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pearlywritings · 1 year

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Sometimes the name doesn't matter

synopsis: sometimes it matters that you are his wife. PART 2

pairings: Capitano, Kaveh, Tighnari, Zhongli x fem!reader (separately)

tw: fluff, established relationship, hurt/comfort; hybrids, unwelcomed courting, kind of female objectification (all in Tighnari's part)

word count: 6.9k+ words

a/n: part 1 can be read here!

Capitano

Fast elegant fingers of a pianist run across the keys of black and white and the violins in the hands of other musicians are there to serve together with the chorus of beautiful voices, selected by Lady Columbina personally. The music infiltrates the souls of the nobles present, filling them with the sense of grandeur and glory, touching even their harsh unfeeling hearts.

The atmosphere of the gathering is gratifying, would’ve even been endearing if not for the stately figures of the Harbingers standing on both sides of the throne, where the Tsaritsa would've been seated had she not decided to refrain from attending it altogether. She has more important matters to take care of, and nine of her most loyal servants can definitely fill in her place on that yearly event.

Sure, this year it is more important since the two Harbingers are missing and the seats stay vacant - it's been the talk of the nation. Who is going to be nominated? Can it be influenced? Will they claim the names today?

Is the mysterious Commander, whose arrival became the topic of multiple speculations, be the one? A fierce warrior many heard of, but almost none saw face to face. The man was believed to be as powerful as the 11th Harbinger or maybe even the 10th! Having an army and an establishment of his own on the farthest line of the Snezhnayan border, he still is under the command of Lord Capitano, which makes it even harder to fish any more information than what is already known to the public.

"I only heard about him. He and his troops are protecting our borders from the monster's invasion in the North."

"Ew, who would've wanted to live in the North! It's much harsher than all the Snezhnaya."

"Shush, the Commander is wealthy and respectful, you can bear some cold."

"What do you imply?"

"The Commander is unmarried, there is no way he isn't, not with a life like this. But it can always be changed, and the woman he takes as wife would be one of the luckiest ones!"

"You are right… Maybe he is actually handsome. Maybe he'd be even willing to buy a whole mansion for his promised one and not take her with him to that awful place. Maybe…"

Maybe, maybe, maybe. It travels through the crowds like a storm in its wake, eventually reaching the Harbingers, who, for the first time after appearing and greeting the already arrived, stop resembling the statues. Eyes shift among the people and each other; some gazes hold interest, some - annoyance. Only Pantalone has an ever present smile on his face, fingers clasped in front of him and sapphire rings sparkle in the ballroom light.

"Looks like Capitano's estimated soldier caught everyone's attention. My, my, how curious and nosy the people can be…"

"I understand the curiosity though," admits Childe, arms crossed to prevent laying even a finger on his blade, that is resting on his hip. "This person sounds like an interesting specimen… I've heard of his talents in both strategy and tactics, and it seems like his strength is a legend. I'd love to spar with him."

"Oh you, thinking only about fights, young man," Pulcinella disapprovingly shakes his head and raises his cane to point in the gingerhead's direction. "I highly doubt our guest will have time to spare, considering the period of time concerning the stay that was mentioned in the letter we received."

"And I believe the majority of that time would be spent with Il Capitano, isn't it right?" Columbina's soft voice must be drowning in the music, but everyone hears her loud and clear.

"..." The Harbinger stays silent and nothing can be read from his body language since he is the only one remaining still in his place, his huge looming figure resembling one of the full-set armor nobles like putting in their halls as a part of interior. Except this one isn't empty.

"So much potential to become my test subject, to be perfected... Yet lost to the lands of Northern regions," Dottore huffs in disappointment, his sharp teeth peaking when he clicks his tongue. "Say, Pierro, can't things be rearranged? I'd happily have our dear border protector as my underling."

The silence between the nine suddenly becomes thick. There is something indescribably tense in the air and only Childe can't understand why some of his colleagues seem to be more interested in how the Captain would react and not the 1st of the Harbingers..

"You know why this can't be rearranged, Dottore," the stare of an icy blue eye would pin everyone to the ground, destroying their will and order to obey, though doing little to scare the Doctor. "And it was favored by the Tsaritsa herself."

The finality of the short statement makes the scientist back down from the proposition he's been bringing up every time the topic touches the Commander, yet ending up the same way as always - with an ultimate rejection.

Three heavy thuds make everyone in the room fall silent. Many heads turn to look at the ceremonial staff hitting the floor the last time and staying still in the hand of a tall, thoroughly dressed man.

"The protector of the Northern border, the glorified and esteemed warrior of Her Majesty Tsaritsa, The Commander has arrived," the master's of ceremonies voice carries like a thunderclap, cutting off the quite leisurely music the orchestra was playing for the dances and entertainment.

The rustle of note sheets is fleeting and not a moment later the musicians straighten in their seats, taking a deep breath. Trumpets boom in a spacious room and make nobles shiver in surprise, some especially susceptible women even lean on their partners for support. The choir and the violins join the triumphant song the brass instruments sing, signaling that the time has come.

Everyone holds their breath as the tall heavy doors leading to the ballroom are being pulled open. Everyone has their gaze glued to a slowly growing gap. Everyone keeps their eyes wide open, afraid that even one blink can cost them missing the legendary sight.

Everyone gasps.

The tall figure enters, posture straight and shoulders squared, confidence evident in every step. Black satin clothes are adorned with golden chains and intricate patterns. The white military coat stayed resting on the shoulders - showing off the position, the closeness to the Harbingers. And then there is the face - a scar crossing the left brow, calm bored eyes, not sparing anyone a glance, which do not fit the other female features of your face.

Yes, the Commander happens to be a woman.

Stopping by the steps leading to the throne, you bow - not kneel, bow, - holding your open palm by the heart and respectfully closing your eyes. Music stops.

“Greetings, my lords. Let Tsaritsa bless you and your mission.”

“Let Tsaritsa bless you and your service to her,” Pierro says, raising his hand. “Lift your head,” which you do, looking him right in the eyes, yet still holding your hand by the chest. “There is time for duties and there is time for entertainment. And tonight, given your rare visits to the capital, I suggest you enjoy the latter.”

“Much obliged, Lord Pierro.”

And with a wave of the older man’s hand, the orchestra starts a new composition, waking up the ones who were in a daze, reminding others they are here for drama.

And the first one to take action is the 11th Harbinger.

“Commander, Sir- I mean, Lady?” The gingerhead is the closest to you out of all his colleagues, having only to descend a few steps to be on your level. “I’ve heard a lot about you, many admirable things. How do you look at sparring?”

“Right in the middle of a ballroom? Quite positively, young man,” your lips twist in a half-smirk, baring a sharp pearly canine. “But I believe the nobles have already had enough shock to take and rumors to create. Maybe another time. Haven’t seen you before though. Are you new?”

“Tartaglia, the Eleventh Harbinger, Lady Commander.”

“Ma’am would be enough,” you click your tongue, glancing behind and noticing how slowly, but surely some of the aristocrats are inching towards you, clearly interested in conversation, Well, you are not. “On second thought, starting a duel right now and here doesn’t sound like a bad idea…”

“I’ve always known you are quite insane,” Arlechino butts her way in the conversation, giving you only a small nod as a greeting. You simply glance at her.

“For years I’ve been hearing of my insanity, think of something new,”

“How about, ‘the one who knows no limits’?” Pantalone’s smile is as dazzling as it’s fake and sometimes your hands are itching to strangle the man. Maybe even go all the way out and bite his head off. Literally.

“The only ones who know no limits are the wind and the stupidity. I’m neither. Who I am though,” your gaze travels higher, to the steps closest to the Tsaritsa’s throne, to there Pierro and the first three Harbingers are standing, “is a wife. And I’d like to have a dance with my husband.”

Not many heard your words, but the ones who did, gasp loudly, staring at you with wide eyes. Which get even wider when Il Capitano, a seemingly motionless statue before, turns in his place and, without a pause, steadily descends to you. Now, as you are standing so closely it becomes evident how obviously your outfits match. The chains, the patterns, even the precious stones - everything. Perhaps it is terrifyingly cute. Perhaps it's cutely terrifying.

“Husband,” your smile again, offering him your hand, which he immediately envelopes in his big clawed one.

“Wife,” is the first word the big figure rumbles for the evening, the void of its helmet staring at you. And that’s all you speak to each other, hearing the beginning of another melody and turning to join the dancing pairs.

“...What was that?” Childe voices what’s been plaguing the minds of the attendees. “First the Commander appears to be a woman, and now she is married to the Lord Il Capitano?” He glances at Pulcinella, who joins his side and decides to watch the pair that caused a commotion have their fun. “Do they not use their names?”

“They find no sense in them,” the Rooster answers just the last question. “And,” he lowers his voice and the ginger has to bend down to hear the next words, “I didn’t tell you that, but the Captain really loves calling her his wife. So be quite cautious while seeking a fight with her. You might end up impaled. By either of them.”

Kaveh

With a soft smile you watch a group of children merrily leaving their classroom, interrupting each other in attempts to tell everyone how exciting the lesson was. They do not forget to grin and wave at you, passing by, and you return the sentiment, contently observing their happy faces and sparkly eyes.

Every time this happens, a strange sense of fulfillment overtakes you - supporting and sponsoring Kaveh was one of the best decisions you’ve ever made. The greatest architect of nowadays is offering his guidance to the young generation, teaching them everything about beauty and practicality, helping them to develop their own creative vision, and at the same time boosting the confidence of kids of all ages. And you couldn’t be prouder of him.

Him, who meticulously prepares for every single lesson. Him, who is oh-so-gentle with his words and precise in his speech. Him, who teaches both Sumeru citizens and people coming from abroad. Him, who is as passionate about it, as he is about his designing job, telling you every single detail of how the lessons went on your way home or over the dinner. Him, who is happy and who makes you happy too with that fact alone.

When the last kid leaves, marking the ending of the final class for today, you glance at the clock. Now Mister Meticulousness will need half an hour to tidy up the classroom and put all the tools away. Tomorrow is free from classes at his (he always corrects your as in the both of you) school, so you can collect your stuff as well - after all, being the manager of this establishment and Kaveh specifically requires your presence. You can be strict and unyielding whenever he can’t and this partnership proves to be successful every day.

Just as you are writing down some financial staff, there is a soft knock on the doorframe. Immediately lifting your eyes you hum, observing a very good-looking woman and a boy, shyly holding onto her hand.

“Hello, how can I help you?” With a quill laid on top of your accounting book, you stand and round the table, offering the two to step closer.

“Ah, hello, miss…” eyes with long, pretty lashes flit to the name tag attached to your clothes, “...Y/n. This is master Kaveh’s artistic school, am I correct?”

“Yes, you are. Are you here to sign your boy up for a class?” You offer her son a sweet smile and he answers you with a small lift of his lips.

“Mhm. You see, he is a big fan of master Kaveh and his works - can study the pictures of his designs taken by Kamera day and night.”

At that, the boy lowers his gaze and blushes a little, digging a hole in the ground with the tip of his shoe.

“Oh, really?” A gasp that escapes your chest is one of excitement. “That’s marvelous! I am sure your hopefully soon-to-be-teacher will be very interested in hearing your opinion of his works, young connoisseur,” he giggles, lifting his eyes at you again, and there you see undisguised delight. “Oh, but my bad, I didn’t ask your names…”

The woman’s lips bare two rows of perfectly white teeth as she smiles at you, introducing herself and her son.

“We are from Fontaine actually. But my parents wanted to spend some indefinite period of time in Sumeru for their health and we decided to join them. So while we are here, I thought I’d make my son’s dream come true.”

“That’s so nice of you,” you can’t help but admire her a little for that. “I can tell you first a little about our school, you’ll ask all the questions you need to, and then I’ll show you around. Kaveh should be done with cleaning by then, so there’s a big chance you’ll even talk to him personally.”

“Really!?” That’s the first time throughout your entire interaction when the boy opens his mouth and actually makes a sound. “Master Kaveh is here right now?”

“He is. But can’t promise a long conversation - there are still blueprints waiting for him back at home.

“Ah, right… He is the great architect after all,” the woman hums, staring to the side as if in thought. “Between the commissions he takes and this school he must be making good money. Not to mention so handsome…”

Oh… What a familiar tone, what a familiar look in those eyes. Suddenly that ounce of respect you felt for her disappears.

“Money is irrelevant to him as long as he reaches his goal,” is your restrained response.

“Ah, of course! Handsome, sweet, kind, good with kids and is not a snob. Sweety, you ought to charm him for me!” She pinches her son’s cheek. “Imagine Master Kaveh as your daddy!”

Oh Archons, again?

There is absolutely no doubt that the light of Kshahrewar is not only well-known and popular among kids, but is thirsted after by women. In a half of a year your school has been existing, there were numerous times when moms of little students made comments alike or some single females trying to schedule private sessions with the architect. What a sagacious decision it was to make group studying only, it saves you some drama, once the legal document is shown. Though there are exceptionally persistent examples…

But this time you pity the kid a little, because he genuinely seems to admire Kaveh. And his next words make you internally cheer for the little guy.

“Master Kaveh as my dad? But mom, I have a dad already,” the boy pouts, rubbing at the pinched cheek. You notice a red mark and two little crescent moons that her nails left on a tender skin. “I love him and don’t need another one.”

“Sweety, you just don’t understand how great it would be to have such a dad! Just trust my word-”

“Ahem, Madame, I kindly ask you to deal with your family affairs once you are out of here. As for the school - I am open for discussion.”

The displeased way she glances at you doesn’t go unnoticed, but you do not show it anyhow, calmly staring back at her, while your hand reaches up to your chest. As if finally remembering her initial reason for coming here with her son, the woman sighs and puts a palm on the boy’s shoulder.

“Of course, miss- I’m sorry I forgot your name…” And her eyes flit to the name tag again.

Momentarily the woman squints from the light reflecting on the metal, and when she blinks the bright spots away, there is a beautiful golden ring on your hand. The hand that is holding the flipped tiny plate with just two words engraved in it.

"Kaveh's wife"

With widened eyes she stares back at your sweetly polite smile. Not saying a word as if letting the notion sink in, you walk to the wall. Grabbing the backs of two chairs you drag them to your table so they could sit, and take your rightful place in front of them.

“If you are here for something aside from or instead of signing your son up for classes, I believe my name should be irrelevant to you. My status though,” you knock a nail twice on the badge, “must. So… what are you here for, Madame?”

The boy climbs onto his chair right away, while his mother tarries a little, still shocked by the revealed fact and your suddenly changed demeanor. She needs a couple more seconds to compose herself, but eventually she too sits down.

Despite what happened earlier, your conversation proves to be fruitful and fifteen minutes later you are showing around the school, sharing some additional information and answering every single of the kid’s questions.

When in the last room you find your husband, closing Mehrak and looking ready to leave, the boy lets out a gasp. The sound attracts the man’s attention, and he turns to the three of you with a soft smile.

“Oh, hello there, little guy!” The blond waves at him, breaking the blissful stupor of a child that immediately turns red and hides behind his mother. Surprised, Kaveh looks at you for explanation but, instead, takes notice of your name’s replacement. Oh wow, this again. What was the last time you did that? Two weeks ago?

“Ah, Master Kaveh!” The woman charmingly smiles, batting her lashes at him, which would’ve made you cringe had it never happened before. “You see, my son-”

“Pardon me, Madame, give me a moment,” the male softly interrupts her and reaches for a similar metal plate on his chest with his own name to flip it. It’s almost comical how sour the temptress’s face got in a second.

And there is what for. Now two words are proudly matching yours, engraved in an equally beautiful cursive to remind the world who the two of you become once stripped of your names.

Just his ”Y/n’s husband” to your “Kaveh’s wife”.

And like that one more kid takes part in your lovely school and one suitor less is after one of its founders.

Tighnari

With each passing day of your team’s research in the desert you found it harder and harder to control yourself. Some days you were even on the verge of clawing and biting, tail and ears twitching in annoyance and pupils turning into wild slits, making your hybrid nature more obvious.

Was it because of the research? No, it couldn’t be farther - your colleagues have been making so much progress, heeding your advice and following your lead. Was it the location perhaps? A little, but you learnt how to deal with heat and dryness. Was the process taking too much time? On the contrary, you are on your way home already, having finished the job 4 days earlier than you estimated in the beginning.

Then what on earth could possibly trigger you like this?

Well…

“Hey, forest foxy, want me to catch the Consecrated Flying Serpent for you?”

Ah yes, him.

Never again will you trust the higher ups at the Akademiya to sponsor your team with the bodyguards. Out of every possible candidate, your Herbad-titled colleague concluded that hiring five descendants of Valuka Shuna would be a marvelous idea.

“They are the desert kind - they’ll be good guides.” “Look how much stronger they are, they’ll definitely protect all of you.” “They are of the same kind as you, Y/n. Don’t you think it’ll be easier for you, as the leader, to have someone akin with you?”

No, it absolutely would not!

Desert fennec hybrids are different from the forest ones - and it’s not even the case of your green and their sandy brown fur or their more brutal physique against your more delicate one. It’s their character and world perception. You’ll never call them barbarians, but they really developed more of the animal nature than your kind did.

And from day one it was a pain in the butt.

One of your five new bodyguards was clearly the leader - he was bigger and broodier, with more scars littering his body, and his whole stance was screaming of a higher position. When you were introduced for the first time, something lit up in his grayish eyes, which were looking you over appreciatively. You ignored that, more focused on the discussion of the upcoming expedition and making sure the five were aware of what was required of them.

Luckily they were, and, admittedly, they did fulfill their task meticulously, proving to be great help. If only one of them wasn’t so diligent.

You lost count of how many times the leader tried to get into your personal space and you had to move away. Of the numerous invitations to hunt together. Of the endless displays of his strength and abilities. Of the many conversations you didn’t even try to eavesdrop on (they talked pretty loudly) around the topic of when will your shell be cracked and you’d accept the male’s courting attempts.

The answer was obvious, but he just never got it. Even when you called him for a serious conversation on the turning-into-an-issue matter.

“With all respect I must ask you to stop with whatever you’ve been doing to woo me. I have a husband.”

You still remember how he blinked at you dumbly, clear lack of understanding written on the sun-kissed face.

“...and?”

“The heck do you mean ‘and’?”

“Well, you don’t have a mate?”

It was your turn to stare at him speechless, ear twitching and tail curling closer to your legs. It was getting worse than just ridiculous.

“If we are speaking in such terms, then my husband is my mate. So, please-”

You nearly gasped when the male immediately leant closely, violating your personal space and practically stuffing his nose against your neck. Shocked by such lack of shame, you lost the ability to talk or move for a moment, gaping at him sniffing around and humming upon the discovery.

“You don’t wear anyone’s smell on you.”

You were not proud of yourself at that moment, but you absolutely lost it. Sharpened claws dug into his chest and with an angry snarl you pushed him back.

“Get away from me!”

You must’ve been a sight - canines bared and fingers twitching, ready to attack; fur standing on both your ears and tail, signaling your distress and eyes slitted in pure rage while directed at the man in front of you. The worst part? The idiot seemed to like it even more.

“What me and my partner do must be of no concern to you. I told you ‘no’ and I mean it.”

