#ash x torn

[hexdaxter]

Another Jojo reference? In my Jak and Daxter universe??? It's more likely than you think

[reima-c]

Witch's Heart Inktober 2023

Day 7 - Favorite Human

"My name is Ashe Bradley. I'm but a humble traveler."

[lola-writes]

Prince Regent

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Word Count: 8.6k

Synopsis: Aemond returns to the Red Keep after the battle of Rook’s Rest with a newfound vigor for his wife.

Themes & Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI!), POV first person (Aemond’s & reader’s), s2x04,05 inspired, enemies to lovers trope, smut, violence, blood, dark/possessive Aemond, breeding kink, swearing, mentions of rape, high valyrian, fingering, multiple orgasms, p in v, doggystyle, creampie, rough sex, hair pulling, choking

Song: Hide and Seek ~ Klergy, Mindy Jones

Latest oneshot: A Dragon's Lullaby

Masterlist | Add yourself to my taglist | Playlist | Ao3

Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated ❤️

Enjoy the read!

[gif @aemondstark ]

AEMOND

Smoke. Dragon fire. Blood.

It clung to me, acrid and sweet, like a perverse cloak of victory.

A primal urge, raw and unbidden, erupted within me, a hunger that transcended the battle’s end. It devoured my senses. It vibrated within my bones. It consumed my very being.

My adrenaline ebbed, leaving a hollowness in its wake. The battle was over. Victory was ours. Gleaming armor was storming the castle. But that victory hung hollow, a meaningless echo in the carnage. My flesh seared with defeat. A strange fire, unsatiated, stirred beneath my skin.

I needed something more. Something I could sink my teeth into, as Vhagar had. Something warm and living.

From the air, I watched the smoke curl skyward, soldiers scattering like startled ants, and Meleys red corpse lay vanquished beneath brick and dust.

The warmth of my kill was still writhing. It was a fresh, living ember, demanding to be tended.

The impact of my brother’s fall had torn the wood asunder, set the ground ablaze, smoke and cinders rising steadily towards the heavens. My gaze settled on the inferno, and I urged Vhagar, my reflection in scales and fire, towards it, my mighty beast beating the wind like thunder as we circled twice around the barrenness of the forest, before she heeded my command.

“Qubemagon, Vhagar.” (Descend)

I dismounted her and trod a path towards the inferno, my sword materializing in my grasp with a practiced turn of my wrist. Shades of red marred my vision. The air shimmered, thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood.

Adrenaline trickled into my bloodstream.

Never had I been so close to my birthright, so close to erasing the past. My grip tightened around the hilt. Images swam up before me. A lifetime of humiliations, each one a searing brand in my retina. My brother getting what he wasn’t fit for, presented to him on a silver platter. But no longer. No more would he be the architect of my suffering. 

But as a tremor shook the ground, a low rumble heralding the broken form of the golden dragon, a monument of smoke, blood, dirt, and ashes, none of it seemed to matter. 

As I crested a rise, the world snapped into sharp focus. My gaze landed on him - my brother; melted into a nightmarish tableau of steel, flesh, and bone, encircled by his dragon’s golden body.

Resolution, cold and heavy, settled in my chest. Killing him would be fruitless. The Stranger had already requested an audience.

I had achieved what needed to be done. As I lifted the edge of my sword to its sheath, a voice echoed through the forest.

“Aemond!” Cole cried my name like a desperate warning. I glanced back, my weapon disappearing into its sheath with a final rasp.

I looked down at my sacrifice. The damage was raw, excessive. The damage that was wanton. A pang of unease twisted in my gut. 

A glint of metal caught my eye, and I dropped to my haunches to retrieve the Conqueror’s Valyrian steel dagger from the bloodied earth. The dagger that was once Aegon’s. It was mine now. 

Ser Criston’s rustling armor announced his approach. “Where is His Grace?” he asked, voice quivering.

I didn’t respond. Instead, I tilted my chin, allowing the glistening steel guide his gaze toward the grotesque sculpture of my melted brother encircled by golden scales.

Ser Criston crumpled to his knees without a word, as I rose to my feet. 

A cold knot of regret twisted in my chest as I regarded my tribute. But it was fleeting, replaced by the icy fire of my ambition. 

There was much to be done, and I needed to proceed if I were to achieve it. I turned on my heel and left Cole and my broken brother behind. 

The battlefield and the devastation shrank beneath me as Vhagar’s powerful wings propelled us skyward. 

A sharp thrill prickled my skin that was naught from the velocity, but rather that of my impending regency. 

_

Upon returning to King’s Landing, I made my way to the small council chamber, ascending the stairs with slow deliberate steps. The air was thick with tension. The council was in disarray, engrossed in a heated discussion, but fell silent as the doors swung open. Eyes turned to me.

“My Lords,” I announced, my voice cutting through the sudden hush. I rounded the council table. “Mother,” I said, offering a curt nod of acknowledgement as I passed Alicent’s chair.

“Aemond,” she demanded, steel in her voice. “Where is Aegon?”

A heavy pause hung in the air before I met her gaze.

“Aegon has fallen,” I said. 

The council erupted in uproar. 

Cries of outrage and accusations.

Obscenities.

Scandal.

“How could this be allowed to happen?”

“What is the meaning of this?”

“We are doomed!”

The disapproval of the Lords sullied the chambers. This council was surely in lack of discipline. I already had my eyes on who I were to replace.  

“The King is dead!”

“The King is not dead,” I countered, my voice calm and mellifluous, soothing the council members like warm milk. Voices dipped and eyes turned to me, an invisible shudder surging through the air. “He has merely sustained grave injuries and is being brought back to the Red Keep for treatment as we speak.” I began to pace around the table, hands slotted behind my back. “The King fought bravely,” I continued. “Landing mortal injuries to the Pretender’s cause. But the Red Queen cast him out of the sky before I could get to him.”

My pacing had brought me to the head of the council table, where I ceased my step. My hand reached out to allow my fingers to trace the chair frame, its iron vibrating with the power I so craved. 

It was palpable. 

It was mine for the taking. 

I looked up at the members of the small council, my eye piercing each and every one of them until they quivered in their chairs.

“And in the coils of torment,” I spoke. “My brother, King Aegon, named me Prince Regent.”

A tremor vibrated the room, weary eyes glanced at each other, bodies twisting uncomfortably in creaking chairs. 

“If anyone should be named regent, surely it should be me, his mother,” voiced Alicent. 

I cast my gaze on her. 

“Aemond is next in line,” came voices from the small council.

“Yes, but the King still lives!” Alicent implored.

“Who am I to contest the wishes of the King?” I said softly, casting her a look of pure innocence.

Alicent’s eyes welled like a tide of despair, her head dipping to the table with defeat. If Alicent could conjure words that had not been uttered to serve her own ends, why could I not?

“Aemond…” she started, her voice a gentle tremble. “Could we at least discuss this?”

“As prince regent, I vow to serve this realm, my Lords, and guide our path to victory against the Whore of Dragonstone.”

My gaze drifted to the platform in the center of the table, settling on the cold polished marble that remained. The King’s marble. I reached for it, and as my fingers closed around its smooth surface, I met Alicent’s eyes. A flicker of desperate plea danced within them, and I held it with a cold response. She exhaled with defeat as I seated myself in the King’s chair, placing the marble in its rocky nest. 

“All hail Aemond, Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm,” Lord Tyland Lannister’s voice came, and the words echoed across the table. 

A smirk played on my lips. “My Lords,” I began, splaying my hands atop the table. “Let us commence.”

YOU

Mutters. Whispers. Gossip.

The news, carried on frantic breaths, was a tangled mess.

One moment, the King was dead, the next, grievously wounded. Some murmured of a crippled monarch, others of his mighty dragon slain. 

It buzzed in my ears as I made my way towards the throne room.

Fear, a cold serpent, coiled in my gut.

The throne room pulsed with tense energy. Hundreds of courtiers jostled for position, their faces etched with a mixture of morbid curiosity and nervous anticipation. I descended the cold stone steps, the weight of each step echoing the growing dread in my heart.

The Iron Throne loomed before me, an empty monument of jagged steel. Its cruel beauty, forged from a thousand fallen enemies, held a chilling glint in the flickering torchlight. I observed it over the shoulder of the woman in front of me, the precariousness of my position suddenly amplified. 

A shiver ran down my spine. Sometimes, I believed it was cursed. Promising to cast whoever graced it to a terrible fate.

My fingers, restless with apprehension, turned my rings about my fingers, pulling them off and on in a nervous dance. A prickling sensation spread through me as I felt countless eyes burning into my back. Disapproval mingled with a strange reverence. The room thrummed with unspoken questions, and I, too, yearned for answers, desperately seeking a foothold in the swirling vortex of uncertainty. 

A ripple of anticipation surged through the crowd as a figure emerged. I turned to witness the gleaming silver armor of the King’s Guard announcing Ser Criston Cole, the newly appointed Hand of the King. Hundreds of eyes swiveled in his wake as he strode towards the Iron Throne, which seemed to gnash its serrated teeth at his approach. 

My mind churned in chaotic disarray. Ser Criston had marched on Rook’s Rest, prompting Aemond’s hurried departure. Where my husband was now, remained a mystery. Perhaps still at Rook’s Rest, tending to the fallen King, or perhaps continuing on to Harrenhal, a destination he oft mentioned.  

None of it mattered. 

My marriage to Aemond had been a political maneuver, as cold and sterile as a septa’s cell. He held no affection for me, nor I for him. He was the absent, aloof prince I’d always imagined him to be. Carrying a frozen heart of a killer. Our union was no more than an alliance. Though I was hardly complaining. Married life granted me freedoms I scarcely thought possible for a highborn lady. But I would jest if I said I did not long for something more. Something warm. Something living. But in Aemond, either would be the last place I’d find. 

Ser Criston swept a steely gaze across the court, his face unreadable. He chewed the inside of his cheeks curiously, the motion ceasing abruptly when his eyes met mine. Cold and dark. I met his stare head-on, until an odd feeling took root in my gut. 

Unanswered questions swirled in my mind. 

Ser Criston tore his gaze from me, his eyes flitting across the room. Then, with a voice laced with authority, he boomed, “I address this court as Hand to inform you that the King has been grievously wounded in battle!”

A collective gasp ripped through the court. Whispers, like startled birds, rose in a flurry.

Ser Criston continued, a steely edge creeping into his voice, “Rhaenyra the Cruel will believe she won a great victory this day. May believe we will cower and offer her the throne like whipped dogs. But the False Queen is sorely mistaken. For the throne will not remain empty.”

Whispers escalated into a commotion. An unsettling prickle danced across my skin. My mind darted to the dowager Queen Alicent. Surely, in Aegon’s absence, they would elevate her to the throne. But after usurping Rhaenyra, would they truly place another woman in her stead? 

My thoughts, apparently, mirrored those of the court, for Alicent’s name drifted around me like a persistent echo.

Ser Criston’s voice rose to a commanding pitch, reverberating through the throne room, “I present to you…” The heavy oak doors of the throne room ground open, drawing every eye in unison.

My breath caught in my throat as a figure materialized at the stairs. 

It wasn’t Alicent. 

A frame, draped in dark green leather that shimmered with silver accents, emerged from the groaning doors. The Conqueror’s crown, a heavy circle of iron, sat upon their silver head, casting a long shadow across a face half-obscured by an eyepatch. 

“Prince Regent, Aemond Targaryen,” Ser Criston declared, his voice thick with forced authority. “Rider of Vhagar.”

Aemond descended the steps.

“Slayer of the queen who never was.”

Aemond’s footsteps, muffled by polished leather boots and the collective murmurs of the courtiers, made a predator’s approach as he stalked toward the Iron Throne. Two King’s Guard flanked him with stoic expressions. 

“And Protector of the Realm.”

He ascended the iron steps with a chilling grace, finally settling upon the throne. A hush fell over the court, thick and heavy. Silence stretched as he molded himself into the seat, his lethal hands caressing the equally lethal rests, a small smirk playing on his lips. His voice, a honeyed drawl laced with a hint of steel, echoed in the sudden silence.

“My Lords and Ladies,” he began, the menacing glint in his blue eye accentuated by the play of shadows on his face. “His Grace, the King, has been wounded at the battle of Rook’s Rest, and will be incapable to rule.”

There was a power in his presence, an unspoken threat that left the court speechless. Not a cough, not a rustle of fabric dared to break the silence. 

“Therefore,” he continued, his gaze sweeping over the frozen faces, “I, will act as your sovereign.”

Unease prickled at my skin. Something about Aemond’s demeanor, the unnatural sheen on his face, sent a tremor of suspicion through me. 

Had this all been a carefully orchestrated play? What truly transpired at Rook’s Rest? 

My eyes darted to the ornate dagger resting at his hip, the ancestral blade of Aegon the Conqueror. It was the same dagger I’d last seen clutched in the hand of his brother. 

As Aemond spoke on, a knot of apprehension tightened in my gut. 

“The tide has turned,” he declared, his voice ringing through the stunned silence. “Rhaenys Targaryen is slain, along with her dragon.” A small smile tugged at his lips, a low hum escaping them. “The largest serving the Pretender’s cause.” He said it like it was a jest. “Rook’s Rest has been claimed, leaving Dragonstone vulnerable.” His fingers tapped across the blades. “This is a victory for us.”

Scattered heads nodded in agreement. 

Then, his gaze snapped to me, a rapacious glint in his single blue eye. It seemed to bore into my very soul, stripping away any pretense. 

“It’s all going according to plan,” he murmured, his voice a silken threat, and for a moment, an eerie feeling within told me he was addressing me alone. The fire that danced within his eye flickered a touch too bright, and it felt like he could see every thought swirling in my mind, every flicker of doubt, every spark of fear. 

It felt like he was about to eat me alive.

A violent terror surged through me, icy fingers gripping my heart. Adrenaline tapped into my veins, a primal urge to flee. 

_

Frantic energy fueled my movements. I shoved dresses, jewelry, all of my belongings, into overflowing wooden trunks. Their straining hinges mocked my desperation. My handmaid, silent but swift, followed my frenzied instructions. I knew then, with a chilling certainty, that I owed her my life after this escape. 

Aemond’s chambers, once a familiar haven, felt cold and sterile now, stripped bare of my belongings. Rain lashed against the open windows, mirroring the frantic rhythm of my heart. The journey ahead would be long and treacherous. Circumstances weren’t optimal, but there was no other choice at my disposal.

My husband was a murderer and a kinslayer twice over. And my intuition told me it would soon be thrice. He wasn’t just ruthless; there was an unsettling hollowness behind his actions, a chilling absence of remorse. He was a walking blight, a storm that devoured everything in its path. And I refused to be struck down by its lightning.  

The apartment doors shuddered open, shattering me into distraught. My flight instincts flared, but I refused to cower. My hand instinctively shot out, grasping my maid’s hand tightly. We held our breath as a large, porcelain hand reached out and pushed the door wider. 

Aemond entered, leaving the door ajar. His gaze, unwavering and cold, locked with mine. “Leave us,” he commanded, his voice a smooth, cold current. 

My handmaid curtsied, her grip faltering as she pried my fingers loose. With a hurried glance back, she scurried out, the heavy door slamming shut behind her. 

An oppressive silence descended, broken only by the frantic pounding of my heart against my ribs. 

Escape seemed impossible; the air thick with a chilling dread. 

“You sent for me, wife?” Aemond’s voice, a silken caress laced with steel, echoed in the cavernous chamber. He approached with a predative grace, each deliberate step shrinking the distance between us. 

Confusion slammed into me. I hadn’t summoned him. This was, by far, the most he’d spoken to me since our loveless union. 

“You are mistaken,” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. My feet, traitors that they were, retreated with each of his advances. Then, it dawned on me, that it might have been his intention to put me in a state of dubiety, making me more malleable. A cutthroat, not only lethal, but cunning.

He stopped beside my overflowing trunk, a flicker of amusement playing on his lips. 

“Travelling somewhere?” His single blue eye, unnervingly perceptive, held me captive. 

Panic clawed at my throat. I clenched my trembling hands into fists, slotting them behind my back, forcing my lips into a gentle smile. 

“I wish to visit my family,” I said. “With war looming, I wish for us to be together.”

Aemond took another measured step closer. “Ao issi aerēbas mirriot daor,” (You’re not going anywhere), he murmured, the High Valyrian rolling off his tongue like a sinister threat. 

A furrow etched between my brows as I attempted to comprehend his words. My grasp of the ancient tongue was limited, and whether he intended me to understand was a cruel game. Perhaps, it was yet another tool to exert his dominance. But based on his relentless pursuit, I gathered me leaving wasn’t an option he entertained.

“I am of no use to you, Aemond,” I pleaded, maintaining a safe distance. “Me staying serves no purpose.”

“On the contrary,” he purred, his voice dripping with a dark promise. His head tilted covetously, venom flashing in his eye. 

“We barely exist to each other,” I continued. “What difference would it make if I was half a world away?”

“It would make all the difference.” The warmth in his voice vanished, replaced by a glacial edge. “There’s the matter of heirs.”

Seven Hells. 

Anguish twisted my gut. Intuition, a primal scream, roared to life. Images flashed behind my eyelids – Aemond sitting the throne, and Aegon reduced to ash. 

Had this been his plan all along? Was he the reason for the King’s lethal end?

The pieces slammed together in my mind, a horrifying mosaic. 

I gasped, my back hitting the cold stone wall. Aemond’s ambition stretched far beyond my naïve expectations. Loyalty to his house, to his brother, had been a carefully constructed facade. Beneath it, he schemed, a shrewd predator stalking his ultimate prize. The crown. 

And the crown needed heirs. 

He towered over me, his presence overwhelming. He was much taller than I recalled, every inch radiating a rapacious tension. A hand braced itself against the wall, inches from my head. 

“What have you done?” My thoughts materialized into shaky words, laced with an enmity that surprised even me. My gaze raked over him, revulsion twisting my features. The green leather seemed to pulse, an illusion fueled by my churning stomach. 

A flicker, a hint of something akin to uncertainty, crossed his single eye. It darted across my face, as if truly seeing me for the first time. Perhaps he was. In this desperate flight, we’d never been closer. Close enough to be enveloped by his scent, a foreign musk that did little to quell my churning nausea. 

“Skoros iksin bēvilagon.” (What was necessary)

I frowned again, aggravated that he took to High Valyrian as an attempt to shut me out of his thoughts. My jaw clenched, frustration a bitter taste on my tongue. 

Malevolence rose like a flood as I leaned forward, so close that our noses nearly touched, “I would not have your child in a million years, kinslayer,” I spat, my voice trembling with contained fury. I lunged forward, aiming to push past him, to escape his suffocating presence. But his other hand shot out, slamming against the wall beside me, effectively caging me in.

A venomous glint flickered in his eye as he narrowed it at me through his lashes. A twitch played on his lips, a cat batting at a cornered mouse. “Be that as it may,” he said mellowly. “But even a bad wife must obey her king.”

A scoff escaped my lips, my eyes sizing him up and down. “You are no king,” I hissed, defiance lacing my voice. “You are not even a man.”

His reaction was swift and brutal.

One hand shot out and grabbed my face, forcing my head against the cold stone. Pain erupted at the impact, but quickly subsided as he leaned in, his hot breath fanning against my lips.

“Speak such treason again, and I’ll show you what I really am.”

“What will you do?” I spat back, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and insurgence. “Cripple me, like you did your brother? Force yourself on me?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he growled, his voice simmering with barely contained violence.

A tense silence ensued, the air crackling with his restrained fury.

My suspicions, already simmering, solidified into a horrifying certainty. He’d orchestrated his brother’s downfall on purpose. 

“Have you no honor?” I whispered, the words a ragged plea. 

The silence stretched, broken only by our ragged breaths. His hold on my face loosened gradually, his hand falling away. But his gaze remained fixed on me, a storm brewing within its depths. 

“You cannot stop me, Aemond,” I said, my voice shrinking. “I will leave this place, one way or another. You can play king in my absence, but it will be a hollow crown.”

“Kesan arghugon ao naejot se mōris hen tegon.” (I will hunt you to the end of the earth)

“Speak plainly,” I snapped, my patience with his cryptic pronouncements wearing thin.

A chilling smile, devoid of warmth, stretched across his lips. He pushed himself away from the wall, backing away, creating my long-desired distance between us. 

“You may go,” he drawled, the amusement in his voice laced with a dangerous edge, that sardonic smile still plastered on his lips. 

Acrimony filled my gut. What little I knew of this man, I feared greatly, but also told me this was a trick. He wouldn’t relinquish control so easily. He’d allow me to make my “escape”, only to have me snatched back by the King’s Guard, now under his control, a public display of his authority. There was no true freedom with him.

Maegor’s tunnels, a potential escape route, loomed tantalizingly behind me. If only I were alone, a simple push against the wall would send me tumbling into its dark embrace. But escape without a plan or supplies was a fool’s errand. 

My mind spun, each possibility twisting the knife of despair deeper. Even if I reached my family, what awaited me there? Shame would be their welcome. Aemond, no doubt, would make sure of it. 

The rain continued its relentless assault on the outside world, punctuated by the booming symphony of thunder. A flash of lightning illuminated the apartments, casting Aemond in a grotesque, menacing silhouette. 

Exhaustion overwhelmed me. I slumped to the floor, seeking solace in the meager comfort of my arms wrapped around my knees. Here I was, a prisoner in this gilded cage, condemned to bear the children of a traitor until flames consumed us all. 

Aemond crouched before me, his wrists resting on his knees. He regarded me with an intensity that bordered on scientific curiosity. A flicker of something, perhaps disappointment, played at his edges. 

“I’d take you for many things, wife,” he cooed, the endearment dripping with veiled malice. “But weak was not one of them.” His words landed like a body blow. “If I’d known you’d crumble so easily, I would never have wed you in the first place.” 

I sniffed and looked up at him, exhaustion a heavy cloak on my lids. “You did not have much of a say in the matter,” I countered.

A wicked smile twisted his lips and his head tilted to the side. “No,” he said softly. A sudden chill iced his demeanor. “And neither do you.”

He rose to his feet with predacious grace, leaving me pleated on the floor. He sauntered to his chair and seated himself, one leg propped up on his knee, his leather splaying atop the arm rests.

I watched him. His face was turned to the violent storm outside, immersed in contemplation, lightning whipping across his features. A vision of menace. A weapon poised to strike. 

“So, what is your scheme, Aemond?” I started; my voice hoarse. His head turned slowly, his gaze locking onto mine with the piercing intensity of Valyrian steel. “Do you envision a period of mourning for the King, followed by a convenient acclamation in your favor? Or will you hurry along the succession and carry out the deed yourself before anyone suspects?”

A single corner of his mouth quirked into a cruel smile. “Suppose I have not yet decided.” His voice was like liquid. 

Defiance flickered within me. “The court will never agree to this once they find out what you’ve done.”

Aemond hummed, a deep sound in the bottom of his chest. “Dragons don’t concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.” He leaned forward, resting his arms across his knees. “I am next in line to the throne,” he drawled. “None is better suited than I.”

I staggered to my feet and went to sit beside him. “With a legitimate heir,” I said carefully. “Your claim would be uncontested.”

He smirked, as though I’d read his mind. He leaned back, his eyes gleaming with dangerous delight. 

“A woman’s pleasure is,” he began, a slow, suggestive smile playing on his lips. His blue eye drifted down my form in a way that made my skin crawl. “Of as much importance as the seed itself.”

A hot flush crept up my cheeks at his implication.

“Which is why submission must be a willing act,” he finished, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.

I swallowed, provocation crackling through me. Did he truly believe I would succumb to his advances? He seemed to think he could manipulate anyone to his will, whether through seduction or brutality, though I had yet to see the former. 

“And if I refuse?” I challenged, my voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in my hands. 

A low growl vibrated in his chest, his face soft. “Then you’ll find yourself counted amongst the sheep,” he drawled.

Deflating, I sighed and dipped my head. The only path forward seemed excruciatingly clear. Raising my eyes to meet his, I lifted an eyebrow in rebellion.

“Consider me sheep then.” With that, I rose from the settee and strode towards the apartment doors, the cold of the metal handle stealing the warmth from my fingers as I heaved it open.

It shut then, with a loud thud, and I jumped, a sudden heat radiating behind me. Aemond’s fingers splayed on the oak door above my head. My pulse drummed in my ears, Aemond’s lips grazing my lobe, urging it to pick up the pace. 

“Jaelā naejot mazverdagon nyke jorarghutan ao, ābrazȳrys?” (You want to make me chase you, wife?) His voice rumbled into me, a low growl as potent as the thunderstorm.

The rolling, guttural words sent a strange warmth through my core. His air consumed me. A rich mixture of smoke, leather, and dragon, infiltrated my senses, intoxicating and unsettling in equal measure. 

“I can’t understand you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. I felt him smiling against my ear, a low chuckle reverberating into it, sending goosebumps erupting across my skin. 

“You won't need to,” he said softly. His hand drifted away from the door and closed around my throat, surprisingly gentle, yet the warmth of his fingers felt like embers branding my skin. They snaked around the back of my neck, the pressure tightening as he turned me to face him. His single eye, a bottomless well of intricacy, held mine captive.

My gaze flickered down to his lips. They were curved into a wicked grin.

His scent became a suffocating presence. The heat radiating from his body, fervid as a dragon, made sweat bead on my forehead. My entire being screamed I was at his mercy. He could crush my life out with a mere squeeze, or worse, with his single eye, he could strip me bare without ever laying a hand on me. 

But a strange fire flickered within me, a rebellion against his dominion. My hands, fueled by a desperate need for control, reached out and began loosening his doublet, my fingers slow and deliberate. 

Aemond stilled, his eye falling to my movements. He watched, transfixed, as I unfastened the green leather halfway down his chest, then trailed my fingers lower. His gaze darkened and his breath grew uneven, as the bulge beneath his belt pressed against my touch.

A visceral desire flared within me, a response I couldn’t fully comprehend. My pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, slowly drifting between my thighs at the sight of his desire. 

His grip softened at my nape, and with a surge of defiance, I ripped myself free from his hold, and landed a heavy blow to his stomach. But a wave of terror washed over me when Aemond barely flinched.

Panic clawed at my throat. 

Taking advantage of his momentary surprise, I flung open the chamber doors and fled, the sound of my pounding heart echoing in my ears. 

AEMOND

The aftershock of her blow lingered, a dull ache radiating from my gut, while I allowed her to make her escape. Fury, a familiar companion, usually surged through me, promising retribution, suggesting to make her death appear an accident. This time, however, a different heat consumed me, a mix of surprise and… arousal. 

Rarely did I misjudge a person. Yet, the meek mouse I’d wed had transformed into a daring she-wolf before my very eyes. This escape attempt, fueled by defiance, was a revelation. It made my dick hard. 

A rapacious glint flickered in my eye. A grudging respect, laced with something far more primal, coiled in my gut. I had underestimated her, and the unexpected turn of events had ignited a spark within me. 

A smirk twisted my lips, and I hummed with satisfaction, the thrill of the hunt coursing through me. 

“Jaelā naejot tymagon?” (You want to play?) I murmured, the challenge laced with amusement. “Kesi tymagon.” (Let’s play.)

I started into the storm-ridden castle. 

YOU

Immediate regret shot through me with a pang, a cold fist squeezing my breath. 

To toy with a dragon was like asking to get burned.

My lungs screamed in protest, my legs burning with each step down the Red Keep’s slick stone steps. Blood, metallic and sharp, left traces in my mouth as I hoisted my cumbersome gown to avoid tripping. The castle shuddered from the storm, which groaned and wailed its onslaught. Guards stood stoic at their posts, their expressions unreadable underneath silver helms. Appealing to them was a fool’s errand.

None dared defy the one-eyed prince. 

Driven by blind instinct, I found myself pushing through the massive doors of the throne room. 

The Iron Throne, a monstrous silhouette of twisted blades, dominated the chamber, its edges flashing white-hot under the lightning’s fury. I stumbled towards it, chest heaving, gasping for air. 

If it truly was cursed, could touching it offer some strange absolution, a release from the gilded cage that was my life? Surely, it couldn’t be worse than the fate that awaited me back in his clutches. 

Ascension. My trembling legs carried me up the steps, each one a monumental effort. Reaching the top, I lingered to sit, an action so simple, yet it loomed so immensely in my mind.

“Waiting to make your peace with the gods?” came a voice, and I turned with a gasp.

Aemond stood in the middle of the room, arms slotted behind his back, approaching with slow, menacing steps, like a predator savoring the hunt. Thunder boomed overhead. 

“No,” I countered, spite flaring hot in my chest. “Waiting for you to catch up so I can meet them myself,” I said, descending the steps. 

“Once more, so quick to admit defeat,” he taunted, venom dripping from his words like the rain outside.

I studied his sharp features, while the burden of my reality settled like a weight in my chest. “There is no escaping you,” I gritted out, holding his heavy gaze. 

His violence loomed heavy, and depravity flickered in his gaze. “Your perception waxes,” he conceded, and suddenly, the world tilted on its axis as he scooped me up and tossed me effortlessly over his broad shoulder. 

The journey back to his chambers was a furious ballet of resistance. My limbs flailed wildly, desperate for purchase, and obscenities, laced with an untenable fear, ripped from my throat.

A sharp slap landed on my behind, eliciting a yelp of surprised pain. 

“The more you struggle,” he growled, the sound a low rumble in his chest, “the worse it will be.”

A part of me recognized the truth in his words, yet a bestial defiance warred within, refusing to yield. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, I lunged for his silver hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking with all my might. 

He hissed through his teeth, followed by a guttural sound echoing deep within him. “Ilībōños,” (Bitch/Bastard) he cursed.

The apartment door slammed shut behind us as he entered, his movements purposeful. With a rough toss, I landed unceremoniously on the bed, the air whooshing out of my lungs on impact. Fury, a searing inferno, consumed me, each cell screaming in protest, my claws unsheathing. I wanted to hurt him. 

Anything within reach became a potential weapon. Pillows, a discarded jeweled comb – I hurled them all at him, each item a silent scream of rebellion. But his movements were swift, each projectile dodged with practiced ease. 

Frustration mounted, morphing into a desperate rage. I lunged at him, a clumsy attempt to push him back. But he remained immovable, an unyielding mountain. Undeterred, I pushed again, and again, fueled by a futile contempt. 

Finally, as I drew back for another pointless shove, his hands shot out, lightning fast, pinning my arms to my sides. He moved swiftly, his body caging mine in a steely embrace. 

“Lykirī,” he hummed, the word a low thrum against my ear. 

“Fuck you,” I spat, my chest heaving from my ambush.

Did he mistake me for his winged beast that he could command to his will?

My attempt to wiggle out of his hold was a pointless endeavour. Rage crackled in my veins, but it flickered under his touch. My breath hitched as he leaned closer, the heat of his body searing through my gown. The scent of him, smoke and leather, filled my senses. And the undeniable press of his erection against my stomach sent a jolt through me. 

This perverted man was enjoying my defiance. His grip tightened, a teasing hold that both frustrated and excited me. My body, traitor that it was, started to soften against him, a spark igniting beneath the embers of anger. 

“Have you had your fill of my company?” he whispered, his voice husky against my ear. His hands trailed down my arms, sending shivers skittering across my skin.

Every rational part of me screamed to break free, to run for the tunnels, to fight back. But the intoxication of his touch, the heat radiating from him, the suggestive murmur against my ear – they all conspired to trap me.

Before I could think, my head slowly turned from one side to the other. 

He hummed deeply. “Say it.”

Frustration warred with a strange vulnerability within me. My cheeks burned, and I clenched my jaw hard enough to taste blood. 

“I haven't.”

“You haven't what?”

Fury flickered back to life, fueled by his smug grin and the realization of how easily he’d manipulated me. 

“I haven't had enough,” I gritted out, the words a reluctant surrender. 

A growl of satisfaction escaped him before he grasped me by my throat, pushed me back against the wall, and tasted my next breath on his tongue. 

His lips, hot and demanding, devoured mine like a beggar, silencing the gasp that threatened to escape. Heat, a wildfire erupting at the junction of our bodies threatened to consume me. Fury, a simmering ember, still flickered within. I shoved against his chest and stomped on his feet; futile attempts against his unyielding form.

“Gaomagon vīlībagon nyke daor,” (Do not fight me) he said roughly against my lips, nipping at the bottom one. “Kesā botagon daor.” (You would not survive)

I didn’t understand him, and it urged on my fury. I opened my mouth with a quip in mind, but he used that opportunity to slide his tongue inside, hot and wet. The anger threatened to drown the blossoming desire, creating a tempestuous war within. I panted, torn between resistance and a strange, unfamiliar need, a fever writhing and pulsing inside my veins. My hands clenched in the rough leather of his doublet, a desperate attempt to maintain some sort of control. 

I closed my teeth on his bottom lip, and he hissed sharply, encircling my throat with his hand, pushing me against the stone. 

“Kelītīs,” (Stop) he growled.

The question of whether he even realized he was speaking High Valyrian was a fleeting thought. I melted into his rough hold, to his wicked mouth crashing against mine again and again, getting lost in the hot glide of his tongue. His rough kisses, the frantic press of his body, all contrived to unravel my carefully constructed defenses. A soft moan escaped my lips as my nipples brushed against his chest, sending sparks lower. He groaned low in his throat, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth.

With practiced ease, he untied the strings of my dress, letting the fabric pool around my ankles. I stood there in only my kirtle, breathless under his heated gaze. A dark groan rumbled from his chest as he slipped his hands beneath my thighs, effortlessly lifting me. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. His grip tightened on my bare flesh, a touch too rough, and I retaliated with another yank on his silver hair. An angry sound erupted in his throat as he attempted to shake off my grip. 

He carried us to the bed, the world tilting on its axis as he settled me on top of him. Our mouths met in a frantic clash, a tangle of tongues and heated breaths. We tore away from each other briefly, just long enough for him to pull my kirtle over my head.

Naked and exposed, I felt a shiver dance across my skin under the intensity of his gaze. Something dark moved through his eye, and my skin prickled with goosebumps.

He gripped the swell of my hips, his palms sliding upward, a slow exploration that sent sparks igniting in my blood. The fight drained from me, replaced by a heavy languor. His fingers, surprisingly gentle for a cold-blooded killer, traced patterns across my skin, before cupping my breasts into a rough grip. A soft moan escaped my lips as his thumb brushed a nipple, and pleasure rushed to my core. He leaned in and closed his mouth over a peak, drawing it in with a slow, gentle suck. My head fell back, a groan escaping my throat. My hands filtered into his thick silver, my fingers impulsively easing off the leather tie that kept it out of his face, and it went cascading around his features like spills of moonlight.

Awe mingled with desire as I watched him continue to explore my body, his mouth leaving a trail of wet heat across my skin. I cupped his sharp face in my hands, the rational, caged side of me screaming to tear him off me. I made weak, pitiful attempts to do so, but Aemond growled his disapproval and sucked my nipple hard. The wet heat of his mouth tugged between my legs as he moved to the other, flames curling low in my stomach. I ground down on him, my wet entrance dampening the dark leather of his breeches, the friction sending a delicious heat through my core. A moan ripped from his lips.

I was on fire, a confusing mix of desire and desperation clawing at me. I needed something more, something to push me over the edge. My body moved of its own accord, grinding harder, seeking that elusive release. 

He released my nipple with a graze of teeth that sent a jolt of white heat through me, and looked up at me with his eye dark like the storm.

“Skoros gaomagon jaelā?” (What do you crave?), he rumbled.

Exhaustion gnawed at me, but a visceral need pulsed deep within. “Please,” I pleaded, the word a ragged whisper escaping my lips, the frustration of the language barrier a dull ache compared to the firestorm raging in my core. “More,” I begged, grinding against his erection with desperate mewlings. 

When his hand lowered to palm my pussy, my skin caught on fire, burning me from scalp to toes. Desire inflated in my throat when he ran his hand up my neck, into my hair, grabbing a fistful and using it to arch my head back, his touch both possessive and arousing. 

“Is this what you desire?” he rasped against my throat, his voice husky with restrained passion. His calloused thumb began drawing circles on my clit, a slow, deliberate exploration that sent frustration battling with a rising tide of pleasure. 

I nodded desperately. “Yes,” I gasped.

He slipped two fingers into my wetness, and I arched my back, groaning in pleasure and a little pain, his fingers filling me up to the brim. My hands found purchase in his hair, anchoring myself as he moved his digits, flames of pleasure licking at my walls. 

Ecstasy unfurled in my veins like milk of the poppy, mind-numbing, delirious, as he slid his thick fingers in and out of me, rubbing a sensitive spot deep within. Hot pressure expanded, and my eyes rolled back in my head. A throaty moan escaped my lips with every thrust of his fingers and a delicious rumble rolled in his chest. 

His grip around my hair suddenly vanished and his thumb began rubbing circles on my clit as he fingered me. I cried out, the intensity overwhelming, and I braced myself on his leather-covered shoulders, a cold sweat starting beneath my skin.

“Sholīze,” (You’re so wet), he groaned against my skin, the word a brand that sent shivers lancing through me, the heat beneath the surface threatening to erupt. I rolled my hips on his fingers, and a satisfied growl escaped his mouth, his eye dropping to witness me riding his hand as my pleasure ran down his wrist, my leg and onto his lap. 

“Shkelagon zhēdys,” (You’re making a mess), he whispered into my mouth, swallowing my desperate cries. 

A third finger, bold and intrusive, slid inside, the added pressure sending me over the edge. My vision swam, black dots exploding at the edges. My heart pounded to the fire searing through every nerve in my body. Throaty moans tore from my lips over and over, as I clenched around his moving fingers. He groaned with dark satisfaction, encircling my waist, pressing me against him as I rode out my orgasm. 

The storm within me subsided slowly. His fingers, once urgent, now moved slowly in and out of me while I caught my breath and the ringing in my ears faded. He didn’t withdraw until he’d coaxed out the very last tremor of pleasure from my body. 

A languorous warmth, a deep sense of satiation unlike anything I’d ever known, bloomed within me.

Lost in the afterglow, I trailed kisses up his neck, small noises of contentment escaping my lips. 

“Gevie,” he panted, slipping his fingers out of me.

I knew that word.

Beautiful. 

AEMOND

I never thought the act of making an heir would be this… riveting. 

So much pure heat, flame and pleasure, fueled not just by my own desire, but by the sight of her pleasure burgeoning under my touch. It was a new prospect entirely. I could have reached my own release simply from witnessing hers. 

But this was not going to make an heir, after all.  

She ran her fingers over my erection, her lips and teeth teasing a line down my neck as she came down from her high. My hand, forearm and lap were slick from her sweet desire. 

She settled back into my lap, a vision of post-orgasmic bliss. Her eyes, usually bright and defiant, were now hooded with languid satisfaction, her cheeks flushed a becoming crimson. Her lips, slightly parted, breathed shallowly. I pushed my thumb between them, and she met the intrusion with a beckoning glide of her tongue, the wet heat settling in my groin. I pulled my thumb free, wiping the evidence of her touch across her lips. 

This woman, this force of nature, was mine. My wife.

Lightning played across her features like she was its master. Like she embodied the raw power of the storm. 

Untamed, fierce, fuckable.

She was molded just for me.

Her fingers, tracing a familiar path down my doublet, encountered the bulge straining against the fabric, my dick throbbing at her faintest touch.

“Take it off,” she said, working on the buckle. I reached my hands up my neck, loosening the doublet from my frame. 

“Do not attempt any strikes this time,” I drawled, a playful challenge in my voice. I relished the smile that spread across her lips.

“You have my word,” she said softly. 

The leather of my arms whispered down, discarded on the floor like a shed skin. Her eyes ignited with raw desire, a flickering flame that mirrored the inferno that had been building within me. Her fingers, hesitant at first, traced a path down my chest, my abs, further, until her hand slipped beneath my breeches and over the length of my dick. 

I hissed through my teeth. The heat, a branding iron searing flesh, intensified as her hand, unsure but determined, wrapped around my erection, heat curling at the base of my spine. Her hesitant touch grew more confident as she stroked me from base to head with smooth, gentle motions, sending a low groan rumbling from my chest. 

I grabbed her face and grazed her chin with my teeth, making her stroke me harder. “I’ll fill you with my seed, wife,” I growled, the words rough against her skin. A promise, a threat, a declaration of possession – all rolled into one.  

Her sigh held a hint of resignation, contrasting the fire in her eyes. “As long as you’ll leave me alone once you’re done,” she mumbled, the words laced with quiet defiance. 

Fury, a red-hot ember, flared within me. 

I threw her down on her knees on the bed and yanked her head back by her hair until her head rested against my shoulder. The vulnerability in her exposed throat fueled a dark avarice within me. My erection pressed against the heat of her ass, restraint becoming an impossible enemy. 

“You’re bound to me now,” I growled in her ear, the words a possessive vow. “You’re not going anywhere.”

A ghost of a smile played on her lips, a silent challenge that both frustrated and excited me. I leaned in, whispering a single word against her ear, “Ñuhon.” (Mine) I nipped her earlobe, making her hiss. 

When I released her, she sagged forward, head hanging low. Her shoulders slumped, and she lowered herself onto her hands, the curve of her backside a sight that ignited a fresh wave of heat within me. 

I discarded my breeches, the urgency a physical ache in my core. Kneeling behind her, I pushed two fingers inside of her. She clenched down on me so tightly. I groaned and pulled my fingers free. As I rubbed the head of my cock against her wet opening, the heat of it almost burned me. A tremble coasted throat her, and her fingers gripped the sheets, bracing herself. 

I eased into her, and, gods spare me, she was so fucking tense, to the point she nearly resisted me entirely. I caressed her ass, her hips, running my hand up and down her back, attempting to relax her, uttering words I scarcely knew were the Common Tongue or High Valyrian. 

“Vīrȳn (take it), you’re so fucking wet, gūrogon mirre yno (take all of me).”

Until her walls softened and I watched myself slide into her, until I was as deep as I could go.

Seven Hells. 

The feeling was overwhelming. The way she clutched me like a wet fist. Every cell in me ached for more, to fuck her hard, relentlessly, but I gave her a moment to adjust, squeezing her, running my hands all over her. 

Soon, she was rocking back against me, and I gave her what she wanted, pulling out all the way before slowly pushing back in, every inch of me vanishing. She groaned and dropped her face to the bed, fisting the sheets in her hands. I gripped the swell of her hips, guiding her warm, wet pussy onto my throbbing dick over and over, watching their salacious union, my sight darkening at the squelching sounds that ensued. A deep hum erupted from my chest.

She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes hooded with lust, settling on each lazy thrust. 

