#(= consumes everything within his reach)

[nattravn-art]

David Eilander "the Magician"

You might've seen him before at @thecrimsonvalley-creates since we came up with this face together!

I personally headcanon that he's got dubious eating/sleeping habits. He sometimes cuts meals by smoking and consuming large amounts of caffeine and sugar. As shown here: drinking Rusty Lake Cola, made with genuine Lake water. There are no side effects to this drink. Don't worry about it. :)

[dewdropdinosaur]

Kinktober Day 24: Somnophilia

Summary: Silco pushed open the creaking door of his apartment, the familiar scent of damp wood and laundry powder mingling with the faint aroma of your perfume.There you lay, a soft silhouette against the rumpled sheets. Your night gown rode high on your thighs, highlighting your soft and supple body to his vision. The material did little to hide anything from his gaze, you had been waiting his return. It was not lost on him that his lifestyle led to a lack of moments for intimacy, and yet here you were, pliant and pretty all for him. How tempting… Warnings: P in V sex, fingering, somnophilia, reader has a vagina, cum, etc. MNDI, 18+. You’re responsible for your own media consumption.  Kinktober Mention of the Day: @ivyunleashed This story was inspired by their artwork, linked here

Silco pushed open the creaking door of his apartment, the familiar scent of damp wood and laundry powder mingling with the faint aroma of your perfume. The night had been long, filled with whispered deals and the ever-looming shadows of Zaun’s underbelly. He stepped inside, the weight of the world pressing on his shoulders, bi-colored eyes revealing the true depth of his emotions. Always the strong leader, the iron fist that ruled the Undercity, now stood a bare and broken man worked over by the waves of the world. 

Discarding his coat on the rack by the door, the house was clean. You always made sure it was for when he arrived home, nothing to worry over in this place you had crafted into a safe haven. A note stuck to the fridge annoucing leftovers for him to consume was ignored in favor for trudging into the master bedroom a few doors away. Silent as ever, as not to disturb anything you may be doing, Silco was met with a sight that never failed to stir emotions within his hardened heart. 

There you lay, a soft silhouette against the rumpled sheets, bathed in the pale moonlight that streamed through the cracked window. Hair cascaded over the pillow, framing your serene face. For a moment, Silco felt the chaos of his life fade away. You were everything he wasn't: kind, gentle, a soothing balm against the harshness of your surroundings. He truly did not know how he deserved you. 

He moved quietly, not wanting to disturb you. The sight of your sleeping peacefully made his heart swell. In a world filled with betrayal and violence, you was a beacon of warmth, a reminder that there was still a little beauty to be found. When he had met you a few years ago, a florist on the edge of the Piltover/Zaun border, his mind could have never conjured the heavenly scene that lay before him. He could hardly fathom how someone like you could exist amidst the grime and despair of Zaun, yet here you were, a perfect contrast to the life he led. For all his machinations and ruthless ambition, Silco found himself captivated by the quiet strength you brought into his life. He remembered your laughter shared over late-night meals and whispered secrets under the stars—moments that felt like stolen treasures in a world that sought to take everything from him.

Silco sat on the edge of the bed, studying your features. Your brows were slightly furrowed, as if lost in dreams, and a soft smile played on your lips. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, watching as you stirred slightly but didn’t wake. He leaned closer, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m home, darling.” he murmured, though he knew you couldn’t hear him. But the words felt necessary, a promise he held deep within his heart. Your night gown rode high on your thighs, highlighting your soft and supple body to his vision. The material did little to hide anything from his gaze, you had been waiting his return. Expecting him, ready for him. It was not lost on him that his lifestyle led to a lack of moments for intimacy, and yet here you were, pliant and pretty all for him. 

Taking a calloused hand, he traced the outline of your curves. Admiring how the moonlight accuntuated all your features, casting an etheral glow about the room. You were his angel, there was no doubt. Yet as he sat here thoughts of corrupting your innocence filled his head. You had always expressed the idea of him taking you while sleeping was attractive, the conversation had occured no less than two weeks ago. He remembered it vividly, how shy you looked, the way your eyes glistened with lust. 

“You never have to ask, Sil. My body and heart are all yours, anytime you need me.”

Oh, how sweetly you had asked. How tempting the thought was then and especially now. He shouldn’t. A perveted old man such as him had no business in corrupting your body in this way. But you had given him permission, commanded his desires to unfurl even in the darkness of night. So, it was no issue, when his hands trailed up to cup the fullness of your breasts or when his lips came to kiss up the valley of your thighs; face coming to view your pantiless cunt. The smell alone was divine, you had worked yourself before his arrival. Slick still shone on your clit, pussy open and willing to indulge his every whim and wish. The ease with which two of his long fingers came to enter you was a small surprise but a welcome one. Taking his time to scissor you open and prepare you for his cock, paying special attention to that soft and gummy spot on your front wall that had you moaning in your sleep. 

His ministrations did not wake you but added to the growing wetness between your legs, thighs spreading unconsciouly to allow him room to work. Even in sleep, your body complied, loved his every touch and begged for it. Working his fingers up into you, allowing himself the pleasure to watch how you fluttered around him. Silco swore that there was no prettier a sight than the one in front of him. You shifted, mumbling inchoherently. He paused. He shouldn’t wake you, disturb you from your peaceful slumber. But everything in his body screamed at him to continue, to make you cum and moan on his fingers till pleasure rocked your body so much it awoke in a blissful state. 

Removing his fingers to unbutton his trousers, Silco used the slick that remained on his digits to prepare himself. Adjusting so he lined up with your entrance, he sunk slolwy into you. Inch by inch, letting out a gravely moan at the feeling of your warm and tight cunt. So inviting, practically made for him. You laid still, body adjusting to his length with ease, so used to taking him so well. Beginning to thrust in and out with delibarte motion, Silco soon found himself approaching his orgasm faster than expected. 

Unbeknownst to him, your eyes fluttered open, body finally recognizing the intrustion. Suprise spread across your feature, though your boyfriend’s actions were not unwelcome. Every plunge of his member caused jolts of arousal to shake your body through the core, illiciting a pornographic moan to annouce your awakening. 

“Feel so good my darling, always been so good for me. You like it when I fuck you like this, nice and slow? Use you for my own pleasure?”

You couldn’t help but nod, eyes rolling into the back of your head as your own orgasm rapidly approached. Silco’s thrusts started to become sloppy and heated, eyes closing and hair disheveled from the intensity. Soft grunts left his lips and with one final stroke, he spilled hot ropes of cum into you; spurring you into your own orgasm at the feeling of his hot seed within you. Calming down from your high, you brought you hand to caress his cheek gently. Admiring the way his chest heaved with each breath, how dialted his eyes were. 

“Welcome home, love.”

[pastryfication]

Can you do another Piastri family fic where the reader is in pain or smth and Oscar can’t be there to help her so his family does xx

PAIN, MORE PAIN

pairing: oscar piastri x reader warnings: mentions of appendicitis & reader being in terrible pain.

the apartment you share with oscar in melbourne feels impossible big and lonely. the bed feels cold and strangely empty despite the humongous amount of throw pillows you have laying around.

the loneliness is something you’ve grown used to, but the loneliness mixed with this terrible pain in your stomach is too much to bear.

it hit you suddenly, no warning signs in sight, and now you lie curled up in the middle of the soft sheets, clutching your stomach as waves of unfamiliar, sharp pain hit, relentless and terrifying.

your hand trembles as you reach for your phone. oscar is thousands of miles away, getting much needed rest before the race. you know it’s late where he is—too late to be calling. you hesitate, your finger hovering over his name in your contacts. you shouldn’t bother him. shouldn’t steal away his focus—what could he do either way?

but as you curl even further into yourself, helplessness consuming you, it becomes too much, and you feel so weak. weak, helpless, and scared.

scared enough to press the call button. shame, guilt, pain, and more pain fills you as you watch your phone ring in silence.

oscar—your absolute angel of a boyfriend—picks up after a few rings, his voice groggy from sleep but instantly alert when he hears the panic in yours. “hey, love. what’s wrong?”

“i didn’t want to wake you,” you start, the guilt gnawing at you. “but something’s really wrong. my stomach . . .” you let out a involuntary whimper. “it hurts so bad, osc. i don’t know what to do.”

there’s a brief pause, and you can practically hear him sitting up in bed, a deep frown taking over his features. “how bad is it? have you taken anything? should i call a doctor?”

“i don’t know,” you whisper, pressing a hand to your side, trying to breathe through the pain. “it’s getting worse. i can barely move.”

“damn it,” oscar mutters angrily under his breath. “i wish i was there with you. but listen, i’m calling my mum. she’ll come and take you to the hospital. you need to get checked out, okay? don’t argue with me.”

you start to protest, your instinct telling you to handle things on your own. “oscar, i don’t want to bother her—”

“you’re not bothering anyone,” he cuts you off firmly. there’s no room for argument in his voice. “you’re in pain. we’re not messing around with this. i’m calling her now, and i’ll stay on the phone until she gets there. promise me you’ll let her help.”

you’re too exhausted to argue anymore, the pain blurring the edges of everything and you desperately want to cry. “okay,” you mumble, feeling a small wave of relief knowing help is on the way despite everything.

oscar keeps talking to you—for once, he’s the one doing the most talking—trying to keep you calm as he calls his mum. within minutes, she’s on her way, and oscar is back on the line, his voice soft but urgent. “she’ll be there soon, love. just hang in there.”

his words are comforting, but the pain is becoming unbearable, and by the time you hear the soft knock on the door, tears are slipping uncontrollably down your face. you barely manage to shuffle to the door, clutching your side, and open it to find nicole standing there, her face etched with worry. she takes one look at you and immediately wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs, guiding you toward the couch. “you don’t look good at all. let’s get you to the hospital.”

even more tears spill over at that. it’s not just the pain, it’s the overwhelming sense of being cared for. nicole doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t ask if it’s too much trouble. she’s just there, steady and reliable.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, hesitating to meet her eyes. “i didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

nicole shakes her head, already helping you into the car with a comforting arm around you. “don’t be ridiculous, love. you’re part of the family now. we look after each other.”

her words settle over you like a warm blanket, and you blink back more tears, grateful for the maternal gentleness she offers.

the ride to the hospital is a blur of pain and exhaustion as nicole speeds toward the emergency room. her hand reaches out to squeeze yours at every chance she gets, the worry in her eyes almost overwhelming.

when you finally arrive, nicole is by your side every step of the way, holding your hand as you’re wheeled into the exam room and after what feels like hours, the doctor finally returns with a diagnosis: appendicitis. you’ll need surgery, and soon.

oscar’s voice cracks through the phone when he hears the news. “i’m so sorry i’m not there. i feel useless.”

nicole gives your hand another reassuring squeeze. “she’s in good hands, oscar. i’ll be with her the whole time, don’t you worry.”

you try to smile, though the pain is still gnawing at your insides. “i’ll be okay. just focus on your race.”

“not a chance,” he replies, his voice softening. “i can’t concentrate when i know you’re in pain. you’re more important than any race.”

as they prep you for surgery, nicole stays by your side, never letting go of your hand.

the last thing you hear before drifting off is her voice, quiet and full of love. “i’ll stay here the entire time, sweetheart. just relax.”

when you wake up after surgery, very groggy but no longer in pain, nicole is still there, sitting by your bedside. she smiles as you blink awake, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“there you are,” she says softly. “everything went perfectly. you’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

you blink away the tears that well up, overwhelmed by the care she’s shown you. “thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “for everything.”

nicole shakes her head, her smile warm and full of love. “no need to thank me, love. we’re family. that’s what family’s for.” she leans down to press a kiss to your forehead before tugging your duvet up, helping you get more comfortable in the hospital bed. “hattie is here somewhere, too. came as soon as she woke. think she wanted to buy you some snacks first.”

her words hit you in a way that feels almost foreign. the casual way in which they came out feels weird. to you, it isn’t casual. family is a concept you’ve always struggled with, never having had one that felt like this. but now, with oscar, with nicole and the rest of his family—who are buying you snacks and worrying—you’ve found something you didn’t even know you were missing.

as you drift back to sleep, comforted by the warmth of the bed and something else—something warms from in your heart—you realize that for the first time in your life, you truly have a family—and it feels like home.

[alexiroflife]

"i missed you"

MDNI, so much suggestive everything, a little fluff but in the sukuna kind of way

ryomen sukuna x reader

Synopsis: sukuna will never say i miss you, but he will surely show you how much he does when you come home

to sum it up: just a late night thought

WC: 1,816

Warning(s): smut, literally just porn, sukuna has a dirty mouth, a whisper of overstimulation

Sukuna would take out a whole city before he openly admits that he misses you, which unfortunately isn't something you would entirely put past him.

You don't expect him to tell you when he wants to see your face, but you do, however, grow rather accustomed to the way he blows up your phone while you're away with family. When you're given a second to check your notifications, text after text after text lines up from your boyfriend, demanding to know where you are and what you're doing every second of the damn day.

And when he's not making inquiries about every little detail of your life from the moment you wake up to when you go to sleep, he's demanding you return home with empty threats that you know will never be carried out.

-> come home before the next sunrise or you will no longer be welcome within the estate.

-> i've changed my mind. come home tonight, or i am moving your stuff out of our room tomorrow morning.

-> are you seeing my texts? i know you can read. uraume taught me about what this device calls read receipts. answer me now. you are returning home, yes?

-> dammit, woman, just bring your ass back here. what more do you want?

You snort at the texts, your chest warming with endearment at his funny way of expressing his longing for you. He will pull every card, every bluff, every trick besides physically saying that he misses you, and you expect nothing less. After all, if he didn’t, he wouldn't be the Ryomen Sukuna you fell in love with. Somehow, this is more entertaining... just more Sukuna.

When you finally do return home, though, you're in for it. You're hardly even rolling your suitcases to the doors before Sukuna is swinging them open with an aggravated face upon seeing you. You grin widely.

"Kuna! I'm back!"

"Get the fuck in here."

He grabs you by the waist and lifts you up, abandoning your luggage and calling for Uraume to take care of it later. You giggle to yourself as Ryomen carries you with one arm to his chambers, kicking the door closed behind him and tossing you onto the large king bed that the two of you share.

"Well, don't act too excited," you tease.

"Quiet," he demands, voice menacingly low. Sharp hunger swirls in his crimson eyes as he approaches you, the shadow of his burly figure enveloping your frame as he towers over you at the edge of the bed. Your eyes go wide and your heart suddenly pounds in anticipation.

"Wait," you start, reaching a hand out. "Hold on-"

You yelp, the king of curses dragging you harshly by your ankle to the edge. He leans over you, his nose brushing against yours as his blood-red irises seer into your own. He studies you like a predator analyzing its prey before pouncing, devouring. You gulp, innocent lashes batting up at him as heat consumes your body. You know exactly what’s coming to you.

Just then, in his closeness, you remember how much you've missed him while you were away. His scent enrobes you, his eyes undressing you sinfully before he can even rip your clothes from your body. You rub your thighs together in a poor attempt to ease the sudden ache between your legs, and his gaze grows darker.

"You're never leaving this room ever again without my say so," he seethes, a declaration so firm that you almost believe he is being serious, and perhaps in his mind he is.

Your lips quirk up slightly. "Did you miss me that much?"

"Silence," he growls, hooking his fingers into your shorts and tugging them down harshly. You gasp and he tosses them over his head, caging you beneath his mass. "We're not going anywhere until I feel like I've successfully made up for all the time we’ve lost while you were away."

This is your favorite part of returning home from trips, though you don't go away without Sukuna often unless it's to see your family. You hate being away from the king of curses, even if it's for longer than a day. He's got you trained by his hand, somehow, yearning for his touch as though you'll crumble to pieces without it.

But the second you reunite, he has your thighs pressed up with your knees to your ears, hunched over your quivering bare frame, your stomach and legs already coated with three layers of your own fluid. He works his dick into you like it's the last time he ever will, slamming into the warmth of your sloppy pussy as you clench around him helplessly.

You’re whining, begging for more though you've already been given so much, your pretty eyes a fucked out daze as you stare up at him behind low lids, pretty lips parted and slick with his spit. He missed this. He missed seeing you ruined for him, seeing you lay back and struggle to take his fat cook as he bullies it into you with no remorse, feral for impossibly deeper access. And hell, he’d never say it, but he missed you. Your pretty face, your sounds, the smell of your sweet sweat and juices invading Sukuna's senses that are absolutely mouthwatering.

"You keep tryin' to keep this filthy cunt away from me, huh?" he pants, watching as your body rocks back and forth wildly against the mattress. "Fucking shameful. You know you can never take her from me, so I'm not sure why you continue to try..."

"M-n-not," you gasp, your words hardly audible as they melt into the plethora of pathetic moans that string from your swollen lips.

Sukuna presses himself down against you, bare chest to your tits as he fucks you into pace, his lips turning to your ear. "No?" he grunts, pulling back to blow harshly into you, his thick length ramming against your walls and nudging that sweet spot inside you over and over. You cry, clinging to his back and digging your nails into his tatted skin. "Then why the fuck didn't you come home when your king demanded?"

"Pl-hah-pleaseee, k-kuna- nghhh- was with my-my parents," you babble.

"You were with your parents," he repeats mockingly. "Do you think I care for something so unimportant? I called for you. Not your parents."

His hips thrust harshly with the gruff groan of his voice, and he feels your puffy, greedy walls tighten around him.

"Oh? This pussy loves being punished, doesn't it?" he smirks against you. "You're such a fucking whore for my cock, aren't you?"

"Mmmm!"

Sukuna rips himself back, reaching down to clench his thick fingers around your throat. Your jaw hangs open, eyes threatening to roll into the back of your head while his other hand claws at the plush of your damp thigh. "Answer me properly, brat," he hisses. "Use your fucking mouth."

"Y-Yesss!"

"Yes what?"

"M'a whore for your cock, Kuna! Only for you, all for you," you whimper, tears streaming down your pretty face.

"Fuck, I fucking know you are." He spears his dick into, rough, deep, heavy thrusts as the sound of your arousal squelches around him. He looks down, watching with a twisted grin as you coat him in a creamy white ring. "How the hell could you think to hold out on me like this, peach? She'so fuckin' loud."

"S'all yours," you whimper, and Sukuna squeezes harder at your throat, leaning in to brush his lips over your gaping mouth.

"I know that, I don't need you fuckin' telling me," he growls. "All mine. You're mine. You belong to me. You’re not going anywhere else without me. Don’t you even think about it.”

And you're nodding dumbly, eyes barely open.

"You better look at me, girl," he demands, and you snap your eyes back open to peer into his consuming, lust-filled stare. He smiles deviously. "Yeahhh. Keep looking at me while I fuck you stupid."

"Goddd, it's so good..! So good, feel'so good," you slur. Sukuna hums, eying every detail of your face as you curl your brows and moan beautifully into his mouth.

"Fucking gorgeous slut," he grunts. "You better not fucking leave me again, brat, you better fucking not. You've got a lot of nerve, thinking you can take this pussy away from me. You do it again, and I will break you."

"Y'already breaking me- ah fuck!" you cry, screwing your eyes shut the moment his tip brushes your cervix. His hand around your throat moves to grip your cheeks. He pulls you up to his face, smearing a hot kiss against your squished lips, then grabs your hips harshly, plowing into you impossibly faster. "Kuna! Can't! I can't, m'gonna cum again!"

"Yeah? Good. When you do, you're gonna take mine too while I fuck my cum into you. Maybe then that'll make you fucking remember to come to me when I call for you."

The noises coming from your room are obscene. The bed is rocking dangerously against the floor and the wall as Sukuna practically splits you in half, throwing your legs over his shoulders as he traps you beneath him again, sinking his fangs into any patch of skin he can find as you scream out, scratching angry red lines down his well-toned back.

"Mmm, that's right. Keep screaming' for me. Take it like a good fucking slut."

He's filthy, balls smacking against your ass as he seeks your release, and he can feel you clenching tighter and tighter. He groans, pushing in deeper, pressing into you harder.

"Oh shit, please- m'cumming, m'cumming, please let me cum!" you beg, trembling beneath him.

"Fucking do it. Cum all over this cock, peach."

You curl into him, face falling into a mute moan as your eyes disappear into your skull and you rub up into Sukuna. His hand flies to your arched back, holding you against him as he pumps you full, riding out your high until his hot load shoots into your dripping heat soon after, painting you white.

There's so much of it, too. It seems to never end as it drips from where you're connected and runs down your legs. Sukuna growls out animalistic sounds, biting hard into your neck and burrowing his nose in your shoulder as he continues his pace, slowly, then back to a normal space.

You jerk against him, trying to push away. "Oh fuck! N-no, Sukuna, ple- hah! Please, I can't! Too much!"

"Shut the fuck up," he demands, lifting up to slap a hand over your mouth. Your dizzy eyes stare at him widely as he works his cum back into you with his hefty strokes. He exhales harshly, brows angling. "I told you I wasn't letting you leave. You left me, now I expect you to make up for it." 

Yeah… he sure did miss you alright.

[cuppajj]

Some characters as they appear within Beast Ancients AU (Info below)

Strawberry Crepe Cookie witnessed the rise of the Beast of Penance, and saw something so horrible that they could do nothing but run for their life. In the chaos, they left something very important to them behind; but the Saint is a kind one. He will return what was lost, and deliver his witness to the peace that was torn from them so long ago.

Pitaya Dragon Cookie sits chained underneath the Hollyberry Palace, studied day in and day out by the royal scientists on the Beast of Pride’s orders. They are hardly in cookie form anymore, only able to shapeshift if the monarch allows. Sometimes they feel like freedom is obtainable, but they often learn it’s only because Dragonberry likes to play games.

Princess Cookie can’t sit idly by as her kingdom falls into darkness. Her grandmother has put her entire family in her pocket, keeping them under strict control, but the princess hates control! She can't believe how complacent everyone is! Against all odds, on one fateful night, she donned an unrecognizable disguise and disappeared in search of help. She knows she's leaving everything and everyone behind, but she'll do anything to get her kingdom back. It's hers as much as it is her family's!

Silverbell Cookie has faithfully served his queen even before she rose to the throne, and watched as she strengthened their kingdom into a formidable force in Beast-Yeast. But he can't help but wonder why she seems so distant and unlike herself... in fact, something about the kingdom he swore to protect feels different. They swear to protect the tree, but now they eye the lands around them, swear to destroy an evil enchantress who prevents their queen from regaining her full self... as Silverbell Cookie continues to dutifully stand at her side, he asks himself, what has the Beast of Sovereignty done to his kingdom?

Caramel Arrow Cookie and Crunchy Chip Cookie swore an oath to stand by their king's side to the bitter end. They fought with him as he protected his kingdom from internal collapse. They watched with elation as he brought the Licorice Sea to kneel before them and never threaten the kingdom again. However, when the Beast of Solitude replaced their steadfast leader, their vows were put to the test as the kingdom was soon claimed by permafrost. While Crunchy Chip cookie had seen the writing on the wall, Caramel Arrow Cookie remained steadfast even as everyone froze around her. In her desperation to get through to the king, Caramel Arrow Cookie made the mistake of stepping out of line, her arm consumed by ice the moment she reached out to him. Crunchy Chip Cookie was quick to pull her away before she could be frozen entirely, and the two fled into the mountains. Crunchy Chip Cookie is looking for someone to help bring his confidant back to good health before the frost completely engulfs her.

[hybbart]

Day 2506: The world almost ends...

Short story below

The last thing Tango could recall was laying on the ground in a warm pool of his own blood, staring up at a sea of faces gnashing their teeth and claws into his limbs.

And thinking, none of you are Jimmy.

Then everything burned away into darkness.

Yet the world did not end.

It reformed itself a pool of indiscernible reds, an incomplete, deafening whisper, and a biting stench.

A barrier draped itself out over it all. The first shape to ever form, outstretched to block out the colours and sounds and smells. The first feeling accompanied it, something soft and structured, dragging the whole world back down.

And Tango thought for the first time, and he thought, that is Jimmy.

The world was swallowed once more, in its infancy before anything could take form. So, it tried again.

This time it created more than just red. Blacks, blues, greens. Yellow. Tango reached out for it, but had no body with which to do so. Trapped by nothing. There were sounds but they were somewhere else where he wasn’t. Skin he did not have itched and burned. If he could only exist enough to reach, but what little there was soon slipped away. The first, last, and only thing this Tango knew was despair.

So, it tried again.

In this one Tango had a body, he knew, but it was a cage. Cold, stiff, unyielding to him rattling it, begging for freedom. He still couldn’t reach Jimmy, only a shadow in the pool. He screamed, but it made no sound, and he went unseen.

So, it tried again.

Everything burned. Not an inch of his cage went unbitten. If he could he would tear it all off. This time Jimmy heard him, but it did Tango little good. There were too many sounds, too many smells, and they all ripped him apart until there was nothing left.

So, it tried again.

And again, and again, and again.

Until finally the world began to settle into place.

Tango peeled open his eyes, staring up at the clouds, body numb and heavy from the pain. It was like his muscles had turned into snakes biting each other every time he moved, but he could move. He could feel, and think, and hear the nearby sound of bird song.

He tried calling out for Jimmy, voice like shards of glass to his throat and ears. It was good enough. There Jimmy was, leaned over him, blocking out the sun. Though it still burned to do so Tango could feel the weight of a hand on his own. He wished he could assure Jimmy that he was fine.

Jimmy watched him silently. Tango reached out for him again, tears in his eyes. “Jimmy.” He croaked, trying to beckon the avian forward. But he would not move. Tango began to sob. “You’re here. You’re here.”

He opened his mouth. It was as though the whole world went silent to listen. No voice came. Nothing but a sickening crunch. Tango’s vision swam, consumed by Jimmy. Old blood poured from his mouth, drenching Tango below, around the mangled remains of beating flesh. No light filled his eyes, not the bright light of the sun or his own inner sunshine he always carried, or even the black flames consuming his wings. They were as lifeless as the dried mould clinging to his jaw bone and the grey of his cheek.

Tango couldn’t scream.

His own heart wrenched him awake. The rest of him delayed, eyes darting and muscles cramping. Something was squeezing his left arm to death until it was numb. His eyes began to sting from the light piercing right into them. A muffled voice filled the air, and a shadow cast over to block the sun.

“Are you okay?” It asked.

Tango was in too much pain to reply. The shadow stretched out far to canopy the whole sky from view. Wings. They were wings. Tango gasped, trying desperately to call out. “J-”

But his eyes adjusted soon enough, and before him was not feathers made of fall wheat and butter. These were a dusty brown, only golden in the light of the afternoon sun. The eyes that stared down upon him were a piercing sky blue and the shoulders were far too broad. New panic settled within Tango’s bones. Too much of his body hurt to run away.

“Oh, good, you’re awake this time.” He said, voice most certainly not Jimmy’s. His grin was too sharp. “I was starting to think you were just gonna kick the bucket.” The stranger shifted, grabbing something far beyond Tango’s view. “Which would be quite a shame given how much of my supplies you’ve used up.”

Some brightly coloured cylinder was held up towards his face. A water bottle, Tango’s brain finally provided after several seconds. Tango managed to move his mouth enough to accept, its straw preventing him from spilling too horridly over himself. Even still, he quickly found himself choking, sputtering up much of what made it into his mouth. The stranger hummed to himself, waiting for Tango to cease his coughing before trying again, this time one gloved hand cradling the back of Tango’s head to hold him up just slightly. The water went down much easier. Only after it was taken away did it occur to Tango it may not be the best to trust the liquid. He was already a soft breeze away from death, what did it matter?

Because you still have to find Jimmy.

The stranger yelped, but Tango ignored him as he tried to push himself up. “Hey, there!” Hands found their way to the back and front of his torso, the only thing keeping him from collapsing back down as the brief pulse of energy abandoned him. “You took at least fifteen chomps, there, buddy, you’re in no condition to be on your feet.”

Tango tried to explain himself, tried to yell at the man. But all he could get out when he said Jimmy’s name was a squeak that tore up his throat. Insufficient. Though he tried to fight back, the stranger laid him back down. Tango tried not to sob. Everything hurt, everything was going horridly wrong, and his rancher was probably dead in a ditch somewhere. He’d follow soon enough at this rate. It was all so pointless-

Warmth wafted through the air. Sweet and achingly familiar. Tango’s head lulled to watch the stranger as he held up a fork towards him, the fluffy pasty dotted with berries and dripping syrup. “I hope you don’t mind, but I kinda live off instant pancake mix at the moment. If you can eat.”

Tango wasn’t sure he could, but he accepted the offer anyways. Even just the smell would have brought tears to Tango’s eyes if he could cry. The bites kept coming until Tango hadn’t the strength to eat anything more. His body screamed at him to both stop and eat, desperate for the food Tango had been denying it and lacking the strength to continue, stomach rolling in that fashion that he knew meant it would all come back up if he tried.

Silence returned while the stranger finished the rest, most of it still there. Anything else might have made Tango throw up from the smell anyways. All he could think of instead was breezy summer mornings, sat at an uneven oak table covered in blemishes that they never got around to replacing, throwing plastic tablecloths over instead. Coffee that became tea that became increasingly questionable flower water that became tea once more. The distant sounds of mooing and much closer sounds of barking, and, somewhere in between, a bird song matching whatever was on the stereo.

Why had they left? They should have stayed on the ranch. He should have tried harder to convince Jimmy not to go, should have put his foot down. When that bridge came into view he should have immediately turned them back around. They saw the ocean, and what good did it do them? Jimmy died, lost and far away from home, and Tango would soon join him...

The next time Tango woke up it was early morning. Something loud had ripped him from his slumber, but he could not for the life of him recall what it was. As best he could he looked around, and found the stranger shutting a cabinet set against a far wall. Tango must have made some sort of noise, because his head immediately swivelled towards him. “You’re awake again.” He said, matter of factly. There was too much energy in his hops to a kitchen. Did all avians wake up at the crack of dawn?

It was almost hard to watch the man, actually. Tango had seen it with Grian, but it hadn’t registered. Because he was a puffball and it only seemed natural, or because he’d never had reason to note it. This strangers talons similarly rarely touched the ground, taking leaps and bounds to reach for anything. Wings casually unfurled themselves to glide him across the room. It was so different to Jimmy, who stumbled his way everywhere, only used his wings for balance.

More food was set in front of him, this time a small bowl of mixed berries. “I already ate.” Explained the stranger while he held out a spoonful. “If it’s too hard to chew I can blitz it into a smoothie.”

“No.” Tango croaked. Easier than last time, but his throat still felt like it was splintering.

The stranger quietly fed him. The sun was quickly rising, but the avian didn’t seem to have anywhere to be. At some point Tango thought he heard the bark of a dog, but no one else came into the sky-lit room. The stranger’s clothes were not the sort one wore when they knew zombies were nearby. His sweater was sleeveless and his gloves were for sport, to keep frog scratching his hands and keeping a good grip, rather than the heavy leather work gloves Jimmy wore. The sort of thing they’d wear on peaceful days at the ranch, not the city Tango thought he was last in.

“So,” The man rocked his head slightly as he put the half-empty bowl aside. “You got a name, stranger? If you’re up for talkin’ of course.”

“Tango.” His voice scratched worse than it usually did, almost incoherent to his own ears. No long sentences, then. “You?”

“Wels, at your service.” He did a small bow, smile widening. “There’s not a lot of survivors out here these days, Tango. You musta come quite a ways?”

He nodded, wincing at the sting in his neck. Had he been bitten there? “We came from the mountains.”

Wels’ eyebrow rose. His hands began moving just outside Tango’s vision, fiddling with something. “’We’, huh? Run into some bad luck?”

“I’m looking.” Tango quickly snapped. “We got separated. He’s here.”

“You don’t sound like you believe that.”

