#its a constant push and pull of emotions and energy

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Taking care of a parent is hard. Especially when they just lie to themselves and continously justify their bad habits that are hurting them.

To try and be supportive and pick them up all while you are doing your own journey in trying to fix yourself.

When you are peeling back your own layers and now seeing what their trauma has done to you and learning to forgive them for it. Or not. Everyone is different in this case and that's okay.

I do know everyday I will try to be firm in boundaries with them while attempting to be patient and understanding. That I will continue to try be a version of myself who can love gently the parts that need care as well as fiercely to the parts that need fixing.

[rmview]

relationship dynamic with you, SVT.

featuring — seventeen vocalists x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — an imagine of what the seventeen rap boys are like when they're in a relationship with you! ( rapper ver. )

contents — fluff, no warnings.

jeong ♡ han

jeonghan’s relationship with you is a perfect blend of playful teasing and unwavering affection. known for his cleverness, he loves keeping things fun and unpredictable, always coming up with ways to make you laugh or blush. he has a knack for pushing your buttons just enough to elicit a reaction, but it is never mean-spirited. beneath his mischievous exterior, jeonghan is deeply in tune with your emotions. he can sense when something is bothering you, even when you try to hide it, and he makes it his mission to lift your spirits.

“you’re not going to leave me hanging, are you?” he’d tease after pulling a harmless prank, a sly smile on his lips. but when the moment called for it, jeonghan’s sincerity would shine through. “i’ll always be here for you,” he’d say softly, his tone shedding all its playfulness as he held your hand.

dok ♡ yeom

dk’s relationship with you is a constant source of light and laughter. his energy is infectious, and he has an innate ability to turn even the gloomiest days around. being with him feels like standing in the sun — warm, bright, and full of life. dk is your biggest supporter, always cheering you on and reminding you of your worth, even on days when you doubt yourself. his love language is words of affirmation, and he makes sure you never go a day without hearing how much you mean to him. dk may not be just about fun and positivity; he is also deeply thoughtful and attentive. his gestures aren’t grand, but they are always heartfelt.

“you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he’d say with a grin, before adding, “and I’m not just saying that because you made me coffee this morning!” yet in quieter moments, dk’s love ran deeper than words. “i mean it,” he’d whisper, his voice steady and eyes filled with emotion. “you’re my everything.”

ming ♡ hao

the8’s relationship with you is defined by quiet understanding and mutual respect. as someone who values introspection and personal growth, minghao encourages you to explore your passions and find balance in your life. he isn’t one for grand displays of affection, but his love shows in the little things. minghao’s calm and thoughtful nature brings a sense of peace to your relationship. his artistic soul shines through in the way he loves you, whether it is painting a picture inspired by you or writing down the little things he admires about you in a journal.

“did you notice the moon tonight?” he’d ask, his voice soft as he pointed to the sky, pulling you into his world of thoughtful observation. and when he opened up, his words were like poetry. “loving you feels like breathing,” he’d say earnestly, his sincerity shining through every syllable.

josh ♡ ua

joshua’s relationship with you is a haven of calm and stability. as someone with a naturally gentle and considerate nature, he has a way of making you feel safe and cherished. joshua is a master of small but meaningful gestures — like bringing you your favorite flowers just because or singing you a soft lullaby when you can’t sleep. his love isn’t loud or showy, but its steadfast and reliable, grounding you in a way few people could. with joshua, communication comes easily. he is a patient listener, always ready to talk. joshua is always by your side, offering quiet encouragement and unwavering support.

“i hope you know how much i adore you,” he’d say, his voice warm and soothing as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. and when he looked at you, it felt like you were the only person in the world. “you’re my heart, you know that?”

jun ♡ hui

jun is the kind of partner who keeps you on your toes, always finding ways to make life more exciting. his quirky humor and unpredictable nature are a constant source of joy, and he loves seeing you laugh, often going to great lengths to put a smile on your face. but while jun thrives on fun and spontaneity, his affection for you is anything but fleeting. he adores showering you with attention, whether it is sneaking up behind you for a surprise hug or serenading you with a random song he made up on the spot. despite his playful demeanor, jun has a deeply romantic side. his love is expressed in the way he looks at you, his eyes full of wonder and admiration, as if he can’t believe someone as amazing as you had chosen him.

“life’s too short not to have fun,” he’d say with a wink before whisking you away for an impromptu date. but when the moment called for seriousness, jun’s words carried weight. “i might be a little crazy sometimes,” he’d confess, his tone softening, “but i promise my love for you is the one thing i’ll always be serious about.”

woo ♡ zi

woozi’s relationship with you is built on quiet devotion and an unspoken understanding. though not the most outwardly expressive, his actions speak louder than words. he has a way of making you feel loved in the simplest yet most meaningful ways — like brewing you a cup of tea when you are stressed or staying up late to help you with a project, even when he is exhausted himself. being a perfectionist, woozi often struggles to balance his work with his personal life, but he makes a conscious effort to prioritize you. and despite his reserved nature, there are times when his emotions break through, revealing just how much he cared for you.

“i’m not great with words,” he’d admit, scratching the back of his neck, “but i hope you can feel how much you mean to me.” and when he let his guard down, his words were simple yet profound. “you’re the best part of my life,” he’d say, his voice steady and filled with sincerity.

seung ♡ kwan

seungkwan’s relationship with you was vibrant, emotional, and full of life. as someone who wore his heart on his sleeve, he wasn’t shy about showing his love for you. he adored talking with you, whether it was sharing his latest dramatic story or having deep, meaningful conversations late into the night. his ability to make you laugh was unmatched, and he took great pride in being the one to lift your spirits when you were down. but seungkwan wasn’t just about fun and laughter. he is fiercely protective of you, ready to defend you against anyone or anything that threatened your happiness. his love is loud and unapologetic, and he made sure you never felt taken for granted.

“do you even realize how amazing you are?” he’d ask, exasperated but affectionate, after you doubted yourself. and when things got serious, seungkwan’s emotional depth came to the forefront. “i joke a lot,” he’d say, holding your hand, “but never about how much i love you. you’re my person, always.”

notes: i love these boys sm <3

[solaceseven]

Ashes of Tomorrow Pt. 2

↳ summary: in a world overrun by the infected, survival is brutal and trust is rare. when a lone survivor joins sukuna’s guarded group, tensions flare, and bonds form in the shadow of constant danger.

→ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sukuna x fem!reader

→ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: apocalypse au, enemies to lovers, fluff, angst

→ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: graphic injuries, violent confrontations, emotional trauma, loss of loved ones, mature themes, and anything you would expect in an apocalypse au. unprotected sex, cunnilingus, dirty talk.

→ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 20k+

→ a/n: here is part two! i hope everyone enjoys it. this was my first time writing smut, so I really hope it turned out well. part one.

The stars shimmered faintly above as you lay beside Sukuna, your body finally starting to relax in the rare moment of peace. His warmth was a subtle presence beside you, grounding and oddly comforting. The faint hum of his breathing, steady and unchanging, added to the sense of safety you hadn’t felt in months.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep. The exhaustion crept up on you, your eyelids growing heavy as the stillness lulled you into quiet surrender. The last thing you remembered was Sukuna’s voice, low and steady, murmuring something you couldn’t quite make out as sleep overtook you.

When you stirred again, it was the sensation of movement that pulled you from your light slumber. You blinked groggily, your mind hazy, and realized you were no longer on the roof. The world tilted slightly, your body cradled in strong arms. Each step was deliberate and measured, steady in a way that made you feel oddly secure.

You glanced upward, your head lolling against a broad chest, and caught sight of Sukuna’s face. His expression was softer than you’d ever seen it, his brows drawn together in quiet concentration as he navigated the stairs.

“I can walk,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

“Sure you can,” he said, his tone dry but without its usual sharpness. “You were about to roll off the roof. You’re lucky I was paying attention.”

Your brows furrowed faintly, though the effort was weak, and you pressed a hand against his chest in a half-hearted attempt to push away. He didn’t budge, his hold steady and resolute. “I wasn’t gonna fall.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” he muttered, his gaze fixed ahead. But there was no venom in his words, only a quiet exasperation that made your cheeks warm.

You let your hand fall, your head resting back against him as you surrendered to the warmth of his hold. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere you can actually sleep,” he replied curtly.

The words barely registered as your mind drifted in and out of awareness, but when the cool air of the hallway gave way to the relative warmth of a room, a sliver of confusion stirred in you. This wasn’t where you usually slept.

Sukuna nudged the door open with his shoulder, stepping inside and making his way to the bed in the corner. He eased you down onto the mattress with surprising care, adjusting the blanket over your body before stepping back.

“This isn’t my bed,” you mumbled, your voice sluggish with sleep.

“No, it’s not,” he said, his tone even. “But it’s closer, and you need rest more than anyone else in this place right now.”

You blinked up at him, the dim lighting softening the hard lines of his face. In the quiet, with no one else around, he looked almost gentle. The thought made your heart ache in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“What about you?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

“I’ll figure it out,” he replied, brushing you off with a slight shrug.

As your eyelids grew heavy again, the faint sound of him moving around the room reached your ears. A rustling noise followed, the unmistakable sound of a blanket being spread out across the floor. You didn’t have the energy to open your eyes, but the realization settled over you like a comforting weight—he wasn’t leaving.

Before sleep fully claimed you, you heard his voice, low and gruff. “Go to sleep, idiot. You’re safe.”

You smiled faintly, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a second blanket. Whatever walls Sukuna kept between himself and the world, tonight they felt just a little thinner. And as you drifted off, you knew he’d be there, watching over you, just as he always seemed to.

You woke up to a strange warmth. Blinking sleep from your eyes, you took in your surroundings—a dimly lit room that bore the wear of the apocalypse. A beat-up dresser sat against the wall, its surface scratched and scarred with age, though it held a few weathered photo frames propped carefully on top. A single chair rested near the window, its wood chipped and worn. Weapons leaned haphazardly against the far corner, their cold, sharp presence a stark reminder of the world outside. The space was utilitarian, but not uninviting, carrying a sense of quiet resilience rather than comfort.

This wasn’t your room.

It hit you like a jolt: the steady hum of Sukuna’s presence. You recognized his scent now—subtle, sharp, like fresh ink and a faint trace of smoke. Your heart skipped a beat as you sat up, the blanket pooling around your waist.

Why am I here?

The faint sound of footsteps echoed from somewhere beyond the closed door. You froze, then quickly glanced around. Sukuna wasn’t here, at least not right now, and curiosity got the better of you.

Carefully, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, mindful not to make a sound. The room was sparse but hinted at a life long before the apocalypse had stripped everything away. Your gaze landed on the dresser, where a small cluster of photographs sat in worn frames.

You stepped closer, your fingers hovering just over the edges of the first picture: Sukuna standing with his arm slung around a younger boy who had the same sharp features and piercing eyes. His brother, you realized. They both looked so happy, the kind of carefree joy you only see in pictures from the past.

Next to it was another photo, this one of Sukuna standing proudly in front of a sleek tattoo shop, a broad grin on his face. The sign above the door read “Ryomen Ink” in bold, clean letters. You could almost picture him there, surrounded by the hum of machines and the scent of ink, thriving in a world that no longer existed.

Then there was the photo of the group—Shoko, Geto, Nanami, Gojo, and Sukuna himself. They were younger, all crammed together on a couch, beers in hand and grins on their faces. Gojo had his signature sunglasses perched crookedly on his nose, and Shoko’s cigarette was caught mid-air as she leaned into the camera. Even Nanami, usually so serious, had a faint smile tugging at his lips. Geto was leaning casually against Sukuna, his arm slung around his shoulder as he flashed a wide, genuine smile. Sukuna, seated in the middle of the group, was smiling too—not his usual smirk, but an open, rare smile that softened his sharp features.

Your chest tightened at the sight. They’d been happy, a family forged in friendship. And now, in this broken world, they were all each other had left.

“What are you doing?”

The deep voice startled you, and you whipped around to see Sukuna leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and his crimson eyes sharp yet unreadable.

“I—” you stammered, heat flooding your cheeks. “I wasn’t trying to snoop. I just... woke up and...”

His gaze flicked briefly to the photos before returning to you. For a moment, his expression softened—just a fraction, but enough to ease your tension.

“You’re in my room,” he said simply, pushing off the frame and stepping toward you.

“Why?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

“You fell asleep on the roof,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I wasn’t about to leave you out there. It was easier to bring you here than wake everyone up shuffling you back to your room.”

“Oh.” Your cheeks warmed at the thought of him carrying you, but you quickly turned back to the photos to distract yourself. “These... they’re nice. From before everything, right?”

He stopped beside you, his gaze lingering on the images. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, and you worried you’d overstepped. But then he sighed, the sound heavy with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “From before.”

Your fingers hovered near the photo of him and his brother. “This is your brother?”

He nodded, his jaw tightening slightly. “Yuji.”

“He looks like you,” you said softly.

“He’s better than me,” Sukuna muttered, almost under his breath.

You didn’t push him for more, sensing the weight of the subject. Instead, your eyes shifted to the group photo. “And this? You all look… happy.”

“We were,” he said simply, his voice distant. “Before everything went to hell.”

You wanted to offer something comforting, but no words felt right. Instead, you reached out to lightly trace the edge of the photo. “It’s nice that you still have these.”

“They’re all I’ve got left,” he admitted, his tone quieter than you’d ever heard it.

His vulnerability made your chest ache. Slowly, you turned to face him, your gaze meeting his. “Thank you for bringing me here. And... for letting me see this.”

For a moment, his crimson eyes searched yours, something unreadable flickering in their depths. Then, to your surprise, he reached out, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered, warm against your skin, before he pulled away.

“Don’t make me regret it,” he said, his voice low but not unkind.

You nodded, unable to tear your gaze from him. In that moment, the distance between you didn’t seem so impossible. And maybe, just maybe, the walls Sukuna had built around himself were beginning to crack.

You focused on your breakfast, humming softly to yourself in the quiet kitchen. The morning was peaceful—exactly what you needed after the whirlwind of last night.

That peace, of course, didn’t last long.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty!” Gojo’s sing-song voice broke through the calm as he strolled into the kitchen, his signature grin plastered across his face.

You glanced at him warily. “Good morning, Gojo.”

He plopped down into a chair, resting his chin on his hand as he watched you. "So,” he began, his tone as smug as ever, “sleep well?”

Your brows furrowed at the question. “Yeah… why?”

"Oh, nothing,” Gojo said, dragging the words out as his grin grew wider. “Just heard you spent the night in Sukuna’s room.”

Your fork froze mid-air. “Excuse me?”

“Sukuna’s room,” Gojo repeated slowly, his tone dripping with false innocence. “Care to explain? Or should I just assume the obvious?”

Heat rushed to your face. “It’s not what you think!” you blurted, the words tumbling over each other. “I fell asleep on the roof, and he—he carried me so I wouldn’t wake everyone up.”

“How chivalrous,” Gojo mused, tapping his chin dramatically. “And yet, out of all the rooms, he chose his own.”

"It wasn’t like that,” you insisted, stabbing at your fruit with more force than necessary.

“Right,” Gojo said, dragging the word out. “Next thing you know, he’ll be making you breakfast.”

Before you could retort, the back door creaked open. Shoko and Suguru stumbled in, their bags slung haphazardly over their shoulders. Shoko dropped hers onto the counter with a tired sigh, and you immediately noticed the smear of red on her leg.

"Shoko, your leg!” you exclaimed, bolting to your feet as your chair scraped loudly against the floor.

Shoko waved you off, already digging through her bag for a cigarette. “It’s just a cut,” she muttered, plopping onto a nearby chair. “Barely even hurts.”

Suguru, setting his bag down more carefully, gave her an exasperated look. “It’s a cut because you tripped. Who trips during a supply run?”

“I tripped because someone didn’t cover me properly,” Shoko shot back, her tone sharp but amused.

“I didn’t cover you properly because you ran in before I was ready!” Suguru argued, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

Shoko rolled her eyes, lighting her cigarette with a dramatic sigh. “Excuses, excuses.”

“Oh, I’ll give you excuses,” Suguru retorted, stepping closer as if preparing for a mock confrontation.

“Alright, break it up, you two,” Gojo interjected, standing abruptly. “Clearly, this is a job for the great peacemaker.”

Before anyone could react, Gojo swooped in, wrapping an arm around Shoko’s neck and pulling her into a playful headlock. “Apologize to Suguru, Shoko!” he demanded with mock seriousness, ruffling her hair with his free hand.

"Get off me, you idiot!” Shoko yelled, trying to shove him away. Her cigarette was miraculously still intact, though her glare could’ve set the kitchen on fire.

Suguru, seizing the opportunity, pointed at her and stuck his tongue out like a child. “Serves you right!”

“Real mature, Suguru,” Shoko snapped, elbowing Gojo in the ribs and finally breaking free.

The whole scene was absurd—Gojo laughing like a maniac, Suguru acting like a smug little brother, and Shoko muttering curses under her breath as she fixed her hair. But it was their chaos, and you couldn’t help but laugh along with them, warmth blooming in your chest.

Your laughter trailed off as Sukuna’s quiet footsteps echoed in the doorway. He stepped inside, his sharp eyes scanning the room briefly before landing on you. Without a word, he placed a mug of tea on the table beside you, his movements deliberate. He lingered for a moment, his gaze meeting yours before he turned on his heel and left without another word, the sound of his footsteps fading down the hallway.

The room fell silent for half a beat.

Then—

“See!” Gojo exclaimed, pointing wildly at the mug. “Tea! A declaration of love if I’ve ever seen one!”

Shoko snorted, leaning back in her chair. “Maybe he’s just trying to keep her from snapping under your endless teasing.”

“Or maybe,” Suguru added with a sly grin, “he just likes her.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, covering your face with both hands as heat surged to your cheeks.

Their playful banter continued, their voices overlapping in a chaotic symphony of laughter and teasing. But as you stared at the tea in front of you, a quiet smile crept onto your face.

These moments—messy, loud, and full of life—were the reason you fought so hard to survive.

The next morning sunlight filtered through the cracked windows as you made your way to the common area, your footsteps light against the worn floor. You could already hear the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of utensils against plates. It felt almost normal—a fleeting echo of a life long past.

As you entered, you were greeted with the sight of everyone gathered around the table, eating breakfast. Shoko glanced up from her plate and, to your utter confusion, broke into a wide grin.

“Happy birthday to you…” she began, her voice light and teasing.

You froze mid-step, your heart stuttering.

“Wait, what?” Gojo perked up instantly, his sharp blue eyes wide with excitement. “It’s your birthday?”

Before you could even form a reply, Gojo shot out of his chair, his lanky frame moving across the room with surprising speed. He grabbed you by the arms and lifted you clean off the ground, spinning you around like you were the star of some grand celebration.

“Happy birthday!!!” he hollered, his voice far too loud for this early in the morning.

“Gojo, put me down!” you protested, laughing despite yourself as your feet dangled in the air.

“Not until you accept that it’s your special day!” he declared, finally setting you back down but keeping his hands on your shoulders like an overenthusiastic parent.

The others had stopped eating by now, their attention drawn to the commotion. Suguru looked mildly amused, Shoko grinned like she’d been waiting for this, and even Nanami had a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

And then there was Sukuna. His expression was unreadable, his crimson eyes flicking between you and Gojo. There was a flicker of something in his gaze, sharp and fleeting—was that annoyance? Jealousy? No, you told yourself, you were imagining it.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Gojo asked, his tone exaggeratedly scandalized.

You shrugged, suddenly feeling shy under all the attention. “It’s not that important. I didn’t think anyone would remember.”

Shoko scoffed, leaning back in her chair with a smirk. “Of course I remembered. What kind of friend do you think I am?”

Your heart warmed at her words. “Thanks, Shoko. That means a lot.”

But Gojo wasn’t done yet. He released you and started rummaging through the shelves, muttering to himself.

“What are you doing now?” Nanami asked, his tone weary but amused.

“This!” Gojo crowed triumphantly, holding up a dusty box of cake mix like it was a prize. “I knew this would come in handy one day!”

“Gojo, we don’t have electricity,” Suguru pointed out, though there was a clear hint of humor in his voice. “How exactly do you plan on baking that?”

“Details,” Gojo said, waving a dismissive hand. “We’ll figure it out. It’s her birthday! We can’t just do nothing!”

The room filled with soft laughter, and you couldn’t help but smile, your chest tightening with gratitude. For the first time in what felt like ages, the weight of the world seemed to lift, replaced by something lighter—something warm and human.

Suguru offered you a small, genuine smile. “Happy birthday.”

“Happy birthday,” Nanami echoed, his tone calm but sincere.

Then Sukuna’s voice cut through, low and uncharacteristically soft. “Happy birthday.”

Your gaze snapped to him in surprise, but he didn’t meet your eyes, focusing instead on his half-empty mug. Still, your heart fluttered at the simple words.

“Thanks, everyone,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “Really. This means so much.”

Gojo threw an arm around your shoulders, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re stuck with us now, birthday girl! And don’t think for a second we’re letting this day go to waste.”

You laughed, light and unguarded, and for the first time in a long while, you felt truly celebrated.

The day had been a whirlwind of warmth and joy—the kind you didn’t think was possible anymore. The laughter, the makeshift cake, the group’s relentless effort to make you feel celebrated—it had all left your heart full. Now, as the night deepened and the others settled in for the evening, you found yourself savoring the peace that had settled over the group. You were curled up in your bed, flipping through the pages of a worn book you’d scavenged a few weeks ago, the faint scent of aged paper comforting in its familiarity.

A knock at the door broke your focus, startling you slightly. Setting the book aside, you got up and opened the door to find Sukuna standing there, his tall frame casting a shadow over the dimly lit hallway.

“Sukuna?” you asked, blinking at him. “What’s going on?”

“Put on your jacket and follow me,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind.

You tilted your head, curiosity flickering in your chest. “Why?”

“Just trust me,” he replied, his crimson eyes steady as they held yours.

Unable to resist the pull of intrigue, you grabbed your coat and boots, slipping them on quickly before stepping into the cool night. The air was crisp, and the faint scent of pine lingered as Sukuna led you through the woods. His pace was steady, his silence leaving you to wonder what he had planned.

“Are you ever going to tell me where we’re going?” you asked, glancing at him.

“You’ll see,” was all he said.

After a few minutes, the trees gave way to a small clearing, and your eyes widened at the sight before you. A weathered cabin stood nestled in the clearing, its silhouette softened by the pale glow of the moon. But it wasn’t the cabin that caught your attention—it was the object on the porch.

“Is that a telescope?” you asked, your voice laced with surprise.

Sukuna’s gaze flicked to the telescope before returning to you. “Yeah. You told me your dad taught you all the constellations. Thought you might want to see them again. That’s all.”

Your chest tightened at his words, the weight of his thoughtfulness pressing gently against your heart. “Sukuna…” you murmured, unsure of what else to say.

“Go on,” he said, nodding toward the telescope. His voice was gruff, but there was a hint of softness beneath the surface.

You stepped onto the porch, leaning down to peer through the lens. The stars burst into view—vivid and breathtaking, more vibrant than you’d ever seen them on the roof. Each constellation was a reminder of nights spent with your dad, his voice patiently teaching you their names. It was as if Sukuna had brought a piece of him back to you, and the thought made your throat tighten.

“It’s incredible,” you said, pulling back to look at him. “I can see them so clearly—better than on the roof.”

He shifted, his arms crossing over his chest as his gaze lingered on you. “Figured you’d appreciate it.”

“Come look,” you urged, stepping aside.

Sukuna hesitated, his gaze shifting to the telescope. “I don’t need to—”

“Come on,” you urged with a small smile. “You might actually enjoy it."

For a moment, he hesitated, as though he wasn’t sure about the idea. But he finally moved, his large frame bending down to peer through the telescope. The moonlight illuminated his sharp features, softening them, and you found yourself staring at him instead of the stars.

“Not bad,” he murmured, his tone low.

You smiled, something tender stirring inside you. “Thank you, Sukuna,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Before you could think too much about it, you stepped closer and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. The warmth of his skin against your lips made your heart race, and as you pulled back, realization struck.

“Oh—I’m so sorry,” you stammered, your face flushing. “I didn’t mean to— I just—”

Sukuna’s eyes searched yours, and before you could finish your sentence, he leaned down. His lips brushed against yours softly at first, hesitant. The tenderness of it took your breath away, and when he felt you respond, his hand moved to cradle your face, his kiss deepening.

The world fell away. There was no cold, no fear, no apocalypse—only Sukuna. His kiss was unhurried and warm, filled with something unspoken that made your chest ache in the best way.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin lightly.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured, his voice quiet but full of meaning.

Your throat felt tight, and all you could do was smile up at him, your heart full. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

Sukuna’s eyes softened and he kissed you again. This time, there was no hesitation. His lips moved with more certainty, pulling you deeper into the moment. His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, gently but firmly holding you close as his other hand found your waist, grounding you in his warmth.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, holding onto him as if letting go would shatter the fragile bubble of intimacy surrounding you both. His kiss was fervent, pouring in all the things he could never say out loud. Each press of his lips felt like a promise, a desperate vow in a world where so little was certain.

When the kiss finally broke, Sukuna’s breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling in time with yours. His forehead touched yours again, but this time his hands remained on you—one at your waist, the other brushing your hair aside with a tenderness that contradicted his usual demeanor.

“Come inside,” Sukuna murmured, his gaze searching yours, seeking permission.

You nodded, your voice caught somewhere between your heart and throat.

You stepped into the cabin first, your boots creaking against the worn wooden floor. The air was thick with the faint smell of dust and age, but it was warmer than the chill outside. Sukuna followed silently, striking a match as he made his way to the chimney. With practiced ease, he lit a few candles their flames flickering to life. The golden glow chased away the shadows, illuminating the small space.

The cabin was simple but comforting. Its wooden walls creaking faintly under the pressure of the wind outside, a constant reminder of the fragile barrier between you and the chaos beyond. In one corner of the room, a worn mattress lay on the floor, draped with an old, patched blanket. It wasn’t luxurious—far from it—but it was a sanctuary in a world that offered none. The soft candlelight danced across the walls, painting the room in warm hues and casting fleeting shadows over Sukuna’s sharp features.

He turned to the door, closing it with a soft click. The sound broke the stillness, pulling your attention back to him. His steps were measured as he approached you, the tension in his shoulders contrasting with the gentleness in his gaze.

His hands found your waist, calloused fingers brushing against the fabric of your shirt. He paused for a moment, searching your face with quiet intensity. “Are you sure?” His voice was low, almost hesitant, as though the words carried more weight than he was willing to show.

Your breath hitched, the warmth of the room doing little to calm the fluttering in your chest. You met his gaze, steady and sure, even as your pulse raced. “Yes.” Your hands slid up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

That was all he needed.

Sukuna’s mouth captured yours again, this time slower, savoring each kiss like it was the last. His hands explored with unhurried reverence, tracing the curve of your waist and the small of your back. You matched him, your fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer.

Guided by instinct as much as by need, he walked you backward toward the small bed tucked into the corner of the room. When the backs of your knees hit the edge, he caught you, lowering you carefully as though you were made of something fragile.

The world outside melted away, leaving only the warmth of his touch, the heat of his breath against your skin. His kisses trailed lower, brushing over your jaw, your neck, and the delicate line of your collarbone. Each touch sent a wave of heat coursing through you, your body arching instinctively toward him. His hands, warm and rough from years of hardship, slipped under your shirt, the calloused pads of his fingers igniting a trail of fire as they moved.

“You’re beautiful,” Sukuna murmured against your skin, the words almost reverent, like a truth he could no longer keep to himself.

Your cheeks flushed at his words, but before you could reply, he eased your shirt over your head, his eyes darkening as they roamed over you. Instinctively, you crossed your arms over yourself, a mix of shyness and vulnerability washing over you.

Sukuna’s gaze softened, and he reached out, his hands warm as they gently wrapped around your wrists. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

Slowly, he guided your arms away, holding them at your sides as his crimson eyes met yours. The tenderness in his expression made your chest tighten, and the way his thumbs brushed against your skin was grounding.

“Not ever,” he said softly, his voice rough but filled with something unspoken.

Something in his tone, in the way he looked at you, unraveled you completely. You reached for him, tugging at his shirt, and he let you pull it off, the flickering candlelight illuminating the scars that marred his chest and arms.

"You’re beautiful too," you said softly, and the way his breath hitched made you wonder if anyone had ever told him that before.

His lips claimed yours again, the kiss deeper this time, his body pressing you gently into the mattress. Every touch, every shift of his weight against you, was measured and deliberate. His hands explored your curves with care, learning the rhythm of your breath, the places that made you shiver under his touch.

The kisses trailed downward. His movements were unhurried, savoring every inch of skin he uncovered, his lips and tongue leaving a heated trail down to your stomach. When he reached the waistband of your pants, he paused, his crimson eyes lifting to meet yours, silently seeking permission.

Your soft nod was all it took. His hands gripped the fabric, his calloused fingers brushing against your hips as he tugged your pants and boots off in one smooth motion, discarding them carelessly to the side. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, raw desire flickering in his eyes as his hands slid up the inside of your thighs, parting them gently.

The first flick of his tongue against your folds sent a shockwave through your body. You gasped, your back arching off the mattress as your fingers instinctively tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Sukuna didn’t hesitate, his tongue diving in, messy and relentless as he devoured you like a man starved.

“Fuck, Sukuna,” you breathed, your voice trembling as his tongue moved in long, deliberate strokes, teasing and tormenting. The heat of his mouth against you was intoxicating, and the way his nose pressed into you as he worked only heightened the intensity.

He groaned against you, the vibration sending a jolt through your core. His tongue dipped inside your entrance, swirling before dragging back up to circle your clit. His movements were deliberate yet feverish, the kind of messy control only Sukuna could manage, his brows furrowing in concentration as he ate you out like it was his favorite meal.

He pulled back just enough to gasp for air, his lips glistening and his voice thick with lust as he murmured, “You taste so fucking good. I love it. Love you like this.”

Before you could respond, his lips latched onto your clit, sucking with a sinful intensity that made your hips jerk against his face. He didn’t stop, didn’t relent, one hand gripping your thigh to hold you in place while the other slid up to your stomach, grounding you as his mouth drove you higher and higher.

The wet sounds of his tongue and the low, guttural hums in his throat filled the room, combining with your broken gasps and whimpers. Your thighs trembled under his hands, and the heat coiling in your stomach tightened to a breaking point.

“Sukuna—” His name fell from your lips like a prayer, breathless and desperate, your grip on his hair tightening as your body tensed. He growled in response, the vibration pushing you over the edge, your climax crashing through you in waves that left you trembling and gasping for air.

He didn’t stop immediately, his tongue lapping at you lazily, as though savoring every last drop. When he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, his eyes blazing as he looked up at you. His smirk was wolfish, his face slick with evidence of what he’d just done.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, crawling back up to meet your lips. The kiss was heated and consuming, the taste of yourself on his tongue only adding to the intoxicating haze. His body pressed against yours again, his weight solid and grounding, his hands bracketing your head as his lips trailed along your jaw.

“Still with me?” he asked, his voice low, his breath hot against your ear.

“Yes,” you managed to whisper, your hands sliding up his back, nails grazing his skin in a way that made his muscles tense under your touch.

“Good,” he growled, his lips crashing into yours, demanding and unrelenting. The kiss was intoxicating—hot, messy, and all-consuming. His tongue slid against yours, tasting, teasing, as if he couldn’t get enough.

When he finally pulled back, his lips lingered for a heartbeat, swollen and glistening as he licked them, savoring the taste of you. His eyes, heavy-lidded and blazing with desire, locked onto yours, and you felt the heat of his gaze like a physical touch.

Without breaking eye contact, his hands moved to his waistband, fumbling in his haste. A soft shuffle followed, and then his cock was free—thick, flushed, and heavy in his hand. He didn’t hesitate, sliding it through your slick folds, teasing you, and drawing a gasp from your lips as your eyes flickered down to take in the sight for the first time.

Your breath hitched as he lined himself up, his hooded gaze locking on yours. His brows furrowed in concentration as he pressed forward, the thick head of his cock stretching you open inch by inch.

A sharp, keening moan slipped from your lips as he pushed deeper, your nails digging into his shoulders to ground yourself. The burn was intoxicating, stealing the air from your lungs as he filled you, your jaw falling slack and your head tipping back against the pillow.

“Ah,” he groaned, voice trembling as he bottomed out. “You’re so warm—fuck, baby—”

You trembled beneath him, walls fluttering around his cock as he started to move. He pulled out slowly, almost entirely, before sinking back in with a deliberate, measured thrust. “So big, Sukuna,” you whimpered, your fingers clutching his broad shoulders for dear life. “F-fuck.”

Your pussy clenched tighter around him, drawing a guttural groan from his lips. Words escaped you, lost to the symphony of moans and broken cries spilling from your mouth. Each thrust was perfectly aimed, his pace unrelenting, hitting that spot inside that had your vision blurring. The rhythmic slam of the headboard against the wall barely registered in your mind—your body too consumed by pleasure to care.

A large hand pressed firmly against your belly, and Sukuna’s lips curled into a dark smirk. “Feel that?” he growled, his palm adding pressure just above your pelvis. “Feel me? Fucking you so deep I’m right here?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your hands clutching at his back, nails digging into his skin as you tried to anchor yourself. “Oh my god, yes—yes”

He leaned down, his warm breath ghosting over your chest before his lips closed around your nipple as he sucked, his tongue flicking against the sensitive bud. The sensation shot through you like lightning, a sharp cry escaping your lips before you could stop it. “So loud,” he muttered, his voice laced with teasing, though the smug curl of his lips made it clear he was reveling in every sound you made.

Before you could respond—if you even could—his fingers trailed from your hip to your swollen, throbbing clit. He worked slow, wet circles over the sensitive nub, his movements almost too much as pleasure threatened to consume you whole.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped, his voice rough and broken when he felt the trembling clench of your walls, that telltale sign of your impending climax. “Cum for me. Let me feel it. Cum all over my cock.”

“Yes!” you screamed, your body seizing as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Your cries were loud and unrestrained, your nails raking down his back as you came hard, your walls gripping his cock in a vice-like hold. “Oh—fuck, Sukuna!”

He didn’t slow down. If anything, his pace grew more erratic, his deep thrusts hitting even harder as he chased his own release. “Gonna fill you up,” he choked, his voice hoarse, a growl underlying his words. “Fuck, baby—gonna cum so fucking deep inside you.”

“Yes,” you whimpered, the word tumbling from your lips in a desperate mantra. “Want it—want all of it—please, baby—”

His hips snapped forward one last time, slamming into you as he let out a deep, guttural groan. “Cummin’, baby,” he choked, his body shuddering as he spilled into you, hot and thick, filling you to the brim.

But he didn’t stop. His fingers kept working your clit, insistent and unrelenting as he rocked his hips in slow, shallow thrusts, milking every last drop. “Come on, angel,” he murmured, his voice soft but pleading. “One more. Give me one more, baby—please.”

You were trembling, body convulsing as his words pushed you over the edge again. Your walls clenched tight, pulling yet another groan from his lips. He watched, mesmerized, as your body arched beneath him, surrendering to the waves of your second orgasm.

“That’s it,” he cooed, his voice low and wrecked. “So fucking perfect, baby.”

Your chest heaved as you came down, every nerve in your body buzzing with overstimulation. Sukuna’s hips stilled, his cock twitching inside you as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. He lifted his fingers from your clit, panting heavily, and without a second thought, brought it to his lips, sucking your slick clean with a satisfied hum.

His crimson eyes scanned your face, drinking in every detail—your flushed cheeks, the unfocused glaze in your eyes, the way your lips quivered as you fought to steady your breathing. A low chuckle escaped him, deep and smug. “You look ruined,” he said, his thumb grazing over your swollen bottom lip. “Exactly how I like you.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your body too blissed-out to argue. “You’re impossible,” you murmured, voice hoarse yet warm with affection.

He smirked, leaning in to steal a soft kiss, his lips lingering against yours. “And you’re mine,” he countered, the possessiveness in his tone unmistakable.

The room settled into a quiet stillness, broken only by the soft hum of your breathing. Sukuna carefully eased out of you, his movements uncharacteristically tender. Grabbing a discarded shirt, he cleaned you up with surprising care, his touch so gentle it made your chest ache.

When he was finished, he pulled you against him effortlessly. His strong arms wrapped around your trembling body, your back pressed firmly to his chest.

His lips brushed against your ear, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “Get some rest.” he murmured, his tone laced with both command and care.

His embrace was steady and warm, and the rhythmic beat of his heart against your back became your anchor. Your eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion pulling you into a deep, dreamless sleep, safe in his arms.

The soft glow of morning sunlight filtered through the cracks in the cabin’s wooden walls, bathing the room in a hazy, golden warmth. The scent of aged wood and the faint trace of Sukuna’s presence surrounded you, grounding you even before your eyes fluttered open.

It took a moment for the memories of the night before to surface, but when they did, your cheeks burned, and a soft, dreamy smile tugged at your lips. You shifted slightly, feeling the comforting weight of Sukuna’s arm draped over your waist. His chest was warm against your back, rising and falling in a steady rhythm, his deep, even breaths betraying that he was still lost in sleep. For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to bask in the quiet intimacy of it, the kind of peace you hadn’t felt in so long it almost felt foreign.

Turning your head slightly, you let your gaze fall on him. The sight nearly stole the breath from your lungs.

Sukuna looked so different like this—softened by sleep, his sharp edges dulled by the golden light. His usually intense features were relaxed, his lips parted slightly, and his hair was delightfully tousled. He seemed younger somehow, untouched by the weight of the world you both carried.

A quiet laugh almost escaped you at the thought of how different this Sukuna was from the one who commanded the room with sharp words and piercing glares. This version of him felt like a secret, a piece of himself he rarely shared. And right now, it was yours.

As if sensing your gaze, his brow furrowed slightly, and his eyes blinked open, still heavy with sleep. Crimson irises, softer than usual, locked onto yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice husky and rough from sleep, but impossibly gentle.

“Morning,” you whispered back, feeling your cheeks heat under his gaze.

His eyes stayed on yours, searching, as if trying to read your every thought. The space between you felt fragile, electric, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he could feel it too. He didn’t move his arm from around you, and you couldn’t decide if it was because he hadn’t realized or because he didn’t want to.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked, his voice lower than usual, as though he didn’t want to disturb the stillness of the moment.

You nodded, your voice coming out softer than you intended. “Yeah. You?”

His gaze lingered for a moment longer before his lips curved into a faint, almost boyish smile. “Better than I have in years.”

The quiet confession made your chest tighten, warmth spreading through you like sunlight. You wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, the quiet between you stretched, filled with the unspoken, yet it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy with possibility.

Finally, Sukuna shifted, his arm reluctantly sliding away as he sat up. The bed creaked softly under his weight, and he ran a hand through his hair, the gesture somehow both casual and intimate. The morning light danced across the ink curling over his skin, highlighting every intricate design. It was impossible not to stare, your heart stumbling in your chest at how effortlessly beautiful he looked.

He reached for his pants first, pulling them on with a fluid motion. The sight of him—bare and unapologetic in the soft glow of morning light—sent a wave of heat rushing to your cheeks. You quickly looked away, your heart hammering in your chest as you tried not to think about how much you had seen the night before.

From the corner of your eye, you caught the faintest smirk tugging at Sukuna’s lips as he reached for his shirt. “What’s this?” he teased, his voice low and laced with amusement. “Shy all of a sudden?”

Your face burned even hotter, and you mumbled, “It’s different in the morning.”

He let out a quiet laugh, the sound rich and unhurried as he tugged his shirt over his head. Fully dressed now, he sat back on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots, though the weight of his gaze lingered on you.

His crimson eyes softened as he watched you, catching you mid-thought. “You hungry?” he asked, his tone casual, though the softness in his eyes told you he hadn’t forgotten the night before.

You blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard by the simplicity of the question. “Uh, yeah, I guess.”

“Stay here,” he said, standing again and stretching. His movements were deliberate but unhurried, and the way the light caught on the ink curling over his skin, even beneath his clothes, made your pulse quicken all over again.

Without another word, Sukuna headed toward the small kitchen area of the cabin. The sound of his quiet footsteps faded, leaving you in the silence of the room.

You sat up slowly, pulling the blanket around you as you stared after him. The memories of his touch, his kisses, his whispered promises from the night before flooded back, and you couldn’t stop the small smile that crept onto your face.

Finally, with a deep breath, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and began gathering your clothes. The chill in the air made your skin prickle as you dressed, but the warmth in your chest didn’t fade. Each piece of clothing you slipped on felt like another layer of armor against the reality waiting outside, yet it also reminded you of the vulnerability you’d shared.

Once dressed, you hesitated before lying back down on the bed. The blanket still carried the warmth from where you had slept, and the comfort of being cocooned within it felt too good to abandon just yet. You leaned back against the headboard, pulling the blanket up around your shoulders as your gaze drifted toward the small window, where sunlight filtered in faint streaks.

Sukuna moved around the small cabin, rummaging through drawers and shelves in search of something edible. The soft creak of wood and the occasional sound of shifting items filled the quiet air as you watched him, the blanket still wrapped snugly around your shoulders.

When he finally returned, he handed you a small plate with what looked like dried fruits and crackers he must’ve found. He sat down on the edge of the bed beside you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight.

“It’s not much, but it’ll hold you over,” he said, his tone casual but his actions deliberate.

You took the plate, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks, Sukuna.”

He shrugged, glancing away, though his eyes flickered back to you briefly. “Don’t mention it.”

You looked down at the plate, then back at him. A thought crossed your mind, and without saying a word, you picked up one of the crackers and held it out to him, your gaze steady.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking in faint amusement. “What?” he asked, though his voice was softer than usual.

“You should eat too,” you said simply, offering the piece of food again.

