#Tent of Torment au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kivino · 4 months ago

Text

MEANT FOR EACH OTHER || ZOMBIE AU || KÖNIG X READER || PART III

sum. A deep-seated paranoia takes hold of you. Every hour of the day, you feel like you’re being watched. Followed. And you’re not wrong. So observant, so beautiful and perfect, but always dismissed by your group, left behind, not paid even a sliver of attention. How tragic. It’s okay though. König is here to do right by you. F̶̖̓͆̕͝o̷̢͚̲̬̍͠r̶͖̝̾̊̍̾e̸͔͇̣̓̈̊̾v̶̛͚͕́͗͝e̷̤̻͔͎̅̑̽r̴̝̬̩̘͒̒̃ ̴͔͆͋̈͝ȃ̷̢̭̯n̶̡̜̫͚̉̌̊̒ḍ̷̩̲̹͝ ̷̖̔͌͘ả̶̡̬̥͊l̶͕̇̓̄w̴̺̥̋̂͠ä̷̢̢̝́̒͗y̴̳̦̙̕ŝ̶͕̋̀.̵̝̱͒̌̅̆

tags. zombie au (twdg inspired), stalking, obsessive behavior, themes of paranoia, fear, distrust, isolation, canon-typical violence, könig being a creep, blood, gore, violence, mutilation, graphic description of corpses

w.c. 5.7k (i know it’s too long, shut up)

a.n. i finished it surprisingly fast for the size of this thing, damn. really thought the chapter was going to be shorter, but oh well. at least i did everything i planned for it lol. enjoy!

taglist. @ilovekentonanami, @skullyz1, since you asked to be tagged, here you go! thank you for your comments <333

|| PART 1 || || PART 2 ||

jjk masterlist || cod masterlist || ao3 link || ko-fi

Be careful of what you wish for, you would’ve told yourself around a couple of hours ago, when the zip of your tent went up with a final sour “zap!”, followed by your harsh, but necessary decision-making. You wanted out of the group. Laying there, under an old chequered blanket you stole from somebody’s unlocked car with busted windows, you were mulling over how you should do it. Waking up earlier than everyone, quickly packing up the necessities and taking a chunk out of food and medicine supply, or going out with a bang, picking a fight in the morning, when everyone’s already up and running around the camp, cooking, talking, cleaning weapons or mending clothes.

You weren’t sure what was better but decided to leave it up to the chance. If you wake up with the crack of pink dawn, you’ll disappear like smoke, perhaps leaving some traces and shocked or fuming Scott to tell the group about the argument. And if you were to find yourself stirring awake with the sound of voices that were once near and dear to you, you’ll snap. No regrets, no holdbacks, and definitely no pity or regard for their feelings. Giving your group the taste of their own medicine was the best you could do to give them the reality check they so desperately needed in their delusion of safety. You went to sleep with the thoughts of possible revenge or quiet disappearance into the sunrise, hearing so much shifting through the thin sheet of sleep, you'd almost assume somebody else was right beside you in the tent.

All of this was the plan before you were awakened by blood-curdling screams that were way too close to be yet another nightmare haunting you. Suddenly, all the terrible dreams that you got used to seeing turned reality. Blood turned to ice, and muscle to stone for a brief moment of confusion, trying to discern whether your mind was playing tricks on you, like always, toying with such cruelty and satisfaction one would think you’re a masochist. Yet another scream pierced the stale darkness of the storage house, while the sound commotion beyond the protection of the thin rainproof fabric was lost on you. This moment seemed to last for a whole eternity. Uncertain limbo before taking action. Realisation that your life was in immediate danger. That your group must be hurt or scared right this moment, for them to be screaming like that. Somewhere among the screams you even managed to discern your name. Which meant only one thing.

It was here. All those months of nightly torment, of getting ignored, dismissed, ridiculed, all the clues that were missed by them but not by you, never by you, were leading up to this.

You were right.

You were fucking right.

Maybe you would’ve smiled, you would’ve laughed, hysterical, content, and just so goddamn happy, revelling in the fact that this entire time, you were not seeing or hearing things. That you were not the crazy one. That this was all worth it in the end. You didn’t notice the hot burn of your eyes, the moisture that grazed your cheeks, how breathing suddenly became much harder, as you cautiously opened the zip of your tent, letting only your hand grab your boots and your backpack, full of nothing but bare necessities.

Those couple of minutes, shoving things into compartments of your backpack grabbing your trusty knife, pulling on your clothes and jacket, were all blurring together, impossible to separate one action from the other. You would’ve loved to take the tent with you, for how surprisingly good it held up in the rain or contained the heat. You wouldn’t have minded taking a plush toy that showed up near you on the morning after your supply run to the mall nearby, causing you to have a meltdown so bad you wouldn’t step outside the storage house for days at a time, paranoid that It was there, ready to sink its nasty, ephemeral claws deep into your flesh and crawl away, as you writhe and cry for help with no one to hear you. You also would’ve loved to take Jay’s gun, as the last “fuck you” to the man. But you couldn’t. Too much time wasted being cocky would mean not only theirs, but your death as well. And you’ll be damned if you rot in the same hole as this human garbage that saw you as nothing but a lunatic, with no worth to them.

The thought of Jay’s gun brought you back to earth for but a second.

Why are there no shots being fired?

You had weapons in stock, you had some ammo, even if all of this was not the best quality, and you even had former military among you, for crying out loud, all of that gave the group a bit of an edge it needed. Especially during scuffles with other survivors, raiders or walkers, which started to become a more frequent problem in the area. Almost as if being led by something to your campsite. No… No. That would be ridiculous, right?

The agitated yelling seemed to be coming from one of the doors off to the side, your exit seemed safe. You had no clue if it was open, but even so, you only needed to crawl out of your tent, make a hook to grab your canteen and another backpack, full of food, taking a right afterwards. Perhaps it will take you some extra time to open the gate to escape, but even so, despite the trembling hands and difficulty breathing, you were confident you could make it. This is it. Your chance to get away in the chaos. There won’t be another.

Your shaky fingers grab onto the zip, pulling it down frantically, with no regard to how the fabric is snagged by the cheap plastic mechanism, ready to finally face what you were scared of, and craved more than anything – freedom. Endless night sky, camping out in the woods, not having to count and weigh every word when saying something, not having to do the work other people push onto you, and some solitude, with no one to bother you about being, supposedly, “a liability”… All of this sounded like heaven to your utterly exhausted, drained mind.

Yet, you’re not given a chance even to get on your knees or crawl out of the tent. A breath is torn out of your chest, when you’re grabbed by the flaps of your jacket and pulled out in a rather rude manner, with a grip so strong you think you might be heading straight to afterlife from the safety of your tent.

“You piece of shit-eating fucking garbage! You motherfucking fuck!” In front of you is Jay, fuming, splattered with dirt and…red. So much fucking red, on his hair, on his face, neck, and this metallic smell mixed with the familiar sweetness of rotting flesh coming off of him, you think you’re about to puke when the older man’s face lingers in front of yours for more than a couple of seconds. The way you reacted to seeing him was probably not the most pleasing thing to him as well – you see a scowl scrunch his features into a likeness of an enraged moose. “You fucking answer when you’re being talked to!” Jay shakes you, almost as if that would help you come into your senses, instead of losing them. “Where is Scott? Where is our fucking ammo? All the weapons?” He practically screams the questions at you.

You didn’t know. Why was Jay asking you all of this? You’re the stupid fuck in charge of them, not me – you think to yourself, and you don’t know how that’s possible, but the sunburnt face in front of you scrunches even further, skin getting redder. Whoops. Must’ve said that out loud. Well, Jay will know better than to drag people around by the collar when he wants to actually get some information out of them, instead of being insulted.

Your blurry eyes drift to the right, head softly lulling along with them. Tom, a man in his sixties, is pushing closed one of the entrances to the storage house, but he’s clearly being overpowered by all the walkers with their unrelenting assault from the outside, rotting hands not letting him close the doors without snapping the pliable, sickly yellow bones in half. You know the man could do it easily, but not when the arms with falling off, decaying flesh are so numerous they’re starting to push the doors open. Scott, his son, is nowhere to be seen after your argument, which happened, you’d imagine, a couple of hours ago, give or take. You’d be upset about it, if you could muster up a single fuck to give after all the pleasantries Scott barked at you in the middle of sneaking off somewhere after the curfew.

After the struggling Tom your eyes fix on Rory, tired, lanky figure kneeling over someone, clearly resembling Amy with her shaved head, even in the stuffy, suffocating dark, soaked with blood and panicked screams of your companions. You can see a pool of something even darker than the air within the storage house, gathering beneath Amy’s body on the ground. Rory’s hands are soaked with the same dark liquid, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that Amy is most likely dying a scary and painful death. Which is a shame. You liked Amy the most, and dissatisfaction with her did not stem any deeper than not feeling up to doing chores she’d pile up on your plate to prove your usefulness to her husband.

Tiny was the last who your eyes fell on, the tall man trying to hack off the limbs of walkers with a dull, rusty hatchet that was usually used to chop firewood by all of you. Yet you saw his eyes frantically bounce to the entrance beside your tent, almost as if Tiny was ready to make a run for it any minute now. Wouldn’t be his first time anyway. You heard his drunk ranting about deserting from an evacuation of civilians from one of the bigger cities. Well, knowing that the hungry hands reaching for living flesh were minutes away from shredding anyone within the storage house to pieces also made you want to run until your lungs collapse. After punching Jay’s lights out, of course.

“What the fuck did you do to Scott?! Answer me!” Jay shakes you even more, to ensure that you become even more dizzy courtesy of his grip. But it’s so ridiculous, right? You didn’t do anything to him. Why are you being blamed for his disappearance?

“Let me go!” You thought your protest would be weak, nothing, compared to the vigour with which Jay’s fingers hung onto your jacket, the collar painfully digging into the skin of your neck, almost as if you were a puppet, commanded by the most talentless piece of shit of a puppeteer. Surprisingly, your hands, clasped around the man’s wrists cause his grip to momentarily lose its strength. You involuntarily stepped back, wrestling with the man who only gripped onto you tighter, as if letting you go in this dire situation would doom you all.

König’s rage blinded him. How dare this rubbish touch you? He doesn’t have a right to lay a single fucking finger on you, and here he is, gripping your clothes, ready to shake the living hell out of you. König felt the need to rid the man of arms, but not before tearing away every nail and finger on his hands. No. No, König won’t let him prevent you from saving yourself. Crawling up to his usual vantage point for the last time was a mistake. Of course, nobody would look up in the chaos, but he knew he should’ve stayed on the lower level, with you. So something like this wouldn’t happen. But this wasn’t your fault, how were you supposed to know you’ll get pulled out of your tent by this weakling? It’s okay! It’s okay… König can fix this. All of this. A deep breath is sucked in through his hood, soaked with sweat and condensation. His finger rests on the trigger comfortable, slotting where it belongs. For a moment, it feels comforting. Like home. Despite finally doing something so…oddly calming, something he kept from his life before the apocalypse, he can hear the way blood thrummed within his ears, heart beating like crazy.

König takes aim. Confident and determined to end this fast. Sights trailing fast and zeroing in on the dark, prematurely greying head of the man clutching your jacket. He can feel his insides writhing with impatience, hurrying him along to finally get rid of the bastard who wouldn’t let you run away to safety. Who was endangering his darling, so needlessly and cruelly, when he could’ve just rolled over and died to make it all easier. But then König snaps back from the bloodlust, blinding him so deliciously. You shouldn’t have to see all the blood and suffering. He ought to protect you from it.

Despite all this happening right in front of your eyes, you feel detached. As if all the tears, terror, death, and panic were not real. Like the assurance of you being right this whole time was almost enough for you to accept your death. The noise was becoming louder each second. The cacophony of moaning and gurgling, paired with blunt, heavy fists and open palms hammering on the metal sheet walls, a fitting chaotic percussion for a painful death, Amy’s sobs and wails of pain, paired with Tiny and Tom screaming their lungs out at each other, unable to close the doors, as more and more of the walkers pour inside the storage house like an undead, rotting tsunami.

“I was right, Jay.” You whisper, with eyes darting from side to side, observing the utter mess that was happening behind the man. And he didn’t even know. “It’s here.” The phrase is elusive, but terrifying to the man nonetheless. You don’t miss the way cold sweat glints right above his brow, or the way his expression stretches into a mask of confusion, then horror. He didn’t know what “It” was, but the realization about being wrong this whole time was a source of terror enough. Perhaps he was assuming something, or putting words in your mouth right this moment. You didn’t care. Your nails and fingers dug into the rough skin of Jay’s palms, attempting to make him let you go once again.

“What the fuck did you do?!” He yells, voice breaking midway through the sentence. Your name rings out from Jay, hollow and soulless, full of terror, like you were the one to bring this destruction upon all of them. Like they weren’t the ones to ignore every sign of something being wrong. You didn’t care anymore. It was all their fault, and you did everything you could to convince them you were not losing your marbles from having to live a life more akin to an animal, than a human being.

You tried to yank yourself out of his grip once again, nails leaving crescent indents in Jay’s skin, while he refused to let go, and just dug in his heels deeper into the ground. Your palms slide over his meaty wrists, attempting to pull them off of you with all the strength you could muster, but to no avail. The man growls and roars, keeps screaming and you and blaming for everything bad that’s ever happened to the group. You try to duck and break out of his hold, but he doesn’t let you, loathing and anger in his eyes almost burning you, as Jay’s palms are inching higher and higher with mad desperation. You can feel fear suffocating you, as you try and fail to shake off the man, who’s gripping onto your jacket with knuckles turning white, like his life depends on it. Until finally, his broad hands slot in place.

On your throat.

You can feel it starting to close from the fear flooding your bloodstream, but there is no giving up on your vain attempts to free yourself of the hold Jay had on you. Terrifying, piercing screams reach your ears, and it seems there is nothing that could distract the man from actively trying to cut your life short, not even his best pal Tiny getting his hand torn to shreds by jagged, rotting teeth that only dug in deeper with every noise drawn. The scene before you is so bloody, so slow in its horrifying cruelty. You see dull fingers and more teeth digging into Tiny, who’s screams don’t cease for even a split second, tearing his throat raw in pointless cries for anybody’s help, reaching out towards somebody as more of the rotting hands grip onto his body. Rory’s feet seem to have grown into the ground beneath her, unable to move even a muscle to help the man.

It seems the walkers that attempted overwhelming Tom are drawn by the fresh blood from still screaming Tiny, who is writhing on the ground underneath a mass of living corpses, swarming him like giant flies. You can’t even see the man anymore, only guessing what excruciating fate was brought upon him from the wails of pain, mixed with gargled begging for mercy. Your neck strained under the thick fingers of Jay, who didn’t even look back one last time before Tiny was consumed by the walkers. But you knew it won’t be enough to satiate the hunger of these creatures, so soon they’ll move onto others.

Maybe by the time they’ll get to you and Jay he would have suffocated you, so there will be no need for you to suffer through such a miserable, terrifying death. No matter how much you hated the man, you’d prefer being choked out instead of torn apart, messy and bloody on the floor, blood gargling in your throat, spilling out in thin rivers from your lips, until the pain is too much for you to bear.

Bang!

A shot fired somewhere from above caused Jay’s leg to give out from under him. The man slid to his knees with a pained groan, the grip on your jacket’s collar becoming weaker each second, as his right hands fell to his hip, jaw tightening. A greedy inhale burned your throat – you hadn’t realized the edges of your vision were starting to darken and blur. Your body was twitching from the violent fear shaking you, and once again, you tried to get out of Jay’s grip. He still did not let go, dragging you to the ground, probably determined to take you down with him. Your eyes locked onto a rapidly spreading dark spot on Jay’s jeans that he’s unsuccessfully attempting to press close, distracted. You didn’t even question where the bullet came from. You didn’t want to know, even though there was a sneaking suspicion in the back of your mind. But what you did want was to make use of Jay’s state.

You didn’t see any other option, before grabbing onto the man’s hand with a grip that scratches him and biting down as hard as your jaw would allow you to. The man yelped out in surprise and his fingers finally let your jacket out of his grip for only a moment. But even a single second was enough for you to start getting away. You were ready to dart to the entrance in front of you – doors ajar, welcoming you to the outside world, urging to get away from the air, thick with clotting blood, decay and so much suffering you couldn’t bear it anymore.

However, before you could even take your second step, you feel a pull on your leg once again. Strong. Desperate. Full of hate. You grew c, and the momentary lightness within your chest disappears in mere seconds. Looking down was useless, it was most definitely Jay clutching your foot in another attempt to murder you. There was no way this piece of shit hated you so much he was using his last moments to fuck you over. It was hard to believe a normal person could even posses such levels of hate.

The seconds stretch out like hours. The heartbeat hammers away in your ears, almost dulling the screams of your former friends perishing underneath the assault of dirty fingernails, yellow teeth and greying flesh. You kick your foot down with strength like never before, wet heat burns your cheeks, and you could only guess that you started to cry from fear and despair, longing to save yourself. Couple of times your boot connects with something you’d only assume is Jay, drawing strained moans of pain and even more screaming you didn’t even care enough to register in your mind. Attempting to move with the dead weight of a grown man attached to you on the floor was not easy, but you made the best of it, managing to stumble forward a couple of steps, before being pulled back and collapsing once again.

Why was this your life? You didn’t deserve this. A sour, nauseating metallic taste spread in your mouth. Maybe you managed to bite your cheek when you fell to the floor. Head pulsing and throbbing from such a hit, you didn’t have any more strength to fight back. Not when a fucking behemoth of a man was climbing on top of you, pinning you to the ground, blood seeping out of the wound on his leg, screaming at you about his wife, who was being devoured a couple of meters away.

You accepted it. You were not supposed to survive that long anyway. It’s just…regret and bitter anger are overtaking every rational sense in your mind. You tremble, body doused with cold sweat and immediately thrown into a hot flash. Before you could think of what to do next, your body moves on your own. Teeth digging into flesh and cartilage, you bite down. Hard. Your canines shredded the skin underneath, more rancid blood filled your mouth, and you wanted to puke more with each second you stayed in that position. Copper kept filling your mouth, overflowing, pouring from your lips, you felt the sickly warmth of it drip down and soak into your shirt, but you wouldn’t let go. Deafening screams above you piercing your ears, you closed your eyes just not to see the picture behind or in front of you, anything but to see the surrounding horrors, and bit down harder. Harder.

So much harder. Until your teeth met, clanking together with a screeching noise. Until the crunch of something, comparable only to a fresh cabbage in your mind, halted, and something stayed in your mouth after your head violently jerked back from pulling on the flesh so strenuously. You bit off something. Spitting it out doesn’t help the bile rising up your throat and getting stuck in there as a nasty, annoying ball ready to pour out of your mouth. You kept holding on, until all of a sudden, the scream above you stopped after another loud bang of a bullet being fired.

More liquid warmth splattered on your cheeks. The body on you is so bulky. Falling, pressing down on you with its weight, suffocating in its heaviness. Your throat lets out ragged breaths, chest falling rapidly as you try to shove off the dead weight off of yourself. And everything is so red, drenched in putrid burgundy, sticking to your skin, hair, clothes, everywhere, pouring over you in a fountain that seems to be never-ending. Managing to slightly lift Jay’s shoulders, shoving you into the cold ground, you started shuffling away from underneath the man above you, the skin on your back aching, as it’s scratched by the earth and concrete. Crawling out took you longer than you cared to admit, you let go of Jay’s shoulders, muscles in your arms aching, as the dull thud of the man’s forehead against the ground makes you shiver in disgust.

Panic keeps rising within you, even after the factoid of human danger is gone. Through tears blurring your vision further and further you force yourself to notice only what mattered. Piles of walkers, writhing and shuffling like maggots on the ground, probably reaching to the last untouched bits of the human bodies underneath them, still distracted, but very likely to smell your presence when they’re done feasting; thin hand of Rory reaching towards you and Jay, bloody nails broken up to the meat of her fingers leaving scratch marks on the floor, as her legs are torn apart by dead, ravaging hands, woman’s muscle tissue soon to be devoured. You could hear the distant hisses and moans of the undead, the squelching and sloppy chewing echoing within the metal walls.

Jay’s body, with half of the skull gone, a mess of meat and greyish brain matter pulsing, pouring out of what you could only guess was bone — pink, thick and shattered. You could see the pieces of hair sticking to the bloody mess, when you felt the bile rise up in your throat once again, the acidic, foul taste mixing with the blood still resting on your tongue. The palm of your hand flew up to cover your mouth, closing your lips shut as if your life depended on it. A second passed, as you closed your eyes, letting the nausea die down. Then, you had the courage to turn in the direction where you spat out that something that you bit off from Jay. You wish you didn’t.

It was an ear. Bloody and ragged, bit clean off. Resting on the floor, your winning trophy of a fight with no winners.

You felt even more nausea come over you, but it was not the time to stay in one place. Somehow, your backpack managed to stay on your shoulders. Not wasting another second, you limped towards the open doors, shivering and scared, looking back. Not a single walker raised its eyes at you, too preoccupied with their fresh meat.

It was then, when you saw it. Out of the corner of your eye, you let your head rise up towards the wicked, human-shaped shadow you see within the roof window. The seconds spent staring at it feel like hours. It never disappeared, firmly planted within your vision. You expected it to vanish any second, whether dissolving into thin air, or ducking back behind cover, but it stayed. For some reason, you got the impression this thing was letting you see it. Almost as if…taunting you. You were clearly looking at it, but it was so far and dark you couldn’t make out any details.

Fuck, you hated this. Even after months of torture and your whole group dying in front of your eyes, there was no answer to what this shadow wanted from you. Worthless.

Oh, but König…he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Face covered in blood, dishevelled, scared, trembling from terror, looking death right in the eye and emerging victorious. His help was of no circumstance, to König you would’ve won in the fight anyway, he just sped up the process by a couple of minutes. Something in your head made you just as perverse as he was. It was such a pleasant surprise Pressed up against glass, cool temperature of it not dampening his suddenly spiking body heat, tearing away his gaze from your figure felt criminal. Seeing just what you were willing to do to get your freedom back, what your despair could drive you to was…sublime. Absolutely macabre and beautiful.

The metallic taste in König’s mouth made him realise he was biting his lip so hard it started bleeding. Teeth digging into parched skin, gloved fingers glued to the glass, he wanted nothing less than to absolutely devour you in this state. With soapy blood sticking to your wet skin, smell of sweat clinging to your bodies, disgusting and foul, just like the essence of human nature. Hot breaths puffing out from his tender, bleeding lips, dreaming of yours touching the dry, bitten mess of his. Or, better so, you could devour him instead.

Wholly and utterly, piece by piece, until there is nothing left of him, but bones sucked clean of meat. Until you destroy him so deeply he would live, breathe you (as if he wasn’t already). König would be so good to you, and you’d be so good to him. That’s right. He will treat you so good the whole world outside will be an empty, faded, and disappointingly hollow picture in comparison to his love for you. Bound in destiny and mutual destruction, now he was confident you were truly meant for each other in every single way. Now he knew that you were more like him than he could’ve imagined. And König would be lying, if the sound of that didn’t make his heart race like a wild animal on the run. Surely, if he let you devour him, you wouldn’t mind König getting a taste of you.

