#his birth. his childhood. his death. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

smileysuh · 1 month ago

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princess & kingpin

🌙 starring. Lee Donghyuck x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. Donghyuck might have a reputation to uphold in the darker world he inhabits with his family, but with you, this is Hyuck, the rascal ward who’d stolen your heart when you were children. Right now, he’s not a future Kingpin, nor are you a Princess. Instead, you’re man and wife, and you intend to reap the new benefits these connected titles give you.

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, arranged marriage, virgin!reader, thick dick!Donghyuck, first-time sex, wedding night sex, body worship, wedding garter, fingering, pussy eating, lots of foreplay, pussy stretching, dirty talk, praise, good first-time communication, lots of kissing, gentle/hand holding sex, talks of ‘consummation/duty’, Hyuck uses a knife to cut open her intricate laced wedding gown, etc… I pet names: (hers) Princess.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 5.7k

🍭 aus. Modern royal au, mafia au, childhood friends to lovers, strategically arranged marriage, princess! y/n, future kingpin!Haechan

☀️ mlist + an. i had a field day with the au selection for this one haha

Prologue:

There was never any doubt when Donghyuck was born, that he was his father’s son. He’d come out of the womb punching, and despite his mother being a mistress, the renowned weapons dealer had claimed Donghyuck as his own, as he’d claimed other illegitimate would-be heirs.

The blood of the mother was redundant in Donghyuck’s father’s eyes, all that mattered, was that he was a Lee. This mentality had stayed with Donghyuck in his early childhood, growing up amongst other half-siblings. Mark, for example, was slightly older, and although he had more of his mother’s gentle temperament, he knew how to live up to his name when it mattered. Jeno, in contrast, was very much another mini-me to their father, very bold, very aggressive.

When Donghyuck was ten, something happened that would change the entire course of his life.

Having lived in a corrupt monarchy for the entirety of his existence, and having a father who was somewhat of a Kingpin in the shady world of weapons, Donghyuck grew to have a disdain for the King, who was always meddling, always making choices that had negative effects on his people.

The Lees weren’t the only clan who hated the King, in fact, the head royal’s choices were so bad, that he gained the moniker ‘The Mad King.’ His own family had turned against him, and when he would not willingly relinquish his power it was decided that for the first time in a very long time, an internal assassination would be the best choice for the entire realm.

When Donghyck was ten, his eldest half-brother, Lee Taeyong, assassinated The Mad King, thus making way for the thrown to be usurped by the King’s own younger brother, a younger brother who now had ties, and a debt to settle, with Donghyuck’s family.

The first year after The Mad King’s death saw more reform for the better than perhaps ever in the history of the kingdom. There were some who were unhappy with a militia-style arms dealer family injecting themselves into the court through a blood favor, but others understood that sometimes, this type of brute force is necessary for positive change. Besides, the new King understood, as the King before him had not, that having the raw power of the Lees backing him up would be the safest choice of all.

At eleven, Donghyuck was sent to the castle to be a ward for the royal family. He would spend six months of the year learning the ins and outs of the court. This was the first time Donghyuck had felt like a half-son, like the birth of his mother had reflected negatively on him. He didn’t want to be in the libraries studying, or learning how to make diplomatic concessions- that wasn’t who he was. Lee Donghyuck was not a royal, and in the mind of his eleven-year-old self, he never would be.

Donghyuck would spend seven years in between the castle and his family home, feeling torn, feeling less than his half-brothers, who were gaining the benefit of a full-time life with his father. There were a few bright moments with the royals, bright moments when he’d first met you, the Princess. The two of you became fast friends, both sharing a common feeling of dissatisfaction with your fathers’ treatment, both feeling like being the youngest in a large clan had its downsides.

At eighteen, Donghyuck was no longer forced to be a ward. He was a full member of the Lee’s now, and he’d spent all his time in the castle working to be the best asset to his father that he could be, desperately wanting to prove to his father that he could be the best of all his sons, maybe even better than Taeyong, who had been the tool used to secure their spot as royal-adjacents.

It wasn’t until Donghyuck was twenty that he learned the truth of why he had been the one chosen to go to the castle. He, out of all his siblings, of age, and of sharp mind, was determined to be the most useful plant within the marble walls of royalty.

After he’d found out how his father truly saw him, Donghyuck became a fully unstoppable force, and he never looked back.

One:

“It’s been a long time,” the old advisor to the King says as he takes a seat, staring at Donghyuck from behind his large office desk.

“It has,” Donghyuck agrees, eying all the official papers that still scatter Seunghyun’s space.

“I received the letter from your father,” the advisor continues, reaching for the document in question to hold it up. “I suppose I always knew this day was coming, especially after what your family did for our King.”

Donghyuck nods. It would seem to him that the notion of an arranged marriage had likely always been in his father’s back pocket, but of course, when Donghyuck was younger, he hadn’t realized he would be the intended Lee to join the royal family. Now, as a man, the entire play makes sense. He’s not a complete stranger to the princesses, nor is he unfamiliar with the court and the way the royals conduct themselves.

No, Donghyuck was purposefully sent here by his father to infiltrate, to make the exact move that he’s attempting to make right now.

Lee Donghyuck will marry into the royal family, forever securing an unbreakable bond between them, and it is this mission, that Donghyuck has unknowingly spent over ten years trying to achieve.

“I have discussed this letter with the King,” Seunghyun continues, “and we assume there is no guess as to whom you would like as your bride.”

“No guess,” Donghyuck responds with a chuckle, looking down at the Lee family ring on his pinky.

“You always did have a connection with the youngest princess. If it would be amenable to your father… If he has no other specifications as to which Princess you are to be wedded to, the King agrees that you and Princess y/n can be wed within a week’s time.”

Donghyuck can’t help the way his heart thumps in his chest. His father had made him aware of this royally arranged marriage a month ago, but he’s still not quite used to the idea that you’ll be his wife.

He’d always had an attraction to you, an attraction to your body, mind, and spirit- but as a teenager, he’d done his best to push those thoughts aside. He’d been acutely aware that your differing situations in life would most likely keep you from ever being in a union-

In some ways, Donghyuck feels like he’s entered a very good dream, but there are some anxieties that come with it. After all, he hasn’t seen you in years… what if your opinion of him has changed?

“That timeline works for the Lee clan,” Donghyuck says smoothly, “as does the Princess in question.”

It’s funny how easily Donghyuck slips back into the diction of the castle, the ‘proper’ way of speaking. it’s been years since he’s been here, but in some odd way, it’s as if he never left.

Two:

“The two of you always had a connection,” your older sister Jenni concedes as you sit in front of your vanity, an artist working on your makeup. “But you haven't seen him in years.”

“He can’t have changed that much, right?” you ask, looking between your siblings.

Hwasa exchanges a glance with Jenni. As the second oldest, Hwasa is married already, however, in contrast to your arranged match, she’d been wed to a Prince and is now next in line for a throne half a continent away.

“Certain qualities are bound to stay the same,” Hwasa says diplomatically. “However… I have heard about his more recent reputation.”

You’ve all heard about it. Once upon a time, Taeyong had been the prodigal son of the Lee clan, he’d even overthrown a whole kingdom for the chance to strengthen family ties, but in recent years, the story goes that the eldest Lee boy had become timid, less so like his father. Donghyuck, in contrast, has supposedly risen in the ranks, working all the way up to somewhat of a right-hand man figure, despite him being one of the younger members of the halfling brood.

“He’ll still be the same boy who wanted to skip lessons to play in the park,” you insist. “The same boy who got high marks without studying.”

“Intellect is an attractive trait,” Hwasa concedes, “however, I seem to remember his reckless disdain for rules got you in trouble a number of times as well.”

“She was always following him into bad situations,” Jenni agrees with a laugh. “It was charming when they were young. A twelve-year-old kingpin’s son, corrupting a princess to go on ‘dangerous’ quests, playing pretend in the castle park.”

“I guess neither of us thought we’d ever be very important to our families,” you sigh. “I’m the youngest daughter. Sure, I was expected to marry well, but I think we all knew I’d never be more than a princess. I’m no Queen.”

“Maybe not one in name,” Hwasa says, cocking her head to the side as she plays with your veil. “But someone has to run the Lee empire when the kingpin dies, and many sources are pointing toward Donghyuck as being the next in line. Securing you as a match would definitely add some… legitimacy, considering the fact that he’s a half-blood.”

“His father’s wife never bore children,” you point out, feeling defensive. “It made sense for him to have mistresses, children born out of wedlock. He kept his wife, whom he loved, but still needed a line to inherit his work. It’s an arrangement they had.”

“I’ve heard conflicting reports on whether Mrs. Lee was very agreeable to the situation, having a host of children calling your husband father while she herself was not a birth mother,” Hwasa sighs.

“I don’t want to hear about this anymore,” you declare. “I’m getting married today, and these politics and talks of family lines and legitimacy are dampening my mood.”

Your sisters exchange one last look, but then they bow their heads to you, a sign of submission.

You know they’re just protective, that they’re not the only ones dissecting the arrangement with your fiance.

Having spent your life in a castle, you’re used to gossip. The only person who never truly cared about what others thought was Donghyuck, and you’re eager for the strength he provided you when you were young.

Three:

Donghyuck can hardly breathe when the church doors open and you begin to walk through. Your veil obscures your face, your chin dipped down to pay attention to the floor as your father slowly escorts you up the aisle. Even without being able to fully see you, Donghyuck can tell you’ve only grown more beautiful in the years since he’s seen you, and his heart begins to thump wildly in his chest.

Jeno and Mark are his groomsmen, and he can feel them shifting behind him, clearly reacting to your beauty, as everyone in the House of God is.

Things seem to move incredibly slowly, and also incredibly fast. The King is handing you off to Donghyuck, and he’s taking you by the hand, marveling at the scar on your palm that you’d gotten from slipping on a rock when you were both fifteen. God, the castle physician had had a field day with Hyuck when that happened-

He can feel your eyes on him, and soon, he’s lifting your veil to see your face.

Donghyuck can feel the smile that appears on his lips, and you shyly beam back, downcasting your gaze. The Lee can hardly hear the minister as he goes through a useless traditional ceremony, it’s all business after all.

The only things that matter are the ‘I do’s’ and the kiss, and when that happens, Donghyuck is fully present. He wets his lips, squeezing your hand gently. You give him a small nod, a wordless show that it’s okay, that he can move forward and solidify the future you’ll now have together, the future that, in some ways, was always meant to be.

He wants to be gentle with you, cupping your face and watching you intently as you both move in. At the last moment, your eyes flutter closed, and he mirrors the action, pressing his lips to yours.

It’s the most chaste kiss Donghyuck’s ever had, but at the same time, nothing in the world has ever excited him more.

You taste like mandarine oranges and springtime, and a familiar feeling that has been buried for years begins to bubble up in the young man’s chest like the blossoming of a cherry tree. You’re his future, and he can feel it in his very soul.

Four:

You’ve felt as if things had progressed quite naturally at the wedding and reception, but now, going with Donghyuck to his home and finally getting some alone time- well, you’re beginning to feel twinges of anxiety.

This man, who you’d known years ago, has grown up. His hair is a little longer, and his hands bear the marks of an everlasting fighter’s soul, but despite these changes, his smile is still the same, as is the soft way he gazes at you.

“How are you feeling?” Donghyuck asks, walking around his large master bedroom to retrieve some water for you.

“I’m alright, and you?”

“Never been better,” your husband grins, handing you a cup and sitting across from you in the small seating area of his room by the fire. “Were you surprised by this whole arrangement thing?”

You cock your head to the side, considering the question. “Yes, and no. I hadn’t expected a marriage connection between our families, but once I was made aware of it, it felt like I was stupid for never seeing the intention before. And when I found out it would be you marrying someone from my family, I knew you would choose me.”

“We always got along.”

“We did more than get along,” you laugh, feeling your skin flush. You take a sip of water to steady yourself. “I’d always had a crush on you, Donghyuck, following you around like a lost puppy-”

“You never felt like a lost puppy to me. You were just my best friend six months of the year.”

You can’t help but smile. “Best friend,” you repeat, releasing a sad breath. “I was upset when you turned eighteen and stopped coming. I never heard from you.”

“Life got busy,” Donghyuck frowns.

“I’ve heard,” you nod.

You can feel him studying you, and he leans forward. “I’m sorry. I should have contacted you.”

“It’s alright,” you wave your hand. “We’re here now.”

“We are,” he agrees. “If it makes you feel better, I’ve been thinking about you.”

“You have?”

“I uh…” He rubs the back of his neck shyly, “I always had a crush on you too, but I figured it would never work out, so…”

“It’s funny how life has a way of bringing people together again,” you muse. “As if our fates were always set in stone, always meant to be…” you search for the right word, and it comes to you both in unison: “aligned.”

You both laugh, looking down, and it’s as if you’re shy teenagers again, teasing with the idea of a forbidden romance that has now come to fruition, with the full backing of both of your families.

“You look very beautiful,” Donghyuck muses, eyes raking over your wedding dress.

“I thought you might like this one,” you smile, also looking down at yourself. “I remember you used to like the bows I’d wear in my hair, always tugging on them-”

“So you wrapped yourself up like a pretty present for me,” Donghyuck deduces. “How very generous of you, Princess.”

A giddy tingle erupts up your spine. While everyone calls you Princess - as it is your title - it feels different coming from Donghyuck’s lips, and it always has.

“It’s our wedding night…” you point out, “I wanted to gift you something, give you something to unwrap.”

Donghyuck swallows thickly, a motion you don’t miss. “Princess… you’ve gotten… bold since we last met.”

“You’re my husband, can’t I be bold with you, Hyuck?”

He takes a deep breath. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to be… I mean, I’m willing to give you time-”

“Consummation is a time-honored tradition,” you point out, only half teasing. “It’s our wedding night, and I’m not the only person with expectations.”

“I doubt your family expects me to give you an heir, Hwasa and your eldest brother have more than delivered in that area,” Donghyuck laughs. “But I see your point.”

“Do you?” You set your water down, standing. Turning your back to Donghyuck, you approach the large bed before looking over your shoulder at him. He’s taking in the bows that make the length of your corsetted back, and you can see his mind working to figure out how he’s going to undo everything in a timely manner. “Come, husband, unwrap your wedding present.”

You’ve been dreaming about this night all week- in fact, you’ve been fantasizing about this since you were sixteen.

Donghyuck might have a reputation to uphold in the darker world he inhabits with his family, but with you, this is Hyuck, the rascal ward who’d stolen your heart when you were children. Right now, he’s not a future Kingpin, nor are you a Princess. Instead, you’re man and wife, and you intend to reap the new benefits these connected titles give you.

You can sense Donghyuck hesitate as he approaches you, coming to a stop just at your back. His hands gently smooth up your arms, and he leans forward to press his lips to your shoulder. “Are you sure about this?” he asks.

“I’ve never been more sure,” you respond, arching your neck to look back at him.

Donghyuck reaches up to pinch your chin, and then he kisses you.

It’s a soft kiss like you’d shared at the alter just hours ago, but you have no need to put on a chaste show for royals, there’s no one currently in attendance at this special moment. It’s just you and him, and you’re quick to turn things deeper, releasing a small moan of pleasure as you turn in his arms, threading your fingers through his silky hair.

He grabs your waist, but as you kiss, you can feel his palm smoothing to the small of your back. He begins to pluck loose all the intricate bows, not missing a beat as he does so.

You tug at his suit and Donghuck concedes to you just long enough to get his jacket off before he returns to his task. The kiss is turning heated very quickly, and your skin is tingling with excitement, your heart racing like a wild bird in your rib cage.

Donghyuck begins to kiss down to your throat, licking and sucking on the skin while you gasp and whimper. He’s all-consuming, and you don’t know where to focus as he worships you while simultaneously undoing the bows on the back of your dress.

His lips ghost by the swell of your breasts, pushed up by the corsetted structure in your wedding gown. God, it feels amazing, and you throw your head back, panting deeply.

“Being so good for me, Princess,” Donghyuck muses, his lips trailing back up your throat. He pulls away, looking down at you. “I want you to know- you can change your mind at any time and I won’t hold it against you-”

“Hyuck,” you groan. “Can you just let me want you?” You bunch your hands up in his suit. “Can you accept that I need you? That I’m not being forced, or coerced- that this ‘arranged’ marriage isn’t even really that ‘arranged’ because, for me, it’s always been you?”

He’s staring at you in shock, and you decide to take matters into your own hands. You muster up all your strength and push him onto the bed before confidently mounting him. You gather up the poofy skirts of your dress, getting comfortable so you can grind down on him despite all the fabric in the way.

“I didn’t expect this,” Donghyuck admits, swallowing thickly.

“Get used to it,” you fire back, leaning down to cup his face, pressing your lips against his with a newfound passion.

He quickly gets to work on the back of your dress again, and now you’re both moaning at the feeling of you grinding down on top of him.

Something hard is pressing up against your core, and the knowledge that he’s already hard has you feeling feverish in the best possible way. He wants you the way you want him, and you’re starting to regret wearing such an intricate dress.

“Fuck this,” Hyuck groans, pushing you off of him and onto the bed. He grabs you next, flipping you onto your stomach. When you look over your shoulder, you realize he’s produced a knife - had he been hiding that in a clip on the back of his pants this whole time?

With one rough stroke, he cuts through all the ribbons and the lace along the back of your dress, ruining it in an effort to get to you quickly.

“I never had much patience for presents or keeping wrapping paper intact,” Donghyuck muses, leaning over to set his knife on the bedside table. “Let's get you out of this fucking gown.”

He flips you again, and you release a giggle at the manhandling, loving this new side of your husband. He’s clearly insatiable, and it sets your entire body on fire as he grips your dress and practically tears it from your form.

You’re in undergarments, and unlike your dress, there hadn't been any royal and historical specifications about the details, so the thong and garter are very much a contrast to the now-destroyed gown that’s been tossed aside.

The corset on the dress has been enough to not merit a bra of any sort, so now, looking up at Donghyuck, you’re already half naked, and it’s clear that he’s taken aback from the view.

He stops, just staring at you, his lips parted in disbelief.

“Wow,” he breathes.

“Like what you see?”

“Yes, Princess.” He swallows thickly, gaze finally dipping to take in your thong and the wedding garter on your thigh. “This is pretty.” Donghyuck grabs at the lacey strap, pulling it away from your skin to let it gently snap back.

“It’s not the most traditional thing in the world for royals to wear one, but I thought you might enjoy it,” you muse.

“What do I do with it?”

“I was thinking… you could take it off with your teeth.”

“My teeth?” Donghyuck looks up at you with surprise.

“Your teeth,” you confirm, “but… maybe also take your shirt off first.”

“Is this tradition?” your husband asks as he begins to unbutton his top.

“Not entirely,” you giggle, enjoying the look of his tanned skin as more and more of it is revealed.

When you’d known Donghyuck before, he’d always been a little scrawny, but in his years away, he’s built muscle, and the sight of it is making you drool.

There are a few scars that litter his skin as well, scars that likely have stories you’ll have to ask about later, but right now, your focus is of a more primal nature.

Donghyuck shrugs his shirt to the floor, then he gets down on the bed between your legs. He starts peppering your calf in kisses, slowly ascending to your knee, then your thigh.

The feeling of his breath makes you groan and he looks up at you with dark eyes.

“Keep going,” you urge, grabbing at the bed sheets.

His teeth tease along the flimsy garter, and once he has an acceptable grip, he begins to tug it down your leg. Donghyuck moves slowly, toying with you and building the suspense.

You can feel your pussy beginning to throb with need already, and when the garter is discarded, Donghyuck’s lips take the same path up your leg again, but this time, he doesn’t stop where the material had just been.

He continues until his breath is fanning across your covered core, and it makes you whine, gripping the sheets tighter.

“Can I take these off too?” Donghyuck asks, voice low as one of his fingers teases the waistband of your thong.

“Please,” you whimper, lifting your hips a little to help him remove the only piece of clothing still standing between your husband and what you both want most.

Your panties are gone in a flash, and then two hands are snaking under your thighs, adjusting your core. Donghyuck licks his lips, looking up at you.

You expect him to say something, but he doesn’t, instead, he dives in, licking your pussy and sucking your clit into his mouth while you release a strangled cry. One of your hands flies down to tangle in his hair, and Donghyuck groans deeply, sending a vibration through your core that lights up your entire form.

As a Princess, your virtue has always been protected. You’re a virgin, and while you know about sex, you’ve never known what it is to experience it with another.

Nothing could have prepared you for this, for the way your entire body tingles with pleasure so all-consuming that you can’t help but moan desperately.

Donghyuck eats you like he’s been a man starved, unashamed to be a little messy.

There’s something sinful about it, but something that also feels so right- so correct.

Donghyuck adjusts slightly, and you feel a finger begin to gently circle your wet hole. He pushes just the tip in and you mewl from the sensation. Your husband takes your sound as an affirmation to continue, so he presses further inside of you, still moving slowly and gently to allow your body to adjust to the foreign intrusion.

You love how he’s taking his time with you, listening to your body and your cues.

It seems clear that he’s aware this is your first time with a man, and he’s not in some eager, self-gratifying rush to get to the part where he’s the one feeling good.

Soon he has a whole finger inside of you while he continues to suck on your clit, and he pumps the digit slowly, working you open in the most delightful way.

“Can I add another?” he asks, gently kissing your sensitive bud as he looks up at you.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” you nod, swallowing thickly.

Donghyuck returns to his task, licking at your clit to distract you from the stretch that comes with two fingers now slowly working into you.

He adjusts his hand again, crooking the digits up to hit a sweet spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

“Oh my God-” you whimper, clutching at the sheets again.

“Feels good?” he asks.

“Feels amazing,” you confirm, eyes shut as you can enjoy the pleasure that’s coursing through you.

Donghyuck applies more pressure to the sweet spot inside of you, thrusting in an almost rhythmic fashion as he sucks harder on your clit.

You’re all consumed by the throbbing ecstasy that’s bubbling out from your core and into the entirety of your body.

“Do you think you might cum for me soon, Princess?” Donghyuck asks.

“I… I think so,” you nod, swallowing thickly.

“Take your time,” he assures you, “when the feeling hits, just let go for me.”

He continues to worship your pussy, licking and sucking and stroking and fingering- your toes begin to curl from the pleasure, and the feeling is building quickly in your abdomen.

You’re gasping now, panting and moaning, clutching at the bed desperately. “Hyuck-” you whimper.

He responds by sucking your clit even harder and your thighs move to close around him, but your husband pushes them open with his free hand. He finger fucks you even harder, and before you know it, the tension in your stomach is snapping.

A wave of euphoria unlike anything you’ve ever felt washes over you like a warm summer rain. You gasp loudly, pleasure throbbing out from your core and engulfing you.

Donghyuck doesn’t stop, he works you through it, ignoring the way your thighs are shaking around him, the way you’re clawing at the bed and crying out.

“Hyuck!” you whimper, finally unable to take any more of the pleasure-

Your husband pulls away from your core, and you hear him lick his lips, but you’re too exhausted to open your eyes.

He pulls away from your core. “You look good like this, Princess.”

You don’t even have the words to respond, chest heaving, heart racing-

The bed dips as he lays down next to you, and you feel him push some hair away from your face. His lips brush your cheek, his hand moving down to your breast, where he begins to massage your flesh.

“That might be enough for tonight,” he muses softly.

“What?” Your eyes snap open.

“You look pretty tired.”

“Hyuck,” you take a deep breath, “I… I need you to fuck me.”

He stares at you in shock. “I’ve never heard that word come from your mouth before, Princess, this must be pretty serious.”

“It is,” you insist, cupping his cheek. “Please.”

“If that’s what my Princess wants,” Donghyuck concedes with a grin. “I’ll go slowly, I promise.”

He gets up again, and you watch him take off his pants.

You’ve never seen a cock in real life before, and the way his springs up makes your mouth water.

He’s thick, and a decent size too, or so you assume. You lick your lips in anticipation as he gets back onto the bed with you.

He moves between your thighs, and your legs wrap around him instinctively, your hand cupping his cheek again.

You draw your lips to his as he begins to gently rut, his cock gliding between your soaked pussy lips with easy, teasing by your clit, but not entering you.

It’s as if he’s toying with you, and your patience runs thin very fast. “Please,” you whimper again.

“You got it, Princess.”

He grabs the base of his cock, adjusting so his tip can fully tease your hole now. He pushes in slightly and you grab his shoulders, squeezing and making him stop.

You can feel him watching your facial expressions as you get used to the largest intrusion you’ve ever had inside of you.

“Just breathe,” he tells you, bringing his lips to your throat in an effort to soothe.

“Okay,” you nod, “okay, deeper.”

He follows your instructions, gently pushing in another inch only to pause and wait for your affirmation to continue.

This continues for a few minutes, Donghyuck diligently taking his time and allowing you to acclimatize to his cock until he’s fully sheathed in your wet and throbbing core.

“Okay, okay,” you nod, breathing heavily. “You can move now.”

Donghyuck cups your cheek, kissing you softly as he begins to gently rock back and forth. Your pussy walls are getting used to the sensation, and the slick from your orgasm makes things very smooth as he gradually increases the intensity.

You begin to moan from the feeling of him, clawing at his shoulders again, kissing him desperately as he makes love to you in your wedding bed.

One of Donghyuck’s hands moves down to your thigh, hiking it higher on his hip. Suddenly he’s hitting a deep spot inside of you, making you cry out as your toes curl with pleasure.

“Good?” he asks, pressing kisses along your throat.

“Good,” you confirm, whimpering desperately.

“You’re so tight,” Donghyuck groans.

“Maybe you’re just big,” you counter, stifling a giggle.

It’s shocking how natural this feels- there’s no awkwardness with Donghyuck, after all, you might be newlyweds from an arranged marriage, but you’ve been friends for most of your lives. You couldn’t imagine a better man to be with, a better man to be taking care of you for your first time.

“Princess,” Donghyuck moans, “I… I don’t think I’m going to last very long.”

“How… how long do men usually last?” you ask.

Donghyuck chuckles. “It all depends, but- eating you out got me pretty worked up, and now your pussy is gripping me so fucking well-”

God, his words are sinful to a Princess like you, but they’re sinful in the best possible way, making your pussy flutter with pleasure.

You’re making this man come undone, as he’d made you cum, and that knowledge makes pride burn through you.

“Don’t try to last,” you tell him, cupping his face. “Let go.”

Donghyck stares at you for a moment before smashing his lips to yours. He grabs one of your hands and intertwines your fingers, pressing it to the pillow to use as leverage as he begins to fuck you even harder.

The whole bed is rocking by now, each powerful thrust making you mewl and whimper.

“Fuck, fuck-” Donghyuck groans, burying his face against your throat again. “Shit, I’m gonna cum-”

You hold him tightly, stroking his hair as his thrusts falter, a deep moan escaping his lips.

You can feel the unfamiliar sensation of something filling up your core, and you wrap your legs tighter around his hips, keeping him locked inside of you as he fills you with his release.

He’s groaning and gasping in your ear and it’s one of the most erotic sounds you’ve ever heard.

You can sense when he’s come down from his high, but you continue to hold him, your chests pressed together, racing hearts beating as one.

This man is your husband, and you know he’ll take care of you. It’s a different life path laid out before you than you’d perhaps imagined when you were younger, but you know that as long as you’re with Lee Donghyuck, everything will be just fine.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! Short but sweet this month, longer things to come for nct in February :)

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below!

🔮 preview. In the five years you’ve been married to Donghyuck, he’s helped you come out of your sexually repressed shell. You’ve even tried things with him that you never even thought you’d be interested in. While Donghyuck can be soft and gentle for you, as he was on your wedding night, he’s still a Lee, and that factor comes with its fair share of darker tastes.

cw/ tw. cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, squirting, bondage, use of toys (vibrator), impreg/breeding kink, multiple positions, dirty talk, praise, fingering, breast worship, body worship, etc… I petnames. (hers) princess

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3k I teaser wc. 120

🌙 starring. Haechan x afab!Reader

bonus

“Happy anniversary,” Jeno grins as he shows up at your compound, with Mark in tow.

“Thank you,” you smile, welcoming them into the house.

Jeno is the favorite uncle of your two children, and it’s clear that he feels his congratulatory diligence is done, as he rushes past you to pick up your son and daughter, one for each arm. Mark, in contrast, bears some of the manners that you were used to much of your life, and he steps into your home. “Did you have a nice day?” he asks.

“A lovely family day,” you nod, stepping closer to Mark and lowering your voice, “but between us, I think Hyuck and I are both ready for some alone time.”

☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.3k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

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general taglist

@gotshinct - @subhyuck - @fraechan - @learnthisfeeling

@runahways - @d-abin - @milkteade - @woogyuhae

@anothershorthuman - @nihxxy - @vantxx95 - @bangshii

@poutypoutybin - @notbeforelong - @creepybakeoven

@ninetechculture - @yungiland - @suhsfam - @binchangf

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@mocha000 - @darthlunaa - @just-here-to-read-01 - @shiningnono

@lovelyhan - @grilledbananas - @sourkimchi

As I was short on time this month and unable to do a teaser, here's another shout out to some of my favourite blogs who interact with my work, I love you guys endlessly

@bobathi - @amazinggraxia - @bluempire425-blog -

@twililty - @cheolaholic - @babieculture

@meowniee - @ridenotpark - @ollieollieoctopus

@axo-l0tl - @blspphr3 - @roseandpeaches

#haechan #haechan smut #lee donghyuck #lee donghyuck smut #donghyuck #donghyuck smut #nct #nct smut #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #nct dream #nct dream smut #haechan nct #nct haechan

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councilofcastamere · 6 months ago

Text

WINTER NIGHTS | CREGAN STARK X TARG!READER ꧂

a b r i d g e m e n t : With tensions rising, your elder half-sister Rhaenyra arranges for you to seek asylum in the freezing land of the North. And fortunately for you, Cregan is there to show you how Northmen operate.

TW: penetration, loss of virginity, breeding kink, mentions gender roles but in a sexy way, sexual tension, sibling jealousy, childhood neglect, mentions of death by birth, shitty character development

A/N: I know the girly portrayed is Visenya but her body is tea in this so maybe I do know best…

The second daughter. The oh-so passed over maiden. Not belonging to anything, nor belonging to nothing. Not the first, and not the last. An ever enduring memory to a passed over era. Nothing significant. Never anything significant.

That’s what you were. Insignificance. A beautiful insignificance, if you could see beauty in tragedy. Beauty in all the ways of life. All the little horrible things that make up a big, beautiful, picture. People shan’t look close, you’d assure yourself.

But you were you. Born to the everlasting way of royal life. To the peaceful Viserys, and his second wife, a woman whose name is not all that important. Another maiden from a noble house that perished to childbirth. Lost her life, giving life.

And as it did not to many maidens, the Gods did not grant you the chance to grow up with your mother. The blood that dripped down her thighs had covered you from head to toe as you came into existence, and she had naught of you in her arms before a deep and long slumber overcame her. The stranger had come for her, and he did not slow down on its way. He’d taken her as quick as she’d given you to the world. A quick exchange, you’d suppose.

Now and then you think about her. What she might have looked like, what she might have liked, what she might have been had she survived the wretched burden of your existence. You’d often wonder if infants who survived childbirth ever felt as deep a burden as she did. To have your very first breath of life tainted with the death of an innocent. Tainted with tragedy.

Growing up in King’s Landing hadn’t been all that as it sounded. You’d never really been that happy, as ungracious as it sounded.

You had an older sister - Rhaenyra - who’d occasionally humoured you. You’d never seen much of her, really. Perhaps it was your own fault as well. For not actively seeking her out. For not being the younger sister one was supposed to be. Some people - as close to you as they may be - are just unattainable in your mind. Your kin aren’t your kin until you allow it.

You have better companions than her, you figured. You had your lady-in-waitings. Lady Vievenne of house Swann. Lady Laycie of house Oldflowers. Lady Claere of house Ambrose. Lady Evelyne of house Hightower, who was, by all accounts, a gift from your newest stepmother, Alicent of the house Hightower.

What you also had was younger siblings. Such as Aegon. Though he is naught but a skirt enthusiast, swimming along the sea of young maidens at his whim. But he cares not whether they are, does he?

And oh, do not get yourself started on the one-eyed prince and that smug little smile on his sharp-featured face. Nonetheless, he was gentle. Oh so gentle with his touch. And oh so sinister in the way that made you feel important enough to be in his good graces.

However, you chose to distance yourself from all parties involved as fate made it clear what it had in store. A great slap to the great Targaryen dynasty. A dark cloud looming over the already curse-clad clan.

For even you knew that the only thing that could tear down the House of the Dragon, was itself.

“Sister.” you greeted one late evening, having taken flight to Dragonstone on your she-dragon, Starfyre. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“…y/n.” the elder sister called out, a small smile on her lips. “I… am glad for your visit.”

“…I’m certain you are,” you say, trying with all your might to contain a frown.

You eyed her awkwardly as she wiped her sweaty hands off her dress, letting out a sigh as the elder royal wasn’t quite certain how to approach the topic.

“I… understand… things quite haven’t been… that active, in our kinship,” Rhaenyra speaks up, taking a step closer. “And for that, I apologise.”

You could only nod, a small smile gracing your lips at the heartwarming confession of absent love.

“I apologise, also.” you smiled, your hands finding each other behind your back. “I suppose I should have been the one to seek your company and counsel as well.”

“Good.” Rhaenyra smiled awkwardly, a silence engulfing the echo-ridden chambers. “The reason, as to why I called you, might be surprising.”

You froze slightly, heart pounding as the possibilities of implications travelled through your mind. The goosebumps on your arms grew more prominent as a cold breeze passed through.

“Oh?” you answered, cocking a brow. “And what might that be, sister?”

“I ask of you to travel to the North,” Rhaenyra admits, a tone of seriousness overshadowing the warm moment. “I have already sent a raven to Lord Cregan Stark, and he has agreed to host you. If it pleases you, of course.”

No answer came out of your lips, save for your a mere breath. You felt a pang in your heart, consuming your every emotion, making certain you cannot detect how you feel about the news.

A dragon in the north? What a jest. You’d do better in Dorne, surrounded by sun-kissed squires and stable boys than laddish lordlings and Northern butchers.

“And… why should I?” you asked, respect in your tone. “Pardon me, my sister, but why have you made this decision for me?”

“Tensions are rising, y/n. You know that as well as I do.” Rhaenyra sighs, her body language giving up on its tense posture. “And I am aware of your… complex feelings on it. But to the North you must. I’m sending Rhaena to the Va-”

“Yes, because Rhaena gets to be hosted by a relative of yours, in safety. Meanwhile you sent me off to some Northern stranger!”

“Y/n.” Rhaenyra warned, raising a brow. She took a step closer as you composed your words. “You are my sister, and I will have you safe in the North. The Northmen are honourable men, and in time you’ll know.”

✫彡

And so you were, clad in thick fur, lady Vivenne and lady Evelyne at both sides of yourself. Across from you sat three servants, and somewhere else sat your sworn shield.

“It will be splendid.” Evelyne beamed, properly adjusting her hair, tied up in a bun, similar to the ones the older maidens wear. “We shall meet every dusk, and speak about our day. In front of the fire.”

“Not if I can help it.” you sighed softly. “Apologies, my ladies, but I’ll let you two get at it. I’d love to explore the North in solitude.”

“Right…” Vivenne nodded, looking through the small peep holes as the carriage slowed down, just outside the gates of Winterfell. “We’ve arrived, I suppose. You’ll have to greet Lord Stark. If he’s anything we’ve heard of and more, I wish you luck.”

You only nodded, watching as your ladies exited the carriage, standing at the side of the door. Their faces are cast down, as if in mourning. Perhaps they’re mourning the life of luxury provided at King’s Landing.

You could not blame them for it, really. From growing up in their own house, to growing up in the Royal house, to trade it again to live to see the snowy winters of Winterfell.

You shook slightly, the cold air hitting your face in an instant as you slightly lifted your dress, taking a step out of the three provided for the carriage.

You looked ahead of you, eyes locking on the noblemen and women, standing straight and proud. The women bore clothes of low quality, so obviously sewn to fit any class. The men wore dark furs, contrasting to the blue clothing of the opposite sex.

And in the midst of it, stood Cregan Stark, accompanied by a mere little boy of just two years of age. Your eyes locked upon his stormy-grey ones, his face etched into a stern expression, eyes focused on yours.

You maintained the eye contact, taking each step closer to him.

“Princess Y/N.” Cregan greeted formally, taking your soft hand in his. “Welcome to Winterfell. I am Lord Cregan Stark.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark.” you smile, curtsying in a fashionable manner. Your eyes stood glued on his as his lips brushed against the palm of your hand. “I’m truly honoured to be here.”

“…I’m certain you are.” Cregan answered, eyeing you skeptically.

