#sick to my stomach just thinking about it

[darknight3904]

All Too Well

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your tension with Joel comes to a head as you make a confession that will change your relationship with him forever.

Warnings: Smut 18+ Langauge, oral (F receiving) , one thigh slap, p in v, Joel being super into boobs

Word Count: 3.5k

Previous Part / Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

July 2024

Joel stands a mere five feet from you. His chest heaves a bit, like he's dashed out of the bar to catch you. His hands rest on his hips as he leans on one leg.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to leave a man on the dance floor?"

You look down at the grass and rock back and forth on the balls of your feet.

"Sorry." You say earnestly, "Just needed some air."

Joel shakes his head, "It's alright, sweetheart, Y'just scared me it's all. Thought you might've been getting sick or something."

You shake your head. No, you're not sick. He's considerate to ask though. Ellie had a nasty stomach bug a week and a half ago, you had become her in-home nurse and spoon-fed her thin chicken broth until she could eat solids again.

"You gonna tell me what's wrong then?" Joel asks

You curse him. He always seems to know when something is off with you. Even here in the low light of the streetlights in Jackson, he could see you were thinking.

Yeah, thinking about him.

"It's nothing." You brush him off, "I think I'll just go back home and take a shower. You should go back to the party, though, I bet Tommy misses you."

Joel catches you by the elbow as you go to turn away from him again.

"Now, hold on. It's clear I've upset you, tell me what's wrong." He prods, "Lay it on me, I can handle it."

You scoff. Yeah right. He couldn't handle it in 2003, what made him think he'd be able to accept it now.

"Just let me go." You huff, pulling at your arm

"No, Not 'til you tell me what's wrong." Joel's grip tightens, not enough to bruise, but firm enough so you feel his fingers leaving indents in your skin.

You struggle again for a moment before relenting. Fine, if he wanted to know, he was going to know. No sense in hiding it until one of you dies or gets munched on by a Clicker.

"It's you, Joel." You say

"Me?" He asks, dropping your arm, confusion taking over his stupidly handsome face.

"You're the fucking problem." You point your finger into his chest for good measure, "Giving me all these nicknames and letting me sleep in your bed. You're under my fucking skin and I can't get over you."

Joel is looking at you like you've lost it. Good, maybe if he thinks you're crazy, he'll leave you alone, and you can get over him.

"You don't like it when I do those things for you? Want me to stop, cuz I will." Joel says, his anger beginning to rise to meet yours.

You groan, deep down, you really don't know what you want. Maybe you do. God, it was all so fucked up, falling for him again, you were losing it.

"No! I just...I don't..." You huff, wrapping your arms around your body, "I can't keep going like this. Pretending like it's all platonic because it's not."

Here goes nothing, no taking this one back.

"I'm in love with you, Joel. I'm fucking obsessed with you, and your nicknames, teasing, and constant worry over me aren't helping."

Joel is quiet as he takes it all in, you can practically see the gears turning in his head. You squeeze your arms around your body, digging your fingers into your arms til it burns.

"I-I know you dumped me for a reason, I get it, I do." You stammer, "I can get over my feelings again, I'll do it again, I swear..."

Joel finally finds his voice as he gives you a one-word reply, "No."

You ignore him and continue your warpath, "Look, let's just pretend I never said any of this, okay. I'll move back to my house and we can keep being friends."

Your voice practically dies in your throat as you add, "Please, just don't...leave me again."

"I'm not goin' anywhere." Joel sighs deeply and takes a step forward. His natural scent invades your nose as he takes your face in his hands.

"You're crazy, y'know that, girl."

"If you're gonna ridicule me, you can let go and do it further away." You huff in annoyance. You'd just laid your soul bare for this man, and the first thing he does is call you crazy. The audacity he had.

"Now, let me finish." He says sternly

"You can't take your confession back," A small smile plays on his lips. "Because I am just as fucking obsessed with you, baby."

You scoff, yeah, right, he was fucking with you. Joel's thumb runs a soothing path across your cheek,

"I'm not lying, scouts honor." He says

"You weren't even a boy scout." You remind him. thinking back to what you knew about Joel's childhood.

"Hmph, you're right about that one," Joel gives you a coy smile, "Guess I'll just have to show ya then,"

His voice drops a bit and you swear your heart skips a beat,

"Let me show how fucking in love with you I am, baby..."

Before you have a chance to blink, his lips are brushing yours. Your eyes flutter shut, and you tilt your head a bit to deepen the kiss. Joel lets out a deep groan when your hands come up to brush through the hair at the back of his neck.

Joel pulls back to rest his forehead against yours, "Still think I'm lyin' to ya?"

A giggle escapes your lips as you shake your head, and he steals another kiss from you.

"I was in love with you again the moment I saw ya shoveling horse shit when I first got here." He confesses, "Couldn't believe you were still alive."

You snort and pull back from him to look him in the eye, "Cuz the overalls and rubber boots I wore are so attractive. Besides, if you were so into me again, why'd you say you didn't know me to Ellie?"

Joel's eyes soften as he takes in your determined look, you want the truth, not some half-assed excuse.

"I dunno," Joel mumbles, his eyes dropping down to the neckline of your dress.

You scoff as he looks away, here he is not owning up to anything.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Joel? You're a fuckin-"

"I'm sorry." He blurts out, "For all of it. I'm sorry for dumpin' ya before the world ended, I was a real dick, baby. Mailing your shit back like that. I shouldn't have done that."

You hum, in acknowledgment, looking up into his deep brown eyes.

Joel leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, "Shouldn't have said I didn't know ya to Ellie when we got here either, don't know what I was thinking."

"I get it, if ya change your mind. I'll let you go, just say the word and I'll let you go, I swear. You deserve better than I can offer anyway, I had my chance and blew it already."

You shake your head, no you don't want that.

"What part of I'm fucking obsessed with you, don't you get?" You breathily ask, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

Joel smiles, basking in your forgiveness. Here you were, finally standing in front of him, your feelings laid bare to each other. It's a small step, just letting your fears of the past go yet you feel infinitely lighter now, wrapped up in him.

Your hands fiddle with the buttons on his shirt and curl into the soft fabric. You suddenly feel unbearably hot but you get it now, why love drove so many people mad. Joel's soft gaze on you had your chest buzzing with and excitement you couldn't quite name.

"You wanna go back to your house?" You ask hopefully

"You mean our house?"

"Right, our house." You softly correct yourself

Joel gives you a nod and a smile, Course I do, darlin' lead the way."

You and Joel nearly faceplant three times as the two of you fumble your way up the steps to your shared bedroom. Joel catches you after you stumble over a pair of his discarded jeans from earlier.

"I'll clean that up," Joel says apologetically, kicking them to the side.

"Later." You breathe as his lips tickle the soft skin on your neck

"Later." He parrots with a smile into your skin

You let yourself fall onto the bed, welcoming it's softness and the way it smells of Joel. Before you can miss him, he's hovering over you, stealing kisses from your lips and letting his hands begin to wander across your form.

"Fuck..." Joel sighs as his hands squeeze at your chest.

"You alright up there?" You tease, he sounds so utterly wrecked and you've barely begun.

Joel gives you a playful glare, "You don't fucking know how long I've been waiting to feel these, baby. Been thinking about it since we went to that Macy's."

"My bra shopping got you going, huh?" You tease

Joel grumbles in annoyance and presses a kiss to the skin of your collarbone,

"You're real mean, y'know that."

"You poor baby," You laugh, throwing his nickname back at him, "You'll be alright."

You want to tease him some more, he's so easy to make fun of like this. Your words die in your throat when Joel presses his knee against your core through your dress.

"Not laughing anymore," Joel notes as he fixes his attention on your neck, his hands pulling your cardigan off your body.

Your hands undo the buttons of the shirt he's been teasing you with all night, and you push it off his broad shoulders. Finally, at long last, his torso is all yours to admire.

"Quit staring." Joel orders, "Nothin' there to admire."

"I beg to differ." You smile

Joel scoffs as he leans down to let his lips capture yours as hands roam up your back, searching for the zipper to your dress. Your resolve loosens as your hands curl against the soft skin of his chest, fuck you were really going to do this.

The loud hiss of your still zipped dress as you break the kiss, your eyes begin to swim with fear. That's right, sex with Joel also meant being naked with Joel.

"You want me to stop?" Joel asks, freezing

"No, I don't." You honestly say, "I just..."

"Take your time," Joel says, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, and then to your cheek

Your breaths come out shaky as you speak again, "Just scared you won't like what you see. I don't look like I used to."

"Are you fucking with me?" Joel laughs

"No." You groan, thinking of how your scars ruined your skin, and how age had filled your curves out.

"Baby, you could be neon green under this dress, and I wouldn't care." He presses a kiss to your cheek, "l love your scars, I promise."

Your face warms in embarrassment, how did he say stuff like that so easily, "You haven't even seen them yet."

"Don't gotta," Joel promises, "They're a part of you, I know I'll love them."

It isn't much just a simple sentence, but that's all it takes for fear to be banished from your mind as you smile up at him.

"Take my dress off, Joel." You say

"Yes, ma'am." Joel teases as his fingers find the zipper once more.

Joel pulled your dress from you, delighting to see that you'd forgone a bra with said dress. His hands ran over the raised pink lines and gently caressed your hips and soft belly.

"Even prettier than the last time I saw ya." He assures

Your clothes disappeared onto the floor as Joel disappeared from above you, only to reappear between your thighs, kneeling in front of you. One big hand snuck between your legs as he teased you through your panties. His fucking mouth locked onto the skin of your thighs whispering dirty things into the skin there.

Bold as ever, he slipped his hand under your panties and let his thumb brush over your sensitive clit while two fingers slipped lower and teased your hole.

"Fucking soaked." Joel comments as you blush, "Can I take these off?"

You nod, eager to get out of the suffocating underwear.

Without the restriction of clothing, he was able to latch his mouth to your needy clit. His fingers teased your slit as he ran them along the soft flesh there, teasing but never entering.

"Joel..." You gasp, your hand wrapping around his wrist, unsure if you want him to stop or keep going.

"All mine." He whispers as you cry out, your orgasm washing over you quicker than you expected, your hips nearly flying off the bed. It'd been so long since you felt pleasure like this.

Joel straightens up and rejoins you on the bed, lying beside you as he runs a hand across the scars on your belly, murmuring something about them being beautiful.

"Can we keep going?" You ask breathlessly, looking over at his handsome face

"Course we can." He smiles, sitting back up

You hum in delight as his hips lift and he pulls his pants off, finally exposing the rest of his body to your greedy eyes. The softness of it all, god you fucking loved him.

Joel shook his head a bit as you pulled his boxers down, letting his cock out, "Greedy."

"Can you blame me?" You giggle

The hiss he let out when you ran your fingertips along the head had you dizzy with lust. Joel repositions so he's above you and his lips ghost over your nipples, teasing them with his tongue as he lifts you up so he's notched at your entrance.

"Wait." You say as he pauses above you

"What's wrong?" Joel asks, concerned, his eyes never leave yours

"I just, um," God, this was embarrassing, but he had a right to know, "Dr. Hill did an exam on me a few years back. Said I have a lot of scar tissue inside, so don't be upset if I can't y'know...cum."

"We'll go slow, alright. If it hurts or something is off, you tell me and I stop, okay?" His voice laced with concern

You nod and grip at his forearms, grounding yourself to him.

"Words, baby. Let me hear 'em," Joel says softly, refusing to move without your permission

"I wanna keep going." You say honestly

A gasp escapes your lips when he enters you. He was big, you knew it, you had seen it just seconds ago, yet it still surprised you as he pushed forward, just barely inside

"Fuck..." Joel gasped above you, his hands gripping the pillows beside you

You grimace when he shifts again, pushing more of him into you. Fuck, the doc told you this would hurt, but this bad?

"Need me to stop?" Joel asks worriedly when he sees your face

That's the last fucking thing you want.

"Keep going." You say, determined to see this through.

Joel looks at you, concerned yet he inches forward, letting out ba soft groan under his breath.

Slowly but surely you get there, letting him inside as pain slowly becomes pleasure. His fingers toy with your clit as you squirm under him. What he does next though, it has you nearly passing out from how hot it is. Joel fucking Miller leans down just a bit and actually spits on his cock.

"You're insane." You comment

"You love it," Joel says, stealing your lips in a kiss that's nothing but spit and teeth.

Joel begins to move, soft and slow at first before you demand more from him. You moan as you feel yourself growing even wetter, between his spit and your own arousal, it's actually begun to feel really fucking good.

Joel's hips slam into yours as he finally gives in to your begging for faster and harder.

"This what you want, huh? Is it?" He asks, leaning down to your ear, pressing your thighs up towards your chest a bit.

"Yes!" You yelp when his hand smacks at your inner thigh

"Such a good fucking girl..." Joel mutters as his hips begin to stutter when you tighten around him

"Joel!" You warn, fuck your stomach feels tight, no way is he actually going to get you to cum.

His hips backward, and your jaw drops into a silent moan as he enters again, this time with his thumb teasing your clit.

"C'mon, let go." Joel coerces, "Know you wanna."

You groaned as your orgasm rolled over you, your eyes slammed shut as Joel sucked a hickey onto your chest.

"Fucking hell!" He gasped, freeing himself from you before cumming all over your tummy.

Joel presses a kiss to your damp forehead before dropping himself onto the mattress beside you. Your heart squeezes when he scooches towards you, resting his sweaty head in the valley between your breasts.

"You okay?" You ask softly

"Am I okay?" Joel laughs into your skin, "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay." You smile, running a hand through his greying curls atop his head.

Joel lets out a soft hum and presses a kiss to one of your nipples,

"Hungry? Thirsty? Sore?" He asks, apparently ready to provide a world of aftercare despite looking exhausted himself

You wiggle your hips a bit, testing the waters. A twinge of pain shoots through your belly, and you grimace. It had felt so good, yet your body was punishing you anyway.

"Sore." You softly admit, kissing his head, "And kinda sticky."

You motion to the cum that is drying on your body

Joel shifts so he can get a better look at you, examining the way your face is pinched together as your thighs shift again before looking down at your dirty skin.

"I'll run us a bath. " He offers, "Get us some food while I'm at it too."

You nod as he disappears, naked as the day he was born, to run you a bath and get food.

You snort when he returns, clad in your bathrobe you had hung up in the bathroom on your hook, he wipes at your stomach with a warm wash cloth.

"I look good, no?" He asks gesturing to his body

"It's up for debate." You laugh

Joel scoops you up, bridal style, and walks towards the bathroom, "Well, I happen to think I look fabulous."

The bath is perfectly warm, even smelling like the lavender bath fizzes you keep for special occasions. Joel lowers you into the tub before turning to sit on the closed toilet, a plate with crackers and cheese balanced in his hands

"Get your ass in here." You say before he has a chance to sit down fully

"You sure?" Joel asks

"You just fucked me for the first time in two decades and now you're asking to take a bath with me?" You say

Joel sets the food on the edge of the rub, unties the robe, and climbs in. He fidgets nervously as you lean back into his chest.

"You nervous, Miller?" You ask, feeling the way his breath stutters a bit.

"We've never done this before." He points out, "Not even back then."

You hum in acknowledgment, "Lucky you, I guess."

Joel laughs a bit as he links his arms securely around your middle, hands brushing the underside of your breasts, "Lucky me, indeed."

"Would you leave them alone?" You laugh as he squeezes the flesh

"Can't. " Joel mumbles, pressing a soft kiss on your neck, "I missed them."

"Pervert." You say softly

You and Joel sit in the bath til it goes tepid, feeding each other crackers and cheese, and basking in each other's company. Then, he coaxes you to your feet and washes both of you under the steam of the shower.

Now, you were wrapped around him in bed, listening to the crickets chirp. Your eyes are beginning to droop when he speaks,

"I'm sorry," Joel says

"I'm not hurting that much, Joel." You say sleepily into his bare chest.

"No not that. Well, yes that. But I'm sorry for dumpin' ya before the world ended."

You hum, "Mmm. It's alright, I forgive you, remember?

"I know, I just..."

"I forgive you." You softly say, scooting closer to him

Joel presses a kiss to your forehead, "You're too good to me. I'm an ass, I know that."

Joel yelps when you pinch his side.

"Glad you're self-aware." You laugh

"I got real scared back then. Thought I was fucking your life up by sticking around." He admits

"Right, cuz dating a 35-year-old at 24 was the worst thing to ever happen to me" You joke

"No!" Joel protests, "You know what I mean."

You nod, you do know what he means.

"Don't have to be scared anymore." You say quietly

Joel hums and chuckles a bit, rubbing a soothing circle into your back as you lay here with him under the covers.

"No, I don't. You're all mine." He declares

You shift a bit, shuffling so you can look him in the eyes, and press a kiss to his lips. Your voice comes out confidently, as you say something you've wanted to say for so long now,

"Yours."

Here we are...at the end. Hope you all enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I am very busy right now, but I may write more for these two later.

Thank you all for reading and following this story as it progressed. If you'd like, leave me some comments with feedback!

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[deepspacenova]

for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you

2100 words | mutual pining. daydreaming. valentine's day. inspired by hozier lyrics.

Note: Happy Valentine's Day from my corner of the world! xx This one's dedicated to my kindred spirit and fellow lover of hozier, mutual pining, and good ol', sick-to-your-stomach yearning @mythblossoms <333

The heart of Linkon City beat like a hummingbird’s wings, a light but invisible force that made the air feel like a kiss against your skin instead of a bite. Made the bustle of the city sound melodic rather than cacophonous. 

Funny, how one day in February could be a pair of rose-colored glasses — slipped on by even the most cynical, turning their surroundings soft and sweet, if only for a day.

You stepped out of the elevator, still debating why you’d agreed to this in the first place. 

Or, more accurately, why you hadn’t found a way to decline before Sylus effortlessly maneuvered you into being his date for tonight. 

The invitation had come in typical Sylus-fashion — a late-night call, his tone coy and coaxing as he relayed only the vaguest of details. He’d been hunting a rare piece of jewelry, his chance to acquire it would be at a Valentine’s Day event in Linkon City that required a plus-one. You were coming with him.

“And you can’t invite someone else because…?”

“You’re the only person I trust to have my back in Linkon, kitten.”

Matter-of-fact. Little fanfare. And yet…

“And… I wanted to see you in the dress I bought you — the one you still haven’t worn?”

And yet every ‘request’ of his was coated in a helpless, almost longing undertone. It dripped with yearning and tasted like honey. 

And you, in turn, became helpless too.

Now, hands hidden within the pockets of his trousers as he stood near the event’s entrance — a rooftop greenhouse decorated in a garden of pink and red — you proved yourself to be the worst person to have Sylus’ back, unable to tear your focus away from him long enough to notice anything else around you.

Despite being possibly the biggest outsider in the room he carried himself like a man who belonged, like a man who owned the room. And as his eyes trailed from your black-heeled feet to your pink-tinted cheeks like two ruby spotlights, he straightened, stepped forward, and wrapped your hand around his bicep like you were the person who owned him. 

“I was starting to think you’d stand me up.” His voice was low and warm and just a little teasing. 

"And throw you to all these bloodthirsty wolves?" You gestured at the mellow cocktail party in front of you and arched a brow. “The way you made it sound, if I didn’t show up, they’d be scraping you off the dance floor by midnight.”

He quirked those deliciously full, infuriatingly symmetrical lips. “It’s a good thing I have a beautiful and fierce date here to keep me in one piece.” His gaze dragged over you once more, slower this time. And though nothing outwardly changed about his expression, his voice infused more warmth into your cheeks when he murmured, “I knew it’d suit you.”

You fought against the pull of yourself, cleared your throat as every drop of you ached to surge toward its moon, toward him, and entered the room with as much poise and aloof confidence as you could pull together. 

The flowers surrounding them were bathed in the light of candelabra stationed around the room. The air was thick with the tang of their perfume and the sharp din of a room full of business-minded guests. These weren’t just wealthy socialites; these were people who knew the game — dealers, informants, fencers, smugglers. 

And they were all watching Sylus.

He’d played with this crowd long enough to know exactly how to charm, how to influence, how to make people feel like they were the most important person in the room while revealing nothing of himself. 

To them, he was an enigma—a man with resources and influence, yet no verifiable past. They would’ve loved nothing more than to pick him apart. Which meant that any crack in his carefully crafted exterior of ruthless corporate tycoon would draw their attention like blood in water.

He knew how to keep himself possessive but detached. Light touches at the small of a back, gaze wandering when he passed over a glass of wine, no part of his attention ever lingering too long.

But you were more than a crack. 

You were a fracture, an earthquake that threatened to shake him, split his chest open, and reveal the fragile, fluttering thing inside of him to the whole room with one glance. One blush. One breath. 

Because tonight, you weren’t just a fixture by his side. You were something else entirely. The only scent in his nose, the only sound in his ears, the only sight in his dress. 

He should have been focused on the man in front of him, the one he was here to meet, the one whose words he was supposed to be committing to memory. 

Instead, his mind spiraled away from him, caught in a tailwind of hallucination. 

One that captured the details of your rising and falling chest, your bitten lips, your shifting stance. Coalescing them into the feel of your hand is his when he’d lead you around the corner, away from prying eyes. When he’d feel the heat of your body flush against his own, your fingers branding the nape of his neck, the center of his chest, the waistband of his trousers. 

When he’d taste your lips, your wine-tinged breath, the petal-soft skin of your neck beneath his lips. When he’d swallow your gasps and moans with panted, open-mouthed kisses. 

When he’d press you into the low garden wall, hoard you in the corner to himself. Not like an object or possession, not you were something. But like you were everything. 

Would you want that? Would you let him?

The man across from you both was still talking. 

Sylus clenched his jaw, tried to redirect his focus. Forced himself to nod at something and offer a well-placed hum of interest. 

But the words blurred as you pulled his attention taut like a rope, fraying it at the edges. 

And Sylus wasn't sure he could keep it from unraveling completely.

The evening continued to pass in a blur of wine, small talk, and stolen glances. Sylus played his part perfectly, charming everyone he spoke to and keeping the attention firmly on himself. 

But every now and then, you’d catch him looking at you, his eyes dark and unreadable, and you’d feel that same pull between you, the one that made it so hard to remember why this was such a bad idea. That you were a resident of Linkon City, not some anonymous figure who could disappear into the crowd if things went sideways. 

If anyone from Linkon recognized you here, if they saw you with him—

Sylus leaned down, breath ghosting over your ear as the owner of Sylus’ mysterious piece of jewelry lead them to another group of tuxes. "Relax, kitten."

"You brought me here, remember?" you said under your breath. "If I get recognized, that's your problem."

"Hm." Sylus seemed to consider what you thought were very valid concerns, until he said, “It's a good thing you’re the only problem I don’t mind having.”

Though he kept his gaze forward, his lips quirked in expectation. Like he was trying to burn the paper-thin wall between you into wisps of smoke.

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. You were already standing too close, already betraying yourself too much. In the way you had to keep forcing yourself to stop glancing at his face. In the way your palm kept tightening around his bicep. In the way your other palm itched to grasp his, which swayed gently between your bodies. 

"You keep looking at me like that," he murmured, his voice a smooth, knowing drawl, "and I’m going to start thinking you enjoy spending time with me.”

Your amused scoff does nothing to banish the hot and fluttery thing that unfurls in your stomach. ”I’m looking at you like that because I’m wondering how much trouble you’re going to get me into."

His voice was all sand and gravel. “If I wanted you in trouble, sweetie, we’d be moving away from this crowd not closer to it.”

It was dangerous, how easy this was. How he always knew exactly what to say to keep the sound of your heartbeat echoing in your ears and make the rest of the world fade into the background.