But bold of you was to assume he’d stop. Oh no, it’s gotten worse. Now he was actively calling you a ‘forest foxy’, absolutely abandoning your name and even trying to scent you. It was suffocating - the desert aridity was lighter in comparison to the male hybrid’s pheromones.

Never in all your academic practice have you wanted to return home so badly.

Fortunately, your colleagues quickly caught on to what was going on and always helped you to escape the unwanted interactions. Plus they were equally as mad as you were, because his individual scent irritated their human noses - and that was the main reason why you and Tighnari, both spending a lot of time around other people, did not practice it. Partly, you are sure, this whole situation was the reason for your earlier return - and you were grateful for their understanding.

However, your stubborn suitor did not dream of giving up. Killed desert animals were still offered to you, stories of his legendary battles with monsters were told for the hundredth time (even though no one was interested in listening at that point) and attempts to lure you with the musky smell once again made. Archons, and the green-furred fennec girls from your teens used to dream of that.

Maybe Lesser Lord Kusanali would be merciful and you’ll meet your husband somewhere on your way?

“Herbad Y/n!”

…wow, that was quick. Not Tighnari, but incredibly welcome too.

“Collei!” For the first time in days there is a reason for your soft smile. Which the young girl mirrors, waving at you from not so far away. You notice a couple more of the Forest Rangers at her side, and that sight alone makes you finally exhale in relief. You are so close to being home.

“Master is here too! Want me to get him?”

Oh, Dendro Archon, thank you.

“I’d really appreciate it, dear!” With a quick nod the green-haired apprentice disappears in the bushes, and you turn back to the scholars of your group. It’s time to abuse your power a little. “We are almost at the Devadaha Pool. Since all of you live in Sumeru City I hope you’ll excuse me for staying behind. As for you five,” your gaze moves to the bodyguards and it’s so hard not to rejoice - soon they’ll be just a memory, “I ask you to accompany the rest of my team to the Akademiya. Then you can consider your job done and be free. Keep the payment for the last three days that didn’t happen - think of it as a bonus for a good job.”

All but one eagerly nod and bid you farewell with wishes of getting home safely. And frankly speaking? You couldn’t care less for that one when you spot familiar and oh so dear big pointy ears with an intricate golden earring adorning one of them.

“Tighnari!” You didn’t want to sound so desperate, you really didn’t. But when those forest-like lovely eyes look in your direction, it becomes clear to you - the yearning has gotten unbearable.

“Y/n…” His smile is dazzling and the way his body immediately pushes to walk to you almost makes the memories of the last weeks’ events go away.

The key word - almost.

Someone grabs your elbow when you want to meet him halfway. Oh right, you already forgot about him.

“Let me go, you, imbecile!” And again you have to snarl and be rude, ripping your arm out of the strong hold and quickly darting into your husband’s embrace. The natural smell of the leaves, the flowers, the sweet and bitter concoctions he makes in his home laboratory, comfort you and your whole body goes nearly limp in his hold. It’s been weeks and you are tired of fighting with the brick wall - this time you want your lover to handle it for you.

“Y/n, my lotus, are you alright?” Gentle fingers comb through your hair and scratch at the base of your ears - a whole ass adult, that you are, wants to tear up. But you can only shake your head a no. “Has this man been bothering you?” This time it’s a yes. “I got you, dear.”

“So,” the browny green eyes sharpen upon staring at the cause of your current state, when it starts speaking, “you are that ‘husband’ the foxy has been talking about? I thought you’d be stronger. Or at least taller. Now I see that I was right and you really can’t be her mate.”

“Oh but I am. Not that we have to prove anything to a stranger. Y/n,” he carefully pries your face from his shoulder, caressing your cheek with a beanie pad, “let’s go home. You must be so-so tired.”

“I am, ‘nari. I am exhaus-”

“There’s no smell of you on her and vice versa,” the desert descendent of the Valuka Shuna seems to not be planning to stop. “Her neck is not marked. You let her wander by herself for weeks? And you keep calling her by the name. Her name should've stopped mattering once she became your mate!”

The hand around your waist tenses and you can feel the claws threatening to tear through the gloves he always wears. You don’t need to look at the face of your lover to know how pissed he is. And if Tighnari decides to attack him and tear his tongue out? You will not stop him.

“I am going to say it once and only once. She is not just a mate, she is my wife, by the Sumeru law and by the blessing of the Dendro Archon. And this fact must matter to you more than the case of her name. So fuck off and leave my wife alone. And if you don’t get it in a civil way - this woman is taken. And this territory is mine.”

With that, the Forest Watcher effortlessly lifts you in his arms and, holding you as if a precious bride, turns around to leave. You haven’t looked back once.

“You can’t imagine how much I missed being called your wife,” you quietly confess, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Especially after he didn’t listen when I said that I am.”

Tighnari hums sympathetically, leaning close to rub his nose against yours.

“Will it be okay then if today I address you as my wife only? When we join the other rangers, I mean.”

”...if you think I will be embarrassed - make it a whole week.”

With a soft chuckle your husband plants a kiss on your lips, sealing the deal and promising you tranquil days at last.

“As you wish, wife.”

Zhongli

"...and so Rex Lapis takes the form of a dragon, a majestic creature he was born as - the one of whom the fair maiden would never be scared of. Lady Guizhong's robes flutter in the tender wind traveling among the mountain peaks and caressing the earthly scales of the God's enormous body. His eyes, shiny as gold, gaze at her with an unfamiliar softness as she holds a gentle flower - a delicate gift from her lover, the one that proves that under all that armor is a stone heart capable of love. Heart that is beating for her."

To loud applause the Iron Tongue Tian bows his head, drawing the legend of the gods in love to its end. You cannot bring yourself to clap even politely, both hands on your lap, hidden under the table, twitching when a man beside you lets his gloved palms meet each other a couple of times.

It’s the second time you had to sit and endure the baloney from the very beginning to the very end, not to count all those times you overheard it in passing. From the moment you settled in the Liyue Harbor together with your husband, to live the rest of your incredibly long lives together among the humans, you've been painfully aware of their interpretation of Rex Lapis and his relationship with other immortal beings. Before that you rarely accompanied him during the walks, busy with helping Yakshas and other adepti protect the said humans to grant them a peaceful life - as immortal guardians grew fewer, every single one counted.

Never have you ever imagined that knowing so little of the citizens’ folklore would backfire so hard. It seems that people got somewhat bored listening to the stories of Liyue and Rex Lapis, no matter how many interpretations existed. Literature became more diverse in genres and romantic novels were on top of the list, so street narrators started losing their audience little by little. Before it could grow into something more drastic the new side of history was presented to the public - stories about love among immortals appeared and its freshness and uniqueness caught people’s attention immediately.

In their searches for new material, speakers dug through hundreds of volumes. The main interest was the Lord of Geo, of course. If you have a story of a presumably stone-hearted creature ever having fallen in love with someone - that’s pure gold! But who could you present as a love interest of the Archon? It must be someone very close to him and, obviously, no one is more well-known for that than the deceased Archon of Dust.

You sigh, reaching for your cup and declining Madam Ping’s offer to pour you some more tea - for an unclear reason the fellow adeptus joined you two tonight. You have thousands of years of life behind your existence, a soul hardened by constant battles, and mannerism as polished as a jade statue, yet for a moment you feel concerned that the woman would notice a pang of hurt in the smallest of your features.

Zhongli definitely noticed the first time. It was meant to be a date night - simple, but sweet, with the evening lights, delightful aroma of the finest tea and the tales pouring from skilled tongues reflecting the atmosphere of what your nation really is. However, the luck of the land of trades wasn’t on your side, as someone requested the “Guili legend” as they called it. At first you were confused. Then in disbelief, almost turning to look at your mate, with whom you were bonded long before he became allies with the ash-haired woman. In the end you felt something you thought was beyond you - bitterness.

When you left the restaurant, slowly walking back to your house, Zhongli’s fingers gently touched your elbow, asking for your attention.

“Does it bother you that much, my love?”

Bother you? Well… It does feel insulting when someone speaks of your husband having been in love with someone else, but mortals can’t possibly know the truth for many reasons.

“I can’t say it doesn’t,” you admitted calmly, stopping and turning fully to him. He did the same, gazing at you with a hint of worry in those golden eyes you loved so much. The ones, you knew, always looked only at you. “But it can’t be helped, right? There was a reason and mutual agreement why you, as Rex Lapis, made our union unknown to your people, and now, since you are “dead”? There is no one to tell our story. Don’t worry though,” you put a hand on top of his and smiled, when his other one was laid on top of yours in a gesture of comfort. “I can deal with it. I know you love going to the storyteller’s performances. I’ll just try to ignore what they say about you and Lady Guizhong.”

Sometimes Zhongli thinks he does not deserve you. Ever so patient and understanding, you always had your husband's best interest at heart. Marriage, however, in its basis is a form of a contract, and a good contract is all about both sides being equal in everything. And if you must know one thing about Rex Lapis - he never makes bad contracts.

When the audience calms down, the man decides to make his presence and intentions clear by raising a hand. From the corner of his eye he notices you slightly turning your head to glance at him, and he catches a glimpse of puzzlement in your gaze. He can't help but think how adorable you are, even if you deny it again and again, claiming that nothing can be adorable about a several millennia-old warrior. Maybe not, but his wife definitely is, and he thinks with a primordial pride igniting in his chest, that mating with you was the best decision his past self had ever made.

Reaching under the table he rests his free hand on top of yours, gently squeezing it in reassurance, offering you the warmth of himself, seeping through his glove. Just as your shoulders relax to his delight, the raised hand adorned with rings is finally noticed.

"Ah, Mr Zhongli! Such an honor to see a regular, especially someone as wise as yourself!" Iron Tongue Tian beams with a wide smile, closing his fan and focusing his full attention on the history connoisseur. "I doubt you have questions, given your vast knowledge, and I can't wait to hear what else you can add to this already heart-felt story."

You force your lips not to twitch, hiding behind the tea cup again. Suddenly it tastes bitter. But another squeeze your husband gives your hand doesn't let you dwell on it too much.

"You are correct, I do have some knowledge to offer. However, it might disappoint you, as it will completely destroy the story of the Geo Archon and the Archon of Dust."

The whispers ran through the crowd like a powerful wave, and you can see confusion written over every single face. But also, there is intrigue.

"I took it upon myself,” Zhongli however continues, “to invite Madame Ping to back up my story, as she was the witness to it," the elder woman - a well-known Adeptus that doesn't hide her existence among mortals - nods with a soft smile.

"I read this in legends a long time ago, but remembered only when the 'Guili legend' became popular. Rex Lapis indeed had a lover, however it was not Lady Guizhong," the gasps are almost deafening. Just as your quickened heartbeat.

And for the next hour the man by your side and the elderly-looking woman that joined you tonight proceed to tell the story of the adeptus, who was the first and only to ever bring the Geo Archon to his knees, to be worshiped like a goddess by his eyes, by his words, by his very heart. Of a warrior, whose fierce eyes and valiant nature made a dragon in Rex Lapis roar in delight. Of the woman, who entranced him with her beauty, caring soul and motherly attention directed to other adepti - Madame Ping adds with a laugh of how the two created a parent-like dynamic even before they became official (at that you find it so hard not to turn bashful).

They tell the legend of the silk flowers - the ones you might see everywhere in the vast lands of Liyue. How the Geo Archon personally asked the Dendro Archon for guidance to cultivate the tenderest of flowers, how he taught his people to make the delicate fabric out of it, but even then it couldn’t compare to the skin of his immortal mate.

They tell stories of how annoyed she was when the god turned into a dragon to fall asleep somewhere in the depths of the earth for years without telling her prior, and how he returned with the purest stones and metals and with his own hands forged the pair of matrimonial rings (yes, the ones wrapped around your fingers to this day).

Madame Ping fondly speaks of all those thousands of years of protection the said adeptus spent to make sure that her godly spouse’s people were safe and maybe just a tiny sliver of pride rushes through your heart at the public acknowledgement.

“But she wished not to be known,” the woman sighs and you know she glances at you reproachfully. Well-deserved, given the circumstances you are in right now. “Thus it’s not much of a surprise people made a mistake like that. Besides, you won’t find much information in written sources about her either way.”

“But she must have a name at least!” Someone from the fairly grown crowd exclaims.

“That she does,” Zhongli nods, lacing his fingers with yours under the table, lips tugging in a calm smile, when you squeeze his hand in return. “Though I am afraid it would be pointless to try and find out now - we wouldn’t want to disturb her mourning the departure of her husband, would we? After all, they must’ve loved each other so much.”

“But how can you be so sure?”

“Because,” golden eyes are on you, catching yours, pulling you in, whispering for your soul and heart to get lost in them, “I can understand how this love was born and got to bloom. My wife showed me that.”

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #il capitano x reader #capitano x reader #capitano x fem!reader #kaveh x reader #kaveh x fem!reader #tighnari x reader #tighnari x fem!reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli x fem!reader #il capitano #capitano #kaveh #tighnari #zhongli #genshin impact fluff

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queenie-the-court-jester · 5 months

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break up with your boyfriend

Yandere trans!fem cheerleader x fem reader

It was so shittily made but I need to pump out more fics or else my blog will die. Thank you all for 1k followers though! I'll rewrite this in the future maybe

Tw: mentions of blackmailing, nsfw, slight breeding kink, batshit crazy girlfriend,not proofread, another oc mentioned!?🌺

💄Eva saccharine has been your girlfriend since she first started transitioning. You helped her style her hair, do her nails, pick her clothes, find good makeup, anything she needed to feel like the real her. So when freshman year rolled in, it came as no surprise to you she fit right in with the clique.

💐Ofcourse you had your fears she'd choose them over you but that wasn't the case, because she'd make you eat lunch with them and sit on her lap, not so subtly humping your ass while talking all about cheer practice

🛍️boys wanted to date her, girls wanted to be her. She just wanted you, to just be the two baddest bitches on the block. It didn't matter if you were just like her or the complete opposite, she gushed over you. Praising you for being her good girl, her sweet little princess, her obedient pocket pussy-

💄but at this current moment? She was busy bullying your insides, forcing her fat cock into your slippery hole as she held you steady by your waist. Biting and groaning everytime she'd feel you squeeze that certain spot on her dick

"fu-uuckkk.. baby cakes, 'yer squeezin' me so goood.. ah.. hah.. you wouldn't mind if I pumped a few babes into your tight cunny right? Wanna be my baby mama?"

💐that made you squeeze tighter, holding onto the bedsheets for dear life. She had you face down, ass up and damn near breaking your back with how hard she was going. Hearing the normally composed and playful eva turn into a drooling pussy-drunk mess had you feeling butterflies, just going plap play plap-

🛍️let's just say, by the end of it, you couldn't walk for days afterwards. But no amount of hickies and perfume would be able to scare away a rather persistent guy. He was on the football team, star quarterback, rich asshole. sam white. Eva hated his guts, he thinks he can just waltz in and steal her bitch? Not on her watch.

💄this little feud had been going on for a while, and more times than you could count you've been caught in the crossfire. Though it was kinda funny, seeing them screeching insults at eachother and bickering. Eva would sassily flick her blonde hair and grab you by the collar of your neck, Dragging you away while Sam hooted and hollered at your retreating form

💐you never questioned her morbid fascination with anything horror or paranormal related. She was just obsessed with regular girl things. wanting you to help her summon a demon once, but you aren't that stupid, making blood pacts with them could result in very unsavory ending's and you quite cherished your soul and body

🛍️Eva has more than one account on different social medias, pretending to be multiple different people and Stalking your posts. She'd slide into your dms and flirt, seeing if you'd really cheat on her. She's so happy when you instantly block the account, guess you'll survive not being sent to her basement for another week

💄she has the audacity to grab a frilly pink pen and make you wear clothes that purposely shows off what she wrote. In bright bold lettering, Eva's little cum dump ♡ . Maybe she'll let you bring a jacket, only if you beg her really hard with those big doe eyes she loves. She put a collar and leash on you too

💐don't try breaking up with her, she takes 'they go low, I go lower" to another level. Threatening to post pictures of you in rather compromising positions. When did she record all of this? Who knows. She won't refrain from spreading nasty rumors of you that just force you to come sobbing into her arms, if you try and get comfort from somebody else she won't hesitate to eliminate them. Don't you see? She's the final girl, and you're her love Interest

"I told you not to run pretty baby.. now look what you've done. I gotta fix your mess up~.."

moral of the story: be a loyal loving girlfriend and she'll spoil you rotten with her daddy's black card ♥️

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cupidbread · 8 months

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I Love You Always Forever

TOMMY SHELBY X WIFE!READER

Title inspired by the Donna Lewis song!

Thank you so so much for this request sweetheart. My apologies for being late to attend to it, I've been busy :(

THE NEW BARMAID in the Garrison stirred suspicion within Y/N's heart. Her gaze, like an insatiable hunger, fixated on Tommy, her husband, as if he were eye candy. There most definitely is something strange about her, nevertheless, Y/N regarded the interloper as nothing more than a desperate shadow, a woman who couldn't seem to fathom the ropes that bound Y/N and Tommy together.

As the clock struck 4, Tommy, enveloped in a tower of paperwork, leaned back on his chair. The door's creaking intrusion unveiled Y/N, her presence itself a cure to his icy soul.

"It's late, darling," she smiled, a melody in her voice that he craved to hear every second if possible. His icy gaze warmed at her disheveled hair, a white nightgown loosely hanging onto to her frame.

She approached, her legs immediately entwined with his thighs. Straddling him, she clung to him with an urgency akin to a leech seeking blood. "What're you doing, hm? I'm meant to be working..." he murmured, fingers gently weaving through her tousled hair.

"The bed is rather cold without you," she confessed, her eyes pleading. "Come to bed, my dear. There's always another day to catch up on work. For me?" A sigh escaped him, a surrender of her affections, making her eyes light up.

"You're going to be the death of me, woman." he admitted, sealing his words with a peck on her pouted lips.

The next morning, Y/N walked into the Garrison, ever so elegantly. The sight that awaited her made her blood boil. The Irish barmaid, leaning sticking out her bossom to Y/N's husband, served him a glass of whisky.

Suppressing her anger, Y/N approached with a tight lip, catching Tommy's attention. His gaze softened, focused solely on his wife as if she was the only woman on the planet. "Are you alright, love?"

"All good, dear. I was told to deliver a letter." She placed the letter into his lap, claiming a rough kiss.

Y/N rarely displayed such affection, in public of course. Reserving it for when they are home. Tommy welcomed it with no complaints, his eyes closing in pleasure. An irritating voice disrupted the intimacy. "Ahem! This is quite an inappropriate place, Mr. Shelby!"

Silence covers the pub, the tension palpable. Tommy, unyielding, glared at the interloper. "Excuse me? And when exactly did you get a say in what Tommy Shelby can or can't do, eh?"

Cutting off any response, Tommy continued, his eyes burning with authority. "The drinks are on the house. It's about time you learn how things work around here, or you won't be here much longer. You hear me?"

Stifled, she nodded looking close to tears as Tommy led his wife away, leaving a smirking imprint on her face as she looked back.

Y/N spoke softly. "You were rather harsh on her, Tom."

