#romantic-withdrawals

[romantic-withdrawals]

Date Night Part 1/2

Title: Date Night

Pairing: Taron Egerton X Reader

Word Count:

Warning: None, it's just cute. Swearing...I'm Canadian, it's gonna be in there

Summary: Taron takes the reader on her dream date. It's messy, but who could resist his sweet, clumsy awkwardness. It's the effort that counts, after all.

Author's Note: I had a disastrous first date with my (now) boyfriend, but his effort to improve things throughout the evening made me fall entirely in love with him. This is inspired by that evening. Enjoy <3

Taron had just returned from a morning shoot. The new movie was an action-packed story, so he returned to his rental exhausted with a body full of bruises. He was more torn down this afternoon because of the early morning jump-start, so into his bed, he jumped.

The sunlight sneaking past the hem of the curtains was almost gone; Taron was still in sleep heaven, dreaming of nothing he would remember when he woke.

His phone on his bedside table lit up, the notification sound melting into a soft clang in his dream sequence. The time read 5:28pm, and the notification below was from Y/N.

'Hey Taron, just got home from work. I might run a little late. Can we move the date to 6:30 instead of 6? I'm so sorry for the last-minute text.'

Taron stirred in bed. The sheets now comfortably lie on his chest. His eyes are too heavy to open wide, but that dreamland has been abandoned. After a few seconds of silence, a stretch or two, and a huff of contentment and relaxation, he opened his eyes to look around.

Noticing the darkness outside and the time on the hotel clock he jumped out of bed, picked up his phone and blurted out that four-letter Anglo-Saxton word in a repetitious trail.

"FUCK! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!"

He darted for the shower leaving the phone on the bed with 5 notifications.

'All ready. Let me know when you're on the way' 6:24pm

'Is everything okay? Are you getting my messages?' 6:42pm

'Are we still on for today?' 7:32pm

'It's okay if you need to cancel, but can you, at the very least, communicate' 7:38pm

'I guess it's cancelled. I'll talk to you when I talk to you.' 8:00pm

The last text appeared while he was already in the shower. That's 2 hours later than he was supposed to go on the date. This was a mess, and he still needed to start the date.

He finished his military shower in 3 minutes and started throwing on the clothes he neatly hung beside the dresser labelled 'Date Night.' Dressing as quickly as possible he picked up his phone and called her while squeezing the device between his shoulder and his jaw so he could pull up his pants. The phone rang until it transferred to voicemail.

Once again that cuss left his mouth, “fuck”.

As fast as the traffic would let him, he drive through every single kilometre with great anxiety. First dates are nerve racking to begin with. Being two and a half hours late without any communication is as bad as it can get.

On the way, as he stood waiting for a red signal, he spotted some potted flowers outside a hardware store. Her voice flooded his mind, remembering their conversations on bouquet gifting.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love flowers. But why kill it? Where did this tradition begin? Who looked at flowers and thought ‘Hey! Flowers! Imma murder them, stuff ‘‘em in plastic and hand a collection of dying flowers to the first lady I find.’ Gimme flowers, but let them live you know.”

He took a sharp right and into the store, picking up the best 6 inch Hibiscus Braid they were selling. He careful placed it into his car securing it with the seatbelt. It’s been a disaster date so far, he couldn’t afford another mishap.

Responsibly speeding on the road, Taron finally made it to her house. He parked in her parent’s driveway and rushed to the front of her door. He rang the doorbell and waited there, expecting the worst. Her father opened the door.

“Oh I thought you cancelled your date” dad asked, now sceptical of the boy he was once impressed by.

“I’m very sorry sir, I know I should’ve called and told her I was running embarrassingly late. I’m very sorry for showing up late. I know I have no right to call on her. I just want to see her and explain and then I’ll leave. I promise” he rambled.

Y/N, overhearing their interaction came down the stairs and towards the door where her father was standing.

“It’s okay da, let me talk to him.”

Her hair and makeup was still done but she opted for a comfortable sweats, a tee and an unzipped hoodie. She wasn’t angry, just disappointed. He still thought she looked absolutely beautiful.

His heart was racing to look at her. What could he possibly say to make things right? She waited for him to start talking, a soft look resting on her face. Somehow it made things worse for him.