Yes…yes. That would do it.

A mild, sweet shiver shook him at the pleasant thought. Alone with you, at last. König didn’t dare entertaining such thoughts with much seriousness before, it was much more like a daydream he desperately clung to. Distant and far from the actuality, even as he worked hard on it making it the reality. Dreaming nightly of your piercing eyes that nailed him to the wall easier than anything, keeping your curious, endearing mannerisms in his mind as he crowded the walkers together, and trembling from anticipation of finally touching someone so worshipped and adored by him, as he unlocked the heavy metal doors of the storage house.

Now, when he only needed but to reach out and offer help to have you all to himself… He couldn’t wait. König’s mind buzzed with thoughts like a hive of irritated wasps. Pulling on him, urging him on to follow you, to take you for himself, because you could only belong to him. It wasn’t irritation, annoyance, anger, or even pure adoration tenderly trembling and warming him up from within his chest anymore, no…

It was carnal desire.

One that couldn’t be satiated without you, one that made him need you more than air, water, or food, so hard his head started spinning. One that would doom the both of you, bathing in blood and mutual violence, that König craved along with your loving gaze, delicate touches and quiet, sleepy whispers. Because destroying each other is what you were meant to do.

---

How none of the walkers followed you from the storage house was a mystery to you, drenched in blood and Jay’s brains were sure to draw them in — those undead fuckers were able to follow a scent trail like trained hounds. Still, you were grateful for that, having more of them on your tail would ensure your prompt death in the forest that seemed to be stretching around you, with seemingly no end to it. You were so goddamn tired, everything about your current state felt dirty and unclean; dry, brownish blood crusted onto your skin, soaked through your clothes and made you an easy target. Plus, with no food and no water available you won’t last long. You ended up being in the right. But what was the cost?

You were losing hope, fast. It has only been maybe half a day after your cut and run, the adrenaline that kept you going for hours wore off too soon for your liking, causing you to stumble around in the forest, much like a recently born deer, shaky-legged and lost. You started to think perhaps you hit your head on the floor too hard while fighting Jay, but that didn’t matter anymore. You were lost, dehydrated, hungry, with no prospects of surviving unless you find a river, and find it fast. That was your course of action, before you spotted shuffling and footsteps, crunching loudly on the ground, covered in a blanket of twigs, leaves, and grass. You expected a walker sneaking up on you all of a sudden, drawn in by the scent of blood, or an animal, if luck was on your side today, which you wouldn’t bet on, after all you’ve been through before the sun even cracked the sky open with its rays.

In front of you, however, was not an animal or a walker. It was a man. The first thing you noticed about him was his height, how he towered above everything around him. Only then, the lack of his face dawned on you, dirty hood with bleached stains right below the holes for eyes. Eyes, which you could barely make out from underneath this…obviously improvised face cover. But you weren’t the one to judge, however, assured in the fact that you must have been looking a hundred times worse, with your torn clothes, absolutely drenched in red. And that’s not to mention the smell…

The whites of your piercing eyes contrasted heavily with the skin, covered in red. König could hardly believe what he was seeing. Hours of tracking down the trail you used to get away from the storage house, chasing you down as quietly as possible, with anxiety churning his insides in an endless, void-like vortex, consuming his mind with devastating consequences and possibilities. Yet here you were. Shaken, staring at him like a wild animal, but safe. His.

It took everything in König not to fall down on his knees for you, burying his face in your gentle, lovely hands. There was nothing he wanted more than to crawl towards his beloved obsession, scraping the skin of his legs raw, tearing his gloves apart and scraping up the soil with his fingernails. But he had to contain himself, despite the trembling heart hammering behind his ribs like it was about to burst outwards, to you. Despite the most beautiful and warm of emotions overtaking him fully, despite his cheeks heating up in but a second, and despite his hand curling into a fist in his pocket, clutching a piece of your blanket he cut off for himself.

Finally. His for the taking.

check out this masterlist for more cod fics or send me a request/comment! you can also support me on ko-fi

123 notes · View notes

theshipsong · 29 days ago

Text

perona x f!reader, polyamory with heavy mihopero. canon au where thriller bark joins cross guild. reader is a navigator formerly of the hawkins pirates.

⸺

"This is pretty." Perona brushed your back with her fingertips, her breath landing on your shoulder from where she laid next to you on the plush rug. "Seems fated."

"I don't believe in fate."

(She wouldn't appreciate hearing that Mihawk said the same thing about the not-quite Maltese cross between your shoulder blades.)

"Funny you say that."

Perona was a bizarre contradiction of possessive over both of you, from each other. She simultaneously envied that Mihawk met you before she did, and that the sex you had with him was more varied than her time on Kuraigana.

If she actually deigned to talk to the swordsman, he'd confirm that you two were better described as friends.

But Perona was spoiled, and didn't want to share yet wanted so many things and people all at once. You found it mostly endearing, but sometimes you had to negotiate your way out of her tent to have a moment alone or with Crocodile. Last time you'd actually tricked her, leaving her tied with thick, velvet black ribbon and an extracted promise, through gritted teeth, that she'd stay still and good.

After that, you managed to sleep in your other lover's arms for the first time in a week, and Perona started creeping out to join you in the mess tent. She was growing fond of Buggy, or rather she enjoyed teasing the clown in a way that was only barely kinder than Crocodile's flavor of torment. Sadists, all of them.

Perona rolled onto her back, stretching like a cat and fighting a yawn, which brought her own tattoo to your line of sight: a pink bat, impressively saturated. You set your book down to return the gesture, poking at the ink.

"I got it when I didn't know whether Moria-sama was dead or alive," she offered freely.

Your brow furrowed. "Does he... like bats?"

She laughed her odd laugh. "You'll see him fight soon enough."

You didn't know if the man with the twin of your tattoo on his neck was alive, either. The remains of Thriller Bark joined Cross Guild just days after a Marine hospital ship dropped anchor in sight of Karai Bari, carrying an undercover captain who confessed to you he left Hawkins for dead in Wano Country. Ironically...

"Moria challenged Kaidou once," you said neutrally.

"Before I joined him," Perona confirmed. Her life was fascinating to you, really: she'd been a pirate longer than not, the doted-upon daughter of a Warlord of the Sea who patched her plush toys together with sutures. Cotton thread in recent years, though. Mihawk mended his own clothes.

"Does he talk about it at all?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare."

"Because it's a sore subject," you said understandingly.

"No." Perona sat up. "Because he's around Crocodile's age." You laughed, a full belly laugh that had you turning onto your side. "I'm serious," she said hotly, chucking a throw pillow at your back as she scrambled up onto her bed to sulk.

"Perona," you said, getting your breath back. "Even I have a size limit."

"Ew!"

You pulled yourself up beside her, and spotted your knitting you'd taken to walking around camp with, forgotten on her bed since your little tumble on the floor. "Look at this." You held up the sock you were knitting for Crocodile and his absurdly cold feet. "It's practically a baby sweater."

"I would prefer if you said you won't fuck my dad," Perona whined.

"That's really up to him."

She shrieked wordlessly, hiding her face in her yet-unidentified stuffed animal briefly before glaring at you over its head.

"You're really similar," Perona said eventually.

"Moria and I?"

"You and Mihawk."

Crocodile said the same thing, in fewer words. "Does he also threaten to fuck your dad?"

"You're both annoying."

"Hmm." You grabbed the forepaw of the stuffed animal closest to you gingerly, between your thumb and forefinger, like you were batting at one of her shiny curls. "You're easy to get a rise out of. Maybe Mihawk finds it adorable, too."

"Wish he'd say so," she mumbled.

"He's quieter than me, at least. Or," you mused, "I'm used to impassive men."

"Huh?" She didn't need to say that Crocodile had quite the repertoire of scowls that was comparatively easy to interpret.

"Don't you think you should try talking to him, at least?" you tried. Crocodile could not understand what Mihawk did to upset Perona so much without you breaching your girlfriend's, and really his boyfriend's privacy, so you spoke in hypotheticals.

"Say Cross Guild was being targeted by the Navy," you said, to which he snorted.

"They wouldn't dare."

"Say they did, and we were all scattered. Buggy took his men and fled."

"He wouldn't dare."

"If I found out my previous captain was miraculously alive, and you loved me, would you really let me run off to him instead?"

"Well, you wouldn't be safe with that twit."

Infuriating man.

"I already said everything," Perona sniffed.

"He's not the most confrontational. Which isn't fair," you conceded, "but he's probably afraid of hurting you more. Or getting hurt."

It was still unclear to you exactly what the nature of their relationship was, but Perona described sounded serious and almost idyllic in its domesticity, and without a lick of her usual exaggeration. If anything, she was embarrassed to share how vulnerable she'd become.

Now she was a hissing and furious and lonely. If Perona wasn't so greedy, you'd fear reconciliation meant her forgetting you, but you saw how she hoarded and took loving, if sometimes roughshod care of her toys. It was in Cross Guild's interests for Mihawk to get his head out of his ass, and soon.

#katrona #tshagverse #perona x reader #one piece x reader #one piece yuri #mihopero #this is so deep in my s/i continuity i'm not going to tag the whole cule configuration #fic.md

94 notes · View notes

blackberreh-art · 9 months ago

Text

Old Man Yaoi AU future rambles

I never posted the full thing here, so I thought why not, since I'm struggling to get anything new down lol. Just copy and pasted from twitter, so forgive any weird formatting or errors!

I started this not knowing where I wanted to go with it, just knowing '10 years after being gone from japan, old man yaoi afomight come back because Toshinori has a bleeding heart and AfO is along for the ride' . And I didn't know what I wanted to show exactly, just the comfort and ease at which the two acted with one another.

AfO's gonna join Toshi at the railing and hold out a hand. Knowing what he wants, Toshi's gonna pull out a pack of cigarettes and let AfO take one.

"I don't know why I still carry these." Toshi says, watching as AfO lights the cigarette with a flicker of a stolen fire quirk. "

Habit." AfO says. "The lingering effects of the leash around my neck. Does it bother you?"

All Might quirks a brow. "What? The fact that I have to carry your shit for you, even now?"

AfO chuckles. That wasn't what he meant, and Toshi knows it. That's answer enough really - the experiments, the chip in his brain (even now long destroyed), the torture that AfO went through at the hands of the HPSC - of course it still bothered Toshi.

Coming back to japan…

It's weighing on Toshi. He's here to help his former students, even though he's retired officially as a hero. Vigilantism is still frowned upon, but no-one has the balls to tell All Might to keep to the sidelines, especially now that he has a few quirks on his side. And AfO. And isn't that funny? AfO has stated many times that he refuses to lend a hand. Toshi's alright with that. He's alright with the company alone. He still marvels at the fact that AfO still kept himself leashed to-

(Guilt, self hatred, Toshi still hasn't let them go. His former enemy could throw him that crooked grin that he'd hated so much in the past and Toshi would just melt these days.)

Toshi let out a heavy breath. Being back here… it was making it so much harder to rationalize his thoughts. His emotions. AfO stood by his side through all the meetings, appearing bored out of his mind and throwing in many a snide remark, and Toshi looked at him and thought 'I should hate this man.'

He didn't, though. The heroes, his former students scurried around the former demon lord like he was going to snap at any minute. Tenko refused to be in the same city as him. Izuku and Katsuki watched AfO with a single minded determination to put him down before he can even think to make a move, and only Toshi knew that AfO really had no intention to shatter the tentative truce in place.

Only Toshi knew AfO had other plans. He always had other plans. Some Toshi knew the details of, some he didn't, and there was a time when that would have terrified him. 15 years to spend together, through danger after danger…

Toshi knew AfO.

The doubts, when they appeared, didn't last.

"Does it bother you?" Toshi tossed the question back, and AfO paused, cigarette to his lips. Hazy white eyes drift to meet Toshi's, and the former hero marvels at just how easy it was to read AfO now.

AfO was disgruntled.

"Yes, and no." AfO said. "I don't care about your little students." A pause, and AfO's eyes gain a focus that has Toshi's hackles raising. "Hm. No, I suppose I do. But not because they all fear me or I feel any guilt for what I did to them."

A long time ago, Toshi would have flinched. He didn't even bat an eye now, even as he thought of Tenko and the sheer torment that All for One put that boy through.

(Guilt, guilt, guilt...)

"No, your one boy... Izuku Midoriya." AfO's gaze dropped focus again, his form relaxing when Toshi didn't bite at him defensively at the sound of his former students name. Toshi stood there, listening. "Or rather, One for All. And my brother."

Toshi hummed. His focus is intent. "Are you going to try taking it back again?"

AfO didn't look at him. Eyes unfocused again, cigarette dangling from between his fingers, burning away without being used. Toshi waited patiently. "... I said I would not." All for One finally said as he came back to himself. There's a tension to his mouth now. He's unhappy about it. "Your trust was hard enough to earn as it was. However..."

AfO is in Toshi's personal space now, a wall of heat pushing back the encroaching chill of the evening. Toshi braced a hand against the railing and shifted to face him, brow quirked. AfO always did like to crowd when he wanted to make a point or had something important to say.

"Do you remember what I said to you that last night we were here?" There's that crooked grin again, charming and threatening and so very well practiced. "When you played at hero when you didn't need to? When you were bleeding out and I had to carry you to safety?"

Toshi swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. "When - yes, what are you getting at?"

AfO finally brings the cigarette to his lips and takes a lazy drag. Smoke curls through the air, and Toshi breaths it in with shiver, remembering a time when he would have doubled over, unable to breathe.

"I can't fault you for being a hero." AfO said. "It's who you are at your core. You're the perfect hero, and I so utterly adore that. You're here to help, because of course you are, you're All Might."

Even when praising him it sounds condescending.

"But I want you to remember what I told you then." AfO flicked the cigarette carelessly to the ground and crushed it under the heel of his shoe. "About what will happen if your heroism gets the best of you, and you end up killing yourself."

At that, Toshi winced. Ah.

(a preview of THAT is this)

(imagine Toshi's head in AfO's lap after being shot by the president of the HPSC lmao...)

AfO's smile is all threat. "If you let your heroism get the best of you, and you end up killing yourself, then know that there is nothing left to prevent me from completing my initial goals and taking One for All for myself."

It wasn't the healthiest of ultimatums.

But it was one Toshi remembered laughing at after hearing it for the first time. Live, because if not then AfO would turn back into the supervillain he was at heart? 'Live, or else I kill everything you hold dear?' He'd thought it was kind of sweet. Hadn't wanted to question why.

Still doesn't want to question why. Even now, he finds it kind of sweet. Knows its... messed up.

He smiles at All for One, feeling warm. "Don't worry about me. I don't plan on dying anytime soon."

"Good boy." All for One croons, and his arms snake around Toshi's waist.

They stand together in silence for a moment, and the evening sky deepens around them. AfO breaks the silence. "I feel you should know it's actually quite difficult to behave. I'm showing remarkable restraint."

Toshi snorts against AfO's neck, muffling his laughter. "Good boy."

#afomight #all might #all for one #afo #mha #my writing #berreh speaks #drabble #kinda #old man yaoi au

207 notes · View notes

utterlyazriel · 1 year ago

Text

—whom the shadows sing for (and the thief’s echoing hymn)

FIC MASTERLIST

A story about one shadowsinger who did his time in the Illyrian Mountains and one warrior waiting out her own— who will do anything to keep her wings… even if it means posing as a Male.

fem!reader, mulan-esque au

1. STRANGERS

Someone in the Illryian Mountains has been making a name for themselves— a bastard like Azriel and his brothers, ruffling the feathers of a war camp's Lord. But they seem to have no loyalty to the fighting legion, or much to anyone for that matter.

2. ALLIES

Azriel trains you and is particularly unforgivable about it. Together, you tackle tonics. Azriel ponders the unmistakable pull he feels and you try your best to keep your secret under wraps.

3. COMPANIONS

Azriel leaves for Velaris. You reflect on old choices and everything that you lead you to where you are now— and realise it's been awhile since you had anyone to miss.

4. FRIENDS

You return to regular training for the first time in a month. Azriel asks a favor from Rhys and finds you in a less than stellar condition when he returns to camp.

5. CONFIDANTS

You test out if your efforts with the tonics are worth anything and Azriel bestows you with a gift. He asks about the Blood Rite and you ponder the strange, golden thread you've been feeling in your chest. Disaster strikes when night falls.

6. BETRAYERS

A secret you vowed to never reveal gets uncovered and Azriel struggles as all he's known is turned on its head. An unfriendly adversary from the past comes knocking.

7. MATES

Azriel mourns a mistake that will haunt him for eternity as he races back to you. You play the leading role in one of your nightmares, but you can't seem to wake up.

8. STRANGERS (AGAIN)

You wake up somewhere entirely new, a long, long way from your home.

9. FRIENDS (IN OTHER PLACES)

Adjusting to life in Velaris means learning to train with new, friendly faces. A tentative friendship forms. Azriel keeps his distance.

10. SHADOWS

Azriel's shadows find a new way to torment their master. The question of forgiveness follows you. Cassian gets you in the ring, testing out newly learnt skills.

11. FRIENDS (AGAIN)

Trouble sleeping leads you to wander the halls of the House of Wind, finding a friendly face. Azriel stews in his misery—but not for long.

12. SHRIKE (TO YOUR SHY AND GLORIOUS THORN)

Finally accepting Cassian's invitation to breakfast, Rhys offers you a proposal. You take flight for the first time since that fateful night in Exordor.

to be continued…

chapters 12/?

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel shadowsinger x you #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfiction #azriel fic #azriel masterlist #whom the shadows sings for #whom the shadows sing for (and the thief’s echoing hymn)#masterlist #keeping it all in one place :D

668 notes · View notes

sillygoofyqueer · 1 month ago

Note

Mad Scientist AU 🥺?? If you're feeling up for it, that is. Totally fine if you're taking a break or resting.

I have been ROCKING THE HELL OUT at a Living Tombstone concert!!! Sorry for the drought of posts but also it was so sick as hell that my apology isn't all that sincere. ANYWAY, I'm writing this bad boy on the phone for you, pookie wookie!!

Even while learning how to raise a baby and dealing with war planning (and the actual fighting of a war), Wei Ying has had eyes on the Wen. Ever since the loss of most of his family, he has had eyes on the Wen. The crows dart in and out of camp regularly, reporting on every single movement that the Wen make - most of it is useless, and even when it isn't, he does not divulge the information unless necessary. The Wens have made it personal twice over now, and Wei Ying will not risk someone else carrying out the payback he craves to deal out himself. It had been a lingering thought at first, a fantasy of sorts that couldn't possibly become reality with all of the other things he had to focus on now, primarily A-Yuan's care. However, as Lan Zhan proves himself time and time again to be capable of helping care for A-Yuan, these lingering thoughts and fantasies take on a much less vague route in his mind. It gets to the point where he's actively planning his strike against them long into the night, when only the darkness watches his frenzied thought process take shape on paper.

He bides his time, waiting, watching, trying to decipher when the best moment for it would be. Then it becomes oh so clear to him how he can gain personal vengeance with a single crow fluttering into his tent with word that Wen Ruohan has actually let Wen Chao advance with the army to a town nearby. Ever since the deaths of Wen Zhuliu and Wen Xu, Wen Ruohan appeared to have been keeping a tight leash on Wen Chao, not wanting his only remaining heir to be eliminated like his other son was - for some reason, he has allowed him to join in the fight. This spells a warning of something big for the Sunshot Campaign, but it also spells out an opportunity for Wei Ying. One that he cannot just let slip away from him. He scoops up A-Yuan, who has been swaddled up into a blanket and tucked into the bedroll beside Wei Ying, and sneaks through the silent war camp, dodging patrols and relying on the darkness as cover.

Of course, he cannot take A-Yuan with him, so he creeps over to Lan Zhan's tent, quickly bypassing the security talismans he himself put up and then gently laying A-Yuan down beside the teenager as he sleeps. He takes a moment to tut at how heavy of a sleeper Lan Zhan is, tucking both of his boys in and then writing a note to explain the situation. It's not fair to Lan Zhan to not tell him where he's gone, and he does also have to warn the others about the potential threat that comes with Wen Ruohan's bold move to let his remaining heir join the fight again. Placing that beside A-Yuan, he sneaks back out and darts off into the night on Suibian, a crow leading the way to his enemy. He's already taken down one key Wen, why not knock another one off the board? He would be doing everyone a favour, and it would totally piss Wen Ruohan off as well, which could lead to sloppier choices in his anger. There were only benefits to doing this in his eyes.

Wen Chao, even in times of crisis and threat, would always choose the flashier, more comfortable option. Choosing to take over a town and stay in one of the most fancy inns within that town was only to be expected with this mindset, and so it is far too easy for Wei Ying to find him in the unfortunate town that has seemingly only been seiged recently. He gives himself time to deal with small groups of Wen soldiers (not a Jin in sight) that are tormenting the locals, allowing Suibian to do most of the work while he controls her from the shadows; it's practice of sorts, a workout after so long of relying solely on resentful energy to keep him alive and safe. Suibian's spirit sings back to him, just as delighted as he is at the chance to attack real people once again rather than just slicing at air during sword drills. Her thirst for blood is not quenched just yet, and just as well with what he has planned for tonight.

Lan Zhan wakes up to a baby tugging on his hair and gurgling, although he is quite certain that A-Yuan was not left with him the night before. In fact, A-Yuan has never been left with him during the night - instead, he often stays in Wei Ying's tent along with A-Yuan when the other boy requests it. He did not stay in Wei Ying's tent last night, so he should not have a baby gurgling in his ear and now chewing on his hair. He takes a moment to remove his hair from the chubby fist it has been clenched in and scoop A-Yuan up as he sits up himself, before looking around to try and figure out what is going on. It doesn't take long for him to notice the note left next to his bedroll, and then to both read and start to panic at the contents of it. There are many things that he wishes to do right this second, but Wei Ying has entrusted him with A-Yuan and he will not betray that trust or the baby, meaning he cannot run after Wei Ying despite how much he desires to.

Instead, he opts for yanking on an outer robe and carrying A-Yuan with him to Gege's tent, where he finds him halfway through actually getting dressed. Gege is rather surprised to see him in such a state of dishevelment, but then he sees A-Yuan wiggling around in his grasp and understands why Lan Zhan looks like this completely. In lieu of explaining anything, he holds out the note Wei Ying left him, feeling almost sick with concern as he watches Gege's brow furrow. "What do we do?" He asks desperately - there's no way they could catch up to Wei Ying, and it would be too risky to in such a state of panic. Gege pauses, deep in thought about how to handle all of this, before opening his mouth to offer what would hopefully be words of comfort and reassurance.

A scream rings out through the quiet of the war camp.