Of course he didn’t. Tango had never been the optimistic sort. It was Jimmy who comforted them when things went wrong, calmed Tango down when he lost his temper. Thought there’d be an adventure to have exploring uncharted territory. If it was Jimmy here and now instead, he’d be just as determined as day one. Tango couldn’t do that, could barely hope to even find a body. But... “If I stop looking, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

The room fell quiet. A rough hand lifted the stump of Tango’s left arm, peeling something off it. It stung, but not as much as the air did seconds later. Tango grit his teeth. It last too long, but eventually it subsided into a dull ache. Even without looking he knew it was swollen and ugly, raw from wearing his arm for too long. It would take too much time to pull on and off without help. Why was he so stupid as to design it that way? Like he’d never be alone?

The dog outside continued to bark.

“Well, then,” Wels sighed. “Guess if you gotta keep looking then I’ll have to keep my eyes open, too.”

Tango strained to shake his head, “You don’t have to-

“Hey, it’s my city. Who better to keep an eye out? Besides,” He stood up, spreading his wings wide enough to block out the skylight, “You aren’t really getting out of bed any time soon, and you can’t exactly get back down without my help anyways.”

“Down?” Tango murmured to himself, turning towards the sunlight.

His vision was still a mess, but he could see it. Behind stacks of supplies and reorganized furniture was a wall-wide glass balcony, doors wedged wide open. Peeking over the rail was the very top of a half-dozen skyscrapers he recognized from the ground.

Wels hopped over towards the open doors, grabbing various items from a table. A bag, rope, a sword- was that metal gauntlets? By the time he’d kitted out he looked like he’d raided a museum exhibit. When he noticed Tango’s staring he gave him a grin and a thumbs up. “Gotta go for a water and medicine run. Be back before the sun sets.” He jumped up onto the railing, but paused. “Say, uh, what’d your buddy look like? In case I run into him.”

“Blond.” Tango rasped. “Lanky, bit taller than you. Long yellow wings. Should be with a big black dog with no eyes. Hopefully...”

Something in the man’s wings tensed, smile falling away. “A canary avian?” He asked.

“Yeah.”

“And you- how did you say you got separated.”

“He was gone when I woke up. He kept-”

“Wandering off?”

The blazeborn’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah... What-”

But Wels unfurled his wings once more, waving his hand dismissively. “We’ll talk later, when I get back. You should rest up, get back on your feet.”

With that he was gone.

Tango could feel his heart hammering in his chest, wounds pulsing down his limbs. He turned his gaze up to the ceiling. How on earth was he supposed to rest after that?

[littlelamy]

party fun

pairing: bsf!rafe x vixen!reader

The low hum of conversation and music fills the air, laughter echoing off the walls as you try to keep up with the man in front of you, who’s telling some story you barely register. Your eyes keep wandering, scanning the room—until you see him. Rafe stands across the room, his gaze unwavering, intense, zeroed in on you with a focus that makes your pulse skip a beat. He doesn’t look away, and the longer he stares, the more you feel a mix of excitement and a hint of nervousness settle over you.

Just then, your companion reaches out to touch your arm, chuckling as he leans in closer, but before he finishes his sentence, you feel a firm hand clasp around your wrist. You turn, heart racing, to find Rafe standing right there, closer than you thought, his expression hard.

“Fuck off dude. She's with me,” he says, his voice low and clipped, eyes fixed on the guy next to you. Rafe’s tone leaves no room for argument, and within seconds, the man mumbles something, backing away with a quick nod. Your heart pounds as Rafe’s hand stays wrapped around your wrist, his grip both protective and possessive. He doesn’t break eye contact with you as he pulls you gently but firmly through the crowd, leading you down a hallway to an empty bathroom, his jaw tight, eyes blazing.

Without a word, he closes the door behind him, his fingers still laced with yours as he turns to face you. His breathing is heavy, and there’s an unmistakable fire in his gaze.

“Rafe…” you start, but he cuts you off, his hand lifting to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. He’s watching you like he’s seeing you for the first time, his eyes filled with that intensity you can’t resist.

“Do you have any fucking idea what you do to me?” he murmurs, his voice rough and strained. “Watching you out there with him… seeing him so fucking close to you…” He shakes his head, as though he’s trying to rein in his own emotions, but there’s a small, dangerous smirk on his lips. “God, Vixen, you’re gonna drive me fucking crazy.”

Before you can respond, his lips crash against yours in a kiss that’s deep and consuming, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck to pull you close. The kiss is possessive, almost desperate, and it takes your breath away, your hands automatically reaching up to grip his shoulders as he holds you there, pouring everything he feels into the way his mouth moves against yours.

You let out a quiet moan against his lips, feeling his hold on you tighten as he pulls you even closer. He lifts you onto the counter with ease, standing between your legs, his hands on either side of your waist as his mouth explores yours with a passion that makes your heart race. His hand slides to the back of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair as he pulls back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you catching your breath.

“Say my name,” he murmurs, his voice low and intense, eyes dark as they search yours. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Rafe,” you whisper, and a slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his fingers tracing a slow line down your arm, sending a shiver through you. “That’s what I thought.” His gaze drops, his thumb grazing over your collarbone, the barest hint of a smirk as he watches your reaction.

Your breathing is ragged, your pulse racing, and he notices every little movement, every shift, the way your body reacts to his touch. His hand slides down, fingers brushing over your skin with a deliberate slowness that leaves you breathless.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he leans in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “So fucking perfect. All… mine.” There’s a possessive edge to his words that makes your heart skip, a thrill rushing through you as he kisses the side of your neck, his lips trailing down to your shoulder with agonizing slowness.

You can barely breathe, your hands gripping his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles as he moves his mouth along your skin. “Daddy…” The name comes out as a soft moan, and he pauses, pulling back just enough to look at you.

“Say it again,” he demands, his tone leaving no room for question. His hands move up, cupping your face, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that leaves you feeling bare, exposed. “I want to fucking hear it.”

“Daddy,” you whisper, and he grins, that smirk of his returning as he leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that’s slower this time, savoring, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You’re all I want,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands tracing over your sides, fingers skimming the fabric of your top in a way that makes your skin tingle, every nerve alive under his touch. “No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to be here.” His hands slide lower, gripping your waist firmly, possessively, and he leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Only me. You got that?”

“Yes,” you manage, your voice barely a breath as he watches you, his gaze softening just slightly, a mix of emotions flickering in his eyes.

“Good,” he murmurs, his hands moving up your back, holding you close as he kisses you again, deep and slow. His touch, the way his hands move over your skin, leaves you dizzy, overwhelmed, every thought fading away until there’s only him, his hands, his mouth, his breath mingling with yours.

The kiss deepens, his hands tracing over your body in a way that makes your breath hitch, and you feel his fingers slide over your chest, moving with a deliberate slowness that leaves you wanting more. You let out a soft moan, unable to hold it back, and he pulls back just slightly, his eyes dark and intense as he watches you.

“More?” he asks, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver through you, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Yes,” you breathe, unable to look away, your voice barely a whisper as you nod. He grins, that smug, possessive smile, and his lips are on yours again, his hands moving over your body with a gentleness that contrasts with the fire in his eyes.

“Say you’re mine, Vixen,” he whispers, his mouth against yours, his voice barely above a murmur. “I want to fucking hear you say it.”

“I’m yours, Rafe,” you reply, your voice shaking with the weight of it, and he lets out a low growl, his grip on you tightening as he kisses you harder, deeper, as if he’s pouring every bit of emotion into it, every unspoken word, every feeling he can’t put into words.

And in that moment, there’s nothing else—just you, him, and the overwhelming need that leaves you breathless, wanting him more than anything else.

Rafe’s hands are on you again, relentless in their exploration, as though he’s trying to memorize every inch of your skin. The way his fingers trail over your waist, down your sides, makes your pulse race, each touch sending shivers that start deep within you. He’s leaning in, his breath hot against your neck, lips brushing lightly over your skin as he hums in approval.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice rough, eyes dark and intent as he looks down at you, his fingers still gently grazing the fabric of your top. Without breaking eye contact, he pulls the material up slightly, just enough to expose the curve of your tits. His gaze flickers down, a satisfied smile curling on his lips.

“I can’t get enough of you, Vixen,” he growls, his voice thick with desire. His fingers trace a delicate line along the edge of your top, then slide to where the fabric gathers, pulling it tighter in his hands, teasing. The motion sends a spike of electricity through your body, your breath catching in your throat as his touch lingers just a little too long, sending waves of heat coursing through you.

“Rafe…” Your voice cracks, breathless from the way his hands are making you feel—he’s not gentle, but there’s a tenderness in the way he moves with you, as if each touch is a claim, a promise.

He meets your eyes again, and there’s that fire in his gaze, the same fire that makes your heart beat erratically, makes your body ache for more. His hands find the curve of your waist, fingers curling in, pulling you toward him, pressing you against him with a force that feels both protective and possessive.

“You want this?” he asks, his voice low and husky, as he slides his hands up, finding the soft curve of your chest. He pauses there, his thumb brushing over your nipples, slow and deliberate, a silent question hanging in the air between you.

Your body reacts before you can think, your chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths, every nerve alight with the sensation of him, of his touch. The way his hands move, gentle but firm, makes your mind go blank. You nod, just once, unable to form a coherent thought beyond the overwhelming need for him.

Rafe’s lips curl into a small, satisfied grin as his fingers press with a subtle insistence, his touch shifting, teasing, sending sharp waves of heat rushing through you.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa

[missglaskin]

Head empty only thoughts of yan!Wally accidentally making his fingers vibrate with excitement when he’s fingering you causing you to almost instantly orgasm and squirt all over his hand. Cue Wally gaining an obsession for vibrating his fingers in you and eating you out like you’re his last meal on earth. All those panties he stole come nowhere close to the source

Anyway, sorry i need to go to bed now 😅 Seriously though I love your writing SM!!! You have a genuine talent and I consume everything you write even when I have absolutely no idea who those people are 😂

I AM TWEAKING RIGHT NOW ANON YOU ARE A GENIUS. May have been gotten off board, this is NASTY AND MESSY (Minors DNI) 

When Wally did it, he didn't mean to, and can you blame him? After all this time, he had you underneath him at last. Using your panties to get off, rubbing them on his cock, using pictures when you weren't looking, and humping himself against your pillow as he breathed in your scent.  Wally realizes he no longer needs them and it's the biggest relief. His lips are on yours, sighing at how intoxicating you taste and his fingers can finally caress the skin he long wanted to touch. 

He's giddy with excitement when he opens your legs; almost seeming more pleasurable to him than you. When his mouth is on your core, you can feel his groan vibrating against your pussy. He's mumbling words as he laps at your pussy as if it's the last meal on earth, muffled words like 'so good' and 'perfect baby just perfect'. All while moving and grinding his hips against the edge of the bed, it makes him moan more against your clit as his tongue draws messy circles around it. 

And then it happens. 

Wally just wanted to help you reach your orgasm. But in all his excitement, your pussy is so drenched that he easily shoves his two fingers in. He didn't know his fingers were vibrating. Until you came with a loud moan (waking all the neighbors) squirting all over his hand and face. Wally pulls back, his lower face drenched in your wetness. As you try to catch your breath, you hear him let out a little laugh and a 'wow'.

It quickly awakes something within him. Countless instances in which tears are streaming down your face as you tell Wally that you can't take it anymore. And him shushing you, telling you to give him just one more (but it's never enough). Wally wonders if he can vibrate his tongue too, nothing satisfies him more than seeing you make that face you make when he does it. 

[illyrianbitch]

Death and His Reaper

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: After suffering a devastating injury in battle, Azriel finds himself on the brink of life and death where he meets you, The Mother's reaper.

Warnings: angsty fluff?, brief mentions of battle and injury, lil convos about life and its meaning, Azriel without his shadows, lowk love at first sight

Word Count: 13k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

 Azriel could feel the hot, metallic taste of blood filling his mouth, the sharp sting of pain shooting through his body with each ragged breath. A pounding, almost unbearable, pain in his head consumed him, a relentless throb that pulsed with every beat of his heart– each pulse sending waves of nausea washing over him. He tried to move, to shift away from the agony, but his limbs felt like stone, heavy and unresponsive. His muscles screamed in protest with every attempt to shift position, every movement met with waves of agony that radiated through his battered form.

Dark spots filled his vision as the ringing in his ears grew louder. Everything was fuzzy, hazy, blurs of movement and moving color. Azriel could hear sounds around him. Loud sounds, piercing sounds. Distantly, he could make out what he assumed were screams. He wasn’t sure though, and wasn't able to think about it too hard. His shadows were whispering to him, louder and louder, but he couldn’t hear them. The sound rattled in his brain as he blinked. Once. Twice. His vision became more unfocussed.

With a final, shuddering breath, the world dissolved into darkness. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

There was a humming in his ear when Azriel came to, a light vibration he wasn’t familiar with. The ache in his body grew duller with every blink— his eyelids still heavy with pain, or exhaustion, he wasn’t quite sure. One of the same, he guessed. He let a moment pass, taking deep breaths as he oriented himself. He laid in a bed, soft white sheets placed upon him gingerly. Had Feyre tucked him in? He thought for a moment. Why would Feyre tuck him in? 

Another moment passed. Azriel became aware of his clothing, his body still strapped in his illyrian leathers— leathers that were eerily clean. No smudges, no stains. Pushing himself upright, Azriel glanced around the room, his movements slow and unsteady. There was no one else in sight, no familiar faces to provide him with answers. He frowned, his brows knitting together in a puzzled expression. With a hesitant sigh, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, his muscles protesting at the sudden movement. He wavered for a moment, grasping for balance, before taking a cautious step forward. 

He casted a casual glance towards the bed, rubbing his hands across his face in exhaustion as made a move towards the door, his thoughts scattered and disjointed. But then he stilled, his head quickly snapping back. Instead of an empty bed, Azriel's gaze fell upon his own body, lying prone and unmoving— paled, almost colorless, wings hanging limply at his sides. He blinked, a flicker of confusion and fear knitting his brows as he registered the scene before him. 

“Quite strange, isn’t it?”

Azriel whipped his head around, his hand instinctively reaching for a dagger at his hip that he failed to find. His wings flared out angrily, fully extended with curled ends, each single claw at the apex poised and ready to strike. His eyes were wide as they focused on you. 

You let out a quiet laugh, a gentle sound that caressed him like a comforting hand. He felt himself falter, a sense of confusion washing over him. Yet, within that confusion was a warmth that spread through him at your presence, at your voice— soft, like a faint ray of sunlight breaking through a storm cloud.

He fought the sudden urge to stand down, an odd sense of safety wrapping around him, unnerving him with the ease in which it filled him. He struggled back, pushing the feeling away. Stay guarded, stay ready, you are a threat. Yet even in his attempts, he recognized a slight release in the tension surrounding his shoulders, a small release in the stance of his wings– decisions he hadn’t consciously made. With his eyes still trained on you, his hand searched the side of his thigh, his hip, the backside of his waistband. He patted frantically, fingers itching to find a form of protection. When his search came up empty once more, he settled for holding his other hand out towards you in warning, his palm facing you as his body fell into a defensive stance. The blue siphon on his hand glowed aggressively. 

The corners of your mouth tilted into a small smile.  “You do that everytime.”

Azriel didn’t return the gesture. Instead, he narrowed his eyes as he properly took you in. He scanned your body; the way you stood comfortably in front of him, your hands clasped together, placed delicately in front of your waist. It almost hurt to look at you, he observed. He had to squint to make out your features. And when he did, he was hit with one thought: you were beautiful. 

He cursed himself for recognizing it, for letting the thought echo in his head. You were a threat, he reminded himself, a stranger in his home. He was confused, disoriented, and yet you stood in front of him, presence dripping in a calm ease. You stared at him with a look he couldn’t discern, not when his mind was a muddled, confused, blurry mess. But the way you were looking, so expectant, so patient– it made him slightly nauseated. 

 “Who are you?” Azriel’s voice was loud and rough. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, a twitch in his wings, still extended wide. “What the hell are you talking about?”  

Azriel scrambled for words, his head aching as he searched it for answers, for explanations. His confusion exposed him in a way that made him feel naked— at risk.  None of it was right, not him standing over his own body, not him conversing with, what might possibly be, the most gorgeous female he’d ever seen, not the empty room around him. Was he dreaming? Was he being tortured?

You slowly lifted your hands in defense, remaining careful of how fast your movements were. “I’m not here to cause you any harm.”

A skeptical expression crossed his face. “Then why are you here?” He eyed you intently, his gaze scanning you as if sizing up a potential threat. His outstretched hand stayed unmoving, still on the defense. But you recognized a subtle shift in his posture, a slight calm flickering in his moving eyes.

Azriel was always the more difficult of the three to soothe. You had noticed this the last time, his wings shredded with ash arrows, his blood coating the floors beneath him. Even then, even through the exhaustion that bled into his unconscious mind– into his soul– he had fought you, acknowledged you with apprehension and distrust. You never blamed him, though. You understood. You would be fearful, confused, and defensive, too. 

“I’m here to help you.” 

Your voice was lower now than it was before. A soft murmur. He recognized the cadence, the words. It felt like a voice he’d heard before but couldn’t quite place. 

"Who are you?" Azriel demanded as he frantically looked between his own body and you. He felt a sense of fear he wasn't accustomed to, a worry that either body would vanish were he to take his eyes away for too long. "What the hell is going on?"

You took a step forward as he turned to look upon his body, reaching an arm out to touch him, to begin to explain, when his head swiftly turned back to you. Azriel recoiled, taking a step away from you, his eyes scanning you again— wide and wild. There was a rustle as his wings mirrored his actions, still extended aggressively, unmoving. You quickly stilled, realizing your mistake of initiating contact too soon. Your brows furrowed as you gave him an apologetic smile. You took a step back, settling to stand a bit further from him than you were before. 

Hazel eyes watched your every movement, his body tense as you fixed yourself into place, standing in front of him with the small smile still on your face– it reeked of pity, he thought. It didn’t feel right. No matter where he was, or who you were, he wasn’t supposed to be this off guard, this jumpy. 

His face fell as the realization hit him: he couldn't feel them. His companions, his protectors, his shadows– there were no whisperings in his ear, no cool trail as they snaked around his body. He hadn’t noticed before, too distracted by you, by his lifeless form. The absence of his shadows explained this sudden vulnerability– he was receiving no information on you. No intel about who you were, what weapons you may have, who was around to witness. As quick as the realization settled into his stomach, Azriel called out to them. He dropped one of his hands lower as if to make it easier for them to find him, to reach him, but nothing came. No cool touch on his body, no whispers. Instead, silence enveloped him as he took notice of motion around him, black wisps of smoke scattered throughout the room. 

You watched his movements, watched as he examined himself, as he craned his head to scan his body. "They can sense you," you explained, gesturing towards the shadows that seemed to be bouncing around, slithering on the ground like they were blind and confused. Some rested on his unmoving body, some around his feet, but not quite on him. His wings began to retract and slump as Azriel’s face slightly fell, his mouth open and brows furrowed. 

He looked down, observing his hands tentatively. “Why aren’t they with me?” Azriel asked. His voice was slightly strained. He didn’t look up at you, his vision trained to his scarred hands, to the floor below him where shadows circled aimlessly. He felt an ache in his heart,  a longing to be covered again, to be with them, to be protected. He felt too naked, stripped of every layer that protected him— no shadows, no intel, bare before you.

“Your shadows are sentient,” you explained, “they don’t die with you.”

His head snapped up, hazel eyes meeting yours instantly, widened with disbelief. "Die?" he repeated, his eyes scanning yours. "What do you mean die?"

In a slight moment of shock, Azriel took an unconscious step forward. His body tensed, and you watched as the rest of his frame followed suit, the muscles in his jaw clenching. There was an evident unease in his face, tension etched into his features.

You maintained a stillness, a deliberate choice not to intrude further, to remain respectful of his boundaries. Your gaze held a mixture of understanding and patience, offering him a moment to process the information without feeling overwhelmed. Then, you softly asked, “Where do you think you are, Azriel?”

His name sounded foreign on your tongue but he didn’t have the space to acknowledge it, instead rummaging through his other thoughts. He blinked, taking in your question.  A dull ache in his head creeped up on him, but your voice soothed it instantly— soft, comforting. 

"I... I don't know," he stammered, voice low and quiet, void of any assertion it held moments prior. His eyes darted back and forth, attempting to piece together fragments of memory. His wings now mirrored his defeated state–  limp and listless, curled in, the membrane hanging dejectedly.

Sensing his growing distress, you adjusted your approach. "What is the last thing you remember?" 

Your voice, smooth like honey and warm like tea, flowed through him. For a moment, he allowed it to sit, allowed it to spread, letting it calm him in a way that he was fighting before.  

"I…" Azriel muttered to himself. Slowly, fragments of memory began to resurface, faint but discernible. He looked back at his body, examining it as if trying to find the missing pieces, memories popping up like distant echoes, flashing in the corners of his brain. The ache was back, slowly spreading throughout his head. “I was fighting.”

He looked back over his shoulder, twisting his body to peer at where his physical body lay in the bed, the colors of the room now registering with a strange clarity. Tandem disembodied flashbacks surged through his mind—flashes of fighting, the metallic taste of blood on his tongue, and the cacophony of clashing weapons. Each image hit him like a sudden jolt, disjointed and chaotic.

In one fragment, he could almost feel the weight of a blade in his hand, the strain of muscles as he swung it in a frenzied dance. Another flash brought back the distant echoes of shouted commands, the clash of metal on metal, and the acrid scent of sweat and blood lingering in the air. The blurry memories continued, each scene disconnected yet vivid in its brutality. He shivered as the ghost of each sensation trailed his body, a twitch in his wings as he recalled the injuries they had sustained. 

Then, a searing pain in his head, a sharp and sudden ache that brought him to his knees in his mind's eye. The pain lingered in his skull like a phantom sensation, and with it, a realization began to form. His eyes met yours with a cold, distant understanding. A wave of sadness hit you. 

"I'm dead,” he stated, his voice quiet, “Aren't I?"

A sympathetic smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Not yet," you clarified, taking a step to move closer, the movement slow and deliberate. "You're in between."

"In between? In between where?"

You took a moment to look at him, your gaze lingering on his face. His eyes were darker now, troubled, as he stared back at you. “Your body,” You started, gesturing towards his sleeping form to guide his attention back to where it lay, “It's still fighting.”

Azriel nodded slowly, taking in each of your words, digesting them, letting them sit. There was a shift in his expression—a solemn understanding replacing the earlier confusion he once held. You continued. 

 "Madja, she's a brilliant healer. She has brought back many from this same brink."  

When Azriel looked back at you, you shifted your focus to his head, motioning with a gentle sweep of your hand, then directed your fingers towards your own temple. "And your mind," You said, "it's fighting too." 

Azriel frowned. He was a soldier. He sustained many injuries before, had fought in battles that left him with gaping wounds, with his organs rearranged. This was nothing new— so why was this different? Had he always been out this long? 

You watched him intently, observing the way his thoughts seemed to churn beneath the surface, how he began to blink rapidly, how his brow furrowed. He was still confused– you could feel it. You let out a small sigh, running your eyes across his face. 

"The injury you sustained was worse than any you've ever had," you explained, your voice steady. Flashes of his memories interjected—him fighting, soaring into the air only to be shot down, engaging in combat once again, his head colliding with something hard, the sickening sound of a crunch. "Not only to your body but to your head. You cracked your skull open completely, Azriel. The trauma of the infliction itself… well, let's say it damaged your brain. Heavily."

As Azriel looked directly at you, his hazel eyes glazed over with deep contemplation. He nodded absentmindedly, "Okay.” He said. He looked over to his unmoving form again. 

With his attention fixated on his proper body, you took the time to observe him more closely, scanning his face and his body, taking in the details of his fighting leathers. Azriel was a vision— your favorite male to visit, your favorite soul to see. You can’t remember the first time you saw him, the first time he laid on a bed, a grasp away from death. You suppose it was centuries ago, when he first became a soldier. But even then, time escaped you. 

Your gaze wandered to the wings adorning his back, now freed from their earlier alarmed nature, not fully extended but not fully kept back. You thought back to their wide and impressive extended form, the membrane between each robust wing bearing a faint sheen, casting a subtle shimmer in the ambient light. Even now they were mesmerizing–  the leathery texture, the powerful structure, the way they naturally framed his form. The tips of the expansive wings curved slightly, giving Azriel an imposing yet graceful appearance, even among current circumstances. Azriel's voice brought you back to attention. 

"So I'm stuck here?" 

"For now."  You responded, your voice carrying a gentle reassurance. The look on his face, only beginning to finally process his reality, pushed you to postpone any further explanations. Time was not an issue, not now. 

"And you are..." Azriel's voice trailed off.

"Y/n," you answered. 

He let the name sink in, repeating it with a slow, deliberate pace, "Y/n." 

“Yes.” You nodded.

“And you’re here to help me.”

Another nod. “Yes.”

He rolled his shoulders as something that resembled a skeptical scowl slowly made its way through his face. Then, Azriel squinted his eyes at you.  “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

You couldn't help it—a small laugh escaped you, echoing softly in the room. The sound made Azriel jolt back slightly, caught off guard. Dying it down with a small, genuine smile on your face, you caught Azriel’s uncomfortable gaze, his wings now extended slightly, the corners of his lips downturned in confusion.

"I’m- I’m sorry,” You said, clearing your throat. “It's just... you are curious this time around.” 

Azriel's hazel eyes widened in shock, his brows furrowing in confusion. "This– this time around?” His eyes rapidly scanned your face with a deep intensity. Faintly, he recalled your earlier comment, the laugh when you said that he reacted the same way every time. “Have we met before?"

You offered him a small smile as you said, "Many times.”

Azriel let out a deep breath. Here he stood, suspended between life and something else entirely, facing someone who knew him in a way that he couldn’t even remember. A sense of anxiety filled his chest. He wished for his shadows now, for them to wrap themselves around his arms, around his neck, to offer some calm. He searched you for any sign of deception, looked at the way your eyes followed him, the stance that you held. But all he found was a sense of sincerity and tenderness. 

“Your family tends to face death a lot more than others in Prythian,” you explained, “You and your brothers especially." 

At the mention of his brothers, Azriel's heart dropped, a heaviness settling in his chest. Thoughts of his family rushed in—wondering who had found him, the worry that surely gripped them. He straightened up, a sense of urgency urging him to survey his surroundings. His family… His gaze moved beyond you, taking in the details of the room. It was his guest suite in the River House, the room he’d stay in when he came to visit Rhysand and Feyre, the room they would drag him into when he needed to rest or heal. It was his room. Yet, there were no sounds of people, no familiar voices—just the quiet emptiness that surrounded him, surrounded you both. Surely they would be near him, Azriel thought, Madja at the least.

"Where is everyone?" He asked, still scanning the room. He walked towards the large windows, taking in the nighttime view, gorgeous and still— mountains covered in snow, a city lit by moonlight. 

“Here, it's just you," you said gently.

Azriel turned to face you once more, a flicker of sadness crossing his features. He didn’t ask for any further explanation, a sense of exhaustion heavily weighing on him. His eyes bore into yours. "And you. You exist here too.” 

“I do.”

He took a step towards you, wings rustling in their position behind his back. Azriel scanned your face, hazel eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity and weariness. He wasn’t afraid of you, didn’t believe you were a threat– not anymore, at least. But you were still here, in this state of existence that only he was in. 

“Why?”

The question was pure curiosity, not a hint of distrust or malice within it. You observed him, noting how he seemed to have settled, the tension in his frame easing. Instead, a subtle sadness lingered, a reflection of longing. Azriel loved his family, this much you knew. He was a devoted male, devoted to serving those he loved, devoted to his position, to his duties. Of course he was missing his family. Your heart ached. 

"I'm here to help," you assured, "I’m to stay while you heal, or until–"

“Until I stop…” Azriel finished the sentence, a quiet acceptance in his voice. "And then you guide me."

You were taken aback as Azriel's hazel eyes locked onto yours, a moment of realization passing between you. Usually, it was you who revealed your purpose to those you reaped, explaining the meaning of your duties, easing their worries. You blinked, your head tilting back slightly as you clasped your hands together. Azriel continued, stating with a quiet certainty, "You're a reaper."

You nodded, titling your head as you took in his face, his brows slightly knitted. “I am.” 

You weren’t supposed to be doing this. In situations like these, where they were stuck between the life before and the life after, you were to leave them in peace– wait until they decided or their body decided for them. It was never intended for you to stay with them during the waiting period, to keep them company. No, this was something you felt inclined to do. You couldn’t leave Azriel if you wanted to, it felt wrong— and you didn’t want to. Not one bit. 

"You weren't what I expected," Azriel admitted.

Azriel had a faint idea of your kind, of your duties. He heard accounts of near-death experiences, tales of encountering a radiant light, foggy memories and beliefs of meeting a beautiful entity—whatever that meant. He always wrote them off as distant narratives, existing in the realms of folklore and imagination. He would have never imagined something like you – something so… delicate. 

Curiosity lingered in your gaze as you asked, "What did you expect?" 

"I don't know," Azriel replied honestly, his head beginning to throb and ache again. A hand instinctively rose to the back of his scalp, fingers rubbing at the tension that surfaced. The ache radiated through his skull as he massaged his hairline. You recognized the discomfort with a small frown, playing with your hands as you observed him for a moment. 

 "Azriel,” You spoke, drawing his attention back to you, “I'm going to give you some time to process everything. Explore, think. When you're ready, and if you want to, you can find me then."

Azriel looked at you, uncertainty drawn across his features. "How will I know where you are?”

"You’ll know.” A soft smile played on your lips as you reassured him. “Trust me.”

As you left, Azriel took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting the quiet expanse embrace him.  

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You were right. Azriel knew exactly where to find you. How we knew, he didn’t know. He wasn’t even aware of how he got to you, how he managed to move. One moment he was wandering, taking in the quiet halls of the house, the next he was thinking of you, seeking you out— and then he was here, watching you. 

It was dark out still, a fresh night breeze in the air. Azriel stood for a moment, taking in his surroundings—a small clearing nestled between two towering mountains covered in snow. The landscape was rugged, the terrain too harsh to be in the vicinity of Velaris. Somewhere beyond the borders of Illyria, he concluded. He turned his focus back to you. Draped in a simple cream-colored dress, you stood at the edge of the clearing, your silhouette softly illuminated by the glow of the full moon that hung in the sky. The moonlight painted the terrain around you with a soft, silvery hue, casting long shadows that danced across the uneven ground. 

“Hi, Azriel.” The words left your mouth before you turned your head to look at him. When your eyes met his, you gave him a smile. He faltered for a moment.

“Hello… Y/n.” He said your name quietly, adding it onto his greeting tentatively, as if he was testing how it felt on his tongue. He liked it, he decided. It tasted sweet. 

You turned your head back to the view in front of you, and Azriel took it as an unspoken invitation. Slowly, he found himself walking towards you, the snow crunching beneath his boots. You both stood in silence, and Azriel found a sense of calm rolling through him. Taking a deep breath, he let his wings unfurl slightly, not having noticed the tension they had been carrying, tucked tightly behind him.

Azriel turned to gaze at you. You stood still, eyes trained forward on the view before you. Your focus prompted him to take in the sight once more, bringing his attention back to the vast expanse ahead.

"Where are we?" he asked, his voice low and steady.

It was now your turn to look at him, to observe the side of his face as he looked forward. The faint glow of the moonlight casted shadows on the contours of his face. He looked almost holy, something devout and ethereal. "You don’t recognize it?”

Your question led to a contemplative frown creasing his brow and he turned his head, taking in the soft smile on your face. “Should I?”

You turned your body fully to face him, craning your head to look up at him. There was a subtle shift in his expression as your eyes met. You nodded toward the view, a gentle encouragement.

“Look again.” 

And he did. 

Then, his gaze softened, a hint of recognition flickering in his eyes. Azriel's shoulders fell, a subtle release of tension, and his wings shuddered softly. "I used to come here," he said quietly, "A long time ago… I used to come here."