"I'm so incredibly sorry--"

"Stop apologizing," she interrupted. "You said you wanted to explain..." she started, prompting him to continue.

"I made this perfect plan for our date, and I still do if you want to go on this date with me." He began rambling again but changed courses when her body language shifted. "I was sent home early today because it was already an extremely physical day and insurance and all that. I had already picked the outfit and made the reservations and all the plans, so I decided I'd take a nap until my alarm went off. Except I didn't wake up with the alarm and raced over as fast as possible. On the way...Oh, wait" He stopped himself, ran to his van, and pulled out the plant he had purchased for her. He presented it to her as sweetly as he could. "I remember you saying you don't like murdered flowers, so I got you a potted one instead."

Between his nervous ramble and the potted plant, she was starting to forgive him, not that she would let him know.

"Look, I know my lack of communication was childish and rude, and you are under no obligation to forgive me, but you should know that I really like you and want to get to know you better. I know you've had a tough week, and I just wanted you to have one fantastic evening. I have been thinking of you for days ever since we talked that entire night. I love talking to you, and today I just hoped to keep talking to you...forever. I know you said to stop apologizing, but I am sorry."

She hadn't said anything; she kept her eyes on the plant he had gifted her while he rambled away.

"I'm sorry again." He mutter as he began leaving. He sat in his van and began driving away. Just as he backed out of her driveway and onto the street, he received a notification.

'If the reservation has been made, we can't not show up, can we?'

His heart skipped a beat as he saw her name. Looking up to see the look on her face, her soft smile while hugging tightly the plant he gifted her warmed his heart.

'Reverse the car and wait a sec. I'll be right down.'

She sent the text and reentered her home with the plant still in hand.

He backed the car and waited inside. He debated whether or not to leave the engine on to heat the car. It was of course the coldest time of the year so he left the heater on.

In less than 20 minutes he noticed the porch door swing open and out she came in a beautiful maroon dress and a (fake) furry cover. He jumped out of his car and ran to open the door for her.

“You look beautiful,” he smiled. A cliché line, but he truly meant it. He watched her as she sat in his car and adjusted the bottom of the dress.

"Aren't we on a tight schedule?" She looked up at him, still staring at her.

He immediately closed the door and ran to the other side of the car to join her inside.

“You look absolutely beautiful” he said, holding absolutely still.

To his surprise this made her laugh. “Are you gonna take me on this date or are you gonna keep flirting with me on this driveway until I blush myself to death?”. She let her urge to reach for his hand and gently touch him win.

He smiled again, grabbed her hand and kissed it.

“Let’s get out of here”. He said driving away.

—————————————————————————

THATS IT FOR PART ONE!!!!!!

Spoke to my boyfriend about our date to write this more from the man’s perspective. Let me know if you want me to do that more often.

I was originally going for only a quick thing but it would have been too long. I’ve already started on Part 2 so the next one shouldn’t be too far away.

Let me know if you want me to explore any other ideas (smut welcome lol)

[itz-pandora]

Thanks Anon, Shadamy is now something that happens in the misc AU, albeit brief.

[romantic-withdrawals]

Got one lol. 100% AGREEE!!!!!

I love the dork

[todorokis-girl]

Let's talk about the caffeine addiction - Kirishima x reader

Kirishima and Y/N navigate an evening of tension and care. Despite struggling with a caffeine withdrawal headache, Y/N resists drinking coffee to preserve their breakfast date the next morning. 

Requests are OPEN!

masterlist

No one had ever really paid attention to your struggles before. You knew caffeine was an addiction, and the headache you’d had all day was definitely because of the caffeine withdrawal. But it was 7 p.m., and you couldn’t have coffee. Kirishima had planned a breakfast date for the two of you tomorrow morning, and you didn’t want to mess that up.

As you massaged your temple, Kirishima glanced over from the driver’s seat while waiting at a red light. His concerned eyes studied you, taking in the tension etched across your face.

“I have to stop at the gas station. Need anything, baby?” he asked, his voice a soothing rumble.

“No,” you replied softly, trying to muster a reassuring smile.

