#Drawing/Tracing the cloak is just…No | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whorrorbellee · 3 months

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Beautiful Boy

aemond targaryen x strong!reader

chapter two chapter three

"You look better like this," he says, his voice low and raspy.

You flinch, swatting his hand away from your face. He runs his hand over your cheek and then suddenly your head is knocked back into another direction, your cheeks swells. Without warning, he grabs a fist full of your hair, your chin rises upwards.

You find yourself in the RedKeep, keeping the bed warm for the one eyed prince.

Warnings: violence, fingering?afab reader, only description is long dark hair, Starvation. Stockholm syndrome(eventual)cnc,dub con,sa

Word count: 7k

There's a pregnant pause and then a soft gurgling noise. A burning ash smell fills the air in the expanse of the riverlands, you stay nestled between the walls of the keep, smoke rises from the grounds, a loud marching of what you can only hope is the Strong soldiers that come to save the few around Harrenhal. Maybe the Castle was cursed as people believed it to be. The death toll had only added up after Harren Black and his sons had withered away in the dragonfire. First the attack from Daemon and his army, then the Targaryens had only abandoned Harrenhal is such fleeting moments, You believed there was more death to come. Only years had passed since your brother and fathers death when you were Two and Ten, Larys had only hidden you away after he was confirmed heir for Harrenhal after Lord Simon Strong (your great Uncle) would pass.

How you wish he could see the destruction of his hold after he had executed your Family for treason ,although the castle had been withering away under the rain for years. Lary’s mendacious nature had you squirming under his tend, knowing he would set you with a match that would only make your skin crawl, when the time had come.

The stench of Dragon fire comes closer, and you slide down the cool wet stone wall of Harrenhal, hand over your mouth, you sweep the length of your dress closer to your body, you find yourself in a precarious situation, wedged into the many nooks the building had to offer. You gaze down at the mossy grass, the sky darkens in a cloak of ash and you almost believe it to be over, then the rainfall had come, sweeping the castle into a darker shade, it washed the blood away from the walls.

Aemond stood at the edge of the ruins, His lone eye surveying the wreckage that stood before him. The aftermath of dragon fire had been a sight to behold, even after he had witnessed it so many times. His eye catches upon a lone figure in the distance; close to the edge of the keep upon the mountain, hidden away just out of sight, so intriguing. A flash of a Light green gown, rustling against the stone brick after a crack of lighting befell the castle. The sight had provoked him after bearing witness to the slaughter of all who laid here at Harrenhal.

His long fingers traced the hilt of his dagger, he drew it close to his body as stalked towards the keep, passing the rubble and cadavers that lay upon the bloodied grass. He moved silently, his eye drawing in on his prey, he was a Predator after all. Before you knew it you were unknowingly cornered, He came to the nook where you had hid yourself, “come out, I know you're there,” He called out, voice low and dark.

You clench your hand closer to your face, squeezing over your nose to still your breathing, fingers digging into flesh. It wasn't safe for you to come out, not yet. Not when you were unsure of who had called for you.You sniffled, raindrops running down your face.

Aemond found his patience wearing thin. He could hear your shallow breaths, heart so loud he was sure he could hear the beating rhythm of your heartbeat thump against your ribcage. The tension builded in the air;thick and stuffy. He steps closer to the nook, your eyes widening as his boots crunched against what was left of the desecrated building.

“I won’t ask again,” He said, Lifting his dagger away from his body, “Come out, or I will do it myself. I doubt you will enjoy that very much.”

You rise slowly at his words, feeling like a fresh doe on your legs, you peek your head round the corner. His eyes meet yours, gaze unwavering as you reveal yourself. Your eyebrow raises in a piqued interest and you slowly slide yourself out the nook you had buried yourself against. He was not a Member of the strong army, But he wasn't part of the queens.

“The king's army?” You sigh, “Daemon isn't here, they've left in the midst of your war” Your eyes gaze upon his face, meeting the horrific scar that ran from his brow to the bottom of his cheekbone, You feel his strong gaze on your own face, his lone eye roaming over your figure, you wonder if he remembers your watchful eye at the Red Keep, those years ago as he trained with a sword.

Aemoned chuckled softly, he stepped closer towards your form, dagger clutched in his right hand as he assessed you. He could see the slight tremble in your form, a small inclination of fear within your eyes. “You’re observant, I’ll give you that,” His tone was cool and neutral. He takes another step forward, muscles flexing under his leather as he raises the blade to your chin, tilting your face to meet his eye.

“I’m flattered, but it doesn't take a genius to know that this, is your blood-shed.” You feel the edge of the blade against your skin, it's cool in the humidity of the storm, Your hands run along the frills of your soft cotton dress, now wet.

“You're a smart one, are you?”He chuckles dryly, he moves the dagger away from your chin, it slides down the expanse of your neck, hanging around your collar bones for a moment too long. “Mouthy too.” He steps even closer, body heat radiating off him like Hot fire on a cold day. “That’ll get you in trouble”

“And yet I'm the last standing amongst this battlefield”. You pull away from his danger, swinging your body in the direction of the surrounding walls. “Though there wasn't much left to stand”

Aemonds lips curl into a smirk. “Cocky too”, He muses. He sheaths his dagger back into the scabbard, it makes you feel some sense of disappointment to be known now as not a threat. “You’re not wrong” he concedes, the scent of ash and fire fills the air as he chases your body with his own. “But don't forget, you are alive because i allow it”

You smirk, feet stepping over bodies and slabs of stone from the wreckage “well, I suppose it's time for me to leave, It was wonderful meeting you.” You nod your head.

Aemond’s eyes widened in surprise as you began to descend the hill, his hand shooting out to grab your arm, grip firm and bruising. “Oh no, you’re not going anywhere” He commands with irritation, he spins you around forcing your back into the mossy stone wall, leaning in close trapping you against himself “I’m not done with you”

“Gosh, men really are all the same. You think I have to listen to your orders because you believe you hold more power over me? You may be a prince but i won't take an order from one who's lost an eye to a child”

Aemond's face enrages at your words as you smirk. His grip on your arm only grows tighter, and you struggle to breathe through the pain,His eye narrowed at your insolence.

“Watch your tongue or i'll have it” He pushes you further against the wall, body flush against yours, his breath warms as he speaks. “I don't take kindly to being disrespected like that, especially not by mouthy wenches like you.”

You laugh in his grip, “Mouthy wench? If my brother was dead I'd be set to inherit the very ground you stand on” you sigh, eyes gazing away from him to look upon the grounds. “To bad you torched it ”

His eye widens at the revelation, grip tightening even further, you're surprised you can still feel your hand. He leans in closer, face mere inches from your own, “You’re a highborn?” He studies your face for an inkling of a lie, but only truth prevails. “And yet, you're hiding in the ruins like a commoner” He mocks.

“Only because you slaughtered my family and army, Did my brother Lary’s Strong give you the order?” You almost wince as you say his name, it had been so long since you had seen your brother, now he was a Lord working under the new king.

His gaze hardens at the mention of Lary’s, eyes filled with spite. “I'm not a lapdog, I'm the prince. And yet you speak with such disdain for your own brother, why?” he queries.

You smooth back your hair, Aemond steps back finally giving you room to breathe. “He wishes to marry me off to the next man he can, I suppose I'm trouble for him.”

“Marry you off, eh?” there's a hint of a smirk on his face, you watch as his white hair blows against the wind. “Who does your brother think is worthy for your hand”

You shrug, hands wrapping against your body. “It's not he who has to be worthy, But I, I'm sure he would sell me to a Peasant farmer if he could, for free no less.” you sneer at the thought, the smell of sweat and shit.

Aemonds chuckles darkly at your words, his eye roams over the soft features of your face. He reaches to brush a strand of dark hair behind your ear. You flinch. The sentiment is oddly gentle in comparison to the mere moments ago where he had held a dagger against your jugular.

“Fiery, most Highborn girls would throw themself at the opportunity to marry a prince” he mumbles “and yet you resist?”

“Resist? You act as though you haven't killed my family and destroyed everything I have ever known, all because of the boy who took your eye, the one you accuse of being a bastard son to my brother!” you grit your teeth together in destain. “and yet you ask for my hand? As what? A prize? Or a warning to the people that resist you?”

His eyes darken, jaw clenching at your words, he grabs you by your shoulders forcing you to look him in the eye, his touch feels like fire, itchy and spreads up into a red heat across your cheeks. “You think this is about revenge? This war is more than you and your family” His grip tightens, Face mere inches away from yours. “Besides, I have no interest in taking a spoiled, defiant women as my wife”

“Then let me go” You spit.

He glares at you with rage, “You think it's that easy?” His voice is laced with sarcasm, “just let you go, You think I can simply let you go after all this?” he pauses as he steps closer to you.

“You won't wed me, you won't kill me, you won't let me go, what do you want with me? To make me a slave? A prisoner?”

"A slave? A prisoner?" he repeated, his voice low. "No, nothing so cruel." He leaned closer, his body now fully pressed against yours, the heat of him almost burning through your clothes. "I have much more... interesting use in mind for you"

“Gods, you disgust me”

"Oh, do I now?" he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "And yet, here you are, trembling under my touch. Tell me, is it fear that makes your heart race?"

“It is my hatred for you” you scoff.

"Your hatred, is it?" he said, his fingers tracing a path down your collarbone. " I can almost feel the heat of it, the fire burning inside of you." He leaned in again, his breath hot against your ear. "But fire can be tamed, just like a dragon.”

“I’d rather die than let you touch me”,you push your weight on to him, he eases giving you enough room to sprint for the gates; an exit. You nearly trip against your feet as you run.

He curses, hand on his dagger as he runs after you, his longer legs catching up, he pulls you into a bruising grip. Dagger against your throat. Aemond chuckles as you struggle.

“You thought you could escape me, did you?" he said, his breath hot against your ear. "How naive of you." He steers you towards the open field, unbecomered by wreckage.

“Tegon, Vhager,Tegon!” (land), Aemond spits out.

There is a large flapping of wings, The sound claps loudly like a Bomb exploding, you hide your face in your hands as air and dirt rises into your face, The great dragon lands, dirt and stone crumbling under its feet from the weight. He tightens his grip on your arm, pulling you closer to the dragon that has landed before them. The beast roars, its scales glinting in the sunlight.

"Now behave yourself. We're going for a little ride."

"What! No" You kick your feet into the dirt, Struggling in his grip, nails scratching at your attacker.

Aemond grits his teeth at the feel of your nails on his skin, the sharp pain causing him to tighten his grip on you even more. "Stop struggling!" he snaps, "You're only making this harder for yourself."He forcibly pushes you forward, towards the dragon, dust rising as your feet scrape along the floor. "Get on Vhagar,"

“Please, No, I beg you, let me go”

“Please no,” he pouts mockingly. “you’re coming with me whether you want to or not.”he pulls you closer to Vhager, heat radiates of her scales, “Climb, or i'll throw you over the back myself”

You shake your head at his command. He grits his teeth. Aemond's patience was wearing thin, yet again. He let out a frustrated growl, his hand tightening around your arm to the point of pain. You yelp. "You're testing my limits, you little wench," he snarled. "Get on. The. Dragon. Now!"

He pushed you closer to the Vhager, her eyes watching you closely, huffing billows of smoke out her nose, He almost shoved you up her side "I won't tell you again."

“No, I won't go with you!”

He raises his other hand and grabs your hair, giving it a sharp tug, you yelp at the pain,hot heat on your scalp, you look back at him. His nostrils flaring."That's it," he snaps, his voice low and dangerous. "You're leaving me no choice." He grabs you around the waist and hoists you up onto the dragon's back, ignoring your protests.

“Fuck you” you spit at him. He climbs onto the dragon, his form pressed tight against your back, you flex your shoulders, flinching away as his arm grabs around your wrists.

“Hold on tight” His breath is hot on your neck.

“Please just let me go” Aemond smirked as he easily bound your wrists together with the cord, securing your hands in front of you.

"Oh, I doubt that very much," he said, his voice low and amused. "You've proven to be quite the disobedient little wench." He pulled you against him, his chest pressed firmly against your back. "No, I think it's best if I keep you bound and under my control." Your eyes widen.

“Gods, you’re a whore”

“naejot se jēdar, Vhagar” (to the sky) The dragon's wings beat powerfully as they took to the air, the wind whipping around you both. Ground growing distant below them. He chuckles at your insult. “I might have to gag you as well if you keep up with that language”

Your eyebrows raise at his words, “you wouldn't dare!”

"Oh, wouldn't I?" he said, his voice a low growl.His hands slid up your body, his touch almost possessive. "Perhaps a strip of cloth over your pretty little mouth might help you keep that sharp tongue under control or maybe something else~" He pulls your chin to look up at him.

You shake at his words, “I wouldn't touch you if you were the last man in this realm” you bite your tongue “I'd rather throw myself from this dragon” Aemond's fingers dig into your skin. He chuckled darkly, chest rumbling against your back.

"Oh,you have quite the mouth on you, don't you?"His tone mocking. "Throw yourself from this dragon? What a shame that would be. All those beautiful bones and curves dashed against the ground." He ran his fingers through your wet hair, his touch almost gentle. "But I wouldn't let that happen."

It feels like mere hours, you look towards the open skies, the sight of Kings Landing coming to view as you part from the storm. Aemonds eye follows your gaze as you notice the red keep come into view, the sight blurred from your defiant tears. Vhagar’s great wings clap against the air as they begin their descent into the pit. You begin to understand the gravity of your situation.

Vhagar lands, dust settling mere moments afterwards, Aemond climbs off the dragon pulling you with him. The cord only employs extra security of your restraint. Your wrists pull against the cord only tightening the harsh rope. Your gaze hardens as you stare at him, hiccuping as tears run down your face. Without warning his hoists you up into his arms, throwing you over his shoulders.

You thrash around, his hold still firm ignoring your wiggling. He carries on down different hallways, each step closer to the throne room. “One eyed Cunt” you whisper. He stills, hands gripping firmly at your flesh. Growling as the knights open the door to the great hall.

“Now be good and keep that mouth shut” Aemond shrugs you off his shoulder letting you hit the floor, your eyes gaze up at the Iron Throne, swords melted down to form a horrid sight, Aegon sits upon it drunkenly "Brother!" he slurs, watching your body slumped on the ground of the castle" you've brought me a gift?"

Aemond grimaces at his brother's drunken state,his foot nudging you to stand. Face a picture of disgust, “Not exactly a gift My grace, she's mouthy one, needs a firm hand”

Aegon let out a chuckle, his eyes raking over your body. "she'll do nicely," he slurred.You shake your head at his words, remembering how his eyes used to scour your body when you were younger.

“No, Please.Anybody but him” You look up at Aemond from your knees, Aemond's eye watches you, a flicker of satisfaction in his gaze seeing you squirm and panic.

Aegon chuckled again, his gaze never leaving your body. He motioned for Aemond to bring you closer. "Don't worry" Aegon said, his voice thick with drunken desire. "I'll be gentle."

You shake your head, tears only gathering against your waterline. “Please! I’ll do anything not to be owned by him” You grasp Aemonds legs in your hand, pawing at the material, he looks down upon you seeing you beg. Aemonds lips curl at your obvious desperation, revelling in your pleads. He glances at his brother, his eye mocking."Oh, she's quite the pleader, isn't she?" he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Aegon let out a scoff, his gaze still fixated on you. "Such a lovely little wench," he mutters.

Aemond leaned down, his face just above yours. Hand gripping the back of your hair, pulling you up to look at him. "Anything, hm? How desperate are you, darling?"

you begin to sob at his words "Anything, please" a meer moments ago you would have found yourself enraged by begging for a man.

Aegon turns his head towards you, he mutters "Accept me as your king and Aemond can have his way with you, im sure theres plenty whores who would love to take my cock"

Aemond smirks at his brother’s response, Watching you sob beneath him, He pulls your hair till you stand, Now a tangled mess. His eye flickering with mockery. "Go ahead, then. Accept my brother as your king. Beg him like the desperate little wench you are."

You bow, taking a knee in front of the throne, “I~”there's a hiccup,“I accept Aegon as the true king of the seven kingdoms” You look up at Aegon, He smiles in satisfaction. his gaze locked on you as you knelt before him. He raised his goblet in mockery, his expression pleased.

"There you have it, brother," he slurred. "She's all yours." He knocks back the goblet, red wine running down his pale face.

Aemond smirks, his hand still gripping your hair tightly,he gestures for you to stand, releasing the grip on your hair. “My Grace, where is Lord Lary’s Strong?”

“Probably sulking somewhere, why?” He waves his Goblet in the air awaiting for it to be filled by a servant. “`Why?”

“This is his sister”

Aegon’s eyes fall down on you,he raises an eyebrow, you think about how horrible you must look, stained with ash and mud. Hair a wet mess from the rain. He cackles. “Sister? And yet she is here before us like an insolent pup. It runs in the family, I say.”

“I’m glad we have common ground for I also hate my Impudent brother, he's always been a stuck up man”

Aegon chuckles, “I'm sure you will be glad to see him then, i can't wait to see his face when he sees his little sister bound at our mercy”

You pull against your restraints once more “I’m not exactly precious material, I'm sure when he sees me in your Kinslayer cunt hands he'll be more than happy”, Aemonds hand clasps tightly around your mouth to silence you, you whine. His face mere inches from yours again, you wonder if he gets off on this.

"Watch your tongue" he growls,"Insulting me will only make things worse for you."

Aegon chuckled, clearly "I have to admit," he said, his words dripping in eagerness. "You're more fiery than I expected."

The wait seemed to drag on for an eternity. Aemond keeping his hand firmly over your mouth, grip unrelenting, silencing your protests. Eventually, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hall, and the guard returned, leading Larys Strong into the throne room, his expression stern and composed despite the circumstances, he hobbled on his crutch. Aemond's smirk widened at the sight. " Lord Larys Strong," he taunted.

Larys, turns to aegon nodding his head “My king”

Aemond smirks, his hand still tight on your mouth you can taste his sweat,"Ah, Larys Strong," Aegon said, a smirk on his face. "Your sister here has been quite a delightful addition to our court."

Larys' gaze flicked to you, his usual stoic expression, Not a flicker of concern crossed his face. "Sister," he said, his voice cold. "What have you gotten yourself into now?"

Aemonds hand releases your mouth and you take a deep breath in, raing your eyebrows “What have i gotten myself into?”You point to yourself, “I've been kidnapped”

Larys looks right through you, turning his head “By whom?”

You shake your head at him, lips pursed “By Whom? Who do I stand with now? Bound? Taken out of my own home after it had become a wreckage!”

His eyes narrow in on Aemond, and then he laughs, “ And what do you plan to do with my sister?”

"What's it to you, Larys?" Aemond says "Your sister is in my hands now, and i can do whatever i with please with her, i'm sure you'll be glad to not have her in your keep"

Lary shrugs, his hand gripping his staff, “Do whatever you want with her, Though I beg of you to take her hand, a Strong and a Targaryen would make a fine match" Larys utters , he limps away leaving you to your kidnapper.

You gasp, shocked at Larys' casual dismissal of you. Aegon chuckles, taking another drink from his goblet. "How thoughtful of him to think so highly of your value." he said, his tone mocking.

Your eyes well up at the sight of him leaving knowing it was your last chance to leave his hands,You think quickly. Jabbing an elbow into Aemond’s side and making a run for it. But he had played this game before with you, he grabs at your arm, bringing you back into his chest. “The more you struggle the worse it’ll be for you”you kick your feet at the stone.

Aemond drags you out of the throne room, his grip on your wrists firm and unyielding. He leads you down the corridors of the Red Keep, his stride long and purposeful.

You try to struggle and pull away, but his grip is too strong, and he effortlessly pulls you along.

“Where are we going?”

Aemond casts a glance over his shoulder at you, his smile widening at your question.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he says, his voice dripping with poison.

He continues leading you down the halls of the castle, passing by guards and servants who give you curious looks. Soon, you find yourself in a part of the castle you're unfamiliar with.

“The dungeons?” Your boots dig into the stone floor trying to pull yourself from his grasp, but he's merely too strong.

His smirk widens, eye glinting with dark amusement. "Very observant of you" he ridicules.

He leads you down a set of stone stairs, and the smell of damp stone and confinement becomes more intense. The air grows colder, and you find yourself in the dimly lit dungeons of the Red Keep. You shudder as you pass men’s intrepid eyes and womens weary faces “so you do want to take me as a prisoner, and what leave me to rot till im begging for you?”

Aemond laughs at your words, his grip still firm on your wrists. He stops in front of a cell and pushes the door open. He shoves you into the cell and locks the door behind you, leaving you in the cold, damp darkness. He leaves without saying a word.

You sit there for what feels like hours, the only sound being the occasional clanking of chains and the faint cries from the other prisoners. You shiver in the cold, your knees to your chest, mind racing. Suddenly, you hear footsteps coming down the corridor. The light sound of boots on stone, and your heart starts to pound. Wondering whether he had come back already, you hear the drip of moisture from the stone ceiling.The footsteps draw closer, and you watch anxiously as a guard stands in front of your cell, followed by Aemond, who stands behind him, a smirk on his face. The guard unlocks the cell, and Aemond strides in, leaning against the wall. "Get up," he orders, his eye locked on you. You rise slowly with stiff legs.

Aemond looks you up and down, his gaze hungry and predatory. "There, that's better," he says, his voice low. He steps closer to you, cornering you against the wall. His hand rises to your face, his fingers brushing against your cheek, you wretch your head back to avoid his touch.

"You look... messy," he says, his tone almost cruel. "Unkempt hair, dirt on your face. Not exactly a pretty picture" He leans in closer, his breath hot against your bare neck and then he turns suddenly, grabbing your wrists in his hands taking you out of the cell, "and clearly in need of a bath."

Aemond leads you through a door and into what you only assume is his chamber, the scent of rosewater hangs in the air. In the centre of the room, a large steel tub is filled with steaming water. He pushes you towards the tub, his gaze dark and possessive. "Strip," he demands, his voice harsh and commanding.

“Sorry?”

Aemond's eye narrows, "You heard me," he snaps, his voice cold. "Strip. Now."

He leans against the wall, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin shiver.

“Can you atleast turn?” You ask, biting your lip.

“No”

You bite back a snarl and turn your back, Unlacing your dress quickly and then pulling off any undergarments. Aemond watches you intently, his eyes cutting into your back,

Your nipples harden at the chill in the air. Once you're completely undressed, he steps closer to you, his hand brushing against your bare shoulder. "Get in," he orders.

You sink into the hot water, feeling your muscles relax instantly, the smells of oils fill your nose but the knowledge that Aemond is watching you makes you feel uncomfortable, you pull your knees to your chest, wet hair surrounding your body.

He moves closer, pulling up a stool, eye fixed on your frame. He reaches out a hand, running his fingers through a strand of wet hair that has fallen across your face. "You look better like this," he says, his voice low and raspy.

“Don't test me, you're in my possession now. I can touch you however i please” He lets go of your hair, the back of his hand tracing the cheek he had just hit.

Aemond stands up, grabbing a bar of lye soap and a cloth from a nearby table. He kneels down beside the bathtub, dunking the cloth into the water, and then lathering it up with the soap.He begins to slowly and methodically wash your body, his touch firm but surprisingly gentle. His eye watches your every reaction, taking in every shiver and flinch. You stare straight ahead.

Aemond finishes washing your back and then moves to your legs, his hand gliding up your thigh, his touch sending shivers through your body. He pauses, his eye flicking to your face, his expression hard. "Do you trust me?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No”

Aemond chuckles at your response, his smirk returning. "I didn't expect you to," he says, his tone mocking.

He runs the cloth over your legs, his hand moving higher, gliding up your inner thigh. His other hand snakes round your chest, moving to your shoulder, pinning you against the side of the tub.

“Stop!” you push against his hand but it only grips tighter against your shoulder, you feel the blood rush to the spot his fingers press into.

"I don't think so," he says.

His hand moves higher, and his fingers brush against the sensitive flesh between your legs. He looks at your expression, watching your face for any sign of fear or pleasure. You struggle against his grip, but it's useless, his strength is much greater than yours, his thumb rubbing slow circles against your skin.

“Please stop,” you cry out.

His hand continues to move slowly, his touch becoming more intimate.

Aemond looks at you with mock sympathy. "Please stop?" he repeats, his tone drenched in sarcasm. "You're so sweet when you beg like that." His grip on your shoulder tightens even further, and his hand moves higher, brushing against your most sensitive spot. "But I'm not going to stop," he says, his voice low and commanding.

He continues to move his hand slowly, his thumb pressing against you in a way that makes you gasp, you spite yourself. His eye is fixed on your face, watching your reactions closely.

"You might as well give in," he says, his voice soft and persuasive. "It will make things so much easier for you."

His hand moves again, stroking you in a way that sends ripples of pleasure through your body, despite your attempts to resist. His body is fully pressed against yours now, his chest against your back, his breath hot on your neck. You struggle in his touch, holding back a moan. His hand from your shoulder moves to clasp around your neck.

His hand moves faster now, his fingers and palm working in tandem to bring you to the edge. His other hand grips your throat, holding you in place, as he continues his assault on your senses. You try to hold back, biting back moans. He grins in your efforts, fingers working your clit faster, You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, and Aemond can tell. His hand moves even faster, driving you towards the peak of ecstasy. “Just let go” he whispers against your neck.

“No!” you whine.

"Just let it happen.", it drives you to the brink of insanity, and you don't think you can hold back anymore, his thumb brushes against you, and everything you had been avoiding snaps, he feels you squirm underneath him, teary eyed, silent scream. He lets out a satisfied laugh. Fingers still moving against your skin, it begins to feel like too much.

“Too much, please”

Aemond's hand finally slows, his touch becoming gentler as you come down from your high. He pulls away, standing up and watching you with a smug grin on his face, his fingers run against your closed mouth. “Open”

You shake your head at him, put his fingers into your mouth anyway, you gag, he laughs at the sound and pushes further into your mouth anyway, drool pools at the side of your mouth, he releases you with a wet pop and you slump into the side of the bath, watching his next move.

His hand moves down your neck, his fingers tracing over your collarbone, his touch leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. “Get dressed” he points to the clothes horse with a new gown on it laid out for you.

He watches you stand and dry yourself with a cloth, Aemond watches you dress your back turning as you try to lace your dress together, he grabs your shoulders and makes quick work of pulling the string tighter,watching as you gasp for air you feel like you can barely breathe. Ribs collapsing in on themself.

“Back to the dungeon then?’

He nods, Leading you back down to the dungeon. Through winding hallways. You reach the room you were once in. You stumble forward, Aemond shuts the cell door, the clanging echoing against the walls of your cell, he leaves you, room barren apart from the cot in the corner. You sit on the Cot, it feels as though the walls are closing in on you. You try to calm your breathing, but the realisation of what Aemond had done hits you more than anything. He had pulled pleasure apart from your body with ease.

The hours pass slowly, you try to sleep but all you can do is toss on the straw mattress, by morning a guard throws a piece of bread in your cell. It hits the dirty floor, brown mud and flys encasing it, you don't eat it. And then more hours pass and the same thing happens, you chew at your nails. The candles burn slowly, a fly buzzes, the smells of sweat and dirt closes in on you.

It feels like minutes and days, time is all muddled up, you’re asleep one moment and the next your fingers are encased with dirt and blood, people shout out and cry. The candles get replaced. You haven't spoken in so long, eating hasn't even crossed your mind yet takes toll on your body, you begin to dream of twisting shadows and watery lands, cities beneath the ocean, a skeleton pierced with a sword through the eye.

It feels like months have passed, and you believe yourself to be going mad, the isolation has turned your thoughts wild, your beginning to lose your grip or reality, you pray to the old gods, begging on your knees to the guards who pass by, but the days pass as usual.

You hook your hands around the rusted prison, reaching a hand out to still the guard making his rounds, he turns to you. He stops in his tracks, eyeing you cautiously."What do you want?" he asks, his voice gruff and filled with irritation.

Your throat feels raw and scratchy as you try to talk, only coming out in quiet whispers “please,I~ need” your throat feels like sand.

The guard shakes his head and continues on his rounds, ignoring your pleas. You're left alone once again, tears prick at your eyes as you sink into the thin mattress, you wail.

The loneliness and despair seem to close in around you, suffocating you.

More weeks pass and you barely move in your cot, bloodied fingers tracing the wall. There's a set of footsteps that stop outside your cell, candle light casting a shadow on to the wall, it pulls you out of your daze.

You sigh, the shadow moves closer to your cell, face obscured by the darkness. “Are you still alive there?” it is but a whisper, low and soft.

“Yes” you mutter, you shit in your cot, gazing up at the figure.

“You dont look like you've eaten much” they peer down at you, the tight dress now hangs off your shoulder. You sit up.

The man pushes back the hood of his cloak, uncovering his face, his hair bright white. You can see that he's wearing an eyepatch over one eye, and his expression is unreadable.

He looks at you for a moment, his gaze taking in your dishevelled, malnourished appearance.

“Aemond” you whisper, your voice crackles.

His face softens, hand reaching through the bars to grab at your hand, you nearly flinch at the contact. He pauses, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Easy," he whispers, his voice low and soothing. "I'm not going to hurt you."

You gaze up at him, he pulls out a key from under his cloak, unlocking the door.He steps inside. Standing there for a moment, his gaze fixed on you as you look up at him. "Can you stand?" he asks, his voice low and gentle.

You nod, Feeling like a newly born doe as you struggle to stand, legs buckling from under yourself, he reaches out and stills you, hand around your waist. He smells like old books and dragon fire.

"It's alright," he says, his voice low and soothing. "I've got you."

“How long?”

Aemond thinks for a second, he leads you out the cell slowly, steering you down the dungeons, he’s patient as you step up the steps slowly, his hand near your back for support. “Nearly three moons” You nod at the revelation. He continues to guide you down the castle hallways.His steps slow, matching your pace.

"You look terrible," he says, his voice blunt but not unkind. "Have they been feeding you?"

“Scraps of mouldy bread every morning” you bite your cheek.his grip tightens on your waist. “you left me down there” you cry, your lip wobbles. The corridors wind on until you find yourself in front of a big oak door.

He speaks softly voice filled with a hint of regret. “I had too.”

“Had too?” the knight opens the door, it creeks slightly, you walk inside books toppled over on chairs and tables, along with scrolls. The fire roars, a platter of food is laid out on the oak table. He guides you over on the bed in the corner. You let him fuss with your dress until you're in some kind of cotton nightgown, he touches you like your glass, He pours you a glass of water. You sip slowly.

“You wanted me to break in there”

"Yes," he finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted you to feel broken”,his hand runs tenderly across your face, you still yourself trying not to chase it with your cheek “And now look at you, like clay in my hands, mine to hold however i see fit” You look up at him with wet eyes, his thumb rubs gently over your cheek. He steps closer to you. He runs his thumb over your lips. “You must be hungry.”