53 notes · View notes

paishoeyeroh · 6 months ago

Text

Bearer And The Bound

☰ Pairings: Sukuna x Reader, Slight Megumi x Reader

✧ Summary: When you stumble upon an ancient ring in an abandoned house, you unknowingly bind yourself to a cruel, powerful demon who thrives on torment. Trapped in a reluctant bond and forced to navigate a shared existence, Sukuna plots your downfall while you fight to survive his sadistic games. But as your fates entwine and secrets of Sukuna’s dark past begin to unravel, the lines between enemy and ally start to blur.

✧ Tags: True form Sukuna, Enemies to Lovers, Dark Romance, Demonic Bonds, Heavy Angst, Slow Burn, Sukuna is Bad at Feelings, Possessive Sukuna, Tension, Forced Proximity, Eventual Smut, College/University AU, More Tags To Be Added Later

✧ Status: Ongoing

✧ You can also read it on AO3

☰ CHAPTER FOUR: Echoes of the Past

Chapter Summary: You dream. Sukuna remembers.

☰ Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

The air around you is suffocating and heavy as you find yourself standing in what appears to be a decrepit shrine, one that seems both ancient and wrong. The wooden pillars supporting the structure are cracked and splintered, yet they exude a foreboding strength, as though they have borne witness to unspeakable acts. Tatami mats line the floor, but they are stained and frayed at the edges, as though time and blood have worn them down. Hanging from the rafters are tattered shimenawa ropes, their once-sacred paper streamers yellowed and torn. Flickering lanterns cast long, trembling shadows against the wooden walls, and the faint scent of burnt incense mingles with the metallic tang of blood. The space is eerily silent, but it hums with an unnatural energy, as if the very air is alive and watching. You don’t recognize this place. And yet, something about it feels disturbingly familiar.

You take a tentative step forward, the sound of your footsteps echoing eerily through the empty halls. Ahead of you, dim light spills through the bottom of a doorway. As you approach, you notice something to your right. Another person, standing just on the edge of the hallway.

It’s a woman. Her cool white hair falls just beneath her chin, shimmering faintly in the warm light. Her luxurious white robe flows like silk in the soft breeze coming in through the open windows, and it’s embroidered with ancient symbols that tug at something in the back of your mind. You realize they’re the same symbols you’ve seen on Sukuna’s robes.

Her beauty is undeniable, but there’s something off about her behavior. Her hands are clasped tightly in front of her, her knuckles pale as though she’s holding on to one another for dear life. Her lilac eyes are wide with a mix of fear and… anticipation, perhaps? There’s a nervousness in her stance that makes you pause in your approach to the door.

She looks behind her then, down another hallway that you can’t quite see from where you’re standing. Just then, a man saunters toward her, his steps slow but purposeful, exuding an air of undeniable authority. His robes, layered and flowing in rich crimson, catch the flickering light of the torches, the heavy fabric gleaming faintly as though it holds secrets of its own. Gold embroidery winds through the silk in intricate, almost otherworldly patterns, drawing the eye with its hypnotic shimmer. The details are too deliberate, too precise to be anything less than a declaration of power. Beneath the crimson, darker layers peek through—shades of black and muted gold that add an edge of foreboding to his otherwise regal appearance. The fabric moves fluidly with each confident step, as though it’s as much a part of him as the air he commands. He looks like someone who commands not just respect, but fear.

As he comes closer into your view, you glance at his face, and the realization almost takes your breath away.

It’s Sukuna.

But it’s not the version of him that you know. He’s… human.

The demon you’ve grown accustomed to is gone. His extra set of eyes and arms are nowhere to be seen, although his tattoos remain the same. He’s much shorter now, but as he reaches the woman before him, you notice that he’s still quite tall as he towers over her. He’s not the creature you’ve come to fear; instead, he’s a man—confident, commanding, but undeniably human. It’s so jarring to see him in this form that you can’t do much else but watch the scene unfold. What’s especially surprising, though, is how he reacts to the woman now standing before him.

His usually sharp gaze softens when it lands on her. There’s a warmth in his eyes, a tenderness that radiates through the air as he assesses her. His lips curve into the faintest hint of a smile, one that softens the hard lines of his face. As he steps closer, he reaches out, his hand gently brushing her arm, and you think you can almost feel the depth of his affection in just that one simple touch. You can see their mouths moving as they exchange words, but you’re not close enough to make them out.

The woman stands tensely, her hands still clasped in front of her, trembling ever so slightly. Though her face remains calm, you can see the uncertainty there. She forces a smile at him, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. She steps toward Sukuna, her body leaning into his touch, but there’s a stiffness in her movements. She’s avoiding his gaze, her eyes darting around the room before briefly returning to his.

Sukuna doesn’t appear to notice, or perhaps he chooses not to. His hand continues to hold her arm gently as he speaks to her. The air between them crackles with unspoken emotion, but beneath it, you can sense a growing tension, an undercurrent of dread that clings to your skin like frost.

Suddenly, everything around you moves and blurs, pulling you to your hands and knees. You steady yourself, and once the world begins to clear once more, you notice you’ve been thrust into chaos.

You find yourself in what must be the main hall of the shrine. The towering wooden beams above stretch into shadow, their intricate carvings of oni and dragons now partially scorched, as though licked by flames. Tatami mats lie in tatters, soaked with blood, and the faint smell of incense still lingers beneath the overwhelming stench of death and smoke. The once pristine hall now bears the scars of battle—splintered wood, shattered lanterns, overturned offerings. In the center of it all stands Sukuna, his human form unmistakable as it towers over the rest, drenched in the pale, golden light of the dying sun streaming through the halls shattered screens.

Around him, an endless amount of attackers swarm, faceless in your haze but undeniably lethal. Each one charges with blades, spears, and halberds gleaming in the light, their movements coordinated and merciless. Yet you’re beginning to realize Sukuna is no ordinary man. His body twists and turns with terrifying precision, his movements fluid yet unrelenting, like water crashing into rock. He meets every strike head-on, parrying with bare hands or seizing weapons mid-swing to redirect their force. A halberd slashes toward his throat, but he ducks in a flash, spinning low to sweep the legs of his opponent. As the man crumples, Sukuna is already pivoting, his fist crashing into another’s jaw with a sickening crack.

He fights like a man possessed, an unstoppable force that refuses to yield. Each move is deliberate, calculated, and impossibly fast. The hall becomes a blur of motion, his robes billowing as he dodges and strikes, flowing behind him like a banner of war. Blood and gore splatter across the floors as he crushes the head of an attacker, making your stomach lurch. For a moment, it feels as though Sukuna will win, will claw his way out of what appears to be a carefully laid trap.

Then, you see a flash of white, pulling your attention to the corner of the room. The woman from before. She stands on the periphery, partially hidden behind a scorched wooden column. Her posture is rigid, her hands tucked tightly into the sleeves of her robe, as if bracing herself. On the surface, her face is calm, emotionless, but the steady flow of tears carving paths down her cheeks betrays the truth. She doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, even as the chaos unfolds before her. Her gaze is locked on Sukuna as he fights, her hidden anguish a silent scream in the backdrop of destruction.

The tides turn when one of the attackers gets lucky. A blade plunges its way into Sukuna’s side, slipping between his ribs. He stumbles, and though he keeps fighting, his movements become slower, heavier. Another strike lands, this time a spear thrust into his shoulder, forcing him to his knees. Blood pools beneath him, staining the tatami mat a dark, vicious red. Still, his gaze remains defiant, his teeth bared in a snarl that could freeze the sun. He claws his way back to his feet for one last strike, but when another blade buries itself into his chest, it forces him to meet his end as he collapses to the ground with a heavy thud.

The woman finally moves. Her face twists for the briefest of moments, a flicker of devastation breaking through the stoic mask she’s worn. She turns away swiftly, her movements deliberate, her shoulders tense. As she walks toward the halls broken doors, she doesn’t stop, nor does she look back. The shadows swallow her whole as she exits.

Turning back to the scene before you, you notice a strange darkness beginning to envelop Sukuna’s lifeless body, a swirling mass of shadows that pulses and writhes like a living thing. The air grows thick and heavy, pressing against your chest, making it harder to breathe. The shadows continue to twist and warp around him, merging with his flesh, pulling him apart in ways that no human body was meant to endure.

You watch in horror as his skin ripples unnaturally, stretching and splitting as a second set of arms and shoulders begins to force its way out of his sides. The sound is sickening, a wet tearing noise that makes bile crawl its way up your throat. Blood pours from the wounds as the limbs emerge, their grotesque, skeletal forms twisting and flexing as if testing their newfound existence. His original arms grow thicker, his hands contouring into claws as his nails extend into razor-sharp talons.

His face is no less horrifying. The skin beneath his eyes begins to split, carving deep gashes along the tops of his cheekbones. You can only watch, paralyzed, as new eyes force themselves into his features, the raw flesh glowing with an unholy light. The sclera darkens, and the irises blaze like molten lava, twin flames burning with rage and pain. All four of his eyes snap open at once, their glow so intense it sears the image into your vision.

His body begins to expand, his torso elongating, his shoulders broadening, as his human proportions are twisted into something far more monstrous. His muscles bulge and strain against his tearing robes, his height expanding as his form rises impossibly. The sounds of his bones snapping and realigning reverberates through the room, a jagged, horrifying symphony.

And there’s the screams. Sukuna’s voice tears through the hall, a roar of pure, agonized fury that shakes the ground beneath you. It’s so raw and primal, a sound that comes from deep within, as though it carries centuries of torment and rage. It pierces through your very soul, leaving you trembling and frozen, unable to tear your eyes away despite every instinct screaming at you to run.

The darkness around him thickens, wrapping him like a cocoon before splitting apart violently, instantly killing the remaining attackers who were attempting to flee the shrine, their bodies falling to the floor in crumpling heaps. Sukuna’s monstrous form towers over them, his four glowing eyes locking onto you for the first time, and for a moment, it feels as though he actually recognizes you.

Suddenly, the walls of the shrine begin to crumble around you as the ground shakes.

Your eyes snap open.

You’re… back in your bedroom?

Wait.

All of that… was a dream?

Your eyes adjust to the darkness as you begin to try to comprehend what just happened. And then you feel it, the pressure, the oppressive weight of Sukuna. Slowly, you turn your head, and your heart nearly stops.

Sukuna stands there, at the edge of your bed, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. His four eyes blaze with a hatred so deep, so cold, it freezes the blood in your veins. His lips curl into a sneer as he stares at you with unrelenting fury.

“I didn’t give you permission to poke around inside my head.”

His voice is sharp, and terrifying. The rage that radiates from him is palpable, so thick you can feel it pressing down on you, crushing the air from your lungs.

You’ve seen him angry before, but this… this is something else. His entire body thrums with barely contained rage, his muscles coiled tight.

You shrink back into the mattress, trembling under the weight of his gaze. You want to speak, to say something, anything, but the words die in your throat, your voice trapped somewhere between fear and disbelief. Poke around inside his head? What does he mean? You had no control over the dream, no idea what you were seeing or why. But how could you explain that to him when you’re still reeling from what you’d just witnessed—the fighting, the transformation, the raw pain that now feels scorched into your soul?

His eyes burn into yours, searing through your mind as if he’s peeling back every layer, exposing every thought, every fear you’ve ever had.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and unbearable, yet you can’t look away from him. His jaw is locked tight as he stands above you, the muscles visibly straining, and his hands are clenched into fists at his sides, so tight that the veins running along his forearms bulge against his skin. His crimson eyes burn with an intensity that feels alive, glowing like four coals shoved into a pit and left to burn, betraying the raw emotion thrashing just beneath his barely composed exterior. Even his breathing, slow and controlled, seems deliberate, as if he’s reigning himself in with every passing second.

He leans in closer toward your face, the distance shrinking between you until it’s almost nothing.

“Remember this, little girl,” he spits, quiet but deadly, “you don’t know me. And if you keep digging, you won’t like what you find.”

Each word drips with venom, his voice low and deliberate, hitting like the sharp edge of a blade. It’s not the volume of his rage that terrifies you, but the quiet, calculated precision of it, the certainty in his tone that leaves no room for argument.

Your body is rigid, your mind a storm of emotions as he lingers for a moment longer. Then, Sukuna straightens, his fists still clenched, and without another word, he pivots sharply on his heel and strides out of the room. His steps are measured and heavy, fading down the hall until the weight of his presence finally lifts.

You release a shaky breath, your chest heaving as you try to collect yourself. Your hands tremble as you grip the sheets, your mind spinning a thousand directions at once.

What the hell is going on?

Your thoughts immediately dart back to the dream—or was it even a dream? It felt so vivid, so real. You can still feel the icy bite of the air in the shrine, the suffocating weight of the darkness, the nauseating crack of bones and the blood, so much blood. How could your mind have conjured up something so horrifying, so detailed, so personal? And more than that, how did Sukuna know what you saw?

It seems as though somehow you’d seen something you were never meant to see. Something from Sukuna’s past. But how?

Your gaze shifts to your hand, still trembling as you press it to your sweaty forehead. Was it the bond? Did it… connect you to him, in a way you didn’t fully understand? A flash of his furious eyes, the hatred and pain simmering just beneath the surface, flashes in your mind. Whatever it was, it was clearly something Sukuna didn’t want you to know.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed as you try to steady your pounding heart. There’s no going back to sleep now. Not with the weight of that dream, and Sukuna’s terrifying warning. You stand, though your knees feel weak, and begin pacing the room, replaying every detail you can remember. The woman in the shrine, the fight for Sukuna’s life, the transformation, it all feels too important to ignore. But what does it mean? And what does it have to do with you?

Above it all, one truth lingers. Sukuna wasn’t just angry tonight. He was afraid. Afraid of you seeing something so buried deep within him, something he’s been running from for what seems like centuries. And now you’ve glimpsed it.

You pause in the middle of your pacing, pressing your hands to your temples as though it might stop the swirling chaos in your mind. The echoes of Sukuna’s agonizing screams still ring in your ears, the vivid image of his broken body twisting into something monstrous burns behind your eyes. You squeeze them shut, willing the memories to fade, but they won’t. They refuse to.

For the first time in weeks, you feel utterly powerless. Not just because of Sukuna’s rage, but because of what you saw, what you now know you’re tangled up in. You collapse back onto the bed, your legs unable to hold you up any longer, and bury your face into your pillow. Exhaustion drags at your body, but sleep feels impossible.

And yet, as the minutes crawl by, the weight of it all eventually pulls you back under. Even as the memory of Sukuna’s screams haunt your dreams, you drift into an uneasy slumber, unsure of what tomorrow will bring.

And though you don’t yet fully understand what you saw, you know one thing for sure now. That was no ordinary dream.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The day after the dream, you’re still shaken, your mind replaying fragments of Sukuna’s transformation and his enraged response over and over again. It’s hard to focus on anything else, but you force yourself to keep busy, hoping to shove the unsettling memories to the back of your mind. When Megumi texts you, asking if he can come over to work on the group project for your shared class, you agree almost immediately. The thought of having someone normal around feels like a lifeline.

And lately, Megumi has been coming over more often. At first, it was just for quick study sessions or to finish a project, but recently, he’s started staying longer. Not that you mind. Quite the opposite, actually. With Sukuna keeping his distance—or so you thought until last night—it’s nice to have someone human around. Someone who isn’t probably silently plotting his next attempt to kill you.

At first, you didn’t think much of Megumi’s increased attention towards you. You’d always been closer to him than Yuji or Nobara, and his quiet and calm nature compliments yours. He’s been a steady presence in your life, the one who doesn’t pry or push too hard. But eventually, it’s hard not to see it for what it really is.

Megumi is worried about you.

And really, can you blame him? The way you’ve suddenly isolated yourself, always making excuses to avoid hanging out with the rest of your friends… you’d be surprised if none of them had noticed. And Megumi, perceptive as ever, has definitely noticed. Since you still refuse to leave your house unless absolutely necessary, he’s clearly decided to spend more time with you by coming to you instead, making sure you’re not alone. He’s seemingly trying to draw you out of whatever hole he thinks you’ve fallen into.

You really appreciate it, even if you haven’t been able to fully explain to him what’s been going on with you. But you have thought about it, many times. You’re just not sure what to say, you’re afraid of how he’ll react, afraid of how Sukuna will react. Most importantly, you’re afraid he won’t even believe you. But thankfully, Megumi doesn’t press you for answers. As far as he knows, you’re just… going through something. Something you’re not ready to talk about.

Although he doesn’t urge you to talk about it, you can still feel his quiet, unspoken worry that lingers in the spaces between your conversations.

Tonight, Megumi sits across from you at the dining table, textbooks and papers scattered between you. The quiet hum of the television you’ve put on as background noise as well as the sound of pens scribbling on notebooks creates a soft backdrop as the two of you work on your assignment. The silence between you is comfortable, familiar, but you’ve been feeling Megumi’s eyes linger on you more than usual for the past couple of minutes now.

After writing a few more notes, he glances up to look at you fully, and you return his stare, prompting him to say whatever’s clearly been on his mind.

“Look, I know you’ve been… feeling down lately,” Megumi begins, his voice hesitant, as if he’s searching for the right words. “And I’ve been wondering, does it have anything to do with… him?”

Your pen halts mid-scribble over your notebook, and you glance up at him, startled. The weight of his words settles between you, heavy and unexpected. “What do you mean, him?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

He shrugs, leaning back slightly in his chair, his arms crossing loosely over his chest. “I don’t know,” he says cautiously. “It’s just… you seem different lately. Distant. It reminds me of how you were… back then.”

The unspoken name lingers in the air between you, and you look away, your throat tightening. Oh. That “him.” You haven’t thought about those days in a long time, or at least you’ve tried not to. The comparison stings, but you can’t blame him for noticing. Megumi’s always been perceptive, almost annoyingly so.

“I’ve just been busy,” you reply quickly, too quickly. “You know, school, projects, everything. It’s just a lot right now. That’s all.”

Megumi doesn’t look convinced. His gaze softens, his dark eyes steady and full of concern. “Maybe,” he says, his tone careful. “But if something else is going on… you can talk to me, you know. You don’t have to deal with it alone.”

You force a small smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I know, Megumi. Thanks. Really.”

He studies you for a moment longer, clearly not satisfied with your answer but unwilling to push further. With a small sigh, he leans forward again, gesturing toward your open notebook. “Alright. Let’s focus on this before we fail this assignment and really have something to stress about.”

Grateful for the change in topic, you nod, forcing your mind back to the task in front of you. But even as you scribble notes onto the page, Megumi’s words echo in your mind, stirring a mix of emotions you aren’t in the mood to face at the moment.

The silence stretches for a while, the two of you continuing to work on your project, but soon enough, your stomach starts to growl in protest.

“Are you hungry? I was thinking we could make some dinner.”

He offers a faint smile at that, chuckling softly. “Yeah, I could eat.”

You stand, moving to the kitchen, with him following close behind. The small, cozy space feels even smaller with both of you maneuvering around each other, but it’s not unpleasant. On the counter, you’ve laid out a mix of ingredients: bell peppers, zucchini, snap peas, garlic, and a bag of pre-cooked rice that Megumi insisted would make things easier. A bottle of soy sauce and a small jar of sesame oil sit to the side, ready to add some flavor. It’s nothing fancy, just a quick vegetable stir-fry, but it’s more than enough. As you prepare the meal side by side, the conversation flows more naturally, having moved on from the heavier topic earlier. You ask him how Yuji and Nobara have been while slicing the bell peppers, their bright reds and yellows adding some color to the cutting board, as Megumi crushes garlic cloves with surprising efficiency.

“Oh, you know Yuji,” he starts, “he’s always dragging Nobara and I into one situation after the other. Last week, we almost got kicked out of the library.”

You laugh at that, trying to imagine what the kid possibly could’ve done to warrant getting kicked out. “Classic Yuji behavior. What’d he do this time?”

Megumi lets out a long, suffering sigh, shaking his head as if the memory alone is exhausting him.

“He decided to build what he called the ‘world's tallest book tower.’” He looks at you, deadpan.

You pause your chopping, snorting. “Of course he did. And then what happened? How far did he get in his tower?”

Megumi lifts his eyes to the ceiling, like he’s trying to calculate the numbers in his head.

“Probably about… I don’t know, like seventy books? Maybe more. He had to stand on a chair at one point to continue stacking them. He was making a huge deal about balancing each one, trying to keep it steady. Like it was some kind of actual world record attempt.”

He shakes his head again, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips as he remembers the chaos.

“So of course, Nobara starts egging him on. She kept trying to place a book on top just to try to knock the whole thing down, which obviously started an argument. Eventually, they started arguing about whether manga counts as a ‘book’, and while they were bickering-“

He pauses, giving you a flat look while sighing.

“-the entire stack came crashing down. Books everywhere. A couple of them hit other students. Yuji was trying to grab them mid-fall, like he was diving to catch a ball, but it only made things worse.”

You burst out laughing, picturing Yuji frantically trying to save the tower as the books went flying.

“That’s hilarious! What did the librarian say?”

Megumi shrugs, still clearly unimpressed. “She threatened to ban all of us. It’s not the first time he’s gotten in trouble there. Yuji apologized, said something about ‘pushing the limits of architectural genius.’ She wasn’t impressed.”

You shake your head, still laughing, as you resume chopping your vegetables. “Jesus. Yuji always manages to turn everything into an event. Never a dull moment with him around.”

Megumi turns to finish chopping his own vegetables as well, but you don’t miss the slight grin taking over his face. “And that’s putting it lightly.”

You fall back into a comfortable silence as you start cooking the food, the mood in the room being much lighter now. For a moment, things feel like they used to before Sukuna entered your life. Pleasant. Calm.

Just as you’re both sitting down on the couch, preparing to eat, there’s a slight shift in the air. Sukuna, who’s been conspicuously absent for most of the evening, suddenly makes an appearance. You glance up as he stalks past you, moving over to the bay window and sitting down, his gaze fixed on the outside world. His expression is blank, void of emotion as he pays you and Megumi no mind.

Megumi, of course, doesn’t notice Sukuna at all. He continues eating his dinner, oblivious to the fact that there’s someone else present in the room now.

As the two of you finish eating, you set your bowl on the coffee table before leaning back on the couch, attempting to relax despite Sukuna’s silent vigil. You look over at Megumi, offering a small smile.

“Wanna watch something?”

Megumi’s face brightens at the question, giving you a small nod. “Yeah, I’m down. Got anything in mind?”

You think about it as you stand up to clear the dishes. “How about a rom-com?”

As the movie plays, you can’t help but notice Sukuna’s subtle shift in posture. Before, he had been lounging on the bay window, his body angled toward the outside. Now, he faces the television, his gaze flitting between you and Megumi, sitting close together on the couch with your bodies pressed against each other, sharing the blanket, and the movie playing out on the screen. His eyes, sharp as ever, watch silently, though he makes no move or sound.

Megumi, blissfully unaware, leans further back into the couch, spreading out his legs on top of the coffee table and relaxing as the movie progresses. Though he’d admitted earlier that this genre wasn’t really his thing, he still let you choose the film. He’s warm beside you, his presence grounding, and you let yourself relax alongside him, enjoying the familiar comfort of having a friend by your side.

Just as one of your favorite scenes is approaching, you feel a sudden weight on your shoulder. You glance over, slightly startled, to see Megumi’s head resting gently against you, his eyes closed.