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion, but didn’t press further. Once he parked at the gas station, he got out of the car without another word. You closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the seat, wishing you could skip the party. But you knew he was excited about it. It was a reunion of sorts—a chance for his old class to be together again after so long. You didn’t want to dampen his excitement, even if you felt like curling up in bed instead.

The car door opened, and the cool night air rushed in. Before you knew it, a cold bottle was pressed against your cheek. Startled, you opened your eyes to see Kirishima holding a glossy bottle of iced coffee—vanilla, your favorite.

“What?” you muttered, taking the bottle from his hand. It felt cool against your fingers, and you bit your lip, hesitating.

“You’ve been nursing that headache all day. You’re the one who wanted to come to the party,” he reminded you gently, his crimson eyes filled with concern.

“I can’t. We have breakfast tomorrow, and you haven’t seen all your classmates in forever, Eiji,” you protested, your voice wavering.

“It can be breakfast for dinner. Please, drink it,” he urged, his tone sincere and caring. He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch comforting.

You looked at him, a smile slowly spreading across your face. His thoughtfulness warmed your heart. You unscrewed the cap and took a tentative sip, the sweet vanilla flavor immediately soothing your headache.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice soft with gratitude. “You always know how to make things better.”

Kirishima grinned, his sharp teeth flashing in the dim light. “That’s what I’m here for. Now, let’s go enjoy this party. And if you’re still not feeling great, we can leave early. Deal?”

“Deal,” you agreed, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. With Kirishima by your side, you knew you could handle anything, even a caffeine withdrawal headache at a party.

[xeniums]

ahahaahaa bold of you to assume I avoid therapy because I'm scared of confronting my internal turmoil and opening up to people no it's because I'm scared that I'll end up entwined in an odd, complex, and intimate relationship with a psychiatrist that could span three seasons

[waitineedaname]

feeling completely insane about The Author And His Protagonist™️ this morning and now I'm thinking about bingqiu too, and like. Airplane of course wrote Luo Binghe to be everything he wasn't, this cool and powerful stallion protagonist. And he also wrote him to be what the readers wanted, especially as time went on. But there's bit of himself embedded in Binghe -- his insecurities, his fear of abandonment, his loneliness, his hunger for love. Those vulnerabilities are hidden away under layers of strength and stallion badassery in PIDW, but for Bingmei, they're laid bare and ratcheted up to eleven

And then Shen Yuan. He of course loved Luo Binghe The Protagonist™️ but he fell in love with Luo Binghe, the real person with insecurities and fears and strange ugly edges to his personality. He saw this carnival mirror reflection of Airplane's flaws, and he wanted nothing more than to wrap Binghe up and love him and care for him and soothe those insecurities

If I was Airplane, bingqiu would be like therapy for me

[red-n-ded]

to be fair, deku and uraraka did not get together just yet. assuming the translation for the epilogue is accurate, it was that they wanted to talk more again (as they hadn't really kept in touch.) clearly the reason why theyre reconnecting is related to romantic feelings but the point im making here is, well, sometimes feelings dont remain the same! you could just say that, down the line, they realized that they wanted to remain friends but still have a mutual fondness for one another. relationships and feelings are funky and complex and there is beauty in different interpretations

you know what, that's valid (and an interesting thought :D)

[titfairy]

Lada’s mom is so desperate at this point, all I can think about is that she’s going to lose everything. And I mean, everything, because she basically just betrayed Lada’s trust

She thinks she’s in control, but announcing the marriage to public without informing both Lada and dr Wisanu is such a disastrous move. The gays are flabbergasted

She can continue using “I’m doing this for the future of our business.” reason, which makes it an even more bad move imo. How can Lada and dr Wisanu work well together if their relationship start off this way? With her breaching everyone’s trust. All Lada’s mom did is ensuring life long resentment for both Lada and dr Wishnu.

This is not a strategic business move or whatever, Lada’s mom is just a rampant homophobe.

(What would she do when dr Wisanu comes out later then? lmooo)

She doesn’t realize that Lada can just leave everything behind and start a new life somewhere else. She’s an accomplished doctor by her own. What would Lada’s mom do? Sabotage her own daughter’s career?

What would the mom even do just IF:

1. Lada and Earn decide to go public with their relationship? Wouldn’t that be bad press for the hospital, especially for the mom if she gets exposed?

