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nixiefics · 4 months

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Posses

Pairing: Robb Stark X Silent!Sister Reader

Warnings: Smut, posessive Robb, p in v sex, oral (female receiving), rough sex

Robb Stark winces as you carefully manipulate his leg, guiding his hip back into place with practiced hands. The sharp intake of breath that escapes him when the bone finally clicks into its rightful position tells you just how much pain he’s been enduring. You’ve been a Silent Sister in training for only a short time, but already you’ve seen more suffering than you ever imagined possible. Yet, this man, the Young Wolf, is different. His pain seems to ripple through you as if it were your own.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice strained but genuine. His blue eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you forget the vow of silence you took upon entering your order. You nod in acknowledgment, your fingers still lingering on his hip, feeling the heat of his body through the thin linen of his undergarment.

Days pass, and you tend to Robb’s injuries with unwavering diligence. His recovery is slow, but each day he grows stronger. You watch as he interacts with his men, see the respect and loyalty they have for him. He’s not just their King; he’s their friend, their brother. It’s a bond forged in the fires of battle and tempered by the fairness and justice he shows them.

Grey Wind, his direwolf, is never far from his side. The massive wolf seems to sense your importance to Robb, often watching you with intelligent, piercing eyes. When you approach, Grey Wind’s posture is relaxed, but the unspoken warning is clear: you are under his protection as well.

But it’s not just his men and his direwolf who are drawn to him. You feel an undeniable pull towards Robb Stark. His kindness, his honour, his unwavering dedication to his family and his cause – all of it captivates you. You’ve seen men broken by war, their spirits shattered as surely as their bodies, but Robb remains whole. More than whole, he seems to grow stronger with each passing day, his determination like a beacon in the dark.

One evening, as you’re tending to another soldier’s wounds, you feel his eyes on you. Robb watches from across the camp, his jaw tight, his eyes dark with something you can’t quite name. Jealousy? The thought lingers as you stitch up the gash on the soldier’s arm, your hands steady despite the intensity of Robb’s gaze. Grey Wind is by his side, growling softly, mirroring Robb’s protective feelings.

Later, as you change the dressing on Robb’s hip, he grabs your wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. “You spend too much time with the others,” he says, his voice low and edged with frustration. “I need you with me.”

You look up, startled by the intensity in his eyes. You try to pull away, but his hold tightens. “I don’t want you tending to them,” he says, his voice rough. “I want you by my side. Always.”

You nod, your heart pounding. His possessiveness is startling, but also oddly reassuring. It means he cares, that he values you more than you realized. From that moment on, you are always at his side, tending to his needs, ensuring his recovery. Grey Wind often lies nearby, his presence a constant reminder of Robb’s vigilance even when he cannot be with you.

The other men notice, their eyes following you with curiosity and a hint of envy. Robb’s attention and possessiveness are clear to all, and it changes the dynamic in the camp. No longer just a healer, you are now the woman who has captured the heart of the Young Wolf.

One day, you’re tending to a minor injury on a young soldier when Robb storms into the tent. His face is a mask of barely controlled anger. “Leave us,” he commands the soldier, who scrambles to his feet and exits hastily.

Robb strides over to you, his eyes blazing. “I told you, I don’t want you with them,” he growls, grabbing your hand and pulling you close. “You’re mine.”

You can feel the heat of his breath on your face, the intensity of his emotions crashing over you like a wave. His jealousy is raw, visceral, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You’ve never seen him like this, so consumed by his need for you. Grey Wind stands at his side, his eyes fixed on you, a silent enforcer of Robb’s wishes.

“I can’t stand seeing you with them,” he admits, his voice a harsh whisper. “It tears me apart. You’re the only one who understands me, who makes me feel whole. I need you, only you.”

You reach up, placing a gentle hand on his cheek, feeling the tension in his jaw. You nod, your silent promise to be by his side always. His grip on you softens, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. Grey Wind nudges your leg gently, as if to seal the promise.

In the weeks that follow, Robb’s possessiveness only grows. He keeps you close, his eyes always on you, ensuring that no one else can claim your attention. It’s a fierce, consuming need that drives him, a reflection of the depth of his feelings for you. Grey Wind is never far, his protective presence a constant reminder of the bond you share with Robb.

One night, as you sit by the fire, he pulls you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “You’re mine,” he whispers into your ear, his voice a low growl. “No one else’s. Remember that.”

You nod, your heart swelling with a mixture of love and something darker, more primal. Robb Stark may be the Young Wolf, a fearsome leader and a brilliant strategist, but to you, he is simply Robb – the man who would fight the world to keep you by his side. And as you look into his eyes, you know that you would do the same for him.

One afternoon, you are out gathering herbs when a group of soldiers approaches you. They’re friendly, asking for your help with minor ailments. Before you can respond, Grey Wind appears from the trees, teeth bared, a low growl rumbling from his throat. The soldiers step back, fear evident in their eyes.

You pat his head gently in warning, but the direwolf’s eyes remain fixed on the men until they retreat. When you return to camp, Robb is waiting, his eyes dark with concern and jealousy.

“Were they bothering you?” he asks, his voice tight.

You shake your head, but Robb pulls you into his arms, holding you close. “I don’t want you going out alone anymore,” he says. “Grey Wind will accompany you, or I will.”

You nod, understanding the depth of his worry. His possessiveness is more than just jealousy; it’s a need to protect you, to keep you safe in a world that is anything but. You feel his love in every fierce look, every protective gesture, every time Grey Wind’s eyes follow you like a shadow.

As Robb’s recovery progresses, your bond deepens. He confides in you, shares his fears, his hopes, his dreams. You listen, your silence a balm to his troubled soul. And in those quiet moments, you realize that you’ve found something rare and precious in the midst of war.

Robb’s men see the change in their lord, the lightness in his step, the hope in his eyes. They see the way he looks at you, the way Grey Wind shadows your every move, and they understand. The Young Wolf has found his heart, and it beats for you.

One night, as you sit by the fire, Robb’s arms around you and Grey Wind at your feet, he whispers, “You’re mine, and I am yours. Always.”

You smile, knowing that no matter what the future holds, you will face it together. Robb Stark may be the Young Wolf, a fearsome leader and a brilliant strategist, but to you, he is simply Robb – the man who captured your heart with his honour, his kindness, and his unwavering love. And in his eyes, you see the same love reflected back at you, a bond that no war, no enemy, can ever break.

"You should rest, My King," you say softly. "Let us retire for the evening."

Your words leave him stunned for a moment. You have taken a vow of silence, yet here you are, speaking to him. The surprise in his eyes quickly melts into something deeper, a mixture of relief and gratitude. Robb nods, allowing you to help him up, your hands steadying him as he leans on you for support. Grey Wind shadows your every step, his amber eyes watching protectively.

As you guide Robb towards his tent, the camp around you starts to quiet down. The fires burn low, casting flickering shadows that dance in the night. You can feel the weight of Robb’s gaze on you, the unspoken questions simmering just beneath the surface.

Inside the tent, the atmosphere is warm and intimate. You help Robb ease down onto his furs, his eyes never leaving yours. He reaches for your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. “Why now?” he asks softly, his voice tinged with curiosity and concern. “Why break your vow of silence?”

You take a deep breath, kneeling beside him. “Because I need you to understand,” you begin, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. “My silence was a shield, a way to distance myself from the pain and suffering I witnessed. But with you, it’s different. I can’t remain silent any longer. Not when my heart speaks so loudly.”

Robb’s eyes soften, his hand squeezing yours gently. “What are you saying?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m saying that I want to leave the Silent Sisters,” you declare, your resolve hardening. “But I will only do so if you share my commitment, if you promise that our bond is as strong as I believe it to be.”

Robb’s eyes widen, his surprise evident. He pulls you closer, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You would give up your vows for me?” he asks, his voice filled with awe.

You nod, your heart pounding. “Yes. But only if you promise to be with me, to share this life with me. I cannot leave my order for uncertainty. I need your commitment, Robb.”

Robb’s expression transforms into one of determination. “I promise,” he says firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. “You have my word. I will stand by you, always. You are not just my healer, but my heart. I need you by my side.”

A sense of relief washes over you, and you lean into him, feeling the warmth of his embrace. Grey Wind huffs and trots to settle just outside the entrance to the tent, a silent sentinel watching over you both. For the first time in a long while, you feel a sense of peace and belonging.

Robb cups your face in his hands, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “You’ve given me more than just my health,” he whispers. “You’ve given me hope, a future I didn’t dare dream of. I promise you, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, to make you happy.”

Tears of relief and joy well in your eyes as you nod. “And I promise to stand by you, to support you in every way I can,” you vow, your voice filled with emotion.

Robb leans in, his forehead resting against yours. “We will face whatever comes together,” he murmurs. “From this day forward, we are bound by more than just duty. We are bound by love.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with promise and certainty. You feel the heat of his breath, the nearness of his lips, and it sends a shiver down your spine. The world around you fades away until there is only Robb—his eyes, his touch, his unwavering gaze that holds you captive.

Slowly, he tilts his head, his lips brushing against yours in a whisper of a touch. The sensation is electric, a spark that ignites something deep within you. His hands cup your face gently, his thumbs caressing your cheeks with a tenderness that belies the intensity of his emotions.

Then, without warning, the kiss deepens. His lips press against yours with a fervour that takes your breath away. It’s as if he’s pouring all his love, all his passion, into this single moment, and you respond in kind, matching his intensity. Your hands find their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft, dark strands as you pull him closer.

The kiss is searing, consuming. It feels like the world is burning around you, but all you can focus on is the sensation of his lips on yours, the taste of him, the way his body presses against yours with a desperate need. Every brush of his lips, every flick of his tongue, sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, leaving you breathless and yearning for more.

Robb’s hands slide down to your waist, pulling you even closer until there is no space between you. You can feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest, mirroring the wild rhythm of your own. His lips leave yours only to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck, igniting a trail of fire in their wake.

You gasp, your head falling back as he finds the sensitive spot just below your ear, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that sends a jolt of pure pleasure through you. “Robb,” you whisper, your voice trembling with desire. He responds with a low growl, his hands gripping your hips possessively as he brings his lips back to yours in another fevered kiss.

Time loses all meaning as you lose yourself in him, in the heat of his kiss, the strength of his embrace. The world outside the tent, the war, the uncertainty of the future—all of it fades away until there is only this moment, this man, and the love that binds you together.

You're vaguely aware of his fingers at the laces of your dress, tugging impatiently at them. Soon, it seems, he loses all patience and you gasp as he violently rips at the seams of your dress, pushing it over your shoulders and hips with a growl. "On the bed."

You crawl to the middle of the bed of furs, your heart pounding with anticipation as Robb stands before you with a hungry gaze. His possessive nature has always been clear, but now it's different - now, it's thrilling and exciting.

He sheds his own layers first, causing you swallow thickly as his chest is exposed; thick thighs built for fighting but that make you think they might be good for other pleasures as well. And then he is completely bare and you feel your core clench at the sight of his cock. Thicker than it was long, with veins running all along it; the thought of running your tongue over those veins makes your mouth water.

"Gods, you're glorious." you whisper, resisting the urge to chew at your nails.

Robb's calloused hands trace the curves of your body, sending shivers down your spine. His touch is confident and passionate, and you can't help but feel desired under his gaze. His lips find yours, and he kisses you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth with a fervour that leaves you breathless.

As he breaks the kiss, his mouth moves to your neck, nibbling and licking the sensitive skin. You moan softly, your fingers tangling in his hair as he continues his assault on your senses. His hands slip under your shift, caressing your breasts with calloused hands. You arch your back, pressing yourself into his touch, wanting more.

Robb takes the hint, his fingers deftly removing your shift and freeing your body to his gaze. His mouth finds your nipples, and he sucks and nips at them, his stubble adding an extra layer of sensation. You gasp, your head falling back as he worships your body.

His hands trail down your body, fingers find your clit, and he begins to rub slow circles, making you moan and writhe beneath him. His other hand joins the first as well, his fingers sliding into your wet pussy. You are more than ready for him.

His head dips between your legs, and his tongue finds your clit. He licks and sucks, his fingers still inside you, curled to hit that perfect spot. You moan louder, your hips bucking as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

Just as you're about to cum, he stops. You look at him, confused, but he just smirks at you. Robb pulls himself to his knees, positioning himself between your legs. He rubs the head of his cock against your clit, making you moan loudly again. He teases you like this for a moment before slowly sliding inside you.

He fills you up, stretching you in the most delicious way. He starts to move, his thrusts slow and deep at first. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you.

Robb's pace quickens, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. You can feel yourself getting close again, and you urge him on. "Harder, Robb, harder," you gasp. He complies, his cock slamming into you, making the bed shake.

You feel yourself on the brink, and then you're cumming, your orgasm ripping through you like a tidal wave. Robb keeps thrusting, drawing out your pleasure until he finally follows you over the edge, filling you up with his cum.

He collapses on top of you, his breathing heavy and ragged. You wrap your arms around him, feeling closer to him than ever before. Robb's possessiveness has always been a part of him, but now, it's something else - it's a sign of his love and devotion to you.

As you lay there, basking in the afterglow of your lovemaking, you know that this is just the beginning of your journey together. And you can't wait to see where it takes you.

#game of thrones #Robb stark x reader #Robb stark smut #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones smut #got x reader smut #Robb stark x reader smut #fanfic #smut #smut x reader

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pin-k-ink · 4 months

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loving the unlovable // ryomen sukuna

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

wc ⇢ 14.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

a few years later

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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the-californicationist · 11 months

Text

he washes your hair

Injured in the line of duty, you can't even manage to wash your own hair. Captain John Price decides to help you out.

MDNI/18+

TW: hurt/comfort, injury

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50663425

The medics did the best they could to patch you up, but the damage was extensive. The terrorist’s pipe bomb had exploded against your back, slamming shrapnel into your arms and shoulders, tearing your flesh and breaking your left collarbone. The doctor had tried to put your arm in a sling, but you couldn’t raise either arm above the midpoint. As you dragged your body back to your quarters, you did your best to get undressed, but you were now stuck, sitting on the floor, crying a bit from the pain and frustration of your injuries.

There was no one to help you. You were stuck out here with the task force, but Soap and Ghost were still deep in enemy territory on recon. Gaz had gone with Laswell to find the weapons shipment that she’d promised you, and the only one left in the makeshift house-turned-base was Captain Price.

You told yourself you’d do the same thing for him if the tables were turned, but it didn’t lessen the shame at all. You called his cell,

“Cap?”

“Sparrow? What’s wrong?”

You never called him like this. Not at this hour. But, knowing you were injured, he picked right up. His voice was full of concern. You could picture his blue eyes shining with his worry.

“Nothing…” you paused, “Well, I…”

“Gonna die of old age before you tell me, soldier.”

You smiled, biting the bullet,

“Cap, I need your help. I’m stuck in here. Can’t move my arms.”

“On my way,” he hung up.

You waited, listening for his heavy footsteps. Eventually, you heard him in the hall. He knocked on your door.

“Come in,” you said, turning your eyes to the floor, unable to meet his gaze, full of shame.

You were sitting there, in nothing but the shirt stuck around your arm and a pair of panties. You’d been successful with the rest of your outfit, proud of yourself for using a coat hanger to take off your bra from the back clip, but now you were trapped, unable to move even a little without being in excruciating pain.

“Poor little bird. Broke your wing, hm?” Price smiled down at you, his tone so different than his usual sarcasm.

“I must look pretty pitiful for you to be so sweet about it,” you rolled your eyes, “Go on, have a laugh. I’m a muppet who trapped herself in her own shirt.”

He didn’t say anything. Price walked over to you carefully, bending down so he could reach you, his hulking body darkening your vision, casting his huge shadow over you, almost protectively. He snaked his hand under the collar of your shirt and guided it up and over your head, careful not to disturb your bandages.

Shirtless, now, and in just your underwear, you moved to cover your breasts, wincing as you made the attempt, your shoulder angry at the bent angle.

“It’s alright, birdie. Let’s get you up,” he set your arm back into its neutral position and guided you to your feet.

“I’m so sorry you had to come,” you whispered, shameful to the point of pain.

Price guided you to the bathroom, his strength making you feel weightless. You were dizzy from it. His warm body felt like a salve on your wounds.

He didn’t ask for permission when he stripped off your panties, kneeling to pull them off of your legs, letting you step gingerly out of them, one by one. You steadied yourself on his huge shoulders, the agony too high for you to complain any longer. Your breath caught in your chest when a sharp spike of hot pain shot through your chest.

“Ah! Christ,” you gritted your teeth.

Blue eyes looked up at you from below, looking like a man in prayer, looking up for his gods, for a sign.

“Alright, Spar? Here, sit. Sit down,” he guided you to the side of the shower-tub combo, placing you between the open plexiglass doors.

“Captain, I…” you tried to make your excuses again.

“Shh,” he wiped some of your dried blood off of your cheek, and furrowed his brow at you, “No more of that. That’s an order, Corporal.”

“Yes, sir,” you grimaced, trying to turn on the water.

“Stop, birdie. Let me help you.”

You were too tired to fight him. He turned on the water for you, and he started to remove your bandages. Your wounds needed to be cleaned and the bandages replaced. You weren’t sure how the medics expected you to do that by yourself. You thought the captain might be willing to stay, so you tried to be good, tried not to be a burden to him.

“You know,” he commented as he waited for the water to warm up, reaching for clean towels, “Laswell called. She said you saved those two girls, the ones in the upstairs room.”

There had been a mess of civilians on this last mission, and you had blocked the bomb with your body, trying to shield them from the blast.

“They made it through?” You wanted to be sure.

He nodded, smiling,

“Sure did, little bird. You did good. Made us proud,” then, he corrected himself, staring at you with fiery intent, “Me. Made me proud.”

You smiled back,

“Thanks, Captain.”

“C’mon, let’s get you clean,” he took off his shirt and you gaped in awe.

His body was huge in the small bathroom, enormous shoulders bulging off of his heavy frame, and his core was thick but the top of his abs were sticking out, suggesting a well-fed but strong man. He was covered in dense hair, laying straight and flat against his skin, unshaven and untrimmed. No one to trim it for, you supposed.

“What are you doing?” You asked, shocked by his undressing.