"I know how you feel about her, love. She's nothing compared to you," he assured, cupping her face and sealing his words with a tender kiss to her cheek.

Y/N smiled, turning his palm to place a kiss. "Lead the way home, Mr. Shelby. You're not getting out of bed tonight," she declared with a mischievous grin, their love a puzzle seamlessly fitting together, despite all the complexities they face, they face it together.

#tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders #tommy shelby fluff #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader

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esoteriamaya · 2 months

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Lilith The Enchantress: Lilithian Energy In The Houses. How Each One Brings Their Own Tempting Flair.

So you're probably wondering, where am I going with this?

I wanted to focus on the temptation of lilith, and why she is so oozing and attractive as is she.

For this reading, I will focus on the houses. In my later post, it'll be in each sign.

So lets dig in! Shall we ;)

Lilith in the first house - Pleasing to the eye. Can have a very sultry appearance. There is a point where they must undergo a transformation of the self, and at some point they will have a divine, sensual aura. There sensual power comes through the way they look at you, and often times they can tell when they're being a little too flirtatious. But that is so they can get the person of their choice. Like a siren, they go in for their target and come out on top. They use their attractive persona as like a spell, think of the girl on who framed roger rabbit with the beautiful red hair and dress.

Lilith in the second house - They have an eye for detail. This is the time to take you to their home and show you the rose petals on the bed with the red and white candles everywhere. They know how to make a person want them, by adding to some flair into their home. While also using different aesthetics for they're look to match with the energy that is being shared between them and they're lover. Very picky with who they spend their time with you know. They aren't for everyone. These are the type to make you wait for it.

Lilith in the third house - These are the lovers that can write erotic letters and make you think about them all night. The way their minds can carry a story, and then when you meet them in person its even better than the books. They hold their composure well, but deep inside they are ready to be explored in more ways than one. My my my, they sure know how to right a love spell. One that lasts til the very end.

Lilith in the fourth house - It's actually so much harder to get them to show you who they truly are, thats what makes their mystique so awe dropping. The way these lilithian beings share themselves is with the power of their emotions, and eventually they will bring you right into their beautiful dungeon they call a home. Where you will find all them in just one bite. Very sensual with the right one. The one that makes them feel good, the one that knows them from the inside out. These lilith babes will let you have all of them if once you have succumb to their power.

Lilith in the fifth house - The sensual energy these lilithians carry is a one of a kind. Their magnetism never goes unnoticed, and they take you on a roller coaster of emotions with their performance. They are intimate with their audience and can put you under a spell with the way they make things look. Their hearts are in it with this one. Very gentle to the eye, but to the soul its much more deep and profound. Can't take them anywhere because their wild manes get stuck in the pursuit of love, where they will drenched you with all their sweet and tears to make more use of the bloody romances they've indulged in. They will have you thinking about them for many moons, due to them putting their all into what they do in the matters of the heart.

Lilith in the sixth house - To be loved by a lilith babe with this placement, is to have made yourself fully devoted to them. Worship is what they want, and it is what they need to pursue them. They don't let just anyone in, so you must be prepared to give yourself as an offering. Very pleasant, and freaky to ones they want most. Most never see this coming, which is why they always get away with it ;) The sensual energy they carry is very smooth, abundant and hard to describe. Mysterious auras that you want more of, so much so you will spend every hour, every day of the week wanting to get to know them.

Lilith in the seventh house - The die hard lovers who goes in for the kill. What they want wants them, and they oozee it in with their attraction spells. Their auras are unique, fresh and able to commit to their partners. It's just that they have so many options to choose from so they have no use to sticking around if you're not pulling in your weight. Im sorry, its hard having to be loved by so many! The sensual power in them is hot, tempting, and alluring. You just can't get enough of them. Can see right thru you and can captivate you with just a look!

Lilith in the eighth house - The way they just make things easy with how they seduce people is something I feel nobody else can relate to. The way they come in and take the throne with how they please their partners as well as themselves, It may be that nobody could come close. But thats the thing about being in a scorpion house, is that you touch people in a way that people are not able to control within themselves.. yet you've already mastered it. Very pleasing, pulsating, bold and full of passion. The sensual nature in them could have you feel things you've never felt before, and that will have you in a panic. because the way they are able to get you to come out of that shell and move deeper into them . Will have you begging for more & more & more. Bewitching auras indeed!

Lilith in the ninth house - The delicacy mixed with erotic power. The angels and the demon. The artist and the muse. They have the power to seduce anyone with just their mind alone. They can seduce you with their wit, their humor, their charisma and just their soul in general. But on a sensuality note, they are abundantly clear on what it is they want. And they know just how to get it. They waste no time in going after the energy it is they feel desires them. They are devoted to themselves and the power of a Godly force and nobody comes close. So to the ones who get to experience them, they feel a closeness to the divine that makes you tremble a bit. Because they show us a sense of carefreeness thats been missing, so the way they seduce you is in how they free themselves in a world that is committed to self restraint.

Lilith in the tenth house - Enchanting and mysterious in nature. The world wants to have them but cannot get enough of them. The secret to these characters is that they know what it is you're looking for, but you just won't get it from em. Not immediately that is. They'll make you wait for it. Hell, they'll even charge you for it if your a beggar. They know you want it, but they aren't easy. Like a coquette, they'll have you waiting for years, and their energy will be intact and while yours feels depleted. Lilith tenth housers just know how to work it with their sex appeal. It can transform you, to say the least. ;)

Lilith in the eleventh house - A special energy is unlocked in these lilithians because not only do they have the capacity to seduce the whole world they can be someone close to them too. Be careful with them, because they might bite! ;) Their sensual power comes from the ability to be close with them and they have a compassionate nature too! This makes them way more likeable and seductive. And even if you're close to them, there is still something else about them. Almost hard to ignore, so its no wonder friends and associates try to get it on with em.

Lilith in the twelfth house - If all the other placements are tempting to the eye, then these beings are tempting to the soul. They have a capacity to entice others with the way they carry themselves. They have a gift in pulling you in, and telling a story with just their body language alone. The moment you are seduced by them, is the very moment you come over and have a meeting with God. They are no angel, but they can just about make you feel things that where never present before.

Lilith in these houses can show the tempting, seductive energies of a person if they learn how to tap in. There is a short story about lilith being the tempting 'devil' we kind of all known of her to be. However, learning more complexities of her story. She is so much more. So this just a small version of what we know as lilith, there will be many more to come!

#astrology observations #astro observations #sensuality #astrology theories #astrology thoughts #tropical astrology #spirituality

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tra1nchi · 5 months

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My tummy hurts ngl,, Bttm male reader,, MINORS DNI!!,, Dub/non-con,, evil ruler,, forced femininity,, death mention,, reader referred to as her like once,,>○<

He is ruthless,, power is all his mind can think about,, not caring for any souls lost in any of his purges of smaller kingdoms,, he needs more land,, more riches and especially more concubines,,

He set eyes on your quaint little village off in the forested lands by his kingdom,, your father, The chief wanted to make peace with Vincent's kingdom,, in order to keep you,, his son safe and sound away from any danger,,

You were never a fighter!! A sweet little boy who'd rather keep to himself then pick up a sword >□< The chief was surprisingly okay with it,, he was a kind man allowing your more capable and sword trained sister to take your spot as next in line!!

Though none of her skills would help you,, Vincent and his army grew angered by your fathers peace claims,, "Your land is fertile and therefore under my law, I can take what is mine." He declared in a rather aggressively written letter,, but your father fought back,, that's his families land!!

You cradled your dying sister in your arms,, She sobbed and begged for you to end her pain but you refused,, you couldn't!! That was your own sibling!! You didn't even hear Vincent walking in,, the tall man looked down at you and intentionally thought you were a poor little maiden,,

Something snapped in his mind,, ripping you away from your dying sister,, cradling you in his arms as you struggled,, His voice softened cooing you like you were a wounded animal,,

He had taken you in as a concubine,, you didn't know if he was delusional or just plain crazy as he never seemed to acknowledge you as a man,, always "My wife.." or his "Baby girl.."

He even ignored your poor cock during the roughest of sex!! >○< you angered him by not immediately undressing for him,, what?? How dare you do that to him,, he has treated you lavishly,,

His white hair was damp with sweat,, his arm hooked under you leg,, his large hand digging into your soft flesh,, Your cock pathetically weeped against your tummy,, he wasn't touching it at all!! "Little slut,, maybe you should birth my heirs hm?" His voice was heavy in your ear,, his cock pumping in and out of your tight hole,, your legs trembled from the sheer force of him!! He isn't gentle!!

He gripped at your hair, shoving your face down into the mattress,, His hand finally touching your cock,, but he was gentle,, so annoyingly gentle!! "Whore. You like this don't you? Being treated like a dumb fucking girl, getting her pussy all filled up." letting out an almost playful giggle,, staining your insides with his cum.

#{bttm male reader}#x sub male reader #sub male reader #bottom male reader #x bottom male reader #{vincent}

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wannabehockeygf · 1 month

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Wild Side - Auston Matthews

“I learned to read between the lines,

You’re talking truths,

You’re talking lies.”

Summary: When you wake up in the bed of Toronto's most eligible bachelor, you decide to stick around. Pairing: Auston Matthews x fem! reader Word count: 6.5k Warnings: Talking about sex (oral, f and m receiving, and then regular p in v stuff) talking about general naughty things, William Nylander slander. Notes: - this is just a silly little idea dump bc I miss am34 and I wanted to write about him - briefly proof read. definitely not much.

he could definitely throw me around 🫶🏼

***

Your 9-to-5 job has conditioned you to enjoy the sweet luxury of sleeping in on the weekends, but today is an exception.

An alarm slices through the peaceful silence like a buzz saw, blaring that dreadful default 'radial' tone. Who even keeps that sound as their wake-up call anymore? Honestly, it feels like a war crime against your ears. Your brain is still a foggy mess, trying to piece together where you are, and why the hell that sound is assaulting you so early.

As the alarm continues its torturous duty, you catch a groan—deep, gravelly, and full of regret. Ah, the mystery man whose bed you seem to be occupying. Right. The events of last night are a bit of a blur, but you’re sure he’s equally as hungover, possibly even more so given how he seems to be wrestling his phone like it’s personally offended him.

The bed creaks in protest as he shifts his weight, and before you can even muster the will to open your eyes, you feel the prickle of his beard grazing your cheek as he leans over you. “Hey,” he whispers, his voice rough and tired, “I have to go. You can stay as long as you want, use my shower, sleep in my bed, whatever. Just… if you never want to see me again, I’ll be back by ten, so, you know, leave before then.”

His words drift into your consciousness like wisps of smoke, barely registering as you teeter on the edge of sleep. You give a noncommittal hum, a universal noise of “sure, whatever,” and within seconds, the rustling of clothes and the click of the door shutting have you sinking back into blissful oblivion. ***

A few hours later, you're jarred awake by something wet and warm on your face. "Ugh, what the…?" you mumble, peeling one eye open. A pair of big, soulful dog eyes meet yours, tongue lolling out in a doggy grin. It’s a doodle, of course—because why wouldn’t mystery man have an adorable dog to complete the fantasy?

You blink, taking in your surroundings. Yep, still in his bed. You sit up, rubbing your eyes and trying to gather the scraps of last night. Your head throbs as you scan the room, landing on the trash can by the bedside table. The shiny foil wrapper inside it nearly makes you weep with relief. No walk of shame to the pharmacy for a Plan B today. Thank you, Past You, for at least being responsible in your drunken haze.

You quickly realize, however, that you’re stark naked, and the thought of shimmying back into that tiny dress from last night makes your skin crawl. But you also smell like a hot mess—a combination of sweat, alcohol, and, well, him. The allure of a hot shower becomes too tempting to resist.

You peel yourself out of bed and find the bathroom easily enough. It’s a shrine of white marble and fancy fixtures, the kind of bathroom that screams, “I have my life together!” You take a moment to gawk at the luxury before turning on the shower. The sight of separate bottles for shampoo and conditioner catches you off guard—this man clearly knows that 2-in-1 is a sin, even if his choice is Old Spice.

Post-shower, you wrap yourself in the first towel you find, not caring if it was used, and venture back into his room to find something more comfortable. You rummage through his dresser and pull out a soft, worn t-shirt emblazoned with ‘Toronto Maple Leafs’ in bold letters. "Of course," you mutter, rolling your eyes. "A sports bro."

Still, the shirt is cozy, and it smells like laundry detergent with a faint hint of his cologne—pleasantly masculine, and somehow comforting. You pull it over your head, feeling like you’ve just donned a uniform for a team you never asked to join.

The bedroom is surprisingly tidy, with only a few personal touches here and there. A photo on the nightstand catches your eye—mystery man and a bunch of other dudes, all grinning like they’ve just won the lottery. Everyone’s in matching jerseys, which only cements your suspicion that you’ve stumbled into the lair of a hardcore hockey fan.

You wander over to the window and pull back the curtains, and holy hell. The view hits you like a slap to the face. You’re at least thirty-five floors up, and the sprawling cityscape of Toronto unfolds beneath you like a living postcard. You’ve seen this city from above only once before—during that one awkward date at the CN Tower where the guy couldn’t stop talking about crypto.

Stepping over a pair of discarded sneakers, you make your way to the kitchen. The place is as sleek and modern as it gets—high ceilings, massive windows, and a panorama of the city that’s enough to make anyone feel on top of the world. The kitchen is stocked like a health nut’s paradise, with fresh produce that’s clearly more expensive than anything you’d buy on your budget.

The doodle, whose collar reads “Felix,” pads along beside you, tail wagging like he’s known you forever. You can’t help but smile at the little guy as he nudges your hand, begging for attention. You oblige with some ear scratches, mentally piecing together the night before. Bits of the club come back—flashes of lights, music pounding in your chest, and his smile as he approached you, confident but not cocky. Beyond that, though? Total blackout. Well, except for the hickeys he left all over you. Those are pretty memorable.

You open the fridge and see that it’s packed with enough gourmet ingredients to make a Michelin-star chef weep. Feeling oddly domestic, you decide to whip up a frittata—might as well enjoy a good meal while you’re here. The sound of eggs cracking against the bowl echoes in the otherwise quiet kitchen. You start humming to yourself, a random tune you can’t quite place, as you chop onions and bell peppers. Felix sits patiently at your feet, eyes locked on your every move.

The scent of sizzling veggies and freshly brewed coffee fills the air, and for a moment, you almost forget you’re in some stranger’s kitchen. You sprinkle cheese over the frittata, watching it melt into gooey perfection, and slide it onto a plate with a flourish. Not bad, considering you’re technically trespassing.

Just as you’re about to dig in, the door clicks open, and you freeze.

There he is—mystery man in the flesh. His damp hair sticks out from under a backward baseball cap, and there’s a moment of surprise in his eyes when he sees you still there, wearing his shirt, barefoot in his kitchen. Felix, traitor that he is, bounds over to him like he’s just won the lottery.

“Well, good morning,” he says, his voice much steadier now than it was this morning. His eyes flick to the frittata, then back to you, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Didn’t expect you to stick around. Smells good.”

You blink, trying to play it cool despite the sudden surge of self-consciousness. “Good morning,” you reply, suddenly aware of how oversized the shirt is on you. You fidget with the hem, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “I… I can change if you want. I just—”

“Nah,” he interrupts, shaking his head with that same small smile. “It’s fine. Looks good on you.” He steps further into the room, his gaze lingering on yours, and for a moment, the air between you feels charged with something unspoken. Eventually, he cracks a smile, and of course his teeth are absolutely perfect. “You remember my name?” He teases.

Your brain scrambles like the eggs you’ve just made. His name? You mentally sift through the fog of last night, trying to unearth any trace of a name, but all that comes up is a blank slate. Not even a hint. Just those damn dimples and a very nice smile. Great. You’re in a stranger’s kitchen, in his shirt, cooking like it’s some kind of Sunday morning domestic bliss, and you can’t even remember his name.

Panic starts to bubble up in your chest. Okay, play it cool, you’ve got this. You give him a casual smile, one you hope doesn’t betray the sheer terror of your mental blankness. “Of course I remember,” you lie smoothly, buying yourself time to figure out the rest of this disaster. “How could I forget?”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. Damn. His skepticism is written all over his face. The worst part? He doesn’t even seem mad. In fact, he looks more amused than anything else.

You internally curse yourself. Why does he have to be so annoyingly attractive even when he’s being condescending? You rack your brain for a strategy. Okay, think. Just ask him something that forces him to say his name. Maybe pretend like you don’t know how to spell it or something. But before you can settle on a plan, he’s already walking toward you, the smile still tugging at his lips.

“I’ll give you a hint,” he says, leaning against the counter as he grabs a fork, his eyes locked onto yours in a way that’s both unnerving and somehow magnetic. “It starts with an A.”

Your heart nearly skips a beat. Oh, come on. Seriously? You already have one “A” name on the brain that you’ve been doing your best to avoid thinking about, especially given the current situation. As if things weren’t complicated enough.

“A?” you repeat, trying to keep your voice steady. The last thing you need is to accidentally call him by the wrong name. That would be worse than forgetting it altogether. You take a deep breath, your eyes scanning the room as if the answer might be written on the walls. Alex? Adam? Adrian? None of them feel quite right, and you can’t exactly ask without making things even more awkward.

He’s still watching you, clearly enjoying your discomfort a little too much. “Yeah, A,” he says, popping a piece of the frittata into his mouth. “But don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you if you don’t remember. I know last night was... well, let’s just say, a lot of fun.”

You catch the teasing glint in his eyes, and it only makes your embarrassment worse. Seriously? You’re in his kitchen, in his clothes, with his dog, and now he’s throwing that kind of look at you? Not fair. But he’s right—last night was fun. Even if you can’t remember every detail, you’re pretty sure the highlights were worth it. The orgasms definitely were.

He’s still watching you, an infuriatingly smug smile on his face. Felix seems to sense your discomfort and nudges your leg, offering silent support—or maybe he just wants more ear scratches. Either way, you reach down to give him a quick pat, grateful for the distraction.

“Okay, fine,” you concede, holding up your hands in mock surrender. “I’m terrible with names, and last night was… well, let’s just say it was memorable in a way that didn’t include name retention.”

He laughs, and it’s a deep, genuine sound that makes your heart skip a beat. Damn him and his stupidly charming laugh. “Fair enough,” he says, setting the fork down and crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m Auston. Not exactly a tricky name to remember.”

Auston. Right. That actually fits him perfectly—a strong, solid name for a guy who looks like he could bench press you without breaking a sweat. You mentally kick yourself for not guessing that. But now that you’ve got his name, you feel a weird mix of relief and embarrassment. Relief because, well, now you can stop fumbling around, and embarrassment because he’s obviously been enjoying watching you squirm.

And… oh no, that’s why he looked familiar.

“Auston,” you repeat, trying to regain some semblance of cool. “Got it. I promise I’ll remember it from now on.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says with a wink, which only makes you feel more flustered. You’re not used to this—being the one who’s off-balance, caught off guard. Usually, you’re the one with the quick comebacks. But here you are, standing in this guy’s kitchen, wearing nothing but his oversized t-shirt, and suddenly you feel like you’ve lost control of the situation. And you hate it.

