#And You Will Know Them By the Trail of Dead | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

emeraldborealis · 15 hours

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Grotesque

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x FEM!reader

TW//CW: DARK FIC, stalking, vibes of somnophilia ish, sexual harassment, nonconsensual touching, threats, mention of cannibalism but no cannibalism, threatened necrophilia, a creep calls reader a whore, murder, graphic depictions of gore, blood, shock induced mania, talk of human taxidermy, no use of y/n. Dead dove do not eat. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION.

Words: 4,641

A/N: Now you may be wondering, Emerald, what the actual hell is this? Well, I wanted to know if I could still write dark fics. And I thought it was time to remind everyone this started as a horror writing blog.

STOP! Have you heeded the warnings on this fic?

People say something special happens when you fall in love, that suddenly everything else doesn't matter. That there's a warmth and gentleness that grows inside of you towards the other person.

But not for Ghost.

Ghost doesn't deal in warm gentleness. Simon did, but Simon is dead and buried in Mexico.

When Ghost saw you he did feel something sudden, an urge to keep everyone else away from you, an urge to protect, an urge to keep and shepherd.

So he did.

From a distance he kept his eye on you, watched you go through your days, completely unsuspecting. Or so he thought.

You knew he was there, you knew from day one. Knowing he was there was more of a comfort than a fear, so when the sound of your front door opening in the middle of the night came to your ears you were more than content to pretend you were still asleep.

Keeping your breathing even and deep, keeping your expression neutral, letting nothing tip him off to the fact you were awake was a skill you learned in your youth, one you needed to survive the house you grew up in.

You were lonely, and you were alright with him taking advantage of that. You wanted him in your life because there was nothing else in your life. A phantom, a ghost willing to watch over you. Something that stayed in the dark, content with silent control.

His footsteps were light coming down the hall, almost silent, if you weren't listening for him you wouldn't have heard him. You wondered how many times he'd come and you hadn't woken up.

Hearing him pause in the hallway you imagined him looking at your photos, committing them all to memory, each one of their locations and if they were perfectly level or not. You knew he'd take in every detail before moving on, he just seemed like the type.

Your door used to make noise when it opened, but a month back it suddenly stopped. A reminder of his silent presence ever lingering, you often wondered if he'd fixed other things for the convenience of his watching, of his sneaking.

Nothing was allowed to jeopardize his stalking, nothing was allowed to tip you off to his presence. Nothing was allowed to give you evidence to stop him.

Listening, you heard him move silently through your room, coming to stand beside your bed, your acting was imperceivable, especially when you weren't looking for it.

You didn't react when the soft feeling of a gloved hand trailed over your face, the glove was rough, but he used it gently, kept his touch featherlight, barely even there.

His hand went from your face down your exposed arm, feeling the lovely skin of your appendage sticking out of the blankets for the sake of regulating your body temperature. The feeling nearly made gooseflesh blossom on your skin, nearly made you shudder. Do sleeping people shudder? Looking into that could be good for future visits from your stalker.

You felt his figure lean over you, breathing you in like a bad habit, when he was satisfied he moved from your side of the bed to the other side. Gently, he laid himself down, stiff as a board laying on his back, staring at the ceiling. You were familiar with this routine by now.

He laid like a corpse, his hands clasped together over his chest. He never did more than this, never touched, never hurt. He just laid beside you for a few hours before leaving just as silently as he came, always making sure to whisper 'sweet dreams' to you before leaving hours before your alarm for work would blare into your room.

Every once and a while you would dare to put your arm over him, sometimes he moved your arm gently off of him, sometimes he let it stay.

Sometimes he watches you sleep, either facing you in bed or sitting in your desk chair.

You wished you understood him, understood why he does the things he does. Wish you understood why he didn't do certain things.

He really was a ghost, your Ghost. A mystery you weren't sure you'd ever figure out.

Rolling onto your back you flopped your arm on him, not holding him, just touching him, testing him. He didn't remove your arm this night, he let it stay, resting right above where his hands were.

You had no clue what he looked like, not really. The few times you dared a peak he was wearing a balaclava with a skull on it. But you'd grown familiar with how he breathed, the rise and fall of his large chest. That was what mattered to you, not his face. Not who he was under the skull.

Feeling him beside you didn't feel wrong, it didn't feel nauseating or dangerous. He had the capability to do harm, but he'd never left any indication that was his intention. He just seemed interested in watching you live your life. Why? You didn't know.

Sometimes you thought about what would happen if he decided to have malicious intent, how far he might go. What he might do. He was a strange man stalking you, and you were letting him.

You were just asking to be an episode on a true crime podcast, solved or unsolved? What would it be? You suspected unsolved, even if you lived.

If he killed you how would he do it? It was interesting to think about. Would he hack you into pieces? String you apart, pull at your nervous system. Dissect you like a frog. Maybe he'd fillet you, hang you up and eat you. Or perhaps he'd take it slower, break your ankles and watch you starve to death helpless on the floor, he did like to watch you.

If he hurt you, if he touched you, he'd want to watch you as he did it. He'd want to see your face as it contorted into pain.

Really at the end of the day he was a man, no different from any other, you were risking just as much being around him as any other man. At least you believed if he witnessed another man trying to attack you he'd intervene, protect his territory.

His belongings.

Did he see himself as your keeper? Or more like a guard dog? What were his intentions here? Why was he this little shadow in your life? It seemed like he was always there, a force that lingered around you.

Your Ghost, something that was becoming a more common name for him in your mind. It seemed fitting.

To say you weren't attached to him would be a lie, he's grown on you, something consistent, something you could make yourself believe was there to be good for you. You were becoming just as infatuated with him as he seemed to be with you.

You were comfortable falling asleep beside him, letting him stay as long as he wanted before leaving. He always locked the door on his way out, after all, he was the only one allowed to creep into your home.

Shifting in bed you got more comfortable, you needed to let yourself fall back asleep if you wanted to be able to function well at work tomorrow. Your Ghost paid no mind to your shifting, he's watched you sleep in actuality and faking it enough to believe he'll never get caught. Not knowing he already has been.

At some point in the night you vaguely feel the bed shift, faintly hear his deep voice whisper something in your ear, and his soft footsteps as he leaves.

In the morning there was no trace of him, nothing tipping you off to the fact he was ever even there, nothing but your memory.

You dreaded your arrival at work, dreaded seeing him.

Brian.

A creep in HR, you would have reported him by now but he was who you would file those reports to. You didn't know who else to file a report to, nothing was serious enough for police intervention.

At least there was no evidence serious enough for police intervention.

Sometimes you hoped your Ghost knew about him, that he was watching your back, though you doubted he watched you at work. Still, the thought of him handling this was not unwelcome. You took a strange comfort in it actually.

Brian was not welcome in your life, he was pushy, touchy, didn't understand boundaries. Something about him gave you the heebie-jeebies, like he was doing all sorts of nefarious things to you in his mind, planning them out, waiting to execute them.

You hated how he watched you, he was doing more than just undressing you with his eyes. Something about the way he looked at you made you feel like he wanted to do more to your skin than just molest it. Do more than possess and sink under your surface.

He looked to covet. Your Ghost looked to encroach and observe.

You liked how your Ghost watched you, like a guard dog willing to be sicked on anyone, to be your defense, to get them off of you, to keep them away from you.

"Come on, doll. When are you going to agree to come over? Let me pour you a drink, I promise I can mix you up something you'll like. Or at least let me drive you home sometime, there's no need to take the train when it's raining. Don't want you catching a cold." Brian cooed to you, walking with you as you made your way to the elevator, he always waited for you.

You'd only step into the elevator with him when it was crowded, otherwise you'd wait, make an excuse and talk to the lady at the front desk until you saw someone you knew would go up to your floor or above.

You refused to be alone with him. Not even for a second.

"I don't drink. And I like the rain." You shot him down, trying to step around him, but his arm caught your waist, stopping you.

"Okay, how about we watch a movie? Play a game?" He gave your waist a squeeze, testing your patience. He was a persistent man who believed he would get what he wanted. You wondered how many times he had. How many girls came before you.

"I'm not interested." Spinning out of his hold you continued walking towards the elevator, a good group of people already waiting.

"Come on, doll. I'll make it worth your time." He trailed after you.

You didn't like the thought that he had access to your address, that he might know where you lived, that all he'd have to do to figure it out is look at your personal records.

"I have a boyfriend. We're serious, he stays the night almost every night. I'm not interested." A small lie, laced with truth, you did have a man who stays the night. Your Ghost. You needed him to know you weren't alone at night.

There was a warning light in your brain that was starting to predict something. Something was coming. How does the quote go? 'By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.'

Something was coming, something you were not sure how to stop. You were in terrible danger, you could feel it in the way his hands defiled you with their touch. Scorching and burning with how atrocious it was.

"That's alright, I just want to spend time with you. Nothing serious." Everyday he grew more bold. A predator closing in on their prey.

You were not going to be a boiled frog, you knew when this started, and you know the temperature is rising to dangerous peaks.

How many girls has he done this to?

How many.

"I don't think my boyfriend would like that, he's protective." Joining the others waiting on the elevator you watched the floor indicator, nearly holding your breath waiting for it to reach ground level.

"Protective? I'm no danger." Leaning in closer he whispered in your ear, careful now that you were surrounded by people. No witnesses. No one else could hear his persistence, it might one day arise suspicion.

"I like to spend time with him when I'm off work. I'm a busy person." You took a breath as the elevator doors opened, stepping inside with everyone else.

"We'll talk more about this later. I just want to get to know the next employee of the month better." His voice was sickeningly charming, his words derailing your train of thought.

"What?" You hadn't heard anything about that, you weren't even super important in your department. He was baiting you with reward. Setting himself up as innocent, someone who was rooting for you. A devastated work friend when he hears of your inevitable disappearance.

He played this game too well.

How many girls came before?

How many times has he gotten away with this?

"I pulled some strings, got you some well earned recognition. We need to celebrate it." His smile was all teeth, unnatural. It was a threat.

You really couldn't tell anyone about this now, not after he's painted himself as the good guy. Just trying to get employee's recognition. You'd sound like an ungrateful asshole. No one would listen.

No one would listen.

"Today, we will celebrate today." It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

Whatever he was planning, whatever he was going to do to you, he was going to do it today. Nothing was going to stop him or get in his way. He was coming for you, going for the throat.

You worked in paranoia and unease, took an early lunch just to avoid any possibility of running into him and completely left the building, went to a very public place for lunch. Didn't even pay attention to what you ordered, not even sure you paid before walking away. You got your food though, so someone paid.

In your panicked state you were struggling to pay any attention to the people around you, only looking for one person in the crowds of people. But he wasn't there. Brian wasn't there. Not that you could see.

Running into someone on your way to the door out of the restaurant you apologize, catching his eyes, they were brown. He was tall, well built. Dirty blonde. He oozed an energy that settled you, like your body knew him. Of course it didn't, you'd never seen this man in your life. There was just something about him.

"No worries, love." You couldn't shake your feeling of deja vu hearing his voice. "Keep your head on straight, no ones goin' to get you."

What an odd thing to say to a stranger.

"Um, thanks." You didn't know what else to say. How else to respond. You stand in front of him a moment more, awkwardly looking at him. There was just something about him you couldn't place.

Checking the time you turned to walk away, you were going over your thirty minute lunch break. You needed to get back to work. Even if you'd rather have your eyes gouged out than have the possibility to run into Brian ever again.

You were jumpy the rest of the work day, hypervigilant to everything around you. It wasn't atypical for Brian to interrupt your work, but he didn't come to bother you today.

You tried to leave work early to avoid him, but he was already waiting for you when you reached the main floor.

"I missed you at lunch today." There was something sinister in his eyes, something that didn't match his tone of forced pleasantry. "No matter. We'll go to that new pub tonight. We can meet there or I will pick you up." It was a threat, a subtle way to make sure you knew he knew where you lived. That he would come for you if you tried to skip out on him.

You'd rather he come to your house. Maybe your faithful watchdog would step in, maybe he'd help you. Maybe he'd stop him. Protect what's his.

If not, you'd rather have whatever's going to happen, happen somewhere you know. Somewhere you've once felt safe. You'd rather die surrounded by your memories than wherever he'd take you, somewhere probably cold and unfeeling.

"Okay." You had nothing else to say, rejection wouldn't work. This wasn't ever going to be a date, this was always going to be an assault.

You were scared. A cornered animal with no way out. Despite your best efforts the water was starting to boil, and you had let it happen.

Getting home didn't calm your nerves, it almost made them worse. Waiting for the arrival of the beast, waiting to be devoured, bones and all.

Is this how the spring lambs feel? Screaming as they go down the line to the slaughter. All just to satisfy a man's hunger.

Is that all women are good for? Satisfying men's hunger, lust, need for violence. Has it always been this way? Women are fucked and murdered. Will they ask what you were wearing? Blame the victim like they always do.

Like they always do.

Maybe this would have eventually happened with your Ghost too, maybe this was just how the world works. Maybe men just have that right.

It was inevitable, unpreventable.

It was late when the knock finally came, the sun long gone. There was nothing, no one who would shine a light on what was about to happen. Only the women with their podcasts will ever wonder what really happened to you. What led to this.

Making eye contact with your front door only death stared back. Wicked wasn't coming. Wicked was here upon you, waiting for you to open the door for it to come in and take you.

The knock came again, like the toll of a bell. Ringing through your ears like a sick mantra. There was no way out of this. There was nothing you could do.

Your feet shuffled towards the door, it was like walking down death row.

The bell tolls for you.

There was a hope inside of you that you'd open the door to your Ghost, that he's come to save you. That you could let in your stalker rather than your murderer.

Grasping your doorknob felt like grabbing red hot metal, scorching and branding your skin, the last thing that would probably ever have your full set of fingerprints.

You wondered if you'd fight, if you'd fight to survive or if you'd let him kill you.

It's a strange feeling, coming face to face with your mortality.

Slowly you twisted the doorknob, letting the devil in.

"I knew you'd let me in." The door was pushed open, pushing you back, removing your last barrier. Bringing you face to face with Brian. "A whore like you was probably just waiting for a guy like me to come along. You wanted this. Didn't you? You want me to ravage you, don't you? So needy."

He was clutching his stomach, he was bleeding. He'd been stabbed.

You couldn't make sense of it. Was it your Ghost? Where was he now? Was he dead? Did he try to stop this?

Brian reached for you, making you stumble back, out of his grasp.

"Don't." Your feet wouldn't take you farther, they wouldn't let you run away. They'd take you right where he couldn't reach you, but they wouldn't let you get away.

Maybe you did want this. Maybe every girl wanted this. Maybe that's why men thought it was okay.

"Come on, don't be like that. I know I kept you waiting but I got held up." He took a step closer, stalking towards you. "You'll look so good with the others."

No.

You didn't want this. You never wanted this. No one ever wanted this.

This wasn't right.

He didn't have the right.

Your mind was flittering, it was hard to make it work, hard to force yourself to stay present. It's always been hard to make it work in situations like this, it hurts less when you just let yourself get hurt. But you didn't want to be hurt anymore.

"Don't touch me." You took another step back, he was blocking the front door, but you could get out the back. Maybe someone will help you, maybe your neighbors will let you in.

"Come on, you knew it'd always come to this. I'm taking you home." You should have done more, should have opened the door with a knife. Should have been ready for him.

"No. You're not." Turning you ran, struggling with the backdoor for a moment in your adrenaline and panic, but you got it open. Slipping out you held down a scream, it wouldn't help you right now to lose your mind screaming. You needed to get away.

You didn't get far before he was on you.

Hands pushed you down to the ground, flipping you on your back, his hands found purchase on your neck, pulling you up before bashing you down, knocking the wind out of you. "A pretty doll like you would be better stuffed, skin perfectly preserved and taxidermied. Of course it would be better if I could have killed you without leaving damage, your bastard friend made sure that couldn't be a possibility. He got his, and you'll get yours."

Hands squeezed at your throat, the pressure in your head overwhelming, your eyes felt like they were going to pop out of your skull. Maybe that would help with the pressure.

"I'll separate your head from your body, that will take care of these marks. I'll figure something out for the rest of the damage. But don't worry, I'll turn you into a work of art. You'll be the prettiest out of them all."

Wrestling with your panicking body he slotted himself between your legs to continue to choke you, pressing uncomfortably into you. A promise of what would come once you stopped moving.

You were going to die. He was going to kill you.

You were going to die.

Your hands desperately reached out, searching. Searching for anything that could help you. This couldn't be it, he couldn't do this. You couldn't die.

Finding a large rock you took hold of it with all your might, bashing it against his head, making him fall limp on top of you, blood from his head soaking into your hair, his face partially on yours.

His open mouth wreaked of Benson & Hedges cigarettes and tooth rot, saliva leaking onto your cheek. Pushing with all your might you shoved him off, adrenaline didn't allow for your hand to relax enough to drop your rock, the veins in your arms rising to the surface.

When his face scrunched and his body twitched you could hear a scream. Was that you? You didn't know anymore. Your body moved without prompt, bashing him again. And again, and again.

You hardly flinched as the blood peppered your skin, drops of crimson spraying your face. You bashed to the symphony of bones cracking, it was the only thing you could hear, the only thing filling your ears, and yet you continued, bashing until the rock in your hands was hard to hold, slippery and covered in red and grey matter.

You bashed until you felt the rock connect with the damp grass through where his face once was, nothing recognizable left of his head, nothing but the skull fragments and brain matter. Everything else was unidentifiable.

Horror and shock filled you at the sight, he wasn't dead was he? He couldn't be. He can't be dead. He wasn't a person who was dead, so he couldn't be dead.

Desperately you felt for a pulse on his neck. You didn't find one. As a last ditch effort you checked the hole of his stab wound in his stomach. It was warm. He was still warm.

He was okay. He was alright. Dead people aren't warm.

But that warmth meant he wasn't done, he wasn't done killing you, he hadn't succeeded yet. The thought made you scream. He wasn't done with you.

He hadn't succeeded yet, and he was supposed to succeed, that was his goal wasn't it? He couldn't fail. You couldn't have stopped him, you weren't capable of that. You were just a girl. You didn't have that right.

You needed more of his warmth, needed it coating you. Needed him to finish his task. His warmth was proof he would.

Searching for more you pressed your fingers inside, warmth squishing around your fingers, it felt good. Familiar almost. A familiar squelch.

It was what you needed. More. More. More.

Wriggling your fingers inside you tested the limits of the wound, it wouldn't stretch farther, you couldn't get to more of his warmth.

But you needed more.

Getting fingers in from both hands you searched for grip through the unending amounts of red liquid around your hands.

Finding it you pulled, tearing it apart, the feeling of ripping flesh a rewarding feeling.

You were getting more, getting to the warmth.

Your digits were digging now, puncturing into his gut, ripping and tearing, pulling out viscera and entrails. Blood perfectly coated the scene, coated you, painting an elegant picture in rouge, and most importantly, warmth.

There was a need, a desire, this couldn't be over yet, he couldn't be done yet. He wasn't done yet. You weren't dead yet, so he wasn't done.

Something pulled tight around your neck, a scarf of the small intestine, wrapping, suffocating. Pulled this tight it almost felt like his hands lovingly around your neck once more, crushing your windpipe. This was that beautiful feeling you were looking for, this was what you needed.

He wasn't done, he hadn't finished yet. You weren't dead yet, but now he could finish, now his slick warmth could finish the job.

Pulling tighter on the two ends of the thin warm viscera that same pressure in your skull was building again, a fuzziness in your vision. You couldn't breathe. It was perfect.

You needed more.

Pulling harder the scarf tightened, it wasn't enough yet, you needed to pull tighter, harder.

With the grotesque sound of tearing the pressure around your neck was gone. Air now filling your lungs in gasps, a burning feeling accompanying each inhale.

Looking down you were still holding the intestine, now in two pieces, the fluids from inside of it making your skin irritated and itchy.

He'd failed. Again.

Hearing a sound from behind you didn't startle you, turning your head your eyes met the hollow eyes of your Ghost, the white of his skull balaclava nearly glowing in the dark. "I broke him." You mumbled, disappointed, presenting the two ends of his guts to him. "You would have finished the job, right? You wouldn't have broke?"

"Of course, love." Crouching beside you he wiped the blood on your check. "I wouldn't break on you like 'e did."

"He wasn't done. He was supposed to kill me. And now he's just a mess. A useless mess. And I'm covered in him." Tears fell from your eyes, your voice whining out of your sore throat.

"Don't cry, you're perfect." Your Ghost pulled the intestine from your hands, letting it fall onto the heap of Brian's unidentifiable carcass. "Come on now, let's get you cleaned up."

The feeling of his arms slipping around your back and under your knees wasn't repulsive like it was when Brian would touch you, your Ghost's touch wasn't nauseating.

Hoisting you up your Ghost carried you away from the scene. "But what about the mess here?"

"I've called people who will come take care of it, I 'ave connections. The police will get involved, 'is victims families deserve to know what 'appened to them. But nothin' bad will happen to you. You'll be just fine. I'll make sure of it. I'm takin' care of you now, love. There's nothin' to worry about." His voice was soothing, the nose of his skull balaclava pressing against your temple. "I've got you now."

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vampyrsm · 2 days

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‣‣ COR UNUM: CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO | HOMUSUBI

‣‣ Synopsis: Our tale continues deep in a village that's rife with cursed spirits, a Lord that cares not for his people and a battle of the tongue and wits. And in the dead of night, something comes prowling.

‣‣ Main Masterlist | AO3 ‣‣ Pairing: Sukuna x Reader ‣‣ Word Count: est. 10k ‣‣ Warnings: Blank blogs & Minors DNI. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Set in the Early-Heian Period, trueform!Sukuna, female reader, violence, blood, cannibalism references, dead bodies, murder, cursed spirits, death, suggestive.

“I thought you didn’t care for the titles these mortal men brandish themselves with.” Kenjaku comments to your side, her eyes are sharp as always and the smile she levels you with is cruel—but not towards you, you’d be willing to say that perhaps Kenjaku had started to take a shine to you after your display in the throne room.

“I don’t.” You admit, adjusting the kimono on your body before turning to glance at the woman next to you. “I cared for it once. But now, I see it as a weapon. The people—they’re scared of Sukuna, and the rest of us. If we’re to be in a place of power, even without approval…”

“You’d win back control from the Emperor, disarming him effectively.” Kenjaku finishes for you, a look in her eye you can’t quite distinguish as she curls a perfect finger against her chin for a moment.

“Exactly. If we can amass enough, we can push back—we can dethrone him, and then Japan is ours.”

“Ours?” Kenjaku smiles then, the crow's feet at her eyes displaying an age that’s unfitting for the youthfulness of her skin. “You wish to share Japan with me as well?”