You nod, He steps away, moving over to a table in the corner of the room where a tray of food has been set out. He picks up a plate and brings it back over to you, setting it down in your lap. “Eat” You eat slowly, picking part of cheese and meat. You find yourself filling up quickly.

“Are you tired?”

Your head nods quickly, the thought of sleep is terrifying to you in such a big room. “You may sleep here.” He peels back the covers, taking the plate from your lap, you climb in, and he tucks the covers up to your neck. You feel exhaustion wash over you, although you're so close to him there's a sense of loneliness within you, you turn to your side. “Relax” he whispers.

“Can you hold me?” you stutter.

Aemond seems surprised but you seem so desperate for human connection after so long he slides his arm under you, pulling you closer, you're pressed into his back tightly. He tries to soothe you, hand running through your hair, but it only knots. Your body grows less rigid as you begin to fall asleep in his arms. He watches you succumb to sleep, body growing limp.

#aemond fanfiction #aemond x you #prince aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond smut #aemond targaryen x strong!reader

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d-targaryenshoe · 2 months

Text

Young Heaven - Aegon Targaryen II

Word Count: 1505

Summary: When one loves another, no individual shall forbid them to be together, should they not?

The Red Keep was cloaked in the heavy silence of the night, the castle its torches sputtering as if straining to keep its flames alive against the encroaching darkness.

The only sounds were the distant crash of waves against the shores of Blackwater Bay and the occasional rustle of a banner in the wind.

All of King’s Landing seemed to be slumbering, but in the heart of the Keep, secrets whispered, and shadows danced.

You, a young woman of exceptional beauty with hair worth of gold and eyes with a precious color, lay entwined with Aegon Targaryen in the privacy of his chambers.

You weren't noble, the daughter of a minor from the Riverlands, yet you had captured the attention and, eventually, the heart of the king.

For Aegon, you were more than just a mistress, you were his escape from the stifling expectations of court and family, a sanctuary where he could be himself.

The warmth of your bodies was a stark contrast to the coolness of the room, your breaths mingling as you lay in each other’s arms.

Aegon’s silvery hair was tousled, and his violet eyes softened with contentment as he traced gentle patterns on your bare back.

You smiled up at him, your fingers brushing over his face as if committing every detail to memory.

“Do you ever think about the future?” you asked softly, your voice barely a whisper.

Aegon’s smile faded slightly, a shadow crossing his features. “The future is a beast with too many heads,” he murmured. “I try not to think of it more than I have to.”

You nodded, understanding his reluctance.

The future was a treacherous thing in the world of the Targaryens, filled with dangers from within and without.

But before you could respond, the heavy wooden door to Aegon’s chambers creaked open.

Aegon turned his head sharply at the sound, his body tensing.

In the doorway stood Ser Criston Cole, his stern face framed by his hair, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

His eyes, cold and calculating, flicked between the two of you with a mixture of disdain and something darker—betrayal, perhaps.

“Ser Criston,” Aegon greeted him, his voice laced with a forced calm. “To what do I owe this intrusion?”

Criston’s jaw tightened as he stepped further into the room, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary.

“My king,” he began, his tone formal and filled with a barely concealed anger, “I apologize for the interruption, but this… sight is unbecoming of your station.”

You quickly gathered the bedclothes around you, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Aegon, however, remained defiant, sitting up straighter and meeting Criston’s gaze with a challenge in his eyes.

“You forget your place, Ser Criston,” Aegon said coldly. “I am the king, and I will bed whom I choose.”

Criston’s eyes narrowed, his hand tightening on his sword.

For a moment, it seemed as though he might draw it, but instead, he turned sharply on his heel. “This cannot go unreported,” he said over his shoulder. “The queen must know.”

With that, he left the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

The silence that followed was thick with tension as if the very walls were holding their breath.

You looked at Aegon with fear in your eyes. “What will happen now?”

Aegon took a deep breath, pulling you close. “Nothing,” he promised, though there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “He won’t dare act against me.”

But you both knew that was not entirely true.

The next morning, the Red Keep was buzzing with tension that rippled through its halls like a gathering storm.

The servants moved with wary glances, the courtiers whispered in corners, and even the guards seemed more alert as if sensing the undercurrents of impending conflict.

Queen Alicent Hightower sat in her private chambers, her hands folded in her lap, the green of her gown echoing the sharpness in her eyes.

Before she stood Ser Criston, his expression impassive as he relayed the events of the previous night.

Alicent listened in silence, though her face grew colder with every word.

“And you are certain of this?” she asked, though she knew Criston would not lie about such a matter.

“As certain as I can be, Your Grace,” Criston replied. “I saw them with my own eyes.”

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line. She had always known Aegon was wild, reckless even, but this… this was a step too far.

You, a non-noble woman, and under her very roof. She could not allow such a stain on their house to go unpunished.

“Bring him to me,” she ordered, her voice steely. “I will deal with this myself.”

Criston bowed and left to fetch Aegon. As she waited, Alicent’s thoughts turned dark.

How had it come to this? How had her son fallen so far?

She had tried to raise him with a sense of duty, of the weight of the crown that would one day rest upon his head, yet he defied her at every turn.

The thought of him tangled with you made her stomach churn with a mixture of anger and disgust.

Aegon was brought before her not long after, escorted by Ser Criston, who remained just outside the chamber doors.

He entered with his usual bravado, but there was a wary glint in his eyes, as though he could sense the storm brewing.

“Mother,” he greeted her, attempting a smile that did not reach his eyes.

Alicent did not return the smile. “Sit,” she commanded, gesturing to a chair opposite her.

Aegon obeyed, dropping into the chair with a casualness that bordered on disrespect. “To what do I owe this summons?”

“Do not play coy with me, Aegon,” Alicent snapped, her patience already worn thin. “I know about the girl. Ser Criston told me everything.”

Aegon’s expression hardened, and for a moment, there was a flash of the dragon in his eyes. “Her name is y/n.”

“Her name is unimportant,” Alicent retorted. “What is important is the disgrace you bring upon this house by consorting with that sort of woman under our roof.”

“And what of the disgrace you bring, Mother?” Aegon shot back, his voice low and dangerous.

Alicent blinked, taken aback by the venom in his words. “What are you speaking about?”

Aegon leaned forward, his gaze locking onto hers with a fierceness she hadn’t seen before.

"You act as though I am the only one with secrets, but I know, Mother. I know about you and Ser Criston.”

The room seemed to grow colder as the words hung in the air between them.

Alicent’s face drained of color, her hands clenching in her lap. “You… you know nothing,” she whispered, but her voice faltered.

“Oh, but I do,” Aegon said, his tone almost mocking. “Do you think the servants don’t talk? That I don’t see the way he looks at you, the way he follows your every command without question? Do you think I don’t hear the whispers?”

Alicent’s mind raced, panic rising in her chest. How long had he known?

How much did he know? And more importantly, what would he do with that knowledge?

Aegon watched her struggle for composure, and for the first time, he felt a sense of power over her that was intoxicating.

He had always been at odds with his mother, always felt overshadowed by her expectations, and her disappointments.

But now, he held the upper hand.

“I will marry y/n,” he declared, his voice filled with conviction.

Alicent’s eyes snapped to his, her shock giving way to fury. “You will do no such thing!”

“Yes, I will,” Aegon insisted. “You have no right to forbid me. She may not be noble by birth, but I love her, and I will not give her up.”

“You fool,” Alicent hissed, her anger now mingled with fear. “You are the king! A marriage is not just about love, it’s about alliances, about strengthening this house!”

“I will marry y/n,” Aegon repeated, his tone leaving no room for debate. “And if you try to stop me, I will ensure that everyone knows about you and Ser Criston.”

Alicent stared at her son, her heart pounding in her chest.

This was not the boy she had raised, this was a man who had learned how to wield his power, and he was using it against her.

The silence between them stretched, taut and heavy, until at last, Alicent looked away, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Do as you will,” she said quietly, her voice hollow.

Aegon rose from his seat, a small, victorious smile playing on his lips. “I will.”

As he left the chamber, Alicent remained seated, staring at the spot where he had stood.

The queen felt the weight of the crown more acutely than ever, but now it was not just the crown on her head—it was the invisible one that Aegon had placed upon her, a crown of secrets and shame.

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cherryl4na · 2 months

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❥•°❀"tears on my birthday cake"

abstract || it's midnight and you're feeling the birthday blues. thankfully, you have lando there to help.

female!reader || angst. fluff. comfort. soft!lando. crying. 1k words

The clock struck midnight, and with it, the arrival of your birthday. The room was cloaked in darkness, save for the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains. Lando stirred beside you, his arm instinctively drawing you closer as he roused from his slumber.

"Happy birthday, love," he murmured, his voice laced with sleep.

You managed a faint smile, but it quickly faded as the weight of another year settled upon your shoulders. Birthdays were supposed to be a time of celebration, yet this year, it felt more like a reckoning—a stark reminder of dreams unfulfilled and the relentless march of time.

Sensing your unease, Lando shifted closer, his fingers gently trailing along your arm in soothing strokes. "Hey," he whispered softly, " What's wrong baby? Are you okay?"

You hesitated, the lump in your throat making it difficult to articulate the swirling emotions within. "I don't know," you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I thought I'd have it all figured out by now."

His embrace tightened around you, offering a silent reassurance as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. "You don't have to have it all figured out," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. "Life isn't a race. It's okay to feel lost sometimes."

Tears welled up in your eyes, betraying the facade of composure you had struggled to maintain. "I feel like I'm falling behind," you confessed, your voice trembling with raw vulnerability.

Lando's fingers gently tilted your chin up, his gaze searching yours with unwavering sincerity. "You're not falling behind," he insisted firmly. "You're on your own path, and it's okay if it's different from what you imagined."

A sob caught in your throat, releasing years of pent-up frustrations and fears. "I just... I expected more from myself," you whispered brokenly.

You clung to Lando, the weight of his words and the warmth of his embrace grounding you in the present moment. The minutes stretched into an intimate silence, broken only by the soft cadence of his breathing and the occasional whisper of reassurance.

"I just feel like I should have accomplished more by now," you admitted quietly, your voice trembling with vulnerability.

Lando's arms tightened around you, as if to shield you from the weight of your own expectations. "It's okay to feel that way," he replied gently, his fingertips tracing soothing circles on your back. "But remember, success isn't measured by a checklist. It's about the journey, the lessons learned along the way."

You nestled deeper into his embrace, finding solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek. "I'm scared of never reaching my full potential," you confessed, your words a whisper against his chest.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if to imprint his love onto your skin. "You're capable of more than you know," he murmured, his voice a soft reassurance. "You've already made a difference in my life, in so many lives. That's no small feat."

Tears welled up in your eyes again, this time not from sadness but from the overwhelming swell of emotions his words invoked. "Thank you for believing in me," you whispered, your voice thick with gratitude.

Lando pulled back slightly, his hands framing your face so he could look into your eyes with unwavering sincerity. "I'll always believe in you," he promised, his gaze searching for yours. "Even on your darkest days, I'll be here to remind you of your strength and resilience."

You nodded, a silent acknowledgment of his unwavering support. "I love you," you said softly, the words a declaration of trust and vulnerability.

He smiled tenderly, brushing away a tear that escaped down your cheek. "I love you too," he replied, his voice filled with tenderness. " And I'm here, always."

You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand against your cheek a balm to your weary soul. His words echoed in your mind, a constant reassurance that despite the uncertainties of life, there was one thing you could always count on—Lando's unwavering presence and love.

In the quiet of the night, wrapped in each other's arms, you found solace in the simplicity of being together. His embrace was a sanctuary, shielding you from the doubts and fears that threatened to overwhelm.

"Thank you for being here," you whispered softly, your voice barely a breath.

Lando pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if to imprint his love onto your skin. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," he murmured, his voice a vow against the darkness that lingered at the edges of your thoughts.

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to simply be, to absorb the love and comfort he offered without reservation. The weight of your worries felt lighter, carried away by the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

As the minutes ticked by, Lando remained by your side, his presence a comforting anchor in the tumultuous sea of emotions. He listened as you poured out your heart, offering solace in the form of understanding nods and gentle touches.

By the time the darkness began to give way to the soft hues of predawn, you felt a glimmer of hope flicker within your soul. It wasn't about erasing the doubts or fears—it was about embracing them, acknowledging them as part of your journey.

As you curled up with Lando in the quiet hours before dawn, his arms around you, you felt a deep sense of gratitude for his unwavering presence. Birthdays weren't just about celebrating milestones; they were about reflecting on growth, on resilience, on the love that held you together when everything seemed uncertain.

And as sleep finally claimed you, lulled by the steady rhythm of Lando's heartbeat and the whispered promises of tomorrow, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them with Lando by your side. Together, hand in hand, heart to heart, you would navigate the complexities of life and find solace in the simple moments of love and understanding.

an || okay so this one made me tear up a bit. hope you liked this as much as i did. till the next one!

#f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #f1 drivers x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #lando norris #lando x reader #lando imagine #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris comfort

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pin-k-ink · 4 months

Text

loving the unlovable // ryomen sukuna

tw ⇢ true form!sukuna, dub-con, huge age gap, sukuna being a tsundere, lots of fluff, violence and gore, descriptions of injuries, heavy angst, implied sexual content, pregnancy, pregnancy sex, character death, obsession/unhealthy relationship dynamic, voyeurism, power imbalance, verbal aggression, manhandling, heavy petting

wc ⇢ 14.6k

a/n: my favorite work yet. i will remember this one forever

The shadows of the ancient trees seemed to stretch endlessly as the pale moonlight filtered through the canopy. In the stillness of the forest, a presence stirred - a malevolent force that sent a chill through the very air. Sukuna emerged from the darkness, his footfalls silent yet carrying an unmistakable weight of dread.

As he prowled deeper into the woodland, something caught his attention - the faint sound of labored breathing. His sinister eyes narrowed, lips curling into a subtle sneer as he followed the sound to its source. There you lay, motionless among the fallen leaves, your small frame battered and wounded.

Sukuna regarded you with a dispassionate gaze, his head tilting slightly as he studied your fragile form. Without warning, one of his fearsome nails extended with a sickening screech of bone against bone, the razor-sharp point hovering over your exposed skin. A low rumble echoed from deep within his chest - not quite a laugh, but a sound that conveyed his dark amusement at finding such easy prey.

To his mild surprise, you stirred at the ominous sound, your eyes fluttering open to meet his piercing stare. There was no fear in your gaze, only a strange sense of calm as you regarded the monstrous figure towering over you.

"Not afraid to die, are you?" Sukuna's gravelly voice sliced through the silence, his words dripping with derision. The point of his nail traced along your arm with practiced precision, parting the skin just enough to draw a thin line of crimson.

Rather than recoiling, you watched with an eerie fascination, your small hand rising to grasp at the torn fabric of his cloak. There was no pleading in your voice, only a peculiar sense of certainty as you spoke. "You won't kill me...not yet."

An imperceptible flicker of intrigue danced across Sukuna's obsidian eyes at your peculiar confidence. His shoulders rose and fell with a low, rumbling chuckle that seemed to reverberate through the trees themselves. "Is that so? And what makes you so sure, little creature?"

Undeterred by his menacing presence, you met his gaze unflinchingly. "Because I intrigue you..."

Sukuna's lip curled in a disdainful sneer at your bold proclamation. With one fluid motion, he gripped your tiny frame, hoisting you into the air until your faces were mere inches apart. His fist easily encircled your midsection, your feet dangling helplessly above the forest floor.

"You dare presume to know my thoughts, insect?" he growled, his hot breath fanning across your face. "I could crush you without a second thought." To emphasize his point, his grasp tightened ever so slightly, the pressure becoming almost unbearable.

Yet, you did not flinch or cry out. You simply held his gaze, an enigmatic smile playing upon your lips. In that moment, Sukuna felt a flicker of something he could not place - a strange sense of being...challenged by this mere slip of a girl.

With a disdainful snort, he loosened his grip and turned, fully intending to leave you broken and forgotten on the forest floor. But as he took his first step away, tiny arms wrapped around his leg, your small body clinging to him with surprising tenacity.

"Wait!" Your voice rang out, thick with desperation. "Please...let me stay with you."

Sukuna paused, his towering form going rigid as he slowly turned his head to glare down at you with smoldering contempt. "And why..." he uttered in a dangerously low tone, "...would I indulge such an insolent request?"

Unbowed, you met his piercing stare, your fingers digging into the fabric of his tattered cloak. "Because I won't leave. I'll follow you...pester you...until you give in."

A tense silence stretched between you, the forest itself seeming to hold its breath. Then, Sukuna's shoulders began to shake with a low, rumbling chuckle that escalated into full-blown laughter - harsh and mocking, yet underpinned by a strange sort of dark amusement.

"You've got spirit, child...I'll give you that," he finally uttered, his lips twisting into a cruel smirk. With a dismissive flick of his wrist, he shrugged you off his leg, your small body tumbling unceremoniously to the ground.

As you looked up at him with a mixture of trepidation and hope, he let out an exaggerated sigh. "Very well...you may follow at my heels like the obedient little parasite you are. But make no mistake..." His obsidian eyes bored into you with an intensity that could pierce souls. "If you overstep your bounds even once...I'll make sure you beg for the mercy of death."

Sukuna's lair was a crumbling, ancient shrine hidden deep within the twisted roots of a towering mahogany tree. As he led you through the dimly lit corridors, the stale air carried the faint scent of decay that seemed to cling to every surface.

With a disdainful flick of his wrist, he motioned to a small alcove, little more than a glorified nook. "This will be your quarters for the night, leech. Try not to perish from discomfort," he sneered.

Too exhausted and overwhelmed to muster a retort, you simply nodded meekly and settled into the cramped space, curling up on the cold stone floor. Within moments, the weight of your ordeal took its toll, and you drifted into a fitful slumber.

When your eyes finally fluttered open hours later, Sukuna was seated cross-legged nearby, his penetrating gaze fixed upon you with an intensity that could have incinerated lesser beings where they lay.

"To sleep so soundly in the lair of a cursed spirit," he mused, his tone laced with mordant amusement. "Your manners are as lacking as your survival instincts, girl."

Groggily pushing yourself upright, you opened your mouth to respond, but he swiftly raised a hand to silence you.

"Save your excuses. I've no interest in listening to the pathetic whimpering of mortals." With that, he rose to his feet and stalked away, disappearing down the shadowy corridor without a backwards glance.

The first pale rays of dawn were just peeking through the crevices when Sukuna's imposing form materialized once more at the entrance to your tiny alcove. His eyes narrowed as he regarded your sleeping form with thinly veiled disdain.

"Up, leech," he commanded gruffly. "Our bargain has ended. I grow weary of tolerating your pestilent presence."

Your eyes fluttered open slowly, bleary from a night of restless slumber. As the weight of his words sank in, a small furrow creased your brow in defiance.

"No..." The single syllable slipped from your lips barely above a whisper, but carried within it an unmistakable rebellion.

Sukuna's eyes flashed with a volatile blend of dark amusement and burgeoning ire. "I beg your pardon?" His voice adopted a tone of perilous calm, like the ocean's stillness before a raging tempest. "You dare defy me, insect?"

Pushing yourself upright, you met his piercing stare with surprising boldness. "I won't leave. We never specified one night only."

A taut silence stretched between you, the air itself seeming to thicken with Sukuna's wrath. Then, his lip curled in a vicious snarl, and he moved with blurring speed -- one moment towering over you, the next slamming you back against the unforgiving stone with a hand like iron around your throat.

"You try my patience, child," he hissed through clenched teeth, his face mere inches from yours. "I should slice you into pieces and feast upon your insolent tongue."

Even faced with such terrifying malice, you held his gaze with eerie composure. "But...you won't..." you wheezed, struggling against his grip. "Not...yet..."

Another beat of deafening silence followed, the coiled tension between you crackling like lightning about to strike. Then, almost too fast to register, Sukuna released you, stepping back with a contemptuous sneer.

"Clearly, I overestimated your faculty for self-preservation," he growled, dragging a hand down his face in exaggerated exasperation. "Very well, you may remain...for one more night. But heed my words carefully, girl..." His piercing glare bored into you like twin daggers. "Tread lightly, lest I reconsider granting you the mercy of a swift demise."

a few years later

The gentle burbling of the nearby river provided a soothing melody amid the stillness of the forest. From the shadows of his shrine, Sukuna's piercing gaze remained fixated on the riverbank, where you had settled to bathe.

It had been years since that fateful night when the obstinate girl-child had wheedled her way into his domain under the guise of a single night's stay. Yet here you remained, a persistent thorn in his side that had, against all reason, taken root and refused to be dislodged.

As the warm waters lapped at your lithe form, tendrils of steam dancing along the gentle curves that had blossomed over time, Sukuna found his obsidian eyes tracing the contours of your body with undisguised interest. A low rumble reverberated in his chest - not one of menace, but an unmistakable purr of dark appreciation.

"The leech has sprouted into something of a noxious bloom," he mused aloud, his deep timbre reverberating through the shadows. A cruel smirk played upon his lips as he drank in the sight before him, shameless in his voyeurism.

You remained blissfully unaware of your shadowed observer, carelessly exposing the full radiance of your budding feminine form to his hungered gaze. Wet hair cascaded over your shoulders, beads of water tracing tantalizing paths along the swell of your bosom before disappearing beneath the river's mirror-like surface.

An imperceptible shift in the air was the only warning before Sukuna materialized at the riverbank in a swirl of ethereal mist, his towering height casting an imposing shadow over you. "Enjoying yourself, leech?" His voice sliced through the stillness like a blade through silk.

You started violently at the sound, instinctively shying deeper into the water's embrance in a futile attempt at modesty. Yet even as a furious blush stained your cheeks, your eyes met his without faltering - the same strange mixture of defiance and fascination that had so captivated him all those years ago.

"S-Sukuna..." you stammered, your breath catching in your throat as he descended into a predatory crouch at the very edge of the riverbank. "I didn't realize you were watching."

"Evidently," he purred, his rumbling baritone caressing every syllable as he drank in every flustered reaction. Reaching out with one long, sinuous finger, he traced the outline of a droplet that trembled precariously on the hardened peak of your nipple. "Tell me, leech...do you still fear me?"

A tremor that had nothing to do with the water's chill racked your body at his touch. Yet you leaned ever so slightly into his touch, drawn like a moth to a flame. "No..." you breathed, holding his smoldering gaze. "I've never feared you, Sukuna."

The dark spirit's lips twisted into a cruel facsimile of a smile, one that sent thrills of equal parts dread and exhilaration down your spine. "Then you are a fool, dear girl." With that, he withdrew his hand, rising fluidly to his feet and turning away in one seamless movement.

"Return before nightfall," he tossed over his shoulder as he strode off, his imposing figure swallowed once more by the shadows. "Our...discussions...are in need of resumption."

As the sound of his footfalls faded away, you remained rooted in the shallows, heart pounding as a heady mix of trepidation and undeniable longing swirled within you.

As the shadows lengthened, you made your way back to Sukuna's lair, your stomach rumbling with hunger. You found the cursed spirit seated cross-legged in the central chamber, his piercing gaze fixed on some indiscernible point in the distance.

"You've returned," he stated flatly as you entered. "I trust you're prepared to satisfy my curiosity regarding the mundane human ritual of...dinner?" He uttered the last word like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Stifling a sigh, you began gathering ingredients and utensils from the makeshift kitchen area Sukuna had grudgingly allowed you to establish years ago. As you cooked, you fielded Sukuna's barrage of disdainful questions about the peculiarities of mortal sustenance with a weary patience born of long practice.

Finally, you set a modest meal before him, watching in bemusement as he inspected it with a sneer of revulsion. "I will never understand why you subject yourself to such banalities, leech."

Rolling your eyes, you settled down to eat, politely ignoring his disparaging mutterings about the frailties of human existence. Same song and dance as every night.

Much later, you tiptoed down the corridor leading to Sukuna's private chambers, a mischievous grin playing across your lips. Spying the cursed spirit's recumbent form in the gloom, you stealthily slipped under the arm he had carelessly draped over the edge of his stone bed...

Only for said arm to clamp around you like a vise, hauling you up so abruptly that your feet cleared the ground entirely. You found yourself suspended face-to-face with Sukuna, his obsidian eyes blazing with unrestrained fury.

"You dare intrude upon my personal domain, worm?!" he bellowed, his free hand contorting into a series of wicked talons that hovered mere inches from your exposed throat.

Reflexively you threw up your hands in a placating gesture. "It's just me! It's just me!"

Sukuna's murderous expression flickered momentarily with recognition before resolving into one of contemptuous disgust. "Idiot girl," he growled, bodily hoisting you out of the chamber and depositing you in an unceremonious heap in the corridor. "How many times must I reiterate that my quarters are strictly forbidden?!"

As he slammed the door in your face, you couldn't quite stifle the giggle that bubbled up from your chest. "Same time tomorrow night?" you called out impishly, not bothering to pick yourself up from the floor.

The resounding bellow of outrage was enough to set your soul vibrating. Just another typical evening in the lair of Ryomen Sukuna.

The morning sun bathed the meadow in a warm golden glow, wildflowers swaying gently in the breeze. You sat among them, idly weaving together a crown of daisies and baby's breath, a serene smile playing across your lips.

Unbeknownst to you, Sukuna observed from the tree line, his penetrating gaze scrutinizing your every move. There was an unfamiliar tightness in his chest as he watched you laugh and dance amidst the blooms, so carefree and vibrant. An ache he couldn't identify.

He had seen countless mortals come and go over the eons - frail, fleeting creatures snuffed out like candle flames in the blink of an eye. Yet you persisted, your persistence grating on him at first until it gradually transitioned into...something else. Something he refused to name.

You were just bending down to pluck another blossom when Sukuna materialized at your side, his towering frame casting you in shadow. With a startled cry, you turned wide eyes up at him, the carefree smile slipping from your face.

But before you could react further, he reached down and scooped you up with ease, his massive hand encircling your slender waist. You automatically clutched at his arm for balance, lower lip jutting out in a tiny pout of protest.

"Wh-what are you doing?" you stammered, staring up at Sukuna with bewildered indignation. For once, he did not meet your questioning gaze, instead turning on his heel and striding back towards his lair without a word.

As the last rays of dusk faded, bathing the ancient shrine in deep shadows, Sukuna deposited you unceremoniously just inside the entrance. You gazed up at him with a petulant frown, momentarily frozen by the foreign gleam in his eyes - something wild and unrestrained flickering behind their obsidian depths.

Then, recovering some of your usual defiant spirit, you straightened and fixed him with a pointed look. "Since you're being so hospitable tonight, I don't suppose you'd allow me to bunk with you in your quarters?"

The request seemed to break whatever spell had momentarily fallen over the cursed spirit. He blinked, then his face contorted in a sneer of disdain as he reached out and shoved you back, not gently.

"Don't be foolish, girl," he growled, his voice laced with gravel. "You know my rules well. Now remove yourself from my presence before I remove you more...permanently."

Shooting him one last mulish glare, you turned and flounced off down the corridor, grumbling under your breath. Yet Sukuna remained rooted in place long after you departed, an inexplicable ache blossoming in his cursed chest.

The routine persisted for days and nights on end - you would saunter up to Sukuna's quarters once darkness fell, bat your eyelashes innocently, and inquire if perhaps this could be the blessed evening when he'd grant you permission to sleep beside him.

His response never wavered. A withering glare, a derisive snort, and then his large hand would clamp around your arm, yanking you off-balance before bodily depositing you outside his chamber door with an unceremonious shove.

"You're an insufferable pest," he'd growl, lips curled in contempt. "Quit deluding yourself into thinking I'll ever indulge such impertinence."

On one such night, you trudged away grumbling rebellious obscenities under your breath, lower lip jutting out in a full-on pout. Sukuna had been particularly rough, nearly sweeping your feet out from under you with the force of his push.

Fuming, you stalked outside into the night air, hoping the cool caress of the forest breeze would soothe your ruffled feathers. But you'd barely made it past the tree line when a sinister presence caused the hairs on the back of your neck to prickle.

A malevolent curse spirit oozed from the shadows, its grotesque form an amalgamation of oozing sludge and razor-sharp appendages. You froze, breath catching in your throat as its voracious eyes fixed on you, dark ichor dripping from its gaping maw.

Just as it reared back, prepared to strike, a thunderous bellow reverberated through the trees. "GIRL!"

Sukuna materialized between you and the curse like an avenging wraith, one clawed hand batting the foul creature aside with contemptuous ease. It hit a nearby tree trunk with bone-crunching force before dissolving into noxious sludge.

You stared up at Sukuna with wide, stunned eyes, his heaving shoulders the only indication of any exertion. Slowly, he turned to face you, mouth contorting into a vicious snarl.

"You foolish, foolish girl!" he raged, grabbing your shoulders and giving you a bruising shake. "Have I not warned you time and again about wandering from my domain unattended?! Do you have a death wish?!"

Trembling, you could only shake your head mutely, cowed by the sheer fury blazing in his eyes. With a disgusted growl, Sukuna released you, though his grip on your arm remained bruisingly tight as he hauled you back towards the shrine.

To your surprise, rather than depositing you at the entrance as usual, he dragged you straight to his private quarters and shoved you inside before him, slamming the door with a decisive thud.

"Sukuna, what-?" You turned to face him, brows knit in bewilderment, only to be silenced by the sheer intensity of his scathing look.

"Silence, idiot," he spat, raking you with his piercing glare. "For once, I'll indulge your persistent wheedling...if only to ensure you don't stumble into anymore folly this night."

He snorted derisively as realization bloomed across your face, lips curving into a delighted smile. Shaking his head, he jerked his thumb towards the pallet against the far wall. "Well? You have what you wanted. Now cease your incessant nattering and let me have some blessed quiet."

Biting your lip in a futile effort to contain your grin, you scurried over to the bedroll, trying and failing to ignore the thunderous pounding of your heart. As you settled in, Sukuna's rumbling bass filled the chamber once more.

"Just for tonight, leech. Don't delude yourself into thinking this..." He waved a dismissive hand, "...situation will become permanent."

Even as you nodded, the secret smile tugging at your lips suggested you had absolutely no intention of dropping your persistent campaign. As the night deepened, the sound of Sukuna's steady breathing rose and fell in a reassuring cadence - the soothing rhythm of the most terrifying lullaby to which you'd ever drifted off.

The following morning, you emerged from Sukuna's chamber squinting against the brilliant rays of dawn filtering through the trees. Stifling a yawn, you wandered towards the small spring that provided the lair's water source, blissfully unaware of the dark eyes watching your every move.