“Iksis ao bisa ijiōrtan?” (Is this pleasing you?) I rasped, but before she could answer, I fucked her a little harder. It occurred to me that she probably could not have understood what I’d been saying half the time. 

Her head fell forward, and the sight of her biting down on her hand to quiet her moans sent a heady rush to my head, lighting me on fire. 

Thunder rolled overhead. 

I was completely lost in the heat of her, taking her hard, watching her ass bounce against me with every thrust. I wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back against my chest.

She was panting, fucked into soft compliancy.

“To whom do you belong?” I growled in her ear.

She didn’t resist any of my advances this time. “You,” she breathed. 

“Say my name.”

“Aemond.”

“And who is your King?”

“Aemond.”

My grip snaked and tightened around her neck as I fucked her.

“Say it.”

“You’re the King, Your Grace,” she whined. “The first of your name.”

It set me on fire.

I pushed her back down and fucked her through her second orgasm, holding her hips up when her legs gave out. She shuddered and clenched around me, the pressure sending licking fires down my back, threatening to erupt. I gritted my teeth as I came inside of her, a white, hot fire shooting through me so hard, my vision went black.

My muscles shook from the aftershock.

I doubled over her, letting my forehead rest on her back as we came down. 

When I pulled out of her, I watched my seed leak out of her entrance like white tears. I plugged it with my fingers, burrowing deep inside of her, and she gasped.

“Dragonseed is precious,” I rumbled into her ear. “Would not want it to go to waste.” I kissed her temple.

“Tepagon aōha dārys iā dārilaros, dōna ābrazȳrys.” (Give your king an heir, sweet wife)

[lokisgoodgirl]

Mine, Utterly [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: After making Prince Loki a little jealous, he lays down the law on the eve of an important occasion. (w/c 2.1k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Minors DNI. Dirty talk, language.

Your hands hit the mattress and grasped at the silken sheets, as if that would save you.

“My Prince,” you gasped, breaths scorching against your lungs as he ripped the chiffon around your thighs.

All you’d done was smile at the guard. Okay, maybe flirt a little…just enough to rouse the jealousy Loki had suggested with a mischievous shine in his eyes before taking his place on the Royal banqueting dais.

A palm landed on your exposed ass cheek. Crying out, you shot a glance over your shoulder. Prince Loki stood, storms in his darkened eyes, the leather belt that had been slung across his chest now dangling from a fist. "You dare to make a god jealous?"

Your stomach dropped. What if it was a test; what if he was joking? But for all his antics, the Prince wasn’t known for his humour when it came to matters of the heart—or the flesh. He didn’t share, and as that thought sank in, the knuckles on the fist whitened. You inhaled sharply, grip tightening on the sheets.

Something struck your ass again, but this time it gripped. Loki’s back was pressed to yours. The emeralds studded into the intricately constructed doublet pinched through the thin fabric of your bodice as he whispered, “Perhaps I wasn’t clear that when you are mine, you are mine; utterly.”

His knuckles trailed down your bicep, those fingers that had been wet with your cum too many times to count in palace corridors and dark corners dancing across your skin. Those digits had fastened around your wrist and torn you away from the feasting hall, his obligations forgotten, and whisked you in an explosion of green light to the candlelit expanse of your own bedroom.

Now, Loki’s cock pressed through the layers of leather and velvet covering it right into the swell of your ass. It was a familiar feeling—but he’d always resisted. Only his fingers, his tongue, his words—that was the only relief he gave you over past months since your arrival at court. Never his pleasure—never his cock.

Norns, how you wanted to fuck him; wanted to ride him until his own name scattered on the wind like ash, feel him slam into your cunt until his brilliant mind was a blur of lines like wine spilled on parchment. You wondered how your name sounded on his lips when he came: staggered, gasping, choking for mercy.

His nose drew a line up your neck, inhaling at the pulse point like a hound. “You are mine, aren’t you?” he murmured.

In answer, your hand slid up his temple and knotted into Loki’s hair. A growl built in his throat, swelling your confidence in time with the heat throbbing between your legs. “No more, and no less, than you are mine, Loki Odinson.”

His teeth sank into your shoulder, just enough to make you squirm against his cock. He spun you around, tipping your over the edge of the mattress while he towered in a silhouette of black and forest green pulsating in amber flickers.

His fingers made quick work of the laces at his groin and then, his legendary, iron cock was in his hand. It was even more perfect that you’d dreamed. A well of saliva rose indelicately beneath your tongue. Loki stroked it, back and forth, as you watched: hypnotised.

“Tonight, I will show you what it is to be mine,” he said, low and thicker than molasses on a winter’s eve. “After that, I’m afraid you will be ruined for all others…” A devilish smirk lit at the corners of his mouth. Your heart pounded as you sat up on the bed, trying frantically to untangle the dress sprawled around your hips. Loki’s knees hit the mattress.

"Allow me," he said, before ripping the dress from your body in one, swift movement.

Your eyes widened as it fluttered to the floor. Only the corset remained. "My Prince…I," you said, attempting to keep the game fluid; but Loki pressed a finger to your lips with a hush. It was still warm from the friction of his cock.

"We have talked long enough, you and I. I would very much like to fuck you…" His eyebrows rose. "I will, fuck you. I will have you; utterly."

As the final syllable melted, so did his clothes. The emerald encrusted doublet was first, then the sigils of his station, then the boots and—oh, gods—the leather trousers.

Your chest tightened at the sight of him: carved like marble, the tremor of his muscle beneath taut skin as he rested back on his heels, thighs spread, enough to make you howl. Loki’s chin dipped to his chest, unbound hair falling around his milky shoulders like hot tar over battlements. His cheekbones flashed in pulsing candlelight as he said with a touch of malice, "I will not be kept waiting. Not anymore," but his eyes glinted.

You crawled the space between you and hoisted onto his lap. With your arms around his neck, your bare cunt pressed against the throb of his flesh, you couldn’t imagine it ever not being thus. And then, you kissed him; one sliding into the next like spring into summer, like night into day.

Loki’s kisses were a medley of ravenous restraint; morphing like his magic between complete desperation and tenderness. His hands cupped your ass, scooting you further up his lap. The tip of his cock rubbed against your slit.

"I want to consume you," he whispered, lips wet from your kisses. "And you will never be anothers."

"Never." A ragged moan ripped the air as you sank onto his length. Loki’s groan of pleasure was everything you’d dreamt of—a primal flash beneath the regal façade you wanted to tear at with your bare hands. His chin tipped back, nailing you with his dilated stare as his hips pushed up.

"Loki," you gasped, clutching at his back muscle. He was huge. The Prince bottomed out, teeth clenching. 

"You’ve no idea how much I craved this little cunt," he panted as your hands fisted in his hair. "How many times I’ve wanted to pin you against the wall and fuck you until all thoughts of other men were shaken from your mind forever."

The squelch of your pussy jammed with his cock punctuated every word. "How you’ve teased me, played with me; ruined me—all for the want of the Valhalla I knew would be between your legs."

Loki’s head fell back with broken cry of anguish as you clench around the root of his cock, dragging up before slamming down onto the meat of his thighs.

“Fuck, kvinne…now I find myself tricked…” he said, breathless. The god’s head rose, strands of sex damp hair plastered across his brow. "I want you more than ever."

His eyes narrowed, and then his lips collided to yours, tongue demanding entry with the sureness of a tide on the shore. His nails dug into the curve of your waist, guiding your hips. Every gyration made new sparks burst to life, sizzling from your clit to the deepest parts of your body and mind that had never been so alive.

“I will never be sated,” Loki growled, thrusting faster, “Never…never.” With a rumble, he flipped you onto your back. Loki’s lips worked down the hard sinews of your neck, sucking against supple skin, palming your breasts upward. He was possessed. Loki’s name was a chant in your throat, the absence of his cock inside you becoming unbearable.

"Fuck me," you whined, and Loki looked up from where he’d been distracted with your nipple between his teeth.

“Ruined for all others,” confirmed Loki, smirking. He crawled over your body, settling his legs on either side and drawing the leaking head of himself through your sopping folds. “Beg for it.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Beg…my pretty, pretty whore.” Loki’s lips grazed across your cheek like wind through barley; a short, trembling sigh flooding your ear.

“Maybe you’re my whore, Odinson. Did you consider that?”

His thick cock twitched against your heat as he stared down at you with your perfectly styled hair mussed, your thighs spread, your lips bitten and stinging, before he whispered, “I consider everything.” Dark curls hung down either side of his jaw, framing the angle of his jawline as he licked his lips and settled into a cage around your head. The muscles of his forearms twitched with the effort of not fucking you into the mattress. The words bubbled in your throat, spilling forth before you could second guess them. “Well, if you’re my whore, then satisfy me.”

“Tell me you’re mine.” Those words shaped his tongue like summer storms. “And you will have everything you desire; always.”

You scraped hair back from his face, the beat of his heat thumping through his skin. His hips dragged against your clit, making your knees tighten around his ribs. “I’m yours,” you whispered, “Utterly.” Loki’s cock squeezed inside, and his face twisted in relief absolute. One of his hands flew to the ornate headboard; whacks of ancient wood against stone sounding with every thrust. His pubic hair dragged against your swollen clit, moans mingling with the fragrance of sweat and sex that clung to your bodies and rose like steam.

The god knew your body like you thought only you did, and every grip of his hands, shift of his hips, work of his mouth—you couldn’t catch your breath. His lust was the chop of waves, drowning you on the undertow of his strength, and scent and the hair brushing your lips as he fucked you. You never had a chance. Need scorched up your skin as climax broke. It flooded through your body, Loki’s name a rattle in your throat as his exhales of pleasure pounded in your ear. He hissed as fingernails dragged down the wide expanse of his back, the slide of his cock primal and wet, balls smacking against cum-slick skin.

The prince’s thrusts slowed, rocking you through the final threads of orgasm stringing you together. You gaped at him, heavy eyed and open mouthed as his torso rose between your legs, his palms splayed on your thighs, his abdomen flexing with every glacial, devastating thrust.

Loki’s head fell back, his black curls a sheet down the faint flush of pale skin.

The veins in his neck hardened, jaw clenched to the ceiling as deep lines settled on his brow. Your breath hitched.

Every glide of his cock was met by the gluttonous squelch of your cum. Loki rocked on his heels, guiding himself over the edge inside your perfect cunt.

“Gods,” he choked to the murals above the bed. And then, he came.

His face screwed up as the wave hit was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. Loki’s groan trembled through your skin, beneath your flesh and vibrating your bones. His fingers tightened, and you knew that tomorrow your gown would hide the evidence of obsession marked in blue and purple shadows of devotion.

Devotion, you thought lazily as he gasped out the syllabled of your name and collapsed on your chest; meeting your lips with open mouthed enthusiasm.

Somewhere, a bell tolled. Loki sighed, slipping himself out of you with a mutter of irritation. He clicked his fingers, and the elaborate garb assembled on him like a blossom of ink. His lip curled. “The next time I see you, it will be in white.”

“Mmm…” “And yet they will have no clue what a fantastically depraved wretch for me that my intended is.” “I think they might know that already if the maids who caught you pleasuring me in the kitchens last week weren’t mute—and besides, perhaps they’ll just think my intended is a bad influence.”

“Gods, I hope so,” Loki murmured against your skin before biting your cheek softly, melting into a kiss. “Until tomorrow, then.” Loki drew away, his eyes serious but a small smile playing at his lips. “When you’re my wife, you shall never be rid of me.” “Gods, I hope so,” you echoed, and in the space of a heartbeat, Loki vanished.

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[serpentandlily]

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny IV

Sly Fox, Dumb Bunny IV - Eris x Archeron!Reader

Summary: You find yourself ensnared by a sly, cunning fox. A very handsome, irritating one.

Warnings: a lil bit of angst, a lil bit of fluff, a lil bit of suggestion

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II ➻❥ Part III

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

To say he was panicking would be an understatement. 

No, Eris had felt panicked when he had opened the door to his chambers and realized his mate was not there. But that panic turned to full-fledged terror when he had finally tracked down the two handmaidens he'd assigned her this morning and they both said they had no idea where his mate was. 

He stalked through the Forest Home---trying to appear calm and nonchalant despite what he felt. He didn't want anyone to catch wind of something being amiss. Not before he was able to find his mate and safely get her back to his chambers. Lucky for him, he'd been forced to wear a mask his whole life and this was no different. 

A bark from behind caused him to whirl around. Ashera came running from around the corner, ears flapping and tail wagging. That had to be a good sign. She yipped again when she caught up to him and gripped the edge of his cuff in her sharp teeth.

"Did you find her, Ash?" Eris asked, quietly. 

He was answered with a pull of her teeth. His shoulders loosened with relief and he let Ashera guide him to wherever it was that she had found his mate. He had given Ashera the order to find her the minute he realized she was missing and had gone the opposite way of her to cover more ground. 

A few moments later, he found himself in front of the doors to the library. Ashera let go of him and started to paw at the doors with a whine. He could hear two voices from behind the doors. His mate's and....

He grabbed both handles and yanked open the double doors, stalking inside. 

"And do you want to know what I said—" His brother, Finnegan, abruptly cut off his sentence when the sound of the doors slamming shut behind Eris and Ashera caught his attention. He looked up, smirking when he caught sight of his frazzled brother. 

Seated in front of his brother, a chessboard on the table between them, was his mate. She turned in her chair, eyes wide as she looked over with surprise until she recognized who was there. A soft smile bloomed on her beautiful face, her doe eyes lighting up. 

No one had ever looked at him like that when he entered rooms. Not even his own mother. No, he was usually met with either fear or disdain. But not from his mate... She should've been staring at him with disgust or contempt, especially after how he had treated her yesterday and especially after their argument this morning when he forbade her from leaving his room. Instead, she seemed happy to see him. 

Was she putting on a front for his brother?

"Eris!" she exclaimed, rising from her seat. "You're back. Oh, you won't believe the day I've had! Finn found me wandering around and—"

"Come here," Eris ordered, cutting her off. He held out his hand towards her. His brother's smirk grew as Eris glowered at him. His mate’s eyebrows rose in question but she thankfully listened to him, walking to his side and grasping his hand in her much smaller, much softer one. 

Ashera let out an excited yip and brushed up against her legs, causing his mate to smile down at her. Honestly, he should've known she was his mate the minute his hounds hadn't torn into her when she first appeared in Autumn that day. Should've known the second Ashera had pranced forward and tried to comfort her, for Gods' sake. His dogs were prime hunters, yet around her, they were reduced to nothing more than fluffy house pets it seemed. 

He remembered seeing her for the first time, her leg stuck in that bear trap. Despite the tears running down her face and her hair tangled with leaves and twigs, she was the most beautiful female he had ever laid eyes on. So soft and delicate. The opposite of everything he was. 

But the mating bond hadn’t truly snapped until the shadowsinger had shown up in the clearing that day and whisked her into his arms. She had looked straight at him and a golden thread had unwoven in his chest, causing him to stagger back just as they disappeared in a swirl of shadows. It had taken all of his will power not to immediately storm the Night Court if only to see her for a second more.

“Can I not have her for a few more minutes, brother?” Finn asked, tossing his arms behind his head and resting his head against them with a smug grin. “We’re nearly finished with our game.”

Eris sneered at his brother. “If I see you sniffing around her again, I’ll rip out your throat.”

“Eris!” His mate exclaimed, looking up at him with wide eyes. He ignored her, still glaring daggers at his brother who didn’t even flinch at the threat. 

“You’re lucky I stumbled upon her before father did,” Finn crooned. “I’d say you owe me one for allowing her the pleasure of my company.” 

“Well, consider me not ending you where you stand your one and only favor,” Eris retorted. His mate went to pull her hand from his but he gripped her tighter, finally looking down at her. “Come on, we’re leaving.” 

He stalked towards the library door, pulling her with him despite her soft protests. He didn’t say a word to her as he led her back to his chambers, not wanting any servants milling about to gossip if they heard anything. He only released her hand once they were safely in the living area of his quarters and behind the heavy wards set up. 

“Are you out of your mind?” She hissed at him, holding her hand to her chest. 

“Are you?” He bit back, flicking his hair out of his face. “I gave your strict orders to stay here while I was gone or with your handmaidens!”

“I am not something you can just keep under lock and key!”

“You’re not in the Night Court anymore, bunny,” Eris argued. “My father is nothing like Rhysand. The males outside these doors are nothing like those two wretched Illyrians. I can have you chained to my bed and no one would bat an eye, do you understand?”

“And is that what you’ll do if I don’t listen to you?” She retorted, crossing her arms. “Put me in chains?”

“No,” he snapped. “But I will lock you in here if I must. I’d rather you hate me than let anything happen to you.” 

“Then take me out with you,” she protested. “Don’t leave me here!” 

Eris let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking down at his irritating, foolish, and completely and utterly bewitching mate. Her large eyes were hopeful, her bottom lip pinched between her teeth. The mating bond was driving him absolutely wild. He wanted to shove her against the wall and rip that lip out of her teeth with his own. 

“Please,” she whispered. 

“Fine,” he growled. “But if I agree to take you out tomorrow afternoon, you will agree to stay inside my chambers unless otherwise instructed. Do you understand?”

Those sweet, alluring eyes turned callous in a matter of seconds.

“So, you intend to treat me like a dog? Like a pet?” she snapped, crossing her arms. “Actually, I take that back. You even treat your dogs better than that!” 

As if proving her point, Ashera jumped up on the couch, laid down and covered her face with her paw, as if she felt his mate’s exasperation. 

“Have you any idea what is at stake here?” he bit back. “I do not intend to treat you like a pet. I intend to keep you safe!”

“And you think by keeping me locked away, I’ll be safe? They all know where your chambers are, Eris. I’m no safer here than I am anywhere else in this manor!” 

“At least, I’ll know where you are! Do you have any idea how worried I was when I went to find you earlier and you weren’t here?”

Her eyes widened and her arms fell limp at her sides. “You… you were worried?”

Eris tossed his arms in the air, letting out a noise of frustration. “Of course, I was worried. Do you know how many enemies I have in this court? Do you know how many people would wish to harm you if they had the chance just to hurt me?”

“I thought…” She paused, rubbing her arm.

Eris glared down at her. “You thought what? Go on, bunny, tell me what that little mind of yours thought?” 

“I thought you were mad! And can you blame me?” she huffed up at him. “You treat me like a nuisance, insult me any chance you get! Why the hell would I ever think you were worried about me? I’m sure you’d just be so over the moon if someone did get rid of me! Since I’m such a burden.” 

There were a lot of things in life Eris regretted but calling his mate a burden this morning was now on the top of that list. He hadn’t meant it. Of course, he hadn’t. She just didn’t understand the severity of the situation. He didn’t want to be mean to her or to have her hate him… but if it kept her safe, then so be it. At least, that had been his train of thought. But seeing the hurt on her face when those words had come out of his mouth had nearly killed him. 

“I’m sorry, okay,” Eris groaned. “I’m sorry I called you that. It’s not true. It was never true but bunny…you really don’t understand…”

“No, Eris, I do,” she snarled. “I’m not as stupid or naive as everyone likes to think I am!”

“Not naive?” Eris mocked. “Then what do you call galavanting around the Forest House with one of my own brothers?”

“Your brother was fine,” his mate replied. “He was perfectly polite. All he did was show me around a bit and then take me to the library as I requested.”

Eris scoffed. “You don’t know him like I do.” 

“You know what’s funny? That is the exact thing my sisters would say about me and yet they have no idea who I am. They’ve never let me be anything other than the girl they think I am. Have you thought that perhaps this competition your father has you all so convinced of between you guys doesn’t even exist? Have you ever even tried talking to one another without your father’s influence?” 

She wasn’t wrong but Eris knew how deep his father had his claws in his brothers. It would take a lot to shake them from his grasp. Time and effort he wasn’t afforded with at the moment. Not when he constantly had to look over his shoulder and now had to keep his mate safe at all times. This court was corrupt and dangerous—everyone here was in survival mode. 

These hypotheticals might be worth a discussion and if it were up to him, he would’ve taken his mother and younger brothers far away from his father a long time ago. But alas, he did not have such power…yet. But perhaps things could change. Though, nothing would so long as his father still sat on the Autumn throne. Until then, these sorts of conversations were not worth the time. 

“You speak on things you have no knowledge about and I see little point in having this conversation with you,” Eris said, straightening out his lapels. “I have a meeting I must attend with my father. Stay here.”

And then he left swiftly, before his mate could see just how much her words affected him, before he grabbed her and winnowed as far from this court as he could—consequences be damned. She drove him absolutely mad but Gods, did he find her so enticing. She was wild and impulsive and had a lot to learn, but the sort of honesty and hopeful outlook she had…Well he could only hope he could protect that, hoped he could keep her sweet and kind and soft and all the things no one had ever allowed him to be. 

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

You had just woken up when your two handmaidens, Willow and Ivy, entered the room, pestering you to get up. Bleary eyed, you let them drag you into the bath before they sat you in front of the vanity. Ivy braided your hair while Willow dusted some light makeup on your face. 

“Can I ask what you are prepping me for?”

“Lord Eris has requested that we get you ready for an afternoon trek on horseback,” Ivy answered, with a slight smile on her face. 

Your eyes widened, taken aback. You hadn’t spoken to Eris since your fight yesterday. In fact, he had never even returned to his chambers last night. You didn’t try to leave, in fear that you would find the door locked and all your worries of the kind of male you were mated to would be proven true. Instead, you had pretended that a night in was just what you wanted, begrudgingly following his command. 

They dressed you in an off the shoulder linen chemise and flowy skirt that fell to your shins before lacing you into a burnt orange corset that had your lungs screaming for air. They slipped a pair of brown leather boots onto your feet.

“Surely trousers would be more appropriate?” you asked, spinning around so your skirt swished around the tops of your boots. Ivy and Willow gasped at your words, placing a hand over their hearts.

“A lady should never be seen in trousers,” Ivy declared, aghast.

Their shock was humorous to you, so you bit your lip to keep from laughing. Gods, the Autumn Court was so backwards sometimes. You were getting better at choosing your battles, so you said nothing else as they led you out of Eris’s chambers to the horse stables. 

Eris stood there next to another male who was preparing two horses. Your mouth dried a bit at the sight of him. He was wearing a loosely tied tunic, tucked into brown breeches and a pair of riding boots. His red hair glimmered in the sun like a ruby gem, his pale skin nearly glowing. He looked as if the Autumn forest made him itself.  

You hadn’t realized you had paused in your steps until your two handmaidens giggled next to you. 

“You are a very lucky female, Lady Y/n,” Ivy whispered to you with another giggle, causing your cheeks to turn pink. 

“Lord Eris is a very lucky male to have someone as lovely as Lady Y/n as his mate,” Willow countered, which only made your blush deepen. 

Eris noticed you as you drew closer and his eyes trailed over your form, heat swirling in them. You felt goosebumps rise on your skin under his gaze. His fox-like face was so beautiful, so enchanting, it was hard to look away. You kept eye contact with him as your handmaidens presented you. 

“Lady Archeron, as you requested, my Lord,” Willow said as she curtsied.  

“Thank you, ladies, you may continue on with the rest of your duties,” he said to them, though he didn’t stop looking at you which caused butterflies to erupt in your stomach. The two girls sauntered off, their giggles heard until they rounded the corner. 

You wanted to be mad at him still, but this seemed like a sort of peace offering or apology for yesterday. One that you decided to accept. You walked forward until you were at his side, glancing at the large horses. 

“This is Marigold. She is our most well-mannered horse,” Eris said. “Go on, you can pet her. She won’t bite.” 

“I’ve never ridden a horse, my Lord,” you said, shyly, reaching out a hand to pet the one in front of you. 

Eris seemed surprised but made no comment on it. He simply turned to the stableboy and waved a hand at him. “One horse will do today, Landon.” 

“Oh, are you going to teach—”

You squeaked as Eris grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you onto the horse as if you weighed nothing, your cheeks turning bright red. A moment later, he lifted himself onto the horse, right behind you. The butterflies in your stomach were worked into a frenzy as his long legs encompassed you and your back was pressed against his firm chest. 

“Yes, bunny, I’m going to teach you,” Eris whispered, his breath dancing along the edge of your pointed ear. You could hear the smirk in his voice, as if he knew exactly the kind of reaction he was causing inside of you. 

“Is this not improper?” you asked. “Aren’t ladies supposed to sit with both their legs on one side?”

It had been a hard transition for you—to go from living in poverty in that tiny cottage to living in high society. You weren’t like your other sisters who had spent their childhood years being trained to be ladies. You could hardly remember any part of your life before your mother died. 

It was, perhaps, why you felt the closet to Feyre of all your sisters. Because she, too, was wild in a way that Elain and Nesta weren’t. 

“Something tells me you have no concern over how ladylike you are, bunny,” Eris chuckled, his hard chest rumbling against your back. Your cheeks flared up again and you tossed him a glare over your shoulder. 

“Everyone else seems so concerned about my virtue and image,” you hissed. 

“Well, I’m not,” Eris retorted. “Go on, grab the reins.” 

You hesitantly wrapped your fingers around the leather straps and nearly jolted in surprise as Eris’s placed his calloused hands on top of yours. He started to maneuver your fingers. “You want to keep your thumbs on top and your fingers closed around them.” 

Once he seemed satisfied, he tapped the horse on the side and she began her trot. You bit your lip as his hands slid off the reins and on to your thighs. “Relax your legs, bunny. Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall off.” 

You hadn’t realized how much you were squeezing the poor horse until he lightly stroked your thighs, getting them to loosen before his hands slid to your waist instead.

"What do I do with these?” You asked, nodding towards the reins in your hands.  

“Nothing for now,” Eris answered. “You use them to steer or to get her to stop.”

His proximity to you and the tiny circles he absentmindedly rubbed on your waist with his thumbs caused your body to hyperfocus on all the places you were touching. You could hardly pay attention to his instructions and the more the two of you continued on, the more you found yourself relaxing into his chest—soaking in the heat that seemed to exude off his body. 

Once you seemed to get the hang on the basics, a soft silence fell between the two of you. The sounds of the forest came alive the deeper you traveled into the trees. It was truly beautiful out here. The red and orange leaves on the trees reminded you of the painting Feyre had done on your drawer on the dresser back when you were living in the cottage. 

“I’m sorry,” Eris whispered into your ear, breaking the silence and surprising you. “For yesterday.” 

You softened at his words. “It’s okay.”

“No,” he said, his grip on your waist tightening. “It wasn’t okay. It pained me to hear you say I think of you as a nuisance, as something to get rid of. It is simply not true, bunny and I’m sorry for ever making you believe I think that.”

Eris didn’t seem like the type of male to apologize for his actions, so it meant more to hear it from him. 

“I just wish you would stop trying to push me away. I’m tired of everyone always deciding what's best for me instead of trusting me to know it myself,” you sighed.

“I know and I’m sorry. I know how unseen you feel.” 

He seemed to see right through you. Was it the mating bond that allowed such a thing? Or was it just something you had in common? No one had ever looked closely at you. You were the baby of the family, never allowed to be involved in decisions or important things. You lived in your own world most of the time. 

Although Eris was brought up in a far different environment than you, you couldn’t help but think he felt the same way. That he was constricted and forced to play a role he had no wish to. That he was written off as arrogant and cruel simply because he was born under a male who was. 

But he was nothing like his father. 

“I know you do because I know you feel the same way, Eris,” you whispered, glancing back at him. “But I see you.” 

“Perhaps that scares me.” His amber eyes were still guarded as he looked down at you. “No one has ever looked before. No one has ever wanted to.” 

“I do,” you said, holding his gaze. “I want to.” 

It was silent for a moment and you twisted back around, staring at the forest ahead.

“You shouldn’t,” Eris said, so quietly, that you were certain he was talking to himself. But despite his words, a tension had been lifted between the two of you.

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

A little while later and after several whines about her legs starting to hurt, Eris let his mate have a break. He helped her off Marigold and found a tree to tie the horse to so the two of them could walk for a bit. 

He kept a step behind her, watching as she spun in a circle, the leaves crunching beneath her boots, as she took in the forest. The wonder and excitement in her eyes caused a spark in his chest. Those things had long since been beaten out of him so it was nice to see them in someone he already cared so deeply about. 

Eris enjoyed being out here with her, away from the Forest House and everyone else. He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he kept his guard up to protect his wonderfully oblivious mate from any harm that might come her way. 

“It’s so beautiful here,” his mate whispered.

The sunlight casted gold rays of light through the leaves, illuminating her beautiful face. She looked made for this kind of place, for Autumn. His chest ached at the sight—at what could be if his father wasn’t such a conniving bastard. 

“It is,” Eris said softly, his amber eyes still trained on his mate. She peeked over her shoulder at him, blushing as she met his gaze. Gods, if he were a lesser male, he’d have shoved her up against a tree and claimed her as his already. 

“Hey, I have an idea!”

“I’m sure you do,” he chuckled and she whirled around, placing her hands on her hips as she glared at him.

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

He shook his head, biting back a smile. “Nothing. What is your idea, bunny?” 

“We should play a game,” she said. “Like hide and seek.” 

Eris snorted. “Hide and seek? What are we, children? I’m over five hundred years old, bunny, I’m not going to play games with you.” 

“Fine, suit yourself,” she shrugged. “But I guess that means you’ll have to return to the Forest House without me unless of course…you find me.”

And then she darted off into the trees, weaving her way out of his view. He expected to find himself irritated, but it was the opposite. He couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped from his mouth at how ridiculous his mate was. Ridiculous and brash—but so endearing. 

“You can’t hide from me, bunny,” he shouted into the trees.

Silence met his ears and then…a twig snapped in the distance. He sauntered off in the direction of the noise. He would entertain her absurd game but he would not be running off like some wild beast through the forest. He followed her enticing scent of harvest apples and forest pine, twisting through the tall trees and leaf-covered ground. 

He saw a flash of her hair from the corner of his eye and spun in place, listening for her footsteps. He continued following after her, getting small glimpses of her here and there, hearing the tiny giggles that seemed to echo in the silent forest and he realized that a small smile had grown on his face as the game went on. 

Until things went so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. He froze, sniffing the air. He could still smell her but where had she gone? He spun in place, looking for footprints and listening for any sounds but…nothing. His heart started to beat faster in his chest, suddenly worried she had run off too far. 

“Bunny,” he shouted. “You can come out now!” 

Nothing.

The smile on his face dropped and he continued his search. Had she ran into some creature that took her? Had his guard fallen so low that he hadn’t realized that someone else was out here? 

“Hey, bunny—fuck!”

Something ran straight into his back and wrapped their arms around his neck, making him stagger forward. He turned around and pinned them against the tree with a snarl so quickly he hadn’t even realized what exactly had knocked into him until he heard the familiar giggles and his mate’s scent washed over him. 

“Got you!”

She was staring up at him with wide, excited eyes—her face flushed from her exertion. He stared at her in disbelief, uncertain how she was able to sneak up and ambush him like that. The hand that had wrapped itself around her throat moved to rest on the tree next to her head.   

“And so the sly bunny ensnares the dumb fox,” she sang between her pants, her arms still around his neck, her back still pressed against the tree.

He let out a breath, staring down at her with a small glare. “That is not funny. I could’ve hurt you!” 

“But you didn’t,” she countered, not seeming concerned about it at all. “I’m surprised I was able to sneak behind you. I thought for sure you saw me at one point. You looked right at me!” 

His brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I was standing right there,” she laughed, pointing at a spot to their left. “And you looked right at me! I thought I was busted but I don’t know, Eris, you might be going blind with age.” 

Her eyes held amusement as she looked up at him but he was confused. He had no idea what she was talking about—he hadn’t seen her at all. She had not been standing there. She must’ve been mistaking those trees for another. 

“Very funny,” he said, deadpanned. 

“Oh, don’t be a sore loser,” she teased, her fingers playing with the hair on the nape of his neck, absentmindedly. Her touch sent shivers down his spine. Her body pressed against his fought against the control he had. 

He wanted to knock the smug smile right off her face. He stepped closer, placing his free hand on her sternum and trapping her against the tree. He felt her breath hitch and grinned. 

“I’m not the loser,” he purred, before leaning down to whisper in her ear, “You’re still ensnared by me, bunny. Not the other way around.” 

Being this close to her again reminded him of all the ways he would take her and he let out a heavy breath, trying to keep from getting hard and scaring her away. Her head was tilted back so she could stare at him, her smile slipping as her heart pounded loudly enough that he could hear it through her chest. It seemed to beat in rhythm was his. 

He was certain she was going to cave first. His other hand still rested against the tree next to her head, allowing her the chance to dip away if she wanted. Her cheeks turned pink and he was sure she was about to start stuttering like a girlish maiden as she usually did when she said something that absolutely surprised him.

“Maybe I want to be ensnared by you, Eris,” she whispered.

Heat spread through his body like a wildfire and he knew it exuded off of him by the way she melted into his touch, her eyes flickering down to his lips as she shuddered. She bit her lip and he growled, his hand moving up her sternum until it rested against her cheek. He plucked her lip free with his thumb and she met his gaze again—her eyes wide and innocent yet full of desire. He could feel her anticipation down the mating bond, which glowed like firelight between them, and he knew she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. 

The mating bond sang in his chest.

Mine….Mine….Mine…

She glanced down at his lips again and the look she gave him was enough to snap the last string holding his composure. 

So he surged forward and passionately kissed her. 

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

One second you were thinking of how much you wished Eris would kiss you and the next second he was. His lips were soft, softer than you imagined, and so warm. Your eyes fluttered shut and you kissed him back with the same fire and eagerness that had Eris groaning against your lips. The hand that was resting on your cheek moved to your neck and angled your head back farther so he could deepen the kiss.

One of your own hands slipped into his hair, tangling some red strands between your fingers as the butterflies in your stomach began their frenzy again. All thoughts seemed to cease at that moment. All you could feel was Eris’s body pressed against yours, his kiss so full of hunger that your knees almost buckled under the weight of it. 

Your other hand slipped down to grab onto the collar of his tunic and yank him closer. He growled and bit down on your bottom lip; you gasped at the slight pain. He used that opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth and his kiss turned crazed. 

Fire sparked under your skin, so hot it threatened to consume you. 

His hand slipped down to your thigh, yanking your leg up around his hip so he could press in closer to you—nailing you to the tree. The rough bark rubbed against your back, serving as a contrast to the softness of his lips on yours. 

He devoured you, kissed you in a way no one ever had before. You didn’t fight for dominance. Not when it felt this good to surrender yourself to him. Heat and wetness pooled in your core—the evidence of his own arousal pressed firmly against your stomach as his tongue continued to explore every crevice in your mouth, claiming it as his. 

Every inch of your skin was tingling as he pulled away and began to trail feverish kisses down your jaw and neck—giving you the chance to breathe for a moment. You whimpered as his canines nipped at the sensitive skin on your throat, marking you. 

“Do you know how much I think of this?” Eris groaned against your skin, his nose trailing up the column of your throat. “Of ravishing you like this.” 

“Y-you do?” You stuttered as his canines grazed your neck again—reminding you again that Eris was no human man. No, he was much more than that of a man. He wasn’t even a full High Lord yet and still, you could feel his power crackling around you like burning embers. 

“Oh, bunny,” Eris purred, pulling back to look at you with that fox-like grin that had your knees weak again. “I think of you like this—at my mercy—all the damn time.” 

He leaned down and kissed you again until your face was flushed, your lips swollen and your neck was full of love bites. The both of you were panting as he rested his forehead against yours, his amber eyes staring down at you with flame licking his irises, full of hunger and lust and longing. 

You knew at that moment that you belonged to Eris because there was no way anyone else on this earth would make you feel as you did now. And you didn’t want there to be anyone else. No, your heart and mind sang for him and him only. No matter how things turned out, you knew they always would. It was scary and thrilling and daunting but it was true. 

And by the way he stared down at you, you knew he felt it too. 

· · ─────── ·♡· ─────── · ·

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[lizzyiii]

hey, so ur works are literally heaven in itself (im in love with u)

you guys reading my works are what validate me in life (i'm so in love with you too, babe)

Scales and Arpeggios

pairing | aemond x wife!reader word count | 4.3k words summary | aemond and his wife share tender moments with their children, engaging in music lessons that bring warmth and joy to their family amidst the shadows of the dance of dragons.

note | slight angst, hotd au (greens win), KING AEMOND, toothrotting fluffff, children, no description of reader, fluffy Aemond, soft aemond, pregnant!reader a/n | aristocats inspired (duchess and her kittens), I thought of this this morning. I really needed this fluff after all my negative thoughts and feelings. also don't worry, I have all my requests in the making, and in my draft's - prepare for the angst and feels.

likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Aemond was tired.

Day upon day, his life was mired in endless council meetings, audiences with quarrelsome lords, and grievances of the peasantry, all in the name of healing a realm ravaged by war.

It had been two years since the Dance of the Dragons had torn through the land, yet the scars remained, as fresh as the charred ruins left in the dragons’ wake.

And here he was, King of the Seven Kingdoms—but at what bitter cost. He had bested Daemon in the fierce clash over the God’s Eye, and his half-sister, the self-styled Queen, had been devoured by her own madness.

She met her end as Sunfyre tore her asunder upon Aegon’s command. Not long after, Aegon himself succumbed to his wounds, leaving the crown a hollow prize.

Aemond had defeated the Blacks. The traitors were vanquished, their cause snuffed out. But his family had been taken in the fires of war. Jaehaerys murdered; young Maelor torn apart; Daeron slain.

Helaena, dear Helaena, had taken her own life. And Aegon—Aegon had burned away with his dragon, his defiance crumbling under the agony of his wounds.

All that remained of his bloodline were fleeting shadows of memory and ashes of kin. Only his wife, the woman bound to him since he was but fourteen, remained steadfast.

Through the dark days of the war, you had been his only constant, his sole source of solace. In the end, that was all he had left: his bride, his son Aeron, his niece Jaehaera, and his mother, Queen Alicent, who clung to life with a frail resilience.

It was his wife, too, who had stayed his hand when he considered the fates of Daemon’s daughters. You had urged him to spare the lives of Baela and Rhaena, allowing them sanctuary with their sole surviving brother, Aegon the Younger, now far away in Driftmark.

And yet, his mother had been torn asunder by grief, the madness that followed the loss of three of her children consuming her like a wildfire. Just months ago, Alicent had succumbed to the cruel grip of Winter Fever, and with her passing, the warmth of their family had dimmed further.

He blamed himself, for in his fervor to protect his own—the children he adored and his beloved wife—he had allowed himself to be blind to his mother’s decline. Each day, he devoted himself to the care and nurturing of Aeron and Daenys, ensuring Jaehaera felt the presence of family, while the ever-looming responsibilities of the crown overshadowed his duties as a son.

Now, he barely caught glimpses of the life that remained. He would rise in the early hours, the dawn light casting a soft glow upon his wife’s sleeping form, a fleeting moment of peace before he was swept away by the relentless tide of royal obligations.

In the fleeting minutes before he departed for court, he could only admire the serene lines of your face, knowing that the day would steal him from your side again.

The children were no better; brief encounters in the corridors felt like whispers of a past he could hardly grasp. Aeron would be playing with his toys, and Daenys might be crawling after the palace cats, laughter echoing softly in the halls, but those joyful sounds seemed distant, muffled by the duties that consumed him.

But on this day, a flicker of fortune shone upon him; he had managed to complete his duties earlier than usual. Typically, he toiled long into the night, only to return to the warmth of their chambers when all were asleep. Though it was after supper, a glimmer of hope sparked within him that perhaps he could still find them, to grasp those precious moments he had so dearly missed.

Through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, the young Prince Aeron and Princess Jaehaera raced, their laughter echoing against the cold stone walls as they hurried toward the music lesson that awaited them. The air was filled with the thrill of their spirited competition, each eager to claim the title of first to arrive.

As they rounded a corner, Jaehaera noticed Aeron pulling ahead, determination etched across his small face. In a quick, daring move, she reached out and tugged at his tunic, managing to pull him back just enough to dart ahead. “Me first!” she shouted, her voice ringing with triumph.

Not to be outdone, Aeron swiftly grabbed hold of her arm, attempting to halt her advance. “And why should you be first?” he challenged.

Jaehaera strained against his grip, lifting her chin defiantly as she met his gaze. “Because I am the future queen, that’s why!” she declared, her voice bold and unwavering.

With that, she broke free, dashing down the corridor, but Aeron was quick on her heels, bumping her to the side in a playful shove that almost sent her sprawling against the wall. “You’re not a queen! You’re nothing but my cousin!” he yelled.

Jaehaera shot him a fierce glare, her brows knitting together. “I’ll show you if I’m a queen or not,” she murmured under her breath, determination simmering in her tone as they neared the door to the music room.

In a last-ditch effort to claim victory, Jaehaera pushed Aeron aside just as they reached the threshold. He stumbled slightly but quickly regained his footing, throwing a frown her way. “Fight fair, Jae!”

Without missing a beat, she rolled her eyes and slipped into the room, only to be met with an unexpected shove from Aeron as he followed closely behind. He hadn’t meant to, but the force sent Jaehaera tumbling to the ground with a hard thud that echoed in the hall.

She shot him a fierce glare, her lips forming a pout as she rubbed her side. “Now that hurt!” she exclaimed, the hint of a whine creeping into her voice.

“Aunty! Aunty!” she called out, her tone shifting to one of urgency.

Moments later, you entered the room, carrying Daenys on your hip. A mixture of sternness and affection danced on your face as you regarded the two children. “Jaehaera, my darling, Jaehaera,” you said, your voice firm but softening with a smile. “You must stop that; it is really not ladylike.”

Your gaze shifted to Aeron, your tone turning slightly admonishing. “And you, Aeron, such behavior is most unbecoming of a lovely gentleman.”

Aeron’s cheeks flushed, and he scowled at Jaehaera, ready to defend himself. “Well, she started it,” he retorted, crossing his arms defiantly.

Jaehaera, unfazed, lifted her chin in a gesture of regal disdain, pointedly turning her gaze away from him. “Queens do not start fights,” she declared, her voice dripping with authority. Then, with a scrunch of her nose, she added, “But they can finish them.”

Aeron rolled his eyes dramatically at Jaehaera, sticking out his tongue in mockery, but the jest was short-lived as he heard his mother’s voice call out from across the room. “Now, Aeron, don’t be rude,” you scolded, your tone firm but laced with affection.

He turned to you, flashing an innocent smile, his eyes wide with feigned innocence. “We were just practicing fighting and pushing,” he replied, his words punctuated by an exaggerated shrug that only added to the mischief of the moment.

You felt a jolt of discomfort at his words, a wave of haunting memories crashing over you. The echoes of past conflicts flickered in your mind—battles fought and lives lost, the heavy price of such lessons. “Targaryens do not practice fighting and pushing and things like that,” you replied, your voice low, the irony of your own words hanging heavily in the air. “It is just horrible.”