“I don’t see why not. You’ve helped me, albeit in a questionable manner…” You trail off, much to the amusement of Kenjaku as she offers you a very rare laugh; one that sounds genuine for once. “Besides, your strength can’t be ignored. I won’t ignore it.”

Kenjaku quietens at that, her eyes once again shifted to look down the path leading to the burnt-out village before her eyes close in half-moons, and her smile grows when her head bows in gratitude. “I thank you for being so open-minded. Not many would offer such a bountiful reward to someone like me.”

You can only bow your head in return, a small smile of your own making its way onto your face. It was odd, the relationship that had formed between yourself and Kenjaku. You would’ve never seen it coming, not with how you first interacted with her and the following times after that. You had assumed she wanted you dead, or better yet, displayed as a pet to be poked and prodded when she felt like it.

But something shifted, something clicked into place following your return. Perhaps it was the fact she had heard of the things you endured, had seen the after-effects of it upon your arrival back at the temple. And then, without a doubt, you had sealed your newly formed friendship with the black-haired woman when you slit the throat of Yorozu.

You smile fondly at that. The meal had been exquisite.

“Master Sukuna will be here soon.” Uraume seems to appear from nowhere at your other side, the mostly silent monk regards you for a quick second before that steely gaze is shifted to Kenjaku—who is no doubt grinning from ear to ear at the sight of Uraume.

“I know.” You reply, effectively dragging Uraume’s gaze back to you… and you almost think you see an embarrassed tint on their face at the admission that you know exactly where Sukuna is. After all, you’re bonded to him. “But thank you, Uraume.”

Uraume remains silent, bowing their head before taking a step away to return back to the temple.

“Uraume won’t be joining us?” Kenjaku comments, looking over her shoulder to watch as Uraume shoves the large doors closed.

“No. Sukuna wanted them to stay here, just in case.”

Kenjaku hums a noise of understanding, tucking her hands into the long sleeves of her kimono to fight off the cold.

“How has Masato been?” Your question has Kenjaku visibly perking up, a fox-like gleam in her eye.

“Oh, wonderful. Masato is an… interesting curse, to say the least. She’s been learning quickly.” Kenjaku’s lips upturn quickly into a sly smirk. “She made quick work of a village not too far from here. Her cursed technique is something to behold.”

“She already figured it out?” You shouldn’t sound so surprised. You knew from research in Sukuna’s private library that cursed spirits were known to adapt much more quickly than humans, both in healing and their power. They grew stronger every second they were ‘alive’.

“Oh, yes. I think with time she’ll blossom into quite the formidable cursed spirit.”

“I see.” You mull over what Kenjaku had told you. You hadn’t seen Masato in over a week at this point, Kenjaku had kept her busy—killing people, apparently, in an effort to discover the spirits technique. There’s an odd sensation that settles in your chest, something like pride you realise when it warms your heart. It’s odd, strange even, that you feel pride for the development of a cursed spirit.

One you had created.

You still hadn’t revealed to anyone that little detail, it seemed insignificant at this point. Sukuna wouldn’t have anything to say about it, perhaps an off-handed comment about how maybe Masato would actually be a worthwhile curse to keep around. Kenjaku would no doubt be intrigued by it, her morbid fascination with the curse was already something to be concerned about.

“Have you made the preparations?” It’s Sukuna’s voice that has you snapping out of your thoughts, turning immediately to face the man in question. He’s dressed, which should be a normal occurrence for most men but it was odd for Sukuna. He’s draped in a thick kimono and a haori atop of that, it hides his arms well enough, two of them are crossed beneath the material whilst the others are at his sides.

“Of course.” Kenjaku bows her head slightly when Sukuna glances at her. “We were waiting for you.”

Naturally, Sukuna finds himself at your side. His warmth is all-encompassing even through the multitude of layers he draped himself in, and it only seeps further through your own clothing when he lays a hand against the middle of your back in silent greeting. He only holds a small smirk when you lean into his hand, eyes still set on Kenjaku.

“Preparations?” You question, drawing Sukuna’s attention down to you entirely.

“Kenjaku never informed you on what her cursed technique is?” His grin grows at your clueless expression, an expression fit for a cat who got the cream. “Instantaneous movement.”

The reveal has you turning abruptly to face Kenjaku, who now takes the crown for the most smug person in the vicinity. Her eyes are practically glowing with mirth at the fact you didn’t quite pick up on her cursed technique yet, her lips curled into a feline smile.

“Truly?”

“Of course. It’s not quite as flashy as Sugawara—but it does the same, in the end.” Kenjaku bows her head slightly, that smile on her face growing cold at the mention of Sugawara. Even in his exile, he still bothered the woman.

“Kenjaku will be the one taking us all to Takayama.” Sukuna comments whilst looping a hand around your waist and shoving you into his front, his arms securing you in place. It almost has a bubble of panic popping in your stomach, instantaneous movement—it shouldn’t even be a thing humans could do. It was rare, nigh impossible. It’d been documented that many could move fast, but it was never on a level where it was considered instant.

“Shall we?” Kenjaku asks with a tilt of her head, adjusting the sleeves of her silk kimono to reveal the slender pale arms beneath. Her eyes drift from you and up to Sukuna, awaiting his permission. It comes in the form of a nod, and the hands wrapped around you grip tightly onto the material of your kimono—grounding you, tethering him to you. Just in case.

Kenjaku brings her hands up in front of her, the tips of her fingers brushing together delicately before her palms came together in what would look like a regular prayer—you can feel the shift in the air, the untethering of her cursed energy and how it warps suddenly around you. Then, with an abrupt twist of her hands, you feel nothing but immense pressure.

It clamps at your lungs and squeezes at your very bones until they threaten to shatter and turn into dust. Instinctively you lean further into Sukuna, who for the most part seems unaffected by the intense change in pressure. You watch the world shift and blur, the snowy white mountain tops spread upwards as if they were painted on parchment paper only to be ruined by water.

As quickly as it started, it’s over. You find yourself in the middle of a path surrounded by tall Gingko trees, their leaves a vibrant green which means they would turn into a beautiful gold in the Autumn—a sight you often loved as a child. The air is no longer bitter, instead, you’re bathed in the welcoming warmth of an early spring. Sukuna remains to your side, his grip loosening on you as he takes in a deep breath of the country air.

There’s no doubt that you were somewhere south, somewhere warmer and somewhere more… populated. Instinctively, your nose scrunches.

“It stinks.” You comment absentmindedly, pressing the sleeve of your kimono to your nose. The action is enough to draw a laugh from Sukuna, a deep chuckle that he only ever awarded you with. You take the chance to glance down along the path, the village just a mere hundred steps away and you can spy the bustling steps of villagers just beyond.

“Hida has always been under the rule of some uncaring Lord.” Kenjaku comments, a grim smile on her otherwise unwrinkled face. “He does not care for his people, as they are mostly non-sorcerers.”

Non-sorcerers, regular humans, forced to live in squalor because their Lord saw them as lesser than. The revelation doesn’t surprise you, not with what you have learned about the people who control the country in the past few months. But it does anger you, it angers you that the Lord of the Hida province thinks himself above non-sorcerers.

“I see.”

Kenjaku offers you a glance before she proceeds to walk towards the village, placing herself before both you and Sukuna as a sign that she is your official retainer. Immediately, you begin to follow after her once Sukuna has begun to stride forward. His arms remained hidden beneath his kimono, and you find it odd. You knew Sukuna had his hand in the politics of the world but you didn’t see him as someone who would listen to them; without a doubt, you knew he was hiding his secondary arms so he wouldn’t cause an uproar in the village.

“Stare any longer and I’m going to assume you’re regretting your decision to join me.”

“I didn’t have much of a decision.” You reply haughtily, earning you a sharp side glare from Sukuna. “In fact, you were the one who demanded I come with you.”

With a suck on his teeth, Sukuna returns his gaze forward before a smirk grows on his face. “Watch how you wag that tongue of yours in front of these aristocrats, they will pounce at the fact you’re so… untrained.”

His words draw a laugh out of you, earning a smile from Sukuna at the sound of it. You don’t offer your rebuttal however, you know Sukuna is right. You grew up around aristocrats of the highest calibre, people who aligned themselves with the Shogun — they were judgemental, uptight in their rules and beliefs.

They’d rip you apart if they caught even a whiff of your unconventional relationship with Sukuna.

Before you know it, the village was upon you as were the hundreds of eyes turned in your direction. It proves impossible to not bristle beneath the attention, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. You can feel their gazes tear you open, pry apart your bones and muscles to peer at the darkness that swells in your chest.

But their gaze shifts quickly from you and to Sukuna, who seems completely unphased by the numerous whispers and wandering eyes. His eyes remain half-lidded, lips in a flat line and arms loose at his sides—utterly relaxed, and unthreatened. A King.

A sharp whistle catches your attention, turning your gaze forward to see a small group of samurai atop horses approaching. The flags of their Lord waving proudly with each bounding step of the horse beneath them. Again, you tense, an automatic response to the glint of their sheathed weapons and the hardened expression of warriors.

Kenjaku draws you all to a standstill, her hands joined together beneath her kimono and you notice how she slips so easily into the role of a woman; demure and willing to bend under the heavy gaze of the Samurai once they’re within range.

The head of the group drops from his horse, his heavy boots sinking into the muddy path before he begins to make his way over. Kenjaku bows automatically at the waist, raising again once the Samurai stops before you all. His eyes are dark, no doubt a well-seasoned warrior who had shed his fair share of blood in the name of his Lord. His eyes scan over Kenjaku, before quickly darting towards Sukuna—then you see fear; genuine human fear.

You could smell his cursed energy before he even arrived, but now in the presence of Sukuna, it spikes. Yet, Sukuna doesn’t mention the effect he has on the man before him, instead keeping his indifferent gaze directed forward. But then those dark eyes dart to you, and they remain locked onto you. That fear you had seen is quickly replaced with something much worse; contempt.

“Lady Zen’in.” The Samurai greets with distaste, earning him the attention of Sukuna who finally drops his eyes down to the man. “They said you were dead.”

“They were wrong.” You have to fight the urge to bare your teeth, instead offering a disarming smile that you were trained to offer men who served as Samurai.

His gaze doesn’t shift from the contempt he holds for you, only shifting it towards Kenjaku who clears her throat to gain his attention once again.

“I assume you’re here to escort my Lord and Lady to their temporary housing.” Kenjaku too morphs her voice into that of a woman trained in the arts of submission. “The Festival isn’t due to start until the evening, and we’d quite like to freshen up.”

The Samurai keeps his lips in a tight thin line, no doubt fighting the urge to refuse to allow you any further into the village he was ordered to protect from men like Sukuna. But he loses out to his fear, crumbling beneath the weight of it as he abruptly turns on his heel to march his way back towards his horse. The men who were with him exchange concerned looks with each other, no doubt they too were under the impression that you were long dead and Sukuna wasn’t actually going to show up to the village.

With the Samurai situated back on the saddle of the horse, he spares one glance over his shoulder at your small group whilst manoeuvring his horse. “This way.”

You have no choice but to follow after the men on horseback, and it draws you back to when you were a child and paraded through the streets of your village by your father. The Shogun’s Daughter—a prized jewel, a rare gem that would no doubt produce heirs fit to take the mantle of Shogun one day. You remember the palanquin you were forced to sit in, cramped with nothing but slats to view the outside world.

You remember the faces of those who you’d pass by, all bowing their heads in respect. It filled you with an odd sense of unease as a child, placed on a pedestal so early on. But now, as you walk through the streets with Sukuna at your side… you feel a different emotion when the people you pass by drop to their knees out of fear.

Their heads bowed, and fingers sinking into the mud. Their baskets of rice and other vegetables are scattered, forgotten—all because of you. It made the truth of your newfound strength sink in, to see people cowering in fear of disrespecting either yourself or Sukuna.

“Maggots.” Sukuna grunts, finally vocalising his distaste for the situation. It draws a few surrounding gasps, children hiding in the shadows at the deep rich timbre of his voice. “They squirm like maggots. It’s disgusting.”

You can’t find yourself capable of disagreeing—he’s right. They do squirm like maggots, nothing but insects that were destined to be crushed beneath the boot of someone stronger than them.

Kenjaku doesn’t glance back, but you hear her snickering laugh hidden beneath the sleeve of her kimono. You cast your eyes away from Sukuna, opting to not reply to his observation and instead observe for yourself. Past the people of the village, you can see that there were curses everywhere. They clung to the backs of the elderly, they waited in the shadows where the children would seek refuge from the blaring sun.

Their faces are elongated or shrunken, disfigured and distasteful. Your eyebrows draw together however, this number of curses felt unnatural. There were too many compared to the number of humans you could count, it was as if—

“They’re hoarding curses. Why?” You turn your attention back to Sukuna quickly, and his eyes finally meet your own. His own expression is one of suspicion; he notices too how odd it is. “What is the Lord doing with all these cursed spirits?”

Sukuna parts his lips to reply but Kenjaku whips her head around, strands of black hair sticking to her face and you almost want to jump out of your skin at the severe look on her face.

“Not here, wait until we’re in private.” She hisses before turning her attention forward in time to smile at the Samurai who turns back to glance at her.

Sukuna huffs, an amused sound that has you glancing up at him from the corner of your eye. “Her audacity is almost worse than your own. I see why she insisted on being your Kashin.”

“Not yours?” You raise an eyebrow, you would have assumed by default that Sukuna would be the one represented by a house retainer.

“Uraume usually does the job, Kenjaku only agreed to come with us if she could be by your side.” Sukuna explains flatly, his disinterest in his surroundings bleeding into his voice.

You’re honestly surprised by the admission of Kenjaku wanting to be at your side—but mostly, you’re on edge. It sends your stomach into knots and your skin prickles with gooseflesh. Kenjaku was a one-woman army, she had no need nor desire to be at the side of anyone. So why you? What did she plan on achieving in the village by being your retainer?

You don’t doubt that Kenjaku can hear the conversation just behind her, yet she doesn’t turn around to confirm or deny the fact she wanted to be at your side for the entirety of the festival. Sukuna also doesn’t seem to notice the apprehension mounting within you, his face falling back into that of boredom once the conversation has ended.

Kenjaku worries you. Even if you consider her somewhat of a friend, she was strong—powerful in the sense that you can feel your blood chill in her very presence. Something about her wasn’t quite right.

“Here.” The Samurai mounted comments, bringing his small group to a stop to gesture towards a gated house. It’s larger than the others, higher up in the village and noticeably away from the villagers. You can’t sense a speck of cursed energy that would ooze from a cursed spirit.

Your gaze darts across the tall wooden fence, high enough to even tower over Sukuna in height. The gates are suddenly pulled open, and two women with their heads immediately bowed and shuffled out of the way to allow entry. Sukuna pays them no mind as he passes by, even when they flinch at his proximity. But it’s Kenjaku who speaks up about their presence.

“We won’t be needing any servants.” Her words are directed up to the Samurai still seated in his saddle, a frown forming on his lips—he wanted these women to stay. “My Lord demands it.”

At that, the Samurai has a split second of anger on his face before it’s washed away. A tilt of his head has the two women scurrying out and away from the house, giving you the chance to enter and view the impressive garden—without the prying eyes of two women who would most likely be dead by the end of the night for failing their Lord’s task unintentionally.

The Karesansui is beautiful. Sand neatly parted in delicate waves, curving around grand rocks and the large aged tree in the centre. It hangs its heavy branches over the pathway, and you have to push down the urge to grin at the sight of Sukuna ducking down with an arm batting away a branch.

You take the time to walk along the large smooth-stone path, eyes grazing over the dry garden. You hadn’t seen one so beautifully made since you lived with your father. Your late husband didn’t care for such artistry, didn’t believe in the tranquillity such a beautiful garden could bring to one's soul. The reminder of your life before tastes bitter in the back of your throat, but it no longer makes your chest swell in agony.

Instead, you find yourself at peace with the fact you are in a different place in life now. Your mind had warped and changed forever, your body had endured trauma that would’ve killed any other woman—you were living a much better life now, untethered and unbound… and at the side of a man who empowered you.

That old pain that had once swelled in your chest is replaced with a foreign emotion; love. You feel love as you gaze at the back of Sukuna’s head, his body positioned just at the entrance of a house much too small to house him. He looked out of place and yet he looked like he owned the place.

Sensing your gaze, Sukuna glances over his shoulder at you. His eyes are smouldering, always a look that could kill a man, yet it softens the second he meets your gaze—a minute change, but you see it regardless. And so, you smile for him. A smile you know that makes his own lips offer one in return, a smile you know that makes his skin warm and that softness in his eye doubles.

“Come, we should prepare for the evening.” Kenjaku speaks from your side, effectively drawing your attention away from Sukuna. Her own eyes are directed towards Sukuna before she turns them towards you, and that malice you had seen in her eyes all those months ago is nowhere to be seen. So you nod and allow her to lead you into the house.

...

It isn’t until a few hours later that you’re sitting on the edge of the engawa, looking out at the peaceful garden before you. You had since bathed, much to the chagrin of Sukuna who had wanted to originally join you—except, with it being an indoor bath, it was far too small for the both of you. You have to stifle the urge to snicker to yourself at the childish pout resting on the King of Curses' face.

“What’s amusing you now?” Sukuna grumbles from behind you, his feet heavy and loud on the tatami mats. Maybe you didn’t stifle that urge well enough.

“Nothing,” you offer over your shoulder with a smile, and Sukuna observes you for a second before making his way over. He plants himself on the engawa next to you, legs crossed. His upper set of arms lean back to prop his body up, and the other set crosses loosely over his chest.

He had changed his attire since arrival, and the lonesome bath he was forced to take. Instead of hiding his arms, he’s draped in a thick black haori over the bareness of his chest with a loose pair of white hakama pants around his waist. You can’t deny that he looks quite beautiful in all his natural glory. You had changed too — only because Kenjaku had insisted on it.

It was a statement piece, to say the least. How Kenjaku had got her hands on so much material you’ll never know. But after the two hours of stuffing you into them, you can’t deny that wearing a Jūnihitoe made you feel like royalty. In your years serving at your father's side, you had only witnessed it once on the back of the Empress. It was something that only the highest of the social ranks could wear; a statement of your wealth and social status.

The colours you were draped in reflected the upcoming spring; whites, soft pinks, greens, reds and lilacs—all rather contrasting and yet it worked. Kenjaku had mentioned that there were a total of ten layers, all of which were fanned out around you in a delicate display.

You can feel Sukuna glancing at you, how his eyes drag along the various layers of clothing and taking in each colour.

“This is how I imagined you to look when I caught wind of your existence.” He breaks the silence, and you turn to glance at him. His eyes are resting on the necklace buried beneath just a few layers—it was a surprise gift from Kenjaku, she had pulled it from a box and presented it to you. It was a unique gift; for it was Yorozu’s teeth all strung together.

“Draped in silk and waiting on my knees for my husband?” That draws an amused noise from Sukuna, his body shifting until a hand is reaching up to stroke the silk between two fingers.

“No. Regal. I thought the Shogun’s daughter would be a princess.” He continues on his path of stroking the material of one of the outer uwagi. “Instead, she was a sword-wielding neophyte Samurai.”

Your distaste for his words must show on your face because immediately he laughs, the hand skirting across your clothing comes up to cup your cheek before you can turn away. His amusement only grows when you try to jerk your head out of his hand.

“So sensitive. Do you worry about the festival?”

Were you worried about the festival?... Perhaps. It wasn’t the same anxiety you had as a young girl when you were made to attend similar events, instead, there’s something that pools at the pit of your stomach in anticipation. Something about the entire village felt off from the moment you got there—the number of cursed spirits that roamed freely, attached to all the non-sorcerers who couldn’t even see them…

It made you anxious; flighty.

“No. I don’t like the village.” You turn away when Sukuna drops his hand from your face at your words. “Something is waiting in the shadows, I can feel it.”

“A threat?” Sukuna prods, but the tone of his voice indicates enough to you that this ‘threat’ is nonexistent in his eyes.

“I don’t know. Something isn’t right, Sukuna.” You turn to face him once again, and it’s almost startling how stony his face looks—but he’s easy to read, you can tell he’s thinking more about your words, considering if there truly was a threat to either you or himself.

“The Lord wouldn’t dare to make a move with the both of us here, and he’s unaware of Kenjaku. They’d be making a grave mistake to strike out against any of us after offering us an invitation.” Sukuna attempts to soothe your mind, but it doesn’t work as he intended. Instead, it only serves to rile up your anxiety further.

“Or that would be the best time to do it. Outside of our home, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by his men—and all those curses. Does he control them?” Your words tumble from your lips before you can reign them in, you’ve never felt this unnerved—not even at the revelation of your father never truly dying.

A hand comes to the back of your neck, sharpened nails digging into your flesh enough to jerk you out of the circle of thoughts racing around your head. Sukuna moves you closer, close enough that you can smell the lavender on his skin and feel the warmth of his breath. He holds you close enough to press his forehead to your own; something you’ve come to realise is his way of ‘connecting’ with you.

“Enough, woman. You’re going to work yourself up into hysterics. The Lord may be a fool but he’s not a suicidal maniac, he knows he will lose if he tests us.” His words, whilst harsh in reality, are softly spoken. Whispered against your face until you’re forced to take a breath, to breathe in his words and let them settle against that pit of dread in your chest.

“—Fine.” You sigh back, shoulders sagging and Sukuna takes advantage of your moment of docility by drawing you in closer. One of his arms remains propped up behind you as a support, and the other drags you closer by the shoulders until you’re sitting side-by-side. “But at the first sign of his foolishness. The village burns.”

You can practically feel Sukuna’s chest puff with pride with the breath he draws in, no doubt if you were to look up you’d see quite the smug grin on his face. “As you wish.”

It’s silent for a beat, just the sound of the distant village. Sukuna seems unbothered when you lean more of your weight onto him, allowing your neck a moment of rest against his shoulder. If you close your eyes and focus just enough, you’ll be able to pick apart your surroundings and pinpoint Kenjaku. She hadn’t left the estate but she was somewhere deep in the house, her cursed energy muted.

“What are we to do at the festival? My father always made me sit behind a partition whenever he attended.” You almost scowl at the thought of that ridiculous green misu you had been forced to sit behind for the entirety of the festival, forbidden from speaking a word to even your own servant.

Sukuna grunts disapprovingly at the mention of your father. “You won’t be sitting behind a screen this time, you’ll be at my side. We sit, we eat and we receive their gifts. Our presence is the blessing they seek.”

The thought of eating and being waited on just for the sake of it is very appealing—perhaps that’s the real reason why Sukuna had accepted the invite, not because he wanted you to make a message but because he wanted to be waited on hand and foot.

“I’m surprised you agreed to eat anything non-human.”