Sukuna observed in tense silence from the shadows as you knelt beside the glittering pool, idly trailing your fingers through the cool waters. That strange ache blossomed in his chest once more - a longing he could neither name nor comprehend.

With a irritable huff, he pivoted and stalked deeper into the gloom of the forest, forcing your bemusing form from his mind's eye. Yet the phantom sensation persisted, an ember of something warm and unfamiliar smoldering in his cursed soul.

Night had long since fallen by the time Sukuna re-entered his lair, shadows clinging to him like a shroud. He paused at the entrance to his private chambers, piercing gaze sweeping the dimly lit space with scrutinizing intensity.

"Tolerable for one night," he grumbled to himself, fingers tightening briefly on the doorframe. "But no more. That wretched girl has overstepped enough boundaries to last an eternity."

Before the words had fully left his lips, a slight shift of movement in his peripheral vision caused his entire body to go rigid, cursed power rippling through him like a shockwave. Whirling with blinding speed, he contorted one hand into a wicked scythe of talons, dark energy gathering in a volatile maelstrom.

"You dare--?!" The words morphed into a guttural snarl as his gaze landed on the slight figure now perched impudently on the very edge of his bed. "Leech!"

You grinned back at him, infuriatingly unperturbed by the malevolent force roiling off him in waves. "Well hello there, cranky pants. Sleep well?"

"I warned you about encroaching upon my personal domain," Sukuna raged, his free hand whipping out to seize you by the waist and bodily hoist you into the air. "Do you never learn?!"

Rather than cower, you merely gazed back at him with guileless defiance, small hands clutching at the iron bands of his fingers. "Don't be like that, Sukuna. We both know you won't hurt me."

The cursed spirit's towering frame seemed to swell with unholy wrath, muscles rippling beneath his ashen skin. Yet as his obsidian gaze bored into yours, that damnable heat flickered in his chest once more - an unwelcome tendril of yearning that slithered through the cracks in his cursed, callous shell.

With a noise of disgust, he released his grip, allowing you to tumble gracelessly back onto the pallet. Yet before you could so much as stir, he whirled and made for the door, fully intent on ejecting you from his quarters with extreme prejudice.

Only to find himself arrested by your slight form clinging tenaciously to his leg, arms and legs wrapped around the limb like a limpet. "No wait, Sukuna please! I'll be good, I swear!"

The cursed spirit stilled, piercing eyes slitting dangerously as he glared down at your pleading face. For a long, tense moment, the air itself seemed to thicken with the weight of his inhuman ire.

Then, it dissipated in a rush, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly as a weary exhale gusted past his lips. Wordlessly, he reached down and detached your grip with ease, ignoring your mewl of dismay. Instead of throwing you out, however, he simply turned and resumed his seat on the edge of the pallet, pinning you with a glower of stern resignation.

"One more night, leech," he growled, the capitulation sounding physically pained. "But no more of these insipid antics. Am I making myself absolutely clear?"

Your face split in a beaming grin that caused that damnable warmth to bloom in Sukuna's chest anew. Nodding fervently, you scooted up to join him on the narrow bed roll, relishing the simple intimacy of your shoulders brushing against his granite frame.

As the night wore on, and your breathing evened out in slumber, the cursed spirit remained awake and pensive, his piercing gaze roving repeatedly to the slender form curled up beside him. Something was shifting deep within him, an inexorable drift that filled him with equal parts longing and foreboding.

He could sense the tenuous grasp on his power beginning to waver - a dangerous riptide of emotion churning beneath the hardened surface of his being. And at its dark, irresistible center...that wretched girl remained, an infuriating yet inextricable piece of his cursed existence.

The first pale rays of dawn filtered through the crevices, bathing Sukuna's chamber in a soft, dusty glow. The cursed spirit's eyes drifted open slowly, his penetrating gaze instantly falling upon the slight form curled up beside him.

Your chest rose and fell with the deep, even breaths of untroubled slumber, a thin trail of drool trickling from the corner of your parted lips. Hair mussed and splayed across the pallet in a bird's nest of tangles, you looked every bit the image of innocence lost to dreams.

Yet Sukuna found his obsidian eyes tracing the delicate contours of your face with undisguised fascination, drinking in each and every detail as if truly seeing you for the first time. From the dusting of freckles across your upturned nose to the flutter of your lashes against flushed cheeks, he catalogued it all with rapt attentiveness.

Without realizing what he was doing, one long-fingered hand drifted up to gently brush an errant lock of hair from your forehead, his rough calloused fingertips a harsh juxtaposition against your petal-soft skin. You didn't so much as stir, too deeply ensconced in slumber to register his uncharacteristically tender ministrations.

Sukuna felt himself leaning in closer, an unfamiliar pull tugging at the very fabric of his being. Your warm, honeysuckle breath fanned across his face as his own drifted nearer and nearer still, until the delicate curve of your cupid's bow brushed whisper-light against the austere line of his lips.

In that crystalline moment, something seemed to shatter within the cursed spirit. His entire frame went rigid, the muscles coiled taut as an over-plucked bowstring beneath his ashen skin. Just as swiftly as the hypnotic compulsion had fallen over him, it dissipated in an icy rush of clarity.

With a strangled snarl of disgust, Sukuna violently recoiled, his sudden movement jostling the pallet hard enough to rouse you from slumber. Bleary eyes blinked up at him in groggy confusion as he loomed over you, his expression contorted into one of blatant abhorrence.

"Out," he ground out through gritted teeth, visibly struggling to regain control over the tempestuous storm of emotion roiling through him. "Get out, leech!"

Your brow furrowed in hurt bewilderment, mouth opening to protest or question his irate outburst. But Sukuna was having none of it. Reaching down, he seized you by the arm and bodily hauled you upright, marching you towards the door with such force that your feet barely skimmed the ground.

With one final shove, he deposited you in an unceremonious heap in the corridor, slamming the chamber door behind you with a thunderous bang. Left alone in the dim passageway, you could only stare at the unyielding slab of wood with a forlorn mixture of confusion and heartache welling in your eyes.

Inside his sanctum, Sukuna paced like a caged predator, every muscle taut and thrumming with pent up violence. His clawed hands alternately clenched and flexed, dark energy crackling through him in volatile surges.

"Damnable, pestilent girl!" He punctuated the snarled words with a strike that reduced a nearby pillar to rubble. "What depraved curse has she inflicted upon me?!"

Yet even as he raged and seethed against the irresistible tide of unfamiliar emotion, a small, insidious ember smoldered in the inky depths of his cursed heart. An ember that, unbeknownst to him, had been steadily burning brighter and hotter with each passing night...fanned into radiant existence by your infuriatingly persistent presence at his side.

You knelt in the small vegetable patch you had painstakingly cultivated, idly plucking weeds and tossing them aside with more force than strictly necessary. A sullen pout tugged at your lips as you mentally replayed the events of that morning on an endless, mortified loop.

The feeling of Sukuna violently recoiling from you, the look of unadulterated disgust contorting his features - it was all seared into your mind's eye with agonizing clarity. You hadn't even done anything, just woken up as per usual! Yet he'd practically torn you from his quarters, flinging you out like some repulsive insect he couldn't be rid of fast enough.

You were so absorbed in your simmering indignation that you failed to notice the imposing figure materializing at the edge of the garden until his rumbling baritone sliced through the weighted silence.

"Stop wallowing in the dirt like a pathetic grub, leech. It's unbecoming."

Stiffening, you steadfastly avoided meeting Sukuna's piercing gaze, mouth pressed into a mulish line. The cursed spirit regarded you with obvious disdain for a beat before snorting derisively.

"What, no clever rejoinder? No insolent prattle to assault my ears with?" His tone dripped with disdainful sarcasm. "How unlike you."

You remained stubbornly mute, turning your body slightly so your back was angled towards him in a blatant gesture of defiance. An imperceptible muscle ticked in Sukuna's taut jaw, his obsidian eyes glinting with fleeting irritation before smoothing out into cool disinterest.

"I see. The child chooses to have a tantrum then," he drawled, folding his arms across his massively muscled chest. "How terribly vexing for me."

Despite your best efforts to tune him out, his rich, resonant timbre seemed to effortlessly penetrate the walls you tried to erect. You couldn't quite stifle the small pout that crept across your lips, shoulders hunched defensively.

A humorless chuckle gusted from Sukuna at your petulant display. Then, his voice dropped a shade lower, taking on the ominous timber of flint striking steel.

"Perhaps a compromise is in order..." You froze, ears straining in spite of your resolve to ignore him. "...so that you might cease this insufferable tantrum."

Unable to resist, you turned your head slightly, peeking up at him through your lashes with naked trepidation. Sukuna held your gaze for a beat, then seemed to reach some internal resolution. When he spoke again, his tone was laced with the sort of weary resignation one might reserve for a rabid dog they've decided to humor rather than put down.

"You may..." He audibly ground out the words through gritted teeth, as if they physically pained him. "...take up residence in my quarters on a more...permanent basis. If that will satisfy your obstinate need to perpetually vex me."

The effect was instantaneous and profound. Your sullen pout blossomed into a radiant smile that bathed your entire being in a sort of incandescent light. Before Sukuna could so much as blink, you had launched yourself at him, throwing your arms around his granite-hewn waist and hugging him with every ounce of jubilant force in your slight frame.

The cursed spirit went rigid as a statue, his towering figure locking up in abject bewilderment at the unanticipated onslaught of unchecked affection. For several agonizing beats, he seemed torn between violence and simply phasing through the earth to escape the uncomfortable intimacy.

Then, as quickly as you had barreled into him, he pried you off with deliberate force, holding you at arm's length with a look of profound consternation. Clearing his throat gruffly, he averted those piercing obsidian depths, struggling to regain his customary icy aloofness.

"Yes, well..." He cleared his throat again redundantly. "Don't make me regret this indulgence, girl. Now release me and tend to whatever menial chores suit your industrious nature. I've had quite enough emotional upheaval for one morning."

Giggling at his obvious discomfort, you nodded enthusiastically and scampered off, every line of your body seeming to fairly sing with unrestrained jubilance. Sukuna watched you depart with a mixture of stark confusion and something frighteningly akin to fondness flickering behind his stony facade, the beginning embers of a connection that would irrevocably alter both your fates.

The shadows had long since descended over Sukuna's lair by the time you made your way to his private chambers that night, a contented smile playing across your lips. You found the cursed spirit seated on the edge of the modest pallet, his piercing gaze fixed on some indiscernible point in the distance.

Wasting no time on propriety, you bounded over and flopped onto the bed with unrestrained glee, reveling in the simple luxury of the soft furs and downy fabrics. Sukuna's obsidian eyes slid towards you, one pointed brow arching ever so slightly in a look of profound disbelief.

"Must you behave like an overexcited pup, leech?" he rumbled, mouth curved in a moue of distaste even as his gaze danced with fleeting amusement. "One would think you've never experienced the comforts of a proper resting place."

Rolling onto your back, you grinned up at him impishly, hair splaying across the pelts in a makeshift halo. "Maybe I'm just savoring the novel experience of sharing a bed with a ruggedly handsome cursed spirit."

Sukuna's eyes narrowed to slits of warning at your brazen flirtation, lips pulling back to expose a hint of fang. "Don't get ahead of yourself, girl. I allowed this arrangement to cease your childish carrying on...not to indulge any misguided fancies you might be entertaining."

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you fixed him with an appraising look through your lashes, openly drinking in the sharp lines of his chiseled features and muscular frame.

"Is that so?" you murmured, tone taking on a lilt of exaggerated innocence. "So you're saying there's no chance whatsoever of...extracurricular activities?"

The cursed spirit visibly bristled at your suggestive implication, fingers flexing as his obsidian gaze bored into you with smoldering intensity. Just as his lips parted to deliver what was sure to be a scathing rejoinder, the impish glint in your eyes seemed to catch him off guard.

Instead, you flashed him a brilliant smile, one that held no guile or insinuation - only a pure, radiant warmth that temporarily stole the breath from Sukuna's lungs. "I'm only teasing. Just being near you like this...it's enough for me."

Those simple words appeared to utterly disarm the formidable spirit. His mouth worked soundlessly as his angular features slackened slightly, temporarily unguarded and almost...vulnerable. An unfamiliar heat bloomed in his crimson gaze, softening it in a way you had never witnessed before.

Without consciously realizing what you were doing, you pushed up from the bed and scooted around behind Sukuna's seated form. He tensed fractionally as you molded yourself against the unyielding plane of his back, arms winding around the solid column of his neck in a tender embrace.

Yet unlike all the times before when he would have recoiled or shoved you away, the cursed spirit remained utterly motionless. His head bowed fractionally, harsh lines of his profile inscrutable in the dimness as he permitted your affectionate display to linger unchallenged.

In that weighted moment, it was almost as if some imperceptible barrier between you had begun to crumble - allowing a tiny flicker of connection to take root and smolder. Sukuna's next indrawn breath seemed to carry the weight of eons.

As the night stretched on in pensive quiet, your eyelids grew gradually heavier, lulled into a sense of peace and security by the steady cadence of Sukuna's breathing and the solidity of his form against yours. Safe in the knowledge that for now, in this stillness...he wouldn't push you away.

The balmy summer night was alive with the chirruping songs of crickets and the gentle whisper of the breeze. You knelt among the lush vegetation of your beloved garden, hands buried in the loamy soil as you carefully tended to the vibrant array of herbs and vegetables flourishing under your care.

So absorbed were you in your peaceful labors that you failed to register the first ominous shadows flitting through the tree line -- dark, malevolent presences that slithered forth with ill intent sparking in their depthless eyes.

It wasn't until a strangled cry rent the air that your head whipped up, eyes widening in stunned trepidation as grotesque, humanoid figures emerged from the gloom in a loose semi-circle around the garden's perimeter. Their twisted forms seemed an affront to nature itself, corrupt energies roiling just beneath the surface in profane defiance of the sanctity surrounding them.

"Sorcerers..." you breathed, instinctively shrinking back as your heart thundered in your chest. "But...how...?"

"The girl that soils Sukuna's domain," one of the gaunt figures rasped, its sibilant voice grating like rusted metal. "She will lure him out."

Another of the wicked men threw back its head in a horrifying parody of laughter. "Then we shall extinguish both blights upon this world in one fateful stroke!"

Before you could so much as blink, a crackling vortex of malign power burst forth, searing towards you in a blinding eruption of crimson light. You managed a single terrified scream before the onslaught slammed into you, sending shockwaves of unimaginable agony ricocheting through every fiber of your being.

The world tilted violently, the idyllic garden backdrop washing in and out of focus as you scrambled feebly against the onslaught. But the dark sorcerers were utterly relentless, pressing their brutal assault until your struggles grew feeble, your piercing cries reduced to gurgling whimpers of anguish.

Just as the encroaching blackness threatened to swallow you whole, a deafening roar of purest wrath split the night -- a vengeful bellow so seismic that it caused the very trees to shake in its wake. Through a rapidly dimming haze, you glimpsed the ashen silhouette of Sukuna materializing amidst the fray, his eyes blazing like twin supernovas.

The ensuing onslaught was apocalyptic. With an earthshaking crash, the cursed spirit unleashed the full brunt of his unholy capabilities in an explosive torrent of unearthly energies. The ground itself seemed to fracture and buckle under the sheer concussive force, whipping up a maelstrom of debris that swallowed the shrieking sorcerers whole.

In the span of mere heartbeats, the fiendish entities had been utterly decimated -- rent asunder by the full fury of Sukuna's unrestrained might. As the maelstrom receded, an unnatural silence fell, shattered only by the cursed spirit's harsh, heaving breaths.

Then, his piercing gaze fell upon your fragile form, crumpled and broken amidst the ravaged remains of your once-vibrant garden. Sukuna seemed to freeze for the span of an eternal second, features slackening incrementally as utter stillness cloaked his towering silhouette.

The next instant, he was at your side, sinking to one knee and gathering your battered body into the protective cradle of his arms with a tenderness that belied the violence still thrumming through him like livewire.

"Leech..." The nickname slipped raggedly past his lips, stripped of its customary inflection of derision or disdain. "Girl..."

Your eyelashes fluttered feebly as his gruff rumble penetrated the fog of anguish shrouding you. Somehow, you managed to croak a feeble murmur, the words scarcely more than a piteous whisper despite the gravity with which you uttered them.

"They...destroyed my garden..."

A tremor seemed to race through Sukuna's towering frame at the simple lament, his hold instinctively tightening as if to shield you not only from further harm, but the very notion of such trivial worries. When he spoke again, his voice carried a brusque gentleness that resonated through your very bones.

"Stubborn girl...there will be time to restore your foolish plants once you've recovered." His massive palm cradled the back of your head, fingers lightly sifting through the tangled tresses. "Rest now. I shall rebuild it all...with my own hands if need be."

As the realm of consciousness began to slip away from you once more, you managed the faintest murmur in acknowledgment before allowing yourself to drift into oblivion's soothing embrace. Your final cognizant thought was one of wonder...at how, even on the precipice of certain demise, Sukuna's mere presence remained an inextricable tether to hope and safekeeping.

The first tendrils of awareness seeped in gradually, a soft cocoon of warmth and security enveloping your battered form. You stirred with the barest of movements, eyelids fluttering open to find yourself swaddled in the plush furs of Sukuna's sleeping pallet.

A low rumble instantly drew your bleary gaze, finding the cursed spirit himself seated cross-legged at your side, his penetrating obsidian stare fixed unwaveringly on your face. There was an uncharacteristic intensity burning in those fathomless depths, something wild and unrestrained simmering just beneath the surface.

"You're awake," he stated simply, making no move to disguise the open appraisal raking over your form as if reassuring himself of your continued corporeal existence. "How do you feel, girl?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but he swiftly raised one clawed hand in a hushing gesture, silencing you before the words could form.

"No matter," he rumbled, raking his other hand through his disheveled mane in an uncharacteristically agitated gesture. "Clearly you require more rest to regain your strength after that debacle."

Confusion furrowed your brow as flashes of the dark sorcerers' ambush began to trickle back into your consciousness. But before you could so much as part your lips again, Sukuna leaned forward, the intensity in his eyes nearly scorching you with its heated focus.

"Attempt to rise or exert yourself in any fashion, and I will not be responsible for my actions," he growled, brooking no argument. "You will remain in bed and allow yourself to recuperate fully. Is that clear enough for your stubborn mind to comprehend?"

You could only nod mutely, instinctively sinking back into the sumptuous bedding as the weight of his stern edict settled over you. Sukuna held your gaze for a beat longer, then snorted and shifted his hulking frame, never fully removing himself from your bedside as if standing sentry.

Over the next few days, you quickly learned that the cursed spirit was fiercely serious regarding his mandate for your recovery. He scarcely left your side for more than a few minutes at a time, his formidable presence both reassuring and faintly discomfiting as you steadily regained your strength.

What's more, on the rare occasions you did rouse to find him absent, a brief glance out the chamber's lone window revealed he had already seen to restoring your beloved garden to its former verdant glory. Somehow, through some arcane effort, he had coaxed forth a miniature oasis from the ravaged soil and ash - a riot of fresh blooms and burgeoning greenery that made your heart swell with profound reverence.

Yet for all his apparent efforts to put you at ease and provide comfort, Sukuna adamantly avoided any heart-to-heart discussions or sentimental heart-renderings about the motivation behind his doting behavior. His demeanor was brusque as ever, a perpetual furrow pinching his brow whenever he happened to catch you studying him with wondering eyes.

"Cease gawking at me like a bedridden simpleton, girl," he'd grouse, deliberately turning his striking visage away to discourage further scrutiny. "If you insist on testing my patience, I'll keep you bedbound for another fortnight."

But his bluster and growling threats were belied by his actions come nightfall, when he would slide beneath the downy layers beside you with deliberate care. Unlike the prior fleeting times you'd been granted the intimate privilege of sharing his sleeping space, he no longer exerted any effort to maintain a respectful distance between your forms.

You would awake in those twilight hours to find his hulking frame spooning yours with almost protective insistence, one corded arm slung possessively over your waist while his pointed features remained a tense, watchful mask. Any attempts to disengage and afford him space were met with a low, rumbling murmur of displeasure and a reflexive tightening of his restraining hold, as if he feared your withdrawal on some subconscious level.

So you simply allowed yourself to sink back against his solid warmth with a resigned sigh, letting the sound of his even breathing lull you into a sense of strange security. Whatever internal warlord was raging inside the cursed spirit was not your battle to fight...at least not yet. For tonight, you would permit yourself to shelter inside the uncharacteristic tenderness he seemed determined to blanket you in, however briefly.

For deep within his volcanic stare, you could discern the telltale flickers of an emotion he refused to name - burning embers that glowed more fervently with each passing night spent entwined in silent communion.

Two sunsets had come and gone without any trace of Sukuna's imposing presence darkening the entrance to his lair. An uneasy sense of trepidation had settled over you like a shroud, each passing hour compounding the knot of dread coiling tighter and tighter in the pit of your stomach.

Where was he? The cursed spirit was no stranger to extended disappearances on his own inscrutable whims. But never before had he ventured off without so much as a gruff word of departure, leaving you to fret and wonder in his consuming absence.

You paced the confines of his inner sanctum in restless arcs, shooting furtive glances towards the unmoving slab of wood that served as the entrance. Surely if he intended his leave to be permanent, he would have...what? Sneered some parting barb about ridding himself of your pestilent presence?

No, the utter silence - the yawning void of his absence - chilled you more deeply than any of his harshest rebukes ever could. It simply wasn't like him.

You had just completed another fruitless circuit around the cramped chamber when a resounding boom shook the very foundations, instinctively dropping you into a defensive crouch. Heavy, thunderous footfalls reverberated through the passages beyond as something - no, someone- barreled towards the inner sanctum with reckless momentum.

The entrance burst open with a splintering crash, and there he was - Sukuna's towering, unmistakable silhouette haloed in the flickering torchlight beyond. Yet as the dust settled and your incredulous gaze drank in his form, utter dismay clenched like a vice around your heart.

The cursed spirit appeared utterly savaged, his ashen skin hanging in ribbons from countless deep lacerations that wept a steady stream of ebon ichor. One arm hung in an unnatural angle, the other clutching a gaping wound just below his ribcage as if trying to keep his very entrails from spilling forth. Dark power seethed and crackled around him in a volatile miasma, casting his features in a perpetual state of wrath-contorted ferocity.

An unintelligible bellow ripped from Sukuna's bloodied lips, causing you to flinch instinctively. Then another form materialized beside him, resolving into the lithe frame of Uraume - one of the only entities who could be considered an ally to the volatile curse.

"Listen close, girl!" he barked in his customary sandpaper growl. "You must approach Sukuna. He's been driven to the very brink, and right now you're the only one he might-"

"SILENCE!" The roar that erupted from Sukuna's chest could have parted oceans. "Don't presume to make decisions for me, dog!"

In the blink of an eye, his remaining hand had snapped up in a vicious swipe that sent Uraume hurtling back down the passage in an explosion of masonry and dirt. Turning that blazing stare on you, the cursed spirit's teeth gnashed in a bestial snarl.

"Well, leech?" he growled, a spatter of ebon blood splattering across his chin. "Coming to bask in the sight of your precious Sukuna laid low, are you? Have you a taste for more violence?!"

He took a menacing step forward, every motion broadcasting his intent to rend and subjugate to the most primal part of your hindbrain. Yet you held your ground, swallowing hard but refusing to be cowed by the maelstrom of dark malice radiating off him in waves.

"Just...let me help you," you managed, struggling to keep your voice steady and implacable. "You're in no condition to-"

"YOUR HELP?!" he thundered, unleashing a torrent of power that slammed into you with bruising force, driving you back several paces. "I don't require a weakling mortal's pathetic overtures!"

A massive clawed hand whipped out, gnarled fingers encircling your slender neck with crushing intensity that immediately stole your breath. Eyes bulging, you scrabbled helplessly at the iron vise of his grip, succeeding only in drawing parallel lines across his sweat-slicked flesh from the ragged ends of your nails.

His mouth twisted into a vicious sneer, eyes glittering with soulless, obsidian fathoms that intimated he would crush the spark of life from your fragile husk without hesitation. "You dare come before me in my domain and lecture me about conditions, girl?"

But you refused to relent, spearing him with a defiant glower even as black spots began dancing across your vision.

"S-Sukuna..." His name emerged as little more than a strained rasp. "I...won't leave...you."

Something indiscernible flickered behind his raging ferocity in that endless moment of stillness. His grip slackened a bare fraction, just enough for you to suck in a ragged gasp of air that seared like fire down your abused windpipe.

Before he could summon the will to renew his merciless onslaught, you pressed forward with quivering hands outstretched, placing them against his heaving chest. He stiffened at the contact, but did not retreat or rebuff your trembling advance.

"Please, Sukuna..." you rasped, meeting his tortured glare with steady imploration. "Let me in...just this once."

His lips peeled back to expose a rictus of fangs in a final, thunderous snarl of primal resistance. But as the seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness, the tension seemed to incrementally drain away, until only a bone-deep weariness remained etched in the harsh planes of his striking features.

With a low, subterranean rumble, the cursed spirit dropped into an ungainly crouch, until at last his proud, indomitable head lay cradled in your waiting palms. His eyelids slitted to mere crescents of lambent crimson as you sank shakily to your knees before him, every remaining shred of resistance crumbling into ash.

"Do as you will, foolish girl," he breathed, his voice little more than a ghostly rasp. "But make it count...for you may not get another chance."

He allowed his eyes to close fully then, the final rampart between his furious cursed pride and the infinitesimal seed of human vulnerability blossoming between you giving way at last. Hands trembling with a thousand warring emotions, you reached out and began tenderly clearing away the cloying streaks of gore and viscera that marred his statuesque features - a silent vigil that would mark the first flickers of a connection both of you had fought so viciously to deny.

The ensuing days after Sukuna's grievous injuries had been tended stretched into an interminable silence so deafening, you could practically feel it weighing upon your very bones. The cursed spirit had retreated into himself like a wounded animal, avoiding your questioning gaze and concerned overtures with an almost frantic single-mindedness.

Where once his imposing presence had been an inescapable constant at your side, now he was utterly absent - a specter that haunted the shadowed fringes of the lair, retreating deeper into the gloom whenever you dared approach. Even the sanctuary of his private chambers had become off-limits, the air around it saturated with a tense, forbidding aura that screamed stay away.

At first, you tried to chalk up his mercurial behavior to simply needing space to recuperate and process the harrowing ordeal he had endured. But as the days bled into weeks without a single word or sidelong glance from your self-appointed jailer, a simmering frustration began corroding the anxious concern you harbored.

This recent stint of avoidance was entirely unprecedented, even for Sukuna's infamously fickle temperament. You found yourself lying awake at night, tossing restlessly as a litany of increasingly agitated thoughts swirled through your mind.

Was he truly so disgusted by whatever vestiges of vulnerability you had glimpsed that day? Had you finally overstepped some unspoken boundary that severed the tenuous connection you had so painstakingly forged?

The flicker of panic that possibility sparked within your chest ultimately propelled you into motion one evening, as the inky shadows began their nightly unfurling across the ancient shrine grounds. Slipping from your modest sleeping quarters, you stalked the familiar warren of tunnels and crumbling chambers with renewed determination blazing in your eyes.

You reached Sukuna's sanctum just as the cursed spirit himself materialized at the entrance, clearly intent on disappearing elsewhere once more before you could catch him. His steps slowed fractionally as his piercing gaze registered your presence, lips immediately peeling back in a menacing snarl of displeasure.

Yet you stood your ground, arms crossed stubbornly over your chest as you leveled him with an unwavering stare. "Not this time."

Sukuna seemed to swell with wrath at your brazen rebuttal, the very air around him growing thick and suffocating with his barely-restrained power. "You dare seek to bar my way, insolent girl?"

Despite the deadly undercurrent to his words, you did not so much as flinch. "I dare demand answers," you shot back, amazed by the sheer bravery - or perhaps foolishness - fueling your own voice. "You can't keep avoiding me forever, Sukuna. And you sure as hell can't abandon this place and leave me wondering."

A dangerous crimson glimmer flickered behind his obsidian eyes at your impertinent challenge. With a speed that caused the air to whip your hair, he closed the distance between you in two ground-devouring strides, his looming silhouette casting you in shadow.

"You presume much, leech," he spat, the old epithet dripping with as much venom as a serpent's fangs. "Were it any other who showed such disrespect, I would tear them asunder without a moment's hesitation." One thick-nailed finger trailed along your jawline, the caress carrying a blatantly threatening weight. "Do you truly wish to test the limits of my dwindling patience?"

But you obstinately refused to be cowed, tilting your chin up in defiant challenge. "Then do it. Tear me apart, if that's what you want." Your voice was soft but unwavering, the naked conviction behind it seeming to momentarily undercut Sukuna's towering menace. "We both know you won't follow through on that threat...I just can't fathom why."

The cursed spirit recoiled almost imperceptibly at that, a muscle twitching in his clenched jaw. For a span of heartbeats, you could practically see the roiling tempest building behind his eyes as he struggled to formulate a response.

Then, it burst forth in a tumultuous torrent, as if some invisible dam had been irreparably breached.

"Because you haunt me, you insufferable blight!" he snarled, thick fingers tightening in your hair until it stung. "For years, you've chipped away at my defenses with your pestilent tenacity, worming your way past every wall I built until I could no longer be rid of you!"

His free hand slammed into the wall beside your head, the stone buckling inward from the sheer force as he loomed over you like a force of nature given mortal shape. "Your existence has become as indispensable to me as breath itself, do you comprehend that?! Every wretched thought, every insipid desire, can no longer be conceived without your infuriating visage lingering at the mind!"

Another blow struck the unforgiving barrier as his onslaught continued unchecked, words belying emotions so violently profound they could scarcely be contained. "Your heartbeat has become a rhythm that my whole wretched self is forced to follow! TO RID MYSELF OF YOU NOW WOULD BE THE SAME AS CARVING OUT MY OWN WRETCHED SOUL!"

His monumental wrath finally crested in that suspended instant, hands clenching into trembling claws at his sides as if he yearned to grab you and simultaneously pull you close or dash you against the nearest immovable surface. You gaped up at him, utterly transfixed and speechless in the face of such a cataclysmic admission.

Sukuna searched your face with a look of abject desperation, as if willing you to give voice to the very understanding that eluded his tormented grasp. When you remained silent, he seemed to crumple slightly, his shoulders drawing inward with a ragged exhalation.

"Well?!" The single, plaintive word scraped from his lips, more broken plea than demand. "Speak, damn you! Put voice to the festering sickness I cannot rid myself of, no matter how I strain against it!"

Slowly, as if in a daze, you shook your head in a woefully inadequate gesture. "Sukuna, I..."

