summary ⌗ after a hunt leaves you hurt and overwhelmed, dean finds you trying to be brave and refuses to let you fall apart alone.
pairing ⌗ dean winchester x reader ( fem )
wordcount ⌗ 770 genre ⌗ fluffy fluff
warnings ⌗ post-hunt injury, pain, crying, soft caretaking, dean being protective, gentle physical comfort
notes ⌗ read at your own risk ⚠️ soft dean below ⚠️
⠀︶⠀⠀support me on ko-fi⠀ ݁⠀ 𓂂
you make it all the way back to the motel before you cry.
which feels impressive, honestly. heroic, even. you get through the drive with your teeth pressed together and your arms folded tight over your middle, staring out the passenger window while the streetlights smear gold across the glass. you get through sam asking if you’re okay. you get through dean glancing at you every few seconds in the rearview mirror, jaw set hard enough to crack something.
you get through the door. then you sit on the edge of the bed, still wearing your bloody jeans and one boot, and realize you have absolutely nothing left.
everything hurts. your ribs ache every time you breathe too deeply. your shoulder burns where the thing slammed you into a wall. there’s dirt under your nails and dried blood on your sleeve and your head feels too full, too loud, too mean. you tell yourself to suck it up because that’s what hunters do. you’ve had worse. everyone’s had worse.
the bathroom door opens, and dean steps out with the first-aid kit in one hand.
his face changes the second he sees you. “hey,” he says, softer now. “what’s going on?”
you shake your head too fast. “nothing.”
“that’s not nothing.”
“dean, i’m fine.”
your voice breaks on fine. stupid. so stupid.
his expression folds, just a little, and that’s what ruins you. not the pain. not the blood. not even the hunt. it’s dean looking at you as if he sees exactly how hard you’re trying, and how badly it’s not working.
your face crumples.
“oh, sweetheart...” he murmurs.
you press both hands over your eyes, embarrassed by the sound that comes out of you. “i’m sorry. i don’t know why i’m—i’m being ridiculous.”
“nope.” dean crosses the room fast and sets the kit down. “none of that.”
“it hurts,” you whisper, and it sounds so small you hate it. “it really hurts, and i’m tired, and i didn’t want to make it a thing.”
dean sits beside you, careful not to jostle the mattress. “look at me.”
you don’t.
“baby, come on.”
you lower your hands, cheeks wet and hot, and dean’s face softens in a way that makes you want to cry harder.
he reaches slowly, wiping beneath your eye with his thumb. “you don’t gotta be tough with me.”
your mouth trembles. “i kind of do.”
“no, you don’t.” his voice goes rough. “not with me.”
you try to answer, but another sob catches, sharp and humiliating, and dean just pulls you into him. not too hard. not careless. he guides you until you’re half in his lap, your knees tucked against his thigh, your good shoulder pressed to his chest. one arm wraps around your back while the other cradles the side of your head, fingers smoothing over your hair.
“there you go,” he murmurs against your temple. “i’ve got you.”
you cry into his shirt. ugly and quiet. he doesn’t comment on it. doesn’t tease. doesn’t ask you to explain while your ribs are screaming and your pride’s already in pieces. he just holds you, kissing your temple once, then again, slow and warm, as if each one is meant to pin you gently back inside your body.
“hurts so bad,” you mumble.
“i know.” his hand moves carefully up and down your back. “we’re gonna clean you up, get some ice on that shoulder, maybe some painkillers if sam didn’t hoard ’em all in his giant first-aid nerd bag.”
a wet laugh slips out of you before you can stop it.
dean smiles against your hair. “there’s my girl.”
“shut up.”