For a moment, he didn’t move, his crimson eyes locking with yours. Then, with a small shake of his head, he pushed your hand back toward you gently. “I’m fine,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “You have it.”

Instead of backing down, you leaned forward and brought the cracker to his lips, your expression determined. His eyes narrowed slightly, but there was no edge to his gaze—just curiosity mixed with something warmer. “Eat,” you murmured, your voice soft but insistent.

Sukuna sighed, his lips twitching as though he wanted to argue. But then he opened his mouth slightly, letting you place the cracker between his lips. He bit into it, chewing slowly, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Happy now?” he asked after swallowing, his tone dry but his eyes betraying the faintest hint of amusement.

“Very,” you replied, a small, triumphant smile tugging at your lips.

The two of you finished the rest of the meal in comfortable silence, the kind of quiet that felt more like understanding than awkwardness. You found yourself stealing glances at him when you thought he wasn’t looking, only to find his gaze occasionally flicking back to you as well. Every time your eyes met his, your stomach fluttered, the unspoken connection between you growing stronger.

When the food was gone, Sukuna leaned back on his hands, letting out a soft exhale. His gaze drifted to the small window, where sunlight filtered through, casting golden streaks across his face. The light softened his sharp features, making him look almost peaceful.

“They’re probably wondering where we are by now,” he said finally, his tone matter-of-fact but gentler than you expected.

You thought of the others—Gojo’s inevitable dramatic freak-out, Shoko’s knowing smirk—and couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto your lips. “Yeah,” you said lightly. “They’re probably planning some over-the-top story already.”

Sukuna glanced back at you, his crimson eyes lingering on your face as though he could read your thoughts. Then he stood, stretching lazily before turning to you and holding out a hand.

“Come on,” he said, his voice low but laced with quiet care. “Let’s head back.”

You hesitated for only a moment, then slipped your hand into his. His grip was warm and steady, a silent reassurance that steadied your racing heart. When he pulled you to your feet, the closeness of him made your breath catch for just a second.

Even after he let go, the warmth of his palm lingered on your skin. As the two of you began to prepare to leave the cabin, you couldn’t help but steal another glance at him, a soft smile tugging at your lips. Whatever this fragile, growing bond was between you, it felt real—something neither of you were quite ready to let go of.

When the familiar outline of the hideout came into view, your heart skipped. You could already hear the muffled voices of the group inside, and you braced yourself for Gojo’s inevitable commentary. The thought made you smile faintly despite yourself.

Just before you reached the door, Sukuna placed a hand on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks.

You turned to him, brows furrowed in question. “What’s—”

“I hope you enjoyed last night,” he said, his tone low but steady, his crimson eyes locked on yours. There was no teasing in his voice, no smirk on his lips—just quiet sincerity.

The words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you could only blink at him. But then warmth spread through your chest, your lips curving into a small, genuine smile. “I did.” you said softly

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, something unspoken passing between you. Then he gave a slight nod, his hand dropping from your shoulder as he turned back toward the door.

Together, you stepped inside, the familiar voices and laughter washing over you like a wave.

“THERE YOU TWO ARE!” Gojo’s voice rang out almost immediately, his dramatic gasp followed by a sly grin. “Were you off having some alone time?”

Shoko glanced up from her spot on the couch, rolling her eyes as she leaned back with her cigarette, while Nanami merely raised a brow over the edge of his book, his expression unreadable.

You groaned, already feeling your cheeks heat. “Gojo, don’t start.”

But Sukuna didn’t react to the teasing. He simply shot Gojo a pointed look, the kind that carried enough weight to shut him up instantly, though not without an exaggerated pout. Without a word, Sukuna headed toward the kitchen, leaving the rest of the group momentarily speechless.

You lingered for a beat, still acutely aware of the warmth in your cheeks, before following after him. Sukuna’s broad frame was already moving efficiently through the small kitchen, and though he didn’t say anything as you approached, you noticed the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

The day carried on like most others, though a quiet buzz lingered beneath your skin every time Sukuna was near. His usual sharp edges seemed softer, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his crimson eyes drifted to you more than once. Each glance sent a flicker of heat through you that you tried to ignore but couldn’t.

By the time night fell, everyone had gathered in the common area, sharing stories and sipping on whatever rations of tea or canned drinks were left. Gojo, as always, was the loudest, his animated recounting of some pre-apocalypse escapade earning Shoko’s trademark eyerolls and Geto’s quiet smirks.

You sat off to the side, cradling a cup of tea in your hands and letting the lukewarm liquid provide some comfort. There was a rare peace in being surrounded by this makeshift family, even in a world as broken as this one. Sukuna sat in a chair across the room, his elbows resting on his knees, silent as ever. He hadn’t said much, but you felt the weight of his gaze more than once. Each time, it sent heat rushing to your cheeks, leaving you flustered.

Eventually, Gojo’s storytelling tapered off, and one by one, everyone began heading to bed. Shoko and Geto left first, Shoko muttering something about needing a real drink as she disappeared down the hall. Nanami followed shortly after, murmuring about needing rest for another long day ahead.

Gojo lingered, his sharp blue eyes flicking between you and Sukuna. A slow grin spread across his face as he sauntered past. “Don’t stay up too late,” he teased, his tone dripping with implication. “Wouldn’t want anyone to start thinking things.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “Goodnight, Gojo.”

“Goodnight,” he sang, shooting you one last wink before disappearing down the hall.

The common area grew quiet, the soft crackle of the fire filling the space. It wasn’t until then that you realized Sukuna was still there, his chair creaking faintly as he shifted.

You glanced at him, your gaze flicking up briefly before darting back to your empty cup. Your heart raced as you felt his presence grow closer, the quiet sound of his footsteps barely registering before his hand tilted your chin upward, his fingers gentle but firm.

The sudden gesture startled you, and your eyes locked with his. His crimson gaze was intense, searching yours as if looking for something you couldn’t name.

“You didn’t eat much at dinner,” he said, breaking the silence.

You blinked, caught off guard by his observation. “I wasn’t that hungry,” you admitted softly. “I guess I was just… tired.”

His thumb brushed lightly against your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine. “You should rest,” he said simply, though his tone carried an unspoken concern that made your chest ache.

“I’m fine,” you said, brushing off your pants as you stood. “But I guess I should head to bed before Gojo starts spreading more rumors tomorrow.”

At that, Sukuna smirked, the faintest flicker of amusement lighting up his face. “Let him talk. It’s the most entertainment he gets.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. But before you could turn fully toward the hallway, Sukuna’s hand lifted again, his fingers brushing your cheek. The gentle touch stopped you in your tracks, and when you glanced up at him, his expression had softened in a way that made your chest tighten.

He leaned in slowly, his movements deliberate. His lips brushed yours in a soft, fleeting kiss, so light and careful it made your breath hitch. The warmth of the gesture sent your heart into a frenzy, the intimacy of it leaving you momentarily stunned.

When he pulled back, his thumb grazed your cheek one last time, and his voice was quieter than before. “Goodnight,” he murmured, his tone carrying a tenderness that left you breathless.

You swallowed hard, managing a soft, “Goodnight, Sukuna.”

Satisfied, Sukuna stepped back, his hand falling away as he grabbed his weapon from where it leaned against the wall. Without another word, he headed toward the exit, his steps deliberate but unhurried.

You watched him go, your heart racing and your chest warm with something you couldn’t quite name. The faint creak of the door signaled his departure, and you knew he’d taken the first watch, as he often did.

The weight of his kiss lingered, the memory of his touch etched into your skin as you finally turned toward your room. Once inside, you leaned against the closed door, your breaths unsteady as you tried to process what had just happened. The warmth he left behind stayed with you, wrapping around you like a secret you weren’t ready to share.

For all the chaos of the world outside, this moment—this fragile, connection—felt like a lifeline. And as you climbed into bed, the small smile on your lips refusing to fade.

Three hours later, the soft knock at your door stirred you from a restless half-sleep. Your heart leapt, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d imagined it. But then, there it was again—another knock.

“Come in?” you called softly, sitting up a little straighter.

The door creaked open just enough for Sukuna to step inside, his tall frame illuminated faintly by the flickering firelight from the hallway. His hair was slightly mussed, and the faint exhaustion on his face told you he’d just finished his turn at watch.

“I saw your lamp on,” he said, his deep voice quieter than usual. “You’re still awake?”

You blinked up at him, surprised he’d noticed. “Yeah… couldn’t really sleep.”

He leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed as he studied you for a long moment. Then, with a quiet sigh, he rubbed the back of his neck and stepped closer. “If you can’t sleep here,” he said, his tone almost casual, “come sleep in my room.”

Your eyes widened slightly, heat creeping into your cheeks. “What?”

“It’s warmer,” he added with a small shrug. “And quieter. Unless you’d rather toss and turn all night.”

For a moment, you hesitated, your thoughts swirling with the faint hum of nervousness. But Sukuna’s gaze was steady, his crimson eyes holding yours, and something about the quiet surety of his offer made you nod. ��Okay.”

He stepped back to let you pass, the flicker of satisfaction in his expression barely visible but unmistakable. You grabbed your sweater, slipping it on before following him into the dim hallway. The quiet of the hideout felt heavier this late at night, but Sukuna’s presence was grounding as you walked beside him.

When you entered his room, the warmth hit you immediately, cocooning you in a sense of comfort you hadn’t realized you were missing. It wasn’t anything fancy—an old chair with his shirt draped over it, a faint smell of soap, and a small, half-filled shelf in the corner—but it felt like him.

“Get in,” he said, nodding toward the bed as he set his weapon against the wall.

You climbed in, pulling the blanket over yourself. Sukuna slipped his jacket off, tossing it onto the chair, and joined you. The bed dipped under his weight, the tight space bringing you closer than you expected. It should have been awkward, but the warmth of his presence made it feel natural, like this was how it was always meant to be.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the only sounds the faint creak of the mattress and the soft rhythm of your breathing. Then Sukuna’s voice broke the silence.

“What’s your favorite color?” he asked.

The question was so unexpected that you blinked at him in confusion before letting out a soft laugh. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” he replied, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

You shook your head, still smiling. “Green.”

“Why green?”

You thought about it for a moment, your voice softening. “It reminds me of life. Of things growing. It’s… hopeful.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Makes sense.”

You tilted your head, watching him. “What about you?”

“Red,” he said without hesitation.

“Of course it is,” you teased, grinning. “Let me guess—bold and intense, just like you?”

“Exactly,” he said, his smirk widening slightly. “You’re catching on.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing quietly. “You’re impossible.”

Sukuna shifted slightly, turning onto his side to face you more fully. His gaze softened, his tone quieter now. “What’s something you’ve never told anyone?”

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated, your fingers playing with the edge of the blanket. “I don’t know,” you admitted softly. “I guess… I used to be scared of failing. Like, really scared. But now…” You trailed off, your voice fading.

“Now, it feels like there’s nothing left to fail at,” Sukuna finished for you, his voice low but understanding.

You nodded, your chest tightening at the weight of his words. “What about you?” you asked, your voice just as quiet. “What’s something you’ve never told anyone?”

He was silent for a long moment, his crimson eyes meeting yours before flickering away. “I didn’t think I’d still care about anyone after all this,” he admitted, his voice rougher than before. “But I do.”

Your heart ached at the quiet vulnerability in his tone, and before you could think, you reached out, your fingers brushing lightly against his arm. He didn’t pull away, his gaze flicking back to you with something unspoken lingering there.

“You should get some sleep,” he murmured after a moment, his voice softer now, almost fond.

You smiled faintly, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a blanket. “I’m not tired yet,” you admitted softly.

“Then stop thinking so much,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of amusement.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered as you whispered, “Maybe I’m just thinking about you.”

His eyes widened briefly before softening, his hand brushing against your cheek to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Careful,” he murmured, his voice warm and low., laced with that familiar teasing edge. “Keep talking like that, and I might start to believe you actually like me.”

You laughed softly, the sound carrying just enough mischief to match his tone. "What? Last night wasn't enough to convince you?"

Sukuna didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate. His hand stayed on your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin, and the warmth of him surrounded you, steady and sure.

When he finally pulled back, he stayed close, his forehead resting against yours. “Goodnight,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady.

“Goodnight, Sukuna,” you whispered, your heart fluttering as you tucked yourself into the blanket.

He shifted closer, his arm wrapping around your waist as he pulled you gently against him. The steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his presence cocooned you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, sleep came easily.

The next morning came softly. Sunlight crept through the cracks of the curtains Sukuna never bothered to close fully, casting golden streaks across the room. You stirred first, your body reluctant to leave the cocoon of warmth the blanket and Sukuna’s presence had created.

As your eyes fluttered open, the first thing you saw was Sukuna. He was still asleep, one arm draped lazily over the pillow between you two, his face relaxed in a way you rarely got to see. His brow wasn’t furrowed in annoyance, and his sharp features were softened by sleep. He looked so… peaceful.

You couldn’t help it; a small smile tugged at your lips as you watched him for a moment longer than you probably should have. He looked almost boyish like this, the harshness that defined him nowhere to be found. It made your chest tighten in a way that was equal parts comforting and unnerving.

Suddenly, Sukuna’s eyes cracked open, their familiar crimson shade peering at you through sleepy lids. He caught you staring before you could look away.

“Caught you,” he muttered, his voice low and rough with sleep, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Your eyes widened, and you jolted upright, heat rushing to your face. “I wasn’t staring,” you protested, though your voice betrayed your embarrassment.

“Sure you weren’t,” Sukuna said, his smirk deepening as he stretched lazily, the movement shifting the blanket and giving you a glimpse of his toned torso. He caught the way your gaze flickered, and his smirk turned downright mischievous.

You grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at him. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, though the laugh bubbling in your chest betrayed the scowl you tried to wear.

Sukuna caught the pillow easily, his smirk never faltering. “And yet, here you are,” he teased, sitting up now. His hair was an unruly mess, stray strands falling across his forehead, and somehow, it made him look even more effortlessly attractive.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips. “Maybe I should leave, then.”

“Don’t.”

The word was quiet, softer than you’d expected. It caught you off guard, your gaze snapping to his. Sukuna wasn’t looking at you this time; instead, he was busying himself by pulling the blanket off his legs. But the sincerity in his voice lingered, settling in your chest like a warmth you couldn’t quite name.

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn’t press him. Instead, you stretched and threw your legs over the side of the bed. “I’m starving,” you said, trying to keep your voice light.

Sukuna grunted in agreement, ruffling a hand through his messy hair. “You go ahead,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer. “I’ll be down in a minute”

You nodded and slipped out of the room, leaving the door cracked behind you as you made your way to the common area. A soft smile played on your lips as you walked, the warmth of Sukuna’s presence still wrapping around you like an invisible blanket. The morning light felt softer, the world a little brighter, and you couldn’t help but wonder how much of that had to do with the man still upstairs.

When you entered the common area, Gojo, naturally, was the first to spot you, and his mischievous grin appeared before you’d even said a word. “Ah, look who finally graced us with her presence,” Gojo said as soon as you walked in, his grin sharp and teasing. “Had to pry yourself away from Sukuna, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, making a beeline for the pot. “No, I was just savoring the last few minutes of peace before dealing with you.”

“Rude,” Gojo shot back, dramatically clutching his chest. “I’m the heart of this group, you know. Where would you all be without me?”

“Be more efficient,” Nanami said without looking up from his notebook.

You stifled a laugh, grabbing a mug and pouring yourself some tea. As you turned back toward the table, your gaze caught on a faint smear of blood on Gojo’s forearm. You frowned, setting your mug down.

“Gojo,” you said, nodding toward his arm. “What’s with the cut? Why haven’t you cleaned that up?”

Gojo glanced at his arm like it was nothing. “Oh, this? Just a little souvenir from yesterday. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” you said, crossing your arms. “You know how dangerous infections are. Why didn’t you take care of it?”

“We’re out of supplies,” Gojo admitted, his tone softening slightly. “There wasn’t much left to clean it properly, and I didn’t want to waste what we had on something small.”

Shoko sighed, putting her cigarette out in the ashtray. “It’s not about wasting supplies, Gojo. If that gets infected, you’ll need more than just antiseptic. You should’ve told me.”

“I knew you’d worry,” he said, giving her a lopsided grin. “I figured I could tough it out until we restocked.”

“Toughing it out doesn’t make you invincible,” you said, exasperation creeping into your voice. “We need more medical supplies.”

“That’s what we’ve been discussing,” Nanami interjected, his voice calm but firm. He tapped the notebook in front of him. “The pharmacy on the east side is our best option, though it’s risky. We’re almost out of gauze, antiseptic, and antibiotics.”

And that hardware store nearby?” Geto asked. “We could use batteries and tools.”

“It’s on the way,” Nanami confirmed. “We’ll hit both if we can.”

The sound of footsteps pulled your attention to the doorway. Sukuna entered the room, his presence commanding as always. He walked over to the table, scanning the group before taking the seat next to you without hesitation, his arm brushing yours as he settled in.

“Perfect timing,” Nanami said, sliding the notebook toward Sukuna. “We’re working out the next supply run.”

Sukuna scanned over it, his tone clipped as he spoke. “Pharmacy on the east side?”

“And the hardware store nearby,” Nanami added. “Tools, batteries, anything we can scavenge.”

Sukuna flipped through the notebook, nodding as he scanned the list. “We’ll split into pairs. Smaller groups, less noise.”

“I call Shoko!” Gojo said immediately, raising his hand.

“Absolutely not,” Shoko said.

“You’re with Nanami,” Sukuna said, his voice brooking no argument.

Gojo pouted but didn’t push it. “No fun.”

Geto leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand. “What about me? Where do you want me?”

“You’ll take the hardware store with Shoko,” Sukuna said, glancing at him briefly. “Grab anything useful.”

“What about me?” you asked, tilting your head at Sukuna.

“You’re with me,” he said simply, his focus already shifting back to the notebook. “We leave in about an hour.”

The group was gearing up for a supply run, the air thick with humidity that made your clothes cling uncomfortably to your skin. Sukuna stood near the entrance of the base, meticulously adjusting his weapons and surveying the group with his usual commanding presence. His sharp crimson eyes lingered on you a moment longer than necessary, and then he spoke.

“You’re staying here,” he said abruptly, his tone brooking no argument.

You blinked, startled. “What? No. I’m coming with you. You just said I was going to be paired with you, and we need as many hands as possible. You know I’m more than capable.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened, his gaze narrowing. “I said you’re staying.”

The others glanced between the two of you, sensing the brewing tension but wisely choosing to stay silent.

You crossed your arms, your voice firm. “You can’t just decide that for me, Sukuna. I’ve done this plenty of times. I’ll be fine.”

His expression darkened, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “Last time we went out, you almost got yourself killed. I’m not risking that again.”

“That was almost two weeks ago, Sukuna! ” you snapped, your cheeks flushing with anger. “You can’t wrap me in bubble wrap because of one close call.”

“It’s not about that!” he barked, his voice loud enough to make Shoko wince and Nanami glance up from his knife sharpening. His glare softened slightly as he lowered his tone, his fists clenching at his sides. “You’re not going. That’s final.”

“Oh, screw this,” you muttered under your breath, grabbing your bag and striding toward the door. But Sukuna moved faster, stepping in front of you and blocking the exit with his broad frame.

“You’re not going,” he repeated, his voice quiet but ironclad.

You glared up at him, your frustration boiling over. “You can’t just tell me what to do! I’m not some helpless kid, Sukuna. I can handle myself!”

His crimson eyes bore into yours, and without another word, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you a few steps away from the others, out of earshot. His voice dropped to a low, heated murmur.

“You think I care about anyone else getting hurt like that?” he said, his tone raw and unguarded. “You think I can just stand by and let it happen to you?”

Your breath caught in your throat, his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. His grip on your wrist was firm but not harsh, his thumb brushing your skin as if he was trying to steady himself.

“Sukuna…” you began, your voice faltering.

“No,” he cut you off, his tone softer now but no less resolute. “You’re staying. I can’t…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening as he fought to find the words. “You’re not going. I can do this all day if I have to.”

Your heart raced, caught between anger and the ache of understanding. His protectiveness wasn’t just about control—it was about fear. Fear of losing you. And yet, the high-handed way he handled it still grated on your nerves.

You pulled your wrist free, glaring at him. “Fine. Stay here all day, Sukuna. I’m done arguing.” With that, you spun on your heel and stormed off, your frustration bubbling over into every sharp step.

Behind you, Sukuna let out a heavy sigh but didn’t follow. He stood there for a moment, watching your retreating figure, before turning back toward the group.

Gojo let out a low whistle. “Oh, man. She really told you, huh?”

Sukuna’s glare could have melted steel. “Shut it, Gojo.”

Gojo held up his hands in mock surrender, his grin unwavering. “Alright, alright. Don’t kill the messenger.”

Sukuna sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck before turning back to the group. “Let’s move,” he said gruffly, his tone leaving no room for further comments.

As the group filed out, Sukuna cast one last glance down the hallway where you’d disappeared. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything, following the others into the humid air outside.

The day passed slowly, tension lingering in the air after the group left for the supply run. You stayed in your room, not wanting to interact with anyone. Despite the quiet, your thoughts churned, replaying the heated argument with Sukuna earlier. He hadn’t come to you since, and you hadn’t gone to him either. The hours dragged on.

After two hours, you heard the heavy sound of boots echoing through the base’s entrance. You stayed in your room, listening as the others returned. Their muffled voices carried down the hall, but Sukuna didn’t come looking for you, and you didn’t make any move to join them.

When it came time for your turn on watch, you grabbed your gear and made your way to the watchpoint on the roof. The air was cool and quiet up here, the stars scattered across the sky in a peaceful contrast to the chaos of the world below. You settled into your spot, letting the stillness of the night ease your mind.

The sound of footsteps behind you pulled you from your thoughts. Turning, you saw Sukuna approaching, his broad frame unmistakable even in the dim light.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” you asked, your voice steady but guarded as you turned back toward the horizon.

“I can’t fall asleep,” he said simply, stopping a few feet away and crossing his arms. “Figured I’d check on you.”

“I’m fine,” you said, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “You don’t need to keep checking on me, Sukuna. I can handle a watch.”

He let out a low sigh, stepping closer and leaning against the edge beside you. “It’s not about you being capable,” he said after a moment, his tone quieter than usual. “It’s about… me.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

Sukuna kept his gaze on the horizon, his jaw tightening briefly before he spoke. “When you’re out there, I don’t think straight. Every time something happens, even something small, it feels like my chest is in a vice. It messes with my head.”

You stayed silent, your heart twisting at the raw honesty in his voice. He rarely opened up like this, and hearing him now made your frustration from earlier melt away.

“You’re important to me,” Sukuna continued, finally meeting your gaze. His crimson eyes softened slightly, vulnerability flickering there. “I’m not used to… caring about people. Not like this. It’s different with you.”

Your breath caught at his words, but you forced yourself to stay composed. “Sukuna,” you said gently, “I understand why you worry, but you can’t keep doing this—ordering me to stay back, acting like I’m fragile. I’ve survived this long because I’m capable. You have to trust that I can handle myself.”

He stared at you, his expression unreadable, before letting out a resigned sigh. “I know you can handle yourself,” he admitted. “It doesn’t stop me from worrying.”

You reached out without thinking, placing a hand on his arm. “You can worry,” you said softly, your voice steady. “But you have to let me do my part too. I’m not going anywhere, Sukuna. You’re stuck with me.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips, though his eyes remained serious. “You’re too stubborn for your own good.”

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, a small smile breaking through.

Sukuna huffed a quiet laugh, the tension easing slightly. He looked back at the stars for a moment, then turned his attention to you. “Alright,” he said finally. “I’ll try.”

Before you could respond, he stepped closer, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. The unexpected warmth of the gesture sent a flutter through your chest, leaving you momentarily breathless.

The two of you stood in silence for a while, the cool breeze and the faint chirp of crickets filling the quiet. Finally, Sukuna pushed off the edge. “Don’t stay up too late,” he said, his voice lighter now.

You smirked, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the whole point of first watch.”

He shook his head, a faint smile lingering on his lips as he turned to leave. Just before he stepped back inside, he glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the warmth spreading through your chest. “No promises.”

Sukuna shook his head again, disappearing down the stairs. You turned back to the horizon, the weight of his words and the look in his eyes lingering long after he was gone.

The group was sitting together in the common area, enjoying a rare moment of peace. Shoko was sketching plans for organizing the medical supplies, Nanami was engrossed in an old, battered book, and Gojo was shamelessly cheating Suguru in a game of cards. You were tucked on the couch beside Sukuna, his quiet presence grounding despite the lighthearted chatter.

The sound of glass breaking in the distance shattered the calm. Everyone froze.

“What the hell was that?” Suguru asked, his voice low but sharp.

Sukuna stood instantly, his hand moving to the knife strapped to his side. “Stay quiet,” he ordered.

Gojo’s usual grin faded into something more serious. “Sounds like we have company.”

The group crept toward the hallway that led to the entrance of the base. Your heart pounded as Sukuna motioned for you to stay close behind him. The sound of voices filtered through the air, rough and unfamiliar.

“They’ve got supplies. Enough for us to take over,” one voice muttered.

“They’ve got a good setup,” another added. “If they’re here, we’ll deal with them.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened, his hand gripping the hilt of his weapon. He leaned down to whisper to you. “Stay close. And watch your back.”

You nodded, clutching a makeshift weapon—an old pipe—you’d grabbed from the corner of the room. The air was thick with tension.

The door burst open, revealing a group of five strangers armed with weapons. The man in front sneered, his eyes scanning the group. “Looks like the place isn’t abandoned after all,” he said. “Hand over what you’ve got and walk away, or we’ll take it by force.”

“Not happening,” Sukuna growled, stepping forward to block you from view. His imposing stance left no room for negotiation.

Suguru, Nanami, and Gojo flanked him, their expressions hard and ready for a fight.

The leader chuckled, clearly unimpressed by the united front. “Suit yourself.”

Chaos erupted. Sukuna surged forward like a force of nature, his knife flashing as he disarmed one of the attackers with brutal efficiency. Suguru took on another, his movements fluid and precise. Nanami and Gojo worked in sync to handle the rest, their combined strength overwhelming the intruders.

You kept low, the pipe gripped tightly in your hands. One of the attackers broke away from the chaos, his gaze locking on you. Without hesitation, he lunged, his knife aimed directly at you.

You dodged swiftly, the adrenaline sharpening your instincts. With a calculated swing, you slammed the pipe into his ribs, the force making him stagger back with a pained grunt. He recovered quickly, charging at you again, but you were faster. Ducking under his swing, you delivered a sharp kick to his knee, sending him toppling forward.

Seizing the opportunity, you raised the pipe and brought it down on his weapon hand, forcing him to drop the knife with a cry of pain. A second swing to his shoulder sent him sprawling to the ground, groaning and defeated.

The last of the intruders realized they were outmatched and scrambled to retreat, dragging their injured comrades with them. Gojo smirked as he shoved one of them toward the door. “And don’t come back,” he warned, his tone almost playful despite the seriousness of the situation.

As the door slammed shut, the room fell into silence. Shoko stepped in from the hallway, scanning the group. “Everyone okay?” she asked, her voice calm but firm.

“Still in one piece,” Suguru said, wiping blood off his knuckles.

“Same,” Nanami added, adjusting his glasses.

Gojo slung an arm around Suguru, grinning despite the scuffle. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you protect a base!”

Sukuna ignored him entirely, his attention fixed on you as he crossed the room. His hands settled gently on your shoulders, his crimson eyes scanning you for any signs of injury.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his tone softer than you expected.

You nodded, your voice soft but steady. “I’m fine. I handled it.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips, and he gave the smallest nod, his hands lingering on your shoulders for a moment longer. “I saw,” he murmured. “You were incredible.”

His words made your chest tighten, warmth blooming under the weight of his quiet praise. “Thanks,” you said, your gaze holding his. “But you don’t always have to worry so much, Sukuna. I can take care of myself.”

“I know,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “But I’m still going to worry. I can’t help it.”

His honesty caught you off guard, and your breath hitched. For a moment, the world seemed to shrink until it was just the two of you, the space between you filled with unspoken emotions.

“Sukuna…” you began, unsure of what you wanted to say.

“I just want you safe,” he said quietly, his voice dipping into something more vulnerable. “That’s all.”

The sincerity in his tone made your chest ache, and you reached up, placing your hand lightly over one of his. “I’ll be careful,” you promised, your voice barely above a whisper.

He gave a small nod, his thumb brushing against your shoulder before he finally let his hands fall away. “Good,” he said, his voice returning to its usual gruffness, though the softness in his gaze remained.

Later, as the group settled back down, you caught Sukuna’s gaze from across the room. His eyes met yours, and he gave you a subtle nod—silent reassurance that he was still watching out for you. You returned it with a faint smile, a quiet understanding passing between you that made your heart flutter.

Even in the midst of chaos, Sukuna’s protectiveness and care grounded you, the connection between you feeling stronger and more certain with every shared glance and unspoken word.

Later that evening, after the chaos had finally subsided and the group ensured the intruders were gone for good, you found Sukuna sitting in the corner of the common area. His shoulders were hunched forward, his jaw tight as he dragged a bloodied cloth over his forearm in careless swipes.

You frowned at the sight of him. He was clearly doing more harm than good. Without a word, you grabbed the first-aid kit from Shoko’s stash and made your way over to him.

“Let me see,” you said gently, kneeling beside him.

“I’m fine,” Sukuna muttered, his tone low and dismissive.

“You’re not,” you replied softly, catching his wrist before he could brush you off. “Hold still.”

He tensed at your touch, his jaw clenching, but he didn’t argue. You turned his arm toward you, examining the shallow gash on his forearm. Dried blood streaked his skin, and scratches lined his knuckles, the remnants of the earlier fight.

You dipped a piece of gauze in antiseptic and pressed it to the wound, your touch firm but careful. Sukuna hissed under his breath at the sting, though he didn’t pull away, his crimson eyes fixed somewhere beyond you.

“You know,” you murmured after a moment, breaking the silence, “for someone who’s so strict about keeping me safe, you’re not very good at taking care of yourself.”

He let out a quiet huff of laughter, the sound low and rough. “It’s different.”

“It’s not,” you countered softly, glancing up at him. “If you keep this up, I might have to start babysitting you.”

He gave a faint smirk, his lips tugging upward just slightly. “Good luck with that.”

You rolled your eyes with a small smile, wrapping the clean bandage around his arm. “Well, maybe you could make my job a little easier next time and stop bleeding everywhere.”

“Noted,” he said dryly, though there was a faint warmth in his tone now.

Once the wound was clean and properly bandaged, you leaned back slightly, packing up the first-aid kit. Sukuna stayed quiet, watching you with an unreadable expression.

Before standing, you hesitated, your voice soft but firm as you said, “I’m serious. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

His expression shifted, the teasing edge fading as his gaze locked onto yours. There was something raw and unguarded in his crimson eyes, and for a moment, he didn’t speak.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice unusually gentle.

The air between you grew heavier, a quiet intensity settling in. Slowly, Sukuna reached for your wrist again, his touch deliberate and sure. He pulled you closer, and before you could fully process the moment, his hand came up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

He leaned in, his movements slow and purposeful, and when his lips met yours, the world seemed to stop. The kiss was soft yet firm, unhurried but filled with all the things he’d never say aloud.

Your hands instinctively clutched the front of his shirt, holding onto him like he was the only solid thing in a crumbling world. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss just slightly.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his crimson eyes locking onto yours. Neither of you spoke, the silence filled with the quiet promise of the moment.

You stayed like that, breathing him in, letting the world around you fade away. Nothing else mattered—just the closeness, the quiet, and the unspoken understanding between you.

Three weeks had passed, and things within the group felt oddly the same—except for you and Sukuna. You were a couple now, a quiet shift that felt natural, like something that had always been meant to happen. It didn’t change much; Sukuna still acted like the gruff leader everyone relied on, but there was a softness reserved just for you. He remained protective but wasn’t overbearing, and his efforts to teach you new ways to defend yourself were a testament to how deeply he cared.

You were all gathered in the common area, finishing up a shared meal. The mood was relaxed—Shoko and you were locked in a game of cards, her sharp eyes narrowing as she studied the table, clearly plotting her next move. Across the room, Gojo lounged on the couch, casually tossing a small rubber ball against the wall and catching it on the rebound, the steady rhythm blending into the quiet hum of the evening.

Nanami and Geto sat at the table nearby, discussing supply organization in low voices, their tones measured and focused. Sukuna leaned against the wall in the far corner, his hat tilted low over his face. He looked like he was resting, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee, his hand resting loosely on his thigh. Even in repose, there was a sense of readiness about him, like he was never truly off guard.

The soft clink of cards, the muted thud of Gojo’s ball, and the faint murmurs of conversation created an atmosphere of calm—a rare moment of normalcy in a world that had long since lost it.

Then it happened.

The crackle of static from the old radio in the corner made everyone pause, heads snapping toward it. The thing had been useless for months, a relic of a time when communication had felt possible. But now, there was something different. A sound.

“Was that…?” Geto started, trailing off as everyone stared at the radio.

And then it came—a voice, distorted but unmistakable: “If you can hear this… find us.”

Your breath caught as the message continued, giving coordinates and repeating the plea: “This is a government-sanctioned safety zone. Survivors are welcome. If you can hear this… find us.”

The room fell silent, the voice repeating again and again, with static filling the gaps like an ominous reminder of how fragile this moment was.

“What now?” you whispered, breaking the silence. “We have to try, right? I mean… if this is real…”

“If it’s real,” Shoko said cautiously. “It could be a trap. Or a leftover transmission from months ago.”

Nanami crouched by the map spread across the table, tracing his finger over the coordinates. “It’s far,” he said, his voice measured. “Three days at least, maybe more, depending on the terrain.”

“That’s not that far,” Gojo quipped, trying to lighten the mood. “We’ve been on longer supply runs.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t a supply run,” Geto countered. “This is everything. We’d be leaving the base. Everything we’ve built here.”

You looked around the room, seeing the hesitation on everyone’s faces. They all had valid points, but the idea of leaving behind your hard-won safety was terrifying. Yet…

“What if it’s real?” you said softly, your gaze moving to Sukuna. “We could be safe. All of us. Together.”

The weight of your words seemed to hang in the air, and everyone’s eyes shifted to Sukuna, waiting for the final call.

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied the radio, his expression unreadable. “We don’t have enough information,” he said finally, his voice calm but firm. “We don’t even know if it’s still active.”

“But we can check,” Gojo suggested. “Send a small group ahead to scope it out. Worst-case scenario, we turn back.”

“It’s not that simple,” Shoko interjected. “If it’s real, we’d need everyone to relocate together. Splitting up could be dangerous. Not to mention the risk of moving with limited supplies.”

Arguments broke out, voices overlapping as the group weighed the risks and possibilities. You stayed quiet, your eyes on Sukuna as he listened, his brow furrowed slightly—a telltale sign that he was deep in thought.

Finally, Sukuna raised a hand, silencing the room. “Enough,” he said, his tone cutting through the noise. He glanced at you briefly, his expression softening before turning back to the others. “We’re not making any decisions tonight. Everyone get some rest. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

The group reluctantly agreed, dispersing with murmured conversations and worried glances. Shoko gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before retreating to her room, and Geto and Nanami exchanged a few last words before heading off. Gojo tossed his rubber ball one last time, catching it deftly before disappearing down the hallway.

The room emptied, leaving only you and Sukuna behind. For a moment, the silence felt heavier, the weight of the decision looming over both of you.

You glanced over at Sukuna, standing at the table with his hands braced against its edge, his crimson eyes fixed on the map spread out before him. His hat was pushed back, and his sharp features were locked in an unreadable expression as he studied the coordinates. Something about the weight of this decision on his shoulders made your chest ache, and without thinking, you walked over to him.

“Sukuna,” you said softly, drawing his attention. His crimson eyes shifted to yours, and before he could respond, you stepped closer and wrapped your arms around him, pressing your face into his chest.

He stiffened for just a moment before his body relaxed, his arms coming up to hold you against him. One hand rested on your back, the other settling lightly on your head, his touch gentle in a way that was becoming familiar.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, his voice low, a softness in his tone reserved only for you.

You nodded against his chest, but your voice wavered slightly when you replied. “I just… I don’t know what the right thing to do is. What if this is our chance?”

His grip tightened slightly, grounding you. “We’ll figure it out,” he murmured, his hand brushing up and down your back in a soothing motion. “Together.”

And somehow, despite the uncertainty ahead, that was enough.

Later that night, you were on your side of Sukuna’s bed, his arm draped lazily around your waist. The weight of the day’s revelation lingered as you both lay in silence. He stared up at the ceiling, tension radiating from him.

“Hey,” you murmured, turning to look at him. “You’re quiet. What’s on your mind?”

He sighed heavily, his hand absently tracing circles on your hip. “You know what’s on my mind,” he muttered. “That damn broadcast.”

You propped yourself up on your elbow, studying his face. His usual confidence was replaced with something more vulnerable. “You don’t think we should go, do you?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It feels… reckless. We’ve built something here. We’re safe, we have supplies, defenses. Why risk it for some half-baked promise of safety?”

You brushed your fingers along his jaw, drawing his gaze to you. “Because it’s not just about safety, Sukuna. It’s about living. Don’t you think we deserve a chance at something better?”

His eyes softened, but doubt flickered there. “What if it’s not real? Or worse, what if it’s a trap? I can’t risk losing anyone. I can’t risk losing you.”

Your chest ached at his words. “You won’t lose me,” you said softly, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “But staying here forever isn’t an option. Supplies won’t last, and neither will luck. This might be our only chance.”

Sukuna was quiet for a long moment, his hand moving up to cradle your face. “You really believe this is the right thing to do?”

You nodded. “I do. And I think you do too. You just hate taking risks.”

A wry smile tugged at his lips. “You’re too stubborn for your own good, you know that?”

You grinned, leaning down to kiss him softly. “Good thing you like me that way.”

He chuckled against your lips, pulling you closer. “More than I probably should.”

The weight of his words hung in the air before he sighed again, his forehead resting against yours. “Alright,” he said reluctantly. “We’ll go. But if anything feels off, we’re turning back. I’m not taking chances with your life—or anyone else’s.”

Relief flooded through you, and you kissed him again, this time longer and sweeter. “I promise you won’t regret this,” you whispered.

His lips brushed against your temple. “I already do,” he teased, though his tone was fond. “But I trust you.”

You smiled, settling against his chest. For the first time that night, you felt hopeful. Whatever lay ahead, you knew you wouldn’t face it alone.

The next morning, everyone gathered in the common area, their faces tense as they waited for Sukuna to speak. You sat beside him, feeling the weight of the decision he was about to make. Sukuna looked more serious than usual, arms crossed over his chest, his sharp eyes sweeping over the group.

“Alright,” he began, his voice firm, cutting through the silence like a blade. “We’re going.”

Gojo’s brows shot up, a grin spreading across his face. “Really? Didn’t think you’d go for it, boss.”

“It’s risky, and I’m not about to pretend it’s not. We’ve all heard messages like this before—false promises, traps, or worse. But…” He glanced briefly at you, almost like he was drawing strength from your presence, “We can’t stay here forever. It’s not sustainable.”

Nanami, who had been studying the map for most of the morning, gave a short nod. “Three days on foot if we pace ourselves carefully. We’ll need to chart out stops for rest and security checks.”

Suguru ran a hand through his hair. “And what if we run into others? It’s a long trip, and there’s no telling who else might’ve heard the same message.”

“We’ll deal with it,” Sukuna said simply. “We stick to formations. Pairs. No one wanders off.” His gaze swept over the group as if daring someone to argue. “We’re smart about this. It’s going to take every one of us to pull this off, so don’t screw around.”

Shoko leaned against the wall, arms crossed but with a faint smirk. “So, are we packing light or taking extra supplies? I’m guessing there’s no guarantee we’ll find much along the way.”

Sukuna nodded. “We take what we need and a little extra, but no overloading. If we’re too weighed down, we’ll slow ourselves. Weapons, medical supplies, and enough food and water to last us at least four days, just in case.”

Gojo whistled. “Man, I can’t wait to see what the government’s offering. Maybe it’s like one of those utopia bases with hot food, comfy beds—”

Sukuna shot him a dry look. “You’ll be lucky if it’s not another graveyard.”

The mood dampened at his words, but you stepped in to lighten the tension. “We’re strong enough to handle this. We’ve survived worse.” You looked around at the group, meeting each of their gazes. “We’ve got each other, and that’s gotten us this far. It’s going to be okay.”

Sukuna glanced at you, the corner of his mouth twitching up just slightly before he turned back to the group. “Exactly. This team’s survived everything the world’s thrown at us so far. Let’s not forget that.”

Nanami placed the map on the table and pointed at a few locations. “I’ve marked safe houses we’ve passed before and areas we can use as rest stops. It’s important we pace ourselves to avoid exhaustion.”

Suguru nodded. “I’ll help pack weapons and make sure we’ve got ammo. Gojo, you’re on food and water duty.”

“Why do I always get the boring job?” Gojo grumbled, but he moved to help nonetheless.

Shoko stretched, already moving toward her stash of medical supplies. “I’ll get the first aid kits ready. You’re all going to need me when this inevitably goes sideways.”

As everyone began moving, talking through what needed to be packed and how to secure the base before leaving, you felt Sukuna’s hand brush yours lightly. When you looked up at him, his eyes were steady, unwavering.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked quietly, just for you.

You smiled softly and nodded. “I’m sure. We’ll make it through this, Sukuna. Together.”

Something flickered in his expression—something tender that he rarely let anyone see. He gave your hand a small squeeze before pulling away to bark orders at Gojo, who was trying to sneak extra snacks into the supply bags.

You watched him work, the leader everyone trusted, and your heart swelled with pride.

