Saturn

You moved back to Los Angeles after you got tired of the cool and wet city of Seattle. Not only did you miss the weather, you also missed the things that came with it – the beach, the surfer community, the colors and fewer depressing days, chilling in the car when you were stuck in traffic… And you would never admit it to him, but you missed your brother too. Just a little.

You also loved this. Standing in the middle of a coffee shop and studying the new promo drinks, even though you knew you were going to end up getting your usual. Well, you supposed you could do that in Seattle too, but it didn’t make you so giddy there.

“I hear their white chocolate mocha is pretty good.”

You jumped a little at the voice before you turned to the source. Your eyes were met with a dark-haired man sporting a police uniform and a drink of his own.

“Is that what you got?” you asked, pointing at the to-go cup.

“No way,” he said, waving the cup in the air as he chuckled, “I’m too boring for that. I’m a regular, black coffee kinda guy.”

You nodded with a smile, turning your head back to the menu board. “You and me both.”

The officer’s brows furrowed, one of his fingers lifting from the surface of his cup and pointing it at you. “You must be the prettiest regular, black coffee kinda guy, then.”

You bit your cheek, side-eyeing him as you tried to stifle the smile that was creeping up on you. There was no way this guy was making your cheeks flush.

“I’m Sammy,” he introduced himself, passing his coffee from his right hand to the left, offering his palm to you. You shook it and told him your name. “Are you new to the area?”

“No. Well, yeah.” Sammy’s brows shot up at the contrasting words. “Kinda both. I just moved here from Seattle, but I grew up in LA,” you explained and Sammy gave you a nod.

“So, would it be too bold to ask for your number?”

You bounced on your feet, considering it. He was cute. And he was funny. But he was a police officer, for God’s sake. You only trusted a handful of those.

“I’m sorry,” you said apologetically, scrunching your face, “I don’t date cops. No offence.”

Sammy’s confident smile was replaced by a defeated one, the wrinkles around his eyes staying in place, although the spark disappeared.

“Okay, that’s fair. May I ask why? If it’s the uniform, I promise I never bring it on a date. Or home. Unless I need to wash it, of course.”

You chuckled, tipping your head down for a split second and Sammy followed your eyes with a tilt of his head.

“My brother is a cop. So it’s just… You know.”

Sammy didn’t know, not really, but he nodded anyway. He didn’t have any right to pry. You surely had your reasons. But…

“Well,” Sammy took out his notepad and scribbled down his number, “if there’s any type of emergency,” he tore the paper out and handed it to you, “or if you change your mind about dating cops, this is where you can reach me. One cop is enough, actually.”

Shit. He was charming. You took the paper and folded it in half, stuffing it in your pocket and thanking him.

“Enjoy your coffee,” he said and then he was on his way.

“No, I’m telling you, she liked me,” Sammy attempted to convince Ben, bouncing his thumb against the steering wheel.

“Sammy. 'I don’t date cops, because my brother’s one of them'? That’s the lamest excuse I have ever heard. She probably just wanted to let you down easily.”

The corner of Sammy’s mouth quirked upwards, frowning as he tried not to let Ben get to him.

“Whatever, man. She took my number, alright? I’m keeping my hopes up.”

As much as it pained you, you honestly couldn’t stop thinking about the police officer you met at the coffee shop.

You hated it when people made you reconsider your values, especially men. You felt like a hypocrite. But Sammy didn’t seem cocky, didn’t really use his rank to pick you up. Didn’t push when you told him no. And he was handsome. The truth is, you'd probably say yes right away if he wasn't wearing the uniform. So maybe you shouldn’t be so uptight and pigeonhole him.

You searched your pants for the piece of paper he gave you, taking your phone into your other hand as you held the items side by side, typing in the number. Then you pressed dial.

Beep.

Beep.

“Bryant,” sounded from the other side, the voice deeper than you remembered.

“Um, hi. Is this Sammy? We met at the coffee shop the other day,” you said, reminding him of your name.

“Oh, yeah! Hi. Did something happen?”

“Well, yes. I’m in the middle of changing my mind about dating cops. You think you can help with that?”

You heard a soft laugh over the line.

“I don’t know. What does it entail?”

“I’m about to go for a stroll along the beach. Maybe get something to drink from one of those beach bars. So, I thought you could join me if you’d like and tell me about the pros and cons.”

Sammy agreed and one and a half hour later, you were walking on the pier with slushies in your hands. To be honest, your preconceptions were building up anticipation inside of you that made you tense almost throughout the whole date. You were just waiting for the moment he’d say something that would repulse you. And with your bias, just a small slip would be enough. But it never really came, or you just missed it and didn't care, because Sammy seemed genuine, confident but humble, and respectful.

He told you about all about him voluntarily stepping down as a detective after his partner had been killed. He didn’t try to hide that it still made him sad to this day, and it tugged at your heart.

The conversation felt natural, and you didn’t even realize it was so late when you circled back to the spot where you met up.

“Let me walk you to your car,” Sammy offered, figuring that you were parked somewhere close.

“Oh, I walked.”

Sammy paused, his eyes meeting yours. “You live nearby?”

“Yeah, like thirty minutes by foot.”

He huffed, his eyes went comically wide as he put a hand on the small of your back and steered you in the direction of his car. “Yeah, okay. I’m driving you home, then.”

“Thank you, but that’s not really necessary.”

“I’m not letting you walk fifteen blocks all by yourself,” Sammy said incredulously.

“Don’t worry, I have my pepper spray. I’m not an amateur.”

“Yeah,” he snorted, “I’m not even gonna tell you how well those things work. Please, let me do this. You don’t really have a choice, because even if you do talk me into letting you walk, I’m just gonna drive next to you until you decide to get your butt inside the car.”

“Is that a threat, Officer? I smell some elements of stalking too.”

“Yeah, well, we should have that nose checked because it seems to miss the real danger,” he said as he opened the passenger door of his car, rising his eyebrows expectantly.

With a roll of your eyes, you got in the car and Sammy carefully closed the door once you were seated.

The ride was short at this time of night. You caught yourself shamefully admiring Sammy’s face a few times, making him rotate his head in your direction when he felt your gaze. He didn’t say anything, though, sparing you any further embarrassment. But you felt the heat in your cheeks, and the butterflies in your stomach were restless too.

“Yeah, this is me.”

Sammy put the car in park and unbuckled his seat belt, leaning his head against the headrest.

“Thanks. I actually enjoyed spending time with you,” you smiled.

“Well, don’t sound too surprised,” he said sarcastically. “So, did you change your mind?”

Sammy’s head was tilted towards you, enough to be inviting, but not enough to invade your space. You glanced out of the passenger window, smiling to yourself before you turned back to him. His eyes flickered to your lips, so quick you’d almost miss it

God, he made you fuzzy for no apparent reason. You wanted to kiss him, to let yourself be pulled in. His front teeth were poking out of his mouth, and it made him look so imperfectly perfect.

“I’m getting there…” you said, thanking him again before getting out of the car.

God. You were actually killing him. But Sammy is nothing if not patient, and he definitely wasn’t counting on getting this far. But you did make his heart beat a bit faster when you glanced at his lips and bit your lip.

As much as you wanted him, this wasn’t you. You didn’t want to act impulsively and make any rash decisions. The date felt good, and you chose to leave it at that for the time being.

“You’re in a good mood today. D’you get laid or something?” Ben smirked at Sammy as they entered the briefing room.

“Or something,” Sammy said with a puffed up chest, sending a smile full of pride in Ben's direction.

“Yeah? Sooo, did the chick from the coffee shop text you?”

Sammy shot him a glance, his cheeks dimpling as his smile grew wider.

“Oh, man,” Ben laughed, patting his partner on the back. “Alright, I stand corrected. Congrats, bro. So, you takin' her out on a date?”

Sammy didn’t tell him that you’d already been on a date, because Ben would be busting his chops about not getting you into bed and he was in a too good of a mood to discuss that with him.

He did tell him that you were going to get some coffee later today and then head to the beach again, because apparently, you preferred spending time outside, which he respected.

Sammy liked spending time with you and didn't care where it was, he liked talking to you. You were sweet, but you didn’t suck up to him, didn’t try to act like you were perfect, didn't hold back, sometimes making his eyes go wide at whatever you said. But in those wide eyes of his, you were kind of flawless.

Actually, he loved going to the beach with you, because your hair shone under the beams and your eyes twinkled every time you looked at him.

Sammy didn’t know that you admired his eyes and his freckles just as much.

He made it a habit to drop you off at your apartment at the end of every date, and he let you set the pace. He was down bad and you must have known that he was dying to kiss you, because he felt like his eyes transformed into beating hearts when he looked at you. And he looked at you a lot.

And one night, when he parked his car in front if your building, you finally let yourself be pulled by them.

Reaching for his face, you leaned over the console and pressed your lips against his, your hand sliding to the nape of his neck and pulling him closer to you so you didn’t have to lean so far.

Sammy kissed you back immediately, his fingers tangling themselves in your hair and angling your head, his seatbelt digging into his chest.

When you scraped your fingernails against his scalp, he groaned, disconnecting your lips while keeping his forehead pressed against yours.

“Do you wanna come in?”

You pressed him against the door as soon as it closed, pulling his jacket off with you following it, sliding down his body and to your knees, impishly putting the jacket under your shins.

Your hands reached for his belt, clinking sounds echoing through the hallway as you unbuckled it before yanking both his pants and boxers down his legs.

Sammy’s hand reached down to your face, stroking his thumb over your cheek when you took his cock into your hands, his thickness stopping your fingers from creating a full circle.

And when you gave the first tug, his head fell against the door with a thud as he exhaled, relishing in the feeling of your soft hands pumping his cock while you let your thumb slide against his slit occasionally.

A moan escaped him when he felt the flat of your tongue drag itself from the base of his cock to the head where you wrapped your lips around him and slid back down as far as you could.

“Shit, you’re such a good girl,” he hissed through clenched teeth as he looked down, and then he felt his cock hit the back of your throat, making you gag, all teary-eyed.

The praise made you moan around him, sending vibrations through his body as you slid off of him, and when you freed his cock from the warmth of your mouth, strings of mixed saliva and precum connected you to his cock. He bent over and grabbed you under your chin, the need to kiss the fluids away overtaking him.

Sammy kissed you hard, manoeuvring your head as he pleased before he pulled you up, grunting out a deep come here.

He stepped out of the clothes that pooled around his feet and picked you up, his arms flexing with the added weight. Sammy didn’t break the kiss, not once, carrying you to your bedroom according to your instructions.

He put you down on your feet in front of your bed, breaking the kiss only to pull his shirt over his head. He smiled at you then, biting his lip when he reached for the hem of your dress and tugged upwards, leaving you in nothing but your black panties.

“So fucking beautiful,” he praised, cupping your breasts with his hands as he kissed you again, his lips traveling over your jaw, down your neck, until he was bent in an uncomfortable position just to latch his lips around your nipple.

He closed his teeth around you, nipping at the stiffened bud and forcing an abrupt moan from your throat, your fingers pulling on his hair and elicitng a groan from him, too.

Sammy stood to his full height again, one arm wrapping around your waist just to pick you up and lay you on the bed. Falling right over you, his hand reached down blindly, tugging on the band of your underwear for too long as he realized that it was impossible to rid you off it from this position, so he knelt up.

Once your panties were successfully discarded, he stayed on his knees and spread yours gently, his chest rising with shallow breaths.

“Already out of breath, Officer?” You had the audacity to tease. “I thought stamina was kind of a requirement in your field of work.”

Sammy scoffed, a smug smile playing on his lips as tugged you by your ankles closer to him, the undersides of your thighs pressed against his strong quads. Pressing his body against your front, he slipped an arm between the small of your back and the mattress and you let your hands fall to his wide shoulders, tracing the freckles there as his eyes raked over your face.

“Don’t poke the bear, sweetheart.”

Before you could retort, you were being flipped over onto your stomach, a gasp escaping your lungs. Sammy removed the pillows that were clearly in his way and instructed you to hold onto the bars of the headboard, situating you into a kneeling position, your back arched.

“Spread your legs wider,” he ordered as he knelt at your side, and you did as he asked. He shuffled on his knees closer to your body, dragging his fingertips down your spine until he reached your tailbone, goosebumps sizzling all over your skin. Then his fingers detoured to the globe of your ass and gave it a firm squeeze.

Your hips tilted on their own, chasing his hand as it ghosted over your skin. Sammy brought his other hand to your neck, wrapping his fingers around your throat and squeezing his thumb against your artery. His nose brushed your temple before he kissed over your cheek, angling your face towards him and kissing your pout away.

He released your lips with a soft smack and shifted on his knees an inch, straightening his posture and adjusting the hold he had on your neck.

Sammy’s other set of fingers finally touched you, lightly brushing over the wetness of your cunt. A shuddering breath released from your mouth when you felt his thumb being pressed into your hole while the rest of his fingers laid flat against your clit, cupping your whole cunt.

“Jesus, how long have you been this wet, hm?”

You whimpered at his words and you were glad that Sammy didn’t wait for an answer. He slipped his thumb out, circling the pond of slickness that was your entrance before he pushed back in and wiggled the finger against your walls.

The pressure was euphoric, the pad of his finger pushing all the right buttons inside of you to make your whole body buzz. His meaty thumb alone was stretching you out so good, and it made you wonder how you were going to take his cock.

You moaned out loud at the thought and let go of one of the bars, bringing your palm to the wrist at your neck, needing to touch him. To feel him. But Sammy, wasn’t having it and as soon as he felt your hand cover his, his movements stopped, his gaze switching from your ass to your face, eyes squinting.

“Put your hand back onto the headboard, or I’ll stop, and you bet your sweet ass that I won’t touch you again.”

Your whole body trembled and you did as he said. He turned your head to him before continuing.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice becoming softer which only made you wetter.

“Yes.”

Sammy gave you a nod and then he shifted again, the hold on your neck disappearing. You felt his palm splayed on your lower back as he pressed down until the back of his other hand hit the softness of your sheets and you were basically sitting on it.

“Fuck yourself on my finger.”

Your head snapped to him. Was he serious?

“What?”

“What? What’s not to understand, sweetheart? Ride my hand. Make yourself cum.”

You blinked, swallowing and returning your gaze to the wall in front of you as you started lifting your hips.

“Thaat’s it. Fuck, you’re swallowing my finger so fucking good.”

You felt awkward in this position, your hips faltering as you tried to pick up the pace. It didn’t help that all that Sammy did was curl his thumb every time you slid all the way down, before lifting your hips again, repeating the motion over and over again.

The next time his thumb was fully sheathed inside of you, you circled your hips, grinding against his fingers and creating a delicious stimulation against your throbbing clit.

“Yeaah, just like that. Look at you, a fucking natural.”

His praises spurred you on, but your movements weren’t enough to make you come. You didn’t have the strength, the speed, nor the leverage to fuck yourself on him, to use him like you really wanted to. You needed more.

“Sammy, please,” you whimpered, stopping your hips. Giving up.

“What? What do you need?”

“I need to cum,” you mewled, wiggling against his hand to relieve some of the ache from your clit.

“Then why did you stop?”

You were speechless. This was the first time your sexual partner was this communicative during sex. This controlling. You didn’t know how to act, and Sammy must have figured it out.

“Aww, does my babygirl need some help? Hm?” Sammy cooed, cupping your face with his free hand, his thumb soothing over your flushed skin as you looked at him with wide eyes. “Is that it? Do you want me to make you cum instead?”

“Mhm.” You nodded and Sammy smiled, all entitled and condescending.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

Your heart beat faster as you tried not to feel humiliated.

“I want you to make me cum.”

“Good girl.” He brushed your cheek with the back of his fingers, pinching your chin before he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear and sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll let it slide this time, but next time you have some smart-ass comments, I won’t be so nice. Understood?”

Jesus Christ. You actually wondered for a split second what he was capable of doing. You got the urge to test it, but you chose to fight it down.

“Yes.”

And with that, Sammy manhandled you into a position with your ass up, snaking his arm over your back and under your stomach, holding your hips up as he started ramming into your pussy with his thumb, while simultaneously rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves with the four of his fingers.

You still kept your hold on the bars, only now your face was squished against the mattress. Your moans got louder with every glide of his thumb, occasionally slipping it down to your clit and flicking over it before he buried his finger back into your pussy.

Your walls fluttered around him, each stroke against that spongy spot was making your toes curl and soon, you started bucking your hips against his palm.

Sammy worked you up, and with a few more bumps and wiggles against your G-spot, you fell over the edge, orgasm rippling through you as he fingered you until you were reaching behind you and clasping your hand around his wrist with small no more’s.

Sammy took mercy on you, pulling his hand away from your sensitive pussy as he admired your shivering body. He dragged his nails softly against your skin, his cock twitching at the purrs leaving your mouth.

You brought your hips down, lying on your stomach, while Sammy positioned his body on his side, using his forearm to prop himself up. He traced his fingers over your back, drawing random patterns on your skin.

“I’m glad I changed my mind.”

Sammy laughed, his smile forming dimples in his cheeks making him look younger than he was.

“Yeah. Me too.”

When you finally caught your breath, you lifted yourself up, smashing your lips against Sammy’s and crawling over him. You forced him on his back as you threw your leg over his hips, straddling him and rubbing yourself over his hard cock. His hands ran up your thighs, thumbs creating temporary dents from how they dug into the softness of your skin.

He drew in a sharp breath as you kissed him, his eyes half open because he simply couldn’t stop looking at you. You snuck your tongue into his mouth, your fingers grasping his hair when he deepened the kiss by lifting his head from the pillow, trying to assert dominance. But then you angled your lips just right, the head of his cock barely slipping into the warmth of your cunt, but still causing him to moan and throw his head back into the mattress.

“Fuck,” he cursed and then you reached down, straightening your back and positioning him against your entrance properly. Sammy couldn’t tear his eyes off you as you struggled to take him all at once, hissing at the way your tight walls squeezed the shit out of the head of his cock. “Shit, I should have stretched you out first. You’re so fucking tight.” Yeah, his thumb definitely wasn’t enough.

You didn’t respond, too focused on sliding down his cock as painlessly as possible. You were so sexy like this, all desperate to fuck him, with that small crease between your brows and bitten lip. And as much as he was enjoying the view, he didn’t want to hurt you.

“Lie on your back, sweetheart,” he said, ready to flip you over, but you stopped him.

“No! I can do it. I just need a second.”

God, he would slam right up into you if he weren’t scared that he’d break you.

“Christ, you’re being such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

Sammy at least brought his thumb to your clit, massaging it in small circles.

“Yeah,” you agreed mindlessly, making Sammy’s eyes snap to your face. You were so gone already. Only air in your head.

“Yeah,” he sighed, and sucked in his lips as you slid down another inch down, splitting yourself on his cock.

Sammy swore he couldn’t control it when his hips lifted themselves off the bed, just about a millimetre, but it made you mewl anyway.

Your palms braced themselves against his chest, your nails digging into his muscles. He had to remind you to breathe, and the stinging pressure only amplified when you finally slid all the way down, seating yourself against his hips.

Sammy moaned at the feeling, his eyes rolling back as he suppressed the need to buck up into you.

“Good job,” he commended and it was enough for you to lift your hips up, albeit painfully slow. It was easier for you to slide back down this time, your arousal combining with Sammy’s precum and creating a sticky mixture at the base of his cock. “You feel so fucking good. So hot.”

You finally looked away from where you were joined, locking eyes with Sammy’s. They were dark, blown out and full of lust. You lowered your upper body, your breasts pressing against his chest as you kissed him. You circled your hips, and this time, Sammy didn’t hold back, squeezing your hips before gently pressing upwards.

It made you hum into the kiss and he took it as a permission to do it again. Grabbing the flesh of your ass, he bent his knees and planted his feet against the mattress to give himself some leverage. Then he bucked up more forcefully, your body jolting against his and causing your lips to disconnect as you moaned.

He watched your face as he did it again, biting his lip when he saw your eyes roll back. He set a gradual pace, each thrust of his hips sharper than the last, your clit bumping against his pubic bone and applying dizzying pressure against the nub.

The lewd sounds of the slapping skin echoed through the room, combined with the gasps escaping your mouth. Sammy wrapped his arms around the small of your back, keeping you in place as he sped up his movements.

Your cheeks bounced against his snapping hips, and you had to brace yourself on your hands next to his ear, your fingers clutching the sheets.

This position left your breasts hanging close to his face and Sammy took the opportunity to lift his head, catching your nipple into his mouth. He sucked and nibbled as he drove into you, the bedsprings creaking under your bouncing bodies. He felt you spasm around him, your pussy sucking him in with every drag of his cock against your walls. Your cries got louder and his name was falling from your lips like prayer. It almost made him feel like a god.

You arched your back, your belly pressing against the firm muscles of his stomach and with three more thrusts, the coil in your stomach snapped, sending you over the edge.

Sammy started chasing his own orgasm as you shattered around him, riding you through your high with stammering hips. Once he was close, he flipped you on your back and let his cock slip out of your sensitive center, kneeling between your thighs while he pumped himself until he spilled over your stomach. He could’t hold in the moans that escaped him as he watched you getting covered in his cum.

Once his breaths went from shallow to deep again and his cock softened, he lowered himself on his heels.

“Shit, sorry.”

His words made you giggle, partly because of the oxytocin running through your body. A lazy grin appeared on your face. “What are you apologizing for?”

He jerked his head to the side, a knowing look on his face, because it was kind of obvious.

“Where’s your bathroom? Do you have something I can clean you up with?”

“Out the door to the left, there’s a washcloth hanging in the shower.”

Nodding, Sammy got to his feet with an exaggerated groan and it made you giggle again. He glanced at you over his shoulder with a what are you laughing at? look. You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face when you watched him trot butt-naked to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of the birthmark on his cheek.

When he came back, he was already in his boxers, washcloth in one hand and his pants in the other which he threw on the armchair you had in your bedroom. He also returned the pillows to where they belonged under your head, before he wiped away his spent, warmth spreading through you at the gentle touch.

When he came back again, after returning the towel into the bathroom, he threw himself on the bed, his body bouncing next to you.

“Are you alright?” he asked, bringing his hand to cup your face, his fingers playing with the hair by your ear and thumb swiping over your nose.

“Better than,” you smiled and he returned it, looking down in almost a bashful way, before he pecked your lips, releasing them with a gentle pop.

Gazing at each other then, you admired the color of his eyes and the small nose adorned by freckles. He truly was beautiful.

“I gotta go,” he said in a low voice, slurring the words out.

“You gotta?”

“Well…,” he began, the teasing tone returning, but still soft and a little high-pitched. “It really depends on the woman of the house. She has this rule about cops…” he rasped out with a playful roll of his eyes.

“I think she can make an exception.”

“Yeah?” He smiled, moving his face closer to yours and you nodded, repeating the word before he kissed you again. Sammy just couldn’t get enough of you.

Your dates became more frequent and eventually, you started seeing each other on daily basis. Sometimes you went to your place, sometimes you ended up at his. You started going on runs together and planned other activities if you both had free weekends.

Sammy was great, sweet and good-hearted, funny and sometimes fucking annoying. But you ate it all up.

Not to mention that the sex was amazing.

One morning, he had to borrow your brother’s old shirt, because he used his to wipe his cum off your ass and didn’t bring any change of clothes. It was a little tight, but it would suffice for the drive to work.

“I see you finally got style. Your coffee shop girl have something to do with it?” Ben teased when Sammy met him in the locker room, confusion flooding his face. “The shirt, bro. I think I even had the same one. A little out of fashion, but for you–“ Ben clicked his tongue and winked, making an OK sign with his fingers. “Kudos for the tighter fit, too. What’s next? Your hair?”

Normally, Sammy would come up with his own remarks, but all he could do this time was to watch Ben with careful eyes as he put on the white Underarmor shirt, wheels turning in Sammy’s head.

There’s no way.

Sammy changed quickly, throwing the borrowed shirt into his locker with more force than he intended. They did their usual routine, equipping the car with firearms and ammunition and searching for any leftover items from previous shift.

As they rolled out into the streets, Sammy couldn’t stop thinking about it. He should probably text you as soon as he had some time, otherwise his mind wouldn’t give him any rest. On the other hand, what if he found something he didn’t really wish to find out? Would that really help his case? Fuck.

Well, Sammy was restless, too impatient to wait as they cruised through the neighbourhood after responding to a help call.

“So… My sister is still on my ass about basically demoting myself from detective to patrol. It’s been years, and she’s driving me nuts,” Sammy set the bait, and Ben took it immediately.

“Yeah, sisters, man. As if managing their own life wasn’t enough.”

“You have a sister?”

Ben snorted.

“Yeah, man. Three,” he specified. And before Sammy could prod any further, Ben continued. “Actually, one of them just moved back from Seattle. Getting to re-know the city as we speak.”

Sammy’s head snapped to Ben, something close to a scowl pulling the muscles of his face as he stared at his partner over his shades

He forgot he was driving for a second– well, for more than a second, because the next thing he knew, Ben was yelling out his name and reaching for the wheel, steering the car around a cyclist.

“What the fuck, man? You alright?”

Sammy recovered quickly then.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Ben made a note to keep a close eye on his partner for the rest of the shift, but brushed it off for now, going on a rant about wanting to become a detective too and asking Sammy for advice.

Sammy could not wait for the shift to be over. He was panicking and he needed someone to panic with. Except, he doubted that his partner would provide that service since Sammy was sleeping with his little sister. Oh, he was going to dramatically storm into your apartment, he knew it. He should probably give you a heads up.

Well, he didn’t have to.

You were perched on the bench in front of the police station, and when you saw Ben, followed by Sammy, your epiglottis closed up. No way.

When Sammy spotted you, you saw him tip his head back and roll his eyes towards the sky, as if asking some higher power to give him the strength, before he met your gaze again and shook his head subtly.

You didn’t even know what he meant by that, but instead of dwelling on that, you smiled at your brother as he greeted you with a half-hug.

“Alright, Ben, see you tomorrow,” Sammy said, trying to make his escape, but Ben stopped him.

“Sammy, wait.”

Sammy stopped reluctantly, the tip of his tongue prodding at his molars as his eyes flickered to you for a split second. “This is my sister I was telling you about. And this is Sammy Bryant, my partner.”

Sammy stuck out his hand and you took it, his lips quirked up and brows pinched together at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Nice to meet you, Officer Bryant.”

“Likewise.”

Sammy had to give it to you, you definitely looked calmer than he felt. His hand lingered on yours, and Ben was the one to break you up with a nervous laugh.

Sammy was quick to say goodbye, desperate to get out of there, and while you went out for a coffee with your brother, Sammy decided to drive to your place, parking far enough so Ben wouldn’t see his car in case he was taking you home.

With Ben living in Castaic now, too, Sammy didn’t want to risk the chance of him appearing at his doorstep with you on his couch. He was proven today that fate had funny plans for him. Or for you, he wasn’t sure.

He sent you a text of course, informing you he was waiting for you near your apartment. And while stakeouts weren’t his favorite thing about his job, this made them seem like a piece of cake.

“So, now you see why I don’t date cops?” you asked him when you finally arrived home, and all Sammy could do was shrug.

“So, what do we do?”

“Well… We should tell him. I mean, the sooner the better. Like ripping off a band-aid,” you said, studying his face as Sammy chewed on his lips, seemingly on the fence about it. “Unless you want to end it…?”

Sammy met your eyes then, scowling at the idea.

“No, of course not." You felt relief wash over you. "It’s just… God, how did we not figure it out sooner? Where did my detective skills go?”

“Maybe the sex had something to do with it.”

Well, it was all easier said than done. It had been weeks since you discussed the ways of how to tell your brother. Should you speak to him together? Probably. But then it would seem like you were ganging up on him. Maybe you should tell him, you could calm him down in case he freaked. But that would seem like Sammy was just purposefully going behind his back, like he was’t even willing to face him. So maybe Sammy should tell him. He knew how to communicate worse things than this, so he could sit Ben down in his favorite restaurant, butter him up a bit and just get it out.

Shit. There was no good way to go about this.

You mentioned to Ben that you were seeing someone but didn’t give him any more details. And that was it, the conversation kind of ended there. You knew then that you weren’t able to tell him on your own. So, together it was.

However, both you and Sammy were stalling, and you often forgot about this whole mess of a situation when you were together, losing yourselves in each other’s presence. It was probably also because it was kind of exciting. To have this kind of secret, to be in this shared bubble with Sammy.

But it was harder on him, because he had to look Ben in the eye every single day and lie. Well, not lie per se, because the topic never really came up, but he still wasn’t truthful.

“My sister is actually seeing some guy. Wouldn’t even tell me his name or what he does,” Ben said one day, and it instantly made Sammy squirm in his seat, paranoia taking over him and making him think that Ben had found out somehow. I mean, he wasn’t stupid.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And I mean, it’s her life, she knows what she’s doing. But I’m a little worried for her,” Ben said, causing Sammy to frown. “She never really had a serious relationship, you know. No doubt our deadbeat father had something to do with that, but...”

“So, you mean she’s like you? Changing her men like she changes her socks? Runs in the family?” Sammy tried to sound nonchalant, but Ben only put him on edge.

Ben chuckled at that.

“No, not like that. I think she just got so used to being on her own that she doesn’t want to put the energy into a relationship. To share her space. Or, she gets bored. I don’t know, man.” The car was now quiet, with Ben still pondering on his sister’s life choices while Sammy felt a lump in his throat. And to make it worse, Ben continued. “I mean, look at her, she couldn’t even settle down in a city for once. I’m just waiting for her to move back to Seattle or wherever the hell she chooses.”

Sammy was going to be sick.

“Right.”

Ben managed to numb Sammy’s head with all the crap he'd said and it made him feel scared all of a sudden. Was that what he was to you? Just a toy you’d throw away once you'd had your fill? After Tammi, he didn’t know what to think. He trusted her so many times and she let him down over and over again, and he wasn’t going to let you do the same.

“So, Ben told me an interesting thing today,” Sammy said, seated in your kitchen chair.

“Yeah? What’s that?” you asked, munching on a cookie as you came over to him and sat yourself sideways on his thigh, hooking your arm around his neck.

“He told me you’d never had a serious relationship,” Sammy said bluntly, watching your expression change to confusion.

“And? I never would’ve thought that would be a problem for you.” You took another bite, fully believing that Sammy wasn't going to make a scene about you never having a serious relationship.

“Well, he said that you either get bored or you don’t want to put up with the guys. Eventually. So I would like to know which group I’ll fall into.”

You clenched your jaw, studying his face with squinted eyes, trying to figure out if he was joking or not.

“Right now, you’re falling into a group of jerks, Sam. Are you serious?”

He chewed on his cheek, lifting an eyebrow as he shrugged. That expression finally made you get off his lap, turning away from him as you crossed your arms over your chest, thinking about what to say. Should you explain yourself? Wouldn’t that come across as defensive? What exactly would you be explaining anyway? Should you yell at him and kick him out? What were you supposed to do?

“I’ve never had a serious relationship, because the guys were either assholes or we just didn’t click.”

“And how do you decide that exactly?” Sammy stood up, stepping towards you in a swift motion. “Is every guy an asshole when it comes to you, then? You think you're too good for them?”

Your body span around, scoffing as you faced him. Unbelievable.

“Apparently, yeah. Look at yourself. Sammy, what the fuck did Ben tell you?” You tried to stop the tears from welling up in the corners of your eyes. “We’ve been seeing each other for months, because I actually like you. And what– would you expect me to settle for the first guy that throws me a smile and calls me kitten?” The tears slipped down, tickling your cheeks and it made you press the heels of your palms against your eye sockets. “Fuck!” you cursed through clenched teeth, frustrated. You seriously had no idea what he wanted from you.

Shaking your head, you turned away, wiping at your face on your walk to the bathroom. Once there, you sat down on the plush rug and leaned your back against the shower door, letting yourself weep.

In the kitchen, Sammy closed his eyes and let himself breathe. He needed to chill out. Needed to relax his fists.

All he wanted to do was to settle down, to finally meet the love of his life and spend the rest of his life with her. He had thought Tammi was it. And maybe you were right when you said that he expected you to settle for the first guy you’d dated, because that’s exactly what Sammy did with Tammi. And it was the stupidest thing he could have done, he had realized that a while ago, so he didn’t really know why his perspective changed back all of a sudden. You just made him fucking crazy.

A few minutes passed and Sammy headed to the bathroom, hoping you didn't lock yourself. He was greeted by the sight of you chewing on your lip and your jaw clenching, probably holding yourself from punching the fuck out of him. Your foot jumped up and down and your eyes rolled when you saw him. Yeah. You definitely wanted to deck him.

“I’m sorry,” Sammy said as he kneeled in front of you, but you avoided his gaze. “Can you look at me? Please?"

You only shook your head, another wave of tears rolling out. Sammy sighed, knowing there was no point in trying to make you.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, “I screwed up. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. But Ben said you couldn’t settle down, because of your father. That you’d move away again. And my ego just plummeted, while my insecurities skyrocketed.” Sammy watched another tear escape your eye, and his hand itched to swipe it away, but you were faster. “Because I want to be enough for you. I want to make you happy and I don’t want you to leave.”

Your eyes finally darted towards him and you sniffled, pinching the collar of your shirt and using the material to wipe your eyes.

“Next time, don’t listen to my fucking brother. Especially when he mentions our father,” you said, your tone weak as you still fought the lump in your throat, but it still had a warning bite to it. “And don’t you come fucking accusing me like that ever again. I know you’re not an asshole, but you sure were acting like one.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, closing your eyes as you huffed. Swallowing, you shifted to your knees and extended your arms, wrapping them around his neck. He welcomed your hug with a relieved sigh, burying his nose into your neck and taking in your smell. Your cheek was squished against his shoulder, creating a wet spot on the soft material of his tactical, long-sleeve shirt, soaking it through. He rocked your body back and forth as he kissed the skin of your neck before pulling away and taking in your puffy face.

Sammy wiped the remaining wetness from your cheeks with his sleeve, even getting the snot under your nose which made you jerk away and a smile creep up on your face. “You’re disgusting.”

“What?” he watched you get up and stop in front of the mirror. “Just cleaning my mess.”

“You don’t have to kiss my ass. I forgave you.” You splashed your face with cold water before wiping it with your towel.

Normally, Sammy would make a lewd comment about kissing your ass, but now was really not the time. So he just settled for, “Can I stay?”

You rolled your eyes, a small smile still playing on your lips as they breathed out a quiet of course. You turned away from him then and exited the bathroom without another word.

Sammy knew you were trying to act indifferent. Pretending like this hadn’t somehow altered your relationship, and to be fair, you probably did want to sweep it under the rug. But he knew he’d hurt you, and just because you’d forgiven him didn’t mean he would act like nothing happened.