“nope. you’re in my lap now. legally, i get to be annoying.”
you sniff hard, fingers curling weakly into his shirt. “i hate that this helps.”
his arms tighten just enough to make you feel held without making the pain worse. “yeah, well. i’m very helpful.”
the room stays quiet after that, except for your uneven breathing and dean opening the kit one-handed while refusing to let you move off him. he cleans the cut on your cheek with a gentleness that almost hurts worse than the antiseptic, and every time you wince, his thumb brushes your skin as if apology can be a touch.
you’re still aching. still a little embarrassed. but dean keeps you close, mouth resting near your forehead, and for once you let yourself be small because he’s holding you as if small things deserve protecting too.
“stay,” you whisper, barely meaning to say it out loud.
dean kisses your temple again. “yeah,” he murmurs. “i’m not going anywhere.”
@fishfishcaterpillar requested ⠀ ݁⠀ 𓂂 reader who got hurt during a hunt and is trying to suck it up but yknow, it hurts like hell and everything sucks, so when dean checks up on her she bursts out crying and he tries his best to help
.⛥ ݁ ˖ writing guidelines ⌗ posting schedule ⌗ all works
A glimpse of what Satoru Gojo would be like as a boyfriend. Part 2
HEADCANONS: college au, no curses au, fluff, satoru gojo x female reader, comfort
collegeboyfriend!Satoru Gojo, who is the ace and the pride of the Jujutsu College swimming team, a once-in-a-lifetime kind of talent. You bet he invites his lovely girlfriend to watch him at every tournament, partly because he genuinely loves having you there to cheer him on and partly because he's hoping you'll praise him at least a little bit afterward. He'll act all confident about it, of course, because in his mind, losing is not a possibility (yeah, he needs to work on that). “You don't think you're capable of losing, do you?” you ask between laughs, teasing him about his ridiculous confidence. Gojo only flashes you a smug grin before answering without even a second of hesitation, “Nah, I'd win.”
collegeboyfriend!Satoru Gojo, who wakes up early on the days he doesn't even have classes, just to walk you from your dorm to your lecture room. For anything in the world he'd miss the chance to see you, no matter how busy, tired, or sleep-deprived he might be, which inevitably ends with you scolding him because he should be resting instead (Satoru’s schedule is not for the weak). “My dear Y/N, love demands sacrifice," he told you in an extremely falsely offended voice. “Satoru, you slept two hours. Or less,” you pointed out, a little concern showing in your eyes. “Besides, I'm only on my way to class. It's not like I'm off on some life-or-death secret mission.” He only shrugged with a smirk, “I’d wake up at five in the morning if it meant I got to see you.”
collegeboyfriend!Satoru Gojo, who is quite easy to get shy and flustered once you know the trick. Since he is used to initiating physical affection, his brain short-circuits the moment you take the initiative instead. A surprise kiss, suddenly grabbing his hand, pulling him closer, or casually leaning against him when he isn't expecting it is enough to catch him completely off guard. He'll try to play it cool, obviously, but the slight flush on his face gives him away.
collegeboyfriend!Satoru Gojo, who kidnaps your phone just to take selfies. When you first found out and asked him about it, he simply gave you a wink and said, “That’s so you don’t forget what I look like, sweetheart." Not gonna lie, you did think it was a bit narcissistic at first, but still, you have never dared to delete them. And, unfortunately for you, you can't even pretend they're all the same, some are genuinely cute, some are completely ridiculous, and others are clearly just him testing different angles. So now you have a specific album in your gallery with nearly 1,000 pictures of Satoru that are slowly threatening your storage.
collegeboyfriend!Satoru Gojo, whose infinite love for sweet treats is going to leave you in a diabetic coma one day. It doesn't matter the time of the day or where you’re eating, he always manages to order the sweetest thing on the menu. “Okay! So let me repeat the order for you guys: it will be one Lemonade, a Cheese Sticks order, and a Deluxe sundae with extra oreo and marshmallows." “And don't forget to add extra chocolate sauce," Satoru adds. “You got it,” the waitress responds with a half-concerned, half-disgusted look on her face. “Don't be shy, Y/N. I can also give you a bite,” Satoru says, completely serious. Mind you, you were just as disgusted and concerned as the waitress simply from hearing the name of the dessert. “I'm good.”
collegeboyfriend!Satoru Gojo, who used to have trust issues due to the messy way things ended up with his ex-best friend Suguru Geto (some might say they were lovers). His goofball facade might have fooled you at first, but in reality, it took Satoru quite some time to fully let you into his life and allow himself to trust you. To let you hear his every silly thought. To let his heart accept your love.