His eyes shifted between you and the view. You met his gaze, nodding in silent understanding, leaving a space of silence that invited him to continue talking if he desired to— if he was comfortable. 

"I found it flying one night," he continued. His memories now seemed to dance in his mind, distant yet vivid, a time before Amarantha, before Koshei. A faint smile ghosted his lips. “I'd find time between missions to come here and just breathe. Now I could never validate wasting time to be here, doing nothing."

You let out a small hum. “Taking time to breathe is never a waste.”

Azriel turned to look at you. "How did you..." 

"Know about this?" you finished for him. He nodded.

You smiled, the expression warm and animated. Holding your arms in front, one hand cradling each elbow, you continued, "I could feel it. Part of our duty," your voice carried a gentle honesty. "The Mother helps us to find your peace."

Azriel's gaze scanned you again, a subtle curiosity in his eyes. His attention shifted to your arms, and then to the snow-covered surroundings. "Are you cold?" he asked, concern lacing his words. Instinctively, he placed a hand on your bicep, but quickly retracted it when he registered the movement. 

You kept your gaze locked with his, unfazed. "No," you replied calmly, and then added, "Neither are you."

Azriel blinked, and then he looked down at himself, his eyes scanning his own body, his arms. He wasn’t cold. He thought back to every time he had visited this place, this lookout. Being so high up made the air nippy, made the breeze cold–  he always wore an extra layer.  But here he stood, alongside you, and all he could feel was a sense of warmth. Interesting. It was all so interesting to him. 

Azriel nodded to himself, turning to face forward again. He traced the tops of the snow-covered mountains, the valley below. You remained sideways for a moment, watching him as he processed the image before him. Another moment passed and then you, too, turned to face forward, mirroring his contemplative posture. 

“So, what does it all mean?” He asked, his voice a low murmur. 

You stilled, rubbing your lips together as you took in his question. You glanced to the side, his eyes still trained before him. It wasn’t the view he was talking about, you knew this. He was asking the question many before him had, wondering about the purpose of life, the answer to their troubles. You thought for a moment, pondering on what to tell him. There were no right responses here— at least, none that you thought would satisfy him. So, you answered from your heart.

“Does it have to mean something?”

Azriel’s head turned to you. “Yes,” He said, all too fast. It had to mean something. His entire existence, his suffering, every life he had taken— it had to mean something. He needed it to mean something. The agony he had lived with, the anger he wore as second skin, it was all for something… for some reason. He needed it to be. So he continued, “It has to.”

You studied him, watching the subtle shifts in his demeanor, the weight of his gaze lingering on you— there was something in his eyes, a sense of desperation, of fear. You took a deep breath, and then you offered an understanding smile.

“Then it means whatever you need it to mean.”

Azriel frowned.

“That isn’t an answer.”

You tilted your head slightly, looking at him for a moment before you responded. “Well,” You said, "Perhaps you asked the wrong question.”

“What do you mean?” His brows knitted together, forming a furrowed line of confusion on his forehead. Faintly, in the back of his head, an ache gnawed at him. 

Facing each other now, you maintained eye contact as he looked at you intently.  “Ask me what you really want to, Azriel.”

”I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” There was a tinge of frustration in his voice, delicately mixed into the confusion that laced it. 

You simply shrugged, giving him a close-mouthed smile. “You will.”

In normal circumstances, your elusive answers would have driven him crazy—  he would be suspicious of you, find a sense of guilt in your failure to give proper, concrete responses. But he wasn’t in a normal circumstance, and you weren’t a threat. These were two things he knew, now, for sure. So he took your answers, as ambiguous as they were, and let them sit with him in the comfortable, cool, silence. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel found you again by the Sidra, walking along the cobblestone streets of Velaris. It was the same again, him being able to find you without so much as a second guess. It was daytime now, he noticed. The sun shone brightly, casting a warm glow onto the city streets, filling his body with a comfortable, familiar, warmth. A few steps ahead of him, you stilled, turning around gracefully to face him. 

“Hello Azriel.” 

He stopped, making a motion to look around as if he were to find someone else, another person you might be referring to. Quickly he remembered that it was just you and him in this plane, in this form of his existence. He cleared his throat.

“Y/n,” He greeted, with a small nod of his head. 

He walked towards you, stopping into place in front of you, a few feet ahead. The sunlight hit your back, creating a soft, radiant glow around your silhouette– it outlined your figure, forming a subtle halo around your head that seemed to blend with the warmth of the sun. It almost looked as if the sunlight itself was embracing you, framing your presence with a touch of radiance. Azriel took a moment to admire it. 

He realized seconds later that he’d stared for too long, that you were now gazing up at him expectantly, eyes scanning his face. 

Azriel wasn’t much of a talker, not around strangers, and sometimes not even his own family. It was never that he didn’t have things to say— quite the opposite, really. Az thought about everything, and he thought about it all very deeply. He had too much to say, too much that he’d observed. But now, in front of you, his mind was drawing blanks. He thought back to how, not long ago, you both stood on a snowy mountain, looking into the comfortable darkness of the night. How time worked here, with you, he didn’t know. It didn’t bother him, however, not like it did when he first woke up. In fact, he had begun to enjoy it. To enjoy how free it was, how there were no rules, no expectations, no missions. 

Azriel paused, his thoughts swirling, and then, almost as if caught off guard by his own words, he blurted out, "I would like to show you something." 

You blinked in surprise, your mouth parting slightly as your heart seemed to skip a beat, carefully falling back into a rhythmic melody. A smile spread across your features– a broad, teeth-revealing smile. The corners of Azriel’s lips turned up in response. If you didn’t know any better, you would have described the smile as almost awkward in its delivery. Though modest, it still held a certain beauty as it graced his face. The lines that had once etched across his features seemed to smooth out, replaced by silent calm evident in the softening of his gaze, the subtle curve of that smile. Your own smile settled into a close-lipped one, and you gently pulled your bottom lip with your teeth before nodding your head.  

“Lead the way, Azriel," you said, and he began walking, but not without a quick glance back at you, ensuring you were following his lead. As you walked beside him at a comfortable pace, his wings fanned out comfortably. Their immense size allowed them to extend behind you, and even though you walked at his pace, you could feel their presence above you.

The streets of Velaris unfolded before you as you walked alongside Azriel. You took it all in– the beauty of the city, its intricate architecture and vibrant atmosphere. It was always a pleasure to experience it, to breathe in its life. Even amidst the circumstances that brought you here, there was a sense of appreciation for the privilege of experiencing such a place. A sense of jealousy welled up within you. Envy for those who could lead a normal life here— those who could wake up, take a walk by the Sidra, greet their friends in the morning light. It all seemed so mundane, so easy. You pushed the thought away, not wanting to give it the air to breathe, the space to fester. You looked towards Azriel.

“Where are we going?” You asked, as you both rounded a corner into a small alleyway. The space was narrow, causing you to fall into line behind him, your vision focusing on his wings. They were beautiful before, in the nighttime glow, but seeing them in such close proximity, with the sun casting through their membranes, it was a different experience. Such beautiful, beautiful things, you thought. You ached to run your fingertips across them. 

He responded over his shoulder, "Aren't you supposed to know everything?"

You sensed a slight playful tone in his voice, letting out a small laugh at his question. 

"That's not how it works," you replied, "I'm not The Mother."

Azriel stopped for a moment, causing you to skitter to a stop as well. He looked back, a puzzled expression crossing his face as he uttered a simple "huh." 

You suddenly felt a vulnerability settling in, an awkward awareness of yourself and your proximity to him. Before it could fully take hold, Azriel resumed walking and you followed. The alleyway began to open up to a bigger road, allowing the space for you both to begin walking side by side once more. 

"Azriel,” You said, casting a glance up at him, “If you're leading me to some private area to kill me, I hate to tell you that it won't work."

He stopped, and then craned his head down to look at you. A nervous flutter danced in your chest as a sense of self-consciousness crept in. What a stupid joke to make, you thought. What if he believed you were making a crude reference to his duties as a spymaster– assuming the worst of him and his abilities?  Had you inadvertently touched on a sensitive subject in an attempt at humor? You weren't friends, you reminded yourself,  there was still an expectation of professionalism to uphold. Azriel looked at you for a moment. And then another.

And then, he laughed. The sound, small and amused, radiated through your chest. You awkwardly joined in, unsure if your joke had landed or if it was something else entirely.

"Why would I kill the one who will bring me peace?" he asked, his words delivered with a touch of sincerity. 

You let out a breath, taking in his face, the hazel of his eyes as he stared down at you. You smiled back at him, letting out another laugh, this time more certain and lighthearted. "Right, that would be foolish of you.”

You knew that Azriel was talking about your duties, about the job of a Reaper, not you specifically. But for a moment, you let yourself live in a fantasy, one where you weren't simply The Mother’s hand, where you didn’t only exist here, in a space where no one remembered you. 

Azriel beckoned you to walk into the bigger street. It was only a few more steps before you stopped, taking in the sight of a quaint shop before you, adorned with small tables and chairs, surrounded by hanging plants and flowers. The window boasted a delicately hand-painted logo: Fillings & Emulsions.

Azriel took notice of the silence surrounding you both, no hum of the usual Velaris life, no laughter, no murmured distant conversations. Yet, the shop still smelled like its usual self— a sweet, buttery aroma of delicate treats and pastries. Azriel breathed it in with a smile. He opened the door, a small jingle sounding above him where a tiny bell rang. He held it open for you to enter.

Your gaze swept across the interior, taking in the small tables and the glass display filled with pastries of various shapes and colors. Behind the counter, loaves of bread sat neatly on wooden shelves.

"I like coming here, when I have the time." 

Wandering around and exploring the cozy pastry shop, your gaze casually shifted towards Azriel, who remained by the doorway. "You're a dessert person?" you asked as you continued to meander through the charming space. 

“Sometimes,” Azriel replied, walking further into the store. He looked around, taking in the familiar environment, the comforting decor. “But they have these sour candies that I love. They come in this little gold box-”

“You mean these?”

Now behind the counter, you turned around to face him, a small delicate gold box in your hand. The plastic cover revealed 12 small square gummies nestled inside, each in their own white wrapper. You looked up at him for confirmation. Azriel met your eyes before his gaze traveled down to your hands.

“Yes,” he breathed, a small smile forming on his lips, “Those.��

You smiled at the response, slowly making your way back around the counter, a few feet away from where he stood. You surveyed the store, eyes bouncing to the different tables and mismatched chairs. “Where do you usually sit?” 

 “I, uh, I don’t.” Azriel cleared his throat. “I never have the time. And when I do, I usually just head home.” 

Azriel didn’t explain further, didn’t tell you his real reasons. It was true, he usually didn’t have time to sit and leisurely enjoy a box of candies. But when he did, he was often too afraid to stay in the store itself. 

Azriel knew he called attention, that his wings stuck out in stark contrast against the gentle streets of the city, the quiet hum of life. He’d conditioned himself to appear smaller when walking around, to avoid direct eye contact so as to not intimidate those he passed. But even then, his presence was offputting– he’d catch citizens avoiding him, creating more distance between them or switching to the opposite side of the street.  It was part of the job, he told himself. He was a large male, fully aware of how terrifying his stature could be, how frightening his own wings could be— especially when fully extended. Not even to mention his scarred hands, ones that he was sure fae could imagine easily drenched in the blood of his enemies. He wore gloves when he could. He wasn’t ashamed of them– his hands– not as much as before, but he was always acutely aware. Aware that they weren’t normal, that they drew attention, that for the comfort of others, he hid them away. 

He came to, his thoughts slowly dissipating as he registered his surroundings once more, his gaze landing on you. You looked at him with a small curiosity in your eyes.

“Well,” You said, taking a glance around, “Would you like to sit now?”

“I would.” He nodded, offering a small smile that carried a touch of timidity. It wasn't like before, no uncertainty or awkwardness, but rather a gentle expression that hinted at a reserved warmth. 

“Inside or outside?”

Azriel looked over his shoulder, towards the small door and the seating outside. 

“Outside,” he replied.

A hum of agreement escaped your lips as you gave him a smile, taking a step to the side in order to walk around him, leading the way. The gentle jingle of the little doorbell echoed delicately as you stepped outside.

 Azriel followed you, watching as you approached a small steel table. The white paint was chipped, flaking off at certain areas of the legs, but you didn’t seem to mind. The air felt crisp and clean, rays of sunshine peeking through alleyways and the tips of the stores that lined the street. Azriel took a moment to breathe it in, savoring the clarity that hung in the atmosphere, the silence. You pulled out your chair, the movement emitting a small screech as it slid against the cobblestones. Azriel walked to the table, standing opposite of you, and carefully took a seat. 

As you slowly opened the box, Azriel adjusted himself in the seat. It was small, the steel back stiff and straight, making it hard for him to sit comfortably with his wings. After a small struggle, he settled into a position sitting up right, wings draping across each side of the chair. The frustration melted away as he took in his surroundings once more. He felt a certain peace he’d never felt before. A lightness in his movements, in his touch. The fresh air kissed his skin, a soft breeze whispered into his ears, threading itself through his hair. 

“Is it always like this?” He asked. 

You pulled the lid off the box, casting a glance up at him. Azriel’s head was turned sideways, his gaze following the curve of the streets.

“Like what?”

He looked at you, catching your eye. His face held a graceful calmness, brows slightly furrowed, and the corners of his lips turned up ever so slightly. With a soft, velvety tone, he replied, "This peaceful." 

Turning to the side, you quickly scanned over the streets, registering the simple beauty that surrounded you both. Turning back to him, a tender smile played on your lips.

“Yes,” you replied, “It is.”

Azriel's response was a simple silent contemplation. Leaning back with a subtle adjustment for comfort, his wings gently folded and his gaze fixed on the table. Azriel loved Velaris. But he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the peace of an empty city that graced him now. Sitting with you now, at a small table by the streets, was something he was never able to do— not truly, not to this extent. He held the feeling close. 

 "Which are your favorites?" 

Your voice pulled Azriel back to reality. He blinked, and then he looked at you. 

"The green ones.”

You picked up one of the green candies nestled in white wrapping and offered it to him. Your hands briefly touched as he gently accepted the candy from you. You felt the texture of his skin against yours, the small ridges formed by the scarred tissue that extended to his fingers. 

Azriel waited for it– the expected recoil from unintended contact, his body having been naturally accustomed to jump at the slightest of touches. However, this time, there was no involuntary withdrawal, no rush of icy embarrassment. 

He was always so careful of his touch with Elain, acutely aware of how his hands looked against her immaculate skin. Although he refused to admit it, it bothered him deeply, how obvious it made his differences appear. Yet, that caution wasn’t found now, in his movements with you. Instead, a sense of certainty filled him, a gentle nudge to his heart, a contentedness with himself and his presence. You were beautiful, graceful, kind– and he didn’t feel guilt when touching you, didn’t feel as if he were about to taint something too beautiful for his hands.

You observed him as he stared at his hands, now resting on the table, the candy still in between his fingers. With a small movement, you gently cupped the side of one of them with your palm. 

“Azriel,” You softly said, pulling his attention to you. “They didn’t feel this type of peace— didn’t feel peace at all, actually.”

Azriel stayed quiet, his gaze now trained on where your hand touched his. You pulled your hand back, and Azriel's gaze followed. Then, almost imperceptibly, the hazel of his eyes brightened. There was something about the way you spoke to him, about how kind your voice was. They didn’t feel peace. Your words rang in his head, a wave of relief passing through his body. It healed a part of him that he swore was broken, warmed his body like a summer's eve. He gave you a small smile. 

You worried for a moment that you had forced thoughts onto him, ones that harbored pain and loneliness. But you felt it in your gut, a need to tell him, to let him know that they had suffered the way they deserved— that his hands were solely a part of him, a body part, natural. And from his response, it seemed as if he understood what you were saying, and most importantly, that it resonated with him the way you wished it to. You returned your attention to the sour candies before you.

"Can I ask why you like these so much?"

Azriel looked at you, a close-mouthed smile forming. His eyes crinkled a bit, and then he explained, "My mother used to give me candies just like this when I was able to see her. I never figured out how she got them. She..." He trailed off, readjusting how he was sitting. His gaze met yours as he finished, "That's why."

You could sense the sadness now evident in his face, his wings rolling in closer to his body. You let out a small breath as a sudden pang of sympathy hit you. 

"Let's talk about something else," you suggested, subtly shifting the focus as you played with the edges of the candy box

Azriel leaned forward quickly, his hand reaching out to gently rest on yours before either of you had the chance to register the movement. "It's alright,” he said softly. “I'd like to talk about this. I don't talk about her much.”

Your gaze lingered on his hand touching yours, on the warmth that spread through your skin at the contact. Be professional, you reminded yourself. This is not real. 

With a genuine smile, you nodded, careful not to move a muscle, not wanting to disrupt the moment, to risk the chance of him retracting his hand.  "Then please, I'd love to hear.”

And so he did. Azriel spoke of his mother, of growing up admiring her long hair and the way she smelled of pine and snow. He realized that he had never talked so much about himself, never shared such intimate details about his life. He realized, too, that he quite liked it. He liked talking to you. He liked you. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Days and nights had passed, Azriel was sure of it, but he was never tired, never slept. Time worked so differently here– he wasn’t aware of it passing, wasn’t aware of what he’d done the day before or even hours prior. All he was aware of was the peace in his heart, how it radiated throughout his body, relieving him of centuries worth of tension. Amidst it all was you, a companion Azriel had grown to enjoy— to adore, if he was being honest with himself.

You were kind and patient, welcoming in a way that had him opening up to you, telling you stories that he’d never dared to share with anyone else. There was no fear of being vulnerable here, with you, no threat he had to worry about, no anxiety regarding a new enemy or an evil to defeat. It was all so easy. 

Azriel walked through the hallways of the House of Wind, taking in the familiar sense of home that filled it, the beauty of the sun-warmed stone. He found himself outside of his own room, staring in at the space. It was strange to think that his body, his real body, lay in another bedroom, in another home— in a form of existence that he no longer held. It was all so very strange. But he didn’t mind, not anymore.

He felt you before he heard you, a gentle breeze fanning over him, a smell of sweetness filling his nose. He turned to face you, taking in your presence, the cream dress that adorned your figure. It was there again, the subtle halo around your head, framed by faint rays of sunlight. 

“Hello, Azriel.” You greeted with a large smile. He mirrored the gesture almost instantly. 

“Hello, y/n.” 

You took a few steps forward, craning your head to peer into the room behind him, past the doorway he stood under. 

“Is this your room?” 

“Yes,” He said, taking a step aside to allow for you to pass him as you entered. “One of many. My family, they have many places to call home.”

“Do you miss them?” You asked, casting a glance over your shoulder as you moved around his room, “Your family, I mean.”

Azriel stilled for a moment. He hadn’t thought of them as much as he would have expected, a part of him felt guilty for not being as heartbroken. He did miss his family– he was worried about them, about how they were doing, if his help was needed. But he didn’t feel a rush to return to his life, no nauseating need to fix his current situation, to be healed and awake. 

“Yes.” He replied. He watched as you walked around, carefully taking in your surroundings. His room wasn’t very interesting— simple decorations that had already been placed before he took residence, various random books. 

“Where do you disappear to?” Azriel asked. 

You turned to look at him, taking him in for the first time since you entered. It was still there, you noticed, the sense of calm on his face, the evidence of a serene ease. His eyes held a lightness that you’d seen grow since he first came to you. His shoulders were relaxed, his wings comfortably fanned out behind him in an open and unhurried sprawl.

To do your job, you thought. The duties of a Reaper. Visiting souls in distress, leading them to their peace swiftly– efficiently. Not staying with them, not keeping them company. No, those were things you’d reserved for Azriel. You only hoped that The Mother wasn’t angry, that your affinity for him didn’t disrupt a delicate balance. 

“As much as I enjoy our time together, I still have duties to fulfill,” You replied. “Did you miss me?”

You intended for it to be a joke, a lighthearted comment that would make him laugh– a melodic sound you had gotten used to recently, one that you savored and replayed in your mind. Yet Azriel’s eyes met yours with a serious gaze. 

“Yes,” He answered, his voice sincere. “I did.”

Something in your chest fluttered and your mouth parted, a pleasant shiver rolling through your body. There was a small heat that rose to your cheeks. For a moment, you looked at the floor, composing yourself before meeting his gaze again. A genuine smile graced your lips as you softly admitted, "I missed you, too." 

A few moments later, you walked along Azriel as he shared stories about his home, his brothers, and the various experiences he'd had, absorbing each narrative with hungry ears. It was a beautiful thing to see, Azriel open and laughing, the smile on his lips as he recalled favorite memories. This house, The House of Wind as Azriel had called it, was filled with life– his life. You could feel it everywhere as you walked. There was a small tug at your heart. He had a life. A beautiful, real life. 

Eventually, you both stopped at a large window, the outside world spread before you in a breathtaking view. Azriel found his gaze dropping to the streets below, devoid of the usual bustling life he was used to. Faintly, a small ache hit the back of his head. He blinked it away. Then, he frowned slightly, a realization hitting him that he didn’t enjoy seeing the streets empty– that something felt missing. He turned to look at you, brows furrowed. 

"Do you ever get lonely?" 

The question lingered in the air for a moment, stealing the air from your lungs. Why it seemed to strike, you couldn’t tell, but it left a burn in its wake. You let out a deep breath as you looked up at Azriel.

“The Mother blessed me with a duty that is fulfilling.”

Azriel looked at you, studying your response. A sense of sadness filled him, a gentle ache in his heart at the idea, at the image of you alone, wandering the empty streets. Softly, he spoke, "That's not what I asked." 

A wave of emotion washed over you. There was a sanctity to your duties, to the job that you held. You were honored to help The Mother, to be the one that granted such peace. You never knew that you could feel such longing, such a desire to be someone else, something else, until you met Azriel the first time he crossed. And then the time after. And now. 

 "Yes, Azriel,” you admitted, “I do.”

As you both stood in the quiet moment, the stunning view from the window still visible in your peripheral vision, you looked at Azriel. You took in his details—the tousle of his hair, the gleam in his eyes—committing the scene to memory. This was an image you wanted to save forever, one of him so close, so connected. 

Azriel broke the silence with another question, "Why do you do that? Say my name so often?"

You didn’t realize that the frequency in which you used his name was noticeable. It rolled off your tongue so easily, so naturally. You thought about it for a moment, thought about the feeling you got before you said it. 

"Would you prefer me to call you by something else?" you asked, tilting your head slightly as you observed Azriel's expressions. "Shadowsinger, or Spymaster?"

His response was immediate and he took a step forward as he spoke. "No," Azriel said, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability. "I-I like it."

You smiled at him. "I suppose I do it to make sure you feel seen." 

A flicker of confusion crossed Azriel's face, his brows knitting together. "Seen?"

"To show you that you're not just what you do," you explained, your voice carrying a quiet sincerity. Your words trailed off softly. A beat passed, and then you added, "At least not to me." 

In his hundreds of years of life, Azriel was never seen. He had been perceived, observed, even known, but never truly seen. Not like the way you looked at him, the way you allowed him to breathe, allowed him to exist as nothing more than simply Azriel. 

Your gaze held seemed to see beyond the layers he had meticulously built around himself for so long, beyond the titles and responsibilities that often defined him. For the first time, he felt a sense of vulnerability mingled with relief—a feeling of being understood in a way he hadn't experienced before, in a way he never felt he deserved. A warmth spread through his body, starting from the pit of his stomach and radiating outward, enveloping him in a comforting embrace. 

Without even realizing it, his hand moved towards you, lifting a strand of your hair and gently holding it between his scarred fingers. In the past, he would have hesitated to touch another person so intimately, but in this moment, there was no hesitation, no sense of reluctance, only a pull to you and you only. Was this part of what it meant to be a Reaper? He wondered, to cause such comfort in those you kept company? To make them feel like this? 

He watched the way the strand of hair caught the light, twirling it between his fingers with a tenderness he had never known himself capable of. He met your eyes, slightly widened, observing him intently. With a soft smile, Azriel spoke, "I see you too, Y/n.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

His view was filled with rolling hills, vibrant in green hues, a gentle afternoon sun in the sky. In the distance, he could hear the faint sounds of babbling brooks and streams, a soothing melody that seemed to blend seamlessly with the rustle of the wind through the grass, through the leaves of the trees that surrounded you. Azriel understood why Mor was so fond of her estate, why she ran off to it when she could. If it was surrounded with views like this, with such quiet life, beautiful life, he would escape to it, too. Beside him, you lay on the soft grass, your hair spread out around you like a halo. 

Despite the open air, Azriel felt groggy, his eyelids heavier than they’d felt in a while. Something felt strange, a trickling sense of anxiety within his body. The wind in his hair and the air on his arms, on his wings, didn’t feel the same— it wasn’t as lively, wasn’t as strong. There was a sharp throb in the back of his head, sending a sudden wave of pain crashing over him. He grimaced and let out a low groan.

Instinctively, you jumped up at the sound, angling your body to face him, concern painting your features. Your heart dropped as you watched him bring a hand to the back of his head, brows furrowed in discomfort.

Amidst pained groans, Azriel turned to you with a frown. "I’m sorry. I just- I keep having these horrible headaches.”

You let out a small breath.

"It's because you're healing," you murmured softly, your voice tinged with sorrow. Your gaze lingered on him, sadness flickering across your features. When Azriel’s eyes met yours, you quickly blinked away any evidence of it, calling forward a gentle, unassuming, face. 

His hand dropped slowly from the back of his head. "I am?" he echoed.

You extended your hand, hovering it gently over the back of his head where his hand had been moments ago. "This is where you damaged your skull," you explained softly,. "The injury that got you... Well, here. With me." Your gaze swept around the tranquil surroundings, a small, bittersweet smile playing at the corners of your lips. "Any progress in your physical body, you feel here too," you continued, your voice tender yet matter-of-fact. "The ache is calling you back."

"Back to my life," Azriel murmured, the words barely audible as they slipped from his lips, softening and fading before they fully formed.

You nodded, a lump in the back of your throat. 

Azriel's expression shifted abruptly, a flash of tension replacing the settled calmness that had graced his face for quite some time now.  "I don't want to go back," he said. It was a tone of voice you’d never heard from him before, a sense of desperation that didn’t fit him. 

 You shook your head gently. "You don't mean that.”

But Azriel remained resolute. Moving closer, he reached out, his hand coming to rest atop yours on your thigh. "I do," he insisted, his tone unwavering. “Y/n, I do.”

“Azriel,” You said sternly. “You have a life waiting for you, a long life.”

“But I’m so tired. All the time,Y/n” he admitted, his voice heavy with weariness. “And this,” he gestured around him, his eyes lingering on the rolling green hills, "this is the most at peace I’ve ever felt."

You felt a selfish impulse, a desire to indulge in his fantasy, to urge him to stay, to fight against the inevitable pull back to reality. But you knew it wasn't fair, that it wasn’t right. If you truly cared for someone, you had to be fair to them. And you cared for Azriel– cared for him in a way you’d never felt before. 

“But it’s not real,” you interjected softly, leaning in, your brows furrowed, your forehead creased with concern. "This isn’t a life.This isn’t a reality— this is an in-between. Sooner or later, you will find yourself on one end.”

Azriel couldn’t understand. His heart hurt. Why weren’t you agreeing with him? Why weren’t you telling him to stay, convincing him it was worth it? This peace he felt with you, this quiet life you lived, he could stay. He would stay. 

“You’re real,” he whispered, his voice tinged with desperation. “And right now, this...” he trailed off, his gaze sweeping over your face, "this feels real to me.”

You took a deep breath, feeling knots tightening in your stomach, a lump forming in your throat. You swallowed down the words you wanted to say, replacing the ones on your tongue with those he needed to hear. 

"I'm a Reaper," you said, reminding him of the inevitable separation it entailed. His eyes, a dark, almost sad brown, met yours. “Reapers aren’t meant to stay.”

The knots in your stomach were twisting now, weaving themselves through your ribs. It was hard for you to breathe, hard for you to look at Azriel as he stared at you with such clear hurt on his face. He couldn’t stay. It wasn’t natural. It wasn’t the plan. Azriel was going to return to a life where he would not remember you, a life in which you didn’t exist. And you would remain here, waiting in a form of existence that had no time. 

"Your family misses you," you continued, your gaze unwavering as you locked eyes with him. The knots now wrapped around your heart, squeezing.  "You still have things to do. They need you. You need them."

Surely your heart was about to burst, the pressure in your chest now overwhelming– crushing you, your heartbeat erratic. 

“Come with me.” Azriel said.

You let out a small breath, a soft laugh escaping your lips at the absurdity of his suggestion. It sounded so simple, so easy, but you knew better. It wasn't that simple, life was never that easy. You were a Reaper. He was a soul. Before you could respond, Azriel continued, his voice still gentle but earnest.

"You'll love them. And you'll love Velaris when it is filled with people. With life."

His eyes bore into you, seemingly searching for something, trying to memorize every contour of your face, every flicker of emotion that danced across your features. 

"I can't," you replied softly, your heart heavy with the weight of your duty. You shook your head again as you tightened your lips for a moment. "That's not how this works.”

Azriel's demeanor softened, a small breath of defeat escaping him as his wings drooped slightly. He took in everything you said, his gaze flickering down to where his hand still rested atop yours before meeting your eyes again.

"I don’t want to leave you here," he said quietly.

Here, alone, he thought. It was true, everything was so beautiful in this form of existence. It was quiet, serene, and calm. The nights were beautiful, the days were glorious. But without you, it would have been empty. Void of life. He didn’t want that for you, he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you in such a vast space. It felt wrong. 

You recognized the concern in his eyes, realizing that his desperation stemmed from a place of caring– caring for you.  It struck a chord within you, stirring a bittersweet pang in your chest, right beside your rapidly beating, tied up heart. Somehow, knowing that he cared for you only made you care for him more, deepening the sorrow that lingered in you, the feeling that now coursed through your veins. 

Tilting your head, you offered him a soft smile, a gesture of reassurance, you hoped. "Azriel," you said gently, your voice tinged with a warmth he had grown to love,  "I'll be alright. I'm happy here. It's where I belong."

It wasn’t all a lie. This was where you belonged, and you would be alright. But you weren’t sure if you’d be happy. Happiness wasn’t something you used to think of. You had a duty, a sacred, important duty, nothing else really mattered— not yourself, not your desires, not your heart. 

Azriel took in your answer, swallowing the urge to fight it, to convince you further.  But the pleading in your eyes, coupled with the ache in his chest and the heaviness in his stomach, left him feeling defeated. With a resigned nod, he looked at you, his voice soft but determined.

"I'll find you," he whispered.

You blinked, caught off guard by the soft declaration.

"I'll find you," Azriel said again, his tone firmer, as if he were making a promise that he intended to keep.

You understood the sentiment behind his words, recognizing the determination in his eyes. You knew, without needing to discuss it, that as a skilled spymaster, he possessed the ability to find people. Yet, deep down, you also understood the inevitable truth—that soon, he would forget you, forget the time you spent together. The thought caused a sharp ache in your heart, one you preferred not to dwell on.

So, with a heavy heart, you simply nodded and murmured, "Okay." And offered him a smile. 

You sat there in silence, the weight of his words hanging in the air around you. Breathing in the crisp, fresh air, you let the sounds of nature wash over you, grounding you in the present moment. Your gaze lingered on his face, committing every detail to memory, as if carving it into your very being. You wanted to remember this. Remember him, his touch, his care for you. 

Azriel—the shadowsinger, the spymaster, a skilled killer. And then there was you—the servant of the Mother, a guide for souls, bound by duty and devotion. Death and his Reaper. What a poetic pair you made.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

It was time. 

You had been right, when you talked him down before, sitting on the beautiful green hill.  Azriel had a life to return to, a family he missed– a family that missed him. He didn’t belong here, no matter how much he wished he could. He could feel it, nestled within his ribs, a deep pull to his body. 

