#life has genuinely felt exhausting lately | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mononijikayu · 23 days ago

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to you 2,000... or... 20,000 years from now… — ryomen sukuna.

As they stand to leave, his gaze drifts to one of his portraits—a work that captures a moment from another time, another life. In it, the King of Curses sits beside his beloved concubine, her expression full of light and laughter, radiant in a way that suggests an unbreakable bond. Ryomen Sukuna pauses, his hand still entwined with hers, and a rare, gentle smile crosses his face. Looking at the painting, he lets himself hope, just a little. Perhaps, even in a world he once saw as cold and unyielding, there are threads of something beautiful woven into his story. Perhaps, even for someone like him, there could be a happy ending, one he’d never dared to imagine. He leans down and whispers softly, almost as if confessing a secret. “I like to think they found each other again, you know? That somehow… this time, they got to be happy.”

GENRE: alternate universe - reincarnation;

WARNING/S: post canon, future timeline, fluff, possible romance, getting together, mild angst, reincarnation, conflicted feelings, hurt/comfort, dreams and nightmares, distress, grief, feelings, physical touch, character death, moving on, flashback, humor, no curse future au, pining, light-hearted, happy ending, depiction of the future, depiction of reincarnation, depiction of letting go, depiction of flashback, depiction of getting together, depiction of depiction of character death, depiction of distress, depiction of grief, mention of character death, mention of the past, mention of letting go, mention of grief, reincarnated! sukuna, reincarnated concubine! reader;

WORDS: 15k words.

NOTE: this concludes the final part of the main story of the other woman. i'm genuinely grateful for you love and attention towards my story. this was never supposed to be a series, it was supposed to be a one off fic. but because of your love for concubine reader, i was inspired to bring more to her life.

as i promised, this is a happy ending. well, the happy end that i think would suit the story. of course, this is not the end of concubine reader's story. there will be drabbles of sukuna and concubine reader's life that i never managed to put out.

if you have any suggestion or questions about the story, you can drop some words down in the inbox!!! i'm very happy when you ask questions about the story or have suggestions of what you wanna see next!!! please do so everyone!!!

i hope you look forward to them!!! thank you for reading, thank you for your support and love. i'll continue to write for you all!!! i love you <3

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HE DOESN’T KNOW HOW HE’LL GET THROUGH THIS. He’d never felt like this before. What do his other artist friends call it? Oh, that’s right. A slump. An artist’s slump. Yeah, that’s what it’s called. He’s never had that before.

But why should he? Ryomen Sukuna was a protege. He was a stellar artist with a golden hand, one who never stops. The one who works as though he’s running out of time. It’s him.

And yet, at that moment, he wasn’t.

Ryomen Sukuna had a problem.

He was stumped from hell and back.

And he doesn’t understand why.

A loud exhale releases from his mouth as he looks up at all the drying canvas in front of him in the various easels. They’re all beautiful, don’t get him wrong. But they’re all the same.

And that bothers Ryomen Sukuna as he purses his lips in a flat line. His own studio has become a homage to these paintings and sketches as of late. There was nothing else coming out of him. Nothing else was occupying his mind.

In the maze of half-finished canvases and dried paint of his studio, there were only those same eyes staring at him. He could feel it even now under the dim lighting casting long, wavering shadows across each and every tender gaze.

He couldn’t stand up anymore. He’s exhausted. He’s been up since god knows when. Everywhere there was paint. His hands are stained, his shirt splattered with colors that have long since dulled. It’s been weeks.

He doesn't know how to deal with this. How could he, when she finds him in every moment? How easy it was to be that way. He’s stopped keeping track of time, because time means nothing when all he can see, all he can paint, is her.

As of late, it was this that haunted him. It was the same as always. It was this woman with those kind eyes looking back at him. That same tender smile greeting him. That same beauty yearning towards him. Everything about the woman’s face consumes him. Everything that she is continues to follow him like a ghost, over and over.

He can’t even pinpoint when it started. It just started happening out of nowhere. At one point there were normal dreams and soon enough, there were something else.

And as time passed by, there was nothing else left but her. Her beautiful smiling face looking at him. Every single time, she never fails to be warm towards him. As though she could feel him, as though she could see him.

She’s become more than a fixation; she’s an infection, seeping into every corner of his mind, haunting the hours he’s awake as much as those precious few where he drifts into a broken sleep.

She first appeared in his dreams like a fleeting whisper, but her image has grown, intensifying with each passing night, filling his dreams with a crescendo of color and dread. And over and over, it was repeating.

Like a piano key stuck on the board, playing over and over that same repetitive note. And yet, it was still lovely. It was still tender. And then suddenly, it wasn’t. That was the worst part of it all, he thinks. He captures the beauty of her and then suddenly, it just disappears. It goes. Almost like smoke.

The dream is always the same every night. At first it was terrifying to him. He’d never seen anything like her before. He’d never seen what happened to her before, not to anyone. Not ever. But with her, it repeats.

That nightmare continues over and over again. And he hated it. He hated how he has memorized it. He has hated how it was all he could see over and over again. He hated how this was the fate that such a beautiful, kind woman had to meet.

That beautiful lady, she would stand there and smile at him. Often, she stands at the edge of a crumbling cliff, the ocean roiling and dark beneath her, waves crashing against jagged rocks far below.

She turns, her eyes fixed on him, lips curling into a smile that might be tender, might be mocking, it shifts each time, eluding any attempt to decipher it.

She extends a hand, beckoning, imploring him to come closer. His heart races, his feet propel him forward, but just as he reaches for her, she slips, and he’s left grasping at nothing but empty air.

Again and again, he tries to save her. Again and again, she falls.

The dream wakes him in a cold sweat, heart pounding, breath shallow. He stumbles to his studio, and without thinking, he begins to paint. Her face materializes with each stroke, her eyes holding secrets he can’t unlock.

Her smile flickering with a mystery that tightens his chest. He paints her until his fingers go numb, until his eyes blur from exhaustion. He paints her even when he’s on the verge of madness. And he hates it—hates her—but he’s powerless to stop.

The people around him have noticed the shift, though they don’t understand it. They speak of his new works with reverence, captivated by the haunting beauty of the unknown woman he’s made famous.

But they don’t see the toll she takes on him. They don’t see the shadow of sleeplessness etched into his face, the dark circles under his eyes, the wild desperation lurking just beneath his cool exterior.

Every time he tries to paint something else. Absolutely anything else, it does not work. Not anymore. He would feel his hands freeze, his mind goes blank, and all he can see is her smile.

She’s everywhere, a ghost in his waking hours, her gaze piercing through every wall he builds to keep her out. The thrill of creation is gone; all that remains is the raw compulsion to recreate her face, an act that feels more like exorcism than art.

Ryomen Sukuna slumps back into his chair, eyes trained on the painting before him, hands limp and smeared with shades of red and soft violet. Her face, the delicate arch of her brows, the smirk teasing at her lips. All of it stares back at him, alive, taunting.

It’s as though she’s watching him, laughing softly at his obsession, fully aware of the hold she has over him. The painted eyes seem to flicker, and in his exhaustion, Sukuna wonders if he’s the one painting her, or if she’s the one reaching through the canvas, carving her image into his mind with a precision that leaves him helpless.

“Damn it. This is so annoying.” he mutters, his voice echoing hollowly in the quiet room. He reaches for his brush, the movement automatic, but his hand falters, dropping it back onto the table as he releases a frustrated sigh.

The curse feels weak, a pitiful attempt to regain some control, but he knows it’s useless. She’s an endless riddle, one he’s compelled to solve yet doomed to never fully understand.

No matter how many times he paints her, he can’t capture her—not completely. The harder he tries, the more elusive she becomes, as though she’s slipping through his fingers, mocking his every attempt.

He sits there, shoulders slouched, the steady tick of the clock filling the empty space around him. Hours blur into each other, and yet he can’t bring himself to look away, his gaze locked on her face, that faint smile hinting at secrets she will never share.

And then, just as the clock strikes midnight, he hears it. That tender voice giving him grief. That warm voice turning him cold. That voice echoed that whisper, soft as a breeze, calling his name.

“My lord…..my lord Sukuna.”

He closes his eyes, the sound reverberating through him, familiar and yet so distant. She’s there, in his mind, like an echo carried across lifetimes, the warmth of her voice stirring something deep inside.

He knows it’s a dream, an illusion conjured by his own obsession, but he doesn’t care. For a brief moment, he lets himself lean into it, lets her voice wash over him like a balm.

“My lord, my beloved lord Sukuna…” Her voice is softer this time, coaxing, filled with a strange tenderness that he’s certain only exists in his imagination. He can almost feel her fingers trailing along his cheek, the faintest touch, leaving warmth in their wake.

“What do you want from me?” he murmurs, his voice a weary plea, barely audible, as if afraid to break the fragile spell she’s cast over him. “You’re there every night, haunting me, making me see you even when I close my eyes. But what do you want?”

In his mind, her laughter echoes, soft and familiar, as if she’s toying with him. “You know what I want, my lord Sukuna. You’ve always known.”

He clenches his fists, frustration simmering beneath his skin. “Then tell me, damn it. Tell me what I need to do to set you free.”

“Set me free?” she repeats, and there’s a hint of amusement in her voice, as if the very idea amuses her. “Oh, my lord Sukuna… it’s not me who needs freeing.”

His breath hitches, her words cutting through him like a blade. The realization settles over him like a heavy weight, and he knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that she’s right.

She isn’t the one trapped here—he is. Bound by his own memories, his own regrets, unable to let go of the past that has woven her image into every part of him.

He opens his eyes, staring at the canvas again, her face seeming to shift. It was almost ever so easy for her to taunt him like that, to tease him. Everything about her gave him that feeling that overwhelms him. Feelings that he's never felt in his entire life.

He could feel her eyes glinting with a knowing look that sends a shiver down his spine. He reaches for the brush, hand trembling as he adds another stroke, trying to bring her into focus, to finally capture the essence of her that has haunted him. But no matter what he does, he can’t reach her, can’t grasp the fleeting vision that seems to dance just beyond his reach.

“I’ll keep painting you. I swear.” he whispers, his voice raw, laced with something close to desperation. “Every night, every dream, until you’re satisfied. Until you let me go.”

But he knows, even as the words leave his lips, that she won’t; she’ll never truly leave. She’ll linger there, a silent muse, a relentless force guiding his hand, embedding herself deeper with every brushstroke.

And he, trapped in this beautiful, maddening cycle, will keep painting her face, night after night, each canvas only revealing a fragment of her and yet never enough.

The clock ticks on, marking the hours that slip away in her wake, but he’s long since stopped noticing. She’s there, in every line, every shadow, every flicker of light on the canvas.

She’s his prison, his muse, his madness—and he knows, even as he tries to break free, that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

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BY THIS POINT, HE WOULD HAVE BEEN FINISHED WITH HIS COLLECTION. Usually, Ryomen Sukuna finishes his pieces weeks ahead, leaving everyone else; especially Gojo Satoru—scrambling to catch up. Well, perhaps because he usually doesn’t work until he stops messing about.

Still, the rivalry is a running joke among their peers. Gojo Satoru would tease him endlessly, his voice loud and mocking. “The world might as well end if you didn’t finish first, Ryomen Sukuna. I’d have to check if hell froze over.”

Gojo Satoru would say with that infuriating grin, and Sukuna would just roll his scarlet eyes, barely dignifying it with a response. He didn’t need to—he’d simply outdo him, his work claiming the prime spot at the National Gallery, cycle after cycle. That’s just how it works for them.

But now, as the days tick by and his canvas remains trapped in this maddening loop, the weight of that old joke feels heavier. Maybe it would be better if the world did end, he muses grimly, his frustration boiling under the surface. Each day that he fails to paint anything else, fails to break free from this woman’s image—drains him.

Every line, every shadow, every detail is etched with painstaking care, and yet each piece feels incomplete. He lets out a heavy sigh, his eyes narrowing as he looks once more at the canvas, the same haunting face staring back.

Another artist would leave the piece for a day, perhaps even a week, and come back with fresh eyes. But not Sukuna. He’s stubborn, relentless. Yet this time, it feels as though he’s been bested, and that thought is infuriating.

A soft knock sounds at the studio door, but he doesn’t respond. The door creaks open, and he doesn’t need to look up to know who it is—he can practically feel Gojo Satoru’s grin from across the room. This was a rare visit from his rival and somewhat friend. But, he already regrets giving him his address.

“Not done yet?” Gojo drawls, strolling in with a lazy confidence, hands shoved into his pockets. “Well, this must be it—the end of the world. Should I start making apocalypse preparations?”

“Leave, Satoru.” Sukuna mutters, his voice a low growl. But Gojo just chuckles, unperturbed.

“Can’t. I live wayyyyyy tooo far. Besides, I came all this way to see the fall of the great Ryomen Sukuna. And boy, is it a sight.” Gojo steps closer, his gaze shifting to the canvas. “Her again, huh? Your mystery woman? I thought you were done with her!”

Sukuna’s jaw tightens. “Say another word, and you’ll be painting with your own blood.”

Gojo just laughs, crossing his arms as he leans back against the wall. “Fine, fine. But it’s… interesting, don’t you think? You, stuck on the same image, over and over. And all of this because of one woman.”

Sukuna can feel his patience fraying, each word from Gojo Satoru like sandpaper on a wound that refuses to heal. But Gojo doesn’t stop, his tone shifting from mocking to genuinely curious. It’s already giving him a headache.

“So, bestie……” he says, a glint in his bright blue eyes. “Who is she? A muse? Some long-lost love? Because whatever it is, you’re about to drive yourself mad over her.”

“She’s nothing.” Sukuna says sharply, but the words lack conviction. He doesn’t want to dive into it. Especially for Gojo Satoru. He’d only try to make it all a joke and laugh about it. “Just a woman. Just a damn face that refuses to disappear.”

Gojo Satoru couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow. “Nothing? Could’ve fooled me, seeing as she’s all you’ve painted for weeks. Either she’s ‘just a woman,’ or she’s haunting you.”

Sukuna clenches his fists, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I can’t… get her out of my head, no matter how many times I try. It’s like she’s taunting me. Every stroke feels like a chase, and I can’t catch her.”

For once, Gojo’s grin fades, a shadow of understanding passing over his face. “So that’s it, huh? You’ve finally found a challenge you can’t conquer. Even after all these years.”

Sukuna scowls, eyes narrowing. “It’s not a challenge. It’s… more than that.” His voice trails off as he glances at the painting, his expression a mixture of longing and frustration.

“Then stop,” Gojo says bluntly. “If she’s driving you insane, stop trying to capture her. Paint something else. Anything else. Get back to your work, to the craft that’s kept you sane all this time.”

But Sukuna only shakes his head, his gaze fixed on the canvas. “It’s not that simple, Satoru. I can’t stop. I need to understand… Why is she here? Why does she keep coming back to me?”

Gojo sighs, running a hand through his bright snow colored hair, clearly torn between amusement and pity. “Well, I can’t say I envy you. But maybe you should try looking beyond the canvas, for once.”

Sukuna scoffs, though a hint of doubt creeps into his expression. “You think there’s anything outside this room that could give me answers?”

Gojo shrugs. “Who knows? Sometimes the answers we need are the ones we’re not looking for. But if this is what’s keeping you chained…” he nods towards the door, his voice lowering, “then maybe it’s time to find out why.”

Ryomen Sukuna says nothing, his gaze flicking between Gojo and the woman’s face on the canvas. And as Gojo slips out the door with a knowing smile, Sukuna feels the weight of his words lingering, as if daring him to break free of the chains he’s crafted for himself.

Gojo Satoru stayed in his studio for a while; the entire time his head hurt. But he couldn’t help admitting that his frustration was put on hold and that he was grateful for it. Annoying as he was, it was better than suffering what he had been suffering with the woman that haunts him.

But when Gojo Satoru leaves, he finds himself unable to leave either. From the night before, he hadn’t really found himself to sleep. But if he was still being honest, he really doesn’t think he made any progress from the ones he had already made that he feels happy about.

Well, except perhaps three more additions to his deluded dreams of this woman. He couldn’t stop with that. That was not something he could enjoy. It didn’t look good. He didn’t think it was the best he had ever done. He looks at his canvas again and squints his eyes. It was as though he was hoping that he had painted something else. But he knew he hadn’t. There was no need to double check.

Okay, well, he should be more honest — it’s four now. This is the fourth one. The fourth one for a while and it’s only past lunch time the next day. Wait, is it really lunch time? He looked around again and saw his clock. His mouth agape in shock. It’s already been a whole day? It’s already the blue hour? What the actual fuck is going on?

He groans as he puts down his paintbrush and covers his face with his hands. A loud groan echoes against his skin, reflecting that bitterness he feels. He was going mad, he’s genuinely sure that he’s really going mad. This time for real. The world is ending and he’s going mad.

Once more, Ryomen Sukuna sits slumped in his studio chair, the dim, cold light from the nearby cityscape casting a pallor over his face. How can this be possible? He's rubbing his temples, staring at yet another drying and yet truly unfinished portrait of her when a familiar voice cuts through his brooding. Ryomen Sukuna turned his back and turned it back once more, just as quickly.

Fuck, its Uraume.

Shit, shit. Is it already that time?

He hasn’t messaged them for two days.

How the fuck is he going to survive—

“Sukuna–san, you have the exhibition in two weeks, you know that!” Uraume reminds him, waking over with their tone both gentle and insistent. They’re standing at the edge of the cluttered studio, arms crossed, their eyes flicking between Sukuna and the growing stack of canvases lining the walls. “Everyone’s expecting new work, Sukuna–san. You can’t just say you aren’t producing anything when this is—”

He cuts them off with a frustrated wave of his hand, as if trying to dismiss both them and the exhibition out of his mind. “I know, I know, Uraume–san. You already know that I know. Don’t you think I know? I just…… What’s the point of even going here? It’s not…it’s not finished—nothing is complete.”

“That’s not what you’re supposed to be telling me—”

“I know, I know.” His voice trails off, heavy with exhaustion. He looks at the half-finished canvas before him, her familiar eyes staring back, mocking him. “Look, I need time. Okay? Just a little more time to get over it. I promise. It will be done soon.”

Uraume steps carefully, sidestepping the mess of brushes, scattered paint, and half-finished canvases that litter the studio floor. Their usual calm is tinged with a hint of bewilderment, their brows furrowing as they glance over at Ryomen Sukuna, who sits slouched in his chair, staring blankly at the portrait before him.

This is the first time they’ve seen him like this—so unfocused, so… lost. It’s unnerving. For as long as they’ve known him, Sukuna was always in control, his power and his confidence absolute. Nothing stumped him; nothing could shake him from his single-minded determination.

And yet, here he is, surrounded by portraits of a woman they’ve never met, trapped in a spiral of obsession that they don’t understand.

“Get over what, exactly?” Uraume asks, a soft but firm edge to their voice, breaking the silence that has grown heavy in the room. “The exhibition is practically sold out already. You are the star of this show—you know that.”

They hesitate, crossing their arms as they study his profile. “If you let yourself slip now, you’re going to lose everything. They expect something… groundbreaking, something other than…”

Their voice trails off as they catch sight of another painting, and then another; all of them of her. Each one shows a different expression, a different tilt of her head, a different light in her eyes, but always the same haunting face. Uraume’s gaze lingers on the latest painting, her smirk, subtle yet all-consuming, as if she’s daring anyone who looks at her to understand.

They shake their heads slowly, exhaling in frustration. “This obsession of yours…” They struggle for the right words, their gaze hardening as they glance back at him. “I don’t understand it. Who is she? And why are you letting her control you like this?”

Sukuna looks up, his expression weary, but there’s a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes, a glint that only appears when he’s truly challenged. “You wouldn’t understand, Uraume–san.” he mutters, his voice low, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “No one would. Not unless you felt what she did to me.”

Uraume raises a brow, taken aback. This isn’t like him—this vulnerability, this almost painful honesty. They’ve seen Sukuna bring cities to their knees, watched him command fear and respect with the simplest look, but now? Now, he looks more like a man haunted than a man in control.

“Then tell me, Sukuna–san.” Uraume says, their voice softening slightly, more curious than before. “What is it about her? Why does she matter so much?”

He leans back, a bitter smile crossing his lips. “It’s like… no matter how many times I paint her, she’s always out of reach, Uraume–san.” he says, his eyes flicking to the painting in front of him, the smirk that never changes. “Every stroke, every color—it’s as if she’s taunting me, daring me to try again, knowing I’ll never capture her.”

There’s a pause, the weight of his words settling between them, thick and tangible. Uraume takes a step back, their expression wavering. They’re used to seeing Sukuna drive toward a goal with relentless force, breaking anything that stands in his way. But this? This is something else. Something they can’t touch.

“Is she worth all this?” Uraume asks, more gently than they intended. “Worth losing your edge, your control?” They gesture to the canvases around them. “If she’s haunting you this much, perhaps it’s time to let her go.”

A dark laugh escapes Sukuna, low and humorless. “Let her go?” he repeats, his gaze still fixed on the painting. “I’ve tried, Uraume–san. But she’s there, every time I close my eyes. And I can’t…” He stops himself, the words caught in his throat. “She won’t let me go.”

Uraume watches him, feeling a pang of something they can’t quite name—pity, perhaps, or fear for what this fixation could mean for him. They take a step forward, daring to place a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re stronger than this, Sukuna–san.” they say softly, but firmly. “Whatever hold she has over you, it doesn’t control you. You’re the one in charge here, remember?”

For a moment, Sukuna seems to consider their words, a flicker of clarity in his eyes. But then he glances back at the canvas, at her knowing smile, and his face hardens, as if he’s resigned to the fact that he’s already lost.

“I thought so too, Uraume–san.” he murmurs, barely loud enough for Uraume to hear. “But I’m beginning to wonder… maybe she’s the one painting me.”

Uraume watches him in silence, feeling the cold truth of his words settle between them. They realize, in that moment, that they may be witnessing the unraveling of the man they thought was unbreakable. And for the first time, they wonder if he can even escape from the shadows of his own creation.

Sukuna follows their gaze, feeling a surge of irritation and helplessness. “It’s not that simple, Uraume–san. God, it’s just….” he mutters, running a hand through his messy fuschia hair, which is starting to look as unruly as he feels.

“She’s—she’s everywhere to me. And maybe that’s why she’s always here. Every time I try to start something else, there she is. Like a bad dream I can’t wake up from.”

He glances at Uraume, searching their face for some flicker of understanding. “Don’t you get it? I need to work through this. You can’t just snap your fingers and make it go away. If I had magic, it would have been fine, but I just….”

“Then maybe make her part of it.” Uraume replies, unphased by his frustration. “People will want to see this obsession—whatever it is. But they won’t be satisfied with half-finished canvases of the same face over and over.”

He stands up abruptly, pacing, as if movement will shake off the weight pressing down on him. “It’s not an obsession,” he says, though the words sound hollow, even to him. “I just need… time. To figure this out. To move past her.”

Uraume watches him with a calm patience that only irritates him further. “You’ve had time, Sukuna-san. And every day, I’ve watched you do nothing but chase shadows.” They gesture to the rows of unfinished canvases, the dozens of faces that all share her haunting expression.

“Maybe you don’t need to get past her. Maybe you need to go deeper, to figure out what she’s trying to tell you.”

Sukuna clenches his jaw, feeling the heat rise in his chest. He hates that Uraume, of all people, might be right. But how could he go deeper when she’s already consuming him? They should know that this is not what he needs right now. He needs support about this trying situation. He needs kindness about this. He needs—

He turns his eyes slightly and soon enough, they land on the first portrait he’s drawn of her. It was rough around the edges, it was true. But he was trying really hard to capture what he had found in her. He thought he would never see her again. That first time, it was all too interesting. Because he thought he would never see her again. And her smile would have been everything even that one time.

That once would have been enough, it would have fulfilled him whole enough. That one portrait, that first one — it would have been enough for Ryomen Sukuna to feel like someone was always going to look at him kindly.

That someone would always look at him with such tender eyes. He purses his lips in a line. Here she was. Once again, staring into his soul. Frozen in time. Looking towards him as though he was the world. As though life can only be known through looking at him. He gulped.

“I’ll figure it out, don’t worry.” he says finally, forcing his voice to steady. “Just… let me handle it my way.”

Uraume sighs, a long, exasperated sound. “Fine. But remember, Sukuna–san, time waits for no one. Especially not for you.”

And with that, they turn, leaving him alone once more in his dimly lit prison, with nothing but her face and the ticking of the clock to keep him company. Ryomen Sukuna could not move anymore for a while. He couldn’t. Not when you were looking at him like that.

The echoes of the night pangs into the slumber of the bright starry sky, and the silence in Ryomen Sukuna’s studio is absolute, broken only by the occasional soft creak of his chair or the quiet scratch of his brush against the canvas. And he despises it. Usually, he would be happy about that. It helps him focus on his work.

Yet, he’s almost afraid to move or make more noise or appease the silence with his enjoyment. Ryomen Sukuna was afraid that if he does, he’ll break the spell that’s settled over him, the fragile connection that’s come alive between him and her.

This ghostly woman, this chasing woman who has rooted herself so deeply in his psyche. He knows she’s not real, and yet every inch of him feels as if she’s in the room with him, closer than a shadow, more vivid than any memory.

The woman on the canvas feels different this time. He’s pushed past the limits of his frustration and reached a depth of expression that feels raw, unnerving. Her face, no longer a series of lifeless shapes and colors, seems to breathe on the canvas.

