing halfway to your lips. A flush rises to your cheeks, and you can feel Sylus shift beside you, his presence suddenly more commanding.

“Oh, really?” he says smoothly, his tone carrying that trademark confidence. He slides an arm casually around your waist, pulling you just close enough to make your pulse quicken. “Well, I’m glad we’re keeping the vineyard’s reputation for romance alive.

His words, so effortlessly delivered, make the women swoon audibly. “The way you two look at each other—it’s just magical!”

You force a laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound as strained as it feels. “Thanks” you manage, your voice tight as Sylus’s hand lingers on your hip, warm and steady.

“Are you two married?”

“No” you say quickly, your voice a little too sharp, too defensive.

Sylus, however, doesn’t miss a beat. He looks at you, then smiles smoothly at the women. “No but...” he says as he looks back at you. “Our soul are already bound, so is better then marriage.”

The women gasp, eyes widening in surprise. “Such a poetic man...” the first woman exclaims. “You two are perfect together!”

You blink, momentarily stunned, unsure of how to react. Sylus doesn’t seem at all phased by the lie, his calm demeanor making it feel like a perfectly natural thing to say.

“Thanks” he says, his voice smooth as silk. “We’re very happy.”

You smile politely, trying to shake off the warmth creeping up your neck. The words linger in your mind as you finish your wine, but you can’t help but feel a little more self-conscious now. They really think you’re with him. You can’t help but wonder if the lines between roll playing and reality are already starting to blur.

The women chat a little longer, their compliments spilling over like the wine in their glasses. Finally, they flit away, their laughter trailing behind them as they disappear into the crowd.

You exhale sharply, stepping out of Sylus’s hold and turning to him with narrowed eyes. “Really? Our soul are bound? Better then marriage?”

He grins, unfazed, leaning closer until his voice drops low enough that only you can hear. “What?” His gaze locks onto yours, his smirk softening into something almost tender. “Saying the true is sometime easier then coming up with some lie, sweetie”

Maybe he’s enjoying this a little too much. But if he’s enjoying it, why don’t you enjoy it too? You think to yourself, a strange thought whispering at the back of your mind. Even if it’s just for this trip, just for the moment.

The wine has already begun to work its magic, loosening your inhibitions and making everything feel just a little more carefree. Before you can fully think it through, you find yourself clinging to Sylus’s arm, your fingers lightly gripping the sleeve of his jacket. The warmth of his presence settles against you, his steady pulse beneath your touch a reminder of just how close he is. You feel the tension in your chest ease, replaced by something else, something much more complicated.

Sylus’s smile stretches wide as he looks down at you, the corner of his lips curling in that smug, almost predatory way he always does when he knows he’s got your attention.

The quiet hum of the evening settles back in. It’s as if a small door has been opened, and you’re not entirely sure what’s on the other side, but for now, you’re curious enough to stay a little longer.

Sylus doesn’t move, his arm still locked with yours, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low and teasing. “Enjoying yourself so far, sweetheart?”

You glance up at him, maybe... just maybe... it won’t be as simple as you expected.

…

Dinner arrives just as the sun dips below the horizon, casting the sky in soft, dusky hues. The air feels cooler now, but the warmth of the intimate atmosphere wraps around you, drawing you closer to the cozy setting. The flickering candlelight dances across the stone walls, casting playful shadows that seem to shift with every movement. It’s romantic, the kind of dinner scene you only see in movies, and for a moment, it feels like you’re part of a story you’re not sure you want to end.

Sylus is seated next to you, his tall frame glowing softly in the dim light. He’s quieter than usual, but his presence is undeniable. Every now and then, his eyes flicker to yours, and there’s something in the way he looks at you that makes you want to jump from your chair and lose yourself in him right there.

During the dinner, you find yourself addressing him a few times as “my love” or “honey”, while taking in the large group at the table. The words slip from your lips without thinking, and each time they do, a little thrill runs through you. You’re playing the part, but in some strange way, you realize you’re not pretending anymore. You’re enjoying it, living it.

You let your fingers brushed against his hand, and before you know, you’re subtly holding his hand beneath the table. The simple touch sends warmth up your arm. The intimacy of the gesture, hidden from the others, feels like a secret shared between just the two of you. You pass him food, feeding each other bites of your meals, exchanging tastes like lovers. Each touch, each glance, each shared moment feels more natural than it should.

You’re lost in the closeness, in the warmth of the evening, in the role you’re playing so effortlessly. It feels easy, too easy, to slip into this new dynamic with him. And for the first time since you arrived, you stop questioning it. For tonight, you’re his beloved. And maybe, just maybe, you can stay like this forever.

The evening winds down, and you’re a bit tipsy, your cheeks flushed with a soft pink. You decide to step outside for some fresh air, leaving Sylus talking to the owner of the vineyard. The nice warm sun is long gone, and the coldness of the mountains is a refreshing contrast to it. The vineyard stretches out before you, bathed in moonlight, and the quiet of the night feels peaceful. You feet are hurting, you've been walking with high heels all day.

You take a deep breath, feeling good, light, and free. For the first time in a while, you realize something you hadn’t fully allowed yourself to consider: You’re in love with him. There’s no denying it anymore. It’s there, right at the center of your heart, a truth you can’t shake. The way he looks at you, touches you—Every glance, every subtle move he makes, has stirred something deep inside you.

You stop for a moment, letting the breeze tousle your hair, and close your eyes. You’re here. You’re alive. And for this moment, you’re letting yourself feel what you feel, without worrying about what comes next. There’s something beautiful in the simplicity of it, in allowing yourself to just be in love with him. Tonight, you are free to love him, even if you don’t know what tomorrow will bring.

As you walk over the veranda, along wooden floor, you heels clicking, feeling the silence around you, lost in your thoughts, you hear his voice cut through the stillness.

"My beautiful beloved, where are you going?" Sylus’s voice is smooth, playful.

You turn around and give him the most sincere smile you've ever shown him. If someone else had seen the look on your face at that moment, they might have thought you'd given him your whole heart in that single expression. And if someone had told you what Sylus felt when he saw you smile like that, you might not have believed them.

You’re startled to find him so close, just a few steps behind you, his figure illuminated by the silvery glow of the moonlight. His eyes are fixed on you, that familiar, confident smile tugging at his lips.

You feel your heart race. "Just needed a moment," you reply softly.

He steps closer, his presence magnetic, his gaze never leaving yours. "I see."

The heat of the wine bubbles up in your chest, but it’s the way he stands there, close, that makes the moment feel heavier than it should. He watches you as if he’s trying to decode something, a quiet challenge in his eyes. Then, without another word, he removes his jacket, the fabric brushing against your arms as he drapes it over your shoulders.

“Thank you” you say a bit shy.

“No need.”

The silence stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. You don’t need to look at him to know he’s glaring at you. You step closer to the railing, perching on it with half your body leaning out, the cool breeze brushing against your skin. Your mind drifts, flitting from thought to thought, nowhere in particular yet everywhere all at once. You’re enjoying it more than you expected. You hate to admit it, but Tera was right. You’ll need to thank her for pushing you to this.

“You’re staring” you say softly, trying to sound playful but failing to hide the nervous edge in your voice.

“Am I?” he counters smoothly, the smirk growing as he tilts his head slightly. “Maybe I just like what I see.” Your cheeks flush, but you don't look at him. Your eyes are still locked on the scenery.

“Mm-hmm” you hum.

“You’re quiet.” He remarks after a moment, his voice softer now, almost contemplative. “Something on your mind?”

You take a steadying breath, eyes still on the horizon. “Just... enjoying the view.”

He chuckles low. “Good to know I’m not the only one. Though, as beautiful as this is, we should head back—I’ve got something prepared for us.”

You tilt your head in curiosity, trying to read his expression, but before you can ask he gently takes you hand. You suppress a sigh as he guide you to stand up from the railing. You follow him, but the moment your feet hit the ground, the discomfort you’d been ignoring flares up. The cooling evening air has made the snug fit of your pretty shoes unbearable. You let out a soft whine as you take a couple of steps, causing Sylus to stop immediately. He turns, his brows furrowing with concern.

“What wrong?” You shake your head quickly, not wanting to make a fuss.

“It’s nothing... just my feet hurt a little”.

His gaze drops to your shoes, assessing the situation in an instant. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Sylus lets out a sigh, but the corner of his mouth quirks up in a half-smile. “You’re hopeless sometimes, kitten.” Without another word, he scans the area, his gaze landing on a nearby chair on the veranda. He strides over to it, picks it up, and places it gently in front of you.

“Sit” he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument. You do as he said then he kneels in front of you.

“What are you—?” you start to protest, but he cuts you off with a knowing look.

“Taking them off. Lift your leg.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the intimacy of the moment not lost on you. You hesitate for a moment, but his steady gaze convinces you, and you lift your leg. The touch of his fingers on your ankle is electrifying. The dress you're wearing is riding up a bit. Concerned that he might catch a glimpse under the skirt, you discreetly try to lower it. Sylus doesn’t seem to notice or care, his focus entirely on your feet as he gently works to ease the discomfort you’re feeling. Still, you’re glad you're wearing cute panties, just in case something... happens? A few moments later your feet have been released from their prison, you feel relieved.

“This feels better, thanks” you say softly.

“Look at that, a second thanks I get today” he chuckles. Sylus stands up a little and leans over you. He's too close. "Hold on tight."

You feel his hands slide under your thighs and the other hand behind your back. In an instant, you find yourself lifted into his arms. You curl up instinctively, wrapping your arms around his neck, your body seeking the warmth and security he offers. His eyes flicker to your shoes, the red and black mist picks them up, placing them in one of his hand, not breaking stride as he carries you effortlessly.

“Put me down, Sylus” you say, a hint of laughter in your voice despite the situation.

“Do you want to walk barefoot?” he replies, his tone teasing but unwavering as he holds you close, his grip firm and steady. “Stay still, fussy kitten.”

With a pout you stop squirming in his arms, the smell of his perfume mixed with wine is incredible. You feel almost drunk, not from the wine itself but from the sweet and earthy mix that fills your senses, an alluring combination that invades your nose and makes your head spin just a little. You want to bit his neck.

He walks with you in his arms through the mansion, past couples lingering in the dining room. You catch a few glances from them, including the two women from earlier, who sigh at such an adorable image. A sense of pride swells inside you, and you feel almost lucky, as if you’re the center of attention in the best way possible. As you continue down the hallway toward your room, you look up, and your eyes meet his. That look again. Soft and tender.

As the door opens, you blink in surprise. The room is lit by soft candlelight and the chimney, the air sweet with the scent of fresh flowers, and a bottle of wine chilling in ice sits on the table. It feels like something straight out of a romance movie.

"Sylus, you don’t need to pretend in here" you say low, the question hanging in the air.

He meets your gaze, unfazed. "I’m not pretending." his tone very calm. You raise an eyebrow. He gently lowers you onto the bed, his hands steady and careful. He places your shoes on the floor beside the bed.

"Were you pretending before, being touchy and calling me pet names?" His question hits you like a spark.

You blush, stumbling over your words. "I..."

"It’s alright," he cuts in. “Lay down if you tried. It has been a long day” he look down, while unbuttoning his shirt, revealing the sculpted muscles of his chest. The sight is fascinating and you can’t help but feel the absurd urge to lick every inch.

“I'm not” you feel your restraint cracking inside you, the longing for him is taking over.

“If you don't want to lie down” he continues, his voice smooth but with a hint of challenge “we can make the most of our time before dawn.” He step back, turning to the sofa for a moment. “Do you want some wine?”

This feels insane. You feel insane, but how long can you hold back? Isn’t this the perfect setup—wine, candlelight, fresh flowers, and a whole weekend for two? It’s a scene straight out of a dream. You stand up from the bed, your bare feet soft against the floor. Your body reacts before your mind can catch up, desire surging within you, irresistible and raw. You walk toward him, feeling both bold and vulnerable, wanting something more.

“Forget the wine” you say, almost offended by the suggestion. Without the heels, you feel smaller in front of him, but the fire inside you pushes that discomfort aside. You place one hand on his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingers.

Sylus looks down at your hand, his gaze flickering to yours with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “I thought you were done with touching” he teases. You don’t answer, your pulse quickening. Damn him, it feels so good. Your fingers trace the opening of his black shirt, and you notice the slight change in his breathing. It’s subtle at first, but you can feel it—the way his chest rises and falls more sharply.

Sylus takes a slow, deliberate breath, his eyes locking with yours. You can tell he's holding back, but just barely. You smile, a little smug, pushing him down onto the sofa. He falls with a loud thud, but before he can settle, you quickly sit on his lap, both legs draped at his sides. Your dress shifts up with the movement, but this time, it doesn’t matter. You want to provoke him more than ever. Your hand returns to his chest, tracing irregular lines with your finger, the soft skin beneath your touch sending a pang of pleasure through your body. You can’t stop yourself from drawing closer, feeling the magnetism between you pull tighter with each passing second. He watches you intently, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You feel alive, every nerve on edge.

Your eyes flicker between his chest, his lips, and his eyes—his smoldering, unreadable eyes. You want to kiss him. The desire to feel his lips on yours is overwhelming, and you can’t fight it any longer.

Without thinking, you place your hand on his neck, your fingers trailing up to his cheek, the warmth of his skin... why did you take so long to get closer to him? At this point, that cute black underwear you wearing is wet, soak even. The heat between your thighs almost unbearable. Does he know what you want to do next? His playful, almost knowing look in his eyes would definitely say yes. You feel his control slipping, and it makes you ache for him even more.

You close the distance, moving your hand at the back of his neck, as you pull him closer. The moment your lips meet, everything else fades away. The warmth of his lips, the intensity of his touch, it's everything you've been feeling building up to this. You melt into the kiss, your body pressing closer to his, a wave of desire crashing over you. His hands move instinctively, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss, and you respond just as fiercely, your heart pounding in your chest. You pull away breathless, your chest rising and falling with each quickened breath in the silence that follows. You look into his eyes, wide with disbelief at what just happened, your mind still trying to catch up with your body. Again, again, again, please.

Sylus moves forward, his lips crashing against yours with an intensity that takes your breath away. You sigh in both pleasure and relief, feeling every inch of the tension melt away as his kiss deepens, as if it’s the only thing that matters in this moment. You feel his hand gently but firmly cup your cheek, his touch sending a shiver through you.

The kiss is fierce and consuming, his urgency matching your own as his other hand slides between your shoulder blades, pulling you against his chest. His body presses into yours, as if he can’t bear to be apart for even a moment. His tongue tangles with yours, a messy, erotic dance that sends shivers down your spine, down to your core. It’s chaotic, passionate, and you can’t help but surrender to it. All you can feel, all you can think about, is him—his warmth, his touch, the raw desire radiating from him, and the storm building between you both. You’re lost in the sensation, in the wildness of the kiss, the taste of him.

Sylus adjusts his position slightly, moving you with him as he shifts uncomfortably on the couch. He needs to be able to focus—focus on you, on your lips, on his throbbing desire in his pants that's driving him crazy. The tightness in his pants is almost unbearable. The soft material of your dress became a frustrating barrier to his touch, his hands hover over you, desperate to feel more.

„S- sylus...“ you manage to say between kisses, your voice filled with need. “Bed...“ His grip tightens around you hips. You can feel his hard dick between your legs since a while. He gives you a slow, deliberate kiss.

"Alright" he murmurs, he lifts you effortlessly into his arms. You instinctively wrap your legs around his hips, your body pressing against him as he moves swiftly toward the bed. The kiss never breaks as he places a knee on the bed, shifting you to the center, and gently lowers you onto the soft sheets. Your body tingles with the need for him, every inch of your skin alive, and the way he hovers just above you makes you feel like you're teetering on the edge of something you've both been craving since the being.

His nose brushing along the curve of you neck, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin. Then, the slow, intentional sweep of his tongue follows, sending a wave of electric shivers down your spine. You let out a soft whimper. Sylus hums against your neck.

He moves back, kneeling between your legs, and gently places one hand at the back of your thigh, moving down to lift you leg. His touch is careful, his eyes never leaving yours. Your dress moves up, covering barley your panties. He kiss you inner thigh, and move down to your knee.

Sylus's gaze darkens, and a small, almost smug smile plays at the corners of his mouth. His voice is low, raw with need. "I can't hold back anymore." He pauses, lips brushing lightly over your knee before pulling back slightly, meeting your eyes again. "You haven't changed your mind, have you?"

“No, but...”you pause, unsure where the insecurity is coming from. Sylus lifts an eyebrow, sensing the shift.

“Speak, my love” You sit up slightly, reaching for his face, your fingers gently tracing the spot where you had cut him the first time you met. Sylus gasps at your touch, the surprise in his reaction softening your own doubts.

“Am I being too greedy... if I ask you to keep your eyes only on me? He takes your hand, his grip firm yet tender.

“You always had that right.” He presses a soft kiss to your wrist. "Which means... you can be even greedier. Do you want it, kitten?"

“No” you smile, the tension easing slightly. “As long as you look at me, I don’t need it.”

He leans in slowly “Good“ his lips capturing yours in a soft kiss, first teasing with a slow lick before diving deeper, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hungry urgency. You fall back on the bed with him, he assaults your neck, with bites marking your skin as he has always wanted. His breath near your ear is driving you wild.

You gasp against him, your hands gripping his shoulder as you pull him closer. You find yourself not wanting to stop, not wanting to break away. The overwhelming sensation burns like fire. You elevate you hips to met his. Why is he taking so long?

"Looks like we're on the same page when it comes to not waste time." Sylus caress you cheek. You pout, turning your head away to avoid his gaze, but he’s quicker. He tilts your chin back toward him with a gentle but firm touch. "Stay focused, kitten" he murmurs playful.

Before you can respond, he moves his hand to cover your eyes "Don't look" he begins to kiss you again, his breath coming out in sharp gaps. What does he mean? You want to see him—to witness his composure faltering, to know you’re the one making him feel this way.

Sylus seems to savour the moment, his quiet sounds of pleasure against your lips filling the air like a melody only the two of you can hear. To you, it’s music—raw, intoxicating, and divine—a symphony of the gods, stirring a desire so pure and all-consuming it leaves you breathless. The weight of his body presses against yours, his movements slow as he grinds against you. The pressures of his hardness between your legs.

His long fingers trail down your arm, stopping at your wrist before moving to your palm. He laces his fingers with yours, squeezing hard, grounding you in the intensity of the moment. You melt to his touch. A soft whimper escapes your lips, and he chuckles faintly, the sound vibrating against your skin. The heat coursing through your body is dizzying, your thoughts hazy as the fabric of your fucking clothing feels increasingly stifling, an annoying barrier to his touch.

“You're not allowed to stop me until I'm finished.” he whisper, you nod. You starting to get desperate. You pull at his shirt with your other hand. Sylus smirks as he lets you remove his shirt a bit clumsy. The shirt falls finally to the floor in a careless heap, forgotten. His hands move to your thigh, slipping beneath the fabric of your dress. His fingers pressing into your skin as if staking a claim.

Sylus shifts slightly as his lips trail a path down your jaw. His other hands move with purpose, finding the hidden zipper of your dress on your back. You lean into him, your hands getting behind the waistband of his pants. Sylus smirks at your impatience, his fingers pausing briefly. The sound of it lowering fills the quiet space, mingling with the soft hum of your unsteady breaths. The fabric loosens, slipping off your shoulders.

Your hands moving to his belt, fumbling slightly as your nerves spark with adrenaline. He catches your wrist, stilling you for a moment. “You're truthly restless” he says with a teasing smirk, leaning down to kiss you again, as if savouring every second. He moves slightly to help you lift your dress over your head, the soft fabric slipping away easily and pooling on the floor beside his discarded shirt. You’re glad now that you picked out your favourite set—black with little red details you thought he might notice. From the way his eyes linger on you, it’s clear he does.

Your hands slide back to his waist. You glance up at him, and he gives you a small nod, his smirk never fading. Slowly, you undo the button and tug the fabric down over his hips. Sylus moves just enough to help you, kicking them off before settling back against you. Black boxer. Sexy. You bite your lips when your eyes fall on the the bulge you've been wanting to see for so long. Is pressing hard against the fabric, you can see the size and then the wet stain off precum, you swallow.

Even is Sylus love to see you in you beautiful set, and would love to contemplate you more. His cock is starting to hurt, and your lascivious gaze on his good piece isn't making it any better. He puts his hand on your back again, without realising it your breasts are exposed. The bra...it doesn't matter.

He exhales loudly, he can't remember how many times he's wanted to undress you since he met you. His beloved, his heart, his curse, his everything. Make you his. Bite, lick, kiss, sweating together, feeling your pussy wet around his cock. Hearing his name while coming because of him. His mind races, each thought more urgent than the last. This is it. Finally. You’ve said yes, you’ve chosen him. You love him back, and it's everything he’s ever dreamed of. That thought ignites his desire even more, the last bit of restraint crumbling away in his mind.

His body presses against yours with a new intensity, and he can barely think past the feeling of you beneath him, in his arms.

His tongue licking over your nipple before enclosing his mouth around your breast. You whine softly, his heat radiating off you. One hand come over to your other nipple. His finger brush softly over it before squeezing it. You arch your back and whine again. The feeling of both nipple begin stimulated is making your pussy pulse in anticipation. You want him inside, now, fuck the foreplay. You're wet enough to take him in.

“Sy...” you want to say tell him, but bites down making you gasp, trailing off. You could come in any moment, you started to moan. Finally he lets one nipple free.

“So ready...” he whispers, fingers reaching your panties drenched. Sylus coos, his thumb pressing against your clothed clit to rub firm circles into the throbbing bud. You glare at him. His finger slipping beneath the fabric. Playing around you entrance, then one finger finds your warmth, you gasp loud at the sensation. At this point, your body is burning with need, every nerve begging for him. The motion of his finger, trying to find you sweet spot is driving you inside. You move you hips against his hand, trying to get more contact. He only laugh and lick again over you nipple.

A second finger is added, stretching you, you moan harder. His finger curls inside you and then...

“Sylus” you whimper, he hit you g-spot. A sharp wave of pleasure courses trough you again.

“That's it” he kiss you with hunger, while thrusting his finger inside you. You hold on his shoulder, opening wider you legs to give him more access. You don´t want to come, no yet, but if he continues like this. Sylus feels you tightness around his finger. Like he said, you not allowed to stop him. You moan and whine against his lips.

“I'm close...“ your words are a pleading gasp, your body trembling as you teeter on the edge. He smirks, his pace unwavering.

“Don't hold back“ he growls, low and commanding. You feel the pressure building inside you, the tension prolong. You can barely breathe. His kisses paired with the feeling of his other hand on your hard nipple with the frenetic rhythm of the finger is way to much.

“Sy..” you voice breaks as the tension snaps and you come uncontrollably. You body shaking in waves of pleasure. Sylus's finger still inside dragging out the last bit of release. When your breathing begins to steady, he withdraws them. His face is buried in you neck, his breath hot on your skin.

“I want to hear more of that.” Before you can even think of a reply, Sylus removes you panties and then his boxers. You gasp when you see his cock standing hard, long and thick. You bite you lips and you swallow nervously at the sight. Sylus stroke his cock his eyes not leaving yours. “Is time for the main course.”

He positions himself between your legs again, running his fingers over your entrance again before placing his cock. You moan as he thrusts his cock between your folds, slowly. He is so big. Your eyes flutter close, taking all the sensation in. Is overwhelming. Sylus gasp too when his cock is half way inside.

„Breath for me“ Sylus whispers, his breathing is growing heavier by the second, forcing himself to hold back from just thrusting his cock into you too hard. You try to relax your walls, you breathe out.

"Take it slowly, kitten", his voice slow and deep in your ears. He's trying to pace his breathing as well, but it feels so fucking good. His thumb stroke your cheek, and place a soft kiss on your lips. He started to move, softly to adjust in the new sensations, of being inside of you. For the first time in lifetimes. Sylus breath is uneven, hips rocking into you. Nails clawing down his back as you try to steady yourself, his face against your neck, growling, no, moaning lowly. Harder.

“Sy..Sylus” you moan. “More...”

“Sure about that?” You nod desperately. He shifts and his cock hits you deeper, setting fireworks on in your brain while you moan so loud, that you swear the other in the dinning room could have hear you.

“Right... there.” Sylus smiles, capturing your lips once more in a hungry, passionate and deep kiss. Your tongues play, licking each other. The desire you feel is far beyond what you've ever felt with anyone. You feel like you could devour him, a violent thought that might even make you want to shoot him again. Tear out his heart of his chest. You discard the violent idea of hurting him.

You hug him closer with you legs, his cock slamming in a delicious rhythm. The lascivious sound that emanates through the silence of the room, the rustle of the sheet under your skin, the slight creaking of the bed as Sylus thrust his cock inside you, a symphony that you wish would not stop.

Each movement, each shift of his body against yours, sends a wave of heat through him, making it harder to stay composed. His muscles tighten with every gasp and every whimper that comes from you. Your fingers pulling at his silver hair, it's like adding fuel to the fire. And when you react, when you respond to him, it sends a surge of satisfaction and longing that almost overwhelms him. Sylus knows he’s on the edge, his cock twitch inside you, becoming even harder.

“Sy- Sylus,” you moan, pulling his head up to kiss him. He returns the kiss just as hungrily as you are. “Gonna cum...ah, pl..please”

“Come- come for me” he says brokenly. He pushing his thumb into your mouth. You suck obediently, eyes closed to feel the comfort of his skin, losing yourself in it. Sylus groans. You squeeze him. You feel the orgasm bubbling inside you, the tension before the sweet fall. You want to hold on to it. “Come with me...” You open your eyes. What did he said? You meet his glowing red eyes. He pick up the pace, intensity growing inside him. Hammering into you g-spot at every thrust. You hold onto him and the sheets even tighter. A little more, just a little more.

“Can I...?” he started, driving into your harder, near to explode in any second.

“Yes... please...” you nod eagerly. “I...” As if you had uncorked a shaken bottle of champagne, the orgasm reaches you in a bliss. Your body shakes and trembles. A few seconds later, Sylus follows you with a long growl, pressing his lips against yours, sharing that sweetly overwhelming moment. His hot cum spreads inside you, Sylus doesn't stop, he continues to move inside of you slowly. His lips pull away and he leans his forehead against yours,

When you open your eyes, the adoration in your stare was so palpable. He intertwining his fingers with yours, guiding your hand towards him, leaving a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

You two stay silent, breathing still ragged and coming out in bursts. For some reason, you still feel heat, desire in your body. It hasn't been enough. You want more. As if he could read your mind, Sylus smiled.