With a determined effort, you sought to redirect the conversation and lighten the mood. “Now,” you began, your expression softening as you turned your gaze to Daenys, nestled in your arms, her tiny form clearly on the brink of sleep.

You smiled adoringly at her, a sense of calm washing over you as you looked back at Jaehaera and Aeron. “Why don’t you two head over to the piano, and let’s begin our lesson?”

“Yes, Aunty!” Jaehaera chirped, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as she practically danced toward the instrument, subtly shouldering Aeron aside.

Aeron glared at Jaehaera, his indignation flaring up momentarily, but he quickly turned to you with a soft nod. “Yes, Mama,” he replied.

“It’s time to practice your scales and your arpeggios,” you encouraged, as you moved toward the piano. You settled onto the chaise beside it, Daenys resting her head comfortably against your shoulder, her eyes half-closed as she watched her brother and cousin with a sleepy fascination.

Jaehaera stood poised beside the grand piano, her back straight and shoulders squared, a picture of determination. She cleared her throat, the sound echoing softly in the air, and waited expectantly for Aeron to begin.

However, she cast him a pointed glare as he took his sweet time, leisurely warming up his hands as if the lesson were no pressing matter.

Finally, after an impatient moment, Jaehaera announced, “I’m ready, Maestro,” her voice ringing with a blend of authority and hautiness.

Aeron shot her a sideways glance, his mischievous grin returning as he subtly shifted his foot and stomped down hard onto Jaehaera’s, eliciting a sharp squeak from her.

“Aunty, he did it again!” she exclaimed, turning her wide eyes toward you, indignation clear in her voice.

Aeron, unfazed, looked away, propping his chin on his hand with an exaggerated air of nonchalance. “Tattletale,” he whispered in response.

You carefully rubbed Daenys' back, the gentle motion soothing your daughter. Your patience was unwavering, as you said, “Now, Aeron, please, darling, settle down and play me your pretty little song.” Your voice was calm, and your tone both firm and nurturing.

With a resigned sigh, Aeron nodded, his playful demeanor shifting as he positioned himself at the piano. “Yes, Mama,” he murmured, fingers poised above the keys. As he began to play, the room filled with the soft, melodic strains of his music.

Aemond was at a loss, frustration tightening his chest as he searched the sprawling halls of the Red Keep for you. He had scoured your shared chambers, his personal solar, and the children’s bedrooms, but you were nowhere to be found.

The sinking feeling in his gut only grew as he realized he needed assistance, and at last, he sought out one of the guards stationed nearby.

The guard cleared his throat and straightened slightly, sensing the prince’s impatience. “At Her Grace's music lessons, sire,” he replied, his tone respectful.

“Music lessons?” Aemond murmured to himself, brow furrowing in confusion. He had not realized such an event was taking place, nor had he been informed of it.

Without another moment's hesitation, he rushed in the direction indicated, making his way down a seldom-used wing of the castle, its walls lined with faded tapestries and the whispers of history.

As he drew closer, he heard the unmistakable sound of a piano, its notes cascading through the air like a gentle stream, drawing him forward.

Coming closer to the door, he opened it quietly before he peeked his head inside, his heart melting at the sight as he heard Jaehaera's voice.

"Do mi sol do do sol mi do," the girl of six summers sang, her voice young and somewhat pitchy as she sang confidently, "Every truly cultured music student knows. You must learn your scales and your arpeggios Finger music ringing from your chest And not your nose. While you sing your scales and your arpeggios"

Aemond stood just beyond the doorway, a swell of pride filling his chest as he watched his five-year-old son, Aeron, seated at the piano. The boy’s fingers danced across the keys with a mixture of enthusiasm and concentration, his small face lit with determination.

To Aemond’s surprise, Aeron broke into song as well, his voice sweet yet tinged with the tremor of youth. “If you’re faithful to your daily practicing, you will find your progress is encouraging,” he sang, each note imbued with his budding confidence.

Beside him, Jaehaera stood, arms crossed and a hint of exasperation in her eyes as she rolled them subtly at Aeron’s exuberance. Aeron continued, his voice growing bolder yet still wavering, “Do mi sol me do, mi sol me fa la sol, it goes. When you do your scales and your arpeggios.”

Jaehaera lifted her voice to sing her part again, “Do mi so do,” but she was abruptly cut off by Aeron, who had become overly enthusiastic at the piano, his fingers now racing across the keys with fervor.

“Do mi sol do, do sol mi do,” you chimed in, your voice ethereal and melodic, casting a gentle spell over the room. Aemond found his gaze drawn to you, the light catching your features as you sang alongside the children.

Jaehaera quickly fell in with you, her voice harmonizing beautifully, “Do mi sol do, do sol mi do. Though at first it seems as though it doesn’t show, like a tree, ability will bloom and grow.”

In your arms, Daenys, who had previously been drifting off to sleep, now sat wide awake, her bright eyes filled with wonder as she attempted to mimic the words you and Jaehaera sang. Her babbling intermingled with the melody.

The three of you continued in unison, your voices intertwining, “If you’re smart, you’ll learn by heart what every artist knows. You must sing your scales.....and your arpeggios.”

Aemond leaned against the doorframe, a small smile gracing his lips as he took in the delightful scene unfolding before him. The flickering light of the candles cast a warm glow across the room, illuminating the joy radiating from his children.

Aeron beamed at you, his face aglow with pride as the final notes of the song faded into the air. “How was that, Mama?” he asked, his bright eyes shining with eager anticipation.

You turned to him, your heart swelling with affection. “Absolutely wonderful, my love,” you replied, your voice laced with warmth and encouragement. Just as you opened your mouth to add more praise, a small, excited voice broke through the moment.

“Kēpa! Kēpa!” Daenys cried out, her tiny hands clapping together in delight, her wide lilac eyes fixed on the door where Aemond stood.

All three of you turned your attention toward the threshold, and Aemond couldn’t help but feel a slight flush of warmth at the sight of his little girl’s enthusiasm. He stood there, somewhat awkwardly.

“Do you wish to join us, my king?” you teased gently, a playful amusement dancing in your tone as you gestured for him to enter.

Aemond gave you a small smile before striding into the room, the familiar weight of his crown momentarily forgotten in the presence of his family.

Daenys, her cherubic face lighting up with excitement, eagerly raised her arms toward him, and he scooped her up effortlessly from your embrace, her giggles filling the air. “I was not aware there were music lessons in the first place,” he remarked, an amused glimmer in his eye.

“Merely for the children’s entertainment, I assure you,” you replied softly, your heart warmed by the sight of your husband.

Aemond shot you a skeptical glance, an eyebrow arching slightly as he nodded. “Oh, I am sure,” he replied, a hint of teasing lacing his tone.

“Father, did you see how I played?” Aeron asked eagerly, his small hands still resting on the piano keys, a bright grin spreading across his face.

“Yes, I did,” Aemond said, his expression softening as he smiled down at his son. “Much better than any bard I’ve heard.” The pride in his voice was unmistakable, and Aeron beamed at the praise.

“And did you see how I sang, uncle?” Jaehaera chimed in, her voice a melodic chime that danced through the air like the notes of the piano.

“Yes, of course,” Aemond replied, nodding with genuine admiration. “One day, you might even come to rival the Queen’s voice.” The compliment brought a bright flush to Jaehaera's cheeks, her eyes sparkling with delight.

“She’ll be even better than me,” you murmured, a soft smile gracing your lips as you watched the exchange unfold.

As the children chattered excitedly, desperate for their King's attention, your gaze drifted to the doorway, where you spotted your maid, Emery, standing patiently, signaling that it was time for bed.

You cleared your throat gently, drawing the children's attention back to you. “Children, it’s time to go to bed,” you announced softly, your voice laced with warmth yet firm.

Aeron turned to you, his wide eyes shimmering with innocence as he clasped his hands together in a pleading gesture. “Do we have to, Mama? Father just got here,” he implored, his lower lip jutting out in a way that made your heart ache.

You sighed, feeling your resolve weaken under the weight of his pleas. However, Aemond came to your rescue, his hand affectionately ruffling Aeron’s fluffy silver hair. “And I’ll come say goodnight once you are in bed, little king,” he promised, his voice soothing and reassuring.

You tilted your head toward the door, giving a gentle nudge. “Emery is waiting for you,” you murmured, the soft authority in your tone guiding them toward the inevitable.

Disappointment flickered in both Jaehaera’s and Aeron’s eyes, yet they nodded reluctantly. Jaehaera approached your side and planted a tender kiss on your cheek, her small frame radiating warmth as she bid you goodnight.

Following her lead, Aeron hurried to do the same, his kiss lingering a moment longer before he bent down to press his lips against your swelling stomach, his sweet gesture eliciting a smile from you.

Aemond, observing the tender moment, passed baby Daenys into your arms. She giggled excitedly, her laughter a delightful sound as you smothered her with kisses, before you handed Daenys to Emery, who was prepared to lead the children out.

As the soft patter of little feet faded down the corridor, the lively laughter and chatter of the children ebbed away, leaving you and Aemond cocooned in the warm embrace of the cozy chamber.

A serene silence enveloped the two of you, a precious moment amidst the storm of duties and the remnants of grief that lingered in the air.

“Hello, husband,” you greeted softly, your voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to shatter the comfortable stillness that settled between you.

“Hello, wife,” Aemond murmured in return, his tone low and warm as he lowered himself onto the piano bench beside you.

With a gentle grace, he let his hand drift over the piano keys, pausing just short of touching them. It was a silent acknowledgment of his lack of skill, yet he seemed fascinated by the instrument nonetheless.

You watched him, the lines of his face illuminated by the soft glow of the chamber, and felt a pang of affection.

“I apologize for not informing you about the lessons,” you said, your voice steady yet filled with sincerity.

“Tis alright,” he replied, though his gaze remained fixed away from you, a flicker of concern shadowing his features. “When did it begin?”

“The day of your mother’s funeral,” you replied gently, choosing your words with care. “Your duties had taken you away, and Aeron and Jaehaera were feeling very down. I thought music might lift their spirits, and it has. Jaehaera even asked me to teach her to sing and play.”

At the mention of that day, Aemond’s expression shifted. Guilt washed over him, and memories flooded back—his mother’s service at the Sept, the heavy atmosphere of sorrow, and how he had been swept away in the currents of his responsibilities, never given a moment to truly mourn.

He nodded thoughtfully, his voice barely above a whisper. “Aeron seems particularly skilled.”

“He is a very intelligent little boy,” you agreed, your eyes not leaving his as he continued to stare at the piano, lost in thought. “He has an eagerness to learn that reminds me of you.”

Aemond chuckled softly, the sound breaking through the solemnity that hung in the air. “I fear he has far more talent than I ever did,” he said, a hint of pride seeping into his words. “But I’m glad to see them find joy in something so beautiful.”

“Music has a way of healing,” you remarked, a wistful smile playing on your lips. “Especially in times like these.”

He turned to face you fully, his piercing violet eye searching yours. “And what of you? How do you fare amidst the shadows of loss?”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his concern. “I carry the grief, as we all do. But I find solace in our children. Their laughter reminds me of the light we can still find in our lives.”

Aemond’s gaze softened, and he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing over yours with an intimacy that sent warmth coursing through you. “You are stronger than I,” he said earnestly. “I often wonder how you manage to bear the burdens we both carry.”

With a gentle squeeze of his hand, you replied, “We bear them together, my king. That is what family is for.”

Aemond's brow furrowed slightly, and he murmured, “Aeron... he shall be a better king than I.” His voice held a weight of expectation and uncertainty, a reflection of his own doubts.

You turned your gaze toward him, a hint of sadness flickering in your eyes as you stood and swiftly settled beside him on the bench.

Reaching out, you cupped his face in your hands, grounding him with your touch. “Only because he shall learn from your mistakes. Every king should be better than the former.”

Aemond stared into your eyes, his heart swelling with gratitude. In truth, he had often wondered what he had done to deserve your steadfast presence. Memories washed over him—of the day he first met you when he was merely fourteen, a boy angry and hateful at the world.

He leaned his forehead against yours, finding solace in your warmth. “You are very wise, my queen. You never lead me astray.”

“Destiny has its designs,” you replied softly, a small smile gracing your lips. “And I am merely fulfilling mine. To guide you, to stand by your side.”

He chuckled lightly, the sound a blend of affection and admiration. “Even when I do not deserve it?”

“Especially then,” you countered, your tone playful yet sincere. “Every king needs a queen to keep him grounded, to remind him of what truly matters.”

Aemond took a deep breath, the weight of the realm and his responsibilities momentarily lifted. “And what is that, my love?”

You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It is love, loyalty, and the hope for a better tomorrow. The kind of future we want for our children.”

Aemond leaned back, a rare lightness settling in his chest for the first time in what felt like an age. He placed his hand over your round belly, feeling the warmth radiate from within. You tilted your head, an amused smile blossoming on your lips as you caught his gaze.

“Aeron has taken to kissing my stomach,” you said, your tone playful. “He believes that if he shows enough affection, it might persuade my body to grant him a brother. He claims it would make his chances of having a fair fight against the girls much better.”

Aemond chuckled, shaking his head in bemusement. Then, nodding toward the piano, he added, “Teach me. I may never reach the heights of Aeron’s talent, but perhaps I could aspire to match little Daenys’ skill.”

Your laughter chimed like music in the air, a sound that warmed his spirit. Aemond grinned at the absurdity of comparing his potential to that of his infant daughter. “Very well,” you said, your eyes sparkling with delight. “First, let us see what you can do.”

You guided him closer to the piano, instructing him to place his large, slender hands over yours on the keys. “Feel the movement,” you encouraged, your voice soft and patient. “It’s not merely about the notes; it’s about the rhythm and the heart behind them.”

Unbeknownst to you and Aemond, enveloped in your own intimate world, three pairs of curious eyes peered in from the slightly ajar door of the chamber. Jaehaera, Aeron, and little Daenys had quietly slipped away from their caretakers.

Jaehaera, though only six years of age, sighed wistfully as she watched her uncle and aunt. “How romantic,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with a sense of longing.

She cradled baby Daenys in her arms, the infant unusually calm, her wide eyes reflecting the gentle glow of the room as she took in the scene of her mother and father together.

Aeron, standing beside Jaehaera, observed his parents intently, a thoughtful frown furrowing his brow. “Do you think our marriage will be like that?” he asked, glancing over at Jaehaera to gauge her reaction.

Jaehaera turned to him, her gaze sharp and serious, her little brows furrowing in determination. “It has to, Aeron. It has to.”

“Do you think we’ll be that happy?” he pressed, his youthful innocence shining through, even as the shadows of doubt crept into his mind.

She nodded vigorously, her long silver hair bouncing with the motion. “Of course! The king and queen love each other. If we love each other like they do, it will be just as wonderful.”

Aeron pondered her words, his gaze drifting back to the sight of you and Aemond, lost in your shared moment. “And what if…” he hesitated, searching for the right words. “What if things become difficult, like they do in the stories?”

Jaehaera frowned slightly, her youthful optimism momentarily faltering. “Then we fight for each other, just like they do,” she declared with conviction.

Aeron nodded, a small smile creeping onto his face. “I like that idea,” he said softly, his gaze drifting back to the happy scene of his mother and his father.

“We’ll make it the best story ever.”

[Jaehaera, Aeron, Daenys]

headcannonsss:

— aemond and reader end up having six children in total: aeron (18), daenys (15), mikael (13), jaemes (10), elaena (7) and aelora (4) + jaehaera (19)

— aeron and jaehaera marry

— daenys falls in love with aegon (rhaenyra's son)

— mikael comes out as gay

— jaemes and elaena marry

— aelora refuses to marry and part with her mother (sophie/donna relationship)

HOPE YOU ENJOYED!

[mya-valentine]

Can I request a fic for Kinich x fem reader please? during the archons quest IV (spoiler‼️ for people who didnt do the archons quest) reader almost died in one of the bases but traveler and Paimon (doesn't matter who tbh I love the twins) was able to save them just in time and Kinich hugged her not letting her go until he knew she was real and safe in his arms

Not a huge fan of angst but I'm okay with angst with comfort (happy ending)

From the Edge of Darkness

The Abyss Order had been relentless in its attack on Natlan, leaving a trail of devastation in its wake. With the nation in ruins, every base became a battlefield, and the resistance fighters were pushed to their breaking point. The Traveler and Paimon, desperate to help in whatever way they could, had been moving from one war-torn base to another, always hoping to arrive in time to save someone—anyone—from the onslaught.

This upcoming base felt different, though. As they neared the next base, an eerie silence filled the air. No sounds of clashing weapons, no cries for help. Just silence.

Paimon’s voice quivered as she spoke, “Traveler… something feels wrong about this place.” The suffocating tension in the air made it hard to breathe.

When they finally reached the base, the scene that greeted them was nothing short of horrifying. Destruction had torn through the camp like a hurricane. Blood stained the ground, mingling with the ashes of burned tents and scattered debris. Bodies lay strewn across the battlefield, broken and still. Each life extinguished in a brutal fight to protect their homeland.

The Traveler moved quickly, scanning the area, their heart sinking with each step. Please, let there be someone left alive. They silently begged the universe, their steps quickening with each heartbeat.

And then they saw you.

Amidst the carnage, there you were—barely alive. Your body was crumpled against the remains of a wall, blood trickling from a wound on your side. Your skin was pale, your breath shallow. You were hanging on, but only just.

“There!” the Traveler gasped, rushing toward you. They dropped to their knees by your side, frantically checking your pulse, their hand trembling as they felt the faint, uneven beat beneath your skin. “She’s alive, but not for long!”

Paimon’s eyes widened in horror. “We need to get her out of here! Now!”

The Traveler didn’t hesitate. With great care, they lifted your fragile, unconscious body into their arms. They could feel how weak you were, how close you were to slipping away. Every second counted. “We’re taking her to the stadium!” the Traveler barked. “That’s where the medics are.”

Paimon nodded furiously, her tiny body flying ahead, guiding the way. “Hurry! We don’t have much time!”

The journey back to the stadium felt excruciatingly long, each second a battle against time. But the thought of losing you—of arriving too late—drove them forward.

The stadium came into view, its towering walls offering a brief sense of relief. Inside, it was the last haven for those who had survived the Abyss Order’s attacks. It was bustling with medics, warriors, and refugees, each one desperate to protect what little was left of their world.

The Traveler barely made it through the gates before shouting for help. “Medic! We need a medic!”

The closest group of medics rushed over, their eyes widening when they saw your condition. Without wasting a moment, they took you from the Traveler’s arms and laid you on a stretcher.

The Traveler stood back, their chest heaving with exertion, watching helplessly as the medics tried to save you. Paimon hovered close by, her hands clenched tightly in front of her. “Traveler… do you think she’s going to make it?”

The Traveler swallowed hard, unable to answer. “I don’t know, Paimon… I don’t know.”

---

Not long after, the stadium doors burst open, and Kinich, the man you loved, stormed in. His usually calm and stoic demeanor had crumbled, replaced by pure, unfiltered panic. His eyes scanned the crowd, searching desperately for you, the woman who meant more to him than anything in the world.

When he finally spotted the Traveler, his heart lurched. He saw the exhaustion in their eyes, the grim set of their jaw. He knew something was wrong. “Where is she?” he demanded, his voice shaking.

The Traveler’s expression softened with sorrow as they pointed toward the medic tent. “She’s there. It’s… not good, Kinich. I’m sorry.”

Kinich’s breath caught in his throat as he turned toward the tent. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat filled with dread as he rushed toward you. When he reached your side, his worst fears were confirmed. You were pale and still, your chest barely rising with each shallow breath. Bandages covered the wound on your side, but you looked so fragile, so close to death.

“No…” The word came out as a broken whisper. He fell to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as they reached for yours. He grasped your hand in his, holding it tightly, as though if he just held on hard enough, he could pull you back from the brink.

Tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision as he bowed his head over your hand. “Please,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “Please don’t leave me. I can’t—I can’t lose you.”

His body shook with the force of his grief, the tears falling freely now as he pressed your hand to his lips, praying for some miracle, some sign that you would wake up and tell him everything would be okay.

Hours passed, but Kinich never left your side. He couldn’t. The world outside the stadium continued to burn, but nothing mattered to him except you. He sat by your side, holding your hand, watching for any sign that you would wake. Every breath you took felt like a lifeline, fragile but present.

The medics came and went, their magic stabilizing your condition, but Kinich’s heart remained heavy with fear. He whispered to you the whole time, his words soft and broken. “I love you… please come back to me…”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you stirred.

Your eyes fluttered open, and the first thing you saw was Kinich’s tear-streaked face hovering above you, his hand tightly gripping yours. You blinked slowly, your body heavy with pain and exhaustion, but you were alive. You were still here.

“Kinich…” Your voice was a soft, rasping whisper, but it was enough to break through the haze of Kinich’s grief.

His eyes widened, a sob of relief escaping him as he surged forward, pulling you into his arms. His grip was tight, almost desperate, as though he feared that if he let go, you would disappear again. His body trembled with emotion as he held you, his face buried in your hair.

“You’re awake,” he breathed, his voice shaking with disbelief. “You’re really awake…”

You nodded weakly, your arms coming up to wrap around him, though the movement was slow and painful. “I’m okay,” you murmured, your voice soft but reassuring. “I’m going to be okay.”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze filled with love and relief. “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You smiled, though it was weak and tired. “I’ll try not to.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Kinich simply held you, his heart finally beginning to calm as he felt the steady rise and fall of your chest against his. You were safe. You were alive.

And as long as you had each other, nothing else mattered.

“I love you,” he whispered again, his voice softer this time, but no less sincere.

“I love you too,” you replied, your words filled with warmth and gratitude.

The world outside was still in chaos, but in this moment, as you lay in Kinich’s arms, you knew that everything would be okay. You had survived, and you had each other. And that was enough.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[blaire-apricity]

Hi! I just read your story Grief, on how the LnDs guys would react to us disappearing from their lives. It was so good, I was just wondering if you’d be willing to make a second part to it. Like how the boys would react to finding us, or something?

Found

ʟᴀᴅs ʙᴏʏs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᯓ❅ ┆ synopsis┆ : How does the LADS boys react if they found you?

ᯓ❅ ┆ tags┆ : prompt, soft, fluff, comfort & possible OOC

──────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫

You were more than just his Queen—you were his beacon, his anchor in a world that had nearly torn him apart. The moment he saw you again, the overwhelming relief nearly brought him to his knees. He had lost you once, a wound he carried with him every day, and he couldn’t bear the thought of facing that agony again. Exhaustion, both physical and emotional, seeped into him after searching for you for so long. All of his strength seemed to drain away, but not before he pulled you close, wrapping you in a fierce embrace, his knees hitting the ground as you struggled to hold up the weight of your bodies. He pressed his face into your hair, breathing you in, your scent embedding itself in his memory. He held you like you were the only thing tethering him to this world, refusing to let go, afraid that if he did, you would vanish again.

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

You had never seen Zayne like this before, his icy, composed demeanor crumbling right before your eyes. His lips trembled; his brows furrowed in uncharacteristic vulnerability when he finally saw you. You barely had the chance to explain before he pulled you into his arms, holding you with a desperation you had never felt from him. His chest heaved against yours, each breath heavy and ragged as if he were on the verge of breaking down. The walls he had carefully built to shield himself from the world, from his pain, had melted away. His apology was barely a whisper, raw and aching, full of guilt for not being there, for failing to protect you. He had carried the weight of your disappearance alone, hiding his grief behind a mask of stoicism, but now that you were back, he didn’t need to pretend anymore. With you, he could let his guard down, the burden finally lifted.

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥

At first, he thought he was hallucinating—he had been haunted by your memory for so long that seeing you now felt like another cruel trick. Your disappearance had shattered him, leaving his heart fractured, half of it missing wherever you had gone. But when you softly whispered his name, that familiar voice pulling him out of the darkness, he didn’t care about anything else. He collapsed against you, his arms locking around your waist, pressing his face into your chest as if trying to merge with you, to make sure you were real. Even if this was just another illusion, he wouldn’t care—he would gladly live in this dream if it meant keeping you close. When you wrapped your arms around him in return, his whole body seemed to melt. You could feel the wetness soaking into your shirt, and though he made no sound, you knew he was crying. You were his lifeline, the only thing that had kept him going, and now that you were back, he wasn’t sure if he could ever let go.

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬

The fire of rage that had consumed Sylus, that made him lash out at everything and everyone around him, flickered and died the moment he saw you. You were the calm to his storm, the one force that could soothe the fury burning inside him. The rage that could’ve razed the world to ashes was extinguished in an instant. He didn’t care if his subordinates saw him like this—his vulnerability exposed for all to witness. All that mattered was you, here, in his arms again. His embrace was fierce, almost desperate, like he was afraid that if he let go, the storm would rage once more. Now that you were back, there was no way he’d let you out of his sight again. His protectiveness might even turn into possessiveness, and he wouldn’t mind one bit, as long as it meant keeping you safe from harm. You were the only thing grounding him, the only thing that mattered, and he would fight the entire world to protect you.

──────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

╰｡ Author's Note: Preliminaries has finished last week, I'm quite free this week so I decided ahead and made another one of the requested fictions. Technically you don't need to read Grief to have a grasp in this one but nevertheless, thank you for requesting it! I hope you enjoy it as well~

[nastybuckybarnes]

Street Mouse

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

Summary:

Warnings: Language, Violence, Minor Angst, Hinted attempted assault, fluff, military inaccuracies (teehee)

Word Count: 2.3K

A/n: i've got a whole bunch written for this pairing, and i might make some hc explanations. I've never played COD, sue me. I hope y'all enjoy and I'm gonna probably keep pumping out more parts of this cause i love love love it.

~*~

The distant sound of gunshots is akin to a lullaby now.

You're curled up in a rundown building, a tattered blanket draped over your legs as you try to get some rest.

The sound of more gunshots, these ones much closer, jolt you upright.

Risking a glance out the broken window, you peer down at the street below you, eyes widening as you see two men fighting intensely.

Your heart jumps into your throat at the display, and you can't tear your eyes away.

Eventually, the larger of the two plunges a knife into the smaller man, watching as his body crumples to the ground in a heap.

A shiver races down Simon's back, and he straightens, eyes carefully scanning the area for danger.

He turns around, glancing into each window before finally resting on the eyes he could feel piercing through his gear. His hand twitches toward one of the many weapons strapped to his body, but something about the wild curiosity in her eyes has him pausing.

You hold his gaze, unblinking and absolutely entranced.

He's a huge man, with a skull mask covering his face. Only his eyes are visible, and they all but gaze through your soul. He holds the staring contest, turning to face you fully until there's a soft grunt from behind him.

He glances over his shoulder as his comrade comes into view, and when he glances back at the building, you're gone.

He turns back to Soap slowly, risking one more glance over his shoulder, but it's as if you were never there in the first place.

"What is it? Ya see somethin', Lt?"

Ghost says nothing, only starts heading back the way he came, pausing to rid the corpse on the street of the weapons he was carrying.

You slowly peek out the window again, watching as the two disappear into the darkness of the night.

For weeks, maybe months, the country you now call home has been war-torn.

Schools have long since shut down, and the majority of the population has fled to find refuge elsewhere.

Which makes it a perfect place to hide.

And even though you know you should be keeping a low profile, you can't help but be intrigued by the skull-faced man.

And so you begin to follow him.

The streets are familiar now, as are the schedules of the soldiers and the hostiles.

Which is how you find yourself here.

You're not dumb enough to follow him onto the base or anywhere near it, but in the city when he's on patrol, those hours are all yours to observe.

Your curiosity does have you venturing farther outside of your comfort zone than you normally would, but it pays off every time your eyes meet.

And he's not oblivious to the new eyes that seem to be following him whenever he's in the city. Sure, he's gotten used to the locals staring whenever any of them walk through the streets, but these eyes aren't afraid or hostile. No, these ones are curious. Excited.

The next time he feels the gaze on him, he's outside at just past one in the morning, puffing on a cigarette in one of the few safer areas of the city. Goosebumps rise on his skin and he flicks the end of his cigarette, watching as the ash floats to the ground.

"As much as you try, you're not going to sneak up on me," He says softly, flicking his cigarette onto the ground and crushing it with the steel toe of his boot.

You say nothing, only watch curiously from the second floor of the house he's leaning against.

He turns around, backing up a few paces as his eyes dart from window to window, searching for your face until finally, they land on you.

"Show yourself."

You cock your head to the side, eyes shining in the moonlight.

"Come on, I won't hurt you, but I won't ask again," he warns.

A little grin pulls at your lips and you lean forward in the moonlight, not enough to fully show yourself, but enough for him to see the outline of your face.

You shake your head at him and bring your hand up to the side of your head. With your pointer and middle finger extended, you curl your ring and pinky finger in, pointing the faux gun at your head.

'Bang,' you mouth, knocking your head to the side dramatically.

Ghost lets out a breathy chuckle at your theatrics, his hands resting on his tactical belt.

"Why have you been following me?" He finally asks.

He's not one to second guess himself, not after all he's seen, all that he's endured. But he has to give you credit - you made him question his sanity for a day or two there.

Knowing that you're real, that someone has, in fact, been following him, puts his mind at ease.

You give him a soft smile then lean forward and press your lips to the glass.

He stares at the kiss mark left on the window, traces the soft pink mark with his eyes and then looks back up to where your eyes were, only to find that you've disappeared once again.

Simon Riley is a man who prides himself on his attention to detail, his situational awareness. But he cannot, for the life of him, understand how you manage to disappear into thin air like that.

This starts happening more and more frequently. Little run-ins, kisses left on windows, your twinkling eyes in the pale moonlight.

It's gotten to the point where he volunteers to go out on patrol if only for the possibility of catching a glimpse of your pretty eyes hidden between shadows.

And soon enough, the drawings start to appear.

The first one is drawn on a window, and he doesn't even notice it. Soap is the one who points it out.

"Look, Lt, looks like you've got a fan," he says, pointing to the window across the ally.

He glances over, following Soap's finger, and his brows raise.

On the window, drawn in what looks like marker, is a skull that matches the hard-plated mask on his face.

He scoffs, but deep down, he knows exactly who put that there. His suspicions are confirmed when he catches a lightning-quick glimpse of your eyes peeking through the curtains.

He starts seeing them more often. It surprises him how you manage to get into some of the most dangerous parts of the city and leave nothing but a skull drawing behind.

What really gets him, however, is one particular day, when they're tasked with a particular assignment.

Hostage rescue.

But the exact location of the hostages is unknown.

That is, until he notices little skulls drawn on the windows of one building. More skulls than he's ever seen you draw before.

Trusting his gut, he nods toward the building, signalling for his team to follow him as he approaches.

Sure enough, the skulls lead them better than breadcrumbs exactly to the hostages, and the hostiles are taken out quickly.

"How did you know it was this one?" Gaz asks once the building is secure, leaning outside with his Lieutenant as he lights up a cigarette.

He takes a long drag from it the blows out a cloud of smoke, his eyes flickering around in search of his helper.

"A little mouse told me," is his reply.

Never one to question his Lt, Gaz only nods and heads back inside to meet up with Soap.

As he smokes, Ghost notices a small piece of paper fluttering in the wind, half hidden beneath a rock on the ground.

Crouching down, he picks it up and unfolds it, scoffing out a chuckle.

On it is none other than one of your signature skulls. His little Banksy.

With his cigarette tucked between his lips, he grabs a pen from his breast pocket and scribbles down a half-assed picture on the paper, then tucks it beneath the rock one more time.

Though he can't see you, he knows you're nearby. He can feel your ever-present gaze.

"Ghost! Let's go!" Price calls from inside.

Tossing his cigarette onto the ground, Ghost turns on his heel and heads back inside to meet up with his team.

His back is turned for what feels like only seconds, but when he glances over his shoulder to check on the paper it's already gone.

~*~

You don't see the man with the skull face for a while after that, but you keep his drawing on you at all times.

It serves as a pleasant little reminder that life isn't so bad. Not all the time.

Your thoughts are shattered when you bump into a hard chest, tumbling to the ground with a grunt.

The night may be dark, but the moon shines brightly enough above you to illuminate the back alley you were sneaking through.

"Well, well, boys. Look what we've got here," the man says, a sick grin on his face.

He wears a similar uniform that your skull-faced soldier does, but this man's eyes are sick and snake-like. They send a shudder racing down your spine as you scramble back, scraping your hands on the ground until your back hits a wall.

"It's a long time past curfew, sweet cheeks. What're you doing out so late?" The ringleader asks, stepping closer to tower over you while his comrades circle around you, leaving you with no escape.

One of them grabs your arms and yanks you to your feet in front of them, and your heart almost jumps out of your chest.

The leader drags a dirty finger down your cheek, his brows drawing together when you yank your head back.

"I asked you a question, bitch," he snarls, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to keep your head where he wants it.

You glare up at him, then spit directly in his face, watching with satisfaction as he flinches back.

He chuckles after a moment, squeezing your face harder and glancing at his friends.

"Looks like we've got a fighter. That's okay, we know what to do with those, don't we, boys?" He asks.

This elicits chuckles from the men around you, and you feel your stomach drop.

"Do we?"

The voice is like the crack of a whip in a still room, and the laughter stops immediately.

The men beside you straighten up, hands coming up in salute.

Like water dousing a flame, you feel some of your fear ease at the newcomer.

"Tell me, Corporal, just what might we do with those?" Ghost asks, stepping out of the shadows.

"Lieutenant! We were just... this street rat was out past curfew," the man holding your chin tries to reason, quickly dropping your face.

Ghost nods, looking between the men, his eyes scanning over their names before finally resting on your eyes.

"This is what you lot spend your nights doing? Terrorizing the locals? The people we're supposed to be helping?" He asks, stepping even closer.

The tension grows thick, and you watch as the man in front of you turns around to face his superior.

Ghost chuckles dryly, the sound lacking any humour.

"You know bloody well what we do to terrorists, Corporal," he whispers, his voice deadly, dangerous.

"Now, would you care to explain to me what exactly you were doing to this nice young lady?" He asks again.

You stare up at his icy blue eyes as he makes the man cower, absolutely bewildered and warm inside.

"She's out past curfew," the Corporal tries again, his voice whiny and afraid.

Ghost nods, "and if I remember correctly, we give the citizens a warning and escort them home, we don't corner them against a wall and try to have our way with them. Or did you miss that day of training?"

The soldier's mouth opens and closes several times, but Ghost stays stoically staring at him, gaze sharp enough to kill.

"I asked you a question, Corporal, and I expect an answer!" He snarls, stepping into the man's personal space.

"There's a place for scum like you, and it's not on my team. You're removed, go back to base." His eyes find the other men, "if I ever catch you lot in the city pulling a stunt like this again, I won't be so forgiving. Dismissed."

With that final word, the three men all but sprint away, leaving you alone with the man who's consumed your every thought for the past several weeks.

He watches the men leave, and you're tempted to make your escape.

As if reading your mind, his gaze snaps back to you and his head cocks to the side.

"Even you can't go everywhere unseen, can you, mouse?" He asks.

You blink up at him, your heart racing in your chest.

He watches you for a moment longer, his brows drawing together.

"You speak English?"

You blink up at him again and he sighs, "Christ."

Slowly, you reach into the pocket of your sweater and pull out a piece of paper, opening it up and showing it to him.

His lips twitch upward when he sees his scribbled mouse next to the skull you've drawn.

"Mouse," you whisper, touching the paper.

He nods, pointing to the little drawing.

"Mouse. S'what you are. Quick, hard to catch."

You cock your head to the side and he takes that moment to take you in.

Since that first day, he's imagined what you look like, what you really look like, and he has to admit, he's not disappointed.

You're pretty, lovely even. If circumstances were different... if he were to see you in a bar, he might buy you a drink, ask for your number.

But you're a local, a street mouse, and he's here on business.

He gently pushes the paper back into your grasp and takes a small step back.

"You keep yourself safe. Try to stay out of the streets after curfew." He turns his back to you and takes a step away, then pauses.

"Or at least don't get caught."

[betweenstorms]

Part Three of Where We Part (previous chapter) (next chapter) (masterlist) Childhood Friend!Simon x fem!Reader

At first, you could only blink, the cigarette dangling from your lips as his words settled over you like a slow, creeping dusk.

Simon Riley.

After all these years, standing in front of you, bigger, harder, and somehow even more distant than the boy you once thought you knew. It was like some cruel trick of fate, a cosmic joke that you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

You let out a surprised, awkward chuckle, but it caught somewhere between a giggle and a whimper. It sounded so awkward, so pitiful. Gosh, you acted ridiculous, like a bloody schoolgirl, but the alcohol had numbed the embarrassment.

You really wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Simon Riley, standing outside a pub in Manchester like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like his entire life hadn’t been torn apart. Like he hadn’t disappeared from your life without so much as a word all those years ago. The laugh died in your throat, because there was something about the way he carried himself that told you he wasn’t here for a casual pint with old friends. Simon would never be here for something so trivial, so simple.

“You’re…” you started, but the words got stuck in your throat.

You wanted to ask where he’d been, why he was here, why he looked so different yet so familiar at the same time. But nothing coherent came out, just a jumble of thoughts, words and emotions that refused to form into sentences.

The last time you’d seen him, he was just a skinny boy.

Now, he was all sharp edges and quiet intensity. He was hard. Rough. Weathered. His face, a canvas of scars and hardship, told you that the years hadn’t been kind to him, but God, they’d made him heartbreakingly handsome. His body, once lanky and hunched, was now huge and muscular, the kind of frame that spoke of power, discipline, and control. His scars, the faint lines etched around his eyes, the ruggedness of his face—they only added to the dark appeal that cloaked him like a shadow. And with those intense hazel eyes that seemed to hold a thousand secrets, he was the kind of man who turned heads, who commanded attention, and somehow, that was making your head spin more than the beer had.

You shook your head quickly, like a cat trying to shake off water, hoping to rid yourself of the thoughts creeping into your mind.

“S’been a while.”

He didn’t smile. He didn’t offer any pleasantries. It was as though the years that had passed between you were an afterthought, insignificant compared to the weight of the heavy silence that lingered in the air now. You tried to find your footing in the forming conversation, your mind still struggling to keep up with the reality of him standing there, right in front of you.

“I—sorry, I just... didn’t recognise you,” you stammered, your voice a bit too loud, too high-pitched in the quiet night. You took a nervous drag from your cigarette, stealing a glance at his face. “Bloody hell, seems like you only pop up when I’m tipsy.”

You attempted a joke, your voice trembling slightly. It was weak, you knew that, but it was the only thing you could manage in the sudden tension of the moment. You flicked the cigarette nervously, watching the ashes scatter to the ground. Anything to stop yourself from looking directly at Simon, anything to break the intensity that had settled between you.

“Not intentional,” he said simply.

“Gosh, you look so… different,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. It wasn’t a question, but a statement, an observation that felt far too obvious.

Simon tilted his head slightly, his sharp gaze flicking over you, sizing you up with that same old intensity that made you feel like he could see straight through you.

“You don’t,” he said flatly, his voice rough, like gravel underfoot.

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Liar.”

Simon’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile, more like a faint acknowledgment that he’d heard you. It was painfully obvious that he wasn’t going to indulge in any sort of nostalgia or humour. He was as closed off as ever. And yet, despite it all, despite the time and the layers of this strange silence between you, the weight of history between you was undeniable.

The warmth of the alcohol in your blood made it easier to stand there without fidgeting, but deep down, you were brimming with questions, confusion, a strange mix of anger and relief.

You couldn’t decide whether to yell at him for disappearing or thank him for being here.

Here with you.

“Where’ve you been?” you finally asked, trying to sound casual, though the question felt like it was hanging heavy between you both, too loaded with unspoken things.

Simon let out a soft huff as if the answer was far too complicated to explain in the back alley of a pub. He didn’t want to talk about it, that much was clear. You desperately wanted to keep him there, to say something, anything, that might ease this strange reunion.

“You just… vanished,” you pushed. “After everythin'.”

His hazel eyes flicked to yours, and for a second, there was something there—something raw and fragile beneath the stone mask he always wore. But it was gone in a heartbeat, replaced by that cold, guarded look you had always known him for, even as a kid.

“Had to,” he said, his voice dry as sand.

“That’s it? You just… had to?”

He glanced away, the flickering light from a distant streetlamp casting long shadows across his scarred face. “Does it matter?”

His words hit you like a punch in the gut.

Did it matter? Was he mad? Of course it mattered.

How could it not? You’d grown up together, after all. You’d shared so much, more than either of you ever said aloud. His family buried, his house empty, no one knew where he’d gone. You had carried that silent burden with you for years, the burden of not knowing, letting it weigh down on your heart like a lead weight. But maybe that was the root of the problem. Maybe you had been holding on to something he had long since let go of. Maybe you were clinging to the memory of a boy who didn’t exist anymore.

You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to press him further.

This wasn’t the time or the place to dig into the past. Maybe not ever. Simon wasn’t the type to dwell on old wounds, and you knew that no matter how much you wanted answers, they weren’t going to come easily. Instead, you took a long drag from your cigarette, letting the smoke fill your lungs and dull the ache in your chest, watching the pale plume rise and disappear into the cold night air.

“Suppose it doesn’t,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Simon didn’t respond. As usual.

You both just stood there, cigarettes burning down to their stubs, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that the silence between you wasn’t just awkward—it was something more. It was the echo of all the years that had slipped by without either of you being part of each other’s lives. Fifteen years. You were different people now, shaped by other worlds, and yet… here you were, standing in the same place, in the same city that had once been your entire universe.

Much to your surprise, Simon was the one to speak again.

“How’ve you been?” he asked, the question almost noncommittal, but there was an edge to it—like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer.

You hummed, looking down at the scuffed toe of your polished shoes, suddenly finding the concrete more interesting than his piercing gaze. A frown formed on your lips as you mulled over his question, not sure how to respond. There was something so absurd about it, but at the same time, something so normal about him asking how you’d been. Something that almost felt... wrong. As if you were supposed to have a neat little answer, a perfect summary of everything you’d done, achieved, or failed at since he’d vanished.

But you didn’t know what to say.

How could you compress the years, the loneliness, the small victories and large failures into one simple response? How could you even begin to explain everything you’d gone through, all while he was somewhere you couldn’t reach?

“Uhm, dunno,” you muttered, your voice full of bitterness you hadn’t meant to let slip. It sounded insignificant, just like how you felt in that moment—small compared to the towering presence of Simon Riley and whatever hell he’d walked through to get here. “What am I supposed to say to that?” You laughed, but it was hollow, like you were trying to convince yourself that you found it funny.