Her smile is softer now, her eyes almost… knowing. But the knowing isn’t comforting; it unsettles him, strikes some primal nerve deep inside. He steps back, shaking his head as if to clear it, to dispel the irrational thought that she’s looking back at him with intent, with purpose.

But even standing back, even half-closing his eyes, he can’t unsee her. She seems more real than ever before, like he’s peeled away another layer, only to find her hiding deeper within. He feels his heart beat faster, a slow wave of dread creeping into his veins. How can a face he created himself feel so alive? So sentient?

He backs away from the canvas, his hands covered in paint, feeling a chill settle over him. He’s been pushing himself to exhaustion these past few weeks, painting her in every possible way, but this—this feels different, like he’s crossed an invisible line. For the first time, the compulsion to paint her is laced with fear.

Still, he can’t look away. Her presence fills the room, and he feels the weight of it like a physical force. His eyes roam over her face: the faint shadows around her eyes, the suggestion of pain hidden in the tilt of her lips, the look of sorrow mingling with defiance. Each detail tells a story he’s not sure he wants to know, yet he’s desperate to understand it.

Uraume’s words echo in his mind again: Maybe you don’t need to get past her. Maybe you need to go deeper, to figure out what she’s trying to tell you.

He shudders, the thought reverberating through him. What if this woman, this apparition, isn’t just an accident of his imagination? What if she’s here for a reason, some purpose he’s been too afraid to uncover?

He recalls the dreams—the cliff, the ocean raging below, the way she extends her hand to him with that haunting smile, beckoning him forward only to disappear again and again. It’s always the same. He can’t save her, but he can’t let her go.

He’s always believed that his art comes from somewhere deep within him, from emotions he doesn’t fully understand, from memories he can’t articulate. But this feels different to him. He had never dealt with this before.

It was almost as if it’s coming from outside of him, as though she’s reaching through the boundary of his mind, using his hands as a conduit. He lets out a shaky breath, clutching the paint-stained edge of his workbench. Is this woman, this image, an echo from his past? A ghost? Or something darker, something he’s unlocked without meaning to?

The thought stirs something in him, a strange, unexplainable pull to keep going, to lose himself in this process of bringing her fully to life. He walks back to the canvas, hand trembling as he picks up his brush once more.

This time, he paints her hand, reaching out, as if extending toward him. The fingers are delicate, almost ghostly, and he layers shadows beneath them, giving them depth, weight. He works until the details blur, until his vision is smeared with exhaustion.

He steps back again, chest tight. Her hand stretches toward him now, inviting him, her fingers just a breath away. The air in the room feels thick, electric, as if she’s drawing him closer, beckoning him to cross some unseen line. He reaches out instinctively, the tips of his fingers barely brushing the canvas.

In that instant, a shiver courses through him, the chill going bone-deep. He feels his hand pull back, but it’s as if something is holding it there, holding him in place. His heart races. He hears the ticking of the clock, each tick louder, more insistent. The woman on the canvas seems closer now, her eyes sharper, more alive, her expression shifting as though she’s on the edge of speaking.

He tears his hand away, stumbling backward, the sudden movement jarring him back to himself. His studio comes into focus, the familiar mess of paint and brushes scattered around, the quiet hum of the city outside. But she’s still there, her face on the canvas, watching him with that faint, knowing smile.

His heart still pounding, he grabs his coat and stumbles out of the studio, leaving her behind, feeling her gaze burning into his back even as he shuts the door. The air outside is cold, crisp, and he gulps it down, trying to shake off the feeling that he’s walked out of a nightmare he can’t wake from.

But even as he steps into the city streets, even as the lights and the noise surround him, he can still see her in his mind, as clearly as if she were standing beside him.

And he knows, with a strange certainty, that no matter how far he runs, she’ll be waiting for him, waiting in the studio, in his dreams, until he finally dares to confront whatever truth she holds.

══════════════════

HE REALLY CAN’T HELP IT. Ryomen Sukuna’s heart hammers in his chest, louder than the muffled hum of voices in the museum, louder than the memories raging through his mind. He stands frozen, his scarlet eyes locked onto her.

This was the woman from his dreams, the face he painted until his hands went numb, until his sanity frayed. The woman he has known is like the back of his hand. She’s here, in the flesh, not on a canvas or a hazy memory, but real, close enough to reach out and touch. And yet, at this moment, she feels farther away than ever.

The woman doesn’t notice him. Of course she wouldn’t have. Why would she? He doesn’t expect her to know what he’s feeling now. She’s oblivious to the storm her presence has unleashed in his chest, the way his pulse spikes as he watches her, every nerve in his body caught between reaching for her and running away.

She’s gazing intently at the displays, her head tilting thoughtfully as she studies each artifact, and with each subtle movement, she reminds him achingly of her—of the woman he’d known in that past life, his concubine, the one he’d lost so long ago. She has that same air of quiet intensity, that gentle focus, the same soft curiosity he remembers.

And then she steps closer to the display holding the hairpin. That hairpin—the one he’d given to his concubine as a symbol of the promise he couldn’t keep, the one she had treasured even on the darkest nights, when the weight of their hidden love had pressed heavy upon them both. The hairpin he’d clasped in her hair before she was taken from him.

The sight of it had been a punch to the gut even before he saw her. But now, watching this woman—a stranger, yet painfully familiar—reach out as though to touch the glass, Sukuna feels something crack open inside him, a wound he’d buried lifetimes ago tearing fresh and raw.

She lifts her hand, her fingers hovering near the glass, her eyes lingering on the hairpin with a look he recognizes—sadness, longing, nostalgia she can’t possibly understand.

Her face is calm, her expression serene, but he knows that look, knows that feeling. Does she feel it too? Does she feel the echo of something lost, something distant yet so deeply embedded in her soul?

His own hand trembles at his side. He wants to go to her, to pull her aside, to demand to know if she remembers, if somewhere in her heart she feels that same aching void he’s carried for centuries. But the reality sinks in, cold and unyielding: to her, he’s a stranger.

She has no idea who he is. She doesn’t remember their stolen moments under moonlight, their whispered vows, the quiet, forbidden love that had bound them tighter than any promise. She doesn’t remember his face, doesn’t know the agony he’s endured, living each lifetime haunted by her ghost, painting her face in the desperate hope it might bring her back.

And yet, the hairpin calls to her. He watches her, rooted to the spot, as she studies it with a reverence she can’t name, can’t explain, an inexplicable connection to something lost to time. He can almost see the weight of her past life hovering over her like a shadow she doesn’t even know is there.

Sukuna’s fingers twitch, aching to touch her, to break this unbearable silence and tell her everything: that he’s waited lifetimes for her, that he’s dreamed of her every night, that every stroke of his brush was a desperate attempt to remember her, to reach her, to feel even an echo of what they once had. But how could he explain that? How could he unload centuries of grief, of longing, on her shoulders, when she doesn’t even know his name?

She turns, moving slowly to the next display. But for a single heartbeat, her gaze drifts in his direction. Their eyes meet, and in that split second, the air thickens, everything around him falling away. Her eyes—those same eyes, dark and deep, full of questions and secrets—fix on him, and he feels the weight of their shared history settle like a heavy cloak over them both.

He watches as something flickers in her gaze, an almost imperceptible flash of recognition. She blinks, and it’s gone, but he clings to it, desperate. Did she feel it, even if only for a moment? Did she feel the weight of a life before, a life they shared, a love they lost?

But she turns away, her brows furrowing slightly, as if shaking off a strange thought, and the moment shatters, leaving him stranded in a sea of regret and unspoken words. She disappears around the corner, her silhouette swallowed by the shadows of the exhibit.

A bitter pang cuts through him, deeper than anything he’s felt in centuries. She’s here, alive, within his reach, and yet she’s still lost to him. He’s still haunted by the echo of her smile, the shadow of her memory, the woman he could never save.

Slowly, Ryomen Sukuna forces himself to step away, his gaze lingering on the hairpin. He clenches his fists, feeling the familiar sting of regret, of promises broken, of lives tangled and torn apart.

He’d thought he was prepared to face her, though he could handle the pain that would come with seeing her again. But the reality is raw and relentless, tearing open old wounds he thought were healed.

In that moment, he was the only one who knew the truth: he’ll always be trapped in this cycle, drawn to her only to watch her slip away. No matter how many times he finds her, she’ll always be just out of reach, a dream he can never wake from.

Ryomen Sukuna’s heart nearly stops when he feels a soft hand on his arm, drawing him back to the present. His present. In front of this woman, this woman who haunted him with everything and anything in him.

“Are you… okay?” the woman asks, her voice gentle, her eyes warm with concern.

He’s stunned, his breath catching as he looks down at her, the stranger with the face he’s known all too well, the stranger who feels like a ghost comes to life. But he forces himself to gather his thoughts, to act like this is a normal interaction with a stranger, even though every nerve in his body feels charged with recognition.

“Ah… yes, I’m….I’m good.” he finally says, his voice rough but steady. “I just find the gallery… interesting.” The words feel absurdly inadequate, but it’s the only thing he can manage.

A small smile breaks over her lips, and the sight of it sends a sharp pang through him. It’s so familiar, so achingly familiar, that he has to clench his fists to keep himself grounded. She glances around the exhibit, her expression softening with a hint of pride.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it, stranger.” she says. “It was… hard to tell the story. To do it justice, I mean.” Her gaze returns to his, warm and inviting. “I’m a Mikoto, by the way. A descendant of Hiromi.”

He feels his heart stop at the name, and it takes him a beat to respond. “Ryomen… Ryomen Sukuna, that’s my name.” he says, his voice catching slightly as he introduces himself.

He could only watch as her eyes widened in surprise, and she studied him, the weight of recognition glinting faintly in her gaze, though she didn't seem to realize its true depth. She probably did not expect him to have that name, that exact name, also.

“A descendant of Hiromi, too?” she asks with a soft laugh, her expression open, friendly. When he doesn’t answer, she shakes her head with a lighthearted smile. “It’s okay. The family’s too big for everyone to know where they come from anyway.”

He nods stiffly, a bit overwhelmed, struggling to keep his composure as memories flicker before him. There’s so much he wants to say, so much he aches to tell her, but he swallows it all down, letting the silence sit between them, as heavy as it is fragile.

Then, gathering his nerve, he glances at her. “Can I… can I ask you something about the exhibit? About Ryomen Sukuna?”

She tilts her head, curious. “Of course, you can.” she says. “But fair warning—it’s going to be a long story. A sad story.”

He meets her gaze, and in that moment, he sees a flicker of recognition in her eyes, something deep and familiar that calls to him. He nods. “That’s okay.” he says softly. “I think I need to hear it.”

She studies him a moment, as if trying to understand his need to know. Judging from her own reaction, it's a difficult story to even try and tell. But he was curious. Perhaps for the first time in his life, he wanted to know so badly.

He wanted to know more than anything how these two people lived. How she lived, that woman in his dreams — the woman right in front of him. He looks at her tenderly, curiously. And she nods, a quiet understanding in her expression.

“Ryomen Sukuna… and his concubine. Their stories are really not easy. Nor is her own. His concubine’s story is difficult. She led a long, sad life. They were together for a long time, longer than Sukuna and Hiromi were wed.” Her eyes lowered, the sight gleaming with sorrow as she touched the glass, trying to reach for the hairpin.

“She was devoted to him, in all the ways that one could describe devotion. And yet….she suffered under him… Quite a lot, if we’re to be honest. She gave him a son and she lost him and his indifference at times, it broke her.” She hesitates, glancing at him before continuing. “Though in his own way, he loved her. But well, was it enough? We cannot truly tell. From what we know from Ryomen Chiharu, she died without knowing. But perhaps, those are claims.��

The words pierce him like a knife. Hearing it from her lips, from her gentle voice, makes it all feel too real. The bitterness, the heartbreak, the weight of it all surges within him, yet he can’t look away from her. Is that what she has had to live through all that time? Was it only the heartbreak she had lived through? In that past life, in her past life — was it just grief born out of more, one after the other? Is that why she kept falling to her death? Suffering in all that pain?

“If he had loved her then….” Sukuna could feel some sense of anger bubble through him. “Why is it not ever clear, his feelings? If you love someone, you….you tell them! You make them know when they’re alive. Not when they’re gone! What kind of man is he? Is he even a man at that point? That’s cruel….That’s…..”

In that moment, her eyes turned wide as she gazed at him. She had seen people get angry on behalf of the long suffering concubine of the King of Curses. That was normal, to feel anguish on her behalf. And yet, this mayhaps is the first time he’s ever seen someone so infuriated. And aggrieved. And bitter. Truly, in the sense of the word. Her heart felt warm about that.

She smiles softly at him and places her hand on his own. “You know….he still did care. Even if he was a terrible man. In some ways.”

“Even then—”

“Come with me, stranger!” she says, her voice soft as she takes his hand, her touch sending an electric shock through him. She leads him to a long table draped in dark fabric, a single scroll lying open at the center. It was a magnificent piece of work.

In the middle was her, that concubine. With her elegant features and her bright eyed gaze, her tender smile that could bring life to a mundane world. The colors illuminated her with such ethereality that one couldn’t even understand. It would have taken much too much time to do this in their lifetime, during the Heian Era.

And yet, it was so carefully made, carefully thought of. So full of devotion to her, details that one couldn’t even find in any other portraiture in that time. Sukuna could only watch as her fingers glide along its edge with a reverence that pulls him in, as though she’s sharing a secret between them. Her smile grows wider.

“This is painted and written by Sukuna himself, mayhaps, a few years before she passed.” she whispers, her eyes shining as she looks at him. “We don’t know, if he had painted and made this in secret. Or if she had known and seen it. But….it was to her… a message. From him to her.”

The scroll is faded, ink blurred by age but unmistakable. And as Sukuna reads it, he feels his breath leave him, his pulse racing as he takes in the words he never thought he’d see again. In ancient script, barely visible, are the words he remembers writing so many lifetimes ago, a promise that felt foolish and desperate even as he wrote it:

“To you, my little one, from a thousand years to another twenty thousand years from now, you who will continue to be dear to me.”

His vision blurs, and he forces himself to swallow down the ache rising in his chest. How is that man ever so contradictory? How could he cause her hurt and then do…do something like this? How can one ever make amends, or show love, knowing they had caused grief and pain and suffering?

He purses his lips, his face echoing in conflict. He could feel his hand tighten in a fist. The woman he saw in his dreams, and the woman he sees before him now. How they both suffered to get to this point.

That smile a thousand years ago, so gentle and yet….so pained. And now, so beautiful and serene, happy. Truly so happy. He couldn’t help but be so overwhelmed by emotion. By all of this. She looks up at him, her face soft with empathy and warmth, her hand still resting lightly on his arm.

“What kind of person do you think could write something like that?” she asks gently, studying his reaction.

He swallows, searching for the right words, his voice barely a whisper. “Someone who knew… he’d never find peace without her.” he says, almost to himself, his gaze lingering on the scroll. “Someone… who wanted more time.”

Her eyes meet his, something unspoken passing between them, a quiet understanding that hangs thick in the air. She doesn’t say anything, but her expression shifts, her gaze softening, as if she’s sensing something she can’t quite place, something from another life pressing against the present.

In that moment, he knows he can’t tell her, can’t burden her with the weight of it all. This life may not hold the memory, the pain, the love he’d lost, but here she stands, still at his side. The universe, fate, something unknown has brought them here, and for now, in this fragile moment, it’s enough.

Sukuna’s mind swirls, each beat of his heart drumming louder against the silence that now surrounds them. The faint traces of this man’s ancient words—his promise, his plea—are scrawled on the scroll, untouched by time.

The weight of it feels unbearable, as if this fragile piece of paper holds not just a message from the past but the entirety of his soul. He risks a glance at her, the woman with his concubine’s face, her warmth, her spirit.

She’s watching him with an intensity that pulls him back from his reverie. “I wonder if he ever found her, if he was ever reborn and given new life.” she murmurs, more to herself than to him. “If… across all that time, they somehow managed to find each other again. And are more truthful to each other. I always thought that, even when I was a child. I hoped and prayed that they found happiness together in a new life.”

Her words send a chill down his spine. He wants to tell her they did, that he’s standing here, right now, because of her. But he knows he can’t—no matter how much his heart aches to reach out, to let her in on the truth he’s carried alone for so long. The curse of knowing, of remembering, is his burden alone.

Instead, he lets his fingers drift across the edge of the scroll, keeping his gaze lowered. “Maybe he never stopped searching. Even if he is reborn. Maybe if he doesn’t remember it all. He should find her and make amends.” he says softly. “Maybe that’s why his name and his memory linger even now. So that she’ll notice. And…maybe they’ll live the way you want them to.”

She tilts her head, considering him, her smile touched with the slightest hint of sadness. “That’s a beautiful thought. Almost… almost as if he’s still out there, waiting. Even if he had to endure every lifetime alone.”

Sukuna swallows, struggling to keep his composure. “Sometimes, we don’t have a choice, about it all.” he says, his voice low. “We’re bound by memories we can’t remember, by the promises our futures will have to remake, even if we have to carry them alone.”

She studies him for a moment, her expression thoughtful, as if she’s trying to glimpse the truth beneath his words. “That sounds like something he would have said, perhaps….perhaps to her.” she murmurs, almost to herself.

The weight of her gaze feels like a hand pressing against his heart, pulling him toward her, tethering him in a way that feels more ancient than memory. But she turns her attention back to the scroll, breaking the spell, and a soft smile touches her lips as she reads the words he once wrote.

“You know,” she says after a pause, “my family used to tell stories about Sukuna. He’s more of a legend now than a real person, but there are so many conflicting tales. Some say he was ruthless, others say he was capable of great kindness. I’ve always been fascinated by that contradiction.” She glances up at him, eyes alight with curiosity. “What do you think? Was he a monster… or was he something more?”

Sukuna’s breath catches at the question, the answer sitting like a stone in his throat. How can he possibly explain that the truth was more complicated than either legend or history could capture? That he was both and neither, a man torn by his own humanity and haunted by a love he couldn’t protect?

“It’s hard to say what he was.” he answers carefully. “Maybe he was both. A monster to some, but to others… he was someone who gave everything he had. No one is….no one is truly a villain, after all.”

She nods slowly, seemingly satisfied with his answer. “I like that answer.” she says quietly. “I think we all have pieces of light and shadow inside us. Maybe he was just… someone trying to find a balance, even if he had caused so much hurt. Even if he had failed.”

The irony cuts deep, the tragic poetry of her words like salt in an old wound. Her voice is gentle, but there’s a conviction in her tone that makes his chest tighten. If she knew the truth—if she knew what he’d lost, the sacrifices he’d made—would she still look at him this way, with this soft reverence and understanding?

Lost in thought, he hardly notices her reaching for his hand. Her fingers wrap around his, warm and grounding, and he’s stunned by the simple, natural ease of her touch, as though they’ve done this a thousand times before. Her hand fits perfectly in his, and for the first time in centuries, a glimmer of hope stirs within him.

“Come with me again, stranger.” she says, leading him past the scroll and into a smaller room at the end of the hall. “There’s something else I want you to see.”

They walk in silence, and he lets her guide him, his heart racing, wondering if perhaps, just maybe, she’s starting to feel the pull too—the invisible thread binding them across lifetimes. She stops in front of a display case holding a small, intricately carved pendant, its silver chain gleaming under the soft lights.

“This pendant, it was passed down to Ryomen Chiharu, after a few years.” she says, gazing at it with a fondness that surprises him. “It belonged to her. His concubine. One of the only things she kept close to her heart.”

Sukuna stares at it, his mind reeling. The pendant was once his gift to her, that King of Curses—a token, a promise of protection. Seeing it now, preserved and cared for, feels surreal, a whisper of the life they once shared. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, his voice thick with emotion he’s barely keeping in check.

He wondered, maybe if it was the right time, the right place. If he hadn’t been so enthralled with another — maybe it would have been a match that would have ended with less pain and more joy. Perhaps if the King of Curses had found himself able to move forward, he would have been happier. Maybe his concubine would have been happier.

But that was a thousand years ago. And humanity keeps making that same mistake. Little by little, you could find people repeating it over and over again. That makes Sukuna so bitter and sad, grievous and angry all at once. How could fate be so twisted? How could fate seem so indifferent to it all? How could…how could fate not stop such suffering of people who wish to be happy?

“I always thought it was sad, you know?” she continued, her tone soft. “She must have known he’d never be hers completely. But she still kept this close to her heart. Thinking of him. It’s like she never stopped hoping.”

Sukuna’s throat tightens, the weight of her words pressing into the raw ache within him. “Hope….hope is fragile.” he echoes, his voice hollow. “It can be a painful thing to carry, especially when there’s no chance of seeing it fulfilled.”

Her gaze turns up to him, searching, as though she can sense the depth of his grief but can’t name its source. “Maybe.” she says, her voice a whisper. “But sometimes… hope is all we have.”

He looks away, afraid she’ll see the truth in his eyes. He wonders if she understands, if somewhere deep down, a part of her remembers. But even if she doesn’t, he can feel her empathy, her gentle warmth reaching out to him, soothing his restless spirit.

She squeezes his hand, her touch gentle and grounding. “Thank you,” she says, smiling softly. “For listening to her story with me. I know it’s heavy, but… it’s part of our legacy, isn’t it?”

He nods, his heart raw and open, feeling the weight of the centuries fall away, even if just for this fleeting moment. It’s not enough—not enough to heal the wounds, to bring back what they’d lost—but for the first time, he feels something close to peace.

And in that silence, in her quiet smile, he dares to hope that maybe, just maybe, there will be a way to find and know each other again. She was right there. He likes to think she is. Right in front of him. There was hope, somehow.

That she would be happy. That maybe, just maybe – he could see her smile so beautifully again. A smile that would reach all the way to her eyes and warm her face and towards the reach of all the heavens.

Sukuna stands there, his fingers still brushing the edge of the glass case, the pendant gleaming faintly beneath his touch. He feels an unfamiliar warmth stirring within him, a strange, hesitant urge for something… more, something real and tangible. He looks down at her, her expression still soft with that quiet empathy that unsettles him as much as it comforts him.

Before he can second-guess himself, he clears his throat, casting a sidelong glance her way. “Would you, uh… would you like to grab a coffee sometime?” he asks, a bit gruffly, as if trying to sound casual. “Maybe you could help me with some ideas for my art. I’m….an artist by the way. ”

The question hangs in the air between them, and for a moment, he feels exposed in a way he hasn’t in centuries, like he’s offering a piece of himself he’s long since hidden. He braces himself for rejection, for her to smile politely and turn him down.

Sukuna watches her smile, a genuine, radiant expression that spreads across her face like dawn breaking over a darkened sky. It’s infectious, igniting something deep within him, as though it was a feeling that has lain dormant for centuries beneath layers of pain and regret.

Everything in him felt warm inside. Everything in him grasped to life, hoping that she could nourish it to last forever. Her acceptance feels like a lifeline thrown into the stormy sea of his existence, and he clings to it with a desperation he can’t quite articulate.

“Tomorrow sounds perfect, stranger.” she says, her voice a gentle balm against the jagged edges of his heart. “Oh, I should stop calling you that, shouldn’t I? My apologies, Sukuna–san. I wanted to tease you for a little more time.”

As she writes her number on a slip of paper, the world around them fades into a blur. The museum, the exhibits, the weight of history—all of it dissolves until it’s just the two of them, suspended in this fragile moment of connection.

He takes the paper from her, fingers brushing against hers for the briefest second. It sends an unexpected spark through him, and he’s momentarily lost in the warmth of her skin, the softness of her touch. He forces himself to pull away, catching her gaze again, wanting to savor the moment a little longer.

“What do you like to drink?” he asks, trying to keep the conversation going, to stretch this fleeting connection into something more tangible.

“Coffee, mostly. I love a good espresso.” she replies, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. “But I’m always open to trying new things. I’m sure the cafe will have new wonders. How about you?”

He nods, remembering the countless cups of coffee he’d consumed over the years, each one a bitter reminder of the countless sleepless nights spent alone. “I’m more of a dark roast person myself. Stronger the better.”

“Then I’ll make sure to introduce you to the best place in town. They have the most incredible brews, fit for a long suffering artist.” she says with a playful grin, and for the first time, he can’t help but smile back. It’s a small, simple thing, but it feels monumental, like a bridge forming over a chasm he thought would always divide him.

“Great….I uh….” he replies, his voice a little steadier. “I look forward to it.”

They linger for a moment, both seeming to hesitate, caught in a bubble of anticipation and something deeper that he can’t quite name. He’s never been one for lighthearted interactions, especially when it comes to connections. Yet here he is, standing before a woman who feels like a piece of his lost history, someone he feels inexplicably drawn to.

With one last lingering look, she steps back, her smile still warming the air between them. “See you soon, then, Sukuna–san.” she says, her voice light yet meaningful.

“Yeah….. I’ll see you soon.” he echoes, his heart pounding in his chest as he watches her walk away, the soft sway of her figure leaving him breathless.

As he turns to leave the gallery, the weight of the memories of a thousand years presses less heavily on him. He had left behind Sukuna's world, and birthed a new. He hopes he can. He wants to. He wants to make that woman happy. She deserves to. She deserves to be happy, in the way he couldn’t do it. He promises himself that.