Azriel stood in the familiar confines of the River house, his gaze fixed on the bed where his physical form lay peacefully. He took in the sight of his body, now filled with color, vibrant and alive, a stark contrast to the pale, lifeless form he had been when he first awoke. 

A sense of disorientation washed over him as he realized he was back here, in this room, though he couldn't recall making the conscious decision to return. From behind him, he felt your presence, a familiar energy that always seemed to embrace him with a comfortable warmth, the sweet smell in his nose.

 "I didn't even realize I was coming here.” Azriel said. 

Without turning, he heard your soft voice. "You never do," you replied simply, “Your body calls and you answer.”

Azriel nodded slowly, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. He breathed out heavily. He longed to turn and look at you, to embrace your presence, trace the features of your face. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not yet. He wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to confront the truth that lay before him—that he wanted to go back, back to the land of the living, to his family, to embrace his life once more. But he wasn't ready for what he needed to do in order to return– wasn’t ready to say goodbye to you.

“Azriel,” You said, as you gently placed your hand on his arm. He turned to look at you, his heart skipping a beat.The faelight cast a soft glow on your body, illuminating the delicate features of your face, dancing through your hair like shimmering strands of moonlight. And there it was—the small, reassuring smile that you had offered him so many times before. The smile you had given to him when he first woke up, afraid and alarmed, in the same place he stood now. 

He couldn't help but feel a flicker of happiness at the sight of your gentle smile, but just as quickly as the feeling washed over him, it was replaced by a bittersweet pang of realization. The reality of why you were here, why you were looking at him with such tender affection, why he could barely feel your touch— and why his head throbbed with searing pain. He glanced over his shoulder at his sleeping form, and then looked at you again. 

“Y/n, I-”

You gently shook your head, a soft shushing sound escaping your lips as you reached out to calm him. "It's okay," you reassured him, your voice gentle but firm. "You won’t feel a thing."

But Azriel shook his head too, his expression filled with concern as he took your hands in his. "That's not what I'm worried about," he admitted quietly.

You met his gaze, taking in every detail of his face, breathing in his scent. Your gaze drifted towards his wings, so beautiful, so powerful. And then you looked back at him.

"I'll be okay." 

It was a promise, not just to him, but to yourself.

Azriel's senses dulled and the pain intensified, a sense of desperation washed over him. He thought back to your conversations earlier. He never figured out how time worked here, perhaps the conversation had been days ago, even weeks. But, to him, it felt like hours prior. Maybe a day, if he was being generous. Still, his mind raced with thoughts, with things he wanted to tell you, to ask of you, things that hadn’t been there before. Ask me what you really want to, Azriel, you had said, so he did.

“Am I worthy?” His voice rang out, unsure, afraid— of the answer, of what the question meant. “Am I worthy of this life? Is… is it worth it?”

You smiled. A broad, bright, and kind smile. 

You felt Azriel's hands tremble slightly in yours, guiding them to your lips. With tender reverence, you pressed a small, tender kiss upon his scarred flesh. “Yes,” you whispered, “If only you knew.”

You understood now, why The Mother always urged for a swift journey. You weren’t supposed to spend such intimate times with your souls, you weren’t supposed to grow comfortable in their presence, to learn about their favorite candies and the way their mothers smelled. You weren’t supposed to because it distracted you from your duty– and more importantly, you weren’t supposed to because it prevented you from the heartache you felt now. A piercing pain in your chest, a heaviness in your stomach. 

You lifted a hand and gently placed it on his cheek. The warmth of your touch radiated through his body, sending a wave of indescribable sensation coursing through him. The world seemed to blur around him, the ringing in his ears drowning out all other sound. He squinted against the growing brightness, his head throbbing with a relentless ache. He heard your voice, soft like honey, sweet like tea, whispering in his ear in perfect clarity. 

“Goodbye, Azriel.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel jolted upright, his body propelled by a surge of adrenaline that left him momentarily breathless. With a deep inhale, he struggled to steady his racing heart, his surroundings swimming into focus with agonizing slowness.

Each detail of the room seemed to materialize before him in excruciating detail, from the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the window to the faint murmur of voices drifting from the doorway. His hand instinctively went to the back of his head, a gesture born of instinct rather than any physical discomfort. Confusion furrowed his brow as he tried to recall why he had woken with such a start, where he currently was, why he laid on a bare bed, but the memory seemed frustratingly out of reach– blurry and unfocused. 

As Azriel's eyes adjusted to the soft light filtering through the room, the door creaked open, a distant sound barely registering in his slow mind. Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, a blur of motion filled his vision and Cassian was upon him, bounding forward with a crushing embrace. "There's my boy!" 

With a startled gasp, Azriel felt the air rush out of his lungs as Cassian's hug engulfed him, the force of the impact momentarily disorienting him further than he already was. A small, involuntary sound—a mixture of surprise and amusement—escaped his lips as he tried to regain his bearings. Azriel's gaze flickered past Cassian’s broad shoulders, to where Rhysand stood in the doorway, his expression a mix of concern and amusement.

"Okay, Cass," Rhysand said, walking towards the bed. "Let him breathe. We don’t want to give him another head injury."

Cassian released Azriel from his enthusiastic embrace, though a joyous gleam danced in his eyes as he stepped back, offering Azriel a sheepish grin. "My bad," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of embarrassment, “I just missed ya.” 

Rhysand stood casually, a playful smirk dancing across his lips. "If you were seeking attention, Az, you could've simply asked," he said with a wave of his hand. "No need to resort to dying for it."

The comment elicited a shocked blink from Azriel, his brows furrowing in confusion. "I- What?" he echoed. A few of his shadows slithered up his arms, wrapping themselves across his shoulders, the cool trail of them relieving tension in his upper body. 

Rhysand let out a small laugh as he clapped him on the shoulder with a reassuring grin. "You have a lot of catching up to do, brother," Rhysand remarked, “Let's get you back to the land of the living.”

Azriel offered a small, uncertain laugh in response, the corners of his lips curling upwards into a hesitant smile, his mind still cloudy, disoriented. Rhysand and Cassian began talking, referring to him, attempting to fill Azriel in, but he wasn’t paying attention, their voices blending into a distant hum.

Instead, Azriel's attention was drawn to an inexplicable warmth on his cheek. Instinctively, he lifted his hand and gently touched the spot, feeling the comforting heat beneath his fingertips. He frowned, trying to make sense of the sensation, but the warmth seemed to soothe his lingering disorientation, grounding him in the present moment with a sense of…ease. 

Azriel's attention shifted towards the corner of the room, where a soft beam of sunlight filtered through the window. A handful of his shadows floated and twirled, their graceful movements dancing within the warm glow. He smiled, tilting his head at the sight, his hand still on his cheek. What a beautiful sight, Azriel thought. And then he was turning his attention back to his brothers, a wide smile now on his cheeks. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

y'all... imagine meeting ur soulmate but u can only see her when ur dead and cant remember her otherwise lol sucks for azriel.

[justrustandstardust]

i saw an incredible post on tiktok and i wanted to expand on it, because it's genuinely amazing. all the credit to @noesbf on tt for the idea that inspired these thoughts.

geto's character is threaded through with motifs of consumption. he takes things in, whether they be curses or daughters, and is spurred by intense empathy that ends up going in the "wrong" direction once he takes the entire jujutsu world under his wing.

when we're introduced to him in hidden inventory, our first glimpse is of him consuming a curse. he's also alone, in a dark alleyway, a symbolic image that parallels his journey throughout the story. he's a consumptive force, a facet of his being that ultimately leads to his undoing because he consumes the responsibility of "saving" the strong, who are burdened by the weak.

gojo, on the other hand, repels. he's an outward force, extending out a physical barrier that creates distance between his body and the world. where geto invites, gojo rejects. their abilities are constructed as diametrically opposed to one another's.

through the motif of gojo's abilities, this image captures their consume/repel dynamic in a singular shot. after riko's death, gojo leans into red, which repels. he focuses on growing stronger and in doing so, isolates himself from the world (and subsequently, geto). on the other hand, geto leans into blue, which aligns with the consumptive nature of his character. he harbours riko's death inside of himself and it festers, like a curse.

black holes are all-consuming vacuums. they subsume everything around them and create an inescapable vortex— once you're pulled in, you're never getting out. it will literally eat you and in doing so, makes you an everlasting part of it.

white holes, on the other hand, function in opposition to black ones along the same axis. where black holes pull, white holes push. nothing can enter them; they're doomed to a lonely eternity because of the force that holds the universe at a distance. nothing outside of it can affect what goes on within, yet it affects everything around it.

however, white holes can be subsumed by black holes. while nothing can enter them, if a white hole were to cross paths with a black hole, its consumptive force is so powerful that it would eat them too.

after geto and gojo experience a rapture in their relationship, gojo withdraws from the world, holding everyone at a literal and figurative distance. yet, even while he's alone, he's endlessly drawn towards geto. his eyes are bound but his soul isn't— it's tied to the piece of him inside of someone else, and gojo visibly feels the pull.

white/black holes also correspond to the colours associated with gojo and geto's characters (they align with their yin/yang dynamic, where yin (black) symbolizes darkness & the moon and yang (white) symbolizes light & the sun).

yin/yang are more than two halves; they form an indivisible whole. they become one another: light turns to dark, the moon replaces the sun in the sky, life transitions into death only to be born as life again.

if two celestial bodies exert oppositional forces upon each other, they function in equilibrium. geto's consumption was growing alongside gojo's repelling, reaching an event horizon when he took the lives of 112 villagers and forcing the two of them out of equilibrium. he continued to consume (curses, money, vulnerable people through his cult) until he died and took gojo's soul with him.

consumption can only exist if there's a repellant force pushing back. geto and gojo are not opposites, instead, they each contain the other— every yin has yang within it and vice versa.

they are borne of each other, they are unknowable without the other. they are more than matching; together, they are complete.

[urdreamydoodles]

Can we have some headcannons about the comic X Men characters seeing their lover going absolutely animal during battle due to losing control and thinking the enemy killed the character they're paired with?

X-Men x Reader

You think the enemy killed your lover

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Emma Frost, Laura Kinney, Wade Wilson, Cable & Hank McCoy

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

- When Logan finally regains consciousness, he sees you in the midst of battle, a blur of primal fury tearing through your enemies. There’s something raw and unhinged about the way you move, like an animal unleashed, and it takes him a moment to realize you’re fighting as if he’s already dead. His heart clenches as he understands just how deeply his supposed “death” has shattered you.

- Watching you like this is both breathtaking and terrifying for Logan. He’s always respected your strength, but this is different—this is vengeance incarnate. He recognizes the wildness in your eyes, a mirror of his own rage when he loses himself. Logan knows he needs to reach you before you spiral further, but he also knows you won’t stop until every last threat is eliminated.

- Logan makes his way to you, dodging blows and gunfire, his voice rough as he tries to get through to you. He calls your name, over and over, louder each time, but you’re in too deep, consumed by grief and fury. The sight breaks him a little, knowing he’s the reason for your pain. But he’s never been one to back down, so he keeps pushing, shouting until his voice is hoarse.

- Just as you finish off the last enemy in a brutal display, Logan manages to reach you. He grabs your wrist, his grip firm but gentle, and he says your name in a tone that cuts through your haze of anger. When you finally turn to face him, there’s a mixture of disbelief and relief in your eyes, and he can see how hard it’s been for you to lose control.

- Logan pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly as your anger fades into exhaustion. He murmurs reassurances, his voice softer than it usually is, telling you he’s okay, he’s here. You cling to him, breath hitching as the realization settles that he’s alive. Logan just holds you, whispering that he’s not going anywhere, grounding you as your mind returns from the edge.

- Later, when you’re both safe, Logan sits beside you, a hand on your back as he tells you how much it meant to him that you fought for him like that. But he also makes you promise that you’ll never let grief take you that far again. With a quiet intensity, he says he never wants to see you lose yourself like that, no matter the cost. You nod, grateful for his honesty and the steady comfort only he can give.

Remy LeBeau aka Gambit

- Remy never thought he’d see you like this, an unstoppable force ripping through your enemies as if they were nothing. His heart sinks as he realizes what’s driving you—thinking he’s gone, that he’s been taken from you. The raw anguish in your movements, the way you fight with reckless abandon, hits him harder than he could have imagined.

- Struggling to regain his own strength, Remy watches you, pain and admiration swirling within him. You’re beautiful even in your fury, and there’s something heart-wrenching about how much you care, how much his loss has devastated you. He knows he needs to reach you, but he’s almost afraid of what you’ll do when you see him.

- As you land blow after blow, Remy starts calling out to you, his voice a mixture of desperation and tenderness. He knows you can’t hear him through the storm of your anger, but he keeps trying, putting everything he has into reaching you. “Chérie, it’s me! I’m here,” he calls, each word laced with the hope that it’ll get through to you.

- Finally, when he’s close enough, Remy catches your arm, spinning you around to face him. For a heartbeat, there’s only shock and confusion in your eyes, and he braces himself, waiting for you to process that he’s alive, that he’s standing right here. His hand comes up to your face, and he whispers soothing words, his thumb tracing soft circles against your cheek.

- As you finally realize he’s okay, you collapse against him, the weight of the battle and your grief crashing over you. Remy wraps his arms around you, pressing gentle kisses to your temple, murmuring that he’s safe, that he’d never leave you. He holds you close, grounding you in his warmth, his presence pulling you back from the edge.

- Later, as you both recover, Remy teases you gently, his voice filled with warmth. “Didn’t know you cared so much, ma belle,” he says, though there’s a hint of seriousness behind his grin. He tells you he never wants to see you suffer like that for him again, that you don’t have to shoulder that pain alone. You smile back, grateful for his understanding and the promise of his steady presence.

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

- When Kurt wakes to the sight of you battling with reckless ferocity, he’s taken aback. He’s always known you were strong, but this is different—this is a primal, almost desperate rage that’s tearing through your enemies. It’s clear you believe he’s gone, and the realization stings, leaving him both moved and horrified by the depth of your grief.

- He watches you, his heart aching as he sees the agony etched into every move you make. Kurt has always admired your strength, but seeing you like this, driven by heartbreak and fury, is almost too much to bear. He knows he needs to get through to you, to pull you back before you lose yourself completely in the anger.

- With a deep breath, Kurt teleports closer, his voice steady and calm as he calls your name. He keeps his distance at first, understanding that you might not recognize him right away in your state. But he keeps talking, his words gentle yet insistent, hoping to break through the storm of emotions raging within you.

- When you finally turn to him, your eyes widen, a flicker of disbelief crossing your face. Kurt approaches cautiously, reaching out a hand to you, his touch featherlight as he reassures you he’s alive, that he’s here. He whispers soft words in German, words meant to soothe and comfort, and slowly, the tension in your body begins to ease.

- Kurt pulls you into his arms, holding you close as you tremble, the weight of your grief finally lifting as you realize he’s okay. He strokes your hair, murmuring reassurances, promising that he’ll always be here, that you won’t have to bear this pain alone. His touch is gentle, his presence grounding, a balm to your wounded heart.

- In the aftermath, as you sit together in quiet reflection, Kurt speaks softly, thanking you for fighting so fiercely for him. But he also makes you promise that you won’t let grief consume you like that again, that you’ll remember he’s here with you, no matter what. You nod, touched by his words, and the bond between you feels stronger than ever.

Scott Summers aka Cyclops

- When Scott sees you tearing through the battlefield, raw anger and sorrow radiating from you, his heart breaks. He knows what’s fueling you—that you think he’s been taken from you, that he’s gone. He watches in shock as you fight, your moves a chaotic blend of power and desperation, and he realizes just how deeply his “death” has shaken you.

- Though Scott is weak, he pulls himself up, calling out to you, his voice firm and steady. He knows how much his presence means to you, and he needs to reach you before you lose yourself entirely in your grief. “I’m here!” he shouts, but he can see you’re too far gone to hear him, lost in the haze of pain and rage.

- As you take down another enemy with a brutal blow, Scott gets close enough to grab your arm. You whirl around, anger flashing in your eyes, but the moment you see him, there’s a flicker of recognition. He meets your gaze, his hand steady on your shoulder, grounding you in his presence, letting you know he’s real, that he’s here.

- The realization hits you like a wave, and Scott gently pulls you into his arms, holding you as you shake. He doesn’t say anything, just holds you, his steady heartbeat a quiet reassurance against the storm inside you. You cling to him, letting his presence bring you back from the edge, the warmth of his embrace anchoring you in the here and now.

- Later, as you both catch your breath, Scott speaks softly, his tone serious yet tender. He tells you how much he appreciates the strength you showed, but he also asks you not to let grief drive you to that place again. He doesn’t want to see you suffer for him, and his words are filled with a gentle but firm conviction.

- With a quiet smile, you promise him that you’ll try to keep that darkness at bay, that you’ll remember he’s here, even in the toughest moments. Scott nods, his hand still on yours, and there’s a silent understanding between you—a shared strength that will carry you both through whatever comes next.

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

- The battle had taken its toll, and you were certain Jean had been lost. The surge of grief within you erupted into raw power, your abilities igniting in a way that scared everyone around you, including yourself. You tore through the enemies with an unrelenting fury, the thought of avenging her the only thing grounding you to the fight.

- When Jean finally managed to regain consciousness, she saw you surrounded by chaos, your power crackling in the air like a storm barely contained. The pain in your expression cut through her heart—seeing you like this, thinking she was gone, was unbearable. She called out to you softly, her voice strained but filled with urgency.

- At first, her words couldn’t reach you. You were too consumed by rage and despair, tearing apart anyone who dared come near. But Jean didn’t give up, pushing herself to stand, her telepathy reaching out to your mind, whispering gentle reassurances: I’m here. I’m alive. Please, come back to me.

- Her presence in your mind broke through the haze, and your powers faltered. You turned toward her, disbelief and hope flashing in your eyes. Jean reached out with both her hand and her thoughts, anchoring you as you stumbled toward her. The moment you touched her, the flood of emotions spilled over, and you collapsed into her arms.

- She held you tightly, her own tears falling as she whispered comforting words, grounding you. Jean didn’t shy away from the storm you had unleashed; instead, she understood the depth of your pain and vowed to help you carry it. Together, you stood amidst the wreckage, leaning on each other for strength.

- Later, as the two of you sat in the aftermath of the fight, Jean gently cupped your face and told you she’d never leave you, no matter what. Her words were a promise etched into your soul, and you held onto her, knowing she meant every word. The bond between you both deepened, forged in fire and grief but tempered with love and understanding.

Ororo Munroe aka. Storm

- The storm within you matched the one raging in the sky, lightning cracking and thunder roaring as you unleashed your fury on those who had taken Ororo from you. You fought like a force of nature, your movements wild and untamed, your grief fueling every blow. The thought of her death had broken something in you, and you didn’t care if you fell with the enemies surrounding you.

- Ororo awoke to the sound of the storm and the sight of you at its center. She could feel the raw, unrestrained power radiating from you, and it frightened her to see you like this. She understood your pain, but she knew that if you didn’t stop, you would destroy yourself in the process.

- Using the last of her strength, Ororo summoned a gust of wind to push the enemies away from you. Her voice rang out, calm and steady despite her exhaustion: “I am here. Look at me.” The words were soft yet commanding, cutting through the chaos surrounding you.

- When your eyes met hers, the storm inside you faltered. You stumbled toward her, disbelief evident in your expression. Ororo reached out, pulling you into her arms as the tension drained from your body. The storm around you began to calm, the skies clearing as her presence soothed your anguish.

- Ororo held you close, her voice gentle but firm as she reassured you. “You are not alone in this,” she said, her words wrapping around you like a warm embrace. She didn’t admonish your actions but instead helped you find balance, her wisdom guiding you back to yourself.

- In the quiet moments after the battle, Ororo took your hand and looked into your eyes. “Your strength is remarkable, but you must learn to wield it with purpose,” she said. Her words weren’t a reprimand but a promise to help you grow. With her by your side, you knew you could face anything.

Anna Marie aka. Rogue

- When you thought Rogue had been killed, something inside you snapped. The world around you became a blur as you fought with unrelenting ferocity, your grief manifesting as raw, untamed power. You didn’t care about the consequences; all you wanted was to make those responsible pay for taking her away.

- Rogue regained consciousness just in time to see you in the middle of the carnage. Her heart ached at the sight of you, consumed by pain and rage, and she knew she had to stop you before you destroyed yourself. She pushed herself up, calling out to you with a voice full of both urgency and tenderness.

- At first, you didn’t hear her. The sound of your own anguish drowned out everything else, and you continued to fight, blind to the world around you. But Rogue wasn’t one to give up easily. She pushed through the chaos, reaching out to you with a determination born of love.

- When her hand finally touched yours, you froze. Her voice, soft yet steady, broke through the storm raging inside you. “Ah’m here, sugar. It’s me,” she said, her Southern drawl wrapping around you like a lifeline. The sight of her alive and well shattered the walls of your grief, and you collapsed into her arms.

- Rogue held you tightly, her own tears falling as she whispered reassurances. She didn’t shy away from your pain but embraced it, her presence a steady anchor in the aftermath of your fury. She stroked your hair, her touch grounding you as she helped you come back to yourself.

- Later, as you both sat together, Rogue cupped your face in her gloved hands and smiled softly. “You’re stronger than you know,” she said, her voice filled with affection. “But you don’t have to face this alone.” Her words were a balm to your soul, and you leaned into her, grateful for her unwavering love and support.

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

- When you thought Erik had been killed, your grief erupted into raw, unbridled power. You tore through the battlefield with a vengeance, your abilities surging beyond control. The air around you crackled with energy as you fought, determined to make every enemy pay for what they had done.

- Erik regained consciousness to the sight of your fury, and for a moment, he was both awed and terrified by your power. He had always admired your strength, but this was something else entirely—a manifestation of the depth of your love for him. He knew he had to reach you before you destroyed everything, including yourself.

- Summoning his strength, Erik called out to you, his voice sharp and commanding. “Enough!” he shouted, the weight of his authority cutting through the chaos. His words startled you, and for a moment, your rampage faltered as you turned to face him.

- When your eyes met his, the world seemed to stop. Erik’s gaze was steady, his expression calm but filled with concern. He took a step toward you, his hand outstretched. “I am here,” he said, his voice softer now. “You don’t have to fight alone.”

- The sight of him alive broke something inside you, and you collapsed into his arms, your anger giving way to overwhelming relief. Erik held you tightly, his presence grounding you as he whispered soothing words. He didn’t chastise you for your actions but instead reassured you that he understood your pain.

- In the aftermath, Erik sat with you, his hand resting on yours as he spoke. “Your strength is extraordinary,” he said, his tone filled with both admiration and caution. “But you must learn to control it, to channel it wisely.” His words weren’t a reprimand but a promise to guide you, and you nodded, knowing you could face anything with him by your side.

Charles Xavier aka. Professor X

- When you believed Charles was gone, the world tilted on its axis. Grief consumed you, and in that moment, every lesson about restraint and control he'd ever taught you was forgotten. Your power erupted like a tidal wave, obliterating anything and anyone that dared stand in your path. The connection you’d always shared with Charles was severed, leaving a void that felt unbearable.

- Charles regained consciousness to the chaos you had unleashed. He immediately felt the intensity of your anguish, the raw and untamed energy you were emitting. Reaching out telepathically, he tried to connect with you, his mind brushing against yours with a gentle, familiar touch.

- At first, you resisted his presence in your mind, too consumed by your emotions to recognize it. But Charles persisted, his voice calm and steady in your thoughts: I am here, my dear. You are not alone. The warmth of his words broke through the storm raging inside you, and you turned to find him standing there, alive.

- Your legs gave way beneath you, and Charles caught you, his arms steady and reassuring. He held you as you wept, his mind offering soothing reassurances that you were safe and that he was still with you. The connection between you, once frayed, grew stronger as he shared in your pain and guided you back to yourself.

- Later, as the battlefield grew quiet, Charles spoke to you softly. “You are remarkable, both in your strength and your love,” he said, his tone filled with admiration. “But grief cannot define you.” His words carried a wisdom that only he could impart, and you nodded, finding solace in his presence.

- Together, you returned to the team, your bond stronger than ever. Charles promised that no matter what challenges came, you would face them together. His unshakable faith in you became your anchor, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, you were never truly alone.

Wanda Maximoff aka. The Scarlet Witch

- When you thought Wanda had been killed, the world seemed to unravel. Your emotions became a catalyst for your abilities, and reality itself twisted and bent under the weight of your grief. You lashed out at the enemies surrounding you, determined to make them pay for taking her from you.

- Wanda’s consciousness stirred as she felt the fabric of reality shift. She knew it was you—your power was unmistakable—and her heart broke at the thought of you in such pain. Gathering her strength, she reached out with her magic, creating a beacon of light to guide you back to her.

- At first, you didn’t notice her presence, too consumed by your anger and sorrow to see the light she had conjured. But Wanda persisted, her voice a soft plea that resonated in the air around you. “I’m here, my love. Look at me.”

- The sound of her voice cut through the haze, and you turned to see her standing amidst the chaos. Relief and disbelief flooded through you as you stumbled toward her. Wanda caught you in her arms, her magic wrapping around you like a protective cocoon.

- As the two of you stood together, Wanda whispered soothing words, her hands gently cupping your face. “I’m alive,” she said, her voice filled with both love and reassurance. Her presence calmed the storm within you, and the world around you began to stabilize.

- Later, as you sat together in the aftermath of the battle, Wanda held your hand tightly. “We are stronger together,” she said, her eyes shining with determination. Her words were a promise, and you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them side by side.

Pietro Maximoff aka. Quicksilver

- When you thought Pietro had been killed, the world seemed to slow in contrast to the speed of your grief. Your pain erupted into a flurry of action, every movement driven by the need for vengeance. You moved with a singular purpose, tearing through enemies with a ferocity they couldn’t escape.

- Pietro wasn’t down for long. When he came to, his first thought was of you. He spotted you in the distance, your powers wreaking havoc, and he immediately knew what had happened. Despite his own injuries, he pushed himself forward, racing toward you at a speed that blurred the edges of reality.

- It wasn’t easy to stop you. You were lost in your emotions, your every action fueled by the belief that Pietro was gone. But he didn’t give up. He zipped in front of you, grabbing your face with both hands and forcing you to look at him. “I’m here,” he said, his voice urgent. “I’m not going anywhere.”

- Your movements faltered, the sound of his voice breaking through the storm inside you. You stared at him, disbelief etched across your face. When his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, the tension drained from your body, and you collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest.

- Pietro held you tightly, his usual cocky demeanor replaced with a rare vulnerability. “I’m sorry you thought you lost me,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “But I’m here, and I’m not leaving you.” His words were a balm to your soul, grounding you in the moment.

- Later, as you both rested in the aftermath, Pietro refused to let go of your hand. “You scared the hell out of me,” he admitted, his tone laced with both concern and affection. His honesty reminded you of how deeply he cared, and you vowed to protect each other, no matter what.

Emma Frost aka. The White Queen

- When you thought Emma had been killed, the pain was unbearable. Your emotions surged, and your powers manifested in ways you couldn’t control. You fought with a cold, calculated fury, determined to make the enemies responsible suffer for what they had done to her.

- Emma’s telepathic presence was the first thing you felt before you even saw her. She reached into your mind, her voice cool but firm. Enough of this dramatics, she said, her tone laced with both affection and exasperation. I’m alive, darling.

- You froze, her words cutting through the fog of your grief. Turning, you saw her standing amidst the chaos, her diamond form glinting in the light. Relief washed over you as you stumbled toward her, your emotions spilling over in a way you knew she would tease you about later.

- Emma caught you in her arms, her diamond exterior melting away to reveal her softer side. She brushed her fingers through your hair, her voice low and soothing as she reassured you. “You’re stronger than this,” she said, her tone both a challenge and a comfort. “And I won’t have you falling apart over me.”

- Her words brought a smile to your lips, even through the tears. Emma wasn’t one to coddle, but her presence was enough to ground you. She helped you regain your composure, her sharp wit and unwavering confidence reminding you why you loved her.

- Later, as you sat together in the quiet aftermath, Emma looked at you with a rare vulnerability in her eyes. “You’re important to me,” she admitted, her voice softer than usual. “But don’t you dare lose control like that again. We’re in this together.” Her words were both a warning and a promise, and you nodded, knowing she meant every word.

Laura Kinney aka. X-23 / Wolverine

- When you thought Laura had been killed, a savage rage overtook you. The thought of losing her, someone so important to you, drove you to a breaking point. Your normally measured demeanor was replaced with unrelenting fury, and you launched yourself into the fray, fighting with an intensity you didn’t even know you possessed.

- Laura wasn’t down for long. Her healing factor kicked in, and though her injuries were severe, she pushed through the pain. When she saw you fighting with such reckless abandon, her heart twisted in an unfamiliar mix of pride and worry.

- She approached you cautiously, not wanting to startle you mid-rage. But when her voice broke through the chaos, calling your name with that rare softness only you ever heard, you stopped in your tracks. Turning to her, your chest heaved with exertion and emotion as you saw her alive, battered but breathing.

- “I’m not that easy to get rid of,” she said, her lips quirking into a small smirk. Her words were light, but her eyes were filled with a rare vulnerability. She stepped closer, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You’re okay now. I’m here.”

- The adrenaline drained from you in an instant, and you collapsed into her arms. Laura wasn’t one for big displays of affection, but she held you tightly, her claws retracting as she whispered, “I’m sorry you had to think that, even for a second.” Her voice carried an earnestness that melted your anger into relief.

- Later, as you both sat together in the quiet aftermath, she took your hand and squeezed it tightly. “You don’t have to go berserk for me,” she said, her tone teasing but serious. “I’ll always come back. Always.” Her words were a promise, one she intended to keep, no matter the odds.

Wade Wilson aka. Deadpool

- When you thought Wade had been killed, the world went silent, as if the universe itself had paused in shock. But grief quickly turned to fury, and you channeled every ounce of your anger into the fight, determined to avenge the man who had brought chaos, laughter, and unexpected love into your life.

- Unbeknownst to you, Wade had already regenerated and was watching your rampage with equal parts admiration and amusement. “Damn,” he muttered to himself. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

- He let you have your moment for a bit before dramatically announcing his presence. “Honey, I’m home!” he shouted, striking a ridiculous pose mid-battle. The sheer absurdity of his reappearance caught you off guard, and you froze, staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

- “Miss me?” he said with a wink, dodging an enemy attack as if it were nothing. Your emotions hit you like a freight train—relief, anger, joy—and before you knew it, you were storming toward him. “Whoa, whoa! Easy on the merchandise!” he joked as you threw your arms around him.

- Wade wrapped his arms around you tightly, his usual banter softening as he whispered, “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to scare ya, but hey, I’m kinda hard to kill.” His voice carried an uncharacteristic sincerity that made you hold him even tighter.

- Later, as the dust settled, he leaned into your space with a playful grin. “So, did I earn some hot, passionate, ‘thank God you’re alive’ kisses, or what?” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling, knowing that only Wade could turn such a harrowing moment into something ridiculous and comforting all at once.

Nathan Summers aka. Cable

- When you thought Nathan had been killed, something inside you snapped. You charged into battle with a ferocity born of desperation, pushing your limits to ensure no one else fell. Every attack, every movement was a testament to your grief and your unwillingness to let his loss be in vain.

- Nathan woke up groggy but alive, his body slowly regenerating thanks to his techno-organic enhancements. When he saw the carnage you were wreaking, his heart clenched. He knew you loved him, but seeing the depth of your despair took him by surprise.

- “Stand down, soldier,” his gruff voice called out, cutting through the chaos. At first, you didn’t believe it—you thought it was your mind playing tricks on you. But then you turned and saw him standing there, bruised but alive, and your world came crashing back into focus.

- You ran to him, your emotions overwhelming you as you buried your face against his chest. Nathan wrapped his arms around you, his massive frame providing the stability you desperately needed. “I’m here,” he murmured, his voice steady and reassuring. “I’m not going anywhere.”