You lean against the counter, trying to look like you’re not still reeling from the fact that you spent the night with Auston. As in Auston Matthews, the hockey star whose name you’ve heard a thousand times but never in this particular context. Because, of course, the universe decided that you, who know absolutely nothing about hockey, would end up in the bed of one of its biggest names. And now, you’re standing here in his kitchen, pretending that you’re not about to melt into a puddle of embarrassment.

"Cool," you say, aiming for nonchalance but landing somewhere closer to a faint wheeze. Your mind is scrambling, pulling together the shards of last night while also panicking over how you’re going to extricate yourself from this situation with some dignity intact. Because you? You’re supposed to have it together. This? This is decidedly not together.

Auston raises an eyebrow, clearly still amused. “You cook often?”

Damn it. Now you’ve trapped yourself in a conversation you don’t even want to have. Why does he have to keep talking to you like this? Couldn’t he just leave you to eat in peace? But no, he’s leaning against the counter, looking like he stepped out of a Calvin Klein ad, and here you are, trying to maintain some semblance of cool while battling the remnants of a hangover.

You take a deep breath, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, I cook. But, you know, only when I’m not nursing a headache the size of the CN Tower.” You give him a pointed look, hoping he’ll get the hint.

Auston nods, still smiling in that maddeningly charming way. “I think it’s good. Just make yourself at home—like I said, no rush to leave.”

You nod, muttering a vague “thanks” as you try to focus on your frittata. You’re halfway through a forkful when he speaks up again, completely disrupting your fragile sense of peace.

“So, you’re a hockey fan?”

Of course, you groan inwardly. Of course, he’d bring up hockey. You’re wearing his Maple Leafs shirt, after all. It’s practically an invitation for him to start grilling you about your favorite players and whatnot. And the last thing you want right now is to discuss sports, especially with a guy who plays and clearly has his life way more together than you do at this moment.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” you reply, trying to keep it casual. You decide to leave out the part where you haven’t watched a game in about seven years, and your main association with hockey is… well, complicated. No need to drag your emotional baggage into this kitchen.

Auston’s eyes light up at your response, which only makes you feel more trapped. “Oh yeah? Who’s your favorite player?”

Abort, abort! This is a trap! Your mind screams at you. There’s no way out of this conversation that doesn’t end with you looking like an idiot, and you know it. But you also know that if you try to dodge the question, he’ll probably see right through it. He probably wants you to say his name, after all.

So you take a deep breath and go for the safest answer you can think of. “Oh, you know… I’m more of a team fan than a specific player fan.”

Nice save, you think to yourself, congratulating your brain for once.

But then, he grills you further. “Leafs?”

You can’t exactly tell him the truth, which is that your entire knowledge of the Leafs consists of whatever you picked up from your dad yelling at the TV during playoffs. Admitting you’re not a die-hard fan would feel like a betrayal of the shirt currently hanging off your shoulders, not to mention the fact that Auston probably expects you to know, well, him.

“Uh, yeah,” you say, your voice an octave higher than usual. Play it cool, play it cool. “Big fan. Love the Leafs.”

He nods, clearly satisfied, and for a brief moment, you think you might have dodged a bullet. But then he hits you with the follow-up. “Nice! Who’s your favorite player? Other than me, of course.” He smirks, clearly enjoying himself.

Of course he’d say that. You can’t tell if it’s charming or a little bit insufferable that he’s so confident. Either way, you’re trapped. There’s no way out of this conversation without revealing the gaping hole in your hockey knowledge. Your mind races as you try to come up with a name that won’t make you look like a total fraud.

“Uh, well,” you start, stalling for time. Just pick one, any name—just not a goalie. Or someone retired. Please, brain, I’m begging you.

Your internal Rolodex of hockey players, which you didn’t even know existed, spins furiously. You blurt out the first name that pops up, hoping for the best. “Nylander! William… Nylander. Love that guy.”

Your brain screeches to a halt as soon as the name leaves your mouth. Nylander? Really? Of all the names you could have picked, you went with the one guy on the team who has the kind of perfect hair that screams, “I have a daily five-step hair care routine.” This is a guy who, if he wasn’t playing hockey, would probably be modeling for some high-end Scandinavian fashion brand. And now, you’re committed.

Auston’s smirk widens, and you can tell he’s loving every second of this. “Nylander, huh?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Solid choice. Slick hands, good speed, and the guy’s got style. You got a thing for blondes, or is it just the way he plays?”

Oh, come on! You didn’t need this. Not now. Your face flushes, and you scramble to respond, praying that the ground will open up and swallow you whole. “If I had a thing for blondes, we wouldn’t have fucked last night.” You blurt out.

Auston was mid-chew, and the sharp inhale from your sudden statement caused him to choke on his food ever so slightly. Your eyes widen, and you immediately hit his back, “Fuck, you okay?” You question.

You slap Auston’s back a little harder than necessary, half out of panic and half out of sheer embarrassment. His shoulders jolt forward as he coughs, trying to recover from the food-turned-projectile incident you just caused. Great. As if your morning could get any more mortifying, now you’ve nearly killed a professional athlete in his own kitchen.

“Sorry!” you squeak, retracting your hand as if his skin had suddenly turned red-hot. You’re positive your face is as crimson as the tomato you just diced for that frittata. Auston waves off your apology, his face still slightly red, though now it’s more from laughing than choking.

“Wow,” he says, his voice still raspy but amused. “That’s one way to answer a question.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a grin spreading across his face. “You know, you could’ve just said you liked his slapshot or something.”

You roll your eyes, trying to brush off the embarrassment with crossing your arms defensively, but your heart is still pounding in your chest. “Well what do the other girls say?” You snap at him.

Auston’s eyes widen slightly, clearly caught off guard by your question. For a split second, you see something flicker across his face—surprise, maybe? Amusement? You’re not sure, but whatever it is, it quickly disappears behind that infuriatingly confident smile of his.

“Well, believe it or not,” he begins, clearly enjoying himself a little too much, “I don’t really bring girls home all that often. You’re probably the first one in like, I dunno, a year and a half?”

Your arms are still crossed, but now you’re raising an eyebrow, trying to process what he just said. “A year and a half? You expect me to believe that?”

Auston shrugs, leaning back against the counter as if you’re discussing the weather and not his sex life. “I’m serious,” he says, and his face is earnest, though there’s still that infuriating smirk lingering at the edges. “I’m a busy guy. Hockey season, training, traveling… it doesn’t leave a lot of time for this.” He gestures vaguely between the two of you, and you feel your face heat up again.

You narrow your eyes, trying to gauge if he’s messing with you. Because come on. A guy like him? Good-looking, rich, famous? He’s probably got girls throwing themselves at him on the regular, and you’re supposed to believe he’s been celibate for eighteen months? But he doesn’t seem to be lying, and that makes you even more uncomfortable. Why would he say something like that unless he meant it?

“Okay, sure,” you say, trying to sound like you totally buy his story. “So, what made you break the streak for little old me?”

You’re aiming for sarcastic, but there’s a hint of genuine curiosity there too. Because seriously, why you? You’re not exactly someone who gets tangled up with pro athletes. You’re not even sure how you got here, in his kitchen, trying to play it cool while your brain is still catching up with the fact that you’ve spent the night with Auston Matthews. It feels like some bizarre fever dream, one that you’re not entirely sure you’re ready to wake up from.

Auston’s smirk softens into something a little more thoughtful, and he takes a moment before answering. “You were… different,” he says finally, and his tone is surprisingly sincere. “At the club, I mean. You weren’t like everyone else. I don’t know, it was refreshing. You didn’t care who I was; you just seemed like you were having fun.”

You blink, caught off guard by the honesty in his voice. Different? Refreshing? You’d spent most of the night trying not to think about work, trying to forget all the stress piling up in your life, and apparently, that had made you stand out in a sea of people who were probably all vying for his attention. You’re not sure whether to be flattered or embarrassed.

“Uh, thanks?” you say, the words coming out more like a question. You’re still not sure what to make of this whole situation. The conversation feels too real, too serious, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for that. You’d much rather keep things light and easy, like the frittata you’re desperately trying to finish before you lose your appetite from all this emotional whiplash.

He chuckles, sensing your discomfort, and the tension between you eases just a bit. “I’m just saying, it was nice. You’re nice.”

You give him a skeptical look. “Nice? You picked me up because I was nice? I thought guys like you went for, I don’t know, Instagram models or something.”

Auston laughs again, and it’s a genuine, warm sound that might be starting to get a little addictive. “Trust me, I’ve had enough of those,” he says, shaking his head. “They’re great for the public, but not so much for anything else. Most of them lack personality, it seems.”

Your mind is racing, trying to figure out where this conversation is headed and how the hell you’re supposed to navigate it. Did Auston Matthews just compliment you? And not in the generic, “You’re hot” kind of way but in a way that implies he actually noticed something about you beyond the surface? This is not how you expected your morning to go.

“Personality, huh?” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “So what, you’re saying I’m butt ugly and you just picked me because I wasn’t falling all over myself for you?”

On one hand, it’s kind of sweet that he’s noticed something beyond your looks (even if you’re still not entirely convinced that’s true). On the other hand… well, what does that say about your looks? It’s not like you have an inferiority complex or anything, but “different” isn’t exactly the adjective you’d use when dreaming about some star athlete sweeping you off your feet.

Auston seems to catch onto the shift in your mood because he leans in, his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. “Okay, first of all, no one said anything about you being ugly,” he says, his voice a mix of teasing and reassurance. “And second, yes, I do like that you don’t kiss my ass.”

You bite your lip, feeling a little bit of that earlier bravado slipping away. “Yeah, but you implied it,” you mumble, crossing your arms again in a way that you hope comes off as nonchalant but probably just looks defensive.

He laughs, that warm, addictive sound filling the kitchen again. “Alright, fine, I’ll clarify. You’re not ugly. In fact, you’re pretty damn gorgeous, if you want my honest opinion. But what I meant was that you’ve got personality, too. You didn’t spend the whole night telling me how amazing I am, and that was a nice change.”

Your brain screeches to a halt again. Did he just… did he actually just call you gorgeous? And then follow it up by saying that you have personality? You’re not sure if you’re being flattered or subtly roasted, but either way, it’s throwing you for a loop.

“Interesting,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady even though you’re failing miserably, “So… what did I spend all night doing?” You end up squeaking out, genuinely curious because he probably remembers more than you.

You try to maintain your composure, but the combination of his proximity, that smirk, and the insinuation in his words has your mind spinning in a million different directions. Did you do something particularly embarrassing last night? Or worse, did you do something particularly memorable?

Auston smirks, leaning in slightly as if he’s about to let you in on some grand secret. His voice drops to a low, teasing murmur. “Before or after you begged me to bring you home with me?”

Begged him to bring you home? Really? Your brain feels like it’s running at double speed trying to recall any semblance of that night. All you remember is a whirlwind of cocktails and dancing, but nothing quite as explicit as Auston is suggesting.

“Well,” you start, your voice coming out a bit shaky, “I’m sure I wasn’t that bad.”

Auston chuckles, shaking his head with that infuriatingly handsome smirk. “Oh, trust me, you were memorable.” He leans back against the counter, looking like he’s about to settle in for a good story. “You spent a good part of the night dancing up against me, and then said if I took you home you’d ’rock my world.’”

Your brain screeches to a halt again. “I said that?” you ask, trying to mask your horror with a shaky laugh.

Auston nods, his grin widening. “Oh yeah. And when I did bring you here, you kept talking about how much you loved my beard, and how you wanted to know how it would feel against your—“

You cut him off, your face feeling like it's on fire. “Okay, okay! I get it. Let’s just… maybe not relive every detail of that night. My ego might not survive it.”

Auston laughs, a deep, infectious sound that seems to reverberate through the kitchen. “Fair enough. You definitely enjoyed it, though. And for what it’s worth, I had fun too.”

Your eyes widen. “Wait, did you actually…“

Auston’s grin becomes more mischievous as he leans closer. “Mm-mhm,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur. “You seriously don’t remember? I had to hold you down because you couldn’t stay still. And when we got to the main event, I had to convince you that a condom was indeed important.”

Your brain feels like it's short-circuiting as Auston’s words sink in. Hold you down? Couldn’t stay still? A condom discussion? Scratch thanking yourself for being responsible, you’ve gotta thank him. Your cheeks are burning, and you can’t decide whether to laugh, cry, or dig a hole in the kitchen floor and crawl into it. You knew you’d had a wild night, but this? This was a level of embarrassment you hadn’t even considered.

You’re trying to play it cool, but the way Auston’s eyes sparkle with mischief as he watches you squirm isn’t helping. He’s enjoying this way too much, and part of you wants to wipe that grin off his face… but the other part, the part that’s still processing the fact that you were the one who dragged him into bed, is kind of curious.

“So… what else did I say?” you manage to ask, your voice trembling just a bit, though you try to pass it off as nonchalant. You’re aiming for casual curiosity, but it’s coming out more like desperate need-to-know.

Auston raises an eyebrow, that damn smirk still plastered across his face. “Oh, you really wanna go there?” he teases, leaning in closer. His voice drops again, taking on that low, husky tone that you’re starting to realize could be very dangerous for your sanity. “Because I’m telling you, it wasn’t exactly PG-rated.”

Your stomach flips, both from the implications and from the way his breath brushes against your skin. You try to keep your cool, but it’s hard when the mental image of whatever the hell you said or did last night keeps flashing in your mind like a neon sign. You take a deep breath, mentally bracing yourself for whatever steamy details are about to spill from his lips.

“Alright, lay it on me,” you say, sounding more confident than you feel. “I’ve come this far, might as well hear the rest.”

Auston chuckles, clearly enjoying the fact that you’re squirming. “Okay, so after the whole beard thing—” he starts, and you wince, because of course, he wasn’t going to let that one go, “—you pretty much made it your mission to see if you could make me lose control.”

You blink, your mind stuttering over his words. “What? How?”

He shrugs, leaning back against the counter with a grin. “Let’s just say you have a very persuasive mouth.”

Your jaw drops, your brain reeling. Did he just—? Is he saying you—?

“Wait,” you stammer, your voice rising a few octaves. “I did what?”

Auston just grins, relishing your reaction. “You were very determined,” he says, his tone playful but with an edge that makes your stomach flip again. “And let’s just say, I wasn’t exactly complaining.”

You can feel your face burning, your mind scrambling to catch up. You want to deny it, to say that there’s no way you’d ever do something so bold, so out of character… but then again, you did wake up in his bed, so clearly, last night wasn’t exactly a typical night for you.

Your heart is racing, your thoughts a tangled mess of embarrassment, curiosity, and—if you’re honest with yourself—maybe just a little bit of pride. Because, okay, if you did all that, and he’s not running for the hills… maybe it wasn’t as bad as you think?

Or maybe it was, and he’s just too polite to say so.

“Okay, but what happened after?” you ask, your voice coming out a little breathier than you intended. “Because there’s no way I was coherent enough to, you know, actually… follow through with all of that.”

Auston’s grin widens, and he steps closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. “Oh, you followed through,” he says, his voice low and dripping with implication. “And then some.”

Your breath catches, a mix of anticipation and anxiety curling in your chest. “And then some?” you echo, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yeah. After the, uh, persuasive mouth routine, you decided to test just how good my endurance was.”

You swallow hard, your mind spinning with the possibilities of what that could mean. “And?” you ask, not sure if you really want to know but unable to stop yourself from asking anyway.

Auston chuckles, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine. “And let’s just say, I passed with flying colors. You, on the other hand, needed a little extra… assistance.”

Your eyes widen, and a thousand thoughts race through your head all at once. Extra assistance? What the hell does that even mean? You open your mouth to ask, but Auston beats you to it, leaning in even closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers the next part.

“You couldn’t stay still,” he murmurs, his voice sending a delicious shiver down your spine. “So I had to hold you down. You loved every second of it, too. Begged for more.”

Your heart is pounding so hard you’re sure he can hear it, and you can feel your face burning with a mix of embarrassment and something else—something that makes your skin tingle and your pulse race. Did you really do that? Did you actually beg Auston Matthews, star athlete and professional heartthrob, to hold you down and… and…?

Before you can fully process that thought, Auston pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression softening just a bit. “Honestly, you were incredible,” he says, his voice sincere now, without any of the teasing edge it had before. “It wasn’t just about the sex. It was… you. You were present. Raw. Real.”

Incredible? Raw? Real? The words are reverberating in your mind, crashing against the mental walls you've built to keep your self-esteem from plummeting into the abyss of "Why did I say that?" and "How did I do that?" You're oscillating between sheer terror and a weird sort of pride, as you try to reconcile the version of yourself Auston’s describing with the version of you that prefers to binge-watch Netflix on Friday nights rather than seduce professional athletes with—what was it? Oh, right. Your “persuasive mouth.”

Incredible, though? Okay, you can work with that. Let’s not focus on the “holding you down” part because that’s a whole can of worms you’re not ready to open just yet. Your mind flits between horror and a sort of bemused acceptance that, yes, you apparently did beg for… more. What kind of ‘more’ are we talking about here? Maybe, just maybe, you’re the kind of person who, when sufficiently drunk and caught in the orbit of a hockey god, turns into some kind of sex goddess with a penchant for… what exactly? Testing endurance? Needing to be restrained? You’re not sure if you should be embarrassed or if you should just own this.

“So, let me get this straight,” you start, your voice shaking slightly, but you soldier on because if you’re going to crash and burn, you might as well do it spectacularly. “I was not only wild enough to require to be pinned down, but I also made a good impression?”

Auston’s grin widens at your question, a slow, mischievous smile that makes your stomach do somersaults. “Oh, you made more than a good impression,” he says, his voice dripping with that same mix of teasing and sincerity that’s been throwing you off balance all morning. “In fact, you’ve pretty much ruined me for anyone else. I don’t think I’ll ever look at another woman without wondering if she’s got half the fire you do.”

Your brain is officially short-circuiting. Ruined him? For anyone else? Is he serious, or is this just another layer of his expertly crafted charm offensive?

Auston, however, still seems to be thoroughly enjoying your inner turmoil. "Look, I get it. You're trying to piece together a wild night that seems a bit... out of character," he says, leaning back against the counter, still smirking that infuriatingly charming smirk. "But believe me, that’s not all I care about. I want to actually get to know you, if you’ll let me.”

Getting to know you? Seriously? You can’t help but replay the absurdity of the night in your head. You’ve just discovered that you have an unrecognized talent for aggressive persuasion and that you’ve apparently made such an impression that Auston Matthews—and his stupidly fitting moustache—wants to spend more time with you.

You try to keep your composure, but your brain’s still scrambling. “Oh, sure. Get to know me,” you say, your voice a tad too high-pitched for comfort. “Because nothing says ‘relationship material’ like getting tipsy, hitting on you, and then sucking you off the first moment I could.”

Auston’s chuckle turns into a full-blown laugh, the kind that makes your cheeks flush a deeper shade of crimson. The sound is surprisingly comforting, as if he's not just laughing at your expense but with you, which is oddly reassuring. You shift on your feet, trying to hide the fact that you’re still trying to process the avalanche of mortification and awkwardness that just buried you.