For the first time, he feels a flicker of inspiration reigniting in his chest, like a spark that’s been waiting for just the right moment to burst into flame. The idea of coffee, of sharing thoughts and laughter, of discussing art with someone who understands the nuances of his legacy—it excites him in a way he hadn’t felt in what seems like an eternity. It excites him to burn with joy.

The streets outside are bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, the colors alive and vibrant, reminding him of the canvases he has yet to fill. He can almost picture it now, a new piece forming in his mind—a swirling mix of shadows and light, of loss and hope, reflecting everything that has led him to this moment.

In the days and nights that follow, he begins to sketch again. The woman’s face, a beautiful blend of familiarity and freshness, dominates the canvas, layered with strokes of longing and the bittersweet pang of memory. He paints her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and the gentle warmth that radiated from her smile.

Every brushstroke feels like a conversation, a way to weave their stories together—a blend of art, history, and the unspoken connection that binds them. The artist’s block that had once felt insurmountable begins to crumble, each session at the easel pulling him deeper into his thoughts and feelings, and farther from the suffocating grasp of despair.

He dreams of their meeting, the way her presence felt like coming home, and as their coffee date approaches, he finds himself wrapped in a mix of excitement and nerves. What would they talk about? What would she think of his art?

That evening, as he stands in front of the mirror, he catches a glimpse of himself—disheveled fuschia colored hair, weary bright scarlet eyes; but beneath it all, there’s a glimmer of something he hasn’t seen in ages: hope. A hope for the future. A hope for a new world, a new life. One that will echo years and years from now about joy.

Tomorrow, he tells himself as he brushes down his shirt, it will be different.

Tomorrow, he’ll make her the happiest person in the world.

Tomorrow, he’ll hope that she will never have any more days to frown.

When the sun rises, he feels it all too well. There was a flutter of anticipation in his chest as he prepared to meet her. Each step feels lighter, each moment filled with possibility. The thought of sharing coffee and stories—his past entwined with hers—ignites a spark of creativity he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.

As he enters the café, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee envelops him, and he scans the room, searching for her familiar face. When he spots her, seated at a cozy corner table, her hair cascading softly around her shoulders, he feels a rush of warmth.

Her smile brightens the space around them, and as their eyes meet, he knows he’s ready to embrace whatever this connection holds. It’s a chance to delve deeper into their stories, to explore the tangled threads of fate that brought them together.

“Hey!” she says, her voice lighting up the air between them as he approaches. “I’m so glad you made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” he replies, the weight of the past lifting as he takes a seat across from her. “So, what’s first on the menu?”

As you sit together, enveloped in the warmth of shared memories and laughter, Sukuna leans forward, his gaze both intense and gentle. The edges of his usually guarded expression soften, and the small lines near his eyes deepen with a smile that’s almost boyish.

“You know," Sukuna says, his voice low and thoughtful, “I have to say this to you… but… I never thought I’d find someone who could understand me like this. The things I’ve seen—it’s hard to explain to people who haven’t lived through the same nightmares."

He glances down at his coffee, a faint smirk on his lips. “But with you, it doesn’t feel like explaining. It’s like I’m just… remembering with someone else who was there too. This feels so natural. Between you and I.”

She smiles, feeling a warmth blossom within her. “It’s strange, isn’t it? I mean, if someone had told me even a month ago that I’d be here with you, talking like this…” She trails off, laughing softly, feeling a little lost for words. “I would’ve thought they were crazy. But here we are.”

Sukuna chuckles, the sound surprisingly warm, free of his usual biting edge. “Crazy doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He pauses, his gaze meeting hers, searching as if he’s trying to decipher something hidden. “It feels like I know you… not just from now, but from a long time ago. Almost like I was meant to find you.”

His words send a shiver through her, a feeling both comforting and unsettling in its intensity. She nods slowly, letting the feeling settle within her. “I know what you mean,” she whispers, her voice barely above a breath. “It’s like we’re picking up where we left off… wherever that was.”

He takes a sip of his coffee, his gaze never leaving hers. “Every lifetime,” he murmurs, as if saying it to himself. “Every single one, I think I’d find you.” His hand drifts across the table, his fingers brushing hers in a tentative, almost reverent way. “And every time, I’d be the luckiest man alive.”

She looks down at his hand, his touch grounding her. “Do you believe in that, then? In soulmates? Lifetimes together?”

He smiles, almost a little sadly, as if unsure of his own answer. “Maybe I never did before… but with you, I can’t help but think maybe I was wrong.”

A comfortable silence settles between them, the words hanging like a delicate thread binding them together. After a while, he speaks again, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You… you make me see things differently, you know that? I just met you, but I just… I think it’s meant to be.”

There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, one she’d never expected to see. “Like maybe life doesn’t have to be as lonely as I thought it was. Or maybe, it just doesn’t matter, as long as I’m here… with you.”

Her heart aches at his words, sensing the pain he’s carried and the hope he’s now daring to hold onto. She laces her fingers with his, giving a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore, Sukuna-san,” she says softly. “Not as long as we have this. As long as we have each other. Maybe… maybe we’ll find something more to life together.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he was holding. When he opens them again, there’s something raw, something almost fragile in his gaze. “I’m… I’m honored,” he whispers gently, a small smile forming on his face. “If that means I’ll be able to live by your side in this life.”

She blushes, feeling the depth of his sincerity. “I’m just as grateful, you know?”

“Thank you.” he says, the words rough, yet sincere. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“You never have to say thank you to me.” She whispered back to him, smiling even wider. “Or say sorry. Okay?”

“Okay.” He smiles back at her, almost contagiously.

“So, do you….do you wanna watch a movie with me?”

“I’d be honored.”

In that moment, it feels as though nothing else exists—just her and him, caught in the quiet gravity of each other’s presence.

As the sun sets outside, casting a warm glow over their table, Ryomen Sukuna feels a flicker of something he thought long extinguished.

And as long as she’s beside him, he knows he’ll be right there with her, finding a new meaning to every breath and every heartbeat, perhaps better than he’d ever dreamed.

After that day, Ryomen Sukuna stopped having those nightmares about that long suffering concubine.

Instead, he started to dream of a tall man and that long suffering concubine, walking away from him — smiling. Together.

══════════════════

HE WAS LUCKY HE MADE IT. He hadn’t slept much, but it was all worth it. He liked to think that he made his best gallery presentation yet. He knew she liked it just as much as he did. And that had made him even more happy.

He wasn’t the best of storytellers, he knew that much. Writing was more or less something else to him. But, art like this? He could do it. And so, as he promised, he would make happiness appear on his canvas. He would make that concubine happy again.

As the evening progresses, the atmosphere in the gallery transforms, infused with a blend of excitement and reverence. Guests drift in and out, their whispers and laughter weaving a tapestry of shared appreciation for Sukuna's work.

The vibrant energy of the space pulses with life, but at its core lies a poignant sense of introspection; a collective acknowledgment of the stories each painting holds.

Sukuna stands near the centerpiece, his gaze lingering on the depiction of himself and his concubine, locked in an eternal moment of tenderness. The hues swirl together, capturing not just their faces but the very essence of their souls; a connection that feels almost palpable. Each brushstroke is infused with the weight of longing and regret, but now, standing beside his companion, he recognizes a glimmer of hope amid the sorrow.

As the crowd ebbs and flows, Sukuna finds solace in watching her interact with the guests, her warmth radiating in waves. She engages effortlessly, sharing her thoughts on the art, her enthusiasm infectious.

He catches snippets of their conversations, her laughter ringing out like music, and he can’t help but smile at the ease with which she navigates the social landscape. It’s a stark contrast to his own guarded demeanor, and yet, her presence encourages him to lower his defenses, to engage in this world he once viewed from the shadows.

With each passing moment, Sukuna feels a shift within himself. The uncertainty that had plagued him for so long begins to dissolve, replaced by an exhilarating sense of possibility. As the crowd gradually dwindles, he glances at the painting again, his heart swelling with emotion. It’s more than just an image; it’s a testament to love that transcends time, a narrative that binds past and present.

Suddenly, he turns to find her standing close, her expression reflecting a mixture of admiration and something deeper. “You’ve poured so much of yourself into this, Sukuna.” she says softly, her eyes shimmering with sincerity. “It’s not just about the concubine; it’s about you, too. You’ve laid bare your soul.”

The intensity of her gaze sends a shiver down his spine, and he swallows hard, feeling exposed yet liberated. “I wanted to capture the essence of what we had… to honor her, in my own little ways.” he replies, his voice low and steady. “But I realize now it’s also about my journey. This is as much about my pain as it is about her love.”

She nods, her understanding palpable, and in that moment, he feels a deep connection; there was an unspoken bond that links them through shared experiences and emotions.

The weight of his past no longer feels like a burden; instead, it becomes a source of strength, a wellspring of creativity he can draw from as he embraces this new chapter in his life.

“I think you’ve done an incredible job of that, you know?” she says, her voice softening. “You’ve shown that even in our darkest moments, love remains a guiding light. It’s beautiful.”

Sukuna’s heart races at her words, and he feels a warmth blooming in his chest—a mixture of gratitude and affection. “Thank you, really.” he replies, his voice sincere. “It means a lot to hear that from you. You’ve been… a source of inspiration for me.”

Her smile deepens, and there’s a spark of something electric in the air, a subtle shift that sends his pulse racing. “I’m glad I could be here for you, you know?” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s a privilege to witness your journey, to see you reclaim a sad story to a happy one.”

He looks at her, the soft glow of the gallery lights illuminating her features, and he feels a wave of emotion wash over him. For so long, he had been shackled by the weight of his past, haunted by the ghost of his concubine and the mistakes that had led to their separation. But here, in this moment, standing with her amidst the beauty of his creations, he feels the chains loosening.

“Will you stay a little longer?” he asks, almost hesitantly, fearing her response. “I’d like to talk more… about the paintings, about everything.”

Her eyes light up, and the warmth in her smile reassures him. “I’d love that.” she replies, and they find a quieter corner of the gallery, away from the remnants of the evening’s festivities.

As they settle into a cozy nook, surrounded by the lingering essence of art and history, Sukuna feels a sense of calm wash over him. The world outside fades, leaving only the two of them and the unspoken connection that has blossomed between them.

“What do you see in these paintings?” he asks, eager to hear her perspective.

She leans forward, her gaze thoughtful. “I see love, loss, and resilience. Each piece speaks of a journey, a struggle to find beauty amidst pain. But what resonates most is the longing—the desire to reconnect with something that was lost. It’s powerful.”

He nods, her words echoing his own feelings, and as they discuss each painting in turn, he feels an exhilarating rush of creativity and clarity. The art becomes a conduit for their emotions, a way to explore the complexities of their shared experiences.

They dive deep into conversation, their voices low and intimate, each word exchanged drawing them closer together. She shares her own stories of loss and heartache, of moments when she thought she’d never find her way again. It’s a cathartic exchange, and he listens intently, captivated by her honesty and the strength she exudes.

With each revelation, Sukuna feels the walls that the King of Curses had built around himself begin to crumble. He shares his own struggles, the weight of his legacy, and the guilt that had shadowed him for centuries.

And perhaps, redemption may soon come for him in love. In this safe space, he finds himself opening up that man, that myth, that curse, in ways he never thought possible, unearthing emotions he had long buried.

The night wears on, and as the last of the guests trickle out, the gallery transforms into a cocoon of intimacy. It’s just him and her, surrounded by the echoes of their stories, and for the first time in ages, he feels a sense of belonging—a connection that transcends time and pain.

“I never thought I could feel this way again.” he admits, his voice thick with emotion. “After everything I’ve lived through… I thought I’d lost the ability to truly connect with anyone.”

She reaches out, her hand brushing against his in a gentle, reassuring gesture. “You haven’t lost that ability, Sukuna. You’ve just been waiting for the right moment, the right person….the right time.” she says, her gaze steady and filled with warmth. “I’m here now, and I want to be part of your journey.”

The sincerity in her words washes over him, and in that moment, he knows he’s found something rare—a connection that has the potential to redefine his understanding of love, art, and the future. The vulnerability he feels is both terrifying and exhilarating, but he knows he’s ready to embrace it.

As the last notes of music drift into silence and the soft, warm lights dim, the two of them sit close, hands intertwined, surrounded by the vibrant, intimate world he has created.

Each painting on the wall, each sculpture in the dim light feels like a memory brought to life, and she feels him relax beside her, the weight of his past somehow easing with each quiet heartbeat.

His thumb gently strokes her hand, and in that small, tender motion, she feels him say more than words ever could. With her here, in this sanctuary he’s built out of his own creativity and passion, he’s no longer the solitary figure haunted by shadows. He’s simply a man who has finally, against all odds, found someone who can see past his darkness and anchor him in light.

Ryomen Sukuna pauses, his hand still entwined with hers, and a rare, gentle smile crosses his face.

Looking at the painting, he lets himself hope, just a little. Perhaps, even in a world he once saw as cold and unyielding, there are threads of something beautiful woven into his story. Perhaps, even for someone like him, there could be a happy ending, one he’d never dared to imagine.

He leans down and whispers softly, almost as if confessing a secret. “I like to think they found each other again, you know? That somehow… this time, they got to be happy.”

She squeezes his hand, her eyes shining with warmth and understanding. “I like to think that too.” she replies gently, her voice full of affection.

They walk out together, the cool night air surrounding them as they leave his art behind. And as he catches her smile, he feels his heart swell with gratitude and a strange sense of peace.

For once, he isn’t looking back, haunted by the ghosts of what once was. Instead, he’s looking forward—toward a future that, with her beside him, feels so much brighter than he ever thought possible.

In his heart, he offers a silent prayer, hoping that they’ll continue to find each other, in this life and in all the ones to come. And as they disappear into the night, hands intertwined, this Ryomen Sukuna hopes that the King of Curses finally allows himself to believe that, this time, happiness might be his after all.

══════════════════

THERE WOULD BE NO MEMORY OF THIS WHEN HE’S REBORN. Ryomen Sukuna knows that much. That is the will of the unknown, of the gods unseen and unheard. He does not care much about the propriety of the accuracy. Why should it matter what their name is? He was dead, why should he care?

In the stillness of the afterlife, everything feels suspended, timeless. Everything was not what he had expected. Long ago, he had resigned himself to the thought that a final death would lead to the depths of burning inferno. And yet, it was not. He was stuck in a journey, a journey that continuously repeats over and over again.

He does not know what those gods intended with that. What was the purpose designed by the gods? What was the purpose of this journey? He had asked himself that for hundreds of years, walking and walking like the pilgrim he was and yet without end in sight. There was no road that was left to find a stop.

Perhaps, that is until now.

Ryomen Sukuna was the first to notice.

There was a wide shoji that appeared before them.

Ryomen Hiromi was quite unsure about what that was all about. But when she stepped right in front of it, the field protecting it had barred her from even touching it. She pursed her lips in a flat line. This door was not one for her to enter.

And she probably had already known that. Looking at him with those knowing purple eyes, she knew that it was not for her. It was for him. The gods had sent him a path, and it was not to be with her. It was a road for him to take, a road that was for him. Only him.

He took a short step towards it and allowed his hands to feel the space occupied by the massive wooden shoji. His touch could pierce its space. It was truly for him. There was no mistake in that. Uraume looked at him with a tense uncertainty. His most loyal Uraume is quite that timid child, still. Just as when Sukuna had met them years and years ago.

For a moment, it reminded him of Chizuru. That gentleness of that youth, that tenderness of youth. He could only see his little one. The little one that he misses most. His soul is already at peace, and perhaps Sukuna would never see him again.

He doesn’t deserve to. He wasn’t a good father to him. But moments like this, it gives him relief. Even if Chizuru didn’t need him anymore, then someone else did. And that someone still needed him. Even if he wasn’t the person suited to be needed.

Sukuna looked down at them, and then nodded reassuringly. Uraume reached forward and gasped. Their touch too pierced through its barrier. Of course, Sukuna thought to himself. Uraume tied their entire life to him.

They were one in the same. The loyal servant cannot live without the master. No, no. Sukuna corrects himself. There was always a need for someone. People will always need people.

He stands there idly as Ryomen Hiromi stood beside him, though keeping a distance. Everything around them had grown brighter. Brighter than before. All that surrounded them had been bathed in a soft, eternal light that neither burns nor fades.

This place, this moment, is for closure—a place where the bonds of the past can either linger or be released. A purgatory for souls, sinner or not. All souls look the same to the gods. Well, that’s what Hiromi had told him.

Sukuna’s gaze rests on Hiromi, taking in the warmth in her expression, the calmness in her presence. Even here, she glows with an inner light that he has always cherished. Serene as the moonlight, as mellow as the clouds.

There had always been a quiet grace that no one could replicate. He had known that in his long lifetime. And for as long as he had lived, he thought that his job had been to protect it. To protect her. No matter what, with everything in him — even if it often meant tearing down the world around him.

For a long while, they simply stand together, the weight of their shared history resting between them. A thousand years, feeling even more than that, reflected in the understanding that came in the silence. He had known her too well, she had known him too well.

There was nothing left between them. Only knowing. And perhaps, that’s why it wouldn’t have ever worked. He thinks about that. Knowing someone, even too well, will never truly be living a life with them.

There was too much he did not know about her life. There was much she did not know about his own. They had lived lives that grew out of their tender love. People who loved each other so much, that they risked everything in the world — finally became two boats in the night waiting for each other to pass.

Perhaps that’s all that there could be, he thinks about it now. No matter how much he loved her, no matter how much he still does love her — they were parallel lines. Right people, wrong place. Right place, wrong time.

That in itself was hard to admit, he knows that. He always has. But it was hard to say. It was hard to accept. Perhaps it always will be. Yet there is so much more beyond that grief of something already lost. Of life already lived and passed by. No matter how much he wants to follow Ryomen Hiromi with all the love in his heart, with all the devotion given from all his life, there will always be fate. And fate knows better than he.

As much as he tries, he was not a god.

He will never be one, he has tried to be.

He was just a sinner, a cruel cursed sinner.

Taking a deep breath, Sukuna speaks, his voice soft, yet resolute. "I can feel it, Hiromi." he says, looking down at his feet. “Somewhere out there……..I am soon to be reborn. Soon….I must enter this door.”

Ryomen Hiromi’s face softens, and a knowing smile tugs at her lips. She tilts her head, teasing, but with a hint of sadness that she can’t entirely hide. How could she? Ryomen Sukuna was her person. He was her family. Her dearest friend, her confidant. The man she loved, still does love. The love of her life.

But she knew that he was not yet ready. Perhaps he will never be ready to move forward like this. There was much tying him to the world of the living. To the earthly life. And she knew it wouldn't be her. It will never be her.

She could see it in the corner of his scarlet eyes. He too had lived a life. He had moved on. And he wants to see that loved one again. He wants to return. Even if he does not know it. He wants to see that smile on her face again.

"So, you’ll stop following me now, huh?"

He chuckles, the sound quiet, almost reverent, as he brings her hand to his chest. "I’ll love you most in the world, you know that.” he murmurs, each word weighed with truth. “You were the part of me that was good, Hiromi. Everything I am….was because of you.”

She looks at him, shaking her head. She remains smiling. “Endless flattery is not your style.”

His eyes warmed towards her. “It is not flattery if it's true. You know that most. I do not lie, not easily. Not without reason.”

“I know.” She huffs back in response, her eyes lowered to the floor. “I know you too well.”

“I need to go. You know that. There are still…..too much left undone. I have a lot to make amends for, things I must repair.” His voice grows steady, almost solemn. “I need to start with someone else I love. Someone who’s waiting, on the other side of the shore.”

Hiromi’s gaze flickers, her surprise shifting to understanding. There’s a light in her bright purple eyes, a pride that only deepens as she studies his face. For a moment, she wondered when he had grown up. When had he aged this well, lived this well. A part of her mourns the things they never saw. But she knew it was too late. He had someone else waiting to see those sides of him now.

“I always hoped you’d find something worth living for, beyond me. Beyond our clan. Beyond Jujutsu.” she says, her words carrying an emotion he hadn’t expected. She laughs. “You’ve done well, Sukuna. I know you would. And now you’re better at admitting your faults. You’ve….you’ve truly grown up! Father and uncle would be so glad to see it, don’t you think?”

The weight of her words settles deeply into him, her silent devotion across lifetimes coming into sharp focus. Ryomen Sukuna closes his eyes, feeling the immensity of all that they’ve shared, all that he’s never truly expressed.

“There’s still much for me to set right, Hiromi.” He looks at her, his expression softening as he finally speaks the words he’s never quite managed to say before. “But the love we shared… It's the best part of me. It’s the part of me I want to carry into the next life. Everything you taught me, it will be for the better.”

A soft laugh escapes her once more, and she shakes her head as if she’s hearing a promise she’s waited lifetimes for him to make. Her hand reaches up, gentle, almost motherly, as she brushes a stray hair back from his face. Leaning in, she presses a delicate kiss to his cheek.

“You don’t have to say anything else. I’ve always known you loved me.” She pulls back slightly, her hand lingering against his face. “I’ll always love you too, Sukuna. But we have different lives now. Paths that aren’t tied together anymore. No paths are bound, after all. Isn’t that what was taught?”

Her words are tender but firm, and he nods, finally accepting what she’s known all along. “I know.” he whispers, the smile on his face tinged with the bittersweet ache of goodbye. “But I think I’ll be alright, night flower. I’ve found something, someone… who I believe can make me better. She’s out there, waiting.”

For a moment, she could feel her heart shatter. In that moment, to remember what he had called her. With those words, with that tone of finality. With that tone of farewell. She could feel the warmth of water echo through her eyes. But she tries to make sure they do not pour. Those tears shouldn’t be poured. Not for him. He does not need it. She must send him happily. She must send him off with a smile. A good farewell.

Hiromi pulls away, her hand slipping from his, though her gaze remains fixed on him with a profound love and pride. Her bright eyes gleamed at him, even brighter than before. She smiles at him, though he could notice how tight it was. No matter how happy she is for him — she will mourn. She can’t help it.

“Then, I want you to find her, hm?” she says softly, the conviction in her voice like a benediction. “Find her and find your happiness, the kind that lasts. The kind that you finally deserve.”

He nods, and there’s a rare, open softness in his expression, a gratitude as deep as the ages they’ve spent together. He takes a good look at her, as though he was memorizing this moment. For as long as it still lasts, he wants to remember it. He wants to remember her, giving her blessing.

“Then, I’ll go, nightflower.” he says, his voice low and filled with purpose. “I’ll find her… and try to live the life I dreamed of with you.”

Hiromi smiles gently, and with one last lingering look, she turns to leave, pausing only to say. “Someday, I hope to meet her too—the one who brought you peace. Bring her back with you. So that I may thank her for taking care of you.”

He nodded at her. He takes a deep breath as he lowers his gaze and sees Uraume looking at him, as though asking for courage. Sukuna takes Uraume’s hand and tightly grips it, but is careful not to hurt them. A ghostly smile appears on his face, beaming it towards them.

Uraume could feel their eyes glisten as they felt the warmth of that smile. Uraume could feel warmth in them, tenderness — tenderness that molds their will to live with courage. Sukuna turns his head slightly, looking at Hiromi. His smile gets wider, and becomes more honest than before. She smiled at him, waving him off.

As he and Uraume walked towards the shoji, Ryomen Hiromi knew that she too has to move away. Ryomen Sukuna slowly watches her walk away into the path of light, alone, feeling the weight of a thousand lifetimes lifting from his shoulders. He could feel his breath hitch as he watches her walk away, perhaps for the final time, perhaps until they get reborn again.

If you were not waiting for him, if he had not met you, if he had not loved you — perhaps he would have turned away from these doors and moved towards the path of life and rejected rebirth. He would have let his soul rest in peace for all of time. But he knows that he was no longer that person anymore. He wanted to move forward. He wanted to break the cycle. He wanted to be with you.

Ryomen Sukuna is ready to face the world again, this time with a purpose that is as clear as the love he feels for the woman he will now seek. He must atone. He must live a new life. He must make you happy.

Both of you will be happy, he knows that. And as he steps forward, towards his own rebirth, he carries her blessings, his heart finally open to the happiness he had once believed was out of reach. He will live it now. He will atone, he will find redemption. He will make you happy.

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borathae · 1 month ago

Text

↳ Index [Day 11 - Mommy Kink]

Pairing: Good Boy!Taehyung x Mommy Dom!Reader

Genre: married life!AU, new parents!AU, CEO!Taehyung

Kinks: sex on the living room sofa, praise kink, nursing handjob, her breasts still produce milk, breast & nipple massage, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering with three fingers, squirting, he eats it uppp, he spits on her pussy to lube her, multiple orgasms for both, sensitive pussy, deep creampie, talks about getting pregnant again, she kneels on the couch so he can fuck her doggy, he is frozen in pleasure and gets used as her pretty dildo <3, suit kink, she holds his tie, gentle hair holding, drooling, he bites her shoulder because of too much pleasure, subby boy tears, he is deep in subspace, giggly aftercare

Wordcount: 5.6k

a/n: rope inspo. i wanna start my notes by telling you guys do not expect regular pregnancy content on the blog at all. this is solely for kinktober cause we can be unhinged together. idk what happened but the thought of him helping her get rid of the swelling of her tits did something in me 😶 it was sexy for this story and in this context, but it’s not gonna be something regular on here. okay? okay. now that this is out of the way, here you go anon you finally have your ihyily!tae mommy kink story and it’s very sexy omfg it's so sexy holy fuck idk how to go on from now on 😩 have fun reading, i genuinely was so into it as i wrote it fajdsjf it's so hot holy fuck

Taehyung has been coming home late again. Since the birth of your daughter, he has reduced his hours at work to spend quality time with the family he always dreamed of. Until last week. A huge project has been keeping him in his office until the evening and it has been weighing him down. Not only because it is very stressful to work ten, sometimes more, hours per day but also because it means that he has to stay away from his family. Taehyung hates it. He hates it so, so much, but can’t do anything about it.