You pause, caught off guard, unsure whether you should wake him or let him rest. The weight of him pressed against you is calming, but before you can make a decision, the moment is interrupted by a shift in the atmosphere. The temperature drops significantly, making you shiver. You glance down and realize you can actually see Megumi’s breath fog out from his slightly parted lips in soft, rhythmic puffs, it’s that cold.

You sweep your eyes across the room, turning your attention back to the bay window where Sukuna is sitting. His posture looks deceptively relaxed, but his jaw is tight, and though his expression remains indifferent, it’s like there’s an edge to it, a storm brewing beneath the surface. His fingers tap once, twice, three times against his thigh before going still, curling slightly as though he’s resisting an urge of some sort. Your eyes trail back up to his, which are glinting with an intensity that feels too sharp for the dim lighting of your apartment.

Before you can say anything, Megumi’s head slides off your shoulder, jostling him awake. He blinks his eyes open, groggy and disoriented, as he rubs at his face.

“Sorry… I didn’t get much sleep last night,” he mumbles sleepily.

You offer him a soft smile, doing your best to ignore the icy weight of Sukuna’s stare. “That’s alright, I’ll rewind it for you.”

Reaching for the remote, your fingers brush against it as you prepare to rewind the scene. But before you can press the button, the entire apartment is plunged into darkness. The TV shuts off abruptly, and all of the lights blink out, leaving you both in the pitch black silence.

You gasp, startled, and Megumi shifts beside you, sitting up straighter as he glances around in confusion.

“What the hell…?” His eyes flick toward the window. “Does your power normally go out like that? It looks like it’s just your building.”

You shake your head, trying to keep your nerves in check. This doesn’t feel normal. It doesn’t feel like a power outage at all. The air is too thick, too heavy, like it’s charged with something unseen.

Your gaze shifts toward the bay window again. Sukuna is still there, his posture unnervingly still. His shoulders are rigid, and his hands flex slightly at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling like he’s barely containing something.

You can’t help but stare at him, your brow furrowing as you silently ask the question burning in your mind: Was that you?

His eyes flick toward yours, crimson and smoldering. For a moment, you think he might say something, but instead, he gives you an irritated look. His lips curl faintly, not into a sneer, but something more restrained, almost dismissive. Then, with a sharp roll of his eyes, he directs his attention back to the window. Slowly, he crosses all four of his arms over his chest, his movements deliberate, as though he’s forcing himself to stay put.

Megumi shifts beside you again, glancing back to meet your eyes. “Weird. Maybe your breaker tripped or something?” He sounds uncertain, his tone tinged with unease. The tension in the air is palpable.

You nod absently, still watching Sukuna from the corner of your eye. His silence unnerves you more than his usual biting remarks. Megumi sighs and stands, looking around the room. “Got any candles? We can use them for light.”

You shake your head, trying to act casual despite wondering why Sukuna is throwing what is essentially his own form of a tantrum.

“I don’t. But it’s alright, it’s getting late anyway, and we both have class tomorrow. You should go home and get some sleep.”

Megumi frowns, turning to face you. “I don’t feel right leaving you here alone without power. I’ll stay until it comes back on.”

As if on cue, the lights flicker back to life, flooding the apartment with warm, artificial light. You both jump slightly, startled by the eerie timing. Megumi lets out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, that’s creepy timing. I guess the lights want me to leave, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s like they can hear you,” you let out a nervous laugh, the irony of your statement not at all lost on you as you rub your hands on the tops of your thighs before standing from the couch.

You walk Megumi to the door, saying goodnight and closing it softly behind him. You turn to Sukuna, but his position hasn’t changed, his arms still crossed as he silently watches the people walking about in the street below him with his back to you. His back muscles tense ever so slightly as you approach him, his posture stiffening.

“Sukuna… did you…” you trail off, not sure if you should finish the question with the amount of unspoken tension in the room. You’re confused by his behavior tonight, but then again, you’ve never really been able to understand him since the day he first appeared. He’s always been unpredictable.

He responds without facing you, keeping his attention on the street outside. “Go to sleep. You’re getting on my nerves.”

You sigh, frustrated at his dismissal of you, but you know better than to push him when he’s like this.

“Fine,” you grumble as you start to retreat to your room. Just before the door clicks shut, you hear him mutter to himself, almost too quiet to hear.

“Pathetic.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The quiet of your bedroom feels deafening as you close the door behind you, Sukuna’s cold dismissal still echoing in your ears. You lean against the door for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady your racing heart. Tonight has certainly been strange. You shake your head, trying to push the confusion aside as you crawl into bed. The warmth of your blankets offers little comfort, the events of the night still weighing heavily on your mind.

As you lie there, staring up at the dark ceiling, you try to piece it all together: Sukuna’s tension, the subtle yet undeniable shift in his demeanor. It’s not like him to act so… odd. You close your eyes, willing your thoughts to quiet down. Sleep doesn’t come easily, but eventually, the exhaustion takes hold, and the restless thoughts fade into the quiet pull of unconsciousness.

Suddenly, you find yourself walking down a beautiful, winding path, the world around you bathed in a golden glow. Tall trees arch gracefully overhead, their leaves shimmering in hues of green and gold as the soft sunlight filters through the canopy, casting dappled patterns on the ground below. The air is warm but carries a faint, cool breeze, bringing with it the sweet scent of blooming flowers and freshly turned earth. The path beneath your feet is made of smooth, sun-kissed stones, bordered by vibrant wildflowers that sway gently with each passing breath of wind. It feels serene, almost otherworldly, as though you’ve stepped into a painting of an idyllic summer day.

You walk beside a familiar face, one you’ve held and kissed many times before. It’s him. His hand is warm in yours, his thumb brushing softly against your skin in a way that always made you feel safe. He looks at you, his eyes filled with warmth and love, his lips widening into a beautiful smile that had always filled your stomach with butterflies.

You continue along the path, laughing and talking with each other, as if no time had passed. The world suddenly feels whole again. There’s no pain, no loss, just the two of you, together, walking side by side as if nothing had ever happened.

You glance up, frowning as the warm sunlight abruptly fades, plunging the world into a heavy twilight. The once golden leaves above wither and fall, turning brittle and ash-gray as they scatter around you like fragments of something long dead. The trees twist and contort, their once graceful trunks warping into grotesque shapes, their bark splitting open to reveal oozing, blackened sap. Their branches stretch unnaturally, becoming skeletal fingers that claw at the air, as if desperate to reach you.

The soft, sun-kissed stones beneath your feet begin to crack and crumble, the cheerful wildflowers at the path’s edges wilting and dissolving into black sludge. The ground shifts uneasily, jagged shards of stone erupting through the soil, leaving the path fragmented and uneven. A low, guttural groan echoes through the trees, the sound reverberating deep in your chest, chilling your blood. The air grows cold, biting at your skin, and carries the faint stench of decay and burning wood.

You look to the man beside you, but his face… his face has changed.

Where there was warmth, there is now something hollow, something empty. His eyes, once filled with love, are now cold, vacant, as if life has drained from him completely. His grip on your hand tightens painfully, his knuckles turning white, and when you try to pull away, he won’t let go.

The ground beneath you cracks open, revealing nothing but a dark, endless void. Your heart pounds in your chest as you struggle to break free, but he’s still holding on, dragging you closer to the edge. His expression remains eerily blank, but his lips part, and a whisper escapes—wet, gargling, and desperate, like it’s rising from the depths of water.

“Why didn’t you save me?”

The words strike you like a knife to the chest, your eyes widening in horror as his grip tightens further, his voice repeating the phrase, louder and more accusing.

”Why didn’t you save me?”

His face begins to distort, his skin turning pale and swollen, dark water dripping from his hair and mouth as his lifeless, glassy eyes bore into yours. His voice crescendos into a guttural wail, dragging you closer and closer to the crumbling edge.

You open your mouth to scream, but no sound escapes. The world around you is crumbling, falling apart, and you feel yourself teetering on the edge of the abyss. His grip on you is unrelenting, pulling you down with him into the darkness.

Suddenly, you’re falling.

You wake with a gasp, sitting upright in bed, clutching your heaving chest. Your body is drenched in a cold sweat, the nightmare still clinging to your mind. The image of his hollow eyes, so awful and void of life. It makes your skin crawl. It felt so real.

Tears prick at your eyes, and you hastily wipe them away, trying not to feel so overwhelmed by a dream. But then, your eyes adjust to the darkness, and you see him. Sukuna.

He stands over the end of your bed, his towering figure casting a shadow that seems to stretch endlessly in the dim moonlight. His four flaming red eyes burn with a predatory glow, and his lips curl into a smirk that drips with malevolence.

“What’s the matter? A little bad dream too much for you?” His voice is low, mocking, cutting through the silence like a blade.

Your chest tightens, the weight of his words as well as the nightmare you just had sucking the air from your lungs. Tears blur your vision, hot and unstoppable, spilling over before you can even try to stop them. You swallow hard, trying to push down the sob that claws its way up your throat, but your voice betrays you.

“Why…” you whisper, the word trembling as it leaves your lips. You force yourself to meet his eyes as you try again. “Why are you doing this to me?”

Your question hangs in the air, fragile and desperate, and for the first time, Sukuna’s smirk falters. His four eyes remain locked on you, but the mirth in them dulls. His body tenses, his shoulders stiffening as though he’s suddenly unsure of himself. His jaw tightens slightly, but he says nothing, the silence between you growing thick and suffocating.

“Answer me!” you cry out, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “I asked you a question!” Your tone rises, desperate and raw, filled with a mix of fear, pain, and fury. “Why are you doing this to me? Is it just to hurt me? Why?”

Sukuna’s hands clench at his sides, his gaze flickering ever so slightly to the side, as if he can’t meet your tear-filled eyes for just a moment. His smirk disappears completely now, replaced by a shadow of something you can’t quite put a name to.

“Because it’s fun.” The words leave his mouth, but they lack their usual venom. His voice is softer, quieter, as if even he himself doesn’t believe his own statement.

The words cut through you like a blade nonetheless. You lower your head as your knees raise, crumpling in on yourself. Your hands grip your hair tight as you openly sob. You feel so small, so helpless, the weight of everything crushing down on you all at once. Is this what your life will be like from now on? Constant torment, never-ending nightmares?

You don’t know how long you sit there, shaking, crying into your hands. The room is so silent, you think he must have gone. His cruel taunts have stopped, and the oppressive feeling in the air has lessened. Slowly, you lift your head, sniffling and wiping your tear-streaked face with the back of your hand.

When you look up, Sukuna is still standing there.

He hasn’t moved, still standing in the same spot, still watching you, but his expression has changed. The amusement is gone, replaced with something else, something you don’t think you’ve seen in him before. It’s like there’s some sort of strange inquisitiveness in his eyes. You sniffle again, unsure of what to say, if you should say anything at all.

And then, Sukuna turns and rapidly walks out of your room, disappearing down the hallway.

You stare after him, eyes unseeing, as your mind replays the nightmare over and over again. The fear, the sense of loss, the dead look in your past lover’s eyes. The grief wraps itself around you like a heavy blanket.

You lie back down, pulling the blankets to your chin, taking deep breaths as you try to calm your mind. But it keeps going back to Sukuna. He’d mocked you, as always, enjoyed watching you crumble. But then, he had stopped. You think of the way his face had changed, it didn’t adorn the usual look of malice or sick amusement it always did. There was… something else, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Something almost like guilt.

You turn on your side, curling in on yourself as the look on his face lingers in your mind. Maybe it was nothing. It was dark in the room, after all, so maybe you’d imagined it. Maybe you just wanted him to feel guilty, for everything he’s put you through. You close your eyes with a heavy sigh. You have no idea what Sukuna is thinking, and at this point, you’re not sure if you want to know.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

You stand by the stove, waiting for the kettle to whistle, the bubbling water filling the silence of your apartment. It’s been a couple of days since that night—since Sukuna forced you to relive your worst nightmare in vivid, haunting detail. Even now, the dream lingers in the back of your mind like a stain you can’t scrub away.

He hasn’t said much since then. Not a taunt, not a smirk, not even one of his usual barbed insults. It’s almost eerie, this quiet. You’ve caught glimpses of him from time to time, sitting on the couch, or perched silently by the bay window, staring out into the night like he’s lost in thought. The weight of his presence, once suffocating, now feels muted. Distant.

It’s not that you’ve forgiven him, far from it. Every time you think about the cruel satisfaction in his eyes that night, a bitter taste rises in your throat. But anger is exhausting, and you’ve grown tired of holding onto it. Besides, you can’t exactly avoid him. Whether you like it or not, he’s here. Always.

The kettle lets out a sharp whistle, snapping you from your thoughts. You pour the steaming water into a mug, dropping in a tea bag and watching the water darken as it steeps. Your gaze drifts toward the living room, where Sukuna is in his usual spot by the bay window. He hasn’t moved for hours, his massive frame bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights outside.

The silence in the apartment is oppressive, pressing down on you like a heavy weight. You hate it. You need something to fill the void. Before you can second-guess yourself, you grab your mug and head to the couch.

“Wanna watch a movie?” you ask, the words out of your mouth before you fully register what you’re saying.

Your heart skips a beat as Sukuna’s head turns ever so slightly, his crimson eyes catching yours. For a moment, you think he might ignore you, or worse, laugh in your face. But to your surprise, he shifts in his seat, fully turning to face you.

“Why would I waste my time watching something made for fools?” He replies coolly, his tone clipped but lacking its usual venom.

“Because you’re stuck here with me, and this fool just so happens to have great taste in movies,” you smirk at him, patting the couch next to you in a gesture to join you.

He watches you for a moment, quietly assessing you, his eyes flitting between your face and your hand resting next to you on the couch.

“Pick something that isn’t idiotic,” he says finally.

You blink, surprised by his response. He doesn’t sound angry. If anything, he sounds… bored.

“I literally just told you I have great taste in movies, obviously I’ll pick something un-idiotic,” you grumble, grabbing the remote and scrolling through the options.

For a second, you swear you catch the faintest quirk of his lips out of the corner of your eye, but when you turn to look fully, his expression has re-hardened.

Sukuna makes a show of dramatically striding toward the couch, as if against his will. He drops down onto the couch next to you, much closer than you’d expected. The proximity makes your heart beat a bit faster, but you force yourself to not outwardly react as you search for the movie you’d had in mind.

Then, to your surprise, Sukuna reaches behind him, grabbing the blanket that had been draped over the back of the couch. He spreads it over both of you. The action was so unexpected that you almost jump a little. He did it so… casually. You try to catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye, not wanting to be obvious and ruin the moment. He’s not looking at you, though, his attention is already on the screen, as if the gesture didn’t mean anything at all.

Still, you can’t help the small smile creeping across your face, a warmth spreading in your chest at such a simple yet intimate act.

“I picked one of my favorites, The Great Gatsby. It’s based on a classic novel.”

He doesn’t respond, but the slight nod of his head tells you he’s listening. You press play and let the movie begin.

As the scenes unfold, you find yourself relaxing, the tension slowly melting away. Sukuna, seemingly now back to being himself, makes the occasional odd comment.

“All this for one woman, just to gain back her love? Pathetic,” he says dryly, breaking the silence.

“Well, I think it’s romantic,” you reply, your eyes still glued to the screen.

Sukuna scoffs, his tone sharp. “If you need this much gold and alcohol to win someone’s attention, they were never worthy of you to begin with.”

You can’t help but chuckle at his bluntness. “I guess demons don’t throw parties, huh?”

His gaze slides to you, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. “I have no need to impress anyone. They all knelt before me without any of this.”

The weight of his words sinks in, and your breath hitches as an image flashes in your mind—Sukuna as you saw him in your dream, dressed in robes of crimson and gold, standing tall and commanding as though the entire world was his to control.

You swallow hard, the memory still fresh and vivid, as though you’d just woken from the dream moments ago. For a split second, you’re tempted to ask him about it, about what you saw, about who he was back then. But the thought of his furious reaction that night, of his burning eyes and barely contained rage, stops you.

Not now, you think. Not when he’s actually sitting here, watching a movie with you, acting almost normal for once. You don’t want to ruin whatever fragile truce this is.

So you force yourself to turn back to the screen, ignoring the knot of curiosity twisting in your stomach. “Fair enough,” you say lightly, hoping he doesn’t notice the strain in your voice.

Sukuna doesn’t reply, but you feel his gaze linger on you for a moment longer before it shifts back to the movie. You exhale softly, grateful the moment has passed.

Later on, as the movie shifts to one of its more pivotal scenes, you can’t help but add your own comment.

“Nick is kind of like the only normal one in this. He’s just watching everything fall apart around him.”

Sukuna’s eyes remain on the screen, watching the scene play out as he replies. “He’s not normal. He stands by while everyone else burns, pretending he’s above it all. He’s a coward.”

You snort at his dismissive tone, shaking your head, “You think everyone’s a coward.”

You look at each other, and you’re surprised by the flash of humor in his eyes. It’s brief, of course, but it’s there.

As the movie continues to play, you find yourself almost smiling at his sarcastic comments, enjoying the banter more than you’d expected.

For the first time since Sukuna entered your life, you feel completely at ease with him. The constant paranoia that usually lingers in the back of your mind has finally started to fade.

I think I’m actually… enjoying this.

The thought is as surprising as it is unsettling, but you push it aside to deconstruct later as the movie reaches its climax.

As Gatsby’s death scene unfolds, you feel the atmosphere in the room shift. Sukuna, who had been reclined slightly on the couch, suddenly sits more rigidly. His shoulders tense, and though his gaze remains fixed on the screen, there’s a faraway look in his eyes. The gunshot rings out, and you catch the faintest flicker of something in his expression—pain, perhaps, though it’s buried quickly beneath his usual stoic mask.

You don’t need to wonder why this moment affects him. You’ve seen it. The memory flashes in your mind unbidden: the dark hall, the jagged stone, the woman with the white hair turning her back on him as his life slipped away. The parallels are impossible to ignore. Sukuna’s jaw tightens as he looks away from the screen, and his fingers curl slightly where his hand rests on the arm of the couch. The tension rolls off him in waves, heavy and suffocating, and you feel a pang of guilt for even choosing this movie in the first place.

You clear your throat softly, hoping to break the silence as the credits roll. “Well, I guess we can add dramas to the list of movies you’ll never enjoy,” you say lightly, attempting to diffuse the weight of the moment.

Sukuna snaps his attention to you, his face slipping expertly into a look of mock disdain, any earlier tension in his face disappearing completely. “You’re assuming I enjoy any of this,” he replies dryly.

“You’ve been watching the whole time, haven’t you?” you tease gently, offering him a small, tentative smile.

Sukuna rolls his eyes but says nothing. You stand, preparing to head to bed for the night.

“Well, I’d better get off to sleep.”

As you begin to make your way down the hall, Sukuna stands and strides over to the window, his back to you.

You retreat to your room, but before you close the door, something compels you to turn back and glance at him one more time. Silhouetted from the faint glow of the streetlights outside, he seems larger than life, yet somehow smaller in this moment. His head is tilted just enough that you can see his side profile, his jaw flexing. There’s a heaviness in the way he stands, his usual sharpness softened. His shoulders aren’t as tense, and his expression—though hard to see in the near darkness—seems almost… melancholic.

The image stirs something in you, perhaps empathy. Or perhaps it’s just the weight of what you now know about him.

“Goodnight, Sukuna,” you say softly, your voice laced with a sincerity you hadn’t intended.

He doesn’t respond, but his hand twitches at his side, and you wonder if he even heard you.

As you softly close the door behind you and climb into bed, you can’t shake the image of him standing there, seemingly frozen in the shadows of his own past. You try not to dwell on it too much as you close your eyes, letting the soft rustle of wind lull you to sleep.

☰ Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

☰ Taglist: @nerdybouquetofkittens-blog

#sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna x you #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk angst #dark romance #slow burn #enemies to lovers #jjk fics #sukuna fic #sukuna angst #ryomen sukuna #bearer and the bound #true form sukuna #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

67 notes · View notes

chock-and-bates · 5 months ago

Note

Nosferatu au 🥺🙏

For you, my loves.

My Lestappen Nosferatu/Dracula/Vampire AU. Still tinkering with things, but I'm excited for it.

Premise: After finally conquering a bizarre spell of hysteria, Charles, an aspiring pianist, moves to Paris to pursue a career in music, reuniting with his childhood friend, Pierre. When Pierre is sent away to the Netherlands to negotiate a real estate contract with a mysterious aristocrat, Count Verstappen, Charles relapses into a hysteric episode, tortured by sleepwalking and vivid dreams, frightening those who were left to watch him.

While in the Netherlands, Pierre himself is tormented by nightmares and bizarre occurrences, but manages to return home... accompanied by Max Verstappen. Despite his suspicions, Pierre is forced to introduce the Count to his employers and co-workers, as well as his childhood best friend. He is horrified by the immediate fixation the Count has on Charles, as well as the way Charles seems enraptured by the man in turn.

And all the while, Max's plan to finally possess Charles gets closer and closer to fulfillment.

Don't hate me, but I don't think I'll publish this until spooky season 🎃

Spicy snippet under the cut 🌶️

"You are sure you will be fine while I am away,” Pierre sounds so hesitant, it makes Charles grit his teeth.

“I told you, I’m sure,” he says, lightly placing his fingers on the piano keys, “I’m very sorry for last night, I don’t- I don’t know what came over me. That fit was unseemly."

He begins to play softly, a melody he’s been brooding over, one that keeps lingering in the back of his mind…

“Well… you know Esteban. He’s annoying but he will be a good host,” Pierre says, still tentative, “And Ollie already adores you, I think you will barely notice I’m gone.”

Charles shrugs, still playing. The notes are low and stirring, pulled from somewhere deep inside him.

“Charles… should I write to Lorenzo?”

His fingers stutter, an unpleasant key slipping into the melody. Charles recovers quickly, reminding himself to keep his composure, to not give anything away-

“Why would you need to do that,” he asks, doing a poor job of keeping his voice steady, but at least the music flows smoothly again.

“I just- Since you’ve been in Paris, Lorenzo has written to me wondering if the pressure is- possibly going to make your condition return.”

Clang!

There is no hiding the awful sounds as his hands jerk to a halt, and it only adds to Charles humiliation, his face turning hot and his fingers retreating into fists as he curls into himself.

He never thought- He never imagined-

He can’t believe Lorenzo and Pierre would write to each other about that. The betrayal makes him sick. Lorenzo, Maman, Arthur, Pierre, everyone had promised that all was forgotten now that he was better-

Charles should have known they would never forget, never forgive.

Uninvited, memories from those nights come back to him. When his family came to understand how low Charles had fallen. Just how debased The Shadow had made him…

He remembers the first night Lorenzo had burst into his room, woken by what he thought was Charles’ pained cries…

Instead, his brother found Charles writhing in his sheets, naked and sweating, his hands clawing at the bedding and his legs spread obscenely.