“We can do this as long as you like, kitten,” he says, his voice a gentle, warm promise. His eyes sparkle with amusement as he kisses your cheek. You smile at his words.

The night stretches on, the two of you lost in each other, pausing only briefly to share sips of the forgotten wine on the table. One by one, the candles burn out and with that a new day begins.

Your mind drifts, basking in the warmth of the memories from the passionate night. For a moment, you forget that you never told him how you truly feel—but that’s alright. There’s time, you remind yourself with a small, hopeful smile. This is just the beginning, and you know deep down that there are countless moments ahead to share your heart with him.

Exhausted but content, you fall into a peaceful sleep in Sylus’s arms. He stays awake a little longer, watching you with a soft, almost reverent gaze, his heart full. Only when the first light of morning filters into the room does he finally close his eyes, holding you close as sleep overtakes him.

[mononijikayu]

make me your god, i can give you everything — ryomen sukuna.

"I want revenge, my god." you said, your gaze unwavering. "But not on you. Not right now. So let me make my wish clear. You’ve taken enough from me. You can’t give me love, you can’t give me peace. You can’t give me goodness. But revenge—that, you can give me." He raised an eyebrow at you, the amusement in his gaze deepening, though his smirk never faltered. Slowly, he reached down, drawing his blade from his side with a fluid motion. He handed it to you, the gleam of steel catching the light as he placed it into your hands. "You want revenge?" he asked, his voice carrying the promise of something darker, more dangerous. "Then take it, little one. I can give you that. And nothing more."

GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;

WARNING/S: nsfw, smut, r-18, angst, one sided romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/ comfort, marriage, parenthood, hurt, betrayal, physical touch, character death, massacre, murder, failed human sacrifice, sexual acts, mourning, loneliness, pain, conflicted relationship, emotional distress, hallucinations, nightmares, grief, toxic relationship, remembering memories, coercion, depiction of massacre, depiction of murder, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of sexual acts, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of parenthood, depiction of loneliness, mention of drugging, mention of mention of grief, mention of murder, mention of loneliness, mention of sexual acts, heian! sukuna, long suffering concubine! reader;

WORD COUNT: 29k words

NOTE: i had delays writing this because i told myself i can pull it off much earlier but i kept changing stuff during the planning even during writing and so i delayed more and more and more and so i couldn't have beta-read by my beta reader. but here we are, 27th of december. i hope all of you are well over the holidays!!! please dress warmly and always stay healthy!!! i will be back on the 30th, where a commissioned piece is going to be published. the person who commissioned it approved publication - so i hope you enjoy that. until then!!! i love you all <3

TAGLIST: @after-laughter-come-tears, @kunasthiast, @midnight-138, @sukioyakio;

main masterlist

the other woman masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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NEARLY THIRTY OR SO YEARS AND YOU STILL DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE TO YOUR HUSBAND OR EVEN TO YOURSELF. Everything about being Ryomen Sukuna’s concubine in this life was… an existence of full of constant paradox.

The world around you was both magnificent and oppressive, full of grandeur that suffocated rather than uplifted. Nothing was concrete, nothing was easily explained. Each day folded into the next, all wrapped in the same cycle of luxurious monotony and unspoken tension. 

You had everything and nothing all at once. You were at his side, but you would never stand beside him in the way a true equal would. You were given power, yes, but it was the power of proximity, of favor, of submission. It was not a power you had earned; it was one granted to you, as disposable as it was intoxicating.

You had once dreamed of a life beyond the towering walls of his palace, a life that might have allowed you to breathe freely. But those dreams had been dashed the moment you were forced into the role of his concubine.

There was no escape from him. You knew there wasn’t. There had never been an escape. The day he had chosen to claim you, everything you were meant to be. Everything you wanted to be, everything you had thought you would become had disappeared into the depths of his enormous shadow. 

Your identity, your autonomy, was swallowed whole by the magnitude of his presence, by the demands of your new life. And that life, that existence, was all you had now. There was no way out, no alternative future you could imagine for yourself. What other path could there be, when the path you walked had been forged by him alone?

From the moment you were wed to him, the life you had known before was gone. If you could even call it a life, all of that still had faded into a distant memory. The world outside the gates of Ryomen Sukuna’s own cage of a temple no longer existed in any meaningful way to you. He would not let you call anything else a life. This was it for you, you like to remind yourself. 

The life you led now was one of excess and emptiness, a strange and quiet paralysis that seemed to have no end. And these days drifted by with little difference between them, like a fog that refused to lift. At times you find yourself in this loop, this pattern and sometimes that terrified and unnerves you. 

Each morning was marked by his presence, each night by the silence that followed him as he left you to your thoughts. Each morning a wife, a mother, a companion, a devotee, an appendage living to attend him. You had become nothing more than a part of his world, a fixture, a thing of consequence only as long as it pleased him.

And yet, despite the isolation, despite the weight of it all, there was a strange solace in the company of the children, your beloved Chiharu and Chizuru. They were your only companions in a place where companionship seemed like a forgotten concept. They were not like the other servants, who whispered in fear of Ryomen Sukuna's wrath.

No, Chiharu and Chizuru had become your refuge, your small rebellion against the suffocating presence of your fate. Their laughter, their quiet moments of shared solitude, their warmth against your own.

If you were being honest, these were the few things that reminded you that you were still a person, still capable of feeling something beyond the cold indifference of your existence.

But even their companionship felt bittersweet. You were still bound as a mother, a role you didn’t know you could ever play. And least of all to a man who has caged you, who has trapped you to live for these small joys. And most days, you do not know why you were happy to be caged in the way he has done so.

At times, you could not forget the life you had lost in the same breath as you enjoyed their company. You could not forget that every smile they shared with you was a fleeting thing.

It was a momentary escape before the relentless gravity of your life as Sukuna’s concubine pulled you back into its orbit. You were once a girl, a young girl who thought there was freedom in being who you were. And now there was none.

The stagnation was crushing. Most days, it would have crippled you to the futon had the chain not dragged you before your godly husband. In the beginning, you had tried to find meaning in the smallest things, you had no other choice.

You tried to enjoy the gifts he gave you, the rare moments when he’d look at you with something other than indifference, the fleeting sense of purpose you derived from serving him. Even the garden that you had so loved, the garden you spend most days on. 

But all of that faded over time. It became a game you knew the rules too well, a routine you could not break. A cycle of karma that not even any of the most enlightened would escape. And as the years wore on, you realized that there was no way to move forward, no way to escape the confines of the life that had been thrust upon you.

Perhaps that was the point. Perhaps there was nothing else for you, besides this existence, this eternal, unchanging existence. The notion that there could be something more. That there was something outside the sphere of Sukuna’s control. But that seemed like a distant fantasy. It always has been. 

You, a woman of such this age, have nothing. You had no future, only the present, and even that was as mutable as the wind. So much of your life, so much of your time, had been spent in quiet resignation to what you could not change. 

And yet, despite it all, the nagging question still lingered in the back of your mind: was there anything beyond this? Could there be a life that was truly your own again? But those thoughts, too, were dangerous.

To even entertain them was to invite the inevitable conclusion that perhaps your life could never be different, that the cage you had stepped into was the only life that would ever be yours.

The life you led now was a strange mixture of privilege and confinement. You lived in a gilded cage, surrounded by every luxury, every indulgence, but bound by the unyielding weight of your position.

You were bound to Ryomen Sukuna, bound to a life that was neither fulfilling nor free. You were forced to adapt, to find meaning in the moments you could, to seek whatever small joy you could find in the fleeting company of those you cared about. But it was never enough.

And perhaps, in the end, it would never be. Perhaps there would be nothing else but this. In this life, this existence, stagnant and unchanging. Nothing was belonging to you. But you belonged to him. And that will have no end, you had known this by now. The only question that remained was how long you could endure it before the weight of it crushed everything else out of you

Your life has been spent being the wife of a god, a title very few could ever claim to have. And yet it was an intriguing life, you were forced to lay a claim to. You were both exalted and insignificant, revered by the masses but ever aware that their reverence was borrowed from him. 

He was a god, an entity whose very presence reshaped the air you breathed, and you—just a mortal bound by time and flesh—stood at his side. Not as an equal, never that, but as someone he had chosen. For all its complications, it was a position of power few could ever dream of.

Yet, the days blurred together in a rhythm that felt both comfortable and stifling. Your life was one of contentment, a steady hum of satisfaction born from privilege only he can bestow, the security only he could ensure, and the untouchable place he carved out for you in his world. But lately, you’d begun to wonder was contentment all there would ever be? Could it be something more?

That evening, as the torches burned low and cast dancing shadows across the cavernous hall, you sat opposite your husband Sukuna. He lounged on his position with a casual grace that belied his overwhelming power, his crimson eyes fixed on you with their usual intensity. He had come and visited you for the night, and had supper with you. 

It was rare that you were the one visited by your husband. But since you were still recovering from your previous illness, your healer had told you to stay put. Your husband relented in a rare moment to come and bring himself to you. It wasn’t a far walk, anyway. He had moved closer to your hall, after all. Habits had become as important to him too, you supposed.

“You’ve been quiet, little one.” he said, his voice cutting through the stillness. It wasn’t an accusation, but it wasn’t entirely idle, either. “Why?”

You hesitated, gathering your thoughts. “I’ve been… thinking, my lord.” you said at last. “About us.”

His lips twitched in a faint smirk. “Us? Little one, you think of such a concept of us too often.” he echoed, his tone teasing. “It makes me think about how mortals are always fascinated by the idea. But go on.”

You stepped closer, emboldened by his permission. “I feel content, my lord.” you began, meeting his gaze directly. “You have given me everything I could ever desire—luxury, protection, status. I lack nothing. And yet…”

“And yet?” he prompted, his eyes narrowing slightly, his curiosity piqued.

You took a steadying breath. “And yet I wonder where it leads. Is contentment all there is, or is it just the beginning? Does it grow into something more, something greater? What could we become if we let it?”

For a moment, silence stretched between you, heavy and expectant. Sukuna rose from his cushion, his movements deliberate and precise, the weight of his power radiating from him with each step closer. His crimson gaze was sharp, piercing, as though he could see the very threads of your thoughts.

“You speak boldly for someone in your position, little one.” he said, his voice low but not unkind. “Most mortals would be grateful for what they have and dare not ask for more.”

“I am grateful, my lord. I hope to reassure you of this.” you replied, your voice firm despite the nervous energy thrumming in your veins. “But gratitude doesn’t erase curiosity, my lord. Doesn’t it intrigue you? What might this contentment lead to? What might we become?”

He let the sake cup rest between his fingers, tapping it lightly as if pondering his next words. Ryomen Sukuna let his scarlet gaze remain fixed on you, piercing and unreadable. Your husband’s smirk softens into something closer to contemplation.

“You mortals.” Sukuna murmured, the faintest note of amusement still in his tone. “So fragile, so fleeting, and yet… endlessly curious. Perhaps that is your one redeeming trait. That, and your audacity.”

You tilted your head, emboldened by his words, though his presence still felt like a weight pressing down on your chest. “And yet, my lord, it’s that curiosity that you find entertaining, isn’t it? Without it, would I have lasted this long at your side?”

His smirk widened, his sharp teeth glinting again as the firelight danced across his face. “Bold and clever as always, little one.” he remarked, swirling the sake in his cup before setting it aside.

“You’re right, of course. I could have discarded you long ago, and yet… here you stand. Thirty years is a long time for a mortal to hold my attention.”

“You give me too much credit, my lord.” you said, giving him a soft smile as you took your own cup of sake and drank it slowly. “I’m here because of your will, not because of anything I’ve done.”

Sukuna’s scarlet eyes narrowed slightly, his smirk fading. He stepped closer, his towering form casting a shadow over you. “Do not diminish yourself so quickly, little one.” he said, his voice low but firm. “There is a reason you remain, though I may not deign to explain it to you. There isn’t any need to do so. Some truths are better left unsaid.”

You nodded, the intensity of his words striking a chord deep within you. “Then perhaps, my lord, we let the path reveal itself in time. Whatever lies ahead, I’ll stand beside you as long as you allow it.” 

As long as time forces me to stay by your side, you want to say. But you did not say. You do not think your husband could take such a truth. You only continue to drink the remainder of the sake on your sake cup. You hum as the burn of the alcohol inflames your throat.

He hummed again, his gaze softening for a fleeting moment before the sharpness returned. “Do not mistake my curiosity for sentiment, little one. You are mine, and that alone grants you the privilege of standing where you do. But I will say this. There have been few that have intrigued me as you do. Let us see how far that intrigue will take you.”

There was a heaviness in the air, a weight to his words that you couldn’t quite place. Yet beneath it all, there was a flicker of something else, something unspoken. It wasn’t love; You had known that as much. Ryomen Sukuna was not a god who entertained such mortal emotions. But it wasn’t indifference, either. It was too tender to be anything like indifference. 

A small smile touched your lips again, this one softer and more genuine. Even if you knew that you shouldn’t. You can’t help it when it comes to him. “As long as you see such intrigue in me, my lord, I will remain.”

He chuckled, low and resonant, as he turned back to his throne. “We’ll see, little one. We’ll see.”

Silence engulfed the room once more, thick and almost suffocating. You busied yourself with the sake, tilting the bottle with practiced care to refill his cup. He watched you as you did so, his gaze heavy and intent, though his expression betrayed nothing. 

You had insisted on performing this task yourself. It wasn’t much too heavy, as the other tasks. If anything, it was a small ritual, perhaps, but one that held meaning for you. He was your guest, even here in your own chambers. You always did this to guests you were fond of, even if there were few. A servant could have done it, but somehow, that felt… wrong. 

When the cup was filled, you stepped back, placing the bottle carefully on the tray. You hesitated then, your hands briefly clenching at your sides as you gathered the courage to speak. The enormity of the question weighed heavily on your tongue, but at last, you stepped forward, lifting your gaze to meet his.

“My lord, I have a question for you.” you began, your voice steady despite the tension you felt. “Have you ever thought about what you would do when I’m gone?”

His scarlet eyes snapped to yours, sharp and unyielding. The words hung in the air between you, their weight almost tangible. You looked at him as you put the sake vessel on the side. He looked at you, as though you had just grown another head on you.

“When you’re gone?” he echoed, his tone as unreadable as his expression. It wasn’t incredulous, nor dismissive—it simply sounded as though the concept were foreign to him.

“Yes. Or if I disappear. Of course, I have no plan on leaving, my lord. But I….I am curious.” you said softly, meeting his gaze even as your heart pounded in your chest. “When I’ve passed from this world. I am mortal, after all. My time is finite.”

You paused, searching his face for any flicker of emotion, any sign that your words had struck a chord. You take a pause before you continue. “Do you think there will ever be anyone who could take my place by your side, my lord?”

The silence that followed felt like an eternity. Ryomen Sukuna’s gaze turned distant, his crimson eyes narrowing as though he were looking at something far away, or deep within himself. His sharp features remained impassive, unreadable, and the weight of his presence pressed against you like an invisible force.

“No, little one.” he said at last, his voice low and steady, yet carrying an edge of finality. “I have not thought of it.”

The admission, simple as it was, sent a shiver through you. You looked at him, as he shifted. He frees one of his inner arms off his haori, the one you had recently made. Your husband seemed tense at the thought. You had never brought up this question before. It was never a topic of conversation. How could it be, to a god like him, who can never be confronted by such things?

“In thirty years, little one.” he continued, his tone thoughtful, “I have not entertained the thought of your absence. Mortals are fleeting—here one moment, gone the next. But you…” He trailed off, his gaze sharpening as it returned to yours. “You are different.”

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. “Different… how?”

“You have lasted, that much is evident.” he said, his voice carrying a faint note of something you couldn’t quite place. “Longer than most. Perhaps it is your curiosity. Perhaps it is your audacity. Or perhaps it is the way you serve without groveling, question without defiance. That… is rare.”

You lowered your gaze, his words settling heavily in your chest. “And when I’m no longer here to intrigue you, my lord?” you asked gently, your voice barely above a whisper. “What then?”

He was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable once more. Then, with deliberate slowness, he lifted his sake cup, drinking deeply before setting it down with a soft clink. He purses his lips into a flat line before he takes to speaking once more.

“I do not waste thought on things that have not yet come to pass, little one.” he said finally, his tone clipped, though it carried an undertone of something else—something unspoken. “But the thought of someone else standing where you do… does not sit well with me.”

Your breath caught at the admission, small as it was. “Then perhaps, my lord…it is a sign..” you ventured cautiously. “It is a sign that I have left some mark, however small.”

He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. “Do not mistake my words too much, little one.” he said, though his tone lacked its usual sharpness. “You are here because I will do it. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“And yet, my lord…..” you replied softly. “You have willed it for thirty years, for which I comly.”

His crimson gaze narrowed, but he said nothing, the silence once again stretching between you. For all his power, for all his dominance, Ryomen Sukuna seemed, in that moment, almost human, just as he was long long ago. For a moment, a god like him was caught between the eternal and the fleeting, the invincible and the inevitable.

The tension in the room was palpable, the kind of silence that held more weight than any words ever could. Sukuna didn’t speak, but his gaze lingered on you, searching for something even he couldn’t seem to name. You couldn’t name it for him either. You did not know enough of his feelings to give it such a concept.

You stepped back, lowering yourself onto the cushion across from him, your hands resting lightly in your lap. “It is not the sentiment I seek, my lord.” you said gently, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I wonder—what does my presence truly mean to you? After thirty years and such a life lived, a home and a family… I find myself curious.”

He leaned back slightly, the movement languid yet deliberate, his crimson eyes narrowing as if calculating how much to reveal. “You are bold to ask such things, little one.” he said, his tone carrying a faint edge of amusement. “Few have dared to question their worth to me and lived to tell of it.”

“I have nothing to lose by asking, my lord. Lest of all as your concubine.” you replied, lifting your gaze to meet his once more. “And perhaps you have nothing to gain by answering. But I still wish to know.”

For a moment, his expression remained unreadable, a mask of stoic indifference. But then his lips curled into a faint smirk, his sharp teeth glinting in the flickering firelight. The expression of his face echoing against the clear surface of the sake on his cup.

“What does your presence mean to me?” he echoed, as though testing the words. “A mortal might hope for love, for devotion. But you know better than to expect such things from a god.”

“I do, my lord.” you admitted. “I’ve never asked for those things.”

“Then you know me well enough, little one.” he said, his voice low and almost growling. “Because what you have is far more rare: my attention. My boredom is a rare thing to keep at bay.”

Your breath hitched slightly at the admission, simple as it was. “Is that so?”

“You intrigue me.” Sukuna continued, his tone almost casual. “You question, yet you do not defy. You serve, but not as a simpering fool. You know your place, and yet you do not grovel. It is… refreshing.”

You allowed a small, tentative smile to cross your lips. “Then I suppose I will take that as a compliment, my lord.”

“Take it however you wish, little one.” he said, his smirk widening. “It is the truth. And that is why you remain.”

Silence befell the two of you again, but this time it felt lighter, less oppressive. Sukuna reached for his sake cup once more, lifting it to his lips as though signaling the end of the conversation. But you weren’t finished. Not yet. 

You were a vixen for that, you admit. You had pressed his buttons enough. Perhaps it was the sake, or perhaps it was your own old age talking to you. Yet you couldn’t help it. You just kept talking.

“And when I am gone, my lord?” you pressed gently, your voice soft but insistent. “Will there ever be another to hold your attention as I have? There is a harem of yours, my lord. I wonder if they will enjoy your own favor too when I am gone.”

He froze mid-sip, the question catching him off guard. Slowly, he lowered the cup, his gaze darkening as he studied you. Ryomen Sukuna had looked more serious about that than your previous inquiry. As though he had such spite and surprise over such a question all at the same time.

“I do not waste thought on what has not yet come to pass, little one.” he said again, though this time his tone lacked the sharpness it had held before. It was softer, almost reflective, though it still carried the weight of his authority. “You ought to stop it.”

“But my lord—” you began, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them.

“There is no one like you.” he interrupted, his voice cutting through your protest like a blade. The statement was simple, but the finality in his tone made it feel as if it were etched into stone. “Is that what you want to hear, little one?”

You froze, his words wrapping around you like a vice. They weren’t meant to comfort, yet they struck somewhere deep within you. Slowly, you lifted your gaze to meet his, searching his crimson eyes for something more, something unsaid.

“If it is, my lord?” you asked, your voice trembling with a mix of curiosity and trepidation.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, though it lacked its usual cruelty. “Then are you satisfied with such a reply?”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning, their weight pressing against your chest. You considered them carefully, turning them over in your mind as you tried to decipher the emotions that stirred within you. Was this enough? Was this the answer you sought?

“I think….” you began cautiously, your voice barely above a whisper. “I am not dissatisfied, my lord. But I do not know if I am satisfied, either.”

His smirk widened, sharp teeth glinting in the firelight. “Typical of you, little one.” he said, his tone carrying a faint edge of amusement. “Always seeking something more, even when given an answer.”

“Perhaps, my lord.” you replied, a small, wry smile tugging at your lips. “Or perhaps I simply wonder what lies beneath your words, to avoid a puzzle. After all, you have always been a man of many mysteries which mere mortals cannot unravel.”

He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. “And you, little one, have always been bold enough to peel them away. But heed this from me. Some truths are better left undiscovered.”

You held his gaze, the firelight flickering between you like a silent witness. “And yet, my lord.” you said softly. “You tolerate my curiosity.”

“For now.” he replied, his tone a mix of warning and amusement.

“Thirty years and my lord will keep saying such a thing.”

“I shan’t stop now, little one.”

Silence fell again, but this time it felt different. It was charged, yet not oppressive. There was an understanding between you, unspoken but undeniably present. You had asked your question, and he had answered in his own way, cryptic yet revealing.

Perhaps there was no satisfying answer to be found in such matters, no concrete resolution. But in that moment, the weight of his gaze and the faint, fleeting softness in his tone were enough.

It was a reminder that, in his world of chaos and power, you were still something unique  to him, Something he acknowledged, even if only in his own, inscrutable way.

“Then perhaps, my lord.” you said softly, looking up to him. “What we share is enough. Perhaps it is better not to dwell on what will come after.”

He hummed, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. “You are wise for a mortal, little one.” he said, though there was a hint of begrudging respect in his tone. “Perhaps that is why I tolerate your questions.”

“Perhaps.” you replied, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “But it is also rather likely that you tolerate them because they remind you of something you’ve long forgotten, my lord.”

He tilted his head, his smirk returning. “Careful, little one. You tread dangerous ground.”

“I always do, my lord.” you said simply.

His rare laughter rumbled low and deep, resonating through the room. “Indeed, you do. And perhaps that is why you remain.”

══════════════════

THINGS HAD STARTED TO GET BACK TO NORMAL WITH TIME. The healers were happy to deliver the news that your body was getting back to normal. A news welcomed by your husband, with his own approval. The gods had indeed given you the return of your health. And it shows. 

You were able to stand up without any need for a servant’s aid. The color slowly returns to color the echoes of your cheeks, and the heaviness in your chest easing day by day. And with each passing moment, you felt your strength returning.

It was as though the very act of regaining your health was reclaiming a part of your soul, one that had long been overshadowed by weakness. As your body healed, you were falling to the reality of coming back to your even more mundane life. And along with it knocked your duties as the highest ranking concubine to Ryomen Sukuna. 

It was not a task to carry without such heavy weight on your shoulder. He expected you to be the best. And in the past thirty or so years, you have done your best to be impeccable. You had to do your best, to look worthy of being beside a god–husband.

Though you were often confined within the vast walls of the palace, sheltered from the world outside, there were times when Sukuna deemed it necessary for you to accompany him wherever he demanded you to be. Of course, it wasn’t just for companionship. It was too much of an effort to expose his dominion over mortality. 

Your presence by his side was not just a reflection of your role as his concubine, but a reminder to the people that even the gods had ties to the mortal realm. That he was a divinity holding the hand of humanity with a tight grip.

You had become an extension of him in some ways, a constant reminder that he controlled not just the heavens, but the very fate of those who lived beneath them.

The petitions of the small folk were always the same—prayers for blessings, requests for mercy, or cries for clemency. The villagers would kneel before him, faces pressed to the ground, their voices trembling with the weight of their fear. 

They would beg for protection from the dangers of the world outside the palace walls or for the mercy of a god whose whims were as unpredictable as the weather. You have seen it many times before. The tension in the air was palpable, the villagers’ desperation hanging thick as they made their pleas.

Ryomen Sukuna was ever the imposing figure, even when he had been a human being. His presence alone is enough to make the air seem heavier, more charged. His crimson eyes would sweep across the room, scanning the petitioners as though he were not a god to be appeased, but a predator sizing up prey. 

His answers were rarely kind to anyone, and his mercy even rarer. For those who were lucky, he might grant their requests, if he feels as though the request was sound enough by his standards. For those who displeased him—well, the consequences were often swift and final. 

You have seen your husband tear apart people in front of you and at times, he becomes lenient and lets people off. It was of course a rare mood of mercy, to feel such leniency. On most days his thirst for blood was ever so present, you try to hold yourself together. You don’t know what your husband does.

But of course there will be corpses sometimes. An act, a will that he imposes on people as a god. You don’t ask about where the bodies were. You never do. Not even to Uraume. It was none of your business, it was not your place. But you could still smell it sometimes. Of course, you hold your tongue upon the matter.

Today, you had assumed, would be no different. You stood beside him, composed as always, your hands folded neatly in front of you as you observed the eastern villagers bowing before him with such reverence. Sukuna’s scarlet eyes flickered briefly toward you.

There was a smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you maintain your calm, knowing all too well that you were used to these proceedings. He might have expected the same of you today, for his observant, silent companion. But then something happened that shook the predictability of the day.

Your husband Sukuna sat on his ornate throne, a picture of unyielding authority, his crimson eyes scanning the room with a gaze that could pierce through souls. You sat just below him, silent and composed, as a steady stream of petitioners knelt before you and him, presenting their offerings and requests.

And then you saw her.