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A/N: Due to popular demand (me), here’s Part 2 of my previous post, hope y’all like it :3
A glimpse of what Satoru Gojo would be like as a boyfriend.
HEADCANONS: college au, no curses au, fluff, satoru gojo x female reader, comfort
collegeboyfriend!SatoruGojo, who asked you out with a gesture so big that half of the campus heard of it at some point. We're talking about bringing you the biggest flower arrangement you have ever seen. So big that when it arrived, you genuinely thought someone had accidentally delivered a small garden to your dorm. There were roses, lilies, baby's breath, ribbons, tiny decorative lights, and enough greenery to make you wonder if Gojo had personally robbed a botanical garden. How did the rest of the campus find out? You might ask yourself. Well, besides the fact that the entire dorm noticed the flower arrangement being carried inside, Mr. Gojo took the time to post a cute picture of you with his gift on his close friends, apparently forgetting the fact that half the campus was going to see it (he just accepts anyone who asks).
collegeboyfriend!SatoruGojo, who loves reminding his pretty girlfriend how beautiful and gorgeous she is. Seriously, this man will not let any chance to remind you of it slip away, ever, even in the most unexpected moments. In that curious mind of his, even when you get mad at him for something stupid, that's still not a good enough excuse for him not to adore you any less. “Did you know your face is really cute when you're mad?” he'll say, completely unfazed while you're trying your hardest to stay annoyed at him. His love for you never fails to leave you at a loss of words, especially because he somehow manages to make every compliment sound like the most obvious fact in the world.
collegeboyfriend!SatoruGojo, who, despite his outgoing and social butterfly personality and looks, is actually the biggest nerd you have ever met. Don't get him started on Digimon or his degree; this man is capable of talking nonstop about it all day and night. He could somehow turn a simple “Oh, you like that?” into an hour-long lecture. He'll be sitting there with that stupidly pleased smile on his face as he excitedly explains something you only vaguely understand with a high level of detail, pulling up pictures and showing you videos. That being said, he absolutely loves when you listen and actually ask questions, especially when you remember little things he's told you before. And, of course, he does exactly the same for you, if you start rambling about something you love, Gojo will happily listen, ask questions, and remember the tiniest details just because he loves seeing you get excited about something. To him, your interests are automatically interesting because they're yours.
collegeboyfriend!SatoruGojo, who has unbelievably breathtaking looks, and no matter how much time passes, it still gets you flustered every time you catch a glimpse of his beauty (especially when you see him naked, a view you could never get tired of). You could stare at him for hours and somehow still find yourself thinking, How the hell is this man real? Whether he's dressed up, fresh out of the shower, lazily lounging around his apartment, or simply walking around with absolutely nothing on, he remains unfairly gorgeous. He might catch you staring at him 9/10 times, which always ends with him getting all over you with that annoying smirk of his that you love so much.
collegeboyfriend!SatoruGojo, who once noticed your little habit of fidgeting around with your things during class. So now wherever he's around, he willingly offers you his hand for you to use as a fidget toy, letting you play with his fingers, trace the lines of his palm, fiddle with his rings, or absentmindedly mess with his fingers while you listen to the professor. He doesn't even mind when you end up holding his hand for the entire class; if anything, he loves it. Although this results in him paying zero attention to whatever the professor might be eagerly explaining and being completely lost, since he's far too busy watching you with that stupid little smile on his face.
