#unsolved and endless
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unopposablethumbsao3 · 6 months ago
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Garak doing drag* under the name Obsidia N. Order and then when Julian's like "a plain, simple tailor, eh?" he's like "my *dear doctor* what an *imagination* you have, you really read *far too much* into these little coincidences"
*Please note Garak came up in the balls on Cardassia Prime he is serving pure, unadulterated cunt
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shurisneakers · 2 years ago
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how do i write something thats exactly like the thing i just wrote. but not
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vanteguccir · 10 months ago
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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSLEEPLESS NIGHT * SPENCER REID
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SUMMARY :: Where Spencer finally has a night to sleep at his apartment with his girlfriend, but the current case doesn't even let him close his eyes, leading him to study the files until ungodly hours. But who said that Y/N can sleep away from him?
FEATURING Spencer Reid x reader  REQUESTED? no.
WARNINGS :: Slightly mention of age gap (reader is still in college), tooth rotting fluff.
AUTHOR'S NOTE :: that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.
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Spencer hated bringing work home, and he had two very specific reasons for it. First, he loathed the idea of mixing his work life with his personal life. The BAU was a constant source of darkness; gruesome crimes, twisted minds, and the unrelenting pressure to solve the unsolvable.
His home was the opposite: a place of light and warmth, a refuge from the horrors that haunted him on a daily basis. But more importantly, home was where Y/N was. She was the one person who could pull him from the depths of his thoughts, her mere presence offering a calm that he couldn't find anywhere else. She was his life, his anchor, and his sanctuary.
Their time together was sacred, especially with the demands of his job taking him away so often. Whether he was chasing unsubs across the country or spending endless hours poring over case files at the BAU, being away from Y/N was the hardest part of his job. When he was home, he wanted to be fully present, to make up for the time he lost while he was away.
He cherished the quiet moments, the lazy evenings where they could simply exist together without the weight of the world bearing down on him. He wanted to give her every ounce of his attention, to make her feel just how much she meant to him.
But then, there were nights like tonight, when the case followed him home despite his best intentions, forcing him to divide his focus in a way that always left him feeling guilty.
The bedroom was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, filtered through the sheer curtains that hung over the windows. The clock on the nightstand read 2:37 AM, its gentle green glow a quiet reminder of how late it had become.
Spencer lay on his back, his eyes trained on the ceiling, though his mind was far from still. It raced, chasing the loose ends of the case, replaying details, searching for the missing link that could unravel everything. The unsub was smart, meticulous in his planning, calculating in his movements. It was unnerving, the way this case was so close to home, right here in Quantico.
Hotch had granted the team a rare night to return home and rest, knowing the work would pick up again with relentless intensity in the morning. Spencer knew he should be grateful for the chance to sleep in his own bed, to hold Y/N close, and let her warmth lull him into rest. But sleep felt impossible.
Beside him, Y/N slept soundly, her body curled against his. One arm rested across his chest, her hand fisting tightly the fabric of his white shirt and her hand tucked beneath his shoulder, as if even in sleep, she sought him out. Her breathing was soft and even, the slow rise and fall of her chest a soothing rhythm against his side.
Spencer turned his head slightly, watching her. She looked peaceful, her face relaxed in sleep, the faintest hint of a smile still lingering on her lips, probably remains of a dream. His heart clenched with love, a wave of warmth and tenderness washing over him.
With a soft sigh, Spencer slid his right arm beneath her, his hand resting gently on her back, the warmth of her skin seeping through the fabric of the sweater she wore - his sweater. He brought his other hand down to her bare leg, carefully shifting her until her right one draped across his thighs, her body instinctively curling closer to him, almost laying fully above him.
His fingers trailed softly along her thigh, the smooth skin warm beneath his touch. The gesture was soothing, grounding him in the present moment, in the feel of her against him. His thumb stroked lazy circles on her flesh, his touch light and reverent, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of her - as if he already didn't had each part of her craved inside his head.
He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, lingering there for a moment as he breathed in the familiar, comforting scent of her hair. It was a mixture of her shampoo and something uniquely hers, a scent that had always brought him comfort. His lips brushed against the delicate skin of her closed eyelids, another kiss pressed to her temple. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her hand tightening its grip on his shirt.
His right hand traveled across the fabric of his sweater, slipping below it, his fingertips sliding higher, brushing against the bare skin of her back. She was so warm, her skin so soft, and the feel of her made something inside him settle, if only for a moment. He continued to stroke her thigh with one hand, his other one gently massaging the muscles of her back, feeling the way her body relaxed further into him.
He stared at her for a long moment, his mind flickering between her and work. He didn’t want to leave her alone in bed, didn’t want to let it drag him away from her. Spencer knew Y/N deserved a good night's sleep more than anyone. She had been tirelessly studying for her college finals, always the most academically involved and dedicated in her class, which caused her to staying up late, buried in textbooks and research papers - just as he spent sleepless nights away on cases.
But even as he held her close, the details of the case gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, refusing to be ignored.
With a reluctant sigh, he carefully began to shift, his movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to disturb her. His hand on her thigh slid away, and he gently eased her leg off his hips, tucking it back beneath the blankets. She mumbled softly in her sleep, her body instinctively moving toward his warmth even as he slipped out from under her.
Spencer sat up, pausing for a moment as he watched her stir. Her hand reached for him in her sleep, her face burrowing further into his pillow as if searching for his scent. The sight made his chest tighten with both affection and guilty.
With one last glance at Y/N, Spencer stood, moving with the quiet precision of someone who was used to slipping away in the dead of night. He padded silently out of the bedroom, the soft sound of his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet beneath his feet.
The apartment was shrouded in a heavy, comfortable darkness, the only sound breaking the quiet being the distant hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Spencer moved with practiced silence, stepping lightly through the familiar space until he reached the small room they’d turned into a makeshift office. It was cluttered with his books, scattered papers, and, more recently, case files.
He flicked on the desk lamp, casting a soft, amber glow across the cluttered desk. His movements were slow, careful not to disturb the serene quiet that enveloped the apartment as he sank into his chair, rescuing his folded glasses from between all those papers.
In front of him lay the case file, the photographs of the victims staring back at him as if mocking his inability to piece it all together. He scanned the reports for what felt like the hundredth time, his brow creased in thought, eyes darting over the details.
Minutes bled into an hour, maybe more. His glasses had slipped halfway down his nose as he leaned in closer to the desk, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the outline of the crime scene photos. His other hand tugged at the cuff of his pajama sleeve, lost in the rhythm of his restless thoughts.
Just then, the sound of soft footsteps padding across the wooden floor reached his ears, the faint shuffling of bare feet snapping him out of his thoughts. He barely turned in his chair before he saw her; a sleepy, disheveled Y/N standing in the doorway, her figure backlit by the faint glow of the hallway light. The sleeves of his sweater were falling over her hands, causing her shoulders to become exposed, and her eyes were heavy with the remnants of sleep.
"Spence..." She mumbled, her voice raspy and thick with drowsiness. The sight of her tugged at his heart in the most tender way.
Spencer’s face softened instantly, guilt creeping in at the edges of his thoughts. He’d woken her.
"Hey, sweetheart." He murmured, pushing the file aside and giving her his full attention. His voice was quiet, filled with concern. "What are you doing awake? You should be asleep."
Y/N blinked at him, the bleariness in her eyes making her seem even smaller and more vulnerable. She swayed slightly on her feet, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand.
"I woke up... and you weren’t there." She slurred softly, taking a small step toward him, her expression confused and sleepy.
His heart clenched at her words, a wave of guilt washing over him. He hated that he’d caused her to wake up, especially on a week that she spent too much time studying and having little to no rest. He adjusted his posture above the chair, motioning her closer with gentle hands, but Y/N was already moving on her own, shuffling across the room with slow, sleepy steps, her gaze never leaving him.
"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, dove." He whispered as she reached him. He reached out with his hands as she practically fell into his arms.
She pushed his arms open with little effort and maneuvered herself onto his lap, pressing against him as if seeking out the warmth she’d missed. Her legs straddled his thighs, her knees resting above the sides of the chair, her body curling around his like a koala hugging a tree. The weight of her felt perfect, grounding him as she nestled closer, her chest rising and falling softly against him.
"Spence, don’t apologize." She murmured, her breath tickling the skin of his neck as she shifted, her nose nuzzling into the curve of it, seeking his scent. She pressed her face against him, her lips brushing feather-light against the sensitive skin just below his ear as she planted a sleepy kiss. "You know I just can’t sleep well without you."
Spencer let out a shaky breath, the soft, familiar feeling of her lips against his neck sending warmth coursing through him. His left hand instinctively found her back, his fingers running to the hem of his sweater and lifting it slightly, making room for hand to enter under the fabric and meet her skin, spreading his fingers as he began tracing lazy circles along her spine, soothing her.
Y/N sighed in pleasure, her left hand gently crawling up to his face. Her fingers softly traced the rough stubble along his cheek before instinctively pushing his glasses back up to their proper place, her fingertips grazing the bridge of his nose in a familiar, soothing motion.
He smiled softly, his guilt still lingering but melting slightly under the comfort of her touch. She was so close, so vulnerable in her half-asleep state, and it made him feel even more protective of her.
"You should be in bed." He whispered, his voice low and affectionate, his hand continuing its gentle caress. "You have finals tomorrow... and this position’s going to make your back hurt in the morning." He tried to sound stern, but the amusement in his tone betrayed him. He couldn’t help but laugh quietly as Y/N shifted again, her hand leaving his face and meeting the other side of his neck, her right arm tightening around his torso in silent protest.
"I don’t care." She mumbled into his neck, her lips brushing against his skin as she spoke. "I love you. I want to be here."
His heart swelled at her words, an overwhelming wave of love flooding him. He turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the comforting scent of her.
"I love you more." He whispered back, his voice barely audible as he nuzzled his cheek against her hair. His hand never stopped its rhythmic movement along her back, his touch gentle and tender.
Y/N hummed in response, her breathing already slowing as the warmth of his embrace lulled her back toward sleep. Spencer could feel the way her body relaxed against his, her weight becoming heavier as she melted further into him. She was so peaceful, her soft breaths brushing against his skin in a steady rhythm.
Spencer's eyes drifted to the case file still resting on the desk, his mind unwilling to let go of the details he was trying to piece together. His hand continued to trail soothing patterns on her back, and he tilted his head down, pressing another kiss to her temple, noticing how her body was giving way to sleep again.
"Let me tuck you back into bed, sweetheart." He whispered against her skin, insisting. "You need the proper rest."
But Y/N shifted in his lap, shaking her head, clearly unwilling to move.
"No." She mumbled, her voice soft but convincing. "What I need is to be with you." She burrowed her face deeper into his neck, pressing her nose against his skin and nuzzling him like she was trying to become a part of him. "Let me stay here. Please."
Spencer sighed softly, feeling torn between the the case and the warmth of Y/N in his arms. He glanced back at Y/N, her soft breathing and her peaceful face pressed against his neck, shaking his head with how stubborn she could be.
Wrapping his arms fully around her, he held her close, one hand still caressing her back while the other pulled the case file closer to him again, reopening it and going back to the first page.
© vanteguccir
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acid-ixx · 4 months ago
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— masterlist !
i'm thinking of this one au where it's not really a neglected batfam fic but it's within the timeline of again &. again. a darker fic, where instead of being taken in by the family, you were left to fend for yourself after your mother's death— which basically turned you into a version where you're more traumatized than you are with the awareness that bruce, who was supposed to be your father to take you in, never once came to find you after the incident.
which cues to you following your mother's footsteps: becoming the same wo/maneater. but instead of working in the streets or finding bars to perform and sell your body to— you force yourself to learn to be more promiscuous at an early age, find your mother's old clients, become trained by other criminals associated with her— your mentors aren't the greatest, they only use you to up their customer counts, they don't care about you, whether you cry or not, whether the clothes you wear are too tight or if you're tight in budget to even afford food.
you're exposed to the cruelty of the world at an early age. learn that bluntness, letting go of any empathy for people will be the only thing keeping you alive.
leading to your adult life: you became an underground model. with no known last name, with the reputation of an enchantress. your life is shrouded in mysteries, in conspiracy theories and endless rumors and dirt about your name—
but that doesn't matter, scratch that, your point of view doesn't matter because in this fic idea, i just want to focus mainly on how the batfamily starts becoming obsessed with you. i want to create something inherently focusing on their perspective of it all.
your mystery, your allure, your overall poise and stage presence. maybe bruce once forced himself to watch one of those boring runway performances, and he just sees you and sees himself in you—
which leads to this: one day of finally being able to attend one of bruce's fancy galas, courtesy of a very personal invitation from bruce from backstage. each member of the family manages to have one single interaction with you. any casual talk, any jokes thrown their way, a dance with one, a light, almost hesitant laugh to another— colored contacts hiding the ugly dimness which in turn piques tim's interest, makes him want to dissect your thoughts.
like, i don't know if i'm formulating my thoughts coherently enough for this concept to be entertained. but to sum it all up, just imagine those shows where it's told through a perspective of multiple people focusing on one cryptid, on a case long unsolved, a creature which holds no known record to human history— and soon those people's lives become revolved around that one mystery, consumed by familiarity at most.
because you are part of their family, none of them ever knew until the very end. think of that horrendous tom taylor plot twist within the nightwing run where there's this one girl who confessed being dick's long lost sister— now imagine you actively trying your best to stay unknown to them, long since given up through idolizing them through broken tv screens and focusing on yourself instead. you're well aware they're up to something, that they're pinning their curiosity onto you—
cue to me telling alexa to play anxiety by doechii, where like i said: not one thing is revealed about your thoughts unlike in the original a&a series, but rather me writing a series of everyone else's personal thoughts on you and how they each spiral into straight up obsession and the need to keep you for themselves despite never knowing why really.
because in their eyes, you've always been just a model who randomly piqued their attention. they never knew that you were always connected to them from the start— not until the very end at least.
any thoughts on this idea or do i scrap it?
just send in a comment or an ask because i'm in a writing crunch hehe.
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lovelyahoy · 4 months ago
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Dr. Stone: One-shot.
Word Count:7,858.
Warnings: Not much I can think of, except it's all over the place, and a bit suggestive towards the middle. I needed a quick break from a book I'm writing and these two freaks have been plaguing my mind, so this is basically just word dumping.
Summary: Nothing is really set, some parts are over-explained and others are barely developed, I typed until I got bored. (If you're seeing this again it's because I accidentally posted earlier without finishing aha..)
Pairing: Stanley x Fem!Reader x Xeno
Edit: part 2.
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Endless hours of science had never been an issue for Xeno, he was accustomed to working on the same project for multiple days—even months straight. Science (and Stanley) was his sole love, it wasn't filled with unsolvable scenarios, it always had a solution. His nights at the NASA laboratory were lonely, just how he liked it. No noise, no meaningless chatter, only him and his thoughts.
Stanley wasn't much different in this regard, obviously not science, but his priority in the military (and Xeno). Guiding those bambi-like soldiers brought a thrill like no other, they shot perfectly? It was because of him. They landed a really good calculated punch? Also his doing. He was always expected to be at the top, and no way in hell would he ever let anyone distract him from it.
It wasn't until they met [Y/N], the newest addition to the NASA board, that they discovered another love and priority. She wasn't what they had expected at all, [Y/N] wasn't a scientist or an exceptional engineer, nothing even close to any position they offered at NASA. It only took a few days to find out she was only there as a temporary chair filler, for her father who was out of commission due to a "family issue".
Xeno grimaced as the bubbly [H/C] haired girl, read over his file alongside the other board members. He could barely hold in his anger as they skimmed over his perfectly chosen words, equations and unique idea. One by one, the thick file was placed down and he was met by taunting expressions.
"It's interesting I'll give you that Dr. Xeno, however we can't endorse it. The cost of the inevitable failure will be far too much."
The older generation spewed more words onto the already rejected scientist, yet he could only focus on the girl still holding his file open.
"I don't know much about this position, my father asked me out of the blue to show my presence." [Y/N] hummed and softly closed the file cover, a small—yet mischievous smile graced her glossy lips. "But, he did say I could have fun, and this?" She lifted up his idea and waved it around, "This sounds fun! Let's do it."
"You have no authority to do so!" The voice was loud and rough, it bounced off the soundproof walls and [Y/N] tried hard not to show her annoyance.
"Woah~ I wonder what my father would say hearing you talk to his daughter like that, Dr. Von." She playfully waved him off, keeping eye contact with the blank scientist in front of her.
"If he fails the first, second or even third time, I'll cover the cost. When he gets it right, none of you will have the privilege of profiting a single dollar. How about that?"
Oh how she loved playing around with these greedy corrupt monsters.
As for Stanley, his encounter with [Y/N] wasn't as nerve-wracking as it was for Xeno. No, it was absolutely entertaining to say the least.
The blonde puffed out another trail of smoke, his eyes glanced to the side to see the sprawled mess of [H/C] locks on the bar counter. He hadn't even considered sitting down for this long, but something quietly begged him to sit next to the seemingly tipsy woman.
Her head lifted up to meet his amused gaze, he twitched noticing tears flooding her pretty [E/C] colored eyes. A finger was pointed at his face, close to jabbing his nose. Stanley couldn't help but smile at how silly she looked right now.
"G-get away from me before I do you a favor b-because you're cute!" Her voice came out stumbling and mumbled, he managed to catch onto every single word due to his good hearing.
"Like what?" He teased, playfully twirling a strand of her hair while she failed to push his hand away.
"Like agreeing to pay for your experiments!" Her finger finally managed to boop his nose, "My dad is gonna kill me when I write the $600,000 check, not once but maybe even thrice! All because he was so cute, that stupid cute looking Dr. X."
Oh. Stanley's eyes widened with recognition, his childhood friend had been happily rambling on about his fully funded project, he tuned out the nerdy details and only paid attention when Xeno brought up that it was all thanks to a temporary board member. [Y/N], her name was [Y/N]. There was no way he could forget it, that mad scientist had practically engraved the name into his mind with how many times he mumbled it.
"It's not even about the money actually, but how could I ever say no to him? And you—!" She sighed dramatically, moving her hand away from his gorgeous face. "Don't you dare propose anything!"
He couldn't help but let out a chuckle at her cute rambling, he had to agree wholeheartedly. "Don't worry, I can't say no to him either."
"IS HE YOUR BOYFRIEND? I'M SORRY BUT HE'S SO CUTE I WON'T TAKE IT BACK!" [Y/N] lunged forward grabbing ahold of his shoulders and shook him back and forth, the tears that had disappeared moments ago were spilling again.
Stanley grabbed her elbows gently, stopping her movement. A meek apology left her pouting lips as she settled into her seat, [Y/N] tried to flag down the bartender, desperately needing a shot to down her embarrassment. The man next to her shook his head at the girl behind the counter, she nodded taking away the dirty cups.
"Let's get you home."
After getting her address he made sure her seatbelt was on before driving off, his window rolled down letting the smoke drift out the car. The cigarette dangled from his lips, a hand on the steering wheel while the other guided the cancer stick.
[Y/N] softly snored into the seat, holding onto a pillow she had stolen taken from one of the sofas at the bar. Stanley tried to take it away, god knows what or who touched it prior. He failed miserably, a little ticked off but low-key proud of her deadly grip.
Dropping her off was awkward, nothing Stanley couldn't handle. Still, he was not used to dropping off people he met at bars anywhere other than his own apartment. Her dad managed to wake her up, guiding her back into the grand mansion.
"Thank you for helping her, she gets carried away sometimes." He laughed it off, but couldn't hide the worry in his voice.
"No problem."
"noooo~ dad! Don't let the pretty man leave!" [Y/N] turned around in her dad's arms and made grabby hands towards a humored blonde, her [E/C] eyes were wide filled entirely with sparkles, a small bambi is what she looked like.
She had definitely become his favorite bambi.
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[Y/N] entered the NASA laboratory looking for a certain white haired male, while she had practically forced the board to accept his crazy idea, they needed to skim over a few details before proceeding. Except she hadn't expected both of the different worlds she met yesterday to be standing closely together watching small sparks emit from a glass container.
"Ah, how elegant of you to join us, [Y/N]." She brushed off her heart skipping a beat, the way his voice uttered her name was heavenly.
After remembering last night, she was absolutely mortified. Not only did she ramble to a total stranger, she rambled about their boyfriend! The blonde man hadn't denied or confirmed their relationship, but when her eyes trailed over how tightly he was hugging the scientist with a gentle expression on his face, there was no denying it.
"Yeah, Hi." She squeaked out, walking towards them almost robotically. [Y/N] placed down her notebook and sat on the grey stool, face warming up when Stanley rubbed his cheek against Xeno's affectionately before pulling away.
"I need to know which parts you need, these old assholes decided to leave everything to me as punishment." She huffed, eyes softening before looking at a stone-faced Xeno. "Don't look at me like that! I never said i regretted it or anything."
"I was only joking, dear." He sent her a smile, starting to disassemble the small experiment he had shown Stanley. [Y/N] couldn't help but admire how the sleeves of his white lab coat were rolled up showing off his arms, sure he wasn't super built but it stirred something in her. Her hand slowly raised up to hide her mouth, annoyed at how attractive these two men were.
"Hangover?"
"Huh? Oh, no. You stopped me before I could teeter into that hell."
"I've been wondering, what exactly is it that you do, [Y/N]?" Xeno finished up wiping down the counter and threw away the towels before sitting directly in front of her. His head rested against his hand, elbow propped on the counter.
She noticed the way he crossed his legs too, how could a man look so hot just sitting there? [Y/N] cleared her throat, fidgeting in her seat as she felt both pairs of eyes staring at her intently.
"I'm a medical student, well I was..." A sigh left her lips, "I'm taking a gap year." They didn't press her for further answers, seeing how she made no move to add more details.
"So you're going to be your old man's stand-in for a year?"
"Basically." She chuckled remembering the words her father had given her, "He specifically asked me to annoy the hell out of the board members by doing whatever it is I wanted. Apparently he was fed up with good projects being denied while he wasn't present."
Xeno did remember Dr. [L/N] giving him proper feedback on why they couldn't and could do certain projects of his, he was a man he respected.
"I really have no clue what I'm doing Xeno, so please don't hand me a file filled with a world-ending plan."
"Why, you wouldn't deny it?"
Oh.
Oh.
"NO YOU DID NOT!" [Y/N] stood up quickly, the stool fell to the ground with a loud 'clank'. Her face was beet red trying her best to glare down at the duo smiling at her with nothing but amusement dancing in their eyes.
"Did what? Tell Xeno how you found him cute and that's why you couldn't say no to him? No, I didn't—oh wait." Stanley turned his face away from them and slid open the window to bring out a cigarette.
"If it makes you feel any better, that's news to me."
He was definitely playing with her, the smile on his face hadn't faltered in the slightest. This bastard was having fun.
"Why would that make me fe—just fill that out!" [Y/N] pushed her notebook towards the scientist and stomped out the room extremely flustered.
"So, what do you think?" Stanley exhaled while turning to see Xeno curiously looking at the door she had left through.
"An elegant possibility."
A few months had passed and before they knew it, hanging around the laboratory had become the new normal. Stanley by the window, Xeno playing around with chemicals (and settling very, very far away from the cancer smoke, he didn't need anything blowing up.) and [Y/N] getting distracted by the cool colors the mixtures made.
"Stop staring and get back to studying, bambi."
Bambi. Stanley's oh so 'perfect' nickname for her, she tried to get him to drop the name for weeks but he refused to budge. It bothered her only because of what it represented, a defenseless and cute thing. Only she was allowed to call them cute.
[Y/N] mocked his words under her breath with a high pitch voice, focusing on her medical notes scribbled and highlighted. Even if she was taking a year off to help her dad, there wasn't any time to slack off. Board meetings were so goddamn boring, she couldn't even hide the sparkles that bounced around in her [E/C] eyes whenever Xeno came into a meeting with a progress report or new idea.
"By the way, you guys never answered me. Are you dating?"
They barely reacted to the question, still focusing on their own activities. She didn't know why exactly she craved and feared for their answer, [Y/N] was undoubtedly attracted to them both equally.
Xeno's happy little face while info dumping on them, onyx eyes that lit up whenever she'd ask a question genuinely intrigued by the topic. Stanley, who always teased her but never crossed the line. He knew when to back away and change his words depending on how she was feeling that day, his awareness towards both her and Xeno was...to say the least...hot.
[Y/N] stopped writing, a blush taking over her face when she noticed Xeno peeking over the counter to read her notes. Her heart dropped into her stomach hearing his laugh, she was not going to live this down, was she?
"Inflammation of the myocardium, a great percentage of high risk patients are usually men in their 20 to 40's. Men, men, stanxeno."
"STOP READING IT!"
The medical student was too focused on trying to block Xeno's field of view to notice Stanley walking up to them, he leaned over her shoulder to stare down at the notebook. His face slightly bumped into hers and gave zero indication that he planned on moving.
She knew he could feel her warm cheek pressed against his, Xeno smirked leaning even more forward over the metal table. His face was only inches away from hers, they were messing with her, again.
[Y/N] swallowed the knot building up in her throat, she was deeply embarrassed. Her thoughts on them were running wild from the close proximity of both men, she slammed her book closed—still not moving away from them.
"Why so curious, bambi?"
"Is there a deeper reasoning to your question, dear?"
God the nicknames, how could she ever function like a proper human after hearing the way they called her? She always felt giddy whenever they'd do this, invading her privacy with lingering touches and words falling like sweet honey—but she couldn't ignore the small, teeny tiny part of her that felt as if they were just playing around. To relish in her obvious attraction towards them, something she miserably failed at hiding.
"Am I imposing on your quality time together by always being here?"
[Y/N] was as surprised as Xeno and Stanley, that isn't what she was even thinking at the moment! Why'd she go and say it? Sure she thought of it sometimes but never had the courage to ask, what if they said yes? She'd never be able to meet their eyes again.
A few seconds of silence were starting to scare her, she felt Stanley shift, thinking he was pulling away until warm lips pressed again her cheek softly. Her [E/C] eyes widened keeping eye contact with Xeno, who raised a hand to brush a strand of [H/C] hair behind her ear. They both pulled away at the same time, leaving a stuttering [Y/N] to collect her thoughts that were in shambles.
Her fingers lightly pressed against her cheeks, one where the kiss was placed and the other where Xeno's fingers brushed by. She took a hand away, blush intensifying seeing the purple lipstick staining her fingers. [Y/N] took a deep breath in before looking up at them standing next to each other now, brain melting when Stanley wrapped an arm around the scientist, Xeno caressing the blonde's face as they both continued to stare at her.
"We've never labeled it, it's like an open relationship."
The girl in front of them deflated comically like a balloon, face almost slamming onto the table. Nope, all her dreams and fantasies had been drained at that sentence. She liked-liked them, both. An open relationship meant their loyalty lied emotionally between them but not physically, she couldn't work with that. The faces they were giving her stirred nothing but worry within, almost like an invitation to join them on this little adventure.
[Y/N] badly wanted to scream yes! and take the opportunity they were offering on a silver platter, sure it'd be okay at first...however in the long run she knew jealousy would win her over. They wouldn't be hers they'd still see other people while being with her, and the [H/C] haired girl wouldn't be able to emotionally endure it.
"I see."
"You sound disappointed, dear." Their little show melted away, awkwardly glancing at each other when they noticed her flustered state disappear into a neutral expression.
She sighed lightly, might as well try and get over her feelings now rather than letting them grow further. Her fingers twirled the mechanical pencil as a way to fidget, building up the courage to spill her words.
"I like you both." Their faces didn't change in the slightest, they knew already. "As much as my heart is telling me to leap at the offer, my brain is encouraging me to step away before I hurt myself."
[Y/N] started to pack her things, avoiding their eyes. Oh my god, she was going to jump off the fucking NASA rooftop after this. She didn't want to keep talking but it felt like word vomit.
"I'm interested in a relationship with just us three, having other people linger in-between would make me feel like I'm not good enough for you guys." She zipped the backpack and hugged it close to her chest, hiding the bottom half of her face. "Thank you for today." [Y/N] rushed a polite bow and made her way to the door.
Before she could even grab the handle, a hand landed on her head, it turned her to come face to face with Stanley. She couldn't muster up the courage to ask what he was doing, but she didn't even have time to. His lips landed on hers, an arm wrapped around her waist colliding her into his chest and in turn causing the backpack to slip from her arms.
A few tears built up as she indulged the blonde, his lips were soft, avoiding rushing her. It only took a few milliseconds for [Y/N] to return the kiss, lips parting and allowing him to slip in his tongue. She'd never kissed anyone like this, it left her feeling vulnerable, like her heart was on her sleeve.
Her hands cupped his face with a gentle grip, she wondered if his body hurt bending down slightly to kiss her. [Y/N]'s lips slipped from his, only to get pulled back in quickly. Xeno took this opportunity to stand behind her and nuzzle his face into her neck, unbuttoning her white collared shirt and slipping it down from one of her shoulders.
His own lips made a trail from her jawline down to her neck and across her bare shoulder. One of the hands on Stanley's face was moved back to come in contact with Xeno's. He cupped over her hand with his own and continued to pepper kisses on her [S/C] skin, a whimper was muffled.
The tears finally escaped her eyes, trailing down her face. The droplets landed on both men, they pulled away from her still holding [Y/N] close.
"D-don't do that!" She unenergetically hit Stanley's chest, "Don't give me false hope.." her sniffles echoed lightly in the laboratory, she was flooded by nothing but embarrassment.
"Let's do it." The blonde ignored her weak fists against him and wiped away her tears, Xeno gently turned her head to place a chaste kiss against her swollen lips.
"Just us three, right my dear?"
[Y/N] woke up the next morning feeling like she was on top of the world and still drowning in shyness. Her face was stuffed into a pillow, concealing her squeals. She kicked her feet roughly, leaving her personal maid to hide her smile behind a hand.
"Ruby, I'm so happy I could dieeeee."
"Please don't, Miss [Y/N]."
Ruby had never seen [Y/N] this giddy, she was absolutely over the moon. Her trip down memory lane was cut short when the loud sound of the girl in her care falling reached her ears, she hurriedly walked around the bed to see the mistress still letting out happy noises.
"I'm going on a date with them! Help me pick out the best outfit Ruby!" It was barely noon on a sunday, NASA had issued a full day off to every employee, why? She didn't care to listen for the reason, her ears were preoccupied hearing Xeno and Stan plan a date.
"Them? Are they gender neutral?" Ruby caught all the clothing being thrown out the closet, doing her best in the thick maid outfit she always had inside the manor.
"Huh? Oh, no, them. As in, two." The poor maid couldn't even dodge the shoe thrown her way, hitting her square in the forehead and falling back.
"Shit! Ruby I'm so sorry!" [Y/N] frantically bounced around the dizzy woman, Ruby blinked her hazel eyes twice before settling them onto the worried rich girl.
"How will your father react?"
haha...oh,
"I didn't think of that."
Her father sent her to NASA to fuck around with the board members, not fuck with employees! Well technically Stanley was only there during his free time, but still! She couldn't go up to him and say, 'Hey dad! I managed to piss the old dudes off, and I got myself not one, but two boyfriends!'
World end her now.
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"Oh my gosh!" [Y/N]'s body was over Xeno's shoulder, face a few inches away from his screen. Unfortunately Stanley was too busy to come by for the week, so it left the mad scientist and the medical student to hang out together.
Xeno held a firm hand on her midsection, holding [Y/N] up to the best of his ability. He was in the middle of responding to his mentee, completely immersed in the lengthy email consisting of rocket science, when [E/C] eyes landed on the picture of the white and green haired boy holding a test rocket.
"He's so cute!" She poked the screen, ignoring the English gibberish of science littered around the zoomed-in picture. "He's like a mini you."
"[Y/N] dear, you're crushing me." She apologized and got off of him, scooting her chair closer and settling next to him. He smiled feeling her shoulder bump into his and stay there, [Y/N] had been a little reserved with her physical contact towards them but after two solid month of dating she'd gotten comfortable and extremely cocky.
Xeno didn't mind it, he felt pride knowing she felt lucky to have him, even if he felt like him and Stanley hit the jackpot instead. The blonde usually tuned him out during his rambles, that didn't bother him in the slightest, Stan listened when it was important and that was good enough for him. [Y/N] on the other hand, indulged him quiet often, even if she didn't understand most words and comparisons, her questions and interest made his heart fill with a warm feeling.
"I still can't believe an elementary kid built a rocket, that actually went up in the air..." Her childhood was filled with music up until she picked up a book about hearts in her big library, at the mere age of eight she completely spent her time studying. To acquire the ability to help as many people as she could, sparked something she couldn't understand. Xeno tried to explain the feeling in his usual science-y way and she got lost along the words.
"He's from Japan, reading and writing these emails using an English dictionary. Senku's efforts are quite elegant."
"Devoted little thing isn't he? I wanna meet him and pinch his chubby cheeks." She cooed once again at the picture, whining when Xeno clicked off of it and continued scrolling through the information.
"Fawning over a different scientist is—" He didn't even get to finish his sentence before his face was being quickly peppered with light kisses, from his forehead to his cheeks, to his nose and finally his lips. [Y/N] pulled away and snuggled back into his side, leaving him with enough space to type away at the keyboard.
Xeno didn't continue speaking, trying to fight the light red on his face before she could glimpse at it. She effortlessly achieved flustering him on multiple occasions, something Stan regularly tried—and failed at. If he knew, he'd never let Xeno forget it.
"That part, isn't it like $10k? How is a kid going to get that?" Xeno smirked adding a picture of said part, a machinery she had to purchase multiple times because he kept exploding it. [Y/N] grabbed her phone and used a currency exchanger to see the total in yen, ¥1.5 million.
"A true scientist finds a way."
"Seriously? Tell him to send you his address!" Xeno's eye twitched as his girlfriend pulled out a checkbook, scribbling a big number obscured to him. "I'll set up a card for him, hmm but can he buy stuff in dollars while he's in Japan?" She tapped the pen against her chin.
"Oh! I'll just make it an online account so he can order the parts instead." The scientist didn't even try to interfere, knowing full well rich people just thought differently from the rest. He finished up writing his email and added a small note at the bottom.
'P.S, you'll be receiving an email from [L/N]_@NASA.×∆×.com.'
Senku had read an article about [Dad Name] [L/N], a genius who built one of the strongest rockets recorded in history. He was excited to receive some sort of mentorship from the older man, sure Dr. X was plenty of help, but more couldn't hurt.
The boy had just come back from school, eagerly rushing towards his computer ignoring Byakuya's yelling for him to go eat. He skimmed through his emails, first reading an update from his mentor then his eyes sparkled seeing the anticipated email appear at the top of his inbox.
'Hi! Here's an account with around 10 million yen, it's in American currency so you'll have to order online. Have fun, oh! And make sure to send more pictures.'
Bank of America details:
User: [Y/N]Senkufund
Pw: adorablesenkufund223
Love, [Y/N].
...
...
What the hell? The entire email was littered with heart symbols. Adorable? Who was this [Y/N] weirdo? Despite his suspicion, the email address checked out with what Dr. X mentioned. He opened a new window tab and went to the bank website, typing in the details. His scarlet eyes lit up with ¥ signs, he could get past the creepy message if it meant he could buy the parts he needed. It was temporary until his dad managed to be an astronaut an get his very own NASA card.
Senku typed out a hasty thank you, his mouse hovered hesitantly on the add image option. He had taken a new one just recently with Taiju included, it was them covered in ash from a mild explosion, should he send it? He glanced at the money this person sent, well it wouldn't hurt to do it once right?
He was startled at how fast the reply had come. He didn't bother reading much of it, noticing the paragraph beginning with capitalized letters and once again, being plastered with hearts all over. The title itself was five red hearts.
Despite thinking it'd be one time exchange, this [Y/N] person toned it down after a few more exchanges. Senku had even looked forward to their little medical lessons, it was a type of science after all.
'So you weren't a complete oaf. Good to know, I was starting to doubt Dr. X.'
+Image attached
-Senku.
That offended [Y/N], how dare this little bok-choy looking kid doubt her boyfriend? The image sent made her forget his initial words, squealing at how cute the boy looked grumpily looking into the camera holding his latest science project he presented at his school fair.
'I know I promised no more hearts but you're too cute! ❤︎❤︎❤︎ Once I get married I'll adopt you.❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎❤︎
Love, [Y/N]❤︎'
-
'Already adopted, and who would even marry you?'
-Senku.
The little gremlin chuckled, slurping his ramen. The sound of a new inbox and Senku choking on his food filled the room. He blinked frantically at the response.
'First of all, I'd win the court case if i wanted.
As for marriage, it's going to be your dear Dr. X and someone else, obviously~
Love, [Y/N].'
Senku could only focus on his mentor being in cahoots with this mental case, he was definitely going take the logical route and avoid taking this path.
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[Y/N] groaned into Stanley's chest, body feeling extremely sore. She had jokingly encouraged her blonde boyfriend to teach her how to shoot a gun, that turned into a full blown training regiment he made. It included physical training and he even body slammed her! (very carefully, but not the point.)
The mixed smell from his earlier cigarette and cologne filled her nostrils, at first it did tickle her nose, now she was used to it and even longed for it throughout her days. She could cope at work when Xeno was around, still, having the blonde away from them felt like an eternity.
"Did you learn anything?" He was amused by the sounds she was making, he held her in his arms, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on her back.
It wasn't until his girlfriend slept over for the first time that he and Xeno found out she slept with a long T-shirt and her underwear, obviously now she constantly stole their shirts, sometimes finding them back in the closet with a cute gloss lipstick stain. Stanley was guilty of doing this himself, with purple of course.
After starting an established relationship between this little doctor in the making and his childhood friend, both men agreed to get their own apartment together. [Y/N] mentioned wanting to stay with her dad while he was usually at home now, planning to move in with them after the year passes.
"Yes, three things."
"Hm?"