Charles can still recall the ecstasy The Shadow used to flood him with, the way the encounters made his cock so hard, caressed by an unseen hand as he thrust helplessly into the air. More vividly, he remembers the sense of something heavy and eager in the cradle of hips, that devastating fullness it would bring to that hidden spot between his legs, his body split around something that made him feel so wonderful-.

He hadn’t heard Lorenzo shouting in alarm, panicking that Charles was having some sort of seizure.

No, he was so lost in the rapture of The Shadow. It was on top of him, surrounding him, inside him. His body sliding roughly against the sheets as he whimpered the same phrase over and over “I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m yours.”

#asks #writing tag #lestappen #marked me like a bloodstain #nosferatu au

51 notes · View notes

ilikemicrowaves · 1 year ago

Note

How often with there be updates on ur au?

I don't really have a planned schedule but the next part will probably be out by tomorrow or atleast somewhere during the week

#clown mail #microwaved textpost #tadc #tent of torment au

3 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 1 year ago

Note

Hi!! I was wondering if you could write (any length you’d like) Remus smut where reader is just so so desperate for him and he’s such a soft Dom🫶🏻 if not please just disregard this🫶🏻

Hi, thank you for requesting! Honestly unsure if this qualifies as full smut, but I hope you like it

cw: smut mdni, dom/sub dynamic

modern au

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 688 words

You’re hovering by the door. You think you’re being quiet, but Remus can hear the floorboards creaking as you shift from foot to foot.

Reluctantly, he tears his attention from his story. “Something the matter, dove?”

Your eyes widen. As if you’d never in a million years have expected to attract his notice. Remus might roll his eyes if it weren’t so cute.

“No,” you say quickly. “Everything’s fine, just miss you.”

He gives you a small smile. “Sorry, I won’t be much longer. You know how it is, though, I can’t just stop in the middle of a chapter or I’ll have trouble getting back in the flow next time.”

“Right, I know.” You rub your lips together. “I’m not trying to rush you.”

“Just a few more minutes, honey.”

“Okay.”

There’s a moment of silence, but Remus lets it sit, sensing you have more to say.

He’s right. “Can I sit by you while you work?” your voice is tentative. “I’ll be quiet.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, course you can.”

You go eagerly to his feet, resting your cheek against his leg. “Thanks,” you mumble.

Remus manages to type with one hand so he can stroke your head while he works. He’s nearly done with his chapter when he feels movement against his thigh. He looks down. You’re nuzzling your cheek against the rough material of his pants with glazed-over eyes, teeth working into your bottom lip. He thinks he sees your thighs shifting against each other under your skirt.

“Baby.”

The word sounds dipped in honey, and yet you look up like you’re in trouble.

“Sorry,” you say, lifting your face from his leg.

“It’s alright,” he says gently. “I didn’t realize you were feeling so needy, honey. Wanna sit on my lap and keep yourself busy while I finish up?”

A smile splits your face, and Remus chuckles when you scramble up. He sets a hand on your waist as you straddle his leg, your skirt fanned out around you.

“Just take it easy, alright? I’m almost done, I’ll take care of you in a minute.”

You nod happily. “Thanks, Rem.”

“Course.”

Remus tries to focus on the story as he types, but it’s not easy. You work yourself up in record time, fingers digging into his shoulders and lips turning red and raw as your hips move under his hand. He can feel the heat of you through his pantleg.

The words are far from perfect, but it’s a relief when he finishes. You look up when his laptop shuts with a click. Your eyes brighten.

“You having fun, dove?”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah?” Remus lets his voice stretch out low and sultry, reaching up to run his thumb over your bottom lip. It’s wet and swollen, pliable to his touch. Your eyelids droop and you grind your hips harder into his thigh. “You’ve been such a good girl for me.”

You flush a pretty pink but can’t repress your smile at the praise. Remus kisses you slowly, paying special attention to that tormented bottom lip. He soothes his tongue over the bite marks you’ve made, stroking your hip from bum to waist with his hand.

“Why’re you embarrassed?”

“I’m not embarrassed.”

“No?” He kisses the supple skin underneath your jaw, pressing his lips to your racing pulse. “You’re blushing like mad, dove.”

You fluster, setting your hands on his face and ducking away from him. “Remus,” you whine. “You’re being mean.”

He grins, almost sheepish but not quite. “You’re right, honey, I’m sorry. You’re just too cute like this.”

“You said you’d take care of me,” you remind him. “I was good for you.”

“You were,” he agrees, bestowing a far kinder kiss to the corner of your lips. “You’re always my good girl, hm?”

You gasp as his hand slips under your skirt, fingers flattening over your panties. They’re soaked. He hooks a finger in the fabric to pull it aside, keeping his eyes on yours while he prods experimentally at your warmth.

You make a quiet whimpering sound. Remus kisses you placatingly.

“You always get what you want in the end, don’t you?”

2K notes · View notes

soloroomies · 1 year ago

Text

lifemate (Chapter 11/ Sakusa x f!reader)

summary: you find yourself tormented, questioning every moment of the last six months with him, while desperately trying to drift your thoughts away from him. word count. 2.5k cw. marriage pact au, mature content, angst (emotional turmoil) a/n. we're nearing the end of the story guys! there'll be like two chapters left! thank u for enjoying the story so far<3

Masterlist

You consider leaving the gym quietly without Kiyoomi noticing, but then you remember that you've sent him texts. Fuck. You don't feel like you're in the right headspace to meet him right now. Feeling your emotions are still all over the place. You think you can abandon your feelings, numb them somehow, but not right now. Can you unsend the texts?

You still stand in the back rows of the bleachers, in fight-or-flight mode, considering all the options you have. Suddenly, your phone vibrates. Shit. You pull it out to see that it's Kiyoomi calling you. You excuse yourself from Fumi, hearing her say sorry while you just wave your hand, mumbling "it’s okay" to her, then you answer Kiyoomi.

"Hey, are you in the gym? Just saw your texts," he says.

You bite your lip, trying to control your overwhelming emotions upon hearing his voice. "Yeah, I'm in the gym."

"I didn’t expect you to come here. I was about to have dinner outside."

Is it with that woman?

Feeling your emotions intensifies with your own thoughts. You know Kiyoomi is unaware of this, but it still stings.

"I'm sorry, I was just bored in the house and made too much food."

You hear Kiyoomi hum. You really want to slap yourself. You shouldn’t have come here. This was such a stupid initiative.

"Want to head home? I’m done practicing, actually. I’ll just eat the food you brought at home."

"Okay."

"Where are you?"

"I'm taking a seat on the bleachers, in the back."

"Oh, okay. Meet me at the carpark? You see the car, right?"

"Yeah."

You walk to the car while trying to control your breath and think straight. When you arrive at the carpark, you see that Kiyoomi is already there, leaning on the car door.

"Hey, let’s go home," he says, unlocking the car. You nod and get in.

On the way home, Kiyoomi asks about the food you brought. You respond, not realizing your answers are too curt and your tone colder than usual. He frowns and takes a double look, "Is there something wrong?" You bite your lip, mentally cursing him for how he's getting better at reading you.

"Nothing," you reply.

"Weren’t you with Fumi earlier?" he asks.

You hum in response.

He looks at you, concern in his eyes, and asks tentatively, "Is she giving you a hard time?"

"No! Of course not."

"Then why?" he asks.

Finally you decide to bring up what you saw earlier. "It’s just that… Fumi saw me seeing you with that woman—"

"What woman?" Kiyoomi interrupts.

"I don’t know her name. The one from the social media team?"

"Hiyori?" he asks, and you really don't want to know or hear her name. How many more could there be? You sigh, frustration boiling over.

"I really don’t know, Omi," you say, feeling your voice start to crack. "She sat next to you on the bench."

His frown deepens. "Are you being jealous?" he asks.

"No! I mean, it’s alright! It’s just that Fumi pointed out about you both," you're just babbling at this point, feeling increasingly defensive. "I’m just worried if other people notice it, too, okay? It’ll just look bad on us."

Both of you fall silent for a moment. Your heart feels heavy as you say the next words, "I’m just glad we’re always doing it safe." That earns you a glare from him. His expression is unreadable. After a brief pause, he sighs and grips the steering wheel tighter.

"Right," he says. "We can see other people, right?"

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. He’s right, but you didn't expect him to throw that fact in your face right now. It feels like a punishment for wanting more of him. You bite your lip, not having the courage to speak. You’re sure if you say a single word, you'll break into tears.

The rest of the ride is quiet, the air tense. As soon as he pulls up, you get out of the car and go straight to your room. You try to calm your breath, but you can’t hold back the tears that start streaming down your face as soon as you close the door. Hundreds of thoughts flood your mind. How could something beautiful turn ugly like this?

If you want to point fingers at who's wrong in this, it's definitely you. You knew better than to feel this way towards him. Now, you're ruining something delicate you had with him just because you decided to have feelings.

Is it better if you weren’t married to him in the first place?

You might still be good friends with him until at least you’re 40 or something, until he forgot you. But now?

There’s only one solution for you right now: avoid him at all costs. You’re still too emotional. The next step is to numb your feelings. That’s easy, right?

In the morning, you wake up earlier than usual, hoping to avoid bumping into Kiyoomi. Knowing his routine, you're confident you can leave the apartment without seeing him. Thankfully, he did stick to his schedule, allowing you to slip out unnoticed.

You stop by the coffee shop near your office to buy coffee and a pastry for breakfast. Suddenly, you remember that you didn’t make him breakfast this morning. It’s not like you feel you owe him or something, not a guilty feeling either. You’re just dwelling on the fact that he will see that there’s no food for him on the table, which maybe he didn’t expect. Then, he will have to— stop. Why does your mind still drift to him somehow? First step you need to do is to not think about him.

But throughout the day at the office, your mind keeps pulling you back to the memories of the last few days. Sitting at your desk, you reflect on the past six months of your marriage, replaying every moment.

Wait. Tami is coming into town. Shit. You feel terrible about potentially dumping all your problems on her. The plan was to have fun, but now... well, shit happens, and you created this mess yourself.

When it’s finally time to go home, you pack your things quickly. You had a phone call with Tami and suggested a night out at a club. She was surprised, but you insisted you needed to let loose after a tough day at work. The truth is, you don't want to burden her with your problems right now. In a quieter setting, she would see right through you and probe for details. You know she expected a more relaxed evening to catch up. You'll tell her everything eventually, just not now. Definitely not now.

The reason why you get home as quickly as possible is that, of course, you want to avoid Kiyoomi. You know he always comes back later than you. That’s why you want to get home to get ready for a night out with Tami and leave before he arrives home.

As soon as you arrive at the hotel where Tami stays, Tami greets you warmly in the lobby and invites you up to her room so she can get ready. The moment you close the door behind you, she exclaims, "It’s been so long!! I miss you!" She runs over and hugs you tightly.

"I miss you so much, too!" you reply, returning the hug with equal enthusiasm.

She pulls back and studies your face. "Damn! You really do look tired! Work’s that bad, huh?"

You gulp, feeling the tension build. She reads you too well. "Ooh!" you blow air from your mouth, trying to lighten the mood. "It’s so bad! I was given a much more complicated task than before." You pull a distasteful face, hoping it sells the story. Thankfully, she seems to believe you.

You quickly switch the topic to her, "Anyway, how's everything with you and your husband? Are you still juggling those insane work hours?"

"Oh, you wouldn’t believe it! He’s been so busy with his projects, and I’ve had back-to-back meetings. Sometimes, we barely see each other!"

You nod, genuinely interested. "That sounds intense. How do you manage to keep up with everything?"

Tami laughs, "Barely! We’ve been trying to carve out time for each other, but it’s a struggle.”

She dives into her stories enthusiastically, and you find yourself getting lost in her words, grateful for the distraction.

Before heading to the club, you decide to call room service for dinner. While waiting, you help Tami get ready, doing her makeup and picking out an outfit. She looks stunning when you're done.

"Are you sure this looks okay?" Tami asks, checking herself in the mirror.

"You look amazing! Trust me, everyone's going to be jealous," you assure her, doing some touch-ups on your own makeup. She scoffs incredulously at you.

Once you're both ready, you get into Tami's car and drive to the club. "It’s been so long since we last went out. Remember our wild nights back in college?" she reminisces.

"How could I forget? Those were some of the best times," you laugh, feeling a sense of nostalgia.

As you arrive at the club, the excitement builds. IIt’s been so long since you went there. Probably last year? Or two years ago? You can’t really remember.

The pulsating beat of the music fills the air as you step into the vibrant club, a popular spot for night owls. The colorful lights dance around the room, casting an electric glow on everything they touch. Everyone is dressed to impress, and you're glad you’ve chosen an outfit that compliments you.

“Let’s sit there first!” Tami points at a corner of the club, a quieter place than where you stand now. You nod and she grabs your hand to walk there. You order your first round of drinks—something light to start with—and settle into a cozy booth.

“This place is lit!” Tami exclaims happily.

You agree with her, “Right? Let’s just have fun.”

Tami nods at you. “Wait! I forgot. Isn’t Kiyoomi’s match tomorrow?”

You're silent for a second. To be honest, you're not planning to not go to his match. But your heart still feels heavy at the thought of seeing him so soon. You can't decide now. “Yeah. I’ll make sure to wake up right on time.” You offer her your best smile.

She frowns a bit at your dismissive answer. “Well… I haven’t heard anything about you both! Is there anything interesting happening?” she wiggles her eyebrows, her tone teasing.

Shit. You laugh at her question, “Well, you know? Just me and my friend living together. Nothing much, really. It’s just like living with your roommate.” You wave your hand dismissively. “We have separate lives, you know?” you say with a nervous laugh.

She smiles, “But, like—” she is interrupted as your drinks arrive. “Thank you,” you say to the waiter. You quickly take your drink and gulp it down.

Tami stares at you. “Whoa whoa. Wait. What was I gonna say?”

You shrug at her question, pointing at her drink. “Your drink looks good. What is it?” you ask, trying to distract her.

She looks at her drink and takes a sip. “It’s just my usual!” she says cheerily.

Phew. She's distracted. “Let’s finish the drinks and we’ll go to the dance floor!” You gulp more of your drink and finish it. At this point, Tami already notices something is off with you, but she knows you don’t want to tell her. Most likely it relates to Kiyoomi. Your answer is way too off.

As you and Tami get up, you order more drinks from the bar. It’s time to just let loose. As more drinks enter your system, the alcohol quickly starts to lift your spirits even higher. You grab Tami and walk to the dance floor.

On the dance floor, the lights flash and bodies move rhythmically to the music. You join in, losing yourselves in the rhythm, your worries melting away with each beat. You keep ordering more drinks, each one bringing you closer to that carefree state you crave. Tami asks you a few times whether you’re okay or if you want to go home. But you dismiss her, just nodding to any of her questions.

As you dance, you notice a few guys across the room. 'We can see other people anyway, right?' Kiyoomi's words ring in your head. It fucking stings. You can just do that too, right? Be with anyone you want. You’re not bound by anything. Nothing.

Wait. No. That’s just too fucking impulsive. Luckily, you still have a bit of your awareness left. You shake off the thought, focusing on the music and the moment.

After a few more drinks, your movements become less coordinated, and everything seems a bit blurry. You find it harder to stay upright, the room spinning faster with each passing moment. You nearly black out, your vision narrowing and your balance completely gone. Tami quickly notices and guides you to a quieter area to sit down.

“Let’s go home!” Tami says urgently. “Do you want me to drive you to your home?”

You shake your head aggressively, “No! No, please. Let me stay in your room.”

Tami nods understandingly and helps you navigate out of the club to her car. You stagger slightly, leaning on Tami for support as the cool night air hits your face.

As the car starts moving, the combination of motion and the alcohol in your system makes you feel incredibly drowsy. The streetlights blur together as you drive, and you struggle to keep your eyes open. Your head feels heavy, and your thoughts become fragmented. One moment you’re aware of Tami talking next to you, the next moment everything seems to fade into darkness. You try to focus, but it's like grasping at shadows. The hum of the engine and the gentle rocking of the car lull you into a state where reality and dreams start to mix.

By the time you reach the hotel, you're barely conscious. Tami helps you out of the car, assisted by one of the hotel staff. The hotel lobby is a blur of lights and sounds, and the next thing you know, you're being gently laid down on the bed. The soft sheets feel like heaven against your skin, and you sink into them, finally allowing the blackout to take over completely.

Tami sits beside you, stroking your hair gently. "You’re going to be okay," she whispers, though her voice sounds distant. You try to muster a response, but all that comes out is a faint murmur.

The events of the night swirl in your mind like a distant storm. You think about Kiyoomi, the tension between you, and the nagging uncertainty of your relationship. The alcohol magnifies your emotions, making everything feel more intense and overwhelming.

Tami’s voice breaks through the haze. “Hey, get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning, okay?” She pulls a blanket over you, and the warmth is comforting. You nod weakly, feeling the weight of the night pressing down on you.

As you drift off, you can’t help but replay the moments with Kiyoomi in your mind. The way he looked at you, the unspoken words hanging in the air, and the fear that maybe things will never be the same. But for now, you let the exhaustion take over, surrendering to the darkness and hoping that tomorrow will bring some clarity.

Taglist: @wolffmaiden , @fiannee , @nightlydream , @choizzn , @peachyaeger @crxm-dollx , @marisabel14 , @yunskook, @reimiiko

112 notes · View notes

sykesandskittles · 4 months ago

Text

𝕴 𝖘𝖊𝖙 𝖒𝖞 𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 𝖔𝖓 𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖊

Word Count- 4k

Summary- When you find yourself running behind, fate draws you into a random coffee shop where a dark figure takes an otherworldly interest in you.

Pairing- Falling Angel!Christian yu/DPRIAN! x writer!fem!reader

Genre/Trope-Strangers to Lovers AU, Fated Lovers AU smut

Warnings- Vulgarity, sexual language, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving) stalking behavior, darker themes (I mean, he is a fallen angel), possessive talk, minors DNI 18+

The chime above the door rings through the small, cozy space as customers come and go throughout the day. Day in, day out. The murmur of voices, the grinding sound of roasted beans, the soft hiss of the frother as the baristas create some concoction or another. The daily dose of the bitter brew is the ultimate cure for the constant stream of half asleep zombies, each heading off to spend their day doing something productive.

It had been long since the figure in the corner had felt the urge to rush off to a destination like the steady parade of faceless figures he observes. His stoic face unimpressed as he studies his colony of ants, plodding along to fulfill some small happiness within their short, sad lives.

How he envied them.

It has been ages since his fall to this achromatic pit, a perpetual purgatory of anemic grey tormenting his wretched soul. How could these mindless drudges laugh, smile, delight in something as simple as a steaming mug of espresso and milk? The inability to even stoke the fire of a mild irritation causes him to sigh, his hands having long bled the warmth from his own cup as he sits watching.

His world is upended in the span of a second.

The chime of a bell.

In the countless instances he’s heard that incessant ringing, this is the only one that matters as time seems to grind to a halt. A cool breeze carries the scent of warm, buttery honey with a hint of floral citrus to balance the richness. The aroma threatens to overwhelm him, long forgotten sensations stirring. The potent shock of the resurrection of his emotions choke him, his hand unconsciously clasping his chest as he struggles to endure the assault. Only a moment ticks by as the scent reaches him, then he’s frozen in time as his world fills with color. Infinite shades of red inundate his sight, dark eyes locked onto the beautiful creature poised at the door, the curve of a smile in that rosy mantle sending a shockwave through his system.

The melodic tinkling of a small laugh shatters the tentative control he has over himself. An aria cuts through the symphony of noise he’s endured for ages. A singular voice reviving his entire being.

His long atrophied heart seems to give out a painful shriek at the potent rush of his lifeblood. The silent struggle of the shadow figure in the corner of the small cafe goes unnoticed, but for him, it’s as if he’s been resurrected, awakening from the tedium of his purgatory. It was only a moment.

The moment that alters his entire existence.

The moment he saw you.

The moment passes, and he can only cling to his teetering sanity, watching as you order your coffee. You are exquisite, radiant beyond comprehension. The curve of your neck causes him to tremble. The lilt of your voice a sonata made for him alone, kindling his very soul.

Your scent wakes him from his endless slumber, the sight of you defibrillating his long withered heart. The sound of your laughter cuts through the never ending drone that surrounds him. The world falls away around him and he can only see you.

His dark eyes blacken as he watches you leave, taking the cosmos with you. Abandoning him in the frigid, ceaseless void he’s been condemned to. As your warmth seeps from the cafe, he stands, his purpose clear.

His hands clench as the need to touch you takes over his reason, longing for the sensation of your silky flesh in his palms. His mouth salivates at the thought of your essence on his tongue. There is no other purpose anymore. He has only one objective, one singular desire.

You are his only aspiration now. You are his holy grail.

And he must have you.

You were late, again. Always running late. But you had to have your morning coffee. You have a meeting with a writer in a different location and it threw you off this morning, but you’d spotted a decent looking coffee shop on the way. Luckily it hadn’t taken long to get in and out, and then you were on your way to your appointment.

“Slow down speed racer, your writer isn’t even here yet!” you hear someone yell and you just breathe out a sigh of relief, slowing down to relax for a moment before you make your way to the conference room. Between your editing job with the company as well as being a writer yourself, you were always on the go or lost in your head in front of a computer screen. Settling into your seat as your writer makes their way in, you just throw yourself into your workday.

By the time you’re opening your apartment door and kicking off your shoes that evening, you’re beyond exhausted. You’d wanted nothing more than to shower and get a warm cup of something soothing and just lose yourself in your current story. But after bathing and throwing on your comfy pajamas, your eyes are already drooping. “Tomorrow…I’ll wake up early and write in the morning….” You murmur to the empty space, and before another thought can form, the bliss of sleep was washing over you.

Your sleep was deep but restless, and as you sink into the haze of dreams you find yourself in a dark alley. There’s no sign of life around, not the scurry of a rat, nor the bustle of any vehicles; none of the noise you’d hear deep inside the city. The silence is eerie as you look around, but there’s a red glowing light surrounding you, almost as if you can see your own aura. Confused but curious, you make your way out of the alley into the empty street.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” you call out, and a warm breeze suddenly stirs the trash littering the alley around you, the rough scraping sound startling you.

“Yessss….”

The velvet utterance brushes against your senses, so much weight and significance behind the simple note as it engulfs your entire being. A shiver runs down your spine as the heat of the word seems to caress your skin delicately. With a gasp, you spin around and face…nothing.

“Who..are you?” you whisper, walking slowly down the bleak passage. Your arms are outstretched, reaching for the owner of the bewitching voice, even knowing that they should be drawing in around yourself.

“Yours.”

The statement halts your breathing, the sheer power behind it almost knocking you to the ground. “What-?” you begin, but a pressure halts your question, as electricity fills the air around you. Force seems to bear down upon your soul as the rustling of wings and the muffled thump of boots on the pavement resonate behind you. As you turn, your vision is filled with a large figure, massive black wings spanning your entire field of view. The silhouette of a towering man steps towards you, hand extending towards you.