Simon crossed his arms over his broad chest, deep in thought.

His cig hung loosely between his fingers, the glowing tip flickering like a beacon in the dark. His brow furrowed as if he were calculating something important, something far beyond the alleyway of a dingy Manchester pub.

And then, out of the blue, he asked something ridiculous.

“You married? Got kids?”

For a moment, you thought you misheard him.

It was such a normal question, one you might expect from an old friend or a distant relative. But coming from Simon it was jarring. Almost laughable. It didn’t match his rugged, military exterior at all.

You snorted, caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

“Nah,” you said, shaking your head slightly. “Not even close. My fiancé cheated on me with my roommate from uni, if you can fuckin' believe that. But that was years ago now. I haven’t really had anythin' serious since then.” The chuckle that followed your statement was missing humour. You said it as casually as you could, but the old wound reopened just a little. 

Simon didn’t respond immediately.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t offer pity or sympathy, but you saw something flicker in his eyes—an acknowledgement, perhaps. Maybe even some empathy, though it was hard to tell with him. He was never one to show his emotions easily, not even when you were kids.

“Bastard,” he hummed after a beat, the word falling from his lips with the same cold weight that had always been in his tone.

It wasn’t much, but somehow, it felt perfectly enough. Like in that single word, he had offered all the understanding you needed.

“An understatement.”

He took another long drag, exhaling slowly, smoke curling up into the air and disappearing into the night. The question had seemed so out of place, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was his way of trying to understand what he’d missed—what had happened to you in all those fifteen years he was gone.

“What about you? Wife, kids?” you asked, your voice softer now.

Somehow, you were afraid of what his answer might be.

“No,” his voice was flat, almost mechanical.

There was no trace of emotion, no elaboration.

Just a simple, cold statement of fact.

His gaze flicked briefly to you before settling somewhere off in the distance, like he couldn’t quite bear to look at you for too long. Then, the quiet between you stretched on again, thick, unyielding and undeniably familiar. The sounds of the city filtered in, the distant hum of traffic, the occasional shout from the pub, but here, in this small bubble of time, it felt like the world had fallen away. Like it was just the two of you, suspended in the remnants of a shared past that neither of you knew how to navigate anymore.

“I thought about you,” you admitted quietly, surprising even yourself with the confession. “A lot, actually. I wondered where you were. If you were alright. If you were even alive.”

Simon shifted, his gaze fixed on the ground.

“Sorry.”

It was more than you’d expected from him. So you just nodded, unsure of what else to tell him. You stood there for a moment, your heart thudding in your chest at the weight of Simon's quiet apology. You weren’t sure what to say in return. It hung in the air between you, fragile and tentative, like a bridge over a chasm that neither of you were ready to cross. His eyes, once sharp and piercing, softened in the dim light, but he kept his gaze away from yours, as if looking directly at you would acknowledge the gravity of what you’d said. That you had thought about him. His broad shoulders shifted, his jacket rustling slightly, but he didn’t move away.

You felt a sudden tension in the pit of your stomach.

The kind that comes when you’ve said something too vulnerable, too real, something that can’t be taken back. Therefore, you took a deep breath and decided to shift the conversation, hoping to relieve some of the tension that had settled thickly between you both.

“So, you’re still in the military?”

You flicked the last of your cigarette to the ground and stamped it out with your shoe. He nodded, but didn’t elaborate, his face unreadable in the shadowy light of the pub’s back alley.

“On leave?” you hoped to get something, anything, from him.

“Yeah,” Simon replied curtly, his voice rough and clipped.

He ignored the question that still hung in the air: why here?

You licked your lips nervously, wondering if you should keep going or let the conversation fizzle out. But there was something in the air tonight, something that made you feel like you had to at least try. This wasn’t just some coincidence, was it? Seeing Simon again after all these years felt too significant to let it slip away without trying to make sense of it.

“Where do you live now?”

For a second, he hesitated, tapping his lips with his cigarette, clearly weighing whether or not to answer you. His gaze flickered to the side, his brow furrowed in thought, and then, finally, in a voice so low you almost missed it, he said, “Got a flat in London.”

London. The city you both now called home.

Your heart skipped a beat at the revelation. The vast city suddenly felt much smaller. He was so close, yet he’d been so far from your life for all these years.

“Well,” you scratched your neck, unsure how to approach the next part. “You could visit me sometime. You know, when you’re on leave. I’m not far, really. We could… catch up.”

It was a clumsy invitation, but it was genuine.

Despite the awkwardness between you, you wanted him to know that he wasn’t alone. That even after all this time, you were still here.

Simon didn’t react at first. He stood there, arms crossed, his still frame making it seem like he was wrestling with something deep inside. You weren’t sure if he’d refuse, brush off the offer like it meant nothing, but he didn’t. The silence stretched on, but then he shifted again, flicking the ash from his cigarette.

“Maybe,” he muttered, his tone giving nothing away.

It wasn’t a yes. But it wasn’t a no either. 

His next question, though, caught you off guard.

“How’s your parents?”

You hadn’t expected him to ask about your family. Your parents were never nice to him. But something in the way he asked, in the way his voice softened ever so slightly, as though asking about something more human softened the edges of his tough exterior, and that made you realise that maybe he hadn’t forgotten everything from your childhood. Maybe, just maybe, he still cared, in his own distant way.

You smiled faintly.

“They’re good, well, as good as can be, I suppose. They moved to London a few years back, actually. After my dad was diagnosed with cancer.”

The words felt heavy, even though you’d gotten used to saying them. It had been years since the diagnosis, but the weight of it never really faded. It was always there, lingering in the background, a reminder of time slipping away. His expression didn’t change much, but there was a shift in his posture—a slight drop of the shoulders, a softening of the jaw. It was subtle, but you saw it. He dropped his cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath the heel of his boot with a sharp scoff, a sound that was more resigned than dismissive.

You pushed yourself away from the wall, the sudden anxiety making your pulse quicken.

“Leavin’?” the question spilled out before you could stop it.

The fear of him slipping away again, without any warning, without a trace, gnawed at you.

You immediately felt heat creeping up your neck, embarrassment flashing across your face. Why did you care so much? Why did you sound so desperate? You pursed your lips, trying to gather the frayed edges of your dignity, feeling a bit foolish for asking.

Simon looked at you, raising an eyebrow as if you’d just asked something utterly daft. His expression didn’t change much, but there was a glimmer of something, amusement, perhaps, in his eyes. “No,” he muttered, resting his now free hands in his pockets. “Not yet.”

The relief you felt was almost palpable.

You bit your lip, feeling foolish for jumping to conclusions, for thinking he’d just disappear again without a word. You exhaled slowly, trying to calm your racing heart, grateful that he wasn’t about to walk away just yet. There was still time. Time to say whatever it was that needed saying, even if you didn’t quite know what that was yet. You watched him carefully, still half expecting him to turn and leave despite his assurance.

The years had taught you not to rely too much on anything.

The autumn wind picked up, sending a sudden chill through the alleyway, but neither of you moved. This whole charade, the whole small talk felt like a delicate dance—one wrong step and it could all come crashing down, leaving the silence too much to bear.

“Thought you’d be married by now,” Simon said, his gravelly voice cutting through the quiet.

You blinked, startled by the sudden statement.

Pouting a bit, you looked up at him, feigning offence. “Can’t tell if that’s an insult or a compliment, mate.”

He shrugged, tilting his head to the side, and for a moment, the faint shadow of a smirk played on his lips, barely noticeable. He looked at you, not just a glance, but a slow, measured observation, like he was trying to piece together who you had become after all these years.

You found yourself doing the same.

When you first saw him that night, standing in the dark, your reaction had been immediate. You were drawn to him. Not just because of the memories you shared or the ghost of the boy you once knew, but because of him, the man he had become. The raw, rugged power he exuded. It stirred something deep in you, something that made you feel small and breathless in his presence.

What did he see when he looked at you? Did he think you’d aged poorly? Did he think you looked tired, worn out by the years? Or did he see the remnants of the girl you used to be, the one who had laughed too loudly and dreamt too big?

“Why did you say that?”

“Figured you’d have that all sorted by now. You always talked about it.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown by his response.

Of course, he remembered. He always had a knack for remembering the things that mattered most to you, even when you hadn’t realised how much they mattered to yourself. You had talked about marriage that much, hadn’t you? About the picture perfect life you imagined for yourself. A house, a garden, a family—simple dreams that felt so far away now.

“Yeah, true. At one point, all I could dream about was that,” you confessed, your voice quiet, almost lost to the night. “Perfect house, perfect family... maybe a couple of dogs runnin’ around in my perfect bloody garden. I thought I had it all mapped out when I left, like… you know, everythin’ would just fall into place once I started my life in London.” You smiled faintly, but there was no happiness in it, only a soft, sad acceptance. “But it didn’t. None of it did.”

The confession felt surreal, especially with Simon standing there, his presence almost too big, too solid for such vulnerable words. But at the same time, there was something comforting about it, knowing that he wouldn’t judge. Simon had never been one for meaningless platitudes or false reassurances. If anything, his silence, his mere presence, felt like the only kind of understanding you needed.

You could feel his hazel eyes on you, heavy and contemplative, as though he was waiting for you to continue. And suddenly, you wanted to. The words spilled out, unfiltered, like they had been sitting on the tip of your tongue for far too long.

“Now? I dunno. Now I’m just happy if my parents are healthy. If I’m healthy. I’m not really thinkin’ about love anymore. Not like I used to, at least. When you’re young, you think you’ve got all the time in the world. You think everythin’s just gonna... work out. But then life happens. Things change. People leave.”

Simon's jaw tightened just a fraction, as if the truth of what you’d said had hit closer to home than he’d care to admit. You wondered if he thought about those years like the way you did—if he ever looked back and felt the same sense of loss that gnawed at you every time you remembered the way things used to be.

“You can still have that,” he muttered, his voice low, almost gruff. The words felt heavy, like they carried the weight of more than just an offhand comment. “If that's what you truly want.”

A sharp pang hit your chest, not from the words themselves but from the rawness of them. It was the sort of thing people say when they don’t know what else to offer—when they’re too afraid to dig deeper, but they can see the cracks in your carefully maintained façade.

You weren’t sure if he meant it to be comforting, but it didn’t land that way. Instead, it just scraped against the edges of something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

Without thinking, you reached into the pocket of your jacket and fished out your cigarettes, suddenly needing something to do with your hands, something to break the intensity of the moment. You tapped the pack against your palm before offering it to him. He looked at it, hesitating for a moment before shaking his head.

“Maybe once,” you mumbled, trying to play it off like the subject didn’t sting as much as it did. “But not really anymore. I’m too old for that shit. That ship’s sailed, Si.”

Simon reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. He flicked it on, the small flame illuminating his roughened features in the dim light as he leaned toward you. You cupped your hand around the flame, lighting your cigarette. He watched you closely as you took a drag, his eyes following the trail of smoke as it curled upwards into the cold night air.

“You’re not old,” the tone in his voice was oddly serious, almost reprimanding, as if he was annoyed at your self-deprecation.

You snorted, a dry laugh escaping your lips, smoke swirling around your face. “You should tell that to my back,” you joked, shaking your head. “Some mornings, I feel ancient.”

Simon didn’t pick up on your sarcasm. He fixed you with a look, his brow furrowed, as if he was thinking back to something. “Maybe you didn’t take my advice last time we talked.”

You stilled at his words, as his reference hit home.

You knew what he was talking about.

That summer night, fifteen years ago, when you’d left him standing under the rose bush in your parents’ garden. He’d told you to live your life, to move on. And you had, for the most part. But now, standing here with him again, you wondered if you had truly moved on, or if some part of you had been stuck in that moment ever since.

You felt a sudden ache, a strange emptiness you hadn’t realised was still there, like a flower wilting under the weight of its own bloom. You looked down at the ground, avoiding his gaze, feeling the years press down on you like the world had shifted beneath your feet.

You let out a shaky breath, suddenly feeling small in his presence. “Yeah, maybe I didn’t.”

You hadn’t taken his advice. You’d spent too long waiting, too long caught up in the idea of what could have been, of what should have been. And now, here you were, standing in the same city, still trying to figure out what your life was supposed to look like.

Simon pushed himself off the wall, straightening up, his large frame suddenly seeming even taller, more imposing. His movements were deliberate, but not rushed, as though he had made up his mind about something. Your cigarette hung loosely between your fingers, long forgotten, as you watched him, your heart sinking as you realised he was preparing to leave.

“Find the happiness you deserve.”

It wasn’t a command, but it wasn’t a casual suggestion either.

This time, you didn’t mock him. You didn’t roll your eyes or laugh it off, like you had fifteen years ago. Instead, you bit the inside of your cheek, lowering your gaze to the ground. You weren’t sure if you could say anything to that. What was there to say?

Before you could fully gather your thoughts, Simon stepped forward, and suddenly, he was standing much closer to you than before, so close you could feel the warmth radiating off his body.  Your heart skipped a beat, your breath hitching in your throat as you instinctively looked up at him. His presence was overwhelming and it made your pulse quicken in a way you hadn’t expected. The air seemed to freeze around you both, suspended in that moment.

He didn’t say anything, he just watched you, his hazel eyes studying your face like he was trying to commit it to memory. His gaze roamed over your features, and for the first time that night, you felt truly exposed under the weight of his attention.

Then, without warning, Simon’s hand came up, and his fingers gently grasped your chin. The touch was firm, but not harsh, guiding your face up toward him, tilting your head so that your eyes met his. You felt the cigarette slip from your fingers as you stared up at him, wide-eyed and breathless. Your mind raced, trying to make sense of the sudden closeness, the unexpected touch. What was he doing? What was he thinking? The warmth of his hand on your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

Simon’s gaze remained fixed on yours, his calloused fingers still holding your chin in place, as though he wanted to see you clearly, perhaps for the first time in years. You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe, afraid of breaking whatever fragile moment this was. The world around you faded into the background—the pub, the noise, the cold. None of it mattered. Only him, only this moment, suspended between the past and the present.

Then, just as quickly as it had started, it ended.

Simon released you, his hand falling back to his side, and he stepped away.

“I’ll visit,” he promised, his voice calm, almost casual, as if nothing had happened at all. The distance between you felt sudden, leaving you dumbfounded and your cheeks burning hot red. He turned away from you this time, his broad back blocking out the rest of the alley as he moved to leave. “If I’m in London again.”

You blinked, still trying to process everything that had just happened.

The impact of his intoxicating presence, the way his warm touch lingered on your blushed skin, the way his words seemed to hang in the air long after he’d spoken them, like a secret. The whole situation, the proximity, the way he had touched you, the idea that Simon Riley might actually show up again, left you reeling.

Maybe this wasn’t just a fleeting reunion. Maybe it wasn’t just a chance encounter. There was something more to this, something unspoken but undeniably real.

“Yeah,” you breathed, not sure if he heard you. “I’d like that.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed it.

Originally, I planned to end this story after the first chapter, but the kindness and encouragement in the comments have inspired me to keep going. Now, the story feels incomplete, like there's more left to explore. I’m considering turning this into a short series, with one or two more parts to make it feel whole. Thank you for your comments and support—I really enjoy talking with all of you!

[gardenwons]

I WOULD GIVE UP HEAVEN IF I HAVE TO

SYNOPSIS: Jungwon, a celestial angel bound by the laws of Heaven, finds himself torn between his divine duty and the pull of an earthly feeling, he faces a choice that could shatter the heavens. Yet in the end, what is God in the face of a woman’s love and the lure of forbidden lust?

PAIRINGS: angel!jungwon x angel!reader

GENRE: celestial beings au, forbidden love, smut, angst, fluff (?)

A/N: word count is at 6k, vv sacrilege uve been warned ;P + mean n seducing won <3

The day you first met Jungwon was a whisper of eternity, a moment so brief yet so significant, it rippled through your existence like a stone dropping into a still lake. As a guardian angel, you were accustomed to the constancy of time, the serene repetition of your duties.

Angels were never meant to interfere with humans, never to step beyond the gates of Heaven unless a grand divine intervention was called for. But humanity has grown complacent, content in their free will, leaving angels to guard them solely from afar. No interaction, just silent watchfulness—angels touch forbidden in a world we can never truly know.

You observed, you guided, you protected humanity from a distance, never too close, never too involved. Emotions, especially those that plagued the mortal world, were foreign to you, nothing more than fleeting curiosity. They were indulgences you were never meant to understand.

But then there was him.

Jungwon.

From the moment your eyes met, something about him was different. The air around him seemed to hum with a quiet defiance, as though the very essence of him was a challenge to the order you had always known. It was said that he embodied what the most beautiful angel had, or perhaps now a fallen one.  His every glance seemed to carry a depth that tugged at the core of your being, stirring something within you that shouldn’t exist between angels.

You weren’t supposed to feel this way.

The first time you exchanged words wasn’t in the usual manner angels would communicate- through thoughts, intentions, and divine understanding. No, it was in the silence between breaths, in the space between one shared breath and the next. You had taken a brief rest from your duties, your wings fluttering gently in the golden light of Heaven’s plain, when Jungwon appeared beside you. His wings, light and sleek, casting long shadows across the celestial space.

His voice was soft, but it carried a weight that unsettled you. “alluringly strange, aren’t they?” he murmured, his tone contemplative, his eyes locked onto the human world below. “To watch them so closely… yet feel so distant.”

You blinked, startled by the unexpected conversation. For a moment, you hesitated. It was rare for angels to speak so plainly, so openly about their thoughts. Nodding slowly, keeping your gaze fixed on the mortals below, oblivious to the divine beings who watched over them. “It’s how it’s meant to be” you replied, your voice quieter than usual, as if afraid to acknowledge the crack in your own conviction. Terrified the heavens would hear.

Jungwon’s laugh was soft, almost mocking, finding amusement in your response. “And you believe that? that we’re meant to remain detached, distant from them, from everything?”

You glanced at him, frowning slightly. There was something dangerous about the way he spoke, something that made your wings twitch in discomfort. “That is what we are told” you stated, though the words tasted like ash in your mouth. It was what you were told, what you had believed for so long. Yet now, standing beside him, you felt the certainty slipping away, crumbling under the weight of his questions. What was the logic in this rule? Humans can have their free will but to the ones closer to God are bound by strictest constraints, as if divinity itself demands the suppression of choice.

He stepped closer, his presence suddenly more tangible, more magnetic than it had any right to be. The warmth of him radiated through the air, a stark contrast to the cold and distant perfection of Heaven. “What if..” he said, his voice a low murmur “we weren’t meant to be distant at all? What if we’re just… afraid? Afraid of what happens when we get too close?”

Your breath hitched, wings trembling at his words—words that challenged the very core of your existence. Alarms rang in your mind at the defiance he spoke, yet deep within, something stirred—something that ached, something unmistakably human.Your heart, a thing you hadn’t even realized could race, seemed to beat louder in your chest, the sound echoing in your ears. You swallowed thickly, trying to suppress the unfamiliar sensation. “Jungwon...” His name left your lips, a warning, a plea.

His lips curled into a dangerous smile, the kind that made your pulse quicken against your will. “Tell me,” he said, his voice dropping even lower, “you’ve never wondered what it feels like to love, to feel, to desire”

His words lingered in the air, forbidden words that sent a shiver down your spine. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words died on your tongue. Of course, you had wondered. How could you not? Every moment spent watching the humans, observing their connections, their emotions, their pain, and their pleasure. How could you not be curious? But that was all it was supposed to be—curiosity, as guardian angels are supposed to be. Nothing more.

“I… I’ve wondered,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, as if confessing to a sin that had yet to be committed. “But it doesn’t matter. We’re angels. We’re not supposed to—”

“Supposed to?” Jungwon interrupted, his gaze piercing through you. “We’re not supposed to feel? Not supposed to want?” His wings unfurled slightly, the movement slow and deliberate, and for a brief moment, they brushed against yours just barely. The contact was electric, a jolt of energy that sent heat coursing through you, making your breath catch in your throat.

“Wanting is greed, Jungwon. You know this.” you pleaded, your wings growing anxious as you held his intense gaze.

“You can’t tell me you don’t feel it” he whispered, his face now inches from yours. His eyes, deep and dark, seemed to search your soul, as if he could see every thought, every doubt, every desire you had tried to bury from the face of many Angels and God. “You can’t tell me you don’t want it.”

He glanced down from the clouds, his gaze shifting to a small apartment below, where a couple lay intertwined, their limbs tangled together in the intimate closeness only lovers knew. The warmth between them was noticeable, a soft glow of contentment that radiated from their shared breaths, their whispered words. They weren’t bound by divine law, but by something deeper, something that defied heaven’s cold perfection. "Look at them" he murmured, tone somewhat yearning "What they have is real. You can feel it too, if you let yourself."

You couldn’t speak. The words were there, but they refused to come out, tangled up in the storm of emotions that raged inside you. His nearness, the warmth of his body, the soft whisper of his wings. It was overwhelming, intoxicating.

“I... don’t...” you started, your voice trembling. But even as you tried to deny it, the truth lingered in the space between you.

He closed the distance between you, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek, his touch soft but firm, like he was grounding you to him. “You do” he said quietly, his breath brushing against your skin. “I can see it in your eyes. You want to feel it. what do you feel when you’re with me?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, your body betraying you in the way your wings fluttered, the way your breath quickened. This was wrong. You knew it was wrong. But the way his touch set your skin alight, the way his voice made your whole being tremble, it was unlike anything you had ever known. Unlike anything you were ever supposed to know.

You exhaled, a shuddering breath escaping your lips as you leaned into his touch, your forehead resting against his. “What are we doing?” you whispered, your voice heavy with uncertainty, fear, and most of all desire.

Jungwon’s smile softened, and for the first time, it wasn’t dangerous. It was tender. “We are choosing” he murmured. “Choosing something beyond Heaven, beyond what we were told, something that can be ours.”

His words hung in the air like a temptation you could no longer resist.

And for the first time in your existence, you allowed yourself to fall.

For the next few days, you had overused and beaten up your wings, desperately trying to fly anywhere but where Jungwon might be. Every time you felt his presence near, a wave of panic surged through you, pushing you to ascend higher, further, anything to avoid him. But the harder you tried to distance yourself, the more it felt like he was following, swarming up to you persistently, as if he was testing your resolve.

Your heart thudded painfully each time you thought of him. His defiant words echoed in your mind, growing louder despite your attempts to drown them out.

“What do you feel when you’re with me?”

“Choosing something beyond Heaven”

The boldness of his voice. The way he had dared to utter such dangerous thoughts, to let them linger in your head as if they belonged there. It terrified you how much power his words held over you. The tremors of his defiance crept under your skin, crawling their way into your heart, a place where only obedience and light should reside.

How dare he?

Your jaw clenched as you flew through the night sky, trying to clear your head. He was reckless. You were reckless. This was forbidden, after all. There would be consequences. All the angels would know. God would know. Surely, Jungwon wasn’t oblivious to this.

Was he not afraid?

Your thoughts raced faster than your wings could carry you. Was this all a trick? Perhaps the celestials were testing your faith, your devotion to the supreme being, that was the only explanation for how wrong this felt. Yet, no matter how much you wanted to hate Jungwon for planting these doubts, you couldn’t shake the pull he had over you.

You stopped abruptly mid-air, hovering in the thick clouds. It was cold and silent up here, your sanctuary from his presence. But the silence didn’t last.

“Y/N” a voice messed up the stillness, low and soft, with the same warmth that always managed to break through your defences.

You turned sharply to see him, his glowing figure descending through the mist, his expression calm but filled with determination. Both of you glowed in the clouds as your wings fluttered in agitation, but your body betrayed you. You couldn’t move.

“You need to stop running from me” Jungwon said, his tone firm but not unkind. He landed gently, his wings folding behind him as he stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours.

You scoffed, looking away, trying to suppress the shiver his voice sent through you. “I’m not running.” But even you didn’t believe your own words.

“Really?” He tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes narrowing. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure looks like you’ve been avoiding me.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, your wings twitching. “What would you like to happen, Jungwon?” You kept your voice steady, trying to mask the turmoil broiling inside you. “Do you want to drag me down with you? Make me lose my faith?”

Jungwon’s expression softened, and for the first time, you saw the hint of vulnerability in his eyes. “That’s not what I want.” He took another step closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I just… I want you to understand. I need you to listen to me.”

You clenched your fists, glaring at him. “Understand you? That you’re willing to throw everything away? For what, Jungwon? Some fleeting desire? You know the consequences of defying Him.”

He flinched at your words, but didn’t back down. Instead, he reached out, his hand hovering near yours, his fingers trembling slightly. “I’m not defying Him, Y/N. I’m just questioning things. I’ve seen so much, felt so much, and I—” He stopped, searching for the right words. “I need you to tell me I’m wrong, that this is just in my head.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sank in. This was what terrified you the most because deep down, you couldn’t tell him he was wrong. You felt it too, that undeniable connection, that forbidden pull.

“Jungwon…we cannot question, this is not something we are supposed to do..” you whispered, finally meeting his gaze, your resolve wavering. “This can’t happen. We cannot happen.”

He took a deep breath, closing the space between you, his wings brushing against yours. “I know what we’re supposed to believe. I know what’s expected of us. But when I’m with you… it feels different. Doesn’t it feel different to you?”

Your heart hammered in your chest, your wings trembling as you struggled to find your voice. He was too close, too intense, and you couldn’t think straight. But the truth was already written in the air between you.

Ultimately your eyes gave way to confession, teary doe orbs looking up at him in defeat. 

His eyes softened at your confession, a small, almost hopeful smile tugging at his lips. “Then why are you running? Why don’t you want to feel?”

You swallowed hard, tearing your gaze away from his. “Because… because I’m afraid.”

He reached out and gently cupped your face, forcing you to meet his eyes again. “I’m afraid too, Y/N. But I don’t want to keep ignoring this. For us.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words settling in your chest. For the first time, you allowed yourself to truly see him—not as the defiant angel who had threatened to upend your world, but as someone who was just as lost and confused as you were.

But the fear was still there, gnawing at the back of your mind like the devil. “What if we fall like him?” you whispered.

Jungwon’s thumb brushed softly against your cheek, thoughts containing nothing but the way you glow under his touch as he answered, “Then we fall together.”

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

It wasn’t long after that when the two of you finally crossed the line between curiosity and indulgence. What began as short glances became something far more dangerous. The way Jungwon’s eyes lingered on you felt different. It was heavy, charged with an unspoken yearning. Each stolen glance became longer, every shared moment too intimate, too deliberate to be mistaken for an accident.

At first, it was subtle. A brush of wings as you passed by each other in Heaven’s expanse, fingers grazing ever so slightly, a touch that sent a jolt of something forbidden coursing through you. You convinced yourself it was nothing. But when his hand lingered longer on your skin, when your breaths began to sync in spaces that felt too small, too electric, you both knew there was no denying it anymore.

You still  knew it was wrong—every stolen touch, every stolen moment. Heaven’s laws were absolute. Angels were never meant to feel love, never meant to desire in ways so primal, so human. Love, passion, and lust, these were things of the mortal world, indulgences you were forbidden from experiencing. And yet, with every passing day, your connection with Jungwon grew deeper, more consuming. What had once been a flicker of curiosity between you became a fire that burned brighter, hotter, threatening to consume you both.

It was under a sky painted with stars that the line between the divine and the forbidden finally shattered. You stood with him, high above the mortal realm, the glow of Heaven's light just out of reach. Jungwon turned to you, his eyes filled with something dangerous, something neither of you could ignore anymore. The air between you was thick with tension, with desire that had been kept on a tight leash for too long.

He reached for you then, slowly, as if giving you a chance to pull away. But you didn’t. His fingers brushed against your jaw, his thumb tracing your lower lip with agonizing softness. You inhaled sharply, feeling the heat of his touch sink into your skin. The moment hung between you, the anticipation crackling like lightning in the air.

When his lips finally met yours, it was like falling. Soft at first, tentative, as if testing the waters of something you both knew you had no right to claim. But the moment his mouth touched yours, something inside you broke. A barrier that had kept you tethered to Heaven’s laws shattered under the weight of your desire for him. Your hands found their way into his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss with a hunger that surprised even you.

His wings unfurled, brushing against yours, the sensation of feather against feather sending sparks down your spine. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you against him until your bodies were flush, his breath mingling with yours, hot and erratic. You pressed yourself closer, needing to feel more, to take more, as if the space between you was suffocating. Every touch was a silent rebellion, a cry against the laws you had followed your entire existence.

“Are you scared?” you whispered against his lips, your voice breathless as you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. Your forehead rested against his, the question lingering in the air like the last remnants of doubt.

His eyes, dark and full of something unholy, something that mirrored the desire burning in your own, met yours. His breath was shallow, his grip on your waist tightening as he spoke, “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my existence.”

Your heart raced at his words, at the certainty in his voice. His hands slid lower, fingers tracing the curve of your hips, down to your thighs, lifting you just enough so that your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. The moment you did, a growl escaped his throat, low and primal, sending a shiver through your entire body. His lips returned to yours, this time more demanding, more urgent, as if he couldn’t stand to be apart from you for even a second.

He carried you backward, your back pressing against the soft clouds beneath you, though it felt as solid as any earthly bed. His wings flared wide, casting shadows over you as his hands explored your body, every touch igniting sparks along your skin. His fingers grazed the hem of your robe, pulling the fabric away inch by inch, exposing the bare skin beneath to the cool night air.

Your breath hitched as Jungwon’s lips trailed down your neck, leaving a scorching path in their wake. His teeth grazed your skin, just enough to make you gasp, your body arching beneath him. One of his hands slipped beneath your robe, fingers brushing over your inner thigh, teasing, testing, before slipping higher.

A sharp gasp escaped you as his fingers found the heat between your legs, pressing with deliberate slowness. You bit your lip, trying to stifle the moan building in your throat, but it was useless. The sound slipped past your lips, soft and needy, spurring him on.

Jungwon’s lips returned to yours, devouring your moans as his fingers moved in slow, agonizing circles. You felt yourself unravelling beneath him, every nerve touched with pleasure, every thought consumed by the sensation of his touch. His wings enveloped you, cocooning the two of you in darkness—shielding you from Heaven’s gaze.

“Tell me” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with desire, “tell me you want this.”

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling beneath his touch. “I… I want you,” you confessed, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them. “I want you, Jungwon.”

His eyes darkened, something feral flickering in them as he claimed your lips in a bruising kiss. His fingers pressed harder, moving faster, and you could feel yourself teetering on the brink of something dangerous, something forbidden. But just as you neared the edge, everything changed.

In a heartbeat, you were bound. Silken ropes wrapped tightly around your wrists, pinning your arms above your head, your back pressed against a smooth, heavenly pillar. The restraints dug into your skin, not painful, but tight enough to remind you who held the power.

“You look pathetic like this” Jungwon sneered, his voice low and dripping with condescension. He stood over you, his gaze dark and unrelenting, roaming over your vulnerable form. “No celestial being or human could never amount to your beauty”

Yet, in this moment of power, he revelled in your submission, a twisted satisfaction lighting up his features. The tension between you crackled like electricity, and you could feel his breath against your skin, warm and taunting. “It’s almost tragic” he continued as he leaned closer, “how such beauty can be so easily bound and helpless.”

His fingers ghosted down your body, featherlight and taunting. You squirmed, testing the ropes, but they held firm. A sharp tug at your wrists elicited a gasp from your lips, and the helpless, needy sound only made Jungwon’s smirk widen.

“Just think of what I could do with you, all this beauty restrained,” he murmured, the promise of his intentions hanging heavy in the air. “Look at you,” he muttered, his voice laced with cruel amusement. “So desperate. So needy. What a disgrace for an angel.”

Without warning, his hand shot to your throat, gripping tightly enough to make your pulse race beneath his palm. He tilted your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet his. His eyes were filled with something dark, primal, something that made your stomach churn with both fear and desire.

“You think you deserve my touch?” he whispered, his grip tightening just slightly. “You think I’d be gentle after all your disobedience?”

You tried to shake your head, tried to speak, but the pressure on your throat choked off your words. Jungwon’s grip loosened just enough for you to gasp for air, and then his lips were on yours. Going rough, demanding, leaving no room for tenderness. His teeth grazed your bottom lip before biting down hard enough to draw a whimper from you.

“That’s more like it,” he growled against your mouth. “I want to hear you beg.”

He pulled away, his hand trailing down your body, curling around your thighs before forcing them apart. The cool air hit your bare skin, heightening your awareness of every inch of yourself, exposed for his pleasure. His gaze never left your face as his hand slid between your thighs, fingers hovering, teasing, never quite touching where you needed him most.

“Beg for it” he ordered, his voice low and dangerous. “Tell me how much you want this.”

You squirmed beneath him, your wrists tugging at the restraints as you tried to press closer. “Please, Jungwon,” you whispered, your voice shaky, “please… touch me.”

Jungwon’s laugh was cold and mocking. His fingers brushed against you, just enough to make you gasp, before pulling away entirely. “Is that the best you can do?” he taunted. “Pathetic. You’ll have to beg harder than that.”

A flush of heat crept up your face, your body burning with need. “Please” you whimpered, your voice breaking with desperation. “I need you… I’ll do anything.”

A cruel smile curved his lips as he finally pressed his fingers against your clit, slow and teasing, sending waves of pleasure through your trembling body. You arched against the pillar, a soft moan escaping your lips, but Jungwon’s other hand gripped your jaw, forcing your gaze to meet his.

“Keep your eyes on me” he commanded, his voice a low growl. “I want to see every second of your surrender.”

His fingers moved faster, slipping inside you with a practiced, ruthless precision. Each movement was deliberate, calculated to keep you on the edge of release, but never quite letting you tip over. You writhed beneath him, your body aching for release, but the cruel gleam in Jungwon’s eyes told you he wasn’t going to give it easily.

“Look at you, pretty angel~ falling apart with just my fingers. Do you even realize how weak you are right now? How easily I could break you?”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your body trembling with need. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, desperate for more, but Jungwon wasn’t done playing with you yet.

“Beg me to let you come” he commanded, his voice rough and unforgiving.

“Please” you gasped, your voice trembling. “Please, Jungwon… I need it. Please let me come.”

Jungwon’s smirk deepened as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “You don’t get to come until I say so.”

With that, his fingers slowed, keeping you teetering on the brink of release, but never granting you the satisfaction. He watched you squirm, his cruel laughter filling your ears as you struggled against the golden ropes, your body shaking with the overwhelming need for more.

“You’ll come when I decide” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “Until then, you’re mine to toy with.”

Jungwon’s smirk softened as he looked down at you, your body trembling beneath him, bound and helpless in the ropes he’d tied with such care. His thumb grazed your cheek, and for a moment, the cruel glint in his eyes faded, replaced by something deeper, something more intimate.

"You look so perfect like this," he whispered, loosening the bonds around your wrists. His fingers lingered where the silk had dug into your skin, rubbing the marks softly. "But I’m not done with you yet."

Your wrists fell free, and as you collapsed into him, his arms wrapped around you, holding you close against his chest. He was still so firm, so in control, yet his touch was different, now gentler, but no less commanding. His lips brushed your forehead, soft and reverent, like a promise.

“I’m going to take care of you,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “But only because you’ve been so good for me.”

You shuddered as his hands slid down your body, no longer teasing, but steady and sure. He lowered you back down to the soft clouds beneath you, his eyes locked on yours, dark with desire but softened by something warmer now. His fingers trailed along your thighs, and when he positioned himself between them, the world seemed to slow, the air thick with anticipation.

“You still want this?” His voice was low, almost vulnerable, as though he needed to hear you say it again.

“I want you” you breathed, your hands reaching up to touch his face, pulling him closer. “I’ve always wanted you.”

Jungwon’s lips found yours in a kiss that was slow and deep, a kiss that spoke of everything unsaid between you. Desire, defiance, and something more dangerous. His body pressed against yours, and you could feel every inch of him, hard and ready, but holding back just enough to make you ache with longing.

He broke the kiss, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”

Slowly, carefully, he positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes flickering up to meet yours. For a moment, there was no dominance, no power play, just the raw connection between you two, something that defied the very laws you had once sworn to uphold.

And then, with one slow, deliberate thrust, he pushed inside you. The sensation was overwhelming. He filled you completely, stretching you in ways that made you gasp, your body arching against him. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer as he settled into a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body.

“God” you moaned, your fingers digging into his arms as he moved, your body melting beneath him.

Jungwon chuckled softly, his lips brushing your jaw. “Not quite” he teased, his voice low and husky. “But I’ll make you feel like it.”

His pace quickened, his hips rolling in a rhythm that was almost hypnotic, his body moving with an effortless grace that made it impossible to think of anything but the pleasure building inside you. His wings, usually tucked away, spread out around you both, creating a cocoon of feathers and warmth, shielding you from the world, from Heaven’s judging eyes.

“Look at me” he commanded softly, and when you did, the intensity in his gaze made your breath catch in your throat. "I want to see you when you fall apart."

You whimpered, your hands clinging to his shoulders as his thrusts became deeper, more urgent, driving you closer and closer to the edge. His fingers curled around your thighs, pulling them up to wrap around his waist, and the new angle sent a jolt of pleasure through you, making you gasp.

“Jungwon” you moaned, your voice trembling, “I... I can’t—”

“Yes, you can” he growled, his lips brushing your ear as he thrust harder, his body pressing down against yours, his pace relentless. “You’re going to come for me, and I’m going to watch you break.”

You were so close, nearing on the edge of release, every nerve in your body alight with the sensation of him, filling you, consuming you. Your breaths came in uneven, shaky gasps, your body quivering beneath him. Yet, he kept you pinned in place, his fingers pressing into your skin, anchoring you to him.

"Say my name" he commanded, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Say it when you come."

His thumb brushed against the sensitive spot between your legs, rubbing slow, deliberate circles in time with his thrusts, and that was all it took. You came undone beneath him, your body arching off the clouds as the pleasure crashed over you, your hands gripping his arms as you cried out his name.

“Jungwon!” The word spilled from your lips, raw and breathless, your body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure tore through you. He watched you the entire time, his eyes dark with satisfaction as you fell apart beneath him.

And then with a final thrust, he followed you over the edge. His body shuddered as he came inside you, filling you completely. His grip on your hips tightened, his breath ragged against your neck as he buried himself deep within you, his release leaving him trembling in your arms.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, both of you lost in the aftermath, your bodies tangled together in the warmth of each other’s embrace. Slowly, Jungwon pulled out, his hands gentle as he lowered you back onto the clouds, his body still hovering over yours, protective and possessive.

His fingers brushed your cheek, and when you looked up at him, his eyes were softer than you had ever seen them before.

“You’re mine” he whispered, his lips pressing softly against your forehead, a promise in every word. “Always mine.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the intensity of his gaze making it hard to breathe, but you couldn’t look away. The ropes were gone, but the invisible link between you and Jungwon felt stronger than ever.

“I’m yours” you whispered, your hand resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

Jungwon smiled, a real, soft smile that sent warmth flooding through you. He leaned down, kissing you again, this time with tenderness, the ferocity of his earlier dominance replaced by something deeper, something that felt almost like love.

And as he held you close, the weight of your defiance hung in the air, but it no longer felt like a burden. With Jungwon beside you, it felt like freedom.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Heaven was quick to notice. The divine realm was not blind to such transgressions, and the whispers of your defiance reached the ears of the highest angels. You and Jungwon were summoned, the sacred halls echoing with the weight of your sin, warned to sever the bond that had ignited between you before it was too late. But the love you shared had already become your heaven—more sacred, more intoxicating than any celestial paradise could ever offer.

The Council of Seraphim loomed before you, their eyes cold and condemning, wings aglow with the pure, searing light of Heaven. Their gazes felt like knives against your skin, their judgement tearing at the very fabric of your existence. They told you that if you didn’t end it, this forbidden love, you would be cast out. Fallen from grace. Stripped of your wings, your immortality, your divinity. Everything.

And still, you hesitated. Because how could eternity in Heaven ever compare to a single moment in Jungwon’s arms?

Lucifer’s name was invoked, a warning etched in whispers that spread like wildfire through the ethereal clouds. Gasps echoed through the heavens, the horror of it rippling like a wave, a reminder of what happens to angels who want more. More than servitude. More than blind obedience. More than the perfection of paradise.

“Lucifer chose greed over duty, and now he reigns in hell” one of the Seraphim hissed, their wings flaring in anger. “Is this the path you choose as well?”

Jungwon, standing beside you, his jaw set and eyes burning with quiet defiance, reached for your hand. His fingers slid into yours, warm, trembling but unshakable in their conviction. That single touch… so human, so raw, that it grounded you, even as the weight of the Seraphim’s words threatened to crush you.

"Let them take everything from us" he whispered, his voice steady despite the judgement raining down upon him like fire. "They can have their paradise. As long as I have you, I already have heaven."

Tears stung your eyes, your heart breaking under the truth of his words. The reality of what you were about to lose weighed down on you like an anchor, dragging you into the depths of your sorrow. You tried to imagine it, tried to picture life without the wings that had carried you through eternity. The light of Heaven fading from your soul. The cold, eternal exile. Your body shook, not just with fear but with the knowledge that this choice would ruin you.

“I can’t…” Your voice cracked, barely a whisper, your tears finally falling. “I can’t lose everything.”

Jungwon’s grip tightened around your hand, his eyes softening for just a moment. “You’re not losing everything,” he murmured. “You’re choosing everything that matters. I’ll be with you. Wherever we go, no matter what happens.”

The Seraphim’s voices thundered, condemning you both. The words "fallen," "disgrace," and "damnation" crashed around you, suffocating your last ties to the divine. Yet amid the chaos, all you could hear was Jungwon. His presence, his love, was the only thing keeping you from breaking apart completely.

You closed your eyes, the weight of Heaven's judgement pressing down on you like an avalanche. You could feel your wings begin to tremble, the shimmering light that once radiated from them dimming, fading away. Your immortality, your celestial power—it was all slipping through your fingers. And still, all you could think of was him.

“Are you scared?” you asked, your voice a fragile whisper, barely able to meet his gaze.

Jungwon smiled, soft and full of that quiet, defiant strength. Everything that he was reassured you, “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my existence.”

His words were a bandaid to your soul, a tether pulling you back from the edge of despair. You knew then, in that moment, that there was no other choice. No amount of divine glory, no promise of eternal light, could rival the love you shared. The bond that had been forged between you was too strong, too real. More real than anything Heaven could offer.

With trembling hands, you reached for your wings, feeling the divine energy pulse beneath your fingertips one last time before you let it go. The glow dimmed, the feathers withered, and then, they fell. One by one, your wings disintegrated, leaving you exposed, fragile—human.