“Yeah, you’re really selling yourself short there,” He says, plainly, “If I only wanted that, I could’ve just stayed at the bar and picked someone who didn’t talk so much. But guess what?” He continues, taking a step closer and tilting your chin up with his finger so you’re looking right at him, “I didn’t. And you talk a lot, but so do I. That’s kind of perfect, no?”

You bite your lip, feeling a strange mix of flattery and disbelief. “I don’t know what to say,” you admit, not sure if you’re ready to dive headfirst into whatever this is—or could be.

Auston’s smile softens, and he reaches out to gently take your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that sends a small jolt of warmth through you. “You don’t have to make any big decisions right now,” he says softly. “Just… think about it.”

The sincerity in his voice, in his touch, makes you feel a little breathless. Maybe, just maybe, there’s more to this guy than just a famous name and a pretty face. And maybe, there’s more to this situation than just a one-night stand gone right or wrong.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Okay,” you finally say as a smile betrays your straight-faced expression. “I’ll think about it.”

Auston’s smile widens, and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze before letting go and letting out a chuckle. “Score. By the way, do you actually think Nylander is cute?”

#toronto maple leafs #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #hockey fanfiction #nhl x reader #auston matthews #auston matthews fic #am34 #am34 fic #am34 x reader #Auston Matthews x reader #Spotify

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Search for the best tea spots in the Devildom please. Thank you

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cheesecake recipe

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esuemmanuel · 11 months

Text

Ojalá besarte la frente, mientras mis manos juguetean con tus cabellos y tocan, sutilmente, la curvatura de tu cuello. Ojalá mirarte a los ojos y suspirar el latido agitado de tu pecho a través de tu mirada nerviosa. Sonreírte. Hechizarte. Sucumbir los dos. Ojalá no terminar de crear melodías con tu nombre en cada partitura. Ojalá tomarte la mano y hacerte tocarme como jamás has tocado a nadie. Ojalá no encontrar un fin a mi motivo que eres tú, mi fiel amante… Tesoro risueño de ojos anhelantes. Ojalá contemplarte en silencio como ahora tú lo haces. Ojalá hacerte sentir que estás, aunque me rechaces. Es que mis manos no tienen cadenas, así como tampoco mi cabeza anclas. Tengo el alma tan llena de ti que no encuentro razón para amarrarlas. ¡Y si amarrado estoy de ti que me corten las alas, al cabo que eres mi sueño y me llevas a rastras!

I wish I could kiss your forehead, while my hands play with your hair and subtly touch the curve of your neck. I wish I could look into your eyes and sigh the agitated beat of your chest through your nervous gaze. To smile at you. Bewitch you. To succumb both of us. I wish I didn't end up creating melodies with your name in each score. I wish I could take your hand and make you touch me like you've never touched anyone. May I never find an end to my motive, which is you, my faithful lover... Laughing treasure of longing eyes. May I contemplate you in silence as you do now. I wish I could make you feel that you are, though you reject me. It's just that my hands have no chains, just as my head has no anchors. My soul is so full of you that I find no reason to bind them. And if I am tied to you, let them cut off my wings, since you are my dream and drag me along!

#esu emmanuel #2015 edición 2023 #mi alma blanca #my white soul #las últimas seis letras de mi nombre #the last six letter of my name #el hombre de la soledad #escribiendo en soledad #writers on tumblr #poetas en tumblr #writing in solitude #poets on tumblr #escritores en tumblr #the man of solitude #pensamientos #poeticstories

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nr1chaedickrider · 5 months

Text

I can only be me when i'm by your side - i'm not a monster.

As time passes recovering, you've seemed to found your place in Jihyo's arms.

cw: fluff, smut, angst, petnames, virgin!reader, sweet girl!jihyo, popular but not so popular!jihyo, basketball player!jihyo, both are 18 but they are students, mentions of death, drunk confessions, they fall in love pretty fast, lwk rushed, lmk if there is more ^_^, ~ 4k words

if you're thinking "hm! i read this fic somewhere... yes! its my heeseung fic from my bg blog @adorwoo ! which i wanted to use for jihyo !^_^ hope you enjoy anyway.

men dni.

It's not your fault.

It's not your...

Is it really?

The rain beats down on your black umbrella, the lines from Dahyun's letter playing over and over in your head. It feels like you're trapped in a vicious cycle, not being able to think of anything else.

But why?

Why didn't she tell you?

Were all those conversations about the mutual trust between you two a lie? Was it just talk to keep you from worrying?

If someone had told you a week ago that you had to be at her funeral because she had killed herself, you would have laughed at that person. Dahyun was always the happiest person you've ever met.

Even if you had been told that a day ago, you wouldn't have believed it. Because in theory, it's the stupidest thing you've ever heard.

In his letter, she wrote about how much she loved you, how she enjoyed every minute and every moment with you, how it's not your fault that she's not here anymore.

She's probably right, not just probably. She's right, and you know it. But you can't stop blaming yourself. Someone has to take the blame. Someone is responsible.

You could have helped her.

You should have helped her.

Tears run down your cheeks as you stare at her grave. Her family, her friends, they are all gone. You stand here alone, not daring to leave.

'Kim Dahyun

Born on may 28, 1998.

A friend, daughter and lover.

She will continue to live in our souls.'

It feels like your eyes are glued to the writing, you can't look away. You try to regulate your breathing, taking a deep breath.

A sigh leaves your mouth as you place the white rose next to the gravestone.

You take one last look at her grave before turning and slowly walking away.

"I'm Y/n, nice to meet you all."

You look at the students in front of you, all of them giving you strange looks. Of course, you are a new student, but you feel uncomfortable under their gaze. The teacher smiles at you and tells you where to sit, next to a girl called Mina.

It's as if everyone has forgotten about you again as the teacher starts teaching. You sit down next to Mina and she smiles at you.

"Nice to meet you," she whispers. You smile at her.

You can't talk to her for long because she starts taking notes for the lesson. You look around at the faces of the others. It actually looks like a normal class, but your eyes land on a girl.

She looks shorter than you, her hair is brown as well as her eyes. She's wearing a white t-shirt.

"Have you laid your eye on someone?" asks Mina, laughing a little.

"No!" you answer, a little too loudly, and you put your head on the table as a few people look at you. "I was just looking at her," you whisper.

"Yeah yeah... that's what they all say" she says.

You slowly lose yourself in your thoughts as memories of Dahyun come flooding back.

Should you even look at other girls? Is it bad?

Would Dahyun hate you for trying to find love again?

It's been more than two months since she died, but you can't stop thinking about her.

Maybe it's normal, your behavior. Your overthinking of everything, maybe you're not the only person who feels this way? Maybe there is someone else who is just as lost in their thoughts as you are.

Maybe you are simply not alone.

However, your thoughts are interrupted by the bell and Mina.

"I can show you a few things here at school if you want," she suggests, and you gratefully accept her help.

You spend the whole lunch break running after her while she shows you around.

"Why did you change schools anyway? Your old one is a pretty well-known one, and much better than here," she asks, before taking a bite of her sandwich.

The question makes you wonder, and you think about whether you should just lie to her and say that you moved, or that you were somehow bullied at your school - but somehow it feels wrong. Because you neither moved nor were you bullied. No, everything was actually fine.

Actually,

Somehow everything changed after her death.

Your classmates started looking at you funny, and you still don't know whether they are looks of pity or looks of condemnation because they blame you.

"I don't know" is your answer, and somehow it's true. Sometimes you really have no idea why you changed schools, but Mina doesn't need to know the whole truth.

She just nods in response as she continues to eat.

"The girl you were looking at in English, her name is Jihyo by the way" she says.

What?

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask.

"Because you were staring at her a lot - you looked really interested in her" she replies with a little grin.

"How many times do I have to tell you, I wasn't staring at her..." you laugh a little, but can't hide your despair. Why does she think you're interested in her?

"Watch out!" someone shouts, but before you can react, a basketball hits you.

You fall to the floor, your head hurts and you feel slightly dizzy as you slowly open your eyes.

The girl from your English class is kneeling on the floor in front of you, looking at you, trying to see if you're okay.

It's like a cliché high school movie.

"Are you okay?" she asks, a couple of other girls come over, but she just tells them to get something to cool off and shoos them away.

The things that can happen when you want to visit the gym...

You nod slowly, after a few blinks your vision is no longer blurry.

Another girl comes back and hands Jihyo a cold pack.

"Here, take this," she says and puts it in your hand, her hand on your shoulder to support you.

You hold it to your head, biting the inside of your cheek slightly from the cold.

Before she can say anything else, she is called by his coach, at the same moment Mina comes to you.

"I was looking for you," she says and helps you up.

You watch Jihyo jogging across the field before you leave the gym.

New week, new luck?

Every day you tried desperately to talk to Jihyo somehow, but suddenly she was always gone after class and you were never put in a group together.

But it looks like luck is on your side for once.

"Here's the list of groups, you have to give a presentation in pairs on a play of your choice," your English teacher announces.

You look at the picture projected on the wall.

Chaeyoung and Mina,

Sana and Miyeon,

Jihyo and Y/n,

Jeongyeon and...

Wait, what?

You read the list again and once more you see your name and Jihyo's name next to each other.

"Jihyo and Y/n," you say quietly.

"Are you happy?" Mina asks teasingly with a grin on her lips.

"Are you happy that you have to work with Chaeyoung?" you ask back - Mina doesn't answer.

Before your teacher can give you any more homework for the break, the school bell rings and everyone rushes out of the classroom.

You walk (or rather, run) to Jihyo who is packing her things away.

"Hey, I was wondering when we should meet," you say, and she looks up at you and smiles. You feel your cheeks turning red.

She puts on his backpack and stands up.

"How about Friday afternoon? My place?" she suggests and you nod.

She takes a pen from her pocket, "Give me your hand," she says, you are confused but do it anyway.

She opens the pen with her mouth, the cap between her teeth as she gently writes on your hand.

Her phone number.

It feels like she's giving you an autograph.

"Text me and I'll send you my address," she says, and before you can answer, she walks out of the room.

You look down at your hand and see a little smiley face next to her number.

You can't help but giggle as you look at it.

You stare at your phone - up to her front door and back down to your phone.

You are 10 minutes early and don't dare to ring the doorbell.

"You know you can just ring the bell?" someone asks you, you look up and see Jihyo smiling at you.

"I'm early, that's why-"

"Not a problem," she interrupts you.

She lets you in and closes the door behind her.

Her house is beautiful, modern and yet somehow old-fashioned.

"My parents aren't here, so I thought we could study in the living room," she says, and you nod, leaning your backpack against the table.

"Water?" she asks and you take it gratefully.

You drink a little before she sits down across from you.

You both leaf through the books, take notes, talk briefly about certain passages, but otherwise no one says anything.

Jihyo decides to break the awkward atmosphere.

"I wanted to apologize again, for the basketball," she says, and you laugh a little.

"You don't have to apologize, things like that can happen," you reply.

"Have you ever had a girlfriend?" she asks, and instead of answering, you are completely silent, thinking.

Memories of Dahyun come back while Jihyo looks at you and waits for your answer.

"Yes, I did, but she died a few months ago," you answer.

She nods slightly, "Can I ask how he died?" she asks in a quiet, polite tone, as if she really wants to make sure that she's asking something that doesn't hurt you in any way.

"Suicide," you say, short and meager, without many details (whether you know many details at all is another question).

She looks at you with a supportive look, one that makes you feel like she's really listening and that she really understands you.

Maybe she understands you even more than you think?

She puts her hand on yours with a slight smile.

"Thank you for confiding in me," she says, your cheeks slightly flushed, hers too.

You both look at each other for a moment before she lets go and you both go back to work.

If only the work had gone on for longer.

After the one meeting, you saw her every day of the vacation. Always with the excuse that you supposedly "need to add something" (does going to the movies together add something to your project?).

It's been more than a week since you first met.

"You're in love," Mina says as she parks her car in front of Jihyo's house.

"I-"

"Don't even try to find an excuse, it's all good" she replies with a small grin.

You both get out of the car and walk to her house, the music so loud you can hear it several meters away.

How Jihyo, who is slightly drunk, hears the doorbell is also a mystery to you.

"Hey guys!" she greets you, she shakes Mina's hand and gives her a kind of high five, she gives you a hug.

You smile at her as the three of you walk into the living room.

"I'm going to Chaeyoung," Mina whispers, or rather shouts, in your ear before disappearing.

"Y/n, do you want to play a drinking game with us?" asks Jihyo, you nod.

Maybe it was a stupid decision.

Jihyo and her friends (of whom you only know Jeongyeon) only understand drinking games to mean taking shots and asking stupid questions.

Either answer - or drink.

You always chose the second option.

After about 7 questions (maybe more, maybe less - you lost count of that pretty fast) you get up and say that you need some fresh air.

Since you've been to her house several times, you know where the upstairs balcony is.

It's quite big, with a parasol and two folding chairs. You sit down on one and close your eyes, your head throbs a little.

"Are you okay?" someone asks after a few minutes.

To your surprise (not really a surprise), Jihyo stands next to you before sitting down on the chair to your right.

"Yeah, it's just the alcohol," you say.

You and alcohol, not really a good combination.

Especially not when you're sitting next to the girl you're in love with.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" you ask out of nowhere.

She shakes his head, "I thought it was obvious" she says and laughs a little.

"I love you" you confess.

She turns to you, but before he can answer anything, you keep talking.

"I know we haven't known each other that long... a month?? more? less? but-... I just have this feeling with you that I only used to have with her"

"I thought I'd never feel it again," you say, a tear running down your cheek.

Jihyo looks at you, her eyes slightly watery.

Is she crying too?

"Y/n" she says, interrupting your continued rambling.

She gets up, kneels down in front of your chair, and -

kisses you.

Her soft lips on yours.

She pulls away after just a few seconds and you already feel like you miss her lips.

"I love you too Y/n" she says softly.

You look at her in amazement.

"Really?" you ask.

"That's why I asked if you had a girlfriend" now it all makes so much more sense.

She pulls you up and takes you to the guest room. She tries to lay you down on the bed but you pull her with you and she falls on top of you.

You both stare at each other and laugh a little.

"You're drunk, get some rest," she says, kissing your forehead.

"I'll be here when you wake up"

And she really is next to you when you wake up.

"Good morning..." you groan as you rub your eyes.

She smiles at you, "good morning" she says, from the look on her face you suspect she woke up just a few minutes before you.

You pull her closer to you by her collar and kiss her, she kisses you back while her hand is on your cheek.

The kiss is just perfect, gentle, slow, a perfect way to start his morning.

But it can also be perfect in another way.

It gets warmer under the covers as you continue kissing, she kisses down your jaw to your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses on it. You can't help but rub your thighs together a little.

"What about the others?" you ask.

"I kicked them out yesterday after you fell asleep" she says, continuing to kiss your neck, even nibbling on it, making you let out soft moans.

"Jihyo, I think you should know that I am a virgin" you say, your cheeks heating up a little in embarrassment.

She giggles a little, kissing you on the lips again.

"Nothing to be embarrassed about baby" she replies with a smile.

She gets on top of you, continuing to kiss you.

You think kissing Jihyo is the best thing in the world.

Her hands trail over your body, giving you a soft squeeze here and there.

"Can I?" she asks, her hand playing with the buttons on your pants.

"Please" you answer with a smile.

She complies and opens them, pulling off your pants and leaving you in your underwear.

You sit up a little, your hands on her waist, feeling up her muscles, especially her abs.

"Want me to take it off?" she asks, you nod.

She pulls off her shirt over her head, dropping it somewhere on the floor.

Your finger trails up his stomach to her bra, looking at her like she is a work of art (she definetly is one).

"Done admiring me?" she asks with a teasing grin, to which you reply "never".

She leans down again, kissing your face as she starts to trail them down till he arrives at the waistband of your underwear.

"Can I?" she asks again, "yes" you answer, already out of breath.

She takes your underwear off, her hands placed on your thighs as she leaves kisses everywhere.

You can definetly tell that she has a thing for kissing.

When she places a kiss right on your clit though, you let out a small moan.

She begins licking and sucking on it, making you grab her hair with your hands as your fingers curl deeper into her scalp, leaving a delicious burn.

She drags her tongue down as she circles your core, slowly entering it a little.

You let out more moans as you turn your head to the side, moaning into the pillow.

Her tongue feels so good when you realise that you are closer and closer to your climax.

"Jihyo- I think I'm gonna-"

"Let it out princess" she mumbles against your core, the vibrations of her voice stimulating you even more as you cum into her mouth.

She smiles at you as he sits up, watching you coming down from your high.

You smile back at him as your cheeks turn red again.

"Can I?" she asks, her fingers trailing down your soft skin as her nails scratch you a little.

You look at her hand, a few veins poking out, her fingers thin but long.

You look at her again, nodding.

You pulled her closer as she rubs your clit with her fingers, you suck in your breath as she slowly pushes them in, the little stretch burning in a way that makes you even hornier.

She slips them in completly, you let out a moan in response. She takes your hand with her free one as your fingers intertwine.

She starts to slowly thrust into you, kissing you again as her tongue explores your mouth.

"You're so tight baby.." she mumbles into your mouth.

You can't help but let out louder moans when she starts to speed up a little.

Her fingers drive you crazy, it feels like she is everywhere, you feel her everywhere in your body as she exits and enters you.

"P-please jihyo- faster" you moan out, and who would she be if she wouldn't listen to your wishes?

She speeds up her thrusts, kissing down your neck again as her hot breath hits your skin.

Your hand grips the pillow your hand is laying on, moaning against your arm as you can feel Jihyo curling her fingers.

She thrusts into you again before you moan loudly, cumming as your thighs close around her wrist, panting heavily as she lets herself fall onto the spot next to you.

You both stare at the ceiling, the only sounds the heavy breathing from you.

You move her hand to yours and intertwine your fingers. She moves her head to the side to look at you, smiling.

You think seeing her smiling is something you can never get enough of.

Idiots in love, thats how you two can be described.

The next few months were full of love. Kisses here, kisses there. It didn't even have to be sexual, no, it was always romantic, no matter what you did together.

After a few months, she gave you a ring.

"One day I'll buy you an expensive, real diamond ring and ask you to marry me," she said, and since then you've both worn the matching rings without taking them off once.

If only it had stayed that way.

It's late at night, you're lying in bed reading a book when you get a message.

"I love you,

I'm sorry" - from Jihyo.

You sit up and stare at your cell phone.

"What's wrong?" you type and send the message, she replies,

"I can't take it anymore"

She can't take it anymore?

You feel a twinge in your head as you suddenly realize something.

It's too similar to Dahyun's goodbye.

"I can't live in this world anymore" she wrote in her text.

You look at her location, and without hesitation you walk, no - storm out of your apartment and run to her.

She's not far away, a bridge situated over a river only 5 minutes away, and you think you've never been so grateful for anything.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to see anything while your clothes get wetter and wetter, the rain completly drenches you.

Again it feels like a cliché love drama.

Only maybe this time you have the chance to have a happy ending.

Your legs are burning from all the running as you arrive on the bridge.

"Jihyo!" you shout, the rain pattering loudly on the asphalt, forcing you to shout even louder for her.

Her bike is right next to her, one leg over the railing, her hands gripping it tightly, as if she's...