So, he cooked you dinner. Put on your favorite show with that actor that made you giggle and kick your feet. Let you think that the the attack you made with your piece during a chess game wasn’t against the rules. Traced shapes on your back for you to guess until you fell asleep. And the next morning, he made your favorite breakfast for you. Right after he made love to you.

Sammy realized soon that he shouldn’t have gotten pissed at what Ben said. He should have gotten selfishly proud about the fact that he was in your life unlike the assholes that couldn’t keep you, but instead, he almost fucked it up like them, letting his failed marriage with Tammi get the better of him.

But he couldn’t even compare his previous relationship to this one. Tammi had more than one screw loose, making their relationship doomed from the start. He just hadn’t realized it then, since his mind had been fogged by all the weed they smoked together.

Either way, Sammy was sure his mom would smack his head for the way he’d acted. She taught him better than this, not to mention she would’ve been pissed if he’d screwed it up before she got to meet the girl her son was always gushing about.

“We need to tell him,” you said after you cleaned the kitchen, your tone definitive, making Sammy pause as he rinsed his mouth with the mouthwash. He saw your reflection in the mirror, your arms crossed over your chest. He spat out the liquid and you continued, “I’m not really interested in letting any more misunderstandings ruin this relationship.”

“Okay,” Sammy agreed, wrinkles appearing on his forehead as he turned towards you, studying your face. “Are we good?”

Rolling your eyes, you came closer to him as he leaned against the sink, bracing himself with his palms against the edge. You circled both of his wrists with your fingers before sliding them up his forerarms, feeling the veins through his skin. You stood on your tiptoes to peck his lip. “No. We’re not good. That’s why I want to tell Ben, so he can kick your ass.”

“Ha. You’re so fucking funny,” Sammy mumbled, a teasing smile spreading on his face as he bobbed his head, catching your wrists and tugging, making you crash against his chest. “You know that? Know how hilarious you are? I should sell you to a fucking circus.”

You grinned at him and before you knew it, he was pinching your sides, making you cackle as you tried to escape his hold, but his forearm against your stomach trapped you to his body, and you fell victim to his torture.

Later that morning, you headed to work, leaving Sammy in your apartment since he had the day off anyway. You gave him your spare key and told him to lock the door once he left.

You agreed to drive to his place right after work, because you planned to spend the rest of the week at his house since Sammy actually had the whole weekend off, and you didn’t want to cramp up at your apartment.

Besides that, it was a great hiking area, and you already mapped out some trails which you were looking forward to, as well as getting some fresh air and spending time with Sammy.

You were balancing a bowl of ice-cream topped by a few M&M’s in your lap, your legs stretched over Sammy’s thighs as you lounged on his couch.

“Maybe we should like… pretend that we all bumped into each other at some café. That way it won’t feel like an intervention or something,” you proposed but before Sammy could reply, you interrupted by a knock on the door.

You both frowned, Sammy's tongue poking into his cheek as he lifted your legs off his lap before gently putting them down on the cushions. He headed to the door and when he opened it, he immediately braced his arm against the doorframe to block the view inside as he saw Ben standing on his porch.

“Hey, man. What are you doing here?” Sammy laughed nervously.

“Well, you were supposed to help with the detective exam questions, right?”

…

Shit. He was right. Sammy promised Ben to go over it with him and he totally fucking forgot.

“But seeing my sister’s car in your driveway, I’m here to ask, what the fuck is she doing here?”

Ben didn’t wait for an answer, shoving past Sammy and storming right into the living room.

“Ben, wait,” Sammy tried to stop him, but he wasn’t hearing it. You were, though, your eyes widening at the sound of your brother’s name followed by heavy stomps, and it made you straighten up as you prepared for the worst. Ben only scoffed when he came into view, pacing behind the couch.

“What the fuck is this?” he asked, dragging his hands down his face before extending them in front of him with palms up. “I mean, what the fuck, Sammy?”

“Ben, calm down,” you said, standing up and coming closer to him.

“Are you screwing my sister?”

“Ben!” you tried to get him to talk to you instead, but his focus was solely on Sammy.

“We’re dating,” Sammy corrected, but that really didn’t help anything.

“Oh! Oh, you’re dating. Well then, that explains everything, doesn’t it?” Ben fake-laughed, his hands on his hips now as he faced Sammy. “How long have you been dating?”

“A few months.”

Ben shook his head, sneering at his supposed friend. “So, you’ve been lying to my face for a few months?” Ben closed up on Sammy, their noses inches apart as if they were having a face-off. “You’re so full of shit, Sammy. All that bullshit about trusting your partner? You’re such a fucking hypocrite.”

“Ben, we didn’t know that–” you tried to reason, but Ben just hissed a save it at you. And you did.

“Listen to her, man,” Sammy continued, as calmly as possible. “I didn’t know you were her brother until recently.”

Ben shook his head again, snorting at the poor explanation, the sound followed by a painful silence. It was when Sammy met your gaze over Ben’s shoulder that your borther’s fingers grasped the front of Sammy’s shirt, and his fist connected with Sammy’s face, making him groan at the impact and his body twist away as his hand shot up to his face.

“What the fuck, Ben?” you screamed, but your brother was already storming out of the house. You didn’t follow him. Letting him cool off was the best choice for now.

Your feet carried you to Sammy, your hand coming to his back as he braced himself on the back of the couch with one arm.

“Let me see,” you said gently, willing his hand away with yours. You already saw his palm stained with blood, some of it even dripping on the floor. “Wait, you know what, let’s go to the bathroom, come on.”

“I’m fine,” he rasped out.

“Yeah, well, your couch won’t be if you stay here, and it’s not gonna be easy to get the bloody stains out. But you know that, don’t you? So, come on.”

Sammy groaned again, and you let him go ahead, getting some tissues first because you weren’t sure if he had any in the first-aid kit right now.

Meanwhile, Sammy washed his face only to have it covered in blood again as it trickled out of his nose. As soon as you brought the tissues, he used one to give his nose a good pinch, squeezing his eyes shut as he bent over the sink.

You were frowning next to him, gently petting his hair and tracing your fingers along his ear.

“Should I bring you an ice-pack?”

Sammy shook his head, his voice congested when he spoke. “Nah, I’m good.”

After a while, he sniffled, removing the bloody tissues before looking at his reflection. It seemed that the bleeding had stopped, but his nose was a dark shade of pink, a little swollen. Not broken though, hopefully. Some of the discoloration reached the skin under his eye too. He splashed some water on his face once again, cleaning himself up.

“I’m sorry,” you said from your place next to him, guilt washing over you. “I never thought he would react like this.”

“Yeah, well,” Sammy stood to his full height, facing you. “I deserved it. And it’s not your fault. He was right, anyway. I’m always saying that your partner is supposed to have your back, not go behind.”

“But you do have his back. He was never going to get killed because we were seeing each other.”

“It’s not just about getting killed… I just shouldn’t have lied,” Sammy bit his cheek, his eyes darting sideways.

You wrapped your arms around his ribcage, slotting yourself against him. You were relieved when you felt his arms wrap around you, his cheek landing itself on the crown of your head. You felt his chest expand as he took in a deep inhale.

You explained that it was probably Ben’s general overprotectiveness of women that made him lash out. That it wasn’t just them hiding their relationship. Several things came together at once.

“He’ll get over it. He looks up to you, Sam. He knows you’re a good man and this was just a lapse in judgement. From both of us.”

“Yeah. I think we’ll have to change our Sunday plans, though. I should pay him a visit before we go to work on Monday.”

“Of course. I’ll come with you.”

“Okay.”

Sammy proved to you again and again that he truly had his heart in the right place. And while he had his flaws, he was always trying to do good by people.

Ben was still angry when you arrived at his place. Or maybe more like annoyed. But he did let you both in, which you supposed was a good sign.

He was still throwing daggers in Sammy’s direction, but as you explained the whole situation, swearing that you had never meant to lie, Ben’s stares softened and his fists eventually unclenched. He even asked Sammy about his nose.

When you got up to leave, the two men shook hands, patting each other on their shoulders before Ben walked you out.

“Go ahead, I’ll catch up,” Sammy said, pushing you softly with his fingers as he handed you the keys to his car.

Once you were out of earshot, Sammy faced Ben.

“I’m sorry you found out this way, Ben. But I promise you that I’m not going to hurt her. You can… shoot me in the leg if I do,” Sammy said, only half-joking.

Ben huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “I know. Now, get out of my face. Don’t keep my sister waiting.”

Sammy gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded. “See ya tomorrow.”

Ben watched your smile grow when Sammy got inside the car. The only reason he got over it so soon was because he knew Sammy was a good guy and if anyone could treat you right, it was him.

“So, now we’re like.. official.”

Sammy caged you against his kitchen counter, pressing himself to your front while you clasped your wrist with your hand behind his neck.

“I guess so.”

“Like, girlfriend-boyfriend official.”

You snorted at how ridiculous he sounded, but nodded anyway.

“I don’t know what you’re laughing at.”

“You sound like a thirteen-year-old.”

Sammy leaned down, pressing his lips against yours in a slow kiss, sucking on your lower lip before giving it a small nip, pulling a soft moan out of you.

“That felt like a thirteen-year-old to you?”

“Are you trying to get me to incriminate myself?”

Sammy tipped his head back, inhaling with an open mouth as he pretended to think about it, his eyes darting between random objects.

“Maybe I should bring the cuffs home sometime. See if you’re still runnin' your mouth when I have you tied to the bed. All helpless. Nowhere to run.”

“Or, I should tie you up. Torture you until you’re screaming for mercy.”

Sammy nearly burst out laughing, wrinkles appearing around his eyes, and you bit your cheek as he laughed at you.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He flicked at your chin with his index finger, still smiling from ear to ear. “It’s just cute when you say it like that. I almost called my lawyer.”

“You’re an asshole,” you said, ready to pass around him, but he stopped by grabbing your hands and pressing you back into the counter with his hips, the edge digging into your ass.

“Wait, wait. I’ll let you cuff me up. Whatever you want.”

He brought your hands back behind his head and you played with the hair at the nape of his neck as he kissed you again.

He snaked his tongue between your lips, and without breaking the kiss, Sammy bent in his knees, grabbing you by the undersides of your thighs and lifting you up on the counter.

He spread your legs, situating himself between them as he leaned into you, your head gently thudding against the kitchen cabinet behind you.

Sammy’s fingers skimmed against your bare knees and up your thighs, teasingly slipping under the hem of your shorts until they reached for the band and started tugging.

“Wait.” You broke the kiss and his hands paused. “I don’t want to make a mess in your kitchen.”

“Why?”

“Well… I don’t know. You’re okay with it?”

He huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah,” he yanked on your shorts with all the strength he had, making your body jerk forward a little. “I want to fuck you right here, so I have something to reminisce about every time I make us dinner.” He tugged again and this time your shorts came free along with your panties.

Sammy got down on his knees, and as soon as his face was in front of your center, he inhaled, taking in your scent. You still couldn’t get used to how shameless he was about it. And not only that, but sex in general.

He kissed along your thigh first, opening his mouth wide and sinking his teeth into the flesh. It made you yelp, and all he could do was unlatch himself from you and admire the dents in your skin. He brought his head closer to your center then, letting his forehead rest against your abdomen and his curls tickle your skin as he stuck his tongue out, licking you from your hole all the way up to your clit.

Your legs snapped close around his head, but he was quick to spread them apart with his hands circling your ankles and keeping you from closing them again, all while sucking on your throbbing clit.

Your hand came down to the back of his head, grasping his hairr and trying not to tug too hard as he grazed his teeth against the sensitive nub.

Sammy was watching you as you threw your head back, revelling in the was his tongue massaged your slit, kissing and slurping sloppily at your cunt. You moaned above him and it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard.

Your nails scraped against the nape of his neck when his tongue plunged into you, and he had to flex his arms as your legs threatened to close once again.

He fucked you with the wet muscle, and when he felt you spasm around him, he withdrew it, returning his focus to your puffy clit. He sucked on you while drawing figure eights against the bundle, making your hips twitch against him as you neared the end.

It all came crashing down when he freed one of your legs and pushed two of his fingers into your cunt, hooking them inside and massaging the spongy spot.

Your hand tightened behind his neck, nails digging into his skin and creating small crescents, while your other arm shot up, palm slamming against the cupboard as your orgasm rippled through you.

He fingered you through it, and usually, he would stop once you started shoving at his head or his hand, but this time, he was glued to you, sucking on you like a leech.

You cried out a few stop's, and no more's, but to no avail.

You felt like you were on a roller coaster, coming down the railway track only to ascend again.

You were panting above him, and he quickened the pace of his fingers, slamming them into you as he kept his lips clasped around your sensitive clit, shaking his head from side to side, making you scream his name.

You hit him with your free knee as you came for the second time, trying to escape his working mouth and fingers in any way you could, but Sammy didn’t care. He let your heel dig into his back, to scrunch up his shirt as your thigh slapped itself against his ear.

When Sammy finally removed himself, he grabbed your leg again and you felt your wetness against your calf. He stayed on his knees watching your stomach move up and down, before his eyes drifted to your twitching cunt.

Sammy watched your cum dribble down onto the countertop, and he could’t help but ghost his fingers over the length of your pussy, making your hips jerk, before dipping them in the pool of your wetness decorating the marble surface. He brought his fingers to your mouth, and you licked at them, cleaning them with your tongue as you tasted yourself.

Sammy took you off the counter then, turning you around and bending you over as he unbuckled the belt of his jeans.

The clasps bit into your skin as he fucked you against the counter, your brains dissolving to the extent that you didn’t even think twice when he asked you to clean the mess you made. You licked it off with your tongue, some of it getting onto your nose before he grabbed you by your neck and yanked you upwards, your body arching against him. He kissed your cum-covered lips, tasting you one last time, before he made you cum around in cock, with Sammy following shortly after.

Your legs almost gave up on you, and if it wasn’t for Sammy holding you up, you would have probably toppled to the ground.

When you were able to stand on your own, you went to take a shower while Sammy really cleaned the countertop, only because you shot him a look when he half-joked that he wouldn’t mind to let it get dry and you know… 'leave it like that'.

He took a shower right after you before joining you on the couch only in his shorts. You snuggled into his bare chest, your cheek against his collar bone as you looked up at him, letting yourself admire him again, his cheeks still a little pink, his lips curled into a soft smile while his eyes looked so warm and loving.

Your eyelashes fluttered as you glanced down before looking back up.

“I love you,” you said, and Sammy leaned down to kiss your nose.

“Are you saying that because of the sex?”

You knew he was teasing, your cheeks cramping from the widened smile as you slowly swung your from side to side.

“You’re horrible. You can’t be serious for even just one second.”

“Yeah, because you wouldn’t even like me if I tried to play out a rom-com scene with you.”

And he was right. It was his loud, annoying ass that you loved about him. Among other things.

“But,” he said as he pinched your chin between his thumb and index, making you look at him, “I love you, too.”

first, a multi-car pileup at dawn bled into a series of critical post-ops. then, every time he had tired to reach for his coat, another “one last thing” tethered him back to the floor. now, nearly ten hours into a forced double, the walls feel like they’re closing in. all he wants right now is to be through his front door, to shed the smell of antiseptic and the weight of the hospital, and to finally disappear into the quiet comfort of his home, where you were probably already waiting for him.

“it’s too quiet,” dana mutters as she organizes a stack of charts.

jack offers a ghost of a tired smile. “don’t say the ‘q’ word. you’ll jinx us.”

his mind drifts, as it often does during these rare lulls, back to you. he thinks about the way you looked when he left. half-asleep, tangled in the duvet in your hared bed, grumbling about the warmth leaving you as jack got out of the bed. he’d kissed your forehead, whispered that he’d be home by eight, in time to share breakfast with you, and headed into the belly of the beast. as he walked into the hospital, he felt a rare pang of guilt; he’d been working so many double shifts lately that your shared home felt more like a hotel.

i’ll make it up to her, he thinks. maybe he can take you out to that new sushi bar you showed him on your phone the other day. no, you’ll probably prefer thai. you’ve always loved-

the thought is cut short by the sharp, rhythmic chirp of the trauma radio. the sound like a physical blow to the silence.

“dispatch to mercy trauma, we have a level 1 activation. multiple vehicle collision, pileup on the i-579. initial reports suggest a jackknifed semi and at least six passenger vehicles. multiple red-tags. first eta is four minutes. lead bus is carrying a female, blunt force chest trauma, unstable vitals, gcs of 6.”

the er transforms in a heartbeat. the “slump” dies instantly, replaced by the practiced, frantic choreography of a trauma team who’s been through this million times.

robby, that was contrasting the lab results from one of his patients jumps into action.

“abbot, i need you in trauma. we need to get bays 1 and 2 ready. i want respiratory on standby. grab the o-neg. if this is a pileup, we’re going to be drowning in ten minutes.”

“let’s go!” jack barks, his voice dropping into that authoritative, calm register that defined him as he signals some of the residents to follow him,

the coffee is now discarded and forgotten on dana’s desk as jack pulls on a pair of gloves, the snap of latex echoing against the white, bright walls of room. here, in the chaos of trauma 1, he’s in his element. he’s dr. abbot, the man who’s used to holding the line between life and death. he feels the familiar rush of adrenaline, the narrowing of his world until only the patients matter.

“eta one minute!” someone shouts.

robby stands at the ambulance bay doors, peering through the glass. a faint rain has started. a cold, miserable drizzle that blurs the red and blue lights of the approaching sirens.

the first ambulance screeches to a halt and the back doors swing open. immediately, a paramedic jumps out, already pumping a manual respirator. “female, trapped in the driver’s side for twenty minutes. we had to use the jaws. bp is 80 over 40 and dropping. she’s trending toward traumatic arrest!”

robby’s breath catches for a fraction of a second. his eyes scan the familiar face, noticing all the blood, the cuts and bruises.

no, he thinks. please, let it not be true.

“get her to bay 1!” he orders, returning to reality as he steps forward to catch the side of the gurney as it flies past.

as robby pushes the gurney, he refuses to look at the patient’s face. but when he walks past dana’s desk, he looks devastated, and she notices. rounding her desk, she walks next to him, matching his quick step.

“i need abbot out of that room,” he says. “now.”

frowning, dana walks next to him.

“what? why?”

robby just shakes his head. “i need you to take him to trauma 2. anywhere, really. just… away from…”

but it’s already too late.

jack’s eyes are locked on the gurney, tracking the way the patient’s body jolts with every bump of the wheels, noticing the blood-soaked bandages on her chest.

“on three! one, two, three!”

the paramedics help slide the patient onto the trauma table. and it’s only then, as one of the them pulls away the oxygen mask to swap it for the hospital’s ventilator, that the world truly stops spinning.

the air leaves jack’s lungs as if he’d been punched.

“jack…” robby tries, but he doesn’t look at him. he can’t react at all.

the female with blunt force chest trauma and unstable vitals isn’t a stranger.

it’s you.

your face is ghostly pale under the smears of blood and road grime. your hair, which he’d smoothed back just hours ago in the quiet of your bedroom, is matted with glass shards. you lay limp, your chest barely moving, a hollow shell of the person he loves.

“jack?” dana’s voice comes from a distance, sharp and concerned. “jack, what are you doing? we need to intubate!”

jack abbot, the man who never flinches, who doesn’t shake under stress, no matter how hard or critical the case, now stands frozen. his hands, usually as steady as stone, are shaking so violently they seem to rattle against the metal railing of the bed.

robby glances at dana over his friend’s shoulder, shaking his head.

“no,” jack whispers, the word catching in his throat. “no, no, no…”

“okay, “robby mutters to himself. “abbot, i need you to get out. now.”

but jack still can’t react, he doesn’t even flinch when dana closes her hand around his forearm, trying to pull him out of the room.

robby pushes past him. “she’s crashing! i need a central line now! jack, get out of the way!”

robby grabs a scalpel, his movements clinical and fast. he doesn’t stop to consider who is on the table. to him, right now you are just a ‘red tag.’ he can’t allow himself to think of anything else.

right now, you can’t be the woman who has quickly become one of his closest friends, one of the main supports on his hardest days. the woman he proudly considers family, the same one he shared secrets and past anecdotes with when he came by to yours and jack’s house for dinner every month.

dana is still trying to get jack out of the room, threatening to call security on him when the attending’s weak whisper makes her stop in her tracks.

“stop,” jack rasps, his voice cracking. he lunges forward, shaking dana’s hand off, too desperate. “stop. that’s… that’s my wife.”

the room goes dead silent for a heartbeat, save for the screaming of the heart monitor. robby looks up, nothing but pity for his friend boring in them.

“jack… you can’t be in here, brother. you know the protocol.”

“i am not leaving her!” jack roars, his voice echoing off the trauma bay walls, raw and heartbroken. “my wife is dying. i am not leaving her!”

“you’re making it worse!” robby hisses back. “you’re compromised! you’re going to kill her if you don’t let us work!”

jack looks down at you. he sees the blood. he sees the way your heart rate is flickering on the screen like a dying candle. a cold, terrifying clarity suddenly washes over him. the panic doesn’t disappear, of course it doesn’t, but he forces it down into a small, dark box in the back of his mind.

he steps back slightly, chest heaving. but his hands stop shaking, the roaring in his ears slows to low hum, enough for him to hear his own thoughts again.

“fuck the protocol. i’m staying,” jack said, his voice now terrifyingly low and steady. “robby, get the chest tube. and i need 10 of epi. now!”

he doesn’t look at his colleagues as he works. he looks only at you.

“stay with me,” he whispers, so low only you could have heard it if you were awake. “don’t you dare leave me, do you hear me? stay with me.”

and so the chaos begins in the trauma bay. robby and jack, along with a couple of residents and some extra hands work together, in synchronicity.

“i need a fast exam, now!” jack’s voice cuts through the noise, steady but edged with desperation, focused on the monitors, on the jagged green lines of your heart rate, the terrifyingly low oxygen saturation. he tries not to look at you, knowing that if he did he’d see your eyes, closed and bruised, and he would shatter.

“jack, i’ve got the ultrasound,” rabby says, his voice softer now, cautious.

he moves the probe over your abdomen, eyes flicking between the small screen and your still form.

you’re so still. the woman who loves dancing in the kitchen to grainy jazz records is now buried under layers of medical plastic and blood-stained gauze.

“we’ve got internal bleeding,” robby mutters, his brow furrowing. “she’s bleeding out into her peritoneum. jack, we need to get her to or immediately.”

“wait,” jack says, eyes falling to the darkening bruise on your lower belly. “check the pelvis. i want a full sweep. if there’s a pelvic fracture we didn’t see—”

“i’m on it,” robby replies. he moves the probe lower, his movements clinical.

the room seems to go silent, though the machines are still screaming. jack watches the ultrasound screen, his mind already three steps ahead, calculating surgical approaches, estimating blood loss, praying to a god he hasn’t spoken to in years.

then, the image shifts.

robby freezes. the probe stops moving.

on the grainy, black-and-white screen, nestled deep within the shadows of your body, is a small, unmistakable flicker. a pulsing light.

jack’s breath hitched. his world, already tilted on its axis, began to spin violently.

“jack…” robby’s voice was barely a whisper. “is that…?”

“no,” jack breathes, the word a plea. “no, it can’t be.”

he grabs the probe from robby’s hand, his fingers slick with ultrasound gel. he presses it down again, his eyes wide and frantic as he searches the screen. and there it is. a gestational sac. maybe ten weeks. perhaps older. a tiny, fragile life tucked away inside the chaos of your broken body.

a life he didn’t know about. a life you hadn’t told him about.

“she’s pregnant,” robby breathes from the bedside, his hand flying to his mouth.

the realization hits jack like a physical blow to the chest. this isn’t about just you anymore. it’s about both of you. every choice he makes in the next ten minutes will not just decide the fate of his wife; it would decide the fate of their child, too.

“we can’t use the standard protocol, jack,” robby says, his voice rising in panic. “the meds we were going to use for the induction, the ct scan, the radiation…”

“i know!” jack roars, the sound raw and guttural. he drops the probe and it hits the floor with a dull thud.

the “doctor mode” he has spent years perfecting, the emotional armor he wears like a second skin, cracks wide open. the image of that tiny, flickering heartbeat burned into his retinas. he sees you then; not as a patient, not as a ‘red tag,’ but as the mother of his child, dying on a cold metal table because of a patch of ice and a moment of bad luck.

the room begins to tilt. the bright fluorescent lights turned into blinding white spots. the sound of the ventilator—hiss-click, hiss-click—is like a ticking time bomb.

“jack, look at me,” robby says, stepping into his line of sight, grabbing jack’s shoulders. “jack, you’re hyperventilating. you need to step back.”

“i… i didn’t know,” jack stammers, his legs suddenly turning to lead. “she didn’t… we couldn’t…”

he looks back at you. your face is a mask of trauma, but in his mind, he sees you the way you were hours ago when he left you cold on your shared bed. the way you smiled at him. did you know then? maybe you were waiting for dinner to tell him.

the grief and the shock collide in his chest, stealing the air from his lungs. jack’s knees buckle.

“he’s going down!” robby cries, catching him under his arms before he hits the floor.

jack doesn’t fight him. he can’t. his strength is gone, evaporated. he slumps against the wall, his head in his hands, the bloodied plastic of his blue gown crinkling as he collapses.

“get him out of here,” robby orders, his voice firm as he takes over the lead position at the bed. “now! someone, please, get him to the breakroom. i’ll take her up. i promise you, jack, i will do everything. just go!”

jack feels hands on him, a strong grip pulling him up, guiding him away from the bed. he tries to resist, tries to reach out for you, but his body simply won’t obey.

as he’s led through the swinging doors, the last thing he sees is the team swarming around you, the red light of the blood bags hanging over your head, and the ultrasound screen, displaying that tiny, flickering heart once more.

the doors click shut, leaving him in the hallway, the rapid beat of his heart a deafening roar in his ears.

he’s a doctor. he’s a husband. and now, he’s a father.

and he might lose everything before the sun went down.

jesse lets go of his arm when they arrive at the breakroom, and with a quiet “i’m sorry” and a gentle nod he leaves jack behind and returns to the room where the rest of the team is still fighting to save you.

you and the baby.

god, the mere thought raises tears to jack’s eyes.

a baby.

his baby.

biting the inside of his cheek, jack thinks of the previous times when he heard these news. of the sound of your excited, cheerful voice the first time you came up to him with a positive test.

unfortunately he also remembers your heartbroken wails as he hold you tight to his chest, both of you sitting on the bathroom floor at home. he remembers how he bit his lips, forcing himself to stay strong for you but wanting nothing more but to crumble into pieces right there.

you had stopped trying after the second miscarriage. a decision none of you wanted to made but that you needed in order to protect your own hearts and your sanity.

and now… now you’re laying on a cold, metal exam table, closer to death than you’ve ever been and jack has everything to lose.

the breakroom smells of stale coffee and industrial-strength floor cleaner. it’s a room designed for brief reprieves, for five-minute naps and hurried meals, but right now, for jack, it feel like a cage.

he seats on the edge of a vinyl chair, his elbows on his knees, staring at his hands, at dark, shiny band on his left hand.

you are pregnant. the thought keeps looping in his mind, a frantic, broken record. how could he miss it? he’s a doctor, for god’s sake. he is trained to notice the smallest shifts in physiology, the subtle cues of the human body.

he thinks back to the last few weeks; your sudden preference for tea over coffee, the way you’d been falling asleep on the couch before the 11 o’clock news. he’d chalked it up to stress, to the gray pittsburgh winter, to his own grueling schedule and the fact that he didn’t seem to have time to spare, time for you.

he closes his eyes and sees you in the kitchen three days ago, laughing at the ridiculous apron he usually wears when he cooks. you looked so vibrant, so incredibly alive. now, you have been reduced to a series of vitals on a monitor, a problem to be solved by people who don’t know the sound of your laugh or your favorite movie from your childhood.

“god, please,” he whispers into the empty room. now, jack abbot is hardly a religious man, but the silence of the hospital is demanding a sacrifice. “take me. just… don’t take them. please.”

the door creaks open and jack bolts upright, his heart hammering against his ribs. dr. robby, his best friend, his brother, stands there. he’s stripped off his bloody gown, but his scrubs are darkened with sweat. somehow, he looks older than he did twenty minutes ago.

“jack,” robby says, his voice level, cautious.

“tell me,” jack demands, his voice cracking. “please, tell me. is she… are they-”

“she’s still on the table,” robby says, stepping into the room and letting the door swing shut behind him. “we’ve stabilized the splenic bleed, and the chest tube is draining well. but jack…” robby let’s out a long, heavy sigh. “ the situation is complicated. you know the physiology as well as i do.”

jack slumps back into the chair, the “doctor” part of his brain forcing its way through the grief. he does know.

in a trauma patient, pregnancy changes everything. the blood volume increases by 50%, which means a woman can lose a massive amount of blood before her blood pressure even begins to drop. by the time you see the “crash,” it’s often too late.

“her vitals are brittle,” robby continues, leaning his back against the vending machine. “because of the pregnancy, her heart is already working overtime. and we’re struggling to keep her map high enough to perfuse the placenta without blowing out the repairs we just made.”

“and the baby?” jack asks, the word feeling foreign and heavy on his tongue.

“the fetus is roughly twelve weeks,” robby says. “at this stage, there’s no ‘saving’ the baby independently. the only way to save the pregnancy is to save the mother. but the vasopressors we’re using to keep her pressure up… they cause vasoconstriction in the uterus. we’re effectively starving the baby of oxygen to keep her brain and heart alive.”

it’s the ultimate medical catch-22. to save you, they had to risk the baby. to save the baby, they might lose you.

“the ultrasound showed some subchorionic hemorrhaging,” robby adds softly. “with the impact of the steering wheel, the placenta might be starting to detach. if that happens, she’ll bleed out from the inside faster than we can pump blood into her.”

jack buries his face in his hands. he knows the statistics. he knows that in maternal trauma, fetal demise is as high as 40-50% depending on the severity of the crash.

“i should have been there,” jack groans. “i should have driven her. she told me the brakes felt ‘soft’ last week and i told her i’d look at them on my day off. i didn’t… i didn’t look at them, robby.”

“jack, stop,” robby says firmly, walking the few steps separating him from his friend and crouching in front of him. “the police report said a semi hydroplaned across the median. it wouldn’t have mattered if she was driving a tank. don’t do this to yourself.”

jack looks up, his eyes bloodshot and raw. “how can i not?i’m the one who’s supposed to fix people. i spend twelve hours a day stitching strangers back together, and the one person who matters,” his voice breaks. “i didn’t even know she was carrying our child.”

robby sighs, his expression softening. “she’s a fighter, jack. we both know that. she’s held on this long. but i need you to stay here. if you go back in there…. i can’t worry about you too. i need to focus on them.”

“i can’t just sit here, man,” jack says, his voice rising. “i’m going crazy in this room.”

“then go to the chapel. go for a walk. or go home. but do not come back to that room,” robby warns. “i’ll send dana or jesse out when we have another update.”

as robby turns to leave, jack calls out, “wait.”

robby pauses at the door.

“the heartbeat,” jack whispers. “was it… was it still there when you left?”

robby hesitates for a fraction of a second, a beat that feels like an eternity to jack.

“it was,” robby says. “faint. but it was still there.”

and with that, the door clicks shut, leaving jack alone again.

the breakroom remains too quiet for far too long. jack paces the narrow strip of linoleum between the coffee machine and the round table, his mind a minefield of memories. he keeps seeing you in the passenger seat of his car, laughing at some stupid joke he told, the sun reflecting the stars in your eyes. he keeps thinking about the baby, whose existence had already rewritten the map of his future, even if they haven’t met yet.

then, the overhead speaker crackles. it’s a sound jack hears a dozen times a shift, a sound he usually meets with professional focus.

“code blue, trauma 1. code blue, trauma 1.”

the world doesn’t just tilt; it shatters.

trauma 1. your room.

jack is moving before his brain can even process the command. he throws open the breakroom door, the heavy wood slamming against the wall with a bang that echoes down the corridor. he doesn’t care about protocol. he doesn’t care about robby’s orders. he doesn’t care about his own career.

he runs.

the hallway feels miles long, the floor slick under his clogs. he passes a group of residents who scramble out of his way, eyes wide as they see night shift attending sprinting with a look of pure, unadulterated terror on his face.

he bursts through the double doors of the trauma bay, his lungs burning.

“jack, wait!” a nurse shouts, trying to grab his arm as he reaches the scrub sinks.

he doesn’t even look at her. he pushes the doors open with his shoulder, crashing into the room like a storm.

the scene inside is a nightmare rendered in high-definition. the rhythmic, mechanical hiss-click of the ventilator has been replaced by the frantic, high-pitched scream of the heart monitor. a flat, unwavering ekg line that slices through the air like a blade.

robby’s standing on a step-stool over your body, his hands locked, his weight throwing everything into the rhythmic compressions of your chest. crunch. crunch. the sound of ribs giving way under the pressure—a sound jack has heard a thousand times—feels like it’s his own bones that are snapping.

“jack, get out!” robby yells, not breaking his rhythm. his face is drenched in sweat, his eyes fixed on the monitor.

“what happened?” jack screams, stumbling toward the foot of the bed. “what the fuck happened?!”

“she went into v-fib, then pea,” dr. santos shouts over the noise. she was at your side, her hands pressed firmly against the left side of your abdomen, pushing your pregnant belly toward the left.

jack’s medical brain registered it instantly. in a pregnant woman in cardiac arrest, the heavy uterus compresses the inferior vena cava, blocking blood from returning to the heart. if they don’t push the baby aside, the compression robby is doing will be useless. there’s no blood to pump.

“charging to 200!” the tech shouts. “clear!”

robby jumps back. your body jolts off the table as the electricity surges through you. jack watches your hands, the same hands he loved to hold while you both were cuddling on the couch on a slow saturday, flop lifelessly back onto the sterile drape.

the line stays flat.

“again!” jack roars, stepping up to the bed, his voice raw. “increase to 300! charge it again!”

“jack, she’s lost too much blood,” robby pants, resuming compressions. “the acid-base balance is gone. her heart is too tired.”

“don’t you say that! don’t you dare say that!” jack lunges forward, grabbing the paddles from the tech’s hands. his eyes are wild, his breathing ragged. “move, robby! move!”

robby hesitates for a second, then steps aside, hands raised in surrender, letting jack take over.

jack looks down at you. this close, he can see the gray tint creeping into your skin. he can see the way the light in the room seems to be fading out of you.

“you do not leave me,” he hisses, the words a jagged prayer. “you hear me? you stay. you stay for me, and you stay for this baby. do not do this to us.”

“charged!”

“clear!” jack slams the paddles against your chest.

thump. your body arches. the monitors wail.

silence.

one second. two. three.

then, a tiny, erratic blip on the screen. then another.