Price unbuckled his belt, the metal clinking as it dangled, and started to take off his pants, using his toes to pry off his boots from the heel,

“Can’t wash yourself, and I can’t reach you from out here. Gonna jump in and help you,” he paused, looking at you carefully, “That alright, birdie?”

Your nickname was your favorite thing you’d ever gotten from him. When he used it, in his thick accent, it made your heart race.

You nodded, resigning yourself to be as professional as you could, averting your eyes.

He chuckled, rich and deep,

“Might as well have a butcher’s now, love. Gonna be up close and personal.”

You looked at him then, accepting his challenge. But, as your eyes raked over his nude form, you saw his skin flush pink, a little more self-conscious than he let on.

“I know, I know. Old dog like me, I’m nothing to look at. I promise, I’ll just wash you and get back out. Sorry about all the…” he made a general motion toward his cock, which was hanging heavy and half-hard at the sight of you, “Can’t help that you’re a pretty bird.”

“John, you’re plenty to look at,” you grinned, blushing right along with him.

For once in his life, John Price didn’t have a snappy response. He just checked the water again and helped you stand up, guiding you into the shower and repositioning the head so that it wouldn’t hit you directly.

You let yourself soak under the stream, eyes closed, hearing him shut the door behind himself. You felt him steady you with a hand on your hip as he used a gentle washcloth to clean blood off of your skin, careful not to touch your wounds.

“Turn ‘round, love,” his voice was so low, you almost couldn’t hear him.

You turned toward him, watching him stand before you, breathing heavier, trying his best not to stare at your chest. It was easy at first. As he cleaned your face, his touch soft and platonic, he stole a few glances down. But, as he began to take care of your collarbone and chest, he lost his nerve a bit. At one point, he stopped mid-swipe, trying to clean blood from you and then watching as a long, thin rivulet ran directly over your nipple.

You smiled, and he saw you, chuckling again.

“Got me. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Captain. Just a natural response.”

He pulled back his lips from his teeth and ran a wet hand down his face, looking exasperated,

“Do you want…I mean, do you mind if I…” he let out a labored sigh, shaking his head.

“You can, John. I…” you waited until he could look you in the face again, “I want you to touch me, if you want to.”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, not really to you, “Look, I don’t want you to feel - ”

You leaned forward, a bit unsteady, and kissed the skin on his sternum, feeling the hairs on your lips, his wet skin sticking to you as you pulled away.

“Little bird,” he was warning you. You could hear it in his tone.

“Kiss me, John. Please?”

“I can’t. I can’t because I won’t stop. I don’t have an abundance of self-control. Not after a mission. Can’t be trusted.”

“I trust you,” you looked up at him, praying back to him, hoping he wanted you like you had wanted him over these last six months.

Price leaned down, holding you steady, and kissed you very chastely. You kissed him back, not chastely at all. He moaned, pulling away,

“Don’t, Spar. I can’t…You’re injured.”

“Yeah, injured. Not dead.”

He smirked, unable to keep the grin off his face. His cock was as hard as a stone, and it was long enough to rub against your belly as you stood together in the small space.

“Let me wash your hair. I’ll think about it, birdie…you little minx,” his last comment was said under his breath, full of hungry desperation.

He turned you around again, and he reached for the shampoo, pouring out a quarter-sized amount into his calloused palm. Rubbing it together in his hands, he ran it through your scalp, massaging it until it foamed, making sure to take care of the ends. Then, he held you while you stood under the spray, letting the warm water soak your tresses, running the suds down the drain.

As he prepared to wash your body, Price took a deep breath. He stayed away from your wounds, but as he started to wash your trunk, he hesitated to soap your breasts.

“John, it’s okay.”

He smiled at you,

“Just enjoying you, little bird. Might not get another chance.”

“I’ll make sure you get plenty of chances.”

He was on you then, gently caressing your breasts and nipples with the soap, rubbing his body on yours, washing himself as he cleaned you. He ran his hands over your ass cheeks, down your legs, making sure to take care of your whole body as if it was his.

“Alright, all done,” he sighed, “Let’s get those dressings replaced, and I’ll take you to bed.”

You raised your eyebrows suggestively. He exhaled, smiling down at you in disbelief, his voice deep and ragged,

“Fuckin’ hell, birdie. Keep teasin’ me and I bloody will take you to bed.”

You smiled, laughing with him, enjoying his warmth as you leaned your body against his, letting the soft spray from the shower protect you both, cocooned together, safe and sound.

#captain john price #john price #john price x you #john price x reader #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod #cod fanfic #cod fic #call of duty fanfic

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glitter-epoch · 7 months

Note

Hiii, always love to see people obsessing over love and deepspace (bc I'm addicted too), can I please request zayne fic about his hands and fingers? Can be suggestive, can be pure smut, up to you lol, ok thanks byee

HIII yes i can!!! i can't believe my first request is a zayne's hands request this feels like a gift. thank you for requesting i hope you like!!!

[ there’s a part 2 now :) ] ☄. *. ⋆ gn! reader | 2.8k words | suggestive, not smut | zayne gives reader stitches but it's deliberately not described in detail/no mentions of needles/blood

“my lunch break ends in fifteen minutes,” zayne had said, staring past your head in thought. “it would be a waste of time to check you in.”

you stood there in the bustling lobby of akso hospital, one paper-towel-bound hand pressed to the sliced skin over your hipbone, and waited. surely he wasn’t telling you to just leave. you were only friends, so it’s not like he had an obligation to you; but he was your primary care doctor, and...

and. there was, is, an and. you’re not sure what exactly to call it, and zayne is so adonis-like you’re embarrassed to even suggest he might like you.

“i’m sorry,” you said in earnest, a little surprised by his usual coldness that you’d arrogantly assumed would thaw upon seeing your injury. “i didn’t mean for you to drop everything for me. i should have gone to an urgent care, or something, i just thought since you’re here...”

zayne looked down from the spot over your head, clearly removed from his pensive mood. his intention to argue with you was clear, but he held his tongue stonily until you finished your rambling.

“no,” he replied. “you should never go to another doctor. i was just thinking.”

you blushed like an idiot. “ever?” you mocked.

“mm,” he murmured, back to thinking again. he brought his forearm to circle the small of your back, not touching, and motioned you forward. “come with me.”

and now, here you are: sitting on the grey sofa in front of the wall-length window, early afternoon light bleeding white all over zayne’s office. for a few moments, he’s left you alone to gather materials, and you relish in what feels like a small victory.

i’ve been personally invited to the office.

not like it’s the first time, though.

zayne returns with a small kit swallowed by the size of his pale hands; the sleeves of his button-down pinned up to his elbows. you shift, balancing your weight unnaturally on one leg. His eyes snag on you as he grabs his glasses from his desk (far taller than the tabletop, he must lean down to grab those, too).

“lay down,” zayne commands.

you blink, glancing around to try to figure out the most convenient position to get into for him to work. by the time he’s come over and sat down on the glass table in front of you, you’re still sitting up.

“you can put your head on the armrest and your feet that way,” he nods, not a hint of impatience in his deep voice. “i can see you squirming. when you sit up like you are, you’re putting pressure on the wound. it must hurt.”

“i haven’t even shown you the wound,” you retort, not sure why you’re arguing so much- and swallowing a wince as you turn to prop your head up on the side of the sofa.

“i see your handywork,” zayne replies. he pulls on a pair of blue latex gloves and they snap quietly against his wrists. he’s clearly careful not to let the noise be too loud. “hm.”

you frown in place of a (shameful) gulp at the sight of the gloves hugging his hands.

“is this bad?” you ask. “i’m sorry. i tried not to mess with it too much.”

zayne pieces through the small kit on the table beside him. even his rummaging is succinct; long fingers deftly parsing through the stack of metal utensils inside. he comes up with two sets of narrow pliers and a cotton round.

he passes the pliers through his fingers like pencils, balancing them between his knuckles, and pours a solvent that looks like lens cleaner onto the cotton pad.

“not bad,” he says, eyes on the pliers as he polishes them. “the paper towel is fine. but you got it wet beforehand.”

“and that’s bad?”

“you’ll be alright,” he murmurs- or maybe he always sounds like that- and discards the cotton round. the corners of his lips just barely curl. “you won’t die, i suppose.”

“well, i’d hope not. it’s just a cut.”

“and what did you do this time?” zayne demands softly, fishing in the kit for what you now realize will be sutures.

“i had an assignment with xavier and failed to climb a fence.”

“you impaled yourself, then,” he remarks coldly. “and xavier.”

he sets a roll of sterile surgical threads on a wider cotton pad and turns his eyes to your midriff, which is still mostly covered by your shirt; wound hiding beneath it.

“xavier, yeah,” you inhale deeply, mentally preparing for the stitches. “my partner. i’ve mentioned him, i think.”

“yes, you have,” zayne says. his voice is strained. then he inhales, a whole breath through his nose, mouth closed in stoic secrecy; and nods to your hips. “lift your shirt, please.”

you’re grateful that he’s given you a task and you don’t have to look him in his eyes after that tiny display of disdain (for your partner? for your hips? hopefully the former?). But as you lift your shirt, the paper towel comes loose.

“ouch,” you hiss.

you realize you’re probably stressing him out.

“it’s not bad,” you add, uncharacteristically hoarse.

“it’s not,” zayne agrees softly, eyeing the wound with his usual cold stare. his eyes refuse to flicker above or below the cut, which rests just over the shallow ridge of your hipbone, right above the line of your trousers. “but it hurts, i'm sure.”

you nod. “sure.”

“sure,” he repeats, almost as if to mock you, almost as if he’s just making sure he heard you right.

zayne busies himself preparing a cotton round of saline, and in the middle of this, says,

“you’ll have to unbutton your pants. can you fold the waistband over?”

your neck is suddenly clammy. “oh. yeah, sure.”

“if you can’t fold them down far enough, you’ll have to take them off.”

your eyes blow out like glass.

zayne, whom you suspected might have been deliberately extending the length of his cotton-round-preparing, is surprisingly the one to smile first. almost wickedly. “i would get you a cover, of course.”

“oh, how nice of you.”

he laughs barely, an exhale from his nose. you unbutton your trousers, fabric shifting against metal.

he inhales at the sound.

the blue latex over his knuckles catches light from the windows. you watch moments later as he threads the sutures, fascinated by how efficient his hands are. they’re longer than they are wide, and slender, not bear-like; but big nonetheless. and yet his fingers move like knitting needles, never missing a beat, never shaking. “would you like to do it yourself?” zayne asks suddenly.

his voice is like a hum, always vibrating in his chest.

you bristle. “god, no.”

“then why are you staring?”

you’re hoping he won’t finish on that very word, but he does, and he looks at you with his usual resolve of steel. you decide that no answer is the only good answer, and instead say,

“okay. good luck. don’t mess up, please.”

he chuckles and leans over you, the breadth of his sharp shoulders blocking the sun. “i never mess up.”

the words ‘mess’ and ‘up,’ are foreign on his tongue, like he’d never refer to a mistake so casually, like he’s never made one in his life. he probably hasn’t, you think.

zayne lifts up the cotton round, which is practically the size of a pea in his hand. “i’m going to clean around it. the solution may sting, but not much. it will be over fast.”

you nod. “sure.”

he chuckles again. “sure,” he hums, and then, before he presses down, “here.”

he swipes the cotton round over your hipbone, startlingly light. goosebumps rise instantly on your flesh. his fingers are icy, even through the gloves; they radiate cold like a lamp radiates heat.

zayne is kind enough not to mention your instant squirming and moves quickly to start the sutures.

“this will be fast, too,” he says, looking unwaveringly into your eyes. like he’s trying to will the fear out of you. “not as fast as that, but faster than you’d imagine.”

you nod. “sure.”

“there it is again,” he smiles. “sure.”

you grin incredulously. “i don’t know what else to say. you’re about to stab me.”

his smile is thin and almost prideful as he grabs his glasses and slips them on. he leans over your hips, then looks up at you; pushing them up the bridge of his nose.

“aren’t you glad it’s me, at least, and not some stranger?”

you’re busy inhaling and exhaling like a horse, trying to calm down. “i am glad it’s you, yes.”

your desperation throws him and his jaw sets like a stone, adam’s-apple bobbing.

“alright,” zayne says, nearly whispering. “now.”

he begins the sutures. you gasp, instantly, at first through your nose and then through your mouth; which pops open unwittingly. it’s nearly a whine.

“i know,” zayne murmurs, leaning back a tiny bit as he works; so his face is visible to you. “i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay.”

you bite down hard and screw your eyes shut, but all you do is flinch each time his fingers move. he stops almost instantaneously, like pulling the plug on a treadmill.

“look at me,” zayne says, deep voice rumbling against your thigh.

you peel one eye open and then the other.

“i know it hurts,” he says gently. “but you can’t move. i could seriously hurt you.”

“sorry, sorry,” you nod. “i know.”

the pools of his eyes are clear. he’s resolute in his instructions as he speaks, every word confident.

“breathe the entire time, through every suture. i can work while your stomach moves; i can’t work if you’re flinching away.”

“okay.”

his brows lift. “okay?”

again, you nod. “okay. i’m sorry.”

“no apologies,” zayne says.

he presses his hand flat to the side of your belly that’s unharmed, the tips of his long fingers just barely curling around the slope of your waist. you inhale slowly at that, blinking rapidly. his hand is cool as glass.

you panic, as if he can somehow feel the coil that winds up in your stomach; watching his fingers splayed across your navel.

“i’m going to try again,” he says. you can feel the words all the way down to his fingertips. then his thumb moves, caressing the skin just over your waistband. “breathe.”

well, i can’t now.

“got it,” you grind out.

“good,” zayne hums. “three, two, one...”

and it starts again. you bite down, tongue taut to the roof of your mouth.

“don’t,” zayne warns, stern as ever, but his fingers keep working. “breathe. i can see whether you’re doing it.”

the coil in your stomach tightens. you peel your eyes open and watch him work, knuckles grazing over the soft, thin flesh that’s been revealed from behind the waistband of your trousers.

his eyes flash away from your navel as you start to watch. moments later, you’re stunned to see how laser-focused he is, pupils never moving from your cut.

“do you ever get nervous doing this?” you ask, apt to make the time pass faster by talking. like your mouth isn’t wet just watching him do his job. “are you nervous?”

“no.” his reply is instant. “i’ve done this hundreds of times.”

you’re stunned. “i would be nervous.”

“you are nervous,” zayne murmurs. “close your eyes.”

the ball of his wrist presses into the juncture of your hipbone.

“no,” you gasp. too fast.

zayne’s fingers slow, utensils suspended. he looks up at you, somehow feeling taller still. “no?”

you shake your head. “i-i don’t like not knowing what you’re going to do next.”

oh, sure.

he’s stopped working at this point, watching you like a hawk. “then i’ll tell you what i’m going to do before i do it.”

“that’s okay,” you exhale. i’m dying.

zayne’s eyes rove over yours, not unkind, but uncaring about how visible his assessment of you is. clinical, even still. the corners of his lips curl up.

you’re not sure how it’s possible for your stomach to drop while laying flat on your back, but it does; your ears hot as irons.

he goes back to work without another word. you’re so embarrassed, you finally shut your eyes and let your head weigh on the armrest until he’s done.

“alright,” zayne says. “that’s it. don’t move.”

you keep your eyes shut, nodding. “i really can’t thank you enough, i-”

“watch.”

for a moment, you lay there. then you open your eyes, peering down at him, too uncertain to be shocked yet. “what?”

zayne takes his small kit from the table and places it on your lap. you startle, blink, as he sifts through the contents of it. gloves still on.

“this is another cleanser,” he hums, his voice uncharacteristically musical. “i’m going to clean around the sutures.”

you stare incredulously at him. “...okay.”

he’s not fooled by your aloofness. zayne’s right hand works slow circles with a cotton round around your cut; the other comes down flat to keep the waistband of your trousers from getting in his way. both are cold to the touch; never quite warming.

your jaws come apart and you barely manage to stop your mouth from falling open as discards the cotton round and takes the corner of your waistband into his hand.

he buttons your trousers; pulls the zipper up.

you watch like a fool. then, when he’s done, and you think you’ll have to admit to what you’re thinking, he furrows his brows at your face.

“did you cut yourself here, too?” he murmurs.

“where?” you croak.

zayne shakes his head and slowly peels off the gloves; letting them slide slowly off his fingers. “mm. here.”

he reaches forward and spreads fingers to cup your temples. one thumb glides over your browbone, low enough that you can see it; four or five times before removing his kit from your hips and leaning back.

you exhale harshly and move to sit up, wondering if you’ll be able to somehow flee the office without another word.

“not yet,” zayne says. “lay back again. you don’t have to put your head back; just lean back.”

and you do it, instantly, because...well, because.

zayne pulls a rectangular gauze pad with an adhesive border from the small kit. then he leans forward- he'd be positioned between your legs, if you opened them- and pulls your shirt up once more.

as he presses the bandage over your sutured wound, it seems like even he can’t look at you. but his usually statuesque expression is lifted with amusement, plus something more sinister.

“you like to watch me work,” he hums.

his fingers dip under your waistband to smooth the bandage over.

“shut up,” you bite.

he leans back and watches you with no further offerings- words or otherwise medically dubious practices- and looks quite pleased. his breath is ragged, though; chest lifting and caving.

“thank you,” you exhale. your tongue darts out over your lips.

his pupils are swollen. “sure.”

you grin, caught off guard by the joke. it sounds ridiculous in his voice.

“my break will be ending,” zayne says, stony as ever once again as he walks to his desk.

you stand, smoothing your hair down like something far more scandalous just occurred than stitches.

“what do i owe you?” you ask. this earns a genuine, icy glare.

“nothing,” zayne replies, pulling on his white jacket and grabbing his things. “but go to the front desk before you leave. i’m going to call in a prescription ointment for you.”

you blink at him, thrice. a little dizzy. “oh, wow. thank you.”

as zayne strides to the door, you think he might genuinely leave you there without another word. but he takes the door handle, and, almost shy, turns over his shoulder and says,

“i’d like to stay with you, but i can’t. i’ll be working until dinner.”

“no, no,” you rush, stepping to meet him at the door. “i’m fine. thank you so much, for doing this. i was just thinking.”

he still can’t look at you, but at that; zayne grins.