Scared?

"Y/n?" she answers, her voice low and shaky.

"Please..." you say as you walk slowly towards her.

She doesn't stop you when you take her hand in yours.

"Why didn't you tell me?" you ask, she looks at you as a tear runs down her cheek.

"I-... I didn't want you to worry. I thought this feeling would go away if I didn't talk to anyone about it," she says.

Whether your face is wet from the rain or your tears, you don't know.

"Believe me, you have to talk to me, then it will get better," you say.

Her face comes closer to yours and, without answering, she kisses you.

You kiss her back, try to grab her so you can hold her closer - but she lets go.

Completely.

You slowly open your eyes, afraid of what you will see - but you see nothing.

No one.

The rain completely overwhelms you.

"No..." you whisper, looking down on the floor and picking up something shiny.

Her ring.

You look out over the railing and see the water turning slightly red.

It feels like you're trapped in a vicious circle, like you'll never find peace again.

You are trapped, with no way out.

While other people find the rain soothing, you find it to be more like torture.

While other people would stay indoors in weather like this, you're outside again.

Again in front of a grave.

But this time it's Jihyo's.

Everything feels too similar and you hate it more than anything.

"It's not your fault" is a sentence you started to hate.

You hoped so much that you would never have to hear or read it again.

"Why didn't you talk to me..." you whisper, as if she could hear you.

Your hand clutches the letter, it slowly getting soaked by the rain.

You don't dare to move.

"You knew what happened..."

All time does is passing -

"Why did you hide it from me..." Your voice is full of despair.

And all you ever do is grieve.

"Life without you is no way to live" the white flower falls on his grave -

just like her ring,

engraved with your name.

She helped you recover from Dahyun's death.

You just wish you wouldn't have to recover over her death alone now.

In another universe, you've seemed to found your place in Jihyo's arms.

In this universe, you're left alone,

again.

402 notes · View notes

vilhelios · 1 month

Text

-; LOOK AT THE HEARTS THAT YOU'RE BREAKING !

the world may scream and cheer for "crow", the silver-tongued and charismatic lead rapper of deepsp☆ce, but it is only in your arms, his place of rest, that sylus can just be… sylus.

CW: k-pop idol/group au! fluff, fluff and more fluff! slightly suggestive (because it's sylus); not beta read, small text, all lowercase letters.

there’s nothing quite as attractive as seeing sylus on stage. The l-netizens always comment on his stage presence, flooding his fancams with comments littered with little crows, heart-eyed emojis, red hearts, black ones, and— is that… just a series of typed out barking noises…?

alright, that’s quite enough for the night (although you still shamelessly liked, saved and downloaded that fancam for later viewing—though you’d sooner die than let sylus know about that). the video still plays on a loop as it’s loosely cradled in your hands, though you’re no longer paying attention to it. your head thumps down onto the pillow you’d been cuddling with a groan. damn him, damn that harness, damn his stage presence, damn that stupid gesture and that stupid smirk—!

as you close your eyes, drink in the sound of your speakers blasting with the screams of the crowd and sylus’ echoing voice through the speakers (the audio quality of the video was absolutely busted with how the bass reverberates in that stadium), you can see it: the new concert fancam that the hunters have currently dubbed ‘the sylus fancam.’ how could you not, after replaying the damn thing who knows how many times, and with the audio still playing? the image of sylus (sweat-slicked from the ridiculously difficult choreography of his solo song, bathed in red and blue from the spotlight) flicking away his earpiece, cupping his ear… the crooked smirk on his lips as he clearly hears every hunter in that sold-out stadium scream his name… you feel your face grow hot just thinking about it!

you’re too busy groaning and toiling in your embarrassed, flustered plight that you don’t hear the shower stop running, and the telltale signs of sylus getting dressed. when the bathroom door clicks open, you practically yelp, scrambling to turn that damn phone off, and sheepishly look up at sylus. perhaps it’s simply because he forgot to pack his bathrobe, but he’s in the sweater you picked out for him to sleep in. it softens his sharp edges, making him look like the kind and sweet soul that his features don’t convey. it’s hard not to stare at him for too long when he’s like this: the grit and sharp edge of “crow” ripped away, and sylus left in its place.

(sylus, who burns like a furnace on cold nights, warm and comforting and lulling you to sleep no matter how much tour jetlag gets to you. sylus, who understands the essence of every sonnet and every love song written in human history when he is allowed to be just him in the sanctuary that is your arms. sylus, who can’t sing for the life of him, but perfectly replicates those romantics of old with every track he produces meant for your ears alone.)

he raises an eyebrow at you from the hotel room entranceway, white hair still slightly wet and disheveled as he dries it off with a towel—it’s so soft and fluffy without all the hair gel to style it. “sweetie, you’re blushing.” he says, a lilt of amusement in it, and it takes only a few, long strides for him to cross the short distance between you on the couch. “whatever could be the reason, hm?”

“nothing!” you pout, a little too quick to answer him and clutching your phone tight. a huff leaves you as he ruffles your hair, and he only chuckles.

“could it perhaps…” he hums, a small smirk growing on his lips as he nods his head at your phone, “... be that my dear sweetheart was looking at something… appealing?” the smirk softens to something gentler as he sees you furrow your brows at being found out. “i could hear it from the bathroom. the walls are quite thin.”

“... i was just watching your fancam…” you admit, sighing and scooting over in the couch as he rounds it to settle beside you. when his arm is draped behind you on your shoulders, you practically melt against him and (with a hint of embarrassment) let him see what you’d been watching.

“ah.” sylus chuckles as he watches himself on the screen, red eyes glinting with amusement. even though the concert was a bit of a haze now, he clearly remembers the moment where the music guide in his ear fell away to the sheer noise of the crowd the moment he took the earpiece off. he honestly didn’t know what possessed him to do such a thing… but if it made you (and the crowd) all flustered, he wouldn’t question it. “i must say… their screams for me were… delectable.” with a final glance at the screen, your phone is clicked off and tossed to the other end of the couch.

“but… as sweet as their screams are…” he quickly adds, when he sees you huff and cross your arms. his arm gently draws you into his lap until you’re practically flush together. the tip of his nose brushes against yours, and god he smells like the cologne he knows you like. his hand finds its way to your cheek, thumb brushing against your lower lip. sylus speaks in a hushed murmur, next, though it rumbles like thunder through your entire being. “... they are nothing compared to how sweet my name sounds on your lips, sweetie.”

in another mood, those words may have made you splutter and grow warmer for entirely different reasons. but right now—with sylus looking down at you with the softest red eyes, the smallest smile upon his lips, and his heartbeat thrumming wildly against your hand and through the thick fabric of his sweater—all you can hope to do is grin up at him, and kiss the pad of his thumb. a giggle leaves you then, and his name comes tumbling out too, “sylus…”

“yeah, like that.” he chuckles (though it’s more like an amused huff). sylus plants a kiss to the tip of your nose, and then to the corner of your lips—it is a holy, reverent trail. “sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

a/n: idol au fun!!!! i have nothing to say other than ... sylus... large... looks larger in harness fit... heart eyes... also that i wanted to explore a softer sylus bc infold needs to show us more soft mr. crow man!

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace headcanons #love and deepspace x reader #sylus headcanons #sylus fluff #qin che x reader #love and deepspace fluff

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mononijikayu · 20 days

Text

dearest, darling, my universe — gojo satoru.

"He… he always knew what to say, didn’t he?" Megumi murmurs, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah." you reply, your voice thick with tears. "He always did." The weight of Satoru's absence presses heavily upon you, but the words on the paper offer a strange comfort, like a hand reaching out through the dark. You hold the letter tightly, almost as if you could draw him back with the force of your grip.

GENRE: post shinjiku showdown (spoilers for jjk chapter 268)

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

WORDS: 11k words.

NOTE: my brothers caught a cold so i caught it too because that's just how it sometimes goes when you're always together. i've been writing a bunch of stuff in the mean time, cause i'm strong enough at least. but i hope you enjoy this. it took me a while to write this, but it's finally done. also, listen to iu's song love wins all while reading this. love you all!!!

masterlist

u s and t h e m

if you want to, tip! <3

IT’S BEEN A WHILE, BUT THINGS HAVE CHANGED. The world feels quiet now, almost unnaturally so, as if it is holding its breath, waiting to see what comes next. The grounds are empty, unlike how they used to be. The sky is heavy and dulled gray and the wind carries a strange stillness that presses against your skin.

Everything seems suspended, caught in a moment that refuses to pass, a calm that feels more like a warning than a relief. It’s the kind of quiet that settles in after a storm — not the peace that follows resolution, but the heavy, fragile silence that comes when everything has been ripped apart, and nothing has been put back together.

Your gaze searches for someone as you look towards the horizon. It takes you a while, but you smile when you find that figure again. You sighed, he’s been there awhile. But you don't blame him. You think that Fushiguro Megumi feels like he’d find peace, if he sits there to wonder what had been before. You find him sitting on the bench your husband had loved to sit on years ago, his back turned to you. He is still, his head lowered, shoulders slumped, and you can see the way his body trembles with each ragged breath.

He’s still recovering, as most are after the battle with Sukuna. But for Megumi, the wounds are deeper, more insidious. After being imprisoned by Sukuna, after having his body and mind twisted and torn apart from the inside out, he’s struggling to find his footing again. His physical scars may heal with time, but the ones etched into his soul are a different story.

You approach slowly, hesitant to break the fragile stillness that surrounds him. He doesn’t turn to look at you, but you know he’s aware of your presence. You can see it in the way his shoulders tense, the slight shift of his head as if he’s listening, waiting. You move closer until you’re standing beside him, close enough to see the bandaged bruises that still darken his skin, the way his hands are clenched tightly in his lap, knuckles white with the effort of holding himself together.

“Megumi.” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper, careful not to startle him.

He doesn’t respond at first, his gaze fixed on some point in the distance, his blue green eyes shadowed and hollow. You can’t tell if he’s looking at the ruins or something beyond them, something only he can see. You wait, giving him the time he needs, the space to decide whether he wants to speak or remain silent.

Finally, he lets out a breath, slow and heavy, his shoulders sagging further. “I couldn’t sleep.” he murmurs, so quietly you almost miss it. “I could still feel it. Like he’s still here… in my head… in my body. And then my dreams…. My hands and Gojo–sensei’s eyes….”

The words hang in the air, raw and unsteady, as if they barely have the strength to escape his lips. You hear the tremor in his voice, the way it quivers with each syllable. It’s a sound you haven’t heard from him before, a vulnerability that he rarely shows, and it cuts through you like a knife. Your heart aches at the sound of his voice, so broken and raw, a far cry from the stoic, determined young man you’ve known for so long.

You can see it in the way his eyes stare ahead, unfocused, as if he’s searching for something he can’t quite grasp. The way his hands tremble slightly, even though they’re clenched tightly on his knees. He sounds lost, like he’s still fighting a battle that has no end, still trying to claw his way out of a darkness that clings to him like a second skin. His whole body seems to sag under the weight of it, the invisible chains that bind him to a past he can’t escape.

“I see.” you whisper, your voice gentle, but firm. You reach out, hesitantly, resting your hand on his arm, feeling the tension that coils beneath his skin, the way his muscles are taut and ready to snap. “I’m sorry for that, Megumi.”

He flinches at your touch, just a little, his gaze flicking to yours for a brief second before darting away again. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he’s torn between wanting to believe you and the insidious doubt that’s been planted deep inside him. There’s a flicker of shame, of fear, as if he’s afraid of admitting just how much he’s struggling, how much of himself he feels he’s lost.

“It’s going to take some time for all of this to go and change.” he finally admits, his voice low, almost inaudible. “It feels like… like he’s still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, waiting for a chance to come back. And then Gojo–sensei’s voice echoes sometimes, whispering… and Sukuna just….It’s like he’s a part of me now, and I don’t know how to make him leave.”

His words are laced with a quiet desperation, a plea for some kind of reassurance that you’re not sure you can give. How do you tell someone that the ghost in their mind will eventually fade when you know that kind of pain never truly leaves? How do you promise a tomorrow free of shadows when the past clings so fiercely to the present?

You tighten your grip on his arm, just a little, enough to ground him, to let him know you’re here. “He won’t win. Satoru knew that too.” you say, your voice is firmer now, more certain. “Not while you’re still fighting. And I know you, Megumi. You’ve fought through worse. You’re stronger than you think, even when you feel like you’re falling apart.”

His eyes meet yours again, and you can see the doubt there, the fear. But beneath it, there’s a spark of something else, something fragile and faint, but alive — hope, maybe. A glimmer of belief that he can pull through this, that he can find himself again. His lips part, but he seems to hesitate, as if afraid of saying something he can’t take back.

“I’m tired.” he confesses, and it feels like the weight of the world is in those two words. “I’m so tired of fighting. I don’t know how much more I can take.”

You swallow hard, feeling the sting of tears in your eyes, but you blink them back. “I know." you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I know you are. And it’s okay to feel that way. It’s okay to be tired, to need a break. But you don’t have to do this alone. I’m here, Megumi. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

He exhales, a shaky breath that trembles with all the emotions he’s been holding in, and for a moment, he looks like he might break, like the walls he’s built around himself might finally come crashing down. His shoulders slump further, and he leans forward, just a fraction, as if testing the waters, as if trying to decide if it’s safe to fall.

“I….” he starts, his voice breaking, “I keep thinking about him… and about everyone we lost. And I wonder if it’s even worth it, to keep going… if I’m even worth it. I…I helped cause all this pain.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you feel your breath hitch in your throat. You tighten your grip on his arm, leaning closer, your heart breaking for him, for everything he’s endured, for everything he’s still enduring.

“Megumi.” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “You are worth it. You’re worth every fight, every tear, every moment of pain. You’re worth it because you’re here, and you’re trying, and you haven’t given up. And that… that’s everything.”

He looks at you, his eyes searching, as if trying to find the truth in your words, as if he wants to believe you but doesn’t know how. His lips tremble, and for a moment, he seems like he might speak, might say something that could change everything.

But then he just closes his eyes, a tear slipping down his cheek, and he lets out a breath, long and shuddering. “I don’t know.” he whispers, but he doesn’t pull away from your touch. He stays there, his body tense but close, and you know that for now, that’s enough.

You feel the slight tremor in his shoulders, the way he fights to keep himself together, and you wonder how many times he’s had to do this — how many times he’s been forced to stand tall when everything inside him was falling apart. You can see the exhaustion etched in the lines of his face, the dark circles beneath his eyes. He’s so young, but he looks older now, like the weight of the world has been pressing down on him for too long.

You don’t say anything, just keep your hand on his arm, feeling the faint, steady beat of his pulse beneath your fingertips. You know that words won’t fix this, won’t make the shadows in his eyes disappear. But you want him to know he’s not alone, that he doesn’t have to carry this burden by himself.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leans into you, just a little, his head bowing as if the strength he’s been holding onto is slipping away. You don’t move, don’t flinch, just let him take whatever he needs from you, let him find some solace in the contact, in the warmth of another human being who understands, who has lost as much as he has.

“I’m scared.” he admits, his voice so soft you almost miss it, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m scared that I’ll never be… me again. That I’ll never be whole. That I’ll always feel… like this.”

Your heart aches at the confession, at the way his voice breaks, the way his words tremble with an uncertainty that shakes you to your core. You feel a tear slip down your own cheek, and you quickly brush it away, not wanting him to see, not wanting to add to his pain.

“It’s okay to be scared.” you whisper back, your voice rough with emotion. “I’m scared too, Megumi. Every day. But you don’t have to do this alone. You have people who care about you, who love you. And we’ll get through this… somehow. Together.”

He nods, just barely, and you can feel the tiniest bit of tension ease from his frame, as if your words have given him something to hold onto, even if just for a moment. His tired eyes remain closed, and he takes another deep breath, his lips pressing into a thin line, his brows furrowing like he’s trying to muster some strength from within.

“I miss him.” he confesses, almost like he’s ashamed to say it out loud. “I miss Gojo–sensei. Tsumiki, I…I still can’t…”

Silence engulfs you, heavy and unrelenting, settling like a thick fog between you and Megumi. He opens his eyes. You couldn’t help but see the light of devastation in his eyes, a light that flickers and fades like a dying star. It’s a look you’ve seen before, a look you’ve felt etched into your own reflection every time you’ve caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The eyes that have stared back at you have been hollowed out, drained of their usual spark, carrying the same weight that now rests in Megumi’s.

You see it in the way he looks down, his gaze fixed on some invisible point on the ground, as if he’s afraid that meeting your eyes might shatter whatever fragile composure he’s managed to hold onto. The devastation is so clear in his expression, so raw and exposed, like an open wound that hasn’t begun to heal.

But you share the same look, you think. Because you’ve both lost the dearest people in your lives. The ones who held you together, who gave you strength when you needed it most. You knew that too well — the pain, the grief that seems to expand with every breath you take, filling the space around you, making it harder and harder to breathe. Tsumiki, taken from him so suddenly, so cruelly. And now Satoru, your husband, the man who was everything — your light, your laughter, your reason to keep fighting even when the world felt like it was falling apart.

How much more can you both bear?

It feels like there’s a weight pressing down on your chest, an invisible force squeezing the air out of your lungs. Your heart aches with a pain that’s deep and unyielding, a pain that you’ve grown accustomed to, but that never seems too dull. It’s the kind of pain that lingers, that finds its way into every corner of your being, that refuses to be ignored no matter how hard you try.

You think of Satoru — his smile, his ridiculous jokes, the way he could light up a room just by being in it. You think of Tsumiki — her quiet strength, her gentle kindness, the way she could make Megumi laugh even when he didn’t want to. You think of how much they meant to you, to both of you, and you wonder how you’re supposed to go on without them. How do you keep moving forward when the ground beneath you has been ripped away? How do you find the strength to keep fighting when the people who gave you that strength are gone?

You feel a tear slip down your cheek, hot and heavy, and you quickly brush it away. You don’t want Megumi to see, don’t want him to think that you’re breaking, that you’re crumbling under the weight of your own grief. But maybe he already knows. Maybe he can see it in the way your hands tremble, in the way your shoulders sag just a little, in the way your breath catches in your throat like you’re fighting to keep from sobbing.

Megumi finally looks up, and when his eyes meet yours, you see the reflection of your own sorrow staring back at you. His eyes are tired, so very tired, like he hasn’t slept in days, weeks even. There’s a hollowness in them, a void where there used to be determination and fire. He looks older than he is, worn down by the battles he fought, by the losses he’s endured. And you wonder how much more he can take, how much more you can ask of him when he’s already given so much.

“I’m… I’m not sure how to do this.” he admits, his voice barely more than a whisper, his words trembling on the edge of breaking. “I don’t know how to… keep going.”

Your heart tightens, and you feel a fresh wave of grief wash over you, cold and sharp like a blade. You want to tell him that it will get easier, that the pain will fade, but you know it’s not true. You know that some losses never heal, that some wounds never close. All you can do is reach out and take his hand in yours, squeezing it gently, letting him know that you’re here, that you’re not going anywhere.

“I don’t know how either.” you whisper back, your voice thick with emotion. “But we have to try… for them. For ourselves.”