The Seraphim watched in silence as your fall from grace became complete. But there was no turning back now. You had made your choice.

As the last of your wings faded into nothingness, you looked at Jungwon, his wings still intact but now dark, tarnished by your shared sin. He pulled you into his arms, holding you so close you could feel the beat of his heart against your chest.

"Together, my love" he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. "We’ll face this together."

And as the gates of Heaven closed behind you, casting you into the abyss of exile, you realized that the real paradise wasn’t in the clouds or the light of Heaven. It was here, in his arms, in the love you had chosen over everything.

And even though you had fallen, with Jungwon by your side, you had never felt so free.

[gojoux]

『 𝐍𝐎 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐄 』

· Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

· Summary: Life has decided to lead you to him or lead him to you, knowing that you two are destined together despite your differences. This told story is just a glimpse of a few memories between you and him, one that he remembers dearly.

· CW: 8.6k // Mostly fluff. True Form!Sukuna. Heian Era. Overprotective + Possessive Sukuna. Very subtle sex scenes. Slight violence.

Late post because the app screwed me over a divider. As you see... it’s thicker like him than usual.

The infamous King of Curses had only one weakness—you.

Ryomen Sukuna, the most fearsome sorcerer (or used to be one) alive, would melt in your presence. His usual cold and cruel demeanor vanished when he was with you, replaced by a gentle sweetness he showed to no other.

From the very first moment your paths crossed, he was utterly enthralled, something he would never expect to feel in his life. You’re someone he doesn’t even know or heard of and he doesn’t find the appeal from you, but there’s just something about you that makes him enchanted at first sight.

Your luminous soul called to him like a song. He knew you were destined to be his. And so he courted you as tenderly as his blackened heart would allow, coaxing you to return his affections.

Slowly, gently, he broke down your defenses. His smoldering gazes made your heart flutter. His feather-light touches from his big, strong hands and fingers sent shivers down your spine. Before long, you realized you were falling for this demon who looked at you with such longing in his crimson eyes.

He could shower you with all the passion and devotion he had been holding back. He cherishes you, catering to your every desire. Just being near you was euphoric for him.

When apart, he counted the seconds until he could see you again. And when reunited, he was unable to keep his hands off you, showering you with passionate kisses and whispers of sweet words.

“You are mine. Remember that,” he would murmur against your skin as he held you close. “Always.”

You had tamed the beast. Or so you thought.

While Sukuna was nearly defenseless against your love, it also ignited something far more sinister—his jealousy.

The mere idea of losing you made his blood burn with rage. Other men were not even permitted to look at you, lest they get torn limb from limb.

Though deeply in love, Sukuna’s possessive nature remained. And woe befall any who dared threaten what was his.

The first time it happened was weeks after you’d become his. A young lord from a clan sent you gifts and flowers, seeking your affection. When Sukuna discovered this, the fury in his eyes turned them molten gold.

“He dares think he can steal you away from me?” Sukuna seethed. In an instant, he vanished to hunt down the offending lord.

He returned hours later drenched in blood that was not his own. You shuddered to imagine what cruel fate had befallen the misguided young man. Sukuna said nothing of it, simply pulled you into a bruising kiss and swore you’d never leave his side again.

After that, the corpses started piling up.

A guard who eyed you lasciviously, eviscerated.

A peasant whose longing stare lingered too long, executed.

Anyone who so much as looked at you with desire was signing their own death warrant.

You begged Sukuna to show mercy, but your pleas fell on deaf ears. “They try to take what is mine,” he would snarl. “They deserve no less than agony and death.”

His demonic nature had fully resurfaced, and you realized just what you had unleashed. Sukuna would slaughter legions and burn the world to ashes if it meant keeping you.

You were terrified of what he had become. Yet some traitorous part of you thrilled at being so coveted, so passionately loved, even if it came at a bloody cost.

He was an obsession incarnate, and you, his obsession.

No matter where you turned, his shadow loomed.

There would be no escaping the King of Curses’ dark desires.

You were his.

How did it all start? It’s been too long since it went past your head already.

But you do remember vividly when you were walking that one night when your gut told you not to, you did.

You should have listened to your instincts. But there was something about the forest at night that called to you, beckoning you to explore its moon-bathed paths and whispering trees.

Curiosity won out over caution, and you decided one quick walk couldn’t hurt.

You set out just after sunset, relishing the kiss of cool night air on your skin. The woods were serene and lovely in the deep blue hush just before true darkness fell. Night blooms perfumed the air as you wandered along aimlessly, simply savoring this secret world.

Until you realized you had lost your way. Suddenly the trees seemed more ominous, the shadows deeper. You paused, peering anxiously through the gloom.

How long have you been walking?

Which way was home?

As you turned around in circles trying to get your bearings, a blow of wind appeared behind you. You froze, heartbeat thudding in your ears.

“Well, what do we have here?”

You whipped around with a gasp. Emerging from the trees was a tall, powerfully built man. But what drew your wide-eyed stare were the four arms crossed onto his bare, toned chest.

You stumbled back in terror, but he moved unnaturally fast, appearing before you in an instant. Up close, details that had escaped you at a distance were now frighteningly clear. Tattoos are carved on his face and body. His eyes burned crimson.

You were face to face with the King of Curses himself.

“Please…” you whimpered, trembling. “I mean no trespass...”

Sukuna tilted his head, considering you with evident amusement. He reached out an arm towards you, his fingers gliding along your jaw, tipping your chin up. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for death.

But instead of tearing you apart, he simply chuckled. “Open your eyes. I will not harm you.”

You cracked them open hesitantly. Sukuna was observing you closely now, intrigued.

“Fear not. I merely wondered who was wandering my woods at this late hour,” he purred. “But I see now… you are no threat at all.”

His touch was surprisingly gentle as he traced the line of your throat. You shivered but did not dare pull away. The heat of his skin felt feverish against yours.

“What brings you here to me, I wonder?” he murmured, his piercing gaze seeming to lay your soul bare.

He tutted, circling you slowly. “These woods are dangerous at night, especially for tempting morsels like yourself. Do you have any idea what lurks in the shadows?” He paused expectantly, but you were too petrified to respond.

You licked your dry lips nervously. “I… I was simply exploring. I did not mean to disturb—”

“Quiet.” A finger pressed lightly over your mouth. “How shall I punish this trespass? I do hate uninvited guests.”

You finally found your voice, though it trembled pitifully. “P-please, I meant no intrusion. If you let me go, I swear I will never—”

“Let you go?” Sukuna tilted his head, looking almost offended. “Now, why would I do that? No, you will not be leaving.”

Your heart hammered at those enigmatic words. Just what did this dangerous being want with you? Surely not anything good.

As if reading your mind, Sukuna laughed once more. “Worry not, little one. I only wish for some company.” In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance between you, caging you with his body. This close, the heat pouring off him was incredible, the coils of his tattoos seeming to slither and shift before your eyes with your heart hammering wildly.

A violent shudder went through you, though not entirely from fear now. Being clasped in his strong embrace had stirred something unexpected within you. A strange exhilaration at having caught the eye of this exotic and terrible being.

He leaned down, inhaling deeply near the crook of your neck. “Mm, such fear. I can taste it rolling off your skin… intoxicating.” His lips grazed your fluttering pulse, making you shudder. “You are afraid, yet also thrilled to see me, aren’t you?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. Was it that obvious, the traitorous excitement you felt being so close to this dangerous demon? You just couldn’t tear your eyes away from his unusual beauty.

“I thought so,” he purred, looking utterly satisfied. He brushed a finger lightly down your cheek. “It seems fate has brought you to me for a reason.”

Sukuna sensed your reaction and made a small pleased noise. In one smooth motion, he swept you up into his arms and started carrying you deeper into the woods.

You gasped, hands braced against the solid muscles of his shoulder. “Where are you taking me? Please, I never meant to intrude! I am sorry! just—”

“Shut it.” His grip tightened. “Do not fight me. Submit, and it will go easier for you.”

Tears of panic spilled down your cheeks. But despite your fear, you felt your body responding to his proximity, pulsing with alarming warmth. Your thoughts scattered as Sukuna claimed your mouth in a searing kiss, tasting your helpless whimper.

“What are you…” you gasped, too speechless to find a word to fight back.

As if reading your mind again, Sukuna adjusts the way he’s carrying you to brush his lips against your own in a feather-light caress. “I hope you are not too afraid, little one. I have been alone for so long, you will keep me company. And I have no intention of letting you go.”

Some part of you recognized the truth in his words. No matter how your mind recoiled, your body was betraying you, longing for more of his addictive caresses. He sensed your crumbling resistance, his smile triumphant.

“You are mine now. Do not fight it.”

You stared around in awe at the sprawling shinden-zukuri as Sukuna placed you down and led you inside. Paper screens glowed warmly with lantern light, illuminating opulent tatami rooms decorated with priceless scrolls and vases, and through meticulously tended gardens dotted with tranquil ponds. Everything about this place spoke of immense power and wealth.

It was a far cry from your own humble village dwelling. You could scarcely fathom how a demon lord had come to possess such a magnificent noble estate out here in the remote forest.

As Sukuna guided you deeper into the manse, you passed several elegantly dressed women in simple yet elegant kimonos, all keeping their gazes demurely lowered.

‘Servants,’ you realized. But where had they come from? Were they taken like how you are now? Were you about to become another of his servants?

When you reached the main manor, Sukuna slid open the screen to reveal a grand receiving chamber. Priceless ink scrolls and painted silk screens adorned the walls. The opulence was staggering.

“Do you like it?” he asked, noting your awe. “I claimed this estate long ago from its previous owners.”

You shivered at the implication behind those words but said nothing as he guided you deeper inside.

Your bemused wondering was interrupted when Sukuna slid open a screen door, ushering you into a lavish bed chamber. A large futon covered in silks took up most of the space.

“You must be weary, little one,” he stroked your hair. “Rest now. I will have my servants draw you a bath.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead before gliding from the room. Still stunned by your opulent surroundings, you wandered over to the open window. Beyond the manicured gardens and koi ponds you could see nothing but dense forest stretching endlessly. Just how far had Sukuna brought you?

You had little time to ponder before two servant women appeared, bowing deeply. They poured hot water into a carved wooden tub and then added cherry blossom-scented oils.

You let them help you disrobe and sink into the fragrant bath, the tension in your muscles unwinding. The demon’s domain was still terrifying and foreign, but you couldn’t deny the comforts he lavished upon you. His possession had a gentleness to it that left you conflicted.

This place treated you better in less than two hours than your whole life in the village.

After your bath, the servants dressed you in silken robes layered in rich hues of wisteria and spring leaves. Darkened your lips with crushed berries. They arranged your hair with jade combs and dabbed perfume at your wrists in a courtly fashion.

Examining their work in a bronze mirror, you barely recognized yourself. The simple village girl staring back from the bronze mirror was gone, replaced by someone who looked like a noblewoman.

Sukuna was waiting when you emerged, hungry eyes sweeping over you appreciatively. “Beautiful,” he pulls you close to him. His lips grazed your wrist, inhaling the perfume there. “You will come to appreciate the comforts of being mine.” His words sent an illicit tingle through you.

“Thank you,” was all you could say as you felt your body sway toward him, eyelashes fluttering downward demurely. His attentions were clouding your caution, making you forget the circumstances that had brought you here.

Sukuna seemed pleased by your response. He took your hand and led you to a candlelit room where a feast awaited. You kneeled on plush cushions across from him. There, your eyes widen at the sight—dishes you could only dream of tasting.

“Uraume is my best cook. They know how to make delicious food,” he brags, pointing at the person with white bob hair with his eyes. Uraume bowed respectfully before excusing themselves.

As the night deepened, Sukuna kept your cup full, his burning gaze holding yours in the romantic glow. Here in this place of luxury, it was easy to forget he was someone who had stolen you away.

“Come.” He held out one of his hands. “It is time you rested.”

Back in the bed chamber, he guided you down onto silken sheets while your pulse quickened. His eyes roamed your body hungrily before he leaned down to claim your lips in a deep kiss. You knew you should resist, but his touch ignited a dangerous fire inside.

His fingers trailed delicately along your skin as he peeled away each layer of your robes until you were laid bare before him. “You are so lovely, little one,” he rasped. He pressed you down into the silken futon, his eyes focused on you. “I will teach you pleasures fit for an empress,” he growled.

“And you will learn to crave my body above all else.”

His words sent a spike of fear through you, even as your traitorous body responded hungrily to his. His burning caress left no doubt of his intentions. You trembled, but didn’t refuse him.

Here in this beautiful prison, you were his to do with as he pleased. And some traitorous part of you craved to experience the passions he promised.

As Sukuna’s body covered yours, you surrendered completely to him. Within these walls, you now belonged utterly to him.

You had been living as Sukuna’s pampered pet in his lavish manor for several days now. He gifted you an ornate silk kimono, adorned your hair with jeweled combs, and ensured you lacked nothing. At night, he would lay you across silken futons and set your body aflame with new realms of pleasure.

But each morning after, as he caressed your skin and murmured endearments, doubts crept in. Were there others that he touched this way? The thought filled you with unease.

You wanted his passion reserved only for you.

When Sukuna appeared in your room this evening, he found you quiet and distant, your smile restrained. Brow furrowing, he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze.

“What troubles you, little one? Have I not provided for you well?”

You gathered your courage. “I… I have a request, My Lord…”

He raised one brow, “Oh? Speak.”

“If we are to share such intimacy, I wish it to be only between us. No other lover, in any way.” You held his gaze evenly. “Will you vow this, please?”

For a moment Sukuna only stared, stunned by your bold demand. Then a sly smile curved his lips.

“My little one wishes to tame me, is that it?” He trailed a finger lightly down your cheek. “You seek to bind me to yourself alone?”

Heart pounding, you gave one short nod.

Sukuna threw back his head with a delighted laugh. “You fascinate me endlessly. No mortal has ever dared make demands of me.” His expression softened by looking at your innocent face. “But for you, I will agree.”

He leans down, face to face with you, “From now on, I am yours alone.”

Relief washed through you at his oath. As Sukuna drew you into a passionate kiss, you yielded completely for the first time, holding nothing back.

“My sweet, little love…” He lifted you in his arms. “I will make you forget any existed before this night.”

And he did. Laying you down, hands and lips he worshiped you, wringing gasps and cries from your lips as you arched desperately, mindless and pleading beneath him.

At the height of ecstasy, his burning gaze held yours. His heated gaze seared into yours at the pinnacle, fierce and possessive. “No other shall ever know you as I do.”

The feeling when your body joined, the sensation was beyond words, it felt like coming home. Like a missing piece of your soul had been restored. Wave after wave of bliss crested over you both, leaving you entwined in breathless ecstasy.

As lantern light faded to silvery moonbeams, Sukuna held you close, your heartbeats synchronizing. You now belonged only to each other in body, heart, and soul.

“Mine,” Sukuna rasped against your skin, his canine digging into your neck, marking you as his. “Just as I am yours. This, I vow to you, little one, from now until the end of days.”

His words echoed long in your mind, even as spent passion gave way to sleep in his enveloping embrace. The King of Curses himself was now bound to you irrevocably. And you to him.

The vow had been spoken, the ritual complete.

The days had settled into a predictable routine in Sukuna’s residence. He would vanish for hours or even full days to attend to mysterious “business”, leaving you to wander the chambers and gardens alone. You never ask where he went or what occupied him. Some fears were best left unspoken.

But your heart would lift eagerly whenever Sukuna returned, no matter how late the hour. Just knowing he had come back to you was enough. You took to waiting anxiously by the engawa, ready to greet him.

At first, he returned spotless and composed. But soon the blood became noticeable.

It would decorate his arms, spatter his chest and face in drying rust-colored patterns. The life essence of whatever poor souls had crossed him in the nearby villages. You didn’t need to ask how it got there.

The first time, you gasped and shrank back in horror. But Sukuna just smiled and opened his arms to you. “Come, let us get cleansed of the day’s exertions.”

You forced yourself to look past the gore, seeing only your demonic lord who needed tending. Taking his hand, you led him to the bath chamber.

There you gently sponged away the carnage, breathing relief when his skin emerged clean again. Sukuna watched you intently, eyes glowing with unspoken emotions. You didn’t dare examine it too closely.

When you were done, he would pull you into his lap, nuzzling against your throat almost tenderly. As if your ministries had tamed the beast lurking within.

“My little one,” he would rumble. And your heart would swell under his praises.

Before long, you began living for his returns. The hours apart stretched endlessly, your thoughts consumed with concern for his well-being. Your chest would tighten with loneliness in his absence. Maybe you craved him because you have no one to come home to, that’s why you are willing to be with him.

Surely he must share your needs, right?

The moment his shadow appeared down the corridor, you flew to him, embracing him heedless of any lingering blood. Sukuna laughed indulgently, hands gentling your desperation.

“Such passion, little one. Did you miss me so terribly?”

You nodded, not caring how you exposed your dependence on him. He tipped your chin up, his sharp eyes looking at you softly. “As I missed you. The time apart is agony.”

His admission made you smile in relief. After bathing him, you would prepare tea and draw him into quiet conversation, savoring this domestic intimacy. Here with you, he almost seemed content.

At late night, his lovemaking took on new urgency, as if reaffirming your bond. You matched his intensity, wanting to erase any distance the day had built between you.

“You are all I need,” he whispered afterward, cradling you close. And you knew then you were hopelessly lost to this dangerous creature. He had become your entire world.

When Sukuna departed each morning, part of you went with him. Until he returned to make you whole once more. There was no denying the truth—you were his, mind, body, and soul.

You see, life with Sukuna provided came at a terrible price—the waiting.

And so you hatched a plan.

You requested the finest silks from the seamstress and described the revealing garment you wished to craft. An elegant yet alluring yukata, hinting at the beauty beneath.

On the night of his homecoming, you adorned yourself carefully, arranging your hair over your bare shoulders, sketching your lips crimson. The ensemble left you feeling exposed, but also powerful.

When Sukuna entered the bed chamber, the sight of you made him halt in his tracks. Eyes widened as they traced over you hungrily, taking in every contour the diaphanous fabric outlined.

“Little one,” he rasped. “You look like divinity itself. What is all this for?”

You steeled your nerves and went to him, guiding his fingers to untie your sash with hands that trembled.

“I wish to ease your burdens tonight, My Lord. Will you permit me?”

A growl escapes his throat as your robes slip to the floor. The intensity of his gaze seared into your skin everywhere it touched. Strong arms pulled you fiercely against him.

“You test my restraint, beloved. Are you certain?”

At your whispered yes, his control shattered. With infinite care he bore you down onto silken sheets, praising every inch of newly bared flesh until you were dizzy and pleading.

Even at its peak, he kept the pace languid—long, delirious strokes of passion. The pleasure was sweet agony. You arched and moved as one, minds entwining as deeply as your bodies.

When it ended, you were changed. Sukuna held you tenderly as languor claimed you both, as if you were the most precious treasure in the world.

Perhaps you should have been afraid of this obsessive devotion. But you could not imagine life without him now.

As nice as it is living comfortably with everything provided for you, sometimes his residence becomes a gilded cage. You yearned to walk beyond the gardens, to visit the nearby villages you glimpsed from afar.

After much pleading, Sukuna finally relented. “If it will make you happy, we shall go. But you must stay close to me.” His eyes held an unspoken warning.

The day came at last. Taking his arm, you ventured out onto the winding forest paths, buzzing with excitement. Sukuna watched you closely, as if to imprint each delighted reaction.

When the first simple thatched dwellings came into view, you gasped. “Oh, look! Real village life, just as I remembered.”

“Then let us explore it,” he said indulgently, strolling by your side.

You moved through stalls selling woven reed baskets, hand-dyed yukata, and carved jade amulets. The smells of grilling fish and blossom-scented steam from tea houses mingled in the air. Your smile was radiant.

Most villagers averted their eyes and scrambled away at the sight of his presence. But their fearful deference only seemed to amuse Sukuna as he guided you along.

Pausing by a fountain, you turned joyfully to him. “Thank you for this, My Lord. I haven’t felt this happy in…” Your voice trailed off as you noticed a young man staring from across the village square. His gaze was fixed on you, his handsome face breaking into a flirtatious grin, looking at you with his eyes signaling interest.

Before you could react, Sukuna had crossed the distance between them in two swift strides. You watched in horror as he seized the insolent youth by the throat and slammed him against a wall, baring razor fangs.

“You dare look at her that way?” he thundered. The young man choked out pleas for mercy as Sukuna’s grip tightened relentlessly.

“My Lord! Stop!” You rushed over, clutching his arm. “I beg you, let him go!”

With obvious reluctance, Sukuna released his hold and stepped back. The terrified man crumpled to the ground, wheezing with his face pale. You tugged Sukuna (he didn’t resist) away quickly as onlookers gaped.

Once you were back within the secluded forest path, he rounded on you. “Why did you stop me?” he demanded, eyes still burning with fury. “That whelp was openly desiring what is mine.”

You trembled. “He meant no true offense, My Lord.”

Sukuna exhaled harshly, drawing you against him. “You are too forgiving, little one. Next time I may not be so lenient.” The promise in his voice chilled you.

Nonetheless, in the days that followed, you persuaded him to let you visit the village markets again. Sukuna acquiesced, but his mood turned brooding whenever you went out together.

It was not long before a repeat incident occurred. A passing noble’s gaze lingered on you a moment too long. Sukuna's reaction was swift and merciless. Before you could intervene, the shrieking lord was engulfed in infernal flames, his ashes scattering to the wind.

This time, Sukuna was deaf to your pleas for restraint. “They continue testing me, presuming they can admire my possession with impunity,” he snarled. “I will suffer this insult no more.”

Numb with horror, you could say nothing as he took your arm and led you from that place of death.

Sukuna would never change his nature. His jealousy and possessiveness were as innate as the demonic power coursing through his veins. And you were helpless to curb them.

Trying to tame such a savage spirit had been foolish. Where his claim over you was concerned, no mercy would ever sway him.

The journey back to the estate was made in tense silence. You could feel the rage rolling off Sukuna in scorching waves as he strode ahead. His jaw was granite, fists clenched and shaking.

Only once you were behind the privacy of the chamber walls did he finally unleash it.

“How can you defend him?” he roared, making you flinch. “Those pathetic mortals who dared to covet what is not theirs. It is unacceptable!”

You stood your ground. “I make no defense, only ask that you temper reactions. This endless jealousy causes nothing but suffering.”

Sukuna’s eyes blazed, his voice dropping to a dangerous hiss. “You ask me to watch passively as they dishonor my claim on you? To permit their vulgar ogling?” He swept a hand savagely across a lacquered table, sending the vase crashing.

You jumped at the destruction but forced yourself to meet his volcanic glare. “I am not possession or prize to be claimed, My Lord. You cannot punish all for one foolish man’s gaze. I have told you this before, but I am not harmed.”

“Not harmed?” Sukuna bellowed, slamming his fists into the bloodwood pillar with a crack. “Not yet! But their desire will grow brazen if I do not act decisively now.”

He stormed toward you, making you back away instinctively. “You are mine. No other shall covet or touch what belongs to me. I would see this whole wretched village burn first.”

As his tirade raged on, you felt tears rising, spilling silently down your cheeks. The possessive diatribes, the limitless fury—you were exposing the folly of trying to gentle the devil’s heart.

Sukuna abruptly halted his pacing at the sight, chest heaving. His blazing eyes took in your hunched, trembling form. For an instant, something like shock flickered across his face. He blinked rapidly, swaying slightly.

“No… My little love…” All at once, the frenzied anger seemed to drain from him. He reached for you hesitantly, as if expecting you to recoil. When you stayed rooted, he enfolded you in his shaking arms.

“Forgive me,” Sukuna whispered. “I should not have raised my voice. But the thought of losing you…” One hand stroked your hair, then gently tipped your chin up. His thumb brushed away the tear tracks on your skin.

“You are everything to me in this wretched world,” he murmured. “I could not bear it if harm befell you.” His eyes were molten and his voice raw. “Tell me you know I would never let anything hurt you, not even myself in the madness of my rage.”

You searched his face and saw the sincerity burning there. With a fragile nod, you laid your head against his chest. His exhale was ragged with relief.

“I will try to be more merciful. For you, at least,” he sighs. “But you must understand it rages in my blood when I see them desire my most precious treasure.”

You stayed silent in his embrace. Perhaps this was the most he could concede—ferocity tempered with remorse. You could not change his possessive heart, only help him master what flowed within it.

And for now, it would have to be enough. His jealousy was a storm that would never fully be calmed. But like the storm’s eye, at the center there was still tenderness he reserved only for you.

Once more, the days dragged endlessly when Sukuna was away. You had explored every corner of the estate a dozen times over. The loneliness gnawed at you.

So when he left at dawn one morning, you made an impulsive decision. Donning a cloak, you slipped outside the manor walls while the servants slept. Your steps quickened as you neared the hill path leading down to the village.

You had only meant to take a brief, harmless walk to lift your spirits. But the smells of grilled squid and sweet adzuki buns drew you like a magnet. Your stomach rumbled, reminding you it had been ages since you tasted simple street food.

Checking over your shoulder, you darted to the nearest food stall when no one was looking. The elderly vendor smiled in delight as you pointed to the snacks that tempted you most. It felt deliciously naughty, this minor rebellion.

You were waiting for the bamboo skewer of piping hot squid when someone jostled you from behind. Whirling around angrily, you found yourself staring up at a rugged, unkempt man looming over you. His bloodshot eyes raked down your body in a way that made your skin crawl.

“Well now, what do we have here?” His words slurred drunkenly. “You’re that demon’s little toy, ain’t ya? His pretty pet.”

When you shrank away, the brute caught your wrist in a painful grip. Revulsion rose in you. “Let go of me!”

The man just sneered. “Where is your master now, hmm? Bet he doesn’t like you sneakin’ off alone.” He swayed closer, sour breath hot on your face. “Maybe I oughta teach you some manners, whore.”

Outraged tears stung your eyes. You opened your mouth to scream for help when suddenly the man’s hand was wrenched away from you with a sickening crack. His shriek split the air.

Whirling around, you saw Sukuna standing there, eyes blazing infernos. The man who had seized you was now suspended off the ground, clutching his mangled, dangling arm.

“Please, mercy!” he whimpered piteously. But Sukuna’s face was a merciless stone.

With a snarl, he slammed the offender down, pinning him by the throat. “You dare speak to her that way?” His voice was deathly quiet. “Dare lay your filthy hands upon her?”

The man gurgled pleas, legs kicking uselessly. Sukuna tightened his grip. “No. There will be no mercy for you.”

And before your eyes, he ripped the man’s head from his body in one savage motion. Blood sprayed hot across your face and cloak. The headless corpse slumped with a wet thud that echoed horribly in your ears.

You stood there, frozen. You’re sick to the stomach—it’s nauseating—looking at the brutal sight that your lover could do.

Rooted in shock, you barely registered Sukuna turning to you. He grasped your shoulders firmly. “Did he hurt you?” At your numb shake of the head, fiery rage flooded back into his eyes.

“Good. Because I would have drawn out his torment for years if he had.” With that, Sukuna flung the lifeless body contemptuously through the door of a nearby hut.

Screams arose from within as you stared at the gore coating Sukuna’s hands. The brutality finally jolted you from horrified paralysis. Voice trembling, you begged him to take you home.

The journey back was made in silence. Once behind the walls, Sukuna rounded on you like the last time.

“How could you go without my permission?” He paced like a caged beast. “See what nearly befell you? The filth who could do anything to you?”

You flinched beneath the verbal onslaught, too numb to defend yourself as he kept raging.

“You are forbidden from leaving again! Do you understand?” He seized your shoulders roughly. “It is too dangerous for you.”

You nodded, mute and hollow. With a harsh exhale, Sukuna pulls you against him as four of his arms envelop you in a warm embrace, some of the frantic anger leaving him.

“Forgive my harsh words, my little love. But I do not like you being treated like that.” His voice broke on the last word. He clutched you tighter, as if to reassure himself you were real.

After that day, whispers followed you through the residence like ghosts, for no clear reason. Servants offering polite smiles that never reached their eyes, only to resume their hushed gossip once you’d passed.

At first, you tried ignoring the sidelong glances and murmurs. But still, the cruel words leaked through.

“She is just a plaything to him.”

“Once the master is bored, she will be discarded.”

“He is only using her on the bed.”

“Once he tires of those pleasures, her time here will end.”

Their cruel words haunted you, sinking claws into vulnerabilities you’d buried deep. Did they speak the truth? Was your whole purpose here just to entertain Sukuna’s baser appetites? The thought you might be expendable shook you to your core.

You managed to conceal your anguish and distress at first. But the doubts festered, stealing your appetite and sleep. When Sukuna finally noticed the toll on your health, alarm flared in his eyes.

Gently taking your hands, he scoops you onto his lap, facing him. “What is bothering your pretty little head, hm? You know you can tell me anything.”

You shook your head, “It is nothing, My Lord. Not a big problem.”

“I do not like you lying to me, little one,” he shakes his head, not buying your secrecy.

“I am okay. Please, no need to be concerned about me.”

“How can I not? What is it? Tell me,” he holds your chin still to make you look at him.

Both of your stubborn banter goes back and forth until you’re both getting impatient.

You wavered, then spilled out the vile gossip you’d endured in silence. Sukuna listened gravely, thumb idly stroking your wrist. When you finished, he let out a long breath, gazing at you earnestly

“You believe their hateful lies? That you are some plaything to me? You know in your heart these claims are untrue.” He grasped your shoulders, staring intently into your eyes. “You are everything. Your faith in me is worth more than a million mortal lifetimes.”

He brought your hand to his chest, holding it over his steadily beating heart. “Do not let petty jealousies make you doubt what we share.”

Overwhelmed, you buried your face against him. “Forgive my doubts, My Lord,” you whispered.

“There is nothing to forgive. The fault is theirs, not yours.” Stroking your hair, he pressed a fierce kiss to your head. Then his tone turned cold. “As for these spiteful women, I will make them regret ever speaking such lies.”

You quickly squeezed his hands. “Please, do not harm them. I only wished to explain my melancholy, not see others punished.”

Sukuna frowned. “You ask me to ignore those who hurt you so? Who makes you doubt my devotion?” His grip on you tightened. “I cannot be so forgiving.”

“I know it comes from care,” you soothed. “But replying to anger with more anger will only breed misery.”

He paused, then exhaled harshly, pulling you close. Resting his forehead to yours, he went on. “I swear to you, my feelings run deeper than they comprehend.”

“Leave this to me now, little one. Just rest easy.”

True to his word, the gossip ceased quickly. You didn’t ask what Sukuna said or did to silence loose tongues. But the servants now bent over backward to please you, their once spiteful eyes now carefully respectful.

Their newfound reverence somehow bothered you more. But Sukuna seemed satisfied. “Let the wretches make amends for causing you pain,” he said nonchalantly.

Some part of you recoiled at his methods. Yet it warmed your heart to know he would avenge any slight against you without hesitation. Perhaps it was wrong to take comfort from his possessiveness.

But you needed to feel cherished after so much doubt. And Sukuna left no room for uncertainty in how deeply he treasured you. Each tender glance and touch slowly healed the wounds until you were whole again.

When he came to you beneath the silken sheets now, the passion held new meaning. A reaffirming of what you were to each other.

You were his sanctuary. Just as he was yours.

The gossip no longer stung when you knew his heart with such certainty.

Sukuna had told you he was taking a few days off to spend with you. With him home beside you for a blessed few days, the gloom cast over the estate seemed to lift. His four muscular arms caged you securely against his broad chest as you sank comfortably into his embrace.

He was attentive in ways you’d never seen before, constantly drawing you into his arms, asking questions about your childhood, your dreams, anything to get to know you better.

At first, you were shy, unused to being the object of such focused interest. But Sukuna’s patient gentleness soon had the words spilling freely from your lips.

You happily opened up to him in turn, chatting lightly about your days spent tending the garden, studying scripture with the monks, or watching the koi fish circle lazily in their pond. No detail was too small or mundane—he drank in every insight into your character with eyes that never once glazed in boredom.

He listened intently, his crimson eyes focused solely on you. As frightening as he could be, you knew this powerful being cherished you in his own way. You were likely the only person in the world he cared for.

When you finally worked up the courage to ask about his early life in turn, his gaze darkened briefly. “There is little of worth to tell,” he muttered.

He went on tonelessly to describe his parents casting him out as an infant, cursing his existence. Forced to eke out a living on the streets, he learned quickly that mercy was for the weak.

“I was not always like this,” he rumbled. “Once I was a human, born to parents who did not want me.” His fingers tensed where they rested on your back. “As an infant, they discarded me on the streets to die. But I survived, growing up feral and alone.”

You looked up at him sadly, heart aching at the thought of him helpless and abandoned with no one to care for him. You raised a hand to gently stroke his cheek.

Sukuna closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. “I do not tell you this for pity,” he said firmly. “My past made me strong.”

His eyes opened again. “When my cursed technique manifested, I used them without mercy, cutting down any who dared stand in my way. I reveled in my growing strength, the thrill of battle and blood... they satisfied me. I honed my skills until I became unmatched.”

You nodded solemnly. His description matched the legends told of the terrifying Ryomen Sukuna.

Now you know why he lacked mercy.

You take his hands in yours, kissing his palms. “The past is behind you now,” you told him. “What matters is who you choose to be from this day forth. My love for you is unconditional.” You smiled up at him warmly. “But I promise to teach you the ways of empathy and love, even if you protest.”

Sukuna huffed in amusement, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “Little one, you may try, but do not expect miracles. I am what I am.” But his embrace around you was gentle, belying his words.

You poked his chest teasingly. “I will make it my mission to show you how wonderful love can be, the joys it brings to our lives.” Laughing, you added, “Just you wait, I will have you reciting poetry and picking wildflowers before long!”

“Hmph, do not get carried away,” he grumbled, but you could tell he was secretly pleased by your playful vow.

You cuddled against his chest, determined to shower this damaged soul with all the love and tenderness he had missed in his tragic early years.

The next morning, as soft sunlight filtered into the bedroom, you lay wrapped in Sukuna’s strong embrace. Your head rested on his muscular chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat. His breathing was slow and even, still asleep.

You traced idle patterns on his bare skin, your fingertips grazing over the tattoos adorning his body. Your mind drifted back to the conversation from the night before when Sukuna had told you a bit of his past.

Abandoned and unloved, forced to survive on his own from infancy. Your heart ached for the small, helpless babe he had been. The thought of him growing up without affection or care weighed heavily on you.

You understood now why love and empathy were so foreign to him. But you were determined to show Sukuna what he had missed, to fill his long existence with the warmth and joy he deserved.

Your short mortal life worried you, however. Sukuna had lived for centuries, he would go on existing long after you passed on. Would he find someone new to love? How would losing you affect him? Immortal beings were not meant to give their hearts to fleeting humans.

You must have tensed in concern, because Sukuna began stirring, his four arms instinctively tightening around you. “What troubles you so early, little one?” his deep voice rasped, still groggy with sleep.

You tilted your head up to peer at him. “I was thinking about what you told me last night, about your past. My heart breaks imagining you alone as a child.”

He regarded you seriously. “It was long ago. Dwelling on what cannot be changed is pointless.”

“I know,” you murmured. “I only wish I could have cared for you then. But now I worry… what will happen when I am gone? My life is so short compared to yours. Will you find someone new to love?” Your voice caught on the last word as you averted your gaze. You weren’t sure you even wanted to hear the answer.

He was silent. When you worked up the courage to look at him again, his crimson eyes were looking at you intensely. With a swift, motion he flipped you beneath him, bracing his weight above you and capturing your face between his big hands.

“You think I could simply replace you when death takes you from me?” His thumb brushed your cheek tenderly. “No other has touched my soul as you have. Long was my existence before you, yet I was empty.” Leaning down, he touched his forehead to yours.

“Your fragile mortality may one day steal you from my side, but what we have cannot be replicated or replaced.” He lifted his head to gaze deeply into your eyes.

“When you are gone, I will be lost again. I accept that your life must end as mine continues.” His jaw clenched. “But I will find no peace with another. What we have is beyond replacement.”

Tears blurred your vision at his heartfelt words. You had not realized the depth of his attachment, that the absence of your love would leave him emotionally desolate.

You threw your arms around his broad shoulders. “Then we must make the most of the time we have,” you declared. “Fill our days with so much joy that you will carry the warmth of our love for eternity.”

Sukuna wrapped you tightly in his embrace. “Yes,” he agreed, nuzzling your neck. “I will cherish every precious moment with you, little one.”

His words made your heart clench, but you understood, he would never love another as he had you. Your lives were tragically misaligned, yet the love you shared transcended such limits.

You spent the day wrapped up in Sukuna, exchanging tender caresses, murmuring sweet nothings, strolling the grounds hand-in-hand. Every shared laugh, every affectionate glance was savored, imprinting your bond ever deeper.

As the sun sets in glorious color, you lay entwined together beneath the cover of a wisteria tree. Your head rested over Sukuna’s heart as he gently stroked your hair. His steady heartbeat and the rhythmic rise of his chest were deeply comforting.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” you whispered.

“As do I, little one,” he replied, his voice tinged with melancholy. “But we cannot halt the merciless passage of time.”

You leaned up to press a soft kiss to his jaw. “No matter how short my life, I am grateful every moment of it is spent with you.”

Sukuna cradled you close, distress evident in his eyes. “When I am alone again, I will find comfort in the memories we have.”

His grip on you tightened, as if he could hold you to this world through will alone. You tilted your head back to peer up at him. “And when I am gone, will you be okay?”

“I will endure it. As I have endured all hardship in my long life.” He traced his thumb lightly down your cheek. “It will not feel the same, my little love. But do not worry about me, I will be fine.”

Your heart clenched at the raw honesty in his normally stoic demeanor. On impulse, you stretched up to press a soft kiss to his lips. Sukuna went still for a heartbeat before responding in kind, lips moving gently against yours.

“Then do not dwell on the inevitable end,” you cup his face in your hands. “Think only of how much we mean to each other now. If my love can sustain you even a little while after I am gone, that will be enough.”

Sukuna pressed his forehead to yours. “I will brace it when the time comes. But for now, my world is only you.”

You kissed him tenderly, then settled against his chest once more. Bittersweet joy swelled your heart, knowing you had brought some warmth into Sukuna’s grim existence. Though fleeting and painfully finite, your mortal love was a balm to his ancient, scarred soul.

The years passed swiftly. Sukuna remained your steadfast companion as you grew from a young woman into old age. He was always there to hold you close, whisper endearments, make you laugh with his wit.

In the blink of an eye, your hair became streaked with silver. Your smooth skin wrinkled and your energy waned. But your love never faded.

Sukuna stayed by your side as you grew frail, cradling you tenderly through restless nights, patiently spoon-feeding you broth when eating became difficult. His eyes reflected centuries of sadness knowing your time grew short.

Finally, you lay weakly upon your futon as he stayed close by your side. Your breathing turned ragged and a violent cough wracked your body. He gathered you gently into his arms.

“The end is near, my little one,” he murmured, smoothing back your thin hair.

You gave him a quivering smile. “I am ready. Just stay with me, please.”

He pressed his lips to your wrinkled forehead. “Always.”

You spent your final moments gazing up at his face, etched into your mind after so many years together. His image would be the last you saw in this life. With a contented sigh, you closed your eyes for the final time.

Sukuna let out a broken noise, pulling you tightly to his chest as your body went limp. Rocking your still form, he wept for the first time in his long existence. Anguished sobs wracked his powerful frame.

He had known this moment would come, yet nothing could have prepared him for the sheer devastation of losing you. It felt as though part of his soul had been ripped away.

Sukuna had guarded your mortal form night and day in those final years. Now you slipped away before his eyes, leaving him utterly alone. The crushing pain made him understand the human concept of a “broken heart”.

But he took comfort knowing you had passed peacefully in his embrace. The only mercy was that you were spared a drawn-out decline. He had filled your short life with as much love as one man could give. He has known you for a short time compared to how you’ve known him for most of your life.

Wiping his eyes, Sukuna pressed final kisses to your cooled skin. He would honor you with a funeral befitting royalty. Then he must decide where to wander next. This place held too many haunting memories now.

Sukuna laid you gently on the futon and stood. He cast one last anguished look at your still face.

“My beloved…” he whispered. “No other shall ever take your place.”

Then he turned and strode from the room, jaw clenched against a fresh onslaught of grief. His steps were heavy with the unbearable burden of immortality and loss.

No, he doesn’t cremate you despite having the ability to do so. He doesn’t even want to think of burning you to ashes, or he might as well lose it and burn the world with it for taking you away too soon.

He buried you beneath the cherry tree where you’d spent so many blissful hours in his arms. He marked the site with a stone monument etched with his promise:

“In this life or the next, you are mine. None will ever love you as I have, little one.”

His task complete, Sukuna wandered for many years after. Though the sharp pain dulled to a persistent ache, the emptiness inside him never abated. He fulfilled his promise and took no other lovers, knowing they could only ever be hollow substitutes.

He will wait until his time comes no matter how long it takes to see you again in the afterlife.

He will wait long enough to see you reborn and claim you one more as his.

But the thing he knows for sure, you will always belong to no one but him.

I got emotional and carried away, I’m sorry 😭😭

[lolita-lollipop]

Iron

YANDERE BARBARIAN BAKUGO X READER

The king of the most violent and powerful tribe in the eastern world is captured during battle by a small farmers village. What does a violent man like katsuki bakugo do upon meeting a kind servant girl like you?

WARNINGS: reader gets hurt by villagers (bakugo saves her)

He couldn't remember how long he had been here, he just knew it was cold, dark, unsanitary, and painful. He remembered the battle that put him here, getting shot with a poison-laced arrow, feinting on the field. Heh. imagine it, the great barbarian Bakugo, the children's slayer, the village burner, the soldier slaughterer falling because of one puny arrow from one puny kingdom. When he first had woken up he could feel the slick of his blood under him mixed with the dirt and grime of the cell, he had giant iron cuffs wrapping his wrists and legs, binding him to the floor. He couldn't blame these people, truly, they knew that once he woke up if he were to get out they were all as good as slaughtered.

It was a small stone dungeon, with only a couple of stalls, he occupying one of them. There was a small barred window, along with a wall of iron bars serving as protection from him and the rest of the world. Iron, he hated the stuff, and banned it from his country, it burned him, burned his people. There was a thick, damp smell of blood and rust, a musty smell he could easily recognize as death. He would carve every person in this building up, then burn every building in the village, and he would let the fire spread to their fields and watch as their lives work shrivels up into ash. But for now, He would wait for the perfect time to strike, all he could do was wait really, watch the guard rotation, see which ones were talkative, and which ones were cruel.