"That you look really fucking hot when you're drenched in sweat." She snuggled closer into him, blushing when his hand gripper her hip in response. "You look even hotter holding a gun, and...when you uh..." her words were low and muffled.
Stanley heard them loud and clear, mumbling like that only worked with Xeno. He smirked flipping their bodies over, her legs were wrapped around his hips due to the startle he gave her. [Y/N]'s blush intensified when the blonde caged both her hands above her head, his free hand performing a 'tactile exploration' near her inner thighs. The pads of his fingers left lingering tingles on her skin, a gasp flying past her lips when they made contact with her clothed clit.
"When I had you at my mercy, huh?" Repeating her words with a teasing tone, Stanley leaned forward while pulling her shirt up above her bra. His purple lipstick left marks on her cleavage before slowly descending down her stomach, hips and lastly a quick kiss on her underwear.
"Stan.."
"[Y/N].." He mimicked her breathless tone, annoying her and barely avoiding the knee she raised to his face. They stayed in that position gazing into each other's eyes, her [E/C] irises relaxed significantly. [Y/N] lowered her knee and settled it around him again, the heels of her feet slightly digging into his back pushing him lower onto her.
Stanley release his grip on her hands and welcomed the embrace, allowing his head to rest between where her neck and shoulder met. [Y/N]'s fingers tangled into his slightly long blonde hair, massaging his scalp.
The sound of keys jingling and the front door opening made them both glance a their bedroom door, silently waiting for the person to walk in. Xeno came in loosening his tie and dragged it down, showing off a bit of his collarbone. He sent them a tired smile and walked towards the closet, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt and slipping it off.
"Did you see that, Stan? Him and ties.."
"He never lets us take it off for him."
"Because it always ends up in sex."
Xeno finally slipped on more comfortable clothing, folding his lab coat and setting it in the laundry basket. He walked towards the bed, immediately getting pulled into a hug. His stress melted away as his partners cooed him gently, the new position consisted of Stanley slightly propped up by two pillows, followed by [Y/N] resting her back against him and finally Xeno's face squished into her chest. Arms wrapped around each other in any way possible.
"They held you up for so long, is everything okay?"
"The board was trying to convince me to swap sponsors, my project is estimated to bring a huge revenue." The laugh leaving his girlfriend causes his body to move up and down alongside her chest, he huffed a chuckle in response.
Stanley reached over to massage Xeno's tense shoulders, watching the scientist groan happily in response. No further words were exchanged, all three relished in comfort.
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A happy [Y/N] bounced down the halls of the NASA building, eventually making it down to the break room where a lot of employees gathered to eat or talk together.
She no longer wore a work outfit, her year was up and now was fully focused on her career (for the most part). Most of them didn't know who she was, except one present man who always greeted her every morning she came in.
"Good morning [Y/N]!" Byakuya greeted her with a bright smile, [Y/N] turned to gaze at the newest addition to NASA. Despite only being there for a month or so, he'd become a friendly face. He opened the shared fridge, chuckling when she put a black plastic container with a cute heart-shaped note on it inside.
"Your boyfriend sure is a lucky guy." The older man raised an eyebrow when he caught glimpse of another lunch inside her backpack, she didn't react to him noticing nor did she try to hide it.
[Y/N] wasn't aware of his concerned gaze, thinking solely on how late Xeno would be getting home today. She had made an earlier stop at the laboratory for a quick kiss and was sadly sent on her way right after. A sigh left her lips, she turned to look at Byakuya who now held a tight lipped smile—an eyebrow raised at his changed expression.
"Yeah he is, well I'll see you later Byakuya, I have to go drop off lunch for my boyfriend." [Y/N] waved making her way to the door.
"Bye [Y/N]—" the door closed, "wait, what?"
He turned to look at his coworkers who shrugged in response, why did he have to witness or hear this? He didn't want drama, but letting someone string along a fellow coworker felt harsh and guilt overwhelmed him. Byakuya opened the fridge to glance at the note.
'YOU BETTER EAT IT XENO.
Love you, [Y/N]❤︎''
Xeno, Xeno, that Xeno? He had seen him very few times, the scientist spent 90% of his time cooped up in the laboratory. Woah, never would he had expected the serious white haired male to be dating such a cheery person. That thought brought down his mood, how should he bring it up?
Byakuya didn't get much time to think it over, seeing the man clouding his mind walk into the break room and head straight over to the coffee pot. His thermal cup was black and littered with colorful stickers, he noticed they resembled the shape of hearts [Y/N] always drew.
"[Y/N]?"
Xeno noticed the finger pointing at his cup, a huff of amusement left his lips before nodding. "She insisted on it, mumbling something about marking territory."
"I hope I don't offend you, uh—" His voice froze when the scientist turned to give him his full attention, head slightly tilting and encouraging him to continue. "Ithink[Y/N]isseeingsomeoneelseotherthanyou!"
"Is that right?" Xeno quickly took a sip of coffee, a perfect way to hide his smirk and compose himself. "How un-elegant, say, Byakuya right? Would it be too much to ask if you could find out for me? Lately I've been stuck at work, leaving almost no room to speak to my partner."
...
...
"WHAT!? BYAKUYA WHAT DO YOU TAKE ME FOR!?"
After a solid week of being ticked off by the older man's squinting gazes, and always asking her about her earlier or later whereabouts, [Y/N] finally had enough and cornered him once everyone left the room, he was sweating bullets when she asked what was wrong. The glint in her [E/C] eyes scared him like nothing else.
To which in a state of panic, he replied with a rushed "ARE YOU CHEATING ON THAT SCIENTIST?"
"Ah! I'm sorry but i couldn't ignore the signs! And when I asked Xeno, he asked me to figure it out for him."
"Oh that motherfucker," [Y/N] made a strangling motion with her hands, scaring the poor man in front of her. "Xeno and I have another partner okay! I'm not a cheater."
The amount of apologies that spilled from Byakuya were starting to overwhelm her, tears threatening to spill out as his body flung back and forth in a fast bowing motion. She awkwardly pat his shoulder, accepting his apology. From an outside perspective she guess it did look suspicious, Xeno was going to pay for this.
"Don't listen to that disney villain, he may look serious but he's a mischievous little thing."
"H-have I met them?" His attempt to change the conversation topic was easily received, her aura took a complete turn into a gushy looking fangirl.
"You've probably seen him around Xeno, he's a soldier. Tall, blonde, pretty face, caramel eyes, wears purple lipstick, hot, always smoking, did I say hot already?" She rambled a few more compliments before clearing her throat.
"His name is Stanley, Xeno and him were technically together before they met me."
"How does it work? I'm curious, a relationship with one person is sometimes very complicated, I can't wrap my head around three people in one."
That is how Byakuya had become her gossip buddy, how she frequently chatted up a storm while balancing her focus onto her studying, always astonished him.
The following night had the polyamorous couple sitting at their small dinning table, the girl sat in the middle while both men sat at the ends of the table—still close enough to each other though.
"You let him think I was a common whore!" [Y/N] angrily shoved a spoonful of rice into her mouth, cheeks puffed out and [E/C] eyes glaring into Xeno's soul. He couldn't take her seriously, to him she looked like a squirrel right now.
"Stan, tell him something." Her eyes were wide, sending a pleading face to her soldier boyfriend, he playfully ruffled her hair before turning towards the amused man.
"Bad Xeno."
"I'm going to choke you fuckers."
"Oh? sounds like a threat."
"That's right!"
"Would it perhaps be happening in the bedroom?"
[Y/N] stopped. Stanley stopped. Hell even Xeno's eyebrow raised at his own words, he wasn't one for sexual desires, usually leaving it up to his partners to decide and act it out. He smiled down at a [Y/N] who scooted closer to him with no traces of her earlier fake anger, she looked like a curious kid.
"Did you mean that?" she whispered, truly wondering if she heard him wrong.
"Shall we find out?" [Y/N] glanced back at Stanley who only shrugged in response, he didn't know what was happening either.
"Ok, you're forgiven." She snatched up the plates and the cup in the blonde's hand, practically throwing them into the sink. "Bedroom now."
"I think you awakened something within her." Stanley stood up and pushed his chair in, making eye contact with a sweat dropping Xeno.
"How...elegant.."
(He was scared.)
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The soft light of the candles decorating the dining table made her [S/C] skin glow, she blinked curiously as her boyfriends of nearly three years now stood in front of her. They quickly shared a glance then nodded, they both dug into their suit pockets and each took out a small velvet colored box.
Her [E/C] eyes filled with tears when they opened them, in Stanley's box laid a beautiful ring with a honey colored gem shaped like a diamond. Xeno's was the same size and shape, but his had a black diamond.
"[Y/N], when we first met—"
"YES! YES I WILL!" She extended her hand out, eyes closed and sporting a huge smile on her face. Hearty laughs reached her ears as she felt the rings slip onto her finger, a hand brushed away the tears on her face.
She opened her eyes to see them holding out two more rings, this one had a gem with the same color as her eyes. Xeno and Stanley held out their own hands, already wearing each other's colors. [Y/N] softly slid her ring right above the other, quickly taking out her phone to take a picture of their hands.
"I love you both." The [H/C] haired girl sniffled as they brought her into a sandwiched hug, their own confessions tickling her ears. To say she was happy was an understatement, she felt a bit bad not letting them pop the question in their own way—however her eagerness had won over her rational thinking.
It was a bit unfortunate they couldn't legally get married, despite this minor thing, she happily gushed about her husbands to anyone who asked about her rings. Some were understandably confused or amazed, [Y/N] defended her relationship with every fiber of her being no matter what comment was thrown at them. Both guys often told her to ignore it like they do, but it made her mad how people had the balls to question them so rudely at times.
"My baby is all grown up!" [D/N] wiped his tears away with a handkerchief, Ruby providing a new one every few moments.
"We celebrated on our own already, but I remember you made me promise to let you plan my future wedding." [Y/N] gave her dad a bright smile, "So go for it."
"Of course darling, it's time to show everyone how my daughter is the only one who could bag two successful men at once."
"Okay, where in the world did you hear that term?"
"From this app called tweeter, people are very funny there. [Cousin's name] got it on my phone."
"Delete it and go back to reading your nerdy articles."
The wedding ceremony was held in her old home's gigantic backyard and it was absolutely beautiful, the gleeful bride was chatting away with her bridesmaids, leaving both grooms to stand by the wine station. Stanley's fingers itched to hold a cigarette, although because he promised to avoid it for today, he was coping with wine—glass after glass.
From the red carpet leading up to the wedding arch, to the flowers on every table and grass, it all screamed money. Xeno's eyes lingered on the snack table, filled to the brim with expensive looking dishes ranging from caviar to weird looking oysters, and…were those golden flakes?
"Stop drinking like a madman, Stan."
The blonde could only smirk, leaning down to place a kiss on Xeno's cheek before pouring himself another glass. The scientist could only smile in return, his heart bloomed with pure warmth.
"Our wife looks quite elegant." She wore a white dress with a sweetheart neckline, fabric hugging her waist and hips tightly before flaring out near her mid thighs. Her veil was removed earlier by them, showing off her [H/C] hair styled perfectly into a bun with curly strands framing her face.
"Best part of today." Stanley's eyes softened up seeing [Y/N] making her way towards them, surprised when her cheek puffed out close to his face.
"You gave Xee one..."
Oh.
[Y/N] refused to clean up the dark purple lipstick, showing it off with every ounce of pride she could muster. After what felt like a billion pictures, she made a quick trip to her room and changed into a much lighter and shorter dress. It didn't take long for the girl to start stumbling in her heels thanks to downing five glasses of alcohol in a short span of time.
"I'm so happy, we're getting married!"
"Last time I saw her drunk was when we first met."
"Think she agreed to our proposal because we're cute?"
Stanley chuckled, "I wouldn't put it past her." they both watched her stuff her face with anything she came across with adoration in their eyes.
"Not going to dance my dear?" She gazed at the guests moving in sync with the slow song.
"We can dance in private later."
"You've gotten quite bold, bambi."
[Y/N] wiped away the sauce that stained her lips with a napkin, turning to look at them. "No offense hubbies, neither of you can dance. I'm saving you."
That didn't stop her from swaying around them, playfully twirling them as she bit into a cookie. They indulged her cute antics throughout the night, even having a few minutes of Stanley forcing Xeno into a very intimate dance of waltz. By the end of the celebration, both [Y/N] and Xeno were plastered with purple stains over their faces and neck.
Very few guests lingered, most had given their blessings and bid them a goodnight. They stayed in their own little bubble, the very annoying topic of a secret gathering they needed to attend in about a week came up. Strange appearances of stone swallows were being posted online, surprisingly Senku had been the one to post a full article on it, giving the scientists at NASA a bit more information.
[Y/N] was only attending because she was nosey, and no way she was going to spend a week of her honeymoon vacation alone. Even if it was work only, she'd sure as hell be next to them.
"Right after that stupid meeting, we're settling in our room and staying there forever!" Stanley gently took away the half empty glass from her hands, downing it himself to avoid her getting even more wasted.
"You'll get to meet that Dr. Chelsea girl you found adorable." Xeno knew exactly what to say to lighten up her mood.
[Y/N] brought their hands into her lap, squeezing both with a smile on her face. It had been a few days and still, she couldn't wrap her head around the fact that she was married to her soulmates.
"Tonight was amazing, we should do it again and again....we can, right?"
"We can."
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Xtra thing
"—god I miss my husband's blonde hair." [Y/N] had her body sprawled dramatically on the boat's floor, an amused Xeno sat nearby with his hands tied together.
"Wait, I thought you were married to this weird man." A blonde girl with blue eyes blinked at the whining woman, she was 100% sure [Y/N] mentioned "My husband's really smart huh?" while hugging Xeno.
"No way, she was talking about the other dude." Chrome nodded his head along with his words.
"Who hugs someone like that, while saying—well that!"
"A woman who has two husbands." Senku walked into the room, narrowly avoiding the hug sent his way. "This idiot managed to trick them into marriage."
"I did no such thing!" [Y/N] shoved her hand into the leek's face, showing off her glittering rings. Right before the beam reached them, she saw one of Luna's boy toys stuff a ring into his mouth—not having any time to rationally think, she did the same. Waking up and seeing her hubbies with nothing on their finger had her depressed for the first few months, until Xeno replicated them once again.
Before the teenager-not really a teenager anymore could untie the older scientist, his wrist was grabbed by the [H/C] haired doctor. His scarlet eyes filled with confusion.
"Leave his ass tied, not only did he issue a kill order on my child, he looks hot like this."
"I'm not your damned child."
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help idk.
635 notes · View notes
doll3tt33 · 1 year ago
Text
Everybody knows I’m a good girl, officer ♡
(colin zabel x under arrest!reader)
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Summary: once again, you find yourself being arrested by Colin, adding to his piling stress from an unsolved case. However, you discover that a tiny favor for the detective might bring him some much needed cheer…
Wordcount: 5.7k
Warnings: oral sex (m receiving), car sex, coaxing, reader is under the influence of alcohol, brief mention of a bar fight, aggressive and rude reader, rly vague implied age gap, technically abuse of authority (it’s obvious, but I’m still putting it out there. I advise not to read if any of this makes you uncomfortable)
A/N: sorry for the major inactivity guys, I’ve been busy! And this fic ended up being longer than I expected, but I hope it’s good enough quality. My first ever smut, so hope u guys enjoy <3 (also sorry if any typos btw T^T)
You stood motionless, reeling from the adrenaline coursing through your veins as the alcohol's effects faded. The rush of emotion receded to an eerie calm. As your vision adjusted in the dim light, the scene came into focus - onlookers surrounded you and a woman now being helped from the floor. Through the buzz still clouding your mind, one detail emerged with painful clarity: her bruised and bloodied face, a stark reminder of the harm just caused in a moment of impaired impulse and from your god awful temper.
Now the woman who you beaten black and blue, almost to the point of passing out, wasn't the focal point for dispelling the haze of your impulsive rage. Nah, this lady had it coming when she slut shamed you for being oh-so-bold enough to wear a tank top tonight. No, it was the bright flashing hues of blue and red seeping through the windows that acted as your wakeup call.
Just like that, a realization hit with sobering clarity - “Shit. Cops.” Without pause, you shoved through the crowd, desperation driving every move. Bursting through the door, the frigid night air raised goosebumps across your skin. Damnit, maybe the tank top wasn’t the best choice after all. Intoxicated or not, you were in no shape for an arrest. Stumbling at first, you found your footing and picked up speed, putting distance between yourself and the scene of the incident you started. You were gonna make it through! You were gonna outrun those pigs and they would never get their grubby hands onto you!
…That was until, a loathsome voice sounded from behind.
“Hey- hey! Where do you think you’re going?”
Before you knew it, you felt hands locked around your arms, yanking you to a halt. The telltale jingle of metal broke through your panic and with a sharp click, cold steel encircled your wrists. A glance back confirmed your dread. You weren’t being handcuffed by just any stinking cop - it was that good for nothing detective Colin Zabel arresting you once more, and for what, the third time this week? That’s one hell of a streak.
You sighed inwardly, the fight draining from your limbs, knowing any attempt in resisting would be in vain. “Goddammit Zabel, can’t you give it a rest?…” you muttered under your breath, as he hauled you back to the police car.
"I know, I know - save your excuses," Colin cut you off wearily, the smile not reaching his eyes. “Jus’… don’t start, ‘Kay? Do me a solid and quietly get in the car.” He opened the car door to the backseat, gesturing for you to step inside. Despite his perpetual mask of affability, you detected an edge of irritation - his good humor and patience clearly worn down by your repeated encounters.
“Whatever man…” you sighed as the door clamped shut with finality. Through the window you watched Colin slip into the driver's seat, releasing a long exhale as if to shed the stress of your latest encounter. At least you provided some diversion from his endless paperwork, though you doubted he'd admit as much.
True to his by-the-book nature, he slinked the seatbelt over himself, securing it with an assured click. Out of habit, he craned his neck over his shoulder, asking out of the goodwill of his heart. “Oh! Almost forgot. Do ya need a lil’ hand with fastening your seatbelt too?“ he offered warmly, “Don’t want any extra accidents happening tonight, am I right or am I right?” A hearty chuckle followed, dying abruptly once he took in your expression - eyes hooded and mouth set in a grim line.
“Fuck off Zabel.” you growled in response, fixing your stare out the window. He felt tension coil in his gut but forced it down with a hard gulp. As a veteran officer, he had faced far worse than you, yet something about your unpredictable defiance unsettled him. For a moment, under your glare, an angry retort rose to his lips but he bit it back, sensing it would only stoke the flames. Best to let the dust settle, he decided. Starting the car, he pointedly kept his eyes forward and drove in loaded silence.
“Alriiiighty then, no seatbelt it is. I’m just gonna… ah- y’know….” He cleared his throat, voice petering off into a nonsensical mumble as he shifted gears.
An uncomfortable hush fell over the car, only the revving of the engine permeating the stillness. Colin tapped the wheel, wishing for a distraction from the tension. His mind raced through possible conversation starters but came up blank. A stolen glance in the mirror found your stony profile unchanged. With a sigh, he focused back to the road, flicking on the radio more for the static noise than any musical preference.
Colin hummed softly to fill the silence, earning another kick from the backseat - your fourth such outburst. He was the pinnacle of what it meant to be a pushover, but he still stood his ground when needed to… in his own unique way. “H-Hey, Cut it out kid! And be nice,” he let out a weary sigh, peeking up at your vexed form through the rearview mirror “You know, I’m not a fan of this attitude you’ve got going on. Haven’t been for the past week.”
You sank lower into the seat, glowering. “First of all, old man, lay off the ‘kid’ crap. I’m not a child.” You rolled your eyes at his feeble attempt at reprimand.
Colin bit back another retort, clenching his jaw. Pride demanded he have the last word, if only to reclaim a shred of dignity in his own vehicle. “Hm no, I think I’ll call you a kid. ‘Cause you know why? You’re acting like one, like right now.” he replied evenly, bubbling frustration leaking through his amicable veneer, yet he still maintained some semblance of civility between him and your not-so-good of a temper.
As you drew your breath to speak, Colin beat you to it. “Look- all I’m sayin’ is, this isn’t good for you. This is the third time this week I’m haulin’ you in here. The third time!” Weariness tinged his laughter as he splayed his fingers out in front of him, only to reclaim the steering wheel in a swift motion. “Not only is this not doing you any favors kid—-“
“I said don’t call me kid.” You interjected sharply, cutting him off this time.
Colin continued on autopilot, fatigue chipping away at his usual cheer. “It's also not doing me any favors either. I've got a case to crack, but Mare - my partner - thought it’d be best if I dealt with you while she took charge of the investigation for the night…”
His shoulders slumped, eyes downcast as a cloud of disappointment settled in. As a county detective, he longed to prove himself with this investigation, not play referee to petty disputes. But saying no had never come easy, especially when others mistook his calm demeanor as weakness.
Silently, your eyes veered away from the passing scenery outside the car window, finally taking notice of his careworn features in the mirror. Attuned to the new lines of fatigue etched upon his face, you perhaps began to understand that this was wearing him too.
“Must suck being everyone’s errand boy.” You observed, tone lacking its usual bite.
Colin offered a tired nod. “Comes with the job, I guess…” his words trailed off, accompanied by a somber tone as his gaze returned to the road. “But y’know what they say- it is what it is.” he added softly, punctuating the statement with a self deprecating laugh.
Surprisingly, a twinge of sympathy tugged at your heart - a rare reaction to the shithead county detective. For all his attempts at camaraderie, which admittedly grated, you had to respect his resilience in the face of your unrelenting hostility. Hell, that time you clocked him during arrest, most would've thrown the book - but not Colin. His patience and optimism seemed a superpower, weathering your worst without breaking stride.
A strange blend of sympathy and guilt surged through you, as the realization struck you hard like a freight train - you had subjected the poor detective to a relentless barrage of undeserved hardship, oblivious to the weight of his personal burdens. Your chest tightened, and a foreign sensation stirred deep within as the reflection in the rearview mirror held your gaze captive.
The need for redemption gnawed at your conscience, but how could you possibly make things right? You've been a real pain in the ass to him for a good while now. Within the depths of your alcohol-induced haze, a daring idea began to take shape - could you perhaps make amends through a little bit of... shared pleasure?
It was pure insanity. Drunken impulses (and drunken you) are the epitome of idiocy. Vivid images flooded your thoughts, projecting the sheer horror that would contort his face if you dared to make a move now. It was likely that he hadn't experienced the touch of a woman in quite some time. And yet, that was precisely the point. The poor guy may have been deprived of any intimate encounters since his fiancée abruptly left him, and the growing urge within compelled you to do something about it.
Undeterred, an unwavering determination fueled your decision to make a bold move and test the waters. Shattering the silence, you adopted an uncharacteristically sweet tone to conceal your true intentions. "Hey Colin, think I could sit up front? It's kinda cramped back here."
Colin glanced over, clearly skeptical of your politeness given past rides. "Not sure that's protocol..." he began, ever the rule-follower.
Your lips formed a slight pout, an innocent plea. "Aw c’mon, I'm starting to feel queasy. Just to the station, what's the harm?"
“Uhh….”
Colin's head snapped in your direction, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized your expression. Despite his suspicion, a flicker of genuine concern crossed his face. The thought of you unleashing your 'gastric distress' all over his car seemed to be a genuine fear he really wanted to avoid. He did not need an extra pukefest tonight.
Reluctantly, he caved in to your request, his voice colored with a mix of resignation and caution. "Ah, jeez... Look, you're not supposed to sit in the front, but fine, I'll make an exception this time." He maneuvered the car to the side of the road, stepping out to open the door for you. As you settled into the passenger seat, he retook his place beside you.
"Jus' promise me you won't end up throwing up in the car, 'cause I'm not looking forward to cleaning up that mess." With a playful smirk, he wagged his finger at you, but there was an underlying seriousness to his words.
"Chillaaaax, Colin. Don’t even worry, you won't see me hurling tonight. I've got it all under control," you declared, gracing him with a reassuring smile. The unexpected warmth of your expression caught him off guard, contrasting sharply with your usual snarky demeanor and the piercing death stares he had grown accustomed to.
However, Colin’s initial reservations melted away, reciprocating the gesture as a warm smile played across his face. He resumed his position behind the wheel, ready to continue the drive. But just as he was about to press the gas pedal, you captured the moment and took action. It was officially reckless business o’ clock. You sank down from the car seat, your knees grazing along the surface as you shifted toward the detective.
Colin's eyes widened comically, his mouth agape, utterly taken aback by this unexpected turn of events. "K-Kid, what on earth are you—"
Cutting him off, your slurred words emerged with a hushed urgency. "Shush. And I told you not to call me kid. Just wait, let me..."
Your words trailed off as you grappled with the cramped space of the car. Hindered by the handcuffs that still restricted your movement, you struggled to find a way to support yourself without the use of your arms. Nonetheless, you persevered, inching your way beneath the steering wheel and between Colin's legs.
You released a sigh of relief as you settled comfortably onto your knees. “Phew! Crawling around is no walk in the park without some arms. Anyways...”
“Hi.” An impish grin spread across your face, your eyes flickering upwards, locking with his apprehensive gaze.
“Wow hi, haha!“ his smile, already awkward, stiffened further as he involuntarily sunk deeper into the car seat, attempting to create as much distance as possible between the two of you. “So um… is everything okay? I mean, what’s happening right now? What are you… doin’ down there, specifically?” His words tumbled out, laden with confusion and a touch of concern.
“What do you think I’m doing?” you giggled, thoroughly amused by the sight of the detective squirming uneasily in his seat. A delicate flush of pink tinted his cheeks, a detail that didn't escape your notice. Your voice dropped into a low purr as you continued, relishing in the tension that swirled between you. “Weeeell... I had this little thought, you see. I wanted to make amends. You know, for being such a pain to you over the past few weeks."
A coy little shrug followed your words, as if you were merely toying with the idea. “And I figured, what better way than to help my favorite detective relieve summa his stress off his shoulders.”
You awaited his response with a wide grin, but all that greeted you was a dumbfounded Colin, his face now aflame with a deep shade of crimson blush, eyes wide and unblinking. The sound of his breathing, short and heavy, filled the tense silence, leaving you to wonder if perhaps you had made him uncomfortable. Although a certain part of his body seemed to betray a different sentiment, stiffened and undeniable.
As both of your gazes inadvertently dropped, your eyes locked onto a conspicuous tent forming beneath Colin's slacks. A mix of surprise and amusement flickered across your face, mirrored by the silent murmuring of the word 'crap' that escaped his lips. “Hah… that’s uh- real strange. Don’t know why that’s happening,” He gulped. “Good ol’ keys in the pocket, huh? They’re a pain, especially when they decide to stick out in weird angles. It's like, whoa, things can get a little… funny, you know? Awkward, even.” He added, his voice revealing a hint of panic as he desperately attempted to maintain his composure, all while his raging boner was in plain sight.
“Oh for god’s sake,” you groaned, impatience tracing a light furrow on your brow as the restraint of the handcuffs exacerbated your frustration. "You're not seriously trying to play dumb with me, are you?" You said, annoyance and amusement bleeding through your words. The power dynamics had shifted, leaving you unable to take the lead, and instead relying on the nervous wreck of a detective before you.
You closed your eyes for a brief moment, taking in a deep breath to steady fraying nerves. Determined to take a gentler approach, you decided to navigate this delicate situation with care.
"Come on, Col..." you cooed, leaning forward as far as you could, resting your head gently on his thigh. Your voice took on a soft, persuasive tone. "Let me do this for you." With a subtle flutter of your lashes, you batted your eyes, mimicking the innocent charm of a puppy seeking its owner's attention. Colin flinched, his knees threatening to buckle under the weight of your sudden touch. Yet, he remained motionless, his eyes fixed upon you in mounting suspense.
A smile curled upon your lips as you sensed his lack of immediate resistance, emboldening you to press forward with your gentle coercion. "Just once," you whispered, your voice filled with earnestness. "Let me do this once, and I promise you'll feel so much better afterward."
“..Jesus, I don’t know ‘bout this… I….” Colin mumbled, trailing off with a heavy uncertainty.
He sat frozen in place, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. His bottom lip bore the marks of his nervous chewing, while his brows knitted together in a hesitant frown as he weighed his options.
He knew he shouldn't, he reaaaally should not. It was morally wrong, a breach of professionalism, and could jeopardize his career if discovered. His eyes darted frantically outside the car's windows, scanning the desolate darkness that enveloped the streets in secrecy. But technically, no one would find out, would they?
And god, it had been a long while since he had been with a woman, especially since the bitter end of his engagement. And there you were right now, on your knees, your eagerness to please him palpable. Just the sight of you pouting sent his stomach into a frenzy of uncontrollable flutters, a reaction unexpected even from someone with a volatile temper like yours.
Bewitched by your feminine wiles, he barely registered how his hand had crept onto the top of your head, his thumb caressing your scalp with a tender touch. The throbbing heat in his pants intensified, overpowering any remaining restraint. With cautious swiftness, he glanced around, scanning the surroundings for any prying eyes, before his gaze settled back on your face - your smile, a comforting anchor in the sea of his conflicting emotions.
He sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "F-Fine... Jus’ promise me you won't breathe a word of this to anyone, alright?" His hands returned to himself, fingers trembling as he loosened the clasp of his belt. The once ironclad resolve that had held him together began to crumble like fragile dust, succumbing to the pull of the moment.
“You have my word Col.” you reassured, your voice a soft murmur teeming with exhilaration.
Colin proceeded to undo his pants, the sound of the zipper echoing through the confined space. As he shoved them down, the dim glow of a distant streetlight seeped through the car window, casting a faint illumination on the scene. You couldn’t see all that clearly in the dark, but you did catch a glimpse of the outline of his cock protruding beneath his boxers, the fabric adorned with a telltale wet spot. Needless to say, he was far more excited than he was letting on.
Your mouth watered in anticipation, your core aching with need. Your senses heightened, thighs instinctively clenching as you awaited his next move. But just as Colin's thumb looped under his waistband, he hesitated, uncertainty settling over him like an icy veil. Restraints confined your hands, the itch of frustration crawling beneath your skin. In this moment, the immobility of your arms felt like a punishment far worse than being thrown into a holding cell later that night.
Unable to physically intervene, you relied on the power of your voice to guide the hesitant detective. "It's alright," you coaxed, tone laced with soothing encouragement. "Shake those nerves off, just this once. No one will ever find out..."
Colin's response came in the form of a hesitant nod - quick, uncertain, but nevertheless a nod. With painstaking slowness, he mustered the courage to give his boxers a small tug, gradually lowering them at an agonizingly slow pace. The measured movements seemed almost teasing, as if he were intentionally prolonging the moment. However, the truth was he basically personified a bundle of nerves, as though he was a schoolboy experiencing the thrill of his first make out session, unsure and skittish in his actions.
"How about we ditch these stupid handcuffs and let me take charge?" you suggested, your tone cutting through the air with an assertiveness that bordered on demand. Colin's head snapped up, surprise briefly shadowing his features as he registered the sudden shift in your demeanor and the scowl that tugged your lips. He couldn't entirely fault you for your impatience - he had been taking his sweet time with dropping his boxers. However, a part of him harbored a lack of trust, as dubious as it may sound. The restraints provided a sense of comfort and security, keeping you in check.
Colin's throat bobbed as he swallowed nervously, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "Ehh... sorry, but that's a no-can-do," he deflected your proposal with his trademark easy smile. "You understand, right? It's nothing personal. Jus’ think it's... better this way."
“Ugh…” you grunted, eyes rolling in annoyance. You relinquished your desires, holding back any further comments or demands.
After what felt like an eternity, Colin steeled his nerves enough to continue, no longer willing to delay the inevitable. In a swift motion, he grasped the waistband, sliding it down until his cock sprang free, bobbing slightly in the air. Your gaze, once fixated on the crop of brown pubic hair adorning the base, now traced the veiny pathways that ran along his thick length, leading to the swollen tip—flushed red and leaking. For a seemingly meek police detective, he sure had a nice looking dick.
You smiled as you leaned in, tilting your head closer. Your eyes, brimming with excitement, darted back and forth between his face and his erection, gauging his reaction as you tested the boundaries. Despite his initial apprehension, there was a glimmer of delight in his gaze. Encouraged by his response, you inched closer, your lips ghosting the underside of his shaft, your warm breath teasing his sensitive skin, coaxing it to twitch in response.
Colin squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the moment. “Crap, look- in case it wasn’t obvious enough, it’s been a while for me,” he blurted out shakily, already roused by the sight of your pretty lips caressing the heat emanating from his dick, sending a wave of warmth sweeping over him. His legs parted further, an unspoken invitation for you to draw nearer. “So sorry if I…. Y’know.. too early.” He stammered with urgency.
“I mean, you already look like you’re ready to burst before I even touched you,” you shrugged with a light chuckle. “But I kinda like that.” You flashed him a playful smirk.
He remained speechless, his face flustered and turned away, a deep red painting his features in the stillness of the moment.
Regardless, you took the plunge, gently pressing your lips against the sensitive underside of his cock. A soft, almost inaudible moan escaped his lips, a clear sign for you to continue. From top to bottom, you peppered his length with tender, soothing kisses. His hand immediately reached for your hair, his fingers finding solace in the roots to distract himself from cumming too fast, careful not to exert too much force and risk hurting you.
"And sorry about the whole hair-holding thing. I, uh... need something to hold onto when I'm really focused," he confessed, his bashful laughter intertwining with his words. His face still burning a deep scarlet hue, the admission both vulnerable and endearing. "Habit," he added, his lips twitching with shy sincerity.
“You can grip my hair as hard as you want. I don’t mind a little rough treatment.” you shot a wink, a giggle escaping your lips. Lowering your head, you tilted it to the side, your tongue tracing a stripe against his sensitive balls. Eagerly, you pressed your face forward, your lips latching onto one of them, suckling on it with a gentle yet insistent rhythm, each release elicited a small pop.
“Mmff!— fuck..” Colin‘s jaw went slack, a deep groan rolling off his tongue the moment your mouth made contact, his resistance melting away under the spell of your touch. His dark brown eyes dilated, glazing over your form below him. “Yeah, jus’ like that… jus’ like that…” he managed to utter out, his heaving breaths punctuated by muttered words of approval. His fingers entwined with your hair, massaging the crown of your head in a visceral gesture of pleasure.
“Ooh, you like that don’t you?” you remarked, a playful lilt in your voice as you pulled back slightly, savoring the sight of the detective's face contorting with undeniable bliss. “I wanna hear it baby, tell me how much you needed this.” You crooned, face colored with a teasing grin.
“Okay-okay fine, I won’t lie…” Colin huffed, admittance causing eyes to flutter away. Amused, you chuckled, flattening your tongue against his length, gliding it along a long and deliberate path, coaxing the rest of his words to spill out. A delicious shiver of electricity ran down his spine, sending a cascade of goosebumps rippling down his skin from his erection being teased. “Agh!- y-yes I needed this, I really… really needed this.” he babbled out, his breath hitching with the weight of his confession.
Satisfied, you continued. Your kisses swept from the base and drifted all the way up to the tip of his cock, tongue salty with precum as it expertly caressed the ridges. Colin's body quivered, responding with an urgent jerk of his hips, a wordless plea for you to take his cock into the warm and wet comfort of your mouth. You could feel the urgency in his veins buzz with an electric fervor, beckoning you to go further. For the sake of soothing him, you pressed your lips right onto the swollen head, treating him to small kitten licks on his sensitive slit.
“You’re so goddamn gorgeous...” Colin moaned, teetering on the edge of a whimper. His hips bucked forward once more, ramming his tip deeper into your mouth. Each squirm of his body against the supple leather of the car seat produced a small squeak, almost serving as a subtle backdrop to the moment. “God, you scare the living crap outta me... but f-fuck, you’re sososo p-pretty!” He choked, another whimper caught in his throat.
“Mhm… that’s what I do best detective…” you mumbled with a full mouth, the warmth of his fluids clinging to your breath.
The evidence of your arousal was just as indisputable as his, your panties most definitely soaked from the act of using your mouth on the detective alone, cunt weeping from the lewd noises leaving him with each stroke. Your lips glided further down along him, accommodating his warm slickness as you relaxed your jaw. “Ohmygod- holy shit you feel so good...” he groaned. He slumped back against the backrest, head lolling over his shoulder as he fought to stifle a moan. “Ngh- so good f-for me…”
Despite the discomfort that knotted your knees and the soreness that gnawed at your back from kneeling on the unforgiving car floor longer than you should’ve (all while handcuffed too!), that fiery bundle of elation simmering in your belly powered you through it. After all, Colin was all you could focus on, eclipsing everything else. His raw groans, the incoherent praises that spilled from his mouth, and the way your name danced off his tongue like silk - it was all you needed in the moment, utterly invading every fiber of your being.
However, it wasn't just you who was losing yourself in the moment. Colin's mind short-circuited completely, overwhelmed by the mounting pleasure that had him seeing dazzling stars. Your heavenly skills had transformed his body into a molten state of arousal, practically dissolving into a puddle of liquid. In this state, his thoughts scrambled like a glitching, outdated computer, and your lack-of-hands situation compelled him to take the reins in a mindless frenzy.
"Hope ya’ don't mind if I jus’..." he mumbled hoarsely, his words stumbling out spontaneously. His hands cradled the sides of your head, anchoring you in place, hovering inches above his seat to steady his rhythm. His cock delved deeper into the confines of your throat as his hips undulated to the flow of his ragged panting. His heart galloped like a wild stallion, synchronizing with the rhythm you created, while he sunk himself further into the depths of your wet heat.
“Mmh!- ‘m almost there! Need a lil’ l-longer.” Colin sputtered out, throat straining to keep as quiet as possible. He could see the glistening of tears stinging your eyes, whimpers muffled out around him. He truly never intended to subject your poor mouth to such rough treatment, his tip bullying the back of your throat with each jerky thrust until it was sore, pushing so deep that your nose buried itself in the tufts of hair on his pelvis. Despite the guilt welling up in him, he couldn’t help himself at this point. His body was now like a machine, moving on its own accord to milk every ounce of pleasure he could get.