Hearing false compliments wasn’t out of the ordinary for the wolf of Winterfell. He knew well enough that you weren’t suited for the North. You were a Southern lady, used to the life of feasts, luxury, and sparkly dresses.

“Let us go inside, shall we?” you smiled charmingly, looking up at the tall castle with dread in your eyes.

“Aye, so we shall.” Cregan nodded, his broad shoulders most notable as he sauntered into the opened gates.

✫彡

The first night went unfamiliar to you, the harsh blows of the cold weather creating a prominent presence looming over the already melancholic times.

You sat in your chambers, sitting at the stony window sill as you watched Cregan from above.

The lord was overlooking young squires on the courtyard, engaged in conversation with the knight in charge of guiding the young to-be-knights.

All dressed in fur, shoulders looking as if they were padded. Cregan’s hair was tied up, with two front strands escaping and hanging loose. His grey-blue eyes stood glued at watching the young squire’s techniques, and you could only sigh as you got lost in his appearance.

Ever since stepping foot into the North of Westeros, you’d developed a strange sense of interest in the beauty of Northern men. How they all dressed so grimly, but intimidating. How they’re oh-so honourable and hard working. How they always seemed so clean shaven but rugged all at once.

And you could not help but wonder what it would be like had you wedded one of them.

Being completely honest, you’d never really been the sort of maiden to stay inside of her chambers, waiting for her husband to return from his duty, deprived of affection.

With any Southern lord, being a doting unappreciated wife would never cross your mind.

But with Northern men, however, you had the feeling your efforts wouldn’t go unnoticed.

Before you could continue your vulgarly confusing thoughts, you saw Cregan’s eyes shift to yours, finding your gaze.

You could only lean against the window, a hand on the stony side as you gazed back at him. Your hair was loose, and you were dressed in your creamy beige nightdress.

You held his gaze for a moment, until ultimately turning away, leaving the implications of that gaze to his imagination.

✫彡

By the third day, you’d been reading in the old library belonging to House Stark. You’d sat on a plush seat, the dusty book on your lap as your gentle fingers flipped through the pages.

But you weren’t alone.

Cregan Stark sat near you, his knees in almost touching proximity to yours.

“Aye, the North is cold, but it’s honest.” he tells you, gently shutting his own book. “The snow doesn’t lie about its intention. No courtly games like they play in the South.”

“Oh, please.” you smiled, shutting your book as well. your body shifted so it was facing his, resting your head on one hand. “The courtly games are what makes it so fun.”

“Now, riddle me this.” You smiled, noting his full attention on you. His body language exuded calmness, and you felt secure in the knowledge that his comfort lies with you. “How do you not like courtly games? Personally, it makes my life all the more amusing.”

“I suppose it’s all jesting for you, princess.” Cregan said, his eyes resting on yours. “Amusement or not, I’d rather know where I stand…”

“With you, however…” His eyes trailed down to your bare shoulder, the white nightdress you’re wearing very much a sight of sore eyes. “I think I know.”

“Oh, do you?” you teased, cocking a brow. “And how so, pray tell?”

“Well…” he grunted, shifting in his seat to tighten the proximity around you two. “You’d do well not to cross any Northern man. They don’t take well to… courtly games.”

You only smiled at that, your upper body instinctively leaning in, albeit torturously slow.

“And, uh, suppose I… marry a Northern lord.” you teased quite coquettishly, a hand moving to rest on the thick fur coating his body. “What am I in for.”

You watched as his smirk only widened, gently taking the hand that rested on his fur, and taking it in his.

“Marry a Northern lord like me, and have your nights warmed under the thick fur of blankets.” he says, his thumb rubbing against your knuckles. “Northern loyalty runs deep, princess. That’s what you’d be in for.”

You nodded slowly, and you could not help but notice those coloured eyes of his descending onto your perky breasts.

Great, this was all going well so far. “I’d imagine… do you think he’d gift me a pup? I’ve always wanted a tiny pet, to keep.”

“Yeah?” The lord licked his lips, a hand resting on your waist. “You think you’d handle a wolf properly?”

“Well, I would.” you smiled, nodding in agreement. “I’m a dragon… and dragons do not surrender that easily.”

You smiled, shifting in your seat again as Cregan amusedly indulged you in your silly thoughts. “Just imagine it, my lord. I’d be holding that pup every night trying to get it to warm to me.”

Your hand slowly, but surely, trickled down to his clothed thigh, trying to maintain a sense of quiet intimacy.

“You’ll have your work cut out for you, then.” his voice lowered, bordering on husky. “Wolves aren’t so easily tamed, not even by someone with…”

He paused for a moment, a hand gently taking the one you placed on his thigh.

“…your charms.”

You’d have a cheeky comeback on the tip of your tongue, had it not been for Cregan’s lips descending upon yours, clashing together like Blackwoods and Brackens.

You let out a soft breath as you eased into the kiss, feeling his large hands grip your waists as if his life depended on it.

Your hands moved from his shoulders, to his neck, and then to his armoured chest. The armour he carried felt cold to your hands, yet it made it all the more sinful.

“Did you have this in mind?” you murmured against his lips, tongue circling his as you so sloppily attempted to kiss him. “Seducing me?”

The silence engulfed you two for a moment, only being overshadowed by the sound of soft breaths.

“You have it wrong, princess.” he breathed, firmly planting you upon his lap, your back pressing against his chest. “Do you take me for a halfwit?”

You smiled, looking over your shoulder as you attempted to chase his lips with yours again.

“No, but I certainly did not take you for a man so easily seduced.” you teased, guiding his hands to your clothed breasts. “You don’t seem the type to give in that easily.”

“Because it’s untrue.” he spoke up, lips brushing to against your neck. “But do you honestly think nothing would be done about the way you saunter around, looking as you do?”

His hands slowly tugged against your nightdress, pressing a hard kiss to your achy jaw before pulling away.

“Lay yourself down on the carpet.” he commanded, hands shifting to peel off his fur coat, along with his armour and tunic.

All you could do was nod and watch on as his armour went discarded on the floor, the metal material cranking against the stone ground.

His bare chest was now visible, the defining abs illuminated by the glowing fire. His hair messed up when he threw his tunic over his head.

“Cregan, I-"

And in one moment, you felt his large body overshadow yours, clashing lips again. Cregan lifted his body as to not crush you, hands on either side of your head.

You only permitted yourself to breathe unevenly, stead of moan. Your hands found his shoulders, desiring to pull him closer than possible.

“Ever since you’ve arrived you’d been nothing but trouble.” Cregan murmured, lips finding your throat. “Sauntering around with your ladies, endlessly teasing me.”

Your legs only shifted to wrap around his waist, back slowly arching at the kisses.

He took notice, and let one of his hands pin you down, lips descending towards your perky breasts.

“Gods, you’re wrong for this.” he grunted, swirling his tongue around the nipple. “For provoking me, as you did yesterday, and the day before that.”

“For thinking you have the authority to do this to a lord.” he breathed, your small breast fitting into his large palm.

“For…” he continued, kissing down your stomach, before ultimately glancing back at you “…thinking you’d get away with this.”

“I did not think I’d get away with this.” you tease, watching as he moves face-to-face again. “Which is why I did it.”

Your hands find his muscled arms, squeezing it gently. “I want to know how Northern men do it.”

You’d think you were jesting, but were you truly?

You’d have opened your mouth to say anything else, looking up at him, if it weren’t for the Northern lord himself roughly flipping you to your stomach.

“You wish to know, my princess?” he murmurs, unlatching his breeches. “You’d have your first time be with a Northman?”

You nodded, cheek resting on the carpet fabric without surrender. “Yes. Gods yes.”

He hiked your skirt around your waist, your plump ass visible to his peering eyes.

“You’ll be ruined for other men, aye.” He grunted, his hand wrapping around his rock hard cock.

“That’s good, because I desire no one save you.” you smiled, allowing him to lift your hips up and arch your back.

“Yeah?” he smirked, the tip of his cock rubbing against your damp hole. “You’ll have me make you my wife?”

You nodded, impatiently moving your hips. “I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

“You’d be a good wife, wouldn’t you?” he grunted once again, head finally pushing into your unloosened clit. “No Southern games, no poignant looks of yours.”

“You like that about me.” you painfully breathed, feeling the uncomfortable ache of his cock in your newly penetrated cunt.

His head descended, placing gentle kisses upon your shoulders. “A maiden. Perhaps you aren’t as well-equipped to handle a wolf as you said you were.”

“I am.” you protested, pushing your hips back. “Move your hips. I wish to prove myself.”

He only speeded up his thrusts, and as you allowed the moans to fill your lips, his hands found a way to push your head down.

“You’d carry my pups?” he asked, thrusting into you aggressively, pumping his cock in and out. “Wait on my cock every night?”

You only moaned incredulously, asscheeks clapping along with every snap of his hips.

“Yes.” you breathed, gasp and claps filling the room. “Fuck, put a babe inside of me. I want your children.”

“We’ll have to wed sooner, before the babe gets born in wedlock.” he grunted, hands gripping your hips, pushing you back onto his thick length. “But that’s what you wanted all along, was it?”

You gripped the fabric of the carpet, cheeks burning as it rubbed against the irritating carpet.

“For a thick cock such as this.” he teased, tugging at your hair.

“Yes.” you moaned pathetically, cheeks flushed as you felt a knot forming into your stomach.

Your lips parted, your eyes rolling above-ways.

“Yes, yes!” you moaned loudly, feeling his hands grope your breasts. “Fuck, you’re moving fast.”

“Never fast enough.” he murmurs, member sliding against your wet slit.

He could feel your tight walls clenching around him, milking his cock for all it is worth. His grip on you tightened as he thrust down to meet your upward motion.

And with one sharp thrusts, you felt the knot loosen and the cream dripping out your twitching clit.

Yet, he didn’t stop, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he rode you through your orgasm.

The feeling of your walls clenching around his cock was enough to send him reeling as well, burying himself deep inside of you.

Hot spurts of cum dripping out of your hole, you completely got yourself spent, closing your eyes and deciding you could just fall asleep on this carpet.

“No sleeping in the library.” he scolded lightly, putting on his fur coat, covering his naked physique. “Come here.”

You exhaustedly crawled over to him again, and snuck yourself into his coat, the clothing covering both of your naked bodies.

“I’m taking you to your chambers.” he sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “And for the next time, do not attempt to get so exhausted. I went easy on you this time.”

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lalunanymph · 5 months ago

Text

GRASSLAND ROMANCE

SUMMARY the strongest tribal chieftain sets the stage to claim his most priceless reward

WARNINGS prisoner of war!reader, slave!reader, tribal chief!sylus, first time, fight-to-death-trope, concubine!reader, oral sex, breeding, mentions of lactating, size kink, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of misogyny, bartering, winning her favor trope, loosely based on the new sylus myth card, mdni, 18+

DAWN SAYS it's daddy sylus's time hehehe second one down, 2 more to go !! sylus is my ult bias and I definitely wanted to go for more of a khal drogo x daenaerys vibe when I started this out, so keep an eye out for bit of dark content discussed here... that being said, will be cross-posting this to a03 soon so stay tuned! <3

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ZAYNE ⊱ XAVIER ⊱ RAFAYEL

The grasslands were not kind to those unfamiliar with its ways.

As a little girl, your grandmother would tell you stories of the fearless warriors traversing these bare lands in search of resources to plunder, steal and conquer. It instilled a sense of fear in you; a knowing instinct to never step out of line less you wanted to suffer the consequences of losing everything you loved.

The day you met Sylus was the day your short life came to its meaningless end.

Taken from your homelands to his tribe, you were relegated to cleaning tasks and cooking; trying to keep your head down and eyes off of you less you wanted to suffer fatal repercussions.

Your days living in sweet bliss were over; your childhood and girlhood gone in one fell swoop.

And yet, despite your best efforts to go undetected, you wound up catching the eye of the fearsome chieftain. His calls for you to his yurt could not be ignored.

You fully expected him to take advantage of your vulnerable state, using his position to conquer what remained of your dignity and hope.

But, Sylus proved to be a different man behind his ruthless reputation.

A fan of music and wildland games, he often asked you to keep him company for the day, and when the nights got too cold, you were ushered into his private space, allowed to warm yourself with his brazier.

The scent of moist rose and grapevine trimmings filled the air as you lounged right in Sylus’s arms, enjoying the warmth of his presence and the fire glowing brightly while snow and sleet raged outside of his yurt.

The fearless tribal chieftain was a relaxed man tonight, savoring the presence of his favorite concubine right in his lap. His large hands stroked your hair, fingers running through your locks. The robes he dressed you in were heavy yet comfortable, providing you shelter from the cold; a stark difference from the slave rags you were forced to wear during your earlier encampment.

“What is on your mind, beloved?”

Beloved. Despite what everyone said or thought about you, Sylus saw you in a different light. A tender and cherished one.

You turned your head to gaze at him, a softness you reserved solely for him shining from your eyes.

“I was lost in my thoughts; thinking back to the time when I first got here.”

A dark look flitted across his face, and he fixed you with a prodding look.

“I know what happened was not ideal for you, beloved. But, you are safe now. I will not let anyone in this camp harm you.”

His promise was as good as gold in this world. Sylus was not someone who would mince words or give you false hope. Despite his stature as one of the most fearsome conquerors of this land, he was a man of integrity and word.

And yet… you couldn’t help the sadness eclipsing your features.

The ceremonial choosing of his bride was coming up soon, and from the lines of women prepared for him, you paled in comparison. These women were trained from birth to please him, cook for him, and be the bearer of his children. They were thought in the grassland ways, something you were not familiar with.

The women chosen for him did not stick out like a sore thumb, nor were they foreigners of this land.

Each of them were meticulously handpicked to appeal to his tastes and desires; where you fit in, you had no clue.

It wasn’t as if you were his tribe’s de facto pick. You were sure you weren’t on any of the elder’s lists, your fate relegated to being his concubine for life.

As if he could read your mind, Sylus tilted your face up to look him in the eyes.

“Beloved, you are the only one for me. There is no one else in these lands I would rather spend my days with.”

You wanted to ask him why; what could possess a man like him to love a lowly woman like you?

But, you enjoyed his caresses on your cheeks and jaw; snuggled closer to him as the wind tore through the night, safe and secure right in his arms.

The next morning, you were pulled aside by one of the village elders, Enkh, as he looked you up and down.

“My son needs a new wife after his old one died in childbirth,” scrutinizing you from head to toe, he fixed his beady gaze on you like a dishwasher studying a piece of vermin on a brass plate. “And you will do.”

The idea of being married to Enkh’s son, known as the most ruthless and cruel man in the entire tribe, filled you with unadulterated fear. You had no say in your fate, and spent the entire day wondering how to tell Sylus—the chieftain himself—of your dilemma.

But, you didn’t have to open your mouth and divulge the truth.

Sylus already knew.

He called you out to his tent, where some men who were sparring upped and left the second you arrived. In your hands, you held a pouch, given to you by Enkh’s wife before you left their yurt.

A symbol of choice for a woman about to be married, you were given explicit instructions to hand it to his son after his sparring win tomorrow. It was tradition for the winner to receive a wife as compensation, and from the thunderous look on Sylus’s face, you could tell he was not at all pleased about this latest development.

“They claimed you, just like that? Without my agreement?”

Despite not being his official concubine, everyone in the tribe knew of your position with the chieftain. You were virtually untouchable, and only higher up families like Enkh’s, could make the play for one of his concubine’s hands.

This displeased your lover, who took it as an affront to his rule.

But, he didn’t react the way you expected him to, with violence and malice as the forefront of his actions.

Sylus led you to the heart of his yurt, where thick layers of felt and wool provided insulation from the chill. Dressed in traditional Bökh gear, he was preparing for the ceremonial sparring to begin when he heard word of your impending nuptials to Enkh’s son. He dragged you down to his side, letting you rest on the rugs and pillows surrounding the area before he shared what was on his mind.

“Do you want to marry into that family, Y/N?”

Instinctively, you shook your head. “No, Sylus.”

He nodded, pleased at your swift rebuke. “I am going to be honest with you—the only way we can circumvent both of our fates to marry different people is for me to participate in the fights myself.”

You gasped, wide-eyed at the revelation. “But, it’s unheard of. You are the chieftain!”

Rough fingers touched your face, caressing your cheek with a softness he only showed to you.

“I know, my beloved. But, think about the alternative. I do not want to lose you.”

A grin stole across his handsome features, and he shot back: “If I lost, I’d be stuck here forever—in this limbo of never having you… but then again, could I really lose?”

Unperturbed by his musings, you raised the stakes by straddling his lap, glaring down at him. In this position, he had to hear you out; he had to allow logic to take hold of his wilful mind.

“Sylus, the rules of the game means that you have to steal the gem from your other opponent and then you can stake your claim. Are you sure you want to do this? You cannot back out once the games have started.”

The Grassland Festival, or the most important festivity for Sylus’s tribe that was happening in a few hours, was in tandem with the fighting ring for men to win the hands of their future wives.

His red eyes, which shone like a grassland sunset, appraised your form astride his lap; soft and sure.

“My love, you severely underestimate my devotion to you.”

Turning your fates around, he flipped you back onto the soft pillows and rugs, a look of fond playfulness in those jewel-toned eyes.

“All I have to do is fight, yes? And I have never lost a fight.”

His soft touch tucks a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “You are the prize I must win, my love. I will do everything I can to make sure we stay together.”

Filled with happiness and the surety of his tone, you put your faith in what came next.

Long and nimble fingers snuck to your waist pockets, where he retrieved the pouch given to you by Enkh’s family.

“Hey—!”

You tried to reach back for it, but he held it from you, a smirk playing on his defined lips.

“Is this what you are going to give the boy?”

Warmth splashed across your cheeks as you tried to glare him down.

“Despite what you may think, you do not own every aspect of me, Sylus. I reserve the need to keep some secrets to myself.”

He hummed, clearly not believing you. “And yet, you spoke of the sincerity of our feelings. Isn’t this me being honest, little dove?”

You sputtered, tripping over your refutes, and he rolled his eyes.

“Alright, love. Let me make it simple—”

He lifted you closer to him, letting you fall over his lap. The sudden proximity filled your senses purely with him; igniting sparks of heat across your entire body.

“If someone were to hand the champion a pouch, should he take it?”

He was teasing you, and it was clear he wasn’t planning to let up anytime soon.

You huffed, trying to swipe it again. But, he was nimbler than you, yanking the pouch away from your outstretched hand.

Sighing, you tried to pull him up, grumbling when you barely made him move an inch.

“Have you been training more?” You grumbled, eyeing his broad shoulders; the muscles stretching across his tanned skin.

“Perhaps. Although as much as I have been honing my skills, I do still need someone to look out for me.”

His smirk threatened to affect your entire composure, and you darted your eyes away, flushed and embarrassed at how easily he could get to you.

The faith you had in him to win was astounding; there was a reason why he was known as one of the best warriors in the grasslands.

“You’re the champion,” you grumbled under your breath. “Do you need me to watch your back?”

In response, Sylus’s smile softened around the edges, his red eyes taking on a tender quality.

“Let me paint you a scene, love: I win the challenge, and then I get to be yours. How does that sound?”

Tugging a stray lock of hair which fell loose from your braid, Sylus waited for your answer patiently.

It was useless to try and dispute him. Whatever the strongest wanted, he would get—and he clearly wanted you.

“Alright,” you responded softly, conceding with a smile. “If you win tomorrow, I will hand you my pouch. There is nothing you cannot do.”

Responding to your confidence, he chuckled softly, teasing you more by dragging you closer to him, enjoying your weight pressing onto his body.

“Or, we could do it together.”

He hummed, touching the hollow of your throat with his cool lips. Your eyes fluttered shut, trying to staunch your reckless sounds.

“The second I get that gem, you run up to me, crowning me as your chosen one and I respond back.”

Struggling to control your raging thoughts, you murmured: “Will it work—such boldness?”

To answer your question, he smirked, finding your flustered expression and slight doubt adorable.

“My, my, love. Are you doubting me?”

The world flipped around, and suddenly you were thrown over his shoulder. You gasped, confusion mingling with surprised delight as Sylus manhandled you with practiced ease. He stepped past the plush pillows and rugs, opening the flap of his yurt to bring you out into the mellow morning.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Your sharp inhale spurred on his laugh, his low and rich chuckle making you flush warmly.

“Didn’t you tell me this before, love? Actions speak louder than words.” To your mortification, he was heading right to the middle of the courtyard, where spectators were already gathering to witness the fight.

“Sylus—!”

You smacked his broad shoulders, but he wouldn’t let you down. Sylus already had a plan in mind and you were helpless to stop him.

“Oh, love, relax,” he teased, taking long, purposeful strides towards the other villagers. “I need to show them I already have a lover. And since she won’t let me take her away…” you could plainly picture his cocky smirk. “... I’ll just have to take her myself.”

The rest of the villagers stopped in their tracks when they noticed their chieftain walking towards them, a smaller woman in his arms. Elders dropped what they were doing to whisper under their breaths, their judgemental eyes trained on Sylus’s smug face and the look of mortification on yours.

“Sylus—”

He set you down in the front stand, tossing you a wink for good measure.

Whispers rushed around the arena like wildfire, catching aflame from the look of pure devotion in his eyes; a look reserved just for you.

Enkh’s son, a hulking brute by the name of Altan, shot him a glare—insulted by Sylus’s blatant claim on you.

Motivated by his wrath, the tribal chief turned to the other man, raising a brow.

“Altan, son of Enkh!”

His voice boomed across the field, shocking you out of your mortified stupor.

“You dare claim one of my concubines as your wife? Do you know what that entails?”

The atmosphere in the arena tilted towards a frenzy, the people inadvertently roped in to witness the showdown of the year.

Since ceremonial rites were read and sacrifices were made, the last agenda for today would be the warrior fights. Sylus took his spot in the ring, unafraid. The head monk, a calm man by the name of Bataar, whispered something to Enkh, who glared at you as if this entire ordeal was your fault.

You shrank back in your seat, attempting to hide your scorching cheeks behind your palms.

The fight began, and it was clear from the onset that it would be an unfair one. Sylus, whose expertise and years on the field, easily overpowered Altan, pinning him to the ground. A horn blared, and the winner was declared.

A stirring eagerness and relief moved you from your seat, and you didn’t care for customs or etiquette when you ran across the ring, jumping right into his open arms. Sylus lifted you off your feet with ease, spinning you around, his laughter mingling with yours.

In his palm, he held the priceless gem he stole from Altan’s belt— a symbol of his opponent’s virility. Its capture meant that he had won the other man’s intended bride fair and square. He handed it to you, and right in front of his entire people, you proudly proclaimed your acceptance of his proposal—slipping the jewel right inside of your pouch and handing it to him.

Triumphant, Sylus took your offered gift, tucking it in the lapels of his leather harness with a contented grin.

The tribe elders were helpless to stop their strongest from claiming you, as was the custom of these rituals.

Sylus had no hesitation when he slung you over his shoulder again, a conqueror who had rightfully won his beloved.

He didn’t care if whispers of your status or his incredible defiance towards the elders would reach his ears; all Sylus could think about now was savoring this priceless reward he fought hard to obtain.

Bringing you back to his yurt, Sylus let the flap fall close behind him, a clear signal to the rest of the tribe that he intended to enjoy his winnings in peace.

Your back met the soft pillows and rugs, his broad build blocking out the rafters letting in warm morning sunlight; lost in the depths of his jewel-tone eyes.

They shone like precious rubies, far more valuable to you than any material item in this world.

The feel of your palm stroking his cheek, your fingers playing in his hair, suddenly made his stomach twist into hard knots. They were impossible to unravel, a bowline loop which went on for eternity.

His breathing turned ragged, gaze going soft as he looked at you—really took you in.

The sight of his beloved—his bride—right here in his home, about to be taken and claimed by him, set his nerves ablaze more than any war cry ever could.

Sylus moaned unabashedly when you tangled your fingers in his hair, bold enough away from the prying eyes of others to fall prey to the undeniable attraction you’ve felt for him since the first time you saw each other.

He lets you bring him in for a kiss, your lips sweeter than wildberry dew.

“Sylus…”

The possessive need to claim you flared in him when you called out his name.

Smoldering attraction turned into a wild, untameable blaze, threatening to consume him whole.

Due to his rugged nature, he never had a woman this close to him, her touch a balm to his rough edges.

In your arms, Sylus was more than the fearsome tribal chieftain whose name could strike fear in any man’s heart.

He was wont to your desires, an instrument of your love.

“Please,” you licked your lips, and his eyes followed the gesture with a blatant look of desire. “Kiss me.”

You didn’t have to ask him twice. Sylus captured your lips in a deep and passionate kiss, swallowing your moans whole.

Your tinier fingers in his hair tightened, bringing his body closer onto yours. He fought back a shiver from the force of his desires as his body covered yours completely, trapping you beneath him under his weight.

“My love, you are playing a dangerous game,” he growled, adoring how fragile and small you felt under his hulking mass.

Dragging your hands down the slope of his shoulders, you felt his muscles rippling under your touch; his broad frame and the layers of sinew forming his brawny build leaving you lightheaded.

“Oh, my love. The sight of you underneath me, looking so vulnerable and lovely,” his voice dipped lower, a hoarse edge taking over it. “... it’s driving me wild.”

Shying away from such a bold declaration, you bit your lower lip. “Sylus, will it hurt?”

Sensing you were speaking about the act of copulating, he took your hand, rubbing circles on your palm.

“A little, but it is nothing you cannot handle. Besides, I will be with you through it all—I will not hurt you, my love.”

The idea of a ruthless tribal leader like him, promising some young slave girl that he would be gentle with her, was so far-fetched from your idea of what a conqueror was that you began to relax in his presence.

You trusted Sylus because he has proven time and time again how your comfort and safety were his priorities.

Especially when he was this close to claiming you.

Steady yet hasty hands slowly unraveled the lapels of your thick coat, his breaths tumbling out in silent huffs. Sylus’s large palms were warm—far too warm on your chilly body.

The great chieftain was a silent, nervous wreck when he glanced down at his beloved, watching her with soft eyes and reaching out to her with an even softer touch.

“Sylus… please.”

The cadence of his name on your tongue will never not be the sweetest thing he's heard in his life.

You returned the gesture, removing his leather gauntlets, slowly stripping him off his warrior bravado to reveal the sweet and gentle man underneath.

“Please, what?” He whispered against your throat. Outside, the cool breeze rattled the rafters, but inside his yurt and in his arms, you were warmer than a butterfly in spring.

You seized, back arching when he kissed a tender path from your neck to your bare chest.

The sight of your hardened nipples and smooth curves whipped through him like a frenzy, and Sylus grew impossibly hard at the image of your sweet body, swollen with child.

His child.

The fantasies of your breasts filling up with milk, the slope of your belly gently curving with the promise of his heir…

His thin patience was hanging by a thread.

Sylus shrugged off his sheepskin pants, tossing it to the side of the yurt as he quickly worked on the lapels and hooks of your clothing.

Once your smooth body was bare to him, Sylus’s gaze softened, his tone almost reverent when he said:

“You look beautiful, my beloved.”

You had not imagined your wedding night (or, in this case, morning) to be a tender affair.

Where every brutish belief you once held towards his people melted away with every tender touch of this gentle chieftain.

Sylus propped a pillow under your hips, careful to lean his full weight onto you. Your eyes fluttered shut, a moan seeping past your swollen lips when you felt his tongue glide across your breasts, taking his time to play with and suck on your nipples.

His mouth moved down your body, teasing you with whispery kisses.

Parting your thighs wide, you realized a second too late what he was doing until he slotted himself in between; mouth pressed to your pelvis.

“Sy—”

The protests fizzled out the second you felt his tongue parting through your folds, tasting the effect he had on you.

Low whimpers slipped past your mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair.

Sylus… mhmm… s-stop—

But, he didn't relent. He glanced up at your flushed face, shaking his head.

You can take it, beloved. Can't you? For me?

It wasn't the reluctance that set you back but the shame of such an intimate experience.

You had never experienced a man this close to your sensitive parts; the idea of him in this position itself was too much to bear. You should be worshiping him, not the other way around.

But, Sylus refused to listen to your pleas and moans—hellbent on pleasuring you.

His tongue traced patterns on your clit, drawing out more of your high-pitched whines. There was little doubt whoever passed by the yurts could hear your pleasured sighs.

Sylus couldn't care less.

He wanted the whole tribe to know you were his; that he had chosen you and you had chosen him.

His tongue delved deeper into your core, tasting your excitement. Some of it stained onto his face, his chin drenched with your juices.

Your hips rocked to the rhythm his tongue set, your moans reaching fever pitch.

Good girl. That's it. Show me how much you want it.

Sylus murmured, working you through your cresting pleasure.

It came like a rising high within you, soaring higher than any eagle could as you crashed to the ground, screaming his name.

Sylus tightened his grip on your thighs, doubling down on his efforts. Your mess stained his cheeks, his chin, driving his desire to a burning point.

He worked his way up your body, leaving kisses on every inch of skin his mouth could reach.

Finally reaching your lips, Sylus poured every bit of his devotion for you into this heated kiss, swallowing your moans and letting you taste him on his tongue. Strings of saliva connected your lower lip to his, hanging by a tenuous thread.

The heat of your cheeks would have burned you alive, the tension between your bodies rising to a feverish pitch.

Tenderly, he nudged your thighs to wrap around his defined waist, opening you to be taken by him.

The first stretch was accompanied by his lips on yours, coaxing you to relax and open up to him.

That is it… good girl… taking me so well…

The deeper he sank in, the more loud he was with his praise.

I adore you… you sinful, sweet girl… take me… take me good…

Sylus!

Your cries reverberated across the sheepskin walls. It felt like drowning, your body sinking deeper into the plush woolen pillows.

Oh, oh… oh, right there…

He licked into the heat of your mouth, tracing the ridges of your teeth.

There? Does it hurt? Do I make you ache?

Yes, you responded deliriously. Yes, yes and yes.

It was the kind of pain you could never forget, yet you desired it all the same. A masochistic plea of your body to be devoured and conquered.

Sylus raised himself up on his forearms, the bulging, rock hard muscles rippling with every exertion; his thrusts almost knocking you backwards if it weren't for his tight grip on your hips.

Every collision of his cock against a spot deep inside of you made your toes curl; leading you closer towards your desperate end.

Sylus—can't… close…

It felt like a ball of tension growing bigger and tighter, growing uncontrollably hotter with every thrust, every heated whisper of his praise against your ear.

Sylus nipped your jaw, tracing his tongue against the curve of your lower lip.

His gentle insistence, coupled with his brutal thrusts made your body run hot and cold.

Goosebumps erupted across your skin. You were growing dizzier and hotter.

You gasp—fuck, fuck, this is too much—and he tells you just take it, darling.

Take it for me.

He nipped Your earlobe, pushing deeper against your body.

Does it feel good? Are you close?

Squeezing your eyes closed, you nodded.

Yes, Sylus… almost…

Good, he traced his tongue across the heated Seam of your mouth.

Give it to me, darling. Let go for me.

One request. You gave into him.

“Yes, yes,” you shuddered, digging your heels into his lower back.

Sylus groaned, expressions contorting into painful bliss when your walls contracted around him.

He worked you through them, letting you stab your nails into his broad back.

That's it, darling. Give it to me. Come undone for your husband.

Husband.

The word sent an unrestrained quake straight through your soul.

Yet, the reality was far sweeter.

Sylus slumped on top of you, spent after releasing ropes of warmth deep inside your quivering cunt.

Languidly, he rolled you onto his chest, skin pressed to warm skin. You were spent, soaked and still wrapped around him.

The act of consummation was over. You finally belonged to him.

And for the test of his days, Sylus would make sure to show you how much you mean to him; going above and beyond to declare his love.

“I love you,” he slurred into the heat of your throat. “Always have. And from the very beginning.”

You nestled closer into his side, feeling safe in the warmth of his arms, finally allowing yourself to embrace the reality of this powerful man’s infatuation with you.

Amidst the vast and intimidating grasslands, you had ensured your survival as the feared chieftain's wife, with Sylus unwaveringly by your side.

#🦢 writes #love and deepspace sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus x you #sylus x reader #sylus qin #lnds sylus #love and deep space #love and deepspace #lads #mini series: wander in wonder

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dyingswanpavlova · 29 days ago

Text

"Your girl" - Part 13 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: If you don't make up soon, things will either escalate or stay that way forever. Which one would be worse?

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder/gore/death, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation and low self-esteem, mentions of sexual activities, loss of identity, mentions of pregnancy, threatening, mentions and threats of suicide and self-harm, (rough) oral sex, penetration, breeding kink, degradation kink, not beta-read, if I've missed any warnings or tags please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

It started off small.

The tension in his jaw. The clench of his fists. The way he lingered in rooms he had no reason to be in, as if expecting you to finally give in.

But you didn’t. And then his evil twin took over again. Just like that.

Your books went missing. From one day to the other, you woke up and when you stepped into the warmly-lit living room, you immediately realized it. The shelf was empty. He didn’t leave you a single one.

That same night, when you made your way back to your room in order to cry and weep yourself to sleep, you realized something else was missing. Your blanket had disappeared. The radiator was turned off. And when you tried to turn it back on, it stayed cold.

Eventually, the meal portions became smaller. For each meal, the plate stayed the same size, but it got emptier. In the end, it was hardly enough to feel full. Just enough to pick at it and feel incredibly sad.

And why?

Because he wanted a reaction. A word, a glance, a single sign that you were still there. That nothing had changed, that you still belonged to him. But for once in your life, you were being stubborn, far too stubborn. The moment you realized he would punish you anyway, even if you did things the right way (you didn’t try to escape), you gave up. You gave him up. Gave up whatever it was between you two. Because there was one thing you wanted even more than him.

An apology.

Not your freedom. Not even your goddamn hair.

You wanted an apology.

You knew how incredibly stupid it was to assume he would ever break the façade of cold and ruthlessness, even if it was for you. And after all, he had done his best, hadn’t he? In his eyes, sure. He had.

He hadn’t apologized with words, of course. That was sheer impossible. But you saw it in his actions. The soft touches, the lingering glances. The hesitation in his grip. And the softness in his eyes.

The way he stood in the doorway of your room, night after night, watching and waiting. Brooding. Hoping, maybe.

At first, he tried to play along and approach the situation nicely. You’d wake up and find something sweet on your nightstand. A book even. Back when you told him what your favorite book was, he went and bought it. A hardcover book and what was even worse, an old one. Original cover, worn out pages. It smelled like an old bookstore. It smelled familiar. Like the only home you knew. Words. Phrases. Imaginary worlds.

The moment your eyes registered the title, you felt a sinking feeling in your chest.

Wuthering Heights.

You loved it especially, because, during the course of your twisted childhood, it allowed you some closure. It made your terrible home of Yorkshire feel like more of a home. The thought of Catherine Earnshaw running around the moors, Heathcliff yearning for her, their combined pain and their longing – it turned the battleground of your childhood into something beautiful, something romantic. Like your tragedy wasn’t the only that took place there. It was the birth of something beautifully sad.

At some point, you had told him about it. The meaning the book held to you and how you loved old book stores. Second hand pages and the smell of words.

Of course he remembered it. He was always considerate like that. And back in the day, when you found that beautiful book on your nightstand, covered in dark blue and the title in an innocent white, you almost broke the spell. You almost found yourself running back to him, forgiving him, being his girl.

How could you not? It was obvious that he felt something for you, wasn’t it? Even if he would have rather died than ever admitted to that.

But you stayed strong, for that one time in your life. You stayed true to yourself and the promise not to give in first. Let him feel that he hurt you. Let him feel that he broke your heart, just after he brought you back to life.

You stayed stern. Ignored him during every meal, even though you felt his gaze on you.

The blister stayed firmly in place as well. After you had woken up that one morning and found it on your nightstand, you first reaction had been to feel fear of course. You had almost forgotten about that. You still didn’t know what had occupied your mind to make you do that. What devil had possessed you to stop taking the pill?

He had been so loving at times, so gentle. Maybe it was that. You had felt too safe in his embrace. You didn’t want to ever leave it. And after all, he left you the choice of taking it, right? So, you stopped. Four days you took it and after endless, heated arguments with yourself in your head, you stopped.

Try and live for once.

Maybe something good will come of this, after all.

But then he locked you away. Cut your hair. He didn’t believe you. And suddenly, everything was different. He didn’t speak first. And, God, you wouldn’t be the first to speak, either. If he took every inch of your hair, if he took every last bit of you. You wouldn’t give in. Not you. Not this time.

Of course you missed him. Dearly. You spent your days longing and your nights yearning.

Catherine and Heathcliff.

But you had managed a lifetime without a gentle caress before. Why would you budge now, just because you knew it now?

Eventually he got impatient. And he took the books. The blanket, the food. The warmth. He took your comfort and all the love you felt for him. You felt the loss of his touch, of his love, like a physical reaction in your body. Something was missing. And despite your anger and your resentment, despite the disappointment and the sadness you felt, there was a part of you that wanted nothing more than to curl up beside him, rest your head on his lap and have him read to in this painfully soft voice of his, that made you feel like you were home.