“Who said it won’t be?” Sukuna retorts easily enough, earning him a quick turn of your head to gauge if he’s serious or not. Instead, he laughs. “I’m joking. They declined that part of the offer.”

“You seriously asked?” and again, he laughs.

“Sometimes they’re so desperate for me to not attack that they offer me women to eat. It’ll be the prettiest they can offer, as if beauty could stop me from eating.” He shrugs with his words, a smile on his face.

Surprisingly, you’re not shocked by his words. In fact, you’re inclined to believe them entirely. Sukuna was a force to be reckoned with, no one had defeated him yet and likely no one ever will—sorcerers, Lords and civilians would do anything to make sure he didn’t come to their village looking for an excuse to burn it down to the ground. Maybe you would’ve been one of those women if you weren’t shackled to a man who had no interest in you besides your womb.

There are soft footsteps just behind you, and you glance over your shoulder to see Kenjaku entering the room. Her own clothes have changed, a completely black kimono that cinches tightly at her waist—her long hair has been cropped at the front by her ears, and the rest flows loosely down her back only to be tied midway down. She looked like a true beauty.

“It’s time.” She smiles down at you, offering a hand for you to take. Her skin is cold beneath yours, like touching a corpse that had been left out in the dead of winter. She shows no struggle with helping you stand, as you gather your many layers and fan them out behind you.

Sukuna huffs as he too stands to his full height, his shoulders rolling just slightly to ensure that his haori didn’t slip free from his shoulders. He steps out into the garden, the stones crunching beneath his bare feet before he turns to look at you—even with him being on a lower level, he still looks down at you. He offers you his hand in turn, non-discreetly glancing towards Kenjaku to force her to drop your hand and give you over to him—she does.

His hand in comparison is warm, a warmth you’ve come to seek in the cold nights and a warmth you seek even when bathed in the hottest waters. He draws you in effortlessly, aiding you from the step and down onto the pebbled floor. It’s almost impossible to ignore the way he looks at you, so different from the previous times. He’d often look at you with pride, or hunger, but mostly desire.

But this look in his eye. Dare you say it to be contented? A man who gazes upon the woman who just so happens to be the centre of his universe.

“Come, let us feast—” His lips shift into a knowing smirk, “—on whatever sorry animal they feed us tonight.”

...

The air is thick with several different spices, the meat they’re slathered on continues to sizzle above one of the open fires not too far from where you had been made to sit next to Sukuna. It was a raised platform, a dais that put you above the rest of the crowd. You could feel their eyes on you, feel the way they picked you apart for being the one who sat close enough to Sukuna that he could lean into your space to whisper.

All of them were working non-sorcerers, their hands scarred and faces still painted with the dirt from their working day. Kenjaku had been helpful enough to inform you on the way here that Takayama was a great working village, they brought in many precious metals and had an extensive forest. But even with all that, they were viewed as a ‘lesser than’ village—too far from the Emperor for him to care about their ability to bring in great resources, and cut off from other villages due to the mountains that surrounded Takayama.

“My Lord,” an elderly voice draws your attention away from the villagers, you glance down to the steps of the dais to see an old man and what you presume to be his wife—younger, but not by much. His eyes shift to you, and he bows again. “My Lady.”

“What is it you’ve brought?” Kenjaku comments from the side, sitting on her own cushion that she had demanded from one of the Samurai—an amusing affair to have witnessed. Her mouth is hidden by the paper fan that covers the lower half of her face—a tradition that you find tedious.

The elderly man shuffles a little to turn towards his wife, who is holding something wrapped in animal skin. Immediately your eyes are drawn to it, and Sukuna seems to show a minimal amount of interest when he shifts beside you to get a better view. The elder takes a step forward, careful to not step too close—he must’ve witnessed the death of that young man who attempted to climb the steps all the way.

“A gift for Lady Zen’in.” He bows his head, and you try not to focus too much on the fact they were well aware of your name. Perhaps that Samurai needed his tongue removed from his mouth—you’ll suggest it to Sukuna later.

The man before you carefully unravels the animal skin the gift was wrapped in, careful to not lay his hands on whatever was inside before offering it up to you. You blink a few times, leaning forward to get a better look at the object presented to you.

It’s a fan. A war fan.

Seeing your interest, the man continues. “It’s made up of the strongest metals of our village, and something that no other weapon in your arsenal will have.”

Your eyebrows raise in curiosity, but it’s Sukuna who speaks. “How did you get your hands on dragon scales?”

Dragon scales—your eyes dart down quickly to the fan, you can see them now. Delicately melded into the metal of the fan, jagged along the edge—if you were to run that across someone’s throat, they would die almost instantly. But dragon scales? Dragons were things of myth, of stories.

“A great white dragon lives within Mount Yake.” He points towards the large mountain range off in the distance, its white caps a stark contrast to the night sky. “It’s the reason why we suffer greatly from volcanic eruptions.”

Sukuna shifts beside you, and you can see him now staring off at the mountain range. So you take the chance to open your hands to the man before you, who visibly flinches at the movement, but you keep your palms open towards him. The elderly man places the fan delicately in your hands, with the skin still beneath it. It’s heavier than it looks, with a nice weight to it that tells you it was authentically made—and perhaps that dragon scales must be weightier than one would imagine.

You bring it back to your lap, gliding your fingers along the smooth edge of the handle. It’s bumped and ridged in a delicate swirled pattern, the fan itself made up of pure white metal with the dragon scales melded in. You take it in your palm, and flick out your wrist as you were shown as a child. It fans out quickly, a shuttering sound that has Sukuna finally drawing his attention back to you.

With a way to now cover your own mouth, you bring the fan to your face and meet the eyes of the elderly man. “I thank you for the gift, it’ll be a great asset.”

The elderly man bows quickly, his wife following in the gesture before taking a few steps back to remerge with the crowd.

“I had no idea dragons were real.” You say once there’s certainly no one around to hear you, you keep the fan to your face to shield your mouth.

“You never asked.” Sukuna shrugs, his hands otherwise occupied with a bottle of sake they had gifted him and slices of freshly caught fish. “But it’s rare that they could see it. Dragons are cursed spirits.”

“Perhaps he can see the curse that clings to his wife's back,” Kenjaku comments offhandedly, fanning her face delicately. “There’s too many of them here. It’s stifling.”

“I still don’t understand why the Lord is letting his village turn into this… breeding ground for cursed spirits.” You glance towards the village, each of them with their own curse that lingered close by—even ones that sat atop the roofs seemed to show an interest in the King of Curses, but didn’t dare take a step forward.

“Control.” Sukuna comments after wiping his mouth free of the sake that wet his lips. “He thinks he has more control if his people are suffering, they’re less likely to fight back like this.”

That alone has your upper lip curling in annoyance, the fan coming closer to your face to avoid the wandering eyes of those who pass by. It was a confusing feeling that sat deep in your gut, you felt nothing for the villagers who offered you food—you could see their reluctance in handing over their hard work to someone they viewed as a monster.

Yet the idea of one man trying to control the masses with their suffering, practically breeding these people with fear to create more and more curses until the inevitable happened. It was a surprise that anyone was still alive with just how many curses were crawling around, no doubt they had some base level of intelligence to know if they killed all the humans they’d be left with nothing.

“I don’t like it.” You mutter, eyes panning across the crowd once again and further down the long street that led up to where you and Sukuna had been stationed.

“It doesn’t matter if you like it or not, it’s none of your concern.” Sukuna gripes, shoving another slice of sashimi into his mouth with the chopsticks in one hand. You don’t miss the sideways glance from Kenjaku before she returns to the tea in front of her.

“It is if I’m to become Shogun.” You all but hiss and it’s Sukuna’s turn to side glance towards you, his eyes narrowing just slightly at the tone you took with him. Even after the months of being bonded to you, there was still some chafing that came with the power struggle between the two of you.

“Shogun?” A voice questions from the steps below, and it causes your spine to straighten immediately. It has your eyes darting to the numerous samurai stationed around, all of whom definitely heard the villager before you. It’s a younger man, not old enough to be stuck in the rice fields and without the traditional haircut given to those who are samurai.

You try not to notice the smirk growing on Sukuna’s face before he settles back on two of his hands, displaying his entire bare chest. He had been more open to showing himself off when he had settled down, a subtle display of power that he was above everyone else here. Including the Samurai and their Lord who no doubt would be getting reports of what was about to be said.

Carefully, you stand up and fan out the many layers of your kimonos behind you. It’s an instantaneous effect, all eyes are on you. You drop the fan from your face, and the whispers are silenced. They wait to see what you’re about to say, be it a sentence for their death or the announcement of your departure—the looks on their faces beg for the latter.

“Whilst it was something I would’ve liked to announce to your Lord first, it’s true.” Your heart hammers in your chest, even with the comfort of the man behind you, you can sense the unease growing rapidly. “The Emperor is a man who can no longer be trusted. He sentenced you all to death.”

“The Lord you bow to works for the Emperor, on a council where they’ve decided to kill you all for existing.” You continue when the whispers grow louder, the cursed spirits that stick to their backs growing agitated with the uptick in fear. “I’ll put an end to that.”

“By opening your legs as you did for that dem—” The murmurs are silenced immediately. Your hand remains out at your side, fingers pointed in the direction of the man who had opened his mouth. There’s a thump of knees to the floor, and then the rolling of a head.

Sukuna chuffs out a laugh, leaning forward once again in interest at the sudden turn of events. You can feel the turning of his cursed energy, how it spikes subtly as if he’s ready to pounce if someone else dared to raise a hand—or voice—in your direction.

“Does anyone else have anything to say?” You glance across the crowd, all of whom have immediately turned their gaze back towards you with a new look of fear. Non-sorcerers, all of them, and you beheaded a man without drawing a sword. Their silence continues to ring out, the cursed spirits too now look at you with renewed interest; a hunger.

When no one dares to speak another word, you return to your seat next to Sukuna who had turned his mirth-filled eyes back to you. The crowd seems to slowly disperse, no longer wanting to risk their heads. As for the cursed spirits, you notice they too seem to leave a wide berth after the display of the cursed energy that slumbered within.

“You scared them.” Kenjaku comments, but you can hear the smile on her face and her eyes curve upwards when she offers you a look over the top of her fan. “But I’m sure word has already gotten back to the Lord, he won’t be happy.”

“I’ve never cared for the happiness of men. Let him rot in his anger.” Your attention is drawn downwards to the large hand that had opened itself before you. Sukuna holds out a delicate cup that had no doubt been imported from China with the way it was decorated.

“Drink with me.” He doesn’t offer but rather demands it of you. Not that you’d deny him. You take the cup from his hand, so much larger in your own hand and the sake within is warm. “I think I’ve been too much of an influence on you.”

You glance at him over the rim of your cup, not overlooking the way his eyes drift down to your mouth to watch you lick away the remnants of the sake. “Oh?”

“You didn’t even give that man a chance to speak.” He grins, head tilting as he watches you—his pink hair flopping over slightly, dishevelled after a long day.

“He didn’t deserve his tongue.” You smile back before taking another sip, savouring the warmth that settles in your gut.

Sukuna adjusts the way he lounges next to you, one leg stretching outwards whilst the other remains bent at the knee to let one arm hang over it. A hand plants itself on the dais behind you, forcing him into your space until you can feel his very warmth radiating against your cheeks. You can smell him; a musk that is normally tinted with copper from the blood of his unfortunate victims, but today it’s cleaner. No doubt from the bath he had been forced to take alone on arrival.

With a flourish of the fan in one hand, you lean closer whilst shielding your face. Sukuna smiles down at you, a smile softened with the warm sake sitting in his stomach. His lips are just a few measly centimetres away from your own, his breath smells sweet—like a freshly sliced apple. There’s no doubt in your mind that everyone around you is very aware of what was happening behind the fan, with Sukuna forcing himself to hunch down to your height whilst sitting.

“You’re formidable.” He whispers with a tilt of his head, his nose bumps yours softly. “They fear you. I can smell it.”

Your lips part when his do, breathing in his words; his influence. It’s intoxicating to have a man of his status, his sheer brilliance in power, praise you—to deem you formidable.

“Good. It’s better to be feared than to be loved.” Your free hand comes up to cup his jaw, the muscle jumps at the contact before you feel the weight of his head leaning against your open palm. “Love has no worth in a world like ours.”

Sukuna looks down at you along the thick ridge of his nose, eyes nearly closed with how narrow his field of vision becomes this close to you. He’s scrutinising you, you can feel it. That look in his eye is something you’ve seen time and time again, he’s trying to read you—figure you out entirely. But then he smirks, a curling of his lips before he leans in.

His lips aren’t gentle against your own, they never are. Instead, he kisses you like he still wishes to defeat you. Even with it only being a fleeting kiss, it still leaves you kiss-bruised and wanting more. Sukuna leans back just enough to look down at you again, that look in his eye has shifted from scrutiny to desire. It has your gut twisting with butterflies.

“Come, I’m done with the stench that clings to this place.” He speaks quietly enough for just you to hear, you smile up at him again before offering him a lingering kiss. One that he tries to chase shamelessly, which in turn has you grinning at each other. “Don’t tease me too much woman, I will make you regret it.”

“One can only hope.”

“If you’re both leaving, I’ll stay for a while,” Kenjaku comments from her place, earning a glance over Sukuna’s shoulder from you both. “I have plans too."

Something about the tone she takes makes your stomach sour, the food you had eaten turned to stone. She sounds mischievous, a predator who would be going on the prowl amongst defenceless prey. But you can’t deny her what she wishes to do—you knew she was of the same ilk as Sukuna and in turn, you; she was just as cruel and evil.

“Fine. Don’t return to the house.” Sukuna commands, standing up whilst aiding you up from the floor next to him. He’s careful with how he helps you pick up the layers of the kimono to allow you to slip back on the wooden geta you had removed to give your feet some relief.

Sukuna doesn’t take his arm back once you’re standing next to him, instead, he guides you down the few steps and down along the path that leads back to the house you had been given as a place to stay. His stance is relaxed, despite the many eyes that wander. You stroke your fingers delicately along the inside of his wrist, earning you his attention.

“I heard there were hot springs on the outskirts.” You smile with your words, the glint of desire seems to spark the inferno inside of Sukuna because he grins in return. The muscles in his arms flex subtly under your touch, nostrils flaring momentarily to try and steel himself whilst in the public eye.

“And who am I to deny you a chance to bathe in the spring like the dove you are.”

...

A mountain haloed by the light of the moon, the white caps glimmering in the distance with stars hanging high and not a single trace of a cloud. It was a sight Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto would be proud of. Trees of brilliant green and yellow blend together in the shadow of darkness, birds of light settling for the night.

It has your body relaxing against the stone lip of the hotspring, arms crossed over the edge to support your chin as you look out into the endless abyss. Your muscles ache deliciously at this angle, your legs relishing the relief that came from the hotspring. Sukuna had kept true to his word to allow you to bathe, after he ravished you in the very waters you’re still in.

The man himself is lounging next to you, two of his arms hooked over the edge whilst his head tilts back against the stone to rest his eyes. It was one of the very rare times where he was completely vulnerable, a sight that you’re sure many men would kill to see—just to ensure they had a chance to slit his throat and kill him for good.

Your eyes draw lines across his body, admiring the sheen to his skin from where he had dunked himself in the water to clean himself. His hair hangs loose and curled very slightly at the tips, just barely hiding the pointed tips of his ears and the stretched lobes. He was truly beautiful, the pinnacle of godly creation. You swallow your thoughts, pushing them to the back of your mind as you glance back out to the horizon.

Mount Yake—that’s what the elderly man had said when he gifted you the dragon-scaled fan. You can see with the help of the moon hiding behind its snow-capped head that it was billowing thick clouds of black smoke. You had never seen a volcanic eruption before. Was lava as brilliant and bright as they said? Did it truly burn and eviscerate everything it touched? And what of the dragon that resided within, you yearned to see it.

“Do you truly believe a dragon lives in that mountain?” You ask quietly, just a whisper over the hum of the night. Sukuna shifts beside you, water sloshing before you can feel his burning gaze on you.

“I do.” He admits plainly. “It’s not uncommon for cursed spirits to form from the fear of something—I imagine that the dragon is the fear of volcanic eruptions.”

You nod at the informative answer, you had a feeling that may have been the case with Masato—the fear of people, of humanity when you were at your lowest. Thinking of where that cursed spirit may be currently has your stomach twisting, no doubt she would have created chaos wherever she may be.

Trees groan in the wind, leaves whispering their secrets to one another when a breeze rolls on by. The water swishes beside you again when Sukuna moves his arms beneath the water, the waves lapping against the bare skin of your back. You feel at peace here, tranquil—it was like being at home again, in the hotspring with the man you had tied your soul to.

“Do you know how to create Kanshi?” Sukuna turns his head to glance at you this time when he speaks, and you can only return his curious look with a smile.

“Poetry? Of course. It was a requirement of the Shogun’s daughter to be well versed in the art of poetry.” You smile when Sukuna rolls his eyes at what was required of you. It was one of the very first lessons when you had been given permission to do something outside of learning how to dress a man and wash his loincloth. “Would you like to hear one?”

Sukuna nods his head once and you smile down at him, moving your body slightly so you are facing him. Your hand cards delicately through his slow-drying hair, breaking apart the knots that had formed in the nighttime spring air. Sukuna succumbs to your soft movements easily enough, his upper set of eyes fluttering closed until you could only see a slither of red peeking from the lower ones.

You take the chance to glance around, observing all that you can hear and see.

“I listen to the whispers of trees, I catch a murmur of their secrets. Spring breeze is the same near and far, as it blows to my heart.”

“Not bad.” Sukuna offers you with a cheeky grin, opening up his eyes fully to look at you. “I’ve always preferred them shorter. The Chinese version is too long.”

You hum in agreement, brushing your fingers slowly along the edge of his second face. The scars beneath were similar to the one along your neck; torn and shredded until it had to heal. “So did I but Lady Maiki disagreed. Apparently, a good wife showed her intelligence with longer sentences.”

Sukuna snorts loudly at that, the bridge of his nose wrinkling in a way that makes him look years younger. A hand moves up from beneath the water, long fingers wrapping around your wrist to pull you away from the scarring and to let his lips plant a far too delicate kiss to the tips of your fingers.

“I thought a woman would show her intelligence by opening her le—” Sukuna laughs loudly when you swipe with your free hand at the back of his head, knocking some of his wet hair out of place. “So violent. Did I strike a nerve?”

“An ancient pond, a toad jumps in, the splash of water.” You snicker when Sukuna’s face drops.

“A toad? You’d compare me to a toad?” His upper lip curls, showcasing sharp canines and pink gum. He shifts in the water, dragging you by your entrapped wrist until you are smothered against his chest. An old part of you would’ve cowered at the action, at the look on his face but you can see him more clearly now; he’s playing along.

“Am I wrong? As big as one, as lazy as one—”

“You have a very short amount of time left until I remove that tongue from your mouth for good.” He snarls, leaning down closer to your face until your eyes nearly cross at his proximity. But his mask of intimidation falls away when your unbound hand brushes along his jaw, tracing the black tattoo that resides there.

“Your threats no longer have the same sharpened edge to them.” You coo, but before the smile on your face can form—he strikes. A hand wraps itself around your throat, fingers reaching up to grasp at the underside of your jaw in a tight squeeze. He moves you effortlessly, pressing you hard against the stone edge of the hotspring as he builds himself up to look bigger; stronger.

Your heart stutters in your chest, your fingers automatically gripping tightly around his wrist in an attempt to free yourself. You hadn’t felt this way in a long time, not since your first few encounters with him. Sukuna had mastered the way of becoming the predator in any situation, a lion that had let the gazelle get too close to its sharp teeth.

Except Sukuna smiles, a dark smile that you’ve seen on his face countless times before. “After battle’s end, lush green land is fertilised, by the blood of men.” He’s gloating about his apparent victory.

You huff at that, pushing at his chest hard enough to earn you some space. He slips back down into the water next to you, all the whilst he chuckles deep in his chest.

“It doesn’t work when you get the gender wrong.”

“I apologise for not being the Shogun’s princess and just an unwanted child.” He grins when you shoot him a glare in response. Sukuna settles back down into his previous position, arms relaxed over the edge and head tilted back so he could view the night sky above. It wouldn’t be long until you both would have to return to the house that had been claimed as your own.

A flicker above has your attention drawn to it instantly, head tilting to observe the flash of what looks like stars until it grows brighter and brighter—Sukuna next to you hums deep in his chest at the display above, enjoying it as much as yourself. The streak of light in the sky grows brighter until it outshines the others in the sky, until it breaks apart.

The streak becomes two, two falling stars that race each other across the expanse of the inky sky until the smaller one vanishes from sight to leave the other to traverse the rest of the sky alone. It leaves a solemn weight on your chest as you watch the lone star vanish behind the peak of one of the mountains that surround you.

“Scales of a white dragon, twin falling stars from above, spring repulses winter.”

“A fitting poem for our time here,” Sukuna speaks kindly, and you can only nod in agreement. He moves in the water suddenly, standing to his full height to allow the water to roll off the edges of his body in thick streams. You can only watch him with interest as he wades through the water to the edge where your clothes are folded neatly. “Come, let us rest.”

And you follow him, you always do.

...

Wooden floorboards creak underfoot, the house as silent as a shrine. A shadow freezes, waiting and listening, watching—before it moves again. The shoji door slides open, the moonlight leaking in to reveal the sleeping faces of the King and Queen of Curses.

‣‣ Main Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

#dead dove do not eat #cw gore #cw dark content #cw violence #tw cannibalism #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader

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Text

Part 4

Mister(s) Steal Your Girl is, somehow, now the official title. Congratulations you little shits (affectionate).

Content: Toxic Behavior, Brief Weight Shaming, Hurt/Comfort

You didn’t expect to see Johnny much after that one night - or possibly ever again. Kyle introduced you two, it was a lot of fun, but you figure that’ll be the end of it. Like introducing a new man to your girlfriends (not that you can really introduce Kyle to yours) you passed the vibe check and now Kyle will keep you and Johnny separate.

That’s how it’s been with Brandon’s friends. (Granted, you don’t really care for Brandon’s friends. And you figure it’s mutual based on the “uptight” comments they pretended to think you couldn’t hear.)

You’re starting to realize that Kyle is always going to subvert your expectations.

Johnny becomes a fixture - a welcome one. While you and Kyle still have your date nights and privacy, Johnny joins you two at least once a week for movies, drinks, dinner, or just silly adventures out and about.

You’re surprised that you don’t mind. Johnny is fantastic company, always respectful, funny, and friendly. Whenever the two of you are left alone, there’s no dead air. In fact, sometimes you could almost swear there’s electricity. Which is… well. It makes it hard to look him in the eye sometimes - and looking at Kyle even harder.