Even then, you didn’t even break eye contact, not even once. Not when this police detective who nursed a hidden disdain for your tempestuous presence behind faux smiles, was now coming undone right before you - His once neatly styled chestnut brown hair now clung to his sweat-drenched forehead, strands falling over his flushed, pale features. His lips, now parted and glistening, revealed a glimpse of vulnerability, while his doe eyes sparkled with a feverish glimmer. Everything about him in this moment was enthralling, leaving you no choice but to be mesmerized.
The rippling tremors jolting through Colin's frame reminded him that he was nearing his climax, fire pooling low in his abdomen ready to erupt. Between heavy panting, he plucked up the courage to voice his request, his fretful eyes scanning the confined space of the car. “Hey sooo uh- you um… y-you don’t mind if I don’t pull out… right?” he asked, vulnerability threaded through his tone. He definitely wasn’t eager to see his load spray onto anything inside his police car.
Your nose scrunched up in clear disapproval, a glare shooting daggers at him, clearly not a fan of swallowing. He clicked his tongue in disheartenment, head tilted to the side “C’mon, do me a favor will ya?… Not really lookin’ forward to making a mess in the car.” He pleaded breathlessly. To his relief, no signs of protest emerged, though a sullen mask adorned your face.
As he noticed your lack of resistance, he seized the opportunity to follow through with his words. “‘m sorry!- So sorry. I-I’ll make it up to you later. Really!” Colin bleated, tone brewing with guilt and that familiar undercurrent of pleasure.
Squeezing his eyes back shut, he rubbed the bridge of his nose in an attempt to quell the tightly coiled spring in his belly, yearning for release. His balls tightened, cock pulsing as his thrusts into your mouth turned sloppy. Consumed by a blinding, searing white that engulfed his senses, his mind completely blanked. With one final forceful pump, he held your head close, ropes of cum painting your mouth white. Trapped in his surprisingly strong grip, you gulped down the bitter torrent, suppressing the almighty urge to gag as your tongue battled with the assault.
Once you swallowed every last drop of his cum, Colin released his firm grip, withdrawing his now softened cock from your mouth. His hands fell limply to his sides, the air in the cramped car heavy with sweltering breaths, as though the two of you had just completed a grueling marathon on a hot summer’s day.
Gradually regaining his composure, Colin peeled his eyes open, his gaze fixed upon your chest rising and falling, your lips swollen and glistening with wetness. “Jeez uhh, are you okay?- I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Post orgasm clarity rushed over him like a gust of fresh air, his lips downturned with genuine concern. He hastily reached into his coat pocket, digging out and opening a tissue packet, gingerly dabbing away the saliva and residue from your chin and mouth.
You blinked in confusion, caught off guard by the unexpected act of care from the detective. Well, that was a first - no one had ever wiped your mouth for you after a blowjob, but then again, your hands were bound, rendering you immobile. “Yeah I’m fine, you didn’t really have to do that, but I appreciate the gesture.” you replied in a hoarse voice, head shying away from him.
Colin's face brightened with a smile, a wave of relief washing over him. You were right - the weight of his once overwhelming stress seemed to dissipate. In fact, he felt like a brand new man! It had been a long time since he had been intimate with a woman, so this encounter meant more to him than you could ever know.
In an unexpected twist, he scooped you up from the car floor, strong arms cradling your waist as he pulled you into a tight embrace, cocooning you on his lap. In that moment, the softie within him had taken over, aching to shower you with affection and gratitude for the pleasure you had shared.
Your shoulders tensed in his firm grasp, your wide eyes betraying a mix of surprise and alarm. You couldn't help but wonder if he always got this sentimental after engaging in intimacy, and you couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
"Woooow okay, so we're hugging now huh? Someone's feeling affectionate tonight," you noted with a touch of sarcasm. Yet, despite your initial resistance, you allowed him to hold you, gradually surrendering to the warmth of his arms. Deep down, buried beneath layers and layers of pride, a part of you secretly enjoyed this, even if you'd rather be drawn and quartered than admit it.
“Yeah, hope you don’t mind. It’s jus’ that… you did such a good job.” Colin chuckled, his hand gently caressing the small of your back. “And hey, would ya’ look at that! I really do feel so much better now. So, genuinely, thank you.” His words resonated softly against the crook of your neck as he rested his chin there, his arms remaining securely wrapped around you.
You allowed the weight of the moment to sink in, basking in the warmth and tenderness enfolding you. Then, an idea suddenly sprang to mind, and you couldn't resist voicing it. “Say… since I did one hell of a job, does that maybe mean I’m off the hook now?” You pulled back, a sly brow raised as you awaited his response.
Colin let out an exaggerated huff, his smile filled with amusement as he ruffled your hair into a delightful mess. “Nope,” he replied teasingly. “You’re still getting your butt thrown into the station for the night.“
Your expectant smile swiftly dropped into a deep frown, prompting a hearty pat on the back from the detective as he erupted into a fit of laughter. “Sorry kid,” He said between chuckles. “Now chop-chop, time for you to get in the back!”
-------☆-------
I’m aware I made Colin more pathetic than he actually is and I apologize- Idk I just could resist 😭😭 Hope the aftercare made up for it tho??
🤍 only tagging one person cuz idk who else wants to be tagged:
@lacucarachapisser
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mononijikayu · 8 months ago
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i wanna be yours — ryomen sukuna.
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He paused, the words catching in his throat as if they were foreign to him. “I cannot let you go.” You felt your resolve waver under the weight of his admission, the intensity of his gaze consuming you. “Then what do you want from me, my lord?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. His lips curled into a dangerous smirk, though his eyes betrayed a deeper emotion. “Everything, little one.” he said simply. “Your body, your thoughts, your heart. I will have it all, and I will never share it with another. I want it to be mine.” Your lips trembled as your eyes bore his own. “You already know that I am yours, my lord.”
GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;
WARNING/S: nsfw, smut, r-18, angst, one sided romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/no comfort, unhappy marriage, parenthood, forced parenthood, hurt, physical touch, character death, sexual acts, mourning, loneliness, pain, conflicted relationship, emotional distress, grief, toxic relationship, forced memory loss, coercion, explicit miscarriage, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of sexual acts, depiction of forced memory loss, depiction of coercion, depiction of explicit miscarriage, depiction of character death, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of parenthood, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, mention of sexual acts, heian! sukuna, long suffering concubine! reader;
WORD COUNT: 19k words
NOTE: i thought about how concubine reader and sukuna have this really interesting relationship. a really interesting and painful relationship. and a lot of imbalances exist, with how sukuna has the most power. and he uses it to corrupt her. sukuna, no matter how much he loves concubine reader or make her happy, he will continue to hurt her and cause her grief. and next chapter, we will explore her response to it all, and how she rebels. and how sukuna concedes. in any case, thank you for reading!!! i love you all <3
TAGLIST: @after-laughter-come-tears, @kunasthiast, @midnight-138, @sukioyakio;
main masterlist
the other woman masterlist
if you want to, tip! <3
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MANY YEARS OF MARRIAGE AND HE STILL HAS NOT FIGURED IT OUT. Ryomen Sukuna didn’t know how to put into words what churned within him when it came to you, his concubine.
You were his endless enigma wrapped in the finest of silks he could procure for you. You were a constant contradiction that pricked at the edges of his ego and lingered in the dark corners of his thoughts. 
He despised puzzles left unsolved, he hated things left undone. Yet you had become the one conundrum he could never crack. And for a long while, he had thought he would be content with that. But as the years went on, he felt maddened by it all. He didn’t know you well, not in the way he hoped. And that bothers him.
Do not get him wrong, he knew you. He knew you well enough that he had kept you around, that you were the only one that he’d ever let close, one that was never a servant. He knew every subtle glance, the cadence of your voice, the way your hands moved with grace even in the most mundane tasks.
He had memorized you like the pages of an ancient, weathered tome, and yet, for all the knowledge he’d gathered, there was something about you that evaded him. Something beyond the surface, just out of reach. It gnawed at him.
Was it fascination? Resentment? Or something far more dangerous—something he refused to name? He had thought, surely, the years would erode whatever this was. Time, after all, was the great equalizer, the eventual destroyer of all attachments. But you had not faded from his mind, nor had the mystery of you unraveled with the passage of time.
The more he let his thoughts drift to you, the more he realized it wasn’t just you he was trying to solve. It was what you made him feel, what it all meant. Was it a weakness? Power? The echo of something human he thought he had long buried? It infuriated him, how you lingered in his chest, a riddle left unanswered.
Even in the quiet hours, when no one else was watching, when his guard was down, he could never bring himself to face the truth. To admit that perhaps you were the one thing in his existence he couldn’t conquer, couldn’t master. And worse still, he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to.
Ryomen Sukuna sat upon his throne, the flickering light of the torches casting long shadows across the stone walls. His scarlet eyes, sharp and unyielding, rested on you as you poured his drink with practiced grace.
The delicate clink of the vessel against the rim of his cup seems louder than it should have, reverberating in the silence. You didn’t look at him directly—never did—but he could sense the weight of your presence, a quiet power wrapped in submission.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight, little one.” he said, his voice a low rumble, laced with something unreadable. “A rarity.”
Your hands paused for a fraction of a second before continuing. “Am I to speak freely, my lord?” you asked softly, eyes fixed on the task before you.
A smirk tugged at his lips. “You always choose your words carefully, don’t you? Go on, then. Speak.”
You straightened, meeting his gaze for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The torchlight painted you in warm hues, highlighting the determined tilt of your chin. “I only remain quiet because I sense you prefer it that way. Am I mistaken?”
Sukuna leaned back, swirling the liquid in his cup. “You assume much, little one.”
“And yet, I am still here.” Your tone was calm, almost resigned, but it carried an edge he couldn’t ignore.
His smirk faded. There it was again. That inexplicable thing about you that unraveled his carefully constructed walls. You, with your unassuming words and quiet defiance, managed to disrupt him in ways he couldn’t name.
“Do you think you’ve won some favor with me with such a thing?” he asked, tilting his head as he studied you. “That your loyalty earns you a place above the others?”
“No.” Your answer was immediate, your gaze steady. “I know better than to believe I have power over you, my lord. But I do wonder—why keep me? If I am just another servant, just another fleeting presence in your endless existence, why let me linger?”
His jaw tightened. The audacity of your words would have earned anyone else a swift and brutal end, yet he let you speak. Why? Even he didn’t know.
“You have too many curiosities, little one.” He says, eyeing you. His red meeting your own orbs. “Ones that would be hard to satisfy a mortal like you.”
You smiled, laying your hand on your lap. “I have stayed, my lord. Do you not think I would have left long ago, had there been no satisfaction? Even with my curiosities.”
“You presume too much about that, little one.” he growled, though his tone lacked the usual venom. “You are here because I allow it. That is all you need to understand.”
“And yet……” you took a small step closer, a dangerous glint in your eyes. “You never send me away. Or let me go. When there are so many opportunities, don’t you think?”
Silence fell between you, thick with unspoken truths. Sukuna’s gaze narrowed, his sharp features betraying nothing of the chaos within. He wanted to scoff, to crush this insolence with a flick of his fingers, but the words stuck in his throat. 
You were right. He had kept you close, far closer than anyone else. And it wasn’t out of need or convenience—it was something deeper, something he didn’t dare acknowledge. It was something that he’d rather not touch upon. Not if he wants to dig a hole of possibilities he had no answers for.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, little one.” he warned, his voice a low growl.
“I only play the game you started, my lord.”
His scarlet eyes bored into yours, searching for something he couldn’t name. You stood your ground, unflinching, and for a moment, he thought he hated you for it. Hated how you made him feel… exposed. Mortal.
But instead of lashing out, he laughed. That same cold, bitter sound that echoed through the chamber. You were too familiar with it by now. “You’re a fool if you think this ends in your favor.”
“And you, my lord, are a fool if you think you’ll ever solve me. In the way you wish.” you replied, voice steady and soft, like a whisper cutting through the storm. “Fate does not work in that way.”
A sly grin appears on his lips. “Perhaps that is the case, little one. But I am no fool.”
You raised a brow, intrigued. “Oh, then what are you, my lord?”
“A husband who is intrigued about his wife.” He whispers back to you.
For a moment, your eyes blinked at his words.
Soon enough, laughter permeates through your lips.
He was fond of the sound, truthfully enough.
“You lie as easily as you breathe.” You whisper back to him, a soft ghostly smile on your lips. “My lord, I thought you only said the truth.”
He would not say anything else more, he thinks.
Ryomen Sukuna watched as you downed a cup of sake.
It was better to not dig through the mess, not at all.
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YOU OPTED OUT OF THE SESSION IN THE AUDIENCE HALL TODAY. Sukuna had sent quite a word about it , but you knew he truly did not mind. You knew him too well, that words were more or less just what it would be.
He knew you needed a break, to breathe after such a hectic schedule with him. Not to mention that you took care of Chiharu and Chizuru at the same time all on your own, and managed Vermillion Hall by yourself. It was not easy. You needed the rest. And you were glad your husband knew that. 
The sun had already begun to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm glow across the Vermillion Hall. The soft hum of activity filled the air as the children were off in their lessons, their laughter and chatter drifting faintly through the hall’s open windows. The usually peaceful atmosphere was, for once, undisturbed, and yet, it felt different today. 
There was a presence in the hall that hadn't been there before—the presence of Ryomen Sukuna. But you hadn’t noticed yet. Not that he expected you to. He doesn’t visit often enough as of late to find him here. He was too dedicated to other pursuits. 
You were seated by the large window, a small wooden sewing table in front of you. The soft rustle of fabric and the rhythmic motion of your hands as you carefully worked on the intricate stitching of Sukuna's new haori made the room feel calm, despite the tension that always seemed to linger between you two. 
It wasn’t the first time you had sewn clothes for him and it wouldn’t be the last. You were the only one now left making his clothing for him. You knew what he had liked, so there was no one else who did that for him.
Everyone else’s hands were not to touch his clothing, unless to wash it. And now that his previous haori had been torn and tattered from battles, you found the need to make a new one for him.  
You were halfway through adding delicate embroidery when you heard the heavy footsteps. This is only when you heard that sound that you felt something was amiss. You didn’t look up immediately, your fingers still moving across the fabric, your mind focused on the delicate task in front of you.
You could feel his presence, though heavy and undeniable. Finally, after a moment of silence, you heard his voice, low and unhurried, as though he had no reason to be anything but calm.
"Still sewing clothes for me, are you, little one?" His voice carried a hint of amusement, though there was an undercurrent of something else in it, something almost like... curiosity?
You glanced up, meeting his gaze with a faint but questioning look. "It’s not like you’ll bother to do it yourself, my lord. You had taken the liberty of demoting all your sewing servants, other than me." you replied dryly, your eyes moving back to the thread as you continued to stitch. 
Sukuna snickers. “It is no fault of mine that they are inept at the task you do so well at. Though, I should think you would be resting more today, little one.”
"I had done all my tasks rather easily, my lord.” You tell him honestly, poking the needle through again. “And with such time, I figured it would be better for you to have something... new. I cannot keep mending that one you like so much forever."
Sukuna chuckled softly, his deep voice vibrating through the room. “You’re trying to make me more presentable, are you?” He stepped closer, his gaze following your hands as you worked. "It’s a little late for that, don’t you think? Today’s audiences have been dealt with, little one."
The tone in his voice wasn’t mocking, though—it wasn’t quite the usual arrogance you’d expect from him. Instead, it was something more playful, more curious. Something that hinted at an understanding that wasn’t quite there before. Your husband, you find, has been playful when he wants to be. But that often is a rarity done in good faith.
"Maybe so, my lord." you said softly, your fingers never pausing in their work. "But I thought it might be nice for a change. For the next audience Tis better dealt with now then left for next."
His gaze softened slightly at that, though he remained silent for a long moment, watching you as you worked, the fabric between your fingers so delicate, your focus so intense. For the first time in a long while, it seemed like Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t entirely sure how to respond.
“You’ve been quiet, little one.” he remarked after a moment, his voice not quite as sharp as it usually was. "Too quiet. What’s on your mind?"
You paused briefly, meeting his gaze for a moment before looking back at the haori in your lap. The question was unexpected, but not unwelcome. It felt like the first time in ages that he actually wanted to know. 
"Just thinking, my lord." you said, your voice low. "About everything, really. The way things have... changed."
His expression darkened a fraction, but the concern he tried to hide didn’t escape your notice. “Changed?” His gaze narrowed slightly as he stepped closer. “In what way?”
You took a breath, the words coming slower than you intended. "I think... I think I’ve spent so much time trying to keep everything together, trying to make sense of it. But sometimes, I don’t even know where I am anymore." 
You didn’t look up, but your voice carried a strange, vulnerable edge now—something raw that you hadn't meant to reveal. “I never asked for this. For you. For any of this. I think about that as I get older. And of course, I am content but I….”
Sukuna remained silent, and for once, you didn’t hear the usual sneer in his voice or the biting comment ready to spill from his lips. He was quiet, studying you with a strange intensity, as though searching for something he couldn’t quite understand.
"I know, little one." he said finally, his voice softer than usual, but still carrying that familiar weight. "It’s never been easy for you. I get that."
You finally looked up, meeting his gaze directly. There was no arrogance in his eyes now, no unreadable distance. Just something... real. "Do you?" you asked quietly, searching his expression. “Do you really? Because sometimes I feel like I’m just some… some afterthought to you. A thing you can’t quite get rid of, but can’t quite leave alone either.”
Sukuna blinked at your words, and though his face remained unreadable, there was a flicker of something—guilt, regret, maybe even something deeper passing through his scarlet eyes. He stepped closer, his usual intimidating presence now softened, as though in the presence of your vulnerability, he couldn’t bring himself to hold onto the same unyielding stance.
“I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, little one. Even gods are such creatures.” he said quietly, his voice lower now. “I don’t know how to make it right. But I’m not leaving. Nor shall I abandon or forsake you. You ought to know that by now, little one.”
You sighed, poking another hole onto the fabric. “You sent one of the concubines to the Cold Hall, my lord. To be abandoned till she dies.”
“For a fault of her own, harming another woman in the harem.” He shakes his head at you. “You have not done such a thing. I swear that it won't happen to you. Not in your whole life.”
“How is my lord so certain to promise—” You pricked your finger, causing you to groan. You quickly move the fabric away, to avoid the blood pouring onto the fabric. 
Sukuna sighs and crouches over to you, taking your hand onto his own big one. He takes the bleeding finger close to his lips and lets the taste of your metallic blood echo onto his tongue. Your blood has always been so sweet to Sukuna, so smooth and tender. It was honest blood. Blood which has never done any wrong against anyone or anything. 
Not even him, who has made you ever so miserable. You frowned at his act. But sooner or later, the blood isn’t pouring anymore. You take your hand off his own, muttering a small thank you as you continue to work on the haori, much more careful this time.
“You raised my child, you bore me a son. And you are close by my side at all times, doing as you are told. You won’t suffer such fate and this is proof.”
“But what if I…..”
He sighed, letting his hand rest upon your head. “You will not. For all your life, you will live well. Do not over think, little one. It shall cost more of your beauty.”
You could feel your cheeks flustered with warm scarlet. You cannot look at him, or he’ll see the extent of your reddened face.  “M–my lord, if I am pricked once more—”
His gaze softened as he stood next to you, watching the way your hands moved over the fabric with quiet concentration. “Shall I make a binding vow to you, little one? I swear to you, you would not suffer in such a way.”
You couldn’t tell if he was being honest or if this was just another of his strange ways of trying to explain himself. Sukuna was never one for soft words, never one to lay himself bare.
But there was something in the way he stood there, looking at you, something that told you he wasn’t just trying to placate you. He meant it—at least, in his own way.
You sighed, putting the needle down for a moment. “I don’t know what you want from me, my lord.” you muttered, your voice almost lost in the quiet of the room. “I don’t know what I want either.”
Sukuna didn’t answer immediately, instead watching you with a quiet intensity. His gaze softened, and after a long moment, he placed a hand on the edge of the table, his fingers just brushing the fabric of the haori.
“I can’t give you the answers you want, not in a way that would make you happy. Not in ways that would make it easier.” he said finally, his voice almost regretful. “But we will not part. I shall stand by you as you stand with me, little one. If that means anything to you.”
The words hung in the air between you two, and for a long time, neither of you spoke. The tension that had always existed between you both seemed to lessen, if only for a moment. Perhaps there was no grand gesture of reconciliation, no magic words that could undo the past. But for now, this quiet understanding was enough.
Sukuna finally took a step back, his usual air of control slowly creeping back. But the softness in his gaze remained. “Finish the haori, little one.” he said, his voice commanding, though not unkind. "I’ll wear it soon enough."
You nodded silently, and as he turned to leave, you couldn’t help but wonder, just for a fleeting moment, whether things between the two of you might one day be different.
Whether Sukuna would ever truly change. Whether he could be more than who you know he already is. You purse your lips into a flat line, trying to focus on your stitches once more.
You would think about him for the whole night, you think to yourself.
You could not get him out of your mind for one second, even in bed.
But one thing’s for certain to you — your husband lies as much as he breathes.
Even if you love him, he will not love you in the way you want him to.
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HE HAD SUMMONED YOU TO JOIN HIM FOR A DRINK. But it was quite obvious to you when you arrived that your husband was already far too deep into his drink already. You sighed, noticing a blue liquor.
Ah, the one Uraume prepares for him. This was the only alcohol that could get your husband drunk. He was immune to anything else. But this lets him feel human in his godly state. It makes him feel relieved. To be drunk on something even once in a while.
Sukuna's gaze lingered on you for a moment as you bowed. Everything about his expression was unreadable, yet there was something in his dark scarlet eyes. Something dangerous and raw. He raises his hand, letting you be at ease. You start to approach him with swift grace.
He hated how his thoughts betrayed him, wandering to places he had sworn to bury. Foolish. That’s what it was. Foolish and beneath him to feel this… guilt, this yearning that clawed at him like a curse more potent than any he could wield.
He had been alive far too long, seen far too much. He should have been immune to such petty human feelings by now. Desires, cravings…they were remnants of a man he had left behind when he ascended to godhood. 
And yet, when he thought of you, when his mind wandered to the softness of your body pressed against his, the warmth of that night you lay tangled together, he could feel something crack beneath his skin.
He thought he’d outgrown it, thought he’d buried whatever mortal part of him still dared to want. But it hadn’t stopped. It had only shifted, mutating into something darker, deeper.
His body betrayed him, aching with a hunger he despised. The memory of your touch, the way your smaller frame molded against his, haunted him in ways nothing else ever had.
You were a puzzle, you perhaps always will be to him. And that he could admit, was his  fleeting moment of weakness. He wanted more of you, a complete picture and now he couldn’t seem to erase that desire. He cannot quell his desires and he hates it. He despises himself over it. 
He remembered every detail of that night. The way your breaths hitched when his hands roamed over you, the softness of your skin beneath his calloused fingers. How you’d fit against him, fragile yet unyielding.
Somehow, you can tell that it was a stark contrast to his overwhelming presence. You were something too special, something he wants to taint and ruin, someone he wants to consume whole.
It was intoxicating, the memory of it. He remembers them without fail, even in a state like this. The way you surrendered without fear, how you looked at him as though he wasn’t a god or a monster, but just… a man. He hated that. Hated the vulnerability it pulled from him, the reminder that he was once human too.
Sukuna clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as if the pain could anchor him. He shouldn’t think of you this way, shouldn’t allow himself to feel this way.
But no matter how much he tried to suppress it, the truth clawed its way to the surface. He wanted you. Not just in the fleeting, carnal way he could dismiss. No, this was deeper.
And it infuriated him.
"Little one." he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. You turned to him, startled by the abruptness of his tone, but there was no mistaking the heat in his gaze.
“Yes, my lord?” you asked, your voice careful, cautious.
He rose from his throne, the sheer power of his presence making the air around you feel heavier. He took a step closer, towering over you, his dark eyes darkened by something primal. His hand reached out, rough fingers brushing against your cheek before he seemed to catch himself. He let it fall back to his side, jaw tightening.
"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, like the rumble of distant thunder.
You blinked, stunned by the admission. “My lord, I—”
"Silence, little one." he growled, his eyes narrowing. "Don’t speak unless I tell you to."
The command was sharp, but his hand trembled slightly before he curled it into a fist. He hated himself in that moment, hated how much power you had over him without even trying.
You were like a little doe, the way you looked at him. Almost so demure and helpless. And yet, you had the most power over him, now that Hiromi was dead. And he didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want to admit that truth.
“I thought it had ended, little one.” he continued, more to himself than to you. “This… weakness. This need for something so fleeting. Yet here I am, craving you like a man, not a god. How pathetic.”
Your lips parted, but you said nothing, sensing that this moment was not yours to interrupt. Sukuna’s gaze dropped to the floor for a fraction of a second before returning to yours, molten gold locking with your wide eyes.
“Tell me, little one.” he commanded, his voice softer now, though no less intense. “Do you feel it too? Or am I the only one foolish enough to burn for something I can never truly have?”
The question hung heavy in the air, a challenge and a confession all at once. Your breath hitched as his words settled in, the weight of them pressing against you like his looming presence. Sukuna had never been one to lay himself bare, yet here he stood, his gaze cutting through you with the intensity of a man teetering on the edge of restraint.
You swallowed hard, unsure if it was bravery or recklessness that made you speak. “My lord, I…..” you began carefully, voice trembling but steady. You swallow the bile down your throat. “It would be a lie to say I haven’t thought of that night. To say I haven’t felt… something for you.”
His eyes darkened, the faintest flicker of something. Was it satisfaction, perhaps? Was it a desire which was crossing his face? He stepped closer, the space between you almost nonexistent. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his presence overwhelming.
“You have, then?” he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl. “You’ve thought of me… of us?”
“Yes, my lord….” you admitted, your heart pounding in your chest. “But I—”
“But what?” he interrupted, his tone sharp, his hand reaching up to grip your chin gently, forcing you to look at him. “You think I don’t see it in your eyes? The way you tremble when I’m near, yet you never pull away. You deny me nothing, yet you still hesitate to admit what you want.”
You closed your eyes for a moment, steadying yourself against the storm that was Sukuna. “I hesitate, my lord.” you said softly, your lips quivering. “Because I don’t know if what you want from me is real, or if I’m just another fleeting indulgence for you. A distraction.”
His grip tightened ever so slightly, his jaw clenching as if your words had struck a nerve. “Do you think I am a god who indulges in meaningless distractions?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet. “Do you think I would allow myself to feel this, to want—if it were something I could so easily discard, little one? Do you think of me that way?”
You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze once more. There was something raw in his expression, something vulnerable that he tried to mask with his usual arrogance. It was startling, and it sent a shiver down your spine.
“I don’t know what you feel, my lord.” you whispered, your voice trembling now. “You are a god, my god. A force beyond comprehension. How could I ever understand what I mean to you, knowing how far away you are?”
Sukuna let out a low, bitter laugh, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You think too much, little one.” he said, his tone softer now, though his scarlet eyes remained intense. “I’ve spent centuries trying to rid myself of weakness, yet here you are, the one thing I cannot escape. You plague me, little one, and I despise it as much as I crave it.”
The confession sent a jolt through you, and before you could stop yourself, your hand reached up, lightly resting on his wrist. The contact seemed to startle him, his eyes narrowing as if to assess your boldness. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin.
“You are mine, little one.” he murmured, his voice low and possessive. “Whether you believe it or not, whether you understand it or not….you belong to me. And I—” He paused, the words catching in his throat as if they were foreign to him. “I cannot let you go.”
You felt your resolve waver under the weight of his admission, the intensity of his gaze consuming you. “Then what do you want from me, my lord?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
His lips curled into a dangerous smirk, though his eyes betrayed a deeper emotion. “Everything, little one.” he said simply. “Your body, your thoughts, your heart. I will have it all, and I will never share it with another. I want it to be mine.”
Your lips trembled as your eyes bore his own. “You already know that I am yours, my lord.”
The declaration was both a promise and a warning, and as his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, you realized there was no escaping him. Not now. Not ever. He had killed and he had harmed. You do not take his threat lightly. You do not take his confession lightly.
Sukuna’s hand slid to the back of your neck, his grip firm and unyielding as he pulled you closer. His touch burned like fire, his fingers tangling in your hair as he forced you to look up at him. There was no hesitation in his movements, no softness in his gaze. The air between you was charged, thick with the weight of emotions neither of you dared to name.
“You drive me to madness, little one.” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Do you even understand what you’ve done to me?”
Before you could answer, his lips crashed against yours, rough and demanding, stealing the breath from your lungs. It wasn’t gentle. Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t gentle. It was raw, primal, and overwhelming.
It was as if he was trying to claim you with every ounce of his being. His free arm snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against his powerful frame, your smaller body dwarfed by his overwhelming presence.
You gasped against his mouth, the sheer intensity of him leaving you breathless. His kiss was fierce, filled with pent-up desire and frustration, a battle for dominance you knew you couldn’t win. His sharp teeth grazed your bottom lip, a warning and a tease all at once.
Your hands instinctively gripped his robes, desperate for something to anchor you as the world seemed to tilt. You felt his chest rumble against yours, a deep growl escaping him as if your touch only fueled his hunger.
When he finally pulled back, his lips hovered just above yours, his breath hot and ragged. His scarlet eyes bore into yours, wild and unrestrained. “You are mine, little one.” he rasped, his voice rough with emotion. “Do you understand? No one else. Ever.”
You swallowed hard, your own breathing uneven as you tried to process the intensity of what had just happened. “I…”
Words failed you, your thoughts scrambled, but the look in his eyes demanded an answer. He wants what he wants, your husband. He was never coy with it. And that intimidated you. That burned you. And that made your heart beat, over and over.
“Yes, my lord.” you whispered finally, your voice trembling but resolute. “I’m yours. Always.”
A dangerous smile curved his lips, and his hold on you tightened. “Good.” he murmured, his voice dark and possessive. “Because I won’t let you go. Not now. Not ever.”
His lips descended on yours again, and this time, you didn’t resist. Instead, you gave yourself to him, surrendering to the storm that was Sukuna, knowing that there was no turning back
Sukuna didn’t stop. He couldn’t—no, he wouldn’t. The intensity of his desire had festered too long, clawing at him in the quiet moments, haunting him in the shadows. Now, with you in his grasp, his need consumed him entirely, and he refused to let anything hold him back.
His lips moved against yours with bruising force, his kiss deep and possessive, leaving no room for hesitation. His hands roamed your body, one gripping your waist as if to anchor you to him.
The other sliding up to cradle the back of your head. He tilted your face to deepen the kiss, his sharp teeth grazing your lips again, a feral growl rumbling in his chest.
You felt overwhelmed, every inch of your skin alight with his touch. His energy was raw and almost suffocating. Everything about it surged through you, leaving no part of you unaffected.
Despite his roughness, there was something deliberate in his actions, as if he were memorizing every curve, every shiver, every gasp you gave him. He broke the kiss just enough to look at you, his scarlet eyes darkened with unbridled hunger. His chest heaved as he fought to rein in the storm raging within him.
“You’re trembling, little one.” he muttered, his voice rough yet tinged with something almost tender. “Are you afraid?”
You hesitated, your lips swollen and breath shaky. “No, my lord.” you answered softly, your voice wavering. “Not afraid.”
His eyes narrowed, as if testing the truth of your words. “Then why do you shake?” he demanded, his thumb brushing along your jawline, a rare gentleness in the gesture that only made his intensity more suffocating. “Is it because of me? Because of what I make you feel?”
You nodded, unable to deny him even if you wanted to. “Yes, my lord.” you whispered, the confession slipping from your lips before you could think twice.
His smirk returned, sharp and dangerous, but there was a flicker of something softer beneath it. It was pride, satisfaction, maybe even relief. His cheeks were red, flushed in the echoes of the drink.
“Good, little one.” he said, his voice a low rumble. “You should feel it. All of it. Because I intend to show you just how deeply I’ve burned for you.”
Before you could respond, Sukuna scooped you up effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as though you weighed nothing. His hold on you was possessive, tightly locking you.
Every bit of his movements deliberate as he carried you toward the large bed at the far side of the chamber. The world seemed to blur around you, the air crackling with his power and your own anticipation.
He placed you down gently. It was an unexpected contrast to his earlier roughness but the way his hands lingered on your body betrayed the restraint he was barely holding onto. He loomed over you, his shadow swallowing you whole, his predatory gaze drinking in the sight of you beneath him.
“You don’t understand what you do to me, little one.” he said, his voice low and almost vulnerable, a confession meant only for you. “But tonight, you will. Tonight, you’ll feel it—the depth of my hunger, my desire. All of it.”
You shivered at his words, your heart racing as his hands found you again, pulling you closer to the god who had claimed you as his own. You wrapped your arms around him and let him do what he willed with you.
This is how you worshiped him, your god. You let him ruin you, you let him take it all away from you. No matter what, you’ll worship him. Even if it hurts you in the end.
══════════════════
IT WAS BITTER TO FEEL THIS IN THE MORNING. Ryomen Sukuna’s shoulders slumped as he sat on the edge of the bed, his hand cradling his forehead as though it could ease the storm brewing within him.
The room was dimly lit, the morning sun barely filtering through the heavy curtains, casting long shadows that seemed to mirror his turmoil. He glanced back at you, your form barely stirring under the silk sheets, a picture of innocence amidst the chaos he had wrought.
The guilt clawed at him like a relentless beast, tearing into the very essence of him. He had told himself countless times before that he was beyond redemption, that the sins of his godhood were unerasable.
Yet, every time he saw you lying beside him, your face softened by the vulnerability of sleep, the weight of his choices bore down on him tenfold. How innocent you looked. Almost like the most ethereal creature born to man.
And he's hurting you. He's hurt you. And he knew, it would break you. He'd done it before. He knew that. Sukuna's hands traced against his tightening jaw. How could he have done this to you?
He thought of Hiromi again, the one constant ghost that haunted him. Her face was as vivid in his mind as it had been centuries ago. The way she had looked at him with a love that had defied his monstrous nature was a memory he could never shake.
He had betrayed her over and over again, and yet her phantom presence lingered, a painful reminder of what he had lost and what he continued to desecrate.
She deserved better. And now, so do you.
His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. No matter how much he wanted to justify his actions, he couldn’t escape the truth: he was selfish. He was a god who took what he wanted, who carved his desires into the world without regard for the aftermath.
But with you, it felt different. He wasn’t just stealing your body; he was robbing you of your peace, your freedom. You were becoming a reflection of the torment that plagued him, and he hated himself for it.
Uraume’s earlier hesitation gnawed at him, too. They had served him faithfully for centuries, never questioning his orders. But the way their eyes lingered on you this morning, filled with something bordering on pity, unsettled him. Even they, loyal to a fault, could see the weight of his selfishness pressing down on you.
As the door closed softly behind Uraume, Sukuna let out a low, frustrated groan. His hand reached out once more, hovering just above your sleeping form, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch you. The memory of your soft breaths against his skin, the warmth of your body entwined with his, lingered, mocking him. He craved it, and yet he despised himself for it.
This is for the best, he repeated to himself, though the mantra felt like ash in his mouth. You’ll be free. You’ll forget me, forget this moment and this pain will fade.
But as he stared at you, your peaceful expression threatening to break the last vestiges of his resolve, doubt crept in. Could he truly let you go, even if it meant erasing everything you shared? Was it really for you—or was it just another way to escape his guilt, to absolve himself of the burden of your misery?
Sukuna clenched his teeth, the internal battle raging louder than ever. His fingers twitched as he fought the urge to wake you, to hear your voice, to feel your touch just one more time.
He knew it was selfish, but the thought of you looking at him with those same accusing eyes, those eyes that didn’t understand why he had to do this—that was unbearable.
The door creaked open, and Uraume entered silently, a small vial in their hands. They approached cautiously, bowing low as they held it out to him. Sukuna took it without a word, his fingers tightening around the glass. The liquid inside glimmered faintly, deceptively harmless, yet it carried the power to wipe away everything.
Uraume glanced at you again, their expression unreadable, before speaking softly. “Are you certain, my lord?”
Sukuna’s scarlet eyes flicked to them, sharp and unyielding, though his voice betrayed a hint of hesitation. “Do not question me, Uraume.”
They bowed deeply once more, retreating without another word. The door clicked shut, leaving Sukuna alone with you again. He turned the vial over in his hands, the faint clink of the liquid inside echoing in the silent chamber. His gaze drifted back to you, his expression torn, raw in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in centuries.
“I am a fool.” he muttered under his breath, his voice bitter. “A selfish, wretched fool.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the vial dangling loosely between his fingers. The weight of the decision crushed him, every fiber of his being warring against itself. To let you forget would be to set you free, but it would also mean losing the only thing that had made him feel alive in eons. 
To let you remember would be to keep you bound to him, drowning alongside him in his endless torment. Ryomen Sukuna closed his eyes, exhaling shakily. He didn’t know what he hated more—the thought of losing you or the thought of keeping you. 
He was willing to take the risk of it all, if he was being honest.
He would rather let a lie continue, memories fade away forever;
He would rather do all the nasty things in this world, than lose you.
Everything else was better than finding you drowning with him like this.
══════════════════
THE MOMENT YOU WOKE UP, YOU REMEMBERED NOTHING. The memory of that night was elusive, like a fleeting shadow slipping between the cracks of your mind. You tried to recall it all from last night. Why did you end up taking your slumber in Heaven’s Hall instead of Vermillion Hall? Why had you fallen so sore and exhausted? What happened last night? 
You had pushed yourself to remember each and every time. But with all those attempts to do so left you with nothing but vague impressions. Perhaps you had been too tired to think clearly. Perhaps it wasn’t worth remembering. You had probably gotten so drunk and blacked out. Oh no, had you caused a scene? You were horrified about it all. 