“i have a rhythm!” dr. santos cries, her fingers pressed to your carotid artery. “i have a pulse! it’s weak, but it’s there!”

the room seems to exhale all at once, but the tension doesn’t break. it just shifts.

“we need to get the bleeding under control now,” robby says, his voice shaking. “jack… she can’t take another arrest. if she codes again, we won’t get her back. the fetal heart rate is in the 60s.”

robby doesn’t finish the sentence, but jack hears is loud and clear.

you’re both dying.

jack stands there, the paddles still in his hands, staring at the flickering green line of your heart. he’s covered in your blood, his gown torn, his soul laid bare in front of his entire team.

he looks at robby, and for the first time in his career, michael sees the “great jack abbot” looking utterly broken.

“save them,” jack whispers, his voice barely audible over the hum of the machines. “whatever it takes, i don’t care. just… don’t let them… save them. please.”

robby nods slowly. “we’re going to try a high-risk embolization to stop the deep pelvic bleed. it’s the only way to avoid more surgery, but the radiation… it’s dangerous for the pregnancy.”

jack looks at your stomach, then back at your face. the choice is impossible.

life or life.

“do it,” jack says, his voice hardening into a cold, desperate resolve. “save her. save my wife. we’ll deal with the rest when she wakes up.”

as they begin to prep the specialized equipment, jack doesn’t leave. he backs into the corner of the room, his back against the cold tile. he watches them work, his eyes never leaving the monitor, counting every single beat of your heart as if he could keep it moving through sheer force of will.

the icu is a different kind of purgatory than the er. in the er, death is a screaming, bloody predator you could fight with a scalpel and a shout, something loud and violent. in the icu, death is a shadow. something silent, patient, and impossible to pin down.

it’s 11:45 p.m. hours have passed since you were moved up from the er.

now you lie in the center of a web of plastic tubing and wires, the steady, rhythmic hiss-click of the ventilator the only thing keeping the room from falling into a grave-like silence. a cooling blanket draped over your legs to keep your temperature regulated, and a specialized fetal monitor strapped across your bruised abdomen, its screen showing a jagged, persistent little line

142 bpm.

jack is sitting in the hard plastic chair pulled flush against your bedside. he hasn’t changed out of his scrub bottoms, though someone forced him to put on a clean gray hoodie to cover the bloodstains on his undershirt. he looks older, tired. devastated. the harsh overhead led lights catch the new lines of exhaustion etched around his eyes.

he’s holding your hand, the only part of you that isn’t covered in bandages or sensors. your skin feels paper-thin and cold.

“i’m here,” he whispers, his voice a dry rasp. “i’m not going anywhere.”

he checks the fetal monitor. that sound, the rapid thump-thump, thump-thump of the baby’s heart, is the most beautiful and terrifying thing he has ever heard. it’s a ticking clock. every beat a miracle, but also a reminder of how much he stands to lose.

“why didn’t you tell me?” he asks softly, his thumb tracing the line of your knuckles, the stone crowning you ring finger cold and harsh against his skin.

were you scared? were you waiting for the ‘right’ moment? god, he would have given anything for that moment to have been over dinner, or in bed, or literally anywhere but on a trauma table.

he leans his forehead against the metal railing of the bed, his eyes closing.

“i went through our messages while i was waiting for you to come out of the or,” he admits, a ghost of a self-deprecating laugh escaping him. “i looked for clues. i looked for a hint. and all i found were grocery lists and you telling me to come home early because you missed me. but i didn’t come home, did i? i stayed for that extra shift. i stayed to fix people i didn’t even know while you were… you were growing a life.”

his guilt is a physical weight, a cold stone in his stomach. he’s dr. jack abbot. he’s supposed to be the one with all the answers, the one who sees the things no one else notices. but he has been blind to the most important thing in his own world.

a nurse slips into the room, her movements practiced and quiet. she checks the bags hanging from the iv pole, her eyes lingering on jack with a mixture of pity and professional concern.

“the baby’s heart rate is holding steady, dr. abbot,” she says softly, nodding toward the fetal monitor. “and her map is at 70. she’s stable for now.”

“for now,” jack repeats, the words feeling like ash. “stable is just another word for ‘waiting for the next crisis’ in this building, and you know it, claire.”

“from what i’ve heard, she’s a fighter, jack,” the nurse replies, mirroring robby’s words from earlier. “and so is the little one. i’ve seen people come back from worse.”

“not many,” jack mutters, but he squeezes your hand a little tighter.

when the nurse leaves, the silence rushes back in. jack stands up, his joints popping, and leans over you. he carefully places his hand on your stomach, right over the sensor. closing his eyes, he tries to feel through the layers of skin and muscle, trying to connect with the tiny being inside you that he had only just met through a grainy ultrasound screen.

“hey,” he whispers to your belly. “i’m your dad. i’m… i’m a bit of a mess right now, but i’m here. and i need you to do me a favor. i need you to keep fighting. i need you to give your mom a reason to wake up. because i don’t think i can do this without her. i know i can’t do this without her.”

before he can realize what’s happening, a tear escapes, tracing a hot path down his cheek and landing on the sterile white sheet.

“i’ll be better,” he promises, his voice cracking. “i’ll be home. i’ll fix the brakes. i’ll learn how to be whatever you both need me to be. just… don’t let go. please, don’t let go.”

outside, the rain continues, now heavier, fiercer. but inside the room, time remains frozen. jack abbot, the man who usually held the city’s lives in his hands, now seats back down and waits for the only life that truly matters to come back to him.

from time to time, doctors filter into the room, checking vitals, checking on jack. robby comes up from the er a couple of times to share a sympathetic smile with him, to promise that everything will be fine.

jack sighs, “i’m a doctor too, robby. you can’t lie to me.”

“and i’m your friend and i know that a bit of hope is what you need right now.”

he stays for a while, keeping jack company until his pager calls him back to action.

“shouldn’t you be home already?” jack asks. “your shift was over hours ago.”

robby only shrugs. “people need me around here.”

at that, jack’s eyes regain that teary shine. nodding, he promises robby to call him if anything changes and waves his fiend goodbye before leaning back again on the chair, his eyes fixed on the slow rise and fall of your chest.

the world doesn’t come back all at once. it returns in fragments. first, the rhythmic hiss of a machine, the smell of antiseptic, and a heavy, weighted warmth on your left hand. your eyelids feel like they had been leaded shut, but the persistent, low hum of the icu finally pulls you toward the surface of consciousness.

you groan, the sound catching in the back of your throat, dry and scratchy from the tube that has only recently been removed.

then there’s the faint scratch of a chair scraping against the floor.

“hey… hey, look at me. open your eyes, sweetheart.”

that voice. you know that voice better than your own heartbeat. it’s the same voice that whispers sweet nothings into your ear at night, the same one that you hear in your warmest dreams. except now it sounds rough, exhausted, and trembling with a hope so fragile it feels like it might shatter any moment.

you force your eyes open. the light blinding at first, a sterile white haze, but then it focuses. jack. he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. his hair is a mess and his eyes, usually so sharp and clinical, are now swimming with tears.

“jack?” you rasp, your voice coming out as barely a breath.

“i’m here. i’m right here.” he leans over, his hand cupping your cheek with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. he kisses your forehead, his lips lingering there for a long moment as he takes a shuddering breath. “you scared the hell out of me, love.”

you try to move, but a sharp pang in your abdomen makes you wince. memories start to bleed back in. the rain, the blinding headlights, the screech of metal. you instinctively try to reach for your stomach, but your arm feels like lead.

“the… the accident… jack, i…”

“it’s over,” he whispers, his thumb stroking your temple. “you’re safe. i’ve got you.”

a few minutes pass by until the door pushes open quietly. robby walks in, followed by an ob-gyn specialist you didn’t recognize. robby looks at you, a genuine, relieved smile breaking through his professional mask.

“welcome back,” robby says, checking the monitors. “you’ve had a hell of a day, but your vitals are finally starting to behave.”

the ob-gyn, a woman with kind eyes that introduces herself as dr. pauline , steps forward. “we need to talk about why you’re feeling so much pressure in your abdomen, besides the surgical repairs.”

jack’s grip on your hand tightens. he looks at you, his expression a complicated map of wonder and fear.

“you’re pregnant, dear,” dr. pauline says softly. “about twelve weeks. the accident was severe, and the trauma to your body was significant. we had to perform some emergency procedures that were high-risk for the pregnancy, but as of twenty minutes ago, the fetal heartbeat is steady.”

the world stops right there and then.

you look from the doctor to jack, your mouth falling open. “pregnant? are you sure?”

dr. pauline nods and you have to bite your lip to keep it from trembling. jack’s grip on your hand tightens.

“it’s going to be a long road,” dr. pauline continues, her tone turning serious but encouraging. “you have a lot of healing to do. your ribs and the internal repairs, plus the blood loss. and for the baby, we’re going to have to monitor you both every hour. there’s some bruising near the placenta, so it’s going to take hard work, absolute bed rest, and a lot of time before we can say we’re completely out of the woods. but right now? right now, you’re both winning.”

“thank you, doctor,” you whisper, voice so small it makes jack’s chest squeeze. “and thank you, michael. jack told me you were the one who took care of me when i arrived.”

robby gifts you with a small, soft smile. grabbing your free hand, he gives it a squeeze.

“i’m glad i could help. but i don’t think i could’ve done it without my team. or without dr. abbot’s aid.”

that has you snapping your attention back to jack.

“you were there?” he simply nods, eyes glued to your hand, to the ring on your finger. “i thought you guys had protocols for that kind of thing.”

“we do,” says robby, nodding.

“fuck the protocol,” barks jack at the exact same time. “my wife was dying. what was i supposed to do? go home? i did what i had to.”

when your eyes finally connect with his again you see it, the utter exhaustion, but behind that there’s something more. something raw and vivid.

“i’m so sorry,” you whisper. “i’m sorry you had to see that, jack. i can’t even imagine…”

“shh…” leaning forward, jack offers you the safe space of his shoulder to cry. “what matters is that you’re alive, love. you both are.”

after the doctors finish their checks and leave the room, a heavy, comfortable silence settles over the two of you. jack doesn’t let go of your hand. he seats on the edge of the bed, staring at you as if you were a ghost that might vanish if he blinked.

“jack,” you whispered, your voice a little stronger now. but you still feel the pressure of your tears threatening to spill at any given moment.

the thought of jack having to bring you back to life, your blood covering his gloved hands… knowing that he had to find out about something you had been suspecting for a couple of weeks through a scan in a trauma room in the er…

“twelve weeks,” he says, his voice thick with his own tears. “and you didn’t… you didn’t tell me.”

there’s no accusation in his voice, only a profound, echoing confusion.

you look down at your hands, the plastic hospital bracelet stark against your skin. “i didn’t know, jack. not for sure.”

jack doesn’t speak, he holds on tight to your hand, dropping a feather like kiss on your knuckles.

“i was suspicious,” you admit, a small, tired smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “but i told myself i was just imagining it. that my brain was playing some twisted tricks on me. but then i started feeling so tired. then there was the coffee. god, the smell of it started making me nauseous about two weeks ago. i’ve been drinking tea ever since.”

jack lets out a short, wet laugh, rubbing his face with his free hand. “i’m a doctor, i should have seen it. i should have known.”

“how could you?” you reach out, brushing a stray hair from his forehead. “we stopped looking for the signs a long time ago, jack.”

the air in the room shifts. the “last two times”, two years of hope, two positive tests that ended in heartbreak before the first trimester was even over. they were the shadows that had lived in the corners of your apartment, the reason you both had stopped talking about possible names or color palettes for the nursery. you had both quietly agreed to stop trying, to protect what was left of your hearts.

“i didn’t want to say anything until i was certain,” you whisper, tears pricking your eyes. “i couldn’t handle seeing that look on your face again if it didn’t stay. i was going to buy a test this weekend, i promise. i just… i wanted to be sure before i gave you hope again.”

jack leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. his breath hitches. “hope is all i’ve had for the last few hours, watching you on those monitors. i don’t care about the timing. i’ve got you two now. and that’s all i need.”

he moves his hand, sliding it under the hospital blanket to rest flat against your stomach. his palm is warm, steady, and large enough to cover nearly the entire area where the new life rests tucked away.

“we’re going to do the work,” he vows, his voice low. “whatever the doctors say. whatever it takes. i’m not losing either of you. we’ve fought too hard to get here.”

for the first time since the sirens started screaming hours ago, the tension in jack’s shoulders finally breaks.

you rest your head on his shoulder, the steady thump-thump of his heart syncing with yours. it isn’t the perfect, easy ending. there are months of recovery ahead and a thousand medical hurdles to jump but for now, in the quiet of the icu, the three of you are together.

“i love you,” he whispers into your hair.

“i love you too,” you breath, finally letting your eyes drift shut. “both of us.”

the transition from the icu to the step-down unit was supposed to be a victory. it has been ten days since the crash. your chest tube is out, your color is returning, and jack has finally stopped vibrating with the manic energy of a man haunted by ghosts.

but the “pitt” never let anyone relax for long.

jack is sitting in the armchair, his laptop open as he tries to catch up on charts while staying by your side. you are propped up on pillows, picking at a bowl of fruit, when a sharp, searing cramp radiates across your lower abdomen.

it isn’t like the dull ache of your healing surgical incisions. this is different. cold. deep.

“jack,” you gasp, the plastic fork clattering onto the tray.

he’s at your side before the fork hit the floor. “what is it? where’s the pain?”

“cramping. hard.” you grip his forearm, your knuckles turning white. “it feels… it feels like the last times, jack.”

the color drains from his face, but the doctor in him takes the lead before he can panic. he throws back the blankets. and there it is. a small, terrifying smear of crimson on the white sheets.

“pauline! anyone! i need a fetal doppler in here now!” jack shouts toward the hallway, his voice cracking the quiet of the ward.

minutes felt like hours. dr. pauline rushes in, her face set in a grim mask of professional focus. jack stands in the corner, his hands pressed against his mouth. unfortunately, he knows too much. he knows all the signs, just like he knows that post-traumatic subchorionic bleeds could trigger labor or a final, fatal abruption.

the room is filled with the static sound of the doppler searching.

whoosh. whoosh.

the sound of your own pulse, too fast, too frantic.

then, a silence that feels like a death sentence.

“come on,” pauline whispers, moving the probe. “come on, little one.”

thump-thump-thump-thump.

the sound burst into the room. fast, rhythmic, and stubborn.

“heart rate is 150,” pauline exhales, a visible wave of relief washing over her. “the cervix is closed. it’s a ‘threatened’ event, likely just the hematoma from the accident draining. but we are increasing your progesterone and you are on strict, absolute bed rest. no sitting up, no laptop, nothing but breathing.”

jack doesn’t move for a long time after she leaves. he just leans his head against the wall, his chest heaving. the setback lasted only ten minutes, but it had aged him a decade.

“jack,” you call his name softly, patting the free space next to you on the bed.

he walks over and sat on the edge, taking both of your hands in his. “we almost lost the light,” he whisper. “i can’t… i don’t know that i could take it if it happened again, sweetheart.”

“we didn’t lose it,” you said, pulling his hand to your cheek. “they’re still here. we’re still here.”

jack sighs with relief, nodding. he leas down to press a soft, careful kiss to your lips.

three weeks later, the air in pittsburgh finally shifts from the bitter bite of winter to the hesitant warmth of early spring.

you’re not wearing a hospital gown anymore. instead, you wear one of jack’s oversized soft hoodies and a pair of leggings, sitting in a wheelchair by the large windows of the garden pavilion. you are still weak, and your gait is a slow, painful shuffle, but today is the day the doctors, your husband included, have circled in red on the calendar.

week 14. the beginning of the second trimester. the safe zone.

jack walks into the pavilion carrying two cups of herbal tea and a small, rectangular envelope. he looks different today. he’s actually shaved, and for the first time since the night of the pileup, the haunted look in his eyes has been replaced by a quiet, steady glow.

“happy second trimester,” he says, leaning down to kiss the top of your head.

“we made it,” you breathe, looking out at the budding trees. “i honestly didn’t think we would.”

“i have something for you,” he says, sitting on the bench beside your chair. he hands you the envelope with a bright smile.

you open it with trembling fingers. inside isn’t a medical chart or a bill. it is a high-resolution 3d ultrasound from that morning’s check-up.

the image is vividly clear. you can see the curve of a tiny nose, the miniature perfection of ten fingers tucked near a chin, and the long legs that robby joked would make the kid a track star.

“look at that nose,” jack whispers, his finger tracing the print. “that’s your nose.”

“yeah. that’s your chin, though,” you laugh softly, a tear of pure, uncomplicated joy sliding down your face. “the abbot stubbornness is already visible.”

while you are still contemplating the small piece of warmth and joy that was still growing inside of you, jack reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, velvet box. you look at him, confused.

“jack? we’re already married.”

“i know,” he says, opening the box to reveal a delicate band with a tiny, shimmering stone on top. the birthstone for the month the baby was due. “but the night of the crash, i realized i’d spent so much time being a doctor and a provider that i forgot to be a good husband. i forgot to celebrate the life we were building.”

he takes your hand, sliding the ring onto your finger next to your wedding band.

“this is a promise,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “no more double shifts when i don’t have to. no more missed dinners. from here on out, it’s the three of us.”

you lean your head back against the headrest of the wheelchair, looking from the ring to the ultrasound, and then to the man who quite literally pulled you back from the edge of the grave.

the trauma is still there, the scars on your body and the stiffness in your limbs would be reminders for a long time, but as the sun warms your skin, the angst of the past month finally begins to dissolve.

“jack?”

“yeah?”

“i think i want thai food tonight.”

jack laughs. and it’s a real, booming abbot laugh that echoes through the garden. “you heard the boss,” he whispers to your stomach. “thai it is.”

bonus

the spare bedroom at the end of the hall had spent years as a storage space for jack’s medical journals and your half-finished art projects. it had been a room of “maybe someday,” a door you both tended to keep closed, preferring to keep the bad memories on the other side.

now, six months after the rain-slicked pavement nearly took everything, the door stands wide open and the scent of paint lingers in the air. a soft, muted sage green that jack spent three weekends perfecting because he refused to let anyone else touch the walls.

you seat in the newly assembled rocking chair, your hand resting atop the prominent, solid curve of your stomach. the baby is active today, a rhythmic tapping against your ribs that feels like a secret code. you are thirty-four weeks along, a milestone that, for a long time, felt like a destination on a map you weren’t allowed to reach.

“i think the crib is slightly crooked,” jack mutters, kneeling on the floor.

he was wearing an old pittsburgh steelers t-shirt, his hair disheveled, looking less like the formidable dr. abbot of the er and more like… like you husband, who was utterly determined to defeat a piece of furniture.

“jack, it’s perfect,” you laugh softly. “the level said it’s straight. you’ve checked it four times.”

“five,” he corrects, standing up and wiping his hands on his jeans. he walks over to the crib, shaking the railing with enough force to test a bridge. “i just… i need it to be steady. everything has to be steady.”

you reach out, taking his hand and pulling him towards you. immediately, he sinks onto the ottoman at your feet, resting his head against your knees. the fierce, protective energy he carries is a byproduct of the trauma; a lingering shadow of the man who collapsed back in that trauma room. but it was softening, replaced by a deep, quiet anticipation.

“oh. i just remembered. we haven’t opened michael’s gift yet,” you say, pointing to the changing table.

sitting atop a stack of colorful onesies is a beautifully wrapped box with a heavy silver bow. next to it is a card embossed with the university of pittsburgh medical center logo.

according to jack, robby dropped it off at the nurse’s station for him to bring home.

“he said if he had to hear me talk about ‘fetal heart rate variability’ during a trauma shift one more time, he was going to quit, so he bought this to shut me up,” he said as he lay the box on the changing table the other night.

you open the card first. in robby’s cramped, hurried physician’s handwriting, it read:

to my dear friends (and my future favorite abbot),

i’ve known you two for a long time and i truly can’t think of anyone better to take care of each other. i also know that kid will be so lucky to get to call you two mom and dad. i can’t wait to meet the little one.

congratulations on the final stretch!

— robby

inside the box is a high-tech, medical-grade infant vitals monitor, the kind that synced to a smartphone. it’s exactly the kind of gift dr. robby would give: a way to keep watch even when the lights were out. underneath the monitor was a tiny, hand-knitted sweater with a small stethoscope embroidered on the pocket.

“he’s a softie,” you whisper, running your hand over the wool.

“don’t tell him i said so, but he’s the reason we’re sitting in this room,” jack said, his voice drops into that low, honest tone he saved only for you. he looks up at you, his eyes reflecting the soft nursery light. “when i saw you on that table… i forgot how to be a doctor. i forgot how to breathe. he held the line until i could find my way back.”

jack stands up and leans over you, pressing a long, lingering kiss to your forehead before moving down to press his ear against your belly. he waits, silent and still, until the baby delivers a sharp kick right against his cheek.

“hey there,” jack whispers to the bump, a grin breaking across his face. “i hear you. we’re ready for you. everything is ready.”

he stands back, surveying the room; the crib, the sage-green walls, the gift from his brother, the man who helped save your lives, and the woman who was his entire world. the angst of the pitt, the screams of the monitors, and the cold terror of the icu feel like a lifetime ago. they are just scars now. like faded, silver lines that proved they survived the storm.

“do you think the baby will like the room?” you ask.

jack wraps his arms around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder as you both look out at the quiet pittsburgh street below.

“she’ll love it,” jack promises.

His therapist used to tell him the same thing every week: “The only way through trauma is to stop running from it.”

So now, when someone asked what it had been like, Jack didn’t shut down anymore. He talked.

Ogilvie leaned against the counter, waiting expectantly.

“So… what was it like?” he asked again.

Jack leaned back slightly in his chair, exhaling through his nose as his eyes drifted away from the computer screen. 

“It was…” he paused, searching for the right word. “Bittersweet.”

Suddenly Dennis Whitaker had started listening. He, Ogilvie, and Trinity frowned.

“Bittersweet?” Trinity repeated.

Jack nodded slowly.

“There were good moments,” he said. “Good people.” His mind flickered through memories like frames of an old film reel. “And there were bad moments,” he continued quietly. “Bad people.”

“I don’t want to pry,” Whitaker said carefully, “but… what do you mean?”

Jack rested his forearms on the desk, staring at nothing for a moment.

“There was a lot of bad out there,” he admitted. “A lot of things that still show up in my nightmares.” The room stayed quiet. “But,” he continued, his voice softening slightly, “there were people I met…”

His mind caught on a single memory.

A face.

Your face.

“Or… a person I met,” he corrected. “That made me forget about all the bad.”

They all straightened a little, clearly invested now.

“Well now you can’t just say that and stop there,” Ogilvie said. “Who was it?”

Jack didn’t answer right away.

Instead, his gaze drifted somewhere far beyond the hospital walls.

Back across the ocean.

Back across the years.

Back to the desert.

Back to you.

——————

It had been four months.

Four months of dust that never seemed to leave your skin no matter how many showers you took. Four months of the constant hum of generators, helicopters cutting through the sky, and radios crackling with voices that always sounded just a little too urgent. Four months of blood on your hands that never quite felt like it washed away.

Four months in Afghanistan.

And for nearly all of it, Jack had been there too.

Not that the two of you had meant to get close. At the start, he had just been another medic across the small medical tent—another pair of hands helping stitch soldiers back together before sending them back out again.

But war had a strange way of shrinking the world.

Soon enough, it was just the two of you working side by side more often than not.

“You’re pulling that stitch too tight,” Jack had muttered one afternoon, leaning over your shoulder while you worked.

You didn’t even look up. “It’s called doing it right.”

“It’s called strangling the poor guy’s skin.”

“He’ll live.”

“He’ll have a scar.”

“Adds character.”

Jack huffed out a quiet laugh behind you. “You’re ruthless.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

The soldier laying on the table groaned weakly. “Can you two flirt later?”

You and Jack had looked at each other before bursting out laughing.

It had started like that.

Little moments between the chaos.

Four months of passing each other tools before the other even asked.

“Scissors.”

Jack was already placing them in your hand.

“Gauze.”

You slid it across the table toward him without looking.

Four months of sarcastic comments over the groans of wounded soldiers.

“You know,” Jack said once while scrubbing his hands in the sink beside you, “most people take a girl out to dinner before they make her spend this much time with them.”

You glanced over, unimpressed. “Most people aren’t elbow-deep in someone’s leg wound when they meet.”

He grinned. “Romantic, though.”

“Oh extremely.”

Four months of late nights when the tent finally quieted down.

You’d sit across from each other at the metal table, both too tired to speak, sharing a stale granola bar like it was the best meal you’d ever had.

Jack would lean back in his chair.

“Remind me again why we did this?”

“To help people,” you’d say.

“Right,” he’d sigh. “That.”

But sometimes it was quieter than that.

Sometimes it was just the two of you cleaning instruments in comfortable silence.

Sometimes it was Jack nudging your shoulder when you looked like you were about to fall asleep standing up.

“Hey,” he’d murmur.

“What?”

“Try not to pass out. I don’t want to do your job too.”

“You couldn’t do my job.”

“Please,” he scoffed. “I’d be amazing.”

“You fainted during training.”

“That was once.”

“It was twice.”

Four months of meaningless flirting.

Or at least that’s what you insisted on calling it. Because putting a different name to it would mean acknowledging something neither of you had dared to say out loud.

War had a way of blurring lines.

Of making people cling to whatever light they could find in the darkness.

And somewhere along the way, Jack had become yours.

——————

The day had been relentless.

The reminiscence of blood stuck under your nails. Grains of sand in your mouth. The metallic smell of it all still clinging to the back of your throat no matter how much water you drank.

So you walked.

Walked past the hum of generators. Past the low murmur of exhausted soldiers. Past the sharp scent of diesel and sweat and too many bodies packed into too little of a space.

You didn’t stop walking until the base sounds dulled into a distant blur.

There, at the edge of camp, the land opened toward dark silhouettes of the mountains carved against a sky drenched in stars. 

The scenery was endless; the land unbothered by war.

You lowered yourself onto the cool sand and lay flat on your back, staring up at the sky. The wind moved softly over your skin, a quiet whisper replacing the day’s chaos. For a moment, there were no radios crackling. No shouted coordinates. No screams.

It was just silence and the sky.

You were so focused on slowing your breathing that you didn’t hear the footsteps approaching.

“You okay?” A low voice cut gently through the quiet. You opened your eyes to find none other than Jack Abbot standing over you, his shadow haloed by starlight. 

“I’m fine.”

His brows furrowed. “You don’t look fine.”

A tired huff escaped you. “Wow. Thanks.” You shut your eyes again. “Do you insult every woman you talk to, Abbot?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly.

You opened one eye, narrowing it at him.

“I just meant you look stressed.”

“I’ll be fine,” you murmured. “I just needed some silence.”

You hoped your answer would be enough to send him away.

But of course it wasn’t.

You could feel him still standing there — awkward, lingering, unsure what to do with himself.

You sighed. “Are you just going to stand there watching me, or are you going to join me?”

He blinked. “I—I can go—”

“Shut up and sit.”

You pushed yourself up just enough to grab his wrist and tug. He stumbled slightly before dropping into the sand beside you, stiff as a board.

For a second, he just sat there — knees bent, back straight, hands hovering like he didn’t know where to put them.

You laughed softly. “Lay down and relax. You look like you’re waiting for inspection.”

After a hesitant pause, he laid back beside you — slowly, like the ground might swallow him whole.

Eventually, his hands settled in his lap,  his shoulders dropped by degrees, and his breathing evened out. He hadn’t felt like this in months—like there wasn’t immediate danger coming straight for him. You could feel it too, that subtle shift in the air around you.

“You do this a lot?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah.” Your eyes stayed on the sky. “It gets loud on base. In here,” You tapped your temple lightly. “The stars help.”

“Why?”

You swallowed. “My sister loved them.”

“Are you two close?” he asked.

“We were,” you said, voice thinning like fragile glass. “She passed away a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, going still beside you. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine.”

The wind moved through the trees, filling the space neither of you did. Your hand curled loosely into the sand.

You cleared your throat gently, trying to ease the tension. “Do you want to know something cool?”

There was the faintest line of a smile on his face when he replied, “Tell me something cool.”

“We’re looking at the past right now. The light from those stars? It takes thousands of years to reach Earth. So technically… we’re seeing them as they were thousands of years ago.”

He was quiet for a moment, processing the information.

“So we’re time travelers,” he murmured.

A soft laugh slipped out of you. “Yeah. I guess we are.” You pointed upward. “Some of the stars we’re looking at are already dead. Their light just hasn’t stopped traveling yet.”

He studied the sky differently after that. 

“I see grief the same way,” you said softly. “They’re gone… but they’re light is still here. Still reaching you.”

His breath caught — almost imperceptible.

“That’s… a good way to see it,” he said. “Not everyone can.”

You turned your head. He was staring at the sky, profile sharp in the silver light. There was something softer about him out here; less guarded.

He must have felt you looking, because he turned too.

And suddenly, you were close. 

Very close.

Your shoulders were brushing, your breath mixing. His dark eyes staring directly into yours. 

“Is that why you joined?” he asked quietly. “Because of her?”

“No.” You held his gaze. “After she was gone, I didn’t have anything left. Both of my parents died when I was twelve, and she’d been taking care of me ever since. When she died, I had nothing—no money, no house, barely enough to afford food.”

“Shit,” Jack whispered under his breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you said. “The military gives me a paycheck, a bed, and three meals a day.”

“It also gives you PTSD and a lifetime subscription to insomnia.”

You exhaled slowly. “That’s better than struggling to survive.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Can’t argue with that.”

His hands shifted from his lap, falling to his sides. His fingers brushed yours, neither of you pulling away from the contact.

There was a pause — fragile and electric.

Then his hand turned, tentative, like he was testing if you’re comfortable.

You lace your fingers with his.

And for a moment, the war and the danger felt miles away. It was as though you two were the only people on Earth, wrapped in silence and each other.

The sound of heavy footsteps pounded across the sand.

“Hey! Chef wants you both back. It’s lights out!”

The spell around you had shattered.

You pulled apart too quickly, sitting up as if you hadn’t just crossed a line neither of you had acknowledged before.

But the warmth lingered in your palm.

——————

The mission wasn’t supposed to feel like that.

It had been briefed as a sweep-and-clear — low resistance expected, quick in and out. The kind of operation you could almost trick yourself into believing would end quietly.

But from the moment you stepped into the village, something felt wrong.

Too still.

No children running through the streets. No doors cracked open. No stray dogs picking through refuse.

Just heat. And silence.

The first explosion split the world open.

The blast knocked you sideways, ears ringing so violently you tasted copper. Dust swallowed the street in an instant, thick and blinding. Then came the gunfire — sharp, frantic, bouncing off stone walls and turning the narrow road into a cage.

Training took over.

You were moving before your thoughts caught up — dropping beside a private with a shredded forearm, tying off a tourniquet with hands that refused to shake.

Across the street, Jack had already gone down hard behind a crumbling wall.

“Jack!” someone shouted, strained and panicked.

You looked up just long enough to see Davis collapse. Corporal Davis had been Jack’s shadow since he’d started in the military. Same deployment. Same rotations. Same inside jokes murmured over bad coffee before dawn.

The shrapnel caught him high — too high.

Jack was at his side instantly, dragging him behind cover with a strength that looked almost feral. You reached them seconds later.

There’s a particular look people get when they know something is wrong in a way that can’t be undone. And Davis had that look. But Jack didn’t. Jack wore denial like armor, his focus rigid and unyielding.

“Entry wound here,” he said, voice clipped but steady. “Possible internal bleeding.”

You pressed down and felt warmth flood your gloves.

“Stay with me, Davis,” Jack commanded, like he could force him to obey.

Davis’s hand grabbed blindly — and found Jack’s vest.

“Don’t let me—” Davis choked, blood at the corner of his mouth. “I—I’m not ready to go.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Jack said. 

But when his eyes flicked to you for half a second, you saw it.

The crack.

The realization.

You worked in brutal tandem — gauze, clamps, pressure, reassess. Gunfire roared around you like a storm you were somehow kneeling calmly inside.

At one point, your hands stalled for half a heartbeat. The bleeding wouldn’t slow.

You looked at Jack and he was already looking at you.

“Clamp,” you said sharply.

He moved instantly.

Minutes blurred as you awaited a medevac. Smoke filled the street, making it harder to work and breathe. The helicopter’s roar swallowed everything.

When they lifted Davis onto the stretcher, he was unconscious — but breathing.

Jack stood there long after the helicopter disappeared into the horizon.

He didn’t speak the entire ride back to base. 

By the time you returned to base, the sky was painted in bruised oranges and deepening violet — too beautiful for the kind of day you’d had.

The troop dispersed quietly. No laughter. No retelling of the fight.

You scanned the line automatically. There was no sign of Jack. Knowing what he’d seen today, hiding was the only thing he’d know how to do

You tried the command tent first.

“Have you seen Abbot?” you asked, only to be met with the shake of heads.

You checked near the medical unit — maybe he’d lingered for news.

Nothing.

By the time you circled past the barracks, the sky had darkened to deep violet. The base lights flickered one by one.

You stopped walking.

Maybe he wanted to be alone.

Maybe you should let him.

You turned toward your bunk.

And then something in your chest pulled. A quiet instinct — a memory.

The edge of base. You didn’t think about it again — just walked.

Past the generators. Past the hum of low conversation. Past the perimeter lights.

And there he was. Sitting quietly in the sand, elbows on his knees. His head bowed slightly like the weight of it all had finally pressed down.

For a moment, you just watched him in the same place he’d once found you unraveling.

You stepped closer, boots soft in the sand.

“Hey.” 

He didn’t look up as he said, “You shouldn’t be out here.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

There was a pause as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

“I’m fine.”

You moved around him and lowered yourself into the sand directly in front of him, close enough that your knees almost brushed.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

His jaw flexed. “Drop it.”

“No.”

That made him look up — irritation flashing in his eyes.

“I said I’m fine.”

“And I know you’re not.”

Silence stretched tight between you. His gaze fell back to the ground.

You softened your voice. “Jack.”

“Don’t.” His voice was rough now, thinner than before. “I don’t need—”

“You were scared.”

His shoulders stiffened. “No.”

“Yes,” you said softly. “I saw the look in your eyes.”

His breath left him in a sharp exhale. “He called for me,” Jack said quietly. “Not for a medic. Not for anyone else. Me.” His hands curled into fists between his knees. “And for a second… I thought he was dying in front of me.”

You shifted closer. “Look at me.”

He shook his head.

“Jack.”

“I can’t.” His voice cracked on the last word.