“i’ll call you when i get home,” he says. then, “is that okay?”

you swallow. “of course.”

“i want to know how the sutures feel in a couple of hours,” he adds.

“oh, sure,” you tease.

his eyes darken, like darts. you’re almost afraid.

zayne opens the door for you and waits for you to pass by, eyes full of mirth as he looks down at you. “i’m glad i could be of service.”

he raps his fingers on a clipboard until you look away. you blush feverishly all the way down the hall at how he says ‘service.’

☄. *. ⋆

this is not how you do stitches nor how you sterilize utensils. anyways FIRST POST. lol. anon if you or anyone else wants a part 2 of this (nsfw) i wiiiiiill do it lmk

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace fluff #love and deep space x reader #l&ds zayne #l&ds x reader #l&ds #l&ds zayne x reader #zayne x reader #zayne x mc #l&ds fic #l&ds smut

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fanaticsnail · 1 month

Text

Love you, Doc

Hey Doc Masterlist

Word Count: 4,400

Synopsis: Eustass Kid has come down with the non-life threatening ailment known as "the common cold." It is your job to care for him, no matter who orders you to do so.

Themes: Kid Pirates x gn!reader, platonic fic, you are the doctor of the Kid Pirates, you have been injured in the leg a few chapters ago by a person from your past, platonic love confessions, swearing, cuddling, Kid is sick, teasing, aged wound care, remedial massage, medicine taking, platonic kisses, swearing.

Notes: Shout out to @thenotsofantasticlifestory for being an absolute darling, listening to my rambles, and steering me into the right direction. Love you lots, Sto.

“Hey Doc,” a flash of a high, blonde ponytail flicks through the threshold from the doorframe, “You busy?” Placing down your medical journal you ordered, authored by a traveling doctor stationed on Drum Island, you turn towards Hop and offer her a two finger salute.

“Not if something’s broken, bleeding, or on fire,” you shrug nonchalantly while giving her a once over with your pointed gaze, “Didn’t go too hard sparring with Hip again, did you? Nothing sprained?”

“No, no, nothin’ like that! I, uh-...” she trailed off, clutching the back of her neck while avoiding your gaze. Furrowing your brows, you turn your body fully towards her while remaining seated on your rotating swivel chair.

“Spit it out, Hop. What do you need?” While your question was more tonally a statement punctuating your order, you still assumed your position of duty of care for your crew. She slouched her shoulders, hanging her head and gesturing a single pointed finger out to the side.

“Cap’n needs you,” she whispered, barely audible. Feeling a little proud for a moment, you lean forward and raise your hand up to cup the shell of your left ear.

“What was that, sweetheart? Come again?” you offer with a cocky smirk. The tall, blonde pouts while sucking in a large breath through her nose. Arching her back to full stature, she points more firmly in the direction of Kid’s quarters with her lips curled back in a soft snarl.

“The captain needs you, or,” she removes her hand from its outstretched position and crosses her arms over her chest, “Technically speaking: Heat told me to tell you that, Wire told him that he overheard Killer having an argument with the Captain about needing medical attention. Satisfied?” She offered the last part with a huffy taunt, prompting you to grin back at her.

“Not for years,” you tease her, gesturing for her to come a little closer to your position sitting at your desk, “Come on, help me up. Leg’s still not the same since the spear incident.” You place down the book and

Rolling her eyes, she casually strolled over towards you and wove herself beneath your arm. With one hand around your waist, the other clutching your wrist, she raised you to your feet and prompted you to let out a soft hiss at the impact of the elevation. The injury to your leg had only begun to crust over, the ooze from the coarse platelets itching at the skin. Bandages only did so much to ease the pressure from the wounds to the muscles, but you tried your best to push it aside to tend to the needs of your captain and your crew.

“Ah, shit,” you laughed through the pain, feeling the prickle of pins and needles pooling to your foot after having your leg elevated for so long beneath the desk. Hop chuckled along with you, giving your hip a gentle pinch while aiding you to stand properly. Without even finding the need to open your mouth, she wordlessly handed you the cane Kid fashioned for you to balance on.

“Thanks, Hop,” you offered her a half-smile, removing yourself from her grip and looking to your desk. Scrunching up your nose briefly, you arch your brow up at her.

“Did Wire tell Heat to tell you what type of medical attention he overheard the captain arguing with Killer about?” you offer her a sly smile, reaching for your satchel below your drawers, “Or am I going into this blind like the Reck incident a couple months ago?”

“Honestly, I have no idea. Heat told me nothing,” she overemphasized her words by swiping her right hand in front of her chest. You shook your head, snorting out a soft laugh while throwing the loop of your satchel over your shoulder.

Taking a moment to pause, you took a quick glance back at the medical journal and rolled over in your mind the last chapter of wound care and advanced treatment. Internally arguing with yourself for under a second, you decided to take a vial of oil extract from a medicinal plant to promote healing treatment for aged wounds and scars. If your captain was down with something, he might be more pliant in allowing you to experiment with your newfound knowledge. If not, there was always Killer who would always allow you a go at him with medicinal practicing.

“Alright,” you give her a soft nod, “Thanks again, Hop. I’ll go see to him now. Go back to whatever you were doing, or hide here to avoid duties. I don’t mind, just don’t touch the instruments.”

“Aye, Doc,” she offered you a soft salute, plopping herself down on your elevated bay bed and flicking through one of your medical magazines. You chuckle at her, shaking your head at the ease she made herself at home in your office, before hobbling your way down the hallway towards the steps up to Kid’s quarters.

Slowly bracing yourself on the wooden wall, you took your time walking up the steps to not overdo your injury. While the Kid Pirates were more inclined to ignore the roaring ache you felt lingering beneath your skin, you wanted this to heal properly: taking your own advice, no matter how much you fought the urge not to. The Captain and the three commanders worked hard to save your leg, especially Heat, and you didn’t want to do wrong by them by having to lose it if you didn’t care enough for yourself.

As soon as you made it up the last step, you heard a large rukkus and commotion from behind the door. Elevated voices, spluttered coughs, and mucusy sniffles ricocheted through the wooden walls and down the lengthy corridor.

“I don't-,” the voice of your captain crackled, his usual tone more nasally than his usual cadence, “-And then I-!”

“-Get them, I swear, Captain. Doc needs to come and see you,” Killer’s soothing tone was more harsh than it usually was. It was unlike Kid and Killer to be fighting like this, especially for so long given the time it took to communicate it back to you.

Exhaling more than what you had prepared for yourself, you hang your head while mentally preparing to deliver him his treatment of choice. Considering it was not that long ago that you, yourself, had suffered with this sort of affliction, you knew you would be able to endure being in the same room as your captain without much risk to yourself. Killer wore a mask, likely shielding him from catching the most of the illness, much to your joy.

This could only mean one thing, and one thing only. Eustass “Captain” Kid had the non-life-threatening ailment known as: the common cold.

With a lengthy inhale, you straightened your spine and rolled your neck around on your shoulders. With several pops of bone and muscle, you shrugged off the last of your inhibitions and readied yourself for an afternoon of treating your captain of his illness. Thanking your prior preparation of including several bottles of various tonics and honeyed anti-inflammatories, you brought your knuckles to the door and rapped on the wooden surface.

You couldn't fight back the smile that rose upon hearing a repetition of “Please be Doc, please be Doc, please be Doc,” from the blonde first-mate. The door creaked open in a harsh tug, halting at three inches as the blue and white mask of Killer peeked through the small crack.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Killer exhaled, his shoulders falling in a large slouch, “Please, in. In, in, in,” he ushered you inside Kid’s quarters with a hand floundering on your shoulders. You grimaced as you balanced out your weight on your injured leg, hobbling to adjust to a comfortable stature. Killer took a minute to insure you were safely tucked inside Kid's quarters before using a spurt of energy to flee from the room with a sheepish air to his actions.

“He's all yours, Doc,” the jovial, teasing tone of the first mate cut through the air and prompted you to almost growl as Killer closed the door behind himself. Staring at the chipped paint of the wooden door, you heard a spluttering cough from the corner of your captain's quarters. Far away from the coziness of his bed, you turned to view the hulking figure of your captain hunched over his desk, his shoulders donning his large duvet as he scratched etchings onto a blank sheet of pressed paper.

“Captain?” you slowly asked, turning away from the door and stepping towards his desk, “Captain, are you alright?”

“Go away,” the nasally voice growled from beneath the shroud. His right arm continued to roll the utensils within his digits and scratch inked blots into the pages. “M’working. Go do doctor things, Doc. Find someone else to torment.”

Rolling your eyes, you saunter over to the desk and peer over his shoulder. The page was littered with sharp lines of various sizes, neat notations within the marines depicting metallic elements on the periodic table, and heat temperatures for soldering purposes. You shake your head and slowly reach over your captain's shoulders, perching your hands over the duvet and giving the taut muscles a gentle squeeze.

“I am not here to torment you, Cap,” you confess to him, tugging at his shoulders until his broad torso slunk against your chest. He pressed his head back against your chest, slowly leaning to the side and peering from the corner of his eye up at you. “I'm here to look after you.” You smile sweetly down at him, reaching up and smoothing your digits over his fluffy red hair.

Eustass Kid’s bottom lip protruded, his eyelids swollen and puffy, and nostrils peeling skin from the swollen corners of his nose. His eyes began to water as he sniffed back another blocked rumble of air through what could manage to pass through his nose.

“Do you want me to look after you, Captain?” you ask, truthfully knowing the answer he was desperately pleading with his eyes, but wanting him to speak it anyway. Taking a deep inhale through his raspy, crackling throat, Eustass Kid brayed out his answer in a forlorn whine.

“Ye-es,” he wailed, leaning fully into your arms and closing his eyes. “I can't breathe, my mind is foggy, I can't lay down without my fuckin’ nose dripping all over the place, and I can't fuckin’ sleep while that's the only thing I really want to do. I haven't slept in three fuckin’ days.” The floodgates of Eustass Kid’s needs were broken like a dam, each word rolling over the other as you ushered him over to his large bed. Gently prying his duvet from his shoulders, you guided him to his bed while he continued to whine hoarsely.

“My throat feels like I've swallowed glass, my eyes won't stop leaking, my ears keep popping and crackling, and there's this infernal ringing going on like a mosquito is trapped in my eardrum.” You ushered him to sit on his bed, propping him into a reclined position with his right arm propped over his stomach with a pillow beneath it, and his left stump elevated. Finding more pillows in his personal linen cupboard, you stuffed a few more up to hold him comfortably upright before tucking the duvet over his waist.

“Sounds like you've got it bad, Cap,” you nodded sympathetically, locating your bag and popping the seal, “Tinnitus in which ear, hm? Left or right?”

“Left, I think. It's like a buzz at this stage, don't pay it any mind,” he nodded, feeling the weight of his eyes falling like anchors over his glassy orbs. “What's really fuckin’ bad is my arm. It feels like it's still there, and it's like fire in my skin,” he looked down at his missing left arm with pain written on his features, “I can feel my hand gripping hard, like I can't let go of something important. S’always shit when I get sick, and this time it's just tauntin’ me.”

You sigh empathetically, looking briefly down at your still healing leg before you continued to ready a cocktail of medication for your captain. Antibiotics, probiotics, pain relief, blood thinners, muscle relaxants, and sleep aid was calculated and lumped in according to his height to weight distribution, and adjusted for more comfort to his high pain tolerance. Usually, you would make fun of him for acting like this, but this vulnerability had you feeling closer to your captain than ever. You hastily clutched the vial you packed into your satchel within your palm before walking with your knees towards the reclined posture of the large red-head.

“Take these with some water. I know it's shit, and it'll hurt your throat, but I'll get Killer to make you some lemon and honey tea to aid with the sting,” you nodded, reaching up your hand to his lips and popping the assortment of pills within his painted lips. Watching as he held them in his mouth briefly, you reached the top of his drawers for the glass of water you knew Killer put there a few hours ago and drew it up to Kid’s lips. He eagerly gulped down the contents, wincing at the hard pills lodging in his raw throat, before swallowing them down obediently.

“You'll start to feel better in about ten minutes,” you nod to him, placing the water glass on the bench top beside the bed, “And while we wait, I'm going to see what I can do about your arm.” Reaching into your pocket, you uncorked the vial and poured a generous amount of oiled liquid into the center of your palm. Rolling your hands together, you warmed the liquid with the heat of your skin before drawing it towards the scarred left arm of your captain.

“Keen for me to experiment a bit with your skin?” you quirked at him, hovering above and awaiting consent from the hulking figure of your captain.

“You said you're gonna take care o’ me,” he grumbled, huffing and pouting like a petulant child, “So hurry up and do it already. I fuckin’ hate feeling like this, and I just-... I just-...” His eyes welled up, prompting him to turn to the side and hide his face from you, “...I just don't want to be in charge anymore. I can't be in charge anymore. I feel like absolute dog shit, and I just-... I need help sometimes.” He turned his orange eyes up at you, begging within his rounded orbs, “Please, Doc? Just make it stop? Please?”

Immediately pressing your hands to his arm, you give his muscles a constricting grip and roll the flesh beneath your digits.

“Tense up with me,” you order him, squeezing his bicep with the intentional strength in a few key areas, “And then release.” You relaxed your grip on his arm, holding the grip over his flesh and thumbing along the veins. As he tensed his muscle, you tighten your grip, “Now hold it,” you nod, your hands shuddering beneath your strength, “And release.”

You coached him through this method a few more times, rolling his skin between your hands and feeling the ripped and repaired muscles beneath his skin. Moving up your eyes, you focus on Eustass Kid’s face as it contorted in agony. The way he sucked in his lips and grit his teeth matched the telltale signs of him trying not to cry.

Only ever seeing this expression on him once before, you decided to use a different method of care.

“Doing so well, sweetheart,” you bore your fingers into his solid flesh, coating each morsel with the oil and sculpting his pain away with circular motions, “You are so brave, Kid. You bare the weight of our large crew, you have done so much for everyone. Captain I-.” Your words caught in your throat, feeling the tension in his muscles pull taught as you held firmly against his arm.

“Say it. Whatever it is. Please, Doc,” Kid nodded, fighting back through the pain and urging you along. While the two of you were distracted by focussing attention on Eustass Kid’s pain, you remained ignorant of the door opening and closing behind the blonde-haired first mate reentering the room.

You inhaled a deep breath, humbling yourself and giving him something truthful to focus on rather than gritting his teeth through the praise he often craved.

“Captain, I'm proud to serve under you,” you utter to him, gently rolling your digits over the base of his healed scarring. Thumbing over the stump, you focus your eyes on his flesh, “We are all proud of you. I-...” You halted your motion, closing your eyes and lighting up your soft smile on your lips, “...I have loved every minute of serving you as your doctor, regardless of what I say most of the time. I love you, Captain.”

Looking at the mess of oozing oils over his skin, you feel his right hand gently reach up to clasp your forearm.

As Kid made to open his lips, using his words to mirror your admiration back at you, his mind did not match what curled on his tongue.

“Hah! You love me? Pfft, what a fuckin’ softie, Doc,” he slunk back against the pillows once more, his eyelids growing heavy and weighted beneath the growing intensity of the medication. “You're a little shit most of the time. A real pain in my ass, and you ruin a lot of my projects and fun by banning them. Shoulda kicked you off the crew years ago.”

Your jaw slackened, eyes widening as your brows furrowed beneath the weight of his words. Just as you were about to bark back a witty retort of your own, he silenced you by lazily rolling your name over his palate.

“But I fuckin’ love you,” he confessed in a breathy tone, a dopey smile tugging up his face, “Take’n such good care o’ us. Keepin’ me in line when I start with the bullshit. Always bein’ nice, in your own sadistic way.” He gave your hand two warm taps before the medication pulled him down in a warm recline.

“I love you so damn much, Doc. I need you to know that,” his tone grew slower, his yawn tugging his lips up and his voice muffled beneath the wide inhale, “I love you.” His head lulled to the side, his lips parting as sleep finally caught up with him. His breaths came out in rattled breaths, saliva mixing with mucussy underlay of his firey illness.

“And just like that, you're out like a light,” you chuckle to yourself, cradling his left bicep and laying it down beside him. Gently tucking in his duvet over his broad torso, alongside removing the pillow from his stomach, you smooth over the plush material and secure the captain beneath the shroud. Giving a brief pause, your eyes raked over his face and noticed his breathing was relaxing with each inhale.

“Rest well, sir,” you nodded, slowly inching yourself off the bed and wincing through the shooting pain up your leg. Just as you rose to stand at your feet, a slow drawl crooned from the corner of the room.

“What? No kiss for your captain, Doc?” Killer teased you, finally making his presence known as you hobbled away from the captain’s bedside. “No little stroke on the forehead after the professions of love? Not even a gentle cup of his clammy, sick cheek?”

If your scowl had the ability to sear through metal and bone, the look that bloomed in your eyes would've sent Killer to his grave.

“Caressing and kissing my unconscious crewmates is not my forte,” you spat in return, upturning your lip and snarling at the blonde. He was taken aback by your menacing altitude, raising his hands at his sides while he shook his head softly side to side.

“I meant no disrespect, Doc,” he lowered his head and stooped to your height, “I was just playing, as we always do. Are-... Are you alright-?”

“-No, I'm not,” you growl in return, reaching for the cane and propping yourself up with it. “I had to hear from Hop that Heat told her, that Wire told him, that he overheard you telling the captain to ask for medical attention from me.” You leaned on your cane, feeling your hand shake under the weight of your body. “Do you know how fucking ridiculous that is, Kil? How fucking stupid that is? How worthless that makes me f-feel?” You choked on the last few syllables, feeling the well of emotions finally simmer in your chest and rise in your throat.

“Hearing Kid, joking or not, say he wanted to kick me off this crew while I'm treating him?” you fought back your tears, finally succumbing to the emotion and having the liquid sear down your cheeks and drop onto the floor. “I can take a lot of shit, Kil. But this? This? This fucking took the cake.”

The noise from your deep confession managed to stir Kid from his medicated slumber, his body fighting the sleep in a bid to remain awake for your words. He heard every lick falling from your snarling lips, every passionate exclaim causing him to slink back down and listen intently.