"Besides there's nothing to worry about," Sylus continued, dipping his head just slightly, his breath warm against your temple. "No one here is paying attention to you."

You arched a brow, refusing to let him be the one to make you break character as the tuxes morph into men with voices and bodies and faces. "Except for you."

Again, no change in Sylus’ expression, but his final murmur before he greeted the new group was smug and wolfish. "You say that like I could help myself."

The conversation around you drifted in and out of your focus. A blend of polite pleasantries and measured negotiations that you only half-listened to, which, you supposed you should’ve been grateful for since it only strengthened your role as arm trophy. 

Logically, you knew there were eyes on him—some curious, some wary, some openly hostile. Not everyone in this room admired Sylus. Some feared him. Some wanted him gone.

And yet. Despite knowing that keeping your distance kept you both safe, your thoughts grew increasingly more dangerous as you succumbed to the consequences of him. 

You imagined Sylus’ hands in your hair, cupping your face and easing your legs around his waist. His voice a low murmur, you have no idea what you do to me, kitten. 

You could almost see his shirt hastily unbuttoned and feel fabric bunched at your hips by rough, dominant fingers. You could almost feel his skin against your own, just as flushed, just as feverish.

His lips would descend upon yours, hot and insistent. Your eager fingers clutched at his nape, tracing the broad plains of his shoulders. Your chest could almost feel the expanse of Sylus’ chest pressed against yours until— 

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms, desperately trying to detach yourself from the daydream. You had to push it down, lock it away, keep yourself in check. Because if you didn’t—

You might do something reckless.

Like, close the space between you. Let yourself forget what he was, what you were, and what it would mean to want him.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you forced yourself to look away, to breathe. The heat in your skin, the ache in your gut — it was just the atmosphere, just the act.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

And yet, as Sylus turned his head slightly, his gaze catching yours with something dark and knowing, you had a feeling he wasn’t fooled in the slightest.

The crisp night air did little to cool the heat still thrumming beneath your skin as Sylus led you outside. The sounds of laughter and clinking glasses faded behind you, replaced by the quiet hum of the city. A sleek black car idled at the curb, its glossy surface reflecting the glow of streetlights.

Sylus walked you to the back door and opened it, one hand resting on the door, the other slipping into his pocket. 

“See? No troublemaking needed,” he murmured, his tone light, almost teasing. “We make a good pair.”

Before you could respond, something cool brushed against your skin. A whisper of metal sliding around your neck, the weight of it settling just above your collarbone. Instinctively, your fingers lifted to touch it—a delicate chain, smooth and fine, and at its center, a pendant that felt solid against your fingertips.

You look up at Sylus, brows knitting in question, but he only watched you with that same unreadable intensity he had all night.

“What is this?” you asked.

He reached out, his fingers brushing over yours where they rested against the pendant. “A gift,” he said simply. “I… hear you’re supposed to ask when you want someone to be yours on Valentine's Day.”

“You…” you exhaled in disbelief. “You planned this?” 

“Silly questions don’t deserve answers, kitten.” His smile was all wicked amusement.

Something fluttered in your chest—part irritation, part something much more dangerous. “So, you didn’t actually need me to get this.” You gestured to the necklace, fingers still resting lightly against the pendant.

“No, that sale was made last week. Tonight was just a hand-off.” Sylus leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted over your cheeks, his voice dipping into something nearly tender. “Like I said, I just wanted you to be mine tonight.”

A half-hysterical laugh bubbles up from your throat. “What if I’d said no? That I don’t belong to anyone?”

"It's alright," Sylus shrugged as if he’d already taken that into consideration, stepping back with one last squeeze of your waist.

“Wouldn't change the fact that I’m already yours."

[scoupsakakitty]

LOOOOOVE YOUR BLOG i'm literally obsessed with idol!scoups fics and u r soooo good in writing them <333

not sure if you are open to requests but in case that you are, i'd love to see an angsty one with idol!scoups, maybe one where they fight ??? and cheol has to go on tour or work or something so they're not okay for quite a while and make up once he gets home :(((

Silent Apologies | idol!Scoups x Reader | angst, fluff

The argument had started over something small—something stupid, really—but it had escalated far beyond what either of them expected.

"You always do this, Seungcheol!" Y/N's voice wavered with frustration as she stood in the middle of their living room, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "You shut me out, and then you expect me to just be okay with it!"

Seungcheol ran a hand through his hair, his patience already frayed. "Because I don’t want to fight with you, Y/N! I’m exhausted, I have so much on my plate, and the last thing I need is another argument!"

"So what? You think I don’t get tired too? That I don’t have feelings?" Her voice cracked slightly, but she refused to let it show any weakness. "You act like you're the only one who has problems, but you're never here anymore!"

His jaw clenched. "You knew what you were getting into when we started this! My schedule isn’t something I can just change!"

"I'm not asking you to change it, Seungcheol! I'm asking you to at least talk to me about it instead of pushing me away!"

He exhaled sharply, looking away. "I can't do this right now."

Y/N scoffed, hurt flashing across her face. "Of course you can’t. You always run away the second things get hard."

That was the last straw. His temper snapped. "You think I run away? I do everything I can to keep this together! I'm trying my best, Y/N! But maybe my best isn't enough for you!"

Silence followed his outburst, thick and suffocating. The words hung between them like a wound neither could take back. Y/N swallowed, blinking away the sting in her eyes. "Maybe it’s not."

The finality in her voice made Seungcheol’s stomach drop, but he was too proud—too angry—to reach for her. Instead, he turned on his heel, grabbing his jacket. "I have a flight to catch."

Y/N watched as he walked to the door. "Fine. Go."

The door slammed behind him.

The flight to Indonesia felt longer than it should have. Seungcheol sat in his seat, staring blankly at the screen in front of him, but all he could think about was her. The look in her eyes before he left. The way her voice had cracked. The way he had let his anger win instead of fixing things.

His chest ached with regret.

By the time the concert rolled around, he was running on autopilot. His members noticed. His energy was off. His mind wasn’t there. Even as he stood in front of thousands of fans, singing and dancing like he’d done a hundred times before, his heart wasn’t in it. Because his heart was somewhere else.

With her.

When the final song ended and the cheers filled the venue, Seungcheol barely let the sound settle before he rushed backstage. He ignored the cameras, the staff, the lingering adrenaline. He needed to get home.

Y/N had spent the last two days drowning in her own guilt. She hated the way they had left things, hated the last words they had exchanged.

What if something happened to him while he was away? What if those words were the last thing they ever said to each other?

The thought alone had made her sick to her stomach. So, instead of wallowing in regret, she did what she could to make things right. She cleaned the apartment from top to bottom, made sure everything was perfect. And then, she cooked. She made all of Seungcheol’s favorite dishes, the ones he always craved after long flights. Because she knew that he would come back to her.

And then, as if her heart had called out to him, the front door swung open.

Seungcheol stood there, exhausted and breathless, his suitcase slipping from his fingers and hitting the floor with a dull thud. But Y/N didn’t care about that.

She ran to him.

His arms were around her in seconds, crushing her against his chest as if he was afraid she might disappear if he let go. "I'm so sorry," he murmured into her hair. "I shouldn't have left like that. I shouldn't have said what I did."

Tears pricked at her eyes as she buried her face in his shoulder. "I was so worried about you. I hated the way we ended things."

"Me too," he admitted, pulling back just enough to cup her face in his hands. His thumbs brushed over her cheeks, his gaze soft but filled with remorse. "I never want to fight like that again."

She nodded, leaning into his touch. "Me neither."

A small smile tugged at her lips as she grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the kitchen. "Come on, I made your favorite."

Seungcheol's eyes softened even more when he saw the food on the table. "You really made all this?"

She bit her lip, suddenly shy. "I just… I wanted to do something for you."

His heart swelled with affection. "You didn’t have to, but thank you."

They sat down together, the tension of the past few days melting away as they ate. Seungcheol kept reaching for her hand between bites, as if he needed to remind himself that she was still there, that they were okay.

And they were.

Because no matter how bad the fights got, no matter how far apart they were, they always found their way back to each other.

[waynes-multiverse]

Alex, this was amazing!! I absolutely loved this! I think I laughed throughout without pausing. Like, I was cackling vividly 😂😂

Dean:

He’s not sick. Because he doesn’t get sick. Dean claims he has the constitution of a horse, but you still take the beer out of his hand before he can take a sip at 10:00 a.m.

That already took me out. First two lines. Bravo. You've done it 🤣

I'm guessing this is post Chuck lmao

“I’m find,” he insists, even as he begrudgingly accepts the gentle pressure of your hand on his back and shoulder, pushing him down to the bed.

You know why I picked it 😝 (���👏👏) And not the flannel and the runny nose, yikes. Loved this exchange (and callback) lol

He knows that you care about him. That you love him. But this is one of those moments where it hits him, just how much.

Took a brief second from laughing, so I could push tears out of my eyes 😭

But absolutely agree, you'd have to wear Dean down and force him into it lmao

Beau:

His coughing sneeze makes you grimace. You didn’t even know someone could sneeze and cough at the same time.

Back to laughing. My God, that was the sneeze of the century 😂😂

“Nah, can’t be sick. Gotta lot of work to do today,” he says.

Mutually exclusive, obviously 🤷‍♀️

“How long until I’m allowed out, warden?” he asks.

Seems like the man flu hasn't swallowed the charm either 🥰

He stops you by grabbing your wrist. “Hey, uh…can I have some chicken noodle soup later?” “Of course, baby. I’ll swing by the store now and get some stuff for you.” “And some saltines?”

And that's the moment I realized Beau's like my husband when he's sick 😂 (🙄)

It's like you were in my house and wrote a transcript of the last man flu epidemic of 2024 😆🤌

(PS: Real proud for finding that gif 😂)

A good add-on for Beau would be talking about his symptoms and aches... constantly loll. ("Babe, my throat is still dry and very weird right here. I googled and it says it could be laryngitis, cancer or the Marburg virus." 😂)

Ben:

Oh and then, Ben. Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben... I thought for sure he'd be the worst, like this virus is a personal attack on his virility 🤣 But I was pleasantly surprised when you brought in memories of his mother 🥹😭

“Fuck,” he groans, dragging a hand over his face before he turns onto his back.

That immediate fuck got me so hard 🤣🤣

He’s a sourpatch grumbly patient who only begrudgingly stays put in bed when you ask him to.

Ah, yes, gramps 😂🫶 (And he honestly shares that with a lot of old man in hospitals and nursing homes who have to be repeatedly told to stay in bed lol)

“Hey, sweetheart,” he calls to you from the bedroom, his voice croaking all the while. “I’m getting you a yacht for Valentine’s Day. You want it all white, or throw in a bit of gold? Actually, check out this one with the navy trim.”

*snorts* Of course the brat's online shopping for yachts 😆

“Why can’t you put some fucking steak in it or something?” he grouses. He tries and fails to hide another wet cough. “Why can’t you just eat what I lovingly made, just for you,” you snipped back.

Oh God, all their bickering was amazing! It's honestly always one of the most fun things when writing SB – the sheer frustration of the reader 😭😂🙈

And I loved the addition of Priestly!! 😍💚💙🤘 (I've been thinking of finally writing that one-shot for him lol)

“Aw, that’s still good,” he argues.

Great idea, man. Add a stomach bug to that man flu lmao

“Know what would really make me feel better?” he hedges. He tries to guide you down to him by tugging on your hand, but you resist him.

I could also totally see him turning into a Monica there 😂

“When you’re feeling better, you can ask me that question properly.”

Oh, oh, thank God! The relief I felt 😂 I mean, it's so, so sweet, but also you're very sick, dude, and germy... like, it's a lot 😆

(And I also sincerly hope there will be a proposal follow-up one-shot/drabble... maybe? 👀)

I loved this so much! You were spilling nothing but truths here! 😂💯🩵

HEADCANON: Man Flu

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader || Beau Arlen x Reader || Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader || Boaz Priestly x Reader

HC: When Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Boaz Priestly get sick, how would they act when you (try to) take care of them?

AN: After reading I Got You by @bettystonewell (Dean x Reader) and The Best Kind of Medicine by @lamentationsofalonelypotato (Soldier Boy x Reader), I realized that I've never actually written a sick-fic before. Here it is in headcanon form, since you guys seem to like these! lol 💜

Also adding Priestly to this lineup for the first time because some of you have been requesting more of him recently. 😉

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, hurt/comfort, sick-fic, some needy affection-starved men who don't want to admit they're needy, lots of fluff.~

Dean Winchester

He's not sick. Because he doesn't get sick.

Dean claims he has the constitution of a horse, but you still take the beer out of his hand before he can take a sip at 10:00 a.m.

He's too busy interrupting himself, namely by coughing half a lung, wheezing, blinking teary eyes -- the whole phlegmy nine yards.

Sam shakes his head, casting you a look that frankly says, Good luck.

He knows his brother is stubborn as hell, and one of the things Dean dislikes most is being fussed over for "no reason." Being seen as weak. Not being able to just shrug his shoulders and shake it off.

To be fair, Dean tries. Except this time it's accompanied by a body shiver and a reluctant sniffle. His pallid face is drawn, and his usually strong and solid frame looks unsteady as he leans a hand on the War Room table.

"Okay, come on, Rambo. Let's get you back into bed," you say, guiding your boyfriend back to the room you share with him.

"I'm find," he insists, even as he begrudgingly accepts the gentle pressure of your hand on his back and shoulder, pushing him down to the bed.

"Sure you are, baby," you say with a smirk. "You're in the primb of libe."

Dean shoots you a narrowed look. Damn you for forcing him to binge-watch all those episodes of Friends late at night when you both can't sleep.

Right now he's Monica, trying to convince you he's in tip-top shape, while you're Chandler, just trying to get him to use tissues instead of his flannel sleeve to wipe his runny nose.

After taking his boots off, you get him to change out of his jeans and back into his sweatpants. Then you manage to get him to lay down under the covers with the promise of coming back with medicine and soup.

"I don't want soup, damn it," he grumbles. You just roll your eyes and rub his arm.

"Just rest. I'll be back with the Vicks."

As you might expect, Dean is not an easy patient.

He refuses to drink tea, but he does down the pills you bring for him, with a measured toss of his head that still makes his head swim. He groans.

He swallows a couple of cautious spoonfuls of the soup, pausing when he realizes that its warmth actually feels good down his sore and scratchy throat. It tastes pretty good too, especially with the warm, buttered slices of bread on the side.

"You made this?" he asks.

"Mhmm," you nod, smiling. If nothing else, good food will pacify this man. "Chicken and wild rice, made especially for you."

"Hmm. S' good," he nods in reply. He manages to finish the bowl.

He has to admit, if just to himself, that he does feel like shit.

He won't admit that the way you're rubbing his back, the gentle pressure of your nails between his shoulders and down his spine relaxes him, makes him feel better.

He knows that you care about him. That you love him. But this is one of those moments where it hits him, just how much.

It's a little overwhelming. A heavy swell of pressure fills his chest, so he tries not to let himself think about it for very long.

(He fails.)

After he's done eating, you take the plates away and help him back into bed. You linger there, slipping your fingers through his soft brown hair and pressing a kiss to his clammy forehead.

"I really need you to rest, okay," you say quietly. "If you need anything, just text me or Sam. Don't get out of bed."

Dean grasps your hand before you can move away from him. Since you're probably going to wash your hands anyway, he lays a kiss on the back of your hand.

"Thanks, sweetheart."

Beau Arlen

Sheriff Beau Arlen is the type to run himself into the ground because he's so damn into his work.

He wants to do well in his station of responsibility, and he feels like he has to make up for his performance during the summer madness of Buck Barnes and Avery...and everything in between.

You just have to make Beau realize that he needs to slow down, before he well and truly burns himself out.

You put your foot down one morning.

He tries to get out of bed but has to pause, his head swimming. He takes a couple of steadying breaths while sitting on the edge of the bed.

You notice with a frown. "Hey, you okay?"

"Fine. Just fine," he answers a little too breathlessly. He raises a hand to his head. His throat is sticky and coarse. He wrinkles his nose when he also feels a sneeze coming on.

"Just need a...a...mugh-ah-ha-hugh."

His coughing sneeze makes you grimace. You didn't even know someone could sneeze and cough at the same time.

"Aw, babe. You're sick," you say as you move over to him, resting a hand on his back. He shakes his head and groans.

"Nah, can't be sick. Gotta lot of work to do today," he says. His voice is like gravel blended with broken glass. It would actually be sexy, if for the distinctly un-sexy way he tries to clear the great wad of phlegm from his throat.

He tries to rock himself onto his feet, but there he sways on the landing. You hurry out of bed to grab his arm and steady him.

"Oh no, you don't. Back into bed," you say.

"Aw, sweetheart. I'll be fine--"

"No. Lay down. You're not going in today," you say more firmly, all while you tuck the man back into bed with the blankets covering him.

"All right, all right. No need to be so pushy," he can't help but tease.

It earns a small smirk on your face. It seems like his man flu hasn't yet deprived him of his sense of humor.

"I thought you liked that though," you reply. You sit on the edge of the bed and rub his chest. He groans in defeat.

"Can't believe this," he grumbles. "Today of all days--"

"There's always going to be another case. This is your body telling you that you need to slow down," you tell him. "So how about this. I'm gonna call in one of my sick days, and we'll bunker in together."

You stroke his bearded cheek. He quirks a smile, grabbing your hand and squeezing warmly.

"How long until I'm allowed out, warden?" he asks.

"Until you can stand without keeling over," you dryly reply. A smile tugs at your lips. "Remind me to stop by CVS to grab you a Life Alert."

"All right, har har haugh--" His sarcasm ends on a very real, wheezing cough. Your amused smile drops. You relent from your teasing and stroke his chest once more.

"Okay, just rest. Let me get you some actual medicine and I'll be right back."

He stops you by grabbing your wrist. "Hey, uh...can I have some chicken noodle soup later?"

"Of course, baby. I'll swing by the store now and get some stuff for you."

"And some saltines?"

"Saltine crackers on the side. Got it."

You're about to head to the bathroom to brush your teeth before you start getting ready to go to the store, but once again, Beau's needy hand stops you.

"Before you go, some tea with honey and lemon would be good. Just something for my throat," he croaks.

You smile and nod. "Yeah, for sure. That'll be better for you than coffee."

"Oh, and can you gimme that quilt over there?" he asks, pointing to your favorite knitted blanket at the edge of the bed. You graciously lay it over his form and drop a kiss onto his forehead.

"And some cough drops. Thank you, darlin'," Beau adds.

Your lips begin to press together, but you nod and continue getting dressed.

You can already tell this man is going to settle into you taking care of him just fine.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Neither of you thought it was possible, considering his super genes that allowed him to eat and booze and drug harder than Andre the Giant and Keith Richards put together.

But one day, your over six-foot super soldier goes down hard. The warning signs came the night before, when you could hardly sleep with the way he was snoring like a grizzly bear.

In the morning, he wakes bleary-eyed with a runny nose and a coughing fit hard enough to shake the bed.

"Fuck," he groans, dragging a hand over his face before he turns onto his back. "This's gotta be some kind of bullshit hangover."

You move over to him in bed and feel the intense warmth of his clammy forehead. Your brows draw together in concern.

"No, I think you're sick."

"Not possible," he grumbles. "I haven't been sick since..."

Well, since he was a kid, probably. He won't admit it, but he's surprised he still has that memory lodged in the back of his mind.

It comes to the forefront now: your hand on his cheek unknowingly mimics his mother's gentle touch, her soft, kind voice.

"Aw, my sweet boy. Let's get you feeling better."

He can almost recall the floral scent of her perfume, echoes of it in the shampoo you use.

Ben claims he's fine, that he doesn't need your help or want the medicine and tea you bring for him. (He tries the tea, grimaces, and spits it out when you're not looking.)

He's a sourpatch grumbly patient who only begrudgingly stays put in bed when you ask him to. He doesn't mind lying around and watching movies all day, not to mention episode after episode of Below Deck. It reminds him that he wants to get back into boating.

"Hey, sweetheart," he calls to you from the bedroom, his voice croaking all the while. "I'm getting you a yacht for Valentine's Day. You want it all white, or throw in a bit of gold? Actually, check out this one with the navy trim."

You roll your eyes to yourself when you step back into the room. You're carrying a tray with a large bowl of soup and a fifth of whiskey. He claims the latter will help soothe his throat, and you don't have the heart to argue with him when he's clearly feeling so shitty.

"You mean you're getting you a yacht," you reply wryly. "We live in the city. Where the hell would we put a boat?"

"In a yacht club, where it belongs," Ben retorts. He hooks an arm around your waist and peruses what you've brought him on the tray. He doesn't look all that interested.

"Look, I know you're not exactly a soupy kinda guy, but this'll make you feel better," you say.

"Why can't you put some fucking steak in it or something?" he grouses. He tries and fails to hide another wet cough.

"Why can't you just eat what I lovingly made, just for you," you snipped back.

He rolls his eyes at your attitude, but he pipes down. In that silence, he's conceding that you have a point. There was a time were all he had to do was glance in someone's direction, and there'd be some fucking moron to fulfill his every whim.

Now, you're probably the only one in the world that would actually do what you're doing...

Cooking for him, putting your heart into it, for the simple reason that you do care.

Ben takes the bowl of soup from your hands. Raising a brow, you offer him the spoon as well.

He eats without further complaint.

You smile and reward him with a sweet kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair back as you do so.

"See? That's not so hard, huh?" you can't help but needle him. "It's okay, baby. I'll take care of you."

He eyes you dryly, but he won't admit that there's a different kind of warmth coiling in his chest.

Boaz Priestly

"Uuuughhh, babe," he groans. "I feel like death on toast."

You're standing beside the bed with a smile playing on your lips. You brush back his for once un-gelled hair back from his face. It's weird to see it all limp and lifeless, slightly damp with sweat.

"Unironically, I should make you some toast," you reply. "What kind of medicine do we have?"

Priestly unearths his head from under his pillow to look up at you with miserable red-rimmed eyes and a sniffling, stuffy nose. "Can we count the tequila in the mini bar?"

"Maybe later," you laugh. "How are we on groceries?"

Priestly struggles to think. He takes your hand and rubs it back and forth across his chest. Maybe your sweet, loving touch has the power to clear away his congestion without him needing Vicks. Too minty.

"We have that pastrami I brought back from the shop," he says.

"That's six days old already," you shake your head.

"Aw, that's still good," he argues. "But uh, other than that, I think I have half a cheeseburger left from last night."

Last night's date at TGI Friday's, he means.

You heave a sigh. "Okay, clearly I'm going to the store. You just stay in bed and rest. Drink your tea."

He grimaces like a child. "I don't like tea."

"I know you don't like tea, but you need to drink it. It's good for your throat and your immune system."

He groans and flops back over onto his stomach. You bite your lip against a smile. He's such a whiny baby when he's sick.

Talk about Man Flu.

"Come on, be a good boy for me," you say, smacking him lightly on the ass. "Soon enough you'll feel better."

A smile creeps across his face where it's pressed against his pillow.

"Know what would really make me feel better?" he hedges. He tries to guide you down to him by tugging on your hand, but you resist him.

"Oh, no. You're not gonna get your germs all over me," you say.

"Hey, what happened to in sickness and in health?" he croaks. Even while under the weather, he's still plenty strong enough to grapple with you. He manages to yank you down. Laughing, you stumble into a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Huh, I don't remember exchanging any vows. You see a ring on this finger?" you tease, flashing your bare hand in his face to try and distract him and weasle out of his grip. "I can jump this ship anytime I want."

Priestly pouts. His arm hooks tighter around your waist. "Huh, guess you got me there..."

He turns his head and coughs roughly into his arm. Your amusement fades into concern and sympathy. You lay a hand over his chest while he struggles.