Guilt nips at your stomach until one of them distracts you with another story you’re 70% sure they shouldn’t tell you.

You and Johnny play a game with pub napkins, doodling something on one folded half, then passing it over for the other to scribble on the second half. The trick is not cheating and seeing the first half, then unfolding it to a complete (and usually silly) picture. Gaz always gets to name whatever monstrosity has been created.

You get a month of that good company. Then Kyle sighs at his phone one night.

“Shipping out again,” he explains when you glance at him.

“Will you be gone long?” you ask, shifting.

His brow furrows. “Not sure. They can’t tell us much over the phone.”

You hum in understanding. Still new to this whole military thing, the redacted danger of it all, but you think you’re getting the hang of it. At least, Kyle never seems annoyed when he can’t answer you, only apologetic.

“Is it gonna be the whole team?” you ask.

“Nah, just me and the cap.” He rubs his palm along your calf, a gesture that you suspect is self-soothing rather than for your benefit. “Probably not too dangerous, then.”

You make a noise of protest, nudging at his thigh with your foot. “Bad luck!”

“Sorry, sorry!” he chuckles, tapping his knuckles on the wooden end table. “You’re right.”

You crawl from your side of the couch to his, nuzzling up under his arm. He trails kisses along the side of your face as you snuggle in.

“I’ll miss you,” you mumble into his neck. Still a little embarrassed to be so needy, but you want him to feel appreciated.

“I’ll miss you too, chickadee. I’ll call if I can, yeah?”

You hum in agreement, squeezing an arm around his middle.

“While I’m gone, if you need anything - even some company - you ought to call Soap,” he adds.

The idea is tempting but… “I don’t want to bother him.”

“I promise you won’t,” he laughs. You don’t know what’s so funny, but hearing his voice rumble in his chest like this is always a treat.

“Maybe,” you allow.

“We’ll take it.” Before you can ask what that means, he loops an arm around your waist and scoops you into his lap. “Now then, about my send off.”

Your giggle turns into a moan as his mouth slants over yours.

Kyle’s only been gone three days. You’ve occupied yourself with cleaning up the flat you share with Brandon. Dust has been collecting since you’ve been out and about so much - and god knows Brandon hardly does more than load the dishwasher. Besides, a good bit of spring cleaning is a pleasant enough distraction, humming as you toss out old things to make more room for the new stuff you’ve been collecting.

“Good to see you getting back to normal,” Brandon says cheerfully. You glance up from the laundry you’re folding. He continues, “I was worried with how behind you got on things, but I knew you just needed some time. I told you this would be better for us both.”

You try not to let that sting. Even if things are better now, and continuing to get better, you can’t forget the pain that lingers from the beginning.

“Tell you what,” he adds, hands in his pockets. “When you finish cleaning up, I’ll take you out to the pub, yeah? Put on something pretty.”

You perk up, pleasantly surprised, though hesitant.

“We could leave earlier if you helped,” you point out, hoping for more than just dinner. “Maybe we could walk in the park or something before eating.”

He gives you a weak smile. One you recognize more than his real one by now. It’s almost apologetic, but not quite.

“I would but I’m bloody exhausted from this week, ya know? Big projects coming up at work.”

Your smile freezes. “And some late nights, I’m sure,” you try to joke.

He doesn’t laugh like you expect, but gives you an odd look. “Why would you say something like that?”

Baffled, you shrug. He shakes his head.

“I’m going to take a nap, come wake me up when you’re ready to go.”

You manage to finish the majority of your to-do list by 5. Shower, get dressed, do your hair and makeup with Brandon snoring in the background until 6. By then, he still hasn’t woken up from his nap, so you perch on the edge of the bed and gently nudge at him until he stirs.

“I’m ready to go, babe,” you murmur.

He scrunches up his face - you spare an affectionate thought for how cute it is. You’ve always found it cute.

“Five more minutes,” he grumbles.

You laugh a little. “It’s getting late, we should probably head out.”

He groans. “Five. Minutes.”

You huff in amusement and reach for his phone to set an alarm, but pause at all the notifications from dating apps crowding his screen. There are… a lot. And as you’re looking, a new message pops up, just labeled “blonde” with a peach emoji. Gross.

You set the alarm and slip away to the living room.

It takes him another half hour to finally rouse, shuffling into the living room with a groan.

“C’mon,” he yawns. “It’s going to be bloody crowded by now.”

You follow him quietly to the car, knowing he’s not chatty when he’s just woken up. Hunger only adds to his mood; you can practically see a cloud forming over his head. By the time he pulls up to the pub, he’s downright grumpy. He grumbles about shit parking, and the milling people outside. It looks busy.

“We could go somewhere else?” you suggest.

“This is fine,” he says.

He parks a block away and starts at a swift pace. You try to hold his hand, but halfway there, he pulls away to check his phone and doesn’t take it again.

Surprisingly, it’s only a twenty minute wait for a table - but Brandon sneers something like “of course it is” under his breath. You smile apologetically at the hostess and usher him away.

He doesn’t talk during the wait, at first. Until suddenly he blurts. “We wouldn’t have to wait if you’d woken me up.”

You blink at him. “I did. You asked for five more minutes.”

“Well, why didn’t you wake me up then?”

“I set an alarm?”

You don’t know why he’s so irritated, just that he seems tired and hungry.

“You know I don’t listen to alarms,” he complains, scowling at the sidewalk.

“Okay… I’ll wake you up next time,” you offer.

“Yeah, next time.”

Thankfully, the two of you are called a little early. The pub is indeed loud and crowded, and you’re definitely overdressed. But at least you know what you want - Brandon’s taken you here a million times before.

Wisely, you wait until he’s downed the texmex rolls before trying for conversation again. He hums along as you talk about work, about the books you’ve been reading, about the new movie you saw last week. You think it’s going pretty well, catching up on each other’s lives, when he interrupts you mid-sentence.

“Where was this?”

You frown. “At the grocery store…?”

“You’re still on that? Thought we moved on from that story.”

You don’t bother finishing it, just ask him about his work. It’s like pulling teeth. A lot of “good” and “busy” and “same as usual.” By the time your entree comes, you’ve given up, not sure if you want to cry or just walk away to see if he even notices. He keeps checking his phone. Your fingers twitch to text Kyle, but you don’t want to bother him while he’s working.

The end of dinner can’t come sooner. You decline dessert when the server asks.

“Probably for the better,” Brandon tells you lowly when they’re gone to get the check. “I think you’ve put on a bit of weight. You know how you get.”

You probably have - Kyle has a sweet tooth and practically begs you to split desserts with him. Johnny’s shares his food with you now too, grinning when you express approval for whatever high-protein dish he’s picked and shoving more at you.

As for “how you get”… Brandon’s mentioned in the past when you were heavier that you get mopey, aren’t much fun to be around.

(A small part of you wonders how that would even effect him at this point. He doesn’t spend enough time around you to notice if you’re mopey. Is that why tonight has been such a disaster…?)

You just collect your purse and lead the way out of the pub. It’s a quiet walk back to the car, even though Brandon seems to be in a better mood. He’s still texting, nearly bumps into an elderly couple along the way.

Back at the apartment, he runs his hand down your side, tugs at the lace hem of your shirt.

“Careful,” you chide.

He sucks his teeth and drops his hand. “I’m just trying to be playful.”

“I know, but I like this shirt.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’ve got three just like it.”

You don’t answer, know it’ll lead to more useless bickering. Just tug the stupid thing over your head, ready to go to bed.

“Hey now, that’s more like it,” he drawls, fingertips running down your spine.

You jump, surprised, but play it off that his hands are cold. He makes some crass comment about warming them up, reaching for your breasts, and your stomach churns.

“I-I think I ate something bad,” you lie, all but sprinting for the bathroom.

You close the door behind you - but don’t lock it. Just sit on the floor, the wall cold against your back, while you try to breathe through your spinning, conflicting thoughts.

He’s finally giving you attention, affection. Why aren’t you jumping at this opportunity to spend time with him? Not long ago, you would have been weeping with joy to have an iota of your normal relationship back. Maybe you really did eat something bad.

“Hey,” Brandon calls through the door, “I’m gonna stay somewhere else tonight.”

You stare at the blank white wood, aghast. “But I’m sick.”

“It’s not like I can do much, is there? Except listen to you be sick all night,” he reasons. “And who knows. Maybe it wasn’t something you ate. Maybe it’s contagious. I don’t want to spend the weekend ill.”

Your eyes burn. He didn’t even open the door to check. “Yeah,” you agree, voice robotic, “you’re right.”

Not even five minutes later, you hear the front door close. That almost, almost does you in. You manage to keep your lackluster dinner down, but not the tears.

You let yourself be pathetic for a few minutes, crying into your arms, folded over your knees. When you finally manage to get yourself together, it’s not Brandon you ache for. It’s Kyle. It’s not possible, you know. You just don’t want to be alone even though the nausea is dissipating.

Sighing, you remove your ruined makeup and wash your face, climb into one of Kyle’s jumpers. At least it still smells like him. It’s only as you’re trying to decide on a comfort show, huddled into a ball on the couch, that you remember his advice.

It takes all of fifteen seconds of debate before you scramble for your phone.

I know it’s late, but are you free, you text Johnny.

A response comes almost immediately.

Always for you, lass. You bite your lip on a tiny smile, already feeling better. Your phone buzzes again. What’s up?

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment as you figure out what to ask - then how to ask it.

Would you want to come to mine for movies? I don’t feel good…

He answers instantly again. Ice cream not-good or Theraflu not-good?

You sniffle when you remember that being sick was a dealbreaker for your night with Brandon.

Ice cream not-good, you reply.

Say no more, hen. Be there in fifteen. Pick a good one.

You watch TikTok’s until there’s a knock at the door. Upon answering, you’re swept up in a bear hug that lifts you off your socked feet.

“Johnny!” you cry, laughing a bit in shock.

“There she is!” he crows, swinging you around. “Been missin’ my best girl!”

You tell yourself the thrill in your stomach is just from him setting you down. (It’s a harder sell when it happens again seeing his wide smile and warm blue eyes.)

“You're ridiculous,” you huff, “I’m not your best girl.”

He arches his eyebrows. “Oh, yer keepin’ track, are ye?”

“C’mon, you must have a partner or something?” you prod as you usher him inside.

“Kyle must’ve told ye, hen, it’s hard in this line of work,” he explains, shrugging. “Tried before but… usually they just end up feeling neglected, ya ken.”

You hum. That’s why Kyle said you and he would work so well with the open relationship - that you’d still have someone at home while he was out. That you wouldn’t be alone if something happened to him.

“Anyway, this is no kinda talk for a cozy night in, now is it?” Johnny says, cutting your melancholy musing short. “Come look at what I brought ya!”

You only notice then the two grocery bags in one hand. He herds you to the couch and sets them on the coffee table for you to root through.

“My favorite!” You exclaim when you extract the tub of ice cream.

The grin Johnny shoots you is proud. “Kyle said so.”

“You two,” you sigh happily.

He’s also brought a squishy stuffed animal, crisps, popcorn, soda, candy, and a small collection of self-care items. You hold the face-masks up with a questioning smile.

“Heard somewhere that it’s good for ye, when yer feelin’ down.” You try not to giggle when the last word comes out sounding like “doon.” He continues, blissfully ignorant. “Hope that’s the right shite, there was a lot to choose from.”

You throw your arms around him, chest warm. “Thank you, this is perfect, Johnny.”

He circles his arm around your waist, holding you close. “Anytime, bonnie,” he murmurs into your hair.

You squeeze his shoulders as you pull away, waving one of the mask packets with a wicked little smile.

“Wanna try this ‘shite’ with me?” you tease.

You expect a resounding and masculine-heavy no. Instead, Johnny tilts his head consideringly for a moment, then shrugs.

“Eh, why the hell not?”

You wake up the next morning to a mess of candy wrappers, discarded moisturizers, and an empty carton of ice cream. And the smell of eggs. Cartoons are playing quietly on the telly. When you yawn and sit up, you’re greeted by a cheerful Johnny at the stove, wearing your pink apron.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” he calls.

You flush and smile back, glad that you called him. “Mornin’!”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #misters steal your girl #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #Brandon the crash dummy

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omkookie · 24 hours

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Just for fun / Glasyalabolas

⌈ ⚠️ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⌉ Smut, Necrophilia, hanging mentioned, fingering, noncon obviously. Glasya is nasty.

He picks up your stiff body, watching in glee as your arm limply falls to your side. He holds you up to his eye level and inspects your face, his eyes sparkling upon seeing the pale color of your skin, your bluish lips, and your chilled body that was slowly losing its heat.

Without uttering another word, he ripped the noose off of your neck and took you back to his room, his footsteps eagerly echoing throughout the hallway.

He slowly sets you down upon his bed, his fingers moving deftly to remove your clothes until he has stripped you bare, your skin covered in nothing but the fresh mark of a noose around your neck.

(Your cause of death: Strangulation)

Your dull eyes send a shiver of excitement down his spine, and he bites his lip as he traces a finger over your side, from your arm down to your hip. He squeezes your thigh, enjoying how the soft flesh feels underneath his bruising grip, and watching as your fragile skin turns purple.

He leans over your smaller body, his lips pressing against your navel to leave a kiss, then leaving a sweet trail of kisses down your soft thigh.

You look so beautiful… So awe striking.

Strands of your hair were still glued to the dried sweat on your forehead, and your unmoving eyes didn't blink once or try to push them out of your face. You were indeed gone, dead.

His cock aches with need as his tongue lewdly swipes through your folds, flicking and sucking on whatever part of your pussy he wants, all while he's feeling absolute bliss.

He pushed his fingers into your slit, watching as your hole was still refusing to take in two, So he spat on your pussy to lubricate his fingers better. It would make fucking you easier anyway

Does he need to stretch you out? No. Is he still doing it? Yes. Yes he is, and he's enjoying every second of it, eventually pulling his erect cock out to stroke it with his hand while his other one plays with your clit.

He doesn't know where to cum, should he ejaculate on your face? In your mouth? Your pussy? Ass? There were so many options available to him now.

He fists his cock with a groan before he pulls his fingers out of you and positions himself between your legs.

His eyes again looked into yours, and he smiled to himself as he placed his cock at your entrance. He pushes the tip between your folds and taps it against your clit a few times, just for fun.

Glasyalabolas is a creep.

Not even your dead body was safe from him.

#whb #what in “hell” is bad #what in hell is bad #whb glasyalabolas #glasyalabolas what in hell is bad #whb smut #what in hell is bad smut #cw;smut🍋#.noncon #what in hell is bad x reader #whb fiction

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reidsdimples · 19 hours

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The First Time

Spencer Reid x Reader

The BAU helps you on a case, things get heated between you and Spencer.

Spencer takes your virginity 🤭

18+❤️‍🔥

You rock gently back and forth on the wooden porch swing. The night Is quiet, peaceful. Only a small breeze stirring up leaves to keep your thoughts of the day at bay.

It was over. The lakeside killer was dead. Thanks to the BAU, your small town of Rockwell can rest easy again. You can breathe. You’re one of two homicide detectives in the whole town and you’ve only been at it for a year- this case nearly destroyed you.

Kids.

Why kids?

It’s always kids they want to hurt. You blink back tired and sigh.

“Hey,” comes a soft voice followed by soft steps on the wooden porch. The BAU team is staying at the lodge, set for departure in the morning. It was the only accommodations the deportment could offer.

“Dr. Reid. I thought everyone was asleep,” you give him a half smile and sip your tea. He’s wearing his FBI jacket that seems unbelievably comfortable.

“Most of them are, I had no luck though,” he gives you a sympathetic grin. The three small bodies recovered today didn’t make the murderers death feel like a victory.

“Me either,” you shrug.

You know then just how much he gets it, pain recognizes pain. He feels it, he’s seen it. You pat the bench for him to sit next to you, he does so.

Talking to Spencer always reminded you of talking to an old friend. This was the second time you’d met him, though before was under better circumstances. You were relived he was the one who came outside and your stomach whirled when he sat beside you.

“I feel disgusting after today. The things we see… do you think they tarnish us?“ You ask him.

“We are a culmination of how we identify ourselves and thus present ourselves to the outside world. If you let it, it can consume you. It’s hard not to make these things apart of us, not to become some uglier version of ourselves,” he answers, fidgeting with his fingers.

“I’ll just have to take solace in knowing he can’t hurt anyone ever again,” you nod. You rub at the back of your neck, the tension in your head pounding.

“There are actually a few pressure points to more adequately elevate headaches, here I’ll show you,” Spencer says. He prompts you to turn from him on the swing. You swallow, unable to say anything. Is he about to touch you?

“This…” his long fingers drape over your shoulders, his thumbs pressing into the base of your neck. “Is known as the shoulder well.” He adds more pressure and moves his thumbs in a circular motion. The tension trailing up your neck warms and starts to ease.

He continues to press into the spot that seems to force your entire body to relax. His hands working skillfully I so the muscles, his fingertips grazing over your collarbones. Somehow a small moan slips out and you hope he doesn’t hear it. Only he pauses, falters in his rhythm. He heard you.

“They call this the gates of consciousness,” his voice is lower. His hands move up your neck, his thumbs at the base of your skull. His touch sends shivers and electricity through you. Your nipples harden but he can’t know that. He presses into the space between your tense neck muscles, willing the tension into submission. It works.

“Spencer,” his name slips out and your head lulls back towards him. The blinding headache has subsided. All you can think about is his hands on you.

The warmth in his fingers as he grips your neck to hold your head up, his suddenly noticeable body heat in the space between you, and his scent all become overwhelming.

His hands move from your neck to your head, his middle fingers gently rubbing your temples. Then somehow you find that you’re leaning back into his chest. His hushed breathing steady, he doesn’t seem to mind.

The swing sways gently, only one of his legs on the ground to steady it. His other leg folded beneath you. He stops his massaging and lays an arm across your chest, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He squeezes your shoulder reassuringly while his other hand brushes through your hair. You close your eyes and take in the sensation of his touch while the wind chimes play softly in the autumn breeze.

You’ve never been touched this way, never felt the warmth gather between your legs at a man’s actions. It’s new, you welcome it.

“You’re beautiful in the moonlight,” he hums as he mindlessly runs his fingers through your hair. It takes you off guard, leaving you feeling exposed as your cheeks heat.

You squirm against him but manage to look upward at him. He looks down at you, the top of your head against his chest as you strain to see him. He’s breathtaking. You reach up and touch his face, grazing his jawline with your fingertips. He clenches it, attempting to maintain some modicum of control.

If you weren’t you, if you weren’t inexperienced, you would invite him to bed. You can’t do that though, you’ve never had sex. It would surely be awkward. You sigh and drop your hand, the need turning into agony in the pit of your stomach. You won’t ask that of this brilliant man. You sit up and break contact with him altogether.

“What’s wrong?” He placed a hand on your thigh, looking at you through concerned brown eyes.

“I-“ you pause. You don’t know how to tell him you want him, much less that you’re a virgin. You don’t want any pressure placed on him. You just shake your head, words failing you. You stand from the swing look off of the porch into the night.

He moves quietly to stand behind you, you stop breathing when his tall lean frame closes around you. His arms wrap you into him and he sways gently.

“I know we should keep this professional,” he whispers in your ear. His breath brushing your neck and making you come alive. “But you drive me crazy.”

His words are clipped, hurried, hushed, and needy. He turns you to face him and before you can respond, you’re leaning up to meet his kiss. His hands grip your face, his mouth invading yours hungrily. You twist your fists into his shirt, a couple of the buttons popping open as you pull him closer. Both of you desperate for touch, for comfort.

His hands fall and find your waist, gripping tight, before traveling up your shirt.

You inhale sharply and jump, sensitive to his touch. A foreign delicious sensation sweeping over you.

He pauses and stares into your eyes, his own blown wide with need.

“Have you never been touch before?” He speaks softly.

You shake your head ‘no’ shyly. He grins and leans down to kiss you delicately. He intertwines his fingers with yours.

“Follow me,” he instructs and leads you quietly back into the massive lodge where everyone is staying.

He pulls you playfully behind him up the wooden stairs, his finger length hair falling messily as he walks. Your eyes trace his long legs, taking in how his pants hug his waist. Your mouth waters, actually waters.

Finally you’re in his room, it’s almost completely dark save for the sparse moonlight trickling through the drapes.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” You ask him as he closes the space between the two of you.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” He seems perplexed.

“Maybe,” you giggle.

“I want to make you feel good, I’ll go as far as you’re comfortable taking this,” he tilts your chin up to kiss you.

“I just don’t want to put pressure on you because I’ve never…” you trail off.

“You’re not,” he reassures you. He steps forward, his hands resting on your hips, prompting you to walk backward.

The backs of your knees find the bed and he guides you down into it. You exhale softly when he pushes your shirt up, hands gliding over your skin.

“So soft,” he praises and plants a kiss on your stomach. He’s kneeling between your legs, planting whispers of kisses across your stomach from one hip bone to the other.

He yanks your pants down abruptly and slides your panties down with them, discarding them.

You immediately feel exposed and squeeze your legs closed. But then his hands are trailing up your legs from your ankles to your thighs. It sends waves of euphoria over your body and you arch your back when he parts your legs once more.

“You don’t have to hide,” he plants a kiss on your inner thigh. You groan and squirm beneath him.

He pulls your legs onto his shoulders before reaching up and squeezing your breasts hard. He looks breathtaking between your legs, drawing out your moans as he rolls your nipples between his fingers.

“Spencer,” you beg. His breath fans across your vagina in a sweet tortuous way that stirs a need so intense that your eyes roll back.

He slides his fingers down your slit, a noise of appreciation comes from his throat when he finds you wet. He coats his fingers in it before slowly pressing his middle finger into you. It’s new, but it feels so good. You tense up in anticipation.

“Relax, it’ll feel better,” he coaches and pushes into you further. “You’re so tight,” he muses.

He slowly moves his long middle finger in and out and brings his tongue down to your clit. You cry out as pleasure envelopes you. He sucks hard and curves his finger upward causing you to buck against him. You moan as his tongue and finger drive you wild, beckoning closer to the edge.

“Fuck,” you cry and grind against his face. You’ve never felt so good, you didn’t know pleasure like this existed.

He dips his tongue into with his finger and trails it back up to your clit.

“So sweet,” he praises against you and continues his torture.

You are wound so impossible right that it’s almost painful, he has you moaning and crying out into the room. Your legs are shaking around his head and he only picks up the pace with his finger.

“Shhh, don’t wake the others,” he warns. His words coming out between lapping at your cunt cause you to cum with a restrained groan.

You shake against him and he removed his finger, pleased with himself. His grin drives you crazy so you grab him by his collar and pull him on top of you.