You reached forward gently and slid your fingers under his chin. He resisted — jaw tight, eyes fixed stubbornly on the sand. You applied just enough pressure to guide his face up.

“Look at me,” you repeated softly.

Slowly, reluctantly, his glassy eyes met yours.

“I hesitated,” he admitted, barely audible. “When I saw where he was hit. I knew what it meant. And I saw it — I saw myself writing to his mom. I saw telling his brother he didn’t make it.” His throat worked hard. “I’m supposed to be better than that.”

“You’re human.”

“I’m his medic.”

“And you saved him.”

“We don’t know that.”

“You gave him a fighting chance.”

His composure splintered then. His breathing faltered first. Then his face crumpled in a way that looked almost boyish — stripped of rank and responsibility.

Then the tears came silently.

You’d never seen him cry. You’ve been through worse battles, lost more people — and yet, this is the first time you’ve ever seen him break. 

He turned his face slightly, ashamed.

You didn’t let him pull away. You shifted forward and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into you.

For a second he stayed stiff.

Then he broke against you. His forehead pressed into your shoulder. His hands fisted into the fabric at your back like he was holding on to something solid in a world that kept shaking.

“It sticks,” he whispered hoarsely. “All of it sticks.”

“I know.” You held him tighter.

In the creeping darkness, you held him. You held him until the sun vanished and he had no tears left to cry and his breathing steadied. He pulled back slightly, but not far, his hands staying at your waist.

“Do you still believe that?” he asked quietly, eyes flicking upward. “About the stars?”

“Yes.”

“That even if they die… their light keeps traveling?”

“Yes.”

His gaze returned to you. “I don’t want to be the reason someone’s light goes out.”

“You’re not,” you said firmly. “You’re the reason it keeps reaching us.”

He searched your face like he was looking for permission to believe that. His hand slid slowly from your waist to your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

“If I do this,” he whispered, “it’s not just because today was hard.”

“Jack…”

His eyes dropped to your mouth.

Your breath caught.

He leaned in slowly. Your lips were barely a breath apart—

“Abbot!”

The voice carried across the sand.

Jack froze.

You both pulled back, reality crashing in too fast.

“Yeah!” he called, voice steadier than it had any right to be.

His forehead rested against yours for a brief, fragile moment before he stood. When he helped you up, his hand lingered, reluctant to let go. 

Above you, the stars burned quietly, still reaching through the endless dark.

——————

A month is a long time out here.

Long enough for bruises to fade. Long enough for routines to settle back in. Long enough for certain moments to be forgotten.

But there were some moments you could never forget. 

Davis was proof of that.

He’d been back on base for a week now. He’d been restricted to light movement. He grumbled and complained about it — but he was alive and annoyingly optimistic about the scar that curved along his abdomen.

Jack had hovered at first. You noticed when he double-checked Davis’s vitals even after you’d signed off on them. You noticed how he’d stand in the doorway of the recovery tent for half a second longer than necessary before walking away.

But somewhere between the days, he gradually stopped hovering. 

He relaxed. Not entirely — Jack Abbot didn’t really know how to be entirely relaxed — but enough that the tightness around his mouth softened and a quiet laugh slipped out of him, easy and unguarded in a way you hadn’t seen before.

And for a moment, watching him like that, it was impossible not to think about how close the two of you had come that night.

Neither of you had ever mentioned it. Not how close you’d been, not the way his hand had lingered at your waist, not the charged silence that followed. Instead, the moment had simply woven itself into everything that came after — into longer glances, unnecessary proximity, and the way your hands seemed to find each other without either of you really looking. 

Days off didn’t really exist out here, but this was the closest thing to one. No missions, no sudden briefings — just routine maintenance and inventory.

By late afternoon, the medical tent was warm with filtered sunlight and the faint scent of antiseptic and canvas.

You were reorganizing supply shelves when you realized someone had moved the trauma dressings again.

“Why,” you called without turning, “do you keep putting these on the top shelf?”

From behind you, Jack’s voice drifted lazily. “Because that’s where they go.”

“They go where I can reach them.”

“You can reach them.”

You rose onto your toes again, stretching your arm up. “No. I can’t.”

Silence lingered for a moment before footsteps approached through the sand.

“You’re being dramatic,” he said mildly.

“No I’m not.”

“You’re standing on your toes.”

“That’s called determination.”

“That’s called being stubborn.” Jack shook his head, pushing himself upright. “Let me help you.”

His chest brushed your back as he reached up easily over your head, one arm braced beside yours against the wood. His body aligned with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You turned just as Jack reached up, grabbing the box you’d been struggling with for the past minute. He set it down on the counter beside you, but he didn’t move away afterward. Instead, he stayed right where he was, and suddenly the space around you felt tiny.

You could see the faint smudge of dust along his jaw, the loose strands of hair that had escaped whatever attempt he’d made to tame it earlier. His shirt sleeve brushed lightly against your arm when he shifted his weight.

“See?” he said quietly. “Dramatic.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “I had it handled.”

“Sure you did.” His voice was low, amused in that easy way he’d slipped into around you lately.

You crossed your arms, mostly so you wouldn’t do something stupid.

“You could’ve just asked,” he added.

“And miss the opportunity for you to feel useful?”

The corner of his mouth curved. “I’ll take it anyway.” He finally stepped back, moving towards the box on the table like nothing had happened.

You exhaled slowly, deciding to busy yourself with labeling a crate you absolutely did not need to label.

Jack watched for a moment. “You’ve been reorganizing things a lot,” he said.

“Maybe it’s because you’ve been moving them around.”

“Maybe I like watching you fix them.”

You glanced up at him.

“That’s a weird thing to admit.”

He shrugged. “Just being honest.”

By nightfall, someone had started a fire near the center of camp.

It wasn’t planned. It just… happened. A pile of scrap wood. A spark. Then soldiers drifted toward the warmth like it was instinct.

You found yourself sitting beside Jack on an overturned crate, sweatpants soft against your legs, the firelight flickering gold across his face.

The air felt different tonight.

Someone told a wildly exaggerated story about basic training. Someone else butchered a song on guitar. With each story and song, laughter echoed across camp — real and unfiltered.

You were still laughing at the story when you felt it — the unmistakable sensation of being watched. When you turned your head, Jack was already looking at you, his gaze steady in the flickering firelight.

“You’re staring again,” you replied.

“I know.”

You turned to look at him properly.

He didn’t look away.

The firelight flickered across his face, catching in his eyes as the laughter around the circle swelled at the end of someone’s story. For a moment he just watched you, quiet and steady, like the rest of the camp had faded somewhere into the background.

Jack leaned closer, the movement slow and deliberate. You felt the warmth of him at your side before his head dipped slightly toward you, his voice dropping low as his breath brushed the shell of your ear.

“Want to get out of here?”

The words were barely louder than the crackle of the fire.

As he pulled back just enough to look at you again, he tilted his head toward the darker edge of camp, where the firelight faded into shadow.

You hesitated just long enough for a flicker of uncertainty to cross his face.

Then you pushed yourself to your feet, stretching your arms over your head like you’d simply grown tired of sitting.

Jack followed a second later, brushing sand from his hands as he stood.

The story at the fire kept going, another round of laughter breaking out.

And no one noticed the two of you leave.

The quiet in the tent felt different from the quiet at the fire. The laughter from the bonfire drifted across camp in bursts, softened by distance, while the lantern inside the medical area cast a warm circle of light across the tables.

Jack leaned back against one of them, arms loosely folded.

“You dragged me all the way out here just to stand around?” you asked.

A corner of his mouth lifted. “You came with me.”

“You asked.”

“Didn’t hear you complaining.”

You huffed softly under your breath, glancing away for a second before looking back at him. Jack's heavy gaze was still on you.

“You’re staring,” you said.

“Maybe,” he said, tilting his head a little and shrugging his shoulders.

You shook your head. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you like it.”

That pulled a quiet laugh out of you. Your gaze flickered down, needing a break from the intense eye contact.

When you looked back up, he’d moved a little closer — your stomach flipped at the proximity.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing.” He shrugged slightly, but his eyes stayed on yours. The air between you shifted — subtle, but unmistakable. Jack glanced down for a second, then back up. “Are you ever going to mention it?” he asked.

Your brows pulled together. “Mention what?”

He watched you for a moment, like he was deciding if you were serious. 

“The night by the mountains.”

Your heart skipped. 

“Oh.” The word came out quieter than you meant it to.

You looked down briefly, tracing a small scratch in the table with your thumb before glancing back at him.

“It was a long day,” you said. “Davis almost died. We were both running on adrenaline.”

“Yeah,” Jack said.

“And sometimes things feel… bigger in moments like that.”

He didn’t answer right away. “You think that’s what it was?” he asked.

“I think it makes sense. Our actions were just something… temporary.”

He closed the distance fully now, stopping just in front of you. “It didn’t feel temporary to me,” he said quietly.

Your pulse hammered.

“It felt like something I’ve been wanting to do for weeks.”

Your breath caught. “Do what?”

“Kissing you.”

The words settled between you, heavy and deliberate.

You swallowed. “You sound very sure about that.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “I am.”

You tried to roll your eyes, but the air around you felt too charged.

“You’ve been standing too close for a month,” he continued. “You think I don’t notice?”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“It doesn’t mean what?” he asked softly.

You searched for logic. For distance.

Instead, you found yourself saying, “I didn’t want it to be something that just… disappears the next time things get hard.”

Jack was quiet for a moment.

Then he said, “It won’t.” His hand settled lightly at your waist. 

Your breath caught slightly. “And if I said it was just heightened emotion?” you asked.

His thumb brushed your side — barely. 

“I’d say you need to stop pretending.” 

He leaned in slowly, giving you time to step away.

You didn’t.

His lips met yours softly at first — testing, seeing if you’d pull away.

You don't. Instead, your hands make their way up his neck, tangling in his soft curls.

The kiss deepened slowly, unhurried, like you both had nowhere else to be. His mouth moved against yours with a gentle insistence, tongues sliding together in a rhythm that echoed the distant flicker of the bonfire outside. 

The med tent's canvas walls muffled the laughter and crackle of flames from the base, but every whisper inside felt dangerously loud—the soft hitch of your breath, the quiet rustle of your tight black undershirt against his hoodie as he pulled you closer. 

Jack's free hand cupped the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, holding you steady as the kiss turned hungrier, yet still restrained, like he was committing every moment to memory.

You pressed your body against his, feeling the solid warmth of his chest through the thin fabric of your undershirt and his hoodie. His hand at your waist tightened just enough to draw you flush, and a low hum escaped his throat, vibrating into your mouth. Breaking the kiss for a breath, his forehead rested against yours, eyes dark and searching in the dim light filtering through the tent flap.

"I've wanted this," he whispered, voice rough but barely audible over the faint voices outside. "You. For longer than I should admit in a place like this. Every time we patch up the wounded together, I think about pulling you aside like this."

Your heart pounded, a rush of vulnerability mixing with the heat building low in your belly. "Jack... what if someone hears? The bonfire's right there," you murmured, even as your fingers tugged at the zipper of his hoodie, peeling it open to reveal the tight shirt beneath clinging to his muscled frame.

He chuckled softly, the sound warm against your skin. "Then we'll have to be extra quiet. But I can't pretend anymore. Tell me you feel it too." His hands slid under your undershirt, palms rough from field work gliding up your sides, thumbs grazing the underside of your breasts.

"I do," you breathed, nodding as you captured his lips again, this time with more urgency. Your fingers explored the hard planes of his abdomen under his shirt, tracing the faint scars from past missions. He shivered under your touch, his own hands pushing your undershirt higher, bunching it above your chest to expose your bra.

Jack's mouth trailed from your lips to your jaw, then down the column of your throat, nipping lightly at the skin there. You bit your lip to stifle a gasp, acutely aware of the soldiers' stories carrying faintly from the bonfire—oblivious to the heat unfolding just yards away. "God, you taste like everything I've been missing," he murmured against your collarbone, his teeth scraping as he tugged your bra down, freeing one breast.

"Shh," you whispered, a half-laugh escaping as you arched into him. "You're going to get us caught." Your hands fumbled with the drawstring of his sweatpants, loosening it quickly. The fabric whispered down his hips, and you palmed his hardening cock through his boxers, feeling it twitch under your touch.

He paused, glancing toward the tent entrance, then covered your hand with his, guiding you to shove the waistband lower. "Worth the risk," he said, voice husky. His cock sprang free, hard and thick against your thigh, the velvety heat making your core clench. "Touch me like you mean it."

You wrapped your fingers around his length, stroking slowly from base to tip, pre-cum slicking your palm. He bucked into your grip, a muffled groan buried in your neck. "Fuck, yes—just like that," he hissed, his hand dipping to the waistband of your tight black sweatpants, hooking his fingers in and yanking them down along with your panties in one swift motion. They pooled at your ankles, and you kicked them aside, the cool air hitting your bare skin.

Jack palmed your ass, lifting you slightly to perch on the edge of the exam table, the paper crinkling under your weight. He spread your thighs wide, kneeling between them, his breath hot against your inner thigh as he kissed a path upward. "You're so wet already," he whispered, eyes flicking up to meet yours. "For me?"

"Only for you," you replied, voice trembling with need as his fingers parted your folds, finding your soaked pussy. He circled your clit with feather-light strokes, making you grip his shoulders, nails digging in. "Jack, please—don't tease."

He slid one finger inside you, then two, curling them to hit that spot that made your vision blur. "Like this?" he asked, thrusting slowly, his thumb pressing your clit. You rocked against his hand, biting his shoulder to muffle the whimpers rising in your throat. The wet sounds of his fingers pumping were obscene in the hushed tent, but they drove you wild, your walls fluttering around him.

"So tight," he breathed, pulling back to watch your face, his gaze intense with emotion. "I need to fuck you. Right now. Tell me you want it."

"Yes—God, yes," you gasped, releasing his cock only long enough for him to line up. 

In the heat of the moment, protection was forgotten, raw need taking over. He positioned the broad head at your entrance, nudging your slick folds. Slowly, he pushed in, inch by inch, stretching your pussy deliciously. You both froze at the fullness, your inner walls gripping him like a vice.

"You feel incredible," he groaned softly, starting to move with shallow thrusts, building a rhythm of controlled power. His hips snapped forward, cock dragging against your walls, hitting deep with each plunge. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, your heels digging into his back through his sweatpants. The table creaked faintly, and you both stilled, listening—nothing from outside but the ongoing chatter.

"Keep going," you urged in a whisper, meeting his eyes. "Don't stop."

Emboldened, he picked up pace, one hand bracing on the table, the other stroking your clit in time with his thrusts. 

Sweat beaded on his brow, his curls damp and disheveled from your fingers still tangled in them. "Come for me," he murmured, voice strained. "Quietly—let me feel you squeeze my cock."

Pleasure built like a wave, your body tensing as he fucked you harder, the slap of skin on skin hushed but insistent. 

You came first, orgasm crashing over you in silent intensity—your pussy clenching around his cock, milking him as waves of bliss ripped through you. You buried your face in his neck, a choked sob escaping, but no sound loud enough to betray you.

Jack followed seconds later, thrusting deep one last time, his cock pulsing as he spilled inside you, hot and thick. "Fuck—yes," he whispered hoarsely, shuddering against you, lips pressed to your temple, holding you through the aftershocks.

You clung to each other, breaths mingling in the dim tent, the world outside fading to irrelevance. As you both came down, he didn't pull away immediately, staying buried inside you, his arms wrapping around your back under your rumpled undershirt. 

"That..." he whispered, voice hoarse with wonder, "was everything. Promise me this isn't the last time."

You smiled against his skin, knowing this was more than just release—it was a promise, forged in the quiet intimacy of the night, unbreakable even in the chaos of war. 

"It won't be," you replied softly, sealing it with a gentle kiss.

——————

You’d been deployed long enough that time had started to lose its shape.

Days blurred together into something indistinct — missions, patrols, long nights, early mornings. The desert didn’t change much, and neither did the routine. Wake before the sun. Work until exhaustion sets in. Try to sleep through the heat or the noise or the quiet that came afterward.

Some days were heavy with loss. Others were strangely light — filled with laughter that felt almost out of place in a place like this. Over time it all mixed together until it became difficult to separate one memory from another.

Slowly, weeks turned into months. The war moved on around you, relentless and unyielding, but your mind struggled to keep track of the passing days. Everything started to feel like one long stretch of time.

Everything except Jack.

If the deployment had blurred everything else, Jack stood out in sharp, steady focus.

Every moment with him seemed to anchor itself clearly in your memory — late conversations after shifts ended, quiet walks along the perimeter when the camp finally settled down for the night, the warmth of his hand finding yours when no one else was looking.

Those moments stood apart from everything else.

You could remember them easily.

What had started as something fragile and uncertain had deepened quickly after that.

Neither of you had made a grand declaration. There had been no dramatic conversation about what the two of you were becoming. In a place like this, life rarely allowed for those kinds of moments. Instead, it had grown naturally.

Over the months that followed, the line between teasing and flirting had disappeared entirely. Conversations that once danced around the edges of something unspoken became easier, warmer.

You laughed together more than you ever had before.

You kissed whenever you could steal a moment alone.

Sometimes that meant slipping into the medical tent after the last patient had been treated, the lantern light low and the rest of the camp quiet.

Other nights it meant standing close beneath a sky full of stars, talking softly while the desert wind drifted across the sand.

Those quiet moments became something you both held onto.

Because the truth was, deployment had a way of wearing people down.

Some missions left everyone exhausted and silent for hours afterward.

Some days ended with grief that settled heavily over the entire camp.

And in those moments, Jack had become the one constant you could rely on.

After the hardest missions, when the adrenaline faded and the exhaustion finally caught up to everyone, you often found yourselves sitting together somewhere away from the noise of the others.

Sometimes you leaned against his shoulder.

Sometimes he rested his forehead against yours, both of you too tired to say much of anything.

You had become each other’s refuge in a place where comfort was often hard to find.

When the world felt too heavy, Jack was the one you leaned into.

And just as often, you found him doing the same with you.

It wasn’t something either of you talked about out loud.

You didn’t need to.

The understanding between you had grown strong enough that words rarely felt necessary.

Six months had passed since that quiet night in the medical tent.

Six months of stolen moments, whispered jokes, shared exhaustion, and quiet affection that deepened with every passing day.

Out here, where tomorrow was never guaranteed, it had become something real.

Something steady.

Something that belonged entirely to the two of you.

——————

Night settled slowly over the base. The noise never really stopped here. Engines hummed somewhere in the distance. Voices carried across the rows of tents. Metal clanged against metal as someone finished a late task.

Most nights you could tune it out.

Tonight you couldn’t.

Something restless had taken hold in your chest — an uneasy weight you couldn’t quite name. The noise felt too loud, too constant. Like the world refused to quiet long enough for you to think.

So you slipped away.

No one stopped you as you moved past the outer tents and toward the edge of camp, where the lights faded and the desert stretched wide and open beneath the sky. You followed a familiar path, reaching your spot.

You sank down cross-legged, resting your hands loosely in your lap as your gaze lifted toward the sky.

The desert at night had its own kind of silence. Not completely still — the wind whispered softly across the sand — but quiet enough that your thoughts could finally breathe.

You’d been so absorbed in your own mind that you didn’t hear the footsteps approaching. You only realized someone had come close when a familiar shoulder brushed lightly against yours as they sat down beside you.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Jack's low voice said, cutting gently through the distant noise of the base. “What are you doing out here?”

“Thinking.” Your eyes were still on the sky, tracing the faint line of a constellation.

Beside you, Jack watched your face for a moment.

“About…” he prompted softly.

You exhaled slowly. “Everything.” Only then did you glance at him. Your eyes met his briefly before drifting back toward the stars. “You know we only have one more month here.”

Jack hummed quietly in acknowledgment.

“Mhm.”

“It’s just…” You reached up, tucking a few loose strands of hair back behind your ear where they’d slipped free from your ponytail. “I keep trying to imagine what life is going to look like after this.” Your voice softened. “And the truth is… I can’t.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward — it never was with him. That was one of the first things you’d noticed about Jack — the way silence around him felt steady, like something safe to sit inside. Comfortable.

After a moment he spoke. “What’re you hoping to do when you get home?” he asked.

You shrugged slightly. “Probably get a job on a base back in Pittsburgh—”

“No.”

You blinked, turning toward him. Jack shook his head faintly.

“If you could do anything,” he said, voice quieter now, “what would you want to do?”

You considered that for a second. “Sleep in a real bed,” you said with a short breath of a laugh.

Jack tilted his head. “I’m serious.”

You sighed softly, dragging your fingers through the sand beside your knee. “My biggest dream?”

“Yeah.”

You hesitated.

Then, almost reluctantly, you said it.

“I want to go back to school.” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

Jack’s attention sharpened immediately. “For what?”

You glanced at him again, the corner of your mouth lifting faintly. “I’ve always wanted to be a doctor. Ever since I was a little girl,” you continued quietly, thinking back to that version of yourself — so young and carefree, not realizing just how cruel the world could be. “I used to imagine helping people. Fixing things that were broken.” You looked down at your hands. “I always figured this”—you gestured vaguely toward the base behind you—“was the closest I’d ever get to that.”

Jack didn’t hesitate.

“You’d be an incredible doctor.” Something in his voice made your chest tighten slightly. “You should apply to med school when we get home.”

“Maybe,” you murmured. You swallowed, forcing a small smile. “Maybe not. We’ll see where the wind takes me.” You let out a shallow, echo of a laugh. You tipped your head back toward the sky again, blinking slowly so the faint sting in your eyes wouldn’t spill over.

The stars blurred for a moment before sharpening again.

A few seconds passed before Jack spoke.

“I don’t want to overstep,” he began quietly, clearing his throat. “But… there’s something I’ve been thinking about.”

You turned toward him again. “What?”

He hesitated for the first time that night. “What happens when we get back?”

Your stomach tightened slightly.

“Between us.”

You’d thought about it before. Months ago, in this very spot, you’d told Jack you didn’t want to make anything official while you were still here. You hadn’t wanted anniversaries or memories tied forever to a place filled with loss.

He’d understood.

But that hadn’t stopped the two of you from becoming something real anyway.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted softly, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. Then you met his eyes. “What do you want to happen?”

His answer came immediately. “I want us to be real.” The certainty in his voice made your heart stumble. “I want to take you on an actual date,” he continued. “Somewhere that doesn’t smell like antiseptic and diesel.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “I want to see you in normal clothes,” he added. “Not a uniform.” You laughed quietly. “And,” he continued, completely serious, “I’d like to have sex with you in a real bed, not an exam table.”

Your laughter broke free completely. “Oh my god, shut up.”

“It’s a valid goal,” Jack said, the corner of his mouth lifting.

You shook your head, still smiling.

But when you looked at him again, your expression softened. 

“I’d really like that too.” Your voice was quieter now. “All of it,” you added gently. “Not just the sex.”

Jack glanced down at you.

“You know,” he said quietly, “we’re going to figure it out.”

“Yeah?” you murmured.

“Yeah.”

His hand came up, brushing lightly against your cheek before he leaned in and kissed you. It was slow and unhurried, like neither of you had anywhere else to be.Somewhere behind you the base lights flickered against the dark horizon, distant voices carrying faintly through the night.

When he pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, closing your eyes.

For the first time all day, the restless feeling in your chest eased.

But you didn’t know then how quickly things could change.

——————

The mission had been labeled routine.

One last patrol outside the wire before you went home. A sweep through a small village that had already been cleared more than once. Command had described it as low-risk — the kind of assignment meant to fill the final days before units rotated home.

Easy.

You had learned quickly that the word easy rarely meant what people thought it meant out here.

Still, the mood in the truck that morning had been lighter than usual.

Only seven days left. Seven days and you’d be leaving Afghanistan behind — hopefully for good.

The armored vehicle rattled along the dusty road, every bump echoing through the metal frame. The desert sun had already begun its slow climb into the sky, heat pressing against the thick gear wrapped around your body.

You sat across from Jack on the bench seat, your rifle resting lazily across your lap. He tilted his head back against the wall behind him.

“One more week,” he said.

You huffed softly. “Seven days.”

“Seven days,” he repeated. “And then we’re done.”

The word done felt strange. You’d spent nearly twelve months in this place. Twelve months of chaos, blood, exhaustion, and long sleepless nights. And somehow it was almost over.

“Final lap,” you muttered.

Jack grinned. “Final hoorah.” Jack nudged your boot with his. “So,” he said casually, though you could hear the curiosity beneath it, “are you serious about med school?”

“Yeah,” you answered. “I think I am.”

His eyebrows lifted. “No kidding?”

“I'm going to start studying for the MCAT when we get home,” you said. “Apply in the fall and winter.”

Jack watched you for a moment like he was picturing it. “You’re going to make a damn good doctor.”

You snorted. “You’re biased.”

“Absolutely,” he admitted.

“You don’t even know if I’d get in.”

“You will.”

“And how do you know that?”

He shrugged slightly. “Because you’re the smartest medic out here.”

“That’s a lie.”

“No it’s not.”

“You just like me.”

A slow grin spread across his face. “Well… yeah.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth that crept into your chest was impossible to ignore.

Outside, the convoy slowed as it approached the outskirts of the village. Engines rumbled to a stop. The back doors opened and the soldiers began filing out into the dusty road, boots crunching against gravel.

The village looked quiet. Too quiet. A few children watched from doorways. A dog barked somewhere behind one of the mudbrick houses.

Your patrol moved through the streets in practiced formation, scanning rooftops and alleyways. Just another patrol.

Then the first gunshot split the air. The crack echoed through the village like lightning.

For half a second, everything froze.

Then chaos erupted.

“CONTACT LEFT!”

Gunfire exploded from the rooftops. Bullets snapped through the air, striking the walls around you and sending bursts of dust flying.

“Taliban fighters!” someone shouted.

They appeared everywhere at once — figures emerging from windows, rooftops, and narrow alleyways, rifles flashing in the sunlight. Your patrol returned fire immediately.

The air filled with the deafening rhythm of gunshots. Dust and smoke churned through the street as soldiers scrambled for cover.

“MEDIC!” The sharp shout cut through the chaos.

You and Jack moved at the same time. Training took over before fear had a chance to settle in.

Two soldiers were down behind a crumbling wall. One clutched his arm tightly while the other struggled to keep pressure on a bleeding gash along his thigh. You slid to your knees beside the second soldier.

“Hey, hey—look at me,” you said quickly, already pulling gauze from your kit. “You’re going to be fine.”

Across from you, Jack crouched beside the other wounded man.

“Let me see it,” he muttered, gently pulling the soldier’s arm away from his chest.

Blood soaked the sleeve of his uniform. Jack examined the wound quickly.

“Through-and-through,” he said. “You got lucky.”

Meanwhile your hands moved fast, wrapping pressure bandages around the soldier’s leg. Gunfire still cracked overhead, but it was beginning to thin out. Your patrol was pushing the enemy fighters back.

Within minutes the Taliban began retreating deeper into the village.

The chaos slowly faded. One by one, the wounded were lifted and carried toward the trucks.

You stood slowly, wiping blood from your hands onto your pants. Across the clearing, Jack finished helping lift his patient into the vehicle. 

He glanced up at you. “You good?” he called.

“Yeah,” you replied, stretching your back. “All patched up here.”

Relief began spreading through the patrol. The worst was over. Enemy fighters were disappearing down the distant alleyways. Everyone started to breathe again. Then—

Two gunshots rang out.

Sharp.

Close.

For a moment you didn’t understand what had happened. Then heat exploded through your abdomen. Your breath left your lungs in a sudden gasp and you looked down.

Two dark holes had torn through the fabric of your uniform just beneath the edge of your protective vest. Blood spread rapidly across the cloth.

Your hands dropped to your stomach instinctively. They came away soaked in warm blood.

Across the clearing, Jack looked up. His eyes locked onto you. For a moment he simply stared.

Your body swayed.

Your knees buckled.

“Hey—!”

Jack was already running before you collapsed.

“No, no, no—” He dropped beside you, sliding onto his knees in the dust. His hands pressed immediately against your abdomen. Blood soaked his gloves within seconds.

“It-it hurts, Jack,” you gasped, tears streaming down your face.

“I know,” he said quickly, his voice already shaking. “I know, I’ve got you.”

His hands moved fast, ripping open the fabric around the wounds.

Two entry holes close together. His stomach dropped at the sight. He rolled you slightly, checking your back, but saw nothing — no exit wounds.

The bullets were still inside you.

Jack’s heart slammed against his ribs. “Shit.” He slammed his hand back down over the wounds, applying brutal pressure. “WE NEED A MEDEVAC RIGHT NOW!” he roared, his voice cut through the entire patrol. “DOUBLE GSW TO THE ABDOMEN — NO EXIT WOUNDS!”

Someone grabbed the radio.

Jack barely heard them. All he could see was the blood soaking through the gauze faster than he could replace it.

Your breathing had turned shallow. Your fingers curled weakly into the front of his vest.

“It hurts,” you whispered.

“I know,” he murmured, voice trembling. “Just keep looking at me.”

Your vision had started to blur. Darkness crept in from the edges.

“Hey,” he said quickly, trying to keep you focused. “Remember our plan?”

Your brow furrowed faintly. “Our… Plan?”

“When we get back to Pittsburgh,” he said. “You remember?”

You nodded weakly. “You’re taking me on a date.”

Jack swallowed hard, pressing harder against the wound. “Yeah. You need to hold on so we can go on our date.”

Your trembling hand lifted slowly, grabbing his, your warm blood coated his fingers.

“Jack…”

“No,” he said immediately, shaking his head. “Don’t start that.”

Your voice was barely a whisper. “No matter what happens to me… I love you.”

Jack’s face broke. “No,” he whispered. Then louder. “No—NO.” Tears ran freely down his face now. “You don’t get to do this,” he choked. “You are not dying today.”

You reached up weakly, your hand brushing his jaw. 

“Remember the stars. If you miss me…” It took so much of your energy to speak. “Look at the stars.”

Jack leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he whispered. “But you’re not joining the stars today.”

Then the thunder of helicopter blades roared overhead.

The MEDEVAC had arrived.

——————

The funeral took place beneath a pale gray sky.

The kind of sky that felt too quiet for a day like this.

Jack stood near the front of the small gathering, his hands folded tightly in front of him, shoulders stiff beneath the dark jacket he’d borrowed for the service. The wind stirred lightly through the rows of chairs set up in the cemetery, carrying with it the faint rustle of leaves and the soft murmur of people speaking in low voices.

Nine days.

Nine days since he had watched the doors of the operating room close. Nine days since a surgeon had walked into the waiting room with that careful, rehearsed expression Jack had seen far too many times before. Nine days since the world he thought he was coming home to disappeared.

He had been back in the United States for a week now.

A week that had felt like drifting through someone else’s life.

Jack barely remembered the flight home. Barely remembered unpacking his bags. Barely remembered the long sleepless nights staring at the ceiling of his apartment.

Everything felt hollow. Like someone had carved out the center of his chest and left only the shell behind.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

He had imagined coming home with you a hundred different ways during those long nights in Afghanistan.

You both had.

Sleeping in real beds. Eating real food. You’d be studying for the MCAT while he complained about something inconsequential. Late night drives. Movies. Maybe, someday, a tiny house somewhere quiet.

All those plans had died on a battlefield thousands of miles away.

The small group gathered around the gravesite was quiet.

A few soldiers from your unit stood together in their dress uniforms, faces solemn, eyes fixed on the ground. A handful of civilians lingered nearby—friends who had known you long before the military ever entered your life.

Jack recognized none of them. But they recognized him. Because apparently, they’d been hearing about him long before anything happened between you two.

Jack stared at your name etched into the simple stone marker at the front of the gathering.

Seeing it there made his chest tighten.

You had always felt so alive — too alive to be reduced to a few carved words.

Jack’s eyes burned, but he didn’t try to stop the tears anymore. He had stopped trying days ago.

Someone stepped beside him. A woman with auburn hair and tired eyes.

“Jack?” she asked softly.

He turned slightly. “Yes?”

“I’m Amy,” she said gently. “She and I were friends back in Pittsburgh.”

Recognition flickered faintly: you had mentioned her once.

“She talked about you constantly,” Amy continued, a sad smile touching her lips. “In letters. Emails. Phone calls when she could get them.”

Jack swallowed hard. “She did?”

“Oh yeah,” Amy said quietly. “You were kind of a big deal.”

Another tear slipped down his cheek.

Amy reached into her purse and carefully pulled something out. “I wanted you to have this.”

She placed a small necklace in his palm. Jack stared down at it. A delicate gold chain with a small star-shaped pendant hanging from the center.

“She left it with me before she deployed,” she explained. “Said she was too afraid of losing it out there.”

Jack turned the pendant gently between his fingers, the metal felt cool against his skin.

“She wore it all the time before the military,” Amy said. “Said it reminded her of home.”

Jack closed his hand around the necklace, his chest tightening as another wave of grief rolled through him.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Amy squeezed his arm gently before stepping away.

Other people approached him throughout the service. Some of which being your friends who told stories about you growing up. Others spoke quietly about the letters you had written while deployed. Several of them said the same thing: “She talked about you a lot.”

Every time Jack heard it, the words hit him like a punch to the ribs. Because he had no idea. He knew you loved him, but he hadn’t realized how deeply that love had woven itself into the rest of your life.

After the burial, the small crowd slowly began to disperse, Jack lingered a little longer. He wasn’t able to leave you yet. 

The cemetery had grown quiet now. Only the wind and distant traffic filled the air, stirring the fresh mound of earth where you now rested.

A few days prior, a lawyer had found him.

Jack hadn’t even known you had written a will. Apparently you had updated it two months before the mission. He found out when the lawyer had sat across from him with a folder in his hands.

“She named you as her primary beneficiary,” he had explained.

Jack blinked in confusion. “She… what?”

“She had no immediate family,” the lawyer continued gently. “According to her, you were the closest person to her.”

Before leaving, the lawyer had handed him a sealed envelope. “She asked that you receive this.”

Jack had stared at your handwriting on the front.

And when he opened it later that night, everything inside him had broken.