The only thing he can do is be grumpy about it and oh how grumpy he is tonight. He takes off his shoes and coat with a big pout and puts his office bag on the dresser groggily.

He doesn’t call out for you because it is already late and he doesn’t want to risk waking you.

You are staying at home entirely for now, enjoying your time with the baby as much as possible. It is difficult and exhausting work, draining you so much that you always end up already fast asleep when Taehyung comes home. Which is another reason why Taehyung hates working late. He doesn’t get to see you all fucking day, can’t eat dinner with you, play with his daughter, let alone talk to you. When he leaves for work, you are still sleeping and when he comes home you are already sleeping. Taehyung hates working long hours and he hates this stupid project and the loneliness he feels.

He goes straight upstairs, wanting to check in on you before he eats a sad, lonely dinner all alone and sad and alone and sad on the couch. He hates working long hours.

Taehyung opens the bedroom door carefully, using the light of the hallway to check on your sleeping figure. Except that the bed is empty.

“Darling?”

The room stays silent. He closes the door and scratches his head in confusion. Where did you go? Taehyung thinks of any possible location in the house, remembering the nursery last. Bear with him, he is very groggy from work.

He makes his way to the nursery, eyes flitting to the faint lights instantly. He was correct. He increases his steps, heart fluttering unbearably. He hasn’t talked to you in days and now he finally gets the chance. Taehyung feels like a giddy boy who knows he can talk to his crush soon.

He feels actually lost for air and words when he lays eyes on you.

You are wearing a mint green satin slip with a matching floor-length rope. Delicate lace frames the edges of the garments and little diamonds in the lace glimmer in the dim lights. You aren’t wearing any makeup and your hair is unstyled. Taehyung has never felt so in love with you before, gazing at you as you whisper-sing to your baby daughter.

She is already sleeping soundly in her crib. You must have come in here to check up on her.

Taehyung loves you so much. He will take any amount of stress if it means that he can come home to you looking like this. Like the mother of his daughter and the love of his life.

“Darling, I’m home”, he speaks softly.

You lift your head, features instantly lighting up.

“I haven’t heard your voice in days. Tae darling, welcome home”, you say, closing the distance in hasty steps.

Taehyung meets you in the middle with stretched out arms, grasping your soft waist in sync with you grasping his shoulders. You kiss. You kiss like two lovers finally reunited after being separated. You kiss as if you had worried to never see each other again. The kiss ends with Taehyung squeezing your butt softly and you twirling his tie.

“I missed you”, you confess.

“I missed you too. You’re beautiful, darling.”

“You think so? I already had to change because our princess threw up on me.”

“Oh god, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“Mhm, it was nasty at first, but I’m okay.” You scratch your fingers over his undercut at the nape of his neck. “I’m more than okay now that you’re home”, you say, smiling at him goofily.

Taehyung’s heart flutters. He can’t help but giggle and poke your cheek with his nose.

“Stop flirting with me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m shy.”

“That’s why I’m doing it. It’s fun and mommy’s gotta get her entertainment in.”

You are jokingly referring to yourself as mommy, but Taehyung feels tingly because of it nonetheless. His heart skips multiple beats and his knees are wobbly for just a second. Holy moly.

You sigh in contentment, oblivious to his state.

“We should be talking outside. We don’t wanna wake her.”

“Right. Did mommy put her to sleep already?” he asks to play into the joke, but also to taste the sweetness of the words on his tongue.

You snicker, leading him out of the nursery with your arm around his waist.

“Yeah, mommy did”, you say, closing the door tightly.

“You’re the best mommy”, Taehyung says, almost moaning the words. He gulps, looking to the side in panic when you don’t notice. He opens his tie a little, taking a deep breath. What is happening to him? Has he really been away from you for long enough that the mere playfulness is enough to turn him on? Is it the arm around him? The hand on his waist? The fingers which played with his tie? Is it your outfit or your natural beauty? Or is it this fucking word? Innocent but tonight it tastes sinful on his tongue. Taehyung doesn’t understand what is happening to him, but he can’t stop it. He craves to be close to you.

“But enough about me. How was your day, darling?” you ask him, oblivious to his racing thoughts.

“Me? I”, he clears his throat. “Good, I mean, I don’t know. Kinda shit.”

You and he have reached the living room, sitting down on the couch together. You pull your legs up, turning to him so you are facing him. Taehyung glances for a second, having to swallow harshly. You aren’t wearing any panties. You are accidentally exposing yourself to him in this position. You move your arm, flinging the rope over your crotch mindlessly. The view disappears, but Taehyung is left with a scrambled mind.

You scoot closer and weave your fingers through his styled hair. Taehyung shivers, eyes closing halfway as he gazes at you.

“I’m sorry to hear that you had a shitty day, darling. Do you wanna talk about it?” you ask in a soft and caring voice, eyes focused solely on him.

Taehyung swears he might whimper any second now.

“I just have so much to do. I guess, it’s been weighing me down”, he says.

“Of course it has. You’ve been working long hours lately. I was already worried for you.”

“It sucks”, he confesses honestly and pouts, “I only see you two when you’re sleeping, I don’t get to eat dinner with you or talk to you. I’ve been so lonely lately.”

“No, I’m sorry you feel this way. Gosh come here you”, you say and get on your knees to hug him. Your soft, swollen breasts squeeze against his chest. Taehyung takes in nothing else for just a second before his situation sinks in and he melts into your embrace. He buries his face in your neck, eyes closing and arms wrapping around you. You smell so good. He wanted to hold you like this for days. Just with this one hug you heal him of any kind of loneliness he felt and rid him of any pain he ever felt.

“I’m here now, darling and I’m proud of you. You’ve been working so hard, I just wanna tell you that I’m proud of you.”

Taehyung tears up a little, squeezing you against him.

“Thank you”, he whimpers. Not many people told him that they were proud of him in the past, but you always do. He always soaks up the praise like a greedy sponge. It feels so good to know that you are proud of him.

“Are you crying?” you gasp.

“No, just finally feeling good. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too”, you say and snicker which lets Taehyung know that you are going to crack a joke next. “Mommy missed you, darling.”

You giggle mischievously, but Taehyung can’t see any humour in it. He feels fucked, pounded, railed, totally ruined just from this one sentence. If you took him, ripped his clothes off and fucked him violently right here and now, it would basically be the same thing.

Taehyung twists the fabric of your rope and presses his lips against your soft neck.

“Mommy”, he whimpers.

You tense up, smile dropping in shock. You know this voice. This is his sub drop voice. Your entire body tingles in realisation, heart skipping way too many beats. Damn your post pregnancy body, you are leaking already.

You test the waters carefully by humming a sound of acknowledgement, holding your breath.

“Mommy, please take care of me.”

“What?” you breathe.

Taehyung mewls and kisses your neck sloppily, long fingers digging into the silky fabric of your rope. You sigh, body going up in flames instantly. So this is how his neck kisses feel like. It has been too long since you last felt them.

Taehyung isn’t the only one who has been going a little crazy ever since he is home. You are just a woman and he is the hottest man ever. His dark styled hair, his styled eyebrows, his pretty eyes and his slim, sculpted body in a tailored suit; all of it has been doing their effects on you. You haven’t seen him in days, except in pictures and your dreams, so seeing him tonight all ruffled and ruined from work is doing things to you. His kiss makes you greedy, his body in your fingers almost mad. Feeling his perfect hands roam your torso and his soft lips kiss your neck is doing the rest.

You are just a woman and he is a man, who knows exactly how to turn you on.

Taehyung lifts his lips from your neck, brushing them against the shell of your ear.

“I’m going insane. You are so soft, Mommy. So soft”, he whispers and whimpers, tugging on your rope needily.

You shed it off with a skilled touch, basking in his reaction. He moans, kissing your newly exposed shoulders while his hands grasp your upper back. They are so big and feel so warm.

He shudders, exhaling shakily.

“Mommy, oh god…”

“Are you okay, baby?”

“No, I’m feeling so submissive to you. I can’t think straight”, he gets out in a slightly pitched voice.

“Shit, you’re sexy. Should Mommy take care of you, mhm?”

Taehyung moans, legs squeezing together needily. His cock is twitching in his slacks, soaking the fabric a little. You are into this as well. You are playing into his fantasy.

“Please”, he begs, needing you like air.

“Mhm, okay. Lie down on my lap, yeah?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

You and he get into position. You sit on the sofa with your feet on the ground and he lies his head onto your lap. You caress his hair, smiling down at him.

“There we go. Are you comfy, my pretty boy?”

He nods his head, gazing up at you with a droopy head. He is so deep in subspace right now. So, so deep.

“I love to hear this. You’ve been working so hard, have been so stressed out. Let Mommy make it better again, okay?”

“Yes, Mommy”, he whimpers, falling even deeper.

“And you gotta help me out too. My tits are killing me tonight, they’re so heavy. Can you help me?”

“Yes please”, he begs, barely seeing you at this point because you are scrambling his brain to the point of a blurry vision.

You smile at him and reach up to tug down the straps of your gown. The silky fabric slips down instantly, exposing your plumped up tits to him.

Taehyung moans, fucking the air.

“Go on, they’re all yours.”

Taehyung gathers them in his shaking hands and goes down on them with an open mouth. He trembles, eyes filling with tears. Your nipples are so swollen, sitting heavily on his tongue. He didn’t even realise how much he missed your breasts in his mouth until now. He whimpers, falling oh so deep into subspace that he won’t be able to escape anytime soon.

You groan in relief, rolling your head back and parting your lips. Your tits were killing you. Even the mere fabric of your dress was painful against your nipples and your skin feels so stretched to its limits. Taehyung’s wet, warm mouth feels like pure heaven. He releases you of so much tension, so much pressure and so much pain that you could honestly cry.

Taehyung is on a high, running on nothing but your sweet taste. He can’t decide on which side to stay, switching between them over and over again as he gets absolutely lost in you with tears down his cheeks and his cock hurting in his grey slacks.

You take care of his big (quite literally) problem. With barely open eyes you watch your own hand as you open his belt and slacks with. Taehyung is too lost to notice. He also doesn’t notice when you push the flap of his briefs to the side. He does notice when you take his cock out however.

You pick up a pace instantly, fingers pumping him quickly.

He sits up slightly in shock, head tilted back and messy mouth agape in a surprised moan. His eyes are widened, staring up at you.

“That feels nice, doesn’t it?” you ask him, massaging his heated tip.

Taehyung keens, spilling tears. It feels amazing. Your hand is so warm and so soft. Your touch is placed with so much love. He missed you so much and it feels so good.

“Of course it does. Relax, yeah? Mommy is gonna relieve you of your pressure too, yeah?”

“Mommy”, he whimpers, dropping on your lap to bury himself back in your soft tits. He takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking hungrily. His cock throbs in your fingers, spilling excitement down his shaft.

You pick it up, using it to jerk him off from the base to his tip. You are spilling down his throat too, feeling on cloud nine from the relief.

“Good boy, that feels amazing”, you praise him. You pick up speed, moving your hand up and down his entire shaft. Now that you finally have him again, you are going to make sure to memorise every single inch of him. Just in case he goes missing again.

Taehyung whimpers, kicking the pillows. His mouth is so eager in how he sucks your nipples. You are getting so much pleasure from it that it is difficult not to moan each word you speak.

“Good boy, my good boy. You’re doing so well for Mommy.”

He can’t really describe how he feels right now, but he knows that he doesn’t want to leave this headspace. He feels safe, that much is sure. He feels horny and pleasured, of course that is a given. But in a sense, he also feels high and far away.

This isn’t the first time that he gets to help you relieve your breasts of pressure. There is only so much your daughter can eat and only so much you can pump before it gets too much. Taehyung read in some of his countless pregnancy books that some wives like it when their husbands relieve them of the excess milk. He talked to you about it, you tried it and both loved it.

You because it genuinely helps with the soreness and pain and because he is so eager in his feast. Taehyung loves it because he gets to help you and be a good husband. His biggest fear is to end up being like his father, so when he gets to make you happy and help you instead of making you cry, very deep wounds heal on his heart. He loves it because he gets to be a good husband, he gets to be with you and share intimacy with you. And because you taste good.

You taste especially good tonight, making his head pound. Every single fiber in his body is submissive right now, charged in electricity because your touches feel really good.

Taehyung sobs, writhing on the sofa in his very distinct way which lets you know that he is going to orgasm way too soon. You spill on the couch because of it. He is so excited that he needs to climax. What a perfect boy he is.

“Do you wanna cum? Is Mommy making you cum?” you ask him, hand restless around his veiny shaft.

Taehyung sobs again, kicking his feet helplessly. His cock is so hot and swollen between your fingers, you fear that it might burst like a balloon soon. He is so perfect.

“You do? Then cum for me, okay? Cum for Mommy”, you encourage him, pumping his tip quickly.

Taehyung whimpers loudly, fulfilling your wish. He arches off the pillows, fingers dimpling your back as he grips you for support. His cock throbs angrily, shooting his cum all over his shirt and tie.

He sobs into you. He was in so much agony, he felt so bad and stressed and lonely. He was so sad. All of this built up in his stomach as painful pressure and you are releasing him off it. This one orgasm is healing him and it feels so good that he has to sob.

You moan with him, soaking up the view like a starved woman. You missed him so much. You missed how he shakes and writhes. You missed how his cock is so pretty when it squirts cum. And you missed how he is gripping whatever he gets a hold of.

“You’re so pretty when you cum. So pretty for Mommy”, you coo, pumping his tip needily. You know that he isn’t climaxing anymore, but you need more. So much more.

Taehyung reaches down hastily, pushing you away. He has had enough. You let off of him, caressing his twitching thighs instead. You need more, but need to hold back. It is so difficult. You want him so bad.

“Good boy, my good boy”, you praise him, trying to sound as normal as possible.

He pants and gulps for a few moments, clearly needing time to get back to you. His eyes open first, glassy and foggy they stare up at you.

“I’m sorry”, he croaks.

“For what?”

“I came too quickly. I didn’t mean to.”

“That’s okay, baby. Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Yes, so much”, he pouts, “thank you, Mommy.”

“Hm, you’re welcome, cutie”, you say and boop his nose with a snicker.

He soaks up the sound like an addict, gazing up at you. He loves you so much.

“I don’t want this to end”, he confesses.

“Me neither, but you’re soft.”

“I’ll eat you out, please.”

You writhe, biting down on your lower lip. You whimper your consent, nodding your head.

Taehyung rolls off the couch, not bothering to stuff his cock inside his slacks nor to clean up. He falls right between your legs, kneeling between them like a worshiper would before his goddess. He gazes up at you, drooling at this point.

“I saw your pussy when you sat down”, he confesses, eyes switching between your face and your exposed tits. They’re wet because his sucking made them leaky.

“Sorry?” you gasp.

“Your pussy. You’re not wearing any panties. I saw.”

“You did?”

“Yes, Mommy”, he whimpers.

“Well fuck”, you chuckle and open your legs, tugging the dress up your butt so you were completely exposed, “no need to hide then.”

Taehyung groans, tongue dripping drool as he gawks at you like a hungry dog.

“Whenever you’re read-”

He interrupts you by burying his face in your pussy with a hungry growl. He doesn’t waste any time going slow, lapping up your sweet nectar greedily.

You moan, dropping your head on the edge of the backrest and burying your hand in his hair. You lift your legs, placing them over his shoulders. He supports them by wrapping his arms around them, hands spreading out on your inner thighs.

“That’s it, holy fuck”, you moan, toes curling in ecstasy. You have been incredibly sensitive ever since you gave birth. One night you even confessed to him that you worried something was wrong with you because his touch felt so good to you. Taehyung called a doctor the next day who told him that this could happen and shouldn’t be reason for concern unless it becomes uncomfortable. When Taehyung then proceeded to ask what he could do to help, the doctor told him that the answer would be inappropriate but that Taehyung knows exactly what to do as your husband and to do it right. You laughed so hard when he confessed the phone call to you and how the doctor basically told him to just fuck you right. But that night, you soon couldn’t laugh anymore when Taehyung followed the doctor’s orders and fucked you so goddamn right.

Ever since then, Taehyung has been practically insane in his skills, regularly bringing you to the point of a liquid brain and a wobbly body. Tonight is no different. He uses his entire mouth on your pussy, switching between licking and sucking every inch of you. He also switches between your clit and your folds, sometimes lingering on your entrance as well.

“Tae more”, you beg during a moment he pulls his tongue away from your leaking hole. He lifts his head for a moment, checking for consent. You are blissed out, leaky tits heaving up and down and face glowing in bliss. Taehyung moans.

He looks back at your pussy, gathering his saliva so he could spit on you. He picks up the slick, stuffing it into your pussy a moment later as he buries three of his fingers inside your swollen walls. You arch off the sofa, twisting his hair just enough that there is a tug present but no pain. Taehyung doesn’t like pain and you never disrespect this limit, even if he is currently making you see stars.

“Holy fuck Taeeeee….”

Taehyung connects his sloppy mouth with your clit again, fucking his fingers out of you vigorously.

You practically curl up into a ball, thighs against your chest and ankles crossed. He is too good. You can’t handle the pleasure any other way.

“I can’t breathe, Mommy”, he lulls against you.

“Fuck, sorry, ahm.”

Weakly, you unravel yourself again, putting your feet on his shoulders and your own hands on his own thighs to force your legs to stay open. You grip your own flesh a second later when Taehyung fucks his fingers into you quickly, flicking his tongue over your clit just as quickly. He moans as he does it, forcing a loud noise of pleasure out of you.

Your toes grip his shoulders, your nails leave imprints on your thighs.

“Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck”, you chant, seeing entire galaxies.

Taehyung mewls and growls, spitting on his fingers hastily before his tongue dances on your clit again. The slip is so wet and messy. He doesn’t have his palm facing up, but sideways, allowing his long fingers to go so deep that you honestly feel stuffed to the brim.

You can’t do this. Taehyung isn’t the only one who had too much pressure built up in his stomach.

“I’m cumming”, you croak, breaking apart a second later. “Tae! Ah!”

Taehyung moans, swallowing your orgasm hungrily. He moves his fingers and tongue just right, helping you ride out the blissful warmth until you tell him to stop.

With shaking knees, he climbs onto the couch again. You don’t change position, letting him kneel on the pillow with one leg while the other was still on the floor.

You kiss messily, sloppily. He tastes like your squirt, you taste like bliss. You are both gone, moaning and gulping each other up as best as possible. Going days without talking nor seeing each other was torture. Going even longer without sex is literally the reason why you are acting like animals right now.

“I need you to fuck me”, you break the kiss, hands on the nape of his neck.

“Yes, Mommy. Please.”

“Good boy, do it.”

Taehyung nods his head vigorously and stands up. He takes off his pants and briefs, but keeps his ruined shirt on. You get into position in the meantime, kneeling on the couch with your stomach against the backrest and your butt facing him.

He moans at the view but doesn’t acknowledge it any further because he is too needy for you. You look at him over your shoulder, grabbing his tie to tug him closer.

“You’re mine. Mommy’s pretty boy.”

“Holy fuck, Mommy”, he moans, spilling submissive tears. His chest melts with your back, his arms cage you in as he lets you pull him into a kiss. His right hand is on your stomach at first, caressing it, but soon slips to your exposed tits to knead them eagerly. He has one knee on the sofa and the other foot on the floor. You moan and mewl, tongue kissing him back eagerly while your left hand dances down to align his newly hardened cock with your dripping pussy. Once he is, you push your hips back, swallowing him whole.

The kiss breaks because Taehyung broke it in a submissive moan, swollen lips pressing against your cheek.

“That’s it. Filling up Mommy so well…”

“Mommy…”

“So pretty, you sound so pretty when you call me that.”

He bottoms out. You instantly begin rutting into him, fucking his cock fast and sloppily.

His right hand slips from your tits, gripping the backrest as well. His normally deep voice comes out a high-pitched whimper, face dropping into the crook of your shoulder.

He drives you mad. You drop your head to the front, twisting his grey tie. It feels so good to fuck yourself on him. He is such a good dildo. The way his cock curves is so perfect for positions like tonight’s. You are getting stimulated at the deepest spots, making you wish that he could fucking live in you.

Taehyung is a mess behind you, drooling on your shoulder and spilling constant tears of pleasure. He knew that he missed you, that the long hours in his lonely office made him needy, but he wasn’t aware of how bad it actually was. He knows that he should be moving his hips right now, but he can’t. He is frozen in too much pleasure, reduced to serve as your dildo to fuck yourself on as he tries not to pass out in the process.

“Good boy, good fucking boy. Mommy’s good boy”, you chant, riding on a literal high.

“Mommyyy”, he keens, throbbing inside you.

“Soo good. Touch my clit.”

Taehyung obeys, moaning with you as you tighten around his cock.

“Good boy, ah!” you throw your head back, fucking him faster. The position you find yourself in, makes your tits naturally hang over the edge of the sofa. They are hurting from not being touched.

“Actually, changed my mind. Touch my fucking tits. They’re so heavy.”

Taehyung obeys instantly, holding your swollen tits in his big hands.

“Good boy. Fuck yes, hold Mommy’s heavy tits. Fuck baby…”

Taehyung bites your shoulder, hips stuttering as your words make them work against his will. No wonder he got you pregnant. Taehyung always forgets how good you are at sex and how much power you have over him until he is balls deep inside you and you literally ruin him. No wonder you managed to get yourself pregnant on him, when you fuck like this it is bound to happen that Taehyung nuts in you as deep as his seed can go and it actually fucking works. There is no way around it.

“Mommy, it’s too much”, he sobs.

“Too much? Need a break?”

“No. No, just too much. Too good. Aaah.”

“Mmh so good. Mommy’s so proud of you, baby. You’re fucking me so well”, you praise, fingers rubbing your clit vigorously.

“I have to cum again, Mommy.”

“Don’t hold back, fill me up.” You encourage him with clenches of your walls. “Make me a Mommy again.”

Taehyung breaks instantly, and with such utter need that he accidentally pins you against the sofa to rut into you. The praise you wanted to moan gets knocked out of you, loud wails replace it. Your eyes go cross, your limbs shake. He is fucking you just right, making your walls tremble as he fills them with his creamy cum.

He wants to slow down afterwards but you stop him with a yelp.

“Don’t stop! I’m close!”

Taehyung somehow growls and whimpers at the same time, hands kneading your tits to the point they leak against their will. His cock aches, but he can’t stop. Not when his beautiful, soft wife is so close to an explosive orgasm. He knows how sensitive you are, how much sex you need, how he had neglected you unwillingly. He needs to serve and please and submit to your pleasure to finally make up for what you had to miss out on.

“Mommy, my cock is so sensitive. Oh god Mommy”, he is still whining about his condition, crying into your shoulder.

“Soon. Soon. Please harder. Everything.”

Taehyung understands. He bites your shoulder again, speeding up his hips as he slams his cummy cock into your creamed walls repeatedly. He squeezes your tits harder, rubbing your swollen nipples between his fingers vigorously.

“Tae!” you scream, breaking apart simultaneously. It feels so good that you can’t tell if it started in your pussy, in your clit or in your nipples. All you know is that it makes you writhe and shake and sob because you haven’t had this kind of orgasm in so long. Taehyung fucks you through it, seeing light as he fears for his life. He keeps going despite all that, fucking you so good that have to squirt a second time, soiling his legs and the sofa with it.

“Urgh woah”, you let out once then give up, dropping into the backrest which forces his cock to slip out of you. You spill his cum instantly, groaning in relief.

Taehyung drops beside you into the sofa, burying his hands in his hair to twist it in disbelief. He can barely even breathe. What the fuck was this?

You pant next to him, feeling shocked as well.

It takes the two of you a while to recover from what just happened. The sex was just too intense and your bodies are too broken.

You are the one to end the forced silence.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know”, he whispers.

You and he turn your head slowly, locking eyes.

“I think I can’t move.”

“Me neither.”

You break first, Taehyung follows, showing you his prettiest boxy smile as he laughs with you wholeheartedly. You manage to get out of your trance as you laugh, falling into each other’s arms to hug.

“This was actually insane”, you say.

“Yeah, oh god, I can’t believe you let me call you Mommy.”

“Not gonna lie that was like super hot and sexy. I don’t know what this says about me. Or us for that matter.”

“That we’ll do it again one day?”

You lift your head to meet his gaze. He is giving you the cutest puppy eyes ever.

“Mhm definitely.” You cradle his flushed cheek, caressing his heated skin. “You’re actually the cutest and hottest man at the same time. I think I might be pregnant again just because you’re so sexy.”

He laughs, eyes glimmering shyly.

“Don’t say that”, he mumbles, playing with his own hair giddily.

“I mean it. Gosh you, you’re the best. Mwuah”, you say, giving him a big smooch.

He giggles, kicking his feet happily. You giggle with him, hugging him against your chest.

“You also seriously helped me with my tits. I thought that they would burst tonight.”

He hums, closing his eyes as he seeks your scent and rubs your back.