“Come to me…”

The voice seems to echo in your head as you sit up, gasping for air and clutching your chest, the damp garment clinging to your skin. You can swear you hear the rustling once more of those massive wings from outside your window and a shiver wracks your body. Not in fear…no…not in fear…

“Where are you?” you sigh, fingers reaching out into the darkness. An overwhelming feeling of loss settles over you in the quiet room, the distant sounds of the city waking up cutting through the haze of the predawn light. Falling back against your pillows, you close your eyes, wondering why your dream affected you so much; why you longed to go back into your dreams to find the winged being who called out to you.

Days filled with writing, editing, and working. Rushing to and fro, the bustle of the city around you fueling your mornings and afternoons into the early evening. But it was the nighttime that you longed for; the dip of the sun below the horizon, the twilight’s call for your eyelids to drop. For your slumber to overtake you so you can get one more glimpse of your mysterious stalker, your shadowy suitor. Deep down you know that running from him is the correct response, yet his presence in your dreams inspires only an intense yearning, a hidden desire to be claimed by him. For him to assert his dominion, to step forward into the light so you may give yourself to him.

Always upon waking, you find yourself continuing to look for him, though he exists only in your fantasies. Perhaps your writing was bleeding into your subconscious and you just needed to bring him to life through your work.

Perhaps.

The weeks turn to months and you desperately urge him from the shadows, calling to him through your words on paper, the pages on your computer screen. Yet he eludes you, defying your every tactic to reveal himself. Never have you struggled with a character as much as you have him. He didn’t even have a name.

The more you write, the more you need to know him. To see him, to feel him, to hear his voice again.

To touch him.

Days filled with longing for the night, the anticipation of his nocturnal visit your primary goal. For just one more night filled with his enigmatic presence, eyes closing eagerly for the imminent appearance of your winged obsession.

A mania seems to be overtaking your mind, almost distraught at his elusiveness as you give in to your exhausted slumber.

Yet another dream, the same dream, time and time again. As you wake clutching your chest, you let out a mournful cry. “Why can’t I get you out of my head?! You’re not even real!” your voice is thick with agony, a throbbing ache in your heart as well as between your legs.

“Am I not?”

The velvet tone causes you to freeze in sudden fear as your curtains flutter, drawing your gaze. A soft laugh washes over your entire being as you focus on the large dark figure on your balcony. “I am as real as your desire for me.” At your startled cry, the figure takes a step into the doorway. He appears as massive as he is in your dreams and you can’t help but recognize the shiver of excitement under the thin veneer of fear.

“You-you’re….this is a dream.” You tell the shadow gazing at you, vulnerable and alone in your bed. Slipping from beneath the covers, you stand on shaking legs, telling yourself to run but…all your feet want to do is move towards him. “This isn’t rea-” Your statement is cut short as the man…or whatever he was is suddenly in front of you, arms to either side, encasing you against the wall.

Your heart feels as if it’s trembling in your chest cavity and his instant proximity has you quivering. You hadn’t even seen him move. “What-” your voice cracks and you swallow, trying once more. “What do you want?” You stare into his eyes, his features now visible. Dark hair that frames his beautiful face, eyes black and gleaming in the moonlight. His plush lips form a smile as his lashes flutter, a soft laugh emanating from his throat. Velvet and honey with a slight edge, you can’t help but feel yourself react to him. Clenching your thighs together, you let out a small whimper.

His pause is heavy with significance as he seems to inhale you, his nostrils gently flaring, his lips parting on an audible exhale. “What is it I want?” he asks, head tilting as his eyes open, capturing your gaze in his. It seems a galaxy of stars have taken up residence in them and you long to explore their infinite depths. “You ask the wrong question, my precious one.” his tone lowers even more as he brings his lips to your ear, the sensation of his breath eliciting an involuntary moan.

“It is not what I want ... .but whom. That I am here with you should answer that quite succinctly.” His words wash over you like a wildfire, your entire being, your very soul screaming for his touch. “It seems I am not alone in my yearning.” He chuckles softly. “I can smell your desire, beloved.” Your cheeks burn at his words but there is no way to refute them. The moisture pooling at your core defies any argument you try to form against him.

“You can…smell…me?” you manage, throat working desperately, palms planted to the wall behind you. Yet, despite how near he is, he’s not laid one single finger on you. This fact should calm your racing heart, yet it only serves to accelerate the pace. Instead of answering your question he merely draws in another deep breath, letting out a small purr to agitate your already frenzied senses.

“Are you-are you here to…hurt me?” you whisper and the sudden hiss as he draws back to look at you sends a shock through your system. His eyes almost swallow you whole as his entire body seems to shake. “The very thought of harm coming to you pains me in ways you cannot comprehend.” The honeyed voice is now as sharp as a razor's edge, yet your thirst for him only increases at his words. “I would rend flesh from any being who so much as dares to consider such a vile thought.”

“I simply long to touch you…to press my lips to yours…to hold your precious hand in mine. You’ve captured my very soul with your existence, and I am yours to command.” As you quake at his confession, he sinks to one knee before you, his heavenly face tipped up to gaze at you. “I will not lay a single finger upon you without your permission, despite my overwhelming longing for you.”

This must be a dream, you think to yourself as you take in his form, crouched before you, glorious eyes begging for you to accept him. Slowly raising your palm from the wall, you find yourself reaching for him, tipping your hand to bring your palm to his cheek. The breath he lets out at your touch is filled with relief, as a man dying of thirst takes his first sip of water. He vibrates under the simple caress of your hand, as if the connection has completed some broken electrical current.

“If I allow you to touch me, what then?” you find yourself asking, and his body stills, a pressure seeming to fill the room. Ever so slowly you watch his large black wings unfurl as he stands to his full, commanding height. You can only watch in awe as the massive appendages loom over you, as he splays his large hand, palm out towards you. “You would be granting this fallen angel sanctuary in his endless tormented existence. To be granted your warm embrace would be the ultimate solace to my anguished continuance. For this…for you alone, I would bestow upon you any treasure, fulfill every hunger, lay the very world at your feet, if you so crave it.”

“And if my only want is you, and you alone?” you dare to ask, your breath hitching, throat closing tightly as you watch the tremor in his extended hand at your words. His lashes flutter as his tongue darts out over his bottom lip, hooded eyes never leaving yours. “Then it is I who would be receiving the most priceless of treasures in you, for you are the world in my eyes.”

True to his word, even though you can feel the room itself almost vibrate with his energy, he has not disturbed one hair on your head. He merely watches you with an infinite patience that defies the intensity of his gaze. Time appears to stop as you consume the picture of this dark angel in front of you, this beautiful heavenly being offering you your every desire. For the longest moment you just savor his form, pure radiance illuminated by the white light of the moon haloing him.

Without a word you step forward, raising your hand palm out to press to his, staring into the endless abyss of his eyes. “You may have me, take me, touch me, taste me in any way you so wish if you answer one simple question for me.” you breathe out, the tingle of your skin against his drawing out a small gasp. “Ask and it shall be yours.” No hesitation, only the eager urge to please as he observes you.

“I wish to know your name.” you breathe out, your fingers interlacing with his. His eyes close slowly, and he sighs out heavily, a tremor rippling through the length of his body. “You may call me Christian.” tumbles off his lips a moment before they are upon yours, his arm wrapping around your waist to tug you into him. “Christian-” you gasp into his mouth and he hums in delight as you let go of his hand to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders.

“How I’ve longed to hear you say my name, My Light.” his breath mixes with yours as his tongue plunges into your mouth, free hand dipping to cup your ass and press himself into you. It’s obvious he’s large in every aspect as he lifts and you wrap your legs around him. The moan that escapes your throat is full of need as he grinds himself into your core, eliciting a sharp gasp from him. Before you can register, your panties are torn from your body, leaving you only wearing the flimsy shirt you’d gone to bed in. “Oh-please touch me, please fucking touch me-” you are crying out, and he complies immediately his long fingers on your ass brushing against your weeping slit as he presses his clothed crotch to your sensitive nub. The friction of his pants against you tears a moan from your lips, and his mouth is eager to receive it.

“Anything for you, anything you want-” he groans as his fingers tease at your entrance, his mouth trailing kisses down your chin, to your jawline and along your neck. Your hips have a mind of their own, jerking and writhing as he spreads your pussy from behind. “So fucking soaked, My Precious….” he growls into your neck, sharp teeth brushing your pulse. “Christian!” you cry as he pulls back, his hands withdrawing to grasp your thighs, almost sobbing at the loss. But before you can so much as utter another word, he’s on his knees before you, throwing your thighs over his shoulders. “My tongue longs for your taste-” he hisses, then he’s burying his face into you, overwhelming you with a flood of pleasure.

You can feel his fingers, spreading you apart, your wet folds sucked into his mouth as his nose nudges your clit. Immediately your hands are in his hair, tugging as you cry out his name. The wet noises of his tongue as he laps at you, then draws back to suck eagerly on your aching bud have your thighs trembling as he holds you in place. “You taste better than ambrosia, My Light, I could drink from you for eternity-” his whispered voice only adds to the intensity as you feel the familiar burn of your impending orgasm building. “Oh Christian-” you moan out and his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, his tongue slipping inside of you as his nose rubs your clit.

The moment his tongue enters you, you can’t hold back any longer and you’re screaming and bucking in his arms, flooding his tongue and face with your climax. He lets out pleased noises as he holds you in place, indulging himself in every last drop before he finally presses a kiss to your bud. He stands and lifts your limp body gently, moving to splay you out on the bed. Removing your shirt with a tug, he sheds his own clothes quickly before climbs between your legs, his long thighs parting yours. You rake your eyes over his long, lean body, still quivering with the after effects of his mouth, opening easily to him as he hovers over you.

The urgency of your desire for him is so profound that you feel tears prick your eyes, reaching for him in desperation as he settles his weight onto you. “Please, please-oh I need you-please-” the endless pleading falling from your lips darkens his eyes, his lip in his teeth as he slides his long length against your dripping cunt. “You’re mine, my precious love. My Light, My Heart, My Soulmate-” he whispers softly as he shifts his hips, drawing back to position his cockhead to press against your tight opening. “Yours-take me, I’m yours, please-” His hand grasps yours as he grips the sheets in the other, your hips lifting to add to the needy cries.

His gaze holds yours as he pushes forward into you, his thick girth stretching as his lips part in a moan. “Yes! Oh please-” you cry out, and a ragged moan rips from his throat as he thrusts forward, burying his cock to the hilt within you. “Don’t stop!” You scream and he complies, hips drawing back to snap back into you, his moans and cries harmonizing with yours. The sting and burn of his girth stuffing you full only adds to the insane rapture, making you whole. As if without him you were an unfinished puzzle and he is the final piece.

You take in his glorious features, his lust glazed eyes as he thrusts into you, his beautiful parted lips, his massive wings a canopy over you as if he’s shielding you both from the world. On a whim, you drop your fingers to work at the muscles of his back where the wings protrude and he lets out a musical medley of moans and cries, his hips rolling as he plunges faster and harder. Your entire body is on fire, every touch, every breath of his raging across your nerves, your nipples tightening as you arch your back.

“More, more, more, I want to hear you sing for me-” you gasp and he starts to tremble as you clutch a wing in each hand, his cries only swelling in volume as he drops down to claim your mouth with his. Your thumbs knead along the muscle of his wings and his hips begin to stutter as you tip your hips up, the friction of his body pressing against your clit. The tight coil deep within you threatens to shatter as his breathing hitches, his mouth torn from yours on a long moan. “Everything, give me everything, come in me, fill me, Christian-Complete me-”

His eyes meet yours and you gasp at the pure white swirling in them as he parts his lips to let out a strained cry, choking on his moan as he tips you over the edge with him. Your strangled cries blend with his in a symphony of bliss; you feel him burst within you as you clamp around him, clenching and pulsing together as you both let go. Waves of pleasure wash over you as he empties himself, your tight walls milking him dry before he finally collapses on you, his head pressed into your neck. His irregular breaths puff against your skin, the sensation causing you to clench around him again, drawing out a whimper as he wraps his arms around you.

“Mine. All mine.” he rasps out and you just run your fingers through his silky hair, sighing in contentment. “You belong to me now, as I belong to you.” he whispers, drawing back and cradling your face in his palm. A warm rosy glow surrounds you both, seeming to pulse in time with your matching heartbeats.

“At long last, I’ve found my heaven on earth, and I’ll never let you go

#dpr ian #christian yu #MITOISREAL #dream perfect regime #dpr live #fallen angel #seraph #song of the day #krnb #krnb artist #bad omens #noah sebastian #christian yu smut #DPRIAN smut #Spotify

35 notes · View notes

doumadono · 2 years ago

Text

Warnings: violence, viking!Dabi, viking!Shoto, earl!Endeavor, viking!Hawks, viking!Natsuo, fem!reader, viking themes, viking!Bakugo, viking!Kirishima, viking!Aizawa, viking!All Might, blood and injuries, gore, implied smut (non-con), Shoto is a massive jerk

Summary: impatience simmers within you as Touya's trip lingers. Upon the troops' return, the horrifying news unfolds — the prince has fallen in battle. Grieving, you brace for no further blows, only for Shoto to remind you to always expect the unexpected

Word count: circa 11.3k

A/N: if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series, please let me know ♥

KVITRAVN - MHA VIKING AU • MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER • NEXT CHAPTER

ACT V - NEW BEGINNINGS

The biting cold pierced through Touya's sleep, and the distant echoes of an unfamiliar sound drew him out of the warmth of his furs. Shifting quietly, he glanced over to see his younger brother, Shoto, still deep in slumber. The tent flaps rustled lightly with the night breeze, and Touya reached for his dagger, his breath visible in the frosty air.

Carefully, he wrapped himself in a thick fur, its warmth a shield against the harsh northern chill. As he stepped outside, the moon cast an ethereal glow on the snow-covered landscape. The world seemed frozen, a silent expanse of white.

The muffled sounds persisted, guiding Touya through the darkness. He noticed the sleeping figures of their fellow warriors, their breath creating small clouds in the frigid night air. Only Hawks sat near the dwindling fire, his attention fixed on the rhythmic motions of polishing his axe.

"Prince Touya," Hawks greeted without looking up, his voice low yet carrying an air of confidence.

"Hawks," Touya acknowledged, his eyes scanning the surroundings. "Did you hear that noise? Something's not right."

Hawks paused, setting the axe aside, and finally looked at Touya. The firelight flickered, casting shadows on his sharp features. "I heard nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps it's just the wind playing tricks on your mind, my lord.”

Touya tightened his grip on the dagger, his instincts telling him otherwise. "No, it was different. Like footsteps or the creaking of snow under pressure."

Hawks raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Your senses are sharp, Touya. But I assure you, all is calm."

As if on cue, the wind howled, carrying with it an eerie stillness. Touya remained unconvinced, his gaze fixated on the vast wilderness surrounding them. "I'll take a quick look around. Better safe than sorry."

Hawks nodded, resuming his task. "Do what you must, my lord. But don't let your imagination run wild. These lands can play tricks on the mind."

Touya acknowledged the advice, leaving Hawks by the fading fire. Each step through the snow amplified the hushed night. The cold bit at his exposed skin, but determination fueled his movement.

In the quiet expanse, Touya's senses heightened. The darkness revealed no secrets, and the mysterious sounds remained elusive. Yet, as he patrolled the perimeter, a lingering unease settled within him.

Touya's boots crunched softly on the snow-covered ground as he wandered back to the camp. The cold air stung his face, but it was a welcome distraction from the thoughts that had been haunting him. The familiar sight of the camp brought a mix of comfort and yearning.

He found a large rock, partially buried under the pristine snow, and with a heavy sigh, he brushed off enough snow to make a seat. Settling down, he gazed at the camp bathed in moonlight. The tents stood stoically, and the dying embers of the fire flickered in the crisp night air.

Yet, despite the serene surroundings, Touya's mind betrayed him. It drifted away from the snow-covered landscape, back to you. Your laughter echoed in his ears, and the memory of the warmth of your body against his lingered like a sweet torment.

He closed his eyes for a moment, a deep breath escaping him. The image of you, the one he cherished above all else, filled his thoughts. The way your eyes sparkled, the sound of your voice, and the gentle touch of your hand were etched in his mind. In the midst of the harsh Viking world, you were his sanctuary. "I miss you," he whispered to the quiet night, as if the wind might carry his words to you. "These missions, the cold, the battles — they all feel so empty without you by my side, sweet Y/N."

His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns in the snow as he lost himself in the memories. The way you teased him, the shared glances that spoke volumes, and the moments of quiet understanding between you two. The world outside may have been harsh, but in your company, Touya found a refuge — a haven of warmth and love he never knew before.

He longed for the day when he could return to you, to feel the comfort of your embrace and to hear your laughter once more. The countdown to being reunited seemed to stretch on endlessly, each day a reminder of the miles that separated them.

With a heavy heart, Touya opened his eyes, refocusing on the camp before him.

The moonlit night cast an eerie glow on the snow-covered ground as Touya's eyes narrowed, catching a hint of movement to the right of the camp. Dark, crooked silhouettes emerged from the shadows of nearby bushes, and instinctively, Touya tightened his grip on the dagger, rising from his snowy seat.

Silent as the wind, he moved towards the camp, his senses heightened. As he drew closer, the outlines became clear — a pack of wolves, their eyes gleaming with hunger, led by a massive, black alpha. Time was of the essence, and Touya knew he had to act swiftly. "Wolves!" he shouted, the urgency in his voice cutting through the night.

The camp stirred, warriors scrambling to their feet, roused by Touya's warning.

Hawks grabbed his axe and joined Touya at the forefront.

The alpha wolf, towering over its pack, snarled, signaling the onslaught about to unfold.

The first wolf lunged at Touya, its fangs bared, but he sidestepped with a dancer's grace, bringing down his dagger with deadly precision. The clash of steel against fur echoed in the cold night air as the skirmish erupted.

Hawks, his axe a lethal extension of his will, swung with calculated brutality. His strikes were a dance of death, each swing met with the desperate howls of wolves. His movements were fluid, a deadly display of skill honed through countless battles.

Touya, too, fought with a controlled ferocity, his dagger slicing through the air. Wolves leaped, jaws snapping, but he evaded and struck with lethal accuracy. The snow around them stained with crimson as the battle waged on.

Meanwhile, Hawks battled the remaining wolves, his axe a whirlwind of death. The warriors from the camp rallied beside them, forming a united front against the relentless onslaught. The air was filled with the clash of weapons, the snarls of wolves, and the shouts of warriors determined to defend their camp.

The aftermath of the vicious wolf attack left a somber scene, with fallen warriors scattered across the snow-covered ground. The hungry wolves, driven by primal instincts, had bitten through armor and flesh, leaving no room for mercy.

As Touya fought to defend the camp, the harsh reality of the night unfolded before him.

In the chaos, Touya's keen eyes caught the movement of one particularly aggressive wolf, its maw stained with the blood of fallen warriors. With a sinking feeling, he realized it was making its way towards his tent, where Shoto likely still slept, blissfully unaware of the impending danger.

Touya's conflicted emotions churned within him. The familial bond he shared with Shoto clashed with the tumultuous history of rivalry and strife. Yet, beneath the layers of resentment, a protective instinct emerged.

Ignoring the exhaustion and the wounds that marked his body, Touya lunged towards the black alpha, the very embodiment of the danger. With a swift, determined motion, he plunged his dagger into the left eye of the alpha, a howl of pain reverberating through the night.

The wounded alpha, blinded and enraged, howled in fury. Seizing the opportunity, Touya sprinted towards his tent, his heart pounding with urgency. The shadows danced around him as he raced against time, driven by a brotherly love that transcended the bitterness of their past. Touya's heart pounded in his chest as he sprinted towards the tents, a surge of panic coursing through his veins. The distant cries of victory were abruptly drowned out by the guttural growl emanating from within the camp. His steps quickened, the urgency of the situation etched across his face.

Upon reaching the tent, he was met with a chilling sight. One of the wolves had managed to get into the tent where Shoto lay peacefully asleep. The growl rumbled from deep within its throat, a menacing prelude to the imminent attack. The wolf's predatory gaze locked onto Shoto, who remained blissfully unaware of the impending danger.

The growls of the approaching wolves tore through the tranquility of the night, reaching Shoto's ears finally as he lay within the confines of the tent. The cold air seemed to carry a sinister undertone, and with a start, Shoto's eyes snapped open. His breath caught in his throat as he realized the danger that lurked just next to him.

Turning his head slowly, Shoto's eyes widened as he beheld the massive silhouette of the wolf. Its fur blended with the shadows, and the gleam in its eyes spoke of a hunger that sent a shiver down Shoto's spine. Young prince knew that a single misstep, a solitary muscle twitch, could trigger an attack.

Touya, sensing the imminent threat, moved with a predator's grace. Silently, he approached the wolf from behind, his dagger gleaming in the moonlight.

Shoto's heart pounded in his chest as he watched his elder brother with the corner of his eye, a mixture of fear and hope swirling within him.

As Touya lunged forward, time seemed to slow. The blade flashed in the cold night air, and with one swift and precise motion, he slit the wolf's throat. The wolf’s growls turned to gurgles, and its once fierce eyes now reflected the glint of death.

Shoto, still frozen in place, watched as Touya's decisive action saved him from the impending danger. The wolf collapsed, its lifeblood staining the furs of the tent beneath it. The camp, now bathed in an uneasy silence, bore witness to the aftermath of the fierce struggle.

Touya, standing over the fallen wolf, cast a quick glance back at Shoto. “You okay?”

“Yeah…” Shoto exhaled, unaware that he had been holding his breath, and nodded in gratitude.

Touya nodded in response to Shoto, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken bond between them. As Shoto hastily donned his fur and reached for his axe, the brothers emerged from the tent, greeted by the cold reality of the aftermath. The once serene camp now bore the scars of the recent struggle, marked by the fallen bodies of both wolves and warriors.

Surveying the scene, Touya's gaze fell on the fallen warriors, a somber recognition of the price paid in the night's skirmish. The brothers shared a moment of silent mourning for their fallen comrades before turning their attention to the survivors.

Hawks, with his axe still in hand, approached the duo. His eyes, however, were fixed on Shoto, completely disregarding Touya and the fresh wounds that adorned his forearms and shoulders. There was an air of concern in Hawks' voice as he addressed Shoto, "You okay, my lord?"

Shoto, though visibly shaken by the recent events, nodded in response. "I'm fine," he replied tersely, his gaze flickering briefly toward Touya.

Touya, despite the wounds that adorned his frame, remained stoic. The chill of the night seemed to seep through the fabric of his torn furs.

Hawks, seemingly ignoring Touya's injuries, continued to address Shoto. "Good. We need everyone on their feet. The night is unforgiving, and we can't afford to let our guard down."

Touya stated, "We need to find and kill the alpha. It couldn't have gone far. Until we bring it down, we won't be able to rest. The alpha might return with other wolves, and we can't afford to let that happen."

Shoto exchanged a glance with Hawks.

Hawks, always decisive in his actions, nodded in agreement. "Touya's right. We can't let that beast roam free. It's a threat to the camp and to our people. Let's go after it, end this, and secure the safety of our kin."