Your voice trailed off as color rapidly bloomed across your cheeks, eyes abruptly skittering away from his intense scrutiny. By the time they drifted back up to settle on his features, a fiery combination of audacity and sheer longing had taken root.

"I want to kiss you right now," you breathed, the words carrying every ounce of yearning thrumming through your thunderous pulse, "...but I can't reach."

As the simple admission hung in the weighted stillness, you watched transfixed as a myriad of fleeting emotions flickered across Sukuna's striking features. Surprise, naked vulnerability, even a glimmer of what could have been confused for shy uncertainty - until at last, his lips curved in the ghost of a sardonic smirk.

A soft huff of breath parted from the cursed spirit's lips - the unmistakable rumble of restrained amusement resonating from his granite-hewn chest. Yet rather than the mocking disdain you had grown accustomed to over the years, this exhalation carried an undercurrent of begrudging fondness...affection, even.

Slowly, with deliberate carefulness, Sukuna sank to his knees before you, allowing his towering stature to diminish until you were virtually eye-to-eye. His penetrating obsidian gaze remained unwavering, pinning you under the weight of its molten scrutiny as he seemed to drink in your every nuanced reaction.

"Is that so, little leech?" His words were little more than a low rumble, stripped of any bite or rancor. "You wish to bestow your affections upon this...undeserving curse?"

You swallowed hard, mustering every shred of bravery humming through your veins as you gave a infinitesimal nod. Sukuna's lips quirked in a fractional smile, one edge hitching up ever-so-slightly in a subtle softening of his perpetually harsh features.

"Very well then, you sweet fool," he murmured, the rumbling baritone of his voice seeming to reverberate straight into your core. "I shall grant you this indulgence...for now."

With that, he shifted infinitesimally closer, until you could feel the heated puffs of his exhalations ghosting across your face...until his rugged silhouette filled your entire field of vision, encompassing and infinite and utterly overwhelming in its proximity.

Pausing there with exquisite restraint, Sukuna searched your features one final time, allowing one last fragile heartbeat of respite before inclining his regal head in a barely perceptible nod.

The faintest of whispers, little more than the suggestion of his warm breath ghosting against your mouth. "Proceed, my leech."

In the days that followed Sukuna's vulnerability laid bare before you, a tectonic shift seemed to reverberate through the very foundations of your peculiar existence together. What had once been an intricate dance of push and pull, antipathy and grudging acceptance, had blossomed into something altogether new...something infinitely more electric and profound.

If you didn't know better, you might have assumed the legendary harbinger of curses had undergone a complete metamorphosis in the wake of that pivotal moment shared between you. Yet even at his most doting - his most outwardly affectionate - the unmistakable kernel of Sukuna's uncompromising intensity remained.

You noticed it most profoundly in the way his obsidian eyes would trail your every movement, never once straying from your form with a sort of palpable weight and hunger that made your pulse thunder. No matter how seemingly mundane your activities - tending your garden, preparing the evening meal over the hearth fire, simply sitting and staring off into the middle distance - his piercing stare was an inescapable tether tying you back to earth.

At first, you tried valiantly to ignore the way his massive presence seemed to loom over you at every turn, casting its hulking silhouette across yours in a manner that was both comforting and faintly discomfiting. But Sukuna was nothing if not relentless...and persistent in his quest to shatter the very foundations of personal space itself.

It began with the brushes of contact that seemed to linger a moment too long at first - the rough pads of his fingers traipsing across the exposed curve of your shoulder in passing, or ghosting along the small of your back as he navigated around your slight frame. Simple, chaste gestures that nonetheless raised the fine hairs along your nape with their loaded promise of so much more.

Then came the blatant encroachments, as if the cursed spirit had grown impatient with even the slightest iota of perceived distance between you. One moment you would be standing before the hearth cooking utensils in hand, gently humming an idle tune under your breath. The next, Sukuna's towering bulk would materialize at your back, chest pressing flush against you as corded arms snaked around your hips to bracket your frame against his.

"Y-your hands are in the way..." you'd stammered the first time, acutely aware of the masculine heat radiating off of him in waves. "I can't cook like this."

The response had been a low, rumbling chuckle vibrating against your back, shortly followed by the unmistakable brush of Sukuna's lips against the sensitive juncture of your neck and shoulder.

"Then don't cook, foolish girl," came the gravelly murmur against your flushed skin. "Not when I've yet to properly satisfy my own...hunger."

From there, his public displays of ravenous affection only escalated. No activity seemed exempt from his roving hands and wandering mouth bestowing their lusty attentions upon you with shameless fervor. He would haul you into his lap with little preamble as you chatted idly, effortlessly trapping you within his brawny thighs as he pressed scorchingly hot kisses along your jawline and the column of your throat.

More than once, you found yourself rendered speechless in the midst of some menial task or another - breath catching as Sukuna simply wrapped himself around your smaller frame from behind, nuzzling the crown of your head while emitting a soft rumble of sheer contentment.

"Your incessant blathering was insufferable before, yet now the silence grates upon my senses," he'd grumble against your hair, flexing his grip around your hips a fraction tighter. "Speak, leech. Let me bask in your existence a while longer."

When night fell and the two of you inevitably gravitated towards the plush embrace of his sleeping pallet, any pretenses went out the window entirely. Sukuna seemed determined to enfold you in his granite-hewn embrace until you were thoroughly and utterly consumed, limbs intertwined as his muscular bulk smothered you beneath its sweltering weight.

"S-Sukuna, I can't breathe!" you'd gasp in mock protest, squirming fruitlessly in the iron bands of all four of his arms as his lips found the feverish pulse beating in the hollow of your throat.

"Breathing is an indulgence, not a necessity at present..." would come the velvet-over-gravel purr against your sweat-dampened skin. "Be still, mine."

You lost track of how many nights you awoke curled atop his chest like a favored pet, buffeted by the rise and fall of his deep, slumbering breaths. But rather than extract yourself, you gradually found your own hand drifting up to trace the sharp, austere contours of the face regarding you through half-lidded eyes - his expression curiously unguarded in those hushed moments before the sun crested the horizon.

"Your fascination bores into my thoughts, even in sleep," he'd rumble, arching one imperious brow while making no move to dislodge you. "Does your insufferable scrutiny never end?"

You would simply shake your head, fingers trailing to the masculine curve of his lower lip as you committed every beloved detail to memory. "No more than your need to keep me close does, it seems."

A huff of sardonic laughter before his arms flexed and crushed you more tightly against his chest, all traces of humor melting away into naked, vulnerable sincerity.

"Too true, leech...too true." His deep timbre would reverberate through your very soul as he brushed a lingering kiss across your brow. "Now sleep...and grant me the mercy of indulging this unforgivable weakness a while longer."

Hushing any reply with the molten brand of his lips upon yours, he would acquiesce to the inevitable pull of slumber with you cradled against him like a talisman...twin souls shielded from the rest of the world's harsh realities if only for a few stolen hours.

The gentle burbling of the river provided a soothing melody as you sank into its welcoming embrace, allowing the tepid waters to lap soothingly against your bare skin. A contented sigh parted your lips as you tilted your head back, basking in the warmth of the midday sun filtering through the canopy overhead.

Yet you couldn't quite shake the unmistakable prickling awareness that something...or someone...was watching you.

Dragging your lashes open, your gaze was immediately arrested by Sukuna's imposing silhouette seated on a nearby boulder at the river's edge. His eyes positively smoldered with naked intensity, drinking in every exposed inch of your damp skin with ravenous hunger.

You felt an instinctive flush creeping up your neck and cheeks under the sheer weight of his molten perusal. Not that his frank ogling came as any surprise - the cursed spirit had made little effort to disguise his desire during the past years. But there was something heavy and electric crackling in the air around him now...something more visceral and carnal thrumming through his coiled muscles as he watched you.

Almost involuntarily, your arms drifted up to attempt shielding your bare curves from his searing gaze, throat tightening minutely. "S-Sukuna...must you stare like that?"

The words emerged in a breathless murmur, your gaze skittering across the sharp planes of his features in a futile attempt to avoid being utterly pinned like a butterfly to wax paper. Yet his eyes remained utterly unmoving, devouring you with dark promise.

"And why should I not?" The low rumble of his voice seemed to reverberate through your very bones, sending delicious little tremors shivering along your nerve endings as if in premonition. "Do you not comprehend how utterly bewitching a vision you present, resting among the water's crystalline touch like some mythical nymph?"

You swallowed hard at the ardent compliment laced through with undisguised yearning. Despite the amorous attentions he had already lavished upon you, Sukuna never failed to set your pulse thundering with even his subtlest invocations of desire.

"If you find me so pleasing to look at..." you ventured, aiming for nonchalance but only succeeding in sounding softly winded, "then perhaps you could indulge me and look away? Just for a little while?"

A pregnant pause stretched between you as he appraised your halting request, that mercurial gleam flickering briefly behind his volcanic stare. Then, a low rumble of sardonic laughter rolled forth as his lips quirked in an amused sneer.

"Look away?" he echoed, tongue curling around the words with relish while his gaze continued its shameless roving. "And forfeit the pleasure of imprinting every inch of your body into my memory? I think not, dearest leech."

Sukuna's hulking frame surged to its feet in one fluid, leonine movement that immediately stole the breath from your lungs. Slowly, he began advancing towards the river's edge with inexorable intent simmering in every ground-devouring stride.

"In truth...gazing upon your exquisite form any longer might jeopardize what fragile restraint still tethers my baser urges," he continued, a low, rumbling growl that made you shiver in spite of the water's warmth. "No...I've indulged in simple voyeurism more than long enough, I think."

You felt your pulse skyrocket as the meaning behind his words penetrated the hazy veil of desire blurring your senses. Sinking deeper into the shallows, you instinctively drew your knees up in a futile attempt at modesty, breath catching in your throat as Sukuna reached the riverbank.

"W-what do you mean?" you stammered, even as a profound certainty took root in the pit of your stomach. You knew exactly what he meant...what he intended. The mere prospect of it sent a molten thrill of equal parts trepidation and exhilaration lancing through your veins.

In lieu of responding with hollow words, the cursed spirit simply appraised you with a look of rapturous, unvarnished need for a suspended breath...before effortlessly discarding the tattered remnants of his clothing and stepping into the shallows with purposeful, silent intent.

You couldn't tear your eyes away if you tried, thoroughly transfixed as he stalked ever closer with all the sublime grace of a panther emerging from the underbrush. Raw power and earthy masculinity radiated from his every flex and ripple of corded muscle, enveloping you in its gravitational pull until he loomed over you like an elemental force contained in mortal flesh.

Sukuna gazed down at you for several suspended heartbeats, something deep and profound lurking in those abyssal depths. Then, with aching slowness, he reached for you - the first caress of his calloused fingertips trailing across your jaw and down the quivering column of your throat with searing reverence.

"I want you..." The confession emerged in a low rasp burred with strain, yet ringing with indelible conviction. "Every exquisite shred of your mind, body and soul wrapped around my own indelibly. To become so thoroughly entangled that not even the boundaries of eternity could serve to separate us..."

With a shuddering gasp, you surged up to meet him, wrapping your arms around the granite expanse of his shoulders and finding his mouth in a searing, needful kiss. He answered with a bestial growl, hands spanning your back to crush you against the scorching brand of his body as the world momentarily ceased to exist beyond your joined exhilaration.

What transpired next in the sylvan seclusion of the forest hollow defied articulation through mere human tongue or pen. A communion of two souls who had danced upon the frayed edges of merciless boundaries for far too long, now diving recklessly, irrevocably into the churning depths of whatever thrice-damned connection bound them.

There was no more hesitation or restraint, only an exquisite ache of yearning met with Sukuna's furious brand of intensity - the push and pull of eternal cosmic forces colliding in a single crystalline vertex as you tangled together amid the water's eternal cadence. His mouth and hands and the raging power contained in his very being cleaved you in two, stoking embers into raging conflagrations that threatened to set the very air alight with each gasping breath and trembling caress.

It was only afterwards, when coherent thought fractured through the haze of bliss cradling your senses, that you became aware of Sukuna gathered you up against his chest with preternatural gentleness. His mouth ghosted across your brow reverently as you nuzzled into the thrum of his pulse, every hitched breath carrying the same aching awe and untempered adoration as before.

There were no words spoken as he carried you from the shallows and back towards the sanctum of his domain, only the weight of a connection irrevocably and infinitely forged fresh upon your souls.

The following weeks dissolved into a fevered haze of tangled limbs and breathless intimacy. Sukuna kept you sequestered in the shadowed sanctum of his chambers, allowing scarcely a moment's reprieve before his smoldering gaze and calloused touches stoked your shared passion anew.

With a low, rumbling growl, he would surge over you, pinning your pliant form beneath the scorching brand of his granite-hewn bulk. His large palms mapped every dip and swell of your curves, calloused fingertips tracing paths of searing devotion across your feverish skin until you arched shamelessly into his sensual ministrations.

Sukuna worshipped you with an intensity that bordered on primal obsession. His mouth branded scorching kisses along the elegant column of your throat, teeth grazing that sensitive juncture where your pulse fluttered erratically under his merciless onslaught. You lost yourself to the exquisite duality of pain and pleasure, body thrumming with unbridled ecstasy as he sheathed himself inside your welcoming heat over and over until the world shattered apart.

In the blissful afterglow, he would cradle you against his chest, reverent fingers trailing idle patterns through your disheveled tresses as you drifted in sublime, satiated languor. "Rest now, my precious leech," he would murmur gruffly. "You'll need your strength...for I've only just begun to lay claim to what's mine."

True to his velvet promise, the cursed spirit allowed no quarter for respite, driving you both to sublime precipices with relentless fervor night after night.

Until one particular dawn found you rousing from a restorative slumber, only to find Sukuna looming over you - his harsh features limned in soft pearl light, eyes burning with an indecipherable intensity. Before you could question his strange mood, he silenced you with a calloused fingertip, leaning in to trail the other hand down the taut plane of your abdomen in a shockingly tender caress.

Then, to your utter bewilderment, Sukuna dipped his proud head and pressed his brow against that same spot with an infinitesimal tremor racing through his powerful frame. He remained frozen like that for several weighted beats before rearing back, utterly transfixed.

"You are with child," he rasped in a low rumble of awe, obsidian eyes roving your body with naked reverence. "My child."

One hand extended as if to caress your abdomen once more, only to still just before making contact - as if restraining himself from laying claim to something inviolably sacred. When his molten gaze crashed back to yours, it burned with the intensity of a thousand suns, every facet of the indomitable spirit laid bare.

"Did you not comprehend what you agreed to when you forever bound yourself to me, foolish girl?"

Utterly transfixed, you could only shake your head in a dazed stupor as Sukuna's granite-hewn form descended over yours once more, fitting your bodies together with devastating precision as if sealing an unspoken cosmic covenant.

"Then allow me to show you..." he growled against the swell of your parted lips, voice shredded with rapture and ardent possession as he sealed your joined fates with another searing embrace.

As the weeks melted into months and your pregnancy blossomed, Sukuna's already ardent doting intensified tenfold into something borderline primal. The cursed spirit remained an inextricable bulwark at your side, allowing scarcely a moment's separation between you as your condition advanced.

His touches, once ravenous and claiming, now carried an undercurrent of exquisite tenderness and devotion. Whenever possible, one of his large, calloused palms would splay across the burgeoning swell of your abdomen in a silent reassurance of his vigil. You lost count of how many times you awoke cradled against the scorching brand of his bare chest, with Sukuna's obsidian gaze riveted to your midsection - as if he could will their unborn child into manifesting through the sheer weight of his intensity.

Often, he would lie utterly motionless beside you for what felt like eons, fingers lightly tracing the taut curve of your belly in contemplative reverie. Then, as if beckoned by some unseen summons, he would stiffen almost imperceptibly before a look of naked awe blossomed across his austere features.

"There..." he'd murmur, voice little more than a rasping whisper thick with emotion as his palm flattened firmly against your abdomen. "Feel that, leech? Our offspring moves with prodigious vigor..."

You would laugh softly in breathless delight at the sensation of minute flutters blossoming into unmistakable kicks against his steadying hand, always in awe of Sukuna's inexplicable ability to anticipate them. Amusement would sparkle in the inky depths of your shared gaze whenever he harrumphed indignantly at your mirth, a hint of that old familiar imperiousness writ across his chiseled features.

"Mock me if you wish," he'd growl, leaning in to nuzzle the fragrant hollow beneath your ear. "But you'll not deter me, even for a moment. This life you bear will want for nothing while its father keeps watch..."

Then the hot brand of his mouth would slant over yours in a ferociously devouring kiss, his free hand roving relentlessly across your sensitized curves with scorching intent. You surrendered to his inflamed ardor completely, shamelessly reveling in the molten frissons of desire Sukuna so effortlessly incited in you even well into your third trimester.

" Insatiable..." you'd gasp between fevered caresses, squirming futilely against the granite cradle of his pelvis undulating against yours. "The child's practically done cooking and you still can't keep your hands off me..."

An iniquitous smirk would curve his lips in answer as his mouth trailed liquid heat along the taut column of your throat. "And whose fault is that, precious leech? You taunt me with every look, each intake of breath that gently swells your form... How could I resist feasting upon such utter temptation while I still can?"

This interlude would inevitably lead to another protracted joining, all the more impassioned due to the constraints necessitated by your condition. Yet Sukuna appeared undeterred - energized - by the challenges inherent in worshipping your burgeoning shape. No position or angle seemed too unorthodox to accommodate, so long as he could indulge in every newly hypersensitized inch of satin skin left panting and flushed in the smoldering wake of his lavish attentions.

And when, at long last, even your seemingly boundless ardor reached its peak and left you limp and thoroughly sated, he would huff a self-satisfied growl against your temple. His palms would caress the gentle swell with a tenderness that never failed to steal your breath anew as you reveled in the tranquility of the aftermath.

"Sleep, mine..." he'd rumble, the inflection soft yet weighted with immutable possession. "I shall revel in our offspring's vigor until I fall asleep as well..."

So you would slip into blissful oblivion cradled securely against Sukuna's granite contours, lulled by the measured pounding of his heartbeat and the reassuring glide of his fingertips tracing idle sigils against your abdomen. Safe in the knowledge that while your world had irrevocably shifted and expanded to encompass this extraordinary metamorphosis, his unwavering guardianship remained the inviolable anchor grounding your joined existence.

Even before the child took its first breath, Sukuna had dedicated every fiber of his towering, unearthly being to ensuring neither you nor his young would ever know a moment's doubt...a single tremulous heartbeat beyond the sheltering, infinite orbit of his devotion.

Sukuna's jaw was set in a taut line as he prepared to depart, the muscle ticking visibly beneath his chiseled features. His obsidian eyes burned with an intensity that could incinerate souls as he raked his smoldering gaze over your form.

"I will return before the moon sets," he growled, the words laced with an undercurrent of vehement reluctance. "But you are not to exert yourself or wander far, leech. This separation tries my restraint enough as it is."

Sensing the turmoil simmering beneath his imposing veneer, you offered a placating smile and reached up to trace the harsh contours of his face. "I'll be fine, my love. The little one and I will explore the garden for some fresh air, nothing more."

Sukuna's eyes slitted dangerously at your flippant reassurance, but he made no further rebuke. With a disdainful snort, he turned on his heel and stalked away, disappearing into the shadowed tree line like a wrathful specter consigned to some undesirable errand.

Shaking your head fondly at his overprotectiveness, you set off towards the burgeoning garden sanctuary at an unhurried pace, drinking in the vibrant scenery and allowing the tranquility to soothe your restlessness.

You never saw the vile, twisted figure slithering through the underbrush until it was too late. An aura of pure malevolence radiated from its very presence, freezing you in place like a rabbit in a snake's thrall. Those haunting words like rusted nails on a headstone would be the last thing you processed before the darkness claimed you:

"Well, well...what a delightful prize you'll make..."

The air was fragrantly alive with the perfume of fresh fruit as Sukuna materialized at the entrance of his sanctum, arms laden with an assortment of your latest cravings. His strides slowed fractionally as the silence stretched on without your usual cheerful greeting, the furrow between his brows deepening incrementally.

"Leech?" he called out gruffly, piercing gaze sweeping their domain with mounting unease. Where was the insufferable chatterbox? Ordinarily she would have come scampering at the mere hint of his return, practically levitating with excitement over whatever frivolous indulgences he'd procured.

That's when he caught the faintest undercurrent of a malign presence tainting the air - a profane blight that caused the hairs along his nape to bristle with instinctive aggression. Sukuna rounded the corner with the swift lethality of a panther, only to freeze as his eyes landed upon a grotesque, hunched figure blocking his path.

"Meddlesome vermin," he snarled, drawing himself up to his full towering height as unholy power thrummed beneath his very skin. "Where is the girl?"

The man let out a gurgling, wet chuckle that grated like rusty blades before gesturing carelessly towards the shadows behind it. "Oh she's around here somewhere...what's left of her anyway."

White-hot rage detonated through Sukuna's being like a shockwave, barely allowing the malformed words to register before he lashed out with catastrophic force. One second the creature stood leering with repugnant confidence...and the next its entire vile essence had been utterly erased from existence without so much as a parting scream to mark its demise.

As the residual ozone of his onslaught simmered into eerie quiet once more, only one thought pounded through Sukuna's skull with inescapable dread. With each frantic bellow of your name that echoed unanswered through the labyrinthine corridors, the knot of trepidation within him twisted ever tighter until it threatened to splinter his ribs from the inside out.

When at last his frenzied search reached the fringes of the garden, there you lay mere feet from the treeline - a crumpled, motionless silhouette wreathed in rapidly congealing crimson that very nearly brought the indomitable Sukuna to his knees.

He crossed the space in two lurching strides, sinking to the loamy earth beside your broken form as gently as his shaking hands would allow. Calloused fingertips ghosted across the pale curve of your cheek, the warmth so recently alight there already seeping away into the abyss of oblivion far too soon.

With excruciating care, Sukuna cradled you against his chest, willing his desperate touches to somehow reignite the brilliant spark of your radiant existence. Yet as his palm came to rest upon the swell that housed the fragile blossom of new life you had both sworn fealty to beyond the constraints of eternity itself...he felt nothing.

No tremulous flutter of vitality, no rhythm of a miniature heartbeat destined to become his entire world. Just...emptiness. A void that stole the very breath from his lungs and seared his eyes with an unforgivable ache he didn't dare put a name to.

In that moment, the indomitable force of nature that was Sukuna could do nothing but draw your lifeless body flush against his own. His lips brushed your cooling brow with a tenderness too profound for words as his piercing gaze glassed over, staring sightlessly into the endless oblivion your light had fled.

No roars of anguish rent the air. No seismic upheaval of his cosmic maleficence rocked the foundations in inconsolable devastation. Only the scouring blanket of silence and stillness fell...engulfing the once indomitable Sukuna in a void more vast and eternal than any eternity he'd ever known.

The hushed stillness that blanketed the clearing felt utterly suffocating, a death knell smothering every infinitesimal particle until reality itself seemed to grind to a halt. Sukuna remained frozen, trapped in the hollowed vacuum of this calamity as he cradled your lifeless form with a tenderness that defied every facet of his fearsome, primordial nature.

For once, there were no words - no gravel-toned rumbles of reassurance or the faintest flickers of consolation that you would stir and blink up at him with that radiant warmth he had grown terribly, irrevocably addicted to. Just the silence...and the fading whisper of your breath mingling with his own before fading away entirely.

"Breathe, damn you..." The ragged plea emerged as little more than a fractured rasp as his hand drifted up to cradle the back of your skull, thumbs brushing featherlight against your marbled cheeks. "Fight against me as you always do when I overstep, leech. Unleash that stubborn, foolish spark upon me once more..."

But you remained achingly, horrifically still - a fragile husk where the vivacious spirit who had bound your fates together once blazed with unfettered vitality. Sukuna's throat worked convulsively, lips shaping a benediction he could no longer bear to speak aloud, lest it seal your oblivion in inevitable truth.

So instead he lost himself in the reverie of recollection, frantically revisiting every infinitesimal moment and indelible impression seared into the cosmos of his being. From that fateful eve in the forest when you'd first foolishly bound yourself to his existential path...to the shared agonies and hard-won intimacies and sacred vows that had incrementally chipped away at his callous exterior until the most unshakable bastion lay irrevocably breached.

Yours had been the beating heart that carried his own bestial cadence in tandem, an orbit of incandescent radiance to which he remained hopelessly, inescapably tethered. And with that searing spark of your effervescence now extinguished, the darkness of his eternal existence stretched on in a hollow, suffocating void he could scarcely fathom enduring.

Trembling fingers tangled in your lank tresses, smoothing the silken strands away from your features in one last, tender caress. Sukuna pressed his brow to yours, allowing the achingly finite essence that had once reverberated between your entwined spirits to soak into his marrow one ultimate time.

"I am…undone, precious leech..." he whispered, every timber of his deep voice sheared to anguished splinters against the weight of this ineffable parting. "I am erased...unmade...what force could keep my tormented soul anchored to life without you as its guiding light?"

He drew a rasping breath, memorizing the flutter of your lashes against his cheek and the softness of your brow furrowed ever so slightly - just as he had that first, fateful evening you bound yourself to his dark orbit. Then Sukuna's lips found yours in one final, searing brand...the farewell benediction and aching vow that an eternity would never suffice to articulate.

As his burning touch lingered there fractionally longer than any mortal lifespan, the cursed spirit felt something ancient and primal splinter deep within his celestial essence. The uncaring cosmos itself seemed to crack and wheeze in protest as he sliced through its indifferent veil, severing every tether that lashed his malign power and eternal vitality to its perpetual cycle.

Uncaring of the fallout, Sukuna simply clung to your slackened frame, allowing the irrevocable oblivion of his fading existence to blanket you both in its infinite solace. If he strained mortal perception, he could almost glimpse the fractured glimmers flickering at the periphery - the first vestiges of that spark he'd once sworn to follow like an insipid moth into its searing, soul-cleansing embrace.

Of oblivion's sweet, eternal reunion with the only light he'd ever known...the final tether securing his wretched existence to all of creation's truths irrevocably severed at last.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x reader fluff #sukuna fluff #sukuna smut #jjk sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader smut

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faithums · 8 months

Text

…cuddling with the jjk men ·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳

✎ synopsis: what positions do the jjk men cuddle in (+ my interpretations)

Inclu. gojo, nanami, megumi, choso, yuji, toji, geto

╰┈➤ gojo satoru

spontaneous embraces are his go to, you never know what he is going to say or do next. but he is always found in the classic spooning position. god knows what he would do without it.

As you lay comfortably in bed, the feeling of warmth of the blankets enveloped you, you sense Gojo’s presence drawing near, his captivating aura filling the room with a heavy tension as he stepped gently toward you. His touch is feather-light as he wraps his toned arms around you from behind, pulling you tight- leaving no room for air- into a soothing embrace.

You arch your back slightly, pressing into his torso and lower back, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His warmth seeps into your skin, creating a sense of security and tranquility. His breath against the nape of your neck sends shivers down your spine as he cupped the flesh of your thighs.

You intertwine your fingers with his, relishing in the simple yet profound connection between the two of you. In this moment there are no words required between the two of you; just silent understanding and subtle affection. It’s a moment of solace, where the world starts to fade away, along with the stress of it all- leaving only the comforting embrace of his presence.

You let out a sigh, a sigh to inform yourself how you can finally relax, knowing he is safe with you and, mostly, how you’re safe with him. He slowly begins to caress your hips, placing his chin into the slopes of your clavicle. You love him silently back by placing your hand atop of his (which is comically large on comparison) and tenderly trace the redness of his knuckles.

The silence as comforting, but all of a sudden this loud, jarring voice creeps up behind you, tainting your hearing: “If I slipped it in would it ruin the mood?” When Gojo tries to initiate anything sexual it all goes south hilariously.

A small wheeze left your lips: “Oh my god. Saturo, you’re unbelievable.” You love him and his stupid little comments, but sometimes this man cannot read the room.

“That’s not a no is it, love.” you could feel him smirk into the back of your neck, his hot breath making you fluster and choke on your words…

╰┈➤ kento nanami

a simple man, into the old time classics. like spooning or having your head on his lap whilst you two discussed the affairs of the fun filled days you’ve had. (p.s. this man is always the big spoon)

In the soft twilight glow, your head finds a gentle perch upon Nanami’s lap, a sanctuary of comfort admits the chaos of this curse ridden world. His relaxing presence blankets you like a protective cloak, shielding you from the tumultuous winds of life’s uncertainties.

As your fingers intertwine with his, it’s as though tune itself acquiesces, allowing this moment of intimacy to stretch into eternity (if only it could…). His touch, like the tender brush of a feather against your skin- despite his notorious ruthless nature- ignites a symphony of sensations that resonate deep with your soul.

With each stroke through your hair, Kento weaves threads of serenity and devotion, his fingers becoming the artisans of ataraxia in this shared sacred space. His heartbeat, a steady rhythm beneath your ear, acts as a comforting lullaby, guiding you into a state of peaceful surrender.

In this intimate cocoon, you’re both the architects and inhabitants of a world where love reigns supreme (despite the havoc which enfolds within your lives on a daily basis). Every whispered word, every gentle touch, is a testament to the profound bond that binds your sensitive hearts together, transcending the boundaries of time and space.

As you rest flush against his lap, enveloped in his warmth, you realise that this moment is not just a pause in time but a glimpse into your boundless futures- a testament to the enduring power of love to transform even the simplest of gestures into moments of sublime perfection.

“I love you Kento,” sleep configured your words to him, spilling your feelings to him for the millionth time, he must be getting fed up of it by now…

But no. He never does: “And I shall love and worship you for eternity, my darling.”

╰┈➤ megumi fushiguro

an affectionate lover when he needs to be. basking in the warmth of your embrace, relishing the moment, as he knows that this can’t last a life time, even though he wishes it could.

As the morning sun filters through the pristine curtains, it’s golden rays dance across the bare skin of you and Megumi, painting the room in a warm, honeyed glow. The gentle caress of sunlight kisses your intertwined forms; illuminating the delicate lines of your entangled limbs. His veiny, toned forearms (stained with an aureate hue) are meticulously wrapped around the flesh of your stomach, as his head rests flush against your chest.

Megumi’s strong, lanky hold you in a wholesome embrace as you cuddle together, radiating a sense of security and amenity. With each gentle touch, his fingers trace soothing patterns on your skin, a silent promise of protection and warmth. The contrast between the rough texture of his palms and the softness of your touch creates a sensation that feels both grounding and intimate, a tangible reminder of the bond you share.