Contrary to popular belief, collegeboyfriend!SatoruGojo, has a very quiet and tender way of expressing his love when it's just the two of you. Satoru loves to quietly hold you in private, especially in those peaceful and quiet moments where neither of you has anything to say. No words are needed; his embrace carries so much love for you, and that alone is more than enough to make you feel safe and loved by his side. He'll simply pull you against his chest, wrap his arms securely around you, and stay there for as long as you let him, sometimes resting his chin on your head or gently rubbing your back without even realizing he's doing it. Satoru never shows this side of himself to anyone, not even his closest friends, only you.
Regardless of these quiet moments of affection, collegeboyfriend!SatoruGojo doesn't play around when it comes to sneaking more intimate displays of affection in public (poor boy is definitely containing himself a lot). Quick kisses on your cheek, lips, head, you name it. He'll find any excuse to lean over and press a quick kiss somewhere on your face before casually going back to whatever he was doing like he didn't just leave you flustered. Of course, this also means you should expect to feel his hand draped over your shoulder (all of the time) and walking around hand in hand, his fingers occasionally giving you a little squeeze.
collegeboyfriend!SatoruGojo, who never fails to uplift your mood during those stressful weeks filled with massive workloads. Even if it means saying the stupidest thing imaginable just to get you out of whatever mood that assignment has put you in. Whether it's making some ridiculous remark, pulling the most horrendous face he can manage, dramatically complaining about anything really, or simply throwing himself across your lap while you try to work, he'll do absolutely anything to get even the tiniest smile out of you.
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A/N: Hiii!! This is my first fanfic ever, so a little bit of a warning if it has any grammar mistakes (english is not my first language) or if it's way too corny T_T.
But anyways, I will appreciate any feedback!! (◍•ᴗ•◍)
many noblewomen desire to stand beside the prince of the nation; for status, lavish life— tons of reasons, to put it simply. and falling for the prince shouldn't be deemed as a crime. still, when there are two princes and your family are part of prince suguru faction, while behind the prying eyes your heart and soul are already devoted to prince satoru, surely it'll be considered treason to your family. ( 1,5k )
main ingredients ... NSFW ◞ prince!satoru gojo, noble!fem reader, forbidden love, angst, yearning, mutual pining, jealousy, fluff, back and forth narrative (flashback), miscommunication, suggestive, pov alternating, heavy emotions, emotional & physical abuse, infidelity, suicidal tendencies, jjk characters cameo, featuring. prince!suguru geto. other tags in individual chapters ◞ repost & rewritten. ( ✦ ) more works ◞ playlist ◞ ao3.
notes in red ... when i say that everything is intentional, i really mean it. ANYWAYS, i hope everyone enjoys the prologue! i wasn't satisfied with the previous one, so having the chance to rewrite this makes me happy. support me by leaving comments and reblogs! <3
series m.list ‹ prologue › chapter one: shattered glass
with all truthfulness, she's as corrupted as the rotten apple that spoils her companions.
the lady used to beam as if the moonlight glitters across her face, all the while it leaves dusts of her sparks for another soul to trace; crawling behind all possible trails in which her feet took her, in wish that she'll continue to glow even when her world is engulfed with darkness.
her pair of eyes once shone brighter than the chandelier that glimmered on the floor of the estate, scattered around as it lit up the whole place— drowning everything in its range with a beauty only those who aren't fortunate are able to appreciate. and the scenery painted by it was more than enough to steal the air of our commoner lungs.
she was a moon incarnation in its purest form, we might argue.
in a similar manner to how the light of it set the place as if it's being bathed by glitters, our lady was once someone that radiant brilliantly, it pierces right through those who rest their gaze on her. all before the sparks in her eyes were wring dry, the colors that decorated her skin were drained out of her face, to her fingertips.
our lady life was as monotone as the love she received from her dearest ones; it was colorless in a way that had us painting colors to her skin. under the sole reason for her to seemingly look alive, even though we understand very well that the lady who stands before us is no different than a rotting corpse.
the lady is wrapped by the similar silence which engulfed her imaginary grave.