You knew he didn’t do it as a punishment. He wanted a reaction. A cry, a yell, an angry word, a fight even. Everything was better than this silence.

The silence was a living, breathing thing, that took up all the space in the apartment and pressed down onto your chest, hard enough to suffocate you. And to your immense satisfaction, he seemed to feel the same way. Until, finally, he snapped.

You sat hunched over your ridiculously tiny amount of rice and a small broccoli rose. Your stomach grumbled loudly and you knew this wasn’t going to help. But you sat in silence nonetheless and tried to savor every bite.

He stood at the counter and stared down at it, his hands gripping the edge tightly. And eventually, the silence broke.

You heard the crash before you saw it – his plate, shattered against the kitchen wall. You flinched and cowered, digging your nails into your palms painfully. But you still didn’t look at him. Until his voice cut through the silence in a low growl.

“Enough.”

It was enough to make you glance up, slowly and almost carefully. It was the first time that you looked at him in weeks. You had played this game for weeks. And now it was him who lost it.

“Say something.”

You were tempted to. But you stayed strong.

You took in his appearance, the way he looked like he hadn’t slept in a while. His eyes were bloodshot and his charming smile formed into a scowl. You suddenly realized, despite it all, you felt bad for him. You didn’t want him to suffer.

Behind that whole horrible mask, there was something human inside him. Someone who felt pain and who had been through a lot. Someone who had been betrayed and hurt, by the person who was supposed to protect him.

Just like you.

Someone who cared about you, in his own twisted way.

And yet you stayed stubborn.

“Say something!” He growled again and took a step closer to you. He was angry, you could tell as much, but he was also frustrated. Behind the fury in his eyes, there was also a hint of desperation. More than a hint, a whole lot, actually. Despite the growl which was tinged in anger, you heard the softness of a plea between his words.

You opened your mouth and closed it again. Then you slowly unclenched your fists and looked down at the plate in front of you. He would never apologize. Because to do so, he would have to admit that he did something wrong. And he was far too proud for that. He was too full of himself. Also, he preferred getting angry for no reason. Apologizing wasn’t really his cup of tea.

You stayed silent and it tore at his soul. And hurting him hurt you.

When you still didn’t answer, he huffed in frustration and took another step closer. His stance was menacing and threatening. Even though you hadn’t felt the pain he could inflict on you in a few weeks now, your body remembered. It was hard to forget how the humiliation seeped into your bones like a cold, how his fist felt, whenever it connected with your body. The sound of the countless slaps to your cheek, which were echoing through the halls. The sound of your quiet despair.

He gritted his teeth and you knew, you were about to get reminded of it. Somehow you didn’t even expect it. It was almost like he had forgotten how touching you worked. After all, it had been a while. His movements seemed somewhat uncalculated. He reached out his hand above his head, but before he could land the first blow, he froze at the sound of your voice.

“I want to leave.”

Your voice was soft and gentle, small and timid, yet determined. It was such a contrast to his own anger. When he heard it, he stopped immediately. A part of him seemed relieved, like he hadn’t expected you to ever speak again. He seemed to savor the sound of your voice in his head. But by the time his brain registered your words, he frowned and slowly lowered his hand.

“What?”

You nodded and slowly looked up at him again. “I want to go. I want you to let me go. I want to go home.”

He scoffed. “This is your home.”

You shook your head. “I want to leave.” You said in the same, soft voice.

His frown deepened. “There’s no such thing. You knew the deal, when you accepted it. You belong to me. You’re not going anywhere.”

You took in the way he didn’t even look angry. Just frustrated and so very confused.

“I knew the deal. But I don’t want to stay.” You took a deep breath. “I don’t feel safe with you.”

Something flashed in his eyes, something that was equally dark as it was hurt. He hadn’t expected that. He had expected you to fight him or give in eventually, not for you to demand him to let you go. What a silly thing to hope for, right? But it was the only thing you could do.

“You don’t feel safe with me?” He all but spat out. He was disguising his pain very well behind a stony mask of anger and disgust. But you had known him for quite some time now and you slowly grew to lean the different masks and what he hid behind them.

“No, I don’t.” You said quietly. “I did everything right and I still got punished.”

He scoffed. “You tried to leave!”

“No, I didn’t!”

He gritted his teeth and eyed you up and down in a way that left you unsure how to feel.

“Yes, you did.” He spat out. “I had to kill that old bastard, because of what you did.”

His words made you flinch. “You had to?” The disbelief in your voice quickly turned back into anger. He couldn’t mean this. “You looked pretty content doing it!”

“What do you want to hear?” He hissed. “That I made a mistake? I didn’t. You made a mistake.”

You took a deep breath to calm yourself down, but failed miserably. “I had the chance to leave. I even considered it. But I decided against it and I know that you know that!”

He clenched and unclenched his fists the whole time and you suddenly realized how lucky you were, that he hadn’t fully snapped yet. You were sure, by the end of the day you’d end up either dead or with some bone in your body broken. But so far, he did really well in his attempts to stay calm.

It was a dead end. He wouldn’t give in and the only way you could go back to oblivious co-existence was, if you gave in. But you still stood your ground and you realized just how good it felt.

“I saw you there. You stood right in front of the door. You looked at him and spoke to him, instead of- Instead of calling me and-“

That was the moment you realized something. Something that felt like a bucket of ice water on your head. Your heart squeezed tightly in your chest and the sinking, painful feeling of disappointment left you nearly breathless.

“You knew that I didn’t try to leave.”

The words were barely audible. You might as well have thought them in your head, but no. He heard you. You could tell by the way he stiffened and couldn’t meet your eyes.

“Oh my God!”

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous!” He growled and suddenly he looked very determined. But his eyes told another story. “You tried to leave!”

“Oh my God!” You jumped up and glared at him with every ounce of anger you could find in yourself. “Why the Hell did you cut my hair then?!”

He pointed his index finger at you. “Because you deceived me.”

You ignored his words, too caught up in a haze of disbelief and fury. “Why did you ignore me all this time?” You nearly asked yourself that. “And the fucking pill?! What business did you have placing it there, while I was asleep? You knew I didn’t do anything wrong! That’s why you hesitated! That’s why you were suddenly so nice to me!”

“Shut your fucking mouth or I will shut it for you!”

“What did you punish me for then?!” You felt angry tears sting your eyes as you took a step closer to him. The part of you that longed for him still did. You hadn’t felt him so close to you in weeks. The warmth of his skin, the faint smell of his cologne surrounded you like a warm hug.

“You nearly killed me!” You snapped at him, very unlike yourself. Your sense of self-preservation was suddenly near-dead. All you wanted was for him to answer your question. “Why?!”

His expression was the same mix of frustration and anger. But his anger became more and more apparent. You knew he wouldn’t need much more and he would explode. Would he break your nose? Would he squash your kidney? Or would he finally finish what he started that day and choke you to death?

“One more word.” He hissed as he towered over you, ready to strike.

He hadn’t hit you yet. He wasn’t even yelling. He was just…

Was he just…

“Oh my God.” Your voice was barely audible, just a small whisper, hardly to be heard under the sound of his heavy breathing. “Oh my God, you didn’t punish me, because I tried to leave.”

He frowned and shook his head. “What are you fantasizing about now? What are you cooking up in your-“

“You did it, because of what I said to you.”

The second you realized it was the same second your anger suddenly vanished. You were obviously still angry. Mostly so, because he ignored you for so long, without really ignoring you. But you weren’t furious anymore. You were more…curious. Disappointed. And sad.

But the second you said it, you saw a brief flash of something in his eyes. You couldn’t quite tell what it was. You had seen that in him once or twice. But it always left as quickly as it came. And suddenly you were certain.

“You punished me, because of what I said to you.” You said firmly.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

He scoffed. “Stop being an idiot. Stop acting like anything you could say to me would ever be enough to influence my actions. You’re nothing! I told you that! You’re-“

“Then let me go.”

He stopped and regarded you with a frown. But he was slightly calmer now, all the while you sounded almost panicked.

If he did all these vile things to you, when you were no more than a stranger to him…

What would he do to you, if you were more than that?

If he was comfortable around you?

And why on earth were you allowing it?

It was like someone suddenly pulled up a curtain in the fog that was your brain and you realized, something was wrong.

You had had no chance to escape your mother. After all, you had been no more than a child and she was your mother. Nowhere to flee and no one to rescue you. You spent your life begging and pleading and hoping to find a way to finally break free.

But this.

This.

You were letting it happen. It was you.

You were allowing this. You knew what he was doing to you and you still let him. You let him touch and kiss you and even take you.

Your first time had been with the same man, who slapped the living hell out of you. Who punched your gut and left you tied to the bed, your bladder ready to explode in pain and humiliation. The man who called you vile names. The man who committed heinous crimes on you. On your body and mind.

What were you doing?

What, for God’s sake, were you doing?

Your eyes widened impossibly and you backed away against the counter.

“I don’t want this.” You gasped out. “I don’t want any of this. I want to go home. Let me go home.”

His frown deepened. You suddenly realized, you had no idea who he was.

“Why are you suddenly…”

You saw yourself. Years from now. Tied to a bed, your body bruised and battered. Maybe there was a child on the way. Maybe you already had one. Or three. Or seven. Who could tell? Maybe you’d make a perfect baby machine. He wouldn’t let you go to the hospital to have your poor, little bastard children. No, he’d make you bear them alone, with no one to assist you but him.

And the children?

God, the children.

What would they have to go through? What kind of miserable life was right there, waiting for them to endure it? You were sure, your mother would probably look like a saint compared to him.

Years and years and years. No one ever got to go out. All they would know would be this place. They wouldn’t ever understand that there was a whole world outside, for them to explore. With kindness, with love. In a way where people’s motivation was positivity rather than fear. Where peace ruled and love didn’t equal pain.

You couldn’t do this, you suddenly realized.

You just couldn’t.

It didn’t take you longer than two seconds to reach for the block. He had stopped being careful around you approximately by the time you allowed him to use you as he pleased.

You forgot the way his lips felt on yours, the second your fingers curled around the handle of the knife.

His eyes shot open and he rushed forward, ready to beat you to it. He wouldn’t let you stab him, no matter how careful he was.

Silly man.

That wasn’t your intention.

You took a step to the side, your back pressed against the wall and raised your hand. The cold metal felt uncomfortable against your neck. The feeling was unwanted and unwelcome, but if it was indeed your only out, oh God, you would take it.

He froze in his tracks and his eyes widened to a nearly ridiculous degree. He stared at you like you were an alien and slowly held up his hands in a gesture that came close to surrender.

“What are you doing?” He asked in a soft voice. “Give me the knife.”

Your eyes were equally as wide as you stared up at him, the blade tightly pressed against your jugular.

It was funny, really. You remembered at least one time when it was him who did the exact same thing to you. But back then, he didn’t look as horrified. Instead, his brows were furrowed and his eyes half-lidded in pleasure. But now, he looked straight-up terrified.

“Let me go.” You whispered. “I want to go.”

“Darling.” He whispered back and took the tiniest step closer. When you pressed the blade even harder against your skin, he immediately stopped and raised his hands a bit.

“Okay.” He whispered. “Okay. I get it. You’re angry. I understand that. But-“

„I’m not angry!” You felt tears running down your cheeks. You had been here far too long.

“Okay. Whatever it is that you are, please listen to me. Give me the knife.”

“Why do you care?” You hissed. “After all, it was you who almost killed me!”

He took a slow breath and nodded. “I know. But I didn’t, did I?”

“No.” You gritted out. “And why not? What stopped you? What did I say to you, that made you stop?”

He frowned. He was getting impatient, you could tell. “Set the fucking knife down, do you hear me? You don’t make the rules around here.”

But you weren’t trying to get the upper hand. You weren’t even trying to prove any point. Not anymore. All that you wanted was some clarity.

What was going on inside your head?

You choked out a sob and with a shaky hand, pressed the blade harder against your skin, hard enough to draw blood.

“No!” He rushed forward, ready to yank the knife away and shake you back to your senses.

You huffed furiously and took another step away from him, shooting a glare his way.

“Let me go.” You demanded firmly.

“I can’t!” You didn’t expect the way his voice suddenly cracked. It happened so fast and was so unlike him, that your brain hardly registered it.

His gaze was fixed on the small droplet of blood that was trickling down your throat, but you hardly felt the pain. Your chest heaved rapidly and you took a deep, slow breath.

You had to get your answers. You had to get out. Or you had to die. It was the only outcome.

“I…”

You looked at him, your expression trying to gauge what he was thinking. Was he getting angry? Impatient? Was he having violent thoughts? Was he more than ready to make you pay for this?

But his expression was soft. Almost pleading. And you suddenly realized, it was not a trick.

“Please.” He said so quietly that you nearly missed it. “Just stop.”

Please?

Your breath caught in your throat, when you heard the desperation in his soft voice. His bloodshot eyes were so wide and terrified, it was unlike anything you had ever seen in him. He looked so helpless that you nearly pitied him. This wasn’t the same man. It couldn’t be. What had changed?

The only thing that could be heard were your breaths mingling in the cramped space of the kitchen. He kept stalking closer and closer, until your chest nearly touched his. And this time, you didn’t back away. He didn’t seem like a threat for once. He seemed…broken.

“You’re right.” He suddenly whispered. You felt his breath tickle your skin and everything else seemed to fade away. Nothing mattered anymore. Your body longed for him. Yearned for him.

“You’re right. I knew you didn’t try to leave. I always knew.” He whispered and reached out a hand. It hovered above yours, you felt its warmth even through the air. Just a few inches and he’d get you. But you didn’t care about the knife. All you cared about was his hand, gently wrapping around your own. The moment his palm brushed over the back of your hand, you were done for.

You were weak.

The curtain fell back into place.

And the fog, it was heavier than ever.

He held your hand with such gentleness and care, that you hardly even understood what he was doing, until he did it. What he was saying.

To what he just admitted.

“When I saw you standing there…That man right there, ready to take you away.” He swallowed and shook his head, all the while his fingers gently moved yours out of place and he finally wrapped them around the handle of the knife. “It didn’t matter to me if you tried to leave or not. All that I saw was that…You were nearly gone.” He breathed.

The knife fell to the floor with a loud thud. He then kicked it away until it bumped against the opposite wall.

“All that I saw were you. Gone. And God, I…God, I…” His voice was barely more than a breath. And his lips were so close to your own, that you could almost taste them.

His brows furrowed and he used the same hand to gently cup your cheek in his hand.

“You can’t leave me. I can’t let you go. I can’t lose…” He stopped himself.

It took you weeks, tears and anger to realize. He wasn’t angry.

He was afraid.

“Why not?” You whispered breathlessly.

He bit his lip. “Stop this.” He hissed. “I know what you’re trying to do here.”

You slowly shook your head, your gaze fixed on his eyes. “Why not?” You whispered again. You leaned even closer and now it was you who initiated the contact. The moment you felt his body pressed against yours, you were done for. You had spent so many hours craving and dying to feel him again, asking yourself why, what did I do wrong? And now he was here and he was so desperate and God, you were, too.

You never actually wanted to leave anyway, did you? It was just your way of provoking a reaction.

That was what you told yourself.

“Tell me why not.”

He opened his mouth and hid his feelings behind a deep frown. He was obviously still very deep in the game of denial. And you weren’t going to be the one to pressure him. After all, he had his own things going on. You didn’t understand them, but you knew they were there. So, instead of waiting for his answer, you tilted your head up and brushed your lips over his. The touch was barely there, it was so soft and subtle that your body hardly recognized it as a kiss. But when you kissed, he made the most desperate sound you had ever heard. His eyelids fluttered and he dipped his head forward. Craving.

He was your Heathcliff.

He was your desire, your love and your tragedy.

He was all the bad there was in the world, when you live in a world full of darkness. But within the dark, he was also the light that painted the apricot walls of the halls you found yourself in into a warm white. Into all the good in the world. Into a world of warmth.

Warm. Good. Perfect.

A soft shiver ran down your spine when you felt him press against you, desperate for more. But you wouldn’t, you couldn’t, give it to him. Not yet. Despite the way your body craved his touch, you found yourself pulling back ever so slightly.

A strangled sound grumbled in his chest, like he was moments away from having his way with you, any way you could imagine.

But to your great surprise, he didn’t. He didn’t force anything on you, despite his frustration. His need was so apparent, you felt it in the way he breathed and you saw it in the way his eyes bore into yours. But he held himself back.

All for you.

“I didn’t try to leave.” You whispered. It was the one thing that was still between you, quiet and brooding, but oh-so obvious. He had hurt you. He had hurt you far worse than he had so far. Not because of the hair you lost, not because of the way he almost strangled the life out of you.

You had expected these.

But what you didn’t expect was for him to ignore you and make you feel like you did something wrong, when you didn’t.

“I know.” He said after a while. He sighed deeply and gently pressed his palms against your hips, holding you in a tight, near-bruising grip. His fingers dug into your flesh with an intensity that quickly reminded you of how much he needed you. It wasn’t like you were deliberately trying to tease him. You just needed…

“Forgive me.”

Your head jerked up and you stared at him speechlessly.

“You…You’re saying…”

“It was my fault.” He said very quietly. “And I’m sorry.”

Your heart nearly burst in your chest as you stared up at him. You couldn’t tell how sincere he was being. But then again, would he really say that, if he didn’t mean?

Would he say that at all? To anyone else? Ever?

You inhaled shakily and parted your lips in order to make any sound, but there was nothing. Your head was empty. All that there was, was him.

He leaned forward and pressed you against the wall behind you with the weight of his body against yours. His head dipped forward and his lips grazed your earlobe as he spoke.

“Can you forgive me, my sweet girl?” He whispered.

Your eyelids instinctively fluttered shut, when his breath tickled the sensitive skin of your ear. A hard shiver shook your body and you bit your lip to keep yourself from making any more sinful sounds.

“I…Yes.” You whispered back. “Yes, of course.”

He hummed softly and slowly ran his hand along your back, up your shoulders, until his fingertips carefully ran up the side of your neck. He felt the drop of blood on your skin and released a low growl.

“No one gets to hurt you”, he gritted out, “no one, but me. The rule applies to you, too.”

Your eyes stayed shut and you inhaled softly, when his fingertips slowly ran along the small wound. You had almost forgotten about that.

“I don’t know, if I should punish you for misbehaving…or take good care of you, because my darling girl is hurt.”

Your chest heaved rapidly and it only ever got worse, when his hand slowly wandered down along your chest. His hand was flatly pressed against it, like he was feeling your heartbeat. Which seemed to be exactly what he was doing.

“Your heart is racing.” He whispered. “Are you nervous?”

You nodded breathlessly. It had been a while since he last touched you. You had lived in the memory, of course. A few times even more so than you dared to admit. You weren’t normally an overly sexual person (or at least you thought so.) But the nights without him got harder and colder, so that you caught yourself a few times, with your mind on him and your hand wandering down your body.

Pathetic, you thought. But you couldn’t help yourself.

“I missed you.” You whispered, before you could stop yourself.

Of course you expected a satisfied smirk or even that he made fun of you in some way. But instead of being condescending, he hummed softly and breathed another kiss against your lips.

“Show me how much.”

You bit your lip in thoughtful hesitation. A part of you was nearly there, ready to ask How?

But another part of you, a part that you only ever had gotten to know after you met him…That part wanted to be daring.

And wicked.

And even fucking naughty.

You took a shaky breath and leaned in, meeting his lips halfway. This time, he didn’t give you the opportunity to back out. His mouth dominated yours in a deep, desperate kiss. His tongue forced your mouth open and began exploring the warmth of it, meeting yours in a wicked dance.

The moan that reached your ears was enough to make your legs go weak and the fabric of your underwear grow damp.

Slowly and tentatively you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Closer.

Your leg around his waist.

Closer.

You felt the bulge in his pants press and rub against your heat in a way that made you moan in return. God, you were hungry. Hungry for him.

He bit your lip almost hard enough to draw blood and when a pained whimper left your lips, his arousal only seemed to grow and he responded with a low growl.

He pulled his head back and regarded you with a long, intense look.

“I missed you being fucking naughty for me. Look at me.” His hand shot out and he slapped your cheek, before you even realized it. You didn’t even have the time to be surprised about it, because an involuntary moan came over your lips in response.

“Good girl. Be a good girl for daddy.” He breathed. “Open that pretty mouth for me.”

You obeyed without question, parting your lips to allow two of his fingers entrance. Your eyes were half-lidded and desperate as you stared up at him, while he rubbed his fingers over your tongue.

“Suck on them, baby. Show me how much you missed me.”

Your lips closed around them and you began teasing him with your tongue, sucking on his fingers lightly. His eyes immediately darkened and you were sure you felt the hardness between his legs throb.

“My good girl.” He murmured. His free hand wandered down your body, until he cupped one of your breasts and squeezed it lightly. He hummed in response and tore at your dress with impossible strength. It didn’t take long for the material to give in. You ignored the slight pain the friction brought you, because a moment later, he pulled back and ran his tongue along your now exposed breast and sucked on the peak, causing you to arch your back and moan.

“Oh God.” You breathed. “Oh God, please.”

“Beg me.”

“I’m begging you. Please. I need you.”

“Good girl.”

He hummed again and gently nibbled on your skin, before his lips wandered up and found the uninjured side of your neck. Instinctively, you tilted your head to the side to give him better access and he made good use of it, because he kissed every inch of your neck and lightly bit down it. When he did, you moaned again. And you also moaned when he bit down on your earlobe, hard enough to hurt.

You were a puddle under his touch, ready to melt, mindless. He did the thinking for you.

“Touch me.” He breathed.

You didn’t need to be told twice. In a fit of courage, you began to undo the buttons of his shirt. Your fingers were shaking, but you managed to undress him fairly quick. The sight was enough to make you go into a frenzy. You leaned in and brushed your lips along his neck and down his bare chest. Every sound he made, motivated you further. Your tongue glided along his flawless skin and flicked against his stomach, making him arch his back in return.

“My naughty girl.” He murmured. “Did you miss me that bad?”

You nodded absentmindedly, licking a path up his toned torso.

“Look at me.”

You froze, before you quickly pulled back your head and looked up at him with wide eyes. He sounded so stern and determined, like he had just detected some kind of flaw in you, a mistake you made.

Please, you thought to yourself, however you want to punish me, please don’t go back to ignoring me.

He didn’t. Instead he gently ran his thumb along your lower lip and murmured: “How do you want me?”

Your face instantly flushed as you were pulled back into the abyss of your desire. “I…”

“If you don’t choose, I will.”

“Taste you”, you gasped out half a second later, “I want to taste you.”

His eyes darkened even more and he looked at you with a mixture of untamable desire and something akin to pride.

“On your knees.” He growled.

You were on your knees, before you realized it. He undid his belt with nimble fingers and you felt the leather wrap around your wrists. You didn’t protest. If anything, it turned you on even more. He wasn’t being rough about. Not tonight. It was almost like he was trying to decipher if this was what you wanted. After all, it had been a complicated few weeks. He had mistreated you. But you forgave him. And now, now he was trying to be the good guy. At least this once, he wanted to make sure he wasn’t being too rough.

When you didn’t protest and only ever licked your lips in response, he exhaled a soft growl and slowly undid his pants. You watched him with a keen eye and parted lips. You had imagined and remembered the way he looked, the way he felt. But it was nothing compared to the reality of it.

His slacks landed by his ankles and you were greeted by the sight of his hardened length, throbbing and needy for your touch.

“Open wide.”

You parted your lips and stuck out your tongue, while the fire in your body only ever became bigger, hotter and far harder to put out, until it was near impossible.

He took a step closer and you felt him press against your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut and you inhaled sharply. Just a second later you felt him rub his tip along your tongue, causing him to groan. And you moaned in response.

It was very unlike yourself to be so wicked and let go of any inhibitions like that. But in that moment, you were so terribly desperate, you would have done anything for him. And you wanted him, needed him. Badly.

So, when he began to move and slowly push forward into your mouth, you let him guide your movements, but you acted just the same. He pushed forward, but you pulled back just enough to spit down at his length. He moaned in response and he moaned even louder, when you began to coat him in your saliva, right before you took him back into the warm, soft and wet embrace of your mouth.

His fingers tangled in your hair and he held your head in place, as he began to thrust forward and use your mouth to his own pleasure. His pace quickly became punishing. He was impatient, you could tell. He was desperate, just as desperate as you were.

Had he touched himself and thought about you? God, the thought drove you mad. And suddenly, you felt even more wicked.

You strained against his bruising grip and pulled your head back. For a moment, he hesitated, but then he allowed you, a frustrated groan on his lips.

“Did you touch yourself?” You breathed. “Did you think about me?”

His eyes widened briefly, but then they got surrounded by darkness again. “You stopped to ask me that fucking obvious question?”

“Say it.” You whispered. “Please, I want to hear it.”

“Every night.” He gritted out. “I touched myself every night, thinking about. The only way I could ever cum was when I imagined that I aimed for your face. Your lips. Your tight, little- Fuck!”

You didn’t give him time to finish his thoughts, because you resumed the movement and took him back between your lips, teasing and flicking, licking and sucking on his throbbing member, until the way his eyes rolled back nearly became audible.

You could hardly breathe and he kept his hard grip on the back of your head, while he used your mouth and breathed out sweet words and curses.

“My beautiful…beautiful girl…My cumslut…My whore…My dirty, little…My brainless…Ah, fuck…”

The way he throbbed inside your mouth was enough for you. You were dripping wet and you needed him. With a soft plop, you pulled your head back, which earned a hard look from him.

“Fuck me.” You gasped out breathlessly, your voice horse from the way he had just ravaged your throat. “Please, fuck me. I need you.”

He growled in response and immediately reached down to undo his belt from your wrists. A short moment later, he yanked you up to your feet and pushed you against the wall.

“How?” He growled.

“How what?” You croaked out.

“How do you want me to fuck you? Decide or I will!”

You opened your mouth.

“Too late.”

He picked you up as though you weighed nothing, making you gasp out in surprise. And then he carried you in a direction that made no fucking sense.

The balcony.

You never thought about the balcony, because after all, it wasn’t real in your book. You didn’t get to open the door or try and breathe real air, so why bother to act like it was real?

But he carried you that same way and before you knew it, he pressed something against the sensor by the side of it – a chip? Was it a chip? A card? – and the door opened.

You nearly cried. Oh no, you did cry.

He carried you outside and suddenly you felt the cold air hit your skin. The same air you had missed out on for weeks. Was it months? At least eight weeks. Two months.

It was dark and cold outside, but the city ahead was shining in countless different colors and lights. You had almost forgotten where you were, which country this was. It was so very different from the sight you had grown up to see from your window every night. The cold fog, the storms, the moors. This was different. Another world.

You were different.

You were his girl.

He pressed you against the railing and you choked out a sob. Real air. You breathed real air.

He pressed himself against you from behind, his lips grazing your ear. “How is this?” He breathed.

You swallowed thickly and tried to come up with a response, but it was impossible. You were so high up in the sky and yet you felt like everything was right. Like you were hovering above the sidewalks, the busy streets, the cobblestones.

“Thank you.” You breathed out. “Thank you.”

You heard the way he smiled. “Don’t thank me yet.”

He yanked your dress up, until it pooled around your hips. For a moment you had forgotten how badly you wanted him, but when he pressed a finger against your soaked panties, you remembered it again. You inhaled sharply. You would have closed your eyes under the sensation, but you had to keep them open. You didn’t know when or if you would get to see the real world again, so you wanted to savor every moment. The cars, the bicycles, the life down there.

“Make space for daddy.”

A shiver ran down your spine and you held onto the railing tightly, while you slowly spread your legs further for him. He ripped your panties apart, the sound echoing through the dark of the night.

You felt him press the tip against your entrance, slick and ready, to needy to go slow.

“Oh, baby, look at me.”

You didn’t hesitate to look over your shoulder and meet his gaze. He looked more desperate than you had ever seen him before. And when he finally pushed forward and claimed you as his once again, you had to choke back another sob. Of relief, of need, of desire.

And love.

It felt like the first time again, because it had been so long. He pushed forward slowly, taking his time to fill your body with his. A strangled sound came from your throat and he joined you in that. His head fell forward until he managed to press his forehead against yours.

“My darling, my love.” He breathed out.

My love.

This time, he didn’t take it back. He didn’t even seem to realize. And you didn’t feel the need to pretend not to have heard.

“You’re so tight.” He groaned out and captured your lips in another kiss. He began to slowly quicken the pace, pulling back, just enough so that he got to thrust into you again with renewed strength and ferocity. You moaned with every thrust he gave and you moaned louder, when you felt his fingers press against your clit and rub it.

I love you. God, the words were on the tip of your tongue. I love you.

But you stayed quiet between your moans and gasps, only being interrupted by his groans and grunts.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He repeated. “I want to fuck you all night.”

His pace became punishing yet again and he bent you over the railing. Your head fell forward and you arched your hips against him, seeking more.

He hit every right spot and his fingers against your skin were enough to make you writhe. You moaned breathlessly, the sound mingling with his grunts of pleasure. A few particularly hard thrusts were all it needed from him, to send you over the edge. You nearly screamed out your release when it hit you. It felt so warm against the cold of the night, his warmth seeping into your skin and bones, his hardness sending you into oblivion. Your walls clenched around him, making him go insane. It was all he needed to go over the edge with you. He came with a low growl, filling you with his seed, while your body practically milked his orgasm out of him. He gave another hard thrust and fucked his own release back inside you, causing you to gasp out in a mixture of relief and overstimulation. It felt heavenly and you didn’t want him to ever stop.

Once the both of you slowly came back down from your high and you stopped gasping for air, he tangled his fingers in your hair and gently pulled your head back. He rested his chin on your shoulder and breathed against your ear. Your eyes slowly fluttered open and you looked at the scene in front of you again.

You wanted this. For the rest of your life.

Him. Only him. And the rest would follow.

“I’ll stay like this for a little while longer.” He whispered. “I know that you like it.”

You slowly closed your eyes, your face flushing in a mixture of shame and embarrassment. He smiled slightly.

“You still get flustered. God, you’re sweet.”

He sounded so…normal. So gentle, so sweet, so teasing, like a normal partner would, like a lover would.

You leaned back against him, savoring the feeling of his warmth and his scent, which surrounded you like a warm blanket.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” You whispered. He hummed and buried his face in your neck.

“What a silly question, my sweet girl. I’m far from done with you.”

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Author's note: Hey, sweet people! I'm sorry the chapter took me so long this time! IMPORTANT: A great part of it was inspired by sweet @hayakamis-blog

First of all, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! 🎉🎁🤍 I said it already, but I'll keep saying it, hehe

She wrote a lovely text which inspired a whole lot of this chapter and I'll link it here, so you can see for yourself, which you totally should!

The second thing is, I'm HELLA tired, so I'm not sure if I've proof-read it correctly...Also, my eyes are closing already, so I'll just finish the upload and hopefully answer all your lovely messages by tomorrow!

I'm sorry if it sometimes takes a while for me to respond. My depression has been rather cruel on me lately, so I sometimes find myself struggling to get things done. But you still motivate me sooo much and I really love you for that. It's a great light in the middle of darkness. So, that was enough of that for now. I love you all to the moon and back! Yours eternally,

Lana 🤍

802 notes · View notes

gojoest · 9 months ago

Text

ENTANGLED ━━━ chapter one

pairing: gojo satoru x zenin f! reader

series masterlist┊next chapter

synopsis: you — the daughter of zenin naobito (the head of the zenin clan), born with no cursed energy and therefore deemed to be the disgrace of the clan — have only one dream. to escape from your own blood that’s rejected you ever since birth, even if it means you have to dirty your hands in the process. when simply running away is not an option, for they would indubitably find you and drag you back for worse, you find your getaway in the arms of an enemy clan

warnings: MDNI, canon divergent, non-linear narrative (a lot of jumping back and forth between past & present, it’s indicated accordingly), female reader, she/her pronouns, reader is a zenin born without cursed energy, discrimination, abuse and bullying during childhood (she gets the toji treatment :/), brief mention of direct maternal death (regarding reader’s mother), childhood friends that fall out but come together, marriage of convenience (but with a twist), eloping, pining, kind of slow burn ngl, ijichi, shoko, geto, naoya + naobito cameo, mentions of food and alcohol, terms of endearment (calls you miss zenin, bride-o-mine, then mrs gojo later on + sweetheart <- so do you but with a lot of sarcasm behind it), sexual tension, male masturbation, although it’s left vague there’s some elements of incestuous behaviors on naoya’s end, wc: 9.3k

chapter one guideline & timeline:

I. The News — takes place in the present time.

II. The Proposal — two weeks prior to The News.

III. Sealing The Deal — two days after The News.

IV. The Past — flashback to the past, mainly from reader’s pov. this part is to be continued in chapter two, from satoru’s pov.

V. The First Night — after Sealing The Deal.

VI. Bad Faith — the day after The First Night.

The News

Nobody could ever predict what Gojo Satoru was up to, except for one specific behavioral aspect of his — those who’ve spent a fair amount of time around him could easily figure that whatever it was on that man’s mind, it was, without any doubt, unorthodox and crazy.

Yet every now and then, Gojo Satoru managed to outdo himself and exceed even their wildest expectations. This time — by dropping a bomb nobody saw coming, especially not from him.

“Gojo-san, there’s an upcoming mission assigned to your students, and you are to supervise them throughout it”, Ijichi hands a document regarding the occasion, but his arms hang in the air as the blindfolded man is absorbed in a rather peculiar activity, patently unwilling to receive the papers.

“Eeeh”, Satoru drags out a displeased whine, without even bothering to look at Ijichi. Currently seated and mindlessly spinning around in a swivel chair that he rummaged out earlier that day from one of the storage units in Jujutsu High and dragged into the classroom for god knows why. His entire attention focused on keeping his long legs up in the air as he spins as fast as he can without possibly breaking the chair, but still, he shows some semblance of interest. “When? Where? What’s it about?”, the words spoken in slow monotone.

If you look at the papers, you might know the answer to all these, Gojo-san. Ijichi thinks to himself but, of course, doesn’t dare say it out loud. “It’s in two days from now, the location is—”

“Stop right there”, Satoru cuts him off, ceasing his childish ministrations with his feet landing a heavy stomp on the floor. He slowly gets up. “In two days?”, he rubs his chin, thinking, “I am afraid, I can’t. I am getting married then”

Of course, you are. Ijichi thinks in an internal monologue.

“With all due respect, Gojo-san”, he clears his throat to push back the laughter that’s about to climb up and out his throat. “You could’ve come up with a better excuse than this to, umm—”, after fixing his glasses, he continues, “—ditch your duties”

“That was not an excuse, Ijichi, nor was it a joke. I can’t believe you think so lowly of me as a teacher”

For a second there, the evident seriousness in his voice sends a shiver down Ijichi’s spine, which, to be honest, is not entirely caused by the way Gojo spoke to him, but also what he spoke of just now. “I really am getting married”, he repeats.

“Oh?”, Ijichi’s eyes widen, unable to utter another word other than an exclamation while processing the credibility of his words. This man is not joking? This man, of all men, is getting married? For real?

“To be more precise — in two days from now, I will be busy kidnapping this bride-o-mine”

“Oh?!”, still speechless, another gasp leaves Ijishi’s mouth. “You’re eloping?”

“That is correct, ten points for you Ijichi!”, Satoru claps his hands. “Keep this a secret for the time being. I know it's a matter of time for everyone to know, but I'd rather they found out after it’s official since prying eyes might get in our way and spoil our plans. Got it?”

Ijichi only nods in return.

“Good. As for the mission — let Nanami handle it in my stead, the students will be fine as long as he’s with them”

After Satoru left, excusing himself with a “oh, so many things to do before the big day, you know?” spoken with his trademark silly chuckle, Ijichi stood there in the empty classroom for a while, frozen. Shocked to his core still, but now also curious. Who was that woman to make Gojo Satoru want to marry her?

The Proposal

(two weeks ago)

“To say I was surprised to get a call from you would be an understatement, Miss Zenin”, Satoru grinned at you, taking off his sunglasses immediately upon your arrival and placing them on the table.

It’s not that you were late — he was simply early, something quite bizarre for him honestly. Already ordered drinks for the both of you and waiting for you to show up with his legs crossed and fingers nervously tapping on the table — again, being nervous was something quite unusual for him as well.

“And to ask me to meet you here of all places—”, he sprawled out on the chair, leaning his back against the wooden splat, his long legs reaching the other side of the table from beneath and pushing the chair there with his feet to invite you to sit. He was being a gentleman in his own way, to which you rolled your eyes but made no remark. “Are you going to ask me to kill someone for you?”, a mocking chuckle escaped his lips after he finished his sentence.

“Not necessarily”, you replied, unamused.