“I love helping you. Knowing that I can relieve some of that pressure is all I want.”

“You are helping, so much.”

You and he share a nice silence where you hug each other. It is so healing to be with each other. You love each other so much.

Taehyung’s rumbling stomach breaks the silence. You lift your head, meeting his embarrassed gaze.

“Are you hungry?”

“Did you hear my stomach?”

“Loud and clearly.”

Taehyung pouts, and huffs out air, “I haven’t eaten since lunch. I’m so hungry.”

“That’s not good. Luckily for you, Misses Choi made dinner before she left. Come on, we’ll clean up and then eat it together.”

“Really?” he gasps, eyes lighting up at the aspect of finally having dinner with you again.

“Of course. We have so many lost dinners to make up for and I’m hungry again. I’m always hungry lately.”

Taehyung giggles, letting you pull him to his feet so he could follow you to the bathroom hand in hand.

He came home grumpy tonight, but even the concept of this emotion is gone from his heart now that he can finally be with you again. Oh he is going to cuddle you so, so good tonight.

442 notes · View notes

verstappenf1lecccc · 24 days ago

Note

Charles leclerc x reader, your his assistant that He has been pinning over forever and drops hints and like a lovesick puppy to you but your oblivious and innocent to it? Know you can do this rlly good lovely — F1driverszona 🤍

i love f1driverszona so much!! hi bae this is for you :)

comments and replies are always appreciated!!

When you accepted the job, you knew the challenges you'd face wouldn't be easy. However, you never anticipated your boss being one of those challenges. Charles was never a difficult person; he was always easygoing and well-spoken. He only became difficult when he had his eyes set on a specific target—or in this case, a specific person. His last assistant had left for another job, leaving Charles with a significant position to fill. Interviewing hundreds of people day in and day out was exhausting, and he was honestly on the verge of promoting any random intern. But then, you walked in—hair flying, papers everywhere; in short, you looked like a hot mess. Yet, he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

Your looks weren’t the only thing that impressed Charles. Your CV was more than impressive, showcasing all the hard work you'd done. The sudden decision to hire you had tilted your world upside down. You went from living in a small apartment in a rather miserable neighborhood to residing in the country’s best penthouse. From day one, it was clear that your boss had a soft spot for you. You often got away with things others didn’t, like showing up to work late, leaving early, and skipping those horrible meetings. You were given all the liberties in the world, yet you never took advantage of them. This habit of yours often left Charles scratching his head, wondering why you never took advantage of his kindness and leniency.

Charles knew he'd had his eye on you since day one. Each day you walked into his office made him smile wider. Everyone around you both knew how captivated Charles was by you, yet you remained oblivious. It was hard to ignore the feelings you had for Charles, but for the sake of professionalism, you often suppressed them. It was challenging, especially considering how kind and handsome he was. His smile had you weak, and the veins in his arms, especially when he flexed, had you wondering how his hand would look wrapped around your neck—anyway. Charles always kept you on your toes with how he handled you. His hand would always find its way comfortably to the small of your back, or he'd always be hands-on, even for the smallest tasks.

One specific incident genuinely made you wonder if your boss had feelings for you. Charles never bothered you after work hours, as he was a gentleman. So when you picked up his call one evening and heard the blaring music from a club, you knew something was up. Before he spoke, you heard a very drunk Lando yelling, “Look at you, Charlie! Can’t even stay away from her for more than a couple of hours!” His reply would have made you swoon if only you understood French: “Mon bébé, je jure que je ferai de toi ma femme un jour, mon amour. J'aimerais pouvoir dire ça sobrement.” When you asked him the next day what he'd said, he simply brushed it off, saying he’d tell you when the time was right.

You had made the mistake of talking about Charles to your overly enthusiastic best friend, Eli. You'd always felt something odd when you were around Eli but brushed it off since he'd been in your life since you were five, and you weren't one to think poorly of people. Eli, who was oddly against your feelings for Charles, proposed a plan to get you two together by showing up at the Italian Grand Prix as your boyfriend to make Charles jealous. Though you had a bad feeling, you reluctantly agreed.

Monza was always magical, especially since you worked for Ferrari. You loved seeing how fans adored Charles and Carlos. You even joined the locals in praying for a Ferrari win, secretly hoping it would be Charles. When Charles qualified P4, everyone assumed it was because the car lacked pace. However, Charles was distracted by seeing you with Eli. It wasn’t the fact that you were with another guy—it was how uncomfortable you looked. Eli insisted that pretending to be your boyfriend meant he could touch and hold you as he pleased, making you so uncomfortable you wished you could disappear. He justified it as "part of the plan."

Race day was the first time you spoke to Charles again. His responses were curt and had an edge to them, which was unusual. All he wanted to do was pull you into his arms and kiss you before the race. Instead, you exchanged a meek, “Good luck, Charlie.” He simply nodded, determined to win for both of you.

When Charles miraculously won the race, his first thought was of you. He couldn’t wait to see you and planned to pull you into his arms and whisper the same words he’d said while drunk. This time, though, he was sure you would understand, as you now knew some French. Unfortunately, fate had other plans. The strange feeling you had around Eli turned out to be justified—he was trying to drug you, hoping to manipulate the situation to drive Charles away and take advantage of you himself.

Eli had been slipping drugs into the water you drank. He knew you didn’t drink alcohol and had to be creative. Midway through the race, you began to feel dizzy, struggling to focus. Around lap 45, you sensed something was seriously wrong, and luckily, Rebecca noticed too. When Eli left momentarily to fetch more "water," you encountered Rebecca, who saw how pale and clammy you were. She informed Andrea and took you to the medical center, where you eventually collapsed.

When Charles crossed the finish line, he was on an emotional high—until he heard what happened to you. Charles never saw himself as a violent man, but when he heard about Eli’s plan, he couldn’t hold back his fury. He confronted Eli, who confessed to his scheme. It was a stupid plan, one intended to tear apart two people who clearly belonged together. Charles’s only concern, however, was you. Seeing you quiet and still made him realize how much he depended on your presence.

You had been unconscious for eight hours and were taken to a nearby hospital for safety. When you finally woke, you felt a rough hand over yours. Charles had stayed by your side the entire time, his eyes tired yet softening as you stirred. Slowly, your memory returned, and so did the panic of recent events. It took Charles an hour to calm you down. A week later, Eli was arrested for his crimes, and Charles barely left your side. Later that week, he finally asked you out.

He wasn’t the smoothest, but he composed a song on the piano for you and played it as he invited you to a high-end restaurant you’d always dreamed of. Toward the end, he finally said the words in French that he’d kept close to his heart: “La dernière fois que j'ai eu le courage de te dire ces mots, j'étais ivre. Cette fois, je suis sobre, et je suis complètement amoureux de toi. S'il te plaît, sois mon amant?”

You simply replied, “J'ai toujours été à toi, Charlie. Tu m'as juste fait attendre." And that’s how, against all odds, you two finally found each other.

French to English :

"My baby, I swear that I’ll make you my wife one day, my love. I wish I could say this sober."

"The last time I had the courage to say these words to you, I was drunk. This time, I'm sober, and I'm completely in love with you. Please, be mine?"

"I've always been yours, Charlie. You just made me wait."

#f1 imagine #f1 scenario #f1 x reader #charles leclerc #formula one #charles lecrelc #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #formula 1 #angsty #Charles angst #monza gp 2024 #monza grand prix #monza24

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save-the-villainous-cat · 2 months ago

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Heyo!!!!✨️✨️✨️

You write Hero x Villain so well and I was wondering if you'd be willing to write about a Hero that was kidnapped by the Villain, and Hero is expecting harsh treatment, but they instead wake up in a lavish bedroom, restrained to the bed of course but it's a very nice bed. It turns out Hero had been overworking themselves and Villain was worried about them and had had enough. Maybe Hero tries to argue that they haven't been overworking and Villain goes ballistic.

It was a joke.

It had to be.

The hero looked at the handcuffs (which were their own) and then back at the villain.

"You're kidding." The hero was seldom in the mood for jokes. Most of the time, they didn't understand the references their friends made or ended up explaining jokes which people - apparently - did not like. It was quite hard for them to find anything funny. A cat was funny. A sound could be funny.

But a practical joke? Not so much.

"Honestly, I wish I was. Do you know how heavy you are? I would have never dragged you up here for a joke," the villain said. They were sitting on a luxuriant chair across the room, one thigh on the other. Their foot was dangling in the air happily and they looked well rested as they drank from a coffee cup.

"What time is it?"

"It's ten in the morning." The hero smiled to themselves. "On a Monday."

"What? No. Shit. Shit. Fuck-" The hero was already late to work. They were always 30 minutes early. They couldn't be late. They started struggling against the restraints, tossed and turned, tried to pull and free themselves. But it didn't work, no matter how much forced they conjured.

In the end, their wrists were sore, nothing more.

"Relax," the villain purred. "For some strange reason - which I am not associated with - your workplace has been shut down. Water damage."

"What did you-?"

"Purely coincidental," the villain lied. They shrugged and finished their coffee, setting the cup down on the tiny table next to them. They stood up and once they were in front of the villain, they leaned over them. "You look very good in my bed, by the way."

"Am I your hostage? Is that it?" the hero asked.

"Hostage? My god, do you know how much planning and energy that requires? Too much work, really." The villain tapped the tip of the hero's nose with their index finger. "My love, do you remember when I broke your leg a while ago?"

"Still hurts like shit when I work out."

"Hm." The villain almost looked like they were sorry. "Well...that was a rather harsh method, I have to admit. But a very effective one. Until you started working again, harder this time. I didn't see that coming."

The hero stared at the villain. Initially, they had thought the villain would understand what it was like to sacrifice themselves for their beliefs. The hero was, in many forms, very dedicated to both their jobs. The one in the office and the one outside of it as a hero. No task was too much, no overtime was too long.

Of course, the hero heard the whispers about themselves, they heard how their family made fun of them for working long hours and how they judged them for never finding time to meet up. After a while, the hero had stopped getting into arguments with their parents. You wanted me to have a steady job or my work is important to me were not good enough explanations for them. So, the hero had given up on that.

But they had genuinely thought the villain would know what that felt like. To be invested, to be motivated.

"Is being determined such a crime?"

"Determination and obsession are two different things, my love," the villain said.

"What do you care anyway?" the hero hissed. They were sick of people getting into their business and telling them how to live their life. It was more than exhausting.

The villain was quiet. They studied the hero's face and eventually sat down on the edge of the bed. Their lower back was touching the hero's side.

The hero did not pull away.

"Your hand has been shaking for two weeks now," the villain said. "Do you think I am willing to fight a weak enemy? That is below me. My equal is supposed to match me in combat. Not only attractiveness."

The hero didn't say anything to that right away. They knew they had had...struggled with fighting these past few weeks. But they had not wanted it to be due to their work. It was clearly a coincidence. Some harmless infection or illness.

"Listen...I am fine. I have a good job and I have a duty to fulfill."

"When you go home after work, do you feel like you have accomplished anything?" the villain asked and the hero, despite how sure they were of themselves and their work ethic, knew that the villain was digging into a wound with dirty fingers here.

Because, no, the hero did not feel satisfied, they barely felt relieved.

"Do you feel happy?" The villain's eyes were boring into the hero's. Curious, brilliant eyes.

The villain was quite provocative but this was right out a punch to the gut.

"You are asking unfair questions."

"You don't like them because the answer hurts. You are miserable. What you are doing right now is devouring you. And once that is done, what am I left with? Another one of those broken heroes who dies in their twenties because it's all too much?"

The hero looked at them, tears burning in their eyes. It was their job. It was their chance to prove themselves.

The hero was worth something. They were useful, they were smart. They were good at work. What would be left for them if that was being taken away?

What was the hero without it, anyway?

"Right now," they said, "I dislike you very much."

"Our relationship goes beyond simple fights," the villain explained. They let their fingertips dance over the hero's throat, even let their hand cup it carefully. Goosebumps spread all over the hero's back. The villain could have choked them anytime. But they didn't. "It's a vicious cycle. You and I. We cannot escape. And that is your duty. That is your priority. The objective which demands all your attention. Stopping me is a lot of work and you need to focus on that. If I get too powerful, you know what happens. I want power. I want power over you, over the city."

"So instead of working the usual way, you want me to work because of you?" The hero was quick to blink the tears out of their eyes.

This was simply ludicrous. The villain was wrong. They were lying, manipulating.

"No. I want your attention, I want your dedication. The healthy amount." The villain leaned over them, their lips brushing the hero's ear. "I can be nastier if I want. Right now I could break any bones of yours to force you to rest."

Their fingers glided up the hero's forearm until they found the hero's hand. The villain took it.

"But I saw how much pain that caused. And how disappointing the results were. So. Last chance, my love. Tune it down. Or all of us will suffer."

They pressed a kiss to the hero's temple.

However, the villain had to kidnap the hero three more times until the hero decided to start taking care of themselves.

#obsession? in this house?#writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request #kidnapped hero

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howdoesagrapewrites · 5 months ago

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𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐰𝐬: 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐟𝐲𝐫𝐞 𝐈𝐈

Taglist: @your-favorite-god

Plot: You, the legitimized bastard of Daemon Targaryen grew up with a very devoted extended family. But after the dance of dragons begins, you know exactly on what side you belong

Cw: incest/targcest, yandere/lovesick behavior, unhealthy relationships, platonic and romantic yanderes, not everyone is romantically involved with reader, yandere! EVERYONE x reader

>Being on top of Vhagar mid-air is probably the most frightened you have been in your life

>As you have been taught, there is only one rider for each dragon, and only one dragon for each rider, there has been no exceptions ever known, and you understand that the kindness of a dragon has limits, Vhagar will not let you ride on her as if you owned her, if you abuse, you will eventually fall

>The most logical conclusion is that Dagahrion is in Dragonstone, dragons always come back to their homes, but that's a good day of travel (time you don't have), and you could be wrong. Even if you got to Dragonstone safe and sound, to bring such a threat to the island, would be a move short of clever

> [Author's note: I have been stuck here for months and I find torturously tedious to write this part, so for the sake of advanving with the fic, I'll just explain that Y/N dismounts Vhagar after almost falling, and ends up finding Dagahrion on a cave]

>Fortunately, Dagahrion was still wearing his saddle and reins, so you climbed up on him like you had hundreds of times, caressing the rough scales and holding to him. You missed him so dearly, you missed your family, Dagahrion, and the people currently on Dragonstone. The blacks* were your family. No one else was

>It was nightime, an as Aemond's wife, everyone was likely looking for you, and Dagahrion's size will attract attention, you were clear of all the dangers, but did not have many options

>Dragonstone was almost a day away, but you decided to go immediately, taking advantage of the fact that Vhagar would take some time to get to the castle, after she almost threw you off of her

>In the air, you felt free again. Not like with Vhagar, where you flew on borrowed time, you were now with the dragon that hatched on your cradle, the one the gods intended for you

>You honestly feel like you fell asleep and woke up on Dragonstone, you are aware your thoughts were torturing you the whole trip, but the things you thought were only memories that weaked your resolve, sentimentalities and compassions that would not be given to you by the same people

>The handlers were surprised to see Dagahrion arriving, especially nearing the hour of the bat

>Your clothes are hardly enough to keep you warm when it was so late, you were so high in the air, and it was so cold

>Once you arrive, Daemon and Rhaenyra are woken up by the servants, Rhaenyra orders for a hot bath to be drawn for you, to prevent the cold for spreading in your body, despite Daemon's urgency to speak to you

>The bath is pleasant but endless, you would rather be going to Rhaenyra and telling her everything, lay your head on her lap, feel cared for. But you feel cared for now, with the hot water surrounding you, knowing she was caring for you by making sure your body was safe, and you actually needed this, you were exhausted and shivering.

>You were wrapped up in towels, padded and soft, the maids dressed you up for bed like when you were a child, and you are so tired you allowed them to

>You want to see Rhaenyra, and lash out at a poor girl when she says it's better you rest, you know you shouldn't, and that she is not Olivya or Celesse, that they are genuinely looking out for you, and this is nothing like how the greens kept you locked in a room and prevented you from seeing anything the didn’t want you to see. So you quickly apologize, not used to letting out anger this way

>You are aware you should rest, but still ask for Rhaenyra, and this time she comes to you. She's quiet and gentle, and doesn't ask anything, just watches you eat for some time before you speak.

>"Aegon had usurped the throne." You say with trepidation, knowing it was shocking news, but you find no point in dancing around the subject.

>Rhaenyra delicately grabs a napkin from your tray and cleans a stray, lonely tear, but she appears overall so calm

>"I have been informed, child. I have been crowned too."

>"And you lost Visenya" you wanted to say, but the corners of her eyes were red, and it is likely she would not want to speak about that

>"I'm sorr-" you begin before being cut off

>"I will not allow you to be, you were held hostage, ans you will stay by my side when we settle this and I am crowned in King's Landing."

>"I will." You promise, your voice fickle, but the promise behind it strong

>"Kings-" you cut yourself off this time, remembering who you are speaking to. "Queens can annul marriages, can they not?"

>Rhaenyra's lips purse in preoccupation. "Yes, they- yes I can" she resolves, reaching for your hand, which still holds some cutlery

>"Can you do mine?" You looked straight into her eyes

>She holds your hand tighter. "To whom?"

>"One-Eye." You reply with disdain

>"Did-" Rhaenyra pauses, looking for the right words, but you interrupt her

>"Is unconsummated."

>"Then I will do it first thing in the morning."

>You give a nod of appreciation, then let the comfortable silence fall in the room for a minute before your stepmother speaks again

>"You brought Blackfyre to us."

>You nod, with pride this time

>"We should keep it, is important." Rhaenyra suggested "After the words I could give it to Jacaerys, he is the prince of Dragonstone now, or give-"

>You squeeze her hand a little tighter, wanting her to stop speaking but not wanting to be so rude as to interrupt her again. She does as you wish

>"If your grace allows it... I want Blackfyre."

>Her violet eyes widen slightly, then she realizes what she was saying, and feels a pang of shame, she is being actively usurped because she is a woman, and she was now not even thinking of the girl who brought the sword to be the one to wield it

>"Do you know how to use it?" Rhaenyra still needed to ask

>"Some basic moves, but I can learn." You said, a little bashful to have made such a request when you are not too dexterous with the weapon

>"Then is yours, Y/N"

>The conversation continued, you tried to tell her as much as you knew, which was not too much, and she listened and even asked for your advice in some things, perhaps she did it just to make you feel heard, but you accepted it and thanked for it

>Your eyelids were growing too heavy for your own good, and your step-mother left you alone

>You slept with relative ease, your feelings being no true match for your physical exhaustion

>The next days, you familiarized yourself with the atmosphere, it was similar to the keep, rushed and tense, but it seemed less dangerous, it didn't keep you on your toes like the capital did

>You trained with the sword, most days you were alone with the master of arms, but other days, Jacaerys joined you. He was a great swordsman, and you knew tou shouldn't compare to him, but you did, you felt inadequate, you felt like you used the threat of war as a distraction to avoid feeling upset, sad and conflicted for what your own family did to you

>Rhaenyra summoned you, she was seating in the council's table, but she was alone with Jace

>she acknowledged your presence, then spoke, apparently continuing a previous thread of conversations

>"It will be short, it is merely diplomatic. But Starks keep their oaths, you will ideally not be met with overbearing resistance, you have to know how to bargain properly."

>Jace nodded, you didn't ask about the context

>"Y/N, you surely heard. Prince Jacaerys will travel to the North, remind the northmen of the oaths they swore. You will be by his side."

>You did not see it, too preoccupied with the task at hand, but Jacaerys' eyes lit up, and it was hard to contain his smile, Rhaenyra glared at him, to not be so obvious

>You parted the next day, as one of the queen's maids braided your hair, you looked at your reflection in the mirror, and felt the determination of loyalty, albeit mixed with a knot in your stomach, the anticipation of uncertainty

>Your father was nowhere to be seen, apparently patrolling the skies

>You said goodbye to Baela, Rhaena and your step-brothers

>Lucerys was nervous, yet excited to be sent on his first mission alone, you gave him a hug and kissed his forehead

>Rhaenyra hugged you before you parted, and a whisper slipped through your lips.

>"Goodbye, mother."

#dragon jaws #yandere rhaenyra targaryen #yandere jacaerys velaryon #yandere hotd #targaryens x reader #hotd x reader #hotd x you #Dragon Jaws Blackfyre #platonic yandere Rhaenyra Targaryen

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javierpena-inatacvest · 11 months ago

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Chapter 18: Hole in None

Summary: During your bridal shower, Steve takes Javi golfing. When they return, the way Javi is acting has you questioning everything you knew about your relationship.

Word Count: 12.1K (getting back to my roots of a short chapter LMAO)

Warnings: SMUT(18+) unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up irl pls), oral (f receiving), creampie, praise kink, breeding kink (if you squint?), makeup sex and getting caught (The Murphy's will never catch a break) ANGST (I'm so sorry!!), Hurt/comfort, Javi being super insecure, you being confused as hell, Steve being an absolute idiot

A/N: HELLO. IT'S ME! I DO EXSIST! I am genuinely SO sorry that this chapter has taken a million years to happen. December has been so busy and I have had no time to write, so I really, really appreciate all of your patience 🥺 This is a lil different than any other chapter we've had so far in the NTL universe, it's a lil angsty-er than normal but ya girl only believes in happy endings so don't fret!!! Also poorly beta'd bc I have the stomach flu and I am 100% there are mistakes in this chapter that I'm sure I missed 🫠

Series Masterlist Next Chapter Previous Chapter

“Do I really have to do this? This thing hasn’t even started yet and I’m already exhausted.”

“Yes, Hermosa, I do think that most people do expect the bride to be at her own bridal shower.” Javi laughed, staring into the bathroom mirror as he ran his hands through the dark curls of his hair, fixing them into place as you stood next to him, finishing the rest of your longer than usual makeup routine to prepare for being the center of attention against your will for the next several hours.

It wasn’t that you weren’t grateful that your co-workers wanted to throw you a bridal shower before your wedding, now only a few weeks away- the sentiment of the whole thing was incredibly thoughtful. Your 3rd grade teammates had even found a way to get in touch with your family to make sure that your mom, aunts and cousins felt included in the event, too. You should have been thrilled about the fact that the people who loved you most in the world were coming together to celebrate your upcoming wedding and quite literally showering you with gifts, but if there was one thing you hated more than anything else, it was the social exhaustion that came from having a party planned for no one but you.

You had really tried to convince Maria, Estelle, Linda, and now, your mom that you didn’t need a bridal shower- your wedding was going to be small, and since you had already been living on your own, there weren’t a lot of things you needed as you started married life together. Unfortunately, neither of those arguments were going to stop those ladies from going all out for you, leaving you feeling like your bridal shower was turning out to be even bigger than your actual wedding.

“Don’t you think I could just get a cardboard cutout of myself and use that instead? All these ladies love to talk so much that I don’t think they would even know the difference.” You sighed, giving yourself a once over in the mirror before putting away the rest of your makeup as Javi snuck behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, planting a soft kiss into your shoulder as he pressed his chest against your back.

“I have a feeling that someone would notice.” Javi chuckled, a soft grin spreading across his face as your eyes met in the mirror, his smile and sweet eyes enough to calm your nerves for at least a moment. “I would definitely notice.”

“Well that’s easy for you to say, you don’t even have to be there.” You huffed, letting a little pout fall from your lips as Javi playfully shook you in his grasp, trying your best not to smile as you tried to keep up your unenthused facade. “It’s not too late to trade. You can go to the bridal shower and I can go golfing with you and Steve.”

Even though Javi had insisted he was more than happy to stay at the shower with you, Maria had insisted that Javi find another way to spend his time so the spotlight of the day could be on you, and not him being distractingly handsome to everyone else there. Lucky for Javi, that meant extra time to spend with Steve while Connie was at your shower- not so lucky for you that Maria had banished your future husband from attending an event for your own wedding.

“I honestly may have to take you up on that. Steve must have needed an ego boost when I let him pick what he wanted to do while you and Connie were at the shower because he knows I can’t golf for shit.” Javi’s overdramatic sigh and roll of his eyes was enough to make you break into a little giggle, turning your head enough to press a quick kiss onto his cheek before reaching your hand under his chin, giving his jaw a little jiggle. “It’ll go by fast, Osita, I promise. And then, when we get home,” he paused, pressing another kiss into your shoulder and up towards your neck, digging his fingers a little tighter into your sides as he rasped into your ear, “I’ll take as much time as you want to destress you.”

“As much time as I want? Bold of you to assume that the dog is gonna give us that long.” You snickered as a happy Bear trotted into your bathroom right on cue, his tail loudly thumping against the bathroom cabinets from his happy wags as he wedged himself between you and Javi.

The newest furry member of your household had been a well loved addition, but if there was one thing Bear had no concept of, it was privacy. Your dog had become a constant shadow to you and Javi anywhere and everywhere in your house, including your in your bedroom, even when you were, well, not sleeping. It hadn’t helped that Javi had already formed such a soft spot for Bear, and had let him on your bed from the moment he stepped foot into the apartment, and now, your dog and his clingy personality had become a new obstacle to try and navigate in your sex life.

“Someone needs to tell his dad that he’ll survive if he gets left out of the bedroom for a half hour, huh? That he’s adorable, but that he can be a little cockblock, can’t he?” Squatting down next to Bear, you wrapped your hands around his face, scratching behind his ears as you mockingly serenaded him, raising an eyebrow at Javi.