- As the adrenaline faded, the reality of what had happened hit you both. Nathan cupped your face in his hands, his eyes filled with unspoken promises. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he said, his voice heavy with guilt. “But you’re stronger than you know. Don’t forget that.”

- Later, as you sat in the aftermath of the battle, he pulled you close, his arm draped protectively around you. “We’ve got each other’s backs,” he said firmly. “No matter what.” His words were a vow, and you nodded, knowing that no force in the universe could break the bond you shared.

Hank McCoy aka. Beast

- When you thought Hank had been killed, the rational part of your mind shattered. Logic and reason were replaced by an all-consuming grief that fueled your every move. You fought with a precision that was almost mechanical, each strike a desperate attempt to make up for his absence.

- Hank, though injured, managed to pull himself together. When he saw you fighting so fiercely, his heart ached. He admired your strength but hated that it came from a place of such profound pain.

- “My dear,” his deep, soothing voice called out to you, breaking through the haze. At first, you thought it was a hallucination, a cruel trick of your grief. But then you saw him, standing there with a gentle smile despite his injuries, and your heart nearly stopped.

- You ran to him, tears streaming down your face as you clung to him. Hank wrapped his arms around you, his fur soft and comforting against your skin. “I apologize for worrying you,” he said softly, his voice tinged with regret. “But as you can see, I am quite resilient.”

- His calm demeanor helped bring you back to yourself, and you managed a shaky laugh. “You scared me,” you admitted, your voice breaking. Hank brushed a hand over your hair, his touch gentle and reassuring. “And I regret that deeply,” he replied. “But you showed remarkable fortitude. I’m proud of you.”

- Later, as the two of you sat together in the quiet aftermath, Hank held your hand in his massive paw. “No matter what challenges we face, we’ll face them together,” he said, his tone unwavering. His words filled you with a sense of peace, and you knew that as long as he was by your side, you could handle anything.

[mononijikayu]

i wanna be yours — ryomen sukuna.

He paused, the words catching in his throat as if they were foreign to him. “I cannot let you go.” You felt your resolve waver under the weight of his admission, the intensity of his gaze consuming you. “Then what do you want from me, my lord?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. His lips curled into a dangerous smirk, though his eyes betrayed a deeper emotion. “Everything, little one.” he said simply. “Your body, your thoughts, your heart. I will have it all, and I will never share it with another. I want it to be mine.” Your lips trembled as your eyes bore his own. “You already know that I am yours, my lord.”

GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;

WARNING/S: nsfw, smut, r-18, angst, one sided romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/no comfort, unhappy marriage, parenthood, forced parenthood, hurt, physical touch, character death, sexual acts, mourning, loneliness, pain, conflicted relationship, emotional distress, grief, toxic relationship, forced memory loss, coercion, explicit miscarriage, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of sexual acts, depiction of forced memory loss, depiction of coercion, depiction of explicit miscarriage, depiction of character death, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of parenthood, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, mention of sexual acts, heian! sukuna, long suffering concubine! reader;

WORD COUNT: 19k words

NOTE: i thought about how concubine reader and sukuna have this really interesting relationship. a really interesting and painful relationship. and a lot of imbalances exist, with how sukuna has the most power. and he uses it to corrupt her. sukuna, no matter how much he loves concubine reader or make her happy, he will continue to hurt her and cause her grief. and next chapter, we will explore her response to it all, and how she rebels. and how sukuna concedes. in any case, thank you for reading!!! i love you all <3

TAGLIST: @after-laughter-come-tears, @kunasthiast, @midnight-138, @sukioyakio;

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MANY YEARS OF MARRIAGE AND HE STILL HAS NOT FIGURED IT OUT. Ryomen Sukuna didn’t know how to put into words what churned within him when it came to you, his concubine.

You were his endless enigma wrapped in the finest of silks he could procure for you. You were a constant contradiction that pricked at the edges of his ego and lingered in the dark corners of his thoughts. 

He despised puzzles left unsolved, he hated things left undone. Yet you had become the one conundrum he could never crack. And for a long while, he had thought he would be content with that. But as the years went on, he felt maddened by it all. He didn’t know you well, not in the way he hoped. And that bothers him.

Do not get him wrong, he knew you. He knew you well enough that he had kept you around, that you were the only one that he’d ever let close, one that was never a servant. He knew every subtle glance, the cadence of your voice, the way your hands moved with grace even in the most mundane tasks.

He had memorized you like the pages of an ancient, weathered tome, and yet, for all the knowledge he’d gathered, there was something about you that evaded him. Something beyond the surface, just out of reach. It gnawed at him.

Was it fascination? Resentment? Or something far more dangerous—something he refused to name? He had thought, surely, the years would erode whatever this was. Time, after all, was the great equalizer, the eventual destroyer of all attachments. But you had not faded from his mind, nor had the mystery of you unraveled with the passage of time.

The more he let his thoughts drift to you, the more he realized it wasn’t just you he was trying to solve. It was what you made him feel, what it all meant. Was it a weakness? Power? The echo of something human he thought he had long buried? It infuriated him, how you lingered in his chest, a riddle left unanswered.

Even in the quiet hours, when no one else was watching, when his guard was down, he could never bring himself to face the truth. To admit that perhaps you were the one thing in his existence he couldn’t conquer, couldn’t master. And worse still, he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to.

Ryomen Sukuna sat upon his throne, the flickering light of the torches casting long shadows across the stone walls. His scarlet eyes, sharp and unyielding, rested on you as you poured his drink with practiced grace.

The delicate clink of the vessel against the rim of his cup seems louder than it should have, reverberating in the silence. You didn’t look at him directly—never did—but he could sense the weight of your presence, a quiet power wrapped in submission.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight, little one.” he said, his voice a low rumble, laced with something unreadable. “A rarity.”

Your hands paused for a fraction of a second before continuing. “Am I to speak freely, my lord?” you asked softly, eyes fixed on the task before you.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “You always choose your words carefully, don’t you? Go on, then. Speak.”

You straightened, meeting his gaze for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The torchlight painted you in warm hues, highlighting the determined tilt of your chin. “I only remain quiet because I sense you prefer it that way. Am I mistaken?”

Sukuna leaned back, swirling the liquid in his cup. “You assume much, little one.”

“And yet, I am still here.” Your tone was calm, almost resigned, but it carried an edge he couldn’t ignore.

His smirk faded. There it was again. That inexplicable thing about you that unraveled his carefully constructed walls. You, with your unassuming words and quiet defiance, managed to disrupt him in ways he couldn’t name.

“Do you think you’ve won some favor with me with such a thing?” he asked, tilting his head as he studied you. “That your loyalty earns you a place above the others?”

“No.” Your answer was immediate, your gaze steady. “I know better than to believe I have power over you, my lord. But I do wonder—why keep me? If I am just another servant, just another fleeting presence in your endless existence, why let me linger?”

His jaw tightened. The audacity of your words would have earned anyone else a swift and brutal end, yet he let you speak. Why? Even he didn’t know.

“You have too many curiosities, little one.” He says, eyeing you. His red meeting your own orbs. “Ones that would be hard to satisfy a mortal like you.”

You smiled, laying your hand on your lap. “I have stayed, my lord. Do you not think I would have left long ago, had there been no satisfaction? Even with my curiosities.”

“You presume too much about that, little one.” he growled, though his tone lacked the usual venom. “You are here because I allow it. That is all you need to understand.”

“And yet……” you took a small step closer, a dangerous glint in your eyes. “You never send me away. Or let me go. When there are so many opportunities, don’t you think?”

Silence fell between you, thick with unspoken truths. Sukuna’s gaze narrowed, his sharp features betraying nothing of the chaos within. He wanted to scoff, to crush this insolence with a flick of his fingers, but the words stuck in his throat. 

You were right. He had kept you close, far closer than anyone else. And it wasn’t out of need or convenience—it was something deeper, something he didn’t dare acknowledge. It was something that he’d rather not touch upon. Not if he wants to dig a hole of possibilities he had no answers for.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, little one.” he warned, his voice a low growl.

“I only play the game you started, my lord.”

His scarlet eyes bored into yours, searching for something he couldn’t name. You stood your ground, unflinching, and for a moment, he thought he hated you for it. Hated how you made him feel… exposed. Mortal.

But instead of lashing out, he laughed. That same cold, bitter sound that echoed through the chamber. You were too familiar with it by now. “You’re a fool if you think this ends in your favor.”

“And you, my lord, are a fool if you think you’ll ever solve me. In the way you wish.” you replied, voice steady and soft, like a whisper cutting through the storm. “Fate does not work in that way.”

A sly grin appears on his lips. “Perhaps that is the case, little one. But I am no fool.”

You raised a brow, intrigued. “Oh, then what are you, my lord?”

“A husband who is intrigued about his wife.” He whispers back to you.

For a moment, your eyes blinked at his words.

Soon enough, laughter permeates through your lips.

He was fond of the sound, truthfully enough.

“You lie as easily as you breathe.” You whisper back to him, a soft ghostly smile on your lips. “My lord, I thought you only said the truth.”

He would not say anything else more, he thinks.

Ryomen Sukuna watched as you downed a cup of sake.

It was better to not dig through the mess, not at all.

══════════════════

YOU OPTED OUT OF THE SESSION IN THE AUDIENCE HALL TODAY. Sukuna had sent quite a word about it , but you knew he truly did not mind. You knew him too well, that words were more or less just what it would be.

He knew you needed a break, to breathe after such a hectic schedule with him. Not to mention that you took care of Chiharu and Chizuru at the same time all on your own, and managed Vermillion Hall by yourself. It was not easy. You needed the rest. And you were glad your husband knew that. 

The sun had already begun to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm glow across the Vermillion Hall. The soft hum of activity filled the air as the children were off in their lessons, their laughter and chatter drifting faintly through the hall’s open windows. The usually peaceful atmosphere was, for once, undisturbed, and yet, it felt different today. 

There was a presence in the hall that hadn't been there before—the presence of Ryomen Sukuna. But you hadn’t noticed yet. Not that he expected you to. He doesn’t visit often enough as of late to find him here. He was too dedicated to other pursuits. 

You were seated by the large window, a small wooden sewing table in front of you. The soft rustle of fabric and the rhythmic motion of your hands as you carefully worked on the intricate stitching of Sukuna's new haori made the room feel calm, despite the tension that always seemed to linger between you two. 

It wasn’t the first time you had sewn clothes for him and it wouldn’t be the last. You were the only one now left making his clothing for him. You knew what he had liked, so there was no one else who did that for him.

Everyone else’s hands were not to touch his clothing, unless to wash it. And now that his previous haori had been torn and tattered from battles, you found the need to make a new one for him.  

You were halfway through adding delicate embroidery when you heard the heavy footsteps. This is only when you heard that sound that you felt something was amiss. You didn’t look up immediately, your fingers still moving across the fabric, your mind focused on the delicate task in front of you.

You could feel his presence, though heavy and undeniable. Finally, after a moment of silence, you heard his voice, low and unhurried, as though he had no reason to be anything but calm.

"Still sewing clothes for me, are you, little one?" His voice carried a hint of amusement, though there was an undercurrent of something else in it, something almost like... curiosity?

You glanced up, meeting his gaze with a faint but questioning look. "It’s not like you’ll bother to do it yourself, my lord. You had taken the liberty of demoting all your sewing servants, other than me." you replied dryly, your eyes moving back to the thread as you continued to stitch. 

Sukuna snickers. “It is no fault of mine that they are inept at the task you do so well at. Though, I should think you would be resting more today, little one.”

"I had done all my tasks rather easily, my lord.” You tell him honestly, poking the needle through again. “And with such time, I figured it would be better for you to have something... new. I cannot keep mending that one you like so much forever."

Sukuna chuckled softly, his deep voice vibrating through the room. “You’re trying to make me more presentable, are you?” He stepped closer, his gaze following your hands as you worked. "It’s a little late for that, don’t you think? Today’s audiences have been dealt with, little one."

The tone in his voice wasn’t mocking, though—it wasn’t quite the usual arrogance you’d expect from him. Instead, it was something more playful, more curious. Something that hinted at an understanding that wasn’t quite there before. Your husband, you find, has been playful when he wants to be. But that often is a rarity done in good faith.

"Maybe so, my lord." you said softly, your fingers never pausing in their work. "But I thought it might be nice for a change. For the next audience Tis better dealt with now then left for next."

His gaze softened slightly at that, though he remained silent for a long moment, watching you as you worked, the fabric between your fingers so delicate, your focus so intense. For the first time in a long while, it seemed like Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t entirely sure how to respond.

“You’ve been quiet, little one.” he remarked after a moment, his voice not quite as sharp as it usually was. "Too quiet. What’s on your mind?"

You paused briefly, meeting his gaze for a moment before looking back at the haori in your lap. The question was unexpected, but not unwelcome. It felt like the first time in ages that he actually wanted to know. 

"Just thinking, my lord." you said, your voice low. "About everything, really. The way things have... changed."

His expression darkened a fraction, but the concern he tried to hide didn’t escape your notice. “Changed?” His gaze narrowed slightly as he stepped closer. “In what way?”

You took a breath, the words coming slower than you intended. "I think... I think I’ve spent so much time trying to keep everything together, trying to make sense of it. But sometimes, I don’t even know where I am anymore." 

You didn’t look up, but your voice carried a strange, vulnerable edge now—something raw that you hadn't meant to reveal. “I never asked for this. For you. For any of this. I think about that as I get older. And of course, I am content but I….”

Sukuna remained silent, and for once, you didn’t hear the usual sneer in his voice or the biting comment ready to spill from his lips. He was quiet, studying you with a strange intensity, as though searching for something he couldn’t quite understand.

"I know, little one." he said finally, his voice softer than usual, but still carrying that familiar weight. "It’s never been easy for you. I get that."

You finally looked up, meeting his gaze directly. There was no arrogance in his eyes now, no unreadable distance. Just something... real. "Do you?" you asked quietly, searching his expression. “Do you really? Because sometimes I feel like I’m just some… some afterthought to you. A thing you can’t quite get rid of, but can’t quite leave alone either.”

Sukuna blinked at your words, and though his face remained unreadable, there was a flicker of something—guilt, regret, maybe even something deeper passing through his scarlet eyes. He stepped closer, his usual intimidating presence now softened, as though in the presence of your vulnerability, he couldn’t bring himself to hold onto the same unyielding stance.

“I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, little one. Even gods are such creatures.” he said quietly, his voice lower now. “I don’t know how to make it right. But I’m not leaving. Nor shall I abandon or forsake you. You ought to know that by now, little one.”

You sighed, poking another hole onto the fabric. “You sent one of the concubines to the Cold Hall, my lord. To be abandoned till she dies.”

“For a fault of her own, harming another woman in the harem.” He shakes his head at you. “You have not done such a thing. I swear that it won't happen to you. Not in your whole life.”

“How is my lord so certain to promise—” You pricked your finger, causing you to groan. You quickly move the fabric away, to avoid the blood pouring onto the fabric. 

Sukuna sighs and crouches over to you, taking your hand onto his own big one. He takes the bleeding finger close to his lips and lets the taste of your metallic blood echo onto his tongue. Your blood has always been so sweet to Sukuna, so smooth and tender. It was honest blood. Blood which has never done any wrong against anyone or anything. 

Not even him, who has made you ever so miserable. You frowned at his act. But sooner or later, the blood isn’t pouring anymore. You take your hand off his own, muttering a small thank you as you continue to work on the haori, much more careful this time.

“You raised my child, you bore me a son. And you are close by my side at all times, doing as you are told. You won’t suffer such fate and this is proof.”

“But what if I…..”

He sighed, letting his hand rest upon your head. “You will not. For all your life, you will live well. Do not over think, little one. It shall cost more of your beauty.”

You could feel your cheeks flustered with warm scarlet. You cannot look at him, or he’ll see the extent of your reddened face.  “M–my lord, if I am pricked once more—”

His gaze softened as he stood next to you, watching the way your hands moved over the fabric with quiet concentration. “Shall I make a binding vow to you, little one? I swear to you, you would not suffer in such a way.”

You couldn’t tell if he was being honest or if this was just another of his strange ways of trying to explain himself. Sukuna was never one for soft words, never one to lay himself bare.

But there was something in the way he stood there, looking at you, something that told you he wasn’t just trying to placate you. He meant it—at least, in his own way.

You sighed, putting the needle down for a moment. “I don’t know what you want from me, my lord.” you muttered, your voice almost lost in the quiet of the room. “I don’t know what I want either.”

Sukuna didn’t answer immediately, instead watching you with a quiet intensity. His gaze softened, and after a long moment, he placed a hand on the edge of the table, his fingers just brushing the fabric of the haori.

“I can’t give you the answers you want, not in a way that would make you happy. Not in ways that would make it easier.” he said finally, his voice almost regretful. “But we will not part. I shall stand by you as you stand with me, little one. If that means anything to you.”

The words hung in the air between you two, and for a long time, neither of you spoke. The tension that had always existed between you both seemed to lessen, if only for a moment. Perhaps there was no grand gesture of reconciliation, no magic words that could undo the past. But for now, this quiet understanding was enough.

Sukuna finally took a step back, his usual air of control slowly creeping back. But the softness in his gaze remained. “Finish the haori, little one.” he said, his voice commanding, though not unkind. "I’ll wear it soon enough."

You nodded silently, and as he turned to leave, you couldn’t help but wonder, just for a fleeting moment, whether things between the two of you might one day be different.

Whether Sukuna would ever truly change. Whether he could be more than who you know he already is. You purse your lips into a flat line, trying to focus on your stitches once more.

You would think about him for the whole night, you think to yourself.

You could not get him out of your mind for one second, even in bed.

But one thing’s for certain to you — your husband lies as much as he breathes.

Even if you love him, he will not love you in the way you want him to.

══════════════════

HE HAD SUMMONED YOU TO JOIN HIM FOR A DRINK. But it was quite obvious to you when you arrived that your husband was already far too deep into his drink already. You sighed, noticing a blue liquor.

Ah, the one Uraume prepares for him. This was the only alcohol that could get your husband drunk. He was immune to anything else. But this lets him feel human in his godly state. It makes him feel relieved. To be drunk on something even once in a while.

Sukuna's gaze lingered on you for a moment as you bowed. Everything about his expression was unreadable, yet there was something in his dark scarlet eyes. Something dangerous and raw. He raises his hand, letting you be at ease. You start to approach him with swift grace.

He hated how his thoughts betrayed him, wandering to places he had sworn to bury. Foolish. That’s what it was. Foolish and beneath him to feel this… guilt, this yearning that clawed at him like a curse more potent than any he could wield.

He had been alive far too long, seen far too much. He should have been immune to such petty human feelings by now. Desires, cravings…they were remnants of a man he had left behind when he ascended to godhood. 

And yet, when he thought of you, when his mind wandered to the softness of your body pressed against his, the warmth of that night you lay tangled together, he could feel something crack beneath his skin.

He thought he’d outgrown it, thought he’d buried whatever mortal part of him still dared to want. But it hadn’t stopped. It had only shifted, mutating into something darker, deeper.

His body betrayed him, aching with a hunger he despised. The memory of your touch, the way your smaller frame molded against his, haunted him in ways nothing else ever had.

You were a puzzle, you perhaps always will be to him. And that he could admit, was his  fleeting moment of weakness. He wanted more of you, a complete picture and now he couldn’t seem to erase that desire. He cannot quell his desires and he hates it. He despises himself over it. 

He remembered every detail of that night. The way your breaths hitched when his hands roamed over you, the softness of your skin beneath his calloused fingers. How you’d fit against him, fragile yet unyielding.

Somehow, you can tell that it was a stark contrast to his overwhelming presence. You were something too special, something he wants to taint and ruin, someone he wants to consume whole.

It was intoxicating, the memory of it. He remembers them without fail, even in a state like this. The way you surrendered without fear, how you looked at him as though he wasn’t a god or a monster, but just… a man. He hated that. Hated the vulnerability it pulled from him, the reminder that he was once human too.

Sukuna clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as if the pain could anchor him. He shouldn’t think of you this way, shouldn’t allow himself to feel this way.

But no matter how much he tried to suppress it, the truth clawed its way to the surface. He wanted you. Not just in the fleeting, carnal way he could dismiss. No, this was deeper.

And it infuriated him.

"Little one." he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. You turned to him, startled by the abruptness of his tone, but there was no mistaking the heat in his gaze.

“Yes, my lord?” you asked, your voice careful, cautious.

He rose from his throne, the sheer power of his presence making the air around you feel heavier. He took a step closer, towering over you, his dark eyes darkened by something primal. His hand reached out, rough fingers brushing against your cheek before he seemed to catch himself. He let it fall back to his side, jaw tightening.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, like the rumble of distant thunder.

You blinked, stunned by the admission. “My lord, I—”

"Silence, little one." he growled, his eyes narrowing. "Don’t speak unless I tell you to."

The command was sharp, but his hand trembled slightly before he curled it into a fist. He hated himself in that moment, hated how much power you had over him without even trying.

You were like a little doe, the way you looked at him. Almost so demure and helpless. And yet, you had the most power over him, now that Hiromi was dead. And he didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want to admit that truth.

“I thought it had ended, little one.” he continued, more to himself than to you. “This… weakness. This need for something so fleeting. Yet here I am, craving you like a man, not a god. How pathetic.”

Your lips parted, but you said nothing, sensing that this moment was not yours to interrupt. Sukuna’s gaze dropped to the floor for a fraction of a second before returning to yours, molten gold locking with your wide eyes.

“Tell me, little one.” he commanded, his voice softer now, though no less intense. “Do you feel it too? Or am I the only one foolish enough to burn for something I can never truly have?”

The question hung heavy in the air, a challenge and a confession all at once. Your breath hitched as his words settled in, the weight of them pressing against you like his looming presence. Sukuna had never been one to lay himself bare, yet here he stood, his gaze cutting through you with the intensity of a man teetering on the edge of restraint.

You swallowed hard, unsure if it was bravery or recklessness that made you speak. “My lord, I…..” you began carefully, voice trembling but steady. You swallow the bile down your throat. “It would be a lie to say I haven’t thought of that night. To say I haven’t felt… something for you.”

His eyes darkened, the faintest flicker of something. Was it satisfaction, perhaps? Was it a desire which was crossing his face? He stepped closer, the space between you almost nonexistent. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his presence overwhelming.

“You have, then?” he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl. “You’ve thought of me… of us?”

“Yes, my lord….” you admitted, your heart pounding in your chest. “But I—”

“But what?” he interrupted, his tone sharp, his hand reaching up to grip your chin gently, forcing you to look at him. “You think I don’t see it in your eyes? The way you tremble when I’m near, yet you never pull away. You deny me nothing, yet you still hesitate to admit what you want.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, steadying yourself against the storm that was Sukuna. “I hesitate, my lord.” you said softly, your lips quivering. “Because I don’t know if what you want from me is real, or if I’m just another fleeting indulgence for you. A distraction.”

His grip tightened ever so slightly, his jaw clenching as if your words had struck a nerve. “Do you think I am a god who indulges in meaningless distractions?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet. “Do you think I would allow myself to feel this, to want—if it were something I could so easily discard, little one? Do you think of me that way?”

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze once more. There was something raw in his expression, something vulnerable that he tried to mask with his usual arrogance. It was startling, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t know what you feel, my lord.” you whispered, your voice trembling now. “You are a god, my god. A force beyond comprehension. How could I ever understand what I mean to you, knowing how far away you are?”

Sukuna let out a low, bitter laugh, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You think too much, little one.” he said, his tone softer now, though his scarlet eyes remained intense. “I’ve spent centuries trying to rid myself of weakness, yet here you are, the one thing I cannot escape. You plague me, little one, and I despise it as much as I crave it.”

The confession sent a jolt through you, and before you could stop yourself, your hand reached up, lightly resting on his wrist. The contact seemed to startle him, his eyes narrowing as if to assess your boldness. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin.

“You are mine, little one.” he murmured, his voice low and possessive. “Whether you believe it or not, whether you understand it or not….you belong to me. And I—” He paused, the words catching in his throat as if they were foreign to him. “I cannot let you go.”

You felt your resolve waver under the weight of his admission, the intensity of his gaze consuming you. “Then what do you want from me, my lord?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

His lips curled into a dangerous smirk, though his eyes betrayed a deeper emotion. “Everything, little one.” he said simply. “Your body, your thoughts, your heart. I will have it all, and I will never share it with another. I want it to be mine.”

Your lips trembled as your eyes bore his own. “You already know that I am yours, my lord.”

The declaration was both a promise and a warning, and as his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, you realized there was no escaping him. Not now. Not ever. He had killed and he had harmed. You do not take his threat lightly. You do not take his confession lightly.

Sukuna’s hand slid to the back of your neck, his grip firm and unyielding as he pulled you closer. His touch burned like fire, his fingers tangling in your hair as he forced you to look up at him. There was no hesitation in his movements, no softness in his gaze. The air between you was charged, thick with the weight of emotions neither of you dared to name.

“You drive me to madness, little one.” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Do you even understand what you’ve done to me?”

Before you could answer, his lips crashed against yours, rough and demanding, stealing the breath from your lungs. It wasn’t gentle. Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t gentle. It was raw, primal, and overwhelming.

It was as if he was trying to claim you with every ounce of his being. His free arm snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against his powerful frame, your smaller body dwarfed by his overwhelming presence.

You gasped against his mouth, the sheer intensity of him leaving you breathless. His kiss was fierce, filled with pent-up desire and frustration, a battle for dominance you knew you couldn’t win. His sharp teeth grazed your bottom lip, a warning and a tease all at once.

Your hands instinctively gripped his robes, desperate for something to anchor you as the world seemed to tilt. You felt his chest rumble against yours, a deep growl escaping him as if your touch only fueled his hunger.

When he finally pulled back, his lips hovered just above yours, his breath hot and ragged. His scarlet eyes bore into yours, wild and unrestrained. “You are mine, little one.” he rasped, his voice rough with emotion. “Do you understand? No one else. Ever.”

You swallowed hard, your own breathing uneven as you tried to process the intensity of what had just happened. “I…”

Words failed you, your thoughts scrambled, but the look in his eyes demanded an answer. He wants what he wants, your husband. He was never coy with it. And that intimidated you. That burned you. And that made your heart beat, over and over.

“Yes, my lord.” you whispered finally, your voice trembling but resolute. “I’m yours. Always.”

A dangerous smile curved his lips, and his hold on you tightened. “Good.” he murmured, his voice dark and possessive. “Because I won’t let you go. Not now. Not ever.”

His lips descended on yours again, and this time, you didn’t resist. Instead, you gave yourself to him, surrendering to the storm that was Sukuna, knowing that there was no turning back

Sukuna didn’t stop. He couldn’t—no, he wouldn’t. The intensity of his desire had festered too long, clawing at him in the quiet moments, haunting him in the shadows. Now, with you in his grasp, his need consumed him entirely, and he refused to let anything hold him back.

His lips moved against yours with bruising force, his kiss deep and possessive, leaving no room for hesitation. His hands roamed your body, one gripping your waist as if to anchor you to him.

The other sliding up to cradle the back of your head. He tilted your face to deepen the kiss, his sharp teeth grazing your lips again, a feral growl rumbling in his chest.

You felt overwhelmed, every inch of your skin alight with his touch. His energy was raw and almost suffocating. Everything about it surged through you, leaving no part of you unaffected.

Despite his roughness, there was something deliberate in his actions, as if he were memorizing every curve, every shiver, every gasp you gave him. He broke the kiss just enough to look at you, his scarlet eyes darkened with unbridled hunger. His chest heaved as he fought to rein in the storm raging within him.

“You’re trembling, little one.” he muttered, his voice rough yet tinged with something almost tender. “Are you afraid?”

You hesitated, your lips swollen and breath shaky. “No, my lord.” you answered softly, your voice wavering. “Not afraid.”

His eyes narrowed, as if testing the truth of your words. “Then why do you shake?” he demanded, his thumb brushing along your jawline, a rare gentleness in the gesture that only made his intensity more suffocating. “Is it because of me? Because of what I make you feel?”

You nodded, unable to deny him even if you wanted to. “Yes, my lord.” you whispered, the confession slipping from your lips before you could think twice.

His smirk returned, sharp and dangerous, but there was a flicker of something softer beneath it. It was pride, satisfaction, maybe even relief. His cheeks were red, flushed in the echoes of the drink.

“Good, little one.” he said, his voice a low rumble. “You should feel it. All of it. Because I intend to show you just how deeply I’ve burned for you.”

Before you could respond, Sukuna scooped you up effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as though you weighed nothing. His hold on you was possessive, tightly locking you.

Every bit of his movements deliberate as he carried you toward the large bed at the far side of the chamber. The world seemed to blur around you, the air crackling with his power and your own anticipation.

He placed you down gently. It was an unexpected contrast to his earlier roughness but the way his hands lingered on your body betrayed the restraint he was barely holding onto. He loomed over you, his shadow swallowing you whole, his predatory gaze drinking in the sight of you beneath him.

“You don’t understand what you do to me, little one.” he said, his voice low and almost vulnerable, a confession meant only for you. “But tonight, you will. Tonight, you’ll feel it—the depth of my hunger, my desire. All of it.”

You shivered at his words, your heart racing as his hands found you again, pulling you closer to the god who had claimed you as his own. You wrapped your arms around him and let him do what he willed with you.

This is how you worshiped him, your god. You let him ruin you, you let him take it all away from you. No matter what, you’ll worship him. Even if it hurts you in the end.

══════════════════

IT WAS BITTER TO FEEL THIS IN THE MORNING. Ryomen Sukuna’s shoulders slumped as he sat on the edge of the bed, his hand cradling his forehead as though it could ease the storm brewing within him.

The room was dimly lit, the morning sun barely filtering through the heavy curtains, casting long shadows that seemed to mirror his turmoil. He glanced back at you, your form barely stirring under the silk sheets, a picture of innocence amidst the chaos he had wrought.

The guilt clawed at him like a relentless beast, tearing into the very essence of him. He had told himself countless times before that he was beyond redemption, that the sins of his godhood were unerasable.

Yet, every time he saw you lying beside him, your face softened by the vulnerability of sleep, the weight of his choices bore down on him tenfold. How innocent you looked. Almost like the most ethereal creature born to man.

And he's hurting you. He's hurt you. And he knew, it would break you. He'd done it before. He knew that. Sukuna's hands traced against his tightening jaw. How could he have done this to you?

He thought of Hiromi again, the one constant ghost that haunted him. Her face was as vivid in his mind as it had been centuries ago. The way she had looked at him with a love that had defied his monstrous nature was a memory he could never shake.

He had betrayed her over and over again, and yet her phantom presence lingered, a painful reminder of what he had lost and what he continued to desecrate.

She deserved better. And now, so do you.

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. No matter how much he wanted to justify his actions, he couldn’t escape the truth: he was selfish. He was a god who took what he wanted, who carved his desires into the world without regard for the aftermath.

But with you, it felt different. He wasn’t just stealing your body; he was robbing you of your peace, your freedom. You were becoming a reflection of the torment that plagued him, and he hated himself for it.

Uraume’s earlier hesitation gnawed at him, too. They had served him faithfully for centuries, never questioning his orders. But the way their eyes lingered on you this morning, filled with something bordering on pity, unsettled him. Even they, loyal to a fault, could see the weight of his selfishness pressing down on you.

As the door closed softly behind Uraume, Sukuna let out a low, frustrated groan. His hand reached out once more, hovering just above your sleeping form, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch you. The memory of your soft breaths against his skin, the warmth of your body entwined with his, lingered, mocking him. He craved it, and yet he despised himself for it.

This is for the best, he repeated to himself, though the mantra felt like ash in his mouth. You’ll be free. You’ll forget me, forget this moment and this pain will fade.

But as he stared at you, your peaceful expression threatening to break the last vestiges of his resolve, doubt crept in. Could he truly let you go, even if it meant erasing everything you shared? Was it really for you—or was it just another way to escape his guilt, to absolve himself of the burden of your misery?