You had hoped that it was going to come back to you once you have rested, once you had groomed yourself out of the mess of alcohol’s scent. Still, something about it lingered, a faint unease that you couldn’t quite place. You couldn’t piece it together and that makes you mad at yourself. How could you let this happen? How could you not remember anything?
Still, life moves forward. Your days carried on with a semblance of normalcy. The servants bustled about, tending to their endless duties, their chatter filling the quiet corners of the palace. You found comfort in routine, spending your hours with Chiharu and Chizuru, who had become your closest companions. 
Chiharu’s bright laughter and Chizuru’s sharp sense of humor made the days easier, their presence grounding you in a way Sukuna never had. In some ways, your joy comes from being their mother more than being Sukuna’s wife. Perhaps you had noticed that more and more now that your husband was too busy ignoring you again.
Yet, despite your efforts to immerse yourself in the calm, Ryomen Sukuna’s absence hung over you like a shadow. He had always been a looming presence in your life—commanding, unpredictable, impossible to ignore. But now, it was as if he had disappeared entirely. He no longer sought you out, no longer invaded your space with his suffocating intensity.
At first, you were relieved. His distance gave you a peace you hadn’t known in years. You could breathe without the weight of his gaze, could think without the distraction of his proximity. You liked the quiet. You needed it.
But as the days turned into weeks, you began to notice the emptiness his absence left behind. It wasn’t longing, not in the way you might have expected. It was something else; a nagging curiosity, an itch in the back of your mind that refused to be ignored.
Why had he stopped?
You replayed your last interactions with him over and over, searching for clues. Had you said something to offend him? Have you done something wrong? Or was this simply another one of his whims, a fleeting disinterest that would fade as quickly as it had come?
One afternoon, as you sat in the garden with Chiharu and Chizuru, the questions weighed heavier than usual. The soft rustling of leaves and the distant hum of insects filled the air, a perfect backdrop for the idle conversation that flowed between your companions.
“The plum blossoms are so beautiful this year, mother.” Chiharu said, her voice bright with excitement. She leaned forward, her fingers brushing the delicate petals of a nearby branch. “Don’t you think so?”
“They’re the same every year, nee–sama.” Chizuru replied, rolling his eyes with a teasing smile. “You act as if it’s your first time seeing them.”
Chiharu pouted at her younger brother. “Well, maybe you’re just too jaded to appreciate them anymore, little brother!”
“Nee-sama, take that back!
“No, I won’t!”
Their banter usually brought a smile to your face, but today, their words barely registered. Your gaze drifted to the distant silhouette of Heaven’s Hall, its grandeur standing in stark contrast to the serenity of the garden. You couldn’t shake the feeling that it held answers to the questions swirling in your mind.
“Are you all right, mother?” Chiharu’s voice broke through your thoughts, drawing your attention back to her concerned expression. “You seem… distracted.”
You forced a smile. “I’m fine. Just tired, I suppose.”
Chizuru narrowed his eyes, his sharp gaze cutting through your facade. He looked almost like his father at that moment.  “Tired, or thinking about something you don’t want to say, mother?”
You shook your head, brushing off her words with a light laugh. “Nothing worth mentioning, my little love. Really.”
But as the conversation resumed, your thoughts wandered once more. Later, as you walked back to your quarters alone, your steps slowed as you neared Heaven’s Hall. The towering structure loomed ahead, its marble pillars catching the fading light of the setting sun.
You stopped, your gaze lingering on the grand doors. Something about it unsettled you, yet it also pulled at you, as if it held the answers you sought. You could almost hear the faint echo of footsteps, the ghost of something forgotten stirring in the corners of your mind.
Your hand twitched at your side, a part of you tempted to step inside, to confront whatever it was that refused to let you go. But you hesitated, the weight of uncertainty holding you back.
With a shake of your head, you turned away, forcing your feet to carry you toward Vermillion Hall. It was better not to know, you told yourself. Sukuna’s silence was a gift, a reprieve from his consuming presence. You weren’t foolish enough to disrupt it.
And yet, as the days stretched on, the questions only grew louder, pressing against your thoughts with an intensity you couldn’t ignore. What had happened that night? Why had everything changed so suddenly?
Most of all, why did it feel like Sukuna’s absence was not just a relief, but a mystery begging to be unraveled?
The day had passed uneventfully, filled with the usual duties at the main temple. You had grown accustomed to these quiet, almost meditative tasks: managing the offerings, overseeing the attendants, ensuring everything ran smoothly.
It was a peaceful life, one that was slowly allowing you to forget the intensity of the emotions that once surrounded Sukuna.
But today, the quiet seemed more oppressive than comforting, the silence pressing in around you like a weight. The questions still clung to the back of your mind, refusing to be silenced.
After completing your tasks, you found yourself seeking out Uraume. They were a quiet figure, always observing, always present but rarely speaking. Perhaps they could provide some insight into the strange distance Sukuna had placed between you.
They had been in his service long enough to know when something was amiss, and their loyalty to him was unwavering. Surely, if anyone knew what had happened, it would be Uraume.
You found them in a quiet hallway, their eyes momentarily lifting from the scroll they were reading as they noticed you approaching. Their expression remained neutral, but there was an unreadable glint in their eyes.
“Uraume.” you started, keeping your voice even. “I wanted to ask you about something. Something… personal.”
Uraume tilted their head slightly, studying you. They were always cautious around you, as though they knew that even the slightest change in your tone could signal a question they didn’t want to answer.
"What is it you wish to know, my lady?" they asked carefully, their voice soft but calculated.
You hesitated, unsure how to approach the subject without making it too obvious. But there was no time for half-measures now. You needed to know.
“That night… in Heaven’s Hall. I don’t remember much. But I know something happened. Between me and my lord. I need to understand. I need help to remember. So, if you would….please help me regain—”
Uraume's gaze shifted, their eyes briefly flicking away. For a moment, you wondered if they would say anything at all. But then they met your gaze again, a small frown tugging at the corners of their mouth. 
"My lord’s affairs are not for me to discuss with others, my lady." they replied, their tone so measured it almost felt rehearsed. "I do not know what you speak of."
The response stung, more than you expected. It wasn’t just the refusal to answer; it was the certainty in their voice, the unyielding loyalty that seemed to close off any hope of learning the truth. You swallowed the frustration rising in your chest, trying to push it back, but it simmered nonetheless.
"Uraume, I—" you began, but they had already turned their gaze away, as though the conversation was over. 
They bowed slightly, the gesture polite but distant. "If that is all, my lady, I have matters to attend to."
Your chest tightened as they made to leave, and for a moment, you considered pressing further. But something told you it would be futile. Uraume was loyal to Sukuna above all else, and their silence wasn’t accidental—it was a guard, a wall you couldn’t break. You cannot expect someone like them to choose you over their master.
Feeling the weight of your unanswered questions settle heavier on you, you turned and walked away, your thoughts swirling with a mix of irritation and confusion. The frustration you’d been pushing down surged to the surface, bubbling up in a sharp, bitter wave.
As you rounded a corner, you caught a glimpse of something that made your heart skip a beat.
From a distance, near the large pillars that lined the edge of the courtyard, you saw him. 
Ryomen Sukuna, with his dark eyes boring into your figure.
Your lord husband was watching you, with such focus.
His gaze was steady, his scarlet eyes locked onto you with an intensity that was unmistakable. There was no mistaking the weight of it, even from a distance. The way his eyes pinned you in place, as if he could see through every thought, every feeling you were trying to hide.
You stopped in your tracks. For a split second, it felt as if time slowed, the space between you and him stretching. Your breath caught in your throat as you instinctively felt the pull of his gaze, the silent command it carried. It was as if he were drawing you in, pulling you closer without saying a word.
But you couldn’t stay. You couldn’t approach him—not when everything felt so… unfinished, so raw. The frustration from your encounter with Uraume flared inside you, and the last thing you wanted was to face Sukuna with that vulnerability hanging over you. Not when he seemed to be watching you with that same detached, unreadable expression.
You didn’t wait a second longer. You turned quickly, your steps brisk as you made your way down the hall, away from his gaze, away from whatever strange pull he had over you. Your heart raced, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You had to leave before you did something foolish.
But even as you hurried down the hall, you couldn’t escape the feeling that Sukuna’s eyes never left your back.
══════════════════
RYOMEN SUKUNA CAN’T HELP IT. The smell of you that remained on this silk handkerchief was powerful. He can’t stop. Not right now. Not at this moment. The silken fabric glides over Sukuna’s fingertips, its delicate touch igniting a shiver that travels through him, a contrast to the hard lines of his frame. 
The room feels smaller, darker, as he leans into the sensation, pressing the silk to his face and inhaling slowly. The scent is intoxicating, carrying the essence of you. Something warm, elusive, and utterly tormenting. His dark scarlet eyes flutter shut as a sigh parts his lips, betraying the barrier he usually holds so tightly.
Every breath feels heavier, resonating with the silent thrum beneath his skin, a rhythm that’s more than just desire. Everything about it was a pull that shakes his control. He drags the fabric down the line of his jaw, its whisper against his skin making his pulse quicken. 
He could feel the closeness and yet distance of you driving him deeper into the edge of yearning. His own touch is rougher now, less restrained as he presses the silk to the hollow of his throat, feeling the heat rise within him, warmth spreading like a slow burn.
A groan escapes, low and gravelly, as if torn from the depths of him, echoing in the silence. The sensation of his hands moving, the silk brushing over his chest and further, turns into a private ritual of surrender.
Each sweep of the fabric sparks against nerves like embers. The ghostly presence of you envelops him, the way you would breathe against his skin, the way your fingertips would linger with a feather-light tease.
The complexity of it all is the very reason he won’t dare cross the distance between you, why this is the only way he allows himself to know the softness you carry. It’s both bliss and torment, this delicate line he walks, trembling under the weight of the scent and the way it melds into the heat of his own breath. 
His movements become slower, more deliberate, savoring every moment until there’s nothing left but the ragged edge of satisfaction mixed with the stark silence of solitude. His mind swirls with the thought of you, laid out beneath him, your skin flushed and breath coming in soft, shuddering gasps. 
"My lord….my Sukuna." you would whisper, voice low and dripping with need, eyes wide and filled with trust and anticipation. The sound of your voice in his imagination alone makes him clench his jaw, his breath catching as heat unfurls within him.
“Say it again, little one.” he imagines himself growling, his tone both a command and a plea. His hand moves, firm and deliberate, stroking along his length as he pictures the way you’d obey, the way you’d bite your lip before moaning his name once more, the sound of it desperate and broken.
“Please, my lord.” your voice echoes in his head, needy and soft. 
The thought drives him to the brink, his body responding to the phantom sound as if you were really there. The groan that slips from his lips is deep, guttural, filling the dark room. His hips bucked against his own touch, chasing the sensation, needing it, needing you.
"Look at me. Keep your eyes on me. Only me." he imagines saying, the rasp in his voice trembling at the edge of restraint. 
He pictures your eyes locking onto his, the way they’d cloud over as he takes you apart piece by piece. His pace quickens, hand swirling tighter as he lets himself fall further into the fantasy, into the imagined warmth of your skin against his, the velvet feel of your touch.
“My lord—oh, Sukuna!” you’d moan, this time louder, the way he likes. His muscles tense as he shudders, everything building to that blinding point of no return. 
The room falls silent but for the sound of his own gasps, as the pleasure crashes over him, leaving only the thrum of his heartbeat and the haunting ache of wanting more than this moment, more than just shadows and longing.
Sukuna’s breath comes in short, ragged bursts as his hips move faster, instinct guiding his hand as he chases the release that teeters just out of reach. The image of you beneath him, eyes glassy and lips swollen, clings to his mind with fierce clarity. 
He can almost feel the way your body would shudder, the way you'd gasp and cling to him, the sensation of being deep within you as you take him, body trembling and surrendering completely. The tension in him coils tighter, the thought of you so full of him that he can see it in the way your body arches, pressing against him, drawing him deeper. 
“Take it all, little one. Take all of me. Please. Please—oh…..” he imagines growling, the dark intensity of the command vibrating through the silence.
His hand moves with desperation, the slick glide mimicking the fantasy in his mind, where every breath from you is a soft plea and every moan is edged with that delicious note of submission that drives him wild.
The imagined feel of your warmth, of your walls tightening around him, pushes him over the edge. His body tenses, muscles rigid as the wave crashes through him, a guttural groan spilling from his lips, raw and deep.
Pleasure surges, blinding and consuming, leaving him breathless and sprawled in the silence that follows, the echoes of his need fading into the stillness of the room.
When the tremors subside, he opens his eyes, staring up at the ceiling, chest heaving. The room feels emptier now, haunted by the echoes of your phantom touch and the aching reminder that you’re not here.
The need has been sated for now, but the longing, that ever-present hunger for you, remains unsatisfied, gnawing at him with a dark, insatiable hunger.
He looks down at the silk fabric, occupied by his fluids.
Sukuna felt his lips tighten at the sight of it, so full of him.
He ruined you, he keeps ruining you — and he would not stop.
Ryomen Sukuna stood up, and looks at the potion.
He could not take it, he could not take that guilt.
His hands takes it brashly towards his lips and drank.
Ryomen Sukuna wants to forget how he hurt you.
══════════════════
YOU MAKE HASTE TO GET READY. Sukuna’s summons arrives as a simple, imperious command, and yet it sends a thrill down your spine. You looked at Uraume and merely nodded. Your husband was that sort of man. He only wishes for you when he ends up at the end of his wits. But you cannot say much about it. You ought not to.
It’s been quite a few weeks gone and past since the two of you sat together without the press of others’ watchful eyes or the weight of duties. And because of that, things would be different between the two of you, well at least until that awkward distance disappears with some comfort with some time spent together.
When you enter the grand dining hall, he’s already seated, the firelight casting a warm glow over his sharp features, softening the edge of his usual scowl. His crimson eyes lift to meet yours, something unreadable flickering behind them before he gives a subtle nod.
“Sit, little one.” he says, and though the tone is clipped, there’s a trace of something gentler woven beneath. 
You take your place across from him, and a faint smile tugs at your lips as the first drink of sake is poured for you.  Another bountiful pour of special drink for him.
It had taken some time for tongues to become loose. The silence between you is not strained but filled with anticipation, as if the weeks apart have made every unspoken word hum with importance.
The conversation unfolds slowly, naturally. The tension in his shoulders loosens as he sips from his cup, scarlet eyes softening when you speak of your children. Everything about your children brought the two of you closer. That's how it was.
You both talked abotu everything. Their laughter, their small victories at Jujutsu, the way they remind you of him in ways both stubborn and tender. Chizuru had finally learned how to control his cursed energy. Chiharu had discovered a new technique of her own, defeating her mentor. 
Your husband listens, occasionally offering a rare chuckle or a subtle smirk, and you realize just how much you missed this: the shared warmth, the unguarded moments when he’s more than the king, more than the conqueror. He perhaps did not love you. But you wanted his comfort, his warmth. In some ways, you wanted to be his. 
Not in ownership, no. But to….to have been cared for in some way by him. Of course, it would not be close to his feelings for Ryomen Hiromi. You had long accepted that. Still, you wanted warmth from him.
You wanted to carve your way through his heart, and let yourself have a home in it. At least what was left. Yet, you would never say that out loud. It was not your place. It never has been.
“Do you remember when Chiharu first tried to use her powers?” you ask, laughter bubbling in your voice. Sukuna’s lips quirk up at the memory, a shadow of pride crossing his face.
“The girl was quite fearless, I admit.” he replies, a hint of admiration in his voice. “But she still needs some work.”
You smiled. “My lord, I am certain you can find that Chiharu is one to be proud of. The work has paid off.”
“Hm. I suppose it has.” He says to you, his eyes tender. “But I cannot take the credit.”
“Nor can I, my lord.” You whisper back to him, a small smile on your lips. “I am not her only parent.”
He shakes his head. “No, no. To her, little one? You are the only one that matters.”
Everything from then seems to shrink around the two of you, the space intimate and alive with a marriage lived in many years and many dimensions — such of which the world will never know or be privy to. No. This belongs only to the two of you. No one else.
As the evening deepens, the wine flows more freely, and the conversation shifts, softening at the edges. Sukuna leans forward, his eyes catching the flicker of firelight. Your husband was studying you with a gaze that pierces through the veil of time and distance.
You’re suddenly aware of how close you are, of how his fingers drum lightly on the table, mere inches from yours. He couldn't stop, looking at you. Yearning for warmth that only you could provide.
Without thinking, you close the gap. Your hand brushes his, and before you can second-guess, you lean forward and press your lips to his. The kiss is soft at first, hesitant, as if testing the waters of familiarity, but he responds almost immediately. 
His hand moves to cup the back of your neck, deepening the kiss with a hunger that’s been banked too long. The room falls away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in the heat and urgency of reconnection, mouths moving with the desperation of lovers long apart.
When you pull back, both breathless, his eyes search yours, softer now, vulnerable in a way that’s rare and precious.
“It’s been too long, little one.” he murmurs, voice rough but honest, and you nod, a smile curving your lips as you press your forehead to his, savoring the moment and the promise of more to come.
The silence stretches between you, but it’s charged, buzzing with an unspoken need. The kiss lingers in the air, the taste of him still warm on your lips. There is no more talking now, only the thrum of anticipation as Sukuna’s eyes, deep and darkened with desire, lock onto yours. 
His hand tightens at the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his mouth crashes against yours again, fiercer this time. The room is awash in the scarlet glow of the fire, shadows dancing as if to the rhythm of your heartbeats.
Your hands find their way to his chest, fingers splaying over the hard muscle beneath his robes as you feel his heart pound beneath your touch. He shifts, rising from his chair with a graceful power that makes your breath catch.
In one swift movement, he pulls you up, the table pushed aside as if it were an afterthought, and suddenly, you're against him, your body pressed against the solid heat of his form.
Sukuna’s lips trail down your jaw to the pulse at your neck, teeth grazing as his breath comes hot against your skin. You gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer, wordlessly urging him on.
His hands roam, one sliding down your back, pressing your hips into his, while the other explores the curve of your waist, anchoring you as if afraid to let go.
Your senses blur; the feeling of his tongue tracing along the line of your collarbone sends shivers down your spine, and you arch into him, needing more. The sound of your breathless moans, mingled with the quiet growl he makes against your skin, fills the room. 
Sukuna lifts you easily, his strength effortless as he sets you on the edge of the table, stepping between your legs and pressing into you until there’s nothing but heat and the throb of shared longing.
Your eyes meet, and for a moment, the intensity softens. His thumb brushes your cheek, a surprising gentleness in the midst of the fervor, and then his lips are on yours again.
Over and over, he pushed forward with wanton desire. His lips wanted more. Tasting, claiming, as his hands slide lower, pulling you closer, drawing a shiver of pleasure that melts the last traces of restraint.
The world around you fades to nothing but the sensation of him, the rush of your bodies entwined in a dance that is both savage and intimate. Everything is raw, animalistic, as if the very air crackles with the weight of longing that has built up over the weeks apart. 
Ryomen Sukuna’s grip on you is commanding, pulling you closer, pressing you against him with a desperate need that makes you gasp, your body trembling in response.
The slick warmth of his skin against yours is intoxicating, a heady mixture of heat and urgency that makes it feel like there’s no time to waste. His lips are on you again, claiming you with a hunger that mirrors the way his body moves against yours.
Each thrust, each slow drag of his hips, drives deeper, the pressure building between you until it's unbearable. You can feel the pulse in his veins, the steady throb of him that echoes in your own body, matching the rhythm of your heart as it races wildly.
Tears slip from the corners of your eyes, but they’re not from pain, no. They’re from something deeper, something more overwhelming. The vulnerability of the moment, the overwhelming sensation of him taking you, claiming you fully, fills you with an emotion that crashes over you like a wave. 
Your breath hitches as you bite down on your lip, trying to hold back the rush of feelings threatening to break free. But Sukuna’s groan, low and almost animalistic, makes your resolve shatter, and you let go, surrendering completely to the pleasure, to the connection that binds you to him.
His body throbs with each movement, the pulse of his veins like a living thing inside you, the rhythm of it so steady and consuming that it feels as if you’re both part of the same beating heart. 
The force of it, the heat and pressure, makes you feel like you’re coming apart at the seams, but in the best way, as if every inch of you is being remade, redefined by his presence, by the way he fills you completely. There’s nothing but him now, no walls, no distance, just the two of you locked together in a way that feels timeless, primal.
You feel whole with him, in a way you’ve never felt before. The empty spaces that have haunted you, the ones you couldn’t even name; all of it seems to vanish in the intensity of the moment. How could it not, when he rules you in everything, body, heart and soul?
His body is a fierce warmth that wraps around you, grounding you, making you feel like you’ve always belonged to him, and he to you. It’s a feeling that is so deep, so consuming, that it transcends the physical, filling you with a sense of completeness that makes the rest of the world irrelevant.
The sound of his breath, deep and erratic, mingles with the rhythm of your own, and you’re both lost in the storm you’ve created. There are no words anymore, just the quiet, rhythmic echo of your bodies moving together, caught in the tide of sensation that threatens to drown you both.
And in the heart of it all, as you feel him throb inside you, a whisper of truth cuts through the haze: You are his, and he is yours, bound together in this moment of raw, unyielding connection. Nothing else can compare. And for a moment, Ryomen Sukuna had thought about it too. 
══════════════════
THE POTION DIDN'T WORK FOR LONG. He remembered everything. All of it. And he thinks he felt sick. Sick to the core. He hated it. He hated himself. He knew he was a cruel man, a foolish man. How could he do that? How could he do that to you?
Everything was wrong about him. And you deserved more than him. It was a continual rinse and repeat. The cycle was suffocating, each time growing more suffused with an unspoken tension that neither of you could escape. 
Ryomen Sukuna, ever the stoic, had felt that sharp pang of guilt again. It always caught him when he least expected it, the ghost of an emotion he tried so hard to suppress. The way you looked at him was always with eyes full of tenderness, full of trust. And everything about it had haunted him in those quiet moments. 
But guilt was a weakness, a human frailty that did not belong to him. He had learned to bury it, to lock it away with all the other feelings he refused to confront. And so, once again, the weight of that emotion was swallowed by the darkness he carried within himself, and he moved on.
You, on the other hand, were trapped in a cycle of confusion. The potion was seamless, subtle in its potency. One moment, you were wrapped in a night of passion, tangled with him in a world that felt more real than anything else. 
But the next, everything was gone. No memory of his touch, of the way he had made you feel; no trace of the connection you had shared. Just a deep sense of something missing, a gnawing hole that you couldn’t understand. 
The fog in your mind only deepened when you tried to recall the details. It was as though you had forgotten how to ask the right questions, and even when you tried, the answers weren’t there. Sukuna felt bitter and sick about his own actions. 
The potion worked too well.
And so, you found yourself caught in the same pattern, over and over. Confusion, followed by fleeting glimpses of something that should be familiar but never quite is. Each time you reached out for him, whether for comfort or answers—there was a distance, an impenetrable coldness that he wrapped around himself. 
The more you tried to close that gap, the further he seemed to pull away. You would ask, softly at first, tentatively: "Why do you look at me like that?" or "What happened?" But Sukuna never answered. 
His gaze would flicker, distant, uninterested, as if the question itself were a nuisance. He would look at you for a moment, but never fully engage, never fully reach for you. The warmth you once had between you felt as though it had turned to ice.
And it stung.
You would find yourself alone in the aftermath, wondering what had changed. Wondering what you had done wrong, what you had missed. It wasn’t like him to ignore you. Not in the way he did now. His absence wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, like he had shut a door between you that you couldn’t get through. 
His indifference was sharper than any anger he could have thrown your way. Each time you tried to get closer, to break through the cold silence that had enveloped him, the distance seemed to grow. It was as if the very act of reaching out to him had become a punishment, one you didn’t understand.
You couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed, that this time, the disconnection wasn’t just a hunch for you. No, it was not just a guess. You couldn’t even remember how many times this had happened now, but each time it was harder to ignore, harder to pretend that you weren’t losing something you could never get back. 
The confusion was maddening, the way you had to fight against your own mind to remember pieces of a night that had been so vivid, so full of promise. You could almost feel him there, his presence heavy and undeniable, but the memories always slipped away, as if they belonged to someone else.
And then, there was Sukuna. Unreachable, aloof, silent. He would turn away when you looked at him for too long, pretending not to notice the ache in your gaze, the way you waited for him to explain. He never did. 
And when you pressed, he became colder, more detached, his disinterest palpable. He ignored you, avoided your touch, and the more you tried to understand, the more he made it clear that you were not meant to.
He had been there—yes, he had been. But now, when you needed him most, when you tried to break through to him, he wasn’t. Not really.
It left you questioning everything. What have you lost? What was real? What had he erased? And why, no matter how hard you tried, did it feel as if you were always walking in circles, never getting closer to the truth? It was as though you were always on the outside of something, always knocking on the door but never able to step inside.
It wasn’t just the potion anymore. Something deeper had shifted, something that even Ryomen Sukuna couldn’t hide beneath his cold, indifferent exterior. The question now was whether you would ever get the chance to find out what.
You sit in silence, your fingers drumming on the edge of the table, eyes trained on Sukuna as he remains seated across from you. His gaze is cold, unreadable, but there's a flicker in his eyes, a subtle shift in the way he watches you, as though he's aware of the question you haven't lived yet.
The air between you feels heavier than usual, suffused with the unspoken tension that’s been building for weeks. You can’t ignore it anymore—the gnawing sense that something is slipping through your fingers, something important. And the more you try to hold onto it, the more it fades.
You finally break the silence, your voice quiet but determined.
“I… I feel like I’m forgetting things. Important things, my lord.” you admit, not meeting his gaze. The words feel heavy on your tongue, almost like admitting something you don’t want to be true.
Sukuna remains still, his crimson eyes narrowing just slightly, watching you with that same detached intensity. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak. You can feel the air grow thick with the weight of his silence, and it only makes the ache inside you grow sharper.
“Like what?” His voice is low, measured, but there's a faint edge to it that you can’t quite place. He knows what you’re talking about. Of course he does.
“I don’t know, my lord.” you mutter, frustration leaking into your voice. “It’s like I wake up and there’s a hole in my memory. Pieces are missing. And I—I can’t even remember what happened the night before. It’s like I’m walking through fog, like everything is just out of reach.” 
You raise your eyes to meet him, searching for something—anything—in his gaze. “I can’t explain it, but it feels like I’m losing myself.”
Sukuna leans back in his chair, his posture casual, but there's something unreadable about his expression. His fingers drum lightly on the armrest, a rhythm that matches the quickening beat of your heart.
You wait for him to say something, anything, but he remains silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on you, as though weighing something important in his mind.
“You know what’s happening, my lord.” you say, your voice suddenly a little sharper, more desperate. “You must know. I feel like you’re hiding something from me. Why—why won’t you just tell me? What am I forgetting? Why does it feel like you’re slipping away from me, every time I try to reach you?”
A dark, fleeting look crosses his face—something almost guilty, but it’s gone too quickly for you to catch it fully. Instead, his lips curl into that familiar, mocking smirk, but it’s lacking the usual bite.
“I’m not hiding anything, little one.” he replies, his voice low, but there’s an undercurrent of something dark in it. “It’s your mind, not mine. You’ve always had a tendency to forget what’s inconvenient. It's your own fault.”
Your chest tightens at his words. It’s not the answer you wanted—not even close. You lean forward, trying to control the emotions threatening to spill over. You were exhausted with this. You cannot take anymore of this.
“You can’t seriously expect me to believe that, my lord.” You shake your head, feeling a bitter frustration rise in you. “I feel like I’m going insane. One moment, everything feels so real, and the next... it’s gone. And I—I know it’s not just me. Something is happening, and you’re the only one who doesn’t seem bothered by it.”
Sukuna’s smirk fades, and for the briefest moment, something flickers across his face. It’s not guilt, but it’s close, something between acknowledgment and dismissal. He doesn’t answer right away, letting the silence stretch until it’s almost unbearable.
Finally, he speaks, his tone heavier now, more controlled. “Maybe you’re remembering things you shouldn’t, little one. You don’t need to know everything. Some things are better left forgotten.”
The weight of his words sinks into you like a stone, and you feel the truth of it in your chest, the way it sits there, cold and heavy. You swallow hard, trying to push past the confusion and hurt that swirl in your mind.
“Is that it, then, my lord?” you ask, voice breaking a little, though you try to steady yourself. “You think I should forget all of it? Forget the parts of me that belong to you? Forget about everything that could be important? My lord, that is cruel.”
Sukuna’s scarlet eyes darken, the cold distance in them sharpening again, but his expression doesn’t change. He leans forward slightly, his presence looming, like a predator assessing its prey. He doesn’t want to play his part. But it must. He had made it this far. He ought to own it.
“Stop asking questions you know I won’t answer. You know how this works.” His tone turns almost icy, cutting through the air. “What you remember doesn’t matter. Only what I allow you to remember does.”
You stare at him, the truth of it settling in like a weight in your gut. His words are like a bitter truth you can't swallow, but it doesn’t make them any less real. The distance between you widens again, suffocating, and you’re left staring at him, unsure whether to be angry or broken.
"Then why even keep me here, my lord?" you whisper, more to yourself than to him. The question feels pointless as soon as it leaves your lips, but it lingers, a sharp sting in the air. “You ought to send me to the Cold Hall. Or leave me be.”
For a moment, Ryomen Sukuna remains silent, his gaze flickering toward you with an unreadable expression. Then, he leans back, his features hardening into that impenetrable mask. 
“Because, little one…” he says, his voice low and deliberate. “I can. And I will.”
And just like that, the space between you becomes an abyss again, and you’re left wondering if you’ll ever get the answers you crave—or if, in time, you’ll forget you even asked. You turned away from him. You could feel his gaze bore a hole on the back of your head. But he noticed everything. He was no fool. 
Tears poured from your eyes.
You tried to quickly wipe them away.
But as you wiped them, more came by.
Even your body knows you were miserable.
Even your body knows something’s missing.
Something is wrong.
══════════════════
YOU ONCE MORE LOCKED YOURSELF AWAY IN VERMILLION HALL. You refused to see your husband and perhaps that was for the best. You had cried yourself to sleep for days now, the frustration eating away at you like an insidious thing. The weight of unanswered questions, the endless confusion, it had all built up and bled into your dreams.
The emotions had overwhelmed you to the point where sleep seemed like the only escape, the only refuge from the torment of not knowing. But sleep, as you soon discovered, offered no solace. It was restless and fleeting, filled with fragments of images, of faces, of a life you could never fully remember.
But when you woke, it wasn’t to the comfort of the blankets you had once found so familiar. No, you woke to an entirely different feeling—a sharp, searing pain that stabbed into your core, as if something inside you had broken open. 
It wasn’t a pain you had ever felt before, and it was so intense that it left you gasping for air, clutching at the sheets in a desperate attempt to understand what was happening to you. You felt like you were drowning, it felt like you were being stabbed.
Your mind was foggy, clouded with the remnants of your dreams and the confusion of the past days, but you didn’t need clarity to know that something was wrong. The pain was unbearable.
It was harshly crawling beneath your skin, wrapping around your insides with a terrible urgency. You frantically pulled at the blankets, your hands trembling as you tried to understand what was happening.
When you looked down, your breath hitched in your throat. Blood. It stained your sheets, pooling beneath you in stark, alarming contrast to the softness of the fabric. You groaned over and over in grievous pain.
Panic surged through you, a wave of shock and terror, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the fear choking you. You couldn’t comprehend it, couldn’t wrap your mind around the sight before you.
You cried out, the sound raw and full of terror, your voice hoarse from the tears you had already shed. “Help me.” you whispered, your throat thick with panic, “Please…”
Within moments, your servants appeared soon; they were quick, frantic, their faces filled with concern and confusion. They rushed to your side, trying to assess the situation, to comfort you, but nothing they did could quell the overwhelming pain or the terror that gripped your chest.
“What happened? What’s wrong, my lady?” one of them asked, her voice trembling with concern as she hurried to help you sit up, her hands gently lifting the blood-soaked sheets away from your body.
You could barely answer, the pain making it impossible to form coherent words. All you could do was sob, clinging to them as if they could somehow stop the agony, stop the deep, hollow ache that was consuming you.
One of your servants hurried out, calling for help, while the others tried to tend to you as best as they could, offering comfort, but the fear in their eyes mirrored your own. Something was terribly wrong.
And no matter how many times you tried to explain it, tried to understand it yourself, you were left with more questions than answers. Why were you bleeding like this? What had happened to you? What were you forgetting?
The answers felt just out of reach, like a secret too dangerous to uncover. And the more you tried to grasp them, the more you sank into the unknown. You were crying endlessly, crying out in pain with or without the voice to do so.
Your servants worked swiftly, their hands trembling as they tried to stabilize you, but their movements felt like a blur, the world spinning around you. Their frantic whispers only heightened the feeling of helplessness clawing at your chest. 
One of them, a younger woman with dark eyes, pressed a cloth against your body, trying to stop the bleeding, but it felt like a losing battle. The blood stained your skin, soaking into the fabric of your nightgown and the sheets beneath you.
You could feel yourself becoming dizzy, your vision blurring as the pain intensified. Each pulse of pain seemed to radiate outward, as though it was coming from deep within, tearing at the fabric of your body, but you couldn't grasp why. Your thoughts were scattered, lost in a haze of fear and confusion.
"Stay with us, my lady. Please." one of the servants pleaded, her voice strained with panic. "We'll get help, please, just stay awake."
You barely heard her. The pain was too much, drowning out everything else. And then, a voice from the door, a voice you hadn’t heard in a long while had cut through the chaos. You couldn’t see his face. But his voice, it was the clearest it has ever been.
"Enough." Sukuna's voice rang out, cold and commanding. He appeared in the doorway, his gaze falling on the scene before him, and for a moment, everything stopped.
Your breath caught in your throat, the pain momentarily forgotten as you locked eyes with him. He looked unchanged, as imposing as ever, but there was something in his expression, something almost unreadable as he stepped closer.
“What’s going on?” His voice was low, but it was laced with an unfamiliar tension, something far removed from the indifference you’d come to expect from him.
You tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come, your body trembling too violently, too weak to form any coherent thoughts. Your breath hitched as another wave of pain shot through you, sharper than before.
It felt like something inside you was breaking open, tearing apart. The physical pain was unbearable, but it was the emotional toll that made you feel as if you were unraveling at the seams.
"S–she's losing too much blood, my lord." one of the servants said, trying to explain, but her voice faltered under Sukuna’s unwavering gaze. “My lady is bleeding and…we do not know why.
Ryomen Sukuna’s scarlet eyes narrowed slightly, his focus shifting to you. For the first time in a long while, something like concern flickered in his gaze, though it was masked by the familiar coldness that surrounded him.
He approached, kneeling at your side with a fluid, deliberate motion. Your cries were bellowing over and over against his ears. He could see it from where you embraced your body, the blood. 
His hand hovered over you, but he hesitated, as if unsure what to do. There was a knowing look in his eyes, as if he had known this story before. But you didn’t want to question him. You couldn’t. You were in too much pain to do so.
“What happened?” he repeated, his voice softer now, but there was an edge of command in it.
“I—I don’t know, my lord.” you gasped, each breath shallow, the words barely escaping your lips. “It hurts so much... I’m—I'm bleeding. I don’t know why.”
His eyes flickered briefly to your servants, who seemed to retreat slightly, their discomfort obvious, unsure of how to proceed. But Sukuna's attention remained solely on you, the deep crimson of his gaze scanning over your trembling form. 
The tension in his jaw tightened. He didn't speak right away, but there was something in his regal posture, there was something predatory in the way his eyes locked onto you that made it clear he was piecing something together.
After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice almost too calm. "What were you doing before this happened?" he asked, his words cold but controlled, as if you should have already known the answer.
You struggled to keep your focus, the pain blurring your thoughts, but the question cut through the haze. You had been trying to remember, hadn't you? You had been trying to understand what had happened between the two of you, what had led to this moment.
“I—I don’t know…I was resting and I just….” you whispered, tears slipping from your eyes as you looked at him, feeling helpless. “I was trying to understand… but I can’t. Everything’s… everything’s slipping away. It’s like I’m losing pieces of myself.”
Sukuna’s expression darkened, a flicker of something. Was it regret?—crossing his face before he masked it again. He looked at the servants and nodded once, a quick, sharp motion. You did not know. You did not wish to know.  
"Leave us. All of you." he commanded. "I’ll handle this."
They hesitated for a moment, but his tone left no room for argument. One by one, they filed out of the room, leaving you alone with him. The silence was oppressive, thick with unspoken words and tension.
Ryomen Sukuna’s gaze returned to you, and for a moment, the world felt impossibly small, the pain in your body sharp and real, but the uncertainty in your heart was just as consuming. 
“I should’ve known better, little one.” he muttered, more to himself than to you, as if grappling with something he hadn’t fully admitted.
“Please…” you breathed, the words almost a plea. “I need to understand. What’s happening to me? Why am I—”
“Stop asking questions, little one.” he interrupted, his voice commanding, but softer now. He leaned closer to you, his hand hovering over the pool of blood as if sensing something, feeling the pulse of whatever was inside you. 
There was a flicker of something darker in his eyes—something that almost felt like guilt, but Ryomen Sukuna never allowed that weakness to surface.
He turns away for a moment, to look at the clear water in the silver basin. He could see his reflection, he could see the monster. He pauses. He purses his lips in a flat line.
“You were never meant to suffer this, little one.” he said, his voice low and grave, the truth of it settling in your chest. “And now… now it’s coming back to haunt us both.”
The words felt like a punch to the gut. You couldn’t understand it. You couldn’t make sense of it. But the look in his eyes, the way his hands trembled as he reached for you, told you that the answers you sought were far more dangerous than you could have imagined.
What could be the meaning of the truth? 
Was it all truly worth it, finding out everything?