a grave that she dug with her own pair of hands, to bury her flesh and bones which are begging to function as it is supposed to, to fulfill its purpose in this earth. her bone dry figure was buried deep in the endless void she recognized as home—she acknowledged it as a place to return—for someone who realized their existence isn't as significant as they believe.
what a gut-wrenching view it was to watch her decomposing in front of us, with no power in the world to ease the striking ache that she let linger like a haze in-between her heart, as she hoped it might diminish her whole being in the long run. a crime the lady believes no one will bat their eyes at, since her presence is worth little to nothing of her dearest times.
in all honesty, who will the authority questioned, if the one suspect soul is no longer attached to the body?
poor the lady, truly. for someone who has a lot to live on, the lady is only a step away from becoming one with the soil. and what a shame it is, that not even the helping hand of her loved ones can save her from doom. well, she has no expectancy that they'll ever pull her from this hollowness she has drowned herself to, for as long as she can remember.
with that being said, down the line, amidst what our foolish mind believed is her nearing end, a piece of broken glass had let itself fall onto the pitch black like a pin drop in a deadly silence. it shatters the once still twilight in a mannerisms where the sun would break through the night into a day enveloped by lightness.
the first prince, the honored one; satoru gojo, happened.
someone our lady is well aware should be anyone but the beholder of her evergiving heart. it once again beat to life when the haze surrounding it evaporates into the thin air, where he had breathed in— the core of her which had been long thrown into the oblivion had found its purpose in pounding again, when she felt his beneath her palms.
our lady is not as corrupted as she was before anymore. the same pair of hands that dig a whole resting place for her, despite the very truth in which her heart is still pumping out blood throughout her body, had carved a way out of the imaginary grave she willingly buried herself onto. all because someone had fixed a cog in the wheel.
her eyes, for a second time, reflected those of moonlight as if she's the moon itself. she's flourishing right before where we stand, like a breakthrough no soul had expected her to be capable of. not after everything we've seen. and for what seems eternity, our lady has finally comprehend how it feels to breathe again, with no fingers laced around her neck.
similar to the first set of air she inhaled when she was born to this earth, mirroring the wail she first voice out when a loving hand brushes her skin, alike the curling she did against the warmness that blanketed her— she's as alive as she was when first being brought out to this world, alongside a fresh set of life intentions.
at the same time, the lady has become the first prince salvation, in ways his mind will never be able to convey in words. as a few arranged words are too measly for him; to the man whose life relies on the actions of his and people around him, action is a language that is far more sacred than words alone. the solid proof of someone's devotion, he might have said.
well, his highness is the epitome of a candle burning in daylight.
he's someone whose love overflows in-between the gaps of his ribcage, spilling through the space of his body like a waterfall, as he lingers for something or someone to patch up the holes on him instead of his hands alone.
the calloused palms of the first prince are one of the many things he desperately tries to wash ashore, years on end, as it is evidence of the times where he's brought face-to-face with devastation and how it consumes him; endless attempts of plastering the scattered parts of him back to where it belongs, with no souls around to lend a hand.
all for the two reasons he has spent his whole life knowing: a broken piece is always meant to be kept locked in a drawer, where no curious gaze may take sight. a facade is meant to withstand the catastrophe of oneself, unyielding from crumbling.
ones in which he believes he's trapped in for an eternity, that he starts to feel as if his fingertips are bound to his flesh by a tangled, invisible string, of something close to fear of being vulnerable and despair of the small chance he might be seen.
in his world, everyone's a glass in their own respective way. one could be polished to withstand everything to come its way, one could be dusty from being left untouched, one could be full of scratches from being treated roughly, and one could be broken pieces glued together of what once was flawless. and the first prince is, unfortunately, the embodiment of a broken one.
despite the truth of it being picked up and glued with detailed attention, to mirror how pristine it was before the shattering— a broken glass is never meant to withhold a delicate substance, for the possibility that it might seeps through the cracks where it were failed to be cured, from how fragile it is to one's touch.