Jack, If you’re reading this, then something went wrong. I guess that’s the strange thing about writing a letter like this — you hope with every part of yourself that the person you’re writing to will never have to read it. But the military makes you think about things like this, about the what ifs, about the things you’d regret never saying. So here I am, trying to find the right words. First, I’m sorry. Because if this letter reached you, it means I didn’t make it home. And that means I left you behind. I wish I could tell you that I fought harder. That I held on longer. Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. I guess we’ll never really know. But what I do know is this: meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me. Out of all the chaos, the fear, and the darkness that came with being out there, you were the one thing that made it all feel worth it. You made those long nights lighter. You made the bad days survivable. You made me laugh in places where laughter felt impossible. And those nights under the stars? Those will always be my favorite memories. Just sitting there beside you, listening to the generators humming behind us and the wind moving across the sand. Talking about everything and nothing at the same time. For a little while, it felt like the war disappeared and it was just us. I hope you still go out and look at the stars sometimes. Not because I want you to be sad when you see them — the opposite, actually. I hope when you look up, you remember those moments and smile. I hope you remember how alive we both felt sitting out there. I hope you remember that you were loved. Because you were, Jack. You still are. And there’s something else I need you to promise me. Just because I’m gone, don’t stop chasing your dreams. Don’t let my ending become the thing that stops your story. You deserve a full life. You deserve happiness. You deserve the future we used to talk about. Finish what you started. Help people. Make the world a little better than it was when you found it. And someday, when you’re older and life has taken you places we never imagined, I hope you look up at the night sky and think about that stupid little spot outside the base where we used to sit. Maybe you’ll even tell someone about it. About the stars. About the girl who loved you. Because I did, Jack. I loved you more than I ever managed to say out loud. Thank you for giving me something beautiful in the middle of a war. And wherever you go from here… I’ll be rooting for you. Always.

He had read the letter nearly forty times since then. And every single time, he cried.

Jack slipped the necklace carefully into his pocket now, his fingers lingering against it for a moment before he turned and began walking away from the gravesite.

The drive back to his apartment was quiet. The city moved around him like normal — people walked on sidewalks, cars passed at intersections. Life continued.

It felt wrong.

By the time he reached his apartment, the sun had begun to dip toward the horizon.

Jack stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Silence filled the small space. He moved slowly through the living room before kneeling beside the duffel bag he had brought home.

He hadn’t touched most of it yet. The zipper rasped softly as he opened it.

Inside were pieces of a life that felt like it belonged to someone else now. Uniforms. A dusty pair of boots. A folded scarf someone had traded him in a market. At the very bottom of the bag sat a small envelope.

Jack picked it up slowly. His hands trembled slightly as he opened it.

A Polaroid slid out into his palm.

It had been taken on one of your rare nights off. The two of you sat side by side on the edge of the base, mountains rising dark in the background while the sky above you stretched wide with stars.

You were smiling in the picture. Your head leaned lightly against his shoulder. Jack looked younger in it.

Happier.

He pressed the photograph against his chest. Then he pulled the necklace from his pocket, curling his fingers around it as well. The cool metal rested against his heart.

Jack sank slowly onto the floor beside the open bag. And for the first time since the funeral began that morning, the sobs came without restraint.

He clutched the photograph and the necklace tightly to his chest as tears streamed down his face.

——————

The room had gone quiet.

Jack sat back in his chair, hands loosely folded together, his eyes resting somewhere far beyond the hospital walls.

For a long moment, none of them spoke.

The noise of Whitaker sniffling caused Jack to blink and look up.

Dennis Whitaker had both hands half covering his mouth, his eyes bloodshot as tears uncontrollably streamed down his face. Across the counter, Trinity Santos had her arms crossed tightly over her chest, but a few tears had slipped down her cheeks anyway. Even Ogilvie was staring down at the floor, jaw tight, blinking a little too much.

“Oh my god,” Trinity said quietly. “That’s… that’s so sad.”

Jack huffed softly through his nose. “Yeah,” he said.

Whitaker dragged the backs of his hands across his eyes, sniffling again. “She wanted to go to med school,” he murmured, half to himself. “She wanted to be a doctor.”

Jack nodded once. “Yeah.”

Whitaker stared down at the floor for a moment, his brain clearly still turning through the story Jack had just told.

Then his brow slowly furrowed. A realization began creeping across his face.

He looked back up at Jack. “Wait.”

Jack raised an eyebrow slightly.

Whitaker pointed weakly at him.

“You…” he said slowly, voice cracking a little, “you went to med school.”

Jack didn’t say anything. Whitaker’s eyes widened.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. He sucked in a shaky breath that turned into a hiccup. “You did that for her.”

Jack looked down at his hands again. 

After a moment, he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

Whitaker completely lost the battle against his tears at that point. He pressed his hands against his eyes again, shoulders shaking slightly.

“That somehow makes it worse,” he choked.

Ogilvie shook his head slowly beside him. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, though his voice was softer than usual.

Trinity wiped her eyes with a tissue. “That’s… really beautiful, Jack,” she said quietly.

Jack gave a small shrug. “She was supposed to be the doctor,” he said. “That was her dream, but she didn’t get the chance.” His eyes drifted toward the window beside them. “Figured I’d do it for her.”

No one had anything to say to that.

For years he hadn’t talked about this story. Not really. Pieces of it had slipped out here and there, but never the whole thing.

His therapist had encouraged him to share it more.

“You’re not reliving it,” she had said. “You’re honoring it. Honoring her.”

Jack wasn’t sure if that was entirely true, but telling it didn’t hurt the way it used to. Now it just left a quiet ache behind.

He pushed himself up from the chair. “I’m gonna grab some air,” he said.

Whitaker nodded quickly, still wiping his eyes.

Jack stepped out into the hallway and walked toward the stairwell at the end.

A few minutes later he pushed open the heavy door to the hospital roof, cool night air greeting him immediately.

The city stretched out below in scattered lights and distant traffic, but Jack barely noticed any of it.

His gaze lifted automatically toward the sky.

It was clear tonight.

Hundreds of stars scattered across the darkness.

His therapist had once pointed something out to him: “You seem to find comfort in the dark,” she had said.

At first he didn't understand what she meant.

But later he realized she was right.

Because the darkness reminded him of the quiet nights in Afghanistan. The nights when the generators hummed softly behind them and the war seemed to pause for a little while. The nights when you both sat at the edge of the base staring up at the sky. That was when you talked the most. When the world felt far away.

When it was just the two of you beneath the stars.

Jack slipped a hand beneath the collar of his shirt and pulled the necklace free. The small star pendant caught the faint glow of the rooftop light.

He curled his fingers around it and lifted his gaze back toward the sky.

“You know,” he said quietly into the night, “Whitaker cried.” A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’d like him.”

He rubbed his thumb across the small star pendant before looking up at the stars again.

“I can still see your light.”

Jack stood there for a long time after that, staring up at the sky.

And somehow, in the quiet darkness, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

a/n: Sorry this was meant to be posted like a week ago, but I got carried away with writing, and I was also super busy with class. I also like didn't proofread this... Anyway, Hope you enjoy :)

Sukuna steps out of the shower, his body wound up in a tight coil after the night's fight. He presses the bridge of his nose together to relieve his throbbing head, but his brow is searing with pain. When he opens his eyes he catches a reflection of his self in the bathroom mirror- a split on his bottom lip, a cut on the arch of his right eyebrow and a slight bruise on his left cheek. 

It's rare for him to look this battered after a match. 

He's been untouchable for years, he's almost forgotten what it's like to take a few good hits in the ring. 

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" 

His eyes flicker up toward Uraume, who seems to have appeared out of nowhere.  

He shakes his head at his manager. "Nothing happened, I won. Isn't that a good thing?"

Uraume narrows their gaze, sharp like a sly little fox. They can read Sukuna like a book, but Sukuna chooses to play ignorant and brushes off their knowing stare. 

He knows that the inquisition isn't about the sponsors, the money, or the win. 

He also knows that Uraume never asks questions that they don’t know the possible answer to. 

Thankfully, his manager just sighs. 

"The limo is outside waiting to take you to the party," they state, their heavy exhale indicating that they know Sukuna won't own up to what they are trying to prod out of him. 

"Fuck," Sukuna grumbles. The towel hangs low on his hips, and he throws the one that is around his neck onto the ground. He steps outside to the locker room and proceeds to change. He dries off, puts on his boxers and picks up his black t-shirt before pulling it over his bare chest marked with ink. He then tugs on his jeans, and secures his belt around the waist. "Do I have to go to that?" 

Uraume shrugs, "Don't you want to parade your big victory over Satoru Gojo to the rest of the world?" his manager adds, slipping both hands into their pocket as they stride casually toward Sukuna who is merely trying to gather the rest of  his things. 

The last touch is his signature silver chain necklace. He hooks the accessory around his neck, while mentally preparing himself for the crowd waiting for him outside. For the voices that would be screaming out his name, and the obnoxious paparazzi who can't seem to grasp the concept of personal space. 

They all gawk at him like he's a endangered animal at the zoo.  

His chest seizes at the thought. 

He used to gloat over being in the spotlight. He took to stardom with an extreme sense of pride, but the thought of it right now just makes his skin crawl uncomfortably. 

The only thing that Ryomen Sukuna wanted at this very moment, is to go home in fucking peace. 

He’s given the fans and the world what they wanted. 

"Little shit got what was coming to him," he blurts out in response to Uraume. "It'll take him a while to lick his wounds and get over his broken pride..." 

Uraume chuckles, "and I was worried that he might have actually had an advantage over you..." 

Sukuna swallows the sudden lump in his throat. 

God he was fucking tired. His whole body is aching, begging him to get some much needed rest. He hadn’t trained this hard in a long time. The strict diet, the isolation, the strenuous days in the gym and in the training ring slowly started filtering into him in doses. 

"Almost," he admits quietly, a little bitter over the reality of the situation that he was close to losing. "He's good for his age. Really good actually." 

Uraume's face falls at that. "You don't sound like yourself, my king," they tease half-heartedly, addressing Sukuna by yet another title which he earned in the ring. 

"The King", "The Beast", “The Champ”, “Monster of The Ring”…

There was a time when he was younger, when the fire for the fight burned inside him with such intense conviction, that he found dignity in the titles that he's earned from every match. The thrilling sensation of him standing in the middle of the ring, his hands raised with victorious joy as he looked down at his opponent while the crowd would cheer for him like he was a figure of the divine, used to mean a great deal to him. 

But those titles feel…hollow. An old skin which Sukuna unknowingly shrugged off without even realizing it. 

"I'm just exhausted," he breathes with a hint of frustration, giving Uraume a reply after allowing his mind to drift for a few seconds. "I've got a raging headache and my shoulder is killing me." 

He slings his bag over his good arm, before turning to face his manager. 

The pair walk down towards the end of the hallway, and Sukuna can already hear the muffled voices from the press that have slowly gathered inside. He elongates his spine naturally as he holds a domineering pose. He quietly huffs out a breath and tries to steady the uneasiness coursing through his veins. The second the press lay their eyes on him, they stampede towards Sukuna like dogs off their leash. A flash of white and blue flickers around him, disorienting him for a single moment. 

"Hey, champ! How does it feel to knock out Satoru Gojo after everything he said this season?" 

"Way to prove that you're still The Beast of the Ring! What's next for our King?" 

"You've held your championship title for ten consecutive years! How do you go up from here?"

"Sukuna! Sukuna! Is it true that you've just locked in a multi-million dollar deal with Nike?"  

Uraume steadies the crowd, protectively standing in front of Sukuna as they gesture everyone to calm down. 

Despite the sheer difference in their size, Uraume has a natural way of commanding a room. 

That's one thing Sukuna has always been grateful for regarding his manager; Uraume always looked out for his best interest first.  

"Hello, everyone," they politely speak, their voice calm and pleasant. "While we appreciate the enthusiasm; our champion, Ryomen Sukuna, will only be making a single statement. He's had a long night and needs his rest," they announce, before looking over their shoulder and giving Sukuna a nod of approval to say what he needs to say. 

The man is thankful for Uraume every single day. He already informed them earlier that he wasn't interested in any post-match interview or conversations with the press, and Uraume happily obliged by accepting the privacy that he desperately needed. 

Sukuna tightens his grip around the gym bag over his shoulder. He stares at the small audience before him before clearing his throat to speak. "Young fighters like to run their mouth. I know because I used to be one of them. It's easy to be all bark and no bite. But in my case, I came out teeth first-" he states with a patronizing tone, noticing the press eagerly hang onto his every word and even laughing at his snide remark. 

They are waiting for a brutal comment from the badass himself, for him to add the cherry on top of all the shit-talk he’s already dished out. 

But Sukuna acknowledges that there is no place for it now. 

He doesn't need to add more to the hurt he's already caused to Satoru Gojo. 

Everything was settled in the ring, and now it was over. 

"However, I have to admit that this was one of the best fights of my career. I had fun. He's been a thorn by my side but I respect Satoru, and I know he has a brilliant career on the horizon. That's all I have to say about that for now. Have a good night." 

He steps away from the press, who trail at his feet like a pack of rats rattling off question after question as Uraume tries to console their demands. His manager delays their footing, all the while Sukuna finds the rest of his entourage at the arena exit. 

A string of bodyguards help him get through the second crowd of loyal fans who have gathered. They are waving phones in the air, begging for photos and videos. Sukuna obliges with a few, trying his best to fight off the shakes that's starting to make his hand tremble slightly. People lift up their shirts, flash their cleavage and pull out posters, bras and clothes for him to sign. He does so, his signature faltering from a clean string of letters to a fast doodle of his name. His fans offer him flowers, art, and mementos which he takes, and whatever extra he can't carry he hands off to one of his guards. When he's finally had enough of giving himself to the fans, he bids everyone a wave as his bodyguards escort him to the private parking lot in the back of the arena. 

Sukuna doesn't even realize how hard his heart had started hammering until he's embraced back into the quiet again. He feels incredibly uncomfortable in his own skin, and he isn't sure if it's the apprehension or the adrenaline wearing off from the fight. The phone in his pocket buzzes, probably Uraume wanting to make sure he's made it safely to his vehicle, but he can’t bring himself to answer the call. 

"Sir," one of his bodyguards states, "There's a VIP who is expecting to see you..." 

"So?" Sukuna scoffs, the black Mercedes in the distance a sanctuary. "I don't want to fucking see them." 

"Well, you see, they insisted. They weren't taking no for an answer." 

"And you would be shit at your job if you just let them roll over you like that," Sukuna begrudgingly replies. 

Sukuna wasn't particularly fond of the VIP guest lists. A majority of them were people who wanted to fawn over him, or simply weasel their way into his pants. The other half were people with deeper pockets trying trying to bargain him into fixing fights so that they can win big bucks on their bets.

Sukuna did not have the time or patience for the latter, and even the former as well. 

Especially tonight. 

"Actually, Sir, she's waiting for you as we speak-" the bodyguard stammers, having to look up when he addresses Sukuna. 

The champion stops abruptly to give him a puzzled stare and a piece of his mind over his bodyguard’s stupidity, but his attention is sharply drawn back to the car when he notices a figure step out of the Mercedes. 

You're wearing a denim skirt, a fitted white top and a pair of black boots. Sukuna’s heart skips a beat, noticing that your hair looks a little different from when he last saw you. A sparkle of silver glitters on your neck that matches his own chain, and you beam at him with a bright smile that steadies his soul.

  The click of your heels echo a little louder from the distance as you approach him, waving your fingers delicately in his direction to say your first hello. Sukuna's feet moves faster than the rest of him. He drops his bag off his shoulder, the gifts in his hands splay across the concrete ground and he scoops you up in his arms before spinning you in the air the second he wraps his arms around you. 

You giggle at his greeting, your body trapped in a blanket of muscle and cologne. Your fingers thread between the strands of his red hair, tears pricking your eyes at the sight of your best and oldest friend. 

Sukuna squeezes you tightly, "they should have just told me it was you by name," he exhales with a hint of annoyance, then carefully places you back down to rest your feet on the ground. 

You laugh under your breath, "Don't worry, I gave them hell for it. I told them that I'm the only VIP who mattered considering I have been on that list the longest...." 

You try to loosen your grip but Sukuna tenses up, so you ease back into his hug. 

He didn’t want to let go just yet. 

And truthfully, neither do you. 

"Hi, princess," he whispers in your ear, his voice deep and thick with fatigue. 

"Hey, 'kuna" you reply softly, your fingers curling around the back of his neck, as your heart beats heavily against his now relaxed chest. 

₊ ⊹ .

The light from the car's backseat illuminates Sukuna's ruggedly handsome face. You cup his jaw between your fingers, and lightly trace your thumb over the cut on his swollen lip. Your eyes track upward and you wince at the gash across his brow. 

"He got a few good hits on you didn't he?" you point out, not as a question necessarily but more as a statement of the obvious. 

"A few good hits doesn't mean shit..." 

"When was the last time you got hit this bad in the ring?" you press. 

"I fight for a living, someone was bound to land a punch someday. Besides, it's not a concern. I had my good luck charm tonight without even knowing it..." he responds with a wolfish grin. 

You jab him playfully in the chest. "You're not made of steel you know? You had me concerned for a second..." 

"I roughed him up too," Sukuna states with a pout, "you're all acting like he walked away completely unscathed..." 

He slings an arm over your shoulder, his strength pushing your body weight to lean closer against his side. You shake your head with disapproval as you press the button to switch off the light above you both. 

The city moves past you in a haze, but you can't stop taking in the man before you. 

Ryomen Sukuna. 

The first time you met him was on the playground of your old kindergarten. You were all outdoors, and you noticed that these two bigger kids were knocking him around. The kindergarten teachers weren't anywhere to be seen. At the clear imbalance of power and with your sheer sense of goodwill, you decided to go over there and help. 

Sukuna had just joined your class only three weeks before that. He was the smallest kid, and had a hard time keeping up with everyone else. Everyone made fun of him and called him "chili crisp"  because of his hair. They teased him constantly for how he looked, how he dressed, and how he spoke and simply refused to play with him. 

Being young and impressionable, you never engaged. But you didn't do anything to help Sukuna either. It made you ache seeing him treated this way, and this time you weren't just going to let it slide anymore. 

Sukuna did nothing to deserve this treatment in the first place. 

However, despite his small stature, Sukuna was a fighter even then. 

He kept getting up even if it meant that he would just be shoved down once again. 

You remember walking up to both those kids and grabbing them by the collar. You yanked them off, placing yourself in between them and Sukuna before scolding them both for their terrible behavior. 

"I'm gonna tell!" you squealed with a furious point of your finger, threatening them with snitching words. "And if I ever see you hurt him, I'm going to make sure everyone knows how bad you are! And you’ll get into so much trouble with the teachers!”

You sharply kicked them both in their heels, and watched the kids scamper off, a little more intimidated now that someone they deemed as an equal threat entered the playing filed. Once they were gone, you turned toward Sukuna who was planted on the concrete ground. He was wiping away his snotty nose and trying to hide his tears. 

You scratched the back of your head nervously, your throat all itchy and tight from the sight of him. 

"You're-you're not a chili crisp," was all you could think of telling him in that moment. You gave him a small but kind smile, before offering him both your hands and helping him on his feet. 

He was a whole head and shoulder shorter than you were back then. His clothes barely hung onto his body. He had to fix up his t-shirt and readjust his shorts. 

"I know that," he answered with irritation, and a scowl that never seemed to have left him. 

You assisted in brushing the dust off him. 

"Your name is Ryo-men Su-ku-na?" you asked, breaking down the pronunciation of his name to make sure you said it correctly. 

He nodded his head quietly. 

You gave him another tender grin, and reached out for his hand before introducing yourself. 

"I know who you are, I'm not stupid." 

You frowned at his sharp response. "I never said you were." 

The two of you stood there facing one another in awkward silence, unsure of how to proceed from the moment. 

You shifted your weight from one foot to the next, kicking a random little rock on the ground. "Those kids are stupid." 

"Yeah, they are." He grumbled through gritted teeth. 

"So, if I'm not stupid and you're not stupid, why don't we be friends?" 

Sukuna's eyes widened slightly at your words, like he couldn't believe what you said. 

"Friends?" 

"Yeah!" you squeaked with a little more excitement. "You'll have someone to sit next to and play with every day!" 

He nervously gripped the hem of his tee. 

He never gave you a real response, but the next day he showed up and took a seat right next to you in class.

You were both six years old, and have been insuperable ever since. 

₊ ⊹ .

You press your cheek against his broad shoulder, and Sukuna sighs as his body melts into the leather seat underneath him. His hand gently rubs your own shoulder, with the two of you sitting in silence together as you have done many times before. He instructs the driver to take you both back to his penthouse, disregarding some after party that he's expected to attend. 

At the call, your heart flutters with anticipation because it was a clear sign indicating that he wanted to be alone with you. 

You shivered thinking of the last time that happened. 

It's hard to believe that this version of Sukuna co-exists with the person you've known for a majority of your life. 

The day after he sat next to you in kindergarten, everything changed for the better. 

Sukuna still grimaced at everyone else, but kids no longer picked fights with him and he had a warming smile that was reserved for you alone. 

Whether in class or outside of school, you both spent every spare moment that you could together. You were glued to the hip like two peas in a pod. Your parents adored him, doted on Sukuna despite him resisting their affection. It was only one night, when he was having yet another sleepover at your place, where you finally asked him how is he able to hang out with you all the time. 

Sukuna revealed a truth that broke your heart entirely. 

“Here is better than being home. Usually it's just me..." 

"Just you?" you whispered innocently, "but your mom and dad?" 

You watched him shrink into his blanket with uncertainty. "Don't know. I live with my Grandpa. He works a lot..." 

It's only later in your life where you learnt the full story. 

Sukuna’s parents abandoned him, leaving him with his grandfather to pursue reckless adventures together. At the time Sukuna was only three years old. His grandfather worked hard to provide for the boy, but he was an aging old man and didn’t expect to be responsible for such a young child. Sukuna's grandfather always showed deep gratitude to your parents for helping out and providing Sukuna with another safe space that gave him some much needed stress relief on his end. 

His daughter eventually returned, in tow this time with Sukuna’s half brother Yuji. His dead beat dad was gone for good. But by then Sukuna was already fourteen. 

He’s always had a complex relationship with his family, but things seem to be better with his brother. The two of them could pass off as identical twins, it was almost scary how alike they looked. 

You loved Yuji; he was a living antithesis of his older brother. Always perky, smiling so bright it’s like the sun follows his footsteps. 

Sukuna, on the other hand, carried the shadow and gloom of a waning moon. 

Your childhood and early adolescent years were precious, cherished moments and memories that solidified the strength of your relationship. But despite everything, you were the only person who saw how bright Sukuna's own light could shine. 

The driver finally parks the car in front of one of the most expensive buildings in Tokyo. Sukuna gets out first, and extends a hand into the vehicle to help grab yours. The touch sends tingles up your arm, but you do your best not to read into the reaction just yet. 

The two of you enter the building, passing the security who simply tilts their head in acknowledgment, but from your peripheral vision you notice Sukuna’s eyes shifting around his environment.

“No cameras,” you reassure him with a squeeze to his bicep. “No paparazzi…” 

Sukuna was aware of what he signed up for with fame, but that did not mean that you had to be subjected to the aggressive violation of privacy. 

And after everything that happened, after the horrific clashing of both your worlds, he felt himself breathe a huge sigh of relief. 

“They probably think I am showing up to the victory party,” he answered with gratitude.

The elevator rings, the doors opening as you both step inside. 

Sukuna hits the button to the penthouse suite, and from the way his shoulders slump you can tell there is something off about his demeanor. 

This isn’t the Ryomen you knew who walked away from a fight with the buzz of the winner. 

He’s dimmed. 

A bulb that’s flickering. 

Something’s wrong, you thought, looping your arm around his and keeping your eyes on the numbers increasing as you swallow your concern. 

₊ ⊹ .

Puberty didn’t hit Sukuna; it struck him like a brick over his head. 

At sixteen years old, Sukuna was no longer the loser kid that everyone picked on. He was a tower, a watchful pillar that looked down on those around him with an intimidating stare. All of a sudden this scrawny boy shot up like a tree, his body springing into a new version of himself. His voice broke, dropping octaves lower than the soft tone of what it used to be. His shoulders broadened, lean muscle forming since he spent most of his time wrestling and boxing.  

He became the bad boy that everyone blushed and fawned over. 

The athlete that people admired.

His coaches loved him - called him a prodigy, and a star of the future.

Sukuna carried himself with plenty of self respect, and was extremely well spoken. Outside of his athletics he enjoyed reading and learning history, and his venture into sports only happened because it kept him busy and gave him some much needed space away from his home. He was readjust to a new life with his mom back in the picture, and a brother who was five years younger than him. At first it was simply an escape, but once he settled into the atmosphere of it all, it gave him a sense of structure. Sukuna was diligent about his training and academics, outsmarting and outplaying almost everyone around him. His motivation was fueled with every game and competition, and you quickly saw that Sukuna only had the expectation of being a winner and nothing else. 

Navigating your teenage years was a bit tough for both of you. 

It began with one sleep over just a year prior, the moment where you both recognized that things couldn’t progress as casually as they used to. You woke up tangled in each other’s arms, hyper aware of your bodies and the parts that were blooming. 

Sukuna slept on the sofa every sleep over after that. 

Thanks to your eruptive hormones, the both you bickered often and frequently. As you and Sukuna started understanding your own senses of selves, a hint of distance started to grow. For a long time the two of you only ever had each other, but with Sukuna now a part of the athletic group and you falling in line with your own little clique, the both of you were finding some time away from each other and identifying who you were without the other person around. 

However, you always came back to one another, like two little magnets seeking each other out. 

It’s all you’ve ever known since you were six. 

One afternoon, while hanging out in the school’s basketball court, Sukuna turned to face you as you paced behind him while he was throwing some shots for fun.

“They think you’re my girlfriend,” he casually stated, referencing his new set of friends who always studied you with intense curiosity. 

Your face burned multiple degrees hotter than it should. 

“W-what?” You stammered. 

“Yeah,” he answered nonchalantly, and you watched him dribble the basketball as the awkwardness settled.  

“That’s…that’s weird…” was all you could think of adding on. “You told them I am not, right?” 

Sukuna furrowed his brows and hummed. But he nodded his head. 

“Just because we are friends that doesn’t automatically mean that we are “boyfriend and girlfriend”,” you insisted, using air quotes to emphasize your statement. 

Sukuna turned so his back was to you, and tossed the ball directly into the ring. 

“That’s what I told them…” he reassured, but something about his tone didn’t sit right with you. 

The summer that followed - Sukuna’s grandfather, mom and brother took a trip away. Sukuna declined to join since he was participating in a tournament. After his wrestling team came out victorious, he decided to throw a secret bash at his place to celebrate. 

You were there helping him hide away all the fragile items, before staring at him in shock when he placed a few beer cans on his kitchen counter. 

“How did you get that?” You asked in a low whisper, afraid that you both might somehow get caught for doing something that you aren’t supposed to. 

He just gave you a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry about it, Princess…” 

That nickname stuck on you like glue. It’s something Sukuna called you with annoyance when you were both kids, and you used to call him an angry dragon in return. Even though you stopped using that silly term, for some reason Sukuna’s pet name morphed into one of endearment and affection which he kept using. 

“It’s just the team and a couple of girls that the guys have been trying to get with…” he ensured, “The guys wanted the beers, so I managed to sneak some from my grandfather’s stash…” 

“And what if he finds out?” 

Sukuna laughs, “that old man can’t even remember what day it is. I’m sure he won’t notice a few beer cans missing…” 

That night you had your first secret party, your first sip of beer and your first kiss; it was one of those core memories that lingered that was reminiscent of the adrenaline rush from living out the freedom of being young with no responsibilities. You don’t remember who it was who called out the idea of playing seven minutes in heaven, but suddenly all of you were sitting in a circle spinning an empty bottle on Sukuna’s grandfather’s worn rug. Your heart sat at your throat, your eyes fixated on the piece of twirling glass, half wondering who it would land on. You watched as couples disappeared into Sukuna’s room, everyone snickering in a circle thinking about what the potential couples could possibly be doing. 

The boys were crude with their commentary, and the girls giggled with feign disgust. 

Some people came out looking displeased, clearly unamused by what they experienced, while others had a look of euphoria on their faces. 

When the bottle landed on you, the first person you found yourself seeking out was Sukuna. 

However, the other end of the bottle wasn’t pointing to him, but to one of his teammates. 

His friend’s eyes widen with intrigue, a cute smile forming on his pouty lips. 

Your own cheeks warmed with curiosity. 

He helped you onto your feet, but the two of you were struck with an abrupt question that had you pausing your movements. 

“Do you want to do this?” Sukuna pointedly asked, his focus on you alone and no one else. 

There was a grave but serious look resting firmly on his face. 

Something about his stare made you uncomfortable, though you couldn’t place why. With the eyes of everyone else on you and his teammate, you instantly wanted to divert the intense attention elsewhere. 

“Of course!” You said with a casual shrug, then grabbed his teammate’s hand and led him into Sukuna’s bedroom. 

You’ve been in here countless of times, never once feeling uncomfortable in this space. But this time, you were quite aware of the state of his bed, of the slightly rumpled sheets that were tugged from edge to edge. Your mouth went dry, your body suddenly trying to recollect every movie, book and comic that explained or depicted the intimacies between two people. 

Two hands touched your waist, spinning you on your feet. 

“Time’s ticking,” his friend said. “We shouldn’t waste it…” 

“I’ve never done this before…” you blurted out. 

“I haven’t either…” he answered kindly, and that made you feel better. 

“Okay…” you said, before placing your hands awkwardly on his shoulder. 

“Let’s just start with a kiss…” he suggested and then leaned forward. 

You were frozen then, unsure of what to do. You stood there with wide eyes as you felt his lips on yours, the sensation making your belly tingle. 

He pulled away. 

“That wasn’t too bed…” you admitted and he laughed. 

“Do you want to try?” He asked. 

Your first initiated kiss wasn’t magical, nor was it horrendous as some of your other friends experienced. Even now when you think about it - the only memory that hits you is one of innocent exploration. It took a minute for you to get comfortable with his prodding tongue, to figure out the clash between lips and teeth, and to allow his wet muscle to access our mouth and glide over your own. The sensation reminded you of sticky, tacky popsicles that clung to your lips in summers past. 

It was fun…until a loud bang startled you both, making you split from each other’s arms like opposing forces. 

“Time’s up,” Sukuna growled, before barging in without even so much as asking if you were decent like he did with the other pairs. 

The look he gave his teammate was terrifying, even you couldn’t help but gulp. 

His friend let out a nervous giggle, scratching the back of his head as he scurried his way out. “Damn, that was fast!” He tittered nervously, his voice cracking slightly towards the end. 

Sukuna narrowed his gaze as he watched him leave the room. Meanwhile, you both stood there facing each other, noticing his nostrils flaring as your breath rose and fell. 

“What?” You questioned, returning his hard stare with an even stronger glare. 

He huffed out a breath through his nose, “are you okay?” he asked, in an attempt to compose his clearly frazzled state. 

“Yes!” You blurted back, a little shaken. “Was that even seven minutes?” 

Sukuna grimaced, holding onto your eyes before he stormed out of his room, scoffing with annoyance at your response. 

Neither of you really spoke about the awkwardness of that moment, and instead carried into the heat of that summer like nothing even happened. 

But, what did hurt you after that, was that Sukuna never invited you to any of his “parties” again. 

He fibbed and said it was just “a team thing”, but you eventually heard about the other attendees at the party, and only through the grapevine found out about Sukuna’s first kiss.

It felt like a betrayal in its own way, this sudden shakiness in your friendship as uncertain as tectonic plates waiting to crash into a shattering earthquake. 

You called him one night to confront him, asking him why he wouldn’t tell you about his first kiss when you both should be able to talk about everything. But that conversation just resulted in an argument, a blow out that felt like a collapse in your world. 

You both didn’t speak to each other until the end of that summer, when Sukuna finally waved the white flag by crawling to your front door late one evening with some ice cream as a peace offering. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, while you both sat on the sidewalk, scooping wooden spoons into the tub of vanilla with chocolate chips. 

It’s the first time he’s ever apologized to you. 

Even when you were kids, Sukuna refused to ever say he was sorry. 

He would just pout angrily before over compensating with his sweetness to show you that he didn’t mean it. 

But not this time. 

You licked the vanilla off the spoon, biting down on the rich chocolate chunks, and hoping that the tears wouldn’t fall from your eyes from how your chest swelled at his remorse. 

Sukuna draped an arm around your shoulder, “I hate that things have been weird between us.” 

“You made them weird…” you mumbled and he just sighed. 

“‘Yes,” he begrudgingly admitted, “yes, I did…” 

You turned to look up at him, and he gave you a solemn smile. 

“I’m a little possessive of you, I realize…” he explained, his lips forming into that small frown, mirroring his childlike expression. 

“A little?” you answered back with a snarky tone. 

“You’re my best friend,” he admitted, his eyes downcast with regret. “You have always been my person.” 

“You’re my person too, ‘kuna…” you murmured, “but…but being best friends means that we have to trust each other. That we can’t just…hurt each other. That we should stop being honest or talking to one another when things get bad…that we can’t face things that make us…I don’t know, feel weird and stuff…” 

He rested his chin on the top of your head, the two of you finally bridging the gap of what seemed to be the first real challenge of your friendship. 

“It was a shit kiss…” he sighed, “I was just too fucking embarrassed to tell you.” 

You gazed up at him from underneath your lashes. 

“Why?” You said with a light laugh.  

Sukuna’s attention dipped to your mouth for a split second and back to your eyes again. “I don’t know. You just seemed to have enjoyed yours in comparison. I felt like I lost a game or something. I didn’t want to admit that mine was awkward and wet and just…not fucking good…” 

You laughed at that. 

“Everything with you is a competition…” 

“Not everything…” 

You nudged his stomach playfully with your elbow. “Do you remember when we played Mario Kart for the first time? When you lost three rounds in a row and nearly ripped my head off?” 

“How was I supposed to know you are freakishly good at that game?” 

You laughed, “I stay the reigning champion of rainbow road!” 

“You stay a pain in my ass…” 

You rolled your eyes, “a pain in your ass that will never leave you, so stop complaining about it…” 

Sukuna exhales, “It was…a bad kiss,” he admitted shyly, “She was so damn skittish, and I think I was too. I didn’t…I didn’t think it would be so…ugh. It was just not the right person…” 

“Or maybe you were just nervous…” you answered honestly. 

Sukuna shook his head. 

“No, I know it wasn’t the right person…” he said with confidence. 

You unraveled from his hold for a moment to look deep into those heated eyes. 

“Can I say something?” he questioned, the tips of his ears turning slightly red, a blush you’ve seen before but never realized how adorable it actually looked on him until this moment. 

“Anything”

“I don’t want you to think I am being weird or take this the wrong way…” Sukuna explained, pausing for a single breath before continuing. “I just thought the first person I would’ve kissed would have been…well, you… 

The world went still in that moment. All you could hear was the soft rustle of the trees in the distance, and all you could see was the open vulnerability of Sukuna’s heart resting on his face. 

It’s incredibly rare for him to even show it, your friend guarding that part of himself with such conviction. 

“Oh…” 

“But then I realized that you’re not supposed to be kissing your best friend,” he added on, stomping on the spark that flickered between you both before it even had a chance to even light. 