“Hans,” Touya turned to one of the warriors. "Collect the fallen comrades and do your utmost to attend to the wounded before our return," the leader instructed.

The elder man acknowledged with a solemn nod, a silent commitment to carry out the directive in the face of adversity.

The trio, bound by a common purpose, set out into the frigid night once more. The snow beneath their boots muffled their footsteps as they followed the trail left by the retreating alpha. The air was thick with tension, the awareness of the lurking danger guiding their every move.

Touya, with his senses sharp and focused, led the way.

Shoto and Hawks followed, their axes at the ready, prepared for whatever awaited them in the dark expanse of the Viking wilderness.

The trio moved cautiously through the dense thicket, their senses attuned to every rustle and snap of twigs beneath their boots. In the distance, a quiet guttural growl reverberated through the still night air, signaling their proximity to the wounded alpha. The sound set an eerie tone, foreshadowing the impending confrontation.

As they pushed through the bushes, the landscape opened up into a small meadow blanketed with thick snow. Moonlight bathed the clearing, casting an ethereal glow upon the pristine white canvas. In the center, the massive, black alpha wolf limped away, leaving crimson trails in the snow.

The alpha, sensing the pursuit, paused and turned to face the approaching threat. Its fur, once sleek and powerful, now clung to its scarred and mangled frame. The air became charged with tension as the alpha bared its fangs, a silent declaration of defiance.

Touya, undeterred by the formidable presence before him, stepped forward. His dagger gleamed in the moonlight as he closed the distance between them. T

The alpha, fixated on the approaching menace, seemed to recognize the danger that loomed.

"Hawks, head left. Shoto, make your way to the right," Touya commanded, his movements deliberate as he advanced toward the wolf. He didn't allow his gaze to waver, maintaining unbroken eye contact with the creature. Breaking that connection would trigger the wolf's attack, and Touya couldn't afford a single blink in this dangerous dance between predator and prey.

Shoto and Hawks shared another glance before silently adhering to Touya's directive. They moved with utmost stealth, the only sound the hushed crunch of snow under their boots, as they navigated the shadows of the night.

Touya began a deliberate circle around the wounded animal, and in response, the wolf mirrored his movements, growling and revealing its still bloodied, menacing fangs to the scarred man. The tension hung heavy in the air as the primal dance unfolded.

The wolf, fueled by a mix of pain and aggression, was the first to make a move. In the blink of an eye, it lunged at Touya, meeting the assault with swift retaliation. A dagger found its mark in the animal's side, but rather than deter it, the attack seemed to stoke the flames of its fury.

Touya, thrown off balance, toppled to the ground. The wolf, undeterred, closed in, its snarling muzzle snapping dangerously close to the scarred man's face. In the struggle to fend off the relentless predator, Touya's desperate plea cut through the frigid air, "Help!"

For Shoto, the unfolding scene was a twisted opportunity. It seemed as though disposing of Touya could be easier than he had initially thought; all he had to do was wait and watch as his brother faced the relentless assault of the wolf.

Hawks, torn by a lingering human instinct to intervene, hesitated. However, his intention to step in was halted by Shoto's raised hand, a silent command to stay back.

As the wolf persisted in its attack, Touya fought back with determination. The dagger found its mark several more times, warm blood coating his hands as he struggled to free himself from the ferocious jaws. In the midst of the struggle, Touya's voice cut through the tension, a desperate plea for assistance. "What's wrong with you, Shoto?! Hawks, help me kill this thing!"

Shoto's eyes narrowed, a chilling resolve in his gaze. "Don't you dare to move," he warned Hawks, the threat laced with a cold determination that left no room for negotiation.

Touya's brow furrowed for a fleeting moment at the words of his younger brother, but determination fueled him. With a final effort, he managed to free himself from the relentless jaws of the wolf, crawling away to the edge of a high bluff that marked the meadow's eastern boundary. The wolf lay motionless a short distance away. Touya, on trembling limbs, slowly knelt, gasping for air, his body still trembling. He then directed a bewildered gaze at his younger brother. "What the hell!?"

Hawks observed the unfolding dynamics, crossing his arms over his chest, a silent witness to the family drama.

Shoto, undeterred, approached his older brother with a sneer. "Don't misunderstand me, dear brother. I appreciate your help back in the camp, but I'm not about to owe you anything. There's a chasm between us, and nothing will erase it. Life is cruel, always has been. Survival favors the strongest, and, sorry to say, you don't fit that description."

Touya's expression hardened as he slowly rose to his feet. "What the hell, Shoto? I made it clear some time ago — I don't want the power, and I sure as hell don't want that damned earl's crown. It's yours if you want it."

Shoto sighed, idly playing with his axe as he closed the distance between them. "Yeah, yeah. The problem is our illustrious father doesn't see it that way. Rumors are circulating that you've gained favor in his eyes, especially after that last successful raid. I can't let you snatch away what's rightfully mine. I'm sorry."

Touya turned to Hawks, a look of disbelief in his eyes. "Hawks?"

Keigo shrugged, his allegiance clear. "Sorry, my lord, but I've always been loyal to Shoto."

Touya let out a derisive snort. "I can't believe this. I never wanted any of this division between us. It's always been your paranoia about power. I never wanted to harm you, Shoto. I never wanted to take anything from you. All I ever wanted was to live my own life. That's it. You're our father's prized possession, not me."

Shoto tilted his head, a wide smirk playing on his lips. "Indeed. Unfortunately, our father perceives things differently. And now that you've acquired that damn thrall, freeing her and all, I can't wait until the day you get her pregnant. That would seal my fate entirely. You get it, don't you?"

Touya snorted, tightening his grip on a dagger. "I never intended to be at odds with you, Shoto."

Shoto retorted, "Yet it always seems to come down to a fight, doesn't it?"

Before the brothers clashed, Hawks yelled, "Shoto, step aside, the wolf!"

The younger Endeavorson swiftly turned his head for a brief moment, spotting a black wolf poised for an attack. In a swift maneuver, the two-toned haired man dodged, creating an open space between the fatally wounded alpha and his elder brother.

Touya found himself without enough time to evade the impending attack. Bracing for impact, as the wolf leaped toward him, he struggled to maintain balance on the slippery snow. For a fleeting moment, he believed he had regained control, but as he took a step back, the ground beneath his feet disappeared — he stepped into the void of the bluff.

Touya let out a scream, the sound mingling with the wolf's howl as Touya’s dagger once again found its mark on the animal's side. Together, they plummeted into the darkness of the night.

Soon, the night reclaimed its overwhelming silence.

Shoto rose to his feet, accepting the hand offered by Hawks to help him stand. The two exchanged a glance and slowly approached the edge of the bluff, peering down.

Several meters below, they observed Touya's lifeless form pinned beneath the massive wolf that had descended with him. Touya's left leg twisted at an unnatural angle.

Hawks, witnessing the gruesome scene, fought back a wave of nausea, gasping at the sight.

Shoto, however, maintained a stoic expression. "Seems like my problem has resolved itself. Fate decided to lend me a hand that night. I thought we might have to resort to poison, huh. Move, Hawks. We need to return to camp and share the unfortunate news with our fellow warriors." With those words, Shoto left, a self-satisfied grin playing on his lips.

Hawks watched Shoto in silence, his gaze lingering for a moment. Then, he turned his attention back to the scene below. A quiet tear traced down his cheek, falling onto the snow stained crimson by the alpha's blood.

Meanwhile, you went about your daily tasks in your new, free life, the familiar sense of accomplishment warmed your spirit. The small hut, now a cozy haven, stood as a testament to your new position.

Helga and Natsuo, friends who had become like family, offered their unwavering support during the two days it took to set up your new home.

One evening, Helga entered the room, "How's everything coming along, dear Y/N? Need any more help with the arrangements?"

You smiled, grateful for her presence, "Thank you, Helga. I think we've covered everything. Your help has been invaluable."

Natsuo, sitting near a tiny fireplace, chimed in, "It's the least we could do. This is a fresh start for you, and we're glad to be a part of it."

As you arranged items on a shelf, Helga leaned against the doorframe, "I must say, this place looks cozy. It's a far cry from the constraints of the past, isn't it?"

You nodded, "Indeed. Freedom was a gift I never knew I needed. And having friends like you made it all the more special."

Natsuo grinned, "Well, now that your new home is all set, what's next on your agenda?"

You paused, looking around, "I think I'll just try to find myself something to do.”

Later in the evening, Natsuo brought pails of water to your hut. He greeted you warmly, "Evening! Thought you might need some water after your day."

You thanked him, taking the pails. As you both sat outside your hut, enjoying the cool breeze, Natsuo couldn't help but notice a hint of sadness in your expression. "Something on your mind?"

You sighed, "It's just... Touya has been gone for so long on their mission. I miss him, you know?"

Natsuo nodded empathetically, "I get it. He'll be back, though. The missions are tough, but he's resilient. And you've got us here to keep you company in the meantime."

You smiled, appreciating his comforting words.

As the evening unfolded, the sound of shared stories and laughter echoed under the night sky, creating a comforting ambiance. Natsuo, always a good companion, shared anecdotes from the day's activities, lightening the mood.

You couldn't help but be grateful for the supportive community you now found yourself in. The conversations provided a soothing balm to the longing for Touya's return. Natsuo's presence, in particular, brought a sense of camaraderie that eased the ache of missing your partner.

"Touya will be back. The missions are demanding, but he's resilient. In the meantime, you've got us here to keep you company, to share these moments. We're like family now,” Natsuo spoke reassuringly.

As Natsuo prepared to leave, he looked at you with a thoughtful expression. "You know, sometimes these expeditions take longer than expected. It's the nature of the missions we undertake. They can be unpredictable, but it doesn't mean something has gone wrong. Touya is skilled, and they have a strong team with them." He continued, "I understand it's tough waiting, especially when you miss him, but it's part of this life. We've all been through it. Just remember, when they return, it makes the reunions all the more special."

With a warm smile, he bid you goodnight, leaving you with a sense of gratitude for the new beginnings and the supportive companionship that now colored your days and nights.

That night, as the moon cast an eerie glow through the tiny window of your hut, sleep enveloped you in a suffocating darkness. Tossing and turning on your modest cot, you found yourself trapped in the clutches of a haunting nightmare.

The air in the room felt heavy, and the silence of the night was disrupted by your whimpers and soft cries. In the realm of your dreams, shadows morphed into menacing figures, their faces shrouded in darkness as they circled around you. Each step they took echoed like a sinister drumbeat, intensifying the dread that gripped your soul.

As you lay paralyzed in the dream, the figures closed in, whispering malevolent secrets that clawed at the edges of your consciousness. Their voices, a chilling chorus, spoke of death and despair, weaving a tapestry of nightmares that threatened to consume you whole.

“He’s dead… He’s dead…”

"Only despair and sorrow lie ahead for you."

The cold sweat on your brow mirrored the intensity of the nightmare. Your cot felt like a prison, the thin fabric of reality separating you from the abyss of your subconscious fears. The figures, now distorted specters, reached out with ghostly hands, fingers like icy tendrils threatening to grasp your very essence.

In the grip of this macabre dream, the fear of death loomed large. The shadows converged, swirling around you like a vortex of impending doom. The nightmarish scenes played out in vivid detail — the echoes of your own cries, the palpable scent of fear, and the taste of desperation lingering in the air.

As the nightmare reached its crescendo, you jolted awake, gasping for breath. The moonlight spilled into the room, offering a stark contrast to the oppressive darkness of your dream. The reality of the small hut and the sound of your racing heart gradually replaced the nightmarish visions, but the residue of fear lingered, haunting the corners of your mind. The weight of the dream clung to you, a spectral reminder of the fragility of the human psyche in the face of the unknown.

Tears streamed down your face, and stifled sobs resonated in the stillness. Clutching your pillow as if it were a lifeline, you whispered Touya's name over and over, a desperate mantra that echoed the ache in your heart. “Touya, my love… Touya…”

Instinctively, an unsettling feeling gnawed at you, urging you to acknowledge that something was amiss. The weight of the night pressed upon you, and a haunting sense of foreboding hung in the air.

In the hushed hours before dawn, you made a decision. The nagging intuition that something was wrong compelled you to seek solace in Natsuo's understanding. As the first light of morning painted the sky, you resolved to confide in him, hoping that together, you could unravel the mystery that lingered in the shadows of your troubled dreams.

"Hey, Katsuki!? You think he's alive?" The tall, square-built man with red hair asked, casually skinning a massive, black wolf.

The ash-blond man, crouching next to a seemingly lifeless scarred figure, nonchalantly touched the man's shoulder with the haft of his axe. There was no immediate response. "It seems he's damn well dead, no doubt."

The red-haired man packed the wolf's skin into a sizable saddlebag secured to the side of his white mare. "We shouldn't leave him like that. We should bury him."

"Tsk! Oi, Kirishima, don't expect me to touch this rotting piece of shit. If you want that so much, bury him yourself. I can dig a damn hole. What the hell. We came to hunt, not deal with this crap."

"We apparently hunted down a dead man," Kirishima joked lightly, strolling closer. "Hmmm, he must've fallen from that bluff."

"He must've been a complete idiot then to get so close to the edge. Idiots always end up with the crap, don't they?"

Kirishima poked the other man's shoulder. "Quit with the disrespect. Odin's watching!" He snorted and crouched next to the man. "That's one nasty wound on his leg. Maybe it's a blessing he died, otherwise, he'd be crippled…"

"Enough chatter, start doing something!" Bakugo growled as he walked aside, scanning the ground for a spot less frozen to dig a grave.

In that moment, Touya's left hand twitched ever so slightly, and he let out a gasp filled with pain.

The sudden movement startled Kirishima, causing the red-haired man to fall back onto his butt. "Fuck! Bakugo! He's fucking alive!"

Bakugo returned to the two and once again pushed the man's shoulder with the hilt of his axe, eliciting a growl of pain. "Kill... Me..." the scarred man whispered.

Bakugo scoffed. "Oi, dumbass, shut the fuck up! Kirishima, guess we gotta take him with us. Even though I'd rather let him die here, it'd be merciful, given his injuries. He's one ugly fucking bastard. Odin himself would get fucking startled looking at this fucking extra."

"We need to bring him along. I'm certain our earl will be interested in this fellow."

"In a damn cripple? You're out of your damn mind, weird hair!" Bakugo growled, contemplating how to get the injured man onto his horse. "I think we gotta build some makeshift stretchers or something. Damn it! Let's move! I don't want to stay here at night. The wolves might have come back."

As Bakugo and Kirishima returned from their expedition, they made their way through the bustling settlement until they reached the earl's hall. With a determined stride, they entered the great hall where Earl Toshinorison held court.

Earl Toshinorison, known as All Might, commanded both respect and awe with his formidable presence. Standing tall and proud, he bore a robust and well-built frame that spoke of a lifetime of battles and victories. His golden hair, though now touched by strands of gray, retained an air of regality, cascading like a radiant mane around his shoulders.

His face, marked by the lines of wisdom and experience, harbored a strong jawline and a pair of piercing, blueish eyes that sparkled with a blend of authority and kindness. Despite the weight of leadership, there was a warm and approachable demeanor that endeared him to his people.

Earl Toshinorison adorned himself in attire that reflected both his status and prowess. A sturdy cloak, billowing with every movement, bore the symbols of his leadership. Beneath it, he wore armor crafted with care, a testament to the battles he had faced and the victories he had achieved.

In the midst of the settlement, he occupied a grand throne within the great hall, a symbol of his leadership and the heart of the community. His voice, when he spoke, carried the weight of authority tempered with a genuine concern for his people.

Earl Toshinorison was not just a leader; he embodied the spirit of a protector, a warrior whose strength and benevolence guided the community through the challenges of Viking life. The combination of his imposing stature, seasoned wisdom, and compassionate leadership made him a figure revered and admired by all who called the settlement their home.

"All Might, my lord," Bakugo greeted with a deep bow, acknowledging the leader of their community.

The earl, seated in his imposing throne, turned to them with a warm yet authoritative smile. "Bakugo, Kirishima, what news do you bring?"

Kirishima stepped forward, his demeanor respectful yet filled with a sense of urgency. "Earl, we found a man on the outskirts. He seemed injured, left for dead. But, surprisingly, he's alive."

All Might's expression shifted to a thoughtful concern. "Alive, you say? A life saved is a tale worth hearing."

Bakugo and Kirishima nodded and gestured to their companions to bring in the injured man. As they approached, Earl Toshinorison observed with keen eyes.

Aizawa, their most ruthless warrior among Toshinori’s settlement, accompanied them. His stoic presence added an air of seriousness to the situation.

The injured man, now resting on a makeshift stretcher, was laid before the earl. Yagi leaned forward, assessing the wounds with a discerning gaze. "A warrior left for dead. Curious."

Aizawa, standing at attention, spoke with his usual pragmatism, "He should've met his end. Perhaps fate has other plans."

All Might nodded in agreement, "Indeed, Shota. We shall tend to his wounds and learn his tale. A life spared under these circumstances may hold a purpose yet unknown."

The air in Skjaldvargr crackled with anticipation as the weary troop led by the Endeavorsons made its way back to the settlement. A murmur of excitement swept through the crowd, and the people gathered in the heart of the village began to cheer, their voices rising in a chorus of relief and hope.

As the warriors, dusted with the tales of their recent endeavors, entered the settlement, the cheers intensified. The crowd's eager eyes followed chests and sacks, laden with the spoils of their expedition. It was a moment of shared joy and anticipation as the warriors slowly unpacked their burdens, revealing treasures and goods from distant lands.

However, the elation in the air was tainted by a somber truth. The troop that returned was noticeably smaller than the one that had ventured out. An unspoken sorrow draped over those families who, instead of welcoming back their loved ones, found themselves gripped by the cold hand of grief. The absence of familiar faces, once vibrant with life, echoed louder than the cheers of triumph.

A hushed solemnity settled over those who faced the harsh reality of loss. Families, with eyes now clouded with tears, stood amidst the celebration, their joy eclipsed by the shadows of grief. The cheers of victory collided with the silent mourning of those who had given more than the spoils of war — a sacrifice written in blood.

The contrast between the jubilation and mourning created an unsettling symphony, a discordant melody that played out in the heart of Skjaldvargr. The warriors continued their unpacking, the clinking of treasures against the somber background of grieving families. It was a poignant reminder of the dual nature of their harsh existence, where triumph and sorrow coexisted like inseparable companions.

Unease nestled within you as you sat at the long table in the Great Hall, eyes fixed on Endeavor occupying the imposing throne. The air felt charged with tension, and the weight of the room bore down on you like an unwelcome burden.

Natsuo poked your side gently as he sat by your side, a playful gesture meant to break the intensity of the moment. "Hey, are you excited to see Touya again? It's been a while."

Your response was a hesitant smile. "Of course, I just... things are different now, aren’t they..."

Natsuo chuckled, "Well, different doesn't always mean bad, right? Touya is still Touya. I bet he's just as eager to see you."

The heavy door to the Great Hall swung open, breaking the tension that hung in the air.

Shoto, the youngest Endeavorson, stepped in with a measured grace, his gaze flickering across the room until it settled on you for a brief moment.

Hawks followed closely behind.

Shoto's eyes met yours briefly, a silent acknowledgment that spoke volumes. The room hushed as the two newcomers approached the throne, their arrival signaling a significant shift in the atmosphere. The weight of anticipation settled on the shoulders of those present, each heartbeat echoing in the grand hall.

Natsuo, by your side, leaned in and whispered, "Here they are. Let's see how this unfolds. I’m curious where Touya is."

"My earl," Shoto bowed his head to greet his father, a gesture mirrored by Hawks.

Endeavor's stern gaze bore down on his son. "It's good to see you back, Shoto. Rumor has it you brought a lot of goods from the trip."

"I did, indeed," the young prince replied. "We also accumulated some losses, my lord."

A subtle tension gripped the air, and an unspoken dread settled upon your heart and soul.

"What do you mean? Where's your older brother?" the earl asked, his frown deepening.

"He died, my lord," Shoto replied, his expression a stoic mask.

"What!" You exclaimed, jolting up from your place. "Impossible!"

Even Endeavor rose from his throne, descending the two steps to be on his son's level. "What do you mean, Shoto? What happened?" The earl’s voice trembled a little.

Hot tears streamed down your face, and Natsuo wrapped his arm around your shoulders, rubbing them in an attempt to bring you some comfort. The weight of the revelation hung heavy in the air, and the Great Hall seemed to echo with the echoes of disbelief and sorrow.

Shoto's voice cut through the somber air of the Great Hall, recounting the harrowing tale of the wolf attack. He spoke of Touya's courage, how he stood against the onslaught to protect his fellow warriors, including Shoto himself. The youngest Endeavorson described how Touya, driven by the need to eliminate the alpha, faced the final confrontation at the edge of the bluff.

As the story unfolded, you felt an invisible weight pressing down on you. Your hands trembled, and a haunting whine escaped your lips, akin to a wounded animal. The anguish of Shoto's words resonated within you, each detail etching pain into your heart.

"He fought valiantly," Shoto continued, his voice steady. "But in the end, the wolf lunged, and they both fell."

Your knees gave way beneath you, and you sank to the ground, overwhelmed by the reality of Touya's fate. The ache in your chest was unbearable, as if your heart had cracked and broken, the searing pain akin to hot iron being poured over your soul.

Natsuo's eyes flared with a sudden intensity, and he snapped at Shoto, "I'm damn sure it wasn't an accident. He just happened to fall off the bluff?! That’s not what Touya would ever let happen! You little coward! I’m sure you put your hand to that!"

Shoto growled angrily in response, his demeanor darkening as he retorted, "Are you even aware of what you're talking about, Natsuo? Accusing me of…"

"He wouldn't just fall off like that!" Natsuo's voice rose, an undercurrent of anger coursing through his words. "Touya was too skilled for that.”

Shoto's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing. "You dare to insinuate…"

"I'm not insinuating anything!" Natsuo interrupted, the tension in the air thickening. "I'm saying it outright. There's more to this, and you damn well know it."

"Tsk," Shoto shook his head, his voice dripping with disdain. "Better shut your mouth, dear brother. You're talking nonsense."

Your entire body trembled, barely registering the words exchanged between the two brothers.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Hawks said with a slight bow to Natsuo and then Endeavor. "Touya was..."

"Don't you dare to talk about my brother!" Natsuo erupted, hurling a cup at the warrior. "Don't you dare to use his name, you filthy, venal bastard."

"Enough!" Endeavor roared, a silent tear tracing a path down his scarred cheek.

"Oh, I couldn't agree more with you, dear father," Shoto sent Endeavor a sly grin, and then bellowed, "Guards!"

Warriors entered the Great Hall, awaiting the young prince's orders.

"Take my father out and put him in that unoccupied hut at the bay. Make sure to tie him up well, even though he's old, the bastard's still strong."

"What!" Natsuo growled.

Endeavor looked down at his son. "What are you trying to do, Shoto? You can't just..."

At that moment, Shoto aimed a hard slap at his father's cheek. "Say one more thing, father, and I'll cut your throat here and now. You're not an earl anymore. You're nothing. You always were nothing. Give me your axe."