The day stretched on as preparations fell into a steady rhythm. The group moved with quiet purpose, packing essentials and double-checking supplies. You busied yourself with securing the last of the gear, tying packs and testing straps to ensure nothing would fall apart mid-journey.

Sukuna stood nearby, inspecting weapons with Suguru, his sharp gaze flicking up every so often to survey the group. Even when he wasn’t looking directly at you, you could feel his watchful presence—an unspoken assurance that he was there, keeping everything in check.

By sunset, everyone gathered in the common area, the weight of what lay ahead settling heavily over the group. There was little need for unnecessary chatter now; everyone understood the stakes.

Sukuna’s voice broke the silence, steady but quieter than usual. “We leave at dawn. Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

Gojo stretched dramatically, letting out an exaggerated groan. “Ugh, dawn? You’re cruel, Sukuna.”

“You’ll live,” Sukuna replied flatly, though the faintest smirk tugged at his lips.

Nanami rolled up the map carefully before tucking it into his pack. “I’ll set an early alarm to make sure we’re ready. We can’t afford delays.”

As the group began to disperse, you lingered, tightening the straps on your pack for what felt like the tenth time. Sukuna caught the motion and stepped toward you, his footsteps deliberate and quiet.

“You’re overpacking,” he muttered, eyeing the weight of your bag.

You glanced up at him with a small smile. “I just want to make sure we’re covered.”

Sukuna huffed a quiet breath, his tone gentler than before. “We’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”

His confidence was comforting, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The dim light of the setting sun filtered through cracks in the walls, casting a soft glow over his features. In that moment, he looked less guarded—his edges softened, revealing a side of him few ever saw.

“You’re not nervous?” you asked softly.

Sukuna tilted his head slightly, considering your question. “Not nervous. Just… aware.” He paused, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting yours again. “It’s a big risk, leaving what we’ve built here. But if there’s even a chance at something better…”

You nodded, understanding his unspoken hesitation. “It’s worth trying.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod before his gaze fell on your pack again. Without a word, he stepped forward and started loosening one of the straps you’d tightened too much.

“Sukuna, what—?”

“You’re going to hurt yourself carrying this much weight,” he said with quiet authority, crouching slightly to sift through the contents of your bag. He pulled out a few unnecessary items, including an extra water bottle and a bulky flashlight, setting them aside with a quiet shake of his head. “Relax.”

You blinked at him, surprised. “You’re fussing.”

He paused, shooting you a look that was equal parts glare and amusement. “Shut up.”

You couldn’t help but grin, warmth blooming in your chest at his uncharacteristically soft gesture. When he finished, he straightened and looked down at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, it seemed like he might say something more, but instead, he rested his hand lightly on your shoulder.

“Get some sleep,” he said quietly. “I’ll keep watch tonight.”

“You’re always keeping watch,” you replied, your voice just as soft.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his tone steady and reassuring.

He gave your shoulder one last squeeze before stepping back, his touch lingering in your thoughts as much as on your skin.

“Goodnight,” you murmured, lingering for just a moment longer.

“Night,” Sukuna replied, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver through you.

As you headed toward your room, you glanced back. Sukuna stood by the window, staring out at the darkening sky. His broad frame was silhouetted by the last traces of light, his posture steady and resolute—like a shield against whatever was coming.

For all the uncertainty ahead, one thing was clear: you weren’t in this alone.

The room was still cloaked in darkness when a gentle hand shook your shoulder. Groggily, you blinked awake, the faint silhouette of Sukuna coming into focus above you.

“Time to go,” he murmured softly, his voice unusually tender.

You nodded, wiping the sleep from your eyes as you pushed yourself upright. Sukuna crouched by the bed, watching you with an unreadable look in his crimson eyes. It wasn’t like him to linger like this, and the way his gaze flickered—uncertain, almost hesitant—told you there was something on his mind.

“What is it?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sukuna exhaled, running a hand through his hair before dropping it to his knee. “Listen… before we go out there, I need you to promise me something.”

You tilted your head, now fully awake and focused on him. “What kind of promise?”

He shifted closer, his expression serious, but there was something softer about him in this moment. “If things go south… if anything happens, you come with me. No matter what. You stick with me—understand?”

“Sukuna…”

“I mean it,” he cut in, his voice firmer this time, though not harsh. “Don’t try to be a hero. Don’t run off to help someone else first. You come with me.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he kept going, the words tumbling out faster now, like he was afraid you’d stop him.

“I know you’re strong,” he said, his tone steady but raw. “I know you can handle yourself. You’ve proved that over and over. But this isn’t about how capable you are.”

He paused, his jaw tightening as his gaze dropped for a brief moment before meeting yours again. “I can’t lose you,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost fragile. “Not you.”

The vulnerability in his words tugged at your chest, and for a moment, all you could do was look at him—this man who’d spent so long guarding himself, now laying it all bare in front of you.

“Sukuna,” you whispered softly, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He started to speak again, as if he still wasn’t sure he’d made himself clear, but you silenced him by leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. His words faltered as he stilled, taken off guard, before his hands came up to gently cup your face, deepening the kiss just slightly.

When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, your hands curling lightly around his wrists. “I’m not going anywhere,” you murmured. “I promise.”

He stared at you for a moment, his crimson eyes searching yours, as if to make sure you meant it. Finally, he let out a small, shaky breath, his hands lingering against your skin like he didn’t want to let go.

“You’re too good at shutting me up, you know that?” he muttered, but there was no bite in his tone—only warmth.

You grinned softly, brushing your thumb across one of the callouses on his hand. “Someone has to keep you from overthinking.”

Sukuna huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head before leaning in to kiss you once more—this time slower, gentler, like he was memorizing the feel of you before the day ahead.

When he pulled back, his thumb traced along your jaw, his voice soft as he spoke. “I know you’re not afraid. And I know you’ll fight like hell out there if you have to. But promise me you’ll let me protect you when it counts.”

“I promise,” you said, your voice steady and sure.

Satisfied, Sukuna stood and extended a hand to you, his gaze still holding yours. “Come on,” he said quietly, helping you to your feet. “Let’s get this over with.”

As you followed him to the door, you felt his hand settle against your lower back, a quiet reassurance that he was there. Whatever the day held—whatever the world outside threw at you—you knew one thing for certain.

You weren’t in this alone. And neither was he.

The common room was alive with quiet activity when you and Sukuna entered. The group moved in practiced motions—securing packs, checking weapons, and mentally preparing for the journey ahead.

Gojo was by his bag, cramming even more food into its already overstuffed frame. A loaf of bread jutted out of one pocket, while an entire bag of dried fruit threatened to burst another seam. He hummed quietly, clearly in his own world, as he tried to wedge a jar of honey on top of it all.

Sukuna, spotting the chaos, strode over with purposeful steps. Without a word, he smacked Gojo lightly on the back of the head.

���Ow! What was that for?” Gojo grumbled, rubbing the back of his head as he turned to face him.

“You’re overpacking,” Sukuna said flatly, crouching down and unzipping Gojo’s bag. His hands moved swiftly, pulling out items one by one—a jar of pickles, a deck of cards, and yet another loaf of bread.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Gojo protested, grabbing for the deck of cards. “That’s important! What if we get bored?”

“Then you can count how many times I’ve saved your ass,” Sukuna shot back, shoving the cards onto the table.

As Gojo launched into an impassioned defense of each item’s “essential value,” you crouched beside Shoko, who was cross-legged on the floor near the corner. She was surrounded by an array of medical supplies, organizing her kit with her usual calm precision.

Shoko glanced up as you approached, her eyes narrowing slightly before she gave a small, knowing smirk. “You ready for this?” she asked, her tone light but her gaze sharp.

You helped her tuck a few spare bandages into the corners of her overstuffed med kit. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” you said with a small shrug. “What about you?”

“Always am,” she replied casually, though her expression softened just slightly as she glanced at you. “Don’t let them push you too hard out there. Especially him.” She jerked her chin toward Sukuna, who was now pulling yet another item—what looked like a full bag of candy—out of Gojo’s bag.

You chuckled softly. “He’s not that bad.”

Shoko arched a brow, clearly unconvinced, but her smirk lingered. “Sure. Just remember to look out for yourself too. Even the great Sukuna Ryomen can’t see everything.”

Her words held an odd warmth, a rare expression of her care in her typically sarcastic manner. You gave her a faint smile and nudged her lightly. “I’ll be fine. And I’ll keep an eye on you too.”

Shoko huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she zipped her med kit shut. “You’d better.”

Straightening, you glanced over and noticed Sukuna was done with Gojo, who now looked dejectedly at his significantly lighter bag. Sukuna had moved to the table with Nanami and Geto, his sharp focus now on the map spread before them.

“What’s the update?” Sukuna asked, his tone cutting through the ambient murmurs.

Nanami straightened, his hand resting on the edge of the table. “We’ve mapped out a route. Three days if we push through steadily, but the open stretches will leave us vulnerable.”

Geto nodded, tracing a longer, winding trail on the map with his finger. “There’s an alternate route with more cover—woods, small towns—but it’ll take five days, minimum.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened as he studied the map, the weight of the decision clearly etched into his features. “We’ll stick with the shorter route. We’ll be exposed, but we’ll move faster.”

Sukuna’s eyes remained fixed on the map for a moment longer, his fingers lightly tracing the marked route. He exhaled through his nose, the sound low and decisive, before straightening. His sharp crimson gaze lifted from the map, sweeping over the group with an authority that commanded immediate attention.

“Ten minutes,” he said, his tone firm but measured. “Make sure you’re ready to move. We’re not leaving anything behind.”

The room buzzed with renewed energy as everyone went back to their tasks. You grabbed your pack and double-checked its contents—water, food, a small med kit Shoko had prepared, and a few personal items you’d managed to keep over the months. It felt heavy on your back, but the weight was nothing compared to the uncertainty churning in your chest.

As you tightened the straps, Sukuna appeared beside you, his presence as steady as ever. His expression was unreadable, but his crimson eyes held a flicker of something softer as they met yours. “You good?” he asked quietly.

You glanced up at him, offering a small, reassuring smile. “Yeah. Just… nervous, I guess.”

His hand brushed lightly against your lower back—a small, comforting touch that spoke louder than words. He leaned in slightly, his voice low and steady. “Don’t overthink it. You’re with me.”

That simple reassurance sent a wave of warmth through you, soothing your nerves. You nodded, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. “I know.”

Moments later, Sukuna gave the call to move out. The group assembled near the exit, weapons in hand and packs secured. Tension hung thick in the air, unspoken but shared by everyone. Without a word, you all stepped out into the dim, early morning light.

The world beyond your base stretched out in eerie quiet. Half-collapsed buildings loomed like hollowed-out skeletons, the streets littered with debris and rusted cars. It had once been home, but now it was nothing more than a shadow of what it used to be—a haunting reminder of the world you’d all lost.

Sukuna led the way, his steps steady and purposeful, his gaze razor-sharp as he scanned the surroundings. You walked beside him, glancing back occasionally to check on the others. Nanami stayed close to Shoko, who carried her bag of medical supplies, her expression calm but alert. Geto and Gojo took up the rear, their sharp eyes darting to every corner, watchful for any signs of movement.

The first few hours passed uneventfully, the silence broken only by the sound of footsteps crunching against gravel and the occasional groan of strained metal from the decaying city. But even in the stillness, an air of unease clung to the group. The open streets left you all feeling exposed, and every creak or shift of rubble sent a jolt of tension through you.

After a while, Sukuna’s voice cut through the quiet, low and meant only for you. “Stay close to me, alright?”

You glanced up at him, surprised by the sudden break in silence. “I am close to you.”

“Closer,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. “Just in case.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips, but you didn’t argue. Instead, you stepped closer to his side, matching his pace as you pressed forward. The proximity was reassuring, his presence a constant reminder that you weren’t alone.

The journey ahead was uncertain, and the message you’d heard on the radio left more questions than answers. But one thing you knew for sure: as long as Sukuna was by your side, and as long as you had each other, you could face whatever lay ahead.

Together, you would endure. Together, you would survive.

The day stretched on, the sun climbing higher into the sky and beating down on the cracked pavement and overgrown roads. The group moved in steady silence, speaking only when necessary. Sukuna’s presence beside you was a steady anchor—his movements deliberate, his sharp eyes scanning every shadow, every corner, like a silent promise that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

By midday, Nanami led the group into a wooded area just off the main road. The forest was dense, shadowy, and alive with the hum of insects and the rustle of unseen creatures. The air was cooler here, the canopy of leaves offering a welcome respite from the relentless sun.

Sukuna dropped his pack against a tree and motioned for everyone to take a quick break. “Fifteen minutes,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the stillness. “Drink water. Eat something if you need it. Then we’re moving again.”

You sank down against the rough bark of a nearby tree, taking a long sip from your water bottle. Sukuna sat beside you, his back straight, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his weapon as he scanned the woods. Even in this moment of relative calm, he was alert, his crimson eyes flickering between the shadows.

“Do you ever relax?” you teased, nudging his boot lightly with yours.

He snorted, his gaze flicking to you briefly before returning to the treeline. “Not when I’ve got a reason to stay on edge.”

“Are you saying I make you paranoid?” you quipped, tilting your head with a small smile.

He didn’t answer right away, but when he did, his voice was quieter, softer. “You give me something to lose.”

The flutter in your chest was immediate, heat rushing to your cheeks as his words settled over you. Sukuna wasn’t one to express himself like this often, and when he did, it always left you breathless.

Before you could come up with a response, Gojo’s voice cut through the quiet. “Hey, you mind sharing that water over there?” His tone was unusually casual, but you could see he was already scheming something.

You sighed, passing him your bottle as he exaggerated a grateful sigh. “You’re the best,” he said with a grin, taking a swig before handing it back.

Nearby, Geto and Nanami leaned against a tree, their voices low as they talked.

“Do you remember the last time we came through a stretch like this?” Geto asked, glancing up at the canopy of trees.

Nanami nodded. “Yeah. Quiet like this feels worse than noise sometimes.”

Geto hummed in agreement. “Easier to spot movement in the open, though. Less chance of surprises.”

“True,” Nanami said, adjusting his glasses. “But surprises don’t always come from the environment.”

Geto smirked faintly, catching the subtle jab. “You still mad about that time Gojo wandered off?”

“Mad?” Nanami’s tone was dry. “No. Prepared for him to do it again? Always.”

Their conversation drew a quiet chuckle from you, the easy camaraderie between the two a welcome distraction. It was moments like these that reminded you why the group worked so well together—they balanced each other out.

Meanwhile, Shoko sat cross-legged a few feet away, unwrapping a snack from her bag. Gojo’s attention immediately zeroed in on her food.

“Shoko,” he called sweetly, inching closer. “You wouldn’t happen to want to share that, would you?”

She didn’t even look up. “No.”

“Oh, come on,” Gojo whined, reaching out as if to grab it.

Without hesitation, Shoko raised her hand and smacked his away. “Touch it, and you lose that hand.”

Gojo gasped theatrically, clutching his heart. “How could you be so cruel?”

“You have so much food in your bag,” Shoko deadpanned, raising an unimpressed brow.

“Had,” Gojo corrected, dramatically pointing at Sukuna. “Until he decided to lighten my load.”

Sukuna, who had been observing the exchange with mild amusement, crossed his arms. “If I didn’t, you’d be dead from exhaustion. You packed like the trip was going to take a month.”

The group erupted into quiet laughter, the tension lifting as the banter rippled through the clearing. Even Sukuna’s lips twitched with the faintest hint of a smile.

Shoko smirked, finally taking a bite of her snack. Then, with a small, unexpected gesture, she held it out to Gojo. “Here.”

Gojo’s face lit up like a kid on Christmas. “I knew you had a heart, Shoko!” He took a bite happily, earning an exasperated sigh from her.

“Don’t make me regret it,” she muttered, shaking her head, but there was a faint smile on her lips.

The lighthearted moment settled over the group, easing some of the tension from the day. For a fleeting second, it almost felt normal—like the world outside these woods wasn’t crumbling, like you were all just friends on a casual outing.

The day stretched on, the sun climbing higher into the sky, beating down on the cracked pavement and overgrown roads. The group moved in steady silence, speaking only when necessary. Sukuna’s presence beside you was a steady anchor—his movements deliberate, his sharp eyes scanning every shadow, every corner, like a silent promise that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

By the time the sun began to set, Nanami led the group to an abandoned gas station on the outskirts of what looked like a small, ruined town.

“This is as far as we go tonight,” Nanami said as he surveyed the area. “We’ll set up here, take turns on watch.”

Geto and Gojo took the lead, entering the gas station first to ensure it was clear. It didn’t take long before they gave the all-clear, allowing the rest of the group to enter. The gas station was grimy and smelled faintly of mildew, but it was shelter—four walls, a roof, and a place to sleep that wasn’t exposed to the elements.

Sukuna himself would stand guard outside, taking first watch as always.

Inside, the group began settling in. Shoko found some makeshift blankets in the backroom, handing them out to whoever needed them, while Nanami quietly discussed the watch schedule with Geto. The air was heavy with exhaustion, but there was a subtle undertone of relief in having made it through another day.

You dropped your pack in a corner and set up a small space to sleep, but your thoughts remained on Sukuna. Even as the group moved about the room, settling into their makeshift beds, your focus lingered on the door. You couldn’t relax—not entirely—knowing Sukuna was out there, keeping watch alone.

It wasn’t until hours later, when the gas station had fallen silent, that you heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching. Sukuna’s tall silhouette appeared at the doorway, the moonlight casting a faint glow on his face as he entered. His movements were quiet, deliberate, though the weariness in his frame was impossible to miss.

The moment you saw him, you didn’t hesitate. Sitting up from your spot, you reached for him, your voice soft as you beckoned him closer. “Come here.”

Without a word, Sukuna dropped down beside you, settling himself against the wall with a low, tired sigh. You didn’t give him a chance to protest or brush off his exhaustion. Instead, you immediately nestled into his side, tucking yourself gently against him.

“Get some rest,” you murmured, your voice tender as you rested your head against his shoulder. “You deserve it.”

Sukuna didn’t resist. His arm came up to wrap around you, pulling you closer as if it was the most natural thing in the world. His fingers traced absent patterns against your arm, his sharp eyes flickering briefly toward the others to ensure everything was as it should be. Only then did he allow himself to relax.

The world outside was cruel and unpredictable, but here, wrapped in the quiet comfort of Sukuna’s warmth, it felt just a little safer. His presence grounded you, a reminder that no matter what the next day brought, you’d face it together.

For now, in this fleeting moment of peace, it was enough.

The group rose with the first light of dawn, the orange-pink hues of the sunrise spilling through the broken windows of the gas station. Nanami was already awake, his map spread out on the counter as he quietly calculated their next steps. Geto leaned over his shoulder, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, occasionally pointing out alternate routes. Shoko sat cross-legged on a worn-out chair, sipping something lukewarm from a tin cup, her med kit already packed and resting by her feet. Meanwhile, Gojo lounged nearby, fiddling with a piece of twine he’d found, trying (and failing) to fashion it into a slingshot, much to his own amusement.

Sukuna was the last to wake, but not on his own. You were still half-asleep yourself, head resting on his shoulder after a night of shared warmth. He hadn’t stirred once during the night, his even breathing a steady comfort against the chaos outside. As you blinked yourself awake, the golden light spilling into the room illuminated his face, softened by sleep in a way you rarely got to see.

Your gaze lingered for a moment, guilt settling in your chest. He had been carrying so much—keeping watch, leading, protecting. He needed the rest more than anyone. But the day was calling, and you knew the group couldn’t wait much longer.

You lifted your head from his shoulder and placed a gentle hand on his stomach, giving him a soft shake. “Sukuna,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the quiet rustling of the others. “It’s time to go.”

His brows furrowed slightly at first, his body instinctively resisting the pull of consciousness. But after a moment, his crimson eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with a hazy focus. For a second, he didn’t say anything, just blinked at you as if grounding himself in the moment.

Then, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his voice low and gravelly from sleep. “Alright.”

You offered him a soft smile, pulling back to give him space to sit up. He rolled his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair before rising to his feet with practiced ease. Around you, the rest of the group was already moving with purpose—packing, checking gear, and preparing for the day ahead. Sukuna, however, lingered a moment, his eyes scanning the room before settling on you again.

“Let’s get moving,” he said quietly, his tone steady but gentle as he reached for his pack. And with that, the day began, the group falling into rhythm once more under Sukuna’s watchful guidance.

By the time the sun fully crept over the horizon, the group was packed and moving again. The weight of the journey was palpable, and everyone was more focused as the hours stretched on. The empty highways gradually gave way to rural roads lined with skeletal trees and patches of wild grass, their uneven crunch underfoot the only consistent sound.

By midday, the group came across an abandoned farmhouse nestled at the edge of a sprawling field. The structure was mostly intact���shattered windows and weather-worn wood hinting at its age—but it was isolated and quiet, offering a moment of reprieve.

Geto and Gojo took the lead, sweeping the farmhouse to ensure it was clear. It didn’t take long for them to give the all-clear, and the group filed in. Sukuna remained just outside, his sharp gaze sweeping over the horizon as he stood guard.

“This will do,” Nanami said, surveying the inside of the house. “We’ll rest here for now.”

Inside, everyone quickly settled into their tasks. Shoko rummaged through a dusty kitchen drawer, unearthing an old, rusted first-aid kit with a satisfied huff, while Gojo poked around the pantry in search of something edible.

You found yourself brushing cobwebs off the mantle of a fireplace, eyes flitting to the window every so often. Sukuna’s presence just beyond the porch felt like a tether, grounding you even as the day’s tension lingered in your chest.

Sukuna stepped inside shortly after, his heavy boots creaking against the old wooden floor. He walked straight to you, his brow furrowed. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

You turned to him, offering a small smile. “You’ve asked me that a lot today.”

His lips twitched into the faintest smirk. “Can’t help it. You’ve got a knack for finding trouble.”

You scoffed, warmth blooming in your chest. “I’ll remind you I’ve saved your ass a few times now.”

Before Sukuna could respond, distant footsteps reached your ears, and the air in the room shifted. Instantly, everyone stilled, their movements halted as their senses sharpened. Sukuna’s hand instinctively went to his weapon, his crimson eyes narrowing as he exchanged a glance with Geto.

The group moved quickly, gathering near the front of the house with weapons drawn. The footsteps grew louder, and it wasn’t long before figures appeared on the horizon—four or five, their postures tense, weapons glinting faintly in the sunlight.

“Humans,” Geto murmured, his voice barely audible.

“That doesn’t mean friendly,” Nanami said, his jaw tight as he positioned himself near the door.

The figures stopped about twenty feet from the house, one of them stepping forward and raising a hand in what seemed to be a gesture of peace. “We don’t want trouble,” the man called out. “Just looking for supplies.”

“Keep moving,” Sukuna barked, stepping forward onto the porch. His voice was sharp, commanding, leaving no room for negotiation.

The man hesitated, glancing back at his group. “Look, we’re not here to—”

“Don’t take another step,” Sukuna cut him off, his weapon glinting in the faint light as he raised it slightly. “I’m not saying it again.”

The tension in the air was electric, every muscle in your body coiled as the strangers deliberated. Finally, after a long pause, the man nodded. “Alright. We’re leaving.”

The group of strangers retreated, their movements stiff and reluctant, but they didn’t look back. Sukuna stayed on the porch, watching them until they disappeared completely from sight. Only then did he lower his weapon and step back inside.

You were waiting for him, your arms crossed but your expression soft. “You didn’t have to be so scary, you know.”

Sukuna shot you a look, his crimson eyes still blazing. “You think I’m going to take chances? Especially with you around?”

Your breath caught at the quiet intensity in his words. He stepped closer, his gaze searching yours, and you felt the weight of his protectiveness settle between you.

“I mean it,” he said softly, his voice quieter now. “I’m not losing you.”

The raw vulnerability in his tone made your chest tighten, and you reached out, slipping your hand into his. Giving it a gentle squeeze, you replied, “You’re not losing me. Not now, not ever.”

His grip tightened briefly before he nodded, releasing a small, relieved exhale. “Let’s secure this place,” he said, his voice gruff but softer now.

As you followed him through the farmhouse, the tension from earlier began to fade. Sukuna’s steady presence at your side reminded you that, no matter what this world threw at you, you wouldn’t face it alone.

As night fell, the group gathered in the living room around a small fire crackling in the fireplace. Its warm glow danced on the walls, softening the room’s grim edges. Gojo, never one to let a heavy mood linger, leaned back against the wall with his usual smug grin.

“Well,” he began, flicking a glance at Sukuna, “I’d say we handled that pretty well. Didn’t even need to waste any ammo. Nice job, boss.” He gave an exaggerated wink, clearly fishing for a reaction.

Sukuna ignored him entirely, his crimson eyes fixed on the fire, his arm resting casually on the back of the couch where you sat perched. His body angled slightly toward you, his presence steady and grounding.

Shoko rolled her eyes but smirked faintly as she leaned back against the wall. “Let’s just hope they don’t come back with reinforcements.”

“They won’t,” Sukuna stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. The finality of his words seemed to settle the matter.

Nanami, seated at the far end of the room, was hunched over the map, his brow furrowed in thought. Geto stood beside him, gesturing to something on the paper. Their low murmurs filled the lulls in conversation as they discussed potential routes and what lay ahead.

“Tomorrow’s another early start,” Nanami announced eventually, his sharp gaze lifting to sweep over the group. “The farmhouse is a good stop, but it’s too exposed. We’ll need to move at first light.”

There were murmurs of agreement, but the tension began to ease as the conversation shifted.

Geto launched into an outrageous story about a prank war between all of them during their college days. The schemes were both elaborate and ridiculous: Shoko’s chair was saran-wrapped until she couldn’t use it, Nanami’s carefully organized notes were swapped out for pages covered in absurd doodles, and Sukuna’s jacket had been rigged to release an explosion of glitter when he grabbed it, leaving him fuming as everyone else howled with laughter.

Shoko’s revenge was methodical, hiding alarm clocks throughout their dorm to blare at odd hours, while Nanami’s retaliation was subtle yet sharp—he salted Gojo’s coffee just before an important presentation, leaving Gojo spluttering in front of the class. Even Sukuna had joined in, stuffing Shoko’s favorite pastries with wasabi, prompting days of silent glares and thinly veiled threats.

The prank war culminated in chaos when Gojo and Geto teamed up to flip Sukuna’s entire dorm room upside down, duct-taping the furniture to the ceiling in a masterpiece that left the rest of the group cackling while Sukuna plotted revenge.

Gojo was now sprawled out on the floor, laughing so hard he was nearly gasping for air, his hand slapping the ground in a steady rhythm. Shoko, her head tilted back against the wall, groaned dramatically, clearly remembering the chaos of those days, but the faint, amused smirk on her face betrayed her fondness for the memories. Nanami let out a rare chuckle, shaking his head as he thought back to the sheer absurdity of being caught in the crossfire so many times, his ever-composed demeanor no match for the group’s relentless antics.

The laughter was infectious, spreading through the room like wildfire. Sukuna, usually composed and stoic, let out a deep, rumbling laugh, his sharp features softening as his hand briefly covered his face in an attempt to smother the sound. It was so unexpected, so unguarded, that you couldn’t help but laugh even harder, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably as warmth bloomed in your chest.

Without thinking, you leaned into Sukuna, seeking the comfort of his solid presence. His arm slipped around you instinctively, pulling you closer as though it were second nature. The heat of the fire and the gentle weight of his arm wrapped around you created a cocoon of warmth that made the outside world feel like a distant memory.

As the laughter began to fade and the fire’s crackles filled the quiet room, Sukuna’s hold on you didn’t waver. His fingers brushed lightly against your arm, a subconscious gesture that spoke of comfort and connection. You tilted your head slightly, catching the last remnants of his rare smile before his features returned to their usual sharp focus.

Eventually, the fire burned low, and the group began to settle down for the night. Blankets and makeshift beds were laid out across the living room and adjoining rooms, everyone finding their place to rest. You grabbed a blanket of your own, your eyes scanning the room before slipping upstairs to check for anything salvageable.

In one of the smaller bedrooms, you found it—a dusty but intact bedframe with a mattress. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping on the floor. Smiling to yourself, you headed back downstairs.

You approached Sukuna, who was still seated on the couch, watching the group with his usual keen intensity. Gently, you touched his arm to catch his attention.

“Come with me,” you said softly, motioning toward the stairs.

He raised a brow but followed without a word, his broad frame silent as he ascended behind you. When you led him into the small room and gestured toward the bed, his expression shifted from curiosity to something almost incredulous.

“What is this?” he asked, his tone edged with confusion.

You smiled, nudging him toward the bed. “You deserve a bed. It’s not much, but it’s better than the floor.”

For a moment, Sukuna just stared at you, his crimson eyes unreadable. Then, slowly, his gaze flicked to the bed, and he huffed a quiet breath, the faintest trace of a smirk ghosting across his lips. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You shrugged, your grin widening as you moved to drape the blanket over the mattress. “Maybe.”

Sukuna crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe as he watched you work. There was something softer in his expression now—an almost reluctant gratitude that he didn’t voice, but you could see it in the way his shoulders relaxed.

When you finished, you turned back to him and patted the edge of the bed. “Go on. You need rest more than anyone.”

He rolled his eyes but stepped forward, sitting heavily on the mattress. The bed creaked faintly under his weight, but it held firm. With a quiet sigh, Sukuna leaned back, his crimson eyes meeting yours. “You’re staying too.”

It wasn’t a question, and you didn’t argue. Instead, you climbed onto the bed beside him, settling under the blanket as he lay back with one arm behind his head. The bed was small, and the proximity sent a soft warmth blooming in your chest.

For a while, the two of you lay in comfortable silence, the faint creaks of the old house and the distant chirping of crickets the only sounds. Then Sukuna turned his head slightly, his gaze finding yours in the dim light.

“You don’t have to do all this,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “You deserve the bed more than me.”

You shook your head, smiling softly. “You’re always looking out for everyone else. Someone has to look out for you too.”

Sukuna’s expression softened, a rare vulnerability flickering across his features. Without a word, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. The tender gesture made your chest ache in the best way.

“I don’t think I say it enough,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, like he was laying down armor he rarely took off. “But you mean a lot to me.”

Your chest swelled with warmth, and a soft, happy laugh escaped your lips as you tilted closer. “You’ve been saying it in your own way,” you whispered, your nose brushing against his. “But I don’t mind hearing it out loud.”

His mouth curved into a faint, lopsided smirk, but the look in his eyes was nothing but earnest. “I guess I could get used to saying it,” he muttered, his tone softer now, almost teasing.

You grinned, your hand resting lightly against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “Good,” you replied, your voice equally soft.

Sukuna didn’t respond with words this time. Instead, he dipped his head and kissed you—a slow, deliberate kiss that felt like both a promise and a confession. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his warm breath mingling with yours in the quiet.

“Don’t ever forget it,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that made your chest tighten in the best way.

As you settled into the circle of his arms, his hand resting securely on your waist, you allowed yourself to close your eyes, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek lulling you into a peaceful calm. With Sukuna’s quiet strength wrapped around you, the world outside felt just a little less daunting.

The group was already gathered in the living room, their gear stacked neatly by the door. The air was tense but focused, each person making final checks on their supplies. Shoko adjusted the strap on her med bag with practiced ease, while Geto leaned over the map spread out on the table, marking alternate routes and murmuring quietly with Nanami about possible contingencies.

As you and Sukuna entered, Shoko glanced up, her sharp eyes catching the faint flush of sleep still on your face. Without a word, she reached into her bag and pulled out a small piece of bread, handing it to you with a casual smirk before tossing another to Sukuna.

“You’re both going to need the energy,” she said simply, her tone as dry as ever but her gesture undeniably thoughtful.

“Thanks,” you murmured, smiling softly as you accepted the bread. Sukuna caught his piece easily, giving her a brief nod of acknowledgment before taking a bite.

Nanami’s voice cut through the quiet hum of activity, bringing everyone to attention. “We need to move soon. The longer we wait, the harder this will be.”

The room stilled as Sukuna stepped forward, his commanding presence effortlessly drawing every gaze. His crimson eyes swept over the group, sharp and calculating. “You know the drill. We stick together—no splitting up unless it’s absolutely necessary. If we run into trouble, we fall back and regroup. Don’t take unnecessary risks. Got it?”

Everyone nodded, the gravity of his words settling over the room. Shoko slung her med bag over her shoulder, and Geto folded the map with a decisive motion, tucking it into his pack.

“Let’s move,” Sukuna ordered, opening the door and stepping into the cool morning air. The sky was a pale wash of orange and blue, the sun just beginning to crest the horizon. The crisp breeze carried a faint hint of dew and wild grass, a sharp contrast to the weight of the journey ahead.

The group moved in a tight formation, the familiar walls of the farmhouse fading behind you as the path stretched out into uneven terrain. The silence between everyone was broken only by the crunch of boots on gravel and the occasional quiet murmur of conversation. Sukuna walked slightly ahead of you, his broad frame cutting a steady, reassuring figure against the morning light.

As the hours passed, the sun climbed higher, its warmth pressing down on the group as the path grew more overgrown with weeds and debris. Sukuna glanced over his shoulder every so often, his crimson eyes scanning for threats but always flicking briefly to you as if to make sure you were still close.

When the sun was high in the sky, he raised a hand, signaling a stop. “Break,” he said firmly, his voice carrying over the group. Everyone eased onto whatever flat surface they could find—tree stumps, boulders, patches of grass—and began sipping water and pulling out small rations.

Sukuna settled next to you, his knees brushing yours as he leaned back on his hands. His gaze lingered on you, his sharp eyes softening slightly. “You’re quiet today,” he remarked, his voice low and almost tentative.

You glanced at him, offering a small smile. “Just thinking. About what we’re leaving behind, and what’s ahead.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “You worried?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “A little. It’s just… hard not knowing what we’ll find.”

His expression softened further, a rare moment of vulnerability slipping through his stoic exterior. “We’ll figure it out,” he said quietly, his voice steady and sure. “Together.”

The simplicity of his words, paired with the quiet strength in his tone, settled something in you. You leaned a little closer, letting your shoulder brush his as you whispered, “Thank you.”

Sukuna didn’t respond, but his presence remained a steady reassurance. When the break ended, he rose first, offering you a hand to help you up. The small gesture was unspoken but full of meaning, like so much of what he did.

As the group moved out again, you found yourself walking just a little closer to him, the weight of the journey ahead feeling a little lighter with his steady presence by your side.

As the group trudged along the overgrown road, Sukuna raised his hand in a silent command to stop. His deep voice cut through the quiet, steady and authoritative. “Five-minute break. Stay alert.”

Grateful for the pause, everyone settled into their own routines. Nanami leaned against a tree, unfurling the map to study the route ahead. Geto wandered a little further off, scouting the surroundings with a practiced eye. Shoko sat on a large rock, rummaging through her med kit and muttering to herself as she reorganized supplies. Meanwhile, Gojo flopped dramatically onto the ground, munching on a pilfered apple, his expression one of exaggerated exhaustion.

You dropped your pack with a relieved huff, rolling your shoulders to ease the tension. The weight had been nagging at you for the last stretch of the journey. Sukuna’s sharp eyes caught the movement immediately, and he crossed the short distance between you in a few long strides. Without a word, he stepped behind you and placed his hands firmly on your shoulders, his touch both surprising and steady.

“What are you—oh,” you started, but the words melted away as his thumbs pressed into the sore muscles at the base of your neck.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he worked at the tension in your shoulders. “You’re all knotted up. You’re gonna hurt yourself carrying all that weight.”

The relief was instant, and though you felt your cheeks flush, you couldn’t stop the small sigh that escaped you. His hands were rough but careful, the perfect combination of firm and gentle. “I’m fine, really,” you said, though your voice betrayed how much you were enjoying it.

“Sure you are,” he replied dryly. “Fine enough to wince every time you move. You’re not hiding it very well, y’know.”

You huffed but didn’t argue. The truth was, it felt too good to tell him to stop. His hands moved expertly over your shoulders and down to your upper back, kneading away the tension like he’d done it a hundred times before. You let out an involuntary sigh of relief, which earned a quiet chuckle from him.

“Feels better, doesn’t it?” Sukuna teased, his tone lighter but still warm.

“Okay, fine,” you admitted, glancing back at him. “You’re good at this.”

“Used to help my brother with this stuff,” he said casually, his hands never faltering. “He’d push himself too hard sometimes. Guess I got good at noticing when someone needs a break.”

The mention of his brother softened you, and you turned your head slightly to look at him more closely. His expression was calm, focused on what he was doing, but there was a tenderness in his touch that made your chest ache in the best way.

“Thanks,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t thank me,” he said, his eyes flicking down to yours. “Just don’t be stubborn about it next time.”

You rolled your eyes, though there was no heat behind it. “You’re the one being stubborn right now.”

He grinned faintly. “Yeah, well, I’m not the one who’s gonna be complaining tomorrow if I don’t fix this now.”

When he finally stepped back, you felt the loss of his warmth almost immediately. But then, Sukuna crouched down beside your pack, his hands already undoing the straps. “Let’s see what’s making this so damn heavy,” he muttered.

“You don’t have to—” you started, but he cut you off with a look that clearly said he wasn’t asking.

He pulled out a sweatshirt first, shaking his head. “You don’t need this.”

Next, a gardening book. “Or this.”

You crossed your arms, watching as he worked with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. Then, he paused, holding up a small deck of playing cards. His crimson eyes flicked to yours, one brow arching in disbelief. You recognized it instantly as the deck he’d confiscated from Gojo’s overstuffed bag before the trip.

“Seriously?” he asked, his tone hovering between incredulity and teasing.

You winced, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips. “Gojo’s good at convincing,” you admitted.

Sukuna snorted, shaking his head as he slipped the cards into the pile of discarded items. “You’ve been spending too much time with him. He’s rubbing off on you.”

“You’re just mad he beat you at cards last week,” you teased, unable to resist.

His eyes narrowed playfully, “Keep talking, and I’ll make you carry his bag next time.”

You couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips as his teasing melted into something warmer, his hands lingering on your shoulders for a moment longer. Then he stepped back, picking up your pack with ease.

“I’ll carry this for a bit,” he said, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Sukuna, I can—”

“No arguments,” he interrupted smoothly, his tone leaving no room for debate. “You’re no good to me if you’re falling behind because of a sore shoulder.”

You sighed, though the smile on your face betrayed how much his care meant to you. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re lucky I’m nice,” he quipped, his smirk turning playful as he gestured for the group to start moving again.

As you fell into step beside him, his steady presence made the long road ahead feel just a little easier to face. Moments like this reminded you that even in the chaos, there were still moments of warmth, humor, and quiet care worth holding onto.

The night was a shroud of darkness, the faint light of the crescent moon barely piercing the dense canopy above. The group moved cautiously along the narrow forest path, the distant rustle of leaves and eerie stillness pressing on your senses like a vice. Every step felt like a gamble, the weight of the silence almost unbearable.

Then, a distant but unmistakable sound shattered the stillness—a guttural moan carried by the wind, followed by the crunch of twigs snapping underfoot. It was faint at first, almost like a trick of the mind, but as it grew louder, there was no mistaking what it was.

Your pulse spiked. Ahead, Sukuna’s posture stiffened, his head snapping toward the sound. The groans multiplied, joined by the sickening squelch of feet dragging through the underbrush. The horde wasn’t just nearby—they were closing in.

Before anyone could react, they appeared. Shadows surged from the trees, pale, rotting faces catching the faint moonlight as their guttural snarls grew louder. Zombies. Dozens of them.

The group sprang into action, weapons drawn with the efficiency of survival instincts honed over months of living on the edge. You unsheathed your knife, your heart pounding as you fell into position beside Sukuna.

The undead swarmed like a wave, their twisted hands clawing at the air. Sukuna didn’t hesitate, his blade slashing through the nearest zombie with precision and power. Beside him, you dodged a lunging creature, your knife plunging into its temple with a sickening crunch.

Geto’s crowbar swung in a brutal arc, caving in the skull of a zombie while Gojo’s machete carved through the air with deadly speed. Shoko and Nanami worked seamlessly, clearing a path as they fought back-to-back.

But the numbers were overwhelming. For every zombie that fell, another seemed to emerge from the shadows, their grotesque forms relentless in their pursuit.

You barely had time to breathe as you sidestepped another attacker, its rancid breath brushing your face before you drove your knife upward into its jaw. The creature collapsed, but the sound of groaning and snapping branches told you there were more coming.

“They’re everywhere!” Shoko yelled, her voice strained as she swung her blade at an advancing zombie.

Nanami glanced around, his movements calculated as he crushed another skull. “We need to split—regroup later! We can’t hold them here!”

“No!” Sukuna snarled, his voice sharp as his knife slashed through another undead. “We stay together!”

“They’ll overrun us!” Nanami countered, his tone resolute even as his weapon struck another foe. “We regroup in two hours—this is the only chance!”

Sukuna’s crimson eyes flicked to you for a split second, hesitation flashing across his face before he relented. “Fine! Two hours, back here!”

The group split in a blur of motion, each pair darting in a different direction through the trees. Gojo and Geto broke off down one path, their movements fluid and efficient as they covered each other. Nanami grabbed Shoko’s arm, pulling her in the opposite direction as they vanished into the trees.

You barely had time to react before Sukuna’s hand found yours, his grip strong and unwavering as he pulled you forward. “Stay with me,” he growled, his voice low and urgent.

The two of you bolted into the forest, the snarls and groans of the undead growing louder behind you. Branches whipped at your face and arms, but you didn’t dare slow down. Sukuna’s hand was your lifeline, anchoring you as the world descended into chaos.

“Don’t fall behind,” he said, his tone sharp but protective.

“I’m not planning to!” you shot back, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you kept pace with him.

The forest seemed endless, each step a fight against the relentless pursuit of the horde. The stench of decay clung to the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. You could hear the zombies crashing through the underbrush, their grotesque snarls echoing around you.