Once again, he clasps his free hand over yours. He glances up a bit hesitantly into your eyes.

"Well, maybe it's time there should be something on this finger," he murmurs.

You blink your eyes wider. Your head tilts, wondering if you just heard him right. Is this delirium fever talking, or is he serious?

"O-Oh yeah?" you ask.

Priestly tries to gauge your reaction. Seeing your face break out into a cute, shy smile raises the corners of his lips. Hope blooms in his chest, right beneath your hand.

"Yeah," he says, trying to clear his cracking throat. "I mean, if you're okay with that. If it's not too soon--"

You slip your fingers over his plush, chapped lips, and your smile brightens.

"When you're feeling better, you can ask me that question properly."

AN: 😆 I hope you liked the first ever addition of Priestly!! It was so fun to try and write him again (it's been a while lol). Feel free to imagine this vignette in the same storyverse as The Miracle Man and Code Red.

But I also hope you enjoyed the "Big 3," as I call them, even though Russell is starting to give Beau a run for his money on one of those slots. 😂 Let me know which guy you had the most fun reading on this one! 💜

And if you want even more fluff before Valentine's Day, check out my friend @waynes-multiverse who just posted her set of V-Day headcanons with Dean, Soldier Boy, Beau, and Russell: Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

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[delilahsturniolo]

! ! barista!reader taking care of sweetheart!matt when he’s sick

୨୧ find more on this au here!

“mmm..” matt groaned groggily as his eyes slowly fluttered open. he grunted as he lazily turned over in bed, looking at the digital clock on the side table that slightly illuminated the dark room . It was 5 AM, and he felt like absolute shit, which was a complete understatement. as of right now, you were in the bathroom getting ready for work, while matt was pouting in bed.

“y/n…” matt called out weakly. when you didn’t respond, matt slowly got up out of bed, feeling as dizzy and lightheaded as ever. his throat was sore, his nose was stuffy, and his head was absolutely pounding.

matt lazily stumbled over to the bathroom door, opening it slowly. he saw you doing your makeup in the mirror, swiping mascara on your eyelashes with precision. you saw matt standing at the doorway of the bathroom through the mirror and furrowed your eyebrows, setting down the tube of mascara.

“matt? baby? why are you up so early?” you asked, concern and confusion laced in your voice as you turned around to face him. matt was known for waking up at 1 PM every day, so this was different, you were immediately able to tell something was wrong, he didn’t look good at all.

“i don’t feel good..” matt murmured, walking over and sitting on the closed toilet seat, burying his head in his hands. you felt horrible for him, all the happiness and positive spark in him was gone, and that didn’t sit right with you.

“what’s wrong hon?” you encouraged him gently, shoving your makeup aside on the counter and walking over to matt who sat hopelessly on the toilet seat. he groaned and looked up at you weakly. “my head and stomach hurts…i feel so nauseous and my throat hurts..” matt whined.

you frowned, delicately feeling matt’s forehead with the back of your hand. “matt, you’re burnin’ up.” you hummed. right now, matt was your top priority. you didn’t really care if you were gonna be late to work, maybe you shouldn’t even go. you didn’t have the heart to leave matt alone while he was sick and unable to do most things for himself. “i’m gonna take the day off today, i can’t leave you alone.” you decided, matt was completely taken aback, he knew how much your job meant to you, and he didn’t want to be a burden after all.

“what? no no, you don’t need to do that y/n. i’ll be okay.” matt turned your idea down, sniffling harshly. however, you only shook your head. “it’s okay, matt. it’s just one day.” you shrugged.

matt sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. “okay..” he murmured, his voice as soft as ever. you hated when he got like this, it hurt your heart. matt’s excitement and burst of happiness and laughter was just all gone now, and transformed into a stupid sickness. you knew damn well he was gonna be clingy and whiny with you all day long.

“now c’mon, i’ll make you some tea and get you some medicine.” you helped matt up, he put an arm around you as you led him back to bed. as matt flopped lazily back into bed, you went into the kitchen to grab some stuff quickly.

medicine, water, crackers, a rag..

a few moments later, you returned with the stuff, and his cup of peppermint tea too. considering you were a barista, you knew every remedy, especially what drinks were good for what. you set everything down on the side table, turning the lamp on to cast a warm but dim light into the room. “baby? can you sit up f’me?” you gently tapped his cheek. matt grunted as he sat up, propping himself up on his elbows he looked into your eyes. god, he loved so fucking much. all he could think about was how lucky he was to have you.

“thank you love, really. this means a lot to me.” matt smiled at you, his blue eyes squinting slightly as he did so. you smiled back, seeing the slight spark in his eyes, even though they looked tired. “of course matt, i’ll always take care of you.” you replied, cupping his cheek, his stubble brushing against your fingers.

“if you get sick though, don’t blame me.” matt shrugged sarcastically. your laughter filled the room as you playfully smacked him. “you’re insane.”

© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.

taglist

[zukkaart]

Rewatching supernatural is so surreal. Like conceptually I KNOW where this ends. I KNOW Castiel revokes thousands if not millions of years of faith for this man whose only framework for love is being willing to sacrifice yourself. I’ve met the monster at the end of this book.

Even so, I’m absolutely floored every single time I’m reminded that Cas confided in Dean that he has doubts in literally the 2nd episode they interact. It’s just insane to me because yes, he likely has known of him all his life, but still, you never know how someone is going to react in a situation until they’re well and truly in it.

Cas knows about Anna, about Lucifer, about the fate of every angel who has dared to even think about disobedience. And STILL he sees this soul that he raised from the pit. Broken and tired and flawed and basically the poster boy for disbelief. A man that didn’t hesitate before shortening his name to “Cas”, separating him from God. (the suffix -iel means “of God”)

And he decides “yes, this is someone I can trust with a secret that could very well get me killed”

They make me sick to my stomach in the best way.

[honeyhotteoks]

₊ ⊹ ⟡ together; alternate version (정윤호 ♡ j.yh)

yunho's been away for tour, only this time, when he comes home you have very different news to share.

style: bullet drabble (alternative sequel to losing time) pairing: non idol!yunho x fem!reader word count: 2.5k tags/warnings: fluff, light angst, all things pregnancy and babies, light smut with breeding kink/preg kink (yunho is v happy she's pregnant essentially lmao) notes: this was fully inspired by an anon in my inbox who asked what would have happened in my short fic together if the news reader had to share was a pregnancy and how would yunho react to that. i don't take fic requests, but i love babyfic and this just turned into a little bullet and drabble fic i thought i would share with everyone.

[masterlist]

at the end of losing time, yunho leaves for tour and it’s a long one. a full two, two and a half months abroad in europe while you’re left at home in a different time zone missing him terribly. 

you find out the truth while he’s away, only a few weeks into tour when you start getting sick. it’s not something you can just spring on him while he’s on tour, it would distract him, it would stress him out, and frankly you just don’t know what to do. what decision to make. 

you know how you feel about yunho, and you knows how he feels about you….  but this type of news always changes everything. 

so you keep it to yourself, and you do your best to make it through. 

only when yunho does return.... you’re showing. it's not a lot, just the beginning stages of a curve at three months, but it's starting to be apparent if you’re wearing fitted clothing and it's not something you would be able to keep from him if he touched you. 

so when he comes home, finally, and texts you, asking if he can send a car to bring you to the studio, you want to say yes so badly but you can’t. 

this isn't a conversation you can have in front of anyone else so you say no. and you’re honestly terrified, so you lie, just a little white lie. you tell him you can't come and that you’re not feeling well, you’ll see him another day soon.

anxiety is fully eating you up and you’re spiraling, and you don’t know it but your texts fully freaked yunho out. he's convinced that you’re going to break up with him and waited until after tour to do it, and he's sick about it.

after dance practice, he sneaks out and comes to your place.

all of a sudden hes there, he’s knocking on your door. 

you thought you had more time, you still don’t know how to tell him, what to say- but he’s there 

and -

You're a mess. Your hair is tangled from running your fingers through it again and again, and you're pretty sure this sweatshirt has a coffee stain on it, but he's here and no matter what you have to face this.

He knocks again, a soft rap on the door, "y/n, please let me in,"

"Just a second," You call back, knotting your hair back into a bun and kicking on your slippers. Your stomach rolls with nervousness, but at least, you think, it's not morning sickness.

When you finally pull open the door your hands are trembling, and Yunho's pained expression doesn't help.

"Hey," You manage.

"Hi," His eyes dart over you, a crease of concern between his brows, "can I come in?"

You move to let him in immediately, stepping back into the apartment, "Sorry, of course,"

When you shut the door tight and flip the lock, silence fills the space, but somewhere within you, you find the strength to turn around and look up at him.

He shifts from foot to foot, clearly off balance at the strange discomfort between you, and finally he sighs, "Whatever it is," he says, "I know we can work it out."

A strike of panic lances up your spine at the thought he might already know what words are sitting like lead on your tongue, but all you can manage is a soft, "What?"

"You're avoiding me," His hands flex and release, "we haven't seen each other in months, and now I'm here, and you haven't even smiled. I don't think you're sick, I think something's wrong."

"Yunho," Your voice cracks, and you can feel tears threatening your eyes already. You wanted to hold it together, but this is already too hard.

He swallows tightly and keeps talking, his own voice laced with nerves, "I know two months was a long time, and I know I haven't been the best boyfriend, I should have called more, made more time for us, but, y/n," he takes a tentative step towards you, "I love you, and I really don't want to give up on us, please, don't,"

Things slot into place at his words and you shake your head, "Who said anything about giving up on us?"

The words hang for a moment, and then he softly exhales, "You're not breaking up with me?"

"No!" Your voice squeaks as you rush to dispel that idea, "No, oh my god, not at all,"

He grins, covering his face with his broad hands and sighing, "Jesus Christ," he sighs, "I was going out of my mind,"

"No," You shake your head again, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you like that."

He drops his hands and you can see the tension leave his tight shoulders, "Thank god," he smiles and steps towards you.

Panic bubbles back up inside you and you raise your hand to stop him, stepping back until your hips bump into the back of the couch, "Wait,"

His expression crumbles, "What's going on?"

You just have to say it.

"Um," Your stomach flips, "I do have some news."

"News," He repeats numbly.

"Yeah," You start to cross your arms over your chest but the realization that it would pull the fabric of the sweatshirt closer to you rockets through your brain and you drop your arms helplessly by your side. You have no idea how to tell him this.

"You can tell me anything," He says softly, reading your panic in a moment, "and you know, there's nothing we can't handle together."

"Yunho," Tears start to gather, making your eyes glassy, "I don't know how to tell you this,"

"I'm here,"

The panicked, terrified, anxious part of your brain scoffs, for now. You look away from him immediately, eyes glued to the floor. If this is how you lose him, then you guess it just wasn’t meant to be.

You take a steadying breath and jump, "I have something to tell you," you knot your fingers together, "and I didn't know how to tell you while you were away. I was afraid of distracting you or trying to figure this out while you weren't, you know, here,"

"Okay," He murmurs, taking a slow step in your direction, "I'm here,"

"A week after you left," You press your eyes closed tight, tears tracking down your cheeks, "I missed my period,"

He's silent. Your stomach churns again, but you keep going, "For a little bit I just thought it was stress, or something funny, I'm not always on schedule, but, then I started getting sick," With your eyes closed and with him so quiet, you can almost pretend you're practicing this speech, one of the many times you talked it through in the shower, lying in bed, pacing laps around your apartment. "I'm so sorry," Your voice cracks, "I'm pregnant," You can't bring yourself to open your eyes. "I know I should have told you," Tears rush forward a little faster now and you take a hitched breath, "and I know you don't want this, but you deserve to know, and I... I don't, Yunho, I don't know what to do, I don't know what I'm s-supposed to do, and," Yunho steps forwards all at once, his hands cupping your cheeks and drawing your face upwards, "Hey, hey," he soothes, voice tender, "look at me," Your eyes finally open, meeting his gaze. You expect to find him terrified, any twenty-something guy with a delicate career would be, but all you find in his eyes is soft comfort. There's no trace of the idol in him, just your lover, your best friend. "It's okay," He wipes away your tears gently, "sweetheart, breathe," "Why aren't you angry?" Tears rush faster, your breath tight. He smiles, "I'm upset you didn't think you could tell me," he dips forwards and presses a kiss to your forehead, "but y/n, I love you, this isn't... baby, this could never be bad news." "W-what?" "The timing's terrible," He admits, "and I also have no idea what we're supposed to do, but I don't care. I love you, we'll figure this out." Of all the reactions you expected from him, this hadn't even crossed your mind. When he leans back from you a little to study your tear stained face again, he smiles, and it feels like everything about your life is about to change. Slowly, you pull his hands away from your face and take a steadying breath, "Yunho," you manage, "you're an idol, and besides, we're twenty-six, we're not even married, we're not, what the hell are we going to do with a baby," He slides his hands over yours and brings them together, lifting them so he can press his lips to the back of your knuckles, "We'll do what people do, we'll make it work." You shake your head, feeling fully unmoored, but he keeps going. "I knew you were it for me on the second date," He says and the world slows to a stop, "the only thing in the world I'm terrified of is losing you, but this? y/n, I'm in love with you. Did you think I haven't imagined what our lives would be like?" "I," You can't find the right words, but you try, "I love you," His smile widens, and he moves quickly, tugging you forwards and wrapping his arms around you properly. He's much taller, and he has to lean over you, but he wraps one arm smoothly around your lower back and your hands settle on his shoulders. He pulls you up in one smooth motion, his free hand slipping under your thighs as you wrap them around his waist to hold you tight against him. He kisses your lips, tender relief in every press of his mouth on yours and he nuzzles your nose with his, "I missed you," he breathes. "I missed you too," You confess, your body finally relaxing and melting into him, weeks and weeks of tension bleeding out of your body, "so much," He hugs you close, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you bury your face into his neck, and then he freezes, "Oh my god," his hand slides over your back, landing on your waist, "you really are pregnant," You know he can feel it, the change in your body when you're pressed flush against him like this, and you nod into his neck. "H-how," His hand pushes under your sweatshirt, searching your skin, "baby, how far?" "Fourteen weeks," He sucks in a breath, dropping you gingerly back to your feet, "I can't believe you didn't tell me," For a split second you think you're finally getting the anger you anticipated, but the giddy expression on his face says otherwise.

"I've missed so much," He snakes a hand under your hoodie, and lays his palm over your slightly distended belly, "I'm... god, I can't believe this," "You're not upset?" You check softly. "No," He shakes his head, and then he tugs gently at your sweatshirt, "No, but, can you take this off, can I see?" You're nervous again, but his easy energy wraps around you like a safety blanket and you nod, swallowing back any fears and pulling off the sweatshirt, leaving you in nothing but your sweat pants, and a tight tank top. His eyes zero in on the bump immediately, and the sliver of skin between your sweats and the hemline of your top. Your hands rest over your belly, a nervous, protective instinct, "I know," He blinks hard, tearing his eyes away from your changing body and up to your face. "What?" You ask, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. "You're really pregnant," He says, his voice a little rough, and then he reaches again until his hand slides over the smooth plane of your stomach, tracing the curve, "that's my baby," "Yeah," You breathe softly. 

Tears track down his face and he laughs, reaching for you again, up into his arms and nestled against him. 

From there?

He’s kissing you and he just can’t stop. 

You’re a mess from stress and tears, and hardly feel sexy, but he doesn’t care. He’s missed you, he loves you so much and this news is unexpected and terrifying but he’s so happy he doesn’t care

So holding you in his arms still, he takes you to bed

And you’re apologetic about the mess, your bed stand is covered with water bottles and anti-nausea medication and it hits him all at once how you’ve just been holding it together by a thread 

And he pulls you into the bed - “You’ve been sick, this hasn’t been easy, has it? I could have been there for you, I wish I had been there,” 

But you assure him that you’re mostly on the other side of it, you’re only sick like once in a while now not every second of every day 

And he’s like….. we are talking about that later, but right now how are you feeling? 

And you’re good…. but god, you missed him and now you’re just so relieved

So he begs you to let him take care of you now, he’s home, he can carry that weight if you’ll let him

And teary tender kissing in bed leaves his hands wandering, noticing how much is different, losing his mind over your bump and the new fullness of your breasts

And he’s hard and you’re touch starved 

And then he’s just losing it a little - kissing your body, telling you how much he loves every inch of you, how insane it makes him that he did this to you, how you made something together

And all the tenderness to dirty talk sends your brain into overdrive. 

It’s all just desperate needy, thank god we didn’t break up i can’t believe i got you pregnant sex

Worshipping oral, lots of body kissing and feral groaning from Yunho

His absolute insanity at being inside you like this - and you’re tighter, wetter, and needier than ever, and he’s just feral for it

“You’ll be the prettiest mommy, won’t you?” 

Just heaps of breeding and preg dirty talk

“God, I hope you want a lot of kids,” 

“You look so good like this, I’ll have to knock you up again,” 

“So pretty with my baby inside you,” 

And when you’re done, you fall asleep instantly. you’ve been sleeping so much more all of a sudden, and you suppose your body needs it, but it feels like you’re finally resting for the first time in weeks

When you wake, your apartment is clean, he got take out (but he’s googling best soups for morning sickness and texting Wooyoung cooking questions), and he’s making a list of everything you’ll need. He’s already making a plan of what you’re going to do. 

So even though the tour was terrifying, he’s home, he’s got you. You’re together on this, always.

[mountaesan]

most ardently; h. taesan

pairing. bf!taesan x fem!reader genre. newly est. relationship au , fluff  synopsis. the arrival of an unexpected guest ruins your plans for your first valentine’s date but lucky for you, your sweet boyfriend is very accommodating word count. 1.6k warnings. reader is menstruating , hormonal , and emotional  playlist. the shade by rex orange county , i <3 u by boy pablo notes. happy belated valentine’s day ! the only red thing i got this year was my period . hence this fic LOLLL hope you enjoyy

You stared at your phone screen with a quiet sigh, your boyfriend’s latest text glowing back at you.  

my taesan <3: hi babyyyy my taesan <3: so excited for tonight!! my taesan <3: be sure to wear something warm it’s getting chillyyy my taesan <3: i’ll see you later bbyyyy i love you so much!

His enthusiasm broke your heart.  

Fingers hesitating over the keyboard, you finally mustered up the courage to type out a response. 

you: hi babee i’m really sorry but i think i have to raincheck today…  you: i’m not feeling too good TT  you: i’m really sorry 😭 you: i promise to make it up to you next time! i love you moreee 🤍

The moment the message sent, you let your phone slip from your grasp and melt further into your bed. The mattress swallowed you whole as you stared blankly at the ceiling, letting the weight of your own body press you deeper into the sheets. The pain was dull but constant, an ache in your lower abdomen that refused to subside, pulsing in time with the fatigue settling into your bones.  

Your period had come early that morning, utterly wrecking any plans you had for the day. The first day was always the worst—bloating, exhaustion, mood swings, cramps so unbearable you wanted to curl into yourself and never move again. It just had to start today of all days. Your first Valentine’s Day with Taesan. The day he had been planning for months, ever since the two of you had just started dating. You wanted it to be perfect.  

Now, instead of getting dressed up and meeting your boyfriend at the fancy restaurant he had painstakingly booked in advance, you were drowning in self-pity beneath your blankets, hugging a heating pad to your stomach and feeling like the absolute worst girlfriend in the world.  

A small part of you considered telling him the truth. But maybe because your relationship was still so new, you hesitated. It wasn’t like you were embarrassed about your period—God, no—but admitting that this was the reason you were canceling, especially when the night was supposed to be so special… it felt mortifying.   

Your thoughts swirled in self-reproach, so lost in your misery that you didn’t notice the flurry of new texts lighting up your phone screen.  

my taesan <3: oh noo 😭 my taesan <3: is everything okay? my taesan <3: baby? my taesan <3: honey plz respond i'm starting to get worried my taesan <3: i’m going over to your place right now

You barely had time to register his arrival before Taesan was there—standing in your doorway, completely out of breath. His oversized black leather jacket was slightly damp from the lingering rain outside, a simple white shirt visible underneath. His baggy jeans hung loosely on his frame, but the first thing you noticed wasn’t any of that.  

It was the massive bouquet of roses in his hand.  

Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest.  

Taesan barely spared a second before setting the flowers on your desk and rushing to your side, his brows furrowed with worry as he kneeled beside your bed. The moment his warm palm pressed against your forehead, you felt yourself crumble.  

“You don’t feel warm…” he murmured, frowning as he compared your temperature with his own. His hands were cupping your cheeks now, gently squeezing them together as his eyes scanned your face for any signs of sickness. “Have you eaten? Do you need medicine? Should I get you—”  

Your vision blurred.  

The guilt and gratitude crashed over you all at once, so overwhelming that the only thing you could do was burst into tears.  

Taesan’s eyes widened in panic. “Wait, baby—what’s wrong? Does it hurt? What happened?”  

You hiccupped between sobs, the emotions tangled up in your chest making it impossible to speak. Still, you managed to croak out, “M-my period started.”  

For a moment, he stilled. Then, his entire body sagged with relief. “Oh my God,” he exhaled, pulling you into his arms with a small laugh. “You scared the hell out of me. I thought you were seriously sick or something.”  

You were still crying, your face buried into his shirt, hands clutching onto his jacket like he was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. “I’m sorry,” you sniffled. “I didn’t want to ruin our date—”  

“Hey, hey,” he cooed, his hands stroking the back of your head, soothing you in gentle circles. “Baby, look at me.”  

You pulled back slightly, puffy eyes meeting his concerned gaze.  

“You’re not ruining anything,” he said firmly. “You don’t have to be sorry for something you can’t control. I just wish you told me sooner instead of going through this alone.” His thumb wiped away a stray tear from your cheek. “I’m your boyfriend. You’re not supposed to hide when you’re in pain.”  

His words made your chest tighten with warmth.  

Sniffling, you nodded, and Taesan rewarded you with the softest smile, his dimple making a brief appearance.  

“Okay,” he hummed, wiping the last of your tears. “New plan.”  

You blinked. “New plan?”  

He nodded. “We stay in tonight.” He gestured dramatically with his hands. “We’ll watch ‘Pride & Prejudice’ and ‘Legally Blonde’ as much as you want, order all your favorite takeout, eat a bunch of heart-shaped desserts, and cuddle in bed for the rest of the night. Sound good?”  

You stared at him, the guilt slowly ebbing away, replaced with overwhelming affection.  

“Yeah,” you whispered. “That sounds perfect.”  

Taesan grinned, leaning in to press the softest kiss to your forehead. “Good. Now scoot over, baby. I’m cuddling you for the rest of the night until I smother you.”  

And with that, he pulled off his leather jacket and set it aside before climbing into bed beside you, pulling you into his warmth, his arms wrapping around you like a protective cocoon. 

You smiled, tucking your face into the crook of his neck.  

Taesan was warm. Too warm.

You groaned, shifting against his chest, your body sluggish from the heat pooling beneath the blankets. “Tae, I’m gonna make you hot,” you warned, voice laced with fatigue. “My body feels like a furnace right now.”

His arms only tightened around you in response, his fingers still laced between yours, tangled and unmoving. “Don’t care,” he murmured, lips pressing another soft kiss to your temple. You lost count of how many times he’d done that tonight, like he physically couldn’t keep himself from kissing you.

You huffed, attempting to shift away, but Taesan just whined dramatically, pulling you even closer, burying his face into your hair. “Nooo, stay,” he mumbled, voice muffled against your scalp. “You’re my personal teddy bear.”

You let out a soft laugh, exasperated but secretly loving the way he held onto you like you were something precious. “I’m literally a human space heater right now.”

He hummed, lips brushing against your hairline. “Mmm, my favorite.”

Your heart did a ridiculous flip.