You begin to play with your cute boyfriends fluffy, unruly black hair, eliciting a soft subtle groan of contentment from him, a sense of relaxation and desire washes over you both. Each onyx strand seems to have a mind of its own, curling around your fingers in a hypnotising dance. His groan carries a mixture of pleasure and relief, a testament to the blissful moment you share. With each gentle tug and caress, the tension of the outside world fades away, you become suddenly grateful of the serendipitous acts you both indulge in.

Megumi’s breath quickens, you feel the subtle shift in rhythm between your breathing patterns. The desynchronisation of the beats of your hearts made you less relaxed, the residue stress began to creep back over you.

“Can you match my breathing you’re stressing me out Fushiguro.” You whined, your voice strained with sleep.

“Mno.” He replied with a yawn which rippled against your warm chest, “its too much effort.”

“If you don’t I’ll send screenshots of our text messages to the group chat with Itadori, Kugisaki and Gojo in.” You chuckled to yourself through the ebony wisps of his hair.

“Okay. Fine.”

Even though he was getting sassier day-by-day, the hot smile on your skin was indicative of the inevitable submission of his heart beat would return to its original pace. Slowly transcending reality and entering a realm of bliss and freedom from the things that taint your very existence.

╰┈➤ choso kamo

someone who gets aroused by the little things in life, by cuddling. he’s too sweet, he doesn’t want to disrupt your rest. so he attempts at staying as still as he can before it goes noticed…

In the serene haven of your shared space, the soft glow of dimmed lights bathed the room, casting gentle shadows that danced across the walls. As you and Choso recline on the cosy refuge of the velvety couch, your legs intertwined seamlessly- fitting together leg the final pieces to a ridiculously hard puzzle.

Your fingers seemed to have a subconscious and moved independently to delicately trace the strong, defined contoured of his face, mapping out the creases from where he’s recently laughed uncontrollably. His eyes, riddled with sleep, were trying their hardest to withstand the effects of slumber. His brown pools meet yours with a silent unwavering support. With each small caress you feel the rough texture of his skin beneath your fingertips- earning a soft groan from each touch. A tangible reminder of how much you adore each other.

His hair spills over his shoulders and down his broad back, it carries an air of untamed elegance, undeterred by his busy life. He cups your cheek, whispering sweet nothing into your ear about how have you permanently altered his life for the better.

As you lifelessly wrap your arms around him, you feel that the world you seem to reside in fades away, leaving only the two of you cocooned in an embrace that feels like coming home. His strong yet gentle arms encircle you, pulling you close so your bodies touch. Flush against his toned chest, you felt small beneath him, vulnerable- in a good way, your hands traced his collarbones, counting the beauty marks on his sternum, which made his own unique constellation.

As you held him close you noticed that he began to subtly shift in his demeanour. He seemed to become tense which is odd as his posture is usually composed, and you can feel the faint tremble of his muscles beneath your touch. His breath, once steady and calm, now comes in irregular busts, betraying the carnality brewing within him.

“Choso. Can you not be hard for once,” you laughed into the crook of his neck. Inhaling his scent, a blend of earthy musk and the faintest hint of spice.

“Sorry Baby,” he whined into your hair, ruffling it with his large hand, “can’t help it… you’re too perfect.” he squeezed the flesh of your ass in response. And smiled knowing he’s safe from judgement in your loving arms, despite the current predicament…

╰┈➤ yuji itadori

this man expects hugs etc of how he is with his personality, he gives 150% each day, and alls he wants in return is to cuddle. but when he shares an embrace with you it isn’t long until he’s fast. asleep.

Your head is slung over his chest, arms wrapped tightly around his torso, scared he will let go. (Even though he would probably be thinking the same.) His pink hair, appears dark in the nights shine, with each rise and fall of his chest- his dreams catch up with him slowly but surely, a blanket of sleep falling and catching him.

The dust particles danced in the air as the moons iridescent rays highlighted them, you watched half lidded as they began their journey to perilously fall to the ground and be trapped forever. It was an interesting thought, but a thought at least.

Your leg was thrown over his, it had become limp as that too had been affected by the night, casting a paralysing spell upon you. You adjust yourself with a contented sigh, moving the leg, seeking even closer contact.

Yuji stirs slightly at the movement, but he doesn’t wake, instead, he instinctively pulls you closer, his arm encasing you protectively. His presence is comforting, and you revel in the feeling of safety and leave that being with him ultimately brings.

Wrapped in each other’s embrace, you drift off into a peaceful sleep, content in the knowledge that you are exactly where you belong- in Yuji’s arms.

It was peaceful, too peaceful. A bird cawed from afar, sending its voice ricocheting toward the open window above us. In response to this, Yuji inevitably flung himself forward, propelling you off his chest dramatically, his fight or flight activated.

“OW.” You shouted at him with a whisper, “Yuji what was that for!”

“Swear that was a curse…” He protested, a small blush creeping its way along his face, to catch him red handed for being too precautious.

“If that was a curse then I’m next in line to the throne of England.” You dismissed jokingly, and pulled him back onto the mattress, attempting to submit to sleep once more.

“It’s not my fault I’m a cautious sleeper! It was ever since that day-,” he rolled his eyes.

“Oh yeah that was hilarious. When Nobara drew that penis on your face with permanent marker. Comedy gold.” You recited from memory with a laugh; for him to quickly ‘shush’ you as he says that can’t be disclosed out loud; because he thinks Sukuna will listen and take the piss out of him in-front of people in a future job interview or something. (Very unrealistic, but that’s Yuji.)

╰┈➤ toji fushiguro

he wants you to be on him, it’s rarely that he wants it the other way around, he enjoys watching your feeble attempt to climb on-top of him- thinks he’s funny. when he’s just a dick.

You were straddled across his lap, laying on his chest, enjoying the warmth emanating from his body as you cuddled together on the couch. The soft glow of the lamp nearby cast a gentle ambiance, enveloping the two of you in an adequate, snug atmosphere.

Toji’s arms (which were of ridiculous size by the way) were holding you tight, keeping you close as if he never wanted to let go. His fingers traced idle patterns down your bare back, sending shivers down your spine in the most delightful way. With your head rest of against his chest, you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a comforting lullaby that eased any worries from your mind.

Lost in the tranquility of the moment, you closed your eyes, savouring the feeling of being so close to him. But just as you were about to drift off into a euphoric slumber, you felt a slight shift beneath you.

Opening your eyes slightly, you saw Toji’s gaze fixated on something on the floor. Following his like of sight, you noticed a glimmer of metal- a coin (with the value of approximately £2) lying forgotten on the carpet.

Confusion flickered across Toji’s face for a moment, before he awkwardly adjusted his position, subtly manoeuvring his foot to nudge the coin closer toward him. It was a comical sight to say the least- the epitome of Toji’s resourcefulness even on the most intimate of moments.

Suppressing a laugh, you watched as he pitifully/finally managed to retrieve it (after what felt like hours of him kicking it further away for him then to scoot more off the couch, and for you to almost fall off it), his expression was a mixture of triumph and amusement.

“Did you just do all of that to end up with…,” you began, trying to stifle your laughter.

“Took me a second there. But moneys money babe. Gotta get it whilst ya’ can.” Toji replied with a grin, the small scar on his lips curling along with his mouth, he held the coin up to the light attractively, as if he’d won the biggest prize at a fair ground.

“I guess every little bit counts, huh old man?” You chuckled, shaking your head in amusement and denial with the fact a grown man spent 10 minutes kicking a coin around with his foot.

“Atta girl,” he said, pocketing the coin with a shrug. “Cant let em’ go to waist ey’,” he declared with a smirk into your hair.

“Guess not,” you sighed into his chest, and he turned his attention back toward you, surrounding you with his arms once more. And despite the brief interruption, you couldn’t help but feel even more enamoured with him, finding his attractiveness in the simplicity of your shared moments- coin and all.

╰┈➤ suguru geto

this may be out of character but i can just imagine geto enjoying the simplicity of a back to back cuddle. he knows you’re there and safe with him- that’s all he asks for. however on some occasions he will completely smother you.

You and Suguru lounged on the bed, with each others backs plush against one another, the feeling of his toned back against yours made you shiver. Suguru enjoyed the simplicity of being together, not much had to happen for him to fall in love with you again as of it was the first time.

Suguru let out a contented sigh, but then a mischievous glint danced in his eyes. “‘member when Gojo tried to make pancakes?”

You burst into laughter at the memory, “How could I forget that shitshow!”

Suguru chuckled, his laughter seeping through his body, making it clear to you as his back vibrated onto yours. “He was so confident, bragging about his secret recipe like an entitled child.”

“And then he proceeded to mix up salt and sugar,” you added, shaking your head. “Poor Itadori was choking for a solid minute, on those stupid pancakes- I’ll still argue to him that they looked like boobs, with how he deliberately placed those blueberries…”

Suguru laughed heartily, moving his arm back so he could knead the plush of your inner thigh, it earned a little squeal from yourself. “And don’t forget the time when he attempted to bake a cake for Nanami’s birthday…”

“The fact that goon forgot the flour. And how he put 100 candles on the cake- I swear Nanami was about to kill him.” You exclaimed, doubling with the giddy feeling, “at the end, the cake was a dense, sugary brick.”

Suguru smiled contently, thinking about the memories which brought him joy as he drew small patterns into your thighs, up-to to your ass. “Not as dense as him.”

Just then, you felt Suguru’s grip tighten around you, his laughter subsiding. “You know you mean the world to me.” He stated. “Life with you is what makes living in this unsanitary shithole so enjoyable.”

ੈ✩‧₊˚

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colonelarr0w · 6 months

Text

Just thinking about tracing Suguru's scar.

Word Count - 0.9k

A/N - I dedicate this piece to the Anon that flooded my inbox with 30+ messages telling me how it was canon that Gojo didn't have any scars.

Read the Gojo version here!

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

GETO never let you see his scars after he received them — suddenly he was covering himself up with thick sweaters and baggy clothes. You noticed … you always noticed.

But you said nothing, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to something that he was very clearly adamant on keeping hidden.

One night, however, your curiosity got the better of you. You didn’t mean to pry as much as you did, but you desperately wanted Geto to know that you weren’t going to suddenly start looking at him differently because of some raised skin — you wanted him to be comfortable around you.

You wanted things to be like they were before.

He was different. You could see it as clear as day.

His hugs didn’t last as long as they once did, instead of bear hugs that he wouldn’t pull away from unless you did first, you received a half-assed sideways squeeze.

It felt like he didn’t want to be touching you in fear of contaminating you, like you would catch some otherworldly disease that didn’t yet have a cure. It hurt you – it stung in a way that nothing else could compare to.

When you sat on the couch beside him, he would scoot a few inches away from you.

When you laid down to take a nap beside him, he’d offer you only his pinky and nothing else.

When you went to embrace him, his body would angle itself so that his shoulder rested against your chest.

“Suguru?” you whisper to him under the cloak that night provided, turning to face him properly. He mimics you, rolling onto his side and propping himself up with the use of his elbow, palm resting against the side of his face.

“Hmm?” he hums in response, eyes studying your expression. His face pinches in slight concern at your narrowed eyes and furrowed brows — something was very clearly upsetting you.

“Are we okay?”

He pauses, staring quizzically at you as if you had somehow sprouted another head. His free hand extends, finger rubbing affectionately against your cheek.

“Course we are. Why do you ask?” he murmurs, breath catching in his throat as you push yourself to sit up. Your legs cross, one ankle over the other while you maintain eye contact with Geto.

Your mind reminds you of what he had been doing; the behaviors that he had been displaying. What wasn’t he telling you?

You swallow the growing lump in your throat, not wanting to accidentally make a big deal out of something that could otherwise be nothing.

“What are you hiding from me?” you whisper, already feeling tears build on your waterline at Geto’s shocked (and worried) expression. He looked so conflicted, so unsure that it made your heart crack.

And even though he wants to believe that he has no idea what you’re referencing … he does.

He looks away from you, and even though it’s only for a moment, it only makes your heart sink deeper into your stomach. “It’s—“

“Please don’t sit there and tell me it’s nothing,” you practically beg, voice cracking. Geto lets out a small sigh through his nose, adjusting himself so that he sits in front of you.

“(Y/N)—“ he begins, but the way that you shake your head at him only makes him feel guilty, “—are you sure?”

Your silence tells him everything that he needs to know.

Slowly, and albeit very hesitantly, Geto lifts his shirt, revealing an ‘X’ shaped scar on his chest. Your breath hitches at the sight of it, the sound making Geto flinch.

He tosses the shirt aside with a barely audible plop, not daring to make eye contact with you in fear of what expression you wore. So instead of glancing at you, Geto forces his eyes shut.

They shoot right back open at the feeling of your fingers lightly tracing his chest.

Shocked, his eyes flicker up to watch you. Your eyebrows are slightly pinched together, a worried indent to your forehead as your nails slowly move over the raised skin.

You don’t say anything to him, not that you really need to. You knew that this — this gentle touch — was what Geto needed. He didn’t need half-assed reassurances that carried no weight.

No, what he needed to know was that you were here, right with him, at his side — you weren’t going anywhere.

Your finger reaches the end of where his scar slightly raises his skin. You shift forward, laying your palm against the center of the ‘X’, feeling Geto’s heart thumping against your fingers.

He says nothing. You say nothing.

Your eyes flicker up to meet his own. He returns your softened glance.

“You’re so handsome Sugu … you know that, right?” you whisper tenderly, finally breaking the silence. The sigh he lets out in response is shaky, tear-filled.

Before Geto has the chance to shake his head, your lips are on his scar, the softness of you contrasting greatly with the roughness of his skin.

You glance back up at him, letting out a shocked squeak as he tugs you into his arms. Your head tucks into the crook of his neck, arms winding around his midsection.

His breath shudders as his nose tucks into your hair. “Thank you.”

You smile against him, turning your head and laying a chaste kiss against the skin of his throat. Your arms momentarily tighten around him, eyes closing in content.

“I love you.”

“I love you too angel … thank you.”

#colonelarr0w #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #geto x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru x reader #geto fanfiction #suguru geto fanfiction #geto fluff #suguru geto x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader fluff

845 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 15 days

Note

CONGRATS! could i do apple pie, with the prompt “daisies growing from between pavement slabs” with steve? :)

Of course you can lovely <3

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 471 words

You trace the outline of some child’s chalk drawing with your finger, making the tip turn a light blue. You and Steve always end up here, sitting on the curb outside of one of your homes. Neither of you want to go home, but you also don’t want to go inside and have to face parents or roommates or whoever else might be there.

“I don’t know,” Steve is saying. “Wasn’t the wolf kind of shitty, though? I don’t remember them being in love.”

“That’s a good point,” you concede. You’d suggested that you two be red riding hood and the big bad wolf for Halloween, but truthfully you only wanted to wear a red cloak. “What about beauty and the beast?”

“Okay.” Your boyfriend lets his head loll sideways, giving you a look. “Now it seems like you just want me to have to put on a bunch of fake wolfy hair.”

You shrug, grinning down at the pavement. “It wouldn’t all be fake. You’ve got a solid start with your chest already.”

“Hey.” Steve works an arm around your neck, pulling you closer. “That is just for you, okay? I don’t need you showing me off all around town; I’m more than just your arm candy.”

“That’s another idea,” you say, laughing when he mushes his nose against the side of your face. “I could dress up as a businessman, and you could be my trophy wife.”

Steve’s amused exhale skitters down your neck. You shiver.

“What about,” he says after a minute, “the princess and that rebel guy? From the Breakfast Club.”

You frown. “Were they really in love either?”

“I think by the end they were supposed to be.”

“I don’t know, it seemed weird to me.”

Steve clicks his tongue. He’s pulling up daisies from the cracks in the pavement absentmindedly, but suddenly his eyes seem to focus in on them.

“What about John Lennon and Yoko Ono? You could wear flowers in your hair.”

“Did Yoko Ono wear flowers in her hair?” you question. Steve shrugs like he’s not sure and he doesn’t care, lifting a daisy to push it in above your ear. “Also, I’m not sure wearing white to Halloween parties is a good idea. It’s like begging to get something spilled on you.”

“But you look so pretty with flowers in your hair,” he coaxes, and his voice is teasing but his brown eyes are warm and sincere. “I think we should do it.”

You hum, leaning closer to kiss him. His hand slips down your hair to cup the side of your neck. “You just want to be done deciding,” you say.

“Yeah, well, sue me. But you do look pretty like this. You’ll look pretty in anything.”

“Keep sweet-talking me like that, Harrington, and you might just get your way.”

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alllgator-blood · 5 months

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I have ten billion WIP sketches I need to finish, but for some reason I stayed up from 9 PM to 4 AM conceptualizing, making patterns, sewing, painting and applying makeup on this stupid fucking felt squid......the detailing needs to be cleaned up cause there's only one coat of paint so far, but he's pretty much done

my neighbors probably think I'm insane because I was running around the yard clenching this toy kallamar in a death grip and flying him around like an airplane/putting him in the barbecue/poking him with a stick. I want to tie him to a string and recreate the opening of napoleon dynamite >:) ALSO I MADE HIM SMOKE OUT OF A STUPID CRYSTAL PIPE BUT PLEASE DON'T ACTUALLY USE THOSE, THEY ARE SUPER TOXIC LMAO MINE IS FOR DECORATION

I don't have any process pics because I had tunnel vision autism style and forgot the rest of the universe existed while I was working on him. BUT if you're curious I'll ramble below the cut

Okay I am not a seamstress by any means. I've sewn my entire life but very, very infrequently. I've done plushies, clothes, cosplays, fursuits, accessories, etc. but I only do one like once a year, so while I planned to make all 5 bishops, I'm not really sure I'll get them all done. The material cost was like 20 bucks tops so I'm not too upset if I don't finish them. I AT LEAST WANT TO GET SHAMURA OR HEKET DONE.

here is the concept sketch ft. heket's toes and shamura's fingers. I decided to do his pre-schism version so I could fit him with jewelry! I did him first because like I said I sew infrequently and don't know wtf I'm doing, everyone else seemed a lot more complicated.

So I basically just traced this drawing on a printer paper-sized canvas in SAI, and guesstimated how everything would look in a 3D space. His head is four pieces, one triangle identical to the one in the picture, two wide triangles that are sewn together in the back, and a circle for his chin. You can't really see it in any of the pics but he's literally like a black cylindrical stick with little tentacles sewn on where his mantle connects to his cloak. The leg tentacles are one piece of felt that look like tassels, where they're connected by a rectangle but branch off into individual pieces. He can't stand up very well, so his cape keeps him up (that's gonna be an issue for every other bishop too except heket cause she's gonna be ROUND). Mostly everything like the crown, cloak, head, etc. are cones so I just had to make a lot of wide triangles.

For the details, I just used acrylic paint that was watered down so he's not especially crunchy, and for the blush tone I used a makeup palette my mom bought me 10 years ago in hopes I'd get in touch with my "feminine side", but I grew up into a nonbinary butch lesbian so OOPS. Kallamar looks better with makeup than me anyway. I'm kinda sad I couldn't get his freckles as lopsided as I draw them but it probably looks better in plush form to have them even anyway....

I could just post the pattern so I don't have to explain this but 1. I am mentally ill about the thought of my kallamar being in someone else's house and 2. the original pattern had to be tweaked while I was working on him so the final pattern straight up doesn't exist, I winged it the whole time

OH and the jewelry is just scrap pieces I had laying around, I might repaint it all to be gold instead of silver + bronze. I used 20g aluminum wire for his armlet thing, jumper rings for his earrings + ring (+ a diamond dot from my mom's kits for the gem) and chain for the bracelet. I made him an amulet as well but it felt like overkill so I took it off. I'm probably gonna make him a plague doctor mask and medicine bag sometime because I think about nurse kallamar more than I probably should :') I've already sewn one as a prop for a toy raven before so it shouldn't be too hard

#cult of the lamb #cotl #kallamar #plushie #felt craft #does this count as a plush or is it like a doll idfk #I just make shit because I feel like it not cause I can categorize it in any way #drug cw #ONLY CAUSE OF THE REAL PIPE #THERE IS NO ACTUAL DRUG USE HAPPENING

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caffedrine · 3 months

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Chevalier Michel - I fell in love with you that day – Choose your true love - Event Summary

This is mostly a summary for me - I make no promises on the accuracy of what’s happening. I’m not nearly fluent enough to get half the jokes/innuendo much less accurate plot points.

When Emma wakes up, she is in a pitch-black forest, which is weird since the last thing she remembers is waiting for Chevalier in his library.

There’s a unique smell to the forest, iron and something burning. As far as dreams go, this one is very vivid, and Emma trembles as the smell triggers memories of the last time she participated in a war. Thankfully, she cant hear any sounds of fighting around her, so she’s safe for now.

Her heart pounding, Emma forces her legs to carry her forward, until she enters a clearing with a large lake reflecting the moonlight. And on the edge of the lake, wearing a dark cloak is a familiar figure.

Emma calls out to Chevalier as she hurries towards him, the smell of blood and battle growing stronger as she nears him. She can see that Chevalier’s clothes are covered in something red, and he kneels down to scoop up water to wash himself.

Drawing close to him, Emma asks what happened and reaches out to touch him.

Chevalier recoils from her, unsheathing his sword and resting the tip just at her throat. He demands to know who she is. Very carefully, Emma tells him her name.

(Actually, this is just how he says 'hello')

Not helpful. Chevalier does not recognize the name nor the person.

Is this really Chevalier in front of her? His eyes are so cold that Emma can feel her blood freeze, and the traces of warmth she is used to is gone. She remembers back when she first met Chevalier, the ruthless bestial gaze, but this might be even worse. She can feel the hostility radiate from him, and it’s intense enough that she can’t breathe.

Chevalier tells her to run away, unless she wants to be killed. The tip of his sword is just touching the skin at her neck. The murderous intent half-convinces Emma that if she moves at all, he will chop of her head.

Emma mentally calms herself down, taking one deep breath after another. She needs to figure out what is going on.

Feeling better, Emma looks into Chevalier’s murderous gaze and asks him what is going on. She explains that she was reading back at the castle and suddenly she was here. It looks like he’s covered in blood, and it looks like a war is going on, so she’s understandably confused.

Chevalier doesn’t answer her.

But the hositilty has decreased, so he lowers his sword.

Chevalier sheathes his sword, turns, and walks away. Unlike usual, there is no ‘come with me’ look, but Emma decides to follow him. She doesn’t want to be alone in this place, even if it means being with a Chevalier who does not know her.

Upon returning to the forest, two people intercept Chevalier. His younger brother, Clavis, and the traitor knight, Sir Flandres. It’s the later that puts things into place for Emma, Flandres was a knight of the foreign policy faction 10 years ago

Both Clavis and Flandres were too agitated to even notice her and focused on Chevalier. Flandres begs Chevalier to reconsider, his family is among the 1,000 hostages captured by Obsidian. He asks if Chevalier really intends to abandon all those he has sworn to protect? If they mobilize the knights, then maybe they can save them.

Chevalier refuses to change his decision, even though Clavis argues that they could still win. Chevalier reminds them that Obsidian has firearms, and if they walk into the obvious trap, the 1,000 citizens will die along with the knights. Flandres asks if they could do a more covert operation to save them, but Chevalier refuses to waste the military power on this.

Clavis reminds him that he is consigning 1,000 people to death. Chevalier reminds Clavis that they are at war, people are going to die, but if they don’t win, then the entire country will be wiped off the map. He is getting tired of saying the exact same thing over and over again. Chevalier pushes past the two, as they stare at his speechless.

Somehow Emma was transported to 10 years in the past, when Rhodolite was invaded by Obsidian and all 7 princes went to the battlefield.

She is at the day when Chevalier let 1,000 hostages die, the Blood-Stained Rose Day.

Emma has no explanation of why she is here and how she went back in time, but this is too real to be just a dream.

She sits near Chevalier in the command tent as soldiers bring in reports. And each report is dire – with them losing land and Chevalier making decisions to abandon one battle and send more troops to another.

One of the scouts reports the Supreme Commander of the Obsidian Army was briefly spotted, and Chevalier asks if they have spotted Ever-Victorious Marshal. Nope, Gilbert is suspiciously absent. Chevalier muses that if they manage to kill the emperor, the fighting will be over. A soldier points out that the Supreme Commander, the Emperor of Obsidian, is the best fighter on the continent, no one can kill him.

Chevalier tells them to send for him the moment they pinpoint the Emperor’s position, he will fight him himself. He warns them not to engage the Emperor.

As the soldier leaves to spread Chevalier’s orders regarding the Emperor, another scout comes with more reports.

So far, with everyone focused on Chevalier, no one has noticed her. Or maybe they have, they just have other things to worry about. Instead, Emma is left by herself to listen to Chevalier give out order after order, and she is quickly overwhelmed by the cruelty of the war. As the night breaks into day, Emma feels a little safer, but it is impossible to relax.

Lucian, a face Emma can recognize, comes forward with an urgent report. Chevalier doesn’t even need to hear it to know, his stupid brother went and did it, right? Lucian asks if Chevalier was expecting it, and Chevalier admits that he wishes he wasn’t.

The other side now has Clavis and is demanding hostage negotiations. How would Chevalier like to handle this?

Chevalier tells Lucian to ignore the demand, if his stupid brother got himself into this situation, he can get himself out. Chevalier has made it clear that he does not intend to negotiate.

Even Emma is chilled by his disregard, and she has the advantage of knowing exactly how it will turn out.

One of the nearby soldiers objects and asks if Chevalier is sure. Chevalier reminds him that Clavis entered the enemy camp on his own, and he asks how many people should he sacrifice to rescue Clavis? The soldier backs down, and Chevalier tells the soldier not to think about unnecessary things and focus on their roles.

Emma muses that even though Clavis is his brother, Chevalier has no doubt in his decision to abandon him. She understands that if Chevalier makes the wrong choice, Rhodolite will be overrun by Obsidian troops and lose the war. He accepts the responsibility of making the ultimate judgments on the battlefield, right or wrong.

As Emma thinks about what Chevalier and the others are going through, Lucien abruptly looks at Emma and asks who she is.

Chevalier shrugs, he has no idea either. She just started following him and didn’t run away.

Eventually, the reports stop, and Chevalier calls for Lucien. He’s going to go for a walk. Lucien asks if he should come with him, but Chevalier tells him not to. Lucien then tells Chevalier to be careful.

Emma decides to join Chevalier, she doesn’t want to stay behind without him.

Chevalier makes a beeline into the forest, and judging from the way he’s moving, he seems to have a destination in mind. This isn’t the casual break she was expecting. As she frantically follows him, Chevalier abruptly stops. He warns her that if she continues to follow him, he won’t guarantee she’ll live. Emma assures him that she’s not worried, and unless he really can’t have her with him, she would still like to accompany him. She wants to know what happened during the Blood-Stained Rose Day. Chevalier is visibly confused, and Emma realizes that this war doesn’t even have a name yet. Chevalier calls her strange, snorts, and continues forward.

Under the cover of darkness, Chevalier hides in the shadows. There are multiple tents pitched nearby, all bearing the Obsidian Crest.

Emma is shocked at how easily Chevalier is approaching enemy territory, but he seems to be handling the situation. Looking at the tents, Emma is surprised at how few soldiers she can see.

Just as Emma begins to second guess herself, Chevalier unsheathes his sword and boldly walks into the enemy camp. The soldiers all shout in alarm and recognize Chevalier as the enemy commander. The soldiers at the front aim their firearms at Chevalier, but he is too fast and swings his sword before they can fire. For the first time in a while, Emma sees people die in front of her. Only a few soldiers have firearms, and the rest attack with melee weapons, but are struck down in turn.

Emma is shaking from the sight, but with no signs of reinforcements coming, she steels her legs and watches Chevalier. Finished with the soldiers, Chevalier enters the largest tent in the camp, only to quickly emerge, dragging a man with him by the hair.

The man is wearing a commander’s uniform, and he is shouting at Chevalier to release him and threatening him. Chevalier ignores him, throws him to the ground, and stabs the man through the shoulder with his sword. The man threatens that if Chevalier won’t stop, he won’t rescind the order to burn alive all those prisoners of war. Chevalier stabs him through his other shoulder, pointing out that the execution is already happening right this moment. He notes that since this commander and his subordinates are here, that means they didn’t have the stomach to see their execution orders carried through.

Thanks to that cowardice, it made it easier for Chevalier to find and dispose of them.

Chevalier stabs the commander in the shoulder again, and then in the legs, and the commander screams. This is the first time that Emma ever saw Chevalier purposefully torture someone. He’s angry, very angry.

Chevalier explains that he has just sacrificed 1,000 people to kill him, one of the army commanders. But what is the point in just killing him?

Chevalier throws the commander into a nearby tent, grabs a torch, and sets the tent on fire. The commander starts screaming, and Emma realizes that some of the wounds Chevalier inflicted on him made him unable to use his legs.

Emma realizes that Chevalier always knew what would happen when he allowed those hostages to die, and used their sacrifice to kill one of the enemy generals. With the gift of hindsight, Emma knows that this was instrumental to him saving Rhodolite.

Chevalier, framed by the blazing tent fire, looked calm, but Emma knew that his insides were boiling with rage. She can feel the palpable anger at the loss of all those people and knows that this decision will nearly bring about a civil war in the future. Everyone said Chevalier was a merciless beast that left those people to die, but the truth is that Chevalier didn’t want them to die in the first place. He had just decided to shoulder the burden of all those deaths in exchange for a future for Rhodolite.

Eventually the sound of the commander’s screams stops, and Chevalier sheathes his sword, checking the flames. Satisfied, he turns to leave, passing by Emma who is still hiding in the shadows. She struggles to chase after him.

Chevalier abruptly stops and asks how long she intends to follow him. Emma assures him that she won’t bother him, and to please allow her to stay near.

For the first time, Chevalier turns to face her. He is caked with dirt, sweat, and blood, but somehow remains noble and pure. He notes that there are few women who can see all of this and remain normal. But Emma has barely started crying. She’s not a soldier, but she seems used to the battlefield.

No, that’s not right.

Emma is used to Chevalier.

Who is she?

Chevalier roughly grabs her and her wedding ring shines faintly in the moonlight. Chevalier has figured out that Emma is in love with him, but why?

With Chevalier looking down at her, stinking of blood instead of roses, Emma looks into his eyes and asks how he knew.

Chevalier can tell from her courage, as well as her attitude. Besides, she seems to already know the outcome of the war. This is insane and impossible, but she doesn’t seem from this time.

Even ten years ago, Chevalier was able to deduct accurate conclusions from a small amount of information. Leaving him only with the question of why she loves him.

Emma looks into the eyes of this blood-soaked beast, and though her hand is trembling, she refuses to look away. She wouldn’t be the person she is if she could look away from Chevalier like this.

She admits that there are many reasons why she loves him, but the most important is that he is capable of more love than anyone else.

Chevalier asks if she’s serious.