Sukuna pulled you sharply to the right, ducking under a low-hanging branch as he led you into a dense thicket. “Here!” he hissed, crouching behind a fallen tree and pulling you down beside him.

Your chest heaved as you caught your breath, your knife still gripped tightly in your hand. Sukuna peered over the edge of the log, his sharp eyes scanning the darkness. The groans of the undead grew louder, the shadows shifting as the horde moved closer.

For a moment, all you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. Sukuna’s hand tightened around yours, his grip grounding you as the creatures came into view.

He leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper. “We’ll move when they pass. Stay quiet.”

You nodded, your pulse racing as you tried to steady your breathing. The zombies stumbled past, their rotting forms just feet away. The smell was overwhelming, and you fought the urge to gag as one of them paused, its hollow eyes scanning the area.

After a few tense moments, Sukuna let out a sharp exhale, his shoulders dropping ever so slightly, though his crimson eyes still flicked to the shadows. He turned to you, the tight line of his jaw easing only as his gaze found yours.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low but unshakable, a thin thread of worry laced beneath the surface.

You nodded, though your chest heaved from the adrenaline still surging through your veins. “Yeah. Are you?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, but the smear of blood streaking across his cheek and the jagged tear in his sleeve betrayed his words.

Your gaze dropped to the shallow cut on his arm. Instinctively, you reached out, brushing your fingers gently against it. “You’re hurt,” you said, your voice soft, concern cracking through your composure.

“It’s nothing,” Sukuna replied, his tone softening at the look in your eyes. But before he could reassure you further, the air around you changed.

The faint rustle of leaves exploded into chaos as snarls and guttural growls pierced the night. Heavy footsteps tore through the underbrush, and the trees seemed to shift and tremble as two zombies burst into view, their grotesque forms lurching toward you like predators zeroing in on prey.

Sukuna’s expression darkened, and he grabbed your arm, jerking you behind him as the first zombie lunged. His blade flashed in the moonlight, cutting through the creature’s skull with a sickening crunch. Without missing a beat, he spun, driving his boot into the chest of the second, shoving it back against a tree. But instead of crumpling, the creature let out a guttural snarl and surged forward with surprising strength. Sukuna’s blade came up just in time to block its clawed hand, the force of the strike reverberating up his arm. He shoved it back with a growl, stepping into its space and aiming a slash at its throat, but the zombie twisted unnaturally, avoiding the blow and slashing back with sharp, decayed claws.

The faint rustle of leaves had barely begun to settle when a third zombie appeared, bursting from the shadows like a predator springing its trap. It was on you before you even realized it, its grotesque form moving with an unnatural speed. The sheer force of its charge slammed into you, knocking you off your feet and driving you into the cold, hard ground.

The world spun as you landed with a bone-jarring impact, the breath punched from your lungs. Before you could even process what had happened, the zombie was on you, its decayed face inches away, snarling and snapping its jagged teeth like a rabid animal. Instinct took over, and your arms shot up, locking against its shoulders as you strained to hold it back.

The weight of its body bore down on you like a crushing tide. Its claws raked at your arms, shredding fabric and skin alike as it fought to overpower you. Pain flared hot and sharp, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins pushed it to the back of your mind.

Your mind raced, panic clawing at every nerve as you tried to push it away. The knife—it had been in your hand. Where was it now?

Your eyes darted wildly, searching the dim forest floor. There—it lay just a few feet away, glinting faintly in the moonlight. Desperation flared in your chest, and you shifted one arm to reach for it, your fingers trembling as they scraped against the dirt.

Panic clawed at you as the zombie snarled again, its grotesque face lunging closer. Its teeth snapped wildly, its hot, fetid breath washing over your face, shoulders, and neck. Every inch of you screamed in terror, but you shoved back against its shoulders with all your strength, your muscles trembling under the strain.

The zombie's teeth snapped closer, so close you could feel the heat of its breath against your skin. Its claws dug deeper into your arms, ripping at your flesh as it pushed harder, forcing your back to arch painfully against the ground.

Your fingertips brushed the hilt of the knife, but it wasn’t enough. The zombie snarled louder, the sound drowning out your frantic gasps.

“Sukuna!” you screamed, the raw, desperate cry tearing from your throat.

“I’m coming!” his voice roared from somewhere in the chaos, but the zombie’s weight bore down on you, blocking out everything else.

Terror surged through you as the creature’s jagged teeth lunged toward your shoulder. With a final, desperate push, your hand closed around the hilt of the knife.

Adrenaline exploded through your veins as you swung upward with everything you had. The blade plunged beneath the zombie’s jaw, slicing through decayed flesh and bone, the impact reverberating up your arm.

The zombie convulsed, its body jerking violently before going still. Dead weight collapsed on top of you, and for a moment, all you could do was stare into the sky, gasping for air as your trembling hands released the knife.

The world blurred as you gasped for air, your chest heaving. The stars above seemed to spin, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at the sky. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, so loud it drowned out everything else.

Am I even alive?

Before the thought could settle, the crushing weight was ripped away. Sukuna’s hands gripped your shoulders, and in one swift motion, he pulled you to your feet. The sheer force of his movements sent a jolt through your body, grounding you in the present.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, his voice a mix of fury and fear, his crimson eyes raking over you like he was afraid to find the answer.

You swayed slightly, your legs shaky beneath you, and his hands steadied you, his grip firm but not harsh.

Your chest heaved as you stared at him, dazed. Then you felt it—warm, wet, wrong.

Both of you froze, the world narrowing to the crimson stain blooming across your shoulder. Sukuna’s grip slackened, his hands trembling as his sharp, commanding gaze faltered. For the first time, the indomitable Sukuna looked powerless.

“No.” The denial came in a fractured whisper, as if spoken louder, it might shatter him entirely.

Your own hands trembled as you pressed them to the wound, your fingers slick with blood. The air caught in your throat as the weight of realization dawned. “Sukuna… I—”

“It’s nothing,” he cut you off, his voice biting yet unsteady. His crimson eyes darted to the wound, refusing to believe what he saw. “Just a scratch.”

“But what if it’s not?” you choked, tears slipping free as fear surged through you. “It only takes a minute, Sukuna—”

“Stop.” His hands latched onto your waist, his grip hard, desperate. “Don’t. Say. That.”

“You know it’s true.” Your voice cracked, splintering as the unspeakable hung between you like a death sentence.

“It’s been seconds!” he barked, shaking you slightly, his breath coming fast. “You’re fine. You’re going to be fine.”

You shook your head, the pulse in your ears drowning out everything but the countdown hammering in your mind. “You have to do it.”

His face went pale, his jaw locking. “What?”

“You have to kill me, Sukuna,” you whispered, your voice broken, pleading. “Before it’s too late.”

“No.” His denial came quick and brutal, a guttural snarl ripped from his chest. “Don’t you dare ask me for that.”

“Sukuna—”

“You won’t turn!” he shouted, his fury barely masking the crack of desperation in his voice. “It’s a cut. A goddamn cut!”

“But we don’t know!” you cried, your voice rising into a frantic pitch. “It only takes sixty seconds, and that thing—it was snapping at me! Its teeth were so close—”

“Stop!” he roared, his voice shattering the night air. “It didn’t bite you!”

“Twenty seconds,” you whimpered, your knees threatening to buckle. Panic clawed at you, its icy grip closing around your throat.

His hands fell to his sides, curling into fists so tight his knuckles turned white. His whole body shook as he struggled against the inevitability.

“Shut up!” His voice cracked, trembling with anguish. “You’re not—”

“Please!” you screamed, tears streaming freely now. “Sukuna, you have to save yourself! You have to do it! Please!”

“I CAN’T!” His voice erupted, a guttural cry of despair, raw and agonized. His entire body trembled as his hands reached for your face. His forehead pressed to yours, his breath hot and erratic. “You don’t get to ask me this,” he rasped, his voice barely audible. “I can’t—I can’t do it.”

“Thirty seconds.” The countdown fell like a hammer, each tick an agonizing reminder of what was slipping away.

“Sukuna,” you choked out, your voice cracking. “Please—I don’t want to hurt you, Sukuna. I can’t… I can’t turn into one of them.”

“I’m begging you,” you whimpered, your voice breaking on every syllable. “Please… don’t let me turn into of them.”

His hands cupped your face tighter, his tears spilling unchecked as his resolve crumbled.

“Forty seconds,” you sobbed, clinging to him, clutching at his shirt like it was the only thing tethering you to the world. “Sukuna, please.”

His hands cupped your face tighter, his tears spilling unchecked as his resolve crumbled. For a moment, it seemed like he might hold on forever, refusing to let go.

His jaw tightened, his teeth gritting audibly as his hands fell away from your face. His body rigid as he turned his back to you. His shoulders trembled with the weight of his emotions, his breaths sharp and uneven.

“Sukuna,” you choked out, your voice cracking. “Please—”

He didn’t respond, his hand dragging through his hair as he paced a few steps forward. His movements were erratic, torn between rage and despair. When he finally stopped, his head dropped forward, his fists clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles turned white. The silence that followed was deafening.

Then, slowly, he reached for the gun at his hip.

Your heart raced faster as he turned back toward you, the weapon in his shaking hands. He raised it, the barrel glinting in the faint light as it pointed directly at you. His crimson eyes burned with anguish, his expression twisted in a way you had never seen before—raw, broken, and utterly lost.

“Sukuna,” you whispered, tears blurring your vision as you looked at him.

His hand trembled, the gun quivering in his grip. His jaw worked, but no words came, just the silent agony etched into every line of his face. You could see it—the war raging inside him, the impossible decision tearing him apart.

“Please,” you whispered again, your voice breaking.

His crimson eyes burned into yours, filled with anguish, rage, and something utterly broken. “Don’t make me do this,” he rasped, his voice low, raw, and trembling with emotion.

“Fifty seconds,” you whispered, your voice cracking as desperation took hold. Tears blurred your vision, but you held his gaze, silently pleading. “Please, Sukuna.”

The gun in his hands quaked, the barrel dipping before he forced it back up, his entire frame trembling under the weight of the decision. His finger hovered over the trigger, paralyzed, as his breaths turned shallow and uneven. His face twisted, the confidence you always saw in him splintering into fear and despair.

“Sixty seconds.”

The words hung in the air like a death knell. Everything froze—the wind, the trees, the very earth beneath you—as if the world itself was bracing for what would come next.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

Nothing.

Your chest heaved as you gasped for air, your heartbeat roaring in your ears. Your head snapped down to your shoulder, your hands clawing at the blood-soaked fabric as panic gave way to disbelief. Your trembling fingers probed the wound, and relief slammed into you like a tidal wave.

“It’s…” Your voice cracked, tears streaming down your face as a sob bubbled up from your chest. “I think it’s just a cut. Sukuna—it’s just a cut.”

His crimson eyes widened in stunned disbelief. The gun slipped from his grip, hitting the ground with a dull, final thud. His body gave out entirely, knees slamming into the dirt as his hands flew to his face. A guttural, broken sob ripped from his throat, raw and agonized, his shoulders shaking violently.

“Sukuna!” you cried, collapsing in front of him. Your hands, trembling with adrenaline and relief, cupped his face, pulling it away from his shaking palms. “I’m okay! Do you hear me? I’m okay! Look at me!”

His red-rimmed eyes met yours, hollow and haunted, like a man who had stared into the void and barely clawed his way back. “You can’t…” His voice broke, barely audible, a plea wrapped in heartbreak. “You can’t leave me.”

“I’m not leaving you,” you said, fierce and unyielding despite the tears that streamed down your face. Your forehead pressed to his as you whispered again, “I swear to you—I’m not leaving you.”

His arms shot out, wrapping around you with a desperation that made your breath hitch. He crushed you to him, burying his face in your neck as his body convulsed with shuddering breaths. His hold was fierce, as if he feared you might disappear if he loosened his grip.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words escaping him like a prayer. They were broken, raw, and vulnerable, trembling in the quiet air. “I love you so much. I can’t… I can’t lose you.”

Your breath caught, your heart breaking as you cupped his face again, pulling him back to meet your eyes. “I love you too,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. “I’m here. I swear, I’m here.”

His hands cradled your face now, his touch reverent as though he needed to feel you to believe you were still there. “I thought…” His voice cracked, his jaw trembling as he choked on the words. “I thought I lost you.”

“You’ll never lose me,” you whispered, your own voice breaking. “Not now. Not ever.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence between you heavy with unspoken promises. Then Sukuna’s lips brushed your temple, soft and trembling, a wordless thank you for still being there.

And in that moment, the world outside could burn, the apocalypse could rage—but in his arms, with his heartbeat pounding against yours, you knew you’d fight through hell to stay together. Two hearts, still beating—alive.

part three coming soon!

taglist: @mangiswig @glads-stuff @merv123 @pinkpookiebear @pookalicious-hq @anything4yoongi @perqbeth @ssetsuka @eggingamazinglove @sylussss7

[r3starttt]

VELVET RING

PAIRING: abby anderson x reader

CW: fluff. brief-non detailed mention of overwhelming thoughts such as stress, pressure, and insecurities.

SUMMARY: sweet kisses and plump lips that make your worries go away.

an: for sof <3 | TAGLIST | DONT BUY TLOU | PALESTINE MP | PALESTINE LINKS | DAILY CLICK |

The front door creaked open, and Abby stepped inside, the familiar scent of home mingling with the faint hint of sweat from her workout. She toed off her sneakers and glanced around, her eyes softening as they landed on you.

You were curled up on the couch, looking a bit worn out and overwhelmed. The TV droned softly in the background, its low volume barely masking the silence that filled the house during Abby’s absence. The weight of the day pressed down on you, your shoulders slumped and your eyes heavy with fatigue. Everything seemed to be too much—yourself, life, stress, the constant push to achieve and be productive, never allowing a moment to simply rest. You had been too exhausted to muster the energy for anything else.

Your gaze wandered until it settled on her. Blonde, sweat-dampened locks of hair framed her face, stray strands clinging to her forehead. The usual perfect braid was replaced by an explosion of messy baby hairs and loose strands. Her white tank top revealed a sports bra beneath, matching her black workout pants. As she walked, her white socks made the floor beneath her creak with each step.

Even in your vulnerable state, the sight of her stirred a desire to be near her, to feel her presence. Abby sat on the edge of the couch, gently moving your legs to make space. The pads of her fingers caressed the bare flesh of your ankles, sliding down to massage your feet.

“How was the gym?” you asked, clinging to the routine of hearing about her progress.

"Good," she replied with a nod, hesitating slightly as her grip on your flesh tightened momentarily before relaxing. "There was this guy—so loud, as if that helps him lift more."

You chuckled softly. "Groaning and everything?"

"Groaning and everything," she confirmed with a roll of her eyes and a small laugh.

Your eyes roamed over her face, taking in every detail. She turned her attention to your feet, focused on the massage. "You good?" she asked hesitantly, making your heart warm.

Her question held layers of love and care, and you felt a rush of emotion. You didn’t know what to say. Claiming you were fine felt like a lie, and you knew she wanted to understand the reason behind your exhaustion. Yet, if you admitted you weren’t okay, she’d want to talk about it, and you weren’t sure you could handle that. Lost in your inner debate, you didn't notice her standing until she was right in front of you.

Abby’s hands were gentle as she helped you up, guiding you with care. You furrowed your brow, confused about what you had missed while lost in thought.

“Gonna shower, come on,” she said softly.

-

She started the water, adjusting it to the perfect temperature, then turned her attention back to you, her eyes filled with tender concern. “Let’s get you out of these clothes,” she murmured, gently removing your shirt and sliding it off your shoulders. She undressed you with care, her touch both soothing and intimate. Once you were undressed, she quickly shed her own workout gear and stepped into the shower, pulling you in with her.

The warm water cascaded over both of you, washing away the tension. Abby’s hands moved with practiced ease, massaging the knots from your shoulders and back. Her touch was firm yet gentle, each movement radiating her love and care. You leaned into her, feeling the warmth of her body against yours, the water cascading all over you.

Her hands reached for the shampoo, lathering it in her fingers before gently massaging it into your hair, the callouses on her pads working through the strands with meticulous care.

As the water rinsed away the soap, Abby’s hands never left you, her presence a constant source of comfort. When she finished washing your hair, she turned to tend to her own, and you helped her, your fingers undoing her braid and applying shampoo to her scalp. The warm water enveloped you both in a cocoon of comfort. You moved aside so she could rinse the soap from her hair, her arms encircling you protectively.

You sighed, feeling the tension melt away as you rested against her. The warm water, combined with Abby’s comforting presence, created a haven of peace and tranquility. She pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, her lips lingering as if to imprint her love into your skin.

“I’m here for you,” she whispered, her breath warm against your ear. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”

You closed your eyes, letting the sound of her voice and the steady beat of her heart soothe your frayed nerves. The world outside faded away. In that moment, you felt utterly cherished and safe, knowing that with Abby by your side, everything would be okay. The worries and exhaustion of the day dissolved, replaced by a profound sense of peace and love.

You turned slightly, pressing a soft kiss to her jawline. “I know," you whispered, her arms tightening around you. “Always, babe. I’ll always take care of you.”

[astrologged]

Astro Notes [4]

Planets in the 12th house point to hidden strengths or challenges. These people have an unconscious or spiritual drive but face struggles with self-undoing or secrets. For example, Venus in the 12th house would indicate hidden romantic desires or private relationships.

A stellium in the 8th house causes deep transformation and intense emotional experiences. These people experience major life changes, powerful relationships & a strong interest in the mysteries of life, like death, intimacy & shared resources.

When a planet is retrograde at birth, its energy is turned inward, causing people to experience its traits more introspectively or with delay. For example, Mercury retrograde in a birth chart leads to deep reflection and reconsideration of communication & thought patterns.

Chiron’s return occurs around age 50, marking a time when people confront deep healing around their core wounds. This transit brings unresolved pain or vulnerability to the surface, pushing people to heal, teach, or offer wisdom about their life’s challenges.

The South Node represents past life experiences or tendencies. Having it in the 10th house shows a past focus on career or public life. In this life, there’s a pull to move away from over-identifying with your career & seek more personal, emotional fulfillment.

Pluto in the 1st house gives an intense, powerful presence. These people undergo extreme personal transformations & are perceived as intense or sometimes magnetic. They often subconsciously help others transform, though they can face challenges with control or feeling misunderstood.

Uranus square Sun creates a life of unpredictability & sudden changes. People with this aspect experience moments of rebellion, breakthroughs & a need to break free from old patterns. There’s a constant tension between personal freedom and the need for stability.

Ascendant conjunct Neptune gives a dreamy, idealistic appearance. These people present themselves in an ethereal, mysterious way, with strong intuition. They struggle with confusion, deception, or seeing themselves clearly.

Jupiter in the 6th house expands daily routines, work life & health. These people experience growth through their job, daily habits, or service to others. They receive opportunities through helping or teaching others, though they may indulge in excess, especially with food or work.

Saturn in the 5th house brings a disciplined approach to creativity, love, and children. They'll face delays or challenges in romance & self-expression. But with commitment, they'll achieve success & stability in these areas over time.

[thelovehypothesis]

Part 2.1 : Between the Pit Walls and the Heartbreak - 1 | 43

part 1

ex!Franco Colapinto x fem-engineer!reader x Max Verstappen

+3k words

a/n’s: again full credit to @afterglowsainz go read their fic “don't smile” its amazing, and this is the long awaited part 2 on my take of their fic! BUT here is and alternate ending... Part 2.2

warnings: angst-fluff (debatable happy ending)

Summary: Two three hearts, one racetrack, and a love that no team can control. When love collides with ambition, can they find a way back to each or to another?

Racing Ahead (qatar grand prix 2025) 

It had been nearly a year since you walked away from Franco, since you’d chosen your career and dreams over the love you once thought would last forever. Life had changed in ways you could never have imagined. The moment you accepted the position at Red Bull, everything shifted. The high-intensity world of being Max Verstappen’s race engineer consumed you, leaving little room for reflection, which was how you preferred it.

You were good at your job—great, even. From the very first race weekend with Max, you felt the rush of adrenaline, the electric tension of every decision you made behind the mic, and the weight of contributing to a world championship. It was thrilling, everything you’d ever worked for, and yet, there were quiet moments when your mind drifted back to what you had left behind.

But you didn’t have time for what-ifs. You stood in the garage, headphones around your neck, watching the pit crew scramble as they prepared the car for qualifying. Max was a machine—focused, relentless—and the two of you had developed an easy rapport. He trusted you with critical decisions, and you trusted him to deliver on the track. It was a partnership built on mutual respect and shared ambition.

As you stood there, watching the screens, you felt a familiar tug of emotion—memories of race weekends with Franco, late-night strategy talks, and the way he used to smile when he nailed a lap. But you pushed those thoughts away. That chapter of your life was over.

“Y/N, we’re ready,” Max’s voice crackled through your headset, pulling you back to the present.

“Copy that,” you replied, all business again. “Let’s nail this one, Max.”

The next few minutes were a blur of data, radio calls, and fast decisions. Max was flying, setting the fastest times in each sector. By the time the session ended, he had secured pole position, and the garage erupted in cheers. You smiled, proud of the work you’d done and of what the team had achieved together. This was where you belonged now—at the heart of the action, right on the edge of greatness.

But as the celebration in the garage began to die down, you caught sight of a familiar figure across the paddock—Franco. He was there, leaning against the railing, watching you. His eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, everything around you seemed to blur, the noise of the team fading into the background.

He looked different—older, somehow, more serious. But that same magnetic energy was still there, the pull between you undeniable, even from a distance.

Franco was back in the paddock as a reset driver for Williams and Mercedes in the 2025 season. It was bittersweet seeing him there, a constant reminder of the past and what you had left behind. His presence felt heavy, especially to him when he noticed the subtle moments between you and Max. The way Max’s eyes would linger on you during quick debriefs or the soft smirk on his lips after a race made it clear he was interested. Franco noticed everything, and it was as if the air between you and him thickened each time you were near.

You quickly looked away, your heart pounding in your chest. It had been so long since you’d seen him. You didn’t know what to feel—anger, sadness, or relief. You had moved on—or at least, you convinced yourself you had. But seeing him here, now, was like reopening a wound that hadn’t fully healed.

Later, after the garage had emptied out and the team had retreated to prepare for the race, you found yourself wandering the paddock, lost in thought. You didn’t expect to bump into Franco, but as fate would have it, there he was, standing by the entrance to the hospitality suite, waiting for you.

“Y/N,” he called out, his voice soft but urgent.

You froze, torn between walking away and confronting the emotions you had buried. Slowly, you turned to face him.

“Franco,” you said, your voice steady though your heart was racing.

He stepped closer, his expression unreadable. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to maintain your composure. “I work here now. This is my job.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I’ve been following you this season. You’re doing incredible things.”

There was a brief silence, filled with all the words you both wanted to say but couldn’t. Finally, Franco spoke again, his voice laced with regret. “I’ve thought about you a lot. About us.”

You swallowed hard, keeping your emotions in check. “Franco, that part of my life is over. I made my choice.”

“I know you did,” he said, his voice strained. “But it doesn’t change how I feel about you. It never has.”

You shook your head, the familiar ache returning to your chest. “Franco, you can’t just say things like that. You can’t—”

“I still love you,” he interrupted, his eyes burning with intensity. “I never stopped.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you were speechless. You spent months trying to move on, trying to forget him, but hearing him say those words stirred up feelings you thought you’d buried.

“I know I hurt you,” he continued, stepping closer. “And I know it’s too late to fix things. But I had to tell you. I had to try.”

You stared at him, torn between the past and the present. Part of you wanted to run back to him, to fall into his arms and forget everything that had happened. But the stronger part of you knew that things could never go back to the way they were.

“I can’t, Franco,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I’ve built something here.”

His face fell, and he nodded, as if he had expected that answer. “I understand. I just… I had to see you. To tell you how I feel.”

You nodded, tears stinging your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “I’m glad you told me. But we’re on different paths now.”

He took a step back, his hands clenched at his sides, and for a moment, you thought he might try to say more. But instead, he just nodded again, resigned. “Take care, Y/N.”

You watched as he turned and walked away, your heart heavy but resolute. You had made your choice, and there was no turning back now.

As you stood there, alone in the paddock, the sounds of the race weekend buzzing around you, you took a deep breath. The pain was still there, but so was the certainty. You had chosen yourself and your future. In this moment, that was enough.

Turning back toward the Red Bull hospitality, you squared your shoulders, ready to face whatever came next. You were here for a reason, and no matter what ghosts from the past lingered, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be.

The next day after the race, as if pulled by some invisible force, you found yourself near the Williams hospitality and crossed paths with Franco again. His eyes held a certain determination, as if something had been left unsaid. You didn’t plan on stopping, but you did.

“I just need to tell you one last thing,” he said. His voice was soft but strained, like he’d been carrying the weight of these words for too long.

You hesitated, unsure, but standing there, looking at him, you knew you wanted to hear what he wanted to say. You exhaled, already knowing this wasn’t going to be easy.

There was a pause, a moment of silence where the two of you just stood there, the air thick with everything unsaid. Finally, he broke it.

“I see the way Max looks at you,” he began, his gaze flickering to the ground for a moment before meeting yours. There was an edge to his words, the mention of Max hanging between you like a challenge. You met his gaze, unflinching.

“It's..It’s obvious. And I don’t think it’s fair. You won’t give me another chance, but… you’re giving him one?” 

The accusation hung in the air between you, but it wasn’t anger or bitterness that hit you—it was sadness, the echo of what you both once had.

You shook your head slowly, the corners of your lips lifting in a bittersweet smile. “Max trusts me, Franco. You didn’t.” There was another big pause between you two. 

His expression faltered, the words sinking into the space between you. It wasn’t just a statement—it was the truth of why things had fallen apart.

“You know…I’ve moved on,” you said, though the words felt heavy in your chest. “You should too.”

Franco’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you saw a flash of something—regret, jealousy, maybe both. He took a breath, stepping closer.

He looked at you as if the wind had been knocked out of him. “So it is because of Max?” he asked, his voice tight. “He’s the reason you’re saying this?”

You shook your head, exasperated. “This isn’t about Max. It’s about me. I’ve found my place here, Franco. I’ve built something on my own. I’m happy.”

Franco stepped forward, close enough that you could see the pain in his eyes. “Do you really mean that?”

You hesitated, and for a moment, you felt the urge to reach out to him, to pull him close and tell him that everything would be okay. But you didn’t. Instead, you took a deep breath and stood your ground.

“Yes, I do.”

He stared at you for a long time, his expression shifting from hurt to acceptance. Finally, he nodded, stepping back. “I guess I always knew I’d lost you the moment I walked away.”

There was a pause, and then, almost in a whisper, he added, “I’m sorry, Y/N. For everything.”

You felt the tightness in your chest ease, the weight of the past lifting, even if just a little. “I know,” you replied softly. “But we can’t go back.”

Franco gave you one last look, a look that said everything he couldn’t put into words. You leaned in and kissed his cheek, a gentle goodbye to the memories you shared, and turned to leave.

As you walked out of the paddock, the sense of closure settled over you. It was done. The past no longer had a hold on you. You had said your goodbyes, finally and fully.

Max was waiting outside, leaning casually against his car. When he saw you, he opened the door and gestured for you to get in without saying a word. The moment you sat down, he reached over and took your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your skin.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice calm, yet filled with concern.

You nodded, squeezing his hand in return. “Yeah. Everything’s fine now.” And for the first time in a long time, you truly believed it. The weight of the past no longer held you down. You were moving forward, and whatever the future held—whether it was with Max, racing, or something else entirely—you knew you were ready for it.

The ride back to the hotel was quiet, but Max never let go of your hand. He didn’t need to say anything more—his presence was enough. You leaned back in the seat, feeling a sense of peace wash over you for the first time in what felt like forever.

You knew things were going to change. But for now, you allowed yourself to just be in this moment, feeling safe and understood beside him.

The new, the better (abu dhabi grand prix)

The Grand Prix was electric, charged with tension, adrenaline, and the weight of the championship. Max was on the verge of winning his fifth world title, and every single decision you made felt like it could either make or break his season. The entire paddock was watching. The stakes had never been higher (for you(maybe), cause well the 2021 season happened).

As the race unfolded, your nerves buzzed with anticipation. Max had been flawless, pushing the car to its limits, but on the final lap, a risky opportunity presented itself—one that could either win the championship or lose it. You had seconds to decide. Your heart pounded as you called it.

"Box Box, Max. Trust me on this."

There was a brief pause on the radio, but Max’s voice came through steady and confident. “Copy. I trust you.”

And that was it. He trusted you, completely. He always had.

As Max took the gamble and crossed the finish line first, securing his fifth world championship, the entire Red Bull team erupted into cheers. The pit wall exploded in celebration, and you stood there, momentarily frozen, barely able to believe what had just happened. Max had done it. You had done it. Together.

Before you could even process the victory, Max pulled his car into the pit lane, the roar of the crowd filling the air. As he climbed out, he ripped off his helmet and, without a second thought, sprinted toward you. Your breath caught in your throat as he reached you.

His eyes, wild with excitement and joy, locked onto yours, and before you could say anything, Max was pulling you into his arms, kissing you deeply. The world around you fell away—there was no paddock, no crowd, no cameras—just the warmth of his lips on yours, the passion in his embrace, and the weight of the moment between you.

For a split second, time froze. Everything you’d been holding back, all the tension, the unspoken feelings, rushed to the surface. Max kissed you like he’d been waiting forever for this moment, and the way he held you, like you were the only person in the world, left you breathless.

When he finally pulled back, you were both panting, stunned by the intensity of it all. Max’s hand lingered on your waist, his forehead resting against yours as the crowd roared in the background. He grinned, his face flushed from the race and the kiss, and whispered, “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

You could barely process it, but before you could respond, your eyes drifted to the side where Franco stood, watching the entire scene unfold. His face was a storm of emotions—jealousy, anger, heartbreak all at once. He looked away, and for a moment, the past tugged at you. But it wasn’t enough to hold you back anymore.

Later, after the race, you found yourself alone with Max in the team’s motorhome, away from the cameras, the chaos, and the noise. The atmosphere was thick with the unspoken. You sat across from him, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, but there was also a newfound calm between you two—a sense of inevitability.

“You really didn’t have to kiss me like that,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. But your voice trembled slightly, betraying just how much the moment had affected you.

Max leaned back, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief and something deeper. “I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. I figured it was the right time.”

You blushed, your heart fluttering as his words sank in. You’d always known Max was bold, but this… this was different. “So… what now? Red Bull doesn’t exactly encourage relationships between team members.”

He smiled, a slow, confident grin that made your heart skip a beat. “Actually, they don’t mind, as long as we don’t let it affect our work. And we work pretty well together, don’t we?”

You met his gaze, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the victory. It was more than that. It was the trust, the bond that had been quietly building between you two for months. “You really think this can work?”

Max leaned forward, his eyes soft but sure. “I think we should give it a shot. See where it goes. No pressure, just you and me.”

You took a deep breath, the weight of the past year lifting slightly from your shoulders. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you had control over your life, over what you wanted. And maybe, just maybe, this was something you were ready to explore.

“Okay,” you said softly, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves. “Let’s see where it goes.”

Winter break and the next season all became a delicate dance between work and something more. Max was still the fierce, competitive driver you admired, but there was a softness to him now, especially when it came to you. At work, you were still the same duo—focused, driven, unstoppable—but away from the track, things were different. The playful banter that had once been strictly professional became more personal. You found yourself opening up to Max in ways you hadn’t with anyone else in a long time, and the connection between you two deepened with each passing day.

Franco remained a constant presence in the paddock as he got a seat for the 2026 season, a reminder of the past you’d left behind. There were moments when his gaze lingered on you and Max, moments when you could see the regret in his eyes. But that chapter of your life had closed, and it was time for something new.

Max didn’t push you for more, but he made it clear he was all in. He was patient, understanding, and above all, he trusted you. It was that trust, more than anything, that made you realise how different this was. Max believed in you, in the decisions you made, both on and off the track. He never questioned you, never made you doubt yourself. And in return, you found yourself falling for him, slowly but surely.

One evening, after a particularly gruelling race weekend, you and Max were sitting in his hotel room, the city lights of whatever country you were in glowing softly through the windows. Max had his arm wrapped around you, and you were leaning into him, both of you exhausted but content.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low and warm, “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the quiet vulnerability in his voice. “Really? Even after winning five world championships?”

He smiled down at you, his eyes softening. “Yeah, even after that. This—being with you—it feels right.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you realised in that moment that you felt the same way. It wasn’t just about the thrill of the races or the adrenaline of being part of something bigger than yourself. It was about Max, about the way he made you feel grounded and safe in a world that was constantly in motion.

For the first time in a long time, you were happy. Truly, deeply happy.

And as the season went on, that happiness grew. You and Max navigated the challenges of working together in such a high-stakes environment, but you also grew closer in ways you never imagined. There were quiet moments, stolen glances, and late-night conversations that made you realise how much Max meant to you.

The rest of the paddock eventually got used to the idea of you and Max as a couple, and while there were still whispers and raised eyebrows, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that you had found something real, something worth holding onto.

By the end of the season, you were no longer just Max’s race engineer—you were his partner, in every sense of the word. And as you looked toward the future, you knew that whatever came next, you and Max would face it together, stronger than ever

---The end---

I'am really happy with the outcome! hope you are too.

Once again my request are open for all your request!

-lots of love, Em.

[cosmicdahlias]

A Master and an Apprentice

Obi-Wan x Reader

MINORS DNI

After the death of your master, Obi-Wan Kenobi has been appointed to take her place. Between his constant criticisms and your secret crush for him, your feelings are incredibly conflicted.

tags: mild age gap, teacher/student relationship, oral, p in v, light mdom/fsub, praise kink, creampie

raaaaaah, i finally wrote an obi wan x reader fic!!! this man was my literal first crush, i wasn’t even in middle school when i realized i liked him that way. i love tpm obi and his mullet era in aotc, but rots is like his peak look. Do not argue with me on this he looked so damn FOIIIIIIIINE!!! 😩🙏

You sat crosslegged in the meditation chamber with your recently appointed master, eyes closed. You were a Jedi apprentice, a few years into adulthood. Your previous master had died before your eyes at the hands of Count Dooku. Despite the Jedi code’s strict forbidding of attachment, you took her death extremely hard, suffering in silence. You were too afraid to let anyone know you were struggling, especially the Council. To admit your grief was to forsake your way of life.

You were assigned a new master, Obi-Wan Kenobi. At your age it felt like an insult not only to you, but to the memory of your departed master. You knew you were more than ready for the trials, but the Council insisted otherwise. What made it worse was that Obi-Wan’s former padawan, Anakin Skywalker, had completed the trials and ascended to knighthood at a younger age than you were now. Granted he was the chosen one, but regardless you still felt your pride wounded.

It wasn’t solely because of this that you felt contempt for your new master, you had other reasons. You hated how he never seemed to trust your judgement, how he never gave you space to do things on your own, how he never seemed satisfied with your efforts.

As much as you hated him, there was a part of you, an aggressively loud part of you, that harbored feelings for him. He was incredibly handsome, wise beyond his years, and even if he never gave you room to breathe, the way he was protective over you felt… attractive.

Your feelings only made you more frustrated with him. You already wrestled with the unacceptable sadness over the loss of your first master, so to develop such a strong attachment to him felt like he was pulling you away from the only life you had ever known.

Tensions had been rising. It seemed more and more often that you were scolded for one thing or another. You were sick of it, if he corrected you one more time you were going to lose it on him.

Obi-Wan led you with his instructions.

“Concentrate, young one, let the will of the Force flow through you. Feel its energy, the way it guides you, how it-“

“I could if you’d stop talking.” You huffed.

“Now, there’s no need to be difficult. If you would heed my instructions you would find this to be far less arduous. Focus.”

“Are you insinuating that I don’t know what I’m doing?” You questioned, fully offended.

“I have said no such thing, you’re obviously distracted and I’m simply suggesting that you could give a little effort for once.“

You stood. You had no clue why something as small as this got to you, perhaps it was just the final drop in weeks of criticism to make your cup run over, but something in you snapped.

“You really don’t think I’m capable, do you? Everything I do, that I’ve ever done, it’s never good enough for you. I will NEVER be good enough for you!” You shouted.

Every single ounce of held back emotion came forth in the form of tears. You turned away, unsuccessfully attempting to hide that you had broken. Obi-Wan rose to his feet and put a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize how hard I’ve been pushing you. I only want what’s best for you. I see your potential and I know you have so much more to offer than you let show. You’re extraordinarily intelligent, quick witted, virtuous, and you’re incredibly beauti-“

He stopped, realizing immediately that he had said too much and gotten ahead of himself. You turned to face him.

“I’m what?”

His cheeks became dusted with a slight pink. He took a deep breath.

“There’s no sense in hiding it. I find you astonishingly attractive. Everything about you draws me in, almost as if by the will of the Force. By day my thoughts are occupied with you and by night I see you in my dreams, shameful, lust filled dreams. If the Council ever knew how I felt about you, I fear they would never let me be in your presence again. It’s so wrong, thinking of my own padawan this way. I’ve tried to bury my feelings, but cannot live this lie any longer. Not at least without telling you how I truly feel.”

You put a hand to his chest.

“Obi-Wan… I feel the same way. It’s frustrating and confusing, but I-“

He cut you off, kissing you passionately. He cupped your cheek with one hand, the other finding the small of your back and pulling you closer. You tangled your fingers in his hair. He sat on the meditation seat and pulled you onto his lap to straddle him, you felt him grow hard against you.

“You don’t know how intensely I’ve longed for you, the things I’ve done to myself at just the thought of you.” He whispered.

His hands slipped your robes off of you, exposing your breasts. He kissed you and you pulled back.

“Wait, no. What if someone comes in and sees us like this?”

“No one is to be in here for another hour. Relax, let yourself enjoy this.” He said, leaning down to pepper kisses to your breasts.

He slid your trousers off your legs. His hands moved between your thighs, stroking your clit.

“How does that feel?” He asked.

“Mmmnn, incredible.” You whimpered.

“Good girl.” He purred.

Ohhhhhh sweet Maker, you were going to savor his voice saying those words forever.

Obi-Wan laid back and pulled you up to straddle his face. His hot breath lingered on you for a moment before he took your clit in his mouth. The pleasure was indescribable, he knew exactly what he was doing.

In your teens you had a habit of sneaking out of your dormitory to meet with a boy who lived in the city. It was no more than a fling fueled by hormones and curiosity. Obi-Wan was leagues more experienced than him it seemed, which normally would make sense at his age, but given his status as a Jedi master this left you with more than a few questions.

“H- how are you so good at this when you’re supposed to be sworn to celibacy?” You moaned.

“There are things about me even the Council is not privy to.”

His tongue worked your clit at a steady rhythm.

“Your taste- oh stars- your taste is incredible.” He moaned against you.

You rocked your hips, you were edging closer to orgasm. Obi-wan could sense it.

“Getting close, are we?”

“Mhm.” You whimpered, too wrapped up in pleasure to form a single coherent word.

Your breathing became heavy and you moaned loudly, coming undone on him. You panted, shaking as your orgasm ran through you in waves. He pulled you off of him, moving you back down to his lap as he sat up. His beard was dripping with your cum. You ran your tongue along the whiskers on his chin before kissing him, tasting yourself on his tongue.

You sank to the floor in front of him, he watched you intently. You pulled out his long, thick cock from his trousers. He throbbed in your hand. You licked him from the base of his shaft to the head and he shuddered in pleasure. You took him past your lips, stroking what you couldn’t manage to take your mouth.

“In the name of- where did you ever learn to do such a thing?”

“You’re one to talk, master ‘there are things about me even the Council is not privy to’ Kenobi.”

He laughed. “Fair enough, princess.”

You moved your mouth up and down his length, running along his shaft with your warm tongue and swirling it whenever you made your way up to the head. You continually pumped his shaft through all of this. Obi-Wan kept a hand on your head, fingers in your hair.

“Ah, if you keep doing that you’ll make me-“

You moved your mouth faster, your hand matching in speed. Obi-Wan gently pulled your head back by your hair.

“N- no, stop. As much as I love this, I need to be inside of you. Please, y/n.”

“Of course, my master.” You cooed.

You rose and straddled him, positioning yourself over his cock. Obi-Wan held the back of your head, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Take it slow, don’t overwhelm yourself.” He instructed.

“Do you doubt my ability, master?” You whispered in his ear.

You sunk yourself onto him at a purposefully fast pace. You winced and failed to stifle a sharp breath as every inch of him stretched you wide.

He chuckled. “And this is what happens when you don’t follow my instructions.”

“How dare you try to lecture me right now.”

“Perhaps my cock inside you will give you the proper motivation to- nngh- listen for once.” He said as you began to lift and drop your hips.

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against him, kissing you passionately. He bucked himself up into you. He dipped his head down to your neck, sucking the soft skin and scraping it with his teeth.

“I must know, my sweet girl, have you dreamt of this as I have?”

“Y- yes, master. There were nights I spent with my hand between my thighs, cumming with your name escaping my lips.”

He kissed you.

“Stars, what I would do to witness that.”

He picked you up by your thighs, setting you on your back on the cushioned seat. He hovered over you, hooking your legs over his shoulders and pinning your wrists above your head.

“I’m sorry my young padawan, but I cannot resist. I’m going to fuck you until you see stars.”

He thrusted himself inside you and fucked you at an intense, aggressive pace. For someone as prim and proper as he, seeing this side of him almost felt strange, but incredibly arousing. You knew that he must have trusted you a great deal to reveal this part of himself to you. You had never been fucked this hard before, you loved it. You tilted your head back, moaning loudly.

“Do you like this?” He asked.

“Yes, my master. Don’t stop, don’t ever stop.” You begged.

“That’s my good girl.”