The day before, you called him. Asking to meet you here, in this secluded spot disguised as a cafe which regular people avoided, since it was a place swarmed by dangerous individuals and illegal activities. Drugs, kidnapping, assassination — whatever shady dealing you could think of. It had to be this place, after all there was no way for a Zenin to meet a Gojo out in the open, considering the bad blood between the two clans since generations ago. Especially not the daughter of Zenin Naobito, the clan head, and Gojo Satoru, the pride and leader of the Gojo clan. It would’ve caused consequences, for you at least.

“You’ve got some balls to come here alone though, I must admit. As intriguing as always”, Satoru scoffed. “I don’t remember the last time I sat this close to you. Not since we were kids”, his lips slightly curved into a nostalgic smile as he reminisced about old times. “Now you avoid me anywhere you see me, like I’m some sort of disease”, and the smile shifted back to a regular one, although you could tell it was forced, just to keep his usual nonchalant appearance. “Not that we meet outside of clans’ gatherings, but still—”

“Can we skip the yapping and cut to the chase? I don’t have much time”, you interrupted. “Sure, Miss Zenin”, he shot back.

Miss Zenin. The way he called you that annoyed you abysmally, and that probably was his intention all along. But you had to ignore it for now, you really didn’t have much time on your hands — you had to go back home before anyone would notice you weren’t around.

“I have a favor to ask, actually — it’s more of a proposal”

“Listening”, his head tilting to the side, eyes locked on your lips, awaiting the words.

“Will you marry me?”

Silence.

It took him a few seconds before he could speak, pondering in his head whether he heard you right. Eventually the only word he could utter was “What?”, to which you said nothing. You figured it was best to give him some time to process the information.

“What’s the catch?”, he spoke again, eyes now squinting.

“Glad you asked”, you gave him a knowing smile.

“Of course. I would say it’s a joke but no way you’d call me out of the blue just to pull my leg”

“True, it isn’t a joke”

“I believe it’s not out of love either? Unless... I am wrong? Have you been harboring such strong feelings towards me all these years?”, his tone slowly transitioning back into mocking after the initial shock had faded.

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed. “You wish. See, that would only happen in your dreams”

Laughing, he slowly shifted in his seat. Leaning his body forward to rest an elbow on the table and press a cheek against his palm, his other hand playing with the straw of his drink. “So, you want out of the clan, huh? And finally have the courage to do it”

“You figured?”

“Well, I grasp things quickly. Considering how the Zenins treat women and especially those born without cursed energy, like yourself, this wasn’t hard to predict. But I am surprised by the choice of your method”

“And I am surprised you didn’t cut me out by now since this was a shot in the dark”, you eyed him, baffled but pleasantly.

“Let’s say I am intrigued by your proposal, which turned out to be quite unromantic, but I'll look past it”, a mystifying grin splattered on his lips. "Also, as you already know, there’s a Zenin or two I am willing to help”, he laughed. “So, tell me — what’s in that beautiful head of yours?”

"Well, as you already guessed — I want to leave the clan. Being a Zenin is not for me, never has been. I’ve been treated like an abomination all my life, looked down upon like I barely fit the criteria to be human in their eyes just because I was not gifted with abilities, and I am done with it”, you paused, trying to hold back the cracking of your voice. All the years of mistreatment washing over you as you spoke. You took a deep breath, “Simply running away is not an option, they will find me and drag me back for worse. You know it. But if you help me—”

“—their hands will be tied”, he finished your sentence.

You nodded. “They can’t go against you. Well, there might be a slight commotion, namely coming from my brother, Naoya. But he won’t do anything brash without father’s approval”

“That lousy brat? I didn’t know the two of you were so close”, Satoru lifted an eyebrow, a bit bothered by this.

“We’re not, but it’s complicated”

He got the message — you did not wish to talk about it. And he’d let it slide. For now. “And you think you’ll be free once you become a Gojo?”

“Not immediately, but eventually — yes. I don’t plan on staying by your side until death do us part, you know”

“What an eventful meeting this turned out to be — first I get a marriage proposal, and now a divorce, all at once”, he laughed, covering his eyes with a hand. Perhaps to hide something in them that didn’t quite align with his laughter. “What if I get attached and refuse to let you go?”, he spoke, with a tone more serious that it took you aback a bit. “Have you considered this?”

“Are you a comedian now?”, you brushed it off. “We both know such thing won’t happen”

“How come you’re so sure?”

“It’s happened before, you know it”

“We were kids back then”, he smiled softly, with a sprinkle of regret on his lips. “We used to sneak out to spend time together, but things are different now”

“But you stopped coming”

“My training got more intense, didn’t have time for games anymore”

“You bet. I know you did it to keep me out of trouble. You were aware I was getting scolded and punished for meeting you”

“Oh?”, he gasped. “You knew?”, a powerless laughter followed the realization that all these years you didn’t just avoid him out of spite. Part of him felt at ease about it, that you always understood him, even without words. Just like back then. Maybe because you were both a mutation of a different breed — a special boy put on a pedestal by many, a monster if you will; and a nonspecial girl looked down upon by her own blood as a disappointment, barely a human — yet the loneliness you carried weighed the same on your hearts.

“Yea”, you sighed. “Back then you did it to keep me out of trouble, now you’ll do it to get me out of one. When the time comes, we’ll separate but keep it a secret. If my clan finds out, they won’t let it slide. I’ll show up for gatherings every now and then, to dodge any possible suspicions, but that’s all. Treat this like a deal”

“That’s all good, but deals require an equivalent exchange so both parties benefit from it. You get your freedom. But what about me — what do I get in return?”

Your lips curved into a scarce smile, delighted that he was willing to negotiate. This could actually work, you thought. “Well, it’s not like your family will be very pleased to have me but still. The most important thing is, you won’t ever have to deal with the blind dates your clan sets you up on, with an arranged marriage in mind. I bet they’re nagging you about it constantly since you’re pretty much of age now”

“What my clan is concerned about is an heir, marriage is just a stepping stone. How will this temporary thing between us do that? Temporary and fake on top of that?”, he questioned through a scorn.

“I’ll give you a child”, you shot at him in a heartbeat, voice unwavering. This was part of the plan after all.

“What?”, he laughed, tilting his head in pure astonishment at your offer.

“We will lead a normal married life, like a proper wife and husband. I’ll have your child, this secures me even better. That way I’ll be tied to the Gojo clan forever, not the Zenin”

“You’re aware what we need to do in order for you to have my child, right?”

You were, but when he put it like that your face got hot against your will, heat burning your cheeks and sizzling on your ears. “I am”, you mumbled, unable to look him in the face. Petrified to meet his gaze.

“You really are insane”, he covered his face with both hands. Perhaps he was petrified, too.

“Coming from you that’s rather concerning. Now back to the point — you up for it?”

“Alright. Let’s do it”

Sealing The Deal

(back to present)

For the past two days Satoru pulled all the strings possible in order to speed up the marriage procedure. He diligently prepared all the needed documents to officially register your matrimony. All that was left was to go to the ward office and submit the marriage application after signing it along with two witnesses.

With that, today would mark your last day as a Zenin.

“Do you know who the girl is?”, Shoko asks, leaning against the wall in the ward office hallways, waiting for Satoru and the mystery bride to arrive.

Geto shrugs from next to her, “Nope, no clue. Still trying to wrap my head around the fact that this is happening — he is actually getting married”

“You of all people didn’t know he was involved with someone?”, she scoffs, turning her head in his direction. “Strange, maybe he was hiding the love of his life from you so you wouldn’t snatch her away”

“He wasn’t involved with anyone, if he was — we both would’ve known. Besides, what do you mean by that? I would never break the bro code, come on”

A semblance of a lazy laugh slips through Shoko’s lips. One can tell she didn’t get much sleep (again) by how lethargic and unenthusiastic her reactions were. “Girls end up falling for you always, so maybe he chickened out to introduce her”

“That’s because he sucks with girls”, Geto snorts.

Satoru wasn’t exactly the sweep-you-off-your-feet type of guy. His looks were bewitching, that was a given, and women would latch on him, only to give up shortly after. And all the reviews were unanimous — I want someone that will put me first, but with him — I don’t see it ever happening, his mind is elsewhere.

“Maybe he finally caved in after years of his family pestering him to get married”, Shoko throws another guess.

“Satoru caving in to an arranged marriage? Seriously, Shoko... Does he look like the type to listen to what elders tell him to do?”

“He never looked like the marrying type either, yet here we are”

“I don’t know”, Geto sighs heavily. “This is way too odd”

“Hey, hey~”, Satoru’s voice echoes through the hallways. “Sorry to keep you waiting, my bride was barely able to sneak out from the Zenins. You know how the old farts there are”

Hearing the name Zenin, Shoko and Geto glance at each other with the same perplexed look in their eyes. A Zenin? Sneaking out?

Forcing a somewhat adequate smile, you shake their hands. You could tell they were taken aback after hearing your name, it was written all over their faces that they didn’t quite endorse this insane whim of Satoru’s.

“Satoru, can I have a quick word with you”, Geto pulls him to the side after giving you a polite smile as a form of apology.

“Are you eloping?”, he whispers, although quite audibly, “With a Zenin? Have you actually lost your mind, Satoru?”

“Suguru”, Satoru lazily drapes an arm over Geto’s shoulder, “Yes to your first question, as for the second — have you ever seen me be normal about anything?”, he laughs.

“Not the right time to humor your misery, Satoru”, Geto says through gritted teeth all while forcing a smile looking your way, to avoid any awkward impression on your end that the two of them were talking about you (even though that’s exactly what was going on). “There’s existent animosity between your clans already, are you trying to start an actual war all over again?”, he snaps, giving a sharp nudge to his side.

“Ouch~”, Satoru yelps. “Come on, Suguru. What can they do to me?”, his words brimming with confidence compel Geto to rub the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “Do you remember, that one time on the rooftop back when we were still students in Jujutsu High, I told you about a girl from my childhood?”, Satoru continues.

Geto nods. He does remember it vividly, after all it was the first and last time Satoru has ever talked about a girl of his own accord and with so much passion behind his voice.

“That’s her.”

“It’s our turn”, Shoko interrupts. “Let’s go get you married”

As you all entered the hall, Suguru gave Satoru a soft pat on the back and glanced over his shoulder at Shoko with a validating nod.

Satoru got a pass from his moral compass.

Signatures were inked, rings were exchanged, and vows were made to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part.

It is said that vows are crucial in a marriage, they set the tone for your relationship going forward and serve as a ground to build your values on. Whatever values could be built on a soil soaked with lies, you thought to yourself as you all walked out. As soon as the ceremony was over Shoko rushed out to get the dose of nicotine her body was yearning for the entire time inside the ward office, leaving you three behind.

There was nothing holy about your union, it was a lie to begin with. And, naturally, so were your vows. It shouldn’t bother you this much that you were to break the fake promises you just made to the man that handed you a one-way ticket to your freedom.

“What’s with the face, Mrs. Gojo?”, Satoru softly pokes you in the arm, the unease in your expression doesn’t go unnoticed by him. “We just tied the knot, yet you look like you just walked out of a funeral”

A funeral. Right. That’s how it felt to you.

You buried yourself, your past, in there. You got what you wanted, but part of you was terrified of the new person you were to become. Mrs. Gojo, huh? You were not in the right headspace to be snarky about it now.

“I’m fine. All these formalities are draining, that’s all”

“Then we’ve got to recharge”, he grins, then turns around and shouts at Geto who’s walking a few steps behind and scrolling on his phone, “Suguruuu, let’s celebrate, shall we?”

“Geez, you’re loud, Satoruuu”, he cracks an irked grimace, sticking a pinky finger into his ear.

“There’s no need for that”, you whisper, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

Satoru’s fingers trace over your knuckles, hesitant to get a proper hold of your hand, but he gives in anyway, “We have to pretend there is”, he speaks in a low voice, and wraps his hand around yours. “Besides, it’s lunchtime. We need to eat”

You don’t resist, neither his touch nor his words.

On your way to the restaurant that your (now) husband made a quick call to reserve a table for four, Satoru sat on the driver’s seat — a rare occasion, usually Ijichi drives him everywhere — glancing at you beside him on the passenger seat at every opportunity, studying your features and how much they’ve changed compared to his childhood memories of you. It’s not like he never saw you after that. But you’d never let him take a good long look at you, always running away the moment you noticed him around. Before he could know it, he was smiling, mouth agape — a soundless “ha” passing through the crack of his lips, the sunlight hitting his eyes, yet he couldn’t blink — he had to take you in. He was back to being a child at that moment, wearing his genuine feelings on his face without knowing how to mask them. And you... you were even prettier now.

The two sitting on the backseat exchanged an astounded look after observing the scene unfolding before their eyes. Who would’ve guessed that their friend had such a hidden, soft spot for someone and could make such genuine faces?

The Past

You were born with bad luck.

That’s what you told yourself. And that’s what others, who felt sorry for you, thought so too. Mostly those unfortunate enough to be servants in the Zenin clan that have witnessed way too many things happen to you.

First, you were born into the Zenin Clan as the daughter of Zenin Naobito, the leader — that alone was the biggest mishap the heavens bestowed you with. A problematic clan with questionable values, where owning powerful cursed techniques was held in highest regard and considered the measure of your worth as an individual and whether you were fit to be a Zenin. Rejecting, without an ounce of remorse, their own flesh and blood and looking down at them like inferior beings did they deem their ability weak and unworthy.

With that being said, here comes the second — you were born into that clan, with no cursed energy. You didn’t make the cut ever since the beginning. The clan didn’t even mourn the fact you were lacking, they simply treated you indifferently, and sometimes with disgust, like you were one of the servants — easily replaceable. “It’s not enough that you were born a girl, but you are also lacking the gift. You were never meant to be part of this family to begin with, the name of Zenin will abandon you once you get married”, your grandmother would often tell you, right before throwing you into the disciplinary pit with curses. Till then, maybe through some miracle you could manifest some cursed energy if she locked you up there for long enough, so you could be at least a little bit useful.

Wait. There’s a third, too — your mother lost her life giving birth to you. It’s not like you felt any guilt for that, you never knew what parental love was anyway, therefore didn't see it as a burden that weighed on your conscience. In fact, you were partly relieved that there was one person less to mistreat you there.

Your older brother, Zenin Naoya, would often use this to harass you. Telling you “Maybe you’re not that hopeless after all, since you killed mother. Or maybe that’s even worse — she’s going to be your only kill” with that revolting laugh of his.

Other kids looked down on you too, avoiding you like you carried some disease. There were rumors even, how childish, now what you think back — that if you came closer to them, you’d rid them of their powers and of their mothers too. Oddly enough, those rumors were started by none other than your brother. Perhaps he wanted to be the only one to pick on you. While he made every woman walk three paces behind him, he’d keep you close, telling you in a condescending manner “How am I to look down on you if you keep walking behind me, little lamb?”

And you truly were a little lamb. Living and growing only to get the life in you eaten away by the Zenins. A sacrifice for no good.

But the summer of your sixth year was different.

You met a boy.

He looked like winter in the middle of summer. Snow-white hair falling over his face and likewise lashes, sitting like tender snowflakes on his eyelids. The bluest blue in his eyes you had ever seen in your life, and if you stared long enough it’d throw you into a trance.

There was a sense of loneliness to him akin to winter too.

How when the cold months came around, people would spend less time outside and instead run to their homes to warm up in front of the fireplace. He was the winter people were hiding from.

And you figured, you had heard of him. He was the special boy of the Gojo Clan, the first in centuries to inherit both The Limitless and The Six Eyes, whose birth alone shifted the power balance in the world, who had a bounty over his head at such a young age for being a force too great to be kept alive.

He was the complete opposite of you, yet somehow the same as you. One rejected for being too much, and the other — for not being enough. Both were similarly exhausting, arduous, and lonely.

You first met during a clans’ gathering. The big three brought together under one roof to discuss some matters you can’t quite recall now, just like you don’t remember the reason you were brought along. Perhaps to carry stuff around, like you always did.

An exchange of shy glances as you waited outside, sitting on the wooden engawa (veranda) led you both slowly scooching over closer to one another, until the gap between you was small enough that you could see how his heartbeat made the collar of his kimono flutter ever so slightly.

“Is it sweet?”, the boy pointed at the popsicle in your hand. “It is”, you answered along with a nod. Bringing it up to his mouth — “Want some?” — you invited him to take a bite as he looked at you with uncertain eyes. A blush painting a beautiful cherry hue on the pale complexion of his cheeks. He nibbled on the side of it — “It is!” — his eyes grew wide, a glow in them.

“You’ve never had one? — surprise in you voice. “Of course, I have”, he lied, scratching the back of his head, a bit embarrassed of possibly seeming uncool in your eyes.

He had a strict regime when it came to the food he consumed. Whatever he put into his mouth had to be of great value and nutrition, diligently prepared by the best chefs, so his body, or as others saw it — the shell where a god resided in — would grow healthy and strong to be on par with his powers.

It was the first time you shared food with someone else. You usually ate alone, disgusted by the Zenins surrounding you around the table that your throat felt too tight to swallow anything that you put in your mouth, be it water even.

And it was the first friend you ever made. While everyone up until now turned a blind eye and avoided you, he didn’t run. He even stayed.

Introducing himself as “Satoru" only, he deliberately refrained from saying his full name at first. When you never pushed him to reveal it, he turned a bit fidgety.

“You never asked about my last name” — lips slightly pursed, the muscles on his face fighting off a pout but failing eventually. “Maybe I’m not that interested in you” — tilting your head, you teased, yet — “Just kidding, I know who you are” — you quickly added upon seeing his brows knitting in dejection. “But you can be just Satoru with me”

From that day onward you’d meet in secret every now and then, whenever both of you could manage to sneak out. For just a little bit. To eat popsicles and other sweet things together.

That was, until your brother found out.

Naoya always kept tabs on you after all. You were a prey to him, and chasing you was like a game. It was only a matter of time before he knew. Or perhaps he did already but let you sneak out on purpose so he could use it to his avail and torment you further.

Naturally, the time you spent with Satoru fell shorter compared to that spent in the disciplinary pit. “That’s to teach you a lesson, little lamb”, Naoya would say with a twisted look in his eyes as he locked you up in there.

At times like this, you’d remember your grandmother’s words — “the name of Zenin will abandon you once you get married”.

...and an idea brewed in your mind.

If you could run away right now, you would. But where would you go? What would you do? You were only six. If your own flesh and blood was this cruel to you, how could you expect the outside world to treat you any better?

You were not that naive. You knew you had to wait.

You endured the endless hours that felt like days and weeks in that pit, surviving by pure miracle every time. Or was it hope that kept you fighting? Because you knew, by the end of it, as long as you were alive, you’d find a way to meet your friend, the only one you had. And maybe he could save you one day. Maybe, tomorrow you could make a promise to each other — that when the time came and you were both of age, you would take his last name and be freed of the curse you were born with.

...but Satoru never showed up.

(to be continued)

The First Night

(back to present)

It was getting late. You spent more time than originally planned at lunch with Shoko and Geto as everyone had already cleared out their schedules for the day to join you on your escapade.

You thought at first, that the entire time you would have to dodge questions such as How did this happen? When did you start seeing each other? When did you decide it was time? Who proposed? How? Doesn’t the animosity between your clans worry you? Have you considered the consequences even? Are you perhaps pregnant? Is this why all the rush is for?, etc...

But that never happened. Neither of them pried, nor made you uncomfortable invading your personal space. In fact, they made you loosen up a bit by being warm and friendly, already treating you like one of them, mocking Gojo’s constant mischiefs in front of you. The setting resembled that of a parent-teacher meeting where you were in the role of the parent, and they were the teachers complaining to you about Gojo. It was a rather humbling experience for the whitehaired man who sat there pouting and subtly gesturing for them to cut it.

But when he heard you laughing at their stories, he ceased. Sucking it up, he let them continue playfully bashing him. He had really missed your laugh.

“So~ we’re here — welcome to your new home”, Satoru points at the huge mansion after helping you hop out of the car. One of the bodyguards in the yard immediately took the keys from his hand and drove the car away to park it in the garage area.

To say this thing before your eyes was huge would be an understatement actually. After you quickly scanned the place you noticed there were a few more houses built around the mansion, and perhaps even behind it.

The Gojo household was located in a huge, fenced area with a single front entrance, for security purposes (so it would always be known who walked in and out under meticulous surveillance), leading to a big yard with a well-kept garden befitting the Gojo Clan. The first house in front, and the biggest, was the main mansion — inhabited by Satoru’s parents and grandparents (from his father’s side), while extended family (like aunts, uncles, cousins — basically the most important members of the clan) resided in the ones around it.

Satoru, despite being the clan head, did not live in the main mansion. His place was relatively isolated from the rest (ironically resembling the life he led and the powers he had), situated far behind all the houses, right before a path that led to a forest-like area as part of the Gojo property.

“No way”, you gasp — “Don’t tell me you live with your entire clan?” — as you quickly pad forward, leaving him a few steps behind, to further inspect the place.

“Not technically but yea, we stick together — clan traditions deem it this way”, he sighs.

“Never took you as the tradition following guy, to be honest”

He chuckles, “What can I say — I am full of surprises~ But truthfully, as the clan head I can’t just up and leave, you know? Besides...” — a pause, observing you as your eyes roam around studying the place, head turning from one side to the other in astonishment. Then his gaze shifts to his left hand. Lifting it slightly and spreading his fingers to look at his ring, and then back at you. “...sometimes deeply rooted habits are hard to break. Especially if one holds onto them for too long. It’s hard to let go no matter what kind of person you are”

“There’s something even beyond you, Gojo Satoru?”, your voice almost mocking but somehow lacking the right tone to it, too distracted by your surroundings.

He laughs, “Maybe. Just one little thing only” — words mumbled under his breath, too soundless for your ears to catch on.

After you made it in, he gave you a full tour around the house. Walking you through each and every room, thoroughly explaining where things were and how you could touch up anything you desired and change it to your liking — this was now your home, too.

The last stop was the bedroom.

“Should I carry you in bridal style? That’s how newlyweds do it~”, Satoru smirks at you, arms crossed around his waist, his side leaning against the doorframe.

You were about to make a face there for a second and give him an eyeroll, maybe even pick on him for watching way too many romcoms, but you held back.

“Sure, why not”, you mumble instead, looking down.

After all, before you was the room where certain things were to happen in, according to your deal, and you thought it’s best to let him indulge in this play pretend and carry you in as your feet were frozen in their tracks anyway. Nervous of what was ahead, you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

“Oh?” — caught off guard, not expecting you to actually go along with it, he gasps, but then — “Right?” — quickly plays it cool. “Alright, bride-o-mine, here we go”

Charging towards you with a slow step, he leans down so your eyes are on equal level, face an inch away from yours. So close that, as he cracks his lips open to swipe a tongue across them his hot breath feels like steam against your skin. Licking his lips, a habit you were painfully familiar with, it was something he did when he got nervous that seemingly didn’t change from when he was little.

He scoops you up effortlessly, holding you tight but tenderly at the same time. His fingers clutching firmly around you yet at the same time careful enough to not bruise you. “Almost there”, he pushes the creaked door open with his foot and carries you in through the doorway.

Flustered, you turn your head the other way in an attempt to hide the heat eliciting from your face. You were way too close. His scent invading your nostrils, you could almost distinguish his natural body odor from his perfume.

“Oh, my... If you shy away this easily”, he carefully sits you on the bed — “how are we to make that baby~ Hm?” — and smugly smirks as he plops down next to you right after, his knee scarcely brushing against your leg.

“Tch...”, you click your tongue, heat still spreading like fire on your cheeks, and even far up to your ears. “Didn’t know you wanted to bed me right away?” — is he really going to jump on you now? Why bring up the baby talk otherwise...

He gasps in an overexaggerated manner, gluing fingertips to his mouth, “Thought I could give you some time to adjust, but if you insist...”

“Ugh, Gojo”, you aim a reflex eyeroll his way.

“What now, are you talking to yourself?”

“Excuse me?”, you lift a brow.

“You’re a Gojo too now, you know?”, a grin on his lips, the kind he makes when he’s about to win something. “When you refer to me, you have to say my first name — Sa-to-ru — to avoid any confusion~”

See, that was his goal all along — to make you call him by name, just like in the past.

...but two can play this game. You had no intention of losing this battle to him.

“Sweetheart”, your tone overly delicate on purpose, as you tilt your head, cheek pressing against your shoulder. “Isn’t this better?”, you flutter your lashes at him.

His reaction comes slow. The full grin from a second ago is now a half, the other half — a surprise, with a sprinkle of a new, unknown to you glint in his eyes. “You’re playing a dangerous game there, sweetheart”, he breathes, scooching closer to you. An arm finding its way around your waist, wrapping itself from the small of your back all the way front, hand stopping at your navel.

A flinch shudders through your body, but he’s got you still, you can’t pull away. “What happened to giving me time to adjust?”, you mutter, not as feisty anymore. This was a side you haven’t seen to him, which you figured was natural. You knew him as a kid, now — he was a man. And like all men do, he was acting on his urges.

“You push my buttons”, he’s leaning closer, and closer, and closer, until your noses are brushing and breaths are exchanging. His free hand rolling up and tucking the few strands of hair falling on your face behind your ear, then slowly sliding to the back of your neck. “Trying to get me excited?”

“If a mere endearment excites you this much, what will become of you when I say your name?”

He laughs, his breath infesting your mouth. Lips accidentally grazing yours from the action itself, which draws a low, helpless hum out of him. “Care to find out?”

You jolt — something about the way he was looking at you told you this wasn’t just some simple teasing — and finally bring your hands to use and push him away and get up. “I need a shower”

“Ah, got all hot and bothered? It’s okay, I am used to it — I have this type of effect on women all the time~”, he chuckles, earning yet another eyeroll from you. Reaching behind to grab a pillow and sit it on his lap, subtly hiding the fact that he got all hot and bothered, too. “You know where the bathroom is, sweetheart”

He won this round.

Satoru is still sitting in the bed, back relaxed against the headboard with one foot thrown over the other on the mattress, as you make your way out of the bathroom. You smell like him now, he thinks — only natural after having to use his shower gel and shampoo — as your freshly showered self approaches the side of the bed your pajamas were carefully folded and placed at. He took it upon himself to buy them for you, along with some clothes, and shoes, and bags, since you couldn’t pack and take anything with you.

“Can you, umm”, you fidget, “turn around or something? I want to get dressed”

“There you go again, shying away from your own husband”, he smugly teases.

“Oh, you want to watch so bad? How perverse of you, sweetheart”, you mock, loosening the belt of your bathrobe so the fabric covering your shoulders slides down a bit, revealing more of your flesh.

There’s a good chance for this reverse psychology to backfire now, you think, but you just couldn’t make peace with him picking on you like that.

He shifts in his place, now sitting up on the opposite side, legs touching the ground and his back turned against you. The transition was so quick and instinctive as if he, by sheer luck, dodged a bullet aimed to take his life. “I’d love to stay for the show but, you see...”, he rubs the back of his neck, “I need to check the report regarding my students’ mission from today”

“I see”, a victorious smirk on your lips as you watch him walk away.

This round was yours. Now you were even.

You were going to be trouble.

The report was, of course, an excuse. He had to make it out of the room, or he would’ve done something terrible to you.

His face burning hot as he quickly stripped himself of his clothes in one of the guest rooms downstairs and went straight into the bathroom to cool off. An aching pulse on his groin dragging inaudible curses from his mouth. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

A stream of ice-cold water hitting his face, hugging his shoulders, cascading down the rest of his well-built body before washing down into the drain. He stands there still and completely unaffected by the temperature. He was burning inside.

Eyes shut, he thinks about you — about the way that bathrobe loosely enveloped your frame, about the gap temptingly revealing bits of your cleavage, leaving little to the imagination... about sliding his hands down into that very gap and pushing it open, taking the fabric covering your shoulders in his hands and pulling it down your arms to expose your breasts... about clasping both of your wrists behind the small of your back while his other hand moves to the side of your face and holds your chin before kissing you hungrily... then moving to your jawbone, and then lower, and lower... and lower, kissing and nibbling until he reaches your nipples, and then further below...

His hand relentlessly stroking his cock to the visual of you in his imagination. Part of him absolutely disgusted by what he was doing right now, thinking how he was tainting the innocent girl from his memories. But then another, the one he couldn’t suppress — shamelessly trying to picture even beyond, making up in his mind what he thought your sweet expressions and obscene sounds would be like under his touch.

His balls tighten up to him as he pumps himself from base to head with firm strokes, low growls rising from his throat echo through the walls the faster his hand works up and down his shaft.

The tension soon leaves his body, his cum oozing out from between his fingers and spraying all over the bathroom tiles.

Oh, you were going to be trouble for sure...

“What puzzles me though, is that nobody has called you all day”, he walks into the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his hips. “In all honesty, it’s been bugging me for a while now”, a hand brushes back his damp hair.

“They think I’m staying over at a friend’s place”, trying to ignore the view before you, you avert your gaze from him and his ridiculously lean body and well sculpted six pack that looked way too perfect to be real. He probably came here half naked, on purpose, to get back at you for earlier... Say nothing, say nothing, say nothing — you kept internally repeating to yourself. Play it cool.

“And they let you?”, he casually saunters over to you, his hand reaching behind you to grab a hold of his nightwear sitting on his pillow. Seriously? He had to walk all the way to your side only to reach for the pajamas placed on his? What a sore loser...

“Mhm”, you hum, lips tight and eyes looking down at your lap, “I managed to convince father. The odds were in our favor, I guess? — But I have to pay them a visit tomorrow, to deliver the news”

“We will pay them a visit”, he corrects you. “I’m coming with you”

“You don’t have to”

“But I want to”, he insists, his resolve is solid.

“Okay”, you don’t resist any further. “What about your family? When are we telling them?”

He makes his way to the bathroom inside the room, while still speaking to you from over there. At least he’s not as shameless to get dressed in front of you.

“They’re easy, I’ll talk to them some time tomorrow. Might organize a little thing to introduce my wife properly, heheh”

“How do you think they’ll take the news? I mean, I know they won’t endorse it but — on a scale from one to ten, how bad do you think it will be?”

“What does it matter when it’s fait accompli? Besides, they can’t go against my decisions, so”, he shrugs after making it back, fully dressed now. Thanks god. But wait...

“Did you seriously get us matching pajamas?”, you look him up. He was wearing the exact same pair in blue, while yours was a light shade of pink.

“Yea?”, he emits a dorky snicker. “Don’t you think it’s cute?”

“Ew, cringe”, you fight back a snort.

What a truly bothersome man...

Bad Faith

— (n.) dishonest behavior with the intention of deceiving someone. “bad faith” refers to dishonesty or fraud in a transaction. depending on the exact setting, bad faith may mean a dishonest belief or purpose, untrustworthy performance of duties, neglect of fair dealing standards, or a fraudulent intent

You slept well for once in your life, despite being in a new place, a new bed — you knew you owed it to the fact you were away from the Zenins.

The same can’t be said about Gojo though.

He stayed wide awake all night, restless, turning and tossing, making occasional visits to the shower even, to calm it down. Annoyed to some extent by how he was the only one in turmoil while you innocently slept next to him, unaware of his condition. He felt like an insatiable teenager all over again. How embarrassing, he thought...

During the whole car ride to the Zenins, he kept yawning and rubbing his eyes from beneath his pitch-black sunglasses that were adeptly hiding his dark sleepless circles caused by none other than you.

“You can wait in the car”, you try your chance one last time after arriving.

“I said I’m coming with you, so don’t waste your breath”

“Fine”

After you both make it past the gates of the Zenin household, the few of the servants standing in the veranda quickly pad inside — most likely to bring it to your father’s attention, you think.

All the rest you got the night before instantly leaves your body now that you’re in Zenin territory, your chest filled with unease as you cross the threshold of the place that, despite being so big, could never quite fit you in and be a home to you.

Your mouth feels too dry, you try to swallow the lump in your throat, but it keeps sitting there like an immovable object, growing bigger even the further you step in.

Unknowingly, you’re grabbing Satoru’s hand, squeezing it tight. “Relax. I am right here”, he leans in to soothingly whisper in your ear, which makes you realize your actions. You pull your hand away, picking up your pace.

...only to slow down and take a step back the moment your eyes fixate on none other than your brother, Naoya, leaning against the wall in the hallway. Waiting for you. His hair falling on his face, covering the look in his eyes but by the way his teeth bite into his lower lip, you can tell — he’s not thrilled by the view of you together.

“Well, well”, a loud, hysterical laughter erupts from Naoya’s mouth as he strolls over to you, thumbing the bridge of his nose. “If this doesn’t remind me of good old times when my little sister would sneak out to play with you — are you perhaps falling back into that bad habit of yours, little lamb?”

You flinch as Naoya’s claw-like hand reaches for your shoulder, ready to hook his grip on you, but with a swift move Gojo stands in front of you and stops your brother, leaving him unable to go any further due to his infinity. “Hello to you too”

Naoya clicks his tongue, not pleased with the impenetrable intrusion. “Tch... Move, don’t butt in in family matters”

Satoru chuckles condescendingly, “I am family too now, you know? — Dear brother-in-law"

A jarring burst of inconsistent, unsettling laughter follows this declaration, each sound leaving Naoya’s lips grows more hectic and twisted, the tone wavering between low and high, and it sends a chill down your spine.

“Huh... sis... that true?”, the deranged madness in his voice dying down now, but he speaks with a timbre of sinisterness. His eyes wide, unblinking and staring right at you with piercing lunacy in them.

He had the same exact maniacal aura to him right now, just like years ago when he first confronted you about the secret escapades with Satoru.

Terrified, you hug your shoulders. Head turned the other way, trying to hide from the sharp daggers in his gaze.

You only manage a nod, and the sick sound from seconds ago echoes through the hallway once again.

“You—”, Naoya grits his teeth, trying to draw near you but the whitehaired man before him won’t budge. “How long have you been plotting this for, huh?”

Irritated at Gojo’s technique that leaves him unable to come any closer and wipe that mighty grin off his face, Naoya takes his frustration out on the wall by punching a hole right through it. “You fucking as—”

“Naoya”, your father’s voice approaching from behind him interrupts the commotion. “Go cool your head off”

“Tch...”, it’s not that he feels like complying, no. His arrogant self would never bow down to anyone, not even his own father, the clan head.

But walking away right now gave him a chance to pass by you — and he’d gladly take it, as there was something he wanted to confirm.

“Did you let him touch you, little lamb? Answer me — did you?”, he stops right behind you and whispers from over your shoulder.

You wince, his breath on your neck sending shivers down your spine. Noticing that Satoru’s hand is moving slightly up and getting ready to possibly attack your brother, you gesture at him to stop. Mouthing a silent it’s fine.

“Don't but in in husband-wife matters, our sex life is off-limits for you, brother”, you mutter over your shoulder.

“Pfft”, his eyes squint knowingly at you. “Good — I don’t smell foreign residuals on you. Good, little lamb. Good.”

“So, you two, huh?”, Naobito, sitting cross-legged on the floor in the tatami room, takes a sip of his sake and wipes the droplets drizzling from the corners of his mouth.

It was barely noon, yet your father, as per usual, had already started his drinking for the day, most likely during the early hours of the morning at that.

You hum, but the man beside you, your husband, had something more to say.

“What can I do, old man — your daughter’s a beauty, I had to go and take her. Pardon my rudeness, I forgot to ask for your approval first” — to which you basically facepalm yourself.

“If you had done that first, you wouldn’t be sitting here now, you arrogant brat”, Naobito drags out, the alcohol must be getting to him. “But the damage is done already, what can I say”, he adds through a hiccup.

“—or do, against me — Right, old man?”, Satoru shoots a proud grin, then on a more serious tone, he continues — “She’s mine now. And I don’t quite fancy it when people pry on what belongs to me. So, I ask of you to act accordingly from now on, or there will be consequences”

“You ask? Yet this sounds more like a threat to me”

“It could be, depends on you”

Silence.

The air in the room is intense and heavy after these exchanges. There’s a calm smile on both of your father’s and husband’s faces, yet the glare in their eyes is as cold as absolute zero.

“With that being said, glad we’re on the same page and thank you for the half-assed belated blessing~ I will take care of her from now on, don’t you worry”, your husband nonchalantly breaks the silence, then looks at you with a quick shake of his head towards the door. Meaning, our job here is done. Let’s go.

“You might go, I wish to speak to my daughter, alone”

Satoru glances at you, looking for consent in your eyes. You nod affirmatively, “Wait for me in the car”

Before walking out, Satoru gives one last warning. “Old man, if you try anything funny, I’ll make this place one with the ground beneath you”

“Make this place one with the ground?”, Naobito laughs uproariously. “You’ve gotten under his skin. Good.”

He gulps down another cup before proceeding, “He’s always got a soft spot for you. I’ve seen his eyes wander in search of you during clans’ gatherings, but this — this is beyond my expectations even”, he wheezes. “Good job. You’re finally doing something right and being useful to the clan”

“I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for my own sake”, you grit your teeth.