2. dr Wisanu realize he can just say no to the marriage too?

I don’t think the mom realize that she doesn’t have much control here tbh.

[onyxbird]

I'm on my first watch through Critical Role (just got past the Briarwood arc), and I just realized one reason it bugs me that Vax "broke up" with Gilmore because he's trying to romance Keyleth: Of all the enthusiasm from the party about Vax flirting with Gilmore in "Shopping and Shipping," it was Keyleth who literally invested a charisma-enhancing spell* (as well as the "dad thumb") to boost Vax's flirting abilities.

She was demonstrably supportive of this relationship to the point of actively trying to help. So... maybe wait a little to figure out if Keyleth is actually interested in pursuing something and whether exclusivity is what she wants before making two (and possibly three) people unhappy?

Like, sure, Vax was the one doing the flirting and absolutely has the right to decide he doesn't want to do that anymore, but... he clearly does want to do that. Vax is sad about putting a stop to this. Gilmore's sad about it. And from everything I've seen so far, it seems plausible Keyleth might be at least a little disappointed (or at least might feel even more pressured about Vax romancing her if she found out he's committing to exclusivity before she's even decided how she feels about this).

Vax and Gilmore hadn't gone beyond flirting (as made clear by the conversation), so there's no reason why Gilmore should be expecting exclusivity. I'd understand if Vax wanted to, e.g., confide in Gilmore that he thinks he's falling for Keyleth, giving Gilmore the opportunity to back off if it bothered him and context for why Vax might be adjusting his own level of flirting, but ending a mutually enjoyable flirtation over the possibility that he might start something with Keyleth seems like an overzealous commitment to monogamy. (Also, weirdly contradictory with ending the "break-up" conversation by smooching Gilmore on the lips. "Tease," indeed.)

(The more obvious reason it disappointed me was that Vax and Gilmore's flirtation was incredibly fun to watch while most of the Vax and Keyleth romance so far has been deeply and painfully awkward. I understand why it's awkward, given the characters, but that doesn't make it less awkward to watch.)

*She cast Enhance Ability for Charisma on him as they went in, when Vex seems like the one more inclined to do any aggressive negotiating and Vax doesn't seem to need much help (or actual ability checks) to succeed in general flirting with Gilmore at this point.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

omg ari i would love a bingo 🥹🥹

ALEXIS MY BELOVEDDDD i’m shaking you so hard rn….….. pls take a seat here r your refreshments 🍨🍧🍦🧋 <3333 I LOVE YOUUU

[romantic-withdrawals]

if you met Taron Egerton, would you leave your bf for him

HAHAHA...NEVER!!!!! I love my boyfriend a lot more than any of these fantasies. We were both raised on Tumblr and Wattpad smut and enjoy letting our minds fantasize about moments that can never happen. Keeps the imagination healthy.

Side note: Date night idea to read and roleplay fanfic LOL

[cypric-rat-hyperfixation]

umhhh I may (??) have bpd 😍✨

tune in for the latest in op's growing collection of mental illnesses next month, on an all-new episode of

disorder hoarder

[semiprofessional-moose-herder]

…at the tone, please record your message

***

Hey, honey, it’s me.

I’m calling from about five years in the future

just to say hi.

You’ve, uh,

still got the same phone number,

but you changed your name.

You came out to mom and dad;

moms better about it. about everything.

also—

you got a cat!

And you survived what you didn’t think you would,

and then survived more than that.

Anyway, just calling to say

I love you and

I miss you.

Call me back soon.

bye

[horansqueen]

Hey girly, it’s been a while. How have you been

hey! Ive been good what about you? I know its been a while, i havent written in so long too! hope youre doing ok! ❤️

[agnesandhilda]

wu zetian and li shimin ironwidow could have a very interesting conversation about the terrible moral weight and simultaneous necessity of violence in self-defense if they were willing to actually talk to each other

[alexiroflife]

"in every life"

curse reincarnation, fluff

ryomen sukuna x reader

Synopsis: you, a former sorcerer and sukuna's wife, are killed in the heian era. sukuna does not believe in a life without you, so he takes it upon himself to bring you back a thousand years later

to sum it up: you are sukuna's life, and no matter how long he has to wait, he will bring you back to him by any means necessary

WC: 3,621

Warning(s): angst in the beginning, reader death (but you're revived), brief icky descriptions of a vessel's possession

-> ask | sukuna fic list

Sukuna remembers the exact moment you left him, soul fluttering almost gracefully from your eyes as your body fell limply into his four arms.