He had you wrapped up in his arms, one of his legs thrown lazily over yours, anchoring you in place. Your fingers were still tangled together, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles against the back of your hand. Every few minutes, he would bring your hand to his lips, pressing featherlight kisses to each knuckle like it was second nature to him.

The TV cast a dim glow across the room, Pride and Prejudice playing quietly in the background. You had chosen the 2005 version, your favorite, because it was the perfect mix of romance and comfort. You expected Taesan to zone out within the first fifteen minutes, maybe even fall asleep, but to your surprise, he was fully engaged.

When Elizabeth Bennet shot one of her sarcastic remarks at Mr. Darcy, Taesan actually let out a laugh, a soft, amused chuckle that rumbled against your cheek where it rested against his chest.

“She’s so sassy,” he commented, grinning. “I like her.”

You turned your head to look at him, unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, eyes still glued to the screen. “She’s feisty. I respect it.”

You shook your head in fond exasperation, nestling back into his embrace. “You better,” you teased. “She’s literally me.”

Taesan scoffed, pressing yet another kiss to your temple. “Please, you’re worse.”

You gasped, swatting at his chest, and he laughed, catching your hand with ease before intertwining your fingers once more.

But it wasn’t until Mr. Darcy’s iconic love confession that you realized just how much effort Taesan was putting into this.

The moment Darcy muttered “I love you… most ardently”, Taesan sucked in a sharp breath, gripping your hand tighter.

He turned to you, eyes wide, brows furrowed in concentration. “Wait, wait, this is it, right? This is the scene?”

You blinked at him, completely caught off guard. “…Yeah?”

“Oh my God,” he whispered, turning back to the screen, his expression filled with anticipation.

Your chest swelled with something warm and fond. Taesan wasn’t just tolerating this movie—he was fully invested, even though period dramas and slow-burn romances were not his thing. He was making an effort. For you.

This night was supposed to be for the both of you. Your first Valentine’s Day together. And yet, Taesan had somehow managed to make it all about you, making sure you were comfortable, happy, and safe in his arms.

You squeezed his hand, your heart aching in the sweetest way possible.

Taesan glanced down at you, sensing the shift in your mood. “What?” he murmured, voice soft.

You shook your head, burying your face into his chest. “Nothing,” you mumbled. “Just love you.”

His hold on you tightened instantly.

“Love you more,” he whispered, pressing the softest, most lingering kiss to your forehead. “Most ardently.”

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[coolemmasulivan2]

A Beautiful Mess | 2

Pairing: Lando Norris

Summary: Two neighbors who can’t stand each other, until an accidental kiss changes everything.

Word count: 3125

You can read part 1 here

Do we need somebody Just to feel like we're alright? Is the only reason You're holding me tonight 'Cause we're scared to be lonely?

It had been a week since you last saw Lando. After his visit to the school, it was like he had vanished. You knew he was home because, as always, he made sure you knew that, but beyond that, there was no sign of him.

The touch of your lips has haunted you ever since. You cursed yourself, telling yourself that you should have pushed yourself away the moment your lips met, you shouldn't have frozen.

"You're not getting it! Our lips touched." You practically yelled at your sister over FaceTime. She burst out laughing. "It's not funny. I hate him."

"If you hate him so much, why are you this worked up?" She teased you.

You frowned. "Are you implying I felt something?"

She shrugged. "Did you?"

"NO!"

At the same time, Lando was telling Max, who was stuffing clothes into his suitcase, since he was going back to Lonon, what had happened.

"It was an accident, dude!" Max said, watching his friend with amusement. "Just forget about it."

"I can't forget it!" Lando groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Our lips touched, Max. I'm getting goosebumps just thinking about it."

Max snorted. "Sounds like you liked it."

Lando spun around. "Are you insane? I meant goosebumps in a bad way. Like… I feel sick."

"Yeah, sure." Max smirked, barely holding back laughter.

You downed the last sip of your coffee, grabbed your bag, and stepped out of your apartment. Today was going to be a good day. You could feel it.

You had woken up early, gone for a run, had breakfast, and still had time to stop by your favorite bakery at the end of the street. Everything felt perfectly in place.

For once, Lando Norris was the last thing on your mind. Or at least, he was supposed to be.

You stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for the ground floor, as you shifted your bag onto your shoulder, but then, just as the doors were sliding shut, a hand shot between them, forcing them open.

Your stomach dropped.

Lando locked eyes with you, before stepping inside. He didn't said anything and neither did you. The doors closed, sealing you both inside the small space. The building had a few years, so the elevator was not that spaceous.

He looked at his watch and run a hand through his curls. He looked like he was in a hurry.

Just five more floors.

Four.

Three.

Then... A jolt.

The elevator shuddered violently before coming to a stop. The lights flickered once, then settled into an unsettling dim glow.

You both froze. Then Lando sighed, pressing the emergency button. Nothing happened.

"You've got to be kidding me." Lando muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "Great. Just my luck." He let out a long sigh, pacing in the cramped space. If the elevator had felt small before, it felt suffocating now.

You, far too calm for his liking, pressed the emergency button a few times. "Can you stop moving?" You snapped, growing irritated.

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I bothering you?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.

You shot him a look. "Yes, actually. You've been bothering me for a while now. Thanks for finally noticing."

Lando scoffed. "Excuse me if I'm not as relaxed as you!"

You could see he was nervous. "If you keep panicking like that, you're going to run us out of oxygen."

His head snapped toward you, eyes wide. "What--?! Aren't you supposed to be a teacher? That's not how you tell someone to calm down!"

"You're not a kid, are you?"

Lando let out a fake chuckle. "Fuck. Why did I have to get stuck with you?"

You crossed your arms. "Trust me, I'm wondering the same thing."

He let out an amused breath, shaking his head. "Please! This is probably going to be the highlight of your day."

"You really think you’re that special? You're just an idiot, Norris." You said, crossing your arms over your chest.

Lando smirked, taking a deliberate step closer. "Well, then it seems we're not that different, princess."

"Don't you have anything better to do? Grow up, please. That pretty face of yours isn't going to get you out of everything forever."

"Oh..." He tilted his head, his smirk widening. "So you think I'm handsome?"

You exhaled sharply. "That's the only thing you got from what I said? You're impossible."

Somehow, the space between you had vanished. You weren't sure who had moved first, but suddenly, he was close. Closer than necessary.

Lando's gaze flickered down to your lips, as he licked his own. The air grew thick. The bickering stopped and he elevator fell into silence.

Your breath caught in your throat. Every logical thought screamed at you to move, push him away, to say something, but you didn't. Neither of you did.

Lando's hand twitched at his side like he was debating whether to reach for you. His chest rose and fell in deep, controlled breaths, but you could see it. He was just as caught in this moment as you were.

Then, just as his face leaned closer and your lips were about to touch, the elevator jerked back to life.

You stumbled slightly, as you immediately took a step back away from each other. He run a hand through his hair and you looked away from him. The air was thick, but neither of you acknowledged it.

The doors slid open and without hesitation, you stepped out, ignoring the concerned doorman who asked if you were okay. You didn't spare him, or Lando, a single glance as you strode out of the building.

Lando watched you go, jaw clenched, hands on his hips. He let out a breath and muttered under his breath: "What the fuck just happened?"

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Even surrounded by a classroom full of energetic kids, you couldn't shake the thoughts swirling in your head.

Why hadn't you pushed him away? Why hadn't you moved? Had you actually… wanted to kiss him? The questions run in your mind, each one making you more frustrated than the last.

By the time you got home, you felt exhausted, not physically, but mentally. You barely made it to the couch before grabbing your phone, dialing your friend number without hesitation.

"Let's go out tonight!" You blurted before she could even say hello.

A beat of silence. Then, suspicion. "Go out as in... clubbing?"

It had been a while. You weren't exactly the party animal type, so your sudden enthusiasm was unexpected.

"Yes!" You confirmed, already sitting up. "I need a distraction. Let's get dinner and then let's go out. Call the others."

"Okay, who are you and what have you done with my responsible and sensible friend?"

"Just be ready."

Determined to wipe the morning from your mind, you took a long shower, letting the heat ease the tension from your shoulders. Then, you dug through your closet, finding a dress you barely remembered owning: it was a red dress that hugged your body in all the right places. Paired with black heels that made your legs look like they belonged on a runway and a swipe of bold red lipstick. You felt powerful and it was just what you needed.

Lando leaned against the DJ booth, his drink on his hand as his friend, Martin Garrix, animatedly talked about his upcoming tour dates.

The club was packed, people moving to the heavy bass, neon lights flickering across the dance floor. It was the perfect place to blow off steam, to forget about the week.

Or at least, it was.

But the moment you walked in with your friends, all thoughts of relaxation evaporated.

Lando stiffened, nearly choking on his drink. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

"WHAT?" Martin shouted over the music.

Lando gestured toward the entrance. "Do you see that group that just walked in?"

Martin followed his gaze, spotting a group of friends laughing as they stepped into the club. "What about it?"

"The girl in the red dress. It's my neighbour!"

Martin's eyebrows shot up. "Wait... The neighbor? The one you kissed?"

Lando rolled his eyes. "We didn't kiss."

"Yet!" Martin smirked, clearly enjoying himself seeing Lando's annoyed face. He turned back to glance at you again. "She's beautiful."

Lando made a face, scoffing like the idea was ridiculous. "She's a nightmare, that's what she is." Martin chuckled, seeing right through him. "And she's a kindergarten teacher, bet it's gonna be real awkward for some parents to see their kid's sweet little teacher dressed like that."

Martin laughed, draping an arm over Lando's shoulder. "Dude, you're so jealous already."

"Shut up. What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's obvious!" Martin smirked. "You like her. And you hate that every guy in this club is about to spend their night looking at her. I can practically see smoke coming out of your ears, mate."

"Fuck off."

Your feet ached, but you didn't care. You were having the time of your life. Hours had passed in a blur of music, laughter, and drinks, and you and your friends hadn't left the dance floor for more than a few minutes at a time.

The alcohol had done its job: Lando hadn't crossed your mind all night. (Well, except maybe now. But that doesn't count.)

Leaning against the bar, you waited for your drink when a man approached you. Tall, broad shoulders, very handsome. And exactly your type.

He flashed you a smile. "Do you come here often?"

You blinked at him before bursting into laughter. "Oh my god. That pick-up line does not match your face."

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, that was terrible. I panicked."

You smirked. "I can tell."

"Not much of a flirt, I guess." He admitted, laughing along with you.

"Clearly."

He stuck out his hand. "I'm Eric, by the way."

You shook it, still grinning. "Y/n."

Lando leaned against the railing, beer in hand, eyes fixed on the bar. He told himself he was just people-watching, just casually scanning the room, but his gaze kept landing on you.

And the guy standing way too close to you.

The guy who looked like he'd stepped straight out of a fashion magazine. Tall, charming, and irritatingly good-looking. The kind of guy who knew exactly how to play his cards.

Lando took a sip of his beer, jaw tightening as he watched you laugh at something the guy said. You were drunk and from the way the guy leaned in, so was he. Too close. Way too close.

"You look like a creep." Martin shouted over the music, snapping Lando out of his glare. "Stop looking at her."

"I'm not looking at her."

Martin snorted. "Right. You're just analyzing the guy she's with." He nudged Lando's shoulder. "Worried she might take him home?"

Lando scoffed, tearing his eyes away. "I don't fucking care."

"Sure." Martin smirked, taking a sip of his drink. He didn't press further, letting his friend drown in jealousy.

You stumbled outside, the cool night air hitting your flushed skin like a slap. Eric followed closely behind, his hand steady on your back as he helped you sit down on a nearby bench as you waited for the cab.

"You're really nice, you know that?" You mumbled, tilting your head to look at him as he sat down beside you.

Eric smiled. "Thank God. I was worried I screwed up my chances with that terrible pickup line."

You laughed softly, resting your head against the cool metal of the bench. "You saved yourself."

"I'm glad!" He admitted, his voice warm. "I had a good time tonight."

"Me too." You sighed, your stomach swirling uncomfortably. You cleared your throat, barely above a whisper as the words slipped out. "I wish you were him."

Eric frowned. "Who?"

Before you could answer, a voice interrupted you. His voice.

"Y/n?" You and Eric both turned, and there he was. Lando. Hands in his pockets, his gaze locked onto you.

Eric's eyes widened in recognition. "Wow. Lando Norris?" He sounded excited, most likely a fan.

But you barely registered his reaction. Your stomach twisted again, and before you could stop it, you shot up from the bench, turned away from them both, and emptied your stomach onto the pavement.

Lando instinctively moved toward you, but Eric was faster. He was by your side, gathering your hair in his hands and rubbing slow circles on your back.

Lando clenched his jaw, watching the way Eric took care of you. It shouldn't bother him, but it did. The guy was too perfect. A walking green flag.

"Are you okay?" Eric asked gently. "Think you can stand?"

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, groaning as you nodded. Eric helped you to your feet, keeping you steady against his side. "Where's that damn cab?" Eric muttered under his breath, glancing around.

"I'll take her home," Lando said suddenly.

Eric turned to him, brows raised. "What?"

"We're neighbors. She's most likely going to pass out on the way back."

"Yeah, we drank quite a lot." He looked between you and Lando. "Y/n? You okay with that?"

"Hm?"

"Are you okay with going with Lando? Is he your neighbour?" He asked you, and Lando could almost hear himself rolling his eyes. The guy was seriously too nice.

"Yes!" You confirmed. Lando took a step forward and stretched his hands. You blinked up at him, your head heavy. "You're so annoying. Why are you always everywhere?" Despite your grumble, your hands slowly found his.

Eric's lips twitching into a sad smile. He gently let you go as Lando pulled you closer, steadying you against him.

"Thanks for taking care of her." Lando said.

"It was my pleasure." Eric replied, his gaze soft as he looked at you. "She's something special. And I just met her, so…"

You chuckled. "I like you, Eric."

He smiled. "I know, Y/n." Then his expression flickered, just for a second. "But I'm not him, right?"

Lando frowned, watching as you only groaned in response.

Eric let out a small breath before leaning in and pressing a kiss to your cheek. Lando's grip on you tightened.

"It was nice meeting you." Eric said. "Call me sometime, yeah?" He turned to Lando, extending a hand. "Big fan, man. Nice to meet you."

Lando shook it briefly. "Yeah. You too."

Eric gave you one last glance before walking off.

Lando glanced down at you, your body leaning heavily into his side. "Come on, let's get you home."

You hummed, already half-asleep. "Still annoying."

"Yeah, yeah."

Lando pulled into his parking spot, turning off the engine with a quiet sigh leaving his mouth. When he glanced to his right, he wasn't surprised to see you fast asleep, just like he'd predicted.

Your head rested against the window of his McLaren, your mouth slightly open, breaths slow and steady. One of his Quadrant hoodies was draped over you.

Lando exhaled, leaning back against the seat as he stared at you. He'd never really taken the time to look at you before, not like this. You looked… peaceful. And you were indeed a very beautiful woman.

His fingers moved on their own, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear.

"What the hell am I doing?" Lando muttered to himself, running a hand down his face, he groaned under his breath. "I must be crazy."

Shaking off whatever the hell that was, he reached over and carefully pulled your head away from the window. Then, he stepped out of the car, circling around to your side and pulling the door open.

"Y/n?" He called, his voice quiet but firm as he nudged your arm. "Wake up. We're home."

"Hm?" You groaned, keeping your eyes firmly shut.

"Wake up. Come on."

He turned your face into the seat, snuggling deeper into the warmth. "Let me sleep!"

Lando huffed, crossing his arms as he glanced around the dimly lit garage. "If you don't wake up, I'm leaving you here." Nothing. "I cannot believe her." With a sigh, he leaned down, sliding one arm beneath your legs and the other behind your back. He hesitated for a second before carefully lifting you into his arms.

You instinctively curled into his chest, your face pressing against the crook of his neck, a small sigh leaving your lips. Lando froze for a split second, his heart racing in his chest.

Lando stepped into the elevator, shifting you slightly in his arms to press the button for his floor. You were still dead weight against him, your warm breath fanning against the side of his neck. He clenched his jaw, doing his best to ignore the way you seemed to fit perfectly against him.

When the doors opened, he carried you down the hall, stopping in front of your apartment.

"Alright, time to go home." He muttered, adjusting his grip. "Where's your key?" You mumbled something against his neck, your lips brushing against his skin. Then, before he could even react, you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. "Y/n." He tried again, shaking you gently. "Where's your key?"

Another muffled murmur. He sighed, dropping his head back against the door in frustration. Since you refused to answer him, and since he couldn't exactly rummage through your purse while holding you, he had no choice.

"Alright, you're coming with me." He muttered, carrying you across the hall to his own apartment.

He walked straight to his bedroom, gently lowering you onto his bed. As soon as your back hit the mattress, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. But just as he moved, you reached out, your fingers curling into the fabric of his white shirt, right where it gaped open.

"Stay." You murmured, eyes still closed.

Lando froze. "You're drunk!" He reminded you, gently prying your fingers off him. You groaned but refused to let go, gripping his shirt again, this time tighter. His breath hitched as your fingertips brushed against his bare chest. "Y/n!"

"Lando!" You snuggled against the pillow, your grip unrelenting. "Stay." You whispered.

Lando clenched his jaw. He should go. He needed to go. But the way you held onto him, the way you looked so small and vulnerable in his bed… it made something twist inside his chest.

With a heavy sigh, he gave in. "Fine! But just until you fall asleep." He told himself that.

And yet, as he laid down beside you, feeling the warmth of your body so close to his, he had a sinking feeling that this was only going to make things a lot more complicated.

Tags:

@lilorose25 @downsideup1989 @anayaverse @ln4-cl16-world @chlmtfilms @444-leqz @joannaln4 @notarshia

[seasidefallenangel]

𓆩♡𓆪 good men die too, i'd rather be with you 𓆩♡𓆪

valentine's day headcanons ft; kanata yatonokami, tenn kujo, sunday, nagi seishiro

notes: fluff, bit suggestive in tenn's

༄ kanata yatonokami:

✣ it’d be a lie to say he’s ever held something so commercial as valentine’s day in high regard. all the overpriced stuff in stores and seeing an onslaught of affection in public made him roll his eyes at best and sick to his stomach at worst.

✣ even after dating you, he’s still not that big of a fan. honestly, he wasn’t even planning on doing much of anything but nayuta nearly crucified him for that idea. 

✣ (nayuta thinks it’s a miracle kanata even has a partner with how unromantic he is.)

✣ gritting his teeth and bearing it, he takes you out to a more laid-back restaurant in hopes that you’ll like it. something on the high end scale would just be uncomfortable and out of place for him, but if you had really insisted he would do it for you.

✣ it’s so cute to see him obviously flustered yet trying to be on his best behavior for you. he’d normally tell you off for acting so smug and lovesick around him but he figures this is the one day he can let you get away with it.

⁀➷ “ugh, can you just… nevermind. don’t expect this all the time. you’re lucky i love you. no shit i said it outloud. you think i’d be doing all this if i didn’t?”

༄ tenn kujo:

✣ obviously trigger’s angel is able to woo his partner. what kind of idol would he be if he didn’t devote every piece of himself into satisfying you?

✣ as much as he’d love to take you out for the holiday, it’d just be too risky. sure he could wear a disguise but he feels as if that takes away from the intimacy of the holiday.

✣ so, the next best thing is to have a catered dinner at his house. how he got aya and kujo to leave is a mystery, but evidently it worked.

✣ everything about him is practiced and perfect, to the point where you tell him it’s okay to be a little more relaxed. it’s not that he’s trying to put up a front, it’s just that he’s so in love with you he doesn’t even know what to do with himself.

✣ at his core, tenn is a giver - to the point where he’d sacrifice his own wellbeing just to see your smile. there’s nothing he values more than making you happy, and it’s evident with every kiss he gives you, setting your heart ablaze as he takes you to his bedroom.

⁀➷ “i’m relieved everything went well. i wish i could’ve taken you on a traditional date, though. maybe sometime in the future? before we get married at least. … obviously i’m marrying you.”

༄ sunday:

✣ the (former) oak family head is no slouch. even if he’s never formally been in a relationship, he was raised right and knows how to treat you. 

✣ granted, the astral express isn’t exactly the ideal location. he’d much prefer to wine and dine, giving you only the best the cosmos have to offer. unfortunately, he’s also kind of broke after the events of penacony and his defecting, so an in-house date it is.

✣ that doesn’t mean it’s any less special than a traditional night out ; in fact, he puts twice the amount of effort into it. from perfecting a meal filled with your favorite dishes, to paying march and stelle to pick up some drinks and gifts on one of their rest stops.

✣ that of course is then curbed by dan heng giving sunday the most distressed look he’s ever seen, because why would anyone trust those two with a task like that? dan heng then takes it upon himself to get the proper gifts instead of the caterpillar farm suggested by stelle.

✣ the upside to the express is that the view is second to none. throughout dinner, sunday’s wings are fluttering a mile a minute as he watches you admire the stars and swirling galaxies that pass by. he can’t be bothered to look out the window when the most ethereal view is sitting across from him.

⁀➷ “can you look at me once more, dearest? no, nothing’s wrong. i just want to imprint this into my memory. if you had told me even a year ago i’d have you in my arms, i’d have assumed it was a terrible joke. i’m simply grateful the aeon’s have led us together.”

༄ nagi seishiro:

✣ reo is easily the most stressed out person in this scenario. for as sweet and clingy nagi is towards you, that boy is romantically dense. he figures he can get you a candy bar and call it a day, and reo is on the urge of strangling him for even suggesting it.

✣ flowers! gifts! chocolate! jewelry! fancy dinner! reo is trying to hammer in some more ideas into nagi’s brain and nagi’s expression grows more and more bored with every word. he even insists that he knows his partner and all of that stuff would probably overwhelm you (and make you think nagi had been kidnapped and brainwashed.)

✣ they compromise in the end. reo uses some connections to have a chef prepare dinner at nagi’s apartment and nagi gets off his lazy ass to buy you some flowers and a box of chocolate. for all his whining about existing being a hassle, he does listen to you pretty intently. he knows you think roses on valentine’s day is a bit too cliche, so he opts to get you something like a mixed bouquet with ranunculuses, dailies, and lily of the valley’s.

✣ it’s sweet and very nagi. even in his own way, he’s able to show how much he adores you. you’re the only thing worth putting effort into in his eyes - all he demands is that you smother him in cuddles afterward.

⁀➷ “i told reo everything would be fine… why does he worry so much? i really like you, so i’m not gonna mess it up. everything is less annoying with you around. … did i say something weird?”

[on-wine-dark-seas]

The Invitation

Dedicated to the little Black girl who wanted to be all things when the world told her she was nothing. You are everything. 🍯

🪧 Summary: 1050 AD, Heian Era. One full moon, Sukuna meets a dancing storyteller at the Hida Harvest Festival. But after a tragically violent evening robs her of everything, she winds up in a strange alliance with the King of Curses as his guest. 📚 Series: Sonder 🔞 Rating: Explicit ⚠️️ Warning[s]: Rape/Non-Con [not from Sukuna don't worry], blood, gore, description of wounds and dead bodies, cannibalism, recreational drug use [ganja, psilocybin, opium], slow-ish burn, hurt/comfort, PTSD, revenge, catharsis, eventual romance, eventual smut, Ryōmen Sukuna is his own warning. 💋 Pairing[s]: Sukuna x The Writer [⛩️🍯] 🎧 Playlist: [ the invitation ]

⛩️ AO3 𑁍 Parallax OCs 𑁍 Sonder OCs ⛩️

🍯 VI. 動きと感覚 Movement & Sensation

"Learn to caress. Learn the oceans and stars, honey and agony. Learn your body: learn to squeeze it, embroider it, water it, and kiss it. Learn to hug it. Learn to moan, cry, laugh." —Margarita Karapanou, tr. by N. C. Germanakos, from “ Kassandra and the Wolf"

     “No fighting today?” Šetû asks as Sukuna leads her to a secluded part of the shrine. She notes the pond, the soribashi, the moon gate: a garden. In the cold winter, the garden itself is asleep for the season, but a single plum blossom tree grows in the center, its barren branches dripping with snow melt and icicles. Around the tree’s base are several stone benches, carved into the shape of lotuses. Šetû briefly wonders if the former clergy of this shrine used this as a meditation space. She can see no other possibility.