He nods, but it’s a slow, uncertain nod, like he’s still not sure if he believes you, if he believes in anything anymore. His grip tightens around your hand, almost desperate, like he’s holding on for dear life. And maybe he is. Maybe you both are, trying to keep each other afloat in a sea of loss and uncertainty, trying to find something solid to cling to when everything else has been swept away.

For a long moment, you stand there in silence, feeling the weight of everything you’ve lost, everything you’re still losing. And you realize that there’s no easy answer, no simple path forward. There’s only this — the two of you, standing together in the midst of all the broken pieces, trying to make sense of a world that no longer feels whole. And maybe that’s enough. For now, maybe that’s enough.

"I… I keep thinking he’ll walk through that door too, you know?" you finally manage to say, your voice catching on the last word. "With that grin of his, like it's all been a bad dream."

Megumi’s gaze drops to the ground. “Me too.” he whispers. "I keep hearing his voice, like he's about to make another joke… or ruffle my hair." His hands curl into fists, and he swallows hard. "I don’t know if I want to laugh or scream."

You reach out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on his arm. "It feels wrong, doesn't it? For him to be gone."

He nods, his shoulders slumping further. "I hated how he made everything a joke, how he never took things seriously… but I’d give anything to hear him laugh again." His voice cracks, and you see the tears he's been holding back start to gather in his eyes.

Your own tears brim over, and you don’t bother wiping them away. "I don’t know what to do." you admit. "I feel lost without him. I thought we’d have more time… that we could…"

"To live together?" Megumi finishes for you, and you nod, grateful that he understands.

For a moment, you both stand there in your shared grief, the silence punctuated by the distant sounds of the wind moving through the ruins. Finally, Megumi reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, worn and slightly crumpled, as if it’s been handled many times. You look at him and then to the paper. You could feel the air knocked from your lungs.

"He… he left this for you." he says, handing it over. “Ieiri–san gave this to me. He told Ieiri–san to give it to you.....if something happened, you’d be the one to need it most.”

You take the letter with trembling hands, the weight of it almost too much to bear. For a moment, you can’t bring yourself to open it, terrified of what it might say, of the finality it represents. But then you unfold it, the familiar scrawl of his handwriting dancing across the page, and his little drawing of himself on the side. You don’t know whether you were going to laugh or cry. Because, almost immediately, you can almost hear his voice speaking the words.

𝑯𝒆𝒚, 𝒚𝒐𝒖! 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕, 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒎𝒚 𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆,

𝑰’𝒎 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒃𝒚𝒆𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒕’𝒔 𝒃𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕, 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒕, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏’𝒕 𝒈𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒅. 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒕’𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏’𝒕… 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒎𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒘.

𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌, 𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓, 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒓… 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆. 𝒀𝒐𝒖, 𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒊, 𝑻𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒊𝒌𝒊 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 — 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒚. 𝑩𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒘, 𝑰 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒆, 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚?

𝑻𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒊. 𝑻𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒌𝒊𝒅𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚’𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑬𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒊, 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒇 𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏’𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒕. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓, 𝑰’𝒎 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔. 𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕… 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒖𝒑 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆, 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚?

𝑻𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊, 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒘𝒏, 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔. 𝑷𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒔, 𝒐𝒌𝒂𝒚? 𝑰’𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒚.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓, 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 — 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒕, 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒖.

The tears spill over again, as they have these past few weeks and you clutch the letter to your chest, your heart aching with a mix of love and pain. You look over at Megumi, who’s watching you with a mix of understanding and his own quiet grief. He didn’t say a word for a while. He just let you cry, to let out the grief that you had been holding in for so long.

"He… he always knew what to say, didn’t he?" Megumi murmurs, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah." you reply, your voice thick with tears. "He always did."

The weight of Satoru's absence presses heavily upon you, but the words on the paper offer a strange comfort, like a hand reaching out through the dark. You hold the letter tightly, almost as if you could draw him back with the force of your grip.

Megumi shifts beside you, his gaze distant. You sense he’s been wrestling with his own demons, carrying a grief he doesn’t quite know how to articulate. You remember the nights Satoru would tease him, ruffle his hair, and declare with exaggerated fondness that he was the son he never had. And you remember how Megumi would roll his eyes, always with that begrudging smile, the one that said he was secretly happy to have someone who cared so much.

"I don’t know what to do." you confess, your voice barely a whisper. "I don’t even know where to begin."

Megumi looks at you, his eyes softening in understanding. "Neither do I." he admits. "But… I think Gojo–sensei would want us to keep going. He’d hate seeing us like this, stuck in the past."

You nod, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. "He was always moving forward, wasn’t he? Never stopping, not even for a second."

Megumi’s lips twitch into a faint smile. "Yeah, always dragging everyone else along for the ride." He hesitates, and then adds, "But… it wasn’t just him. You kept him grounded. You gave him a reason to slow down, even if just a little."

Your breath catches in your throat. You never thought of it that way — always felt like you were the one chasing after him, trying to keep up with his boundless energy and insatiable curiosity. But maybe, in your own way, you had been his anchor.

Megumi takes a step closer, his hand hovering near your shoulder, as if unsure whether to reach out. "He always talked about you, a lot. Even when you weren't around." he says softly. "Not in the way you'd expect. He’d get this look in his eyes, like… like he couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to have you."

You nod, finding some solace in his words. The two of you stand there for a moment longer, letting the silence settle around you, a cocoon of shared understanding. Then, with a deep breath, you fold Satoru’s letter carefully, as if it were the most fragile thing in the world, and tuck it into your pocket.

“I know.” you say gently, a faint smile on your lips. “I was the luckiest person alive too. To have loved him. To have been with him. To…To have a life with him.”

He turns his head slightly, just enough to glance at you out of the corner of his eye. There’s a flicker of something there — a mix of pain and doubt, hope and fear. He looks exhausted, like every breath, every moment, is a battle in itself. His hands unclench slowly, his fingers twitching like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them.

He closes his eyes for a moment, a pained expression crossing his face. “I don’t know if I can ever be what I was.” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

"That's okay." You whisper back. "You don't need to be whole to be yourself, Megumi. It's...enough. Being like this, for now."

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and you see the tears gathering in his eyes, threatening to spill over. He’s still so young, you think, still so young to have been through so much, to carry so many burdens on his shoulders. You didn’t want this from him. You don’t want him to live with this for the rest of his life.

“Do you think it’ll ever stop hurting?” he asks, his voice so soft it’s almost a plea.

You pause, considering your words carefully. “I don’t know.” you admit honestly. “I think… I think it might always hurt a little. But I also think that one day, the pain won’t be the first thing you feel. One day, you’ll wake up, and it’ll be a little easier to breathe. And then another day, and another… and eventually, you’ll find a way to live with it. To carry it without letting it crush you.”

He nods slowly, as if trying to absorb your words, to find some semblance of comfort in them. “I hope so.” he says quietly. “I really hope so.”

As you purse your lips into a tight line, Fushiguro Megumi turns his head slightly, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the strain in his eyes. They’re the same eyes you’ve known for years, dark and brooding, yet now they seem dimmed by a weight too heavy for any young man to bear. His expression is weary, etched with the lines of battles fought not just against enemies but against the relentless tide of grief and responsibility that threatens to swallow him whole.

You pause, taking in the sight of him. Megumi, who has always seemed so strong, so unyielding, now stands with his shoulders hunched, his frame pulled inward like a fragile fortress protecting a fragile heart. His hands, usually so sure and steady, are clenched tightly at his sides, fingers twitching with a nervous energy.

The boy who faced curses without flinching now looks lost, as if he’s unsure of where to place his feet or how to hold himself together. You notice how his posture has shrunk into itself, his form smaller, more fragile than you remember. For a fleeting moment, he is not the stoic young man who bears the weight of the Zen’in name, but the boy you raised, the one who used to look up at you with a defiance softened by hope.

Memories rush in, unbidden and raw. You remember the first time you took his hand, how tiny it seemed in yours, and the way he stiffened, wary of your touch. It took time for him to trust you, to accept the safety you offered in a world that had been anything but kind. He was so guarded, so determined to prove that he didn’t need anyone, but you had seen through the cracks in his armor, glimpsed the boy beneath who craved comfort and understanding.

Now, as you stand before him, you see that boy again. The boy who hid his hurt behind curt words and narrowed eyes, who watched the world with suspicion, waiting for it to turn on him. You see the boy who wanted to be strong, not just for himself but for those he cared about, who believed that if he could shoulder enough pain, he might somehow spare others from it. That same boy stands before you now, but the weight he carries has only grown heavier, pressing down on his shoulders until they sag with exhaustion.

You move closer, slowly, careful not to startle him. Megumi’s gaze flickers to you, and for a moment, something in his eyes softens, just a fraction. He looks at you as if he wants to say something, but the words catch in his throat, stuck behind the fear of vulnerability. You can see the battle waging within him — the need to be strong, to keep it all together, and the desperate longing to let someone in, to share the burden that’s breaking him apart.

“I…I’m sorry for putting you through what I did.” he whispers, so quietly you almost miss it. His voice is thick, strained with the weight of everything left unsaid.

It was hard seeing Megumi this way, you think. If anything, you still weren’t prepared to seek him out. You felt ashamed that you couldn’t do much for him. As much as you were also worried that he’d put himself at your feet, kneeling and in tears. Now your worst fear came to pass, that he would be apologizing to you for something that was not his fault. And so, you took that time — a long time, to just be alone and grieve. To let your husband’s soul rest in peace.

So your heart aches at his confession, and you step closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, drawing him into an embrace. At first, he resists, his body stiff and unyielding, but you hold firm, refusing to let go. Slowly, he relents, and he collapses against you, his head resting against your shoulder. His hands clutch at the fabric of your clothes, and you feel the tremble in his fingers, the suppressed sobs caught in his chest.

“It’s okay, Megumi.” you murmur, stroking his back in soothing circles. “You silly boy. Why are you apologizing for things that aren’t your fault, hm?”

His shoulders shake, and you feel the tears that he’s fought so hard to hold back finally spill over. He buries his face in your shoulder, his body wracked with silent sobs, each one tearing at your heart. You hold him tighter, as if you could somehow shield him from the pain, as if you could gather all the shattered pieces of him and put them back together.

He cries quietly, like he doesn’t want to be heard, like he’s afraid of what his grief might sound like if he lets it out. You just hold him, letting him take the time he needs, giving him the space to be the child you know he still is, beneath all that strength and stubbornness.

And for that moment, you are back in time, comforting a boy who tried so hard to be brave, to stand tall in a world that felt too big and too cruel. You feel the years slip away, and you whisper to him like you did then, telling him it’s okay, that he’s safe, that he’s loved.

Slowly, the tremors in his body begin to ease, and he pulls back slightly, just enough to look up at you. His eyes are red, and there’s a vulnerability there that you haven’t seen in years. “I’m sorry, Gen–san.” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. “I….It must be harder on you.”

You shake your head, cupping his cheek with one hand. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” you say firmly. “You’ve been so strong, Megumi. But you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

He nods, his eyes closing for a moment as he takes a shaky breath. “I just… I miss him, Gen–san.” he admits, his voice breaking. “I miss them. Tsumiki…..I…I miss them both. And it’s…It’s my fault. If I had…”

“I know you do.” you whisper back. “I miss them too. And it’s okay to feel that way. But it was never your fault. You understand? This is not your cross to bear, hm?”

He looked at you, as though he was still unsure. But he nods again, and this time, when he opens his eyes, there’s a spark of something new there, a flicker of resolve. “Thank you.” he murmurs. “For… for being here.”

You smile softly, brushing his hair back from his face. “Always.” you promise. “I’ll always be here for you, Megumi.”

And as he leans into your touch, you realize that maybe, just maybe, he’s beginning to understand that he doesn’t have to face the world alone. That he has a family, even in the darkest of times, and that you’ll always be there to catch him when he falls. When he finally calms down, you look at him with a tender gaze. You rub the small of his back and coo towards him. You tell him over and over again that it’s going to be okay.

THINGS HAVE CHANGED IN THESE MANY YEARS. But all the same, you were still just trying to get by without your husband. Just as you have done in the past fourteen years. Sometimes you can’t believe that it has been that long. Fourteen long years without his voice, his laughter, his warmth beside you in the dark of the night. Fourteen years of waking up every morning and remembering all over again that he’s gone.

Some days, it feels like he was just here, like you can still hear his footsteps in the hallway, the sound of his voice calling your name, teasing you with that easy smile that could always make your heart skip a beat. Other days, it feels like a lifetime has passed, like his memory is slipping further away with each breath you take, each step you take forward.

And sometimes, all you have to do is look at the world around you and see how much it has changed, even without Satoru. The world didn’t stop for his absence — it kept moving, kept spinning, kept evolving. The streets are filled with new faces, new buildings rise where old ones once stood. The skyline of the city looks different, the energy of the people has shifted, and even the quiet corners where you used to find solace now feel foreign and unfamiliar.

You think about the way he would have laughed at the way the world has moved on without him, how he would have been amused at the thought of being left behind by time itself. “Can’t keep up with me, huh?” he would’ve jokes, that mischievous grin spreading across his face, his bright eyes twinkling with that endless, boundless spirit of his.

But he isn’t here to see it — he isn’t here to laugh or joke or comment on the little changes that make up this new reality. And that’s what hurts the most, you think. The small moments that go unnoticed, the daily routines that feel emptier without him, the tiny, insignificant details that made life with him so full.

You were certain that today was one of those days — a day where the past and present seemed to blur, where the weight of what came before felt particularly heavy. The morning sun filters through the kitchen window, casting a soft glow across the table. You watch as the young clan leader, Gojo Satoshi, sits across from you, his posture a mix of youthful excitement and a hint of nervousness that he tries to hide. His eighteenth birthday has finally arrived — a day you’ve both been anticipating with a blend of joy and bittersweetness.

For years, you’ve marked this date on the calendar, circled it with a smiley face as Satoru used to do. You remember the way he’d talk about this day like it was a grand milestone, his eyes lighting up with that familiar spark as he imagined all the things Satoshi would accomplish. And now, here it is — the day that seemed so far away, so impossible to reach, yet somehow arrived faster than you ever thought it would.

Your son had taken some time off from his responsibilities, from the pressures of the Gojo clan, just to be here with you. He’d insisted on it, saying he didn’t want to spend this day anywhere else. There’s a maturity in him that catches you off guard sometimes, a quiet strength that reminds you so much of Satoru, and yet he’s entirely his own person, shaped by all the experiences and lessons that life has thrown at him.

At times, you catch yourself taking a moment to look at him. He was the spitting image of his father. Every bit of him was Satoru. From the way his eyes gazed at you, to the way he laughs. Everything was him. You think if your husband would be here now, it would have been hard to tell them apart. But, he was all you have of Satoru. And you were still grateful for it, even if it makes you cry sometimes.

“Mom.” he begins, and there’s a softness in his voice, a vulnerability that he doesn’t show often. “I… I’m glad I could be here today. I know it’s… a lot. For both of us.”

You smile, a warm, gentle smile that you hope hides the ache in your chest. “I’m glad too, Satoshi. I’ve been waiting for this day. Your father would have wanted it to be special.”

He nods, a small smile tugging at his lips, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes — a shadow of the loss you both carry, the empty space that Satoru left behind. You know this day is as much about celebrating as it is about remembering, about honoring the promise that Satoru made to him, to all of you.

And that’s why you’re here, sitting at the kitchen table, a letter in your hand — a letter you’ve kept safe for years, one with Satoru’s handwriting on the envelope, his familiar scrawl that brings a sting of tears to your eyes. The letter he wrote for Satoshi to open on his eighteenth birthday, a letter he wrote knowing he might not be here to read it himself.

You hold it out to him, your fingers trembling slightly, and Satoshi’s eyes widen. He recognizes it immediately, having seen it once before when he was a child, when you tucked it away with a promise that it was for another day, a day when he was older, stronger.

“Is this…?” he asks, his voice trailing off, almost afraid to finish the question.

You nod, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “It’s from your father.” you say softly. “Megumi found it cleaning your father's office. It seems....your father wanted you to have something special when you're older."

For a moment, Satoshi just stares at the envelope, his fingers brushing over the edges, tracing the curve of his father’s handwriting. You can see the emotions flicker across his face — curiosity, sadness, a deep, yearning love. He looks up at you, and there’s a silent question in his eyes, one that asks if you’re okay, if you’re ready for this.

You give him a small nod, even though your heart feels like it might break all over again. “Go on.” you encourage. “Open it.”

With a deep breath, Satoshi carefully tears open the envelope, his hands steady despite the tremor you know he must feel. He pulls out the folded paper inside, and as he begins to read, you watch his face, the way his expression changes, softens, as he takes in the words that his father left for him.

There’s a chuckle, soft and low, that escapes his lips, and for a brief moment, it’s like Gojo Satoru is in the room with you both, his presence lingering in the air, his laughter echoing in the corners. Satoshi’s shoulders shake with silent laughter, and he shakes his head, murmuring, “Of course he’d say that…” under his breath.

You can’t help but smile, a tear slipping down your cheek as you remember Satoru’s sense of humor, his way of making light of even the heaviest moments. You wonder what he wrote, what silly remark he must have made, what words he left behind to make his son laugh on this day.

But then, the laughter fades, replaced by a softer look, a look of longing. Satoshi’s eyes grow misty, and his smile wavers, his breath hitching in his throat. His hands clutch the letter a little tighter, his fingers pressing into the paper like he’s holding onto a lifeline.

“I miss him, a lot.” he whispers, his voice breaking, and in that moment, he looks like the little boy he used to be, the one who would climb into your lap and ask when his father was coming home. “I miss him so much.”

Your heart breaks all over again, and you reach across the table, pulling him into your arms. He doesn’t resist, burying his face in your shoulder, and you feel his tears soak through your shirt, hot and heavy. You hold him close, your hand running through his hair, whispering soothing words even as your own tears fall.

“I know, Satoshi.” you whisper back, your voice thick with emotion. “I miss him too… every day.”

He clings to you, his body shaking with quiet sobs, and you let him cry, let him mourn, let him feel all the things he needs to feel. You know that this pain will never truly go away, that there will always be a part of both of you that aches for the man who isn’t here, for the father and husband who left too soon.

But in this moment, you also feel a deep, abiding love — a love that stretches across time and space, that binds you together even in the face of loss. You know that Satoru is with you, in every laugh, in every tear, in every beat of your hearts. And as you hold your son, feeling the strength of his embrace, the warmth of his love, you know that Satoru’s spirit lives on, in him, in you, in all the days to come.

You feel Satoshi’s grip tighten around you, his shoulders still trembling with the force of his emotions. You hold him closer, pressing your cheek against the top of his head, breathing in the scent of him, so familiar and comforting. He’s grown so much, become a young man with so much of his father’s spirit, and yet so much of his own unique strength.

“He would’ve been so proud of you, little dawn.” you whisper into his hair, feeling your voice catch in your throat. “Every day, he would’ve been so proud. I know he is… wherever he is.”

Satoshi pulls back just enough to look up at you, his eyes red-rimmed and wet with tears, but there’s a light in them — a spark of resilience, of determination, of love. “I hope so, mom.” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I hope I’m making him proud… and you, too.”