because his life purpose isn't finding an heirloom of its descendant—meeting someone who understands a part of you that you had grown tired of explaining—he's fated for a life of infinite drinking of loneliness, from a golden cup meant for someone of his status.
satoru gojo isn't destined for the one luxury he craves and yearns, for as long as he learned how to breathe; a companion, who's his and his only.
perhaps being scattered into pieces is far worse than living as a rotten corpse.
a life where you're set for doomed and an infinite measure of fixing yourself, because no soul is willing to do so, is truly a nightmare disguised as maturing. a person can only pick themselves up so many times in life, before they're fractured beyond one's saving, after all.
the prince shall learn of it the hard way. whether it's metaphorically or factually.
our lady and his highness shall face the consequences of falling in love with someone they should be anything but; a person they should've never let their life be tangled with. and we shall let the two poor souls engulf their-self in the affection they both desired all their life, with every fiber in their being.
in the end, what power do people of our humble standing have when their hearts collide in parallel as fiercely as the massive stars in the sky, creating a black, never-ending hole? a merge of the two extraordinary hearts isn't something we have authority to put an end to. the stars have spoken for them, it's beyond the limits of our reach to meddle about.
for it's the truth: the life of the two pitiful nobles were orchestrated far before they bloomed inside their mother's womb and it's, undeniably, their destiny.
they ought to let the scroll of fate—of their life—find its end to each other; letting every word written on the paper to continue the left-waited story be unveiled, to find the ending they've begged on their knees for. and perhaps, the universe would bless them this time. in ways only humans who've spent their entire life whispering prayers to the stars, are capable of understanding.
nanami ryusui was a lot of things: loud, arrogant, obnoxious, greedy.
with all those faults, how could he get married?
a mini sequel to be my bride
word count: 1.3k
riea's comments: why hello there... can i get a chorus of good morning gorgeous for my grand return? no? oh alright... ANYWAYS this was written with that special nonnie in mind (i freaking love you)(yes i started writing this as soon as that message came in). are we hashtag ready for me to start writing again?!??!?! reminder that the dock is open for everyone... so i best be seeing sailors lined up harumph...
nanami ryusui was a lot of things—loud in a way that filled every room before he even stepped into it, arrogant in the way he carried certainty like it was something earned rather than given, obnoxious in his refusal to make himself smaller for anyone, and greedy in the most unapologetic sense of the word. he wanted everything the world could offer and more, and he had never once pretended otherwise. by all logic, by all expectation, a man like that should have been impossible to live with, let alone love, let alone marry
and yet, in the quiet, unguarded moments of your life, you found yourself thinking of how he managed to make space for you in a world he so desperately wanted to claim entirely for himself
you wake, as you often do, not to the sound of his alarm, but to the feeling of him. it isn't a gentle thing, not really (ryusui has never been gentle in any conventional sense) but there is intention in it, a deliberate closeness in the way his arm is wrapped firmly around your waist, drawing you back against him as though even in sleep he is unwilling to risk the distance. the room is dim, the early morning light just beginning to soften the edges of everything, and when your gaze drifts toward the clock, the familiar time greets you with a red glare: 5:21 a.m.