“I don’t care for your purpose so long we sow the benefits of what you reap, just like I don’t care how you do it so long you take him down — poison him or slit his throat in his sleep, I couldn’t care less. Just make sure he’s dead by the end of it — it’s the only way to get that lousy freedom you’ve been babbling about all these years”

The terms were clear from the beginning, yet your stomach fills to the brim with guilt, threatening to spill out from your mouth the more your father speaks of it.

And he continues, “If you give him a child too in the meantime — even better. That way the Zenins can take over the Gojo Clan”, a greedy curve on his mouth wet with sake. “But in all honesty, what surprises me the most is you, actually — you’re more of a Zenin now than ever”, an unhinged laughter cracks his lips.

Your father’s words stab through your heart like a sharp knife. Snapping a few necks for the greater good for yourself, your freedom, shouldn’t be a problem after all you’ve been through.

But then, why does it feel like he is right? You are more of a Zenin now than ever. Why does it feel like the more you try to run away from the Zenins, the more you become one?

And why does your heart ache so much for the man you are to kill soon?

#ઈઉ — ai writes #series: entangled #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #[ ♡ ] — satoru

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myladysapphire · 1 month ago

Text

A doe, A deer - A female deer

being the youngest archeron sister often meant that you were the forgotten one, no one ever saw you, until he did.

Azriel x Archeron!OC

CW: mdi 18+, selective mutism, ableims?, depecitons of illness and hearing loss, depictions of violence (animal hunting), depictions of poverty, canon character deaths, vomiting, panic attacks. not beta read!

word count: 4,259

authors note: so i have severe writers block when it comes to the whole ASOIAF universe but i reread acotar recently and suddenly got motivation to write

Masterlist | series masterlist | next part

Daphne Archeron had never known the luxury of money, like her sisters had. And though Feyre would say that her experience was brief, she still spent the majority of her childhood in riches, where daphne had spent it in rags.

Though the age gap was small between as four sisters, no more than three years between them each, it seemed the three years between her birth and Feyre changed a lot for the Archeron family. And by the time Daphne was five, the constantly dwindling funds had finally run out. The home she had always known to be empty, with less and less furniture as the days went by became repossessed a small hovel became there home.

A home which quickly became filled with illness and daphne and her mother caught typhus.

And illness which killed her mother and changed Daphne’s life.

It was odd how she could scarcely remember a time before her illness, and yet she fondly looked back on the few memories she had.

She knew her siblings had a difficult relationship with their mother, and yet her mother seemed to care deeply for her youngest child.

Peprahs it was because she was the spiting image of her mother, according to Nesta at least. Or that she was the calmest child, she never cried or threw tantrums. Or perhaps it was that she was content following her mother around and doing as she said, something she seemed to do now to each of her sisters instead.

She remembered in blurry memories when her and her mother got sick. How in the small hovel, on there one bed, the mother and daughter suffered side by side, with no money for a healer and simply having to rely on the efforts of three children and a man who mourned his wife and daughter before they had even passed. \

She had been beside her self when her mother passed, and though she hadn’t died, she herself had never truly recovered.

Her hearing was damaged, and though she could hear, she had to focus and spent most of her time reading lips more than actually listening.

Her body was sickly, and quick to catch any illness going around the village.

And to her sisters, that meant forever treating her like a child.

Things only got worse for her after debt collectors came two years into there life of poverty.

She remembered how her sisters had stood there and watched as there fathers legs was shattered and he was beaten. And she a girl of eight was the one to spring into action, grabbing a knife and throwing into the head of the man beating her father.

She remembered the gasps, the shocked looks of her sisters, and the even more shocked look of the men as they took her in, there faces going from smirks as they took in a small child defending her father, to a look of horror as another knife sliced through the air.

The men had run out shortly after and Daphne was left to scream and cry in horror at what she had done, as she watch the mans body dropped to the floor and the others fled, fearing the small child, who had started to fear herself.

After that day, Daphne refused to speak. A stray word her or there, a perhaps a gasp or hum. But nothing more.

As time passed Daphne began to see herself only has a burden, often being forgotten unless she was incredibly ill or her sisters needed her to end a dispute.

She knew her family struggled more so that they should, how Feyre had been forced to hunt to feed and provide for the family, with her kills and selling their fathers wood carvings. She saw as her sisters hounded Feyre for money over helping her out or getting jobs to provide for the family. All whilst Feyre was forced to spend any money on medicines for her.

She saw the pitying eyes her sisters sent her, pity struggling to hide the contempt they all felt.

And though she had tried to help, by hunting with Feyre, even though it was quickly forbidden after Nesta found out. She would get a job, but who would hire a sickly, mute girl with no education or skills?

She was frustrated, unable to help and yet the biggest burden. Ruled by her sisters and treated like a child.

She had never been rebellious, never had the want to be and yet today, she found her self in the forest, with the will to make up for being the burden that she was, hoping to do so by finding dinner for her family.

And though she had only been a handful of time with Feyre before Nesta forbade her from taking you, and had little skill with an bow and arrow, her only skill was that of the throwing single dagger and several kitchen knives her family possessed.

She found herself sat in a tree, a dagger in hand as well and the kitchen knives strapped to a tunic she had stolen from Feyre.

She had looked and searched for close to an hour before she saw a deer, and found herself sat in a tree, as she watched the deer slowly approach with unsure movements. It reminded her of herself almost. With its doe eyes and reddish fur. It was young, clearly lost as it looked around for something or someone.

Her dagger trembled in her hand.

She willed it to move but to no avail.

The more she looked at the doe the more she saw herself.

With there shared amber eyes and brown hair, the does faced seemed to merge into her own. A face she shared with her mother. A face that haunted her every time she fell asleep in the very bed her mother died in whilst holding her.

But the doe was like any other doe she supposed. Yet it seemed like a complete mirror of herself.

Her hand shook as she tried to force herself to throw the dagger.

The deer looked up, eyeing her curiously. No fear in its eyes, as it eyed her and her hand lowered.

And a sigh of defeat left her mouth.

Perhaps a rabbit would be easier or at least be less likely to look like her.

The deer lowered its head, all sense of curiosity lost on it as it began to sniff for food in a bush.

She watched the deer, taking some comfort in how calm it seemed to be, though that calm lasted only moments as a wolf, a wolf far too large, and eyes to human pounced upon the deer tearing at its neck out.

The dagger in her hand suddenly spring from her hand landing clear in the wolf’s neck.

Blood trickling down its neck, the wolf made no effort to move or continue its feats on the deer.

It simply looked at her, and she could have sworn a look of relief flooded its features.

She jumped down from the tree, her ankle rolling as she did so.

But her mind was to occupied in reaching for one of her knifes and landed a killing blow directly into the wolf’s heart, and then another into the deer’s.

Tears feel from her eyes as she looked over the deer and wolf, realisation at what she ha done, and how it felt far to easy despite her earlier trepidation.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, a gentle touch she knew belonged to Feyre.

“Daphne” she mumbled, “are you okay?”

She simply nodded, as she always did, and reached to pull the daggers from the animals’ chests.

“did you do this?” Feyre asked, taking in the giant wolf.

Daphne nodded before pointing to the tree and twisting the dagger in her hand, answering the unsaid question of how.

Concern flooded Feyre’s features as she assessed the state of her youngest sister, and the tears that filled her eyes, despite the clear effort the rest of her face was making to remain calm.

“Why were you out here?” Feyre continued to question; despite knowing she wouldn’t get a response.

Daphne looked down shame flooding her. Thoughts of not being good enough, of always being in the wrong even when she was trying to help. For somehow messing up what would be an otherwise successful hunt.

Tears dropped from her eyes once more. She hadn’t moved since Feyre approached her. Still sat in the same position as before as Feyre continued to ask questions.

She watched as Feyre bound the doe’s legs and skinned the wolf.

She watched as Feyre handed her the fur and threw the doe over her own shoulders. And watched as Feyre sent her a glance with every cough falling from Daphne’s mouth, seeing her concerned glances and small shakes of her head.

Her breaths were heavy, the cold air affecting her already weak lungs, and her steps were slow as they finally approached there home.

Their small little hovel with two rooms for the five of them, was always crowded and despite the two singular windows the entire house had there was always a chilled draft.

The chill of the outside was not much colder than that of inside the hovel.

A lack of fire beings it’s cause, and single log left inside the fire place despite freye asking nesta too cut more wood.

She was greeted quickly by Elain wrapping a blanket around her shoulders.

Elaine and her were the closest of the sisters, with the same interests and similar personalities the two rarely argued. Though for daphne, arguments usual consisted of her being lectured and daphne storming out in response.

The sisters argued as they lectured feyre on the wolf and Daphne’s involvement in the hunt.

Elain sat rubbing Daphne’s shoulders gently to warm her up, and handing her a hot mug of tea to soothe her throat.

The sisters always seemed to argue, whether it be about money or food or any little thing. But what they argued most was daphne.

Shocking seeing as both Nesta and Feyre seemed to only tolerate her and ignored her unless she was extremely sick.

Elain too, despite being the closest of the sisters, found herself ignoring daphne more so than late, and spent more and more time with Nesta.

It was a funny thing really, seeing as they always fretted over her, treating her little more than a child.

But everything she did caused an argument. Such as going hunting with Feyre, getting more sick form hunting with feyre, from Elain allowing her to help her garden, or Nesta asking her to sew her some new clothes form the scraps of the old worn-out ones.

Everything one of them did for her, caused an argument with another.

Daphne was their sickly younger sister. That’s all she was and even when she tried to help it caused an argument.

Words were always said in front of her and rarely to her.

She couldn’t help but think that if she could talk, something she begged daily to be able to, that they wouldn’t ignore her so much.

But they seemed to treat her mutism as self imposed, as if it didn’t pain daphne that she physically couldn’t. that the idea of speaking scared her and the few words she could ralrey speak pained her so and caused her to to be physically sick.

She hated not being able to communicate but her sisters seemed to think it was entirely her fault that she didn’t.

Elain at least put up with it, finding her a good ear for listening to her endless rants. Or a helpful hand when cooking and gardening.

But they still didn’t ask her questions unless it was in the form of an interrogation. Such as Feyre in the woods.

She had given up years ago when she realised no matter how hard her eyes portrayed her feelings, her sisters where happy to talk and laugh and argue without so much as sparing her a glance.

They hadn’t even bothered to teach her to read. They knew she couldn’t. she hadn’t even started her schooling when they lost their fortune, and yet it never occurred to them that teaching her to read could solve the communication issue.

She had thought that perhaps if she proved herself, her potential that they would bother. Though deep down she knew it wouldn’t change a thing.

But known the less she went into the woods, to prove herself, to show she wasn’t just sick, that she had willpower, ability. But not only to prove herself but to also thank them. she felt bad for all the money spent on you, all the times she had been bed bound, unable to help at all and leaving them to sleep on the floor as moving her was to risky.

But it all failed.

All it caused was arguing and Feyre sending you a worrying glance as she looked over the wolf. And the fear of it being fae and what they might mean for there family.

Days passed, and daphne grew sick again. With her lungs constricted, her head feverish and limb aching. She had been in and out of consciousness for days now. The days passed in a blur, the only moments she truly came to were when medicine was forced down her throat or a new towel was pressed to her head.

She was sure she would have stayed in the bed for weeks had the front door not been slammed open and a roar sounded through the hovel.

Weakly she walked out of the shared bedroom and came face to face with some sort of fae beast growling words at her sisters, her sisters spoke to quietly for her to hear but before she knew it feyre was leaving with the beast and her screams for her to stay refusing to leave her mouth. She was powerless to stop it, to weak to even move from the door frame let alone stop her sister form being kidnapped by the fae beast. And even if she could it seemed that as the door closed a haze a magic was sent out and the sudden scene of a so-called aunt Ripley sending for Feyre to help her in her sickness appeared in her brain. Had she not fainted after it happened, she was sure she would have believed it, but dreams of a growling beats taking Feyre away haunted her dreams.

As the months passed , Elain and their father seemed content to believe the glamour the fae had cast and the seeming coincidence of regaining there fortune, neither Daphne or Nesta believed it.

She hated this new life, the life without Feyre. And the seemingly picture-perfect front her family created.

Her life became filled with tutors and healers and the balls filled with preening men all ever for a quite wife they never have to speak to.

Her life seemed duller than it did, and even more lonely.

Her sisters now ignored her completely, her father was no to busy for he. With Her sisters spending more time doing their own thing, with Nesta always alone and refusing to speak to anyone. Elain found herself engaged to a future lord, a man you had grown to hate despite only meeting him three times.

And daphne found herself quiet the scholar, egar to learn, and found herself drawn more and more to the history of Pythian, of the war and the fae courts.

A year passed since Feyre was taken and though she had returned for a week before swiftly leaving again, it felt like everything had changed since she left.

she felt as if she was on the side lines looking in on her family.

Even more so after their father had left to go to the continent.

Elain had grown distant, only wishing to spend time with her when it came to her garden.

And Nesta had secluded herself in her room, refusing company from all.

Daphne was forced to chaperone her sister and watch her life become what elain always wished.

Perhaps it was selfish to wish for attention, or at least the same level as she received in the past.

But now it seemed the better she got the less attention she received. She now got the level of freedom she had long desired and yet it seemed a waste without her sisters there to experience it with her.

But at least she now had the opportunity to have friends. Or at least friends in the form of Leon, one of the footmen in her family’s employ.

He had been kind since the moment she meet him, egar to spend time with her.

And though at first it was simply kind smiles facial expressions to communicate, he slowly taught her sign language. Having grown up with a sister who was hearing impaired, it allowed him the chance to talk to her. And for the first time she felt heard.

He was a small comfort in her dull life.

Suddenly it was march, time passed in the blink of an eye.

Something had shifted in the last few months; the estate grew quieter, and the trees seemed to murmur.

The sky felt greyer and snow colder.

The wall felt thin, with more cracks than ever, fog creeped from it and a sense of danger, ‘more so than before was emoting from it.

She had started to take walks near the wall daily. A sense of need to be close to Feyre overcame her. She wasn’t sure why, she never saw anyone near the wall.

That was until she stumbled into him.

Possibly the most handsome person you had ever seen. His eyes caught yours and they seemed to enchant her, the striking hazel colour distracting you from the obvious giant bat like wings sprouting from his back. But she didn’t mind, his eyes were beautiful…he was beautiful perhaps the most beautiful creature ever.

And his hands were on her waist.

Holding her after she stumble into him.

her waist.

“Are you okay?” he spoke softly, his yes tracing over her. He seemed to look at her with a sense of family. Though she was sure she had never once seen him before.

she nodded her head, her eyes looking down to were he still held her waste.

“your Daphne right?” he asked carefully.

Daphne looked up startled, shocked that he knew her name, and started racking her mind for memories of his face.

“i-“ the words, sounding more like a gasp left her mouth, as she willed yourself to speak.

And she might of mustered up a few words had Feyre not suddenly appeared.

“Daphne?” she breathed. Looking her up and down, “what are you doing this close to the wall?”

The males hands left her waist as he moved aside and allowed Feyre to hug her.

she hugged her back, but her face was perplexed as she took her in. she was different.

She seemed to glow, and her skin was soft and clear. Far more so than ever before and her ears… they were pointed.

She was fae.

Confusion adorned her face and a worried smile filled hers.

“don’t be scared” she seemed to beg.

she shook your head, moving to hug her once more.

she tired to talk, to ask her if she was okay, to ask her what had happened but the her mouth filled with bile, and the words seemed to leave her mind the more she tried to speak.

She seemed relived at the hug, moving her hand to stroke her hair, “you look well.” She spoke, as she took in her rosy cheeks and more filled out figure.

Daphne nodded. Her attention still fully on Feyre and confusion in her eyes as she tried to figure out what happened to her.

“I know you must be confused, and ill explain once were at the estate but-“ she was cut of by the sudden appearance of two more fae males.

Both with the same wings as the male she had bumped into.

“Daphne… this is Cassian and Rhysand” she said pointing to the two males, before turning “and the male Daphne bumped into, that’s Azriel” she spoke looking at her carefully as the two males introduced themselves and shook her hand.

A small nervous smile toyed on Daphne’s mouth.

she looked to Azriel, taking him in and reaching her hand out to shake his, as the others had done to her.

He seemed shocked at the action, his hands moving slowly to take hers.

As if he was scared to touch her, scared that they would taint her somehow.

They were rough, more so than the others, and covered in scars.

But her eyes didn’t linger, nor did she flinch as she was sure he expected her too. Instead she shook it and smiled. Her cheeks filling with a light blush as he focused her attention on her.

She turned to face her sister, the blush still prominent on her face and her minding releasing at how handsome Azriel, well how all the males seemed but more so him.

And the male she knew as Rhysand seemed to smirk as he looked at her, as if he could read the very thoughts she was thinking in her head.

She hugged slightly at the smirk, a nervous feeling washing over her as she took in the three strangers and the sudden change to Feyres appearance.

She pointed towards the direction of the estate, focusing her gaze on feyre as she did so.

“Should we get going then?” Feyre questioned, seemingly to sense her sisters nerves.

The walk was slow, the faes content to walk at a leisurely pace, though daphne was sure it had something to do with her and the coughs her small body was emitting.

By the time they reached the estate, feyre seemed to have grown nervous, her hand gripping daphne’s and her palm growing sweaty.

Daphne rubbed her hand in comfort though it seemed to do little as Feyre pulled her back hastily the estate came into view.

“Can you clear out the staff?” she questioned “they can’t see us, it will cause to many issues”

She nodded, giving feyre a hug before she departed.

She was grateful Leon was working that day, he took her at her word when she signed his and the others need to leave.

The once lively state was now empty bar the four sisters and three fae males.

She received harsh glares from nesta at their unwelcome guest.

And as words were spoken, and feyre spoke of the need to use the house as a meeting point, the glares grew harsher. As if whatever impending conflict was Daphne’s fault.

Dinner was no better, harsh words and arguments between the sisters sounded. Even more so when Daphne had run to get stools for the two winged males.

She was silent, as always.

But somehow sitting next to Azriel filled her with confidence she hadn’t ever had.

“Can you really fly?” she whispered, her voice rough from years of not being used.

And though her sisters gasped and nesta sent her another glare. Azriel simply smiled and spoke “yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind”

Daphne smiled, her mouth speaking before she could even process that she had talked “that’s very beautiful” she said “ I have always wondered what it would be like to fly” she mused, “is it ever scary?” she spoke making eye contact with Feyre who gave her an encouraging smile, though her eyes were still shocked at your words.

It was probably the most words she had ever said, as even before she stopped talking, she was never a chatty child.

“sometimes” Azriel said, with Cassian nodding in agreement, as Azriel continued “if you are caught in a storm, if the current drops. But we are trained so thoroughly that the fear is gone before were out of swaddling”

Daphne nodded, her mouth filling with bile and a stuttered almost gasp left her mouth in the stead of words.

She swallowed roughly, her face flushing as she realised everyone’s attention was on her.

And then it struck her, she had spoken.

In the past it had never been more than one word, and it was always mumbled and nearly in audible, and often followed quickly with vomiting.

She willed herself to not vomit, but as Nesta went to say something, she was sure would be aimed at her sudden ability to speak.

She rose and ran to the bathroom and let it all out.

She cried and cried afterwards, in shock and shame.

It was how it always happened, the shame she felt afterwards, as if she wasn’t allowed to speak, as if speaking would cause something bad to happen. And it was a feeling that followed her for the remainder of her sister visit.

And even after they had all left it didn’t go away.

It seemed to haunt her, even more so after she got sick once more.

But this time it was different.

She had been bed bound for months on end.

Memories were all in a haze and she couldn’t tell night from day.

she hadn’t woken in days and yet the next time she woke, she was being tugged out of a cauldron full of freezing water.

To be added to taglist

taglist @fuckingsimp4azriel

#acotar fanfiction #ACOTAR #acotar angst #acotar smut #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #azriel fanfiction #azriel smut #azriel #azriel x fem!oc #azriel x archeron!sister #fourth archeron sister #sacha writes ✍️

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hexhomos · 2 months ago

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Hi! I had a question about "house Talis colors" i see alot of people talking about red, white, and gold. But if that are their house colors why does Ximena not wear any of that? Is there something that explicitly states those are house colors? Or has fandom just assumed those are house colors because Jayce wears them?

We predominantly see the talis symbol and jayce displayed in strokes of red. Even in his academy uniform, while viktor wears a white tie jayce wears a Red one. Gold & White are not really exclusive to jayce in any way - They're moreso *Piltover* colors, clean and shiny. They come attached to the setting. So yes, people did see the red banners and epaulets and went 'oh, those are family colors!' but in their defense jayce has been wearing red & gold as his mainline classic outfit since 2012... and it makes sense, imo.

In League piltover was predominantly /Gold./ In Arcane, piltover is painted in a lot of blue hues to offset all the gold detail they're using (and in s2 the kiramman-medarda hostile occupation crest is Blue & Gold (with a noxian diamond center), different from the greenish hue we see in s1) What ximena wears seems to be falling in line with the Kirammans in specific, see how she's sitting between the patron of the family and one of their hired hands sporting the crest in the center of his vestment. I think this matches with the idea that she was not part of the Talis house by birth and doesn't feel comfortable claiming the robes, though her clothes have little hammer details; It also matches the information we have of jayce being highly dependant on the kiramman patronage to continue working. It's not a stretch to imagine his whole family depended on the support of a larger, ruling merchant clan to operate after his father's death (if not before), and we see jayce paying for that investment his entire life.

But! Things are also not so clear cut. Ximena's pre-piltover(?) attire in jayce's childhood flashbacks is already blue, so its not exclusively a Piltover Symbol thing. It could be that she already wore it as her own.

Colors are malleable and they depend on context, specially on arcane. Blue is for Hextech, blue is for Jinx and the revolution, blue is for enforcer-backed uberfascism and Caitlyn's villain cape. Blue was always Viktor's original dominant color in game and in his classic machine herald model - a deep blue cloak with a slice of red sewn on the inside.

Red is for the Talis crest and heat of the forges, red is for Vi's hair and undercover jacket, red is for Silco's kingpin clothes to stand out in the dark, red is for Noxus and their bloodletting invasions, red is for Vander's vision turned dark with ire and for Warwick's rampaging, red is for the Black Rose.

Green is for the 'corrupted' swatches of Zaun covered in smog but it is also for the Firelights, and Ekko, and the hopeful glimmering tree they orbit around. Green is also Singed's abominations and his many crimes against nature. Green is the polluted river.

(Yellow is for excesses of gold. Yellow is for the flowers that adorn viktor's commune. everything is multifaceted.)

#meta tag #jayce talis #ximena talis #arcane #league of legends #jayce league of legends #hexposts #jayce lol #viktor league of legends #viktor lol #jayvik #vikjayce #long post

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pretty-little-mind33 · 1 month ago

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James Potter x wife!reader

Summary: A dangerous mission puts James's life at risk. You're consumed by worry and fear as you wait for news of what happened to your husband.

Genre: Angst (happy ending)

Warnings: reader and James have a newborn baby (named Harry), mentions of death, murder, blood, violence,

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

The clock reads midnight and still no one has heard from any of them.

You're sitting on the couch, your head in your hands. Lily crouches by your legs, her delicate hands resting on your knee as she rubs soothing circles around them, attempting to match your breathing so she can help you.

Naturally, you have taken this the hardest.

"They'll be alright," Lily whispers as if she can promise you that all will be okay, but her voice is distant.

The only person you can hear is him. His voice rings in your mind, the way he sounds when he says your name, when he whispers sweet nothings in your ear.

You can feel his hand in yours, the way his lips brushed your cheek, and the only thing you imagine when you look up is the front door opening wide and seeing him walk in, with only a few superficial scratches.

But the door doesn't move and instead, the room is silent.

It's been hours. It was supposed to be quick. That's what James had said when he kissed your head and said you he loved you. He hadn't even said goodbye to the baby.

"It's an easy mission, nothing dangerous—they're probably lost, you know how Sirius is," Marlene says from her side of the room as if that makes any of this better.

"You don't know that," you snap and stand up, pacing the room. You look at your friends, their solemn faces only making this worse. You can't stand their sadness, or even worse their pity. "Just—leave me alone—" your voice comes out hoarse, running up the creaky wooden stairs of you and James's little home in Godric's Hollow.

You hold your breath, turning the corner into the nursery where baby Harry should be sleeping soundly; unaware that his father isn't home.

It's as it should be, you reminded yourself, gently creeping inside. He is just a baby. He shouldn't worry. You'll make sure he never had to worry. You lean over the crib, picking your son up into your arms. He's all bundled up so the movement doesn't wake him.

"Oh, James," you mutter, feeling the warm tears fall but you hold them in for Harry's sake. This wasn't normal. Something felt wrong. "Where are you?" you ask into the darkness of the room, a line of moonlight from outside gently shines onto Harry's sleeping face.

You've always found it fascinating how much he can look like his father at only one years old and you wonder if that will carry on into his childhood.

"He looks like a wrinkled pickle," James had said the day of Harry's birth, his arm wrapped around you as you leaned your sweaty head on his bicep, breathing deeply from exhaustion. Your husband had somehow managed to squeeze himself onto the small hospital cot, his hip pressed against yours as he glanced down at the infant pressed against your bare chest. "Ugly little pickle," he muttered, the lovesick smile on his face betraying his true opinion.

"James," you'd scolded weakly. You're much too exhausted to look up as you keep your baby pressed against your bare breasts, calming him with your breathing.

"You're beautiful, my love," James said, kissing your hairline. "You did so well. So brave and strong."

You laughed, his voice soothing you.

"I just know our little pickle is gonna grow up just as handsome as his dad, ain't that right, bud?" James had teased, talking to the infant as if he could hear him. You rolled your eyes, simply letting the warmth of the two boys you loved the most lull you to sleep.

Harry suddenly begins to stir, his little eyes blinking open and you instantly rock him. "Shh, baby, go back to sleep," you whisper, feeling horrible for waking him up.

Harry doesn't cry. He looks at you in the darkness. He blinks a few times and then as if on cue, begins to wail. It's as if he can sense your sadness and all he can do with the emotion is cry. You feel horrible, sliding against the crib as you sit up, holding Harry up, as you rock him a little harder.

"Oh, please, honey," you plead, holding him against your knees as you touch the little tufts of curly hair on his little forehead. You hope none of your friends hear him and give them a reason to check on you. "Please, my lovely, sleep. It's okay. Daddy will be home soon, okay?"

You say it mostly to calm yourself down, knowing that it will in turn calm your son. You breathe, holding in more tears as you think of James. Where is he? You press a kiss on Harry's head once his cries have ceased.

You aren't sure how much time has passed as you sit on the floor, your eyes tired from crying as your baby sleeps soundly in your arms. The sounds of your friends have drowned into the background. You're having the most horrible dream as you drift to sleep, having cried exhaustion into your body.

James is gone. He's gone and you can't reach him.

You shift, your body unconsciously keeping Harry in your arms as your mind plagues you with horrible images. You can almost feel James's palm on your hand, his breath on your skin as he calls your name.

But he's gone. He's dead.

"My darling," his voice rings in your ears, hoarse and broken. "Wake up." James's calloused fingers touch your cheek, a wetness you don't recognize seeping into your skin and your eyes widen. You're met with James's piercing brown eyes and he forces a strained smile.

"Hi," he whispers.

Without thinking, you sit up through your haze and almost let Harry slip from your arms. Luckily, James scoots closer, trapping you in between his legs as he holds Harry to his chest, supporting your arms too. Harry wakes up again, his sleep schedule severely messed up as he begins to cry again and your heart breaks.

"Hi pickle," James whispers, careful only to touch the outside of Harry's blanket with his bloodied hands. You blink, staring at the awful state your husband is in, which even in the moonlight you can tell he's covered in ash and blood, his face littered insuperficial cuts and bruises— still, he's alive.

"James—" you whimper, touching his cheek gently. "What happened? Where were you? I was worried sick—" You squirm out of his legs and stand, taking Harry from him as you look for your son's favorite pacifier.

Once you've found it, you place it in Harry's mouth and set him back in his crib to fall asleep. You turn, grabbing your wand, and enchanting his crib mobile. Harry seems calmer now and you take James's wrist gently, pulling him out into the hallway.

You'd already disturbed your poor baby enough.

After closing the nursery door, you turn the light on, placing your wand in the back pocket of your jeans as you look him over. His shirt is bloodied and there's a gash, but the wound has been healed. "Remus healed me. We were ambushed—we barely got away and I- they had to heal me before we came home. I wouldn't let him take me home to you in the state I was in," James says.

Tears brim in your eyes.

"But, I'm okay now," he says and lifts his hand as if he wants to hold your cheek but he doesn't since there is still dried blood on his hands. Instead, he smiles at you. "I'm sorry you were so worried. Lily told me you were inconsolable."

You scoff, sniffling as you wrap your arms around his chest. You inhale his scent, holding in more sobs as relief overtakes you. "Of course I was worried, you fool," you pause and sniffle, "I was scared you'd never come home."

James wraps his arms around you. "I will always come home to you and Harry. Always, okay?"

You nod, resting your ear against your chest as you hold him. He sighs and rests his chin on your head, rubbing your back. "I'm gonna take a shower and you should go to bed, I'll tell you everything in the morning, okay?"

You shake your head, holding him tighter. You just want to be close to him. You don't want to let him out of your sight.

James can tell and he kisses your head. "Okay, okay, my love. I'm not going anywhere," he says in a whisper and he sighs, "I never want to be away from you again."

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candysunoo · 10 months ago

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ೋ◦ ❀❀ enhypen as a

bridgerton story ❀❀ ◦ೋ•

♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹

ೋ◦dearest gentle-reader ◦ೋ•

❀my name is lady whistledown. you do not know me, and rest assured, you never shall. but be forewarned dear reader, I certainly know you.❀

───── · · ୨୧ · · ─────

❀ now, before we shall begin dear gentle-reader there is something you must know. this author has no rights to the Bridgerton stories/ series. thus all of the following are loosely based on them. this author also does not know any of the boys personally; and thus this is not an accurate portrayal or representation of them and their lively hood. thank you in advance dearest gentle-reader. please enjoy. sincerely, your lady whistledown (aka kei ;D) ❀

♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹

ೋ◦ ❀❀ Lee Heeseung - Queen Charlotte ❀❀◦ೋ• 18+ MDNI

❀❀❀ King Lee Heeseung, 3rd of his name, the ruler of Great Britain and Ireland, your new husband.

───── · · ୨୧ · · ─────

❀❀❀ When your tiny island kingdom falls apart under the scrutiny of the large countries around it your brother has no choice but to marry you off. Marry you off to none other than the King of Great Britain and Ireland. Lee Heesesung ascended the throne young after his father tragically died. Years after finally coming of age, his mother decides it’s time for him to marry and produce the next heir, despite his covertly concealed mental illness. When you arrive it seems as nothing can go your way. From mistakingly talking down to the king after being caught trying to run away, to what was supposed to be your honeymoon night your ladies maid explained. But must you know dearest reader, that love does indeed conquer all and secrets don’t stay secrets for long.

───── · · ୨୧ · · ─────

ೋ◦ ❀❀ expected release date: may 22nd, 2024❀❀◦ೋ•

ೋ◦ ❀❀ chapter content warning: strangers - to kinda friends- to lovers, traditional gender roles, 1700’s societal expectations, arranged/ forced marriage, bitchy mother-in-law, mentions of parental death, mentions of mental health and feeling like an outsider, medical malpractice, mention of feeling unloved and trapped in a marriage, SMUT, sex (lots of it), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, put that wiener in a blanket), breeding kink , praise, mention of pregnancy and birth, angst and fluff, idiots in love, MORE TO BE ADDED ❀❀◦ೋ•

ೋ◦ ❀❀ word count: 11.8k ❀❀◦ೋ•

ೋ◦ ❀❀ link to read here! ❀❀◦ೋ•

♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹

ೋ◦ ❀❀ Park Jongseong - The Duke & I ❀❀◦ೋ• 18+ MDNI

❀❀❀ Park Jongseong aka Jay, first of his name, The Duke of Hastings.

───── · · ୨୧ · · ─────

Dearest gentle reader, haven’t you heard? The honorable l/n family is finally debuting the oldest daughter. A vision of beauty, just as her mother was, any young man would be happy to have her on his arm.

That being said being the eldest daughter of eight children can be tough. Especially as you are now of age to enter society. It was exhausting really, the trips to the modieste for the hours of standing for the dropping of hems and the countless arguments between your eldest brother, the head of the family, and your mother. After your father died your brother had become especially protective of you and your other siblings; much to the dismay of your mother. The protectiveness only gets worse when you catch the eye of not only the queen but also a certain Duke who is determined to stay out of the clawing hands of desperate mamas and their daughters.

───── · · ୨୧ · · ─────

ೋ◦ ❀❀ expected release date: June 08th, 2024 ❀❀◦ೋ•

ೋ◦ ❀❀ chapter content warning: fake dating- to true love, traditional gender roles, 1700’s/1800’s societal expectations, mention of childhood trauma, mention of parental death, small mention of attempted assault (nothing graphic y/n gets forcibly kissed, it does not go into detail), retired manwhore jay, anxiety, traditional courting, mention of fighting/ light violence, forced to married - destined to stay, mention of having children, lies of omission, SMUT, corruption kink, virgin y/n, jay talking you through it, wet dreams, MORE TO BE ADDED ❀❀◦ೋ•

ೋ◦ ❀❀ word count: TBD ❀❀◦ೋ•

ೋ◦ ❀❀ link to read here! ❀❀◦ೋ•

♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹

ೋ◦ ❀❀ Sim Jaeyun - Romancing Mr. Bridgerton ❀❀◦ೋ•

❀❀❀ Sim Jaeyun aka Jake, first of his name, 3rd eldest son of his family, and your longtime friend and crush.

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Dearest gentle-reader, ever since the successful seasons of not only his older brothers but sisters as well all eyes have fallen on the 3rd eldest son of the Sim family. Will this be the season he finds a presentable young lady to hold him down to the mainland; or will he end up on yet another voyage across the sea?

Ever since you can remember you have been friends Sim Hyunjin, the middle daughter of the Sim family. Also since you can remember you have had a massive crush on her younger brother Jaeyun, or as he liked to be called Jake. Everyone who knew you knew that you were nothing less than a soft, quiet, wallflower. Always sticking close to the edge of the room, alone and watching the courting couples dance the night away. Jake was always so kind in that regard; pulling you away from the wall and to the dance floor but never letting it get further. Never officially courting you or even giving you the curtesy of signing your dance card. However when you overhear a conversation not meant for you everything changes. Will Jake be too late to fix what he had broken?

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ೋ◦ ❀❀ expected release date: TBD ❀❀◦ೋ•

ೋ◦ ❀❀ chapter content warning: ft. Loossemble/ Loona’s Kim Hyunjin as his sister (they share the same birthday lol), friends- to strangers/ acquaintances- to friends again- to lovers, traditional gender roles, 1700’s-1800’s societal expectations, mentions of hard family situations, mentions of feeling alone and like an outsider, reader gets called names (by Jake he doesn’t really mean it?), flirting, jealousy, heartbreak, fights between friends, POSSIBLE SMUT I HAVEN’T DECIDED YET, MORE TO BE ADDED ❀❀◦ೋ•

ೋ◦ ❀❀ word count: TBD ❀❀◦ೋ•

ೋ◦ ❀❀ link to read here! ❀❀◦ೋ•

♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹

ೋ◦ ❀❀ Park Sunghoon - The Viscount who Loved Me ❀❀◦ೋ• 18+ MDNI

❀❀❀ Park Sunghoon, first of his name, eldest child of his family, The Viscount. The bane of your existence.

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Dearest gentle-reader, after the ever successful season of his younger sister last year Park Sunghoon has declared himself available to be wed. Making him the most desirable young gentleman of this season. May we wish luck to the other young men, as the nagging mamas and their equally difficult daughters shall be all over the Viscount.

Being the eldest son of a prestigious family was no walk in the park. Especially for Park Sunghoon who had taken over as the head of his family after his father’s tragic death. After the past year his mama had been insistent on him marring. Especially after she found out about a certain opera singer and the way he funded her lifestyle. Entering the marriage market his wasn’t looking for love. He was looking for a woman with at least half a head on her shoulders and child- bearing hips. No need for anything else. He just needed a wife. You and your sister had just arrived in town, sponsored by an old family friend to join this marriage season. Staying with Lady Lee Chae-rin was nothing less than a dream. She was kind and understanding towards you, your sister and your mother. Strong willed and outspoken you were determined to find someone for your sister to wed, if not for her, for your entire family. However what happens when alls not fair in love and war?