     “Sit,” Sukuna says, arraying himself like a king on one of the benches. Šetû folds herself into a comfortable seated position, her expression wary but curious.

     “You’re going to learn how to breathe today,” Sukuna growls. Šetû’s brows go up, then she frowns.

     “I see,” she says uneasily. “Wasn’t aware my breathing was a problem since I’ve been doing it all my life.”

     Sukuna stares at her, unamused. “It is when you waste your energy unnecessarily. You are like an errant child, spilling your cup all over the place while walking at the same time.” He waves one hand in irritation, as if she is an errant child.

     Šetû wrinkles her nose. “I suppose that’s fair. This is a matter of balance, is it not?”

     Sukuna huffs but does not answer. To him, it is as simple as that. Šetû rolls her eyes and sits up straight, her hands forming a mudra as Uraume taught her. She begins to breathe intentionally. Sukuna continues to watch her, unblinking. Šetû shuts her eyes, begins to find a rhythm in her breathing.

     “Stop using your chest and start using your stomach,” Sukuna chides, and she opens one eye to glare at him. He is impassive in the face of her irritation. She sucks her teeth and begins again.

     Over and over, he makes her restart, until her breath changes, until she feels as if he wants to reach into her soul and remold it himself. She breathes until she’s sick of breathing, and then she breathes some more. Sukuna watches intently, and she begins to ignore him, focusing instead on her breath. The earth beneath her, the roots, the mycelium, the trunk of the great plum blossom tree, reaching toward the heavens.

     The sky.

     Without thinking, her head tips back, eyes opening. The sky yawns endlessly, wide and blue, wispy clouds streaked across like powder. Sukuna is still watching her, but he looks…anticipatory. His eyes narrow at her next inhale, and then he has his answer.

     “Good,” he says and Šetû returns to herself, blinking as if she’s just returned from a nap. She feels like she’s been asleep for a thousand years. Sukuna makes a sound that she’s come to learn is his approval, and she smiles at him.

     “Next,” Sukuna says. “You’ll do that while we spar.”

     Šetû is about to respond with several questions on the tip of her tongue but a shrill laugh from the courtyard tears apart the algid serenity of the sleeping garden. She is suddenly aware of her very cold rear, the prickling of the stone through the thin hakama she wears. She shivers.

     And then suddenly: warmth.

     It’s overwhelming, it seeps into her, and her shivering eases as she breathes deeply.

     She is summarily assaulted by the scent of sandalwood, cedar, and something else, something from deeper within the earth. Her eyelids flutter and she realizes she’s been draped in a black haori. Sukuna’s black haori, which nearly swallows her. Before she can ask any questions, Sukuna is already heading toward the courtyard. Her eyes linger on the muscles of his bared torso, the thick bands of ink around his wrists and biceps, the thorny lines along his neck and between his shoulders. She bites her lip and swallows hard as he stretches, all four arms outstretched.

     “There’s a hole in the seam of the left sleeve,” Sukuna says curtly. “Cycle through those breathing techniques for another hour, then take it to Oboro or Okoi. They will know how to repair it.”

     He doesn’t linger to hear Šetû’s confused line of questioning, already striding off to meet his unexpected guests in the courtyard.

     For a while, Šetû sits alone, draped in Sukuna’s haori, the cold seeping from her as his lingering warmth spread all over her skin and her senses are soaked in his scent. Hidden in the sleeping garden, she lets herself indulge in a smile, and then a sound shivers out of her: a giggle. Her fingers curl into the dense fabric and pull it closer around her. She imagines four arms, solid and strong curling around her. Solid weight behind her as her eyes shut and she cycles through her breathing.

     She’s not sure how long she’s there, seated on the lotus bench, breathing in time with the earth and sky, basking in the fleeing warmth of Sukuna’s haori, and his scent which is muted in the sharp cold air through her nose.

     “I had no idea Sukuna had an affinity for bards,” a voice muses, dripping with saccharine maliciousness. Šetû startles and then gets to her feet, turning to face the speaker. Her brow furrows in confusion at the statuesque woman before her. She takes her in: her milky white skin, her wide set dark eyes, her bone-straight black hair, her mouth the color of crushed cherries. A quintessential beauty of this country, by all accounts.

     And she’s stark naked beneath her haori.

     The woman crosses her arm beneath her breasts, tilting her head in an avian-like gesture as she sizes Šetû up with a critical squint of one of her eyes.

     “Hm,” the woman says. “I can see why he likes you. Your cursed energy runs deep. I suppose it’ll make killing you all the sweeter when he finally tires of you.”

     “Do I know you?” Šetû asks. The woman moves and it takes everything in her not to flinch. She’s fast, but moreover, she doesn’t move as any human woman should. There’s something mechanical about her movements, like a marionette or an…an insect. A dangerous stinging insect from the withering look in her eyes.

     “I’m Yorozu,” the woman says by way of introduction. No surname and no bow. Both signs of disrespect, memory serve. “And I am to be Sukuna’s wife.”

     Šetû tries to ignore how her heart drops into the acid pit of her stomach. She imagines, for the briefest instant, the world crumbling around her. Inwardly, she can hear her own voice screaming in her head.

     Of course he’s betrothed. Of course he is promised to someone else. She’s just his charge until she finishes her task. She’s just the bard he hired to sing and dance and entertain his curiosity.

     This woman, with her shrewd eyes and cruel smile seems exactly like the kind of woman Sukuna would marry. A sorcerer from the looks of it, and licentious if her severe lack of clothing is anything to go by.

     Suddenly the haori feels itchy and uncomfortable. She lets out a sharp exhale through her nose.

     “He made no mention of you,” she says and takes undue pleasure in the blood draining from the woman’s face momentarily. There’s a certain shame she feels in this petty little contest of wills with a woman she barely knows. Then, she feels the crackle of cursed energy.

     Oh.

“Yorozu, are you playing nice with Lord Sukuna’s guest?” Another voice, a cheerful male one, interrupts as Yorozu lowers her hand, the fingers flexed hard enough for Šetû to see the pronounced veins in them. For a moment—a brief heartbeat—Yorozu’s face is warped, her features stretched too thinly over her skull, giving her a gaunt and grotesque appearance. Almost like a wasp wearing a human woman’s face.

     When she turns to face the man speaking, however, her face seems normal, the veins in her hands faded to smooth, milky skin.

     “Of course, Kenjaku,” she says sweetly. “I’d never think of bringing harm to one of Sukuna’s pets. Though I can’t imagine what need he has for broken things.”

     It is those words that find their mark. Šetû wills herself to calm, but the words stick in her skin like hooked barbs, and Yorozu is not some empty-headed piece of fluff from the Heian-kyō court: she is a sorcerer, and as such, she is more part of Sukuna’s world than Šetû could ever dare hope to be. Her brutality is swift. Yorozu pulls those proverbial barbs back, attempting to lift skin from bone, seeking the other woman’s pain, no matter how petty.

     “Perhaps she is no guest, Kenjaku, but a mere appetizer!” Yorozu’s shrill, manic laughter is loud in the garden of stone and hard-packed earth. Šetû feels like a fool, standing there in Sukuna’s haori, feeling awkward in her own skin.

     Kenjaku, a tall, willowy man with black hair pulled into a top knot, steps into the moon gate. He’s clad in a simple black kimono and a pair of zori. But it is not his clothing that shocks Šetû, but the scar around his forehead, like old stitches. She wonders what sort of injury could create such a scar, then averts her eyes to look at her feet, chiding herself for gawking. She does not gawk at Sukuna for his abnormal appearance, she’ll not do it to his guests.

     Even Yorozu.

     “My oh my, what an interesting guest,” Kenjaku breathes, looking her over appraisingly. “A foreign sorcerer! I’ve never heard of such a thing in all my days. I suppose times really are changing, hm?”

     Šetû says nothing. The man’s cheery smile and amicable demeanor is disarming, she’ll admit, but she knows a serpent in the grass when she sees one. She gives a polite bow, ignoring Yorozu’s smug smirk as Kenjaku returns the bow in kind.

     “Forgive my companion,” he says, ever the paragon of decorum. “She has such little contact with foreigners and does not know the protocol for interacting with guests.”

     Šetû straightens up, this time bolstered by a connection made as a memory bubbles to the surface.

     And if that’s his wife…how immodest!

     Her eyes narrow, recognition surfacing. The nude woman who had been next to Sukuna, the one her brothers had teased her about who had been shooting her poisonous looks all evening.

     “Well,” she says, and feels the headiness of a victory oncoming. The racing pulse of knowing one has cornered their opponent on the board. “I suppose it is forgivable. I cannot fault her for being so limited in her own world experiences and travels. Lord Kenjaku, was it? I am Asiri Šetû, daughter of Rahanatu and Ahmad, and professional marokiya here to serve at Lord Sukuna’s pleasure. I am new to this jujutsu your people have told me about, and so he has endeavored to teach me.”

     Kenjaku’s smile is frozen on his face as Yorozu processes the stinging blade of her words. As subtle as a throat cut in the deepened shadows of the night. Her mouth opens and then closes.

     “I see,” there’s a pleased note in Kenjaku’s voice, as if he has just discovered something new and fascinating to turn over in his hands like a precious, unrefined gem. He eyes her again, this time with a grin of satisfaction and approval.

     “It is so unlike Sukuna to take on a pupil,” Kenjaku remarks. “You must be truly special indeed to have caught his attention.”

     Yorozu’s face crumples and Šetû feels the tension ease in her favor, exhaling with relief as the other woman spins on her bare feet to storm off. Šetû watches her go before turning her attention to Kenjaku who looks like a cat licking cream.

     “It was nice meeting you, Kenjaku,” she says, bowing again before taking her leave. She can feel his gaze at her back, wondering. Calculating. She does not like it.

     When Šetû returns to her room, still wearing Sukuna’s haori, she lets out a long sigh. The day is half over and she still has to prepare a performance worthy of the King of Curses this evening. With no musicians, and precious little remaining to her save for the things in her trunk, she racks the archives of her memory. He wants her to dance, she needs some sort of music.

     A scratching at her door.

     “Come in, Oboro-san,” she says absently as she lifts the top of the trunk, marveling at how its insides remained untouched by the flames that swallowed up her old life.

     Her old life. A lump forms in her throat. She can’t do this. She can’t do this without her brothers. Without her cousins. It’s not the same. It will never be the same.

     But Sukuna has made it clear it is not his concern whether anyone else shares her stage, so long as she’s on it.

     It is a vote of confidence as much as any other, and she must trust in her own skills to see this through. She would hate to disappoint him after he’s gone through so much trouble to keep her alive. She listens to the hiss of the sliding door, the whisper of silk as Oboro shuffles into the room, Okoi is right behind her, quiet as always. Šetû can tell them apart, now. Their hair, likely once jet black and bone straight, is iron gray. Okoi bears a scar across her face, as if it had been ripped in half.

     “Yorozu has been in a rage since she arrived, Lady Asiri,” Oboro says, and there’s an almost conspiratorial and gleeful inflection in her words. “Okoi says she saw her storm off from the old meditation garden after speaking with you and Lord Kenjaku.”

     Šetû sucks her teeth in annoyance. “Very foolish woman, that one,” she says disdainfully. “Claiming to be Sukuna’s wife and speaking to me as if I am some ignorant backwater country girl when she has not so much have set foot off this island to see the world beyond. Mscheww. Agbaya.”

     Oboro puzzles out the word, but from Šetû’s tone the meaning is clear and she hides a laugh behind her hand.

     “Lord Sukuna said one of you can mend his haori,” Šetû says finally shrugging out of it, reluctant to relinquish it. Oboro takes it, checking the seams. Sure enough there is a hole in the armpit of the left sleeve. She wiggles her finger through it, clucking her tongue in disappointment before speaking in quiet tone to Okoi.

     “He’s had this thing for so long it’s a wonder how it isn’t threadbare by now,” Oboro says. “And he told you to give it to us rather than fetch us himself, hm?”

     Šetû frowns. “Why that tone, Oboro-san?”

     “Oh, no reason,” Oboro says absently. “Just strange that he wasn’t out here bellowing for one of us to come mend his clothing. It’s so hard to get clothing to fit his stature and physique, you see. Most tailors won’t dare come within leagues of the shrine if they can avoid it.”

     Šetû sighs. Of course. Everyone in Hida fears him. She is beginning to realize that the harvest festival wasn’t meant to honor him, but appease him in hopes to be spared whatever atrocities he’d wreak. She has seen travelers, sparse and few in the winter, braving the trek to his shrine, disappearing into his throne room. Some never make it out, and others leave as fast as their feet can carry them, bitter winter be damned. Sukuna is the not the first tyrant she has served, but he is the first she has served that has treated her with more kindness than the folk who fear him.

     It was not Sukuna who violated that night and slit her throat. It was not Sukuna who killed her family and burned up everything in her life.

     It was Sukuna who pulled her from the brink of death and carried her back to his shrine and saw her nursed back to health. Whether his motivations are altruistic or otherwise, that is the truth Šetû must contend with: the God of Hida is a monster to these people, but for one moonlit night, he was her savior.

     How does one reconcile such a dichotomy? She does not know. She only knows that he demands her skills to entertain him, and that whatever she does will decide how she’s treated afterward.

     “What do you mean to do for Lord Sukuna tonight?” Oboro asks quietly, sensing her mood, the pensive way she looks at the contents of her trunk. Outside, a sharp wind picks up, sending snow flurries spinning across the lattice window of her room. The brazier’s ever-burning heat beats back the chill.

     “I…” Šetû shuts her eyes briefly. It’s obvious to her now what she must do tonight. It is a perfect gift fit for a king, and one worthy of praise. She kneels in front of her trunk, rummaging until she withdraws a latched lacquered box. She brushes her fingers over the gilt phoenix taking flight across its glossy surface. A gift from a Chinese noblewoman she’d entertained two years prior. Within, the tools she needs to give Sukuna what he seeks.

     “I have an idea, Oboro-san,” she says at last. “You and your sister are trained in music and dance, yes?”

     Okoi stirs at that, sewing Sukuna’s haori with a deft hand. Oboro nods.

     “Yes, but it’s been some time since we were called to entertain or engage in rituals,” she says. “Even so, I doubt we have anything that could match your own talents…or translate to what you plan to do.”

     Šetû shakes her head. “No, we will need to create something new between us, Oboro. Fetch your instruments, I think I know what will honor Lord Sukuna this night.”

     Oboro and Okoi share a look, and Okoi’s lips pull into a soft and approving smile.

     “Whatever you require of us, Lady Asiri,” Oboro says with a bow. “Tell us what you need.”

     Sukuna has never been more bored; or at least, he cannot recall the last time he was this bored.

     He hadn’t expected this visit from Kenjaku, nor had he expected Yorozu to accompany him, but he supposes given the former’s scheming, it was inevitable that the sorcerer would show up at his doorstep. Sukuna tolerates Kenjaku because of his knowledge and power, but Yorozu is a thorn in his side.

     He’s sure if he fucks her at least once it will make whatever delusions she has about him even worse, not better. Still, he wonders if it will make her quieter. He also considers eating her. Gods above she’ll probably love that too. Pleasing her is not his aim, and he waves her off as she stands near him, attempting to touch him even as he listens to Kenjaku’s update on this massive undertaking he’s been planning.

     He hasn’t seen Šetû since he left her in the garden this morning. Nor Oboro and Okoi. He growls in agitation before he even realizes it.

     “Something the matter, Lord Sukuna?” Kenjaku asks lightly, the closest he’ll dare to showing displeasure with Sukuna at having his speech interrupted. Sukuna waves his hand dismissively.

     “Any idea when you’re going to be getting to the point as to why you’ve deigned to turn up on my doorstep with this one in tow? Could it not have waited until spring?”

     Kenjaku grins. “Oh, but my lord I thought you’d want to know that Sugawara has been making plans to finally come for your head!”

     That get Sukuna’s attention.

     “Is that so?” He asks. “Huh. Why now? I’ve decimated every force he and the Fujiwara have sent to kill me. Surely he knows when he is beaten and to be thankful he gets to live, yes?”

     It is a warning. Kenjaku rests his chin on his hands, making a thoughtful humming sound.

     “I suppose he doesn’t consider it a permanent defeat. It is my understanding that he will consider you to be his greatest victory.”

     “Nonsense,” Yorozu scoffs. “He thinks because he possesses the Six Eyes that somehow—”

     “Enough.” Sukuna says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Has Sugawara made a formal announcement or is this more of your court whispering seeking to stir up trouble for me in the south?”

     Kenjaku shrugs and turns out his hands.

     “I cannot be certain if he means to make a move so soon, but I do know he plans on coming to Hida for the spring festival. He does so love to witness the first cherry blossom blooms in the hills. Frankly I find it more charming out here than in the capital so I can’t blame him.”

     Sukuna doesn’t care. Spring festival? That’s an entire month or two away depending on the divinations of the priests for an auspicious date to set. Sukuna doesn’t care about that either. He can stamp out this worthless sorcerer and be done with it.

     Where the fuck is Asiri?

     His agitation mounts, sending ripples through the sea of his cursed energy that flows through seemingly every crack and splinter of the entire shrine. Yorozu shivers and bites her lip with scarce-concealed delight. To her, Sukuna is no omen but divine portent of the change to come. She stands by his side, always ready to remind him that he need not stand alone in his strength.

     And yet he has not so much as looked at her, all four of his eyes distracted and irritated, as if he is looking for something else.

     Someone else.

     Yorozu simmers in her jealousy, reminding herself that the girl is, by her own admission, simply here for Lord Sukuna’s pleasure as an entertainer. Winter is a boring season, and she cannot fault Sukuna for seeking entertainment for the long, bitter season. Come spring’s thaw, Yorozu expects the girl to be served on a plate for Sukuna to devour.

     She’ll want to be here for that.

     The meeting continues until the sunset begins to send shafts of cold, golden light into various parts of the shrine. Kenjaku and Sukuna walk side by side through the stone halls.

     “So,” he says. “The girl.”

     “What girl?” Sukuna grouses. Kenjaku chuckles.

     “She’s a sorcerer, then?” Kenjaku asks in a light tone. “She mentioned you’ve taken her on as a pupil. Or…do your interests lie elsewhere? Is she your pet, perhaps?”

     Sukuna’s eyes flare. “If you value your head—which I know is the only thing you value, Kenjaku—you’ll cease your prodding. The girl was hired to entertain, and that is what she does. That she is a sorcerer is of no concern to me.”

     Kenjaku is quiet as he meets Sukuna’s gaze, his expression unreadable.

     “I see,” he says at last, and that bright and saccharine smile and tone return in an instant. Gods Sukuna does not trust this man without a binding vow between them. They arrive at the front steps of the shrine, leading out into the courtyard. Kenjaku bows.

     “If it’s not too much trouble,” he says. “Might Yorozu and I take the guest quarters for the night? We’ll be gone by dawn, not to worry.”

     Kenjaku smirks, a fox with prey between its teeth.

     “I’ll be sure that your evening activities aren’t disturbed.”

     Sukuna says nothing, but a growl stirs in his chest before he waves his hand dismissively. Kenjaku bows again.

     “You are most generous,” he says, and leaves to a smaller outbuilding containing quarters for guests. It’s humble, given that the King of Curses is not known to entertain, but it is enough.

     Sukuna watches the sun sink below the trees, feels the bite of the evening air on his skin. He remembers Asiri and her promise to dance for him tonight, and for the first time all day, he smiles.

     Šetû remembers the first time she began training as a marokiya with her mother. She had been no higher than her father’s knee when she first danced and sang, demonstrating her natural abilities for music. The music had enchanted her from the first tap of the djembe and tama, to the melodic tinkling of bells hanging from her mother’s belts and anklets. Šetû had taken to the bardic life without fear or embarrassment. On the stage, she was as untouchable and unassailable as a goddess. Her feet danced over all manner of ground, sacred and profane, and her body wove through ancient rhythms as surely as a river cuts through a valley. Never had she known squeamish nervousness before a performance.

     Until tonight.

     When Sukuna demanded she do as he originally hired her to do, she thought perhaps he meant to kill her after all. Her fear, since arriving at the shrine, had been rooted in the fact that she was as useful to him on his dinner table as she was as a potential pupil in jujutsu. The fear was as ubiquitous as any other emotion. Now, however, thinking about how he draped his haori over her shoulders, and Oboro and Okoi sharing looks between them and noting his behavior as odd.

     Her fear is rooted in something else.

     Oboro and Okoi are the lifeblood of this shrine, she’s convinced, for without their aid, she isn’t sure she could have pulled off her idea nearly half so well. She stands in front of her mirror, observing her reflection. A captive dream spirit stares back at her.

     Oboro gasps softly as she observes from behind. Even Okoi looks stunned.

     Šetû turns to face them, her cowrie shell crown swaying.

     “Well?” She offers to their stunned but proud faces. “Will I serve?”

     Oboro’s mouth opens and then closes.

     “Yes,” she says, her voice a tremulous whisper. “Lady Asiri, you look like a wild dream spirit. Lord Sukuna will find no other like you in this world, I think. He will be more than pleased.”

     The two older women bow deeply to her, and Šetû blinks rapidly to keep the prick of tears at bay. She bows back, the sound of her dance belt jingling with silver coins and bells. As she gathers her courage, she heads to the door before Oboro stops her.

     “My lady,” she says and bows, presented a folded black bundle. Šetû’s eyes go wide.

     Sukuna’s haori.

     “Okoi’s hand is steadier with a needle than my own,” Oboro says and if Šetû isn’t mistaken there’s a sly note in the woman’s tone. “But we believe you can return it to Lord Sukuna on our behalf, of course.”

     “Of course,” Šetû murmurs as she shrugs into the massive haori as she heads down the hall. She passes Sukuna’s bedchamber on the way to the throne room. It occurs to her she’s never actually been inside of it. The doors are always adamantly shut.

     Likely so I don’t see the atrocities he commits there. She thinks, then chides herself. What a terribly uncharitable thought. Sukuna has been kind to her, in his way. What he does to others should not concern her as much as it does. Yet, what can her lone voice do?

     She enters the throne room with a deep, soothing inhale.

     Sukuna finishes the remains of his dinner, complimenting Uraume as he always does on such a fine preparation. Since bringing Uraume into his sphere, he has eaten well—better than he ever has in life. He wonders if adding Šetû to his sphere will bolster or hinder him. It is as he told her: she is useful to him as a sorcerer and barring that, for her meat. He half-expected her to balk and flee as so many others have done at the mere mention of his dietary habits, but instead she continued to train with him.

     She even rolled her eyes at him. He can see bits of the woman who captivated him in the shattered parts of herself. The connective tissue of the creature that danced in the autumn dust is still there. Wounded, but there.

     The throne room door opens, the sparse braziers providing shifting shadow and flame as a source of light. His eyes narrow when he spots the shine of white cowrie shells, hears the jingle of bell and coin, and knows his lost little flower is home at last.

     Wait. What?

     Sukuna shakes his head, then frowns when he sees her whispering to Oboro and Okoi who are setting up to play. A shamisen and a small hand drum. Sukuna smirks. So that’s what they’ve been up to all day, hm? She’s recruited his servants into her little display, then.