“He just sounds so sad when he whines and he’s trapped outside the door.” Javi grumbled, kneeling down to join you, patting Bear’s stomach, now much thicker and fuller than it was a few weeks ago after you had first brought him home, skinny and neglected from his lack of care from his previous owners.

“You say trapped like we're kicking him out to the streets when we close the door on him. He’s adorable and sweet, but he’s a dog, Jav, he’ll be okay.” You smirked, playfully scolding Javi as you peppered Bear’s head with kisses, making his tail thump even harder as it wagged back and forth. “Tell your dad you’ll be just fine, won’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” Javi groaned, knowing damn well you were right, even though he couldn’t bring himself to admit he had become an absolute softie for your new dog. “Alright, Hermosa, we gotta get you to this shower before Maria yells at me for making you late.” Pushing his hands against his knees, Javi let out a little grunt as he pushed himself back up to stand, checking the time on the silver watch wrapped around his wrist.

“Wow, so eager to get rid of me, you must really be excited to go get your ass kicked in golf.” You teased, now following suit and straightening out your dress as you stood, throwing your arms around Javi’s neck, pressing up on your tiptoes to plant a little kiss on his lips. “Sure you don’t want me to golf for you?”

“I’m sure, you dork.”

After Javi had insisted on giving Bear more than his fair share of treats before the two of you left for the day, you were on the road to Maria’s, Javi insisting that he drop you off, instead of letting you take the treacherous 2 minute drive by yourself. As you drove down Maria’s street, you couldn’t help but smile at the memory of walking up to her house for an end of the school year party almost exactly a year ago. A party that had ultimately turned a handsome stranger from the Laredo Sheriff's department into your future husband, now sitting in the driver’s seat on the way to your bridal shower. You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself at the irony, leaning your head over onto Javi’s broad shoulder as you pulled up to Maria’s house.

“What’s up, Osita?” Javi asked, a twinge of confusion in his voice at the content and calm of your demeanor as the two of you arrived at the event that you had been seemingly dreading for days.

“I just- It was probably a year ago to the day the last time that we were at Maria’s house. Crazy to think that a year later we’re getting married and here for my bridal shower. I don’t know, a year ago I never would have thought I would have met someone I love so much, let alone be getting married, building a house, owning a dog, I- I’m just really happy that the department made you come to do that stupid presentation. You’ve made this year the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I love you, Jav.”

A tender silence hung in the air as Javi leaned over the center console, gently bringing his palm to cup the side of your face, his thumb tracing circles along your cheek, letting his sweet brown eyes lock with yours as a soft smile spread across his face. “I love you too, Osita.” His words barely left his mouth above a whisper, bringing his lips to yours. The two of you could have stayed like this forever, lost in the moment of your love for each other, but unfortunately, the world had other plans.

“JAVIER. DIOS MIO. CAN YOU KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF OF HER FOR 3 SECONDS?” Maria shouted, banging at the driver’s side window, the aggressive thumps of her hand against the glass making the two of you practically jump out of your skin.

“Jesus Fucking Christ….” Javi whispered, clutching his hand over his chest, trying to steady his heart rate back to normal, the two of you looking at each other in pure terror.

“If you’re going to drop her off and make a scene in my driveway, the least you can do is help an old woman out before you leave, Javier!” Maria demanded, still rapping her knuckles against the glass, the two of you trying to keep from dying of embarrassment as you exited out of the car.

“Sorry Maria…” The two of you grimaced, still trying to avoid direct eye contact with her before she decided to scold you more.

“Chucho is right, you two are no worse than a pair of teenagers. Come on, we only have an hour before everyone arrives and I need you and that wildly blonde haired boy to help me move chairs.” Shaking her head in disappointment, Maria was already halfway up the driveway and into the house as you and Javi trailed behind her, glancing at each other in confusion as to who she was referring to, until you noticed the Murphy’s car parked on the side of the street, realizing that Steve and Connie must have beaten you there.

Before you even had a chance to make it a foot into the house, you were greeted by an overbearing swarm of people rushing to say hello and give you a hug, already feeling overwhelmed 30 seconds into the start of your shower, and these were all people you knew. Your mom was the first to make her way through the crowd, squeezing you in a death grip hug, even though you had just seen her last night after picking her up from the airport and dropping her off at her hotel.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe the day is almost here! My baby girl is finally getting married! Ugh, you look beautiful sweetheart!” Your mom beamed, planting a chaste kiss on your cheek before making her way over to Javi, squeezing him just as hard. “C’mere, don’t think that you get to escape hugs from me too, Javi.” Javi looked over at you, trying his best not to laugh at everyone’s dramatics, knowing how stressed you already were, and that no one’s overly excited attitude was doing you any favors.

“Ouch on the finally there, Mom. What do you need help with?” You asked, noticing that your mom had been holding on to Javi for a touch longer than what was probably appropriate while everyone else continued to hustle and bustle around Maria’s house.

“Does he always smell that good? God, I wished your father smelled like that, the man smells like a sweaty sock. Javi, what kind of cologne do you-”

“Mom! Jesus Christ.” You interjected, burying your hands in your face.

“Sorry, sorry! Honey, you don’t need to help with anything, it’s your shower!” Your mom swatted her hand at you, shaking her head in disbelief that you would ask to help, even though she knew better than anyone it was not in your nature to sit back on the sidelines and let other people do the work for you.

“Why don’t you come help me set up decorations?” A soft voice replied behind you, making you whip your head around as their hand rested on your shoulder.

“Connie!” You grinned, throwing her arms around her, relieved to find someone who wasn’t going to drive you absolutely crazy for the next hour of party prep. “It’s so good to see you, thank you so much for coming!”

“Hey, Sweetheart!” a lower voice grunted from behind a stack of folding chairs making its way to the backyard.

“Wow, Maria put you to work too, Steve? Yikes, she’s running a tight ship around here.” You and Connie snickered as Steve set down his stack of chairs, revealing his already sweaty and frustrated face, considering Maria had probably made him carry 6 trips worth of seats up and down the stairs since he and Connie had arrived.

“You’re tellin’ me. Hey, make yourself useful and pick up some of these chairs, lazy ass. Sooner we get this set up, the sooner I kick your butt at golf.” Steve smirked, gesturing over at Javi, still standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips.

“In that case, I’m taking one chair at a time.” Javi sighed, pressing a quick kiss to your temple in stride towards Steve, giving him a swift hug and a pat on the back before being interrupted by a shrill and demanding voice.

“JAVIER. I HEARD THAT. IF I DON’T SEE YOU WITH A STACK OF CHAIRS IN YOUR HANDS THE NEXT TIME YOU’RE OUTSIDE, IT’D BETTER BE BECAUSE YOU ARE DEAD.” Maria shouted from across the house, making everyone’s faces freeze in fear.

“You heard the woman. Chop, chop, Peña.” Steve chuckled to himself before passing off half of the chairs over to Javi, and walking towards the back of the house as Javi picked up his share, begrudgingly trailing behind Steve.

“Alright, we should probably get to work on decorations before Maria finds us standing around for too long. I know you’re the bride, but I have a feeling that holds very little value to her until everything is set up.” Connie shrugged, nodding towards the backyard where the shower was being held.

“You’re definitely right, and I would prefer to live through my bridal shower in order to make it to my actual wedding.”

With all of the helping hands around the house, and Maria’s commanding dictatorship over shower setup, all of you had finished with time to spare, leaving your mom and co-workers to happily chat and gossip amongst themselves as you and Connie found your way to say goodbye to Steve and Javi, one of whom was looking much more excited about departing for golf than the other.

“Have fun, ladies. Any last words for your future husband before I absolutely obliterate him on the golf course?” Steve snickered, giving Javi a soft punch on the shoulder.

“Shut the fuck up, Murph.” Javi groaned, rolling his eyes as he braced himself for the next 3 hours of harassment from his former partner.

“Don’t be too hard on him, okay Steve? He gets grumpy when he loses, so just a reasonable amount of ass whooping, nothing too drastic.” You teased, now playfully punching on the other side of his arm, you, Steve, and Connie laughing to yourselves at Javi’s fed up frown.

“Says the one who literally pouted for hours after insisting we play "Sorry" and then she lost.” Javi smugly murmured, raising an eyebrow at you, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well someone wasn’t very sorry about it, were they… You know what, Steve? I changed my mind, go ahead and kick his ass for me.” A mischievous grin grew across your face, bursting out into giggles as Javi flung his arms around you, giving you a squeeze and shaking you in his grasp.

“Pendejo. Alright, you need anything else before I go get my ass kicked, Hermosa?” Javi asked, pressing a kiss into your hair. You were about to speak, but stopped yourself for a moment, looking Javi up and down, admiring how handsome he looked in the khakis and navy blue polo he had picked out this morning. You’d been so worried and worked up about the day that you hadn’t really had a chance to get a good look at him until now, and God, part of you wished you hadn’t taken the time to really take it all in as he stood next to you. You knew there was nothing you could really do about it now, but that wasn’t about to stop you from at least getting a little taste.

“Uh yeah, I uh- actually um, I uh, I scraped my finger earlier on one of the banners I was setting up and I think I got a papercut. I forgot to ask Maria about it earlier, but um, can you show me where the bandaids are upstairs again?” You tried your best to sound as casual as possible, but Javi knew just as well as you that there was no way in hell that you actually needed a bandaid. His brow scrunched in a slight confusion, head cocked to the side as if to say “I think I know where this is going and I’m not really sure it’s going to work” before giving you a little shrug, gesturing up towards the bathroom at the top of the stairwell, trying to keep his smug grin hidden between his lips.

“Yeah, I uh- here, let me show you where they are and I can get you one before we go.” Before Steve or Connie could even muster a word in protest, Javi was already dragging you halfway up the stairs, barely letting you make it to the top of the stairway before closing the bathroom door behind you.

“Band Aid, really? That was the best you could come up with?” Javi laughed under his breath, letting his hands roam down your sides and under the hem of your dress as his fingers dug into the meat of your ass, the heat of his breath tickling your skin where his lips met your neck, gently sucking at your pulse point, making a tiny moan escape from your mouth.

“I needed to come up with something to get you alone for long enough to give you a proper goodbye before you left.”

“And a Band Aid was the way to do that?”

“Oh shut up.” You giggled, draping your arms over Javi’s neck, letting your hands roam through the curls at the nape of his neck before pulling him in tighter to let his lips crash into yours with an electric intensity, his fingertips gripping deeper into your flesh.

“I don’t think-” Javi muttered between kisses, “I don’t think a bandaid is gonna buy us enough time to do anything, Hermosa.”

“I know. I just needed this. Just needed to kiss your stupidly handsome face. I needed something before you left me to fend for myself. Plus,” you paused, pulling back to see the lovestruck grin spread between Javi’s cheeks, “only fair that I get a chance to recreate our first kiss.” You snickered, gesturing to the interior of Maria’s bathroom, where you had found yourself with Javi almost a year ago to the day, your lips meeting for the first time as you sat on the ledge of the sink after Javi had came to your aid when a shattered beer bottle had landed in your leg.

“Fuck, I forgot our first kiss was in Maria’s bathroom. Real fucking smooth of me, huh?” Javi grumbled, rolling his eyes at his past self for letting your first kiss be in the bathroom of his Mom’s best friend’s house.

“Smooth enough for me to wanna marry you, so I guess it all worked out okay, didn’t it?” You teased, planting one last kiss on his lips before shooting him a wink and slipping out the bathroom, your face warm and tingly from the rush of excitement tucked away with Javi in your impromptu makeout session. Javi ran his hand over his face, taking a moment to try and compose himself, shaking his head to himself in shock and delight at how he found himself falling more and more in love with you every day.

“Okay, uh- sorry, sorry about that. Just didn’t wanna have to bother Maria for anything.” You sighed, darting your eyes away from Steve and Connie, their arms crossed against their chest with almost comically smug smirks on their faces as they watched you shuffle back down the stairs, Javi reluctantly trailing behind you.

“Yeah? How’d that bandaid work out for ya?” Steve smiled with a shit eating grin, nodding to your hands, neither of them with a bandaid anywhere in sight. You let out a gulp, trying to quickly tuck your hands behind your back, your cheeks flushing pink with embarrassment. “Goddamn, you two gonna make it 3 hours without touching each other, or am I gonna have to bring him back here after hole 4 for a mid-round makeout?”

“Jesus Christ, Murph, really?.” Javi grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Bye, love you. Have fun and I’ll see you soon.” Leaned over, snaking his arm around your waist to plant one last kiss in your hair.

“Not soon enough, apparently…”

“Murphy…”

“Stop makin’ out and I’ll stop givin’ you shit.”

“Touche…” You muttered under your breath, just loud enough to make the 4 of you burst into laughter, easing the uncomfortable tension that you had brought upon yourself from your antics. “Love you too, have fun getting your ass kicked.”

“Yes, yes, out, out, out! It’s only 10 minutes until guests arrive and your truck is taking up all the room in the driveway! Out!” Stampeding into the living room, Maria waved her hands at the boys, quite literally shooing them out of the house after overhearing your goodbyes. Giving a quick wave to Javi as Maria kicked him and Steve to the curb, you caught Javi’s head whipping around for one last glance at you before you left, giving you a once over with his eyes and a soft smile on his face as the front door shut behind him.

Truth be told, your shower ended up being way less painful than you expected it would be. In all honesty, it was actually somewhat enjoyable. The fact that your mom, co-workers, and Connie had put into helping everyone come together to celebrate you filled your heart with so much more joy than you could have predicted- your friends and family had bought you and Javi so many more gifts than you knew what to do with, had so many kind things to say about the two of you, and Connie had even gone out of her way to make sure that there were fun games planned for everyone to keep the need for constant socialization at bay. It really had ended up being a fun afternoon, even if it meant having to answer the same questions about your wedding, house and honeymoon plans more times than you could count.

Javi, on the other hand, could not have been having a worse time on the golf course, getting his ass thoroughly handed to him by Steve hole after hole, wondering to himself how anyone could bring themself to genuinely enjoy the torture that had been the past two and a half hours of hacking his club into chunks of grass and loosing his golf balls in the brush. The only consoling factor was that Javi was grateful to spend time with Steve, even if it meant being berated by endless questions from him on top of his painful performance while he played.

“You feelin’ ready for the big day?” Steve grunted, after smacking his driver against his ball from the tee box, Javi relieved that the pair were finally on the 9th and final hole.

“Yeah, I mean- Oh fuck me-” Javi grumbled, hitting his club and watching his ball fly into a patch of trees, the opposite direction of where he was trying to aim for, “I still can’t believe I’m getting married.”

“You and me both, Jav. I never thought I’d live to see the fuckin’ day, that’s for damn sure. Javier Peña, a married man.” Steve chuckled, slipping his club into his golf bag as Javi followed behind, grabbing what must have been the 57th golf ball from his bag this round.

“Shut the fuck up, Murph.” Javi chuckled, shaking his head at his friends’ jab, the two of them hopping into the golf cart together to try and scavenge for Javi’s long lost ball.

“I’m just given’ you shit, Jav. I’m fuckin’ happy for you man. Really happy. She’s a great girl. Best thing that’s ever happened to your sorry ass, I’ll tell you that much. Guess you don’t have to worry about really followin’ through this time?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re actually gonna get married this time? You’re not leavin’ her at the altar like Lorraine, huh?” As Steve laughed to himself, Javi could practically feel his stomach drop, his heart beginning to race as a wave of terrible guilt and panic washed over him at his friend’s ironic question.

To his own shock and surprise, Javi hadn’t thought about his last lack of a wedding once since the two of you had gotten engaged. He had been so head over heels excited to spend the rest of his life with you, that the failures of his past engagement had been tucked far away in the back of his mind. But then again, no one had been so gracious as to bring up the knife to the chest that was leaving Lorraine at the altar, and no one had been so gracious as to bring it up in classic Steve Murphy fashion.

Javi could audibly hear himself gulp, his heartbeat pounding so loud he could hear it ringing in his ears as the terrible reality of the past he had so glady forgotten about met him in a head on collision, instantly re-opening all of the cuts and wounds he had finally managed to sew together.

The last time he almost got married, Javier Peña had astronomically fucked up the lives of every last person who cared about him, leaving nothing but chaos and heartbreak in his wake.

Rationally, Javi could tell himself that his upcoming wedding was the polar opposite of everything that was once planned between him and Lorraine. Javi couldn’t have cared less about Lorraine. From the moment he had wearily accepted his fate, he had dreaded every moment of his future from that point on. But you were not Lorraine.

Javi loved you.

Javi cared about you.

Javi wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with you and give you everything in the world you could possibly want.

But, one mention of that 8 letter name had Javi’s brain flooding with every single doubt, regret, and painful memory of his past that he had fought so hard to forget. It had his mind reeling with every uncomfortable feeling of remembering the man he had been before you had come into his life and changed him for the better. He knew he was a better man. A stronger man. A man who was worthy of the love and compassion you had shown him from the moment you two had met.

Or was he?

“Earth to Javi? Hello? Anyone home?” Waving his hand in front of Javi’s face, Steve stared at Javi in confusion as to why it seemed like his friend had suddenly become lost in his own world as they pulled up to the patch of trees where his ball had most likely landed.

“Uh yeah, uh- what, sorry, um, what did you say?” Javi asked, visibly trying to shake the thoughts from his head, painfully scrunching his face and running his hand through his hair before looking back over at Steve.

“I asked if you were gonna go get the ball or if you just wanted to add to your +200 score and drop one here instead. Hey, you okay, man?” Steve questioned, pausing for a moment before asking the later half of his statement, seeing the color flushed from Javi’s face.

“Uh, yeah- Yeah, sorry, I just, I’m good. I’ll um, I’ll just drop a ball.” Javi muttered half to himself as he stepped out of the cart, barely paying attention enough to even remember what in the world he was even looking for in his golf bag.

If Javi wasn’t already thankful to be on the last hole before Steve’s comment, he sure as hell was now, mindlessly whacking his golf club with no regard as to how his ball made it to the green. Any thoughts about golf, let alone any previous attempts to even try to play well had now flown out the window, creeping thoughts of self doubt and resentment crawling through Javi’s mind. The rest of the round and the entire car ride back to Maria’s were spent in an internal battle ranging in Javi’s brain, the fight between the man he used to be and the man he’d thought he’d become rearing its ugly head with a painful intensity that absolutely felt like it was consuming him whole.

Steve, who was just as oblivious to his friend’s distraught state as he was to the idiocracy of his sarcastic question, had chalked Javi’s quiet and somber mood up to being an overly sore loser after getting mercilessly crushed at golf. Little did he know that his one silly comment had sent Javi spiraling down a trail of crushing self-doubt.

As the pair pulled into the driveway and made their way to the backyard where a few straggling party goers still lingered, trying to monopolize their time with you to get the details of your upcoming plans for the future. Being the attentive and patient person that you were, you were trying your hardest to seem enthused and engaged with in the conversation with who you thought was Javi’s Aunt’s Cousin (at this point, you had been introduced to so many new people, you were questioning your own name), but it wasn’t long before your future husband’s big, broad body entering the backyard had you more than distracted, your face instantly lighting up at the sight of him. Peeking over his Aunt’s cousin (or cousin’s aunt, you weren’t really sure) shoulder, you bit down on your lip to try and contain your excitement, letting a little wave shake from your hand in his direction.

Javi wished that your sweet smile and beautiful self were enough to snap him out of his funk, to see how you beamed in excitement just at the sight of him and shot him that lovestruck look he’d never get sick of- but for some twisted reason, it only made him feel worse.

You were everything- kind, smart, funny, the most breathtaking woman he’d ever seen. But what was he? Tired? Broken? A shitty guy who had done even shitter things, who had left nothing but destruction in his path for years and years, with no regard for who it hurt, or even worse, left for dead? How was he supposed to give you everything you deserved when he sure as fuck didn’t deserve you?

Before you had even said a word to him, you could already sense something was off about Javi’s demeanor that was due to more than just losing to Steve in golf. Even from across the backyard, his forced smile and tired brown eyes had a worried pit swirling in the bottom of your stomach, politely excusing yourself from your conversation to make your way over to Javi.

“Hi! You guys have fun at golf? Steve didn’t kick your ass too bad?” You grinned, wrapping your arms around Javi’s waist, pressing up on your toes to plant a kiss on his lips, his mouth barely ghosting over yours in return.

“Yeah, it was um- yeah, it was fine.” Javi nodded, trying to make a smile appear between his pursed lips. “How was the shower? You uh, you ready for Steve and I to start putting things in the truck to bring over to the new house?”

You immediately frowned in response, cocking your head in confusion at him. “Yeah, it was great, but hey, are- are you okay? You seem really off, like more than just Steve kicking your ass at golf off. Did something happen?”

“No, I’m- yeah, I’m good, Hermosa.” Javi’s eyes darted towards the ground, trying his best to stifle his sigh before another fake smile spread across his face, his response making you even more concerned than you were before, seeing he was clearly lying to you. As much as you wanted to problem solve right then and there to figure out what had Javi so distressed, the calls of one of the last groups of party goers wanting to say their goodbyes rang across the backyard, you flashing them a quick smile and a wave to signal you’d be over in a second. Before you could try and get anything else out of Javi, he had already backed himself away from your hands still tangled around his waist, nodding towards the group of women who were not so patiently waiting for you. “Go say goodbye, I’ll start loading stuff up.”

“Um, I- uh, yeah, o-okay. Thanks.” You murmured, half to yourself, as Javi had already begun to walk away to find Steve to help him start carrying things out to the car, leaving you more anxious and confused with every passing second.

With goodbyes finished, and decor and party setup cleaned up just as fast as Maria had demanded it to be put up, you and Javi made your way to your now packed car, followed by Connie and Steve, who had asked to see the progress on your new house while they were in town. You figured you’d kill two birds with one stone, inviting them over and having them help to unload gifts in the same trip, but now, given the strangely somber mood that Javi couldn’t seem to shake, you really wished it was just the two of you so you could figure out what the hell was going on.

You and Javi piled into his truck, Steve and Connie hopping into theirs and following you down Maria’s street towards your new house. A stark silence filled the car, praying to yourself that maybe Javi just wanted to be alone before he said anything about his current state, but 5 minutes down the road without a single word falling from his lips, you had a devastating feeling that wasn’t going to be the case.

Your leg bounced against the seat, fingers nervously drumming in your lap, letting out a quiet sigh to yourself before looking over at Javi and mustering up the courage to try and interrogate.

“Sooooo, golf was fun? I love ya, but I think it’s probably safe to assume Steve won?” You quietly snickered, trying your best to stay nonchalant.

“Yeah, it was good, Steve won, but that’s no surprise because I suck at golf.” Javi mumbled to himself, barely glancing your direction from behind the yellow tinted aviators perched on the bridge of his nose. Normally, if either of you had something that self-deprecating to say, it was at least followed by some sort of a joke or laugh, but his comment ended with nothing but a stoic silence as his hands gripped tighter around the steering wheel.

“Hey, babe, it’s okay, you don’t ever golf, so it’s hard to expect yourself to be good at something you rarely ever do.” You reached over to grab his arm to reassure him, that unsettling and anxious pit beginning to grow in your stomach again with the way Javi was acting. All he could muster was a half hearted huff in response, signaling to you that whatever was happening was much bigger than a poor game of golf.

“Javi… Baby, what’s going on? Did something happen with Steve?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s clearly not nothing, Jav. Did I do something wrong?”

“No, I told you, it’s fine.”

“Javi, it obviously isn’t fine if this is the way you’re acting about it. Why won’t you talk to me about it? I just wanna-”

“I told you, it’s fine, okay!? Jesus, I don’t need you to solve all my problems.”

Oh.

You and Javi had been in arguments before, hell, you’d been in fights before, but never once in the time that you’d known him, had Javi snapped at you like this. You could practically feel yourself recoiling in your seat from the harsh tone of his voice, fighting back the tears that had instantly begun welling in your eyes. You could feel your heart in your throat, choking down a heavy gulp as your lip quivered to try and keep from crying.

What had gone so wrong that Javi was acting like this?

You wish you had it in you to dig it out of him, but as you pulled up the driveway of your new home, Steve and Connie right behind you, ready for a tour, the best you could muster was a quiet, “O-okay.” As soon as the car was in park, Javi was unbuckling his seatbelt and slamming the door behind him, leaving you behind in the car, trying everything in your power to not become a startled, sobbing mess.

Wiping away the wetness pooling behind your eyelids, you swiped the back of your hand against your cheeks, taking a few deep breaths before following behind, mustering up as much courage as you could to keep your cool for however long Steve and Connie were planning to stick around before heading back to San Antonio.

You had hoped that Steve and Connie hadn't picked up on the palpable tension brewing between you and Javi, trying your best to put on a brave face as you paraded the Murphy’s through your nearly completed house. To be quite honest, you couldn’t have recalled anything that had happened in the time that they were there, your mind racing in torment as you watched Javi brood around your new home, barely saying a word to you, let alone make any eye contact, or look in your general direction.

As the four of you made your way upstairs, your attention was finally caught by the low lull of Steve’s laughter as he situated himself between you and Javi, grabbing you both by the shoulders and shaking you in his grasp.

“Well I’ll be damned. Y’all got enough rooms up here to house half a baseball team! You want that many kids driving ya nuts, huh?” Steve chuckled, making his way down the hallway, peeking into the empty bedrooms of your 2nd story.