A woman, frail and desperate, stepped forward, trembling as she approached the dais. Her face was half-hidden by the shadow of her hood, but there was something achingly familiar about her posture, the way her hands clutched at the hem of her tattered kimono.

She knelt before Sukuna, bowing so low her forehead touched the floor. Her voice cracked as she began to speak, begging for mercy for food, for shelter, for protection from the harshness of the world outside these walls. You stared, your breath caught in your throat, as the woman lifted her face to plead.

It was her.

You’re sure.

It’s your sister.

Your eyes widened in shock, the air around you suddenly feeling thick and suffocating. The veil of composure that you had so carefully built over the years, the one that allowed you to stand beside Ryomen Sukuna with unshaken resolve, every bit of it had quickly crumbled. 

For the first time in as long as you could remember, you felt something raw, something vulnerable, clawing at your chest. It was like the world around you shifted and everything that had once seemed distant, cold, and manageable, now felt impossibly close and unbearably personal.

Memories of your childhood came rushing back in a torrent, vivid and painful in their clarity. The sound of her laughter echoed in your mind, carefree and full of life. You remembered how her voice would ring out through the house, her joy contagious as the two of you played together, running through the gardens, lost in your own world. 

The boys were always together, helping your father at the farm, but you and your sister always helped your mother with the home. You were each other’s best friend, you were certain of that, you remembered it all too well. It was a time when life seemed endless, when you hadn’t yet known the cruelty of fate, the demands of your duties, or the ever-present shadow of Sukuna’s power looming over your every move.

And then there were the tears. The hot piping tears you had wiped away when she was frightened, when she was hurt, when she needed comfort. You had been her beloved elder sister. Her protector then, just as you had hoped to be now.

Her small hand in yours, clutching at you with all the trust and love a child could offer, a bond so unbreakable, so innocent. Those hands, which once grasped at the security of your presence, now seemed so frail, trembling as she knelt before the god you were bound to.

The years that had separated you seemed to vanish in an instant, the time that had once seemed like a natural progression suddenly irrelevant. The elegant robes you now wore, the weight of your position beside Sukuna, the cold indifference you had learned to embrace.

All of it faded away as you saw your sister’s fragile form before you. She was no longer the carefree girl you once knew, but a shadow of her former self—worn thin by hardship, the lines of exhaustion marking her once-soft features. 

Her hair, once vibrant, now hung limp, her face gaunt with the strain of survival. It was as though the years had aged her in a way that was almost unrecognizable.  And yet, the essence of her remained embedded in that worn up body.

It was still there in the way she hesitated before Sukuna, still there in the flicker of recognition when her weary eyes met yours. The bond that had once been so strong, so certain, seemed to rise up again between you. 

Though it was now tinged with the bitter realization of what had passed, of what had been lost in the years that separated you. You couldn’t help but feel the weight of that loss, the deep ache in your chest as you remembered the sister you once had.

Your breath caught in your throat as you took in the sight of her, your heart pounding in your chest. You knew that she had come here, seeking mercy from the very hands that had shaped your life in ways you could never have imagined. 

She, too, had become a pawn in the web of fate, a victim of forces she had no control over. You had become the living embodiment of Ryomen Sukuna’s will, a silent witness to his power, his cruelty, and yet here was your sister. So fragile, so human, pleading for a chance at life in front of the god who held her fate in his hands.

You wanted to scream, to reach out and take her away from this place, to protect her as you once had. But as you stood frozen before her, you realized that there was nothing you could do. The ties that had once bound you were now entangled with the very power that had claimed your soul. 

The woman before you was no longer the same little girl, that little  sister you had once known. And you, in turn, were no longer the same person who had laughed and cried with her, who had held her close in the warmth of childhood innocence.

The room seemed to close in around you, and for a brief moment, you were no longer the concubine of Ryomen Sukuna, no longer the silent, unfeeling woman who had learned to wear a mask of indifference. In this moment, you were just a sister, desperate and aching for the woman who had once been your whole world. 

The stark reality of her fragile form before you shattered the fragile facade you had built for so long, leaving you raw and vulnerable in a way you hadn’t been in years. And in that moment, it became impossible to ignore the truth. You could never escape the bond that tied you to her, no matter how far apart fate had pulled you.

“Please, my lord.” she begged, her voice shaking, her hands trembling as they gripped the edge of her sleeve. “I ask for nothing more than a chance to live. My lord, I beg for your kindness.”

Your hand instinctively reached out, gripping the fabric of your own kimono as you tried to steady yourself. The room felt as though it were spinning, your heart pounding in your ears. You wanted to speak, to call out to her, to bridge the chasm that had grown between you. But you couldn’t. Not yet.

Ryomen Sukuna’s crimson gaze shifted to you, sharp and knowing. He had noticed your reaction, the flicker of recognition in your eyes. A slow, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. You purse your lips at him, almost unnerved by his smirk.

“Well.” he drawled, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “It seems this one has caught your attention, little one. Shall I grant her request, or would you prefer to speak first?”

His words were like a challenge, a test. Your throat tightened as you met his gaze, searching for any hint of mercy behind his sharp features. You swallowed hard, your voice trembling as you spoke. “She… she is my sister, my lord.”

The room fell silent, the weight of your confession hanging heavy in the air. Sukuna’s smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with interest. “Your sister, you say? How… intriguing. For you to remember such a thing after all this time, little one.”

Your sister’s eyes snapped to yours, her expression shifting from desperation to shock as she recognized you. “Sister?” she whispered, her voice filled with disbelief.

Tears welled in your eyes as you stepped forward, your hands trembling. “It’s me, sister.” you said softly, your voice cracking. “It’s been so long.”

Ryomen Sukuna leaned back on his throne, watching the scene unfold with an air of amusement and detachment. He hadn’t remembered any of your family, they weren’t that important even then. He doubts they were note even now. Even after your marriage to him, they had not risen in prominence to the level they would have had they married you to some warlord in the far countryside. 

Sukuna had taken you to wife when you were nineteen summers. A long time has gone on and passed. He would have doubted that you remembered such things from your youth. And yet, you did. You hadn’t seen your sister in so long, and yet you recognized her. Even after all that happened. Even if she had aged. 

But perhaps, you held onto the memories of things. You held on to so much of the past before him, he knew that much. Back then, he had not tied you into his gilded cage. You were free. Perhaps, you held so dearly that life because he wasn’t yet your tyrant. 

You turned to him, your brows furrowed. You shouldn’t even be looking at him about this matter. He had given you leave to do what you wished. It’s why he hadn’t moved. Whatever decision lay ahead, it was clear he intended to let you take the lead. But of course, it wasn’t as if he would let you decide. He was still the power in your relationship.

The tension in the room was palpable, every pair of eyes fixed on you and the woman who knelt before the dais. Your heart ached as you looked at her—your little sister, worn thin by the worst of life’s hardship, her once-vivid features now shadowed by exhaustion.

You stepped closer, your movements measured and deliberate, though your hands trembled at your sides. You couldn’t afford to falter now, not under Ryomen Sukuna’s piercing gaze, not in front of the villagers who watched with bated breath.

“What is your name?” Sukuna asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to shake the air itself.

She flinched, her head bowing lower. “Kiyoko, my lord.” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Kiyoko, huh." Sukuna’s voice repeated, his voice dark and smooth.

It was as though the name were a foreign delicacy he was savoring. He stretched out the syllables with an almost unnerving precision, rolling them on his tongue as if the word itself held some sort of power he was trying to understand.

His gaze flicked back to you, a gleam of amusement sparking in his crimson eyes as his lips curled into a smirk, one that didn't quite reach the cold depths of his eyes.

"And what would you have me do with her, little one?" he drawled, letting the words hang in the air with a sense of deliberate weight. "Shall I grant her mercy for your sake? Or does her bloodline mean nothing to you now? They had forcefully married you to me, after all. For their rise on the ladder, of course."

The challenge in his voice was unmistakable, like a testing blade, and you could almost feel the sinister pleasure he derived from your discomfort. His words wrapped around you like a chain, each syllable tightening the hold he had over you. 

He had a way of making even the simplest question feel like a demand, a test of loyalty, of worth. His amusement at your predicament was palpable, though he masked it behind the veneer of his usual indifference.

Your throat went dry, and a cold shiver ran down your spine. You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. His words stirred something deep within you, something that you had buried for so long. Memories of your sister, of the love you had once shared, now felt like fragile remnants of a life that was slipping away, just as your control over this moment seemed to be.

To plead for Kiyoko outright would be a grave mistake. You knew that much. That would be something Sukuna would see as weakness, a crack in the facade you had so carefully maintained. He had no tolerance for such displays. 

Yet, to remain silent, to withhold your plea, would betray the very bond that had once made your sister your world. Your mind raced, torn between the two forces pulling at you—loyalty to your husband Ryomen Sukuna, to the man who held you captive, and the love for the sister you had lost in the process.

"My lord." you began, forcing yourself to remain steady. Your voice trembled only slightly as you spoke, but you kept your posture firm. "She is my sister, and I cannot deny the ties that bind us." 

You paused, searching his eyes with a quiet intensity, the weight of your request pressing on you like a thousand unseen hands. "But I know well that mercy is yours alone to bestow."

“That you are very aware. Good on you, little one.”

You lifted your gaze, meeting his, refusing to look away, even as the storm of emotions churned inside you. "I ask not as your concubine, but as your humble servant. Please, grant her the chance to rebuild what has been lost."

The words hung in the air, fragile yet resolute. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you remained unwavering, despite the torrent of fear and vulnerability that threatened to overwhelm you.

You had to stay strong—for her, for Kiyoko, and for the woman you once were.

For a long moment, Sukuna didn’t speak, his gaze never leaving yours. His lips twitched upward slightly, and the amusement didn’t fade from his eyes, but something else flickered beneath the surface, something unreadable.

“So you would deny what has been done?” he said, his voice almost a purr now, sliding through the room with a calculated sweetness. "You would ask for mercy when you know better than anyone how little of it I am willing to give?"

His eyes glinted with something like curiosity now, and the smirk faded into something more thoughtful, though still dangerous. "Tell me, hm…." he continued, his tone shifting into something darker.  "Do you truly think that mercy will rebuild what’s been lost? Can you even rebuild what fate has already decided for you, little one?"

You stood your ground, even as his words pressed against you like a weight you could hardly bear. "I know the world is shaped by fate, my lord." you said quietly. "But surely, even fate leaves room for change. For hope."

Sukuna’s eyes darkened then, his smile sharpening into something more predatory. He leaned forward slightly, his voice low and deliberate. "Hope, huh?" he murmured, the word dripping with contempt. "Is that what you believe in? Hope?"

There was a long silence. You cannot speak. Not if you wish to jeopardize the case you mean to fight for. And for the first time, you saw something flicker behind his scarlet eyes—an emotion you couldn't name, an expression that seemed to shift with a subtle shift in his demeanor.

“You are brave, little one. Too brave for your own good.” he said finally, almost as if testing the words on his tongue. “Perhaps too brave. But courage doesn’t change much in this world. Not when it comes to me.”

You swallowed, the finality in his voice making it clear that the decision would not be easy. But you had done what you could. The rest was out of your hands. You didn’t know what would come next, but the small spark of hope you had ignited seemed to linger in the heavy air, and that, at least, was something to hold onto.

“Stand.” he commanded, his voice sharp and unrelenting.

Kiyoko hesitated, glancing at you before obeying. She rose to her feet unsteadily, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Your husband looks at you for a moment, but you lower your head at the sight of his sharp eyes cutting through the soul.

“Look at me, girl.” Sukuna demanded. She lifted her gaze, her eyes wide and filled with fear. “Much better.”

“Your sister, my own concubine, has spoken for you,” he said, his tone cold and impassive. “She has pleaded your case, though she knows the risk of doing so. Tell me, Kiyoko—what would you do with the mercy she begs for?”

Kiyoko’s lips parted, but no words came. She glanced at you again, as though seeking strength in your presence. Finally, she spoke, her voice trembling but resolute. “I would live, my lord. I would work, I would serve, I would do anything to repay the kindness shown to me.”

Sukuna’s laughter broke the heavy silence, low and rumbling. “Anything, you say?” He leaned forward slightly, his crimson eyes glinting. “Then perhaps I will grant you this mercy. Not for your sake, but for hers.” 

He gestured toward you with a lazy wave of his hand. “Your sister’s boldness amuses me, little one. But it’s stale. Too stale to keep me intrigued. But it is interesting to see what will become of you here, little one.”

Relief flooded through you, your knees nearly buckling under the weight of it. Kiyoko’s weary eyes filled with tears, and she dropped to her knees once more, bowing low. “Thank you, my lord.” she choked out.

“Do not thank me.” Sukuna said, his tone dismissive. “Thank your sister. It is her value to me that has spared your life and given you a chance.”

You bowed deeply, your voice trembling as you said. “Thank you, my lord. Your generosity knows no bounds.”

As Sukuna leaned back on his throne, his expression was unreadable, though his scarlet gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary. He snickers, waving his hand to signal you to stand from your position.

“Take her to the servants’ quarters.” he ordered the guards, his tone sharp and final. “Let her prove her worth there. If she fails…” His smirk returned, sharp and menacing. “Well, you know the consequences.”

“Of course, my lord.”

The guards moved to escort Kiyoko from the room, but before she was led away, she turned to you, her tear-streaked face filled with gratitude and longing. “Sister, my dear sister.” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Thank you.”

You nodded, your throat too tight with emotion to speak. As the doors closed behind her, Sukuna’s voice cut through the silence. You tried to compose yourself again, but you felt yourself too emotional. You make your way towards your throne. But before you take your chance to sit, your husband looks at you and speaks.

“Do not think your sentimentality will sway me again, little one. I allowed this because it pleased me to do so. Remember that.”

You turned to him, bowing deeply. “Of course, my lord.”

But as you straightened and met his gaze once more, you couldn’t help but wonder if, despite his words, something more had stirred within him that day. You bowed your head once more and turned your position once again and sat down to continue the long day, all the while your thoughts echoed all over the place. Your sister was here. You weren’t alone anymore.

══════════════════

YOU WANTED TO SEE YOUR SISTER AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. But the day had not permitted it. So you had no choice but to wait until the sun met its lover and said goodbye. The dominant echo of the moon yawned against the still koi ponds. It was so quiet tonight, it could be the most peace that could be had in the past thirty years you’d spent here.

The brightly lit temple gardens were a sanctuary, a rare refuge from the opulence and tension that prevailed in Ryomen Sukuna’s earthly domain. The moon cast a gentle glow over the stone pathways, and lanterns swayed gently in the breeze, their golden light illuminating the blooms of jasmine and lotus scattered throughout. 

You found your sister Kiyoko seated on a weathered stone bench, her figure barely outlined against the lush greenery. They had finally let her have some air, you supposed. It’s hard to find that perhaps she could be someone who could be trusted.

But perhaps the way your husband looked at you all day, with your own concerns for your sister, had been a catalyst. A fresh breath of air is better than the draft of the servant’s quarters in this time of night.

She looked up as you approached, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Her face, worn thin by the years, was still achingly familiar—the curve of her cheek, the shape of her eyes, even the way she held herself with quiet determination. The years had shaped you both differently, yet the bond you shared remained, unspoken but profound.

You sat beside her, the stone cool beneath you. “Kiyoko.” you said softly, your voice trembling with emotion. “It’s been so long, hasn’t it?”

Her lips quivered into a faint smile, through her eyes shone with unshed tears. “I thought I’d never see you again, nee–san.” she admitted, her voice raw with honesty. “When they took you, it felt like we’d lost you forever.”

The weight of her words pressed against your chest. You had never forgotten the pain of being torn from your family, not one day. Every single time you had thought about it, it was certainly  the bitterness of knowing you were a pawn in a game far beyond your control that always made you burn in furiosity. 

But it was also the fact that you will end up losing who you were and all you had known, to suffer constant misery in this gilded cage — to never see your family again, that perhaps makes you even more angry than ever before. 

More than anything, it was the thought that there was someone that truly loved you that you longed for. From what you remembered, you were loved once, by your family. And it made you angry and more grievous, to only think of it as memory.

“I thought about all of you every day, you know?” you said, your hands gripping the edge of the bench. “I wondered if you were safe, if you had enough to eat, if you were… happy.”

Kiyoko let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. “Happy? No, not after you left. Things were hard, nee–san. The village changed. We all changed.” She hesitated, her gaze falling to her hands. “Takashi… he passed. Sickness took him, and it nearly broke our father.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Takashi?” you whispered, the name like a sharp blade against your heart. Memories of your mischievous, spirited brother flooded your mind. “How… How did it happen?”

Her voice wavered as she recounted the story. “It was during a bitter winter, not long after you left. Food was scarce, and sickness spread through the village like wildfire. We did everything we could, but Takashi… he was always so stubborn, so reckless. He hid how sick he was until it was too late.” 

“Don’t…..” You took a moment to breathe and looked her in the eye. You wanted to know, you wanted to see. To feel that same grief as though you were there. “Did he pass well?”

“Like a breath of wind.” She looked at you, her expression both anguished and apologetic. “He always said you’d come back one day. He never gave up on you.”

You closed your eyes, the weight of guilt nearly unbearable. “I should have been there, Kiyoko.” you murmured, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I should have been there to help.”

Kiyoko reached out, taking your hand in hers. Her touch was warm, grounding. “You couldn’t have changed what happened, nee–san.” she said firmly. “You were taken from us. None of this is your fault.”

Her words were a balm, though they did little to ease the ache inside you. “And Mother? Father? Are they…?”

“They’ve passed on, nee–san.” Kiyoko said, her tone heavy. “But allt these years, Mother lit a lantern for you every night. She prayed for your safety. Father… he was quiet a lot, but he worked the fields as best he can."

".....I see." You say, almost grievous at the thought of this unfamiliarity to this loss.

You haven't had parents in years, decades. And yet, you mourn that loss anyway, no matter how foreign it seems to you. You purse your lips in a flat line.

"And you have nieces and nephews, nee-san. They’re well. And growing too, despite the hard times.” your sister added, her voice brightening slightly. “They’re the light of the family.”

You couldn’t help but smile through your tears. “Nieces and nephews…..” you repeated, the words foreign yet wonderful. “I can’t believe it.”

“They’re wonderful, nee–san.” Kiyoko said, her smile growing. “Kenji’s clever, like Takashi, always tinkering with things. And little Hana—oh, she’s wild and free, just like you were.”

Her words filled you with a bittersweet joy, a flicker of hope amidst the sorrow. “I wish I could meet them.” you said quietly. “I wish they could know me.”

Kiyoko squeezed your hand. “One day, they will. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I should hope so.” You say, almost as though you were going to cry. “I have to live long and see them again.”

“You look so different, though, nee–san.” she said, her voice soft, almost tentative. “Healthier… stronger. I barely recognized you at first.”

The bittersweet smile remained on your lips as you tried to find the words. “And you… You’ve been through so much,” you murmured, your voice heavy with both admiration and sorrow.

Kiyoko’s gaze didn’t falter. “Perhaps, you also, nee-san,” she replied gently but firmly. “You have lived a life we can never know. As Sukuna–sama’s wife.”

Her words hung in the air like a blade, sharp and unyielding. You hesitated, the weight of her statement pressing against your chest. How could you even begin to explain? To confess your own misery felt selfish.

It was a betrayal of the unimaginable hardships she and your family had endured. What right did you have to complain about being unloved or neglected when you had never faced starvation, never braved winters without warmth or droughts without water?

Your fingers fidgeted in your lap as you searched for the right response. “Kiyoko, my little sister.” you began slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. “There’s so much they don’t know. About how I’ve lived, what I’ve become here. They might not understand…”

Kiyoko tilted her head, studying you with that same quiet strength she’d always possessed, even as a child. Her eyes softened, her hand reaching to rest lightly on yours. “Then tell me, nee-san” she said gently. “Help me understand.”

You swallowed hard, the vulnerability in her voice chipping away at the walls you've built around your heart. Taking a shaky breath, you looked out at the lantern-lit gardens, as if the beauty around you could somehow lend you the courage to speak. 

“When they married me to Sukuna, I thought… I thought I would become something more than just a girl from the village. I thought it would mean safety, maybe even respect. But it wasn’t like that. Not at all.”

Kiyoko’s brow furrowed, her hand tightening around yours. “What do you mean?”

You bit your lip, willing yourself not to cry. “I am here, yes. But I am little more than a possession to him. Perhaps a tool for his amusement, a symbol of his power over those who gave me away.”

The words tasted bitter on your tongue, but they poured out nonetheless. “He does not love me, Kiyoko. He barely sees me. My life here is gilded, but it is a cage all the same.”

Kiyoko’s breath hitched, her grip steadying you as your voice trembled. “I don’t suffer as you have, little sister. If anything, I live in luxury.”

You continued, your gaze dropping to your intertwined hands. “I have food, warmth, fine clothes… but those things don’t make a life. I don’t have freedom. I don’t have love. And yet, hearing what you and the family have endured… I feel ashamed even saying this.”

Her fingers brushed against yours, grounding you in the moment. “Nee-san.” she said softly, her voice carrying both sorrow and conviction. “You’ve suffered too. Just because your pain isn’t the same as mine doesn’t make it any less real.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you shook your head. “I don’t want to burden you with this, Kiyoko. You’ve already endured so much. I just want you to know… I never stopped thinking about all of you. About the life I lost.”

Kiyoko’s hand moved to cup your cheek, her warmth anchoring you. “And we never stopped thinking about you.”

She continued, almost solemn. “Not a single day passed when we didn’t pray for your safety, wonder if you were happy, hope that you were alive. And now, seeing you here… even in this gilded cage, you are still my sister. That’s what matters.”

Her words broke the dam within you, and the tears spilled over, trailing down your cheeks. “I missed you so much, little sister.” you choked out, your voice raw with emotion.

Kiyoko pulled you into an embrace, her arms strong despite her frail appearance. “I missed you too, nee-san.” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “But we’ve found each other again. That’s what matters now.”

Before you could respond to her, the sound of footsteps interrupted your thoughts. You turned to see hand and hand, Chiharu and Chizuru, were approaching. Chiharu held the lantern for her younger brother. It was interesting, how their faces looked. Both of their expressions are curious but warm. 

You had never thought you could ever find the time to introduce your children to your family. You’d never thought you could. Not in any lifetime. But to see this become a reality now, for your sister to see the light of your life in front of them too, it was more than enough to bring you to tears of joy.

“Kiyoko, I’d like to introduce you to my children.” you said, gesturing toward them with a small smile. “These are Chiharu and Chizuru. They’ve been the light of my life.”

She looks at you for a moment and then to the children. Her eyes widened and stills at Chizuru, who was blinking at her. “These are your….”

“Chiharu is my husband’s eldest child, but I have raised her as my own.” You say tenderly eyeing the children with a smile. “But Chizuru, he is my own son. He is three years of age. A smart young boy already.” You stopped and smiled. “Go on, children. Bow to your aunt with reverence.”

You took the lantern from Chiharu and set it aside. The young girl helped her little brother to get into the position and made sure he was comfortable before going down and bowing with careful grace in front of you and Kyoko.

You couldn’t help but be filled with pride as you looked at them both. It was as if you felt that you had achieved the impossible. Your family knows of your children.

Chiharu raised her head. “It’s an honor to meet you, Kiyoko–sama. Your sister, my step-mother, has spoken of her family often.”

Chizuru smiled as he too raised his head. “Are you my auntie?”

“Chizuru—”

“It’s alright, it’s alright.” Kiyoko looked at them, her expression softening as she returned their bows. “Thank you to the two of you.” she said quietly. “For being born and filling her life with joy.”

“No, Kiyoko–sama.” Chiharu smiles at her kindly, shaking her head. “I should say we are more thankful. I would not have an easier and more comfortable life without her. And without your sister, I would not have my brother. We are more than grateful to you too, for loving my step-mother well.”

Your sister looks as though she was going to tear up too. “Then we can be thankful for each other, for the blessings that come because of nee–san being in both our lives.”

“I should think so.” Chiharu smiles once again at her. Chiharu looks at you. “We are sorry for suddenly visiting and disturbing your conversation, mother. We have come to bid you good night. Forgive us for not sending a messenger ahead.”

You shook your head at her. “That is no problem, Chiharu. It was not a bother at all. Good night. Have a good rest, hm? I shall see you in the morning.”

You embraced Chiharu who hugged you back in return, and smiled as you kissed her cheek. When it was Chizuru’s turn, he jumped into your arms and giggled as you embraced him back. You peppered him with kisses, making him laugh even more. You laughed as you let him go. You placed a kiss on his head.

“Go and make sure he doesn’t end up rolling off his futon again, hm?” You say as Chiharu took the lantern again and nodded. 

As the two left along with the entourage that was just a few meters away, you and your sister were left alone. As the silence between you echoed still as the starry night, the evening deepened with each passing hour and with that, the two of you seemed more content enjoying this moment together, even without saying anything to the other. 

Kiyoko touched your hand gently. “You’ve thrived here, nee–san.” she said, her voice tinged with both pride and sorrow. “But I see how much you’ve endured, too.”

You nodded, tears brimming once more. “I only wish I could have been there for all of you.”

Her smile was small but genuine. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

And in that moment, as you sat together under the twilight sky, you felt a fragile yet undeniable hope take root in your heart—a hope that, somehow, the bonds of family could endure even the deepest of scars.

══════════════════

YOU FOUND YOURSELF UNABLE TO SLEEP AT NIGHT. But what could you do, knowing that your nightmares were ever so present every single night? Ever since your since that day, you were a victim of such dreams which had no place to go.

You couldn’t find yourself and what was reality, when it comes to these dreams. You just couldn’t. And that terrified you. These nightmares grew more frequent with each passing night, clawing into your mind and leaving you restless and uneasy.

Your sister had tried to ease your pains with tea that your mother would make. But as time went on, the nightmares grew worse. It was always the same. It was a hauntingly vivid sequence that left you breathless and trembling. And you hated it. You hated every minute of it.

Each time, the child’s face seemed clearer, his dark eyes more piercing, his expression more sinister. The terror felt more real. The pain, the helplessness, and the oppressive presence of Sukuna—looming like a god indifferent to your suffering were etched into your consciousness with cruel precision. And tonight was no different.

In the dream, you stood in a barren landscape under a sky smeared with crimson clouds. The child appeared suddenly, his small figure emerging from the shadows. He didn’t look menacing at first. At first, his face was round, soft, innocent. He was truly a little baby, a beautiful one at that. 