there is something deeply human in that predictability, something that contrasts so sharply with the man the world sees, and you notice how this version of ryusui nanami exists almost entirely in these nine-minute intervals he carves out for himself before the day begins to take him back
you didn't understand it at first. despite the months spent together prior, in the early days of your marriage, everything about ryusui felt overwhelming—his presence, his voice, his ambitions that stretched far beyond what seemed reasonable. loving him had felt like trying to hold onto something constantly in motion, something that refused to be still long enough to fully grasp. it was only later, in a quiet, restless night that refused to let you sleep, that you discovered this small, hidden rhythm of his. you remember lying there, eyes closed, when you felt him stir beside you with a restraint that didn't match the man you knew during waking hours
he had pulled you closer then, slowly, mindful of not waking you, his hold firm and his presence warm. you had stayed still, curiosity outweighing the urge to acknowledge it, and minutes had passed—long, uninterrupted minutes where he did nothing but exist in that closeness. when you finally checked the time, you realized it was a quiet, deliberate indulgence of his
now, nearly a full year later, you understand it for what it is, even if he has never fully said it aloud (maybe he's embarrassed). these mornings aren't about efficiency or discipline or any of the reasons he might stammer out if pressed. they're about pause; they're about choosing something for himself that cannot be negotiated, cannot be interrupted, and cannot be claimed by anyone else. you feel it in the way his breathing evens out against you, in the absent, almost unconscious way his fingers trace along your side like he's memorizing something he refuses to lose
when you shift slightly, there is a subtle tightening in his hold, acknowledging your presence. his voice, when he speaks, carries none of the sharpness it usually does; it is quieter, lower, softened by the remnants of sleep and something more honest that he doesn't bother disguising in these moments, "i think i have six more minutes…"
the transition, when it comes, is always gradual but inevitable. the alarm at 5:30 doesn't shatter the moment so much as remind it of its limits, and you can feel the shift in him even before he reaches to turn it off. there's a hesitation, a reluctance that lingers in the way he exhales before finally pulling away. and yet, even in that departure, there is care—present in the brief press of his lips against your shoulder, in the way he lingers just long enough to make the separation feel less abrupt
ryusui moves with purpose once he is up, the softness of those nine minutes folding neatly back into the version of himself that commands attention and respect, but you have learned to recognize the traces of it that remain in the quieter edges of his actions
the rest of the day belongs, largely, to the world. his schedule is filled with meetings, negotiations, and decisions that seem to stack endlessly on top of one another, and yet, you always see glimpses of him in between—sometimes through messages sent without much context, sometimes in the rare moments he returns home earlier than expected, sometimes in the quick calls he makes because he just missed your voice—but even then, there is always motion, always something pulling at his attention. he thrives in it, you know he does; the chaos, the challenge. the constant pursuit of more is as essential to him as breathing. but what surprises you, even now, is not that he lives so fully in that world, but that he never leaves you behind in it
there are small things, easy to overlook if you aren't paying attention. the way he remembers details you mentioned in passing and acts on them without announcement. the way meals appear, prepared by his own hands since "my wife deserves nothing short of the best". the way his presence shifts when with you; he's not any less himself, however, all that intensity he directs outward during the day finds a different purpose when it is turned toward you. he is still loud and definitely still certain, but there's a steadiness beneath it that's intentional and comforting and it brings you right back to the altar
and then, eventually, the day winds down. the world quiets again, returning to that same stillness you woke in, and you find yourselves back where you started—together, side by side. ryusui checks his phone one last time, the faint glow illuminating his face as he reviews whatever remains of his responsibilities, and you watch him with a familiarity that feels second nature now. there's a rhythm to it, a predictability that's reassuring, and when he switches on his 5:21 alarm and finally sets the device aside, it feels less like preparation and more like a promise
because you know what comes next
you know that in a couple hours, before the world has the chance to demand his attention again, he will wake early. you know that he will turn toward you, that his arm will find its place around your waist, that he will take those nine minutes not because he has to, but because he wants to. and in a life defined by his desire for more—more success, more power, more everything—it's that quiet, consistent choice that stays with you the most
"keep looking at me like that and i'll have to marry you all over again."
"what if that's what i want?"
he chuckles loudly, pulling your body into his, your legs now intertwined. "i think we need a vacation, maybe bora bora?" he says, hand busy trailing along your arm. you're reminded of a travel magazine you were flipping though on one of ryusui's days off. maybe he saw that your eyes were fixed on a certain page
"oh, i thought you'd never ask."
for all that nanami ryusui is, his loudness and greed, arrogance and obnoxiousness,
for all the space he takes up in the world,
he has never once made you feel like something he simply acquired along the way. you are not another thing he wanted and took. you are something he continues to choose, in the smallest, most unassuming moments, again and again, every single day
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