“Steve!” Connie scolded, slapping the back of her hand against Steve’s stomach for his comment.

“What?! I’m just sayin’! I thought y’all would want like, 2, but there’s enough room for way more than that. I mean, I guess you two are fuckin’ goin’ at it like rabbits all the time, so I can’t really be shocked.”

“Steven Edward Murphy! Jesus Christ!” Connie snapped, shooting Steve a dangerous glare, aggressively raising an eyebrow at her husband as she gestured towards you and Javi.

“No, it’s okay, we don’t know for sure how many we want, but we figured if we had the space we’d add the rooms and even if they’re not bedrooms, they’ll still get used.” You had it in you enough to force a half smile across your face, flashing it at Steve and Connie before looking over at Javi.

While you hadn’t expected much of a response from him given the current situation, what you weren’t expecting was the panic stricken look painting Javi from head to toe.

If you weren’t already worried out of your mind about what the fuck was going on with Javi, you sure as fuck were now.

“Uh, I um- yeah.”

Those were the only words Javi was able to choke out through the audible thumps pounding in his chest as his face went ghost white, eyes peeled to the ground.

“See, Steve? You’re making them uncomfortable! You have absolutely no filter, I swear! I’m so sorry, you guys!” Connie frantically apologized, giving Steve another hardy slap in the stomach, making him wince.

“I’m just jokin’, Jesus Christ, sorry!” Steve grumbled, holding up his hands in defense from his wife’s accusation, sheepishly looking over at you and Javi with a little shrug.

“No, it’s uh- no, it’s fine, don’t worry about it.” You had given up on trying to be convincing at this point, your voice quietly shaking as you stared at Javi, now looking like a terrified, ragged shell of himself.

What the fuck was going on? Did Javi want to wait to have kids? Did he not want to have that many? Was he having second thoughts about kids all together? Fuck, was he having second thoughts about getting married? He’s literally never acted like this before. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You were sure at this point, you probably looked just as much of a mess as Javi did, letting your thoughts race wildly throughout your brain, the silence now lingering between the four of you now seemed to feel deafening, Connie beginning to pick up on the uneasiness festering between you and Javi and knowing she had enough common sense for her and Steve to pick up her cue to see herself out.

“Well, still, I’m sorry. We should probably get going anyways, we told the sitter we’d be back around 6 so we should probably hit the road. Thank you so much for the tour! The shower was beautiful and I’m so glad I could be there for it. We’ll see you guys for the big day soon! Just let me know if you need any help with wedding stuff between now and then okay?”

“Uh yeah, yeah of course. Thanks for all your help, Con. I’ll um- I’ll let you know if we need anything.” You stammered as Connie pulled you in for a hug goodbye, followed quickly by Steve, who planted a few pats on your back mid hug.

“Bye sweetheart, thanks for letting me steal this asshole for golf today. See y’all when you’re gettin’ ready to get hitched! Adios, loser.” Steve chuckled as he pulled away from your hug to tug Javi into another, giving him an even harder pat on the back before letting Connie say her goodbyes as well.

“Do you want me to walk you guys down to your-”

“Nah, we’ll find our way out, no worries. Bye lovebirds, see ya soon.” Steve grinned, giving the both of you one last wave farewell before disappearing down the stairs, their hushed bickers about Steve’s unnecessary comments quietly trailing behind them. Before you could even get a word out to Javi now that the two of you were alone, he was already halfway down the stairs behind the Murphy’s, not even bothering to look back at you as he mumbled under his breath.

“I’m gonna get the gifts out of the car and go sit outside.”

“Jav, wait, I-”

You could feel the lump beginning to swell in your throat, your bottom lip trembling with tears welling in your eyes as you watched Javi storm down the stairs without even so much as an attempt to care about what you had to say, leaving you with nothing but yourself and 5 empty bedrooms that now had you questioning everything you thought you knew about your future with Javi. You felt your body begin to collapse like a sad pile of jello as you melted into a sobbing puddle on the floor, bringing your knees to your chest as you cried into the flowy fabric of your dress, leaving wet stains behind from your tears. Your breaths were rapid and shaky with each muffled sob, trying to rationally grasp on to something, anything, as to why Javi was acting this way. But the more the gears frantically turned in your brain, the more irrational and terrifying your thoughts became.

This all happened so fucking fast. It’s only been a year since I’ve known him. Is he realizing it’s too much? Am I too much? This was all too fucking good to be true, wasn’t it, you fucking idiot.

Taking a few more minutes to collect yourself enough to at least stop full on sobbing, you wiped your wet cheeks with the back of your palm, inhaling a trembling deep breath as you mustered up every ounce of courage you could find to face whatever fate was waiting for you downstairs with Javi.

Each step down the stairs felt heavier than the last, leaving your fingers anxiously drumming against your legs as you saw Javi’s broad body hunched over the side of the unfinished back patio, staring out to the tall grass of your backyard swaying in the warm summer breeze. If it were any other time, you would have rushed up behind him, wrapping your body around his back and attacking him with kisses until the two of you were wound up in a fit of laughter and giggles, happily tangled in each other's bodies.

Right now, you were terrified to even step too close to him.

Carefully and quietly sliding open the glass door to the porch, you prayed with every bone in your body you weren’t going to do anything that set Javi off enough to even let you attempt to have a conversation with him about what was going on. The new wood softly creaked under your shoes, making Javi turn his head just enough to acknowledge your presence as you wearily approached him. Taking one more deep breath, you opened your mouth to speak, but with your jaw hanging open, Javi’s words filled the stark silence before yours could.

“I don’t know if we should get married.”

Fuck.

You could practically feel your heart sink to the bottom of your stomach, like the weight of 1,000 bricks had been dropped on your body all at once, hearing that come out of his mouth. You could have mentally tried to brace yourself for a lot of things, but hearing Javi tell you he didn't want to get married anymore sure as hell wasn't one of them.

“Javi, I- baby, what- I don’t- I don’t-”

“Why the fuck do you even wanna marry me?”

Your brows scrunched in pain and confusion at the sharp tone of his words, desperate to try and understand what point he was trying to prove in this gut wrenching game he seemed to be playing.

“Because I- Javi, I- Javi I love you, that’s why.” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you sat down next to him on the edge of the porch, leaning over enough to see the tears glistening down his cheeks, his eyes red and puffy as he tried to stifle the sobs rumbling in his chest. He shook his head back and forth before his gaze fell into his lap.

“You shouldn’t love me.”

“Javi… what the fuck are you talking about?” you plead, feeling the pain and hurt creeping through your body as you watched the tears he was so desperately trying to fight. With a scornful scoff, Javi shook his head, pressing against his knees to stand, taking a few paces around the porch, burying his hands in his face, his words muffled and muted by his palms covering his mouth.

“What the fuck am I- I’m not- I’m not what you deserve. I don’t understand how you don’t fucking see that.”

You followed suit, bringing yourself to stand with your arms crossed tightly across your chest, staring at Javi in bewilderment, biting down on your tongue so hard to keep from bursting into tears you thought you were going to make it bleed. You could feel the storm of pain, anger and confusion brewing deep in the pit of your stomach, your body numb and mind blank.

“Javier. What the fuck is going on? I don’t understand why-”

“Because last time I was gonna get married I fucked up everything. For everyone. I hurt everyone I cared about. I went half way around the world and I spent a decade fucking things up even more. How do you know I’m not gonna fuck everything up again? I love you too much to let it happen to you. The thought of ever hurting you even half as I much as I’ve hurt anyone else because of my choices fucking kills me. I can’t do it. I can’t hurt you like I’ve hurt everyone else. I’d never fucking forgive myself. I love you more than anything, Osita. I love you more than anything in the world. You deserve someone who isn’t going to hurt you. Someone who will do right by you, by your family, your future children, I just- fuck- I don’t think that person can be me.”

A deafening silence hung in the air as you stared blankly at Javi, tears streaming from his tormented brown eyes, his body trembling with devastation and regret. You had no doubt your body mirrored his as the guilt and heartbreak flooded you from head to toe, wondering how in the world you had ever let the man you loved and cared about more than anything feel like he wasn’t enough for you.

You wished you could speak- to find the words to tell him that he was your everything, the glue that had put you back together when you were convinced there was nothing else that could mend the broken mess that you had become. You wished you could express to him that there was no one on the face of this earth that you would rather spend the rest of your life with than him- that there was no one else you wanted by your side through every moment of your life, the good, the bad and the ugly, more than him. You wished there was a way to tell him that you loved him more than anything, but in that moment, all you could do was grab him and wrap your arms around his waist, squeezing him as tightly as your body would let you, letting your wet face rest against the familiar warmth of his chest as you whispered into the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Javier Peña, you’re the only person it could be.”

You could feel his chest begin to rumble with heavy sobs as his arms draped around you, pulling you against his body so closely, it was like his life depended on it, like he couldn’t bear the thought of ever letting you go again. One arm stayed wrapped around your back as the other slid up the back of your neck, his broad palm cradling your head in his grasp, his fingers practically digging into your skin to keep you close as the two of you let yourselves do nothing but hold each other in your teary silence.

You let one of your hands reach up towards Javi’s face, cupping his jaw and forcing his gaze back on to you, as your thumb traced back and forth along his cheek, wiping away the wetness that had been welling in his eyes.

“I need you to listen to me, okay?” You asked, waiting until you felt Javi’s head gently nod up and down in understanding in your palm before you continued, “The man you were before doesn’t scare me. If it did, I would have been gone a long time ago. The man you were before has turned you into the man that you’ve become. The man that I want to spend everyday with for the rest of my life. Every good day, every bad day, every painful, hard and shitty day, and every day in between. And I promise that I will spend every last one of those days until the day I die trying my best to convince you that you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And if I die trying, then so be it. I love you, Javi. Don’t you ever think for a second that there is anyone out there that I want to spend the rest of my life with more than you, and I won’t ever let you forget it.”

It was only moments before both of Javi’s hands were cradling your face, gently trembling as they cupped your soft, wet skin as you locked eyes with his, watching his face shift from terrified to bewildered, thinking he must have misheard what you had just said to him.

“Osita, I-”

“Promise me.”

“Promise you what?”

“Promise me that you believe me. Promise me that you know I love you more than anything.”

There was a part of Javi’s brain that wished he could find something to prove that he couldn’t. To prove he wasn’t worthy of keeping the promise you had made to him. To convince himself that he had no reason to believe he was worthy of the love you had given him.

But the truth was, for the first time that he could remember, as he looked down at you, the woman who had taken his life and forever changed it for the better, who had helped to heal him in ways he didn’t know he needed, who had cared for him in ways he never thought he deserved, and who had stood by him even as you learned about the ugliest parts of him he never thought he’d forgive himself for, Javier Peña finally realized he had learned what it was like to be worthy of love.

You had made him realize he was worthy of being loved.

A small gulp slid down his throat between his shaky breaths, taking a moment to soak in everything about you, before letting his lips ghost across yours as a quiet whisper left his mouth.

“I promise.”

And just like that, his lips crashed into yours with a ferocious and tender passion, soaking in every ounce of the sweet flavor of you, a taste he knew he would never tire of, one that he craved like nothing else.

“I love you, Osita. Fuck, I love you so much.” Javi moaned between your kisses, praying with every bone in his body you knew how much he meant it.

“I love you too, Javi.” The hot breath of your words danced across his lips before they were crashing together once again, his tongue swiping between your parted mouths as he ran his hand down your back and around your waist, pulling you so close you were convinced your bodies were going to melt into one as you pressed against his broad chest, now needily grasping at fist fulls of his shirt.

In that moment, it was like the two of you could feel something in the air change. The tension lifting, the frustrated fog fading, the both of you desperately needing the other to know how much you loved them. The Javi you knew and loved had come back, returning home to you. All of the fear and sadness was replaced by a rampant desperation to know how much you needed him, almost as much as he needed to show you how hopelessly he craved you, too.

With your bodies still tangled together, your kisses became messier and sloppier as you backed your way towards the door that lead inside, stumbling and trampling over each other’s feet without any regard for where you were headed until you felt your back bump against the kitchen island, the rounded edges of the countertop stopping you in your tracks as Javi caged you between his broad figure and the island.

Both of your hands were now feverishly roaming across each other’s bodies before Javi had run his hands down your thighs, hoisting you up to sit on the countertop, planting hot, wet kisses across your neck and collarbone while his fingers crept under the hem of your dress, his palms sliding up and down your legs, digging his fingers into your flesh.

“Javi…” You whimpered, letting your eyes close and head fall back as he sucked at your pulse point, leaving you with one hand bracing yourself against the edge of the counter and the other with your fingers wrapped around the navy fabric of Javi’s shirt, clinging on for dear life.

You eyes opened, and gaze shifted downwards as you felt Javi pull away from your grasp, watching him drop to his knees, slotting himself between your parted legs and kissing the inside of your thighs while his hands tugged at the waistband of your already soaked underwear, hastily shuffling them to fall down your legs and pool at your ankles. His needy kisses up your thighs crept closer and closer to your core as your legs draped over his shoulders, kneeling before you like you were the altar of everything he worshiped as his deep brown eyes looked up at yours, like he was begging for forgiveness for his sins.

“I’m so sorry, Osita. I’m so sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it. Fuck, I love you so much. Let me show me how much I love you. Please, baby. Please let me show you how much I need to be yours.”

Your response was nothing but a ragged moan as you felt his hot breath hovering over your cunt before letting long, flat licks of his tongue drag through your folds, each swipe pressing firmer than the last, lapping up the arousal dripping from your entrance like a sweet nectar. With one hand still white knuckling the edge of the countertop, the other shot down to bury itself in the dark curls of Javi’s thick locks, tugging at ends to find some place to ease your tension as he began to flick and swirl his tongue relentlessly against your clit, lapping you up like a man starved.

“Oh fuck Javi- fuck- you feel so good, baby.” You moaned, raking your fingers along Javi’s scalp as you watched his head bob nestled between your legs, feeling the low hum of satisfaction thrumming in his throat as he began to suck your sensitive bundle of nerves, latching his lips around your clit as his mouth worked feverishly against your cunt. You could already feel the tingle beginning to grow at the base of your spine and spread to your legs as Javi found every sweet spot that he knew made you lose all control, desperate to make you feel how much he needed your love and forgiveness.

“That’s it, sweet girl. Let go for me baby, I’ve got you.” Javi hummed before diving back between your legs, tightening his grip around your thighs as his tongue danced around your clit relentlessly. It wasn’t long before you could feel your orgasm begin to flood your body, pleasure crashing through you as you cried out his name, a death grip clutching around the counter and Javi’s dark locks. Javi worked you through your high, drinking up the juices of your slick as you came, feeling your legs tremble as they stayed slung over his broad shoulders, not stopping until your body was shaking and your whimpers and moans had become so wrecked, he had no choice but to stop to relish in the blissed out, dripping mess he had made you. He would have loved to stay like this forever, watching you become more and more wrecked beneath his tongue, the want, no, need, to be buried inside your heat, getting lost in your wetness and warmth, savoring in the way no one else would ever be able to have you like he did, to know that you were his.

Javi worked in a determined silence, rusting with his belt buckle until the metal clangs of it opening had his pants and boxers in a puddle around his ankles, splaying kisses across your neck as he slid you towards the edge of the counter, his fingers digging into your hips with a bruising intensity. He stroked himself a few times as he lined his cock up with your entrance, guiding his tip through the glistening arousal covering your folds, leaving his dick shiny with your slick as you whimpered into his skin.

“Javi… Please, baby. I need you.” You whimpered, instinctively bucking your hips towards him, desperately craving him to ease the achy emptiness between your legs.

Resting his forehead against yours, the dark, damp curls of his hair brushed your skin, the hot and heavy heat of each of your shaky breaths melting into one another’s as your lips ghosted his, only fully meeting yours to catch the moan that had escaped your mouth as he pushed himself into your heat, letting himself bottom out, his tip brushing against your cervix. You couldn’t help but wrap your legs around the small of his back and drape your arms over his shoulders, desperate to have your bodies needily tangled and intertwined together as you savored in the sweet sting and stretch of his fullness.

He began to rock his hips, letting his cock drag in and out of your cunt, taking his time with each stroke, the movement making you dig your fingernails into the fabric of his shirt stretched over his muscular back, in turn, making the grip he had around your waist even tighter, his fingers buried in the soft flesh of your stomach where his hands had crept under your dress.

The way he punched up into you, perfectly pounding against your g-spot with each thrust, combined with the way the hairs at his base rubbed along your clit, already had the inevitable coil beginning to tighten in your belly. You dug your nails deeper into Javi’s skin, grasping for the damp curls at the nape of his neck, your whimpers growing louder and more desperate with each stroke as you could feel yourself beginning to crumble beneath him.

Each stroke seemed to become deeper and fuller than the last, Javi’s pace now climbing in speed and intensity as he felt your cunt clench tighter and tighter around his cock, knowing that familiar feeling meant you were coming closer to your end. You could barely muster anything but a whimper, your soft pleads and begs going straight to his dick as he slid and out of your wet heat.

“Fuck baby, don’t stop- ahhhh- please don’t stop, I’m so close.”

The lewd sounds of skin hitting skin and low, ragged moans echoed against the bare walls of your unfinished kitchen as Javi fucked deeper and deeper into you, singing sweet, soft praises against your skin between locking your lips with yours.

“Fuck- Dámelo, Hermosa (Give it to me, beautiful). Need to feel you soak my cock before I fuck you full of me. It’s okay mi amor- mierda- té tengo. (my love- shit- I’ve got you.) I’ve always got you. Forever.”

You could feel your legs lock even tighter around Javi’s waist as heat began to bloom in your belly, only needing a few more thrusts as you rolled your hips against his before your mind went blank and vision went white, your orgasm crashing through your body and flooding every inch of you with pleasure so intense, you could feel yourself going limp in his grasp.

“Fuck, Javi, fuck, fuck, fuck, oh my god-ahhhhhhhh-” You whimpered as Javi fucked you through your high, now desperate to chase his own as his thrusts became rushed and sloppy, pounding into you as your walls gripped around his cock like a vice. Your warmth and wetness consumed him, only needing a few more pumps before he could feel himself following suit, hissing through gritted teeth as incoherent babbles spilled from his lips.

“There it is, baby. Fuck- fuck, you’re so fucking perfect. I love you so much, Osita. Con todo mi corazón. (With my whole heart). Oh fuck- I’m yours forever. Oh shit, I’m gonna cum to, oh fuckkkkkk.”

With one last thrust, Javi finished buried deep inside you, hot ropes of his cum coating your walls as a slick mixture of spend leaked down your thighs, leaving him panting while he slumped into your shoulder, his chest heaving with labored breaths, trying to compose himself. Bracing himself with one palm flat against the counter next to your hip, his other hand reached up to your face, brushing away a piece of stray hair back into place before gently cupping your cheek as he spoke.

“Osita, baby, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you so much. I didn’t mean what I said earlier, I just- fuck- I’ve never been so sure of anything, but when we were at golf today, Steve brought up Lorraine, and I- I just was so scared I was gonna fuck everything up again, and I-”

“Oh God, he brought up Lorraine?! Jesus. I knew it. I knew this was Steve’s fucking fault.” You sighed, quietly laughing to yourself as you shook your head.

“Wait, how did you-”

“Because it just seemed so strange that you were acting like this all of a sudden. You got back from golfing with him and it was like you were a different person. I mean, I’m not gonna lie, I was freaked out and panicking wondering what happened because you’ve never acted like that before. That, and because I love Steve, but he’s an idiot.” The two of you were both now laughing, Javi rubbing his hand over his face before rolling his eyes, wondering to himself how he had really let his friend’s stupid comment get the best of him.

“I’m so sorry, Osita. I should have just ignored it, I just hadn’t thought about it in so long and I was so terrified to mess everything up again. It would kill me to hurt you like that.” His thumb circled around your cheek as he tilted your gaze to meet his, sincerity and remorse swirling in the dark pools of his chocolate brown eyes.

“Javi, listen, if this is moving too fast, or it’s too much for you, I want you to be able to tell me, I understand if-” Before you could finish your sentence, Javi’s lips were planted tenderly against yours, pulling away from your mouth with a goofy grin and satisfied sigh.

“I promise you, I’ve never wanted anything more. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. I can’t wait to marry you,” he leaned in, pressing a quick kiss on your cheek, “I can’t wait to live in our new house with you,” he grinned, planting another ticklish kiss on your neck, “I can’t wait until we can finally start filling up these empty rooms with little baby Peñas” Javi chuckled, now peppering kisses all over your body, making you erupt in a fit of laughter and giggles, squirming and flailing in his grasp, playfully swatting at him. “I can’t wait to spend every day for the rest of my life with the most beautiful, amazing woman I’ve ever met.” He smirked, tilting his head to let your mouths meet again, this kiss filled with a tender passion and intensity unmatched by his previous playful ones.

It was the kind of kiss that said all of the things that words couldn’t. The kind of kiss that had butterflies fluttering in your stomach like the first kiss you had shared in Maria’s bathroom almost a year ago. The kind of kiss that made you fall even deeper in love with him, even when you thought you couldn’t.

It was also the kind of kiss where everything else in the world seemed to melt away and make time stand still, a kiss that you could have stayed lost in forever… unless a certain someone hadn’t forgotten his wallet at your house and needed to come back and get it.

You were so oblivious to anything else happening around you, that neither you or Javi had heard your front door open, followed by the rushed, impatient footsteps of Steve and Connie, arguing about where Steve could have left his wallet, and how on earth he could have left without realizing it was missing from its usual home in his back pocket.

“Seriously, Steve, I can’t believe we’re gonna waste a whole hour having to turn around and come back here because you couldn’t remember your wallet!”

“Con, I told you, it’s right on the counter, I know where it is, lemme just go grab it really quick and then we ca- Oh Jesus fucking Christ!” Steve shouted, walking into the kitchen to see you and Javi making out on your island, your dress pushed up well past your legs, and Javi’s bare ass on display from his pants still pooling around his ankles.

“Ahhhhh!” You and Javi shrieked, practically jumping out of your skin to see Steve’s tall and lanky frame frozen in your kitchen, now scrambling to try and fix your clothes and hair to try and save yourselves at least some dignity.

“What the hell are you two doin’?!” Steve grimaced, trying not to cackle to himself as Connie rushed up behind him to see what was happening, only to very quickly cover her eyes and turn away from you and Javi.

“Us?! What the hell are you doing here? Jesus, you ever heard of fucking knocking, Murph?!” Javi groaned, shuffling his pants back up and fixing his hair before helping you off the counter, trying your best to hide your beet red, embarrassed face.

“I forgot my wallet! Forgive me for thinkin’ you two would keep your hands off each other for long enough to let me come pick it up in peace.” Steve frowned, raising up his hands in defense.

“I’m sorry! I told him to call you to let you know he was coming to pick it up, but he seemed to think it wasn’t a big deal.” Connie scolded, giving Steve a forceful nudge of her elbow before finally turning back around to face you and Javi, knowing you were at least halfway decent. “God, I love you, but you are an idiot.”

“You can say that again…” You snickered under your breath, just loud enough to make Javi and Connie join in your laughter, leaving Steve with his arms crossed over his chest, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“Hey, listen. Call me what you want, but I don’t think you’ll be callin’ me an idiot when you need me to come babysit your 47 kids so the two of you can get some…” He paused gesturing to you and Javi’s disheveled state, “... time to yourselves. Like I said earlier, y’all gotta lot of rooms to fill, and I don’t think you’re gonna have any problem doin’ it.”

And for as much as you wanted to give Steve the ten pounds of shit he deserved, as you looked up at Javi standing next to you, you couldn’t really even bring yourself to be mad. Because in the end, the only thing that mattered was him- the man you were going to spend the rest of your life with. The one who was your future, the one who stood with you through every twist and turn, the one who was your home. What started as a day that had you questioning everything had turned into one that had never made you feel more assured. You knew that Javier Peña loved you more than life itself, and you knew that you were so lucky to spend the rest of your life getting to prove to him over and over that you loved him just as much.

Taglist:

@cool-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @messinadress @milly-louise @jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog @hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

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wilwheaton · 5 months ago

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One very simple question :)

(Tv/comics)

Marvel. Or DC?

I have liked them both and disliked them both, at different points in my life, for a variety of reasons. At the moment, I'm not paying attention to them at all.

When I was a kid, I was all about Xmen and Fantastic Four from Marvel and, Batman and Justice League (Marv Wolfman's run in the late 80s) from DC. Never really cared for Superman. The 1967 Spider-Man was awesome as a cartoon, but I rarely read the comic book.

In the 70s, I was only allowed one comic per week, usually picked out from whatever was left on that spinning rack at the drugstore. So more often than not, I ended up with something like House of Secrets or House of Mystery or one of those horror anthologies that didn't need me to read the issues before or after, like the serialized superhero comics did. I got a lot of replay value from those books.

In the 80s, I had my own money and the ability to drive myself to comic conventions, and that's when I fell in love with Sandman, Watchmen, pretty much the entire Prestige Format that became Vertigo. I recall feeling like Marvel was for kids, then, and DC was serious. I was only 16, so take that for what it's worth.

But speaking of being 16, I'm gonna focus on Batman for a sec. I loved Batman 89, and I think all the efforts to make a Batman movie ever since have fallen short in ways I couldn't predict back then. It's gotten better with age and by comparison, for me. Michael Keaton is my favorite Batman, the way Christian Bale is my favorite modern Bruce Wayne (they both pale next to Pure. West. if anyone asks me).