     Sukuna opens his mouth to speak.

     “Get on with it, little flower. I grow bored and hungry yet again.”

     Šetû’s shoulders stiffen at the intrusion of his mocking voice, but then he sees her exhale. With an elegant roll of her shoulders, she shrugs out of the black haori he only now recognizes as his. He doesn’t have time to process all of that before his eyes snag on the shock of white that greets him. It takes him a moment, but his eyes rove over her body, his lower hands gripping the armrests of his throne as he leans forward a little more.

     This is no woman, he thinks, but some sort of dream spirit sent in her place.

     Her skin, which he likens to fresh-turned earth in deep autumn, is painted stark white. Some sort of body paint that covers every curve, fold, and slalom of her form from head to toe. But as he stares, he notes the patterns drawn into the white paint with a steady hand. Shapes, lines, and even…faces. All over her body is the elegant art of someone who had taken their time to touch her. Sukuna’s brow furrows, the bridge of his nose wrinkles as his gaze roves up and down her body.

     She turns her back to him and he realizes she’s naked.

     “Fuck,” he breathes quietly, his voice hoarse.

     A whispering drum beat spurs Šetû into action. The shamisen is plucked by deft hands as she begins to sing, her voice as clear and bright as a winter morning. No Song of Exile this time, Sukuna notes. No, whatever she’s singing has defiance in its inflection, has a bite to it that makes him lick his lips, and he grins with surprise and delight when her palms suddenly ignite. He hadn’t noticed the palm torches in her hands, how clever.

     Her song and the shamisen weave as she begins to move. Sukuna watches her, lower eyes following her bare feet as she seems to glide across the floor. He notes her breath too, deeper and more efficient than he’s ever seen it. Her voice is strong even through dancing. The flames in her palms weave patterns in the air around her, illuminating the canvas of her painted skin, revealing to him the story for what it is.

     This then is the art of a marokiya—an African bard of renown. What she had done at the harvest festival had been but mere playacting compared to the performance she gives him now. The reverence she showed him that night is nothing to the reverence she pays him, now.

     She dances close, hips moving in a rapid serpentine motion, setting the bells and coins to jingling in a rhythm Sukuna recognizes as slotting in with the music. Every part of her body is both instrument and conduit, and Sukuna realizes he is breathing with her again. His lungs are starved for her, and he almost reaches for her before she dances just shy of his fingertips, shooting him a look over her shoulder. The flames are reflected as flickering pinpricks of light in her dark, shimmering eyes.

     Like forest pools in the dark. Sukuna thinks with a softer smile, then chides himself.

     Šetû’s song fades, leaving her to dance freely. Sukuna doesn’t think her feet ever really touch the floor. She’d fly if she could, he knows it. He watches as she turns her back to him, arms spread. His gaze follows the smooth undulations of her shoulders and back and then he spots the symbol painted between her shoulder blades.

     It’s his symbol. The trishula mark on his tongue stares at him on the curves of this beautiful, wild creature dancing in his shrine.

     Sukuna thinks he’s never been this painfully hard for anyone in his life, which isn’t saying much. There’s so few that have moved him like this. Šetû has managed to do this several times.

     She turns on the balls of her feet, a rapid series of rotations that makes the fire in her palms dance around her. Oboro and Okoi even seem lost in the spell her dancing weaves and Sukuna can’t remember the last time he’s ever heard either of them so much as hum a tune. He forgets they are trained priestesses and not just servants too old to turn out and too old to enjoy eating.

     Well, it’s a good thing he didn’t kill them, after all.

     She dances close again, and he reaches for her without thinking as she slips beneath his grasp, into an obeisant kneel, the flames in her palms extinguished. Sukuna sits; his hand still outstretched. The music fades, but the weight of whatever spell she’s woven in this place holds like a sustained note. He stares down at her, eyeing the trishula painted onto her back.

     “Look at me,” he says. His eyes flare once and Oboro and Okoi know that they’ve overstayed their welcome. Quietly, they gather their instruments and withdraw from the throne room. The heavy door shuts behind them.

     Sukuna and his lost flower are alone.

     Šetû slowly breathes in and then lifts her face to him. He studies her behind the white painted mask, sees something there that wasn’t there previously. He beckons her to stand, and she rises with lissome grace, lips parting in a soft gasp when she realizes how close they are: him seated on his throne, and she practically standing between his spread legs.

     “Did my performance please you, Lord Sukuna?” She asks.

     The throne room’s quiet feels oppressive as Sukuna looks her over with his lower eyes, his main eyes on hers. Šetû shifts on her feet, mild discomfort, but he sees something in her, now. Fear. It’s wrapped up in her soul like an old tree’s knotted roots.

     “Are you afraid of me, Asiri?” He asks her. Her eyes go wide.

     “What? No—I mean, I fear you as anyone else might, but…no.” She finishes quietly. Sukuna leans forward, takes a small amount of pleasure when he hears her sharp intake of breath.

     “You should be afraid, Asiri,” he tells her. “I’m a monster.”

     Šetû lets out a breathless laugh.

     “I’ve met monsters, my lord,” she says. “You are not one of them.”

     Sukuna blinks, visibly surprised. Šetû turns out her hands, shaking her head, her crown’s shells clicking prettily around her braids.

     “Lord Sukuna, you took me in after a real monster did something so unspeakable to me, I have seen nothing but his face in my nightmares since coming back to life months ago. Do I find your predilection for human meat to be abhorrent? Of course, but you are not the first man I’ve met who enjoys the taste of human flesh. But since I have been under your roof you have not once done anything to me that would cause me to truly see you as a monster.”

     Sukuna stares at her, momentarily robbed of his ability to reply. No one has ever denied he’s a monster before. Even his so-called allies see him thusly.

     “I could kill you right here, Asiri,” he says. “And have you for breakfast by morning.”

     “Then do so, if that is your wish, my lord,” she replies in a tired voice. “But I think if that was truly your intent you would not have given me into the care of your servants, nor would you have sat by my bedside while I recovered. You wouldn’t be teaching me how to breathe.”

     The way she says the word, something catches in her throat, and she looks away from him. Beneath the white painted mask, he sees her: the remnant. The glittering bits that remain.

     “I do not understand you,” he says at last. “When you dance…” he waves his hand. “You dance as if the world is dust beneath your feet, naught else. Now you look to be on the verge of tears. Is it fear? What is this?”

     “Yes!” She snaps at him. “I’m afraid,” she whispers. “But not of you. Not even of the very real threat you pose to my life. If you killed me right now, I probably wouldn’t care. But…I have my mission to think of, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t kill me before I got a chance to accomplish it.”

     Sukuna stares at her and then he laughs. She winces from how loud he is.

     “Gods, you’re something, Asiri,” he says, his voice surprisingly warm with mirth. Šetû has no idea why he thinks this is funny and she frowns. He holds out his hands.

     “I want to touch you,” he says, and his voice feels like warm water spilling over her senses. She shivers, swallows hard.

     “Is this acceptable?” He asks. For a moment, she considers denying him, then remembers the warmth of his haori engulfing her, redolent with the scent of sandalwood and his natural musk.

     “Yes,” she whispers, stepping closer. She tenses briefly when she feels the warmth of his large hands on her hips, and her knees nearly turn to water at how well she fits into his hold. He pulls her closer until she adjusts to straddle one of his thighs for support. With gentle insistence, he gets her to sit.

     For a moment she sits there, held in place, breathing deeply.

     “When you dance…” Sukuna’s voice sounds rougher than usual, thick with a hunger that has little to do with meat and everything to do with the dream spirit in his hold. “How do you see yourself?”

     Šetû stirs, tries not to focus on the pressure of that iron-hewn thigh pressed against the most intimate juncture of her body. The pressure is frightening and her body’s responding against her will, she thinks. Want makes her words thick; desire cloys her senses.

     “I’ve never really thought about it, I suppose,” she says, trying to keep herself still even though all she wants is to test this pressure between her thighs, rock her hips forward just enough…

     “When I dance,” she breathes. “And I hear the music…I am no longer myself. It’s almost as if I become movement. There is only motion. No thoughts in my mind but the unfettered joy of movement.”

     “Movement and sensation,” Sukuna’s voice is a rough purr—when had his face gotten so close to her skin? She shivers, and the bells and coins give her away. Sukuna does not seem bothered by her partial nudity despite her being painfully aware of it suddenly. She’s clad in nothing but her jewelry, a fundoshi, and the paint on her skin. He marvels at how it doesn’t come off under his fingers.

     “When you fight,” Šetû says, a soft smile curving her generous lips. “How do you see yourself?”

     It is Sukuna’s turn to smile, and his eyes glow like coals in the shadows thickening around his throne—around both of them. He feels her shift in his hold, hips rocking forward only slightly, hears her swallow a tiny, strangled sound as her fear reins her backward. He holds her firmly, grounding her.

     “I don’t,” he replies softly, his thumbs rubbing slow circles into the sensitive juncture between her hips and thighs. Šetû shivers again. Their heads are closer, and she studies the bone-like plate on his face, its contours like the rough crests and peaks of a mountain range. Two eyes set within them like rubies. She reaches up, hesitant, her gaze questioning. Sukuna continues to smirk at her, waiting like some sort of tiger poised to strike as soon as his prey is within reach. Can she touch him too? Or will that provoke the violence she has come to know he is infamous for? In the end, she lowers her hand into her lap.

     “Movement and sensation,” she breathes, repeating his words back to him. Sukuna’s hands on her hips pull her closer, and the friction makes her squeak.

     “That’s right,” Sukuna says, squeezing her hips. “Your dancing and singing were superb as I knew they would be. Would that your sorcery was as powerful, hm?”

     Šetû huffs out a quiet but indignant breath.

     “I didn’t even know what jujutsu was until you told me, my lord,” she chides, annoyed with his self-satisfied smirk. “Credit me with a modicum of competence, at least.” She hugs her arms around herself and Sukuna frowns.

     “Why hide from me, now?” He asks. “You look like a spirit, as if the wind and storm have taken shape in you.”

     “Your wife says you have no need for broken things, my lord,” Šetû says sourly. “And I’ll not be a pawn in whatever game the two of you seek to play.”

     Sukuna blinks at her and for a moment he is genuinely confused. Wife? He thinks and then remembers. Ah, fuck.

     “She is not my wife,” Sukuna growls. “Despite her best efforts.”

     Šetû stares at him, a brow raised in obvious incredulity. Sukuna snorts.

     “Are you a broken thing?” He asks. “Do you think you are a broken thing?”

     She’s taken aback by his question, and she shifts her hips again. Sukuna can feel the heat of the juncture pressed against his thigh and it’s driving to madness. In a moment, he’s not sure if he wants to lunge and bite her throat, or suck the succulent, dark flesh until it bruises under his lips.

     “Some days I think I am,” she says quietly, heedless of the torment he’s battling to pained gridlock just under his skin. “What does it mean when you cannot bear the sight of yourself?”

     Sukuna hates that he understands what she means.

     “You’re carrying something that was never yours to carry,” he replies evenly. “But that doesn’t answer my question, lost little flower: are you a broken thing?”

     Šetû lets the silence yawn between them for a long stretch of heartbeats.

     “I don’t know, my lord,” she says. “There are days I feel like myself, and there are days I feel like shattered glass, sifting through the shards trying to find something worth salvaging. Those days are harder.”

     He knows. He knows because he’s heard her whimper and weep in her sleep and has seen the deadened look in her eyes on the days where she is drained of all light within her, moving like a dazed dreamer through a world she no longer cares to inhabit. He doesn’t tell her about how he waits with a knot in his stomach for news from Uraume or Oboro that she has finally given up and slipped from this life for good. He knows she won’t do it, but he is relieved to see her when she moves through the shrine the next morning. Even if it’s with that deadened look in her eyes, at least her heart still beats, and she still breathes. He does not need to tell her the answer to his question; she’s in the process of discovering it for herself.

     “Do you have hard days?” She asks him. “Where you can’t look at yourself or you’ll be sick?”

     Sukuna blinks. It’s a bold question, and a vulnerable one.

     “If I tell you no, would you believe me?” He asks with a grin. Šetû snorts.

     “You are the God of Hida. I imagine deities don’t have days where they hate themselves.” She reaches up, pressing her hand to her sternum. Sukuna wants to lean in, press his lips there, feel her heart thumping under his mouth. He is torn between wanting to sink his teeth into her and wanting to simply sink into her.

     “Do you want to know how I see you, Asiri?” He asks her instead. Šetû is taken aback momentarily but then she nods, her expression wary. He pushes her gently and she stands, secretly relieved that she’s no longer sitting in his lap, and also forlorn at the loss of that secretly delicious pressure between her thighs. Shame sets her face ablaze, makes her stomach do flips. She shouldn’t want this. She shouldn’t want anything.

“Come,” he says, and he begins to stride off toward the doors. Šetû hurries after him, bells and coins tinkling prettily. She snatches up his discarded haori along the way, throwing it over herself as they leave the throne room and step out into the colder hallway. She follows him until they arrive at the door to his bedchamber.

     She freezes.

     “Don’t worry,” Sukuna says, only slightly amused. “Nothing will happen to you in here that you do not approve of, you’ve my word. In order for me to show you how I see you, however, I need you to trust me. Do you trust me, little flower?”

     Šetû stares at the bedroom door, still shut. Then slowly, she turns her gaze up to him. She studies his face, the strong jawline, the stark black tattoos, the eerie bone-plate on his face. He is grotesque and beautiful all at once. She smiles at him, tender and wry.

     “With my life? No. With whatever you seek to show me? Yes.”

     Sukuna chuckles and opens the door.

     “Good girl,” he says and Šetû feels something shiver directly down her spine. “Never trust me with your life, otherwise I am liable to take it for myself. And your life is so very valuable, little flower.”

     Every word is poisoned honey, and she wants to drink down every last drop. Turning away from him, she crosses the threshold of his bedchamber and is plunged into the velvety darkness of the space. Sukuna tends to the brazier that keeps the room warm, but other than that there is no other light source in the room, which is shrouded largely in shadows. She walks toward the desk, picking a careful path. She steals a glance over her shoulder, sees Sukuna’s eyes glowing in the shadows, his large frame silhouetted as a deeper shadow against the faint bits of starlight that peers through his bedroom.

     “Go to the mirror,” he tells her. Šetû nods. In one corner of the room is a large, full-length mirror. Its frame is copper, weathered and beaten, the pane of it shines in the sparse light from the brazier across the room. She can make out her silhouette, still clad in the haori. She shrugs out of it and folds it to set aside. She can see her shape, the soft dips and curves of her, the stark white paint telling her story against her skin.

     Sukuna comes up behind her and she sucks in a breath seeing him in the reflection. He towers over her, and she can only make out the glow of his eyes.

     “Are you ready?” His voice spills over her again, the heat from his body just behind her seeping into her, warming her to the marrow, making her fundoshi and cowrie shell brasier feel too tight.

     “Yes,” she whispers, willing the tremor out of her voice.

     She watches in the reflection as the silhouette of Sukuna spreads his arms. For a moment, she wants to laugh because their shadowed reflections look as one.

     “開.”

     Šetû’s eyes widen as one of Sukuna’s hands produces a single flame. Suddenly, firelight spills over her, illuminating her body and reflection, casting her into a violent chiascuro of light and dark, juxtaposing the shock of her body paint against his frame. He moves the flame a safe distance from her, keeping her illuminated.

     “Lord Sukuna…” She breathes, awe coloring her voice, fear and shame making her want to hide. Her reflection gazes at bother of them, but Sukuna does not look as if he finds her repulsive. On the contrary, his eyes are glittering with an intense focus that makes her feel more naked than she already is. She tries to steady her breathing.

     “I want you to teach me your mother-tongue,” Sukuna tells her. “Start from the face, move down. Tell me what you see, what you touch, how you feel when you see and touch yourself.”

     Šetû tries to keep from trembling.

     “My mother-tongue?” She asks lamely. Sukuna smirks.

     “Touch is the first language we all learn, little flower,” he says. “And so I want you to touch every part of yourself for me, and I will tell you exactly what I see.”

     Šetû nods and stares at the captive creature in the mirror. Sukuna’s hands are still spread, a gesture of his willingness to forego touching her…for now. One flame is all she needs, and it warms her skin pleasantly.

     She touches her face. Fuskar. Sukuna’s eyes track the movements of her fingertips. Her brows, her eyelids, the soft, sculpted shape of her nose, her full lips, the high cheekbones, the jawline, her ears.

     And as she caresses these parts, she names them in her mother-tongue. Sukuna mouths the words, committing them to memory. He adjusts the flame, its heat and light chasing the path her hands take, the edges licking just out of reach of hurting her as if the divine flame itself seeks to worship every dip and curve of her.

     Her fingertips trace her collarbone, drift down to the lush curves of her breasts. Unthinking, she unties her brazier, lets it falls to the floor. Sukuna inhales deeply, focusing on maintaining the divine flame in his hand. This feels like some sort of ritualistic and holy act, now. An exorcism of its own. The lush weight of her breasts bounce free, nipples hardening in the cool air. There’s painted designs on them too.

     She hesitates, and her eyes meet his in their shared reflection.

     “Do you want me to touch you, Asiri?” He asks. Her hand trembles, but then something in her hardens and she continues.

     Sukuna watches her cup the heavy curve of one of her breasts, and he can see the shame in her.

     “There’s no shame in desire, Asiri,” he assures her with the firm certainty of one who has broken men like the one who planted that rotted seed of shame within her. “Remember: nothing happens in here that you do not want. This is your body, and you want to know how I see you.”

     Šetû swallows against a lump in her throat.

     Her thumb brushes over her nipple and she bites her lip on a sound, as if she is still ashamed to let it out. Sukuna calls upon all of his discipline not to touch her, to douse the divine flame and have her right her in front of the mirror. He wants to make her watch him take her thoroughly, to imprint upon her flesh that she is not a broken thing, and that she is—

     “My lord…” She whispers, her voice pleading. Sukuna meets her gaze in their reflection.

     “Tell me,” he says. Šetû gulps, her throat suddenly dry.

     “I need your help,” she says. “I want you to touch me.”

     Sukuna smiles.

     Slowly, agonizingly slow, his lower right hand joins hers, and together they cup her breast. He doesn’t feel her nipple under his palm because it’s trapped under hers, but he moves her hand in such a way that her lips part and heat flushes beneath the white whorls and patterns painted on her skin. Sukuna lets her guide their hand, over the warm, soft expanse of her belly, back up to the other breast. He catches the nipple between his two fingers, tweaking it just so.

     A small cry breaks the silence and it’s all he can do not to pin her to the floor. Instead, they sink down together: him on his knees, and she seated between them. He maintains the flame which illuminates them both.

     Their hands rest on her belly, fingers splayed. He strokes the tender skin idly.

     “How do you feel, Asiri?” He purrs. “There is no shame in this. Guide me that you might understand how I see you.”

     She does, guiding their hands past her belt. Slowly, hesitatingly slow, she spreads her legs apart, watches Sukuna’s eyes flare with interest then darken with desire. He lowers the flame, can see the pretty shine between her thighs. No shame, but gods above he can’t imagine her fear.

     She’s watching him in the mirror, his lower eyes remain on that moist spot between her spread thighs, his main eyes on hers. She guides their hand lower, ghosting over the swollen and moist shape of her cunt. He feels her tremble at the slightest ghost of his touch. His cocks are hard as stone, and he wants nothing more than to plunder her until she comes apart in his arms like a destroyed work of art.

     “Beautiful,” he breathes. “Every part of you. I knew it from the moment I saw you dance.”

     Šetû tries to turn her face away from their reflection, her face burning, but he doesn’t let her. Instead, she watches, fascinated, as he hooks a finger into her fundoshi and slides it aside, revealing her dark, glistening cunt to him. The firelight glitters in warm worship of those slick folds, already soaking. Sukuna licks his lips.

     “I want to touch you here,” he tells her, tracing the very lightest shape of her swollen cunt. Šetû makes a whimpering noise, hips rocking forward to ease the tension, chasing more of his touch.

     “Is this acceptable?” He asks her, sharing a grin with the darkness.

     “Yes…!” She whimpers, then moans as Sukuna slides his middle finger against her slit. Up and down, against her clit. Now she’s whimpering again, hips writhing desperately. When she undulates forward, he pushes his finger inside of her.

     Šetû’s voice erupts into a long, drawn-out moan that sees her reaching to rest her hands on his kneeling thighs for support. Sukuna shares a grin with the darkness and leans in.

     In and out, up and down. A curl of his finger. The pressure builds. It’s so hot, the fire is too hot, and she writhes, seeking more contact, more, more, more.

     “Oh…fuck…” She whines, watching their reflection as his hand pumps between her spread thighs, her hips rocking against his rhythm. “Oh…I’m…”

     “Not yet, little flower,” he groans and there is a sighing sound as the maw on his belly opens, panting as he adds a second finger, watching her toes curl as her whining and whimpering becomes moaning. Sukuna murmurs into her hair as she leans back against him.

     “Good girl,” he coos, watching as her reflection writhes in his grasp. The fire flickers and then steadies. His fingers keep moving, and Šetû feels as if she might come apart if he doesn’t do more.

     Sukuna grins, and then his palm splits into a secondary mouth. He sees Šetû seize up, her breath and voice caught in her throat as something strong, moist, and serpentine makes a pass against the sensitive bundle of nerves between her soaked folds. Confused, she looks at Sukuna, wild-eyed and questioning. He grins in response and the mouth on his palm sucks her clit between its lips, rolling the tattooed tongue over the nub again and again.

     Šetû has no more questions, because all sentient thought has been wiped from her mind. She is aware of a mewling and moaning sound, and she realizes that Sukuna is working her body so expertly that she forgets herself.

     The mouth on his palm sucks harder, more rhythmically, his fingers work tirelessly inside of her. She can hear how wet she is, now: a slick, erotic sound that makes her want to shut her thighs in shame. Instead, she opens them wider, begs Sukuna for more of him. Sukuna won’t oblige a request she’s too ignorant to be sure of, but he knows this is more than enough for one night.

     Faster, another curl of his fingers while the mouth on his palm torments her clit with sucks and licks. Šetû makes a noise she’s never heard before, her nails digging into the linen of Sukuna’s hakama, wishing it was simply his flesh.

     “Do you hear that, Asiri?” He asks and she is brought back from the brink just enough to be cognizant of the sound of his fingers pumping in and out of her. A wet and slippery squelch that seems loud in the silence of the room. She nods dumbly, panting as she tries desperately to work herself to orgasm.

     “You won’t need opium after this,” he tells her. “Because from now on, I’ll be working those nightmares out of you.”

     Šetû meets his eyes, hazed with pleasure and overwhelmed by the sensations of his hands alone.

     “Come for me,” he orders and all at once the tension snaps and a wild sound that is both moan and scream tears out of her throat. Her hips move of their own accord, grinding against his working hand to prolong the sensation that she’d never felt before until now. She trembles in front of the mirror, spending her energy on additional mewls and whimpers. Sukuna groans at the feel of her cunt’s lust-saturated walls tightening and fluttering around his fingers and briefly imagines how good it would feel around his cocks.

     It is only when her trembles subside, and she is limp and boneless in his arms that he withdraws his fingers. She yelps but then watches in the mirror as he brings his hand to his mouth. The fingers are glistening in the light of the divine flame. Her face burns again, but then he sucks his fingers into his mouth, moaning as if he has just tasted something new and pleasurable to his tongue.

     “I knew you’d taste good,” he muses, and two of his hands caress her idly. Šetû tries not to dwell on whether she should feel shame or no. Before she can finish processing, Sukuna douses the flame and then gathers her in his arms. He carries her to another sectioned off area of the bedroom where there is a large, beaten copper tub.