His words made you tighten around him with a whimper. He cocked an eyebrow and gave a smirk.

“Hmm, I believe I may have found a way to keep you engaged in your training. If I were to offer my praise, tell you how much of a good girl you are, would that make you finally listen to me?” He asked, still thrusting at the same speed.

You nodded fervently.

“I need to hear your words.” He commanded.

“Y- yes, master.” You moaned.

“Now, that’s better. It’s refreshing to see you so obedient for once, had I known all it took was fucking you like this I would’ve done so sooner.”

You bucked yourself back against him in rhythm with his thrusts.

“Such a good girl, you’re taking me so well.”

His breathing began to hitch. He released your wrists and moved his hands to your hips, his pacing increased.

“I’m close sweet girl, where do you want it?”

“I- inside me, p- please.” You begged.

“Then tell me. Tell me just how much you want me to cum inside you.”

He moved himself even faster, purposefully overwhelming you.

“I- I c-can’t, fe-els too- hhhnn- good.”

He chuckled. “Just moan louder for me then, my dear.”

Up until now you had been doing your best to control your volume to some extent, but you couldn’t refuse your master’s commands. You moaned his name obscenely loud, you didn’t care if the whole Council heard.

His grip on your hips tightened, pulling you against him, burying his full length deep inside you as he came. His cock pulsed with every rope he shot into you, you felt its warmth flood your insides.

Obi-Wan pulled out and stood over you, watching as his cum slowly dripped out of you.

“Look at you, absolutely beautiful being claimed by me like this.”

He gave you time to breathe before helping you to stand, your legs shook.

“Now, get dressed and let’s continue our meditation.”

-

After finishing the meditation Obi-Wan pulled you onto his lap once again, his lips finding yours.

“I think you could still do with further instruction. Tonight, why don’t you visit me in my quarters for a lesson of… similar nature.” He whispered between kisses.

“Yes, master.”

You heard the door suddenly slide open, quickly breaking away and attempting to scramble off of Obi-Wan as you were greeted with your master’s former padawan.

“Master, great news, General Grievous has been spo-“

He paused, the sight of you halfway on your master’s lap and both his and your disheveled hair finally registering. You slid the rest of the way off Obi-Wan.

“What uh… what were you two-“

“Meditation.” You both said, trying to act as casual as possible.

Anakin gave a knowing smirk.

“Seems like some mediation. Sorry to interrupt, my news can wait.” He said, turning to leave.

“Now hold on just a moment, Anakin. It’s not what you think.” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin laughed. “Don’t worry master, your secret is safe with me. I think this makes us even now.”

You had no idea what he meant by that last part, but at the very least it seemed like his lips were sealed.

[aventurineswife]

Aventurine with a workaholic Reader who is usually pretty sturdy, but becomes more prone to exhaustion and illness during colder weather. (Like, sure, seasonal depression and all that, but especially with Reader not just mentally but also physically.)

Aventurine noticing Reader being swamped with work the past few weeks (even pulling more than just a few all-nighters) and one night, he comes home and finds them passed out on the couch, maybe slightly feverish and definitely not at all budging when they’re usually a light sleeper.

Softened by Silence

Summary: Aventurine notices that his partner has been pushing themselves too hard, working through the nights and risking their health. As their exhaustion worsens, he finds them feverish and vulnerable, lying on the couch in their shared apartment. Concerned and protective, Aventurine stays by their side, offering care and comfort in a rare moment of tenderness. Though he would never admit it, his feelings for them go beyond strategy and games—he genuinely cares, and for once, he is willing to let go of his calculating nature and simply protect them.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Aventurine, Vulnerable Reader, Exhaustion, Tender Moments, Caregiving, Slow Burn, Emotional Vulnerability, Character Growth.

Aventurine's office was the usual mix of grandiosity and chaos—papers strewn across the table, an ornate glass of whiskey reflecting the faint glow of the dim lights, and a faint smell of burned cigar that lingered in the air. Yet, nothing seemed to capture his attention tonight. His sharp eyes were fixed on the ticking clock on the wall, its rhythm beating in sync with the unease settling in his chest.

He had picked up on it weeks ago—how you had been pushing yourself harder than usual, working through the nights as if there was no end in sight. A familiar and, to him, unsettling trend had emerged: your exhaustion had grown more pronounced, your once-constant energy dwindling with each passing day. As much as he reveled in games of chance, this wasn't a gamble he was willing to let you play alone.

The weather had gone colder, biting at the skin with a chill that seemed to creep under the warmest layers. For you, this meant something more than the simple discomfiture of seasonality; it took tolls on your body and mind. A change of season meant heightened weariness, and that didn't just settle in your head but seemed to sink in deeper in your bones. As much as you could push through it, your immune system was giving in, leaving you more vulnerable to sickness day after day.

The stress of your work had only amplified it. He saw you for days—really, weeks—as you burned that candle at both ends, risking your health to meet and exceed deadlines and expectations. The long hours spent in a hunched position around your desk, fueled with coffee and ambition, slowly took their toll, which you didn't let surface, hiding well behind the stoic determination that you always carried.

But tonight, it had reached a boiling point. Aventurine went back to your shared apartment after another grueling round of meetings, his brain still reeling with figures and strategy. As he entered, the silence greeted him first—the absence of your presence, the murmur of your voice, or the clicking of your keyboard.

He narrowed his eyes as he walked further in. The dim light in the living room was flickering, and there you were—slumped on the couch, curled up on yourself, the faint sound of your labored breathing filling the room. You never were one to sleep through anything, let alone this deeply.

His heart skipped a beat as he approached you, eyes scanning over your flushed face. You were feverish, barely moving, curled up around yourself protectively, in a futile attempt to ward off chills. The sharpness, the composed look on your face, was nowhere to be seen. Only exhaustion, one that seemed far too heavy for you to bear.

He stood there for a moment, letting it sink in. You had pushed yourself past your limits, and now, it was clear that the universe had dealt you a hand you couldn't outwit. You were a force to be reckoned with, but even the sharpest of minds sometimes needed to rest.

Aventurine let out a quiet sigh, his eyes softening as he dropped to his haunches beside you. His hand hovered over your forehead, checking for the familiar warmth of fever. His fingertips brushed against the heat of your skin, and for a moment, his mask cracked—his usual confidence faltering in the face of your vulnerability.

The usual playfulness in his eyes had dulled, giving over to something deeper, almost protective. He reached down for the blanket that lay on the floor and then gently pulled it over you, handling you with fragile care. His eyes hovered on you for another beat, his mind running over a million different strategies in his head, none of which seemed appropriate for now.

"You always do this," he muttered softly to himself, his voice tinged with both exasperation and concern. "Always pushing too far. Never letting anyone help."

You didn't respond—of course you didn't. Your feverish state left you too far gone to notice, too far gone to argue. But that didn't stop him. He carefully adjusted your position, lifting your head just enough to place a soft pillow beneath it. The comforting touch of his fingers brushed against your skin, a gesture that was almost tender, though he would never admit it.

Aventurine sat beside you, never once looking away from your face as he loosened the tie at his collar, the tension of the day slowly draining from his body. His mind reeled with thoughts, but none of them were work-related. For once, the games and risks didn't seem so important.

He leaned back against the couch, watching you closely. "You’re no good to anyone when you’re like this, you know," he muttered under his breath. "You’re not invincible, as much as you like to pretend otherwise."

But in between the two of you stood a silence, comfortable, yet somehow awkward. The strategist that Aventurine was, he just couldn't help but ask himself what game you played with yourself by pushing the limits of your own capacities. But the truth is, you were more than just a pawn on a board. You were somebody he cared about, regardless of whether he said otherwise.

His eyes softened as you stirred slightly in your fevered sleep. The vulnerability you rarely showed was on full display now, and it unsettled him in ways he couldn't explain. He wanted to shake you awake, to tell you to rest, to stop being so damn stubborn. But instead, he remained silent, letting you rest.

Night kept stretching on, yet his watchful eyes didn't blink. Evening chills crept in, and for once, something that he could not vanquish with a well-timed strategy or even the right bet. This time, he would remain by your side—not as a calculating strategist but simply because he refused to let you face this alone.

Tomorrow would come with its demands and the cold realities of their world, but tonight, Aventurine would protect you, even if it meant taking a gamble on something far more valuable than any game he had ever played.

And for once, he didn't mind losing.

[kathaelipwse]

Guarded By You - C.Seungcheol

Chapter 4: Miami scandal

Series Masterlist <<< previous chapter ; next chapter >>>

Warnings: Public scandal, implied intimacy, sleepwalking, risk blur professional lines. Word Count: 1810 words ; Reading Time: 10-ish mins

A/N: request's are open!! Taglist is open!! Its a rushed chapter I feel. Welp TT

-- Next Morning The Miami sun, a relentless, voyeuristic eye, beat down on the beachfront, transforming the BVLGARI photoshoot into a spectacle of orchestrated glamour and frenzied media attention. The air buzzed with the electric energy of flashing cameras, the murmur of excited fans, and the clipped commands of the production crew, a symphony of manufactured perfection.

You, the face of BVLGARI, were a radiant beacon, a carefully curated image for the world to consume, a digital goddess bathed in the harsh light of public scrutiny.

Cheol, ever-present, ever-vigilant, was your shadow, a dark, imposing figure against the vibrant backdrop, his presence a constant reminder of the thin line between security and the burgeoning chaos, a silent guardian in a world of manufactured illusions, a fortress of composure in a storm of fabricated realities.

The tension between you was a tangible force, a silent dialogue that crackled beneath the surface of professional courtesy. Playful banter, a dangerous dance of flirtation and denial, masked the unspoken desires that simmered beneath the surface.

You teased, he deflected; you challenged, he retreated. It was a game you both seemed determined to play, a dangerous dance on the edge of something forbidden, a silent battle of wills played out in the harsh glare of the public eye, a constant push and pull that threatened to shatter the carefully constructed walls between you, a silent war fought with words and glances, a battleground of unspoken emotions.

"You look like you're about to apprehend someone for unauthorized sandcastle construction, or perhaps a rogue hermit crab attempting to steal a diamond," you quipped, adjusting the diamond necklace around your throat, your voice laced with amusement. "Or maybe you're waiting for the signal from your seagull informants? I heard they're running a very sophisticated surveillance operation."

"Professionalism is not negotiable," he replied, his gaze scanning the crowd, his voice tight, his posture rigid, his eyes constantly moving, a silent sentinel on high alert. "Especially in this environment, where every glance is scrutinized and every action is recorded. We are under constant observation, and any lapse in judgment could be catastrophic."

"Oh, come on," you countered, a mischievous glint in your eyes, stepping closer, the scent of his cologne a heady mix of spice and something undeniably masculine, a dangerous allure that both intrigued and unsettled you. "Loosen the tie. Let the sand get between your toes. Live a little. Or are you afraid of getting your pristine shoes dirty? Or are you afraid of what might happen if you let go of control? Are you afraid of the feeling of something other than duty?"

"My priorities are clear," he stated, his jaw set, his voice unwavering, his gaze unwavering. "Your safety. And maintaining the integrity of this operation. Nothing more. Personal feelings are irrelevant."

"And what about your sanity?" you teased, your voice dropping to a low, sultry murmur, a dangerous whisper that hung in the air. "This whole 'stoic bodyguard' act is getting a little… predictable. Don't you ever want to break the rules? Don't you ever want to feel something other than duty? Don't you ever want to feel… human? Like yesterday?"

A flicker of something, perhaps amusement, perhaps annoyance, perhaps something else entirely, a raw, unguarded emotion that made your heart skip a beat, crossed his features, a fleeting glimpse of the man beneath the mask, but he quickly masked it, his expression returning to its usual impenetrable mask, a fortress of composure that guarded a hidden vulnerability. "My sanity is perfectly intact. And I have no desire to break the rules. Rules exist for a reason."

Then, the chaos erupted. A jealous fan more likely an obbsesive one, emboldened by the electric atmosphere, surged forward, breaching the security perimeter, a desperate attempt to touch the untouchable. Or a light stand, loosened by the wind, threatened to topple, a sudden, unpredictable danger. It didn’t matter. Cheol’s reflexes were lightning-fast, his hand a swift, decisive barrier between you and the perceived threat.

The moment, captured by a dozen cameras, was a blur of motion, a split-second of close physical contact that the world would dissect and misinterpret, turning a protective gesture into a romantic embrace, a carefully constructed narrative for the masses, a digital fairytale that would soon become a viral sensation.

The internet exploded. Social media platforms erupted with a frenzy of speculation, fueled by blurry photos and breathless conjecture. "Secret Romance!" screamed the headlines, accompanied by fabricated narratives and carefully edited videos. Fan theories dissected every glance, every gesture, transforming a professional relationship into a scandalous affair. "The Bodyguard's Obsession," "Forbidden Love on the Miami Sands," "BVLGARI's Secret Affair" – the hashtags trended worldwide, a digital wildfire that spread with alarming speed, consuming everything in its path, turning your lives into a digital soap opera.

You and Cheol were bombarded with questions, forced to navigate the treacherous waters of public perception, while trying to maintain the illusion of composure. Every interview, every public appearance, was a minefield of loaded questions and suggestive innuendo. The lines between reality and fiction blurred, the manufactured narrative threatening to consume you both, turning your lives into a reality show for the masses, a digital spectacle for the world to devour, a constant barrage of invasive questions and fabricated stories.

--

Back at the beach house, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension. The once-luxurious sanctuary felt like a gilded cage, the constant scrutiny a suffocating weight. You were amused, frustrated, and increasingly claustrophobic, the loss of privacy a bitter pill to swallow. Cheol, his stoic facade unwavering, was a study in controlled discomfort, the situation clearly grating on his nerves, yet he remained silent, like a tightly coiled spring, his emotions locked away behind an impenetrable wall, a silent sentinel guarding a secret he couldn't reveal, a man trapped between duty and desire.

"They're saying we're planning a secret elopement to the Bahamas," you announced, scrolling through the endless stream of fabricated news articles, your voice laced with wry amusement. "Apparently, we're going to have a beach wedding, with synchronized swimming dolphins as our bridesmaids. And the crabs? They are the best men. They also have a detailed plan for the honeymoon, which involves a submarine, a treasure chest filled with pearls, and a secret island owned by a pirate ghost."

Cheol’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek, his eyes dark with concern. "This is absurd. This is dangerous. This is a complete invasion of your privacy. This is getting out of control."

"Absurd?" you echoed, a wry smile twisting your lips, your voice laced with a hint of exasperation. "It's a digital circus, Cheol. We're the main attraction. And the clowns are having a field day. They are writing fan fiction at this point. They are saying we are childhood sweethearts, reunited by fate on a sun-kissed beach. They even have a detailed backstory about our time in the orphanage."

A flicker of something, a shadow of a memory, a flicker of pain, crossed Cheol’s features, a fleeting glimpse of a past he seemed determined to bury, but he quickly masked it, his expression returning to its usual impassive mask, a fortress of composure that guarded a hidden vulnerability. You noticed this reaction, this brief moment of vulnerability, and wondered why he reacted that way, what secrets lay hidden beneath his carefully constructed facade, what echoes of the past haunted his present.

The constant attention, the relentless scrutiny, began to take its toll. You found yourself retreating into the quiet corners of the beach house, seeking a moment of respite from the relentless onslaught. Sleep, when it finally came, was fitful and disturbed, plagued by vivid dreams and a constant sense of being watched. The lingering unease from the stalker threat, a phantom menace that refused to dissipate, added another layer of anxiety to your already frayed nerves, a constant reminder of the vulnerability that lurked beneath the surface, a chilling undercurrent in the digital tempest, a silent threat that hung in the air like a dark cloud.

That night, the stress reached a crescendo. You tossed and turned, the images of flashing cameras and invasive questions swirling in your mind. The rhythmic crashing of the waves outside seemed to mock your restless state, a constant, rhythmic reminder of the chaos that surrounded you, a relentless symphony of the digital age, a constant barrage on your senses.

Unbeknownst to you, the overwhelming stress triggered a rare episode of sleepwalking. You rose from your bed, your movements slow and deliberate, your eyes glazed and unfocused. Drawn by an unconscious sense of security, you wandered through the darkened beach house, your bare feet silent on the cool tile, your subconscious seeking a refuge from the storm, a place of safety in the midst of the digital tempest.

Cheol, ever vigilant, had been running on minimal sleep, his focus unwavering as he monitored security and anticipated potential threats. The lack of sleep had made him more vulnerable than usual, his guard momentarily lowered. He had finally succumbed to exhaustion, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep, his body finally surrendering to the relentless fatigue, his mind finally at peace.

You entered his room, your movements guided by an unseen force. He lay on his bed, his dark hair tousled, his breathing deep and even. Quietly, you lay down beside him, your body seeking the warmth and comfort of his presence, a subconscious desire for solace in the midst of chaos, a silent plea for protection in a world gone mad.

Your peaceful, sleeping face inches from Cheol’s, the intimacy of the moment heightened by the knowledge that it was unintentional, and the public scandal that had made the situation so complicated. A soft exhale escaped Cheol's lips as he shifted slightly in his sleep, his hand instinctively reaching out, almost touching your hair.

The air in the room was thick with unspoken desires, a dangerous proximity that threatened to shatter the fragile boundaries between duty and longing, a silent conversation in the language of touch and proximity, a dangerous dance on the edge of something forbidden.

The algorithm of attraction, it seemed, was rewriting the rules of engagement, while the echoes of a forgotten past threatened to resurface, adding another layer of complexity to the tangled tides of desire, a dangerous game played out in the harsh glare of the digital tempest, a silent battle fought in the shadows of fabricated narratives and unspoken emotions.

...To be continued

---

a/n: Btw, The stuff done during sleepwalking can't be remembered by the one who is in that phase the next time they wake up ~

[mercurianchild]

Can’t you tell me a bit about Sun Square Neptune? 🥺 is there even anything positive to it

Sun Square Neptune🩵

Sun square Neptune is like living in a dream you can’t quite wake up from. There’s this constant push and pull between who you think you are and who you actually are, but the lines are so blurred that figuring it out feels impossible sometimes. It’s like trying to catch smoke with your hands. Just when you think you have a grip on yourself, the image shifts.

This aspect makes you deeply sensitive, intuitive, and creative, but it also comes with a tendency for self-deception. You might romanticize things that don’t deserve it, whether it’s people, situations, or even your own potential. There’s this habit of seeing life through a soft-focus filter, where everything is either a beautiful fantasy or a heartbreaking disappointment. It’s hard to find the in between.

One of the hardest parts? Boundaries. With Neptune squaring your Sun, you absorb energies like a sponge, sometimes without realizing it. You might walk into a room and suddenly feel drained or overwhelmed, not knowing that you’ve been carrying emotions that aren’t even yours. People might also project onto you, seeing what they want to see instead of who you actually are. And because Neptune is all about illusions, you might end up playing into those roles without even meaning to. It’s easy to lose yourself this way.

At its worst, this aspect can lead to escapism. Whether it’s through addiction, toxic relationships or getting lost in daydreams that never turn into reality. There’s a tendency to drift, to avoid hard truths or to search for meaning in places that only lead to more confusion. The challenge is learning to see clearly and to trust yourself enough to make decisions without second-guessing everything.

But it’s not all bad! Actually, there’s something really special about this aspect. You have a kind of depth that others don’t. You see beyond the surface of things, you feel life intensely, and you have a natural connection to creativity and spirituality. This aspect is common in artists, poets, musicians. People who take that blurry, dreamlike energy and turn it into something real. You have a gift for making the unseen visible, for giving form to emotions that others can’t even put into words.

The key is to learn how to ground yourself. Not everything is as it seems and not everyone has good intentions. But once you start balancing your intuition with a little realism, this aspect can be pure magic. You just have to learn to tell the difference between a dream worth chasing and a fantasy that’s keeping you stuck.

[honeydippedfiction]

Driven By You {JB9}

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Synopsis: Imani Brown, a rising NASCAR star, is determined to prove herself on and off the track, but when she crosses paths with NFL quarterback Joe Burrow, their playful flirtation quickly turns into undeniable chemistry. As they navigate their fast-paced careers, their connection deepens, balancing adrenaline, ambition, and a simmering romance that neither of them can ignore.

Warnings: Mild language, Suggestive themes, Lighthearted adult situations, Brief moments of tension and emotional complexity, Smut. MDNI

Themes: Romance and flirtation, Ambition and career-driven lifestyles, Push and pull dynamics in relationships, Adrenaline-fueled moments (sports and racing), Self-confidence and personal growth, Friendship and camaraderie, Romance, Sports (NASCAR, NFL), Contemporary Fiction, New Adult, Drama, Fluff/Lighthearted

WC: 24.8k

A/N: I told y'all I was gonna write some bullshit for Joe😂

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• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

The 2024-2025 NFL season had been an unrelenting trial for Joe Burrow, the star quarterback of the Cincinnati Bengals. From the very first game to the grueling finish, it felt as though every drop of energy, every ounce of mental fortitude, was sapped from him, leaving him to push forward through the constant barrage of challenges. The weight of each play seemed to compound as the weeks wore on, a burden only made heavier by the expectations of an entire city resting on his shoulders. The injuries, each one a silent battle with his own body, had come one after another, forcing him to dig deeper and fight harder. He had watched as games slipped away, each loss a bitter pill that seemed to taste worse than the last. But through it all, he remained the face of hope for the Bengals—a symbol of resilience, determination, and unwavering poise under pressure.

Now, with the off-season finally upon him, there was a strange but undeniable sense of relief. The game, with all its weight and intensity, had momentarily receded into the background. The relentless pressure that had been his constant companion was gone. The roar of the crowd, the ceaseless media coverage, the expectations—everything that came with being Joe Burrow, the football superstar—had quieted, if only for a short while. For the first time in what felt like months, Joe didn’t have to perform, didn’t have to be the polished, unflappable figure the world had come to expect. He didn’t have to be the quarterback who carried the hopes of his city. For the first time in a long while, he could simply be Joe.

The air was different now, lighter somehow. His apartment, usually filled with the buzz of texts, calls, and the endless stream of analysis from coaches and teammates, felt quieter than it ever had. The TV was off, and the phone lay on the counter, face down—an intentional disconnect from the world he’d been so deeply immersed in. Joe stretched his legs out on the couch, the weight of the past season still heavy on his mind, but for once, it was manageable. He could let his thoughts wander without the immediate fear of being overwhelmed.

His phone buzzed suddenly, breaking the stillness. He glanced at the screen, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It was a message from Ja'Marr Chase.

“You getting some rest, man?”

Joe leaned back, contemplating for a moment before typing a quick response.

“Yeah, finally. Feels weird.”

He pressed send, then threw the phone down on the coffee table. Ja’Marr had been one of the few constants for him this season—a fellow warrior on the field and a friend off it. Their bond, forged in the heat of competition, was the kind that didn’t need words. Yet, even after the season ended, their connection had remained strong.

The phone buzzed again. This time, it was a call. Joe let it ring, then answered with a half-grin.

“What’s up, Ja’Marr?”

“Man, I knew you’d be up. You don’t know how to turn off, do you?” Ja’Marr’s voice carried that familiar energy, his tone half teasing, half serious.

Joe chuckled, adjusting his position on the couch. “Just enjoying the silence for once. Feels strange.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Ja’Marr replied, the sounds of a bar in the background hinting that he was out with friends. “But you can’t hide forever, bro. You know the grind’s coming back soon.”

Joe sighed, the thought of returning to the grind already starting to weigh on him. It was a complicated relationship he had with the game. On one hand, it was his purpose, his passion. But on the other, it had a way of swallowing him whole, demanding more than he sometimes had to give.

“I know,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “But right now, I’m just… trying to breathe for a second. Take it all in. This past season... it’s been a lot.”

Ja’Marr’s voice softened, the teasing edge gone. “I hear you, man. We’ve all been through it. But hey, you got this. You’re built for this.”

Joe smiled again, though there was an edge of exhaustion in his eyes. “Thanks. I just need some time to reset. Be Joe, you know?”

“Yeah,” Ja’Marr said, a laugh escaping him. “The guy who’s not throwing 50-yard bombs on Sundays. I get it.”

For a moment, they both fell into a comfortable silence. There was no need for more words. They understood each other perfectly.

“I’ll catch you later, man,” Ja’Marr said, breaking the silence. “Enjoy the time off. You’ve earned it.”

“Thanks,” Joe replied, ending the call and setting the phone down once more. His fingers traced the edge of the couch, the stillness of the apartment settling around him like a blanket. He could hear the distant hum of traffic outside, the faint sounds of the city continuing on without him. But for now, he wasn’t part of it. He didn’t have to be.

Joe stood up, stretching his arms above his head, letting the quiet moments of the off-season wrap around him like a shield. The weight of the game would return sooner or later. He knew that. But for the time being, he could enjoy this rare gift—this brief hiatus from the unrelenting demands of football. In this moment, he was Joe. Not the quarterback, not the superstar—just a man in need of a break.

The clock on the wall ticked steadily forward, reminding him that time, like the season, would always march on. But for now, he was content to simply let it pass.

The transition to off-season life wasn’t an immediate switch for Joe Burrow. It was more like a slow unraveling—peeling away the layers of intensity and focus that had defined his life for months. The adrenaline, the sharp sense of urgency that accompanied every pass, every call, every decision—it didn’t just vanish overnight. The drive to push himself, to exceed his limits, was ingrained in him, and shedding it felt like trying to escape from a skin that had been tightly fitted for far too long.

For Joe, it was a mental game as much as it was a physical one. His body had been battered and bruised over the course of the season, but his mind? His mind had been in overdrive since the first whistle of training camp. Now, with the final game behind him, the grind of the 2024-2025 season had come to a close. But instead of feeling like a relief, it felt more like a suspension in time, like the space between breaths.

It took time to get used to the quiet. To adjust to the absence of the crowd’s roar and the relentless ticking of the clock that had governed his every move. In the moments following the end of the season, Joe had a rare window of freedom—an opportunity to breathe deeply without the weight of responsibility pressing down on him, without the looming specter of the next game, the next challenge. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t have to be the superstar. He didn’t have to carry the hopes of an entire city on his shoulders.

The first few days after the season wrapped up were spent in the stillness of his home. Joe had always loved his space, but now, it felt almost unfamiliar. The silence was almost deafening after months of noise, both external and internal. He wasn’t accustomed to so much nothing, to the lack of the constant rhythm of the game, the demands of practice, and the endless feedback from coaches, teammates, and analysts.

He found himself sitting at the kitchen table for hours, coffee cup in hand, watching the steam curl up from the surface. He had always been a morning person, the quiet hours of dawn offering him clarity, but now, it felt different. His usual routine was gone—no early workouts, no strategy sessions, no hours spent pouring over film. His mind, usually consumed by the game, now wandered freely, drifting from one thought to the next. It was almost liberating, this newfound space, but also a little unsettling. He had spent so long in a hyper-focused state that now, without the structure, the time felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

One morning, after finishing his coffee, he grabbed his phone and scrolled through a few text messages. There was a message from Ja'Marr Chase, as expected. Joe smiled as he opened it.

“Enjoying the peace and quiet yet, or are you already thinking about next season?”

Joe chuckled softly, knowing Ja’Marr well enough to hear the playful tone through the screen. He typed back a quick reply.

“Trying to, man. It’s a weird feeling, not having everything mapped out for me.”

He put his phone down and stared out the window, watching as the sunlight filtered through the trees in his front yard. The neighborhood was quiet—peaceful, even. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the simplicity of it all. The hustle and bustle of the season had consumed him, and now, everything seemed to slow down in stark contrast. There was something about walking down a quiet street, without the weight of impending games on his shoulders, that was oddly soothing.

As the day wore on, Joe found himself outside more often than he’d expected. He took long walks around the neighborhood, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, the cool breeze brushing past him. It was almost like rediscovering a world that had been there all along, but one that he hadn’t had time to notice before. The simple things—the way the leaves rustled in the wind, the sound of kids laughing in the distance, the smell of freshly cut grass—these were the things Joe had taken for granted. Now, they filled the quiet gaps left by the absence of football.

It wasn’t long before Joe realized he was catching up with the people he had neglected over the course of the season. His phone buzzed again, this time with a call from his mom. He answered with a warm smile.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Joe! How are you?” her voice came through, full of warmth and familiarity. “I can’t believe the season’s finally over. It’s about time you take a break!”

Joe laughed, leaning against the side of his house. “Yeah, it feels like I’m still adjusting to it. It’s strange not having to rush from one thing to the next.”

“Good! You deserve some time to rest. Have you been taking care of yourself?”

“I’ve been trying to,” he replied, looking at the horizon where the sun was starting to dip low. “Just... soaking it all in, you know? Trying to figure out what comes next.”

“Well, take your time,” she said, her voice softening. “I know how much you put into this season. We’re all so proud of you.”

Joe smiled, a sense of warmth spreading through him. It wasn’t just the praise that he craved, but the connection to those who had always been there—his family, his friends, the people who remembered Joe before he became the face of a franchise. He realized how much he had missed these quieter moments, these connections that weren’t built on game-winning drives or accolades, but on something much simpler—love, support, and the unspoken understanding that life was about more than just football.

Later, he called up a few of his old friends from college, laughing at their familiar jokes and easy banter. They talked about everything and nothing—everything except the season he had just endured. For the first time in months, Joe didn’t feel like he had to measure up to anything. He could just be Joe, the guy who had once thrown touchdowns under the floodlights of college stadiums, who had once sat around a table in a dorm room, dreaming of the NFL with the same friends now asking him how his day was going.

As the evening settled in, Joe found himself on the couch, staring at the TV but not really watching it. He was lost in thought, the day’s interactions playing through his mind like a highlight reel. A sense of peace washed over him, but it wasn’t without a tinge of longing. The quiet was both soothing and empty. The game would call him back eventually, and he would answer it without hesitation, without fear. But for now, in this rare and fleeting moment, he had the luxury of simply being Joe. Not the quarterback. Not the face of the Bengals. Just Joe. And that was enough.

As the days passed after the season’s end, Joe Burrow found himself adjusting to the quiet in ways he hadn’t expected. At first, the stillness had been a welcome relief. After months of non-stop action, both physical and mental, the absence of the daily grind was a rare and precious gift. But as the hours stretched into days, the silence began to settle around him like a heavy fog. It was almost as if the world outside his own head had gone on without him, and he was left standing still, disconnected from the rhythm of life.

He tried to fill the space with small tasks—organizing his kitchen, catching up on old movies, flipping through books he hadn’t had time to read during the season. But it wasn’t enough. He needed something more—something that would reconnect him to the world beyond the confines of his thoughts and the empty quiet of his home. Something that would reignite that spark of excitement, of energy, that he had always felt when surrounded by his teammates, the roar of the crowd, the rush of competition.

The bright California sun hung in the sky, beating down on the bustling city as Joe Burrow walked out of the hotel. He was looking forward to some downtime after a long season, but when Sam Hubbard pulled him aside, a familiar twinkle in his eyes, Joe couldn’t help but feel a little more excited for the weekend ahead.

“Hey, Joe, got something for you,” Sam said with a grin, throwing an arm around his teammate’s shoulder. “You into NASCAR?”

Joe raised an eyebrow, not exactly known for his racing knowledge, but Sam’s enthusiasm was contagious. He had a feeling that this wasn’t just a casual invite. “Uh, not really, but I’m always up for something new,” Joe replied, intrigued.

“Well, perfect timing,” Sam said, pulling out his phone and swiping through it quickly before holding it up to Joe. “You’re coming to the NASCAR Cup Series StraightTalk Wireless 400 this weekend. I’ve got a couple of extra tickets and thought you’d enjoy it. Some of the guys are going—Ja’Marr, Tee, and a few others—and it’s gonna be a good time. Besides,” Sam added with a playful smirk, “you might get to see someone special.”

Joe’s stomach did a little flip at Sam’s words. The mention of "someone special" was enough to make him pause. He knew exactly who Sam was talking about. The memory of Imani—her fierce competitiveness, that smile, and the way she could make him feel like the world had shrunk to just the two of them—still lingered in his mind.

He gave Sam a pointed look. “Imani’s racing this weekend?”

Sam nodded, already reading the unspoken answer in Joe’s eyes. “You’re quick. She’s actually leading the championship, too. It’s gonna be a huge weekend for her. Thought you might wanna be there for it.”

A small grin crept onto Joe’s face, but he quickly masked it. “Alright, I’m in. When do we leave?”

Flashback

The crisp autumn air was thick with anticipation as the Cincinnati Bengals prepared for their home game against the Las Vegas Raiders. The stadium, buzzing with the energy of fans tailgating outside, was electric. Inside the locker room, the team was gearing up, focusing on the game ahead. But amid the usual chaos of pre-game preparation, a different kind of energy entered the room.

The door swung open, and in stepped Imani Brown, the cousin of Orlando Brown Jr., wearing a wide smile that lit up the room. With the kind of presence that made heads turn without effort, Imani walked in, looking every bit the confident, playful woman she was, dressed casually but in a way that still drew attention. Her eyes sparkled with a sense of mischief, and she carried herself with the kind of easy charisma that made her immediately likable.

Imani's voice rang out, full of energy. "Hey, hey, hey! What's up, fellas? Imani Brown, nice to meet y'all!"

The room fell quiet for a split second, everyone’s eyes shifting toward her. She wasn’t just another visitor; there was something magnetic about her. Orlando, who had been standing near the entrance, threw an arm around her shoulders and grinned at the guys.

“Alright, alright, fellas, calm down,” Orlando teased, flashing a big smile. “This is my cousin, Imani. You know, NASCAR driver, speed demon, the one who actually knows how to take a turn at 200 miles per hour.”

Imani let out a laugh, rolling her eyes. “Orlando’s just mad I beat him at Mario Kart last night. Don’t listen to him.”

The team chuckled, some of the players giving Imani a good-natured look as they sized her up. But Joe Burrow, who had been tying his cleats at his locker, couldn't help but glance up at the sound of her voice. It wasn’t just her striking beauty—though, of course, that was undeniable—it was the way she carried herself with such ease, like she was at home in any room. Playful, but sharp, like she was always ready to throw out a quick joke or challenge someone to a good-natured competition.

She caught Joe’s gaze and grinned. "And you must be Joe Burrow, the man of the hour," she said, her voice smooth but teasing, almost like she’d known him for years.

Joe blinked, slightly thrown off by the directness and charm in her words. He quickly stood up from his seat, adjusting his jersey and trying to keep his cool. “Yeah, that’s me,” he replied, offering a grin in return. His pulse quickened for a moment, but he pushed it down. She was Orlando’s cousin, after all.

Imani stepped closer, her eyes lighting up as she looked him over with that playful gleam. “I’ve heard all about you,” she said, her tone mischievous. “I’m impressed. You can actually throw a football, huh?”

Joe laughed, not entirely sure where this was going. "I try my best," he said, trying to play it cool.

“Well, I’ll be the judge of that. Maybe you can teach me a thing or two about your game,” she quipped, her voice teasing but with an undertone of genuine curiosity. She glanced at Orlando, then back at Joe. “After all, I’m in town for a little bit of downtime, so why not take up a new hobby?”

Joe was still trying to catch his breath from the initial surprise of meeting her, but her energy was infectious. She had this effortless charisma, like she could walk into any room and instantly make people feel at ease, but also like she was ready to push buttons and see who could keep up. Joe, with his steady demeanor, found himself intrigued and a little charmed.

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that,” Joe said with a laugh, shrugging. “If you’re really interested in learning how to throw a perfect spiral.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I can handle a football,” she teased. “It’s just the whole ‘tackling’ thing that I’m not so sure about.”

“You’ll be fine,” Joe said, his smile broadening. “You’d probably be more dangerous on the track than out here.”

“True,” Imani said, her expression playful. “But hey, you guys should really try something new, like a NASCAR race. You know, feel the wind in your face while you’re taking turns at insane speeds. Could be a bonding experience.”

The room was alive with laughter, players giving their approval of the idea. Imani’s infectious laughter and her quick wit had won everyone over in an instant.

Joe couldn’t help but find himself captivated by her presence. There was something about how she carried herself—confident but not overbearing, playful but sharp. And though they were from very different worlds, he couldn’t deny the way she made everything feel a little bit lighter. The usual pre-game tension in the air seemed to dissipate, replaced by the warmth of her easy going nature.

“So, what exactly are you doing in town? I mean, aside from torturing your cousin?” Joe asked, leaning against his locker as he tried to keep the conversation going.

Imani grinned, her eyes sparkling with that signature mix of charm and mischief. "Well, I’m just visiting Orlando for a bit, catching up before I get back to the grind. The Cup Series just wrapped up yesterday, and finishing second in the championship felt good—really good—but now it's time for some downtime. NASCAR’s all about speed, but hey, I’m always up for some good company and new experiences." She shrugged playfully, letting the weight of her words sink in. "Besides, what better way to spend my offseason than being a menace with my cousin?"

Her tone was light, but there was an undeniable pride in her voice, an acknowledgment of the immense effort she had put into the season. Being second in the championship was no small feat, and Imani had earned her spot among the best in the sport. But for now, she was soaking in the rare moments of freedom, not letting the pressures of racing consume her just yet.

“You definitely picked the right crowd,” Joe replied with a grin. “We’re good at keeping things interesting.”

“I can tell,” Imani said with a wink. “Well, I won’t keep you guys too long. I know you’ve got a game to play.” She turned to give Orlando a quick hug. “But if anyone here needs tips on speed, you know where to find me.”

The whole room was still chuckling as Imani made her way toward the door. Just before she left, she looked over her shoulder at Joe, her eyes glinting with that same mischievous spark.

“Good luck, Joe. I’ll be watching. Maybe I’ll race you one day.”

Joe’s smile didn’t fade as he watched her leave, a part of him already looking forward to whatever encounter might come next.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Orlando slapped Joe on the back. “Man, you better start practicing those football skills if you want to keep up with her.”

Joe laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not worried. But I do think I just met my match.”

Orlando chuckled. “She’s got that effect on people.”

The game against the Las Vegas Raiders had been intense, every moment filled with the kind of adrenaline that only NFL games could offer. The crowd roared as the Bengals secured their victory, the stadium electric with the high of the win. Joe Burrow, still on the field, was drenched in sweat and adrenaline, but there was a feeling of pure satisfaction hanging in the air. The whole team was riding the high of a solid performance, and Joe, though he was always calm and collected on the outside, was no different. His eyes were sharp with excitement, his heart racing, but not entirely from the game.

It had been hours since he’d last seen Imani, and his mind kept drifting back to their encounter in the locker room. Her playfulness, the way her eyes sparkled when she’d joked about beating Orlando at Mario Kart, and how effortlessly she’d bantered with the team—it had all left an impression. He was a professional, he knew how to compartmentalize, but something about Imani lingered with him. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was something more, even if the playful teasing had made it all feel lighthearted.

Later that evening, after the adrenaline of the game had settled down, Joe found himself texting his teammates about grabbing a celebratory dinner. He needed a break, some time to unwind, and he knew the guys wouldn’t turn down the offer. As he was typing out the plans, his phone buzzed with a message that made him smile.

Imani Brown:

"Well, well, well... looks like you all came through with the win. I guess you earned it after all that talk earlier. ;) What’s the plan for the night? I think a celebration is in order. And maybe... you can show me how to throw that perfect spiral you promised?"

Joe grinned, tapping out a quick response.

"Celebration sounds good to me. Join us? We’re all heading to that spot downtown. Should be fun. And don’t worry, I’ll teach you all the moves. But don’t expect me to go easy on you."

His phone buzzed almost immediately.

Imani Brown:

"Oh, I like that. Let’s see if you can keep up."

Joe leaned back in his chair, his mind racing, but not from the game anymore. It was her. He couldn’t help the thrill that ran through him. There was something about Imani—her energy, her playful challenge—that drew him in. And the way they’d clicked so easily, almost like they had their own little rhythm going, even in such a short time. He knew she was trouble in the best way possible.

A few hours later, the group of offensive players met up at the restaurant, the celebration atmosphere buzzing as they filed into the private dining room. The laughter, cheers, and clinking of glasses filled the air, but Joe’s eyes were trained on one person. Imani walked in, looking effortlessly stylish, her presence making the room seem a little brighter. Her eyes locked with his across the room, and that familiar, teasing glint flashed.

“Hey, Joe,” she greeted, her tone light, but there was an undercurrent there. She was flirting, but in that playful way that kept everything feeling like a game. "Good game today. I gotta admit, I didn’t think you had it in you."

Joe laughed, his heart beating a little faster than it should. "You didn't think I could pull it off? I'll show you."

She winked, taking a seat next to him at the long table, the buzz of the room fading slightly as they settled into a conversation that felt like they were in their own world. The other players were busy talking about highlights from the game, but it was as though Joe and Imani were on a different wavelength.

“So, you’re telling me, you didn’t even break a sweat out there?” she teased, glancing over at him with a playful smirk.

“Not even,” Joe shot back, not missing a beat. “It’s all part of the plan. You know, keeping my cool while everyone else loses their heads.”

Imani raised an eyebrow, leaning in just slightly. “Is that so? You know, I could probably make you break a sweat… in a different kind of race.”

Joe chuckled, his eyes narrowing in playful challenge. “I’m always up for a race. But I’ll warn you, I’m fast on the field.”

“I’m fast everywhere, Joe,” she shot back, her voice smooth and confident, the words hanging in the air between them with a double meaning. "But we can test that theory anytime."

The flirtation hung heavy between them, subtle but undeniable. She was teasing him, challenging him, but there was something more—something beneath the surface that neither of them had quite addressed yet. It was there in the way their eyes lingered just a little longer than necessary, in the way they played off each other's words, in the way Imani’s laugh seemed to warm Joe's insides.

As the night wore on, the group moved from casual conversation to louder laughs and toasts, but Joe couldn’t keep his attention away from Imani. She was just as easygoing with everyone else, but with him, there was an undeniable chemistry that he couldn’t shake. Her words were always a little bit sharp, her challenges playful, and he found himself leaning into it, wanting more of whatever it was between them.