Tears pooled over your eyes, melting in with your sweat.
“I am sorry, little one.” He says, his voice low as he brushes your hair away from your eyes. He smiles with such sorrow. The most you’ve ever seen in your long life with him. “I had made you suffer again, have I?”
A guttering sob echoes from your lips, tears flowing ever more abundantly. The fear echoes in your eyes as much as the pain did. Ryomen Sukuna let his hands become submerged into the water. He takes the wet cloth and starts to squeeze away at the heavy dues of water.
“This will hurt.” He whispers to you, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “Forgive me.”
══════════════════
HE HADN’T FOUND THE COURAGE TO LEAVE YOU. Not like this. Ryomen Sukuna stood in the quiet of the room, watching you as you lay pale and still beneath the blankets. Finally, you had found yourself resting.
Your chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, the sleeping potion he'd given you working its way through your system to calm the pain and induce sleep. But sleep had come too late—too far after the damage had already been done. You were still, but the scars of what had happened remained.
He had felt it, the weight of his actions, sinking into the pit of his stomach like a stone. The guilt gnawed at him like an insistent whisper, and the more he tried to drown it out with silence, the louder it became. But no matter how much he tried to ignore it, the truth clawed its way to the surface.
You had almost died once more. All because of him. All because he was a foolish man, a cruel man. An even crueler master, an even more foolish god. Everything about it was his fault and his alone. 
And because of it, there has to be a price. Fate did not care for the innocent nor the saints. It cared for retribution, for the price of the act be paid in full. And so, the life that had once flourished inside of you was gone now—taken away in a manner as cruel and sharp as the sins that had followed him throughout his existence.
Ryomen Sukuna could not even begin to process the violence of it all. The miscarriage—the life he had unknowingly torn away. The nights together, the heat of his desire, and the overwhelming need for you had been his undoing.
And now, the consequence was here, the result of his insatiable hunger for you. He had taken what was not his to take, and the cost of that was now clear.
It wasn’t just your body that had suffered. No, it was something deeper, something that would linger in him long after your recovery. The guilt, the realization that he was not invincible that his desires could bring destruction in their wake made his chest feel tight, suffocating.
He had wanted you. The way your presence made him feel alive, the way you fought him, the way you surrendered, had become a constant itch he couldn’t scratch.
But now, the price of his inability to stop, to control himself, to pull back, was laid bare in front of him. And now you suffer the consequences for him. His little one.
Sukuna reached out with a trembling hand, his fingers brushing against your forehead, lightly touching the dampness of your skin. You had no idea what had just happened.
You were unaware of the deep, catastrophic consequences of your union. And in this moment, he wished more than anything that you would wake, that he could make it right somehow.
But deep down, he knew there was no going back. This was his crime, and no amount of self-loathing could undo it.
His dark scarlet eyes, usually cold and ruthless, softened for a brief moment as they lingered on your sleeping face. He had always been a being of darkness, of overwhelming power and control. But in your presence, his control had slipped. And now, the consequences of that were too real to ignore.
Sukuna stood, the weight of his guilt threatening to collapse him under its force. He turned away, not trusting himself to stay there any longer, knowing that if he did, he might break under the pressure of what he had done. But as he left, as he retreated into the shadows, one thing was painfully clear: there was no redemption for him, not for this.
His craving for you, his sin, would always linger, a constant reminder of how even the most powerful could be undone by their own desires. Sukuna’s footsteps echoed through the quiet halls as he paced through the temple halls.
With each step weighted with a thousand thoughts that he could not escape. The dark emptiness of the space mirrored the turmoil in his mind, and the oppressive silence seemed to press in on him, suffocating him with its suffocating weight.
He had once been a king of curses, a being of unimaginable power. He had commanded nations, destroyed cities, and crushed anyone who dared oppose him. And yet, here he was. He found himself unable to leave.
He was there, standing at the edge of the abyss, unsure of what to do with the mess he had created. The guilt gnawed at him from the inside, a constant, unbearable reminder of his failure—not as a king, not as a god, but as something far more human than he had ever wished to admit.
He had wanted you. He had craved you with a hunger that was both consuming and insatiable. But now, that desire has cost you more than he could bear. Your life—your very being—had been reduced to an almost fatal casualty in the wake of his passion.
And the life that could have been, the child that had been growing inside you, was gone. All because of his weakness.
He stopped in front of a mirror, staring at his own reflection. His crimson eyes met his own, but he barely recognized the man staring back. He was no longer the powerful curse that had once ruled with an iron fist, no longer the being that felt above all others. He was just a hollow shell, a broken creature cursed by his own desires.
“You were never supposed to matter.” he muttered to himself, his voice raw with the edge of something close to self-loathing. “None of this was supposed to happen.”
His gaze fell, his hand coming up to grip the mirror's edge. His fingers curled into a fist, as if trying to destroy the reflection in front of him, to erase the reminder of his weakness.
But the image remained. The truth remained. He had been foolish, had allowed himself to feel, to need—and now, the consequences were irreversible.
He turned away from the mirror, his mind churning with the weight of everything that had happened. You had been so innocent in all of this, so unaware of what was going on behind the scenes. Of what his selfishness, his guilt, his cruelty — could do.
He could still see the confusion in your eyes when you had asked about your forgotten memories, the pleading look on your face as you tried to make sense of the fractured pieces of your past.
He had told you to forget, to accept what was happening without question. But deep down, he knew you were right. You deserve the truth. And yet, he could never give it to you.
Sukuna’s fists clenched once more, his chest tightening with the painful realization. What he had done to you, what he had done to your body, it could never be undone. The life inside you had been snuffed out before it could even have a chance to grow. And all because of him.
He could hear your soft, labored breaths echoing in his mind, the sound of your pain, your suffering. The thought of it almost brought him to his knees. But he couldn't stop. He couldn’t undo what had already been done.
He had wanted you too much, had wanted you in ways that consumed him. The guilt, the agony, it was all wrapped up in that same burning desire.
But no matter how much he hated himself for it, no matter how much he wanted to walk away and never look back, he knew he couldn’t leave you. Not when you had become so intricately tied to everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever craved.
With a deep, tortured sigh, Sukuna turned back to the door and made his way toward your room. He had no answers to give you, no redemption to offer. But he would be there. He couldn’t leave you, not now, not when he had already destroyed everything. 
The best he could do now was stay. To watch, to wait. To let the pain he had caused burn into him, until it became a part of him, a part of the inevitable price he would always pay for what he had done.
As he approached your door, he paused for a moment, his hand resting on the handle, the weight of everything pressing down on him. He wasn't sure what he expected from this encounter.
Was there still a part of him that hoped you could forgive him? Or was he simply there because, like the curse he was, he was tethered to you in ways that defied understanding?
He stepped into the room, his eyes immediately falling on you, lying so still in your slumber. The sight of you, fragile and broken, made his insides twist in a way he had never known. There was no redemption for him. Not now. Not after all of this.
But he was still here. And he would never leave.
He would never stop finding himself drawn to you.
And maybe that was the cruelest punishment of all.
══════════════════
THE HEALER HAD SAID TO REST AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE. And you had done just that. The air around Vermillion Hall was thick with the sound of everyday life. Everything about it has made you feel healed more than anything. You could hear the children's laughter, servants going about their duties, and the occasional clink of crockery from the kitchen. 
The days had grown quieter since the incident, and though your body was slowly recovering, your heart still aches with the absence of what could have been. And yet, somehow, you weren’t alone. Not even when you wanted to. But perhaps, it was for the best.
Ryomen Sukuna’s presence had become an uninvited constant. At first, his decision to move to the nearby Repentance Hall had seemed insignificant. But now, with each passing day, you realized just how much of an impact it had on your life.
You were seated at a table in the sunlit dining room, carefully eating a small portion of food when Sukuna walked in, his figure tall and commanding even from across the room. His scarlet orbs flicked to you, but he said nothing as he made his way over to sit across from you. 
His posture was casual, but there was an unsettling weight in the air, as if his very presence was always carrying something unspoken. Perhaps that was just how intimidating your husband’s presence was. Everything about him was magnanimous. And it was hard to fight. It was hard to win against.
He watched you for a moment, studying the way you slowly ate. A sigh passed his lips, not one of impatience, but of something more complex. Something that was not as easy to read as before. Perhaps a silent acknowledgment of the burden neither of you had asked for. One that you would not want to talk about, not right now.
“You’re eating less, little one.” he commented, his voice low, but there was a certain sharpness to his tone.
You paused, the fork hovering in the air, before setting it down. "I’m fine, my lord." you said softly, your eyes meeting his own with a mix of weariness and frustration. “I’m just… still not hungry. I’m not used to being like this. The healer had said it was fine.”
Sukuna leaned back slightly in his chair, his dark gaze never leaving you. “It’s not about being used to it, little one.” he said, his voice colder now, as if he were speaking to a child rather than an equal. “It’s about getting better.”
“You hover upon me too much, my lord.”
“You are my concubine, my wife.” He tells you ever so bluntly. “And you are unwell. Should I just abandon you thus?”
There was a long silence between you two. His words were heavy, yet devoid of tenderness. He cared, in his own way, but never in a manner that you could decipher. His scarlet orbs tenderly flickered to the children playing outside, their sounds of joy drifting in through the window, before returning to you.
“Why did you move here, my lord?” you asked suddenly, breaking the silence, your voice gentle but questioning. “The trip to the audience hall is longer than before with such a move. Heaven’s Hall is more convenient than this.”
You hadn’t asked him before; the question had never felt right, never appropriate in the swirl of chaos that had come in the aftermath of everything. Ryomen Sukuna’s lips quivered slightly at the question, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. 
"You really have to ask, little one?" He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his gaze intense now, as if daring you to probe deeper. “I told you it was better this way.”
“Better?” you echoed, shaking your head in disbelief. “For whom, exactly? You barely speak to me. You don’t even explain why you’re here or why you’re…”
You trailed off, a bitter taste in your mouth as the words you had been holding back for so long finally spilled out. “Why are you staying here? My lord, this is…. What is this? What are you doing?”
The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of everything that had been left unsaid. Sukuna did not flinch at your outburst, nor did he retreat. Instead, he remained as still as a stone, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with an almost unreadable expression.
"I cannot leave. Not like this. I do not want to be near you, after all that I have done." His voice was low, but there was something in the harshness of it that made you falter. "Do you think I want to be near you after what I’ve done? But I cannot leave you….I cannot. You are……."
He stops himself, his lips turning into a flat line. You tried to open your mouth to respond, but the words failed you. He wasn’t shouting, but there was a palpable tension in his words that sent a chill through you.
The truth of what had happened. The weight of the consequences was there between you, even if neither of you could fully confront it.
"I know….." he continued, his voice softer now, but still heavy with guilt.
"You’ve suffered because of me. More than I care to admit. But it’s not like I can undo what’s been done." He paused, his eyes flickering with something close to regret. "You don’t want me here. But it’s... easier this way. For you. For me. For the children.”
You stared at him, processing his words slowly. It was an admission of sorts, though he cloaked it in his usual arrogance. He wasn’t just here for the sake of proximity; he was here because, despite everything, he couldn’t bear to be entirely distant from you. 
There was something in your husband, something primal, something deeply conflicted that kept him bound to you, even if he didn’t know how to act on it. Sickening as it all is, painful as it all is — it keeps you both together. And almost like a game, both of you do not want to lose it and leave.
"But why the children?" you asked, your voice quieter now. "Why do you walk them in the morning, share meals with them when you barely speak to me? What do you want from me, my lord?"
He looked away then, his jaw tightening as if he were fighting against something inside. "I don’t know." he muttered, almost under his breath. His voice was rougher, as if the words themselves were a struggle to form. "I don’t know what I’m doing."
For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension between you as thick as the silence that wrapped around the room. You could feel his eyes on you, and you sensed something different in his gaze.
There was an unfamiliar vulnerability there; something far less like the commanding, untouchable king you had come to know, and more like something human, something raw. Finally, after a long pause, Sukuna’s eyes softened. Even for just for a second.
"I may not have been the one you thought you needed. I cannot say what you want me to say, to do what you want me to do, little one." he said slowly, his voice surprisingly calm. "But I’ll be here. In whatever way I can. I promised you that, haven’t I?"
You blinked, unsure whether to be relieved or frustrated by his admission. His presence, while undeniably constant, was still a riddle you couldn’t solve.
But something in the tone of his voice, in the way he had dropped his usual bravado, made you feel a flicker of something—a strange, uncertain hope.
"I’m trying, little one." he added softly, looking away from you again, as though not quite able to meet your gaze. "Trying to be… better. For you. For everything."
The words hung between you two, and though the weight of everything still lingered, a small part of you wondered—perhaps hoped—that there was more to his actions than you could see.
The silence that followed hung in the air, thick and laden with the weight of unspoken truths. You watched him as he shifted slightly in his seat, his eyes now focused on something beyond you, anything, it seemed, but you. 
His admission, raw and unrefined, left you uncertain about how to respond. He had never been one to reveal vulnerability, and now, with his words lingering in the space between you, you were unsure if you should reach out or retreat.
Sukuna cleared his throat, his usual arrogance beginning to seep back into his voice, though the softness that had briefly touched his words lingered beneath.
“I don’t expect you to understand, little one.” he said, his tone rough. “But I’m here because I can’t seem to stay away. Whether I want to or not.”
Your heart twisted at that, the feeling of both connection and distance pulling at you like a string being tugged in two directions. You wanted to scream at him, to demand answers, to ask him how he could do that to you and then sit here, speaking in circles as if it were nothing. 
But a part of you, a small part, understood. Understood that in his own way, he was trying to show you something. Trying to make up for what had been lost, even if he didn’t have the words for it.
He leaned back, stretching his arms out behind him, his eyes momentarily closing as if contemplating the words he had just said. His gaze returned to you after a long moment, unreadable, but something was different. The guilt that had once clawed at him was still there, buried beneath layers of pride and anger, but it was no longer the overwhelming force it had been before.
"You don’t want me near, little one." he said quietly, but this time, there was an almost wistful quality to his voice, as though he were trying to make sense of the situation himself. "But I can’t leave. Not after everything."
There it was again—the implication that he was here because of his own twisted sense of responsibility, or perhaps, something else. It was hard to say. Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t exactly known for his clarity, and his motives were as layered and complex as his personality. But, for once, he didn’t seem entirely sure of himself either.
You couldn’t help but feel conflicted. Part of you wanted to lash out—demand that he leave, that he stop playing this twisted game, stop pretending to care when he had caused so much damage.
And yet, another part of you, the part that still held on to some semblance of trust, felt the ghost of something softer, something that had once existed between you two.
"Why stay, then, my lord?" you asked, your voice soft, almost pleading for some sort of clarity. "If you can’t undo what’s been done... if you can’t fix it... why bother?"
He stared at you for a long moment, his crimson eyes sharp yet distant, like a predator weighing the cost of its next move. “Because, little one…..” he began, his voice barely above a murmur. “I can’t just walk away from you. No matter how much I want to. Not even when I need to.”
His words were quieter now, as if speaking them aloud made them more real, and in that moment, you could see it. The battle inside of him. Ryomen Sukuna was always in control, always calculating, but right now, there was something else beneath his hardened exterior. Something that made him seem almost... human.
"Why?" you whispered, the question feeling like an accusation and a plea all at once. "Why me?"
Sukuna didn’t immediately respond. His gaze drifted to the window, to where the children were playing outside, their innocent laughter a stark contrast to the weight of the conversation between the two of you. After a long moment, he spoke again, his voice rough, like he was wrestling with the truth itself.
"Because... I don’t know." He chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it. "I never thought I’d let anyone get this close, little one. But you... You’ve been a challenge, haven’t you?" 
His gaze met yours again, but this time there was something different in it—something more complex than the cruel amusement he so often wore. "I never wanted to admit it, but here we are. Years of suffering and pain and grief and distance, we are still here. For each other.”
His words lingered, and for a brief moment, you found yourself unsure of how to respond. There was an undeniable weight to his admission, a rawness that you rarely saw from the man who once drowned in his own untouchable power.
Ryomen Sukuna’s pride, his arrogance, had always defined him—but now it seemed as though those very traits were at odds with the reality of what had happened between you. The man who could have taken everything and given nothing was now here, trying to make sense of his own tangled emotions.
“You think this is easy for me?” he continued, his voice growing softer, more introspective. “You think I haven’t hated myself for this? For everything?”
His eyes darkened briefly, a flicker of his own inner torment flashing behind them. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. But it did. And now... now I can’t just walk away. Not when there’s nothing left to fix.”
You could see the weight of his words, could feel the sincerity behind them, even if he had never shown it before. It was strange, this new side of him. Strange and unsettling. But it was real, as real as anything else in this complicated, messed-up world that the two of you seemed trapped in.
The silence stretched between you, a fragile moment of understanding that neither of you fully knew how to navigate. You wanted to speak, to offer some words of comfort or clarity, but nothing seemed adequate enough. Instead, you found yourself simply looking at him, the man who had caused so much pain and yet now seemed just as lost as you.
Finally, Sukuna spoke again, his voice quiet but firm.
"Just don’t ask me to leave, little one." he said. "I can’t do that. Not yet."
And so, there was no resolution. No sudden clarity. But there was something between you now, something neither of you could ignore, even if neither of you understood it fully. It was a strange, fragile truce, one born from guilt, from unspoken desires, from the wreckage of what had once been. 
Ryomen Sukuna was staying, whether you liked it or not. That was what he had to do, that’s what his heart was telling him to do. And for reasons neither of you could explain, that was enough—for now.
“Eat with me, my lord.” You whispered to him, pointing at your dish. “I cannot finish it all.”
He smiled at you, almost so fondly. “Very well, little one.”
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admiringlove · 9 months ago
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growing pains. hello everybody. welcome to the second rendition of @angstober 2024! i hope you enjoy <3
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kageyama tobio was a cute kid.
he moved in when you were just three. back then, your days were filled with learning big words, your mother patiently guiding you through children's books, when suddenly, a boy with an oversized, odd-looking ball came into your world. his hair was parted right down the middle, and every day, he’d be out in the yard, chasing after that strange ball with his grandfather, completely obsessed.
you were six when he first said hello. it took him two and a half years to work up the courage, and all because that ridiculous ball of his ended up in your front yard. without asking, he came through the gate, eyes wide with panic, just as you were about to head to the park.
“who are you?” you’d asked, head tilted with curiosity, and he’d stammered out his name like he’d been caught red-handed in a burglary. then, of course, you had to ask about the ball—bigger than his head. what was the deal with that? “it’s a volleyball,” he’d mumbled, and from that moment on, the two of you were intertwined, like a mystery waiting to unfold.
for the next ten years, kageyama tobio became your favorite puzzle. you chased after him like someone chasing a wild animal, half playfully, half determined. at first, it was a game—like you were sherlock and he, your elusive moriarty. your mother had always read you detective stories before bed, so solving the enigma that was kageyama seemed only natural.
when he turned seven, he found you in his front yard, peering through a magnifying glass, completely absorbed in your detective work. for an entire week, the two of you played with that thing, examining ants at the park, squinting at the pen strokes his father made in his books. eventually, he got bored. but you didn’t. no, you kept staring—sometimes at the world, but often at him.
you never tired of anything, especially not of him. you wanted to know more, to know everything. curiosity overflowed within you, spilling out like an unsolvable riddle. and you know what they say—curiosity killed the cat.
because it wasn’t just the world you wanted to uncover, not really. it was kageyama tobio. he was the one who truly fascinated you. when you learned in fifth grade that he had a soft spot for flavored milk, that was it. it became your little tradition. every so often, you’d head to the vending machine, and without fail, you’d grab him a drink—banana or strawberry, depending on the day. in return, he’d hand you the chips his mother packed in his lunch, like an unspoken exchange, as familiar as breathing. if it were up to him, it would always be strawberry.
and that’s how it was, the two of you orbiting each other like planets—his world of volleyball, your world of endless curiosity. playful, magnetic, bound together by rituals only you two understood.
you turned eleven and discovered that liking boys was a real thing. at first, the thought repulsed you; all you wanted was to bury yourself in the pages of sherlock holmes and pretend to play volleyball with kageyama. he was a prodigy, after all, dazzling everyone with his skills. kids from other districts flocked to watch him, enchanted by his talent. thankfully, he hadn’t yet transformed into an absolute twat; his ego was still catching up with him, lingering just out of reach.
“tobio,” you said one day, scrutinizing him as he carelessly set the ball near the riverbank. your gaze was fixed on the tips of his fingers, studying them as if they were an intricate puzzle waiting to be solved. he paused, turning to face you with a look of curiosity. “don’t your fingers hurt?”
“eh?” he replied, shuffling closer. with a flick of his wrist, he held out his hand toward you. “you mean this?”
the eleven-year-old boy displayed a myriad of calluses on his hands, more than you could count. you gasped in dramatic shock, a hand flying to your mouth, and couldn’t resist teasing him about his mother not noticing how rough and unsightly they had become. his eyes narrowed in mock indignation as he yelled at you for talking trash about his mother. you quickly apologized, laughter bubbling up as you declared you would simply have to complain about his “disgusting” hands instead.
that was the essence of your friendship—something sacred, woven from playful banter and shared secrets. the two of you were inseparable, bound by the threads of childhood innocence and mischief.
now, when you think back, it’s often to those moments—him proudly displaying his calluses as you played near the bridge by the river, the sun casting golden hues across the water. you remember walking home alongside him at sunset, a flutter of fear in your stomach about the kidnappers your father had warned you about just the other day. tobio had simply chuckled, telling you that you weren’t an actual genius like sherlock, so you couldn’t possibly be a target for any kidnapper anyway.
life was so simple, so beautifully uncomplicated, until you turned fourteen.
because that’s when you realized you had indeed grown up. you were on the winding road to adulthood, and suddenly, you found yourself hopelessly in love with your next-door neighbor, kageyama tobio—your best friend of eight years. he had sprouted taller, like a young tree reaching for the sky, and his voice had deepened into a rich timbre that sent butterflies flitting through your stomach. everything felt like it was shifting beneath your feet, especially as he found new friends who flocked to him like birds of a feather, while you remained nestled in your closely knit circle, distanced from him.
how were you supposed to navigate these newfound feelings? the conditions were far from ideal. how could you possibly have a crush on him while trying to maintain the friendship you cherished so much, especially when your social circles had diverged at school? being a teenager had suddenly morphed into a tangled web of complexities, each strand pulling you in different directions.
you still managed to walk home with him every day after your club activities, a routine that felt like a comforting ritual. you were quickly on your way to becoming the head of your literature club at junior high, while kageyama had been consumed by his passion for volleyball since he was just a kid. being next-door neighbors with the love of your life was undeniably convenient; it meant he had no choice but to stroll alongside you.
thankfully, the dynamic remained blissfully unchanged. the playful teasing, the exchange of strawberry and banana milk, and the shared bags of cheese puffs, or sometimes other chips, were the threads that wove your friendship together. it didn’t matter what snack you had; all you really wanted was to watch him sip through a thin plastic straw, the golden glow of the setting sun casting a warm halo around him as you walked the quiet streets together.
you cherished these moments, especially since he never hurried you along. instead, he walked slowly, savoring the time spent together, as if he genuinely enjoyed your company. this new pace allowed you both to appreciate the little things—the laughter of children playing in the distance, the rustle of leaves in the evening breeze, and the gentle warmth of the sun dipping below the horizon. it felt like a breath of fresh air, invigorating and sweet, a reminder that these small moments were treasures to be cherished.
but then you turned fifteen, and tobio transformed into someone unrecognizable. the boy who had once sparked your curiosity now seemed bitter and hardened, his heart cloaked in ego that swelled within him like a balloon about to burst. his tone had sharpened, cutting through the air like a knife, and he often wore a mask of rudeness that left you reeling. yet, despite it all, your heart still weakly fluttered whenever he was near, an instinctive reaction you couldn’t quite shake.
then it happened. one fateful day, as you walked past the gym to pick up tobio, you overheard a conversation that pierced through you like an arrow.
"aren't they your childhood friend? don't you think they're attractive, even if it's just a little?"
the words lingered in the air, but before you could savor the thought, his response shattered your heart.
"what? no! i could never see them like that. this is grossing me out. stop talking nonsense and focus on volleyball. you didn't spike this set on time!"
his words struck like a hammer, relentless and unforgiving, stomping on your heart a million times without him even realizing the damage he’d done. it was as if the boy you had cherished for so long had vanished, leaving behind only a shadow of the friendship you once held dear.
that day, you walked home alone for the first time ever, the silence of the empty streets echoing the ache in your chest. when the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and purple, you felt a weight pressing down on you. the next day, he didn’t question your absence, didn’t seem to care at all. and in that moment, you understood: you were no longer the person he had once found intriguing. you were just a ghost of a past friendship, lost in the void that had replaced your bond. he was not moriarty anymore, and neither were you sherlock.
you wondered if you ever were.
slowly, you created a chasm between him and you. it was a drift you instigated, unaware of the full weight of your decision. one by one, he lost the people he once held close, and you stood on the sidelines, a silent witness, hoping desperately that he would grasp the hint you were trying to send.
then, one afternoon, while walking home with a small paper bag of eggs cradled in your arms, you collided with him. curses swirled through your mind as you attempted to sidestep him, but his voice cut through the air, halting your escape.
"aren't you cold?"
you raised an eyebrow, turning to meet his gaze, your heart racing with an unexpected mix of hope and apprehension. you hummed softly in response, feeling the cool breeze brush against your skin. he repeated his question, and you shook your head, summoning a casualness you didn’t truly feel. "just a small walk. i didn't think i'd need a jacket."
"right," he mumbled under his breath, and the silence that followed felt thick with unspoken words. a part of you longed to mention his recent benching during the last match, but the fear of misinterpretation held you back, like a weight pressing on your tongue.
"are you doing okay nowadays?" the question slipped from your lips before you could stop it. you still cared, a part of you reluctant to sever the last thread binding you to him. it felt like that age-old adage—"curiosity killed the cat"—echoing in your mind, a reminder of your unfulfilled longing.
he opened his mouth, perhaps to share something profound, but then hesitated. you knew his expressions as well as the lines of your own heart; he seemed to weigh his words carefully. "i'm okay. i'm going to a high school called karasuno. you?"
the answer came too quickly, and the disappointment surged within you. "i'm going to seijoh, like oikawa and iwa-senpai," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "i enrolled there because i thought you'd be going there too. so, you know, we could walk together-"
he cut you off, the sharpness of his words slicing through the fragile moment. "we haven't done that in months, who are you kidding?"
you blinked, surprise washing over you like cold water. he was right. in the span of what felt like an eternity, the simple companionship you had once shared had faded into memory. perhaps your wishful thinking had blinded you to the reality; you were no longer the two kids wandering home together.
"i'm... sorry," you tilt your head, "have i done something to make you mad?"
you thought this was what he wanted—that he didn’t care for your tetra packs of strawberry or banana milk, that he was indifferent to your presence beside him as you walked home from school. the realization stung like a bee’s bite, leaving you with the unsettling notion that your companionship was as easily replaceable as the snacks you offered. but then he clicked his tongue, shaking his head with that familiar exasperation, his voice laced with sarcasm that dripped like spicy honey, sweet yet sharp.
“no. you can never do anything wrong, am i right?”
with that, he turned and walked into his house, leaving you standing there, the air heavy with unsaid words.
months passed without a glimpse of him. it was only when you were returning home from literature club, the sun dipping below the clouds, casting long shadows on the pavement, that you spotted him. there he was, in a black uniform, juggling a volleyball under one arm while the other struggled to pry a few papers from between his teeth as he rummaged through his bag.
“do you need any help?” your voice sliced through the crisp evening air, a tentative offering. he blinked, momentarily surprised, before handing you the scattered papers and the ball.
“y-yeah. i’m looking for my keys. ever since miwa went off to college, there’s no one to open the door when i get home.”
“right,” you nodded, trying to maintain the semblance of normalcy. you didn’t need to fill the silence anymore; you were both ghosts of the friendship that once thrived in easy conversation. “i can walk in with these if you want. help you put them wherever, since it’s hard to carry everything together-”
“it’s okay,” he interrupted, his tone clipped, a habit you had grown all too familiar with. “i can take care of myself.”
your lips pressed together, frustration simmering beneath the surface. “alright then,” you replied, the words tasting bitter as they left your mouth.
but as you turned toward your front yard, the moment shattered into a sharp breath. “why did you stop walking home with me?” his voice rang out into the twilight, a challenge hanging between you like a fragile thread.
the world around you fell silent, the air thick with unspoken words. the confrontation hung in the space between you, an echo of the past colliding with the reality of the present. you hesitated, heart racing, caught in the tension of a friendship unravelling, desperately wanting to answer but unsure of how to put the fragments of your feelings into words. "you weren't yourself, i guess. that, and i heard you say something about me to someone. but never mind that. it doesn't matter anymore."
“what?” he furrows his brows, confusion etching deep lines on his forehead. “what do you mean you heard me say something about you to someone? what the hell did i even say for this to happen to us?”
“didn’t you want this to happen?” you retort, your words tumbling out like a well-rehearsed line from a play. “i thought you found me gross.”
he blinks, taken aback, his surprise evident in the widening of his eyes. “when did i ever say i found you gross? what is wrong with you?”
“what is wrong with me?” you echo, the fire in your chest igniting into a full blaze. you’re not quite sure where this rage is coming from, but it feels exhilarating and terrifying all at once. “what’s wrong with me is that it was my fault for ever loving you and thinking you could feel the same because you’re a selfish prick! you’re oblivious and dense and you don’t feel the same way about me, so i left because i didn’t want to be in a place where i wasn’t needed-”
realization crashes over you like a tidal wave in mid-sentence, the weight of your words suffocating. a hand flies to cover your mouth, the confession hanging in the air like an uninvited guest. his expression morphs into one of shock, the volleyball slipping from his grasp and hitting the pavement with a dull thud.
you can’t bear to see the hurt in his eyes, the way his world seems to tilt on its axis, so you turn and flee, heart racing as you dart into your house, slamming the door behind you. the echo of your confession reverberates in your mind, each heartbeat reminding you of what you just unleashed—a truth that feels like it could shatter everything.
you avoided him for months after that moment, but still, you found yourself at every game, an invisible presence in the crowd. you watched as karasuno faced off against kamomedai, your heart aching with every spike and serve, each point a reminder of the distance that had grown between you. tobio had transformed into someone new, shedding his egotistical shell like a snake sloughing off its skin, and finding camaraderie with teammates who genuinely cared for him.
it filled you with anger. why couldn’t he have made this change years ago? if only he had, maybe letting go of your feelings would have been easier. instead, you felt trapped on the sidelines of his life, a spectator to a story that once intertwined your paths.
“w-what are you doing here?” a shaky voice pulls you from your thoughts as you exit the gym. you turn, startled, to find kageyama tobio standing before you. his chest heaves with exertion, droplets of sweat glistening on his skin, and he gazes at you as if you were a relic he had lost long ago.
“i... came to watch the game,” you reply, shrugging, trying to sound casual. “you did good. i hope your friend isn’t injured, by the way.”
“yeah... he’s uh- hinata’s fine,” he nods, his words a soft echo in the tense air. “thank you for coming. it means a lot.”
you press your lips into a straight line, nodding, the weight of the moment heavy between you. it feels like the right time to leave, to escape the growing tension, but he continues.
“i felt the same way about you back then,” he says, and your heart drops, your feet seemingly glued to the ground. his melancholic gaze pierces through you, and the heartbreak looms overhead like a storm cloud ready to burst. “i’m sorry if i hurt you.”
“y-you what?” you whisper, tilting your head as disbelief washes over you. “tobio, you-”
“i can’t say i feel that way now. all i can focus on from now on is volleyball,” he sighs, his gaze falling to the floor, the weight of his words suffocating. “but it really was great being friends with you. i hope we can... try that again sometime.”
in that moment, something within you shatters, the pieces scattering like autumn leaves in a gust of wind. you realize how deeply you had clung to him, how he had become the center of your universe; an object of desire you could never grasp. slowly, painfully, he had outgrown you, moving forward as you remained rooted in the past, a decision you made to push him away when he needed you the most.
perhaps this was what you deserved. perhaps this was how it was meant to be—him, chasing his dreams like icarus, and you, watching from the side lines, heart heavy with the weight of unfulfilled wishes and lost chances.
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jellyfishsthings · 25 days ago
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Endless Conversations at 3 A.M.
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Summary: Tim yearning for a nerdy girl who constantly talks about her new books or new science inventions and they constantly talk for hours about stuff while snacking in the kitchen, falling asleep at 5 in the morning 
The story takes place in a boarding school
requests are open
dividers by @cafekitsune 
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Tim Drake didn’t need anyone to tell him he was smart. He knew it. It was in the way he could analyze the most obscure pieces of data in a split second, how he could solve crimes before anyone had a chance to even start thinking about them. His mind was like a finely tuned machine, a network of connections firing off constantly. It was something he’d grown up with—his mind working faster than anyone could keep up with. He wasn’t used to distractions, not of the kind that made his chest ache like this. He had his routine. Work. Training. Late-night study sessions. A mind like his, sharp and constantly processing, didn’t have the time for anything that could derail it.
And then there was you.
Something different about you.
It started innocently enough, as most things did. You were the quiet girl who sat in the corner of the library, your nose buried in books Tim had never heard of, your fingers scribbling through the margins like you were finding answers nobody else could. You’d walk past him in the halls, brief glances exchanged. Nothing special. But then one afternoon, it happened. He’d found himself in the middle of one of those impossibly late-night snack sessions in the kitchen, eyes barely open as he rummaged for something to keep him awake long enough to finish his latest round of equations.
He was in the kitchen. Late night. Gotham asleep, with only the faintest hum of the city stretching into the silence of the manor. Tim had a habit of coming down to the kitchen late, especially when his mind was racing with some unsolved puzzle, some unsent email, some unanswered question. He often wandered into the kitchen without thinking, grabbed a snack, and stared into the night—letting the dark and quiet cool his thoughts.
You’d walked in, all energy and calm, with a pile of half-open notebooks tucked under your arm. A girl who, to Tim, was an enigma wrapped in thoughts too complicated for anyone but herself to understand. You looked at him, that half-smile you always wore curling your lips.
"Is it just me, or does the kitchen at 2 A.M. always feel like a secret club?"
Tim had almost dropped the spoon he’d been holding, unsure if he was supposed to feel embarrassed or if he should have said something cooler in response. "Guess we’re the only ones left awake," was all he could muster, his words just a little too casual, as if he hadn’t noticed how breathtakingly out of place you were in the middle of his late-night routine.
You didn’t seem to mind. You sat across from him, dropping your notebooks on the table like they were nothing. And in the next few hours, he learned more about you than he could have ever expected.
“Tim?” You’d looked up, catching him mid-step. “Can you help me with this?”
Tim blinked. You were the smart girl at school—one who was always absorbed in a book, always two steps ahead. But this? This wasn’t something he could solve in a blink. He knew that much.
“What is it?” he asked, leaning over, his curiosity piqued.
You pointed to an equation, half-finished, a series of symbols and numbers that had Tim doing a double-take. He’d never seen anything quite like it before.
“That’s—” he started, feeling the familiar rush of his brain kicking into overdrive. The puzzle was fascinating, but it was also wildly complex. Not even Tim Drake, with his natural intelligence and years of experience solving some of Gotham’s most dangerous riddles, could immediately decipher it.
“What are you working on?” he asked, his voice careful.
You didn’t seem to notice the way his mind was already trying to dissect it. Instead, you simply launched into an explanation, as casual as if you were talking about the weather.
“Just a little something on applied mathematics for motion systems. The kind of calculations for things like weather balloons, or even drones. It's about optimization—how to minimize error in the systems under the influence of wind currents.”
Tim raised an eyebrow. “You lost me at drones.”
You laughed. “I tend to do that. I’ll break it down for you—it's about minimizing trajectory error when accounting for random variables. A lot of variables, really. Wind, angle of release, external disturbances.”
Tim was smart enough to keep up with you. He was more than capable of handling advanced physics, calculus, and cryptography. But hearing it from you, seeing the way you lit up when you talked about it, made him feel like he was stepping into a world he hadn’t yet explored. It was almost like watching someone conjure magic from thin air, weaving a spell with nothing but numbers and formulas.
“So…” Tim said slowly, trying to catch up, “It’s like predicting the movement of a batarang?”
Your smile was so wide it lit up the kitchen, and Tim’s heart beat just a little faster than usual. He hated how it was so easy for you to distract him, even when his brain was running at full speed.
“Exactly,” you said, leaning closer, eyes sparkling. “But with drones, the error margins are a lot more unpredictable. It’s fascinating because if you tweak the variables just slightly, you can make it so the drone compensates for the wind before it even feels it.”
Tim let that sink in for a moment, then nodded, impressed. He had a sharp mind, no doubt about it, but hearing you talk about these things—he felt like an amateur again. Like there were so many layers of the world that he hadn’t even begun to peel back. And yet, you made it sound so... easy. It was that which made his chest tighten.
You were in a world of your own, and somehow, it felt like he wasn’t invited. Like he wasn’t quite smart enough for you. And that thought gnawed at him, because, if there was one thing Tim Drake hated, it was feeling like he wasn’t enough.
The next hour passed in a blur. You’d pulled out books Tim could barely pronounce the names of, showing him your newest discoveries. Some were about math, others about biology, and a few were a mix of historical facts and theories Tim couldn’t even wrap his brain around.
By the time dawn was breaking, the kitchen light flickering in time with your laughs and animated explanations, Tim felt a gnawing ache in his chest that he couldn’t shake. He’d lost track of time. You’d lost track of time. Your eyes sparkled as you spoke, your hand absently playing with your pencil, and Tim found himself simply... listening.
When the clock struck 5 A.M., and you stood up to leave, exhausted yet satisfied, it hit him—this wasn’t just an intellectual curiosity. This wasn’t about math equations or theories that defied logic. It was about you. And him. And the way you made him feel like the world was full of wonder again.