“And when I tell someone I love them? Platonic or not, I don't enjoy being laughed at, or made fun of when I say somethin’ fuckin’ stupid like that,” your eyes drew to Killer's mask as you bore your soul to him, unaware of Kid attempting to sit up in his bed further. “When I-!”

“-Get over here, both o’ you,” Kid interjected, causing both Killer and you to snap your attention over to the captain reclining on his bed.

“Captain, I-,” you began, prompting Kid’s raspy growl to drown out your repose.

“-I don't wanna fuckin’ hear it,” his left arm wobbled, patting the pillow in a bid to call you over further, “I'm not tellin’ ya’ both again. Get the fuck over here, now. You too, you big asshole.”

Killer rolled his shoulders back, his muscles and bones clicking as he kicks off his boots and saunters over to you. Without giving you a moment to reject his order, Killer hoisted you up and slammed your back gently on the large bed beside your captain. Nestling you within the crook of his left arm, he tugged you closer into his embrace, cradling you against his chest, while Killer moved to Kid’s righthand side.

“Now, you little shit,” Kid growled playfully into your ear, “You're gonna fuckin’ sleep, I'm gonna fuckin’ sleep, and Kil? You're gonna fuckin’ sleep. We're all sleepin’, ya hear?”

“Cap’n, I need to tell Wire that he's in charge-,” Killer attempted to convey, hushed by Kid harshly tugging him into his chest and locking him against his body.

“-And I don't fuckin’ care. You're cranky as all hell, and Doc is too, ain't ya?” he chuckled down into the crown of your head, stroking it with his cheek, “Now you're both gonna sleep. I don't care how long you sleep for, but you're gonna sleep.”

“Cap, I-,” you try him, prompting Kid to bark down at you in response.

“-I don't fuckin' care. Go to sleep, so-...” he took a moment to yawn, his voice groaning at the back of his raw throat, “...-so I can sleep. You're both loud, and I need the people I love close to me. So shut up, and be close to me.”

He turned his face towards Killer, puckering his lips and pressing them against the top of his mask. Emphasising his kiss, he moans an overenthusiastic hum against the cool metal.

“Mmm-ah,” he releases Killer’s mask from his lips, laughing as he watches the first mate gently punch his arm. “Night, Kil. Enjoy your snooze.” Kid then turns to you, using the stump of his arm to coax you towards his lips.

Gently fighting yourself away from the captain's affection, he wins by pressing his lips to your forehead and offering the same exaggerated moan.

“Mmm-ah,” his grin splits up his cheeks as he watches you becoming visually flustered by his actions. “Night, Doc. Sleep tight.” Kid rolls into his back, holding both you and Killer tucked tight into his armpits and sighs a raspy breath of glee.

“Love you, Kil. Love you, Doc,” he smiled, closing his eyes and truly basking in his two crewmates offering him comfort. He felt Killer adjust himself to make his mask comfortable above his cheek, nestling against the redhead's side. You do the same, giving up on the notion of fleeing from the captain's embrace and drawing your own comfort within his bicep.

“Love you too, Cap,” both you and Killer whisper in unison, feeling the call of slumber sing it's sweet song under the comfort of Kid’s warm embrace.

It wasn't an unheard of thing, sleeping beside your crewmates and offering them comfort. Bubblegum often came to either you or Killer when he needed that extra care, and you would always give in when he needed that softness from you.

But this felt different.

The soft, likely cold medication-induced love professions after a hard cry with one another made you, yourself, vulnerable to this embrace. Your care for Kid and your crew, the love you all share unlike anything you had ever encountered before. Feeling raw, you draw your hand over Kid’s waist and tuck your face against his chest. As you felt yourself well up once more, a hand came up and cloaked your own beneath its warmrh. Slowly peaking from the corner of your eye up, you notice Killer's hand covering your own and thumbing over your knuckles.

“Love you, Doc,” he whispered over Kid’s heavy breathing, giving your digits a gentle squeeze, “I mean it, and so does he. We all love you. You're perfect for our crew, and Kid has never wanted to ever kick you off. He was just sayin’ it to-.”

“-I love you too, Kil,” you whisper in return, gently rolling your hand up and squeezing his palm, “And I know. I was just being silly, and a little bit vulnerable after the injury. I know, okay?” You shifted closer to Kid, adjusting so you were comfortable and offering Killer one final quip before your eyes weighed beneath the call of sleep took you.

“Now do as your told, and fuckin’ sleep would you.”

“You too, Doc.”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @nerium-lil @sinning-23

#kid pirates #kid x reader #eustass kid #killer x reader #massacre soldier killer #eustass captain kid #op hop #x gn!reader #one piece #x reader #hey doc #hey doc series #finally galloped to the finale of the biggest chapter of this series so far #I love this silly series #it started as a fun writing exercise #but now there's feelings involved #and I am living for it

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asumofwords · 1 month

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Watercress

Warnings: She/her pronouns. Smallfolk OC, mentions of death and war, descriptions of injury and blood, slowburn. Tags will be added as the fic goes along.

Pairings: Aemond x She/Her

Summary: Raised in the Riverlands, near the shadow of Harrenhal, her life was one of endless toil and quiet resilience. Every day was the same—scraping together food, tending to the ill, and surviving the harsh realities of a land marked by struggle. But when war came, it brought horrors beyond anything she could have imagined. The skies blazed with fury, the waters of the Gods Eye churned with the echoes of battle, and then—just as suddenly as it began—the world grew eerily quiet. She believed the worst was over. That was, until a fateful discovery in the woods shattered her fragile peace and set her on a path she never could have foreseen.

Notes: Hello there my sweet angels! Thank you so much for your patience in me writing this. It has been such a long time since I have written anything and I am so excited to finally have a burst of energy (and the inspiration) to do it! As I'm writing this I'm like, is this similar to Lighthouse? And you know what, potentially? Lmaoooo. I'm not sure how many chapters this bad boy is going to be, but it will be a miniseries hehe. If you want to be tagged in the taglist, let me know, otherwise I hope you enjoy! <3

Chapter 1: Broken

Still and brittle air. A body of water that had rippled with anger, now calm and without falsely made tides. In the woods beside the ever stretching lake, there was food to be found, herbs to be foraged, and animals to be hunted. What she hadn’t accounted for was the discovery of a man.

As she moved through the nearby woodlands, her eyes diligently scanned the forest floor for edible plants to gather and bring home. She followed a slender stream that wound its way like a vein through the lush greenery. Below her, she spotted some watercress and knelt down to collect it.

The plant was easy to identify, its round, dark green leaves gleaming with a healthy shine, growing in plump clusters that resembled clover. A common enough find, watercress was versatile—its peppery flavour could be enjoyed raw or cooked, adding a subtle kick to various dishes.

With gentle precision, she cut the stems at their base using her blade, then placed the watercress into the small basket she held at her hip. The air filled with a faint peppery scent as her fingers began to feel the familiar tackiness from the leaves. She took care not to harvest too much, arranging the watercress atop the rest of her foraged goods before continuing along the well-worn path toward the lake. Beneath the cloth in her basket lay a worn net, neatly folded, its ends weighted by sinkers like the delicate strands of a spider's web.

A lot of trouble the lake had seen in the few days past. Troubles from highborn nobles who cared naught about the smallfolk who outnumber them. But now that it was still, it was almost eerie from how so much chaos can suddenly halt in its tracks from the actions of just two; how much destruction just even one could make.

The soft chirping of birds echoed through the gaps between the trees, mingling with the gentle creaking of branches swaying in the breeze. As she neared the shore, the bushes and trees grew sparser, revealing the familiar lake’s edge. Stones of varying sizes scattered the bank, and the water lay calm, a deep shade of blue.

Her cottage was tucked behind her, deeper within the woods from where she had come. It was close enough to the village—a few hours walk—but far enough that few ventured to this secluded corner of the lake. There was an unspoken respect for the boundaries each had claimed, and everyone faithfully followed their familiar, ancestral paths.

Though autumn rapidly approached, and the nipping of the cold chilled her through her skirts, the woman still stripped her feet of her shoes and stockings, pulling up her skirts and apron to knot at the side, leaving her legs bare to the open air.

With a swift flourish, she pulled the net from the basket and waded into the lake until the water reached her knees, disregarding the cold that bit at her skin. In the frigid depths, her feet slid over and between the rocks beneath, occasionally unsettling her balance and sending small ripples across the surface.

She stood motionless for a time, waiting for the disturbed fish to be lulled back into a false sense of safety. Once the water had settled, she cast her net, its pointed corners spreading like the limbs of an octopus before sinking below the surface. She gripped the long rope attached to the center and began to drag the net back toward her.

At first, the net yielded only a few stray leaves and a couple of twigs. Undeterred, she carefully ensured that the net was untangled before tossing it back into the water. Again, she pulled it in quickly, only to find the same meager catch. She repeated the process until her toes had grown numb and a dull ache crept up her shins from the cold.

Moving to a new spot, she threw the net once more, watching the weights sink swiftly as she pulled it in. This time, there was resistance.

The water rippled and splashed as she hauled the net up, revealing three small fish trapped inside. Their silvery bodies thrashed side to side, desperately trying to escape. With swift, steady steps, she walked back to the shore and dropped the net onto the dirt bank, watching the fish flop and struggle. Taking out her hunting knife, she carefully avoided cutting the rope as she held each fish down, driving the blade into their heads. The frantic thrashing slowed to a dull twitch, and then ceased altogether. She slit their bellies open, removed the guts, and flung them into the water, hoping to attract more fish—or perhaps even larger ones.

She placed them in the basket, but their sizes were nothing extraordinary. She thought that she could dry some for later, store them to eat dried or to soak in a stew with a thick bread. And though the coldness was beginning to get to her, she continued, walking straight back into the water to throw her net back in.

Casting the net out far and pulling it back in, she managed to get four more fish which she killed, gutted and placed in the basket beside the other. Though not greedy, she knew that the winter months would soon be upon her and it was best to be prepared with an ample store of dried fish and foods, even more-so now after the war had ravaged so much of the Seven Kingdoms. She decided that if she was to have ten, she would be able to eat well that evening as well as have a fair stash to have ready whenever needed.

Once more she stepped out into the water, though this time daring to wade deeper, the water coming to her mid thigh, the bottoms of her skirts and apron slowly became saturated, the weight pulling her body down.

Another cast of the net, she watched as the weights sunk into the dark depths, the sun bleached rope disappearing into the lake before she began to pull at the rope, only this time the tension of the rope pulled taught and the net became stuck.

With a huff, she blew a stray strand of hair from her face and yanked on the net, trying to dislodge it from whatever it had snagged on—a branch or perhaps a rock. But the net wouldn’t budge, and her frustration grew. She pulled harder, and the net finally came free, but the force sent her stumbling backward, her foot slipping into a small dip in the lakebed. Her hips plunged into the cold water.

"Fuck." she hissed as the icy water soaked her gown up to her waist.

In a surge of anger, she wrenched the net toward her, only to find her frustration deepening when she saw a rip in the netting. The frayed rope left a gaping hole, one that would take considerable time to mend—or perhaps force her to start anew.

“Fucking cunt.” She flung the net back to shore, the weights making a wet thud on the soil, as she looked to where the her net had got caught.

With her dress already soaked, she made no quarrels with walking deeper, the icy lake now coming up to her chest as she tried to peer down into the dark depths to see what her net had gotten snagged on. Why she looked, she did not know. Perhaps to curse out whatever rock or object had ruined her perfectly fine net. At the very least she had caught enough fish to last her until she could mend the torn net, or start anew. Gods forbid she had to walk to a nearby town to buy one.

With careful feet she waded in the water, reaching her toes out first in search of the sunken object. Hands balancing her atop the waters surface, she reached further forward in search. Her toes touched small rocks, their broken edges skating against the sides or sole of her foot-- but still it was not what had ruined her net. There were many rocks in the lake, she knew this, the fishermen who had boats on the lake and drew trade knew this, but she frequented this spot enough to know that there was something new there that shouldn’t be.

Rough and smooth all at once she felt it, something before her nestled between boulders. As her toe searched the foreign object, a sharp sting radiated up from them. She hissed, pulling her foot backwards, wondering if there was something new within the lake that could swallow her whole. Her curiosity took over. Tentatively, she pushed her foot out again, finding the smooth yet bumpy object that seemed to be colder than the water itself. The more she touched it, the more she realised that it was not what she had thought at all. In fact, she was surprised to come to the conclusion that it was manmade.

With her dress already soaked, she dipped her arm into the water, shoulder and breast dipping beneath the surface halting her breath as her fingers sought out what her toes had found. Cool metal met her hand, her digits wrapping around a cylinder shape, the feeling of spirals beneath. With all her might she pulled it, the weight of what she held making her strain, but as she lifted it she was able to see the glinting of steel beneath the water as it got closer to the surface.

The sword hilt was black and gold, a sort of spiral shape at the top, its cross guards gold and in the shape of a head, a bird perhaps? Or a dragon? It was long and heavy, and just when she thought the rest of it would come to the surface, she was wrong. It was far too large and too heavy for her to pull it up out of the water. Stepping back carefully with the new found object in hand, she dragged it behind her, the point dragging over rocks and sediment alike until finally she was back on the shore.

The make of the sword told her that it was worth its weight in gold, and even had gold upon it to prove her observations further. It would have belonged to a nobleman, or perhaps even a knight, though the closer the looked at it, the more features she could see that resembled symbolism of House Targaryen.

So it was one of theirs, then.

She let the sword drop to the sand, hands on her hips as she looked at both her basket full of food and fish, the broken net, and finally to the sword. The sword would be worth much, but she would have to travel far to sell it to anyone with the coin to buy it. But then comes the trouble of travelling with such a large, and if she was correct in what she thought it was, recognisable item. It would risk raiders, or worse, some overzealous loyalist who deigned her a thief and cut off her hands.

Eyes drifting behind her towards the lake, she wondered what had happened those days past.

She remembered the sound, the ear piercing shrieks from the sky, heat of fire, the smell of smoke and crashing of water. But she had run as fast as she would once she saw the great green beast fly overhead.

Nothing good ever came to the Riverlands when She was near.

Eventually though, having nowhere else to go, the woman had returned in the night, hidden amongst the forest and trees, listening for the sounds of roaring and flame which had ceased quickly as it echoed around the lake. And when she arrived back to the lake, it was quiet once more.

The dance of the two dragons above Gods Eye was no more, and she could finally go back to living her life; uninterrupted.

She scanned the shoreline surrounding, eyes narrowing in the distance to see if she saw any signs of the dragons. Perhaps they had crawled out from the lake on the other side and had made their way towards her end? But the lake was so large and so deep, that none could even see to the other side.

Turning to pick up her basket and the sword again she was halted by the flickering of something shiny in the distance, the setting sun reflecting off of metal amongst tree root and rock. She wondered briefly if it was going to be another sword, or perhaps a helm. That would be easier to sell at the nearby town; a smith would certainly pay handsomely to melt down the steel and turn it into whatever wares he desired. She kicked soil over the blade and placed the basket full of greens and fish atop the hilt, covering the gold and reflective surface entirely before making her way towards the flickering light.

Her dress pulled down on her shoulders heavily, water dripping from the hem with each step as a chill rose upon her flesh. But something compelled her further, despite all other instincts within, she pushed on, making her way towards the glinting metal which snaked along the rocky shore. The closer she got, the more she recognised that it was chains, draped and shining in the sun, some covered in dirt the rest leading towards the water.

She thought of the many things she could do with the chains, what their worth could be, and whether or not it was worth going further to collect them, and yet still she persisted, feet muddy and wet, a slight sting from where the blade of the sword had cut at her toes.

She bent down to gaze upon them, strong, good quality steel it seemed. They had not tarnished, nor were their many marks upon them. The chain links were half the length of her arm and triple the width, its weight likely more than her own. They were far too large for her to carry alone.

A breeze rolled through the forest and across the water, sending goosebumps to rise over her body with a shiver. It was getting dark, she was drenched, and the best option was to leave the larger find behind and come back for it on the morrow, perhaps with a plan on how she would move the chain from water, to shore, to forest, to door.

She turned to face the forest and was greeted with evidence of the destruction dragons could inflict. Trees older than her grandmother had ever been, their trunks as wide as horses, split down the centre and broken from the impact of a large body. Further within she could see the singed tree tops, where ash that had settled down atop the canopy. The eeriness of a broken forest and a broken realm, far too close to home.

And yet she was drawn to it, this destruction. It was unlike anything she had witnessed before; she was pulled forward. Feet crunching on the pine floor, the crunch of her steps deafening in comparison to how quiet it was amongst the carnage. The animals had not yet returned, the ones that had once been there dead, silent.

Even with the trees that had somehow managed to survive, to stand tall despite the terror that had reigned above them, their trunks and leaves were covered in the evidence of what was. Ash, streaked each surface, and with a curious hand she place it atop the bark of a tree, brushing her finger along the ridges of the wood, watching as they turned grey. A quick rub of forefinger and pointer together made the ash smear, and as she stood by that tree, taking in the scene before her, her eyes focused upon a darkness behind the tree that should not have been there.

Something that was not born of ash nor bark nor fur.

Something human.

Uncertainly she took a step around the tree to see the beginning of a boot, a leathered boot at that. And attached to it a leg, and then hips, and finally;

A man.

Dressed head to toe in dark leather, now grey with ash, the man lay on his side. Her heart raced in her chest, though she had seen the dead before, this time was different. This time it was not a sick merchant, nor a child who had gotten the winter fever. It was not her father dying at the hands of a drunken fight, blood trickling from his mouth.

This was one of them.

Long silver hair lay knotted across the mans face, ash streaking the pearlescent tresses grey. His skin much the same, though the parlour was similar to a corpse; so pale, so almost blue that she could have mistaken him for one of Harrenhal’s ghosts.

Was he the man who had slaughtered the Strong family at Harrenhal?

Or was he the one who commanded the brutal rape and murders of those who opposed the Blackwoods?

Did it matter? She thought to herself, They were all the same.

The leg she had discovered was bent at an unnatural angle, the shin snapped in two, broken in a way that if he had lived he would have been crippled for the rest of his days. The rest of his body did not fair well either, tears in his leather tunic and breeches given way to an attack, or a fall, or Gods knew what else. The famed silver hair which obscured his face from view was red at his skull, slowly seeping into a rust colour where blood had dried from a wound.