The night ended, but neither of them was in any rush to say goodbye. The dinner had been a success, and as the group spilled out onto the sidewalk, Joe and Imani lingered toward the back, just far enough to have a conversation without the noise of the group.

"So," Joe began, his voice casual, though there was a spark in his eyes. "You sure you're ready to race me? 'Cause I’m not gonna go easy just because you’re a racecar driver."

Imani laughed, a low sound that sent a ripple of warmth through him. “Oh, I don’t want you to go easy on me,” she said, her voice playful but full of confidence. “I’m just warning you. You might not be able to handle it.”

Joe leaned closer, a teasing smile on his lips. “We’ll see about that. Next time, though, I’ll make sure we have the right race. No holding back.”

Imani’s eyes gleamed. “No promises,” she said, her voice softening for a split second before she added, “You know, you’re not half bad at this whole flirting thing.”

Joe’s grin widened. “You think I’m flirting?”

Imani shrugged, but her smile told him everything he needed to know. "Maybe just a little."

Before either of them could say more, the others were already shouting from down the street, ready to head to another spot. Imani gave Joe one last lingering look, her gaze teasing, but with something deeper beneath the surface that neither of them was quite ready to admit.

"Don’t keep me waiting too long, Joe,” she called, her voice over her shoulder, and then she was off with Orlando and the others, leaving Joe standing there, a smile still playing on his lips.

As he walked toward the group, he knew it—there was something between them. It wasn’t just the playful banter, the teasing. There was real chemistry bubbling just under the surface, something that neither of them could ignore for much longer.

End of Flashback

Sam didn’t do anything halfway. This wasn’t just a casual trip; it was an all-in experience—everything curated to make sure it was memorable. Joe appreciated the effort. It felt good to let someone else take charge for once, to have a break from being the one responsible for making all the decisions.

The anticipation of the trip started to build. The next few days passed in a blur of packing and organizing his things, and before he knew it, Joe found himself boarding the plane to Miami, his mind finally turning off from football for the first time in what felt like forever.

A few days later, Joe Burrow found himself standing in the bright Miami sun, the warmth of the air wrapping around him like a comforting blanket. His sunglasses were perched low on his nose, and he couldn’t help but take a deep breath, letting the heat wash over him. It was a welcome sensation after months spent in the chill of football-induced cold fronts, his body constantly wrapped in layers to fend off the harsh winter. The sharp contrast felt almost foreign, a reminder that life existed outside the demands of football season.

He walked towards the terminal, the bustling airport alive with activity. Families chatted in excited voices about their vacation plans, groups of friends shared laughter, and fans in race-day gear buzzed about the upcoming NASCAR Cup Series race. It was the first real taste of freedom Joe had felt in months. No game plans to study, no weight of responsibility pressing on his shoulders. Just the open space of a weekend to do whatever he wanted, wherever it would take him.

NASCAR wasn’t a sport Joe followed religiously, but Sam’s enthusiasm had a way of pulling him in. Over the past few days, the excitement had become infectious. The idea of stepping out of his own world and into something completely different felt exhilarating. It wasn’t a football field, but the energy was unmistakably similar—the race, the fans, the thrill of speed and adrenaline.

He made his way through the terminal with Sam at his side, the duo moving in sync through the sea of people. Miami’s vibrant atmosphere had a pulse, the city alive with color and energy. Palm trees swayed lazily in the breeze, their green fronds almost beckoning Joe into a different pace of life, a life that didn’t revolve around touchdowns and fourth-quarter comebacks. He relished the unfamiliarity of it all, the anonymity of not being the center of attention for once. It was rare for Joe, the face of the Bengals, to stand in the background. But right now, he didn’t need the spotlight. He needed this break—this moment of peace where he could simply exist without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Palm trees lined the terminal’s windows, their green fronds lazily swaying in the breeze, casting long shadows over the concrete floor. Joe let his gaze wander as they passed the large glass doors leading to the outside. The Miami skyline stretched out before him, the buildings gleaming under the sun, their colors and shapes as bold as the city itself. It was a far cry from Cincinnati—where it seemed like the world was always watching him.

But here? Here, he could breathe. No pressure. No cameras constantly snapping. Just him, Sam, and a day ahead of them to explore the city without worrying about football for a few hours. Joe couldn't help but smile as he thought about how rare moments like this were. He wasn’t Joe Burrow, the quarterback, for a change. He was just Joe.

Sam, noticing Joe's relaxed demeanor, shot him a sideways grin. "You good, man?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. Sam was always a step ahead, as usual, picking up on the small things that most people missed.

Joe nodded, adjusting the strap of his backpack. "Yeah, just taking it all in," he said, his eyes sweeping across the airport. "Feels good to be anonymous for once."

Sam laughed, slapping Joe lightly on the back. "Not a bad thing, huh? Miami’s got a vibe, no doubt. But, let’s be real—we’re here for fun, so let’s make it count."

As they walked toward the baggage claim area, the two met up with Ja'Marr and Tee, who were already waiting with their own bags in hand. Ja'Marr’s easy smile was the first thing Joe noticed—he was always one to bring an infectious energy, and Tee was right there with him, his laid-back attitude contagious.

"You guys ready for today?" Ja'Marr asked, clapping Joe on the shoulder as they all gathered together.

"Yeah, man," Joe replied, his voice relaxed. "What’s the plan?"

"We’re thinking of hitting up a few spots around South Beach," Tee said with a grin. "Maybe grab some food, hit the boardwalk, then we’ll head to a rooftop bar. You know, a little Miami experience."

Joe chuckled. "Sounds good to me. As long as it’s nothing too crazy." He didn’t need a party scene—he just wanted to enjoy the day without worrying about anything.

The group of four spent the rest of the day soaking up the sights, the salty air, and the sun-drenched streets of Miami. They wandered around, popping into cafés, enjoying the cool breeze off the water, and laughing at ridiculous tourist shops. Tee and Ja'Marr were in their element, cracking jokes and challenging each other to silly dares, while Joe simply took it all in, appreciating the easy camaraderie and the chance to be a regular guy for once.

By the time the sun started to set, the group had made their way to a rooftop bar. The golden hour painted the sky in shades of orange and pink, and the city’s skyline gleamed in the fading light. They grabbed drinks, found a cozy spot, and sat back to relax. Joe leaned back in his chair, his mind drifting away from football as he let himself enjoy the present moment. This break—this escape—felt like a breath of fresh air.

As the evening wound down, the guys started to head back to their hotel. There was no rush, no urgency to their steps. For once, there was no game looming over their heads, no practice to worry about. Joe had enjoyed the day more than he’d expected, but as the last traces of daylight disappeared and the night took over the city, he felt a longing for the quiet comfort of his hotel room.

Once back in the hotel, Joe stood in the hallway for a moment, catching his breath before sliding his key card into the door of his room. The low hum of the air conditioner greeted him, a welcome sound in the stillness of the space.

Joe dropped his bag on the bed and kicked off his shoes. He stretched out on the plush mattress, the cool sheets offering immediate relief from the day’s heat. His body sank into the bed as he let out a long, contented sigh, the weight of the past season—everything he’d pushed through to get to this point—finally slipping away for a few hours.

—

The day had been long, filled with practice laps and the usual rush that came with preparing for the NASCAR Cup Series race. Miami was buzzing with its usual energy, but as the sun began to dip below the horizon, Imani found herself feeling the exhaustion of the day. She’d given it everything on the track, and now, she just wanted to unwind. It was rare for her to get a breather, especially after a season that had left her with so much to prove.

She collapsed onto the bed in her hotel room, scrolling through her phone, idly browsing through social media when a thought crossed her mind. Joe Burrow. She hadn’t heard from him in a bit, and after a few moments of deliberation, she decided it was time to change that.

Imani’s fingers hovered over the keyboard as she typed a message, her lips curling into a playful smirk. She could feel the familiar mix of teasing and tension simmering between them as she hit send.

Imani Brown:"So, I hear you’re in Miami. And you didn’t think to invite me to dinner? I’m a little disappointed, Joe."

She leaned back, tapping her fingers on the edge of the bed, her heart beating just a bit faster. She knew what she was doing—teasing him, pulling him in—but there was something about Joe that always made her second-guess whether their playful banter might actually lead to something more.

It didn’t take long for her phone to buzz with a reply.

Joe Burrow:"I didn’t think you’d have time for me with all that racing you do."

Imani chuckled softly at his response, leaning her head back against the pillow. Typical Joe—always making light of things, always playful. But she wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easily.

Imani Brown:"You know me too well. But I do have a little time to spare. So, what’s your excuse for not inviting me?"

Her fingers lingered over the phone screen for a moment before she hit send, a sly smile tugging at her lips. She couldn’t wait to see how he’d respond, knowing full well that their back-and-forth had become something of a dance between them—flirtation laced with just the right amount of tension.

A few moments passed, and she was beginning to think he wasn’t going to reply when her phone lit up again.

Joe Burrow:"Well, now that you mention it, I’m not opposed to dinner. How about something quick? Gotta be up early for the game tomorrow."

Imani’s grin spread wider. This was exactly the kind of dynamic she loved with him—easygoing, but with an undercurrent of something more.

Imani Brown:"Quick dinner? You mean I only have a limited window to impress you?"

Her fingers danced over the keys, the playful teasing now mixed with a hint of challenge. She knew she had him intrigued, but the question lingered in her mind: Would this dinner just be another round of teasing, or would it go deeper?

Not long after, Joe’s response came through.

Joe Burrow:"I think you’ll manage to impress me. But we’ll keep it casual—just you, me, and some food. You in?"

Imani’s heart skipped a beat at the casual way he phrased it, but she wasn’t about to back down. She had to keep things interesting.

Imani Brown:"You better believe I’m in. But don’t think I’m going easy on you."

She hit send, not bothering to hide her smile this time. There was something about Joe that made her feel alive, like every interaction with him carried a charge.

Her phone buzzed once more.

Joe Burrow:"Alright then. I’ll pick you up in 30."

Imani stood up, grabbing her jacket from the back of the chair. The excitement in her chest was palpable—this was going to be fun. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d let herself have a completely casual night out, and with Joe? It had the potential to be more than just dinner.

She slipped her phone into her pocket, feeling the anticipation build as she headed for the door. Her mind was buzzing with questions, none of which had clear answers—Would tonight be just another dinner? Or would something shift between them?

But with Joe, she knew better than to expect anything just anything.

Thirty minutes later, Imani stood outside her hotel, the warm Miami air swirling around her. Her mind wandered for a moment, trying to anticipate what the night might bring, but before she could settle into her thoughts, she spotted Joe pulling up in his car.

He rolled down the window as she approached, flashing a grin. "Ready to let me impress you with my choice of restaurant?" he teased, his eyes sparkling.

Imani raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "Let’s see what you’ve got, Burrow. You’ve got a reputation to uphold."

Joe chuckled, giving her a nod. "I’m sure I’ll pass your test. Get in."

She slid into the passenger seat, and the ride to the restaurant was filled with light chatter. The comfortable silence between them told her that this wasn’t just a dinner; it was something more, though neither of them was quite ready to admit it.

When they arrived, the restaurant was quiet, the perfect spot for an intimate, low-key meal. Joe held the door open for her with a grin. “After you, my lady.”

Imani rolled her eyes dramatically but couldn’t suppress a smile. “You really know how to charm a girl.”

Joe shrugged, playing it cool. “It’s all part of my plan.”

The dinner began with the same banter that had been present from the first moment they met—flirty, lighthearted, and teasing. Imani leaned forward across the table, her eyes locked with Joe’s. “So, how’s the Miami nightlife? You out here for fun, or is this just a business trip?”

Joe grinned, his fingers tapping absentmindedly on the table. “Mostly business. You know, checking out the competition for tomorrow. But now that you’re here, I’d say it’s more fun than I expected.”

Imani raised an eyebrow. “I’m your fun? That’s a bold statement, Burrow.”

“I’m just being honest,” Joe replied, his smile never leaving his face. “You’ve got a way of making things interesting.”

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the playful banter fell away. There was something unspoken between them, a pull neither of them could quite ignore. But Imani wasn’t the type to let things get too serious too fast, so she leaned back with a grin, breaking the moment.

“Alright, alright. But don’t get too comfortable. I still have to race tomorrow, and I need all the focus I can get.”

Joe chuckled. “I think you’ll be fine. And hey, if you ever need a good luck charm, you know where to find me.”

Imani smiled, but the teasing glint in her eyes didn’t fade. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As they finished their meal, the conversation drifted back to their usual playful teasing, but beneath it, something was shifting. Maybe it was the quiet moments between the words, the way their gazes lingered just a little longer than necessary. Whatever it was, Imani knew she was starting to look forward to these dinners, these little moments of connection that felt like they might turn into something more.

By the time the check came and they walked outside, the night air felt a little cooler, but the warmth between them hadn’t faded. Imani couldn’t help but smile, knowing that this was just the beginning of whatever this was between them.

“Thanks for dinner, Joe,” she said, slipping her sunglasses on. “This was fun. But, I’ll warn you, next time we race, I’m winning. No mercy.”

Joe grinned, his eyes full of that familiar spark. “I’ll be ready.”

And as they parted ways, neither of them said it aloud, but they both knew: this wasn’t just a quick dinner anymore. There was something there—something real, something they both couldn’t ignore much longer.

—

As they neared the racetrack, the sound of engines revving in the distance echoed through the air. The buzz of excitement was palpable, a crescendo of noise that seemed to grow louder with every step. Joe’s heart picked up a beat. It was like the anticipation before a big game, except now he wasn’t the one with the helmet on, ready to step onto the field. He was just a spectator, standing on the edge of something unfamiliar but equally thrilling.

Sam nudged Joe with his elbow as they approached the entrance. “You ready for this?” he asked, his grin widening. “You’ve got a whole new world of speed to discover, Burrow.”

Joe smirked, his eyes scanning the scene ahead. “Let’s do it,” he said, the words a promise.

They passed through security, slipping into the thrumming crowd that flowed toward the paddock area. The atmosphere was electric, charged with an energy that was distinct from anything Joe had ever experienced on a football field. The air was thick with the smell of fuel and the hum of pit crews in motion. There was a precision to it all, a kind of organized chaos. Joe had always admired the meticulous details of football—how each play required not only physical effort but the coordination of an entire team working together, each move calculated and executed in harmony. Here, in the paddock, the same kind of focus was evident. It wasn’t just about speed. It was about timing, strategy, and the perfect execution of every moment.

Sam and Joe weaved through the crowd, their destination now clear. The paddock was a maze of shiny race cars, each one glinting in the Miami sun. Pit crews, clad in matching uniforms, hustled between the cars, fine-tuning engines and preparing the vehicles for the race ahead. Drivers, too, moved with purpose, their faces set in expressions of quiet intensity. It was the kind of atmosphere that reminded Joe of the locker room before a game—everyone focused, everyone with a job to do, and no room for distraction.

As they moved deeper into the paddock, a tall man with a clipboard and a calm, professional air approached them. His polo shirt, emblazoned with the Hendrick Motorsports logo, marked him as someone important in the world of NASCAR. He extended a hand with a confident smile.

“Sam, Joe, welcome!” The man’s handshake was firm, his presence commanding yet friendly. “I’m Brad, a representative here at Hendrick Motorsports. We’re thrilled to have you both with us this weekend. You ready to experience the race from behind the scenes?”

Joe shook Brad’s hand, the grip strong but warm. He felt a surge of genuine curiosity rising within him. “Absolutely,” he replied, his voice filled with interest. “This is a whole new world for me, but I’m excited to see how it all comes together.”

Brad nodded, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. “You’re in for a treat. NASCAR is a machine of its own. Everything is a blend of precision, speed, and strategy. You’ll get to see firsthand just how much goes into it. Tee and Ja’Marr are already here and we will go join them..”

Sam grinned at Joe, his expression filled with the kind of excitement only someone who had experienced NASCAR firsthand could understand. “Trust me, you’re gonna love it. There’s nothing like being this close to the action.”

As they followed Brad deeper into the paddock, Joe was struck by the intensity of the environment. The cars, sitting low to the ground, seemed almost ready to spring to life, their engines rumbling in anticipation. The pit crews worked with a fluidity that reminded him of football practices, where every second mattered and precision was everything. The race was about to begin, and it was clear that every person here—from the drivers to the engineers to the tire changers—was part of something much larger than just the race itself. It was a team effort, much like his own world of football.

Brad led them to a small area at the edge of the paddock, where several drivers were gathered. They were dressed in their racing suits, their faces relaxed but focused, their minds undoubtedly on the race ahead. As the group of drivers turned to greet them, Joe felt the familiar stirrings of competition—of athletes who lived for the moment, who thrived under pressure, who understood what it meant to push the limits of what was possible.

The sun was beginning to dip low in the Miami sky, casting long shadows across the bustling racetrack as the noise of engines and the hum of the crowd filled the air. Joe Burrow, Sam Hubbard, and the rest of the crew had made their way toward the Hendrick Motorsports area. The energy around the track was electric, and Joe could feel the adrenaline buzz through the air. He’d never been to a NASCAR race before, and despite the whirlwind of excitement surrounding him, his mind kept wandering back to one person: Imani.

Joe’s eyes darted around, scanning the area near the garages, trying to catch a glimpse of her. He wasn’t sure what it was—whether it was her confidence, the way she carried herself, or just the spark she exuded, but he couldn’t help but feel drawn to her. He didn’t want to admit it, but it wasn’t just the racing he was eager to see today—it was her. He felt a slight tug of something that he couldn’t quite name, but whatever it was, it had been growing ever since their dinner together in Miami.

Sam noticed Joe’s wandering gaze and raised an eyebrow. “You lookin’ for something, Joe?” he asked, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips.

Joe quickly glanced at him and then tried to shift his focus. “No, just looking around. Trying to get the lay of the land.”

Tee Higgins, who had been walking next to them, caught on right away. He shot a sly look at Sam and then at Joe. “Uh-huh, sure, man. You sure you’re not looking for a certain race car driver?” Tee grinned, nudging Joe with his elbow.

Joe let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. “I’m not ‘looking’ for anyone.” He could already feel his teammates getting ready to pile on with their usual teasing. The truth was, he had been thinking about Imani—probably more than he’d like to admit—but he wasn’t about to let them see that.

Ja'Marr Chase, always the joker of the group, couldn’t help himself. “Man, we all saw you at dinner last night. You didn’t think we noticed?” Ja'Marr threw his arm around Joe’s shoulders, laughing. “Looking a little too comfortable, huh?”

Joe shot him a sideways glance, trying to keep a straight face. “You guys are ridiculous. It was just dinner.”

“Just dinner?” Sam echoed. “You were practically glowing. I’ve never seen you that way over a meal before.”

Tee snorted. “Oh yeah, totally. Definitely not just dinner.”

Joe rolled his eyes, not even bothering to deny it. He knew his teammates wouldn’t let it slide, and honestly, a part of him enjoyed the playful teasing. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel the heat rise to his face every time they poked at him.

The group rounded a corner, and there, near the Hendrick Motorsports paddock area, Casey—one of the team reps—was standing, scanning the crowd. Casey was an expert at navigating the chaos of a race day and always had a keen eye for knowing where to be and when. When he spotted the guys, he waved them over with a friendly grin.

“Hey, fellas,” Casey greeted them. “Looking forward to the race? Big day ahead.”

“We’re ready,” Sam said, his voice light with excitement. “This place is insane.”

Ja'Marr nodded toward the track. “It’s wild, man. Never seen anything like it.”

Casey chuckled, glancing around at the team. “Yeah, it’s a whole different world. You guys sticking around here for the start?”

“We’ll be in the VIP section,” Tee answered. “Want to see what all the fuss is about.”

Casey smirked knowingly. “I’m sure you’ll love it. But, uh, if you’re looking for Imani, she’s down on the track giving her interviews right now. She’s hard to miss—always steals the spotlight.”

Joe’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Imani. His eyes involuntarily flicked toward the pit area as if by instinct, but he quickly forced himself to look away. He didn’t want to appear too obvious, especially with his teammates around. Still, the idea of seeing her again stirred something in him—something that felt a lot like anticipation, mixed with a healthy dose of nerves.

Tee caught the look on Joe’s face, a sly grin spreading across his features. “Ah, so now you’re interested,” he teased. “You know, we’ve all been waiting for this moment.”

“Shut up,” Joe muttered under his breath, though he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Sam laughed, clapping Joe on the back. “Don’t worry, man. It’s all good. We get it. Who wouldn’t be interested in someone as awesome as Imani?”

Brad caught the tail end of the conversation and nodded in approval. “She’s a force. Not only is she dominating the track, but she’s got that whole ‘don’t mess with me’ vibe. That’s why people love her.” He paused for a moment, then looked at Joe with a knowing expression. “But hey, if you’re trying to catch up with her, she’ll be around after the interviews. Maybe you’ll run into her again later.”

Joe gave a small, appreciative nod, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that Brad was onto him. “Thanks,” he replied, trying to keep his tone casual.

“Anytime,” Brad said with a wink before turning and walking back toward the pits.

The guys gave Joe one last round of teasing before they moved on toward the VIP section, but Joe’s mind was already elsewhere. As much as he wanted to focus on the race ahead, he couldn’t stop thinking about Imani—how fierce and confident she was, how easy it had been to talk to her despite the playful banter between them. He wasn’t sure where it was going, but he was definitely curious to see where it would lead.

As they entered the VIP area, the deafening roar of the crowd filled their ears, but for Joe, it was background noise. His thoughts were consumed with a singular question: Would he see Imani again today?

The energy in the air was palpable; it was the kind of electric atmosphere you only found at a big NASCAR event. Cars were lined up, engines revved, and the smell of fuel lingered in the air as the anticipation for the race built to a fever pitch.

The four of them were dressed casually, wearing sunglasses and hats to blend in a bit with the crowd, but they certainly stood out in their own right. As they walked toward the section reserved for the drivers’ teams and their guests, Joe couldn’t help but notice the vast difference between the gridiron and the racetrack. While football had its own energy, there was something almost otherworldly about the speed, precision, and pure adrenaline of NASCAR.

“Man, this place is wild,” Tee muttered, looking around at the grandstands packed with fans. “I’ve never seen so many people in one spot outside of a football game.”

Sam chuckled, his eyes scanning the pit crews working tirelessly on the cars. “It’s on a whole different level. These people are serious about their racing.”

Ja'Marr, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke up, a teasing grin on his face. “I think I could get used to this. I’m feeling the need for speed.”

Joe laughed, but his eyes were already searching for a familiar face. His thoughts immediately turned to Imani. The playful teasing from the night before still lingered in his mind, but today, there was a different kind of excitement in the air. Imani had invited him and the guys to the race, and now they were about to see her in action.

The pre-race show was in full swing, the cameras buzzing with energy as the stadium and racetrack were buzzing with anticipation. The track was lined with spectators, each one waiting for the race to begin, and the excitement in the air was palpable. Joe and the guys—Sam Hubbard, Ja'Marr Chase, and Tee Higgins—stood at the side, their eyes trained on the monitors set up for the pre-race interviews. The excitement was in full swing, but there was a new kind of buzz in the air today. Everyone seemed to be waiting for the next Imani Brown moment.

Imani Brown’s interview was set to air, and everyone in the group was eager to see her on-screen. Joe, who had already been struck by Imani’s presence in the paddock, was curious to hear how she carried herself in front of the camera. He had a feeling that her confidence wasn’t just reserved for the racetrack—it likely extended to every aspect of her life.

As the cameras cut to her, Imani stood in front of a backdrop with the motorcade behind her, the setting sun casting a warm glow over the scene. Her racing suit was immaculate, the bold logos shining under the lights. She had a natural charisma about her—her posture was tall and assured, but there was something disarming about her smile, something that made her approachable even though she was at the pinnacle of her career.

The interviewer, a seasoned NASCAR journalist, greeted her with a grin. “Imani, it’s great to have you with us. You’re on a roll this season, leading the championship, and you’re back here in Miami, where you debuted and scored your first win. How does it feel to return to a place that’s been so good to you?”

Imani's expression softened, but the glint in her eyes remained fierce. She took a beat, soaking in the moment before responding. “Miami’s always been good to me. I debuted here, and it feels like home. The fans here are incredibly welcoming—every time I step onto this track, I feel the energy from them, like they’re cheering for me, no matter where I’m from. And I’ve gotta say, getting my first win here last year was a pretty special moment. I’m definitely looking forward to doing it again today.”

Joe and the rest of the group exchanged glances. It was clear that Imani wasn’t just talking about her victory on the track; she was talking about the connection she had built with the Miami crowd, a bond forged in a city that embraced her as one of their own. Her voice was confident but not arrogant, playful yet serious. It was the perfect balance for someone who wasn’t just a driver but a leader in every sense of the word.

The interviewer, clearly impressed, asked, “You’ve had an incredible start to the season, with consistent top finishes and that big Daytona 500 win. How do you keep your focus in a sport as unpredictable as NASCAR? What’s your mindset going into a race like today?”

Imani gave a small chuckle, her expression turning more playful. “You know, every race is different. Some days you’re the hammer, some days you’re the nail,” she said with a wink. “But the key is staying focused on the task at hand. It’s about adjusting to the changes, whether it's the track, the competition, or even just the feel of the car. And as far as keeping my focus? Well, I’ve got a team around me that’s just as relentless as I am. We’re all pushing for the same thing, and we know what we’re capable of.”

There was a slight pause before she added with a smirk, “And yeah, I’m not afraid to remind the guys that I’m not here just to race—I’m here to win, and I’m not slowing down for anyone.”

The playful defiance in her voice had a sharp edge to it, and Joe couldn’t help but smile. She wasn’t just competing; she was challenging the status quo. And she did it with such ease, so effortlessly, that it was impossible not to respect her.

The interviewer grinned, clearly enjoying the vibe Imani was giving off. “I think the competition’s definitely paying attention! Well, Imani, we know you’ve got a lot of people cheering for you out here today. Best of luck on the track—looking forward to seeing you do your thing.”

Imani gave a confident nod, her smile returning. “Thanks. I’m ready for it.”

As the crew of commentators spoke animatedly, the camera switched to a close-up of Imani Brown, standing confidently in front of the backdrop with her helmet under one arm, and her team logo boldly displayed on her racing suit. Her presence was magnetic—no surprise there. She was a rising star in the Cup Series, and her persona was just as captivating as her driving skills. But this time, the focus wasn't just on her racing career. The camera caught the unmistakable chatter of paparazzi from the previous night—the buzz about Imani being seen with Joe Burrow, her dinner companion. It seemed like the perfect setup for a bit of drama.

Imani walked with purpose through the maze of people, her boho butterfly braids swaying rhythmically with each step she took. The braids, carefully woven and adorned with colorful beads, cascaded down her back, catching the sunlight and reflecting a subtle shimmer. As she moved, the light breeze played with the ends of her hair, creating an almost ethereal effect, as if the wind itself couldn’t help but follow her. The fluidity of her stride matched her effortless grace—she was in her element, and everyone around her could feel it.

Fans lined the barriers, shouting her name, some holding signs with her number, others just eager to see their champion. And without missing a beat, Imani flashed a quick but genuine smile and gave a casual wave, the kind that made every fan feel seen, like they were part of the moment with her. Her eyes sparkled with a quiet confidence that didn’t need words to be understood. She didn’t just walk through the crowd—she commanded it, every move dripping with assurance, like the entire atmosphere was bending to her will.

Just as she was nearing the entrance to the garage area, her crew hard at work on her car, a hand reached out to stop her.

“Imani!” a voice called out.

She turned, a smile already forming on her lips as she recognized the familiar reporter, the one who had been following her career since her early days in NASCAR.

"I guess I’m not getting out of this one," Imani murmured under her breath, though the playful glint in her eyes said otherwise.

Her crew was still in the background, focused on the car, but for a moment, the world around her seemed to fade as the noise of the racetrack blended into the hum of adrenaline. Her focus shifted entirely to the present, the steady rhythm of her breath aligning with the intensity of the moment.

It was a rare thing, how natural she made it all seem, like a queen among her people—unrivaled, confident, and always in control.

The interviewer, a young woman with a professional smile, couldn't resist the opportunity to ask.

“So, Imani,” the interviewer began, turning her attention to Imani as the cameras rolled, “You were spotted with Joe Burrow last night. There’s been a lot of buzz about that. Care to comment on the dinner?”

The question hung in the air, and the room fell a little quieter as everyone turned their attention to Imani, waiting for her response. Joe, standing off to the side with the guys, instantly felt a slight shift in the air. He hadn’t been expecting the question to come up, and he wasn’t sure how Imani would handle it. He could see the familiar glint in her eyes—a mix of playful confidence and no-nonsense attitude. It was the same intensity she brought to the track, and it was clear she wasn’t going to back down.

Imani's lips curled into a slight smile as she answered, her tone calm but filled with an underlying edge.

“Well,” she began, eyes flashing toward the interviewer with a knowing look. “Everyone knows my cousin Orlando plays for Cincinnati, so it’s not exactly a secret that I know a few of the players, right? It’s pretty obvious I’ve spent time with some of them. Who I have dinner with, or who I’m with at any given time, is nobody’s business but mine. And honestly? It shouldn’t be a topic of conversation.”

Her voice remained level, but the underlying assertion was clear. She wasn’t about to let the question slide without setting the record straight. Her eyes briefly flickered over to Joe, who was watching her from the sidelines, his arms crossed, a quiet smirk on his face as he observed her handling the situation. He had a newfound respect for her—there was no one quite like Imani.

She continued, her gaze now shifting back to the interviewer, who was clearly trying to keep the situation under control.

“Let’s be real here. I’m here to race. I’m here to talk about racing, not to discuss who I’ve had dinner with. People can make whatever assumptions they want, but my personal life? It stays separate from my career.” She paused, raising an eyebrow, clearly not finished. “Joe’s a great guy. If I want to have dinner with someone of the opposite gender, it shouldn’t be a big deal. And you know what? I’m tired of that question always coming up. Do you ask the guys on the track whose thighs they’re in between when they’re hanging out with someone?”

The interviewer blinked in surprise, but Imani wasn’t done yet. The sarcasm in her voice was palpable as she added one final jab.

“Maybe you should try it next time. See how the guys like it.”

Imani gave the interviewer a pointed look, and before anyone could respond, she turned on her heel and started to walk off, clearly done with the question. The crowd of reporters, along with the cameramen, looked momentarily stunned by her directness, but no one could deny the power in her words. It was a classic Imani move—bold, unapologetic, and yet still with that playful undertone that made everyone aware she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind.

Joe stood there, a grin creeping across his face. His teammates, who had been watching the interview with interest, looked at each other and then back at Joe. Sam, who had been quiet, raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

“Man, she doesn’t pull punches, does she?” Sam muttered, his voice laced with admiration.

“Nope,” Ja'Marr said with a grin. “That’s why we like her.”

Tee laughed, shaking his head. “She’s got the fire. No wonder she’s killing it this season.”

Joe’s smirk didn’t fade. He was proud of how Imani had handled the interview—cool, collected, and making her point without missing a beat. There was no mistaking it now: Imani was one of the most intense, most driven athletes in the world, and she wasn’t about to let anyone distract her from her goals. The way she carried herself, both on and off the track, left an impression on anyone who crossed her path.

“I’ll say it again,” Ja'Marr added, glancing at Joe. “You two got some serious chemistry. She’s something else, huh?”

Joe chuckled but didn’t respond right away, his mind replaying the way Imani had handled herself in front of the cameras. He could feel the pull between them, but there was something more now—something deeper. She wasn’t just a great driver, she was a force to be reckoned with. And whether he liked it or not, he was part of her world now.

“She’s definitely one of a kind,” Joe said, his voice low but filled with that same admiration the others shared. “And she’s only getting started.”

As the interview wrapped up and the cameras switched off, Imani made her way back to the motorcade, the confidence in her stride undeniable. Joe’s eyes followed her for a moment before he turned back to his teammates.

“She’s got this race in the bag,” Joe said, more to himself than anyone else. “And after that, we’ll see who’s winning next.”

Sam, Tee, and Ja'Marr all nodded in agreement, knowing one thing for sure: when Imani Brown took the track, she was about to remind everyone exactly why she was leading the championship. No one—especially not the press—was going to get in her way.

Soon enough, they reached the designated area, and as they stood at the edge of the track, a team member walked over to greet them.

“Alright, fellas, right this way,” the staff member said, guiding them toward the motorcade. “You’ll be standing with the #9 crew for the race today.”

Joe’s heart rate picked up a bit as he realized they’d be in the motorcade of her race car. His gaze flicked to the vibrant #9 car parked in front of them, its sleek design a blur of neon green and black. It was unmistakable. Imani’s signature car.

They made their way to a roped-off area near the cars, and it didn’t take long for Imani to approach. She was wearing a black racing suit with the #9 embroidered over her heart, her helmet tucked under one arm as she walked up to greet them, a wide smile spreading across her face when she saw Joe. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of confidence and excitement as she walked toward them, the buzz of the race and the crowd barely touching her calm composure. 

“Gentlemen,” she said, her voice a mix of warmth and playful authority. “Glad you could make it. You’re about to see how real athletes do it.”

Joe’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint as Imani flashed him a wink, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He took a step forward, extending his hand toward her with a confident grin. “I’m looking forward to seeing you out there,” he said, his voice smooth, but there was a slight edge to it—a playful challenge. “But hey, don’t go too hard on me. I’ve still got a career to focus on.”

Imani laughed, the sound as effortless and captivating as always. She tilted her head slightly, her smile never wavering as she extended her hand to shake his. “Oh, I’ll try not to take you down too badly, Joe,” she teased, her eyes narrowing just a fraction, clearly enjoying the playful banter between them. “But you know, sometimes a girl’s gotta remind the guys who’s boss.”

Her hand lingered in his just a little longer than necessary, the brief touch sending an undeniable spark of electricity between them. The tension was thick, as if every word, every glance, was a little more than just friendly chatter.

Joe’s smile widened, but there was a flicker in his eyes—a hint of something more than just the casual flirtation they’d shared before. “I’ll be sure to keep an eye on you then,” he said, his tone almost teasing, but there was something underneath it, something deeper that lingered in the air.

Imani chuckled softly, stepping back with a playful twirl of her fingers through her braids, her gaze still locked on him. “Good. You’ll need it.” Her voice was light, but the hint of challenge was unmistakable. She didn’t back down from anything—and neither did he.

She turned her attention to the rest of the guys. “Sam, Ja'Marr, Tee—glad you could make it too. I expect you all to cheer extra loud for me.”

Ja'Marr chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry. We’ve got your back. We’re team #9 today.”

“You all better be ready for some serious speed,” Imani teased, her eyes glinting with excitement. “But just so you know, I’m not just here to race. I’m here to win.”

Her words were sharp, confident, and full of that undeniable fire that everyone had come to know about her. At just 23 years old, Imani Brown wasn’t just another driver in the field—she was the driver everyone was talking about. She had become one of the first Black women to race in the Cup Series, and her record was nothing short of spectacular. After a grueling race, she’d clinched her first-ever Daytona 500 win, solidifying her status as a championship contender. And this season? She was leading the points standings, with multiple top-three finishes under her belt and zero DNFs (Did Not Finish)—a perfect start to a season that looked like it could end in a championship.

Joe could feel the fire in her words. Imani wasn’t just confident; she had a palpable intensity to her, a drive that matched the best in any sport. She was a force to be reckoned with, and it was hard not to be drawn to her energy.

She gave them one last glance before she adjusted her helmet, the seriousness of race day settling over her features.

“I’ll see you guys after the race,” she said, the usual playfulness in her voice replaced by a steely focus. “Stay out of the way of my crew, though. They’re in the zone.”

With that, she nodded, giving Joe a final, lingering look before walking to her car. Her movements were effortless, the confident way she moved toward the #9 car making it clear that she was right where she belonged.

The guys stood there for a moment, watching her go, before Sam broke the silence.

“Man, she is something else,” he said, shaking his head in awe.

Tee nodded, his eyes still tracking Imani’s every move as she slipped into the car. “She’s got that fire. I can feel it. Can’t wait to see her out there.”

Ja'Marr clapped Joe on the back, grinning. “You and her—y’all got some serious chemistry. I’m just sayin’.”

Joe smirked, shaking his head but not denying it. There was no point in trying to hide the way Imani had gotten under his skin. She was one of a kind. And as they watched her car roll to the starting line, Joe knew there was something special about the way she carried herself. Off the track, Imani was playful, teasing, and easy to talk to. But when it came time to race? She was all business—and that was exactly the kind of woman who knew how to push limits.

And as Imani disappeared into the pit area, the group knew one thing for sure—they were about to witness something special.

The sun was high in the sky, casting a bright sheen over the Miami racetrack, as the cars lined up for the start of the NASCAR Cup Series StraightTalk Wireless 400. The roar of the engines echoed through the grandstands, and the tension was palpable. Imani Brown, now comfortably seated in her #9 Hendrick Motorsports car, sat in P1. She’d earned this position with a perfect qualifying run, and now, with the start of the race before her, she was ready to make her mark.

Her hands gripped the steering wheel with a calm but intense focus. She could feel the vibrations of the car beneath her, the hum of the engine, the slight pull of the harness that kept her secure. She wasn’t new to this—far from it. But today, the stakes felt higher. Today, she was leading the pack. And right beside her on the grid was none other than Joey Logano, a seasoned veteran who wouldn’t make it easy on her. He was a threat, and she knew it.

The engines revved, the race was about to begin, and Imani’s car roared to life, the crowd erupting into cheers as her car shot forward. Joe’s heart raced in anticipation—not just for the race, but for what he knew was brewing between them. There was an undeniable chemistry, something that, like her driving, couldn’t be ignored.

As the green flag waved, Imani’s foot hit the floor, and the roar of the engine sent the car surging forward. She instinctively adjusted her line, weaving between the pack as they thundered around the track. The adrenaline coursed through her veins, but she kept her focus tight.

As Imani rocketed into the race, leading from the start, Joe felt a sense of pride. He was watching history unfold right in front of him. And in that moment, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was just the beginning of something even bigger.

“Alright, fellas,” Joe said, his voice filled with excitement. “This is going to be a hell of a race.”

The rest of the guys nodded, their attention fixed on the track, but Joe’s mind wasn’t just on the race. It was on Imani, and the feeling that this was only the start of something much more intense.

The sound of tires screeching, the heavy thrum of powerful engines revving, and the shifting of gears created a symphony of speed that only those in the cockpit could fully appreciate. Imani’s Hendrick Motorsports #9 car rocketed down the straightaways with precision. Joey Logano’s car was close, always in her peripheral vision, trying to inch ahead as they braked hard for the corners. But Imani held steady, expertly maintaining her position.

Lap after lap, the strategy was clear: stay aggressive but keep the car in one piece. Push when she could, defend when necessary. As she rounded Turn 3 on the fifth lap, however, the yellow flag came out.

“Caution, caution,” the spotter’s voice crackled through her earpiece.

The pack slowed as the cars peeled back into single file, and the replay flashed up on the screen. Three cars had gotten tangled up in a wreck mid-pack, causing a chain reaction. Ryan Blaney, William Byron, and Christopher Bell were the unfortunate drivers involved. Blaney’s car had slid sideways, spinning right into the path of Byron and Bell, with pieces of fenders and parts littering the track. The wreck had been chaotic, but all the drivers involved were thankfully able to exit their vehicles under their own power.

Imani’s grip tightened around the wheel as her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. She knew that a restart could bring chaos, and she had to stay sharp. A pit stop was coming, and the strategy would be critical.

“You’re good, Imani. Keep your head in the game,” her crew chief’s voice came through her earpiece, steadying her nerves.

With the caution flag out, the field slowed, and the pit crews began preparing for the first set of pit stops. Imani’s mind stayed sharp, focusing on the strategy and staying calm under pressure. She could hear the pit crews moving into position as they neared pit lane.

As the field restarted, Imani’s car surged forward again, but this time, it was a little trickier. Joey Logano, who had been waiting for the green flag to drop, shot ahead on the restart, quickly overtaking Imani in the tight, pack-racing situation. Imani, however, wasn’t about to let him slip away that easily.

“Keep on him. You’ve got this,” her spotter encouraged as Logano edged out ahead.

Imani settled back into the race, staying focused as the laps ticked away. Pit stops came in and out, the crews working fast. On one of the pit cycles, Imani’s crew had a slightly slower stop—just a fraction of a second off—but in NASCAR, those fractions meant positions. On the next lap, Kyle Busch and Chase Elliott passed her in the pit exit, bumping her down a few spots.

Imani was not happy about it. She ground her teeth as the cars ahead of her pulled away.

“I’m gonna get them back,” she muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowing. She wasn’t one to take a loss on pit lane lying down, and she wasn’t about to let a few bad stops ruin her race.

As the race entered the later stages, Imani knew it was time to dig deep. The laps were winding down, and she had to make up ground. It was about precision and patience—passing wasn’t just about speed; it was about timing. She lined up Denny Hamlin for a pass on the inside and made her move on the backstretch. The move was smooth, and she cleared him just before entering Turn 3.

“Great job, great job,” her crew chief praised, but there was no time for celebration. She had more work to do.

The race was intense, the heat of competition rising with every lap. Imani’s #9 car flew around the track with precision, but the constant shifting of positions and the strategy of the other drivers was starting to get under her skin.

As she approached Turn 4, she could see a gap opening in front of her, a chance to take back a position she’d lost earlier. She gunned the engine, weaving past another car on the inside, but as soon as she made the move, another car darted in front of her, blocking her path and forcing her to slam on the brakes to avoid a collision.

“That’s some bullshit!” Imani muttered under her breath, her grip on the steering wheel tightening.