The moment replays in his mind as though it had only happened yesterday, or perhaps as recently as a few hours prior. Time has never been something the king of curses worried himself over, for his strength and existence exceeded such mortal constructs, but when his thoughts wander to you as frequently as air fills and deflates from his lungs, the very concept grows skewed and suddenly, time is a matter of great importance to him.

A king is nothing without his queen beside him, his rock, his partner, and that is what you are. That is what you were, but Sukuna refuses to address you in any form of past tense because your temporary withdrawal from the planet and from his side would never alter the fact that you are his, that you have been his, and that you will be his until the end of time. 

Sukuna has never been one for romantics, for connections that tie his free spirit down from the unfettered, terrifying rule that he leads, but when you entered his life, his opinions shifted and his ambitions changed, making room for you at his side upon his throne. 

The two of you had been married for years before you left him. Sukuna had never bothered to count, but now he finds himself mulling over the years’ contents in search of a piece of your memory that can stay with him until the time comes for you to return to his hand. 

When you were alive, Sukuna never fathomed you leaving his side. He almost feels he should punish you for so abruptly taking an absence from him without permission, castigating your spirit until he feels that the space you once occupied close to him emanates remnants of an apology, of guilt, of a promise to never do such a foolish thing ever again. 

When you were alive, you were a sight to behold, a perfect fit for the title of his wife. You were deserving of each and every privilege he bestowed upon you; of holding his face in your small, dainty hands, of pressing your lips to the textured plate of his face, of throwing your legs over his thighs as you settle onto his lap with a large, burly arm coming around you and securing you there for all of his servants and former concubines to see how high you sit amongst him and how low they remain beneath the two of you. 

You always said what you were thinking. While he ensured that everyone within and outside of his temple feared him, you were always unaffected by his intimidating presence. He remembers one instance in which you were lying beneath him, a mess of silk fabrics swarming your bare figure over your reserved place in his bed with your hair splayed out messily over the pillows and your eyes weighted with a foolish look of what he could only describe as enchantment and tender allegiance.

He feels the ghost of your fingers trace his jaw as he looks down at you quietly, dwarfing you in his mass. A smile touches your soft lips with a rosy hue swirling over your (s/c) skin. 

“Your eyes are quite beautiful.”

Your voice is a whisper of past enamorations through Sukuna’s ear as his brows arch in reminiscence. He remembers how he glared at you in confusion, face hard though he always allowed you to continue admiring him, to continue touching him without consequence. His eyes, which mirror the color of fresh, crimson blood as he has watched it gurgle from the mouths and limbs of his victims, staining the streets, his hands, and his monstrous legacy, are windows you believe to be… beautiful.

Your sentiments never failed to befuddle him. He never did understand why you associated such a ferocious beast with beliefs so light and pure. He is not beautiful, he had thought. He never desired to be beautiful. He is simply Ryoman Sukuna, enough of himself to be categorized in unique isolation, separate from your labels of aesthetic charm and peace. 

You’re silly. Silly with love and submission, he thinks, but he has never denied you of these admirations though he fails to agree. 

Besides, you are his wife. He would have allowed you to worship him in any way you pleased if you asked, and in truth, you hardly did ask. You knew what you were to Sukuna, how you and only you remained the only soft spot that the salmon haired demon withheld in his breast. You were beyond requesting approval to love him in the ways you saw fit, and Sukuna was pleased because you knew, in all spaces, that you were his and he was yours. 

Among all the trophies of battles won, of cities conquered, of titles obtained, you are Sukuna’s greatest prize. 

His love for you was always silent, long glances and grips of the waist, orders to slaughter on your behalf and the pat of his hand over his beefy thigh to beckon you over. His love was an unrestrained space for you to express your desires, to demand his attention, and his compliance with a veil of frustration poorly masking his easy willingness to give you anything you pleased. His love was long, sleepless nights, the marking of his territory by means of stinging bites and purple bruises over your smooth skin that no living being in his wake could mistake for anything but a reminder of your connection to him. 