Endeavor remained motionless, his gaze shifting briefly between Natsuo and you.

"Your damn axe and crown!" Shoto's voice rose, demanding compliance, his hands reaching toward his father.

Reluctantly, the old earl reached to his belt, extracting the axe from a leather scabbard. He passed the item to Shoto, removing the crown from his head with a heavy sigh.

The young prince took the axe and the crown from his father, wielding the symbol of authority with contempt. With a sudden, violent motion, he smashed the crown against the nearest wall, watching it shatter into irreparable pieces.

"You're making a grave mistake, Shoto," Endeavor warned.

Shoto grinned back at his father, a sinister edge to his smile. "Oh, old man, there's no Touya to stand by your side anymore. Your beloved firstborn, the one you happily discarded and tried to kill when he was an infant, is truly gone now. You have no one to protect you. Your guards are listening to me, they've been for a while already. And Natsuo," Shoto looked at the white-haired man standing near you, "He's nothing, he doesn't even know how to wield a shield."

Hawks chuckled darkly, nodding at his people. A few warriors approached the earl, tying his hands behind his back. One of them delivered a strong blow to the earl's face.

"No!" Natsuo screamed.

You sobbed loudly, watching the horrifying scene unfold. The question lingered in your mind: why didn't Endeavor react at all?

The crisp air carried the call of Hawks and a group of warriors as they traversed through the settlement. The sound of their voices resonated, commanding the attention of all citizens, beckoning them to gather by the bay.

Meanwhile, in the desolate confines of an abandoned hut, Endeavor was bound to a wooden balk, his mind enveloped in bitter reflection. The flickering light filtering through the cracks in the worn walls revealed a man scarred, not only physically but also by the torment delivered upon him by Hawks and his people.

As he strained against his restraints, Endeavor couldn't escape the echoing regrets that reverberated within his thoughts. He cursed himself for the blindness that had shrouded his vision, the inability to see the rot that festered within Shoto. The weight of realization pressed heavily upon him, and he was left to grapple with the consequences of his own choices.

Silently, you sneaked into the dimly lit hut, the chalice of water and a soft rug clutched in your hands. The feeble light revealed the cruel aftermath of the torment inflicted upon Endeavor, and a gasp escaped your lips at the sight of his battered form.

Approaching cautiously, you set the chalice down and carefully unfolded the rug. Kneeling beside him, you dipped a corner of the cloth into the water, your movements gentle as you began to clean the wounds on his face. The atmosphere hung heavy with tension, punctuated only by the distant calls from the bay.

His eyes, filled with a mix of pain and resignation, met yours as you worked.

"What are we supposed to do now?" you asked with a shaking tone, your voice barely above a whisper.

Endeavor's gaze bore into yours, and for a moment, the weight of uncertainty hung in the air. "Shoto won't stop until he has complete control,” he replied, his voice strained. “I’m afraid there’s nothing that can be done.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you whispered, "I can't believe Touya..." Your hand trembled, and the pain in your voice echoed through the dimly lit hut.

A solitary tear rolled down Endeavor's scarred cheek as he uttered words heavy with resignation. "You should flee from here before I'm executed, Y/N."

Dread seized your body, and you protested, "Don't say that, my lord. I'm sure Shoto is not that crazy to get you killed… And I have nowhere to go.”

Endeavor's gaze met yours, and in that moment, he decided to reveal the truth about what he had noticed in his youngest son's eyes. "I saw it, in Shoto's eyes. The thirst for power, the willingness to do whatever it takes. He's not the boy I raised. He's become something darker, something I failed to see until it was too late."

Your heart sank at Endeavor's revelation, the truth piercing through the air like a chilling wind. The realization that Shoto had transformed into something unrecognizable, something darker, gripped you with a sense of helplessness.

"I should have seen it sooner," Endeavor muttered, his voice filled with regret. "But blinded by my own desires for power, I failed to grasp the truth until it was too late. I won’t forgive myself… I should’ve listened to Touya."

The gravity of the situation pressed upon you, and you wiped away the tears that stained your cheeks. "We can't let him continue down this path," you whispered, your voice laced with determination.

Endeavor nodded solemnly. "You must go. Flee from this place before it's too late. I will face the consequences of my actions, but you have a chance for a different fate."

The distant sound of footsteps approached the hut, signaling the arrival of Shoto's guards.

In that moment, you wrapped your arms around Endeavor's neck, giving him a tight hug, a silent gesture of reassurance and determination. "I promise, my lord, that I'll avenge Touya. I don't believe Shoto didn't have a hand in it anymore," you whispered, the words laden with both sorrow.

"I'm afraid you're right," Endeavor admitted, his own acceptance of the harsh reality permeating the air. “Go now, girl.”

With a heavy heart, you took the chalice and the rug, casting one last glance at Endeavor, who remained bound and alone in the desolate hut. The weight of the situation pressed upon you as you stepped out into the cold air, leaving the confines of the dimly lit space.

The evening air hung heavy with tension as the citizens of the settlement gathered at the bay.

Hawks, with a certain casual indifference, lazily cleaned his dagger, his guards vigilant in ensuring that no one was left behind.

You and Natsuo stood among the gathered crowd, your eyes nervously flitting between the citizens and Natsuo.

The atmosphere thickened as two guards brought the bound form of Endeavor to the jetty, his presence eliciting hushed whispers among the onlookers.

And then, like a harbinger of darkness, Shoto emerged. A grotesque crown made of bird skulls adorned his head, and an opulent fur of a snow leopard draped over his shoulders, a trophy from one of Endeavor's raids. The blood and white paint smeared across his face formed viking symbols, marking him as the harbinger of a new era.

A profound silence fell over the assembly as Shoto made his way to the forefront. The people, recognizing the symbolic weight of his appearance, knew that there was no room left for argument or dissent. The young prince had become an embodiment of authority, clad in the spoils of his conquests, and the settlement braced itself for the changes that his rule would bring.

Shoto made his way to the jetty with deliberate steps, his eyes scanning the gathered crowd. They found yours in the sea of faces, and for a brief moment, his gaze lingered on your tear-stained visage. The weight of his stare bore into your soul before he redirected his focus to the bound figure of his father, kneeling on the jetty.

The hushed whispers of the crowd ceased as Shoto raised his hand, a signal for silence. His voice cut through the still air, carrying a mix of authority and cold detachment. "Citizens of Skjaldvargr," he began, his tone echoing over the water, "The time of reckoning has come. For too long, we have been shackled by the failures of our past. The time for a new era, a stronger era, has dawned."

His eyes scanned the faces of the assembly, pausing on his father for a moment before addressing the crowd once more. Shoto moved deliberately towards the jetty, each step echoing with a proclamation of his newfound authority. As his gaze scanned the gathered crowd, it found yours among the sea of faces. His eyes locked onto your tear-stained visage, lingering for a moment longer than necessary, a cold acknowledgment of the impact his actions had on you, before he shifted his focus to his father, who knelt there, bound and vulnerable.

The silence that enveloped the bay was broken by Shoto's commanding voice, carrying the weight of his judgment. "Citizens of Skjaldvargr," he began, his tone unwavering. "The time of reckoning has come. For too long, we have been shackled by the failures of our past. The time for a new era, a stronger era, has dawned."

He gestured towards Endeavor, his father, with an air of finality. "Endeavor, once known as the earl, has failed to lead us into greatness. He allowed weakness and sentiment to cloud his judgment. It is time for a new leader, one who will guide us to prosperity."

Shoto's eyes flickered back to yours for a brief moment, a chilling gaze that hinted at the personal nature of his vendetta. "The former earl will face justice for his shortcomings. The verdict is the death penalty. Let this serve as a reminder that only strength will prevail in the harsh realities of our world."

The pronouncement echoed over the bay, sealing the fate of Endeavor and setting in motion the irreversible changes that Shoto, now adorned with the symbols of his triumph, would bring to the settlement.

The verdict hung in the air, heavy and final, as Shoto turned away, leaving the jetty and the kneeling figure of his father behind to take a seat on a throne that was prepared for him nearby.

The weight of Shoto's harsh verdict hung in the air like a shroud, and as the crowd absorbed the reality of the situation, hot tears streamed down your face. Instinctively, you grasped Natsuo's palm, seeking solace and support in the face of the unfolding tragedy.

The bay was cloaked in a heavy silence as the guards began the degrading process of undressing Endeavor's upper body. His once proud and scarred form was exposed to the harsh scrutiny of the onlookers, the symbols of his past glories now overshadowed by the weight of his transgressions.

The guards, expressionless and cold, tied Endeavor's hands spread to two sturdy stanchions positioned in the center of the jetty. The former earl knelt there, vulnerable and exposed, his fate hanging in the balance.

As the unsettling tableau unfolded, Hawks stepped forward, a grim determination etched on his face. Clutching his axe and dagger, he circled Endeavor with predatory precision. The rhythmic sound of his boots on the wooden planks echoed through the bay, creating an eerie cadence that intensified the chilling atmosphere.

Positioning himself behind Endeavor, Hawks loomed like a shadow, a silent harbinger of the impending judgment. The air crackled with tension, and the onlookers, unable to tear their eyes away, awaited the next grim chapter in the unfolding saga of Skjaldvargr.

Hawks nodded at his people, and they made Endeavor lean forward by pulling on the ropes tied to the earl’s wrists.

Hawks, grinning widely like a madman, started by making a deep, vertical incision along the earl's spine. This incision severed the skin, muscle, and connective tissues, exposing the underlying bones and organs.

Endeavor, bound and exposed to the merciless fate of the Blood Eagle, fought vehemently against the primal urge to scream. His muscles tensed, and every fiber of his being rebelled against the excruciating pain inflicted upon him. The raspy growls emanating from his throat served as a testament to his struggle, a warrior's battle cry against the agony that threatened to consume him.

In the midst of this macabre spectacle, Endeavor clung to the ancient belief that only by maintaining composure during such a brutal punishment could a warrior secure passage to Valhalla. His jaw clenched, and his eyes, filled with a mixture of pain and defiance, bore witness to the unfathomable ordeal, as tears rolled down his cheeks.

As the executioner continued the harrowing process, Endeavor's resolve was tested in the crucible of suffering. The groans that escaped him carried not only the weight of agony but also a silent determination to prove his mettle in the face of an unimaginable horror.

Your tears flowed unabated, soaking into the fabric of Natsuo's shirt as you sobbed, the weight of grief and horror pressing heavily on your heart.

Natsuo, too, couldn't contain the surge of emotions that gripped him, and tears welled up in his eyes, silently streaming down his cheeks.

The two of you, connected by shared sorrow, clung to one another in a world suddenly bereft of hope.

Despite the absence of a genuine father-son bond with his own father, Natsuo understood the pain of loss, and his tears mirrored your own. "Father," the man whispered, barely moving his lips. "May Odin guide your spirit to the hallowed halls of Valhalla..."

With the earl's spine exposed, Takami proceeded to cut through the ribs, detaching them from the spine. This macabre act created the framework for what resembled "wings." Hawks then reached into Endeavor's chest cavity, pulling out the man's lungs through the opening created by the removal of the ribs. This grotesque act gave the victim the appearance of wings, completing the horrifying visual metaphor.

Hawks stood amidst the aftermath, his once-vibrant attire now drenched in the deep crimson hue of blood. From his tousled hair down to his boots, every inch of him was painted in the somber shades of scarlet, a testament to the brutal task he had undertaken.

The metallic scent of iron lingered in the air around him, an olfactory testament to the visceral reality of the harrowing act.

Hawks, his visage marred by the grotesque tableau before him, grinned like a man possessed, a maniacal glint in his eyes. His gaze, like a predator reveling in the aftermath of a successful hunt, fixated on Shoto, the new earl, who observed the scene with an unsettling amusement.

In his final moments, Endeavor, the once-mighty earl, summoned the strength to lift his head, a haunting defiance in his gaze. As the life ebbed away from him, he whispered words of reunion to a love lost in the annals of time. "Rei... Love.... I'm coming to you..." With those parting breaths, his head succumbed to the inevitable, lolling to the side.

Amidst the horror, you struggled to contain the surge of emotions, your tears choking your throat as you witnessed the cruel end meted out to the man who was once a father figure.

Shoto, now the legal earl, approached the lifeless form, a twisted rite of passage in the unforgiving realm. Sizing up the head of his father, he coldly declared, "The earl is dead!"

As Hawks chanted, "Long live the earl!" with an eerie enthusiasm, the guards compelled the onlookers to repeat the grim proclamation, the echoes of submission punctuating the air heavy with the scent of iron and death.

The settlement, now under the shadow of a new ruler, braced itself for the changes that were bound to come.

Shoto's subtle gesture summoned Hawks closer, their exchange shrouded in whispered words.

As the blonde-haired man stepped back, he bellowed your name, a chilling summons that cut through the heavy air, freezing the blood in your veins. “Y/N!”

Natsuo, understanding the impending darkness, tightened his grip on your hand, silently pleading for you to resist the ominous call. His subtle head shake conveyed the urgency to stay away, to avoid the perilous path that beckoned. But the relentless echo of your name persisted, a haunting melody drawing you towards an inevitable confrontation.

With tear-streaked cheeks, you met Natsuo's gaze once more, finding solace in his silent plea. Gathering what remained of your resolve, you wiped away the evidence of your anguish and, with a determined stride, pushed through the crowd. The last thing you needed was the cold, unyielding grasp of guards dragging you to Shoto against your will.

As you approached Shoto, the air became charged with an eerie tension. His eyes, adorned with a sinister gleam, followed your every step.

The crowd, still subdued by the recent events, parted to make way for your reluctant journey.

Hawks, positioned next to Shoto, continued to observe with a sinister grin, aware that the unfolding scene held a profound significance in the new earl's machinations.

Shoto, crowned with skulls and adorned in the spoils of victory, waited for you with a calculated calmness.

You stood before Shoto, a pawn caught in the web of a power play.

With a wicked smile, Shoto leaned in, whispering words that clawed at the edges of your sanity. "Y/N, it seems your fate is entwined with ours now. You will play a crucial role in the future of Skjaldvargr."

Your frown deepened as you couldn't comprehend the unsettling thoughts swirling in Shoto's mind. With a hint of trepidation, you dared to voice the question that lingered on your lips, "What do you have in mind?"

Shoto, feigning sweetness, leaned in with a twisted smile. "Now that Touya is no more, it falls upon me to decide your fate, Y/N. A bereft girl, left in the aftermath of such a tragedy. But fear not, for I have plans for you."

Terror gripped your heart as Shoto unveiled his intentions. "From this moment forth, you'll no longer revel in the freedom bestowed upon you by my deceased brother. Instead, you shall become my concubine, and I expect you to bear me an heir."

A quiet but resolute "No" escaped your lips as you resisted the notion, unwilling to surrender your autonomy.

Shoto, undeterred, grasped your chin, pulling you closer. "Don't resist, dollface. Make a scene, and I'll orchestrate another blood eagle tonight. If you refuse, Hawks will have the honor of ending Natsuo's life, the last person standing by your side."

His words echoed with a cruel certainty, leaving you with a chilling realization that your fate was no longer your own. A solitary tear traced a path down your cheek, a silent testament to the anguish that gripped your soul.

Shoto, reveling in the display of vulnerability, leaned forward, capturing the tear with the tip of his tongue. He licked it off, savoring the taste of your despair before whispering into your ear. "If I were you, I'd be obedient. There's no one left to protect you, and you're going to be mine, whether you want it or not."

"Why me?" you dared to question, your voice carrying a defiant edge.

Shoto's grin widened. "I've had my share of Viking women. A Christian girl, even a prudish one, is said to be particularly naughty in the alcove." The lecherous implications of his words hung heavily in the air, accentuating the grim reality that now lay before you.

Your stomach twisted in knots as Shoto's words reverberated in the air.

"Y/N, from now on, is considered my concubine," Shoto declared with a tone that brooked no argument. "Anyone going against me or her will face the doom immediately. And one last thing, all the warriors who supported my father shall be executed by dawn. Consider this night your last with your families. Satisfy yourselves with your women and put your kids to sleep for the final time. Don't even think about running away, as my envoys will find you wherever you hide."

He took your palm in his, a cruel possession that marked the beginning of your tragic fate. Before you left, Shoto's gaze shifted to Hawks. "Make sure Natsuo is locked in his room in the Great Hall. Tomorrow, I'll decide his fate."

"Of course, my lord," Hawks nodded obediently, the cold determination in his eyes betraying the allegiance he now held to Shoto.

As the thralls followed Shoto's orders, you found yourself in a bath, the warm water doing little to comfort your tormented soul. You let your tears fall freely, their silent streams mingling with the water around you. The echoes of your life's upheavals played in your mind like a haunting melody, each note a reminder of the tragedy that seemed to follow you relentlessly. How swiftly your life had changed, once under the control of Touya's unpredictable whims, and now, bound by Shoto's ruthless will.

You longed to scream, to cry out against the unfairness of it all. Shoto, a young man scarcely older than you, had become the architect of your misery. You despised him, and yet, the thought of begging for mercy from this vicious ruler crossed your mind. The temptation to ask him to end your misery with the swift swing of his axe haunted your thoughts.

However, a greater fear gripped your heart — the threat to Natsuo. Shoto's warning echoed in your mind, and you couldn't bear the thought of allowing harm to befall the one person who had consistently shown you kindness and support. You resolved to endure, to strategize, to find a way to protect Natsuo from the impending darkness that Shoto had cast upon your life.

After the bath, you were presented with the finest nightgown, a garment crafted from snow-white silk that draped elegantly around you. The thralls, with delicate hands, brushed and arranged your hair as you sat in front of a mirror, contemplating your reflection. The mirror seemed to reflect not just your physical appearance but also the weight of the burden now resting on your shoulders.

Assisted by the thralls and guided by the guards, you were led to the chamber that once belonged to earl Endeavor. As the thick doors swung open, the opulence of the room overwhelmed your senses. The chamber was vast, with a massive fireplace positioned on the opposite wall, providing warmth and a flickering dance of flames.

To the left of the entrance stood a colossal bed, adorned with a thick mattress and furs, supported by two sturdy columns at its head. The bed itself was a work of art, crafted from field maple. On the opposite side of the room, a table with two chairs and a closet adorned with a mirror completed the ensemble of wealth and luxury. It was a stark contrast to the grim fate that had befallen the former occupant of this room.

As you took in the grandeur, a mix of emotions churned within you. The softness of the silk against your skin felt incongruent with the turmoil within your heart. The room, once a sanctuary for a now-fallen ruler, now served as a gilded cage for you, ensnared by circumstances beyond your control.

It took a moment before you realized that the door had closed behind you, leaving you alone in the opulent chamber — or so you thought.

A smooth voice, belonging to the new earl, reached your ears as Shoto gracefully rose from a chair situated in the dimly lit corner of the room. He appeared to be occupied with polishing his axe. "Finally, I was growing impatient," he remarked, his voice devoid of any warmth or sympathy.

"Forgive me, my lord," the title felt foreign on your tongue as you addressed the man who now held power over your fate. The room, once a symbol of authority and now tainted by the dark events that had transpired, became the stage for a twisted power play that you found yourself unwillingly participating in.

Shoto placed the axe on the table and leisurely approached you, gently lifting your chin to meet his dual-colored eyes. "Don't be afraid, dollface. I'm not going to hurt you."

"You already did," you replied with defiance. "I know it was not an accident."

"You mean Touya? Oh, my little raven," he cooed, "of course it was an accident. Do you really think I'd let my beloved brother die?"

You snorted, and a tear rolled down your cheek.

"Shush, shush, no crying in here. You're too beautiful for sadness," he said, wiping your tear away with his thumb. "You'll have the life you deserved and which my poor older brother couldn't provide you with."

"He wouldn't lock me in a cage," you told him, and Shoto chuckled.

"A cage? Oh no, sweetheart, I'm not going to lock you in a cage. You're my concubine now, and a lot of privileges come with this title." His words dripped with a perverse sense of entitlement, sending a shiver down your spine as you realized the dark reality that awaited you in the clutches of the new earl.

Shoto gently traces his fingertips against your lips and neck, slowly moving them down your décolletage. Shoto circled you slowly, his movements reminiscent of a predator closing in on its prey. "I just expect you to be faithful to me, that's all I'm asking for. I want you to be a representative figure, shining like a gem by my side. And I want you to bear me a child, an outright heir of pure blood," he declared.

"But my blood isn't pure. I'm not a pagan like you. Won't it make your child unworthy?" you growled, attempting to sway his unsettling conviction. However, your efforts seemed in vain as his long, thin fingers slipped under the fabric of your nightgown on your shoulders, slowly sliding the attire off.

"Don't worry your pretty little head. Before you give birth, you're going to be a Viking woman. I'll make sure of that," he said, licking his lips as he watched the thin material falling slowly to the floor.

In your initial instinct, you attempted to cover yourself with your hands. However, Shoto effortlessly seized both your wrists in one hand, securing them behind your back. Resting his chin on your shoulder, he used his spare hand to move a lock of your Y/H/C hair off your shoulder. "Don't. I want to see all of you. You were more willing to undress for my older brother. I still don't know why. Did he force you into his bed? No normal woman ever would, so he was fortunate to experience the mellowness of a woman's body before he died. His life was nothing but a failure."

That was enough. Provoked by Shoto's words laced with sarcasm, you swiftly turned and slapped his scarred cheek with all your might, pulling your hands free from his grasp. "Don't you dare," you warned. "For what you did, you will never reach your beloved Valhalla. Even your gods don't accept vile men into their chambers."

Seemingly anticipating this move, the man firmly grasped you by the throat and effortlessly threw you onto the bed. Before you could react, his weight pinned you down on the mattress. "You're so brisk and valorous; I like that," he grunted, pushing his knee between your legs, parting your thighs enough for him to settle between them. "Haven't you learned yet? You're with me or against me. And trust me, I couldn't care less about your pathetic life. So, it's better to act like a good, obedient girl for your lord."

That night unfolded in a torrent of pain, tears, and degradation. Despite your attempts to resist, to twist and turn, they proved futile. Shoto pursued his desires, stripping away your innocence. His touch, both cruel and frigid, felt akin to a scalding iron on your skin - a stark contrast from what Touya had once offered.

As Shoto slumbered peacefully at your side, content and spent from the unrelenting hours of asserting his dominance over your body, you lay by him, curled into a small, trembling ball. Silent tears traced pathways across your face, and with every slightest movement, you would gag yourself, feeling the haunting presence of his seed seeping out of you. A genuine desire for death welled within your soul.

"Forgive me, Touya... Forgive me," you whispered, your plea hanging in the heavy air before exhaustion enveloped you, guiding you into an uneasy slumber.

heathen wolves: @queenkhepri @indignant-alpaca @misafiryanki @roast-toast @within-eyesight @crystalwolfblog @haseki-huricihan @violet-forgetmenot @dagger-dragger @smartspot @alientobe @zero-sugar-null @peter-sommer @thedancingparrot @dearsunaa @greaterheart

298 notes · View notes