Her spotter’s voice crackled in her ear, trying to calm her. “Easy, Imani. Stay calm, stay focused. You’ve got this. Just keep working your line.”

Imani’s teeth gritted. She could feel the frustration bubbling up inside her, but she kept her focus, weaving her way back into the rhythm of the race. However, as she made her way down the backstretch, another driver — this time, Kyle Busch — cut her off, forcing her to check up and lose more ground.

Her grip on the wheel tightened even further, and this time, there was no stopping the frustration from spilling out.

"Are you kidding me right now?" Imani snapped, her voice loud over the radio. “What the hell is Kyle doing? He’s playing games out here, and it’s pissing me off!”

Her crew chief, trying to keep her level-headed, came through the radio with a calm voice, “Imani, stay focused. You’re fine. Just don’t let him get in your head.”

But that only made her more irritable. “I’m not fine,” she growled, her tone sharp. “I’m out here busting my ass, and these idiots keep pulling these cheap moves. I’m gonna make ‘em pay for it.”

Her spotter, ever the professional, interjected quickly. “Listen to me, Imani. You know the drill. Just breathe. You’ve got the skill to get back. Let’s focus on the race, not the idiots on the track.”

Imani huffed, a sharp breath escaping her lips as she navigated the next corner, still seething. “I hear you. But damn, I’m sick of these guys thinking they can just push me around like I’m some rookie. I’m not that.”

Her spotter sighed, knowing she wasn’t going to back down. “I know, Imani. But we’re playing the long game. Keep your cool, and we’ll get ‘em when it counts.”

She took another breath, the sound coming through the radio like a small storm trying to calm itself. But the fire was still there, simmering under the surface. “Fine,” she muttered, her voice still laced with feistiness. “But don’t expect me to play nice with these fucking clowns when it’s time to turn things up. I’ll show them exactly who’s running this track.”

Her crew chief’s voice came through, a mix of firmness and encouragement. “Imani, I know you’re ready to race hard. Just keep your head in the game. The moves will come, but we have to play it smart. The last thing we need is to get caught up in someone else’s mess.”

Imani’s hands gripped the steering wheel tighter as she entered the next set of turns. She could feel her pulse quicken, the adrenaline thrumming in her veins. Her competitive nature was like a fire that burned with intensity, and right now, it was roaring at full force.

“I hear you, but I’m not sitting back any longer,” she replied, her voice sharp with determination. “I’m done being the nice girl out here.”

As if on cue, a car ahead of her—one she’d been tailing for several laps—braked early for a corner, forcing her to adjust her line and lose precious time. She growled under her breath, barely containing her frustration.

“Imani, calm down,” her spotter urged, but she wasn’t listening. Not anymore.

Without missing a beat, she floored the accelerator, her car roaring as she took a daring move on the inside. It was tight—too tight for most drivers, but Imani didn’t hesitate. She knew she had the skill to make the pass without making it ugly. With a quick flick of the wheel, she edged ahead, powering past the car that had been blocking her earlier.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Imani cheered under her breath, a sense of satisfaction washing over her as she fought for every inch. But the battle wasn’t over yet. A quick glance in her rearview mirror told her she wasn’t done fighting. The field was still tight, and she had more work to do.

Her spotter’s voice broke through again, this time with more urgency. “You’ve got a car coming up fast behind you. Don’t let up.”

Imani’s eyes flicked to the rearview. A car was gaining ground, and she could feel the heat of the other driver closing in. Her grip tightened as she prepared to defend her position.

“I know what I’m doing,” she muttered, her voice a mix of grit and grit alone. Her foot pressed further down on the accelerator, pushing the car harder as she focused on maintaining her lead.

As they hit another straightaway, the other car made its move, diving low and trying to take advantage of her slight miscalculation. Imani’s eyes narrowed, and she fought back, keeping the pace while positioning herself perfectly to block the move.

“Nice try, but not today,” she muttered, her confidence returning as she held her line. She made sure to keep her car steady, using every ounce of experience and skill to prevent the other driver from slipping by. It was a battle, but it was one she was determined to win.

“Great job, Imani. Keep it up,” her crew chief praised, though there was still a tinge of caution in his voice.

But Imani didn’t care. She was too far in the zone, too focused on what lay ahead. The tension in the air was palpable, but it was a familiar feeling for her. She was born for this.

“I’m going to show these guys exactly who’s in charge,” she muttered to herself, a sly grin tugging at her lips.

And she was just getting started.

As Imani’s fiery responses crackled through the radio, Joe and the guys, who had been watching the race from the VIP area, couldn’t help but exchange amused glances. Sam, Ja’Marr, and Tee were leaning forward, their attention fixed on the screen, but the sound of Imani’s fierce voice over the radio caught their attention.

“Did she just say that?” Tee asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sam let out a low whistle. “She’s definitely not playing around today. Feisty is an understatement.”

Joe grinned, his eyes never leaving the screen. “She’s got that fire, doesn’t she?” His voice was a mixture of admiration and something else—an unmistakable hint of amusement. “I’m not sure anyone can handle her when she gets going.”

Ja'Marr chuckled, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what makes her so damn good. She doesn’t back down from anyone. And I like that.”

Tee nodded. “Hell, if I had to race against her, I’d be looking over my shoulder every second. Imani doesn’t take shit from anyone.”

Joe’s grin widened as he leaned back in his chair, relaxing into the moment. “You guys are right. I don’t think anyone expects her to be this intense, but I like how she handles it. She’s got that, uh, competitive edge. Reminds me a little of someone else I know.”

Sam gave him a sidelong glance. “Oh, yeah? And who’s that?”

Joe's grin only grew wider. “I think we all know who,” he said with a wink. The playful tension in his voice didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the group.

Ja'Marr laughed. “Imani’s got him all riled up, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘riled up,’” Joe replied, but there was no hiding the slight blush that crept onto his cheeks. He quickly cleared his throat. “I mean, she’s just... passionate about what she does. Can’t help but respect that.”

The guys exchanged knowing looks, and Sam smirked. “Uh-huh. Sure, Joe. Respect.”

Joe rolled his eyes but didn’t respond. Instead, he focused back on the race, watching Imani maneuver through the field with precision and aggression. Her fiery personality was evident not just in her radio communications, but in the way she handled the car—taking control of the track with a level of confidence that only made her more captivating.

Imani’s voice crackled over the radio once again, the intensity and focus in her tone impossible to ignore.

“Okay, time to get them back. Let’s do this,” she snapped, clearly fired up as she pushed her car to the limit.

The guys laughed as they all looked at Joe, who, for a brief moment, looked slightly entranced by the raw intensity in her voice.

“Man, she really knows how to turn it on, huh?” Tee teased, his grin widening.

Joe smirked, but his eyes were glued to the screen. “Yeah, no kidding. She’s not here to play games. She's a force to be reckoned with.” His voice was low, a mix of admiration and maybe something else.

Sam raised his eyebrows. “You sure it’s the racing you respect?”

Joe shot him a look but didn’t answer, the teasing atmosphere hanging in the air. He was enjoying the playful banter, but deep down, he couldn’t deny the pull he felt every time Imani spoke. Whether it was over the radio or in person, there was something undeniably magnetic about her—and he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.

Imani’s lap times were improving as the laps dwindled, and with just a few laps to go, she was right back on Joey Logano’s tail. The two cars raced neck and neck, the roar of their engines blending with the crowd’s cheers. Logano, sensing the pressure, began to block her in the corners, weaving slightly as they entered Turn 4.

But Imani wasn’t going to let that stop her. She stayed patient, waiting for the right moment. As they rounded Turn 3 with just two laps left, Logano’s car drifted just a little too wide, and that was all the opening Imani needed.

With a quick, calculated move, Imani dove low on the inside of Turn 4, sliding past Logano and into the lead. The crowd’s roar escalated as the two cars crossed the start/finish line, but it was Imani’s car that was first, leading into the final lap.

“One more lap. Just one more,” her spotter said. The intensity of the moment was undeniable.

Imani held her ground on the final lap. Logano, desperate to retake the lead, tried to dive down low in the final turn, but Imani held strong, keeping the car steady, controlling the lines, and making sure to defend without overdriving the corners.

As Imani powered through the final turn, the roar of the crowd rising to a deafening crescendo, she felt it—the surge of adrenaline that came with the final stretch. The finish line loomed ahead, and she could almost taste the victory in the air. Her grip tightened around the steering wheel as she pressed the pedal to the metal, pushing her car down the frontstretch with everything she had left.

The last few laps had been a battle—fighting for every inch of track against some of the sport’s fiercest competitors. Logano had been on her tail, trying to push her out of the way, and Kyle Busch had taken some cheap shots, weaving in and out of her blind spots. But now, as the checkered flag waved, there was no one in sight, no one close enough to challenge her. The race was hers.

As she crossed the finish line, her spotter’s voice exploded over the radio, full of excitement and pride. "“You did it, Imani! You’re the winner!” the spotter shouted. Imani’s heart skipped a beat. Her breath caught in her throat as a wild grin spread across her face. She could feel the rush of satisfaction flooding through her, the culmination of everything she had worked for. Victory. 

“Fuck yes! We did it! Fuck you Kyle ya fucking prick.” Imani shouted over the radio, her voice full of triumph. "Drinks are on me tonight guys!" She let out a joyous laugh, her pulse still racing, but now for entirely different reasons.

As Imani cruised past the finish line, her victory lap had just ended, but the adrenaline was still coursing through her veins. Her hands gripped the wheel, a wide grin on her face as she basked in the overwhelming energy of the moment. The roar of the crowd still buzzed in her ears, but she had one last thing to do to make this victory unforgettable.

With a sly, confident smirk, Imani hit the gas.

The tires screeched, and her #9 car slid into a sharp turn, the backend fishtailing wildly as she whipped it into a full spin. The crowd went wild as the back end of her car kicked out, smoke billowing from the tires as she began to spin in circles, the engine roaring with power beneath her. She was doing donuts at full speed, the smell of burning rubber filling the air as she celebrated with wild abandon.

Each spin brought a wave of euphoria, each turn a reminder of what she had just accomplished. The trophy might have been sitting in her pit crew’s hands, but this—this moment of pure freedom, of joy, of proving everyone wrong—was hers alone.

Imani’s boho butterfly braids flew around her face as she swerved, her eyes still glinting with mischief. She couldn't help herself, letting out a shout of pure excitement into the cockpit as the car spun again and again, her body moving instinctively with the rhythm of the machine.

The deafening roar of the crowd only fueled her celebration, their cheers becoming a constant in the background of her victory. She leaned into the turn, hitting the gas one more time as her car slid in a perfect circle, the motion graceful yet powerful.

Eventually, the tires lost their grip, and with one final, exhilarating spin, Imani slowed the car to a stop. The engine purred softly as she let the car come to a complete stop right at the start/finish line, smoke still rising from the tires in a beautiful, chaotic plume.

Imani let out a laugh, the sound light and carefree, as she raised her hand in victory. She glanced up at the scoreboard, and her heart skipped a beat. She was not just celebrating a win today—she was leading the championship by 22 points.

Coasting toward victory lane, she felt her team’s support in every inch of the car, every press of the pedal. She gave them a mental nod, silently thanking them for their precision and hard work all week. But as her car rolled into victory lane, her smile shifted to something more mischievous, her eyes twinkling with a hint of playful defiance.

She parked the car, and as soon as she stepped out, the roar from the crowd was deafening. Fans in the stands were screaming her name, their cheers vibrating in the air. Imani raised her fist in the air in a victorious salute before walking towards her crew, who were already waiting for her with high fives and hugs. The excitement from her team was palpable.

“Yeah! That’s how we do it!” her crew chief shouted, clapping her on the back. “You nailed it today, Imani. We’ve been waiting for this!”

The deafening cheers of the crowd filled the air as Imani parked her car in the middle of victory lane, her hands still gripping the wheel as she took a deep breath to steady herself. She could hear the hum of excitement all around her, the distant thrum of the engines still in the air, but in this moment, it was just her and the moment of triumph she’d earned.

She climbed out of the car, a wide smile spreading across her face as she waved to the cheering crowd. The roar from the stands was deafening, the energy contagious. Imani took a deep breath, soaking in the moment. This wasn’t just any win. This was a win that solidified her place among the best in the sport. A win that sent a message—not just to the field, but to the world. The pit crew, having already rushed from the wall, gathered around her, and a few of the crew members slapped her on the back, their faces lit with excitement. But Imani wasn't done yet.

She made her way up to the roof of her #9 Hendrick Motorsports car. The crowd's cheers swelled even louder as she stood tall, her heart racing with a heady mix of pride and exhilaration. With one hand raised triumphantly, she lifted her other arm high into the air. The cameras snapped in rapid fire, capturing the iconic image of Imani Brown—champion, unstoppable, fearless. Her boho butterfly braids swayed in the breeze as she raised her arms higher, a fierce smile spreading across her face.

The atmosphere was electric. Fans lined the grandstands, some waving signs, others just screaming in pure joy. The noise and the energy were palpable, but Imani soaked it all in, her body humming with the rush of victory.

After a few seconds of basking in the glory, Imani hopped down from the car, landing smoothly onto the track. Her crew surrounded her in a jubilant, chaotic wave of excitement. They all screamed her name as they lifted her into the air, tossing her up like she was a feather caught in the wind. She laughed, arms raised in pure ecstasy as they held her high, the weight of her victory still sinking in.

Cameras surrounded her, flashing like a storm of light, but Imani didn’t mind. She was the storm today.

Once they gently set her down, Imani walked with the crew toward the pit area where the media was waiting. As she made her way, the crowd’s applause still reverberated in the air around her. She unfastened her helmet and balaclava, pulling them off in one fluid motion and tossing them toward one of her crew members.

She quickly slipped her gloves off, handing them to her trainer Jade, as she made her way toward the interview area, her fireproof suit now loose at her waist. Her suit hung comfortably on her, a perfect reminder of how she had just earned every ounce of her success. Underneath, the glow of her fireproof gear still shimmered, a faint reminder of the risk she took every time she strapped into that car.

The interviewer greeted her with a wide smile, knowing just how momentous this moment was.

“Well, Imani, congratulations! What a race, what a win. You’re leading the championship now with a solid 22-point lead. How does it feel?”

Imani took a deep breath, her face flushed from the adrenaline, her voice steady but filled with that signature fire of hers.

“It feels amazing. But you know, this is just one step. I’m not satisfied yet. We’ve got a long season ahead, and I’m ready for it. My team, my pit crew—they were flawless today. I can’t thank them enough for everything they do. This win is for them, for all the hard work they’ve put in.”

She gave the camera a sly smile, her eyes gleaming with a mix of confidence and mischief.

“And as for the competition... well, I’m not done yet. 22 points is a great lead, but I plan on extending that every chance I get. If anybody’s thinking this was just a lucky race, they better think again.”

The reporter chuckled, clearly enjoying the feisty attitude.

“Speaking of competition, you and Kyle Busch, and Joey Logano—some of those passes earlier were a bit... intense. You certainly had some tense moments on the track.”

Imani laughed, her voice smooth and casual, but her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief.

“Oh, trust me, I was feeling it. I’ve got a lot of respect for those guys, but they’ve got to remember—I'm not here to play it safe. Sometimes, you’ve got to push the limits, and if they don’t like it, well... a big ‘Fuck you’ to them again. I’m here to win, and if they’re gonna make it difficult, they’re gonna see how hard I’ll fight.”

She gave the interviewer a wink before turning her attention back to the cheering crowd.

“I’m ready for whatever comes next. But for tonight? I’m gonna enjoy this. This one’s for all the fans, my team, and anyone who ever doubted me.”

The crowd erupted in applause once more as Imani smiled, her confidence radiating through every word and every gesture. With one final wave, she walked off, knowing that this was just the beginning of a long, victorious season.

The buzz of victory still crackled in the air as Imani made her way back toward the area where the guys were standing. Her heart was still racing, but not from the thrill of the race anymore. It was the sheer excitement of winning, of knowing that this moment would go down as one of her best yet. The cheers and the constant flashing of cameras only amplified the joy that was surging through her.

But just as she reached her crew, the world seemed to explode in champagne.

Sprayed from multiple directions, Imani let out a laugh, her voice light and carefree. Champagne splashed across her face, dripping down her racing suit, but she didn’t care. This moment, this messy, celebratory chaos, was exactly what she needed. She tossed her head back, her boho butterfly braids whipping around as she took it all in, basking in the energy of the crowd, the crew, and the guys who had watched her take this win.

"Now hold on, where’s my bottle?" she shouted above the cheers, her voice a playful mix of command and laughter.

Her crew chief, grinning ear to ear, handed her a fresh bottle of champagne.

Imani swirled it around in her hands, her fingers tracing the cold glass. The grin never left her face as she slammed the bottom of the bottle with her foot, sending the cork launching into the air. The bottle exploded, the champagne fizzing out in a chaotic, celebratory spray. She turned to her crew, spraying them with a burst of bubbly as they cheered, their laughter ringing out louder than the engines had been moments earlier.

The guys—Joe, Sam, Tee, and Ja'Marr—found themselves caught in the crossfire of the champagne shower, their faces lit up with surprise and laughter.

Joe, who had been standing off to the side, wiped champagne from his eyes, his grin stretching wide. He had never seen anyone so full of life, so unapologetically confident. Imani’s fiery spirit was contagious.

"You’re soaking us all!" Sam shouted between laughs, holding his arms up to shield himself from the deluge.

Imani’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she swirled the bottle again, and with a wicked smile, she turned her focus to the guys, spraying them down with her victory champagne. "Oh, I’m just getting started," she teased, her voice full of that signature playful edge.

She shot a wink in Joe’s direction, her gaze locking with his for a brief moment. It was daring, playful, and there was something in her eyes that made his pulse race. He returned the wink, though there was no denying the slight tug of tension that still lingered between them.

With the bottle emptied and her crew covered in champagne, Imani took a quick sip from the neck of the bottle, savoring the taste as her laughter continued to echo around the pit.

"Alright, alright," her crew chief called, motioning for her to come closer. "Team photo time."

Imani rolled her eyes but still couldn’t suppress the grin that spread across her face. She made her way toward her team, shaking her head at the playful chaos she’d created. As they gathered together for the photo, she was pulled in by her teammates, their arms around her shoulders, and she was momentarily lost in the sea of joy and laughter.

​​Imani finally made her way over to the group of guys, who were still laughing and wiping the last remnants of champagne off their clothes. Their cheers were loud and genuine as they greeted her, clearly impressed by her win.

"Imani, that was insane!" Ja'Marr said, his grin wide as he clapped her on the back.

"You absolutely crushed it out there," Tee added, shaking his head in awe. "That last lap? Unstoppable."

Imani grinned, her pride shining through, but her humility was just as evident. "Thanks, guys," she replied, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "But really, it was all about the team. I couldn’t have done it without these guys," she motioned to her crew, who stood nearby, still celebrating.

She paused for a moment before giving a playful shrug. "And sorry about all the champagne... I may have gotten a little carried away." Her smile was wide, but there was a sheepish undertone, especially when she noticed some of the guys’ soaked shirts.

The boys laughed, brushing it off immediately. Sam raised his hands. "It’s all good, Imani. That’s what victory smells like."

"You’ve definitely got the victory dance down," Joe added with a teasing grin, wiping some champagne from his sleeve. "I’ll take the soggy shirt for a win like that."

Imani’s grin widened. "Good, 'cause it’s not like I can do much about it now." She gave them a playful shrug, and the guys laughed again, clearly enjoying the light-hearted moment.

Before they could continue chatting, a team member called Imani’s name from the sidelines, pulling her attention away. “Time for more photos, champ!”

She nodded, feeling the weight of the celebration and excitement settle into her bones. "I’ll be right back." She gave the guys a small wave as she started walking toward the photographers, but not before calling out to her best friend and trainer, Jade, who was standing by with her things.

"Jade! My phone!" Imani called, her voice still upbeat despite the flurry of attention surrounding her.

Jade was quick to hand over the phone with a sly grin on her face. "You know, I think someone’s already waiting for you." She raised an eyebrow suggestively, glancing over her shoulder toward Joe, who was still with the guys.

Imani didn’t try to hide her smile, but she gave Jade a pointed look. "Oh, don’t start." She quickly unlocked her phone and typed a message, her fingers moving fast. She sent Joe a quick text:

Imani: Meet me in my motorcade after this. I'll have someone from the team take you there.

Jade smirked, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You’re being a little sneaky, huh? You’ve definitely got something going on with him, don’t you?"

Imani rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips tugged into a smile. "You know me, Jade. I’m just making the most of a little downtime."

Jade leaned in as Imani finished typing and handed the phone back to her. "Well, I’m not gonna lie, I’m curious to see where this is going. You two are practically a walking flirtation, and I’m living for it."

Imani shot her a playful look, but before she could respond, she was swept away by the photographers, who were eager to capture every angle of her victory. As they snapped picture after picture, Imani couldn’t help but wonder what Joe’s reaction would be when he got the message.

The excitement of the win was still fresh, but now, she was just as eager to see him. After all, a win like this wasn’t complete without sharing it with someone who had been there in the background, even if only through their own flirtatious, teasing moments.

—

The flurry of flashes and camera clicks seemed to fade away as Imani wrapped up the last of the post-race photos. She was still floating from the rush of her victory, but there was a different kind of anticipation pulling her forward now. After a final, bright smile for the photographers, she excused herself, stepping away from the chaos of the track and toward her motorcade.

As she approached the row of vehicles, her eyes quickly found Joe. He was leaning casually against one of the camper trailers, his posture relaxed, a stark contrast to the intensity of the race that had just ended. His focus was on his phone, fingers scrolling with a calm concentration, his Bengals cap pulled low over his eyes. The late afternoon sun reflected off the chrome of the nearby cars, casting a golden light around him, making him look like he belonged in one of those movie scenes—cool, effortlessly composed.

Imani stood there for a moment, admiring the way he seemed so at ease, so different from the noise of the track. It was clear he didn’t belong here in the midst of the racing frenzy, but something about that made him stand out even more. She could feel the familiar flutter of anticipation in her chest, her heart speeding up a bit as she took in the sight of him.

Then, with a small, almost imperceptible smirk playing at her lips, she cleared her throat, knowing the sound would carry. Joe looked up, his expression shifting from absorbed focus to a playful grin as he spotted her standing a few feet away, her arms still crossed, her racing suit loosely tied at her waist.

"Well, well, look who finally shows up," he teased, his voice low and warm, giving her that signature mischievous look that always made her stomach do a little flip.

Imani rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. "Sorry, I had to do my victory lap," she said, her tone light but with that playful edge. She raised an eyebrow, scanning him as she walked closer. "Not bad for a quarterback. I thought you were gonna make a run for it when you saw all the cameras."

Joe laughed, tucking his phone into his pocket and standing up straighter, making his way toward her with a laid-back yet purposeful stride. "I didn’t want to get in the way of the real star of the show," he said, his voice soft but clearly teasing. "Besides, I figured you'd be busy with your well-earned celebration. But, uh, I was just killing time."

Imani chuckled, her eyes bright with amusement. "Busy celebrating? I think I’m just getting started."

Her words hung in the air for a second before she took a step closer, standing right in front of him. The tension that had been simmering between them over the past few days, that pull-and-push dynamic, was suddenly palpable. There was an undeniable chemistry that neither of them could ignore.

"So," she began, her eyes twinkling as she let her gaze roam over him, taking in the way he seemed to fill the space around him, effortless and calm. "How does it feel to be up close and personal with a champion?"

Joe’s grin widened, but his expression shifted slightly, something a little more serious behind those playful eyes. "I gotta say, it’s pretty damn impressive. But I knew you had it in you," he replied, his voice lower now, and the words felt heavier than the usual teasing banter.

Imani smiled, her heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his voice. "Well, I’m glad you came to watch. Might’ve had a little more fun with you there," she said, a playful tone returning to her voice as she casually leaned against the side of the camper, looking up at him. "But I’m assuming you have some other plans, don’t you? You know, big game and all that?"

Joe’s grin remained, though his expression softened as Imani’s words lingered in the air between them. His usual playful demeanor was still there, but something else flickered in his eyes—a depth that wasn’t there before. He took a step closer, his voice quieter now, as if the moment demanded a little more honesty.

"You know, I actually don’t have anything on my itinerary for the rest of the night," he said, his voice carrying just the right amount of intrigue. "Maybe I’ll stick around for the celebration after all."

Imani’s lips curved into a playful smile as she tilted her head, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Oh, so now you’re interested?" she teased, but the playful edge was softened by the way her gaze lingered on him, a spark of something more in her eyes.

She didn’t wait for him to answer. Instead, she reached out, her fingers brushing against his before she gently took his hand, her touch light yet deliberate. The moment their hands met, there was an electric current that ran between them, like a spark that ignited something unspoken.

Without a word, she led him toward her motorcade, the small set of stairs leading up to the door. Her heart raced a little faster, and as she climbed the first step, she glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes holding his for just a beat longer than usual. The tension between them was almost tangible, thickening the air as she reached the top of the stairs and waited for him to follow.

When he did, stepping up next to her, the space between them felt charged, as if the whole world outside her motorcade had faded into the background. All that mattered was the moment, and in that moment, she was acutely aware of the way his presence filled the space around her, the intensity of his gaze locking with hers as he followed her inside.

Imani stepped into the dimly lit motorcade, the interior warm with the glow of soft lighting. It was a far cry from the loud chaos of the track, and for a brief second, she allowed herself to breathe deeply, the victory and the adrenaline still lingering in her veins. But as she stood there, waiting for Joe to step in behind her, her attention shifted back to him. The air between them felt thick, the pull of the attraction between them undeniable.

"Make yourself at home," she said, her voice a little breathier than usual as she glanced around the small but comfortable space. She set her helmet down on the counter and turned toward him, her fingers still lightly brushing against his. "There’s no rush."

Joe stepped fully inside, his gaze never leaving hers. The door closed softly behind him, shutting them off from the rest of the world. For a brief moment, neither of them spoke. It was as if time had slowed down, the space around them charged with anticipation. He took a step toward her, the tension between them rising with every inch.

"Nice setup," Joe said, his voice low, and though his words were casual, the way his eyes studied her—focused, intense—spoke volumes.

Imani smiled, but it was softer this time, her heart beating faster in her chest. "Thanks," she replied, her voice still playful but with a trace of something deeper. "I like it. It’s... quiet, after the madness of the race."

Joe nodded, taking a small step closer, closing the gap between them. "I can imagine." His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before flicking back up to her eyes, the unspoken words between them hanging in the air. "But I think... this is a little quieter, too."

The words were a whisper, but they felt loud enough for both of them. The pull between them was undeniable now, and Imani could feel her breath catch in her chest as he stood inches away, his presence almost overwhelming.

She met his gaze with her own, something soft and unguarded flickering in her expression. "Yeah," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "A lot quieter."

And just like that, the playful barrier that had separated them—the teasing, the games—began to dissolve. The moment stretched between them, heavy with possibilities. Imani felt the world outside her motorcade fade away, and for the first time, it was just the two of them in this quiet space, the tension between them electric, as they stood on the brink of something neither of them had quite figured out yet.

The tension between them hung in the air like a fine mist, palpable and undeniable. Imani could feel it, the electricity between them buzzing quietly, building with every small movement and glance. She tried to shake it off, but it lingered, the unspoken weight of their proximity making her heart race.

She flashed Joe a smile, trying to keep things casual, despite the undercurrent of excitement running through her veins. "You're welcome to a drink or snack, if you want. Help yourself," she said, her tone light as she made her way to the back of the motorcade.

Her eyes stayed briefly on Joe as she moved, watching him as he looked around the space. There was something about his quiet demeanor that made her heart skip—something about how he seemed so at ease, even as the air between them crackled with tension. But she didn’t let herself linger on that. She needed a moment to herself.

The bed in the back was large, the sheets a crisp white that contrasted with the dark wood paneling around the room. The space was calm and soothing, a safe haven after the chaos of the race and the frenzy of the post-race celebration. Imani slipped out of the champagne-soaked race suit and, with a quick sigh of relief, tossed it aside. She changed into something more comfortable—loose pajama shorts that hung casually on her hips, and a zip-up jacket with her name and race number on the back.

The fabric felt soft against her skin, a welcome change from the tight, sweaty suit she’d been wearing for hours. She ran a hand through her hair, the boho butterfly braids now slightly loose from the celebrations, before glancing back toward the front of the motorcade, half-expecting Joe to still be there.

Imani felt a little lighter now, the weight of the race and her victory finally starting to settle. She moved back toward the front, her fingers brushing against the wall as she walked, her gaze finding Joe again. She could feel the heat between them, stronger now, and despite her usually composed demeanor, her pulse quickened as she approached.

There was a quiet moment as she stood before him, her eyes flicking over him for a brief second before she caught herself. She straightened, trying to act casual, but the soft smile on her lips betrayed her.

“You good?” she asked, her voice light, though the look in her eyes spoke volumes. "Help yourself, like I said. There’s a fridge, and snacks in the cabinets."

Imani leaned against the counter, the casual posture belying the fact that she was very much aware of how close they were now. She tucked a stray braid behind her ear, trying to focus on anything but the way the tension was shifting between them.

Everything felt different now, the playful energy they’d shared earlier suddenly becoming something more—something deeper.

There was a quiet moment as she stood before him, her eyes flicking over him for a brief second before she caught herself. She straightened, trying to act casual, but the soft smile on her lips betrayed her.

“You good?” she asked, her voice light, though the look in her eyes spoke volumes. "Help yourself, like I said. There’s a fridge, and snacks in the cabinets."

Imani leaned against the counter, the casual posture belying the fact that she was very much aware of how close they were now. She tucked a stray braid behind her ear, trying to focus on anything but the way the tension was shifting between them.

Everything felt different now, the playful energy they’d shared earlier suddenly becoming something more—something deeper.

Joe was hungry for something else, someone else.

He stood and walked towards her, Imani takes a step away and her back meets the counter.  She was nervous and could feel her heart racing, but she couldn't deny the fact that she wanted him.

He reached out, running his finger across her cheek. She shivered at his touch, her lips parting slightly as she looked up at him, the unspoken desire between them almost palpable.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice softer now, all the playful banter gone. She was acutely aware of how close he was, his body practically pressed against hers, and she found herself wondering if he could feel her racing heartbeat through her jacket. "Hey." Joe whispered back, his voice deep with something more as his eyes trailed down her face. He could feel his self restraint hanging on by a thread, he had to taste her lips on his. He had to have her underneath him. 

Imani’s breath caught as he stepped even closer, their bodies almost flush now. The air felt charged between them, every nerve in her body on edge with anticipation. She could smell his cologne, a faint but intoxicating scent that seemed to wrap around her senses, pulling her closer.

His hand trailed down her cheek, his thumb gently brushing along her bottom lip as his gaze held hers. “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he said, his words barely above a whisper, but they held a weight that made her stomach flip.

He could see the way her breath quickened, her chest rising and falling faster, betraying the desire she couldn’t hide. She nodded, her own voice lost somewhere in the space between them.

“Please,” she breathed, and that was all the encouragement he needed.

He leaned in, closing the gap between them, his lips meeting hers in a soft, tentative kiss. But the moment they made contact, it was as if something clicked into place. The kiss deepened, his mouth moving against hers with a hunger they could no longer ignore.

Imani melted into the kiss, her hands finding his arms, gripping them tightly as she lost herself in the sensation of his lips on hers. It was everything she hadn’t known she wanted—passionate, intense, and utterly consuming. The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them, lost in the heat of this moment.

As the kiss intensified, Imani found herself pushing back against him, her body arching into his as her fingers curled into his shirt. Joe responded by pulling her closer, one hand sliding around her waist to hold her tight while the other cupped the back of her neck, keeping her mouth pressed to his.

The kiss was a mix of slow and gentle, like they were still trying to figure each other out, and desperate, like they couldn’t get enough. Joe’s tongue swiped at her bottom lip, seeking entry, and Imani opened for him with a soft moan, her own tongue meeting his as they explored each other with an intensity that left them both breathless.

He broke the kiss first, pulling back just enough to look at her, his breathing heavy and his eyes dark with desire. Imani’s lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes reflected the same hunger that burned inside him.

“Imani,” he breathed, his voice rough with emotion. “Tell me you want this.” His words were a plea and a promise all at once.

Imani swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she hesitated, the moment hanging between them like a challenge, a promise, a fear.

“I… I do,” she said finally, her voice trembling slightly, but there was a resolve in her gaze that matched his own. “I want this. I want you.”

The words hung in the air like a dare, a silent agreement that neither of them could back away from now. Joe’s eyes darkened even more, the last of his restraint slipping away as he heard the confirmation he’d been waiting for.

“Good,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Imani’s breath hitched as he leaned in again, capturing her lips in another searing kiss. This one was different though—less tentative, more demanding. It was like the floodgates had opened, all the pent-up tension and attraction pouring out in this single, desperate act.

She met his intensity with her own, her hands sliding up his arms to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer as she kissed him back with equal fervor. The air around them felt electric, charged with the passion that had been building between them for so long.

As the kiss deepened, Joe’s hands began to roam her body, exploring every curve and contour that he’d secretly admired from afar. His touch was both gentle and possessive, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to savor her or devour her whole.

Imani felt like she was drowning in the sensation, her senses overwhelmed by the feel of his hands on her, the taste of him on her tongue, and the sound of his breathing, heavy and labored, in her ear. She had never been kissed like this before—like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

He broke the kiss again, his lips trailing down her jaw to the sensitive spot on her neck, just below her ear. Imani gasped as he sucked and nibbled at her skin, each touch sending waves of pleasure through her body.

“Joe,” she breathed, her hands tangling in his hair as she held him close, urging him to continue.

He didn’t need any encouragement. His hands were busy undoing the zipper of her jacket, peeling it off her shoulders as his mouth continued its exploration of her neck and collarbone. The cool air of the motorcade hit her skin, but she didn’t feel cold—not with the heat radiating from Joe’s body as he pressed himself against her.

As he pushed the jacket off her arms, his lips found hers again, capturing her in another passionate kiss. Imani could feel herself getting lost in the sensation, the world around her melting away until all that was left was the two of them and this undeniable attraction.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting hers as he searched her face for any sign of hesitation. What he found instead was a mirror of his own desire—a look that spoke volumes without saying a word.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice husky with want, but there was a tenderness in his tone that showed he cared, that this wasn’t just about physical need for him.

Imani didn’t hesitate. She knew what she wanted, and she wasn’t going to let fear or doubt stop her now. “Yes,” she said, her voice firm and clear. “I want you, Joe.”

Something in his expression shifted at her words, a mix of relief and raw desire washing over his features. He pulled her back in, kissing her with a passion that left no room for doubt.

As their bodies pressed together, Imani could feel the heat building between them, a fire that threatened to consume them both. She knew that there was no going back now, not when she had finally tasted what it was like to be in his arms.

And as they lost themselves in each other, the rest of the world faded into nothingness, leaving only the two of them and the undeniable pull that had led them here.

Imani could feel Joe's hands roaming her body, touching her in ways she had never been touched before. His fingers were rough and calloused from years of racing, but his touch was gentle as he explored her skin. She felt a shiver run down her spine as his lips found the sensitive spot behind her ear, his teeth grazing her lobe before he began to kiss down her neck.

Imani's breath hitched as his lips moved lower, tracing a path along her collarbone and down to the swell of her breasts. His hands moved to cup them through her shirt, his thumbs brushing over her hardening nipples. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through her, and she arched into his touch, wanting more.

"Joe," she whispered, her voice breathy and filled with need.

He pulled back, looking into her eyes with a question in his own. "You okay?" he asked, his voice rough with desire.

Imani nodded, reaching up to pull him back down to her. "Don't stop," she breathed against his lips.

Joe didn't need to be told twice. He claimed her mouth in another searing kiss, his tongue sweeping in to tangle with hers as his hands moved to the hem of her shirt. He broke the kiss long enough to pull the shirt over her head, tossing it aside before his lips were back on her skin.

Imani felt exposed, but she didn't care. She wanted Joe to see all of her, to touch every inch of her body. She reached behind her back, unclasping her bra and letting it fall to the floor. Joe's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of her bare breasts, his hands moving to cup them, his thumbs brushing over the hardened peaks of her nipples.

Imani gasped at the sensation, her head falling back as Joe's mouth moved to her breasts, his tongue swirling around one nipple before taking it into his mouth. She tangled her fingers in his hair, holding him close as he sucked and licked, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her.

"Joe," she moaned, her hips bucking against his as she felt his erection pressed against her stomach.

He pulled back, a sly grin spreading across his face. "I've got you," he promised, his voice thick with need. "Let me take care of you."

Imani nodded, her breath coming in short pants as Joe's hands moved to her jeans, unbuttoning them and pulling them down her legs. He helped her step out of them, leaving her in just her panties. Imani felt a rush of self-consciousness, but it was quickly forgotten as Joe's hands skimmed up her legs, his fingers brushing against the wet fabric of her panties.

"You're so wet," he murmured, his eyes meeting hers with a look of awe. "Is this all for me?"

Imani nodded, unable to form words as Joe's fingers began to rub her through the fabric, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through her. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she tried to keep herself grounded.

Joe's fingers slipped into her panties, finding her clit and circling it with just the right amount of pressure. Imani's hips jerked, and she moaned his name, her eyes locked on his.

"You like that?" he asked, his voice teasing, but his eyes were serious as he watched her react to his touch.

"Yes," she breathed, her hips moving in time with his fingers. "Please, Joe. Don't stop."

He didn't. His fingers continued to work her clit, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Imani could feel her orgasm building, her muscles tensing as she got closer to release. Joe's name fell from her lips like a prayer as she teetered on the brink.

But then he pulled away, and she cried out as her release died down. "Why?" she panted, her hips jerking as she was left teetering on the edge. "Why'd you stop?"

Joe didn't answer. Instead, he picked her up, his hands holding her under her thighs as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Imani clung to him, kissing him deeply as he carried her to the back of the bus. Her heart was pounding, her body aching with need.

As they reached the bed, Joe laid her down gently, his eyes never leaving hers. Imani watched him, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She could feel her panties sticking to her skin, soaked with her arousal, and she knew that Joe could see it too.

Joe pulled his shirt off, tossing it to the side before he leaned over her, his hands on either side of her head as he looked down at her. Imani's eyes trailed over his chest, taking in the sight of his taut muscles and his physique. He was beautiful, she thought, her heart skipping a beat as he leaned down to kiss her.

"You're beautiful," he murmured against her lips, his hands moving to her hair, tugging lightly on the strands. "So fucking beautiful."

Imani blushed, feeling a rush of pleasure at his words. "Thank you," she whispered, her hands moving to his chest, tracing the lines of his tattoos. "You're not so bad yourself."

Joe chuckled, the sound low and husky. "Glad you think so," he said before he leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss.

Imani wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down on top of her as she kissed him back. She could feel his erection pressed against her hip, and she rolled her own against him, feeling a jolt of pleasure at the friction.

Joe groaned, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down her neck. "You keep doing that, and I won't last long," he warned, his voice rough with need.

Imani bit her lip, a sly smile spreading across her face. "Maybe I don't want you to last," she teased, her hips rolling against him again.

Joe growled, nipping at her shoulder. "Oh yeah?" he asked, his eyes meeting hers with amusement. "You want me to cum in my pants like a horny teenager?"

Imani laughed, the sound breathy and full of desire. "Maybe," she teased again. "Maybe I want to watch you lose control."

Joe's eyes darkened with desire, his hips pushing against hers. "If you're gonna cum, it's gonna be from my mouth or my cock," he said, his voice thick with want.

Imani shivered at his words, her body aching for him. She nodded, biting her lip as she looked up at him.

"Okay," she whispered. "Show me."

Joe's hands moved to her panties, slipping them down her legs and tossing them aside. He parted her thighs, his hands pushing her legs open as he settled between them. Imani's heart was pounding, her breath catching in her throat as she watched him.

"Joe," she breathed, her voice trembling with anticipation.

"Shh," he soothed, his hands moving up her thighs. "I told you I'd take care of you, didn't I?"

Imani nodded, her hips lifting off the bed as his fingers brushed against her wet folds. "Yes," she gasped. "Please, Joe."

He leaned down, his mouth replacing his fingers as he licked a long stripe up her center. Imani cried out, her hands flying to his hair as she held him against her. He groaned against her, the sound sending vibrations through her core.

"So wet," he murmured against her skin. "So fucking wet for me."

Imani bit her lip, her hips jerking as he licked her again. "Joe," she moaned, unable to stop herself from chanting his name. "Joe, please."

He didn't answer her, at least not with words. Instead, he closed his lips around her clit, sucking gently as he slipped one finger inside of her. Imani arched off the bed, her fingers tightening in his hair as he began to move his finger in and out of her.

"Joe," she cried, her hips moving in time with the movement of his hand. "That feels so good."

He hummed against her clit, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through her. Imani could feel her release building, her muscles tensing. She was so close, she just needed a little more.

"Please," she begged, her voice breathless. "Joe, I'm so close. Please don't stop."

He added another finger, curling them inside of her to hit that spot that made her see stars. His tongue flicked over her clit, the sensation sending her spiraling towards her release.

"Fuck, Joe!" she cried, her voice echoing off the walls as her orgasm hit her. Her hips jerked, and her hands pulled at his hair as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.

Joe continued to lick and suck, drawing out her release until she was shaking with the aftershocks. Finally, he pulled back, his lips and chin glistening with her release. Imani watched him through heavy eyes, her body still trembling with pleasure.

He stood, pulling off his jeans and boxers before he climbed onto the bed, settling between her thighs. Joe was big. So big it made her mouth water, and her thighs clench in anticipation. “You can take it, baby, I know you can. Gotta treat the winner how she deserves, hm?” He said. She smiled, nodding. “Mmhm. And I’m the winner,” she reminded him, her thumb brushing over the head of his cock, spreading the drop of precum around. “So you have to do what I say.”