His love was you incarnate, just a woman before hell’s greatest crown, but his love no less. His wife. His queen. His eternity.

Sukuna does not know why he mourned you when you died. He found himself reacting impulsively, in a short-lived panic when your blood spilled over his skin and your eyes lost the light that he’d been following through the tunnel of his rein for years. 

He knows death is a taboo concern only for mortals to fret over, but when you die, he feels as though he has died himself. Your life flashes before his eyes, your time with him, and this strange ache swarms his body and manifests as a ball in his throat as his ruby hues melt over you in alarm. 

He struggles to accept your parting. He’s viciously angry, a horrible wreck that his servants fear stepping too close into proximity as the time passes and your vacancy weighs itself over his temple and his body like a mountain. He had believed your death to be painful, but the period that follows, the period of waiting stings him like no pain he has endured before. 

A king needs his queen, and without you, no matter for how long, he feels empty. He rampages his heartache away, but it no longer holds the satisfaction it did when you were with him, watching from the sidelines and cheering him on. His estate feels colder somehow, the dent you’ve left in his bed losing its shape and the memory of you fading from others’ minds, but not from his. Never from his. 

Sukuna knows that he will see you again. In any era, no matter how much farther into the future, he will find you once more, bring you back to his embrace, and dust off the crown that he has reserved for your pretty head alone. 

He holds onto a piece of you, storing it safely, awaiting the time to revive you even within his own cursed slumber after having sealed himself for a millenia, severing parts of him and scattering it over the country.

You, however, remain stowed safely in one place. A place he will remember to return to when he reawakens in rebirthed flesh.

Now, a millenia following your untimely death, Sukuna stares emptily at the woman before him, curling and tossing around with bound wrists and ankles at his feet.

She’s crying, screams of horror rising into the starry sky as Sukuna’s eyes glint menacingly beneath the moonlight. He watches her carefully, curling his lips. He looks at this pest, this fragile, forgettable mortal woman and sees everything that you are not. For a moment, he hesitates, his fingers clutching over the ancient parchment wrapped object he holds protectively within his grasp at his side. 

His brows draw together in frustration induced by your vessel. He knows he picked wisely, however, he can not deny the hesitation that captures his mind when he contemplates whether this vessel will do your worth justice. Whether it will truly bring you back the way he plans for you to be. 

He holds up the object in his hand, your energy emitting from behind the paper and through his veins, easing into his blackened soul. You are practically calling to him, holding his hand, murmuring into his ear that it will be okay. 

Sukuna is reminded then and there solely by the spirit of you that nothing in this world could even begin to dwindle the brilliance in which you shine, that even within the body of a bird or a squirrel, your essence would burst through. You will reincarnate wholly as how you left him, and as nothing less. 

With a heavy exhale through his nose, Sukuna unravels the object, tossing the parchment to the ground, and takes a step forward to approach the young woman squirming in the grass before him. He walks over her, feet planted on either side of her figure, and bends down. Her eyes go white with terror as snot and tears dribbles over her nose and down her cheek. Sukuna looks into her coldly, grasping a hand over her face and digging his black nails into her jaw. 

She shudders an agonizing, shrill screech that is soon muffled by the manner in which Sukuna squeezes her cheeks inward and forcefully pries her mouth open. 

With a steely, disconnected glare, Sukuna takes the object imbued with your cursed energy, your ring finger. He pulls your wedding band from the decrepit digit and pushes it to the woman’s lips. Her eyes go wide as she chokes over her jaw’s lack of mobility, and the taste of something foreign and timeworn on her tongue. Her stuttered, whimpering gasps release and she gargles once Sukuna pushes the object down her throat. He slaps his hand back over her mouth as it slides down her throat and she twitches uncontrollably, eyes cracking with red veins. 

The king of curses holds her still as her body flops wildly, her chest lurching forward and limbs flying about. Her body can not handle the intrusion of a thousand year old sorcerer’s influence, so it fails. Her eyes roll into her skull and her fingers twitch once her limbs have stilled in the grass. A symphony of crickets chirping lifts into Sukuna’s ears as the woman beneath him goes completely silent, dead, still.