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ೋ◦ ❀❀ expected release date: TBD❀❀◦ೋ•

ೋ◦ ❀❀ chapter content warning: enemies- to lovers, mention of parental death, traditional gender roles, 1700’s-1800’s societal expectations, arguments, extortion(not by Sunghoon or reader), mentions of family issues, shitty grandparents, rushed engagement, technical cheating (Sunghoon is with readers sister), angst to fluff, Sunghoon is a world class rake, breaking off an engagement SMUT, hate sex, light degradation, some praise, public sex (in a private garden no one else is there)❀❀◦ೋ•

ೋ◦ ❀❀ word count: TBD ❀❀◦ೋ•

ೋ◦ ❀❀ link to read here! ❀❀◦ೋ•

♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹

ೋ◦ ❀❀ Kim Sunoo - An offer from a Gentleman ❀❀◦ೋ• 18+ MDNI

❀❀❀ Kim Sunoo, first of his name, the 2nd son of his prestigious family, an artist, and perhaps your Prince Charming?

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Dearest gentle-reader, love has a funny way of finding its way around the ‘ton. Of course, when there are so many eligible young men and women how could it not? This author happens to think that one of the eligible young men of the ‘ton may find love where he least expects it. Or rather with whom unexpected love comes with.

When your mother died it felt as if the warmth of the universe had gone with her. The flowers no longer grew and the wind no longer sang a tune as it blew. As you approached the age of your debute into society you had some hope. However it was all crushed into small bits when your father married Seo Minhae. The literal devil in disguise. After that her and her ill-mannered daughter moved into and made you a servant in your own home. Pushed out of your room and into the basement, forced to do housework and cook you were treated as nothing. Finally reaching your breaking point you snuck out of the house. Finding yourself at a masquerade ball and in the arms of a tall, slim, dark haired man. Feeling like royalty and like you were on top of the world you had the night of your life. That is until the clock struck midnight.

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ೋ◦ ❀❀ expected release date: TBD ❀❀◦ೋ•

ೋ◦ ❀❀ chapter content warning: strangers- to lovers, Cinderella type content, traditional gender roles, 1700’s - 1800’s societal expectations, mention of parental death, awful evil stepmother and step sisters, running away, slight escapism, mention of depression and slight religious imagery, masquerade ball, reader is implied to be shorter than Sunoo, abrupt abandonment, angst and fluff, SMUT, soft sex, unprotected sex( wrap it before you tap it, put that wiener in a blanket), praise, dirty talk, overall sweet and fluffy, MORE TO BE ADDED ❀❀◦ೋ•

ೋ◦ ❀❀ word count: TBD ❀❀◦ೋ•

ೋ◦ ❀❀ link to read here! ❀❀◦ೋ•

♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹

ೋ◦ ❀❀ Yang Jungwon - It’s in His Kiss ❀❀◦ೋ•

❀❀❀ Yang Jungwon, first of his name, an entitled aristocrat just like the rest; but could there possibly be more lurking underneath his greed for inheritance?

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Dearest gentle-reader, the time has come for the youngest daughter of the l/n family to make her debut into society. Though between you and I founder has it that the youngest of the l/n family is too much to handle when it comes to romance. Loud and outspoken one can only hope the youngest will find someone suitable for her.

Yang Jungwon was the eldest child in his family. He was born for greatness. He planned his whole life as he seen fit on the promise of his inheritance. You however were the youngest daughter, loud, outspoken, intelligent and brash. Yang Jungwon could hardly stand you. That is until he needs your help of course. After his father has taken over the family’s business and title he didn’t seem to want to give it up. Yang Jungwon didn’t know what to do with himself. After all what grounds does his father have to deny him his birthright? Finding a journal from his long dead grandfather, Jungwon finds himself in a bind; the journal is written in an entirely different language and could possibly hold the solution for his predicament. However, the only person he knows who can remotely translate it, even if it’s not perfect, is you. The one person his calm and quiet self can not stand to be around for long periods of time.

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ೋ◦ ❀❀ expected release date: TBD ❀❀◦ೋ•

ೋ◦ ❀❀ chapter content warning: acquaintances- to friends- to lovers, shitty parents, mention of parental death, Jungwon is technically an orphan, threats of disinheriting, mean comments (towards reader not by jungwon), reader is a bit much for Jungwon at times, overall fluffy, heavy petting, make out session, LIGHT SMUT( nothing too in depth just an after scene) MORE TO BE ADDED ❀❀◦ೋ•

ೋ◦ ❀❀ word count: TBD ❀❀◦ೋ•

ೋ◦ ❀❀ link to read here! ❀❀◦ೋ•

♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹

ೋ◦ ❀❀ Nishimura Riki - On the way to the Wedding ❀❀◦ೋ•

❀❀❀ Nishimura Riki aka Niki, first of his name, the youngest son in his family, trapped between the glamorous dream of love at first sight and the harshness of reality.

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Dearest gentle-reader, do you know that true love conquers all? Well this season we are in for a treat, the youngest of the Nishimura family finally has plans on marrying. This old author can’t help but wonder what shenanigans this season will hold.

Nishimura Riki was the youngest of eight children. He had grown up watching all of his sibling find true and meaningful relationships. That was all he wanted for himself. Riki believed in love at first sight. Especially when he saw her Danielle Marsh, your best friend. When his gaze first saw her it was as if he had been struck with Cupid’s arrow. It went so deep in his heart he couldn’t breathe, the entire world was stopped as he watched her from afar. However that didn’t last for long as he witnessed her approach another man, fluttering her eyelashes and giggling at him.

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ೋ◦ ❀❀ expected release date: TBD ❀❀◦ೋ•

ೋ◦ ❀❀ chapter content warning: love triangle, love at first sight, unrequited love- to true love, idiots in love, “let me help you help her”, breaking up engagements, mentions of family issues, love confessions in a garden, heavy petting make out session, ‼️NO SMUT‼️, angst with happy ending, MORE TO BE ADDED ❀❀◦ೋ•

ೋ◦ ❀❀ word count: TBD ❀❀◦ೋ•

ೋ◦ ❀❀ link to read here! ❀❀◦ೋ•

♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹ ♡ ₊˚⊹

❀ i hope you all look forward to reading the stories! i‘ll update the content warnings as i finish the stories! please ignore any mistakes i may have made as i will start to go through and correct them! also ignore the bad formatting i did it on mobile 😭 - kei ❀

❀ a taglist has been created you can find that post here! that is the current standing of who will be tagged in the first post. feel free to ask to be added by commenting or sending an ask/ message! ❀

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sunni-stuff · 9 months ago

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I have bad baby fever so take this.

—★! Tags: Established relationship, baby? Afab!!

Ghost never thought about having children before. He didn't understand them; they confused him. Worst of all, he envied them. How could someone willingly bring a child into a world filled with so much chaos that men like him and the task force had to clean it all up? How could a child smile so innocently while his childhood was nothing short of a nightmare?

He didn't want kids.

That was until he met your niece, Lola. She had to stay overnight, interrupting the plans he made with the team. Johnny wanted to sit down and play a game of drunk poker, but upon seeing chubby little Lola sitting on the rug playing with her blocks, his heart practically melted at the sight.

"Lt., you didn't tell us the missus gave birth," Soap teased, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Ghost snorted, shaking his head. "She's not mine, Johnny. That's my niece, Lola."

The men exchanged amused glances, but their attention quickly turned back to Lola, who looked up from her blocks with a bright, toothy grin. She babbled something unintelligible and held up a block as if showing off her masterpiece.

Ghost found himself smiling beneath his mask, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest. He wasn't used to this feeling—this softness. It was alien to him, yet he couldn't deny the tiny spark of joy Lola brought into the room.

The poker game was postponed as the men took turns entertaining Lola. She giggled at Gaz's funny faces, clapped along with Soap's silly songs, and stared wide-eyed at Price's stories. But it was Ghost who seemed to captivate her the most. She crawled over to him, tugging at his pant leg until he picked her up.

Simon held her awkwardly at first, unsure of what to do. But as Lola nestled into his arms, a sense of calm washed over him. She looked up at him with those big, innocent eyes, and for a moment, all the chaos and darkness in his life faded away.

He still didn't understand children, and they still confused him. But holding Lola, Simon began to see a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a place for a bit of light in his shadowed world.

Needless to say, after that eye-opening experience, Simon quickly became attached to the loveable child. He tells your sibling to call on their work days if they need a babysitter, claiming he's just trying to help lift the burden. Family helps family, after all.

Wrong!!

In reality, that man is completely smitten by Lola. Loves her to death. The moment he gets free time Simon is calling up your sibling, asking if they need any help, maybe needing a break from the child for a while and if Simon gets the okay, he's speeding to pick up Lola and whisking her away to your home.

Simon drops everything for her. In the middle of a workout? Give him 5 minutes. He's a fresh man, ready to play dinosaurs. Hell, he doesn't even know what playing dinosaurs is besides the fact Lola loves t-rex and being chased in her green dinosaur onesie. He went as far as to buy countless toys and books for Lola to play with in his home office, no less! Her favorite story books are tucked away in his desk, burying the paperwork he was supposed to have done for Price.

If Lola throws a tantrum with you, he immediately gives you a side-eye. What did you do to make the princess unhappy?

The man absolutely adores that cute muffin, and you couldn't be more shocked. Simon "Ghost" Riley, your husband, who refused to think about children, was now wrapped around your tiny niece's finger! Heck, she's practically your kid now, especially since Lola sleeps in between the two of you, cuddling up to Simon contently.

Simon treats Lola like she is his own child, so imagine his heartbreak when your sibling gives you two the news that they're going to be visiting home for a while. He's distraught, already missing the tiny ball of life, moping about your shared home putting away Lola's toys when suddenly an idea rings in his head.

His beautiful, hardworking doll can give him a child.

♡! I have a lot of drafts, and this was one. My writing is all funky and all over the place bc it's written between being awake and having no sleep!! I have more stuff I want to post, and I might continue this.

#simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #cod x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley

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prettyboykatsuki · 10 months ago

Text

BLOOD FEUDS, ANCIENT AND MODERN | RYOMEN SUKUNA.

✮ tags ; no curses au, blood incest, use of honorifics (oji-san) abuse (mostly verbal / emotional), classism, grooming / generally predatory behavior, large age gaps (20+ yrs), blood feuds, imbalanced power dynamics, white collar crime, afab + fem!niece!reader, uncle sukuna, the word rape used in text, non/dubcon (not noncon necessarily), fingering, petnames (little one, kid, little lamb), thigh-fucking, and other things, very horrible and gross sukuna behavior 18+

this is very dark and it deals BRIEFLY with sukuna being very predatory to reader when she's UNDERAGE / young. nothing explicit happens WHILE she is underage, but sukuna does leer at reader and it is mentioned. please proceed with caution !!!

PLEASE HEED THE TAGS BEFORE YOU PROCEED!!!

✮ wc ; 10.3k (???????????)

✮ a/n ; thank you vic @saintshigaraki for always indulging my nonsense and also tomfoolery. kissing you.

i'll be honest lads this one got away from me BAD jksdfhjs. i think its interesting at least.I KNOW THE TAGS ARE WICKED but i promise its like. kind of sexy at least.

also yes the title is from the rdr2 soundtrack shhh

✮ synopsis ; blood is thicker than water. resentment, you think, is thicker than both.

Bastard.

An intimately familiar title, lacking tooth and effect. It's meaning eroded with time and usage - and a moniker you've wielded proudly for as long as you can remember. You don't recall much of your life before it became part of you.

The daughter born of wedlock. Bastard daughter. The only remaining stain to your family's reputation aside from your late father.

Your mother often tells you that you were her hardest child to birth. When you were littler it was a story relayed to you with affection, and but now it's with such bitter hatred you can feel it lodged in your throat.

The most important element is the predestination in it. You came into the world kicking and screaming, throat hoarse and violent. From birth, you knew you were half-forged with bad blood and came into the world trying to be absolved of it. It's shaped your life, your relationships, everything about you.

The other half of your DNA, the good half, is from your father. Before you were a bastard, you were your parents' only child. Your father was a good man. The best you know. An average, humble man. From a generation of other working class men with a tough job in construction. Your best memories come from when he was still alive.

A quiet life, untainted by the residual bitterness of your mothers heritage. You lived away from it, outside of it. The mother in your memories from back then seem like a dream now, some mirage from long ago - disinterested in anything but you and your father. Your mama and papa. Your father took good care of you both, and your mother loved him madly.

You lived as a normal family in a small apartment just outside of Gifu for the first seven years of your life. You attended a small local school and had friends with crooked teeth and messy hair.

Your childhood was mostly happy if you break it up into pieces like that. Blissfully uneventful.

There's a concise break of change of what your life was versus what became of it. Your fathers death the splinter in the wood, separating the two halves.

The worst of your childhood, of course, came in your fathers passing. Not just because of the loss, but what it made of your life. His funeral welcomed people of all walks of life with the most notable absence of your elusive mothers side of the family.

Another old memory you have with your mother is looking at her face during your fathers wake. The deep darkness of her eyes, sunken in and hollow. The first time you ever found her terrifying instead of comforting. While the world mourned your father, your mother—you think—mourned her life.

Forced into single motherhood with no prospects and no career, your mother decided it was best for the both of you to return home.

You think the worst of your life started there.

Your mother's side of the family has never welcomed you with open arms. You wouldn't come to know why until much later. You were a child then. There's no way you could've known about feuds that deep.

The only thing you knew was that you were hated vehemently, and nothing could change that.

Your grandmother's estate was always frightening to you in your childhood. You've yet to grow out of that feeling despite living there for the last fifteen years. It's remained unchanged since you moved in and the lights in the hall never seems bright enough. Jade green painted walls and white tile floors. Some rooms have classically Japanese flooring and heirloom paintings from the Heian era. Others modernized with sterile whites and grays and house plants that add no life to it at all. Stretched wide with tens of rooms, and easy for a child to get lost in.

A sinking abyss. A terrible place. A dark labyrinth. Anxiety inducing to even think about now. No place for a child your size or your age.

The best way to describe your childhood after your father died was cold. Removed from your life in the suburbs and placed among other rich kids, you became overtly self-conscious of the differences between you and them. Them being anyone who grew up wealthy and your other extended family. You were constantly reminded of your place as the bastard child. Later learning how your mother left her fiance many years ago for your father, your poor and worthless father.

(You theorize any warmth that your mother had for you was buried in your dead dads casket. Living there, among them, made sure she'd never find it again.)

Your mother is the most complicated part of your life. You don't have a time for when she gave up on raising you. There was a year when she tried, you think. For the most part, you lived in that house utterly alone.

At first that abandonment was miserable (as it would be to any child, certainly) but a time came where you were glad you saw so little of her.

Your mother, who you had once loved and thought highly of, became a pitiful prey animal in the four walls of your grandmother's house. Small and anxious and utterly hateful. A bunny born with some cosmic knowledge and horrific understanding that its destiny is to become food for a wolf. Viciousness between her siblings, no doubt fostered by your grandparents and their establishment, tore apart the aspects of her your father mended and ruined her. You were too little to stop it.

Blood feuds that ran bone-chillingly deep plagued most of the interactions with your extended family for as long as you've been a part of them. Your mother has exactly four siblings. Two sisters between her with her as the middle daughter, and two brothers. One of which is estranged so completely you don't know his name.

And the other being your Uncle Sukuna.

Your hatred for your aunts and their children came to you rather naturally. For every gala and ball and charity fund your worthless bloodline ever raised, came catty arguments and verbal abuse from the shallow mouths of your beloved cousins. You had nothing to prove to anyone in that house. You were detested since your birth and your grandparents made no small effort to show you through as much neglect and verbal lashing as they could get away with.

Rotten girl. Cursed daughter. You're the reason your mother is like this. You're the reason she is miserable. You should've been buried with your father.

Compared to the experience of your grandfather ripping into you at age ten for simply being alive, your cousin's commentary on you was remarkably uninteresting. You resented them for being nuisances, though, with the exception of maybe one who bucked it out of that place as soon as they could. Just like you planned too.

For a long time, Sukuna wasn't around enough to have a real presence in your consciousness. You tried not to think of your extended family more than you had too. You got used to not knowing about your relatives living there, but there was no one so elusive as him.

It was as if, increasingly, you heard whispers of his name at everything you were forced to attend.

The first time you ever meet your Uncle, you're freshly sixteen. It's the birthday party your mother throws for you each year in an effort to show how close the two of you are to the rest of your relatives.

The first time you see Sukuna in person, the only thing on your mind is how much he stands out from the rest of your relatives. He's a head taller than the tallest person there, and he's...bigger. He's not clean or neat, scruff lining his chin. Old, dark eyes. Visible tattoos that reek of disgraced son and hardly of prodigy.

At sixteen, you understood intimately what your family considered to be gold standard. Your uncle was antithetical to it. His very existence a paradox to the ideas you've had been hammered into you for years. Dyed hair, piercings, tattoos - his suit jacket undone to expose his chest. Lacking respect and formality and dignity.

He was a lot like you. You got that impression, somehow.

When your eyes met with your uncles for the first time, you had your second fully formed thought about him.

Dangerous. Like an alarm. Like a ringing bell, throbbing through your skull and pulsing through your teeth. Some part of you just knew that he was a very dangerous man. Not just a wealthy one.

The first conversation you ever had with your uncle proves to be the most significant. Brief, yet - tonal in all ways. The gold standard for how he viewed you. How he would view you.

How he would treat you.

("So you're the new brat,"

Your uncle is an imposing man. You are sixteen and slightly tipsy, which is the least horrible thing you could be since your other cousin is coked out in the bathroom upstairs. You sway, staring at him. You think that's disrespectful.

He's the kind of man who might kill you for that. Might hit you. But you don't find it in yourself to challenge your defiance when you're far from sober and even father form happy. You lean your weight to one side and hum.

"New bastard," You correct him, and take another sip of the flute of champagne in your hand. "My worthless fathers, worthless daughter."

Sukuna pauses, his eyes widening before his lips break out into a grin. You wonder if it's because you're drunk. You think he's staring at you. Your eyes are too blurry to tell but you think he's gazing down the low dip of your top. At the curve of your chest. Leering at the body you've yet to even grow into.

"Tenacious," Your uncle says, and takes a long drink of his sake. You stare at the edge of his glass, carmine eyes gazing so deeply at you - you think you'll throw up. "You're your mothers daughter. Through and through.")

The night of your sixteenth birthday, your uncle announced he'd be opening a business venture in Tokyo. All this time he'd been doing work overseas, but seeing family helped finalized his decision. You remember the look on his face when he announced it. Remembered his eyes searching on you through the crowd as he held the mic up to his lips. How he named you the main reason, one conversation and he grew so fond of his little niece. That you were a clever girl, and that even though he hadn't known you long - he was sure you'd go so far.

Happy Birthday to you, little lamb.

You remember best the feeling afterwards. How the crowd went nearly silent. Hundreds of eyes darting your way in seas of strangers. All the attention people hadn’t paid suddenly mattering, all the congratulations. You remember how they crowded you and how your uncle came to your rescue with a cheeky grin and air of nonchalance.

You remember feeling sick. You remember the chill creeping up your spine, bile in your throat - all wet eyes and nausea.

Your uncle is a dangerous man. And you, the uninteresting bastard daughter, had caught his full attention.

The next four years of your life would pass so slowly, you often wondered during them, if you died that night and you'd live through these days as punishment for the crime of existing.

A little after your birthday, your uncle moved back to Japan permanently - in a residence not far from your grandmother's estate. He became a permanent fixture in your life. Many things came with that reality, none of them being especially pleasant.

You learn three things in the four years you spend with your uncle in your life.

The first is that your uncle is more powerful than you can really understand.

Through conversations at your kitchen table about his escapades abroad, you learn nothing of the work he actually does. Only what it involves, who it involves - foreign governments and people much more powerful than your family. Your uncle has ties to the Gojo family, and the Zenins'. Your time here teaches you that they make up two halves of private militarized arms and they work domestically and internationally. The only thing you need to know about them is they are filthy rich, richer than your own family and twice as corrupt.

And Sukuna works with them. Knows them rather intimately, from the pictures you've seen of Sukuna and Gojo Satoru drinking together - two prodigal sons with silver spoons and unsettling demeanors.

The second thing you learn is that your uncle's power and influence extend past all borders and include your grandparents and relatives. In the years he'd been away from home, he's garnered a formidable reputation. You never cared to notice it before, but it's all you can see now. Every arrogant, vapid relative you have the displeasure of calling family sees your uncle as some sort of king. The golden ticket to grandparents approval. A wishing well for all their hopes and dreams - so long as they appease him.

They fawn over him. Sukuna knows it. But they're all so busy trying to get on his good side they never catch his subtleties. Never seem to notice the cold sarcasm and biting edge to his questions. They pander and peacock to him constantly, but not one of them has sense enough to understand him a little deeper. Except you, incidentally. That's part of your problem

The third thing you learn about your uncle is that he takes pleasure in your cleverness no one in your life has since.... who knows? Since your father died, you think.

And you are clever. A head smarter than the rest of your family and a try-hard in all aspects. You graduated highschool top of your class and got scholarships into better schools. It was never about proving your worth of course, but about survival. You wanted away from this place, and the only way to cut your ties completely is to carve a life for yourself. Academia, education, using your name to make connections - you've been working silently on it since you were in middle school.

The only person who'd ever noticed your accomplishments was Sukuna. In between his work, he'd visit you in your room. You grew close in one sense of the word. It was a secret kept between you - but Sukuna often reminded you of it. That he saw you for who you were when no one else did. That his interest in you exceeds your own understanding, and it'd be in your best interest to remember that.

Some half-way between threats and affection, for four years - your uncle remained at your side. Uneasy as you were, he'd never try to advance on you while you were still in highschool. Some part of you knew he wasn't above it. Rather his interest hinged on getting to know you.

Your uncle is above all things manipulative.

Rather he preferred to keep you on your toes during the duration of your time together. To get close but not too close. To get to know each other openly. Your uncle made sure everyone in your family knew of his fondness for you. He'd keep you close to his side or follow you around, always in public places with a million eyes. He'd whisper to you, laughed and asked questions.

You hated being the center of attention, so Sukuna turned it on you any chance he got. It made it hard for you to refuse him, but mostly it made it hard to go under the radar without his protection. It made it hard for your relatives to insult and berate you.

You hated it. You hated accepting his kindness, because you know your uncle well enough to know that everything in the world came with a cost. And that this protection is little more than luxury, promised to you as long as you played nice.

And you always did play nice. But you were cautious. Never alone too long in the same room. Never somewhere too late. Never drunk, never high. Always within distance of a door. Sukuna was a dangerous man, and you may be a bastard but you're no fool.

It'd work for years. You evaded any real alone time with him for years. Years.

Until earlier this year where your mother had made arrangements for you to spend the summer with your dear old Uncle - in his villa, far from the safety of Japan's main island.

In the years of your uncle's favoritism towards you, no one has been more pleased than your mother. You've come to hate her for it. Your relationship hasn't been good in years and for her to suddenly attempt to be your mother again felt like a mockery.

(It mostly felt like a betrayal. You didn't think she could betray you a second time after she all but abandoned you the minute she stepped foot in that house.

Like something possessing the corpse of the mama in your dreams, your seething hatred towards her started then you think.)

You'd spent years indifferent to her, but it was this change that made you hate her down to your bones. You were furious about the decision. Furious she didn't bother asking, furious about all of it.

About everything.

An entire summer alone with the man you know to be most dangerous to you. You wouldn't put it past Sukuna, to plan this around you - but it didn't make it any less frustrating.

("You'll be going with your uncle," Your mother says, hardly listening to you. There's a baby on her hip, your half-brother and a vacant look in her eyes. You feel your jaw tighten. "We've already made plans. Your stepfather,"

"Your husband." You correct. Your mother gives you a tight-lipped smile.

"We are going on a family vacation. Your grandparents wouldn't tolerate you here alone , so you're going and that's final."

"I don't need to live with you," You seethe, fighting the urge to grab her and punch her. You've never been violent. Your mother makes you homicidal. "I can find my own fucking place, I'm twenty I don't need-"

She slams something. Your half-brother makes watery eyes. She stares at you distantly, righteously angry. Whether she's earned that anger or not, it makes your mood worse. .

"This is the least you could for me. For us." She hisses, turning around. You think of killing her. "For all the shit you put me through."

"What I put you through? Fuck you," You admit, your throat burning like a star falling through the atmosphere. Then, through a shaky breath"There's something off about him, mom. Do you understand what I'm fucking saying? Where you're sending me?

Three expressions pass over her face. The ghost of grief, some kind of solace and then more vacancy. She swallows, turns around to keep folding baby clothes. Her voice trembles. She knows she's sending you to your doom. Knows what waits for you as soon as you go.

"You're going. We need this." She says, and still doesn't turn to look at you. Her voice is so frigid it doesn't sound like hers anymore. "That's final."

You shouldn't be shocked by it anymore, but it doesn't make it easier.

You slam the door on your wait out. You hope their plane crashes on the way there.)

You tried your best to worm your way out of the situation before the semester closed out. But Sukuna, three steps ahead of you at all times, made sure that wasn't possible. Your uncle owned a villa out on an island, private - and the bags had already been packed. You'll like it there, he assured you so many times, it's comfortable. There's a good view and the kids in the place will remind you of the kids you grew up with.

(It's hard not to notice the ways in which Sukuna tempts you into wanting to go. Though there's nothing, truly, that could make the experience a pleasant one - it's posed to appeal to you. A place to remind you of your childhood. You try not to think about it.)

Despite your protests, despite your vehement frustration - there was nothing you could do but go. If you didn't go with Sukuna, it'd be enduring 3 months alone with your grandparents. You could try to crash with friends but the friends you've made so far wouldn't dream of being so polite and you dare not think of burdening your childhood friends with your family problems. They deal with enough as is.

The last option was running away. You're desperate enough to entertain it. You do, several times - considering what the worst outcome could be. All scenarios end with Sukuna coming to find you, because he's crazy and connected like that. Even if he's deliberate in not displaying those parts of himself, you know his apathy to be a facade.

You know him well. He knows you well. It feels like a competition to see who can outsmart the other that you were forced into with no say.

So, come the end of your third year of college - a driver picks you up right as your finals are finished to take you to the airport. A private jet, a nauseating display of wealth just for your uncle to torment you with you're sure.

On the plane ride to a small island on the coast of Japan, you think to yourself that all gods in the world must've abandoned you before you were ever born.

The first few weeks of your stay in the island of Nii-jima prove to be uneventful.

For a small island, it's still governed through something related to Tokyo. It's not the city or even the country, some quiet and relaxing in between. There are people here who've lived for generations and others who are only touring. Your uncle's villa though, is far from all life - and a few miles out from a beach.

You can hardly understand what a single man needs such a big house for. There's staff there too, though less than at your grandparents place which you're grateful for. You've met six of eight, two of them people who take care of the yards and garden.

Sato-san is the woman you see most often. The one cook Sukuna has and the woman who's been working longest. She is kindhearted and sturdy, often bringing her grandchildren with her. She's quiet and motherly - and so warm you're unsure of how to behave around her. Your uncle is seemingly fond of her which is saying a lot. She speaks highly of him.

It's been so long since you've experienced something like maternal warmth, you're awkward around her. You try to not be too attached, try not to be fond of anything in this house because you know something horrible and dormant lies within it and you do not want to stay. Don't even want to entertain the idea of staying.

But Sato-san is good to you, with wrinkles and sunspots and a bright laugh. Her grandchildren are so well-behaved you wonder about how they were raised. A girl about seven and a boy about four, always quiet and inattentive. You've grown fond of them too, despite how bad you normally are with children. They're easy to be around.

You're frustrated mainly because you don't hate being here. The people are kind and welcoming and everyone locally is pleasant and good. You've been in the city too long, with insane people too long, and everything feels refreshing. The bus here is free and you can be at the beach whenever you like. You've made friends here - organically, with no strings attached. .

For the first time in your twenty years of living, you even have a guy you think is cute. It seems small, but back home everyone knows who you are. You've never had a relationship work out for one reason or another, but here? Here no one knows you, and the boy you meet at the beach with his friends is just a boy.

You don't want to like being here, but you do - and you don't want Sukuna to come back and he will. Nothing ever works out for you.

The worst of your luck you think builds on the edge of that thought.

You come home tonight doing a lot of things you would not normally.

For one, you've gotten yourself drunk. The reason being the cute boy aforementioned invited you down to the beach with his friend. You justified going thinking if you were going to be miserable all summer - a single good memory wouldn't kill you.

You had fun. Your swimsuit is underneath your short skimpy clothes, and you sat in his lap and made-out with him all evening. Got to pretend you were a normal girl and you got to kiss for the first time. You still reek of alcohol and his cheap cologne. Blissfully uneventful.

When you stumble into the foyer of the house with blurry vision and hear the T.V. playing, you know it instinctively that peace is going to be short-lived. You know that your uncle is home, and that he was waiting for you.

All the hairs on your neck raise. A shift in the atmosphere makes it hard to think clearly. Your lungs barely get enough oxygen in them to keep you upright. You think of leaving. You think of running up marble stairs to your room in hopes he won't catch you.

"Brat," Is yelled from the living room. Right, as if you'd ever get so lucky. You jump in your skin. "You home?"

Your stomach churns. You feel sick.

"Come to the living room."

You go obediently when Sukuna calls you, trying not to stumble over your two feet.You don’t think there’s more options than fearful compliance.

Your uncle is watching Scarface on the big flatscreen on the TV. The subtitles are on in Japanese though you don't think he needs them. He only barely turns his head to look at you, his interest piqued when he sees what you're wearing.

You feel sixteen again, self-conscious of your body and womanhood. He hides it even less than he did the first time - the leering. He notices your skimpy shorts and top, the bottom of your bikini. And he grins, and stares but doesn't say anything.

"Oh?" He says, calm and casual, glancing back at the T.V. "Finally went and had some fun did you? Thought all that studying turned you into a bookish little shut-in permanently."

You don't say anything, arm clutching your other self-consciously.

"Did you need something?"

He snickers, low and predatory. "Come on. You're here to spend time with me so let's spend time together."

You don’t bother asking where he’s been for the last few weeks. Your gut churns, feet heavy as they drag you to the far end of the couch. Sukuna stares as you sit hesitantly. You have no doubt he's going to make you move, but he's kind enough to leave you alone for now.

"Have fun on your..." He gives you another knowing look then laughs. "Outing?"

You aren't sure how to respond. "Just drank with some friends."

"Friends," He mimics, feeling the words out in his mouth. "The kind of friends that smudge the lipstick off your mouth, huh brat?"

You flush suddenly, embarrassed - and Sukuna barks a laugh. You don't know what he's expecting you to say there so you opt for nothing.

"Sorry," Is the only thing you can manage. Placating. He lets out a puff of air through his nose and relaxes further. There's an air to him, of nonchalance, that unsettles you more than if he was angry or unpleasant. Your throat bobs.

"You're a big girl now," He comments - sleazy and indignant. His indecency towards you, about you glints like a star. A sharp canine and piercing red eyes examine you from his peripherals. "Now that you're showing off it's only natural boys flock to you, hm?"

You can't explain the way this comment makes you feel. So much said with so little. The gap between is and has always been miles wide except sometimes it's not. Your uncle is unusual. Cold-blooded, manipulative, ruthless. There's no warmth in him in a comfortable, loving way.

There's even less of a normal relationship between you.

But you both exist in this space with... similar awareness. Of the world. Of yourselves. There's a conscious intelligence to him that's reflected in you - that you are both fractured parts of your grandparents bloodline in two separate bodies. That self-awareness affords him a presence. In your mind. In your fear.

You are undoubtedly related. Sukuna revels in that.

It’s rare to see that kind of awareness in your family. You’ve never felt threatened by people dumber than you, even if they had more power or money. Vapid and shallow and useless - there’d never been anything that could win you on. It might sound cocky, but it’s true. It’s been true.

It’s why Sukuna frightens you. He has everything, but above all - he’s smart. And hard for you to read.

You swallow, shakily - your eyes looking down at your hands. In a profoundly long beat of silence, the movie plays. A fair bit of gunshots echo through the loud speaker and they startle you.

"You scared? Come sit closer, then." He tells you, less than asks you.

You stand and sit next to him, still a distance away. Sukuna remains unmoving. You don't know what to do with yourself.The silence seems to stretch for miles and minutes. Sukuna just watches the T.V. and stares at his phone - occasionally answering messages. You stay like that for a long time.

"Need a smoke," He says, and it's not really directed at you. "Maybe later. Wouldn't wanna make you sick."

"People smoke around me all the time."

"Do you smoke?"

You shake your head, too tipsy to lie. He laughs at that. "Not even weed?"

You don't bother mentioning legality, you both know it doesn't matter between your lineage.

"Don't like the taste."

"How interesting. What a straight-edge kid. Most I've seen you get is drunk and this is the drunkest I've ever seen you. Still sober enough to talk clearly though."

"I just drink socially,"

"Ohh," He says, and then grins a little sharper. "A little shot of courage to fuck that little college boy then?"

This makes you jolt. "We didn't fuck—"

"No?" He looks genuinely surprised at this, though it's mild. "Poor kid must've wanted too if you came around him wearing that. Unless he came in his pants soon as you sat on him. Boys that age do stuff like that,"

The comment about his age reminds you of how old your uncle really is, and something in your chest flares hot.

"It wasn't that either—I've never-"

He cuts you off. "You're a virgin?"

You flush, stopping yourself from answering and he laughs.

"Ohhh, that's good. Very good," He grins, so genuinely pleased it makes you shiver. "I like virgins. Easy to please."

"That's—It wasn't for you."

For the first time in your relationship, Sukuna bridges the gap between you. He sits up and forward, his hand finding the bare skin of your knee. He rests it there, his thumb circling the flesh.

"Don't touch me," You hiss. Sukuna tightens his grip, but not threateningly. He turns to look at you that time, and you can't help but look back.

There's something in his degeneracy that horrifies you. It's fondness, you think. Genuine fondness.

"You sure?" He licks his teeth in a way that reminds you of a wolf. But not one that's starving. There's no desperation in his actions, but a self-assurance. Wolves don't often survive alone, but Sukuna has. And he hungers with the confidence of a predator who has killed all that stand before him. That's never been told no to what he wants to eat.

Your heart stops. Your voice a low whisper. "Stop,"

"You say that but you came in the house looking all desperate for sex and approval. You always look like that. Have for a little longer than what's normal for a girl your age,"

"I don't look like that!"

"You would've fucked that little college twerp if you stayed wouldn't you? Nothing wrong with honesty, brat."

Before you have a chance to understand what goes on around you, Sukuna changes position. You've never gotten a chance to feel and experience how strong he is - not like the way he's manhandling you now. You gasp at the arm around your waist and back. He pins you to the couch in a swift motion, not sure how he's done it, the alcohol making you dizzy.

Sukuna has never crossed the boundary with you like this before. Your heart is thumping loud, beating against your ribs. The source of it eludes you. If it's fear or discomfort or some other thing entirely causing such noice.

There's a certain blase in his attitude that makes you forget momentarily about the taboo and gives way just to the tension between you. You feel it for the first time with his body pressed against you, all hot and heavy. He smells of cologne, but it lacks the acidity cheap ones tend to have. There’s strong hints of cigarettes and aftershave accompanying it. Appearance wise, he has lines in his face like a man in his forties.

You don't know what's wrong with you. With a relationship so fucked up from the start, you thought crossing this line would feel different. You think you want to throw up, but you're completely calm.

You want to be disgusted. You want to thrash and kick and scream and fight. You squirm away from him, the threads of what's left of your moral conscience urging you to do so. Like a last ditch effort to keep you sane.

But there's just. Something. Something so inevitable about it that your heart doesn't beat at all. The panic itself feels hollow in nature. You are a rotted log and Sukuna has ripped the soft wood out of you with relative ease. But you’ve been that way for a long time, and nothing hurts. Not really.

It's relieving in the worst way.

"Get away from me,” You whisper again with noticeably less fight. Sukuna looks at you bright-eyed.

"You're a good kid," He says. The genuine praise knocks the air out of your lungs. That disgusts you more than anything else happening between you so far. "Interesting. A lot brighter than the other kids in our family."

Our family. You wince. .

"Stop, this is—" You don't know what word to use. He's your uncle and you're his niece and he's been gazing at you like this for god knows how fucking long. "Stop."

"You've got something going on behind your eyes at least, even if you're still just a wet-nosed and angry little housecat," He says, staring down at you. He's so imposing. His facial hair and his various tattoos. Everything about him, down to his bones. "But I can't tear my eyes away from you at the same time. You know that?."

You do know that. You cast your gaze away.

"I applaud how cautious you've been. But it didn't make a difference in the end. You know that too, right?"

You don't say anything.

"Clever little lamb you are, indeed. I like that about you." He hums, leaning down closer to you. His face is inches from yours. "You should be smart enough to know how this ends. But you know, you've been so entertaining to me this whole time I feel like I should at least be a little nice. So I'll offer you something. A deal of sorts, we can even write it on paper."