Looking at you, with the tenderness and softness of a child to a mother, when he is first born. But as his gaze locked onto yours, something in his expression shifted. His eyes seemed bottomless, pulling you into an abyss of despair.

You wanted to move, to flee, but your body refused to obey. He stepped closer, his small hands reaching out. Before you could react, pain erupted in your stomach. It wasn’t a mere stab or cut. it was as if something alive and feral clawed its way through your body, tearing apart everything inside you.

You screamed, your voice raw and ragged, but no sound seemed loud enough to drown the horror. Blood poured out in torrents, staining the earth beneath you. The child’s grin widened, his teeth sharp and gleaming. You tried to fight, to push him away, but your strength ebbed with every passing second.

And then, as always, you saw him. Ryomen Sukuna. He stood at the edge of the chaos, a pillar of calm amidst your agony. His crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, his expression cold and detached.

“My lord…..my lord, Sukuna, please.” you choked out, desperation thick in your voice. “Please… help me…”

But he didn’t move. His smirk deepened, a cruel twist of amusement playing on his lips. “You’re weak, little one.” he said, his voice echoing in your mind. “What use are you if you cannot endure?”

The words struck harder than the physical pain, piercing your soul. You reached out toward him, but before your fingers could brush his robe, the child gave one final wrench, and everything went black.

You woke with a start, your breath shallow and rapid. The oppressive weight of the nightmare lingered, pressing down on your chest. Your hands flew instinctively to your stomach, as if to check for wounds. But there was nothing. No blood, no pain. Only the ghost of the dream remained.

The room was dimly lit by the moonlight streaming through the windows, casting long, eerie shadows across the walls. The silk sheets beneath you were damp with sweat, clinging to your trembling body.

A knock at the door jolted you, and before you could respond, your servant slipped inside. Her gentle face was lined with worry as she approached. “My lady, my lady.” she said softly, kneeling beside the bed. “I heard you cry out. Are you alright?”

You pressed a hand to your forehead, trying to steady your breathing. “I’m fine.” you replied quickly, though your voice wavered. “It was just a bad dream. Nothing more.”

Her own weary eyes searched for yours, doubt evident in her expression. “Shall I prepare tea? Or perhaps a soothing ointment? You seem… troubled.”

“No, that won’t be necessary, do not worry.” you said firmly, though you forced a small smile to soften the dismissal. “Go back to bed. I’m fine.”

She hesitated for a moment, her concern palpable. But after a brief nod, she rose, bowing respectfully. “As you wish, my lady. If you need anything, please call me.”

You halted and then stopped her from leaving. She turns to you. "Please wake lady Kiyoko. Have her brew that tea for me, please."

"As you wish, my lady."

When she left, the silence of the room enveloped you once more. You leaned back against the pillows, your mind churning. The nightmare had felt so real. Too real. The child’s face lingered in your thoughts, his dark eyes burning into your soul. 

And Sukuna—why had he stood there, unmoving, uncaring? Was the dream a reflection of your deepest fears? A twisted manifestation of your doubts and insecurities?

You touched your stomach again, your hands trembling. Whatever the dream meant, it left a shadow you couldn’t shake. A foreboding that made your heart heavy and your mind restless.

As the moonlight dimmed, you stared into the darkness, hoping but not truly believing that a good long rest, a good sleep would bring peace. The following nights offered no reprieve. The nightmares persisted, each one more vivid and harrowing than the last. 

The child’s face, once haunting, became almost familiar, as though etched permanently into your psyche. His laughter, echoing with malice, stayed with you long after you woke, leaving your chest tight and your body trembling.

By the third night, your exhaustion became noticeable. The children were clever, they always have been, young as they were. Chiharu and Chizuru exchanged worried glances as they helped you dress for the day. The mirror reflected your pale face, the faint shadows under your eyes betraying your lack of sleep.

“Mother, are you alright?” Chizuru ventured carefully, looking at your cold tea and then to you. “Are you….are you sleepy?”

You hesitated, your lips parting as though to confide in him. But the words caught in your throat. He is a child. He does not need to know the sufferings of his mother. Why should he suffer the need to know the grievous nights of yours? That is too much of a burden, to a child.

And even then, what could you say? That your dreams were haunted by a child who tore you apart? That Ryomen Sukuna’s apathy in those dreams mirrored a deeper fear you dared not admit even to yourself?

“I’m fine, my little son.” you said softly, your voice steady despite the lie. “The temple can be… busy at times. Mayhaps, our aging mother is exhausted, you are right. Or perhaps I simply need fresh air. I should ask my lord to let me rest and enjoy the gardens.”

Chiharu put her own utensils down, looking at you with the same concern. “Would you like us to prepare the gardens for your morning tea, mother? A walk among the blossoms might ease your mind.”

“That would be lovely, Chiharu.” you replied, grateful for the suggestion. Anything to escape the confines of your room and the lingering shadows of your dreams. “Mayhaps that would be good. But for now, let’s break our fast.” 

She nodded her head. “Yes, mother. Of course.”

In the wide expanse of the gardens, the gentle breeze and the sweet scent of flowers offered some solace. The koi pond glimmered in the sunlight, the soft ripples breaking the surface as the fish swam lazily beneath. 

It was a day where the summer rain had come and ceased, you think. And so, it was a lucky day to have sunshine. Even more so for your children, who were now playing together and chasing each other, their laughter dancing in the beaconing wind.

You found a quiet corner beneath a blooming cherry tree, the shade offering respite from the midday sun. But even here, your mind couldn’t rest. Not even one moment. You wished you could but the images still flashed fresh on your mind. The child’s face loomed in your thoughts, and your husband’s own cruel indifference in the dream replayed like a broken melody.

Yet, soon enough, a shadow fell across the garden path, pulling you from your thoughts. You could feel the wind change as you slowly opened your eyes. Looking up, you saw Ryomen Sukuna approaching, his regal form cutting an imposing figure against the backdrop of the palace. His crimson eyes glinted with curiosity or perhaps amusement as he stopped a few paces from you.

“My lord.” Your lips echoed as he stopped at the edge of the shade. Uraume was behind him, a few distances away, with arms on their back as they silently followed their master. “You are here?”

“You seemed surprised to see me, little one.” He snickers at you, before taking a moment to look at the children. “Am I not allowed to visit your haven?”

“No….no, it’s not that, my lord.” You say to him, lowering your gaze. “It is just…..I never expected to see you today.”

“Oh? And why do you say that, little one? Is this not my domain, my temple?”

“My lord, you know what I…..” You stopped yourself from being exasperated, earning a laugh from him. “My misery is not a jest to laugh about, my lord.”

“I have lived nearer to your hall in these past three years, little one.” Sukuna retorts back to you, a sly smile on his face as he slowly sits in front of you. “I think it should be a given that this path would be on my way, should I go to the audience hall.”

You purse your lips into a flat line, feeling your eyes stare daggers at him. “That much is true, my lord. But it is not always within your desires to see what I or the children are doing.”

“You are my concubine and the children you speak of mine own loins.” He once more says, almost mockingly. “Should I not be allowed to enjoy both?”

“If my lord wishes to enjoy such a thing, I know he has many ways to do so.” You say to him, fumbling with your hands, as though to tell yourself that you were alright. “But for my lord to have come here, it is a different matter altogether, is it not?”

Silence triumphs between the two of you as the wind breaks against the wide expanse of the trees shading you. His eyes do not leave you for a moment as you try and sit up right, trying to slouch less. You were certain that it was unbecoming to do such a thing in front of your lord husband, even in such a setting. 

“Little one, you are clever. But I should hope you do not continue to do so, at the expense of the joy of it.” he said, his deep voice breaking the silence. “You are right, certainly. But I should hope that you do not let such cleverness diminish my reason.”

“Oh? And what reason does my lord come to my presence?”

“You’ve been… quiet lately.” He says to you. “At least that is what I heard from your servants. Well, not certainly only quiet. Perhaps troubled, even.”

“My lord, I told you that such servants spying on me for you are unwelcomed and unbecoming—”

“You shouldn’t tell me how I run my household, little one. Even your own is my own. It is I who shall decide how they should be run.” He scolds you loud enough for you to lower your head. “I come here out of concern and I shan’t renege my duty just because you feel admonished. Am I understood?”

You didn’t talk for a moment. 

His scarlet eyes narrow more.

There was something in them.

Things you couldn’t read properly.

You took one deep breath at him.

“Do I make myself clear, little one?”

“......Yes, my lord.”

“Now tell me, what occupies that restless mind of yours?” He asks you, crossing his arms on his chest. “Confirm what your servants say.”

Your heart skipped a beat. In three decades of marriage to this man, it was a rarity that he would ask you of your own feelings in this blunt manner. Much so in a way where concern was truly honest and genuine.

Certainly, your husband demanded honesty and truth. But it was a rare moment for him to decide to do it this way. To confront you when you were caught off guard, to corner you. 

But you wondered if you could do it well. If you could be honest with him about this. It was hard enough to wrap your head around being in the constant rush of horror with these nightmares. Yet it was certainly another to see if people would understand, much less the King of Curses.

It was terrifying to live through it alone, but the very idea of sharing your nightmares with him was both tempting and terrifying. He could perceive it in all the ways he could. Could he offer insight? Or would he mock you, dismissing your fears as childish? 

You rose to your feet, bowing low before him. “My lord…..” you began carefully. “It is nothing of importance. I am certain that my servants meant well, but it is nothing but weariness. I’ve merely been restless as of late.”

He studied you, his gaze piercing as if he could see through your facade. “Restless?” His smirk returned, sharp and knowing. “Do you think I'm a fool, little one? You wear your fear like a shroud. Now, tell me. What haunts you?”

“Should it not be real? I had just found my sister and found out what my family had gone through in such a time.” You argued back at him, almost like a petulant child. “Should this not leave me restless or weary, my lord?”

“Oh, little one. I hope your eyes do not give you away.” He retorts back at you, almost like he was going to laugh. “You would be so good at lying, little one — had your eyes not deceived me.”

You bit your lower lip, looking away at him. Of course, he can. Of course, he would read you. He has always been good at doing so. And you were not even certain how deep into your soul he could see. You looked at the children for a moment and then back to him. Should you really be honest with him about this? Should you tell him? 

More and more time would be passing and you knew he would not give in. He will not leave until he gets to the bottom of the truth you were hiding. You kept biting your lip, hoping that it would just bleed. But nothing, nothing came out as you brutalized your lip. 

Defeated, you lowered your head once more.The words were there, on the tip of your tongue. But fear held you back. If you spoke of the child, of the nightmares, would he understand? Or would his cruelty twist your confession into another game?

Sukuna moved closer, his presence overwhelming. “Speak, little one. I command it.” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for defiance. “Do not make me ask again.”

Swallowing hard, you lowered your gaze. “I’ve been dreaming, my lord. Nightmares… of a child.”

His expression shifted when you said those words, the smirk faltering for a fraction of a second. “A child?” he repeated, his voice laced with curiosity. “What child?”

You hesitated, your hands trembling as you clasped them together. “In my dreams, he tears me apart. From the inside. And you… you’re there. Watching. Unmoved. And I….I would watch, I would watch myself torn apart.”

The silence that followed was deafening, stretching out like a chasm between you and Ryomen Sukuna. His scarlet eyes darkened, the glimmer of curiosity or amusement vanishing like a candle snuffed out.

The smirk he so often wore was gone, replaced by an inscrutable expression that made your stomach churn. He regarded you for a long moment, his gaze heavy and unreadable, as if he were turning over some thought in his mind.

For a fleeting second, hope sparked within you. Could he say something to ease your fears? To make sense of the nightmares that clawed at the edges of your sanity? The thought was a desperate one.

Certainly, it was born of a yearning for answers, for meaning in the chaos that plagued your mind. But he said nothing. He didn’t move, didn’t speak—he simply stood there, his silence as cutting as any words might have been.

“My lord—” you began, your voice trembling with the weight of your plea.

“They are nothing but nightmares.” Sukuna interrupted, his tone sharp and final, as though sealing the matter with those words alone. “They are nothing of consequence.”

The tone of his dismissal stung deep and harsh, perhaps even sharper than you’d anticipated. It wasn’t that you expected tenderness. Ryomen Sukuna was never tender, he could not. But his abruptness carried an air of indifference that left you feeling hollow. 

You wished his words didn’t affect you so much, you wished it didn’t hurt you so dearly. But it does. Thirty years is a long time and yet, he still has hands that are cold. Hands that make you feel like it was stone.

Your hands tightened into fists at your sides, the frustration of being so easily cast aside mingling with the lingering fear the dreams had planted in your heart.

“Nothing of consequence…” you echoed softly, almost to yourself. The words felt like ash on your tongue, bitter and unsatisfying.

Sukuna’s eyes flicked over you once more, his expression hardening as if warning you not to pursue the matter further. “Do not let such trivialities cloud your thoughts, little one. You have other concerns, ones that matter.”

“Other ones that matter?” You asked towards him, looking him in the eye. “And what could they be?”

He does not speak for a moment. He stands up slowly, looking at the children and away from you once again. “I shall send for someone to make a tonic, to help with your nightmares. You should drink it, without question. Understood?”

“My lord, I—”

“Understood?”

You swallowed your pride and nodded. “Understood, my lord.”

He nodded at you and then walked away, the flowing fabric of his robes trailing behind him as he walked away, Uraume following suit just a little bit behind him. You stood rooted in place, the weight of his dismissal pressing down on you like a stone. 

The child’s face from your dreams still lingered in your mind’s eye, his haunting gaze refusing to fade, and Ryomen Sukuna’s indifference, that had only been a dream at one point, was now reality. And it had perhaps only made the spectacle of this misery more vivid.

As the garden fell silent again, you sank onto the bench beneath the cherry tree, your thoughts spinning. Sukuna’s words had done nothing to quell your fears, and the questions that haunted you remained unanswered. The dream felt too real, too visceral, to be dismissed so easily.

And though Sukuna had turned his back on your concerns, the image of his unyielding gaze lingered, a reminder that there was no solace to be found in him. You were left to face the shadows on your own, with only the faint rustling of the cherry blossoms as your solace.

══════════════════

YOU WERE SURE IT TAKES A LOT OF LEARNING EACH OTHER’S LANGUAGE, TO GET CLOSER. You had expected that, the moment you saw your sister Kiyoko. Thirty years. A whole lifetime beyond the years you had known her. You barely remembered the child Kiyoko had been. Those little snippets, fleeting images: a flash of dark hair, a high-pitched giggle, the small hand that once clung to yours. 

But the woman who now stood before you now was a stranger, built from experiences you hadn’t shared, shaped by years you hadn’t witnessed. Getting to know her was like deciphering a language you’d long forgotten, each conversation a painstaking translation of gestures, expressions, and shared silences. 

Yet, slowly, almost imperceptibly, you were sure that your sister Kiyoko had begun to weave her way back into your heart little by little as she served you in your home. Of course, you don’t treat her like all the other servants. You couldn’t. She was your sister first more than she was anything else. 

But she also had to find her way in the world. Your husband has spies in your midst. And so, she does her best to keep with her duties, all the while trying to have moments with you that few can be privy to under the candle light, laughing together as you both experienced the girlhood you never got to enjoy together.

Brushing each other’s hair, reading and writing poetry together, weaving silks and fabrics into clothing together, walking under the brisk sunlight on the best days and most of all, eating together and telling stories, as you would while you sat with each other during supper as children. 

You were sure that it wasn't the rekindling of a childhood bond, you knew you couldn’t. But this was close. This was certainly something that could come close to that. Just as much, there was that desire to enjoy this moment where you both were forging new relationships together, ont that could be stronger and more resilient than the fragile memories of the past.

And with this burgeoning connection came trust. Deep, unwavering trust. Among the sea of loyal servants who populated your own household, your Kiyoko was the only one that you could truly trust and call your own, from the blood of your blood who would never betray you. 

She had quickly become your anchor, the one person you could confide in without reservation. Secrets you’d guarded for years tumbled out in her presence, anxieties that had gnawed at you found solace in her understanding gaze.

Your lord husband Ryomen Sukuna, ever observant, had noticed this shift. He’d seen the way you sought Kiyoko’s company, the quiet comfort that radiated from you when she was near, even when she stood away from the crowd in the audience hall. 

He’d especially noted your reliance on her when it came to Chiharu and Chizuru, your precious children. He could see how much you would find yourself willing to put their safety at her hands during the nights when you needed reprieve.

Or those days when they would wander off endlessly through the temple grounds by themselves. You entrusted Kiyoko with their care without a second thought, a level of faith you hadn’t extended to anyone else.

The nearby hall was bathed in the warm glow of lanterns, their light dancing across the lacquered walls and the golden accents of the intricate carvings that adorned the space.

The rich aroma of the evening meal mingled with the faint scent of sandalwood from the incense burning in the corners. Despite the opulence, there was an undercurrent of tension—something unspoken that lingered between you and Sukuna.

He sat at the head of the table, his imposing figure relaxed but commanding. Every movement he made seemed deliberate, calculated. As you reached for your cup, his voice cut through the silence like a blade.

“You and your sister, little one.” he began, his tone deceptively casual. “ I have noticed that you both have become close.”

His words carried a weight that made you pause, your weary fingers tightening slightly around the porcelain cup. You looked up, meeting his piercing scarlet gaze. You nodded at him briefly before you drank.

“She is my sister, my lord.” you replied carefully. “It is only natural that we would grow close again after being apart for so many years.”

Sukuna leaned back in his chair, his sharp crimson eyes studying you with an unsettling intensity. He hums to himself. “Natural, perhaps. But closeness often breeds complacency. And complacency invites betrayal, little one.”

The insinuation struck like a slap, though you kept your expression composed. Setting your cup down, you responded, your tone firm but measured. “Kiyoko has endured hardships I can scarcely imagine. She has remained steadfast despite everything. I trust her implicitly, my lord.”

His lips curved into a faint smirk, though his eyes betrayed no mirth. “Trust, little one. You shouldn’t be secure about it.” he said, the word rolling off his tongue like a curse. “Trust is a fragile little thing. It is easy to give but far harder to keep. You may trust her now, but people change, little one. Desperation, jealousy, opportunity—these are the harbingers of betrayal.”

Your pulse quickened, the flicker of indignation sparking into something stronger. “Kiyoko is not like that, my lord. I assure you.” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. “She has never sought to harm me. I would stake my life on her loyalty.”

He chuckled, the sound low and chilling. “Stake your life, would you? How noble of a thought that is. And how foolish. You’ve learned much in my presence, yet you cling to naïveté. Trust no one. Not even those you love. Especially not them.”

His words hung in the air, sharp and unforgiving. You let a moment pass before you inhaled deeply, grappling with the mix of anger and hurt they stirred within you. Finally, a thought struck, and before you could second-guess yourself, you spoke to him once again.

“And do you trust me, my lord?”

The question was bold, and the silence that followed was deafening. Ryomen Sukuna’s smirk faltered, his crimson eyes narrowing as they fixed on yours. He did not answer immediately, his gaze intense and unrelenting, as though weighing the implications of your inquiry.

After what felt like an eternity, he said simply, “I trust you.”

His voice was quieter than before, yet the words carried an unexpected weight. They were not meant to soothe or reassure—they were simply the truth. The honesty of his admission startled you, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words.

“More than anyone? More than Uraume?”

“Did you hear me falter in those words?”

A small sad smile touched your lips, bittersweet in its sincerity. “Then you have nothing to fear from me, my lord.” you said softly. “You do not love me, so you should not expect betrayal from me.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. Sukuna’s expression gave away nothing, his inscrutable gaze locked onto your own. The moment stretched, the tension in the air palpable, but he remained silent, offering neither agreement nor denial.

Eventually, he turned his attention back to the meal, his movements deliberate and calm, as though the conversation had not occurred. You followed suit, though your thoughts swirled with the weight of his words—and your own. Though he had spoken of trust, his silence on the matter of love resonated louder than any answer he might have given.

The remainder of the meal passed in relative quiet, the weight of your conversation settling like a stone in the room. You ate almost mechanically, your thoughts too preoccupied to truly taste the food before you. 

Sukuna, as always, seemed unbothered, his demeanor exuding an air of control that you had long since come to expect. Yet, his silence lingered, a stark contrast to his usual sharp commentary. When the final course was cleared away, he rose from his seat with a grace that belied his imposing frame.

“Do not let your emotions cloud your judgment, little one.” he said, his voice low and even as he began to leave the hall. “Closeness is a luxury that often demands a price. Be sure you’re willing to pay for it.”

You watched him go, his words echoing in your mind. Closeness, it was a luxury. Trust, it was a risk. Love, it was unspoken. These concepts swirled together, leaving you more conflicted than ever. And more anything, a burden in your heart.

When the hall was empty save for you, you let out a slow breath, the tension in your shoulders finally easing. Sukuna’s warning lingered, but your heart rebelled against his cold pragmatism. Kiyoko was your sister, the last tether to the life you had known before. How could you not trust her? How could you let suspicion take root where love should flourish?

You could not sleep once you took time away from your husband’s presence after that. You felt restless, more than you should. He has stricken doubt in your heart, a place where it shouldn’t be. He who you had more reason to doubt has caused you worry in your heart over someone you can trust wholeheartedly. 

In the early morning sunrise, you found yourself in the garden, drawn to the calming presence of the blooming cherry trees. The sun slowly hung gracefully in the sky, casting a pale blossom of light over the temple grounds. 

You sat beneath one of the trees, your thoughts chasing themselves in circles. A soft rustling of leaves announced a presence, and you looked up to see Kiyoko approaching. She wore a faint smile, her eyes filled with warmth as she joined you on the grass.

“You seem troubled, nee-san.” she said gently, sitting close enough that your shoulders nearly touched. “Is something wrong?”

For a moment, you hesitated. Sukuna’s warning was fresh in your mind, his distrust of others so deeply ingrained that it felt contagious. But as you looked at your sister, her face illuminated by the moonlight, you felt the weight of your bond. She had been with you through the worst, her presence a balm for wounds you hadn’t realized were still open.

“No, sister.” you said softly, your voice carrying the faintest tremor of uncertainty. “I’m just… tired.”

Kiyoko reached for your hand, her touch grounding you in a way that words couldn’t. “You don’t have to carry everything alone,” she said. “Not anymore. I’m here for you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you leaned into her embrace, letting her words soothe the turmoil in your heart. For now, you chose to trust her, to trust in the bond you shared. Whatever the cost, you couldn’t let Sukuna’s cynicism poison the one piece of your past that still felt pure. 

“I can trust you, can I, Kyoko?”

You couldn’t see your sister’s eyes.

But you didn’t want to look at them either.

You feared what you may find in her eyes.

“You can trust me, nee-san. With everything.”

You didn’t want to question her on that anymore.

══════════════════

YOU THINK THAT VERMILLION HALL IS BUILT WITH LAUGHTER. And without it, it was just nothing to be enthralled about. The Vermillion Hall was a hollow shell without Ryomen Chiharu’s laughter to fill its corners or her small hands tugging at your sleeves. Her absence was a weight you carried in silence, each hour marked by the echo of her absence. 

You had grown used to the stillness, to the ache of longing buried beneath years of concessions. But this, this part of it always felt different. You were sharing him with a ghost, after all. And you will always have to, so long as you live.

Yet, it was as if a piece of your heart had left with them, and now you were left trying to mend a void that could not be filled. And you have to admit that to yourself, as much as you should find peace with being the other woman for the rest of your life. 

Your husband Ryomen Sukuna had left for his pilgrimage to honor Ryomen Hiromi, his first wife, and you had watched him go without protest. He had loved Hiromi first and perhaps even last in this earthly world. 

And though that love was a thorn in your side, you understood it. Love, after all, was not something you expected from Sukuna, not for yourself, at least. Yet, the sting of his devotion to another, even one long gone, still felt fresh even after nearly thirty years of marriage.

You told yourself it was better this way. To not feel hurt, to survive in this life, meant to give way. To concede. To let him have this part of himself without interference. It was what you’d learned in thirty years of being his wife. Love was a battlefield, but it wasn’t yours to fight on. And yet, it still hurts.

Evening had fallen, and the gardens were bathed in the pale glow of the rising moon. Your precious son Chizuru sat beside you beneath a cherry tree, his small form nestled against yours as if to shield you from solitude.

He always noticed when you feel this way, even if he was just this small. Your little son had sensed your melancholy, his perceptiveness what most could even as grown adults.

“Do you think they’re thinking about us?” Chizuru’s voice was soft, almost hesitant.

You smiled faintly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I’m sure they are, my little love. Your father… he cares deeply for Chiharu. This is a moment for her to remember someone special. Someone who is special to your father also. This pilgrimage is important for them both.”

Chizuru tilted his head up to look at you, his young eyes searching your face. “And for you, Mother? Is it important for you?”

You paused, the weight of her question catching you off guard. “It is important to me too, my love.” you answered finally, though your voice trembled slightly. “Because Chiharu will learn about her special person, and your father will have time to reflect on someone he loved very much.”

“But you miss them already.” He pressed on whining, his tone matter-of-fact. “I wish they could just come home. They can visit that special person some other time. We need them more than they do.”

“I do too, my love.” you admitted, your throat tightening. “I miss them terribly. But sometimes, to love someone means to let them have what they need, even if it hurts you.”

Chizuru frowned, his little brow furrowing. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

You laughed softly, though it was tinged with sadness. “Life isn’t always fair, my sweet love. But we do what we must. And we must live with it. Only then can we live life well.”

Chizuru nestled closer to you, his small arms wrapping around your waist. “I don’t want you to be sad, mother.” he whispered tenderly. “I don’t want us to be sad. Ever.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, forcing a smile for his sake. “I have you here, don’t I? That’s enough to make me happy, my little love. You will always be more than enough for me to be happy.”

The wind carried the scent of cherry blossoms, their petals falling like whispers around you. The night was calm, yet your heart ached with the weight of unspoken words. You thought of Sukuna, of the way he had taken Chiharu without hesitation, his devotion to Hiromi eclipsing everything else. 

You wondered if he thought of you, even for a moment. Did he consider how his choices left you hollow, or was your pain too insignificant for a man like him? Even after all this time, had he ever thought about your grief of being his other woman?

“Do you think Father loves you?” Chizuru asked suddenly, his voice small but piercing.