“No,” you agreed quickly, your eyes darting to the tub of ice cream. You pressed the back of your spoon into the creamy texture, doing your best to ignore the sudden pulse in your chest. 

“My second kiss was a lot better that’s for sure…” Sukuna rambled on, digging his spoon around yours as he scooped himself another serving of ice cream. “Way better actually…and on round three I think I got the hang of it…” 

You swallowed the tiny lump in your throat. “I don’t need to know the gross details, please,” you implored, though your stomach rolled with a hint of nausea at the reality that he’s kissed more people than you expected. 

You never admitted it out loud, but the confession made you a little jealous. 

If you were an option in his head…why didn’t he just ask? 

₊ ⊹ .

. 

Sukuna lost his virginity to a freshman college student a year later when he snuck into a party with two of his former teammates. You lost yours on the night of your graduation party to the same boy you kissed for the first time. You and Sukuna were expected to attend the same university (with him obtaining a full scholarship for academic excellence), but your friend had deviated from the shared path after being scouted. The two of you commuted to see each other often, with you visiting him when he was training and him stopping by the campus whenever he had free time. 

You and Sukuna knew about the other person’s intimate lives from the stories you shared, and despite continuously being plagued with constant accusations of being “more than friends”, you both agreed never to allow that discomforting prospect to intervene with your friendship again after that terribly awkward summer.

Rather than ignore the fact that you were growing to be even more beautiful by the day, Sukuna just became extremely blunt around you. He didn’t hide his eyes checking you out, noticing how your curves were starting to fill out and how you began to mature into your own features. He confidently spoke about how attractive you were, and often boosted your ego in ways that only enhanced your own confidence. 

You enjoyed reminding him that once upon a time he thought “girls were disgusting” and “looked funny”. 

“Let’s not forget I am the first guy to marry you,” he joked, recalling a game you both used to play where you pretended to be characters from a fantasy realm. 

“Actually you were the first dragon to marry me,” you clarified, because Sukuna loathed the prospect of playing a prince. “I don’t really think it counts…” 

“Maybe not - but all these guys fawning over you are going to find out you’re some kind of monster fucker and start running in the other direction…” 

It was safe to say that the banter between you both never changed.

You on the other hand, were recognizing just how handsome Sukuna was becoming too. You’ve seen him shirtless a million times up until this point, but something about watching the definition of muscle build into his new physique, and noticing the way manhood slowly enveloped his body, began to hit you in different ways. This was especially noticeable when you would watch him train in the ring, paying attention to the fact that Sukuna wasn’t built just like any average person. It didn’t even occur to you how incredibly strong he had become until he would lift or move your body around like you were weightless and not a living, breathing human with physical mass. 

One evening, while you both were walking back to your dorm from a dinner at a cheap ramen bar, Sukuna had the audacity to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder because “you couldn’t keep up with his pace”. 

All of a sudden, you were acutely aware that the scrawny boy that you used to protect was now all grown up. 

Sukuna morphed into brick and stone, while you were merely glass. 

For some reason, it put a strain on your heart. 

You guys really weren’t kids anymore. 

This was only solidified a year and a half into his career when Sukuna fought in his first professional tournament at twenty years old. The man dominated the ring against his opponent. He broke the record of the most knock outs and became a household name almost overnight. 

“The King”

Time moved at double speed after that. 

Your fingers that were clinging to bits of nostalgia weren’t able to keep them from it slipping between your grasp. Things were happening in a blur, and the sudden shift in Sukuna’s world felt like a birthing black hole in your own.

The night before Sukuna was flying off on his first world tour, the two of you were cooped up in your dorm room, snuggled underneath the blanket like you used to be when you were both kids. 

This time, it wasn’t awkward. 

You had both experienced love and lust in different ways up until that point. 

You knew that being this close didn’t have to mean anything risqué. 

You were comfortable with yourselves far more than you were five years ago.

“It’s going to be weird not seeing you all the time,” you whispered with a sniffle, while Sukuna traced the shell of your ear. 

Two silver chains mirrored one another, one on your neck and the other on his. It was your parting gift to him, a reminder to keep a piece of each other around when you couldn’t be together. 

You assumed Sukuna would find it stupid, but instead he clasped the necklace around himself before doing the same for you in silent contemplation. 

“I’ll keep in touch, brat” he soothed, but you could hear the ache in his voice too.

You circled your arms around his neck, eagerly clinging onto him as closely as you could for the little time you had. 

“I am really proud of you though,” you spoke, your shaky breath against his collar bone, a tear rolling down your cheek as you inhaled the herby scent of his soap. 

“I’m paying off your loans when the money really starts rolling in,” he chuckled against your temple. 

You shook your head with disapproval. “Just buy your grandpa something nice,” you insisted. “And make sure to spoil Yuji…” 

“That kid’s already spoiled…”

“But he’s a sweetheart,” you emphasized, “and I know he’s probably going to miss you more than me…” 

Sukuna hummed. “I wouldn’t be here without you.” 

You tilted your chin up as he dropped his head down, your noses merely inches apart. You relaxed the muscles on your face, your thumb reaching to smooth the crease from between his brows. 

“God knows what would have happened if you didn’t save my sorry ass back when we were kids…” he said with an easy smile. 

“You would have eventually fought back,” you giggled, “besides, you don’t need me protecting you anymore…” you pointed out, your voice a little breathless, and your anxious mind running on the concern of if you might even fit into Sukuna’s new life after this. 

He wrapped his arms around you, bringing you into the seam of his frame. 

“I always need you,” he confessed, and those words were enough to make you break as the pain of his departure finally collided into you. 

₊ ⊹ .

Sukuna went off to having an extremely successful boxing career. 

At twenty-two, he had turned into one of the hottest sports stars the industry has ever seen. 

He had win after his win under his belt, and the second he partnered with Uraume it was a match made in heaven. 

He was insanely good, and with Uraume by his side, he was now unstoppable. 

You were provided tickets to any of his fights, accompanied with private transportation and accommodation if necessary. Sukuna always made sure that you were well take care of, and you always accepted because it was the only time you were able to actually see him. Those few days were precious together, before you had to depart and return to the real world once again. Each of Sukuna’s fights was a mesmerizing experience. There was something about his flow in the ring that managed to make everything else around him blur. 

He was strong, but agile. 

Brutal but swift with his movements. 

He moved with regal precision, a dancer that understood the rhythms of strength. 

Everyone challenged him, but all of them failed. 

Ryomen Sukuna was a force to be reckoned with. 

Despite the distance, you and Sukuna always made a conscious effort at keeping in touch with each other. You may not be physically there in each other’s presence, but not a day went by without a phone call or multiple texts.

At twenty-seven, Sukuna was at the peak of his stardom. Your best friend found himself tangled between the world of fame and fortune, alongside his old life of normalcy and humble peace. He made good on his promises; setting up a trust fund to ensure that Yuji was well taken care of in every capacity. He paid off all your loans in secret because he knew you would never accept it from him upfront. He bought his grandfather a home in Osaka for him to retire to. And his peace offering to his mom was renovating their old, broken home into something new and vibrant for her to live her life happily now that she seemed to have finally settled down in her third marriage. Sukuna even offered to take care of his step brother, Choso. They may not have been personally close, but he was grateful that Choso was keeping a watchful eye on Yuji. 

Your own life was starting to unfurl as well - you had graduated university, were experiencing your first serious relationship, navigating various friendships and landing your first job. It all felt normal compared to Sukuna, but the man never minimized your experiences. 

When you were together, it’s like nothing had even changed, but the moment your realities bled into each other, it was a constant reminder of how just how far apart your lives actually were. 

You were harassed by the paparazzi who constantly overstepped. 

Sukuna’s boundaries were crossed by the people you knew because everyone wanted a moment with the star. 

You found yourself in environments with the rich whose beauty, wealth and status seemed far out of your reach. 

Sukuna found himself being treated more like an object than a person. 

And yet, you both seemed to be settling down into your own versions of the life you were creating - always weaving the other person in no matter the obstacle.

At twenty-eight, Sukuna had earned more money than he could even imagine, and was still somehow only moving onwards and up. He was plastered on every magazine cover, was the the center of attention on social media by his most dedicated and loyal fans. He was stalked and obsessed over, admired and feared. Networks wanted to feature him on shows, movies and every talk show. The man was a composition of everything that people were projecting onto him. 

He had become an untouchable to the eyes of every living mortal. 

But to you, and just you - he would always be the little boy who was far too small for this big world. 

After years of flings with influencers, models, and high end socialites - it seemed that Sukuna was finally settling down with one of the top actresses in the industry. The moment the two of them were caught kissing at a party, their secret was revealed to the public. 

You, however, knew all the details of the ways in which Sukuna was slowly wooing her. 

At this point you’ve both grown tolerant of hearing about the other person’s love life. And at this time especially, you weren’t affected by Sukuna’s first serious relationship because you and your boyfriend were discussing the possibility of marriage which felt close on the horizon.  You had just bought your first house, and was considering the big gesture of having him move in with you. You had gotten an incredible promotion at work, and for the first time you felt a sense of stability that you had never really experienced before. 

“We should have dinner together!” You offered one night to Sukuna over the phone. 

“The four of us?” He questioned. 

“Yeah, I mean…you know Sousuke really well…” 

“Yeah, and he hates me…” 

“But I haven’t met Mei yet…and no, Sousuke doesn’t “hate you”…”

“I hate to break it to you, Princess. But the guy can’t stand me…” 

You glanced towards your boyfriend who was sitting on the sofa, his attention on the television show he was watching. You stepped away from the living room, and quietly made your way to the bedroom. 

“’kuna…” you spoke, your throat catching, “I think…I think he might propose…” 

“What?!” He exclaimed and you had to pull the phone away. 

“Jeez! Don’t shout! You’re going to make me pop an ear drum!” 

He groaned. 

You sighed, “we’ve been talking about it…and I just…I just really want you guys to get along is all.  I just think you guys are just not seeing eye to eye…” 

Sukuna remained oddly quiet on the phone. 

“Can you say something?” You begged. 

“Fine,” he grumbled, “we can do dinner at my place. The paparazzi have been hounding me trying to get any shot they can find of me and Mei. I would rather we don't go anywhere public...” 

You smiled, “dinner is perfect!” 

At first glance, the dinner seemed like a complete success. 

The four of you chatted and enjoyed your night like you were all old friends, especially after Sousuke got over his starstruck moment when he met Mei. You and Sukuna told stories of your years together, inviting your partners to the pieces of your lives that you both shared. You could see that Sukuna was clearly attracted to Mei, and in turn he could see that you were happy with Sousuke. The night felt like a convergence without an implosion - an easy going settlement on the two roads that you and your friend had taken. 

That’s why when your boyfriend called things off with you three months later, it took you completely by surprise. 

Nothing in this world could have prepared you for that heartbreak. 

It was a grieving period, a dark time of mourning that had you glued to your bed most days. This life that you had been carefully piecing together toppled like dominos. After breaking the news to Sukuna, you spent two weeks isolating yourself from anything and everything else. 

Your best friend couldn’t stand seeing you in this state, and showed up at your door out of the blue one evening.

You burst into tears at the sight of him.

He was there to mend your broken heart, and he never left your side. He told his team that he was taking a much needed break, and during that time made sure that you were fed and comfortable. He handled any extra chores, slept on the floor in your bedroom every night so that you weren’t alone. He spent hours with you in silence while you wept, listened to you angrily vent your frustrations on how your ex could treat you this way. 

One night, he woke up and realized that you weren’t in bed. He searched for you, finding you in the kitchen staring at a small pile of bridal magazines. 

Your clothes were rumpled, you hadn’t changed or freshened up since that morning. 

Sukuna didn’t say anything, just placed two hands on your shoulders and turn you away from the painful memories. 

You gasped and hiccuped into his chest. 

“I couldn’t sleep…” you explained, “I r-remembered that I still had these, and just…just wanted them gone…” 

Sukuna tenderly stroked the back of your neck. “You know,” he said, his voice deeper than the ocean itself, the tone the texture of velvet. “I can always break his fucking legs…” 

The comment made you choke out a laugh. 

“It’ll ruin your career,” you whimpered. “It’s not worth it…” 

“For you,” he soothed, his thumb lightly tracing the space where the base of your neck and spine connected. “It’s always worth it” 

₊ ⊹ .

The blunder in Sukuna’s career hit early last year, when his relationship with Mei fell apart and resulted in one of the worst break ups that people have ever seen. Mei released a public, viral video that had millions of views and thousands of shares. She accused Sukuna of cheating for the entirety of their two year relationship, crying crocodile tears on camera over how she was simply another trophy that he could successfully claim while his heart always belonged to someone else. 

That video made your blood boil. 

You knew Sukuna wasn’t perfect - but if there was one thing you would never doubt about that man it was his loyalty. 

You saw it towards grandfather, to Yuji, to Uraume, and even yourself. 

That man scoffed at the prospect of cheating, believing it to be a cowardice act. 

And Sukuna was no coward. 

Even in prior relationships, he was always clear about where he stood. If he couldn’t commit to something, he made it perfectly known. You still didn’t know what it was about Mei that had him finally let his walls down. But when they were together, he looked perfectly content. Every desire and every fantasy he dreamt up in his youth had finally been accomplished. But all you knew about their break up was that things weren’t working out, and Sukuna wasn’t willing to share more than that. 

You were being respectful of his privacy, understanding firsthand how tough this kind of heartbreak can be. 

He called you when the Mei's video first broke out, his voice strained. 

“You know it’s not true, right?” He questioned before even saying hello. 

“Ryo, of course I know that-” 

“I’m not a little bitch who would cheat. I would never do that. Nor am I that fucking stupid thinking I would ever get away with it-”

“I know…” you reassured, hearing the apprehension laced through his words. “Ryomen, I know you. I know you better than anyone else in this world.”

He breathed a long sigh of relief. “I was just wondering if you might have been convinced otherwise”  

Your stomach tightened. 

“But if you believe me, then I don’t give a fuck about anyone else.” 

Something about that conversation clung onto you, it sat like a weight on your shoulders that you couldn’t quite possibly shrug off. The tabloids, news outlets and social media accounts were throwing ingredients upon ingredients into the rumor pot that was bubbling and boiling over. On top of that, a new rising star had just entered the boxing world, and Sukuna was suddenly dealing with brutal comparisons to the younger, hotter talent that was Satoru Gojo. 

You were the one who offered to take him out to dinner to get his mind off of things, not realizing just how bad it actually was for him. 

When a gossip magazine posted the photos of you both huddled together (as you have done many times before) while having an ordinary dinner, it spun your world inside and out. Though the pictures were quite blurry, there were a few people who were able to recognize you. You were being harassed at your work, interrogated by your friends and were even being accused of being “the other woman”.

The worst part is was when Mei fed into the chaos, making a follow up post and stating that “a woman always knows, and is always right” in regards to her break up situation with Sukuna.

She may not have explicitly said it, but her fingers were pointing at you.  

You don’t know how your address got leaked, but when you started finding paparazzi stalking you in your own home it became far too much for you to handle. 

Sukuna, on the other hand, was infuriated. 

This whole time he was disengaged by what was going on, but once you were caught in the mix of this mess, it seemed that he was suddenly ready to cause equal destruction. 

He sued his ex for defamation, sued multiple media outlets for harassment. He had Higuruma Hiromi, one of the top lawyers in his field, at the helm of this take down, and the second he shot back, it had everyone scurrying in retreat. 

The tabloids, blogs and magazines all redacted the photos of you, reducing your digital footprint. 

His ex, under pressure of Sukuna’s threats, came out with a public apology so that he would drop the charges against her and help her avoid her own PR nightmare. 

The rest of Sukuna’s anger was taken out on the ring, with people seeing another side of what The King could unleash. 

His match against Hajime Kashimo was one of the bloodiest in boxing history, his opponent left crimson and defeated despite seemingly holding a strong front in the beginning. 

They dubbed him: “The Monster of The Ring” after that. 

The damage was already done, and the stress of it all was starting to hurt Sukuna’s focus. When he nearly got disqualified in a match, that is when Uraume intervened, and felt it was necessary to include you in the discussion. 

You’ve always had a complicated relationship with Uraume. They respected you, but you know it’s only because of your mutual relationship with Sukuna. Uraume, however, has made snide remarks  towards you when you were both alone - about how you were merely a distraction when dangled in front of his champion’s eyes.

“I think some time apart would do you both good,” they said. “They are never going to stop hounding you because they think there is something more going on, and besides…we can’t have Sukuna fucking up with Gojo now in the mix. We need to show the world that he’s still as strong and as relevant as ever…” 

“It’ll die down,” Sukuna stated with frustration. 

The both of them bickered over it. It was the first time you have ever witnessed them in a heated exchanged. Your heart started to hurt because you were aware how all of this was only making your best friend see in shades of red. 

He wasn’t himself. 

He wasn’t thinking clearly. 

This was impacting him.  

You getting involved in this was impacting him. 

“Ryomen,” you said seriously, placing your hand over his. “I think Uraume is right…” 

The man turned to you, his fingers lacing between your own subconsciously as he squeezed it tightly in disbelief. 

It was the first time you’ve ever seen him hurt. 

“It’s just a short time apart,” you said with a comforting smile, “once everyone gets bored we can resume our lives in peace. But right now, I can see this taking a toll on you…” 

He furrowed the front of his brows. 

“Uraume is looking out for you, and I think what they are saying makes sense. Don’t you?” 

“No, I fucking don’t…” he snapped, his eyes glaring at his manager who remained stoic as ever. 

“Don’t let your emotions get the better of you,” they remarked, “I know a part of you agrees with what I have to say.” 

“You’re not in the right state of mind, and you need to be” 

“It’s for your own good,” Uraume insisted. "You are gambling with your career. With your legacy"

The decision was mutual but entirely heartbreaking all the same. Sukuna drew the circus away, and it broke you when you realized that in order to protect you, he had to sacrifice something in return. 

The comfort of your friendship, the sanctuary of your company.

It was the price of fame, and one that he was willing to keep paying. 

As a result of this tough decision, Sukuna had grown cold. Not because he was being mean or cruel, but because he thought he was offering you some peace of mind. Because he thought that by withdrawing from you, it would make the pain of the separation easier. He wanted this distance to be a clean break for the both of you, and while he honored keeping in touch, it was just at the bare minimum because his calls and texts were few and far between. 

The most you saw of him was on a screen, and you could see that Sukuna was miserable. 

He was turning into something vicious in the ring, a violent machine that people glorified. He wasn’t moving with the fluidity of an artist that you used to admire when you first started watching him fight. There was a sense of brutality that was now a part of his make up. 

Sukuna was no longer a man, he was a beast. 

His persona was dwindling into only intimidation. Every interview, every guest appearance, and every social occasion was met with detachments or disinterest. He was growing snarky and irritable, no longer willing to charm the people around him. 

Satoru Gojo was the first to shoot at Sukuna with his words, dredging up his painful break up and even dragging you back into the fold with his commentary. The two of them grew to have a very intense rivalry. They exchanged heated arguments on social media, smack talked the other person in live interviews and had tense interactions in public. 

The press and the people were eating up every single second of it.

On the eve of his thirty-first birthday, you received a call from Uraume. 

“We are back in the city,” they said, “Sukuna needs to start training up for his match against Satoru Gojo.” 

You swallowed the uncomfortable lump in your throat. 

“Why didn’t he tell me he was back?” You asked softly. 

Uraume sighed, “I don’t have to tell you that he’s been in a fowl mood. The agency is throwing a huge birthday party for him tonight which he is refusing to attend…” 

“So, why are you calling me?” 

“Because…” Uraume sighed, “he’s about to fly to close to the sun, and I can see he needs an anchor to bring him down to Earth a little bit…” 

Your cheeks burned at the statement. “Are you saying I am his anchor?” 

“I am saying it’s been almost a year since he last saw you…” Uraume explained, “And I don’t want him feeling awful on his birthday. I care about him too, you know?” 

You nodded your head, “No, of course. I know that.” 

“I told him that I would stop by to pick him up for the party, but I think giving him a nice surprise might do him so good. Remind the guy to enjoy himself a little…” 

“You’re sweet,” you said with a smile. 

“As are you, my dear,” Uraume replied tenderly. 

“My, my, are you actually giving me a compliment?” 

“Don’t let it get to your head,” they remarked playfully, and you felt a hint of ease realizing that things might not be as cold between you both as you thought. 

That Uraume was really only ever considering Sukuna's well being first, just like you.

₊ ⊹ .

Uraume made sure that you got to Sukuna’s place in one piece and without anyone knowing that you were even there. You clasped your best friend's present between your fingers, your exposed body shivering from the cold air as you rode the elevator up to his penthouse apartment.

It felt right to dress up; you wore a white mini dress with a mesh overlay that had little embroidered detailing on the fabric. There were cut outs in the back, with an adjustable strap from behind cinching the bodice perfectly to your shape. Your kitten heels clicked against the floor, the nerves suddenly tingling their way up your legs as you thought about what Sukuna’s reaction might even be. 

This year felt like a century in the timeline of your friendship. 

You knocked on his door gently, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth. 

You could hear the trudge of footsteps from behind the frame, Sukuna’s voice bellowing as he spoke. 

“Uraume, for the last fucking time, I told you I am not going, and if you force it I will fire you on the spot-” 

He swung the door open and froze. 

“Surprise!” You squeaked lightly, awkwardly lifting the gift in your hands. “I got you a present!” 

Sukuna blinked once and then twice, his lips parting as if he’s seen a ghost. 

“Uraume asked me to come,” you explained. “They told me that you guys were back…” 

He stood there dumbfounded, for once rendered completely speechless. 

You cleared your throat, feeling a warmth rippling over your skin as the man gave you a once over. His eyes flickered down your body, hovering over all the parts of your exposed skin. Your bare thighs, your décolletage, and up the nape of your neck. 

“T-they wanted you to have fun on your birthday,” you added on with an apprehensive grin, “they actually suggested maybe a quiet night in and thought you might just want to spend it with an old friend instead of a bunch of people you probably don’t even like…” 

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his mouth pressing into a firm line. 

He looked…upset. 

Was he not happy to see you? 

“Uhm,” you mumbled, your fingers toying with the ribbon at the odd dismissal and lack of enthusiasm, “I-I don’t have to stay, but I did just want to wish you a happy birthday…” 

You took a small step forward, holding the present up as an offering. “Happy birthday, ‘Kuna…” you said with a quiet warble in your voice and feeling like a complete idiot for showing up. The disappointment of his response sat heavily on your chest.

He lifted his hand, gripping the present as he plucked it out of your grasp. You cleared your throat, anxiously scratching the back of your ear as you lifted up the strap of your dress which fell on your right shoulder. 

“I’ll just…” you added on in defeat, gesturing behind you to indicate that you were leaving. 

You didn’t even notice his arm sling behind your waist when your eyes fell downcast. 

Suddenly you were pulled over the threshold, the door closing behind you in a bang before your back was pressed up against the wooden frame. Your gaze lifted up to Sukuna, your pupils widening when you you were met with his menacing stare. 

“You know,” you said with a gulp, hoping to the ease the tension as you tried to catch your breath. “You really do look like a dragon when you scowl like that…” 

“Are you stupid?” He spat with irritation. “What if someone saw you come over? We just got the press off our backs…” 

Your pulse hit the base of your throat. “Uraume ensured that no one was around…” 

“I thought we agreed to take time apart…” he argued, ignoring your words. “You agreed.” 

“You’re mad...” You pointed out, the tip of your nose wincing as you pursed your lips. 

“I’m not mad, I’m furious…” he said with irritation. “I’m trying to keep you out of this fucking chaos and you just waltz in, in this sorry excuse of a dress, like everything is perfectly fine?!” 

You looked down at your outfit, and folded your arms over your chest. 

“I…” you spoke, your voice trailing off as your shoulders slumped. 

You didn’t even know if you should apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong and this wasn’t even your idea to begin with. You’ve also never seen Sukuna speak to you this way before, and your confidence bubbled when you recognized that this...wasn’t him. 

You straightened your back, tilting your chin up to face him with defiance. 

You’re the only person in the world who willingly challenges him. 

You don’t even have to raise a fist to watch him break. 

He was pushing you away, the same way he did when you found him on the ground of that kindergarten because that’s what Sukuna does when he’s hurting the most. 

“God, you’re just as miserable as look…” you pointed out with a quirk of your brow. 

His jaw twitched. 

“I don’t give a shit who catches me here,” you boldly claimed, “I miss my best friend…” you added before shoving his shoulder, “and you, you asshole, have no excuse for not telling me that you are back home. Just because I agreed to us spending some time apart, that doesn’t mean you get to just...cut me off like that. To not call me, to barely answer my texts, and to just push me away like I don’t matter to you…” 

Sukuna winced, taking a step closer to seal the gap of space between you both. He brought his head lower, dipping his forehead to press against your own. Your spine seized in that moment, your lips parting feeling the heat of his breath on your skin. 

You were expecting a rebuttal, but this…this wasn’t what you thought would happen. 

“You are a pain in my ass…” he whispered, closing his eyes as he circled his free arm around your waist, “and the only thing that matters to me…” 

He nudged his face closer, so close you swore to yourself that he might kiss you, before tracking his lips along your jaw and cradling his forehead in the crook of your neck instead. 

Your right hand moved him to touch his shoulder, your face contorting with a hint of concern. 

You felt it then, something wet on your skin where his forehead lay, and you took in a sharp breath as Sukuna tightened his arm around your waist. 

“You shouldn’t have come…” he took a deep inhale against your neck, smelling your skin before clearing his throat from any shakiness. 

“You said that already…” you grumbled unamused. 

“Stubborn woman, you never listen...” he breathed in once more, “God, I fucking missed you.” 

₊ ⊹ .

Sukuna opened his present once everything was settled, and once he finally embraced the reunion without questioning any other factors. He laughed at your little DIY stress kit that you put together for him. You both ordered in pizza, sitting on opposite sides of the sofa with the open cardboard box between you. You talked, and talked, and talked into the late hours of the night.  Until there were only crumbs on the bottom of the box which Sukuna placed on the coffee table. The bottle of champagne that you have both been nursing was nearly empty. 

Drunk on each other, with a belly full of food and simplistic joy settling in. Sukuna leaned against the arm rest, sprawling his long legs and patting his thigh sweetly. 

“C’mere…” 

Your heart hammered, and you bit the rim of your champagne glass before obliging. 

You stood up, swaying a little and watching his hungry eyes blatantly check you out as you sat on his lap. Sukuna adjusted his position, before dropping his palm on your thigh, his touch stroking up and down your skin. 

“What’s going on with you?” You inquired, placing your elbow on his shoulder as you rested your warm cheek against your palm. 

You were looking at him with concern, noticing his face sink. 

He rubbed one hand over the exhausted expression, an intoxicated blush painting his cheeks. 

“The press are worse than ever. After Mei, it’s been…relentless. The stories they are coming up with, the things that they are saying about me. I went from being on top of the world to being the guy everyone loves to fucking hate. And with every fight I go into, people are just waiting for me to wash up. The cherry on top of this whole fucking thing is Satoru Gojo, who won’t stop running his fucking mouth. I want cut the little shit in half…” 

You smiled, not to be condescending, but out of gratitude that you both easily slipped back into the shell of your own comfort. “Ryomen, he’s twenty-one years old. Do you not remember how you were at that age?” 

He rolled his eyes. “I had more class than he did…” 

“But you were aggressive,” you reminded, “You weren’t afraid to tear down the legends that predated you.” 

“So, what are you saying?” 

“I’m saying that maybe Satoru drew inspiration from somewhere…” 

You placed the champagne glass on his chest, your fingers holding the stem as you swirled the liquid around gently. The silence hung in the air because Sukuna knew you were right, but there were other lingering questions pressing you at the same time. And thanks to the alcohol, you had all the courage you needed to ask.

“What happened with Mei?” You wondered, shifting your gaze to meet his. 

Sukuna’s index finger tapped up and down your thigh in contemplation. 

He closed his eyes and shook his head before swallowing the lump in his throat. “Nothing.” 

You quirked your brow again, taking a swig of your champagne. 

Sukuna used his free hands to wrap around your own, and he pulled the glass away from you to take a sip himself. 

“Why won’t you tell me?” 

He chugged the rest of your drink, and placed it on the ground beside him. 

“Ryomen…” 

“Don’t push me, brat…” 

“But why not?” You wondered, “I just…it just seemed like you both were so happy and then all of a sudden…” 

He dropped his head back against the arm rest and stared up at the ceiling. From underneath his black shirt you saw the silver chain poking through. 

Your heart tightened. 

You drew one hand on the locket, your finger curling underneath as your thumb tracked over the texture of the necklace. 

“You’re still wearing it…” you mumbled. 

Sukuna faced you. “I never take it off. Only when I have to get in the ring…” His eyes shifted to your exposed, naked neck, and you mindlessly reached for the silver chain that you were currently not wearing. 

“I don’t wear it on certain occasions…” you explained guiltily, “only because I am afraid that I might lose it.” 

“Plus, it wouldn’t go with this dress...” Sukuna nonchalantly added on and you laughed at his comment. 

He sighed in defeat. “The necklace was a small reason,” he opened up. “Mei hated that I wore it all the time. She would badger me about taking it off. The time I spent with you after Sousuke didn’t help…” he added, treading the delicate topic with as much sensitivity as he could, “she accused me for cheating. I told her she needed to back off because you and I had a history that predates her. I told her that if the roles were reversed, you would be there for me because you have always been there for me…” 

Your body froze. 

“She would pick fights with me over everything about you. Finally I had enough, and told her she needed to fucking trust me if this was going to work. But things never went back to the way they used to. It was always up and down with Mei. Finally, when she had enough, she told me that I had a choice to make. Either I cut you off for us to happily together. Or…she leaves…” 

You sat up, staring at him with wide eyes and shock.  

“I’m…” you gasped, “I’m the reason why you both broke up?” 

The guilt struck you harder than you expected, and you looked down at Sukuna’s torso shamefully as you recalled the state of yourself post-break up, thinking of all the moments where you might have potentially stolen precious time away from his former lover. 

“Ryomen, I am so…I am so sorry…” 

Two fingers brushed underneath your chin, and Sukuna lifted your head so you could see him. 

“I picked you,” he confessed, “I picked you.” 

“But-” 

“There is no “but”,” he said with a shake of his. “We’ve been in each other’s lives for over two decades. You are my person. You are my family. You…”, he sighed, “you didn’t deserve what happened afterwards...”

His hands trailed up until his digits caught the hem of your dress. 

“I’m keeping my distance to protect you..."

“But you loved her,” you gasped, “I saw it. I saw you both. I would’ve…I would’ve stepped aside. If I was causing any issues, I would’ve…respected your boundaries. I love you, Ryomen. I just want you to be happy, and if that means that I take a step back-” 

“I did love her,” Sukuna interjected, the heat of gaze flicking upward, the rims slightly red from the alcohol he consumed. “But I love you more…” 

He drew all the air out of your lungs with the slip of his tongue, making you perch yourself up so you were actually looking directly at him. His pupils were dilated, widening as if to give you access to the depths of his soul. In all your years you’ve known him, you don’t think the two of you ever actually exchanged those words. It was always veiled with “I care for you,”, “I adore you,” “You’re my person,” and “this is why we are best friends.” 

But love… 

That felt forbidden to say out loud, even though you both knew that the root of your friendship was only built on love, it shouldn't have come as such a shock to you for the confession to slip so naturally.

You gaze longingly into each other’s eyes, in a way that you haven’t since you were both sixteen years old. 

Wondering…

Considering…

“I don’t…” you said quietly, sitting upright as he shifted beneath you. 

You wound up straddling him, both your hands resting on his shoulders while his own continued to tease the hem of your dress. 

“I don’t know what to say…” you exhaled. 

Sukuna pinched the fabric between his thumb and index finger, allowing the silence to hang for a few minutes before switching the subject. 

“Did you dress up for me?” He joked, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his devilish mouth. He slid one hand underneath your dress, making you gasp as his touch moved dangerously high up your thigh. 

“Wanted to look cute,” you murmured, your words lacing tightly together as the champagne danced across your tongue. You felt a pulse radiate between your legs, and you unknowingly clenched much to Sukuna’s amusement.  

“Cute for me?” He coaxed. 

“Cute in general,” you remarked. 

His other hand sprawled across your back, and you knew he was testing his boundaries.

“Ryomen…” you warned, but it only made him break out into a full grin. His irises were drowning in lust and inebriation, and your own were falling in suit. 

The hand on your hip dragged up further, until his fingers brushed over the string of your underwear. You scratched your nails down his chest, feeling your back arch into his palm as you mindlessly rolled your hips.

His lips moved to your ear, that mellifluous voice dangerously close. “Let’s play a game…” 

He squeezed the fat of your hip, his weight lifting you up and the entire room spun as he pinned you underneath him when he switched your positions. He locked you against the plush sofa with his thighs, a throaty laugh coming through from your sudden squeak of surprise. 

“Let’s see you try to get out of this one, Princess...” He teased, his teeth nipping at the side of your throat. “Or you’ll end up being my dinner…” 

Your body vibrated from the sensation of his touch. You gripped his jaw firmly and pulled his face towards you, your brows furrowing at the proclamation of a challenge. 

“It’s not fair to go against a boxing champion,” you argued, your spine curving as Sukuna slipped his other thigh between your legs. 

He dropped his head to the base of your throat, his teeth catching the sensitive spot just above your collar bone, “don’t worry,” he soothed over the gentle bite, “I’ll play fair…”

“Don’t patronize me,” you grumbled through gritted teeth. 

“You’re fault for waltzing into the dragon’s lair…” he alerted, quoting the very same line he used to when you would both play this silly fantasy game together. 

But you’re not wielding plastic swords and entering into the enemies domain with a sense of courage. Now, it felt like playing with fire. Your skin was burning at the contact, at Sukuna’s weight over your throbbing body. When he nibbled on your neck again, your hand gripped onto the back of his head, tugging his hair a little roughly as you pulled him away. 

Sukuna purred. 

“You’ve never been able to beat me…” you teased, giving into the world of make believe just one more time but speaking the truth regarding this fact. “I’ve always been your biggest challenge…” 

“Watch me win tonight,” he pushed with confidence, reaching for your wrist and pinning it above your head. 

“And what are the rules here exactly?” You quipped, your tongue tingling and your body buzzing with excitement and curiosity. “Am I supposed to kill the dragon and win back my castle?” 

Sukuna laughed, his eyes darkening as he pressed his forehead to yours once more. 

“No need to draw any swords. Let’s play a game of submission…” he boldly claimed, and your attention flickered to find his brazen smile burning even brighter on his face. “First person to cum loses” 

“Are you making a move on me?” You light heartedly disputed. 