This catches your interest and he knows it does. He knows. You’re cut from the same cloth. And this place has made you lose your character, just like it always does. So if it means your survival and sanity or your morals, one comes before the other.

He grins at you.

"Come stay with me. Here in Nii-jima and back at my estate at home. I'll take care of your expenses and whatever else. I have better connections than the old hag," He says, leaning down even closer to you. You can smell him. He's intoxicating "You can be away from everything. I'll even let you have boyfriends and girlfriends over. You can throw sleepovers. I don't care. You can do whatever you want."

"What's in it for you?"

You can feel his knee press up against your cunt through your shorts and you gasp, hand going up to his shoulder. "This. Been thinking about this tight little cunt for a while now. You'd have to be at my beck and call. We'd be the closest uncle and niece in all of Japan," He snickers.

You wince at the reminder. You hate yourself for considering it. "Why me? There are plenty of women who are dying to fuck you."

He scoffs a little.

"Once we get you a little farther from the trenches kid, you might start to understand me. Wealth, fortune, fame - all of it's fucking boring. I came back to Japan prepared to leave again but you made me stay. Not much more to it than that."

"You're fucking your blood-niece out of curiosity? Your sister's daughter?"

"My sister never did anything good with her life except marrying your father and making you." Sukuna says, and laughs lightly. You hate how validated it makes you feel. Your skin crawls. "I'll have to thank her for it. She'll be pleased.

You make a face at him, uncertainty. Apprehension. Fear. Frustration. Everything you’ve been compartmentalizing comes bubbling to the surface and making your head feel weighted with lead. You want to kill everyone and everything including him. You want to run away from this place. You want to go home, though you don’t know where that would be anymore. They demolished your old apartment years ago.

You think spending a few years getting fucked and used might be less miserable than the suffocation of living with your mother and your baby brother and your grandparents. How much abuse you’ve endured already vs. what awaits you when their true heir starts to walk and talk horrifies you.

You look at him.

“You’re horrible.”

“Tell me something new.”

“I hate you. I don’t…want this. Any of this. I want to go home.”

You’re just venting. Really. You’ve made the choice already.

“Has there ever been a time where it’s been about what you want? I doubt it. But if you stay with me, appease my wishes for a while, well,” He laughs confidently. “You’ll get something, at least. Better than what you have.”

“The contract. Are you serious about that?”

He laughs at you. “Sure. If it makes you feel better, you can draft it and I’ll just have my lawyer sign. Bring your defenses. Whatever. Don’t really care as long as I get what I want.”

“And that’s me?”

“Seems like it,”

You purse your lips. It seems like a rash decision to make in the moment, but truthfully your heads never felt so clear. Even with the alcohol.

“...Fine.”

Sukuna hums when you agree. It feels anti-climatic somehow. Not that he’s not expecting your yes but that you’ve come to accept it so easily. It’s not like this takes away from the coercion, from the awful feeling of being violated. Sukuna was going to rape you whether you liked it or not. This way, at least, you get something out of it. This way it’s something you choose. Something tangible results from your inevitable doom - the fate your mother damned you to.

It affords you some plausible deniability too. In truth, you’re afraid for yourself. You’re afraid of what will happen when he finally does cross the line completely. You’re afraid you’re going to accept it, that it’s going to feel pleasurable, that years of repressing yourself will come back to make sure you never return to normalcy.

What will become of you when Sukuna has his way with you? Will you become a more apathetic version of yourself? Is it possible? Will you sober and feel like scrubbing your skin clean in the shower?

The worst outcome, you think, is nothing so horrible happening. The worst outcome is knowing you’ve fallen far enough for none of it matters at all.

Sukuna grins down at you. “What a well-behaved niece I have. Good girl. You’ll do well living with me.”

You make a displeased face at him, but your breath catches in your lungs soon after. Your uncle leans in to kiss you and you close your eyes trying to get away from it. But it’s true that your body has been burning up from the inside since you came back home - a dull throbbing between your legs turning you all kinds of stupid.

When Sukuna kisses you - your first thought is that he’s unexpectedly gentle.

You didn’t think he’d care about kissing to begin with. In your head you thought he’d tug off your shorts brutishly and fuck you without any prep. You were readying yourself for tears and pain, for screaming and crying - the sharp sobs of your own voice piercing your ears.

A gentle press of lips startles you from your drunk haze. You can feel the scruff of Sukuna’s face on your own, your arms wrapping around his neck instinctively. The taste of cigarettes and something else mildly smokey fill your mouth and make you dizzy. Sukuna tastes like kissing a man - or what you might’ve imagined that to be like. Not a boy, but a man. You feel his strength, your hands splaying at the base of his neck and feeling the faded undercut of his neck, the texture of his dyed hair. His weight shadows you, his strength making you feel fluttery.

He doesn’t tease you all during the kiss like you’re expecting. Nothing goes the way you expect. He kisses you in slow, short pecks and escalates to his tongue dipping against your lips - a little added element to his deep kisses. He kisses like he’s been doing it for longer than you have, with experience and finesse. You’re all but too conscious of everything little thing. About the sounds you make, about knowing when to breathe, about trying not to get wrapped up in the pleasant euphoria.

All you can think about is how good he is at it. Effortlessly good. You think part of you latches onto it to avoid thinking about what’s happening. Denial feels pleasurable at least.

You kiss like that for so long, your lips have swollen - sticky with spit and saliva. Sukuna has a self-satisfied smirk on his face when he pulls away from you, laughing at the flush in your expression.

You hit him lightly, looking away from his face.

“It’s a wonder you’ve kept your virginity,” He says, chuckling. “A kiss and a dirty old man like me could’ve taken it from you.”

“Shut up,” Your reply is weak. He laughs against your mouth, and you can’t get over the intimacy of it. You hope you’re deluding yourself but then he kisses the corner of your mouth. Hot, warm air tickles against your jaw and neck when he presses his lips there too and suddenly it occurs to you how real it is.

You don’t think your uncle is capable of warmth or love or anything that doesn’t come from coercion. But fondness. Maybe fondness.

He spends more time doing that than what’s comfortable. Relishes the feeling of you in his arms, his bulge grinding against your clothed cunt but not forcefully. Just with enough pressure to make you gasp once in a while when you don’t have a mind to fight it.

“I won’t take your virginity tonight,” He says declaratively. It surprises you. “You’ve got three months with me. It’d be boring. I’ll give you something else.” He looks at you then, then grins impishly. “What do you want?”

Your eyes widen, suddenly unsure of yourself. You push away, brought back to reality by the questions.

“How would I know?”

He blinks at you. “I know you said you were a virgin, but did you really mean in everything?”

You pout at him all of a sudden. “So what. I didn’t have that kind of time.”

Sukuna barks a laugh.

“Huh. I thought you were a goody two-shoes out of necessity but you really don’t do a damn thing in that house. Not even a boyfriend to do hand stuff with?”

“Ugh. No, alright? I don’t have time for that kind of thing like I just said.”

He laughs a little breathless, sitting up for a minute. You’re wondering what it means for you. Sukuna pulls you up along with him. He sits down again with his legs spread before looking at you. He pulls you into his lap with relative ease, until you’re half-way pressed into him with your legs over his thighs. You stare at him, feeling more exposed in this position. You get a closer view of his neck tattoo, realizing how far down his back it must go. You go to ask him what he’s doing - but he’s undressing you before you can.

Confident, large hands trapeze down your back as he finds the end of your overwear and pulls it off - leaving you in the microkini you wore to the beach. It barely covers your nipples. You made the choice to wear it, yet seeing Sukuna examine it so closely leaves you wallowing and regretful. Still, he’s silent as he does something similar with your jean-shorts. A hand lifting your legs up enough to roll the cheap, denim shorts and discard them right on the marble floors.

You’re still half-way over his lap - sitting on his thighs but you’re naked now.

You feel yourself growing self-conscious. Never mind that it’s the first time anyone’s seen you this naked, who exactly you’re showing it to makes you want to throw up. He stares for so long you wonder what he’s thinking, a lazy grin splitting his face. A hand nudges your thighs apart, moving your leg to give Sukuna more access to you. With an arm around your waist, his hand cups your cunt, rubbing it softly. You shift nervously. His thumb moves then, rests at the hood of your clit, pulling up to look closer at it. You hold back any noise as he examines you, bent pointer of the opposite hand brushing over the hair on your skin with a laugh.

“Unexpectedly, it’s pretty,” He says and your eyes shoot wide open. “Good job brat.”

“What are you,” You pant, your breath hitching as you close your eyes.”staring so much for it?”

“It’s mine to stare at.”

You don’t think of your uncle as particularly possessive. It’s more like he believes in that so much, so unshakingly nothing else could be true. You wonder if there’s more to it. He didn’t seem angry even after you told him about seeing a boy.

But comparing the two, Sukuna outclasses him in all ways that it should matter. He must be confident about that.

He spreads your thighs a little further. You’re half tucked into his side now - an arm around the back of his neck and shoulders. Sukuna ducks down a little, nudging his nose against your neck and scraping his teeth lightly against your throat. He doesn’t do much other than… touch you. Not directly. His other hand, the one not secured around your waist, rubs at your pussy but not in an attempt to pleasure you. It’s exploratory and intimate. He’s just touching you in a way that’s making you restless. And the angle he’s bent down, the proximity gives you a better view of him. From the side where you sit in his lap, you can see the tattoo again.

You shudder then, pussy suddenly clenching in a way that leaves you ashamed. Your uncle notices, though he doesn’t look up.

“Thought of something, brat?”

“No.” You deny, vehemently. He spanks your pussy but not hard. You jolt in reply, a shock traveling up your spine.

“C’mon now,” He hums, predatory. “Don’t lie. That’s not fun.”

“Y-your tattoo,” You say, suddenly feeling the influence of alcohol in a way you hadn’t all evening. “It’s…big.”

“Into bad boys or something, kid?”

You frown. “You look like a yakuza.”

This makes him laugh, more genuinely than you’ve ever seen him laugh. “Getting warmer, I guess.”

You don’t say anything to that. Instead spurred by the sudden confidence. “Why aren’t you…touching me?”

He looks at you surprised then tilts his head. “Is that what you want?

“I don’t want any of this but it,” You squirm again. “Feels weird.”

“Sounds like you want something, at least. Go on, tell your oji-san what you want.”

You scrunch your nose up at him, a familiar feeling of disgusting flitting through you. It fades as quickly as it comes.

“I’ve never put a-anything inside,” You admit, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“That so,” He hums. His middle finger slides down the wet seam of your cunt as you tell him this. You nod but you don’t think he’s really listening. His hand is warm, and big - and his fingers are thicker than yours. One of yours may as well make two of his, no end to how imposing he is. You don’t protest as he starts to touch you. You simply take a deep breath, holding onto him a little tighter.

With your head turned towards him, Sukuna leans in again to kiss you. It’s deep from the beginning this time, and a little rougher. He bites lightly on your lower lips as his middle finger dips down towards your sex. Your insides are throbbing, hot and wet as you feel some friction. It’s the first time anyone else has ever held you in your life, every touched you directly like this. Against your will, your body is sensitive to the stimulus. Everywhere he touches you goes alight, and the kiss makes your tummy flutter. A tender feeling of want spreads you open, tears you apart right in front of him.

With parted lips and a heavy head, you kiss him as his middle finger dips down low enough to penetrate you. A soft gasp pulls from your throat.

It doesn’t feel unpleasant.

“I thought it was going to hurt more.” You admit, feeling him inside of you. It’s a new sensation but it’s not bad.

“It shouldn’t hurt if you’re aroused enough. And wet enough. You seem to be both.”

You frown at him, face pinching. It’s washed away quickly by the sensation of him pushing deeper. It’s hard to describe it as anything other than feeling something inside of you. Deep in a place you didn’t think it could go. You shake a little, trying to get adjusted. Sukuna does it carefully, slowly - thrusting in even strokes and keeping you focused on kissing so you’re not too conscious of it.

He’s not thoughtful, not really - but you can tell that he’s going slower for your sake and that makes your heart stammer uncomfortably. The last word you’d ever use for him is kind but he’s not being horrible and it’s unsettling you.

Once one finger goes in and out smoothly, your uncle starts to add another. You feel it that time, the stretch of it - gasping hard at the sudden sensation. Your breath catches in your lungs, hand clutching at his shoulder for purchase. He pulls away from your mouth, his breath near your ear.

“Easy, little one. Give it a minute.”

“It feels different. It’s,” You can’t form the words as two fingers penetrate you in full, slowly being eased inside of you until Sukuna is knuckle deep. Your breath hitches. “Not like it hurts.”

“It’ll feel good in a second.” He says assuredly, voice smooth and raspy against your ear. You feel combative at his confidence, but then a minute passes of him rubbing along your insides and something strikes against you like lightning. You pause, blinking confused as Sukuna laughs. “There it is,”

“There what is?”

“C’mon kid, I know you’re too busy with school but you don’t know something so basic about your own body?”

“What is it, oh.”

His other hand toys with your clit, rubbing it in slow circular motions as he gauges your reaction to the touch. You jolt from the sudden pleasure, getting used to it slowly. You didn’t realize how badly it was throbbing to be touched until he does it in full. Your mouth dries up immediately. Little shocks of electricity spark up through you as his hands go full in on your body. The combined pleasure starts to uptick, something building slowly but surely. It goes from not feeling like much to feeling like something. Feeling physical.

Your mouth drops open in sudden shock, eyes lidded as you moan unabashedly - unable to keep the sound at bay. You own a vibrator, use to cum quick and hard just to curb the feeling. You’ve had orgasms on your own but nothing has ever felt like this before. It’s undeniably satiating, mimics the feeling of eating something and nearly making yourself sick on it. You go slack-jawed, your nerves on fire.

Two fingers curled against your silken walls and another two toying at the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs leaves little room in your brain to think. The only thing your body seems to remember is how to moan and whine - make these pathetic little noises you’ve never heard in your life. You didn’t even know you could make. Oddly enough, Sukuna is quiet through it. He makes grunts and little affirmatives but he’s mostly silent. You mostly hear the sound of your own voice.

The sound of your own wetness. You can feel the sticky sensation of your arousal but you can hear it even better. It’s lewd to listen too, wet smacks mixing with the pathetic bleats of your voice make you feel hot all over. Skin prickling with heat and sensation.

“I knew you were sensitive but haah. If I would’ve fucked you today, you would have cried.”

The thought drifts idly by about his cock and your whole lower half reacts to it by going weak. It aches just thinking about anything bigger or longer entering you than his fingers.

“Figure an insolent little kid like you isn’t much of a crybaby. I’m sure I can make you one.”

You don’t even think about asking what he means.

“Feels,” You make a gasping noise, body suddenly going tense. “Hngh, fuck. Feels so good, holy fuck.”

He groans a little. “I’m being too nice to you. I really should be balls deep in your cunt already and I’m not. You gonna cum for me, huh brat?”

You nod your head dumbly, unable to retort. To think of anything but the sensation washing over you.”Go on. Do it. Cum for your perverted oji-san.”

Something about the depravity of it sets your mind numb. Your body goes tight, every nerve firing off at once as you grip onto his shoulder and let the feeling of euphoria wash over you. Your whole body is so stimulated it’s numbing. The feeling of pleasure crashes into you, leaves your spine arching - mouth dropped open and nearly screaming. Your sanity melts, fades off completely and your brain feels like it’s gone empty. You close your eyes so hard little splashes of white show up in your vision, like you’re seeing T.V. static.

You think you scream. You don’t know. You just know that you’re cumming, hard, just from his hands and you’re terrified of what else he’s good at. You don’t think it boils down to sensitivity as the waves of your first orgasm ripple through your body.

You lay in his arms, sweaty and limp. Your vision is blurry with tears as you open them to look at him. Sukuna is rubbing your side, taking his fingers into his mouth. You look at him surprised as he does. He grins.

“Tastes good, kid.”

You flush. “Shut up.”

“Don’t think I’m done with you quite yet.”

Sukuna guides your hand to his pants, over his bulge. You gasp a little at it. His size through clothes is astounding to you.

“I’m not so generous to leave with nothing, you know.” He pats your thigh, moving you from his lap. “I’ve got a better idea than trying to teach you anything today, so try to hold still.”

You don’t know what he’s talking about until he guides you on the floor. You’re confused until you feel him position you - facing towards the couch with your knees spread on the floor. In doggy, you realize a little too late, your upper-half supported by the couch cushion. You feel more confused than you felt a moment ago.

Sukuna positions himself behind you. You can’t see him, but you can hear the soft rustle of his clothes moving as he stands on his knees behind you. More than that, you can feel his cock resting on your bare ass. You gasp, feeling the weight and size slide against your curves. Sukuna does a breathy little laugh at your reaction. He’s huge.

“Don’t cry kid. I told you I wasn’t gonna put it in tonight and I meant that,” He hums. His hands come to your hips, all of a sudden pushing them together. “Push your thighs together as tight as you can.”

You listen to him. You can do it with some effort despite how weak your body feels. You lean forward on the couch for support, bringing your knees together and pressing your thighs. You don’t understand what it’s for until something hard pressing along your spine moves down the curve of your ass. You gasp aloud as his thick cock pushes between your thighs, tip catching against your swollen clit. Your whole body is covered in goosebumps. Sukuna moans low in his throat, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Fuck, that’s it.” He hums, sounding pleased. “Keep them tight for me, alright girl? Try to at least.”

Sukuna is wordless as he grips your hips, your flesh dimpling under his bruising grip. You're silent, your voice threatening to spill again as you try your best to listen to him. You keep yourself tight and firm, your hands gripping the couch cushions as Sukuna pushes his cock between the fat of your thighs and starts a pace.

The angle makes you gasp, body feeling weak at the way it touches your clit with each bump. Sukuna doesn’t hold back at all. You’re not being penetrated but the weight behind each of his thrusts makes you feel like you’re being fucked. The bruising sensation of skin against skin - the hard muscles of his own legs smacking against the softness of your thighs.

Most embarrassing is the way the position makes you conscious of your uncle's cock. You knew he was huge before, but the way he’s thrusting. Where it reaches when he does thrust makes your throat feel nearly tight. You can’t stop thinking about the fact it’ll be inside you. You can’t imagine taking it in your hands - the girth and length of it fucking impossible. And he wants to fuck you with it? Take your virginity?

He’ll stretch you so open if he does. You can barely think of it fitting in you. When you do, your whole body shudders in a horrible and pathetic way - a new wave of arousal striking a strange chord. As he bumps and ruts against your clit and your mind fills with such lewd images, a new wave of lust starts to pour through you.

It’s unhelped by the feeling of Sukuna’s cock - getting so close. The throbbing with each thrust and the low, throaty groans he keeps vocalizing against your ear. All of it proves to be too much for you. It shocks you when you feel yourself grow hot all over again. Not even being touched directly and so soon after your first - a mere few minutes.

And you find yourself with all your muscles tight, your hand reaching back for Sukuna as you plant your face against the cushions and let him fuck hard between your thighs. You feel incoherent, stupid and so fucking horny. You’ve never experienced it. You can’t think of what to moan, so you choose his name.

This makes him laugh as he bends over you, his teeth biting your shoulder blades.

“Gonna cum again from this brat? Aren’t you fucking easy? Come on, cum with me. Just like that, take it. Fuck, that’s it. Good. Good girl.”

It’s the last bit of tension that pushes you over the edge, whether you care to admit it. Your voice breaks as a second orgasm washes through you - more intense but much shorter than the first and you nearly fall limp. You only barely manage to hold yourself up as your uncle keeps thrusting relentlessly.

You can feel him twitch hard between your thighs when his orgasm finally hits. You shake as you feel him squish the tip between your thighs - hot ropes of cum spurting against the swollen mound of your cunt and dripping down your thighs as he finishes. He smacks your ass as he finishes, making you yelp. Your whole body is rife with exhaustion, finally coming down from high-highs and low-lows.

“We’re gonna have a lot of fun together for the next few months kid,” He says, almost affection in his words. You’re too exhausted to reply, looking at him over your shoulder. “Let’s get along and do our best.”

“You’re a sick-fuck, oji-san.”

“And you’re a whole lot like me, aren’t you kid?.”

#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #sukuna smut #jjk smut #writing tag #dark content cw #incest cw #dubcon cw #abuse cw #grooming cw #<- kind of sort of not really hes just gross.#THIS HAS SO MANY TRIGGER TAGS .. SORRY

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nanamiskentos · 3 months ago

Text

ACHILLES COME DOWN — ryomen sukuna

prologue. → you had given the king of curses what he had wanted the most, an heir, borne of the wife that he loves. but for one typically vicious and unshakeable, you wonder why sukuna is left so shaken by how much your daughter takes after him.

you wonder at how the vast ribcage of a demon and a cold killer, who can make the sun rise in the west if he so wished, was once the ribcage that held the beating heart of a young boy, with little space for him, or his mother, in this world.

pairing. ryomen sukuna x afab!reader

warnings. reader is sukuna's wife and they really love each other, just in their own twisted way. tried so hard to not make sukuna ooc so he comes across as an awful bitch sometimes. mentions of violence, blood, giving birth. lots of angst, hurt, comfort, mild fluff, suggestive, dubious in parts of the backstory, heavy focus on sukuna's childhood. sukuna calls reader 'woman' and 'brat.'

word count. 8.4k song inspiration. achilles come down — gang of youths

a/n. this artwork by @innaillus lives rent free in my head, it was the driving force for this fic idea...wanted to make this something different to what i usually do.

mp3 you crave the applause yet hate the attention, then miss it, your act is a ruse. it is empty, achilles, so end it all now, it's a pointless resistance for you.

for all the jujutsu and sorcery that flourished in the world, with unearthly displays of mastery over lief and death, you loathed how none had devised a technique to pluck an unborn child from the womb, and deliver it to the world without pain, without effort, and without this infernal ordeal that had left you slumped against silk cushions.

the air of your chambers hung heavy with a languid quiet, steeping in the residue of suffering, triumph, and undeniably, the light scent of iron in the air that made you wrinkle your nose.

the faint rustle of bloodied sheets reached your ears, punctuated by the rhythmic hum of the cicadas just beyond the paper screens, their song rising and falling like the tide of some ancient hymn.

summer lingered there, stubborn and sweltering on your brow, as the tremor of your hands betrayed the harrowing hours of labour behind you, though it had felt like centuries.

she was impossibly small, your daughter, her form as delicate as ceramic from the kiln, and just as luminous. her hair, peach-pink and fine as spun silk, gleamed softly in the amber glow of the lamplights, a gentler echo of her father's sharper strands.

the infant stirred in her swaddling, a tiny yawn parting her perfect, bow-shaped lips before she blinked up at you with wide, unfocused eyes.

the sight of those eyes stopped you. their hue was unmistakable — the very shade of your own, what a mirror of familiarity nestled in in the impossibly round irises of the child.

your breath hitched, and then a laugh escaped you, weak and thin from exhaustion.

the sound startled the maids, their hurried motions faltering for an instant, but you paid them no mind. your fingers simply brush over the baby's smooth cheek, marvelling at the warmth of her, at the life so newly arrived, and yet so firmly tethered to you.

"one question answered them," you murmured, the words falling from you, "two eyes."

what an absurd observation, a flicker of thought that should not have mattered in this moment. yet it did tug at you. you had wondered often during the long, sleepless night of pregnancy, whether this child would resemble their father entirely. whether this child would inherent that jagged, fearsome visage and the shadow that hung over the king of curses.

you had privately hoped that there would at least be something of you in the child, something gentler, and tethered to the world of men.

your musings were interrupted by the low murmur of voices beyond the screen, followed by the familiar sound of footsteps, deliberate and unhurried.

the servants hushed themselves immediately, and a moment later, the door slid open.

"lord sukuna," one of the accompanying nobles intoned, bowing so deeply that the hem of his crimson sokutai kissed the polished stones of the floor.

what a redundant announcement, for sukuna's presence often needed no introduction. you would swear that the chamber, warm with the glow of the lamplight, shrank beneath the weight of him.

even the cicadas outside seemed to hush their song as his shadow stretched across the tatami mats.

you felt his gaze before you saw it, — those piercing rust eyes, a force unto themselves. they lingered on you, a single breath held between one moment and the next, before shifting to the swaddled bundle cradled in your arms. you studied his face, willing yourself to decipher the mask of his granite expression.

hope tugged at you, fragile and foolish, searching for some flicker of sentiment, some crack in the marble of his countenance. yet his features remained inscrutable, as if carved from stone by a hand too cruel to grant softness.

but you knew your lord husband well. the absence of visible emotion was not the absence of feeling. his silences were not voids, but rather labyrinths, frustratingly so often. still, you watched him, not daring to speak, as sukuna moved with inhuman grace, as his steps no longer made sound on the floor.

your eyes fell on an odd object being carried in one of sukuna's four hands. dark silk was wrapped tightly around a small, irregular shape, and the bundle was unassuming at a glance. but you knew that nothing sukuna did was without purpose, without some motive.

but his eyes did not hold the indifferent glance of a man acknowledging his heir. it was something sharper, and heavier.

what did he see in the infant's tiny, sleeping form? what judgement had he already rendered in the silence that stretched unbearably to every corner of your quarters?

was this displeasure? disappointment? no, there was no anger etched into the sharp planes of his face.

but sukuna had wanted a son, he had said so, enough times that had left you running your anxious hands over your swollen belly. the thought coiled around your heart like a serpent, tightening with each second.

an heir must be strong. he had said it once, not long after you had first told him of the child growing within you. and in the quiet hours of that autumn night, you had wondered what strength had meant to him.

was it the unyielding will that had carved his name into infamous legend? the power to command, and collapse armies and legions, to bend the wills of mortals, and curses alike? a boone that could only truly be carried by a son?

you had never dared to ask the alternative.

swallowing your doubt, you finally spoke, unable to bear it any longer, "sukuna," you said, your voice quieter than you had intended, and even to your ears, it sounded raw with ragged exhaustion, "you have a daughter."

the words lingered, fragile as a spider's silk, trapped in the web of this room. it seemed that the maids, nor the nobles, dared to raise their eyes, as their breaths seemed to hang on the response.

now his shadow was cast over you, dimming the light of the world around you, but his four eyes flicked between the child at your breast, and then to your face.

"she will spill much blood on this earth," his voice as deep and steady as the foundations of the earth itself, "like her father."

the words struck you, like a hammer reverberating against a bronze bell in the quiet air. had you not braced yourself for his disappointment, for the cold practicality that so often shaped his actions?

but you were glad to see something else in his eyes, certainty, conviction, and even the faintest glimmer of traitorous pride. relief simply swept over you, filling in the spaces where paranoia and fear had coiled.

a small smile broke across your lips, though it felt fragle, as if one wrong word could shatter the moment. nevertheless, the lingering doubts that had clung to you, as heavy as a sunrise fog, began to dissolve in his searing presence.

"i am glad," you murmured, "that you are not angered. for i did not give you a son."

sukuna raised a single thin brow, his expression as unreadable as always, though the faintest trace of something akin to amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth, "any child of my blood will be strong. i am glad that my wife did not pass from blood loss during childbirth."

you melodramatically sighed but a laugh danced on your mouth, that was essentially a heartfelt confession of sukuna's love for you, in his own twisted way.

"well," you replied, doing your best to sound bolder than you felt, "if you're feeling so magnanimous, you may as well tell me what that is."

your gaze was in the silk-wrapped bundle that still rested in his lower right hand, "could i hope that it's a loving gift for me? your wife who did not pass from blood loss?"

the ghost of a droll smile quirked sukuna's lips, a rare thing that seemed to thaw away some of the cold ice on his features, "you will get your gift later," and there was the faintest flicker of heat in his tone, the sort that made your stomach twist and your cheeks burn anew.

you quickly lowered your gaze, pretending to fuss with the edges of the infant's swaddle. the maids had suddenly busied themselves with unnecessary tasks in the farthest corners of the room.

"this," sukuna continued, lifting the package, "is for her."

for a moment, his words didn't register. you blinked, surprised, and your eyes flicked from the mysterious artifact to the tiny, slumbering child in your arms.

"for her?" you echoed, and the idea of the king of curses bring an item for a child, his child, felt strange, but tender in its unfamiliarity, "what is it?"

instead of answering immediately, he sat his hulking form beside you, sinking the silk of your sheets further into the wood frame. the wrapping fell away at his touch, revealing what lay within.

a spear, small and exquisite. wickedly sharp, and glinting faintly even in the dim light. it's shaft was adorned with intricate carvings of coiling dragons and parting clouds, and it had clearly been crafted for a hand far tinier than sukuna's own.

"a...weapon?" your stomach turned faintly, blanching at the sight of something so deadly meant for someone so fragile, unease colouring your voice.

sukuna sighed at your tone, like he had already predicted your protests, "it is tradition. a blade is the first gift given to a child, in the house of a warrior. it must be a promise."

"a promise of what?" you asked, though you weren't sure you truly wanted to hear the answer.

"of strength. that a child will grow strong, regardless of blood or lineage."

you looked at your daughter, so small and so impossibly fragile, and then down at the spear, the fine metal glinting faintly in the amber lamplight. you were certain that if you were to lay a finger on the razor edge, it could split your flesh apart with blooming drops of wine-red blood.

"she is but a few hours old," you murmured, "what strength must she carry already?"

sukuna's gaze was umoved, but not unkind, "the child carries a burden whether she knows it or not. the world is not kind to those who are weak. would you not see her survive it?"

a harsh truth, but spoken without cruelty. you studied sukuna's face, bathed in the lamplight, searching for something that you couldn't quite name. for all his barbed edges, you could have sworn his words nursed an older grudge. but you knew, in your heart that he was right, your daughter had been borne of a mortal mother, but of an immortal father, of a darker thread in this world.

a father, one who did not know how to speak of love, but who offered it in the only way he knew.

to sukuna, love and violence sat hand in hand, bloodied and stained.

"still," you said, deciding to drop the serious protest, for now, "a strange world you live in, where a weapon is a fitting fit for a infant? your wisdom knows no bounds," and your voice was laced with the teasing incredulity that he would tolerate only from his wife.

his crimson eyes flicked toward you, calm and unbothered, though the faintest smirk curved the corner of his mouth, like a blade just shy of unsheathing. "admittedly," he said, his deep voice like thunder rolling across a distant plain, "i hadn’t realised that babies were so… round. and weak. and plump."

"you were a baby once."

"never. i was born with the taste of blood and flesh already in my mouth."

"you’re insufferable," you said, though there was no real heat in your words. sukuna was not as naive as he pretended to be; you knew this game too well. his dry humour was his way of stirring you, drawing you out, even now.

"well," you said with a soft sigh, gesturing toward the swaddled bundle in your arms, "set the weapon aside, my dear warlord. for now, at least. let her meet her father before she’s introduced to steel and blood."

for a moment, his gaze lingered on you, unreadable as always, though something unspoken and hesitant flickered there, like the glow of embers beneath ash. then, with a small incline of his head, he relented.

"very well, pass the brat," he muttered, his tone lower now, softer.

you extended the child toward him, her tiny form impossibly small against the vastness of his marked hands.

for a fleeting moment, you worried — fearful that his strength, so absolute, might overwhelm her delicate frame. but when his fingers brushed against the blanket, they were steady, almost reverent.

he took her into his arms, his hold firm yet astonishingly gentle. what a beautiful little thing, you thought, as she stirred faintly, her little face scrunching in a way that made your heart ache with unexpected tenderness, for her and for this rare moment of quiet from your husband.

"how...small," sukuna said, almost to himself, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. the crimson of his eyes softened as he gazed at her, no longer the gaze of the strongest jujutsu sorcerer or a fearsome curse, but something far more human, a shadow of a man he might have once been.

"infants tend to be," you replied softly, watching the way his expression flickered, but you shifted closer to him, "here, let me unwrap her."

with careful hands, you unwound the swaddling cloth, each pull of fabric careful. the delicate folds slipped away in a quiet hustle, revealing the soft, flushed skin of the newborn, her form small and fragile in the dim glow of the chamber. a scattering of fine, rosy hairs crowned her head like the first petals of a spring bloom, soft and fleeting.

but then, as the last of the cloth unraveled, the room seemed to still. beneath her, something did not quite belong.

four arms. for, just like her father, another set of limbs was stacked underneath the first.

a chill ran through you, but you kept your gaze fixed upon her. the sight was no less miraculous for its strangeness, no less wondrous, but something shifted in your chest, a flutter of uncertainty.

oh, your darling baby girl.

your breath faltered for only an instant, and then a wry chuckle escaped your lips. "no wonder it hurt so much pushing her out," you griped, the words an attempt at brief levity.

the maids behind you had stilled, their eyes wide with shock, their breaths drawn in in silence. but you scarcely noticed or cared for their reaction.

your attention was on sukuna, and the subtle change that passed across his features like a shadow moving across the face of the sun.

at first, there was nothing — no word, no sound from his tight, pursed lips. his crimson eyes flickered over her, shifting from the unexpected sight of her four arms to her face, as though searching for some other sign of familiarity. his hold on her, though gentle, became uncertain, the steady grasp of one used to absolute control now wavering in the presence of something too delicate to tame.

no one would have seen the change in your husband, but you did. you always did.

"ah, sukuna," you whispered, "it’s alright. hold her properly."

sukuna's jaw clenched, a muscle jumping in the corner of his mouth, painted with all the sweetness of rancid milk gone sour. but at last, he obeyed.

slowly, deliberately, his hands shifted, cradling the child with a kind of reverence that seemed foreign to him. the baby stirred faintly, her small hands brushing against his bare chest, and for the briefest of moments, a flicker passed across his expression — something that could have been warmth, or tenderness, or even pain, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

just as swiftly, his face returned to its usual impassive mask, the stoic countenance of a cruel warlord, implacable and untouchable. the walls of armour, built up over years of battle, of bloodshed, closed in around him once more, and you were left with the unmistakable sense that he had retreated behind them.

your brow furrowed as you watched him, "what's wrong?"

"nothing, woman." he replied curtly, and you could already sense the serrated edges of his tone, the one you would hear when his mood had gone afoul.

he placed the newborn back into your arms, and you nestled the infant close to your breast — and you blinked, taken aback by the suddenness of the gesture, your fingers stinging from the instantly cool touch of his skin.

"you have done well," and his voice was low, clipped.

a fleeting silence followed, thick with the weight of his half-hearted praise, or rather lack of his apparent love.

"done well? sukuna - " you repeated, unable to mask the incredulity in your voice, "my lord, that is all you have to say?"

his eyes rested on yours, cool and unyielding. beautiful and terrible, in the way that a soldier may have admired a temporary moment in time watching crimson shimmer and soar across the sky, before it fell down in acrid blood rain. terrible, all the same.

on any other day, his infuriating brevity and sharp demeanour might have sparked a flame of annoyance in your chest, but today...was not quite so. though the shadow that rest upon him would not reveal itself, you searched his face nevertheless for what had unnerved him so. but as always, sukuna's features were as unreadable as ancient stone.

his gaze flickered for a moment to the maids who lingered at the edges of the room, their wide eyes watching with an almost palpable curiosity. and without a single glance at you, or the baby girl nestled in your arms, he turned away in long strides, past the threshold and onto the balcony that held the evening's last fading light.

you let out a long, slow sigh — at the poison that had sunk its furled teeth into your husband once more. this was hardly the first time he had withdrawn into his own sullen, brutal thoughts, locked behind walls that you had not the key to breach. and it certainly would not be the last. you could only hope that this ill vein of his mind would not end in someone's pumping blood being spilled over the floors.

"uraume," you called softly, glancing toward your friend and confidant, who had been standing silently near the wall, having accompanied sukuna.

the short, silver-haired sorcerer turned their rosewood eyes toward you, their expression as stoic as ever, like frost that had settled over granite.

their hands were folded neatly in front of their heavy snow-robes, but you caught the faintest quirk of their brow as if to say what now?

you gestured toward sukuna's figure on the terrace, brooding and awfully solitary, "what has gotten into him?"

uraume shrugged, as unimpressed as always, "would that he has found himself in one of his moods again. you know how he is."

you frowned, not entirely satisfied with their answer, for what ill mood could have sunk its claws into sukuna after the birth of his only child. but still, uraume had known sukuna far longer than you had.

"can you hold her for a moment?"

at that, uraume hesitated, their stoicism faltering for the briefest second, "me?" they asked, their cool tone clipped but their light-teak eyes darting to the baby with thinly veiled interest.

"yes, you," you said with a wry smile, "ah, don’t pretend as though you don’t want to."

their lips pressed into a tight line, but you saw the way their hands moved almost instinctively, reaching out before they could talk themselves out of it. with practiced care, you transferred the baby into your friend's arms, watching as uraume's stern demeanor softened, just slightly, as they looked down at the tiny bundle.

"careful," you teased, adjusting the swaddle around your infant daughter, "she might charm you into smiling."