You smile, cupping his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs over his damp cheeks. “You are, Satoshi. You’re everything he could have hoped for… everything I could have hoped for.”

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes, and you can see the way his expression softens, some of the tension easing from his features. “I just… I wish he were here,” he admits, his voice a broken whisper. “I wish he could see this… see me now.”

You nod, swallowing back your own tears, feeling the ache in your chest grow sharper, deeper. “Me too.” you confess. “Every day, I wish for that. But he’s still with us, Satoshi. In you, in me, in all the love he left behind. And as long as we remember him, he’ll never truly be gone.”

Satoshi nods slowly, taking in your words, letting them settle in the quiet space between you. You know it’s not enough to fill the emptiness, to ease the pain that sits heavy in both of your hearts, but it’s something — a small comfort, a small truth that you can hold on to.

“Happy birthday, Satoshi.” You greeted him with a small smile on your face. “You and your papa. Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, mom.”

And so, you sit together in the soft morning light, holding onto each other, holding onto the memory of the man you both loved so dearly, trying to find your way in a world that has changed so much without him. You know it won’t be easy — it never has been — but you also know that you have each other, that you have the love he left behind, and maybe, for now, that’s enough to keep moving forward.

Just as you have for the past fourteen years.

Just as you will for the years to come.

YOU DECIDED TO VISIT THAT AFTERNOON. The pond is quiet, save for the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind, the soft murmurs of the water lapping against its edges. You stand at the edge, looking out at the calm surface, watching as the light dances across the ripples. The air is thick with the scent of earth and pine, and there’s a serenity here that you haven’t felt in a long time — a stillness that settles into your bones, grounding you in the moment.

This was land that Satoru bought a long time ago, back when the world was still full of possibility, when dreams felt tangible and within reach. You remember the day he brought you here for the first time, the way his eyes sparkled with excitement as he talked about the future, about all the things he wanted to build, all the memories he hoped to create.

He’d stood right where you’re standing now, his hands on his hips, looking out at the same pond with a boyish grin on his face. “This is it.” he’d said, his voice full of conviction. “This is where I’d be glad to build a family… a place to call home when everything’s said and done.”

You could hear the hope in his words, the unspoken promise of a life filled with love and laughter. He had dreams of children playing by the water’s edge, of long summer evenings spent under the stars, of a sanctuary away from the battles, away from the chaos.

And you had made that happen. For a while, you had built that family, that life, just as he’d wanted. You shared quiet mornings and loud, joyous evenings. You laughed, you loved, you lived. The memories still linger in every corner of this place, like echoes of a time that now feels so distant, so far away.

This is the place where you buried your husband — here, by the pond where he once stood dreaming of the future. It felt right, felt like honoring that dream of his, of giving him the home he’d always wanted, even in death. You wanted him to be where he’d always hoped to be, to rest in the place he had chosen for his family, his sanctuary. So you laid him to rest here, in the earth he once walked upon, beneath the trees that whisper his name in the wind.

But you chose this spot for a reason. So that he’ll always be home, so that he’ll never be far from the place he loved most. You wanted him to have peace, to feel the tranquility of the land he cherished so much. And maybe, in some way, you wanted him close, wanted to be able to visit, to sit by his side and feel his presence, even if it’s just in the whispers of the wind or the quiet ripple of the pond.

You sit back, closing your eyes, breathing in the fresh air, and you imagine his laughter, his voice, his hand in yours. You can almost hear him now, teasing you about being sentimental, about spending so much time talking to a patch of earth. But you know he’d understand. He always understood you, even when you didn’t understand yourself.

You look out over the pond, the way the water reflects the sky, and you wonder what he would think of the world now, of all the things that have changed. You wonder if he’d still choose this place, if he’d still find it as beautiful as he once did. You like to think he would, that he’d still smile and say, “Yeah, this is home.”

One day, you think. One day, maybe you’ll be here too, resting beside him, sharing this place forever. Maybe one day, you’ll find your way back to him, and you’ll get to hear his voice again, feel his arms around you, and you’ll be whole again. Until then, you’ll keep coming back, keep whispering to the wind, keep holding onto the memories that this place holds.

And as the sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the water, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. Because here, in this quiet place, he is still with you. Here, by the pond he loved so much, he is still home.

You’ve walked this path more times than you can count, but today feels different. The air is heavy, thick with the weight of unspoken words and memories that cling to you like shadows. It has been fourteen years now, and in a few days, it will be official. But it was your husband’s birthday today too, and you think that maybe that’s why. Satoshi is eighteen and your husband isn’t here to see it.

When you reach their graves, you pause, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. The air is cool, the wind gentle against your skin, but there is a weight in your chest that feels heavier than any burden you’ve ever carried.

Two simple stones lie before you, side by side, as if they were always meant to be together — Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru. Their names etched in the granite are stark against the soft earth, the bold characters cutting through the silence of the space around you. The sight is almost too real, too final, as if the reality of their absence is etched into the stone itself.

It was what Satoru wanted, you remember. He had told you that a long time ago, in a quiet moment, his voice uncharacteristically soft, almost pleading. “Promise me, if anything ever happens… that Suguru will be laid to rest too. That he’ll have peace.”

You’d nodded then, not thinking much of it, not wanting to entertain the thought of losing him. But now, standing here, you understand why. You understand why it mattered to him, why it was so important that they be reunited in the end.

They were best friends once — closer than brothers, bound by a shared past, by dreams of changing the world together. Even when their paths diverged, even when they became enemies in the eyes of the world, there was always something unbreakable between them, something that tied them together beyond the choices they made, beyond the mistakes and the betrayals. They were always two halves of a whole, two sides of a coin that could never be separated.

And now, in death, they are together again. You think it fitting, think it poetic in a way that only Satoru could have imagined. They both found their peace here, in this quiet place, far from the chaos and conflict that shaped their lives. And maybe, just maybe, they have found each other again, wherever they are.

You kneel down, your knees pressing into the soft grass, feeling the dampness seep through your clothes, grounding you, connecting you to the earth, to this place where they both now rest. You reach out with trembling fingers, tracing the characters of their names etched into the cold granite. The letters feel rough under your fingertips, each line a reminder of what was lost, of the lives that were lived with so much intensity, so much passion, so much pain.

“Satoru.” you whisper, your voice catching in your throat. It feels strange to say his name out loud, to speak to him as if he could still hear you. But you hope he can. You hope he’s listening, somewhere out there. “I’m back, my dearest.”

“I miss you… so much. Every day. I don’t know how to do this without you.” Your fingers move to Suguru’s name next, tracing the familiar curves and lines, remembering the way Satoru used to talk about him, the fondness in his voice even after everything that happened.

“And Suguru.” you add softly, “I hope you found peace too. I hope… wherever you are, you’ve found each other again. That you’re not alone. Stay together, hm?”

The wind picks up, rustling the leaves around you, and for a moment, you almost think you hear their voices — Satoru’s light and teasing, Suguru’s deeper, quieter, both of them laughing together like they did in the old days, when things were simpler, when the world hadn’t yet shown its darker side. It’s a sound that cuts through the quiet, a memory that tugs at your heart, bringing a fresh wave of tears to your eyes.

You press your palms flat against the grass, feeling the cool earth beneath your hands, grounding yourself in the present, in the reality of this moment. You close your eyes, letting the tears fall freely now, feeling the ache in your chest grow sharper, deeper.

“I’m sorry.” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you… either of you. I’m sorry it came to this.”

But then you take a breath, slow and steady, and you remember what Satoru always said — that life goes on, that the world keeps turning, even when it feels like it’s falling apart. And you know he wouldn’t want you to stay here forever, trapped in the past, in the grief that feels like it might swallow you whole. He would want you to keep going, to keep living, to find joy again, even if it feels impossible right now.

You sit back on your heels, wiping at your eyes, feeling the cool breeze brush against your cheeks. “I’ll keep going.” you promise, your voice is stronger now, more certain. “I’ll keep living, for both of you. For all of us. But… one day, I hope I get to see you again. I hope we can be together again, somehow.”

The wind blows softly, carrying your words away, and you imagine them reaching Satoru, reaching Suguru, wherever they are. You imagine them smiling, together at last, watching over you, waiting for the day when you’ll be reunited. And in that thought, you find a small measure of comfort, a small piece of hope to hold on to.

So you stay a little longer, just sitting there in the quiet, in the space between what was and what is, letting the memories wash over you, letting yourself feel everything — the love, the loss, the longing. Because here, in this place, they are still with you. Here, by their graves, you are not alone.

You swallow, trying to keep your composure, but it’s hard. The memories rush back all at once — the sound of Satoru’s laughter, always so full and carefree; Suguru’s quiet, thoughtful gaze as he watches you both, always the more grounded of the two. You close your eyes for a moment, letting those memories wash over you, trying to hold on to the feeling of them, even as it brings a fresh ache to your heart.

“I miss you.” you say, your voice breaking on the last word. “Gods, I miss you both so much.”

Your hand drops to your lap, and you feel the sting of tears in your eyes, blurring your vision. You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but it’s no use. The tears spill over, hot against your skin, and you don’t bother to wipe them away. You’re tired of pretending to be strong, tired of holding back the grief that’s been eating away at you ever since you lost them.

“I still can’t believe you’re gone, Satoru.” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I keep thinking… I keep waiting for you to walk through the door with that ridiculous grin on your face, like this was all just some terrible joke. I keep thinking I’ll hear your voice, calling out to me, asking me if I’ve missed you. Fourteen years and I still think like this.”

Your shoulders shake with a quiet sob, and you press a hand to your mouth, trying to stifle the sound. You feel the ache in your chest, the hollow emptiness that’s been there since the day he died. Every day without him feels like a wound that won’t heal, a pain that won’t lessen, no matter how much time passes.

“I miss you so much.” you repeat, your voice raw and broken. “I miss the way you used to make me laugh, even when I didn’t want to. I miss the way you’d wrap your arms around me, like you could protect me from everything. I miss your voice, your smile… I miss everything.”

You take a deep breath, your fingers curling into the fabric of your clothes as if to ground yourself. “Sometimes… sometimes I don’t know how to keep going.” you admit quietly. “I don’t know how to keep living in a world where you’re not here.”

Your gaze drifts to Suguru’s grave, and you feel another pang of sorrow. “I miss you too, Suguru.” you murmur. “I know you and Satoru are probably driving each other crazy up there… but I wish… I wish you were both here with me.”

You let out a shaky breath, your tears falling more freely now. “I’m trying to be strong, to be the person you both believed I could be.” you say, your voice trembling. “But it’s so hard without you. It’s so hard to keep going when all I want to do is just… just give up.”

You close your eyes, bowing your head, and let the tears fall, your shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The grief feels like it’s drowning you, pulling you under, and for a moment, you don’t know if you have the strength to keep swimming.

But then, through the haze of your tears, you feel a small flicker of warmth — a memory, a feeling, a sense of Satoru’s presence. You can almost hear his voice, playful and light, telling you to keep going, to keep fighting, to keep living. And you know, deep down, that he wouldn’t want you to give up. He’d want you to keep smiling, to keep finding joy, even in a world without him.

You lift your head, wiping at your tears with the back of your hand. “I promise I’ll keep going.” you whisper. “I’ll keep living, for both of you. But… one day…”

Your voice catches, and you swallow hard, forcing the words out past the lump in your throat. “One day, I can’t wait to see you again.” you say, your voice breaking on a sob. “I can’t wait to be with you again, Satoru. I can’t wait to hold you and tell you how much I’ve missed you.”

You reach out, placing a hand on his headstone, your fingers trembling. “Until then… I’ll keep you in my heart.” you whisper. “I’ll keep you both in my heart.”

The wind picks up once more, rustling the leaves, and for a moment, you feel a strange sense of peace, as if they’re both there with you, watching over you, telling you that it’s okay to grieve, to cry, to miss them. And as you sit there, letting the tears flow, you realize that they’re not really gone. They’re still with you, in every memory, every laugh, every tear.

“I love you so much.” you whisper, your voice carried away in the wind. “I always will, my love. Happy birthday.”

And for the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of hope, a small, fragile thing, but there nonetheless. A hope that one day, you’ll see them again, that one day, this ache will be replaced by the joy of being with them once more. Until then, you’ll carry them with you, every step of the way, until your paths cross again.

epilogue

In the ethereal expanse of the afterlife, Gojo Satoru was causing a celestial commotion that even the most seasoned spirits couldn’t ignore. The gates of heaven, grand and imposing, were currently the scene of an unusual spectacle. Satoru was, quite literally, throwing himself against them, trying to push his way through the ornate barriers with a determination that bordered on absurd.

Suguru Geto, Nanami Kento, and Haibara Yuta were standing a few feet away, watching with a mix of amusement and exasperation. Suguru was leaning against a nearby pillar, his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. Nanami was rubbing his temples in frustration, and Haibara was trying very hard not to laugh.

"How long has he been at this?" Nanami asked.

"Since yesterday." Haibara snickered in response.

"I haven't had peace these past two days." Suguru sighed.

Satoru, his face pressed against the gates, was shouting, “GAH!? Let me out! I need to get back to Earth! They need me! I can’t just sit here while they’re struggling!”

Nanami, stepping forward with a calm yet firm tone, said, “Satoru, this is not a joke. You’re dead. You’re not supposed to go back. We’ve been over this.”

Satoru turned his head, giving them a pleading look. “But they’re my family! They need me! Can’t you see? I’ve got to be there for them!”

Haibara, trying to defuse the tension, added with a smirk, “Gojo–senpai, you know you can’t just break the rules. Besides, you have to admit, your dramatic exit would probably cause a cosmic mess.”

Suguru, barely containing his grin, stepped forward with a more practical suggestion. “Look, Satoru, there’s a much better way to be there for them without causing a ruckus. You can appear in their dreams. It’s a lot less disruptive and doesn’t require you to break through any divine gates.”

Satoru’s eyes lit up with realization. “Wait, really? I do that? Why didn’t anyone tell me sooner?”

Suguru shrugged nonchalantly. “You didn’t want to listen to me at all. Plus, you were too busy trying to create a celestial catastrophe.”

Satoru paused, considering the idea. “I suppose appearing in their dreams is a bit more civilized. But—” he added, frowning, “—can’t I just pop back in for a quick hug or something? A kiss, more preferably.”

Nanami shook his head, still trying to keep his composure. “No, Gojo. That’s not how it works. You’ve got to accept that you can't do what you want now that you're dead.”

Satoru, with a resigned sigh and the roll of his eyes, finally stepped back from the gates. He still looks like a child when he pouts. “Alright, alright. I’ll do the dream thing. But I want to make sure they know I’m there for them.”

Haibara chuckled. “Great. Just try not to turn their dreams into a circus act. They need comfort, not more chaos, Gojo–senpai!”

Satoru grinned, his spirits lifting as he envisioned his new plan. “Got it. I’ll keep it heartfelt and fun. And maybe I’ll sneak in a few tricks here and there. You know, just to keep things interesting.”

As Satoru prepared to set off on his new celestial mission, Suguru, Nanami, and Haibara exchanged looks of weary amusement. They knew that, despite his antics, Satoru’s heart was in the right place.

“Good luck,” Nanami said dryly. “And remember, no cosmic disasters.”

Satoru gave them a thumbs-up. “You got it! And thanks for the advice, everyone. I’ll make sure they feel my love, even if it’s just in their dreams.”

With that, Satoru faded into a swirl of ethereal light, heading toward the dreamscape to reach out to you and Satoshi. Meanwhile, Suguru, Nanami, and Haibara watched him go, their expressions a mix of relief and amusement.

“Do you think he’ll actually follow through?” Haibara asked, still grinning.

Suguru smirked. “If anyone can turn a dream into a grand spectacle, it’s Satoru. But I have no doubt he’ll manage to bring some comfort, too. Well, somewhat."

Nanami sighed, shaking his head. “Well, at least we’ve managed to keep him out of trouble, for now. Let’s hope he sticks to the plan.”

And with that, the trio returned to their celestial duties, knowing that despite Satoru’s chaotic tendencies, his heart was always in the right place.

And just as promised, Gojo Satoru did indeed make his grand reappearance in your dreams and Satoshi's, weaving a spectral thread through the fabric of your nightly slumbers. The dreams, much like Satoru himself, were a mix of whimsical chaos and heartwarming moments.

In your dream, the scene was set in a familiar place — a cozy, moonlit garden that felt both nostalgic and surreal. There, amidst the soft glow of fairy lights and the gentle rustling of leaves, was Satoru, his usual nonchalant demeanor softened by a warm, affectionate grin. He was seated on a bench, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sparkled with the same mischievous gleam you remembered so well.

"Soooo." he began, stretching out the word as if he were about to launch into one of his signature lectures. "Miss me much? I bet you didn't expect me to show up like this."

You could only laugh, feeling a mixture of relief and joy. "Satoru... this is incredible. I wasn’t sure if you’d actually come."

Satoru’s grin widened, and he leaned closer, as if sharing a secret. "You know me, always keeping my promises, even from beyond. Besides, I couldn’t let you and Satoshi have all the fun without me."

He gestured to the garden around you, which seemed to glow with a gentle, ethereal light, transforming it into a place of comfort and tranquility. It was as if he had crafted this dreamscape himself, blending his penchant for the whimsical with the tenderness of his love.

As you sat together, talking and laughing, the conversation flowed effortlessly. He shared stories from the afterlife, which he portrayed with his characteristic humor and flair, recounting celestial mishaps and the amusing antics of his fellow spirits. It was just like old times, but with a surreal twist — his jokes seemed to float in the air like bubbles, and his laughter was a melody that danced through the night. And then when it was time, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close into an embrace and a kiss.

Satoshi’s dream was equally enchanting. He found himself in a fantastical setting, a blend of his own memories and Satoru's imaginative touch. The scene was a vibrant carnival, full of colors and laughter. Satoru was there, dressed in an elaborate magician’s costume, complete with a top hat and a flowing cape. He was performing tricks, pulling stars out of a hat and making cosmic confetti rain down on the crowd.

Satoshi watched in awe as Satoru performed, a look of wonder on his face. When Satoru finally noticed him, he winked and gave him a grandiose bow. "Hey, kiddo! Did you miss me? Hope you're enjoying the show!"

Satoshi’s heart swelled with a bittersweet mixture of joy and longing. He approached Satoru, who enveloped him in a hug that felt strangely warm despite being a dream. Satoshi felt tears well up in his eyes, but he laughed, feeling a sense of comfort he hadn’t experienced in years. “I’ve missed you so much, Dad.”

Satoru ruffled his hair affectionately, his voice filled with genuine warmth. “I know, kiddo. I’ve missed you too. But you’ve grown so much. I’m proud of you. And I know your mom is too. You both are doing great.”

The dream continued with a playful sense of magic and wonder, filled with laughter and joy. Satoru’s presence, though fleeting, was a gift — a reminder that his love and spirit continued to be a part of your lives, even if only in the realm of dreams.

As the night drew to a close and the dreams began to fade, Satoru gave one last, heartfelt wave. “Remember, I’m always with you. In every laugh, every moment, and every starry night. I’ll be cheering you on from here.”

When you and Satoshi woke up, you immediately texted each other about the dream. And back in heaven, Gojo Satoru was pleased.

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