“Not at all,” Sukuna maintained, but you can tell from his tone that he’s veiling the truth.

There was something hard pressing up against you, and you had a feeling it was a nudge for some relief. 

“It’s the dress isn’t it?” you giggle.

“If you even call it a dress…” 

“Can’t handle a little skin?” 

“I don’t want to shock you by telling you got me half hard just showing up,” he confessed, something unfolding in your drunken stupor. 

“I can feel you…” you sighed, and the man hummed as he molded his body into you.

You felt him twitch, and it made your thighs tremble. 

“We had too much champagne,” you informed. 

“That we did” 

“We should probably stop…” you exhaled, your lashes fluttering when you felt his thigh flex against your cunt. 

“Do you want to?” Sukuna asks, his voice growing serious. His hand on your hip tugs at the string of your underwear, and he releases it with a snap as it pinches back against your skin. 

You licked your lips, your brain too fuzzy to contradict what your heart wanted. “You know I will never back down from a challenge with you…” 

“That's what I like about you,” Sukuna adoringly praises. 

“And we both know you’re going to lose, right?” 

Your throat shrinks, Sukuna’s hand gliding over your pubis to press the drenched spot against your underwear. 

“Don’t underestimate me, Princess,” he advices ominously, “we’ve never played a game like this before.” 

₊ ⊹ .

Clothes had to stay on - that was the rule you both agreed with. 

To keep things fair. 

To keep it…playful. 

Your nipples pebbled, poking hard against the fabric of your dress as Sukuna sucked on the skin of your neck. You knew for a fact that he was leaving a mark there, and all you could do was bite back as his mouth trailed down the column and over the slope of your breast. You whimpered when he tugged at your clothed nipple with with his teeth, making the muscles in your leg seize from the sudden contact. 

You had to do something, and so you reached your hand between your legs to lightly graze over his erection pressing against his sweats. 

Sukuna groaned, and you sniggered at the reaction. 

You lifted your head and neck, bringing your mouth to his own ear. 

“You know,” you seductively stated, your fingers outlining the length of his hard member. “The first time I ever touched myself was after watching you practice in the ring…” 

Sukuna cursed under his breath, your fingers squeezed around his length. You proceeded to stroke the heat of his member, striking hard for your first blow. “And I always do whenever I watch you fight. I get so hot and bothered seeing you in the ring. I even have a a specific vibrator I use…I named it after you…” 

“Fucking hell,” he hissed when you snuck your hand underneath his waistband, bringing your touch even closer as you palmed him over his boxers. 

“I’ve never told you that secret…” you declared, bringing your own teeth to his earlobe which you tugged mercilessly. 

Sukuna lost himself for a moment, making you think this was going to be an easy win. But you heard him steady his breathing, could his muscles flexing as if to tame his own body back from giving in.  

“I heard you once…” he stammered suddenly, closing his eyes as he recollected his memories. “Back when you were living in the dorm. I came over to drop off something, and you…ugh, fuck-…you were in the bathroom…moaning. I thought you were in pain at first, until I realized…” 

Your own cheeks burned at his confession, the surprise making you ease your grip. 

Sukuna grabbed your wrist then and pulled you away from his crotch. He placed it on your breast, and you absentmindedly pinched your nipple as he slid his hand between your legs. He lowered himself down, slithering underneath you and making your ears sting with vexation. He pushed your dress over your thighs, exposing your light colored underwear. The noticeable wet patch made his eyes glitter with satisfaction. 

“I would have jacked off on the spot, but I left. I was clearly intruding on a private matter, but that didn’t stop me from blowing a load the second I made it to my place,” he carries on, bringing his nose and pressing it against your slit. “So fucking sweet…” 

You tried to push his head away, and in response he dragged his tongue over the moist patch on your underwear. 

“Oh my god,” you moaned, your hips bucking from the sensation. 

“You’re the first person I think of when I touch myself,” he revealed, humming as his tongue lewdly licked over your underwear. 

Your whole lower belly tingled, your arousal only slicking the fabric. 

You needed to distract him from carrying on, but Sukuna hooked two fingers underneath your underwear and tugged them to the side. 

You sat up on your forearms, pressing your thighs against his cheeks to stop him from diving in. 

“Don’t cheat,” you sternly addressed, but Sukuna only scoffed vindictively. 

“You’re still wearing them, Princess…” he pointed out, and the loophole made your core pulse with anticipation. “This isn’t cheating…” 

With your panties tugged aside, Sukuna used two fingers to spread the lips apart. 

He was staring at your pussy, studying it like it was the first one he’s ever looked at. 

You wanted to say something, to ask what he was doing. But to your surprise he just placed a gentle kiss on your clit before murmuring sweetly into your sex. “You’re beautiful,” Sukuna complimented, as if expressing a blessing before a meal then finally dragging his wet tongue up along the slit of your exposed pussy. 

“You’re ch-cheating…” was all you could think of blubbering out in the haze of lust, feeling the vibration of his laugh as he slung one of your legs over his shoulder. 

It hits you then - the fact that this man indulges in going down on women. Though he never explicitly shared all the lewd details with his past partners, he did mention how it was “his favorite thing to do”. After all these years, you finally get to experience it for yourself. Feel how he latches onto your pussy as your arousal drips like he’s pouring honey out of the jar and slurping the sticky, creamy essence. You whine when he prods his tongue between your folds, expertly sliding the muscle as he rolls it in gentle waves to stir a budding orgasm. Your fingers intertwine around his locks, reading to yank him off until he slurps and sucks in just the right spot that has you simply massaging his scalp instead. 

“…’kuna~…” you mewl, your nails dragging over his scalp. 

The man circles his mouth over your tender clit, sucking on the bud before pressing another kiss on the nub. 

Your pussy throbs when he pulls away, but you were proud for holding back. 

It was your opportunity to distract him, and you shrugged off one of your straps to pull down your dress to expose your left breast. Sukuna’s attention flickered upward, watching you tweak at the hard nub as you gave him a shy grin. 

“The felt really good,” you breathily whined. 

He began crawling his way back up, and you used this opportunity to lift your body upright. He was distracted, wasn't even thinking about you finding a way out of this position. His lips instantly latched onto your nipple, his hands gripping the fat of your ass as he sucked on the point feverishly. 

You licked your lips, doing everything in your power not to fall back into the black hole of his gripping dominance.

When he released you, you instantly pushed his back against the couch and climbed on top of him so you were safely straddling him again. You forcefully dragged your wet cunt over his erection, leaving a little trail of you to stain the fabric of his pants. Sukuna grunted with pleasure, bucking his hips as you ground yours. 

“You’re not as sharp with me,” you giggled, languidly gliding your cunt over his begging member. 

“Because you’re fucking distracting,” Sukuna grieves, his hands clenching into tight balls by his side as he refuses to grab onto your ass and push for more friction. 

You felt him sink, using his shoulders as leverage to keep you perched in just the right position so your pussy was rubbing over his cock. You bit back a sound of pleasure from leaving you, and instead exhale softly as you continue rocking back and forth. 

“You’re big everywhere aren’t you,” you tantalized, noting the way his jaw tense as a rumble erupted from his chest in a deep groan which morphed into a slightly sinister laugh. 

“Let me show you.” 

He lifted his hips, making you pause at the sudden awkward shift. He pushed his sweat pants down just to meet the end of his boxers. The removal of the first layer was a small relief, but your eyes widened as he settled back down. His erection was tenting, pressing up against the thin black material and making you see a clear distinction of his balls and thick shaft. 

“Go on then,” he tempted. 

Your could feel yourself getting wet. The tightness in your belly only contracting further. 

You stared him down, knowing full well that he was manipulating you at that very moment. 

“Why stop there?” You rebutted. 

You helped pulled out the weight of his heavy cock from the restraint, watching his length smack against his lower belly as the tip dribbled with cum. Sukuna moaned when your thumb pressed against the slit, your touch dragging back and forth as you aligned yourself. 

The sounds of your panting breaths were far too loud in this quiet room. You hesitated for a minute before lowering yourself, pressing the fat tip at your entrance. You gulped down air from the stretch alone, your arousal enough lubricant for your take him. You sank, your attention on Sukuna’s whose eyes were honed in on the point of contact of your sexes. 

When your pelvis finally kiss his own, when your bodies were merged into one, you felt two hands seek your waist as you trembled in his arms. 

Your dress had fallen back over, covering him buried inside you. You were looking up at him now as his chest rose to press yours.

A puzzle piece finally connecting. 

He twitched inside you, and you clenched around his length, but neither of you moved. You forgot, for a moment, that this was just a game. That the two of you were probably going to wake up tomorrow morning not being able to face the other person. Your heart was racing, your body begging for movement but you couldn’t snap yourself out of the bold decision you already made. 

Sukuna was looking deep into our eyes, the sparkle behind his own irises making you think of embers on winter night. 

His hands slipped up your waist, over the curves of your breast and up on the length of your neck. He held your head between his palms, the tips of his thumbs lightly caressing your cheeks, with his fingers to the back of your neck. He tilted his head down slightly, his nose brushing against the bridge of yours and he did something that caught you entirely off guard. 

His lips were warm on yours, the kiss the softest gesture you’ve ever experienced from him. He held a firm kiss at first, long enough until you were crumbling apart. You parted your mouth, granting him entrance and he swiped his tongue to lick the inside. He was tracing your own, his wet and wanting mouth only growing more hungry as you eagerly accepted his kiss. Your heart hammered heavily in your chest, and goosebumps peaked all over your skin when you felt his thumbs gently caress the soft skin of your cheeks. 

You’ve never been kissed like this before. Never felt bursts of light erupt from behind your eyelids or your stomach explode with fireworks. This always just fun foreplay for you, but nothing that would make you quiver in heat. You almost came on the spot from this one little act that you’ve imagined since you were sixteen, the one which you thought would never occur because of an unspoken rule on boundaries. But it was finally happening, and it was far too magical for you to even comprehend. 

He swallowed your moan, tasted how sweet your desire actually was. The kiss was getting heated, your walls tightening around his cock His lips wrapped around your tongue. He sucked on it, before sliding his own back over yours. 

You felt so weak; were reminded that you truly were just a fragile thing in his arms and nothing more. 

He pulled away, a string of saliva sticking from his lips to yours but you shook your head as you circled your hands around his wrists. 

“More,” you cried desperately without thinking. 

Sukuna smiled against your mouth and obliged. 

You don’t know how long you both sat there making out. But every time he tried to pull you away you sighed “again,”, or moaned “don’t stop”. You didn’t even consider kissing to be an option on the table, but the more you were getting turned on the further your guard went down. Your hips started to bounce lightly, your pussy so bothered that it wanted some relief. You started fucking yourself over his length, your mouth battling with lips, teeth and tongue in a very heated stand off. Sukuna relaxed his body against the sofa, noticing you melt over him like you were wax. Your hips were moving up and down, your tongue languidly rolling around his mouth. You could feel Sukuna moving with you, bucking his hips in return. His jerks were growing sharper, his hands dropping back down to your hips to keep you in place. Your foreheads were touching, lips parting, panting heavily as you climbed and higher. The two of you were lost in the moment, forgetting everything else that led up to this. 

You were going to lose this one, you thought, and you didn’t even care. 

Your head was spinning, your heart bursting, and you reached to hold his jaw in your hand out of desperation, hoping that by clinging to him it meant that you wouldn’t disappear into the haze of it all. Entirely overwhelmed by the feeling, by this particular connection, your eyes started to water, with tears falling as your nose grew stuffy. 

“Ryomen~” you begged, your dulcet voice full of affection. The tip of his cock hit your sweetest spot and at that point you knew you were done for. 

But Sukuna jerked his hips, the groan that ripped out of him made your belly spasm. He pulled out fast, shooting his cum all over you. Your orgasm collapsed into you just seconds after, and the two of you were shaking against one another as you tried to reorient yourselves to the present. 

You were a mess, and so was he. 

Two hands found your thighs as your torso collided into his. You placed one hand on the base of his neck, and rested your cheek against the crook.  

“You lost,” you joked with a sniffle, because you were unsure what to say, and because you realized you had just fucked your best friend and had no idea what that meant. 

Sukuna just grinned, flashing you a knowing smile and a devilish smirk. 

He perched your chin under his fingers, tapping the end sweetly. 

“Doesn’t feel like I did,” he breathed, and your eyes glittered once more. 

You arched up to kiss his cheek, “I didn’t know a dragon could kiss this well…” 

Sukuna chuckled, bumping the tip of his nose to yours affectionately as he tilted his head down. “I’ve had time to practice.” 

You sighed into another kiss, “What did we do, Ryomen?” 

“Something we should have done a long time ago…” he responded in between. 

“You love me…” you breathed. 

“And you’re surprised?” He interrupted with another kiss. 

“I don’t know what that means…” 

He nipped at your bottom lip. “It means what it means. I love you. Fuck, enough that I nearly fucking came inside you without thinking. You haven’t been around and I feel like I've lost my goddamn mind in just a year…” 

Your nails dragged down his chest your heart leaping its way up your throat. 

“I love you too,” you revealed. “I love you, Ryomen. And I missed you too."

You both fell asleep on the sofa, waking up the next morning and replaying the events of your drunken stupor. After you both cleaned up and showered, you had a serious conversation over two cups of coffee. Though, you aren’t quite sure how "serious" it was, considering that Sukuna had you sitting on his lip while you were gently stroking his hair.

He revealed that the reason why he didn’t tell you about his return was also partially due to the fact that he was leaving that very night to hop on plane and fly halfway across the world. He couldn't bring himself to see you for only a short stint when he knew he needed far more time together after everything.

“Uraume is right,” he bitterly admitted, “You are a big distraction for me right now, and I have to be in the right headspace for this fight with Gojo” 

“You sound worried,” you pointed out with a furrow of your brows, your hands dragging back his locks as you threaded your digits between the strands to push his hair back from his forehead.

“If he beats me then I am done,” Sukuna blurted, “what I have built will diminish into nothing. I can’t lose to him. It’ll cost me my career…” 

Disappointment wrapped its arms around you just as Sukuna loosened his own grip. But you could hear the hint of tiny, tiny fear behind his words was enough to you feel hollow. Sukuna has never felt threatened, but this was a serious fight for him. He’s worked so hard for all of this, and he was not willing to give it up to some punk who just shot into the scene. 

“Why don’t we revisit this after the fight then?” You offered.

He glanced at you.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." you exhaled, "what if maybe we just need to wait a little longer before we allow ourselves to have this..."

Sukuna paused for a moment. “You’d wait for me?” He asked. 

A smile ticks at the corner of your mouth. “Yes, because you always come back to me” 

“That I do” he responds

You brush your fingers under his chin, tilting it upward once more to receive another kiss. “I’ll wait for you,” you ensure. "Because I'll always come back to you too."

₊ ⊹ .

One hand slides into the front pocket of your denim skirt, and Sukuna rests his chin on top of your head. You smile to yourself, though he can’t see it, because he’s busy watching you slice bits of fruit as you place it into one of his ceramic bowls. When you were kids, Sukuna would have to look around your arm whenever he hugged you from behind. The years show the evolution of this gesture, from him suddenly perching over your shoulder until he could simply see over your crown. 

He sighs, his other arm curling over your belly as he embraces you. 

“Don’t add the blueberries,” he mumbles. 

You oblige, your back leaning into the breadth of his chest. 

The two of you haven’t touched one another since that faithful night. 

Up until the fight, you and Sukuna simply returned back to the way things used to be. Except this time there were little alterations in your day to day conversations that indicated a shift. 

For one, Sukuna was a flirt. 

You were use to this commentary, but now that your friendship has taken a turn you find your cheeks growing heated more often around him because his words weren't gray. What he says toward you, and the way he compliments you rings very, very true.  There is also a deep tenderness for one another that you both are finally allowing to express freely. You don't dull your affection, and instead allow it to overflow. And last of all, the longing to be back together was pathetically obvious. 

You placed the strawberries, sliced peaches and peeled oranges into the bowl, your fingers a little tacky. “I need to wash my hands,” you indicate, and Sukuna begrudgingly releases you from his hold. 

You’re surprised that he didn’t pounce on you so quickly. 

The two of you only had one other sexual moment just a few months ago. 

Sukuna video called you one evening, his face tight with frustration. 

He was exhausted from training, and even more drained by the press. 

They were claiming that his new “pumped physique” was due to steroid use, and one little rumor had the representatives of the boxing association hounding him like he was a real culprit in this make believe story. Suddenly, his hard work and training was being reduced to the thing that the press claimed him to be: a cheater.

He called you to ensure you that everything was alright. That he was forced to take tests which all came out negative (obviously) and and effectively proved his innocence. 

“I can’t wait to be home,” he breathed with annoyance. “I’m fucking sick of this shit…” 

You were in the bathroom getting ready for bed, gently patting your moisturizer onto your face. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” you stated, offering him only an apology because it's all you could give. “Is there something I can do to make you feel better?” 

Sukuna arched his brow, his attention hovering in front of the screen. 

“Yeah, you can take off that robe you’re wearing…” he teased. 

You jerked your head to the camera in surprise, noting his cheeky tone. 

“Ha-ha…” you remarked. 

“I’m being serious,” he answered back, his mouth dropping into an instant frown. “I’ve had a shitty day, and I can’t even do the one thing I want to help me relax…” 

You arched your brow. “And what might that be?” 

He revealed his canines, a wolfish grin brightening that handsome face. “Fucking my girl...” 

Your heart thumped, and you swallowed the sudden tightness in your throat. You picked up your lip balm and dabbed your finger into the ointment before gliding it over your bottom lip. 

“Your girl, huh?” You reiterated casually, hoping that Sukuna wouldn’t quite pick up on the catch in your throat. 

“You’re always my girl, even when you weren’t mine to call that…” he added softly, his voice pulling your attention back towards him. 

He wasn’t kidding around, with the look on his face entirely serious. The tips of your ears stung with a heat that you couldn’t explain, and you just had the sudden urge to reach through the screen and pull his face back towards you. 

You wanted to kiss him, to tell him that you always felt like you belonged to him too. 

The two of you an inseparable pair for a reason. 

Instead, you stripped down to reveal your naked form. You perched the camera towards the back for a wider shot, and allowed your body to speak to Sukuna instead. One of your legs was resting on the bathroom sink, the other grounding you on the floor. You had the camera facing your cunt, with your fingers buried deep inside. But it was nothing compared to the stretch of Sukuna’s digits, wasn’t filling you enough to reach you to the pleasurable climax you desired. 

“It’s not enough,” you gasped in between breaths, watching Sukuna passionately jerk off from he other side of the screen, “Need you, ‘kuna~” you whined, “it’s not enough with you…” 

The memory hits you, making your lower belly tighten.

You dry your hands off to face him, only to find the man standing with an expression of guilt on his face. 

The same concern you had earlier when you left the elevator reappeared once more. 

You pick up the fruit bowl from the counter, trying your best not to give the discomfort attention. You offer Sukuna a strawberry, lifting it towards his mouth but he instantly circles his hand around your wrist and pulls it back down.

“I need to tell you something,” 

You scrunch your brows, and place the fruit bowl back onto the counter. 

“What’s wrong?”

Sukuna closes his eyes, a look of shame washing over him. 

You take a step closer, wrap both arms around his waist and rest your chin on his chest. 

“What’s wrong?” You repeat, coaxing him to speak. 

“I nearly threw the fight tonight.” 

You jerk your head up in shock, your lips parting as your jaw falls from the confession. 

“You…what?” 

Sukuna rubs his tired face with one hand, using every ounce of courage to look back at you. 

“There was a moment in the ring when Satoru threw a relatively decent punch,” he explains, “I had the lights knocked out of me for a split second. When I turned to face him it hit me then...that I could fake dodging his next attack before giving him the opening that he needs to win. One more hit and I’d...collapse. Let the referee do his count, and that would be it…”

You knew the exact moment he was referring to. It was the point in the match where your ears were ringing because you truly thought that you would be witnessing a loss on Sukuna's part. The entire crowd was muttering in shock, all of them on the precipice of a potential shift in legacy. 

“I didn’t follow through because I think Satoru noticed a change in my demeanor. It was only a few seconds, but the kid is fucking sharp. He wasn't smugly determined then, he was looking at me with...confusion. I couldn't do it then. I didn't want him to get a cop out on my end. So, I carried on the fight the way I would. After the match, I thought I could just let the moment pass but Uraume tried to bring it up later and I shut it down because I didn't want to admit it. Anyway, I needed to just get it off my chest…” 

“You were going to give him that win?” You expressed with deep concern, tightening your hold around his waist as you watched Sukuna’s face to turn hard. 

It hits you then - that the Champ, The Monster of The Ring, The Beast and King Himself was…burnt out. Sukuna’s fire had been gone for quite some time, you just thought it would reignite after tonight. 

But it didn't.

You bring your hands to his biceps and caress your palms up and down. 

“Ryomen,” you speak, licking your lips with hesitation before finally asking. “Is this what you still want?” 

Contemplative eyes meet yours as his palms find both your cheeks. He drops his head down, his lips seeking yours as he takes into account the gash on the muscle, then places a careful kiss on your mouth. 

“I just want you,” he hums. 

“M’right here,” you murmur back, “Not going anywhere.” 

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he adds on, “that’s all I could think about during the fight. Was just coming home to you, coming home to us…” 

A shiver runs down your back, but your body vibrates with an innocent excitement. “We don’t have to wait anymore,” you whisper. “I’m not going anywhere no matter what happens. No matter what comes next…” 

Sukuna looks at you then, knowing full well what your statement means. 

Once news breaks out of the two of you being an actual item, heaven knows what might happen. If the paparazzi have been plaguing Sukuna like a curse this whole time, it was only going to get even more complicated with you so intimately intertwined in his world. And now that he was back on top as the champion, he knew full well that all eyes were going to remain on him.

From when he was a child, no matter what he believed about his life that would deter you from him. His broken home wasn't enough to push you. His anger wasn't enough to push you. His detachment wasn't enough to push you. The chaos that is his world wasn't enough to push you.

You have always remained solidly by his side.

His constant. The only thing in the world that he can rely on.

“I love you,” he states under his breath, leaning in to peck you for a second time. 

“I love you too,” you repeated with a smile against his lips. 

There was no epic moment around this sober reveal, no exceptional circumstance other than the privacy of it being spoken with no one else to hear it other than the two of you.

You loved one another, in the deepest possible way you could love a person. From there your lips parted, and you carefully kissed the man before you as he scooped you up in his arms. 

He repeated the phrase again when he placed you on the kitchen counter, with his fingers buried deep within the folds of your wet pussy. 

You moaned it back to him after he carried you into his bedroom, with your fists tangled between his hair as he ate you out. 

He grunted it out one last time, with his hand gripping the headboard as he watched your body melt into the matters when he thrusted his dick in and out of you as he made love to you feverishly. 

And you mumbled it back one last time while he held you in his arms, the two of you falling asleep from a very long night of unbridled passion. 

Sukuna was the first to wake at the crack of dawn. He rolled over to grab  his phone from the side table in an attempt to turn off his alarm before it woke you up as well. As he looked at the device, his heart sank. 

A number of notifications were blowing up his phone and it was making him feel dizzy. 

News articles were already painting him in all his glory after his fight with Satoru, with his opponent looking battered in defeat. The press had finally flipped, and suddenly began to revere him the way he deserved to be. There were text messages from an influx of people, either congratulating him or wanting get his thoughts on the match. Sukuna feels the tremor in his hand build as he starts to scroll through the notifications. 

He places the device on the blanket in front of him, his eyes looking out to the large windows as he watches the sky shift from a deep violet to a lilac blue. He turns this head to gaze at you. This image of you by his side, in a position that he’s seen multiple times in his life, feels different now too. The soft glow of new daylight washes over your body, and the stillness of the hour has him believing that he actually made it to heaven. Sukuna places a soft kiss on your forehead, then carefully kicks off the blankets. He searches for his boxers, then pulls on the pair before stepping out into his balcony. 

He calls Uraume. 

Usually they pick up quick, but Sukuna counts down the rings until they do. 

“My King,” they tease, their voice a little groggy. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

Sukuna watches a bird fly across the horizon, the ease in his chest an affirmation to what he’s about to say. 

“I’m retiring,” he announces. “I’m done.” 

The silence hangs in the air, streaks of orange and yellow begin to tint the clouds. 

“I had a feeling you were going to say that…” 

“is that why it took you long to answer my call?” 

Uraume huffs out a laugh. “I guess I was hoping for another piece of news…” 

“Are you mad?” Sukuna asks, only honoring Uraume with his worry because he knows how much they have done for him to begin with. 

Uraume sighs, “I’m not actually. It’s the smartest decision you can make. You retire now and you basically leave the game while sitting at the top. You’ve earned that throne, and it won’t be easy for these rookies to take it from you so quickly…” 

Sukuna chuckles, “you’re right about that…” 

Uraume lets the quiet overtake the conversation. “I’ll give it a few days before I break the news to the press.” 

“And then what?” 

“There’s definitely going to be a lot of interviews, and a retirement party that you will have to attend wether you like it or not…” 

“And what about you?” 

Uraume hums, “You and I had a good run. If it’s the end for you, then I guess I can finally retire too..” 

Sukna furrows his brows, his nails scratch over the rail on his balcony. “I don’t want you doing that because of me…” 

Uraume laughs, “You’ve earned my loyalty, what can I say?” 

“Thank you,” Sukuna breathes, “For everything you’ve done for me. You’re more than just a manager, but I think you already know that...” 

“I know it,” Uraume answers back. “And I also know that this is the right decision because you sound…relieved.” 

He hears you then. 

You were calling out to him, “‘kuna, where are you?~” 

He turns his back to face the railing, missing the sun breaking through the horizon at the sound of your voice. He smiles thinking about the adorable, frustrated look on your face when you probably reached out and couldn’t find him, and he slowly begins making his approach back into his bedroom. 

“I am,” he speaks to Uraume, “I’ve got to go. Will talk about this later.” 

He hangs up the phone, and returns to the shadow of deep, restful slumber. He places the phone back on his side table, and smiles at the exact disappointed expression that he pictured when he was outside. 

The second you feel his warmth back in your presence, you snuggle up into his frame. 

“Where did you go?” You mumble with a yawn, and Sukuna wraps his strong arms around you as he nestles back into your body. 

“Nowhere,” he breathes, easing back into your embrace. 

“Heard you talking,” you add on, you eyes still shut but your arm slinking around his neck to keep him close.

It’s taken you both over two decades to get here, and he wasn’t going to allow anything to come in the way of that. “I’ll tell you about it later,” he reassures, keeping his loving eyes on you as he clutches onto his bright, new future with his favorite person.

A life that you both will now get to live in peaceful happiness. 

₊ ⊹ .

:note: hi, everyone! long form fics has been really draining for me these days but these one shots feel like a great refresher. I know this is a monster of a fic, but I hope you enjoy the story. comments and reblogs are appreciated!

It fascinates him. No one gets this close to him without permission. No one just touches him.

But you did.

And you're clinging to him like he's the only safe thing in this entire strange world.

Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer alive, is rattled by a single touch. He masks it quickly, of course. A sly grin spreads across his face as he leans in, eyes narrowing with interest.

"Oh? You must be special, huh?" he teases, but there’s an edge to his words, a curiosity that borders on obsession.

He doesn’t give you the chance to answer, not that you could. Before you know it, he’s taken your hand, his grip light yet unyielding.

Because now he needs to know.

Why you can touch him. Why his Infinity doesn’t react. Why he can’t see through you with his Six Eyes.

You’re like a puzzle he can’t solve, and Gojo is obsessed with solving things. He takes you back to Jujutsu High, deciding to figure out exactly what you are.

---

At the school, he watches you quietly, letting you stick close to him. His explanations about Jujutsu society, cursed spirits, and techniques are frustratingly vague, always seeming to leave out some crucial detail. You scramble to piece things together, devouring books from the school’s archives and pestering him with endless questions, to which he mostly responds with amused grins and teasing remarks.

“You’ll figure it out,” he’d casually reply, lounging back in his chair, arms folded behind his head. “You’re a quick learner.”

Despite his carefree demeanor, you soon realize that he’s much sharper and more perceptive than he lets on, and he takes a certain delight in testing your limits. Through a series of spontaneous, almost playful experiments, you both begin to uncover the nature of your cursed technique: cursed energy absorption.

“Let’s see what happens,” he announces one afternoon, tossing a small flicker of cursed energy your way. It’s harmless, just a wisp, really, but the moment it touches you, it vanishes, swallowed into the void of your body. You barely feel it, just the faintest tingle, like static electricity dissipating against your skin.

Gojo’s eyes narrow slightly, his interest piqued. “Huh. That’s neat.”

He doesn’t stop there. For extra measure, he releases a low-grade fly head into the room; a harmless cursed spirit. The creature buzzes around erratically, its movements jittery and unpredictable. But the second it brushes against you, it crumples up and disappears completely, as if sucked into a black hole.

He lets out a low whistle. “Scary,” he murmurs, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

But you’re not invincible. Physical attacks, you quickly discover, can still hurt you. The realization makes Gojo frown thoughtfully, tapping his chin as he processes the implications.

“So cursed techniques don’t work on you, huh? But a punch in the face would?” He leans in slightly, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “That’s… not good.”

You huff at his bluntness, crossing your arms. “Thanks, mister obvious.”

He chuckles at that, but his expression grows serious as he continues. “All this cursed energy you absorb, it has to go somewhere, right? Energy can’t just vanish into thin air. It’s gotta build up or… redistribute somehow.”

His words linger in your mind for days, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. Where does all that energy go? You find out soon enough.

It happens by accident, during another one of Gojo’s experiments. He’s been pushing you harder lately, testing your capacity to absorb larger amounts of cursed energy. You’re already tired, your body humming with the energy you’ve collected over the past hour, when he suddenly says, “Alright. Let’s try something new.”

Before you can protest, his hand lands gently on your shoulder. The moment his palm touches you, the world shifts.

It’s like a thread pulls taut between you and him, an invisible line that snaps into place and yanks you forward. The energy within you stirs violently, surging toward him as though drawn by an irresistible force. And then, without warning, you’re pulled in.

Your physical body seems to dissolve, your consciousness folding into his. It’s not painful, more like slipping into warm water, the boundaries between you blurring as you’re absorbed into him completely. You’re disoriented at first, overwhelmed by the sudden influx of sensations. His cursed energy roars around you, infinite and untamed, but instead of drowning in it, you find yourself amplifying it. Strengthening it.

And then you feel his thoughts.

They’re loud and clear, vivid and raw. His confidence. His focus. His endless, swirling intellect. But underneath it all, there’s something else. A quiet loneliness, buried so deeply that even he might not realize it’s there.

You know he feels you too. His awareness brushes against yours, tentative at first, then curious. He’s seeing all of you. Your awe, your nervousness, the way your heart stutters when you think about him.

A voice echoes in your mind. His voice, but softer than you’ve ever heard it. “Is this… you?”

And then it’s over.

Your body emerges from his in a rush, like being expelled through a barrier. You’re weightless for a moment, reeling from the sudden separation, before his arms catch you instinctively. One hand steadies your waist, the other bracing your back, holding you close as though afraid you might collapse.

You’re trembling, your head spinning, but his grip is firm, grounding. His expression is unreadable, his gaze flickering between concern and amazement.

“That,” he finally says, his voice low and breathless, “was… unexpected.”

You nod weakly, still trying to process what just happened. “What… what was that?”

Gojo tilts his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite the obvious seriousness of the moment. “Looks like your cursed technique has a little bonus feature,” he says. But there’s an unmistakable gleam in his eyes, something almost giddy, like he’s already thinking of all the ways this changes things.

“Merge,” he murmurs thoughtfully, his grip on you tightening just slightly. “You can merge with me. Boost my energy, maybe even my technique… and I can feel everything you feel.”

You blink, the weight of his words sinking in. “I… merged with you?”

“Yeah,” he says, his tone light. “I could feel you in there. Your thoughts, your emotions. It was… intimate.”

The word makes you flush, but Gojo doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he does, and he’s just enjoying your reaction. He allows you to remove his hands from your body and step back, regaining your composure.

“This changes everything,” he continues, his mind already racing with possibilities. “With an ability like that, you could turn the tide of any battle. But…” He trails off, his expression darkening.

“But what?”

He meets your gaze, his tone unusually solemn. “It also makes you a target. If people find out what you can do, they’ll come after you. And not just curses—the higher-ups, other sorcerers, maybe even people we don’t know about yet. You’ve got something they’ll want to control.”

The gravity of his words makes your stomach twist. You realize, perhaps for the first time, just how dangerous your ability could be. Not just for your enemies, but for yourself.

Gojo must see the worry on your face, because his grin returns, softer this time. “Don’t worry,” he says, ruffling your hair playfully. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I’m the strongest, remember?”

---

Word of your ability spreads fast. It’s not long before the higher-ups find out. They hear whispers of an anomaly. Someone who can bypass Gojo’s infinity, someone with a cursed technique powerful enough to absorb energy itself.

You first hear about their unease from Gojo himself. He brings it up casually one day, as if he’s commenting on the weather.

“The higher-ups are wary of you, you know.”

You glance up from the book in your hands, frowning. “Wary? Of me? But I haven’t done anything, have I?”

Gojo raises an eyebrow, as if the answer is obvious. “You have. You can do what no one else can.” He leans back in his chair, balancing it on two legs, a small smile playing on his lips. “You can touch me.”

To the higher-ups, you’re a threat. An unpredictable variable that could shatter the delicate balance of power.

If she can bypass Gojo, she can kill him.

And if she can kill Gojo, she can destroy everything.

The order is swift: Immediate execution.

Gojo only laughs when he hears it. Laughs in that cold, dangerous way that makes the air around him tighten.

“Oh? You want to what now?”

They try to argue.

“It’s a precaution. You can’t possibly guarantee she won’t turn on us.” “It’s too dangerous to let her live.”

Gojo’s smile sharpens. “No. You’re not laying a hand on her.”

And that’s the end of that conversation.

Even though the higher-ups were afraid of you, the one they were most afraid of was Gojo. They knew better than to risk provoking him. Instead, they compromise. If they can’t execute you, then they’ll find another way to control you.

That’s how you end up being appointed as Gojo’s personal assistant. Or, as you later realize, his handler. It’s a political move, thinly veiled under the guise of practicality. They claim it’s to “help you grow as a sorcerer” and to “ensure your potential is properly utilized,” but the truth is far simpler: they want you close to him, where they can keep an eye on you both.

Gojo seems happy enough with the arrangement, informing you of it with a wide grin.

You frown. “How is this a good thing?”

“Because,” he says, ruffling your hair playfully, “it means I get to keep you close. And you’re safer next to me than anywhere else.”