"unlikely," uraume deadpanned, but the faintest ghost of warmth touched their dulcet voice.

the evening air was cool as the breath of a shadow, brushing against your skin, and you watched as the pale pink petals of the gardens below fluttered in the winds, falling in gentle arcs around the estate.

you sighed, wrapping your robe tighter around your form, as the sheer fabric clung to your skin like the last vestiges of warmth that the day had offered. the coolness was a balm, but it did little to ease the deep ache in your legs, nor the weariness that had clung to you like a second skin now, so soon after an arduous labour.

you made your way onto the balcony, the rough floor beneath your feet cold and unyielding — and there, sukuna sat, his broad frame hunched slightly over the stone bench.

you paused, only a slight shadow behind him, unsure whether to disturb the stillness of his thoughts or let him be. the space between you was...heavy, but you broke through the silence.

"are you going to tell me what's wrong," you asked, trying to keep a lightness to your tone, "or are you planning to brood out here all night?"

you could only hope that you had not overstepped, for his moods were as tempestuous as the wild storms of summer's monsoons. although his promise of blood on skin, and guts on the table, had never been directed at you.

a flicker of irritation had brush over sukuna's face, as his gaze remained fixed on the horizon. a warning, perhaps, a retreat?

for a moment, you lingered where you stood, wondering if it would be worth your time to weather whatever tempest brewed within the king of curses. and you hesitated, fingers twitching with the urge to reach out and place a hand upon his broad shoulder. but something held you back, not tonight.

instead, you settled beside him, the cold stone of the bench biting into your thighs and abdomen through the thin fabric of your robe, a deep cramping that you wished you could settle with a steaming bath.

for a long while, sukuna said little. but you heard his small exasperated sigh, at the inconvenience that you had apparently created for him. a subtle movement in the dark silk of his robes, and without a word, he spread the folds of his garments wider so you could move closer to the searing heat of his bare skin, and rest upon the fabric, rather than the icy rock currently beneath your pelvis.

"sukuna, please. are you well?"

"why wouldn't i be, woman?" but the words fell between you, false and brittle in the warm air, betrayed by the clench of his jaw.

it must be of little standard, how you're pleased that sukuna has not blasted his beloved wife into cinders, and so you press on, undeterred now by the silence.

reaching out, you take one of his four hands, so much stronger than your own, into your grasp. your fingers weave into the thick tattoos marked on his skin, over faint scars that must stretch back to a golden age, long abandoned by the world. but here, his skin is warm and living, and solid beneath your touch. it is rough in places, like a weathered boulder, but there is no resistance in his grasp, no usual sharpness in a retreat.

"i wonder," he mutters, and you look up from studying his hands in surprise, "what mine own parents must have thought when i was born."

your breath catches, for sukuna has never spoken of family, not once in all the years that you have known him. after all, you had seen your husband in reminiscence many times, usually after a great flagon of rich drink.

about stories of battle and triumphs, of how greatly he enjoyed severing a stray general's head from the man's body, of how excellent the wine was five centuries ago, or how he found it a nuisance that it was no longer acceptable to chase after servants with a crossbow for the fun of the hunt.

but never had a word been uttered of those who came before him.

"you've never mentioned your family, sukuna," and you don't miss how his hand twitches under your hold, "never heard a single thing about the last king and queen of curses."

the sharp, razor lines of his body tighten, and sukuna does not smile, does not soften. his face is as unreadable as ever, like a mask carved from iron wood.

"i come from no such line, certainly not from kings," his tone is flat, only a mild sneer in his voice as the prospect of nobility, and you watch the handsome slope of his nose in the twilight, the stern profile that you had grown to admire in the time of your...tumultuous marriage.

he speaks the words like they are the final bookend of a story, the last page, with nothing left to say. but you tilt your head, watching the hard line of his jaw, and the way his fingers mildly tighten around your own, like an anchor.

"who were they?"

sukuna finally turns his head to face you, the faintest shift in his posture as his eyes finally meet yours. the look he gives you is cold, disinterested, and the subtle roll of his lower eyelids betray a flash of frustration and anger.

you frown at the fleeting, cutting gesture, but it is nothing new for you, "it was just a question. i've just never heard you speak on this before."

sukuna rolls his broad shoulders, half-hearted and dismissive, as though this conversation itself has suddenly become an inconvenience that he's barely willing to entertain. how typical.

"never found it relevant."

you aren't sure what is more unbearable now, the dull throb in your legs that still lingers from the birth, or the faint copper tang of the afterbirth that you're certain is now pooling on your robe, or the heavy, oppressive heat of the summer air that seems to suffocate in your throat.

but somehow, all of it combines to make your husband's behaviour just a bit too much, even for you, the one who has become so accustomed to the emotionally stunted king of curses.

"please, sukuna," and you loathe how it sounds as though you are begging once more, hoping there's no hint of the bitterness of your tone, no crack of anger, but it is hard to tie that mask in place when it seems like every part of your body is breaking, aching and exhausted, "i just gave birth to your child, our child. everything hurts, and i'm tired, and i just want to rest," you pause, and the words slip from your mouth before you can stop them, "and now you're off sitting here, and you didn't even want to hold her? what am i supposed to do?"

even you are surprised by the rawness in your own voice, the trembling that has begun to spread across your chest, until you realise with a quiet shock that your eyes are wet, and your face is streaking with tears that leave your head laden and heavy. you had not meant to lose composure like this, but now there they are, hot and clinging.

and sukuna's usual stoicism seems momentarily shattered. he's staring at you as if you have sprouted horns, as though an extra head has sprung from your neck. it is a subtle change, the faintest narrowing of his brows, the way his lips press together in an effort to tamp down whatever rude words he was going to spring forth upon his already fraying wife. but at this point in time, you do not care to read him, nor to decipher the layers of his complex, decaying heart.

but his rough hand reaches out, almost clumsily, and they brusqely brush the damp streaks from your cheeks. the gesture is far too gentle for one who only responds to strength, violence, and sometimes, decapitation.

but it is the first gesture of tenderness that he has offered in what feels like an age, "stop that, woman. this does not befit you," and the edges of his robe catch the falling droplets from your face, dampening the silk.

and sukuna's mouth is now downturned, the edges of his lips twisting in that familiar, inscrutable way. you wonder, for the thousandth time, how he ever reconciles the savage nature of the beast that he has become, with the faintest echo of what was once humanity beating in his chest, "wasn't trying to upset you, brat."

his voice pricks at you, and you wipe the last remnants of tears from your skin, but there's a sudden warmth in your cheeks, at the embarrassment of breaking like this, rather than lingering sorrow.

"if you're that desparate to know, my mother was a servant."

you blink, unsure whether you are hearing correctly, for sukuna's voice does not even falter, despite the apparent chink in his impenetrable armour. but this is no great surprise, perhaps, his mother had been a concubine to a lord, some powerful man, or the emperor himself?

sukuna had now looked away from you, his gaze turned to the darkened sky, "lived in the palace. or actually...worked there, didn't get to even live there. they had her live in some shack off on the edge of the estate," and his voice is like the wind in a sealed tomb, bitter and stale.

"with the animals," you murmur, and it is not intended to be cruel. you know better than to speak so carelessly with sukuna, and you have learnt that pity is something he cannot abide, he abhors it. has never wanted it, not from you, his wife or queen, nor any other.

but now sukuna grunts, low and gutteral, "don't even remember much of it. could only keep a stupid goat in there, at best."

you find yourself absently fiddling with the hem of your robe, the thin fabric slipping through your fingers, past your nails.

"and your father?" you wonder if he can hear the question that hangs on the edge of your words, a powerful man? even the emperor of that time had been known to dabble in jujutsu, and other forms of more foreign magic from the continental homeland.

"no name that i would waste my time mentioning," and sukuna's tone is heavy with disdain, and a sneer has spread on his face, having slipped past the mask of constant indifference, "or a name that i would have even bothered to find and learn. clearly...didn't care for the likes of mother. some lowly foot soldier she met one night, never appeared before her again."

you're not quite sure how to respond, how to fit his surprising words into a world that you're familiar with. you, born with royal blood in your veins, a lineage of kings and khans. you, who grew up in a palace with a gruff but loving father, and an overbearing but kind mother, or the warmth of a large band of siblings swarming around you.

you, who had never gone to bed cold, always had a fire on her back, had grown up with jewels draped across your neck.

"must not have been easy, sukuna."

you watch him closely, and you can tell that he's doing his utter best to wave your gaze away, to disguise this as a casual tale, one to be dismissed on the morrow. but you wonder, with a sense of sorrow, if there is a single living soul alive who has been privy to this story, aside from uraume, most likely.

but sukuna shrugs, a quick and careless motion, and the movement tousles his head of rosy hair, sharp spikes swaying, "she said i had been born in a time of famine," and you can hear him running his tongue behind his teeth, "that she had to serve the emperor fine banquets everyday, while she came home to not even two sticks of wood to put together for a fire."

and then, he turns his second pair of eyes on you, those crimson eyes that seem to see straight through the world, "said she had no idea how i even survived to birth," and your lower region pangs at the mention of your recent labours, "that it was a miracle that i had been born strong enough to live past a few hours in the cold."

you squeeze his calloused hand again, a soft press of rare reassurance to one who most likely does not care for such sentiments, and this time he allows it — a kind mercy you think, born of some unwilling guilt that lingers from having you weep.

for a fleeting moment, his hand remains, coarse over yours, but his expression hardens once more, like magma went hit with the cool wind. he pulls his hand away with a swiftness that makes your heart ache.

"sounds like she really loved you," you hum, but the words sound weak even to your own ears. unable to change anything, or stitch over whatever scars shaped the king of curses, but you say them anyway, fumbling for something to offer.

his scarlet gaze flickers to you once more, and for a moment, you think he might scoff. but instead, sukuna gives you a peculiar, twisted look, as though caught between disbelief, and a painful, begrudging acknowledgement.

"i- sure," and his voice is lower than the muted tone that you're accustomed, rough but listless, "used to sit there, putting scraps of cloth together for the winter. from the sacks used to carry feed for the horses."

you wince, unbidden, as the image cuts through you like a blade. of a faceless child draped in rough, burlap-like cloth, and a mother's raw hands working to piece together anything that might keep her son warm through the cold winters. but it is hard, hard to see that faceless child as the king of curses now, no matter how you peer up at sukuna's stern profile.

you think of your newborn daughter, her soft and downy cheeks. the way she had nestled into you with such implicit trust. you try to imagine the same tenderness in the woman who was the mother of the demon later known as ryomen sukuna, but when you close your eyes all you see is death and war, blood painting four hands as they pulled off man's head, clean at the jugular — at your wedding feast.

"how did you survive?" and the question feels intrusive, almost cruel, but he's only given you a fractured and worn story, a thread that you're dying to follow.

sukuna gives you a sharp look, his brows knitting as he takes in the mild teary hitch in your voice, "don't start getting weepy on me now," he huffs, coarse but not callously, "you asked to know. and don't think i'm going to sit here, and hold your hand through it."

you nod, chastened but affronted, as he continues, "i did what any child would have done. stole what i could from under the carts of merchants, bread from the palace, scraps from the barracks or medicine."

"medicine?" you ask, your curiosity slipping through.

sukuna's expression darkens, and for the first time, there's a flicker of something far more raw in his eyes, and you don't quite appreciate the way he's glowering at you as if it were your doing, "she was sick. sometimes."

the words are clipped, meant to cut short any sympathy you might try to offer, but they lodge deep in your heart all the same. and in a cruel corner of your mind, a thought emerges.

was it birthing him that made her sick? did it consume her spirit and body, the birth of the king of curses?

fortunately, and unbeknownst to your lord husband, shame rises to your cheeks as swiftly as the notion comes, hot and furious. you swallow it down, forcing your lips to stay shut, horrified with your own insensitive thought.

but now the silence is stretching before you, as a long yawn. you glance at him again, at the defiant set of his shoulders, and you shake your head of the ridiculous surge of protectiveness towards a beast, one such as sukuna. but you still cannot picture him as a small and gaunt boy, with quick and desparate hands, trying to survive a life that he did not ask for.

"she must have been proud of you."

sukuna sneered, but it lacked its usual edge, "proud?" he shakes his head, glancing at you with an expression you can't quite name, "would've wanted better than this."

better than what? you want to ask. better than the wealthiest man in the realm? the most powerful sorcerer in written history? the king of curses?

but what do you know? and so, the words don't come. instead, your fingers twitch in your lap, aching to reach for him again, and knowing that he would just pull away once more.

"and yet, men compose sonnets of your power. the king of all the light and shadow touches," and your voice must be laced with a quiet wonder, at what it is to be so feared, but it is not admiration.

"my mother did not want that for me," sukuna says, his tone sharp, ruminating with a hard expression, "but i did it anyway. they wouldn't take me at first, not a child with no family to present him, nor gold to weigh in his favour," and the words are low, and biting, as if speech sits bitter on his tongue, "so i took up the sword. trained until i was good enough to join the legions."

"and then?" though you know that there is little point in asking, for the tale is now one that you have heard before. written in dried blood, and throughout history. it is famous on the mainland, on the islands, on the continent, to where the horse-lord khans are now raising great empires. but hearing it from sukuna's mouth feels different, like tracing your fingers over the jagged edge of a rough wound.

"sought power in other place," and now he's looking down at you, physically, but also knowing him, quite literally, "soft thing like you has never seen the rest of the world, but there were masters who never answered to a throne."

"crushed every army of the great clans, north to south, every squad of the sun, moon and stars. brought them to their knees, one by one, and tore their throats out," and you can hear how sukuna's tongue kisses his teeth when he speaks, as if he's reminiscing the taste of beautiful iron in his mouth, "and when it was done, the emperor, the same one who ruled while my mother and i rotted on his estate...he bowed to me."

"they invited me to the harvest festival after that," he continues, his lips twisted in a bitter smirk, "in the capital. worshipped me like an idol, some ancient hero."

it's never lost on you on how sukuna's tone is the most pleased when thinking about how blood rips from ripe arteries and wounds. but his eyes are colder than the snow-capped mountains of the earlier months, and they betray no joy nor triumph. it is simply what happened, as if told from the vantage of a stranger.

you hesitate, the next question caught in your throat. but the need to know burns brighter than your fear, "your father," you say carefully, and there. the tell-tale clench of sukuna's sculpted jaw, "he was a soldier, was he not?"

his eyes remain fixed beyond the terrace, where the light faded long ago. for a moment, you think that sukuna has not heard you. but then, he speaks, his voice akin to the rumble of thunder on a faraway horizon, "my father," and his tone is entirely devoid of feeling, "could have been one of the soldiers i killed, i care not."

"what did you mother say after all that?"

for a moment, the silence stretches between you, heavy and unyielding. and privately, you have grown much tired of this brooding quiet, but you fancy not being blown to ashes alongside the rest of this estate, so you let him linger.

but sukuna has inhaled sharply, and his wandered gaze has snapped back with an edge you hadn't expected, "i wouldn't know," and now, this feels more like an open wound, "died when i was twelve winters."

there is no softness in his tone, no tremble or catch to suggest the pain of memory, for it is too old and too familiar. but the world around you seems to dim as he still speaks, "hadn't learnt reversed curse technique by then. hah, if she had lived longer..."

and sukuna closes his mouth with a snap, as if an unseen poison has dredged to the surface. for it is not within the king of curses's nature to regret. to wonder what if?

you can see it in the way sukuna's hand clenches at his side, the subtle twitch of his mouth. it is not grief that overtakes him, nor even regret. it is something darker, colder — a wound that time has turned to scar tissue but never truly healed.

and again, you try. to imagine her, a woman bent by the weight of a hard life but still fierce in her love for her son. you still cannot see a face, but you can picture frail hands threading through coarse fabric into a makeshift tunic, telling her son stories to chase away the hunger and cold of the night. and you wonder about fate's cruel hands, for her son would first grow into a man, and then something crueler and inhuman, one who could topple armies and empires, one who sung fangs into still-beating hearts. but not in time to save her.

it is a sad story, but you know better than to offer your apologies. one thing still lingers in your mind, pressing against your thoughts like a stone beneath rushing water.

"what does this have to do with your daughter?"

your husband suddenly looks at you, quizzical, and he's faintly confused. you frown, clarifying before he can twist your meaning, "it's just...you seemed upset after holding her. i thought -"

sukuna's expression shifts, a flash of irritation breaking through his impassiveness, "what? that i loathed the sight of her?" his lips curl into a smirk, laced with a drier humour, "hope she got my brains, and not yours."

you scowl at him, your indignation quick but shallow at his cheap barbs. without much thought, you jab an elbow into his bare side. but he doesn't flinch, of course he doesn't. but a mild smile breaks through, faint as dawn's first light. and for now, it's enough for you.

but then sukuna's face clouds again, and the weight of his brooding thoughts seems to settle over him once more. you sigh, and venture a guess, your voice quieter now, gentler, "you’re worried about her because she was born as you were."

sukuna scoffs, "tch! don’t make me sound so weak and weepy, like you."

"ryomen," you say, letting his name stretch out, both affectionate and exasperated, "it's alright to care about your infant daughter. no one is going to topple your throne over it."

"i'd invite them to try," he snarls, shooting you a hard look, like you were going to raise an army later that day.

"it wasn't easy for me," he adds, and the edges of his words are brittle, "didn't quite have that grasp on jujutsu when i was younger. ended up even melding flesh together to try and hide two arms out of four. or...almost crushing them together so they would break and bend."

"what a cruel strife, delivered upon a child," you're frowning, at the vivid imagery and at how sukuna delivers it in such a matter-of-fact way.

but your husband dips his chin, and you're left staring and wondering, just what it would take to have him break away from his unholy pride, "a fair exchange," he says, "wasn't a stranger to what people called me. or thought."

"you know what the difference is?" and you've paused long enough for the words to settle, to break him out of his reverie, "our daughter has a loving father," and sukuna's face twitches.

"and," now, you point at yourself, "a loving mother. i do think she will grow up strong."

you almost say that she will grow up safe, happy, content. peaceful. but you had stopped yourself, for you had pushed the king of curses enough for one night, emotionally at least, and you know that 'strong' is something that he respects, something that he can hope for without feeling lesser for it.

"she better," he grunts, and you smile at the faintest glimmer of pride slipping into his voice, pride at what he deems a worthy creation from him, and you, "i don't care if she was born today, i need to see her cursed technique."

"sukuna!" you snap fiercely, and it just draws a rich laugh from him, one that makes you sigh too, for you think that your husband is often (and ironically) like the sun. for when he blazes far too hot, and bright, you can feel the burn sting. but when sukuna glows, all tend to clamour to bask in his rare warmth.

you laugh with him, the sound light in the still of the night, and before he can pull away or grumble something sardonic, you press a soft kiss to his cheek. sukuna huffs above you, the noise low and guttural, a half-hearted complaint about how he is being suffocated, but you feel the warmth bloom under your lips.

and it is sweet, in its own odd way, at how his creamy skin flushes quickly, betraying him, and his lower set of eyes flutter close. for a brief moment, the king of curses is almost bashful, the storm clouds parting as quickly as they came.

as you rise to your feet, you feel the ache in your thighs, but you tug lightly at his hefty arms, urging him, "come, my lord," you say, your tone teasing but warmer, "come see your daughter now."

sukuna doesn’t move at first, his gaze following yours, tracing the place where you had just been sitting. his expression shifts, darkening as his eyes fall on something. "is that blood?" he asks, the words sharp and low.

you glance down, catching sight of the vivid smear on the stone—a crimson stain stark against the dimly lit fabric. your shoulders tighten, a flicker of embarrassment sweeping through you before you remember that this is not your fault, and you glower, your voice bristling. "afterbirth," you mutter, crossing your arms as if to shield yourself from the moment. "would have been nicer to pass in my own bed."

the faintest quirk touches his lips, an almost-smile that flickers and vanishes as quickly as it came. "you must be hungry," he says, his tone succint but carrying the faint edge of something softer—something close to concern, though he would never name it as such, and call you foolish if you did.

you sigh, the weight of exhaustion pressing against you like the tide, for you desperately wished to rest, "you have no idea," half a complaint, half a confession.

sukuna doesn’t reply immediately, but you catch the way his gaze softens, lingering just long enough to remind you that, despite his gruffness, he cares more than he lets on. perhaps, in his own way, he is just as raw and exposed as you are now.

again, you tug at his marked arms, insistent, and he sighs — long-suffering, as if your request were a monumental task. yet, he rises, uncoiling his tall frame until he towers over you, the shadows darkening most of what is around you.

before you can utter another word, he sweeps you close, all four of his arms encircling you with an ease that borders on reverence. his lips brush against your forehead, fleeting but gentle, a moment so tender it nearly takes your breath away.

and then, like clockwork and a theatrical grimace, sukuna pushes you away, his expression twisting into an exaggerated mask of disgust. it's his strange, unpolished way of showing affection, and you can’t help but snicker, the sound light and unburdened.

"you’re ridiculous," you tease, though your smile lingers, soft and warm, and he mutters some comment about how he doesn't even like you.

"you know,” you begin, "i asked uraume to hold our daughter in the meantime."

His eyes widen, incredulous, and for a moment, he looks genuinely doubtful, "huh, this entire time. uraume cannot have agreed to that."

"they did!" you insist, triumph lighting your voice, thinking of the petulant sorcerer probably making faces at your baby indoors.

sukuna shakes his head, muttering as if the mere notion defied all reason, he who had seen mountains turn to dust and oceans part. "unbelievable," he says, his tone caught between disbelief and faint admiration, as though uraume's rare acquiescence were an impossible feat.

you had returned indoors, arm entwined with one of sukuna's which had pulled you close with a sudden, almost possessive gesture.

and lo and behold, you found uraume still kneeling by the cradle, with their eyes fixed on the infant, who was staring back at the ice-sorcerer with curious intensity, oddly knowing for one so small.

and uraume, typically stoic and cold, leans in loser to the child, now gentle and cooing, "yes," they murmur, "and when you are all grown up, you will listen to me. i don't care if sukuna has a stroke. your father is prone to theatrics, and your mother is prone to equal dramatics. but you can learn from the best there is, me."

sukuna, ever the cynic, guffaws, "i hope you are not indoctrinating my heir," you laugh at the flicker of amusement in both sets of his eyes.

you catch the briefest glimpse of an embarrassed flush on uraume's pallid cheeks before the sorcerer quickly recovers, lips pursing in an exaggerated show of indifference.

"i do not care for this pudgy thing," uraume huffs, the words a touch too hasty as they thrusts the child back into your arms, clearly uncomfortable with the softening of their usually unyielding nature.

and when sukuna's peering down at the child, with barely veiled interest, the same set of eyes that you carry end up meeting blood-red eyes with teeth.

your daughter, promptly robbed of uraume's gentler attention and less-monstrous features, begins to wail, loud and teary, as sukuna growls, affronted.

"can't you put the child back in you?"

the linked artwork belongs to the artist. but the header and writing belong to curtins.tumblr.com. likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated, but do not repost my work!

#sukuna x reader #sukuna #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna jjk #ryomen sukuna #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk sukuna #sukuna x y/n #jjk x you #works #SHES FINALLY DONE! this took me sooooo long idk i really struggled w trying to nail sukuna right #sukuna smut #jjk smut #daphworks

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carbondioxidewater · 4 months ago

Text

Final part of ex-bodyguard!Toji...☁️ (-> Pt. 1) (-> Pt. 2) (-> masterlist)

ex-bodyguard!Toji who really wanted to leave you alone, but when he stood in front of you, your gaze meeting his, he couldn't believe his eyes. Because what lingered in your eyes, beyond the still present anger, was longing. Your whole body language told him to stay away from you, but that look of yours, full of passion, full of temptation, made him hope again.

ex-bodyguard!Toji who simply knew you too well. They say eyes are the gate to one's soul, and that was true, because yours bored right through his, lured him in like a man bewitched. And as much as you tried to hide it, he saw right through you. But he knew you were still too hurt at the moment, which is why he let it be. For now.

ex-bodyguard!Toji who found out you rejected that guy. And he knew then and there that it wasn't over, that he couldn't let go. He decided in that moment that he would fight for you.

ex-bodyguard!Toji who was hopelessly devoted to you again. He almost gave up on you - almost, because how was he supposed to live without you now that he's got a taste of heaven?

ex-bodyguard!Toji who sent flowers to your job, to your house, even left gifts at your doorstep - always with a little card attached to them, apologizing and begging. He was going to win you back at all costs. And it worked, because slowly, you let your walls fall, let your coldness towards him warm up.

ex-bodyguard!Toji who was such a smooth talker. The way he flirted with you made you feel like the most desirable being on earth. Your bare existence was his most valuable treasure.

ex-bodyguard!Toji who made it all feel just like magic. He courted you like a gentleman which caused you to feel lightheaded, but most importantly, he made you fall for him all over again.

ex-bodyguard!Toji who promised you he was being genuine, who explained everything to you - from his early childhood to this very moment. He told you how his clan treated him like garbage because he wasn't 'good enough'. And you too gave him a thorough insight into your life, confessing that your father never cared about you unless you were of any use to him. The fact he entrusted you with his vulnerability made you feel connected to him in a way you haven't before. Your bond strengthened to the point you started to understand each other entirely.

ex-bodyguard!Toji who kissed you like it was your first time, gentle yet intense; who fulfilled your every wish.

boyfriend!Toji whose greatest gift was your forgiveness and whose biggest pride was the possession of your precious heart. He wouldn't lose you again, and if he did, he would lose himself too.

boyfriend!Toji who didn't take long to pull out the ring, and it took even less time for you to accept the proposal. Your time together was the purest bliss, true euphoria, ecstasy. You spent all your free time together, so obsessed were you with each other. You couldn't believe you were going to be a wife - and his at that. And you also would've never thought he'd take over your surname, the one of your loving mother. You sure were the luckiest woman alive.

husband!Toji who never stopped the honeymoon phase treatment, loving on you more and more each day, like a man gone mad - deprived of you like a plant without water whenever you were gone for more than a few hours. He was attached, but so were you. You simply couldn't take your hands off of each other and you could never get enough.

husband!Toji who named your son Megumi, because it means 'blessing'. What name could be more fitting, considering the love of his life gave him a perfect mixture of their shared love - of you and him? He sure was the luckiest man alive.

husband!Toji who supported you through thick and thin, through pregnancy, birth and - eventually - sickness. As hopeless as it was.

husband!Toji who did lose you in the end, and as promised, himself as well. Who grieved your death like his own life came to an end, like the world caved in. He was just a corpse waiting to get buried. And suddenly, he was the unluckiest man alive.

widower!Toji who abandoned his one last blessing, because nothing on this entire earth could ever make him happy again. The sight of your features on his face made it unbearable to be near him.

widower!Toji who took the wrong jobs, the ones that put his life in danger, because he didn't see worth in it anyway; who risked everything because nothing mattered anymore.

widower!Toji whose game played out in the end, who finally was granted his wish when one job went wrong, who could join you in the afterlife and spend eternity alongside you...

(Wrote this with the biggest headache ever cuz I had a long day and already wrote and posted another post today but I can't disappoint y'all)

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onceinablueberrymoon · 20 days ago

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the name game | husband!salesman x pregnant!reader

part 5 is up! scenario: pregnant!reader is overdue and put on bedrest. you quickly grow bored and try to find ways to stay entertained, one of which involves a certain former player. setting: a few months after the events of season 1; set shortly after i spy. for added context, please read part 1, part 2, and part 3 first! word count: 1.9k warnings: pregnant!reader; deception; practically taunting gihun (poor guy); lots of fluff; reader and salesman work for the games; mentions of birth; no use of y/n; second person POV notes: sorry this took so long, this was more difficult to write than i first imagined. everything after this part will take place in season 2, so it shouldn’t take as long :) also, i felt so bad for gi-hun while writing this lol. as always, please enjoy! borders by @enchanthings-a!

Any day now.

That’s what the doctors told you two weeks ago.

Ever since you passed your due date, your husband had basically confined you to bedrest. He didn’t want you walking out and about in such a vulnerable state. To top it off, it just so happened that recruitment had finished for the 35th Games, meaning that he could stay home to care for you. Your doting husband waited on you hand and foot, bringing you anything and everything you craved. Even so, he would have to leave the apartment for hours at a time, whether it be to buy groceries or to take care of some business for the Frontman. When the salesman wasn’t there, boredom quickly became your best friend.

Since you had so much time on your hands, you decided to do a deep dive into Seong Gi-hun. While you had previously done research on the man that considered you a friend, you realized you didn’t know too much about his recent life, other than the fact he was lonely and vengeful towards the Games.

You retrieved your work laptop from your desk and settled on the bed against the headboard. A sharp kick from the baby caused you to flinch. You couldn’t wait to be done with your pregnancy.

Opening the Games’ database of players, you browsed through the files until you found what you were looking for: List of Players, 2020. You clicked the folder, which had profiles of the players from the year Gi-hun won. Your eyes scanned the numbers before eventually arriving on 067.

Kang Sae-byeok.

Browsing through her profile, one detail caught your eye.

“How did Gi-hun know someone from North Korea?” You whispered to yourself.

While it wasn’t uncommon for North Koreans in debt to make their way into the Games, they usually didn’t have close allies. You remembered how distraught Gi-hun had been when 218 had stabbed her in the neck. Gi-hun had also told you how he had helped Sae-byeok’s younger brother afterwards by entrusting him to his childhood friend’s mother. But you were baffled as to why he would go to such lengths for someone he just met.

You closed Sae-byeok’s profile and scrolled down to click another number.

218.

“Cho Sang-woo.” You muttered under your breath. You remembered him from the final game against Gi-hun, and that the two seemed to be closer than just competitors fighting in a match to the death.

Scrolling down, you noticed that he had graduated from Seoul National University. Then it clicked. Gi-hun had once mentioned a childhood friend who had attended that school in one of his many stories, but you had forgotten his name.

You grimaced. With that background, he must have screwed up big-time to have landed in that much debt. When you saw that he put up his mother’s shop as collateral for his loans, you almost pitied the man. Clearly, he was desperate.

The sound of the front door opening and closing interrupted your thoughts. Peering through the open doorway of your bedroom, you tried to get a glimpse of your husband and whatever goodies he bought you. Today’s craving was pastries from the local bakery, which he had promised to get on his way back.

“I’m home,” he called from the foyer. He soon entered your field of vision, holding his briefcase in one hand and your bag of treats in the other. You cheered, clapping your hands. He came to your bedside to place a kiss on your head, then another on your bump.

You smiled, rubbing your stomach gently. Another kick. “Mini’s active today.”

While you decided not to know the sex of the baby until they were born, you still chose names for your child: Min-seok for a boy, and Min-seo for a girl. Regardless of gender, you had affectionately nicknamed the baby “Mini”. Your husband wasn’t the keenest on the idea of nicknames in general, but seeing you happy made his heart swell.

“What were you doing while I was gone?” He glanced at your computer screen.

“Trying not to die of boredom. Do you know if Gi-hun was close to that North Korean girl before the games? A…” You looked back at your notes. “A Kang Sae-byeok?” Your husband shook his head.

“He took her brother out of an orphanage to leave him with 218’s mother. What a hero,” you mused. “Speaking of which, did you know that 218 was Gi-hun’s childhood friend?” Again, your husband shook his head.

You continued, “Cho Sang-woo, top of his class at SNU. Yet he still ended up in crippling debt.” Your husband nodded. “It’s not surprising, I suppose. They came from the same place, after all.”

Suddenly, your cellphone rang. It was Gi-hun.

“Why would 456 call you?” Your husband asked curiously. You shrugged. “He told me that he would update me on the investigation.”

Answering the call, you put Gi-hun on speakerphone.

“Hello? Are you there?” He called your name.

“Any news?” You asked.

“Not yet, but Mr. Kim thinks he has a lead. One of his men received a suspicious business card, but the phone number was out of service.” You could hear him sigh.

Then, an idea popped into your head.

“Gi-hun-ssi, could I get your opinion on something?” Your tone was innocent, which made your husband turned to you, his eyes wide. Nothing good ever came of you feigning innocence.

“So my husband and I were thinking of names.” You spoke casually. “What do you think about ‘No-eul’ for a girl? I know ‘sunset’ is kind of cliché and all but it’s so pretty… Although if the baby’s born at dawn, perhaps ‘Sae-byeok’ fits better instead?” You could hear Gi-hun’s breath hitch on the other line. Your husband let out a small chuckle.

You paid him no mind, continuing on with your rambling as if nothing happened.

“That is, if the baby is even a girl at all. Maybe it’s a boy. My husband wanted to wait until the baby’s born. Everything’s a game to him.” You paused.

‘Damn,’ you thought, ‘I hope Gi-hun didn’t pick up on that.’

He said nothing.

“Anyway,” you shook it off. “What do you think?” It took a few moments for Gi-hun’s voice to crackle through the speaker.

“I… I think either is nice.” Silence. “I once had a friend named Sae-byeok… It’s a beautiful name.” His voice was strained. Even though you couldn’t see his face, you could tell he was trying not to cry.

“Oh, really? That makes it even more special. I’ll keep that in mind.” You replied sagely. “If the baby’s a boy, my husband suggested naming him after his uncle.”

Your husband raised his eyebrows, looking at you expectantly. You took a deep breath. This was going to hurt.

“…Do you know if the name ‘Sang-woo’ is popular nowadays?”

Almost immediately, sobs began pouring out from your phone’s speakers.

“Gi-hun-ssi?” Your voice was laced with concern. “Gi-hun-ssi, are you alright? Did something happen?”

“I-I’m fine. I have to go. P-please let me know what name you choose.” The line went dead.

Your husband let out a low whistle. “I’m impressed. You’re more cruel than I thought.” You giggled, blowing him a kiss. He climbed in bed to sit next to you, and you curled up into his side as best you could. He rested a hand on your stomach like he always did before peppering your neck with kisses. You chuckled. He truly loved when your dark side came out.

After the initial rush of excitement wore off, you started to feel a bit bad for Gi-hun. His reaction was more intense than you expected. Perhaps you took it too far.

Your husband’s lips on yours snapped you out of your thoughts. Then, as if sensing your anxiety, he smiled softly.

“Don’t worry. I doubt 456 will make the connection. It was just a coincidence.”

You nodded. It was just a big coincidence — both names were common enough. And besides, Gi-hun had no reason to think you and the salesman were connected. For all he knew, your husband worked for Samsung.

You rested your head on your husband’s shoulder and he placed a kiss on your forehead. You soon dozed off, the pastry cravings (temporarily) forgotten.

A pang in your belly woke you up from your slumber. While you were generally uncomfortable all the time for the past couple months, you were never in pain. This was different. Your hand flung to clutch your bump and you took a deep breath to ride out the pain, which soon ended. But that did little to ease your concerns.

‘Was that a contraction?’ You wondered. You had had false contractions recently but were told not to worry. How were you supposed to know what real ones were like?

A sharp kick to your side. Strong enough to wake your husband whose hand had slightly slipped down your belly.

“Are you alright?” He asked, glancing at your distressed face.

“I… I think the baby might be coming.” You took a deep breath, the weight of your words crashing down.

The moments that followed were a blur. You vaguely remembered your husband helping you out of bed and the cramped drive to the hospital. After spending hours in agonizing labour, you gave a final push, and your baby had arrived. Their shrill cries did little to comfort you – you just wanted to hold them. The nurse soon placed the baby on your chest and maneuvered your arms to hold them properly.

The world around you seemed to fade away, your focus solely on the tiny newborn you were holding. Distantly, you heard someone say, “It’s a boy.”

Your husband kissed your cheek and murmured, “You did so well.” You let out a breathless chuckle, tears welling in your eyes.

As your son opened his eyes, you let out a little gasp.

“He looks just like you, don’t you think? His eyes are the same as yours.” While his features were still scrunched up, it was clear that he was your husband’s son.

You carefully passed your son into your husband’s waiting arms, and you wished you had your phone on you so you could take a picture. The difference in your husband was striking – his usual cold and stoic recruiter persona had disappeared and was replaced with this warm, calming presence. You almost cried when your husband kissed the top of your son’s head.

Even though he never said anything, you knew he worried about becoming a father. Your husband didn’t talk about his own father, but from what you gathered, he hadn’t been a good one.

A nurse soon came with the birth certificate. “Do you have a name?”

You looked at your husband, who had since passed your son back to you. A sly grin formed on your face.

“So, Sang-woo?” Your husband laughed, shaking his head.

You turned to smile at the nurse, who was visibly confused. “His name is Min-seok.” She nodded and scribbled the name down before leaving the room.

The three of you were left in comfortable silence, with Min-seok stirring every so often in your arms. Soon after, your exhaustion caught up with you, and you handed him off to your husband so you could get some well-deserved rest. You watched your son snuggle into his father’s arms, a smile gracing your face as you drifted off to sleep.

tags: @delfinadolphin

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