Joe’s eyes flashed with amusement and arousal, his hand gripping her wrist as she stroked him. “Is that so?” he asked, leaning down to brush his lips against hers in a teasing kiss.

Imani nodded again, her other hand moving to his chest to push him onto his back. He went willingly, a smirk playing on his lips as she straddled him. “Yes,” she whispered against his lips. “I won. So you have to listen to me.”

“And what do you want me to do?” he asked, his hands gripping her hips as she sat up, her wet center pressed against his length.

Imani bit her lip. She lifted her hips, reaching between them to position him at her entrance. “I want you to fuck me,” she said, looking down at him with a mixture of desire and challenge in her gaze. “I want you to make me cum again.”

Imani reached for him, her hand wrapping around his length, stroking him slowly as she watched him watch her.

"Imani," he growled, his hands gripping her hips. "If you don't stop, I'm going to cum before I even get inside of you."

Imani smiled, biting her lip. "Maybe that's what I want," she teased, continuing to stroke him.

Joe growled again, this time pulling her hand away and pinning it to the bed. Imani laughed, the sound cut off as Joe claimed her lips in a bruising kiss. She could taste herself on his lips, and it only made her want him more.

"I want you inside of me," she whispered against his lips. "Please, Joe."

He nodded, reaching for his jeans to pull out a condom. Imani took it from him, ripping it open with her teeth before she rolled it down his length. Joe's eyes were dark with desire as he watched her, his hips jerking when she squeezed him gently.

Once the condom was on, Joe leaned down, kissing her deeply as he positioned himself at her entrance. Imani wrapped her legs around him, pulling him close as she felt the head of his cock pushing inside of her.

She moaned into the kiss, breaking it to gasp as he filled her completely. "Oh fuck, Joe," she breathed, her nails digging into his back. "You feel so good."

"You too, baby," he panted, his hips starting to move as he thrust in and out of her. "So fucking tight. So wet." 

Imani moaned, her hips meeting his thrust for thrust. "Yes, Joe," she cried, her eyes locking with his. "Just like that."

He groaned, even through the thin layer of latex sheathing his cock, she felt good. Too good. She felt like home.

Imani gasped as Joe lifted one of her legs onto his shoulder, changing the angle of his thrusts and hitting that spot deep inside of her that drove her wild. She threw her head back, her eyes rolling as she swore she could see fucking stars.

“Joe—” she gasped, her hand flailing out and gripping the pillow above her head. “Oh my god…”

“Yeah, baby?” Joe asked, his hands gripping the headboard for leverage as he pounded into her. “Tell me how it feels.”

“So good—” she panted. “So fucking good.”

Joe groaned, his pace faltering at her words. “Imani, you feel too fucking good,” he grunted, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought for control. He didn’t want this to be over yet, not before she was screaming his name.

mani reached out, grabbing his hand and placing it on her throat. “Show me,” she begged, her own eyes dark with lust.

Joe felt his eyes darken, a possessive, primal growl rising from his chest as his hand tightened around her throat, applying just enough pressure to limit her airflow, but not enough to cut it off. Imani smiled, a feral, sexy smile that made his dick throb inside of her.

“Fuck baby,” Joe moaned, his hips losing their rhythm as he fucked her like a wild animal. “You into this kinky shit?”

Imani’s lips parted, her eyes pleading with him as she clawed at his back. “Yes, please, Joe,” she gasped.

“Shit,” Joe grunted, unable to resist the plea. He leaned down, wrapping his lips around one of her nipples as he continued to thrust into her and squeeze her neck.

Imani arched beneath him, her body writhing in his grasp as she approached her orgasm. “Fuck, yes!” she cried, her hands scrabbling at his wrist. “Joe, oh fuck!”

“Fuck open your mouth.” Joe groaned, Imani obliged as her tongue rolled out.

He leaned forward and spit in her mouth, his hand holding her jaw shut. “Keep it there until I tell you.”

Her nails scored down Joe's back as he continued hitting spots deep in her she never knew existed.  Her mouth watered with his spit, but she kept her mouth closed, just like he told her.

"Fuck, baby, I'm close," he groaned, his own fingers finding her clit and rubbing in small, tight circles.

“Mmm,” Joe hummed, his own orgasm building as he felt her tightening around him.

He pulled back watching as she panted for breath. “You good, baby?” he asked, even though he could see that she was. Her face was flushed with pleasure, her lips parted as she moaned. Joe’s eyes darkened even further, and he felt a possessive wave of pride wash over him. She looked like a fucking goddess beneath him, and he couldn’t wait to watch her cum.

He pulled back, releasing her hips and throat as he stared down at her. “Swallow it.” he said gruffly, watching her throat bob she swallowed his spit.

Imani's eyes fluttered open, locking with Joe's as she felt her release just at arms length. Joe didn't stop, his fingers continuing to rub her clit as he watched her fall apart beneath him.

“Shit, baby, that’s it,” he encouraged, his own hips snapping faster as he chased his own release. “Cum for me, Imani. Let me see you cum.”

“Yes—oh god, yes,” Imani moaned, meeting his thrusts by lifting her hips up to meet his.

Joe grinned, a dark, feral thing as he gripped her hips, pulling her harder onto his cock. “That’s it, baby,” he panted. “Take it, take it all.”

Imani met his thrusts eagerly, lifting her hips to meet him as they found a rhythm that was both rough and intimate. The pleasure was building again inside of her, and she could tell by the way Joe's muscles tensed that he was close too.

She reached between them, her fingers slipping down to find her clit, and she began to rub in small circles. Joe groaned, his eyes locked on her as he watched her touch herself, her eyes closing as she focused on the pleasure.

"Fuck, Imani," he growled, his thrusts becoming erratic as he felt his own release approaching. "You gonna cum for me, baby? You gonna cum on my cock?"

Imani nodded, her eyes squeezing shut as she focused on the sensations building inside of her. "Yes, Joe, fuck, yes."

She rubbed faster, her fingers circling her clit with just the right amount of pleasure. “Yes!” Imani cried, her body bowing beneath him. “Just like that! Yes! Yes!”

Joe released her throat, allowing her to draw in a deep breath before she screamed, her orgasm tearing through her as he felt her convulsing around him. He groaned, following her over the edge as he buried his face in her neck, emptying himself inside of her.

"Joe!"

She came, her body shaking as wave after wave of release washed over her. She heard Joe's groan, felt his hips stutter before he followed her over the edge, his cock pulsing inside of her as he filled the condom.

​​For a moment, they both lay still, their chests heaving as they caught their breath. Finally, Joe pulled out, tying off the condom and tossing it in the trash before he collapsed beside her, pulling her into his arms.

They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies pressed together as they caught their breath. Finally, Joe pulled back, looking down at her with a soft smile.

"Hey," he said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

Imani smiled back, her eyes shining with happiness. "Hey," she replied, her voice soft.

Joe leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. When he pulled back, he looked into her eyes, his own filled with warmth. "You okay?" he asked, making sure she was alright.

Imani nodded, snuggling closer to him. "Yeah," she said, her eyes starting to drift shut. "I'm great."

“Fuck baby.” Joe panted, collapsing on top of her. “That was the hottest shit I’ve ever seen.”

Imani smiled lazily, her body sated and relaxed. "Mmm," she agreed, her eyes closing as Joe rolled off of her and disposed of the condom. "Definitely one for the memory books."

Joe laughed, pulling her close as they lay on the bed together. Imani rested her head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat as it slowly returned to normal.

Imani cuddled close to him, her head on his chest as she listened to the rapid beating of his heart. "That was amazing," she whispered, a sated smile on her face.

Joe chuckled, his hand running through her hair. "Yeah, it was," he agreed. "You're fucking incredible, Imani."

Imani blushed at his praise, but she couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face. She felt boneless, relaxed in a way she hadn't been in a long time.

"Thank you," she murmured, her eyes heavy with sleep. "For everything."

Joe pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Anything for you, Imani," he promised. "Anything."

Imani smiled again, drifting off to sleep in the safety of Joe's arms. She knew that whatever happened next, she could face it. She had Joe by her side, and that was all that mattered.

"So," Joe said, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her back. "Want to do it again?"

Imani grinned, lifting her head to look up at him. "Give me ten minutes, and I'm game."

Joe chuckled, pulling her back down to his chest. "Take all the time you need, baby. We've got all night."

JB9 Taglist: @lilfreakjez, @dasia21, @superanastasia1981, @gg-trini, @wickedfun9

[bohemianrapshawty]

Beneath the surface

Dr. Robby had always prided himself on keeping his emotions tightly in check. The sterile environment of The Pitt, with its harsh lighting and constant chaos, had long since dulled his ability to feel much beyond the clinical detachment required for his work. But that was before you arrived.

You, with your quiet confidence, the way you moved through the grim halls as though you were untouched by the despair that clung to every corner. You made everything seem just a little brighter, even if only for a moment. It was impossible for Dr. Robby to ignore the pull you had on him, though he tried.

There was something about the way your eyes sparkled with life, the subtle smile you would offer him in passing, that cracked through his usually guarded exterior. He found himself watching you, more than he should—how you spoke to the others with ease, how you carried yourself with a grace that contrasted sharply with the harsh reality of the world around you. You were a mystery to him, and that only made the intrigue grow deeper.

It wasn’t just physical attraction. No, it was something more. There was a magnetic energy about you that kept drawing him in, even though he knew better. He was supposed to be focused—distant, professional—but the way you seemed to light up the drab halls, the way your presence seemed to linger long after you’d walked away, made it harder to push aside the growing feelings stirring in his chest.

One evening, he found himself in the hallway, unexpectedly crossing your path. His breath caught for a split second when you smiled at him, a smile so genuine that it made his heart skip. He almost faltered, his usual calm demeanor slipping for just a moment. But he caught himself, his voice betraying none of the storm of emotions building inside him.

“Everything alright?” he asked, though his eyes lingered on you longer than they should have.

You nodded, your gaze holding his with an unspoken understanding. And in that moment, Dr. Robby felt it—the weight of his infatuation. It was subtle, buried beneath layers of restraint, but it was there, undeniable. And as you walked away, he couldn’t help but wonder if you knew, or if you ever would, how deeply you had begun to affect him.

[bouquetface]

Bang Chan - Vedic Chart Analysis

Per request. This uses the birth time of 8:54 PM.

I hope everyone just takes this as fun. I do not mean any disrespect in making assumptions. Ofc I do not know him or his life. I wish him the best. Please take it as entertainment.

🍀 if you have some of the same placements this post may be insightful for you.

Romantic Relationships:

Venus conjunct Mars in Scorpio 7th H - This strongly indicates marrying someone you have encountered in the past. He will have met or been near his spouse at least once before properly meeting. The times prior they would have been unable to get close for some reason.

Real life example: I have seen this as a person who went to the same vet school as their spouse but they never encountered one another. They were too focused on their studies to even care about meeting someone.

In Bang Chan’s case, this may be someone he encountered during his travels and/or through his work life. His future spouse and him currently may have mutual friends or acquaintances. They may have seen or heard about the other in a causal way.

The area they meet in will be a busy area - like downtown or simply people are around them. This conjunction shows the couple meets in an area close to their home - this is due to Venus being in its natural home ( the 7th house). They may even discover they live very close to one another. There is some sense of familiarity in regard to meeting. He could have been to the location before.

It will be up to him to approach her directly. While she is an independent and go-getter type, she likely won’t make the first move.

Venus holds the lowest degree. This shows someone who makes bold moves. He is likely dominating and assertive in relationships. He will not come off as aggressive doing this since Venus controls this conjunction. While he is comfortable leading, he doesn’t desire a partner to be completely submissive either. After marriage, his spouse will be someone who dominates/leads the marriage. This doesn’t mean it has to be a negative scenario - he may appreciate the responsibility being taken off his shoulders.

But there often isn’t a balance of who is leading/dominating and who is following/submissive. It can constantly change throughout their relationship.

His spouse has a fiery nature. The good side to this is she will fight for the marriage and for him (Mars’s influence). She is somewhat possessive and he’ll prolly like it tbh. There can be constant passion and friction throughout the relationship. The intensity is unlikely to ever die down. The two are always at least physically attracted to one another even when fighting. Strong sexual energy.

Venus in Vishakha indicates a very beautiful spouse. Yet, his spouse is likely to still experience jealously. Ofc everyone does but for his partner this is to a greater extent - it can be more intense of a feeling or possibly a constant feeling. Her emotional and sensitive nature can lead to arguments. She can be very stubborn. She does not back down easily. He can like this about her but be frustrated by her at the same time. There is a pull and push to their dynamic.

She is likely highly accomplished. This is due to the nakshatra’s influence - it shows overcoming hardships, obstacles & defeating enemies. She may have undergone experiences of feeling betrayed or discriminated against resulting in an independent and bold personality. She does not trust or follow anyone easily. She may desire he makes it clear that he is with her.

She may be very concerned with her appearance. She is likely active. She may have interest in fashion. She’ll likely have a good style and/or have beautiful features.

Specific Appearance of Spouse:

Venus DK & 7th H Ruler (Mars) in Scorpio indicates: A pale or lighter skin toned partner. Scorpio indicates medium height, Mars shows shorter height. She may be medium to short height.

Venus conjunct Mars indicates the spouse has or gets a mark on them. Birth mark, scar, acne, burn, etc. This can even indicate she ends up having a c-section - results in a surgery scar. & sometimes this can show someone undergoes or has undergone cosmetic surgery.

Either way she will be stunning as Venus is in 7th H and Venus is the DK planet. & because Venus is his 1st house ruler in 7th, he may look similar to his spouse or personality-wise he becomes similar to the spouse.

Her career: She could become an entrepreneur. She may model. Her work involves movement, diplomacy, charming communication & possibly design/aesthetics. She may act. She may have multiple sources of income and/or tried multiple career paths.

6th house ruler (Venus) in 7th house indicates the spouse is constantly dealing with obstacles in life. In worst case scenario, this can indicate a spouse who eventually is diagnosed with a serious illness. In other cases, it can be the spouse’s work or family life that causes a lot of stress & responsibilities. He may desire to swoop in and save/protect the spouse from these troubles.

Essentially, the spouse is bringing 6th house topics (debt, struggle, court issues, illness, pets, other responsibilities) into married life. This doesn’t often occur instantly after marriage - not much of this post will - this is later into married life. It doesn’t have to be overly negative either. For example: A short period of struggle as the spouse later deals with a lawsuit in their life. OR even simply the spouse brings pets into the marriage - extra responsibility - but not bad at all.

Venus DK and Saturn AK are friendly planets to one another. This indicates a bond built on mutual friendship not just physical attraction. They have the ability to work together to resolve any issues that come their way. Venus conjunct Mars shows they can count on one another supporting them through anything.

Ride or die - not in a toxic sense tho as Saturn AK brings in a sense of maturity. And his Mars aspect to Mercury shows logical decision making before taking action.

Spouse Family:

He’ll have a distant relationship with his spouse’s family - specifically his father in law. The relationship will be formal, polite but distant.

Divorce Potential

He doesn’t have strong divorce indicators. However, in D9 he does have Rahu in 7th, the ruler of this Rahu is Mars in 5th house. Truthfully, this can indicate affairs. Yet, no strong divorce indicators showing these thoughts may not be acted on. And if they were, the couple could decide to remain together to work on their marriage.

Timing Based on SR:

2023-2025 - During this time, it seem someone could have caught his attention However, it seems unlikely to go further. Specifically in 2025, the connection would be unstable. His focus is divided. He may find it better to detach from any romantic connection he may be involved in.

May 2027 - Sept 2028 - This seems prominent for the birth/creation of something new. There could be some shocking developments in his personal life. This won’t be something small, it’ll leave an impact on him. He could experience a lot of romance and passion - which is likely to feel both exciting and frustrating. However, this could be a creative project that he has an idea for/works on.

He may suddenly decide to move or make another change to his home life.

2028-2029 - This when he’ll have adjusted to the newness and change. If he is working on creating something in 2027-2028, then in 2028-2029 the project is completed. The 5th house is more than just romance, it’s creation - creation of art, creation of children, performance, + more. So it’s unclear if this is a start of a relationship or birth of a creative project or simply working and casually having fun.

2029-2030 - He could potentially marry in 2030. Jupiter and NN will transit his 7th, Saturn will aspect his 7th from 1st. This is his Rahu bhutki period, if he did marry this year there are likely many tests for this marriage later.

Late 2034 - Early 2035 - Specifically January 15th would be a good time for marriage but will he actually marry this exact date? prolly not.

Timing Based on Dasha Periods:

Nov 2023-Jul 2026

He is in a Jupiter/Venus period. It is likely partnerships are a focus in his life during this period. Natal Venus in 7th shows he could be in an important relationship (even if it isn’t the person who he ends up marrying). Venus is his DK as well - further emphasizing even if he isn’t in a relationship, he may have encountered his future spouse.

Jul 2026-May 2027

He is in a Jupiter/Sun period. Natal Sun is in the 5th H and rules his 4th H. This makes it likely the themes of these houses are important. 5 H = creation, romance, children, joy, performance, etc. 4 H = home, mother, family, origins, etc.

His natal Sun aspect Saturn shows this period can be slightly difficult. He may indulge in pleasures and recreational fun (5th H influence) but then realize he needs to stabilize himself. This is a period of growth and maturity. He may feel trapped & restricted in some ways too - writer’s block.

May 2027-Sep 2028

This is a Jupiter/Moon period. Natal Moon rules 3rd house and is in the 6th house. Truthfully, this period could bring some personal struggles. He may be in conflict with a sibling or partner (longtime friends, romantic, or even business partner).

The worst case scenario with 6th H is he experiences poor health or is required to go to court for some reason. He may be stressed at times & experience anxiety, headaches, fatigue. He may be involved in contracts and court matters.

Sep 2028-Aug 2029

This is his Jupiter/Mars period. Natal Mars is in 7th conjunct Venus (7th H ruler + DK). He can seriously consider marriage in this period - however, due to his career I personally doubt he’d marry this young. An important relationship development is likely to occur tho.

Aug 2029-Jan 2032

This is his Jupiter/Rahu period. Natal Rahu is in 4th H. This shows home and family experience important events. He can experience arguments within the home & family. There can be deception - he may feel he’s being lied to or he is being deceptive in some ways. Honestly, he could feel unhappy and dissatisfied with what he has in this period. ex: He wants to move, he wants an additional property.

Saturn/Venus - Nov 2038-Jan 2042 - Age: 41-44

This will be a prominent time for his relationships. If he is married at this time, he could find some difficulty. This is when his Sade Sati period begins too. Thus, added tension as life throws tests his way.

Personality:

Sun in virgo indicates he is very hardworking. He desires control and perfection. His routine is likely very important to him. His Moon in 6th house emphasizes the importance of routine on his health.

Moon in Libra shows a natural diplomat. He sees both sides. He desires peace and balance. This Moon paired with Jupiter in 9th shows a great leader. They can understand and motivate people when they are at their lowest. He has a balance - he isn’t an enabler nor will he do tough love to an extreme. This shows someone who is good at business - both the social aspect and the actual commitment to work.

Chitra is considered the architect - They have a good eye for design. They often like photography - examples: have scrapbooks, photography is a hobby, purchase other artist’s photos, many personal photos around the home, coffee table book of photos, etc. Due to the ruler Venus in 7th H, this can indicate the spouse has these traits instead.

Libra Moon in 6th shows being well-groomed and having good hygiene is very important to them. This is one way their desire for routine can appear - being religious about their skin care routine, gym routine, etc. His mom may be like this too. She could enjoy having a healthy routine and taking care of her appearance.

Saturn Atmakaraka in 11th house shows it is his purpose to provide service for the masses. In Pisces, it indicates it’s through art and imagination. He could eventually speak on politics - for example he shows support for same-sex couples. He shows support for other groups of people who are often discriminated against.

[thelovehypothesis]

Part 2.2 : Between the Pit Walls and the Heartbreak - 43

part 1

Franco Colapinto x fem-engineer!reader x friend!Max Verstappen

+2k words

a/n’s: lastly! full credit to @afterglowsainz go read their fic “don't smile” its amazing, and this is the long awaited part 2 on my take of their fic! BUT here is and alternate ending... Part 2.1, I really enjoyed wiriting this, hope you like it!

warnings: angst-fluff

Summary: Two hearts, one racetrack, and a love that no team can control. When love collides with ambition, can they find a way back to each and if they can, can they learn to forgive?

Start line, finish line, at the end it's the same 

It had been nearly four since you walked away from Franco, since you’d chosen your career and dreams over the love you once thought would last forever. Life had changed in ways you could never have imagined. The moment you accepted the position at Red Bull, everything shifted. The high-intensity world of being Max Verstappen’s race engineer consumed you, leaving little room for reflection, which was how you preferred it.

You were good at your job—great, even. From the very first race weekend with Max, you felt the rush of adrenaline, the electric tension of every decision you made behind the mic, and the weight of contributing to a world championship. It was thrilling, everything you’d ever worked for, and yet, there were quiet moments when your mind drifted back to what you had left behind.

But you didn’t have time for what-ifs. You stood in the garage, headphones around your neck, watching the pit crew scramble as they prepared the car for qualifying. Max was a machine—focused, relentless—and the two of you had developed an easy rapport. He trusted you with critical decisions, and you trusted him to deliver on the track. It was a partnership built on mutual respect and shared ambition.

As you stood there, watching the screens, you felt a familiar tug of emotion—memories of race weekends with Franco, late-night strategy talks, and the way he used to smile when he nailed a lap. But you pushed those thoughts away. That chapter of your life was over.

“Y/N, we’re ready,” Max’s voice crackled through your headset, pulling you back to the present.

“Copy that,” you replied, all business again. “Let’s nail this one, Max.”

The next few minutes were a blur of data, radio calls, and fast decisions. Max was flying, setting the fastest times in each sector. By the time the session ended, he had secured pole position, and the garage erupted in cheers. You smiled, proud of the work you’d done and of what the team had achieved together. This was where you belonged now—at the heart of the action, right on the edge of greatness.

But as the celebration in the garage began to die down, you caught sight of a familiar figure across the paddock—Franco. He was there, leaning against the railing, watching you. His eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, everything around you seemed to blur, the noise of the team fading into the background.

He looked different—older, somehow, more serious. But that same magnetic energy was still there, the pull between you undeniable, even from a distance.

Franco was back in the paddock as a reset driver for Williams and Mercedes in the 2025 season. It was bittersweet seeing him there, a constant reminder of the past and what you had left behind. His presence felt heavy, especially for him when he started to believe Max had feelings for you. Franco noticed every subtle interaction—the way Max’s eyes would linger on you during quick debriefs or the soft smirk on his lips after a race. Franco was convinced there was something more, but you didn’t see it. To you, Max was just being friendly, and you never thought to question it. Yet, Franco couldn’t shake the feeling, and each time you were near, the tension seemed to grow.

You quickly looked away, your heart pounding in your chest. It had been so long since you’d seen him. You didn’t know what to feel—anger, sadness, or relief. You had moved on—or at least, you convinced yourself you had. But seeing him here, now, was like reopening a wound that hadn’t fully healed.

Later, after the garage had emptied out and the team had retreated to prepare for the race, you found yourself wandering the paddock, lost in thought. You didn’t expect to bump into Franco, but as fate would have it, there he was, standing by the entrance to the hospitality suite, waiting for you.

Y/N," he called out, his voice soft but urgent.

You froze, torn between walking away and confronting the emotions you had buried. Slowly, you turned to face him.

"Franco," you said, your voice steady though your heart was racing.

He stepped closer, his expression unreadable. "I wasn’t expecting to see you here."

You raised an eyebrow, trying to maintain your composure. "I work here now. This is my job."

"I know," he said quietly. "I’ve been following you this season. You’re doing incredible things."

There was a brief silence, filled with unsaid words and memories. Finally, Franco spoke again, his tone softer, less guarded. “I’ve thought about you a lot. About us.”

You swallowed hard but kept your emotions in check. "Franco, that part of my life is over. I made my choice."

"I know you did," he said, his voice strained. "I’ve made mine too. But I don’t want us to keep being strangers. We shared too much to walk away from each other like this."

You hesitated, not expecting this direction. "What are you saying?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, frustration mixed with something softer. “I don’t want us to end on bad terms. We were friends once, Y/N. I don’t want to lose that, too.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of the past heavy on your shoulders, but his words reached you. "You hurt me, Franco. We can't just pretend like none of that happened."

"I know," he said, his voice thick with regret. "And I’ll carry that. But maybe we could start again. Not like before, but as friends. You’ve moved on, and I need to accept that."

You studied him, searching his eyes for any hint of insincerity, but all you saw was the boy you had once cared for, now standing before you, trying to make amends.

"Friends," you repeated, testing the word.

He nodded, hopeful but cautious. "Yeah, friends."

A small, tentative smile tugged at your lips. "I think I’d like that."

Franco’s shoulders relaxed as if a weight had been lifted. "I’d like that too."

For the first time in a long while, the air between you felt lighter. You knew it wouldn’t erase the past, but maybe it was a step toward healing it.

"I’ll see you around, then?" you asked, taking a step back toward the paddock.

He smiled softly, nodding. "Yeah, I’ll see you around."

As you turned and walked away, the knot in your chest loosened. Maybe this wasn’t about choosing the past or the present—it was about allowing both to coexist in their own space.

Heading back toward the Red Bull hospitality, you felt a sense of closure. You were ready to move forward, and for the first time, it didn’t feel like you were leaving something behind.

For the next few races, something began to shift between you and Franco. Slowly but surely, your interactions felt less heavy, less tied to the past. You started to talk more during race weekends, sharing little jokes or catching up between sessions. It wasn’t forced, and for the first time in a long while, it felt easy.

As the weeks went on, your friendship began to mend. The conversations that were once filled with tension now carried a lightness, and the lingering pain of what had happened between you both faded. You found yourself laughing with him again, and before long, you were falling back into the familiar rhythm of being really good friends—just friends this time you promised yourself. There was no pressure, no unspoken feelings. It was just you and Franco, rebuilding something new.

The next  race,  you once again crossed paths with Franco again. 

“Hey,” he called out, taking a step closer. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. “What’s up?”

He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret. “I think Max likes you,” he teased, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. “I mean, have you seen the way he looks at you? It’s like you’ve got him all flustered.”

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. “Oh, come on, Franco. Max and I? It’s nothing like that.”

Franco crossed his arms, still smirking. “Sure, sure. But I’m telling you, he’s definitely interested. You just don’t see it.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling at his playful tone. “Trust me, it’s all professional. Max and I work well together, but that’s as far as it goes.”

He raised an eyebrow, not quite convinced. “Really? Because he seems to hang around a lot when you’re around.”

You nudged him lightly, amused by his teasing. “Don’t worry, Franco. I’d never see Max that way. He’s my driver. That’s it.”

Franco chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter. “Alright, alright. Just don’t be surprised if he starts asking you out for coffee or something.”

You laughed again, feeling the tension between you both ease with each joke. “I’ll keep that in mind, but seriously, it’s nothing to worry about.”

He smiled, and for the first time in a while, it felt light between you two. “Good to know. Just looking out for you.”

You nodded, grateful for the lighter moment. “Thanks, Franco. I appreciate it.”

As you turned to leave, Franco called after you, still with that teasing tone. “But if he does ask you out, you owe me an update!”

You laughed over your shoulder. “Deal!”

After the race, as you and Max walked toward the team hospitality, he glanced at you with a grin. “Hey,at this point I just need to tell someone, when I head back to Monaco, I’ve got a date lined up,” he said, his tone casual but playful.

You blinked in surprise, then smiled. “A date, huh? Good for you,” you replied, nudging him lightly. “I hope it goes well.”

“Thanks,” he said with a wink, and you couldn’t help but feel relieved. Whatever tension had been there between you two, it seemed Max was focusing elsewhere. It was a reminder that everything between you was purely professional.

Later that night, back at the hotel, you found yourself thinking about the past few weeks and Franco’s teasing remarks about Max. Pulling out your phone, you shot Franco a quick text: "You were wrong. I was right 😏 Max has a date, so nothing to worry about!"

Moments later, your phone buzzed with his reply: "Told you I wasn’t worried 😉 Wanna grab ice cream and celebrate your victory?"

You hesitated for only a moment before responding with a quick, "Sure, see you in a bit"

It didn't take long for the two of you to find a cosy, well-known ice cream shop nestled in the heart of town, far enough from the hustle of the paddock to feel peaceful. The shop had a retro charm, with colourful decor and the scent of freshly made waffle cones filling the air. You both grabbed your favourite flavours and found a quiet corner by the window, the soft hum of chatter around you.

Sitting across from each other, you fell into easy conversation—old memories, upcoming races, and life outside the paddock. The laughter came naturally, and it was as if the tension of the past had melted away. The familiarity between you felt comforting, like slipping back into something that had never really been lost.

As you looked over at Franco, you realised something you hadn’t expected. Despite everything, despite moving on, there was still a part of you that loved him. It was buried deep, hidden beneath layers of time and distance, but it was there, undeniable and real.

The finish line?

A week later, when the F1 circus rolled into the summer break, you found yourself spending a few days together with Franco. It wasn’t planned, but it felt natural, falling back into a familiar rhythm. You wandered through small towns, shared meals at local cafes, and simply enjoyed each other’s company. The past no longer felt like an anchor, pulling you back; instead, it was something you both acknowledged but didn’t dwell on.

The moment you sat down during one of those quiet afternoons, Franco reached over and took your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. There was no pressure, no unspoken expectations—just the comfort of being together.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice calm, yet filled with concern.

You nodded, squeezing his hand in return. “Yeah. Everything’s fine now.” And for the first time in a long time, you truly believed it.

The weight of the past no longer held you down. You were moving forward, and maybe, just maybe, there was still something between you and Franco worth exploring.

(abu dhabi grand prix)

The Grand Prix was electric,charged with tension, adrenaline, and the weight of the championship. Max was on the verge of winning his fifth world title, and every decision you made felt like it could either secure or break the season. The pressure was immense, and everyone in the paddock knew what was at stake. The intensity of it all was almost overwhelming, but you were laser-focused, guiding Max through the race.

On the final lap, a risky opportunity appeared—one that could win both the drivers' and constructors' championships in one brilliant stroke. You had mere seconds to make the call. Your heart raced as you pushed the radio button, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you.

“Box, box, Max. Trust me on this.”

There was a heartbeat of silence before Max’s calm voice responded, “Copy. I trust you.”

And that trust was everything. As Max executed the strategy perfectly, crossing the finish line first, the Red Bull garage erupted in celebration. The screams of the team echoed around you, but for a second, you were frozen—still processing the magnitude of what had just happened. Max had done it. You had done it. Together, you had clinched the championship, securing not just his fifth world title but the Constructors’ Championship for Red Bull as well.

The team started racing toward the barricade to greet Max as he pulled into the pit lane, his car surrounded by a sea of red and blue. As you ran alongside your teammates, you were suddenly jostled in the rush of bodies. The next thing you knew, you bumped into Franco—completely by accident—but before you could even apologise, his arms were around you.

He caught you easily, lifting you up, and in one fluid motion, he kissed you. The world seemed to stop, the noise around you fading into nothing as his lips met yours. Franco pulled back just slightly, his voice filled with emotion as he whispered, “Congratulations. That call was amazing.”

You were stunned, the whirlwind of emotions overwhelming you, but you smiled through the tears that suddenly welled up in your eyes. “Thank you,” you whispered, before leaning in to kiss him again. This time, it was slower, more intentional, as if you were both grounding yourselves in the reality of the moment. The past, the pain, all of it seemed to fade away.

When you finally parted, Franco set you down gently, his hands lingering at your waist, and you gave him a soft smile. "I guess you owe me some ice cream later,” you joked, trying to lighten the charged atmosphere.

He chuckled, his eyes softening as he gazed at you. “Definitely."

With a quick glance at the roaring celebrations ahead, you squeezed his hand and ran toward the podium area, where the ceremony was about to begin. Max was already there, grinning ear to ear, waving to the ecstatic crowd. You stood beside him, watching as he was crowned world champion again, but all the while, your mind drifted to Franco.

From your place on the podium, you spotted Franco standing quietly off to the side, watching you with a look of pride and something deeper. And in that moment, as the confetti rained down and the world celebrated around you, you realised the truth that had been tugging at your heart all along—you still loved Franco.

You found yourself falling in love with him all over again.

---The end---

I'am really happy with the outcome! hope you are too.

Once again my request are open for all your request!

-lots of love, Em.

[moons-and-mobility-aids]

Beyond The Screen: Chapter 5 - masterlist

Chapter Word Count: 1.5k words.

Chapter Summary: Overwhelmed by pain and fatigue, you step back from engaging with your subscribers—but even in your silence, connection finds you. A message and an unexpected tip from Prongs offer rare comfort, reminding you that beyond the fantasy, someone is still paying attention. Though you can't respond, their quiet support eases the weight you carry, if only a little.

Tags: Chronic pain, disability-related fatigue, fem reader with cerebral palsy and wheelchair use, emotional vulnerability, mention of needing to step back from online work, supportive tipping (non-sexual), light emotional intimacy, OnlyFans dynamics.

The pain is an old acquaintance, but its visits are no less unwelcome. It starts in the small of your back, a dull throb that radiates upward until it rests heavily on your shoulders, seeping into your muscles and settling there like a weight you can't shake off. You've known this discomfort many times before—it's as much a part of your life as the wheelchair beneath you—but familiarity doesn't make it easier to bear.

On better days, you might distract yourself with work, lose yourself in the process of filming and editing until the hours slip away and the pain becomes a distant hum. But today isn't one of those days. Today, the pain screams for attention, and no matter how hard you try to push it aside, it refuses to be silenced.

You sit stiffly in your chair, every inch of your body tense as you stare at the screen of your laptop. Notifications blink in the sidebar—messages from subscribers, comments on your latest post, purchases from your latest PPV video. On any other day, these would bring a flicker of satisfaction, a reminder of the community you've built and the support they offer. But today, they're just another task, another demand on your time and energy when you have so little to spare.

The thought of spending the next hour fielding messages, putting on a brave face and keeping up the pretence of high spirits despite your fatigue is daunting. You know your limits, and right now, they're closing in. To push through would be to invite a storm of pain that could sideline you for days. And that's a risk you can't afford.

Drawing in a deep breath, you open a new message to your subscribers. You've done this before—those rare times when the pain became too much, and you needed to step away for a bit. Always vague, never revealing the true reason behind your absence. You've kept your health private since the beginning, and you don't intend to change that now.

You: Hey everyone 💕 just a quick note to let you know that some personal stuff has come up, and I need to take a break from messages for a few days. No worries, though! I have plenty of content scheduled, so you'll still see new videos and posts while I'm away. I'll be back to answering messages soon, but I just need a little time off. Thanks for understanding 💕 I'll talk to you soon.

The message sends, a faint sense of guilt washing over you. It's not that you've ever promised to be available around the clock, but there is an unspoken obligation that comes with managing your page. Your subscribers pay for the privilege of access, and while the content will continue as usual, it's the personal interaction that some of them crave.

You can almost see the responses now, words of concern mingling with offers of support. But those are worries for another time. Right now, all you need is rest, a reprieve from the constant demands of your online persona.

The pain has spread to your legs, a dull throb that promises no respite. A weariness settles over you, heavy around your eyes. You've done what you needed to do, set the wheels in motion for the next few days. Now, there's nothing left but to try and rest, despite the discomfort radiating from your body.

You manoeuvre your wheelchair closer to the bed, then reach out, fingers grasping the sheets. With a grunt, you pull yourself onto the mattress, each movement sending fresh waves of pain through your limbs. But finally, you're settled, your head sinking into the pillows. It's not perfect—far from it—but it's a hell of a lot better than the chair.

Your eyes flutter shut, and you focus on your breathing—in, out, in, out—trying to push away the persistent ache. For a while, there's only the sound of your own heartbeat, a steady rhythm in the quiet room.

Just as sleep begins to claim you, your phone buzzes on the bedside table. Your hand shoots out, instinctively reaching for the device. Another notification, another chance for income—it's a lifeline you can't afford to ignore. The screen lights up, casting a glow across your face. It's OnlyFans again, this time with a message from Prongs.

ProngsPlayground_free: I sent you a $100.00 tip with the attached message of 'Hey, love. Saw your message—hope everything’s okay. You don’t have to respond or anything, just wanted to send a little something to make your day a bit better 💖 take care of yourself.'

This isn’t the first time Prongs has tipped big, but this feels different. There’s no pay-per-view content you’ve sent, no special offer enticing the extra credits. He's tipped just because.

The screen blurs for a moment as you blink away sudden tears. You can’t afford to let them fall, not with the makeup you’ve painstakingly applied, but the emotion is there all the same. Gratitude swells within you, raw and real, mingling with something else—a sense of connection that goes beyond the superficial exchanges you’re used to. Fans don’t usually do this, not without expecting something in return. Tips often come with demands; they are transactions, not gifts. But this... this feels genuine.

Prongs doesn’t know the half of it, doesn’t know the circumstances behind your plea, but he seems to care. Is it possible? Can someone who watches you night after night from a world away actually see you—not the fantasy, but the person beneath?

A flicker of temptation stirs within you, the thought of thanking him for his words, just a brief reply to acknowledge that you've seen it. It would be nothing more than a courtesy, a small gesture to show he isn't shouting into the void. But you remember why you sent the message in the first place—you need to disconnect, retreat from the world and nurse your wounds in solitude. You can't afford to engage, not even with Prongs, whose energy often brings comfort and laughter.

Not today.

Nevertheless, as you set the phone aside, a faint smile tugs at your lips. It's but a small thing, this unseen thread connecting you to another soul in the vastness of the universe, yet it lightens the weight on your chest, if only for a moment. He doesn't know the truth of your situation, the depth of the shadows clouding your vision, but the simple act of reaching out, however unknowingly, reminds you that you're not entirely alone.

The day stretches on, feeling longer than most as your body refuses to cooperate. The pain ebbs and flows like a tide against the shore of your tolerance. You try to distract yourself by scrolling through social media, watching videos, but nothing holds your attention for long. Your thoughts keep circling back to your OnlyFans account, the accumulating messages, the content you're unable to create.

You've always been organised, scheduling your posts at least two weeks in advance. No one will truly notice your absence from the platform—not yet—but the knowledge does little to ease the tension coiling in your gut. There's a gnawing sensation that you're falling behind, missing out on opportunities to grow your following, even as you know health should take precedence.

The sun has long since set, casting your room into a cocoon of darkness only broken by the glow of your computer screen, when another message notification pings.

ProngsPlayground_free: Just wanted to let you know that Moony and Pads send their love too. They asked me to pass it along. 😉 No need to reply, but we're all looking forward to having you back.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, a tiny release of tension in the tight coil of your chest. The heaviness is still there, yes, but so is something else. Something warm and quiet that whispers, "You're not alone."

Because it's true. You've always known, on an intellectual level, that OnlyFans is more than just content creation—it's about fostering connections, providing a personal touch even across the digital divide. But it's one thing to understand that in theory, and quite another to feel it so acutely when you're the one needing reassurance.

The thought of them—Prongs, Moony, Padfoot—possibly sitting together somewhere, their eyes glued to your videos, their hands flying over keyboards to send these messages. They care. It's a small balm on the raw wound of today, even if you cannot reach out to them in return.

Your eyelids grow heavy as you let the phone slip from your fingers and clatter onto the bedside table. You sink further into the plush pillows, body still aching, but mind finding a semblance of peace amidst the chaos. Maybe you won't be able to film for a while. Maybe you won't be able to reply to every message, every show of support. But that’s okay. Your fans, they understand. They'll wait for you, just like they always have.

And for now, that has to be enough.

[arijackz]

Aries Moon ✧ Cancer Mars Allure

Interestingly enough, the star-studded names I researched were predominantly actors from the pre-Technicolor era of cinema. This is no mere coincidence; the interplay of black (the unseen, the subconscious), white (illumination, reflection), and grey (duality, nuance, transition) mirrors the very essence of the moon’s emotional depth and its cyclical nature. Just as the moon waxes and wanes, shifting between light and shadow, so too do these actors embody a world where darkness and light are in constant dialogue—where the unseen becomes illuminated, and the emotional pull of one's body language speaks louder than words ever could.

Underneath the vast weight of the oceans lies a simmering, Martian energy in these natives. It is not overbearing or in-your-face, but rather slow-burning and subtle—something that creeps beneath the surface with a quiet intensity. Mars-Moon people possess an allure that traps you like a boiling crab in a pot, the water warming ever so slowly, until you’re drawn into a molten oasis without even realizing it. Before you know it, you're fully immersed, caught in the grips of quiet power as the water seers old skin off and rebirths you anew.

☆ DOLORES DEL RIÓ ☆

☾ These natives have a hypnotically, still energy... or so you think. The moon and Mars are known for their speed, however when the moon (the mind) comes into reception with Mars (the drive) she cloaks him with her drowsiness, creating a veil that leads people to think these natives are reserved and delicate. In actuality, they represent the calm before the storm.

These are masters of the delicate art of attraction. They appear softly enigmatic at first, luring people in with the faintest glimmers of their emotion depth, until you're ensnared in their quiet, yet raging waters.

☆ INGRID BERGMAN ☆

☾ Feminine and masculine natives both carry a soft glimmer in their eyes that, thanks to the moon, causes people to get lost in their gaze and yearn to uncover the mysteries hidden within. It is akin to watching the push and pull of the lunar tides as the waves seduce you into taking a dip in uncharted waters.

☆KIM SEOK-JIN☆ (better known as Jin from BTS)

☾

☆ DAVE FRANCO ☆

⚠️ I did these based off tropical signs. I love the sidereal ayanamsas, but it feels right to start this series with the original solstice and equinox calculations. Feel free to think of these natives as sidereal Pisces and Gemini natives!