The weeks that followed felt like an endless cycle of late-night sessions in the kitchen, your voice filling the silence like some endless tide. You would talk about everything—science, history, psychology—your brain a repository of fascinating facts that made Tim’s own mental library feel incomplete.
He tried his best to keep up, but more often than not, he’d be left staring at you, trying to catch his breath while your words rushed past him, faster than his mind could follow.
One night, you’d been talking for hours about string theory, gesturing wildly with your hands as if the entire universe were contained in those movements. Tim couldn’t help but stare at the way your fingers moved, the way you became so engrossed in the theories, as if they were pieces of a puzzle only you could see.
“…and what’s even crazier,” you said, dropping another scientific bombshell, “is that if string theory is true, then theoretically, every fundamental particle in the universe is just a manifestation of these tiny vibrating strings. It’s mind-blowing, don’t you think?”
Tim swallowed hard, realizing he had absolutely no idea what you were talking about. He smiled awkwardly, trying to mask his confusion. “Yeah, totally. Just... uh, yeah. That’s... mind-blowing.”
You grinned at him. “You look lost. Want me to explain it again?”
And that’s when it hit him. He wasn’t just out of his depth intellectually—he was out of his depth emotionally, too. He liked you. No, he really liked you. But it wasn’t just your intelligence. It was how you made the world feel like a bigger place than it actually was. You weren’t just talking to him—you were showing him a whole new universe, and Tim couldn’t help but be entranced by that.
You never asked for him to be there. You never seemed to expect him to show up with his tired eyes and his quiet smile. But you didn’t mind when he did, and that’s what made it feel like some unspoken bond.
"Did you ever wonder," you asked one night, halfway through a book about quantum mechanics, "if the universe could actually be a series of dimensions stacked on top of each other, like a never-ending accordion? Like... time could be folded in on itself, and we wouldn’t even know?"
Tim paused, his spoon halfway to his mouth. “Yeah. Sometimes. But... the whole idea of alternate realities always trips me up. Like, how would we ever even know they exist?”
"Exactly!" You waved your hands as if the answer was just around the corner. "It’s this weird thing about perception and reality. What if, in another reality, we're having this exact conversation, but everything’s slightly different? Like, you’re left-handed, or I’m talking about the different types of black holes instead of quantum stuff?"
Tim tried to keep up, but the words you were saying were floating just beyond his reach. He didn’t care. He just wanted to listen.
“I think,” he said, finding his voice again after a beat, “that it’s kind of beautiful. The idea that everything’s connected, but also... so separate. So, so separate, in a way that makes everything more precious.”
Your eyes met his, sharp and knowing, and for a moment, it felt like the universe had paused.
"Yeah," you whispered. "I think so too."
The next few weeks passed in a haze of equations, theories, and late-night talks. Tim found himself looking forward to those kitchen sessions more than he cared to admit. It wasn’t just that you challenged him mentally—it was that you made him feel something he wasn’t used to feeling: a longing for something more.
You would talk about books, or inventions you were working on, or your plans for the future. Tim would listen, sometimes offering his own insights, sometimes just letting the sound of your voice fill the empty space between them. And, more often than not, he found himself staring at you, trying to memorize the way your eyes would sparkle when you were passionate, how you made even the most abstract concepts sound like something real, something worth fighting for.
But it wasn’t until one particularly late night—around 4 A.M., with the two of you sitting in the kitchen, surrounded by the remnants of half-empty mugs and snack wrappers—that Tim realized just how deep his feelings for you had grown.
“You’re not tired yet?” he asked, watching as you scribbled another complicated equation on the back of a napkin.
“Not yet. I’m on a roll,” you said, your voice bright, the familiar fire in your eyes still burning strong. “Do you ever get like that? Like you’re so focused on something, you don’t even notice how much time passes?”
Tim paused for a moment, his eyes lingering on you, not just because of how brilliant you were, but because there was something about you that made him feel seen. "Yeah. I think I do," he said softly.
The silence stretched out between you two, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a quiet understanding, a space where you both were just… there. Tim realized, in that moment, that he didn’t need to keep up with you all the time. He didn’t need to understand everything you said. He just needed to be in the same room as you, listening. Just listening.
And maybe, that was enough.
But the truth was: Tim was falling for you. Hard.
It wasn’t just about the way you made complicated things sound simple or how you made the most mundane theories seem like pieces of art. It wasn’t just your kindness or your intelligence or the way you always made him feel like there was no one else more important in the world than him.
It was the way you talked. The way your eyes lit up with excitement, your hands gesturing wildly, your mind constantly racing with thoughts too big for the world around you to keep up with. Tim realized that, in those moments, he didn’t feel like he was just keeping pace with your words—he was trying to keep up with your soul.
One night, as you debated whether or not time travel was theoretically possible through a wormhole, Tim’s heart nearly cracked under the weight of his emotions. His breath caught, and he almost blurted out something reckless. Something about how he loved the way your mind worked, how it felt like he was watching a comet streak across the sky every time you spoke.
But all he said was, “You’re incredible, you know that?”
You blinked, surprised by the sincerity in his voice, but then smiled softly. “Yeah. I get that sometimes. Just... never thought I’d hear it from you.”
Tim felt his pulse spike. His voice was tight. “Why?”
You leaned back, tucking your legs under yourself. “Because you’re always so... distant. You’re quiet, Tim. You think in silence. I thought that’s how you wanted the world to stay.”
He couldn’t think of a way to respond that didn’t sound like an admission of how much he cared. So he just settled for a small smile, one that tugged at his lips but didn’t quite make it to his eyes.
The truth was, he had never been good at showing affection. But with you? With you, it didn’t matter. You already understood the language of his silences.
It was a month later, during another conversation that stretched far past 3 A.M., when you finally asked him, “Tim, do you ever just get tired of all the noise in your head? The pressure, the constant thinking?”
Tim stared at the empty coffee cup in front of him, his chest heavy. It was one of those moments where he wished he could express what he was feeling. He wished he could make you understand just how much it meant that he could sit here, in this moment, in this quiet space with you, and just... breathe. No pressure. No questions. No expectations. Just... you.
But he didn’t say any of that. Instead, he simply answered, “Yeah. I do. But sometimes... it’s nice to be with someone who makes the world quieter.”
So Tim found himself opening up in ways he hadn’t expected. He no longer felt the need to pretend that he could keep up with you every step of the way. Instead, he let himself just be present in the moment, just enjoying your company and letting your words guide him through this strange, fascinating world you had built.
One night, as you sat there, deep in conversation about the possibility of life on other planets, Tim realized that maybe it wasn’t the equations that fascinated him. Maybe it was you. Your mind, your passion, your voice. You had this way of making everything seem possible, of opening doors to worlds Tim hadn’t even dreamed of.
And in that moment, it felt like you understood, even without the words. You smiled, a soft, knowing smile. And for the first time, Tim felt like maybe, just maybe, he didn’t need to understand everything to know how he felt.
And in that moment, Tim realized something else: he wasn’t just falling for you. He was already in love with you.
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phaeton-flier · 1 year ago
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So the thing about r/relationships, r/AITA, etc. and similar subreddits is this:
Out of 100 posts that are 99% likely to be bullshit, you will on average have 99 creative writing stories and 1 guy having the worst, weirdest month of his life who is desperate for advice on what to do about his couch eating Brother in law or whatever.
In general the mods there have decided that the tradeoff of 99 people getting up votes for nonsense is worth helping the one person in desperate surreal need. (There are also other benefits; treating all posts as if they are real avoids endless unsolvable arguments in the comments)
But if you share that stuff outside its origin, where none of that upside applies, then I'm going to assume you're a credulous idiot or an attention-seeker. If you make it clear that you're doing it to support some asinine social view, doubly so. Stop sharing that shit, it does not help to be spreading around made up nonsense
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flwrkid14 · 10 months ago
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Tim Drake: Haunted by Gods He Can’t Outrun
Tim Drake knows better than to believe in peace.
It’s not the crime, or the sleepless nights, or even the constant pressure of being the world’s youngest, sharpest detective. No, it’s something older. Something deeper.
Something… divine.
He’ll never admit it, but the ocean terrifies him. The weight of Poseidon’s gaze lingers over every wave, every distant shore. Even in Gotham, far from the sea, he can feel it—an unspoken threat. The god never truly forgave him, never let go of the grudge, the insult of Odysseus’ defiance. Every ripple of water feels like a pulse, a reminder: You can’t escape me.
He doesn’t go near the docks. Can’t even look at the ocean. Not without his stomach knotting in fear. Because Poseidon? He’s still out there. Still watching.
And then there’s Athena.
If Tim’s life as Robin was an echo of anyone, it’s her. The endless push to be better, smarter, faster. To solve the unsolvable. He can still hear her voice in the back of his mind, urging him to make the right choice, to outthink everyone—Batman, Ra’s al Ghul, even Bruce. But living up to the goddess of wisdom and war? That’s a pressure he can never shake. Every victory feels like it’s never quite enough, like he’s still chasing her approval.
He tries to forget her teachings sometimes. Pushes them down. But when he’s alone, going over case files at 3 AM, it’s her words that come back. Plan for every outcome. Calculate every risk. Don’t disappoint me.
As if he could ever stop trying.
The rest of the Olympians? They never really fade, either. They whisper in the moments when his guard’s down, when he thinks maybe he’s free. But they never let him forget. Gods never do.
Tim’s haunted by them all—the weight of their expectations, their grudges, their games. He’s not just Robin, or Red Robin, or even Tim Drake anymore. He’s the legacy of someone who once defied gods and outwitted fate.
And the thing is? The gods remember. They never truly let go of what they once owned.
When Tim walks down the streets of Gotham, he’s not just keeping an eye out for the usual dangers. He’s watching the shadows for something more. Something bigger. Because he knows, deep down, that the gods are always watching, always waiting.
No matter how hard he tries, no matter how many lifetimes he lives, he’ll never outrun the past.
The gods don’t forgive. And they sure as hell don’t forget.
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clownery-and-fuckery · 10 months ago
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The fact that Harry is canonically FEARED by people in Jamrock really surprises me. Like, I know he's the "human can-opener" and that has boosted his reputation and name among the people, but learning what he was like pre-amnesia is a whirlwind of an experience. Why don't more people talk about it?
This is coming from the wiki page so some things might be a lil inaccurate (I honestly don't know how well I can trust that source just yet) but it says he was on drugs/drunk for the majority of his service (even pre Dora), I imagine this got worse especially during those six years after Dora left him. By that time, he had already partnered with Jean, and had probably rejected his promotion number one.
After Dora left, the substance abuse got worse, but his work got better. It was hard to discourage their best detective, I guess. Even though he was actively funding the thing he was trying to shut down. It's a conflict of interest, he shouldnt have kept his job.
Also, during "THE UNSOLVABLE CASE" its said he left a man unable to walk, held a woman hostage, and shot wildly at a man.
That's just one case. You don't get a reputation like Harry's from one case. You don't make someone run at the mention of your name in the area. Ruby didn't run because of that one case.
Harry was a scary man. An ex gym teacher, off his rocker on an amount of drugs he couldn't count on two hands. He was talking to the tie before he lost his memory. The skills probably weren't a new thing. I like Harry, too, but his routinely "the women are the bourgeoisie" bit isn't just a post-amnesia thing, that's a cemented belief that's hung around his head long enough to become a foundation of every belief, even if you're an ultra-liberal. I don't think he was that popular with anyone he met.
The public were honestly right to be afraid of him.
But the RCM promoted him again. Or they tried. Because, what, Jean somehow managed to cover up everything Harry had done? What else has he done? How bad did things get, if beating a man with a ledger isn't anything more than a footnote in a case file?
Speaking of Jean, he confuses me a little. I mean, he respects Harry enough to cover up everything he did/does, but when it comes to talking about/to him, he puts him down, chews him out, makes it sound like he thinks Harry's actions are unacceptable (which I'm inclined to agree, at least pre-amnesia) but he also actively tries to make this narrative of Harry being crazy and wild and dangerous a thing, to everyone. Even Kim. Especially Kim, at the end. Look at this dialogue:
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Those are the words of someone hurt over and over, watching a cycle repeat in another. But Jean still, when he doesn't really need to, decides to cover up Harry's missing gun and badge, and hears him and Kim out at the end of the game. He tears Harry down out of habit, but he also helps him out of that same habit.
He uses the word bewitched. That interested me, because it's infinitely more affectionate than manipulated, or tricked or just lied to. Jean uses it in a sympathetic manner, because he, like the RCM, like Dora, had been drawn in by Harry, and forced to stay until they left, like Dora, or became too bitter to go, like Jean.
It set up an interesting narrative for an aftermath. Would Kim, too, be driven away? Or would he get so sucked into the endless torment of being Harry's favourite, that like Jean, even if he wanted to, Kim wouldn't know anything else? Or had Harry actually changed? Does he get better, or does he get worse?
I would love to see more exploration on Harry after the events of Disco Elysium. I want to know how his reputation shapes how he acts after, I want to know how people interact with him. Its so interesting to me. It's all a bit of a jumbled ramble but yeah!!! :D
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ethelshound · 3 months ago
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CHEMICAL EQUATION • S.REID
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─── IN WHICH Spencer’s mind is an unsolved equation—restless hands, bitten nails, endless imbalance. But then there’s you, the one constant in the chaos, the solution he never saw coming.
Spencer Reid 𝓍 𝑔𝓃!reader tw 1.6K ⋆ fluff ⋆ hurt/comfort ⋆ established relationship ⋆ awkward Spencer ⋆ soft moments ⋆ post-addiction struggles
The bullpen hums with the low buzz of conversation and the clack of keyboards. Garcia’s voice floats in from the tech office, Morgan’s laughing about something he won’t put in writing, and Hotch moves like gravity—quiet and heavy.
But your eyes aren’t on any of them.
Your focus has been locked, for the last twenty minutes, on the man two desks away.
Spencer Reid.
He’s hunched slightly over a case file, but you can tell by the way his gaze keeps flicking back and forth across the page—too fast to be reading—that his mind isn’t absorbing any of it. His fingers twitch near the margins of the file, pulling at the corner of the paper like he’s trying to unravel it. His leg bounces beneath the desk in a frantic rhythm, and every so often, his teeth scrape across the side of his thumb—biting at skin that’s already raw.
No one else seems to notice. Or maybe they just don’t see it the way you do.
To the rest of the team, that’s just Spencer being Spencer. Fidgety. Hyperactive. Strange, in that charming “twenty-doctorates-and-no-social-filter” kind of way. But you know better. You’ve seen what stillness looks like for him—what safety looks like—and this is not it.
You set down your pen quietly and rise from your chair, pretending to stretch as you make your way toward the coffee machine.
He’s already there when you round the corner, clutching a paper cup with fingers a little too tight around it. His knuckles are pale. His eyes a bit too wide, as if he’s stuck halfway between fight and flight.
“Hey,” you say softly, nudging your shoulder gently against his. “Long day already?”
Spencer startles slightly at your voice, then tries to recover with a forced, breathy chuckle.
“Something like that,” he murmurs, not quite meeting your eyes. “I thought coffee might help. Attempting the illusion of functionality.”
You give him a small smile, one that hopefully says you don’t have to pretend with me.
“Wanna take a break for a minute? Just you and me?” you ask, gesturing toward the row of windows along the far side of the room where the sunlight spills in with rare softness.
He hesitates, glancing back at his desk like the case file might notice he’s gone. Then, with a quiet nod, he follows.
The two of you settle by the window, shoulders brushing, the world outside painted in dusky hues of early afternoon. From here, the bullpen noise fades just enough.
Spencer holds his coffee in both hands like it’s something to anchor him. His thumbs rub against the cup in tiny, anxious circles.
You wait a beat before asking, “What’s going on up there?”
He doesn’t respond right away. His gaze is fixed on a point somewhere just beyond the glass, faraway and unreachable. When he does speak, it’s barely above a whisper.
“My brain won’t shut up,” he says. “It’s like it’s trying to solve something. An equation. Over and over. But it’s all... wrong. Or missing something. I can’t line it up no matter how many times I go through it.”
You tilt your head, watching him carefully.
“Is it work stuff? Or…” You leave the question open. You know better than to corner him with it.
Spencer exhales slowly, his breath fogging the rim of his cup.
“No. Not work. Just... static. Things I thought I’d moved past. Things I thought I could handle by now.” His voice drops, lower this time. “I’m not craving it. Not the same way. But I do miss the quiet. The stillness it gave me, even if it wasn’t real.”
Your chest aches at the admission.
“You’re not alone in this,” you remind him gently. “You don’t have to navigate it on your own.”
“I know,” he says, and this time he does look at you. His eyes are tired, threaded through with something fragile. “It’s just... hard not to feel like I should’ve figured this out already. Like there’s something wrong with me for still—still being this.”
Your heart clenches.
“You’re human, Spence. Not an equation to solve. You don’t get over things on a set timeline. You heal in pieces. And sometimes those pieces shift around on bad days.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. Then, very softly: “You always say the right thing.”
You bump your knee against his. “Only because I’m paying attention.”
That earns the smallest of smiles. It’s brief. But real.
Later, when you’re home and he’s sunk into the couch in that same too-large sweater, sleeves pulled over his hands like he’s trying to disappear into them, you sit down beside him without a word. He’s still fidgeting—leg bouncing again, fingers restless, eyes not quite focused.
You take one of his hands gently in both of yours and hold it still.
“Still unbalanced?” you ask, rubbing your thumb across the back of his hand.
He nods. The tension in his shoulders is stubborn. Coiled.
“My head feels like a chalkboard that’s been erased a thousand times but never cleaned,” he says. “Just smears of everything I can’t quite make sense of.”
You press your forehead lightly to his temple.
“It doesn’t have to make sense all at once,” you murmur. “Some things take time to rewrite.”
He lets out a shaky breath. “I hate that I even think about it sometimes. I hate that I’m not better.”
You pull back to look him in the eye.
“Spencer. Better isn’t perfect. Better is this. You, here, choosing to stay present. Choosing to hold on.”
He closes his eyes at that, overwhelmed but steadying in your presence.
“I just don’t want to be broken,” he whispers.
“You’re not,” you say, brushing a kiss to his knuckles. “You’re balancing. And I’m right here with you.”
His arms wrap around you slowly, a silent thank you and a desperate need to be held all at once. He rests his head against your shoulder like it’s the only safe place in the world.
“You’re the only one who sees me like this,” he murmurs again.
“And I love every part of you I see,” you whisper back, holding him tighter.
He sighs, softer now, the chaos in his mind momentarily quieted.
“You’re my constant,” he says, voice cracking just a little.
“No,” you reply, pressing a kiss to his hair. “We’re the solution.”
And for the first time that day, Spencer Reid starts to believe it.
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liveyun · 9 months ago
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EYES LIKE STARS | 2
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banner by the amazing @itaeewon 🫧
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summary. “He was everything you were not. He was perfect—too perfect. Always kind, always excelling, always loved by everyone, even your own parents, like a reminder of everything you weren’t. And you hated this. You hated him. You hated the way he always included you, the way he tried to help, as if you ever needed his pity. He was always there, almost like a shadow you could never escape.
Returning to the town that holds both your earliest memories and silent secrets, you’re forced to confront not only the unsolved knots you’d left behind all those years ago, but the boy who was always at the center of your pain. Whose eyes have always seen right through you : Jungkook.”
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title. Eyes like Stars
pairing. Jeon Jungkook x afab reader/oc
status. ongoing
genre. e2f2e2L (you get it), angst, drama, romance, boy next door sorta situation, emotional baggage, slow burn, eventual smut
wc. 13k+
warnings. (for this chapter) angst kinda. . . tbh, slight nsfw (nipple play, wet dreams), mythical creature reference, uhh kinda post nut clarity but also not so? , scene of drowning/possible near-drowning, parental neglect / toxic parenting, flashbacks, anxiety / panic attack 😬, our girl is learning to heal ❤️‍🩹, A NEW CHARACTER IS INTRODUCED 👀, some light-hearted fun and bickering, not proofread cause im tired byee it’s like really 3:15 am, “english isn't my first language,” the last part tho. . . . . . .
flash backs are highlighted in italics.
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There’s a very small line between fear and curiosity.
The silence of the ocean isn’t like any you’ve known before. It’s thick, hurled down with a stillness that presses against your ears until you’re sure that you’ll be crushed underneath it.
The water stretches endlessly in every direction, dark and silver, the colour of ink spilled beneath a dim moon. It laps against your skin as if testing you, as if inviting you deeper. You float weightlessly on the surface, arms outstretched, as though surrendering yourself to the vastness of the world. But this surrender—it isn’t frightening. No, it’s rather. . . soft. Gentle.
The water laps at your skin like a soft caress, welcoming you, inviting you deeper into her embrace.
You’re truly floating—and for a moment, it feels like surrender. Like peace. The kind that numbs your bones and soothes the chaos inside you.
And you can’t resist. You’ve never been able to resist the pull of the sea. And you don’t think it would be the first time you’d be able to do so, too.
The horizon looks like it’s shimmering — blurring where the water meets the sky. Stars scatter above, their reflections rippling across the surface like a thousand tiny lights dancing just out of reach, sprinkled on the vast sky like dust particles.
Why are they so far away from you ?
Somewhere in the distance, you hear a thump. A faint hum that lingers, a low, hypnotic sound that pulls you closer. It’s as if the ocean itself is singing — a song only you can hear, a melody that fills your chest with a longing you don’t understand. A yearning which feels similar to the feeling of being homesick. It feels like silk, easing the tension from your muscles; it feels like coming home — though you don’t know why.
You sigh.
You sink deeper, arms brushing against the cool, endless expanse. It feels refreshing — cool. The water cradles you, and yet, it feels like something more. Like someone more. There’s a presence here — intangible, unseen, but there nonetheless. It circles you, watching, waiting. You feel the eyes on the back of your head, but it’s not unpleasant or something closer to.
The touch comes without any warning.
It’s a gentle pressure against your arm, light and delicate, almost as if it’s barely there. At first, you think it’s the current, or you’re just hallucinating, but it’s too precise, too careful, too textured. You freeze, breath catching in your throat, but the touch doesn’t retreat. It lingers, tracing along your skin like a very delicate caress. A voice whispers through the water, soft as the tide, as clear as the waters. It’s familiar, achingly so, but you can’t place it, no matter how hard you try. It’s almost like you’re squinting your eyes to look at a distant image better, but you cannot.
The sound curls around you, weaving through your mind, like how tendrils of a plant wraps itself around its support. And for a moment, you think you’ve recognized it — think you know who it belongs to.
It traces along your arm, delicate as a breeze, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. Your eyes snap open, scanning the dark water around you, but there’s nothing. Only the vast, endless sea, and the sparkling waves. And yet, you can feel it— him —there with you, unseen but present, lingering just out of sight.
What was he?
The touch returns, sliding up to your shoulder, and this time, it’s more certain. More real. It trails down your spine, igniting something inside you that’s both comforting and terrifying and . . . arousing? Your breath catches in your throat, heart stuttering as you try to make sense of the sensation as goosebumps prickle all along the expanse of your flesh. It’s intimate, overwhelming — like the sea is alive, drawing you into something deeper, something you can’t escape.
But do you really want to, though?
The question flits through your mind, and without even thinking, you lean into the touch, letting it guide you further. The water swirls around you, cool but not cold — its surface now shimmering with an ethereal light that seems to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. The stars overhead blur, their reflections weaving through the waves like a dream. And then, you feel it — his breath, warm against your ear. The voice is clearer now, low and resonant, like a gentle plea. A delicious shiver runs down your spine at the sensation, as you feel your eyes close again.
You feel him — his nose rubbing against the expanse of your neck. A hum escapes your throat at the sensation when the slope of his nose rubs against the sensitive underside of your jaw, and then, you feel it.
Your stomach swirls with pleasure.
You hear him whisper something in your ear. Softly, almost like soft silk brushing against your skin— and though the words are foreign, you understand them. Not with your mind, but with your soul.
Don’t look.
The warning seeps into your bones, a quiet plea wrapped in something more dangerous. You’re afraid it’s all too much, too intense. You cannot understand the sensations in you — the bubbling heat in your stomach and the ringing bells in your head. But you can’t help it. You have to see. You have to know who he is.
Slowly, as if fighting against the pull of the ocean, you turn your head. You know he is behind you. The water parts around you, thick and heavy, slowing your movements as if the very sea itself is trying to stop you.
Don’t look.
The words echo in your mind, louder now, edged with desperation. But it’s too late. You’re already searching, eyes scanning the dark water, desperate to catch a glimpse of him. The one who’s been pulling you deeper, holding you close, whispering words of praise so sweetly that you’re afraid you’re going to fall apart.
You reach out, and you feel your hand trembling as it cuts through the water. And then you see him—just a shadow at first, a silhouette drifting through the water, a figure submerged in the hues of the darkness. He’s close, so close, but still just out of reach. You squint, straining to make out the details, but the sea keeps him shrouded in darkness.
You cannot see him.
The moment your fingers brush his form, a jolt of electricity shoots through you, a pulse of energy that sets your nerves alight, a type which makes the heat in your belly intensify.
He’s solid, real, but he doesn’t move. Just hovers there, watching you with an intensity that makes you want to squirm endlessly.
The figure moves closer, the water parting around him, and your pulse quickens. You can’t make out his face — yet again — but you can see the outline of him now, clearer than before. Broad shoulders, a lithe, sinewy body tapering to a narrow waist. His movements are smooth, fluid, as he floats, his arms very delicately holding your waist.
When did he get so close?
And then you see them—the scales.
They glimmer faintly beneath the water, catching the light in shades of deep violet and silver, fading into skin as he draws closer. The scales ripple down his torso, shifting into skin that is smooth and supple, as though he exists somewhere between the human world and something far more ancient. His long hair drifts around him, dark as midnight, curling into waves that fall across his bare chest — though the details remain elusive, just out of reach, like a blurry portrait.
You feel his hand— which feels slightly slimy and rough in texture, move up your waist, stroking your skin. His touch is cold, electrifying — and you feel your sanity leave your soul when his knuckles brush against the swell of your breasts.
Your pulse spikes, and you suck in a breath. You cannot go this far, even if your body is screaming to him to end what he’s started. His hands keep on stroking the exposed skin of your waist, delicately and tenderly, like he’s working you to the oblivion of endless pleasure, because why the hell is this arousing you so much?
You’re already breathless by the time you scramble to get a hold of his wrist which feels rather cold to touch before it gets too far away beyond your control.
He doesn’t pull away.
Instead, he leans into your touch, his skin warm and soft beneath your fingertips, though you can still feel the faint ridges of scales beneath the surface. Your heart hammers in your chest, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. He feels real. He feels alive. You are exposed and vulnerable in his hold.
The ocean swells around you, and the hum in your ears grows louder, more insistent. He shifts, his body turning towards you, and finally — finally — you see his face.
Sharp jawline, high cheekbones, plump, soft lips which are curved in the faintest of smiles. His eyes are unbelievably dark, pupils abnormally wide and endless as the sea — lock onto yours, and you feel like you’re drowning all over again, and yet they feel like they’re glowing like the scales on his skin, a blunt, gentle glow. They draw you in, pulling you deeper into a whirlpool of emotion you can’t name, can’t understand, don’t want to understand. There is something very familiar about him which you cannot exactly pinpoint. But before you can even think of something else, you feel his thumb brush against the peak of your nipple.
Gods.
You moan, a high pitched one which you didn’t know you were capable of making, hands flying to his arms, leaning in submission. Your eyes close themselves as you feel a spark of pleasure travel straight to your clit with each flick of his fingers, and you nearly tremble in his hold.
This can’t be happening.
But the pleasure, it’s so intense — you are torn between your own desire, your own curiosity. It’s just too much for you, and a needy whine escapes your lips when you feel him pinch your nipples gently, twisting the bud in his hold. You squirm, feeling your centre pulse and ache with need, and you hear a small chuckle from his side.
You’re just so close to succumbing to this pleasure. You’re almost ready to voice out your inner thoughts, your need for him, but your body freezes when you hear him.
“Will you run away?”
The question hangs between you, low and velvety, his tone both teasing and somewhat serious. Your eyes fly open as your brain finally acknowledges the voice, his words wrapping around your heart like a vice. You open your mouth to respond, but no sound comes out. Your throat is tight, your lungs burning as though the air has been stolen from you.
He cocks his head, the faintest hint of confusion flickering in his gaze. His hand reaches for you, fingers grazing your arm as though testing your reaction, unsure of your response. But there is something else in his gaze, something that stirs a memory long buried beneath the surface.
Him.
It’s him.
You know him. You’ve always known him.
The realisation crashes into you like a wave, and your breath hitches. You gasp, twisting in his hold as bells ring in your head again. You cannot be doing this. You feel his hands move from your chest to your shoulders, a small tap on your blade as a sign of concern, interrogation. His touch is oddly warm, gentle, but there’s a hesitation in the way he holds you now, a question in his eyes.
He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know why you’re pulling away. His brows furrow, and you can see it in his eyes—he thinks you don’t want him. He thinks you’re afraid of him.
“Will you run away again, like you did tonight?”
Huh?
The question sharpens, the confusion giving way to something more desperate, more exposed. His grip tightens, but not in a way that traps you, but makes you feel oddly seen. His hands caress your shoulder blades, as though he’s pleading with you, silently asking you to stay, to tell him that he isn’t the reason for your fear.
But the truth is — he isn’t. Not entirely.
Your heart races, your mind swirling as fragments of memories begin to unfold. You see flashes of a different ocean, a younger version of yourself pulling someone from the depths. Water in your lungs, panic in your chest, eyes burning — and a boy — struggling to breathe. Your hands shaking, his eyes wide with fear, and your heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.
And then . . . . nothing.
Silence.
But now, here he is again.
You twist in his grip, again, afraid of the lack of your words, the silence which stretches forever alongside the soft waves of the ocean, and his hauntingly pitch obsidian eyes — your body reacting on instinct, and the moment you do, his expression crumbles.
His confusion turns to hurt.
He pulls back, just a fraction, his gaze clouding with uncertainty. He doesn’t understand. He thinks you don’t want him. He thinks you’re running from him . . . again. His lips stretch to a snarl, and you catch a glimpse of death lining the inside of his mouth.
The water grows heavier around you, your eyes widening as you beat the water around you as you feel like you’re drowning. Being pulled down all of a sudden. The stars overhead dim all of their light as the weight of the ocean presses you down as his voice echoes once more, softer now, filled with a quiet kind of sorrow.
“So you are going to run away.”
Your lungs burn, your vision blurs, and the ocean swells around you, pulling you deeper into its embrace as you feel yourself immersed, despite your attempts of resistance. The ocean feels like a thousand knives stabbing you all around, unlike the soft blanket of comfort you felt a few moments ago.
The siren’s eyes are the last thing you see, his endless gaze filled with a longing that tugs at something deep inside you — something you’ve kept hidden for far too long.
He doesn’t even attempt to save you as everything goes black.
And then you wake.
It’s all so dark once again. Except, there’s no ocean around you, and you’re sitting on your bed in the middle of the room.
It takes you sometime to adjust to the darkness in your room — the moon is barely visible through the slits of your closed windows, and yet it feels like some sort of hallucination — almost as if your heart is going to burst. Your throat is cracked up as you gulp down on your own saliva, feeling each second passing by killing your throat as the moisture travels down your throat.
Your skin is damp with sweat, hair sticking on your face like some sort of icky school glue. And for a moment, you can still feel the ocean around you, his touch lingering on your skin.
When you recover a bit, you notice that there’s an undeniable discomfort in between your legs — your underwear sticking to your core, soiled, and slick coating your inner thighs as you cringe.
You had a wet dream. Like a fucking teenager. Or, a mixture of something arousing and horror. Was there any specific label to it? Possibly not.
You feel the wrath of shame wash over you as you duck your head down. Why him and why exactly. . .
But it’s gone—just a dream, a memory that slips through your fingers like sand, confusing you all again the more you think of it with each passing second. There are a flurry of questions in your mind which feels way too overwhelming to answer, ponder about, and you feel a splitting headache slowly spreading in the back of your head.
Yet, a question stands out the most amongst all. His voice, low and haunting, still echoes in your mind.
Will you run away again, just like tonight ?
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The sea has always been your solace.
It was a vast, open space that offered more comfort than the people crowding your life ever did, or ever could. You sit at the edge of the beach, far enough from the others that their voices are nothing but distant clatters, but close enough that you still feel the spray of the waves on your skin. It feels soothing — yet warm as you bask in the slightly hot weather. The sun is high in the sky, yet all you can focus on is the steady rhythm of the ocean, like a quiet lullaby which rocks your body to a peaceful slumber. You draw idle patterns in the sand, your fingers trailing through the grains as your mind drifts, far from where you are, far from everything.
You’ve never liked being here, atleast, not with them.
The smiles, the laughter, the way everyone seems to fit in so seamlessly—everyone except for you. No matter how hard you’ve tried, you just couldn’t. The latest magazine in your school library had that little “self care corner”, which was fascinating, but absurd to you at first, but it’s been a matter of a few weeks since you’ve been following it. It says that you should be grateful for your blessings and try to improve yourself first before you justify why you feel so wronged and hurt. “It’s a hard pill to swallow”, were the exact words, and you do realise that heck yes, they were.
You had tried so many ways you could improve yourself, with some help from the limited internet access you’re provided from your computer. It said that regular journalling, walking, or activities which overall help you in reflecting on yourself and your thoughts assist in healing. But all that it ever did was make you feel like a bitter fool who had nothing to do but to complain all the damn time, without even putting in the effort to do anything.
So you’d tried putting in the effort. You’d tried mingling in with your friends and classmates. You’d even tried to actually be in the same room as your parents and be involved in whatever they were.
In the end, all that you were met was a cold, dead end.
You felt like you were pretending to be someone who you could never be. You were quite literally pushing yourself off the edge of the ground trying to fit in while others — he — shines without effort. Jungkook has always been at the centre of things, his laughter louder, his smile brighter, his presence bigger than yours could ever be. You just felt like another blurred character in the background who acts like a prop to enhance the overall photo.
And you hated it, hated how you couldn’t stop noticing him, couldn’t stop being reminded of all the ways you fell short.
You kicked the spare pebble nearby you, frustrated at having him in the centre of your thoughts again. One of the many things that the small self care centre had taught you was that nothing other than your own thoughts can hurt you as much as others, and it’s solely your own thoughts which can bring you happiness. So you try and keep your chin up high, trying to think of things which aren’t the constant nagging and pleading of your own parents about how you are no longer a star student and nothing can help you improve now, reminding you why you’re content to stay in the background itself.
But the ocean never judged you. It never asked anything of you. It just was — vast, open, endless, inviting. You can feel the familiar tug in your chest, the pull toward the water, a place where you could lose yourself if only for a moment, and forget everything which pesters you so much.
It’s that pull that keeps you grounded as you sit alone. That, and the nagging feeling that something is off. At first, you don’t pay much attention to it.
Why would you?
You’re used to being ignored, used to being an afterthought. But there’s just something in the air which feels odd, something unsettling that has your senses prickling, your chest tightening. You tell yourself that it’s nothing. You’re just anxious, that’s all. You don’t need to be involved, don’t need to care. Let them handle it. You’re done trying to be a part of something that always leaves you feeling more isolated.
And then, you hear it.
A splash. Sharp and out of place. It’s followed by a frantic noise, like someone struggling, thrashing against the waves. You freeze, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. You tell yourself it’s not your problem, that it’s probably nothing.
But deep down, you know better. Something is wrong.
Your heart leaps into your throat. You rise to your feet before you can even think ; your eyes dart across the water, scanning the waves, searching for the source. And that’s when you see him.
Jungkook.
He’s far from the shore, too far. His arms are flailing, desperately trying to keep himself afloat. The water pulls him under, and for a terrifying second, he disappears beneath the surface. Your eyes pop out, your pulse spiking up violently as you feel your chest tightening. For another moment, you see his head poke out of the violent waves, his arms still struggling, and in another, you lose sight of him. It feels like your whole body has been frozen, your limbs refusing to move despite your mind screaming for otherwise.
Your body moves before your mind can catch up. You’re on your feet, the sand slipping under your soles as you sprint toward the shore. You should hate him. You do hate him— or at least, you’ve convinced yourself of that.
But none of that matters right now. Not when his head breaks the surface again, his eyes wide with fear. He looks at you, a flicker of something — hope, maybe — crossing his face even in the middle of his panic and terror.
You hate that look, hate that it stirs something inside you, something that makes you pause for just a second. But you don’t let yourself think about it.
You don’t have time for that.
You dive into the water, the cold shock of it hitting you like a slap to the face, but you don’t stop. The current is strong, pulling you back with each stroke, but you push against it, swimming toward him with everything you have. You hadn’t realised that it’s been that long since you’ve been engaged in any other physical vigorous activity, or is it just the fact that the current is way too strong that the resistance it offers to you nearly stops you from gliding forward.
The water is blurry, your eyes stinging with the saline as you swin forward to locate him.
When you reach him, his body feels heavier than you expected, his limbs weak and movements uncoordinated. He’s coughing, choking on seawater, his breaths ragged and desperate. For a second, his weight drags you down, and you both sink slightly under the water. Panic rises in your chest, but you force it down.
You’re not going to let him drown. Not today.
With every fibre of strength left in your being, you push yourself forward. The moment your hands hold his arm, you pull him close. You feel a strong sense of electricity run through your whole arm, but you ignore it. You hook your arm under his, pulling him closer to you, and you start swimming back to shore. Every stroke feels like a battle against the ocean, but you don’t stop. His body presses against yours, his breathing uneven as he clings to you, and despite everything — despite how much you want to hate him — you don’t let go.
What’s more important is to save him, and that’s all what matters now. His weight feels heavy in your arms as you drag him toward the shore, your calves crying with the stretch and your arms cramping with exerted strength already lost, but that’s not your priority.