Many of the guards would beat him, carve his skin, and watch him bleed, they know of all the gruesome things he has done to so very many people, and supposedly the bastards feel some kind of idiotic vengeance or justice for those people. They would pay in the long run, who exactly do they think they are? he is a king, royalty, the highest of the highest, the strongest too. If he doesn't kill them his people will, they'll see. All the king could do was watch, wait, and plot the splattering of this village.

That was, until you came along.

Little you, in your flowy little skirt that was all torn up, with no shoes and a dirt-covered face. Little you with your oh-so-innocent smile, and your callused hands. Little you with your malnourished body, frail and sickly. Little you, who had no idea who he was. Little you who snuck in when no guard was on duty, a small bowl of soup in your hands, and a cup of water.

“I-im sorry that this is all I have, I know you haven't eaten in a long time I just- I’ll have more tomorrow” you whispered, and he swore he fell in love right then and there, you were too frail, too weak to be giving out food that you surely needed. Yet here you were, shakily handing him the bowl and the cup. He stared at you for a solid second, not even his own mother was this selfless, and you don't even know him. Who were you? You did not seem like aristocracy, too kind, maybe a farmer? Maybe a maid, a servant even.

He hadn't realized how hungry he was, not until the entire bowl and cup were gone, and he was left to stare at you. You were ethereal, dirt-covered and all, your eyes, your hair, your hands, everything, absolutely stunning. You had a look in your eyes. Something hungry and fearful told him that you were not happy, not safe and sound, not as you should be.

“I don't have anything to treat your wound, but- I'm sorry. Nobody should be treated this way, not even prisoners. I'll be back tomorrow, please don't tell the guards that I've done this. They will kill me.” you whispered, cautiously reaching to grab the glassware from his grip, waiting to see if he would snap at you. He didn't, only stared, grunting in response to your plea. You stared back with those sympathetic globes of yours, as if you could see the anger in his soul. Before turning on your heel, and quietly sneaking out of the dungeon room, you gave him one last glance before disappearing.

He was left in the quiet, in the cold, falling head over heels in love with you, a mere human. A peasant at that. Strange. You were too sweet, too kind, you clearly needed the food, clearly were starving and malnourished, yet you still stood here and offered your only food to him, a prisoner of war, you were so sweet. So kind. His people were not like you, they were not soft or sweet, he loved them for it, but you, oh you. You were soft and supple and sweet andso sickeningly kind. He would protect you, he has too.

The next couple of nights went similarly, you sneaking in during the dead hours following midnight with varying foods, sometimes a stale loaf of bread with milk, sometimes some leafy soup and water. He was grateful every time, thankful that he wasn't starving, still burning with absolute rage towards the mere peasants who believed that they could contain him. But you, in the very few days that he had known you, had wormed your way into his heart with your soft hands and pretty smile.

He can just imagine you adorned in stolen jewels and furs, dressed in the finest silk, or better, the clothes of his people. something soft like you, something pretty and supple and shiny and light. Something that reflects you, he would take you out of those rags, clean you up, teach you what luxury truly is. and you wouldnt have to lift a finger. he dreamed about your future everyday that you would visit, asking your favorite color or season or jewel.

That was, until you stopped showing up. No more quiet hours gazing at each other, no more shared food and drink, no more listening to you quietly talk about your life, no more sympathetic glances, no more questions about him from you, no more answers from him. It was like you had disappeared entirely, and back to his old routine of watching and observing the guards had begun once more. He had to admit it kind of hurt, having the only good thing here disappear entirely, he resented this place more, resented you.

He hated you, how could you leave him? You, a servant girl abandoning a king. Funny, hilarious, he sat in a pool of blood and hatred thinking about you, about this town, about the people who put him here, who chained him to the floor and watched him bleed out, this city will burn. And burn and burn and burn and burn and burn, his people would tear it apart until it was nothing but ash and blood-

What tore him out of his internal monologue was a pained scream, but not just anybody, he didn't know anybody in the town, it was yours. With that whispery rasp that you had from overexertion, and that neverending fear that dripped from your tone. He stood up to stare through the small window, only to see you on the ground, surrounded by many people, all bigger and stronger than you, yelling and screaming.

“It's her, the traitor!”

“She has been feeding the enemy, treason, treason I say!”

“She should be beheaded, the traitor.”

You let another scream ring out through the town center as one of the men brought their boot down on your bare foot, he could hear the crunch followed by another scream. The first kick sparked more from other men as they brought their feet down on frail little ou, you slowly reverted into a fetal position, lying in the dirt as they beat you relentlessly. He saw red, crimson blinding him and overflowing all of his senses. How could they? You did nothing, you knew nothing. You were just a sweet, innocent little human who knew no better, who were they to punish you, to beat you so cruelly? You were thin and frail and he could hear each one of your bones cracking and breaking into pieces.

He saw bright ruby red, anger wasn’t the word, absolute rage is a better way to put it.

Red red red red red red red red red

He didn't even realize he had broken from his chains till his legs were moving,

Red

He didn’t even feel the burn of the iron till the bars holding him were bent out of shape and twisted

Red

He didn’t realize they were all dead till his hands were stained with that bright crimson color he loved so much- you guessed it, red

He killed them all, so painfully, knuckles crunching skulls and tearing off limbs, pulling people apart faster than any wolf or bear could even try to. The thrill of freedom mixed with rage and pure anger let him revert to the ways of his homeland, back to the thrilling violence and electrifying feeling of tearing another apart. He enjoyed it, enjoyed tearing them limb from limb and watching them bleed as they had done to him. He cackled as they screamed in terror, relishing in their fear.

You watched deliriously, you had lost too much blood in too short of a time, and you were positive that you had many many broken bones, pain overcame you as you watched the bloodshed in front of you, your vision was blurry and shaking but you could tell that somebody was strong, and enjoying violence. Fear budded in the back of your brain, he was enjoying this, enjoying their pain, he would hurt you just the same, kill you, and relish in it.

You hadn’t known who he was, you swore to the village leaders, swore that you just felt bad for the poor starving man in the dungeons who seemed to gentle and sweet, they hadn’t cared. You were to be burned or drowned or noosed they said. But a death like this, at the hand of a man you had been fooled to be sweet? That was worse. Oh god, oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god you were going to die

Your breath became shallow, both because of what was surely a punctured lung, but also because of the slowly approaching footsteps crunching on the dirt. A small whimper escaped you as the figure towered over you, and your hands came up to shield your face from the blow that was surely to come.

But Instead of a painful ending blow, arms wrapped under you and hoisted you up, you never realized how tall this man was. Naturally, you curled into his warmth and tried not to think about how sticky his hands were with blood. your breath hitched as he squeezed you closer with calloused rough hands. Tears washed down your face, you were quivering, shaking in fear.

“P-please-“ you quivered out. Hand moving up to push him away, your statement had many meanings, to beg for your life, to beg him to put you down, to beg him to leave you and your village alone, to beg him to forgive you. He stared down at you with crimson eyes, a sudden softness overcoming them, more than he thought he could have.

“Don’t you worry baby,

I’ll take good care of ya”

———————————————————————

Cute

Anyway enjoy, I noticed a lack of barbarian bakugo content on here so I figured I would add some fuel to the fire.

Love you all, make sure to have a great day!

[reallyromealone]

Hi! I was wondering if you write for Muzan in his kid form? If you do, could you write platonic Child from! Muzan x Father uppermoon! reader?? Like after Muzan leaves his human adoptive family he throws a tantrum and reader calms him down?

Title: parent figures

Fandom: demon Slayer

Warnings: male reader, fluff, reader is a dad

Notes: I'm taking creative liberties I apologize not really

☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️

(Name) held the sleeping boy close, the fire burned behind them as Muzans cover family burned in the ashes "let's go home now" he whispered as they were transported to the infinity castle, the boy snuggling into his dad's shoulder and clinging to his clothes "you can't have these tantrums little one" (name) gently chastied the sleeping boy "you don't even like cooked meat" he joked as he walked through the endless maze to the boys room, a child's bed with soft bedding and toys everywhere as the boy didn't clean up his mess.

"Papa..." Muzans little voice grumbled as he was settled into bed "what is it my little moonbeam" (name) said tucking him into bed, tickling him slightly causing the boy to giggle sleepily "you won't leave right?"

"Never little one"

Demons normally didn't hold strong bonds to others but (name) was extremely protective of his son, the boy clung to him and appointed him one of his upper moons, "papa moon" he would dub him as (name) mainly accompanied him and kept him out of trouble.

As Muzan slept (name) read a book, something to pass the time.

This tantrum was something else, (name) noted to himself as he thought about the fire.

"NO!" Muzan little voice screeched as he threw a candle on the ground, his adoptive family scrambling to stop it as the boy clawed and bit them, tearing open flesh.

"Muzan, that's not how polite boys act is it?" Through the screaming and bloodshed Muzan heard the voice of his papa and turned around with angry little tears "they won't do what I say!" He stomped his foot, breaking the wood and (name) sighed "humans never listen, now let's go home yes? Maybe I can get you a nice meal" (name) compromised and Muzan raised his little arms to be held as the house burned around them, the adoptive family torn to shreds.

'parenting is not easy' (name) noted though he wouldn't change his chaos spawn for anything really.

[solaceseven]

Ashes of Tomorrow

↳ summary: in a world overrun by the infected, survival is brutal and trust is rare. when a lone survivor joins sukuna’s guarded group, tensions flare, and bonds form in the shadow of constant danger.

→ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sukuna x fem!reader

→ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: apocalypse au, enemies to lovers, fluff, angst

→ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: graphic injuries, violent confrontations, emotional trauma, loss of loved ones, mature themes, and anything you would expect in an apocalypse au.

→ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 22k+

→ a/n: i’ve been debating whether to post this. it’s my first time working on something this big. please keep in mind that i'm still learning and growing as a writer. part two will be uploaded soon. i hope everyone enjoys it!

Six months. That’s how long it had been since the world fell apart.

Six months of chaos, death, and the relentless groans of the undead filling the streets. In that time, you’d lost everything—your home, your family, your friends. Five months ago, you buried your parents the only constants in a world spiraling out of control. Two months ago, the last shred of hope had crumbled when your team was ambushed. You still remembered their screams, the way they’d been torn apart while you ran.

Now, it was just you.

You’d learned to survive, though. To stay quiet, to move fast, and to keep a tight grip on the crowbar that never left your side. But survival wasn’t the same as living. With no one left, no safety, and barely any supplies, every day was a battle to find a reason to keep going.

That’s what brought you here—a decaying pharmacy tucked into the ruins of a crumbling city. The windows had been shattered, and most of the shelves were stripped bare, but there was always a chance something had been overlooked. You couldn’t afford to give up now. Supplies were running low—again—and you couldn’t afford to ignore even the faintest possibility of a find.

The building was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of the wind pushing through shattered windows. The quiet always unnerved you. It meant nothing was here, or it meant something dangerous was lurking. And in this world, you’d learned that the latter was far more common.

You moved quickly, rifling through what little remained on the shelves. There was nothing—no bandages, no antiseptics, not even a stray pack of painkillers. Your chest tightened. You hadn’t eaten in two days, and your limbs felt like they were made of lead. The only thing keeping you upright was the faint hope of finding something useful.

A soft scrape of a boot on the tile floor broke your focus. You froze, every muscle in your body tensing as you instinctively gripped your crowbar tighter.

“Turn around. Slowly.”

The voice was low and sharp, carrying a weight of authority that left no room for disobedience.

You did as instructed, turning slowly to face the speaker. Your breath hitched when your eyes landed on him.

He stood in the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered, his face half-shadowed by the dim light filtering through the broken windows. Tattoos coiled down one side of his face, stopping just shy of his jawline. His eyes were sharp and unforgiving, as if they could cut you down without the help of the knife in his hand.

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” you said quickly, your voice steady despite the fear prickling at the back of your neck. “I just needed supplies.”

The man took a step closer, his posture rigid but calculated, like a predator sizing up its prey. “This is our base. You’re trespassing.”

Your heart sank. Of course, the one pharmacy you decided to search had to belong to a group. You’d seen enough groups in the last six months to know how this could end—most didn’t tolerate strangers. But you weren’t about to beg for your life. Not yet.

“I didn’t know,” you said carefully, your gaze flicking to the doorway. A small, calculated step back might give you the chance to run. “I’ll leave.”

He didn’t move, his eyes narrowing as if assessing whether you were lying. A moment later, a faint laugh came from behind him, and more figures emerged from the shadows.

Four of them, all armed. One with messy snow-white hair leaned casually against the doorframe, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. Another had dark hair pulled back and an air of quiet authority. A blonde stood nearby, his sharp gaze locked on you, while a woman with a cigarette dangling from her lips watched you with mild curiosity.

“You’re alone?” the man with the tattoos asked, cutting through your thoughts.

“Yes,” you answered honestly. “I’ve been on my own for two months.”

He tilted his head slightly, as though weighing your words. “Convenient,” he said, his tone dripping with skepticism. “And I’m just supposed to believe that?”

“I don’t care what you believe,” you shot back, your exhaustion bubbling over into frustration. “I’m not a threat. I just need to survive.”

His lip curled slightly, not quite a smirk but close enough to feel mocking. “You and everyone else.”

You stared at him, chest tightening as the weight of the situation settled over you. These people had a base, weapons, resources—and they were ready to protect them. Meanwhile, you were barely holding on, the ache of hunger and the gnawing fear of being alone clawing at you every second.

“I’ll go,” you said again, lowering the crowbar. “I don’t want trouble.”

You turned toward the door, but something stopped you. The truth.

You wouldn’t make it. Not another month. Maybe not another week.

Your breath hitched, and you turned back around, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. “Wait.”

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly irritated by your hesitation.

“I can help you,” you said, the words tumbling out faster than you’d intended. “I was a med student before all of this. I know how to treat injuries—stitches, setting fractures, preventing infections. You need me.”

The room went silent for a moment. The woman with the cigarette exhaled slowly, the faint curl of smoke filling the air. The others exchanged glances, their postures shifting just slightly.

But the man in charge didn’t seem moved. “We don’t need you,” he said coldly, his gaze sharp. He jerked his chin toward the woman with the cigarette. “We already have someone who knows how to patch us up.”

You blinked, your stomach sinking as your eyes flicked to her.

The woman raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of amusement on her lips. “Having a partner? Sounds useful to me,” she said with a smirk, dragging the cigarette from her mouth and exhaling slowly.

The white-haired one grinned, breaking the tension. “She’s got a point. Two are better than one, right?”

“She could be lying,” the leader snapped, glaring at him.

“She’s not,” the blonde cut in, his voice calm but firm. “If she is, we’ll know soon enough.”

“She’s alone,” the quiet one added, his tone measured. “If she wanted to ambush us, she would’ve had backup by now.”

The leader scowled, clearly unhappy about the shift in opinion. But before he could argue further, the woman stepped forward, crushing the cigarette beneath her boot.

“I’m glad I’m not the other girl now,” she said with a small smirk. Turning to you, she added, “Come on. I’ll show you around.”

You hesitated, your gaze flicking back to the man in charge. His fiery eyes burned into yours, full of warning and thinly veiled hostility. But he didn’t stop the woman from leading you deeper into their base.

For now, you were safe. But the tension in the room made one thing painfully clear: this wouldn’t be easy.

The girl led you down a dim hallway. There was a musty scent to the building, but you didn’t mind. After months of scavenging, you were used to far worse.

“You have a name?” she said casually, glancing back at you.

You hesitated, still feeling the weight of the encounter in the other room. Finally, you spoke, giving your name—a piece of yourself you hadn’t shared in a long time.

“Shoko,” she replied, offering a faint smile. “Welcome to our little slice of apocalypse hell.”

Her tone was light, even friendly, and it caught you off guard. After months of being alone—and year of studying medicine, where people tended to be formal and brusque—her relaxed demeanor was strangely comforting.

She gestured for you to follow her deeper into the base. “Come on. I’ll show you where you can sleep. We’re not exactly running a hotel, but it beats sleeping in a ditch.”

You walked a few steps behind her, taking in your surroundings. The building was old but well-maintained, with concrete walls reinforced by wooden barricades. The air smelled faintly of motor oil and sweat, and supplies were stacked neatly along the walls—canned goods, medical kits, and ammunition. The group clearly had a system, and it was working.

Shoko led you to a small room at the end of the hallway. Inside was a thin mattress on the floor with a couple of blankets folded neatly on top. There was a single metal shelf against the wall, mostly empty except for a half-used candle and a box of matches.

“Not much,” Shoko said, stepping aside so you could enter. “But it’s yours for now.”

You set your pack down, the weight of it finally slipping from your shoulders. For a moment, you just stood there, staring at the mattress. It had been months since you’d had anything resembling a safe place to rest.

“Are you hungry?” Shoko asked, leaning against the doorway.

You glanced at her, unsure of how to respond. Your stomach growled before you could say anything, and Shoko smirked.

“Thought so. Come on. We’ve got food in the common area.”

You followed her back down the hallway, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. Shoko didn’t seem to view you as a threat, which was more kindness than you’d expected from anyone these days.

“We’ve been here for about four months,” Shoko explained as she walked. “It’s not much, but we’ve made it work. Sukuna’s the one keeping us alive, mostly.”

At the mention of his name, your chest tightened. “The guy with the tattoos?”

She chuckled. “Yeah, that’s him. Don’t take his attitude personally. He’s like that with everyone. Even us.”

“Us?”

“The rest of the group,” Shoko said. “We’re all friends. We were on a trip together when this whole zombie thing started. Stuck together ever since.”

That explained their familiarity with one another—the way they moved and spoke as a unit, how they all seemed to know what the others were thinking without speaking.

Shoko led you into a larger room, where the rest of the group was gathered. They looked up when you entered, their expressions ranging from curious to indifferent.

“Everyone, this is—” Shoko said your name, her tone casual as she took another drag from her cigarette. “Be nice.”

The white-haired man was the first to speak. He grinned, leaning back against the table where he’d been sitting. “Didn’t think the boss would let you in. You must’ve made one hell of an impression.”

“I don’t think that’s what happened,” you replied dryly, earning a laugh from Shoko.

The dark-haired man beside him gave a small nod. “Suguru,” he said simply, his tone calm but not unfriendly. “Good to have you here.”

The blonde, who was sitting across from him cleaning a knife, didn’t look up. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

“Nanami,” Shoko said, rolling her eyes. “Can you not?”

“I’m being realistic,” he replied, his voice even.

“You’ll have to forgive Nanami,” Shoko said to you, her smirk returning. “He’s just mad the world ended and he doesn’t have coffee anymore.”

Nanami let out a quiet sigh and finally looked up. “It’s a tragedy,” he said in a deadpan tone, earning a laugh from the white-haired man.

“I’m Satoru,” the white-haired one said, grinning at you. “The fun one, in case you couldn’t tell.”

“Annoying, not fun,” Shoko corrected.

“And you already met Sukuna,” Satoru continued, ignoring her.

Your gaze flicked to the man with the tattoos, who was standing in the corner with his arms crossed. His expression was as unreadable as before, but his eyes stayed on you, sharp and calculating.

“Try not to make things harder than they need to be,” he said, his voice low and cold.

The air in the room seemed to shift, the tension thickening for a moment before Shoko broke it with a clap of her hands.

“Alright, that’s enough brooding for one day,” she said. “Sit down. Eat something. We’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.”

You hesitated, glancing at Sukuna one last time. He didn’t look away, his gaze heavy with unspoken warnings. But he didn’t stop you when you sat at the table, your stomach growling at the sight of canned food and stale bread.

Shoko slid a plate toward you and leaned against the wall, her smirk softening into something resembling a real smile. “Welcome to the group,” she said.

For the first time in months, you allowed yourself to feel something close to relief. You weren’t sure if you’d made the right decision coming here, but at least for now, you weren’t alone.

The group ate together in relative silence, save for the occasional joke from Satoru or Shoko’s dry quips that kept things from feeling completely somber. You were too tired to say much, focused on the stale but filling meal in front of you. Every so often, you caught someone’s eyes on you—Nanami’s sharp but observant glances, Suguru’s calm but assessing looks, or Sukuna’s unrelenting scrutiny from across the room.

When you finished eating, Shoko nudged you with her elbow. “C’mon. I’ll show you where everything else is.”

You followed her out of the room, feeling a mix of exhaustion and relief settling over you. It was surreal, being here, surrounded by strangers who were both your best chance at survival and a reminder of everything you’d lost.

Shoko walked ahead of you, her cigarette balanced lazily between her lips. “You’re lucky, you know,” she said over her shoulder.

“Lucky?” you repeated, your voice tinged with disbelief.

“Yeah. Sukuna doesn’t usually let strangers stick around. He’s a pain in the ass, but he knows how to keep us alive.”

You frowned. “He didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat.”

Shoko chuckled. “No, but he didn’t throw you out either. That’s something.” She paused, then added with a shrug, “Don’t take it personally. He’s just cautious. Losing people changes you.”

Her words lingered in the air, a quiet reminder of what you already knew too well. You didn’t respond, instead focusing on the tour as Shoko led you through the base.

The building was bigger than you’d expected, with makeshift defenses reinforcing every entrance and window. Shoko pointed out various rooms as you passed—a storage area packed with supplies, a small medical room, and what she called “the armory,” though it was really just a closet filled with mismatched weapons.

Eventually, she stopped in front of another door. “Bathroom,” she said, pushing it open. Inside was a simple setup—a sink, a mirror, and a bucket with a lid you assumed served as a toilet.

“It’s not glamorous,” Shoko said, leaning against the doorframe. “But it works. We rigged up a tank outside to feed water to the sink. You’ll have enough to wash up, but don’t overdo it—we ration everything.”

Your eyes swept across the small space, catching sight of five toothbrushes neatly lined up in a cup by the sink, along with a single, nearly flattened tube of toothpaste. The sight reminded you that this wasn’t just a safe haven—it was their home.

Shoko followed your gaze and grabbed a new toothbrush from a nearby shelf, holding it out to you. “Here. This one’s yours now.”

You nodded, grateful for even the smallest semblance of normalcy.

Shoko let you step inside and handed you a towel from a nearby shelf. “Get cleaned up,” she said, then placed a hand on the doorknob. “I’ll wait out here.”

Before you could respond, she pulled the door shut behind you with a soft click, leaving you alone in the quiet, dimly lit space.

You caught your reflection in the cracked mirror, barely recognizing the face staring back. Dirt smudged your cheeks, and your eyes were hollow with exhaustion. With a deep breath, you turned on the sink. The sink’s faucet sputtered before releasing a steady trickle of cold water, the sound echoing faintly in the small room. You cupped the water in your hands, its icy temperature biting against your skin, and splashed it onto your face and arms.

Using the small bar of soap sitting on the edge, you worked up a thin lather, the faint scent of something herbal breaking through the musty air. You wiped yourself clean in sections with the towel, rinsing and repeating until the layers of dirt and sweat were gone. It wasn’t much, but as you worked, the cold water and the simple act of cleaning up made you feel a little more like yourself again—a tiny piece of normalcy in the chaos.

You reached for the cup holding the toothpaste, squeezing a small dollop onto the new toothbrush. As you brushed your teeth, the minty taste hit your tongue like a shock, unfamiliar after weeks of chewing on dry food and stale water. It was almost overwhelming, but the sensation felt like a step back toward normal life. Spitting into the sink, you rinsed your mouth and ran water over the toothbrush, setting it into the cup.

When you finished cleaning up, you cracked the bathroom door open just enough to peek outside. Shoko was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and looked up at the sound of the creak. She handed you a bundle of clothes—a clean but worn pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt.

“They’re a little big,” she said with a shrug, motioning to the size with a tilt of her chin. “But better than what you’ve got on now.”

“Thanks,” you said softly, taking the clothes and retreating back into the bathroom. You shut the door behind you, the faint click echoing in the quiet space.

Slipping out of your towel, you quickly changed into the sweatpants and shirt. The fabric was soft against your freshly cleaned skin, and while the clothes were a bit baggy around the sleeves and waist, they fit well enough to feel comfortable. You folded your old, grimy clothes into a bundle, relieved to finally be rid of them.

Once you were done, you opened the door again and stepped out, clutching the pile of dirty clothes in your arms. Shoko’s gaze flicked over you briefly before she gave a small nod of approval.

Shoko led you back to your room and leaned against the doorway as you stepped inside. “Get some rest,” she said, her tone lighter now. “You look like you’re about to keel over.”

You couldn’t argue with that. As you sat on the mattress, Shoko hesitated for a moment before speaking again.

“For what it’s worth,” she said, her cigarette dangling from her fingers, “I’m glad you’re here. It’s nice having someone new around.”

The sincerity in her voice caught you off guard, and you found yourself smiling despite the heaviness in your chest. “Thanks, Shoko.”

She nodded and stepped back into the hallway. “Night.”

“Goodnight,” you said, watching as she disappeared down the corridor.

You lay back on the mattress, staring up at the cracked ceiling. The sounds of the base hummed around you—the faint murmur of voices, the creak of footsteps on the floor above, the distant clang of metal.

For the first time in months, you felt a sliver of hope.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep you going.

The next morning, the faint light of dawn filtered through the boarded-up windows of your room, accompanied by the muffled sounds of movement beyond the walls. You stretched, wincing at the stiffness in your muscles. It was the first time you’d slept without fear of being ambushed in months, and it was strange—unnerving, even—to wake up somewhere safe.

After a moment, you forced yourself up. The air was cold, and the thin blanket you’d been given wasn’t much help, but you didn’t complain. You pulled on your jacket and laced up your boots, steeling yourself for another day of navigating this uneasy arrangement.

As you stepped into the hallway, you heard voices coming from the common area. You followed the sound, hesitating briefly at the doorway.

The group was gathered around a table in the center of the room. Shoko sat on the edge of it, cigarette in hand as usual, while the others stood or leaned against the walls. A map was spread out across the table, marked with faint lines and symbols in red and black ink.

Sukuna glanced up first, his sharp gaze locking onto yours. The room fell quiet for a moment, and you resisted the urge to shrink back under his scrutiny.

“Morning,” Shoko said, breaking the silence with a small smile. “Sleep well?”

“Well enough,” you replied cautiously, stepping into the room.

Suguru offered you a polite nod, and Satoru waved lazily from his spot against the wall. Nanami didn’t look up, focused instead on sharpening a blade in his hands.

“We’re going out,” Sukuna said abruptly, his voice cutting through the quiet.

You frowned. “Out?”

“For supplies,” Shoko explained. She gestured to the map on the table. “There’s a warehouse a few blocks from here. We’ve been meaning to hit it for weeks, but it’s risky.”

“Why?” you asked, stepping closer to get a better look at the map.

“Too open,” Nanami said, finally glancing up. “And there’s been an increase in infected sightings in the area.”

“Which is why we’ll stick to the usual plan,” Sukuna added, his tone firm. “Split into teams, stay quiet, get in and out fast. No unnecessary risks.”

The authority in his voice was undeniable, and you realized that while the group didn’t have a formal hierarchy, they clearly followed his lead.

“Guess that means you’re staying here,” Satoru said, looking at you with a teasing grin. “Unless you want to take your chances out there.”

Before you could respond, Shoko spoke up. “She’s not ready for that yet.”

Your stomach twisted slightly at her words, but you didn’t argue. As much as you hated to admit it, she was probably right. You weren’t ready. Not yet.

“What do I do while you’re gone?” you asked instead, trying to keep your voice steady.

Shoko shrugged. “Stick around. Get familiar with the place. There’s plenty to keep you busy.”

“Help organize supplies,” Nanami suggested, his tone clipped. “The pharmacy is our base for a reason, but it only works if we stay on top of inventory.”

Suguru added, “And if you hear anything unusual, be ready to defend yourself. This place might keep the infected out, but it’s not invincible.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, but you nodded, determined to prove yourself useful.

The group began gathering their gear—backpacks, weapons, and whatever tools they needed for the run. Shoko lingered behind, finishing her cigarette before snuffing it out on the edge of the table.

“You’ll be fine,” she said, giving you a reassuring smile. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

With that, she joined the others, and within minutes, they were gone.

The silence that followed was deafening.

You wandered the base, taking Shoko’s advice to familiarize yourself with the layout. The pharmacy had clearly been chosen for its abundance of supplies—rows of shelves held medicine, canned food, and other essentials, while the back rooms had been repurposed for storage and sleeping quarters.

As you worked, sorting through boxes and taking stock of the inventory, you couldn’t shake the weight of your thoughts. Being here felt like both a blessing and a burden. You were safe, but you were also an outsider, an unproven variable in a group that had clearly been through hell together.

You had to prove yourself. Not just to them, but to yourself.

Hours passed in relative quiet, the monotony of the work a strange comfort. You were just finishing an inventory of the medical supplies when the faint sound of footsteps reached your ears.

Your pulse quickened as you grabbed the closest thing resembling a weapon—a rusted wrench from a nearby shelf.

The footsteps grew louder, closer, until a familiar voice called out.

“We’re back,” Shoko said, her tone as casual as ever.

Relief flooded through you as the group filed back into the building, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction. Sukuna was the last to enter, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on you.

“No issues?” he asked, his voice low.

You shook your head. “None.”

“Good,” he said, his tone neutral but firm. He turned to the others. “Unload and regroup in an hour.”

As the group began unpacking their haul, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pride. You’d survived the day without incident, and while it wasn’t much, it felt like a step in the right direction.

But you knew this was only the beginning.

The following days passed in a blur of routine and quiet tension. You found yourself settling into the group’s rhythm, though there was still an unspoken divide between you and the others.

Nanami remained as reserved as ever, focused on his tasks with an almost mechanical precision. Suguru was polite, occasionally offering a word of advice or a small gesture of kindness, but he seemed to prefer observing from the sidelines. Satoru, on the other hand, was relentless with his teasing, throwing in snarky comments whenever the opportunity arose.

And then there was Sukuna.

He spoke to you only when absolutely necessary, his tone clipped and his words laced with an authority that brooked no argument. He watched you constantly, his sharp gaze dissecting your every move. It was exhausting, and no matter how much effort you put into proving yourself useful, it never seemed to be enough for him.

Shoko, at least, made the transition easier. She’d taken you under her wing in her own dry, unflappable way, showing you the ins and outs of the base and ensuring you knew how to navigate their system.

“Don’t let Sukuna get to you,” she said one evening as you helped her sort through a crate of medical supplies. “He’s always like that. Doesn’t trust anyone outside the group.”

You glanced at her, hesitant. “I get it. I wouldn’t trust me either.”

Shoko snorted, lighting another cigarette. “Yeah, well, we’re not exactly saints. You’ll get there.”

Her words were reassuring, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that Sukuna wasn’t just being cautious. He was waiting—for you to make a mistake, to prove that you didn’t belong.

It was late one afternoon when your chance to prove yourself again came.

The group was in the common area, discussing plans for the next supply run. Sukuna was at the head of the table, gesturing to a map while the others listened intently.

“We’ll need to hit the northeast block,” he said, tapping the paper with a finger. “There’s a hardware store there. If we’re lucky, we’ll find some tools and parts to reinforce the barricades.”

“And if we’re not lucky?” Satoru asked, leaning back in his chair with a grin.

“Then we clear out the infected and keep moving,” Sukuna replied flatly.

The conversation continued, but you found yourself distracted by a low, distant noise—a sound you hadn’t heard in weeks. At first, you thought you were imagining it, but then it came again: a faint, pained groan.

Your blood ran cold.

“Do you hear that?” you asked, interrupting the conversation.

The group turned to look at you, varying degrees of curiosity and irritation on their faces.

“Hear what?” Nanami asked, his tone skeptical.

You held up a hand, straining to listen. The sound came again, louder this time, and you realized it wasn’t coming from outside. It was coming from somewhere within the building.

“There,” you whispered.

The group immediately tensed. Sukuna stood, his expression sharp. He glanced at you and Shoko. “Both of you, stay here,” he ordered before motioning for the others to follow him.

“I can help,” you said instinctively, stepping forward.

“No,” Sukuna snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Stay. Here.”

Before you could protest, the group disappeared down the hallway, leaving you and Shoko alone in the common area.

Your heart raced as you listened to the faint echoes of their footsteps, followed by muffled voices and the occasional creak of the floorboards. The groaning sound grew louder, closer, until you could barely breathe.

And then, silence.

The minutes stretched on, each one heavier than the last, until finally, the group returned. Sukuna was at the front, dragging a body behind him—a man, bloody and unconscious but very much alive.

You stared in shock as he dropped the man onto the floor, the thud echoing through the room.

“He’s alive,” Shoko announced, kneeling beside the man and checking his pulse. “And not infected.”

“He could still turn,” Sukuna said coldly, his eyes narrowing.

“No,” you interjected firmly. “If he were bitten, he’d have turned by now. It only takes a minute.”

Nanami folded his arms, his expression unreadable. “He’s still deadweight. We don’t have the resources to waste.”

“We can’t just leave him,” Shoko argued, her voice calm but firm.

“I’ll handle it,” you said before you could stop yourself.

The room went silent, all eyes turning to you.

“What?” Sukuna said, his tone sharp.

“I can handle it,” you repeated, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I was a med student. Let me help him.”

Sukuna’s expression darkened, and for a moment, you thought he was going to refuse. But then he stepped back, his lips curling into a cold smirk.

“Fine,” he said. “Nanami, take him to the infirmary.”

Nanami sighed but complied, lifting the man with Satoru’s help and carrying him out of the room. The sound of their footsteps faded as they disappeared down the hallway.

The infirmary was a repurposed office room, its desks pushed aside to make space for several cots lined up against the walls. Shelves held neatly arranged medical supplies—bandages, antiseptics, painkillers—all salvaged from previous runs. The faint scent of alcohol lingered in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood.

Nanami and Satoru lowered the man onto one of the cots before leaving without a word. Shoko and you stayed behind, the silence between you punctuated by the man’s faint groans.

Shoko leaned against the wall, lighting a cigarette. “Guess you’re on, doc,” she said with a faint smirk. “What’s the plan?”

You moved to the cot, inspecting the man’s injuries. His clothes were shredded, blood soaking through what remained of his shirt. A jagged wound stretched across his abdomen, deep and ugly, though not fresh enough to bleed him out immediately.

“We need to stop the bleeding first,” you said, reaching into the small medical kit you’d salvaged weeks ago.

Shoko exhaled a stream of smoke and gestured toward a nearby shelf. “There’s more gauze and antiseptic over there. I’ll grab it.”

You nodded, already focused on cleaning the wound. Shoko returned with the supplies, setting them beside you before crouching to get a closer look at the man’s injuries.

“What do you think his story is?” Shoko asked, her tone light but curious.

You shook your head. “Hard to say. He’s been through hell, that much is obvious. But if he made it this far, he’s a fighter.”

“Or just lucky,” Shoko said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Maybe both,” you replied, focusing on stitching the gash closed. Your hands moved quickly but carefully, each stitch bringing the wound closer together. It was crude work, the kind you never would’ve considered acceptable back when you were studying medicine, but it would keep him alive. For now.

“Not bad,” Shoko said, watching as you tied off the final stitch. “You’ve got steady hands.”

You gave her a faint smile. “Thanks.”

The man groaned again, his head shifting slightly. You placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, feeling his breathing even out beneath your touch.

“He’ll need rest and fluids,” you said, leaning back to assess your work. After a moment, you sat back on your heels and added, “But he should pull through—if he doesn’t get an infection."

“That’s a big if,” Shoko said, standing and stretching lazily. “Sukuna’s not gonna like this.”

You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting at the thought of facing him. His disapproval was palpable even when he wasn’t in the room. “I’ll deal with it,” you said firmly, trying to muster some confidence.

Shoko gave you a half-smile, one corner of her mouth quirking up. “Good luck with that."

When you stepped back into the common area, the rest of the group was waiting. Sukuna leaned against the far wall, his arms crossed over his chest, his sharp gaze locking onto you the moment you entered.

“Well?” he asked, his voice low and cutting.

“He’s stable,” you said, keeping your tone steady despite the knot tightening in your stomach. “But he’s weak. He won’t survive on his own.”

“That’s not our problem,” Sukuna replied coldly.

You stiffened. “You can’t just—”

“Yes, I can,” he interrupted, his voice hardening as his eyes bore into yours. “He’s not one of us. I’m not risking our safety for someone who can’t pull their weight.”

You opened your mouth to argue again, but Shoko, still idly puffing on her cigarette, stepped in.

“She’s got a point, though,” Shoko said, exhaling a thin stream of smoke. “The guy’s barely hanging on. Sending him out now would just be a death sentence. We might as well have killed him ourselves.”

Sukuna’s sharp glare shifted to her, his expression darkening. “And?”

“And we don’t need that kind of bad karma hanging over us,” she continued, her tone casual but pointed. “Let him rest for the night. Patch him up properly, and send him on his way tomorrow.”

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to Sukuna as he weighed her words. His jaw tightened, the muscle ticking as his gaze flicked back to you.

Finally, he pushed off the wall and strode toward you, his towering presence suffocating as he stopped just short of invading your space.

“One night,” he said, his voice low and brimming with warning. “And if he so much as breathes wrong, it’s on you. Got it?”

You nodded, swallowing hard under the weight of his gaze. “Got it.”

Satisfied, Sukuna turned and walked away, tension dissipating slightly with each heavy step he took down the hallway.

Satoru let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.”

“Or she’s just reckless,” Nanami muttered, his tone as blunt as ever.

Suguru, who had remained silent until now, gave you a measured look and a small nod. “It was the right call,” he said simply.

You didn’t respond, your mind already racing with thoughts of what tomorrow would bring. For now, all you could do was hope you’d made the right decision.

The injured man stirred restlessly throughout the night, his labored breathing echoing faintly in the pharmacy’s quiet halls. You stayed close by, keeping a cautious watch for any signs of infection—or worse, the telltale fever that could signal the end.

Shoko had supplied you with a couple of clean rags, and you used one to wipe the sweat from the man’s brow. His skin was clammy, but his pulse, though weak, remained steady.

“Lucky bastard,” Shoko muttered from the doorway, startling you.

You glanced back at her. She had a cigarette between her fingers, though it was unlit. “How so?”

“He survived out there long enough for you to find him. And Sukuna didn’t kick his ass out the moment he saw him.”

You didn’t respond, focusing instead on adjusting the makeshift bandage over his wound.

Shoko stepped into the room, her expression unreadable as she crouched beside you. “You really don’t think he’s infected?”

You shook your head. “He would’ve shown symptoms by now. Fever, spasms, disorientation… but he’s coherent. Exhausted, but human.”

“For now,” she said, her tone carrying a note of warning.

You didn’t miss the implication. “If he shows any signs, I’ll deal with it.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow, studying you for a moment. Then, to your surprise, she nodded. “Fair enough.”

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the faint hum of wind outside filling the space. Finally, Shoko stood and stretched, her back popping faintly.

“Better get some rest,” she said. “Sukuna is going to want an update in the morning.”

You hesitated. “Do you think he’ll…?”

“Change his mind?” Shoko said. “Not a chance. Sukuna’s stubborn as hell. But if the guy pulls through, he’ll at least have a fighting chance out there. That’s more than most people get.”

She left without another word, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the sound of the man’s uneven breathing.

Morning came too quickly. By the time the group gathered in the common area, you were dead on your feet, the ache in your back and shoulders a dull reminder of how long you’d spent sitting on the cold floor.

“He’s stable,” you reported when Sukuna’s sharp gaze landed on you. “The wound’s healing, and there’s no sign of infection.”

Sukuna didn’t respond right away. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, and studied you with that same piercing look that made your skin crawl.

“And?” he said finally.

“And he’s in no condition to leave yet,” you said, forcing yourself to stand taller despite your exhaustion. “But if he rests for another day or two, he should be able to manage on his own.”

Sukuna’s expression hardened. “Fine. One more day,” he said coldly. “Then he’s gone by tomorrow. No exceptions.”

You nodded, keeping your face neutral. Sukuna’s decision was final, and pushing back would likely do more harm than good. Still, the pit in your stomach only seemed to grow

A few hours later, you checked on the injured man. His color had improved slightly, though his movements were sluggish and weak. He blinked up at you, his gaze unfocused.

“Where… am I?” he rasped.

“Safe,” you said simply, not offering more. “For now.”

He winced as he tried to sit up, and you placed a firm hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Don’t. You’ll tear the stitches.”

His eyes flicked toward you, confusion etched into his features. “Who…?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you interrupted. “You’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

His expression shifted, a mix of fear and resignation passing over his face. “I can’t—”

“You don’t have a choice,” you said, your tone sharper than you intended. Guilt flared in your chest, but you pushed it down. There was no point in giving him false hope.

By nightfall, the man was stronger, though still far from healthy. His movements were sluggish, and he winced with every shift, but his color had improved, and he was coherent enough to sip the water you offered him. As you helped him sit up, you couldn’t help but wonder if Sukuna’s decision had been the right one. Was it fair to send someone out into a world like this, knowing the odds were stacked so heavily against him?

But then you thought of the group—of how much they’d risked just letting you in—and you understood why Sukuna was so unyielding. Trust wasn’t something people could afford to give freely anymore. Compassion could get you killed just as easily as cruelty.

Still, you couldn’t stand the thought of sending him out with nothing. That evening, you packed a battered backpack with supplies: a bottle of water, a couple of cans of food, the blanket you’d found earlier, and a spare jacket. You tore a page from an old notebook and scribbled a few instructions: “Change the bandages daily. Keep the wound clean. If you feel feverish or the pain gets worse, don’t push yourself.”

The next morning, when Sukuna ordered the man to leave, no one spoke up to argue. Not even you.

The following morning, the man was gone. Whether he’d made it far or fallen victim to the harshness of the world, you didn’t know. No one spoke about it—not over breakfast, not during the day’s routines. The group moved forward without looking back, and you did your best to follow their lead, even as guilt gnawed at your insides.

You were restocking the med kits in the corner of the common area when Shoko appeared, a mug in her hand and a relaxed expression on her face.

“Thought you could use this,” she said, holding it out to you.

You blinked at her in surprise before taking the mug from her hands. The warmth seeped into your fingers instantly, a welcome comfort against the chill of the room. “What is it?”

“Instant coffee,” she said, pulling up a chair. “Barely tastes like coffee, but it’s hot, and it’s something.”

Grateful, you wrapped your hands around the mug and let the warmth seep into your fingers. “Thanks.”

Shoko leaned back, her gaze flicking to the supplies you were organizing. “Not bad, newbie,” she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’re settling in better than I expected.”

“Newbie?” you asked, raising a brow.

Her smile widened. “Satoru calls you that.”