Sukuna clenched his teeth, the internal battle raging louder than ever. His fingers twitched as he fought the urge to wake you, to hear your voice, to feel your touch just one more time.

He knew it was selfish, but the thought of you looking at him with those same accusing eyes, those eyes that didn’t understand why he had to do this—that was unbearable.

The door creaked open, and Uraume entered silently, a small vial in their hands. They approached cautiously, bowing low as they held it out to him. Sukuna took it without a word, his fingers tightening around the glass. The liquid inside glimmered faintly, deceptively harmless, yet it carried the power to wipe away everything.

Uraume glanced at you again, their expression unreadable, before speaking softly. “Are you certain, my lord?”

Sukuna’s scarlet eyes flicked to them, sharp and unyielding, though his voice betrayed a hint of hesitation. “Do not question me, Uraume.”

They bowed deeply once more, retreating without another word. The door clicked shut, leaving Sukuna alone with you again. He turned the vial over in his hands, the faint clink of the liquid inside echoing in the silent chamber. His gaze drifted back to you, his expression torn, raw in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in centuries.

“I am a fool.” he muttered under his breath, his voice bitter. “A selfish, wretched fool.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the vial dangling loosely between his fingers. The weight of the decision crushed him, every fiber of his being warring against itself. To let you forget would be to set you free, but it would also mean losing the only thing that had made him feel alive in eons. 

To let you remember would be to keep you bound to him, drowning alongside him in his endless torment. Ryomen Sukuna closed his eyes, exhaling shakily. He didn’t know what he hated more—the thought of losing you or the thought of keeping you. 

He was willing to take the risk of it all, if he was being honest.

He would rather let a lie continue, memories fade away forever;

He would rather do all the nasty things in this world, than lose you.

Everything else was better than finding you drowning with him like this.

══════════════════

THE MOMENT YOU WOKE UP, YOU REMEMBERED NOTHING. The memory of that night was elusive, like a fleeting shadow slipping between the cracks of your mind. You tried to recall it all from last night. Why did you end up taking your slumber in Heaven’s Hall instead of Vermillion Hall? Why had you fallen so sore and exhausted? What happened last night? 

You had pushed yourself to remember each and every time. But with all those attempts to do so left you with nothing but vague impressions. Perhaps you had been too tired to think clearly. Perhaps it wasn’t worth remembering. You had probably gotten so drunk and blacked out. Oh no, had you caused a scene? You were horrified about it all. 

You had hoped that it was going to come back to you once you have rested, once you had groomed yourself out of the mess of alcohol’s scent. Still, something about it lingered, a faint unease that you couldn’t quite place. You couldn’t piece it together and that makes you mad at yourself. How could you let this happen? How could you not remember anything?

Still, life moves forward. Your days carried on with a semblance of normalcy. The servants bustled about, tending to their endless duties, their chatter filling the quiet corners of the palace. You found comfort in routine, spending your hours with Chiharu and Chizuru, who had become your closest companions. 

Chiharu’s bright laughter and Chizuru’s sharp sense of humor made the days easier, their presence grounding you in a way Sukuna never had. In some ways, your joy comes from being their mother more than being Sukuna’s wife. Perhaps you had noticed that more and more now that your husband was too busy ignoring you again.

Yet, despite your efforts to immerse yourself in the calm, Ryomen Sukuna’s absence hung over you like a shadow. He had always been a looming presence in your life—commanding, unpredictable, impossible to ignore. But now, it was as if he had disappeared entirely. He no longer sought you out, no longer invaded your space with his suffocating intensity.

At first, you were relieved. His distance gave you a peace you hadn’t known in years. You could breathe without the weight of his gaze, could think without the distraction of his proximity. You liked the quiet. You needed it.

But as the days turned into weeks, you began to notice the emptiness his absence left behind. It wasn’t longing, not in the way you might have expected. It was something else; a nagging curiosity, an itch in the back of your mind that refused to be ignored.

Why had he stopped?

You replayed your last interactions with him over and over, searching for clues. Had you said something to offend him? Have you done something wrong? Or was this simply another one of his whims, a fleeting disinterest that would fade as quickly as it had come?

One afternoon, as you sat in the garden with Chiharu and Chizuru, the questions weighed heavier than usual. The soft rustling of leaves and the distant hum of insects filled the air, a perfect backdrop for the idle conversation that flowed between your companions.

“The plum blossoms are so beautiful this year, mother.” Chiharu said, her voice bright with excitement. She leaned forward, her fingers brushing the delicate petals of a nearby branch. “Don’t you think so?”

“They’re the same every year, nee–sama.” Chizuru replied, rolling his eyes with a teasing smile. “You act as if it’s your first time seeing them.”

Chiharu pouted at her younger brother. “Well, maybe you’re just too jaded to appreciate them anymore, little brother!”

“Nee-sama, take that back!

“No, I won’t!”

Their banter usually brought a smile to your face, but today, their words barely registered. Your gaze drifted to the distant silhouette of Heaven’s Hall, its grandeur standing in stark contrast to the serenity of the garden. You couldn’t shake the feeling that it held answers to the questions swirling in your mind.

“Are you all right, mother?” Chiharu’s voice broke through your thoughts, drawing your attention back to her concerned expression. “You seem… distracted.”

You forced a smile. “I’m fine. Just tired, I suppose.”

Chizuru narrowed his eyes, his sharp gaze cutting through your facade. He looked almost like his father at that moment.  “Tired, or thinking about something you don’t want to say, mother?”

You shook your head, brushing off her words with a light laugh. “Nothing worth mentioning, my little love. Really.”

But as the conversation resumed, your thoughts wandered once more. Later, as you walked back to your quarters alone, your steps slowed as you neared Heaven’s Hall. The towering structure loomed ahead, its marble pillars catching the fading light of the setting sun.

You stopped, your gaze lingering on the grand doors. Something about it unsettled you, yet it also pulled at you, as if it held the answers you sought. You could almost hear the faint echo of footsteps, the ghost of something forgotten stirring in the corners of your mind.

Your hand twitched at your side, a part of you tempted to step inside, to confront whatever it was that refused to let you go. But you hesitated, the weight of uncertainty holding you back.

With a shake of your head, you turned away, forcing your feet to carry you toward Vermillion Hall. It was better not to know, you told yourself. Sukuna’s silence was a gift, a reprieve from his consuming presence. You weren’t foolish enough to disrupt it.

And yet, as the days stretched on, the questions only grew louder, pressing against your thoughts with an intensity you couldn’t ignore. What had happened that night? Why had everything changed so suddenly?

Most of all, why did it feel like Sukuna’s absence was not just a relief, but a mystery begging to be unraveled?

The day had passed uneventfully, filled with the usual duties at the main temple. You had grown accustomed to these quiet, almost meditative tasks: managing the offerings, overseeing the attendants, ensuring everything ran smoothly.

It was a peaceful life, one that was slowly allowing you to forget the intensity of the emotions that once surrounded Sukuna.

But today, the quiet seemed more oppressive than comforting, the silence pressing in around you like a weight. The questions still clung to the back of your mind, refusing to be silenced.

After completing your tasks, you found yourself seeking out Uraume. They were a quiet figure, always observing, always present but rarely speaking. Perhaps they could provide some insight into the strange distance Sukuna had placed between you.

They had been in his service long enough to know when something was amiss, and their loyalty to him was unwavering. Surely, if anyone knew what had happened, it would be Uraume.

You found them in a quiet hallway, their eyes momentarily lifting from the scroll they were reading as they noticed you approaching. Their expression remained neutral, but there was an unreadable glint in their eyes.

“Uraume.” you started, keeping your voice even. “I wanted to ask you about something. Something… personal.”

Uraume tilted their head slightly, studying you. They were always cautious around you, as though they knew that even the slightest change in your tone could signal a question they didn’t want to answer.

"What is it you wish to know, my lady?" they asked carefully, their voice soft but calculated.

You hesitated, unsure how to approach the subject without making it too obvious. But there was no time for half-measures now. You needed to know.

“That night… in Heaven’s Hall. I don’t remember much. But I know something happened. Between me and my lord. I need to understand. I need help to remember. So, if you would….please help me regain—”

Uraume's gaze shifted, their eyes briefly flicking away. For a moment, you wondered if they would say anything at all. But then they met your gaze again, a small frown tugging at the corners of their mouth. 

"My lord’s affairs are not for me to discuss with others, my lady." they replied, their tone so measured it almost felt rehearsed. "I do not know what you speak of."

The response stung, more than you expected. It wasn’t just the refusal to answer; it was the certainty in their voice, the unyielding loyalty that seemed to close off any hope of learning the truth. You swallowed the frustration rising in your chest, trying to push it back, but it simmered nonetheless.

"Uraume, I—" you began, but they had already turned their gaze away, as though the conversation was over. 

They bowed slightly, the gesture polite but distant. "If that is all, my lady, I have matters to attend to."

Your chest tightened as they made to leave, and for a moment, you considered pressing further. But something told you it would be futile. Uraume was loyal to Sukuna above all else, and their silence wasn’t accidental—it was a guard, a wall you couldn’t break. You cannot expect someone like them to choose you over their master.

Feeling the weight of your unanswered questions settle heavier on you, you turned and walked away, your thoughts swirling with a mix of irritation and confusion. The frustration you’d been pushing down surged to the surface, bubbling up in a sharp, bitter wave.

As you rounded a corner, you caught a glimpse of something that made your heart skip a beat.

From a distance, near the large pillars that lined the edge of the courtyard, you saw him. 

Ryomen Sukuna, with his dark eyes boring into your figure.

Your lord husband was watching you, with such focus.

His gaze was steady, his scarlet eyes locked onto you with an intensity that was unmistakable. There was no mistaking the weight of it, even from a distance. The way his eyes pinned you in place, as if he could see through every thought, every feeling you were trying to hide.

You stopped in your tracks. For a split second, it felt as if time slowed, the space between you and him stretching. Your breath caught in your throat as you instinctively felt the pull of his gaze, the silent command it carried. It was as if he were drawing you in, pulling you closer without saying a word.

But you couldn’t stay. You couldn’t approach him—not when everything felt so… unfinished, so raw. The frustration from your encounter with Uraume flared inside you, and the last thing you wanted was to face Sukuna with that vulnerability hanging over you. Not when he seemed to be watching you with that same detached, unreadable expression.

You didn’t wait a second longer. You turned quickly, your steps brisk as you made your way down the hall, away from his gaze, away from whatever strange pull he had over you. Your heart raced, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You had to leave before you did something foolish.

But even as you hurried down the hall, you couldn’t escape the feeling that Sukuna’s eyes never left your back.

══════════════════

RYOMEN SUKUNA CAN’T HELP IT. The smell of you that remained on this silk handkerchief was powerful. He can’t stop. Not right now. Not at this moment. The silken fabric glides over Sukuna’s fingertips, its delicate touch igniting a shiver that travels through him, a contrast to the hard lines of his frame. 

The room feels smaller, darker, as he leans into the sensation, pressing the silk to his face and inhaling slowly. The scent is intoxicating, carrying the essence of you. Something warm, elusive, and utterly tormenting. His dark scarlet eyes flutter shut as a sigh parts his lips, betraying the barrier he usually holds so tightly.

Every breath feels heavier, resonating with the silent thrum beneath his skin, a rhythm that’s more than just desire. Everything about it was a pull that shakes his control. He drags the fabric down the line of his jaw, its whisper against his skin making his pulse quicken. 

He could feel the closeness and yet distance of you driving him deeper into the edge of yearning. His own touch is rougher now, less restrained as he presses the silk to the hollow of his throat, feeling the heat rise within him, warmth spreading like a slow burn.

A groan escapes, low and gravelly, as if torn from the depths of him, echoing in the silence. The sensation of his hands moving, the silk brushing over his chest and further, turns into a private ritual of surrender.

Each sweep of the fabric sparks against nerves like embers. The ghostly presence of you envelops him, the way you would breathe against his skin, the way your fingertips would linger with a feather-light tease.

The complexity of it all is the very reason he won’t dare cross the distance between you, why this is the only way he allows himself to know the softness you carry. It’s both bliss and torment, this delicate line he walks, trembling under the weight of the scent and the way it melds into the heat of his own breath. 

His movements become slower, more deliberate, savoring every moment until there’s nothing left but the ragged edge of satisfaction mixed with the stark silence of solitude. His mind swirls with the thought of you, laid out beneath him, your skin flushed and breath coming in soft, shuddering gasps. 

"My lord….my Sukuna." you would whisper, voice low and dripping with need, eyes wide and filled with trust and anticipation. The sound of your voice in his imagination alone makes him clench his jaw, his breath catching as heat unfurls within him.

“Say it again, little one.” he imagines himself growling, his tone both a command and a plea. His hand moves, firm and deliberate, stroking along his length as he pictures the way you’d obey, the way you’d bite your lip before moaning his name once more, the sound of it desperate and broken.

“Please, my lord.” your voice echoes in his head, needy and soft. 

The thought drives him to the brink, his body responding to the phantom sound as if you were really there. The groan that slips from his lips is deep, guttural, filling the dark room. His hips bucked against his own touch, chasing the sensation, needing it, needing you.

"Look at me. Keep your eyes on me. Only me." he imagines saying, the rasp in his voice trembling at the edge of restraint. 

He pictures your eyes locking onto his, the way they’d cloud over as he takes you apart piece by piece. His pace quickens, hand swirling tighter as he lets himself fall further into the fantasy, into the imagined warmth of your skin against his, the velvet feel of your touch.

“My lord—oh, Sukuna!” you’d moan, this time louder, the way he likes. His muscles tense as he shudders, everything building to that blinding point of no return. 

The room falls silent but for the sound of his own gasps, as the pleasure crashes over him, leaving only the thrum of his heartbeat and the haunting ache of wanting more than this moment, more than just shadows and longing.

Sukuna’s breath comes in short, ragged bursts as his hips move faster, instinct guiding his hand as he chases the release that teeters just out of reach. The image of you beneath him, eyes glassy and lips swollen, clings to his mind with fierce clarity. 

He can almost feel the way your body would shudder, the way you'd gasp and cling to him, the sensation of being deep within you as you take him, body trembling and surrendering completely. The tension in him coils tighter, the thought of you so full of him that he can see it in the way your body arches, pressing against him, drawing him deeper. 

“Take it all, little one. Take all of me. Please. Please—oh…..” he imagines growling, the dark intensity of the command vibrating through the silence.

His hand moves with desperation, the slick glide mimicking the fantasy in his mind, where every breath from you is a soft plea and every moan is edged with that delicious note of submission that drives him wild.

The imagined feel of your warmth, of your walls tightening around him, pushes him over the edge. His body tenses, muscles rigid as the wave crashes through him, a guttural groan spilling from his lips, raw and deep.

Pleasure surges, blinding and consuming, leaving him breathless and sprawled in the silence that follows, the echoes of his need fading into the stillness of the room.

When the tremors subside, he opens his eyes, staring up at the ceiling, chest heaving. The room feels emptier now, haunted by the echoes of your phantom touch and the aching reminder that you’re not here.

The need has been sated for now, but the longing, that ever-present hunger for you, remains unsatisfied, gnawing at him with a dark, insatiable hunger.

He looks down at the silk fabric, occupied by his fluids.

Sukuna felt his lips tighten at the sight of it, so full of him.

He ruined you, he keeps ruining you — and he would not stop.

Ryomen Sukuna stood up, and looks at the potion.

He could not take it, he could not take that guilt.

His hands takes it brashly towards his lips and drank.

Ryomen Sukuna wants to forget how he hurt you.

══════════════════

YOU MAKE HASTE TO GET READY. Sukuna’s summons arrives as a simple, imperious command, and yet it sends a thrill down your spine. You looked at Uraume and merely nodded. Your husband was that sort of man. He only wishes for you when he ends up at the end of his wits. But you cannot say much about it. You ought not to.

It’s been quite a few weeks gone and past since the two of you sat together without the press of others’ watchful eyes or the weight of duties. And because of that, things would be different between the two of you, well at least until that awkward distance disappears with some comfort with some time spent together.

When you enter the grand dining hall, he’s already seated, the firelight casting a warm glow over his sharp features, softening the edge of his usual scowl. His crimson eyes lift to meet yours, something unreadable flickering behind them before he gives a subtle nod.

“Sit, little one.” he says, and though the tone is clipped, there’s a trace of something gentler woven beneath. 

You take your place across from him, and a faint smile tugs at your lips as the first drink of sake is poured for you.  Another bountiful pour of special drink for him.

It had taken some time for tongues to become loose. The silence between you is not strained but filled with anticipation, as if the weeks apart have made every unspoken word hum with importance.

The conversation unfolds slowly, naturally. The tension in his shoulders loosens as he sips from his cup, scarlet eyes softening when you speak of your children. Everything about your children brought the two of you closer. That's how it was.

You both talked abotu everything. Their laughter, their small victories at Jujutsu, the way they remind you of him in ways both stubborn and tender. Chizuru had finally learned how to control his cursed energy. Chiharu had discovered a new technique of her own, defeating her mentor. 

Your husband listens, occasionally offering a rare chuckle or a subtle smirk, and you realize just how much you missed this: the shared warmth, the unguarded moments when he’s more than the king, more than the conqueror. He perhaps did not love you. But you wanted his comfort, his warmth. In some ways, you wanted to be his. 

Not in ownership, no. But to….to have been cared for in some way by him. Of course, it would not be close to his feelings for Ryomen Hiromi. You had long accepted that. Still, you wanted warmth from him.

You wanted to carve your way through his heart, and let yourself have a home in it. At least what was left. Yet, you would never say that out loud. It was not your place. It never has been.

“Do you remember when Chiharu first tried to use her powers?” you ask, laughter bubbling in your voice. Sukuna’s lips quirk up at the memory, a shadow of pride crossing his face.

“The girl was quite fearless, I admit.” he replies, a hint of admiration in his voice. “But she still needs some work.”

You smiled. “My lord, I am certain you can find that Chiharu is one to be proud of. The work has paid off.”

“Hm. I suppose it has.” He says to you, his eyes tender. “But I cannot take the credit.”

“Nor can I, my lord.” You whisper back to him, a small smile on your lips. “I am not her only parent.”

He shakes his head. “No, no. To her, little one? You are the only one that matters.”

Everything from then seems to shrink around the two of you, the space intimate and alive with a marriage lived in many years and many dimensions — such of which the world will never know or be privy to. No. This belongs only to the two of you. No one else.

As the evening deepens, the wine flows more freely, and the conversation shifts, softening at the edges. Sukuna leans forward, his eyes catching the flicker of firelight. Your husband was studying you with a gaze that pierces through the veil of time and distance.

You’re suddenly aware of how close you are, of how his fingers drum lightly on the table, mere inches from yours. He couldn't stop, looking at you. Yearning for warmth that only you could provide.

Without thinking, you close the gap. Your hand brushes his, and before you can second-guess, you lean forward and press your lips to his. The kiss is soft at first, hesitant, as if testing the waters of familiarity, but he responds almost immediately. 

His hand moves to cup the back of your neck, deepening the kiss with a hunger that’s been banked too long. The room falls away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in the heat and urgency of reconnection, mouths moving with the desperation of lovers long apart.

When you pull back, both breathless, his eyes search yours, softer now, vulnerable in a way that’s rare and precious.

“It’s been too long, little one.” he murmurs, voice rough but honest, and you nod, a smile curving your lips as you press your forehead to his, savoring the moment and the promise of more to come.

The silence stretches between you, but it’s charged, buzzing with an unspoken need. The kiss lingers in the air, the taste of him still warm on your lips. There is no more talking now, only the thrum of anticipation as Sukuna’s eyes, deep and darkened with desire, lock onto yours. 

His hand tightens at the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his mouth crashes against yours again, fiercer this time. The room is awash in the scarlet glow of the fire, shadows dancing as if to the rhythm of your heartbeats.

Your hands find their way to his chest, fingers splaying over the hard muscle beneath his robes as you feel his heart pound beneath your touch. He shifts, rising from his chair with a graceful power that makes your breath catch.

In one swift movement, he pulls you up, the table pushed aside as if it were an afterthought, and suddenly, you're against him, your body pressed against the solid heat of his form.

Sukuna’s lips trail down your jaw to the pulse at your neck, teeth grazing as his breath comes hot against your skin. You gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer, wordlessly urging him on.

His hands roam, one sliding down your back, pressing your hips into his, while the other explores the curve of your waist, anchoring you as if afraid to let go.

Your senses blur; the feeling of his tongue tracing along the line of your collarbone sends shivers down your spine, and you arch into him, needing more. The sound of your breathless moans, mingled with the quiet growl he makes against your skin, fills the room. 

Sukuna lifts you easily, his strength effortless as he sets you on the edge of the table, stepping between your legs and pressing into you until there’s nothing but heat and the throb of shared longing.

Your eyes meet, and for a moment, the intensity softens. His thumb brushes your cheek, a surprising gentleness in the midst of the fervor, and then his lips are on yours again.

Over and over, he pushed forward with wanton desire. His lips wanted more. Tasting, claiming, as his hands slide lower, pulling you closer, drawing a shiver of pleasure that melts the last traces of restraint.

The world around you fades to nothing but the sensation of him, the rush of your bodies entwined in a dance that is both savage and intimate. Everything is raw, animalistic, as if the very air crackles with the weight of longing that has built up over the weeks apart. 

Ryomen Sukuna’s grip on you is commanding, pulling you closer, pressing you against him with a desperate need that makes you gasp, your body trembling in response.

The slick warmth of his skin against yours is intoxicating, a heady mixture of heat and urgency that makes it feel like there’s no time to waste. His lips are on you again, claiming you with a hunger that mirrors the way his body moves against yours.

Each thrust, each slow drag of his hips, drives deeper, the pressure building between you until it's unbearable. You can feel the pulse in his veins, the steady throb of him that echoes in your own body, matching the rhythm of your heart as it races wildly.

Tears slip from the corners of your eyes, but they’re not from pain, no. They’re from something deeper, something more overwhelming. The vulnerability of the moment, the overwhelming sensation of him taking you, claiming you fully, fills you with an emotion that crashes over you like a wave. 

Your breath hitches as you bite down on your lip, trying to hold back the rush of feelings threatening to break free. But Sukuna’s groan, low and almost animalistic, makes your resolve shatter, and you let go, surrendering completely to the pleasure, to the connection that binds you to him.

His body throbs with each movement, the pulse of his veins like a living thing inside you, the rhythm of it so steady and consuming that it feels as if you’re both part of the same beating heart. 

The force of it, the heat and pressure, makes you feel like you’re coming apart at the seams, but in the best way, as if every inch of you is being remade, redefined by his presence, by the way he fills you completely. There’s nothing but him now, no walls, no distance, just the two of you locked together in a way that feels timeless, primal.

You feel whole with him, in a way you’ve never felt before. The empty spaces that have haunted you, the ones you couldn’t even name; all of it seems to vanish in the intensity of the moment. How could it not, when he rules you in everything, body, heart and soul?

His body is a fierce warmth that wraps around you, grounding you, making you feel like you’ve always belonged to him, and he to you. It’s a feeling that is so deep, so consuming, that it transcends the physical, filling you with a sense of completeness that makes the rest of the world irrelevant.

The sound of his breath, deep and erratic, mingles with the rhythm of your own, and you’re both lost in the storm you’ve created. There are no words anymore, just the quiet, rhythmic echo of your bodies moving together, caught in the tide of sensation that threatens to drown you both.

And in the heart of it all, as you feel him throb inside you, a whisper of truth cuts through the haze: You are his, and he is yours, bound together in this moment of raw, unyielding connection. Nothing else can compare. And for a moment, Ryomen Sukuna had thought about it too. 

══════════════════

THE POTION DIDN'T WORK FOR LONG. He remembered everything. All of it. And he thinks he felt sick. Sick to the core. He hated it. He hated himself. He knew he was a cruel man, a foolish man. How could he do that? How could he do that to you?

Everything was wrong about him. And you deserved more than him. It was a continual rinse and repeat. The cycle was suffocating, each time growing more suffused with an unspoken tension that neither of you could escape. 

Ryomen Sukuna, ever the stoic, had felt that sharp pang of guilt again. It always caught him when he least expected it, the ghost of an emotion he tried so hard to suppress. The way you looked at him was always with eyes full of tenderness, full of trust. And everything about it had haunted him in those quiet moments. 

But guilt was a weakness, a human frailty that did not belong to him. He had learned to bury it, to lock it away with all the other feelings he refused to confront. And so, once again, the weight of that emotion was swallowed by the darkness he carried within himself, and he moved on.

You, on the other hand, were trapped in a cycle of confusion. The potion was seamless, subtle in its potency. One moment, you were wrapped in a night of passion, tangled with him in a world that felt more real than anything else. 

But the next, everything was gone. No memory of his touch, of the way he had made you feel; no trace of the connection you had shared. Just a deep sense of something missing, a gnawing hole that you couldn’t understand. 

The fog in your mind only deepened when you tried to recall the details. It was as though you had forgotten how to ask the right questions, and even when you tried, the answers weren’t there. Sukuna felt bitter and sick about his own actions. 

The potion worked too well.

And so, you found yourself caught in the same pattern, over and over. Confusion, followed by fleeting glimpses of something that should be familiar but never quite is. Each time you reached out for him, whether for comfort or answers—there was a distance, an impenetrable coldness that he wrapped around himself. 

The more you tried to close that gap, the further he seemed to pull away. You would ask, softly at first, tentatively: "Why do you look at me like that?" or "What happened?" But Sukuna never answered. 

His gaze would flicker, distant, uninterested, as if the question itself were a nuisance. He would look at you for a moment, but never fully engage, never fully reach for you. The warmth you once had between you felt as though it had turned to ice.

And it stung.

You would find yourself alone in the aftermath, wondering what had changed. Wondering what you had done wrong, what you had missed. It wasn’t like him to ignore you. Not in the way he did now. His absence wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, like he had shut a door between you that you couldn’t get through. 

His indifference was sharper than any anger he could have thrown your way. Each time you tried to get closer, to break through the cold silence that had enveloped him, the distance seemed to grow. It was as if the very act of reaching out to him had become a punishment, one you didn’t understand.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed, that this time, the disconnection wasn’t just a hunch for you. No, it was not just a guess. You couldn’t even remember how many times this had happened now, but each time it was harder to ignore, harder to pretend that you weren’t losing something you could never get back. 

The confusion was maddening, the way you had to fight against your own mind to remember pieces of a night that had been so vivid, so full of promise. You could almost feel him there, his presence heavy and undeniable, but the memories always slipped away, as if they belonged to someone else.

And then, there was Sukuna. Unreachable, aloof, silent. He would turn away when you looked at him for too long, pretending not to notice the ache in your gaze, the way you waited for him to explain. He never did. 

And when you pressed, he became colder, more detached, his disinterest palpable. He ignored you, avoided your touch, and the more you tried to understand, the more he made it clear that you were not meant to.

He had been there—yes, he had been. But now, when you needed him most, when you tried to break through to him, he wasn’t. Not really.

It left you questioning everything. What have you lost? What was real? What had he erased? And why, no matter how hard you tried, did it feel as if you were always walking in circles, never getting closer to the truth? It was as though you were always on the outside of something, always knocking on the door but never able to step inside.

It wasn’t just the potion anymore. Something deeper had shifted, something that even Ryomen Sukuna couldn’t hide beneath his cold, indifferent exterior. The question now was whether you would ever get the chance to find out what.

You sit in silence, your fingers drumming on the edge of the table, eyes trained on Sukuna as he remains seated across from you. His gaze is cold, unreadable, but there's a flicker in his eyes, a subtle shift in the way he watches you, as though he's aware of the question you haven't lived yet.

The air between you feels heavier than usual, suffused with the unspoken tension that’s been building for weeks. You can’t ignore it anymore—the gnawing sense that something is slipping through your fingers, something important. And the more you try to hold onto it, the more it fades.

You finally break the silence, your voice quiet but determined.

“I… I feel like I’m forgetting things. Important things, my lord.” you admit, not meeting his gaze. The words feel heavy on your tongue, almost like admitting something you don’t want to be true.

Sukuna remains still, his crimson eyes narrowing just slightly, watching you with that same detached intensity. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak. You can feel the air grow thick with the weight of his silence, and it only makes the ache inside you grow sharper.

“Like what?” His voice is low, measured, but there's a faint edge to it that you can’t quite place. He knows what you’re talking about. Of course he does.

“I don’t know, my lord.” you mutter, frustration leaking into your voice. “It’s like I wake up and there’s a hole in my memory. Pieces are missing. And I—I can’t even remember what happened the night before. It’s like I’m walking through fog, like everything is just out of reach.” 

You raise your eyes to meet him, searching for something—anything—in his gaze. “I can’t explain it, but it feels like I’m losing myself.”

Sukuna leans back in his chair, his posture casual, but there's something unreadable about his expression. His fingers drum lightly on the armrest, a rhythm that matches the quickening beat of your heart.

You wait for him to say something, anything, but he remains silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on you, as though weighing something important in his mind.

“You know what’s happening, my lord.” you say, your voice suddenly a little sharper, more desperate. “You must know. I feel like you’re hiding something from me. Why—why won’t you just tell me? What am I forgetting? Why does it feel like you’re slipping away from me, every time I try to reach you?”

A dark, fleeting look crosses his face—something almost guilty, but it’s gone too quickly for you to catch it fully. Instead, his lips curl into that familiar, mocking smirk, but it’s lacking the usual bite.

“I’m not hiding anything, little one.” he replies, his voice low, but there’s an undercurrent of something dark in it. “It’s your mind, not mine. You’ve always had a tendency to forget what’s inconvenient. It's your own fault.”

Your chest tightens at his words. It’s not the answer you wanted—not even close. You lean forward, trying to control the emotions threatening to spill over. You were exhausted with this. You cannot take anymore of this.

“You can’t seriously expect me to believe that, my lord.” You shake your head, feeling a bitter frustration rise in you. “I feel like I’m going insane. One moment, everything feels so real, and the next... it’s gone. And I—I know it’s not just me. Something is happening, and you’re the only one who doesn’t seem bothered by it.”

Sukuna’s smirk fades, and for the briefest moment, something flickers across his face. It’s not guilt, but it’s close, something between acknowledgment and dismissal. He doesn’t answer right away, letting the silence stretch until it’s almost unbearable.

Finally, he speaks, his tone heavier now, more controlled. “Maybe you’re remembering things you shouldn’t, little one. You don’t need to know everything. Some things are better left forgotten.”

The weight of his words sinks into you like a stone, and you feel the truth of it in your chest, the way it sits there, cold and heavy. You swallow hard, trying to push past the confusion and hurt that swirl in your mind.

“Is that it, then, my lord?” you ask, voice breaking a little, though you try to steady yourself. “You think I should forget all of it? Forget the parts of me that belong to you? Forget about everything that could be important? My lord, that is cruel.”

Sukuna’s scarlet eyes darken, the cold distance in them sharpening again, but his expression doesn’t change. He leans forward slightly, his presence looming, like a predator assessing its prey. He doesn’t want to play his part. But it must. He had made it this far. He ought to own it.

“Stop asking questions you know I won’t answer. You know how this works.” His tone turns almost icy, cutting through the air. “What you remember doesn’t matter. Only what I allow you to remember does.”

You stare at him, the truth of it settling in like a weight in your gut. His words are like a bitter truth you can't swallow, but it doesn’t make them any less real. The distance between you widens again, suffocating, and you’re left staring at him, unsure whether to be angry or broken.

"Then why even keep me here, my lord?" you whisper, more to yourself than to him. The question feels pointless as soon as it leaves your lips, but it lingers, a sharp sting in the air. “You ought to send me to the Cold Hall. Or leave me be.”

For a moment, Ryomen Sukuna remains silent, his gaze flickering toward you with an unreadable expression. Then, he leans back, his features hardening into that impenetrable mask. 