The OG Batman series is maybe my favorite series of all time not called Star Trek or The Prisoner, and the 1966 movie is my favorite of all the Batman movies. Of course I love the animated series, and I get to be Blue Beetle in Brave and the Bold, so that's pretty awesome and its whole own thing.

Turning to the current moment, with rare exception, all the MCU and DCU movies do nothing for me. I thought I must have been missing something, so tried really hard to give them a chance to knock me out. I watched as many of the MCU movies as I could stand, and I just felt exhausted and bored by all of it, by the time I got to ... I can't even remember. Something with maybe Thanos and Ant-Man? I felt like it was a big, complicated mess of fan service and meetings that could have been e-mails, resulting in in a stew full of interesting ingredients that have all blended together into a flavorless paste. I do enjoy all the James Gunn movies, though, even if Chris Pratt is the worst Chris, because James always centers the characters and their conflicts, then uses the action and stunts to support the story.

I feel like a lot of this sounds harsh, but even Star Wars, my favorite movie when I was a kid, has grown into something I don't recognize or care about. I'm old. I know what I like and what I don't like. I'm not patient like I once was, and it's clear I'm not the person those studios want in the theatre, anyway. I could make that joke about how it's the children who are wrong, but I accept that I am not in the demo, and I am genuinely happy for everyone who loves the spectacle and the experience of seeing those films with an enthusiastic audience. I just won't be there with you, but you can find me in the parking lot, yelling at a cloud.

...wow that's a very big answer to a very simple question.

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shyshyshyz · 14 days ago

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Got a request: Caitlyn x astronaut reader who arrived to Runeterra via a wormhole and crashed in the harbor resulting in them being a celebrity among the locals. One day Caitlyn sees the reader trying to fix their radio and phone which they do as it begins singing things from their world.

Echoes from Beyond

Summary: After crash-landing in Piltover, you’ve drawn quite the crowd as the city’s first extraterrestrial visitor, but you’re more concerned about fixing your radio and tuning out the attention. Still, Caitlyn Kiramman’s curiosity—and her sharp wit—keep pulling you in. When she catches you trying to repair your old radio late one night, the device starts playing a song from home, and the sarcastic exchanges between you take on a different tone entirely.

Word Count: 6,500

W: Sci-fi elements, sarcastic humor, homesickness, slow-burn romance, tension.

Sparks flew from the radio, and you winced, pulling your hand back. The device sputtered, wires twisted and exposed, and the panel you’d jerry-rigged threatened to fall off altogether. “Perfect. Yeah, go ahead and fall apart on me,” you muttered, glaring at the radio like it might fix itself out of sheer guilt.

“Talking to your equipment?” a familiar voice broke in. “I’ve heard it’s not the most effective strategy.”

You glanced up, a smirk forming as you found Caitlyn Kiramman watching you with an amused arch of her brow. “Well, you’d talk to it too if you’d crashed on an alien planet and had exactly one broken radio to your name.”

She chuckled, stepping closer. “Good to know sarcasm is universal. You do realize half of Piltover’s harbor has been talking about you since the day you arrived?”

You gave a dramatic sigh, feigning a look of exhaustion. “Ah, yes. My lifelong dream: celebrity status on a world I didn’t even know existed. Truly, I’m living the dream.”

Caitlyn laughed, a real, warm sound that seemed out of place in the cold harbor air. She leaned down beside you, peering at the broken radio. “Does it ever work, or is it more of an… ornamental piece?”

“Oh, it works. When it feels like it.” You poked at the wiring, the sarcasm creeping back into your voice. “It’s a little temperamental, just like me, I guess.”

She tilted her head, giving you a sidelong glance. “I suppose I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

You smirked, glancing up at her. “Careful. Next thing you know, I’ll be making demands. Like… what’s a proper breakfast here? Any weird Piltover customs I should be aware of?”

Her lips quirked as she held your gaze. “Maybe you’ll find out if you stop playing with broken radios in the middle of the night.”

Just as you were about to volley back with another jab, the radio sputtered to life, static giving way to a faint, haunting melody from your world. Both of you fell silent, the sarcasm fading as the music filled the air, bringing a rare quietness to your typically witty exchanges.

For once, Caitlyn looked genuinely speechless. “That’s… that’s beautiful,” she murmured. “It doesn’t sound like anything I’ve ever heard.”

You cleared your throat, attempting to hide the sudden vulnerability the music brought. “It’s just a song from home. They—uh, they play it a lot back there. It’s about… finding beauty, even when you’re a million miles from home.”

Caitlyn’s eyes softened, and you felt her presence in a way that startled you. “I think I get it.” Her hand brushed against yours, and your sarcasm melted just a bit. “Maybe you don’t have to be so far from that kind of beauty. Maybe Piltover has a little of it, too.”

You let out a scoff, though it came out weaker than intended. “Yeah? Well, jury’s still out on that one.”

But as her hand stayed near yours, and her gaze held yours just a moment longer than usual, you felt a warmth that wasn’t just from the music. Maybe, you thought, Piltover had more than you’d given it credit for—especially if Caitlyn was part of it.

#arcane #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn arcane #league of legends caitlyn #arcane x y/n #arcane x you #arcane x reader #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn x you #caitlyn x y/n #wlw post #wlw blog #sapphic #lesbian

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lila-lou · 6 months ago

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✨His true fate - Part 1/?✨

Summary: Jensen hasn't been happy for years. But it seems almost impossible for him to escape. After another nasty argument between him and his wife, he decides to visit his ´former´ best friend for his birthday. Back in Austin, an encounter awaits him that will turn his life completely upside down.

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Language, age gap, tough topics

Word Count: 4167

A/N: Alright. I'm only going to write this once. Danneel doesn't come off well in this story. She's pretty much described as the devil himself. She does and says things that are absolutely awful. In this Story she's pretty much the biggest bitch. I don't want to hear any complaints because it's just a story. Fiction. No hate towards anyone. So, that being said, I hope you enjoy reading it.

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

Jared parked in front of the airport in Austin, his fingers tapping restlessly on the steering wheel. It had been too long since he had seen Jensen outside of the conventions. This visit was different, just for spending time together, no panels, no crowds. As he waited, Jared couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement mixed with a hint of nervousness. It was the first time Jensen was visiting him after he moved away from Austin, a chance for them to catch up without the chaos of their usual meet-ups.

As Jared watched the stream of passengers disembarking from the plane, his mind drifted back to the rocky path that had led them to this moment. Their friendship had weathered its fair share of storms, strained by distance, conflicting schedules, and the pressures of their respective careers. Yet, despite the challenges, they had somehow found their way back to each other. It had taken time, effort, and countless late-night conversations, but slowly, they had begun to rebuild what they had once thought lost.

This weekend, as they celebrated Jared's birthday together, it felt like a new chapter unfolding. Jensen's decision to fly to Austin, despite his busy filming and convention schedule, spoke volumes about the strength of their renewed bond. As Jared caught sight of Jensen emerging from the crowd, a genuine smile spread across his face, washing away any lingering doubts or tensions. This weekend was about reconnecting, about rediscovering the camaraderie that had always defined their relationship.

Jensen opened the trunk and unceremoniously tossed his suitcase inside before collapsing into the passenger seat with a heavy sigh. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, looking every bit as exhausted and worn-out as Jared had feared.

"Wow, someone looks like they've been through the wringer", Jared teased, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he started the car.

Jensen shot him a mock glare, his eyes heavy with fatigue. "Thanks, Jared. Always great to get a warm welcome", he quipped, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice despite his worn-out demeanor.

"Just calling it like I see it, man", Jared chuckled, pulling out of the parking spot and heading towards the exit. "But seriously, you look like you could use a week-long vacation on a deserted island".

"Tell me about it", Jensen muttered, sinking back into the seat and closing his eyes for a moment. "Filming has been brutal lately. I swear, I'm starting to feel every single one of my thirty-something years".

Jared couldn't help but chuckle at Jensen's dramatics. "Thirty-something? More like ancient, old man", he teased, earning himself a playful shove from Jensen.

"Hey, watch it, Padalecki. I may be old, but I can still kick your ass", Jensen retorted with a smirk, the weariness momentarily forgotten as the car with little laughter.

As Jared merged onto the highway, the gentle hum of the car filled the silence between them. Glancing over at Jensen, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that there was more going on beneath the surface.

“So, it’s just the filming that’s got you looking like you’ve aged a decade overnight?”, Jared ventured, keeping his tone light but his concern evident.

Jensen let out a heavy sigh, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside the window. “Yeah, filming’s been intense, but that’s not all of it”, he admitted, his voice tinged with resignation.

Jared knew better than to push too hard, but he couldn’t ignore the sense of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach. “Is everything okay at home?”, he asked tentatively, knowing full well the delicate balance Jensen was trying to maintain.

Jensen’s jaw tightened, a flicker of pain crossing his features before he masked it with a forced smile. “Yeah, everything’s fine”, he replied, his tone betraying the lie.

But Jared wasn’t about to let him off that easily. “Come on, man. You don’t have to pretend with me”, he pressed gently, his concern outweighing any discomfort he felt broaching the topic.

Jensen hesitated for a moment before finally speaking, his voice barely above a whisper. “Things… haven’t been great”, he admitted, his gaze fixed on his hands folded in his lap.

Jared could sense Jensen's internal struggle, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Before he could push him further, however, Jensen seemed to retreat, throwing up his defenses like a shield.

"Hey, forget I said anything, okay?", Jensen mumbled, his voice barely audible over the sound of the car's engine. "Let's just focus on having a good time this weekend. I could really use a break… from everything".

Jared nodded, respecting Jensen's boundaries even as his heart ached for his friend's pain. "Yeah, of course", he replied, his tone gentle yet supportive. "We'll make sure this weekend is all about relaxing and having fun. No drama, no stress".

Jensen managed a small, grateful smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Thanks. I appreciate it", he said quietly, a hint of vulnerability slipping through his usual facade of strength.

As they continued down the highway, the weight of their unspoken conversations hung heavy in the air, but for now, they both agreed to set aside their worries.

As the miles flew by, a more simple conversation flowed easily between Jared and Jensen, the tension of their earlier exchange dissipating with each passing moment. It didn't even take 30 minutes until Jared pulled into the familiar driveway of his family home.

"Home sweet home", Jared announced with a grin, turning off the engine and casting a sideways glance at Jensen. "Welcome back to Casa Padalecki".

Jensen chuckled, the weariness in his eyes momentarily replaced by a spark of excitement. "Thanks, man. It's good to be here", he replied, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

As Jared and Jensen climbed the front porch steps, they were met with the eager faces of Tom and Shep peeking out from behind the screen door. The boys' eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of Jensen standing there, and their excitement was palpable.

"Uncle Jensen!", Tom exclaimed, darting forward to wrap his arms around Jensen in a tight hug, his enthusiasm bubbling over.

Shep followed suit, his smaller frame joining in the embrace as he grinned up at Jensen. "We didn't think you were really coming!", he said, his voice filled with a mix of surprise and joy.

Jensen chuckled warmly, returning their hugs with equal affection. "Well, here I am", he replied, tousling their hair playfully. "I couldn't miss the chance to hang out with you two".

As they stepped inside the house, laughter and chatter filled the air, the boys buzzing with excitement at the prospect of spending time with their favorite ´uncle´. Jared couldn't help but smile at the sight, grateful for the bond that had formed between Jensen and his sons over the years. With Jensen back in their lives, even just for the weekend, he knew that memories would be made and cherished for years to come.

As Tom and Shep dashed off to explore the backyard, their laughter echoing through the house, Jensen turned to Jared with a curious expression.

"So, where's Gen and mini Gen?", Jensen asked, a playful twinkle in his eye as he referred to Jared's wife and daughter.

Jared glanced at the clock on the wall, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "They're out shopping", he replied, his voice tinged with amusement. "Looks like it's just us guys for now".

Jensen chuckled, nodding in understanding. "Ah, a little father-son bonding time, huh?", he remarked.

"Yeah, something like that", Jared replied, his gaze drifting toward the backyard where the sounds of his sons' laughter drifted in through the open door.

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the backyard, Jared and Jensen found themselves sitting side by side, beers in hand, watching as Tom and Shep played with the chickens.

Jared took a sip of his beer, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them. "So, how are the kids?", he asked, his tone casual but genuine.

Jensen's smile faltered slightly at the mention of his own children, a flicker of sadness crossing his features before he quickly masked it with a forced grin. "They're good", he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty. "Busy with school and all that".

Jared nodded, though he could sense there was more to the story than Jensen was letting on. He had seen firsthand how Jensen had thrown himself into his work, often using it as a means of escape from the troubles at home.

"Must be tough juggling all that work and family", Jared remarked sympathetically, knowing all too well the pressures of balancing a career with family responsibilities.

"Yeah, it's… still challenging", Jensen admitted, his gaze drifting off into the distance. "But hey, enough about me. How's Gen and the kids? They keeping you on your toes?".

Jared chuckled, grateful for the diversion. "Always", he replied with a fond smile. "But wouldn't have it any other way".

As they sat together in the fading light, the sound of laughter and chatter filling the air, Jared couldn't shake the feeling that there was still so much left unsaid between them.

As the evening wore on and the sky darkened, Gen and Odette returned home, their arrival greeted with hugs and laughter from Jensen. They exchanged pleasantries and caught up on each other's lives, the warmth of their conversation filling the air.

However, as the hour grew late and the kids were ushered off to bed by Gen, a sense of tranquility settled over the house. Now alone in the quiet of the evening, Jared and Jensen found themselves relaxing on the porch once more, the glow of their beers casting long shadows in the dim light.

But their peace was short-lived as Jensen's phone rang, breaking the serene atmosphere with its shrill tone. With a frustrated groan, Jensen glanced at the caller ID, his annoyance evident.

"Danneel?", Jared asked quietly, his brow furrowing with concern as he watched Jensen quickly silence the call.

Jensen nodded, his jaw clenched in frustration. "Yeah", he muttered, his voice heavy with irritation. "Probably just checking in to make sure I'm not having too much fun".

Jared could sense the tension radiating from his friend, the weight of Jensen's strained marriage casting a shadow over their evening.

Jared let out a heavy sigh, the weight of unspoken words pressing heavily on his chest. Finally, unable to contain his thoughts any longer, he spoke up, his voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and concern.

"Jensen, can I ask you something?", Jared began, his gaze fixed on his friend. "Why won't you just finally leave her?".

The question hung in the air, laden with the weight of years of silence and suppressed emotions. Jared knew it was a delicate subject, one that had been tiptoed around for far too long, but he couldn't stand by any longer and watch his friend suffer in silence.

Jensen's expression hardened, a flicker of defiance crossing his features before he quickly masked it with a forced smile. "It's complicated. You know that", he replied evasively, his voice betraying the turmoil raging beneath the surface.

"But is it really?", Jared pressed, his tone gentle yet insistent. "I mean, I get that there are always reasons, but at what point do you say enough is enough?".

Jensen's jaw tightened, his gaze drifting off into the distance as he wrestled with his inner demons. "I wish it were that simple", he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But you have no idea what she's capable of".

Jared's heart ached at the pain etched into Jensen's features, the deep-rooted fear and resignation that seemed to consume him. But he refused to back down, knowing that sometimes, the hardest conversations were the ones that needed to be had the most.

"I know it's fucking scary", Jared admitted softly, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on Jensen's shoulder. "But you don't have to face it alone, you know. We're here for you, no matter what".

Jensen's grip tightened around his beer bottle, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "You don't get it, Jared", he muttered, his voice tinged with bitterness. "If I try to leave, she'll make sure I never see my kids again. She'll ruin me. In every fucking way possible".

Jared's eyes narrowed, his patience wearing thin. "And what do you think she's doing right now? Keeping you trapped, suffocating you with her control", he retorted, his voice tinged with anger. "She's already ruining you, Jensen. Can't you see that?".

Jensen's jaw clenched, his fists balling at his sides as he struggled to find the words to express the turmoil raging within him. "I can't risk losing my kids, my image, my career", he finally admitted, his voice choked with emotion. "I can't".

Jared's heart ached for his friend, the pain etched into every line of his face. But he refused to let Jensen succumb to the fear and manipulation any longer.

"You're stronger than that, Jensen", Jared said firmly, his voice filled with conviction.

Jared's frustration softened into determination. "Listen to me, Jensen. You need to stop letting her control you", he said firmly, his voice unwavering. "You just need to get yourself a damn good lawyer".

Jensen's gaze flickered with uncertainty, the weight of Jared's words sinking in. "But what if it's not enough?", he whispered, his voice filled with doubt.

"It's a start", Jared replied, his tone resolute. "And you're not alone in this. We'll find you the best lawyer, one who'll fight tooth and nail to make sure she won´t ruin your life more than she already did".

As they sat in the quiet of the backyard, the weight of their conversation hanging heavy in the air, Jensen felt a glimmer of hope stir within him. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way out of the darkness that had consumed him for so long.

But then, with a heavy sigh, Jensen's resolve wavered as he confessed, "I can't take it anymore, Jared. Every time I'm home, I feel like I'm suffocating. I drown myself in conventions just to get away from her. And when I am home, I'm mostly drunk just to be able to deal with her".

Jared's heart sank at the raw honesty in Jensen's words, the pain and despair evident in every syllable. But he refused to let his friend continue down this destructive path.

"We'll figure it out, Jensen," Jared said firmly, his voice filled with conviction.

Jared knew how bad Jensen really was. For years he could do nothing but watch as Danneel destroyed his best friend. Publicly humiliated him, manipulated him and mentally abused him. She gradually destroyed his self-confidence, his friendships and caused him to isolate himself from everyone. Jared wanted nothing more than to finally see his best friend happy again. Truly happy. But with Danneel and her toxic personality by his side, that wouldn't happen. So he hoped to use the time they had together well enough to somehow get through to Jensen.

As Jensen made his way to the guestroom an hour later, the weight of the evening's conversation hung heavy on his shoulders, his mind consumed by a whirlwind of emotions and stress. Each step felt like a burden, the familiar sense of suffocation creeping in as he retreated from the warmth of Jared's home to the solitude of his temporary sanctuary.

Slipping into the guestroom, Jensen closed the door behind him with a heavy sigh, the darkness of the room enveloping him like a shroud. He sank onto the edge of the bed, his head in his hands as he tried to quiet the storm raging within him.

But despite his best efforts, the memories and fears clawed their way to the surface, threatening to overwhelm him with their intensity.

And as he lay there in the silence of the night, the weight of his burdens pressing down upon him, Jensen couldn't help but wonder if there would ever be a way out of the darkness that had consumed him for so long. But for now, all he could do was try to find solace in the quiet of the night, hoping that somehow, someway, he would find the strength to face another day.

The next morning, Jared and Gen bustled around the kitchen, the savory aroma of breakfast filling the air as they worked together with Odette by their side. The sound of laughter and chatter filled the room, a stark contrast to the heaviness that had hung over the house the night before.

As they set the table with plates of pancakes and fresh fruit, Jared glanced at Gen with a playful smirk. "Think Jensen will be able to handle waking up to the smell of your cooking?", he teased, earning a chuckle from his wife.

Gen rolled her eyes, though there was a hint of amusement in her expression. "He better be ready for the Padalecki family breakfast experience", she replied with a grin, her culinary skills on full display.

Just then, Tom bounded into the kitchen, his energy infectious as he eagerly awaited his next task. "Can I go wake up Uncle Jensen now, Dad?", he asked, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

Jared nodded with a smile, ruffling Tom's hair affectionately. "Go for it, buddy. Just try not to scare him too much", he replied, unable to contain his own amusement at the thought of Jensen's reaction to being roused from his slumber.

With a mischievous grin, Tom dashed off to carry out his mission, leaving Jared and Gen to share a knowing look.

As Tom made his way towards the guestroom, his excitement bubbling over, he couldn't help but feel a mischievous urge creeping in. Quietly, he slipped inside, tiptoeing towards Jensen's bed with a grin plastered on his face.

With a sly glance towards Jensen, still lost in slumber, Tom couldn't resist the temptation. He settled himself down beside Jensen, his heart racing with anticipation. And then, with a mischievous gleam in his eye, he let out a loud fart, breaking the silence of the room with a resounding blast.

Jensen jolted awake with a start, his eyes wide with shock as he stared at Tom in disbelief. "What the…", he sputtered, his voice trailing off as he tried to process what had just happened.

Tom couldn't contain his laughter, doubling over with mirth as he reveled in the chaos he had created. "Gotcha, Uncle Jensen!", he exclaimed between giggles, unable to contain his excitement at the successful prank.

Jensen instantly grimaced, his hand flying to cover his nose as the pungent odor assaulted his senses. "Oh, man, Tom! What did you eat?", he exclaimed, his voice muffled by his hand as he tried to escape the noxious fumes.

Tom doubled over with laughter, barely able to catch his breath between fits of giggles. "Sorry, Uncle Jensen!", he managed to squeak out between laughs.

Jensen waved his hand in front of his face, desperately trying to dispel the stench that hung in the air. "You're absolutely your dad's kid", he grumbled, his tone laced with both amusement and exasperation. "Damn, that fucking stinks!".

Again Jensen waved his hand in front of his face, still trying to rid the room of the lingering smell. "Alright, alright, Tom", he said with a chuckle, trying to mask his amusement. "Why don't you go air out that stinking butt of yours while I get dressed?".

Tom grinned mischievously, his laughter echoing through the room as he bounded out of the guestroom, leaving Jensen to shake his head in amusement.

Dressed and somehow awake, Jensen made his way towards the kitchen, the promise of breakfast and laughter drawing him forward.

Jensen took a seat at the table, a grin playing at the corners of his lips as he recounted Tom's prank to Jared. "You won't believe what your son just did", he chuckled, shaking his head in amusement.

Jared raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Oh? What did he do this time?", he asked with a smirk, already bracing himself for another one of Tom's antics.

"He let out the loudest fart I've ever heard right next to my face", Jensen replied, his laughter infectious as he recounted the incident. "I swear, that kid is just like his old man".

Jared couldn't help but laugh at the image of his son terrorizing Jensen with his infamous flatulence. "Well, I guess he takes after me in more ways than one", he quipped, a proud smile spreading across his face.

Shep and Odette's laughter filled the room, their amusement at Tom's antics contagious as they teased their brother relentlessly. Gen couldn't help but shake her head affectionately at their sibling banter.

Turning to Jared, Gen's smile widened as she made a suggestion. "Hey, do you think you and Jensen could handle getting the drinks for tonight's party?", she asked, her tone hopeful as she looked between her husband and his friend.

Jared grinned at the idea, nodding eagerly. "Of course", he replied, excitement lighting up his eyes. "Consider it our mission. We'll make sure we have plenty of drinks to keep the party going all night long".

Jensen nodded in agreement. "You can count on us", he chimed in.

As they made plans for the evening's festivities, the anticipation of the birthday party ahead filled the room with a sense of excitement.

Two hours later, Jensen found himself sitting in the passenger seat of Jared's car, the hum of the engine and the rhythm of the road soothing his frayed nerves. They were on their way to the next liquor store, their mission to stock up for Jared's birthday party well underway.

Jared glanced over at Jensen with a grin, the excitement of the evening ahead evident in his eyes. "Ready to make a dent in the liquor aisle?", he joked, his tone light as he navigated through the traffic.

Jensen chuckled, a sense of camaraderie washing over him as he settled back into his seat. "You bet", he replied. "Just promise me we won't end up with more beer than we can carry".

Jared laughed, shaking his head at his friend's jest. "No promises", he teased, though there was a hint of mischief in his tone.

As Jared disappeared in search of the restroom, Jensen remained leaning against the overflowing shopping cart, his expression a mix of boredom and introspection. With each passing moment, he found himself sinking deeper into his own thoughts. Again the weight of his troubles pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket.

He couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him from within, the nagging sense that he was trapped in a life that no longer brought him joy. Despite the excitement of Jared's birthday party looming on the horizon, Jensen couldn't escape the shadows of his own turmoil that threatened to engulf him at every turn.

Lost in his thoughts, Jensen barely noticed the bustle of shoppers around him as they navigated the crowded aisles of the liquor store. His mind was a whirlwind of memories and regrets, a tangled web of emotions that left him feeling adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

Lost in his thoughts, Jensen barely registered the collision until he felt the impact against his back. Startled, he stumbled forward, nearly losing his balance as he turned to see what had caused the disturbance.

"Hey, fucking watch where you're going!", he grumbled irritably, his frustration evident in his tone as he glanced over his shoulder.

But as he turned around, ready to unleash a torrent of curses, Jensen's words died on his lips as he met your gaze.

"Sorry", you apologized quickly, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you struggled to regain your composure and the bottles of whiskey in your arms. "I didn't see you there".

Jensen's irritation faded, his annoyance evaporating as he took in your apologetic expression. "It's okay", he replied more softly. "No harm done".

———————————

A/N: I wanted to give you a little preview. I don't know exactly when it will continue. If you want to be tagged, please let me know <3 It's going to be a damn long story, that's for sure, lol.

Please let me know what you think.🥰

Part 2

#jensen ackles #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen x y/n #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x reader #jensen x reader #jared padalecki #jared paladecki #jared and jensen #spn #supernatural #gen padalecki #genevieve padalecki

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