You groaned, shaking your head. “Of course, he does.”

“Don’t let it get to you,” she said with a laugh. “He’s an idiot, but he’s harmless. Well—mostly harmless.”

The comment earned a small chuckle from you. “Good to know.”

Her tone softened as she looked back at you. “For what it’s worth, you’ve been doing fine. Better than fine, really. Not many people would’ve patched up that guy the way you did, even knowing he’d be gone by morning.”

You glanced down at the mug in your hands, unsure how to respond. “It just… felt like the right thing to do,” you admitted quietly.

Shoko nodded, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “You’ve got a good instinct for this kind of thing,” she said. “It’s why I spoke up for you. I figured you’d be worth keeping around.”

Her casual praise caught you off guard, and warmth spread through your chest. “Thanks,” you murmured, the word feeling inadequate for what you wanted to say.

“Don’t mention it,” she said, waving a hand. “Don't let Sukuna scare you off. He’s a pain, but he doesn’t bite—well, not unless you really piss him off.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Finish your coffee,” Shoko said, pushing herself to her feet. “I’ll show you how to get inventory done without losing your mind.”

“Deal,” you said, lifting the mug to your lips.

As she led the way to the storage room, a small smile lingered on your face. Shoko’s steady presence made you feel, for once, like you might actually have a place here after all.

Over the next few days, the others began to warm up to you in their own ways—some more obviously than others.

Suguru was one of the first to reach out.

You were sitting near the barricaded entrance, mending a tear in your jacket, when Suguru approached with something folded in his hands. He knelt down beside you, holding it out.

“Here,” he said. “Thought this might help.”

You took the fabric, your fingers brushing over its thick, durable texture. “What is it?”

“An old tarp from storage,” he replied. “I figured you could use it to patch that up properly.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the gesture. “You didn’t have to do this.”

He shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “It’s not a big deal. Besides, can’t have you walking around in rags—it’d reflect badly on us.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Thanks, Suguru. Really.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said as he stood, brushing some dust off his pants. He gave you a small nod before turning and walking away, his steps unhurried.

You watched him go, the warmth of his gesture lingering long after he disappeared around the corner.

Satoru’s approach, as always, was less subtle.

He found you crouched near the supply shelves, reassembling a broken lantern you’d scrounged up earlier.

“Whatcha doing, newbie?” he asked, plopping down beside you with his trademark grin.

“Trying to fix this,” you replied, not bothering to look up. “It’s not much, but it might help.”

Satoru leaned closer, watching you fiddle with the pieces. “Didn’t peg you as the handy type.”

You glanced at him. “What type did you peg me as?”

“Honestly? Thought you’d cry and bolt on day one.”

You shot him a deadpan look. “Wow. Glad I could exceed expectations.”

He laughed, completely unbothered. “Hey, I’m impressed! You’ve got guts, newbie. Gotta admit, I didn’t think you’d last.”

His teasing was irritating, but there was an unexpected warmth in his words. By the time he wandered off, you realized you were smiling.

Nanami, on the other hand, was quieter in his support.

You were dragging a crate of supplies across the common area when a hand reached past you and lifted it with ease.

Startled, you glanced up to see Nanami, his expression calm as ever. “You shouldn’t be carrying something that heavy by yourself,” he said plainly.

“I could’ve managed,” you muttered, embarrassed.

“Maybe,” he replied, setting the crate down neatly against the wall. “But why make things harder than they need to be?”

You opened your mouth to thank him, but before you could, he was already heading back toward the shelves, his focus back on his work.

And then there was Sukuna.

It was late, and the common area was dimly lit by the faint glow of a battery-powered lantern resting on the center table. You sat hunched over the table, scribbling in your worn notebook. The blanket draped over your shoulders barely kept the chill at bay, but the small comfort of the pages beneath your hands kept you focused.

The soft creak of a chair startled you, and you looked up to see Shoko settling into the seat across from you. She rested her chin in her hand, her sharp gaze flicking to your notebook.

“What’re you working on?” she asked.

“Just writing down what I remember from med school,” you said, glancing at her briefly before returning to your notes. “You know—stuff about infection treatments, first aid. Trying to make sure I don’t forget anything important.”

Shoko tilted her head, intrigued. “Let me guess. Wound care, fever management, that kind of thing?”

“Pretty much,” you replied with a faint smile. “It’s not like we have access to the good stuff anymore.”

She huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re not wrong. If nothing else, the basics will get you farther than you’d think. They drilled that into us pretty hard back in school.”

You paused your writing to glance at her. “How far were you?”

“Three years in,” she replied, leaning back in her chair. “Long enough to know what I was doing, not long enough to actually finish.”

You nodded, finding a strange comfort in that. “Same here. Well, not three years—just one. Still feels like a lifetime ago.”

“It does,” she agreed, her voice quieter now. “But hey, you’re not doing bad for someone who barely started.”

A small laugh escaped you. “Thanks. High praise coming from someone who’s ahead of me.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she said with a smirk, though her tone was light. She nodded toward your notebook. “What else have you got in there?”

“Just the things I think might come up. Stuff I’ve had to deal with already, mostly. Fevers, infected cuts, dehydration. It’s not much, but…”

“It’s something,” Shoko finished for you. “And that’s more than a lot of people can say. Keep at it. Writing things down helps—it’s easy to forget details when everything’s chaos.”

You hesitated before asking, “Do you ever write stuff like this? Just in case?”

She shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Nah. I keep it all up here.” She tapped her temple. “I guess I’ve always thought that if I need something badly enough, I’ll remember it. Besides, Satoru’s got a freakishly good memory for this kind of stuff—he’s like a walking cheat sheet when he wants to be useful.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the tension easing from your shoulders. “I guess that’s one way to get by.”

“Hey,” she said, nodding toward your notebook. “What med school did you go to, anyway?”

Before you could respond, the sound of heavy boots echoed across the room, pulling both your attention toward the doorway. Sukuna stood there, his arms crossed and crimson gaze fixed on Shoko.

“Shoko,” he said, his voice sharp. “You’re on watch tonight. Get going.”

She sighed dramatically, but you noticed how she rose without argument. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, I won’t let the big bad zombies in.” She glanced at you and Sukuna. “Enjoy your chat.”

With that, she slipped out, leaving you alone with Sukuna.

“Studying?” Sukuna’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and sardonic.

“Just trying to be useful,” you said cautiously, bracing for whatever jab he was about to make.

“Hmph.” He took a step closer, his gaze flicking to the notebook in your hands. “That’s useless.”

Your grip on the pen tightened. “It’s not useless if it helps someone survive.”

He tilted his head, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “You really think you can save everyone, don’t you?”

You met his gaze, refusing to back down. “No. But I can try.”

For a moment, something shifted in his expression—a flicker of something softer—but it disappeared as quickly as it came. “Try all you want,” he said, turning away. “Doesn’t mean the world won’t kill them anyway.”

His words lingered long after he left, heavy with an unspoken truth that you couldn’t quite unravel.

You were starting to feel it—the subtle shift in the group’s dynamic, like you were slowly being woven into their fabric. The tension that had clung to your every step when you first joined had eased, replaced by a quiet understanding of how they worked together.

You and Shoko had started growing closer over the past few days, the initial distance between you shrinking as casual chats turned into something resembling friendship. She often found you during quiet moments, dragging a chair over to share a cigarette and trade stories—or, more often, her sharp humor paired with a few genuine words of advice. It became a small comfort, those moments with her, grounding you in a world that constantly threatened to pull you under.

Suguru had started inviting you to tag along on supply runs, explaining their strategies in a calm, steady tone that made everything seem less daunting. He’d walk alongside you, pointing out key routes and landmarks to remember, his voice carrying a certain patience that put you at ease.

And even Nanami, in his quiet way, had begun to acknowledge you more, offering the occasional tip or simply nodding in approval when you finished a task efficiently

Satoru, meanwhile, had decided it was his mission to “toughen you up.” Almost every afternoon, he’d challenge you to mock sparring matches, claiming it was all in the name of survival. These sessions usually ended with him grinning while you tried to catch your breath, but even his teasing felt like a strange kind of encouragement.

But Sukuna? He remained distant—watchful and unyielding, as if he were waiting for you to prove him right about whatever assumptions he’d made.

One evening, after dinner, the group lingered in the common area, the glow of the lantern casting soft shadows across the room. Satoru leaned back against a crate, flipping a pocket knife idly in his hand, while Suguru and Shoko shared quiet conversation over a deck of cards. Nanami was seated at the far end, reading a book he’d found on a supply run. You sat off to the side, carefully stitching a tear in Satoru’s jacket that he’d insisted wasn’t worth fixing. The rhythmic motion of needle and thread helped you focus, even as the group's chatter flowed around you.

Satoru, as usual, decided to shake things up. “Alright, newbie,” he said, flicking the knife into the air and catching it by the handle. “What’s the wildest thing you’ve done to make it this far?”

All eyes turned to you, even Shoko and Suguru pausing their game. Sukuna was leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, but you felt the weight of his crimson gaze on you.

You hesitated, memories of near-death moments and desperate decisions flashing in your mind. “Probably the time I climbed out of a second-story window using a bedsheet rope,” you said after a moment. “The place was overrun, and I didn’t think I’d make it if I stayed.”

“Bedsheet rope?” Shoko raised a brow, a grin tugging at her lips. “Did it actually hold?”

“Barely,” you admitted, a small smile creeping onto your face. “I landed in a dumpster, which I guess cushioned the fall. But I smelled like garbage for days.”

Satoru laughed, loud and unrestrained. “A dumpster escape? Classic. You’re officially one of us now.”

“Better than some of your ideas,” Nanami said without looking up from his book, drawing an exaggerated gasp from Satoru.

“Hey, all my plans are genius,” Satoru shot back. “Some just... don’t pan out.”

Suguru shook his head, chuckling. “Sure, genius.”

Even Shoko snorted, and for a moment, the group felt lighter, their collective laughter a rare break from the grim reality outside.

You glanced toward Sukuna, half-expecting a cutting remark, but he didn’t say a word. He pushed off the wall instead, his boots heavy against the floor.

“I’m checking the perimeter,” he muttered, heading for the door.

The mood shifted subtly as he left, but no one commented on it. You leaned back in your seat, letting the warmth of the group’s humor settle over you, even if Sukuna’s stormy presence lingered at the edges of your mind.

The next morning, the pharmacy’s halls were filled with the usual sounds of life in the apocalypse: murmured conversations, the shuffle of boots, the clatter of weapons being prepped. You were still adjusting to the rhythms of the group, waking early so you wouldn’t miss anything important or be perceived as a slacker.

Shoko was already in the supply room when you arrived, reorganizing the shelves with her usual nonchalant efficiency.

“Morning, early bird,” she said without looking up from the gauze she was stacking. “Come to help, or just bored?”

“A little of both,” you replied, grabbing a box of antiseptic wipes to sort through.

She glanced at you, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’re catching on fast. That’s good.”

The casual praise made your chest warm, and you nodded, trying not to let your gratitude show too much. Shoko’s friendship—and the growing camaraderie with the others—was more than you’d expected after being alone for so long.

By mid-morning, Suguru and Satoru were in the common area, going through their usual supply check. Their easy banter filled the room, a contrast to the ever-present tension of survival.

“We’re low on canned fruit again,” Suguru said, examining the inventory list with his usual calm.

“That’s because you keep eating it all,” Satoru teased, tossing a can of beans into a crate with a grin.

Carrying a clipboard Shoko had handed you to update the medical supplies inventory, you entered just as Satoru’s laugh echoed through the room.

“Hey, newbie!” he called, noticing you. “How’s the Shoko torture program going?"

“It’s fine,” you said, playing along. “I think I’m surviving.”

“Good to know,” Suguru said, giving you a small nod. “We need survivors, not liabilities.”

His tone wasn’t unkind, but the bluntness still made your stomach twist.

“She’s not a liability,” Shoko’s voice cut in from the doorway, cigarette in hand. She glanced at Suguru with a smirk. “At least she doesn’t waste food or hog the bathroom.”

Satoru doubled over laughing, and even Suguru’s lips quirked upward. You relaxed a little, grateful for Shoko’s casual defense.

The lighthearted mood shifted when Sukuna entered the room. His presence seemed to absorb the air, silencing the banter as everyone straightened unconsciously.

“We’re heading out in thirty,” he said, his tone clipped. “Suguru, Nanami, Satoru—gear up. Shoko, keep the place locked down.”

“What’s the plan?” Suguru asked, already folding the inventory list.

“Pharmacy across town,” Sukuna replied. “We’re running low on antibiotics.”

Your ears perked up, but you hesitated before speaking. It wasn’t your place to offer, but the words tumbled out before you could stop yourself.

“I’ll come with you,” you said, the suggestion hanging in the now-silent room.

All eyes turned to you. Sukuna’s crimson gaze was sharp and unwavering.

“No,” he said flatly.

You swallowed but held your ground. “I know how to check expiration dates,” you argued. “I can identify what we need faster—”

“I said no,” Sukuna interrupted, his tone cutting through your words. “We don’t need anyone slowing us down.”

Before the tension could stretch further, Suguru stepped in, leaning casually against the table. “She’s been on a few runs with me already,” he said, his voice calm but pointed. “She’s been pulling her weight.”

Sukuna’s glare shifted to him, sharp and unwavering. “You’re responsible for her, then.”

“I’m responsible for getting the supplies.” Suguru replied smoothly.

Shoko exhaled a plume of smoke, adding her voice to the mix. “She knows what we need, and she’s been working her ass off since she got here. Just let her go."

Nanami and Satoru exchanged glances but said nothing, their silence adding weight to the conversation. Sukuna’s jaw tightened, frustration radiating off him.

Finally, his crimson gaze flicked back to you, his expression unreadable.

“Fine,” he said curtly. “But if you screw up, that’s on you.”

His words hung heavy in the air as he turned and stalked off, leaving the room tense in his wake.

Shoko smirked, extinguishing her cigarette. “Guess you’re in,” she said, her tone light.

The tension hung thick in the air as you geared up, your heart pounding with a mix of nerves and determination. Shoko caught you just before you left, her hand resting lightly on your arm.

“Don’t let him get to you,” she said softly. Her tone was steady, but her eyes held a flicker of concern. “He’s harder on people he doesn’t know, but it’s not personal.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered, earning a small chuckle from her.

“He’s just… Sukuna,” she said with a shrug, as though that explained everything. And maybe it did.

The streets were eerily quiet as the group moved in formation. Sukuna led at the front, Suguru and Nanami flanked the sides, and Satoru kept watch from the rear. You were sandwiched in the middle, your grip on your weapon tightening with every cautious step.

The silence wasn’t calming. It buzzed in your ears, amplifying every distant rustle and creak. Shadows danced in the corners of your vision, each one setting your nerves on edge.

“Relax,” Satoru whispered from behind you. “If you keep clutching that thing like it owes you money, you’re going to wear yourself out before anything happens.”

You shot him a look but didn’t loosen your hold.

“It’s her first big outing,” Suguru murmured, his eyes scanning the road ahead. “She’ll find her rhythm.”

“Let’s hope she does,” Sukuna said, his tone sharp enough to make your stomach drop.

You bit the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to focus. You didn’t need his approval; you just had to prove you could handle yourself.

The pharmacy came into view five blocks later, nestled on a side street filled with overturned cars and shattered glass. The faint, acrid scent of decay lingered in the air, a grim reminder of the world outside.

Sukuna raised his hand, signaling the group to stop. He pointed to Suguru and Nanami. “Check the perimeter. Afterwards, see if you can find anything useful—tools or supplies. Satoru, keep watch at the entrance.”

Turning to you, his gaze was cold and unyielding. “You’re with me.”

Your pulse quickened as you nodded, following him toward the entrance. The glass doors had been shattered, and the inside was dimly lit by slivers of daylight filtering through grime-covered windows.

The pharmacy was a mess of toppled shelves and scattered supplies. Sukuna moved with quiet precision, scanning the aisles as he gave curt instructions.

“Antibiotics, painkillers, disinfectants. Check expiration dates. Don’t waste time.”

“Got it,” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

The two of you worked in tense silence, the only sounds the faint rustling of supplies and the occasional creak of the warped floorboards. You crouched behind a counter, sorting through a dusty box of medical supplies. Bottles of saline, rolls of bandages—your hands moved quickly, driven by the need to prove your worth.

Sukuna moved like a predator, each step purposeful. His sharp eyes swept over the shelves as he rifled through the remnants of the pharmacy’s stock. Despite his harsh demeanor, there was an air of competence about him that was impossible to ignore. He was someone you could trust to keep you alive, even if he made it clear he wouldn’t trust you in return.

The brittle quiet shattered when a sudden crash echoed from the back of the store.

Your heart leapt into your throat as Sukuna spun toward the noise, weapon already in hand. “Stay here,” he ordered, his voice low but commanding.

You froze, gripping your weapon tighter as your mind raced. He disappeared around the corner, his steps deliberate and silent. The shuffling groan of something inhuman followed, sending a chill down your spine.

A zombie.

The clash of metal against bone echoed through the pharmacy, followed by Sukuna’s grunt of exertion. Then you heard it—a second groan, closer and faster.

Panic surged through you. Another one.

You couldn’t stay put. Not when he might be outnumbered. Gripping your weapon, you crept toward the noise, your pulse hammering in your ears.

As you reached the corner, you peeked around it. Sukuna was engaged with one zombie, its decayed form lunging at him with jerky movements. He dispatched it with brutal efficiency, his blade slicing through bone like paper.

But he didn’t see the second zombie emerging from the shadows behind him. Its rotting fingers stretched toward his back.

You didn’t think—you acted.

With a burst of adrenaline, you sprinted forward and swung your weapon with all your strength. The blunt end connected with the zombie’s skull, the force knocking it off balance. It staggered, giving you just enough time to finish it off with a decisive strike to the head.

Panting, you stepped back, your chest heaving as the rush of the moment caught up to you.

Sukuna turned to face you, his crimson eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. His gaze flicked from the crumpled body at your feet to your trembling hands.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched taut, heavy with unspoken tension.

Finally, he broke it. “You should’ve stayed put,” he said, his tone cold. But there was no real venom behind the words.

You met his gaze, steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through you. “If I did, you’d be dead.”

Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or something deeper. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

“Fair enough,” he muttered. “Thanks.”

It wasn’t exactly gratitude, but it was close enough. You nodded, forcing your breathing to slow as you steadied yourself.

Sukuna turned back to the now-silent storage room, his movements brisk. “Let’s finish up and get out of here. No more heroics.”

You followed him, your grip on your weapon firm. His acknowledgment, however grudging, was a step forward. And in this world, steps forward were all you could ask for.

The walk back to the base was quieter than usual. The others were caught up in low conversations, recounting details of the trip and joking about who carried the heaviest load. You could feel Sukuna’s presence just a few paces ahead of you. He didn’t say a word, but his usual tension wasn’t as sharp. It was subtle, like he was letting himself breathe for the first time in a while.

When the group finally arrived at the base, the routine kicked in like clockwork. Supplies were unloaded and sorted, with Shoko perched at the desk, her cigarette dangling lazily between two fingers as she directed the flow of items.

"Looks like you found everything we needed," Shoko remarked, her sharp gaze scanning the bags. "Nicely done."

"Decent work," Sukuna said evenly, brushing past her leaving the room.

You stayed quiet, trying not to draw attention to yourself. Sukuna’s acknowledgement back at the store had been enough of a surprise; you didn’t want to push your luck.

But as you grabbed your own bag of supplies and moved to help Shoko, Satoru appeared at your side.

"Hey," he said, sidling up to you with a grin that could only mean trouble. "So, I hear you went all knight-in-shining-armor back there."

Your cheeks burned. "It wasn’t like that," you mumbled, focusing on unpacking the supplies.

"Really?" Satoru watching you with an infuriatingly knowing look. "Because from what I heard, you saved Sukuna’s life. That’s gotta be worth a medal or something."

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. "I think he’d disagree with you."

"Maybe," Satoru admitted, his grin softening into something more genuine. "But trust me, it matters. Sukuna doesn’t trust people easily. If he’s starting to, even just a little… that’s a big deal."

You glanced toward the storage room where Sukuna was organizing the supplies.

Maybe Satoru was onto something.

"Don’t let it go to your head, though," Satoru added with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "He’ll still find something to criticize tomorrow."

You rolled your eyes, shoving him lightly. "Thanks for the pep talk."

As the day wore on, you couldn’t help but notice the small changes. When Sukuna handed out tasks for the evening, his tone wasn’t as cutting when he addressed you. Later, during dinner, he actually acknowledged you with a quiet question about the inventory—nothing extraordinary, but it was miles ahead of his usual silence.

Shoko caught you while you were restocking the first aid kits that night, her sharp eyes scanning you with a mix of approval and amusement.

"Good work out there today," she said, her voice low but sincere.

"Thanks," you replied, tucking a roll of gauze into a pouch. "I just reacted. I didn’t really think."

"That’s how it is sometimes," she said, lighting a fresh cigarette. She took a slow drag, exhaling a thin stream of smoke before continuing. "But Sukuna noticed. He won’t say it outright, but he respects people who hold their own. You earned that today."

You blinked at her, caught off guard by her candidness. "You really think so?"

"I know so," she said with a faint smirk. "Just don’t expect him to roll out a red carpet or anything. He’s still Sukuna."

The thought made you smile despite yourself. "Yeah, I figured as much."

That night, as the group settled into their routines, you lay awake in your bed, staring at the ceiling. The quiet hum of the others—Nanami flipping pages in his notebook, Suguru and Satoru trading jokes in hushed tones—made the base feel almost normal.

Your thoughts drifted to Sukuna, to the way he’d thanked you, however grudgingly. His walls weren’t gone, not by a long shot. But for the first time, you thought you saw a crack in them—a small glimpse of the person underneath.

It wasn’t much. But it was something. And for now, that was enough

The next few days passed in a tentative calm, the group settling back into their usual rhythm. Sukuna’s small shift in demeanor toward you hadn’t gone unnoticed, though no one dared to comment on it outright. His leadership style remained the same—blunt, no-nonsense, and occasionally sharp—but his treatment of you had softened ever so slightly.

It was in the little things. He didn’t bark your name like it was an insult anymore. When tasks were divided, he didn’t immediately assign you the least favorable ones. And when you spoke up during group discussions, he didn’t interrupt or shut you down. Small gestures, but for Sukuna, they might as well have been grand declarations.

Still, his trust was like the flicker of a distant flame—visible, but too far away to warm you just yet. You knew better than to expect miracles.

One afternoon, as the group gathered around the dining table for the next supply run discussion, you found yourself fidgeting with a pen, tapping it nervously against your notebook. Sukuna stood at the head of the group, a map of the surrounding area spread out in front of him, his intense gaze scanning the terrain for answers.

“We’re low on food and water again,” Nanami said, his voice calm but laced with urgency. “The nearest grocery stores are completely cleaned out. We’ll need to start looking further out.”

“That’s risky,” Suguru replied, leaning back in his chair. “The farther we go, the more likely we run into trouble—whether it’s other groups or something worse.”

“Maybe,” Satoru chimed in, popping a peanut into his mouth, “but we can’t just keep scrounging around the same empty buildings. Gotta roll the dice at some point.”

Sukuna nodded, his finger trailing across the map. “There’s a warehouse here.” He tapped a spot roughly a mile and a half away. “It’s a gamble, but it might still have something useful. We’ll split into two teams. One handles the warehouse, the other checks the pharmacy again for medical supplies.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow. “Two teams for two dangerous locations? Bold.”

“Calculated,” Sukuna corrected. “Suguru, Satoru, and Nanami—you’ll take the pharmacy. Shoko, you stay back and keep the base running.”

“And the warehouse?” Suguru asked.

Sukuna’s eyes flicked toward you, and your heart skipped a beat. “I’ll take the newbie.”

The room fell silent.

You blinked, unsure you’d heard him correctly. “Me?”

“You’re not deaf, are you?” Sukuna replied, crossing his arms. “You’ve proven you’re not completely useless. Time to see if that wasn’t just dumb luck.”

The tension in the room shifted. Satoru’s grin widened, clearly entertained by the turn of events. Suguru remained expressionless, while Shoko gave you a subtle nod of encouragement. Nanami’s lack of protest was the most surprising of all, though his gaze lingered on Sukuna for a moment before returning to the map.

“I’ll go,” you said finally, forcing your voice to stay steady.

The walk to the warehouse was uneventful at first. Sukuna led the way, his steps confident and deliberate. You followed close behind, clutching your weapon tightly and trying not to let your nerves show. The silence between you felt heavy, broken only by the occasional rustle of debris or distant echo of the wind through the ruined streets.

“You’re tense,” Sukuna said abruptly, his voice low but clear.

You glanced at him, startled. “What?”

“Relax,” he said without looking back. “If you’re this wound up, you’ll freeze when it matters. That’s how you get killed.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Right. Got it.”

For a moment, you thought the conversation was over. But then he added, almost grudgingly, “You did good the other day. Quick thinking.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he muttered, picking up his pace. “You still have a long way to go.”

Despite his gruff tone, his words stayed with you. Coming from Sukuna, even a half-compliment felt monumental.

The warehouse loomed ahead, its broken windows and rusted metal exterior casting eerie shadows in the fading light. Sukuna stopped just short of the entrance, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of movement.

“Stay close,” he ordered, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, gripping your weapon as you followed him inside. The air was heavy with the stench of decay, and your footsteps echoed against the empty shelves.

At first, the search was uneventful. You moved through the aisles, grabbing what little remained—cans of soup, bottles of water, a forgotten box of granola bars. The weight of your bag grew with each find, and for a fleeting moment, you thought the run might actually go smoothly.

Then, from the shadows, came the guttural snarl of the undead.

The snarl echoed through the warehouse, freezing the blood in your veins. Your grip tightened on your weapon, your heart pounding in your ears. Sukuna immediately moved into action, his posture rigid, his eyes scanning the darkness for movement.

“Stay behind me,” he barked, his voice low but commanding.

You nodded, falling into step just behind him. The guttural sounds grew louder, accompanied by the shuffling of feet against the cracked concrete floor. From the far corner of the warehouse, they appeared—three zombies, their rotting forms staggering toward you with alarming speed.

“Shit,” Sukuna hissed, raising his blade. “Stay sharp.”

He surged forward with lethal precision, his movements a blur of calculated violence. The first zombie went down with a single strike to the skull, its body crumpling to the ground. Sukuna didn’t stop, his blade swinging in an arc to take out the second one with equal ease.

But as he turned to deal with the third, you felt a chill run down your spine—a faint shuffle behind you. Your breath hitched, and before you could react, a decayed hand grabbed your arm. Panic shot through you as the zombie lunged, its teeth gnashing dangerously close to your neck.

“Shit!” you yelped, struggling against its grip.

“Hold still!” Sukuna’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

Before you could even comprehend what was happening, Sukuna was there. In one swift motion, he shoved you out of the zombie’s grasp and plunged his blade into its head. The creature collapsed in a heap, and silence fell once more.

You landed on the ground with a thud, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Sukuna loomed over you, his face set in a scowl that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He extended a hand, and you hesitated for a moment before taking it. His grip was strong and steady as he pulled you to your feet.

“You okay?” he asked, his tone softer than you’d expected.

“I… yeah,” you stammered, still shaken. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” he muttered, his eyes scanning you for injuries. “You shouldn’t have let it get that close.”

“I didn’t—” you started to protest but stopped when you saw the flicker of something in his expression. Concern. He wasn’t just scolding you; he was genuinely worried.

“I told you to stay close,” he said, his voice low but not unkind. “I can’t cover you if you wander off.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you said quietly, your fingers trembling as you wiped zombie blood off your sleeve. “I’m sorry.”

For a moment, Sukuna said nothing. Then, with a sigh, he reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. The gesture was so unexpected, so uncharacteristically tender, that you froze.

“Just… stay close,” he repeated, his hand lingering for a fraction of a second before he pulled away. His gaze softened, just enough for you to notice. “I’m not dragging your corpse back to the base.”

Despite the gruffness of his words, there was an unmistakable warmth in his tone. Your chest tightened, and you nodded. “Okay.”

As you gathered yourself, Sukuna gave you a sidelong glance, his lips twitching faintly. “Guess we’re even now.”

“What?” you asked, blinking in confusion.

“You saved me the other day. I just saved your ass. So, we’re even.” His voice was calm, but the hint of amusement in his tone caught you off guard.

A small laugh escaped you, surprising even yourself. “I guess we are.”

Sukuna’s expression didn’t change, but you swore there was the faintest hint of a smirk on his face as he turned away. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Sukuna turned back toward the now-silent aisles, his posture tense but his pace slower than before. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure you were still following, and when your eyes met, he gave a small nod of approval.

The rest of the search was uneventful, though you couldn’t shake the memory of Sukuna’s hand against yours, of the subtle shift in his demeanor. When the two of you finally stepped out of the warehouse, the late afternoon sunlight hit your face, and you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

As you walked back to the base, Sukuna kept a steady pace, his sharp gaze constantly scanning the streets for threats. But this time, he stayed just a little closer to your side.

The base came into view as the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the barricades. Relief washed over you as you and Sukuna passed through the gates, your shoulders aching from the weight of your packs. Shoko was waiting at the entrance, her sharp eyes immediately scanning both of you.

“Finally,” she said, arms crossed. “I was starting to think you two wouldn’t make it back.”

“Ran into some trouble,” Sukuna replied gruffly, dropping his bag to the ground. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Her gaze shifted to you, and for a moment, her sharpness softened. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you replied, brushing off the lingering tension from the fight. “Just tired.”

Shoko nodded, but her frown deepened. “The others aren’t back yet.”

Sukuna’s brow furrowed, and his shoulders stiffened. “They’re late?”

“They were supposed to check the pharmacy,” Shoko explained, her voice tinged with worry. “They should’ve been back already.”

You exchanged a glance with Sukuna, unease settling in your chest.

“They could’ve gotten held up,” you offered, though your voice lacked conviction.

“Maybe,” Shoko said. “But I don’t want to sit around and wait. I was thinking of heading into the woods to scavenge. If we’re going to be stuck here longer, we need fresh supplies. I can check on the traps we set last week and look for forageable food.”

Sukuna immediately shook his head. “Not alone. If you’re going out there, you need backup.”

Shoko raised a brow, her hands on her hips. “I appreciate your concern, but we don’t need everyone exhausted before we even know if something’s actually wrong with the other group.”

“I’ll go with you,” Sukuna said, his tone brooking no argument.

“No,” Shoko countered firmly. “You just got back. You need rest. Especially if it turns out we do need to go after them.”

Sukuna scoffed. “Then she can go.” He jerked his thumb toward you.

Shoko glanced at you, her expression thoughtful. “She just got back too, Sukuna. And this was only her second real run. She needs rest as much as you do.”

“Then who the hell is supposed to go with you?” Sukuna snapped, his frustration clear.

Shoko smirked faintly. “No one. I’ll be fine. I know the woods, and it’s close enough to base. I won’t be gone long.”

“Terrible idea,” Sukuna growled.

“Sukuna,” Shoko said, her tone softening but firm. “If something’s happened to the others, you’re going to need every ounce of energy to deal with it. Same goes for her. Let me do this. I’ll be back before dark.”

His jaw clenched, the muscles ticking visibly. You could tell he hated this plan, but even he couldn’t argue with her logic. After a tense moment, he relented with a frustrated exhale.

“Fine,” he said at last. “But if you’re not back by dark, I’m coming after you myself.”

Shoko chuckled, giving him a two-fingered salute. “Noted. I’ll be back soon.”

Without waiting for further argument, she disappeared into the base to gather her things. Sukuna watched her go, muttering something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch.

“She’ll be fine,” you said, though you weren’t sure if you were reassuring him or yourself.

“Better be,” he muttered, turning toward the main hall. “Get some rest. If those idiots don’t show up soon, we’ll have to move fast.”

You nodded, the weight of the situation pressing down on you as you followed him inside. Whatever was happening, you could only hope that Shoko and the others would return safely—and that when the time came, you’d be ready.

The peaceful hum of the base was shattered by the frantic sound of footsteps and heavy breathing as the group burst through the doors. Suguru and Satoru supported Nanami between them, his face pale and slick with sweat. Blood soaked the side of his shirt, staining his usually pristine appearance.

“Get Shoko!” Satoru’s voice rang out, urgent and louder than you’d ever heard it before.

“What the hell happened?” Sukuna barked, stepping forward, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Nanami.

“A zombie,” Suguru said grimly, adjusting his grip on Nanami. “It came out of nowhere—he pushed me out of the way and got hit instead.”

“Where’s Shoko?” Satoru asked, glancing around as though expecting her to appear at any moment.

“She’s out,” you said sharply, stepping forward, your heart pounding but your voice steady. “She said she wouldn’t be back for an hour—maybe longer.”

For a moment, the room froze, tension thick enough to cut through

“Bring him to the infirmary room. Now,” you ordered, already moving ahead to prepare.

Suguru and Satoru didn’t hesitate, following your lead as they guided Nanami to the cot. Sukuna was right behind them, his expression unreadable but his presence heavy.

“I can handle this,” you said as you grabbed the first-aid kit and spread out the supplies. “Keep him steady and out of shock. That’s all I need from you.”

Sukuna’s sharp gaze flicked to you. “You better not screw this up.”

You didn’t look up, your focus entirely on Nanami’s wound. “I won’t.”

Kneeling beside Nanami, you quickly assessed the damage. Blood was seeping from a deep gash on his side, but it wasn’t hopeless. Your hands moved methodically, cleaning the wound and applying pressure to slow the bleeding. Nanami winced but didn’t flinch, his breathing ragged but steady.

“This is going to sting,” you warned, applying antiseptic before packing the wound with gauze. His eyes fluttered open briefly, meeting yours, and he gave the faintest nod.

The room was silent except for the sound of your precise movements. Satoru and Suguru hovered nearby, watching but not interrupting. Sukuna stood at the edge of the room, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his gaze fixed on you.

As you worked, you felt the weight of his scrutiny—but it didn’t faze you. You knew what you were doing, and for once, you didn’t need to prove it to anyone.

The next hour passed in a blur. You worked with precision, your mind cycling through every lecture, every clinical rotation, every ounce of knowledge you’d absorbed before the world fell apart. Nanami groaned once as you applied pressure to the wound, the sound making your heart race.

"Stay with me," you murmured under your breath, the words meant more for your own reassurance than his. Sweat trickled down your temple, your shoulders aching from the strain of leaning over him, but you ignored the discomfort. There was no room for it now. There was only the patient on the table and the life you were trying to hold together.

When you finally finished, securing the last bandage with steady hands, you leaned back with a shaky breath. Nanami’s breathing was shallow but steady now, his color returning, no longer ashen.

"He’s stable," you said, your voice hoarse from the intensity of the moment. "But he needs rest."

Suguru let out a quiet exhale of relief, his head dropping into his hands as if a weight had been lifted. Satoru clapped a hand on your shoulder, his usual grin subdued but still laced with gratitude. "You’re a lifesaver. Literally."

Even Sukuna seemed less cold as he examined Nanami. His usual indifference remained, but the hard lines of his posture softened just a fraction. He didn’t say a word, but the shift was noticeable. The tension in his shoulders loosened, even if only for a moment.

Hours later, the base had fallen quiet. Everyone had gone to rest, exhausted from the day’s events. Everyone except you and Sukuna.

Earlier, Shoko had returned and thoroughly checked on Nanami, confirming that your work had been solid. She’d cleaned and rewrapped the wound, impressed by your quick thinking. After making sure Nanami was stable, she’d retreated to her room, leaving you to keep watch over him.

Now, you sat beside Nanami, your hand lightly resting near his, watching for any sign that he might wake. His breathing was steady but faint, each rise and fall of his chest a quiet reassurance.

Sukuna leaned against the wall a few feet away, his arms crossed. The firelight flickered across his face, softening the usual sharpness of his features. For a long time, he said nothing, just staring at Nanami with a look you couldn’t quite place.

His gaze shifted to you, his crimson eyes intense but not unkind. “You saved him. You didn’t screw it up.”

You glanced at him, his words catching you off guard. It wasn’t exactly praise, but it was close enough.

“He means a lot to everyone here,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “You, Suguru, Satoru, and Shoko.”

"We go way back,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter than usual. “We all became friends in high school. Different years, different circles, but somehow, we ended up stuck with each other.”

He let out a humorless chuckle, glancing down at Nanami. “We didn’t always get along. Satoru was a loudmouth, Suguru was too smug for his own good, Nanami was the uptight kid who thought he was too good for the rest of us, and Shoko… was the laid-back one who somehow kept us all from killing each other.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the mental image. “Sounds like you all balanced each other out.”

“Something like that,” Sukuna admitted, his voice dipping into something softer. “We went through a lot together—graduations, breakups, fights. By the time college rolled around, we were more like family than friends.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for the first time, you saw a glimpse of something deeper beneath Sukuna’s sharp exterior. A bond he’d never admit out loud but clearly cherished.

“You’ve been through so much together,” you said gently. “It’s no wonder he means so much to you all.”

Nanami’s breathing filled the silence, steady but faint enough to keep you on edge. Sukuna hadn’t moved, his usual tension buried beneath something quieter, more introspective.

“You remind me of someone,” he said suddenly, his voice low.

The words caught you off guard. “Someone you knew?”

Sukuna nodded, his expression tightening. “Yeah. My brother.”

The admission surprised you. Sukuna didn’t seem like the type to talk about family—much less admit to having one.

“He was younger than me. A few years,” Sukuna continued, his voice distant. “Idiot kid never listened. Always thought he knew better than me. Too brave for his own good.”

He paused, exhaling sharply through his nose. “But he had this way of looking at the world, like... no matter how bad things got, he’d find a way to make it better. It pissed me off sometimes—how naive he was. But he made me believe it, too, even if I didn’t want to.”

“What happened to him?” you asked softly, though the answer was already obvious.

“He didn’t make it,” Sukuna said bluntly, his jaw tightening. “When the outbreak started, I tried to keep him safe. But the world doesn’t care how hard you try. It just takes.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. Sukuna’s voice was calm, but the weight of his words hung heavy between you.

“I’m sorry,” you said gently. “He sounds like he was a good person.”

“He was better than I ever was,” Sukuna muttered, his voice quieter now. “He would’ve liked you.”

The comment caught you off guard, your heart skipping a beat. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve got that same stupid stubbornness,” he said, the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at his lips. “Always jumping in when you shouldn’t. Refusing to back down.”

You smiled despite yourself. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t,” Sukuna said dryly, but the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying him.

You leaned back slightly, drawing in a breath before speaking. “I lost people, too,” you admitted, your voice trembling just enough to show the vulnerability you usually kept hidden. “My parents. My friends. I used to think if I just stayed smart, kept my head down, I could keep them safe. But it didn’t matter in the end. I still couldn’t save them.”

For a moment, Sukuna didn’t say anything, his gaze shifting from Nanami to you. He studied you, his expression unreadable, though something in his eyes softened—just barely.

“You saved Nanami,” he said finally. “That counts for something.”

You shook your head. “I got lucky.”

“It’s not luck,” Sukuna said firmly. “Not all of it, anyway. You’ve got instincts. You’re quick on your feet. That’s what matters now.”

His words caught you off guard again, and you glanced up at him. “Is this your way of saying thanks?” you asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Don’t push it,” he grumbled, but there was no edge to his tone.

You smiled softly, turning back to Nanami. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re a better person than you let on,” you said quietly.

Sukuna let out a low chuckle, though there was no real amusement in it. “Don’t romanticize me, sweetheart. I’m just doing what I have to.”

“Maybe,” you said, glancing at him. “But it still matters. To them. To me.”

He didn’t respond, but the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy, yes, but not in the way it usually was with Sukuna. There was something almost companionable about it, as if the space between you had shifted just a little.

As the hours stretched on, you stayed by Nanami’s side, Sukuna leaning against the wall nearby. Neither of you spoke again, but you could feel the subtle change in the air—a fragile understanding that hadn’t been there before.

Little by little, it felt like the cracks in Sukuna’s walls were beginning to show. And for the first time, you thought he might actually let you in.

Nanami stirred as dawn broke through the windows, his groggy movements drawing your attention. His eyelids fluttered before he let out a soft groan, his hand twitching as if testing the waters of consciousness.

“Nanami,” you said softly, leaning closer.

His eyes opened slowly, the familiar calmness of his gaze returning as he registered his surroundings. His brow furrowed, lips parting to speak, but you beat him to it.

“Don’t try to move too much,” you said quickly. “You’re safe. You made it.”

Nanami blinked, his focus sharpening on you. “You… saved me,” he said, his voice rough but steady.

You nodded, the tension in your shoulders easing now that he was alert. “It wasn’t just me,” you said modestly, though warmth spread through you at his gratitude. “Everyone helped.”

Nanami’s gaze softened as he studied you. “Still, I owe you,” he said, his voice firm despite his weakened state.

You shook your head. “I wasn’t about to let you die,” you said simply. “That’s not how we do things, right? We look out for each other.”

Nanami let out a quiet breath, almost a chuckle. “You’re tougher than I gave you credit for,” he said. “I’ll remember that.”

Sukuna, who had been leaning silently against the wall, finally stepped forward. He crouched beside Nanami, his sharp eyes scanning his friend for any lingering signs of danger.

“About time you woke up,” Sukuna muttered, though his tone carried an undertone of relief.

Nanami gave him a faint, tired smile. “You worry too much.”

“Tch,” Sukuna scoffed, standing back up. “You were half-dead, and I’m the one who worries too much?”

The banter between them felt lighter than usual, and you realized how deep their bond must be. Sukuna might be harsh, but the concern in his actions was undeniable.

Nanami’s gaze shifted back to you. “Thank you,” he said again, his voice steady. “If there’s ever anything you need—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted gently. “You don’t owe me anything. Just focus on getting better.”

Nanami nodded, though the gratitude in his expression didn’t waver.

Sukuna crossed his arms, glancing between the two of you. “Alright, enough of this sentimental crap. She did what she had to. You’re alive. Let’s move on.”

You shot Sukuna a look but didn’t bother arguing. Deep down, you knew his brusqueness was his way of deflecting.

“Rest,” you said to Nanami, ignoring Sukuna’s tone. “You’ll need your strength if you want to deal with him later.”

Nanami smirked faintly, already letting his eyes drift closed again. “I’m counting on it.”

As you stood and turned toward Sukuna, his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than usual. His expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—acknowledgment, maybe even respect.

“Come on,” he said, jerking his head toward the door. “Let him sleep.”

You followed him out, the tension of the last few hours finally giving way to a strange sense of accomplishment.