Bare toes stood beside the pale mans head as she dipped to her knees, her wet dress sticking to the ash and pine coated floor. She observed him for a time, admiring the stitchwork of the tunic he wore, noting that it would likely be-- despite its conditions-- the nicest thing she could own. But she was no grave robber, and she had no desire to be haunted by his spirit after desecrating his corpse.

Her curiosity however won out, and with an unsteady hand, unsure whether it be from the cold or the man, she reached forth to brush the blood crusted hair away from his face.

Despite its appearance, ash, blood and leaves tangled in the locks, his hair was as soft as silk as she brushed it with her hands. The skin of his ear was cold to the touch. She swept the tangled heap away from his brow and cheek, revealing a bruised and cut cheek, though that was not what had made her breath skip in her chest.

The space where his eye should have been was empty, though not from this battle, but from one many years ago she supposed, the skin of the brow and cheek scarred deeply down his face. She could see to the back of where his eye would have once sat, the flesh darkened and scarred.

Aemond One-Eye.

Following the scar on his cheek, she looked to his lips, where dried blood had crusted at its opening and down his other cheek to the forest floor. His nose, aquiline and strong had bled too, as did his ears from what she would see, and through the centre of his face a cut sliced through the bridge where bruising and bone were visible.

It was weird, to sit so close to a corpse of royalty, and she were sure that if he were alive he would have stuck her for daring to even touch him. For daring to even touch his pure blood, and his pure hair, and his purer skin. And this thought alone made her touch him all the more, tracing curious fingers across his cheek, his nose, the scar running through his cheek, and down to his neck, where his tunic had been torn and the pale expanse of his neck was visible.

Her finger trailed down past his jaw, underneath it, wondering what in the world separated the two of them. They died just like everyone else. Whether that be in the birthing bed, in cups of ale, or fighting one another. What made the Targaryens so far removed from her? Besides their silver hair, their lilac eyes and their dragons, they were merely men, and all men died.

The King was proof of this.

A faint fluttering beneath her fingers made her lift her hand in shock, her digits hovering over the mans face as she looked at him in disbelief.

He couldn’t…

She leant down, dipping her ear beside his lip as she rested a hand against his ribs.

And there it was, a rattling breath so weak, so quiet, that had his lips not been pressed against her ear she would not have heard it.

He was alive.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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ponderingmoonlight · 11 months

Text

JJK men after hurting (y/n)

Pairing: Choso x reader; Gojo x reader

Word Count: 4,7k (Gojo's part is huge)

Warnings: this is drama over drama so be prepared, injury in Choso's part, mentioned pregnancy and breakup in Gojo's part, also Geto is an a-hole in here and it isn't 100% accurate to the original story-timeline, it's getting veeeery heated my lovelys, but also comfort but mostly hurt

As usual, I am very thankful for every little like, comment or reblog (thank you anon hehe). Let me know what you think of this, I literally poured my heart and soul into these two parts <3

Tags: @sanicsmut I just know you'll like this girl, @chilichopsticks

Choso Kamo

„(y/n), this is nothing I will discuss with you right now. Just stay here.”

“I can’t let you kill him, this isn’t right. His death won’t bring back your brothers!”, you shout urgently, hands desperately trying to keep him from walking away.

“I always appreciate your opinion and support. But this is something I have to do for myself. Don’t get in the way.”

With one last glance back he’s gone, lost in the neon signs around you, shadow immerged into darkness.

Your brain goes into panic mode immediately, palms sweaty just by the thought of him haunting that boy down. How strange it is that you are able to call Choso your boyfriend. Choso Kamo, a reincarnated curse that is over 150 years old. Choso Kamo, who seems cold-hearted to people when he first meets them. Choso Kamo, who loves his family more than anything else.

You know this isn’t him, that killing Yuji Itadori is nothing but an act of revenge for him that he hopes will make him feel better.

“But how does killing someone else solve your problems?”

He never answered this question. He didn’t have to, given the fact that he just stared at you with furious eyes. You know all too well how it broke him to lose his brothers through the hands of some random jujutsu sorcerers. Fuck, you were just as heartbroken as he was. But if revenge is the only solution, wouldn’t this little game go on to infinity?

This isn’t the way, this isn’t the man you love. And you won’t let him go berserk only to regret what he did later on.

There is only one thing you can you now.

Your feet start moving on their own, following his shadow through the dark hallways of Shibuya’s train station. You aren’t a very gifted jujutsu sorcerer, maybe a grade 2 in sorcerer terms. But maybe your presence will be enough to stop him. Maybe his love is greater than the hatred he carries in his heart for that Idadori boy.

After all, it is a miracle in itself that he really loves you, a human being. Instead of killing you right on the spot he decided to safe you and even take care of your multiple wounds back then when you first met. You are not only hopelessly in love with him, but owe him his life. It’s time for you to give something back.

The only thing that echoes through the hallways are your very own rapid steps and sharp breaths. Please let him be okay, please let him still search for that boy. Your forehead glisters in sweat, the area only illuminated by the changing neon signs.

Finally a sound. You stop in your tracks immediately and close your eyes while holding your breath. It’s far away, but those are steps and dampened rumbling. It has to be him. And he’s definitely not alone.

You can’t waste any time. As fast as your shaky legs carry you, you run down the hallway, eyes roaming around to catch a glimpse of his dark messy hair. Did he found Yuji Itadori? From what you’ve heard, Sukuna’s vessel is a quite skilled jujutsu sorcerer himself. But despite that, you know how much power Choso holds. If they meet, there will definitely be a fierce fight and your boyfriend might get hurt in the process.

But Yuji gets killed.

Suddenly water starts to soak into your shoes, pooling the surrounding area entirely. You furrow your brows. Where the hell is that coming from? Aren’t you underground? And also, it wasn’t raining outside…

Instinctively you follow the stream, noises growing louder and louder. Your heartbeat picks up, eyes wide open in realization. They have to be in there, in that toilet. The only think you are able to do is run. Water splashes around you, completely taking your already dimmed sight under the purple neon lights.

Until you see your boyfriend. Bending over the severely injured body of what looks like Yuji Itadori, fist ready to hit him with his last shot.

You don’t know what has gotten into you. Before you are able to even think about a plan you sprint forward and shield the boy’s body with your own.

Only to get hit in your stomach with full force by your own boyfriend.

For a moment you forget how to breathe, the only sound being the constant ringing in your ears along with a silent cough. Are you dead? You can’t tell with your sight completely turned black and your empty head.

“(y/n)”, is all Choso is able to breathe out.

It happened so fast he couldn’t react anymore. Within the split of a second, he was only able to direct his fist away from your head into your stomach.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

A trail of blood escapes your lips along with a cough, gaze completely empty. Did he kill you? His guts turn, he feels like fainting away. Oh god, what did he do?

“(y/n).”

You shouldn’t even be here in the first place. He told you to stay out of this, to leave this to him. Why on earth did you throw yourself in front of Yuji Itadori? How could you risk your life so reckless?

“(y/n)?”

You don’t react, glossy eyes wide open, directed into darkness. His shaky hands pull up your shirt, revealing a huge bruise. He broke a few of your ribs, that’s for sure.

“(y/n)!”, he begs again, repeating your name over and over like a prayer.

His hands grab your body and pull you away from Itadori while all he can do is kneeling next to you. Are you even breathing? Fuck, you are so cold and completely soaked in water that still pours down without mercy.

“(y/n)…”

His hand caresses your cheek gently. You just have to wake up. This is a bad dream, right? He didn’t just punch you with full force, he isn’t responsible for you laying here with broken bones and bruises. No, he didn’t just hurt the love of his life, his precious girlfriend.

Are those tears running down his cheeks? He can’t tell. The water pouring down on him makes it hard to see.

“Don’t…kill…him…”, you suddenly mumble.

Choso feels like flying and dying at the same time, relieved by hearing your voice while being absolutely crushed be the fact that he is responsible for your poor state.

“Why did you throw yourself in front of him, (y/n)? I never wanted to hurt you. I would have never hurt you…”, he stutters, pressing your upper body against his.

You cough violently, feeling as if your spilling your guts out every second. God, you feel terrible. If you move a single inch you’ll faint away into darkness.

But despite the pain that rolls over you like a tsunami, you force your eyes to look at him? His beautiful screwed up face, his glistening eyes. Is he crying? This might be the first time you’ve ever seen him like this.

“I know you didn’t wanted to hurt me. Did you kill him?”

Your voice isn’t more than a fade away whisper, almost too distant to get under the pouring water. But the second your words reach his ears, Choso can’t hold back any longer.

He’s crumbling in front of you like a piece of paper, hands holding onto you for dear life.

Choso almost killed you. The love of his life, the only thing that’s worth living. And for what? Because he was seeking revenge.

“But how does killing someone else solve your problems?”

Your wise words repeat themselves over and over in his head. Fuck, if he only listened to you. He shouldn’t have agreed to work with Geto in the first place out of sheer rage. No, he could lay in bed with you at the moment, hearing about what is currently happening at Shibuya in the news.

Then this wouldn’t have happened. Then you wouldn’t lay in front of him severely injured.

His whole face is screwed up, trembling fingers clenched to tight that they bleed while a sob escapes his lips.

All of this is his fault.

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). I’m so so sorry”, he cries out, placing his head on your chest.

“Is he dead?”, you croak out, tired eyes wandering to the boy’s unconscious figure leaning against the wall.

“Yes…Yes he does…”

A weak smile forms on your lips. So this wasn’t in vain. After all, you reached your goal.

“Thank god…”, you mutter.

Choso’s guilty conscience eats him up from the inside. Why? Why the hell did he think killing Yuji Itadori is a good idea in the first place? Despite the deaths of his brothers, despite all the pain he’s been through, despite the fact that he isn’t even human.

He loves you with all his heart. Your gentle disposition that is the opposite of his cold-hearted one. Your friendly smile that outshines his emotionless expression every time. The way you love him although he didn’t even know what love is when he first met you.

You showed him so many facets of life and he tramples on all the things you taught him.

“I will get you out of here. And I promise will every fiber of my being that I will change, that something like this will never happen again”, he blurts out.

“You don’t have to change, darling. You just need to decide on your perspective of life.”

Everything hurts, you feel like dying from the inside. Although you don’t seem to bleed externally, the stinging taste of blood in your mouth tells you you are severely injured. A load moan escapes your lips when Choso gently lifts you off the ground, body screaming out in agony.

With a gentle kiss on your forehead and tears still running down his cheeks. Something like this will never happen again. Not through the hands of others and especially not his.

God, never again will he ever hurt you.

Satoru Gojo

Your fingers tremble uncontrollably as you try to figure out what you hold in your hands. Is this…positive?

Are you really pregnant?

Two lines. Two clearly visible lines. You feel like fainting and flying at the same time, your thoughts are racing.

Is this really happening? Are you dreaming?

No, the proof lies visible in your hands. You are pregnant. You are expecting a child with Satoru Gojo.

“Listen (y/n)…I’ve been thinking about this for a while now…Have you ever thought about having a baby? I mean, you’ve been my girlfriend for more than 6 years, my fiancé for half a year. I’ve never seen me as a father and I know this isn’t the best timing considering what’s going on in the word at the moment. But the thought of you with a precious baby belly, a child with your eyes…This thought filled me with so much joy recently that I wanted to talk about this with you.”

You couldn’t find words, his sudden outburst caught you off guard. But oh how much you thought about that too, how it would feel to have a child with the man you love more than anything else on this world, to start a family with Satoru. Tears started to sting your eyes, arms wrapped around him tightly.

“I would absolutely love that!”, you cried out, face buried against his broad chest while he stroked your hair just the way you like it.

“We don’t have to rush anything. Just living like usual without protection”, he mumbled against your head.

“I love you so much, Satoru. Nothing makes me happier than being with you. And maybe next year there will be three of us.”

He smiled down at you the way that always makes you see stars. God, how much you love that man. The thought alone to spend the rest of your life with him and your little family filled your heart with nothing buy warmth and joy.

“I love you too, sweetheart. More than anything else”, he mumbled.

Satoru. What are you supposed to do? Call him, text him, drive to Jujutsu High? You’re on your day off while he told you this morning that he’ll teach the new student, Yuta. As much as you’d love to get in your car immediately and meet him in person, you shouldn’t disturb him right now. No, this is something special. This needs time, a calm evening and privacy.

A little message can’t hurt though.

Hey babe, can’t wait to see you tonight. I’ve got some exciting news. Love you <3

You let out your shaky breath, eyes darting to the test again. Is this really your life? It surely can’t get any better than that.

-Satoru’s POV-

“I hate so say it, but I guess there’s no way out of this”, Shoko comments.

But there has to be. After all, he’s the strongest, he’s the only one who’s able to protect you right. This shouldn’t be the only way to save you, there has to be more.

“I will find a way around this”, Gojo hisses through gritted teeth, hands so tensed up that his veins pop out.

“You can’t. There’s absolutely no way to keep her save. She’ll insist on going with you if you tell her. And if you don’t she’ll find out and come to your place. Or worse, someone else will find her. She is the safest when she’s gone.”

Fuck. Satoru slams his fist against the table, blood squirting. He knows she’s right. Deep down, he is very aware of the fact that no matter how he twists and turns it, you’re in danger. Suguru made that very clear. He has to make a decision now, even if it breaks his own heart.

“So what’s the solution then, huh? Breaking up with her?”, he barks at Shoko.

“If you really want to make sure that she’s safe and gone, yes. Aren’t her parents living far away from here?”

That’s not what he wanted to hear. Thick rage crawls up his spine and takes his sight. He’ll kill all of them. Every single one of these curses and Suguru’s accomplices. This shouldn’t be the only way, he shouldn’t have to break the heart of the women he loves most.

Fuck, how much he hates to see you cry. Just a few days ago, he told you that he wanted to have kids with you, to start a family, he proposed to you. This will not only break your heart, but shatter you into million pieces.

“I get that it’s rough and that you don’t wanna do it. But if you want to make sure that (y/n) is safe, you have to make her believe that it’s over.”

“What if I’m hiding her somewhere at Jujutsu High? What if I’m staying by her side?”

“She’ll never allow that and you know it. (y/n) would rather die herself than letting other people suffer because you aren’t there.”

She’s right. Deep down Satoru knows that every word Shoko says is true.

- Later that evening –

You almost fall off the couch in excitement when you hear keys turning in the lock. He’s finally home! It must have been a pretty rough day if he wasn’t even able to reply to your text. Your fingers hold onto the test in your hands for dear life, heart jumping up and down in joy. How will he react? Will he laugh, will he cry? You don’t know. But he’ll surely be cheerful.

“Hey babe, I need to talk about something with you!”

The sound of your joyful voice alone makes him want to break down. Fuck, you don’t deserve this, none of this is your fault at all. So why does he have to break your heart so violently? He shakes his head, blindfold covering his already glossy eyes. There’s no way out of this. He needs to hurt you in order to save you.

“Oh, there you are”, you breathe out when you catch a glimpse of him.

Satoru looks as breathtaking as always, albeit a little drained. It must have been a rough day for him. But your news will definitely brighten up his mood.

“Babe, there’s something absolutely exciting I have to tell y-“

“(y/n)”.

The harsh tone in his voice quiets you down immediately, the grin on your face washed away in the wind.

“I have something to talk about”, he announces.

Why does he have to be so cold? What has gotten into him? Worry lines disrupt your face.

“Oh, did something happen?”

The innocent tone in your voice kills him right on the spot along with your stunning glimmering orbs…No, he needs to do this. After all it’s for your well-being. You’ll see that too, hopefully.

“I’m breaking up with you.”

You hold your breath, eyes scanning over his stunning face for any hint of sarcasm, for an emotion. But no, all he does is staring down at you with stone cold orbs, arms crossed in front of his chest.

You feel like fainting, world collapsing around you. No, this can’t be true. He can’t be serious. Not long ago, he told you he wants a child with you, he asked you to marry him. Your heart clenches, tears start glistering in your eyes. This has to be a nightmare.

“No”, you breathe out, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I’m breaking up with you, (y/n)”, he insists.

This isn’t a joke or a dream. You can tell that he’s serious, that he means every word he says.

“Why?”

“I don’t love you anymore.”

You can’t believe your ears.

“Just yesterday, you told me over and over how much you love me, you…you had sex with me, Satoru. Just a few hours ago.”

You can’t stop your tears from falling anymore, the feeling of this indescribable loss pulls the ground from under your feet.

“It meant nothing to me.”

His words hit you with full force, pushing you to sit down in order to not collapse onto the floor. Was all of this a game for him? And what about…?

Oh god, you feel like throwing up.

“I’m pregnant, Satoru.”

His heart stops. Your voice isn’t more than a fade whisper, almost too low for him to understand. Did you really just say that?

“What did you say?”

“I’m pregnant!”, you suddenly scream on top of your lungs.

Pregnant… You’re pregnant. You’re expecting his child, the child he told you he wants. You’ll be family! This is absolutely fantastic, you have to celebrate-

No. Satoru stops the seed of joy in his heart immediately. Now is not the right time for that. After all, he’s about to break up with you at the moment.

“I don’t care.”

His word cut through his very own heart like a knife, your face twisted in agony simply takes his breath away. You don’t deserve this, you don’t deserve any of those venomous words he spits at you. But he does it so you are safe. Yes, over and over he tells himself that this is for your best, that at least you’ll be out of the firing line. You’ll be safe and sound, you and his unborn child.

“Leave this place, stay with your parents or something. I don’t want to see you here any longer.”

In this moment, you feel like dying. Your past, present and future plays itself in front of your inner eye, reminding you of all the precious moments together. Was all of this a lie? Does he even care about you?

Like in trance you get up, grabbing nothing but your wallet and phone. You need to get away from here before you break down completely. If this is how he feels, he doesn’t deserve to see your grief.

God, he wants to break down in front of your feet, completely mesmerized by the way you carry yourself so well after his harsh words. Hopefully you will understand that he did this for you. Even though he broke your heart, you’ll live. And this is all that matters…

“Goodbye then, Gojo.”

The venomous sound of his last name out of your mouth makes him collapse onto the couch the second you close the door behind your back, tears glistening in his eyes.