The question cut deeper than any blade could. You knew that your little son didn’t mean to say such a thing, he didn't know. You have only shown and taught him what he should know. You hesitated, your hand stilling in his hair. What could you say to a child too young to understand the complexities of love, or the lack thereof?

“Your father…” You paused, searching for the right words. “Your father values loyalty, strength, and duty. Those things are important to him.”

Chizuru frowned, his childlike honesty unyielding. “That’s not the same as love, mother.”

You exhaled, your heart heavy with the weight of his innocence. “No, it’s not.” you whispered. “But it’s what I have. Perhaps, it could be something like love, no one can know. But your mother has learned to make peace with it.”

“Then….then I shall love you most, mother!” Chizuru whispers to you, almost excitedly. “Until father can love you well, I shall love you most to make up for that in your heart.”

Your heart swells at your son’s words, as much as it does stun you. He was a boy of three and yet, he takes such responsibility for your grief and pain after all this time. You could feel the tears prick at the edges of your eyes. You smiled at him.

“My precious little love, you are truly the apple of your mother’s eye.”

He giggles. “Hm! And I will always have you as my own too, mother.”

You smile as you push your face on his tummy and tickle him. You didn’t want him to see your tears. He giggles and you stop. Soon enough, a good tender silence stretched between you, the truth too raw to continue. Chizuru’s arms tightened around you as if he understood the pain you couldn’t fully explain.

As the moon climbed higher into the sky, you closed your eyes, the ache in your chest mingling with the soft rhythm of his breathing. You would endure this, as you always had. But tonight, the weight of Sukuna’s absence, and the truth of your place in his heart felt like too much to bear.

Just in the flip of your head against the futon, you found yourself feeling the light against your eyes. The morning light filtered through the thin rice paper walls of your chamber, casting a soft glow over the room. 

You had woken before Chizuru, his small form still nestled in the warmth of his futon. He would not rouse for a while, you think. But you didn’t move as you continued to look at your precious son.

For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to linger, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest, before quietly slipping out of the room.

The air outside was crisp and cool, carrying with it the faint aroma of dew and blossoming wildflowers. You decided to take a morning walk, hoping the tranquility of the garden paths would ease your restless mind. As you wandered farther than usual, passing the bustling early risers in the village, snippets of conversation reached your ears.

“Did you hear? Another stone has been placed in the forest—on Sukuna-sama’s orders.”

“They say it’s beyond the outer banks, deeper in the woods.”

“What could it mean this time? Another shrine? A monument?”

Your curiosity piqued, and without much thought, you found yourself following the murmured directions. The forest loomed ahead, dense and shadowed, but you pressed forward, the intrigue too compelling to ignore. Sukuna’s orders were rarely questioned, and his intentions were often shrouded in secrecy. What could warrant such a gesture?

The trees gave way to a clearing, and there it stood, a massive stone carved with intricate designs and inscriptions you couldn’t fully decipher. Yet, what struck you wasn’t the stone itself but the small figure made of fine wood resting atop the stone.

Your breath caught in your throat, your eyes began to widen at the sight. You felt the air in your lungs disappear almost instantaneously. 

It was a babe. 

A boy at that. 

He couldn’t have been older than a few months old, his dark hair wild and untamed, his small frame dressed in fine robes bearing Ryomen family crest etched upon it. Your legs moved before your mind could catch up, and you knelt before the small stone and looked upon the small wooden figure. 

Then you turned.

It was that boy.

From your nightmares.

His wide, crimson eyes stared back at you with a piercing familiarity that made your heart lurch. It was like looking into Sukuna’s gaze, even briefly. And yet only softer, innocent. Your hand trembled as you reached for him, and he didn’t flinch. Instead, he tilted his head, his tiny hand reaching out to touch your face. 

“Mama?” he asked, his voice small and uncertain.

The word sent a shock through your system. 

“No…” you whispered, pulling back as bile rose in your throat. 

Memories surged forward like a flood, crashing against the dam of your consciousness. Nights in Sukuna’s chambers, his hands on your skin, his whispers that lulled you into a haze and afterward, the strange emptiness, as if you had forgotten something vital.

You stumbled back, your stomach twisting violently. The nightmares, they weren’t nightmares at all. They were memories, fragments of a truth Ryomen Sukuna had stolen from you. He had used your vulnerability, your weakness for him, and made you forget. Again and again, until this moment, when the truth stared you in the face. 

You were pregnant before.

And you hadn’t even known.

The nausea overtook you, and you turned away, retching into the grass. The boy, the babe who could have been your son, watched with wide, confused eyes, his small hands clutching at your sleeves as if to anchor you to reality.

Tears blurred your vision as the realization solidified. Sukuna had lied to you. He had taken something sacred, something intimate, and twisted it for his own purposes. And now, here was the result—a child you hadn’t been allowed to remember, much less cherish.

“What have you done, Ryomen Sukuna?” you whispered hoarsely, your voice breaking. The boy looked at you again, his innocent gaze cutting deeper than any blade. “What have you done to me?”

The boy reached out again, his tiny fingers brushing against your sleeve, but before you could say or do anything else, a shadow fell over the clearing. You turned sharply, your heart racing, expecting Sukuna or worse, one of his servants, sent to pull you away from this fragile, terrifying truth. 

But there was no one. Only a strange stillness, a heavy silence that wrapped itself around the clearing like a suffocating shroud. When you turned back, the boy was gone. Your eyes began to shake, your body became frantic as you screamed.

“No!” The word tore from your throat, ragged and raw. You stumbled to your feet, spinning in frantic circles, searching for him. “Where are you? Come back!”

The clearing remained empty, the stone as still and cold as the memories that had begun to claw their way to the surface. Panic surged through you, mingling with the despair already sinking its talons into your chest. You staggered forward, calling for him, pleading into the emptiness.

“Please!” you cried, your voice cracking. “I’m sorry! Don’t leave me again!”

But there was no response. No soft voice calling you “mama” and no tiny hand to hold onto. The small babe, that small boy—your son…he was gone, as if he had never been there at all. And he will never be anything else but that. Gone.

Your legs gave out beneath you, and you collapsed onto the grass, clutching at the earth as if it could anchor you. Tears spilled down your cheeks in torrents, hot and unrelenting, carving paths down your face as sobs wracked your body.

Why? Why would Ryomen Sukuna do this to you? Why would he take this from you, strip you of every chance of joy, even this child? Why has he robbed you of knowing him, of holding him? Of loving him? The questions spiraled in your mind, each one heavier and more suffocating than the last.

The pain was unbearable, a sharp, gnawing ache that seemed to tear you apart from the inside. You cried until your voice gave out, until your body trembled with exhaustion. And still, the grief wouldn’t relent. It consumed you, pulling you into its depths, leaving you gasping for air.

For the first time in years, you allowed yourself to break. To feel the full weight of everything you had endured—the lies, the manipulation, the loneliness. And now, this. A child you never knew you had. A child who had been taken from you before you even had a chance to love him.

The sun climbed higher in the sky, casting light over the clearing, but it brought you no comfort. You were alone, kneeling in the grass, clutching at the earth as if it could give you back what had been stolen.

You didn’t know how long you stayed there, weeping and trembling in the shadow of the stone. All you knew was that when the tears finally slowed, and the silence settled once more, you were left with one unshakable truth: Ryomen Sukuna had betrayed you once more in the cruelest way imaginable. 

And now, you truly had enough. You cannot stay here. 

You do not want to stay here. You hated him. You truly hated him. 

You wanted to escape this cage and leave him alone.

══════════════════

IT HAD TAKEN YOU A WHILE TO CALM YOURSELF. But when you did, you had decided on it. You wanted to leave him. You wanted to leave him once and for all. You cannot handle being in this gilded cage. You cannot do this, not for much longer. You cannot, you cannot handle being his wife anymore. 

You found your sister in the small courtyard garden, her hands busy weaving a garland of flowers for your Chizuru’s chambers. You took your haori off and then your shoes. When she turned, she found you. She gasped as you approached her, tears swelling down your face. You fell in her arms. 

“What’s wrong?” Kiyoko asked, setting the garland aside. “Nee–san?”

You didn’t answer immediately, your chest heaving as you struggled to keep yourself together. But it was futile—the pain and confusion overwhelmed you, spilling out in a torrent of sobs. You wanted to tell her something. But you couldn’t. She rubs the small of your back, cooing at you as she tries to stabilize your breathing.

“I can’t stay here, sister.” you managed, your voice cracking. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be his wife. I can’t… I can’t live like this.”

Kiyoko whispers tenderly. “Nee-san, calm yourself. What’s happened? Please, tell me.”

Her steady tone was an anchor, but it wasn’t enough to keep you from breaking. The words came tumbling out, fragmented and raw. “I don’t know what to do, Kiyoko. He—he lied to me, again. He’s taken so much from me, from us, and now… now I can’t stay here.”

Kiyoko reached for your hands, her grip firm but gentle. “Slow down, nee-san.” she urged. “What did he do? Tell me everything.”

You shook your head, the tears streaming freely now. “I found out… I found out I had a child. Another child. And I didn’t even know. He made me forget everything, Kiyoko. He took it from me, from my memory. I can’t stay here, knowing what he’s done. But I can’t leave Chizuru with him. I can’t—”

Your voice broke, and you buried your face in your hands. “And Chiharu… I can’t leave her either. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.”

Kiyoko’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a fierce embrace. “Shh, nee–san.” she whispered, her voice trembling with both anger and sorrow. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure this out. But you need to think clearly.”

You pulled back, wiping at your tear-streaked face. “I can’t think clearly. All I know is that I can’t stay. Not with him. Not after this.”

Kiyoko’s gaze was steady, her voice firm. “Then don’t. Take Chizuru and come with me. Run away from here.”

Her words stunned you, and for a moment, you could only stare at her. “Run?” you echoed. “But Chiharu—”

“Chiharu is strong, nee-san.” Kiyoko interrupted. “Stronger than you give her credit for. And if she truly means as much to Sukuna as you’ve said, he won’t harm her. Not when she is Ryomen Hiromi’s daughter. But you—you can’t stay here and let him destroy you. Not anymore.”

Her words hit you like a wave, a mixture of comfort and resolve washing over you. “But if I run, he’ll come after me, sister.” you murmured.

“Let him come.” Kiyoko said fiercely. “We’ll find a way. Together.”

The conviction in her voice made you falter, the weight of her loyalty and love grounding you in a way you hadn’t felt in years. For the first time, a fragile glimmer of hope began to take root in your heart. You could be free from this gilded cage. You wanted to. You wanted to be free.

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough, sister.” you whispered. “I want to but I am scared.”

Kiyoko squeezed your hands, her eyes blazing with determination. “You are. You will always be strong, sister. And I’ll be with you every step of the way. But you have to make the choice, nee-san. Do you want to stay and let him control you, or do you want to fight for your freedom—for Chizuru’s future?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of everything you had endured. You took a shaky breath, your tears still falling, but for the first time, you began to see a path forward. You nodded at your sister softly, but determined.

“I’ll fight.” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll fight for my son.”

Kiyoko’s smile was bittersweet, her grip on your hands tightening. “Then let’s make a plan, nee–san. Together.”

Kiyoko’s determination was a quiet fire, burning with purpose as she worked tirelessly to help you escape. Every moment, every action, was calculated with the precision of someone who had lived through too many trials and learned from them all.

You had no doubt she would help you escape, but seeing her so focused, so resolute, made the possibility of freedom feel real, not just a distant dream.

The plan was simple, but dangerous. You would leave under the cover of darkness, unnoticed by those who still served Sukuna. Kiyoko knew the right paths, the hidden routes you had never seen before, the ones that would take you far from the temple. She had arranged for a discreet exit, packed essentials, and made sure that Chizuru was ready.

The hardest part was the moment you had to say goodbye to the life you had known. But even that wasn’t truly a goodbye, no. It was a release. It was the freedom you sought and needed.

The relief you had so long prayed to the gods for. The chains that had bound you for years felt lighter now, the weight lessening with every passing hour.

On the night you were to leave, your sister Kiyoko gently woke you, her own eyes bright with excitement and resolve. You didn’t question her. You didn’t have to. You trusted her. There was no turning back. You took a breath and nodded.

Together, the three of you—Kiyoko, Chizuru, and yourself had all left the temple that had once been your prison for years. Your son continued to be sound asleep in your touch, wrapped in a loin cloth on your chest. You kept staring at him as you made your way through the steep steps with your sister. 

The night air felt colder than you remembered, the stars brighter than you could have imagined. As you slipped through the back gates of the estate, the quiet village beyond felt like a world away. And yet, in the deepest part of your soul, you knew that it was only a step toward reclaiming your life.

The journey to your old village in the East was long, but with every mile, a sense of peace began to settle over you. You were no longer looking over your shoulder, no longer afraid of Sukuna’s watchful eyes. Your thoughts were consumed with the possibility of a new life, of freedom, of a future you could build with your son.

Life was good. The mornings were filled with the laughter of children, the evenings with the warmth of a family you had missed so deeply. The simple things, like the smell of fresh bread or the sound of birds in the trees, became treasures you had long forgotten. And, for the first time in a long time, you felt at peace.

You were no longer in the gilded cage of Sukuna’s palace. You were home. And in this freedom, surrounded by the people who loved you, you realized that you had finally found what you had been searching for all along. A life where you could be yourself, without fear, without pain, and most importantly, without the chains that had once bound you.

It was good. And, for the first time, you could truly say that life was good.

══════════════════

IT HAD TAKEN DAYS AND EVEN WEEKS ON END IN TRAVEL. But you like to believe that it was worth it, you like to think so. Hard as it had been, this was the first time in thirty years that you had felt yourself able to breathe the good familiar air of your youth again. And to do so free from all the heartache of the world.

Your old village was a haven of peace, nestled in the rolling hills of the East, far from the oppressive shadows of your godly husband’s temple. As Kiyoko, Chizuru, and you made your way through the winding paths, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of relief.

The air was thick with the scent of earth and the soft hum of the village waking up to another day. You were going to enjoy it with them soon. You were going to live life in the sun, knowing what warmth looks like. There was no tension in the air here, no fear. You were free.

Kiyoko turned to you with a soft smile, her face lit by the soft light of dawn. “We’re almost there, nee–san.” she said, her voice steady, but you could hear the excitement beneath it. “Just a little further.”

Your heart swelled as you looked at her, the sister who had helped you escape, who had never once faltered in her determination to see you free. “I can’t believe we’re finally here at all.” you said softly, feeling the weight of everything you had left behind beginning to melt away. “To be finally home.”

Chizuru, who had been quiet beside you, suddenly tugged at your sleeve. “Mother, what’s that?” he had asked, pointing toward the distant fields.

The sight of your little son, so innocent, so full of wonder, made you smile through the bittersweet emotions in your heart. “That, my love, is where we will make our new life. A place where we can be free.”

“But what about father?”

You take a moment to answer him. You could feel your heart pound at his words. But you shake it off and smile at your son. “We shall be happy there, my little love. We shall be very content there.”

When you reached the heart of the village, the familiar sight of the small cottages, the fields stretching out beyond, and the towering trees that lined the edges of the village brought a sense of calm you hadn’t realized you’d been missing. 

The air was thick with the scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers, and the sounds of daily life. It was the chatter of children, the hum of people going about their tasks, all of it almost felt like a melody that soothed the raw edges of your heart.

And then, the villagers came.

As if they had been waiting for your return all along, they gathered around, faces lighting up with smiles that felt like the warmest embrace. You hadn’t seen these people in so long, but it was as if time had not passed.

They were the people who had known you before you were swallowed by the horrors of Sukuna’s world, before you had become a name and not a person.

There was the elder Aiko, the woman who had been like a second mother to you when your own had been absent. Her weathered hands reached out to you, her eyes bright with a mixture of disbelief and joy.

“Child, is it really you?” Aiko asked, her voice trembling.

She pulled you into her arms before you could answer, and for a moment, all you could do was close your eyes and let the tears flow. These were not tears of sorrow, but of release. For the first time in so long, you felt safe.

“It’s me.” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m finally home.”

“Home.” Aiko repeated, pulling back to look at you with a soft, knowing smile. “You’ve been gone so long, child. We thought… we thought we’d lost you forever.”

Behind elder Aiko, more faces emerged. Old friends, neighbors, people you’d grown up with. They all looked at you, as if in awe that you were standing before them again. The sight of them, their kindness, their welcoming faces, made you want to crumble, to fall into their arms and stay there forever.

One of the men, Taro, who had been a friend of your father, gave a hearty laugh. “Well, well, look at this! Our most famous girl finally came home! Your parents and your brother Takashi would have been so happy to witness this, you know?”

You smiled through the tears that still blurred your vision. “I wish they could be here to see this.” you said softly, more to yourself than to anyone else.

The weight of the years spent in exile under Sukuna’s thumb felt suddenly lighter in the warmth of their presence.

Kiyoko, who had been standing quietly beside you, smiled too. “It’s like nothing has changed, no?” she said softly, her voice tinged with wonder. She looked at you, her eyes filled with understanding. “This place is where we belong, nee–san. Where you belong.”

Chizuru, who had been shyly hiding behind your leg, stepped forward at the urging of a kind woman who knelt down to her level. The woman, a mother herself, smiled warmly. “You’re our precious girl’s little one, aren’t you? I can see it in your eyes. Such a bright child.”

Chizuru’s small face lit up with the compliment. “Yes, I’m Chizuru! My mother says we’re going to stay here now.”

The villagers laughed, their joy infectious. “Of course, dear.” the woman said gently, giving Chizuru’s hand a soft squeeze. “Welcome to our village.”

A little further away, a group of children were peering at Chizuru, their curiosity piqued. One of the boys came forward shyly, holding a small bouquet of wildflowers. “Would you like to play with us?” he asked, offering him the flowers.

Chizuru’s eyes widened, and he nodded eagerly. “Yes, I want to play!”

As your precious son ran off with the other children, you couldn’t help but watch your little one with a heart full of gratitude. He was free, too—free to be a child again, free from the oppressive atmosphere that had haunted him before.

Kiyoko, who had been watching you closely, finally spoke up. Your sister’s voice filled with quiet resolve. “This is where we’re meant to be, nee–san. It’s been so long. But you’re finally free. And you’ll never have to go back.”

You looked at her, your sister who had risked everything to help you escape, who had stood by you in ways no one else ever had. She was right. This was where you belonged.

You were no longer someone’s wife, no longer just a piece in Ryomen Sukuna’s game or played to the tune of his whims. Here, you were simply you. No titles, no expectations, no chains.

For the first time in decades, you could breathe without fear. The weight of the past didn’t disappear, but it felt lighter, more distant, as if it could no longer reach you here.

“We’re free, sister.” you said softly, the words tasting sweeter than you could have imagined.

Kiyoko smiled, her hand brushing against your arm. “Yes. Free. And you’ll never have to be anyone’s possession again.”

══════════════════

THE NEWS SPREAD FAR AND WIDE THAT RYOMEN SUKUNA’S CONCUBINE AND SON WERE MISSING. That was the whisper of the neighboring village, at least that’s what you heard. But perhaps, it was most certainly the truth.

You would not put it past your husband to go and be searching for you. Not when you had taken control off his hands and most of all, his own flesh and blood away from him.

Ryomen Sukuna was looking for you, and all of his associates were trying to locate you and Chizuru without fail. But so far, none have been able to find you. You had tried to make sure that there would be no trace of you, no sign that you had ever been here. 

You used every tactic you could think of to erase your presence from the records of your past life. Both of you had changed your names to mingle with people you knew. You had reverted to using old names that you knew your husband would not know of. You continued to do everything in your power to cover your tracks.

But you also knew that you would mostly be relying on the goodwill of the villagers who had opened their arms to you. They had to continue to keep their mouths shut and continue to pretend like nothing had changed or that anything else had happened.

So far, it has worked.

The peaceful rhythm of life in the village was everything you’d ever dreamed of, and you clung to it like the last thread of hope. The sounds of the village, children laughing, the chatter of neighbors, the rustle of wind in the trees had become a familiar comfort. 

You had never known what it was like to live without fear, without the oppressive weight of Ryomen Sukuna’s presence looming over you. Now, you know. Life had been… simple. And in its simplicity, it was more beautiful than anything you had ever known.

There had been adjustments, of course. The transition from luxury to the more humble life in the village was not easy. The comforts of Ryomen Sukuna’s massive complex of a temple were far removed from the reality of a small home in a tight-knit community. 

Cooking over a wood fire, washing clothes by hand, and dealing with the constant ebb and flow of village work had been a steep learning curve. At first, you had struggled with the roughness of it all and of course, your hands were not accustomed to the calluses of labor, and your body had complained at the physical demands placed upon it.

But as each day passed, you grew accustomed to it. You grew strong in a way you hadn’t known was possible. And with each small victory, like the first time you successfully cooked a meal from scratch or helped mend a fence, you felt more and more like yourself.

The biggest joy, however, was seeing your son Chizuru. The boy who had once been confined to the rigid structure of Sukuna’s training now ran freely with other children. They had welcomed him with open arms, and the sound of his laughter, so carefree and full of joy, filled your heart in a way nothing ever had before. 

He was no longer being trained for some cruel purpose, no longer being shaped into a weapon. He was just a child, playing with other children, learning the simplest of joys. He has tried to find himself climbing at the bases of trees or playing in the dirty puddles.

One afternoon, as you watched him from the porch, you caught sight of him laughing with a group of local kids. He had a huge grin on his face as he chased after them, his feet kicking up dirt in the warm, golden light of the setting sun. 

It was a sight you never thought you’d see, not after the years of grueling discipline and the cold indifference of Sukuna. This was freedom, and you could see it in your precious Chizuru’s eyes. He was happy here. He had found life here, as you had when you were a child.

“He’s happy, sister.” you said to Kiyoko, who had been standing beside you, watching him too.

Kiyoko smiled softly. “He is. And you’re happy too, aren’t you?”

You nodded, a slow, steady smile tugging at your lips. “I never thought I would be. But here… here I’m free. We’re free.”

Kiyoko looked at you, her gaze soft but steady. “I’m glad, nee–san. You deserve this. You deserve to feel whole again.”

For the first time in years, you felt whole. The pieces of you that had been scattered, lost, torn apart by the weight of your past were coming back together. You were no longer just the wife of Sukuna, a tool in his hands, or a prisoner in his games. You were you.

As the days went by, it was easier to forget the shadows of the past. The fear that had once ruled you, the constant vigilance, the anxiety over what might happen if Sukuna found you. All that had began to fade into the background. 

The villagers were kind, and they welcomed you without question, offering help when it was needed, but also allowing you the space to settle into the rhythm of life. You found yourself growing attached to the people around you, to the quiet comforts of this simple existence.

But even in the quiet moments, when the wind blew gently through the trees, you couldn’t completely silence the nagging fear that lived just beneath the surface. Sukuna was searching for you. He had to be. You knew him better than anyone, and you knew that he would not let you slip away so easily.

But for now, you could breathe. You could live. And the thought of that of just living was enough to silence the worry, if only for a while.

At the turning echoes of the night, you waited for your son to return. As you sat by the hearth, the soft crackling of the fire filling the silence, Ryomen Chizuru approached you. His small face was flushed from playing outside, his hair wild and tousled.

“Mother! I’ve returned!” he said shyly, holding out a small bouquet of wildflowers. “I picked these for you.”

You smiled and took the flowers from his hand, feeling a warmth fill your chest. “Thank you, my dearest love. They’re beautiful.”

He beamed up at you, his eyes sparkling. “I’m happy here, Mother. I like playing with the other kids.”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t allow them to fall. Instead, you hugged him tightly, pulling him close. “I’m happy too, Chizuru. We’re safe here. We’re home.”

And for the first time in so long, you felt the weight of your past truly begin to slip away. Here, in this quiet village, surrounded by the warmth of family and the laughter of children, you were no longer a prisoner.

You were free. And as the days stretched on, you held on to that freedom with everything you had, never looking back, never forgetting how far you had come.

══════════════════

EVERYTHING HAD BEEN WELL THIS DAY. The morning had started like any other. Chizuru was playing outside, his laughter echoing through the village as he ran with the other children onto the wide expanse of the rice fields.

You had gone about your daily routine, preparing food and cleaning, the familiar rhythm of life settling over you like a warm blanket. But as the sun began to dip toward the horizon, a sinking feeling settled in your chest.

Ryomen Chizuru was nowhere to be found.

At first, you thought he was just playing a little longer, perhaps hiding among the trees or in the nearby fields. But as minutes turned to hours, panic began to rise. You asked the villagers if they had seen him, but no one had.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, each beat a painful reminder of the last time you had lost someone you loved. You could feel your body shaking as the light of day began to fade. You rushed to the edge of the village, searching through the forest, calling his name into the silence.

“Chizuru! Chizuru, where are you?”

Your voice was frantic, trembling with fear and desperation. The sun’s last rays barely touched the tops of the trees, the shadows growing long and heavy as the day turned into night.

Your breath was ragged, but you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t bear the thought of him being lost out here. You pushed forward, your mind racing with every horrible possibility, when suddenly, you felt a sharp pain at the back of your head. The world spun wildly, and before you could even comprehend what had happened, everything went dark.

You woke up with a sharp gasp, the cold of the forest floor pressing against your skin. You tried to sit up, but the dizziness overwhelmed you. Blinking against the night, you saw the flickering light of torches, the orange glow casting eerie shadows across the trees. 

Your heart thudded in your chest as you forced yourself to stand, only to find yourself surrounded by the villagers. Their faces were grim, expressionless. They stood in a tight circle, watching you with an unsettling stillness.

Your throat tightened, panic rising again as you searched for Chizuru. But he was nowhere in sight.

“Where is my son?!” you cried, your voice hoarse and filled with dread. But your question was met with silence.

And then, through the sea of villagers, a figure emerged. Elder Aiko.

Her gaze was cold, her ancient face marked with a solemn expression. She walked toward you, her steps measured, as though she were leading a ritual. She held her hands before her, as if in prayer, her voice rising in a chant that made your skin crawl.

“This is necessary, child.” she began, her voice like the sound of dry leaves rustling in the wind. “A prophecy must be fulfilled. It is your blood that holds the power to destroy Sukuna.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. You could feel your knees trembling, as the weight of her words sank in.

“A prophecy?” you asked weakly, barely able to understand what was happening.