He waits. After a millennia of existence confined to cursed flesh, after years of the cold left in your wake nipped at his skin, after battling bodies for dominance over a vessel, he waits just a few seconds more for you.

After it seems as though he has lost you for a second time, the body’s eyes flicker. Sukuna stills above you, pupils shrunken in anticipation.

Movement shifts beneath him. A chest rises, and breathing begins steadily through it. The color of this vessel’s skin shifts, transitioning slowly, milking into the hue of gentle (s/c) that Sukuna once caressed with his rough fingers. Color flushes through pale cheeks, and irises of (e/c) roll back from the skull and stare widely ahead, directly into Sukuna’s gaze. Finally, your voice comes, a gentle hum of confusion and discomfort as you regain your lost senses.

Sukuna’s heart skips as the familiar warmth of your body emanates from beneath him again, and his hand is slowly sliding from your parted lips. He feels as though he’s just run a marathon despite his inability to wind himself. He breathes out heavily, gradually, and silence envelopes the two of you in the darkness of the late night. 

While Sukuna had planned this from the very moment you went dead in his hands, he feels somehow starstruck by you. You look as beautiful as you were centuries in the past, skin smooth, brows curled, lips soft as though you had not been gone from his life for more than a brief second. You have returned to him as he had thoughtfully calculated, and yet, he can not fathom the fact that you are here at long last, mere centimeters away, manifested into truth by his graze of your chin. 

The muscles in your brows pull together in disbelief, glimmering eyes shining over as you take in the sight before you. The last thing you felt was a blade slicing into your heart and ripping down through your body, the last vision of Sukuna racing to throw you into him as your opponent met his end with the selective mutilation of his internal organs at your husband’s hard, feral, red glance.

You blink hurriedly, shooting a hand out to your husband’s bicep. “...Ryo?” you whisper in a trembling voice, knowing him by gaze and presence and touch alone. 

The said demon’s brows angle and his body lurches forward with a sharp exhale upon hearing your voice utter his name outside of the confines of his mind’s nostalgia and imagination. He is overcome by the return of you to him, eyes fiery with longing for his once lost love and shoulders aching as the weight that had been crushing down finally releases. The sensation of your fingers curling over his arm sends chills down his spine, for time has never altered Sukuna’s course of existence, but time tells in the way he physically shivers when your loving contact revives on his skin after having been stripped of him for what feels like eternity.

Tears pool in your eyes and your shaky hands raise to smooth over his face, exploring his marked skin and familiarizing yourself with the structure of the being you fell in love with many lifetimes ago. Sukuna’s brow flinches as you feel over his face, and his own palm cradles over your cheek, dwarfing your head in the fashion it always used to as the back of his fingers skim over your heated flesh. 

“Ryomen,” you say his name again, voice crumbling and your shoulders jerking in awe.

He trips down into you, hands clutching over your head as you guide his face down with his hasty movements. Your name tumbles hoarsely from his rumbling voice, against your lips, and slotting into your mind in a haze as his lips meet yours urgently. 

You cry gently into him, lips parting and pushing back in as he kisses you fervently, savoring you, burrowing you into his body’s memory to recover the time he has spent deprived of you. Your hands fly over his neck, down his back, detailing the ridges and the muscles rippling beneath the fabric of his shirt that you know so well. He presses himself down into you, pulling you in closer by your head, flushing your chests together to intertwine your souls once more. Heady grunts and growls heave into your mouth between frenzied, stunned, satisfied kisses, and each time a tear of yours catches into the liplock, Sukuna is pulling it into his lips, saltiness swirling through the sweet release of his misery. 

He’s missed you. So very much, he’s missed you. He doesn’t know how he has managed to go so long without you now that you are here again, now that he is holding you again, kissing you again. 

“My king,” you whimper when you get a chance to break away, foreheads bumping as Sukuna shushes you gently.

“Do not fret, peach,” he soothes you, lips brushing yours as his now loving gaze spills into your own. “You are alright.”