“Mmmm,” he moans. “What do you want me to do to you now?” He hovers above you and nips at your neck with his teeth. You feel his cock straining against his pants, prompting you to reach down and unbuckle his pants.

Your need for him is so primal, so singular, that you can’t focus on anything else. He helps you and pulls his pants partially down.

He pushes your legs back, opening you wider for him.

“Remember what I said, focus on relaxing,” he instructs. You nod, biting your lip which he notices. He kisses you hard, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth.

He pushes his cock against your entrance, pressing in gently. Your breathing hitches as your body begins to expand around the head of his cock. He’s not even in yet, but it burns.

Spencer grips your hair, moving slowly as he eases himself into you.

“Ah,” you wince.

“It’s okay baby, you can take it,” he reassures you. “Breathe,” he whispers.

When you exhale slowly he pushes in further. You feel it the moment your hymen breaks with a sharp sting but then he’s able to push himself in further.

That slight pain gives way to intense pleasure and then he’s inside of you completely. He shudders and a moan erupts from deep inside of his chest.

He pulls his hips back, working his cock out of you before pushing himself back in.

“You feel so good,” he grunts and links his fingers with yours.

Your hands are linked above your head, he thrusts into you slowly and desperately. The sounds of your moans feel the room and entangle with his breathy whimpers. His other hand grips your thigh as he rolls deeper and deeper into you.

Raw pleasure consumes you until you know nothing but the connection of your bodies, his breathing, his cock beckoning you to the edge.

“You’re doing so good,” he moans. Your free hind curls into his hair, forcing him to look eyes with you.

His mouth falls open as he rocks in and out of you. You lose yourself in him, you lose the ability to restrain your moans. He crashes his mouth into yours, absorbing the sounds. He tastes like mint and salt. He tastes delicious and your tongues fight for dominance. Your hips thrust upward to meet he’s rhythm and you think you’re going to cum again.

You didn’t think you’d be able to because of the pain but it’s too good, he’s too good.

“Spencer,” you break the kiss and shatter as he pauses so you can ride your orgasm out against him. Fuck.

“So pretty cumming for me,” he whispers breathlessly. “I’m gonna-“ he grunts and pulls partially out of you.

You feel him shudder, his cock pulsing, and then you feel his warmth flood you. He pulls out the rest of the way, allowing his cum to pour out of you. He watches in awe for a moment, his tongue darting across his bottom lip.

His short hair is tousled, his forehead beading with sweat, and his lips are plump and raw from kissing you.

“Let me run you a bath,” he offers. You drag the blanket over yourself and smile when you nod.

He stands to his full height, tugs his pants up, and leans down to kiss you.

“You did so good,” he grins and disappears into the bathroom.

#mgg #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid one shots #mgg pics #dr Reid #spicy spencer reid #matthew gray gubler

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eddiesxangel · 3 hours

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I Don’t Think We Are In 1986 Anymore? Part 2

Big thanks to @allthingsjoeq @bettyfrommars @somnambulic-thing for the prompts. The Stranger Prompts - directly from the Twilight Zone.

Sort of proof read, if you see mistakes no you didn’t… Sharing is caring. Reblog and comment 💙

You have to read part 1 for this to make any sense.

Cw: time travel, modern/Henderson reader, the aftermath of the upside down/ finding out who your father is and the reunion they never thought possible. Angst, fluff, smut 18+ content, fingering (f), oral (m) p in v sex, cream pie, MDNI

wc: 10k. oops

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god…”

"What the fuck! What the fuck! What the fuck!"

You watch and listen as your father has a mental breakdown in your open-concept kitchen. You just got off the phone with your uncle Steve, telling him to get to your place ASAP.

Your dad was stunned… and Eddie was stunned… What were the odds that Eddie would stumble into the house belonging to Dustin Henderson’s daughter?

Eddie could barely discern any similarities. You resembled the woman who came in after Dustin, and Eddie could only presume it was your mother. If he squinted, your eye shape was somewhat reminiscent of Dustin's, but even that was a stretch.

“How?! When?! Holy shit, man, you’re-you’re dead! You died in the upside down!” Your father was dumbstruck, as was your mother, because Eddie died in 1986. Everyone mourned and moved on with life.

“The upside down?” You looked to your mom to see if she knew what the two men were discussing. It seemed that she was also withholding something from you.

“I don’t know, man! That was only a few hours ago for me!” Eddie yelled.

“Holy shit,” your dad whispered.

“Wait. You think I’m dead? Like you guys just left me there? In that place?! With those demo-bats?” Eddie’s eyes were wide and, if you were being honest, he looked a little crazy.

“Well… I mean… so much shit was still happening!”

Your dad was interrupted by a frivolous knocking on the door.

You rush over to the door. Standing on the other side are your Uncle Steve and Aunt Robin, aka the woman from whom you got your nickname.

You grab both of them before they can even say hello and drag them by their shirt sleeves.

“Woah, Birdie, what’s going on!”

You didn’t need to speak because you were in the kitchen before they could continue.

You hear your aunt audibly gasp, and your uncle’s mouth hangs agape, stunned.

There he was, a dead man walking in your kitchen, clear as day.

“What the fuck”-“That’s not?”

“Uh, hey,” Eddie waves.

“Holly shit,” they both say in unison.

Before Eddie knew what was happening, Robin charged at him and wrapped him in a bear hug.

This was weird for Eddie. He hardly knew the woman—not really. He had only spoken to her for the first time a week ago… well, a week and thirty-eight years ago.

“Ouch!” -“Sorry!”

“What the actual fuck is going on” she pulled back, still gripping his shoulders.

“Hey, uh, Robin.”

Her long fingers trailed up his shoulders to grab him by the face, squishing his cheeks together, not believing the sight before her.

Despite the passing years, her youthful features still shone through. Her face was adorned with a sprinkle of freckles, her hair, still a beautiful shade of dirty blonde with some strands of silver, was now cut a little shorter, but it looked just as radiant as ever. She was unmistakably Robin, just a more mature and refined version of herself.

“Ohhhh-okay,” Eddie forced her hands off his cheeks.

“Okay, what is going on here?” Steve spoke.

Eddie's eyes lingered on his acquaintance, taking in the lines etched into his face like a map of time. Despite the signs of age, he still looked strikingly handsome, with broad shoulders and a sturdy frame that spoke of years of hard work. His hair, once a wild mop, was now tamed into a close-cropped salt-and-pepper buzz cut. Eddie couldn't help but admire how his friend had aged with dignity and grace, and he felt a twinge of envy at his own mortality.

“One minute, we're in the upside-down fighting off those… those creatures,” Eddie looks to your dad, “and the next…” Eddie waved his hands above his head before flinching from the pain of the bat bites. “I was here!”

“I don’t understand,” Robin said.

“You think I do?!” He looked at her.

“Woah, guys, let’s just calm down,” Steve tried to defuse the room.

“Calm down? I just learned everyone left me for dead.” Eddie’s voice hitched.

God, you had a lot of questions.

“Come on, man, we couldn’t go back without another one of us dying. You stopped breathing in my arms! I swore you had died. I-I-I,” Dustin stammered.

You had never seen your father so distraught.

“Fuck, come here, man” Eddie reached out to hug his friend.

It had been mere hours to Eddie, but for his friends, it had been years of mourning and grieving, the acceptance that Eddie Munson was gone from the world.

“What are you guys talking about?” You ask, breaking the moment.

“Not now, honey,” your dad spoke, wiping a stray tear.

“Yes, now!” You screamed. “What are you all talking about? Leaving him for dead? Fighting off creatures? Bats? I saw his wounds! A bat did not make that so. What. happened. in. 1986? And do not tell me an earthquake…”

After a long explanation, you still could not understand what the most important people in your life had been keeping from you for twenty-eight years.

“So that brings us to now…” Dustin looked at Eddie. “Tell us exactly what you remember.”

“I was with you,” he said, pointing to your dad. “And the bats got me; I passed out, I guess because I didn’t remember anything, and when I woke up, I was in the trailer park, but it wasn’t the trailer park anymore… I was here.”

“There must be an explanation… do you think a gate is open now?” Steve spoke.

“Not possible; that was closed years ago.”

“Wait, so what happened to Vecna?” Eddie asked.

“El dealt with him; he’s long gone.”

“Wait… Aunt Jane?” You clarified.

“Yes,” the group confirmed.

You still cannot believe what the fuck was going on? How everyone seemed so casual about the topic of supernatural occurrences happening in the eighties.

“I think I need to lie down…” you excuse yourself from the conversation.

This was too much, too overwhelming. How were you to believe all of this? The evidence was right in front of you… Eddie had time-travelled, and your family confirmed that.

“Birdie honey, I’m sorry; I never wanted you to learn about all the shit we went through.” Your father pulled you in for a hug before you got too far.

You needed a second to collect your thoughts, so you went to your living room to lay on your couch.

You replay the details of what just sprung on you. A man with supernatural powers wanted to take over the town of Hawkins, Indiana, and your aunt, who also has supernatural powers, defeated him. Your dad and his friends, your aunts and uncles, helped. Your super nerdy, uncool father helped save the world. And Eddie, their dead friend, was now alive; somehow time travelled unknowingly and is sitting in your kitchen…

You’re unsure how much time has passed, but you feel the couch dip by your feet.

“Hey,” a deep voice you’ve now recognized as Eddie filled the empty room.

“Hey,” you open your eyes and face him.

“I uh… I just wanted to thank you for everything. You’re being super cool about all of this, about not calling the police on me, calling Dustin- uh, your Dad-that’s so fucking weird to say- I’m glad it was your home I broke into.” He fiddled with the hem of the borrowed shirt you lent him.

“I wouldn’t say I’m being cool. Honestly, I’m freaking out, but you’re welcome.” You half-heartedly smile.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m just as freaked out about this whole mess as you are… in the same boat and all, I guess.”

You hum with acceptance.

When you finally came around and decided to get off the couch, Eddie had already returned to the group's elders, and you walked in on their conversation.

“Oh, god! Wayne?! Is he? Where?” Eddie couldn’t believe this was the first time he thought of his uncle’s whereabouts.

“I’m so sorry, Ed.” Dustin couldn’t look him in the eye as he spoke.

“He’s… what happened?” His voice shook.

“We would visit from time to time over the years; he found a wife, he never stopped talking about you, he loved you.” Robin smiled as tears welled.

“The uh… the smoking caught up to him. Lung cancer. He was diagnosed about ten years ago. He fought it for a long time but passed in 2019.” you hear your dad sigh. “…but even if he were still alive, Eddie, you’d sure give him a heart attack if he saw you,” Dustin chides

“No… yea... No, I guess he would be almost ninety-four now…” Eddie sniffles, trying to hide his glossy eyes.

Not even five hours into living in the future, and it sucked immensely; who knows if he would get to go back home to his time. you felt for him your heart yearned to hug him and tell him it was all going to be okay, but you just met the guy.

“I’m sorry, Eddie.” Your dad touched his shoulder, and your mom looked at him sorrowfully. Like you, she had never met the man your dad idolized.

As a kid, you were told stories of the great Eddie the Banished, and you worshiped what your father told you about him. But now, seeing the real man in the flesh, wounded, scared, and confused, humanized him. You felt so sorry for him; you wanted to do all you could to help him.

“Ed, I think we should take you to a hospital,” Steve spoke, breaking the tension.

“How? I don’t exist. I can’t pay for anything.”

“We have insurance and money; we can pay for it,” Steve rebutted.

“What if someone recognized me?”

“What if we gave you a makeover?” You suggested.

“Absolutely not.”

“My daughter is right, Eddie; you stick out like a soar thumb.”

“What do I need to change?” He asks hesitantly.

“The hair,” you nod.

“No."

"Not like all of it, but, you know... shorter" You cocked your head, amazing his features.

He was very handsome, and you were attracted to him more than you would care to admit. You should not feel like this toward your dad's friend. Technically, he was thirty years your senior, but you were older than him in the real world.

Eventually, you will accept your supernatural time-travelling weird-ass family secret, but for now, you need to focus on Eddie healing and looking like he was from this century.

You take to your phone for inspiration. Tapping away on the touch screen, Eddie is memorized by the new technology before him.

“Can you uh- show me that stuff?” He points to your phone in your hands.

“Yeah, of course,” you blush; Eddie's intense gaze on you didn’t go unnoticed by your overbearing father.

“Woah woah woah, no—nope,” Dustin spoke as he wedged between you and the time-travelling man.

“Dad!” You scold.

“What are you even talking about, man?”

“I know you, Eddie,” your father gave him a stern look.

“I had no idea what you’re talking about?” he shook his head. But he was lying. He thought you were hot; there was no denying that. It was weird that you were Dustin’s offspring, but did that matter to Eddie? No. He has experienced much weirder these past few days.

“Let’s focus people.” Steve snapped. “Makeover—than a hospital.”

After some internet sleuthing, you and Eddie decided on a haircut you both agreed on.

“You trust me?” You raise your brows.

“No, but I don’t really have a choice.” He looked at your overprotective father, hovering, not leaving the two of you unsupervised.

“Dad, there is not enough room in the bathroom for all of us. Can you leave?” You sass.

“No funny business,” he points.

"No funny business? The girl has scissors to my head."

“Mooooooom,” you call for her to help.

This was ridiculous. You’re a grown woman who can make her own choices, and Eddie is injured; that’s probably the last thing on his mind… and he’s probably not even thinking about you like that. So what could possibly happen?

You turn to Eddie with a smile as your mom drags away your father.

As you work away chopping at his hair, rewinding, and re-watching the tutorial off TikTok, you are not paying attention to Eddie's reaction to cutting his hair. If you looked down, you would see a man in pure heaven, blissed out by your touch. To see Eddie's eyes close when your fingers run through his hair. Eddie hadn’t had someone touch his hair in years, not since he first started growing it out. Fully immersion making sure his hair is even, you also don’t notice that you’re standing between his legs and your tits are sat directly at Eddie’s eye level, bouncing around in your tank top, as your arms work above his head.

Eddie tried hard not to stare; that’s another reason why his eyes were closed, but here he was, basking in your touch while fighting with himself to keep his eyes from zeroing in on your chest. He felt overwhelmed by you in the best way possible, your delicate voice and gentle touch mixed with your sweet-smelling perfumes and hair products. It didn’t take much for Eddie to get wrapped up in you. You had been so kind to him; he was so scared this morning. He was scared of the pain of his injuries; he was alone and the fact that he was no longer in his proper time.

You made him feel comfortable and safe, but you also made him nervous because he is attracted to you. Once the fright wore off and the calm washed over him when you offered your shower and food, it was instant; how couldn’t he fall for your beauty?

“What about my face?” Eddie speaks, his eyes still baring into your chest.

“What about it?” As you step back, your eyes are drawn to the man beneath you. You can't help but admire the striking features that define his face. You trimmed his unruly, chocolate-brown hair, but it still falls in gentle waves that frame his face beautifully. The freckles that dot his cheeks and nose add a touch of playfulness to his otherwise serious expression. But it's his eyes. Those are what captivate you the most. Thick, dark lashes frame deep, earthy-toned irises that seem to hold a whole other world. You can't help but feel a sense of awe at the sight of him.

“Should I shave?” She cocks his head, a few wet tendrils fall on his forehead, and you can’t help but admire his beauty. His scratched face bore a five-o-clock shadow; the circles under his eyes only darkened as the hours passed. However, it only made his deep brown orbs that much more compelling.

“No,” you smile. “I like the scruff.”

You step back again to admire your work, and Eddie’s eyes awkwardly try to look everywhere but you.

“Okay, I think we are good,” you smile as you run your fingers through his curls again with a bit more holding mousse.

Eddie holds back a whimper when your fingers are no longer in contact with his scalp, but he swallows it and stands up off the chair to look in the mirror.

He smirks at the soft mullet look you’ve given him. It’s still a nod to the eighties but more modern. It’s long still, but he reluctantly doesn’t hate it.

“I don’t have anything to tip you with,” he awkwardly giggles.

“That’s okay. You can thank me later.”

“SHIT”

“What? What's wrong?” Eddie whipped his head around. He hated hospitals.

“It’s Andy.”

“As in Jason’s friend Andy? As in, Andy that tried killing me, Andy?”

“Yea, he’s a doctor now.”

“Fuck” Eddie whispered under his breath.

“Ok, new plan. You’re my nephew, and your name is Jeremy.” Dustin removed his glasses and put them on Eddie as an extra disguise.

“Jeremy?”

“Jeremy.”

“Dude no, that—“

“How can I help you, gentleman, this afternoon?” Andy. Dr. Andy pushed aside the curtain.

“He was out hiking and was attacked by a… a….” Dustin stumbled.

“Bobcat,” Eddie finished.

“A bobcat in Hawkins?” Dr. Andy raised a brow in question.

“I was up north. I patched it up, but I thought it should be looked at.” Eddie cleared his throat.

“OK, let’s take a look. Where is the injury.” He puts down his tablet and watches how Eddie lifts up his shirt, revealing the amateur job you’ve done.

“It’s also on my leg, but it’s uh, this is the worst of it.” he clears his throat, wincing as Andy peels back the medical tape.

He lets out a whistle as he examines Eddie’s torso.

“A bobcat you say?”

Eddie nods his head silently.

“Okay, it looks like it’s been cleaned pretty well. You did a good job, but I’ll have to suture some of the gashes that are still bleeding. Andy looks at Eddie and really looks at him this time.

“Do I? What did you say your name is?”

“Jeremy Potter, my nephew! On my wife’s side.” Dustin interrupted.

Eddie gave him a look to cool it. He was so jumpy it would be suspicious.

“Huh. Ok. Let’s get you all fixed.”

A half-hour later, Eddie and your dad stroll out of the examination room with some antiseptic creams and low-grade painkillers.

“So, uh, it’s getting late; should we grab dinner and go back to Birdie’s?” your dad says.

“Yeah, sure, sounds good.” Eddie can hear his stomach growl again.

After picking up the food, Eddie and your dad finally arrived at your place, almost five hours later. You had spent the entire time waiting at home, feeling anxious and restless. As you waited, you couldn't help but imagine Eddie being tended to by a cute nurse. You pictured her doting on him, taking care of him in ways you never could. The thought of him falling for her made your heart ache with jealousy. Despite your best efforts to push away these feelings, you couldn't help but imagine him walking away from you, leaving you behind.

You didn't understand why these feelings were happening. You’d known him for less than twenty-four hours, and the urge to protect and care for him was so strong. You were already starting to miss him and worry about him.

Your mom kept you company, as she felt it wasn’t good for either of you to be alone. The others had to leave, but your mom stayed, and you discussed more of what happened before you were conceived. She knew exactly how you felt, overwhelmed and crazy. It took a while for her to come to terms with what your father described to her all those years ago, but she loved him too much not to believe him, especially when she saw what Jane could do.

A sense of relief washed over you as your dad and Eddie returned from the hospital. They were okay; his injuries weren’t bad, and he could return to you.

“Could I stay with, uh, with you guys? Eddie asks your folks, and you set the table, and your stomach drops.

“Shit, man, we are renovating right now; we don’t have space.”

“You can stay here,” you quickly offered. Your whole guest room hadn’t been used in months.

“Are you sure? I don’t—you have already done so much for me.” He blushes.

“Please? I insist.”

You couldn’t sleep, and he wasn’t going out on the street.

“You raised a good one, Dusty Bun,” Eddie teased.

“Dusty Bun?” You giggle.

“Oh yes your dad had this imaginary girlfriend, Suzy, and—“

“She was real!” Your dad boomed back.

And the three of you laughed.

The house fell silent when your parents left. After saying your goodbyes, you and Eddie stood awkwardly by the door until you offered to show him the room in which he would be staying.

“Sorry if it’s a little feminine for your taste, but the mattress is really comfortable; it’s memory foam,” you smiled.

“Memory foam?” He questioned.

“You sink into it and feel like you’re on a cloud, trust me. Give it a go,” you gesture to the bed for him to sit on.

You watch as Eddie takes a few steps, and she’s his body to sit on the edge; when his bum hits the comforter, his eyes widen, and he falls back and lets out a moan.

“Holy shit, I’m never leaving” he splays himself over the mattress, and you can’t help but giggle.

“I mean-“

“It’s okay, Eddie, I understand. You can stay as long as you need to.”

Who knows how much time he will be here? How would you even begin to figure out how he gets back home? And can he even get back home? Would he have to go through the upside-down again? Or could he just appear back in the real Hawkins? So many unsolved answers were running through everyone’s minds.

Did Eddie even want to go back? Probably. That would be a bummer, you like him, and not only because he is your father’s good friend….

The longer you pondered, the more awkward the silence became.

“Hey, you want a drink?” you offer, not really thinking; you just need something to ease the tension.“Wait, are you old enough to have a drink?” you eye him.

“Trust me, sweetheart, I can take a drink.”

“How old did you say you were again?”

“I’ll be twenty-two this….year? Well, uh, you know.”

You both walk back to your kitchen and grab the bottle of white wine from the fridge.

“This is all I have, I hope it’s okay?”

“I’ll take anything,” he smirks, and your stomach does a summersault.

You ignore the deep inner attraction and walk over to the cabinet where you keep your glassware.

“So, uh— you gonna call me Uncle Eddie?”

You turn to see that smirk still plastered on his face.

“Absolutely not,” you deadpan.

“Why not?”

Because that would mean I want to fuck my uncle…

“I’m older than you.” You uncork the bottle and pour two big glasses each.

“Not technically."

"Technically, you'd be old and wrinkly," you giggle.

"I would still be a badass, though."

"A badass?"

"Oh yeah, everyone is scared of me." He looked a bit sad.

Your dad did tell you how the town was scared of devil worship and shit but you never took it seriously.

“Not scary to me,” you smile.

“Oh yeah, you could handle all of this?”

“I’m a grown woman; you couldn’t handle me.” You pass him the wine glass.

“I’m technically older than you,” he reminds you again.

“You’re lucky you’re the legal drinking age.”

“Still legal.” His tone implies something more.

“I could run laps around you.”

“You think so?”

“I know sweetheart”

The name made your stomach flip, and you took a big sip of wine before you moved to sit on your sofa in the living room.

Eddie followed and sat on the other side facing you.

“So tell me more about the future.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Shit, everything.” He took a long sip and hummed at the flavour.

“What’s Ozzy doing?”

“Like Ozzy Osborn?”

“Yea.”

“He’s fine; he used to have a reality show," you giggled.

“About what?”

“Him and his family.”

“Really? And people like that?”

“Oh, yeah, it was huge. I never watched it, but it was pretty mainstream…. You like metal?”

“Like is an understatement. Had my own band and everything.”

“Oh yea dad mentioned that Uncle Jeff was in a band… coffin something?”

Eddie bloomed with pride that you knew of his band. His face turned flush but he could blame that on the alcohol.

“Corroded Coffin.”