“I got you”, is all that you can offer as a silent statement in your head, your main motive being taking him to the shore safely.
By the time your feet touch the sand, your muscles are screaming, but you don’t care. You haul him out of the water, your breaths coming in sharp, painful gasps. The waves crash behind you, but all you can hear is the sound of Jungkook’s coughs, his chest heaving as he gulps down a mouthful of air.
You collapse onto the sand next to him, your arms trembling from the effort. For a moment, neither of you say anything.
He’s still recovering, his eyes closed as he lies on his back, his chest rising and falling unevenly. You feel the thrum of your own exhaustion settle in, but more than that, you feel that of the silence between you.
After quite some time, he’s just silent as you are, sitting up in a somewhat upward position as you. The sun fades away to shadows, and the waves feel stronger as cool winds blow from the shore, touching your feet in a gentle fuzzy wash. The clouds overhead dim further as you crane your neck up, indicating rain.
You’d nearly lost him.
What could’ve happened if you hadn’t heard him back then?
Your heart clenches at the thought and you feel even more exhausted mentally than physically thinking of the probable possibilities of your thoughts. You look at him — his profile silent and calm as he watches the waves dance in the distance. He looks deep in thoughts, still a bit ragged.
Your heart skips a beat out of nowhere.
And then, without thinking, you reach out and pull him into a hug.
It’s not something you planned, not something you would ever admit to doing if anyone asked.
But at that moment, it felt right.
His body is warm against yours, smelling like the soft saline ocean, still damp, still buzzing. And despite the lingering taste of salt on your lips and the sting of exhaustion in your muscles, you hold him tight. Your heart pounds in your chest as your brain threatens you to process something scary, as scary as a life without him. But with him in your arms, you feel better.
Maybe it’s relief. Maybe it’s something else. You don’t know, and you’re too tired to care.
Before you can feel anything more, though, the sound of running footsteps breaks through the quiet. Your parents. His parents. They come rushing over, calling his name, their voices frantic and full of worry.
“Jungkook!” It’s your mother. You watch her as she runs to the boy, panic settled in her features with dark, teary eyes as she grabs him by his shoulders, checking him for any signs of injuries. You watch silently as her tears stream down her eyes, shaking.
She doesn’t even spare you a glance.
“Your dad saw you struggling in the sea. Oh, my dear child, we rushed to you right there and then! Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
Jungkook’s parents fuss over him, their hands gentle as they check him over, making sure he’s okay. Your own parents linger nearby, but as usual, it’s him who gets all the attention. You stand there, dripping wet and still trying to catch your breath, but it’s like you don’t even exist.
“I think he needs to see a doctor! His skin is way too cold to touch!”
Oh.
You let go of him, pulling back just as they all hover around him, some sobbing, some worried, and once again, you find yourself shoved into the background.
It’s Mr. Jeon who finally acknowledges you, his eyes warm with gratitude as he hands you a towel. Oh. You’re caught quite off guard, you’re being honest — not when you feel his affectionate gaze at you and a warm hand pat your shoulder.
“Thank you,” he says softly, his voice filled with sincerity. “You saved him,” his voice is full of kindness. Like the kind which always feels like a far echo to you. His eyes were always gentle, the kind which made you feel oddly at ease. “We owe you a lot, child.”
“It’s nothing,” You nod, but there’s no satisfaction in it, even if you’d try to feign some. You did what you had to do, and yet, it feels like nothing has changed. There’s a churning feeling in your tummy, one that makes you feel fidgety and anxious again, like all the emotions you hate mixed into one. Selfishness, greed, envy. Afterall, he was in danger. He deserves to be treated and taken care of; you were just a rescue.
However, it just feels so. . . you cannot name it. You’re still the one left behind, still the one who doesn’t quite blend in.
As you watch them lead Jungkook away, his movements clumsy and sputtering, you can’t help but feel the familiar sting of resentment rising in your chest. He’s alive, he’s okay—and yet, you can’t shake the feeling that no matter what you do, you’ll always be the one on the outside looking in, trying to blend in, like how oil does with water — but is it ever possible?
The feeling in your stomach is so ugly that you physically have to fight the urge to kick the sand.
You turn to face the sea once again, lost in the ocean of your own thoughts as the sky growls with thunder.
But what you don’t notice, is the way his eyes follow you as he’s led away. There’s a flicker in them, a quiet gratitude, a longing that he wanted to show you. He wants to thank you, to reach out and pull you back into the hug you’d given him so freely, so sincerely that he’d felt like his world had stopped for a few minutes. But the words stick in his throat, each step feeling like a tug away from you.
You don’t see the way his gaze lingers over his shoulder as he looks at your retreating figure. How he watches you with something deeper.
Something silent, before the tide of people pulls him away from you once again.
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The kitchen feels too quiet this morning.
The sound of coffee dripping into the carafe snaps you out of your thoughts, its steady rhythm grounding you in the early morning quiet. The aroma of brewed coffee does little to clear the fog of your tired brain, because once again, you’d failed to get even an ounce of sleep. All you could do was toss around endlessly in the bed. The sheets felt warm, the pillows felt warm, and everything inside your thoughts were so warm you felt like you were getting grilled in your own thoughts.
With no BBQ sauce, though.
But finally, finally when your eyelids had felt too heavy to be kept open, your body clock had decided that it was time to get up.
You sit at the counter, gaze drawn to the espresso stone — an indulgence you’d bought in a phase of believing that rituals like brewing coffee would help settle the storm of your mind. But right now, it does little to nothing.
You’d always preferred instant coffee anyways. Easy, quick, and effortless. Call you lazy or whatever, but let’s be real, who the fuck has the allat energy to do that stuff when it’s the first thing you need in the morning?
(Some real coffee lovers might be giving you the stink eye, but well.)
You absolutely respect others who have, though. But you’re okay with warm water and a sachet of instant coffee. It doesnt taste quite as authentic, but it does work.
Or maybe you were just habituated.
What surprises you is that your parents were awake, but they didn’t come to wake you up this time. Not like before, when the first sound of life in the house was your mom’s footsteps hurrying up to your room. Now when you woke up, it felt like you weren’t even present in the house — perhaps you just expected much more than you should have.
The rich, dark liquid pools into the pot as you stare down at the counter, a knot of emotions tying in your chest. It’s strange, the way time has moved here — everything looks the same, but it feels unfamiliar. The tension that used to live in these walls, seeping through the cracks of their arguments and filling the spaces between your breaths, has softened.
For once, they're not fighting.
You don’t know what to make of that.
You close your eyes against the wave of discomfort that rises in your chest, refusing to let yourself spiral again, but it lingers, just like the faint bitterness of over-brewed coffee.
The morning light is soft, creeping through the windows, and you let your fingers trace idle circles on the countertop, waiting for the espresso to finish. Something about the silence feels unnerving. Not the comfortable, soothing kind though, but the kind that crawls into your bones and makes you hyper-aware of everything — it suddenly dawns on you that you weren’t awakened by that alarm of your phone.
Your phone.
A flood of memories flash right in front of your eyes, remembering him, holding it in his hands while you trembled like a fool and fled from him, again.
You’re so stupid.
You close your eyes. Fuck. Those eyes, those eyes. You were never successful to run away from them, even if he was in a state where he didn’t recognise you. They made you feel exposed, like a deer caught in headlights.
And suddenly, that touch, which is still so prominent in your senses, washes over you. The dream — his touch—lingers like a shadow on your skin, and you’re ashamed of the warmth it stirred in you. Confused, even. Your fingertips twitch, an involuntary reaction to the memory of the way the siren’s — Jungkook’s — hands had roamed over your body in the dream. The way his voice had sunk into your bones, asking, Will you run away?
The question was more than a dream. It was a reminder. And it makes your stomach churn.
You feel a shiver run down your spine.
No. You shake your head, you definitely will go insane if you think about it anymore. You try to shake it off, breathing out a sigh. It’s just a dream, you tell yourself. Get over it. You pour yourself a cup of coffee, inhaling deeply as if the scent could calm the knot in your stomach. There's no running from your thoughts this morning — no distractions, no excuses, and certainly no phone to hide behind. It hits you that without it, you’re forced to confront the very things you’ve been avoiding.
The what-ifs, the what-nows.
You just hope that the bitter coffee would ground you, but it doesn’t.
You take a sip, but it’s scalding, and the sudden burn against your lips yanks you from whatever you were lost in. You wince and place the cup back on the counter, feeling oddly betrayed by something as simple as a morning routine. Without your phone, you’re left feeling vulnerable, like your connection to the outside world has been severed.
You are definitely not a chronically online person, but a few instagram reels certainly do not feel as shitty as the coffee you’ve just made yourself.
You sigh. You wish that you did not rely on your phone for nearly every detail and necessities needed, and you seriously wish you had written down all those log in passwords and passkeys in a diary or something like that. They contain email IDs which you genuinely do not remember, and those unfinished drafts of that novel which you were working in. . .
Argh. You already feel the slight throb develop in the back of your head. There’s a sting behind your eyes, which you blink away. What the fuck ? You cannot lose your shit over such a mundane thing. You’re an adult, and you have enough cash to buy yourself a new phone. (What stings you is the fact that you definitely didn’t need one, but you are petty enough to not get the. . . err, lost one back.)
Anyways, you’re lucky enough to have a laptop with you, and if you can remember correctly, you do have your important e-mails registered in it and hopefully, you can do enough to not lose all your precious details.
(You feel silly as hell.)
But a small part of you trusts that Jungkook wouldn't mess with your details, right? He wouldn’t snoop through your life. . . would he?
You shake your head, pushing the thought away. There’s no point in obsessing over it. Trust him, you tell yourself, even if it’s easier said than done.
— — — —
As you settle down in the living room, laptop perched on your knees, you try to throw yourself into work, your fingers moving swiftly across the keys.
So far, you’ve been successful in logging out of all the devices and recovering your passwords, and you thank the technology for that. Although, those small manuscripts are something which you feel like are in the point of no return. The soft hum of your parents moving about the house barely registers at first, until you glance up and see them together, not at each other’s throats like they usually are.
They’re seated together, your father’s profile hidden behind the newspaper he’s so absorbed in reading, and your mother silently sipping on her tea.
How long have they been like this?
A flicker of surprise ripples through you, followed by an unfamiliar feeling you can’t quite place. They’ve been civil for the past few hours. No shouting, no being on each other’s throats anymore. Just... quiet, almost peaceful.
The same kind of quiet that you once craved for as a child.
You shift in your seat, a strange discomfort setting in as you observe them. It’s unsettling — this lack of chaos between them, and you wonder if they’re simply pretending for your sake. Ha. As if they would actually care.
You push the thought aside, not wanting to linger on memories of their constant arguments, of how they never seemed to notice you slipping through the cracks while they tore each other apart. Now, it feels like they've forgotten those days, moved on without you. But you haven't — If they didn’t bother then, why now when you are now just a temporary guest here?
The past has always found a way of sneaking up on you.
Suddenly, your father calls out your name, breaking the silence. His eyes are casted directly on you, his reading glasses slipping down a bit from his nose as he folds the newspaper he’d been reading to keep it back on the table. “The Jeons have been asking about you,” he says, his voice casual but pointed. Your hands freeze over the keyboard, and your heart skips a beat. “They’re very enthusiastic on hearing that you’re back.”
You force yourself to breathe, but the air feels thick in your lungs. Of course, they are, you think, trying to keep your expression neutral. They have always had maintained the image of that perfect neighbour next door, and this is no exception. However, a plethora of words rises to your throat, unsolicited. Is Jungkook with them?
The question burns on the tip of your tongue, and for a moment, you nearly let it slip. But before you can, your mother re-enters the room, carrying a tray — the rich, earthy scent of doenjang-jjigae fills the room, cutting through the tension like a warm breeze. You hastily cough, swallowing the words back, silently grateful for the interruption.
Although you’re now looking down at your laptop, you feel your father’s eyes flicker towards you, and the weight of his narrowed gaze, knowing he hasn’t missed the hesitation in your response. You are well experienced in this sensing emotions from your parents, and you know your father is suspicious. Let him be. But he says nothing more, choosing instead to focus on taking off his glasses and stretching a bit, preparing himself for his first nourishment of the day.
The silence stretches between you again, but at least for now, he doesn’t press the issue.
You exhale softly, your heart calming from the near slip-up.
A miss is as good as a mile.
That old fear of speaking in front of your father —cof saying the wrong thing, of upsetting the him — surges briefly, but you realize it’s not fear anymore. Not really. You’re no longer scared of him like you were as a child. His glare doesn’t topple you over the edge, and it barely has the same effect it did some few years ago.
You’re just not interested in talking to him, in engaging in a conversation you know won’t lead anywhere.
You can only offer a tight smile to your father as a response.
However , his words swirl around in your head, stirring up old emotions you thought you’d buried. It’s like some sort of a bitter nostalgia ; you’d run from him once already, bolted out of the cafe without looking back. And now, with this reminder that he’s close, that meeting him is inevitable, you feel a wave of fear rise inside you.
Fear, and something else.
Excitement ?
The idea sends a shiver down your spine. Why would you feel excited? You don't understand it. You’re supposed to hate him, aren’t you? For being perfect, for being everything you weren’t. For caring, even when you didn’t want him to. For not recognising you. Why? Why?
But there’s that small, rebellious spark inside you, one that flares at the thought of seeing him again. Those memories of seeing him so close creeps up your neurons like an surge of electricity, and you feel your heart pick up it’s speed again. Despite the fear, despite the confusion, you can’t deny the tug of anticipation. That sort which confuses you so much, that you feel like you’re someone really crazy.
No. You push the feeling down, gripping the edge of the table until your knuckles turn white. You shouldn’t be excited. You should be running again, like that voice in your head keeps whispering, urging you to flee before it’s too late.
Run away. Before he gets too close, before he sees you like this.
But you won’t.
Not this time.
You’re done running.
Even if your heart is racing, even if you’re terrified of what will happen when you see him again. You’ve been running for so long, without ever getting to catch a break — and you do not want to keep running away anymore. You are no longer a teenager, and you have to learn to face your challenges, although, this one is something which rather than being a challenge, feels like something which your whole life has revolved around so far.
You have let yourself suffer for consequences which you never were a part of. You have blamed your misery on someone, who was just as misunderstood as you were. Perhaps, that’s where the list of your flaws begins.
You won’t let yourself fall apart again. You are strong enough to face the storms which threaten to sweep you away. You’ve spent too long building these walls around yourself, and you won’t let him tear them down.
Not yet.
Your bottom lip gets a break from the non-stop nibbling upon hearing the empty bowls clink on the table, your mother chatting idly as she serves the food, and you nod along, though your thoughts are still tangled elsewhere completely.
You should feel relieved, thankful for the quick distraction, but instead, you feel like a thin thread is holding everything together, and it’s just a matter of time before it all unravels.
But when the first morsel of the warm strew hits your tastebuds, it was then when you realised that everything else can wait, but the food cannnot.
You were literally starving.
— — — —
Some things are easier to forget, even if they don’t deserve to be.
The park is quiet, the sound of leaves rustling in the soft breeze filling the humble air. It somehow feels like a place from another world — quiet, peaceful, as if it’s untouched by the dilemma that you’re trying to avoid. It’s funny, how this same peace stretched in between the coats of your house, yet you felt suffocated there, almost as if you weren’t meant to share that with your parents.
You sit on a weathered bench, legs curled beneath, pulling the collar of your coat closer as the cool, crisp autumn air brushes against your skin. Auburn leaves fall in slow spirals, collecting at your feet, a reminder of how everything changes — even when you’re standing still, despite how it felt like nothing had changed.
Perhaps, it was just you, or your home.
It felt fuzzy. Like the fuzz which collects at the rim of a carbonated drink when you shake it too hard. It was raining and was hot enough to feel sweat trickle down your spine just yesterday, and now. . . you feel like it’s about time you treat yourself with some mooncakes.
Speaking of which, you think red bean paste ones are slightly overrated, but you enjoy the taste as much if someone offered them to you for free.
You absently flick through the pages of a book you found tucked in a small “self-care” corner of a bookstore. The name of the corner had absent mindedly brought a smile to your lips, amazed at how this word was used so openly now, compared to that small section neatly tucked at the corner of that magazine you used to be so fascinated with.
The book. . . well, it’s not a bestseller, and it’s not something you’d normally pick up, (neither did anyone seem to, given the layer of dust the shopkeeper had to sweep away before handing it to you,) and you’ll be slightly embarrassed to admit that the name of the corner solely made you buy that book.
Well. . . now, you’re just thumbing the corner of a slightly dog-eared page idly, zoned out.
You turn the pages, but the words don’t really . . . stick. How could they, when your mind keeps wandering back to how everything feels so . . . lost? Like you’re floating aimlessly, without a map, without a clue as to where you’re supposed to be. Life has been a series of steps you weren’t ready to take, choices you weren’t prepared to make ; yet, you kept on running till you either bonked your head on the dead end or just chose the wrong path where you had to bear with the terrible consequences.
It sucks how even your gut feeling sometimes betrays you.
And all of it, every bit, feels like a puzzle that’s been missing pieces for longer than you’d care to admit.
You know why you’re here — not just in this park, pretending to care about a book on self-care, but why you’re avoiding the bigger thing. You’re avoiding them. The Jeons. The meeting that’s looming over you is like a storm you can’t run from. You knew your father did want to press over the topic after breakfast, but it was you who dodged it. You’ve been running long enough to know that much. But today… today, you’re trying to take your time, trying to convince yourself that maybe this is the moment you stop.
Stop running, stop pretending that running away would fix you and your problems.
But it’s hard. Hard to stop, hard to breathe, when every step forward feels like it’s pushing you closer to the one thing you’ve been trying to escape.
Your eyes flick down to the open book in your arms. Right.
You wanted to take your time, to clear your mind, and so may it be so. You’re not even a page down, when your mind registers a small paragraph.
Your eyes scan over the words again.
“Healing isn’t about erasing the past. It’s about living with it, the scars not a sign of weakness, but survival. Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting—it’s choosing peace over pain.”
Your fingers tighten on the edges of the page ; the self-care corner — the memories, the dream which you unlocked — everything you’ve been trying to run from, to “heal,” just feels . . . unfinished. And maybe that's because there’s no real way to let go of what still owns parts of you.
“Let it go,” it reads. As if it’s speaking directly to you. Let go of the things that have been holding you back. Your childhood , the nights you spent wondering if things would ever change. All the times you wondered what it would’ve been like, if you’d tried a bit harder. If you were a bit more perfect.
A deep breath.
You shake your head, trying to focus on the book again. It’s helping you realise something — you deserve to heal from your trauma, even if you weren’t the one causing it.
You close the book, your hand hovering as if touching the cover could give you answers you’re not ready to face.
You let out a shaky exhale as you close your eyes.
Someone sits down beside you.
The weight shifts slightly on the bench. At first, you don’t pay much attention to it, lost in the haze of your own thoughts. It’s just another stranger. Who’s passing through this quiet park, like the leaves that have been falling, spiralling down without asking for permission.
But then, there’s a subtle tug, a familiar feeling in the air that makes you want to turn your head. Maybe you’re just as curious to see, to subtly eyeball if they’re enjoying the calm of the fall too.
You hesitate, staring down at the words. For a moment, you think maybe you should keep staring. But your curiosity gets the better of you.
You glance over and pause. Dark eyes meet yours, and it takes a second before the recognition sets in.
“Oppa?”
Yoongi.
Your eyes lift from the page, and there he is, looking almost too casual, like he belongs in this quiet moment. You notice his glow-up immediately — the way his features have matured, how his hair — darker than how your memory recalls, falls effortlessly across his forehead, styled beautifully to part in the middle. There’s just this quiet intensity in his cat-like, sharp eyes.
Yoongi, as you know, is Jungkook’s elder cousin on his mother’s side. He’s always had this quiet, reserved aura about him. Back then, he was already on the brink of adulthood, 18, and intimidating in a way only someone as mysterious as him could be. Maybe it’s that confidence in the way he still holds himself, the way he seems so sure of everything around him.
He would seem to be very distant at the first glance to anyone, but you know he’s anything but that, given that you always felt like he was that older brother you’ve never had.
And it’s no exception when instantly, his wide, gummy smile breaks through. It’s the same one that used to make you feel at ease back then. A smile so cute, rare, and warm, it could melt the deepest of glaciers to exist. Without warning, he reaches over and ruffles your hair affectionately, the way he always used to. You blink, a little stunned.
He wasn’t exactly known to be the physically affectionate boy, back then, though. . .
“How are you doing?” he asks, his voice low, careful. Somehow you feel like it’s grown even deeper with a very prominent rasp. You can tell he’s not asking the surface-level question. He’s asking how you’re really doing, but without pushing you to say more than you’re ready for. And for that, you feel grateful.
Yoongi always knows what to say, and what not to.
“I’m . . . okay,” you manage to reply, though the word feels heavier than it should. Your voice sounds peculiar to you, but you guess that’s alright. What’s even the point of lying, though? “Just trying to figure some things out.”
He hums thoughtfully, nodding. Leaning back on the bench, his eyes scan over the park as if giving you time to find your words. “That’s good. Figuring things out is important.”
You nod, feeling a little relieved that he doesn’t bring up the fact that you’ve been gone for so long. He’s always had a way of avoiding the obvious, instead focusing on what matters now. You think back to how, in the earlier stages of his career, he always seemed to have his head on straight. If you’re not wrong, you’ve heard some seniors even gosip about how he was known to be the “campus bad boy”, which often confused you. How can a person so warm be called so?
The mixtape he released back then was proof of that, though — a reflection of everything he’d held back until he was ready to speak. His emotions came out through his art, something he was so passionate about, something you admired him for.
Anger, resentment, and hope.
You remember how those emotions warped themselves in his music, his first mixtape he released. Core hip-hop music, all produced by himself solely.
“I saw your mixtape,” you blurted out, not knowing why you’re bringing it up now. “It was… amazing.” You just wanted to let him know, although it feels like you’re a bit too late. It’s been nearly about six. . . maybe seven years, but each time you plug in, you feel like the memories are just as fresh as they were.
He chuckles softly, the sound a little shy despite the confidence he wears so well. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure anyone really listened.”
“What do you mean?” you gawk at him, wide eyed. “Is Min PD, the very famous AgustD saying this by himself?”
He smiles again, a soft laugh escaping him as he rubs his hands together. His skin seems flawless, you notice.
“I mean, of course. I appreciate my fans always, but I feel like the mainstream nowadays is pop music rather than old school hip-hop.”
You nod, licking your lips. Shit. You should’ve brought your lip balm around. “I do understand people indulging in trends, but I do believe that there are people who enjoy hip-hop just as much. For me, it’s like a whiff of fresh air. And I assure you — that your music feels just the same. I, myself as a fan, agree.”
His eyes softened — but they were never pointed to begin with. But before he can say more, there’s a flicker of something playful in them — a hint that makes your heart skip a beat. He taps his phone absentmindedly, then glances over at you again, that quiet smirk tugging at his lips.
As if he’s thinking something else.
“I sure am happy to know that there are others who share the same sentiments as me.”
His phone buzzes in his hand.
“Oh, right…" His tone is too calm, and you already know something's up before he even finishes. “I may have invited someone.”
You blink. “Invited someone?” Your voice comes out slower than you intend, the curiosity now gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. Who?
But Yoongi doesn’t give you time to ask more. He stands up in that lazy, casual way of his, stretching like this is just another day, looking more like a cat stretching after their afternoon nap than a human being. His hand comes down to ruffle your hair again, the affectionate gesture almost pulling a smile from you despite the growing curiosity in your chest. He doesn’t answer you.
Instead, he just smiles that wide, gummy smile one more time before shrugging. “I'll see you soon, okay?”
You watch his retreating figure appear smaller and smaller in the distance as he walks away, hands in his pockets, relaxed and slow.
You’ve always known that Yoongi’s energy was different.
It’s not something you actively think about, but it lingers at the edges of your memories now that you’ve seen him again after a long time. He’s always been on the softer side, quieter — the kind of presence that fades into the background unless you’re really paying attention. Where Jungkook burned bright, a whirlwind of energy and easy charm, Yoongi was like the stillness after a storm — steady, unfazed, but undeniably there.
It’s funny, because despite those differences, Jungkook and Yoongi were close.
You saw it back then, how Jungkook would practically cling to him, always teasing him, always pushing at his boundaries whenever they both used to be together. Yoongi, for his part, would act annoyed, shrugging off Jungkook’s arm or swatting at him with that deadpan expression of his. But you knew better. You’d watched enough to see that he never really minded. Jungkook could be relentless with his affection.
Yoongi pretended to dislike it, there was always that hint of a smile lurking beneath his protests, amongst Jungkook’s giggles.
Sometimes, watching them together made something tighten in your chest — not quite jealousy, but something close. It wasn’t that you wanted what they had, but you couldn’t help feeling envious of how easy it seemed for them. The way Jungkook would wear Yoongi down with his stubborn warmth, and how Yoongi would eventually crumble, letting Jungkook in even if he’d never admit it.
That kind of bond was something you’d always wondered about — if you’d ever have someone like that, someone who wouldn’t mind your presence no matter how much you tried to push them away.
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It’s an odd feeling.
Later that evening, you sit in the quiet of your room, the familiar isolation wrapping around you like a protective cloak. You’ve been actively hiding up here after you got back from the park, avoiding too much interaction. Not because anyone cared to ask where you were or what you were doing. It was more because you felt like you needed some time alone, yet, you feel like you’re alone. Your parents barely noticed, too caught up in their own world. Your mother had the formality to ask why won’t you join them for lunch, and thankfully they did not pry any further.
At least you got to have some quality time with yourself while you had the fancy lunch, which you would admit was a bit heavy on your wallet.
It made your hiding feel almost useless, but somehow, staying in your room brought you a small, bitter comfort.
You rub your eyes, feeling the strain on them for continuously typing for an hour. Your neck hurts, and your fingers feel frozen. You’re trying your best to remake the lost manuscript you’d drafted, and you don’t think this new version is anything close to that.
Sighing, you open your laptop again. It’s truly so tiring — but you guess you were a bit productive today, and that’s okay. Your finger hovers over the doc file, contemplating if you should continue any further — but ah, you’re just so tired. Even just thinking of typing a few hundred words would give you a headache. So you just let it go and log into Instagram — the only way you can connect since your phone is still missing.
A notification catches your eye. 1 new notification.
? Eh. . .?
Your notifications are always empty. Just once or twice from instagram that a celebrity has posted and you gotta catch up, which you don’t. Or a reel suggestion. Or people to follow, so this new notification brings a frown to your brows. What could it be?
Your heart jumps slightly when you see the sender.
dboy93_ : 2 new messages
Is that . . . — no way. He’s still using that same old instagram ID which he was forced to make as a dare back when you were in highschool? No way. Couldn’t be. You click on it, curiosity pushing through the haze of everything else.
dboy93_: Yo. This is Min Yoongi (edited)
dboy93_ : Sorry for leaving so suddenly earlier. Something came up
You stare at the message for a second, a slow smile hanging on your lips, then slowly type back.
you: it’s fine
you: ur still using this old ID of yours? 💀
Your eyebrows touch your hairline when you see the typing bubble bounce up immediately at the corner. You did not expect him to reply this soon. . .
dboy93_ : Ya who’s gonna bother making a new one anyway
dboy93_ : I was hoping that you won’t be mad at me for leaving that soon.
you : it’s fine, i understand
dboy93_ : Let’s meet again. I’m thinking of a café this time?
You raise an eyebrow at his suggestion. Is he suggesting a—
dboy93_ : More time to catch up, plus we have some friends here for holidays too
you : ah, so like a reunion party ?
you : sounds good yo. count me in
dboy93_ : Will send you the location soon then
you : but when?
dboy93_ : Today, evening at 7?
Your fingers hover over the keyboard for a while. Keeping yourself occupied sounds kind of very nice, especially when you’re being promised a good time with a few more faces. It’s not like you’re the busiest person, anyway.
you : super. i’ll be there !!
dboy93_ : Oh and btw, can I get your number? Instagram’s a pain to use for texting
You let out a soft laugh. That’s Yoongi for you. Direct and practical, no hesitation. But what exactly would you tell him? That my phone is with your little brother right now?
you: imma give it to you once i get it back
you : i don’t have it with me right now
dboy93_ : 👍
Well, you don’t know what kind of reaction you were expecting from him, but you don’t know what to make of a thumbs up either.
— — — —
The evening feels lighter.
You’re sitting in that same, slightly odd café you were sitting in roughly 24 hours ago —the warmth inside 134340 contrasts with the cool autumn breeze slipping through the café door, hurling you to an unexpected sense of peace.
Very contradicting to your emotions yesterday.
For once, your thoughts don’t feel as heavy. It’s funny how something as simple as an Instagram text from Yoongi earlier can spark a little joy in your chest. You feel light; especially after that power nap turned to a full nap of three hours. You woke up with a growling stomach and a refreshed mind — it somehow felt like you haven’t felt this free since so long, that you don’t remember when was the last time.
No worries, no stress, no voices inside your head.
You’d sat there in your bed, zoned out on nothing particular. It was only when the alarm clock rang, indicating it was already 6 PM.
You hadn’t put much thought into what you were wearing today, but somehow, it feels like you got it just right.
The oversized cream sweater falls gently over your frame, its soft fabric comforting against your skin. It’s the kind of comfort you didn’t know you needed, the loose sleeves almost covering your hands completely as you absentmindedly tug at them. Paired with a long plaid skirt, whose deep shades of burgundy and brown had caught your attention in your wardrobe, the fabric swaying around your ankles.
You hadn’t planned this. None of it, really.
The tan ankle boots are more practical than anything else, but something about the way they click against the pavement felt just right. You don’t mind the way they match the season’s colours, almost blending in with the fallen leaves scattered at the cafe’s entrance.
You’d even added a light touch of makeup — nothing extravagant, just enough to brighten your eyes and bring a bit of life to your face. A swipe of mascara, a hint of blush, and a subtle nude lip colour that complements the cosy, neutral tones of your outfit. A quick brush to your hair and some setting spray was enough to bring out its natural volume.
You felt good.
Maybe for the first time in a while, you feel like you’re not hiding from the world.
For once, the reflection in the cafe window looking back at you doesn’t seem so far away from who you are. You feel. . . light. Almost like the crisp air itself, fresh and unbothered.
It feels good.
It’s been a while since you felt like this. After your conversation with Yoongi, you weren’t sure if you were ready to step back into a world that once felt so close yet now feels like a lifetime away. But somehow, the lightness in your chest said yes before your mind could overthink it.
Maybe, deep down, you’re starting to believe that this reunion could be good for you.
A small start to something. . .better.
You glance around the café. A soft smile pulls at your lips. It’s not crowded—just a few people scattered around, huddled over books or laptops. Familiar, but not too familiar. It’s quiet enough that yo don’t feel overwhelmed, and for thr first time in days, you allow yourself to just . . . exist.
No pressure. No expectations. Just here.
Your teeth pull at your inner cheek at the small pulsing thought in your head, that your phone is still not with you. The lack of your phone made you realise so many things within less than 24 hours, and you’re trying to not let that small voice gnaw your brain. The idea of him having it — his hands on something that’s been so close to you — feels strange, unsettling even.
You wonder if he’s seen anything, read anything, though the rational part of you knows it’s unlikely.
Still, the absence of your phone leaves an odd emptiness.
Which, you think, is just as good as bad as it can be. Without your phone, you can observe things better. You’d been reading physical copies of books, observing the pattern of how dew forms on grass blades, or even the faintest of noises which tingle your ears right now. Your thoughts never let you actually be present in the moment, always worrying about the future or regretting whatever you’ve done in the past.
No wonder why nostalgia for you feels painful.
But here, with the faint smell of fresh coffee and the sound of pages turning softly in the background, there’s space to breathe. You can feel the thrum of blood in your veins, the soft warmth of your sweater, the smiles on the faces of the baristas as they talk within themselves.
The soft clink of a spoon from a nearby table draws your attention. A few people are scattered about, engrossed in their own worlds — reading books, working on laptops, or chatting quietly. It’s peaceful, and for a moment, it feels like you’ve stepped out of your own life, finding solace in this tiny bubble away from everything.
You absently glance toward the door, the light chatter of passing people blending with the soft music playing inside. You’re early, but that’s fine.
It gives you time to yourself.
— — — —
The café door chimes.
Your eyes immediately dart to the entrace, tilting your head to the side to get a better view. Perhaps they’re here. You glance at the small wall clock adjacent to your table, and it reads ten past seven.
Although it feels like it’s been some time since you’re here, but you don’t mind at all, especially with the small notepad and pen you’ve got on your table.
You’ll never ever be bored as long as you’ve got a paper and pen within your reach.
The first person you spot is Yoongi, his familiar, understated presence immediately calming. He’s dressed casually, in a black hoodie and ripped jeans, his usual laid-back style that somehow makes him blend into every setting, yet stand out at the same time. It’s like he carries his own layer of calm with him, an aura you’ve always admired.
Behind him, a small group of friends follows, out of which some you recognise nearly immediately — despite the course of time. Jieun, her short wavy hair neat and tidy, wearing a comfortable grey sweater, giving her a kind of homely warmth. You’ve known her as Yoongi’s senior, the sweet cinnamon roll. She waves as soon as her eyes land on you, her smile bright and genuine.
It’s been nearly decades since you’ve seen her, and it surprises you that she actually remembers you.
“____ , I didn’t know I’d be seeing you today!” Jieun exclaims, wrapping you in a quick, warm hug. Her perfume is light, floral — the kind that reminds you of spring even in the middle of autumn. “It’s been forever, hasn’t it? How have you been? Oh my, your hair is shorter than how I remember!”
“I’m good,” you manage to let out a small chuckle, returning the hug, feeling a bit overwhelmed by her energy. Of course, you were about sixteen when you last met her. “It needed some trimming. You look super cosy, by the way.”
“Please, I just rolled out of bed as soon as Yoongi told me,” Jieun says with a playful eye roll, though you can tell she appreciates the compliment. “But you, girl. If anyone is looking cosy, that’s you. very autumn-y.” she winks at you, tugging at the fabric on your arms.
You smile, feeling a bit lighter with her friendly banter. Jieun has always had this way of making you feel seen, but not in a bad way. Like she’s genuinely happy to be around you. It’s comforting, even when you don’t really know much about her.
Soobin and Amber join soon after, both nearly squabbling over something. Soobin has grown much taller than you recall, and has that same, cocky grin that you remember from old times. He isn’t that younger than you, though you’ll say that you do know him a bit better.
Amber, on the other hand, is quieter, more reserved, but her eyes light up when she sees you, and that’s enough to make you feel welcomed.
“Someone needs to explain to this guy that he still owes me from last time,” Amber says with a mock-serious tone as she puts her bag down, pointing at him. “You’re not getting away with it this time—”
“What did I even miss?” you ask, curiosity piqued.
“Ping-pong match,” Soobin grumbles, but there’s a twinkle in his eye. “And I don’t lose that easily. Amber’s just cheating.”
“I did not cheat!” she pokes her tongue out at him. “you just suck at it.”
Soobin crosses his arms over his chest, raising a brow at her. “Oh, really? That does not take away the fact that you’re short—”
“What does ping pong gotta do with height—”
“Alright kids, enough bickering.” Yoongi’s voice is deep as he pulls out the chairs for them to sit, his tone hinting at boredom, but that small smile which hangs on his lips tell a different story. Yoongi is the last to sit down, taking the seat next to you with his usual, relaxed ease.
You notice only now that your cheeks hurt from smiling so much non stop. He throws a knowing glance your way, as if to say, I told you so.
“I didn’t know you all still hung out,” you say, genuinely surprised as you glance at the familiar faces, memories of late-night study sessions and frequent game sessions surfacing. “Feels like it’s been years.”
“Not as often as we used to,” Jieun admits, picking up the menu book excitedly. “Life kind of got in the way for a while. But we try to meet up when we can, honestly. But you, Miss Vanishing Act, you need to show up more often.”
You make an embarrassed noise at the back of your throat, but you can’t help but laugh softly. “Yeah, I’ve been... around. Just not here.” You have missed out on a lot in your years of running away, and perhaps this regret would settle down sometime later.
“Good to see you’re still alive, noona.” Soobin teases, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Hyung here told us you’d be joining today, which was like a bomb drop for all of us. I’d believed in winning a lottery more than you coming back. Trust me, I was nearly convinced into thinking that he’s pranking us.”
“That’s Yoongi’s fault,” you reply, rolling your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “He dragged me out of hibernation.”
Yoongi shrugs. “Well, I didn’t drag you anywhere. Just gave you a little nudge.”
By the time the barista returns with your orders, Yoongi looks a bit too amused at a conversation turned argument at which Amber is losing despite Jieun backing her up. They are nearly arguing about the best ramen places in town, and eventually, Soobin claims victory based solely on the fact that he knows the owner of one of the shops. Jieun listens with a bemused smile, her face acting as the subtitles to her thoughts inside her head, while Amber looks like a second away from throwing hands on the guy.
You are too busy to pass your own opinions enjoying their show.
“By the way,” Yoongi suddenly says, his voice cutting through the chatter after taking a quick glance at his phone. “One of our friends is running late.”
Frankly, right now, you’re not too concerned. You’re here, with people who’ve known you for years, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you can let yourself relax. You cannot be bothered when you’re actually enjoying yourself after everything.
“Well, that’s their fault. Missing some nice beef between friends.” Amber adds, giggling soon after taking a sip at her own joke.
However, you don’t catch on that look the younger lad throws at the older.
Amber taps you lightly on the shoulder. “So, are you gonna tell us what you’ve been up to, Missy?”
“Hell yeah, spill the tea,” Jieun adds, leaning forward with a glint in her eyes, excited. “What’s been keeping you so busy?”
“You’re no longer sleepy now that you’ve got tea to listen to, huh?” Your eyes are narrowed at her, but you dont mean any real bite behind it.