   �� “Lord Sukuna…” She finds her voice again, feeling as if her soul is knit back into the body.

     “Just Sukuna here, little flower,” he says. “I’d say we’re beyond formalities right now.”

     Heat burns in her cheeks as she watches him pull a lever. Water spills into the tub. When it’s full, he swipes his hand, lighting the coals beneath the tub. Šetû, still carried in his arms, watches this, fascinated.

     “Are you about to boil me alive and eat me?” She asks and Sukuna is about to retort when he hears the cheeky note in her tone. One of his hands pinches her and she yelps.

     “No, I am going to bathe you, and then you are going to sleep without opium tonight.”

     Šetû smiles as he lowers her into the water, testing its warmth before it touches her skin. She sinks into the tub until it’s up to her shoulders. Sukuna sits on a stool next to the tub and begins, without question, scrubbing her down. She laughs but then realizes that something is different, as if a chain on her soul has been shattered loose, freeing up part of herself she hadn’t realized she’d been trying to bury all these months.

     Sukuna scrubs in silence, and eventually the water is milky as the last of the body paint is washed away. Šetû is boneless and replete as she stands in the tub, and he passes her the silk absorbing sheet to dry off. Then, she hesitates.

     “Sleep here?” She asks. “With you?”

     Sukuna stares at her as if she’s an idiot.

     “Where else did you plan on sleeping tonight? You may return to your room if you wish.” He shrugs, then smirks. “Your brazier stays here, however.”

     Her eyes go wide and then he barks with laughter.

     “Your face…” he cackles. “You may go if that is your wish. Or stay if you wish it. I believe you learned a valuable lesson this night, and tomorrow, you and I will test that lesson outside.”

     Šetû gives an indignant scoff. “I am not letting you do that to me outside, Sukuna!”

     Sukuna blinks, confused, then laughs again.

     “Sometimes I think you’re shrewd,” he says. “And then I realize that you are also an idiot. Go to bed. No opium. Tomorrow morning, I test your breathing in battle.”

     Šetû grabs his haori, throwing it on, as well as snatching up her brazier. She heads toward the door, then stops.

     “Thank you,” she says to him. He stares at her as if he wants to say something, then sucks his teeth.

     “I’d better see some improvement in the morning,” is all he says. Šetû takes her turn to share a smile with the darkness. Clutching his haori tight over her naked body, she opens the door.

     “Goodnight, Sukuna,” she says, knowing that tomorrow she will revert back to honorifics. Sukuna does not respond, but there’s a subtle dip of his chin as she slips out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Her bells jingle as she heads down the hall to her room, waiting until she collapses in the bed to let the full of her grin pull at her face. Replete, she doesn’t even notice when her eyes slip shut, and she sinks into the soft, amniotic darkness of true rest.

     The morning dawns clear and bright, and the single plum blossom tree in the meditation garden boasts clusters of green buds, seeking the sunlight.

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[thezombieprostitute]

Nurse Heartthrob

Summary: Your son is in the hospital and his nurse makes sure to take care of him and you.

Warnings: Ex-boyfriend angst, Hospital setting, Sick child. Please let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors used.

Word Count: ~2.5k

As always, many thanks to @bigtreefest for her help with the medical stuff!

It's a phone call no parent ever wants to get. Your son, Val, had passed out on the playground and they were rushing him to the hospital. You let your boss know what was happening and drove out to the emergency room where the school said they'd sent him. Dr. Rogers was very reassuring about everything but insisted Val get admitted to pediatrics.

Given your son's medical history you were quick to agree. Val had been diagnosed with Long QT Syndrome just a few months after he was born. That was, apparently, the final straw for your ex-boyfriend, claiming he couldn't handle the responsibility of taking care of a sick child. Never mind that having a kid was his idea to begin with. Never mind that you'd already been doing most of the work. He left the two of you and, last you'd heard, he'd been hitting up younger women at the same bar where he'd met you.

For now, though, you had to focus on your son. The pediatrics nurse, Jake, was incredible. He had Val smiling and feeling at ease in minutes while also putting you at ease with his competency. Watching your baby getting IVs, shots, blood draws never got easier but, thankfully, Jake was proficient and you know Val's not hurting more needed. The doctor comes in, asking the usual questions. You always keep a folder of Val's medical history, always updating it with each appointment.

She looks over everything and finally says, "I agree Val should stay in the hospital for a bit but we don't have room in pediatrics. Thankfully there are a few open beds in cardiology and that'll make it easier to get Val the tests he needs."

You nod in understanding and the doctor gives Jake the go-ahead.

As he starts prepping the bed to move you ask, "how long do you think until someone takes us to cardiology?"

"I'm taking you now," he smiles.

"Aren't..aren't there designated nurses? Techs? Who move the beds between departments?"

"Normally, yes," Jake nods. "But my wife works in cardiology so they let me escort patients there so I can get a few minutes with her."

"That's sweet," Val pipes up. His voice is tired, weak, and it breaks your heart.

"It really is," you agree. You stuff down the jealousy you feel. It's clear Jake loves his wife and you really wish you had that for yourself.

Jake makes conversation easy throughout the walk. Val tells him about his latest Lego creation and he gets almost cartoonishly animated, making you and Val smile.

You know you've reached the cardiology wing when Jake stands up and waves, "Dr. Wifey! Over here!"

One of the doctors stops what she's doing, her face beaming with happiness, and walks over.

Following her is one of the biggest nurses you've ever seen. He's got a buzz cut, a slight beard, and eyes that look like a clear blue sky in winter. But his build, the tattoo covered arms especially, is making your own heart flutter.

"Dr. Wifey" introduces herself to you with her actual name, though you're certain you'll always think of her as "Dr. Wifey." She asks the nurse, Curtis, to take over pushing the bed so Jake can get back to pediatrics. While she looks at Jake affectionately, get actions and tone are professional, for which you're grateful. As cute as they are together, you can only stomach so much sweetness. Less so during times like this.

You get the impression that Curtis feels the same with how he rolls his eyes a little. He smiles at you and Val, introducing himself before taking over moving the bed. He and Jake banter a little and you're not sure if they're actually friends, if they're trying to make things easier for you and Val, or both. You hope it's both.

"Okay, Jake, we've gotta get Val to his room and you gotta get back to work," Dr. Wifey says with a kiss.

"Later, Nurse Puppy," Curtis waves as he starts moving the bed.

"See ya, Nurse Heartthrob," Jake returns as he starts walking back.

While Val is giggling at the banter you see Curtis turn pink, making you not ask about the nickname. Truth be told, the way your own heart reacted to him, you're pretty sure you already know the source.

Along the way Dr. Wifey is looking over Val's chart and praising your detailed, organized folder. Her questions are so much more relevant than some of Val's other appointments. You don't have to repeat information and her follow up questions show she's actually listening. It's a nice change of pace from the doctors who never seem to believe anything you tell them.

She asks some questions directly to Val about what he was doing right before he passed out. He shakes his head and says he was just sitting around at recess. You sense there's something he's not saying and encourage him to tell the whole truth, that he's safe.

"How about we start you off with a nap?" Dr. Wifey suggests. "You've had a long, scary day and could probably use the rest."

"Yes, please," Val pouts.

"Okay," you nod. "You get some rest and I'll run home and get our hospital bags, okay? The ones with Legos?"

"Thanks, Mom," Val smiles. You smile back and say a quick goodbye before heading out.

As soon as you're out of hearing range, Curtis turns to Val, "so what were you really doing? Get into a fight with some of the other kids or something?"

Val hesitates and Dr. Wifey adds, "patient doctor confidentiality, Val. Anything you tell me is just between us."

"I tried playing kickball," he confesses. "I know I'm not supposed to. That I have be careful with my heart. But it looked like fun!"

Curtis feels his heart wrench at that. He just wants to be a kid, but because of some inherited disorder, he can't even run around.

"Why didn't you want to say anything in front of your mother?" Dr. Wifey follows up.

"Because I don't want her to get upset."

"Upset?" Curtis raises an eyebrow, immediately on guard for something horrible.

"She cries so much," Val tells whispers. "Sometimes, when she thinks I'm asleep, I'll hear her crying about wishing she could give me a normal life. I don't want her crying because I tried to play."

Curtis fights to keep himself under control. If the kickball comment wrenched his heart, this was a punch to the gut.

"She sounds like a good mom," Dr. Wifey chimes in. Curtis recognizes the emotion in her voice. Val only nods in response.

"She said the hospital bag included Legos?" Curtis chimes in.

"Yeah," Val smiles softly. "They're fun and...and normal. They help me play while not hurting my heart."

"They're definitely fun," Curtis agrees. "When you get them, can I play with them a little? I could use the diversion during my shift."

Val's smile widens, "yeah. That sounds good."

As you park in the hospital parking lot for the second time that day, you take a minute to steady yourself. You know the nap suggestion was a ploy so they could ask Val questions without having you answer for him. Normally they wait until they start doing tests but Val probably could use the rest. Maybe it was so the doctor could get some more time to look over Val's history and not duplicate any needless tests. You only hope Val finally told them something so they can take care of him properly. It's killing you that Val thinks he needs to keep secrets from you, but you suppose it's part of what happens as kids get older.

You'd been so distracted on your way last time you'd forgotten to make note of the directions to Val's bed, so you stopped at the Nurses' Station.

"Oh, Val's your kid!" Teresa, the nurse, comments. "He's such a sweetie!"

"Thank you," you smile.

"He and Nurse Heartthrob have become fast friends, too."

"Nurse Heartthrob?" Though you'd heard the nickname before, you thought it was between Curtis and Jake.

"We call him that because his appearance always makes the patients' heart rates spike," she chuckles. "He's quite the looker. Have you seen those arms?"

"I have," you half smile. "Trying not to, though. Guy that looks like him has to have a partner or something already."

She sighs, "I know. As far as we can tell he's single, but no one knows for certain. He just says he doesn't date coworkers which, honestly, don't blame him. A few girls were tempted to switch to other parts of the hospital."

That makes you chuckle. "It's nice to know I'm not the only one who's got trouble getting a date with a hottie."

"As much as I'm enjoying the compliments," Curtis's voice interrupts you, "how about I lead you to Val's room?"

Teresa's eyes widen almost as much as yours. You cough from surprise, your face heated with embarrassment. Who knew such a large man could move so quietly? Or maybe you're just that tired.

When you get your bearings you turn to Curtis, "yes, please. Thank you." When you're far enough away from the Nurses' Station you apologize. "I'm sorry about that conversation. I...should have been more respectful."

Curtis shakes his head, "not the first time I've heard something like it. Probably won't be the last."

"Still, I feel like I should be past the whole high school thing."

"Lotta people should be but aren't. You get used to it, especially in a hospital."

"I suppose people who work your kind of job do need whatever outlets they can get."

Curtis nods. "For a lot of nurses it's the gossip, the trash tv. Other times it's meditation or yoga. Stuff you don't have to think about. Lets you keep your mental energy for the patients."

"Can I ask what your outlet is?"

"Only if I can ask you a question about you and Val."

"Sure."

Curtis stops walking and leans in, conspiratorially. "My outlet is junk food. It means I have to spend a ton of time in the gym, but I'm addicted to those thousand-plus-calorie snacks and fast food. It's food I don't have to cook, don't have to worry about clean up, and it gives me the energy I need for the day."

"I can relate," you nod, smiling. "With Val's health we always have to be careful with what we eat but sometimes I'll treat myself to something on my way to work."

Curtis smiles and you feel your heart speed up. "I'm glad you treat yourself from time to time. From what Val's told us, you work really hard to take care of him."

Your smile drops, "he's my world. Such a good kid who never asked for any of this."

"But that also leads me to my question, what's the story behind Val's...Y chromosome contributor?"

"I gotta remember that one," you snort. "Last I heard, the contributor is at a bar he's way too old for hitting on women who are way too young. He swore up and down that having a kid would be great for us, that it was his life's dream to have a child. Then, when Val was diagnosed, he bailed saying he couldn't handle the pressure or something."

"Well that's bullshit," Curtis scoffs. "How much did you tell Val?"

"I told Val his 'dad' is a liar who doesn't deserve us. That he lied about being faithful to the two of us. It's enough of the truth without Val needing to worry about his health being the reason he doesn't have a dad like so many other kids."

"Your secret is safe with me," Curtis says in such a way that you believe him.

"Thank you."

"By the way, you have two hospital bags for Val? Is one of them just for his toys or something?"

"One of them is for me," you explain. "I still need to work, but I can spend all my non-work time here with him. Got myself some toiletries, a phone charger for my books, a couple changes of clothing, all that."

Curtis just nods, silently wishing more patients had someone willing to stick around for them.

When you get to Val's bed he's sleeping soundly. You're careful to get things settled so that you don't wake him. You put his latest Lego creation on the patient table so he can see it when he wakes up. You called his school while you were getting the bags and they promised to have materials for you so you can keep up his lessons.

Throughout the week, every time Curtis arrives to work, he makes sure to get you a coffee. He says it's the free stuff from the break room. You have no idea he's buying you the better stuff from the cafe and pouring it into one of the generic cups from the coffee dispenser. Some of his coworkers give him questioning looks but he pretends he doesn't see; he's not entirely sure why he's doing it either.

Sometimes when you get to the hospital after work, you'll catch Curtis and Val playing with his Legos. It warms your heart to see Val smile and laugh so much. Even when he sleeps, he's smiling. It makes you wonder if you should try getting back into dating, giving Val someone else who cares for him. Giving yourself someone who cares for you. You're not sure anyone could compare to Curtis, but that's not really a fair comparison to begin with. It's his job to be caring and supporting. To check in on you and Val. Besides, someone like him can do much better than a single mother with a sick kid.

The morning before Val gets released to go home, you go for a drive to the nearest McDonald's and order some of the worst sounding foods you see.

Back at the hospital, you spot Curtis and hand him the bag. "Just a small thank you for taking care of me and Val so much."

Curtis feels his mouth watering at the smell of the food. It's such a big bag, too! He smiles, "any time. And, uh, if it's not too forward, can I give you my number? In case you or Val need some help?"

Your eyes soften and Curtis feels his heart lurch, worried he overstepped. "I can't ask that of you, Curtis. You have such a taxing job already. You don't need to work outside of the hospital, too."

"I wouldn't consider it work," he tells you. "I'd consider it...getting to know someone better? Someone I'm...I'm interested in getting to know better?"

"Oh? Oh!" you exclaim as your eyes widen. "You...you really mean that?"

His eyes soften as he smiles. "Yeah, I mean it."

"Thank you, Curtis. I'm looking forward to calling you."

Tagging:

@alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @kmc1989; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

[goldfades]

jealous!reader with devin booker. because of an ex or maybe someone trying to hit on him (make it as angsty as you can)

AAAAA yes, i loved writing this sm. angst may be my fav genre

You weren’t mad.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But the tight knot in your stomach, the way your arms were crossed just a little too tightly over your chest, the way your jaw had been clenched for the last twenty minutes? Yeah, that told a different story.

The night was supposed to be fine. You and Devin had already been on shaky ground before even stepping foot into the event—one of those stupid, lingering arguments that started small but had grown into something bigger, heavier. Something neither of you wanted to talk about, but also something you couldn't quite let go of.

It had started earlier in the afternoon. Something small, a conversation that should’ve lasted five minutes but spiraled into something else entirely.

“I just don’t get why you still talk to her.”

Devin had sighed, already exhausted before the argument even started. “It’s not like that.”

You had given him a sharp look, arms crossing over your chest. “Then what is it like, Devin? Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like your ex still thinks she has a place in your life.”

“She’s not in my life,” he had said, voice tight, like he was trying to keep his patience in check. “We broke up. We don’t talk like that. Why are you making this a thing?”

That had been the match to the fire.

Because it was always the same when you fought—he was calm, collected, logical. And you? You felt everything all at once, sharp and overwhelming, and it burned at you until you had to say something. And the worst part? He never saw it the way you did. He never understood why it sat so heavy in your chest.

And now, here you were.

Standing at his side at some exclusive event, dressed to perfection, forced to smile and act like you weren’t barely speaking to him when, in reality, you felt like you were drowning.

And then—because of course the universe hated you—she showed up.

The ex.

The one who wasn’t in his life but, apparently, was still comfortable enough to be here, in his space, in your space, looking at him like she hadn’t lost him years ago.

She was beautiful. Stunning, even. And worse? She knew it. She had that effortless, casual confidence of someone who wasn’t afraid of anything, least of all you. And that made you sick.

It wasn’t even what she said—it was the way she looked at him. The way she leaned in just enough when she laughed, the way she barely acknowledged you standing right there, like you were an afterthought.

And the worst part? Devin wasn’t shutting it down.

He wasn’t flirting, but he also wasn’t walking away.

And that was enough to send your stomach twisting, your throat tightening, the words already bubbling up before you could stop them.

You weren’t mad.

But you were about to be.

The air between you and Devin was thick—tense—so much so that you could barely hear the hum of conversations around you, barely register the music drifting through the venue. All you could focus on was her and the way Devin wasn’t doing a damn thing to put distance between them.

Your nails dug into your palm as you watched the exchange unfold. She was laughing, tilting her head just slightly, that kind of effortless, I know I still get under your skin type of posture that made you feel feral.

And Devin?

He wasn’t laughing. But he also wasn’t shutting it down.

Not immediately. Not the way you would have wanted him to.

His body language wasn’t exactly inviting, but it wasn’t closed off either. His hands were in his pockets, expression unreadable, giving those short, polite responses that weren’t necessarily warm but weren’t cold enough.

And that’s what killed you.

Because you knew Devin.

You knew what it looked like when he wasn’t interested in a conversation. You’d seen him completely ignore people at events like this, brush them off, make it clear he had no time for them.

But right now? He wasn’t doing that.

He was letting her talk.

Letting her linger in your space, steal your moment.

Your chest felt tight, like your heart was pushing up against your ribcage, trying to claw its way out. The irritation burned under your skin, hotter and heavier with every passing second.

And then—then—she reached out.

Fingertips, barely there, just a light touch on his arm as she said something low enough that you couldn’t hear.

And that was it.

The thin thread of restraint holding you together snapped.

Your hand shot out before you could stop yourself, curling around Devin’s wrist, firm, a clear, unspoken message.

His head turned instantly, eyes locking onto yours—dark, sharp, aware. He knew. He knew. And yet, for some reason, he still looked surprised.

You forced a smile—tight, too sweet, dripping with something almost dangerous. “Babe,” you said, voice light but laced with an undeniable edge, “I didn’t realize we were catching up with old friends tonight.”

Devin exhaled slowly through his nose, something flickering behind his eyes. “It’s not like that.”

You tilted your head, squeezing his wrist just a little before dropping it. “Really?” You flicked a glance at her, your expression unreadable, before turning back to him. “Because it looks a lot like that.”

She let out a soft little laugh, the kind that made your blood simmer just under your skin. “Relax,” she said, tone airy, like this was all a joke. “We were just talking—nothing serious.”

Your eyes snapped back to her, and you felt something sharp twist in your gut. You weren’t proud of the way you reacted next, but at this point, you weren’t thinking straight.

“Oh, I’m relaxed,” you shot back, still smiling, still maintaining that same deadly sweetness. “But maybe next time, you can just talk from a little farther away.”

There it was. The shift.

The briefest flicker of surprise crossed her features before she masked it with a knowing smirk, like she loved that she was getting to you, like she thrived off it.

But Devin?

Devin sighed, raking a hand down his face, and that? That pissed you off more than anything.

Because now he was acting like you were the problem.

Like you were making something out of nothing.

Like you were overreacting.

The heat in your chest turned ice-cold. You took a small step back, your arms crossing over your chest. “You know what?” Your voice dropped, quieter now, more dangerous. “I think I’m done with this conversation.”

Devin’s brows pulled together, his body shifting slightly toward you, like he could feel the way you were closing yourself off. “Wait—”

But you were already turning on your heel, already stepping away, already heading toward the exit.

And if he didn’t follow?

Then that would tell you everything you needed to know.

Devin caught up to you just as you stepped onto the curb, your phone in hand, thumb moving over the screen with quick, furious taps.

“Are you serious right now?” His voice was rough, low, still measured—but barely. Like he was fighting to keep it together.

You didn’t look at him. “Dead serious.”

His jaw clenched as he caught sight of your screen. Uber arriving in 4 minutes.

“Come on, man,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand down his face like he couldn’t believe he was actually dealing with this. “You’re being ridiculous.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Your head snapped up, eyes burning, voice razor-sharp. “I’m being ridiculous?”

He exhaled, hard. “Yeah. You are.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Devin.” You let out a hollow laugh, shoving your phone into your bag with a sharpness that made your hands shake. “Did I ruin your little moment back there? Did I embarrass you?”

His head tilted, his eyes narrowing in warning. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like I wanted that to happen.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest, shaking your head. “You let it happen.”

“I—” He cut himself off, looking away for half a second, hands planted on his hips, trying to breathe. “It wasn’t like that.”

“But you didn’t stop it either,” you shot back, voice sharp, pointed, digging into him like glass. “You let her stand there, you let her touch you, you let her look at you like—”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, taking a step closer, his voice dipping dangerously low. “You’re really doing this right now?”

“Yes, Devin! I am!” Your voice cracked at the end, emotion spilling out, raw and unfiltered. You didn’t care who was watching anymore. Didn’t care that people were turning heads as they stepped out of luxury cars, eyes flickering toward the two of you with thinly veiled curiosity. Let them watch.

“You don’t get it,” you muttered, shaking your head, your chest rising and falling fast, your emotions right there, just under the surface, threatening to rip you open. “You never get it.”

His brows pulled together, his voice quieter now. “Then help me understand.”

But that’s what made you angrier. Because he wasn’t raising his voice, he wasn’t matching your fire, he was standing there, calm, acting like this was something logical, something fixable, when it felt so much bigger than that.

You ran a hand through your hair, gripping the strands at the roots. “You don’t see the way she looks at you, Devin. The way other people do. The way—”

His jaw flexed, his nostrils flaring slightly. “I don’t give a fuck how she looks at me.”

“But you don’t care how I feel about it either,” you said, voice breaking.

And that? That landed.

His entire body tensed, his expression shifting just slightly—something cracking, something faltering.

But before he could say anything, before you could even process the weight of your own words, your Uber pulled up.

You turned immediately, reaching for the door handle, but before you could even blink, Devin’s hand wrapped around your wrist, firm, pulling you back.

“Oh, hell no,” he muttered.

You yanked your arm, but his grip was solid. “Devin, let go.”

“Not a fucking chance,” he bit out, already reaching past you to yank the door shut before you could open it.

“Are you serious?” You turned on him, furious, shoving at his chest with both hands, but he barely moved.

“You’re not getting in that car,” he said, his voice low, his grip still tight on your wrist, not painful, but enough to make it clear.

You struggled against him, your heart hammering, every part of you buzzing with adrenaline. “Let. Me. Go.”

His eyes burned into yours, dark and unrelenting. “No.”

You shoved at him again, but this time, he moved.

Not away. Forward.

And before you could stop him, before you could even think, he was wrapping an arm around your waist, lifting you like you weighed nothing, turning toward the valet stand like he was on a fucking mission.

“Devin, what the fuck! Put me down!” You thrashed against him, pushing at his shoulders, his chest, but it was useless. He was stronger, determined, stubborn as hell.

“You wanna scream at me?” he gritted out, barely breaking stride. “Fine. You can do it in my car.”

The valet had his car waiting already, probably watching the scene with wide eyes, but Devin didn’t give a single shit. He reached for the handle, yanked the door open, and practically threw you into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut before you could even think about escaping.