Why? Why on earth did this just happen? Why did he have to hurt you like this? God, please let you understand it when all of this madness is over. Please let you be okay…

- Day of the night parade –

“Oh dear, look at this”, your mother breathes out while turning up the TV volume.

You gaze at the flickering pictures without any emotions, dark circles surrounding your eyes from all the nights without any sleep.

Satoru? You haven’t heard a word from him since that evening. That evening that altered your brain chemistry forever. That evening that showed you his real face. Since you’ve had nowhere else to go and wanted to be as far away from him as possible, you stayed with your parents ever since.

“What is going on at Tokyo?”, your father mutters.

Huh, looks like absolute chaos. Your eyes widen at the sheer amount of destruction, the reporter whose head gets ripped away by…

Your heart sinks.

This was a curse, without any doubt. What about Satoru?

No. You shake your head vehemently. This isn’t about him. What about your students, Nanami, Shoko, all the others? Are they okay? What is going on there? Suddenly you feel like standing up, too excited to sit.

You swore to never step a foot into Jujutsu High again, to start over somewhere else. But this…You can’t just sit here in silence with all your powers while your friends might die through the hands of curses.

“I need to leave”, you announce.

“What? But you said you want to stay here. (y/n), if this is about him…-“

“It’s not”, you interrupt your mother immediately.

“I need to watch after my friends.”

Yes. Screw Satoru and whatever he’s up to. Mindlessly your hands caress your little bump. This is your responsibly, the least you can do.

- At Toyko –

“Gojo-sensei, (y/n) is here”, Maki announces through her communicator as you walk through the barrier with ease.

Impossible.

His eyes widen in pure horror. All this pain and grieving over the last few weeks, all the nights he cried himself to sleep because he missed you, the countless thinking about your precious little baby.

And now you’re right here where you shouldn’t be, running into the arms of Suguru without even knowing it.

“Oh, I didn’t expect he’d be so dumb”, a painful familiar voice behind you suddenly speaks out.

You turn around, taking in the appearance of none other than Suguru Geto.

“Are you responsible for this whole mess?”, you question.

He steps forward, a satisfied grin plastered on his face. Fuck, this isn’t good. Suguru is a special grade, he could kill you without even trying. Are your students around? Maybe they are at Tokyo, maybe they are safe.

“Did Satoru send you here? Apparently he doesn’t care about you”, Suguru’s voice comments dryly.

Your heart immediately stings in agony, fingertips trembling. Just a few innocent words that break you completely after weeks of pretending you’re okay.

“He broke up with me a few weeks ago”, you clarify.

Suguru breaks out in hysteric laughter while all you can do is stare at him and hold back your tears. How is he able to laugh about your feelings? Before he went berserk, you and Suguru got along pretty well. What happened to him?

“3 weeks ago, maybe?”

You tilt your head. Why that question? And why…why is he so accurate?

“Yeah”, you mutter.

“How ironic.”

“What’s so funny about that, asshole”, you bite back.

His figure comes to a stand so close to you that you can feel his breath creeping across your face.

“It’s funny that he tried to save you and now you’re standing right in front of me, (y/n).”

His words pull the ground from beneath your feet, thoughts racing so violently that you feel like throwing up. What did he say about Satoru trying to save you? What is all of this about? You lose your cool completely.

“What the hell are you talking about?”, you yell into his stupid smirk.

“I gave him an ultimatum. But now that you’re here already…Let’s get this over with.”

You aren’t able to properly understand a single word as he hounds a curse your direction.

“Why are you even here?”

Where is Satoru? What is going on here? Where are your students? So many unknown variables, so much pressure. You need answers.

“I’m here to kill Yuta Okkotsu.”

Your heart sinks immediately. Yuta? Suguru is probably on the hunt for Rika. No, you can’t let him get away with this.

“Over. My. Corpse.”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

“Oh dear (y/n). I always liked your charm, but nothing better than that.”

It’s hard to keep up with him without any weapon. Where is your dagger when you need it? You only have your powers and your combat skills to attack him. But Suguru isn’t dumb. It’s almost frightening, the way he keeps distance between both of you.

Your baby. Fuck, you need to be careful. After all, stress isn’t beneficial for your pregnancy.

And dying too.

-Satoru’s POV-

He runs as fast as his feet carry him, vision clouded by thick fear. He did all of this for you, to keep you out of grip for Suguru. And now you’re facing him alone, his students not able to help you. What about the baby? He needs to hurry. If Suguru harms one single hair on your head…

“Get away from her. Now”, he barks at his former best friend, positioning himself in front of you just in time before one of Suguru’s curses hits you.

“Ironic, isn’t it? That you even scarified your relationship only for her to run into my open arms.”

“I never thought you would go this far. She’s not only a jujutsu sorcerer, but my girlfriend. I thought you are better than that. Keep your hands off her or you’ll regret it.”

All you can do is stare at his broad back with tears glistening in your eyes. Is this why he broke up with you three weeks ago and left you alone pregnant? To keep you out of sight from Geto?

“Leave this place, stay with your parents or something.”

These three weeks of torture, of asking yourself over and over why you weren’t good enough and where you went wrong…because he was worried?

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me?”, you cry out, slamming your fists against his back over and over.

“Why did you just leave me like that? Why did you not leave me any choice? Why would you leave me standing in the rain pregnant? Why did you do this to me-“

“(y/n)”, he interrupts you, glossy eyes darted at you in a way you’ve never seen before.

Satoru grabs your hands and pulls you closer to him.

“Because I couldn’t stand you getting hurt”, he breathes out.

“Because I knew you wouldn’t watch out for yourself. Because I knew this was the only way to keep you safe, even though it meant breaking both of his into pieces. Trust me, I hated myself every single day over the last three weeks, wondering every miserable second how you’re doing. It made me lose my mind, (y/n). And now you’re here, right here where you shouldn’t be.”

“I’ve got hurt the second you broke up with me just after I’ve told you that I’m expecting your child!”, you scream into his face.

All the pain, the grief, the longing, the waiting. Everything crushes down at you and swallow you whole. All of this was in vain.

“I never stopped loving you, (y/n). On the contrary, my love for you is greater than my longing after you.”

For the first time since you’ve met him, you can see him cry. Tears roll down his face uncontrollably, the ocean blue of his eyes disrupted by rough red.

“I don’t mean to interrupt your little moment here, but now that you’re already here, I can kill you, right?”

As if in slow motion Satoru turns around to his former best friends, hands clenched into fists so tightly that blood spills.

“I will make you pay for every tear (y/n) spilled, for these weeks of torture. You will regret your threat for every single fucking day.”

“Let’s get it on, then”, Geto remarks dryly.

...

Hope you're doing fine. If you're still able to, feel free to tell me whenever you want a part ll of this and with you. Thank youu <3

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alwaysmicado · 23 days

Text

Nightcall

10.4k | 18+ MDNI | Marc Spector x f!reader

Moon Knight Masterlist | AO3

Warnings: angst, smut, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, biting, rough & emotionally intense sex, multiple orgasms, possessive!Marc, choking, spitting, creampie, toxic dynamic Summary: Marc is a bad habit you can’t shake. A/N: This idea has been haunting my dreams like Marc has been haunting reader’s. And just like reader, I couldn’t resist the allure of this elusive, rugged, and devastatingly addictive man. Could you? Happy reading (even though it hurts) and let me know what you think! *Marc lifts & flips you with ease (he’s MK, duh). Dividers by @/cafekitsune.

One year.

It’s been one year since you’ve last seen him.

One whole year of wondering where he is, if he’s left for good this time, if he’s even still alive.

You’ve tried to fill the void in your heart, started smoking again, gave the nice guy from the coffee shop down the block a chance. He’s kind to you, makes you laugh, brings you flowers, and you think you could grow to love him.

You’re trying.

You’re trying so hard.

To forget, to forgive, to heal, to live.

And now he’s back. In your life, standing at your door at 1 a.m.

Marc Spector.

The bane of your existence.

You were lounging on your couch in your pajamas mere moments ago, the soft glow of the TV casting shadows on the walls, when a knock at the door shattered the peace you’d begun to find. Your heart stopped, your head jerking towards the door.

It couldn’t be.

You heard his voice, rough and familiar, sending a jolt through your entire being.

“It’s me,” he said, his voice muffled but unmistakable.

You stood, your legs trembling, walking closer to the door in a trance, bare feet on the wooden floor, your hand hovering over the doorknob. You didn’t answer, but you couldn’t tear yourself away.

He was alive. He came back.

Marc came back to you.

What now?

Taking a deep breath, you look through the peephole, and your heart flutters when you see his face. He looks as handsome as ever, broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his t-shirt, dark curls hidden under a baseball cap, beard stubble a little grayer than the last time you’ve seen him.

But there’s a weariness in his eyes, a deep exhaustion that pulls at your heartstrings.

He’s tired.

You know he is.

He’s told you in the rare moments he’d let you in, your sweat-covered bodies tangled in your bed, his fingers brushing over your cheek.

You’d see a spark of something in his warm eyes then. Something akin to sadness, longing, regret. But it would disappear after a few seconds, and he’d harden again, turning around to gather his clothes, telling you he needed to go.

You’d find new scars on his body every time he came to see you. He’d show up with barely scabbed-over cuts, a black eye, a dislocated shoulder, a split lip. And you’d patch him up, kissing it all better.

You stopped asking how he got his injuries some time ago. He’d always give you the same answer anyway.

“Just a scratch, baby. Nothing to worry your pretty head about.”

Whatever it is that keeps him going, it has more power over him than you ever will.

Tears blur your vision, and you slide down the door, sitting with your back against it. You want to stay strong, to remember the pain he’s caused you, but his words cut through your resolve like a knife.

“Come on, let me in. I came all this way to see you.”

It feels like he’s been out there for hours, but you know it can’t have been more than two minutes. Why is this happening?

“Let me in, Sunshine. Please.”

You blink back tears, shaking your head even though he can’t see you, your hands balled into fists, fingernails digging into your palms.

Every time.

Every time, he rips open the wounds he inflicted on you, and you know this time won’t be any different. You want to resist him, want to tell him to go to hell, that he can’t keep doing this to you, that you’ve finally had enough.

But you can’t do it, can you?

Resist Marc.

You both know you can’t. And deep down, under all the bullshit you like to tell yourself, under all the anger, under all the resentment, you know you don’t want to.

You never did.

Going for a smoke outside the bar, goosebumps forming on your bare arms as the wind blew and the rain fell, your feet sore from being caged in high heels for hours, the only thing you wanted was a minute of quiet, a minute where you didn’t have to smile or act like you were having fun.

You were tired—tired of the noise, tired of the people, tired of the pretense.

All you wanted was a moment of peace.

“Shit,” you muttered, staring at your lighter in disbelief as it refused to spark, tears of sheer frustration pricking the corners of your eyes. Leaning against the cool brick wall, you let your head fall back, eyes closed, trying to shut out the world.

How did it get like this? How did you get like this?

Deep down, you know you don’t have anyone to blame but yourself. The problem is you. Not the world, not your parents, not the shitty things that have happened to you. It’s you. It’s always been you.

“Need a light?” a voice cut through the rain, smooth and unexpected.

You opened your eyes slightly, just enough to see a stranger standing a few feet away. “Yeah, mine apparently hates me,” you replied, lifting the offending object.

The man chuckled, a warm sound that contrasted with the cold night. “Here,” he said, stepping closer. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief, his smirk stirring something inside you. “I got you, Sunshine.”

He pulled out a sleek silver lighter, flicking it open with practiced ease, producing a small, steady flame. You put your cigarette between your lips, leaning in to catch the light. His eyes never left yours, a connection forming in that brief moment. He then lit his own cigarette, taking a drag.

The first inhale of nicotine calmed your nerves slightly, a welcome distraction from the chaos inside your mind. “Thanks,” you muttered, leaning back against the wall and savoring the moment of quiet.

“No problem,” he nodded, staring into the surrounding darkness.

He was closer now, leaning against the wall next to you, his presence oddly comforting.

“Rough night?”

“You could say that.” You let out a dry laugh, glancing at him. He was handsome in a rugged way—dark curls, full lips, broad chest, with a confident air that was alluring. “What about you?”

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “Rough night.”

You studied him for a moment, noting the gentle curve of his nose and the laugh lines in the outer corner of his eyes. You also noticed his split knuckles in the neon glow of the party lights hanging above.

“I guess we’re both running from something,” you said softly, taking another drag of your cigarette.

“Is that so?” He smiled at you with a raised eyebrow and you smiled back. “I’m Marc, by the way.”

You gave him your name and shook his hand, feeling a strange jolt at the contact. “Nice to meet you, Marc. Thanks for the light.”

“Anytime,” he said, his expression turning pensive.

You both smoked in silence for a while, the rain a soothing backdrop to your thoughts.

When your cigarettes were nearly finished, Marc turned towards you, his movements smooth and deliberate. He leaned in, his hand bracing against the wall next to your head, bringing his face and body close to yours, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked, his eyes dropping from your eyes to your lips with unmistakable intent.

You hesitated for a second, brow furrowed, thoughts swirling. The rain fell around you in a soft patter. You searched his eyes and found something, something that promised a temporary escape from your hollow existence.

You didn’t have anything to lose.

“Yeah,” you said, putting out your cigarette with your shoe.

You ended the night with him on top of you, in your bed, all your troubles wiped away for a couple of hours. His hands roamed your body with a hunger that matched your own, and for the first time in a long while, you felt alive.

You thought it was just a one-night stand since he left as soon as you both came down, and you fell asleep, spent and satisfied.

Until he showed up at your door late at night, two weeks later.

There he was, standing in the hallway with that same charming smile, holding up a pack of cigarettes and his silver lighter. “Mind if I come in?” he asked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And that’s how it all started. This…thing you have going on.

“I missed you,” he’d whisper in your ear, his voice rough with longing as he was buried deep inside of you. “My beautiful girl.”

Those words would wrap around your heart, suffusing you with a warmth that felt like everything you had ever wanted. In those fleeting moments, it was as if all the pain and uncertainty melted away, leaving only the intoxicating sensation of being cherished, if only for a little while. But then, like always, he would leave, and the cold reality would set in.

He would tell you he couldn’t stay, but not why. His eyes would darken with unspoken burdens, and he’d brush a kiss against your forehead, promising he’d be back.

Yet, he never told you it was for your safety. He never mentioned the shadows that lurked around him, the dangers he faced on a daily basis. He didn’t tell you about the battles he fought, tooth and nail, just to carve out a few hours to be with you.

He didn’t tell you any of this, and after some time, you stopped asking. The questions died on your lips, replaced by a resigned acceptance. You accepted that you’d never be more to Marc than a brief escape, a distraction from whatever demons haunted him.

Well, your brain did.

But not your heart.

Your heart clung to every whispered endearment, every stolen touch, every heated kiss that promised more than he could ever give. Your heart held onto the belief that maybe, just maybe, one day he’d stay. That one day, this torturous cycle of brief encounters and long absences would end.

You’d lie in bed after he left, the sheets still warm from his presence, his scent lingering in the air. You’d replay the moments in your mind, his whispered words, the way he looked at you as if you were his salvation. You’d clutch your pillow, trying to hold onto the ghost of his touch, knowing that come morning, the loneliness would creep back in.

Every time he returned, it was like a balm to your wounded soul. He’d pull you into his arms, his kiss desperate, as if he was drowning and you were his only breath of air.

And for those precious hours, you’d let yourself believe that you were his beautiful girl, his light in a world filled with darkness, that he needed you as much as you needed him.

He’d leave again, the door closing softly behind him, and you’d be left alone. You’d tell yourself that it was enough, that these stolen moments were worth the heartache.

But deep down, you knew it wasn’t.

You always knew that your heart was breaking a little more each time he walked away.

And you know now that any resolve you’ve built up over the past year will crumble the second you open the door and look into his eyes.

It’s always the same.

No matter how sick and tired you are of his careless behavior, no matter how many times he chews you up and spits you out, no matter how many nights you spend crying over him, mourning him, cursing him, self-hatred wrapping around you like a suffocating blanket.

You let him in. You let him do this to you.

Because you love him. Because you’re a fool.

Slowly, reluctantly, you stand, heart pounding, blood rushing in your ears. You sigh deeply, and before you can stop yourself, your hand turns the knob, opening the door just a crack.

Marc pushes the door open wider, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment, and before you realize what’s happening, his cap is on the floor and his lips are on yours. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close as he kicks the door shut behind him. He spins you around, pressing you against the wall with a desperate need that makes you dizzy.

“I missed you, Sunshine,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands roaming your body.

“Don’t call me that,” you protest, your palms pressed against his pecs.

He smiles. “But it’s who you are. My Sunshine.”

“I’m not your anything, Marc,” you hiss, trying to push him away. He doesn’t budge. “I’m a warm body for you to fuck. That’s it.”

“That’s not all you are to me,” he says without missing a beat, brows furrowed, thumb brushing over your lower lip with a maddening gentleness. “Why so hostile, Sunshine? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

There it is. That damn look. Concern, care, and hunger, all mingling in his eyes, breaking down your defenses bit by bit.

“Are you fucking kidding, Marc?” you snap, snatching his wrist to stop him from touching you. “You–you were gone for a year. No goodbye, no message, no nothing.”

His gaze doesn’t waver as he cups your face with both hands, and despite yourself, you let go of his wrist.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” The warmth in his eyes and the soft smile on his lips make you want to throw up. You turn your head, your chest heaving.

He gently but firmly pushes your head back, his hands still cradling your face, forcing you to meet his gaze once more. His grip is firm but not painful, a reminder of his strength and control—the same strength that has always thrilled you.

“Hey,” he says softly, his eyes boring into yours, pleading. “I’m here now.”

You’re stunned, frozen in place like a deer in headlights, about to be run over.

It’s too late for you.

All you see is him, the man who has torn your heart to pieces and yet somehow still holds it in his hands.

The world narrows to the space between you, and the chaos of your mind falls silent. You’re ready to die in this moment if it means feeling his touch again.

You give an almost imperceptible nod, a surrender, and his lips are on yours instantly.

The kiss is desperate, a clash of lust and guilt, his mouth moving against yours with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. His hands move down your sides to your waist, pulling you closer as if he can’t bear the distance between you for even a second longer.