“Yes that’s it!” You snapped your fingers. “You cover anything I would know?”

“Uh maybe? Metallica, Dio, Ozzy… obviously.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard some stuff from those bands. Uh, here, let me put in something. “ you smile and grab your phone.

Eddie watches in awe as your fingers click against the glowing rectangle in your hands.

“That thing can play music?”

You nod your head and smile.

“Anything it can’t do?”

“Not really” you shake your head.

You find an 80’a playlist, thinking it will make him feel at home and he was in awe.

“Can you show me more about that?” He points to your smartphone.

“I’m yea sure.” You scoot closer to him so he can see and he looks down at the glowing screen.

As you show him the different features, he’s enamoured with Spotify. He loves how you can have any music at your fingertips.

Google was also another thing he had way too much fun with, asking anything and everything he could think of. He googled Metallica and was shocked when they were nominated for a Grammy only a few years later.

Online shopping was also a whirlwind to explain. Amazon was a trip for him; he couldn't believe in one-day shipping for anything you could desire.

“You mentioned you liked fantasy stuff, what do you like?” You snuggled into him closer so you could see the phone in Eddie’s grip.

“Lord of the rings, D&D, Excalibur— "

"Oh my god!" you jump, and so does Eddie.

"What?!"

You don't answer but scurry to find your TV remote.

"Woah," Eddie mumbles as he sees the crisp picture on the flat screen, which lights up the dark room.

You hold down the mic button on the remote and speak into it. Sure, you could have typed it out, but showing Eddie futuristic things was fun.

"Lord of the Rings"

You turn and watch Eddie to see his eyes light up when the trilogy of movies appears on screen.

"No way!"

"There are also three movies of The Hobbit," you giggle.

It was like watching a kid on Christmas morning. The pure joy on Eddie's face said this was the best news he’d ever heard. And to his defence, this was the best thing that’d happened to him in about three weeks.

“Well, I know what I’m doing tomorrow. I need to be all in and clear-minded when I get to experience these.”

“We can make a day of it.” You smile, not even thinking about your job or any responsibilities. Sure, you worked from home, but you were not getting any work with Eddie in the house.

“Really?” He smiles.

“Yea.” You smile back.

The look in his eyes was too intense. You had to break eye contact and excuse yourself to get the bottle.

You don’t even ask Eddie if he wants more, but you empty the contents into his glass and then return to get the second bottle in the back of your fridge.

The conversation held its own as you explained to Eddie about Tesla, social media, legalization of weed in some states, LGBTQ+ rights, 9/11, Obama, Trump, and the pandemic. You didn't want to overwhelm him with too much at first, but you settled on important things.

“Is sex still the same in the future?” He asked casually. And you almost choke.

“Explain to me how it is in the eighties, and I’ll let you know,” you giggle. The alcohol was definitely taking effect.

“W-w-well I….shit” he didn’t think you’d bite.

“Come on, Eddie. We are both adults.” You slide your foot across the couch and nudge his leg playfully.

“Never mind, forget it.” He blushes.

“No, come on, what do you want to know?”

“Is porn still a thing?” He meekly asks, and you can’t help but burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I promise I’m not laughing at you; it’s just like the biggest industry on the internet.”

“Yea?”

“Oh yea. Anything you are into it’s there. Trust me.”

“Trust you? You’ve paid for porn? Sweetheart, I didn’t take you as that kinda girl,” He accuses.

“Hell no, I don’t pay for it.” You laugh.

“Then how do you know what’s out there?” He retorted.

“Because it’s free.” You take your last sip of wine for the night.

Eddie stares at you, mouth agape.

“I’m a single woman, and I have needs.” You defend.

Eddie was stunned. Did he just hear that you touch yourself to free porn on that tiny electric box in your hands? Yes, he did.

“Uh— uh, is there any chance I could brow that phone thing you got there?"

"Absolutely not!" you laughed.

"Why not?! I’m a curious man! I need to learn I have needs too."

"Good night, Eddie," you laugh as you get up off the couch.

“Birdie, come on, please!”

“Goodnight, Eddie.” You shake your head and leave Eddie alone to get ready for bed.

The next morning you were tired, to say the least. You’d gone to bed late and decided to call in sick for the rest of the week.

You woke up around 10:00 a.m. to find the guest room door ajar, and Eddie was still sound asleep. He probably needed a good night's sleep after everything he’d been through, so you made your way downstairs to make breakfast for the both of you.

As the smells wafted through the house, they made their way to the guest room and woke up Eddie instantly. He woke up with a jerk, having forgotten where he was for a split second, but he calmed down once he remembered you.

“He pulled on the same sweatpants and shirt you gave him yesterday and stumbled down to the kitchen.

“Morning, sleepy head,” you smiled over your shoulder.

Eddie wasn’t ready to see you in only a small tank top and tiny sleep shorts.

“M-morning” he stuttered as he took in the view of you.

“I’m making us some food; hope you like bacon and eggs”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“How about coffee?” You walk over to your specialty coffee bar. You loved making gourmet coffees with the syrups and milks.

“Black, please.” he walked over to see the different options.

“That’s so boring! Let me make you something special.”

He gave another funny look, but you insisted.

So you ignore his request, brew your cinnamon coffee pod, add dulce de leche-flavoured syrup and a splash of cream, and slide it over to him.

He looks at you suspiciously, sniffs it and gives a curious look.

“Oh my god, it’s delicious. Just taste it.”

“I’m not sure what freaky futuristic shit you put in this,” he teases.

You squint your eyes but then give a smirk of satisfaction as his eyes bulge as he takes the first sip.

“Shit, that’s good,” he mumbles before taking another sip.

“Told ya” you turn back to the food of the stove to start platting it.

It was fairly quiet as the both of you ate. Eddie was still scarfing down the food like he’d never eaten a home-cooked meal, which made you more curious about the events he’d been through.

“I was thinking we could go shopping today. Can we get you some clothes and maybe a phone?” You tease.

“A phone?” He perked up.

“Maybe, I’m not sure how long you’re staying, and if you wanted to keep in contact with everyone, it’s the easiest way.” You shrugged.

“O-o-okay. But then we can come back here and watch Lord of the Rings?"

"Of course." You smile

Your dad and Uncle Steve met you at the Starcourt Mall around noon. You never thought you would be shopping with these two and their dead friend, but here you were.

After a very long time in Target, and a fashion show, Eddie got a full wardrobe.

“Can we get Eddie a phone?” You ask as you hrough the familiar halls.

“Really? Do you think he needs one? We don’t know how long he’ll be here,

“We don’t even know if we can get him back home”

“I think I’d like one… if it isn’t too much money.” Eddie asked.

“Don’t worry about that Ed’s” your dad turns.

So you and Eddie walk over to the mobile booth and get him a basic smartphone so he can interact with everyone.

Eddie was still enamoured by the touch screen technology, especially in your car. You had to tell him off for messing with the music but he couldn’t help himself.

You let him know you’d help him with his playlist once you got home.

When you and Eddie get home, you teach him how to use it. After the painstaking lesson, he seems to eventually get used to the new technology. He seemed like a natural after an hour or so then the two of you settled down to watch the movie.

You had the whole set up with blankets, pillows, snacks, and drinks.

Turns out Eddie has a knack for new technology because that night, it didn’t take much for him to find porn. He was overwhelmed by the thousands of options. He clicked the first few that were featured and basically came without seconds of watching, but Eddie was determined and unbelievably horny. After the first time, he wasn’t satisfied, so he continued to look for videos. His curiosity took over with all of the categories, but he found himself going back to the ones where the girl resembled you.

As you’re laying in bed trying to fall asleep, you hear him. Did he not release how loud he was? How incredibly hot he sounded as his grunts travelled through your walls. You couldn’t get the image of Eddie touching himself out of your head, no matter how hard you tried to block him out. You couldn’t even get your headphones because they were in your purse downstairs, and you didn’t want to get up and alarm Eddie.

So you lay there on your phone, scrolling mindlessly until you see Eddie’s new contact pop up. You click on it instantly. It’s a voice note.

Do you dare? You know what he’s doing down the hallway. Even if it is muffled, it’s obvious. You can hear the moans of a girl getting fucked on the screen.

The little devil on your shoulder wins as you find yourself pressing play.

‘Uuuuuuuh fuck-yessssss, just like that! Unnnnnngh mmmmmmmm so hot, fuck-“

His voice was deep and gasping with need.

You didn’t even know you could record a voice note while watching a video, but who knows?

“Such a good girl. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm”

And it cuts off. You rewind it again to listen to him say goodgirl, and your stomach flip flops, and you can feel something burning in your core.

It’s been so long since you’ve been with anyone. You can’t help but reach for your vibrator hidden in your nightstand.

You replay the voice note and turn it on. You imagined Eddie’s body on yours, how he would touch your skin, kiss your collarbone, eat you out, praise you; God, his voice was so hot, you were quivering with pleasure. Before you knew it, you had been cumming within minutes.

The next morning, you, too, were oblivious to Eddie also hearing your needy breaths.

He had no idea that he was the reason behind them, but when he heard the toy's low humming and your moans, he had a slight hunch that you were also doing the same as him.

“Sleep well?” you ask, walking into the kitchen to see Eddie trying to figure out the coffee maker. He turns to see you in nothing but a large T-shirt, fuzzy socks, and bunny slippers, and he never thought he could feel more butterflies looking at someone. It’s fast, it’s strong, and it’s scaring Eddie. His attraction to you is nothing like he’s experienced before.

“Uh yeah— you?" you think back to how you fell asleep, blissed out.

“Yeah,” he smirks, also thinking back to how he made himself cum three times last night, a new personal best.

You think for a minute that you should tell him about the voice note, but you decide against it. It would only be an uncomfortable situation. So you leave it and pretend like nothing happened.

You drove both you and Eddie to Uncle Steve's house. It was a strange and surreal experience watching Steve and Eddie interact, as if no time had passed since they last saw each other. It was like they had picked up their friendship right where they left off.

As you and Eddie caught up with Steve, you learned about what happened after the incident. There was a funeral, which was attended by few people, but the ones who mattered were there. You discovered that the kids took turns visiting the empty grave, cleaning up the graffiti left by the townspeople. Eventually, the graffiti stopped and people ceased to care. However, Hellfire and the rest of the gang still visited the grave and left flowers from time to time.

Steve got married, but the marriage didn't last long. You remembered how much you disliked her when they visited you as a kid. Steve never got over Nancy; he still loved her, even though she chose someone else. He hoped they would find their way back to each other someday, but she had moved overseas for investigative journalism.

Eddie wasn't surprised to hear that Uncle Mike and Aunt Jane got married. Although he had never met her, he remembered how fondly Mike had spoken about her. Mike loved her with all his heart.

You also learned that Will, the other boy Eddie never met, became a big animator working in LA. Steve shared that Lucas was the basketball coach at Hawkins High, and Erica had become a CEO.

Eddie asked about Max, and Steve replied that she was okay now. It took a while, but after Vecna had gotten to her, she was in a coma for months. Her vision never came back, and it took a long time for her to recover. Steve half-heartedly smiled. Eddie cringed and asked if Vecna had any more victims, and Steve replied that Carver hadn't made it. There was a huge earthquake that came from the Upside Down that killed about ten people they didn't know. Talking about it was clearly bothering Steve, but Eddie needed to know.

"Can you show us some pictures?" You asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yeah, sure, kid." He smiles and leads you to where he kept the photo albums. After seeing all the memories Eddie missed out on, he felt a feeling he's never felt before.

"You okay?" You ask, noticing how quiet he was on the drive back.

"Yeah? No? I don’t know. I’m just— I missed out so much! I was supposed to be there with them! I'm starting to regret my choice of staying back… I. Shit that sounds awful, but I'm not supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be back there, in 1986, with my friends and my uncle! And now I'm stuck here and don't even know if I'll be able to go back home?!"

You don't know why you're hurt by Eddie's words, but you are. This wasn't about you, but the thought of Eddie not wanting to be here made you feel like he doesn't want to be with you.

"Don't say that, Eddie! What you did was brave; it was dignified! You chose to help save your friends. Sure, it was a little stupid because you died. Or didn't die? I don't know… but I always saw you as this hero my dad would talk about! You're honourable and kind and so selfless. And somehow, it led you to here…"

To me.

"Thanks, Sweetheart."

The nickname made your heart flutter. It's not the first time he called you that, but each time it doesn't go unnoticed.

"I'm scared," Eddie finally admits as you pull into the driveway.

"I know," you whisper.

You would be terrified if it were you in Eddie's position. You don't know how he's held it together this long. You weren't lying when you told him he was brave. He's the bravest person you've ever met."

Several weeks have passed, and you and Eddie have settled into a comfortable routine. You’re back at work, and Eddie has accepted that he will be stuck in the future. You and Eddie wouldn’t want to leave one another at the end of each day. You’d catch one another, with both of your lingering glances.

Your family had searched for anything and everything to research and look into anything that could be used as a portal to the upside-down or time travel. But the gate was permanently closed and had been for over thirty years, and there was no way they would risk opening it back up just of the possibility of Eddie getting attacked again, so maybe he could get back. The possibility of a gate on the other side was extremely slim because it had been sealed.

Eddie would spend hours sitting by the window, gazing at the vast expansion of houses before him. It was hard to believe that the once-desolate trailer park he called home was now this fancy. The years he had spent away from it had brought about so many changes that he struggled to come to terms with. He often found himself pining for a life that should have been, but he knew deep down that he had to accept the way things were now.

Despite feeling emotionally numb, he took solace in the fact that he was still here, breathing and healing. Each day brought with it small signs of progress, and he clung to them with all his might. He knew that he still had a long road ahead of him, but for now, he was content to sit by the window and watch the world go by, slowly but surely regaining his strength and sense of purpose. he was dead to the world but here he was, living, breathing... healing.

His physical wounds were healed; all that was left was a nasty scar. His mental wounds, however, were still ever-present in his mind. He would have night terrors; he couldn’t hide them. You would hear him screaming in the night, sometimes multiple times, if he was able to fall back asleep.

He tried talking about it with Dustin and the others, but nothing seemed to help. He was exhausted and mentally drained by the fact that nothing was the same; nothing was familiar. Sure, his friends were there for him, but they had changed; they weren’t the same people as he remembered them.

Eddie had another awful dream tonight if you could call it that. It was more of a memory; the exact events of that fatal night replayed as a loop inside his brain.

It always starts when he's with Dustin in the boarded-up trailer. Then, he watches as Dustin crawls through the gate. Eddie waits, watching him for a split second before running back out. He no longer wants to be a coward or a runner. He's surrounded by unearthly creatures, fighting for his life, but there are too many. He can't escape. All he feels is the pain, terror, and then nothing. It's all darkness, quiet, and loneliness. The worst part is the solitude, the feeling of being so alone. He longs for the day when he no longer feels that way.

Sometimes, when he's with you, he forgets that he's not supposed to be here. But as soon as he returns to this room, which is not his, it all comes crashing back down.

As the night wore on, Eddie's screams pierced through the stillness of the house. You had been lying awake for hours, listening to his panicked cries, feeling helpless and powerless to ease his distress. You can no longer take it; you can't listen to him suffer. You push the covers off, not caring that you’re only in a big T-shirt, and walk over to Eddie’s room and timidly knock on the door.

You slowly push it open as he never latches it fully shut. You can see him in the dim light of the moon fling the room and the light from the hallway. He’s a bit sweaty, trashing under the covers. He’s still sleeping, if that’s what you can call it. You can’t imagine the image playing in his mind as you slowly make your way over to wake him, to not get knocked out in the process. The room was dimly lit, and Eddie's ragged breathing was the only sound as he tried to calm himself down.

Eddie hadn't noticed you walked over to him, he was still sleeping. You sat beside him, gently stroking his hair, and whispered comforting words in his ear. Slowly but surely, his screams subsided, and his breathing became more regular.

“Eddie,” you gently whisper, brushing your hand across his bare back. His skin is sticky with sweat but he’s cold.

“Eddie,” you repeated, slowly circling your hand around his back in comfort.

He jerks awake with a gasp, and unexpectedly, he grabs you and pulls you into a tight hug.

“I’m so scared, Birdie.” You can feel him trembling in your arms as your body slowly relaxes under his touch.

“Shhhh. I’ve got you; I’m here.” You hold him as silent tears fall down his cheeks, staining your shirt. You rock him slowly to help calm him down. You lay beside him in silence, there for him, holding him.

“I don’t- can you-“ he takes a deep breath. You stay quiet to let him gather his thoughts.

“Can.... you stay with me tonight?”

Your heart melts as you hear the words trickle from his lips. He’s so delicate. He needs to be cared for, and you’re more than willing.

“Come.” You take his hand and lead him to your room. You pull him into your still-warm bed, snuggling under the covers together.

This isn't the closest youve been to Eddie. You've managed to fall asleep on his shoulder while watching the lord of the Rings movies a time or two. But this felt different. It was more intimate, and you weren't sure how to go about it.

You let Eddie take the lead as you lay beside him. You feel his fingers intertwine with yours under the duvet, and you squeeze his hand before opening up your arms so you can hold him. He lays his head on your chest. The tears have subsided for now, and you kiss the top of his head without thinking. You let your lips linger on his head before he looked up at you. His pleading eyes long for any source of comfort, especially from you.

You have been there for him, even when you should have called the cops after he broke into your house. But you were selfless; you let him find shelter, a shower, clean clothes, and food, all before you knew who he was. He was so frightened, but you showed him compassion. He started falling for you then, even if he didn't really see it a month ago; he sees it now.

You're so kind and fun; you get him to the fullest degree, even if you're not from the same time. Maybe Eddie has Dustin to thank, but he is falling for you. At this moment, in another time of need, you're with him in the middle of the night, comforting him even if you have work tomorrow. Eddie sees that didn't matter to you. You're here for him. So can he really blame himself when he tilts his head further to see more comfort from you in a gentle kiss? No, he can't. He's been longing for this, pining and itching to feel his lips on yours.

It takes you by surprise; his lips are so soft and delicate. It's been so long since you've kissed someone you've developed feelings for.

Eddie is desperate for more. He wants this so badly; he moans as he feels you start to kiss him back, but that snaps you out of it.

“We shouldn’t. This is wrong; you’re not in the right headspace.” You pull back, looking into his pleading eyes.

“Please, I want to forget. I don't know how else to forget," he begs you. He needs this to not be remembered, even if it is temporary. Eddie's lips hover centimetres from yours. His hot breath fans over your skin as you try to think of what to do.

You want this, he wants this, so what is stopping you?

"Birdie, if you don't want to, I'll go back to my room; I can move in with Steve or Robin or someone. I'm sorry; I overstepped. I just-"

You cut him off with another kiss, but you're not overthinking it this time. You need him to feel how you're feeling, how everything is only right when you're with him.

Before Eddie came into your life, you felt like everything was average and unremarkable. But since he's entered your world, he's brought a sense of excitement and adventure that you never knew existed. Even though his presence can be chaotic sometimes, you find yourself drawn to him and the thrill he brings. You feel like he's exactly what you've been missing and never want to return to your old, mundane life.

"I need this too, Eddie," you mumble into his lips, and Eddie sighs; his heart skips a beat.

You feel his weight shift as Eddie leans into the kiss. He leans you back into your pillows, taking the lead. You feel how his hands trace up your arms so he can cup your face.

He wants to feel you, breathe you, and be with you. No one has ever shown Eddie so much selflessness as you have. You deserve the world in Eddie’s eyes, and he wants to let you know how grateful he is to have you.

But he also wanted to forget it all—all the terrible things he’d witnessed and gone through. He just wanted it to go away for a while. So, for now, while he’s with you, his anxieties and fears are slowly being plucked away with each moan, gasp, and timid graze.

Eddie can feel your heat through the thin pyjama pants adorning his waist. You’re only in a shirt and your panties, but Eddie needs to see more of you.

“Can I take this off?” He mumbles in between desperate kisses as his fingers grip the hem of your sleep shirt.

You don’t let him ask again before you tug it over your head. You didn’t think his doe eyes could get any bigger, but here he was, proving you wrong, and it only made him look more endearing.

You reach out to Eddie as he sits there like a statue, staring at you. You take his hand, bring it up to your chest, and place his large hand on your breast.

“Hollyshit,” he whispered, realizing he was touching his best friend’s daughter. But that thought quickly passed as you leaned up in to kiss him; it's sloppy, it’s desperate, it’s wet, it’s so hot Eddie thinks he might just bust in his pants here and now when you ground your hips into his already painfully hardened cock.

You can’t help but moan when your pussy brushes up against him. You can feel how turned on he is, and it only makes you want him more.

“More,” you moan as Eddie’s hip grinds into yours.

Eddie didn’t need to be told twice. His fingers find the twists of your underwear, and he lets his fingers slip down to your slit. You widen your legs so you can feel it all. His long fingers trace up and down your slit, collecting your slick before he impressively finds your clit on the first go.

His lips travel down lower so they can latch on your neck.

“Oh, Eddie,” you breathe as the combination of his fingers and lips sends a shockwave of pleasure through your body. His mouth leaves a mark on your delicate skin.

“Good girl, say my name.”

Another wave of pleasure travels through you these words.

“Eddie,” you moan. You don’t even recognize your own voice. It’s so desperate and needy. If you weren’t so desperate, you’d be embarrassed.

“Fuck, that’s so hot” he slips a single digit up into you to test the waters. “Baby, you’re soaked. All for me?” He groans with need.

“Yes, Eddie, I want you so bad; I need you so bad,” You squirm under his touch. He pumps his thick, long finger in and out before adding another one.

His head travels lower, and his mouth latches onto your perked nipple. His warm, wet mouth feels so nice, but that quickly is gone as he nips at your bud, and you let out an unexpected yelp.

“Fucking love your noises” Eddie moved onto your other nipple doing the same thing, only this time you’re prepared, and you arched up into his touch. His fingers are still working on you, and you’re so close.

“Don’t stop” You’re so close, and he knows it; he can feel your pussy clamping down on him with each pump of his hand.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Pleasing you has been the only thing that has made him feel this good in a while.

All his worries and anxieties were by the wayside. His only purpose was to please you, to touch you, to please you.

You could feel it coming; you were so close only a few more seconds, and you would be flooded with ecstasy.

A roar of Eddie’s name rips from your lungs as you soak his fingers. Eddie never thought he would be so lucky to experience this with you, but here he was, watching as your body shook with pleasure all before of him.

“Fuuuuuck, you did so well for me, baby.” You don’t even notice when he sticks his fingers in his mouth to taste you. You’re too blissed out.

You didn’t think your pussy would need anything more, but hearing his praises only makes you quiver with need. You need his cock; you need to make him feel good. This was about him forgetting; this was about the both of you making one another feel good. You needed to take care of him.