You were fuming, your entire body vibrating with frustration as you ripped at the door handle—locked.

The driver’s side opened, and Devin slid in, his jaw tight, his hands gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles went white.

Silence hung thick between you, the kind that burned, that pressed against your chest like a vice.

Your breath was ragged, your entire body coiled tight.

You turned to him, eyes blazing. “You cannot be serious right now.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head once before glancing over at you. His eyes were still burning, still heated, but there was something else there, something desperate.

“I wasn’t about to let you leave like that,” he said, voice rough, quiet, like the fight had drained him, like the weight of everything was settling on his shoulders.

Your throat felt tight, too many emotions swirling all at once, too much heat, too much everything.

So you said the only thing you could.

“Then fucking fix it.”

Devin let out a sharp exhale, his hands gripping the steering wheel like he was using it to anchor himself. His jaw was tight, his eyes locked straight ahead, chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths—like he was trying to keep himself in check.

But you could feel it.

The tension. The heat radiating off him. The way his whole body was taut, wound up like a rubber band stretched too thin, about to snap.

You weren’t much better.

Your pulse was pounding, the remnants of the screaming match still hot in your veins, your hands clenched into fists in your lap. Your throat was raw, your face still flushed, your mind still replaying every little moment from the last hour—the argument earlier, the look on his ex’s face, the way Devin hadn’t immediately shut it down.

The way he’d practically thrown you in his car to stop you from leaving.

You were both breathing hard, like neither of you had fully come down from it yet.

The car was silent.

Thick, suffocating silence.

You weren’t sure who was going to break it first, but it sure as hell wasn’t going to be you.

Devin finally inhaled, slow and deep, before gripping the gear shift and pulling out of the valet lane. His driving was steady—controlled—but you could tell he was barely holding it together. His jaw was clenched so hard you swore you could hear his teeth grinding.

Minutes passed.

The tension didn’t ease.

Not when he turned onto the highway. Not when the city lights blurred past the window in streaks of white and gold. Not when he let out another slow breath, his fingers drumming against the wheel like he was working through the thousands of things he wanted to say.

Then, finally—

“I wasn’t entertaining her.”

His voice was low, heavy, like he was forcing himself to say it.

You didn’t turn your head, your arms still crossed over your chest, your nails digging into your skin. “You didn’t stop her either.”

Devin’s hands tightened around the wheel. “I was about to.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head as you stared out the window. “Right. Sure. About to.”

His grip on the wheel twitched. “Don’t do that.”

You turned sharply toward him, eyes blazing. “Do what?”

“Act like I wanted any of that shit.”

“You didn’t stop it, Devin.” Your voice cracked on his name, and that—that was what really betrayed you. The heat of your anger was laced with something else now.

Hurt.

And he heard it.

He felt it.

His jaw ticked, his eyes flickering to you for the briefest second before returning to the road. “I was being polite.”

You let out another bitter scoff, your whole body twisting toward him now. “Polite?” You stared at him, incredulous. “Polite is saying ‘hi’ and moving the fuck on. Polite is not standing there, letting her laugh at every stupid thing you say, letting her touch you like—”

“She wasn’t touching me,” he snapped, his voice suddenly sharper.

Your heart dropped.

Your head tilted, your nails digging into your palms. “Are you—are you actually trying to tell me she wasn’t touching you?”

His throat bobbed. His fingers flexed against the wheel.

You knew Devin inside and out. You knew what every little movement meant, the way his body betrayed what his mouth wouldn’t say.

He knew he’d messed up.

Knew he’d let it go on too long.

And the fact that he wasn’t admitting it? That burned.

“Wow,” you muttered, voice hollow, shaking your head as you turned back toward the window. “Okay.”

Devin let out a breath through his nose, his hands gripping the wheel tighter. “I didn’t—fuck.” His voice cracked, frustration bleeding into it. “I wasn’t thinking, alright? I should’ve shut it down faster. I should’ve told her to fuck off the second she opened her mouth.”

You swallowed hard, willing yourself to stay angry, but your heart was hammering in your chest.

“But you didn’t,” you murmured.

Devin exhaled sharply, one hand coming off the wheel to rake through his hair.

“I didn’t,” he admitted, voice rough, like it physically pained him to say it. “I fucked up. I know I did.”

Silence.

You stared at your lap, your mind racing.

Devin glanced at you, his voice softer now, like he was trying to break through the wall you were putting up. “I wasn’t thinking. I swear to you, baby—I didn’t give a fuck about her. I don’t. I don’t.”

Your throat felt tight, your arms still crossed over your chest like they could somehow hold you together. “She still thinks she has a place in your life.”

“She doesn’t.” His voice was firm now, like he needed you to hear it. “And I’ll make sure she knows that.”

You closed your eyes for a second, inhaling deeply, trying to process everything. The fight. The way your emotions were still buzzing under your skin. The way Devin sounded so—so gutted now, so frustrated with himself, with you, with all of it.

The car slowed as he pulled onto the street leading to his house.

When he finally parked in the driveway, he turned the engine off but didn’t move. Didn’t look at you. Just gripped the wheel, his breathing deep, controlled.

Then, finally—

“I don’t ever want you to feel like that again.”

Your stomach twisted, your chest aching in a way that made it hard to breathe.

Devin turned, his dark eyes burning into yours, intense, raw. “You have to know that you’re it for me.”

You didn’t say anything, your throat too tight.

He reached for you then—soft, his fingers brushing against your hand, like he was waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t.

His voice was lower now, quieter. “Come inside?”

You hesitated for a second, your emotions still raw, but deep down, you wanted to. Because despite the fight, despite the way your heart still ached, he was Devin.

And Devin had never made you feel like you weren’t his.

So you swallowed hard, exhaled, and finally—finally—nodded.

His shoulders sagged slightly, relief flickering across his face, and he squeezed your hand, holding onto you like he wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

And you?

You weren’t ready to let go either.

Devin didn’t waste a second. The moment you nodded, his hand slid into yours, warm and solid, his grip tight—like he was afraid you’d change your mind, like if he let go for even a second, you’d slip through his fingers.

He practically rushed around the car, opening the passenger door for you before you could do it yourself. The moment your feet hit the pavement, he was there, standing close, his presence heavy, his body heat radiating into yours.

Neither of you spoke as you walked inside.

The tension wasn’t gone. The fight still hung between you, thick and unrelenting, buzzing under your skin like a live wire.

But Devin wasn’t letting you go.

Not tonight. Not ever.

The front door shut behind you with a quiet click, and before you could take another step, his hand was on your wrist again—firm but not forceful, pulling you to a stop.

“Hey.”

His voice was soft now. Rough around the edges, strained, but softer.

You didn’t turn around immediately. You weren’t sure if you could without completely unraveling.

“Baby.” His fingers curled tighter around your wrist, like he was trying to pull you back, trying to pull you into him.

You swallowed hard, squeezing your eyes shut for a second before finally—finally—turning to face him.

And the second you did, Devin exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath this whole time.

He stepped closer, his free hand coming up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing against your cheek, his touch hesitant—like he was waiting for you to push him away.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

You were so mad at him. You were still hurt. But Devin was Devin, and his touch had always had this way of grounding you, pulling you back to him, making it impossible to stay away.

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I hate fighting with you.”

Your chest tightened. “Then don’t give me a reason to.”

His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles against your cheek, his lips parting like he had a million things to say but didn’t know where to start.

“I fucked up,” he finally murmured. “I know I did. And I swear to you, baby, I’ll never let that shit happen again.”

Your throat felt tight, emotions bubbling up again, but you forced yourself to speak. “It’s not even about her, Devin. It’s—” You swallowed hard, voice quieter now. “It’s about how I felt.”

His jaw ticked. “I know.”

“No, you don’t,” you said, shaking your head. “You don’t get what it’s like to stand there and watch someone act like you belong to them. You don’t get what it’s like to feel small in the middle of a room full of people because your boyfriend—the man who swears he loves you—isn’t stopping it.”

Devin flinched. Actually flinched.

Like your words physically hit him.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, closing his eyes for a second before exhaling sharply. “That’s not—fuck.” His grip on your waist tightened. “That’s not what I want you to feel. Ever.”

Silence.

His eyes searched yours, desperate, pleading, like he was trying to fix this just by looking at you.

And maybe—maybe—he was.

Because as much as you hated to admit it, the way he was looking at you was fixing something.

It wasn’t everything. But it was something.

You inhaled slowly, hands resting against his chest, fingers curling slightly into the soft fabric of his hoodie. “Then prove it.”

Devin nodded once, sharp, like he understood, like he’d already made the decision. “I will.”

You studied him for a second, your anger still there, still simmering beneath the surface, but your trust? That hadn’t broken.

Not yet.

Not with him.

He leaned in, his nose brushing against yours, his voice a whisper. “Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t answer immediately. You let him wait, let him feel the weight of the moment, let him sit in the tension he had created.

Then, finally—finally—you nodded.

And the second you did, Devin didn’t hesitate.

His lips crashed into yours, desperate, needy, like he needed to feel you, needed to show you everything he hadn’t been able to say. His hands gripped your waist tight, pulling you flush against him, like he couldn’t stand the thought of even an inch of space between you.

And you let him.

Because damn it, you needed it too.

The fight wasn’t over.

The anger wasn’t gone.

But right now? Right now, you just needed to feel him.

And the way Devin kissed you?

The way he held you like you were the only thing that mattered?

That was all you needed to know.

[straows]

𝘚𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘥, 𝘯𝘰 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘺, 𝘕𝘖 𝘔𝘈𝘕. 𝘐’𝘮 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘺𝘢𝘭𝘭… 😔

𝘐 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘰. 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘞𝘌𝘌𝘋 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘺 𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬.

You were quick to leave the house. Feeling sick to your stomach, and salty tears burning down your cheeks, you pulled out of the drive. You looked like a hot mess. Wearing an oversized t-shirt and nothing but leggings and some socks, you shouldn’t be on the road.

And you damn sure shouldn’t be driving.

Your phone was blowing up though, the contact ‘Handsome man❤️’ get popping up. One call, two calls, three calls, and before you knew it you racked up 75 missed calls, and 124 messages.

After running a few red lights, and almost pit maneuvering some old bitch for going to damn slow, you made it finally to your girls house. And before you could even knock on that door, the lady herself had ripped the door open from its hinges and yanked you inside.

“Ho, I have seen you on Life360 driving like you ain’t got nothing to lose! What the fuck is wrong with you?” She glared at you, worried for sure, but her anger melted in the face of your teary, puffy and red face. “Oh what happened? Here sit down and I’ll get you a drink.”

“H-he thinks I’m ugly and- and he knows I’ve been working out now and-“ your sniffles kept breaking up your sentence, soft voice cracking under the pressure of heart ache.

“Baby he does not think you’re ugly. Have you seen that man? Have you seen the shit he comments on your post? If he wasn’t your boyfriend I’d have half the mind to report his ass for harassment. Dude is thirsty.”

Now that did make you laugh, a little smile rose to your lips before you sighed and stared at the ground before finally talking about what happened. And you told her everything.

“That’s why you’ve been losing so much weight? Girl that is for the wrong reason! You are so fine already, woman what the hell is wrong with.” Your best friend sat down beside you, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh as she wiped your face.

“I don’t know… it’s just the way he looked at her.” And the water works started all over again.

“He was drunk- and now I know the saying drunk words are sober thoughts but I don’t think that applies to this situation.” She held your hands before letting you rest your head on her shoulder. “That man is in love with you, y/n. Yeah, he’s a dumbass. And yes, you did gain weight but that was some sexy weight.”

You found yourself smiling again as you looked up at her. “Yeah?”

“Hell yes. If I was a man I’d be tappin’ that ass so quick!” The woman laughed along with you, smiling before leaning forward and handing you some water.

“So you think he was just talking out his ass?” You looked over at her, eyes no longer glossy from crying.

“Yes! Didn’t you say he just watched Transformers? You KNOW what that movie does to him- makes him act all weird n shit.” Your friend’s lips curled in disgust and you couldn’t help but cackle.

“Oh my god he does do that doesn’t he?” You couldn’t not laugh. It was like a kid trying to be a gangster, except it made Gojo act like an asshole. “He’s so weird.” You smiled fondly, the pressure on your chest elevated a little bit.

“He is so weird! Why the hell did you pick him? And after all the fine ass men I tried to set you up with.” Your friend got up and grabbed some snacks.

“Um, they weren’t fine, you just wanted them to give you free weed by extension of me.” You rolled your eyes but laughed when she glared at you.

“We would have BOTH gotten free weed.” She threw a bag of chips at you, before noticing your phone still blowing up. “Damn- 300 unopened texts?!”

“Should I answer him?” You looked down at your phone, the phone still locked but you could see the number of texts and called.

“Yes. Girl I promise you he loves you. And even if you do gain weight, you look good with some thick on you. Like white on rice I’m finna be on that ass if you don’t answer that phone cause it’s starting to piss me off.” Your friend left the room to give you some privacy.

You smiled as you watched her walk away before finally picking up the phone and opening it.

“BABY! PLEASE ANSWER ME!”

“DONT DO THIS I LOVE YOU!”

“I MEANT TO RESPOND I WAS JUST SHOCKED!”

“I REMEMBERED WHAT I SAID AT THAT PARTY- BABY I DIDNT MEAN IT!”

“PLEASE RESPOND TO ME Y/N I NEED YOU TO KNOW THAT I DIDNT MEAN IT!”

“I JUST WATCHED CARS, YOU KNOW WHAT IT DOES TO ME!”

“BABY YOU COULD BE 900lbs AND I WOULDNT CARE!”

“PLEASE!”

“I WILL KEEP TEXTING YOU!”

“AND CALLING!”

“BABY!”

“NOT TO MENTION I WAS DRINKING YOUR BAD BITCH JUICE!”

“PLEASE IT WAS THE WINE NOT ME”

“I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOUR BODY. YOUR FACe, YOUR PERSONALITY, I LOVE YOU!!!!!”

Sighing softly, you finally answered one of his many calls. Picking up the phone, you could hear his breath panting into the phone, little sniffles heard on the other line.

“Baby?” His voice sounded so sad it broke your heart. “Look I know you’re mad, and you have every right to be I was an absolute prick- I’m so so sorry!”

“Satoru…” looked down at your knees, you took a moment before answering, “that’s the reason I’ve been dieting and doing all this… I just want you to look at me like you did that woman…”

“Baby, fuck that woman! I was not in my right mind CLEARLY, because I said some stupid shit! I love YOU and your body. Baby I love you for you. And yes, you had some extra weight put on, but I loved it. Knowing that I was making you happy enough to relax and eat freely? I was so proud.”

“Really?” You asked, your bottom lip quivering as your heart did flips. “Even my belly?”

“Baby your belly makes me feral. I see it freely when you wear a dress? My cocks hard instantly. I don’t know what it is but I love that shit. But I love YOU more. If you wanna lose weight? That’s fine, I’m here with you. Hell I’ll go with you to the gym. But you wanna gain weight? Oh baby I am so fine with that too.”

“You really mean all this?”

“Yes. On my life. On the elders’ lives. On the neighbors and his children’s lives, and on the life of that stupid ass American president, I’m in love with you and everything you do. I will forever feel like shit for doing this to you baby I’m so sorry.”

“I love you.” You cried into the phone, happy tears as all that heavy weight of anxiety and sadness rushed straight out of you.

“Please let me come get you, or you come here- or- or I’ll come to you- anything you want y/n.” Gojo was shaking on the other line he was talking so fast. You had this man so wrapped around your finger he was sweating. The thought of him hurting you- in anyway, had him going through more phases than Bella did when Edward dumped her.

“I’ll come home. I miss you.” You were quick to get up and grabbed your things. “I love you, I’ll see you when I get there.” Quickly hanging up, you gave your friend a bone crushing hug before rushing to your car.

When you pulled into that driveway, Gojo was standing outside by the front door. And when you opened your door he yanked you out of that car so fast, wrapping his arms around and pulling you to his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” he pressed a quick kiss to your lips, then your nose, eyes, corner of your lips, your forehead, cheeks and chin, no part of your face went unkissed.

Giggling at all his antics, you wrapped your hands around his nape before pulling him into a deep, but loving kiss.

His hands grew tight around your waist, keeping you close as could be as he pressed further into the kiss. Mind you, y’all hadn’t been with each other in weeks. Let alone touched, hugged, kissed or cuddled.

The neighbor rushed out of the house, his ass on fire he was so angry, “quit kissing in the got damn drive way!” Grabbing his hose he immediately aimed it at you two.

Gojo merely flipped him off and deepened the kiss. A giggle split you two apart, you couldn’t stop smiling. Like the happy ending to a movie, Gojo guided you up the steps and inside, but not before he slapped your ass playfully.

After that day, things went back to normal. Hell, even better than normal. Gojo did not go near your wine, nor did he watch Cars 1 or 2. He always had a hand on you, an arm around your waist or an arm around your neck. Where you were, he was.

You gained the weight back, and Gojo did as he said he would. The happy weight you gained was like an aphrodisiac, this man is insane. He’s bending you over the counter, the couch, the bed, the shower, everywhere. He’s fucking you in the walmart bathroom, in an alleyway, at a bar. Hell he cannot not be around you or touch you.

It’s safe to say he’s definitely in love with you. But so are you. And that makes y’all the best couple.

𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴

𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴

𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴.

𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥’𝘷𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘢 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘵. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘺, 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘭 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘐’𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 😏.

𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘶 𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘝𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦

@thesecretlifeofmo @hanakotateyama @fishrene @moonchhu

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀 🔀

120 or 1k for 🔀:

---

Evan doesn’t really understand. They said his bone marrow was supposed to heal him. But it made him very sick, very fast. He dies quicker after it than he would have without it. 

Evan doesn’t understand. But his brother is dead.  

His brother is dead, and his mother hates him. She screams at him. 

“I KNEW IT! I KNEW YOU WEREN’T RIGHT! YOU’RE NOT HIM! YOU’RE NOT HIM AND YOU KILLED MY SONS!” 

She screams at him until he’s sobbing. Until Maddie has to pick him up and take him away from her. Until the doctors have to give her medicine that makes her sleepy. 

She never says it again after that. Doesn’t dare. Evan thinks it’s because she’s scared of how his dad will react; he thinks she’s lost her mind. But even if she doesn’t say it again, Evan never forgets. He never forgets what she accused him of. And he never, not once, feels like she loves him. Not for a second. 

2025

i. 

The skin on Buck’s stomach is burning. It feels like he’s developed a rash or heat blisters all of a sudden. The blade the imposter is holding against him hasn’t broken skin. It hasn’t even ripped his shirt. The point is just pressing into his stomach. He doesn’t know why his body is reacting so viscerally to it, nevertheless.

“Okay, hold up,” Buck pleads to the younger, rougher-looking version of himself.

“Shut up,” he snaps. His voice is a little different than Buck’s. “Take careful, slow steps back into your apartment. Don’t try anything.”

“Okay,” Buck agrees. He does as he’s told. He walks backwards into the loft, the imposter matching his steps. He closes the door behind him. 

Buck turns his head to look at Bobby and Athena. Bobby is rigid, wide-eyed and furious. Athena’s eyes are on her purse, on Buck’s counter. Did she bring her gun? No, right. She doesn’t bring her gun around in her purse. But maybe something? Something that can help?

“Who are these people?” The imposter demands. “Are they like you?”

“Like me?” Buck asks. “What does that mean?”

“Don’t play stupid,” the imposter nearly growls. “I know you can’t lie. I won’t fall for any tricks.”

Okay… So he’s crazy. Like crazy. 

“No one is trying to trick you,” Bobby says. “My name is Bobby. This is my wife, Athena. We’re just friends of Buck’s, okay? That’s all.” 

The imposter’s eyes narrow. “Buck?” 

Buck nods. “That’s my name. My nickname.”

The imposter wrinkles his nose. “That’s stupid.”

Well? Fuck. Okay then. Hold him at knife point and tell him his name sucks. Great. 

“What do we call you?” Athena asks calmly.

“My name is Evan,” he says.

“Okay,” Athena replies. “Evan. You came here because you want something, right? What is it that you want?”

“I want my life back!” He shouts, pressing the blade a bit more firmly. “You stole my life. My family. Give it back.”

“Uh…” Buck struggles. He’s wincing from the pain. “I-I’m sorry, but I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Evan, the imposter, narrows his eyes. “Yes. Yes, you do.”

“Something very strange has happened,” Bobby says. “We’re just learning about it. We don’t have any details, but maybe you do? Maybe you can help? Fill us in?”

“Why would I help you?” He demands. 

“Because we’re all confused, I think,” Athena says. “It sounds like you’re confused, too.”

“I’m not,” the imposter snaps. “I’m not confused! You stole me from my family and took my life! I was just a kid!”

Buck emits a low grunt of pain. It feels like a hot poker is being held to his skin. And, beyond that, he feels like he’s having some sort of nightmare. This is his story. His trauma. The thing that happened to him. He didn’t do it. He’s not the cause.

[pixelatedraindrops]

Overindulgence on Valentine's Day Chocolate~ 🍫💦

This was a very silly little idea I had in my head for Valentine's Day. It was originally going to just be a one-shot fanfiction I write but you should all know by now... xD

I don't know the definition of a one-shot fanfiction

My first ever stomach issue related themed sickfic~ :3

Here is the story (bc archive direct link doesn't wanna work)

Now as for the art, it's pretty self explanatory; our favorite silly little CEO received a lot of appreciation chocolate from some of the citizens of Kanai Ward. Touched by the gesture and finally receiving love reciprocated by the city he loved so much, he didn't leave a single sweet treat given to him untouched or uneaten.

This would later lead to disaster ;w;

Thankfully Yuma is there to lend him a helping hand :3

Spoilers for the Story's Outcome below~ (another drawing +further rambling as always lol I always say too much haha... ^^;)

The best home remedy for an tummy ache is a good tummy rub 🩷

Okay, so I was honestly wanting to write a story like this for a while but was incredibly shy about it... Because upset tummy rubs lowkey are another very small guilty pleasure of mine. When a person gets an upset stomach from either being sick or from overeating, I personally find it to be a very comforting, touching and even at times very intimate gesture. (I even remember trying it myself to help a friend of mine w gastritis in highschool)

Sadly, I felt very shy and even embarrassed to want to try and write something like this, let alone draw it out... Tummy rubs are unfortunately often seen as kinks or are fetishized by other people so it's often seen as weird to the public... So it made me feel nervous to even share this story and art. I did have lots of fun drawing it, but I'm saying it right now, I do NOT fetishize this okay? ><;

(not trying to kink shame, its just not my intention here is all ;w;)

In fact; abdominal massages (a.k.a tummy rubs) are actually a real medical procedure to recover the pressure in one's stomach.

The pose of this art was incredibly difficult to draw but I am fairly happy with the way it came out. Yuma looks either doting or affectionate towards Makoto and Makoto looks perfectly relaxed laying in his lap c: Yuma politely took his shoes off but Makoto is the type to leave his shoes on even when he’s laying on furniture (we saw it in ch4 twice lol) They're such cuties, I love them so much💕 (I even added a kitty to convince myself that its cute and not weird... ;w;)

Truth be told, this idea was actually semi-inspired by a little doodle that @cochidinh drew on X. It made me think that if Makoto received valentines from the people of Kanai Ward, would he eat all of them?

And thus this story was born c: (its meant to be silly so please try not to take it too seriously... ;w; They may seem OOC here, I did my best but this is my first time ever writing a story like this so I might be rusty... ;w;)

EXTRA BONUS: Kitty Makoto 🐱

Fun Fact: Did you know that cats only allow belly rubs from a person they trust? :3c I think Makoto is very cat-like tbh haha~

Anyway Happy Valentines Day🩷

Don't eat too much chocolate now! 💦