The base had returned to its usual rhythm, though a lighter tension hung in the air. Nanami recovered quickly, much to everyone’s relief, and the group seemed to move with a renewed sense of purpose.

Shoko convinced Satoru to organize the medical supplies—a task he turned into a spectacle, juggling antiseptic bottles until Shoko smacked him upside the head. Nanami, true to form, was already back to work, scanning supply lists and muttering to Suguru about long-term resource planning.

You were helping Shoko patch together another set of med kits when Nanami walked into the room.

He approached with his usual calm demeanor, though his expression carried a rare softness. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

You glanced at Shoko, who waved you off. “Go on. I’ve got this.”

Following Nanami into the hallway, you felt a flicker of nervousness. He turned to face you, hands in his pockets, his gaze steady but kind.

“I wanted to thank you again,” he said simply.

“Oh,” you replied, caught off guard.

“For saving my life,” he continued. “What you did out there… it wasn’t something just anyone could do.”

A warmth bloomed in your chest, though you tried to keep your expression neutral. “I just did what needed to be done,” you said, shifting slightly.

He nodded. “Maybe so. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t appreciated. Sukuna isn’t the easiest person to deal with, but the fact that he let you handle things out there… that says a lot.”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. “Sukuna… he’s not as cold as he seems,” you said carefully.

A faint smile tugged at Nanami’s lips. “No, he’s not,” he agreed. “He just has a way of pushing people away. But for him to trust you, even in the smallest way… it’s not nothing.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and you nodded slowly. “Thanks, Nanami. That means a lot.”

He placed a hand on your shoulder briefly—a quiet gesture of gratitude—before stepping back. “You’re part of this group now,” he said. “Don’t forget that.”

As he walked away, you stood there for a moment, letting his words sink in. Being part of the group wasn’t just about surviving together anymore—it was about being trusted, being relied on.

The group gathered in the common area, their conversations weaving together as they planned the next supply run. Sukuna sat in his usual spot near the window, his sharp gaze scanning the streets outside, though he seemed less aloof than usual.

Satoru plopped down next to you, grinning. “So, I hear you’re officially one of us now,” he teased, nudging your shoulder.

“Who told you that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nanami, obviously,” Satoru said with a wink. “He doesn’t thank just anyone, you know.”

Suguru chimed in from across the room. “Don’t let it go to your head,” he said, though his tone was light.

Shoko, leaning against the counter with her usual cigarette in hand, smirked. “She’s already better at following instructions than you, Satoru.”

Satoru feigned offense, clutching his chest dramatically. “I am a delight to work with.”

“You’re a menace,” Shoko countered, flicking ash into an empty can.

As the banter continued, you found yourself laughing along with them, the sense of camaraderie filling the room. Even Sukuna glanced your way once or twice, his expression unreadable but not unkind.

For the first time since you’d joined them, you felt like you truly belonged. And as the group talked and planned late into the night, you found yourself hoping—not just for survival, but for a future worth fighting for.

The storm outside was relentless, wind howling through the cracks of the ruined building. Rain hammered against the broken windows, drowning the world in chaos. Everyone else was asleep, scattered around the dim room like ghosts of the lives they used to live. You sat near the window, your arms resting on your knees as you kept watch with Sukuna.

He leaned against the wall across from you, his silhouette sharp in the weak lantern light. His katana rested against his shoulder, its edge catching the occasional flicker of lightning. He looked like he belonged to this broken world—untouchable, dangerous, and carved from stone.

The silence between you wasn’t unusual, but tonight it felt heavier. The storm wasn’t just loud; it was oppressive, a forceful reminder of how small and fragile you were in a world that had already crumbled.

“You’re too quiet,” Sukuna said suddenly, his deep voice slicing through the sound of the rain.

You blinked, pulled from your thoughts. “I thought you liked it when I stayed out of your way.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “I like quiet. Not the kind that makes me think you’re plotting something stupid.”

Despite yourself, you smirked. “I wasn’t plotting anything.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and for a fleeting moment, you thought he might actually smile. It was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual guarded expression.

The wind rattled the broken windowpanes, and you adjusted your position, tugging your jacket tighter around yourself.

“What’s the point of you being up if you’re going to freeze to death?” Sukuna muttered.

You frowned, opening your mouth to retort, but before you could say a word, Sukuna tossed a thick blanket in your direction.

“Use that,” he said, his tone brusque, as if daring you to comment on the gesture.

You caught the blanket, staring at it for a moment before wrapping it around yourself. “Thanks,” you murmured.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

The two of you fell into silence again. You found yourself sneaking glances at him—at the sharp line of his jaw, the faint tattoos peeking out from his sleeves. There was something about Sukuna when he wasn’t surrounded by the others—when he wasn’t posturing or shutting you out. It was almost like he didn’t mind your presence.

“Do you ever think it’ll get better?” you asked softly, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

Sukuna’s gaze turned toward you, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”

“The world,” you said, gesturing vaguely to the storm outside. “Do you ever think it’ll go back to how it was before?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned back to the window, his jaw tightening. “Doesn’t matter if it does or not. You survive, no matter what.”

You frowned. “But surviving isn’t the same as living.”

He let out a low, humorless chuckle. “Living’s a luxury. You can think about it once you’ve got surviving figured out.”

Something about the way he said it made your chest ache. You wanted to press him, to ask what he’d lost to make him so certain of that, but you bit your tongue.

Instead, you said softly, “It’s okay to hope, you know. Even if it doesn’t seem worth it.”

Sukuna’s gaze flicked toward you, and for a moment, you thought he might snap at you or brush off your words. But he didn’t. Instead, his expression softened—just slightly—and he let out a quiet sigh.

“Hope doesn’t keep you alive,” he muttered. But there was no edge to his tone, no real venom.

“Maybe not,” you said, meeting his gaze. “But it helps.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he turned back to the window, muttering under his breath, “You’re stubborn, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you said, smiling faintly. “But I’m right.”

The silence that followed didn’t feel heavy anymore. It was almost… comfortable. The storm outside continued to rage, but inside, for the first time, you felt a little closer to him.

“What was your life like before all of… this?” you asked, gesturing vaguely toward the broken windows, the storm outside, and the ruin the world had become.

He gave you a flat look, his crimson eyes sharp. “Why does it matter?”

“It doesn’t,” you admitted. “I just… I like knowing. It’s easier to see people as human when you know what they were like before all this.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. But then he let out a quiet sigh, leaning his head back against the wall.

“Graduated with a degree in art,” he said finally. “Ran my own tattoo shop for a while.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You were a tattoo artist?”

“Still am, technically,” he muttered. “Not much demand for it now, though.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “That explains the tattoos.”

He smirked faintly, his eyes narrowing at you. “What? You thought I got them for fun?”

“Kind of,” you said, shrugging. “I mean, they’re incredible. They fit you.”

For a moment, his gaze lingered on you, something unreadable flickering across his face. Then he looked away, his expression shuttered once more.

“What about the others?” you asked, breaking the silence again.

Sukuna sighed, his fingers tapping idly against the hilt of his katana. “Satoru graduated in education, believe it or not. He was a high school teacher before all this. Loved making kids’ lives miserable—but in his own weird way, I think he was actually good at it. Suguru was a psychology major. Planned to go into counseling or something.” He paused, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Nanami got his degree in business. Corporate life suited him. And you already know about Shoko—med school.”

Your breath hitched slightly. “That’s… a lot to leave behind.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “You think I don’t know that? We all had plans. Things we wanted. And then everything went to hell.”

You looked down at your hands, the weight of his words settling over you. “I was a med student, too,” you said quietly. “First year. I barely started before…” You trailed off, gesturing at the world around you.

Sukuna was quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “Why medicine?” he asked finally.

“I wanted to help people,” you said simply. “I guess it sounds kind of naïve now, but I thought I could make a difference. Maybe save a few lives.”

He studied you for a moment, his crimson eyes unreadable. Then he leaned back against the wall again, his gaze shifting to the storm outside.

“You’re still doing that,” he said, his voice low.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You’re still saving lives,” he said, his tone gruff. “Nanami wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

A lump formed in your throat, and you looked away, an odd warmth spreading through your chest. “I guess,” you murmured.

The two of you sat in silence for a while after that, the storm outside filling the space between your words. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. For the first time, it felt… companionable.

“Do you miss it?” you asked softly.

“Miss what?”

“Your old life. The tattoo shop. Your friends. The way things used to be.”

Sukuna didn’t answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it.

“Every day,” he admitted.

You looked at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. For once, the walls he kept so firmly in place seemed to crack, just a little.

“I think we all do,” you said softly.

Sukuna’s gaze flicked toward you, his crimson eyes meeting yours. There was something in his expression you couldn’t quite place—something raw, unguarded.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I guess we do.”

The storm raged on outside, but for the first time since it began, you didn’t feel so alone.

By the time the storm finally began to taper off, Sukuna pushed himself to his feet. He stretched his arms over his head, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of his stomach—and the faint outline of abs beneath. Heat crept up your neck, and you quickly glanced away, pretending to adjust the blanket around you.

“I’ll take the next round of watch,” he said, his tone back to its usual sharpness.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to let me?”

“No,” he said simply, grabbing his katana and walking toward the door.

You couldn’t help but smirk a little. Despite the lingering edge to his voice, something about him felt… lighter.

Before stepping out, Sukuna paused in the doorway, glancing back at you. “Get some rest,” he said, almost begrudgingly.

It wasn’t much, but coming from Sukuna, it felt like a rare kind of kindness. You nodded, watching as he disappeared into the hallway.

About a week later, after Nanami’s recovery and the group settling back into their routine, you were sent on another supply run. The mission was straightforward: split into two groups, sweep a nearby grocery store, and bring back whatever hadn’t been raided yet. Sukuna took Satoru, leaving you with Suguru and Shoko.

“Stick close,” Suguru had said as the three of you stepped into the dimly lit store. The air inside was stale, the faint smell of rotting produce and damp cardboard clinging to the space. It felt eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that always made your skin crawl.

You nodded, gripping your weapon tightly. Supply runs were becoming second nature, but the unease never entirely went away. Each unfamiliar building held its own dangers, and you’d learned to stay on edge.

It wasn’t long before the shelves yielded a few treasures—some canned goods, a pack of batteries, even a roll of duct tape. You crouched near an overturned display, brushing debris aside to grab a jar of peanut butter, when the sound of shuffling footsteps reached your ears.

“Zombie,” you whispered, rising slowly.

Shoko, who was scanning a nearby aisle, lifted her head. “Where?”

You pointed toward the end of the aisle. A lone zombie staggered forward, its milky eyes fixed on you. Its movements were slow, but it was still too close for comfort.

“I got it,” Suguru said calmly, stepping forward with his machete.

But as he moved, your boot caught on a broken shelf bracket jutting out from the floor. You stumbled, and in that split second, the zombie lunged.

The jagged edge of its broken fingernails swiped across your abdomen, slicing through your jacket and grazing your skin. Pain flared as warm blood seeped through the fabric.

“Shit!” you hissed, stumbling back.

Suguru swung his machete in one clean arc, taking the zombie down before it could advance further.

“You okay?” Shoko was at your side immediately, her hands already pulling your jacket open to inspect the wound.

“I’m fine,” you said through gritted teeth, though the pain told you otherwise. The cut wasn’t deep, but it stung fiercely, and blood was already soaking into your shirt.

“We need to get back,” Shoko said firmly.

Suguru’s jaw tightened as he nodded. “We’ve got enough for now. Let’s move.”

By the time you returned, the pain had dulled to a throbbing ache, though it still made every step a challenge. Shoko had done her best to patch you up on the way back, but she insisted on a proper cleaning once you were safely home.

As soon as the doors swung open, Sukuna’s sharp gaze landed on you. His usual scowl deepened when he saw the blood staining your shirt.

“What the hell happened?” he demanded, striding over.

“Zombie,” Suguru said curtly as he helped Shoko unload the supplies. “Got too close.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his focus snapping back to you. “And no one thought to handle it before this happened?”

“I’m fine,” you tried to say, but he was already in front of you, his eyes scanning the injury with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“You call this fine?” he snapped, his voice laced with anger and something else—something that sounded suspiciously like worry.

“It’s just a scratch,” you insisted, though you winced as Shoko peeled back the makeshift bandage to reveal the cut.

“She’ll live,” Shoko said calmly, though her tone didn’t seem to ease Sukuna’s tension. “But it needs to be cleaned and stitched.”

“Then do it,” he said, his voice low and clipped.

Shoko raised an eyebrow. “You need to back off first. You’re hovering.”

Sukuna muttered something under his breath but took a step back, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He didn’t leave, though, his eyes fixed on you as Shoko worked.

The sting of the antiseptic made you hiss, and Sukuna’s jaw clenched at the sound.

“You should’ve been more careful,” he said after a moment, his tone softer but still sharp.

“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” you shot back, your voice tinged with irritation.

His glare didn’t waver, but his next words surprised you. “You scared the hell out of me.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He looked away, his expression hardening again. “Just… don’t do it again.”

The vulnerability in his voice was fleeting, but it was there, and it made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with your injury.

“I’ll try,” you said softly, offering a small, shaky smile.

Sukuna didn’t respond, but he stayed close, even after Shoko finished patching you up and the others had gone about their business.

The base had settled into its usual quiet hum. Most of the group had gone to rest, but Sukuna lingered in the common area, his sharp gaze darting toward you occasionally. He sat at the far end of the room, his katana resting by his side as if he were ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

For a man who claimed not to care, Sukuna was terrible at hiding it when he did. His usual scowl was still there, but it lacked its usual bite, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it.

As you adjusted your freshly bandaged wound, you caught his eye. He didn’t look away, his crimson gaze holding yours for a beat longer than expected.

“Get some rest,” he said finally, his voice low but carrying an edge of concern.

You nodded, the warmth of his unspoken care settling over you. As you lay down for the night, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of gratitude—not just for Shoko’s steady hands or Suguru’s quick reflexes, but for Sukuna’s reluctant, undeniable presence.

For all his rough edges, Sukuna had a way of making you feel… safe. And in a world like this, that meant everything.

The small infirmary room was dimly lit, the only light coming from a battery-powered lantern perched on the counter. You sat on the makeshift cot, the ache in your side persistent but manageable. Shoko had done an excellent job stitching the gash, but the occasional twinge was a sharp reminder of your carelessness.

The group had been quieter since the incident. Shoko and Suguru had checked on you a few times, offering updates about the supplies you’d retrieved and assurances that you didn’t need to push yourself just yet. Sukuna, however, had been noticeably absent.

Until now.

The door creaked open, and you looked up to see Sukuna stepping inside. His usual sharp expression was still there, but something about it had softened. In his hand, he carried a roll of fresh bandages and a bottle of antiseptic.

“You’re due for a bandage change,” he said, his voice low and even.

You blinked, caught off guard. “I thought Shoko would—”

“She’s busy,” he interrupted, setting the supplies on the counter. “And I’ve done this enough times to know what I’m doing. Sit back.”

You hesitated for a moment before leaning back against the cot, lifting your shirt just enough to expose the wound. Sukuna crouched beside you, his movements precise as he began unwrapping the old bandage.

The room was silent except for the faint rustling of fabric and the soft breath you drew to steady yourself. His hands, rough and calloused, were surprisingly gentle as he inspected the wound.

“It’s healing well,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Shoko did a good job.”

“She always does,” you replied quietly.

He nodded, pouring antiseptic onto a clean cloth. The sharp sting made you wince, and his crimson eyes flicked up to meet yours.

“Sorry,” he said, his tone softer than you expected.

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, not wanting him to feel guilty.

The silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. As he worked, your gaze drifted to the tattoos curling around his arms and up his neck. You’d noticed them before, of course, but up close, they were mesmerizing.

“They’re beautiful,” you said suddenly, surprising yourself.

He paused, his hand stilling as he glanced at you. “What is?”

“Your tattoos,” you clarified, heat creeping up your cheeks. “The designs… they’re intricate. They suit you.”

His lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close. “Thanks.”

“Who did them?” you asked, curiosity slipping into your voice.

“Someone I trusted,” he replied, tossing the old bandages into the trash and grabbing fresh ones. “Takes time to get them right.”

As he wrapped the new bandage around your side, you hesitated before speaking again. “They’re incredible,” you said sincerely.

He shrugged, his hands methodical as he secured the bandage.

On an impulse, your fingers lightly traced one of the lines on his forearm. He stiffened slightly, his gaze snapping to you, but he didn’t pull away.

“This one…” you murmured, your touch barely brushing the ink. “It’s so detailed.”

His voice softened, almost imperceptibly. “Had it done by someone skilled. You don’t let just anyone leave their mark on you.”

For a moment, the tension between you shifted, something unspoken passing in the quiet space.

“I’m glad you’re not seriously hurt,” he said suddenly, the words coming out like they surprised even him.

Your chest tightened at the unexpected vulnerability in his voice. “Thanks to you all,” you replied, your voice steady but warm. “Suguru, Shoko… and you.”

He shook his head, standing and wiping his hands on a rag. “I didn’t do much.”

“You were there,” you insisted, meeting his gaze. “That means something.”

For a long moment, Sukuna didn’t say anything, his jaw tightening as if he was debating whether to respond. Finally, he nodded—just barely.

As he moved toward the door, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “It’s late. You should sleep.”

“I will,” you promised, watching him disappear into the hallway.

The ache in your side still lingered, but as you lay back on the cot, you realized something else had shifted. The heaviness in your chest—the weight of feeling like an outsider—had lightened, just a little. Sukuna’s walls were still up, but for the first time, you felt as if you might have gotten close enough to see the cracks.

The following days passed in a quieter rhythm. The group had decided to lay low after the supply run, taking time to rest and re-evaluate their next steps. You spent most of your time in the infirmary, both recovering and helping Shoko organize supplies. One evening, after the group had finished a simple dinner, Satoru nudged Suguru with an exaggerated grin. “We’ve got to get something fun going in this place. I swear, I’m losing my mind from all the doom and gloom.”

“Life-or-death scenarios aren’t entertaining enough for you?” Suguru replied dryly.

“Exactly,” Satoru said, ignoring his sarcasm. “We need a game. Something to lighten the mood. Who’s in?”

You looked up from where you sat, sipping from your cup of water. “A game?”

“Cards, maybe,” Satoru suggested, already pulling out a battered deck from his bag. “Or truth or dare. You know, something classic.”

Shoko snorted, leaning back in her chair. “If you make us play truth or dare, I’m outing all your embarrassing secrets.”

“Joke’s on you—I have no shame,” Satoru quipped, winking.

Nanami sighed, shaking his head but offering no real objection. Suguru shot Shoko a knowing look that said, Here we go again.

“You in, newbie?” Satoru turned to you, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

You hesitated, glancing at the others. “Sure. Why not?”

The game started with Satoru choosing dare and being forced to attempt a handstand, which ended predictably with him crashing into a stack of empty crates. Shoko took truth and admitted to once stealing Satoru’s wallet, just to see how long it would take him to notice. (It took a week, apparently.) Suguru picked dare and hummed a painfully off-key rendition of a pop song until Shoko guessed it, rolling her eyes the entire time.

The lighthearted atmosphere filled the room, the kind of rare reprieve everyone secretly craved.

“Your turn, newbie,” Satoru declared, pointing at you with a dramatic flourish. “Truth or dare?”

You glanced around nervously, feeling the weight of their attention. “Dare,” you said, trying to sound braver than you felt.

Satoru’s grin turned wicked. “I dare you to sit next to Sukuna for the rest of the night.”

The air shifted instantly. Sukuna’s eyes flicked toward Satoru, narrowing with icy precision.

“That’s ridiculous,” you said quickly, heat rushing to your face.

“A dare’s a dare,” Satoru said, his grin unrelenting. “You’re not backing out, are you?”

“This is childish,” Nanami muttered, rubbing his temples.

“Don’t do it if you don’t want to,” Sukuna said, his voice cold and sharp, his irritation obvious. “I don’t care for these games.”

“Oh, come on,” Shoko said, her smirk widening. “Afraid of a little company, Sukuna?”

The tension in the room mounted, and you let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine,” you said, standing before the situation could escalate further. Grabbing your blanket, you walked over to where Sukuna sat. He didn’t move or protest, though his jaw tightened slightly.

“Happy now?” you asked, throwing a pointed glare at Satoru.

“Ecstatic,” he said with a grin, clearly enjoying himself.

As the game continued, you kept quiet, hyper-aware of Sukuna’s presence beside you. He didn’t speak or look your way, but you could feel his warmth radiating off him, a sharp contrast to his usual aura of detachment.

“You didn’t have to do it,” he said quietly after a while, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You glanced at him, surprised. “What? Back out of the dare?”

He huffed softly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I meant sitting here. I’m not exactly great company.”

“You’re not as scary as you think you are, Sukuna,” you said, your voice steady despite your nerves.

His eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, his expression was unreadable. Then he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you refused to look away. “You don’t scare me.”

For a split second, something flickered in his gaze—amusement, maybe, or something deeper. Whatever it was, it was gone as quickly as it appeared, and he turned his attention back to the group, shutting down the moment before it could go any further.

The night wore on, the group’s laughter filling the space with an ease you hadn’t felt in months. And though Sukuna didn’t say much else, the subtle shift in his demeanor—the way he hadn’t outright refused to let you sit beside him—lingered in your mind.

The faint crackle of the dying fire filled the silence as you and Sukuna sat together. The others had long since retreated to their corners of the base to sleep, leaving the two of you behind. Neither of you made a move to get up, both content to sit in the quiet, the firelight casting flickering shadows on the walls.

“Do you think about the small stuff?” you asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Sukuna turned his head slightly, his sharp crimson eyes flicking to you. “Small stuff?”

“Yeah,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward the fire. “Like, I don’t know… food you miss. Stupid things you used to complain about.”

He huffed, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest. “Why? You getting nostalgic over bad cafeteria food?”

You snorted. “I’m serious. Don’t tell me you don’t miss anything.”

Sukuna was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. “I miss coffee,” he said finally, the admission low but honest. “Not this instant crap we scrape together. Real coffee. Black. Strong.”

You blinked. “You’re a coffee guy?”

He gave you a flat look. “What else would I be?”

“Tea, maybe,” you teased, a small grin tugging at your lips. “Something refined to match that whole brooding aesthetic.”

He scoffed, though you caught the faintest twitch of amusement in his expression. “Tea’s for people with time to waste. I needed something that worked.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Needed it for what? Running the shop?”

“Yeah,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “Long hours. Late nights. Coffee kept me going.”

You nodded, letting the quiet hang for a moment before speaking again. “I miss real bread,” you said, your voice wistful. “Fresh out of the oven, still warm. Not this stale, packaged stuff.”

“Bread?” Sukuna repeated, one eyebrow raising.

“Don’t judge me,” you said with a mock glare. “It’s a comfort thing. My mom used to bake on Sundays. The whole house would smell like it. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss it until… well.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, something softer flickering in his expression. “Sounds nice,” he said, almost reluctantly.

“It was,” you said quietly. “What about smells? Like fresh bread or coffee—anything like that?”

He leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “Rain,” he said eventually.

“Rain?”

“Before all this,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the broken windows and the storm outside. “When it didn’t smell like ash and rot. Just clean rain, hitting the pavement. It was… different.”

You nodded, understanding what he meant. “I get that. The way the air used to feel after a storm, too—cool and fresh. Like it could wash everything away.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in companionable silence, the firelight dancing between you. Sukuna’s expression was unreadable, but there was a weight to his presence that felt less intimidating and more… grounded.

“You’re good at this,” he said suddenly, his voice breaking through the quiet.

“Good at what?”

“Getting people to talk,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Most wouldn’t bother.”

You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I like getting to know people. It reminds me that we’re still human. That we’re more than just survivors.”

“Optimistic,” he muttered, though there was no venom in his tone.

“Not really,” you said, leaning back. “It’s just… I don’t want to forget who we are. What we’re fighting for.”

Sukuna’s gaze lingered on you, his crimson eyes sharp but not unkind. “You’re not what I expected,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter.

“Is that a compliment?” you teased, though your tone was gentle.

“Take it however you want,” he replied, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

The fire crackled softly, filling the quiet space between you and Sukuna. The storm outside raged on, but for once, the tension in the room felt lighter. Sukuna shifted slightly, leaning his head back against the wall, his gaze flicking to you again.

“You’ve got a tattoo,” he said suddenly, his voice low but steady.

You blinked, caught off guard. “How did you—?”

“I saw it when I was changing your bandage,” he said simply, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly, as if daring you to argue.

Your cheeks warmed. “Oh. Yeah. It’s, um… Saturn.”

“Saturn?” he repeated, his brow arching. “Why Saturn?”

You fiddled with the edge of your sleeve, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I’ve always been into astronomy. Saturn’s my favorite planet—something about the rings, you know? It’s just… beautiful.”

He studied you for a moment, his sharp gaze softening slightly. “It suits you,” he said, his tone quiet but sincere.

The comment made your cheeks burn even more, and you quickly tried to steer the conversation. “I got it a few years ago. Back when things were... normal.”

“Who did it?” he asked, his curiosity piqued. “Maybe I know them.”

You hesitated, then said the name. His reaction was immediate—a quiet scoff, followed by a faint smirk.

“No way,” Sukuna said, shaking his head. “You’re kidding.”

“What?” you asked, blinking at him.

“I know him,” he said. “I used to work for that guy. Before I opened my own shop.”

“Wait, seriously?” you said, your eyes widening. “When?”

“Couple years before the outbreak,” he said. “What year did you get it?”

You thought for a moment, then gave him the date. Sukuna’s smirk grew wider, a flicker of amusement in his crimson eyes. “I was there.”

Your jaw dropped slightly. “No way.”

“Way,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “I was probably in the back working on a piece or setting up. Funny—I don’t remember seeing you.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Imagine if we’d met back then.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, the sound low and almost warm. “You wouldn’t have liked me much.”

“Oh, and I like you now?” you teased, though your tone was light.

His smirk widened. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. The thought lingered, though—what would it have been like to meet him in another life, when the world wasn’t falling apart?

Sukuna leaned back again, his expression turning thoughtful. “Funny how things turn out,” he said quietly. “All the places we’ve been, all the people we’ve met... and we still end up here.”

You nodded, your gaze drifting to the fire. “It’s weird, isn’t it? How small the world feels now.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice soft. “But I guess it’s not all bad.”

You glanced at him, your heart skipping at the subtle warmth in his tone. “Not all bad, huh?”

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze locked on the flames. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a murmur. “Some parts of it aren’t.”

The unspoken meaning hung in the air, and for a moment, you wondered if he was talking about you. The fire crackled again, filling the space with its gentle warmth as the storm raged on outside. For the first time in a long time, you felt the tiniest spark of hope—not just for survival, but for something more.

The days following your talk with Sukuna, something subtle but undeniable had shifted between the two of you.

It wasn’t anything overt—Sukuna would never be obvious—but there was something in the way he’d glance at you during group discussions, as though ensuring you were keeping up. A faint nod when you helped Shoko organize supplies or lent Suguru a hand with planning. And, most noticeably, how he seemed to position himself near you during outings, always close enough to step in if something went wrong.

One evening, the group had gathered in the common area after dinner. Satoru was attempting to juggle two cans and a flashlight, Suguru was cleaning one of the weapons, Shoko sat on the floor organizing medical supplies, her cigarette tucked neatly behind her ear, and Nanami was seated at the table, meticulously reviewing a list of the group’s remaining supplies, his brow furrowed in concentration.

You were seated cross-legged on a crate in the corner, flipping through a water-stained book you’d scavenged earlier that week. The quiet hum of the group’s activities created a sense of normalcy that felt rare these days, though the occasional clatter from Satoru’s failed juggling attempts punctuated the calm.

“Hey!” Satoru called, catching one of the cans before it could roll under the table. “What’re you reading over there, bookworm?”

You barely looked up. “Something about gardening. Thought it might be useful.”

“Gardening?” Satoru repeated, dropping the flashlight in his surprise. “We’ve got zombies roaming around, and you’re over there trying to grow tomatoes?”

“It’s called thinking ahead,” you shot back, your tone dry.

Suguru chuckled softly, shaking his head. “She’s got a point, Satoru. We’re not going to survive on canned beans forever.”

“Sure, but why doesn’t she do something more fun? Like, I don’t know, play a game with us?” Satoru grinned and turned to you. “Come on, newbie. Cards? Truth or dare? Something other than reading.”

You rolled your eyes. “Pass.”

“Afraid to lose?” he teased, leaning against a nearby crate.

“She’s busy,” Sukuna cut in, his voice sharp and commanding.

The room stilled, the air shifting as everyone turned toward him. Sukuna was seated near the doorway, sharpening his katana, his crimson eyes flicking briefly to you before settling back on his blade.

“She doesn’t need your crap right now,” he added, his tone flat but carrying an undeniable edge.

Satoru raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Didn’t realize I was stepping on sacred ground.”

Suguru chuckled, and even Shoko smirked, but Sukuna didn’t respond, his focus returning to his weapon.

The conversation shifted, the group’s banter filling the room again, but you couldn’t stop glancing at Sukuna. He didn’t look at you, but the faint tension in his shoulders seemed to ease when Satoru finally dropped the subject.

Later that evening, as the base settled into a quiet hum, you found yourself climbing to the roof. The stars were faint, scattered across the dim skyline like shy visitors in the night. The cool breeze was a welcome reprieve, and you leaned against the edge, letting your thoughts drift.

You didn’t expect to hear the door creak open behind you, but you weren’t surprised when Sukuna stepped out, his presence filling the space effortlessly.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked, breaking the silence.

He shrugged, stepping up beside you. “Needed air.”

You nodded, the quiet between you comfortable as you both gazed at the faint stars above.

“I love stargazing,” you said softly, your voice barely audible over the wind. “Before all this. My dad taught me all the constellations when I was little. Like I told you—I love astronomy. Hence the tattoo.”

Sukuna’s gaze shifted to you, his expression unreadable but attentive. “That why you got it?”

“Yeah,” you said, glancing at him with a small smile. “It’s a reminder of something constant, you know? No matter how much the world changes, the stars stay the same.”

He hummed quietly, his crimson eyes lifting to the sky. “Never thought about it like that.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “You can see them better now,” you said, your tone soft but inviting. “With no electricity in the city, there’s less light pollution. Lay down with me—I can show you the constellations.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow at the suggestion, his usual skepticism evident. “You serious?”

“Come on,” you said, grinning as you leaned back and lay down on the roof. The rough surface pressed against your back, but you didn’t mind. You gestured toward the stars above. “You might actually learn something.”

To your surprise, Sukuna shifted, his movements deliberate but unhurried. He lowered himself onto his back right next to you, his broad shoulders brushing against yours as he stretched out. His crimson eyes flicked upward, taking in the night sky.

“Alright,” he muttered, his voice quieter than usual. “Show me.”

You pointed toward the stars, tracing invisible lines with your finger. “That’s Orion. You can see the belt there—three stars in a straight line.”

He followed your gesture, his expression softening as he took in the view. “I see it.”

You continued, pointing out other constellations and sharing the stories your dad had told you about them. Sukuna listened quietly, his usual sharpness muted as he seemed to absorb every word.

When you turned your head to check if he was still paying attention, you found him already watching you. His gaze was intense, his red eyes tracing your features in a way that made your breath catch.

“What?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached out slowly, his hand brushing against your temple as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered for a moment, warm against your skin, before he pulled away.

“You should keep your hair out of your face,” he murmured, his voice low. “Might save you some trouble next time.”

Your cheeks warmed at the gesture, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “You’re full of advice lately,” you teased gently.

“Don’t get used to it,” he replied, though there was no bite to his words.

The two of you lay there in companionable silence, the stars above seeming closer than they had in years. Whatever this was between you and Sukuna, it felt fragile but real.

And for the first time in a long while, you felt like you weren’t just surviving—you were living.

part two. let me know if you want to be on the tag list.

[simpee9000]

Super random but I’m a writer and I’ve been stuck on an idea I can’t get going😅 if you’re willing to/interested I’d love to see what you can do with the idea. I’m a domestic kinda girly so don’t judge 🫣🤣

Idea:

Bakugo coming home to retired ex-hero wife who’s excited to tell him about the new recipe she learned or something like that and it makes him feel frisky because she’s still so devoted in everything she does it just all goes to him now

I can try! I'm really rusty at smut so bear with me here! (Don't ask me how I'm writing a smut story despite only writing it maybe three times before)

Despite the smut not being the best I hope I did well enough. I've never done a request before so this is a first! Thank you <3

Word Count 2k~ Smut, and slightest gore at the beginning

Katsuki Bakugo x retired pro hero reader

Your leg was blasted off from under you. Making you collapse as you buckled under your weight. A silent scream of pain coming from you. Landing onto your stomach before falling onto your side, confused from the amount of pain. Your hero suit was torn in every spot possible, ends being burnt off mid-thigh.

From the knee down your left leg was gone, the pure gore of it made you fall back, head on the ground as you stared up at the dusty sky. It is covered with debris and ashes from the collapsed buildings nearby.

It was a simple fire earlier, quickly turning south when a villain was found on the lower levels. Flattening all buildings nearby. Back-up was called of course, but they were far too late. You were basically gone the second you made contact with the villain. Getting thrown through several walls by an air quirk. Mind going fuzzy just from that, but to make matters worse, a grenade was thrown with you.

You heard the sounds of other heroes and took it as a sign to back down. Resting into the concert underneath you as you tried to stabilize yourself. Ultimately passing out from the pain.

-

Waking up in the hospital sent you on another trip, you thought you were gone. Dead. The haze that surrounded the hospital consumed you as you looked around. The sterile air, empty with chemicals that dried it up. Beeping coming from your heart monitor, a steady pulse made everything feel even more surreal.

Your arm was in a sling and your left leg was gone. Same as before you passed out. Your ribs hurt as you tried to breathe. Panicking from the pain, a doctor rushed in.

Telling you all the things wrong with you, all the options you had.

Nothing felt good enough. Your body was broken, caved in. You lost not only your leg but most of your mobility, everything hurt. You were told everything would continue to hurt. Physical therapy and healing quirks could only do so much.

You tried to listen as the doctor droned on and on about how they had the best doctors. How they could get you a prosthetic that could help you walk again.

The fact that you wouldn't be able to walk without it stunned you.

How could you ever continue to be a hero in this state? You knew Mirko had done it, even your teacher Aizawa did it. But this felt life-changing. It was life-changing.

You thought you died. You didn't want to die.

"Fucking hell," you turned your attention to Katsuki, who just barged in. Pausing in the doorway as he looked you over.

You could say something sappy and it'd be true. As you looked at him you thought over everything. Barely hearing the concerned questions he asked you before turning to the doctor.

Raising a kid as two pro heroes would be impossible. Katsuki and you wanted kids, you couldn't let them see you like this, or worse. They couldn't live without a mother or father.

You couldn't be a hero.

"I'll take a prosthetic," you spoke out finally.

They both looked at you, the doctor labeling your options, "There are a lot of good options for hero work-"

"I'll just have a normal one," you avoided looking at Katsuki, almost ashamed. You loved hero work. You loved saving people. Working harder each day alongside him as you aimed to be your best.

"Okay, I'll file the paperwork," the doctor excused himself, leaving the room to you and Katsuki.

He stared at you for a while, waiting for you to speak. "I think I'm done," you said softly, "All this hero work, consumes my life."

He grasped your hands in his, "Okay."

"I'm sorry, I know that's not what you wanted-"

"But it's what you want," he shot down your apology, "It's okay."

"I don't know what I'll do-"

"We'll figure it okay together," he got rid of your doubts, "I don't think I could stomach seeing you like this again anyway," he confessed.

-

Quitting was difficult, it changed your life drastically. You stayed home more often, picking up smaller hobbies that you never had time for before.

Reading more often, baking, cooking, you were even starting to learn how to crochet. You had so much time and it was freeing. Leaving you with a flexible schedule. Helping Katsuki out on cases he needed a second opinion on, or what event he should go for to help his publicity.

Devoting your time to things you loved freely, rather than just hero work. You missed it sometimes, after all, you have been doing it since you were 15 and only stopped a year ago when you were 26.

It made things easier, schedule easily aligning with Katsuki and giving you more time with the spikey blonde. More time together allowed you to get closer, him engaging on your three-year anniversary.

You thought about your wedding, planned for next year, as you flipped through your new recipe book. Stumbling on a delicious-looking meal that you thankfully had all the ingredients for. Grabbing the ingredients absent-mindedly as you thought about the type of wedding you'd have.

Katsuki didn't care much, telling you to go nuts with it. His mom wanted to help though, and you warmly welcomed it. Excited to be close to his family at any opportunity.

Cutting each ingredient carefully as you mix it into the full meal. Humming in thought when you heard Katsuki's keys on the other side of the front door.

He walked into the kitchen after smelling your cooking, every day you offered him a new meal. He loved that you shared this hobby with him.

"What y'making?" he walked behind where you stood at the stove. Wrapping his arms around your waist as he buried his chin into your shoulder, looking at what you were doing.

"I just found a new recipe! The cookbook I bought has so many good things," you shared excitedly, "Lots of protein and vegetables, just the way you like it."

"I fuckin' love you," he kissed your neck and hugged you tighter.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a hand towel and wiping your hands off before you turned in his grip, wrapping your arms around his neck. He had his hero mask pushed up over his eyes, holding his hair back. "How was work?" you asked, swaying lightly with him.

"Work," he replied back, leaning down to kiss you.

Your lips connected for a moment before you pulled back, "You need a shower," you tried to smack away the taste of charcoal that was left on your lips. Concerned about how he even had that happen.

He rolled his eyes, squeezing at the fat of your hips, "As long as you join me?"

You looked over your shoulder and at the food, "I don't know, food just got done."

Without another word he pulled away from you and grabbed a pan lid, placing it over the pan filled with food and taking it off the heat. "We'll reheat it later, let's go," he grabbed your hand and put you in front of him as he walked behind you to the shower.

You giggled as you matched the forced pace he was making you walk, "Impatient much?" you teased.

He didn't answer, just pulled his shirt right off your body. He stared at it enough already and wanted more. He groaned when he noticed you were only wearing panties, the cheeky ones that he loved. "Fuckin' knew today was gonna be a good day," he mumbled before kissing you roughly, scaling kisses down your neck and onto your chest. He didn't seem like he could be happier at the fact you weren't wearing a bra, pressing kisses at every bare inch of you.

Nipping at your bud before sucking your tit into his mouth. His hand taking care of the other. "Kats," you whined, pulling him away by his hair when he mumbled a 'what' into your chest, "Shower."

Reluctantly he pulled away, flipping the shower on before ripping his shirt off, pushing his pants and boxers off as well. His hairband had fallen off when he was kissing you earlier. Despite being with him for three years, you still flushed at him bare.

He was built amazingly, sheer hard work sculpted him into a Greek god. You watched his arm ripple in muscle as he checked the temperature of the water before moving to grab you and push you into the water with him. Connecting your lips once in.

"I mean it Kats," you pushed his chest away, making his hair start soaking with water, "Shower."

Making a show of following your orders, he quickly washed his hair. Probably taking the fastest shower of his life before taking his time to run the soap over your body. Not nearly as rough as he washed his own. Kissing your shoulder blade before washing your back, "Beautiful," he murmured into your skin.

You twisted in his hold, deciding you were clean enough before you leaned into him locking his lips in a passionate kiss. You were only human after all, it's impossible to refuse him for long

Bringing your hands up to tangle into his hair, pulling him closer to your height. Easing the strain on the prosthetic, thankful that it was waterproof.

He took anything you gave him, following your lead as you backed yourself into the shower wall. His hands grabbed at your thighs and lifted you, pressing you into the cold tile as he held you up. Kissing his marks over your chest. Layering over where he had already kissed.

"I love you so fucking much," he murmured into your skin, taking a moment to back away and look over you. Soaking in the look you were giving him, full of devotion.

"I love you more," you whispered in reply, pulling him into another kiss. Leaving him to squeeze your thigh, frustrated that you shut him up with a kiss.

He pushed you more into the wall with one hand while he moved his other between you. Trailing it between your folds "It's been too fucking long," he groaned when he felt you, wet and wanting him.

"Can I just have you?" you whined, moving your hand into his hair and pulling desperately. He'd tease you for hours if he could. And with the colding temperature of the water, you couldn't handle that.

"Need me that bad?" he smirked down at you, circling his fingers over your clit meanly.

"Please?"

He wasn't lying when he said it had been too long. The second he gave in and lined himself up, the strain of just his tip was enough to force your head back. The push of him into you felt relieving, it was something you had missed without even knowing.

"Oh fuck," he moaned, head falling into your shoulder as he stilled. Letting you adjust for just a moment before he pulled his hips back. Slowly building pace as he works you both up to the climax.

Breaths tangled together as the steam from the shower clouded your vision.

Your hands were moving over his back and up his shoulders, trying to steady yourself despite his constant thrusts. Knocking the breath out of you each time.

His hand stayed on your clit, moving in sharp circles over you as he knew he wouldn't last. He hasn't had you in so long and wouldn't be held back. Yet he wouldn't be the only one to cum.

He was already close, he was worked up the second he saw you in the kitchen. Seeing you in your home together, cooking for him while wearing his clothes. It made him feel like everything would be okay, he had you. Everything was an effort together rather than alone, and he welcomed it.

The small grunts and moans he was making right next to your ear was sending you up the wall.

"Gonna cum baby? Feel y'fuckin' squeezing me," he panted, working his hips harder into his. You whined in reply, nodding your head frantically. He knew all your spots, bullying his cock straight into your spot.

He felt like he was falling in love all over again any time he looked at you, even now. Your eyes squeezed shut in pleasure and your head lolled back, your body relying on him to stay upright as you blabbed for more. Knowing he'd give anything to you if you just asked. Your legs locked around him when you came, completely losing yourself in his hold as he worked his dick into you. Groaning at you tightening around him before he gave in and met you where you were.

Filling you up, not caring if it got you pregnant or not at this point, he knew everything would be fine.

You looked fucked out, eyes half-lidded as you looked at him, he was melting inside. Reluctantly letting you gain your footing back and letting you clean yourself fully.

It was a blur of a shower afterward. He could only focus on you, mind filled only with love as he crowded you after you dried off.

"You okay, kats?" You spoke softly as you hugged him back.

"Just fuckin love you, got an issue?" he snapped back as he hugged you tighter. He was just as devoted to you as you were to him, even if he didn't always get the time to prove it.

(I'm very meh about this work but I decided to post it anyway, I need to write more and challenge myself. If you have any ideas or requests you should send them in, I'll try to write them!)

You should read my Bakugo x reader if you liked this work!