Emma tells him that she knows he will shoulder the burden of those 1,000 people lost, as well as everyone else who sacrificed themselves in this war. No matter who hate him, he will do what it takes to save as many people as possible. She loves his strong will and sense of responsibility, and the fact that he is human.

Like anyone else, Chevalier feels sadness and anger, proving that he’s not some beast but a human. No matter what, Emma wants to stand next to and support him.

The wind blows, stinking of ash and blood. Emma still feels numb from the scene she’s just seen, but she pushes forward. Chevalier isn’t cruel and heartless, it is this war that makes him seem so. She wants to do everything possible to stop another tragedy like this from repeating.

Emma is still inexperienced and knows too little things, but it is important that she was able to see the Blood-Stained Rose Day up close like this.

She tells Chevalier that she is his fiancé, and she will never let him turn himself into a beast.

After a long moment of silence, Chevalier releases her hand. He knows nothing about her, but if she thinks all that is true, he is interested to see how far she goes.

Chevalier snorts turns, and walks away.

Emma thinks that she’s been chasing his back for a long time now. Now, in the future, she will always chase after him.

When Emma wakes up in the present, the dream lingers and she tells Chevalier about it. He pauses his work, considering it. It is a very strange dream.

Chevalier never told anyone about attacking the commander, and there are no records about it that anyone could have read. He also has no memory of anyone following him to the enemy camp.

Chevalier muses that if it was more than a dream, or just a dream, either way it doesn’t sound pleasant for her. Emma agrees, but she thinks it worthwhile to have occurred.

Awkwardly, Chevalier reaches out and caresses her cheek. Emma thinks he looks a little paler than usual. She feels the warmth of his hand, the warmth of a human. This same hand has been stained with blood so often that Chevalier fears he might be a beast. Even she, who knows him the best, cannot always suppress her fear.

Even though his hand is so gentle with her.

Ten years ago, after their commander was slain, the Obsidian troops lost their morale and withdrew from the villages they had occupied, and the war had been won by Rhodolite. The Emperor had never before been defeated in battle, and the withdraw was unexpectedly thorough.

Rhodolite had lost a lot to this war, but the fact that a small country was able to drive off Obsidian was significant on the global scale. Until that battle, Rhodolite was considered a weak small country, ignored on the global political scale. But, thanks to that victory, Rhodolite is heralded as a beacon of hope to all countries threatened by Obsidian.

Thanks to the sacrifice of all those who died on the battlefield.

Emma agrees that they are where they are today only because of everyone working so hard to protect the country. But the war shouldn’t have happened to begin with. No matter what they say about Rhodolite becoming prominent in victory, Emma cannot bring herself to glorify war.

Chevalier agrees with her sentiment.

Emma doesn’t want to lament her helplessness to stop anything, and she wants to work with Chevalier to build a world where no one needs to become a beast to win a war. She doesn’t want blood to get on Chevalier’s hands ever again.

Chevalier is interested to see how far she will go.

Emma remarks that dream-Chevalier said the same thing to her in the end. Chevalier muses that he must not have changed from who he was back then.

Chevalier pulls Emma’s hand close to him and kisses her fingertips, as if he was swearing a sacred oath. He has no intention of staining her hands with blood either.

Chevalier is someone who will wage a war if he thinks it is necessary. Currently, he’s thinking positively and continues to be a human. As long as the love between them exists, Emma is sure Chevalier will retain his humanity.

She looks at him, at his smile, and thinks about how warm it is.

#ikemen prince #ikepri #chevalier michel

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novaursa · 5 days

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The Queen's Choice

- Summary: On your way to Essos, your love for Torrhen wins. You turn your dragon North.

- Paring(s): sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen (one-sided), targ!reader/Torrhen Stark

- Note: This is one of the possible endings of The Broken Crown where Y/N goes to Torrhen instead to Essos.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana @sunset18rose

The cold wind of the Narrow Sea bites against your cheeks, a stinging reminder of the decision you've made. Beneath you, Tesaerix beats her great wings, slicing through the air with a ferocity that matches the turmoil in your heart. The horizon blurs into the pale sky, Essos beckoning you with the promise of escape, of freedom from the entanglements of your brother’s desires.

Yet, the further you fly, the more the fire within you flickers and wanes. Aegon had no right to make such decisions for you. To demand you be his. Your heart clenches with the memory of Torrhen Stark's solemn eyes, the gentle strength in his voice when he spoke of the future you were to share. The love that had grown between you, warm and sure like the spring thaw breaking Winterfell’s long-held snow.

You inhale sharply, the freezing air burning your lungs as a sudden realization strikes you. You don't want to run away. To Essos, to anywhere. It is the North you crave, the embrace of a man who would not seek to conquer you but cherish you as an equal. Your hands tighten on the reins as you make your decision.

“Tesaerix, turn north,” you command, your voice firm. The dragon responds with a deep rumble, shifting her course abruptly. The sea below shifts from the steel-blue of the Narrow Sea to the darker shades of the Shivering Sea, the air around you becoming sharper, colder.

Your heart thunders louder with each beat of Tesaerix’s wings. You imagine Torrhen, standing in the courtyard of Winterfell, his dark hair swept back, his gaze fierce and unyielding. Would he welcome you after all that has transpired? After Aegon's insult, his claim on you?

No, you tell yourself. Torrhen Stark is no meek southern lord to bow and scrape. He will understand why you have come. He must.

When the first glimpse of the North appears beneath you—the stark, snow-capped peaks of the mountains—the ache in your chest lessens. Soon, the sprawling gray walls of Winterfell come into view, smoke curling from the chimneys like a warm, beckoning hand. You draw a deep breath as Tesaerix lets out a piercing roar, announcing your arrival.

Below, you see movement, a flurry of figures rushing about in alarm. Tesaerix descends in a wide spiral, her wings stretching out like great sails, catching the icy wind. You spot him then, Torrhen, rushing out from the gates, his head tipped back, eyes wide with disbelief.

He’s clad in dark furs, his shoulders squared, his face a study in shock and something else—something that makes your heart squeeze painfully. He shouts something, though the wind snatches his words away before they can reach you. The men around him are bristling with weapons, though none dare raise them as you land.

Tesaerix’s talons scrape the frozen earth as she settles, her breath fogging the air as she lowers her head, allowing you to slide down. Your legs are unsteady as they hit the ground, but you keep your gaze locked on Torrhen, your heart pounding in your throat.

He is already striding towards you, his eyes blazing. “Y/N,” he breathes, stopping just short of reaching for you, as if he can hardly believe you’re real.

“Torrhen,” you say, his name a whisper on your lips. You search his face, looking for any trace of anger, rejection. “I…I couldn’t go. I couldn’t leave you.”

He lets out a breath you hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his shoulders sagging with relief. “You came back,” he murmurs, and then, in a surge of movement, he pulls you into his arms, crushing you against him. The furs of his cloak are soft against your cheek, his body solid and warm as you melt into him.

“I love you,” you confess, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “I want to be with you, not as a queen forced into another’s bed, but as your wife. Truly.”

Torrhen pulls back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his eyes searching yours. “Aegon won’t allow it. He—”

“I don’t care,” you interrupt, your voice fierce. “Let him rage. I will not be his plaything. I am no prize to be won or lost in his war.”

His expression softens, a look of such tenderness crossing his features that your breath catches. “You would stay here, in the North? With me?”

You nod, your throat tight. “If you’ll have me.”

He smiles then, a slow, warm smile that banishes the last of your doubts. “I would be a fool not to.” He presses his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the cold air. “Welcome home, my love.”

You close your eyes, letting the words wash over you. Home. Yes, this is where you belong, here in Torrhen Stark’s arms, beneath the great walls of Winterfell. No longer a pawn in Aegon’s game, but a woman with a future she has chosen for herself.

And for the first time in what feels like an eternity, you feel truly free.

The great hall of Winterfell is filled with the low murmur of voices as Torrhen’s bannermen gather around the long table, their expressions a mix of apprehension and resolve. The flames in the hearth crackle and dance, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls, but the warmth does little to dispel the chill that hangs in the air.

Torrhen stands at the head of the table, his hands braced on the worn wood, his gaze sweeping over the men who have served his family for generations. His decision to take you in as his own has stirred more than just concern among them; it’s sparked a fear of what may come.

“She is Aegon’s queen,” Lord Cerwyn says, breaking the silence. His voice is steady but edged with worry. “By taking her into your home, you risk the wrath of the Dragon himself. What will happen when Aegon and his sisters come to reclaim what he sees as his?”

The murmurs grow louder, the men shifting uneasily. Torrhen straightens, his gaze hardening. “Aegon made a promise to me,” he says, his voice carrying through the hall. “He pledged Y/N to me in marriage, to bind the North to his cause, to ensure peace between our people. He broke that promise when he took her for himself.”

“But you swore fealty to him,” Lord Manderly interjects, his thick brows drawn together in a frown. “You bent the knee, denounced your crown. To go against him now would make you an oathbreaker.”

“Aye, I swore an oath,” Torrhen replies, his tone unwavering. “But it was Aegon who broke faith first. He swore to honor our alliance, to make Y/N my wife, not another conquest for his own ambitions. It was not I who severed our agreement but him.”

A heavy silence falls over the hall as his words sink in. The truth of it is undeniable, but it does little to ease the tension. The men exchange uncertain glances, each weighing the cost of defiance against the honor of their lord.

“And what will you do when Aegon comes north with his dragons?” Lord Glover asks, his voice low. “Will you fight them? We’ve seen what those beasts can do. Harrenhal, Storm’s End… there’s no fortress that can withstand their fire.”

Torrhen’s jaw tightens, but his eyes burn with determination. “We will do what we must to protect our home and our honor. If Aegon thinks he can take her from me, he will find that the North is not so easily subdued.”

Lord Umber lets out a bark of laughter, though there’s little humor in it. “And do you think we can stand against them like Dorne? Hide in the mountains and strike from the shadows? We are not made for such warfare.”

“No, we are not,” Torrhen agrees, his gaze steady. “But we are not without our own strength. Unlike Dorne, we have a dragon of our own.”

The mention of Tesaerix brings a murmur of surprise, heads turning towards the open courtyard where the great beast rests. Her presence, a golden and cream colossus with blood-red eyes, is a stark reminder of the power she wields.

Lord Cerwyn’s brow furrows. “And you think one dragon is enough to face three?”

Torrhen’s mouth sets into a grim line. “It may not be enough to defeat them, but it is enough to make them think twice before they bring war to our lands. Aegon may have his sisters, but Y/N is no less fierce, and Tesaerix will fight for her as fiercely as any of their dragons would.”

Lord Bolton, who has remained silent until now, leans forward, his pale eyes glinting. “And if they come not for war, but to treat? To offer terms?”

Torrhen’s gaze does not waver. “Then we will hear them. But I will not send Y/N back to him like a piece of cattle. If Aegon wishes to negotiate, he will find that the North does not forget broken promises.”

The men exchange looks, and though there is still doubt in some eyes, there is also a flicker of resolve. Torrhen’s words, his determination, have stirred something within them.

“And if he brings his fire and blood?” Lord Manderly asks, his voice grim.

Torrhen’s eyes harden, his stance unyielding. “Then we will give him the North’s cold fury in return. He may be a dragon, but we are wolves. And wolves do not bow so easily.”

There is a long silence, the weight of his words settling over them. Slowly, one by one, the bannermen nod, their faces set in expressions of grim determination. They know the cost of defiance, the danger that looms on the horizon, but they will stand with their lord, as they have always done.

Torrhen straightens, his gaze sweeping over them, a fierce pride in his eyes. “Prepare the defenses. Send word to every holdfast, every village. If Aegon means to bring war to the North, he will find we are not so easily conquered.”

And with that, the meeting is adjourned, the men dispersing to carry out his orders. Torrhen watches them go, his heart heavy but resolute. He knows what is coming, the storm that will soon break over them all. But for now, he has you, and he will not let any force in the world tear you from his side.

No matter the cost.

The sky above Winterfell is a tumultuous gray, clouds churning like the restless sea. Torrhen stands at the head of his gathered bannermen, his face a mask of calm resolve, though you can feel the barely contained fury radiating from him. You stand by his side, your chin lifted, hands clenched at your sides. The wind tugs at your cloak, whipping the fabric around you like a banner.

Across the courtyard, Aegon sits astride Balerion, his face etched with fury. On either side of him are Rhaenys and Visenya, their dragons coiled like serpents, eyes glowing with predatory intent. The air is thick with the scent of smoke and the palpable threat of fire.

“You dare,” Aegon’s voice booms across the courtyard, cutting through the frigid air like a blade. “You dare defy me, Torrhen Stark? You shelter my wife in your halls, defying your oath of fealty?”

Torrhen does not flinch, his gaze locked on Aegon’s. “You broke your oath first, Aegon,” he says, his voice steady. “You promised Y/N to me as my wife, to seal the alliance between our houses. You shattered that promise when you took her for yourself.”

“I am the King of Westeros,” Aegon snarls, Balerion’s wings flaring slightly as if in response to his rider’s rage. “She is my queen by right!”

“Not in the eyes of the Old Gods!” Lord Cerwyn shouts, his voice ringing out clear and strong. “Under their gaze, your union is nothing but a mockery!”

The roar that tears from Aegon’s throat is almost inhuman, echoing off the walls of Winterfell. Visenya and Rhaenys exchange a glance, their faces unreadable, but there’s a tautness to their expressions, a wariness that hints at their uncertainty.

“I will not be questioned by a pack of northern curs!” Aegon roars, his eyes blazing as they settle on you. “Y/N, you are my wife, bound to me by fire and blood. I command you to come to me now.”

A shiver of fear runs through you, but you stand your ground, your heart pounding in your chest. You take a step forward, your voice ringing out clear and strong. “I will not go with you, Aegon. If you try to take me back to Aegonfort, I swear I will hurl myself from the highest tower. You will not have me as your queen, not ever again.”

A stunned silence falls over the courtyard. Even the dragons seem to pause, their massive forms shifting restlessly as if sensing the shift in the atmosphere. Aegon’s face pales, his fury momentarily giving way to something almost like desperation.

“Y/N, you don’t know what you’re saying,” he begins, his voice lowering, almost pleading. “You are mine. We can—”

“No,” you cut him off, your voice as cold as the northern wind. “I was never yours. I was a pawn in your game, a prize to be claimed. But I am done with being used. If you think to force me back, you will find only my lifeless body when you return to Aegonfort.”

Aegon’s expression shatters, rage giving way to something raw and broken. He glances towards Visenya, as if seeking support, but her face remains impassive, her hand resting lightly on Dark Sister’s hilt.

Rhaenys shifts uneasily on Meraxes, her eyes darting between you and Aegon. “Brother, this is madness,” she murmurs. “There is no victory to be won here.”

“You would make yourself a martyr?” Aegon spits, his voice shaking. “For what? For him?” His gaze flickers to Torrhen, filled with contempt and something else—something that twists in your gut, a pain you wish you didn’t recognize.

“For myself,” you say quietly, your voice steady. “For the right to choose my own fate.”

The silence stretches, a taut, fragile thread that seems ready to snap at any moment. Aegon’s hands are clenched so tightly around Balerion’s reins that his knuckles are white, his chest heaving as he struggles to regain his composure.

“Aegon,” Torrhen speaks, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “You can’t force her to love you. This is over.”

Aegon’s eyes blaze with fury, but the fight seems to drain out of him, his shoulders slumping. He looks at you, truly looks at you, and you see the understanding dawn in his eyes, the realization that this is a battle he cannot win.

“You would leave me,” he says, his voice hollow, empty. “For him.”

You meet his gaze steadily. “I already have.”

For a moment, he seems about to argue, to rage, but then his shoulders sag, and he looks away, defeated. Visenya murmurs something too low for you to hear. Rhaenys’ expression is soft, almost pitying, as she watches her brother crumble.

“I won’t forget this,” Aegon says finally, his voice tight with barely suppressed emotion. “The North will answer for this betrayal.”

Torrhen steps forward, his face set in an expression of unyielding resolve. “The North is ready, Aegon. We will defend our own.”

There’s a long pause, and then, without another word, Aegon turns Balerion away, his sisters following suit. The dragons take to the sky, their massive wings beating the air as they rise into the gray sky, the sound of their departure a dull roar that echoes long after they’ve disappeared from view.

Torrhen’s hand finds yours, his grip warm and reassuring. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your body trembling with the aftermath of the confrontation.

“He’s gone,” Torrhen murmurs, his voice low. “You’re safe now.”

You nod, though the weight of what has just happened still hangs heavy in the air. Safe, yes. For now. But you know this is not the end. Aegon may be gone, but the shadow of his anger, his betrayal, lingers still.

But as you look up at Torrhen, at the fierce determination in his eyes, you feel a spark of hope.

#fire and blood #asoiaf #asoiaf x reader #asoif/got #a song of ice and fire #aegon x reader #aegon i targaryen #aegon the conqueror #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #aegon i x y/n #aegon i x you #aegon i x reader #torrhen stark #torrhen x you #torrhen x reader #torrhen x y/n

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stvrlightgirl · 2 months

Text

Who stopped the rain?

summary: You’re scared of storms, but Astarion is here to help you take your mind off them.

pairing: Astarion x gn!reader

wc: 771

a/n: idk it just came out of my mind from nowhere, but it’s so cute tho!

Also, every time I read it I hear the narrator’s voice in my head. Am I crazy? Lmao

Enjoy!

The night was quiet at first, save for the occasional crackling of the campfire, its embers slowly dying as the rest of the group slumbered around you. You had settled in early, exhaustion pulling you into the comfort of your bedroll after a day filled with endless walking and battle. Astarion had taken his place beside you, as he often did, ever the guardian in the dark. His presence, both unsettling and strangely reassuring, was the last thing you remembered before sleep claimed you.

But it wasn’t to last.

The first low rumble of thunder stirred you from your dreams. You shifted beneath your blankets, eyes fluttering open just as another bolt of lightning split the sky. The flash illuminated the inside of the tent, casting fleeting, eerie shadows along the canvas walls. Your heart lurched in your chest, the sudden crash of thunder that followed rattling your bones.

Memories you’d rather forget surfaced—of storms that brought more than just rain, of nights spent alone, frightened and powerless. A shiver ran down your spine, and you instinctively curled tighter into yourself, seeking solace in the small space of your bedroll. But the unease wouldn’t leave. It clung to you like a cold, wet cloak, each crack of thunder pulling you further from the remnants of sleep.

And then, as if he could sense your distress, you felt Astarion stir beside you.

“Awake already, darling?” His voice was soft, a whisper that seemed to cut through the din outside. You could feel his gaze on you, even in the darkness. Concern, though subtle, laced his tone.

You turned toward him, though it was difficult to make out his features in the dim light. “The storm,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, “it woke me.”

Another flash of lightning lit the tent, briefly revealing the furrow in his brow, the way his eyes softened as they met yours. He was silent for a moment, listening to the rain as it began to patter against the earth outside, the occasional rumble of thunder rolling in the distance. Then, without a word, he shifted closer, his cool hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face.

He couldn’t bare to see you shivering with fear.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of.” he said softly, his touch lingering against your cheek, a comforting weight in the dark. “It’s just a storm. It will pass.”

You wanted to believe him, to let his words soothe the irrational fear gripping your heart. But the storm outside was fierce, and it reminded you too much of things best left buried. You swallowed, trying to push down the panic that threatened to rise.

As if sensing your inner turmoil, Astarion’s fingers traced a gentle path down your cheek to your jaw, then to your chin, tilting your face up slightly so he could see you better. “Breathe, my dear,” he whispered. “Focus on me, not the storm.”

You did as he asked, drawing in a shaky breath, then another, letting your eyes lock onto his. Astarion’s presence was a balm, his steady, unflinching gaze grounding you in the present. He was right here, beside you, and for once, it felt like enough.

“You’re safe,” he continued, his voice low and melodic, like a lullaby meant for your ears alone. “I’ll keep you safe.”

The sincerity in his tone caught you off guard. Astarion, who often hid behind wit and sarcasm, was offering you genuine comfort, his mask lowered in this intimate, quiet moment. It was enough to ease the tension in your chest, the fear receding like the tide.

You let out a slow breath, nodding as you relaxed into his touch. The blanket he kept around you and the heat of his body was enough for you to feel safe again. “Thank you,” you whispered, the words carrying the weight of your gratitude.

Astarion smiled softly, a rare, unguarded expression. He leaned in closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips cool against your skin. “Sleep now, darling.” he murmured against your temple. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

With his words wrapped around you like a protective cloak, you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to drift back into the safety of sleep. Outside, the storm raged on, but you couldn’t hear it anymore, too focused on his touch, you found peace in his arms, as always.

And for the first time, you felt as if you could face all your problems without fear, knowing he was there to protect you from anything.

Even from something he had no control over.

Likes, reblogs and comments are always welcome!

#astarion x reader #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x gn!tav #astarion x gn reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x female reader #astarion x gn!reader #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #bg3 fanfiction

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senualothbrok · 6 months

Note

I was Inspired by that lovely fanart of waking up next to Gale, so...

Gale might have told you that waking up next to you was the most unreal part of your adventures--particularly that morning, after he'd defied a goddess and you all defied the odds and came out, alive and un-ceremorphosed, on the other side. You wonder, though, if the sense of unreality and awe that sweeps over you when you wake up first and watch him sleep isn't just as potent.

You're both more than a bit wrecked from your lovemaking the previous night. Gale's hair is a glorious, disordered mess on the pillow, a sloppy tapestry of darker brown, bronze, and silver. That ever-animated face and body are, for once, at peace--you've worn him out so thoroughly, you think with more than a little smugness, he can't even murmur or twitch his way through dreams. The bare chest you'd so adoringly marked with your teeth and fingers rises and falls, a drowsy metronome whose pulse you follow as your gaze wanders down his belly, the dip of his flank, to where a sleepy hand had pushed the covers down to his hip. That ever-present hunger in your belly stirs, a prompting to push those covers down or slide a hand underneath them, but it's at best a suggestion; for once, you might be sated, just drinking your fill of him lying here like this.

He has one hand tucked underneath his head, an oddly shy and childlike thing; the other rests on the mattress between you. Like the rest of him it's quiescent, elegant fingers resting like a benediction on the sheets. A few fine hairs dust the back of it, not enough to hide the sculpture of bone and tendon underneath, a work of art you never tire of appreciating.

The air around you is sleepy and slow, and through the tower window you can hear the sea's endless murmur Gale sighs softly and stirs, that hand reaching for you--it's so easy, so easy, to slide your fingers into his, to smile as he settles and shifts a little closer. You could lie here for the rest of the morning, the rest of the day, cloaked in peace.

What, you think, is eternity, compared to this?

Hello friend! Thank you so much for this, and sorry it has taken me so long... This was such a beautiful scene, and it was so lovely and warm thinking about it. ***

His eyelids flutter, dancing towards wakefulness. His eyes open slowly, a brown-bronze river which sways then stills. You gaze at each other, cocooned in silent contentment, echoing each other’s breaths. Your thumb circles the back of his hand like a rosary bead. His drowsy lips curl.

“Are you enjoying the view?”

You laugh, a husky rasp, your throat still recovering from last night’s exertions. “Always.”

He hums as you trace the curves of his temple, the cut of his cheek, the nook of his collarbone.

“It’s quite flattering, to be admired by someone whose beauty so dwarfs your own.”

His free hand cups the indent of your hip, warm and heavy. Claiming you as his.

You huff a little. “It isn’t a competition.” You nibble at his shoulder, savouring the bristle of his beard against your skin. “Besides, there’s perfection in imperfection.”

“Oh?” A flare of mischief in his languid features. “What imperfections in me are you referring to?”

You tickle his nose with yours. Even after all this time, his breath still catches when you draw near. Your lips seek his, a flurry of affection you cannot control, the sting of his morning breath reminding you that this is not a dream. He is reluctant, groaning faintly as you draw back. You weave lazily through his ruffled fringe.

“These.” You linger on the silver streaks that flicker across his earth brown waves. “I love these.”

“Do you?” His eyes beam, but shadows lurk beneath. Gale has always been confident in his appearance, but he is not immune to fears of aging.

“I do. I always have.”

Your fingers follow the tousled strands that tumble onto his forehead, chiselling the deep lines that accent his brow. You marvel at every groove, every trace of Gale’s tireless thoughts, bearing the weight of his wisdom. Marks of his sincerity. Those most priceless of treasures.

“And these,” you whisper. “These might be my favourite.”

His gaze is an embrace, but there is a grimace in his smile.

“You might be the only fan of those.”

Your heart is like the tide as you gather his face in your hands. It swells as you plant a kiss between his eyebrows, firm and fervent. His eyelashes tingle against your cheek as he sighs and pulls you against him.

“I love everything about you,” you breathe, before you melt into each other.

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #drabble tennis

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blossom-hwa · 1 month

Text

after the ashes | c.sc

pairing: Seungcheol x gender neutral!reader genre: angst, hurt and comfort, king!seungcheol, nobility!reader warnings: war mentions, violence word count: 2.4k notes: — couldn't really stop thinking about coups as a royal so this happened! blame ursa :) — just a warning that pov shifts quite rapidly sometimes, I hope it isn't too confusing Seungcheol comes back from the war changed, and a little broken.

Seventeen Masterlist

The night after Seungcheol's formal coronation, he slips past his guards and leaves his room. No one speaks to him. No one stops him. Two guards simply fall into line as he steps into the hall, silent shadows trailing his footsteps. He is the king now, after all—it isn't anyone's place to question what he does.

(He has worn the crown in all but actuality for five years, but for some reason, when they placed the circlet of gold upon his brow today, he had never felt more like an impostor.)

The dark walls of the palace are almost exactly how he remembers them. Seungcheol traces his fingers lightly against the stone, feeling the weathering and cracks beneath his skin. Everything is the same. He knows where to find it all. He hasn't been in the palace for five years and he could give anyone explicit directions to the kitchens, to the guest quarters, to the gardens where he used to hide as a child whenever he was upset. Here he is three, playing in the nursery. He is ten, learning to hold his first sword. He is fourteen, pulling his hair out in the library, eighteen, sitting in his first council meeting, and twenty-one, receiving the news that his brother is dead.

He passes the king's office (his office, his and not his) and suddenly he is twenty-three, watching his father die in front of him again and again.

Bile rises in his throat. The assassin is dead. The war has been won. It doesn't change the fact that Seungcheol watched someone slit his father's throat in front of him. It doesn't change the fact that he hasn't seen home in over five years.

(For five years this palace has stayed the same, and everything about it feels so wrong.)

No one says anything when he pauses. No one says anything when he reaches out to the door. No one says anything when his fingers graze the door handle, then draw back as though they touched fire.

No one says anything when he drops his hand and moves on.

Dully, vaguely, Seungcheol walks the palace halls in the night. Torches burn in sconces on the walls and moonlight glows pale through the curtained windows but he doesn't really see anything, rather moves across the stone floors in a blurry haze. He could find his way through the palace blindfolded. He doesn't need to see. Doesn't need to breathe.

(I don't want this I don't want this I don't want this I don't want this)

He took the crown off his head before leaving the room, carefully locked it in its gilded case as he stumbled out of the king's quarters, barely breathing. He still wears the long cloak, pinned to his shoulders, cascading down his back—still wears all the regalia from earlier today, silk and jewels and gold bullion weighing down his body. He had dismissed all of his aides and servants the moment he entered his quarters (His quarters? His father's quarters?) and couldn't find the energy to take it all off himself.

Seungcheol pauses in front of a portrait he knows well. His father, sitting on his throne, his mother and brother posed around him. He hadn't been born yet. He wasn't even expected. He was the miracle second child, never meant to be born yet cherished, who was never intended for the throne.

But then, fate does love to toy with the lives of those one holds most dear.

The portrait hangs almost above Seungcheol's head. He touches the gilded frame. Dust comes away on his fingers and he stares at it numbly, gray in the moonlight, like his father's ashes as his body burned on the pyre.

His brother is dead. An accident while riding. His father is dead. A very quick assassin. His mother lives, but she has changed. Her family has been decimated, and the second son who wasn't meant for this life will never be enough to bring back her spirit.

He looks at the portrait again and starts running down the hall.

The guards cry out and make chase. Seungcheol can hear their footsteps pounding on the stone floor. He himself is weighed down by the silks and satins and jewels of today but he is strong and he is fast and he knows the palace better than almost anyone so he sprints through corridors and winds through doors, hurtling through time and space until—

"Seungcheol?"

You look like a ghost, standing in the middle of the hall with moonlight pouring over you. This vision almost gives him vertigo—dressed in a plain shirt and pants, just a thin leather belt tied around your waist for decoration, you look so simple. So normal. Like the sun was out, and you could head out riding together in just a few minutes. Like old times. Like more than five years ago.

In turn, you stare at Seungcheol. In the faint moonlight spilling from the window, he looks haggard, pale. The huge ceremonial cloak that had made him so majestic earlier today swallows him now, swaths of deep red completely shadowing his figure. He looks so—so small. So tired. So lost in this place he once called home.

"Seungcheol." You take a step forward, slowly, quietly. The strong man you saw earlier at the coronation, who, draped in the medals and regalia of a true hero, promised the kingdom that they would move forward from this war and prosper in the name of his deceased father and brother, has disappeared under the mass of rich fabric and jewels. Still, you know that the broad shouldered man who loved you is still there, hidden under the riches. "What happened?"

Seungcheol shifts. It isn't just your voice that compels him to move. It's what you called him—Seungcheol. Not Your Majesty. Not even Your Highness. Just him. His name. Nothing more, nothing less.

His voice cracks on your name. "Y/N?"

You're close enough now to gather him in a hug. Instead, though, you place a tentative hand on his shoulder, where his long cloak meets the ceremonial shirt. You try not to think about how much the fabric looks like blood. "What happened?" you ask again, even softer this time.

Seungcheol stares at you. Why are you doing this? Why are you here? Why are you talking to him like you still care for him, like you still love him, even though he was the one who ended things a month after his father's death because he was about to march off to war and wanted you to move on, because he was broken, because he was nothing, because he didn't want to leave you widowed so soon after marriage?

He saw you in the crowd at the coronation. You were beautiful, resplendent in the colors of the kingdom, but he could only see your muted eyes, your hollow cheeks, a visible reminder of everything he lost in this war. He lost his father. He lost himself. He lost you.

Looking at Seungcheol, you feel the tears you held back for years now rising to the surface. You were heartbroken when he ended your relationship. You didn't care that both of you were setting off to war. You didn't care that he might die and leave you alone—hell, you might have done the same to him. You didn't care that there would be no ceremony, that it would be a simple exchange of rings and signatures in the throne room of the palace—you didn't care. You just wanted him. Seungcheol. The man you loved, currently love, and will forever love.

The man you would have loved to the death.