Once you caught your breath, you shuffled so he was under you.

Eddie watched as you discarded your soaked panties and were fully naked for him. Kneeling at his waist, drooling over what was under his tented pants.

“Can I?“ you bat your lashes innocently as you reach for the waistband of his pants.

“Fuck, you have to ask, sweetheart; any time you want to, just do it.”

You giggle at his eagerness, but it’s cut off when you see just how pretty his cock is.

The head is so pink; it’s just screaming at you to put it in your mouth.

Your mouth waters as he grips his cock in his hand, guiding it to your mouth.

You stick out your wet tongue and the moonlight reflects off of it, it’s that wet.

Eddie can’t help but tap it a few times before you take his tip fully.

Eddie’s messy curls fall back as he lets his head hang, you looked up through your lashes to see his exposed neck and it only made you want to mark him as yours.

Your attention shifts when you feel his large hand run along your scalp, gently tugging at your roots. Your eyes roll back as his grip tightens, and you sink deeper.

His hard cock feels heavy in your mouth. His small whimpers make your pussy drip as you bob your head up and down his shaft. His taste and smell are overwhelming. All you want is to please him. To help him forget. Selfishly, you only want him to focus on you, and it’s working.

Eddie can’t believe he’s in your room, in your bed, watching you naked as you give him the best head of his life. He’s forgotten everything; he only knows you and how you’re making him feel. He’s feeling good. It's the first time in weeks he feels good, amazing even.

“Such a good girl, Birdie.” He tried so hard to not thrust his hips up into your mouth, but it’s so hard when he feels you take all the way.

You nuzzle your face into the thatch of hair at the base of his cock. It’s soft and smells of him; it’s overwhelmingly Eddie. You drool out of the sides of your mouth as you finally come back up for air. Replacing your mouth with your hand. Jacking him off as Eddie takes your mouth in his own once again.

“Need to be inside of you.” he pulls you up so you're straddling his lap.

You adjust quickly so you can sink slowly on his cock. I'm not even thinking about a condom; you’re on birth control anyway. You need him. He needs you. Simple.

You hold his shoulders for balance as you ease your way on his thick long cock. It burns slightly as he stretches you out, but you need it. You want it.

“Fuck you’re so big, Eddie” your head falls back as you sink to the bottom.

Eddie watches in awe as your body envelopes itself around him. You’re so tight and warm around him that he can’t help but grip your hips to help guide you up and down his cock.

Slowly you start to rise and fall on his cock. Both your mouths hang open as the pleasure courses through your veins. You slowly build up your place until you’re bouncing on his cock.

“Got, you’re so fucking hot,” Eddie pants.

He can’t help but take your breast in his mouth again. This had to be the hottest experience of his life. An ‘older’ girl from the future wanting him just as much as he wanted her? Fuck maybe this was heaven?

“Does that feel good, baby?” you coo. All you want is for him to feel as good as you do.

“Shit, yes, your pussy is so tight, fuck me. You’re so sexy.”

“You’re so big,” you moan.

You silence him with another kiss. You feel his tongue in your mouth immediately. He’s so skilled it makes you think how he can use it elsewhere….

“I’m so close, Birdie. Are you close?” He pulls back.

“Mmmmmmmmmm” you nod your head yes.

You need more, but your legs are burning and about to give out. Your pace falters, and Eddie can see you’re getting tired, so he steadies your hips and fucks himself up into you.

“Oh my god!!! Eddie!!!” You hold on to his shoulder to brace yourself. His cock hits your g spot with each powerful stroke; it feels so good you can’t focus on anything else but cuming all over him.

“That’s it, Birdie, come on my cock, good girl.”

“Holy shit,” you cry out.

“I’m going to come. Where do you want?”

“Inside!” The aftershock still taking over your senses.

You listen to Eddie’s grunts as he releases himself inside of you, it sounds so hot you didn’t think he could be any more attractive, but he was holding you down on his cock, not letting any of his cum leak out just yet.

You collapse down onto Eddie chest as your heavy breathes become synchronized.

“I think they nicknamed you the wrong woodland creature.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m going to call you Bunny stress of Birdie.”

Your brain is still foggy, and you’re unsure what he means.

“You’re like a bunny hopping all over my cock”

“Eddie!” You playfully slap his chest before you decide to go off of him.

“So, is sex really that much different from the eighties?” You giggle as you roll over to lie beside him.

“I think it might be better,” he says as he pulls you in for another hot kiss.

“You wanna go again?” You look at him, surprised.

“What? Can’t keep up with a younger man?”

“It’s four in the morning, Eddie. I have to work,” you moan. Your heart wants it, but your head says otherwise.

“Shit! I’m sorry”

“Don’t be. Tomorrow, I’ll show you what I can do; that first round was nothing.” You giggle.

After Eddie helped you get cleaned up, the room was silent for a bit.

"Thank you for being there for me, Bridie." Eddie takes your hand and gently squeezes it.

"No need to thank me, Eddie, I'll always be there for you."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson imagine #modern!eddie munson #modern!eddie x reader #modern eddie munson #eddie munson #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson angst #Eddie Munson fluff

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damn-stark · 20 hours

Text

Chapter 37 Strong heart

Chapter 37 of Sugar

A/N- I hope you guys like it :) I liked writing this chapter

Warning- Swearing, ANGST, FLUFF, violence and blood, talks of DEATH, and pregnancy, flashback, SPOILERS!!!! long chapter!

Pairing- Choso x Gojo!fem-reader, Suguru Geto x Gojo!fem-reader

Episode and or chapters- Chapter 243 to chapter 253

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

Choso’s not responding, why is he not responding?

You take a step closer but stop out of fear that you’ll meet up with a corpse.

“Ch…” You trail off in a quivering voice and continue watching his unmoving body.

Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be gone, please…

You force yourself to go to him, but you head to him slowly because your fear of losing him is polluting your mind. After all, when you found Suguru last year he was on the ground, bleeding out, barely alive, and missing an entire arm. What if you come across that horrifying scene again, but this time you don’t even get to say goodbye?

“Choso?” Your voice comes out hoarse as your need to cry weakens it. “Choso?”

You cast a shadow over him as you stop a foot away from him because you’re scared if you get too close you won’t hear him breathe.

“Choso?” You basically plead.

And this time, at last, you catch his fingers shift on the ground—but! Does that mean he’s okay? You see a lot of blood staining his clothes, and two giant fist-sized holes on the back of his vest.

Choso then slowly lifts his head and you hold your breath when you meet his honey-imbued eyes. He mutters your name as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing, and his pupils dilate as he keeps watching you with the rays of the sun shining around your head like a glorious halo.

You step closer and pull the worm cursed-spirit off your shoulders to try and crouch, but Choso pushes himself up and that’s when you freeze completely because of the two gaping wounds you see close to his side. You can’t see through them, it seems like they went all the way through since there’s holes on his back, but there’s raw flesh now that makes his wound look like two dark voids.

“Choso,” you gasp.

Said man doesn’t seem to believe you’re real, he just studies your face as if he’s admiring some painting for a lingering moment before he lunges forward and throws his arms around you.

And you can't believe his chest was moving with signs of life, that you're actually looking into his pretty eyes until you feel his warmth and his strong arms around you. “Choso,” you whisper in disbelief and cling onto him.

“My love,” he whispers. “You’re okay. You’re safe, you’re back to me.”

His voice is so comforting, so soft and soothing. You wish you could say it kills the fear you felt clinging onto your heart, but you won’t stop being afraid about his well-being until you’re walking out of this fight hand in hand.

“You’re alive,” you point out to yourself. “Why didn’t you answer me? I was calling out your name?”

Choso pulls back and grabs onto your jaw to tilt your head and then step back to study your body for any wounds he might’ve missed.

“I’m okay,” you assure him as you watch his eyes roam your body. “We’re okay, Kenjaku didn’t even touch me.”

Choso’s eyes snap to you and he doesn’t seem to believe you, so you grab his hand and yank it down to put over your belly. “Remember you can feel them. They’re okay, yes?”

Choso holds your gaze as he searches within himself for the confirmation over the twins' status. And once he’s assured that they’re okay just like you told him, he sighs with relief and once again holds your face with both hands to check you out one more time.

“I’m okay,” you whisper and caress his shoulder with a sweet smile.

He lets out a deep breath and nods in comprehension, and as he stays attached to you, you slip your hands down to his chest with a smile still glued to your face, and then shove him back with your face quickly twisting to show your anger.

“You scared me!” You scold him. “I kept calling out to you, I texted you twice and you didn’t answer me. I thought…I…” you trail off and swiftly turn on your heels to catch your breath and stop yourself from crying.

You already cried so much today, that you don’t want to keep crying.

“I’m sorry,” Choso quickly tries to comfort you. “I just didn’t want you to see me hurt. I wanted to heal before you got to me, I’m sorry,” he whispers those last two words as he grabs your shoulder.

You turn your face away and lift your hand to gnaw on your nail. “How…how did it happen?” Your voice comes out muffled.

Choso sighs. “Sukuna surprised me. He was too fast, I tried to use piercing blood, but from one second to another he was before me and jammed his hands through me.”

Any higher and he would’ve hit his core, and his heart, Choso was close to death, he could’ve died. You were close to being a widow once again, you were close to having to live without him.

“I should’ve been more careful,” he adds sincerely.

Yes, and no. He was just trying to help the best he could, he didn’t expect to get hurt the way he did, but you can’t help but be upset because he was so close to death.

“You,” you spat and snap your head around to pierce your glare at him, but when you meet his guilt-filled eyes, when you see the life in his eyes your anger falls and your relief completely takes over, making you throw your arms around his neck instead.

“I’m happy you’re okay,” you whisper in his ear. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Choso balls your clothes as he grabs onto your back and breaks the truth. “We’re still not done yet.”

Your breath trembles, but you don’t let his comment bring you down. “I know but let me just appreciate you’re okay for now.” You say and snuggle your face in the crook of his neck.

Choso hums and keeps holding you for as long as you need until you remember what you have and pull apart with a smirk. “I have something I need to give you,” you clue him in even though he might have an idea.

You then walk over to pick up the worm cursed spirit and drape him around your shoulders before you reach towards his mouth. “Now, I’ll tell you what I told Shoko, I’m sorry for the way it’s brought over, I just didn’t want to carry this around in my hand,” you tell him and pull out the jar with Kenjaku’s brain. “This is yours,” you let Choso know, and assure him that his father is gone once and for all. “You and your brother can rest easy now that he won’t be roaming this earth.”

Choso clenches his jaw and anger passes behind his eyes, but it’s all then quickly replaced by relief, and then lastly sorrow that brings tears to the corner of his eyes. And you can’t imagine it’s sorrow for his father's death, he hated his father, so it must be sorrow born from joy more than anything; joy that at long last a monster who terrorized him, his brothers, and his mother is finally gone.

It was all thanks to you.

“Your mother and your brothers can rest now too,” you tell him softly. “He won’t torment anyone anymore.”

Choso looks at you and his eyes gleam with awe and joy. “Thank you,” he muses as he takes the jar. “Thank you for doing this for me and for my family.”

You offer him a gentle smile and reach over to wipe a tear off his cheek. “You welcome and if it wasn't just me, it was Okkotsu too, but you are welcome.”

Choso grabs your hand to give it a gentle squeeze, and as he holds your gaze the love he has for you only heightens and grows more passionate and tender. He also thanks the stars and fate for letting your paths intertwine.

“What will you do with it?” You ask Choso, making him snap from his stupor to glare at the brain with a seething anger.

“Burn it,” he sneers, “and then I’ll disintegrate those ashes until there’s nothing left. I don’t want to give him even the slightest chance of coming back, especially not now that we're going to have children.”

You hum and nod in comprehension.

“I wish I could do it now,” he grumbles, “but it seems we don’t have the time.”

He looks up at you and pushes the jar towards you. “Can you keep it safe until I can get rid of it?”

You take the jar from his hand and assure him without hesitation. “Of course I can.”

You return the jar to the Worm so he can keep it safe within him for now.

“Did you…” Choso pauses, making you look back at him with a soft curious look—“recover Suguru Geto’s body?”

You blink in surprise and avert your gaze to nod. “Yes,” you respond quietly. Again not out of shame, you just don’t know how much you should talk about Suguru with Choso.

“Shoko says she can mend the wounds we left him and get rid of the those nasty stitches Kenjaku left,” you share with a faint smile, and when you look over you see Choso struggling to keep his eyes on you.

It’s probably just as awkward for him as it is for you.

“That’s good. Satori will be able to look at her father one last time without thinking about Noritoshi,” he says what you thought about too. “And you,” he pauses. “Will be able to put him to rest too.”

You sigh and nod. “Yeah,” you mumble. “I know…It’s not weird, is it? Talking about him?”

Choso keeps his eyes on his hand clutching onto his wound and blinks before he shakes his head. “No…it’s just…strange, but it’s something I know shouldn’t bother me.” He finally looks over at you and looks at you with a guilty look. “Don’t think you have to avoid talking about him in front of me…I understand he was your husband. You loved him.”

You hold his gaze as you feel your heart envelope in warm bliss and awe that could almost mend your shattered heart.

“You’re sweet,” you coo and grab his chin with your thumb and pointer finger to lean in and press a gentle peck on his lips. “This is why I love you.”

The corner of Choso’s pink lips tug up and his hand cups your wrist to caress your skin and send waves of comfort throughout your aching body.

“Now,” you change the subject as you slide your hand over to take his hand. “Why don’t we go sit so you can finish healing before we meet up with Yuji? I have something to show you.” You bounce your eyebrows and flash him a giddy grin.

Choso studies you and this sudden burst of excitement that he knows isn't just caused by anything, there’s a specific reason behind your outburst and he assumes one thing. “Did Satori send you something?”

You walk him toward a nearby wall since there’s no benches anywhere nearby.

“No,” you tell him and peer back at him with your lips and eyes hard to read. “Manami and Toshihisa were going to keep her distracted all day today. I didn’t want to risk having her catch a glimpse of the broadcast. So she’s too busy having fun.” You assume, but you also know that it’s not too far-fetched considering who’s taking care of her.

“It’s something else,” you tease him and sit you both down on the cold ground and press your backs against the wall. “Are you ready?” You only begin to excite him now.

“I don’t know if I should be,” Choso remarks nonchalantly.

You giggle as you pull out your phone and meet his gaze to pass him a giddy look that causes a gleam to spark in your eyes, and makes his heart skip a beat.

“Shoko checked on me after I got back,” you begin to explain to him as you surf on your phone until you find the video you just took of the twin's heartbeat—“and she heard this.”

You press play and push the phone near him so he can see the screen, even if it’s just Shoko pressing the wand against your belly.

At first, though Choso doesn’t seem to understand what he hears, he thinks that the two running hearts are just your own heart racing too fast.

“I don’t—” just before he can express his concern though his mouth goes agape and his eyes widen.

“It’s their heartbeats,” you make it clear so he can process the news faster. “It’s Suki and…”

“…Tsukuyomi,” Choso finishes for you, making you beam at him and nod in confirmation. He then carefully takes the phone from you to pull the phone closer to his ear.

“That’s them, that’s their hearts,” he muses.

You watch as his eyes cloud with blissful tears, and his smile spreads with a tender adoration dancing on his lips.

“They sound strong,” you repeat what Shoko told you. “They have strong hearts.”

Choso tears his eyes away from the video and looks at you with even more tenderness that softens his eyes and makes his eyes glimmer. “Just like you,” he whispers confidently because out of all the things he knows, he knows he’s more than sure about that.

You hear it, the sincerity behind his tone and you can’t help but also redirect it at him. “And you.”

Choso’s smile fills with more admiration and he responds by leaning in and pressing a kiss on your forehead.

You smile softly with glee and take his hand before you rest your head on his shoulder and listen to the video one more time to use that as a sliver of joy in this storm of agonizing sorrow.

After Choso plays the video a couple more times he rests his head on yours and gently squeezes your hand in the silence he keeps. You can’t help but keep smiling as you think about your dream of growing your family, of raising your children the way you wanted to be raised and loving them with your husband who loves you unconditionally.

What more could you ask for—

Oh…

Satoru…right.

No matter what he was always in your future, even if you imagined him distant when you didn’t talk, he was still there in the background of your dreams. Now…where he once was is replaced by a black void that slowly swallows everything and leaves you hopeless for the future.

“Once this is done,” you break the silence to avoid drowning in your grief. “The snakes will lash out at the Gojo clan.”

“What do you mean?” Choso probes a bit confused.

“They won’t accept my daughter as their leader so they’ll try and replace her with one of my male cousins most likely,” you explain and already start to feel irritated.

“Even if your brother left in his will that he wants Satori to be leader after him?”

You nod. “Yeah, one, my daughter wasn't raised with the Gojo’s, two she's a woman, and three her last name is Geto and she didn’t inherit her father's technique.” You sigh but smirk mischievously. “Not like it really matters, sure it’s annoying, but I’ll go chop off a few heads to make them listen, and if Satori chooses not to be leader, well, I’ll take her place and pass on the title to one of our children. Hence following the procession of the clan with my line.”

That will surely teach your family for mistreating you!

You love being spiteful.

“Are you sure?” Choso surprises you by asking.

You pull away from his side and meet his gaze with a serious and determined pointed look. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” you swear.

Choso didn’t want to try and argue or convince you that it was a bad idea, all he needed was to ask if that’s what you really wanted to do. Now that he has his answer he’ll leave it be and let you do as you please and what best suits your daughter, and your brother's wishes because it’s what he would do too if he was in your shoes.

“I know it hasn’t been long, but how’s your wound?” You interject as you turn around to sit on your knees and grab his vest and robe to pull it aside so you can check out his wound yourself.

“I feel better,” he tries to assure you, even if you look at his wound right now and see that it’s still pretty deep. They’re not as deep as before, but they’re not near closing yet. However, you know you can’t reason with Choso, not when Yuji is still in commission, as well as you. You would need to knock him out cold to get him to sit back.

“Cho,” you still try to argue regardless. “I see—”

“I’m okay, I can keep fighting,” he cuts you off a bit harshly so you won’t try and argue again. “Don’t worry about me right now.”

You drop your eyes to the two holes in his flesh and groan before you steal a glimpse at his blood-stained abs and let his clothes go to fall back into his place.

“We should…find Yuji,” you bring up a bit begrudgingly. Only because you wish he’d heal 150 percent.

“That’s what I was thinking,” he says as he stands on his feet.

“That’s what I was thinking,” you mock under your breath as you follow him up.

Alas, he catches you and slowly cranes his head back to look at you with his thick eyebrows furrowed.

You sass him and shoot him a pointed look that makes him scoff before he steps aside to let you walk ahead as he keeps an eye out from behind.

However, he’s not looking out for Yuji, he’s watching out for trouble that might try and catch you off guard. Even if Sukuna is fighting alone and he has no reason to come after either of you unprovoked, it would still be stupid to not be looking over your shoulders.

“I hope you know the moment you get hurt I will throw you over my shoulder,” Choso proclaims, making you smirk and look back at him.

“Oh really?” You say teasingly, causing his eyes to snap to you, however he doesn’t catch your flirtatious smile.

“Really,” he says seriously.

Your smirk deepens and your voice turns silkier. “Why don’t you try it out right now? Just show me how you’ll do it, hm?”

Choso blinks and is finally hit with the realization of what you’re really getting at. “Oh…well…I can show you,” he tries his best to hit you back with something flirty just as smoothly as you.

“I might argue,” you say and come to a stop so he can fall right behind you, to the point his chest grazes your back—“what will you do then?”

Choso swallows thickly and glances at your lips, making you steal a glimpse at his own before you turn around and show him an example with a short kiss.

“There’s one way to keep me quiet or…?” You trail off so he can finish.

“Or,” he trails on as he holds your gaze completely star-struck. “I can,” he pauses and raises his hand to let it hover over your mouth and make sure you’re okay with what he’s doing. When he notices that you aren’t protesting, and keep waiting with a smirk on your face, Choso gently presses his hand against your lips and slowly lets his thumb graze over your bottom lip as he holds your gaze.

Your heart skips a beat with excitement and his pounds, but even as he stands there nervously he still gently penetrates the tip through your lips. When he feels the warmth and wetness of your mouth he shoves his whole thumb in, making you suck gently before you pull away from his touch and laugh.

Not at him. Of course. You laugh with excitement, having forgotten for a moment what tormented you, and steal a passionate kiss that you savor before you press your forehead on his and grab the back of his neck.

Choso lets out a deep breath and cups your cheeks to caress your jawline with his thumb, making you lean your face towards one side to steal one more moment of comfort.

Just a short moment before you both pull away and continue down your path side by side.

After a few moments of walking, you finally come across Yuji on his knees in the middle of the highway with blood spilling out of his mouth. And just ahead you see only a glimpse of Maki and Sukuna before they disappear from your view. But even if he’s gone you still feel a chill run down your spine as you assume you’ll be facing him off soon now that you’re closer in his range…

Soon though, now you focus on Choso and his brother, and with a look alone you press Choso to help his brother.

And even if your husband understands what you mean he still hesitates. “What if I say the wrong thing? He said I’m not good at teaching, I don’t want him to get something wrong because of me,” he pauses and drifts his gaze away from Yuji to look at you with a soft pleading look. “Could you help him, remind him to take it slow?”

You glance at Yuji in distress and do have the need to help him, but if you were him all you’d want is your brother's help, even if it is a smidge of advice.

“He needs you,” you advise Choso. “Just don't over-explain it. Talk to him as if you were talking to Satori,” you say and rub his shoulders, but he doesn’t seem content with that so you come up with one more thing. “Ah! Just explain it to me and I’ll tell you if it's okay.”

Choso swallows back nervously but doesn’t hesitate this time, he draws out a deep breath and brings his hand up to press his thumb on your forehead. “Healing comes from here. All you need to do is just visualize. Watch it spread like roots,” he explains tenderly as he moves his thumb down. “Spread it everywhere and focus on mending what’s really wounded.”

Choso traces the veins down to your hand and stops when his thumb lands on your warm palm. And as he holds your hand his tenderness slowly twists to worry. “Was that okay?” Choso asks somewhat panicked.

You offer him a bright smile and nod. “That was perfect. I’m sure he’ll understand,” you assure him as you grab his hand with your free one to gently massage his palm.

Choso sighs deeply and glances at Yuji, still seeming to be spaced out and distressed on the ground. This time though, without hesitation Choso leaves your side and reaches his little brother.

“Take a breath,” you hear Choso guide Yuji as he presses his hand on his back. “Remember what you were taught. Visualize it. Allow the blood to spread throughout every corner of your body like roots. Visualize an outline of your body made with veins.”