“Because, little one…” he says, his voice low and deliberate. “I can. And I will.”

And just like that, the space between you becomes an abyss again, and you’re left wondering if you’ll ever get the answers you crave—or if, in time, you’ll forget you even asked. You turned away from him. You could feel his gaze bore a hole on the back of your head. But he noticed everything. He was no fool. 

Tears poured from your eyes.

You tried to quickly wipe them away.

But as you wiped them, more came by.

Even your body knows you were miserable.

Even your body knows something’s missing.

Something is wrong.

══════════════════

YOU ONCE MORE LOCKED YOURSELF AWAY IN VERMILLION HALL. You refused to see your husband and perhaps that was for the best. You had cried yourself to sleep for days now, the frustration eating away at you like an insidious thing. The weight of unanswered questions, the endless confusion, it had all built up and bled into your dreams.

The emotions had overwhelmed you to the point where sleep seemed like the only escape, the only refuge from the torment of not knowing. But sleep, as you soon discovered, offered no solace. It was restless and fleeting, filled with fragments of images, of faces, of a life you could never fully remember.

But when you woke, it wasn’t to the comfort of the blankets you had once found so familiar. No, you woke to an entirely different feeling—a sharp, searing pain that stabbed into your core, as if something inside you had broken open. 

It wasn’t a pain you had ever felt before, and it was so intense that it left you gasping for air, clutching at the sheets in a desperate attempt to understand what was happening to you. You felt like you were drowning, it felt like you were being stabbed.

Your mind was foggy, clouded with the remnants of your dreams and the confusion of the past days, but you didn’t need clarity to know that something was wrong. The pain was unbearable.

It was harshly crawling beneath your skin, wrapping around your insides with a terrible urgency. You frantically pulled at the blankets, your hands trembling as you tried to understand what was happening.

When you looked down, your breath hitched in your throat. Blood. It stained your sheets, pooling beneath you in stark, alarming contrast to the softness of the fabric. You groaned over and over in grievous pain.

Panic surged through you, a wave of shock and terror, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the fear choking you. You couldn’t comprehend it, couldn’t wrap your mind around the sight before you.

You cried out, the sound raw and full of terror, your voice hoarse from the tears you had already shed. “Help me.” you whispered, your throat thick with panic, “Please…”

Within moments, your servants appeared soon; they were quick, frantic, their faces filled with concern and confusion. They rushed to your side, trying to assess the situation, to comfort you, but nothing they did could quell the overwhelming pain or the terror that gripped your chest.

“What happened? What’s wrong, my lady?” one of them asked, her voice trembling with concern as she hurried to help you sit up, her hands gently lifting the blood-soaked sheets away from your body.

You could barely answer, the pain making it impossible to form coherent words. All you could do was sob, clinging to them as if they could somehow stop the agony, stop the deep, hollow ache that was consuming you.

One of your servants hurried out, calling for help, while the others tried to tend to you as best as they could, offering comfort, but the fear in their eyes mirrored your own. Something was terribly wrong.

And no matter how many times you tried to explain it, tried to understand it yourself, you were left with more questions than answers. Why were you bleeding like this? What had happened to you? What were you forgetting?

The answers felt just out of reach, like a secret too dangerous to uncover. And the more you tried to grasp them, the more you sank into the unknown. You were crying endlessly, crying out in pain with or without the voice to do so.

Your servants worked swiftly, their hands trembling as they tried to stabilize you, but their movements felt like a blur, the world spinning around you. Their frantic whispers only heightened the feeling of helplessness clawing at your chest. 

One of them, a younger woman with dark eyes, pressed a cloth against your body, trying to stop the bleeding, but it felt like a losing battle. The blood stained your skin, soaking into the fabric of your nightgown and the sheets beneath you.

You could feel yourself becoming dizzy, your vision blurring as the pain intensified. Each pulse of pain seemed to radiate outward, as though it was coming from deep within, tearing at the fabric of your body, but you couldn't grasp why. Your thoughts were scattered, lost in a haze of fear and confusion.

"Stay with us, my lady. Please." one of the servants pleaded, her voice strained with panic. "We'll get help, please, just stay awake."

You barely heard her. The pain was too much, drowning out everything else. And then, a voice from the door, a voice you hadn’t heard in a long while had cut through the chaos. You couldn’t see his face. But his voice, it was the clearest it has ever been.

"Enough." Sukuna's voice rang out, cold and commanding. He appeared in the doorway, his gaze falling on the scene before him, and for a moment, everything stopped.

Your breath caught in your throat, the pain momentarily forgotten as you locked eyes with him. He looked unchanged, as imposing as ever, but there was something in his expression, something almost unreadable as he stepped closer.

“What’s going on?” His voice was low, but it was laced with an unfamiliar tension, something far removed from the indifference you’d come to expect from him.

You tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come, your body trembling too violently, too weak to form any coherent thoughts. Your breath hitched as another wave of pain shot through you, sharper than before.

It felt like something inside you was breaking open, tearing apart. The physical pain was unbearable, but it was the emotional toll that made you feel as if you were unraveling at the seams.

"S–she's losing too much blood, my lord." one of the servants said, trying to explain, but her voice faltered under Sukuna’s unwavering gaze. “My lady is bleeding and…we do not know why.

Ryomen Sukuna’s scarlet eyes narrowed slightly, his focus shifting to you. For the first time in a long while, something like concern flickered in his gaze, though it was masked by the familiar coldness that surrounded him.

He approached, kneeling at your side with a fluid, deliberate motion. Your cries were bellowing over and over against his ears. He could see it from where you embraced your body, the blood. 

His hand hovered over you, but he hesitated, as if unsure what to do. There was a knowing look in his eyes, as if he had known this story before. But you didn’t want to question him. You couldn’t. You were in too much pain to do so.

“What happened?” he repeated, his voice softer now, but there was an edge of command in it.

“I—I don’t know, my lord.” you gasped, each breath shallow, the words barely escaping your lips. “It hurts so much... I’m—I'm bleeding. I don’t know why.”

His eyes flickered briefly to your servants, who seemed to retreat slightly, their discomfort obvious, unsure of how to proceed. But Sukuna's attention remained solely on you, the deep crimson of his gaze scanning over your trembling form. 

The tension in his jaw tightened. He didn't speak right away, but there was something in his regal posture, there was something predatory in the way his eyes locked onto you that made it clear he was piecing something together.

After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice almost too calm. "What were you doing before this happened?" he asked, his words cold but controlled, as if you should have already known the answer.

You struggled to keep your focus, the pain blurring your thoughts, but the question cut through the haze. You had been trying to remember, hadn't you? You had been trying to understand what had happened between the two of you, what had led to this moment.

“I—I don’t know…I was resting and I just….” you whispered, tears slipping from your eyes as you looked at him, feeling helpless. “I was trying to understand… but I can’t. Everything’s… everything’s slipping away. It’s like I’m losing pieces of myself.”

Sukuna’s expression darkened, a flicker of something. Was it regret?—crossing his face before he masked it again. He looked at the servants and nodded once, a quick, sharp motion. You did not know. You did not wish to know.  

"Leave us. All of you." he commanded. "I’ll handle this."

They hesitated for a moment, but his tone left no room for argument. One by one, they filed out of the room, leaving you alone with him. The silence was oppressive, thick with unspoken words and tension.

Ryomen Sukuna’s gaze returned to you, and for a moment, the world felt impossibly small, the pain in your body sharp and real, but the uncertainty in your heart was just as consuming. 

“I should’ve known better, little one.” he muttered, more to himself than to you, as if grappling with something he hadn’t fully admitted.

“Please…” you breathed, the words almost a plea. “I need to understand. What’s happening to me? Why am I—”

“Stop asking questions, little one.” he interrupted, his voice commanding, but softer now. He leaned closer to you, his hand hovering over the pool of blood as if sensing something, feeling the pulse of whatever was inside you. 

There was a flicker of something darker in his eyes—something that almost felt like guilt, but Ryomen Sukuna never allowed that weakness to surface.

He turns away for a moment, to look at the clear water in the silver basin. He could see his reflection, he could see the monster. He pauses. He purses his lips in a flat line.

“You were never meant to suffer this, little one.” he said, his voice low and grave, the truth of it settling in your chest. “And now… now it’s coming back to haunt us both.”

The words felt like a punch to the gut. You couldn’t understand it. You couldn’t make sense of it. But the look in his eyes, the way his hands trembled as he reached for you, told you that the answers you sought were far more dangerous than you could have imagined.

What could be the meaning of the truth? 

Was it all truly worth it, finding out everything?

Tears pooled over your eyes, melting in with your sweat.

“I am sorry, little one.” He says, his voice low as he brushes your hair away from your eyes. He smiles with such sorrow. The most you’ve ever seen in your long life with him. “I had made you suffer again, have I?”

A guttering sob echoes from your lips, tears flowing ever more abundantly. The fear echoes in your eyes as much as the pain did. Ryomen Sukuna let his hands become submerged into the water. He takes the wet cloth and starts to squeeze away at the heavy dues of water.

“This will hurt.” He whispers to you, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “Forgive me.”

══════════════════

HE HADN’T FOUND THE COURAGE TO LEAVE YOU. Not like this. Ryomen Sukuna stood in the quiet of the room, watching you as you lay pale and still beneath the blankets. Finally, you had found yourself resting.

Your chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, the sleeping potion he'd given you working its way through your system to calm the pain and induce sleep. But sleep had come too late—too far after the damage had already been done. You were still, but the scars of what had happened remained.

He had felt it, the weight of his actions, sinking into the pit of his stomach like a stone. The guilt gnawed at him like an insistent whisper, and the more he tried to drown it out with silence, the louder it became. But no matter how much he tried to ignore it, the truth clawed its way to the surface.

You had almost died once more. All because of him. All because he was a foolish man, a cruel man. An even crueler master, an even more foolish god. Everything about it was his fault and his alone. 

And because of it, there has to be a price. Fate did not care for the innocent nor the saints. It cared for retribution, for the price of the act be paid in full. And so, the life that had once flourished inside of you was gone now—taken away in a manner as cruel and sharp as the sins that had followed him throughout his existence.

Ryomen Sukuna could not even begin to process the violence of it all. The miscarriage—the life he had unknowingly torn away. The nights together, the heat of his desire, and the overwhelming need for you had been his undoing.

And now, the consequence was here, the result of his insatiable hunger for you. He had taken what was not his to take, and the cost of that was now clear.

It wasn’t just your body that had suffered. No, it was something deeper, something that would linger in him long after your recovery. The guilt, the realization that he was not invincible that his desires could bring destruction in their wake made his chest feel tight, suffocating.

He had wanted you. The way your presence made him feel alive, the way you fought him, the way you surrendered, had become a constant itch he couldn’t scratch.

But now, the price of his inability to stop, to control himself, to pull back, was laid bare in front of him. And now you suffer the consequences for him. His little one.

Sukuna reached out with a trembling hand, his fingers brushing against your forehead, lightly touching the dampness of your skin. You had no idea what had just happened.

You were unaware of the deep, catastrophic consequences of your union. And in this moment, he wished more than anything that you would wake, that he could make it right somehow.

But deep down, he knew there was no going back. This was his crime, and no amount of self-loathing could undo it.

His dark scarlet eyes, usually cold and ruthless, softened for a brief moment as they lingered on your sleeping face. He had always been a being of darkness, of overwhelming power and control. But in your presence, his control had slipped. And now, the consequences of that were too real to ignore.

Sukuna stood, the weight of his guilt threatening to collapse him under its force. He turned away, not trusting himself to stay there any longer, knowing that if he did, he might break under the pressure of what he had done. But as he left, as he retreated into the shadows, one thing was painfully clear: there was no redemption for him, not for this.

His craving for you, his sin, would always linger, a constant reminder of how even the most powerful could be undone by their own desires. Sukuna’s footsteps echoed through the quiet halls as he paced through the temple halls.

With each step weighted with a thousand thoughts that he could not escape. The dark emptiness of the space mirrored the turmoil in his mind, and the oppressive silence seemed to press in on him, suffocating him with its suffocating weight.

He had once been a king of curses, a being of unimaginable power. He had commanded nations, destroyed cities, and crushed anyone who dared oppose him. And yet, here he was. He found himself unable to leave.

He was there, standing at the edge of the abyss, unsure of what to do with the mess he had created. The guilt gnawed at him from the inside, a constant, unbearable reminder of his failure—not as a king, not as a god, but as something far more human than he had ever wished to admit.

He had wanted you. He had craved you with a hunger that was both consuming and insatiable. But now, that desire has cost you more than he could bear. Your life—your very being—had been reduced to an almost fatal casualty in the wake of his passion.

And the life that could have been, the child that had been growing inside you, was gone. All because of his weakness.

He stopped in front of a mirror, staring at his own reflection. His crimson eyes met his own, but he barely recognized the man staring back. He was no longer the powerful curse that had once ruled with an iron fist, no longer the being that felt above all others. He was just a hollow shell, a broken creature cursed by his own desires.

“You were never supposed to matter.” he muttered to himself, his voice raw with the edge of something close to self-loathing. “None of this was supposed to happen.”

His gaze fell, his hand coming up to grip the mirror's edge. His fingers curled into a fist, as if trying to destroy the reflection in front of him, to erase the reminder of his weakness.

But the image remained. The truth remained. He had been foolish, had allowed himself to feel, to need—and now, the consequences were irreversible.

He turned away from the mirror, his mind churning with the weight of everything that had happened. You had been so innocent in all of this, so unaware of what was going on behind the scenes. Of what his selfishness, his guilt, his cruelty — could do.

He could still see the confusion in your eyes when you had asked about your forgotten memories, the pleading look on your face as you tried to make sense of the fractured pieces of your past.

He had told you to forget, to accept what was happening without question. But deep down, he knew you were right. You deserve the truth. And yet, he could never give it to you.

Sukuna’s fists clenched once more, his chest tightening with the painful realization. What he had done to you, what he had done to your body, it could never be undone. The life inside you had been snuffed out before it could even have a chance to grow. And all because of him.

He could hear your soft, labored breaths echoing in his mind, the sound of your pain, your suffering. The thought of it almost brought him to his knees. But he couldn't stop. He couldn’t undo what had already been done.

He had wanted you too much, had wanted you in ways that consumed him. The guilt, the agony, it was all wrapped up in that same burning desire.

But no matter how much he hated himself for it, no matter how much he wanted to walk away and never look back, he knew he couldn’t leave you. Not when you had become so intricately tied to everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever craved.

With a deep, tortured sigh, Sukuna turned back to the door and made his way toward your room. He had no answers to give you, no redemption to offer. But he would be there. He couldn’t leave you, not now, not when he had already destroyed everything. 

The best he could do now was stay. To watch, to wait. To let the pain he had caused burn into him, until it became a part of him, a part of the inevitable price he would always pay for what he had done.

As he approached your door, he paused for a moment, his hand resting on the handle, the weight of everything pressing down on him. He wasn't sure what he expected from this encounter.

Was there still a part of him that hoped you could forgive him? Or was he simply there because, like the curse he was, he was tethered to you in ways that defied understanding?

He stepped into the room, his eyes immediately falling on you, lying so still in your slumber. The sight of you, fragile and broken, made his insides twist in a way he had never known. There was no redemption for him. Not now. Not after all of this.

But he was still here. And he would never leave.

He would never stop finding himself drawn to you.

And maybe that was the cruelest punishment of all.

══════════════════

THE HEALER HAD SAID TO REST AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE. And you had done just that. The air around Vermillion Hall was thick with the sound of everyday life. Everything about it has made you feel healed more than anything. You could hear the children's laughter, servants going about their duties, and the occasional clink of crockery from the kitchen. 

The days had grown quieter since the incident, and though your body was slowly recovering, your heart still aches with the absence of what could have been. And yet, somehow, you weren’t alone. Not even when you wanted to. But perhaps, it was for the best.

Ryomen Sukuna’s presence had become an uninvited constant. At first, his decision to move to the nearby Repentance Hall had seemed insignificant. But now, with each passing day, you realized just how much of an impact it had on your life.

You were seated at a table in the sunlit dining room, carefully eating a small portion of food when Sukuna walked in, his figure tall and commanding even from across the room. His scarlet orbs flicked to you, but he said nothing as he made his way over to sit across from you. 

His posture was casual, but there was an unsettling weight in the air, as if his very presence was always carrying something unspoken. Perhaps that was just how intimidating your husband’s presence was. Everything about him was magnanimous. And it was hard to fight. It was hard to win against.

He watched you for a moment, studying the way you slowly ate. A sigh passed his lips, not one of impatience, but of something more complex. Something that was not as easy to read as before. Perhaps a silent acknowledgment of the burden neither of you had asked for. One that you would not want to talk about, not right now.

“You’re eating less, little one.” he commented, his voice low, but there was a certain sharpness to his tone.

You paused, the fork hovering in the air, before setting it down. "I’m fine, my lord." you said softly, your eyes meeting his own with a mix of weariness and frustration. “I’m just… still not hungry. I’m not used to being like this. The healer had said it was fine.”

Sukuna leaned back slightly in his chair, his dark gaze never leaving you. “It’s not about being used to it, little one.” he said, his voice colder now, as if he were speaking to a child rather than an equal. “It’s about getting better.”

“You hover upon me too much, my lord.”

“You are my concubine, my wife.” He tells you ever so bluntly. “And you are unwell. Should I just abandon you thus?”

There was a long silence between you two. His words were heavy, yet devoid of tenderness. He cared, in his own way, but never in a manner that you could decipher. His scarlet orbs tenderly flickered to the children playing outside, their sounds of joy drifting in through the window, before returning to you.

“Why did you move here, my lord?” you asked suddenly, breaking the silence, your voice gentle but questioning. “The trip to the audience hall is longer than before with such a move. Heaven’s Hall is more convenient than this.”

You hadn’t asked him before; the question had never felt right, never appropriate in the swirl of chaos that had come in the aftermath of everything. Ryomen Sukuna’s lips quivered slightly at the question, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. 

"You really have to ask, little one?" He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his gaze intense now, as if daring you to probe deeper. “I told you it was better this way.”

“Better?” you echoed, shaking your head in disbelief. “For whom, exactly? You barely speak to me. You don’t even explain why you’re here or why you’re…”

You trailed off, a bitter taste in your mouth as the words you had been holding back for so long finally spilled out. “Why are you staying here? My lord, this is…. What is this? What are you doing?”

The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of everything that had been left unsaid. Sukuna did not flinch at your outburst, nor did he retreat. Instead, he remained as still as a stone, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with an almost unreadable expression.

"I cannot leave. Not like this. I do not want to be near you, after all that I have done." His voice was low, but there was something in the harshness of it that made you falter. "Do you think I want to be near you after what I’ve done? But I cannot leave you….I cannot. You are……."

He stops himself, his lips turning into a flat line. You tried to open your mouth to respond, but the words failed you. He wasn’t shouting, but there was a palpable tension in his words that sent a chill through you.

The truth of what had happened. The weight of the consequences was there between you, even if neither of you could fully confront it.

"I know….." he continued, his voice softer now, but still heavy with guilt.

"You’ve suffered because of me. More than I care to admit. But it’s not like I can undo what’s been done." He paused, his eyes flickering with something close to regret. "You don’t want me here. But it’s... easier this way. For you. For me. For the children.”

You stared at him, processing his words slowly. It was an admission of sorts, though he cloaked it in his usual arrogance. He wasn’t just here for the sake of proximity; he was here because, despite everything, he couldn’t bear to be entirely distant from you. 

There was something in your husband, something primal, something deeply conflicted that kept him bound to you, even if he didn’t know how to act on it. Sickening as it all is, painful as it all is — it keeps you both together. And almost like a game, both of you do not want to lose it and leave.

"But why the children?" you asked, your voice quieter now. "Why do you walk them in the morning, share meals with them when you barely speak to me? What do you want from me, my lord?"

He looked away then, his jaw tightening as if he were fighting against something inside. "I don’t know." he muttered, almost under his breath. His voice was rougher, as if the words themselves were a struggle to form. "I don’t know what I’m doing."

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension between you as thick as the silence that wrapped around the room. You could feel his eyes on you, and you sensed something different in his gaze.

There was an unfamiliar vulnerability there; something far less like the commanding, untouchable king you had come to know, and more like something human, something raw. Finally, after a long pause, Sukuna’s eyes softened. Even for just for a second.

"I may not have been the one you thought you needed. I cannot say what you want me to say, to do what you want me to do, little one." he said slowly, his voice surprisingly calm. "But I’ll be here. In whatever way I can. I promised you that, haven’t I?"

You blinked, unsure whether to be relieved or frustrated by his admission. His presence, while undeniably constant, was still a riddle you couldn’t solve.

But something in the tone of his voice, in the way he had dropped his usual bravado, made you feel a flicker of something—a strange, uncertain hope.

"I’m trying, little one." he added softly, looking away from you again, as though not quite able to meet your gaze. "Trying to be… better. For you. For everything."

The words hung between you two, and though the weight of everything still lingered, a small part of you wondered—perhaps hoped—that there was more to his actions than you could see.

The silence that followed hung in the air, thick and laden with the weight of unspoken truths. You watched him as he shifted slightly in his seat, his eyes now focused on something beyond you, anything, it seemed, but you. 

His admission, raw and unrefined, left you uncertain about how to respond. He had never been one to reveal vulnerability, and now, with his words lingering in the space between you, you were unsure if you should reach out or retreat.

Sukuna cleared his throat, his usual arrogance beginning to seep back into his voice, though the softness that had briefly touched his words lingered beneath.

“I don’t expect you to understand, little one.” he said, his tone rough. “But I’m here because I can’t seem to stay away. Whether I want to or not.”

Your heart twisted at that, the feeling of both connection and distance pulling at you like a string being tugged in two directions. You wanted to scream at him, to demand answers, to ask him how he could do that to you and then sit here, speaking in circles as if it were nothing. 

But a part of you, a small part, understood. Understood that in his own way, he was trying to show you something. Trying to make up for what had been lost, even if he didn’t have the words for it.

He leaned back, stretching his arms out behind him, his eyes momentarily closing as if contemplating the words he had just said. His gaze returned to you after a long moment, unreadable, but something was different. The guilt that had once clawed at him was still there, buried beneath layers of pride and anger, but it was no longer the overwhelming force it had been before.

"You don’t want me near, little one." he said quietly, but this time, there was an almost wistful quality to his voice, as though he were trying to make sense of the situation himself. "But I can’t leave. Not after everything."

There it was again—the implication that he was here because of his own twisted sense of responsibility, or perhaps, something else. It was hard to say. Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t exactly known for his clarity, and his motives were as layered and complex as his personality. But, for once, he didn’t seem entirely sure of himself either.

You couldn’t help but feel conflicted. Part of you wanted to lash out—demand that he leave, that he stop playing this twisted game, stop pretending to care when he had caused so much damage.

And yet, another part of you, the part that still held on to some semblance of trust, felt the ghost of something softer, something that had once existed between you two.

"Why stay, then, my lord?" you asked, your voice soft, almost pleading for some sort of clarity. "If you can’t undo what’s been done... if you can’t fix it... why bother?"

He stared at you for a long moment, his crimson eyes sharp yet distant, like a predator weighing the cost of its next move. “Because, little one…..” he began, his voice barely above a murmur. “I can’t just walk away from you. No matter how much I want to. Not even when I need to.”

His words were quieter now, as if speaking them aloud made them more real, and in that moment, you could see it. The battle inside of him. Ryomen Sukuna was always in control, always calculating, but right now, there was something else beneath his hardened exterior. Something that made him seem almost... human.

"Why?" you whispered, the question feeling like an accusation and a plea all at once. "Why me?"

Sukuna didn’t immediately respond. His gaze drifted to the window, to where the children were playing outside, their innocent laughter a stark contrast to the weight of the conversation between the two of you. After a long moment, he spoke again, his voice rough, like he was wrestling with the truth itself.

"Because... I don’t know." He chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it. "I never thought I’d let anyone get this close, little one. But you... You’ve been a challenge, haven’t you?" 

His gaze met yours again, but this time there was something different in it—something more complex than the cruel amusement he so often wore. "I never wanted to admit it, but here we are. Years of suffering and pain and grief and distance, we are still here. For each other.”

His words lingered, and for a brief moment, you found yourself unsure of how to respond. There was an undeniable weight to his admission, a rawness that you rarely saw from the man who once drowned in his own untouchable power.

Ryomen Sukuna’s pride, his arrogance, had always defined him—but now it seemed as though those very traits were at odds with the reality of what had happened between you. The man who could have taken everything and given nothing was now here, trying to make sense of his own tangled emotions.

“You think this is easy for me?” he continued, his voice growing softer, more introspective. “You think I haven’t hated myself for this? For everything?”

His eyes darkened briefly, a flicker of his own inner torment flashing behind them. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. But it did. And now... now I can’t just walk away. Not when there’s nothing left to fix.”

You could see the weight of his words, could feel the sincerity behind them, even if he had never shown it before. It was strange, this new side of him. Strange and unsettling. But it was real, as real as anything else in this complicated, messed-up world that the two of you seemed trapped in.

The silence stretched between you, a fragile moment of understanding that neither of you fully knew how to navigate. You wanted to speak, to offer some words of comfort or clarity, but nothing seemed adequate enough. Instead, you found yourself simply looking at him, the man who had caused so much pain and yet now seemed just as lost as you.

Finally, Sukuna spoke again, his voice quiet but firm.

"Just don’t ask me to leave, little one." he said. "I can’t do that. Not yet."

And so, there was no resolution. No sudden clarity. But there was something between you now, something neither of you could ignore, even if neither of you understood it fully. It was a strange, fragile truce, one born from guilt, from unspoken desires, from the wreckage of what had once been. 

Ryomen Sukuna was staying, whether you liked it or not. That was what he had to do, that’s what his heart was telling him to do. And for reasons neither of you could explain, that was enough—for now.

“Eat with me, my lord.” You whispered to him, pointing at your dish. “I cannot finish it all.”

He smiled at you, almost so fondly. “Very well, little one.”

[morikosa]

REMORSE

SUMMARY: He doesn't realize how valuable you are until he loses you.

Things could have been different. If he had stayed home, you would still be alive. You would still be alive…

''My love… p-please don’t go''

Gojo froze in his tracks, feeling your delicate arms wrap around his waist from behind. Despite himself, a small flicker of surprise coursed through him, momentarily halting his steps towards the door. Your trembling voice reached his ears, filled with desperation and a plea for him to stay.

"I-I will prepare a dinner for you, my love… p-please don’t go,” you whispered, your lips pressing softly against his back in a tender kiss.

For a brief moment, the gentle touch and your plea tugged at a minuscule fragment of buried empathy within him. However, he quickly squashed that flicker of compassion.

He twisted his body to face you, his expression turning cold and unyielding once again under his blindfold. He roughly pushed your arms away from his waist, forcing you to release her grip on him. The action was swift and unforgiving.

“Your feeble attempts to keep me won’t work, y/n.” he spat, his voice laced with cruel indifference. “I have no use for your pitiful displays of affection. I am leaving.”

He turned away from you, resolute in his decision. He regretted his words at the moment he saw the pain and sadness in your eyes. But he couldn’t show it, he couldn’t show any sign of weakness.

After all, he was the strongest

With a last glance, he walked towards the door and left you. As he crossed the threshold, his heart remained hardened, untouched by the anguish he left behind. 

...

He was a terrible husband. He didn’t pay any attention to you. But he wanted to change that, so he bought you a bouquet to make it up to you, and today he was going to take you out to dinner. He was going to fix everything, you were going to be happy together.

“My sweet wifey~, I thought we could have dinner today, husband and wife–”

Upon entering the house, Gojo was met with an eerie silence that sent a chill down his spine. The door wide open, the lights on – everything seemed off. As he stepped further inside, his heart raced, confusion clouding his thoughts. The scent of carnage enveloped him, the heavy air thick with tension.

Then he found you.

Lying lifeless on the floor, your limbs twitching slightly as the waning moments of your life escaped from you. Blood pooled beneath you, the crimson liquid staining the once pristine floors with its haunting presence. A profound sorrow washed over him, accompanied by a wave of guilt – a bitter taste in his mouth.

The flowers he had intended to apologize with dropped from his grasp, the vibrant colors now tainted by the horrifying scene unfolding before his eyes. He watched in horror as you struggled for your last breaths, your fragile body betrayed by the curse that sought to end her life.

The irreversibility of the situation dawned on him at that moment - her fate was already sealed, your time running thin. Tears welled up in his eyes as realizations flooded his mind; regrets of his callous behavior, anger, and neglect came racing back and consumed his conscience.

If only he had stayed... if only he had paid attention.

Gojo fell to his knees beside you, reaching out tentatively to steady her limp form. “Y/N. Stay with me,” he pleaded, a foreign word in his vocabulary. “Please, don’t go.” His tears fell in torrents, landing beside hers on the muddied ground.

“Who. Who did this to you-”

His hands shook as he cradled you close, your warm breath steadily fading in his embrace. The pain of losing you was like a dagger piercing his heart, a relentless torture he could never escape.

What was the point? What was the point of being the strongest if he couldn’t even protect his wife?

At present

Gojo stands before your grave, a solemn figure with his head bowed low. The air holds a heavy silence, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves as a gentle breeze caresses the surrounding trees. The weight of his loss rests heavily upon his shoulders, his heart burdened with a mix of grief and regret.

“Hey, it’s me again,” he murmurs, his voice choked with emotion as he addresses the earth beneath him. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I wanted to let you know… I’m doing my best, even though it feels impossible without you here.”

His fingers trace the engraved letters of your name on the tombstone, his touch both reverent and pained. Memories of your time together flood his mind, each a bittersweet reminder of what he had lost. The weight of his remorse for not cherishing those moments to their fullest becomes evident in how his shoulders slump and his breath hitches.

“I miss you, more than words can express,” he admits, his voice breaking with raw vulnerability. “I wish I had realized sooner what you truly meant to me. I wish I had been a better husband and person for you… worthy of the love you had for me.”

His grip tightens on the flowers he brought, his knuckles turning white. He places them gently upon your grave, his gaze lingering upon the fading petals.

Tears glisten in his mismatched eyes, his voice barely more than a whisper now. “I love you, and I always will. I’m sorry I realized this so late. Wherever you are, I hope you’ve found peace. And just know… you’ll forever have a place in my heart.”

With a final, lingering look at your tombstone, he puts the bouquet on your tombstone and turns away.

He will live a lifetime with the pain of ruining the perfect future he could have had with you.

[kentoxo]

friction | you x crush!nanami pt. 1

pairing: reader (f) x crush!nanami

synopsis: [AU] you have always had a crush on nanami. since the day you were hired as his personal assistant, you've been right at his side combating numbers and making money within the finance department for the company you two worked for. but, things take a turn when nanami catches wind of your feelings, and rejects you. little did he know the weight of his mistake.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, sexual tension, jealousy (future smut)

a/n: first!! ever!! story-driven smut!!! im so excited! literally love this man sm and have yet to make any sort of fic on him. ahhh!! let me know if yall like this idea! i'll be releasing mini parts sporadically as my free time allows me to :)

December | Tokyo, Japan

Nanami relied on you, simply because you made it a point to become ever so reliable to him.

Monday through Friday, you would always arrive just a few minutes before him, feigning an earlier arrival with your coat stowed away, and your computer on with work tabs open on the monitor. This morning, like every morning, went exactly within your expectations. You’d know he arrived by the sea of ‘goodmorning, Mr. Nanami’ flooding the office. The firm steps of his Italian oxfords would always remind you to straighten your back and await him with his cup of coffee in hand. 

“Goodmorning, Nanami,” you hum, your words sliding off your tongue like butter. You don’t look at him, as you were busy basking in the privilege of long-dropped formalities. Although Nanami was very strict with work and coworker relationships, he only accepted you speaking to him informally. At least, in regards to his honorifics. 