You wanted to cry, but you didn't. Because to cry would be to mourn what you two had, as though you would never have it back. Throughout the war, five years of bloodshed and death, you refused to cry, clinging to the bare hope that you would both live, that you would both survive, that you would one day find Seungcheol again and build back what you once had.

Once, you were steady. Sure-footed. Certain of every step you took, everywhere that you went. Now, though, Seungcheol sees a wariness to your step, favoring one leg over another even as you stand before him, one gentle hand on his shoulder. You fought in the war, he remembers. Wielded your own sword in the name of your family's honor until someone shattered your leg and you were sent back home to recover what mobility you could.

(He never stopped checking on you, not once through the five years. There was not enough manpower to devote any single person to report solely on your movements, but he did demand that if there was news of you, he was to be informed as soon as possible. The day he learned of your injury, the world seemed to turn dark. Blurry. Gray. He couldn't shake it off, even when he learned that you had survived.)

But there is still a surety in your gaze that reminds him of before, echoes of the person you once were. In this moment where Seungcheol has no idea who he is anymore, he latches onto that memory. The piece of you that he still knows.

"Why?" he whispers.

You cock your head, a habit you had even as child. "Why what?"

"Why are you here?"

Why are you here? Because your family is close enough to Seungcheol's that you were invited to stay at the palace during the coronation festivities. Because you can't sleep anymore, plagued by memories of what you saw on the battlefield and residual pains in your leg, and so you've taken to wandering the halls of wherever you happen to be at night. But you get the feeling that this isn't what he is asking, and these aren’t the answers he seeks.

"Because I love you," you say quietly. "I loved you then. I loved you during the war. I love you now." You swallow the tears back. "I have always loved you, and I always will."

Seungcheol's head hurts. You're not making sense. "But I—but I left," he whispers. "I left you, and—I'm not—you don't love me anymore." He's going to cry. He's going to cry like a damn idiot. A weak idiot. But you don't shirk away even for a moment. He has half a mind to turn away in shame but your hand won't let him.

"You can't love me," he chokes out finally. "I'm not who I was before. I'm—I'm broken." He takes a deep breath. "You shouldn't love me. Not like this."

You lift the hand from his shoulder. Seungcheol braces himself for you to walk away. But instead, you pull him to you with so much force that your leg gives out beneath you and the two of you tumble to the floor.

"Choi Seungcheol," you murmur into his ear, arms embracing him tightly, "since when have I ever allowed you to make decisions for me?"

He almost laughs. Never, he wants to say. Never, not once.

"I am not who I once was," you tell him. "I am not the same person I was five years ago. But even without the war, I would have been different anyway." You pull back enough to look into his eyes again. "You are still you, Seungcheol. Broken or whole, it doesn't matter. And for as long as you need, I will help you pick up the pieces. Help you stitch yourself back together." You kiss his forehead. "Because you would do the same for me."

Seungcheol gulps. "But I left you," he whispers.

"And I'm not letting you off the hook for that so easily," you reply, a pinch of humor hidden in your voice. "But it doesn't matter, because you found me again."

He shakes his head. "No, you found me first."

"And do you plan on letting me go again?"

The answer is as plain as day. No. Never.

"So it doesn't matter," you murmur. "Because I'm not letting you go, either."

His tears finally begin to fall.

You hold him as he cries, tears of your own soaking the rich fabric of his cloak. He's shaking and you're trembling just as hard, but nothing in the world could make you give up this moment, when you have Seungcheol and he has you, when you can finally hold him and know that he is yours.

Seungcheol clenches his eyes shut against the memories that flood through his brain. His father falling dead to the ground. His knife plunging into the assassin's chest. Bloody swords clanging on the battlefield, entire villages burning as he and his men tried to get everyone out that they could. These visions haunt his nightmares and privately, in the deepest recesses of his soul, Seungcheol fears that they will never go away.

But he feels your arms wrapped tight around him, around the shoulders that tremble, around the chest that heaves, and he reminds himself that you are still here. That you stayed even though he left, and waited patiently for him to return. That while everything about his home now feels so terribly wrong, you are one thing that has always felt right.

"I'm sorry," he whispers when most of the tears are gone and your shirt has been soaked through.

"What ever for?" you ask.

"It shouldn't just be me," he mumbles. "I should be taking care of you, too."

Your answer is soft, quiet, yet every word burns itself into his mind with the sharpest clarity.

"But you need me now."

He swallows. "I'm afraid," he admits quietly. "I'm afraid that this isn't real, and I'm going to open my eyes and you won't be there anymore."

Your heart shatters on the floor when you hear those words, but you keep your voice steady. "Do you trust me?" you ask.

The answer is immediate. "Always."

"Then look up."

Slowly, slowly, Seungcheol's eyes open. You stare back at him, retracing every line of his features that you memorized before the war, every piece of him that haunted your dreams and kept you sane in the five years since.

"I'm here, Seungcheol," you whisper. "I'm always here." You kiss him softly. "And I am never going to let you go."

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

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sandinthemachine · 2 years

Text

Mortal Remains

König x f!reader

written for the request: "You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn't have to go to such extremes." With Either ghost or König? There's not enough fluff for my men.

I don't even know where to begin with this one. It's massive, the longest one I've ever written. I love it, and I hate it. It made me cry. I'm excited and terrified to see what everyone else thinks. I hope someone reading this feels at least one of those emotions while doing so (preferably not hate)

before I begin, thank you to @sprout-fics and @zwienzixes for being lovely beta readers, and a MASSIVE thank you to @itsagrimm for beta-reading, helping me work through ideas, giving me proper German translations, and all around being an amazing and supportive person. I would have given up on this without all the help.

Translations for the German will be at the bottom

Words: 12,450 (yeah...it's big just like him)

Warnings/tags: König is soft and pretends not to be, reader is afab but no pronouns used, canon-typical violence, piv sex, oral f!receiving, self-deprecation, lots of raw emotions, mental health is hard, fluffy ending

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It started easy enough, as so many things do.

A week-long joint training exercise. Mixed teams, both 141 and KorTac. Something something bonding before the real mission. You hadn’t been listening.

You remember being excited to be teamed with Soap. At least you could get along with someone, you mused. You barely noticed the hooded figure, tall and sticking to the corners, merging with the lengthening shadows. What’s another ghost haunting your footsteps? Nothing special, that’s for sure.

The first four days fly by. Early morning patrols, always in pairs, tracking for signs of the other team. Finding nothing, you move to a different shelter, secure the area, sleep. Rinse, repeat.

The fifth day is different. There are ragged clouds cloaking the sun while the rest of the sky is completely clear. You’re not sure why you noticed that, but you did.

It was an early morning patrol, as usual, you and your partner sweeping around a centerpoint like you were analyzing a single massive clock. Northeast quadrant clear. Southeast clear. Southwest…a scuff in the dirt. You lean down, fingers tracing the air just above it, a black fleck catching your eye. You grasp it, finding it much larger than you originally expected and partially buried. You pull at the rubbery texture, curious. Distracted.

The ambush comes quietly. Perfectly so. The weight lands on your back with an abruptness that flattens your lungs, dropping you directly onto your hands. You might have twisted your wrist, but the pain of that is overshadowed by the thought of the immense beratement you’ll get from your NCO for failing so fast.

Yet the weight from your back is lifted as quietly as it arrived. You turn, rolling to your feet to find that it had been Gaz on top of you only a second ago. Now he dangles like a ragdoll in the air. The shadow holding him draws a knife, taps it against his throat. You're out.

Gaz sighs as he’s set on the ground, giving you a nod before marching off. You don’t return it, too busy staring at the man next to him.

You’d never noticed his eyes before. You’re used to Ghost’s eyes, dark and unyielding, cavernous black holes reaching into a skull long dead. Like he was born to wear the mask.

This man’s eyes couldn’t be more different. They’re pale, washed out, windows into a sky perpetually on the verge of snowfall, slumbering clouds cold and waiting.

They curve down at the corners, lending an air of melancholy to the only part of his face you can see. You wonder how he really feels behind that gaze.

You’re staring.

You clear your throat awkwardly, aiming to thank him before pausing. “I…I’m sorry, I never caught your callsign?”

The head dips down, draped fabric falling down his chest slightly. A nod. “We need to keep moving.”

And he’s walking past you.

Two days later, the training exercise finally comes to a head in a fierce brawl over the fake weapons cache. Knives and fists only.

The fight takes only a few minutes. Ghost on the opposite team notices your attempted ambush immediately, throwing his men after you. Your team is outnumbered, stuck in a hallway. But it doesn’t matter.

Ghost and the hooded man roll on the ground, tousling like a pair of tomcats, Ghost landing on top for just a second, raising his knife-

You’re there. Arm wrapped around his shoulders. Blade tapping against his throat. You’re out.

With that, the fight is over. Ghost moves with a grumble at the man under him. It might have been a threat. But the man doesn’t hear it. He’s too busy staring at you with grey-sky eyes wide. A child dressed as a dirty sheet-ghost. “I…I don’t know your-”

You thrust your hand out, yanking him to his feet. “We’d better head back.”

You feel him at your back throughout the debriefing. Rolling thunder clouds looming over your head, ready to burst at any second. Your tongue is between your teeth, lungs heaving. Soap whispers a joke in your ear, something about Ghost getting chewed out by the NCO. You can barely muster a smile.

You stay still as the meeting finally ends, waiting for everyone to filter out before you finally turn around.

As you turn, your shoulder knocks into hard muscle and you look up, craning your neck to take in the hooded face and the way his pupils are blown wide into dark pits. A gale you should take shelter from lest you be blown away. But for a moment all you do is stand there, watching your own pupils expand in the turbulent reflection.

Your teeth are carving marks into your tongue by now, and it takes you far too long to draw in a shaky breath and push past him. You have more training tomorrow. It’s sleep your body needs. Not…whatever this is.

He doesn’t say a word as you depart, but his eyes track your every move before the door shuts behind you.

Of course this is a night where you can’t sleep. Of course. You flip and roll, hearing your bed frame smack against the wall every time you shift until you get so annoyed you shove it further into your room and flop down on it again. It doesn’t do anything, of course. Just makes your insomnia a little quieter.

It’s nearly midnight by the time you throw your legs over the side in frustration, shivering at the frigid air before throwing on enough clothes to look decent and marching down towards the shared kitchen.

He’s there. Your luck is just perfect tonight. You take a step backwards, planning to flee back to the darkness of the hallway, but he’s already turning his head, shoulders jumping just slightly as you enter his view.

You crumple a little as he notices you, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. “Can’t sleep either, huh?” Your voice is rough as you walk over to the counter next to him, yanking an expired box of cereal from the back of it. Your arm brushes his as you pull it out.

You spare him a glance as you pry the old box open, snorting at his narrowed eyelids. You bet he’s scrunching his nose through that silly hood, too. You reach in, hearing a series of crunches as you rifle around. “Ah, there it is.” You pull out the clear bottle, shaking it triumphantly in his face. “This’ll knock you right out. 50/50 chance you get back up tomorrow.” You trail off, eyes traveling up and down him. “Well, maybe a bit better odds for you.” You chuckle half-heartedly, but it dies a second later.

You puff your lips out in a shaky breath, running your tongue along your teeth before giving him an awkward smile and raising the bottle to him. With that you leave.

As soon as you take a sip you spit it right back out with a blech. You’d forgotten how nasty the stuff is. You toss it into the trash can and flop back down with an irritated groan. How hard is it to fall asleep? It’s literally laying there doing no-

Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door, and upon swinging it open you find him, his looming shadow nearly blotting out the light from the hallway behind. It’s easy to forget how big he is when he’s not around. How strong he is. How…deadly.

But right now he’s leaning against your doorframe, hands tapping along his legs. “Have enough for two?”

You smirk a little at that, but as you step closer you feel the heat radiating from him, your shoulder blades clenching together as your mind begins to process something.

You’d sleep better for it. Perform better the next day. It would be good for you.

Your smirk deepens. “I have a better idea.”

As your hand tangles in his shirt you feel a tremble along his skin, but he doesn’t respond when you pull on him. “You’ve been drinking.”

“I haven’t had a drop. Shit’s disgusting.”

“Show me the bottle.”

Despite yourself, a smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you fish the full monstrosity out of the bin to show him. He nods but still doesn’t move, and you find yourself rushing to assure him as heat rushes up your neck. “If you actually just want to drink, we can. We don’t have to do anything-”

“No. That’s not it.” Finally he steps fully into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him before he stalks to you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you hiss, moving to hold onto him again, your mind swirling with exhaustion and old memories that you just need out, right now, and he’s right there and he needs it too, you just know it as he swoops down to grab you and toss you on the bed, both of you a mess to rip your clothes off now that the facade has finally fallen.

After the fog clears you find yourself panting on your stomach with him above you, caging you in with his forearms. Each of his stuttering inhales brings his burning chest and stomach against your back. Before the heat can become unbearable he pulls away, breaths still heaving as he tucks himself back into his pants.

Your eyes widen in surprise when he makes his way to your bathroom and comes back, washcloth in hand, to softly clean you up. As he finishes he pauses, thumb brushing the edge of an old knife scar running up your hip. “My callsign,” he murmurs, fingers tracing its length. “It’s König.”

And with that, he leaves.

You were content for that to be the end of it. You’d each gotten what you needed, after all. And as you stretch languidly across your mattress the following morning, an unfamiliar relaxation settles along your tense muscles. Yes, you would be more than happy to leave it at this.

But as the next training drill ends you find yourself faced with your cold barrack and the prospect of another sleepless night. Before you even realize what you’re doing your legs are moving, ready to go to the kitchen and-

He’s right there, startling as you nearly open your door into his face. He takes a step back, but you’re already holding your hand out and his eyes are burning into you as he takes it and lets you pull him in, lets you shut the door behind you before he’s lifting you with laughable ease and carrying you to bed.

You’re already burrowing your face into your pillow by the time he comes back to clean you up. This time his palm runs over a puckered mass on your thigh, a nasty burn scar from failing to dive for cover fast enough. It still hurts sometimes, but the pain is good. Reminds you not to be so careless again.

As you drift off completely to the feel of his warm hand taking in the old wound, you fail to notice the way his head has turned up, eyes running over your face. He contemplates brushing a finger over your hairline, tucking the wild flyaways behind your ear. But no. That would be too…friendly. That’s not what this is.

So instead he spreads your blankets over your now sleeping form, and with one last lingering gaze, leaves you to sleep peacefully.

You’re not surprised when you wake up to the empty room. It was what you wanted, after all. You had gotten another restful night out of it, and he got what he wanted. It was a fair trade. A great trade, even.

And as the training drills continue and you feel how naturally your body flows, how efficiently it executes your will when you’re actually well-rested, you find yourself seeking his company out more and more. Soon the pair of you have built your own kind of routine, him coming to you the evening after each debriefing when the leftover sparks of adrenaline are refusing to die out in you both.

He always lays you down on your stomach, opening you up with his fingers as he patiently works you through your first orgasm before letting himself take you. He’s always slow at first, but he finds you restless and impatient, urging him to go faster and harder, to knock you out for the night, to knock everything out of your mind that you never want to think about again.

You try to look back once only for your face to meet his hand. With gentle but firm fingers, he turns your head away.

Afterwards he’s even more delicate, wordlessly cleaning you up with a touch light enough to leave a butterfly unharmed. Although he rarely meets your eyes, his gaze and fingers take in your body, each time finding a new scar for his fingers to brush over like a chaste kiss.

You’re asleep by the time he leaves, and you like it that way. The two of you can crash against each other like blizzards raging and howling until you finally break into clear skies. And afterwards, you’re soldiers again. Well-rested, sure. But soldiers all the same. No hard feelings, either. You know he understands.

Soon you two find yourselves assigned to the same training team more and more. It’s natural, an unspoken communication flowing between you, and your superiors see it in the skyrocketing success rates. They pointedly ignore the way your stares burn holes into each other, keeping their eyes fixed on powerpoints and mission statistics. Not their business, they tell themselves. What matters is that you two do your jobs.

And then finally it’s time for the mission, a deployment in the middle of a remote and mountainous forest with terrible radio signal.

Like your first training, it starts easy enough. You’re divided into two teams on two separate mountains, and it’s just your luck that they put you on the team with no one you’re close to. Not even König. Maybe the higher-ups were finally sick of you two.

But you’re an adult. You handle it. You swallow the unease that comes with the teams not being able to contact each other. It’s simply too risky, and the signals are shoddy at best anyway. Base will come in for extraction if the other team succeeds.

With practiced ease you push yourself through two weeks of empty trails and summer-camp camaraderie as the talkative ones share jokes around the empty fireplace and the quiet ones listen from the shadows and chuckle their approval.

Week 3, everything goes to shit.

You should’ve known. You really should’ve known. The weather out here can change in an instant, clouds materializing from a clear sky’s empty expanse like an angry god throwing his rage down from above. You should’ve known the people here would be the same.

Before any of you knew the safehouse was surrounded, they were already through the doors.

You remember waking up to the creak of the old door with a groan, not ready to start your watch yet. The man on watch had been short and wiry, and you marveled at how shadows warp themselves against the light, twisting and turning to make one man look like another, tall and burly and carrying a-

CRASH!

The windows burst inwards in a crescendo of sparks and you’re scrambling backwards, reaching for your

BANG!

Dust from the roof is falling on your head, in your eyes and you’re blinking at the haze, the sting, your hands feeling the solid weight of your weapon and yanking it against you, and you’re stumbling backwards towards the

BANG!

and you’re stumbling forwards towards the

BANG!

And you’re on your knees crawling crawling

BANG! BANG BANG BANG!

crawling away from everything and your eardrums are hot iron seething in your skull and your eyes are being scratched by cats and there’s something warm on your face now and there’s something heavy thunking to the floor just next to you and everything is all dark, all the shadows are choking you and-

-grey. Not black. Not the black of the inside. Grey. A doorway. A hole in the wall. You’re on your knees, your hands are on the wall, you’re pushing yourself up, you’re running, and there are patters behind you and gurgling sounds and the volleys of automatic weaponry but your vision is finally starting to clear, you can see the treeline and all you need is to get there.

A roar surges behind you, and you spin into the sun. Heat slams into your body and you’re flung, a leaf in the wind, hard onto your back as yellows and reds surge in front of you or maybe it was behind you and now you’re a deer, eyeballs bulging out of your head and rolling in your skull as you run from a forest fire, angry and starving, only this fire has legs and they’re longer than yours and it’s following you, you just know it, you can’t hear it but you know.

You’re not a human anymore, you’re barely even an animal, you’re not thinking, you’re a scramble of limbs and an impulse. Run.

You try. You try so hard but there’s nothing carrying you, your legs don’t feel connected to each other anymore and they’re not even your legs you look down and they’re still there but you can’t…feel them?

Tilting. Tilting. Tilting.

Light. Burning light.

Fade to black.

No, wait. Not you. You’re still here. Your legs are wavy and jelly but still there.

You fling an arm out and feel something solid. Cold. Rough. Bark.

You made it to the trees.

There’s no time to celebrate. Behind you lights are still flaring, and with each passing second more bodies are falling to the ground, leaking out into the snow. You have to move.

The second safehouse is to the north. It’s your only way out, you know that. The rest of your team would be there.

Should be there.

Better be there.

Don’t think about it, don’t think. Just move.

The battle is fading behind you now and your blood is beginning to cool, settling heavy in your veins like the thick jam your mother used to make on warm summer mornings just as the sun’s rays flowed through your windows.

It would be nice to be there right now. Warm. Content. Full. Your stomach growls in agreement at the thought. You have some ration bars in your pocket, but you know it hasn’t been long enough to have one. You need to spread them out, make sure they can last.

Your stomach groans again, and you shake your head. To divert your attention, you take stock of the rest of your body.

You’re scraped and bruised, your head vibrating like…oh, what is it like? Like…your phone after you get added to a group chat you wanted nothing to do with. Hehe. You can barely remember the days when your problems were as simple as that.

You're letting yourself get too distracted. Anyways, as you were saying. You’re a bit battered and scraped up, alright. But no broken bones. No visible deadly wounds. And you still have your gun clamped to your chest with shaky arms. That’s all you need, really. Making it to the safehouse will be a breeze.

You’re halfway down the mountain as twilight begins to lighten to dawn, and there’s still no sign of anyone chasing you. It’s a bit warmer down here, and as you flex your fingers and toes you feel the sharp pins and needles radiate through them and force a smile. It’s good, you tell yourself. Means they’re all still there. You might just be in the clear now.

Then the sky darkens again, and it begins to rain.

Within a few minutes you can’t see your hand in front of your face in the downpour and you're forced to hide out. You find a fallen evergreen and burrow through its thick boughs, needles pricking your face and poking in your mouth with a sharp scent that settles behind your eyeballs as you force your way through, certain it will block out the worst of the rain. It doesn’t.

It’s past noon by the time the deluge finally lets up, and as you step out, cursing your shelter for all its faults, the slick earth shifts abruptly under you. With a cry, you are yanked off of your feet into a roll down the slope. You fling out your arms, grasping for anything solid, but the world is a mass of dirt and grey-brown snow-slush and you can’t stop yourself until your hip jams into a tree-stump. Hard.

You hiss, twisting your face upwards off the ground. Bad idea. The mud-slush runs down into your nose and you splutter, spasming and hacking up half the mountain. You move to wipe your eyes on your arm but only rub more dirt in them, gritting your teeth and hissing through them at the sting.

You push yourself onto your hands and knees with a whimper, gingerly feeling around your hip. Not broken. Just another bruise. What’s one more bruise? It’ll be fine.

You’ll be fine.

Your ankle is twisted. You’ve wrapped it as best as you can, but every time you put weight on it, you imagine a great big serpent with needles for scales is slithering under your skin, wrapping itself tight around the bones and squeezing.

Even worse, it's getting dark again. Fucking FUCK.

You should get yourself a thesaurus for Christmas. Fuck really doesn’t have much weight to it when you say it every other sentence.

Whatever. You’re fucking screwed.

Your clothes are soaked, you’re painted in dirt and runny snow and as soon as it gets dark temperatures are going to drop fast enough to freeze you right in place like a stupid fucking statue. Fuck this, fuck this so hard what do I do what do I do.

You bury your face into your hands, heels pressing hard into your eyes. It doesn’t matter that your hands have mud mittens anymore because your face is solid mud and you’ve had dark spots in your eyesight for hours and maybe if you rub them really hard this will all be a shitty dream your shitty brain made up and then you can wake up in your shitty cot with your blanket that’s too thin and it will be so fucking lumpy and uncomfortable and perfect. It would be perfect. Maybe König would be there.

What?

You’re breaking down and going to die in a few hours and you’re thinking of him? Some dude you fuck? What the hell is wrong with you?

He was really warm, though. And he was always so gentle afterwards. For hands that kill with such brutal precision, his fingers felt too delicate to be his when they ran along your body, mapping every scar and dimple like he was trying to memorize you. Like he was terrified that tomorrow he might wake up blind and never be able to see you again, so he needed to be able to recognize you by touch alone.

You didn’t even know what his face looked like, but you could get lost in those eyes, you think. You've learned that the skin above them stretches when he’s surprised, and the skin under them scrunches up when he laughs, so you think it must scrunch like that when he smiles, too. You’ve even seen the way his lids drift down to hide the way his eyes roll back when he’s bored.

What do they look like when he’s excited? When he’s angry? Sad?

You wonder what it would be like to look him in the eyes while you both fell apart. Would he look away and screw them shut? Would they water a little, as yours so often did?

Would he stay the night if you asked? Would he hold you? Would he…

No. This isn’t happening. No way in hell. You are not dying thinking of a random man you’ve barely spoken two words to. It’s ridiculous. It’s pathetic. You’re better than this.

You will not go out like this.

You yank yourself to a tree whose limbs burst forth in sprays of dark needles, your shoulders screaming at you as you pull yourself up on the branches, feeling like a toddler learning to walk for the first time. It’s pitiful. You swing your good leg up, grinding your teeth so hard your jaw pops as you pull yourself up to a thick fork and begin pulling down limbs above you, cutting through the ones around you, tying and weaving and undoing and redoing.

It is dark by the time you’ve finished, a thick nest of evergreen boughs settled under you and woven walls crushing you in. You have to curl into a tight ball to fit into it, but you can no longer feel the breezes from outside. You’ve stripped your clothes off and spread them along the walls as best you can, hoping they can dry just a little.

You thank the mud for clogging your nose. You don’t even want to imagine what you and your clothes must smell like by now.

Maybe by the time you meet up with the others you’ll smell so bad you’ll make one of the rookies vomit. Ghost did that last mission, and you and Soap nearly burst a lung as the poor guy emptied his guts over and over again.

You chuckle at that and try your best to fall asleep.

By the time you make it down the mountain the next day, your knees are knocking against each other with every step and your weapon is plastered with muddy slush that has frozen and melted and frozen all over again. The valley is even worse than the slope, with runoff from the rain congregating in a swampy mess that has you sinking up to your calves in some places. Lifting a leg in this feels like pulling yourself out of concrete, so you get really good at sliding each foot forward without raising it upwards at all.

You think the pressure from the mud is helping with the pain. You barely feel it when you move now.

Your jaw is clenched so hard you chip one of your molars.

You’re halfway through the valley when one of them finds you.

It’s funny how it happens. How you both stand in the mud staring at each other. How you both instinctively know who the other is through the curtain of earth camouflaging you both, yet each stand stock-still as statues anyway.

A second passes.

Two.

Three.

In an instant your guns are to your shoulders, fingers rushing to crush the-

Nothing happens. You squeeze. Squeeze again. The man shakes his gun and yells in frustration, the mud and ice having rendered your weapons unfireable.

But not unusable. The man’s head whips back to you with a growl and he lunges forward, his foot sinking into a deep patch and jerking him down face first. He throws himself up again, splatting forward another pace.

You slide backward, forcing yourself to slow down, to keep your feet under you as you move gut-wrenchingly slowly, searching for solid ground. He’s flailing and flinging himself towards you but the mud is slowing him down, and there’s a rocky patch right behind you. You’re going to make it.

He reaches you before you reach the edge, raising his gun and throwing his body behind a downwards blow. Yours is already coming up to deflect, but the blow sends you backwards, landing on your back with a splash. He’s on top of you, a hand shoving your face down as mud flows around it.

You thrash and wiggle, a scream cut off as your mouth fills with liquid dirt. Your hand is whirling all around and it catches something and you yank.

He howls as you pull his ear, sending him off-balance just enough to raise your head for a choking gasp before your palm is on his face, shoving him sideways. He rolls away from you, struggling to his feet as you’re on your hands and knees and your gun is in the mud but so is his. He tries to reach for it but he’s stuck, and in that precious heartbeat of time your legs are back under you, feet planted deep and wide.

He whirls towards you as you stand, throwing a punch at your torso that you know you can’t dodge, you can’t even move, so you throw your fist sideways, twisting, forcing all your strength into shoving from your rear leg so that when you catch his knuckles on your forearm they are savagely wrenched sideways with your momentum. His pinkie pops outwards with a crunch, and he falls back with a choked sob.

You grab your gun off the ground, throwing your whole body into a swing at his head, shattering through his palm as he tries to block it. You both fall sideways with the momentum but you find your feet faster, gripping the weapon through the slime coating it as you bring the stock straight down into his skull.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Your grip slides, dirt scraping more of your skin off with each blow, but he’s not moving. You stumble backwards drunkenly, falling onto your forearms again and army-crawling, gun held tightly in each hand, all the way to the edge. You flop on your back then, one eye on the body, and heave great breaths, coughing again and again until your body has enough and you curl inwards, choking out mud and throwing up even more. You try to even your breathing, try to filter the adrenaline out of your system so you don’t crash. In, out. In, out. In out in out inoutinoutinoutinoutin-FUCCCCCKK. You shake your head violently, over and over.

You take one last look at the body, only seeing it because you know where to look. A mud-covered shoulder pokes out of the ground, the rest already lost.

You can’t balance on your feet anymore, so you crawl away.

You don’t even bother to make a shelter that night. You crawl under a rotting log, ripping your last ration bar from your pocket and devouring it, licking the crumbs from your stained and tainted fingers. You curl up and fall asleep just like that, bones chattering and muscles spasming.

Helicopter blades wake you up in the morning. You’re on your feet, falling and jumping and running and falling, flailing your arms because you know those blades, that’s your team and they’re here for you and you’re finally free, you did it you did it you’re so proud of yourself you can’t wait to have a warm bath and then maybe even afterwards you can see-

The helicopter passes over you and disappears around the mountain.

You stare at it, deathly still. It’s just sweeping the area, making sure it’s safe to land.

But the wingbeats have already faded into the distance, replaced by a vast and engulfing silence. Time stretches out before you, and you’re still staring at the mountain.

Your stomach breaks the silence with a gurgle.

You flop down, shoving your face into the ground, and scream.

You press the button on your radio, cracking the caked mud. It clicks, and you hear nothing. Not even static. You click it again. And again, this time just to hear the sound. Rapidly you click it again and again and again.

You start laughing, your abs clenching and strangling your organs as you guffaw, thrashing around like a headless chicken, and thinking about yourself as a headless chicken makes you laugh even louder. Everything is just so funny, none of this is real, you’re on the Truman Show, you’re the biggest comedy in the world. It’s even funny that your laughter only comes out in squeaky wheezes. It’s all just a big joke. Haha. You can’t wait to tell someone.

You fall asleep just like that, grinning up at the sky with dirt in your teeth.

You wake up, stare into the sun, and go back to sleep.

You feel lighter.

Is this what it feels like to leave your body?

It’s not as bad as you thought.

You wonder if König will remember you.

The ground beneath you is moving, sliding under you and scraping along you.

There's no ground underneath you at all now, and something is pressing, and you feel your legs dangling and swinging all around you, the world spinning a jig and you the unwilling passenger. You think you might tell it to stop, but it doesn't listen to you.

You're yanked back into consciousness by a thundering vibration setting every bone against itself. You jolt upwards, feeling heavy pressure on your shoulders as your eyes roll back into your head. The world is black. Black and blue and blurred. Through the haze you begin to make out a white visage and two black voids that pierce through you.

This must be hell. You don’t want to be awake for your judgement.

Your consciousness drifts away again, blocking out the rumbling flight of the helicopter, completely oblivious to the warm bodies pressed in around you, speaking rapidly through their headsets.

Any more? Sweep around again.

There's nothing else here.

Ok. Let's bring these ones back, then.