Elder Aiko nodded, her eyes glinting with an unsettling conviction. “Yes. It is said that the child born of your blood, the child you love so dearly, will be the one to kill Ryomen Sukuna. And to prevent this, we must end his life. Only then can the gods bless us with immortality. And Sukuna is one of them. We must offer him as a sacrifice, for he is the key.”

A choked sob escaped you as you tried to move toward her, but strong hands gripped your arms, holding you back. “No! No, you can’t!” You struggled against them, panic clawing at your chest. “Chizuru is just a child! You can’t take him from me!”

But the villagers were unmoved. Elder Aiko continued her chant, her voice growing louder. “The gods demand it. They will bless us. If Chizuru is sacrificed, the gods will ensure that Sukuna will never harm this village again, he will bless it. And if Sukuna blesses us, we will be given a life eternal. The blood of a god runs through him.”

Tears blurred your vision as you looked around, but no one spoke. No one moved. It was as if they had already made up their minds, as if your son’s life meant nothing to them in comparison to the promises of immortality.

“Please, please. Let my son go.” you begged, your voice breaking. “Please, don’t do this. Chizuru has nothing to do with this. He’s just a child. He’s my child! He’s all I have left…”

But your pleas fell on deaf ears.

“Child.” Elder Aiko said, her voice soft now, but cold. “You must understand. This is for the greater good. For the survival of us all.”

The world around you seemed to spin. Your heart pounded in your chest, the sound deafening in your ears. You fought against the villagers holding you back, desperate to reach Chizuru, but they were too strong.

And then, a chilling silence fell. Chizuru was dragged forward, his small body limp, his face pale and streaked with tears. His eyes met yours, full of fear, confusion, and hurt.

“Mother…” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You cried out for him, trying to break free, but the villagers tightened their grip. Elder Aiko’s hands rose to the air, signaling the beginning of the sacrificial ritual. She held a dagger high, gleaming in the torchlight, her face twisted in reverence.

“No!” you screamed. “No, you can’t! He’s my son, my child! Please!”

The air was thick with tension, and the flickering torchlight cast long shadows across the clearing, making the scene feel like a twisted nightmare. You tried desperately to break free from the villagers’ grip, thrashing in their hold, but they were unrelenting. The ropes were tight, and their hands were stronger than you could fight against.

"Let me go! Let me go!" you screamed, thrashing violently, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum of terror.

"That's my son!" you cried, your voice shaking with disbelief. "He’s just a child! He’s not a threat to anyone! He’s my son! You can’t—"

But no one would listen. Their faces were cold, unmoved, as if they had already made their decision. You felt your entire world slipping away, your vision blurring with tears. Despair clawed at your insides, but then, something more horrifying than anything else crept into the depths of your mind.

At the back of the crowd, you saw her.

Your once beloved younger sister.

The one person you had trusted more than anyone in the world. The one person you thought would never betray you. But there she was, standing with them, her face cold and distant, watching as your son was dragged forward.

Your breath caught in your throat. “No… no, this can't be happening. You… You’re not... you’re not with them.”

But she didn't say anything. She simply stood there, silent, her eyes meeting yours. And that was enough. The truth hit you like a physical blow.

"You…." you gasped, your voice breaking. "You… you betrayed me!"

A sickening wave of rage surged through you. Your knees went weak, but you couldn’t stop the flood of fury pouring out of you. Tears poured out of your eyes, over and over as you screamed at her, trying to free yourself.

"How could you?!" you screamed, your body jerking in the villagers’ hold as the ropes cut into your skin. "How could you do this? This is your own blood, your own flesh, and you—"

Your sister's expression remained unchanged, as though she were some cold stranger and not the person you had shared everything with. “This isn’t betrayal, nee–san.” she said, her voice cold, unfeeling. “This is for the good of all. Don’t you see? Your son’s death will lead to the prosperity of all. His death means a thousand years of Ryomen Sukuna.”

“Clouded my mind?” you snarled. “You think this is about him? This is about my son, Chizuru! My son! Your own fucking blood, sister! And you intend to kill him? For some nonsense of a prophecy?” 

You struggled even harder, pulling against the ropes as they dug into your wrists. The sight of Ryomen Chizuru being dragged to the altar, his face full of fear, made your vision swim. You continued to scream at her. “You foul bitch, I will kill you, I will end your life!”

“Say all the threats you want, sister. But you will thank me.” She smiles at you, guiltlessly and gleefully as possible. “Your sacrifice will bring about a new age.”

Your sister’s words twisted in your mind, forming a sick knot of betrayal. Your sister, the person who was supposed to be your closest ally, had manipulated you from the start. She’d drugged you.

She’d poisoned your mind with nightmares, with false memories, all in an attempt to separate you from safety, from where you could be protected. From Ryomen Sukuna. To drive you to this moment.

"You drugged me, didn’t you?" you spat, your words dripping with venom. "You… you twisted my mind, made me think I was losing my sanity! You made me remember all those horrible things, things I didn’t want to remember. Things I didn’t need to remember. And all for this? To turn me against my own flesh and blood?"

Her face was unreadable, but there was a coldness in her eyes, an indifference that cut deeper than any blade. “I did what was necessary.” she said, her tone detached, as if she were discussing something trivial. “You haven't seen it yet, nee–san, but this is the right path.”

“He?” You roared, the pain of the situation consuming you. “He’s my husband!” The words were out before you could stop them, the weight of your desperation making your voice shake. "And Chizuru is my son! What makes you think that my husband would forgive you—"

But she interrupted you, her eyes dark and resolute. “He will only bring destruction. Lord Sukuna will understand that. Your ignorance and your child are the key to his downfall. This must be done.”

You felt the ground beneath you shake, the world falling apart as the terror of the situation sank deeper into your bones. Your mind fractured, torn between disbelief and fury. This was your sister—your own flesh and blood—and she was about to be the one to help kill your son.

The blood drained from your face as a wave of helplessness and heartbreak engulfed you. You screamed, a sound that seemed to tear from your very soul, raw and guttural. Your son continued to cry, trying to move away from his constraints.

“NO! You can’t! I’ll never forgive you!” The words were like a curse, a promise that you would never be able to undo. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. Only the horror of watching your son be taken away filled your vision.

The villagers, her supporters, held their ground. They were unmoved by your screams, your rage. You were nothing now, a broken woman caught between the betrayal of her sister and the loss of everything she held dear.

And when the dagger rose again, you knew it was too late.

It was all too late.

The air was thick with smoke, the heat suffocating as the flames grew higher, curling like tendrils around the very earth itself. The ring of fire that had once been a symbol of your despair now felt like a suffocating cage, one that was closing in on you. 

The light flickered and danced across your tear-streaked face as you knelt on the ground, unable to move, unable to do anything but watch in helpless horror. And then, through the haze of smoke and fire, you felt it. A presence you so truly know. It was an all familiar, terrifying presence that chilled you to the core.

Sukuna.

Your heart skipped a beat, a mix of relief and dread flooding your chest as his figure emerged from the flames. His crimson eyes gleamed with cold fury, his posture regal and commanding. The power he exuded was unmistakable, and even the fierce heat of the fire seemed to bow to him.

Your bonds, which had been so tightly wound around your wrists, loosened as if the air itself had given way. You slumped forward, unable to keep yourself upright, but the world around you had already fallen into chaos. The villagers, who had once been so sure of their mission, now turned to flee in terror as Ryomen Sukuna’s anger consumed them. His power was like nothing they could have anticipated.

Without hesitation, he moved. He didn't even flinch as his curses tore through the village, each scream and cry a bitter symphony of destruction. You could see it in his scarlet eyes. Your husband didn’t care. These people had chosen to make an enemy of him, and they were paying the price for their arrogance.

It was a carnage.

Screams filled the air, but they were drowned out by the crackling of the fire, the rush of death. The far flung of this eastern village you had once called home was burning, the ground soaked with the blood of the men and women who had tried to sacrifice your son. But your heart was torn between the horror unfolding around you and the instinct to protect what little remained of your family.

He spared your family, it was all enough. You could see it in his movements, his cold precision. He knew exactly who to target, who to leave. The others, the ones who had come for Chizuru, were left broken, bloodied, their bodies already crumpled on the ground in pools of red. But your family? They remained, bruised and beaten, but alive.

Ryomen Sukuna stood before them now, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the wreckage. The fire danced behind him, casting shadows that twisted and writhed like demons of their own making. He didn’t even look at you at first, his gaze locked on the destroyed village before him.

But then, his scarlet eyes shifted. They met yours, and for a brief moment, something flickered in the depths of them, something you couldn’t quite place. It was only for an instant, but in that instant, you realized that he wasn’t just punishing the villagers. 

He was protecting you. 

He was doing this for you.

His voice broke through the chaos, cold and commanding. "Uraume." he called, his voice cutting through the smoke. "Take Chizuru. Get him out of here. And feed him the tonic. He must forget all about this."

Uraume, ever loyal, nodded quickly, moving without hesitation to do as Sukuna had ordered. You watched them, a sickening mix of relief and guilt swirling in your chest as they disappeared into the smoke, your son spared from the violence that surrounded you.

Ryomen Sukuna's gaze turned back to you, unwavering and implacable. His voice softened ever so slightly, but there was still an edge to it. You shivered as you looked upon him, bruised and broken.

"You are safe now, little one." he said. "I won’t let anyone take what’s mine."

But his words fell on deaf ears as your heart pounded in your chest. You couldn’t quite process the flood of emotions, the relief that your beloved son was finally safe, the horror of everything that had just happened, the overwhelming guilt for the destruction he had wrought.

You were free from his misery at that moment, yes, but at what cost? The village lay in ruins. Your sister, betrayed and broken, lay among the fallen. And once more, you were back into the fold of that gilded cage. Everything had been torn apart. Everything had gone to hell. 

And still you would end up in his arms. You would never find yourself anywhere else. You have found your place in the world. Unwilling or not, it was by his side you were bound to by fate. Perhaps now, your only choice in this life too. Your husband Sukuna stood there, his power absolute, his presence all-encompassing.

But somehow, you could say that you were finally safe. 

The blood that stained the ground was not your son’s blood.

That was the only thing that you were glad about. 

And as you slowly stood, still bruised and grievous,  the world around you burned, but you couldn’t help but feel... something. Something twisted, something strange. In this moment, in this world of fire and destruction, you realized you were trapped between two forces. One that you loved and one that had brought you unimaginable pain.

But perhaps this was the only world you would ever know.

This is the only fate you were truly to be ever allowed in life.

The air was thick with the acrid scent of ashes and the smoke and most of all the harshness of blood. The village is a smoldering ruin behind you, one which you could not care for. The cries of the wounded and dying still echoed in your ears, but the worst of it had already passed. 

Ryomen Sukuna stood before you, silent, his crimson eyes flashing with a quiet intensity that matched the storm raging in your chest. He could feel it in you, you think. That unadulterated rage that only a mother could have.

Your family, your own blood, was kneeling before you, their faces contorted with fear. The very people who had once called you their own, now reduced to begging for mercy.

They had betrayed you, used you, and twisted everything you once knew. They had sought to take your child, the innocent life you carried, the child who had done nothing wrong but to be born into a world that saw him as a threat.

And now, they pleaded for their lives.

They begged for forgiveness.

But there was none to give.

Sukuna didn’t say anything. Your husband didn’t need to. His silence spoke louder than any words ever could. He had made sure the threat to your family was erased, that those who had conspired to take your child, your lifeline, were dealt with. But this? This was your reckoning.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of rage and disbelief. For so many years, you had been blind to the truth. Your family, the people you had trusted, had orchestrated the horrors you had endured.

They had used your love for them as a weapon, manipulated you into submission. And now, with your son in your arms, your heart only knew one thing. They had to pay. And they must do so now.

The silence stretched on, suffocating. The only sounds were the choking sobs of your family, the desperate pleas falling from their lips as they crawled before you, their hands trembling with fear.

"Please, forgive us." one of them whimpered, their voice cracking under the weight of their terror. "We didn’t know what we were doing. We never meant for any of this to happen. You were always family... please...!"

Another cried out, "We thought we were doing what was best for you! For all of us!"

Your sister finally cries out. “Nee–san, please…..They forced me to do this, please spare my life!”

But you weren’t listening anymore. 

You had already heard enough.

Your gaze flicked to Sukuna, his eyes unreadable, waiting for your command. You didn’t need to ask him for help; he had already done his part. He had given you the power to protect your family, to protect the child who was the only thing left in this world that mattered to you. The one thing that kept you from falling into the abyss.

"I should have known." you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of grief and fury. "I should have seen it. I should have seen you all for what you truly were."

They were nothing but shadows of their former selves now. They were all broken, pathetic, pleading for a mercy they didn’t deserve. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore. They had tried to take everything from you. And you wouldn’t let them.

“You sold me off to Sukuna all those years ago.” You say, watching the fear in their eyes fester and grow. “To save this village. My memory is clear now. After all this time. How could I have forgotten? How could I have been so foolish…..Ah, such dreams of joy that I never was born to have.”

A sob escaped from one of the women, someone you once called sister, as she crawled forward, her face wet with tears. "Please! Please don't do this. We were wrong, I see that now. We never wanted to hurt you. Please!"

Your grip on your son tightened as you turned your gaze from her. "You already have, sister." you said coldly, your words slicing through the air like a blade. "You’ve already hurt me. And now... now you’ve hurt him. My only precious light in this world. My son."

Sukuna’s presence behind you was a solid wall, unwavering, but it was your own anger that filled the space. The rage, the betrayal, the years of suffering. All of it collided within you, and you couldn’t hold it back anymore. Not for them. Not for the family who had hurt you, who had tried to take away everything you cared about.

And for the first time in your life, you felt free from the chains that had bound you. The shackles of guilt. The chains of love. The weight of all that had been done to you, to your heart, was finally being lifted.

"You tried to take him from me." you said, your voice cold and detached. "But you will never touch him again."

And as the words left your lips, the world seemed to still, your heart pounding in your chest as you realized that the people you once loved, the people who had once been your family, had been nothing but monsters in disguise. They were no longer worthy of your mercy.

And neither were they worthy of the life they begged for. The fire in your eyes mirrored the flames of the village. As Sukuna's shadow loomed behind you, you felt no hesitation, no remorse. This was the moment everything changed.

Your son, your lifeline, would never be harmed again. And that, above all else, was all that mattered.

Your husband’s eyes, those sharp crimson orbs, glinted with something both dangerous and darkly amused as he watched you. He was, as always, unreadable in the depths of his presence, one who had the power to shape lives with a mere word or gesture. And right now, his gaze was on you, waiting.

"Revenge, little one." Sukuna said softly, his voice deep, almost contemplative. "You want it, don't you? I can feel it in your soul, like a moth burning into a flame. You want to take everything they’ve taken from you, to destroy them as they destroyed you."

You didn’t look away. His words rang true, but they didn’t hold the weight they once did. You had already crossed that threshold. The darkness inside you had long been awakened.

And now, you stood there, your heart hardening with every passing second. Your family, your people, had betrayed you, had taken from you in the most unforgivable of ways. But they were not your focus anymore.

You turned to face Sukuna, your expression cold, distant. The anger still pulsed in your veins, and the grief threatened to swallow you whole, but now, it was replaced by something else. A sense of clarity.

"I do want revenge, my lord." you said, your voice steady, resolute. "But it is not just for them. It's for me. For my son. For the life they tried to take from us. And yes, Sukuna… even for you."

His gaze flickered with amusement, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "For me?" he repeated, as if the very thought amused him. "Do you think you can destroy me? Or is it that you think I have wronged you too? After everything I’ve done for you… after the power I’ve given you?"

"You’ve wronged me in ways I cannot even describe, my lord." you replied, your tone cold but sharp as a blade. "And yes, I want revenge on you too. For the things you've made me forget, for the ways you've manipulated me. For the things you have put upon me."

Ryomen Sukuna didn’t flinch. He didn’t even seem fazed by your words. He knew the anger was there, the desire for vengeance, and he respected it. It wasn’t the first time someone had wanted to tear him down, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. But there was something different in your eyes.

"And yet, little one…." he continued, his voice low. "You don’t seem afraid of it. Afraid of me, of what I could do. But that can wait. What is it you want from me now, little one? I am your god, after all. I can give you everything."

His dark scarlet eyes held yours, the weight of his words lingering in the air between you. You thought for a moment, but there was no hesitation in your heart. You had already made your choice.

"I want revenge, my god." you said, your gaze unwavering. "But not on you. Not right now. So let me make my wish clear. You’ve taken enough from me. You can’t give me love, you can’t give me peace. You can’t give me goodness. But revenge—that, you can give me."

He raised an eyebrow at you, the amusement in his gaze deepening, though his smirk never faltered. Slowly, he reached down, drawing his blade from his side with a fluid motion. He handed it to you, the gleam of steel catching the light as he placed it into your hands.

"You want revenge?" he asked, his voice carrying the promise of something darker, more dangerous. "Then take it, little one. I can give you that. And nothing more."

You took the blade from him, the cold metal pressing into your palm as your fingers closed around it. There was a weight to it, a weight that felt heavier than just the steel. It felt like the culmination of everything, of all the betrayal, the grief, the bloodshed. 

It felt like the world was giving you the power to right all the wrongs, and you weren’t about to waste it. And so, you find yourself turning back to face your family, the ones who had once been your blood, your people, your foundation, you raised the blade high, your voice trembling but filled with purpose.

"Reap what you sow." you said, your words carrying the weight of everything you had endured, everything you had lost, everything you had become.

The silence that followed was deafening. Your family, those you had once loved, now saw the true extent of your resolve. And in that moment, you realized something. They were no longer your family. They were nothing but enemies now, and they would pay the price for their betrayal.

Sukuna’s smile lingered behind you, a dark approval in his gaze. He had given you the means to exact your revenge. He had given you power. And as the blade gleamed in your hand, you felt a surge of strength that was yours to command.

It was time for them to feel the weight of what they had done.

It was time for them to pay.

The air was thick with bloody tension. The quiet heavy as you stood before your betrayers. Your family, your once beloved family, now looked nothing more than prey, cowering in fear as they realized the power in your hands, the authority you now commanded.

Their faces, once familiar and comforting, had transformed into the faces of the enemies who had plotted against you. Their pleas for mercy rang hollow, like echoes in a void, as they begged for their lives, for a second chance. But it was too late for second chances. You had crossed the point of no return.

Your husband could only stand behind you, his presence like a shadow that loomed large, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction. He had given you the power to destroy them, to claim your revenge, and now he waited. 

It was a game to him, but for you, it was something more. It was catharsis. It was justice. It was the moment you had been waiting for. The moment where you finally took control of your fate. Your eyes never left the trembling figures of your family as you raised the blade higher.

You could feeling the weight of every second that had led to this moment. You wanted to make them fear as your son has, you wanted them to wait as your son had done so in tears. You wanted them to suffer. Over and over again. That was now your desire.

You could hear the desperate sobs, the apologies spilling from their lips, but it didn’t matter anymore. They had forfeited their right to forgiveness long ago. You could scarcely care for any kindness. You don’t want it. You don’t have it. You don’t need to give it.

"You made your choices." you said, your voice cold and unwavering. "And now you will live with the consequences."

The words were a declaration, a sentence. They had wronged you in ways that could never be undone, and now you would be the one to decide their fate. You could hear Sukuna’s low chuckle from behind you, a dark satisfaction in his tone.

"Go on, little one." he purred, almost as if urging you, savoring the moment. "Show them the power they never believed you had."

For the first time in years, you felt no hesitation, no fear. The blade felt right in your hand, as if it had always belonged to you. You were no longer the wife of a tyrant, no longer the puppet of a man who had played with your mind. You were your own. And they would answer for what they had done.

You advanced, each step slow and deliberate, your family shrinking back, their faces pale with terror. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore except the reckoning that was long overdue. And then, as you reached the closest of them, you raised the blade high, your gaze locked onto theirs, and with one swift motion, you brought it down.

The sound of the blade cutting through flesh was sickeningly satisfying, the thud of its impact resonating in the air. The first of them fell, their scream cutting short as they crumpled to the ground. 

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t feel guilt. You felt nothing but the sense of justice that had long been denied. The rest of them looked at you, horrified, and begged for mercy. But the words meant nothing now. They had betrayed you, and now they would reap what they had sown.

One by one, you took them down, their bodies littering the ground as their pleas became weaker, more desperate. Sukuna’s eyes followed your every movement, his dark amusement growing with each life you claimed.

Finally, it was over. The last of them fell to the ground, their life snuffed out in an instant. The silence that followed was deafening, the only sound the soft crackling of the flames in the distance. You stood amidst the bodies, the blood staining your hands, your clothing, your soul.

But you didn’t feel regret. You didn’t feel sorrow. You only felt the cold satisfaction of a long-awaited vengeance fulfilled.

You turned to face Sukuna, your eyes meeting his without fear. His smile was wide, almost pleased, and he stepped forward, his gaze lingering on the carnage you had wrought.

"Impressive." he said, his voice a low murmur. "You’ve come far, little one. You’ve become more than just a pawn."

You didn’t respond. There was no need. The act spoke for itself. You had taken control of your own fate, and in doing so, you had reclaimed a part of yourself you thought you had lost forever.

Sukuna watched you for a moment longer, then, with a satisfied nod, he turned and walked away, leaving you to stand amidst the destruction. You had exact your revenge. You had claimed your freedom. And now, for the first time in years, you were truly free.

Your son was safe. And for now, that was all that mattered.

══════════════════

IT WAS DAWN WHEN YOU FOUND YOURSELF AT ANOTHER VILLAGE. You were still full of the blood of traitors when you and Sukuna arrived at the inn. The metallic tang clung to your skin, the crimson stains marking you as a warrior and his wife—Ryomen Sukuna’s wife. 

No one questioned it. No one dared. The air inside the inn buzzed with silence, thick and oppressive, as villagers averted their gazes and shuffled away like shadows in the candlelight. They knew better than to keep quiet, or lose their lives trying.

You had been quiet the entire journey, your rage simmering just beneath your surface. Even now, as the blood dried, you clenched your fists, teeth grinding as the emotions clawed at you.

Anger, grief, hollow triumph. Sukuna’s sharp gaze followed you as you moved, your face a mask of stone. In the privacy of your shared room, he finally spoke, his tone low and laced with command.

“You’ve been silent long enough. Speak.”

But instead, you turned, stepping closer until you could feel the heat radiating off him. His expression hardened in warning, but you ignored it. Slowly, you tilted your head up and pressed your lips to his. It wasn’t gentle. Not at all. It was desperate. The kiss was a collision, sharp edges meeting sharp edges.

Ryomen Sukuna stiffened, stunned by the act. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his robes, anchoring yourself as you pulled back, your voice trembling, not with fear but with a deep ache. You looked at him, almost as though you were possessed.

“Make me feel something, my lord.” you said, barely above a whisper. “Anything but this anger.”

A moment passed. It was that stillness, heavy and charged, that triumph. Then his mouth curved into a wicked grin, all sharp teeth and cruel hunger. Before you could take another breath, Your husband Sukuna had all but hauled you over his shoulder with ease. He had been marred with laughter, deep and rumbling.

“If that’s what you want, little one.” he drawled, his voice dripping with a dark promise, “I’ll make you feel so much more than anger.”

He wasted no time at all, laying claim to you like the fearsome god of yours hewas. Your husband's hands were rough, his movements unapologetic. But they were familiar. They were what you cpuld consider safe in the sea of betrayals.

Ryomen Sukuna soon devoured you in a way that only he could. In a way that could make you forget. In a way that only he knew would comfort you and care for you and make him hated by you and revered by you to tears.

You knew it all too well how he was. Ryomen Sukuna was a god known for being possessive, demanding, yet intoxicatingly thrilling. You knew that well, better than anyone else.

His touch ignited every nerve, leaving no room for restraint or hesitation. You were his, and he intended to remind you in every way possible.

A shaky moan escaped your lips, your body trembling under his relentless pace. Your legs quivered as he shifted seamlessly, the sheer ferocity of his need leaving you breathless.

Sukuna’s grin widened, predatory and smug, as he leaned closer, his demonic breath hot against your ear. You whimper against him, almost like a wounded prey.

“Look at you, little one.” he murmured, his voice low and taunting. “Already trembling, and we’re just getting started.”

When he moved, roughly claiming you anew with his cocks, the sensation sent a sharp jolt through your body. Your hands clawed at his shoulders, desperately against his flesh.

Your mind a blur of heat and sensation. He growled in satisfaction at your reaction, his grip tightening as he continued to take you, utterly unrelenting.

Every motion, every touch, was calculated to unravel you entirely. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you locked in this primal, consuming dance.

And with every moment, Sukuna proved that he alone could make you feel this, too raw, vulnerable, and completely alive. Only he could make you feel good and feel hatred pasionately like this.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying desperately to keep your focus tethered to the present, the here and now. The way Sukuna overwhelmed you, the way his hands gripped you as though he might break you, the way his rough breath mingled with your ragged moans.

You clung to it like a lifeline, not wanting to feel anything else. Not the anger that gnawed at your insides, not the guilt threatening to drag you under. Just this moment.

The pleasure was all-consuming, a storm that battered against the walls you were trying so hard to keep upright. Every thrust, every growl, every bite against your skin shattered another piece of the barrier you built between yourself and the world outside. 

You wanted it to drown out the memories, the blood, the weight of everything you carried. Sukuna noticed, of course. He always did. His fingers dug into your thighs as he pressed you deeper into the mattress, his voice a growl against your ear.

“Don’t you dare run from this, little one.” he said, his tone dripping with command, with understanding. “Feel it. All of it.”

You shook your head, a low whimper escaping your lips. You didn’t want to feel—not the ache of your body, not the pressure building like an unrelenting tide, not the faint echo of shame that lingered just at the edges of your consciousness.

“I don’t want to—” your voice broke, tears threatening to spill as the pleasure and emotion tangled into something unbearable.

Sukuna’s grin softened, only slightly. His pace slowed just enough to torment, his hands roaming over your trembling body with a reverence you hadn’t expected. He leaned in, his mouth brushing your ear, his voice quieter this time.

“Then let me take it from you, little one.” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your skin. “Give it all to me. Every shred of it.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Instead, you arched into him, your body betraying you, seeking more even as your mind tried to pull away. Sukuna’s laughter was dark, triumphant, as he resumed his relentless pace, his second cock filling you so completely it left no room for anything else. Not thoughts, not regrets, not fears.