“‘Mornin’,” Nanami huffs. He takes a seat beside you, stripping away his black peacoat. It was a heavy winter in Japan, so in the ocean of snow and winds were city workers and dwellers, draped in coats or inappropriate attire. You knew it was rude to stare, but you were always entranced from seeing his body in his usual beige suit. A veiny hand presents itself before you. 

You carefully fill his hand with his hot-brewed coffee, “just the way you like it. Your favorite barista was in today, finally. He was out with a cold, and took a few days off sick.” 

Nanami’s free hand frantically moves his mouse, impatiently waiting for his computer to illuminate on. “It’s unfortunate his counterparts cannot mimic his talent. We may have to poach him into our corporate cafe.” 

You begin to draft an email, the lingering warmth from his coffee resting in your hands. “I can draft an email for you if you’d like. You have a meeting with Mr. Takada at 2, so it could be opportune to mention it.” 

His eyes casually flicker over to the calendar pinned on the dividing cubicle wall, between both of your computers. It was organized in neat font thanks to you and your handwriting. Hazel eyes begin to scan the calendar, with Nanami lightly cupping his mouth. “And were you able to postpone the team meeting for today?” 

You nod, never missing a beat, “I’ve long sent the email, and made my rounds earlier today to remind them that we will not be gathering today. I’ve set up an alternative forum that works for everyone's schedule, including ours.” You reach over for a folder you had neatly sitting in your ‘complete’ basket. “I’ve already printed copies for the documents we’ll be going over, and booked conference room 3.” 

“My favorite,” Nanami breathed out between swigs of his bitter coffee. “Did you double check everything?” 

“All documents were revised 3 times for mathematical errors, grammar, and consumability. I’ve also prepared catering to be brought tomorrow, as the meeting would take place at the beginning of everybody's shift.” 

The blonde man stripped off his blazer, revealing his alluring, navy blue shirt. He neatly drapes it over the back of his seat and leans back once again. He crosses his arms over his chest, the bulge of his bicep evident under the fabric of his dress shirt. “Any new updates from Mr. Takada or the team?” You could hear the office quiet down, the sudden silence of keyboard tapping and casual conversation. 

“Mr. Takada has yet to send anything, so that is still pending. The team, however, has made quite the advance in their work. They’ve already predicted our numbers for the end of the year, with our solidified, confirmed numbers already calculated and organized in a shared Excel.” 

Nanami smirks mischievously, “I don’t believe it. How’d you manage to get that out of these loafers?” A few of the staff playfully complain, receiving a small chuckle from Nanami. You felt your cheeks warm up from his hidden dimple coming to the spotlight of his lips. 

They all go back to their work after exchanging light words and laughter. You lean over slightly towards Nanami, not giving him any sort of eye contact. “I let them choose the breakfast we will be catering for the meeting,” you whispered playfully. 

He leans as well, “you truly are a woman of trade, Y/N.” He quickly opens up a few documents on the screen while finishing the final drop of his coffee. His bottom lip glistened with coffee, having him casually drag his tongue to wipe it off. “How about our lunch for today? You and I, that is,” he made sure to clarify. 

You opened your drawer and fished out a menu. It was a menu from a seafood restaurant that opened close to the office. You slid it to him, opening it up to reveal his annotations when he initially looked through it. “I scheduled an order for both of the dishes that you had circled. Both options look delicious, so I figured we could sample from one another's plate.” 

Nanami turns to you, his lips hinting at a smile. He lightly tugs the bottom of his lip with his teeth, sending shots directly at your heart. “What are we drinking?” 

“I couldn’t find your favorite iced tea, but they have this pomegranate drink that I think you’d enjoy greatly,” you hum confidently, “it has yuzu in it.” 

Nanami’s lips finally curve into that saccharine sweet smile. “Why do I even clock in anymore?” Nanami jokes, “I can be on autopilot so long as I have you Y/N. Thank you for being so diligent.” He begins to rise from his chair, causing a few of your fellow coworkers to look over. “I’m off to the kitchen to grab some snacks. Would you like anything from the cafe?” 

You nod, “tell any of the baristas my name, they’ll know. They also have those apple pies you like today, so definitely grab one while they’re still available.” 

With an excited hum, Nanami walks away from you, your eyes glued to how good that blue skirt hugged his torso. Broad shoulders, sharper blades, and muscular. His scent wafted you when he left his seat, the notes of sandalwood and frankincense taking you over. But your thirsting thoughts simply had to be bursted by Yū Haibara. He temporarily took a seat in Nanami’s seat, and turned your chair over to face him. 

“Keep staring and maybe you might actually start drooling,” Haibara humors. Before you, Haibara was Nanami’s only right hand man. He is not as diligent as you are, but he keeps up with Nanami the way others can’t. “I thought you wanted to keep your crush a secret?” 

Before you could respond, your hand immediately cups around Haibara’s mouth. “I’ll punch the drool out of your mouth so we can twin– can you please not say that out loud, in the office?” You grit your teeth after your words, letting your hand fall to reveal a cheeky smile from the obsidian-haired man. 

“That is the most aggressive thing you’ve ever whispered to me,” Haibara whispered back, finally using his head voice. He was lucky his voice wasn’t too loud or else you would’ve mauled him. “That’s no way to speak to your manager.”

“If you were my manager, nothing would get done,” you teased, looking back at your computer to analyze some of the numbers Nanami sent you. “Did you need something, or are you just here to mess with me?” 

“Both!” Haibara hums. “I’m not messin with ya, rather I just want to keep my eye out for you. I’ve already told you about how Kento feels about dating. I would hate to see you–” 

“I know, I know,” you quickly shut down, waving your hand in his face. “I’m not trying to act delusional or anything. I already like him, so there’s nothing I can do.” Haibara stays quiet, not wanting to bother you. 

Haibara knows when to draw the line when he teases you. He reveals a paper from who knows where and offers it to you. It was a thank you letter from the Sales Department. “I visited them as soon as I came in today. They thanked you for helping them with a small project and asked to transfer you back.” 

You picked up the letter, your cheeks going warm again. You pucker out your bottom lip and hold the letter to your chest. “I miss my team so much! Ah, it felt so good to work with them again!” Your eyes then flicker at Nanami’s small name tag beside your desk. 

It wasn’t that Nanami was this amazing man, but he was wonderful. When you were transferred from the Sales Department to the Finance Department, you weren’t sure you were going to do well. Especially considering you were transferred specifically to be Nanami’s assistant. But on your first day, you noticed that Nanami joined you in the empty desk beside your own. His office was not big enough to host you and your needs, so he has refused to use his office since then. He told you it was necessary to work with one another, and that sacrifices on his end must be seen in order for work to get done. 

Since then, you have never let him down. 

“But I’d never leave this,” you say, the sentiment in your words striking Haibara. “Their words are kind, but Nanami’s words are heavy. I feel… appreciated by him.” 

Haibara scoffs enviously, crossing his arms over his chest, “wish that was me. Nanami never made me feel appreciated. He didn’t even congratulate me when I was promoted to Head Manager!” 

“And I still won’t,” a deep voice sounded from behind you. Turning around, a smile tickled your lips as Nanami came back. One hand occupied your drink, while the other held a steaming hot apple pie. He delicately places your drink on the corner of your desk before going to Haibara, lightly spinning the chair with a push from his knee. “Off.” 

“Am I nothing to you?” Haibara moans theatrically. “You’re commanding me like a dog on your couch.” 

Nanami assumes his seat after ripping Haibara off of it, “I’d still let a dog sit on my couch. Anyways, what did you need Ms. Y/L/N for?” 

Haibara quickly rushes to your side while playfully sticking his tongue out towards Nanami. “I was passing her a letter from the Sales team. They want to steal her back from us.” 

You quickly elbow his stomach from him not saying the whole truth. 

But it was too late. “Is that right?” Nanami murmurs. He moves his mouse to wake up the computer, immediately getting back to his workflow. “They can try, but it’ll never happen,” Nanami said simply, “I’d never approve it.” 

It was… a compliment? Well, that’s how it felt like to you. It felt like Nanami wanted you all to himself, but only in a work capacity. Despite this being platonic and strictly work related, it still sent waves of emotion to your heart. 

Haibara chuckles, “who knows? Maybe Y/N will go on her own accord.” You look back at Haibara, practically seething at his unthinkable words. Haibara quickly puts his arms over his stomach, protecting himself from another potential blow. 

Nanami quickly removes his hands from his keyboard and looks over at Haibara. His face was distasteful. “Move away from my assistant before you rub your stupid on her. While you’re at it…” Nanami reaches over to his rack of documents and pulls out a very thick folder with a label that reads ‘To Do.’ He eagerly holds it out to Haibara, who reluctantly takes it from him. “These are all the clients we need to look through. Pick out at least 20 that you think would be an asset to the company if we worked with them.” 

Haibara, without another word, drags his feet back to his office. You try to hide your smile as you excitedly pick up your iced drink. Taking a sip, you let out a satisfied sigh. “Thank you for getting me this, Nanami. I hope there wasn’t a line or anything.” 

“None at all,” Nanami hums. “I didn’t realize that you liked your drinks so sweet, Y/N. I could swear you usually get a different drink.” 

Your shoulders hang a bit from his words, but you were still quite upbeat, “it’s been the same since I was transferred to your department.” You made sure not to imbue your words with disappointment as you would hate to make him feel guilty. “It’ll be a year soon since I’ve joined the Finance Department.” You pointed to the day on the calendar, which was marked clearly with an X. 

Nanami looks over at you with a warm smile, “you have been a wonderful addition to the team. I’m glad that Mr. Takada knew what I needed, and recommended you.” 

Unable to contain your happiness from his flattery, you quickly glue yourself to your monitor. You tap away at your keyboard like a maniac, attempting to calm the quick beating of your heart. Your drink, in a way, was tasting a little sweeter than usual after his words. 

[earthchica]

Try Again

terry richmond x black fem! reader

summary: you making your ex-boyfriend, Terry, jealous at a party.

warning: explicit smut (18+), jealousy, breakup to makeup, made-up characters, use of the n-word, spanking kink, choking, unprotected rough sex, dirty talking, creampie, slight daddy kink, foreplay, pet names (baby girl, baby)

note: That's right back with another Terry fic. Oh...lord, this man got me😍....anyway...I hope y'all enjoy it. There might be some errors.

-

Your relationship with Terry started lowkey chill and then became deeper than love.

However, as time passed, it became increasingly clear that you two wanted different things, ultimately resulting in a breakup.

It's been a long and agonizing three months, and instead of feeling better, the ache in your heart has only got worse.

Your yearning for him consumed you. You missed his smile, tender kisses, his cooking, and, oh, his warm hugs.

You missed everything about him and always wondered if it was the right decision to end the relationship.

Neither of you genuinely fought to save it; you just gave up too quickly.

You sat by the window, sighing, while drinking a warm cup of tea to comfort yourself.

The melancholy melody of music played softly in the background, adding to the reflective atmosphere.

Your phone vibrated, and you quickly reached for it to see who it was.

The caller was Aria; she and her boyfriend, Lance, are mutual friends between you and Terry.

She texted to express how much she missed you and extended an invitation to her house party.

You texted her that you also missed her and had to think about coming to the party.

She sent multiple texts in response, pleading and desperately urging you to come.

You agreed to attend and couldn't resist texting to ask whether Terry would be there.

Of course, she responded with a simple "Yes," confirming your question.

Then, you inquired if he was bringing someone else, and she replied, "Not sure."

You hoped he wasn't because the idea of him being with another girl was something you couldn't handle.

-

When you arrived at Aria and Lance's house, the vibrant party sounds greeted you.

The music reverberated through the air, and the energetic movements of the guests on the dance floor painted a vibe.

You looked at yourself in front of a small mirror near the entrance, fixing the sexy freakum dress that accentuated your curves and your silk-pressed hair that cascaded down your shoulders.

You paused to take a deep breath before stepping into the big living room.

As you walked by, a few men cast admiring glances in your direction.

Your eyes landed on Aria, and with a rush of excitement, you made a beeline for her, enveloping her in a warm, tight hug.

It had been far too long since you last saw her. After the breakup with Terry, you distanced yourself away from your friend.

"Oh my god {….......} you look so good." She gracefully twirls you around, evoking hearty giggles as you playfully showcase your figure.

"Thank you. You look so good, too, girl. And are you glowing? I see someone getting some good dick, huh?" You asked, observing her, which elicited a giggle from her.

"You know it, boo! That man knows how to put it on me. Ugh, I miss this...I miss you...come on, let's talk," Aria states, taking hold of your arm.

As you and Aria chatted comfortably on the couch, enjoying a great time, you noticed Terry conversing with Lance and a few other guys.

You were about to avert your gaze when a young, petite woman with a caramel-brown complexion, and long, luscious 4A curls approached Terry.

You tried your best to read her lips, she gracefully asked Terry if he wanted to dance, and his friends encouraged him to dance with her.

The surge of jealousy bubbled up within you, causing a knot in the pit of your stomach.

Despite taking a deep breath and turning back to Aria who was rambling about something.

You couldn't resist looking back at them and locked eyes with Terry. averted your gaze, but from the corner of your eye.

You noticed him striding towards you, and a sense of panic grew.

Aria was quick to sense your unease. "You good, sis?" she asked, and you nodded.

You tried to ignore his approach, but you heard his sexy, deep voice, and you almost lost.

"Hey," he greeted with his charming smile. You couldn't fathom why he had abandoned the girl on the dance floor to approach you.

You just gave him a nod.

Aria left, giving you and Terry some privacy to talk, and went to Lance.

Terry's imposing figure loomed larger than you remembered, his taut muscles accentuated by the snug fit of his shirt.

Feeling uneasy and irritated, you averted your gaze, fixating on your hands instead of meeting his eyes.

"You ain't gonna say hi to me?" Terry leaned in with a mischievous grin, his teasing tone lacing the air as he settled next to you on the couch.

"Why should I?" you replied, looking everywhere but him. His pretty grayish-blue eyes were unwavering and completely focused on you.

He was wondering what was swirling around in that pretty little head of yours.

"What?" you asked, eyes finally meeting his with confusion and curiosity.

A smirk graced his lips before he began to speak.

"You look gorgeous," he said, his words dripping with insincerity, igniting anger within you.

How dare he come over here looking fine as hell, complimenting you, and shit.

When he was just dancing with another bitch?

"Terry, don’t. Why are you over here? Where's your little girlfriend?" you asked with slight irritation and bitterness.

Terry smirked again, about to say something, but his sentence was abruptly halted by the sudden approach of a tall, strikingly handsome, dark-skinned man.

"Hey," He greeted, his warm brown eyes locking onto yours as he introduced himself. 

"I’m Jackson. Sorry...to interrupt...are you two together?" he asked, his eyes filled with hope, silently pleading for my response to be a no.

You noticed Terry's annoyance with Jackson’s presence and couldn't help but devise a mischievous plan in your mind.

You responded, "No," with a playful smile before locking eyes with Terry, who wore a disapproving frown.

Jackson nodded with a charming grin and asked if you wanted to dance.

"I'd love to, Jackson," you replied with a smile, intertwining your fingers with his and strolling gracefully toward the dance floor.

You couldn't help but feel Terry's burning gaze boring into the back of your head.

The next song starts to play—it was Beyonce. Jackson pulls you close to him. Wrap your arms around his neck as you dance against each other, hips moving in sync.

As the music played loud in the background, Jackson leaned in and whispered a flirtatious remark into your ear.

You turned in Jackson's strong embrace, feeling the warmth of his body as your ass pressed firmly against his crotch.

You slung one arm around his neck, pulling him closer to you. Jackson's lips delicately grazed against your dark-brown skin.

You could tell that Terry noticed and was unable to handle that. He abruptly stood up, causing a few nearby to startle.

Terry strode purposefully toward the two of you, and the crowd instinctively parted as they saw the intense, angry expression etched on his face.

The tension was palpable as he came to a halt in front of both of you, emitting a low, menacing snarl as a warning to back off. Jackson swiftly positioned himself in front of you.

As he stood there, nearly matching Terry's height, the atmosphere grew tense, and it was unsettling to witness the fight between the two formidable men.

"Let's go," Terry says to you, reaching out to grab your arm, but Jackson intervenes and pushes him away before he can.

"Hold on, bruh," Jackson exclaimed, his voice irritated.

"She doesn't have to go anywhere with you. Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Terry clenched his fists, ready to swing on bra. You quickly stepped between them to prevent the situation from escalating.

"Stop, let's go, Terry. Jackson...thank you for the dance," you said, gently guiding Terry into a secluded room.

-

Terry was pacing back and forth, struggling to calm down. You tried to capture his attention by repeatedly calling his name, but he ignored you.

"What the fuck is your problem?" you asked, annoyance evident in your tone. He immediately halted his pacing and fixed his gaze on you.

"What is my problem? No, what the fuck is your problem? Huh," Terry asked with his deep voice.

"Dancing with that muthafucka when I'm sitting right in front of you." He yelled, frustratingly pointing.

"First of all...The last time I checked, I was single and could dance with whoever the fuck. And second of all, why do you even fucking care, huh? Weren't you dancing with another bitch?" You pressed, crossing your arms tightly in front of your chest.

"I barely dance with the fucking girl, you went out of your way to grind and let the nigga kiss you on and shit just to get a reaction out of me."

You couldn't help but feel a pang of defeat, realizing he had figured you out. You shouldn't be surprised with his ex-marine ass.

"You know what...fuck you. I'm out of here, " You were about to walk away, but Terry firmly grasped your arm to prevent you from leaving.

"Nah...you ain't fucking running like you always do. We're going to talk," Terry's voice echoed through the room.

"There's nothing to talk about, Terry. Now let me go," You yelled, straining to break free from his grasp, but his strength was overpowering.

"Don't you get it? I can't; not again," He stated intensely, causing you to stop comprehending his intended message abruptly.

"I tried to move on, I tried to get you out of my fucking head, baby girl....but..." He began but paused to gather his thoughts.

"But what? Terry," you said, shifting your gaze back and forth between his eyes, feeling his tight grip on your arm gradually loosen.

"I still love you, and I want you back." Terry's eyes bore into yours, a complex blend of love and frustration evident in his gaze. You pressed your lips against his lips without a word.

"I still love you too, Terry. I miss you so damn much. I'm sorry" You said, pulling away from the intense, passionate kiss.

"I miss you too, baby. Let's get out of here...so we can properly talk." He said, taking your hand gently and guiding you out of the room.

The warmth of his touch sends a comforting sensation through your body.

You exchanged byes with Aria and Lance, noticing their happy, knowing look as you both left the party.

-

As you both arrived at his place, the atmosphere was charged with sexual tension.

You two were supposed to talk, but the words faded into the background as the air crackled with the electricity of desire, and want.

You both were kissing, tongues dancing with each other while practically ripping each other's clothes off.

Terry's hold was firm as he lifted you to the edge of the bed. His body shifts between your legs.

He tilts his head to kiss you once more, his caress exuding a bit of roughness and fervor.

Terry moves to begin kissing your neck while slowly grasping your plump breasts and squeezing them.

You loved the way his thickness was touching the inner of your thigh.

Terry flipped you swiftly on your stomach to get a better view of your ass. You gasped, felt the sting of a sudden slap to your ass.

You turned your head to look at him, and his face lit up with a wide, mischievous grin.

"You thought you were off the hook, huh?" He asked, waiting for an answer.

You were on the verge of speaking, but all that came out was a groan as he landed another stinging slap to your ass.

"Daddy!" You whined, looking back at him.

"No...I gotta give you a little punishment after that little stunt," He says, sliding the tip of his dick up and down the wet slit of your pussy to tease you.

"Daddy, please. I'm sorry it will never happen again...I promise," you cried desperately.

"You bet your ass it ain't. Cause all kill a muthafucka." He says, stopping for a second before giving you a few stinging slaps on your ass.

"You're mine, baby! No one else, you got that?" His deep, husky voice reverberated as he leaned in and softly whispered into your ear.

"I'm yours, Daddy. I'm all yours. Please," You agreed, looking into his eyes.

He smiled before kissing you and roughly thrusting his dick inside of you.

You both shared a moan; he let go of your neck to grab at your hips while you held onto the sheets for dear life while he began with a few slow thrusted.

Terry chucked at your speechless whines, practically begging him to go faster.

"Come on, baby girl. Use your words for me.” his deep voice teases as his hips continue their slow thrusts.

"Faster, please. N-Need you to go faster, Need you to fuck me like you miss this pussy," You huffed out the words finally.

You suddenly felt the touch of his hand on your back to arch a little before his thrust got quicker.

"I do miss this pussy, this sweet tight pussy. Like this, baby girl?" He asked in his deep, rumbling voice.

"Yes, daddy. Just like that…oh fuck" you nodded with a moan as the slapping sounds of skin on skin filled the room.

Fuck, you missed this; you missed his delicious dick, missed feeling every inch of his dick hitting your sweet spot.

Terry slapped your ass a few times before grabbing a hand full of it to thrust in a slight angle.

You look back at him with deep pleasure expressed on your face as you grasp his wrist to thrust into him, which he always used to like a lot.

"Fuck, baby. You feel so good. Swear this sweet pussy was only made for me." He grunts, giving your ass another slap before getting on the bed in the spoon position, with you slightly facing him.

Terry kisses you, continuing to thrust hard into you while holding your neck.

You cried muffledly into the kiss, feeling him slap your cunt before rubbing circles over your clit.

His thrusts grow sloppier, losing himself to the great pleasure he’s feeling.

Terry missed you, your eyes, your smile, and the intimate moment you two had.

"I fucking love you, girl. Gonna fill up this pretty pussy...would you like that, baby" He asked, looking into your eyes intensely.

"Yes...I want it; I want to feel it all, Daddy. Fill me up," you moaned with a nod.

Terry picked up the paces again, balls hit your cunt hard, which ultimately sends you over the edge.

"Fuck, Fuck, Fuck" You cried, orgasming so hard. Your eyes rolled in the back of your head, climax rushed over your body with a jolt.

"Shhh...I got you, baby," He says, pulling out for a second to move you to ride him, thrusting back inside to catch his own release.

You managed to calm down a bit from your high and assist Terry in getting his release.

You bite your lip, matching the rhythm of his thrust. Your pussy slightly gripped him tightly like a glove, which drove him crazy.

"Fuck...baby girl...that's it....help your daddy....just like that," Terry grunts, eyes rolling in the back of his head while gripping your waist for dear life.

"Mmm...I'm the only one that makes you feel like this, right, Daddy" You asked, leveling yourself on his chest as you bounce on his dick faster.

"Fuck...yes baby....the only one...you're so good to me...fuck, I'm gonna...." He grunts, feeling him fill you up with the hot spurts of his cum.

His breath jerks and lifts you a little to pull out and watch his cum drip from your pussy.

"Didn't I tell you I was gonna fill you up, baby?" he asked weary, smugly, and you nodded in response.

After Terry cleaned you up, you were lying beside each other, staring into each other's eyes.

"Hey, I know we have a lot of shit to figure out, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make it work again," he said, caressing your face.

A warm smile spreads across your face; you love this man with every fiber of your being.

His ability to transition from a lustfully filthy tone to an irresistibly tender, gentle tone was incredible.

"Me too, Terry," you said, and he smiled, pulling you into a kiss filled with hope and love.

[nateezfics]

❝ game over ❞

: ̗̀➛ when your boyfriend is paying more attention to his game than to you, you decide to take matters into your own hands. 1.8k words.

: ̗̀➛ jeong yunho; gamer boyfriend!yunho. established relationship. fluff. smut.

: ̗̀➛ warnings: minors do not interact! explicit sexual content. unprotected sex. masturbation. fingering. slight size kink. sexual language. soft dom!yunho. sub!reader. fem bodied!reader. intentional lower case and small font.

“it’ll just be a quick game, then i’m all yours.”

you huffed and rolled over on the bed, your face smooshed into the plush pillow. the other side of the bed where your boyfriend should have been was vacant and cold. the space of the bed felt much too large without his presence; you craved his closeness, his warmth, his touch. he should’ve been here, holding you, fucking you. you whined into the pillow.

you’d had an everything shower. you washed. you exfoliated. you shaved everywhere. you even slipped on one of the cute little silk nighties he loved to see you in. you were so primed and ready to get dicked all the way down tonight. and what does your darling boyfriend do? got on that fucking game, leaving you lonely and horny. he said it was just a quick game, but you knew the moment he said it that he was lying. even with the best intentions, there was never any quick games with him.

that “quick game” turned into hours. now you were trying to find sleep, hoping slumber would distract you from the empty ache between your legs. you heard his voice from the other room, heard the shouts of victory and the rough curses after a loss. there were grunts of frustration, and they were certainly not helping your need at all. your cunt pulsed between your legs when you heard him, mind full of all the ways he could be making noises like that while fucking you straight into this mattress you lied upon. rubbing your thighs together didn’t help much; you were needy for your man. he was so close but yet so far. that stupid video game…

you traced a hand down your body until your fingers slipped under the nightie, pads grazing the lace of your underwear. you dipped your hand beneath the band of your panties to cup your sex; you’d grown wet already just from your desire alone, and from the sound of his voice in the other room. you whined at the pressure against your neglected clit. you circled your mound of nerves slowly, eyes closing shut as you imagined it was his fingers instead of your own. you mimicked the way he loved to touch you, the way his long fingers smoothed over your clit in such a way that would have you purring. you pushed one finger through your folds and moaned, curling it the best you could. you added a second finger and repeated the motion. you quickly realized your fingers couldn’t reach as deep as his could, couldn’t graze that sweet little gummy spot nestled within. he always found it with ease, so effortlessly.

“yunho…” you cried out his name into the space of your bedroom. the heel of your palm pressed into your clit while your fingers sunk in and out of your hole. your free hand cupped your breast over the silk gown. god, maybe you could get yourself off without him…

you weren’t aware of how much time had passed. you were too consumed with getting yourself to your release to notice that yunho had stopped gaming and now stood in the doorway to your room. and fuck, you were almost there. “having fun, baby?”

your whole body froze at the sound of his voice. your eyes snapped open and caught his large frame standing within the doorway, his own eyes watching you intently. through the dim lighting you made out what looked like a small smirk on his lips. “…when did you stop gaming?”

he shrugged. “a little bit ago,” yunho responded. “finished just in time to catch you touching yourself.” he sounded enthused, smug. he sauntered to the edge of the bed, and your whole body was buzzing at his proximity. he leaned over you, and though there were covers over you, you felt so exposed under his attention. “seems like i wasn’t the only one playing games.”

“i was just —”

“just what, hm?” yunho peeled the covers off you. you hissed at the rush of cool air against your skin. he drunk in the sight of you in the low light; you in your little nightie, your hand stuffed inside your panties, fingers deep in your pussy. his dick stirred to life in his sweats. “what game were you playing? ‘touch yourself without letting your boyfriend know’?”

you shook your head, now feeling the need to explain yourself. “i was so needy, and you were gaming…”

yunho cooed while his large hand inched its way up your thigh. he chuckled at the way you instantly began to squirm. “poor baby. couldn’t wait on me, huh?”

you whimpered. your fingers curled inside you slightly. “i was waiting. i waited so long…”

yunho’s fingers ghosted along your panties, touching your hand through the fabric. “does my baby feel neglected?” when you hummed, he chuckled. “i’m sorry. i got carried away. if i had known you were this needy, i…” he trailed off when his fingers hooked your panties and tugged, finding the wetness that lied beneath. “how close were you?”

“so close, yunho.”

“keep going. make yourself cum.” his knuckles were grazing yours. he felt how soaked you were, felt where your fingers plunged into your pussy. he wanted to replace them with his own. “don’t let me get in the way of your fun.”

“yunho, i want your fingers instead.” you were desperate for the way his fingers could fuck you better than your own. nonetheless, you began to move yours again in slow pumps.

“you’ll get them, baby. first i want you to cum on yours. you can do that for me, right?” yunho felt your hand move as you fingered yourself. he heard the wet squelches and groaned, cock rock hard.

you wound yourself back up, finding that build up you’d lost when yunho found you. with his closeness it wasn’t hard to get worked up. “yunho, i’m gonna cum.”

“yeah, baby? are you pretending its my fingers, hm? is that what you were doing earlier, wishing you had my fingers stuffing this little cunt?”

“y-yes…” you were throbbing around your fingers. you were dangerously close.

“such a needy baby. so desperate for me. now cum for me. cum for me, baby, and i promise i’ll give you what you want.” yunho watched as your back arched off the mattress. your high wracked your form, and he was there to witness how beautiful you looked with your face contorted in pleasure. “that’s it, baby. just like that. so good for me.”

you milked yourself of your orgasm before your boyfriend was pulling your fingers out of you, quickly replacing them with two of his own. you cried out, his fingers reaching beyond what yours ever could. and you were sensitive from the fresh orgasm. your body shook when his pads immediately pressed into your gummy spot. “fuck, yunho…”

“this feel better? my fingers fuck you so much better than your tiny little ones.” yunho found your sweet spot and was relentless, curling his digits while steadily pumping in and out. he churned your insides over and over until your pussy was making the most lewd sounds. you were making a mess all over his fingers, and he couldn’t wait to feel your wet warmth wrapped around his cock. he thumbed your clit. “wanna make you cum again, baby.”

your second orgasm swept you up soon after, his skilled gamer fingers bringing you immense pleasure that had you crying out. “yunho…” you sighed his name as you came down, back settling into the mattress as you relaxed.

yunho removed his fingers and licked them clean while he climbed over your body. “such a sweet taste,” he complimented just as he worked his pants down with his other hand. “i’ll be sure to savor it right from the source in the morning. now, let me make up for making my baby wait.” his cock was free and leaking and aching to be inside you. he pulled your panties to the side again and lined himself up against your entrance, rubbing the head of his cock between your folds.

you whined when he pushed himself in. inch by inch he stretched you wide with his thickness. your hands found his shoulders and you anchored yourself to him. “yunho, so much!”

he smirked. “and you fucking take all of it.” he bottomed out and groaned. you were warm and wet and tight; he savored the feeling, keeping his hips still to allow you a moment to adjust. he gazed down at you and admired your beauty. you looked small under his large frame, and it drove him crazy how your little pussy was taking him so well. you were smaller than him but yet meant to take him all so good. “you’re perfect,” he said as he pulled out all the way to his tip. his hips snapped back. your cry was immediate. “so fucking perfect.”

your hands traveled from his shoulders to his hair. you pulled his face down to yours and captured his lips in a searing kiss just as he bottomed out again. he swallowed up your moan while his tongue swiped across your bottom lip.

yunho set a rhythm. a rhythm that had you gasping out against his mouth over and over. “am i fucking you good enough, baby? was this worth the wait?”

fucking hell it was. and he knew it, what with the way you were clinging to him and whimpering constantly. your cunt was drenched, leaking around his cock every time he pumped in and out. yunho had a bad habit of gaming for way too long, but he always made it up to you in the end. he always made it worth it. “yunho.”

yunho’s lips grazed yours. “yeah, baby?”

“i’m so close.” your walls squeezed him so good; he could feel how close you were. he groaned.

“cum for me, baby. all over my cock.” he urged you closer with a thumb to your clit, rubbing circles in time with his thrusts. your body convulsed under him when your high overtook you, your walls clamping around him so tight it made his head spin. he rocked his hips back and forth and grew sloppier as your own orgasm brought him to his own. “fuck, where do you want me to cum?”

“inside me, yunho,” you breathed.

“fuck.” yunho came with one last thrust, stilling above you while he spilled inside your tight heat. he filled you up and whimpered at the feeling. he huffed and collapsed on top of you, still careful not to crush you. his peppered kisses on your cheek.

“yunho?” your voice was growing heavy with sleepiness.

“hm?”

“tomorrow, i wanna play video games with you.”

yunho chuckled. “okay, baby.”

notes from nat: this is so random but i wrote a little bit of gamer!yunho in my “cockwarming ateez” post and haven’t been able to get it out of my head. also,, i’ve changed my fic set up; what do ya think??

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