Despite Sukuna’s ruthlessness and his wild murderous expeditions, as well as his blood-curdling tone that further accentuates the weight of his threats when thrown into the direction of others, Sukuna melts into calmness for you, his low voice mellow and meditative, enraptured in the peace that you bring him. You know all sides of your dear husband, and yet this is the rawest side of him that you know, that he treats you with. 

“What happened?” you whisper as his hands run over you, catching your tears and tracing the curves of your flesh. “Where are we?”

“In the garden,” he answers you easily, kissing the corner of your mouth gently. 

“At… at home?” 

He hums in affirmation, leaning back just a bit to stare into you. The pairs of your eyes shine as they absorb the image of one another, still and sincere. Grass tickles your ears and your arms, and you look down, realizing that you are lying in a patch of greenery. You slowly tilt your head to the side, and Sukuna keeps his gaze glued to you like you will disappear before him. Your eyes capture the stems of daffodils and lavender that sprout around your head, pointing into the night sky and swaying gently in the warm breeze. You recognize the plants as the ones you had always taken to tending by the creek behind Sukuna’s temple, which he had the servants fashion as a suitable garden for you to indulge in. 

You do not recall being here last. You recall dying. You recall your world going dark.

You turn back to meet his heavy eyes. “What did you do?”

He is silent for a moment, taking his time to study you before answering as though the question is the simplest one he has ever been asked. “I have brought my queen back to me. As I have always sworn to do if we were ever separated.”

“...How long have we been separated?”

“It does not matter.”

“How long was I away from you, Ryo? How long did I leave you for?”

“It does not matter,” he reiterates gently yet ever so firmly. “Do not think of it.”

“Please-” you frown, eyes shining over again. “I hadn’t- I didn’t mean to leave you. I don’t know how I even let it happen… I can’t imagine what that must have gone through…”

Ryomen catches the guilt in your gorgeous eyes and he is quick to gather you up in his arms. He pulls you up slowly, keeping your eyes locked as you allow him to lift you from the ground with his arms wound tightly over your waist. Your hands go to Sukuna’s shoulders as he kneels over you, keeping you steady and upright, face to face, nose to nose, eye to eye. 

“I refuse to allow the first thing you do in reincarnated life to be reminding me of what life was like without you,,” he says. “I do not wish to revisit it. It does not matter,” he repeats for a third time. 

You tilt your head with the tug of your lips downward sadly, threading your hands through his pink locks and holding onto the nape of his neck. The moonlight milks over you regally, as though the stars have aligned for this very moment, to illuminate you both in the universe’s joyous eye. You swallow hard. “Am I a curse?”

“You are my wife. I will not tolerate you labeling yourself as anything different..”

You inhale deeply, bringing your forehead back to him and closing your eyes. His arms pull you in tight, rhythmic breaths easing you into this reality complacent, affectionately, lovingly. 

“I’m sorry I left you, my love,” you murmur.

Now that he’s heard you apologize, seen your remorse sparked by something out of your control, he doesn’t fare well with it. 

You are not a plague to him, a burden, and telling him that you are sorry in his mind now insinuates such. Even after leaving him, after stealing away his warmth, after haunting his slumber and his consciousness for eons, he does not fault you. He would never fault the woman he chose to keep by his side in wellness and in death. 

He does not accept your apology. You have done nothing but love him, yet Sukuna is the one who should have protected you. 

He runs a hand over the back of your head, down your hair, and exudes his message of impenetrable love to you through his embrace and sweltering red eyes. “All I ask of you is that you stay. In this era and the next. Stay by my side as you are meant to be.”

You nod eagerly against him. “I will,” you whisper. “I will, I promise.”

Sukuna reaches down at his side for the ring he had set down. With one hand to your back, he pulls your wedding band forward and presents it to your twinkling eye. You gasp. 

“You still have it,” you sigh.

“In what world would I not?” 

You bring your hand down, spreading your fingers, and you watch as the kind of curses slips the rusted treasure over your finger, fitting it perfectly into place with the renewal of your marriage and the reunion of your hearts.

You admire the way it looks upon your hand happily, and Sukuna drags you back into his lips, pecking you tenderly before moving back in with his hands firm to you. You shift further up so that his arms can completely take you in, heads bumping as your lips swim together in commemoration of a rebirth into a new life.