You can’t help but smile in awe as you watch the interaction, as you watch how kind and patient Choso is with Yuji even if this is a moment of distress. You watch him being a caring old brother and once again you’re reassured of the fact that he’ll be a great father, and an even greater partner to raise your family with.

Once again as you watch him help Yuji you can’t help but count yourself lucky for having fate cross your paths.

——

Dear Satoru,

How does one relish in the peace gifted to them after so many died trying to get this far?

I can’t help but feel guilty about being happy and being able to live my life the way I dreamed of. Choso and Shoko tell me I shouldn’t feel bad for the dead anymore, but how can I look at Satori who's a couple of months away from turning 17? How can I look at my twins laughing and playing with their father, my youngest girl Amaterasu clinging onto her father hoping that somehow she could live in his skin so she wouldn’t be too far away from him. How can I watch my youngest son Ryusei get more and more curious about the world without feeling bad for those who sacrificed themselves and couldn’t live past another day of their lives?

I smile, I laugh, I’m grateful, but there’s always that twinge of guilt I feel in my heart—

“Turtle.” A little voice pulls your attention off your paper, and as you look up you see your youngest child Ryusei holding a weird turtle-shaped rock, but his 2-year-old mind has latched on to that word and is labeling everything and everyone turtle because it’s his favorite word of the week along with “no”.

You really hate the “no” phase, all five of your kids had it, so you’re more than glad that Ryusei will be your last child. You can’t handle any more terrible two phases…even if Choso is starting to hint at wanting another one.

You can’t handle it anymore though. As cute as they are and as much as you love newborn phases, all you want now is to just focus on the kids you have and be able to love your man in peace without having any more snotty kids interrupt you—with peace and love.

“No,” you correct Ryusei and take the rock from his hold to look at it because that’s what he wants you to do. “This is a rock. See? It doesn’t have eyes or a shell, silly.”

Ryusei reaches over to take back his rock and studies it as he carries it in his palm. The wheels in his mind spin as he thinks about what you said for a moment before he pouts just like his father, and nonchalantly drops the rock.

“No,” he argues and waddles away,

You hear a giggle behind you and as you slowly look back you catch Satori with her head up and grinning with amusement.

“He showed me his toy and said it was a turtle, when I corrected him he threw it at me and waddled away,” Satori shares between giggles, making you sigh and slouch.

“He’s the most hot-headed out of all of you, I don’t understand why,” you contemplate your child’s behavior.

Satori pushes her sunglasses down to shield her eyes and flashes a grin. “His grandfather. Probably.” She snickers.

“That’s still not funny ten years later,” you grumble and look away, finding the twins, Suki and Tsukuyomi, and your youngest daughter Amaterasu going towards the oceans shore without their father towing behind him, so as curious as to where he went, you drift your eyes away and find him on his feet where they all once were.

“Suki, Tsu, your brother is going over to you, hold his hand,” Choso warns the twins since they’re the oldest, and Amaterasu finds it in herself to argue as if she’s the one that was left in charge of her little brother.

“But the waves are not strong at all!”

She lacks responsibility because she’s the middle child, and she’s never in charge like Satori or the twins, so she’s turned lax.

“It doesn’t matter,” Choso counters his daughter. “He can still stumble.”

“You’re not even in charge Amaterasu,” Tsukuyomi snaps at his sister. “Why are you talking back?”

“I’m just pointing it out!” Amaterasu yells at her brother as she stomps her foot in the water around her ankles—“Gosh…” she trails off and you watch her mouth move as she seems to mumble something under her breath.

You sit back on your hands and watch all four of them with a little smile on your face.

They argue often; all five of them, over little things but they make up like nothing, they apologize quickly and go back to laughing and smiling at each other, and after some desecalations, you can’t help but smile over their bickering because it reminds of you and your brother.

When you were young—no, you argued all the time too, as they do, and made up just as fast. You got older and things happened that kept you two estranged, but you found your way back to each other. You don’t want your children to go through that same strain, but you want them to experience all the good and the bad about having each other. You want them to know that same bliss about having a sibling that you still hold onto all these years later...

You grin and feel tears prick at the corner of your eyes born from joy that you express in your letter.

—but never about my kids. I never feel guilty about having my kids and knowing that joy. They’re my blessings, they’re my everything. They’re the good piece of me, and a piece of my beloved, Choso. They’re even a piece of you, Satoru.

I see you in them all the time, in Suki, Tsukuyomi, and Ryusei’s white hair, in all their unbreakable spirits. So that’s one thing I can never ever be guilty about. Because of them, I feel like I will always carry a piece of you.

Is that cheesy?

Still, I want rid of this guilt annoying my heart like a splinter in your finger that you can’t pull out—

“Look,” Choso pulls you away from your train of thought getting engraved on paper, and first drifts your attention to the shadow he casts over you before you meet his honey-kissed brown eyes looking down at you tenderly—“a mochi I took from Ryu’s snack bag.”

You flash him a smile and take the half he offers you in your mouth. He then takes a seat on the sand next to you and keeps holding your gaze, letting you notice the red tint stamped over his nose and his cheeks.

“Cho,” you point out with your mouth full and lean over to grab his chin. “Did you put sunscreen on your face? You’re getting red.”

Choso blinks and thinks as he keeps looking at you, and when he seems to think back to a specific moment he groans and shakes his head. “Amaterasu needed help putting sunscreen on so I stopped just as I was about to apply some on my face. Sorry.”

You sigh deeply and first finish your mochi before you reach into your bag and pull out a bottle of sunscreen to press some on the tip of your fingers before you lean close to Choso, and gently massage some on his face.

“No matter what you still need to remember to put some on your face. You still burn.” You remind him sweetly.

The corner of his lips pulls to a tender smile as his eyes soften. “Why, when I can have you help me?”

You pause briefly to swoon before you leave a sweet peck on his lips and continue to protect his face from any further burning rays of the sun.

“Do you want some too, Satori?” You tease your teenage daughter in a baby voice.

“No,” she quickly rebuttals. “Thank you. I can put my own on.”

“Oh, but—”

“No,” Satori cuts you off before you can reminisce about her when she was a little girl, making you drop your hands off Choso’s face and pout.

Choso sees your flicker of sadness and strokes your chin.

No matter what though, no one will take away the sadness at watching your little girl only get older—it’s not a bad sadness you lament, you wish for her to only get older, but there’s always something about watching your kids get older that just gets you a little sad.

“She’s always the one arguing and always the one holding his hand,” Choso muses.

You follow his line of gaze and smile softly at the sight of Amaterasu pulling Ryusei up with her to jump over the small wave unfurling over the sand.

The little boy giggles and watches the next wave approaching before glancing at his sister as he anticipates the next wave he’ll jump over.

“Trying telling her that,” you quip lightheartedly.

Choso chuckles, making you look at him and only grin in admiration as his shoulders shake, and the sun makes his brown eyes twinkle as well as highlight that infinite joy he always has when watching his children just doing their own thing.

He always looks at his kids with pride, no matter what nothing takes away that love he looks at his kids with because he never wants his kids to feel the same way his own father made him feel; unloved and unwanted. It’s what makes Choso an excellent father, and it’s why you love having the honor of being Choso’s partner and having him be the father of your kids.

And it’s while you admire him and think about his big heart and the life you’re lucky to share, that you realize the answer to your question, going unaware that even after 10 years Choso has the need to steal glimpses at you to engrave every detail of your face as if it was the first time laying his eyes on you.

….I get it now. The answer to my guilt is living my life for those who died fighting. I’ll love for them and live so their sacrifice isn’t in vain.

Love, your beloved sister.

——

*2 MONTHS AGO*

“What is Gojo’s sister to you?”

“To me?”

The camera focuses on Yuji Itadori holding a half-bitten sandwich, and the person behind the camera nods in confirmation, making the pink-haired boy wipe his mouth and hum as he thinks before he sits up and responds honestly.

“Well to me she once was someone I had a crush on, I mean did you see her in magazines and on runways?!” He smirks and laughs lightly. “But now, she’s like my bodyguard. Gojo—oh our teacher, Gojo asked her to protect me from the people after me, so she turned out to be that which is cool. But you know how they say you should never meet your idols?” He sighs and takes a bite from his sandwich. “Yeah, that suits my situation…” He trails off and his eyes widen with panic, but before he can seem to correct himself the camera cuts off and displays three other students.

“Who is she to me?” Maki Zen’in repeats the question and scoffs with displeasure.

“Salmon!” Inumaki exclaims, making Panda nod as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“She tried killing us last year,” the black and white bear shares with a huff. “And she’s been the only person who’s been able to deflect Inumaki’s technique.”

“I heard she killed some members of her family a few years back,” Maki cuts in and makes the camera shift to focus on her. “She’s also a stain on the Gojo clan. The one fallen from grace, or so they say. I would say I admire her but she tried to kill us so she’s a killer.”

The clip cuts off and now they’re back inside facing Yuji Itadori with his sandwich and a panicked reaction.

“…not that I don’t think she’s not strong!” Yuji finally gets to explain himself before someone gets the wrong idea. “She’s strong and cool! And very beautiful, in Iike, an ethereal kind of way, like if you tell me to think of royalty, that’s who I picture her to be. But I guess it suits her considering who they say she is in the sorcerer community.” He says and flashes the camera a smile, leading to a smooth transition to some courtyard of some shopping center with a short-haired girl in the center.

“How many of these questions are you going to ask me?” Nobara Kugisaki asks as she puts on some sunglasses to block away the sun from shining in her eyes. “Anyway,” she speaks softly and with no ounce of deceit. “She’s someone I can say I admire regardless of all I hear about her because she’s proof that you can be both strong and a woman. She’s proof that we as women in the sorcerer society don’t have to fit into a stupid stereotype. Plus she dresses so cool even when she’s out on missions with Itadori, I want to dress like her.”

There wasn’t even a second of stepping into the dark side of your character, despite all that’s said about you, Nobara spoke from her heart and never thought of holding back to fit in with what others had to say about you.

The same could be said about Kento Nanami, albeit he might have some bias for you.

“First off,” Nanami directs at the camera even if watches the road ahead of him. “She has a name, she’s not called Gojo’s sister,” he scolds the interviewer and instantly counters by saying your full name to the camera before dipping into the question. “And she’s my one and only best friend, there’s no one I trust more than her…” he trails off to push his glasses up his nose and watch the road as he seems lost in thought.

The video may display a few seconds of passing time, but in truth, Nanami took a lot longer than that to continue, and even then he sounds quite pensive when he speaks about you.

“Besides being strong, and a bit egotistical like her brother, she’s extremely loyal, there’s no one you’d want more fighting beside you in a tough situation than her. She’s really a force to be reckoned with,” he says and finally glances at the camera with his eyebrows narrowed.

“Should you really be recording while I’m driving—”

The video is cut off and lastly, there’s one more clip left of a tall man with white hair and dark shades on his face.

“Well as everyone knows she’s my sister!” Satoru says in an almost teasing manner. “My little sister. She’s the only sibling I have, and you know being raised in an important clan like mine brings a lot of responsibility, but she made it all tolerable…” he smiles softly ahead and then he can’t help but smirk.

“I’m strong, the strongest there is, but,” he snickers. “I wouldn't go messing with her. There’s a reason she's a special grade, but she’ll be a pain in your ass, trust me. I wouldn’t underestimate her,” he trails on softly, and if anyone who really knew him heard him, they’d even say that he sounds full of admiration talking about his little sister. They’d also be able to see the softness painted on his face, but he has a good way to mask that to look smug in front of the camera.

“Oh!” He exclaims and claps his hands before he stops and turns, making the camera turn too to face him directly. Albeit he then surprises the camera as he leans in close as if the speakers or the camera wouldn’t capture what he has to say. “Despite what she wants you to believe she’s not scary. Don’t believe that crap,” he laughs and turns the camera off forcing the interview about you to end.

——

*NOW*

“Well,” there’s no avoiding it now or a continuous chance to be a backseat watcher. “Looks like it’s almost my turn…” you trail off and gulp before turning away from the disaster Sukuna and Maki are leaving in their fight.

You’d like to say you’re heading to this fight completely fearless, but your trembling hands and your pounding heart say otherwise.

“No one would blame you if you chose not to fight,” Yuji suddenly interjects, sounding like his big brother. “You have a big reason to stay behind.”

You blink in disbelief and slowly lift your head to watch him watching his hands turned to red claws. He doesn’t look up to meet your gaze when he feels it boring in him, instead, he watches his fists as if trying to find a fault in them.

“I’d blame myself,” you tell him as you approach him. “I’m strong and I’m powerful, but besides that, I’m fighting for something much bigger than myself.” You come to a stop and cast a shadow over his body hunched on the ground, and raise your hand to clutch onto the heart locket Choso gave you, the one that holds a picture of Nanako and Mimiko.

“Sukuna took something from me too,” you whisper and feel your fury boiling inside, but you also feel grief you have yet to really let your heart feel. “He took the girls who taught me how to love full heartedly, he took the girls who made me a mother. What mother would I be if I didn't try and get revenge for what he did? They were my daughters and he took them away.”

You let out a shaky breath, but you drop the tears that came with it. Instead, you actually proceed to meet Yuji’s brown eyes as he finally lifts his head.

“Oh,” he whispers shamefully. “That’s right. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head and crouch down to be at his level. “Keep your head up, kid. He hasn’t broken your spirit yet. You’ll break his. He may be a monster, but there’s still something in there you can crush. I know you’ll find it. You’re strong and brave, and you have a good heart.”

Yuji raises his head and swallows thickly, he parts his lips and seems to search for something within you. When he can’t seem to find what he’s looking for he sighs and mutters. “How did you do it? Find the strength to keep fighting after losing so much?”

“My daughter,” you bring up with hesitation but find it in yourself to try and find something he can relate to. “Considering you don’t have kids, then I’ll say this. I have faith in myself. It gets shaken, but it’s reliable. You have that too, that unbreakable faith. I see it.”

Yuji’s eyes soften and his chest rises as he draws in a deep breath. When his chest falls a half smile tugs on the corner of his lips. “Thank you,” he says hushedly.

You flash him a smile and gently pat his shoulder before you stand to your given height to face Choso who refuses to look at you, but still hangs onto every word you just told his brother.

“Cho,” you whisper and close the gap left between you to grab his arm crossed over his chest to turn him to face you. “Don’t be mad. We talked about this.”

Choso keeps his gaze pierced on the ground, so you lift your hands to grab his face and tilt his head up so you can meet those eyes you love so much.

“You can go pull me out of the fight if I get hurt,” you try to assure him, but his dark eyebrows pinch together and his eyes pierce into you before he retorts.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

You sigh and he finally unfolds his arms to clutch onto yours. “I can’t be okay with you going to risk your life,” he spills out what he had been keeping inside for so long. “I was okay with you facing my father because he was weaker than you, but Sukuna? He can kill you before I even have a chance to react. How do you expect me to be okay with that?”

You shake your head and counter softly. “I don’t expect you to be okay with it, I’m not okay with you being here either, but what choice do we have? And you heard me just now, my reasons to be here and fight him. You were with me the day I found them, and you were with me every day after that as I’ve mourned them. You know the thirst for revenge too, and you know it’s impossible to sit idly by until you know you’ve gotten justice for the ones you lost.”

Choso's lips curl to a deep displeased frown, and his eyes drop before he groans out of frustration because he knows you’re right. He’s known it, but he doesn’t want to see you go.

“I’ll be okay,” you reassure him as you tilt your head so you can keep holding his gaze, so you can keep holding onto that warmth and keep it within you when you go out there and fight. “I’ll make it back. The twins will be okay. I’ll fight like hell to stay alive, I swear.”

Choso blinks repeatedly to avoid crying, but he can hardly stay strong so he lets his forehead fall on yours, while his grip trembles.

“Please don’t scare me like you did when we fought Noritoshi. Stay alive, I need you.”

Those words are so full of fear for your life, yet so genuine and full of nothing but love. It makes it hard to leave, but you can’t just stay back, you have to fight at least once. You don’t want to die so you’ll fight hard to avoid that fate for him, and for Satori waiting for you to reunite. But if life takes you down that path you can’t stop it, you’ll only hope you were able to give everyone a chance to defeat that great evil.

“I’ll make it back,” you assure Choso against his lips. “To you, my love. I love you.” You whisper with honey dripping off every word and lean in to press a gentle and lingering kiss on his soft and wet lips refusing to let you go. He keeps your lips captured until you gently push back, but even then he grabs your hand with his unbeatable strength and pulls you back towards him.

“Choso,” you warn him softly.

“Just,” he interjects softly but full of desperation. “Let me…” he trails off and lowers his gaze before he presses his palm against your belly.

He doesn’t say anything, but Yuji notices the silence and looks over at his brother finding comfort in the fact that his kids he made with you are safely growing inside you. Yuji takes note of his brother's hand clinging onto your arm, hoping that will be enough to keep you with him forever. He sees his brother's faint smile that mirrors yours because even if the babies are still too small to move, their mere presence is enough to make you both content.

Yuji takes note of the both of you desperately trying to find any excuse to stick close to each other, and can’t help but think that you’re both brave for coming out to fight even if you’re waiting for something so precious that deserves both parents to live without a burden of fighting this nasty monster. Lastly, Yuji watches you and that smile that decorated your face fade before you force yourself to pull away.

“Strong heart,” you try to give Choso courage before you pull something out of your pocket. You don’t show him what you have, instead, you grab his hand and place the object on his palm before pushing his hand towards his heart.

Choso refuses to identify the object just yet to be able to hold your gaze for as long as he can. Even when you look out at the city past the rooftop you’re on and see Sukuna knock Maki out with a black flash, he refuses to lose sight of your beautiful face, hoping that some way, somehow, that would keep you with him where he could protect you.

“Strong heart,” you repeat tenderly as you tear your gaze away from the tragic scene and meet the worried but sweet gaze of the man you love. “Keep it safe until I come back.”

You leave Choso one last kiss before you walk back. When you’re on the edge of the rooftop, when you feel nothing but the air of the world below on the heel of your feet, you force yourself to tear your gaze away and finally give your back to Choso and Yuji before you can stay, or Choso could force you to stay by his side.

And it’s only once your figure nor your face are painted before his very eyes that Choso pulls back his fist and opens his hand, seeing the little red and orange glass swan he had given you so long ago.

You had left a piece of your love behind that he could hold onto while you fought bravely, and so knew that you meant it when you said you'd go back to him because it’s true, you do want to go back to him. You won’t die against Sukuna, that’s not your heart's desire. You’ll fight fiercely because he took something from you.

He took Nanako and Mimiko. He took the girls who taught you how to love full-heartedly. He took the girls who made you a mother. He took your daughters. He took your daughters who loved you unconditionally. He took them away from you and didn’t stop there. He continued to break your heart by taking your brother too.

He was your best friend. Your beloved brother and he killed him too!

You’d like to fight Sukuna because he took Satori’s uncle, but you’re more selfish than that because Satoru was your brother first. You’ve loved him all your life and she’s only known him for a year of hers, so no, you aren't fighting for justice for her uncle's death, you’re fighting for justice for your brother's death.

Your brother, your daughters. Sukuna took them away. He’s a monster and you’ll kill him, or you’ll make him feel a fraction of what he made you feel. You’ll burn him so he can feel that agony he put you through even if it means your death.

Luckily he doesn’t notice you towering over him, he’s too lost in his glory after scoring a black flash against a teenage girl to notice you. Besides your cursed energy isn’t as strong and flashy as Satoru’s or Okkotsu’s, and for once you’re grateful for it because you can jump off the roof towering over Sukuna without getting noticed. At least for a few seconds that is.

When you get close, when your shadow casts on the ground around him you see him turn his neck and lift his head to catch what’s approaching him, but you force the elements to your side and use the air as your dance floor to twirl around Sukuna’s head before he has the chance to see you with either of his four eyes. Once you're behind him again you let gravity pull you down, and wrap your legs around his neck, and slap your hands on his eyes.

“I’ll take you to hell,” you sneer and light your hands on fire to burn his eyes.

Sukuna quickly throws his hand back and grabs you by the back of your head, but you stab your burning fingers in his deformed eyes and burn your fire fiercely and so bright that your fury is as clear as the burning sun in the sky, causing the giant beast to sneer before he digs his claws in the back of your neck and finally rips you off his back and hurls you off him.

You manage to use the air to catch yourself before you can hit the ground, and swiftly flip in the air to land with both feet on the ground.

“You,” Sukuna snarls.

You stand up smoothly and face him with a menacing glare. “Me,” you mock him.

Smoke rises off his eyes burnt shut, making his optical advantage nothing more than another wound he can’t heal. Which inflates your ego, you do admit.

Seeing the great Sukuna wounded because of you makes you stupidly proud.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” he doesn’t show any sign of defeat, and why would he? He just rolls his shoulders back and raises his nose further in the sky, casting his menacing glare on your delicate soul.

“I thought you’d be mewling over…” he trails off and taps his chin. “Who was it now?”

He’s just trying to tick you off. You can’t let him get to your head.

“I’ll burn you Sukuna Ryōmen,” you try to project your anger cool, you need to stay level-headed.

“Ah,” he snaps his fingers and lays his eyes on you. “Nanako, and Mimiko.”

You dig the heel of your feet into the ground and swallow back thickly at the sound of their precious names coming out of his dirty and cursed mouth.

“Oh, don’t forget Satoru Gojo too,” he brings up unbothered but with a taunting look pierced on you. “Dead brother, dead husband, and dead daughters.” He snickers under his breath and flashes off his wicked smirk.

And how can you stay so level-headed when he plays so carelessly when he tosses out the names of the people you love as if they meant nothing?

They meant the world. They were the world to you and he killed them. He took them away from you. You can’t behave so rationally, you can’t act with both mind and heart when it’s your heart that mourns and weeps.

You can’t.

You have to act with your blinding anger and with your agonizing grief. You have to kill him.

“I’ll kill you bastard!” You cry out fiercely.

Sukuna throws his arms out and begins to laugh manically. “Show me what you got oh Fallen One!” He bellows.

You blast off the ground and fly toward him with both fists basking with fire, and fury burning in your red-orange eyes.

However, instead of barreling your ignited fists in him, you use your cursed energy to manipulate the ground beneath his feet and rip off a piece of the ground to blast him to the sky.

You quickly follow him by meeting him in the sky and bring your hands together to display a dangerous hand sign.

“I am death. I am the One Fallen from Grace, and today Sukuna…you will know pain,” you grimace and pierce your glare into the depths of his soul to chant. “Domain expansion; StormsEnd!”

Tagged- @deniseabad1928 @secondary-character-25 @starlightanyaaa @notsaelty @d4rno @moonnime @kodzukein @yozora7154 @heijihattorisgf @elegantweirdorchest @natakina

A/N- Flashforward or an illusion? Whatever it is, we need more of Choso and his babies.

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