You take a deep breath, ready to dive into whatever story you feel like sharing.
For once, the world outside this little café can wait.
.
You’ve been laughing, genuinely laughing, for the first time in what feels like ages.
(You hate how old it makes you sound, but that’s true. Well, partially true, because it felt like you’d almost forgotten what laughing was for a while.)
The café is lit with conversation, laughter weaving in and out of the cosy hum. Amber is now dramatically recounting a disastrous karaoke night, her hands flailing as she tries to reenact Soobin’s epic failure to hit the high notes, the man in the question trying his best to convince everyone at the table that something so horrible as enacted did not happen. You’re laughing so hard you almost forget the strange sense of unease that’s been creeping up on you.
But there’s something unsettling in the back of your mind. A feeling you can’t quite shake off, a prickling touch.
You glance at Yoongi, who is watching the others with quiet amusement. But every now and then, you notice his eyes flickering to the entrance, a fleeting glance that makes your stomach churn slightly. He’s done that way too many times by now for it to be a simple glance.
Why does it feel like he knows something you don’t?
You shift in your seat, brushing off the feeling. Maybe it’s just being back here, surrounded by familiar faces after so much time has passed. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re trying so hard to be present, to let yourself enjoy this moment, even when there’s a part of ypu still trying to tug you to where you once were.
But that feeling in your gut doesn’t go away.
The café door chimes again.
You don’t look at first. You’re too focused on keeping the conversation going, on pretending you’re not hyper-aware of every sound, every movement around you. Jieun is asking you something about your recent work, her voice bright and curious, but your attention is already drifting, already far away by now.
The air shifts, like a current pulling you toward something.
Or someone.
You glance up, and your heart stumbles.
Jungkook.
oh.
He’s standing by the door, his eyes scanning the room until they land on you.
Your heart drops to your ass.
The world seems to blur for a second, everything fading except for him, and the heat of his gaze.
He strides toward your table easily, almost as if it’s something he does everyday. His dark hair falls slightly over his forehead, his black leather jacket snug around his frame. He looks like he belongs anywhere he goes, and yet right now, it feels like he’s stepping into a space you’ve tried to keep sealed off.
The conversation around you falters. Jieun stops mid-sentence, her eyes darting between you and Jungkook with a slight frown.
Soobin is the first to break the silence.
“Look who decided to show up,” he quips, though his voice sounds distant in your ears. “You’re half an hour late, hyung.”
You can’t tear your gaze away from Jungkook, even if you feel like your nerves go haywire. It’s like he’s pulling you in, even though every instinct in your body is screaming for you to look away, to pretend this isn’t happening.
Is this really happening?
No. No. This cant’t be happening, can it be—
Jungkook’s eyes flicker briefly to Yoongi, and there’s something in them. Something you can’t quite understand. But when his gaze returns to you, it’s sharper, more focused, almost. . . . fierce. Almost like he’s found the last piece of his missing puzzle.
You nearly flinch.
He doesn’t sit. He stands just behind the empty chair across from you, his hands in his pockets, watching you with an intensity that makes you feel like your heart is refusing to beat anymore.
“I think I might have something that belongs to you.”
His tattooed hand slips into his jacket, pulling out your phone — the same one which you dropped down yesterday.
But it’s not the phone that sends a chill down your spine.
It’s the way he’s looking at you.
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a/n : i’m so sorry, for 1) taking this long to release this part, and 2) the ending 😭 i promise you guys the next part would actually be a bit more interesting, but i wanted this series to have themes of self healing and recovery too. as always, your feedback is always appreciated and fuels me to write more and more. as always, here’s the anonymous feedback box for you !! 🌹💜
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sapphicandgraphic · 3 months ago
Text
The Mary Celeste—Chapter 1
Synopsis: You’re a grad student who starts digging into a decades-old unsolved mystery for your thesis. When you uncover a dark conspiracy, you’re forced to enlist the help of your reluctant professor, Agatha Harkness. 
Chapter: 1/10 (The Fellowship)
Series Warnings: Academic suspense, historical intrigue, enemies to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, fem reader, age difference, WLW
Chapter Warnings: Super hot Prof!Agatha 🥵, mentions of parental death
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——————
You stared at the journal in your hands, fingers tracing the familiar frayed edges of your father’s handwriting. The ink was starting to fade, and the paper had yellowed with age, but the words still cut through you like knife. The last entry, dated a few days before the accident, had been scribbled hastily: “Find the manifest.”
You closed the journal with a decisive snap and tossed it onto your cluttered desk. You had been up all night, reading and re-reading your acceptance letter into the Archival Society, still not quite believing it. You had spent weeks agonizing over your fellowship application and waiting to hear back. Now it was finally secured.
Professor Franklin, the university’s most distinguished and legendary history teacher, selected a single grad student each semester to mentor. Being the archival fellow was an enormous honor that came with special privileges. You’d benefit from his personal knowledge and guidance. You’d also have access to several private libraries and collections within the department. You allowed yourself a brief, triumphant smile. Now, nothing could stop you from continuing your father’s work.
Standing up, you caught your reflection in the mirror across the room and stilled, struck by the familiar face peering back at you. You had inherited more than just your father’s insatiable curiosity. You favored him—gray eyes, blonde hair, mischevious smile—especially as you got older. You suddenly wished you could talk to him, tell him about the plan you had set in motion. The desire was so intense and visceral that you actually felt a physical ache in your chest. 
The sound of your phone buzzing interrupted your thoughts, and you glanced at the time. Your heart skipped a beat when you realized you were late for class—and not just any class. The American Folklore seminar was taught by none other than Professor Franklin. Grabbing your bag and throwing it over your shoulder, you shot out the door, hoping you wouldn’t be too late to sneak into the back of the lecture hall unnoticed. 
Your sneakers slapped against the pavement as you rushed across campus, the early fall morning sun casting long shadows. You had been at the university for a few weeks now, but it still felt like a maze—an endless labyrinth of stone buildings and echoing hallways. 
Outside the lecture hall, you paused to gather yourself, running a hand through your long wavy hair and straightening your Oxford button-down shirt. Then you opened the door and slipped inside. 
It was dark in the hall. When your eyes had adjusted, you spotted an empty seat a few rows down and began creeping toward it. You had almost reached your destination when your bag caught on someone’s books and they fell to the floor with a loud bang. 
You winced as several heads turned, and the professor’s voice paused. Glancing up at the lectern, you frowned in surprise. Instead of Professor Franklin, you saw a woman. She had long brown hair and dark blue eyes which were currently fixed on you.
“Sorry,” you said, voice cracking.
“By all means, make yourself comfortable,” she drawled, sounding bored. “We’ll wait.”
She pulled on a pair of reading glasses and glanced at a piece of paper on her dais, as if cross-referencing something. Then she called your first and last name, and you froze again like a deer in headlights. 
“This isn’t a trick question, pet,” she purred, and a few other students sniggered. “I have to ask for attendance.” 
“Present,” you said, cheeks flushing bright red. 
“Hmm.” She tapped the paper with one long finger and arched an eyebrow at you. “See me after class.” 
“Yes, Professor,” you said. 
Finally, after a few more agonizing seconds of silence in which you shuffled to the nearest available desk, she resumed her lecture. You pulled out a notebook and pen, slouching low in your seat.
“As I was saying,” she said, a tight, deadly smile lighting up her angular features. “Professor Franklin has taken a medical leave of absence.“
Your head snapped up, your mouth parting slightly in surprise. Was it your imagination, or did this woman’s dark gaze linger on you, as if gauging your reaction?
“My name is Dr. Agatha Harkness,” she continued. “Professor of Medieval Folklore, and I’ll be filling in for the rest of the semester.”   
Most of what came next—an overview of modifications to the syllabus, a walkthrough of expectations for research papers, office hours—you missed, unable to concentrate as you processed the bitterly disappointing news about Professor Franklin. 
He had been your golden ticket, a guaranteed ally in the critical research you had planned over the coming months. Without him, everything hung in the balance. You needed to regroup, strategize, figure out your next move.
Before you knew it,  Dr. Harkness was dismissing the class. You stayed seated as the lights came on and everyone collected their belongings, exiting the hall en masse. Finally, it was just the two of you. 
“So,” she called softly, voice echoing in the empty room. “You’re the Archival Fellow.” 
You nodded, uncertain what to say. 
She removed the wire-framed reading glasses which were still perched on the end of her long nose.
“Come down here, pet,” she said finally. “Let me get a look at you.” 
You stood and descended the few steps until you were standing directly across the lectern from her. She leaned forward, mouth pursed in a thoughtful half-smile. You met her gaze evenly, trying not to feel intimidated. Agatha Harkness was strikingly beautiful. Her hawkish eyes were bright, predatory. When she licked her lips, you had the mad urge to kiss them…or to run for your life. 
“What happened to Professor Franklin?” You asked, hoping your voice didn’t sound as breathy as it felt. 
“That silly old fool.” She rolled her eyes, but her tone was surprisingly gentle when she spoke. “Overworked himself, no doubt. Something to do with his heart.” 
“Oh,” you said, a fresh wave of disappointment washing over you. It was difficult to determine the most diplomatic way to ask your next question. Luckily, Professor Harkness took pity on you. 
“Not to worry,” she said shrewdly, seeing straight through your thinly veiled concern. “I’ll be making myself available throughout the duration of your fellowship. I understand your thesis is focused on an early 20th century shipwreck?” 
“Not exactly,” you hedged. “It’s a ghost ship. The Mary Celeste.” 
Dr. Harkness’s hand stilled. For a brief moment, you could have sworn there was a flicker of genuine surprise, maybe even fear in her eyes. But just as quickly, it was gone.
“I see,” she snorted. “How mysterious.” 
You felt a ripple of irritation, but tamped it down. Clearly you had gotten off on the wrong foot with this woman. Taking a steadying breath, you decided to try a different approach. 
“For what it’s worth, I’m looking forward to working with you, Dr. Harkness,” you said, schooling your expression into something warm and animated. “Your expertise in folklore will provide such a valuable lens to my research.” 
“Oh, flattery,” Professor Harkness laughed, gathering up her papers. “Now I see why Franklin chose you, pretty thing with a pretty mouth.”
The smile slipped off your face, replaced by a deep flush of uncharacteristic shyness that you tried to pass off as outrage. 
“Nothing personal, pet,” she assured you, seemingly unfazed by your reaction. “But I operate a little differently than Franklin. You may have charmed the old man, but I’m not so easy to impress.” 
Her heels clicked sharply on the floor as she walked away from you. She had almost made it out the door by the time you found your voice. 
“I earned my right to be here,” you said, shaking with fury. “And I didn’t come this far just to be insulted by some professor whose name I’ve never even heard.” 
She stilled on the threshold and you held your breath, preparing for the backlash. But instead, Agatha hummed in approval.
“So,” she purred. “The fawn has fangs.”
Then, with a dark chuckle, she was gone. 
>>Subscribe to my Patreon for early chapter updates<<
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hannahbarberra162 · 8 months ago
Text
Under the Microscope, Part 9
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18+ MDNI on Ao3
All the other chapters
Sabo's back :)
Ty to @gouraminnow for beta-ing and letting me borrow their braincell.
Your POV
You were happy for Ace, you truly were, but now that the experiment was a success you needed to get moving. You weren’t able to find out exactly when Sabo would be returning but Ace had told you his ship had already set sail for the island. In order for Ace to uphold his end of the bargain, you’d have to leave very soon otherwise you’d risk leaving while Sabo was returning. Instead of preparing for a sea voyage, Ace wanted to show you every single one of his old techniques and a few new ones as well. You also wanted to leave the island because you were worried Ace was going to burn it to the ground - and you along with it - in his zeal to show off his regained powers.
“I had so much time to think about new moves in Impel Down, whaddya think about this one?” Ace yelled, burning a blaze in an outward stretching spiral, nearly reaching where you stood on the porch. He’d been demonstrating all his moves to you, asking what you thought of each one and expecting you to tell him what you liked about each. 
“Very, um, interesting. Different from the last one that was also a spiral but with a cannon in the middle. But, Ace, can we pack up?” you asked, wringing your hands. You didn’t think Sabo’s ship was on the horizon but you itched to check with your magnification. Ace tilted his head quizzically.
“Pack?... oh, right. You wanna head out before Sabo comes, yeah. Sure, we gotta check on Striker first. Sabo’s been running it every so often but with how much he’s been gone lately it might need some minor maintenance. It’s on the far beach, we can look at it now,” Ace said, already brushing off his yukata from the dirt and soot he’d accumulated burning the plants. Ace waited for you as you ran up to where he was in the smoking field in front of the house. The smell of charred vegetation permeated the area as you walked side by side down the rocky path towards the far beach. Ace had a bounce in his step and was humming to some unknown tune while you walked together. 
“Thank you,” Ace said, facing forward while he walked next to you.
“Ah, you’re welcome. I’m glad it all worked out,” you replied happily, patting his back affectionately. You hoped your paths crossed again once you were free, you’d come to enjoy Ace’s company a lot during your stay on the island.
“I won’t tell anyone how I got my powers back. I’ll leave it as another unsolved mystery on the Grand Line. Because, you know, if anyone found out, well…your life would be even more over than it already is,” Ace said with a smile while your own dropped.
“W-what? What do you mean?” you asked, kicking a pebble down the path.
“Well, what do you think would happen if the Marines found out you’d made a Logia devil fruit? Or Kaido? Or Big Mom? I think even Shanks would be interested. Now that you’ve made one fruit, the possibilities are endless, right? You could make any kind of fruit, or anything else, really. You’re a powerful resource to have control over,” Ace said, pushing his hair back from his forehead. You felt sweat trickling down your back as your heart rate increased. In your haste to get away from the island, you’d been short sighted in your thinking. Ace was right, if anyone - if the World Government found out - you shuddered thinking of the possibilities. Your vision narrowed as you thought about the implications of your completed work. What had you been thinking, bringing another devil fruit into the world? You’d already caused so much destruction and devastation and now you’d provided the means for even more. 
“But you s-said you wouldn’t -” you whispered, grabbing Ace’s bicep and stopping him mid step along the path. 
“And I won’t, I promise. I can keep a secret, trust me. Almost nobody knew I was Gol D. Roger’s son until I was executed for it.” Ace said, his hand on the back of your neck as he looked you in the eyes. You had grown to trust Ace, you wanted to believe his promise but you weren’t sure how far he’d go against his own brother. He pushed your neck so your head leaned forward, placing his forehead gently against your own.
“I’m gonna help you, you don’t have to worry. Me ‘n Sabo are gonna keep you safe, no matter what,” Ace said, his hand keeping your foreheads touching. Ace’s words felt like a solemn vow more than a promise. Your anxiety churned as he mentioned Sabo, his brother’s return souring your mood even further. Ace’s casual acceptance of your desire to get off the island had you worried - either he wasn’t really going to help you or he truly didn’t think you’d get far from the island. You pulled back with your neck and Ace released you, giving you another smile as you grimaced.
“ ‘Course I’m gonna help ya, you’ve given me my life back. ‘N I’m stronger than I was before I died, I’ve been working on my haki. So with that, my power, and Sabo, no one’s ever gonna hurt you again. And just wait till you meet Luffy, he’s gonna love you too,” Ace said, his smile widening across his freckled cheeks. You bit your bottom lip as you heard the conviction in his voice. It felt like the net around you had tightened even as Ace was bringing you to his boat.
Approaching the shore, your heart sank as you saw the small craft bobbing gently on the waves. It was a fine boat but it was tiny . You only saw a single seat, directly over a charred metal pit caked in soot. The pit was likely the means of propulsion for the craft, powered by the Mera Mera user. Which left…not much room for you to sit. Not only that but prior experience told you that the smaller the craft was, the worse your sea sickness would be. You’d been so ill on the larger ship with Sabo, you couldn’t imagine what a multi-day journey on Striker would be like for you. But if you wanted your freedom, you were going to have to try. Ace had waded into the water where Striker was anchored and was admiring his boat, running his hands over the hull.
“Isn’t it awesome? Survived Marineford, too. Deuce ‘n me made it together, I’ve told you about him. I can’t wait to introduce you two, I know he’d like you. Sabo won’t admit it, but I’m the better sailor of the two of us. Like yeah, he stole that ship when we were 10 -”
“What?” you tried to interject. Stole a ship? As a child? You knew your question wouldn’t be answered anytime soon since Ace was already fixated on a subject and yammering. You’d have to clarify what he meant later, after Ace’s thought had run its course. 
“But that barely counts, I was the Commander of the navigation division for Whitebeard, that’s gotta count for something. Had like 200 crew working under me, navigating the main ship and all the smaller craft too. And I took Striker to Wano and back, sailed all over the world, Alabasta, everywhere,” Ace continued talking as you chewed on a fingernail. You’d never really put thought into what it meant to be a Yonko Commander but it made sense Ace would be in charge of others. He’d also mentioned being the Captain of his own crew during some of the stories he’d told you about his life. You could see why people were drawn to him - to his charisma, his charm, his easy but firm leadership style. You’d grown attached to him yourself but that didn’t mean you wanted to spend the rest of your life together.
“Yeah, she’s gonna need a touch of work, not too bad though. We gotta go back to the house anyway, gotta pack things for the trip. Gonna need food, water, clothes, things like that. Don’t need any blankets anymore though, you got me to keep you warm,” Ace said, beaming at you. You were now chewing through another nail as you thought of the long journey ahead of you. 
“Where’re we going, anyway?” Ace asked, walking through the water back to shore. Your mouth twisted in thought as you realized your plan had more holes than a sieve. You couldn’t go to your home island as you didn’t want anything to happen to your family when Sabo came looking for you. You might be able to go to an island with a  Marine base, but it’s not like Ace could drop you off at their front door given his background. You could get dropped at a random island but you didn’t have any money to get back to a Marine base and you weren’t sure Ace had any either. While scrambling to think of alternatives, Ace ruffled your hair.
“Eh, we can go find Law, he’ll know what to do. You might be able to hitch a ride with him for a while until Sabo finds you,” Ace suggested. You perked up at the idea of staying with Law on his submarine. Maybe he’d discuss the applications of his fruit with you…or maybe the two of you could work on combining your powers and doing something really interesting…maybe you could publish your findings…your name next to Law’s on an article would really boost your career…
“You might want to get those hearts out of your eyes. He’s dating Luffy now,” Ace teased, shaking off his wet feet on the beach.
“I wasn’t thinking about kissing him!” you scoffed as your face heated at Ace’s suggestion.
“Nah, you were probably thinking about asking to write an article together,” Ace correctly guessed, making you flush even harder. “Actually, maybe we should find Luff first, I’m not sure what Law told him or didn’t tell him, he likes to maintain an air of mystery,” Ace said, rolling his eyes. “But no matter where we’re going, we have to hit the house first, I gotta get my clothes, my hat, my Log Pose, lotsa stuff,” Ace said. 
“Hey Ace, um, you should know, I get seasick when I’m on boats,” you said, hugging your arms across your chest.
“Ah, that’s no big deal, lotsa people do. Half an hour after we set sail you won’t feel it anymore. I’m a great sailor, you’ll see,” Ace declared. You hummed - you had plenty of confidence in Ace’s ability to pilot his boat but not so much in your own ability to remain conscious during the duration of the voyage. It was a calculated risk you had to take to get off the island. Heading back to the house on the worn path, Ace started walking faster and faster until he was practically running back to the house. 
“C’mon! Let’s go!” Ace cheered happily, urging you to also go quicker. Even though this was all part of your plan, your feet felt like lead as you plodded back to the house.
Sabo’s POV
Things were different than Sabo had expected upon his return to the island. Sabo knew you weren’t going to run up and kiss him (though he’d imagined it many times) but he didn’t think he would be greeted by…no one. Walking up to the house, he saw charred vegetation along the path, reminding him of what his room at the RA had looked like before he’d gained full control of his powers. The porch was likewise scorched, though Sabo didn’t remember leaving it in such a state. Setting the crate he was carrying on the wooden slats, Sabo was about to push in the door to the house when he saw…Ace…on Striker…zooming by on the far side of the shore. Sabo blinked. He was dreaming, he must still be back on the ship and in his bed.
Ace kept sailing by, passing the RA boat Sabo had sailed on during the voyage. He pulled Striker to a stop, hailing the ship. Shortly thereafter, he turned the boat towards the shore and turned his legs to fire to start the engine. Even from afar, Sabo could tell he was shirtless and wearing his iconic orange cowboy hat, his hand keeping the hat from flying away in the wind as his smile shined so bright it rivaled the sun itself. Sabo laughed, this was a great dream. He didn’t think Ace would want to hear about it but he’d write it down when he woke up so he could reflect on it later. 
Except.
Dream Ace stopped Striker close to the shore and waded to the rocky beach, grinning so wide it almost looked maniacal. Ace’s chest bore the scar of his near-demise but he seemed to be bearing it proudly with his red beaded necklace accentuating the mark. 
“Saaaaaaaabooooooooooo,” Ace called in a sing-song voice, putting his hand by his mouth to accentuate the noise. Sabo started walking towards him, nearly tripping off the porch, flailing slightly. Maybe…he wasn’t hallucinating. Which meant… well, Sabo wasn’t sure what exactly. Sabo thought it was his brother but grabbed his pipe just in case. 
“Saaaaaaaabooooooooooo,” Ace repeated, now jogging towards his sworn brother. 
“Ace, you’re kind of freaking me out, what’s going on? How were you piloting Striker? Where’s Sunny?” Sabo asked, meeting Ace halfway down the path to the beach. Ace gave Sabo a shit eating grin and Sabo knew that he had been up to something big. 
“Nice to see you too, Sa D. Bo,” Ace replied, not answering any of Sabo’s queries. Sabo narrowed his eyes but gave his brother a back breaking hug anyway, laughing when Ace spun him in a circle. The truth would come out eventually and Sabo was happy to see Ace feeling better, smiling, laughing and even wearing his old clothes. Something had shifted for the better during his absence.
“Alright, put me down, shrimp,” Sabo demanded, pushing Ace backwards. 
“You’re only 2 cm taller, baby boy,” Ace replied. He was shifting from foot to foot in his old leather boots, excited about something. Sabo had a feeling he wasn’t going to be as excited when he whatever Ace had cooked up.
“So how were you on Striker? Used a heat dial or something?” Sabo asked, trying to get information out of Ace.
“Or something is right,” Ace said, turning his first two fingers into fire and pushing his cowboy hat further up his head.
“I - Ace - what are - Ace -” Sabo searched Ace’s face to try and understand what was happening. 
“Sunny fixed me! She made me another Mera Mera! Now we can really find out who’s stronger,” Ace said flexing his muscles. Without warning, Sabo’s eyes filled with tears as the enormity of the moment settled on his shoulders. Sabo grabbed Ace and pulled him back into a full body hug, openly crying on his shoulder while Ace patted his back. “ ‘S alright Babo. She really did it, I’m fine. Didn’t blow up or anything. I’m back,” Ace said quietly, comforting his brother. Sabo was still crying as he pushed Ace away and wiped his runny nose on his sleeve. He felt an overwhelming sense of relief, now that Ace had finally turned a corner in his life. They’d made it, they’d suffered for so long together and now Ace could finally move on, they could be together like they used to, just three brothers, nothing standing between them, no amnesia, no dying, no wars, no fruits, nothing but them and Luffy, ready to take on the world.
“A-ace! What the fuck are you talking about?! She made you another fruit? How - why - Ace - that’s so…INCREDIBLY STUPID!” Sabo finished with a yell. His own hands were shaking as he felt anger wash over him despite the sense of felicity he’d felt just moments before. Ace was laughing, his hand scratching the back of his head.
“It’s not funny you shithead! What if you had died -” Sabo pulled his hand back to punch Ace in his stupid face.
“But I didn’t!” Ace giggled, easily dodging the hit.
“What if you’d gotten injured? Or suffered other effects?” Sabo now had his pipe in his hands, approaching his brother in a battle stance.
“But I didn’t!” Ace said, still smiling despite crouching down, happily readying himself for a fight.
“And what about Sunny? How on earth did you get her to agree to this? I know she wouldn’t have done this on her own without you telling her to,” Sabo pushed, wanting to hear the whole story. Ace’s smile faltered and his eyes flicked to the house for a moment. Sabo stood up, anger forgotten for the moment as he started worrying about Sunny again. “Ace, what did you do?” Sabo asked imploringly, now leaning on his pipe.
“ I didn’t do anything, she was the one who came up with the deal,” Ace said, already crossing his arms defensively. Sabo sighed, they were in for a long discussion.
“Ace, please. I need to know what’s going on, don’t leave me in the dark,” Sabo pleaded. “Besides, I brought more coffee for the house, I know the two of you drank through what we had,” Sabo said, trying to bribe Ace into sitting down. They weren’t far from the building but Sabo needed Ace to focus on what was happening, not on his apparent recovery of his power, though that needed quite a bit of discussion as well.
“Fine, but you’ll have to be quiet, she’s sleeping,” Ace replied, linking his arm in Sabo’s as they ambled the short distance back to the house. Sabo turned his head to Ace, eyebrows drawn.
“Why’s she sleeping? It’s the evening, she never naps now,” Sabo asked as he picked up the crate and brought it inside, putting it by the stairs. 
“Well, uh, I had to um…drug her,” Ace said sheepishly, stomping up the steps to the house and throwing himself on the couch after forgetting his own directive for quiet.
“Drug her? Why? I thought you’ve been keeping her from working too much?” Sabo asked, wondering why he thought Ace was up to the task of preventing someone’s self destructive habits.
“Um, well, see…the thing is…she wouldn’t stop throwing up,” Ace replied uneasily, trying to hide his face from Sabo by pretending to inspect the couch.
“Ace! Why didn’t you ugh that’s serious! Is she sick -” Sabo’s mind was racing with potential viruses and illnesses that Sunny could have contracted on the island.
“Yeah, she got seasick. She told me before I took her on Striker but I didn’t realize how severe it was. I wanted to bring her back earlier but she kept wanting to stay on the boat longer and longer until I put my foot down and brought her back. Even after she was on land, she kept vomiting and vomiting. Had to carry her into the house she was so weak. So I panicked and…drugged her,” Ace said in a hurry, looking upstairs as he spoke.
“That’s not gonna help her you fucking idiot! She needed medicine! And I thought we were done drugging her!” Sabo was frustrated at both of them - Ace for his lack of medical knowledge and Sunny for her stubborn attitude staying out on the boat when she clearly couldn’t handle it.
“I know, I panicked. I didn’t know what all the stuff in the medicine cabinet was for and Sunny was too sick to help me. She’s fine, by the way, I was checking on her,” Ace mumbled, crossing his arms again. Sabo didn’t want Ace to feel worse than he already did, he probably did the best he could under the tense circumstances.
“It’ll be OK, Ace. Thank you for checking on her, I’m sure she’s fine. But we can’t just drug her to sleep to solve all our problems,” Sabo said evenly as Ace snorted.
“How did you get her nails for the vivre card then?” Sabo’s face turned bright red as Ace quirked a brow.
“How do you know I had a vivre card made?”
“Please, Sabo. I’m stupid but I’m not an idiot. You did, didn’t you?” Ace said, tipping his hat back off his head and stretching his feet to rest on the coffee table in front of him.
“I mean yeah, I did,” Sabo huffed, pulling the paper out of his pocket.
“Gimme some of it too, she’s grown on me. She’s like the opposite of me - she’s really smart but she’s also an idiot. Self destructive, can’t fight or defend herself, makes bad choices. Needs watching,” Ace declared. It warmed Sabo’s heart that Ace had taken you under his wing as well, just as he suspected would happen. Sabo ripped the paper in half and handed one to Ace, who folded it and put it in his shorts pocket. Sabo’s attention wandered over to the bar, where there seemed to be some kind of experiment set up with a multitude of cups and bowls filled with liquid.
“What’s she doing over there?” Sabo asked while walking to inspect it himself, curious about the contents of the containers.
“Those are her pets, don’t touch ‘em,” Ace said flatly. Sabo saw that there were several notes scrawled with the words “ ACE DON’T TOUCH >:(“ near the containers. Sabo chuckled as he read the increasingly angry notes from Sunny.
“Let me guess, you touched ‘em,” Sabo said, putting down a note detailing the violence Sunny would inflict upon Ace if he bothered ‘Mita’ and ‘Condra’. 
“How was I supposta know they’re not just water?! I drank a few, so what? She got mad at me, apparently she was messing with them, changing their genes or something,” Ace said, pouting on the couch. Sabo started opening the cupboards, looking to see what needed to be restocked. To his surprise, most staples were still there except for rice and potatoes, which were completely gone.
“Sabo, can you make me something? I’m hungry,” Ace complained. 
“What have you guys been eating? It doesn’t look like much has been touched here -”
“I make potato salad for lunch and Sunny makes jambalaya for dinner,” Ace answered, already salivating at the thought of food. He had come to the island and was leaning on his arms, watching Sabo take ingredients out of the cupboards.
“Those sound good. What else did you guys eat?”
“No, that’s it. Potato salad for lunch, jambalaya for dinner,” Ace stated. Sabo blinked several times, trying to understand.
“You ate…the same thing…every day…for nearly a month? Just potato salad and jambalaya? That’s why there’s no more rice or potatoes?” Sabo inquired, barely able to process the information.
“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Ace said, rolling his eyes. “We didn’t know how to make anything else, so that’s what we ate. ‘S pretty good though. Could actually go for some jambalaya right now, do you know how to make it?” Ace asked, rubbing his chin. Sabo closed his eyes, willing himself to drop the issue. He didn’t have it in him to discuss why the two of them ate….he’d teach them how to cook a third dish another time. Sabo opened his eyes and looked at his happy, healthy, hungry brother. They were quiet for a moment, staring at one another.
“So. It worked? The fruit - it’s - it’s the same? You’re back?” Sabo asked hesitatingly, watching the joy rise in Ace’s face as the tension melted away.
“Wanna find out? I know I can kick your ass, I’ve seen you using my moves. Lemme show you how they’re really supposed to be done,” Ace taunted his brother, rising off the couch and stretching as a cocky grin plastered itself on his features.
“Pff. Please, I’ve been doing things you’ve never even dreamed of, Portgas. I’m this close to awakening it before you can,” Sabo said, pinching his forefinger and thumb together. He wasn’t, but he knew it would annoy Ace.
“Is that so? Come outside and say that to my face,” Ace said, spreading his arms wide as he walked towards the exit. Sabo gave Ace a wicked smile and promptly tackled his brother out the door, the two of them on equal footing at last.
Your POV
You dreamed of immense fire, a blaze big enough to swallow the island whole. But no matter how hot the fire became, you were never burned completely. You were so drowsy but at one point you woke to the sounds of Ace and Sabo yelling and fighting. Peeking out the window, you saw the two of them in a completely scorched circle, yelling and ranting at one another.
“Are you kidding?! That’s your hiken? They don’t call me Fire Fart Ace, put muscle into it -” Ace said as he exploded a column of fire towards his brother.
“- shut the fuck up! Unless you want to be thrown by my talons again, get over here you wet rat looking ass!” Sabo yelled at his brother as he ran into Ace, headbutting him in his chest. Ace kicked his brother in the stomach, causing both of them to turn to fire and separate once more.
“Pfff please. Talons or not, you’re never gonna -”
“Otebisha!” Sabo cut off his brother with another hiken followed by a stream of fire that traveled upwards towards the house. Ace watched with his mouth agape, then he grinned. You didn’t like that grin.
“Yeah? Going high up? C’mon Sabo - hikyaku!” Ace’s legs turned to fire as he blasted into the air to continue fighting his brother. You yawned, you still felt woozy from earlier in the day. Maybe they’d kill each other - or not - but you wanted to go back to sleep. You just hoped Ace remembered you were in the house if they burned it down. Laying back down, you closed your eyes and were fast asleep before Sabo’s next counter attack.
At some point, you felt a touch on your forehead, testing your temperature.
“ ‘G’way Ace, don’ wan’ potato salad,” you grumbled. You wanted to go back to sleep, even though you’d been sleeping for hours. 
“I don’t have any to offer you,” a voice replied. Your eyes popped open as you realized it wasn’t Ace with you in the room.
“Hi, Sabo,” you said quietly, moving to sit up in bed. Your voice was scratchy from all the vomiting you’d done that morning.
“Hi, Sunny,” Sabo replied, staring at you as he sat on the bed, arms crossed. You shivered under his gaze, it was colder than you’d remembered. You’d seen this intensity before but it had never been directed at you. He’d never been at a loss for words either, his sudden silence a departure from the chattiness you were used to. “Ace informed me you’ve been quite busy in my absence,” he said, facial expression icy as he spoke.
“Um, yeah, I mean, I think - I guess so. He, um, told you? That I, um, made the, um, Mera Mera?” you stammered out your sentence, bringing a nail to your mouth to chew on. Sabo intercepted your hand and pinned it down to your thigh, preventing you from engaging in your bad habit.
“Mmm. Quite a decision. And his end of the deal was that he was supposed to take you where?” Sabo asked, tilting his head. You bit your lip, your eyes bouncing around Sabo’s face to try to find a shred of mercy in him. 
“Um, I didn’t, um. I didn’t get that far, he - I - um, I didn’t, um, I was on Striker -” Sabo frowned at you and your blood ran cold.
“Stop. I warned you not to try to leave the island, did I not? I warned you not to work too hard, did I not?” Sabo asked, gripping your chin between his gloved fingers. He was forcing you to look into his face as he eviscerated you with his words. You felt tears pricking the corners of your eyes but you willed them not to fall.
“Y-yes, you did,” you replied as Sabo held you in his gaze for a few moments longer. You desperately wanted to jerk yourself away but you knew better than to play when Sabo was like this. Finally, he let go and sighed, holding his head in his hands. 
“Sunny, what were you thinking?” Sabo asked, exasperated. He picked his head up from his hands and gave you a tired look. You guessed he’d already heard what had happened from Ace but all you felt was relief that the Sabo you knew was present again, not the Flame Emperor that had scared you nearly to tears. “No, really Sunny, what were you thinking? I mean, of course I’m grateful that Ace has his Mera Mera and that he’s got his powers back, but how stupid can you be ?” You winced as Sabo’s words struck your core. 
“I didn’t think -”
“Yeah, I know you didn’t think, that’s the problem. You’ve changed the foundations of the world! If anyone knew what you can do, what you’ve already done - the potential is limitless -”
“-but Ace said he wouldn’t tell anyone,” you said quietly. Sabo rolled his eyes and stood up to pace the room.
“Ace won’t tell anyone, I’m not worried about him. But that doesn’t keep you safe, someone’s going to put everything together. So, unfortunately for you, we’re going to have to go back to the RA headquarters sooner than I anticipated. Ace is planning on leaving the island and you’ve shown me that I can’t leave you here alone,” he said, giving you a pointed look. You looked down at your shaking hands, feeling your anxiety climbing higher the longer Sabo spoke. 
“I already called the ship, they’re waiting for us to get our things together to leave. I brought you more clothes so you don’t have to pack as many as you’d normally need. And, ah, Koala explained to me that bras don’t just come in small, medium, and large, so I hope everything fits,” Sabo explained, a faint blush tinting his cheeks towards the end of his statement. You gave Sabo a small smile, hopeful he was done reprimanding you. He looked at you, almost pityingly, and cupped your cheek with his gloved hand.
“I just…I really am thankful for what you’ve done for Ace. And your accomplishments are…beyond my wildest imagination. I knew you were a genius, but what you’ve created is…astounding Sunny. I just wish you’d done things differently. That you trusted me more, told me what was going on,” he said, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. You felt small and stupid, how could you have thought your plan was going to work? That you’d out maneuver the second in command of the Revolutionary Army? 
Sabo let go of your face and reached into the interior pocket of his suit, revealing a small wooden box. “I had this made for you, I hope you like it,” he said, putting it in your palm. You opened the container gingerly, gasping when you saw what was inside. It was a silver bangle bracelet and the shanks looked like intertwining vines. Adorning the vines were a few stylized flame flowers, like the ones found on the island. Your fingers shook as you picked it up out of the box. You didn’t think you’d ever seen jewelry so fine, much less been given any.
“Oh, Sabo. It’s lovely,” you said, turning the bracelet over in your fingers. “Are you sure it’s for me?” you asked, unsure that you deserved such finery. Sabo’s face softened as he watched your reaction to his present. 
“I’m sure, Love. Here, let me put it on you,” he said as he held his hand out. You delicately placed the band in his palm and held out your wrist. Opening the bracelet, Sabo put your wrist in the middle and closed it, a small snick the indication that the lock had caught. Turning the bracelet over on your wrist you admired its beauty but were struck by a sudden feeling of wrongness. You felt weak, like you were waterlogged and unable to move your limbs. You pulled on the bracelet to open it and take it off. It didn’t budge. 
“Sabo, please take this off,” you said, tugging on the bracelet. It no longer felt like a bracelet, but a shackle. You were getting increasingly frantic, trying to pry open the bracelet where it had locked. Sabo’s frown had returned as you clawed at the bracelet.
“No. I already warned you what would happen if you tried to escape. The bracelet is imbued with seastone and it won’t open without the key. Stop trying to take it off, you’ll only hurt yourself,” Sabo said firmly, unmoved by your distress.
“Sabo, please, I’m sorry - next time I won’t - I won’t try again, please, I’m sorry!” you wailed, now trying to pull the bracelet over your hand, impeded by your thumb joint. Sabo stilled your movements by putting his hand over your wrist.
“I’m glad you’re sorry, but that’s not enough. I told you that if you tried to escape it would make us both unhappy, that I would have to restrict your freedom. Show me you can be good and I’ll consider taking it off. Until then it stays on,” Sabo said, standing up from the bed and crossing the room. 
“I wish you trusted me more. But until you do, this is how things will be,” Sabo said, exiting the room and shutting the door. The sound of a key in the lock was the last thing you heard before you broke down in heavy sobs.
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