You moan into his mouth, your body responding to his touch despite your mind’s protests. Your arms wrap around him, pulling him even closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of smoke and mint, and it floods your senses, drowning out the pain, the questions, the doubts.

Marc’s hands urgently explore the contours of your back, pressing you against him, reveling in your scent. You can feel the hard lines of his body, the heat of his skin, and it’s all too much and not enough at the same time. Your back hits the wall again, and he pins you there, his mouth leaving yours to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

One hand finds your breast, groping it for a moment, palm rubbing against your hard nipple, his touch needy and rough. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, his name escaping your lips in a broken whisper. He groans in response, the sound vibrating against your skin.

Impatient, his fingers hook into the waistband of your pajama pants, yanking them down along with your panties with practiced ease. You step out of them, exposed, his leg pressing against your core.

You can’t help but buck your hips against him, your body moving on its own accord, driven by pent-up desire and anger. Your hands fist his shirt, gripping the fabric tightly as if it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. His hands are on your ass, kneading your flesh with possessive urgency, each squeeze sending shivers of pleasure through your body.

Marc’s mouth is everywhere, hot and insistent, licking a slow, deliberate stripe from behind your ear down your neck. The sensation makes you gasp, your back arching. He sucks and nips at your skin, frenzied and desperate, leaving a trail of bruises that mark you as his, each one a bittersweet reminder of the fleeting connection you share.

The contrast between the roughness of his hands and the wet heat of his mouth drives you wild, every touch igniting a fire inside you that you can’t control.

“Marc,” you moan, your voice a mix of frustration and need. Your nails dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, urging him on. He responds with a growl, his teeth grazing your neck before biting down, the sharp pain making you gasp.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick with desire. His hands grip your ass harder, lifting your leg slightly so he can grind against you, his hardness pressing against your core, sending waves of pleasure through you.

You throw your head back, giving him better access to your neck as he continues to lick, suck, and bite with abandon, each mark he leaves on your skin feeling like a brand, a claim that you both know will fade but never truly disappear.

“More,” you whisper, your breathing shallow. “Please, I need more.” You reach between your bodies, sliding your hand down his hard torso, rubbing his bulge over the rough fabric of his jeans.

Marc groans and pulls back just enough to look into your glazed-over eyes, his own filled with lust and something deeper, something that makes your heart ache. “I’ll give you everything, baby,” he promises, his hands moving to cup your face as he kisses you again, his lips searing and demanding.

You can feel the truth in his words, even if only for this moment, and you let yourself believe it.

He bites your bottom lip and pulls back with a growl, dropping to his knees, spreading your thighs and pressing his mouth to your core. Your brain takes a few seconds to catch up with what’s happening, your mind foggy, your heart racing.

“Marc, wait,” you gasp, your hands tangling in his hair as his tongue flicks out, teasing your aching clit. “I haven’t—oh fuck—I haven’t showered.”

“I don’t care,” he murmurs, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive skin.

The sensation is overwhelming, his tongue lapping at your folds with a hunger that makes your knees weak. You gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily against his face. He groans in response, reveling in the scent and wetness you’re spreading all over his face, cursing under his breath as his cock strains against the inside of his jeans.

His hands tighten their grip on your thighs, holding you open for him, keeping you steady as his tongue and lips work with practiced precision to make you lose control.

Your head falls back, hitting the wall with a dull thud, but you barely notice. Every flick of his tongue, every suck on your clit sends waves of pleasure crashing through you. Your hands tighten in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more, fingernails scraping his scalp.

“Marc,” you moan, your voice a mix of desperation and bliss, your body trembling under this relentless, sweet torture. “Oh fuck, Marc.”

Hearing you moan his name is like gasoline on a fire, fueling his desire.

“God, you taste so good,” he pants against your skin, his voice filled with raw need, drunk with lust. “Always so fucking perfect.”

Your body trembles as he hums against you, his tongue alternating between slow, teasing licks and fast, desperate flicks before sucking on your swollen clit again.

You can feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with each passing second.

“Please,” you beg, your voice a shaky whisper. “I need you inside me.”

He responds without hesitation, his tongue plunging into your wet heat, tasting you, drinking you, fucking you with ruthless intensity. You cry out, your back arching off the wall as the pleasure becomes almost too much to bear. He replaces his tongue with his middle and ring fingers, sliding them inside you, curling them just right, hitting that perfect spot. His mouth devours you simultaneously, desperately, like a man starved.

Your hips buck harder, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he finger-fucks you in rhythm with his licks. The dual assault of his tongue and fingers is overwhelming, pushing you ever closer to the edge.

Your nails rake across his scalp, and he groans against you, the vibrations sending ripples of ecstasy through your core.

You can barely form a coherent thought, your mind hazy as you can’t hold back the moans escaping your lips. Marc starts sucking on your clit with renewed vigor, the sensation sending you spiraling. You’re on the brink, the tension inside you coiled so tightly it’s about to snap.

The wet sounds of your pussy fill the air, blending with the rhythmic beat of your heart pounding in your chest. He can feel your body tensing, the telltale signs of your impending climax, and it drives him wild.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Fuck, I’m gonna–”

You don’t get to finish the sentence before you shatter into a million pieces, every nerve ending ablaze with euphoric release. Marc doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, holding onto your hip, continuing to lap at you and move his fingers, drawing out every last tremor until you’re left trembling and spent.

For a brief, blissful moment, you feel pure, unadulterated happiness, your fingers absentmindedly running through Marc’s hair. But as reality slowly sets back in, your living room coming back into view, Marc’s mouth on your core starting to become uncomfortable, the weight of what just happened begins to dawn on you. Your eyes meet his, and you feel it all crashing down on you—confusion, heartache, regret.

Marc finally pulls back, his face and fingers glistening with your arousal, a satisfied, almost smug grin on his lips.

He stands, his hands finding your cheeks as he presses his wet lips against yours, sliding his tongue inside. You close your eyes and wrap your arms around his waist, tasting yourself on his lips, your body buzzing with the aftermath of your orgasm.

“You miss me?” he whispers against your lips before pulling back enough to look into your wide eyes. The warmth of his breath mingles with yours, and his gaze is filled with an intensity that makes your heart clench painfully.

The casualness of his question tears at you, as if you had seen each other just yesterday, as if he hadn’t just given you an earth-shattering orgasm after crushing your heart with his bare hands.

And all after you swore to yourself you’d never let him do this again.

You want to hate him, you really do. But how could you? He came back from the dead to see you. You know he needs you right now, so how could you deny him?

You nod, feeling tears well up in your eyes, swallowing heavily. “Always,” you whisper, your voice breaking with emotion.

A smile spreads across Marc’s lips, his eyes softening for a moment, and he captures your lips in a deep, fervent kiss again, as if trying to convey everything he can’t put into words. Then, with a gentle but firm grip, he lifts you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. You cling to him, head buried in the crook of his neck, your hands gripping his shoulders as he carries you towards your bedroom.

He clocks the bouquet of pink roses on your dining room table, notices the little card standing next to the vase. There’s a strawberry drawn on the front, but it’s too dark for him to read what he just assumes to be a lame pun about loving you ‘berry’ much.

How cute.

Marc lays you down on the bed, his body pressed against yours, trailing kisses down your neck. You wrap your legs around his waist again, rubbing yourself against his bulge, impatient, hands tangled in his curls.

“Not yet, baby,” he whispers in your ear, nibbling on your earlobe, reveling in the needy noises you make, how you squirm under him, trying to get him to move and give you what you want.

He will. But first, he wants to look at you—at your beautiful body, every inch of your skin.

He gets off the bed and you scoot back, fluffing up your pillows and leaning against them with your back. You watch as Marc turns on the bedside lamp and removes his shirt, revealing the hard lines of his muscles and the scars that tell the story of battles you’re clueless about. He kicks off his shoes, his eyes never leaving yours. When he unbuckles his belt, ready to pull his pants down and fuck you already, his eyes drop down to your wet pussy, and he decides differently.

“Take off your shirt and show me how you played with yourself while I was away.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you pull your shirt over your head, your skin prickling with anticipation. You feel exposed, vulnerable, but the look in Marc’s eyes makes you feel desired, wanted. You spread your legs wide and slide your hand down your body, your fingers finding your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. Your other hand moves to your breast, teasing your nipple, and you let out a soft moan, your eyes locked on Marc.

His gaze darkens with lust as he watches you, jeans on the floor, spitting in his hand, wrapping it around his cock, stroking himself slowly. “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need. “Keep going.”

God, how much he wants to bury himself deep inside of you, to feel your warm, wet pussy pulsing around his cock, to fuck all his frustrations into you, to hear your sweet moans, to feel your soft skin pressed against his.

It’s all he wants.

All he can think about when he’s away from you. All he needs in nights like this.

You increase the pace of your fingers, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the pleasure builds. Marc’s eyes don’t leave you for a second, his hand moving faster on his cock, mirroring the rhythm of your movements.

“You have no idea how much I missed this,” he pants. “Missed you.”

Fuelled by his poisonous words, your hips buck against your hand, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core. “Marc,” you moan, your voice a desperate plea. “I’m close.”

His eyes burn into yours as he moves swiftly, crawling onto the bed and positioning himself between your legs. He nudges your hand away and replaces it with his own, his fingers sliding inside you in one smooth motion, his thumb rubbing your clit.

“Let go, baby. Come for me.”

And with his words, you shatter, your orgasm crashing over you in waves, your pussy clamping down around his fingers, pulsating, your hands gripping the sheets. Marc watches you intently, his own breath ragged, cock throbbing so close to your dripping hole.

The ecstatic feeling coursing through you turns into uncomfortable overstimulation quickly, so you grab his wrist, and he withdraws his fingers, giving you a moment to come down.

You look so fucking gorgeous like this. Eyes glazed over, looking at him like he’s all you see, like he’s all you need. But as Marc holds your gaze, your chest rising and falling, he also sees something else in your big, beautiful eyes.

Sadness.

It’s a deep sadness he knows he’s responsible for—a sadness that cuts through the layers of detachment, apathy, and composure he’s built up to survive the trials in his life. Despite everything, there remains a gentle, tender part hidden deep inside him. A part that makes him vulnerable, scared, and like he could be the man you need��if only things were different.

“My Sunshine,” he says softly, his knuckles brushing over your hot cheek. The tenderness in his touch contrasts sharply with the storm of emotions inside him. He leans over you, and the kiss he presses on your lips is soft, oh so soft.

It’s intense. Intense and unexpected.

It’s easier to push aside your feelings when he’s rough with you. It’s easier to tell yourself you’re just two lonely people fucking to feel a little less lonely if all you can focus on is your body.

But then he pulls shit like this and it gives you hope that you might mean something to him. And after years of asking yourself if he’s just an asshole who gets off on playing mind games, or if he doesn’t care enough to realize what he’s doing is killing you, you’re not sure you want to know the answer.

Marc pulls you out of your thoughts when he releases your lips and pulls back slightly, his eyes darkening with a different kind of intensity as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb.

“Open your mouth.”

You obey, parting your lips, your breath hitching in anticipation. Marc lets a strand of spit drop into your mouth, slowly, deliberately, watching as it lands in the back of your throat, and you swallow it without hesitation.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire, kissing and nibbling on your jaw, your neck, down to your breast, circling your nipple with the tip of his tongue before sucking it into his eager mouth.

“Marc…” you whine, looking down, threading your fingers through his disheveled hair, your heart pounding. You let yourself get lost in him, in the way he touches you, in the way he makes you feel alive. And as you do, you can’t stop the words tumbling from your lips.

“Please stay.”

Marc pauses, his mouth still on your breast, his body tensing. He releases your nipple and looks up at you, his brow furrowing at your watery eyes.

He hates to see you like this.

“You know I can’t,” he says, his calm voice betraying none of the guilt that’s clawing at his heart, making it hard for him to breathe.

But he can’t comfort you. Not now. Not when you’re supposed to be his salvation. Not when he knows it’d be a lie.

He sits back on his heels between your spread legs, his eyes never leaving yours as he pumps his painfully hard cock.

“Why?” you whisper, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “Why?”

Marc leans over you, arms braced next to your head, capturing your quivering lips with his, preventing you from making him feel worse than he already does.

You moan into his mouth and he can’t wait anymore. Needs to be inside you. Needs to make it all right.

He shifts in closer, pressing his cock against you, just sliding it between your folds, up and down, letting out a raspy sigh at the friction of it. His cock gathers your wetness quickly—you’re always so fucking wet for him.

Before falling asleep on whatever cot he’d find himself on, he’d sometimes allow himself to fantasize about waking up next to you, feeling your warm body, hearing your soft breathing, sliding his hand down the front of your panties, and feeling how wet you are from dreaming about him.

His breath catches in his throat just thinking about it.

“Marc…” you plead, and he smiles to himself—it usually takes far longer for you to start begging, so it must mean you really missed him. You squirm again, hips twisting like you’re trying to get him inside you, and he watches you intently, soaking up every little expression, every little moan, every little plea.

“What do you want, baby?” he murmurs, dragging it out just a little bit longer. He loves to hear you, loves to get you to admit it. For you, the truth is in the action of it, but he likes to listen to you say it out loud.

“You,” you moan desperately. “I need you, Marc. I missed you so fucking much, I can’t take it anymore.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs with an imperceptible smile.

“Uh-huh,” you nod, staring up into his eyes.

Marc’s cock twitches at the genuine need he can see in your eyes, the sight like a potent drug going straight to his brain and filling him with more bliss than anything else could. He knows what you like, knows what buttons to push, knows exactly how to touch you to make you forget the world around you.

It makes him feel good to make you feel good. It always has.

And it’s more than the gratification of feeling your pussy pulsating around his cock or hearing you scream his name while your orgasm overtakes you. It’s more than his pride, his ego, his need to feel like he’s doing good for once in his life.

It’s you.

It’s his misguided effort to make up for all his misdeeds. His atonement. He tells himself it’s enough for him to fuck your brains out, to pour all of himself into you without inhibitions while he’s with you to offset his absence.

He tells himself that, holds onto it—needs it to be true.

“Please…” you whine, and he pushes up against your clit, feeling the pulse of it. You shudder at the intensity, the pressure, and he grins. “Fuck. Fuck me.”

“Dirty mouth,” he chides, and you whine in frustration as he brings his hand up, pressing one finger to your slightly parted lips. You open them wider, suck his finger in, suckle for a moment and then bite.

“Fuck me,” you demand, voice muffled and tongue pressing against his fingertip, wet and warm.

Your teeth loosen up and he slides his finger deeper, right to the back of your tongue. You don’t gag, just stare him down defiantly, and he can’t wait any longer. He reaches down with his other hand, guides himself to your entrance, cock pushing deep into the tight heat of you, as slow as he can stand it.

You’re so fucking good.

His head starts to roll back instinctively, but he holds it steady and slides his hand over to your hip, gripping your flesh as his cock splits you open.

When he’s fully sheathed inside of you, you let out a low moan, brows furrowing, throwing your head back against the pillows. He pulls back a little only to drive right back in, hard, and this time you moan a hell of a lot louder. Quickly, he stifles the sound with his palm, pressing his hand right over your mouth—not because he doesn’t want to hear you. No, because he knows it heightens your pleasure.

Your resulting moans are muffled against his hand as you start trying to meet his thrusts, your hips working towards him, desperate for it. You love it when he smothers you like this, love feeling his big hand over your face.

He first discovered the power of it when you were arguing about something silly and you wouldn’t shut up—he did it jokingly, only to be surprised when you immediately fell silent. You didn’t even push him away or do anything obnoxious like lick his palm; you just went totally compliant. It was an instant reaction, as though it was something your body was conditioned to obey.

He grips your hip, feeling your soft skin against his palm, his other hand covering your mouth as he thrusts into you hard, until the bed is rocking rhythmically against the wall. The hand on your hip slides higher, over your belly, groping your breast, pinching your hard nipple. His other hand slips from your mouth and you’re panting now, your face hot and almost grimacing, your whole body taut and tense for him.

But then his hands meet at your throat, and you go limp, your lips stretching into an exhausted smile. He keeps his hands still, just on either side of your neck, curled around your shoulders, his thumbs across your collarbones.

“Go on,” you say breathlessly, biting your lip in anticipation, lifting up your head in order to strain a little against his hands. He says nothing, smiling wickedly back at you, his hips working shallowly, cock thrusting against your G-spot.

“Go on,” you whine, impatient, and he wants to say, “What?” and grin sardonically and make you beg for it, but he’s too greedy, eager just like you are.

He wraps his fingers around your throat and squeezes, quick and sudden, watching your pupils dilate and your lips fall open. You’d let him choke you to death if he wasn’t careful, he’s sure—you get so fucking caught up in it—so he has to be vigilant, letting go when you look like you’re about to pass out.

It’s difficult to judge, though. You look blissed out already, and he can feel your tendons working against his fingers as he jabs his thumb just under your jaw, tightening his grip. You make these sounds—gasps at first, and then little choking coughs, your throat all raw, and all the while he’s thrusting into you, hard and fast.

He eases off a second, lets you catch your breath, and you draw it in, hoarse and gasping, looking dazed. Almost high.

You jerk your chin at him as if to say, “C’mon, again, what are you waiting for?” and he complies, one hand this time, big enough to reach quite a way around your neck. His other hand snakes down the center of you, down between your legs, along your hot skin to where he disappears inside, your slick folds parting to let him in. He teases with his fingers, finds your clit, gentle there even as he’s gripping your throat so tight he’ll probably leave marks.

You buck wildly against him and he holds you down, grinning, relentless, finger flickering over your clit as he fucks you, chokes you, brings you closer and closer to the edge—

He feels your fingers digging into his shoulders, his back, then his arms, grabbing frantically at him as your whole body tenses, and you’re spluttering out a desperate, “Yes, yes,” and then he feels that same clenching around his cock, a quick spasm, so tight he can’t help but groan.

You come with your eyes shut and your mouth open, and he keeps going a moment longer than he needs to, stroking you where you’re oversensitive, making you shake and squirm.

Marc lets go of your throat and takes ahold of your breast instead, chasing his own release, fucking you harder and harder and closing his eyes because you’re gazing at him in that way that chips away at his resolve.

“Slow down,” you suddenly whisper, so full of him, so desperate to keep it that way.

He slows down minimally. “Why?”