You bit your lip, tears slipping free as your nails dug into his back. Dissociation warred with surrender, each wave of pleasure pulling you further into a place where nothing else existed but him. And in that moment, you let it take you. 

Because with your husband Sukuna, there was no escape. Only submission. Only this raw, unrelenting claim that tore down every wall you tried to build. Perhaps, that was what you needed. Perhaps that was what could stop everything else from making you fall apart.

The tears you tried so hard to suppress slipped down your cheeks, hot and unrelenting. Sukuna saw them, of course. His crimson eyes glinted with something between mockery and possession, the corners of his mouth curving into a smirk that only stoked the fire inside you.

"Good, good." he growled, voice thick with satisfaction as he drove into you again, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress, making you feel every inch, every ounce of his control. "Let it out. Don’t you dare hold back from me."

You couldn’t speak. Your lips parted, but all that came were gasping, shuddering breaths as the heat of him consumed you. Your hands clenched into fists, nails biting into your palms as you tried to anchor yourself, but Sukuna was unrelenting. He wanted you unmoored, completely at his mercy.

You squeezed your eyes shut again, willing yourself to disappear into the sensations—the sharp pleasure, the burn of his touch, the bruising grip of his hands on your hips. Anything but the world outside, anything but the blood and the weight of what you’d done.

But Ryomen Sukuna wouldn’t let you. He never did. His hand found your face, rough fingers gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at him. You could feel your hot tears poured against the drying blood on your flesh.

"Eyes on me, little one." he ordered, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "You don’t get to run. Not from this."

Your gaze met his, and the intensity in his eyes struck you like a blow. You hated how he saw through you, how he stripped you bare in every way that mattered. From all that anger and all that bitterness to all that weakness and all that grief.

But there was no hiding from him. Not when you’d willingly placed yourself in his hands, no matter how much it burned. He took you as you are, accepted it all over and over again. As you have done the same with him.

He slowed again, rolling his hips with agonizing precision, making you feel every inch, every movement. You whimpered, your body betraying you as it responded to him, trembling, tightening. His smirk widened, cruel and knowing.

"There you are, little one." he murmured, almost tenderly, his thumb brushing over the corner of your mouth. "Feel it. Let it break you."

And it did. The pleasure crashed over you, dragging you under like a riptide, and you clung to him as though he were the only solid thing in a world gone to chaos. The walls you’d built shattered, leaving you raw and exposed, every emotion spilling over like a dam bursting.

You hated him for it. 

You needed him for it.

As your cries softened into broken gasps, Sukuna didn’t relent. He carried you through it and then began again, his hunger insatiable, his hold on you unyielding. His lips found your neck, his voice low and mocking against your ear.

"Don’t think for a second I’m done with you, little one." he said, his laugh rumbling against your skin. "I’ll make sure there’s nothing left of that anger. Nothing but me."

And he did. Over and over, until the only thing left was his name on your lips, his mark on your body, and the steady, consuming presence of the man who would never let you escape. Until you forgot everything all over again.

[oldbearal-8]

This can be applied to two big masculine men taking a moment to kiss in public or be publicly affectionate in any way. It's probably more shocking to the folks "in the cage" see two affectionate bears together than a couple of slim young fashionable guys but then again, they are easily shocked by anything outside the cage.

[daosies]

when you get sick

sylus, zayne, xavier ♡ gn!reader

warnings: not proofread, kissing (xavier), reader is the protagonist but gender neutral, implications of myth lore (all three), sylus calls u "sweetie", reader is hospitalized (zayne), sharing the same bed (xavier)

notes: i wrote this with nothing but sylus on my mind and a dream 😍

also this is my first time writing zayne o(*￣▽￣*)ブ plz forgive me if he's ooc or his lore is inaccurate

Sylus told himself that he’d wait.

Maybe they just forgot, he thinks, swirling his glass of wine, I wouldn’t put it above them. You have a knack for being careless; it’s one of the things that makes you so cruel, second only to the painful ignorance you have towards his—... 

Sylus clears his throat, not wanting to continue the thought; still, the sentiment lingers, drifting to and fro, scattering across his mind and permeating into the forceful silence. You (he takes a deep breath)—you are (he sets down his glass of wine), you (he rubs his temples, and the thought ends there). You. 

And once more, his mind returns to you, unrestrained, uncontrolled—because nothing in this world belongs to him; everything is yours. From the thoughts of his mind to the beat of his heart, he is yours; why else was he given the ability to perceive, if not for you? 

Sylus was crafted, forsakenly, for the sole purpose of worshiping you; he was given eyes so he could see you, hands so he could feel you, and a heart so he could feel the ache and the spasm when you left. 

Because you’re cruel. Because he’s cruel. Because he deserves to suffer, because he must suffer, when he is able to perceive you, unfathomably, and the grand, obscene void that follows thereafter. 

Because you exist! Around him, beside him (he glances at the warm, flickering candlelight, its ember illuminating his wine a valiant shade of carmine), but most poignantly, (his gaze does not leave the flame—his fist, however, comes up to the left side of his chest, fisting the fabric of his shirt) you exist within him.

Like a flame. Smoldering. Like a bomb. Ticking. Like, like—he takes a deep breath, and he continues to wait. 

He looks at his dim phone screen. Nothing. But Sylus told himself that he’d wait. Maybe you forgot to call him, or, maybe you didn’t want to call him at all. (He takes a sip of wine, wincing at the bitter flavor—was it always that way?) Maybe, you decided that he wasn’t worth your time, that maybe, of all the people in the world who want you (his brows furrow, and one of his hands come to fiddle with the holster of his pistol), he was the least suitable option. 

Sylus scoffs. Truly, if he was the least suitable option, he should have let that bullet you put in his heart stay there. At least then, he could attribute the throbbing to the gnawing metal and not the mere thought of you. 

(That’s all it takes. A thought. A fraction. A wisp! The mere thought of you is enough for his heart to mourn, for it to ache despite there being far worse things done to it; a knife, a dagger, a gun! A bullet! And you—you, oh, in all your wondrous cruelty, manage to triumph over it all!)

If they’re going to leave me, Sylus thinks, at least leave no trace. If you’re going to leave him, then at least spare him of your memory—he thinks of flowers, of treasures and gold—or take away his sight! His mind! His lungs! 

Make it so that he cannot live! Make it so he cannot comprehend the thought of your absence, so he has never felt the satiation of your existence! Starve him! An insatiable creature will never realize its hunger if it has never felt full!

But your cruelty (Sylus chuckles to himself, bemused) is reassuring; at the very least, he can expect that you won’t go down without a fight. Or two. Or three—spanning across lifetimes and eras. 

In this life, however, his fight is against the age of modern technology and his own stubbornness; should he surrender and call you first? But he doesn’t want to be easy, he has always prided himself in his self-restraint; after all, that was how he was able to let you go. Restraint. 

(His hand, briefly, grazes over the left side of his chest. He feels a spasm, a choke and a throb, his ribs beginning to constrict, his lungs stagnating.)

Should he call you first? Should he give in, and make himself easy? Should he forget self-restraint, and pursue what he has believed to be his? His treasure, his deity, his—his! 

Sylus doesn’t need to mull over the idea for long. He picks up his phone, your number on the top of his contact list, starred. Forget his pride. Forget his restraint. When did he ever have any of that? He has always hoarded his treasures, keeping them close to his heart—because holding something in his hand means that it’s his, forever. 

Your caller picture comes up. You; smiling; glowing; glimmering. Instinctively, Sylus is drawn to radiant things. It’s a primal urge, an innate trait—he looks down at your image, unable to contain his adoration, his gaze trailing over his treasure—which cannot be restrained. He’s insatiable. He’s insatiable because he, once, perceived you. Eons ago. 

(In a field of flowers, in an oasis of gold, Sylus perceived you. He perceived you, and oh, from that moment on, he has worshiped you. Forget the gold! Forget the jewelry! Forget him! He is yours; an offering; a submission; a pawn. He is yours! For that is the law of this world.)

The phone rings. Once, twice—Sylus smirks, thinking, Why play hard to get when I’m already theirs?—before finally, you pick up. He sets his glass of wine down. A flame. A bomb!

“Finally decided to answer, hm?” he says. 

From the other end, Sylus hears this: a rustle; a deep breath; a cough and a sigh. His smirk falters a little, his heart, wildly, going: tick-tick-tick…

“Sylus,” you call, your voice sounding raspy. “I can’t talk right now,”—your words are minced by a slaughter of coughs—“sorry. I’m sick. I took medicine already, though.”

He didn’t wait for your explanation. The moment you spoke his name, the syllables sounding ethereal from your tongue, Sylus stood up and reached for the keys of his motorbike, the engine rumbling before you even finished your sentence. 

(All you have to do is call his name! All you have to do is perceive him, really! To allow him to exist within a fragment of your thoughts, and that is enough!)

“I’m on my way.”

Rustling. Sylus can picture your face, disheveled, startled, as you quickly retort, “There’s no need! It’s late!”

Sylus laughs a little. How adorable, he thinks, sneaking another glance at your caller photo. “Late? Have you forgotten who I am, sweetie?”

Coughs. “Ugh.” You sniffle. 

“Open the door,” Sylus says, his tone not matching his words. When it comes to you, Sylus becomes unlike himself, his hardened exterior crumbling away, his voice reincarnates, contorting from a callous demand to a subtle plea. He metamorphosizes! From a sinner to a lover! Both equally egregious in magnitude, both equally intense and violent and…

“Huh?! Already?” From the other end, Sylus can hear you rummaging through your layers of bedsheets and blankets, your movements shabby and unrefined as you make a beeline towards the door. The cacophony dips into a muffled buzz, your voice becoming distant as you leave your phone behind.

A lull. The door creaks open; where you stand, the light fails to meet him; the shadow of your figure etched onto his skin.

A lover. He looks at you; not even bothering the end the call, or hide his obvious stare; Sylus smirks. His gaze trails over your features, affirming to himself that the camera does not do you justice, that the ability to perceive and feel the actual magnitude of your existence is otherworldly. 

This—this cannot be mimicked: the radiance, the glimmer, the recollection of all things that are beautiful. When Sylus looks at you, he thinks of flowers, of gold and of an ever-expanding sky. Back when the world was lovely, and now, when it became lovely again. 

You take a step back, eyes widening once your foot fails to meet the ground, the world beginning to spin while you brace yourself for impact. But the landing never comes. The small of your back meets a firm, warm palm, the scent of pine overwhelming your senses. 

(Instinctively, you lean forward. Sylus notices this. When you flinch back, embarrassed, however, Sylus’s other hand comes to press against the back of your head, bringing you closer to him.)

(“Trying to escape?” he whispers, lips near the shell of your ear. “You’re going to have to try harder than that.”)

Before you can retort, Sylus lifts you up, heading in the direction of your bedroom, unusually familiar with the layout of your apartment. Sylus’s touch has always been featherlight—even when he tucks you into bed, and pulls the sheet over your chin, and presses his knuckle against your forehead, his calloused fingers are tender, just barely grazing your skin. 

(He had learned, long ago, that the most prized of possessions are often the most delicate.)

“Which do you prefer, sweetie?” he asks, placing a damp towel on your forehead. (Since when did Sylus know how to take care of people? you wonder.) “Porridge or hot tea?”

(He had learned, long ago, that to be a lover is to change. To morph, to change and to grow into someone kinder. Someone gentler. Most of all, however, to be a lover is to learn.)

“Hot tea,” you reply, throat feeling terribly sore. “But—”

Sylus’s glare silences you, the words falling down your esophagus, their wings clipped. Your throat is soar. You didn’t tell him, but still, you think he knows. (How does he know? you wonder.)

(To be a lover is to understand.)

“Hot tea it is.”

He finds your kitchen with ease. It’s as if Sylus lives with you, the way he navigates through your various cabinets and cooking utensils, familiar with everything—from your favorite cup to your favorite tea, Sylus knows you. 

(But how? you wonder.)

(To be a lover is to know. It’s like an instinct, an innate trait, a primal desire and an insatiable urge. When he was crafted, forsakenly, Sylus was given eyes to perceive and hands to touch—but also, he was given purpose, like how life exists to survive, like how death exists to control life. Sylus exists to love. He lives to love. He dies, time and time again, for love.)

From the doorframe of your room, Sylus stares at you, unabashed, unrestrained. A cup of hot tea steams in his hand. 

(Sylus loves for you. He finds love around you. From the color of your favorite cup to the tune of your favorite song, Sylus finds love. He finds purpose. He finds meaning.)

“Careful,” he says, helping you sit up in your bed. Sylus wipes the beads of sweat from your face with the soft taps of a towel, his dexterous fingers, used to pressing triggers, now reinvented to serve you.

(That was their original purpose.)

“The tea is hot,” he states, blowing, the steam bending to his breath. “Take small sips.” 

“To think the leader of Onychinus is cooling down my tea,” you say, managing to crack the slightest of smiles despite the exhaustion.

Sylus chuckles. “It’s your privilege.”

(What is the purpose of his title, if not for you?)

“Wow,” you reply, “what an honor.”

(What is the purpose of him, if not to love you?)

“Truly.” Sylus stares at you, your image devoured in flames. “What an honor.”

After finishing the tea, and settling completely into bed, you find yourself fighting the drowsiness. Sylus finds his seat by your side, turning off the lights with the snap of his Evol, not wanting to part from you, even if it’s for but a moment.

“Sleep, sweetie. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Really?” you remark, finding it in yourself to banter despite teetering across the border of consciousness.

“Always,” Sylus affirms, his large hand coming to cover your eyes, forcing you to fall, engulfed by the darkness. But Sylus would never let you brave the underworld alone, so he rests his head against the imprint of your figure in the mattress, breathing in your existence.

He closes his eyes. Vulnerable. His only weapon is his gun, holstered onto his belt. His hands are occupied, however, with yours. You could kill him now if you wanted to. If you wanted to end Onychinus. To restore justice in the N109 Zone. To receive merit within the Hunter’s Association.

Your breathing evens out. Sylus feels his heart throb. A bullet was there, once; he wished it could stay there; it was your offering to him, after all.

Tick-tick-tick… 

You’ve fallen asleep. Sylus scoffs. There goes your chance for a quick and easy promotion. 

(To be a lover is to wait. For the explosion, for the certainty, for the promise of eternity despite the inevitable end.)

(To be a lover is to have purpose.)

Sylus slips his fingers into the gaps of yours, and he rests. Like this, he is bound to you (but Sylus has always been bound to you—from his hands, to his eyes, to his lips, to his soul, Sylus is chained. He is destined to find you, to perceive you, and most fervently, to love you again.)

(Sylus loves you.)

Boom! 

(It has always been that way.)

“Dr. Zayne, you have an urgent message,” an automated voice says, echoing throughout his office. Zayne glances up from his various documents, sage-green eyes fixating on the projection before him. It’s a missed call from a sister hospital.

“Continue,” he replies, twirling a pen in between his deft fingers, his pale skin illuminating under the dim overhead lights. Zayne looks at the time; it’s almost midnight—he should call you soon. 

Zayne has a habit of calling you, even if it’s only for a minute or two; he does it for the sake of doing it. To check up on you. To see if you’re doing fine, or if your heart is giving you any troubles. As any good doctor would do for their patients.

(Zayne has a habit of lying to himself, for not following the standards of which he sets for others. He always tells you not to lie, to not make a fool of yourself when he can see through your facade so easily, but he himself lies, every day, at midnight, when he dials your number and waits for the ring; for the pause and for the breath, he lies, saying that it’s his duty as your physician.)

(It is a facade he refuses to recognize, a fault which he feigns ignorance to.)

(He calls you because he wants to hear your voice. To be reassured of your existence, to savor the moments of your vitality, which has slipped from his grasp, over and over again.) 

“Dr. Zayne,” someone says. Zayne looks at the holograph which manifests onto the projected screen, recognizing it to be his coworker. Briefly, his thoughts of you are interrupted, his attention belonging wholly to the projection.

“We need your assistance immediately. One of your patients has been admitted into our hospital. At the moment, their vitals are stable, but they are experiencing abrupt seizures and…”

Zayne’s collected demeanor falters. His tormented mind conjures up the worst of thoughts, because although Zayne has a plethora of patients, only a handful of them suffer from infrequent, violent seizures. And only a handful of them—he recognizes his coworker, who, similarly to Zayne, chose to specialize in cardiology—suffer from such severe symptoms.

He thinks of you. Zayne’s tormented mind always finds itself at the concept of you, curled inwards, tucked away into a gentle, petaled flower: fragile; fleeting; inevitable. And at the thought of you, everything freezes. Frost begins to tickle the tip of his nose, his breaths leaving in frantic, condensed puffs. 

(When will this cycle end? The desperation, the cling to survival, the repetition of the beginning and the end, never to last despite him doing everything in his power to prolong your presence—Zayne wants you to live!)

“I’ll be there,” Zayne declares, watching the holograph disappear. “Send me the location.” He grabs a black trenchcoat, ignoring the frost that infects his skin, the numbness of his limbs, the weeping of his heart. 

(He wants you to survive! He wants and wants and, daringly, despite everything, he—he still finds it in his heart to want you.)

When Zayne arrives at the hospital, his hands—which have performed surgeries, which have stitched the tiniest of arteries, which have connected the smallest of tissue—tremble. He feels sweat trickle down the side of his head, unable to fully contain himself as he shows his badge haphazardly, searching through the various units before arriving at the dreadful, forsaken ICU. 

Zayne is no stranger to the intensity of hospitals, the sharp scent of disinfectant, the repetitive beeps of various monitors. He is no stranger to the haunting sights of injected needles, of bedridden patients, of flatlines—but you, oh, you, seem to reinvent the world that was once normal to him. When it comes to you, Zayne views hospitals not as a symbol of health and life, but as an omen of doom. 

When it comes to you, Zayne remembers the past, the repeated history, the inevitable, incessant realization that both you and him are terribly finite. That, no matter what he does, or how many lives he saves, you will never be one of them. 

(That is a known fact of this world, Zayne thinks.)

But the inevitable end is followed by Zayne’s own helpless pride, his insatiable and desperate instinct. He’s a lover. He’s selfish. He wants to love you—he, he wants to live with you! Despite anything! Despite everything! If he must defy his creator, then so be it! Zayne will find a way to rewrite fate; he will find a way to love you; he already loves you. 

It has always been that way, from this life to the next, and the many thereafter. No matter how many incarnations he must live, nor how many times he is forced to watch you perish, Zayne will love you.

(That is a known fact of this world, Zayne thinks.) 

“Dr. Zayne, you’re here! Please, come this way!” 

Feverishly, Zayne follows after his coworker, offering apologies to the various people he runs into while racing towards your room. (When did he decide that it was you, the patient who is suffering from seizures?) Despite the tremble of his hands, Zayne’s breaths are steady, his shoulders accustomed to the enormity of pressure, your life dangling above his head. (Because history repeats. Because Zayne is guided by an inexplicable desire, and this desire is fed by fear and yearning and…)

You appear before him—like a premonition, like a figment of his wildest imagination, like a fantastical and mystical creature!—in a manner which, despite your unfathomable beauty, Zayne wishes he would never see again. Just once is enough: you; the hospital sheets; the haunting wires; the erratic green line which quantifies your vitality. 

Somehow, Zayne believes you to still be wondrous, your existence astonishing, illuminating every reach of the world! No matter how many times his eyes have had the privilege of beholding you, Zayne is still a stranger to the colossal magnitude of your presence, the remarkable radiance, the light, which one never truly perceives, but instinctively understands its importance.

The sun. Who would ever dare to look at the sun? Its light, although significant, is blinding—it could permanently damage one’s retinas, effectively blinding them for life.

(And at the same time, the sun grants life. What a cruel and twisted fate—to be needed and never truly accepted, to be needed and still be pushed away.)

Zayne looks at the sun. His finger barely grazes across your face, feeling the searing warmth, your incomparable light melting away the frost that once consumed his skin. When he looks away, Zayne is unable to see. He is unable to recognize anything that isn’t you: the sun; the light; the life. 

His eyes have been reworked, trained and forced to perceive only you, your image burned into his retinas, his hands feeling oh-so warm. 

“Dr. Zayne, this patient’s symptoms are unlike anything we have ever seen before.”

He blinks, recognizing the existence of a face but not truly acknowledging who it belongs to (since, undoubtedly, it is not yours). 

“Yes,” he replies, glancing back at you, sage-green eyes trailing over the bridge of your nose, the curl of your chapped lips, the furrow of your brows, your solace disturbed. “They are experiencing a unique congenital heart disease.”

“This is congenital?” 

Zayne swallows thickly, never tearing his gaze away from you.

“I’m not sure.”

To think he entered this profession for you. To think he spent years of his life learning about the intricacies of the heart, studying the finest of tissues and the most minute of cells, only for his knowledge to be insignificant. Only for his knowledge to be worthless, for his meaning to be starved, for his existence to be futile.

(When will this cycle end? When will his futility end? When will he finally become worth something? When will he finally be able to save you?)

“Is there any medication that is being administered to nullify the severity of their symptoms?” 

“Yes,” Zayne replies, glancing back down at your frail figure, your sickly countenance. “But it must be rotated often, as they build tolerance rather quickly.”

(Just how many more lives will it take? How many more times must he watch you perish? How many more times must he fight against the inevitable, the grand, twisted wheel of fate?)

“These seizures are severe, Dr. Zayne. We must find a cure.”

Zayne feels thorns prick at his skin. He opens his mouth to respond, but the words die before they can reach his tongue. He is but a shell of himself. As every incarnation passes, Zayne re-experiences loss, and although he thought he would grow accustomed to the enormity of its void, he feels the emptiness each time. Wholly. 

Every time Zayne experiences loss, he thinks of you. Every time he lives, and every time he dies, he thinks of you. Every time a flower blooms, he thinks of you.

(Somehow, this shell finds it in itself to love. Time and time again. Somehow, this shell never learns. This shell chooses to love you, from one life to the next, even if the outcome is already predetermined, even if it, once, announced the outcomes itself.)

The magnitude of loss is equal to the magnitude of your existence. Of the grandness of your presence. Of the unparalleled actuality of you. You cannot be over-dreamed. 

No matter how many times Zayne finds you, he is left breathless, feverish, satiated. No matter how many times Zayne loses you, he is left desperate, grieving, yearning. 

Your voice is imprinted in his mind, yes, and your image worshiped by his retinas, yes, but no matter how many times Zayne perceives you, he believes you to be fantastical—like, like a star! Like the sun! Bright, exhilarating, radiant!

“Zayne?” a voice calls, transcending across lifetimes. Its timbre has been transcribed, remembered, desired; across eons, across universes. It’s you. 

And Zayne heeds your voice like an emissary does their master, like it’s enchanted, like it’s a tonic, promising happiness and vitality despite Zayne knowing better, despite how he knows that, of all the laws in this world, your inevitable end is the sole constant.

He stiffens, his hand immediately coming to turn off the lights, not wanting you to bear witness to the weakness of his expression and the overwhelming brightness of the lamp.

“[Name],” he replies, drawing circles into the back of your hand. I’m here, Zayne thinks, I’m sorry I’m late.

Zayne has a terrible habit of not voicing out the magnitude of his feelings, the swell of his heart. He has a terrible habit of not fully expressing the extent of which you mean to him, the extent and the desire which draws him from one life to the next, equally as forlorn and despairing as before. 

(You will never realize how he has chased you, how he has sought to save you, how he has fought against fate, wishing to defy the inevitable. You will never realize how Zayne forfeited everything, how he burned in the sun, how he reached for your light, despite feeling the wax melt, despite the plummet and the shocking death, his figure submerged.)

“You’re here,” you say, voice marred by sleep and your face stained with tears and snot. Still, Zayne thinks of you to be ethereal—divine, otherworldly. Truly, no matter how many times his eyes have beheld you in their irises, Zayne is left dazed. Silenced. Incapable of uttering anything anymore, so all that’s left within him—the enormous desire, the overwhelming grief—is left uncommunicable, irrevocable. Forever. 

(You will never realize how he would do it again. How he continues to do it again. How he would—if you did so much as asked him to—build those wax wings again, and don them again, and jump and soar and fall again. He would throw himself into the sea, even without those wings. He would—he would!)

Zayne doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know how to. His hand tightens around yours, grief swelling in his throat. 

“I thought,” you begin, but are interrupted by a fit of coughs. Zayne brings a cup of water up to your lips, tilting it ever-so slightly. You swallow, then continue again, “I thought you were busy.”

“Not at all,” Zayne replies, thumbing his hand over your cheekbone, barely applying any pressure. He wants to say more—like how he’ll always be there for you, like how he’ll always make time for you—but then, Zayne realizes the inevitable, the laws of this world, the fate which he has tried for so, so long to defy.

His words never manage to escape his throat. They come to a stuttering stop, then silence, then acceptance.

(He will not always be there for you. He cannot always make time for you.)

“I wish,” you say, voice muffled by your sobs. Zayne feels his chest pulsate, his heart hammering against its confines, threatening to escape his body and crawl into yours. “I wish it didn’t hurt so much, Zayne.”

“I know,” he whispers, trying to contain his expression, trying to console you with the patterns he draws into your hand, the handkerchief he uses to wipe your face. “I know. I’m sorry, [Name].”

(When will this cycle end? When will he finally be able to love you, without fear, without fail? When will you finally be able to realize, in full, the magnitude of his colossal desire, the ghostly heart he hosts, the flowers which bloom all across his chest, wilting before they can be bestowed upon you?)

Sometimes, Zayne wishes he could cease to exist. So you wouldn’t have to suffer anymore. So he wouldn’t have to witness it anymore. 

(But if he never existed, he would have never been able to perceive you, to realize the extent of all that is beautiful, to recognize the fragility of life, its fleeting loveliness. If he never existed, Zayne would have never heard the wildness of your voice, its divine tune, its incomparable sound. If he never existed, Zayne would have never beheld you within his eyes, the enchanted sight, the ethereal image.)

(And that, to him, is a fate worse than death itself. Worse than the endless cycles. Worse than the inevitable end.)

You’re alive, Zayne realizes, watching your breathing steady itself, watching your heart stroke up and down, in the form of a green line, beating, on and on, ceaselessly. 