You are still asleep as your body is carried into a hospital room, completely unresponsive as the nurses strip and bathe you with clinical precision. You don’t wake until hours later, seeing only a single nurse checking your vitals and bandages. Each hand and foot has been carefully wrapped, the angry red battlefield of blisters and exposed flesh meticulously covered in pristine, unblemished white. The nurse offers a smile as you fight through the haze, imagining you are underwater and slowly floating to the surface, watching the sun jiggle and warp through the abyss above you. Just bad blisters, the nurse is telling you. Very lucky. Very lucky. You think you might nod back. She’s right, of course. You’re alive, aren’t you?

Ghost comes by as you’re released the next day. They’ve rewrapped your hands in a bandage that gives you a little more flexibility, and he finds you sitting on the edge of the bed, staring into the white fabric.

The mattress shifts as he settles beside you. He doesn’t say a word, but his eyes are trained on you. Black voids in a mask of white.

“You left me,” you finally whisper, eyes still on your hands.

“What?”

You look at him, trying to see something in the face to get mad at, but his eyes are just a little wider than before. Confused, maybe.

“The helicopter…” you begin, voice scratchy, and clear your throat. “The helicopter flew right over me.”

“That wasn’t our helicopter.”

“It was heading back from the safehouse.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Oh,” you huff, sinking into yourself. “I…”

You stop as he clears his throat, shoulders expanding in a loud breath. “It’s alright. You were knocked out pretty good by the time our boys found you. Happens to the best of us.”

You nod, swallowing again, and wish someone else was here to comfort you, literally anyone but Ghost. “Is…uh…is…umm…is Soap ok?”

Ghost grunts. “Johnny took one to the arm, but he’ll pull through. I was just going to visit him now.”

You push yourself to your feet, proud that you only sway a bit. “Can I-”

“No,” Ghost cuts you off. “You’ll have time to visit him later. For now you need to go and rest. That’s an order,” he cuts you off as you open your mouth to protest. Your jaw shuts. Call it obedience, call it cowardice, but you find you just don’t have it in you to argue the point. You promise yourself you’ll see Soap in the morning. Well, later in the morning, seeing as it’s somehow 0100 hours already.

When Ghost leaves you slump, any need for straight posture gone with the departure of your superior officer. Trying to keep your breathing even, you will your legs to carry your body down the medical corridor. Just a little longer, you promise them, then you’ll get the break you deserve. But your body has had enough of your unfulfilled promises, and you find yourself forced to sink onto one of the shitty metal chairs littering the hallway. Just a little rest, and then I’ll go back to my quarters.

You wake to the familiar sounds of agony. Before your body has the chance to disagree, instinct has you on your feet again, hands grabbing at the thin air where your sidearm should be. My holster, my holster, where the hell is-

Your eyes land on the white-washed walls. Too clean. Too smooth. And your hands aren’t moving like they should, strangled by white fabric. It finally sinks in that you’re far from the battlefield, far from any fight.

The sounds continue, drawing your eye to one of the many nondescript doors lining the corridor. Someone having a nightmare, probably. Or reacting badly to a procedure, maybe. Either way, a problem best left for the nurses with their iron wills and their tranquilizers. You have enough bruises already. Best not add a black eye to the list.

A pitiful whimper sounds through the door, one that has your heart twisting like a towel being wrung out, sending all the blood to your throat and stomach.

Fuck it. What’s one more bruise?

Your fingers curl the handle down, and you shrink in on yourself as the door swings open on its own with a creak. You catch it and hastily shut it behind you, trying not to make any more noise.

The room is small enough that even the military-issue cot feels too big for it. The room is made even smaller by the man lying in the cot, arms dangling off the sides as he thrashes, his feet hanging off the end. You can see the crumpled blanket on the floor and automatically avert your eyes. The hood is still on, but below it he’s wearing an undershirt and boxers, and you realize this is the most of him you’ve ever seen.

You press yourself to the wall as he spasms again, a leg kicking out and narrowly missing you, causing you to notice the thick white bandage wrapped around his thigh, and the dark line slowly being painted along it.

Hesitantly you flick the lights on, wincing at the burn that rushes through your eyeballs, but he doesn’t even react to it. You have no idea how to wake him up without breaking a bone, so you press your back to the wall, slowly skirting along the edge of the room and staying as far out of his reach as you can, praying to whatever old ghosts are listening that he doesn’t wake up and go straight into murder mode. Or, you know, default alert soldier setting. This is a stupid idea.

As you approach his head you lean over as far as you can, stretching one arm out until the socket pops in protest. You poke his shoulder and leap back.

Nothing.

You take a step closer and lean in again.

You’re immediately interrupted by the door swinging open with a much-louder creak. You and the nurse both pause and stare at each other for a moment, startled, and you sheepishly move to straighten and pull your arm back.

With viper-like speed an arm shoots out to grab your wrist, capturing it in a deadly grip and you yelp, whirling back to the man in the bed and raising your opposite arm.

You freeze when you see his eyes, so wide they’re more white than color. He’s stock-still, fixated on you like a mouse caught in a cat’s gaze. Paralyzed by fear, praying. Shaking.

His hand is…shaking. “Hey, hey,” you coax, hesitantly pulling your arm back in so you can place it over his fingers. “It’s just me, big guy. You’re safe.”

His chest heaves outwards, and you feel his hand relax a little before his head snaps towards the nurse as she takes a step closer, cradling something small and cylindrical in her hands. “It’s alright,” she speaks directly to you. “I can take it from here.”

König releases the breath he’s held, shoving himself backwards on the bed with a shake of his head, prompting the nurse to click her tongue at him before raising the needle. You realize it’s a lot bigger than you first thought. “You’ll be fine,” she’s assuring him. “It will hurt a lot less once it’s done.”

König’s head turns very slowly, back up to you, and for a second you’re confused at his gaze, wondering why he thinks you have enough knowledge to give him any medical advice. Then you notice the way his eyes seem just a little too shiny in the light, the way his other hand is clenching and unclenching around the bedsheet.

You’ve always known him as the perfect soldier, quick and to the point, pin-prick precise, a dancing whirlwind of death. More monster than man. You know him as the one who laughs with every good kill, mocking the reaper of death with a smile. Look at how slow you are. I got here first. He’s the one who dances on the precipice of fate and spits over the edge.

Even sprawled out like this, sweaty and trembling, you are well aware of every flex of his muscles, of the strength he holds back in his grip. Yet as you look into the eyes of the storm you find that for the first time you see no hint of the giddy killing machine looking back at you. The eyes staring back at you from this big soldier’s body are those of a fragile little kid. And he’s terrified.

You gulp, your tongue catching on the back of your throat. “Yeah…yeah, it’ll be ok. I’ll be right here.”

Finally he relaxes, slumping back into the bed, and the nurse takes the opportunity to give him the shot. You feel his flinch in a wave of pressure radiating up your wrist and forearm, but his gaze doesn’t move. He keeps looking into your eyes until his own begin to droop and he sinks even further into the mattress.

Before his hand drops from your wrist you catch it, the skin under your bandages protesting at the sudden flexion. You choose to ignore it, settling down on the floor next to his bed as your own eyes begin to follow his. Even as your head falls into your knees and your body finally gives itself completely over to darkness, you refuse to let go.

You’re woken by something warm trailing along your hairline. You jerk, smacking the back of your head into the wall with an irritated grunt. König’s arm hovers in the air just in front of your face, and you turn to see him pressed to the edge of the bed, looking a little guilty. “Sorry,” he murmurs.

You should be, startling me like that, you want to say. But when you open your mouth, what comes out instead is “No, it’s ok, I just…I wasn’t expecting it.”

König gulps audibly, and the cot creaks as he pulls his hand back, shifting his body even closer. “You stayed.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Never,” he hisses, and you find yourself staring into his eyes again, only this time they’ve taken on their old torrential intensity.

Now it’s yours that are as wide as a child’s. You gulp, feeling the muscles of your jaw flex and unflex. “Ok,” you finally murmur. “I’ll stay.”

And you do. For two more nights König stays in the infirmary, weathering the steady rounds of nurses and bandage changes with a steely resolve even as his fists flex and twist into the sheets. You stay with him all the while, but he doesn’t reach for your hand again, not after noticing your own bandages.

The second night you sleep in the cot next to him at his insistence. You’re hurt too, he reasons. You need a real bed to rest in. He scoots himself to the back edge to give you room, and when you wake up he hasn’t moved.

After the third night you wake to his hand resting on your arm. It’s a small gesture. Innocent even. Yet still you find yourself contemplating it, barely saying a word as the nurses come to remove his bandages. You grind your jaw as you take in the puckered line of stitches running from his knee up to the edge of his boxers, looking away politely as the nurses help him into a pair of sweatpants.

You don’t even say anything when you let him lean on your shoulders, using your own aching body as a sacrificial lamb to transport him back to his barrack. Once you get him into bed you hover in the doorway, taking in the shadows of the walls, twisting your wrists back and forth, a habit you picked up to alleviate the pain from flexing your fingers. They’re in even thinner bandages now, but you’d rather be safe than sorry.

Maybe there’s nothing to say. You found him in a vulnerable situation where he needed a lifeline. It could have been anyone, he was barely lucid. Now he surely wanted to forget all of that vulnerability and go back to a time where he hadn’t needed help from anyone. Not even you. Especially not you. He was a soldier, after all. Fondness wasn’t in the job description.

Best not to say anything then. Just…leave and get this over with. Just like that. Yeah…easy. Really easy.

Your move to shut the door behind you is halted by him calling your name. Your real name. You didn’t even know he knew your name.

He calls it again, quieter this time, and you lean back in the door, eyes drifting across his room to him. He’s still sitting on the bed where you left him, only now he’s hunched over to rest a forearm on his good thigh. “Come back here,” he breathes, voice cracking, and it hits you right in your stomach, settling there like a wounded bird, flapping and screeching at you to stay away, you’re already in too deep, you don’t know how this will end.

But it’s too late. You’re walking forward, the door swinging shut behind you. Locked. You’re already reaching out for the hand he offers, only for him to reach past the bandages and grab your wrist. You pause at that, staring into the hazy depths of his eyes, pupils bursting for you again. Slowly, inch by excruciating inch, he straightens again, face coming closer to yours as another hand snakes around your neck to help guide you down to straddle his good thigh, moving your forearms to rest on each of his shoulders.

The bird in your stomach has moved to your chest, and you’re positive he can feel your heavy breathing even through his mask with how close you are. His eyes look down to your lips, and you wonder if he is going to lift his hood up and kiss you, your cheeks flushing in anticipation as he leans forward.

Only instead he rests his forehead against yours, eyes drifting closed. You feel your arms drift upwards with his inhale. “Stay with me,” he exhales. “One more night.”

You nod against his forehead, wrapping your arms around his neck and finally letting your own eyes close. Your breathing is slowed down now, and you find yourself enjoying the warmth you feel radiating from everywhere you touch him. One of his hands has spread against your thigh, while the other still rests along your neck, thumb tracing up and down your jaw. You know you could fall asleep just like this.

König, however, has other ideas. As you slump even further to him, both of his hands drift to your hips. You notice the movement, sighing at the pleasant sensation of his hands running over your body. You don’t notice the intention until he takes a deep breath, and in one smooth motion he has stood and twisted to lay you down on the bed, climbing on top of you. You gasp, feeling your heart stutter all over again, blood rushing to your core as you feel the fabric of his hood rub up your neck. His nose, you think.

Fuck, you want him. You want him just like this and any other way he’s willing to give, but you can’t, you shouldn’t, and you know you have to at least try to protest. You bite back a whimper as a hand drags up your inner thigh. “König, your leg.”

“I don’t care,” he growls. “Say my name again.”

You groan in protest and he pulls back, tilting your face up to his. “Is this not what you want?” He feels the way your jaw flexes and pulls away.

“Wait. No. I want this. You. I want you. Just…please be careful.”

He hears the last part, but he’s past giving a damn about his own body now. His hand is already undoing your belt and he’s leaning back to ease your pants and underwear off your legs, lazily tossing them to the side.

A harsh word escapes his throat as he looks down at you, but you don’t catch it through the blood rushing in your ears. “Close your eyes,” he orders, and unthinkingly you do, another growling swear reaching your ears. “So obedient for me.”

You hear the shuffling of fabric and feel a hand wrap around one of your knees, lifting it up for a warm tongue to swirl along the inside of it, for wet lips to place a sloppy kiss just above where his tongue had just been. His lips slide up again, and this time he sucks on the skin just slightly, and you feel your leg tremble as a tiny moan escapes you, but he’s already moving further up and this time sucking harder, and then further and harder and further and harder until he’s against your inner thigh and his teeth are sinking into you and you yelp his name, whining in frustration as he pulls back.

“No,” you pant, “don’t stop. Please.”

You feel a chuckle rumble in his throat and his nose presses into the bottom of your slit. You jolt, squeezing your eyes tighter as it slides up through you before pressing into your sensitive spot, and he inhales.

“Fuck,” you cry, tangling your hands in the sheets only to choke on a sound of pain.

König pulls back immediately and you shake your head at him, a sob on the edge of your quivering lips.

“Easy. Watch your hands.”

You grit your teeth and nod, relaxing your fingers and turning your palms up.

“Good,” he purrs as his hands hook under the backs of your knees, easily throwing your legs over his shoulders. As he settles back down you feel the muscles in his back flexing against your calves and moan before his mouth is even on you.

He hums contentedly at the sound, running his tongue along the length of you before swirling it around your clit. His lips pucker against it and he sucks, pulling away with a soft pop that has you clenching your legs around him. He moves in again, lazily altering between sucking and tracing his tongue just around your bud, feeling the way you flex against him, hearing the way you react to each movement, and committing all of it to memory before shifting his head so he can dip his tongue inside you. He groans at the taste, the vibration of it radiating up under your ribs and down through your legs. You’re quiet now, feeling how close you are settling heavy over you, drowning you in deliciously sweet honey.

He feels the shaking of your legs around him and returns to your clit as he slowly works a finger into you, curling it upwards to stroke at the spongy part inside of you.

You break quietly, choking on his name as the pleasure strangles your muscles and sets them briefly aflame, fresh sensations flowing through you as he continues to touch you just so, only pulling away when you sink into the mattress and your legs slip from his shoulders.

You hear the bed frame creak as he pulls back, running a hand up your thigh before the shifting sound of fabric hits your ears, and you feel the mattress sink down in different places as he shifts.

“Open your eyes.”

You do as he says, your disappointment at seeing the sniper’s hood obscuring his face immediately squashed by the realization that the rest of him is completely naked.

You’re seeing him for the first time.

Fucking hell, what a sight.

Your eyes rest on the delicious curve of his cock first, marveling at the pink tip and the thick veins running along it. You had felt his size on plenty of occasions, but seeing it for the first time is a new beast entirely, one that has you biting your lip and wiggling your hips like a teenager all over again.

But soon your eyes are taken in by the strong curves of muscle outlining his hips, and your eyes are traveling upwards to the delicious bulges of his chest, your own heaving at the sight. You find yourself wanting to trace the outline of each hill and valley of muscle that flows along his shoulders, down his arms, to the hands, wanting to run your tongue along the veins like raised rivers spreading down his forearm and across the back of each hand.

You wonder what his back looks like. You wonder how the muscles of his neck shift as he moves, what the outline of his jaw is shaped like. You are greedy and want to take everything he has, and at the same time you are desperate for anything he can give you. You’re a peasant kneeling at the feet of your king, ready to lick the crumbs he throws you off the floor.

His head tilts playfully, breaking you out of your reverie. “You like what you see?”

Your chuckle catches in your chest, only a tiny puff of air leaving your mouth. “Yes.”

His eyes scrunch a little, and you imagine he is grinning as he leans over, balancing himself above you. He moves back a bit, hand adjusting your hips as he positions himself. He looks back up at you, and you nod eagerly, your hands reaching up to grab his shoulders. He clicks his tongue, glancing at them, and with a groan you put your hands above your head. He moves one of his own to grasp your wrists, keeping them pinned as he sinks onto his forearms.

You feel the head of his cock running up and down your folds, and instinctively bend your back to give him a better angle, earning an approving hum that makes you even wetter. But as he braces himself and begins to drive into you, a strangled sound smashes through his gritted teeth.

Oh no. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer, only pressing his face into your neck, inhaling heavily as you feel his entire body stiffening against you. “It’s…it’s fine,” he hisses, his hand strangling your wrists. “Just …” he heaves another breath. “Ah... Ich… I…need a…moment.”

You sigh, wiggling a hand out of his grip to push his chin up. He lets you move his face back, and even in the dim light you can see the way the skin around his eyes has gone even paler than normal. “Get off,” you murmur.

He slumps, twisting his face out of your grip and keeping his eyes on the wall. He stays like that for a second before giving a swift nod and pulling out, maneuvering backwards on the bed and moving to get off.

“Wait!” you burst out, and he freezes. “That’s not what I meant.”

After another moment he looks at you in bewilderment, so you sit up and shift to the side, patting the bed next to you. Awkwardly, he crawls to it, nearly dragging his bad leg, stiffening again when you place your wrists on his shoulders. “Let me?”

After a second of staring into your eyes, he nods again, allowing you to push on him, laying him on his back before you straddle him and finally take your shirt off. You see his chest rise with a shuddering breath and before you really think about it you’re leaning down to lick a stripe up his sternum. Seeing his pecs jerk upwards on either side of your tongue emboldens you and you shift your head, running your tongue back down to circle over one of his nipples before you suck.

Immediately the muscles flex again and he pushes up into you. “Like that,” he snarls, loud and vibrating through your skull. You’re aching down there again, but you’re not done yet. You release him with a squelch, watching the patch of saliva glisten before moving to give the other nipple the same treatment, your heart leaping at the sounds falling from his mouth as he quivers under you.

“König,” you croon. “Touch me.”

He whimpers as you flick your tongue over the sensitive bud. “Where?”

“Anywhere. Grab my hair, squeeze my tits, just put your hands on me.”

You groan as he obeys, long fingers tangling tightly in your hair as his other hand spreads along your ribcage, thumb sliding over your breast. You sigh, leaning down to bite into his pec, moaning as his grip on you tightens. You kiss the mark left by your teeth before leaning back. His hands move to cup both of your breasts as you raise yourself up and sink down onto his cock. You’re too excited and you go too fast, and a sharp pinch of pain seizes at your entrance. You gasp, instinctively leaning forward to brace yourself on your palms, but his hands move to your waist, catching you before you hurt them any further.

“I have you,” he whispers, voice scratchy, and despite the pain you clench at the sound of what you do to him. He chokes on his next words, a groan coming out instead. “Do you need to get off?”

“No!” You whisper-yell back so quickly that he laughs, and despite everything you laugh with him. He runs his hands up and down your sides, feeling you start to relax a little, but not enough yet. “Tell me what you need,” he murmurs.

“It’s fine.” You close your eyes and try to focus on your breathing. “Just need…a moment.”

“Hypocrite.”

You shoot your eyes open to glare at him, only to see his chest shake with another chuckle at your scrunched-up angry face. “Your leg is sliced open, it’s not the same,” you scoff.

His eyes glimmer with the start of a witty retort before one of his hands freezes over your bottom rib, drawing his lovely gaze away from yours. His thumb is circling around a tiny hairline of a scar, bone-white and soft. You’ve already forgotten how you got it.

“This one,” he murmurs. “It is new.”

“How…how did you notice?”

“It wasn’t there last time.” His tone was quiet and matter-of-fact, like the answer was obvious, and it takes you back to every time his hands ran over you as you drifted into sleep. How long did he stay there after you fell asleep? How long did it take him to commit you to memory so well that a patch of skin even you had forgotten was instantly recognized as something new?

Your body has always been a means to an end, a vehicle carrying you rather than a full part of you. Batter it, toss it around, whatever you need to do to get the job done. And when your body protests, you treat it like any other tool you can beat into submission. Like your first battered old car that revved to life with a well-placed kick.

But now all you can think of is his hands running over you with thorough determination, acknowledging each new mark with a gentle reverence that was more than you deserved. Getting to know you in the only way he knew how.

For the first time in a long time, you’re reminded to see this body as something more than a bruised vessel you’re obligated to carry around. He reminds you to see it as something more.

Fuck, you think you might love him.

“König?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

His head tilts a little, his hand still running along your rib, and your cheeks flush.

Before he can reply, you gulp a little. “I…I think I’m ready.”

He hums again, his hands moving back to rest on your hips. You stay still for another moment, looking into his eyes. You don’t think you can memorize his body, not like he has yours. But you have memorized his eyes, have burned them into your mind so clearly you saw them even as you were trapped on that damned mountain. Thinking about him.

And now you think he might've been thinking about you, too.

You feel him twitch inside of you, pulling you out of your thoughts. Taking a deep breath, you raise yourself up slowly, feeling his hands tighten and take some of your weight, following your lead as you sink into him again, this time with a sigh that echoes his own. Slowly, hesitantly, you raise yourself up and down, feeling how easily he stretches you, how easily he could break you.

But he never has. The only pain you’ve gotten from him was caused by your own impatience. As you keep going, finding an angle that has him dragging across your most sensitive parts and making you even wetter, you become confident that there’s no chance of pain, allowing yourself to speed up.

His hands are steady as ever, guiding you up and down, but beneath you his shoulders and chest begin to squirm and heave. His eyes wander all around, and his breaths are scattered and staccato.

And his sounds. You’d never known a man to be so loud, and now you know you’ve been missing out all these years. Every grunt, every groan, every moan and whimper goes straight through your core, winding you up faster and faster. As you get closer his sounds shift, and you realize he’s started to stutter out words.

His eyes are hazy and unfocused but you can still tell they’re trained on you, and you urge your body to calm down for just a minute longer, just long enough to hear what he’s saying.

You can’t make out any of the words, but his hands are even tighter on you now and the way his voice shifts from growling to whimpering settles into a melodic language that has you crying out for him anyway.

Beneath your trembling body, he keeps going. “Never..told you …du bist wie ein Traum,” another whimper leaves his lips. “Ich kann nicht glauben, dass du wirklich hier bist.” He gasps as you clench tighter around him. “Du bist…du…Du bist viel zu gut für mich…Dein Lächeln und …und…” His eyes are watering and you slow down only for his hands to dig into you, urging you to speed up again. “Ich weiß nicht wie ich dich loslassen soll aber du verdienst so viel mehr als …”

His mind is lapsing again, his determined confession faltering into a fervent prayer sent to the only god he’s ever believed in, to you - moving over him and taking everything he is giving you, making him wish he had more, so much more than the desert-dry heart of a killer whose hands can only ever pull things apart. His thumb is over the scar on your rib again and his blurry vision is taking in the white of the bandage wrapped around your hands and it has him wishing his own hands could build something instead of destroy it just so he could put you back together again. You’re coming apart around him, crying his name, and he’s thinking of flinging his body in front of you, taking every bullet and blade meant for you, because his body is all he has to give and he knows how to sacrifice it, he knows he’ll gladly lay it at your altar, bloody and broken, if it could only mean making sure he’d never be surprised by a new scar again. Maybe you’d even remember him a little when he was gone.

He’s trying to tell you all of that, the messy syllables punching through his throat. “Niemals, niemals, nie,…” but before he can finish he’s failing already, falling apart under you and screaming your name and emptying everything he has into you.

It’s not enough.

You’re laying on top of him now and he tries his best to be gentle but his entire body is shaking as he rolls you off and staggers to his bathroom, slamming the door behind him and sinking against it.

He shatters in a whole-body-wracking sob.

You’re never going to look at him again.

He tucks his legs in, squeezing his knees into his chest, squeezing even harder as a burn radiates out from the stitches, trying to rein in his ragged breathing in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, he can save this and cover up the fact that he’s crying.

It was just meant to be casual sex. He wasn’t supposed to start caring. That’s not what you wanted. It’s not fair to you. It’s not your fault he let himself get emotional. And now he’s ruined the only thing you two did have, he wanted to make you feel better and now he’s made you so uncomfortable and…and…

He slams his forehead into his knees and sobs again.

He’s pathetic. Pathetic to think this could be something more. Pathetic to think he could have something more.

Everything hurts.

That’s what he signed up for, isn’t it?

That’s what he deserves.

A knock on the door has his head jerking back up, hands clutching his knees hard enough the knuckles just might pop through the skin. “Go away!”

“No.” Your tone is flat as he hears a thunk against the other side of the door, imagining you leaning against it and sliding down, mirroring him perfectly. “Not until you talk to me.”

“No.”

You sigh. “That's how it’s gonna be? Well, in that case, to quote a man I…admire very much, I can make you talk.” You drop your voice, trying and failing to mimic his battle growl.

He snorts despite himself.

You take that as a cue to continue. “For one, I’m not leaving until you do. You’ll be stuck with my annoying-ass voice forever.”

“I like your voice.”

“Oh…umm…thank you. In that case I’ll…I’ll steal all your knives and I’ll draw a kangaroo on your door and-”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he growls.

“Guess you’ll never know if you keep that door closed. And that’s not all, I’ll…I’ll steal those cheap chocolates we get every supply drop. Don’t deny it, I know everyone joked it was Ghost but I saw you take them all. You love those.” You smile, laughing a little. “On the other hand, I’ll fly to Austria right now if that’s what it takes to get some chocolate you’d really like. I’d even get you some of those waffle things you were telling Soap about that one time I caught you both raiding the snack cabinets. Well, I’d probably eat some of those. But I promise to save most of them for you. Just…please talk to me. I’ll…I’ll…” you’re cut off by your own squeak as the door opens and you fall backwards.

His hands are already there to catch you, and once you sit back up he stays there, half-crouched and awkward, eyes anywhere but your own.

Slowly, you open your arms, watching his head turn back to you.

In an instant he’s lunged into you, burrowing his face into your neck with an awkward grunt as he stretches his bad leg out to the side. You try to change to a comfier position for him but the man is like a brick wall.

It’s nice.

So you let yourself stay there, wrapping around him as he wraps around you on the hard floor. It’s a softness unknown to you both, two soldiers carved razor-sharp from solid steel. But as you let yourself sink into him, you find yourself liking the strange tranquility of this moment, the way two bodies made for war can still drape over each other and feel peace instead. Against all better judgement, against any scrap of common sense you have left, you find yourself yearning for a few less battles if it can mean more of this. You let your eyes close, imagining it for just a little while.

After a while, he pulls back, moving to lean against the wall and pulling you so you can balance on his uninjured thigh. You let your head loll onto his shoulder, face turned into the hood. His chin rests on your temple.

“Are you cold?”

He grunts noncommittally, eyes half-closed. “Are you?”

“Nooo,” you mumble, burrowing into his neck. He shifts, maneuvering you off his lap, only to grunt when he tries to push on his leg.

“I got it.” You push yourself up, moving to the bed to retrieve one of the blankets there, carefully wrapping it around both of your torsos when you settle back onto his lap. Your legs stick out, but you don’t really care.

After a while you feel his heartbeat begin to pick up again and adjust yourself to look up at him. His eyes drift to you before he sighs. “Do you…still want me to talk?”

You nod.

“Alright then. I will talk. I do not think it is what you want to hear.”

You bite your lip and try to keep your breathing steady as he continues.

“Back in the med bay. No. Before that.” He shakes his head emphatically. “When we were assigned to two different groups…No…Scheiße, I…”

You run a shaky hand up and down his chest. “It’s okay. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

His fingers dig into you for a fraction of a second, so quick you think you might have imagined it before his entire body is deflating, his head settling back against the wall. “They ambushed us. You weren’t there but…they hit us on patrol, hit us and ran before we could counter. I did not even see who hit me, I just look up one moment and down the next and the snow is all red and…” His voice drops to barely a whisper “Das war meines.” He trails off completely, a finger tracing circles on your shoulder. “I've been wounded before. I've accepted death before. This time...before I...while I was…” he exhales another irritated sigh. “I was on the ground and…wie sag ich das…ich hab versucht etwas zu tun, mich zu bewegen aber alles was ich tun konnte...I was thinking of you.”

He freezes, turning his head away and dropping his hands from you. But instead of moving away, you kiss a patch of skin just outside the hood, watching the muscle under it jump. “Is that all you want to tell me?”

He shakes his head.

“Do you think you can keep going?”

His head turns back to you briefly before he tilts it up to stare at the ceiling. “When I was in the med bay. Well, I…it went like this. I wake up and you are there and I think, König this is it, now you are finally dead. And then I feel the pain and I see the nurse and you were moving away and I couldn't…du warst da und dann warst du fast nicht mehr da und ich konnte nicht atmen. Ich…” he shakes his head back and forth, back and forth. “Ich konnte nicht ohne dich. Ich…needed you to stay.” His head jerks down again, eyes boring into yours with all the intensity of a tornado, arms wrapping around you once again. “I need you to stay.”

You nod, holding him tight, the weight of the words unspoken tangling in your chest and constricting your tongue. Stay. With me. He won't ask for more than tonight, not when neither of you can even risk asking for a tomorrow. Stay with me. For as long as you have. A day, maybe. A month. Maybe you'll get out of this mess someday and get years.

Stay with me for a lifetime. Whatever lifetime we get.

You nod, whispering a promise into his skin. Always. Your fingers drift down along his leg, tracing just outside the stitches, your eyes following the line of gooseprickles that rise in their wake.

You feel more than you hear your name being whispered into your hair, and as you look up fingers wrap around your wrist, guiding it up over his hip, his ribs, his chest. Sliding around the edge of the hood, pushing it up, up, up. Until the fabric slides off. You gaze in awe, watching his jaw flex as his lips part to form a word whose sound hides in the back of his throat. Always. You look back into his eyes before surging forward, hugging him tight, tight enough to strangle, you think, but he’s already wrapping himself around you with equal fervor.

“You know,” you murmur, breath ruffling his hair, “if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

He huffs a laugh, the air catching in his lungs with a choking sound. His grip tightens.

When you wake you find you’ve been moved to the bed, but his face is still buried in your neck, unmoving despite the soft light filtering in your window. You smile a little, watching the early-morning sky, perfectly clear and pale blue.

It matches his eyes.

---

German Translations

du bist wie ein Traum: You are like a dream

Ich kann nicht glauben, dass du wirklich hier bist: I can’t believe you are here

Du bist viel zu gut für mich: You are too good to me

Dein Lächeln und…: You smile and…

Ich weiß nicht wie ich dich loslassen soll aber du verdienst so viel mehr als: I don't know how I am supposed to let go of you (eventually) but you (clearly) deserve so much more than me

Niemals, niemals, nie: never again, never again, never

Scheiße: shit

Das war meines: it was mine

wie sag ich das: how do I say this

ich hab versucht etwas zu tun, mich zu bewegen aber alles was ich tun konnte: I tried doing something, moving, but all I could do

du warst da und dann warst du fast nicht mehr da und ich konnte nicht atmen. Ich…: you were there and then you nearly weren’t there and I could not breathe. I…

Ich konnte nicht ohne dich. Ich…: I couldn’t without you. I…

#könig #könig call of duty #cod #cod mwii #könig x reader

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