“I–I don’t want….” you trail off as he licks and sucks on your neck, his hand groping your breast. “Please, I don’t want it to end…”

He pulls back a little and just…smiles at you, that irritating smile that says, “You honestly still think you’re in control here?”

It wouldn’t bother you as much if you weren’t still processing that he’s actually here, flesh and blood, after abandoning you, and having the balls to act like the past year didn’t happen. Like he didn’t stab your heart and leave you to bleed out slowly.

“I know you don’t want me to slow down,” he pants in your ear as he picks up the pace again, alternating between shallow thrusts that hit your G-spot perfectly, and deep thrusts that make you gasp. “You want me to fuck you like your little boyfriend never could.”

You freeze. Marc’s labored breathing, the wet sounds of your pussy, the sound of rain coming from outside your window—it all becomes white noise as your brain catches up with what he just said to you.

And then something snaps inside you.

Something primal, violent, desperate.

You grab the nape of his neck and pull him down for a bruising kiss, biting his lips hard, tongue swirling around his, the taste of blood in your mouth making your head spin. Marc moans into your mouth, but he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t stop his own movements inside you.

You feel yourself getting closer and closer again, and you hate it. You fucking hate that he’s doing this to you. And you hate even more that you’re letting him.

He pulls away and buries his face in the crook of your neck, his bloody lips staining your shoulder. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you as your nails rake down his arms, leaving angry red trails in their wake. You claw at his back, holding onto him with all you have. He groans at the pain and looks into your eyes, reveling in the pure need he can see in them.

You see how much it turns him on to see you like this, and it makes you even angrier.

Marc leans in to kiss you again, but before you know what’s happening, your hand shoots up to his throat, fingers digging into his jaw, pushing his face away. He growls at you and tries to kiss you anyway, stubborn and unyielding, his lips brushing against yours despite your resistance. You buck your hips and twist your body, trying to dislodge him, your hands pushing and shoving at his chest and shoulders.

You manage to get one hand around his throat, squeezing as hard as you can, your nails digging into his skin. Marc groans, his breath hot against your face, but his grip on you doesn’t falter. He grabs your wrists, attempting to pin them above your head, but you fight back with all your strength, writhing beneath him, your legs kicking out, trying to find leverage to push him off.

“That’s enough,” he growls, his voice rough and intimidating as he finally manages to secure your wrists. “Calm do–”

You turn your head and bite the arm that’s pinning your wrist down, canines piercing the skin.

“Fuck,” Marc hisses through clenched teeth, his thrusts becoming rougher, more desperate, as if he’s trying to match your intensity, trying to make you feel the same pain you’re inflicting on him. The bed creaks with the force of your combined movements, the air thick with the sounds of your mutual anguish.

“You wanna hurt me, baby?” he pants as he lets go of your wrist and instead grabs your chin to force you to look at him.

“Yeah,” you whisper without hesitation, your pupils dilated, your voice dripping with venom and need.

Marc’s eyes darken with a mix of lust and something deeper, something almost like understanding. “Good,” he says simply, grabbing your ass and rolling you both over, so you can ride him. He pulls up the pillow behind his back, so he’s propped up and you can hold onto his shoulders. “Take what you need.”

He moves his hips slowly, tenderly almost, as if to tell you he’s done fighting with you and wants you to feel good. You’re not there yet, you’re still seeing red. Clawing at his chest, nails digging into his skin, leaving scratches that will take days to fade.

But it’s not enough. You need more. You need to make him feel the pain he’s caused, to make him understand what he’s put you through. You push his face away, his stubble grazing your palm, and he turns his head, biting down on your thumb, groaning at the taste of you. Spurred on by the sensation, your teeth find his shoulder, biting down hard enough to break the skin.

“Stop,” he grunts, the word strained, his cock twitching inside you. You don’t relent immediately, your teeth sinking deeper until he grabs your shoulders, trying to push you off.

Finally, he manages to grip your throat, not squeezing, but enough to make you stop. The pressure is firm, commanding, and it stills your movements. He looks up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and desperation. “Enough,” he says with finality, his voice rough and low. “I want you to fuck me, not kill me.”

You stare down at him, your chest heaving, the raw emotion in his eyes grounding you. Slowly, you release your grip on his shoulders, the tension in your body easing as you adjust to the new position. His hand remains on your throat, a reminder of his control, but also of the thin line between pain and pleasure that you both walk.

You start to move, rocking your hips against him, swollen clit rubbing against his trimmed pubes, taking him deep inside you. His grip on your throat tightens just a fraction, enough to send a thrill through your body, but not enough to hurt. His other hand grips your hip, guiding your movements as you ride him, each thrust a release of the pent-up emotions that have been tearing you apart.

Mouth slightly agape, Marc’s eyes never leave yours, the connection between you intense and unbreakable. “That’s it, baby,” he murmurs. “Use me.”

And you do.

Your movements become increasingly more frantic, muscles tense, driven by a need to feel him, to feel that he’s really here with you.

“You left,” you pant, eyes piercing his, pleasure building inside you with every movement of your hips.

“Yeah, I did,” Marc replies, his tone unapologetic and infuriatingly calm. He lets go of your neck and cups your cheek instead, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over your cheekbone.

“I–I thought you were dead,” you choke out, tears stinging your eyes as you find the perfect pace, hands resting on his pecs. The pressure in your core builds, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge.

“You fucking asshole, I thought you were dead!” Your voice cracks as the hurt and anger that have been festering inside you pour out, mingling with the unbearable pleasure he’s giving you.

“I’m not dead, baby. I’m right here.” His voice is softer now, tinged with an edge of remorse. He accentuates his words with a powerful thrust of his hips, driving deep inside you. The sensation forces a moan from your lips, your anger momentarily drowned out.

The tears you’ve been holding back finally spill over, trailing down your cheeks as you ride him harder, your body seeking solace in the physical connection. You lean forward, your forehead resting against his, your breaths mingling, your eyes closed.

“I hate you,” you whisper. “I fucking hate you, Marc.”

His response is immediate, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he drives into you with renewed vigor. “I know, baby,” he pants. “I know you do.”

His words, combined with the relentless rhythm of his thrusts, push you closer to the brink. You hold onto his broad shoulders as your walls tightens around his cock, the muscles in your legs aching. The rush you’re experiencing is intoxicating, the line between pleasure and pain, love and hate blurring until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

As the pressure builds to an unbearable peak, you cling to him, your body trembling. “I need you,” you whine, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Please, I need you.”

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs, his grip on you tightening. “I’ve got you.”

The words are a promise, a plea, and as your orgasm crashes over you, you feel a moment of clarity. Despite everything, despite the pain and the anger, he’s here. He’s with you.

You collapse against him, your body trembling with aftershocks, your breath coming in shallow gasps as tears stream down your cheeks. Marc wraps his strong arms around you, holding you tight as he chases his own release, his hips moving with relentless intensity. His breath is hot against your ear, his voice both a comfort and a torment.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he pants, too far gone to stop himself.

You’re lost in the moment, too out of it to hear him.

“Tell me,” he urges again, needing to hear you say it.

When you still don’t respond and he feels he can’t hold back any longer, he pulls your head back by the nape of your neck.

You look like you’re somewhere else entirely, flying high, eyes glassy.

“Hey,” he says sharply, slowing his thrusts down as much as he can physically stand it, searching your face until your gaze meets his.

“Huh?”

“Tell me you’re mine,” he repeats through gritted teeth, brow furrowed. “Please.”

His eyes are warm and you see him—the Marc who shared his favorite childhood recipe with you, the Marc who reassured you after your boss was an asshole to you, the Marc who made you laugh until your sides ached.

“I–I’m yours,” you whisper, the realization that it’s the truth breaking something inside you. “I’ve always been yours.”

Your words are like balm for his wounded soul, and he feels like he can finally let go. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Marc. I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours.”

“Fuck,” he groans, his thrusts becoming sloppy. He’s close. “I could–I could never stay away from you. Never.”

The confession slips out, raw and unfiltered, and it’s like a dagger to your heart. You bite down on his shoulder, trying to silence the sob that threatens to escape as he fucks you with everything he has.

“Gonna come, baby,” he pants. “Where do you want me?”

You feel like your body doesn’t belong to you, your mind foggy. But you know exactly where you want him, where you need him.

“Inside.”

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t.

But he’s here to give you everything he can. And he does, spilling his warm cum deep inside of you, his cock pulsing, hips stuttering as he groans your name.

Not baby.

Not Sunshine.

Your name.

He wraps his arms around you, softly, almost reverently, feeling your bare, sweat-covered skin against his palms. He holds you close like this for a moment before rolling you both over so he’s on top of you again, his cock still buried inside, his body slumping against yours.

Feeling his weight on you is grounding, soothing, calming you like nothing else in the world ever can. You try to absorb the feeling of his heartbeat against yours, knowing this moment of closeness won’t last. Marc usually doesn’t hold you for long after he’s fucked you.

You inhale his scent, draw shapes on his back with your fingertips, scratch his scalp softly, nudge his shoulder with your nose, press little kisses on his skin. Each touch is a silent plea for him to surprise you, to stay with you for a little bit longer.

He relaxes on top of you, the deep tension he’s been feeling for so long slowly giving way to a sense of calm. It’s peaceful, his mind quiet for once.

How he wishes he could stay like this forever; feeling your heartbeat, your soft touch, holding you close as you fall asleep, nose brushing the nape of your neck, a protective arm draped over you, keeping you safe.

He’s convincing himself to stay. He can feel it.

Just this once.

To put a smile on your pretty face.

To show you he cares.

It means so much to you, and how could he–

“I love you, Marc,” you whisper against his skin.

The words slip out before you can stop them, and you immediately regret saying them as you feel his muscles tense and he pulls out of you, leaving you painfully empty. His cum starts leaking out of you, pooling on the rumpled sheets beneath you.

Marc sits on the edge of the bed with his back turned to you and you sit up, leaning against the headboard, watching his profile with tearful eyes.

“Marc,” you say quietly, extending your hand to lightly touch his arm.

But it’s too late.

The spell is broken.

He gets up and fishes out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter from his jeans pocket, lighting one up, the orange glow casting shadows on the wall. He blows out a stream of smoke as he pulls up his jeans, sitting back on the bed, eyes distant as he looks out of the window.

You feel a pang of hurt, but you press on, desperately needing him to understand. “You–you don’t have to love me too,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “But please, you’ve been gone for so long and I–I only just got you back. Please, just stay with me this one time. Just this one time.”

He turns his head to look at you, his eyes flickering with something you can’t quite place. You shake your head slowly, resigned, then reach for his cigarette.

He gives it to you, watching as you put it between your swollen lips. You take a long drag, the smoke filling your lungs, and then exhale slowly, closing your eyes for a moment.

Marc eyes you curiously, recalling how you proudly told him you’d stopped smoking the last time he saw you.

Some things have changed, he supposes.

And some things…haven’t.

“Where were you?” you ask.

“Egypt,” he replies simply, caressing your leg.

“The whole time?”

“The whole time.”

“And the…business you had there, is it done?”

He hesitates for a moment before nodding, an imperceptible smile on his lips. “Yeah. You could say that.”

You take another drag from the cigarette before passing it back to him, the smoke a comforting distraction. “Will you stay in town now?”

Marc looks at you, and for a moment, hope flares in your chest. “Mhm. That’s the plan.”

You reach out and trace the remnants of what you can only imagine was a nasty bruise below his ribcage. “Aren’t you tired of this?”

He chuckles. “Of course I am.”

“Then why the fuck don’t you stop?”

He sighs. “It’s not that easy. There’s people who count on me, who need me.”

You avert your gaze, laughing mirthlessly, quickly wiping away a tear with trembling fingers. Marc watches you intently as he smokes, his hand resting on your thigh.

“I see,” you say softly as you meet his gaze, a sad smile on your lips. “Nothing’s changed.”

He doesn’t say anything in return.

“Why did you come back?”

I wanted to be as close to you as possible.

“My…job required me to. And I think it’ll stay that way for the foreseeable future.”

You nod. “Okay.”

He gently strokes your leg, unconsciously trying to soothe himself more than you. He’s about to say something, he doesn’t even know what, just something, when you can’t hold it in anymore.

“I get that I’m not a priority for you, Marc, I really do,” you whisper, your expression so full of sadness he can barely stand to look at you. “You made that abundantly clear when you disappeared without having the decency to say goodbye–”

“Sunshine…”

“–but I don’t understand why you won’t do this one thing for me.”

Marc’s brow furrows deeply as he watches your lip quiver with frustration.

“I-I promise I won’t ever ask you again, but please stay with me tonight. Please. It doesn’t even have to be the whole night. Just an hour, Marc, or–or half an–”

“Sunshine, no,” he says a bit sharper than intended, his own nerves frayed. He gets up and looks at the moon.

You just…don’t understand.

You don’t understand what keeps him up at night, what keeps him away from you, what he’s vowed to protect you from—and he can never tell you.

He knows he should have left you alone when he saw you outside the bar that night, should have walked away and spared you the pain.

But he couldn’t do it then, and he can’t do it now.

Because he’s a selfish asshole.

Because he loves you.

He flicks the cigarette butt out of the window, then bends down to put on his shirt, the act mechanical, his face set in a mask of determination. You haven’t noticed before, but now you notice how careful he is when bending and stretching.

He must be in pain.

“Marc,” you plead, your heart beating so fast you feel like it’s going to explode.

He puts on his shoes, the silence that’s stretching between you suffocating. He’s killing you. He’s killing you, and yet you’re more afraid of losing him forever.

This needs to stop. You need to stop.

“If you walk out of that door, I don’t ever wanna see you again.”

Marc halts his movements and your pleading eyes search his, the genuine desperation in them twisting a knife in his heart. For a moment, you think you see something in his eyes—a flicker of the man you need him to be—but then it’s gone.

He sighs heavily, then rounds the bed, leaning in to cup your cheek. “You don’t mean that,” he murmurs, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your forehead. “I’ll see you around.”

“Please,” you whisper, but it’s too late.

When he reaches the front door, his cap in hand, you stand in the living room, naked and vulnerable. “I hate you, Marc Spector,” you say, your voice filled with all the pain and anger you feel.

He turns, his eyes softening for just a moment. “No, Sunshine. No, you don’t.”

And with that, he’s gone.

It takes a few seconds for your body to react to what just happened, and when it does, it’s overwhelming. Your stomach sinks, your chest tightens, and your vision blurs as you grapple with your ambivalent feelings.

Tears spill down your cheeks as you crumble, the exhaustion and heartbreak taking over.

Heading back to your bedroom, your eyes catch the roses your boyfriend gave you yesterday, a cruel reminder of the life you’ve been trying to build without Marc. All the work you put in, down the drain.

And for what? Why do you do this to yourself?

In a fit of anger and despair, you grab the flowers and throw them off your balcony. You watch as they scatter on the rain-wet street below, the cool night air wrapping around your naked body like a cloak. You stay for a moment, heart pounding, staring at the flowers as Marc’s cum runs down your thigh.

God, you’re a dumb idiot.

You turn off the TV as you head back inside, turn off your bedside lamp, the darkness a welcome solace. You go to the bathroom without turning the light on, clean up, put on a fresh pair of pajamas.

You do hate him.

You need to tell yourself that, for tonight at least.

Curled up in your bed, you clutch at the pillow where his scent still lingers, letting the darkness take you as the man who holds your heart is once again slipping through your fingers. The tears come again, silent and unending, each one a testament to the love you can’t seem to let go of, no matter how much it hurts.

Because for better or worse, Marc’s a part of you, and you can’t escape it.

Down on the street, Marc watches the scene unfold from the shadows, the flowers landing at his feet. He stands there, drenched in regret, his heart heavy. He wants to turn back, to hold you and tell you everything will be okay, but he knows he can’t.

Not with the life he leads.

Not until he’s finally free.

He walks to his car, parked on the opposite side of the street. Coming from the reflection of the driver’s window, the car illuminated by the street lamp above, he hears a familiar voice.

“You’re a cold bastard, Marc,” the man in the reflection says, his tone filled with quiet condemnation.

“Thanks, bud,” Marc sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You wanna explain to him that we’re gonna be late, then?” He raises an eyebrow, but Steven just shakes his head disapprovingly.

Marc scoffs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Didn’t think so.”

He takes the silver lighter out of his pocket, lights a cigarette, and leans against the car door, looking up at your windows. He imagines your silhouette as you’re lying on your side, your soft skin, the gentle rise and fall of your chest. He imagines you’re dreaming of him, finding peace in your sleep.

He knows he’s dreaming himself, knows you’re tossing and turning, cursing him. And he deserves it. He knows he does.

“Tick-tock, Marc Spector,” comes the resonating voice of Khonshu, his towering figure perched atop a nearby rooftop, his skeletal bird skull gleaming in the moonlight.

Marc rolls his eyes, takes a last drag of his cigarette before putting it out with his shoe, and shoots the impatient god a glare that earns him a chuckle that echoes through the night.

He looks up at your windows one last time, his heart aching with a longing he can’t afford to indulge. Then, with a heavy sigh, he gets into his car and turns on the radio.

As he speeds down the road, the city lights blurring past, leaving you behind, he feels the crushing loneliness of his life.

It’s strange.

Feeling lonely despite never being, you know, alone.

Right on cue, he catches the intense gaze of a dark pair of eyes in the rearview mirror.

“What? You gonna tell me I’m a cold bastard, too?”

Jake looks back at him with a sly grin. “Nah. You don’t need me to tell you what you already know,” he scoffs. “But it’s a real shame, Marc. Leaving that poor girl to get fucked by boys who don’t know what they’re doing, just ‘cause you don’t have the balls to–”

“And that’s enough of you,” Marc mutters, turning up the volume of the radio, refocusing on the way ahead.

⚡ Kavinsky’s Odd Look is playing in Marc’s car as he’s driving through the night, thinking of you. ⚡ Marc’s Ferrari Testarossa – the sexiest car there is. ⚡ I adore the synthwave aesthetic if you can’t tell lol.

Moon Knight Masterlist | AO3

#fic: nightcall #marc spector #marc spector x f!reader #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector smut #marc spector angst #moon knight #moon knight x f!reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #moon knight smut #oscar isaac characters #marc spector fanfiction #moon knight fanfic #oscar isaac fic

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