You’re alive. Zayne chokes up at the thought. You’re alive! 

His gaze tears from the heart monitor to your face. Incomparable.

(This life will be different.)

Inevitably, Zayne’s hand finds yours, the warmth from your skin sinking into his. He stares at your figure, outlining your features despite the darkness, his mind not once needing light to conjure up your image.

Although he has decided this long ago, Zayne’s resolve is strengthened by your bedridden form, your once-valiant eyes, now reduced to a lidded, teary defeat—he will find a cure, he will defy fate, he will love you.

(This life is different.)

No matter what. 

Xavier finds himself in front of your room. 

He finds himself here often, really. Ever since he found out that the two of you were floor-neighbors, Xavier has been taking full advantage of your proximity, often coming up with various excuses and reasons to see you.

Sometimes, he knocks on your door, talking about your packages that were delivered to his door by accident (which he hopes will continue to happen), or various new cafes that have opened up nearby, which he thought you’d like (and he would like too, if you went with him). 

Other times, Xavier just decides to, in a very nonchalant fashion, loiter around before work in the morning, coincidentally running into you while making his way down to the ground floor. 

This time, however, Xavier is here with more than just himself. A bag filled with medicine dangles from his hand, the other coming up to knock once, twice, then thrice on your door. Earlier, you had called in sick, and although you hadn’t personally asked for any help from him, Xavier decided to make a quick stop at the convenience store before coming home. 

Xavier doesn’t often get sick from the common cold or the flu, so he wasn’t really sure what to buy—frankly, he just wiped everything off the shelf labeled “fever” and went on with his day. He doesn’t even know if you have a fever; still, when you open the door, he steps inside. Confidently.

“Are you okay, [Name]?” he asks, observing your wobbly gait and your shallow breaths. Before you can reply and continue walking, however, Xavier’s hand snakes around your waist, supporting you against his own figure. 

“Yeah!” you manage to heave out, exhausted. Your voice sounds congested, sweat racing down the side of your face while you try to reassure Xavier of your health.

He is, unsurprisingly, not convinced.

“You should rest, [Name]. Don’t worry, I’ve got this handled,” he says, setting down his bag of medicine on your countertop. “I can make you some warm soup.”

You shiver. Xavier takes it as a sign of your sickness worsening, not realizing your fear stems from his cooking skills (or lack thereof) and not the illness that, although temporary, feels like it’s eating you away one trait at a time. 

“Thank you, Xavier,” you manage to muster out, defeated. Xavier, on the other hand, is completely oblivious.

“It’s no problem at all,”—he ushers you in the direction of your room, guiding you into your bed and pressing a kiss against your forehead—“rest up. I’ll be back.”

“Xavier!” you scold, batting him away. “Don’t kiss me! I’m sick.”

He blinks at you innocently. “So?”

“You’ll get sick, too!” 

Xavier shrugs. “So, we’d be sick together.” His smile reveals his satisfaction with the idea. You groan, sinking into the sheets, not wanting to argue any further. Victorious, Xavier leaves your room, practically beaming, whilst cooking up a toxic recipe which only the likes of him are able to make.

The domesticity of it all makes Xavier’s heart shiver. Him; your kitchen; your apartment; your room. To coexist with you, to occupy the same time and space as you, to—to be with you! Oh, how Xavier has yearned for this moment, how he has longed to stand by your side once more, even if it’s only for a fraction of time, even if a wisp is all he deserves! 

Briefly, Xavier glances over his shoulder, looking back at your door, your bedroom, your form. He looks out the window. The world. This world: unfamiliar; unforgiving; unlike what he left. Philos. Xavier had thought of ways to return, to fulfill his duty, to stake his claim as the crown prince—but, but then…

You erupt into a cacophony of coughs, and Xavier drops his wizardly concoction to comfort you, his hand patting gently against your back.

(But then he found you.)

“Sorry, Xavier,” you barely manage to say.

(Forget his duty. Forget his position. Forget his mission—he, he found you!)

“Don’t worry about it,” he reassures, his touch featherlight. If only this moment could last forever. If only! 

If only Xavier could preserve this: the tinge, the blush, the limitless expansion of the enormity within him! If only he could preserve the way you look at him, the way you make him feel—like a wondrous, fantastical being—his words unutterable, his gaze forever wedded to your own.

You—you make him feel, like, like he’s capable of anything. Of everything. You, back in Philos and here, have always brought Xavier to his knees, his mind to a halt, his vision to a standstill. You have always changed the world! With this love of his, wielding it wildly, and—and he lets you, because Xavier is your sword. Because Xavier lives to serve you. 

(He found his duty. He found his mission. He found his position: yours. It has always been that way. Back in Philos and here, now, on Earth. With you. For you.)

“The soup must be ready,” Xavier suddenly says, still, his hand remains on the small of your back, not wanting to part. “Would you like to eat it now or later?”

You shiver. Xavier, once more, takes it as a sign of your developing sickness. 

“Actually, I believe you should rest,” he says, tucking you into your bed, “the soup will always be there for you. And me.”

You laugh a little, and Xavier mimics your expression, radiant joy beginning to bloom across his face, his azure eyes trained onto your face. Xavier is but a mere mirror of you, a reflection of all of your emotions, your habits. 

When you fully sink into your bed, Xavier is unsatisfied with his position at your side. So, he crawls in beside you, his weight sinking in towards you as he envelopes you in his arms, not caring for your coughs or sneezes.

“Xavier!” you exclaim, trying to wretch yourself out of his grasp. Xavier doesn’t let you. He feigns ignorance to your thrashing and holds you even tighter.

“Xavier, you’ll get sick, too!”

He pretends to snore. His limbs are limp on top of yours, his expression unbothered as he pretends to be asleep, despite the way he peers through his half-lidded eyes, so obviously staring at you.

“Xavier!”

“Hm?”

“You—”

“I’m sleeping.”

“What?”

“I’m asleep.”

“You’re responding to me.”

He doesn’t say a word. Still, you feel him smile into your shoulder.

“Let’s get sick together,” he mumbles. “And then, let’s sleep.”

[wendichester]

Not sure if you take requests or suggestions but I just know you’d write the sweetest and hottest Drabble of reader wearing Dean’s brown leather jacket over lingerie as a surprise for his birthday or Christmas & he can’t help but fuck you in the impala still in his jacket because he wants it to smell like sex and he’s going crazy with you in it

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 🏎️ ⋆ ۪ brown leather jacket,

summary. everything of dean's is intoxicating.

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 1133

notes. +18, implied intimacy, nudity. mdni .ᐟ + my first ever request .ᐟ i hope i did it justice (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

The first thing you ever noticed about Dean Winchester wasn’t his smile or his impossibly green eyes. It wasn’t even the sharpness of his jawline or the way his lips quirked up like he was in on a joke only he understood. No, the first thing you noticed was his jacket.

That brown leather jacket—worn, scuffed, and perfectly molded to his broad frame—caught your eye before his face ever did. He had his back to you when you walked into the room, leaning over a table with his weight resting on his arms, the jacket pulling tight across his shoulders. It was stupid, really, how something so simple could look so damn good.

Then he turned around, and that was it. Game over.

Because his face was even better than the jacket. The most handsome man you’d ever laid eyes on, rugged and charming all at once. But even as you took in those piercing green eyes and that teasing smirk, your attention kept drifting back to the jacket. The way it made his shoulders seem impossibly broader, the way it accentuated the muscles in his arms as he moved. It turned you on, plain and simple.

Over time, though, it became more than that. It wasn’t just the jacket itself—it was what he did with it. The way he’d shrug it off without a second thought and drape it over your shoulders when the air turned cold. The way he’d zip it up for you, his fingers brushing your chin as the oversized sleeves swallowed your hands. Or how he’d toss it over your legs during long drives in the Impala, grumbling something about the draft.

It wasn’t just a jacket anymore. It was Dean. A little piece of him that always felt like home.

So, whenever he couldn't find it, he'd usually assume you were wearing it.

The steady sound of water splashing over the Impala is the only noise in the garage, the cold air biting at Dean’s exposed forearms as he scrubs the hood. He’s muttering to himself about stubborn spots of dirt when the distinct click of heels echoes across the concrete floor.

He straightens, wiping his hands on a rag as he turns toward the sound. His brow furrows, expecting you to be bundled up, maybe there to tease him for spending Christmas Day with his car instead of you. But when his eyes land on you, every thought in his head screeches to a halt.

You’re standing in the doorway, framed by the dim light spilling in from the hall. Black heels, legs that seem to go on forever, and his leather jacket zipped just far enough to cover you halfway. The sleek black lingerie beneath it peeks out with every subtle movement, teasing him, taunting him.

Dean’s jaw slackens as he drags his eyes over you, from the curve of your bare legs to the smirk on your lips. “What the hell…” he mutters, the cold air suddenly irrelevant.

You step forward, your heels clicking again, and his gaze tracks every movement. “Merry Christmas, Dean,” you say softly, tugging the zipper of the jacket just an inch lower.

He exhales a shaky breath, his tongue darting over his bottom lip. “Sweetheart,” he rasps, his voice thick. “If this is how you’re celebrating, I’m thinking we should start celebrating Christmas.”

You saunter closer, fingers trailing along the edge of the car. “Well, you did say you didn’t want anything,” you tease, your voice low and playful.

His lips curve into a slow, heated smile. “Would be rude to refuse a gift.”

Dean’s lips crash against yours, all heat and desperation, as his hands grip your waist, pulling you closer. The cold leather of his jacket contrasts with the searing warmth of his touch, and it’s a dizzying combination that has your knees going weak.

You don’t realize he’s steering you backward until the cool metal of the Impala’s back door presses against you. In one swift motion, he opens it and guides you down onto the seat, his broad frame hovering over you, his weight deliciously familiar.

Your fingers fumble with the zipper of the jacket, ready to peel it off, but his hand covers yours, stopping you. “Leave it,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Dean—”

“Trust me,” he cuts you off, his green eyes dark, that makes your breath hitch. His fingers trail along the edge of the jacket, pushing it open just enough to reveal the lace beneath, his gaze lingering like he’s savouring the sight.

“Looks too damn good on you,” he mutters, leaning down to kiss you again, slower this time, like he’s savouring every second.

The Impala’s leather creaks as he shifts closer, his hands exploring your curves under the jacket. “Never thought I’d love this thing more,” he whispers against your lips, his smirk making your heart race. “But on you? It’s driving me crazy, sweetheart.”

He immediately pins you down, his body fitting between your legs like he belong there. His lips are on your neck, his hands roaming your skin, tracing the contours as he kisses a trail down to your collarbone.

Dean's eyes flutter shut at the feel of your hands on his jeans, a low moan escaping his lips. The sound is almost feral as he struggles to keep his control. “You're driving me insane,” His touch is greedy, desperate even, as he explores your body like he's never touched you before.

His breath hitches, a low moan escaping his lips as your hand glides under his boxers, making contact with his skin. For all his bravado, he's completely and utterly undone by your touch, his body responding to you on a primal level.

Dean’s breathing is ragged as he presses his forehead to yours, trying to regain a shred of composure. His fingers trail reverently down the curve of your waist, tracing the edge of the jacket as though memorizing how it clings to you.

“Sweetheart,” he rasps, his voice gravelly and raw, “you have no idea what you do to me.”

You smirk, feeling him twitch in your hand. “I might have a clue,” you reply, your voice light and teasing, though your heart pounds like a drum in your chest.

Dean chuckles low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you. He leans down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “You keep that up, we’re gonna fog up Baby’s windows,” he says, though there’s no regret in his tone—just a promise of more to come.

You laugh softly, your breath hot against his jaw. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

His grin turns wicked, but he doesn’t argue, as the Impala bears witness to yet another story written in heat and stolen moments.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11

[txrully]

hii can I request blue lock boys comforting their s/o thats on her period? (if your uncomfy w this than jst ignore it)

Thank you! 💕💕

YOU'RE MY COMFORT!

·˚ ༘ ꒱ summary when they comfort their s/o who's on her period

·˚ ༘ ꒱ characters isagi yoichi , bachira meguru , itoshi rin , nagi seishiro , mikage reo , chigiri hyoma , hiori yo , shidou ryusei , itoshi sae , michael kaiser , alexis ness

·˚ ༘ ꒱ warning fem!reader implied , lowercase intended

·˚ ༘ ꒱ a/n eeeek i took a kinda long hiatus after exams so sorry this was late- TT

·˚ ༘ ꒱ isagi yoichi

isagi would be so sweettttt. like he’s 100% the type to google how to make your girlfriend feel better on her period and then go overboard. he shows up at your door with snacks, a hot water bottle, and a look of absolute determination.

“babe, i got chocolate, tea, and this random teddy bear i found. will that help??”

he also tries to distract you with soccer highlights and ends up ranting about strategy while you just cuddle into him. lwk adorable.

"yoichi, i don’t need all this, i’m fine—"

"nope. it’s my job to make sure you’re 100% okay!"

"…you’re too much."

"too much in love with you? absolutely."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ bachira meguru

bachira treats your period like it’s an adventure. he calls it “battle week” and declares himself your knight in shining armor. he’s running around like a maniac, making you laugh so hard you forget the pain.

he also makes you random art to cheer you up. one time, he drew a stick figure comic of you fighting a “period dragon” with a sword made of chocolate. you almost cried laughing.

"meguru, what is this??"

"you slaying your period. literally."

"you’re so dumb… but i love it."

"mission accomplished!!!!! >:D "

·˚ ༘ ꒱ itoshi rin

rin is… awkward. but he triessss. when you first tell him, he just blinks and goes, "okay. what do you need?" and when you say “nothing,” he goes into silent problem-solving mode.

he might not say much, but he’ll keep you company, bring you your favorite drinks, and make sure you’re comfortable. he’s like a walking checklist. it’s so sweet how seriously he takes it.

"rin, you don’t have to—"

"you said you have a headache, so i’m staying until it stops."

"you’re so stubborn-"

"you’re welcome."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ nagi seishiro

nagi is… so chill. you tell him you’re on your period, and he’s like, "oh. okay. do you wanna nap?" because in his mind, that fixes everything.

but the second you actually need something? he’s ( surprisingly ) up and moving faster than you thought possible. he’ll even let you steal his hoodie and hog all the blankets.

"sei, can you pass me the—"

"already got it. now come back to bed."

"why are you so good at this???"

"because i'm used to this by now."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ mikage reo

reo treats it like a high-stakes situation. he buys you EVERYTHING—snacks, heating pads, your favorite drinks, and even a blanket that looks like a giant burrito.

“what else do you need? should i call a doctor? a masseuse? build you a pillow fort?”

he’s over the top ( *cough* more than usual *cough* ), but it’s so sweet you can’t even be mad.

"reo, you don’t need to do all this—"

"yes, i do. you’re in pain, and i don’t like it."

"you’re insane."

"insanely in love with you, yep."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ chigiri hyoma

chigiri is so calm and collected about it. he’s like, “i got this.” he makes you tea, rubs your back, and lets you vent about how annoying it all is.

he also takes you on peaceful walks or sits with you by the window, brushing your hair and talking about random things to keep your mind off the cramps. it’s giving romance movie vibes.

"hyoma, you’re like… weirdly good at this."

"i have a sister. i’ve trained for this moment."

"oh my god, of course you have."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ hiori yo

hiori is the gentlest bean. he’s like, “do you need anything? want me to get you soup? should we watch your favorite movie?” he’s so soft and accommodating, it’s almost ridiculous.

he also writes you little notes to cheer you up, like: “you’re stronger than cramps 💪 i believe in you!!”

"hiori, this note is so cheesy—"

"but did it make you smile?"

"…yeah, it did."

"then it worked. :D "

·˚ ༘ ꒱ shidou ryusei

shidou is chaotic as ever, but surprisingly… thoughtful? he shows up with junk food, a heating pad, and an attitude like, “let’s beat this period’s ass together.”

he’s also the type to jokingly pick a fight with your u t e r u s ( you read that right ), yelling things like: “how dare you hurt my girl?! square up, you coward!” it’s dumb, but it works.

"ryu, stop yelling at my uterus—"

"not until it apologizes."

"you’re so stupid."

"but you’re laughing, so i win."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ itoshi sae

sae is quietly attentive. he doesn’t say much, but he notices everything—like the way you hold your stomach or wince when you move. suddenly, you’ve got a hot water bottle and your favorite drink in your hand, no explanation needed.

he’ll sit with you in comfortable silence, scrolling on his phone until you’re ready to talk. it’s subtle, but you feel so cared for.

"sae, you didn’t have to get all this—"

"you’re in pain. of course i did."

"…thanks."

"don’t mention it."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ michael kaiser

kaiser is so dramatic about it. the second you tell him, he’s like, “mein gott, my poor love! what can i do?!” he acts like you're about to be taken from him.

but honestly? he’s surprisingly good at making you laugh and keeping your spirits up. he’ll even let you boss him around for the day.

"michael, stop being so dramatic—"

"i can’t help it! your pain is my pain!"

"you’re ridiculous."

"and you love me for it."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ alexis ness

ness is the sweetest little bean. he immediately offers to make you tea and snuggle on the couch with your favorite blanket. he’s like a human heater—so warm and comforting.

he also sends you texts like, “you’re doing amazing, sweetheart 💖 cramps don’t stand a chance against you!” pure angel.

"ness, you’re being so extra—"

"only because you deserve it!"

"you’re such a dork."

"your dork 🥰."

© txrully

copy/translate/plagiarize/repost my works in any way and i will be under your bed 🥰

likes + reblogs always appreciated <3

[regthomas1728]

Bare with me, I’m gonna actually try writing…(written on my phone, sorry for mistakes)

***

Your humble sandwich shack was recently upgraded to a small hovel. You now do specialized drinks and sandwiches.

Of course, you also had to get better insurance when you moved into the rent to own two story building in the city.

Not just any insurance! You needed insurance to cover hero and villain damage. You live in the city that birthed the greatest heroes and deadliest villains. While the chance of being murdered is extremely low, the chances of losing a house or building due to the fights were incredibly high.

High enough, insurance companies decided to make a pretty penny on all the people of the city.

You owned a small business that was rapidly gaining popularity. To keep up with demand, you decided to capitalize on the idea of heroes and villains. You began catering to tourists and eventually became one of the reason people visited the big city.

You began naming items on your list after heroes. Sandwiches and drinks alike had catchy names such as “Spexpresso” in reference to the fastest hero and the fastest acting coffee any coffee addicts have had or the brisket sandwich called “Smoked Pixet” named after the fairy hero named Pixie.

You thought it was funny, some of the customers thought it was creative, but the real fun came in the drawn cartoons merging the heroes with their respective menu item.

You bought a couple tv’s to showcase any submitted art and attention for your sandwich joint grew.

It wasn’t until the second hero stopped in, in their hero getup, and ordered their sandwich that you realized you were at the top.

Hey! The first one might have been a fluke or an accident.

Maybe you fumbled over your words but everyone was star struck.

“Good sandwich, I’ll have to get Euro in to try the gyro.” The hero chuckled on his way out, taking another big bite of his sandwich.

The customers and you let out a big sigh—you hadn’t even realize you were holding your breath—and then the little caf filled with laughter. It didn’t die down for a week—your caf was expanding and it took so much out of you until you hired three more people. All three workers were college students and you hired them within two weeks of the second heroes visit.

A few months later, your menu had changed greatly as new heroes wanted a spot on the menu and heroes already on the menu wanted to change certain ingredients.

You catered to a fee and stood your ground with most. The heroes respected you more for that as did the customers. You still made their sandwiches the way they preferred when they came in.

It was crazy for you to think about. You knew the orders of some of the most popular heroes and they came at regular intervals to get their lunch or dinner.

Marketing heard about your setup and chose to setup times where heroes would take photos with fans. You were gaining publicity and hero agencies were jumping on the band wagon.

You politely declined interviews or let your employees sub in. You weren’t someone who liked to be on camera and even the smooth talking lava rock hero couldn’t make you budge.

He did enjoy the spicy sandwich you made in his honor.

After all the humbug settled, you found a steady rhythm. But, all good things must come to an end.

After closing shop at 10:00pm, you were on your way to the car when you heard a voice call out to you from across the lot.

You turned at the sound, startled and trying to remain calm. Just because murders didn’t happen often didn’t mean they never happened. You were desperate not to be in the three percent.

“Why haven’t you made sandwiches for villains?”

“What?”

“Villains eat to, ya know?”

Not that you hadn’t thought of it but you didn’t think it’s go over very well. Not with heroes frequenting your place.

“I’m not too sure that’s a good idea. I don’t need heroes and villains fighting at my restaurant. I have insurance but it could never be that good.”

The man stepped out of the shadows and you realized you just told the most wanted villain no.

“Work on those sandwiches and I’ll work on a compromise.”

“You sure? I could just make you a sandwich under the table…? You could stop out back and grab it to go?”

The villain, covered in shadows and red (was that blood?), shook his head and took a step back.

“No. Put our sandwiches on the menu after a weeks time.”

“It’ll take longer than that to establish a villains menu and a good advertising strategy.”

“Well…I’ll have the hero and villain compromise figured out by then. The timeline isn’t up to you. I look forward to your work.”

“You’re not going to kill me if you don’t like the sandwich, are you?”

With shadows covering his exit, all you heard was an evil laugh that reminded you despite his absurd request, he was still a villain who made up one or two percent of the kills in the city over the last ten years. Okay…maybe not that many but you knew it was a lot! You just didn’t know ALL the statistics regarding heroes and villains.

While a normal person may have brought the conversation up to one of the many visiting heroes or maybe called the police, you brought out your folder of dreams and got to work on sandwich ideas.

And sure, you told the shadow villain that it would take more than a week to get started on this idea but you may have lied. It would take no time to start the menu—no the real issue was convincing civilians and heroes to accept a few changes.

One of the changes would be making a seasonal menu. Which would not correlate with actual seasons but rather about keeping scores between favorites sandwiches and drinks.

The advertising took some time and planning, you only had a rough outline of what that would look like.

By the end of the week, you were positive you’d be getting another visit from the shadow villain but it wasn’t him who called out to you in a parking lot. It was the number one hero.

“Y/n. I’ve heard a lot about you and your sandwich shop.”

“But you haven’t tried anything? That’s a real shame.” You smiled, turning your key into the car and starting the heat. You sat in the seat with your hands in your pockets and the door open. The hero walked a bit closer but kept a respectable distance.

“I heard you got a visit a week ago from…a mutual acquaintance.”

You frowned, your brow crinkling.

“I think? I think I know who you’re talking about.”

“Do you get so many visits from villains?” There seemed to be genuine concern in the pull of his smile. “He’s requesting your restaurant be made neutral territory. No arrests, no fights.”

“Sounds like an ideal insurance policy.”

The hero grimaced but nodded.

“I’ve agreed. I’m sure it wont be much use but I’ll ask anyway. One, is he pressuring you?”

“Not really. I’ve had the idea in mind for a while.”

“I thought so. So, is there any chance you tell me who he is?”

“I don’t know him. But even if I did, I wouldn’t put myself in the middle of the most powerful villain and every hero and hero agency. I’m powerless not stupid.”

The hero seemed surprised by your response but quickly covered it with a small smile.

“Right. Well, if you need help or if any of the villains try anything, I’d feel a lot better if you had this.”

He took a step forward and held his hands out, dropping a small device in your open palm.

“If you press that button, it’ll call me directly. You don’t have to say anything when it calls—very few people have it and know to only use it in an emergency. I’ll come running.”

“Flying.” You correct lightly with a soft smile.

“Flying.”

Business returned to normal and within a month you were preparing the advertisements and informing your regular customers of the upcoming menu additions and changes.

Heroes were a bit distant at first, not excited about the change, but the number one hero quickly helped with the transition by becoming a regular customer. He visited and chatted with you every Friday.

Villains, on the other hand, were much quicker to visit and test the boundaries set by both heroes and villains.

Just when you’d had enough, the shadow villain you hadn’t seen since the night he proposed the new menu showed up.

“I believe I made myself clear! Neutral territory. No stake outs, only steak cuts!”

That earned a laugh from you, nervous chuckles from civilian patrons, and an earnest smile from a couple heroes.

“I’ll have a conversation with you after your shift. I shouldn’t have had to find out from that snotty number one hero that you were having difficulties with my crew.”

“Don’t you threaten me, Shadows.”

“Shadows?”

“I don’t know your name, sorry.”

“I’m literally the number one villain. I have a reputation that exceeds me. I’m a symbol!”

“Bit egotistical, don’t ya think?”

Luckily, he was in a playful enough mood to see the joke for what it was.

“Perhaps. I’ll take the sandwich you have undoubtedly made after me. I’m surprised I haven’t seen it in the advertisements.”

“I wanted to wait until you had tried it.”

“Naturally. Only you would make a guinea pig of me.”

You took fifteen minutes to make his sandwich and his sidekicks drink. You brought it out, a breath nestled deep in your chest clawing out but unable to until he stamped his approval on the sandwich you made with him in mind.

“How is it?” The number one hero stood directly behind the most wanted villain with a bright smile on his face.

With his mouth full, the villain rearranged it into his cheek to say: “Give me a second to savor it.”

The hero looked down, his hands on his hips as he awaited the answer you were eagerly shaking for. You were jumping with excitement as he took another bite.

“It’s a winner!!” You did a little happy dance and the few people watching cheered with you, grinning almost as madly as you were. Almost.

“Yeah, it’s pretty good. I’ll give you that. I’m not a pickle person, though.”

“I’ll tell you like I’ve told everyone else! That is a damn good sandwich and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna change it because of personal preference.”

The cheers died down, the hero shifted his weight from his front foot to his back, subtly getting in a defensive position.

“Fair enough.”

“I’ll still make you a sandwich without pickles but that’s the one going on the menu. Glad you like it.”

The villain walked out with a small smile that disappeared into the shadows along with him. That grin was the last thing you saw of him.

“I’ve never seen anyone talk to him like that.” The hero spoke with note of admiration and shock, eyebrows nearly to his forehead.

“I won’t back down to anyone.”

“I suppose that’s a good trait to have. Almost gave me a heart attack but, a good trait nevertheless.”

He ordered the same sandwich and complimented you with a wink.

“When do I get a sandwich?”

You own a sandwich shop in the heart of a superhero city. After gaining customers by making sandwiches based on heroes, you decided to try making some based on villains. Today, a villain stopped to review theirs.