---

At first, Gojo is determined to keep you emotionally far away from his heart. He knows better than to get attached to someone like you, someone vulnerable and still finding their footing in the world of curses and sorcery. He’s lost too many people he cared about already. He can’t bear to go through that kind of pain again.

But you’re like gravity to him. The more time he spends with you, the harder it becomes to stay away. Not to mention the way your cursed technique pairs so naturally with his, like a missing puzzle piece. He tries to keep his feelings at bay, but he keeps getting pulled closer.

And slowly, before he even realizes it, he’s falling.

The first time you merge with him during a mission is a nightmare for you. As he’s cutting through curses with ease, beneath the adrenaline, he feels your awe and your admiration for how effortlessly powerful he is.

Your thoughts begin drifting to the image of him while fighting, the way he can effortlessly fight hand to hand, the way you can sometimes catch a glimpse of his well-built stature and abs when his jacket lifts up slightly mid battle…

God, he looks so attractive when he’s fighting.

He smirks mid-battle. Shoot.

“Oh? Is that what you’re thinking right now?”

You flush with embarrassment, mentally scrambling to cover it up, but it’s too late. He finds it adorable. He doesn’t stop teasing you about it for a week afterwards.

You find that you can merge with other sorcerers too. It isn’t just Gojo’s cursed energy that’s compatible with yours, as much as he likes to loudly claim that his is the best match. Nanami, for instance, has a steady, almost soothing flow of cursed energy. Organized, predictable, and oddly comforting in its calmness.

But there was admittedly something about Gojo’s cursed energy that stood apart. Merging with him felt... natural. Like his energy wasn’t just accepting of yours, but welcoming, pulling you in with an ease that was almost magnetic. You last longer in the merged state with him, your abilities amplified in a way that feels effortless. It’s a fact he takes great pride in, often teasing you about it with a smirk.

“Guess my energy is just built different,” he says, smirking. “No one else can keep up with you like I can, huh?”

It’s infuriatingly true, and he knows it. But his smugness doesn’t stop you from practicing with others. After all, you can’t rely on him for everything.

One day you decide to practice with Nanami in one of the training rooms. His cursed energy is steady as always, and you focus on syncing your flow with his, attempting to enter his body the same way you do with Gojo. The process is slower, less intuitive than when it’s with Gojo, but you’re making good progress.

You’re in the middle of a successful merge when you feel a strange presence, faint but undeniably familiar. Turning your head slightly, you spot a flash of white hair peeking around the corner of the doorway.

At first, you think you must be imagining it. But then the head tilts, and you catch the unmistakable glint of Gojo’s dark sunglasses reflecting the light.

Was he seriously spying on you?

It takes all your self-control not to burst out laughing. You can’t tell if Nanami is unaware, or just ignoring the figure at the door, though you assume the latter. He just continues with his usual calm focus, adjusting his stance and refocusing his cursed energy.

You glance back at the doorway, only to find Gojo glaring. Not at you, but at Nanami. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his expression is a mix of a pout and a death glare, like a sulking child who’d been told to share their favorite toy.

He catches your gaze and immediately straightens up, feigning innocence. With exaggerated casualness, he leans against the wall, whistling as if he hadn’t just been caught.

“Don’t mind me,” he calls out, his voice entirely too loud and cheerful. “Just passing by. Carry on!”

Nanami sighs, clearly unimpressed. “Gojo, if you’re going to spy, at least be subtle about it.”

“I wasn’t spying,” Gojo retorts, strolling into the room with his hands shoved in his pockets. “I was monitoring. Big difference.”

“Sure,” you say, smirking. “You’re monitoring my progress with Nanami. That’s why you were hiding behind the corner and glaring at him, right?”

Gojo’s eyes widen in mock offense, one hand flying to his chest. “Glaring? Me? I don’t glare. I radiate charm and positivity.”

Nanami pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something about Gojo’s inability to take anything seriously.

Gojo ignores him, turning his full attention to you. “Anyway, you’ve been practicing enough with him. Time to come back to the one and only,” he declares, pointing at himself with a dramatic flourish.

“Jealous much?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“Me? Jealous? Pfft, never.” But the faint flush creeping up his neck betrays him.

Nanami, ever the professional, simply rolls his eyes. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” he says, stepping back. “Good luck.”

You both know the last part is directed towards you.

As soon as Nanami leaves, Gojo sidles up to you, his grin a mix of smugness and relief. “So, how’d it go?” he asks, his tone casual but his eyes betraying his curiosity.

“Fine,” you reply, being deliberately vague.

“Just fine?” he presses, leaning in closer.

“Don’t worry,” you sigh. “…Your cursed energy still feels the best.”

The triumphant grin that spreads across his face is both endearing and irritating. “Knew it,” he says, ruffling your hair.

---

Your new life is strange. But you grow used to it. You grow close to the staff members and students at the school and become more familiar with your cursed technique.

Over time, merging with Gojo becomes second nature. But what surprises you the most isn’t how well your cursed energies sync. It’s the emotions you begin to feel through the connection.

At first, it was fleeting impressions. An ache that wasn’t yours, a flicker of sadness that disappeared almost as soon as it surfaced. It was like catching shadows in the corner of your eye. Easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention.

But you were paying attention.

Through these merges, you truly begin to understand him. Gojo Satoru. The strongest sorcerer alive, but also someone who carries an almost invisible weight on his shoulders. You can sense his loneliness. It’s heavy, quiet, and constant, masked by his confidence and easy laughter. You begin to see the cracks in his carefree facade, the moments of vulnerability he rarely lets anyone see.

Beneath the teasing remarks and self-assured smiles was a man who bore the pain of loss and the burden of protecting a world that barely understood him.

You can’t shake the feeling. It lingers long after the merges end. You find yourself wanting to do something, anything, to ease that aching loneliness.

You start paying attention to him in ways no one else had.

When he cracks one of his terrible jokes, you laugh. Though not out of pity, but because more often than not, he’s actually hilarious in his own absurd way. When he tugs you away during missions to slack off, you go along without complaint. You let him have his fun, matching his playful energy with a smile of your own. You find his cheerful grin and happiness worth every second of it.

The more time you spend with him, the more you find yourself saying “yes.” Yes to his impromptu plans, late-night snack runs, and the ridiculous detours he insists on taking just because something caught his eye. Every spontaneous moment and silly adventure feels like a glimpse into a part of him the world rarely gets to see. A part he doesn’t let anyone else in on.

And slowly, things began to shift.

He doesn’t have to beg Nanami or Shoko to join him anymore because he has you. You’re the one he starts to seek out. Because you’re one of the few people who can offer him genuine comfort.

You see how his eyes light up when you listen to him ramble on about various topics, how his posture relaxes when you’re around. Slowly but surely, the walls he had built around himself start to crumble for you.

---

The streets of Tokyo are alive tonight. Lanterns light the pathways, casting a warm glow over the festival-goers. The scent of grilled skewers and sweet treats lingers in the air, mingling with the distant crackle of fireworks. You walk beside Gojo, his towering frame impossible to miss even in this crowd. His blindfold is in place as always, covering his eyes from your view. But you can tell he’s enjoying himself from the faint but genuine smile tugging the corners of his lips.

You had toured the festival together, eating your fill of tasty street food, and laughing as Gojo tried (and failed) to win you a stuffed animal from a claw machine. As the night winds down, the streets grow quieter, the hum of the festival fading into the distance. Gojo suggests taking a walk, and soon, the two of you find yourselves on a secluded hill overlooking the city. The soft glow of Tokyo stretches out below.

Gojo tugs his blindfold down, letting it rest loosely around his neck. His snowy white hair ruffles in the wind as he closes his eyes for a moment, letting the cool night breeze brush against his face.

He’s still holding his dango stick, though it’s down to one last piece. With a smirk, he holds it out to you.

“Wanna try?” he asks, his voice light and teasing.

You lean down, taking a bite. The sweetness of the sauce melts on your tongue.

“It’s good!” you exclaim, glancing up at him with a smile. But you pause when you see the way he’s looking at you.

His gaze isn’t teasing or playful like usual. It’s different. Softer, unguarded. His vivid blue eyes are fixed on you, admiring you like you’d hung the very stars that shine down upon you both.

The vibrant hues of the fireworks reflect off your face, your hair gently blowing back in the night breeze. And in that moment, with the way your eyes sparkled when you spoke, the way your smile lit up the world around you, he realized something he couldn’t deny any longer.

He was hopelessly, utterly, entirely in love with you.

You tilt your head, a little confused. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

That snaps him out of it, and he lets out a soft laugh. “No,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost reverent. “…You’re perfect.”

As the city lights sparkle below and the wind carries the distant echoes of the fireworks overhead, standing next to you, he wonders if this was the happiness he had been craving.

He doesn’t even realize his Infinity begins instinctively sneaking around you, hovering just above your skin, careful not to be absorbed by your technique. In time, it becomes second nature to him. Because in Gojo’s mind, you’re not just beside him, you’re a part of him.

He never realized how much he needed you until you were here with him.

But happiness, you learn, is fleeting in the world of jujutsu sorcery.

---

Kenjaku had heard of you. Your cursed technique, the ability to merge with other sorcerers, and amplify their power. Such a gift was dangerous, especially when paired with someone like Gojo. He recognizes the danger you pose if you’re allowed to grow stronger, especially under Gojo’s protection. But Kenjaku is patient. That’s why he waits. Waits for the perfect moment, when you would be at your most vulnerable.

Shibuya, 9:27 PM. Gojo Satoru was sealed.

You wander the winding halls of the subway alone, eyes frantically darting all around you. Where was he?

You two had arrived at the scene together, alongside the other sorcerers, but it soon became clear the situation was much graver and more calculated than anyone had first expected. Gojo headed towards Fukutoshin Line Platform alone, entrusting you with Nanami and the remaining sorcerers. Nanami made sure you stuck close to him, not letting you out of his sight for a second as you two split off from the other sorcerers to search for Ijichi, who had mysteriously gone silent on the intercoms a while ago. You couldn’t help but feel pity for the man. You already knew how insufferable Gojo could sometimes be towards him. You hoped he was alright.

Nanami led you through the streets above, the city now a warzone. Buildings shook, the air thick with cursed energy. You followed his lead, searching for Ijichi amid the destruction. The cursed energy in the air continued to grow heavier, more menacing. And then you heard it. The sound of a swarm. A wave of curses emerged from the shadows, surrounding Nanami in an instant. He fought them off with a calm precision, but there were too many.

You couldn’t get close enough to touch him, couldn’t merge with him to amplify his strength. You tried to fight, but without a partner, your cursed technique was nearly useless.

“Run,” Nanami ordered, his voice steady despite the chaos. “I’ll handle this.”

“But-”

“Go!” he snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your heart pounding, you turned and ran. The only place not teeming with curses was the underground subway entrance, so you slipped inside, cursing yourself for your own weakness.

---

That’s how you end up in your current predicament.

The subway is eerily quiet, the faint tremors of battle above shaking the walls. Dust particles fall from the ceiling as the yellow tinged led lights overhead flicker on and off. The air is thick with the stench of blood and curses. You swallow your fear and keep pushing forward in the dimly lit corridors. The sound of your footsteps seem to echo too loudly off the walls as your eyes dart around, searching desperately for Gojo.

“Gojo?” Your voice trembles as you call out for him, the silence swallowing your words. Something wasn’t right.

The floor beneath you shudders violently, and for a brief moment, you think the ceiling might collapse. You didn’t know it, but Sukuna and Mahoraga were clashing above, their battle shaking the city to its core.

You turn the corner. And you freeze.

You come face to face with a humanoid curse. Dead, greyish blue eyes and hair, and a patchwork face. His eyes widen with excitement as he spots you. You had seen the report from Nanami. His name was…

Mahito. A crazed grin stretches across his face, eyes glinting with manic glee as he pushes off the wall he was leaning against.

“Ohhh, you’re the one they’re all talking about.” He tilts his head.

Your breath hitches, but you force yourself to remain calm, or at least give off the pretense of it. “Stay back,” you warn, your cursed energy flaring.

He keeps talking like he doesn’t even hear your words. “I wonder… what happens if I do this?”

His hand lashes out faster than you can process, aiming for your arm, intending to twist your flesh and warp your body just enough to incapacitate you.

But nothing happens.

His palm presses against your skin, and he feels it. That pull. Like his cursed energy is slipping away, getting swallowed into a void.

Mahito’s grin falters for the first time.

He jerks his hand back, staring at you with narrowed eyes. Then realization dawns.

“Ah… right. That’s your cursed technique, isn’t it?”

His confusion quickly twists back into delight.

“Oh, this’ll be fun. No wonder Kenjaku wants you alive”

You take a step back to run, but he moves faster. His fist connects with your stomach, and the impact sends you lurching into the concrete wall, where you slump to the ground.

“Alive doesn’t mean unharmed.” He crouches down to grab you by the collar. “You’ll come with me now.”

The damp, musty air clings to your skin when you wake in the dark, your head pounding. The walls of a dingy cell press in around you, suffocating in their emptiness. No sunlight reached here, only the faint, flickering light of a distant bulb that barely illuminated the room.

Your limbs feel like lead, barely able to resist as Kenjaku runs countless experiments, one after the other on you. The sting of a needle piercing your skin feels all too familiar now, followed by the burn of whatever strange liquid he would inject into your veins. Each time, it drags you into unconsciousness, the edges of reality slipping away.

You have the same reoccurring nightmare every time. You see Satoru walking ahead of you, but no matter how fast you run, how loudly you call out to him, his back only grows smaller and smaller. Your hands reach out futilely towards him, but he doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t stop. Then he’s gone. And all you’re left with are the whispers. Cruel, taunting voices in the back of your mind.

If only you had done something differently.

You let him down.

He’s not coming for you.

The ground beneath your feet cracks, a void forming and swallowing you whole. You let out a soundless scream as you fall, knowing he wouldn’t be there to catch you. Then you wake in a cold sweat. There was no solace for you, no relief. The darkness of the cell is no better than the darkness of the void.

You’re growing weaker. You miss him. Desperately. Miss that familiar warmth of his cursed energy, miss his teasing voice, miss those kind, comforting eyes.

Groggily, you open your eyes, the faint sound of voices breaking through the fog in your head. Kenjaku and Mahito are speaking just outside your cell. You don’t know how many days it’s been. Your throat aches, you’re so thirsty. Their words come slowly, distorted by your exhaustion, taking time to process in your mind.

“…too dangerous to use…” Kenjaku’s voice is measured, clinical.

“Absorbing curses if she’s near them too long…” Mahito adds.

“So then, a waste of time.” Kenjaku concludes, clicking his tongue in annoyance. “Her ability is far too advantageous for the sorcerers. If she remains, she’ll only become a liability to us.”

Your eyes widen at the realization. Were they planning on getting rid of you? Then that meant… Your body jolts as the barred gate is thrown open loudly, and you scramble to your feet using what remains of your strength. Mahito steps towards you wearing a terrifyingly wide smile. Too wide. He’s still talking to Kenjaku, though in your panic you can’t hear what he’s saying properly. The sound of your pounding heart fills your ears. You attempt to back away from him but you can only move so far before your back hits the wall. You see his mouth move again.

“If she serves no purpose to us then… why don’t we just get rid of her?”

His cold hands wrap around your throat, before you can process it. He’s squeezing, watching you choke and claw at his hands. He only laughs at your attempts to struggle, clearly unhinged. Tears fill your eyes, flowing down your cheeks. He coos in mock sympathy at the sight. It was sickening. Was this really how you were going to die? Your vision becomes hazy as your hands slowly drop to your sides.

The ground trembles beneath you as a deafening explosion tears through the air. The crushing grip around your throat falters in shock, and you collapse to the floor, gasping for air. Shards of debris cascade around you like a deadly rain, but all you can feel is the warmth of sunlight spilling across your skin. It’s warm. A warmth you’d almost forgotten.

Blinking through the haze, your eyes struggle to adjust to the sudden brightness. You see a tall silhouette standing within the light, his white hair illuminated like a halo, his piercing blue eyes filled with raw fury. It’s him.

Satoru.

He looks frantic, his gaze locking onto you. You don’t remember what happens next as you finally pass out, but you swear you can hear your captor’s pitiful screams weaving their way into your dreams.

---

When your eyes open again, the harsh glow of artificial lights fills your vision. It takes a moment to register where you are. Shoko’s clinic. The sterile scent of antiseptic fills the air, and the faint beeping of monitors accompanies the sluggish rhythm of your heart. Your body feels impossibly heavy, and the stiff brace around your neck prevents you from moving your head.

Your eyes begin to dart around the room, searching, desperate. The heart monitor beside you spikes erratically. Panic claws at your chest, tears stinging your eyes before you even understand why. You don’t know why you’re crying, just that you need to see him, badly.

Then a warm hand wraps firmly around your own. You recognize the touch instantly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” his voice is soft, steady, pulling you back from the edge. “I’m right here. You’re awake… thank god.”

Your body relaxes hearing his familiar voice, and a shaky breath escapes your lips, one you hadn’t realized you were holding. The bed shifts slightly as he leans over, his face coming into view.

And that’s when the tears fall in earnest.

You try to speak, but your throat is raw, the words breaking apart between hiccups. “I— I m-missed you so much— I…”

He silences you with an understanding smile, his thumb brushing gently at the tears streaking your cheeks. “I know. I know. I’m here now, okay? You’re safe.” His voice is quiet, soothing, but there’s a tremor of something beneath it. Relief, fear, maybe both.

He stays by your side, his hand never leaving yours, as silence settles between you. You finally notice how exhausted he looks. Dark circles shadowing his usually bright eyes, his normally neat hair a tousled mess. Even so, to you, he’s never looked more beautiful.

“You scared me, you know?” he murmurs after a while, the words almost too quiet to hear. “You scared the hell out of me.”

You want to apologize, but your voice catches. So instead, you squeeze his hand weakly.

---

A few days later, as you’re discharged, Shoko explains your injuries in her usual clipped tone. Your body is severely malnourished, and the curse had nearly fractured a vital bone in your neck. If Gojo had arrived even a few seconds later… she doesn’t finish the sentence, but her expression betrays the relief she doesn’t say aloud.

“You need to rest—no overexertion, no training, no missions,” Shoko warns, fixing you with a stern look. “I mean it. Don’t make me hunt you down.” Although her tone is clipped, you can tell she’s just as relieved as everyone else that you’re okay.

You manage a small smile, thankful for her concern for you. You make a mental note to gift her a bottle of her favorite wine later as thanks. Checking your phone, you notice a timid message from Ijichi, kindly pleading with you to try not to get kidnapped ever again, because Gojo was an absolute pain to deal with.

You find out later from reports that there was nothing left of the place, just rubble and ash. He had obliterated it all. Somehow Kenjaku had managed to escape during the chaos. But Mahito… it was a bloodbath. He didn’t stand a chance. The sheer devastation speaks volumes, but what hits you harder is the knowledge that he hadn’t stopped for even a moment. The second he was unsealed and heard about your disappearance—your likely kidnapping—he was livid. He didn’t rest once until he found you, until you were back in his arms where you belonged.

It was the first time you saw just how deep his need for you went.

You’re badly shaken. The events will haunt you for the rest of your life, your first taste of the brutality and violence of the Jujutsu world. But it’s clear Satoru fared even worse. After that he doesn’t leave your side for days, hovering constantly, as if afraid that you might disappear again the second he looks away. The whole experience serves as a painful reminder to him of your vulnerability. Without him, you were a target, easy prey for those who sought to exploit or destroy you. The thought eats away at him.

“You’re moving in with me,” he says one day, standing over you with an air of finality that left no room for argument.

You blink up at him from the couch, still recovering. “What?”

“It’s not up for debate,” he continues, arms crossed. “You’re safer with me. No one can get to you if you’re in my home.”

You take a moment to consider, but you find that you don’t really want to argue with him anyway. You can hear the hidden plea beneath his words. A part of you knows he’s right. If this is what he needs to find some semblance of peace of mind, then so be it. And a quieter, more selfish part of you doesn’t mind the idea of being close to him, spending more time with him.

“Okay,” you finally relent.

That’s how you find yourself standing in his penthouse a few hours later, what few belongings you own packed neatly into a bag at your side.

The penthouse is just as over-the-top as you expected: floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, sleek furniture, and little touches of Gojo’s eccentric personality scattered throughout.

“This is... a lot,” you murmur, taking in the sprawling space.

“Only the best for me, and now for you,” he says with a wink, tossing your bag onto the plush couch.

What catches your attention the most is the care he takes in making space for you. Your favorite snacks fill a section of the fridge, an extra toothbrush sits beside his in the bathroom, and a cozy corner of his study has been cleared out for you. It’s the little things, the quiet gestures, that tell you just how much this means to him.

But even as you settle into this new rhythm, something doesn’t sit right with you.

Satoru starts taking on more missions, alone. Where he used to insist on dragging you along for backup, now he refuses. Each time you bring it up, his excuses are vague, his tone dismissive.

Lately he had been returning home later and later, some nights not at all. His once-vibrant energy feels dimmed, like he’s burning himself out trying to shoulder more than even he can bear.

You hate seeing him like this.

The curses have been more active than ever, and you know he’s overworked. You try your best to help him with what you can, managing the paperwork, maintaining the space you shared, even preparing meals for him. But it’s not enough. He’s still stuck with the belief that as the strongest, he had to carry everything himself. You frown at the thought. You wish you could do more for him.

You hear the front door open, and you rush out of your shared bedroom to greet him. But your smile fades as you see him standing there, shoulders sagging with exhaustion, his usual carefree grin nowhere to be seen.

Your heart aches at how drained and worn out he looks. You tentatively step closer to him, wanting to soothe him but unsure of how. His blindfold keeps you from seeing his eyes, as if acting as the barrier between you and his true self. You feel an urge to pull it down. He lets you, hands resting at his sides as you gently tug down his blindfold. His weary eyes meet your own. Those usually sparkling eyes, now dull and lifeless.

You don’t know why you do it. It must have been instinctive. You just want to be able to lighten his pain and offer him rest, even just the slightest amount. Your hands move on their own, rising to lightly rest over his tired eyes. Covering them completely.

But the second your hands cover his eyes, his breath hitches. He can’t see anything. No cursed energy, no shapes, no flickering auras; its just darkness, pure and quiet. He’s stunned. His hands shakily reach up, wrapping around your wrists. Not to stop you, but to keep you there. Like if he lets go, that peace might disappear.

“What do you see?” you ask softly, almost afraid to disturb the stillness.

“Nothing. Nothing but you. Only you,” he murmurs, his voice is barely a whisper, as if he’s afraid saying it out loud might shatter the moment.

Gojo, burdened by his Six Eyes from birth. He had spent his whole life seeing everything, constantly overwhelmed by the endless stream of cursed energy and the weight of being the strongest. He can only find true relief with you. For once, he isn’t the strongest sorcerer, the invincible figure everyone relies on. With you, he’s just Satoru, resting in the soft comfort of your hands, shielded from the constant noise of the world.

From that moment on, it becomes your thing together. After long, grueling missions where he’s pushed to his limits, when his mind is frayed and his vision is burned with cursed energy, he’d search for you, tugging gently on your hands, silently asking for comfort. He leans into your touch like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. Sometimes he pulls you into his lap, burying his face into your neck, quietly asking, “Just for a minute… please…”

And you allow him as long as he needs, stroking his hair gently. Letting him enjoy that rare, sacred peace.

The intimacy deepens his attachment to you in ways he never thought possible. You’re no longer just his assistant, his partner. You’re the one person in the world who truly understands him, makes him feel human. It’s in these stolen moments, when the world falls away and it’s just the two of you, that he realizes how much he truly needs you. And when he thinks about how fragile you are, how vulnerable, it terrifies him.

You’re my everything, he thinks to himself one night, as your body rests above his. The room is quiet, save for the faint sound of your breaths and the steady rhythm of Satoru’s heartbeat beneath you. You lay sprawled across his chest, your cheek resting against him as his arms hold you close to him.

Maybe that fear is the reason his arms wrap around you just a tad tighter, why he holds you flush to his own body as if afraid you’ll disappear.

“What do you think about having kids one day?”

Satoru blinks, caught completely off guard by your question. He stares at you, his mouth opening slightly before closing again. For once, Gojo Satoru, the man who always had something clever to say, was at a loss for words.

“You—kids?” he finally manages, his voice slightly hoarse.

You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Yeah. Kids.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, tilting his head back against the pillow as he processes your words. “Huh. You really know how to throw a guy off, don’t you?”

Your smile widens, and you prop yourself up on his chest, looking down at him. “I’m serious, Satoru. What do you think?”

His eyes flicker to yours, searching your expression for any hint of doubt, any sign that you might be joking. But you aren’t. You’re completely serious.

“I… I never thought about it,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “I never thought I’d want something like that. Or that I could even have it.”

Your brows furrow slightly. “Why not?”

He lets out a soft sigh, his gaze shifting to the ceiling. “Because I’m me,” he says simply. “The strongest. The guy everyone depends on. The guy who…” He trails off, his jaw tightening. “I never thought I deserved that kind of happiness. Not with the life I’ve lived. Not with all the things I’ve done.”

You feel a pang of sadness at his words, and you reach up, brushing your fingers gently along his jawline. “You deserve to be happy, Satoru,” you say softly. “You deserve to have a family, to have someone who loves you unconditionally. And you know what?”

He turns his head to look at you, his blue eyes shimmering with something you couldn’t quite place.

“I think you’d be an amazing dad,” you continue, your voice steady and sincere.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you, his expression unreadable. But then his lips quirk into a small, almost shy smile.

“You really think so?”

“I know so,” you say, your voice firm.

He lets out a quiet laugh, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “You make me believe it,” he murmurs.

You smile, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. When you pull back, his eyes are still locked on yours, searching, as if he was trying to commit this moment to memory.

"We'd make a cute kid," he eventually says, a genuine smile spreading across his face, one that makes your heart swell.

You can’t help but grin back, bright and contagious. His hands slide to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he guides you gently toward him.

And then he kisses you, slowly, deeply, as if pouring all of his emotions into that single moment.

In his arms, you feel it. The warmth, the love, the unspoken promise of a future that seems a little brighter, a little fuller.

With him, it feels right.

---

The kiss lingers in your mind, even as the two of you walk side by side toward the battlefield. The warmth of his hand in yours grounds you. His long fingers curl tightly around yours, as if to anchor you to him. To remind you of his silent promise.

I’ll protect you. I won’t let anything happen to you.

But even with his reassurances, there’s a weight in the air, heavy and oppressive. You both know this fight isn’t like the others. Ahead of you, Sukuna’s cursed energy crackles in the distance, dark and suffocating, a storm that threatens to swallow everything whole.

Gojo’s grip on your hand tightens as you near the edge of the battlefield, and the two of you come to a stop. You glance up at him, and the sight takes your breath away. His white haori catches the breeze, billowing behind him like the wings of an angel sent to bring judgment. To you, perhaps he is.

His hair is wild, tousled by the wind, and his blindfold is gone, leaving his piercing blue eyes on full display. They glimmer with an intensity that’s equal parts terrifying and beautiful. But beneath the crystalline clarity of his gaze, you see something softer. Something meant only for you.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice soft yet steady, the calm within the chaos.

You nod, your hand squeezing his in quiet reassurance.

For a moment, the world seems to fall away. It’s just the two of you standing there, bound together by something deeper than words. You wish he didn’t have to fight. You wish things were different, that there was another way. But you know this is the path he has to walk. The world is counting on him. It always has.

So you’ll stand by him, no matter what.

Somewhere in the pit of your stomach, the uneasy feeling that something is about to go terribly wrong begins to take root.

---

The air crackles with cursed energy as Gojo and Sukuna stand, facing each other. The battlefield is in ruins, the ground scorched and torn as the clash of the two strongest sorcerers continues. Gojo stands in the center of it all, his body aching, his cursed energy reserves dangerously low. But inside him, he can feel you, your cursed energy merging with his, amplifying his strength, your unwavering determination giving him the edge he needed to keep fighting. Your presence is warm, steady, even as you pour every ounce of your strength into helping him.

But he knows what you’re doing.

“Stop it,” he growls, his voice strained as he sends another powerful attack towards Sukuna. His words aren’t aimed towards his enemy, but at you. “You’re pushing yourself too far. I can handle this.” “No, you can’t,” your voice echoes softly in his mind, calm yet firm. “Not alone.”

Gojo’s jaw clenches as he blocks another strike, his fingers trembling from the strain. He can feel it, feel your energy fading, slipping through his fingers like sand. It’s not just his body weakening. It’s you giving everything you had, pouring your soul into protecting him.

“Damn it, stop!” he shouts, his frustration boiling over. But you can hear the desperation and worry beneath the words. “I’m telling you, don’t do this! I won’t let you-”

“You don’t get to decide this, Satoru.” There’s a bittersweet smile in your voice, one he feels deep in his chest. “If it means keeping you alive, I’ll do it a thousand times over.”

He freezes for a fraction of a second, Sukuna’s cleave grazing his shoulder. His eyes widen in a panic as your words register. “No- no, don’t talk like that. We’re getting out of this together, you hear me?”

You don’t reply. Instead, he feels his arm raising on its own, his hand forming the symbol for a hollow purple. But he’s not the one in control. You are, your cursed energy overriding his will, guiding his body. The over exertion from the devastating technique would drain you completely. You both know it.

“Satoru,” you whisper, your voice barely audible now. “Thank you… for everything. For making me feel like I wasn’t alone. For loving me. I’m sorry...”

“No. No, no no!” Gojo cries out desperately, as he tries to force his arms down. But his own body doesn’t listen to him, controlled by you using the last of your energy. The blinding glow of purple grows bigger at his finger tips, ready to end the battle. “Don’t you dare say goodbye to me! Don’t you dare-”

But then, he feels it. The moment you fade entirely. That comforting presence, the warmth he’d grown so used to. It was gone. His fingers release in that instant, his hollow purple launching forward with imperceivable speed, overpowering Sukuna in a brilliant burst of energy. It was over. Gojo had won. But victory feels like ashes in his mouth.

Because you were gone.

As the dust settles, he falls to his knees, his chest heaving. His hands claw at his heart, trying to feel for you, trying to sense even a sliver of your presence, but there was nothing. Nothing but a hollow, aching void, filling every crevice.

“No,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “No, no, no. Come back. Come back to me!” He clutches at his chest, tears streaming down his face as he calls your name over and over again. “Please… don’t leave me. I need you. I need you…”

Then, a faint glow emerges from his chest. He freezes, his breath hitching as he watches a small, delicate gem form in his hand. A teardrop shaped crystal, shimmering faintly with the last traces of your essence. It’s beautiful, radiant, and it breaks his heart into a million pieces.

He stares at it, tears dripping onto the gem as he cradles it in his palm. All that’s left of you. His hands shake as he holds it to his chest, gripping it tightly as if afraid it might vanish. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the sobs wrack his body. “I should have protected you… I should have stopped you… Why did you do this for me?” His voice cracks, raw with pain.

“You promised we’d stay together…”

---

Days turn into weeks, weeks into months. He barely sleeps anymore. Reduced to a shell of the man he used to be. He has the gem crafted into a necklace, the delicate pendant resting over his heart at all times. He clutches it during sleepless nights, fingers brushing over its smooth surface as he whispers your name into the silence.

“Do you know how much I miss you?” he murmurs one night, his voice hoarse. He’d been crying, again. He always did when the nights were too quiet. “Do you know how much it hurts to wake up every day without you here?” His thumb traces the edges of the gem as if it could bring you back.

Sometimes, when the moonlight hits the gem just right, it seems to shimmer, and he swears he can feel a faint warmth radiating from it. As if you were reassuring him. It’s foolish, he knows, but it’s the only thing keeping him sane at this point.

“I still look for you,” he admits quietly. “In the crowds. In my dreams.”

His voice cracks, and he bows his head, tears falling freely. “I miss you so much. I miss everything about you. Your laugh. Your touch. Your stupid little jokes.” His grip on the gem tightens. “God, I’d give anything to hear you again. To feel you again. Just… once.”

He pauses, his breath catching.

“If I had known…”

His voice trails off as he can’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

Had I known I wouldn’t see you again,

I would have said goodbye.

Unbeknownst to him, the gem begins to glow faintly, a soft, warm light pulsing from within. At first, it’s subtle, almost imperceptible. But then the light grows brighter, more radiant, until it fills the room, making his breath hitch. He freezes, staring at it with wide eyes. For a second, he thinks he’s hallucinating, his grief playing cruel tricks on him. But then he feels it. The familiar hum of your cursed energy. A presence he hadn’t felt in so long.

“…No,” he whispers, weakly shaking his head in disbelief. “No, this can’t be…”

The light begins to shift and shape itself, materializing into something he thought he’d never see again.

You.

“Satoru,” you say, your voice soft and warm, filled with love and longing.

He doesn’t move at first. He can’t. He just stares at you, his entire body trembling. “…Is this real?” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “Are you real?”

You smile at him, stepping closer. “It’s real,” you say gently. “I’m real.”

He reaches out, hesitant, as if afraid you might disappear if he touches you. But the moment his hand brushes against yours, his composure shatters. He pulls you into his arms, clutching you tightly, face buried in your shoulder as his body shakes with quiet sobs.

“You’re here,” he says breathlessly, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re really here…”

You wrap your arms around him, holding him just as tightly. “I’m here,” you murmur, your voice soothing. “I’m sorry it took so long, Satoru. My cursed energy… it was all but gone after the battle. But there was a sliver of me left in that gem. Over time, I slowly regained my strength… enough to come back to you.”

He pulls back slightly, his hands cupping your face as he looks at you, his tears streaming freely. “I thought I lost you,” he chokes out. “I thought you were gone forever.”

You smile, brushing away his tears with your thumbs. “I was never really gone,” you say softly. “You kept me close the whole time. Thanks for taking such good care of me, even in gem form,” you can’t help but add with a chuckle.

His laugh is shaky, barely more than a breath. “Of course I did,” he says, his voice low and trembling. “It was the one thing that kept me sane. The only thing I had left of you.”

Your heart aches at his words, and you lean in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’m sorry for putting you through all that,” you whisper against his lips. “But I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

He rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he lets out a long, shaky breath. “You’d better not,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t lose you again. I can’t…”

“You won’t,” you promise, your hands resting against his chest, right over his heart. “You saved me, Satoru. You saved everyone. You were so brave. So strong. I’m so proud of you.”

He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “I didn’t save you,” he says quietly. “You saved me. You always have.”

You smile softly, your hands brushing through his hair. “Then let’s call it even,” you say, your voice light and teasing.

For the first time in a long time, Satoru smiles, warm and genuine, brimming with everything he feels for you. He pulls you back into his arms, holding you tightly as if he’d never let go.